#idk man. i'm sure none of this makes sense but it makes sense to me

[thefanficmonster]

Not sure if ur accepting requests for the bear.. but could we maybe get a Mikey x reader where she finds out she's pregnant after he died (big angst tbh) and she comes to the restaurant a mess and tells everyone and it's sad but everyone's shocked or something idk if that makes sense lol, thanks

Ahhh the angst! My favorite genre to write 🙈 Thank you so much for the request, darling! I hope you enjoy the fic 💌

Too Much, Too Late

Michael 'Mikey' Berzatto x Reader (Female) [The Bear]

Warnings: Mentioned Suicide, Mentioned Past Drug Abuse (dealing and consuming), Pregnancy, Swearing, SPOILERS for The Bear

Genre: ANGST, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Angst with a happy ending

Summary: see request above

It was a job like any other. It was supposed to be one of those briskly-in-swiftly-out deals. All you had to do was keep it on the down low, distribute your products, get your pay and leave.

However, that didn't happen exactly as planned.

"Why are you in such a rush, sweetheart?" You found yourself accosted by a man who was very clearly three sheets to the wind already. The redness of his eyes, the dilated pupils and the alcohol on his breath suggested he was under several influences. Still, none of that was any justification for his borderline sleazy behavior. "Why don't you accompany me in blowing through this, huh?" He held up the baggie he'd just bought off you, causing you to roll your eyes.

In another setting, preferably under vastly different circumstances you would've probably found him attractive and would even like to uphold a conversation with him. Then again, in those ideal circumstances you imagine he wouldn't have been nearly as obnoxious as he was being in that moment.

Besides, you had a strict rule against participating in drugs with your clients. Or just drugs, period. Anything stronger than weed, that is.

You wanted to get him off your back as soon as possible so, instead of shutting him down in your typical cut-throat manner, you decided to let him down slowly and vanish before his object permanence kicked in. "Another time, pal. I have a busy night ahead."

It worked like a charm anytime someone tried to sweep you off your feet.

However, none of those other occasions had any follow-up. This one, on the other hand....

"Hey."

You had been caught up in your thoughts, making a mental itinerary for the next few days worth of deliveries when a voice startled you out of your tranquility.

It was the following morning and you were headed to the dumpster that was your plug's house - if you could even call it that.

Looking up, you couldn't help but frown at the sight of the 'flirt' from last night standing on the porch of your plug's house, leanings against the fence, smoking a cigarette.

"Hi?" The word came out automatically, a notation of confusion to it which made him smile.

"I don't know if you not remembering me is for better or for worse. I understand I came off a bit....gross last night." His unoccupied hand clasped around the back of his neck, an apologetic half-smile on his lips.

Despite being puzzled by the predicament, you found yourself chuckling, "No, no, I remember you. And don't worry about it, you were pretty tame compared to other shitbags I've had to deal with."

Your wording made him let out a laugh, "Yeah, 'shitbag' sums me up nicely."

Realizing how your words were poorly transmitted, you hurried to correct yourself, "No! That's not what I..."

He laughed yet again, amused by the blush that had crept onto your cheeks, "I know, I'm just fucking with you." He flashed you a charming smile as he tossed his cigarette and offered you his hand, "I'm Michael, by the way, but everyone calls me Mikey."

You were surprised by your own lack of hesitation as you took it, "Y/N, nice to meet you, Mikey."

What did surprise you was his smooth gesture - bringing the back of your hand to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles. You could see relief flood his features when you only scoffed in amusement. "Hope you don't mind, I asked around about you at the party last night. You're quite the phantom, you know. Nobody knew anything except your plug and it was a whole other hassle having to track him down."

You would've been lying if you said you didn't find his effort flattering. "Why go through all that trouble?"

There was that charming smile once more, now accompanied by a wink, "Cause that ain't a face you simply forget, darling."

That's how it all started, three years ago. But you can hardly remember any of it now. Everything has quickly been overshadowed by the tragedy that rocked your world.

Losing the love of your life. No one and nothing can ever prepare you for such a thing. No one can take away or aid the pain it brings on. No one can tell you how to move on, if you ever will. No two grieving processes are the same and yours has been very quiet. Too quiet. You can't even remember if you've cried since you found out a week ago. You can't remember having spoken to anyone since that dreadful phone call.

It's all been building up, piling on - the calm before the storm.

And the storm has just crashed down on you, tears finally spilling over past the barrier you're able to hold them at. Sobs scratch up your throat, racking your ribcage, echoing back at you off the bathroom walls. All the agony, all the pain, the regret, the guilt the grief - it all spills out in those harrowing sobs as tears stream down your face, falling onto the sink counter and pregnancy test on it.

The positive pregnancy test.

"No, no, no...." You mumble to yourself in despair, unsure of what exactly you're saying no to.

You don't even have time to process how you feel about it, if you want it, whether you're happy about it or not. All that's plaguing your mind is the gnawing thought of what if?

What if you'd found out two weeks earlier? What if you told him? What if that changed his mind? Would you still have him by your side if he knew he'd be a dad? Would this be a reason for joy and excitement for the two of you? Having your own little family, fucked up in its own way but miles better than your individual families.

You never met his, he never met your. Unlike him, though, you haven't seen your folks in years, five to be exact. He put up with his, you had cut off yours.

You're well versed into his family and their dynamics though, thanks to all the stories Mikey told you throughout the years. You specifically remember him talking about his siblings with such adoration. Natalie and Carmen. The only supposedly sane ones of the bunch.

Wiping the tears off your burning red cheeks, you regain control of your breathing, effectively calming yourself down as you take a long look at yourself in the mirror. You will yourself to put a hand over your belly, taking a moment to let the realization of there being a living thing inside you sink in.

Your and Mikey's baby.

A baby that'll never know the wonderful man that is their dad.

"Don't worry, baby. If they don't want us, we'll always have each other."

* * * * *

After a sleepless night, you find yourself struggling not to nod off on the train.

You thought you'd feel a lot more....well, something more as you approach the inevitable meeting with Mikey's brother. Instead, you're quite numb, immune to whatever you might be faced with once you arrive at the restaurant. Nothing he might say or do can faze you, not after the week you've had. Though you're pretty sure his hasn't been any better. He lost his brother after all. It could be a point of mutual understanding for the two of you or a point of collision and apperhension.

Only one way to find out.

You're surprised by the sheer boldness with which you enter the sandwich shop. Again, you thought you might exhibit at least mild hesitation but you have never been prone to such reservations. You still do things like you used to back in your dealer days - briskly-in-swiftly-out.

This is no different.

Upon entry, the interior feels familiar. You've been here only twice before, always after closing, snuck in by Mikey as a date night. He'd cook for you while you DJed with the restaurant sound system in the office. It was the peak of romance in your relationship.

Never once did you think one day you'd be coming in alone, during work hours, the memories bringing tears to your eyes.

You push the pain to the backburner when a waiter approaches you. "Welcome, what can I get ya?"

You force the closest thing to a smile you can manage, "Carmen Berzatto, if possible."

Just then, as if on cue, sounds of chaos flood out from the kitchen into the seating area. It doesn't really seem to bother any of the three tables enjoying their meal, but you are certainly a little shocked. You remember Mikey mentioning shit would get chaotic in back of house, but you'd never imagined it'd be this bad.

The waiter casually peers over his shoulder, pressing his lips in a thin line, "I can't promise you anything but I'll go ask. Who's asking for him?" He inquires, already uneasy at the thought of what he'll be met with in the kitchen.

"Mikey's girlfriend." You watch, in real time, as the poor guy's eyes hollow out in shock, his eyebrows raising impossibly high.

Despite being rattled by your response, he manages to clear his throat and murmur a quick, "Please wait here" before disappearing out of view.

Less than a minute later, the door to the kitchen swung open again, the man emerging from the kitchen shocking you with his lack of resemblance to Michael. Fair hair, bright blue eyes, overall soft features whereas Mikey was all sharp edges, dark brown hair and chocolate eyes.

He too, quite like his brother, is doing a poor job masking his confusion as he offers you a tattooed hand as a greeting, "Hi."

You take it, "Hi."

The rowdiness picks up yet again, causing Carmy to motion for you to follow him, "It's a little too loud in here." You nod and follow suit as he leads you out through a back exit to a fenced of area. He shuts the door, drowning out most of the noise before he turns back to face you, "Alright, tell me everything."

It takes all the will you have coupled with all the pride within you not to let yourself shed any tears as you sum up five of the best years of your life in front of this stranger. It gets especially hard when you see his eyes gloss over but you manage to keep it together. Your chest feels somewhat lighter once you bare one of the biggest secrets in your life, knowing there cannot be any repercussions now.

Because...well...he's gone.

"Fuck..." Is all Carmy can say to break the silence after you've concluded your story. His gaze is trained on the ground, his hand cupped around his mouth. He suddenly lifts his head to look at you, making you feel a little too exposed. Those eyes stare right through you. "Why didn't he ever tell us about you?"

You shrug, you have no real answer. You don't know why he would tell them but you're none the wiser as to why he didn't tell them either. So, you just stay quiet.

He nods, pausing for a second to collect his thoughts before speaking up again, "I-I gotta ask...did you suspect anything? Like, did you see any signs?"

You were expecting this. That doesn't mean it hurts any less to actually hear him ask it. You force yourself to inhale a shaky breath before replying, speaking around the knot in your throat, "No. I saw him that morning, he seemed fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. We were talking about the game. He was excited the Sox had won. He made us breakfast. I ironed his shirt for work and I sent him off. And...." You take a moment to maintain your composure, "...that was the last time I saw him."

"Fucking hell..." He sighs out, the curse pouring out from the depths of his soul. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, taking one and offering the pack to you, "You smoke?"

You shake your head, "Yeah, but I can't right now." You let out a bitter chuckle as you add on: "Last night...I found out I'm pregnant."

Carmy chokes on the puff he'd just inhaled, coughing out the smoke. He gives you a deer-in-headlights look, trying to gouge your reaction so he can mimic his accordingly. You help him out by giving him a slight smile, allowing him to reflect it back at you ten fold.

"No fucking way." He laughs, prompting you to nod, your eyes filling with tears for the millionth time today. He tosses his cigarette, motioning for you to approach him, "Come here." His arms wrap around you and you damn near break down, finally allowing yourself to shed those tears you've been holding back as you hug him back, squeezing him tightly.

You didn't realize how much you'd needed that hug, that comfort. You had no one to offer it to you. It's funny how quickly people can become important in our lives - in this case, only minutes after entering yours.

You're both startled when the door is thrown open revealing a man you don't recognize initially. His demeanor allows you to connect him to a name soon though.

"Cousin, what the fuck?! We're fighting a war in there...- oh, my bad." He straightens his attitude when he notices you, "Hi there."

Sniffling, Carmy wipes a stray tear before offering Richie a wide smile, "Cousin, we're gonna be uncles."

The confusion on his face provokes a laugh out of you, a genuine one at that. It's refreshing, nostalgic almost. And although you're well aware you'll have to retell your and Mikey's story several more times to catch people up to speed, you know that it'll be a little less dreadful each time.

* * * * *

It's over. The five minutes of utter hell and chaos are over.

You share a look of disbelief with Syd before bursting out in hysterical laughter, enveloping each other in a hug.

"We did it."

"We fucking did it."

Wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you beam up at Richie who is equally as high on the feel of accomplishment. His arms wrap around you so tightly, he momentarily lifts you off the ground.

It's finally the calm after the storm. You can finally relax without waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You rush out to the dining are, going straight to Sugar and Pete's table where your one year old son is being entertained by the couple, cackling as Pete tickles his feet.

"Hope he wasn't too much trouble." You say as you approach their side, your voice prompting Sugar to get up and practically tackle you with upmost joy.

"Great job back there, Y/N." She beams at you, holding your hands tightly when she pulls away.

"You too, mama." You smile back, resting a hand over her swollen belly just in time to feel a kick.

Turning back to Calvin, you see him making grabby hands at you, giggling when you pick him up, peppering kisses all over his face, "Hi, baby!" You coo to him, adjusting his surprisingly still clean shirt. A fancy one, curtesy of Richie. Him, Fak and Calvin are in matching suits tonight and it's the most adorable thing. "Wanna go see uncle Carmy?"

It's ridiculous you even asked. The little boy cheers happily, kicking his feet as you carry him back to the kitchen, stopping in front of the freezer door to knock on it.

"What?!" You hear Carmy's rough voice boom from inside.

"Carmy!" Calvin calls out to his uncle, his tiny hands tapping on the freezer door, "Hiiii!"

"Hi Baby Bear." His tone has softened now, raising to an octave higher, "Your mommy is a badass, you know that."

"Oh he knows." You reply, resting your forehead on the cool metal, "We did it, Carm. We took care of it. Everything's handled, don't worry." You take this moment of calmness on his end to reassure him that no matter what anxieties are plaguing him, everything is and will be fine.

"I know you did, Y/N. You're an awesome team. Just wish I was in the fire with you, you know?" He says through a shaky breath, causing your heart to ache.

"Oh this was just the frying pan, dude. You'll be there for the many fires to come." Your words are successful in making him laugh, bringing you relief.

"I cook too!" Calvin proudly proclaims, making you both chuckle.

"You'll cook too, Teddy Bear. You'll be the best fucking chef ever." You gave up a while ago trying to shield Calvin from the sailor mouths of the Berzatto family and the restaurant as a whole. If he has a potty mouth from a very early age, you'll just blame it on his dad and uncles.

You never dreamed you'd find yourself in the cahoots of such a batshit crazy and immensely loving family. It really makes you feel a sense of fulfillment looking back at how far you've come and look forward knowing that you'll never come to a point where you'll be alone.

You'll always have your son, the Berzattos and The Bear by your side.

#the bear #the bear fic #fx the bear #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto #michael berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto x reader #michael berzatto fanfic #mikey berzatto fanfic #michael berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto x reader #sydney adamu #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader #x reader

[golbrocklovely]

cultish love // colby brock

A/N: first off, so sorry for this being so late, i had a lot of things i had to edit about this fic. also this is my longest fic ever ! like the other fic before this, this is a AU version of colby… where he, you guessed it, is a cult leader. and he is also corrupt (but like aren't all cult leaders). again this deals with some possible heavy themes, so give a good read of the trigger warnings before reading ahead. i've always joked about colby being able to lead a cult, and that's basically where this idea came from. this fic also took a turn i wasn't expecting, but i like it anyway. also the first half is written as a journal entry (all italized) and then the rest is an actual fic (not italized). lmk what you think, and happy haunting !

prompt: you're a journalist, and your next big story is on the 'empathic love' cult, led by none other than colby brock. this cult is not known well, but you are getting a first hand look at them and what they do. and quickly, colby takes a liking to you. || fem!reader x AU!cult leader!colby brock

trigger warning: SMUT, no actual sex but you do get mentally fucked (it will make sense in the story), cult vibes all around, love bombing, cursing, supernatural powers, colby is very intense and kinda scary but also still his charming self, slight dubcon similar in vain to sam's story - you never say no outright, but you do have general feelings of 'wtf is this, idk if i like' so if that's too much for you, feel free to read something else :), colby's aura is crazy good at giving you visions, strangers-to-soulmates?? don't know if that's a tag lol, also…. colby's technically bisexual in this????? but like barely

word count: 8610

I've been a reporter for only five years, and this story.... it could make or break my career. Cults aren't as prevalent as they once were way back when. They still exist, just in the shadows. A lot quieter on most fronts. Usually disguised as a business or religion, for tax reasons of course. But this cult, Empathic Love, is unlike any cult I've heard of.

Of course, they don't call themselves a cult, but that's what they are. How else would you describe a bunch of randos following one man around wherever he goes?

They only started so many years ago, right before I graduated university. The main founder, Colby Brock, is a pragmatic individual, according to his followers. The cult began blowing up in my town a little over two years ago, and now people flock from all over the world to visit the Love Compound. You would think it's Disney World the way people grow excited about it.

But I am here to get to the truth of this cult. What is their motive? What are they planning to do? Will this be another Waco or Heaven's Gate? What sinister beliefs hide underneath the modern-day hippie aesthetic they show?

These notes will document everything I experience for the next couple of days. And in case I go missing, these are my proof of who's to blame.

I don't think it will go that far, but you can never be too sure.

~~~~

Day 1 - Investigation

I'm still incredibly surprised I was allowed to come onto the Love Compound. The leader himself apparently reached out to my boss and told them that they wanted someone to come down and interview the group. They allow visitors from time to time, "new recruits" as some of the townspeople call them, but reporters have never been allowed in. Not once. Until me.

Driving up to the compound was nerve-wracking. I never imagined I would be nervous; I've interviewed plenty of criminals in my years, have done full blown investigations into scary, horrifying crimes. But something about this place freaked me out. Partially because I didn't know what I was getting into. But another part of me, and I will never admit this out loud, felt... at home.

The only promise I made to myself was I wouldn’t drink any kool-aid while there. So, I plan to stick to that. Pretend my previous statement never existed.

I was greeted by a beautiful woman when I got there: Avery. No one went by last names. And some apparently changed their names altogether, which was not surprising. My guess is there were most likely criminals hanging out amongst the group. But I had no proof of that, just a hunch. It easily could be a safe haven for those wanting to escape whatever life they had before.

The compound was three Victorian style mansions connected to each other and had a decent size farm attached - about 222 acres. Avery told me about all of the vegetables and chickens they farmed. Everything was organic and used up as often as possible. Anything that couldn't be eaten or produced too much for the only 100ish people in the compound, was sold at the farmer's market or given away to the local food bank. Avery explained to me very clearly that everyone in the compound chipped in one way or another. Some still worked normal jobs, but just lived here with everyone. But she noted that Colby hoped in the near future no one would have to work at all and they would be self-sufficient in a couple years.

A cult with future plans? Almost unheard of.

I told Avery that I was given an all-access pass to ask anything I wanted to, and nothing I asked could be ignored or deflected. She agreed to an interview. I recorded all of it, but here are the highlights of what I gathered.

I asked her why Colby was such a secretive man. There were very few photos of him that did exist out there, but all that was rumored about him was his alluring eyes and generally attractive presence. She agreed that he was handsome, describing his as having "ocean blue eyes" and his voice was to die for. "Deep and arousing", as she explained.

I noted that she seemed almost lost in thought at the idea of him, like she was envisioning him directly in front of her. Strange behavior; but not for a cult follower. Many end up falling in love with their leader, believing they have a genuine relationship with said person.

I bought up the name of the group, Empathic Love, and said it felt a little too inviting. She laughed and told me that it was right on the money - the best way to describe why everyone was there. She expressed to me that so many of Colby's followers wanted peace and love and light, and that being in this group felt like that. It was rewarding to be surrounded by those that cared and wanted to see each other succeed. Life outside the walls of the compound was rough, scary, draining; but inside, it was all love.

Call me cynical, but I don't believe that for a second. It took all the strength I had to keep from rolling my eyes at her. But I could tell from her voice, her motions... she was telling the truth. Well, her truth.

I wanted to know what brought her here, so she spoke of her previous life. She was abused growing up, moved around a lot in foster care. She was almost homeless, and then one day she ran into Colby. He had just begun the Empathic Love group, and she just knew she had to stick with him. Her life immediately turned around the moment he was in her life. The adoration in her eyes told me a different story, so I pressed her - "are you and Colby... together?" She smiled and said no, but she knew that they were life partners before, just not currently.

Oh... so it's one of those types of cults.

She said that Colby doesn't have a second in command, wife, girlfriend, whatever. Everyone is equal and heard. He's just the face of the group, which is a bit ironic given even I have no clue what he looks like. I knew he was young, in his mid-20s. But other than that, no idea.

I needed to know, why stay? What keeps you here? A dreamy look came over her, like she had said this a million times before: "Colby. He is love, and that's all anyone could ask for."

Chills ran up my spine at the tone of her voice. It was dull, and her words sounded like a mantra, the way she said them so easily.

I wrapped up my interview with her, quiring if I was allowed to interview others. She said yes and began sending over random people one-by-one to me.

If I hadn't gotten chills from her first, I would have from everyone else. Something about seeing everyone saying similar things, smiling happily, like the ship isn't sinking around them was eerie. It made my stomach churn when I would ask questions I already asked Avery, and get almost the same speech back.

I interviewed about 15 people. All variety of ages and genders. I suddenly realized that there were no children around, and everyone was over the age of 21.

Consenting adults… minus the supposed brainwashing.

A couple of the interviewees stuck out to me:

Penelope, 25. Her upbringing was similar to Avery's, but she still kept in contact with her family. Apparently, she wasn't the only one like that either. Many still kept in touch and even visited their loved ones. I asked her to describe Colby, tell me anything about him. She giggled, almost like a schoolgirl, and began to weave such a story about him. He was kind and caring. His smile was contagious, just like his laugh. And his singing voice was fantastic. She talked about him like he was a boy band member, and she was his biggest fan. I asked her to give one word to describe him, and she said "Love. He is love, and that's all anyone could ask for."

Greg, 36. He had fallen into rough times, and desired a fresh start. He had heard about this group online, and figured checking them out while he was in town wouldn't hurt. And that was a couple years ago. I wondered why he didn't feel weird listening to someone that was younger than him, and he shrugged. It was nice not having eyes on him. He loved being in a wallflower, and he believed that Colby deserved all the love he got from everyone in the group. Every ounce he got was ten-folded back into the group. Greg had never felt so connected to a group of people and he knew it was all thanks to Colby. "He brought love into my life like I never have had it before. Because that's who he is: love."

Heather, 29. She mentioned how for most of her life she felt like shit. Her confidence was at an all-time low when she met Colby. He encouraged her to keep at it, to love herself and find happiness everywhere. And by spending more and more time with him, she did. She has never felt more confident about herself, her life, her direction, and Colby is the reason for that. The tone that took over her voice when she bought him up was odd. It was very similar to a partner describing the love of their life, almost like wedding vows. I asked her haphazardly about her love life, how that was going for her. And she told me she had been on many dates - something she never used to do back when she was younger or before Colby. But she did note that regardless of who she ends up with, she knows that a part of her heart will always belong to Colby. They were connected, forever. "Love and light and happiness is what I desired, and I got it - all because Colby exists in my life now."

It felt like I was getting nowhere with some of these interviews. Many said the same thing, Colby being love and light and blah blah blah. I wanted someone that wasn't gonna just quote to me whatever mantra he made them learn. And luck was on my side, because I was able to interview their newest member, Ash. They were 23, and very beautiful. There was an almost smugness about them, like they knew they were the shiny new toy on the block. The confidence only a young 20-something year old could have.

I asked them, point blank, about Colby. Be brutally honest. They told me he was hot, and that's what drew them to him. They liked the idea of living in a group setting, especially since they grew up with many brothers and sisters. They liked helping out, and they liked knowing that Colby was keeping an eye on them the most recently. I then followed up with how long it took for them to join the group. "Three days. That's how long it takes for everyone."

I questioned them about the "Colby is love" thing, and they agreed it was a bit strange, but they couldn't help but feel the same way as everyone else. They were like a moth to a flame when it came to him. Everything about him was hypnotizing, entrancing. It was like staring at the sun; even though you knew to look away, you just couldn't help it.

Then I had to know: were they sleeping with him? Most of these cults feed off of the leader fucking every person they wanted to and leaving other members high and dry. But for some reason, it felt as if Colby was sleeping with everyone with the way they all talked about him. Ash dissented, saying no one was sleeping with him. He didn't sleep with any of his followers. But they all shared a deep, sensual mental connection with him. They felt like, sometimes, he was in their soul. And that sensation alone was euphoric, bordering on orgasmic. They also knew that in another life, they would have been together, similar to what Avery said.

It was then I knew that this group was clinically insane, or just really infatuated by what Colby was selling. It had to have been some crazy brainwashing. But it was odd; people were allowed to leave, to see loved ones, to have lives outside of the compound walls. Hell, some had dating lives that included those not here! That's unheard of, and completely stupid on Colby's part if he wants to keep things going.

A cult leader that wanted to watch his world implode.... I had to meet him. I had to meet the myth that was Colby Brock. And tomorrow I get my chance to.

~~~~

Day 2 - Interview with Colby

I feel the need to explain that these are my notes, not really meant for anyone else to see. And really, the only reason anyone would be seeing this is if I disappear or got murdered.

So, I say all of that just so I know, for myself, that this is a safe space for me to express my truest emotions and thoughts after interviewing Colby.

And all I can say, honestly, is that... I get it. I understand it now.

I felt my nerves hit their break last night before going to sleep, unable to stop my mind reeling from what was to come. I ended up bringing along a bodyguard, or really a photographer. I had known Trey since I started working as a journalist, and I knew I could rely on him to get us out of the Empathic Love compound if anything went south. I wasn't sure what I was up against when I went to interview Colby, but God... I didn't think I was so underprepared.

