#AND if you take into account the credits music it just makes it even more !!!!!

[whoreforsexymen]

Strong Drinks & Broken Links 🍺⛓️‍💥 CH. 1

Gray Hair & The Absence of Care

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Pronouns: GN!Reader (for now— please see this post for details)

Rating: SFW, except for strong language and consumption of alcohol (drink responsibly, people). Reader is old enough to drink, despite what Vander thinks.

Word count: 4.7k (the rest are going to be far longer, so be prepared)

Tags: Slowburn, Reader is implied to be 21+ years old, Age Gap, Heavy Use Of Language/Alcohol, Reader might be a little too angsty (I’m sorry), Tense Situations, Vander being the caring mentor type he is but in a poorly thought out way.

Notes: I don't think I've ever posted a fic on this account. So, welcome to my only outlet for the brain rotting obsession I have for this man. ALSO I SWEAR TO GOD NO ONE MENTION ANYTHING ABOUT SEASON 2, OR I'LL FIGHT YOU.

((If any of you want to be added to a tag list for this fic, please lmk!! Ask box is also open for requests/suggestions/comments 🤍 feedback is always appreciated 🤍🤍))

It had been a terrible night so far.

Not only had you been shortchanged more than two-thirds of the agreed-upon pay for a job you’d completed—but that paltry sum had quickly slipped from your grasp entirely, taken by a gang of thugs.

You had to give the undercity credit—it had an uncanny ability to remain a perpetual cesspool. You’d managed to take down two of the muggers, but the third—the one who’d made off with your coin—had slipped away while you were dealing with the others. Just your luck. The payout had been pathetic to begin with, and now you were left with nothing but the bitter taste of failure. It looked like you’d be scraping the dregs of the city to find enough for your next meal, yet again. 

That is, unless you decide to drink your dinner. As well as your sorrows, in the process. The idea struck you as you neared the central bar of the undercity, still sulking as you were making your way back to the shack you called home. The Last Drop. A name that said it all. If there was any place where the undercitizens of Zaun gathered, it was here. No doubt the owner had to be the wealthiest man in the area, though that wasn’t exactly saying much in a place like this. 

You made your decision. A warm meal might be out of reach, but liquor could suffice—if you drank heavily enough, that is. Or at the very least, it might dull the sting of the night’s failures. 

The bar was an eyesore, a hulking building among the rundown structures of The Lanes. A garish neon sign blinked above the entrance, buzzing like an angry fly, casting sickly light on the grime-streaked pavement. Inside, the din of loud music and the clatter of drunken chatter spilled into the street. It was a haven for folks with any background, no matter if they sought business or pleasure within its walls. 

You pushed through the door, noting how no one even bothered to glance your way. That was how you liked it—under the radar, always out of sight, always out of the mind of untrustworthy beings. 

Then again, you didn’t trust anyone anyway.

You duck and weave through the crowd of rowdy patrons, eyes scanning the bar for a table or booth at which you could hunker down and nurse your drink in peace. Your frown deepens beneath the hood of your jacket when you come up empty-handed. Typical. No matter, though. You’d have to order at the bar anyway, regardless of where you sat.

It’s when your eyes settle in the direction of the bar that luck seems to briefly shine upon you—there’s an empty stool. Without hesitation, you make a beeline for it, not wanting some drunken fool to snag it before you could. You practically dive-bomb onto the seat, landing with a small grunt, air knocked from your lungs. After the night you’ve had, this stool feels like an oasis, despite the new absence of oxygen beneath your chest. You settle into it like it’s the only thing left in the world, clutching the seat as if someone might try to commandeer it if you let your guard down low enough.  

The realization dawns on you that, in order to get a drink, you’d have to interact with the bartender. You hold that fact in high regard with contempt. 

Chit-chat? Not tonight– or truthfully any night. You’ve never been crazy about casual conversation. The events of the evening have only soured your mood further, and the last thing you need is some eager bartender trying to make nice. Normally, you’d avoid sitting at the bar for that reason alone, yet here you are.

Thankfully, the bartender pays you no mind, his attention fully set on the patron he’s currently tending to. That is, until said patron leaves and the barman finally turns to you, his new source of focus. 

The sheer momentum with which you rolled your eyes almost knocked you out of your seat. 

“Welcome to The Last Drop. What’ll it be?” His voice is deep, and heavy, garnering a thick accent that clung to every word. 

He’s an older man, though exactly how old is hard for you to pin down. His hair’s gray, his eyes tired, the lines of age having etched themselves into his face long ago. However, there’s something youthful about him—something that makes it hard to tell whether he’s an old-looking thirty or a young-ish fifty. Frankly, you don’t care enough to continue your mental evaluation of him. Age shouldn’t matter when it comes to bartenders. They either know how to pour a decent drink, or they don’t.

You don’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Something strong.” You mutter, your voice mostly flat, but with a hint of irritation that danced along the edge.

The bartender scratches at his graying beard, his gaze thoughtful as he considers your request. You grit your teeth, hoping he won’t try to scam you by giving you something weak and overpriced, just to line his pockets with your hard-earned coin. You’d seen it happen to others, and you’d be a damned fool if you let it happen to you. 

The bartender studies your face, or at least what he can see of it beneath your hood, before his gaze shifts to the shelves beneath the counter. After a moment of deliberation, he selects a bottle with thoughtful ease, pulling the cork out with his teeth. With his free hand, he grabs a tin cup and pours in a copious amount, sliding it toward you with a swift flick of his wrist. You’d almost call it a generous decision on his part, considering the fact that you hadn’t even paid your dues first. His choice to serve you first goes a long way in easing your suspicion, at least for the moment.

You dig into your pocket, retrieving the few gold coins you’d managed to hold onto when dealing with the aforementioned thugs. They weren’t enough for one measly meal, but they were enough for a drink or two– or three, but who’s going to keep track? Certainly anyone but you. You’d only stop once your pitiful wealth ran out. Without a second thought, you toss them onto the bar top, making it unspokenly clear to the bartender that you were hoping for much more than just this one drink. You grab the cup, lifting it to your lips and downing the lot of it in one quick, greedy gulp. The warmth spreads through you almost immediately, and it feels like a small victory over the obnoxious turn your night has taken.

The bartender watches this with a faint chuckle before you slam the empty cup back down onto the counter. He takes it without a word, refills the tiny tin chalice, and begins passing it back. Without missing a beat, you grab the cup from him, draining the contents in a second gulp before he even has time to set the bottle back down. 

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” he remarks casually, his voice low and steady as he finally reunites the bottom of the bottle with the countertop. 

“I’ve seen a lot of things.” you mutter, your eyes fixed on anything but him. The words come out flat, though there’s a weight to them. It’s more than just a refusal to talk—it’s a refusal to let anyone look too closely. You avoid eye contact like the plague. Eyes, after all, are the windows to the soul. And letting someone peer through them is a risky gamble you’ve never been apt to take.

You were clearly beyond uninterested in the beginnings of this conversation. The lack of willingness to be friendly reigning clear as you shove the tin cup towards him yet again. He grabs the empty cup and refills it once more—your third drink in under five minutes. He seems reluctant to hand it back. He maintains a grip on it as he eyes you again, this time much more thoughtful.

“Care to chat about it? Might be healthier than drownin’ yourself at the bottom of a bottle,” he offers plainly.

You give him a sidelong glance, not even trying to mask the edge in your voice. 

“Doesn’t sound like a good business strategy, encouraging your paying customers to cut back.” You fire back quickly, the sharpness of your words outpacing even your annoyance at the unwanted conversation.

The bartender chuckles again, a spark of amusement flickering in his tired eyes. There’s a glimmer of understanding in his smile—maybe he’s seen more than a few like you in this dive. Or maybe, he knows in the same fashion as you, that sometimes it’s more palatable to fill the silence with alcohol than with words.

“Fair point, but I’d prefer to keep my patrons alive. Helps me sleep at night, y’know?” The bartender shoots back, his eyes fixed on you, all too curious about what’s hidden beneath your hood. The conversation quickly turns uncomfortable, a painful reminder of why you’ve never liked bartenders—they always talk too much and ask too many personal questions. As far as you’re concerned, they should stick to the charade for the sake of their regulars, and leave all unsuspecting customers alone. 

The momentum of yet another roll of your eyes causes your head to bob ever so slightly— your hood creeping back towards the line of your hair. The new, incredibly subtle, view of your face made the barman clench the cup in his hands with rigor. 

His eyes narrow slightly, the amusement fading from his voice. 

“Where’re your parents, kid?” He asks, his voice low and in demand of an answer. 

