#its the rest of the white family that has a problem with them and that always hurt and was weird to navigate

[metalmonki]

50 Ways To Say Goodbye

911 x fem!reader

5k word count

Summary The 911 helps you escape your abusive ex but in true 118 dumb, dumb stile they create a bigger problem that Athena has to fix.

fluff, idiots

Warnings mention and description of death, domestic abuse and self-harm.

Note: I've been working on the next part of The Dating Oddessey while listening to some music. 50 Ways To Say Goodbye by Train came on and gave me this idea. Didn't quite turn out how I wanted but its still pretty funny. Also you could take this to mean either Eddie or Buck has feelings for you. Not how I intended it but it's how it came out.

...

Today you had finally done it. You had finally worked up the courage to break up with your horrible excuse for a human ex Bradley. You made sure to break up with him while he was working so you had witnesses. The last thing you needed was him gaslighting you back into the relationship like last time. With witnesses, it was harder for him to say the breakup never happened. 

Today had been planned out for weeks. Your best friends, Eddie and Buck, had been helping you slowly remove your stuff from his house for the last month and taking it to your Dad's place. You did have much, after all, Bradley didn’t allow you to have much. He had to control everything from the furniture to the decorations and even the food kept in the house.

Outside Bradley's workplace Buck and Eddie were waiting for you in Eddie's truck. Your Dad, Bobby, was their boss and had given them the day off to play bodyguard for you. When you walked out the front door with Bradley storming after you both boys were fast to jump out of the truck and jog towards you. Eddie wasn’t going to let him hurt you anymore and Buck didn’t want what happened to his sister Maddie to happen to you for that reason Eddie had hidden a lot of what Bradley had done to you from all your friends and even your Dad. Eddies had been the house you would hide in for days at a time while waiting for bruises to heal. Eddie had been the person to give you that final push you needed to leave. 

“What if next time he kills you y/n? Did you think of that?” Eddie slammed his fist onto his kitchen counter as you held a bag of frozen peas to your soon-to-be black eye. “Do you have any idea what that would do to me? To Chris? Hell, think about your father and Athena. The rest of our friends. We all love you y/n and yet you keep allowing yourself to be treated like shit. You know what if you're going to go back to him this time then I don’t want you in my house, take your things and leave” Eddie had left the kitchen, leaving you standing there shocked to your core. It scared you. More than the beatings. You didn’t want to lose Eddie as your friend, you didn’t want to hurt him or Chris, your family, your friends. Eddie was right enough was enough. 

After that night you had come clean with everyone about what was happening. Athena was quick to offer up their spare room for you and Bobby wouldn’t take no for an answer. Eddie and Maddie had to keep Buck distracted at all times until your items were moved out of Bradley's house because he threatened to kill the guy if he laid eyes on him. So when Buck and Eddie saw him coming up fast behind you screaming at you Eddie made sure to direct Buck to get you out of the way. Buck was quick to slide an arm around your waist and guide you quickly to Eddie's truck. Eddie blocked Bradley from coming any closer to you. You couldn’t hear what was said between the two of them but whatever Eddie said had Bradley ducking back into his building quickly. Eddie waited until the building doors closed behind Bradley before walking back to the truck. He didn’t speak once he started the truck nor did he speak for the entire trip to your Dads. His white knuckles gripped the steering wheel the whole drive there. Their conversation was something that had pissed him off. Once at your Dad's, you excused yourself to go lay down. The day had left you physically and mentally exhausted. 

“It’s okay baby you go rest, your Dad wants to cook you something special for dinner so I’ll come get you when his home and cooking, okay” Athena gave you a loving smile. 

You made your way to the spare room and quickly made yourself comfortable on the bed. As you lay there you could hear Athena talking with Buck and Eddie. 

“She’ll be safe here, trust me if that guy comes anywhere near this house he can consider himself arrested” Athena said

“How long does it take for someone like him to just leave a person alone?” Buck asked 

“Some give up after a few days, some a few weeks, months, years, some never quit” Athena sighed “But this guy I’d say as soon as he has a new target he’ll leave her alone” 

“Athena…” Eddie was cut off by someone banging on the front door. Before anyone could move to open the door what could only be described as a stampede echoed through the house. Heavy boots took staircase steps 2 at a time until the fanfare came to an end in the kitchen where Athena, Eddie and Buck still stood in shock at the interruption.  Stood before them in full uniform fresh from a call were Bobby, Chimney, Hen and Ravi. 

“What in the world are you lot doing in my kitchen?” Athena asked frustration lacing her voice

“Did you get y/n?” Chimney ignored Athena looking straight at Eddie and Buck

“y/n is trying to rest which she won’t be able to do with you lot acting like a bunch of zoo animals” Athena crossed her arms over her chest looking at them all like a disappointed mother. 

“So what's the plan from here how do we keep her ex from intimidating her back into a relationship with him” Hen asked keeping her voice just above a whisper partly to keep from disturbing y/n but mostly to appease Athena. 

“Well, to start Maddie and I are going to take her out for the day tomorrow, take her mind off all this” Athena motioned around the room. 

“Then starting the day after I’ve adjusted our rosters so someone can be here with her around the clock in case he shows up here” Bobby spoke up

“Unfortunately, someone here invited him over for dinner so he knows exactly where we live” Athena threw an accusatory look at Bobby. 

“Maybe she should come to stay with me he has no idea where I live” Eddie offered up. 

“No she’s safer here with Athena” Bobby said “Any sign of trouble and Athena can have the entire LAPD on our doorstep” Bobby smiled at Athena. 

“A Mumma has to protect her babies” Athena smiled back at Bobby. “And besides, he knows all of us and he will likely stalk all of us to get to her”

“So what are we supposed to do just wait for him to lose interest” Buck spoke up frustrated with the situation “I mean you said it yourself Athena it could take years” 

“Or days or weeks or months, the only guaranteed way to get rid of him quick is if y/n died, it’s the only way I’ve seen his type leave their victim alone for good” Athena said. The 118 shared a look, a look of mischief, of a united thought on how to get rid of this threat to their family. Athena knew immediately what they were thinking and quickly began shaking her head and looking between them. 

“Don’t you even think about it” Athena pointed a stern finger at each person standing in her kitchen. “You’ll be causing more problems than what you’ll solve”

…

Despite Athena's warning the 118 decided as a family that if ‘the asshole’ as they affectionately dubbed him showed his face to any of them they would warn him to back off and if he wouldn’t listen they would tell him y/n was dead. It seemed like the perfect plan until it wasn’t. 

The first person to meet him face to face was Chimney. It was 4 days after Eddie and Buck had taken you to live with Bobby and Athena. It was Eddie's day off. He had taken you out for lunch, then you picked Christopher up from school before heading back to Eddies to hang out. Eddie asked if you wanted to stay for dinner and a movie. Christopher who overheard the offer from where he sat in the dining room doing his homework practically begged you to stay. You called Athena to let her know you were going to be out late with Eddie and that he was going to drive you back when the movie ended. Christopher was old enough after all to stay home alone for the 20 minutes it would take Eddie to drop you home. 

Because of this, it was Chimney who got stuck working late at the firehouse. He was the last to leave after finishing off all the small boring end-of-shift jobs like making sure all the dinner dishes were done and the ambulance restocked for the next shift. Bradley had been parked across the road from the station all day watching the team come and go. Your little stunt at his office had cost him his job. He was going to make you pay and he had all the time in the world to make it happen. He waited and counted off your friends as they left. He wanted to make sure that he followed the last person to leave because he knew if he risked following anyone else the rest of your friends would know and his plan would be ruined. He noticed after the first three calls of the shift that one of the guys he had seen you out the front of his office with wasn’t on shift today. He decided it was likely that guy's fault you left him. You’d probably been seeing him behind his back all along. He’d make him pay too. He counted them out one by one as they left the firehouse, first, it was the other guy he’d seen at his office and some Middle Eastern-looking dude. Then that black woman he’d seen you hang out with left. Next was your father. He almost forgot to wait to see him. He wanted to chase him down and run him over with his car but he held it together. He knew there was one more person left. The little Asian guy. When he hadn’t come out after 30 minutes he almost thought he went home earlier and he’d missed him. That was until Chimney walked out of the 118 firehouse almost 45 minutes after his shift had finished. He was talking away on his phone not paying attention to his surroundings creating the perfect situation for a stalker. 

He followed Chimney from the firehouse to one of those 24-hour corner stores. He followed him in close behind, waiting until Chimney was alone in the back of the store. As luck would also have it there were no security cameras in sight. While Chimney was distracted looking at the small selection of diapers the store carried, he took his chance. Before Chimney could respond, he had grabbed him by the shoulder and had him pinned against the diaper shelves he was just looking at. 

“Where is she?” He asked aggressively.

“Who?” Chimney asked shocked but trying to remain calm. He knew exactly who he wanted. 

“Y/n” He held back from yelling in Chimney's face. 

“Y/n? You…you mean you haven’t heard?” Chimney tried his best at putting on a distraught face even willing a few tears to fall. 

“Heard what?” He loosed his grip on Chimney. 

“I’m sorry man, she… she's dead” Chimney said softly trying to lace his voice with sadness. 

“What no! What happened?” He aggressively slammed Chimney back against the shelves. 

“The night Eddie and Buck picked her up from your place she slit her wrists in Bobby and Athena's bathroom” Chimney made himself sob. 

Bradley shook his head in disbelief and ran from the shop. Once out of sight, Chimney let a massive grin break out on his face and he let out a proud chuckle. He grabbed diapers and practically skipped to the counter with them. He was so proud of himself and his lie. He knew if Bradley went looking to see if it was true he would see there had been a call out to Bobby and Athenas that night. It hadn’t been for you thought. Buck being the massive cluts that he is had managed to get his foot stuck in the bin beside the toilet while changing out a light bulb in the sconce above the sink which had stopped working while he was using the toilet. While trying to get the bin off his foot he slipped on the bath mat and fell smacking the back of his head with a loud yet hollow-sounding thunk on the sink, Luckly for Buck he has a thick skull and came out of it with a sore bum, ankle and head and a bruised ego. They still had him taken to the hospital because even though the injuries weren’t that bad he still needed to be cleared of any major head injury before returning to work. 

…

2 days later by chance, he ran into Hen. It was her day off and she was about to come pick you up to go out to the movies but first, she had to run some errands. Bobby wanted to have a barbecue at his place to celebrate family and new beginnings. She was grabbing a few things to take with her when he spotted her. She was about to walk into the supermarket when he walked out. Seeing Hen he decided to take the chance to confirm what Chimney had told him. He grabbed Hen who was distracted by the shopping list on her phone and pulled her to the side of the door. 

“What do you think you're doing? Get your hands off me!” Hen snapped. 

“I’m sorry I just want to talk” He sighed. 

“What do you want?” Hen asked crossing her arms over her chest,

“Is it true?” He asked. 

“Is what true?” Hen asked. 

“Is she dead?” 

“I’m afraid so” Hen dropped her head.

“No, no it can’t be” He looked at the ground. 

“If it means anything she didn’t suffer” Hen put a hand on his shoulder. When he looked up at her confused Hen was quick to drop her hand back by her side. “There was nothing anybody could do for her. I can assure you she died the second the car made contact with the semi, she wasn’t even aware of the fire” 

“A car accident?” He stumbled backwards. He ran away from Hen and made his way into the parking lot. The groceries he had brought were abandoned on the ground. Hen passed a confused look to the parking lot, shrugged and continued with her day. She knew if he went looking he would find a two-vehicle collision between a truck and a car. Y/n was nowhere near the accident but the 118 had responded to the accident so if he looked it up he wouldn’t be able to accuse them of lying. 

…

The very next day Ravi saw Bradley hanging out across the street watching the fire house. Ravi would have run off and grabbed Bobby but he was at home spending time with you. Ravi took a quick look around but couldn’t spot any other members of the 118 to alert. Ravi decided that he was going to have to do something about it himself. He jogged across the road and stood beside Bradley's car. He positioned himself in such a way that if anything should happen anyone watching on in the firehouse would be able to see both Ravi and Bradley in the car. Ravi through a look back at the firehouse and then turned his attention back to Bradley. 

“Any reason you're watching the firehouse?” Ravi asked faking a smile trying to pretend that he didn’t know who the man in the car was. “Are you interested in working for the LAFD? I could get you some information if you want to come inside” Ravi motioned towards the firehouse with an outstretched hand. 

“Oh no, I was just hoping someone could help me get some information on a friend” Bradley put a fake smile on his face. 

“No problem sir if you want to come inside I can set you up in the captain's office and we can all have a couple of officers down to help you” Ravi never once let the smile on his face falter. 

“I don’t want to be a bother” If he stepped foot in the firehouse he knew he would be recognised by the other members of the 118. “My friends' name is Y/n Nash I believe you know her, she’s the fire captain's daughter” 

“Oh y/n, yeah I knew her, um the captain is actually off today, I guess you’re here for the funeral?” Ravi let his smile drop. He tucked his hands into his pockets, rocked back on his heels and looked at the ground. “I could get you the funeral details if you want” 

“No, no it’s fine, when did she die? How did she die? I mean last time I saw her she was healthy, she seemed happy” Bradley knew he was baiting Ravi. He’d already been told two different things. Either your whole team was messing with him or you were messing with them. Either way, he was going to figure it out and track you down. And when he found you he was going to make you pay. 

“Uh she…she was involved in a hit and run, Cap had to decide to turn off her life support. The doctors said she had almost no chance of recovery any way” Ravi looked up to the sky knowing if he looked Bradley in the eyes he might break and smile. 

“I’m so sorry to hear that, I was just in town and thought I would stop in for a minute but I wouldn’t want to be a burden, pass my condolences on to Bobby” Bradley gave Ravi a small smile and pulled away from the firehouse. When he was out of sight Ravi fist-bumped the air and jogged back into the firehouse. As far as Ravi was concerned that was the last time he thought any of you would hear from him. Bradley on the other hand had only gathered more evidence that the 118 was potentially lying to him. 

…

Early the next morning Bradley stalked Eddie to his usual running path. He waited until Eddie was on a particularly quiet portion of the track, hidden from the eyes of the public by bushes and trees. He blocked Eddie's path not allowing him to step around him. Eddie the second he laid eyes on Bradley wanted to punch his lights out but he held his composure. Eddie placed some distance between himself and Bradley before speaking up. 

“What the hell do you want?” Eddie said voice laced with anger. 

“I just want to know what happened to y/n” Bradley put his hands up in surrender. 

“You have no right to ask about her” Eddie snapped “She was so happy until you came along, you broke her down, you isolated her from us, you’re the reason…” Eddie choked on his words. A mixture of real and fake emotions was flowing through Eddie. He was so upset and caught off guard that he almost went off the script. “You’re the reason shes dead” 

“Now Edmundo I don’t believe that for a second” Bradley smirked at Eddie

“Look in my eyes and tell me I’m lying” Eddie growled, “I carried her lifeless body out of her parent's house after she blew her brains out with her mother's gun, I begged and pleaded with god and anyone who would listen to bring her back to me, to us.”

“No, no… you're lying!” Bradley yelled backing away from Eddie. 

“She killed herself because we wouldn’t let her go back to you, maybe we should have, maybe if we did she’d still be here” Eddie's gaze dropped to the ground. The next thing Eddie heard was the sound of someone running away from him. He looked up to see himself once again alone. A smile broke out on his face as he continued with his run. He couldn’t wait to finish up his run, get home, shower and get to work. The only thing that was going to top this was having dinner with you, Buck and Chris tonight. Bradley on the other hand was not so sure what was going on. He found himself confused. Everything Eddie said seemed so genuine. Maybe Bobby and Eddie had told the rest of the team different things to keep them from knowing what happened. He hadn’t seen you around since that day in the office not even with Eddie and Buck even though he knew you’d always run off to them in the past. Still, he had two more people to ask and he wasn’t going to stop until he got the truth. 

…

That afternoon he followed Bobby into a butcher as he looked for the perfect cuts of steak and his favourite burger patties for the weekend during some downtime between calls. He wanted this BBQ to be reminiscent of the BBQs that you had when you were a kid even though, Mum, Robbie and Brook weren’t here anymore and you’d felt like he had tried to replace them with Athena, May and Harry. You’d grown to love them like Bobby did and accepted them as your family. Bobbys plans came to a halt when Bradley grabbed him by the arm and spun him to look at him. Bobby went from shocked to furious in seconds. Bradley could tell immediately that Bobby was not impressed to see him. 

“I’m not trying to start anything” Bradley puts his hands up in defence “I just need to know…”

“Need to know what?” Bobby snaps crossing his arms across his chest making himself larger and more intimidating. 

“Is she dead?” He asked. 

“My daughter? My child who you destroyed so completely that she couldn’t see her self-worth. Yes, she’s dead and it's all your fault” Bobby was now shaking with anger, his arms hung limp at his side and his gaze had met the floor. “I had to scrape her brains off every surface of my guest room, all my children are now gone, I couldn’t save any of them, what kind of father can’t protect his children?” Bobby looked up to where Bradley had been standing to find that he at some point had run off. Bobby looked around the empty store and shrugged. Had he been a little overdramatic sure but he didn’t think he’d been that bad. With a smile plastered on his face, he went back to picking out the steaks for the weekend and hoped that would be the last time he would have to see Bradley. 

…

The next morning Buck found himself running late for his shift. Chris insisted on watching a movie with everyone the night before but fell asleep not 15 minutes into the film despite insisting to Eddie that he was not sleepy at all. Eddie carried Chris to bed and decided that since the movie had started you might as well watch it. It was one of your and Chris's favourites. Eddie was sick of watching the movie on repeat and Buck had somehow had the blessing of not being subject to FernGully until now. After the movie, Buck drove you home. This meant he didn’t get home until almost 11 pm and he had to be at the station at 7 am. Bradley had spotted Buck on his drive home and decided to camp out the front of Buck's apartment building for the night. When Buck stumbled out the front door in a rushed mess the next morning Bradley was there to greet him. 

“I’m not here to start a fight, I just need answers” He held his hands up in defence. 

“What the hell do you need answers for?” If looks could kill Bradley would be dead with how Buck looked at him.

“I just want to know if y/n is dead” Bradley moved further back from Buck out of fear of getting hit.

“Dead” Buck yelled and got so close to Bradley that their chests were almost touching “Why do think it’s any of your business to know what’s happening with y/n?” 

“I just heard rumours and wanted to know” Bradley flinched away from Buck. 

“You wanted to know? You wanted to know?” Buck looked away and scoffed “Yes she’s dead alright, she killed herself, you have no idea what it’s like to be called out to a scene where someone you love has killed themselves, to see their blood all over and know that nothing you can do will save them. To see them choking on their blood as it spills out of their open throat” 

Bradley had gone pale, so pale that Buck thought he was going to faint. For a split moment, Buck felt bad, made be he had been too harsh and taken things too far. Bradley quickly crossed back across the road to his car and took off before any more words could be exchanged. Buck shrugged and quickly made his way to work running even more late now. But that was normal for Buck so he knew no one would question him and he wouldn’t have to tell anyone about running into Bradley. 

…

Finally, Saturday rolled around 2 days later. You had been kept busy all morning by Athena who had you help put out her good wine glasses, set the table for lunch, and do other small tasks. Eddie, Christopher and Buck had shown up around 10 am because Chris was too impatient and excited to hang out with his favourite person. You were so distracted with Chris that before you knew it, the rest of the 118 had arrived. Bobby and Buck were manning the BBQ, Chris was off playing with Danny and Mara, Hen, Chimney, Ravi, Karen and Maddie were busy talking among themselves. Athena was busy drifting around the kitchen while Eddie stood outside next to you watching the kids play. 

“I’m glad you left him” Eddie broke the silence. 

“Me too” You smiled up at him “Thank you for knocking some sense into me”. 

“Okay everyone lunch is ready!” Bobby called bringing a tray of meat into the dining room. 

Everyone sat around the table. Athena had set the kids up at their table out in the yard which made them think they were the coolest kids ever. She even gave them their plastic wine glasses to drink juice from. You were in the middle of one of the greatest lunches you’d ever had when there was an overly aggressive knock on the door. Before Athena or Bobby could move to answer the door someone yelled through the front door.

“I know you're all in there, I want answers and I want them now!” Bradley screamed through the door. 

“What in the world?” Athena looked towards the landing where the front door was. 

“What’s he doing here?” Buck looked around the table. 

“I guess this means the plan didn’t work” Chimney looked between everyone. 

“What plan?” Athena looked at Chimney. 

“Uh, well, uh, Bobby do you want to explain it” Chimney looked to Bobby. 

“You brought it up” Bobby motioned back to Athena. 

“What plan?” Athena stood up, crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. 

The 118 shared panicked glances while you, Maddie and Karen looked around the table confused. 

“Robert Wade Nash you better start speaking or so help me god you’ll be sleeping at the firehouse tonight” Athena levelled her attention on Bobby. 

“We might have told him y/n was dead” Bobby said 

“Dead” Athena looked around the table “After I told you not to tell him that you went and did it anyway” 

“Well in all fairness Athena I was the one who told him she was dead” Buck admitted looking at his plate. 

“You? No, I told him” Chimney jumped in. 

“Wait but I told him she was dead like a week ago” Hen added. “Oh god what have we done” 

“One at a time, how did you all say she died” Athena asked the table. 

“Slit her wrists,” Chimney said

“Hit and Run,” Ravi said

“Car accident,” Hen said

 “Shot herself with your gun,” Bobby said

“Slit her throat,” Buck said

“Same as Bobby,” Eddie said

You, Maddie and Karen, were trying to hold it together despite all having a bad case of the giggles. Athena was done with the entire 118 at this point and it was clear from the look on Bobbys face he was already trying to decide who would let him crash on their lounge tonight. 

“If you weren’t going to listen couldn’t you all have at least agreed on how she died” Athena sighed. 

“I’ll go deal with” Bobby went to stand up. 

“No you’ve done enough damage” Athena left the table. 

Athena went to open the door while everyone else quietly got up from the table and came to peak around the corner. Bradley was still furiously banging on the door when Athena answered it. 

“What do you want?” Athena asked angrily.