I met him in his office, Avery walked me over to it. It was up in the attic of the third house. It overlooked the entire property with wide windows. For an attic, I expected it to feel dark and dusty, but surprisingly it was light and airy. Almost like being out in the woods and taking a deep breath.

Colby was sitting in his main office chair. He spun around to see us, a light smile on his face. I'll be honest - I was taken aback by his beauty. I understood Ash's whole spiel about him being attractive and looking at him was like looking at the sun. It was intense. He was intense. His blue eyes bore into me, almost like they could see through me. I felt chills, but they weren't of fear. It was out of... excitement, of awe.

He greeted me, giving me a warm handshake. I hate to admit that I almost blushed at the sound of him saying my name. I had to take a couple deep breaths before starting. Avery left the room, and Trey sat outside the door, in case of backup.

I recorded our interview, knowing that I couldn't keep track of everything he said. But listening back to it now, his voice.... it's like a song. A beautiful, spellbinding song. I could almost fall asleep to it....

I asked him about his life, and how he came to be a leader for a group like Empathic Love. He spoke of his upbringing lightly, barely scraping the surface. He talked about growing up pretty normally, having a loving family, a great friend group, and then one day realizing that he could make a change in the world. That many people loved him and loved being around him. And that's when he knew that if he could make their lives better, he would. So, he started Empathic Love. Originally, it was just gonna be a safehouse for those that needed it. But then more and more people joined and suddenly, it grew into what it was today.

I asked where his family was now. "In Kansas," he told me. He said nothing further than that.

He humbly spoke of all the love he received from his followers, or his "friends" as he put it. They all cared about him in a way that he only wished he could return tenfold. I questioned him about the whole "Colby is love" thing. "How come everyone says almost the exact same thing, like they've been brainwashed into saying it?" He didn't even trip over his words as he spoke matter-of-factly to me. "I didn't come up with that phrase, they did. You would have to ask them. I take it as the highest form of a compliment, truly. I'll be honest, it's a bit embarrassing at times when they call me that, but I can't help what they do. I appreciate their love, nonetheless."

I continued asking him about different topics, until finally reaching the one I was most intrigued about. "How many of your followers - excuse me - friends, have you slept with?" He smirked, smirked, at me and said "None. Did any of them tell you that we slept together?"

"No, but the way they talk about you like the sun shines out of your ass does seem a bit odd, don't you think?"

He looked unphased. God, he had an answer for everything. "I'll be honest with you, some of my friends might be in love with me. But I make it abundantly clear that while I love them, and love their love, I don't have feelings for them. I'm still looking for the one."

I remember holding back a glare, "So, you're celibate?"

"Now, I never said that." He let out a chuckle, then his eyes darkened. "Why do you care so much about my sex life? Unless of course, you want to join it."

I tried ignoring his gaze and his words but stuttered through my next question. “Then who exactly is the right one for you, if it's not one of your followers or friends?”

It took him a while to answer, he even closed his eyes for a bit. He sat up once he knew, sauntering over to his window that overlooked it all. "I imagine the one for me is someone that will bring peace to me and my life. Someone that for all my faults, can see who I am truly deep down. She will love me, and I will worship her. I will show her what true love feels like. Our souls will be one, because they always have been."

Something strange came over me. I don't know why I said it, but I uttered, "What about looks?"

Who cares about looks! Why did I ask about looks? I was a serious journalist, not a reporter for Star Magazine!

He looked over his shoulder at me, "Looks aren't that important to me. What matters is mind and soul. Who you are deep down. But if I had to pick… someone like you. I feel someone like you would be a perfect fit around here."

I wanted to give him the sassiest voice and rebuttal I could muster, but deep down I was shaking. Energy raced through my body, like I had been electrified.

He kept his back to me, staring out the window. “I'm not trying to be overly complimentary. I'm just being honest. But I can tell that you would do so well to have us around. To have... me, in your life. I bring a lot of love to people's lives, that's for sure. But I also bring a lot of drive, and passion, and intimacy.”

Intimacy?

“People open up when I'm around. They tell me everything, even things they never dreamt of telling another person. And I allow it, because clearly, they needed to express it. And once they do, it's like the floodgates open. Love and light just start pouring into them, into their life, and it's overwhelming - but so worth it. Doesn't that sound nice?”

I guess so...

“I bring happiness to so many. My friends have told me that they get jittery around me, I'm like a shot of adrenaline. And that energy, that power, courses through them. And when it gets expressed, it comes out in…” He took a long pause, turning back to me. The look in his eyes… I can remember it as if he was still in front of me. “Pleasurable ways.”

I hate admitting this, and it's embarrassing to say it even now, but I felt a jolt of... something, run through me. I won't even say what it was out loud, in fear of never being taken seriously again. But what happened after that, I don't know if words can even express it well.

Colby continued talking, but I couldn't pick up on any of it. He was talking up a storm, but I couldn't help the sensations I was feeling. Even in my wildest of fantasies, I've never felt anything in reality. It was all in my mind. But in that very moment, it felt like it was happening to me.

I felt lips tread up my neck, stopping just below my ear. A hot, low moan breathed into my ear. My spine tingled at the sound, my hands gripping the armrests of the chair. If I didn't know any better, I would think Colby was behind me, making those noises. My hands suddenly felt hands on top of them. My eyes widened, looking down, but nothing was there. I couldn't really move my arms once the invisible hands were there. My whole body felt numb and heavy, relaxed. My mind was the one on edge, worried as to why I was feeling all of this.

I hadn't eaten or drank anything at the compound. Maybe it was being poured into the room by the vents? I don't know, but something was making me feel this way.

The invisible hands drifted up my arms, massaging my shoulders for a moment. My head lulled back, almost hitting the back of the chair. My mind was on high alert, but my body was about ready to fall asleep. The hands relaxed me so much that my eyes began to flutter.

But then... they drifted down my torso. They traced along my neck gently, drawing small, insignificant patterns. The hands grew lower and lower until they finally were on my chest. I felt the hands cup my breasts softly, my breath hitching in my throat. They kneaded my tits gingerly, my nipples hardening in my bra. I bit my lip, praying that I wouldn't make a sound. It was hard not to, especially when the delicate fingers of these invisible hands found my nipples, gently pinching them.

I remember closing my eyes tight. Trying to clear my mind. This wasn't actually happening to me. There was no way. This was a psychosis or a drug hallucination that was happening to me and Colby was doing nothing about it.

One hand drifted down my body, stopping right above my sex. I suddenly became very aware at how wet I was, my eyes widening. I felt a rush of blood flow through my cheeks. I was about to get caught. These invisible hands made me wet, and I couldn't stop them.

And the terrible thing was, I didn't want them to. I wanted them to finish the job. To get me off... in front of Colby. One hand rose back up my body, grabbing my neck and turning my face to look up at him.

A deep voice whispered harshly, "You want him, don't you?"

I didn't say anything, afraid of what would come out. But deep down, I knew.

"Say it, and it's yours. Say you want him. And he'll have you... forever."

I opened my mouth. I felt the words almost leave my lips. I stuttered out something. I closed my eyes, my body feeling high.

And then in a split second, it was all gone. The room grew quiet, and Colby cleared his throat. "Y/N, are you okay? You look flush."

I jolted out of my seat, being able to move freely again. I looked around and realized Colby was sitting once more, staring at me concerned. I finished the interview abruptly, saying I had everything I needed - even though I definitely didn't. And then he uttered words I wish I didn't hear.

"If you want, come back tomorrow. We are having a celebration here. I would love if you came by, even if for an hour."

I nodded, not even really taking in what he said, and left. Trey was confused as to why I bum-rushed out of the room, but I never told him the truth. How could I?

I knew deep down I shouldn't have said yes to go to the party. But getting that footage would be killer for my article. Interviews are great, but a party at a cult compound? That's bound to end terribly (for Colby, but great for me).

But something in me can't shake this feeling that I basically signed myself up for the end. End of what? I'm not sure. But I'll find out tomorrow.

~~~~~~

Stepping back onto the compound made my heart race. I was nervous as all hell, and just wanted this day to be over with already. Today was my last day doing this story. I was counting the minutes to when I could go back to my office and write about how this place was insane, or whatever narrative I planned to write.

I had enough proof that something was up here. All I needed to do was a bit more digging. And during the party is when I planned to do it.

Avery walked up to me, smiling brightly. "Hey, Y/N! How are you doing today?"

"I'm okay. I know it's a bit early, but Colby never specified when the party was going to take place." I replied.

"No, you're totally fine. The party is gonna happen later. Right now, though, we have something going on that you'll definitely want to see." She clapped excitedly.

"Oh? And what is that?" I questioned.

"We are inducting a new member!" she exclaimed giddily. "There's a whole process that we do, and everyone is involved. I imagine that will bode well for your article if you see it firsthand. It's all taking place in that tent."

I stared over at the huge tent, its plastic cover doors strangely inviting.

I hummed, "Sure, I'll be there in a moment."

Avery nodded, turning on her heels and prancing over to the tent, following in other members.

"What's happening in there?" Trey asked.

"Apparently they are inducting someone new into their cult." I informed him.

He blinked. "Group, you mean."

I rolled my eyes, "Yeah, whatever. Make sure to capture as much as you can."

He shook his camera, giving me a wink, "On it."

We both walked in, many members still up and around, giving everyone hugs and chatting. Avery waved me down, patting the seat next to her. I walked over and sat. My body tingled in anticipation. I wasn't sure what was going to happen. My breathing picked up as everyone grew silent, the doors opening. Colby walked in, and people rushed to their seats.

Colby called out, "Hello everyone, good morning."

"Good morning, Colby." Everyone said in unison.

Jesus, that was creepy.

"A lot of things are going to be different today. First, we have guests watching our festivities. Y/N and Trey. Everyone, give them a hand." He gestured to the two of us.

The tent exploded in applause, Avery evening rubbing my back sweetly. It felt like I was being congratulated on something I didn't achieve, my cheeks flushing at the acknowledgement.

"And secondly, sadly, the new member we were going to have decided not to stay." He frowned, his face dropping.

Members gasped, some audible "oh no" echoed around the tent. Colby nodded his head sympathetically. “I know, but fret not. I think this will be a learning experiment for our new guests. We can still do our traditional motions of having someone join us. But, imagine it as if it's a mock ceremony instead. Ms. Y/N, would you please step up here?”

My heart stopped when he looked into my eyes, the first time since yesterday. I glanced at Avery, who grinned enthusiastically. She pushed me out of my seat, my body following her lead. I gazed around, finding Trey, who pulled away from his camera with a concerned look. I stumbled up the walkway, stepping on stage with Colby.

Colby lowered his voice so I could only hear him, moving away from the microphone. "I know you wanted to know about how we induct someone into our little home, so I figured why not use you as an example? We aren't actually inducting you, in case you’re worried. This is just what would happen if you were joining. Are you okay with that?"

I gazed around the huge, white tent, making eye contact with many people in the audience. They all looked so eager, waiting to hear my response. Some were even shaking with excitement.

I stuttered, feeling Colby squeeze my hands to bring my attention back to him, "I-I guess so."

"Fantastic." He turned, still holding one of my hands, "Alright everyone, you know the drill."

The crowd cheered, suddenly many lining up to a microphone at the side of the stage. Colby lightly pulled me to a cushioned throne, sitting me down. "So here's what's going to happen. People are going to come up to that microphone, and they are going to give you plenty of love. Genuine love. And then the next person will go, and so on until everyone has spoken."

"Everyone here? Like, all hundred plus of you?" I whispered.

"Yes. It's gonna be a while, so get cozy." He laughed, rubbing my shoulders.

Time felt frozen as slowly everyone came up and said something nice about me. Some were quick, mostly just commenting on how nicely I dressed or how the stories I had covered in the past were interesting and thoughtful. But others, it's like they could see into my soul and point out the exact thing I was insecure about. Everyone was complimentary and it was nice, but exhausting.

The line had dwindled down, and the next person to speak was Avery.

She stepped up the microphone, giving me a huge smile. "Hi, Y/N. I know we don't know each other that well, but I feel like I've known you my whole life. These couple days of getting to know you, being interviewed by you, have just been the highlight of my life. You are such a lovely presence to be around, and you deserve all the success you've gotten these last couple years."

Lots of people in the crowd nodded, agreeing with Avery. She continued, taking a deep breath, "I wanted to add - you are so deserving of love. You are easy to love too, and I hope that you are surrounded by people that make you feel that way. I know that this is just a mock ceremony, but I truly believe you would be such a great addition to us. I know you don't trust us, but I hope that soon you will find that you have a safe place here. Even if you never come back here again. This is your home now, and forever will be."

My chest heaved suddenly, tears welling up in my eyes. What the fuck is happening right now? Why was I crying at what she said? Sure, it was sweet and kind, but... how did she know I needed to hear that?

I turned my head, wiping the tears before anyone could see them fall. The crowd clapped as Avery left, going back to her seat.

The last couple people were a blur, my mind still hanging onto Avery's words. Suddenly, a hand was placed on my shoulder, jolting me out of my thoughts. I gazed up, seeing Colby's beautiful face staring down at me.

"The ceremony is done. Now, time to party."

~~~~~~

It had been a couple hours since the ceremony, my body feeling almost numb but jittery all at the same time. It was hard to shake all the love and words that were thrown my way today. Sure, some were probably just lying and saying random things because they had to, because they were conditioned to. But it freaked me out how some just... hit the right spots, knew my insecurities.

The party itself was fine. Two of the houses had parties happening in them, and since all three houses were connected, you could leave one and walk into another. There was a dancefloor full of people, and multiple fully stocked bars. Tons of food was at each table. It honestly looked like an adult prom. But I wasn't in a partying mood. Trey, on the other hand, was enjoying himself immensely. Girls and guys surrounded him, laughing at his jokes and bringing him plates of food and wine. One girl kept rubbing his thigh, staring at him longingly.

I wanted to leave. I had had enough of today, and I just wanted to be as far away from Empathic Love as I could be. I decided fresh air was what I needed, so I got up and slid out the back door of one of the houses, taking a deep breath. There were still too many people around, but I noticed the last house, the one with Colby's office in it, had no lights on and no one around it. I walked through the yards, stopping once I was by the back porch of the third house.

I sighed, leaning back against a railing. I could still hear the party going on, almost getting louder now that I wasn't there. I shook my head, feeling overwhelmed.

“Hey, Y/N. Fancy seeing you here." Colby's voice broke through my thoughts.

I exhaled. “Hi, Colby.”

He cocked his head, “Are you doing okay? You seem... upset.”

I felt this sudden rush of anger, knowing in reality he was to blame for all of this. “No, I'm not doing alright. I want to go home, I'm extremely overwhelmed by this party and all the people around here. That ceremony was too much for me to deal with, and the only way for me to get out of here is Trey and he's getting rubbed down by your followers!”

He took a step back, putting his hands up defensively. “Woah, that was a lot. You must have needed that release.”

I glared, “You think?”

“Look, I get it. It's a lot to take in. I myself don't love going to all these parties. It can be really overwhelming and if I'm honest, it gives me a lot of anxiety,” he admitted casually.

“You get anxiety?” I scoffed, “How? Everyone here loves you.”

“I know. That's the stressful part!” He sat on the railing, turning to me. “I'm the leader of this family. I have to make all the right decisions, and sometimes that means upsetting some of the people closest to me. Not to mention, so many eyes are on me, and it's just all too much sometimes. Even if you think this group is a cult, I still care for everyone here. I make sure they are fed, have a job, and have a life outside of here. And that's a lot to take on.”

“How do you deal with all of it, then?” I questioned.

“Patience. And a lot of alone time when I can get it - through meditation, specifically,” he laughed. “I was actually going to go meditate before I found you. Would you like to join me?”

I shook my head. “No, I'm good.”

“Are you sure? Look, at the very least, it will get you away from the party and all the noise. You don't even have to join me, you can just... sit in the room with me while I do it.” He argued, shrugging his shoulders.

I gazed at the party, everyone had grew rowdier while we were talking, and I didn't even notice. But my head felt like it was spinning from the noise alone. I sighed, nodding my head. Colby smiled, opening the door to the house, and I walked in first. I followed him up to his office, sitting down on his couch as he sat in the center of the room on the floor.

I raised an eyebrow. “That's where you meditate?”

“Yeah, I know it's a bit silly. But I feel so much more grounded... on the ground.” He replied cheekily.

I snickered, sitting back and watching him. He crossed his legs, resting his palms on his knees. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He took multiple breaths until they were low and shallow. I furrowed my brow, my eyes never leaving his form.

It almost seemed like he was asleep, or in a hypnosis of some sort. He was completely still and silent. A dull glow appeared at the top of his head, growing brighter and larger. I leaned away from him, my eyes widening at the sight. What the fuck is that...?

An aura grew around him, surrounding him completely. He didn't move, unfazed by it. His eyes remained closed, and with each breath it grew.

"How... are you doing that?" I uttered, my mouth a gape.

"Doing what?" He spoke in a monotone voice.

"That... aura. How are you doing that?" I pressed.

“I've always been able to do it since I was young. You can get closer if you want to.” He suggested.

How did he know I was still far away?

I stepped off the couch, moving closer to him. I kept my distance, but the aura was almost pulling me in. It was beautiful, the light reflecting and growing bigger. I was almost engulfed by it, but it stopped right before getting to me. I could feel its warmth, its energy. It was calling to me, beckoning me to step towards it.

The aura wrapped around me, filling me with light and love. Or at least that's what it felt like. I gasped at the sensation, my legs shaking underneath me. I breathed in deeply, my lungs filling up with fresh air. I didn't feel like I was in the room anymore. I felt like I was flying, the world almost zooming around me.

“Let your body relax, Y/N. I know it's so much to take in.” Colby’s calming voice spoke.

I felt my body give out on me, falling onto the soft rug. I laid down on my back, staring up at the ceiling. Visions began to swirl in my mind and around me.

How is any of this happening?

He answered, reading my mind. “Because of me. Because of us. Because of the connection you and I share.”

My body felt very heavy, unable to move even if I wanted to. I could move my eyes, and out of the corner of them, I saw Colby stand up. The aura remained around us, almost engulfing the entire room.

“You know, I knew the moment you stepped foot on to the compound's grounds, you were going to like it here. You were going to stay.” He smiled sincerely, gazing down at my body.

I blinked, confused. “What? I-I don't plan to-“

He cut me off, “This is the final step, Y/N. Everyone gave you love, people celebrated you, and now... I'm allowing you in.”

I wanted to shake my head, but couldn’t. “But I don't want to join.”

He chuckled, “Yes you do. If you didn't want it, none of this would have worked on you. You wouldn't be seeing what is directly in front of your eyes.”

The visions morphed around me, suddenly showing Colby and I. But we weren't us, we were different people, at a different point in time. But I could feel it was us. We were in love, growing a family together. Our lives were beautiful.

What the fuck is this?

“That is our past, or present, or future,” he winked. “The thing is, Y/N, I never seek out anyone. They all seem to find me.”

“That's not true, you emailed my boss about being interviewed.” I remarked.

"Oh, you are so forgetful, Y/N. You emailed us, begging to interview me and anyone else that said yes. I only agreed because I knew you wanted to meet with me. You sounded very eager to join in your email." Colby pulled out a piece of paper, reading from it happily, "Dear whoever reads this, I'm hoping to score an interview with your group, Empathic Love, for an article I am writing. I would love to meet Colby, and really pick apart his brain on why he created said group. Maybe I could even join if you guys win me over. Please let me know if any of this sounds of interest to you. Sincerely, Y/N of Global Gazette."

He leaned down, staring into my eyes mischievously, "Now does that sound like someone that didn't want to be here?"

My heart raced, suddenly scared. “Why don't I remember writing that?”

“I couldn't tell you. All I know is you wanted to be here. And there's a reason for it.” He sat down on the ground next to me. I wanted to get up and run, but my body stayed still, heavy. “Growing up, I realized very early on that certain people just... gravitated to me. A lot of women, yes. But really it was anyone. And not only did they gravitate towards me, they became obsessed with me. At first, I was confused, uninterested in ever going through that. Who wants someone obsessed with them? But then I realized how much good I could do with so many people rallying behind me.”

He continued, “As I got older, my ability, or power, or whatever it is - grew twice as strong. Suddenly, all the people around me followed me, did anything and everything I could ask for. Then, I began getting visions, and I understood why this was the case. Everyone here: we had a past life together. Their souls and mine have always been connected. They find me and then continue to stay. And almost always, they fall in love with me. It's just so glorious.”

“You're insane.” I mumbled.

He hummed, “Interesting, especially since you’re seeing the same things I am.”

It was true. The whole time he spoke, I saw vision after vision of our past lives together. We were always destined to meet, destined to be with one another.

“But the thing is, I know you're different from all the rest. You and I, we are meant to be together forever. You are meant to love me forever, and I am meant to love you. That's why my abilities affect you so greatly.” Colby divulged.

“What if I say no? What if I want to leave?” I grunted, trying to shake free.

“You've had the ability to go all this time. You just don't want to. You know how much love I can give you. You know how much pleasure I can give you as well.” He bit his lip, his eyes snaking up and down my body, “You've known that since yesterday, haven't you?”

Blood rushed to my cheeks, memories of yesterday played in my head.

“And do you know what’s crazy about that? That's not even half the pleasure I can give you.” Colby kneeled next to me, a devilish smile on his lips. His hand lightly brushed my face, cupping my warm cheek sweetly.

A burst of arousal raced through me, my body spasming in ecstasy. “Oh my God!”

“I know, it's a lot to take in. But I just want to make you feel good, darling. You deserve it.” He leaned in slowly, “You are mine, after all.”

"This is what your followers meant by a deep and sensual mental connection," I groaned, feeling hands all over my body, touching me in the most lustful of ways. "You got inside their heads and mentally fucked them."

“...That's one way of wording it. But if they didn't trust me, if they didn't already want me, it wouldn't happen.” He winced playfully, “So in reality, it's your fault.”

“Fuck you.” I growled.

“But baby, that's what's happening,” Colby laughed darkly. “Those hands, those kisses and bites... that's all mine. I can tell you're losing it. You want me real bad, but you don't want to admit it. I get it, you’re overwhelmed.”

I felt like my body was getting electrocuted with pleasure. My hips grinded into the air, needing some form of relief. My nipples strained against my bra, wanting any form of touch. I closed my eyes tightly, embarrassment rolling through me as I felt my damp panties against my sex.

Fuck, he was right. I did want this, and him.

I didn't even need to say it out loud. Suddenly I felt a cock slid inside of me, too easily from how wet I had become. I ripped my eyes open, looking around. Colby was watching me from his chair, smirking.

He palmed his hardening dick through his jeans. “Imagine how much better it would be if I was actually inside of you, filling you up with every. fucking. inch.”

I thought about screaming Trey’s name. Maybe he could help me.

He grimaced, rolling his eyes. “He won’t do anything for you, sweetheart. He joined our group just a couple weeks ago. Right around the time you sent the email. So really, you have all the more reason to join us.”

“Even if I join this cult, I will never stay here. I will leave here and never come back.” I hissed.

“And that is your choice to make. But Y/N,” his gaze lowered at me, his eyes intense. “You will never be satisfied. You got barely a taste of what I can offer you, and you're gonna want it forever. Just like everyone else here.”

“You're a- fuuuuuucckk!” I moaned, the cock inside of me hitting my spot deeper. I caught my breath, glaring at him. “Y-You're a freak.”

“Says the girl almost coming to my invisible dick.” He spat, clenching his jaw.

I bit my lip, annoyed at how right he was. The hands exploring my body gripped my ass, slapping it lustfully.

“Okay, okay. I'll agree with you. I am a bit of a freak of nature. But let's not act like I'm some monster. I let people leave. But they always come back because they choose to. I can't force people that far. Pinky promise,” He stuck his pinky out, and I rolled my eyes defiantly. He huffed, “It's not like this place is Scientology, for Christ's sake. We are love. I am love.”

“You are the most tainted form of love that I've ever met.” I retorted, gripping the rug to hide my building arousal.

He deadpanned, “Ow. That hurt.”

Colby strutted over to me, laying down right beside me. The pleasure grew more intense, my hips bucking desperately. His one hand hovered over me, never touching me. It didn't matter, because having him this close felt like his whole body was on top of mine, fucking me hastily.

“If you allow yourself to enjoy this feeling, you might actually come. Because I won't force you to. I'll just keep you here, for hours, riving in pleasure until your brain melts into goo.” He smirked, “How's that sound?”

"I-I hate you." I gritted my teeth. Why did I feel like I was lying?

"No you don't. But soon you'll be able to admit the truth." He leaned his mouth in close, his voice low and sincere, "I know that this place might not be what you imagined your home to be like, but it is. You will always have a place here. You will always be loved here. And I know that's what you want deep down. To be loved unconditionally. To have every fiber of your being satisfied. And if you let me, I will do that. I will please you every night, however you want me to. But for me to do that, you have to let me in. You have to let love in."