The question hits you like a slap, and for a brief second, you find yourself caught off guard. You’re not someone who’s usually thrown by imbecilic remarks from the residents of The Lanes, but this one? It’s different. Not just the audacity of asking such a personal question, but the clear assumption of your age being made so boldly. 

Your head snaps up, and before you can stop yourself, you push your hood back, breaking your own rule about eye contact. Why? Who knows. Today has already gone off the rails, and you’re too far gone to care. The liquor’s sudden grip on your senses began to cloud your judgment, and honestly, it was far from shocking. To be fair, you had asked for something strong… Not to mention having no substantial food in your belly to dilute the potency you sought after. All in all, there was no ignoring how the liquor was starting to pummel you like a brick to the face would. 

You meet his gaze, eyes scanning his face for any sign of what he’s gunning after by asking such a question. But there’s nothing obvious behind those gloomy eyes of his. No clear motive. You can’t tell if he’s purposefully trying to get under your skin or if he’s just another fool with a quick tongue. 

“Rotting in their graves,” you mutter, voice sharp and, in addition, spiteful. 

“Which I’m sure you’ve got one foot in, yourself, Gramps.” You make a mockery of the decades that are clearly stacked against you, hoping to push him back into his corner.

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he practically snorts, running a hand over his silvery beard as he crosses his arms; resting them across his stomach with the casual authority of someone who’s seen it all. He’s not rattled by your quips—no, not in the slightest. 

“How old are you, kid?” His voice is flat now, a hint of something more serious creeping in, though you can’t figure out why. You’re even more unsure now about his intentions. Constantly expecting the worst from people was your lot in life. 

“Too young for you.” You snap back, pushing forward with your usual sharpness, trying to regain some control over this ridiculous conversation. You reach for the cup he had refilled for you, but before you can even graze it, he snatches it away, clicking his tongue like a disappointed parent.

“Tsk, tsk,” he tuts at you, as if you’ve done something wrong.

“I asked how old you were.” he repeats, his voice now devoid of any amusement. 

He watches you carefully, his gaze inspecting your face as if he’s trying to peel back layers you didn’t even know were there.

You roll your eyes, irritation growing, and narrow them at him, unwilling to back down. You can’t tell if he’s probing for something deeper, or if he’s just getting off on making you uncomfortable. Either way, you’re done playing his game.

“Why are you so curious, huh?” you scoff, leaning in and making a bold decision to double down on your irritation. “I’m just another patron here to drown in my sorrows and drink them away. Not to mention, I’m paying for the privilege.” Your words are bold, and with that same boldness, you reach across the bar and rip the cup from his grasp.

You try to bring the drink to your lips, intent on finishing it off. But just as the cup nears your mouth, the bartender’s large, rough hand slips over the opening of the cup like a solar eclipse. 

He glares down at you, his eyes narrowing as he sizes you up with a look that could strip paint. In that moment, something clicks in his mind. The defiance in your voice, the way you’re carrying yourself—it all reinforces his suspicion. You’re not old enough to be here. When you walked in, your hood had obscured most of your face. But now that it’s gone, he can see it clearly: you’re just a kid, trying to score some alcohol. The only thing that kept him from throwing you out on your ass, was your cadence. You looked young, and spoke carelessly, but you sounded grown. If you were in fact grown, he’d ease up. 

However, with the way you look—bloodied and bruised, no less—he’s convinced you’re in some kind of trouble. The kind of trouble he doesn’t want being drug through his bar. He doesn’t know where you’ve been, who you’ve pissed off, or what kind of people you run with. But this? This is his bar, and he’s fought too hard to maintain the fragile peace that reigns here. He won’t let you ruin that for him and his loyal patrons by dragging your poor choices in with you. 

“Seems I’ve struck a nerve,” he says, his voice no longer playful but flat and serious. “Either tell me your age, or you’re cut off.”

The room seems to hush around you. The muffled chatter of patrons behind you fades as the bartender’s tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. It’s a quiet threat now, the kind that lets you know exactly how much leverage you have—and how little he’s willing to tolerate.

“You didn’t strike shit,” You hiss. “and I don’t need to answer to shit.” You add. 

The bartender bends over the counter, his face inches from yours. The bitter scent of smoke hangs thick on his breath, hot and rancid, and it presses against your skin like a physical weight. The damp air in the bar swirls around you, brushing your cheeks with an uncomfortable warmth that feels suffocating, as if the room itself is closing in.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll have no problem lettin’ my loyal patrons cut your tongue out for us to hang above the bar.” He says fiercely. 

You glance over your shoulder, catching the eyes of the dozens of patrons who have fallen silent, their conversations and business abruptly halted. It’s clear—they’re waiting for a signal, ready to back up their beloved bartender if things escalate.

“You can call off the cavalry, Gramps. I was just leaving,” you retorted, swiping one of your coins from the counter, as if to refund yourself for the drink you’ve yet to have. You release your grip on the cup, almost slingshotting it backwards from the sheer force you two had each been bestowing upon it. 

“Sit down.” the bartender commands, his voice low and final, as you attempt to abscond. 

You don’t reply, instead moving to shoulder through the row of patrons who are standing like silent sentinels, waiting for the slightest nod from their bar’s gatekeeper. It’s not like you expected them to part, but the way not a single person dares budge makes your blood boil. The crowd might as well be a wall of stone. 

“Sit. Down.” the bartender demands again, his tone sharper this time, a razor edge cutting through the haze of the bar.

You grind your teeth, your patience wearing thin.

“I’ll take my patronage elsewhere—”

You don’t even finish your sentence before a hand, seemingly out of nowhere, pushes you roughly back. You stumble, barely managing to stop yourself from falling flat on your ass. The sudden movement sends a rush of heat to your head, the anger spiking through your veins like fire.

You seethed at the touch, the anger burning hot in your chest, every muscle in your body coiled with frustration. But you knew better than to keep pushing your luck. Not today. Not in a situation like this, with dozens of hungry eyes watching, their hands twitching near their weapons of choice, waiting for the slightest excuse to make a move.

Biting back a torrent of curses, you forced yourself to swallow your pride, choosing to stay quiet—at least for now. It wasn’t worth the fight. You could practically feel the heat of their glares digging into your back as you turned on your heel, eyes locking once more with the bartender’s. You reclaimed your seat at the bar with deliberate flair, each movement oozing a sense of defiance and attitude. It was a performance, one you were used to. To you, it felt like you were playing the part of someone tough. But you knew, deep down, that to anyone else—especially the bartender—you probably looked like nothing more than a naive, immature idiot who didn’t know when to shut up. It wasn’t a great look, but at least it kept people from getting too close.

“I’m sat,” you muttered, voice brimming with the remnants of your irritation.

The bartender shook his head slightly, a hint of amusement creeping back into his expression. You could feel the tension in the room dissipate, the energy shifting as the crowd behind you resumed their rowdy conversations. The noise began to swell again, and for a moment, it almost felt like the bar was returning to some semblance of normalcy.

He grabbed a dirty glass from the counter, handling it with practiced ease, and pulled a rag from beneath the bar. As he began polishing the glass, he didn’t so much as glance your way. His focus was on the glass, and for a few moments, it felt like you were nothing more than a background detail to him. You could feel your impatience growing with each passing second. If he had something to say, you wished he’d just say it already. At least that way, you could get out of here—and maybe keep some of your pride intact.

The bartender continued his slow, methodical motions, running the rag around the rim of the glass with an almost exaggerated calmness. He didn’t bother to look up, yet you could feel the weight of his gaze on you through the silence.

“I’m gonna ask you again,” he said, his tone neutral, almost too much. “How old are you?”

You weighed your options. If you didn’t answer, you had no idea what would happen next. If you did answer, you still had no clue. It was a gamble either way.

“(Insert age here),” you muttered, the words slipping out begrudgingly, each one like a weight lifting off your chest.

The bartender scoffed lightly, a soft laugh escaping him that made your skin crawl. Your fingers began tapping impatiently on the bar’s edge, the rhythm a soft counterpoint to the growing tension between you.

“____ years old and still so naive… You really are just a kid, eh?” His words hung in the air, his eyes still locked on the glass in front of him, but you could see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“There are worse things I could be,” you shot back, your voice laced with a mix of defensiveness and defiance.

“S’pose that’s true,” he replied, finishing up his polishing with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. He set the glass down next to the others—clean, polished, and waiting to be used. With a fluid motion, he slung the rag over his shoulder, then placed one hand on his hip and the other on the edge of the counter. He shifted his weight, leaning just slightly into the bar, his posture relaxed yet somehow still imposing.