“I need the truth, I’ve been told so many different things over the last week,” Bradley said “Tell me the truth and I’ll leave you alone” 

“Yes y/n is dead, yes she killed herself with my gun, no we haven’t told everyone, now if you don’t mind we’re currently having her wake” Athena crossed her arms. 

“I’m so sorry” Bradley quickly turned on his heels and ran off up the driveway out of sight. 

Athena took a deep breath and closed the door. 

“When I turn around you all best be at that table eating” 

#buddie x reader #bobby nash x reader #athena grant x reader #bobby x athena #evan buckley x reader #eddie diaz x reader #chimney han x reader #Ravi pannikar x reader #911 x reader #118 x reader #hen wilson x reader #911

[jessicalprice]

culture isn’t modular

I did a thread (actually several) on Twitter a few years ago about Christianity’s attempts to paint itself as modular, and I’ve been seeing them referenced here in the cultural christianity Discourse, and a few people have DMed me asking me to post it here, so here’s a rehash of several of those threads:

A big part of why Christian atheists have trouble seeing how culturally Christian they still are is that Christianity advertises itself as being modular, which is not how belief systems have worked for most of human history. 

A selling point of Christianity has always been the idea that it's plug-and-play: you don't have to stop being Irish or Korean or Nigerian to be Christian, you don't have to learn a new language, you keep your culture. 

And you’re just also Christian.

(You can see, then, why so many Christian atheists struggle with the idea that they’re still Christian--to them, Christianity is this modular belief in God and Jesus and a few other tenets, and everything else is... everything else. Which is, not to get ahead of myself, very compatible with some tacit white supremacy: the “everything else” is goes unexamined for its cultural specificity. It’s just Normal. Default. Neutral.)

Evangelicals in particular love to contrast this to Islam, to the idea that you have to learn Arabic and adopt elements of Arab culture to be Muslim, which helps fuel the image of Islam as a Foreign Ideology that's taking over the West.

The rest of us don’t have that particular jack

Meanwhile, Christians position Christianity as a modular component of your life. Keep your culture, your traditions, your language and just swap out your Other Religion Module for a Christianity Module.

The end game is, in theory, a rainbow of diverse people and cultures that are all one big happy family in Christ. We're going to come back to how Christianity isn't actually modular, but for the moment, let's talk about it as if it had succeeded in that design goal. 

Even if Christianity were successfully modular, if it were something that you could just plug in to the Belief System Receptor in a culture and leave the rest of it undisturbed, the problem is most cultures don't have a modular Belief System Receptor. Spirituality has, for the entirety of human history, not been something that's modular. It's deeply interwoven with the rest of culture and society. You can't just pull it out and plug something else in and have the culture remain stable.

(And to be clear, even using the term “spirituality” here is a sop to Christianity. What cultures have are worldviews that deal with humanity’s place in the universe/reality; people’s relationships to other people; the idea of individual, societal, or human purpose; how the culture defines membership; etc. These may or may not deal with the supernatural or “spiritual.”)

And so OF COURSE attempting to pull out a culture's indigenous belief system and replace it with Christianity has almost always had destructive effects on that culture.

Not only is Christianity not representative of "religion" full stop, it's actually arguably *anomalous* in its attempt to be modular (and thus universal to all cultures) rather than inextricable from culture.

Now, of course, it hasn't actually succeeded in that--the US is a thoroughly Christian culture--but it does lead to the idea that one can somehow parse out which pieces of culture are "religious" versus which are "secular". That framing is antithetical to most cultures. E.g. you can't separate the development of a lot of cultural practices around what people eat and how they get it from elements of their worldview that Christians would probably label "religious." But that entire *framing* of religious vs. secular is a Christian one.

Is Passover a religious holiday or a secular one? The answer isn't one or the other, or neither, or both. It's that the framing of this question is wrong.

And Christianity isn’t a plugin, however much it wants to be

Moreover, Christianity isn't actually culture-neutral or modular. 

It's easy for this to get obscured by seeing Christianity as a tool of particular cultures' colonialism (e.g. the British using Christianity to spread British culture) or of whiteness in general, and not seeing how Christianity itself is colonial. This helps protect the idea that “true” Christianity is good and innocent, and if priests or missionaries are converting people at swordpoint or claiming land for European powers or destroying indigenous cultures, that must be a misuse of Christianity, a “fake” or “corrupted” Christianity.

Never mind that for every other culture, that culture is what its members do. Christianity, uniquely, must be judged on what it says its ideals are, not what it actually is. 

Mistaking the engine for the exhaust

But it’s not just an otherwise innocent tool of colonialism: it’s a driver of it. 

At the end of the day, it’s really hard to construct a version of the Great Commission that isn’t inherently colonial. The end-goal of a world in which everyone is Christian is a world without non-Christian cultures. (As is the end goal of a world in which everyone is atheist by Christian definitions.)

Yet we focus on the way Christianity came with British or Spanish culture when they colonized a place--the churches are here because the Spaniards who conquered this area were Catholic--and miss how Christianity actually has its own cultural tropes that it brings with it. It's more subtle, of course, when Christianity didn't come in explicitly as the result of military conquest.

Or put another way, those cultures didn't just shape the Christianity they brought to places they colonized--they were shaped by it. How much of the commonality between European cultures is because of Christianity?

It’s not all a competition

A lot of Christians (cultural and practicing), if you push them, will eventually paint you a picture of a very Hobbesian world in which all religions, red in tooth and claw, are trying to take over the world. It's the "natural order" to attempt to eliminate all cultures but your own. 

If you point out to them that belief and worldview are deeply personal, and proselytizing is objectifying, because you're basically telling the person you're proselytizing to that who they are is wrong, you often get some version of "that's how everyone is, though."

Like we all go through life seeing other humans as incomplete and fundamentally flawed and the only way to "fix" them is to get them to believe what we believe. And, like, that is not how everyone relates to others?

But it's definitely how both practicing Christians and Christian antitheists relate to others. If, for Christians, your lack of Jesus is a fundamental flaw in you that needs to be fixed, for New Atheists, your “religion” (that is, your non-Christian culture) is a fundamental flaw in you that needs to be fixed. Neither Christians nor New Atheists are able to relate to anyone else as fine as they are. It's all a Hobbesian zero-sum game. It's all a game of conversion with only win and loss conditions. You are, essentially, only an NPC worth points.

The idea of being any other way is not only wrong, but impossible to them. If you claim to exist in any other way, you are either deluded or lying.

So, we get Christian atheists claiming that if you identify as Jewish, you can’t really be an atheist. Or sometimes they’ll make an exception for someone who’s “only ethnically Jewish.” If the only way you relate to your Jewishness is as ancestry, then you can be an atheist. Otherwise, you’re lying. 

Or, if you’re not lying, you’re deluded. You just don’t understand that there’s no need for you to keep any dietary practices or continue to engage in any form of ritual or celebrate any of those “religious” Jewish holidays, and by golly, this here “ex”-Christian atheist is here to separate out for you which parts of your culture are “religious” and which ones are “secular.”

Religious/secular is a Christian distinction

A lot of atheists from Christian backgrounds (whether or not they were raised explicitly Christian) have trouble seeing how Christian they are because they've accepted the Christian idea that “religion” is modular. (If we define “religion” the way Christians (whether practicing or cultural) define it, Christianity might be the only religion that actually exists. Maybe Islam?)

When people from non-Christian cultures talk about the hegemonically Christian and white supremacist nature of a lot of atheism, it reflects how outside of Christianity, spirituality/worldview isn't something you can just pull out of a culture.

Christian atheists tend to see the cultural practices of non-Christians as "religious" and think that they should give them up (talk to Jewish atheists who keep kosher about Christian atheist reactions to that). But because Christianity positions itself as modular, people from Christian backgrounds tend not to see how Christian the culture they imagine as "neutral" or "normal" actually is. In their minds, you just pull out the Christianity module and are left with a neutral, secular society.

So, if people from non-Christian backgrounds would just give up their superstitions, they'd look the same as Christian atheists. 

Your secularism is specifically post-Christian

Of course, that culture with the Christianity module pulled out ISN'T neutral. So the idea that that's what "secular society" should look like ends up following the same pattern as Christian colonialism throughout history: the promise that you can keep your culture and just plug in a different belief system (or, purportedly, a lack of a belief system), which has always, always been a lie. The secular, "enlightened" life that most Christian atheists envision is one that's still built on white, western Christianity, and the idea that people should conform to it is still attempting to homogenize society to a white Christian ideal. 

For people from cultures that don't see spirituality as modular, this is pretty obvious. It's obvious to a lot of people from non-white Christian cultures that have syncretized Christianity in a way that doesn't truck with the modularity illusion. 

I also think, even though they're not conceptualizing it in these terms, that it's actually obvious to a lot of evangelicals. (The difference being that white evangelical Christianity enthusiastically embraces white supremacy, so they see the destruction of non-Christian culture as good.) But I think it's invisible to a lot of mainline non-evangelical Christians, and it's definitely invisible to a lot of people who leave Christianity.

And that inability to see culture outside a Christian framing means that American secularism is still shaped like Christianity. It's basically the same text with a few sentences deleted and some terms replaced.

Which, again, is by design. The idea that you can deconvert to (Christian) atheism and not have to change much besides your opinions about God is the mirror of how easy it’s supposed to be to convert to Christianity.

Human societies don’t follow evolutionary biology

The Victorian Christian framing underlying current Western ideas of enlightened secularism, that religious practice (and human culture in general) is subject to the same sort of unilateral, simple evolution toward a superior state to which they, at the time, largely reduced biological evolution, is deeply white supremacist.

It posits religious evolution as a constantly self-refining process from "primitive" animism and polytheism to monotheism to white European/American Christianity. For Christians, that's the height of human culture. For ex-Christians, the next step is Christian-derived secularism.

Maybe you’ve seen this comic?

The thing is, animism isn’t more “primitive” than polytheism, and polytheism isn’t more “primitive” than monotheism. Older doesn’t mean less advanced/sophisticated/complex. Hinduism isn’t more “primitive” than Judaism just because it’s polytheistic and Judaism is monotheistic. 

Human cultures continue to change and adapt. (Arguably, older religions are more sophisticated than newer ones because they’ve had a lot more time to refine their practices and ideologies instead of having to define them.) Also, not all cultures are part of the same family tree. Christianity and Islam may be derived from Judaism, but Judaism and Hinduism have no real relationship to one another. 

But in this worldview, Christianity is "normal" religion, which is still more primitive than enlightened secularism, but more advanced than all those other primitive, superstitious, irrational beliefs.

Just like Christians, when Christian atheists do try to make room for cultures that aren't white and European-derived, the tacit demand is "okay, but you have to separate out the parts of your culture that the Christian sacred-secular divide would deem 'religious.'"

Either way, people from non-Christian cultures, if they’re to be equals, are supposed to get with the program and assimilate.

You’re not qualified to be a universal arbiter of what culture is good

Christian atheists usually want everyone to unplug that Religion module!

So, for example, you have ex-Christian atheists who are down with pluralism trying to get ex-Christian atheists who aren't to leave Jews alone by pointing out that you can be atheist and Jewish.

But some of us aren’t atheist. (I’m agnostic by Christian standards.) And the idea that Jews shouldn’t be targets for harassment because they can be atheists and therefore possibly have some common sense is still demanding that people from other cultures conform to one culture’s standard of what being “rational” is.  

Which, like, is kind of galling when y’all don’t even understand what “belief in G-d” means to Jews, and people from a culture that took until the 1800s to figure out that washing their hands was good are setting themselves up as the Universal Arbiters of Rationality.

(BTW, most of this also holds true for non-white Christianity, too. I guarantee you most white Christian atheists don’t have a good sense of what role church plays in the lives of Black communities, so maybe shut up about it.)

In any case, reducing Christianity--a massive, ambient phenomenon inextricable from Western culture--to the specific manifestation of Christian practice that you grew up with is, frankly, absurd. 

And you can’t be any help in deconstructing hegemony when you refuse to perceive it and understand that it isn’t something you can take off like a garment, and you probably won’t ever recognize and uproot all the ways in which it affects you, especially when you are continuing to live within it. 

What hegemony doesn’t want you to know

One of the ways hegemony sustains and perpetuates itself is by reinforcing the idea not so much that other ways of being and knowing are evil (although that’s usually a stage in an ideology becoming hegemonic), but that they’re impossible. That they don’t actually exist. 

See, again, the idea that anyone claiming to live differently is either lying or deluded.

There are few clearer examples of how pervasive Christian hegemony is than Christian atheists being certain every religion works like Christianity. Hegemonic Christianity wants you to think that all cultures work like Christianity because it wants their belief systems to be modular so you can just ...swap them. And it wants to pretend that culture/worldview is a free market where it can just outcompete other cultures.

But that’s... not how anything works. 

And the truth of the matter is that white nationalist Christians shoot at synagogues and Sikh temples and mosques because those other ways of being can’t be allowed to exist. 

They don’t shoot at atheist conventions because there’s room in hegemonic Christianity for Christian atheists precisely because Christian atheists are still culturally Christian. Their atheism is Christian-shaped.

They may not like you. They’re definitely going to try to convert you. They may not want you to be able to hold public office or teach their kids.

But the only challenge you’re providing is that of The Existence of Disbelief. And that’s fine. That makes you a really safe Other to have around. You can See The Light and not have to change much.

What you’re not doing is providing an example of a whole other way of being and knowing that (often) predates Christianity and is completely separate from it and has managed to survive it and continue to live and thrive (there’s a reason Christians like to speak of Jews and Judaism in the past tense, and it’s similar to the reason white people like to speak of indigenous peoples of the Americas in the past tense). 

That’s not a criticism--it’s fine to just... be post-Christian. There’s not actually anything wrong with being culturally Christian. The problems come in when you start denying that it’s a thing, or insisting that you, unique among humankind, are above Having A Culture.

But it does mean that you don’t pose the same sort of threat to Christianity that other cultures do, and hence, less violence. 

#cultural christianity #christian hegemony #christian atheists

[sometimesanalice]

Wildest Dreams

Summary: Never in your wildest dreams would you have expected to be waiting at a Naval hangar for a man you’d met two months ago during Fleet Week. Let alone one you’d only known for less than twenty-four hours. (Even if it had been the best sex of your life.)

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 6k

Warning: fluff, smut, and the return of the summer dress whites (minors dni)

(author's note: this was written as part of @laracrofted's 1989(TV) challenge. It is a prequel to Hey, Sailor, but can be read on its own!)

This has the potential to be the best idea you’ve ever had or the worst.

Although based on the way you kind of want to shimmy out of your too tight skin, you’re starting to think it might be the worst.

You are out of place and out of sorts. There are kids giggling and running around with homemade posters covered in bright neon bubble letters and you aren’t even wearing a bra.

Oh god, what were you thinking?

Never in your wildest dreams would you have expected to be waiting for a man you’d only met two months ago during Fleet Week. Let alone one that you had known for less than twenty-four hours and had sex with within the first two hours of meeting. But you couldn’t think about that too much without your face heating up.

And waiting at Naval Air Station North Island, no less.

Oh, this was a very bad idea.

The happy chatter of excited friends and family of the deployed squadron members, who are due to return within the hour, is bouncing off of the cavernous curved walls of the hangar you’re standing in. Bursts of delighted laughter rippling throughout the space.

And with each passing minute the thumping of your heart pounds a little harder against the walls of your chest. Whether it’s anticipation or apprehension you couldn’t say.

Under normal circumstances the energy would be infectious, the atmosphere around you is bubbly and light, but all it does is make you feel like it is glaringly obvious that you don’t fit in here with the rest of the clusters of families.

That is if your nice yet slightly-too-revealing-to-be-family-friendly dress didn’t already give you away.

The only perk of it at the moment was that the breeze against the bare skin of your exposed back was keeping you from breaking out in an anxious full body sweat in the summer heat.

In your defense, you’d picked this dress out for a reason and had chosen it with a purpose in mind. Even if you were second guessing every decision that has led you here.

Over the last two months, you had changed your mind more frequently than the wind changed direction.

He’d been brought into your life on a high tide of champagne bubbles that had swiftly taken him right back out, leaving a wake of nothing but champagne problems.

Every time you thought about recycling the packet of papers that had taunted you and tempted you in equal parts, you were reminded of the warm brown eyes of the person who had given it to you. And it never failed to set your heart a flutter the same way had when he’d given it to you with that soft, cautiously hopeful smile.

You have the registration form that had gotten you through the heavily secured gate clutched tightly in your hand as if you’re waiting for some uniformed security official to come up to question you then escort you off the base.

Although now it’s so crumbled and creased that you don’t know if they’d even be able to read it.

Worst of all, you had no way to distract your busy mind from all your buzzing thoughts.

They’d taken your phone at the gate, a security measure they’d told you as you watched them tag it with your name and put in a slim cubby for you to collect when you left.

Which might be sooner than you thought, because the longer you stand there waiting and shifting on your feet the more you were fighting the urge to backpedal. To spin on your strappy sandaled feet and hightail it back to your car and drive the legally posted limit only until you made it past those intimidating chain link gates before flooring it, getting as far away from this cheery, happy hanger as quickly as possible.

And yet for whatever reason, your antsy feet and tapping toes stay planted on shiny finish of the industrial cement of the hanger.

This is crazy.

You’d thought it as you slipped on and tied the flimsy straps of your pink ruffled sundress and collected all of your things. Pausing to double check that you had your Driver’s License, Passport, and Social Security card in your purse for the fourth time that day.

This is ridiculous.

You’d thought it as you’d drove along the highway to the Naval base that you had only been to only once a couple of months ago. The sun beaming down on your car with hardly a cloud in the sky. A perfect golden California day, even if your mind was in a hazy fog.

This is foolish.

You’d definitely thought that on loop, like a broken record in your mind, as you’d waited in the long line of cars all done up in window paints and streamers packed with grinning, eager faces all queued up for the same reason.

When you had finally made it to the front of the line, your heart had been pounding away beating a mile a minute. Your palms sweating as you handed over the three-page packet and identification cards to the security working the gates.

The Use of Deadly Force Authorized sign was a stark contrast with the smiles of the officials who greeted you.

You were positive you looked as shifty as you felt. But it seemed the only person who thought you looked like a red flag was you. Because they’d barely given you a second glace as they’d waved you through after checking your paperwork. You had almost blurted out Are you sure?, but managed to keep it together as you waited for the red arms of the barrier gate to lift.

That final hurdle officially out of your hands because you were finally there and soon he’d be here.

During one white wine fueled late night evening on your couch you’d allowed yourself to indulge in those tempting taunting what-ifs.

What-if you went.

What-if you waited.

What-if you met him there.

And in your casual research somewhere between the third and fourth glass of Sauvignon Blanc, before you had scrolled back three years on the base’s official Instagram page and googled the sure-to-be redacted version of the visitor’s map of the base, you’d read that sometimes they’d direct visitors to park in a lot on the edge of the base to be shuttled to the designated homecoming hanger.

Thankfully, there would be no shuttles operating on military efficient timetables for you. Since you’d been directed to a parking lot that sat across from a large hanger decorated with waving and winking banners of bold red, white, and blues.

You couldn’t help release a little sigh of relief knowing that you’d be able to make an easy escape if you needed to.

Because if this was going to take you down, if the sun was going to set on your gleaming gilded what-ifs, at least you could leave with your head held high. Even if your tail would be between your legs.

Just in case, you had built it up in your head.

Just in case, he changed his mind.

Because this was crazy, this was ridiculous, this was foolish. But you didn’t want those memories from two months ago to follow you around like a ghost of what could have been.

You wanted to see what it could be. What you hoped it might become.

You’ve thought about that night a lot.

Flashes of sturdy white twill and toned muscles and a low, raspy voice had kept you up more nights than you were willing to acknowledge. You’d lost time thinking about warm hands and a rich laugh and lips that left hot trails along your body that you still felt like a ley line under your skin.

After the mark beneath your ear had faded, the only proof it all hadn’t been some gold rush dream was the flimsy piece of paper currently grasped in your hand like a lifeline.

Before that night you’d never understood the draw of Fleet Week. It seemed like the type of mess you’d purposely avoided. Nights that left you either with a good story to tell over brunch or in mascara coated tears crumpled like a piece of paper on the ground.

But now, you didn’t think you’d ever be able to think of it without thinking of it and him with only the rosiest of memories.

Your mind wanders as you remember the way he’d made you felt. Of being around him, of tangled up with him. You’re too busy thinking about heated smiles and pretty scars that the sound sneaks up on you.

It starts out as a low rumble that swiftly builds into a roar that shakes you out of that shimmering lavender haze. Cheers break out in the crowd as people flood out of the hanger and onto the tarmac to get a better view.

Looking around you, there are kids pressing their hands to their ears as the squeal and shout in delight. Their faces turning up to the skies as they enthusiastically wave at the aircrafts flying towards the base with perfect precision.

You get as close to the edge of the hanger as you dare. Toeing the line between cracked industrial cement and sundrenched asphalt, still unsure your place in all of this. Not quite ready to fully give yourself up to the swift current of honey hued possibility.

There are at least a dozen jets approaching in sharp triangular and diamond shaped formations.  Clusters of four flying in flawless alignment with one another, their shiny bodies stand out in relief against the cloudless blue skies. It’s a gravity defying ballet as the individual groups merge together in impeccable unison to form one large unit.

Your jaw drops open in awe and your heart soars into your throat at the stunningly impressive sight.

They speed impossibly fast overhead and within seconds all that remains are the contrails of their coming and the knowledge that soon they’ll have their feet back on the ground with the rest of you.

The low, thick whomp whomp whomp of large helicopter propellers approaching behind them in the distance like an echo as more and more of the deployed squadron arrive for their homecoming.

You almost can’t hear it over the steady drumbeat of your heartbeat in your ears.

Because he’s back. He’s here.

After two months of wondering and waiting, you’re about to find out.

It’s all happening now.

“It’s her last fling before the ring! Cheers, bitches!”

You didn’t know whether you were impressed or one enthusiastic woo! away from losing it at the amount of puns Amanda, the maid of honor, had been able to come up with for the evening.

To no one’s surprise, tequila shots and champagne were a dangerous combo.

When the bride-to-be had said she wanted to keep things local and have a staycation type girl’s weekend for her bachelorette party, you and your bank account had been thrilled. It wasn’t until you all had left for the hotel all gussied up in your sparkling hot pink finest to head out for dinner that you noticed all the white uniforms dotting the sidewalks and seated out on some of the outdoor terraces.