The cock inside of me pounded faster and faster. I could barely think anymore. The only thing on my mind... was him. The lives we had together, the life we could be having. I knew I shouldn't want it, but I did. I wanted him in my life, forever. He was what was missing, and I couldn't live one more day without him.

I mewled loudly, my hips thrusting up erotically. Colby's hand cupped my face gently, turning my head to look him in the eyes.

His alluring eyes stared deep into mine, his jaw clenched. "You will always be mine. I am love, and that is all you could ask for."

"You are love, and that's all I could ask for." I repeated mindlessly, grabbing onto his arm desperately.

His face softened, “That's right baby. You're such a good girl for me. My good girl, forever. You want that, don't you?”

“Yessss, please Colby. I want to be yours forever.” I keened.

"You will be. I promise, you will always be mine." His eyes darkened, the pupils almost completely blown out. "You will never leave."

"I won't!" I trembled, my orgasm building closer and closer to the edge.

“You wanna come, Y/N? Get close for me. Don't I feel so good inside of you? You like when I do this?” Colby's hand snaked down my body, rubbing my clit sensually.

I begged wantonly, dying to come. "Pleaseeeeee! Please let me come! I need it! I need you."

"Of course you do, baby. You and I need each other. Our connection is unlike anyone else's. Tell me the truth and I'll let you come." He leaned in close, his lips brushing against my ear, "Tell me, baby. Say it..."

"I love you," I cried out, right on the edge. I direly wanted him to say it back, knowing it was already the truth.

“I love you too, baby,” he smiled sweetly, kissing my cheek. “Now, come for me.”

Hot, white pleasure shot through my body. I had the strongest orgasm of my life, my mind shattering as I rode every wave of pleasure that went through me. Colby stayed by my side, shushing me as my high lowered down more and more. He kept whispering 'I love you' repeatedly, my mind unable to hear or think anything else after a while.

I blacked out at some point but awoke when my body was lifted off the floor and placed softly into a bed. “Wha... happenin?” I slurred.

“Relax, darling. I just brought you to my bed. Well, our bed now,” he chuckled. “I want you to get your rest because tomorrow is a big day for you.”

“What's tomorrow?” I murmured.

“Your introduction to everyone as my soulmate.” Colby informed happily, tucking me in. “Everyone will be so pleased that you changed your mind about joining us.”

I nodded my head, snuggling deep into his bed. He dimmed the lights, whispering softly, "Welcome home, Y/N."

#colby brock #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock x reader #colby brock smut #colby brock one shot #colby brock oneshot #golbrocklovely's 13 nights of halloween

[solomons-finest-rum]

Hello to one of my favourite Alfie fic writers! Since you're taking requests, I'd like to make one as well.

I don't know how it works but how about a scenario/imagine where Tommy gets in some kind of trouble (as always) and Alfie suggests that his lovely gangster wife could help and goes to introduce them but as it turns out it's none other than the Shelby's sister/cousin/relative/friend/or maybe even an ex? (Your call one this one) who they thought was dead or something?

Idk if it's even worth your time and effort but I just wanted to make a request ;) No pressure, of course!

Love you and your writing a lot!

“As The Crow Flies” (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader) — PART 1

SUMMARY — By all accounts Anna Gray died in Australia and had no business standing in Alfie’s living room, nor calling the man “darling” for that matter. But there you were, identical to the picture they took when they shipped you off to the colonies.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Thank you to @zablife for being the most gracious beta!💗💗💗💗💗 and thank you Anon for this request, because actually it inspired a full-blown multi-chapter idea! So this is set around... Season 5 I suppose? But I'm going to ignore everything in it and Season 6 too. Let's pretend none of it happened and just focus on the fun part! That is driving Tommy insane and making Alfie say outrageous lines.

WORD COUNT — 2,286

Masterlist

In retrospect, Tommy Shelby felt he should have known better. He should have fucking known that the moment, the moment, he came to Margate to sort the bloody situation out, exactly two things would happen.

One, he would have to sit and listen with a straight face to Alfie’s inspired monologue, the subject of which had swerved from elephants to bank robbery in about two and a half minutes, and then managed to touch upon just about everything else under the sun.

Tommy remained quite sure that the sense of Alfie’s rambling had been long lost to history and the point of it all was just to talk him to death, really. Put him out of his misery with nonsense alone.

“Now then, Tommy, as I said, right, I ain’t the vindictive type, I really ain’t, so I am gonna help ya out just this once, right, outta the goodness of my own heart.”

Tommy managed not to roll his eyes. Barely.

“‘Cause I am a changed man these days, Tommy, an’ it can be that the old man that I am, I’m goin’ soft on ya, right, an’ so tradition dictates, mate, to ask for more than ten thousand for my troubles.”

Tommy raised a brow.

“But as things currently stand with the medical bills, on the account of bein’ shot in the face by some cunt, right… Fifteen would sound proper fair, mate.”

Thank fuck for small mercies, Tommy thought, then lit another cigarette and promptly got up to leave. Alfie apparently managed to settle both sides of the conversation, negotiations included, and their American problem could very well sort itself out all on his own—thus proving to Tommy once more that the only thing he could really count on in this world had always been lunatics.

“Right, the fuck you’re doin’ now, sit down!”

Tommy frowned and remained standing, cigarette in the corner of his mouth and sheer outrage emanating from his entire person. The question of “what in fuck’s name do you want now, you crazy bastard?” overtook his face.

“Right, I need to make a bloody phone call,” Alfie said then, which explained exactly nothing.

Yes, that was the second thing Tommy had been so sure would happen. Alfie would first go on a tangent, then formulate a plan that involved three separate layers of deception, a bribe, and a crate of dynamite (probably).

Then Tommy would get caught in the middle as bloody always and Polly would have his head for going along with Alfie’s plan in the first place.

What he didn’t expect was for Alfie to change his tone of voice completely as soon as the person picked up on the other end:

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s me. Come to the house, alright? Right, ‘cause I need ya here for somethin’. No, not like the— Bloody hell, woman, just don’t fuckin’ argue with me for once, alright?”

Sometimes a rare occasion would present itself for Tommy Shelby to become fucking speechless. Truth be told, he remained rather surprised that two such occasions had also involved Alfie Solomons, undoubtedly purely for the Devil’s bloody amusement.

“Who was that then, Alfie?”

“None of ya fuckin’ business.”

Tommy had a sneaky feeling there wasn’t a clever enough question in existence that could have pushed Alfie to say anything more. He looked smug as hell for having pulled that stunt off so Tommy was willing to see it through.

For old time’s sake.

The sun was setting and they had another drink, then Tommy let Alfie go on another tangent about… Tea import. Perhaps. Who knew, he wasn’t really listening.

On drink three Tommy was alerted by a car pulling up to the house, followed by a door slam and a rhythmic clacking of high heels on the porch. Tommy looked to Alfie, but the man remained infuriatingly calm.

Just as Tommy was about to reach for his gun, the door to Alfie’s study opened unceremoniously and a scent of expensive perfume wafted across the room. Tommy turned around and tried his best to keep up the indifferent facade, but failed miserably. Nothing could have prepared him for you walking through that door, with a giant bodyguard no less, following you like a second shadow.

“Alright there, Billy?” Alfie greeted the bodyguard casually and the man grunted in response. “Right then, might ya wait in the car for us, mate? This whole bloody business will take a minute.”

Tommy then watched as Alfie approached you and planted an affectionate kiss to your cheek, at which point Tommy stood up abruptly.

For a moment he just stood there and stared; a state he didn’t find himself in too often these days. 

“Darling, are we having guests?” you asked Alfie in a tone so familiar to Tommy; so like your mother. Pleasant, on the verge of sarcastic. 

By God, either that Camden bastard was a magician or you had a twin sister that Polly never mentioned. Because it wasn’t possible… It couldn’t be you. Not according to the file he stole from the parish. By all accounts Anna Gray died in Australia and had no business standing in Alfie’s living room, nor calling the man “darling” for that matter. But there you were, identical to the picture they took when they shipped you off to the colonies. 

“Right then, Tommy, might I present my lovely wife,” Alfie said. “Sweetie, this here is Tommy Shelby, right, all the way from the ungodly place they call Birmingham—”

“Tommy Shelby?” you interrupted and looked at Tommy with a smile so like Polly’s that Tommy nearly lost his composure again. “My, my… And there you went and promised you were done with the life, Alfie.”

“Right, an’ how could that—”

“Anna,” Tommy interrupted what he was sure was a budding monologue from Alfie. 

“Yes?” you asked. “You know my name?”

“I… Know your mother.”

“Know?” There it was again. That curious smirk of yours that could really mean anything. Tommy found it harder and harder to keep up the charade.

“But that’s not possible, Mr. Shelby.”

“What’s not possible?”

Your tone remained polite, but your dark eyes said it all. The expression of quiet resolve Tommy thought only one person capable of delivering with such resentment.

“I’m an orphan, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy said nothing to that, because what in hell could he even say? All of a sudden the American issue faded into nothingness, replaced solely by the phantom standing before him.

“So you did not lie, I see,” you turned to your husband with a quizzical expression, seeing as Tommy went quiet again. “He really is as strange as the papers make him. No matter, though, Mr. Shelby, I hope you like chicken? My husband insists I’m a terrible cook, but you must stay for dinner.”

Tommy nodded mechanically and put out his cigarette just to busy his hands with something. When he looked at Alfie, though, Tommy noticed how the man’s mouth twitched, clearly indicating the scheme was playing exactly how he wanted it to. Mad bastard, Tommy thought. There was no saying if he was being played or tricked or helped. Probably all at once, but solely for Alfie’s benefit of course.

“Right, curious as I am, luv, what delectable fuckin’ option you maimed and butchered for dinner, Tommy isn’t stayin’—” Alfie then stopped himself when two sets of identical Shelby scowls got directed his way.

Tommy did stay for dinner and made sure to clean his plate, too. He didn’t mind the food at all; it reminded him of Polly’s simple cooking back in the day when she would take care of Tommy and his siblings in Small Heath.

The more he listened to you talk and bicker with Alfie, the more of your mother he saw in you and the angrier he got at seeing you here of all places, as Alfie’s wife, unable to speak to you in plain terms. Tommy wasn’t exactly sure which made him angrier, though—the fact that you were Alfie’s wife or the fact that the sly bastard had kept you from your true family for who knows how many years. How did he even find you?

All the questions he had were still swirling around in Tommy’s head and he wasn’t particularly paying attention to anything else, besides staring daggers at Alfie. He was hoping there would be a moment to talk to you alone, but of course your husband would never allow it. He watched Tommy like a hawk the entire evening, sometimes with just a hint of a smile to suggest he was still three steps ahead of everyone else.

“See you never got accustomed to that fancy cookin’ they’re offerin’ ya at the mansion these days, Tommy,” Alfie said, undoubtedly truly enjoying the charade. “Tommy’s an MP, darlin’, right about two steps from gettin’ a knighthood I reckon. Yeah, a real prince he is.”

The way Alfie said the word was so clearly a jab at Tommy’s ancestry that he didn’t even flinch. What he was curious about was your reaction, but you remained perfectly pleasant: 

“Don’t tease, love, we haven’t had guests in ages and I’m not letting you drive this one away.”

When the maid took away the plates, you lit a cigarette in a swift overdone gesture and Tommy was once more taken aback with your resemblance to Polly. 

“Well, I’ll leave ya both to it,” you announced as you got up. “It was a pleasure, Mr. Shelby.” You extended your hand and Tommy shook it. “I know you tried your best with the chicken and I appreciate it,” you paused and tilted your head to the side as if sizing Tommy up.

“I rarely trust your husband’s judgement,” he replied.

The way you smiled reminded Tommy of a cat that got into the pantry. He decided not to think about it too much.

“I see. Goodnight then, Mr. Shelby.”

As soon as Tommy heard you got upstairs, he turned to Alfie who, unsurprisingly, already had a gun pointed at him. It was a casual way of it that was the most infuriating—Alfie’s hand was more so resting on the table and the gun just happened to be there, pointing at Tommy. 

“Now then, Tommy, let’s be reasonable about this, mate.”

Tommy clenched his jaw and remained silent, but his murderous glare said it all.

“There are four people at the house, right, includin’ you, me, my wife, then the maid… Then there’s Billy outside, right, who’s gonna be rightly worried once he doesn’t get my dismissal for the night. So I want ya to be real cold an’ calculated about it, Tommy, just like I know ya can be, ‘cause if ya decide to off me for no reason now…”

“No reason.”

“Right.”

“You’re old enough to be her father.”

“Yeah an’ fortunately I’m not, ‘cause that’d be right fuckin’ awkward at the temple, mate.”

“Temple?”

“What’d ya think, Tommy, that I smacked her over the head and dragged her into my cave?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Right, we’ll have to show ya the pictures then, she looked stunnin’.” Alfie leaned back in his chair. “Tell ya what, mate, why don’t ya come by for tea one day?”

“Tea.”

“Yeah. We have it, Tommy, we’re not animals.”

Tommy said nothing to that. He was still reviewing his options, but as he wasn’t a fan of spontaneous action, the patient approach seemed appropriate. The offer, though, just like everything else about the situation, was fucking infuriating.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“Fuck you, Alfie.”

That finally made Alfie smile and for some reason he lowered the gun.

“Right, so seein’ as we’re family, Tommy, and what a happy coincidence this is, I must say, I feel like we should talk fuckin’ proper. None of that shit.” Alfie then gestured between them as if he hadn’t been responsible for “that shit” in the first place.

“We’ve been talking, Alfie,” Tommy deadpanned.

“Yeah, but then there’s still somethin’ ya haven’t told me about your American troubles, isn’t there, mate, so I’m expectin’ you’ll be more honest with me in the future. Now that I’ve brought the right arguments to the table…”

The hint of a threat in that statement almost made Tommy wish he still had his razor cap around.

“She’s Polly’s only daughter, Alfie.”

“Right, I’m aware of that.”

Tommy nodded, feigning understanding between them. As always, handling Alfie very much resembled handling a live grenade without a pin.

“This can’t be the way to end things.”

“Who’s endin’ things, Tommy?”

“I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, an’ I’m going to let this one slide, Tommy, ‘cause you just got a lot to process, mate, so I’m prepared to be understandin’.”

Tommy shook his head and reached into his jacket pocket, at which Alfie uncocked the gun. Tommy slowly pulled out his cigarette box, but Alfie never even flinched. It was gruesomely reassuring to still have been right, even in the position that Tommy currently found himself in. 

Alfie Solomons would always remain Alfie Solomons, even with the whole song and a dance about getting old and senile. He was still the same mad bastard Tommy came to know all those years ago, and as things stood, Tommy found himself wondering if this time he shouldn’t try poison instead of a bullet.

“Tommy,” Alfie sighed, “with three good eyes workin’ between us, mate, I really would greatly mind if I somehow acquired a fuckin’ tumour in my lungs, too.”

Tommy said nothing and he knew Alfie hated it.

“Which means put that shit out, mate, and listen to what I’m about to say, ‘cause I got a feeling you’ll really wanna hear it.”

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy x reader

[mazeinthemiroh]

seo changbin boyfriend headcanons

genre: fluff

word count: 0.7k

warnings: none

requested?: yes

song rec: tomboy by g-idle

please like and reblog if you enjoy! feel free to request anything <3

this soft boy, oh gosh here we go...

he makes my heart skip a beat so this gonna be fun

changbin. the man, the myth, the legend

he's an amazing guy, what can i say? respectful, loyal, genuine... god it's so hard not to fall in love with him

idk as a boyfriend he is just the sweetest guy you could ever ask for. he technically acts the same way with you if he was just besties. the main difference is, once he's your boyfriend he tones up the affection to 100%. no holding back anymore

this man is SO TOUCHY

physical affection is totally his thing. he finds himself just wanting to touch you or hold your hand or anything like that because he just needs that contact

he's not ashamed of any pda. he doesn't care who's watching: he's kissing and cuddling and squishing your cheeks no matter who is watching! he's cute like that

even if the other members were to make fun of him for being a massive softie with you, he literally couldn't care less

"you're just jealous that i'm in a happy relationship"

he's so petty lmaooo

btw i mentioned cuddling... yeah there's gonna be a lot of that

changbin works out a lot. he's got a lot of muscle on him, so his chest and arms proved to be a perfect pillow give me one chance changbin ONE CHANCE IM BEGGING so it only makes sense to snuggle into his perfect body and enjoy having his arms wrapped around you

he likes doing spontaneous things with you. it's always a fun time around him. you're always getting up to some sort of mischief

also loves spoiling you omg

he doesn't make a big deal out of it but damn he buys you so many quality gifts because apparently he can't help it??

will talk to you about anything. usually when he speaks to you it's very casual and general chat. he's very comfortable talking about anything with you. if you want to talk about anything important or personal, he's very attentive and provides you with any support you need

for him, he's a very open person, especially if he has his trust in you. there are not a lot of things he would keep from you. how he views it is: he wouldn't date you if he didn't trust you. and with that, he can know in his heart that he can be vulnerable with you if needed because the mutual love and trust is there

likes to spend his nights just relaxing and unwinding from his busy day at work. there are occasions, of course, when he will stay late at night in the studio or bring some work back to do at home. he tries to make time for you but there are some things he can't help. he appreciates how supportive you are of his career, either way. and he always makes sure how much he loves you for being so kind to him as his partner

above all, he wants to be a source of comfort to you. and he sure does a good job at it

dates with him would include:

gym dates - i mean this goes without saying but if you MUST be told again, changbin loves/lives in the gym. he would love for you to share that part of his life, even if you aren't particularly keen on working out. he also proves to be a very good personal trainer so there's a plus! working to improve himself with you makes going to the gym even more of a joy for him. he would appreciate you joining him a lot and finds it all the more fun to workout with you

food date - a bit of a contradiction, i know. changbin not only loves food but also likes to taste and try different types of food. he loves going to different places in the city to try street food or other snacks that he wouldn't usually get by himself. makes for a fun experience with you <3

late night walks - changbin loves the outside but especially at nightime. he also thinks it's romantic going out for a walk in the dark with the city lights lighting the way. it's a good opportunity to have deeper talks with you as well as check out any nightlife

overall, he's the sweetest guy you'll ever meet

#changbin #seo changbin #stray kids #skz #kpop #skz imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #skz headcanons #stray kids fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz fluff #skz scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #changbin x reader

[seasonsbloom]

ocean in a seashell . ( rooster )

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; bradley has lived with his father’s ghost for long enough to know he’ll never make the same mistakes he did. and then he meets you.

wc ; 10.5k i'm sorry

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; bradley bradshaw's sad, sad life; angst, literally SO much angst; mentions of canon past character death; near-death experience; alcohol abuse; explicit language; explicit sexual content (breeding kink, cumplay, p in v, dirty talk, fingering, idk?)

note: ... yeah i don't fucking know either goodbye. stole the title from "sidelines" by phoebe bridgers aka god.

sol. sunderlust... none of this would be possible without you, thank you forever.

Bradley doesn’t remember much about his father.

These days, he recalls him only in fractions: Hawaiian shirts, mustache, hair that stood up spikey like grass covered in the first tentative November frost. He had big hands, Bradley remembers that, and he used to swing him up on his shoulders and let him ride around living rooms in Army commissioned houses they never stayed in longer than a few months. He always smelled of engine oil, and he played pianos like he didn’t even know the meaning of the word embarrassment.

Bradley based his whole life on the fading glimpses of that man he carries locked in the chambers of his heart. The older he gets, the more gaps he finds.

Suddenly he’s taller than Goose ever was, older, ranked higher. He wants to say, wait, hold on, go back. Wants to rewind to a time when he felt closer to his father, when he could remember what his voice sounded like, what it felt like when he tucked him into bed. When he thought if he just sat by the front door long enough, his father would inevitably walk through it again, hoist him into the air, and press tickling kisses to his cheeks.

Sometimes, Bradley wishes he could go back to when he thought bad things happened only in movies. When he had a father and a mother and an uncle and the bone-deep, unconscious conviction that things would always stay this way.

He can’t remember the day Goose died. Can’t remember Mav coming to the house, can’t remember the dog tags pressed into his mother’s hands. Strange how the most significant day of his little life remains in his memory as just another day - morning cartoons and PB&J sandwiches and his mom reading him a bedtime story. Part of Bradley thinks it’s unfair, his whole world crashing down and him not even remembering it. Like he’s arriving late for a movie and can’t make sense of the plot.

Not once did he see his mother cry over his father. He’s sure she must have shed tears, remembers now the empty tissue boxes and the eyes rimmed in red, understands now what he was too young to see then. But Carol carried her grief like a secret. She locked it behind the mahogany of her bedroom door, she hid it behind the veneer of her smile.

Bradley is nineteen, standing at his mother’s open grave, when he decides he’s never going to do to someone what Goose did to her. What he did to him.

For a while, he wants nothing to do with the memory of that man. Wraps himself in his mother, toys with the idea of taking her maiden name. Goes to college and gets drunk, gets high, gets himself into trouble. Thinks sometimes, in his very darkest moments, that maybe the best thing he could do for the world is to stop existing.

One night lands him at the police station. And it’s not like he got arrested or anything, they just take him in to sober up and tell him to call somebody to come get him. Mav is in town, thank God, and he comes in wearing his old aviator jacket and a wistful expression. Bradley’s call probably pulled him out of some bar or some girl or both.

Mav doesn’t say much, just drives him back to his college dorm and pulls over to the curb, doesn’t even turn off the car. They sit there in silence, with the blinker going and the engine purring.

Finally, Mav says, “Sometimes, you remind me so much of your father, it scares me.”

Bradley doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. Sits there for a little longer and watches as frat bros and law students and cheerleaders cross the street on their way to hook-ups, to parties, to midnight fast food runs. Envies them just for a moment. Then, without saying goodbye, gets out of the car, goes to his room, and buries himself beneath the weight of his blankets.

So it’s like Bradley always suspected. It really is a futile thing, trying to escape the memory of his father. His ghost lives inside Bradley’s chest. Rattles against his bones.

And he loves him, even if he doesn’t remember him. Thinks that love is some intrinsic, primordial thing. Something that was there before he was born and will be there after he dies. Something he can’t fight. Unstoppable like the tide.

So he embraces it instead. Tries growing a mustache he’ll only be able to pull off much later in life, gets those old Hawaiian shirts out of storage. Decides to give into the underlying current of longing he’s felt every time he tipped his head back and looked at the sky.

Accepting that he loves his father is much easier than he thought it would be. Much easier than hating him.

It’s good for a while because it feels like he has a purpose, a goal. For so long, Bradley has been drifting at sea, unmoored, unbound, with no sense of direction. Now he’s swimming toward something, broad strokes, every move deliberate.

Then Mav pulls his papers.

The worst part of it all, worse than the betrayal, worse than the anger, is the confusion. He thought Mav would understand. Mav of all people. 

(It’s his mother, setting a casserole on the table, smiling at Bradley and saying Pete over here, he’s the craziest pilot the Navy’s ever seen. It’s his sixth Christmas, the second one without his dad, and Mav gives him a model of a plane they’ll build together. It’s Mav staring at him with eyes gleaming with moisture the time he stole the Navy hat from his uncle’s head. It’s Mav in every memory of his life, laced so tightly to him he thought they were inseparable, woven together. Now the seams are coming apart.)

Mav, who keeps flying, who seems only to be a real, complete person for those few, short, fleeting moments just after he steps off a plane. Who’s never happy unless he’s going break-neck speed miles and miles above the ground, jumping off death’s shovel, laughing, flipping the bird, and saying look, I can fly!

If Maverick doesn’t understand why Bradley wants to fly, why he needs to fly, then who ever could?

Mav wants to explain it, calls him, shows up at his apartment. Bradley declines the calls, turns off all the lights, and sits on his couch in perfect silence, pretending he isn’t in.

He doesn’t want to hear explanations, doesn’t want to listen to excuses. He wants to fly.

Back when his mother was alive, she wouldn’t even let him get on an airplane. His whole childhood, they only left their state once to go to a funeral of some distant aunt or cousin or uncle, Bradley can’t remember, and his mother drove the whole ten hours there and back. It didn’t even register as anything weird to him - it was all juice boxes and gas station ice cream and goldies on the radio. It was his mom’s laughter and her smile and her fingers carding strands of hair warmed by the sun out of his eyes.

So Bradley remembers his mother every time he gets into a car. But his dad? Him, he can only get above the clouds.

He doesn’t give up. He finishes college, works odd jobs for some money, drifts further and further from the orbit he used to inhabit. And then he applies to the academy again, and then he goes to Top Gun, and he graduates top of his class and wonders what it would feel like if there were somebody to be proud of him. If somebody were congratulating him, taking him out for a celebratory dinner, or just somebody to hug him. What it would feel like if he weren’t so alone.