“But on the other hand,” he said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, “what you already are ain’t too good either.”

It wasn’t a threat—more of an observation, one that hung heavily in the air, like the smoke in the room. You felt the weight of it, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was a warning or just another way to mess with you. Either way, you could tell this conversation wasn’t over.

You could feel the first few bubbles of anger rising in your chest, the heat creeping up your neck as your blood threatened to boil. You’d always been quick to anger—an unfortunate side effect of your temper and stubborn streak. They were the crosses you’d carried for as long as you could remember.

You scoffed again, the sound sharp and biting, as if it were the only defense you had left. You had already rolled your eyes a dozen times tonight, but it felt like you were on the verge of an explosion.

“What’s your goal here, Gramps?” you spat, your voice dripping with sass, every word a little jab. You didn’t care to hide your bitterness. You liked to fight with words just as much as you did with your fists, and the bartender was starting to see that loud and clear.

“You got the answer you were looking for. Whether you believe me or not, you’ve already served me twice. If my age was such a concern to you, you would’ve kicked me out long before I even sat down.” Your words hung in the air once more, and you could see the gears turning behind his eyes, but he didn’t speak.

He just let out a quiet laugh, as if your logic amused him. And he didn’t bother to answer, not even in the slightest.

The silence stretched, thick and tense, and it was clear he wasn’t going to explain himself. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of an explanation. He simply leaned back, eyes flicking over to the rowdy crowd behind you.

It was infuriating.

You stayed silent for a beat, but only because you knew you’d have more to say. And damn right, you did.

“Do you do this with every new customer?” You snapped, your voice rising now, the frustration boiling over. “’Cause if you ask me, I’m not sure how this shithole’s still in business. You discourage your customers from drinking, even though this is a fucking bar, and that’s all people come here to do. You make it impossible to drink peacefully, just like you make it impossible to drink at all!”

The words spilled out like fire, each one more forceful than the last. Your temper was no longer something you were trying to hold back—it was running rampant, and it felt good to let it out, even if it was in the form of a scream. You weren’t about to let this bartender—this stubborn old man—have the upper hand. Not when it felt like he was deliberately pushing your buttons.

“So if it’s alright with you, Gramps, you got your answer, and I don’t owe you shit. I’m leaving.” You actually raise your voice purposefully this time, slamming your hands down onto the counter as you push yourself off of the stool once more. 

The bartender wasn’t fazed by your outburst. In fact, he’d dealt with feistier, louder, and much more difficult people than you—people who could out-shout you or out-punch you if they had to. He wasn’t bothered by your temper. He had raised four kids on his own, after all. He’d learned a thing or two about handling stubborn personalities, whether they were kids or grown adults who carried themselves like children. And you, in his eyes, were just another brat testing his patience.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was steady, calm, and authoritative, with an edge of finality that cut through the noise of the bar.

Before you could react, his hand shot out faster than you expected, grabbing your shoulder with an unexpected gentleness. He tugged you back into the seat with a kind of effortless force that made your breath catch in your throat.

You shot up from the bar stool in a flash, but his hold was stronger than you anticipated.

Instinct kicked in, and your own hand shot out like a snake, grabbing his wrist with a quick, almost violent motion. You shoved it off your shoulder, irritation flaring up like wildfire.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, your chest heaving as you glared up at him, the heat of the moment burning in your eyes.

You huffed, your fists clenching at your sides, teeth grinding. The room seemed to close in around you, but you weren’t backing down—not now, not after all of this. The tension between you and the bartender was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. You could feel the weight of the crowd’s silent attention being drawn to you once more as they waited for your next move, but you weren’t afraid. You didn’t have time to be.

The man let out a heavy sigh, the sound thick with disappointment. 

“Look, kid—”

“By the fucking god’s, I’m not a kid!” you snapped, your eyes flashing a level of ferocity that sliced straight through him.

He pressed his lips into a thin, hard line, his gaze cemented on you still as he took a long, steadying breath. Patience was his virtue, and he was willing to endure this sparring match for as long as it took. 

“It’s clear you’re in some kind of trouble,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Maybe, just maybe, instead of lashing out, you could let someone help—”

You cut him off mid-sentence, your words an unpleasant interruption.

“Help? You want to help? Surely that’s the wrong word. Surely, I heard you wrong, cause, from the way I see it, you’ve done nothing except cage me in here, threaten me, and withhold what I paid for. So if it’s with any consolation, take your ‘help’ and fuck off.” 

Enough was enough. Without another word, you climbed atop the stool, bracing yourself for what came next. You steadied your balance, then launched yourself toward the crowd with calculated precision. The dismount was quick—intentional, forceful. You tucked your legs in, soaring over their heads in a perfect flip, and extended them just before hitting the ground behind them. Without pausing, you bolted for the door, heart pounding in your chest.

To your surprise, you made it—flying through the door and slamming it shut behind you with a satisfying crash. Finally, you were free, never to be seen within a hundred yards of this bar ever again. 

The patrons had made a half-hearted attempt to grab at you as you rushed past, but a sharp, deafening whistle from the bartender stopped them in their strides. He shook his head softly, a silent message that it wasn’t worth the chase. That it was better to let you go. If you were in trouble, it would catch up with you soon enough.

Deep down, the bartender hated seeing someone so young seal their own fate in such a way. But, in the end, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t save them all—no matter how badly he wished he could.

He couldn’t help but wonder— if maybe, just maybe, he’d been a little too assertive, or downright impetuous with you after all.

But it didn’t matter now. You were gone. All he could do was hope you’d survive out on those streets. 

taglist: @blogforhoes @committingcrimes-2047 @dirtandcrime @eternalgoddessofart

[scattered-winter]

are the different instrumentations in both reboot modern warfare themes actively tearing you apart or are you normal

[cerisemerald]

One and only — Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: She has been loving Thomas for a while now, and it is heaving on her the fact she thinks he still is in love with Grace — she needs a confession, a affirmation that she is not just filling in a gap. It comes in a unexpected night, followed by an unusual morning, but everything with Thomas was like that.

MUSIC: One and only by Adele

A/N: this is the second fic I am reposting from my old account (I accidentally deleted it) and it was from one of my celebrations (200 followers I think) that consisted of fanfics inspired by Adele’s songs from the album 21, this one was requested by a dear friend and it is very dear to me!! It happens between s1-s2, Thomas meets (Y/N) after grace leaves. Feedback is always welcomed!

WARNINGS: English is not my first language.

WORD COUNT: 5,477

[MASTERLIST] [MOODBOARD]

(divider credit is for @cafekitsune)

“Thomas,” she calls, staring at his back, but he doesn't answer, he continues to look at the field in front of them instead. “Thomas?”

“Hm?” He still doesn't look at her.

(Y/N) decides to finally walk to him, she does not stop in front of him though, sensing something was wrong and not wanting to disturb or annoy him somehow. She stops right behind Thomas, a step of distance between them, from this close she can see the tension in his shoulders better, and as much as she wishes to touch him and try to tranquillise him, she waits. He doesn't do anything, however, not even looks at her, and she sighs.

She looks at the field, too, trying to understand what is possibly happening in his head. But she has a strong guess, one she does not like at all. (Y/N) hates when Thomas lives more in his past than in his present life, for her, it was his biggest flaw; the way he was constantly living for memories and not for life itself. And she feels that now he is probably thinking about what happened two years ago, Grace.

(Y/N) does not care he is thinking of her, that she can understand, after all he did fall in love with her, it would not be easy, especially for Thomas who protected himself with so many walls, to forget the woman. She doesn't expect him to just stop thinking about Grace overnight, but it did hurt, sometimes, how it felt, as if she was living in the shadows of someone bigger than her. It had been Grace's mistake, but she was the one paying for it, paying for the mistakes of a woman she hadn't even met.

She also knew, of course, that it would take Thomas time to trust again, to open himself like he had before. She knew everything that revolved around a broken heart, she did, but knowing did not make anything easier to deal with. It was still hard to face Tommy and see how, even in his most present moments, a piece of him was lost. Sometimes, she would ask herself why she even stayed, when it seemed like Thomas would never love her the same way. But she did, returned to him every single time, hope, maybe, tying her to him.

“Tom, why’d you bring me here?”

Thomas had showed up in her house last night, surprising (Y/N) in the middle of the week. It was not how their encounters usually went, Thomas would see her mostly on weekends. Sometimes he would spend the night, sleep with her to leave only on Sunday morning, sometimes stay up until four pm, these nights they would dance in her kitchen while drinking whiskey. It was all simple, but what mattered was that they talked, that they would sit down to talk and would sooth each other. Everything between them was simple, even love, when it came to their realisations that they were in love. There hadn't been a confession, not from her nor from him, they had just looked at each other differently, held each other for longer, kissed with more passion than ever, and that was enough to understand.