It was Fleet Week.

You’ve lived in San Diego for almost five years now. And while running into someone in the Navy was commonplace, in both the grocery store and on the dating apps you’d redownloaded a few months ago, Fleet Week was something that you’d always purposely avoided. Opting to stay home and out of the fray.

However, you were coming off of a break up with a man who had slowly sucked all the color from your world. And this weekend was just the thing you needed to let go, to be unabashedly uninhibited, to reclaim your shimmer.

Your shiny pink dress is three inches shorter and your heels two inches taller than anything you’d ever worn before. There had been a brief moment when you’d felt self-conscious stepping into the lobby of the hotel, aware of just how much skin was on display with short hem and the low dip of the back of your dress, until your best friend had given you the loudest wolf-whistle known to mankind sending you into a fit of giggles.

And instead of shying away from the eyes that had been drawn to you in that moment, you sparkled.

You didn’t quite feel like your old self yet, but you were on your way. You liked this version of yourself so much better than the shell of a girl you’d been before. You liked the one who could be bold and brave and bejeweled.

The upscale bar is packed and it’s just the kind of lively atmosphere where tonight’s bad decisions could become tomorrow’s good stories.

It felt less like a club and more like a large stylish living room, with its cozy clusters of oversized chairs and couches. Pockets of the room were cast in a soft lavender light, while the rest was awash in a golden glow from the massive modern chandelier that ran the length of the room. Gleaming brass accents were offset with the warm tones of the wooden paneling that lined the walls. It was soft, lush, and inviting.

The music was good and there was even a small dancefloor, but it wasn’t so loud that you couldn’t enjoy having a conversation with someone without shouting. The bar looked more like a library than a place to get your drinks with its black leather tufted base and dark wooden built-ins displaying shiny bottles like a prized book collection. And the cocktails were stellar.

It was obvious why so many people had ended up here tonight, both civilians and Naval personnel on leave.

“Oh, hello there,” you hear your best friend practically purr, pulling you from your internal debate about another ordering another shot of tequila.

You look over to see her staring at the door where two tall officers have just entered with a devious gleam in her eyes.

The one on the left was just her type, a pretty boy with the kind of megawatt smile that would have orthodontists dying to get a closer look. He looked the cocky kind of confident now, but you knew if your friend made her move she’d have him wrapped around her finger before the bartenders even announce last call.

The man next to him was the taller one of the two and sporting a mustache that might have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but for whatever reason it suited him very well. Especially when it was paired with that easy grin he was currently wearing as he laughed along with something his friend was saying. Even from across the room you could tell he’d be even more attractive up close.

Their tans and the definition of their arms were offset by the crisp whites of their short-sleeved uniforms. And looking at them you could finally understand the appeal of Fleet Week.

Men like that could easily make a girl lose her mind amongst other things.

You had no doubt in your mind that these two in particular would be a hot commodity tonight. There were already quite a few heads turned in their direction to watch as they made their way towards the bar. Appreciative eyes glinting as they take in just how well they both filled out their uniforms.

Another loud woo! from your group of friends pulls your attention back to them in time to see another bottle of champagne, complete with a bright sparkler, being delivered to the table you had all chipped in for the evening.

At this rate, someone was either going to end up on top of a table or on the confetti covered floor.

You chance another look back over your shoulder towards the two men who’d just saddled up to the bar and are met with a pair of mischievous eyes already trained on you.

An electric touch races up along your spine. 

You’re still a safe distance far enough away to where you can allow yourself to take him in, fighting the urge to hastily look away and pretend it was an accident that your eyes connected when you had definitely been trying to sneak another peek at them- at him in particular. You see his smile pull to the left and his cheek tick up as you hold his gaze.

He’s less than subtle in the way he lets his eyes drag over the exposed skin of your back and down the line of your legs before letting them settle back on your face. When you shoot him a pointed raise of your eyebrow, that smirk on his face just grows even wider.

It makes your stomach swoop, and even worse, it makes your own lips turn up in an amused smile in response.

An unabashed flirt.

There’s no doubt in your mind he knows exactly what he is doing. You’re sure he has practiced this kind of silent conversation many times. That over the years he has polished his technique to a shiny, smooth finish.

You know nothing good can come from a man in a uniform, but a man in uniform during Fleet Week is a different kind of trouble altogether.

And one who looks like that? Big and broad, with confidence rolling off of him in waves?

No, nothing good could come from it.

Taking one more sweep of his face you turn away from him and opt to sip on some cold water instead.

Your best friend is still making eyes with the man with the dimples, so you start up a conversation with one of the other bridesmaids you don’t know as well as some of the others. She was a sweetheart, but you could tell this wasn’t her usual scene so it felt like you were doing a lot of the heavy lifting for the conversation.

It also didn’t help that you were trying and failing to ignore the way it had felt when he looked at you, like sparks dancing across your skin that you could still feel like a phantom touch.

You’re struggling to come up with a new topic of conversation when cloud of white sequins and rhinestones and tulle bulldozes into you.

“Come get a drink with us,” the bride-to-be declares as she hooks her arm with yours and starts tugging you towards the bar.

You see that your best friend is already a couple steps ahead of the two of you and heading in the same direction to the bar, purpose in every step she takes.

“You need a break from free champagne?” you ask with a grin.

“I want something pink!” she sings.

You laugh at her dedication to the theme, “Ok, let’s get you something pink.”

“Yes, let’s,” she agrees.

As you get closer to the bar, you ignore the pull in your stomach and the gaze of the broad man who lingers in your peripheral vision. It had been heady from a distance you had no clue how you’d fair with it directed at you up close.

You’re not surprised in the least when your best friend passes by the open space at the bar and flounces right up to the officer with the dimples. And you’re even less surprised when she takes the shot that was held loosely in his hand and tosses it back in one go, before running her thumb along the bottom of her lip and giving him a sharp, feline grin. The now shot-less man rises up to the occasion and gives her a matching one of his own, the interest gleaming in his eyes.

However, you are very much shocked when your soon-to-be-wed friend all but shoves you towards the man with the mustache.

Your hands dart out to catch yourself on the bar, but one ends up on his thick forearm instead as he reaches out to steady you. His other hand is braced low on your hip, big and warm. Glancing down you can see that his pinky is very near the hem of your short dress.

You toss her a withering glare over your shoulder, but she’s already bobbling back towards the group very clearly pleased with herself.

As you turn to look up at him, all words escape you and your breath gets caught in your throat.

He’s handsome as hell.

And up close, that uniform has the potential to be even more life ruining than it was from a distance.

It is almost obscene the way it clings to the bulk of him. The sleeves of his shirt were stretched out around his biceps and pulled taut across his chest. His pants look almost molded to his thighs and long legs. It’s almost dizzying just how good-looking he is in it.

And you’re absolutely mortified.

“Hey, Sailor,” you say weakly at an attempt to diffuse the awkwardness of how you’ve come to be pressed against his hard body.

He throws his head back and laughs. It’s low and lush, rich and raspy. And god, do you like the sound of it.

But there’s still a rush anxious energy that courses through you, unsure if he’s laughing at you or the situation you’ve both been literally thrust into. You’re tempted to step back out of his reach, but his fingers tighten the gentlest bit where his hand still sits on your hip keeping you in place.

There’s amusement dancing behind his brown eyes and that smile of his up close is even more devastating. And you can’t help but shoot him a sheepish smile in return.

“That’s one way to make an entrance,” he grins.

“I am so sorry about that,” you say gesturing to the gaggle of giggling girls watching on from the corner of the room. You get your feet righted underneath you and take a half-step back.

And this time he lets you, his pinky grazing the skin of your upper thigh as he does.

“I’m not,” he says, leaning against the shiny black and white marble slab of the bar top, “I was hoping you’d come over here.”

You refuse to let yourself get flushed, but the heat races to your cheeks all the same.

Instead you pivot.

“I feel like I should warn you, she’s going to eat your friend alive,” you say, gesturing to your best friend who is looking every inch the menace you know her to be.

He glances over towards where his friend and yours are talking. His friend’s shot has been replaced and they’re both wearing a pair of dueling smiles. Their conversation too quiet to hear, but you know that tone of hers and what it means.

The good kind or the bad kind it was too early in the evening to say.

You allow yourself a brief moment to admire his profile, your eyes tracing over his cheekbones and jaw, noticing a few scars that dot his sunkissed skin.

He lets out a low chuckle and looks back towards you, “Good. Hangman has been a pain in my ass for years. Serves him right. It’ll be good for his ego.”

“Hangman?” you ask, eyebrows pinching together.

“Oh, right. That’s Jake,” he clarifies, nodding over to his friend, “Hangman is his callsign. Bagman if he’s pissing me off, which is often enough. We’re both Naval aviators.”

Well, that explained the aura of self-assuredness that radiated from the two of them from the very moment you’d seen them.

The uniform was bad enough on its own, but a pilot?

Trouble was definitely too small a word for this man, he’d need a different category created for him altogether.

“Can’t say I’m too mad at him right now though. I wanted to go somewhere more lowkey, but he said ‘pretty girls like pretty places’,” he gives you a slow smile as his eyes drift over you, “Turns out he was right. But don’t tell him that I said that, he’ll be insufferable.”

And then he has the audacity to wink at you.

You absolutely will not be getting tangled up with a pilot. But you were definitely up for a little fun, and decide there is no harm in indulging in some friendly banter.

“So are you going to tell me your callsign or do I have to guess?” you tease.

“It’s Rooster.”

You swallow down the quip that comes to your mind first, and ask instead, “Do you come with a first name, Rooster? Or did the Navy claim that too?”

He has Bradshaw emblazoned on the nametag on his chest, but you’re so curious to find out the answer. You’ve never been so interested collecting breadcrumb pieces of someone before, there’s something in the way he’s looking at you that makes you want to know more.

“I’m Bradley,” he grins wider, holding out his hand to you.

You look from him to his big hand and then back to him again, debating on how much you want to give him in return. He lifts a playful eyebrow his hand still outstretched as he waits for your move.

So you put your hand in his and give him your name.

Rooster repeats it back as if he’s testing out the way the syllables and consonants of your name feel in his mouth. And if he’s slow to let go of your hand, you let it slide without a comment.

“Well, since it’s Fleet Week and all, Bradley Rooster Bradshaw, I think would be pretty unpatriotic for me to not buy you a drink as an apology for my friends and for subjecting you that poorly executed line.”

His features take on a very contemplative look as he lets out a low, quiet hmm.

“I don’t know about that,” he deliberates.

“About the drink?” you ask, fully prepared to make a hasty retreat before you make yourself look any more ridiculous than you already did.

“No, about the line,” Rooster says, whiskey smooth, “I think it was pretty effective.”

“Really? That’s all it took, huh?” you laugh, “You must have been stuck on that ship for a while.”

Flagging down the bartender, you order a couple shots of chilled tequila.

You see Bradley reach into his shirt pocket, pulling out a few loose bills to pay. There’s definitely nowhere for a wallet to go in those pants. Sliding in front of him, letting yourself graze up against him just the slightest bit, you tell the bartender to put the shots on your group’s open tab. You can see them still spying on you, so it was the least they could do for a free show.

You spin towards him and rest your elbows on the bartop behind you with a grin. He just smirks and shakes his head at you with a look that you’d almost want to call fond if you’d actually known him for longer than ten minutes.

“So, how long were you deployed? Are you headed back to wherever home is after this weekend is over?” you ask.

“I’m actually stationed here permanently in San Diego,” Bradley says, pausing for a moment before continuing, “But I am headed out for a two-month deployment tomorrow.”

He’s looking at you closely, as if he is trying to gauge your reaction to him showing you his cards so early. Here today, but gone tomorrow.

This open honesty from him makes him even more attractive in your eyes. He’s the type of man who could so easily wreck your plans if you gave him the chance to. And for a split second, you can almost see the end before anything can even begin.

“Well, it’s nice of the city to give you such a nice send-off then,” you say lightly, ignoring the twinge in your stomach.

Thankfully, the bartender returns with the chilled shots, you thank him and then hand Bradley one of the shot glasses cheers-ing him with your own, “To Uncle Sam’s overly inflated defense budget.”

He snorts and watches as you raise the glass to your lips. Feeling bold under the warmth of his gaze, your tongue darts out as you lick the smoked salt off the rim before swallowing down the shot, not breaking eye contact with him once.

You’re beyond delighted when notice the tips of his ears are a little pink as he throws back his own. The heaviness from earlier shifting into a more exciting kind of tension as your gazes bounce off of each other.

Bradley leans a bit into your space as he sets his empty glass on the bartop, “Can I let you in on a secret?”

“Only if it’s a juicy one,” you counter, more than happy to take the bait.

“It wasn’t just the line. Your little tiara thing is doing it for me too,” he says reaching out and adjusting the rhinestone Bridesmaid headband that you’d completely forgotten you were wearing. His thumb skimming over your temple as he withdraws his hand.

You could handle an unabashed flirt, but a charming unabashed flirt whose smile was setting off a flurry of butterflies in your chest was not on the agenda for tonight.

“Do you want to swap, Rooster?” you tease nodding your head towards the white and shiny black-rimmed hat that is sitting snugly on top of his head.

“Nah, I don’t think I could pull it off as well as you do.” He shoots you another wink, one that has your toes curling in your pretty-but-too-tall heels. “Plus, mine is technically government property. They don’t let just anyone wear it, not without earning it.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes dip down to your lips.

The shot of tequila makes you brave enough to contemplate asking just exactly one would have to do to earn a turn wearing his hat, but the two of you are startled out of bubble you had found yourselves in at the sound of a sharp slap.

You peer curiously around Bradley to see Hangman looking equal parts shell-shocked and starry eyed after your best friend as she struts away from him with a swing in her hips, her hair bouncing with each step.

“I should-” your own eyes betray you by slipping down to his parted lips when you look back at him, “I should go check on her.”

“You don’t have to go just because Bagman is an idiot. Let me get you a drink and return the favor. Please,” he says, his big brown eyes asking you to stay.

“No, I really should. Thanks for indulging my friends and for the company, Bradley. Enjoy the rest of Fleet Week.” Before you can overthink it, you lean in a press a kiss to his cheek. Giving him one more smile, one that doesn’t feel as bright as you’d like it to be, you turn and leave.

You hustle to catch up with your friend as she makes her way back to your bedazzled group, “Hey, are you ok? What the hell did he say?”

She waves off your concern with a Cheshire cat grin, “Oh, that man is about to be so obsessed with me.”

Over the next hour it is impossible to keep your eyes from straying back to him. You try to lose yourself to the music on the small dancefloor and in the raunchy girl talk. Every time you dared to take a peek at him, you’d been surprised to see him already looking at you instead of chatting up some other girl.

At one point, he’d even been bold enough to pat the space next to him as an open invitation. You’d simply smiled and shook your head at him, laughing to yourself when he dramatically clutched at his heart in response.

It’s not until a very large bottle of Dom Perignon Brut Rosé is delivered your table, a cheer going up as the bottle service girl discloses who had it sent over, that you’re made to reevaluate your plans for the evening.

The two men are still at the bar, but you don’t miss the satisfied smirk of on your best friend’s face as she helps herself to some of the pink bubbly.

Instead of a glass, you’re offered a threat.

“We all know what she’s doing, but if I see you at brunch tomorrow I’m kicking you out of the wedding,” the bride-to-be cheerfully trills, albeit tipsily, as she presses your clutch into your hand and shoos you away. Officially dismissed from your bridesmaid duties for the remainder of the weekend.

You take the long way around the edge of the room to the bar, giving yourself a minute to debate the pros and cons of what you were planning to do. But as the crowd parts and you see him, still planted in the same place you’d left him, all the bullet-pointed items on your mental list dissolve like sugar in an Old Fashioned at the sight of his warm whiskey brown eyes.

This time it’s no accident in the way you slide up to him.

“Well, Rooster, you’ve got my attention.”

“Good. I like your attention,” he says with an all too pleased grin. “I was worried I was going to have to come join in you over there. The last bachelorette party we ran into kept wanting me to give the bride a lap dance. It looked pretty dire there for me for a moment. You bridesmaids are an intimidating bunch.”

He doesn’t strike you as someone who would shy away from the attention.

“Feral, drunk, horny women aren’t your thing? Or are you just anti lap dance?” you ask with a cheeky tilt of your head.

“Feral and horny women for sure. And I am very pro lap dance, I’ll have you know. I’m just picky about who I give them too. For example, if you were to ask nicely, I’d be more than happy to demonstrate,” he offers, his cheek ticking up on one side.

He made you feel an exhilarating kind of reckless. And if you were only going to get one night with him, you were going to make the most of it.

“That’s a very expensive bottle of champagne that just got delivered to us.”

“Well, it’s Fleet Week after all.”

“We established that earlier tonight,” you note jokingly.

“So we did,” Bradley acknowledges with a dip of his chin. “And in the spirit of Fleet Week, it seemed like a good gesture to further advance and cultivate better civilian and military relations.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” you laugh.

“Ok, funny girl. Tell me then, what do you think Fleet Week is about?” he asks, settling in and leaning his elbow on the bartop.

You don’t even hesitate.

“Getting free drinks and getting laid.”

“Ok, ok. You’ve got me there,” he chuckles. “Can’t say that hasn’t been part of the draw for me in the past.”

“So you admit you’re doing it wrong,” you can’t help but tease him as you throw a thumb over your shoulder towards the $500 bottle of champagne that’s bubbling away in glasses.

“In my defense, Hangman and I went dutch on it,” Rooster says as he puts his hands up in surrender. “Plus, if you remember, I already had a very pretty girl buy me a drink tonight.” His eyes drag over you pointedly, then lets them linger at your mouth again.

“Only the one?” you ask peering up at him.

“The only one I wanted.”

“And how many others have offered?” you ask, stepping even closer. You can feel the heat rolling off of him in waves even in the well airconditioned room.

He weighs his words before answering, “A few.”

A moment passes between the two of you as crystal-clear clarity settles around you.

The old you would have dropped it, but this version of you, the one you liked being around him was ready to press further.

“So the free drinks have been covered,” you say, fingertips tracing up along the veins of his forearm, “And what about getting laid?”

“I’d be more than happy with a phone number and a date lined up for sixty-two days from now,” Rooster says resting a hand low on your back, his thumb skimming along your bare skin. “But if you wanted, I wouldn’t mind showing you just how invested I am in furthering those civilian-military relations.”

The desire in his eyes makes any lingering doubts in your mind evaporate like a marine layer.

“Is that so, Sailor? How civically inclined of you.”

“Lieutenant Commander, actually,” he says with pride as he straightens up to his full height, his chest looking impossibly broader as he does.

“Lieutenant Commander Bradley Rooster Bradshaw?” you hum, “Now that’s quite a mouthful.”

The low rumble that escapes his chest makes goosebumps erupt across your body.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, pulling you closer as he brings his other hand to the curve of your hip.

“Oh please. You handle multimillion-dollar aircrafts for a living, I’m sure you could handle little ol’ me,” you say with a wink.

It’s a challenge, it’s a dare.

“Yeah, I bet I could too,” he rasps, looking at your lips.

He shouldn’t be so easy to like, shouldn’t have you wanting moremoremore when you’ve known him less than two hours.

You bring your hands to his chest, your fingers toying with the little button near the hollow of his throat, “So, you’re shipping out tomorrow…”

You feel as he stiffens slightly under your palms, but his gaze remains steady on you, “Yeah, tomorrow evening. It’s not the greatest of timing, I know.”

“Well then, I guess if there’s a clock we’re working against, we should probably get this show on the road,” you say nodding towards the door.

You watch as the remorse in his eyes is replaced with a mischievous glint. The solemn press of his lips transforming into a slow, knowing smirk.

And you know he’s game.

“You gonna take me home with you, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse with faux contemplation, looking at him from under your mascara coated lashes, “Do I get a tax break if I do?”

“I’d be more than happy to google it in the cab. And if you do, I’ll even fill out the form for you.”

You see a flash of a grin before he pulls you in for a kiss.

His warm hand and callous fingers glide up your back pressing you against his chest as his lips meet yours. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. Electricity racing from where you’re connected to every nerve ending in your body.

You pull away from him all too soon, smiling to yourself when he chases after your lips.

“I have one condition,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Name it,” Bradley says, dropping another lingering kiss to your lips.

“Maybe two,” you concede.

“Name them,” he chuckles lightly.

“You wear a condom.”

“Of course, that’s a given. What else?” He leans back just enough to adjust your sparkly headband from the way it had tilted back on your head.

“And my last request is… that I get to try on your hat.”

“We can definitely make that happen. Anything you want, baby.”

“Well then, if that’s the case, I’m also pretty set on getting to have your cock in my mouth.”

“Jesus Christ.” His hands tighten on your hips, and his brown eyes turn molten.

“I think I’m looking forward to finding out if you’re an officer or a gentleman.”

“I’m definitely both,” Rooster says giving you an all too confident look that promises he has the skill to back up his words, “At least until these dress whites come off.”

You hear another woo! ring out that you know has nothing to do with another delivery of expensive champagne as he takes you by the hand and leads you out of the jewelry box bar.

There are already a few cabs lined up at the rank outside of the hotel. He holds the door open for you, and you slide in giving the driver your address. You’re not sure how Bradley manages to squeeze the bulk of him into the backseat along with you, but you don’t mind the way his thigh presses against yours or the way he rests his heavy hand on your knee or the way his thumb makes maddeningly light circles there.

He laughs when you hold up your phone to him at the flurry of all capitalized and emoji riddled text messages in the group chat that had been created for the evening. And when the driver pulls up to your apartment building, when you try to pull out your credit card, he passes the man a wad of twenties. Way more than the ride cost with a keep the change as he hustles you out of the car.

“Lead the way, baby,” Rooster croons in your ear, his voice low.

And in that moment, you decide you really like Fleet Week.

Who could resist a man in summer whites? Especially when that man is Bradley Bradshaw! Read Part 2 here!

Thank you for reading!

If you missed Hey, Sailor you can catch it HERE!