It’s what he dreams about sometimes, in the very darkest pockets of the night. A house with a swing set and a big, smiling, dumb dog and a pretty wife and a whole gaggle of children running through the garden. Bradley would teach them how to throw a football, and he’d carry them to bed at night, and his wife would smile at him, and there would always be food in the fridge and brownies on the table, and every room would be filled with love, and there would be no ghosts to haunt him.

It’s a dangerous fantasy. It’s a trap door, a slippery slope, it’s a snare, it’s a cliff’s edge. If he stays in it too long, he’ll be lost.

His mother always used to say he was a functional dreamer. He had his head stuck in the clouds, sure, but he knew exactly when to pull it out of there too. Maybe that’s why he’s such a good pilot.

So Bradley still is a functional dreamer. He knows that this is something he can never have, can never allow himself to have. He knows the pain of it too well, too intimately, still feels it every time he catches sight of his reflection in a mirror, the golden streaks of sun in his hair, the mustache, the split second of pure, blank horror, of oh god I look like him, I look so much like him, and feels it slice right through him like a knife through butter. He’s been carrying his father’s ghost for so long, sometimes it feels like his spine will crack under the weight.

Maybe people that live life like he does, like Mav does, like his father did - up in the sky, heads in the clouds - aren’t meant to have anything on the ground. Inevitably, they always end up leaving it.

He decided the day of his mother’s funeral, before the long procession of I’m sorrys and If you need anythings, before he let real estate agents into a house overflowing with cards and flowers - flowers in every room, flowers blooming and wilting and dying like a garden watered by his grief, like a garden watered by his ghosts - that he would never have a family. Not a wife to mourn him, not a child to miss him.

So there’ll be nobody to carry the burden of him.

And then he meets you.

It’s not momentous - it’s easy. Natural. Quicker than he thought possible. It’s stolen glances across a room and a smile that brands him like a mark, that cuts right through to the bone. A smile that settles in his heart. A smile that’ll never leave again.

In the beginning, he tries to fight it. Tells himself not to engage, not to get involved, to stay out of the mess he knows he’ll make here inevitably. To shield him, but to shield you too, to protect you from whatever hurt he’s going to inflict sooner or later.

But then it goes like this:

“Are you never going to ask me out, Bradshaw?” you ask him, smiling as you pluck his Ray Bans from him, as you place them on your own nose, and blink at him from over the rims.

The sun is casting you in gold. Bradley wants to catch the moment in a mason jar and put it on his bedside table. Let the glow illuminate his nights.

“I don’t think….” He trails off, wonders why it’s so easy for him to talk to you, why he can’t stop spilling truths like leaking water taps. “I don’t think I’ll be good for you.”

You don’t miss a beat. One eyebrow raising, you say, “And don’t you think that should be my decision?”

That’s when he knows that for him, you will always be it. That it’ll never be this way again with someone else. It’s not even a question. It’s just the truth.

When he’s with you, for the first time since he sat shotgun in a car with his mother, head nodding along to Elvis on the radio, Bradley feels like he belongs somewhere. Like he’s reached a shore, maybe. Like he can breathe.

For the first time, it feels like he knows peace, even with his feet on the ground.

His mother would have loved you.

You have a long conversation about it. About how he knows you want it - the diapers and the first days of school and the family Christmases. The pitter-patter of children’s feet, the cribs, the tiny fingers curling around your thumb. He knows you’ve dreamed of it all your life. And Bradley also knows, as much as it hurts, as much as it aches, that he can never give it to you.

He needs to be honest. He needs to put all the cards on the table so you know your options, see the truth about him. So you can walk away before you get any deeper into this.

Part of him is sure you will. Thinks it might be better, the safest option for both of you. Hopes you will, fears you will.

It doesn’t matter that he loves you. It doesn’t matter that he only feels at peace when he’s with you. It doesn’t matter that for the first time since he was four years old, the ghosts have gone quiet.

What matters is that he wants you to be happy. What matters is that if that happiness lies somewhere else, with someone else, with someone who’ll give you everything you dream of, give you a life, give you a child… Bradley will let you go. It’ll be the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he will.

Only you don’t leave.

You think about it for a very, very long time. Sit at his kitchen table with your hands folded on the tablecloth like you’re praying, with your head turned down, without looking at him, and then finally you say, “Alright. Fine with me.”

And Bradley’s protesting, pushing, saying, “Honey, you want this, I know you do, you want a family, you….”

“I want you more,” you say, and that’s that.

There’s no lie to it. It’s the truth, naked and beautiful and awful.

And Bradley - selfish as he is - accepts it. Because he doesn’t want to lose you. Because as much as he tries to convince himself of the opposite, deep down, he knows he’s not a good man. Just like his father wasn’t. They’re both just men willing to leave the people they love behind. Brave enough to fight for the “greater good”, but never brave enough to stay.

Regardless of it all, it’s the happiest Bradley has been in years. With you, he doesn’t feel like something is missing from him. He actually feels whole.

Your job as a freelancer allows you to travel with him, and he’s unspeakably grateful for it. He tries to show you, tries to be good about bringing flowers and cooking dinner, thinks if he can make you even a fraction as happy as you make him, he’ll have succeeded. When he gets deployed, he spends days memorizing your face, the shape of your throat where your pulse point jumps, the pattern of your heartbeat, the feeling of you beneath his arm.

And sometimes, when you’re asleep, Bradley puts his hand on your stomach and imagines a bump there, imagines a baby growing beneath it, and that’s when the ache gets so strong he thinks he can’t breathe.

That’s when he hates himself for not being something else: a doctor, an accountant, a real estate agent. Anything other than what he is. Could he have it then, this thing you both want so much? Could he let himself have it?

But eventually, when the fantasies fade, he always circles back to the truth: Bradley isn’t a doctor or an accountant or a real estate agent. He’s a pilot. Always has been, always will be.

He’s just too much like his father. That’s the whole point.

When he gets called back to Top Gun, three years after he met you, something shifts. He doesn’t know to explain it, but from the very first moment he sets foot on North Island again, something about it tastes like the beginning of an end. At night, he can’t settle, roams through the little house you rent off base like a sleepwalker. Checks in on you like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear. Can’t concentrate up in the air, can’t shut his brain off.

It’s like his father’s ghost travels with him in his suitcases, tucked between his neatly folded shirts, climbs out when no one’s looking. No matter where he goes, that ghost goes too. He can’t shake him.

You love California. You like the sunshine and the ocean. Like the Hard Deck and Penny and Phoenix. Turn your face into the warmth like a sunflower, and then you bloom, go brighter and brighter as Bradley goes the opposite direction. As something in him dims.

“Is it because of Mav?” you ask him softly, in the quiet of your bedroom. You’re carding hair from his forehead, fingers gentle, voice gentler.

Bradley can’t look at you. Shame coils low in his stomach.

“Yes,” he says, even if it feels like a lie in his mouth.

You sigh, no annoyance, only affection. Your head is heavy on his shoulder as you press the shape of a yawn into his skin.

“I know he hurt you, Bradley,” you whisper. “It’s okay to be hurt. But I think you need to talk to him.”

He nods into the darkness. You’re right. You’re always right.

“I know,” he agrees, even though he knows he won’t.

When you’re asleep, Bradley slips out of bed. Pats into the living room and sits on the floor, back leaning against the couch. Pulls his knees up to his chest, closes his eyes, and then he dreams.

He dreams he’s four riding on his father’s shoulders through the living room. He dreams he’s ten, in a car with his mother, turning up the radio. He dreams he’s twenty, and he lets Mav explain. He dreams he’s thirty-five, and he marries you. He dreams he’s thirty-six and holding his baby. He dreams it’s a little girl with your smile and his eyes, and he loves her more than he thought he was capable of, so much it almost breaks him apart, so much it puts him back together. So much it’s worth it all.

Bradley’s earliest memory is of the giant, bone-white seashell on his grandmother’s mantlepiece. He remembers how heavy it was, remembers how cold it felt against the side of his face when he pressed it to his ear. He remembers hearing the distant, muffled hum of the waves, the song of the sea, remembers imagining what it might look like. 

It’s no comparison to the real thing, years and years and years later, he knows this, but it’s something. It’s better than nothing.

It’s all he can allow himself—an ocean in a seashell.

The mission is a disaster, even if it is successful. Later, Bradley won’t remember what he was thinking up in the air, when he hit the target, when Mav went down, when he decided to go after him. He won’t even be able to tell if that is because he’s in shock or because he really wasn’t thinking anything. Maybe for the first time in his life.

If he had been thinking, Bradley likes to believe he would have kept his plane on course. Would have flown back to the carrier and then back to you, home, home, home. Wouldn’t have gone back for a man he still hasn’t spoken to, not properly, someone he loved once and now barely knows.

But all the ghosts of the people he’s loved and lost crowd up on him in that cockpit - his father and his mother and even Admiral Kazansky and their sad, sad eyes. There’s no room for Mav to be up there, too, he thinks.

So at first, you don’t cross his mind at all. He just follows his instincts like he’s never done before, could never bring himself to do. So much of Bradley’s life has been about dissecting just those urges, dismantling them, disabling them. Making himself into a creature of logic and second-guessing. Now, for the first time, he gives in to the currents and lets himself be rushed away.

And then his plane goes down, and he drifts into the white white white of snow he hasn’t felt in so long - and still, he doesn’t think. But every instinct from the moment of impact on, the moment his feet hit the ground, every instinct centers on you.

Home, he thinks. I need to get home to her.

Up in that F-14, that’s when he realizes. The brink of death is a bleak place. It’s a place of memories, a place of despair. It’s a place of hope.

All he can think of is you. How he’s leaving you with nothing. How he’s going to die here, miles above the ocean, and what will happen then? Who’s going to bring you his dog tags, the way Mav had brought his father’s to Carole all those years ago? Phoenix? Hangman? How are they even going to retrieve them if he goes down in enemy territory? Will anybody even remember the girl in that house, the one he didn’t even marry? And why didn’t he anyway? Why didn’t he put a ring on your finger, buy you a house, get you a dog, give you a baby?

What will remain of him now, in this world after he’s gone?

Nothing, he thinks, and his lungs fill with water, high up in the sky. You made damn sure of that, Bradley.

There will be nobody to haunt. He will disappear, and he will take his mother with him, will take his father with him, will take Mav with him. Nobody to remember him. Nobody to mourn him except you, all alone, carrying the terrible burden of his ghost.

It used to be a relief. Nobody to mourn me after I’m gone. Now it feels like a punishment.

Home, he thinks, remembering the content of your smile and your eyes gleaming in the darkness and your face turning, always turning, toward the sun. Like a child, as he closes his eyes, as he tries to accept the inevitable, he thinks, I want to go home. I just want to go home.

And then that’s what he does—he and Mav. Incredibly, inexplicably, illogically, they go home.

From far away, as he walks up the driveway, the little house with the gardenias you planted blooming pink and red in front of the windows looks like an oasis at first. Then it seems to grow longer, taller, goes from beckoning to daunting. He almost doesn’t make it inside. Almost doesn’t dare to get out his keys, unlock the front door, push through and toe off his shoes. Feels like he’s doing something forbidden, like he’s an unwanted guest in his own home.

You’re in the kitchen, elbows deep in sudsy dishwater, and when he walks through the doorway, when you hear the pat of his socked feet against the tiled floors, you look up at him with an open face full of love, full of relief. It almost bowls him over.

“Bradley,” you whisper, voice soft, and then you’re crossing the room, bubbles and foam and water dripping from your wrists across the tile, and he blinks at the trail you leave for a moment. Then you’re there, arms wrapping around his neck, face pressing against his shoulder, saying his name again and again, like a benediction, like a prayer of thanks.

Automatically, he pulls you against him with both arms crossed over your hips. Inhales deep, lets the familiar scent of you envelop him. Listens to your breath echoing against the dip of his collarbone, to the steady rhythm of your heart.

Your hands leave wet prints against the fabric of his shirt, like something primeval pressed to cave walls, like something that’s been happening for centuries, something that is happening right now, something that will happen again tomorrow and next year and the year after that, and distantly, dumbly, Bradley thinks, Oh. I’m alive. I’m here.

He feels packed in cotton. He feels submerged. He feels not-real, not-present, not-normal. He feels like he’s going to fall apart, and no one will notice.

When you draw back, it takes you only a split second to realize something’s wrong. You frown, the furrow Bradley likes to smooth out with his thumb appearing between your eyebrows, eyes swimming with a concern he doesn’t deserve.

“What happened?”

It’s classified, all of it. There’s so much of his life Bradley isn’t allowed to share with you, even if he wants to. There’s so much he doesn’t want to share but knows he should.

From far away, he hears himself say, “My plane went down.”

He can feel the panic in your body, feels it go through you like a spasm. You try to draw back, but he holds you where you are, afraid he’s going to shatter all across the kitchen floor the moment you’re gone.

It’s not fair, he thinks, how he keeps looking to you to hold him together. It’s just that at the end of the day, you’ve always been so much stronger than him.

“Bradley…” you begin to say, but he can’t hear it. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear how scared you are every time he leaves, he doesn’t want to hear how it made you feel to know that he almost died because he already knows. He knows.

“I want…” he says into your hair, a fragment of a sentence, a statement that trails off halfway, that goes nowhere. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say.

In some ways, he feels stuck in that F-14. Like time kept moving, but he didn’t, remained static and crystallized like somebody dipped the moment in amber and preserved it on a bookshelf. Nothing makes sense to him. Rationally, he knows he’s standing here in his kitchen with you in his arms, knows he isn’t dead, knows he survived, but it doesn’t feel like it. 

So Bradley tries to remember grounding exercises, focuses on little things, mundane things, things that shouldn’t exist on the verge of death. The bubbles popping in the sink. The specks of dust dancing through the room. The curve of your spine beneath the worn fabric of his Navy shirt.

Suddenly, the thought of you alone in this house is unbearable. Waiting for a man that never comes back. History repeating itself in the worst of ways.

“I want to have a baby,” he says, out of nowhere, out of some madness that took hold of him up in the air, or maybe when he touched the ground, or maybe at some other point he can’t name, can’t even think.

And it’s not a conscious thought. It’s not a decision he makes. It’s just something that spills from him, something that has been there unnoticed all along, words taking shape on his tongue before he can overthink their meaning, but then they’re out, and they drop between you like an anvil, and it’s like a relief, it’s like a breath he’s been holding for years, it’s like a sigh, something inside of him finally unlatching, finally escaping the shackles he put on it himself.

Oh, he thinks. He’s known this about himself, always, but it’s the first time he says it out loud. It’s always been a want, an ache, a yearning, but now it goes from all that to a need, a thrumming inside of him, something that cannot be ignored. Something that demands to be felt instead of thought.

In his arms, you stiffen.

With your palms on his chest, you push him away from you, take a step back, take the warmth and the scent and the anchor with you. Bradley is surprised he doesn’t float right up to the ceiling.

The openness of your face has shuttered now. You look at him with something unreadable crossing your features, something unfamiliar, and say, “What did you just say?”

Bradley swallows around a lump in his throat. “I want to have a baby,” he repeats, his voice smaller now, quieter, but the words more assured.

Because he does. Because it’s true. Because he’s always wanted this and doesn’t know how to explain to you that now he needs it. How now it’s the only thing that makes sense in a world that’s gone off the rails.

Your face falls, something crumbles, and it hits him like a punch to the gut. 

“No,” you say, turning away from him. You step right into the trail of water you left earlier, it soaks into your socks, and then you’re leaving footprints too. Everywhere you go, you leave your mark like a brand. Not one part of Bradley has been left untouched.

Confusion zaps through him, but it’s a muted feeling. Muffled by all the chaos.

“I thought you….” It’s a great effort to form words, like pulling teeth. “You want children. Don’t you want this?”

“Not like…” You pause, rake your fingers through your hair, exasperation crackling from you like sparks from a burned-out socket, and Bradley can’t make sense of it.

You want this, he knows you do. So what’s the problem now? What did he do wrong?

“I don’t….”

“Don’t go there.”

There’s a finality to your voice, and he sees you drawing back from him, sees your shoulders come up, your face turning away, something wilting.

The idea of losing you, of pushing you away now that he’s finally decided to let you in, really let you in, the panic of it finally slices through the haze. Lifts the fog.

Bradley crosses the room and says, “It’s your decision too, honey, of course, it is, but I love you, and I want this, and….”

You whirl on him, and it punches the air out of his lungs. There’s real anger on your face now, your eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and Bradley’s heart clenches in answer.

“You don’t get to do this,” you say, voice heaving with the barely contained emotion, a ship on a stormy sea, “not after I compromised, not after I spent so long trying to get used to the idea of not having a baby, not after giving that up for you, Bradley. You don’t… don’t get to just come in here and change your mind just because it suits you, because you had some near-death experience and you’re full of adrenaline and… and….”

Bradley frowns, moves to touch you, but you flinch away from him, one arm going up to hug your own ribcage. As if you have to shield yourself from him.

Suddenly, he feels a sob building in his throat. To realize how much he’s hurt you, not just today by springing this on you, but by how selfish he was, again and again. By letting his past stand in the way of your future.

“It’s not that I changed my mind,” he begins, trying to string together something that will make you see the truth of it, make you understand what he means.

You interrupt, “You said you didn’t want kids.”

Bradley pauses. Did he say that? If he did… 

“And it…” You gasp for breath, the tears now streaming freely down your face, and god, it hurts, it hurts worse than thinking he lost Mav, hurts worse than thinking he’d die in that F-14 because all of that he’d been prepared for, had been practicing for his whole life. Losing Maverick, losing himself, all of that had been inevitable. But losing you… Bradley always assumed he was going to be the one to go first. 

“It’s fine,” you go on. “I was fine with it, Bradley, I gave that dream up because… because I wanted you more, and I was okay with it. It was my decision, and I don’t regret it, but for you to just… to just….”

“I do want children,” he says because he doesn’t know what to do except explain it, except make you see the truth of it all. “I’ve always… I’ve always wanted children, honey. I just… after what happened to my dad, after what that did to me, what it did to my mother, I didn’t… I didn’t want to do that to you. I couldn’t do that to you.”

For a moment, you say nothing, eyebrows furrowed, lower lip caught between your teeth.

“You…” You look like you’re trying very hard to understand it. “Are you saying you decided not to have children with me because you thought it would hurt me too much if you died?”

When you say it like that, out loud, logically, through your tears, it sounds so incredibly stupid.

Bradley opens and closes his mouth, once, twice. Finally, he nods.

He expects you to start crying harder, to hit him (all valid reactions, really), but instead, you do the one thing he doesn’t expect: You laugh. It’s a watery sound, barely amused, but it is a laugh.

You bury your face in your hands, then reemerge after a moment, eyes rimmed in red, and say, “God, Bradley, you’re so stupid.”

“I…” He doesn’t know what to say to that. Probably, you’re right. “What?”

“You just…” You exhale a long, shuddering breath. “You keep trying to make decisions without me.”

“... I do?”

“Yeah!” Your voice rises a little, then settles, and you say, “This is my decision as much as it’s yours. If I say I want it, if I say I know the risk and I know the danger, then you don’t get to tell me no. Do you think I’m dumb? Do you think I don’t understand what goes on when you get deployed? Do you think I don’t know that you’re risking your life all the time?”

“No, I… I know you know that.”

You shrug, and it’s a gesture of such helplessness that Bradley’s knees almost buckle.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I don’t know if… if one day there’s going to be a mission you don’t come back from. I don’t know that, Bradley. I can’t know that. But until then… can’t you just let us be happy?”

Bradley’s shaking. Head to toe, tremors that run through him like the tides. Unstoppable. Unrelenting.

“I…” And he knows he’s the one who brought it up, but suddenly all the doubts come crashing down. Suddenly the ghosts crowd around him. “What if I die? What if I leave you? What if we have a baby and I’m not… there?”

“Oh, Bradley…” Something on your face melts. You step closer, put a hand on his cheek, fingertips still pruned from the water, and say, so gently it breaks something open inside of him, “Bradley. You’re not your father.”

And Bradley can’t help it - he cries. It’s an ugly sort of crying, the sort that leaves you with a headache and snot dripping down your face and eyes that hurt. The one you feel in the morning. But it’s a relief too. A release. Rain after years and years of drought.

For so long, Bradley was trying to let go of a world that didn’t want him to leave. He’s been preparing for an early exit since he entered, has been so caught up in dreaming he forgot to live. So caught up in thinking he forgot to do. He thought he would be content to go out of this world and leave nothing behind, to disappear without a trace, without a word, without a ghost.

But now he sees it clearly. Now he understands.

Bradley doesn’t want to stop existing. He wants to cling to this world like someone clinging to the edge of a cliff, like a leech, like a cancer. He wants to haunt someone.

Only there’s something else, too. 

A week before his mother died, when she had gone all quiet, when she had lost the vibrancy she used to carry around like a glow, when she had slept longer and spoke less and Bradley had known, somewhere deep inside of him, that things were ending, that they were truly ending, he’d gathered all his courage and asked a question he’d been rehearsing for weeks, months, years.

“Do you regret it?”

Do you regret loving my father now, knowing all that would come after? Knowing the landslide it really was?

And Carol had just smiled, something of that old light returning for a moment, a tenderness so big it felt like violence, and she’d said, “I could never regret him. Not even the heartbreak or the grief or the pain. After all, he gave me you, didn’t he?”

Maybe, he thinks, it’s time to let the past be in the past. Maybe it’s time to let himself have a future.

Maybe it’s time to let go of the ghost.

And you just hold him as he cries like he hasn’t since he locked himself in a bathroom stall after his mother’s funeral, cries until it feels like he’s going to throw up, cries until the gnashing teeth of grief of pain of hurt of anger finally leave him be.

After half an eternity, you pull away, warm hands cupping his face, tugging him gently away from the crook of your neck, so he has to look at you, can’t look anywhere but at you, and then you say, “Bradley, what happened to your father was a horrible, terrible accident. But he loved you. You know that, don’t you?”

He nods. His father, the hazy shape of him, the ghost he’s carried for so long - frosted tips and Hawaiian shirts and the smell of motor oil. Large hands and a mustache and rides around living rooms. So much of him is shadowed, fractioned, incomplete, but not this. This he knows. When he thinks of his father, there’s nothing now but the hazy, easy warmth of love. 

“Do you really think,” you say softly, “that they made a mistake when they had you? Your parents? Do you really think they shouldn’t have done it?”

Bradley has thought about his life in boxes. Big cardboard ones, the kind you get when you move apartments. He tucks the good parts away beneath his bed, stows them, hoards them like a secret. Like his mother kept her grief. But all the bad parts - the pain and the sadness and the sorrow - those he lets pile up everywhere, in hallways, in living rooms, on kitchen tables. He stumbles over them on his way to the bathroom. He stubs his toe halfway to the closet.

He never looks at those good parts, afraid they’ll become tainted somehow if he thinks about them for too long, afraid they’ll lose their appeal or their strength. But there’s so much good there too.

Goose loved him, he knows this without a doubt. Carole loved him. Mav loves him, Phoenix loves him, you love him… At the end of it all, even despite all the terrible things that have happened to him, even with the ghosts that have haunted him for so long, Bradley has been loved, and he has lived, and he has been happy.

Shouldn’t that be worth something, too?

“No,” he says, voice soft, “no, I’m glad they had me.”

His life has been a long, long road. Difficult to walk sometimes, full of potholes, some as big as canyons. But there’s so much happiness there, too - car rides with his mother, Mav telling him stories about his father, the moment when the wheels lift off the tarmac at take-off. This long, terrible, winding road that led him here. That led him to you.

You brush your fingertips across his cheekbone, and Bradley capsizes.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. It’s the truest thing he’s ever known. “I want… I want to have a life with you.”

“You do,” you answer. “You have one.”

Bradley’s tears have dried so the sound he makes isn’t really a sob, but it’s damn close to one. 

“Do you…” He clears his throat. “You love me, too?”

It’s a dumb question, unnecessary because he already knows the answer. But he needs to hear you say it anyway.

And when you smile, your whole face lights up. It echoes somewhere inside Bradley, somewhere at his core, goes through him like a current.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you say, and there’s only a little bit of amusement in your voice, “you’re the love of my life.”

His heart jumps like a jackknife in his chest.

Before he recognizes that he’s made the conscious decision to do so, he’s bridged the space between you and has pulled you into a searing, soaring, slow kiss. He fumbles it a little, teeth knocking against yours, but you just laugh into it, going up on your tiptoes, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him like you want to meld yourself to his bones. Bradley feels like somebody’s poured liquid sunlight into his chest.

Somewhere it goes heated, goes desperate, goes near frantic, all the adrenaline, all the fear, everything pouring from him in a shower of want. Somehow he’s got you pressed up against the counter, tongue tangled with yours, fingers in your hair, fingers on your back, fingers pulling up the edge of the shirt you’ve stolen from him to find the warm, soft skin beneath.