But yesterday was very different. She could not understand what was happening, neither read it on his face. As soon as she opened the door, he was tense, eyes haunted — not like tiredness from work or exhaustion because of all his problems, but as if he had just heard terrible news and saw his world crumbling. When she greeted him with a kiss, he had not held her waist or face, and had returned the kiss distantly. Still, she breathed and let him in, hoping that she might help somehow. He didn't talk much, short answers only, but it was like he needed the attention, needed her to listen to him, so she did. After sometime, she had run out of ideas to console him and offered for them to share a meal together, and for the first time since they had known each other, he ate something. Almost unnerving, but she was so relieved that she chose to see that as a good sign. After that, Thomas just sat in silence while she cleaned the plates.

When (Y/N) finished, she turned around to see he was sitting still at the table, eyes closed, breathing like he was trying to control himself. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to hold back tears or a scream, whatever it was, it was consuming him, drowning him in anguish. (Y/N) moved slowly, getting closer to him and delicately grabbing his hand. Then she whispered his name like a secret, like she was afraid of being caught saying that, because, in truth, she wasn’t sure if she wanted Tommy to hear it or not.

But Thomas did, and he squeezed her hand like his life depended on it, returning the touch with such a force it took her aback. It was not like he never touched her, or that he didn’t show any sign of affection such as holding her hand, but that touch was different. It was acid, burning (Y/N)'s skin in seconds and leaving a million scars behind. Thomas touched her like she was the only one capable of saving him.

It was scary. It was exhilarating. It was a breath of heaven’s pure oxygen. It was suffocating as the smoke on a fire. And it was only a touch of hand.

But it said so many things, it said that he wanted her there, that he actually needed her there. And she was happy with being wanted, but being needed was something she could not even describe, it was overwhelming. It took (Y/N)’s breath away. It made her forget everything else she needed to do, because Thomas was there, all of him, in her kitchen, holding her hand and asking her to be there for him.

With care, she walked until she was behind him, her arms adjusting perfectly in his neck, allowing his head to find a rest in her belly, it was not often Thomas would let her be the one embracing him. Usually, he would be more vulnerable after they would have an entire night together, and he would lay down between her legs and relax on her chest while she caressed him. (Y/N) started to caress his hair, gently as she could, and she noticed that with time, Thomas was melting to her touch, a small smile grew on her lips, but she kept quiet. It was the first time she felt like she could have every single piece of him with her. He sighed as she took some strands of his face, inclining his head even more.

Thomas opened his eyes suddenly, and because of his moving, they were now staring right at each other. Her heart sank with what she could see, his eyes were dark and tired, hurt. Still, she didn't say anything, knowing it had to be him the one to initiate any type of conversation about what was happening, she only kept caressing his hair. After some seconds, he reached for her left hand and kissed it, making her smile again, he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and she understood that it was his way of saying thank you. And, in a way, showing that he liked being near her like that. Although he seemed more calm, it didn't look like he would talk, and it was obvious how tired he was, so instead of asking anything, (Y/N) offered for them to sleep. He nodded, and they were quick to go to bed, a simple, but genuine kiss as a good night.

In the morning, he had all of a sudden woken her up with kisses on her neck — like last night hadn’t been so different, saying he wanted to take her somewhere. And yet, even though it was his idea to bring her, he hadn’t spoken since they got in here.

“I haven't come here in a long time.” He finally says something, making (Y/N) stare at him again. “My father…” Thomas takes a time to complete his sentence, “my father used to bring us here, sometimes, I hunted with him one day.”

“Hunted what?”

“A deer,” Thomas smirks, finally directing his look at her.

“You still didn’t answer me.” Thomas smirks only grows bigger at her words. “Why did you bring me here, Thomas?”

He keeps staring at her, she can’t tell everything he is thinking, but that he wants to say something and the words are hard to say, she is sure.

“I don’t know.” He confesses, and (Y/N) could have believed it if it wasn't for the hint of doubt in his tone, as if he didn't want to tell all the truth, but at the same time, didn't know all of it too.

She breathes deeply, she is trying really hard to understand him, she has been for quite some time, but he never truly gives her the chance. “It's that so?”

Thomas and her stare at each other for long seconds, it's not a battle this time, it's not her trying to reach him and him running away, (Y/N) feels as if she is already inside, but can't see what it is, and how could she? When he showed nothing before. She is not sure how to navigate this, what to search, what to ask, not this time, and that scares and frustrates her in equal amounts.

Thomas has these eyes that always make her feel naked, confused and alive. He sometimes looks at her like she is precious, like he cannot go a second without touching her, and she believes it, because his eyes are true, raw even. And then, he could look at her the way he is doing now, like she has just stabbed him, as if she has his heart in her hands to do whatever she wanted, and she decided to make him suffer. It wasn’t true, and it wasn’t fair, she didn’t have him like that, so why would he stare at her with all that devotion and agony?

She chuckles, lowly and dryly, and starts to walk, leaving him behind. (Y/N) doesn't know exactly what she is feeling at the moment, but everything is a little too much. She doesn't want to have to guess, it would be nice, for once, if he could finally say it out loud.

Stopping a few steps away from him, she finally takes a better look at everything in front of her, how beautiful that field is, how breathtaking the view of the sky is with no pollution from the city. The sun hadn’t completely risen yet, some shades of purple, pink, and orange decorated the sky. It looks just like a painting, she thinks, and it hurts a bit to realise that it would be a pretty day to feel good, for her and Tommy to be doing something enjoyable.

What bothers most is that it feels like there is just one last wall between them, and she had thought she would finally have him — but it's not simple, it never is. Thomas has to be the one to take that last step, he has to be the one to, at last, face what he is feeling. If she is the one to do it, to once again try to put pieces together to understand him, it will never change, he will only come home broken and expects mending. She wants more than that, she wants genuine words being said, wants to feel more than… a fragment.

She was afraid sometimes, what if the problem was not his past love, but her? Understanding that old feelings were hard to get rid of was easy, but to which point was Thomas protecting himself from any new feelings? Did it ever become a protection against her? (Y/N) would ask herself, what was he so afraid of? Afraid of having feelings for someone again? Or was he just afraid of… her? It scared her that maybe it wasn’t love and it’s disappointments that kept them apart, maybe it was her. And that she couldn’t fix.

She kicks some rocks by her feet and holds back another frustrated sigh, feeling like maybe she wasn't being fair, that her previous insecurities and frustrations might be influencing her. (Y/N) was trying so hard, to be seen, to be heard, to be loved. Because she loved him, honestly and easily, but had she not done this before? Tried to communicate, to understand? With others that now seem pale in comparison with Thomas, but still, love was a complicated thing. For her, it had always been, since the very beginning, since she had known what love was. It was not just Thomas, no, it would be unfair to say it was only him, perhaps she also needed time to deal with what was inside her. Yet she can't help to think it is different with him, there were others before, but he is the one that matters, he is the one she wants close at all times, the one she still stays close to even with all the hurt and words unsaid, waiting, wishing.

It was Tommy, after all, making her heart feel full and empty at the same time, occupying her thoughts, making her feel like things could get better someday.

If she just had the chance to properly talk to him… to cross all the bridges and understand, maybe then a conclusion would be made, one not based on assumptions she could not fully trust.

Nevertheless, here they are, turbulent thoughts clouding each one's mind. The surroundings are beautiful, the wind making leaves float in the air, both of them with their mouths clasped shut and minds running wild.

She can't see it, Thomas thinks, this time she doesn't seem to see the truth in his eyes. He notices the way she is shrinking inside herself, body almost crumbling, and he walks to her, he is tense when he hugs her from behind, arms keeping her in a tight embrace. Thomas knows she is fighting back tears by the way she lets herself go and relaxes her head against his chest as soon as he pulls her in. He can feel the way her body is fighting, half of her not willing to rest completely.

He never truly knows what to say, he did when he was with Grace, or almost always did, a clarity coming to him when he was about to do something stupid. With (Y/N) it is different, he knows how he feels, and she says the right thing, and he lets her read him, and they go on. Sometimes he has to say it, because she is tired, because she needs him to, or simply because he feels the urge to. But now it feels like they have reached a point that if Thomas keeps being silent, things will end.