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[hyunnie04]

muse

hwang hyunjin x reader, fluff | m.list

wc: 2.1k

synopsis: you can't decide what to give hyunjin for his birthday. a/n: very self indulgent theme/fic!! i like to draw myself so i thought i'd write about it for his birthday :> i apologize for being a bit late, irl obligations have been kicking my ass lately i'm sorry my hyune but i hope you guys like it! T-T

march was a month full of new beginnings. the year was only starting, january and february flying by like a breeze. remnants of winter still clung in the air and on the branches of the trees, pillowing them with the softness of white snow. it was also getting warmer, the chill no longer having its harsh bite and welcoming the inevitable pinks and greens of spring to come. and for you, new beginnings also meant taking on projects that you never thought you would be able to do. 

hyunjin's birthday was only a few days away, just a little less than a week from now.

you've spent the entire afternoon in a panic after the realization, racking your brain for any ideas, thinking what you could possibly do for his present only to come up empty handed. buying a gift for him is certainly the easier option and there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, seeing as hyunjin was the type of person to appreciate whatever you give him, be it big or small, expensive or not. it was just the matter of wanting to surprise him with a gift that he most likely doesn’t already have.   

you sigh and rest your head on the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling in thought. your eyes silently wander towards the painting that hung on the wall of your tiny apartment.

it was painted by hyunjin himself, a bouquet of your favorite flowers that he had given you for your own birthday. you always loved staring at it, earning a place in your favorite corner of the room.

you often stare at it, delving into the intricacies of each brush stroke, how the colors come together in harmony, the symbolism and sentimentality behind it all, and just how much love was poured into making it. hyunjin truly had a talent in capturing the likeness and essence of his subjects, even the simplest ones.

it was almost tradition, how he makes his closest family and friends paintings when it was their birthday or when there was a special occasion. he used his oil paints that you've become familiar with, the dozens of tubes and pots of color messily strewn all across his little studio back at his dorm.

it was a such thoughtful gesture, painting that was. taking his time out of his day to make something out of nothing, showing that he truly cared about the person. whenever you would visit him on his days off, he was always immersed in his craft. adept fingers swiping over charcoal, hands dipping into paint, a sight you always love seeing. you still remember the photo you took secretly of him in his studio, blissfully painting the night away.

you drum your hands on the arm rest, returning to brainstorm for ideas, still in deep thought. and then it all suddenly clicked. 

you have always admired hyunjin and his work, so why not make him one in return? 

he was always giving others gorgeous pieces of art, he certainly deserved to have his own. you were no picasso and certainly no hyunjin, but the act of gift giving has always been your favorite way of showing your love.

you had a basic grasp of how the medium was used, having watched hyunjin more than enough times. the techniques he had taught you during one of your art sessions together might come in handy as well. the one and only problem was that it left you with such little time to finish it. oh well, it was better to start late than never.

the next day, you picked up and gathered the necessary materials from the art supply shop you knew hyunjin frequented, recognizing the different kinds of paints, sizes and types of canvases, and brushes that he likes to use. you laid them out on your living room floor upon arriving home, finally starting on your little project. 

the remainder of the days leading up to his birthday were spent awake during ungodly hours into the night, full of endless trials and errors, scrapped ideas and tons of caffeine. your living room became your makeshift studio, a tarp laid down the center to catch the unavoidable mess you surely would be making. learning a completely different and unfamiliar medium from what you were used to was difficult, but you were determined and your mind was set.

-

hyunjin was getting worried. it had been a few days since he last saw you, nonetheless heard anything. he understood that the two of you were quite busy people, not always finding the time to talk. but after five missed calls and maybe a dozen texts over the span of two days and no reply? he was ill at ease.

maybe he was overreacting, but he knew that you would've at least sent something to acknowledge his texts. he decided to ask his friends about your whereabouts, asking if anyone had contact with you, only earning head shakes in return.

"have you tried going to their place?" chan asks the ravenette, leaning his back on the dance practice room’s mirrored walls. hyunjin huffs, mouth forming into a slight pout, shaking his head no. practice was getting more challenging as the comeback and schedules started to pile up, his attendance becoming crucial.

"you can go later, we don't have anything scheduled for tomorrow." his hyung removes his cap, fluffing his curls underneath. hyunjin breathes out a sigh of relief, sending him a quick thank you.

the older of the two nods in understanding, reaching a hand out to hyunjin upon standing on his feet. back to practice they went.

it was the night before his birthday. getting stubborn paint off your brushes was the worst, is what you've learned these past several days of non-stop painting. even with the appropriate solvent, the paint can and is still clinging stubbornly onto its fibers; leaving you in the bathroom sink to scrub them tediously under soap and some warm water.

your hands start to ache with all the scrubbing, perhaps growing tired as well from the painting, but you'd like to think that the momentary pain was worth it. the composition of it was finally starting to come together. the work flow became easier once you figured out a concept and a theme you were happy with, inspiration and motivation coming in effortlessly now. it only needed some last few touches, you could only hope he would like it as much as you ended up liking it too.

after the brushes were cleaned to the best of your abilities, you pat them dry, leaving them on the counter for the time being.

"y/n? are you home?" your hands still at the sound of the front door opening. it was undeniably hyunjin's voice. 

you and hyunjin lived apart despite dating for quite a long while. it was a mutual agreement that it would be more convenient for the two of you to live separately, his job requiring him to live closer to his place of work. you gave him a spare key so he could come by whenever he liked, but you didn’t expect him at all to drop by today.

you originally thought nothing of it for a moment, even brushing it off. but then the panic started to set in. he would see it right away, the canvas sitting right in front of the living room with no cloth to cover it. if you go out now, you might have a chance of covering it up before he finds out.

rushing out of the bathroom after wiping your hands dry, you've quickly noticed how it had suddenly gone quiet. you peak around the corner, seeing him standing idly in the middle of your living room, still unaware of your presence.

it was too late. you see the familiar ebony locks greet you upon arriving. his mouth practically hanging open as he stares at the easel facing him, winter coat slung heavily on his left arm.

"surprise?" you flush upon seeing his head whip towards your figure, leaned against the arch of the doorway. it was also a little embarrassing, not having the time to clean up. 

"is...that me?" he says in quiet disbelief. you can’t quite decipher if his reaction was good or bad but you nod, coming up to stand beside him. he stares at the canvas once more, no doubt taking in the details of it. you start to feel a little anxious under his gaze, silently wondering if he likes it. 

"it's not done yet, that's why it looks a little rough." you pause, hesitation lacing your voice. he would eventually find out, having already seen it. “it was supposed to be your surprise birthday present.” is what you ended up saying, speech meek and low, barely audible. 

his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he turns his eyes back to you. a noticeable redness staining his cheeks.

“wow,” he breathes out, tilting his head closer to gaze on the finer details. hyunjin pauses for a moment before replying. “this is beautiful.” his voice light, feathery. his fingertips, slender and lithe, hovering above as if to trace it. relief washed over you hearing him say it, your nerves easing and cheeks warming in return.

“you think so?” you purse your lips before smiling gratefully at him, noting the masking tape still plastered on its borders and small parts of it still unblended but thank him earnestly nonetheless. 

“i figured since you always make people art on their birthday," you took to move to the couch, the ache in your body starting to take its toll. "i thought i'd give back and make you one too." 

hyunjin was, in short- moved. the portrait was of him sitting in his art studio, the sun falling and spilling on his form peaking through the windows. although his elegantly curved back was turned and it was impossible to see his face, it was unmistakable that it was him.

he was truly not expecting anything, he was just happy with the prospect of just being with you on his special day. the thoughtfulness, sentimentality, and affection that came with making gifts with him in mind, he didn’t think it was possible to love you more than he already did. his eyes are lost in yours, the contours of his handsome face highlighted by the dim lights of your living room.

“i know it's bad but-”

hyunjin doesn’t let you continue, pulling you into a sudden kiss, throwing his coat on the couch haphazardly. your immediate response was to wrap your hands around his neck, hands wandering up and towards his hair. you could feel his smile on his mouth as he kisses you, grabbing the nape of your neck to steady your form. the kiss is intoxicating, feeling the love upon his soft movements, his warmth contrasting the chill from outside.

when he parts from you, he’s giddy, and jumping around like the happiest ferret you’ve ever seen. the wisps of hair fall to his temple, framing his beautiful face. “thank you, darling.”

“even if it’s not done yet- i love it,” he presses another kiss to the side of your mouth. “so much.” you could only laugh in response, completely flustered and enamored by his reaction.

hyunjin pulls you towards his chest, both arms locking around your shoulders. you could smell the perfume he always likes to wear. “is this why you weren’t picking up your phone?”

“my phone?” you pat your pockets in search, only to find it missing. your mind must’ve slid away, not knowing at all where it was but you could search for it later. “oh, yeah. m’ sorry.” the apology is muffled by the fabric of his shirt. he hums, his worries fading. you thought he was going to let you go, but he retaliates by resuming to press more kisses into you.

“okay, okay! thank you. i’m glad you like it.” you untangle his long arms from your body in order to stand up while hyunjin watches you do so, curiosity in his eyes. you already miss the warmth he radiated. 

“but, technically-” you start by grabbing the easel and placing it near the wall and out of his view, grabbing the stray tubes of paint off the floor and putting them away in their basket. “it’s still not your birthday.”

his plump lips form into a pout as he continues to watch you clean up. “and i’m not quite done with it yet so you have to wait.” placing a quick ‘boop’ to his nose, you head to the bathroom to freshen up for bed.

hyunjin checks his wrist watch as he follows you suit, his white teeth poking out. his arms catch you once again, wrapping you from behind. "it's 12."

amused by his antics, you let out another laugh before turning around in his hold to face him again, pressing a kiss on his soft lips.”in that case, i’ill finish it as soon as possible and-”

"happy birthday, my dearest."

-

please reblog or leave a comment if you like my work! it motivates me to keep writing ♡ all works are written by hyunnie04, please do not repost on other sites.

#hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin imagines #skz scenarios #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids fluff

[yeonzzzn]

⛸️snow & candles: sunghoon

a you complete me series: one / seven

pairing: sunghoon x afab!reader

word count: 2.1k

synopsis: the first snow fall of december just happened to be on sunghoon’s birthday

genre: established relationship, vampire!sunghoon, witch!reader

warnings: mentions of blood, reader has long black hair and facial piercings, stubbornly cute birthday boy sunghoon ♡

p1: vampires bleeding mlist

☾ sunghoon(1) | niki(2) | heeseung(3) | jungwon(4) | jake(5) | jay(6) | sunoo(7) ☽

You were the first to wake up this morning, leaving Sunghoon alone in the bed you share. The blanket pulled up to his nose as he was cuddled up on his side. 

You quietly changed out of your pajamas and into a nice ripped pair of skinny jeans, your black combat boots, your favorite gray long-sleeved shirt, and a brown cardigan sweater. 

Sitting at your vanity, you pulled your favorite rings onto your fingers. The scars from the burns that Dorian caused that unfortunate day, were now a light pink and not as noticeable, which you were thankful for. Sunghoon loved your scars, always saying they are proof of how you survived and how closer you are to a human than he was. Unfortunately, you still hated the scars after the full year since the events unfolded. 

You pulled your long black hair into your famous braid, leaving your bangs to fall beside your face. You changed out your black nose ring for a pretty silver to match your eyebrow piercing. 

You carefully slipped out of the bedroom, leaving Sunghoon to continue sleeping in peace. 

It was barely eight a.m. as you rushed to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. 

You poured the beans into the coffee maker and pressed the blind button, watching as the machine did its magic. 

The next on your morning bucket list was to pull Sunghoon’s birthday cake from the freezer. 

You were up all night baking it for him. Sunghoon told you to not worry about his birthday, that since he has eternity his birthday is just another regular day. But you didn’t share that opinion. 

It’s the first birthday you were spending with him, due to the unfortunate fact that Dorian’s stupid ass was causing problems and by the time everything was over, Sunghoon’s birthday was past. 

You pulled the blue and white cake from the freezer, carefully setting it on the crystal cake stand on your kitchen table. 

The coffee pot buzzed to show it was ready. You grabbed Sunghoon and your coffee cups from the cabinet, pouring coffee into your cup first, knowing Sunghoon would wake up at any minute at the smell of the coffee. 

You place cream and sugar into your cup and mix it with the coffee then sit down at the table, placing the cup to your lips, feeling the warmth. 

You took a few sips before looking around the empty kitchen and living room. 

After the ending of Dorian, one by one the pack members moved back into their own homes, except, of course, you and Sunghoon. 

Sunghoon and Jake shared an apartment before you and __ returned to them. So once it was time to leave the safe house, Sunghoon left the apartment to Jake and his mate. 

Sunghoon and you decided to buy this farmhouse outside of the city. You weren’t a city girl and Sunghoon was okay being wherever you were. So the farmhouse it was. It also made sense to live here, it made it easier for you to practice your magic peacefully without having to watch your back. 

You glanced at the photos of you and your vampire that filled the walls of the home along with bookshelves for your magical books of spells and all your witchy knickknacks. One family photo of the pack hung above the fireplace, everyone was in a group hug with massive smiles on their faces. It was one of your favorite photos. 

You took more sips of your coffee, wondering when your pretty vampire would rise from his coffin. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something fall outside through the window. 

You quickly glance up, your mouth forming into a smile. You finished the rest of your coffee, jumped from your chair, and rushed back to the bedroom. 

Your birthday plan for your vampire was to wait for him to wake up, share some coffee and kisses as you give him his cake and sing him his birthday song then spend the rest of the day doing whatever he’d liked. But now everything changed and it felt like fate. 

Sunghoon was still sleeping in the same position as earlier, which made it perfect for you. 

You knelt beside the bed, brushing your fingers against his cheek. 

Sunghoon melted at your touch, shifting his face slightly up and more into your hand. His eyes softly fluttered open, and then slowly closed again. You could tell he was practically still asleep. 

“Good morning, my love,” you whispered, rubbing your thumb over his jawline, “Time to get up.” 

Sunghoon softly groaned, shoving his face into the pillow. 

You rolled your eyes. You should have known he was going to be stubborn. 

“Get up bloodsucker, you’re burning daylight.” 

Sunghoon groaned again into the pillow, “Don’t want to.” 

“Come onnnnnn,” you said shaking his shoulders, “You can sleep when you’re dead!” 

“I am already dead,” he retorted, “Leave me alone.” 

You sighed, having to go to your last resort. You didn’t want to spoil what was happening, but you knew it was the only way, “It’s snowing outside.” 

And that’s all it took for him to climb out of bed and rush to the closet to change, “Well shit you should have said that earlier.” 

—

You followed behind Sunghoon as he ran out the front door, jumped off the porch, and ran through the snow. 

You wrapped your cardigan tightly around you, watching how happy your vampire was as he fell into the snow. 

You loved him. Oh god, you loved him and his beautiful smile. 

Sunghoon sat up in the snow, waving to you to join him. 

You carefully made your way down the steps, seeing that they iced over during the night. 

The way Sunghoon was sitting in the snow reminded you of a penguin. You always swore he had to have been a penguin in his past life. 

Sunghoon held his hand up, “Wait!” 

You stopped walking, raising a brow at him, “Yes?”

He pulled his phone from his pocket, “You look so beautiful with the snow falling into your hair, I need a photo of it.” 

“Hurry up, I’m freezing and want to go back inside.” 

You posed for the photo, waiting patiently for him to close his phone back into his pocket. 

He held his hands out to you, “Help me up.” 

You groaned as you reached your hands for his, only to be betrayed in the end. 

Sunghoon’s smile grew wide as he gripped your hands and pulled you down to him, rolling you over into the snow. 

“Sunghoon! Goddamnit!” You snapped, tossing snow at him. 

Sunghoon grabbed the hems of your cardigan and pulled you in for a quick kiss. His cold nose brushed against your skin, “Lighten up hex girl, it’s the first snow of winter.” 

You glared at him but decided to let it go since he was the birthday boy. 

As the sun rose more and the snow slowly stopped falling from the sky, the reflection of the light hit the large pond, catching your attention. 

You glanced behind your mate, seeing the pond completely frozen over the night. 

You smiled, happy that this day kept getting better. 

“Baby, the pond is frozen over.” 

Sunghoon didn’t hesitate to run back inside the house to grab his ice skates. 

—

You sat on the porch with another cup of coffee as you watched him skate. 

The pure joy on his face as he danced away on the ice. 

When the two of you picked out this farmhouse, the first thing Sunghoon mentioned was how excited he’d be once the pond froze over so he could skate. You bought him a pair of skates after that. 

You check the time on your phone, it’s almost eleven a.m. Sunghoon hasn’t drank yet today, and you still wanted to give him his cake. 

“My love!” You called for him, watching as he came to a spot. 

“Yes, my princess?” he yelled back. 

“It’s time to drink, come inside and warm up!” 

Sunghoon pouted but nodded. He knew if he didn’t listen, you would continue until he did. 

Sunghoon skated to the edge of the pond carefully stepping off the ice and into the snow, sitting down on the bench he placed there to switch out of his skates. 

While Sunghoon was busy changing back into his normal shoes, you quickly rushed inside the house. Placing the candles on the cake, lighting them with a snap of your fingers, and picking up the cake stand carefully. 

You grabbed a blood bag from the fridge on the way back out of the kitchen. 

Sunghoon stood from the bench and turned to see you standing on the porch with a cake and blood bag. What a beautiful combination. 

Sunghoon scoffed and smirked, shoving his free hand into his pocket and he walked over to you. 

Sunghoon hated celebrating his birthday. It was just another day for him. When you get to live forever, birthdays aren’t something to celebrate anymore. 

He couldn’t help but stare at you. His heart raced faster at your beautiful smile. God, he was so lucky. You made living for eternity so worth it. 

Sunghoon carefully walked up the steps, “I told you we didn’t need to celebrate my birthday,” he teased. 

You handed him his blood bag, “It’s our first time getting to celebrate it as a couple, let me have this bloodsucker.”

Sunghoon mimicked you, earning him your death glare. 

He smiled at you as he took the top off the bag and took a few sips of the blood, his eyes going back to the cake, “Don’t you know vampires don’t eat?” 

You rolled your eyes, letting out a groan, “God you fucking annoy me.” His chuckle filled your ears, “You guys CAN but it just doesn’t do it like blood does. Just see this as a small snack.” 

Sunghoon raised his brows at you, “That’s a massive cake, what’s small about it?” 

“Oh my god just finished your blood so you can blow out the candles and make a wish. Shit, you piss me off, bloodsucker.” 

“Woah, hold it there hex girl, I am the birthday boy, remember?” 

Sunghoon loved teasing you and wanted to continue, but decided to stop for now. 

He set his skates down on the porch and quickly sipped the rest of the blood, tossing the empty bag into the outside trash can. 

“Okay, I am ready to blow out the candles.” 

You smiled brightly, singing him a happy birthday, “Now make a wish!” 

Sunghoon didn’t even have to make a wish, he already had everything he needed. 

He blew the candles out, then took the cake stand from your hands. 

“Did you make a wish?” You asked, watching as he set the cake down on the outside table, “Tell me what you wished for!” 

Sunghoon wrapped his arms around you, pressing your body against his, leaving no space between. 

“Baby, I don’t need to make any wishes when you’re right here with me already.” 

You pouted your lips at him, “Awe that’s so sweet and super fucking gross.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, “You are so annoying, this is why witches and vampires don’t get along.” 

“Yet you’re stuck with me anyways.” You sang. 

Sunghoon nodded, carefully brushing your bangs out of your face, “And I am so thankful that I am.” 

Sunghoon wouldn’t know what he would have done if something happened to you a year ago. The time he spent alone when Dorian stole you from his side was a literal hell. He never wanted to experience that again. 

The pain he had to feel every single day. The sleepless nights. The endless thoughts of what he would do if you never returned to him or worse, if Dorian took you from him permanently. 

He stared deeply into your doe eyes, swearing he wouldn’t ever let anyone touch you again. He would kill anyone who would warm you again. 

Sunghoon took your chin between his fingers and lifted your face for a kiss. You tighten your arms around him as you softly kiss him back. 

You felt something wet drop on your cheek, looking up at the sky, “It’s snowing again.” 

Sunghoon also glanced up, his wide smile that showed off his natural fangs returning, “It’s like it’s snowing just for me.” 

You cupped his face, forcing him to look back at you, “Happy birthday, my sweet vampire, I love you so much.” 

Sunghoon planted a kiss on your forehead, squeezing you tightly, “I love you so much more.” 

If every birthday was like this for the rest of eternity, Sunghoon wouldn’t mind celebrating it every year with you again and again. 

#myiceprince #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #reader x sunghoon #reader x enhypen #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #established relationship #youcompleteme #happy birthday sunghoon 🥹 #yeonzzzn writing

[headspace-hotel]

a friend of mine said that the environment would be better if everyone lived in cities and basically left the rest of the natural world alone... i felt like there was something wrong with that argument but i really dont know enough about it to have a real point against it. i might be biased though cause i love being around nature and want to be able to live rural without killing the environment? idk im just wondering if she's right and how to live in a way that isnt negatively impacting the world

love your blog btw, it's been the thing that's helped me understand ecology for once

the idea that humans Are Bad for the ecosystem—not that particular activities or practices have particular negative effects, that just humans existing harms the environment—is in fact the worst idea ever

I mean, first of all, where does your friend think food comes from?

"Food" is one of the problems. It's one of a lot of problems. Some other problems include "all other natural resources besides food" and "human rights."

It's not just your friend, this kind of thing has been suggested in varying ways by self identified "leftists" a bunch of times, and I genuinely hope they're mostly random laypeople who can't really be expected to know more than they can learn from being terminally addicted to Twitter, because otherwise I will call them "dumber than a sack of hammers" in those exact words.

No offense to your friend. Your friend is a laypeople. And sadly, non-experts end up with ass-backwards ideas about how conserving the environment works, because of all this commonplace nonsense about humans being a cancer upon the planet. I'm not angry about those people, just sad.

But my serious answer is—The world's most intact and best managed ecosystems are found on land owned and managed by Indigenous people, who do what with the land?

LIVE ON IT.

And these groups of people learned to manage and care for the land how?

BY LIVING ON IT.

Conventional (white, Western) intuition holds that human management of an ecosystem should reduce biodiversity, but what science shows—I mean what study and observation and data and more study and more observation and more data shows—is that indigenous land management practices can do better than Nature can on her own.