Breathless, heart stuttering, Bradley pulls away, looks at your lips swollen from the tug of his teeth, your eyes with the heavy lids, the hair mussed by his fingers, and he needs to hear it. Needs to know you want this as much as he does. The ache in him twists like a knife between the ribs.

“Tell me,” he whispers, afraid the moment will shatter if he makes a wrong move, speaks too loudly. It’s so fragile - he wants to protect it so fiercely. Presses the tips of his fingers into the place where your pulse hammers away. “Tell me you want to have a baby with me.”

“I want…” And you sigh, a sound like a spring day, a sound like a rushing mountain stream. “I want it.”

He surges forward, lips against yours again, and you’re so alive beneath him, heart racing, breath heaving, fingers grappling along his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his arms, and Bradley wants to devour you. Wants to sink his teeth into all this life and never let it go again. He wants to exist, right here, in this moment with you forever.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your neck, lets his mouth move over the column of your throat, down to the sharp points of your collarbones beneath the soft skin. Sinks to his knees on the kitchen tiles like he’s kneeling at an altar to pray.

“Bradley,” you whisper, fingers going to tangle in his hair, to smooth along the sides of his face, and the softness in your voice cracks something in him. He swears he could cry again.

He doesn’t even know what he’s doing as he nuzzles his nose against the sloping curve of your upper thigh, as his fingers tighten on your hips. He just wants to be close to you. And you’re so soft, so warm, you smell like home, and it tears through him, blazes everything in its wake, to realize just how close he came to losing it all.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he whispers, babbles, barely coherent, pressing his face against the fabric of your panties, inhaling your scent, opening his mouth to push his tongue where he knows your clit is. “Gonna make you so happy, baby, I promise, it’s all I want. I’m never letting you go again, I’m never….”

Above him, you whimper, hips knocking forward, arching into the movement of his tongue for a moment, and he wonders if you’re wet, thinks about the hot, tight vice of your cunt, and groans against you. His cock jumps.

Then you’re tugging him away from you by the hair, and Bradley goes reluctantly, mouth still open, wishing he could stay where he was forever. Drowning in you. 

You’re looking down at him with eyes blown wide.

“Bradley,” you say, and there’s something unsteady to your voice. “Take me to bed.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s a tumble all the way to your bedroom - he kicks off his shoes on the way, you lose your shirt, and he’s somehow, miraculously, gotten down to his boxers by the time he drags you backward with him onto the mattress.

“I love you,” he says as he drags you on top of him, your legs opening around his hips like the petals of a flower. The mattress dips where your knees press against the springs, your weight grounds him. “I love you, you’re so perfect, you’re….”

He has no idea what he’s saying. His brain checked out a while ago, and it’s all just feelings now, just emotions coursing through him, and every once in a while, one will plunge its head through the surface, and then he’ll tell you something nonsensical, something dumb, something important, something he needs you to know, something…

You lean down to kiss him, to shut him up, his brain buzzes, your breasts press to his bare chest, and he’s so hard in his boxers it hurts.

“I love you, too,” you whisper against his lips, smile into the kiss. The curve of it burns against Bradley’s face.

He sits up, grasps you by the thighs to drag you closer, drag your core across his cock, and you both moan against each other. Your fingernails scrape over the back of his neck, where his hair is buzzed so short he knows it feels like prickles, and he shudders, sighs, lets his tongue run across your teeth.

For a while, you just stay like that, rutting against each other like fucking teenagers, tongues lazy, fingers eager, mouths hungry. Even through your panties, he can feel your wetness, wonders if it’s going to leave stains on his underwear, across his thighs. Bradley thinks he’s going to die, but this time it’s nothing like it was up in the F-14.

It’s difficult in your position, awkward, but he gets a finger first on your clit, and then, when he finds you wet and swollen and open, he slides it right inside you. Watches your face as you squeeze your eyes shut, as your mouth falls open on a muffled gasp, as your head tips backward.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He fucks his finger in and out slowly, adds a second to stretch you, and then he’s saying, “Baby, honey, you’re so tight, you’re so fucking wet, god I….”

You whimper, and then you’re pulling off him, shimmying out of your panties, leaning down to tug his boxers off.

“Gotta have…” Your throat moves when you swallow as you clamber back into his lap. “Want you inside me, please, Bradley. I’m ready.”

He groans, something in his stomach yanking tight, and he’s pretty sure he’s leaking precum steadily by now.

There’s no time to tease, no need for it either, not when you’re both aching for it, not after what you’ve just gone through. The hot slide of him inside you, feeling you all around him, Bradley thinks that might be the only thing that could make him realize he’s actually back here, that it isn’t all just a dream, that he didn’t actually go down in that plane and has been stuck in some kind of cruel limbo for the past few days.

But there’s the other thing too. The need he can’t explain. The selfish, horrible, depraved thing he can share with nobody but you. That nobody but you would ever understand.

Slowly, tentatively, he places his palm on your stomach, fingers splaying wide, and leaves it there. He’s too scared to look at you, too scared of what you’ll think of him, too scared of what you’ll do once you find out how deep his desire runs, how desperately he wants this. Will you hate him? Will you be disgusted? Will you draw back, pull away, leave him alone with all his depravity and all his fears and all his sorrow? 

“I need… I want…” He can’t even finish the sentence, brain too foggy. Too scared to meet your eyes, Bradley just blinks at the sight in front of him, his big hand on your skin, and his heart seizes, his insides clench, and he can’t breathe, can’t, he’s going to…

Slowly, your fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Yes,” you breathe above him.

It’s a visceral thing. The words burn through him, wrap around him, curl into him. He surges forward to kiss you, desperate, a choked sound escaping him, and licks into your mouth. Around his wrist, your fingers tighten.

He pushes you back into the sheets, crawls over you and spreads your legs, slides between them where he belongs. When his gaze falls to your face, there’s so much trust there, so much love, and it cleaves him in two, just how much he loves you, just how much he needs you. He doesn’t have the words to express it, can only hope you understand what he means when he plunges into you without preamble, when he whispers your name against the shell of your ear, when he curves around you like he wants to shield you from everything bad in the world.

You moan, fingers coming up to grasp his arm where he’s balancing his weight on the elbows. Your mouth tips open, your eyes not straying from his for a second as he goes slow, as he goes deep, as he goes home. There’s an answer in that too.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice choked as he bottoms out, as he holds himself perfectly still. “So tight and beautiful, and you’re all mine, and I’m yours and….”

“Bradley,” you stop him. Wrap your legs around his hips and pull him in. “It’s okay. You can move now.”

So he does.

It’s frantic from the first moment. It’s all the tension that’s been building up for years and years inside of him, all his love and all his longing finally laid open, and he can’t hold back anymore, not when he feels like he’s going to burst out of his own skin at any moment now.

The wet squeeze of your walls around his cock has his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Fuck,” he curses, hips pushing forward at an unsteady pace, as he leans down to kiss you again, as you open your mouth for him easily, as he nips at your lower lip.

And it’s so dumb - he’s inside of you, curled around you, his tongue tangled with your own, but Bradley wants you closer, still. Needs to know that you’re there with him, that he’s here with you, that he came home and he is letting himself have this, you’re letting him have it, and he loves you, he loves you, he…

Bradley takes his weight off his elbows, gets his arms around you, plasters himself to you, chest to chest, hip to hip, mouth finding the side of your neck, your collarbones. Like this, with his arms around your shoulders, it feels almost like he’s pulling you down to him with every thrust, like he slides just half an inch deeper into you.

You try to muffle a moan into his hair, but Bradley pulls your face away, keeps his pace as he says, “Wanna hear you. Let me hear you, baby, tell me how much you like it. You love it, don’t you? Love my cock, yeah? Love it when I fuck you?”

Maybe it’s pathetic, but Bradley needs to hear it. Needs to know you’re as desperate for him as he is for you. Needs to know you want it just as much.

On a thrust in, your walls flutter around him, and you whine, back arching a little, head sliding across the pillow as you nod.

“Yes,” you gasp, “I love it, Bradley, I love your cock. Thought about it while you were gone all the time, every night, I….”

Bradley groans, shudders, suddenly so close to the brink he needs to squeeze his eyes shut against the image of you - the glossy eyes, the swollen lips, the absolute ruin he’s reduced you to.

“Can’t say shit like that, baby,” he whispers, leaning to press tender kisses to the column of your throat. “Not when you’re this fucking wet, not when you’re making these sounds… you’re gonna make me cum.”

You giggle, then moan, head lolling to the side to give him better access. 

“Good,” you say, legs hiking higher up on his hips, his cock sliding deeper, “that’s the plan, isn’t it?”

If there were any air left in his lungs, Bradley would laugh with you. As it stands, he just ups the ante, going a little harder, watching as your eyelashes flutter, feeling your fingers spasm against the skin of his back.

It’s so hot in the room, both of you sticking to each other with sweat, and maybe that, too, should be disgusting, but Bradley doesn’t care. When he leans down to lick a long, wet stripe along the edge of your jaw, he tastes salt on his tongue.

“I’m gonna….” When he glances down at you, at the eyes wide with that much trust, as he realizes you would let him do just about anything to you, that you’ve both opened yourself to each other completely now, no barriers and no ghosts standing between you, it’s like a dam breaking. He moans, so loud it echoes through the room, leans to plunge his tongue into your mouth, desperate, and then he’s saying into it, “God, I’m gonna fuck you so full, honey, gonna fuck you until it takes, yeah? Gonna keep you right here and fill you up, again and again, gonna make sure to get a baby in you, fuck, you’d be so fucking pretty, honey, so pretty all full of me, I know it, I can….”

And you sob. Full-on. Back arching off the bed, legs sliding off his hips, spreading so wide it must hurt.

“Bradley,” you say, fingernails breaking skin, forehead pressing against his throat to hide your face. “Bradley, fuck, I… the pill….”

He’s shaking his head, cutting you off with his mouth on yours. Conveying what he can’t speak, what he’s too far gone to formulate, here where logic has become a distant, remote concept, here between your legs. Don’t say it. Let me live in this fantasy. Let me dream a little longer.

It’s the thought of it all - a bump beneath your dresses, a baby in your arms, tiny fingers wrapping around his thumb, it’s about the long, long stretch of life ahead of the two of you. It’s about a house filled with love and free of ghosts. It’s about the first glimpse of the ocean after listening to its roar in seashells all his life. It’s about giving himself over to you completely, after years of only dreaming of it.

Do you know? he wonders. Do you know that you’re holding his whole life in your hands?

“I love you,” he mumbles, repeats it as he sinks into you again and again, as he buries himself in you, as he holds onto you like he’ll be back in the cold, cold, cold of all that snow the moment he lets go, like he’ll go back to the cockpit with the ghosts like jailors around him, like he’ll float right off the face off the earth. You have always been his anchor. “I’m gonna give you a baby, honey, I promise, gonna cum inside of you, you want that, right? You want me to come right here in this pretty pussy, fill you up all nice and wet, and….”

Your mouth moves against his clavicle, the feel of it spreading like wildfire through him, and you’re saying, “Yes, yes, Bradley, give it to me, please, I wanna feel it, want you to come inside me, please, please, I need it, I….”

A yell punches from him as he thrusts inside one last time, buries himself to the hilt in your warmth, and then he’s panting, his ears are ringing, his veins are buzzing as he cums, as he paints you with his release. He can’t do anything except hold onto you, bury his face in your hair, inhaling your scent, jerking his hips forward erratically, little sounds escaping him. It’s never felt like this before - like dying and coming back alive. The release of it is so big he feels shattered under its weight. 

And you’re saying something to him, whispering words sticky with honey into his ear, pouring them right into his heart, and he can barely hear you over the hammering of his own heart, but it doesn’t matter. You hold him as he trembles, as he shakes, as he tries to collect himself, to control his breathing, hold him and stroke lazy, soft circles up and down his back, trace patterns against his spine, leave soft kisses on any inch of skin you can reach, trapped beneath his weight as you are.

Finally, after an eternity, Bradley pulls away an inch or two, careful not to let his cock slip out. There’s a little embarrassment spreading through his stomach now because he can’t believe he came that fast, can’t believe he didn’t even make sure to take you over the edge with him.

But you barely seem to think about your own lack of an orgasm.

“Are you okay?” you ask, voice gentle, face full of concern.

Bradley’s heart clenches. Maybe, he thinks, his ribcage is going to crack open. It seems impossible for one person to hold so much love inside.

“Are…” He clears his throat, suddenly unsure. “Are you?”

You nod immediately, smile, and the relief floods him. Then you shift, gasp, muscles fluttering around his softening cock.

“Well… I…”

He doesn’t let you finish, shakes his head, says, “You did so good for me, baby. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

He’s already looking at the place where you’re still connected, where his cum is beginning to drip from you in silvery trails. The sight of it is enough to make something like madness descend again, something like that earlier haze, the frenzy of the heat.

Bradley pulls out, sighs at the feeling, and your mouth opens as if in protest, but before you can form any words, he’s replaced his cock with two fingers.

You whimper, eyes closing, a muscle in your stomach jumping.

“I got you,” he says, keeps his eyes on the mess of your swollen cunt, the wet spot soaking into the mattress just beneath, the evidence of his pleasure, smooths his free hand over your chest to settle you. “Relax, honey. I got you.”

Your answer is a moan of his name, fingers twisting into the sheets. He can feel your walls bearing down on the motion of his fingers and knows you’re close, desperately, frantically, torturously close to the brink.

So he speeds up the movement of his digits, swipes his thumb through the sopping wetness, and then across your clit as he fucks his cum back into you. Not letting a single drop go to waste.

“Bradley,” you sob, mouth opening, fingers grappling for something.

Knowing what you need, knowing without you asking for it, he catches your hand with his own and interlaces your fingers. Then he leans down, leans over you, leans in. Finds the seam of your mouth with his own. It’s less of a kiss than both of you panting against each other, finding the same rhythm.

“You can let go now,” he whispers into you. “I’m here. I’ve got you, honey. My perfect girl.”

You come with his name on your lips, cunt clenching around his fingers, arching off the bed and into him, and it’s like a prayer. It’s like a song. 

It takes you a while to come down, and he coaxes you through it, brushes kisses against your lips and your jaw and your ear. Hopes he can ground you the same way you ground him.

Finally, softly, voice faint and fragile, you say, “That was… intense.”

Bradley hums in agreement, and then a laugh rips from him. Because it’s all so ridiculous and so monumental, and he doesn’t know where to go with all these emotions.

“I… yeah. It really was.” He pauses, feels shame curling through him. “I’m sorry I sprung that on you.”

You shake your head, lift one hand to run a finger across his mustache the way you like to do sometimes. 

“It’s okay,” you say, and he knows you mean it. “You must have carried that for a long time.”

It chokes him up, the way you know him so well. Better than anybody else.

“Yeah,” he agrees, drops his head into the crook of your neck. “It… I want you to know that I really want this. It’s not… it’s not adrenaline, and it’s not just almost dying, it’s… It’s you. I want this with you. Only with you.”

He can feel the curve of your smile against his temple, can hear it in your voice.

“I want it with you too, Bradley. Only with you.”

Bradley’s so afraid he’s going to start crying again that he springs into action instead. Reaches around you for a pillow to push beneath your hips, angle your lower body upwards.

“What are you doing?” you ask, laughing a little.

“I’m trying to keep my cum in you. Maybe we’re like super extra lucky, and it works out on the first try.”

Now you’re laughing in earnest, and he gets the impression it might be at his expanse.

“Still on the pill, Bradley,” you remind him, eyes luminous with your happiness.

Feeling a little sheepish, a little embarrassed, a little elated, he shrugs helplessly.

“Can’t hurt,” he says. Then adds, “Besides… I don’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”

Then you’re laughing together, breathless, loud laughter, the bending-at-the-waist kind. The belly-hurting kind. The kind that doesn’t come often.

And it’s good. It’s beautiful. It’s the kind of peace he’s never known before but has wanted always, always, always.

It’s so much better than anything he could have ever dreamed. Because it’s real. Because it’s true.

All his life, Bradley thinks, he’s been listening to oceans in seashells. It’s good, fun even, for a while, but it’s no replacement for the real thing. It’s no comparison to standing at the shore of the Pacific Ocean, watching waves crest and crash and throw themselves against the beach again and again, like a devotion that never ends. How big and beautiful and terrible the truth of it is.

And he’d thought the whole world was in that seashell.

Once the laughter has died down, once you’ve fallen back into the kind of comfortable silence that can exist only between people that really, truly love each other, Bradley strokes his thumb against your cheekbone, watches your eyes flutter closed.

“I love you,” he says, “more than I thought I could love someone. Thanks for loving me back.”

It’s bumbling, and it’s inadequate, and it doesn’t convey half of what it should.

But you smile at him, eyes opening, face so tender his heart stutters, and you whisper, “It’s an honor, Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

For the first time, Bradley doesn’t think about dying, doesn’t think about leaving. He thinks about living. He thinks about staying.

#rooster #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun imagine #mine #f: oias

[cuephrase]

Of the DC comics you've read so far, what would be your top recommendations for people to check out/what have you enjoyed the most?

when i tell you i have been thinking about this all day- i have been thinking about this. all. day.

so disclaimer, as of writing this, i have only read 31 runs from start to finish and 18 arcs/events outside of those runs. on top of, everything i've read so far has been strictly robin-centric, so dick, jason, tim, and damian. (i have read all of steph's robin appearances lol, but i haven't gotten to reading material for her, like say batgirl 2009, yet.) i've also decided not to rec from any run i'm currently reading, so for example, you won't see any batman: gotham knights recs here. because i'm most well-read on the robins, i'm only going to rec for them.

also, i'm going to operate under the following assumption: you've got a basic knowledge of the robins. none of these are where i would necessarily recommend anyone start reading about the boys, but i do think they'd be pretty interesting if you're already somewhat familiar with them and don't want to commit to reading whole character backlogs. does that make sense? i hope that makes sense.

alright, let's do this!

DICK GRAYSON

oh god. this one is actually so hard because he has so much great stuff, but then also i have like a love/frustrate relationship with so much of it. like for instance, i really enjoyed The New Teen Titans, but also lowkey can't stand space adventures so whenever that went down i was like 😀👍. but okay. hmmmm.

i have two preboot recs, with explanations + caveats.

devin grayson's mob!dick arc, so Nightwing 1996 #99-100, 107-117. caveats: it doesn't really get to finish playing out/wraps up weird because of editorial changes/infinite crisis. but!! it's a super interesting look at how dick handles...failure. how he values himself in light of that failure.

tomasi's run, but specifically #147-153. (listen, i love the dick and tim moments in 'freefall' but the whole eternally pregnant lady thing was too weird.) this is classic, hyper-competent dick, okay? he's such a bad-ass. and an idiot- bro literally flops his severely injured ass over the bars of his glider and rides it UNCONSCIOUS back to the batcave. i can't with him. poor alfred. anyways, he deals with two-face, always a good time. and then at the end, as a treat, he cries because bruce is dead. so fun!! what was my caveat here? oh yeah, he has a girlfriend. i don't remember her name, she serves like...very little purpose, the whole relationship is very minor/background okay, but like it was so unnecessary. he can be single, dc, it's okay.

for post re-boot, just read tom taylor's run!! it's the best thing ever!! zero complaints!!

HA. yeah, just kidding. that run is very like/frustrate for me lol. oh man i'm struggling here. it's not all bad okay, i'm just really picky, and i haven't re-read any nightwing n52 and onwards since my first foray into comics (8 months ago) so my memories of these are the foggiest and i'm not sure how i feel about all of it in light of what i've read now. yk what, i'm just going to...not rec anything. sorry!!

JASON TODD

his comics either go so hard or they're absolute ass, why is there no in between. istg, i can't figure out why writers struggle with him so much?? well. i mean, i do have theories. but you didn't ask for those!

pre-boot:

detective comics #569-574. robin!jason in the hands of writers who like him is so much fun. which, don't get me wrong, i don't flat-out hate how starlin writes him, but i think you get a more well-rounded view of jason as robin when you also see him in 'tec. jason and bruce tangle with the joker, scarecrow, + mad hatter, and all of those adventures are...idk if they were intentional foreshadowing okay, but reading those and knowing where the story goes? oof. especialllllly #574. caveat: #572 is pretty light on jason, but he is great when he's on panel!

reboot:

probably a very basic answer but rhato rebirth (2016) #1-13, annual #1. i abhorred n52 rhato so i almost skipped rhato rebirth since it was still written by lobdell, but i'm really glad i didn't. i really enjoy jason's relationship with bizarro + artemis, but especially with bizarro because i think jason struggles a lot with feeling like a doomed creation, so yk, parallels. i want to say more but i know i'll get too wrapped up in discussing jason so i'm just going to stop myself.

i actually really enjoyed task force z, too. i think about tfz #8 so much, jason is such a manipulative little shit and i love it. he's so- i can't. i can't get into this rn, it deserves its own post(s).

overall for jay, i need people to read something other than utrh/lost days/b:ul 1-6. i love those, i do, but they aren't the only good pieces of jason content!!

TIM DRAKE

MY BELOVED!!!!!!!!!! in my heart of hearts, i just want to rec his whole robin run lmao. dick was my intro, okay, he is why i decided to start reading comics, but tim, specifically his robin solo is why i'm still reading comics. hooked me fr. and young justice 1998, ugh love. but it has been a minute since i read these as well, so hmm. okay okay okay

pre-boot:

batman: prodigal. short version, tim is robin to dick's batman. super fun. there's a solid amount of dick and bruce angsting too, which, love. tim is honestly just thrilled that jpv is out of the batsuit and even happier to working with dick. very cute.

robin #46. listen. they're all superheroes okay, they all feel pressure to save people. but tim...losses get to him. the amount of times that he gets shoved to a breaking point and then...gets back up. keeps going. *screams*. anyways!! this is not tim getting back up, okay? this is him being shoved way, way down. it's so good.

teen titans 2003 #20. tim's dad has died. he shows up for his weekend at the tower anyways. he is not okay. that's it, that's the pitch. i did not like...mmm at least 80% of this run okay, but a few of the issues HIT and this was one imo.

reboot:

*deep sigh*. look. tim is not tim for like basically all of n52, although there are moments here and there were he feels like himself. i did not like his 2023 solo, the best parts of young justice 2019 imo are the character designs, (except for his drake costume, what was that omg), and i haven't read any rebirth batman/'tec yet. except for zdarsky's run. which. tim is good there! but yeah, not really a whole lot of material to work with + very limited reading experience atm.

DAMIAN WAYNE

god, i love this kid. nature vs. nurture fascinates me, and so much of his story digs into that on top of trying to figure out who he is apart from all of that. i will say, i'm not a huge talia fan and by that i mean, i have no idea who she is "supposed" to be, like i have no frame of reference for that atm, so if you are a huge talia fan these recs might not hit for you because from what i've observed from her fans she is not well portrayed a whole lot since becoming his mother? i think one of the things that is normal is dick absolutely disliking her though, which cracks me up. there's this older batman story (batman #322-335) where bruce works with talia and dick goes running to selina and i was so entertained. what were we talking about? oh! damian!

preboot:

batman and robin 2009 #10-12. damian is struggling, with a lot of things. the fact that bruce might be alive, what that means for him and dick, and his mother's puppeteering. there's this line that kills me: "can't you just love me for who i am? not what you want me to be?" and the thing that gets me, is the use of who vs. what. because he could have said, "not who you want me to be", but he doesn't

reboot:

batman: shadow war. this is post-alfred's death, and honestly, most damian stuff post city of bane is pretty juicy, but there's this specific moment in shadow war: alpha #1 that had me speechless. just like 😧 i love bruce, but that man has some of the most chronic foot-in-mouth disease. oh but fair warning, for whatever reason they don't draw dami's mask connecting?? it's so- it drives me nuts.