Still, for a while they just stay in silence. Thomas keeps his touch steady, not entirely conscious that he is drawing patterns on her waist until she lets out a sigh that he recognises quickly by now, contentment, he can feel her relaxing a bit more. His hands wander a bit further, tracing her belly and up her chest, and as he remembers the night they met, his touch becomes heavier. For what felt like an eternity, he had wished to touch her. It was quick, she'd always say, how they met and how they ended up in a private room. She was not aware that for him, it had felt like a long waiting.

A party that he meant to go for business only, not even much interested in said business, at least not enough to try to do it in person, he had sent John to do it, but he got sick. Never before had Thomas been so happy with his brother being ill. Had he never gone to that party, he would not have met her. And it was a truth, even though he did not say it much, but a truth nonetheless, that since they met, she was constantly taking him out of his stupor. Since he had laid his eyes on her, he felt it, hands pulling him up, making him finally blink and wake up.

It was simple between them, it had been since the beginning, he had wanted her and there was no room for questioning if he would follow her, she had corresponded in the same intensity. Slowly their lives came in between, the days apart, the reality of each one, but even then, she only told Thomas she would be waiting, and there was no room for questioning if he would come back.

On the weeks with fewer visits from him, nothing changed, on the weeks he could see her more frequently, everything did.

Although his ghosts still haunted him, it was not the same as before, he could breathe now, push them away easier. But he had never been good with words when it came to this. To confess, he used words to get what he wanted, to conquer, long gone was the time words served as a way to connect and open himself. Grace had started to change that, easily as if she was a childhood love, she had picked up his heart on her hands. Thomas had not expected it, and when it hit him, he realised how truly in love he had been. For once his intuition had left him, after such a long time creating walls upon walls, they crumbled only to have to be raised again. He had also not expected it to change, to meet someone else, and yet, he did.

“What are you thinking?” She asks, head still resting against him.

“You.”

“You are thinking about me?” He can hear the small smile on her lips.

“Yes.”

“What about me?”

“The night we met.”

“Oh.” She chuckles, as if something suddenly made sense to her. “You were so pretty that night.”

Thomas holds back a smile, like he usually does when she says something like this. “I’d say you were more.”

(Y/N) laughs and turns to look at him, distancing herself enough so they could stare, he is relieved to see there are no tears in her eyes. “I was, but it didn’t last long after I met you.”

Her arms find a place on his shoulders as she hugs him, hiding her face on the crock of his neck. She radiates warmth, and Thomas welcomes it eagerly.

“It wasn’t all my fault.” Thomas says, dead serious, because sometimes she seems to forget they burn together, and she laughs again.

He feels when her body changes after a few moments, her breathing getting erratic, he prepares himself.

“Tom?” It's nothing more than a whisper.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been thinking, and…” something in him is begging for him to interrupt her, he knows what is coming, he can feel it. “I think we should, you know, stop seeing each other.”

He stays quiet, his arms never leave her body.

“Why?”

She takes a long time to answer, and Thomas starts to look for words he can say, things he can do to fix whatever needs to be fixed. He knows what it is, but as her silence stretches so much, he wonders if there is something more, if there is more he did and was unaware of it, that isn't hard to imagine. He feels, somehow, the moment she shivers, her arms seem to lose strength, her embrace weakening.

(Y/N) takes a deep breath before speaking,“because… because I feel like I’m Grace’s shadow. I feel like you met me when you were desperately needing someone to replace the emptiness that she left at your heart. It’s not that I’m the same as her, no…” she hides her face even more in his body, “it’s just you wanted someone to make you forget all the pain. And it happened that I was there to be your distraction. And at the beginning, I didn't care. But now, I do.”

She stops, Thomas knows she is fighting back tears, knows that she hates having to say all of this. Then she whispers, “I care because I’m in love with you, and being someone’s shadow for the man I love isn’t my biggest wish.”

What a treacherous path Thomas had walked them into. He could not deny it what he felt in the past was real, what he and Grace had shared was still haunting him, as his deceptions and frustrations always did. He never admitted, but for him, things like that never left his mind, he just pushed them away, kept them hidden. And still, things did not need to be like this, he did not have to act like that. He did… he liked (Y/N), not just that, he loved her even. A small and fragile thing at first, threatening to hurt him, not because it hurt, but because it made him finally move on. But now, a year later, it was not that small any more, he knew what he felt, knew that he searched for her when they were apart. And Thomas had no necessity in comparing what he felt before with what he felt now, he knew it would take time for something like that to happen again — to be true, he had not even thought it would happen again, but it did, it is happening.

Thomas blinks, watching as flowers and leaves were stirred by the wind, a hollow sound surrounding them. There is so much more he probably doesn't know, more things she thinks and has kept to herself.

“You’re not Grace’s shadow.” He says in a whisper, his voice betraying him. It sounds weak, and he wanted to convey how strong his affection is. Nonetheless, he hears her sighing in relief, distancing herself from him a bit, but still not looking at his eyes.

“You love her Tom,” (Y/N) states, “you’re still deeply in love with her and all you lived by her side. If I’m not her shadow, then I’m a mere ghost of what she was.” She raises her eyes to his face, he is already staring, always staring at her.

She looks at him with so much resignation that Thomas is almost convinced he cannot change her mind.

“I’m not angry or mad or upset about this. I’m just sad.” She says it then, voice low, Thomas knows it is because she is holding tears back. “And it doesn’t matter how much I love you, I don’t want to be sad, to feel miserable every time I don’t act like someone I don't even know. I just don’t want that life for me, even if that means losing you.”

He looks away, not being able to stare at her eyes at the moment, not when he doesn't have the right words to say. It was not his intention for it to reach this point, for her to think he wants a copy of Grace. He knows he has to say it, explain himself, but it is like being paralysed. It's the kiss on his cheek that makes him finally blink, it is the way her lips are so delicate against his skin, a goodbye. She leaves his arms, turning around to go back to the car, but he holds her wrist immediately, (Y/N) stops, looking at him with knitted eyebrows.

Thomas takes in all of her at that moment, the determination clear in her eyes, eyes he has grown so accustomed to, that do not search him unless he opens himself, eyes that love him, tender him. Eyes that he cannot forget even when she is not with him. He looks at her lips, lips that have said the words he needed to hear, the ones he did not want to hear, lips that have kissed him with so much passion that he was able to forget the world for some hours. She has, slowly, found a place inside of him, roots with her name overtaking his chest. Her hair flutters around her face, she seems tired, (Y/N) offers no more resistance on her face, only resignation, but she does not pull away either. He engraves every single detail of her in his mind.

The words are not helping him, he cannot think of anything good enough to say, it is like she wiped his mind, leaving nothing but thousands of pictures of her behind. Of every moment she has used her words not to pry him open, but to convince him to do so, every moment she has held him in place instead of insisting on dragging him somewhere else.

It was at the moment, the sun shining brightly, orange light taking over the sky, making her skin seem warm to the touch, that he finally realised. It had always been simple between them, he did not need to complicate it right now, there was no need for elaborate words, only the truth. She wanted something straight-forward, (Y/N) was just asking for it to be real.

“I don’t want her,” Thomas says, words finally appearing. “I don’t want her like I want you. Not any more.”

And it was true, he had loved Grace, had felt something he thought himself incapable of after the war, and yet, it passed. She had betrayed him, and he still felt it then, sometimes still feels it now, but it passed.

She gives a step forward, “but you still love her, right?”

He allows himself to remember Grace's face, her tender touch, it was involuntary, the care that comes with it. But there is also the pang of heartbreak, the understanding and the sense of finality, there is nothing he can do to go back in time, and now, he does not want it any more. He has (Y/N), she mended what was broken. He takes a step towards her as well, hand tightening even more around her wrist, he wants her now more than he ever did.

“Yes.” he admits, because it is also true that (Y/N) can wring secrets from him. “But she’s past.”

“Is she, Tom?” She gives in a deep breath, “if that’s so, you’re a man living your days in the past. You’re always with her, even when you try to be here with me.”

“No.” he denies, low and firm, “It’s not me living in the past, (Y/N).”

“What is it then?”

He wants to say it at that moment, to confess she haunts him, that his past always does — who he was before war, who he became during it. It is a part of him now. But that is not his nature any more, to confess this easily, it takes time, and he has said more today than he ever did before. Instead, he looks at her, knowing that when nothing comes out of his mouth, that it's what denounces him, his eyes.

She reads him again. Thomas knows, he always knows when she understands. Maybe it is the look on her face, he has never been able to identify what it was, but something changed when she could get him.

“I know it ain't easy,” (Y/N) says, getting closer to him, she puts a hand on his face, “it seems to haunt you, Thomas.”

She is close now, enough that he can feel the warmth of her body again. Thomas lets himself relax against her, his hand still on her wrist, he can feel her pulse now, slightly accelerated.