I mean, for one thing, if you don't live in a place, you don't observe it every day. You don't see how the ecosystem and its inhabitants change over time. You can't learn about it, and therefore you don't know about it.

Disconnection from nature is ignorance about nature and ultimately apathy towards nature, and that's the worst and most disrespectful thing we can do.

And like I hope it's clear that even in the imaginary scenario where everyone lives in a city, even if this was possible (it's not), the city dwellers who are separate from nature are living a silly little lie. You're part of the ecosystem. Don't like it? Go become a rock in space.

The electrical signals moving through your brain right now are rays of sunlight that were soaked up by a plant that grew in dirt. Do you know fruit? Do you enjoy fruit? I enjoy fruit, I'm drinking a smoothie right now! That fruit y'all love so much was pollinated by a bug.

A bug did that for you! Because you're family! Because you're part of this world, because you belong to this intricate and ancient community of living things that need each other, that were shaped by evolution to need each other, and nature cannot abandon you.

But more on the cynical side of things, even if you don't know where the hell a berry grows or how, someone has to grow and harvest and ship that berry to you, someone who has to live somewhere, and you should care who is doing it and how they're being treated and paid, and ultimately you should want for them the same things you want for you.

Urban life is just rural life with extra steps my friend.

Like, @ all the "put everybody in cities" crowd, what is the plan here? Fancy ass indoor aquaponics systems notwithstanding, we're not technologically at a point where we can just, like, build giant multi-story factory buildings where we grow food under special lamps, and even being at that point wouldn't make it a good idea. With all the hype about solar power, you'd think people would look at plants (have been using solar power just fine for like a billion years) and think, "Neat how those things can just make food when you stick 'em in the sunshine."

I'm sorry, I'm never going to be psyched about technological innovations that are like "We took a plant and put it inside."

There is so much I could say here. The brainrot in the wake of "cottagecore" discourse where a bunch of well meaning white people got convinced that farming was racist. The idea that rural people are somehow more complicit in colonialism than urban people, and that rural land is, I don't know, landier than urban land, and the correct and moral thing to do if you live on stolen land is to....what? Live on land that has a protective layer of concrete in between it and your racist feet?

Land ownership is a whole fucked up beast, but you're not cultivating a non-exploitative relationship with land by living in a city. There's just extra steps in between you and the land.

"Homesteading" as seen on cottagecore boards on Pinterest has a lot of white supremacist wet dream mixed in, but listen: It is not only okay, but GOOD, to want to live in close relationship with the land, with the food you eat, with the trees and plants that fill your lungs when you inhale. It's IMPORTANT. It's VITAL.

What has to change is that this relationship can't be based on ownership and dominance. Ecosystem is community and that ain't it.

My ancestors were colonizers, the land I live on right now was violently stolen, the ecosystem that once was very carefully managed so that it flourished with life was ravaged, and I don't even know the names of most of the life-forms that ought to be here. What now?

You belong to the ecosystem that takes care of you. You can't wash your hands of this and run away.

I feel like I'm getting off topic, but it's very much on topic actually. What I hope for the future is that we would stop entertaining the silly little lies that imagine we can just...opt out of participation in something that is underneath our every footstep and in our every breath. It would make us feel pure, but it wouldn't be real.

I do think that forcing people off the land that is their home is bad, in general. I don't think those people have to be indigenous for this to be bad—and successfully claiming otherwise is a bit of conundrum, since as far as I know, the political and social phenomenon of indigenous identity has a lot to do with the being forced off your land thing.

Obviously people like me don't have the same deeply central cultural relationship to the land, but the "we should all just go live in cities and leave nature to itself" proposal implies that such relationships are unnecessary or even bad.

I've said this before but I find it weird when environmentalists accommodate indigenous ways of life in their visions of the ideal future as like...a special exception granted because it's like, the nice thing to do for a historically marginalized and violently oppressed group. Not because there is value or merit in those ways of life. Like "Oh I guess indigenous people should be allowed to hunt because it's part of their culture" ????? And it's part of their culture because...why?

Maybe because it's a sustainable way of doing things and has been for millennia???

Like don't listen to me, look at the research, indigenous folks participating in ecosystems and managing them worldwide know what they're doing and the rest of the world should be looking to them as examples. Key word here is participating, because you can't competently manage an ecosystem with your head all the way up your ass with the idea that you're somehow not part of it.

Humans aren't a cancer upon the planet. It's capitalism and colonialism. It's the practice of seeing the world as a disposable resource to be exploited.

Humans lived in the place I called home for 15,000 years. Within the past 200 years, almost every forest was razed to the ground, and almost every large animal extirpated or damn near to it.

"Humans" did that! These humans are so terrible!

But I have to remember.

There are descriptions of this place from before that, and they describe a lush, teeming heaven-like paradise that the adjectives provided by English trembled to capture, so perfect and bountiful that the observers assumed this land was never tainted by Adam's sin.

Humans did that, too.

#ecology

[bluebayousblog]

RUMOR HAS IT (pt. 15)

(Drew Starkey one-shot)

This is not a full on story but if you want more I'll be happy to add on upon request

Plot: in which drew and isobel address a false rumor in the most abstract of ways

Setting: christmas eve

Disclaimer: Isobel is an OC, 18+

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Everything felt wrong as Drew watched Isobel run away from him—from their problems—until she was hidden behind her door in the confines of her room. There was nothing he could do so he just let her go because if he ran after her it would draw attention and that’s exactly what she didn’t want. Although, he could already feel Charles’ suspecting eyes on him when he chose to sit in the living with everyone else. It was the best option seeing as if he went up to the second floor where she was he would be at her door begging on his knees the first chance he got.

What he would be begging for he didn’t know in the slightest, but he knew her forgiveness or acceptance would fill the gaping hole he currently felt in his chest. He’d experienced how withdrawn Isobel could be in the years he’d known her, but after having her all to himself in situations where she’d bared herself to him, he never wanted to see that part of her again. Where he felt like a stranger in her eyes, or where she looked at him with fear because the sight haunted him—especially when she insisted on keeping how she felt burrowed inside. Leaving him to think the worst.

Another movie was starting when he sat down, and when he noticed the end credits rolling down the screen he realized he hadn’t heard a word of the film, let alone what movie it was. Everyone eventually began retiring to their respective rooms as it got later into the night, but Drew remained until it was just him sitting alone in the den as the sound of the television acted as white noise that did a horrible job of drowning out the thoughts of Isobel. The girl who’d unknowingly attached an invisible tether to his heart and dragged it out of his chest with her the moment she left him alone in the truck.

The next morning he didn’t want to wake up. He slept peacefully because he dreamt of Isobel, it was just the two of them in a world where she was his. He didn’t have to divulge the deep emotions he had for her because in that world she already knew, and he knew she felt the same—it was dancing in the glint of her beautiful eyes. That was what his dream consisted of, him staring into her chocolate orbs as he absorbed her every unspoken emotion, it was endless, but when she finally blinked he woke just when her gaze was about to return.

She stole his first waking thought just as she always did, the corner of his lips slightly tugging up at the feeling his dream had swirling around his stomach before his drowsy state evanesced as reality reared its head. He longed to go back to their last time together before coming home for break, when he woke up dreaming of Isobel and seeing her the second his eyes drifted open. That was a gift. A gift he wasn’t ready to give up, one he wanted to have for the rest of his life.

His awareness was practically nonexistent while preparing to go downstairs to have breakfast with the family. It was Christmas Eve and Catherine and Lora always went all out for it, he could already smell the aroma of their cooking seeping into his room through the cracks of his door. Drew seemed to be dissociating uncontrollably while he stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed his teeth, then once more when he pulled on some sweatpants over his underwear to make himself presentable to join everyone in the breakfast room. His mind was so easily escaping to the girl who slept down the hall from him, and it clung to his every thought as if it could make up for the absence he was feeling for her ever since their last conversation. Where she ran without sparing him another glance as the darkness of her room swallowed her retreating body.

He yearned to see her pretty face in that moment and all the minutes and hours thereafter leading up to this very moment as he swung his door open. He was about to put himself through a torture he could never prepare himself for, sitting in a room with Isobel while they acted like nothing was going on. Sure, they’d been doing exactly that going on a week but this was different, the knowledge that she was his when it was just them two in the back of his head no longer anchored him because now he didn’t know if that could be true anymore.

Still, he would take her ignoring him, ignoring the connection they’d formed together in such a short period of time rather than not seeing her at all.

“Isobel, breakfast is ready. Are you awake?” Lora Cooper said as she knocked and pushed the door open to her daughter’s room.

Isobel could hear the concern in her mother’s voice. It was expectant because Isobel never slept in past eight in the morning, yet here she was engulfed by her comforter in her bed. “I don’t feel well, I think it may have been a little too cold for me last night.”

She wasn’t lying—perhaps she didn’t feel sickly but her body felt heavy like if she even tried to lift herself from the mattress she would just fall flat back onto the feather stuffed quadrilateral, so she didn’t even try. And last night was definitely cold, but it wasn’t the weather keeping her in bed. It was the thought of facing Drew after running from him. Having to face him and potentially see the hurt she heard in his voice on his beautiful face made nerves swarm her belly.

Then there was Charles, she would have to face him too. Her stomach turned thinking of all the times she’d been around him this break and completely clueless of his knowledge of her involvement with his son. She hated the possibility of him viewing her any differently because of it. Isobel stubbornly wanted to remain as that same innocent girl he’d met all those years ago, not just one of Drew’s conquests. And this was just the tip of iceberg, Charles’ was just the beginning of the list of people she would eventually have explain herself to.

“Oh, Darling give me just a few minutes and I’ll bring some tea and food up to you.” Lora stated, the older woman already out of the door before she could even protest.

Isobel sighed heavily before somehow melting further into the bed. She hated the situation she was in. She hated when Drew realized she wasn’t coming to breakfast he would know it wasn’t because she was sick. Most of all she hated that she ran from him last night and was continuing to do it now, but she couldn’t help it. If she wasn’t with Drew, if there was nothing to show forth regarding their relationship she didn’t have to face her problems or face Charles. And Drew wouldn’t have to tell her father.

What would he say to him anyway? That thought scared her the most because whatever he shared could change the way Richard gazed at her, her favorite gaze, the one she never had to second guess her ability to live up to. There was only so much they could share with their families because they weren’t together. It had only been a few weeks, and they were just fooling around yet things felt so serious between the two, atleast for Isobel it did. And from the suffocating tension she felt thicken in the air of the car after he’d dropped that bomb, she knew it probably felt the same way for him as well.

Her stomach twisted in nausea as her mind raced in circles. Isobel was scared of being hurt again by another man, but changing the dynamics they’d built with their families over a relationship that wasn’t promised put her off more than anything.

Drew wasn’t waiting patiently for Isobel to gracefully descend down those steps like only she could. He was antsy and constantly moving and hanging on to every sound of any potential movement that came from upstairs or the kitchen entrance hoping for her arrival. He just wanted to see her.

Finally, the stairs began to creak and his heart sped up as the sounds increased the closer she got to the first floor. Drew had arguments with girls before, but when he saw them the next day he didn’t care. With Isobel he feared when she walked into the room he would fall to his knees and beg for her forgiveness—beg her to just try again with him—because there wasn’t another one woman that could come into his life that could replace the feelings she’d instilled so deeply in his being.

To his disappointment it was only Lora who entered the room without an Isobel trailing on her heels like he’d expected.

“Where’s Isobel?” Cooper asked with a furrow in his brow. Everyone knew Isobel should’ve been down here by now because she was always the first one down out of all the kids.

Drew was feeling guiltier than ever because everything Isobel feared would happen was unfolding right before them. They’d explored things with each other and now things were changing. He wanted nothing more than to possess the ability to stop the world from turning so things could be at a standstill where nothing would evolve and they could just be happy in the moment. Drew wanted to do the impossible for her.

“I think she’s feeling a little under the weather.” Lora answered.

“My princess could never take the cold” her father sighed, and in the moment Drew felt a pang of jealousy in his chest because just yesterday he thought that she could be his too.

He’d always looked up to Cooper, never feeling any negative emotions towards the man. If anything he was like a bonus father for him. Some little kids may have resented someone who took up a good majority of their father’s time, but he was family and he’d always made an effort to make him and his little brother feel that way.

But in this moment he’d envied him for the first time in his life because Richard Cooper was a man that had Isobel’s everlasting love. It was a love that was guaranteed—a love that she didn’t fear.

As a man, he didn’t think he ever wanted something so much in his life.

And where he felt envious he also felt immense frustration because he knew that Isobel wasn’t feeling ‘under the weather”, no, she was hiding from him. The thought of it made him want to march to her room and drag her downstairs because if anyone should be down here with family it was Isobel. This was the first time he’d wholeheartedly appreciated being around family for the holidays and that was all because of her.

As he contemplated sneaking up stairs to her room his father saying his name snapped him out of the mental battle he was having in his head, “Drew come around back and help me with something.”

“Thank God.” Drew heard his little brother Chandler whisper under his breath who was probably still pissed about having to chop wood in the freezing cold last night while Drew went out with Isobel.

Charles was already walking out of the kitchen presumably to the sliding doors that led to the heated patio, and Drew quickly stood to catch up with him. When he slid the glass door shut and looked up at him his face was unsurprisingly blank. The younger Starkey looking around in confusion as there was no wood that they’d left over to be moved inside. “What’s up, Dad?”

“Isobel isn’t at breakfast.” He plainly stated before sipping his coffee out of the Christmas mug he was holding in his left hand. It was a mere observation, a stranger would think there was nothing behind his words, but Drew knew there was always meaning behind everything his father said.

Drew had no interest in getting into all of this with his father, not when he hadn’t spoken to Isobel and this was the last thing she would want him to be doing. Conversing with Charles about a disagreement they were having when he shouldn’t even know about them in the first place.

“Yeah.” He said dryly as he racked in his brain for ways to get the man to let this conversation go.

“She never misses Christmas Eve breakfast.” Charles once again pointed out the obvious, but Drew swears he heard just the tiniest hint of sadness hidden in between his words.

The love for Isobel ran deep for both of their families, and being able to feel for her in way that they couldn’t allowed him to see the way they cared for her in such a different light. He could appreciate it because he felt it too, the love that so many people had for a woman he would do anything for.

“Dad.” He pleaded for so many reasons. For Charles to see that he was struggling with all of this. For him to understand that he couldn’t tell him exactly what was going on because it didn’t just involve Drew. For him to bring Isobel back to him like a little boy who begged their father to fix something they’d broken.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s going on, but you have to clean up your messes, Drew, especially if you care about how the mess affects everything around it.” His father’s eyes creased in concern. Drew could only imagine what he was thinking, but sympathy also present in the blue orbs they shared told him it wasn’t the worst.

“What if someone doesn’t want me to clean it up, Dad?” Drew couldn’t help but ask because he was at a loss. He knew he wanted Isobel more than anything, but he just didn’t know how to get to her. Because he could walk up those stairs right now and burst into her room, but that didn’t mean she would have him.

“You probably know better than I do. You know her in that sort of way, so only you can tell yourself what the right thing is to do.” Charles provided, implication laced throughout his tone, but in typical Charles fashion he still managed to give some helpful input, “Continue giving her space, but don’t let go.”

Drew’s throat closed at the thought of ever walking away from Isobel. It wasn’t a possibility for him, and that realization hurt more than anything because she’d done exactly that without looking back.

“I don’t think I can let go.” Drew mumbled to himself.

Isobel lied around in bed for the rest of the morning, but she couldn’t bring herself to spend the entire day ostracized from her family. She rolled out of bed and proceeded with the day as normal. She always wore red on Christmas Eve, so she wore a red braided Ralph Lauren sweater but dressed it down with a pair of comfortable leggings she knew would keep her warm. She sat in front of a mirror in her room and took her time doing her makeup, and when she was done and decided she looked pretty her mind drifted to Drew, wondering if he would think the same.

It was hard to accept once she realized, but while she lived for herself and her family, a great bit of her lived for him too because when you cared for someone you cared what they thought of you.

Lastly, she pulled a few black strands of her hair back with a silky red bow and let the rest of it flow down her back. She paced around the room, and thought of a million reasons why she shouldn’t leave out of the door before finally swinging it open and headed towards the stairs. The sounds of voices and laughter, her father’s the most prevalent, hit her ears as she slowly made her way down the steps as if prolonging her arrival would make any difference. When she entered the room everyone’s heads snapped to her, but she couldn’t help but noticed that Drew’s turned just slightly faster. Her eyes instantly fell to his, and her heart jumped at the look blatant in his unwavering stare. Just like that she knew that he thought she looked pretty indeed.

“Isobel you look gorgeous, baby, are you feeling better?” Lora asked from her spot on the couch.

All of the parents seemed to be playing cards while Drew and Chandler watched.

“Much better, I think I was just tired.” She smiled.

Isobel’s eyes dropped to the coffee table they were playing games on. It was also littered with mugs most likely filled with egg nog. She hated egg nog, but the sight of them doing their tradition without her made her smile droop a fracture. She felt awkward and out of place and was now wondering why staying cooped up in her room earlier made any logical sense.

“I got your Christmas mug down and sat the hot chocolate out just in case you came down, Isobel, there’s hot water waiting for you in the kettle.” Charles informed, nonchalantly clearing his throat like he hadn’t just done the sweetest thing ever. Another similarity she was learning he and Drew shared. When she looked at the younger of the two, his eyes were no longer looking at her—he was now gazing at his father.

“Thank you, Chuck.”

Charles just gave her an expected nod as their eyes met for a second or two before he focused his attention back on the game. She feared that things wouldn’t be the same, and that she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes again after Drew told her he knew. But just as always her sweet ones met his as he gazed back in a softer stare than what he gave his sons.

Isobel felt another set of eyes she knew belonged to Drew, but when she looked up he looked elsewhere. That hurt more than expected, but she was the one who chose to end things yesterday. Throughout the years he’d never made her do something she didn’t want to, and it seemed he was leaving her be to sit alone in the mess she’d made. When she turned to walk away towards the kitchen, like the hopeful fool she’d unknowingly let herself become when it came to the boy, she wished he would follow.

He didn’t.

But she waited. She grabbed her little Santa mug and waited a beat to hear him getting up from the couch where he was sitting in the living room. He didn’t come. She poured steaming water into the cup and went as far as emptying the hot chocolate packet into the liquid before she couldn’t help but listen for his footsteps. They weren’t there. When she finished preparing her drink and returned to the living room he remained just where he was before she left staring down at the card game. Drew was usually on his phone while their families did these sorts of things together, but today he was disconnected—to a point. Isobel could feel he wasn’t being fully present, and she knew the reason was because of her.

“Since my partner has finally arrived I think it’s time we start up a game of spades.” Her father suggested in a playful tone.

Figuring she should try to get into the holiday spirit for her own and her family’s sake she agreed, “Only if Chandler and Chuck are ready to lose.”

“You got lucky last time, Isobel.” Chandler mumbled as he cracked his knuckles like it would help his game. She’d never met someone whose ego continued to grow despite losing time and time again.

“And the time before that and the time before that…” she trailed off, her father’s thunderous laughter filling the room. Even Charles couldn’t help but smile despite her coming for his partner. That simple laugh could lift the mood in the room, at least it brightened hers anyway—Drew still seemed to be on another planet.

He felt far away yet he was right in front of her. To Isobel this was far worse than sitting across from him and pretending as if she didn’t burn for him because now she didn’t know if he still burned for her.

They started the game and his presence continued to eat up the atmosphere around her, but he paid no mind. She snuck little glances as his eyes continued to remained elsewhere, so she finally gave up and focused on the game. Calling it quits was easy, she knew it would be, it’s why she had to talk herself out of doing it so many times before when things got too real with Drew, hell he talked her out of it once. But it was what came after walking away that proved to be the hardest part of it all.

She became so engrossed in the strategy of spades and winning alongside Richard that she hadn’t even realized she’d been smiling nonstop as they played three different games. Things felt normal, it felt like it always did during the holidays when they all spent time together. It was how she wanted things to remain—the reason she took the cowards way out.

When she happened to look up after taking the winning book of cards from the center of the table her eyes locked with Drew’s twinkling orbs and this time he didn’t look away.

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

PART SIXTEEN

#drew starkey #drew starkey smut #outer banks #drew starkey x black reader #drew starkey x black!oc #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x reader #obx fandom #obx jj maybank #rafe cameron #drew starkey content #drew #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe cameron smut #outerbanks rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe x reader #college romance #romance #isobel cooper #jiara #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #obx 3

[alonetimelover]

Action! - champagne problems - 2020

Pairings: Harry Styles x Director!Reader (she/her)

Summary: YN thinks Harry wants to save their relationship after the big fight they had two weeks ago. Harry thinks that too. But their definitions of saving are diametrically different.

Warnings: angst! mention of unloving family

Word count: ~3,0k

A/N: After a few messages I decided to let you know how exactly the break up between YN and Harry happened. It can be read as a second part to tolerate it. And of course it's based on champagne problems by Taylor Swift and has some other songs lyrics in it. Enjoy!

series masterlist let's talk about action!universe

my love 👨‍🎤

i'll be home today

i have a surprise for you, can you please get ready for 6? H

Two messages. 

First ones after two weeks of silence. Two weeks of contemplating over what had happened and what would happen. Two weeks of going to sleep on the cold bed and waking up to even colder one. Two weeks of being alone with her thoughts, feelings, regrets, promises and sadness. Fourteen days. 

Day after the other, she sank deeper and deeper into her lake of self-destructive thoughts. She wallowed in them. And as much as she’d loved water since being a little baby, she was drowning. And there was no saving. 

At exactly 6 pm the doorbell rang. In her white heels tapping on the floor and beige skirt flowing with her, YN anxiously walked to the door opening it. 

There he was, cream trousers, white tee with Hawaiian shirt on top of it, flowers - florists bouquet of pink roses - in his right hand. Harry sported a look of pure ‘I don’t know what I am doing’ hidden behind his ‘I’m so happy to see you’ persona. But YN knew him well enough to look past that, and he - at least she hoped so - knew her perfectly as well, feeling her uneasiness. And they both decided to ignore it. What more could go wrong?