JUST FOR FUN

these are just two issues that i enjoy for the brother content!

nightwing 1996 #25. dick and tim's relationship makes me ILL. *ahem*. this issue is mostly just super cute and fun, (there's like 0.2 seconds of angst when tim asks dick if he ever thinks about jason 😭) and i adore it sm. fun fact, it's actually one of the first comics i ever bought!

batman 2016 #16. unfortunately, tim is not here for this, but duke is! jason and damian's interactions in the background of bruce's Very Serious Speech are excellent. bruce is so dramatic and his kids are so unserious.

what i've most enjoyed

i've enjoyed the majority of what i've read, even titles/events i wasn't particularly looking forward to but had on my tbr for whichever character. i'm going to break down most enjoyed into two catergories, arcs that i loved top to bottom and then the guilty pleasures. this is not an exhaustive list, just what immediately came to mind.

top to bottom

bruce wayne: murderer?/fugitive. shocker, ik. but it's just, it's just so frickin good. i've said before, and i'll say it again, gotham war could NEVER. this right here is peak batfamily drama. the tension? the mystery? the angst? i knew nothing going into this okay, and truth be told, when i started it i was like "oh joy. another event." because i was just trying to read the 1996 nightwing run, but i'd committed to reading in full all the events it crossed over with. but i was invested so quickly. and like, i loved how the narrative supported the possibility that bruce was the murderer, because like, you know there's no way, but the more that comes out the more damning it is, and so you're like really dying to know what actually happened and i feel like the reveal was satisfying.

batman: city of bane. i'm going to cautiously put this here, because there might have been something i didn't like but i cannot recall it for the life of me right now. something about me is i love when the heroes lose. infinity war, empire strikes back? love. and ik bruce takes back gotham, but they lose alfred, okay, they lost. i also didn't expect to like this arc, i decided to read it because i wanted to know how alfred died. and first of all, i was shocked, even though i knew it was coming because i expected it to like happen towards the end. but nope. just *snap*. and then later when bruce is back in the manor and is confronted with alfred's body and his good-bye message? oh. my. god. i was bawling. despite my penchant for sad narratives, i don't tend to cry that much, but this got to me so bad. like i had to pause because i couldn't see. amazing.

red robin. his cowl is so ugly, but i really do love the run. i see a lot of discourse about it and also a lot of...interesting fanfic takes, so i don't really talk about it a lot here because it feels like most people are kind of tired of hearing about this run, which fair. i really enjoyed it as a sequel to his solo robin run. tbh, i almost put this in the guilty pleasure catergory, because there are a couple things i don't totally love, but like if the others are 10/10, this is 9/10.

young justice 1998. i love this comic so, so much. i don't even know what to say, i get so overwhelmed with joy when i think about this comic. nothing has hit the same way with this group since either, which is a crime. i need a title with this team so badly.

guilty pleasures

these are all runs/events i know some/most? people cannot stand and i totally get why, and i have problems with them, so i'm probably never going to rec them in good conscience but also like i can't lie and say i don't like them. these are not recs, okay? okay.

robin war. is it a hot mess? yes. but there is not a whole lot of canon content out there with all the boys working together, okay? so much of that event had me banging my head into a wall, but for me, there were a handful of pearls in there. i mean honestly, if i listed out pros and cons the cons list would be way longer but those pros are very precious to me.

batman and robin: eternal. very similar reasoning overall to robin war. plus cass finally came back!! i missed her. i love robin!dick and batman content, and the kids working together. this is probably my least favorite guilty pleasure though, okay, it's on thin ice.

grayson. listen, i love janin's art sm. i'm pretty neutral about spy stuff, so like i don't engage with it a whole lot. meaning, although i've heard it's tropey af in regards to the genre, i'm not familiar enough with the genre to be like trying to dig my eyeballs out with blunt spoons at the cliche of it all. the constant sexualization of dick got old super fast, and her name may have been helena but she wasn't- my list of dislikes is lengthy. but idk, i had fun with it. and imo it does have some genuinely great moments, i love dick in the desert with the baby, the ache i felt when dick wanted to come home and couldn't get ahold of bruce, issue #12 stabs me in the heart- the dick and dami reunion? stoppppp. i feel like this run and the ric grayson era are dick's most out there lmao

so yeah!! thank you so much for this ask, i had sm fun answering it. if you have any recs for me, feel free to drop them :)

#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #nightwing #red hood #red robin #robin #dc comics #i almost included a fave panel from each rec but i didn't want the post to be even longer #cue answers #anon asks

[4dkellysworld]

Lol even when you have $billions the excitement goes away, eventually. Sure one can curate a cute illusory life. Cap off the illusions with love. But the only thing that matters to me is reaching myself in eternity...there's simply no rush to experience the fulfillment of illusory desires. They'll happen, this is eternity...with yourself aware of who you truly are...it becomes a loving curation...

Idk that's my response to that anon, there is simply no rush and that's okay. Why exist in an illusion when we can know ourselves fully. Your series of moments and experiences can be curated in any which way "you want" lol. It's simple. Desires are nothing and something...they were created by the self...but they have no authority...just media to have fun with

Right, and I'm sure even billionaires have their own unique billionaire problems in this illusion, are they *truly* free? They are still subject to the limitations of the body-mind even if they have less limitations than the average man because of their wealth. None of that will even matter once that body dies either.

I think the desire and drive to know ones true Self becomes more and more appealing the more disillusioned you become from the material life, when you realize that it can never give you true lasting happiness. There is nothing I care more than knowing and being my true self deeply and completely.

You should think about "Who am I?" The mundane life is like a treadmill. It may go round and round, but still you are in the same place. Please do not live this mundane life simply waiting for death. The worst habit is that of mundane worldly life. It is called the "greatest addiction." By force of this addiction to worldly life, Paramatman is made to believe that He is an individual, and is compelled to live a worldly life as if in prison. All bad habits can be dropped, but the addiction to mundane life is the most difficult to drop. People try to strengthen their ties with others by speaking to them respectfully and congratulating each other over small things. People compete with each other for earning more honors and status. In this way, they feel that they are happy in life. They act as if this is a respectable bad habit. The "God of Death" is happy to give you many kinds of bodies and various troubles. Give up the sense of "mine." Know that the body is your enemy. Very few are those who have truly understood. Only those who are lucky enough to receive the blessings of the Guru, who is the Self, can escape from this Illusion by right efforts. All others are bound to the treadmill of life in various incarnations, and they make houses of bodies of various shapes and duration. from Chapter 41. Give Up the Addiction to Mundane Worldly Life - Master of Self Realization by Siddharameshwar Maharaj

And there is nothing to desire once you know yourself as everything, there is no need to desire when everything is you and yours. Only you must know who you truly are first.

#asks #siddharameshwar maharaj #attitude #desire

[thegayestmferintown]

Please take your time!!

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

Can I have headcanons of the 7 princes + databables(Raphael, solomon, thirteen etc) reacting when MC expresses their filipino culture? (Like telling stories about the events, cooking their favorite sultural dish, etc)

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

Feel free to delete it, and please take your time!!

Hello! I am not Filipino myself, so I didn't go much into detail. Forgive me for that!

I sadly couldn't think of anything for the dateables (idk why, my mind just drew a blank)

The only dateable I could truly think of a scenario with was Barbatos, but for some reason I couldn't figure out how to write it.

This takes place in the original timeline

Warnings ;; None

Relationship ;; I wrote this in a romantic sense, but can be interpreted however!

Type ;; Headcanons

LUCIFER ;; THE PRIDEFUL ELDEST

Lucifer is very much intrigued. He would love to learn more, but he would never outright ask you.

Lucifer is far too prideful to come out and say it, so you'd have to look at his body language.

The very slight twinkle in his eye when you explain, the small but noticable genuine smile that crosses his lips.

He very much enjoys your cooking, and will compliment you subtly.

He's particularly fond of the times you'll come into his private study and sit by the fireplace while you tell him all sorts of stories.

MAMMON ;; THE SCUMMY SECOND-BORN

Oh, Mammon is all for it. He's asking you for recipes, stories, and recommending you sell both throughout the Devildom.

He's listening intently, and getting excited anytime you bring something about your culture up during conversation.

Although, if you bring it up, his face will immediately turn beet-red and he'll say something along the lines of:

"O-Of course it ain't i-interestin'! But I'm ya first man, ain't I? I g-gotta let my human yap ev'ry now 'nd again!'

He is so hopelessly in love with you, it's not even funny.

LEVIATHAN ;; THE OTAKU THIRD-BORN

I actually cannot see Leviathan being too concerned with it at first. He'd probably be more concerned with watching anime with you, reading manga with you, or playing games with you to really care about your ethnicity.

He'd more than likely start to point out characters in separate animes or games that share the same ethnicity as you.

If you were to make different Filipino meals for him, he would be absolutely over the moon. If you bring him the food, make sure you bring tissues with you.

He'd listen to your stories, occasionally making references to TSL, Ruri-Chan, or others, if possible.

All in all, He wouldn't really care at first, but he would become more interested the more time passed.

SATAN ;; THE CYNICAL FOURTH BORN

Knowing Satan, he'd probably already know a lot. And he'd hold it over Lucifer's head that he knows more about your ethnicity than he does

Besides that, he's perfectly willing to listen to your stories, even if he knows them already.

He's particularly fond of your cooking, and he will tell you that. He might point out subtle things that he'd change, but he doesn't really care if you take his advice or not. After all, he's not a chef.

If he finds any sorts of books that have to do with your ethnicity, he'd bring them to you and let you read them, after he reads them first though.

He would also love to sit down and read them with you, or to you, if you asked.

ASMODEUS ;; THE NARCISSISTIC FIFTH-BORN

Asmo just thinks it's so cute! Especially when you're cooking, or telling him stories.

He might watch himself around your food, given his public appearance, but that doesn't mean he dislikes it!

He's truly fond of your cooking, he is. He's just weary of other people's opinions.

He loves listening to your stories while he does your makeup, or his own.

Even during his 26-step skincare routine, he's probably having you come to his room so he can listen to your stories.

BEELZEBUB ;; THE FAMISHED SIXTH-BORN

Marry him. On the spot. Beel absolutely loves Human-World food, and the fact that you're willing to make it for him? Oh, he's in love.

You may have to shove him out of the kitchen because otherwise, he'll eat all of the ingredients before you can even put them together.

If he manages to stay put and not eat any of the ingredients, he's watching you cook albeit while drooling.

He literally looks like an excited puppy when you give him the food.

He chows it down quickly, and asks you for more. Make a shitton, it'll go quickly.

BELPHEGOR ;; THE CATNAPPING SEVENTH-BORN

Belphie probably couldn't care less about your culture. If his twin is happy, he's happy.

The only time he'd more than likely be interested, is if he just so happens to fall asleep to one of your stories.

He'd start to ask to you come back, and eventually he wouldn't be able to fall asleep without your stories.

Obviously, he would, but with some struggle. It's Belphie, the Avatar of Sloth we're talking about here.

He's probably pretty fond of your food, although he much prefers your stories.

#x reader #romantic x reader #asks #colorzartz #obey me #obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me levi x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphie #obey me belphie x reader #obey me x mc #obey me scenarios #obey me imagines #obey me fluff #obey me hcs

[expired-applejuice]

Part 5 of incorrect quotes

Bahorel: Guys, there's a monster under my bed and it's really ugly.

Grantaire, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

-

Cosette: i made a Marshmallow Inspector Javert.

Cosette: see? his arms are crossed because he's mad at Marshmallow Valjean for escaping him.

Cosette: you like it?

Javert:

Javert: *choked up* it's fine.

-

Courfeyrac: Once again, Courfeyrac and Combeferre save the day.

Enjolras: You didn't do anything It was all Combeferre.

Courfeyrac: We're a package deal. Everybody knows that.

-

Grantaire: Hello, fellow idiots

Enjolras: Hello, Grantaire

Grantaire: No, no, not you, you're not an idiot

Enjolras: You underestimate me

-

*Combeferre is cooking*

Grantaire: Any chance that's for me?

Combeferre: It's for Courfeyrac. I'm planning on making some bad choices tonight, and I need him on my side.

Enjolras: I never realized the forethought that went into being a disappointment

-

Enjolras: Feuilly isn't answering his phone

Bahorel: I'll call

Combeferre: Enjolras and I have both tried six times each, what makes you thi-

Feuilly: Hello?

-

Javert: God, give me patience.

Valjean: I think you mean "give me strength".

Javert: No, You better hope God doesn't give me strength because if he did, you'd be dead.

-

Joly: Hey, Bossuet? What does IDK, ILY, and TTYL mean?

Bossuet: i don't know, I love you, talk to you later.

Joly: Oh, okay, I'll just ask Musichetta. I love you too.

Bossuet:

-

Jehan: You have to apologize.

Montparnasse: Fine, but this might make me a better and more likable person and that is not the man you fell in love with!

-

Someone may have done this

*playing truth or dare*

Eponine: Okay, truth or dare?

Grantaire: Dare.

Eponine: Kiss the next person who arrives.

Grantaire: Gross, I'm not kissing any of you. None of you are my type.

*Enjolras walks in*

Grantaire:

Grantaire, using breath stray and putting on chapstick: Well, a dare's a dare.

-

Courfeyrac: You know my motto: carpe diem, carpe noctem, carpe coles.

Marius: Seize the day, seize the night, what's the last one?

Courfeyrac: Seize the dick.

-

Grantaire: mean, sure, I have my bad days. But then I remember what a cute smile Apollo has.

-

Combeferre: *seductively takes off glasses*

Combeferre: Wow...

Courfeyrac, blushing: Haha... what?

Combeferre: You're really fucking blurry.

-

Bossuet: Hey, babe.

Joly: Hmm?

Bossuet: I need your help with a math problem.

Joly: Oh, sure! What do you need?

Bossuet: How do you simplify 2i<6u?

Joly: i<3u

Bossuet: Awww, i<3u too!

Joly:

-

Enjolras, texting Bossuet: Send dudes

Bossuet: You mean-

Bossuet: You mean send nudes??!

Enjolras: No, we crashed the funeral and I'm bleeding. Send Grantaire

Grantaire: *already ran out the door*

-

Combeferre: I know every song to ever exist, doesn't matter when it was made.

Enjolras: Oh, yeah?

Grantaire: Finish this; I don't cook, I don't clean-

Combeferre: but let me tell you how got this ring,

Combeferre, Grantaire, and Courfeyrac, who came out of no were: GOBBLE ME, SWALLOW ME, DRIP DOWN THE SIDE OF ME-

-

*undercover*

Eponine: You don't think can fight because I'm a girl.

Marius: 'Ponie I don't think you can fight because you're in a wedding dress. To be fair, don't think Bahorel could fight in that either.

Bahorel: No, but I'd make a bomb ass wife.

-

Valjean: You're pouting.

Javert: I'm not pouting, I'm brooding.

Valjean: That's how pretty men pout.

-

Valjean, picking up his phone: Javert? I'm kind of busy right now-

Javert: Do you think drinking thirty-six cans of Redbull consecutively would heighten my senses or would I just die?

Valjean:

Valjean: I'm on my way.

-

Eponine: Bitches be like "I'm baby" but have childhood trauma and were neglected.

Eponine: Like what do you know about being baby? You were forced to grow up from an early age.

Eponine:

Everyone else:

Eponine: It's me. I'm bitches.

Gavroche, sighing: We know.

-

Feuilly: Y'all ever get so tired you see spiders?

Grantaire: Me when I take seventeen Benadryl and start seeing the Hat Man.

Jehan: THE WHAT?

Grantaire: Oh, so this is suddenly not a safe space?

-

Courfeyrac: Relationships should be 50/50; Combeferre cooks dinner while I sit on the counter looking pretty.

-

Bahorel: Not everyone likes you, Montparnasse. You aren't Feuilly.

Montparnasse: Not everyone likes Feuilly??

Enjolras, coming out of no where: Who?

Montparnasse:

Bahorel, cracking his knuckles: we need names, Montparnasse.

-

Musichetta: Can you two cut me some slack? I'm sort of in love.

Joly: I'm sorry, but that's really not our problem.

Musichetta: I'm in love with you both.

Bossuet, blushing: Oh... that brings us into the loop a little.

-

Combeferre: I fell-

Courfeyrac: From heaven?

Combeferre: No, I literally fell-

Courfeyrac: In love with me the moment you saw me

Combeferre: MY ARM IS BROKEN, COURFEYRAC

Courfeyrac: Ok, but am I pretty? Be honest.

-

*Combeferre and Grantaire in a casino*

Combeferre: Grantaire, we're about to get kicked out-

Grantaire: Shush!

Combeferre: We gotta-

Grantaire: Shut up!

Combeferre: R-

Grantaire: Shh! Shush, shush, shush! Do you hear that?

Combeferre: Wha- are you drunk?

Grantaire: Yes, but listen!

Combeferre:

Grantaire:

Grantaire: It's the sound of me not giving a fuck.

-

Javert: We all have our demons.

Javert, pointing at Les Amis: These ones are mine.

-

Valjean, helping Marius stand after being wounded: You need to be careful, you're loosing a lot of blood-

Marius, loopy: I'm not "loosing" it, I know exactly where it is!

*Marius points to the puddle of his blood on the floor.*

Valjean: Oh, dear Lord, I should just leave you.

-

Enjolras, making his third cup of coffee: Why are my hands so shaky?

Combeferre, on his fifth: Your skeleton is ready to hatch.

-

Montparnasse, to Feuilly: What's the first thing you notice when someone approaches you?

Bahorel, holding Feuilly's hand: The audacity.

-

Combeferre: Did you know-

Bahorel: That somethings are better left unsaid?

Combeferre: Nice try.

-

Eponine: Do you have any idea how dangerous I'd be if I had zero self doubt?

-

Jehan: If I were a drink, I'd be cherry vanilla coke. If you were a drink, what would you be?

Grantaire: Bleach.

Bahorel: Blood

Montparnasse: arsenic

Feuilly: Alright, calm down edgelords.

-

Grantaire: Dad didn't raise a quitter!

Joly: I thought your dad left?

Grantaire: Which is why I'm quitting.

-

Grantaire to Combeferre: Do you think I'm ugly?

Combeferre: It's not about looks, R. What's valuable is on the inside.

Grantaire, touched: Aww...

Combeferre: For example, someone's heart.

Grantaire: You're a good friend, Combeferre -

Combeferre: It can be priced at over one million US dollars, you know.

Grantaire:

-

Grantaire: Ok, here's my wishlist.

Musichetta: This is surprisingly reasonable.

Joly: We could probably get all this by Christmas.

Enjolras: Oh, so no one's gonna ask why I'm on the list?

Grantaire: That's more of a hope.

Enjolras: I still don't get why I'm on the list?

Bossuet, to Grantaire: Are you sure you don't want someone else?

Grantaire: Nope, I want him.

Enjolras: CAN SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN WHY I'M OM THE LIST?!

-

*playing Would You Rather?*

Eponine: Ok, R. Would you rather die or-

Grantaire: Die.

Cosette: She hasn't even-

Grantaire: Die.

Marius: Grantaire, we talked about this...

-

Enjolras: I was born for politics.

Enjolras: have great hair and I'm great at lying.

-

Bahorel: I've thought about taking swim classes for adults, but honestly that's sadder than just drowning.

-

Combeferre, to Grantaire: I need 45 minutes away from you, and then we can be best friends again.

-

Montparnasse: *raises eyebrows *

Jehan: Put those back down

#grantaire #enjolras #les amis de l'abc #exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #e x r #rxe #combeferre #courfeyrac #bossuet #bahorel #courferre #jehan prouvaire #joly #javert #valvert #jean valjean #cosette fauchelevent #eposette #eponine thenardier #gavroche #montparnasse #musichetta #jehan #feuilly #incorrect les mis quotes #les miserables #les mis #marius pontmercy

[divine-donna]

Hello there :) please could i request House of the dragon headcanons where they fall in love with Viserys’s adopted daughter who has had a dragon since birth and is a warrior 💙

hi! yes you may. however, i am making a few changes to your request if that is alright.

the first is that "daughter" will simply be changed to "child." a daughter implies a female reader and i don't believe a female reader is necessary. i want everyone to be able to read my work! however, i will be saying that (y/n) is perceived to be more feminine than their peers (if that makes sense).

the second thing is that "adopted child" will simply be "person viewed as an honorary child." idk if this may just be me, but i am not a fan of incest. and yes, it's inherently part of the show. that does not mean i'm going to write it. personally, i just don't want to do that. i did not state in my rules that i don't write for incest because i did not think it will come up. however, from now on, incest is always off the table with me. there are plenty of writers willing to go the extra mile. i'm just not one of them.

there is no debate here about if (y/n) being viserys's adopted child would make it technically not incest if certain characters fell in love with them. it's just incest, point blank.

anyways, sorry for the lengthy note. we'll dive right into it!

(y/n)’s backstory

the child to a dragonkeeper and a maidservant, you were born amidst unexpected circumstances. as a winter storm raged outside, you came into the world, fighting with as much might as possible with your little heart. perhaps it was a sign from the gods that you were destined for greatness, but none could tell. until that dragon egg your father was watching over hatched and bonded itself to you.

it was a strange occurrance, something sure to never happen again. but when told of this, king viserys took it as a sign that you were meant to be great. and so, instead of trying to put out your flames, he fanned them. you were raised to be a dragonkeeper, yes, but were also trained alongside his children. and in the process, you became a skilled warrior despite the conception that you were meant to be nothing more than a dragonkeeper and an avid watcher of tourneys rather than a participant.

the dragon that hatched from the egg you named viserion. to be fair, it wasn’t your choice to name your dragon viserion. you wanted to name it after a braavosi figure who you adored and idolized, partially because your family originally hailed from braavos prior to their migration to westeros. viserion was named in honor of the king. however, despite viserion being a masculine name, it was unknown if your dragon was male or female to others. only you knew but such trivial matters did not concern you.

viserion was a dragon that eventually grew to the size of syrax. a beautiful dragon, it was off white with a tint of pink within its scales and dark eyes. it was an aggressive dragon, one that only listened to you. even so, sometimes you had trouble giving viserion commands. weirdly enough though, viserion was very fond of vhagar. it reminded you very much of a young puppy playing with a much older, more tired hound.

ser criston cole

a someone seen with the same status as rhaenyra and aegon, criston knew that falling in love with you was wrong. it was wrong for him, a common man, to fall in love with someone perceived as highborn. and it was wrong because of his oath as a member of the kingsguard. and yet, the more he attempted to push his desires away, the stronger they came back towards him. he treated you with such contempt that you were convinced he hated you. the man would go out of his way to avoid you, if possible. it wasn’t until you confronted him about it, late at night, that he apologized for his behavior. alicent decided to slap some sense into his head. and while it does not excuse his behavior, at least he apologizes. and you know he meant it, because he became softer, nicer, kinder. and soon, you found yourself asking him to come take a ride with you on viserion, head to the vale for a diplomatic mission. and maybe he was a little more than eager to want to become your sworn protector even though you didn’t need one.

“i must apologize for my rude behavior, (y/n). it was not my intention to be aloof. i simply...have feelings for you. and these feelings are unbecoming for a man such as myself.”

daemon targaryen

daemon’s always liked challenges. when you entered into his brother’s court, he didn’t expect much of you. sure, a dragon had hatched and bonded itself with you. but to him, it was nothing special. he doesn’t pay any attention to you at all. not until years later when you participate in a tourney. you carry no flag, for you are of a much lower birth than the nobles you fight alongside. but when you knock daemon off his horse and then beat him in a trial by combat, he can’t help but feel his heart quicken. your sword almost pierced his head, stabbed next to it into the ground. yield. is what you told him. or would you prefer to become dragon feed? a strong warrior you were, he decided to seek after you. you had a small interest in the rogue prince but what really attracted you to him was how he treated you as an equal, as a capable fighter. perhaps because you had already proven yourself. either way, daemon has a thing for people with strength. defeating someone at a tourney in front of hundreds of viewers is the perfect way to get him to fall in love with you. even if it wasn’t on purpose.

“it’s not often that a warrior can defeat me. the last time it happened was with ser criston cole. tell me, little one, how did you do it? why even bother to let me live after knocking me down into the dirt?”

rhaenyra targaryen

rhaenyra very much admired you from the moment she met you. it did not matter your lowborn status. what mattered is that you rode a dragon. and therefore, you could ride with her. alicent preferred to stay on the ground. but with you? rhaenyra was free to go as high as she wanted and you would follow suit as a fellow adrenaline chaser. forget your duties and your lessons. you wanted to cross the narrow sea with rhaenyra and eat only cake. it was so easy for her to fall in love with you. she loved the way you nuzzled up to viserion, the way you smiled as viserion dove downwards through the clouds, the way syrax was always happy to see you. there were other things too, like the way you fiddled with your fingers when you were nervous or how you and her would have secret conversations in high valyrian. the way you swung your sword was effortless and with precision and grace. however, you were bound to your duty and firmly rejected her advances when you both were young. she understood, despite the shattering of her heart. rhaenyra expected you to side with her former best friend when the war of succession came around, as you were bound to the hightowers by an oath you promised to king viserys. and yet, viserion landed on the beaches of dragonstone with you on its back. and she was joyful because after all these years, she never fell out of love. only deeper.

“it has been years since i last saw your face and yet, i still remember vividly how you laugh. perhaps one can say i am sick with love. but i can never forget the first of them.”

alicent hightower

despite your lowborn status, the mere fact that you possessed a dragon mount made alicent view you as a deity, someone untouched by regular people. and yet, despite that untouchable status, she never stopped thinking about you, wanting to touch you. she was courteous when you were young, but she was cold. you did not think much of her, not until after she married viserys. it was a shock to you, much like how it was a shock to rhaenyra. and it was only until then did the two of you begin to interact more. it was how alicent got to know the real you. you would sit and listen to her laments, how she felt utterly destroyed by her sense of duty. you were all too familiar with that. despite all the good that came from your status, you wished you had stayed as a mere dragonkeeper. being...more was tiring, exhausting. and after taking care of her children, the two of you would lay by the godswood together, soaking in each other’s presence. and when the war of succession came, you bent the knee to aegon, second of his name. but not for him. no, you firmly believed aegon to be a rotten man, someone undeserving of alicent’s care and love. you bent the knee for her and it wasn’t until you bowed before her son that she realized how deeply in love with you she truly was.