“I feel left out sometimes,” she whispers, “as if she is right behind me, and I am echoing her words, or at least the words you wanted her to say.”

Thomas nods, “you are not like her.”

(Y/N) seems surprised at that, “what was she like?”

But that is too much. “You are different,” he establishes, firm enough for her to understand he does not want to talk about Grace like that. It's easier to just forget, sharing this feels strange, describing how he loved her — because it would not be just an impartial view of how she was. “And your words too, you do not echo her in my mind.”

You fixed it. Erased what hurt was left on the surface.

(Y/N) squint her eyes at him, he lets her stare into his eyes, lets her understand.

“If we…” she cleans her throat, “if you try, could this work?”

He bites his tongue to say that is already working, because yes, for him, it is, but she is opening herself to him and saying she is hurting.

“What do you want?” He asks, instead.

“You.” (Y/N) shrugs, “I know we can't be each other one and only. But it would be good if you opened yourself more, I cannot always read your mind.”

He must've frowned at that, because she immediately completes, “I know it's different for you, how you open up. I sometimes wish for words, it's true, but it is not what you can give me and I know that.” And although she understood it wrong — he was just surprised when she said she could not always read him —, he was happy to hear that.

Thomas puts a hand on her waist, pulling her and closing the distance that was left, he can feel her now, that smell that calms him every time they sleep together, he tightens his grip. There is not a world where he would refuse this, it is surprising, sometimes even slightly scary and annoying, how she managed to awaken him when he fought so much to numb himself. But he always comes back to her, always knocks on her door, because it is stupidity to refuse her, push her away, only a mad man would do that. He consumes her instead, goes to her house, drinks from her lips with such thirst it is as if he is famished, and it is never enough. Whatever she wants, he thinks, whatever she wants to stay.

She is looking at him with an indecipherable expression, but he cares not at the moment, he will have plenty of time to reflect on everything she said today, to understand her even more. Now, he searches for her lips, brushing his own against her, wanting to feel her before making the real move. He is not one for teasing, every time he does this, it is because the waiting feel as good as the actual kiss, the way he can feel her skin shivering, the way she whimpers slightly — because they are the same when it comes to this, she also has an insatiable hunger. They finally kiss, then, desperate to feel each other, it always feels like they are one at this moment, and nothing else matters.

She is the one to break the kiss, only to look at him and whisper, “I love you.”

Before Thomas can think of answering, her lips are crashing against his again, demanding, taking, and he answers it. He almost chuckles when one of her hands find her way to get under his shirt, but his own body leans into it in such a fast manner he knows he would be laughing at himself too.

Since the first time she touched him like this, he knew he had cursed himself. He knew he would be damned, growing hunger for that, fonder for her. She had scared him, and yet, proved herself to be exactly what he needed.

He broke the kiss this time, not being able to contain the smirk when he saw her drunk eyes, even though he was for sure laughing at himself too.

“I love you.”

She melts against him, smiles brightly. He does not know why he waited so long to say it, but he is usually like this, takes too long to say something important.

“You’re not her.” He finds himself saying, surprising the both of them, “you’re not her shadow.”

She nods, Thomas sees her blooming right in front of him. He feels something settling in his chest, his mind getting quieter, a miracle for its own, but even more special when he feels it because of her.

Please. He thinks as he gives a peck on her lips. Don’t ever say you’re a mere ghost, when I love you this much.

The wind was still stirring the flowers and leaves of the field, and the field was still the same, same as the sun shining in the sky. But somehow, everything seemed more right.

[cpvnksabm]

Please stop trying to "fix" RTC's disability rep without doing prior research, especially if you are able-bodied.

I'm not just saying this because, on principle, I think it's important to centre & uplift disabled voices in discussions of disability representation. I'm saying it because in practice, I've noticed that when people take the "canon sucked so I'm just going to change it" approach to Ricky's depiction in RTC, they frequently end up erasing the parts of canon's representation that were valuable and important to me, sometimes doing things that are worse than canon.

It's important for a fandom to be able to recognise canon's flaws, especially in its depictions of serious topics. But I often feel that the discussion of criticising RTC's disability rep is dominated by people who haven't done a lot of research or don't understand the issue.

I've found that most of the things I actually consider objective flaws in RTC's disability representation are incredibly underdiscussed. Instead, criticism tends to focus on a few specific points, most of which are things I don't agree with or things that are just objectively wrong. For example - it was not ableist to remove the scene where Ricky concedes the competition. At all. I could even argue that this was a positive change, but it gets lumped in with the more ableist script changes (the 2022 rewrites removing Ricky's disability) simply because both happened after the most popular proshot was released in 2016.

Another criticism I see frequently is the idea that canon should have named Ricky's specific disability and was bad rep for not doing so. I understand the idea behind this and somewhat agree with it, but I also think it's more complicated than most people give it credit for - Ricky specifically has a rare disease, meaning most of RTC's audience would not be familiar with it, and when the musical was written, the intended "official" watching experience was for people to see it live, in a dark room with their phone turned off. While the majority of the fandom (who got into RTC through bootlegs) would benefit from Ricky's condition having a known name that can be easily googled, I think it makes sense for the the writers to avoid using terms the average audience member wouldn't be familiar with, given they wouldn't be able to Google it unless they remembered it after the show.

This wouldn't be an issue, if not for the fact that fans frequently use "canon wasn't clear enough" as an excuse to erase the things that canon was clear about. There is a big difference between a character having some sort of "blank slate mystery disease", leaving it entirely up to the fandom to decide what disability he has, and a character who is explicitly said to have a rare degenerative disease with a clearly shown set of symptoms, without the exact name of the disease being mentioned.

I think part of the issue here is a lack of awareness. Many people don't understand how one disease would cause both Ricky's inability to speak and his need for mobility aids, and so they assume canon must have just chosen these symptoms at random. And since "choosing symptoms at random" isn't exactly a great approach to disability depiction, these fans then try to "fix" canon by coming up with separate plausible explanations for Ricky's symptoms.

But the fact is that Ricky's symptoms were not chosen at random - they are in line with symptoms that are caused by real-world neuromuscular disorders. This is heavily implied to be the type of disability Ricky has (I've made a post explaining why, check it out on my account if you want).

Seeing erasure of Ricky's disability is always upsetting, but it's even more upsetting when it comes from people who think they are "fixing" canon by removing "unrealistic" depictions of disability. A person being unable to talk and a mobility aid user due to neuromuscular disability is not unrealistic. Just because you aren't already aware of how something can exist, doesn't mean it is unrealistic.

And there are other issues too, such as whether the "feed him through a tube" meant anything with regard to ricky actually having a feeding tube or generally how well canon handled ocean's ableism, where I feel like people are too quick to jump to "I don't know why canon did that, must be bad representation, I'll fix it" without fully understanding the issue. And if you try to "fix" canon without understanding where it went wrong, you might just make it worse.

I just think it's time for everyone to step back a bit and remember that it's okay to not know everything. Ricky is a character with an underrepresented disability, and it makes sense that some things about him might not be things you've seen before or things you understand well. It's okay to be confused. It only becomes a problem when people make assumptions and then spread these assumptions without fact-checking.

It's very easy for misinformation to get spread online. One person makes a claim in a post, and other people just believe it without fact-checking, because they don't see why the OP would lie about it. And often OP isn't lying at all, but they may be misunderstanding something. A lot of the time, complex subjects like disability representation can be accidentally stripped of important nuance in a game of telephone, when a discussion aimed at one group of people gets taken out of context. And the 2017/2018 RTC scripts frequently get lumped in with the ableist post-2022 script, purely because they both come after the most popular version (the 2016 proshot bootleg).

So before you try to "fix" RTC's disability representation, I think it's important to take a step back and think about what you think RTC originally did wrong. What makes you think these parts were wrong? If it's simply because you don't understand it, or because other people have called it bad representation but you don't understand why, it's time to do some more research to figure out how to best fix it. Otherwise, you might do something that is also bad representation, or plain erasure - and you might do this in an attempt to "fix" one of the things that RTC actually did a good job of originally.

My asks are always open if you're interested in hearing one disabled person's perspective on how RTC handled a specific topic. Please do not assume you don't need to ask because you already know what my perspective will be, and please don't feel like you're bothering me by sending an ask. I am much less bothered by good-faith questions than by people speaking over me, even unintentionally, or taking it for granted that i'll agree with their views.

I think getting a disabled perspective is incredibly important if you're planning on changing any aspect of ricky's disabilty in fanworks - there is a fine line between genuinely improving on canon's flawed rep, and just erasing canon's rep (including the good parts) and excusing it with "well it was bad representation anyway". Remember, disability erasure isn't only when a disabled character is made completely abled - it is possible to erase an aspect of ricky's disability even if he is still disabled.