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

No one would believe they were the people that spent a full 22 hours talking without taking a break. No one. No one even would have think they were once unstoppable, inseparable. No one would believe there once was love, yearning, appreciation or desire. Those people couldn’t be the one standing there.

“I see you’re ready?”

“Yeah, I - I’m just gonna grab my bag and we can go.”

No kiss hello. No ‘how are you?’. No ‘you look great’. They couldn’t even speak normally with each other. Two weeks just snapped them - or rather only YN - out of her blissful belief that everything was good. Now, everything was in its true colours. 

“We can go,” she said after coming back with a little white bag in hand. 

“Ladies first.” Harry gestured towards the door. 

The drive to the restaurant was spent in silence. No conversation or radio going on in the background. Not even a sound of the car - his electric one being so quiet. It wasn’t a comfortable silence they’d been used to, that they’d enjoyed having once in a while. This one brought discomfort. To Harry, because of the plan that he had created just this morning. And to YN, because it - them - felt even more done for than after that fight which had caused Harry to leave her alone in their once shared house. 

The restaurant was an… let’s say odd choice. 

It was a replica of the one that they’d gone to on their first date. Dom Pérignon was already waiting for them on the table with a ‘enjoy your third anniversary’ card right next to it. Two months too late, thought YN but didn't let her thoughts outside. 

“Are you up for some Italian food?” Harry questioned in a small voice, after they had settled down.

“Yeah, I’ve been craving some lately.” She smiled for a moment. 

And she said that same sentence to him a few times already. Three months ago, when they were going to order some take out. But it didn’t work out - Harry got a phone call and spent the rest of the night in his study. A month ago, when they were supposed to meet up with Florence - but Harry cancelled at the last minute, having said something came up in the studio. Girls decided to just drink a big amount of cheap wine. Two and a half weeks ago, right before leaving for their scheduled date that they’d never gone to. Harry needed to ‘check something at Jeff’s’ and left, going the opposite way to the one leading to his manager’s house. 

Everything started making sense in her mind. 

“Gnocchi sorrento for a lady and -” the waiter placed YN’s dish in front of her, giving her a grin, “ - and the minestrone for you, kind sir.” 

The pair, after their first date, decided to only drink this expensive champagne on exceptional occasions. 

They both thanked Theo - the waiter - politely and started eating. In silence.

Dom Pérignon didn’t go well with their food, neither did it go well with their moods. 

First date - when they both discovered it (Harry that day had asked the waiter when YN had gone to the bathroom “if I was an absolute champagne gourmet and wanted to drink something that goes well with shellfish, what would I choose?” “If the price isn’t a problem, then Dom Pérignon is one of our finest bottles, sir.”). 

YN’s graduation - they laid together on her small couch, champagne with a cheese platter on the coffee table. 

“I can’t believe I’m out of school,” YN sighed, taking a bite of a gorgonzola and then sipping champagne. “Also, can’t believe you bought it.” She lifted the flute. 

“You’re smart, of course you were going to graduate. With honours as well.” He kissed the side of her head. “And we agreed to drink it on really important occasions.”

“This is important to you?” 

She wasn’t making fun of him. She was surprised that something so small as a university graduation would be important to someone like Harry. A person that maybe didn’t have a higher education but was indeed clever and doing quite good for himself - a global idol for a lot of people of all ages. 

She wasn’t used to being important to people, at least for the first few years of her life when she was still living with her biological parents. After being adopted by the people she loved to call ‘mama and papa’ she started to learn the importance of appreciation. 

“Of course it is, love. Hey, look at me, please?” He delicately placed a hand on her cheek, turning her head towards him. “You’re important to me and whatever you do, whatever you achieve, whatever you seek and dream about - I’m here for you. I’m proud of you. Okay?”

Her lips turned upside down and her eyes glistened. She nodded her head rapidly, “okay, okay,” her voice small, trying to comprehend it all. 

“I love you, YNN.” 

“I love you, Harry.”

Then their first anniversary that they spent with Anne and Gemma - bottles of Dom Pérignon were laying on the outside table on Anne’s patio. It was a last minute call to go to Holmes Chapel. Anne wanted Harry to spend more time home, not knowing what that day meant to her son and his girlfriend. He tried to refuse his mother’s invitation but YN encouraged him to go. She loved Anne and Gemma. 

Their second anniversary was spent in Italy, right after Harry’s last tour date and YN’s Little Women shooting ended. Flutes of Dom Pérignon accompanied them in bed after an eventful night and day and another night and another day. They were finally together after months of separation. 

The Fine Line release party connected with Taylor’s 30th birthday was one crazy night full of people and alcohol. And only one bottle of Dom Pérignon that YN and Harry shared during a whole party, celebrating Harry's success.

YN’s Oscar win was the last time they spent an occasion with Dom Pérignon. 1959 bottle of their favourite champagne was enjoyed during the last night when she felt they were truly happy within their relationship.

And now she sipped it slowly, forgetting how much she once loved it. 

“How did you like the food?”

“It was amazing. Thank you, Theo,” YN said to a waiter, smiling kindly. 

“Pleasure is mine. Can I recommend some desserts for you both?” 

“Ye -”

“Thank you, Trevor. I’d like a tab,” Harry interrupted YN, pushing the plate towards the middle of the table. The dinner got cold with the chatter getting old. 

“Of course, sir.” Theo faked a smile and moved to the bar with one finished and one barely touched plates. 

“His name was Theo.” 

“Sorry?”

“His name was Theo, Harry. Not Trevor.” YN said rather firmly, in a low voice not to draw any more attention towards their table that it already had. 

“Mhmm, yeah, sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should be sorry to. He was so polite and you couldn’t even remember his name. It was rude.”

“Okay!” he snapped, doing exactly the opposite of what YN wanted to do - men and women around them stopped talking and looked directly at YN and him. “‘M sorry,” he directed it more towards other people, rather than YN.

Before YN had a chance to say something or scold him, Theo came back with a receipt, “here you go, sir. Do you want to pay by cash or card?” 

“Card.”

“And please split the bill evenly for two. Thank you, Theo,” YN said, not even looking at Harry, hoping he knew not to try and argue with her. 

“Of course. Here you go.”

All hope for a change, volatilising. 

They paid the bill (50/50), and YN thanked Theo once more for his amazing client service, tipping him a substantial amount. Harry, still upset, just said ‘Good Night, mate’.

Without waiting for him to catch up with her, YN moved towards his car, ready to go home. 

“I want to take you to one more place before going home, okay?” Harry expressed after walking up to her, a hopeful smile on his beautiful face. 

“I’m not really in a mood to go anywhere else, Harry. I want to go to sleep.” 

Even though she had nothing to be tired from, she had no energy left in her body. The lack of conversation she craved, and affection she needed made her feel so empty. 

“Please? One more place?”

She breathed out loudly, “okay” she agreed, not being able to refuse his compelling voice. 

“Okay. It’s not so far away so we can walk there. Yeah?” He asked, giving her a hand to hold. 

She didn't remember when was the last time they held hands, intertwined fingers, bringing warmth. It had been so long since that loving touch, YN was ready to tear up right then. 

With their hands still being tightly connected, Harry guided YN up the street towards a more secluded area. There were more trees and bushes that immediately provided better air. The pavements were clearer and roads empty. They were alone. Unfortunately. 

“It’s right here,” Harry said, pointing at the big building, reminiscent of an old venue. “Can you please close your eyes?”

“Are you going to kill me or have me kidnapped?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. It’s - it’s just a surprise and I want you to see it from the best place. Can you trust me?”

No. “Yes, of course,” she answered, silencing her thoughts. 

After leading her through two pairs of stairs - one going up and then down -, a few corridors and finally going through uneven ground outside, they stopped walking.

Harry’s hands were sweaty, his breath was shaking. The petite box in his trousers pocket weighed much more than the last time he held it, when his mother passed it to him. Half-baked ideas were Harry’s thing and they most likely turned out more than fine. But this one, he felt, was going to collapse with a big thud. What made him turn to this concept first? Why didn’t he tell the truth as to what he was going to do, to his mother? She knew him the best - was on the same podium spot as YN and Gemma, and she would know how to help him. How to save them. 

“Okay, we’re here, babe. But don’t open your eyes yet.”

Harry dropped her hand, moving towards the speakers. The acoustic version of You’ll Be In my Heart started silently playing. It was YN’s favourite Disney song, from her favourite movie - Tarzan. 

And it didn’t bring her joy now. It caused even more anxiety. All things coming up like dominoes, ready to be shattered. 

“Can I ask you to dance with me, my lady?”

She opened her eyes, immediately wishing she hadn’t done that. The lights were hanging from the willow branches, lilies were scattered around them and near the speaker was a bouquet of her least favourite flowers - tulips. She now knew what was coming and she was terrified. 

"My arms will hold you keep you safe and warm

This bond between us can’t be broken

I will be here don’t you cry"

But YN cried, heavy tears coming down her cheeks. And Harry held her tight, swaying them slightly from right to left. 

“Shhh, I love this song, Harry. Shhh, stop talking, please!” she scolded her boyfriend, pointing at the TV. 

“Okay, okay, Jesus. I’m quiet.” He laughed, finally settling down next to her, throwing his arm behind her shoulders, cuddling her. “Is it your favourite?” he whispered. 

“Yes. I think it’s one of the most beautiful songs from Disney,” she responded in the same whisper, eyes still glued to the screen. 

YN had one of the biggest smiles Harry had ever seen on her face. Her eyes were beaming with happiness and warmth. He couldn’t have helped but smile as well - her bliss was his. Whenever she was happy, he was too. Whenever she cried, he did too. What was hers was his and vice versa. 

“Do you think it’s a good first dance song?” he asked. 

“Maybe.” She thought for a moment and added, “but something more piano-like would be better. This one’s good for proposals. Near a tree with hundreds of lights.”

“You think so?” His mind was already plotting a plan. 

“I know so.” 

When the song hit the last chorus YN dropped his hand while dancing, giving him an oblivious sign to drop on one knee. 

“Harry, please,” she pleaded, tears still going down her face. 

“Let me speak.”

“No, please. Get up, Harry. Stop it,” she was repeating it all over again, praying it all was going to be a nightmare. She was going to wake up next to him like the last five months hadn’t happened. 

He ignored her, “YN, you’ve been in my life for more than three years. You’ve changed it for the batter. Your presence, your appreciation and your involvement in everything you and I did was - was exceptional. The warmth you bring to every room and life you’re in helps people. Words you say and don’t say have power. You make me happy. As well as my family, mum and Gemma love you like a daughter and sister. Your work, which you put so much effort into, brings you so much joy it rebounds on me. You’re the one that I want. You’re the one that I want to spend the rest of my life with,” he paused for a moment, kneeling on two knees. 

He was silently begging her to say yes. 

“YN -”

“Do you still love me?”

Her voice was shaky because of all the crying. He didn’t look at her once today. From the moment he picked her up, through the dinner they had at the restaurant and till the moment she stopped his proposals, he didn’t spare her a glance. It was going to be a nightmare. Everything that she was afraid of from the moment she’d read those two messages, happened and she loathed it. 

He looked at her.

And stayed silent.

You had a speech, you’re speechless, YN thought. 

She learned that day how loud the silence could be. How definitive and thundering it could feel. Terminating.

“Do you?” she choked out.

There was no sound of the voice. Love slipped beyond his reaches. 

Now, it hurt even more than two weeks ago. Not hearing him saying I love you. Man that promised her a moon, made her happy through so many years. Man that she trusted not to ever hurt her, not to ever betray her. He did everything upside down. After so many months together, moments joined and hours longed for - it was done. 

“YN, please.”

“Let me go, Harry.” 

“Please.”

“No. There - there’s nothing to ask. Nothing to do. It’s over, Harry. You know it.”

“Give me a reason,” he cried. 

“I can’t give you a reason, sometimes you just don’t know the answer ‘til someone’s on their knees and asks you,” she whispered, her hand stopped mid-movement. She wanted to caress his head. She wanted to hug him, kiss him for the last time. “You couldn’t keep it in, could you?” She laughed through her silent cries. 

Harry looked at her hand, still longing in the air, near his head. He wanted her to touch him. He wanted to hug her, kiss her and never let go. He wanted her, now more than ever before. 

If my wishes came true, it would have been you, YN wondered, not being able to stop the waterfall of thoughts. 

“I - I’ll be out of the house in an hour or so. I’ll leave the keys near the flower pot,” she said after a moment of only their crying.

“No, please. YN, baby, please -”

After looking at Olivia's favourite flowers sitting in a bouquet next to the speaker for the last time, YN turned around and started walking away. Harry’s shouts and pleads became smaller and smaller, until she was out of the property where it stopped. 

She halted. 

It was over.

They were over. 

But maybe it was her champagne problems, her thoughts, her doings and her love that caused it all. Caused him to stop loving her, keeping her as a familiarity among the unknown. 

Now, it finally touched her. There was no more suspense, no more uncertainty or insecurity. She knew for sure. He didn’t love her anymore.

And she still did, more than anything. 

It was cold outside. The wind ruffled her hair and made her shiver. She started walking, wanting to be closer and closer to the place she just this morning had called home. 

Maybe it was all her fault. She left him out there standing, crestfallen on the landing. His heart was glass, she dropped it. She pressed him and challenged him, unknowingly causing him to fall out of love. Perhaps it was all her.

“You’ll find the real thing instead. She’ll patch up your tapestry that I shredded,” she said into the void. “She’ll hold your hand while dancing, never leave you standing. And after all, you won’t remember all my champagne problems.”

#action!universe #director!reader #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles #harry styles one shot

[sashi-ya]

ᴍɪɴɪ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛ > ＣＯＴＴＯＮ ＣＡＮＤＹ ＣＬＯＵＤＳ˚۰

ＷＨＩＴＥ 🦋 ＢＵＴＴＥＲＦＬＹ ｔｏｓｈｉｒｏ ｘ ｆ！ ｒｅａｄｅｒ

request. @chloeleau asked: For the last event, could you do Butterfly with Toshiro? All I ask is that you make it with a fem reader, I’ll let you decide whether to make it sfw or not :) have a great weekend!! tw. none. kids. toshi has a baby with you. wc. 0.6k masterlist.

On his tiny little nose, as cold as winter, a little butterfly poses.

It isn’t black, its wings are all coloured white like the messy hair he has. a little squeak comes out of his mouth; what’s that creature? He has only seen black ones, why is it white like ice, like snow and hail?

“Pappa!! It’s white! It’s white! Like your name!” “Ah what a coincidence… Yes, these are common here… You like them?”

You watch them have fun at Karakura city’s park. It’s been so long since you were in the world of the living that you had forgotten how the warm breeze down here felt.

Everything has changed since the Quincy invasion; the Seireitei has been rebuild, the many lost lives haven’t been forgotten and some even have fallen in love…

It was hard to believe at first, that, Captain Hitsugaya was getting married, but soon they realized how good you were to him and how fast his heart melted. Even so, when your little bundle of joy arrived, the Gotei 13 filled with little tiny shinigamis running around holding their hands and having fun. It was like a new breathe of fresh air and happiness for the Soul Society.

That afternoon, however, your family had decided to spend a so deserved day off. A normal one, out of the daily routines of training and swords, far from the black and white shihakusho.

Your eyes reflect the sky above, it looks a little bigger than in the Seireitei. In between white ume trees, the sun rays filter, like playing with those pristine buds. The scent of jasmine fill the air, and it’s beautiful to see their white hair shine like last night snow when the sun is finally out.

Toshiro crosses his arms inspecting nothing would harm his offspring. And it’s almost like a dream, you smile sweetly to see such depiction of slice of life that to your heart feels more like a miracle.

And as his baby chases after the white winged butterfly, he comes running towards you. You put your hand up, allowing the insect to rest over the tip of your finger.

“Oooooh, mamma!! You caught it!” your baby chimes, amazed. “No, I didn’t my love. I’m only helping her to rest here for some time” you tell him, slowly getting your finger close to his face.

Toshiro, who you had stopped watching some minutes ago, comes walking peacefully and with a soft smile that garnishes his pale countenance. “Let the butterfly fly free, honey” he commands, brushing his son hair back with utmost care and love.

“Ok, little butterfly! Fly! Someday I will be able to fly up in the sky like you!” he says, scaring the delicate insect away.

However, his face suddenly turns sad.

“Why are you sad, son?” you ask, tilting your head to the side and helping him to sit on your lap. “Because the butterfly looked beautiful on you, mum!” he says, playing with your hand and his tiny fingers around yours.

Toshiro scoffs, and bends over you two. “I have something that could fix the problem… even if momma is beautiful with nothing but her own self” he says, taking a little box from his jeans. You gasp, to see what the 10th squad captain has in his cold hands… a beautiful hairpin made of white stone and fine gold in the form of a butterfly.

“I got it today for momma, isn’t it a beautiful coincidence?” “Yes!! I love it, daddy!!” “Toshiro… I love you darling… ~”

#toshiro hitsugaya #hitsugaya toshiro #hitsugaya toshiro x reader #toshiro x reader #hitsugaya x reader #toshiro hitsugaya x reader #toshiro x y/n #toshiro x yn #hitsugaya x y/n #hitsugaya x yn #bleach x reader #bleach x y/n #bleach x you #bleach #sashi ya #bleach fluff

[oddlyhale]

The few things I remember from V9 was the weed smoke scene where Team RWBY are confronting their past selves.

I remember it because it was so incoherent. Seeing it again months later, you can feel how much the writers struggled to convince the viewers that Team RWBY had substantial growth throughout the series and how these topics their past selves confront them with don't have any weight.

Ruby's moment felt like it had something to it, however, and it did carry throughout the volume until the end. But Blake, Yang and Weiss have nothing to burden themselves with.

Weiss and her Schnee family lineage? It doesn't matter because Team RWBY sunk Atlas and Mantle, which was also the biggest distribution center for Dust, so her lineage is gone and she has nothing - neither do the rest of her surviving family members.

Yang is fine with her arm and didn't doubt it after Blake held her hand while confronting Adam. Yang has not let that part of herself burden her anymore, so this scene of her past self trying to convince her to "become whole again" was stupid.

Blake has, by all means, already taken the biggest step to fixing the White Fang and the Faunus movement. After stopping the bombing in V5 and killing Adam, there have been no threats of White Fang after that. The slavery (that she basically ignored for a long time) that was happening with SDC is gone now, so again, she has nothing more to worry about because the biggest slaver (Jacques) is gone.

They even lost a well-loved and highly important General of the Atlas Army, so if there were any soldiers left, they couldn't do anything because they lost their power once Atlas was gone and Ironwood dead.

The kids have nothing much to fight for, and you could say "they still have to face Salem," but I would say Salem is the least of their problems. Even Cinder isn't that important to them, and Cinder has slowly stopped caring about Ruby over time. She just wants the Maiden Powers now and Salem just wants the Relics.

Salem seems to have stopped caring about Ruby being a SEW, which is pretty big because she made it a huge deal back in V4, but as the years have passed, Salem has changed trajectory and wants the Relics to quicken her and Remnant's end. Perhaps Salem is becoming aware of how uninvolved Team RWBY are.

What she really needs to look out for is every RWBY fans' favourite white boy, Jaune.

Okay, this is me being petty, but I am curious to know if CRWBY will perpetuate this "Jaune is the main character" act some more, just to stick it to people who don't like him. Well, I say: please do it, it'll just help prove that he's far more important to prove himself to the vast majority than Team RWBY.

So, RWBY has lost much of its identity and V9 really shows it. It feels lost, and not in an Alice in Wonderland way. It feels like a colleague of newspaper clippings being glued together to try and create a narrative, but it's all just nonsense that would be tossed in the bin later because the ending didn't let all of the events matter.

But I am totally looking forward to Team RWBY destroying Vacuo!

#rwde #rwby:v9 a year later

[jupitercomet]

En Dessous de la Lune Qui Chante

summary - Getting married was supposed to be the best day of your life, the day you promised to spend forever with the person you loved. Though you knew very little about love, you’d always been excited for it, playing dress up with your sisters and dreaming of the day you would know love like the back of your hand. Now you were finally getting married and you knew two things for certain: you knew nothing of love and Bradley Bradshaw did not love you.

warnings - arranged marriage au, heavily inspired by Greta Gerwig’s Little Women because that movie has a choke hold on me, angst, Bradley is literally so mean, gender stereotypes, somewhat toxic family, brief mentions of blood, brief mention of drinking

word count - 3.7k

genuinely don’t know where this came from, I just started writing it and then bam. I’m splitting it into parts now because I have a feeling it’s going to be way too long lol (also I know I have a problem with starting series but I promise I’ll finish them)

je te laisserai des mots masterlist

There was something so entirely haunting about love. 

Maybe it was the weight put into a simple word consisting of two vowels and two consonants. Maybe it was the way people seemed to chase it so swiftly, as if nothing else could possibly matter. Maybe it was merely the fact that love was nothing more than a concept— a reaction of chemicals, a guess of a feeling.

You didn’t know much about love, on rare occasions you questioned its very existence. But you knew enough to know that, whatever it was, no one had ever felt that way about you.

A thought that would have been far less damaging had there not been a shiny engagement ring weighing down your ring finger.

As a little girl, you used to dream of your wedding day like an intricate mosaic. You imagined chairs lined with wild flowers, twinkling fairy lights woven throughout the room, soft pastels against cream whites. You’d find your mother’s old cotton curtains, wrapping them around yourself like a pastry and prancing around the attic with bare feet you imagined in elegant glass slippers— you’d just read Cinderella. 

Your sisters would laugh at you, before wrapping themselves in their own curtains, or one of your father’s old suits, in Charlie’s case. Rosaline was the flower girl, Margo gave you away, Edith was your maid of honor, and Charlie was the officiant. You’d walk down the imaginary aisle of your attic, Margo and Edith would pretend to cry, Rosaline would pout that her role in the wedding was over, and Charlie would marry you to an imaginary man who you knew loved you very much.

“When’s it my turn to get married?” Rosaline would complain, looking wistfully at the white curtain you’d now folded up.

“When you stop believing that the most important part of your wedding is the cake,” Margo responded, gently disentangling the braids she’d put in your hair.

You and Edith erupted into giggles and Charlie looked equally as amused as Rosaline let out a cry of protest.