“my family demands things of me. they are my duties. there is only one person who doesn’t demand from me (y/n), who has treated me with kindness. and that is you! i’ve been such a fool to ignore how i truly feel! and with you at my side, i feel not only powerful, but loved.”

aegon targaryen

aegon has always resented you. you were viewed as viserys’s unofficial other child. and at every turn, he was being compared to you despite the fact that you were younger than him! you always did what you were told, followed your duties. best of all, you were a talented warrior and dragonrider and were sober. all the time. it just made him hate himself even more. aegon was always cruel to you, much like how he was cruel to others. and what annoyed him the most was that you were nonchalant about it. you didn’t care. and in a way, you proved to him exactly how others felt about him. of course, that wasn’t the case. many, many times you dragged aegon back to the red keep after he got drunk too much or carried him back to his room. there was one time where you bathed him because his clothes were just dirty (and frankly, he smelled a little funky). he made leecherous jokes to you, called you cruel names. and yet, you sat there, sponging him down with warm water and scrubbing so hard his skin was red. and it was then he broke down. he didn’t want to open up. it was word vomit. but you sat and listened and said something so unexpected: i understand. how could you understand? and when he asked that, you simply told him that your duties feel too much to bear but you wanted to give your parents a comfortable life. he learned that night, as you dried him and dressed him, that you were like him. exactly like him. maybe not on the surface, but deep down you both were the same. and when he sobered up, he approached you to apologize. aegon has never really apologized so sincerely to someone. and yet, for you, he did. perhaps that should have been the first sign that he had fallen in love.

“you infuriate me because you represent everything i should be. and i cannot be everything you are! perhaps it is unfair to resent you to a certain extent. but i cannot bear the weight of pressure from your existence alone!”

aemond targaryen

aemond likes a warrior. he likes someone who will be on an equal playing field with him. as a child, he admired your skills even though they weren’t fully developed. after all, you had just come into court. and he didn’t know viserion was your dragon, foolishly attempting to bond with it. of course, the tips of his hair got burnt to a crisp. you simply grabbed a pair of scissors and trimmed his hair so his mother wouldn’t scold him for having gone back to the dragonpit. but despite the niceties, part of aemond resented you. because, honestly, how can a lowborn such as yourself be bonded with a dragon before him? a targaryen prince? the idea was so preposturous! it led to a weird hot and cold relationship with him. sometimes, aemond would be kind and open up to you. other times, he was cold, distant, and even short-tempered. you didn’t bully him. in fact, you got a bit of revenge on aegon for the pig prank he pulled. you were on his side. or at least, you desperately wanted to be. he just refused you at every turn. and then, he claims vhagar. vhagar, the biggest dragon. it was no surprise to you that aemond became quite arrogant, constantly bringing up how much bigger vhagar was to viserion. you did not care. and he hated how you didn’t care. you dare ignore him after he has successfully bonded with the biggest dragon? of course you didn’t care. it did, however, mean having to spend more time with aemond. because viserion loved playing with her. she looked very tired whenever it was around but had a fondness for viserion all the same. and as you grew older, you let yourself fall into aemond’s shadow. it was nice to sit back and not have to deal with expectations. after all, you already defied them when you were younger. and yet, after all these years and all the spotlight, aemond still aimed to oneup you. you made a jest towards him when he challenged you to a race on your dragons. you must be in love with me to keep egging me on for a race or a challenge. of course, he firmly denied the statement. but when he returned to his room and sat in a chair, it slowly dawned on him that maybe his admiration from long ago had evolved into something deeper.

“helaena, i fear i have let my ambition get the best of me. i have been meaning to prove myself to (y/n) for years. and yet, they don’t seem to care. and their jest today...perhaps i am sick with love.”

helaena targaryen

amongst the children with valyrian silver hair, you were an outsider. their hands, soft and smooth, were a stark comparison to yours which were rough and calloused from years of working in the dragonpit. you felt like an outsider. you didn’t talk like them, didn’t act like them, didn’t have the same manners. you may have been better at speaking high valyrian, but they trumped you in everything else. you were an outsider, someone unwelcomed by the other members at court. so you found yourself feeling lonely. that is, until one day while resting at the godswood, a gentle voice tells you not to move. you open your eyes, watching as the princess helaena gently urges the large spider to leave your body for her hand. and once it is off, she sits besides you, watching it move and make her hand its temporary safe place. helaena understands what it’s like to be alone, to be tormented and talked about behind doors. despite being born as royalty, she was treated as a peculiar woman. aegon especially did not spare her from his cruel remarks. so you found comfort with helaena. she was easy to talk to and understood what you meant when you talked. she did not think of you beyond a platonic sense. and it wasn’t until you both were much older did you reveal how you truly feel to the princess of the targaryen dynasty. the spark she felt inside of her when you kissed her, gently and tenderly, with so much love that it felt...unnatural. and she kissed you back as proof that she reciprocated your love.

“people are...fickle. but you, (y/n), are not. there is no one else i can think of that would hold me like you hold me, kiss me like how you kiss me, listen to me like how you listen. you are one in a million and i am grateful to the gods that you are mine.”

jacaerys velaryon

many people proclaimed you a bastard, a bastard king viserys. they cited your hair and eyes, which were passed onto you through your mother. you were clearly your mother’s child. many people presumed that viserys was your father because he brought you into court. part of you wishes that he didn’t. your life was comfortable, yes. but were such luxuries worth the constant chatter of your bastardy? many people, but especially otto and alicent hightower and her sons, loathed your existence. you were never welcome within them and aemond went out of his way to torment you (clearly as an outlet, which you don’t blame him for necessarily). there was someone who understood the insults well and was familiar with them: jacaerys, the first born son of princess rhaenyra. his bastardy was claimed always, lacking the signature silver valyrian hair. of course, his bastardy is true. but he understands the pain and loneliness. and one night, he unexpectedly visits you in your room with cakes and wine, asking if you would want to talk over some snacks. you let out everything, how much it hurts to hear that king viserys might be your father when that was nothing but false. the two of you have more in common than you initially thought. nevertheless, you are very happy to have someone you can lean on. it is only from there do you grow closer, training together, dancing together. it just clicks in his head one day as the two of you dance silently in his room. the way you move, your smile, and your gaze of love. he felt his heart quicken in pace and that feeling known as love began to creep up within him. and he just acted upon it without a second thought.

“(y/n), this may be sudden, but i want to ask if you would like to come to dragonstone with me. we leave on the morrow. king’s landing...you don’t belong here. i don’t belong here. we don’t belong here. so please, come to dragonstone with me. i assure you, swear to you, that you belong with me, with us, at our ancestral seat. you may not be a child of the targaryen dynasty, but you are a dragonrider and you belong with us.”

#yes i am a senile vhagar believer #idk i think it's just really funny #requests open #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd headcanons #ser criston #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen #alicent hightower #aegon the usurper #aemond targaryen #helaena targaryen #jacaerys velaryon

[mad-c1oud]

another charlie drabble~

(see this post if you wanna submit some prompts for q!charlie :3)

for the anon who requested Antoine and Gegg with the line "show me where it hurts"! I'll be honest, i'm not sure how to write Gegg so I went with a post transformation-Charlie, but just know that their dynamic for me is like dr jekyll and mr hyde. Do with that info what you want, cause idk

enjoy! this was fun to write :D

+++++

“Show me where it hurts.”

It’s just Charlie’s luck someone found him right after a debate, minutes after he’d just come back to himself, came back to whatever makes him Charlie. He just didn’t expect it to be Antoine of all people, but it’s really him, in all his box and beige + red cloak glory, crouched in front of Charlie. He struggles to remember what just happened, where he is, who he is when the… entity- that the only thing he can think of to describe what Antoine is, an eldritch horror drawn by a child- speaks again.

“Slime,” fingers snap in front of his face and Charlie winces at the sound as his head pounds and pounds and pounds. Just how many drinks did Gegg knock back? Or did he try talking again? Fuck, why can’t he remember anything? “Are you there?”

Sure he wants to say but he can’t find the words. Transforming back into something more human has him all out of sorts, head hurting and limbs burning and numb and god this sucks. That’s when he realizes Antoine didn’t snap his fingers because there are no fingers in front of his face to snap. There are also none pressing into newly formed skin which he can clearly feel so why the fuck can’t he see them. 

Have I officially lost it.

“Your nose is bleeding. I didn’t think slimes could bleed, but maybe that also explains Gegg.”

There is just, way too much going on.

Charlie still can’t find his voice- literally, his voice box is lost somewhere in his chest cavity and he really doesn’t feel like fishing for it when someone else is watching him. It shouldn’t be unnerving having Antoine’s lifeless, boxy eyes staring him down but it’s fucking offputting man. He can’t pick something to focus on it’s all too much between the blood, the punching in his skull, the invisible grip on his arm, his chin, eyes staring at him but also Not and Gegg fuck Gegg he knows Antoine knows he’s going to-

“Here.” Something is pressed to his nose and Charlie watches in bewilderment as a handkerchief floats in the air, Antoine’s cloak rustling with the movement but still no fucking limbs good god. Charlie pats himself down for something, anything he can write with but Gegg only had shitty green, copy paper and that feels too revealing to use so he just frowns at the man-thing-guy in front of him, wanting to say one thing and one thing only. It’s eating at him.

Almost as if sensing his thoughts, Antoine lets out a little “oh!” before a little red notebook materializes out of nowhere, settling itself down in Charlie’s hands with a gentle thump. At his questioning gaze, the other hums happily before answering, “Pomme. She writes a lot, I like to read a lot. I always have extras, just ask.” Antoine laughs to himself and Charlie rolls his eyes at the dig, pulling a green pencil out to write shakily.

Thanks Also- you’re weird, like seriously odd

Antoine just laughs warmly, seating himself in the grass beside Charlie, looking like he’s going to stay. See? Weird.

“That makes two of us, Charlie Slimecicle."

#sorry it's not truly gegg #hope that's okay!! #qsmp fic #qsmp slimecicle #qsmp antoine #antoine daniel #slimecicle #do not ask me what antoine is i do not know friends #he is Weird #mad writings

[aroapl]

hello! first off, this ask is not at all meant to be antagonistic and i am genuinely coming from a place of wanting to understand. i've always been extremely for "people can be and identify as whatever they want, so long as they're not hurting anyone". what i'm struggling with is that last bit and the way that i am seeing some people using the aplatonic or loveless labels.

i am both aro- and ace spec myself, so i definitely understand not having emotions or attraction in the way that a lot of people feel that you should. and while i am pretty high empathy myself, i'm also friends with people who have low or no empathy and have no trouble understanding that that's just another way of existing and doesn't mean that you can't have compassion for people or treat people decently. my best friend has no empathy and is incredibly supportive and caring.

i also totally get when i see people iding as loveless because the way that our society (especially western society) uses the word "love" is so weird and definitely not universally relatable. completely understandable.

i've seen many people identify being aplatonic as meaning "idk i just don't really Connect with people in the way that i see most people talk about, if my friends all moved away, i wouldn't really be bothered" okay, cool. i don't Get it, but just seems to be a different experience.

where i'm really struggling is not to condemn or get angry at people who i straight up see saying "i'm loveless meaning i don't care about other human beings and if any number of people just died right in front of me i wouldn't care. if i saw someone in trouble needing my help i'd walk right past them. i hate humans". i haven't seen a TON of people express this, but i've seen enough to where i feel like they can't all be trolls, and i'm not sure how to respond.

i've also seen a lot, like definitely the vast majority of people i see pop up on my dash who id themselves as aplatonic, say that they feel horribly lonely and disconnected and just Can't make friends...therefore they must be aplatonic, and they should stop trying and be "naturally" isolated. a lot of these people also mention having past trauma, and a lot of them seem to be young teenagers.

now. i am of the opinion that identifying yourself "incorrectly"--eg, a young trans woman identifying as ace before she figures out she's trans because she has no interest in sex as someone who's seen as a man--isn't ever really harmful. not having sex with anyone isn't going to hurt you. briefly deciding you're a lesbian isn't going to hurt you if you're actually a trans man.

but these teenagers i see iding as aplatonic because they're unable to make connections with people but want to really worries me. if you don't have any close friends or even casual friends and are totally happy with that and id as aplatonic, that makes sense and seems perfectly fine to me. but i just can't make "i id this way because i'm miserable" mesh with my worldview, nor can i make "i id this way because i hate everyone" mesh either.

in the past when i've brought this up to people with the loveless able specifically, it's incited threats of violence, doxxing, and a lot of ableism, which tbh did the opposite of convincing me it was a harmless label.

do you have any thoughts on this?

(Little preface to say I consulted a server with a lot of apls and loveless folks in it to get a second opinion on how to respond to this. So, some of this is entirely my own thoughts and some is paraphrased from another loveless apl. This person did not want to be credited/named.)

I’m gonna start with my main thought on all these points, which is this: there are always going to be some people that identify with a label for the “wrong” reasons, and there are always going to be some assholes and some people you fundamentally don’t agree with in every label/community. None of these things ever make it okay to try and get rid of or police a label, to take it away from the people that genuinely find community, joy, and self acceptance in it.

A lot of what you’re saying here is quite frankly just classic aphobia, the same stuff a lot of people say/think about aros and aces just directed at apls and loveless people. There are plenty of aros that desperately wish they could like romance and have romantic relationships, and there are aphobes that think these aros are just mentally ill and that the aro label should be done away with to “save” them. There are some violently sex negative aces out there, and there are aphobes who think they speak for the whole community and that the ace label should be done away with because of it. There are people that mistakenly identify as ace and/or aro because they’re struggling with other things, and some of them isolate themselves because of it in ways that genuinely do harm them, and there are people that think ace and aro are inherently harmful labels because of this. 

Whether they truly are aplatonic or just falling back on the aplatonic label because of other struggles, some aplatonic people genuinely wishing they could make/keep friends and feeling lonely doesn’t mean that the aplatonic label as a whole is a problem. Like I said, people misidentifying in ways that do actually harm them in some way is something that can happen with any label. Also, trying to make someone drop a label that doesn’t actually fit them and force them to face the problem that led them to it before they’re ready to is rarely helpful. A lot of people in this situation would at best feel disrespected and upset, and at worst double down on their misidentification or have a serious mental health spiral over being made to face a problem they aren't ready to face. People wrongly IDing as aplatonic might find understanding and resources in our community that help them heal, they might be miserable the whole time they ID as apl and eventually move on and get help afterward, or they might learn and heal in other ways or go on to struggle for a very long time. Either way, it’s not the job of outsiders to decide someone is identifying with a label for the wrong reasons and make them let it go. 

(Also, a side note on this point. While aplatonic is currently primarily defined and used similarly to other aspec labels, there have been several other definitions that differ quite a lot. One of these definitions defines it as struggling to make or maintain friendships due to neurodivergence, or just generally struggling with friendship. Some people do still use this definition. Some of these people you’re talking about may be using this definition.)

Now on to lovelessness. Some of what you’re saying here gets into ableism, particularly towards people with personality disorders. Some people with personality disorders genuinely just aren’t capable of caring about strangers like that, or people in general. Some often aren’t capable of going out of their way to help people, or struggle a lot with it. That doesn’t make them bad. People can’t control how they feel. As long as they aren’t hurting anyone, people can feel or think whatever they want. Thought crime isn’t real.

Now, if someone is actually hurting people and using the loveless label as an excuse, that’s obviously not okay. The thing about that though is that taking the loveless label away from them won’t make them stop hurting people. They will just find another excuse, or stop bothering with having an excuse. An asshole is still going to be an asshole no matter what label or excuse they attach to it. On top of that, some people within an identity/community being bad people doesn't make it okay to vilify everyone that shares that label or get rid of that label/community. 

I’m genuinely very sorry some people have been ableist and violent towards you, that is never okay. I do need you to know though that despite what may have been good intentions, this does come off as aplphobic, loveless antagonistic, and a bit ableist. That can rightfully inspire anger and defensiveness in people with these identities, especially since many of us are already used to having our identities antagonized, disrespected, and demonized. Since you’re aroace-spec, imagine how you would feel if someone came to you and expressed these exact same sentiments, but towards ace and aro identities instead. Imagine how you’d feel if some came to you doubting that ace and aro identities should be allowed to exist because they’d encountered some aces and aros that were mean or unhappy in their identify.

At the end of the day, not everyone is going to share your worldview, and that’s fine. You don’t have to understand them or like them, or even get along with them, but they have a right to exist as they are even if you don’t agree with them or like it. If they aren’t hurting you, simply move on and focus your time and energy on the people and communities you do like and understand.

#aplatonic #loveless #loveless aro #apl #aplphobia #loveless antagonism #arophobia mention #acephobia mention #ableism mention

[stuffedsand]

for the violence ask game: 8 common fandom opinion everyone is wrong about. for milgram. i know exactly what you're going to say i just want to see you go off again

Hiii bestie. You do know what I'm about to talk about. Yippee

Disclaimer that this whole essay is like. For fun and how I say things is ramped up to be funny. I don't mind if you disagree w me cuz like that's the nature of things! We disagree but we can get along.

Anyways short answer for people who don't wanna see the essay: organ harvesting theory. This is about shidou.

Idk how prevalent it is rn since not many people even talk about shidou but it was prevalent enough in June when I got into milgram that I believed it for a bit anyways the rest in under the cut cuz I'm insane sorrg

SO the main reason I think the theory is WRONG (hyperbole‼️) is because I just think it's unrealistic. Man works in a hospital in Japan. How would he pull it off. Scuff an operation bad enough to cause braindeath/death and I'm p sure they suspend your medical licence, if he participated in an organ harvesting operation pre-family-accident his case would then be black and white cuz he was doing it in complete sound mind with no regard for human life. Also it wouldn't justify the extreme reaction he's had to realizing, specifically, "what I've been robbing people of" (t1 voice trailer), and he wouldn't have as heavy a focus on the relatives' feelings and reactions. At least story writing wise it'd make less sense since it doesn't allude to anything if that's the end goal? Imo at least. Idk maybe this is because I really like tragedies in media. Also because it'd be a really disproportionately severe crime compared to every other direct murderer???? Like. We have strangled someone, stabbed someone, bludgeoning, bludgeoning, kicked someone to death. Organ harvesting looks cartoony in this context. It's also not a very prevelant issue in Japan iirc.

Also to prove my point further. If we use this theories the murders would be

Strangling, abortion??????, cyber bullying, stabbing, organ harvesting, toxic r/s, telling the truth (lmao), bludgeoning, bludgeoning, bludgeoning (minus weapon). Organ harvesting is goofy cuz it seems so.... Extreme,,,,,,,

ALSSOOOOO funny point. If he's not directly involved in his murder (as in, unintentional and indirect) that makes 5 direct and 5 indirect. Silly.

Also also his murder seems somewhat tied to how he feels about his job itself ("I wanted to contribute to society (about his career choice)/I had thought my work was a contribution to society", use of past tense) and to me it reads like hes disillusioned w his job esp since his reason for getting a highly sought after, high paying and high social ranking job is "I wanted to contribute to society". Doctors with that empathy can be affected by the death around them more severely and I think that's a fun topic to look at

I count this under "common fandom opinion" cuz it was common enough around June (whenyours truesly got into milgram) that I believed it. I mean I introduced shidou to my friend (hello clown) as "maybe Dr malpractice. Organ harvesting dude" and said friend (hello again clown) is also the one who's heard me bash the organ harvesting theory like 6 times at least now so. Yippee.

Take none of this seriously I just got off a plane and am so very eepy. If you like the organ harvesting theory good for you!!!!!!!💥💥💥💥💥 you do you bestie !!!!!!!!!!!!!! I literally do not think less of anyone who believes that theory I just personally dont lmao

#sand speaks #hiiiii bestie my silly mutual. youve heard this rant before now for it poorly formatted in text #i mean its better formatted than when i actually talk abt it cuz if i wrote it the way i originally did the points would not be organised #like at all. itd be so bad #anyways all of this is lighthearted i dont think less of anyone with different opinions i just. dont believe the theory at all #i like the tragedy thag comes woth it technhcally not being his fault but also kinda being his fault. #like maybe he had really bad manners towards relatives. or horribls bedside manner (youre in my way just die already“ like ok mr kirisaki. #dont say that to a comatose patient my dude. but yeah it can be argued that morally hed be in the wdong #or if he persuaded relatives to dknate patients organs. which is rude and also malpractice (coercion and taking advantage of ppl in vulnerab #and with his themes of lying (covers) i fhink it could wither be lying to relatives of patients OR. him seeing hsi work and the promise of #saving people from illness or death as a lie and a hoax becasye so many people died anyways despite those promises #anhwyas im insane about this man. characters with extreme worldviews entirely of their own making my beloved #like nothing told him to believe this. he just does and thats whats interesting to me #anywasy suuper sorry about the big essay and the many tags. i love this fandom #i have so much to say but so little phone battery. and mental battery its Zzzzzzzzz time #tell me if abything in here sounds mean or anything btw im too used to being mean as a jokiing thing so im worried ill offend someone

[k9effect]

HANGCLONE i've literally never considered this but i'm so intrigued!! what's their dynamic like, what's going on with them, how do they get together? looking forward to that art 🖼️ and have a nice day!!

oh boy i have so many thoughts for them and none are coherent rn lolll but god I just have fallen head over heels for the ship. I'm just gonna word vomit okay?

something like, beau was the top gun instructor of Jake's year and he immediately had a soft spot for him, knew that he'd go far. he didn't see him again in person until the uranium mission and they were both so stressed that they didn't really get to talk much. Beau had to reem Jake out for infighting, and it was the most they'd spoken in years. beau saying something like "you're acting self sacrificing because you don't think you've got what it takes but you don't want it to be your fault that you fail." and just really digs into him and sees right through him and jake doesn't know how to react to any of it, doesn't know how to handle being seen so thoroughly. during the mission, I have it in my head that mav wanted coyote as dagger spare but cyclone pulled rank and got hangman the spare position, knowing that he would want to prove himself more than anything and wouldn't fuck it up. then we cut to post mission and beau apologises for what he said, that he was in the wrong and he actually thinks quite highly of jake. but jake brushes him off, sorta "no, no. you were right."

idk they give me like, slow burn vibes? jake enjoying being seen, not having to hide himself. beau has a soft spot for him and it just grows and grows and he doesn't know what to do about it. they kiss and like everything changes between them.

i've got 10k written of a hardcore smut fic for them that I'm not even half way through hahaha its pretty much that above but sexual, something something beau being jake's dom and giving jake absolutely anything he needs because jake needs someone to take some of his control away and help him sort out the cyclone (pun intended) that's raging in his head. jake is very wet meow meow in it. its a lot of pain play and cbt with plot and fluff and humour in it. also like, jake having had only bad experiences with doms so when beau focussed on aftercare and checking in on him constantly to make sure he's okay, jake is like,,,, enamoured by him haha

idk man idk if this made any sense but I have a lot of thoughts on them, I love them so much, I will draw art very soon probably ahahah I just feel like they work so well together.

#sam answers #anonymous #hangclone #top gun #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman #cyclone #beau cyclone simpson #beau simpson

[bella-rose29]

Not Your Lover - Chapter 6 (18+ version)

This is the 18+ version of Chapter 6.

For the safer version (whether that be because you're under 18 or just don't want to read it), please go here <3 (I tried my best to make it less explicit, so please please please let me know if I need to edit anymore because I wanna make sure that everybody can enjoy reading)

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: swearing, sex, like really explicit oral I won't lie to you, look away if you're not comfy with that (I'm sorry), davor is still stalking bc he has no life or personality

Tag list: idk who to tag tbh so I've tagged everyone in the safer part and linked this version to it :)

Y/n and Nikolai had settled into a routine within the first two days of staying in the same room, and he was starting to blur the lines in his head of what was real and what was fake.

It was dangerous, walking this line, especially since one wrong move could ruin everything that the two of them had built, but Nikolai knew that he was extremely close to throwing himself fully past reality. They had kept the pillow wall the first night, but when they had woken in roughly the same position as they had the first time that they shared a bed it made sense to forgo the divider completely. Neither of them appeared to be acknowledging it while asleep, and it saved some effort in the evening when they were getting ready for bed.