This is a little more blunt than my usual posts, but it is very important. Thank you so much for reading.

[niningtori]

to know him is to love him, and i do | chapter two: he can't keep living like this

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, kang taehyun x you

summary: you love beomgyu more than anything. you just wish he loved you, too. or you finally break up with beomgyu and move on, but as for him? maybe he's starting to realize too little too late.

genre: romance, angst, angst with a happy ending (?)

word count: 2.3k

notes: hello again :) here is chapter two! i'm actually really nervous to post this, so i hope you all like it! check the ending for more notes <3 also, shout out to user woncheecks for being my test audience! anyway, enjoy!

the first time beomgyu realizes just how impactful your absence is, nothing in particular happens. it's a regular tuesday night a week or so after your "breakup" and he's bored out of his mind. he showers, listens to music, texts his friends and makes himself dinner, but something is missing.

as he sits on his couch, he realizes what it is: you. right about now, you should be pestering him to hang out and showing up on his doorstep to watch a movie. he'd roll his eyes at first but eventually relent, as long as he got to pick the movie, of course. he wouldn't say it, but he'd actually enjoy glancing over and seeing your reactions. you were comically expressive and every twist and turn of the plot had your eyes bulging and mouth agape, turning to him for confirmation that he was seeing the same things you were. when you watched inception for the first time it absolutely rocked your world.

he's alone, but he puts on a movie, anyway. every so often, his head turns to the side with the corner of his mouth raised, but you're not there to give a reaction. he should be used to your absence by the third twist, but he still finds himself subconsciously turning to you throughout the rest of the movie. when the credits roll, he's half expecting to hear you chatter on about how crazy it was, but it's silent. the only time that would happen would be when you'd accidentally drift off in spite of how engrossed you were. you'd try to fight it off like a stubborn kid, but would succumb by the final act. he smiles at the memory before shaking his head in disbelief. what's wrong with him?

moments like these plague him more and more frequently, but the most notable one is the night before his first day at a new job. he briefly talks to his friends about his excitement, but he's too embarrassed to divulge just how anxious he is. times like this, he'd come over and complain for however long he needed. you'd sit and nod, asking questions during his pauses to encourage him to continue, always adding appropriate and thoughtful commentary.

his thoughts wander to how you're doing alone. you really love him, it seems, so he can only imagine how you're faring without him. he wishes you hadn't blocked his number so he could at least ask how you are. maybe you'd even tell him you miss him. not for the first time, he begins to wonder if he pushed you too far this time around. you've gotten angry and given him the silent treatment before, sure, but you've never blocked him and you've certainly never done it for so long.

he looks you up on instagram for the first time since your breakup. he's not terribly surprised when he sees he's blocked on there too, but all it takes is a switch to his photography account, which you had forgotten to block, to see what you're up to now.

the first thing he notices is a picture of you sitting outside with an ice cream cone in hand, face flushed and sun encircling you like an angel. your smile is beaming and your eyes are crinkled and he can almost hear your giggle through the screen. the caption reads "ice cream date with my best friend! <3"

he scrambles through his memories to try to remember a time in recent history when you two did something similar, but he comes up blank. what he does recall, though, is you mentioning a new frozen yogurt place you wanted to visit with him for your birthday. he nodded in response but he knew he wouldn't go with you, opting instead to get shitfaced with his friends. in retrospect, maybe you knew it too. he had checked his phone the next morning and saw he had at least half a dozen missed calls and well over a dozen texts from you. when he finally texted you back, you took almost a full 5 hours to respond, which was uncommon. usually, you'd text back within minutes. it occurred to him later on that that was your version of the silent treatment and it amused him that you could only hold out for a few hours. he honestly found it kind of cute.

he remembers what you did for his birthday. how you had secretly invited his friends over to his apartment to surprise him after an especially shitty day at work. he came home to an elaborately decorated apartment and all of his favorite people greeting him. he remembers how happy you looked when he opened up your present to him, which was the guitar he had always secretly wanted but could never quite justify buying for himself. you were so excited, any spectator would think he had gotten you the gift of your dreams and not the other way around. you were practically buzzing with excitement when he pulled you in for a kiss. his friends had whooped at the display of affection and you had felt your cheeks heat up. what did he get you for your birthday again? anything?

he spends days pondering over this and similar circumstances, which eventually turn into weeks upon weeks. what starts as a nagging feeling that he may have gone too far in his neglect for you becomes pure, unadulterated guilt and anxiety. he recalls just how torn up you seemed the last time he saw you. to be honest, at the time, he was mostly just irritated. but he never thought you'd actually leave. all he can see is that awful look on your face when you finally ended everything and all he can remember is the fact that he put it there. he knows in his heart that he has no right to feel this way, but he feels it all the same.

-

you would have never imagined you'd actually like somebody other than beomgyu, but taehyun makes it as easy as possible given the sticky circumstances. you met at a club your best friend dragged you to, both you and taehyun had to remain sober (hello designated drivers) and ended up having a surprisingly engaging conversation amidst the smell of beer, sweat, and sex. after that, the rest is history.

he can tell you've been hurt before, but he gently coaxes you into opening up as you spend more and more time with him. you're afraid of being overbearing and coming across as a lovesick puppy again, but taehyun is gentle and seems to enjoy your attention and affection, even if he's a surface level tsundere. more than that, he actually reciprocates it.

do you still think about beomgyu? of course. do you miss him? well, you'd never admit it to a single soul, but the way you see him in everything has to be an indicator that you do. it's getting better, though. more bearable.

a month or so into your relationship, you post about taehyun for the first time. you don't know why you're so nervous about announcing to the world that you have a boyfriend again, but happiness overwhelms your fear when you're met with nothing but positivity.

-

beomgyu is shellshocked, to put it mildly. the picture of you and your so-called boyfriend is sickly sweet. it's not over the top or anything—just a candid of you in a café holding hands with him while looking over the same menu. the caption is nothing other than a heart and squirrel emoji (why?) and both he and your best friend are tagged. his finger jumps to the boy's profile and he sees the same photo. he scoffs at the cheesiness of it all, but his heart aches at the way all of your friends have commented on the post expressing their happiness for you. they had never approved of him for reasons he's only now beginning to understand.

you always defended him in front of your friends no matter what he did or didn't do. you'd "comfort" him after your friends said something snarky and explain that they just didn't understand him. you'd say that if they knew the real him, they'd see him differently. at the time, he'd scoff and say something along the lines of "i don't need for them to see me differently because i couldn't give less of a fuck about what they think." you'd be hurt, of course you would be, but you'd never say so.

more and more, like an outsider looking in, he can see just how awful he was to you. it's to his horror that he realizes this must be the case for you, too. the chances of you getting back together with him seem slimmer and slimmer, especially now that you've got that pretty boy on your arm. your words echo in his mind as if to haunt him: "what can i do to make you give a fuck about me?" leave, apparently, and don't look back.

he can't keep living like this.

-

a knock on your door is all it takes to ruin your night — you had actually had a really good day up until now. you and taehyun had gone on a breakfast date and napped together until he had to leave in the afternoon, so you're humming now in contentment while applying your nightly skincare, thinking relentlessly about the boy you think you might be starting to love. it feels different from the love you felt for beomgyu, but in a good way. you still think about him and wonder how he's doing, but you always derail that train of thought with a god-given force previously unknown to you. he doesn't care about you, you chant to yourself. it's almost like your daily mantra. in the midst of your thoughts, you hear a knock on the door. you smile widely when you surmise that it's probably taehyun again. you don't realize just how big your grin is until it drops.

standing before you is not your lovely boyfriend, but the man who made you question whether or not you were even lovable in the first place. he has a small smile on his face, and if you were to look a little more carefully, you'd notice that he actually seems a little nervous.

"hi," he says, breaking the silence. his heart was racing a mile a minute. potential scenarios battered his mind the entire way here. what would you do when you saw him? smile? he could handle that. cry? he could also handle that, even if he didn't want to see your tears. what he is not prepared for is the blankness of your features when you ask: "what are you doing here?"

his smile falters almost imperceptibly.

"i, uh. i just wanted to see you." you're merciful enough to give him a nod of encouragement to continue. "a-and i wanted to tell you that i haven't stopped thinking about you for the past few months. and that i think i'm finally ready to be with you," he finishes with a shaky breath.

you're quiet for a moment and squint your eyes as if you're deep in thought.

"but i thought you were dating someone now? your ex?"