“But it is! Oh, I do hope mine is covered in buttercream.”

Now, sitting in your sage green dress, smiling politely at the guests attending your engagement party, you wished more than anything to be back in your attic wrapped up in your mother’s white, cotton curtains. 

“Why so sad, dear sister of mine?” Edith plopped not so elegantly in the chair next to you, resting her head on your shoulder as you both watched the mingling guests. Though her words were meant to be light with teasing, they were quite heavy instead, falling like led as she reached for your hand.

You let out a quiet sigh, knowing that if you said the wrong thing there was a good chance you’d start crying. “I’m not sad. Just saying goodbye, I suppose.”

“To the freedom of womanhood?”

You offered Edith a smile. “To my dream wedding.”

“Don’t say that,” Edith chastised softly, squeezing your hand. “The wedding hasn’t even happened yet and the Mitchells have been kind enough to cover every expense.” 

You sent her another smile — much sadder this time — eyes glassing over in the very way you were afraid of. “I’m marrying a man who does not love me, Edith. I’d trade in all of the Mitchells’ jewels and silks and just wear mother’s old curtains if it meant I could marry a man that loved me.”

Edith lifted a finger, wiping softly under your lash line, looking at you resolutely. “Any man who doesn’t love you is foolish. And if Bradley really is that much of a fool, I will whisk you away from him myself.” 

You giggled softly. “Don’t tell Rosaline, but I picked a buttercream cake.”

“Married and a buttercream wedding cake?” Edith let out a dramatic gasp, joining your giggles. “Oh, she’ll die of jealousy.”

Pressing a finger to your lips, you looked around the venue for your other sister. 

Unsurprisingly, Rosaline was nodding along excitedly to the words of one of Bradley’s friends. At least, you thought he was one of Bradley’s friends. Bradley had never introduced you— to do that would require acknowledging your existence. You’d seen him come up to Bradley though, congratulate him, and you certainly didn’t know him, so you felt safe in assuming his connection to your fiancé.

Fiancé. What a strange, strange word.

“Come,” Edith patted your thigh, pulling you out of your reverie. “We should mingle before mother gets upset.”

You pursed your lips. “Must we? I’d rather just stay here with you forever.”

Edith placed a kiss on your temple. “I want to get a fruit tart before Edwin eats them all.”

Letting out a soft breath, you followed your sister to the table that refreshments had been set up on, training your face to stay happy and poised. You were getting married, after all. To Bradley Bradshaw. A man who did not love you. 

You quickly shot back a flute of champagne.

“You must be the future bride,” a voice spoke from behind you and you had to physically stop your shoulders from sagging. “Forgive me for not congratulating you sooner.”

Turning around, you were met with a tall, tanned blond smiling at you politely. You recognized him almost instantly, having been one of the men that Rosaline had been excitedly listening to— one of Bradley’s friends.

He held his hand out. “I’m Jacob, but you can call me Jake. And you must be Charlotte.”

You stiffened, clearing your throat uncomfortably. “Ah, no, that’s my sister.”

“Oh,” his eyes widened as you told him your own name. “I’m sorry, I thought—”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off more harshly than intended. “I’m sure we look alike.”

Jake nodded slowly even though you both knew that was not the reason he mistook you for your sister. “Well, I will never again make the mistake of misplacing someone as beautiful as yourself.” 

You only smiled politely.

“I hate this,” Charlie wrinkled her nose in disgust, yanking at the frilly sleeves of her dress. “How much longer until I can take this thing off of me?”

Your mother clucked her tongue, a warning sound that always meant you and your sisters were becoming too comfortable in a room. “Behave, Charlotte.”

Charlie slumped back in her chair with a huff, but stayed silent. She didn’t even argue when your mother called her “Charlotte”. The six of you were sitting quietly in a row of uncomfortable chairs, watching the officiant set himself up in the front of the church as you all waited for the wedding to start.

Your mother had put all of you in dresses — “Everyone knows weddings are for other people to get married” — and you’d gotten one with the heaviest overskirt you’d ever had the displeasure of wearing. You were certain your thighs were probably slippery with sweat. Charlie had gotten off fairly easy — even your mother knew her limits — but the dress was fuchsia pink, a color much too eye-catching for Charlie’s taste.

You didn’t entirely understand the fuss either, you only knew the bride and groom because your mother told you that you knew them. Apparently you were distantly related to the bride— a third cousin twice removed or something. Still, you went without complaint, because that’s what your mother expected of you, and, when you did that, the weddings usually weren’t terrible. 

This one didn’t have any wild flowers or twinkling fairy lights, but you were excited to see the dress of the bride and the face of the groom when he finally saw her take those steps down the aisle. You knew Rosaline was still holding out hope about the cake— you’d try to sneak her half of yours because she didn’t make a fuss when your mother gave Margo a prettier dress than her.

“Weddings are stupid,” Charlie grumbled quietly. “I’m never going to get married.”

“You’re all getting married,” your mother snipped, not letting your sister’s words hang in the air for even a second. “And you will as soon as Margo does.”

Charlie opened her mouth to protest, but you squeezed her hand.

“When you get married, I’ll sneak you one of father’s suits,” you whispered in her ear. “Imagine how livid mother will be to see you walk down the aisle in a suit.”

Charlie had to cover her mouth with her hand to stop her laughter.

You bit your lip softly, your own reflection taunting you in the mirror. A white dress wrapped around your body, far more expensive and beautiful than your mother’s old curtains. It almost felt too beautiful— like you weren’t worthy of wearing it. Like it wasn’t yours, that Penny Mitchell had helped you pick it out by accident, mistaking you for someone else. Mistaking you for Charlie.

You closed your eyes, releasing your bottom lip from your teeth before you made it bleed. 

Maybe this dress wasn’t meant for you, but you were the one wearing it. You were the one making sacrifices. You were the one attempting not to cry because, try as you might, you couldn’t feel beautiful in your own wedding dress. The mirror still mocked you when you opened your eyes.

Perhaps if you were taller, Charlie had always been taller than you. She had this way of standing that made her seem like an explorer coming back from a daring adventure, hands animated and eyes alight as she told you stories of her tales. You tried to emulate it— straightening your back, bending one knee slightly. It looked stupid in a wedding dress and you supposed that’s where you and Charlie differed. She would never wear a wedding dress.

There was a knock on your door. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, eyes locked on your reflection, before realizing the person behind the door couldn’t see you. “Yes.”

Margo stepped in slowly, looking at you with a gasp. “You look beautiful.”

You matched her expression, nearly tripping over yourself to give her a hug. “You came.”

“Of course, I came,” she stroked your hair lovingly. “I wouldn’t miss my little sister’s wedding for the world.”

You hid your face in the crook of her neck, trying not to ruin your makeup. 

“I hate this,” you whispered.

Margo hugged you tighter. “I know.”

“Do you know if—” You lifted your head. “Is she here?”

Margo pursed her lips sadly. “She sent me a letter that she wouldn’t be attending. She couldn’t face him, not after everything. She told me to tell you ‘thank you’.”

You sucked in a breath, unsure how to feel. “Why did it have to be me?”

Margo smoothed some of the hair at your hairline. “Because you’re the best of us.”

“I don’t want to be,” you laughed sadly, before clearing the air with a sniff. “But how are you? How’s Thomas?”

“We’re lovely,” Margo smiled and you could tell she meant it. It made you feel better, to know she was loved in a way you probably wouldn’t be. “So don’t fret about us. How are Edith and Rosaline?”

You laughed. “They’re well. I think the only person truly excited about this is Rosaline, she’s been trying to get quite chummy with Bradley’s friends now that she is one step closer to getting engaged.”

Margo raised her brows with a smile. “Are they entertaining it?”

“Not in the slightest,” you giggled. “I don’t even think they realize what she’s doing.”

“Oh Rosie,” Margo sighed teasingly. “And what of Edith and Robert?”

“She’s not spoken of him much. He’s at the academy and I think she misses him,” you frowned softly. “But he’s set to come back soon and the Floyd’s are wealthy enough that I don’t think mother or father will have a problem with their engagement.”

“And how do you feel?” Margo looked at you knowingly.

“Happy,” your smile was strained. “I wouldn’t want any of you to go through this as well.”

“That’s not fair to you—”

“Well, someone has to,” you snapped, stopping yourself with a breath. “Someone has to and it isn’t going to be Charlie.”

Margo pulled you into another tight hug. “I’d give you away if I could, so imagine I’m doing it now.”

You swallowed thickly, vision beginning to blur. “I wish she’d have come.”

“I don’t think she realizes just how much you’re sacrificing for her,” Margo explained. “How much both of you are sacrificing for her.”

“I don’t want to be angry with her,” you whispered. “But she’s making it so hard not to be.”

“I know,” Margo pulled away slowly at the sound of another knock on your door — your father, it was time — wiping gently at your eyes. “And that’s why you’re the best of us.”

Your left hand felt heavier than it had since you’d received Bradley’s engagement ring. Now, tucked under it, was a thin, silver band, identical to the one on Bradley’s own finger. He was sitting next to you, eyes taking in the crowd, back taught as though the mere idea of being in your company was bringing him displeasure. You supposed you couldn’t fault him for that.

With a sigh, you rolled a baby carrot around with your fork. You could hear your mother chastising you— “You’re far too old to be playing with your food!”. But you were only a bride once and you should be allowed to do whatever you wanted today. Even if it was staring miserably at your garden salad.

“Is something the matter, Mrs. Bradshaw?” Bradley’s gruff voice surprised you when he addressed you suddenly. Though he still refused to look at you.

You pursed your lips. “You know my name.”

Bradley looked at you then, just for a moment, before turning back to your dancing guests. “People are going to think your unhappy if you keep looking like that, Mrs. Bradshaw.”   

He stressed the title as if to make it very clear to you: you may now be his wife, but you would never be his wife.

You swallowed, forcing a smile. “My apologies, I never meant to give off that impression.”

Bradley only nodded absentmindedly and, though he wasn’t even looking at you, you could tell you’d surprised him a bit. Perhaps he expected you to fight with him. It’s what Charlie would have done.

“Excuse me,” and then Edith was in front of you like a shining lighthouse, guiding you out of the dark with a polite, forced smile to you husband. “Do you mind if I steal her away for a dance?”

Bradley shook his head. “Be my guest.”

“Perhaps you should have married him,” you tried to joke when the two of you made it to the dance floor. “He seems to like you more than me.”

Edith didn’t even grant you a laugh, instead looking at you with eyes poorly masking pity. “I love you so much. Do you know that?”

“Edith—”

“And when Robert comes back, we’ll be married and I’ll come take you away and you can live with us and I’ll get you all the art supplies money can buy and you’ll never be sad again—”

“Edith.” You interrupted her firmly. “It’s okay.”

“But it’s not!” She insisted, trying to keep her voice quiet. “He’s so cold. He wasn’t like that with—”

Your face fell and she cut herself off. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you shook your head. “You’re right. But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re married now and he is my husband. It was either you or me and I would never force this choice on you.”

Edith grumbled, twirling you slowly. “It should have been Charlie.”

You cast a glance at your husband, who was conversing lightly with Pete Mitchell, his face stoic. “But she didn’t love him, not like he loved her. I could never do that to him either.”

You sucked in a breath.

“Now then, let’s speak of something else before I cry on my wedding day.”

The music livened and Edith’s twirls became faster and faster. Before you knew it, Margo and Rosaline had joined the two of you and it was almost like when you were kids— playing make believe in the attic, wrapped up in curtains, and grinning so wide it hurt your cheeks. For a moment, they were all that mattered. For a moment, you could forget that your dream wedding would remain just that, make believe.

You’d moved into the Bradshaw estate almost immediately, nearly holding back tears as you said goodbye to Edith and Rosaline. Edith promised to visit you often, something Bradley didn’t seem to mind when he heard it and it gave you some hope— he wasn’t heartless. Your mother and father gave you a cordial goodbye, you didn’t expect much more from them.

You knew they were grateful— had it not been for you, their arrangement with the Mitchells would have fallen through entirely. But you also knew that they expected this of you, to pick up where your sister lacked, they didn’t care that all you had ever wanted was love. Charlie had made her choice and you were suffering the consequences. 

It took only a breath after your family departed for Bradley to turn to you, eyes practically stone. You watched him anxiously, hands still gripping one of your bags of luggage.

“You will move your things up to the master bedroom,” Bradley commanded you and you had to stop yourself from reacting in surprise. “Pete is telling me I have to give this an honest effort and I have no doubt he’s planning on questioning the staff to ensure I keep to my word. We will sleep in the same bed and be seen at the same events, but that is the extent of our marriage.”

Bradley Bradshaw was many things, patient was not one of them. He’d become accustomed to getting what he wanted, when he wanted, the way he wanted. And when he surrounded himself with only his most trusted friends, like Reuben and Mickey who could read and translate even the smallest twitch in his expression, he also got used to getting those things with very little communication. So when he wanted you to pick up your luggage, find something to entertain yourself that didn’t involve him, and, for the love of god, stop looking at him like that, and you just stood frozen and wide eyed in his grand entryway, his lips pursed in increased agitation. 

He cleared his throat, the noise causing your eyes to jump up to his gaze, and your grip fumbled on your bag. The whole thing slid out of your grip, opening on its impact to the ground and you gathered your skirts quickly, moving to repack everything.

“I’m sorry—”

He waved it off with one hand, effectively shutting you up. An apology was not what he wanted from you and it was bothering him that you couldn’t understand that. 

In the back of his mind, he could hear his mother chastising him. Warm, loving Carol Bradshaw clicking her tongue at him with a shake of her head. “Nobody’s a mind reader, Bradley. You’ve got a voice box. Use it.” Bradley would argue that Reuben, Mickey, and Natasha could read his mind just fine, but he knew better than to challenge the authority of his mother— her tangibility be damned.

He let out a heavy sigh, which, again, made you flinch slightly. “Do you want to unpack your things?”

“Of course,” you relatched your bag, standing up with a much firmer grip on it, moving to follow where some of the staff was taking the rest of your luggage. 

You made it up three stairs before you stopped yourself.

“Bradley?” You asked softly, as if still debating your request.

Charlie would never do that. She always knew what she wanted and was confident enough to believe she deserved it.

“Yes?” He replied, boredly.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you looked out one of the widows. “I’d love an easel.”

Bradley pursed his lips, unsure what about your request bothered him so much. If it gave you something to do, it would be easier to avoid you.

“I’ll have one set up for you.”

The charcoal felt malleable between your fingers. You knew it wasn’t— that, if you tried to shape it, it would just crumble onto the paper on your lap. But as it sat between your thumb and your first and second fingers, it did feel like you could make anything you wanted with it. You brought it down to the paper unsurely. The patchy black was permanent, inerasable, and you didn’t want to ruin the only page you’d brought to sketch on because you’d started drawing without a plan.

“Bradshaw!” 

Charlie’s shriek sounded down the beach, causing you to look up in mild surprise. Your sister was standing in the ocean, water up to her ankles, looking at Bradley Bradshaw with what seemed to be playful offense.   

“Miss Simpson,” you raised your eyebrows because Charlie never let anyone call her “Miss Simpson” — “It makes people believe that I wish to be married, that I dream of being a Mrs. Someone else. I don’t.” — but, in this instance she didn’t seem to mind at all. “You’ve wounded me.”

Bradley dropped to his knees, not seeming to mind the ocean water wetting his pants. “Are we not cordial? Nay, are we not friends? Why must you speak to me like we are unacquainted?”

Charlie scoffed. “You splashed me, Mr. Bradshaw. A criminal offense if I’ve ever seen one.”

“‘Mr. Bradshaw’?” Bradley threw a hand over his heart dramatically. “Oh, forgive me, Charlie Simpson! Forgive me, forgive me— and I swear to never make you unhappy again.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Charlie shook her head with a laugh, pulling the lamenting boy up from his knees. “Utterly ridiculous.” 

You watched them for a moment longer, eyes softening as they continued to splash in the water. Hesitantly, you pressed the charcoal down on your page, following the angles and divots of Bradley’s face. You drew his smile lines, that endearing gleam in his eye. You traced the bridge of his nose and each of his curls, trying to capture how he played in the ocean with your sister like a joyful cherub. When you were done, you set the charcoal down, taking in your sketch with a small frown.

You didn’t get his smile right.

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#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw imagines #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley bradshaw angst #bradley bradshaw au #rooster imagine #rooster imagines #rooster x reader #rooster fluff #rooster angst #rooster au #top gun maverick imagines #x reader #je te laisserai des mots #buggy's got a pen

[slexenskee]

can i ask for any details about the hotd/jjk fic?

you mean aside from this lil WIP snippet?

I think I'm gonna call it "Write myself out of the history books" a line from All Time Low to match the rest of my 'Dropping Gojo into fandoms he didn't ask to be in' works 😂

His name is Soren and let's just pretend its Valyrian when in actuality it's just one of my favorite Fire Emblem characters (I feel like Gojo would appreciate that though, prolly a Soren stan himself lol)

His dragon hatches in his crib and idk I headcanon that Rhaenyra would wait to let him name it himself because she probably did the same with Syrax? But then 2 yr-old Gojo is like 'her name is Blue Eyes White Dragon' and Rheanyra is like 'wtf no' and also, this is why you shouldn't let kids name their own damn dragons. Rhaenyra refuses to let him name his dragon after what she doesn't realize is a Yu-gi-oh card, and in they settle for Sylvion, which she thinks is just some obscure Valyrian word/reference his 'Uncle' Daemon taught him, but is in fact a Pokemon that bears striking resemblance to his dragon. It's one of Dreamfyre's eggs, mostly bright white, with blue accents and some slight pink in the membranes, hence, Sylvion. Which is also Gojo's favorite pokemon, so he's two for two with references in this life.

He knows damn well that Daemon is not his Uncle, and they (Rhaenyra, Daemon, Laenor) all know he knows even if they collectively don't acknowledge it. He's Daemon and Rhaenyra's 'accidental brothel baby' that she had to get shotgun wedding'd to Laenor for, which is why he's much older than canon-Jace.

The age gaps are: Satoru/Soren (0), Aegon (+2), Helaena (-1), Aemond (-2), Jace (-3), Luke (-4) idk if Joff or Daeron will be in this.

Aegon is in love with him literally at first sight. He's going to PINE FOREVER. Like so much angst when he realizes he doesn't just adore his nephew in a purely platonic sense - which his mother/grandfather already dislike - but is in fact homosexually and audaciously in love with him lol. He definitely tries to fuck himself out of his own gayness, which absolutely does not work, esp when he starts ending up gravitating to regular female whores to male whores who all bear a striking resemblance to his nephew.

Does Gojo know? Hmm yes but not really. It doesn't even cross his mind even though he is also very gay, and also knows incest is casually a normal thing in the Valyrian family. But to him, Aegon is his uncle, and also a man in a 'don't say gay' world, so he kind of intentionally doesn't look too deeply into it. He does notice Egg is very attached to him, but he's not sure how much of that is familial and platonic and just Egg's very handsy personality versus romantic. They played a lot together as kids, slept in the same bed etc back when they were young enough it didn't mean anything, and obviously Gojo never felt that way about what he thought was a 'cute sticky dumpling of a kid who thinks he hung the moon' so it'll be a longgg and difficult shift for him to see Egg in any other way.

Aemond worships him in a strictly platonic sense that totally feeds his god complex. Gojo is literally the warrior reborn to him. He's a one man army and everyone knows it and he's so out of any mortal's league instead of being jealous about it Aemond just straight up adores him like a god. Daemon and Laena don't get together in this fic (RIP Baela and Rhaena) so Laena is still alive and has Vhagar, so idk maybe Aemond has Vermithor.

On a related note, everyone worships him as a god (or a Valyrian devil, *ahem* Hightowers *ahem*) bc to them he may as well be one. He has all his OG powers, he's invincible and untouchable and literally unstoppable. He achieves infamy the world over during Stepstones Round 2 where he absolutely obliterates an entire army and a few islands besides. He straight up asks his 'grandfather' Corlys if he should just eradicate the whole island chain and permanently solve the problem. Of course, the story gets convoluted with the whole medieval 'he said she said' chain of communication so there are plenty of non-believers still. LOL jokes on them.

He adores Rhaenyra. Like he likes Laenor a lot, and is partial to his little brothers (yes Jace and Luke exist, idk if they're Laenor's or Daemon's yet tho. They would't be Harwins bc Rhaenyra took one look at Gojo and was like 'shit he's 100% Valyrian its gonna look weird as hell if his siblings dont look like him at all') and has a soft spot for his 'Uncle' Daemon, but the reason he even bothers to stick around and not just fuck off to Essos to raise his own empire is because of her. I headcanon Gojo to have zero relationship with his parents in JJK - which unfortunately is expected from 'the patriarch' aka his father, but deeply hurt him in regards to his mother, who also cared nothing for him. Yes total double standard, but that's patriarchy for you. Anyway Rhaenyra is the opposite - she cherishes him from day 1, and whether that's because she truly loved him at first sight or just loved the idea of a child of hers and Daemon's who knows. But she doted on him and took care of him in a way anomalous for mother's in Westeros, and Gojo always took note of that. He'd burn the world for her - or in this instance, cower it into submission so she can have her throne in peace.

He doesn't mind playing the 'radiant prince' for her, being the faultless and impossibly perfect heir to the throne, because he knows it strengthens her claim immeasurably when his achievements so obviously outshine her direct competitor (Egg, who in fact does not give a shite about the throne and just wants to run away on his dragon with Soren). He even quietly submits himself to the idea of taking a wife because he knows that's also expected of him, although he plans on copying Laenor and having some threesome magic going on. Will that have to come to pass though? Hmm idk yet

THERE WILL BE ZOMBIES. No Night King, but I absolutely believe that Gojo accidentally would become the Prince who was Promised. His birth once again upsets the balance of yet another world, and shifts events into motion that would have laid dormant otherwise. Does he bring magic back into world with his birth? That would be interesting. Idk yet tho.