Work on the building had continued in much the same way as before, although Nikolai noticed that there was a little more tension in the air than usual. None of this was helped by the fact that he couldn't let his demon out at night anymore, and had resorted to staying late at the mansion after Y/n had headed back to the hotel room so that it stopped giving him a headache. Davor was still watching the two of them, following Nikolai around when he tried to go on a late night walk to take his demon fishing, and it was starting to get annoying. He had half a mind to confront the man, but somehow whenever Nikolai actually wanted to see Davor, he wasn't anywhere to be found. Y/n had mentioned that he was doing the same to her, but she didn't seem nearly as bothered about it.

Currently they were working on the floorboards of the first room, having pulled up the old ones and throwing them out, and Nikolai couldn't help but stare at Y/n every now and then as she worked. His demon snickered at him in his head, and Nikolai muttered a quiet "shut up" under his breath.

"Sorry? Did you say something?"

"Huh? No, nothing."

"Oh. Never mind."

They worked in silence again after that, the only sounds being the new floorboards being put down.

By the time sunset came around a few hours later, they'd managed to lay the whole floor, and Nikolai had replaced the windows, letting in the evening sun. He wiped his brow, wishing more than anything that he could take off some layers (but that would mean showing his scars for longer than a few seconds, and he didn't feel like having that conversation with Y/n yet. She'd probably also stab him or something).

"You alright? You look pretty sweaty."

"Yeah, I'm alright. Hopefully this heatwave brings in tourists," he replied, turning to look at her. That was a mistake, apparently, since he couldn't do anything but think about how gorgeous she looked in the golden light streaming in and lighting up her skin, making her look ethereal.

He was so screwed, and he knew that there wasn't any coming back now. He'd very nearly kissed her the other night, when she'd come in crying about her mother and he'd wiped away her tears, but the demon just had to pick that moment to make a noise. Nikolai had scolded it the whole way back to the hotel, and it had the good grace to at least seem sorry for getting in the way.

It had been a little awkward since, neither of them saying anything about the fact that they had very nearly kissed purely because they felt like it, and the tension was starting to kill Nikolai. They kept waking up tangled in each other too, and although he knew he shouldn't, he held on to her a little longer in the mornings, and his touch lingered a moment more when he passed her things. Whether she'd noticed, he had no idea, but at least she hadn't told him to stop being weird yet.

~~~

Nik was being weird.

He kept staring at Y/n, for one, and every now and then he would hold on to her for longer than fake boyfriends probably should. He was staring now, in fact, although why she had no idea. She was covered in dirt and sweat from working all day, both in the bakery and in the mansion, and she definitely needed a bath. Maybe he was staring at her because of that? Yeah, that made more sense. Although when she looked at him (not that she was sneaking glances or anything), she couldn't deny how gorgeous he looked in the light, the sunset making his golden hair glow.

He kept talking to himself too, and Y/n was starting to worry that he was going mad. She'd talked to Gregor about it that morning, and apparently Nik was doing it while he worked in the workshop. Gregor also looked like he knew something else, but despite Y/n's best efforts she couldn't get it out of him. The man was notoriously good at keeping secrets, but if it was about Nik then she wanted to know.

"I'm sure he'll tell you in his own time, Y/n/n," was all he had said, and Y/n had huffed and left not long after.

She snapped herself out of her thoughts, blush rising when she realised that she'd zoned out looking at him, and turned back to the wall that she was painting. They'd done good work today; Nik had managed to get the new windows in with the help of her father, and the three of them had finished off the floor. Y/n had picked out the paint a while ago, and had made a start on covering the walls.

"You know," she started, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Nik turn to face her. "I think we can do this. How long have we got left now, eight days?"

"Yeah, I think so. There's still the two other rooms to do though. I know they're both clear but it's going to be a stretch to get them done on top of this one. It's taken us this long to get this room nearly ready."

"What happened to mister 'we can do it!', huh? I've got a plan, don't worry."

"Is your plan hiring the entirety of Taya? Because I might be an optimist but this is bordering on impossible."

"I thought that nothing was impossible, only improbable," she quipped, mocking his voice.

"Was that... was that meant to be me?"

"I thought it was an excellent impression. Did you have a problem with it? I mean, personally I thought there were two of you for a moment."

Nik laughed, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous," he said, looking at her fondly. Y/n smiled lightly back at him, and they got lost in each others' gazes. Nik suddenly snapped out of it, whipping his head back to the curtain pole he was adjusting. Y/n moved her own attention back to the wall, feeling her face heat up.

Shit.

~~~

An hour or so later, the sun had fully set, and Nikolai had had to turn the chandelier on in the room so that he and Y/n could continue to work. The demon had, for once, helped Nikolai out, since its laughing at Nikolai and Y/n gazing at each other made him realise what he was doing. He'd quickly gone back to what he was doing, and a moment later he heard the brush of the paint on the wall.

Now they were in separate rooms, and Nikolai had looked to check that the demon wouldn't be seen before letting it out.

"No noise, alright? The second you make a noise you're back in, understood?" The demon had nodded and padded off into a corner of the room, starting to use its tail as a brush, collecting the remaining rubbish on the floor. Nikolai felt proud of it once more, seeing it trying to help, and hoped that it had learned something valuable from working hard. Saints, he sounded like the demon's teacher. Nikolai frowned, shuffling furniture around the room. He supposed he was in a way, teaching it how to be nicer. Maybe he'd be able to let it out more if he knew it would behave. He was glad for the distraction of the demon, since it stopped him from thinking too hard about Y/n, and having to keep half an eye on the little bastard was rather entertaining at times. It was a little like having a child, except the child was quite literally a demonic entity of darkness and destruction that enjoyed ripping people's faces off and generally making their lives complete and utter misery. Nikolai suddenly wondered if that was how Baghra had felt about the Darkling, and shuddered at the thought of baby Aleksander. The demon noticed, growling lowly at its creator, and Nikolai called it over softly, careful not to alert Y/n.

"Come here, that's it, there we go," he whispered, settling on the floor as his demon came and rested its head on his lap. It was strange, doing this, but he could sense that his demon was disturbed by Nikolai's thoughts of the Darkling. While the man had been responsible for the separation between Nikolai and his demon, the latter now shared the resentment that Nikolai harboured. No doubt it was remembering the battle with Fjerda too, and the multiple brushes with death. Since then they had only become closer, reaching an agreement that they would die for each other if needed.

"Nik? You alright in there?" Both Nikolai and his demon turned to look at the doorway where Y/n's voice had come from, and they glanced at each other before the demon crept off into the shadows.

"Yep, I'm alright." He pushed himself off of the floor just as Y/n walked in, paint on her trousers.

"I think I'm gonna head out now, I've done what I can on the walls. You coming?"

"Yeah, sure. Let me just grab my things," he smiled, and she returned it, heading back into the front room. He took the demon back in, telling it to stop fussing and hurry up, and followed her out, collecting his jacket from where he'd slung it over one of the armchairs.

~~~

They made it back to the hotel no problem, although Y/n could have sworn that she saw Davor following them when they went round a corner, and when they were up in Nik's room he pulled out a bottle of kvas and two glasses.

"Drink?"

"Sure."

Davor following them wasn't too disturbing for Y/n, given he was a deeply untrusting person and was probably trying to expose Nik and Y/n's relationship for what it was, but Nik seem more concerned. He brought it up as he poured, passing one glass to Y/n and taking his own over to the sofa in front of the fireplace. Despite the heatwave, the hotel room was somehow freezing (Y/n had no idea how the owners managed it), so they'd lit a fire.

"You really aren't worried about him stalking us?"

"No, not really. Why are you so worked up about it?"

"Um... because it's stalking? It's quite literally illegal. Also, what happens if he finds out none of this is real?"

Her heart hurt at his words, but she quickly dismissed it as nothing. "Nobody will believe him if he says anything, because they like us a whole lot more. Everybody knows he likes stirring up trouble for no good reason, and I've got a reputation, hell, you have a reputation now. We'll be fine." She sipped her kvas, grateful for the burn as it went down. It stopped her thinking too hard about Nik.

"If you're sure," he frowned, and Y/n wanted to smooth the lines on his face with her fingertips. He settled into the sofa next to her having finished fiddling with the fire, and it was cramped enough that his thigh brushed against hers. She pulled her legs up, turning so that her back was resting against the arm and she was facing him. Nik angled his body slightly so that he was looking towards her, shifting in his seat in a way that had Y/n hiding behind her glass and trying desperately to not think too hard about his lap. "You alright?" he asked, amusement in his eyes and a smirk on his face, and Saints damn it she was blushing and he fucking knew it.

"Yeah, I'm alright." He hummed, and Y/n felt her cheeks grow even warmer. "What? I am!"

"Okay! You just look a little... flushed," he responded, and she could hear the laughter in his voice, making her glare at him. "There it is! I've missed that glare," he joked, only succeeding in deepening her frown.

"Fuck off," she muttered as she sipped her kvas, and he laughed, loud and bellowing. Saints, she wanted to make him laugh more often.

Sleeping next to Nik tonight would be difficult, she decided as she watched him.

~~~

A few hours and half a bottle of kvas later, Nik and Y/n had loosened up significantly, and were spilling secrets that she would never dare to tell him were she sober.

He'd confessed that he was absolutely terrified of spiders, having been nicknamed 'Nikolai the spider squealer' by his childhood best friend, and was considered a general menace to society as a small boy.

"Oh yeah, I find that so difficult to believe," Y/n giggled sarcastically, and Nik's responding pout only made her laugh harder.

"What is that supposed to mean? I am an absolute delight to have around!" He put on a look of offence, and Y/n nearly spilled her drink when she held her sides from laughing. "Seriously!" He was laughing now, spluttering as he spoke and unable to get words out properly. A few minutes later when they'd calmed down enough (it took a while since whenever they looked at each other they burst out laughing again), he spoke up again. "Go on, your turn. I think it's been my turn the last three times," he frowned, trying to count in his head. Y/n thought for a moment, before coming up with something.

"Saints, I don't know why I'm even gonna tell you this," she laughed, pressing her hand to her forehead. "Okay. So, basically, I've never... I have never... you know." She waved her hand in the general direction of her lower half. Nik's eyes went wide.

"Wait. You've never had an orgasm?"

"No, I haven't!"

"No wonder you're so fucking grumpy all the time, Saints!"

"Oi! It's not exactly my fault! Davor never could and neither can I, I gave up trying to get myself off like six months ago."

"Bet I could," Nik said, sipping his drink.

"...What?"

"I said I bet I could."

They looked at each other, Nik studying her over his glass and Y/n feeling increasingly flustered at the direction their conversation had taken.

"Prove it."

He said nothing, still just looking her, and she was starting to regret her words. "Sorry. Stupid idea. Forget it." She turned her face away, staring into the fire. He was yet to say anything, and the atmosphere turned awkward.

"Are you?" he said, and Saints, why was his voice so low? "Are you sorry?"

"No," she whispered, and she was hyper-aware of the sound of his glass clinking against the side table as he set it down. She turned to look at him, breath leaving her body at the sight of him closer than before, eyes filled with something dangerous. She put her own glass down, nearly spilling it since she hadn't taken her eyes off of Nik. "Why?"

"Because I want to prove it."

Something snapped then, and Y/n surged forward to grab at his shirt with her hands and pull him in for a kiss. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself for a moment, but after barely a second he was responding, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulled her into his lap, moaning softly, and Saints she wanted him to do it all over again. Her hands moved up to play with his hair the way that she'd wanted to since their first kiss in the square all those days ago, tangling in the locks and tugging every now and then as his hands grasped her hips. She wasn't sure how long they were there for, exploring each other his their hands and tongues, but every second of it was just as good as she'd imagined. He'd moved her hair out of the way to kiss down her neck, alternating between soft kisses and gently biting the skin, drawing sounds out of her that Davor never could. "Nik," she whispered into his hair, not missing the way his grip tightened on her hips. He slowly dragged his head back up, kissing as he went, before he pressed another to her mouth.

"Yeah?" His pupils were blown, the blue of his eyes nearly non-existent, and his lips were slightly swollen from kissing her.

"You gonna prove it or not?" she breathed, and he could only stare at her for a moment before nodding, and then she felt his hands at the top of her trousers, pulling up the fabric of her shirt. He hadn't taken his eyes off of her, silently asking if this was still alright, and they only broke eye contact when her shirt slipped over her head, landing on the floor a second later. He pulled her back in, kisses a little more gentle than before, and Y/n went to take Nik's shirt off. He hesitated slightly, and she paused, not wanting to make him uncomfortable. "This okay? You don't have to, if it's... I just... wanted to feel you, I guess." She blushed at the admission, and he smiled softly at her.

"It's okay, darling," and Saints she'd forgotten how her stomach dipped at the pet name. "I've just... got a lot of scars," he whispered, and Y/n immediately went to reassure him.

"That's okay. You're helping me out, not talking about your scars. but equally if you wanna do that then I'll listen," she said, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and she practically felt him melt under her. He moved back a little, giving himself room to take his clothes off. Nik paused for a moment, looking at his gloves, then made a decision and yanked them off, chucking them on to the side table next to his discarded drink. He glanced back up at her, waiting for her reaction as he settled his hands lightly on top of her thighs. Y/n could only stare at them, reaching out to hold one with her own hand but not quite touching. Most of the veins were black, and his fingers were the same, and as Y/n finally took hold of his hand, lacing their fingers together and turning his arm in her grip she noticed that the black veins continued partway up his forearms. "What..." She didn't finish, not sure where to go from there. Nik was transfixed by their interlocked hands, and his thumb was stroking hers.

"The Darkling," was his only response, and Y/n didn't know what to do other than press a gentle kiss to his mouth, cupping his face with her free hand. She pulled away, resting her forehead against his, and her hand moved down to rest over his heart.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. Not anymore."

She kissed him again, slow and careful, still holding his hand in hers.

"Do you wanna carry on?"

"Yes," he said into her mouth, hands sliding up higher on her thighs, pulling her closer to him, and Saints, he wasn't lying. She moved her hands to his shirt, tugging at the hem and lifting the fabric all the way off. Her fingers traced the lines of his chest, spending extra time on the scars and marks she found, and Nik's hands came up to rest on her back, pulling her flush against him. They kissed again, this time with more hunger, and in a sudden movement Nik had flipped them so that Y/n was lying on the sofa, legs half dangling off the edge as he situated himself between them, never taking his lips off of hers. He bit her lip, and she moaned as he slipped his tongue inside, hands moving over her sides as he shifted his hips into hers. Her grip tightened on his hair, and this time it was his turn to groan as he moved to kiss down her neck again. Nik tugged at the laces of her undershirt, pulling the clothing off a moment later and flinging it to the side. He stopped, sat up and staring down at her chest, and Y/n went to cover herself. Before she could, he'd grabbed her hands, shaking his head at her. "None of that, darling. You're stunning."

He lowered himself back down, nose brushing her chest as he asked for permission. She didn't hesitate, using her hands in his hair to all but shove him further into her, and a brief moment later he was lavishing her with his mouth again. He moved further down her body when he was satisfied he'd done enough, leaving a trail of kisses as he went, and then he was taking off her belt and looking up at her from where he now kneeled on the floor between her thighs.

"This okay, Y/n?"

"Yes," she breathed, helping him to take the rest of her clothes off. Nik kissed his way across her inner thighs, touching her everywhere but where she needed him most, and his hand on her hips was preventing her from pushing up. Annoyingly he was going to prove his point eventually, and Y/n could only begin to imagine how cocky he would be. All thoughts of anything but Nik went out of her head when he suddenly kissed her there, tentative and experimental, and Saints, the smug smirk he had on his face at her responding moan was enough to make her want to go right back to hating him.

She lost all sense of time as Nik touched her, drawing out new sounds with every movement. The hand that wasn't holding her down was helping to bring her closer, and somewhere in the haze of her pleasure Y/n thought about his blackened fingers on her skin and inside her and she gripped his hair tighter (she also had a vague thought that his scalp would hurt after this, but he didn't seem to mind at the moment), urging him to keep going.

He did, never once stopping his actions until he'd pushed her over the edge, hold on her hips getting stronger (she'd have bruises, she was sure) as she shook, and then again when he did it for a second time.

He moved back up her body a while after, having left soft kisses behind as she came down from the high, and when she brought his face down to kiss her it was soft and more loving than it should have been given they weren't actually together.

"You alright?" he asked, nose nudging against her cheek. She could only nod, wiped out. She could feel him smiling, the cheeky fucker, and she half-heartedly slapped his arm, trying to not think too hard about how toned it was. "What?" he smiled, pulling back to look at her.

"Nothing, just, you're a lot more... I don't know," she trailed off, blushing at his stare. "You have very nice arms," she decided on, and Nik's immediate laughter made her flush even more. "Shut up," she mumbled, turning her face to hide in the back of the sofa. She felt Nik's hand cup her chin, bringing her face back towards his as he planted a kiss on her lips, lingering for a while.

"Thank you," he whispered, amused smile still present. "You have very nice tits, if that helps."

"Nik!"

~~~

Nikolai had no idea where the two of them went from here, but he wouldn't take back a single second of it.

He'd helped clean Y/n up, and then had helped her move to the bed, passing her one of his clean shirts to sleep in. He went without the gloves as he got into bed next to her, leaving them sat on the table in front of the fire. He was just pulling his boots off when he felt Y/n's fingers on his back, tracing over the scars from the demon's wings. Her hands flattened on his back, then moved around his torso and under his arms as she pushed herself against him, pulling his head to hers to kiss him. The angle was awkward, so Nikolai shook his boots off and turned around, cupping her cheek to deepen the kiss. He clambered in next to her, breaking away, and pulled the sheets up over them. At Y/n's pout he simply chuckled, and brought her down to lie next to him, and she slung her arm over his chest and her leg over his, falling asleep not long after.

Nikolai stayed awake a while longer, thinking over everything that had happened. He really didn't know where they went from here, but no matter what, he needed to tell her the truth before they got too far in.

Chapter 7

#grishaverse #netflix shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lanstov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai lanstov x y/n #nikolai x y/n

[void-speaks]

My theory with Six is that she is simply no longer the Six we know. Or well, the Six that Mono knows. I interpret the whole betrayal thing as Six being under the control of the Signal Tower, or at least influencing her a bit. Or hell, even go as far as saying that that is just no longer Six, since after she's came back from being a monster, whose to say that that is the same Six that we knew before?

Anyway, the reason why I think like this, is because of the way that she looks at the signal tower. Mono doesn't do that. That already is enough to show that it begins to influence her. Then when Thin Man takes her. We see Shadow Six. What would Shadow Six be? A glitching remain. What is a glitching remain? Something I always assumed to he the kids' souls after they have been captured. That theory is fueld by the series of achievements that include getting all the glitching remains that are called "Nothing of us remains in the _____". Then, if Shadow Six is indeed Six's soul, that just means that whatever we see after she's taken, that's just no longer Six. Sure, in the moment that she knocks on the TV, you can say that that is clearly still the same Six, but you can't convince me that having a part of your soul taken out won't affect a person in any way whatsoever. Maybe it's just a case of a child clinging to something familiar, the same way her monster form clings to the music box. Mono has saved her before from the bullies, so the situation feels familiar to her, which is why she reaches out again. In the moment of the betrayal itself, you can see that Six didn't reach out her hand like she normally did when she needed to catch Mono, she just kinda sat there, waiting for him to fall (into her grasp or just fall). But since she still responds to familiar triggers, she grabs a hold of him. You can see Mono try to pull himself up (which I think he always done to help make it easier for Six), but after a bit of looking at her, he stops. That can be interpreted as him being confused on why she isn't pulling him up. Or that totally can be interpreted as him realizing that that is no longer Six. When she drops him, you can see the way she reaches her hand down first, before suddenly pulling it up. That could indicate that she was either hesitating (or you could say fighting against the signal tower's influence) or that Mono was gripping onto her a bit too hard that she had to do this to be able to drop him.

And the thing with the hunger? I never really understood the thing where people said "she knew about the hunger so she dropped Mono to save him." How is chomping off his arm apparently worse than being dropped into a living organism of eyeballs that controls the entire Pale City and has reach even beyond that (I think the Maw and the Nest both)?? I like to think that the hunger isn't because of her missing soul, but because she was turned back from a monster. What I mean is, I guess I'm saying that even tho her body returned back, her needs and appetite haven't changed. None of the LN kids get as hungry as she does. Like, ever. And that does seem to be fueld by the fact that she needs to eat something bigger every time. First a piece of bread is good enough, but she gets hungry again rather quickly. Then she eats the meat, which is enough to last until you get to the Kitchen area. She eats a rat bigger than the piece of meat, and that lasts longer, all the way to the end of the Guest Area chapter. Then she eats a Nome, which was bigger than the rat, which, strangely enough, doesn't last any longer than the piece of meat, since it only lasts for the Residence section before she gets hungry again at the end of it. Or maybe that was the case because... well, huge food. Or, maybe that doesn't make sense at all since she eats the meat and the bread whole, but only takes bites of the rat, the Nome and the Lady. Maybe it's about how juicy the meat is or something idk. Or maybe her appetite has gone so bad that she turned into a cannibal after eating meat made from the guests.

And another thing I wanna say separately, I don't think that Six has gotten colder specifically to Mono after she got her raincoat back.

Basically, she's already been a survivalist since Very Little Nightmares, but after being captured by the Hunter, she's gone more tame. For a little while. Why? Probably because she felt like that was it, there was no chance she would escape now. We see an instant in Very Little Nightmares when she knocks on the door in hopes of Raincoat Girl letting her in, allowing her front walls to cave in for a moment and trust that this girl will save her (which, she didn't, by the way). We see her almost doing the same with Mono, before he quickly realizes that that didn't end wall the last time. So she ignores him, pushes him away, taking her chance of escaping.

The two form a bond, and when Six realizes that Mono is trustworthy, she warms up to him, reaching out her hand for the first time.

And then she gets captured by the Bullies. That makes her survivalist instincts come back. She doesn't rely on Mono to help her (not that he can in the first place but shhhh), she tries to fight them off herself. Doesn't work. It fails and she gets dragged away.

But just as she was losing hope of surviving once again, Mono saves her. He rescues her, offering her a helping hand. Their bond becomes even stronger, and from this point on she trusts you a little more.

Then she gets her raincoat back. She remembers everything that happened back at the Nest. How she watched Raincoat Girl die and how hurt she was by it. But the cruel world of Little Nightmares didn't let her process her grief, she was forced to move on to survive. So she kept the last piece that remained of the girl. And once she gets it back, she realizes that she has become too dependent on Mono. So she starts taking initiative more. Like in the Hospital part, where you have to climb up the beds? The Nest is more a vertical place, so she has experience on how to move in those kind of environments with ease. When the Doctor chases them? She had to run from the Batler before while navigating hideous obstacles. She has experience in that and takes the lead to ensure not only hers but Mono's survival too.

But that doesn't weaken her trust in Mono. She still reaches out to him when stuck under the couch for help. She still reaches out to him when Thin Man spots her. She still reaches out to him from the TV, even when her mind was probably already messed with by the Signal Tower. She still trusts you, but wants to know how to do things by herself in case something like what happened to RCG will happen to you. It's almost like what healthy relationships are supposed to be. When you're both stable on your own but still know how to rely on the other party and place your trust in them.

Of course, you could say that that trust was broken when Mono broke the music box, and therefore that caused her to betry him. And you could say that it was a different thing with RCG since they had way less time to form a stronger bond and therefore the fact that RCG didn't help Six didn't affect her that much.

Why I don't agree with this? Because I just don't think she's that kind of person. Sure, you can say that six was aggressive so it is entirely possible that she would purposely subject Mono to that kind of suffering, but come on. Mono is just as aggressive as her. He shot the Hunter. He burned the Doctor. He killed all those bullies by smashing their heads in. Sure, you could argue that it's worse with Six because she killed a bully with her bare hands when it wasn't even necessary. But come on, don't tell me you didn't go for the hammer at that moment? And the finger breaking part? That is not even necessarily an aggressive thing to do. It's a plastic arm. And she's all alone with nothing better to do. It's the same thing as doing weird shit to your dolls, like popping their heads off. You don't do it because you're a violent beast (most of the time), you do it because you're a kid and because it's fun. I mean come on, it's not even one of the alive mannequin hands, I'm pretty sure that is just a prosthetic arm.

One of the other theories behind the betrayal I will never understand is the "she saw his face and realized that he was Thin Man" one. Like... what? We know what both of their faces look like. And if I didn't play the game but saw their faces, you could shoot me and I still wouldn't be able to see any similarities between them.

I'm sorry if I come off like I'm trying to downplay Six's character, I'm really not. I just really disliked her back in the day when Little Nightmares 2 just came out because of the fact that she betrayed Mono, so now I'm trying to interpret that whole thing to make my brain see her in a better light, since I feel guilty about hating Six because apparently that's just no allowed.

But also I really do genuinely believe in the stuff I said here, so yeah. Take this as you will really.

#have fun deciphering my rambling lmao #little nightmares 2 #little nightmares #little nightmares six #little nightmares mono #little nightmares spoilers