I also believe in the Maester conspiracy, so that might be in this fic too

#HOTD fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo satoru

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Could you please do follower!Leshy x follower!Reader, where the readers family was once followers of Narinder sect of the old faith but once Narinder was locked away, to avoid death, readers family went into hiding. Years later with Lamb's cult, reader joins because they wish to continue to serve the red crown, no matter who's head it is on. The readers mannerisms and ways of worship comes off as unsettling to the bishops because it was things only taught under the ruling of Narinder. The lamb and Narinder think that the reader is fine, if not the best follower in the cult, due to these reasons. Leshy and Reader could possibly have a pre-established relationship at the time of this story? And if it matters, gender neutral reader, please.

Thank you in advance (even if you don't write the request, which is also perfectly fine)

Oooo I like this! Also gives me chance to expand on my hcs for what Narinder's cult was like before he was banished.

......

"You. Come hither."

As you gracefully walked through the endless white fog of your lord's realm, you felt as though you were wading across water, passing by chains and piles of skulls. Yet your robes remained perfectly dry.

Such a strange land, this was. But you've grown accustomed to it.

In your hands, you clutched a scythe that he bestowed upon you himself: "Death's Attendant", as he called it. You never went anywhere without it, using its necromantic powers to cull heretics and show skeptics the almighty power of your god.

Before long you stood before Narinder's throne of blood, stone, ivory, and bone, where he sat, black skeletal fingers tapping impatiently against the arm rest. From behind his veil, a trio of glowing red eyes gazed down towards your small and hooded form.

The single one on the Red Crown reflected his mood, looking particuarly disgruntled.

You kneeled down, keeping one hand on the scythe's handle. "Yes, master?"

"As you may know, my siblings have grown..suspicious of my new doctrines." His voice rumbled. "They believe it shall lead to catastrophic consequences for the natural order if I continue to preach them. But....remind me, who brought forth such ideals to me? Who pushed me to explore them freely, hm?" Pausing, he stared at you.

"Bishop Shamura." You answered without missing a heartbeat.

"And right you are, my pupil." He bared his teeth into a sharp grin, although it was quick to disappear as his grip on the chair tightened. "Dear Shamura has no problem with it...and yet my own brothers and sister apparently do. They don't even trust the wisest of us that I know what I'm doing..is that not madness??"

You nodded. "It seems most unusual, master. Do you have a plan to convince them?"

"They've summoned me for a meeting at midnight..apparently they are open to discussing how I could integrate my laws into the Old Faith's teachings. Finally, I can show them that my ideas of change needn't frighten them."

"Even if..it were to contradict their own ideals of chaos, famine, disease, and war?" You asked cautiously.

"But of course.." He scoffed. "If all of those can fluctuate..why not death, too? Why should it only flow one way? Where's the freedom in that? I can teach them that everlasting life is both a blessing that can reunite families old and young...and a curse to those who think death is liberation from servitude. Just imagine us having the power to resurrect..over and over again."

"It would be foolish for them to reject such powers. It would do wonders for the Old Faith."

Narinder's smile was closed now, his gaze softening as he leaned back on his throne. "I'm honored to call you my brightest pupil. Now rise, and I shall give you this one task in my absence."

You rose to your feet obediently, gazing up at him. "I'm ready to receive it."

"Go back to the village and continue preaching my gospel, for I will need everyone's faith and devotion now more than ever. Lead any naysayers down my righteous path. Great changes are coming, [y/n]..and I expect you to assure each and every one of them that it's for the good of the Old Faith."

"Yes, master." Nodding, you looked down at the scythe, giving it a small twirl. "It shall be done, but..when should I expect your re....turn..?

But when you looked back up, he was nowhere to be found.

You were left all alone in a vacant throne room.

"...master?"

"........"

"Master Narinder??!"

.

.

.

.

"Master-!!"

With a sudden gasp, you sat up, nearly hitting the ceiling of your shelter. You looked all around, putting a hand to your chest and getting your labored breathing under control, squeezing your eyes shut.

Before long, you felt another hand rest over your own, while the other was pressed to your back.

"Hey, hey. Easy..you're not in Narinder's temple anymore."

Hearing the familiar voice of your spouse, you opened your eyes to see his gentle hands of leafy-green foliage, a wedding band wrapped around one of his wooden claws.

Then you looked at his face, smiling and curling up against his chest, slowly calming down as you realized you were back in the present. "Thank you, Leshy...f-forgive me if I disturbed your rest."

"Oh not at all. I couldn't sleep a wink because my siblings are having another quarrel.." He grumbled, petting your [ears/antlers/hair]. "At least you were able to get some shut-eye.."

"They're at it again?" You blinked slowly. "Oh, what ever could it be this time?"

"From what I'm hearing...an elder died near their sleeping quarters, and they don't know what to do with the body. Lamb is away, Narinder's on a spiritual journey..and they're too prideful to ask anybody else for help."

"I'll take care of it, dear." Sighing, you left the shelter and stretched your arms and legs, donning your golden immortality necklace. "You can rest."

"Good luck to you." He grumbled as he took your place, while you headed over to the ex-bishops to see what was the matter.

"S-Seriously, we need to do something about this! I'm gonna be sick.."

"Let's just...chop them...up..and...feast."

"No, no..it would be wise to stow their body in the morgue and let Lamb take care of it. They know best how to bury their dead."

"...alright, but I'm not touching it! Although...I do like that pretty little necklace-"

"That is not yours to take, Kallamar."

Yelping, the blue squid jumped nearly six feet in the air, before the three siblings turned to see you there. You always had that habit of showing up without making any sound...something that spooked most followers here.

Especially the former bishops.

"I was already having a rough sleep..and then I see you all having a childish argument while one of our beloved elders is rotting on the ground." You scowled, shaking your head. "It's disgraceful. They led a virtuous life..and you deny them a virtuous sendoff."

They were all silent, having never dealt with death themselves since arriving into Lamb's cult.

You being here didn't help their anxieties, as you reminded them of everything they condemned Narinder for...ultimately choosing to shackle him and cut him off from this world, his ideals lost for generations.

You and your family were the only living proof that he used to have his own sector to rule. But with that gone, you were forced into hiding for years before hearing word that the Red Crown's chosen one was resurrected.

The vessel prophesized to bring an end to the Old Faith.

There were many before Lamb, such as Ratau, whom you have faithfully served, but it mattered not to you whose head the crown sat upon.

Only the crown itself.

When Narinder tried reclaiming it, and was beaten into submission, you held no ill-will towards your first and former master. You still called him lord, although your devotion was directed towards Lamb, serving as the cult's undertaker and teaching others how to bury the dead.

It made him feel rather bitter and jealous, reminding you that you had the privilege of being his favorite pupil...but eventually he accepted this loss, too.

He grew to admire you during the sermons Lamb permitted you to lead when they were out crusading, speaking of the Red Crown's might with such passion and diligence, inspiring all who listened to your words.

Narinder, who stood front and center, sees you haven't changed much over these last few centuries. You could have worn that crown yourself just as well as Lamb, had he offered it up to you.

The ex-bishops, on the other hand, became wary around you as each of them were indoctrinated. Things were awkward considering they tried to execute your family when you refused to abandon Narinder's gospel...

And now in the present, you were here scolding them like children.

Leshy, however, has warmed up to you rather quickly, eventually asking for your hand in marriage (with Lamb's permission, of course). It shocked his siblings when they arrived to the temple and saw the ritual taking place, the cheers of your fellow followers drowning out their cries of protest as you said your vows.

They accuse you of brainwashing the youngest of them...and still believe that to this very day.

You didn't care, though, and neither did Leshy.

You sighed, kneeling down to fix the pendant on the elder's necklace, closing their eyes and folding their arms across their chest. "There, now they'll be easier to bury once rigor mortis settles in."

"Rigor...what?" Kallamar asked bluntly, confused.

"The state in which a body's limbs lock up. Usually this happens within a few hours of death."

"..eugh..."

"Ah yes, yes...brother Narinder has spoken of that once.." Shamura nodded, finding your explanations intriguing.

"Has he? Well..I suppose I should give you all a lesson in mummification." You looked up to make sure they were paying attention. "It's one of the responsibilities of undertakers here."

"I am familiar with that." The purple spider muttered.

"Good, but since Kallamar and Heket are staring at me like I have three heads...this is for them."

"Huh?"

"What's...mummi...fication..?"

"A way to protect the body from natural elements. Lamb finds that it streamlines the resurrection ritual. Of course, it's easier to revive someone who's been properly buried than someone who's been hacked to bite-sized pieces." You looked at Heket, who only scowled back at you in return.

Fortunately, she's gotten better at biting her tongue these days.

And so you showed the ex-bishops how to properly mummify the body, explaining all the steps as you carefully wound the linen around their corpse. Once that was finished, you hauled it off to the nearest crypt, where you stored it among the several other occupied caskets lying within.

They followed you in prayer as you uttered a few departing words, knowing that they will either rise again to continue serving the Lamb, or permanently depart from this plane into the afterlife.

Afterwards, Kallamar, Heket, and Shamura were able to go back to sleep in their shared shelter, believing they've learned something of great importance...something that they tried to squander when it was Narinder teaching them.

Death was a subject that once terrified them all, even as semi-immortal gods themselves...so much so they sought to avoid discussions of it except when punishing their followers.

But now?

Now they felt more enlightened than ever.

#clanask #cult of the lamb x reader #cotl x reader #bishop followers #leshy x reader #follower leshy #follower heket #follower kallamar #follower shamura

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

I saw your Kink hc for Jay White so i was wondering if you could make a little fic centered around his Pregnancy kink/ Breeding possibly?

Babies

Summary: Jay Tells Y/n he wants to have children with her

An: I know this is not smut, I felt like writing something a bit different, however expect a spicy Switchblade smut in the future

Main Masterlist Jay White Masterlist

2024 marks a new year in the switchblade calendar. This year I had two goals. The first was to become AEW world champion, and the second was a father. Y/n and I had been together for six years now and married for the past two, I figured now would be a good time to mention that I wanted to start a family with her. The only thing was how, how could I just casually bring up a topic like this? 

I decided that since Y/n and I had a few days off from the constant travel I would surprise her with a homemade candlelight dinner, something we used to do all the time in Japan. As I waited for Y/n’s arrival I set the table, lit some candles and made sure to get a fresh bouquet of flowers to place on the table. “Welcome home honey bee!” I said to Y/n once she walked through the door, greeting her with a kiss. “What is this all about?” she asked “Just a little something something, I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me,” I told her truthfully. I could tell by the look on her face that she knew something was up. Was it that obvious, I mean sure I was sweating and nervous but I didn’t think it was that obvious. The two of us enjoyed our dinner together, moments like this you tend to take for granted, being on the road often can rob you of some of the most simple things like having a sit-down dinner with your wife. I thought about having the baby talk several times throughout our dinner but I was scared it could wreck the evening. I promised myself I would bring it up at some point tonight. 

After dinner and dessert Y/n and I decided to watch a movie. As the two of us cuddled up together on the couch, I tried to build up the confidence to ask the question that had been on my mind for days. I played with Y/n’s hair as her head rested on my chest. My hand found its way to Y/n’s left bicep, my fingers found the small metal bar embedded in her skin. “When are you going to get this thing removed?” I asked her casually “What? Do you mean my birth control implant? I have that due to your massive breeding kink. I don’t need a bunch of mini switchblades running around right now” Y/n said calmly. I felt my stomach drop at her words. “Why?” she asked. I felt my throat dry, I didn’t think of what would happen if she said no. “Uh- no reason” I tried to play it off but I was unsuccessful. “Yes, Jay there has to be a reason. You’ve been acting weird for days? What’s bothering you?” Y/n asked lovingly as she straddled my hips to face me. “It’s nothing really, it was stupid anyway” I tried to turn away but Y/n gently grabbed my face, forcing me to look her in the eye. “No Jay, I’m sure whatever is bothering you isn’t stupid. Even if it was, that's what I’m here for. As your wife, it is my job to listen to all of your ideas, and your problems and help you through it all.” Looking into her eyes I could see the love behind them, her words were true. I knew it was now or never. 

“Well, we have been together for a while now and, um- I wanted to ask you if we could start trying for a family of our own. I want to make babies with you Y/n” She said nothing, she was in disbelief. I was regretting my words, was it too soon? Was I being selfish? I didn’t even take into consideration Y/n’s career, maybe she also wanted to become a champion this year. What if she didn’t want to be pregnant or even have children? I know we joked about having a bunch of kids but saying it for real was scary. I completely forgot how her face would drop every time someone asked us when we would have children, this was always a hard subject. 

“I don’t know what to say” I could see the tears start to form in Y/n’s eyes. I knew I had upset her, nice one Jay. “I’m sorry I upset you honey bee, I know this is a hard topic for you” I told her as I held her close. “It’s not that I don’t want to have babies with you Jay. I do, I really do, I’m just scared. I’m terrified actually. This is a lot to think about, I would have to take time off of work, I would be here alone while you traveled. What about when I go back? How could I balance wrestling 5 days a week with a baby? They would be too small to travel but too small to stay at home.” The truth is I never took into consideration these factors, she had a point. 

“I didn’t think about that. But I’m sure we could figure everything out, we could take turns staying home, we could get one of those fancy live in nannies to take care of the kid.” I don’t think I had ever been so scared in my life. This conversation terrified me, I was more nervous than I was when I main evented the Tokyo Dome. 

“Can I think about it? I mean I really want to have babies with you Jay but this is a big responsibility, we just can’t just make a decision in one day.” She had a point 

“Can we at least practice making one?” 

“Of course my love” 

#bullet clubs bitch #all elite wrestling #aew smut #aew #aew fanfiction #jay white njpw #jay white smut #jay white imagine #jay white fanfic #jay white x reader #jay white #jay white fanfiction #bullet club gold #jay white one shot #jay white aew #Switchblade jay white

[thatguyfromforest]

Hii can u write some headcanons of Satan with MC who is scared of cats,but cats love them. Lowkey self projecting here lmao.

Hi!! You're my first request, thank you so much for the feedback!! I will try to write as good as i can and develop my skill over time!!

—————

Awww, it's cute and sad at the same time :( I never meet people who's scared of cats but i will try my hardest to get it!! 💖

MC who scared of cats

Satan x gn!MC

— MC couldn't call themself a cowardly person. They fell into a real HELL, met with the most powerful demons and the future king of the Devildom himself, were able to become their family therapist and show that they are far from the usual representation of a fragile person.

— But there was one problem...

— One little, fluffy, purring problem...

— MC was terribly scared of cats.

— It has remained since early childhood. Their grandmother had that cat who didn't perceive anyone but herself and was just a living nightmare for the rest of the family. He hissed, scratched, bit, jumped on their heads from the most unexpected places.

— MC even had a small scar when, as a child, this cat attacked them and did not let go for a good three minutes until their grandmother saved them.

— Because of this, MC stopped perceiving absolutely all cats, even if it was the most affectionate and kind cat that the universe has seen. Next to them, they immediately froze and could not move from fear until the fluffy lump was carried away.

— Therefore, when they met Satan, they could not understand his obsession with these creatures. Every time he started talking about them with hearts in his eyes or showing photos of stray cats that he fed, MC just smiled tightly and tried to change this unpleasant topic for them.

— When their relationship began to develop, Satan began to regularly take MC for walks to find and feed new stray cats. And if during these walks the MC could still not come close to them, telling that they did not want to get dirty or leave cat hair on their clothes, but cat cafes were just the last straw for them.

— MC saw how Satan sometimes sulks when they refuse to stroke a small fluffy lump, but he tried not to endure his thoughts without any reason. So boy decided to invite them to the cat cafe :D

— The MC couldn't refuse, not after how Satan looked at them when he begged them to go with him.

— And here we are, the largest cat cafe that exists in the Devildom. And if Satan just radiated joy when he crossed the threshold, then MC tried to collect the remnants of pride in their hands and not spoil his evening.

— At first everything was fine, they sat down and ordered desserts. All the fluffy inhabitants of the cafe did not seem to pay attention to them (which upset Satan), until a white cat with a cute pink nose began to rub against MC's legs.

— Following the first cat, a huge black cat jumped onto MC's lap and began purring even louder than the old motor. The third kitten stood up on its hind legs, leaning on the MC's leg and began to meow loudly.

— Seeing this picture, Satan felt both envy and affection in an instant. On the one hand, he also wanted to get attention from his furry friends. On the other, his two most beloved creatures were now together in front of his eyes and he couldn't have dreamed of more.

— That was until he saw the MC's eyes.

— They sat as still as a statue. Their eyes were wide open, lips compressed, and a drop of sweat slowly trickled down their neck. Satan immediately jumped up, chasing away all the cats except the one sitting on MC's lap.

— "Hey, MC, what happened? You feeling sick?"

"Put it away... Please, put it away..."

"What do you me—"

— At that moment, he saw MC pointing with shaking hands at the little fluffy giant on his lap. Satan immediately picked cat up, carefully laid it on the floor, grabbed MC by the hand and led them out into the fresh air.

— He made sure they caught their breath and could talk.

"MC, you... Scared of cats?"

— MC felt their ears turn red from shame and resentment. They plucked up the courage and told how they had this fear since childhood and they could not be near these little creatures.

— Satan did not interrupt them once during the story, but his eyebrows were frowning more and more. At some point, MC thought he seemed disappointed.

— "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You love them so much... I wanted to spend time with you and just couldn't offend you with my stupid fears..."

"MC, no fear is stupid if it brings discomfort to you. I want you to be open with me and share everything that bothers you. No matter how much I love cats, if you don't like them, we'll find a way to spend time differently, because I also want to be with you as much as I can."

— After that, it became much easier for MC to share his worries and fears with Satan. If he was willing to sacrifice his love for cats for them, then they were ready to open their soul to him.

— However, this does not mean that Satan has lost motivation to change their attitude towards cats. From time to time, he tried to show his furry friends on the streets, telling MC that every cat, like people, has its own character, both nice and nasty.

However, whether the MC's heart melts in relation to cats or not depends only on you :)

—————

Thank you for reading! That's my first request and I'm kinda nervous, so please, support me a little 🙏

Also i hope there are not so many grammar errors, cause I'm not native 😬

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me mc #obey me fluff #obey me satan #obey me satan x mc #om! satan #satan fluff

[vigilskeep]

going to express some loose thoughts abt sebastian vael for a minute, just talking recreationally

sebastian struggles to come to terms with how much he genuinely enjoys the violence that being a da companion typically involves. he loves fighting at hawke’s side. you only have to listen to his combat dialogue to see that; he’s simply having a good time, he’s exhilarated, he’s fiercely proud of his skills and has fun showing them off. (insert obligatory “did you see that shot?!” quote here.) as much as someone like isabela, he’s in it for the adventure and the fight. but neither is he comfortable with all this. his combat dialogue contains both gleeful condemnation of his opponents’ stupidity as he kills them and regretful prayers for their souls. there’s absolutely wildly contrasting stuff in there. his commitment to causes lets him cope with that contrast. after all, surely it’s fine and good to take pleasure in what he does, even if he admits the method is regrettable, so long as the enemy is ultimately at fault and it’s ultimately right. so long as it’s for the chantry, for starkhaven, or for hawke. (the three causes he takes up, which leave him stumbling when they come into conflict and thus lose the clarity they offer.)

i think part of the reason sebastian admires the grey wardens so much is that it’s a cause of (apparent) truly absolute clarity. the grey wardens oppose an enemy inarguable in its evil against which no moral qualm is necessary and no weapon should be held back. by nature, the wardens will go to absolutely any length to stop a blight, and feel it inherently justified. the black and whiteness of that has got to be alluring. like, it’s for similar reasons that sebastian is so drawn to justice/revenge, i think. he loves to have a clear evil to fight against! because it’s freeing, in terms of what he’s allowed to do. it’s especially freeing to be able to believe there’s higher more ultimate causes than his vows to the chantry, causes that will let him do these things he wants to do with no need for the self-directed disgust that the chantry has taught him. he says it’s “[his] right, [his] duty” to bring justice to his family’s killers. his privilege and his obligation; if he can believe that, believe he’s both entitled to this and has no moral choice but to pursue it, then he’s free from his vows

the above is from one of my favourite seb banters and i think it’s so telling and interesting. most of the rest of hawke’s companions are there because they have to be, because they care about hawke, because it’s their job, because they’re marginalised outcasts who desperately need all the allies they can get. sebastian shows up because he wants to be here. he has fun with hawke! it’s exciting! having to deal with everything that goes wrong doesn’t make him afraid or weary or jaded, it puts him directly in front of a problem that he can help hawke directly solve to do visible good. he’s never had so many opportunities to help people! the last thing i want to say here is that sebastian’s desire to do good is disingenuous. i just think that what’s equally drawing him in here is that he gets to do it out in the world, outside of the restrictions of being a chantry brother, and, well, that he gets to do it by shooting people with arrows. playing out the idea that doing good can be simple, a straightforward upfront fight between clear right and clear wrong. that straightforwardness especially enticing when he spends his six years in game so mired in indecision abt his larger moral choices. and you can see, i think, in any version of the last straw, how desperately he wants it to come down to a straightforward fight for a side he can absolutely commit to

this is meandering i’m just chattering in general. as a last point i think it’s fascinating that so much of what sebastian admires is exemplified by, of all people, anders. the grey warden, the cause-driven spirit of justice (conflated with vengeance, the very thing sebastian seeks and struggles with!), and, with his clinic, the person who more than pretty much anyone in kirkwall directly and unquestionably helps people on a day-to-day basis. i often feel like, much like most of sebastian’s party banter in general, his dialogue with anders is a bit flat and very centrally focused on the chantry issue without any room to breathe. there could’ve been more to discuss here and a more complicated relationship if sebastian’s writing wasn’t so rushed. it’s odd that sebastian’s obvious admiration and respect for grey warden hawke siblings has no consideration for anders, or that anders’ clinic and the good that can be done by mages—good that the chantry broadly prevents and would prevent here if it could—never comes up as a topic of discussion in comparison to the charitable works of the chantry that sebastian holds so dearly, or that justice doesn’t have thoughts on the revenge thing, or that sebastian doesn’t care about the blatant andrastian background of the way anders thinks, or that there’s no comparison between their past overnight changes of personality where they abandoned perceived wayward youthful self-centred ways in favour of dedication to an ideal. i just think had there been more development they could be clearly drawn parallels, with even several points of connection, making for perhaps a more compelling conclusion during the last straw

#sebastian vael #long post #anyway i need to go eat something