"i'm not!" he says almost a little too quickly.

"i heard you were," you counter, not quite believing him. you heard he had been seeing his ex from one of your friends who happened to live in her apartment complex. she had seen his car in the parking lot a few times in the last couple of weeks and had no reason to lie to you.

"w-well, i've seen her a few times, but not seriously. i — to be honest, i was just trying to get over you. but i've finally realized that i can't becau—"

"so, just to make sure i understand, you're not over me so you're seeing her?" his eyes widen in shock before his head hangs in shame as he realizes exactly what he's done and how he must look to you right about now, but you're not finished. "isn't that what you were doing with me?" your voice is low and indifferent, but each word feels tailor-made to slash at his heart. "wow, i guess some things really never change, but don't worry, i'm sure once she moves on you'll finally see the good in her instead of me," you spit out.

"can you listen to me? please?" beomgyu is so ashamed he wants to die. he fumbles for the right words, but when he accidentally makes eye contact with you, they die on his lips. he wishes you would give him time to process what you were saying and mull over what to respond with because you always knew he was bad with words, but he supposes he lost the right to your patience a long time ago.

"you want me to listen to you so you can fuck with my head until the next person rolls around?" the latter words are strangled by the tightness in your throat and he can't help but wince. when he thinks it's over, you continue.

"nobody has ever made me feel as small as you have. i hated myself because of you," your lip trembles and before he can say a word, you're raising your hand to shut the door.

"wait, wait, wait! just let me say this," he pleads as he gently grasps the doorframe. "i... i love you." he almost thinks he hears you gasp, but he's too busy looking into your unreadable eyes to know for sure. he had never said anything like this to you before. you're completely silent for a few moments before breaking the tense atmosphere.

"j-jesus, i mean, i guess i just don't know what to say," you sputter and his eyes alight with what looks suspiciously like hope. "except maybe that... i'm sorry you feel that way?" you finish with a sardonic smile and a roll of your eyes. before he can respond, which he actually intends to do this time around, you slam the door in his face.

notes pt. 2: yeah... sorry ;-; i know this was a lot of background, but i felt it was necessary. also, if you didn't get the memo, there will be a part 3. stay tuned <3

[vodika-vibes]

Can you please do Blue Daisy and Anemone for Crosshair with a Bounty Hunter Reader? I really love your stories, you're doing amazing!

For The Love Of A Sniper

Summary: You're a Bounty Hunter and Crosshair is your partner in every way. And when your family threatens you, Crosshair offers to deal with it.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 1234

Warnings: Crosshair is soft

Prompts: Blue Daisy - Long Term Loyalty, Anemone - Undying Love

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted, I was going to make this a sequel to my recent Crosshair series, but I had a better idea!

When you were a little girl, your parents planned your life almost to the minute. You were ferried from school to dance lessons or music lessons or voice lessons or language lessons. Every second of free time had to be accounted for.

You didn’t have time for friends, and barely had time for family.

Your parents also planned your outfits, frilly dresses in pastel colors and your hair meticulously curled every morning, and then styled with bows and ribbons. And shoes that were so uncomfortable that, on more than one occasion, you considered cutting your toes off so it would hurt less.

Even your schools were devoted to making you the best daughter. High end boarding schools with even more high end finishing classes, with the end goal of sending you to Naboo to attend Theeds Law School.

Perfection was the expectation.

And you were never perfect.

The day that your parents dropped you off at Law School, you dropped out. You managed to get the school to send the refund, nearly 3 million credits total, to your personal bank account, and then you spent a massive chunk of money cutting and dying your hair, and then buying a new wardrobe. 

Within a week of your parents dropping you off on Naboo, you were gone.

That was four years ago. And over the last four years, you’ve made something of a name for yourself as a bounty hunter. You have your own ship, painted vibrant purple and named Spoiler, and you often bounce between cargo delivery and Bounty Hunting, based on what is the most profitable at the time.

Sometimes you do both at the same time, just for funsies.

And you know, because you’ve seen it, your name is plastered on missing persons lists and on bounty boards. Too bad that you don’t look anything like the cherub looking girl on the posters anymore. 

In fact, the only person who might recognize you as the girl in the poster is your boyfriend. And even then, only because you told him. 

Speaking of said boyfriend-

You hang your body armor on the rack in the cargo hold, and climb the stairs to the main part of the ship. You slide open the door to the bedroom, and grin at the man stretched out on the bed. “You ever planning on getting up, handsome?”

Crosshair seems to stretch out even more, and he tucks his arms under his head, his dark eyes locked on your face, “I thought I’d be lazy today,” He drawls, “You could join me.”

You lean against the doorframe, a small smile on your lips. He really is too handsome. Especially lounging in your bed wearing nothing but the dark sweatpants that you bought him. He looks healthy, finally, having put some weight on now that he’s no longer with the Empire.

“See something you like, doll?”

You grin at him, lazy and slow, “I see something that’s mine.” You tease.

Crosshair chuckles and shifts to free one arm, “Come here, princess.” He almost purrs. And, really, how are you expected to deny that request?

You kick your boots off and climb on the bed to drape yourself across his chest. You take a moment to press a light kiss just over his heart, before you slide up to tuck your head against his neck. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm, I did.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder and presses a light kiss to the top of your head, “And then I got an alert-” He uses his free hand to grab the datapad on the side of the bed, “Someone put a flag on all accounts attached to your old name.”

“Another one?” You roll slightly so you’re able to see the screen, and then you sigh, “This is, what, number five? Six?”

“Eight in the last six months.” Crosshair corrects.

“Well, following the money is step one in the ‘how to find someone who doesn’t want to be found’ handbook, I suppose.” You mutter under your breath as you roll again and fold your arms on his chest.

“You would know, wouldn’t you, princess.”

“It’s fine. It’s not like those accounts are attached to my name anymore.” You reply as you look down at his face, “Which is a shame, there’s nearly 3 million credits in that account.”

Crosshair reaches up and slides his fingers across your cheek, “Those credits have so many strings attached, you might as well be a puppet.”

“Mm, don’t I know it.” You lean in and kiss him gently, “Luckily, they won’t find me. And 3 million credits is a lot less than I would pay to never be their perfect little doll ever again.”

His eyes glitter, “Even if they did, if you think I’m giving you up without a fight-”

A soft laugh falls from your lips, “Aww, I knew you loved me.”

His lips curl up into an amused smile, “You’re alright, I suppose.” In spite of his light, teasing, words his hand tightly clutches at your hip. 

You shift and press feather light kisses across his face, “I’m not going anywhere. Not willingly.” You whisper to him.

His grip loosens slightly, “Of course not. You’d never find anyone as good as I am.” His hand slithers up your side to grip the collar of your shirt between two strong fingers, and he pulls you down to crash your lips against his. “We do, however,” He murmurs after a moment, “have to deal with this.”

“Can’t we ignore it?” You whine.

“You know we can’t.” He finally moves his other arm from under his head, and he wraps it tightly around you, “Let me handle it.”

You nervously bite your lower lip, “I don’t know-”

“I’m not going to hand you in,” Crosshair murmurs, as gentle with your anxieties regarding your family as you are with his anxiety about you leaving, “My loyalty is to you. Now and forever.”

You sigh, “I know. I just don’t like you going off on your own.” You kiss him quickly, and then press a longer, slower, kiss against his lips, “I never wanted to demand your loyalty.”

“You never had to.” There’s something soft and vulnerable in his gaze, and you think you love him a little more for it, “You didn’t expect my loyalty like my brothers.” He kisses you just under your eyes, “And you never demanded it like the Empire.” He drags his lips across the bridge of your nose, “You were loyal to me, so I became loyal to you.”

“That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You say warmly.

He rolls his eyes, “Then how’s this? I love you. Forever. Until there’s no more breath in my lungs. Until my heart beats it last.”

You press your forehead against his, “You’re going to make me cry and mess up my make-up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll never say anything so gross ever again.” He jokes. “What do you say, Princess? Trust me to handle this?”

“Deal. You can handle it, and I’ll just…hang out in the ship for you.”

“Deal.” He pulls you back into a deep kiss, “Later though. For now you’re on top of me and won’t stop squirming-” You release a bubbly laugh as he flips the pair of you and pins you to the bed, “Really, you brought this on yourself, princess.”

[mrssabinecallas]

just a pinch.. |H.C|

Pairing: Miguel O’hara / f!ADHD!reader

in which the fearless leader of the spider society has a soft spot for his right hand (wo)man and her silly little habits :,) <3

CW! lowercase intended, headcanon formatting, fluffy fluffy fluff, very VERY broken spanglish (i don’t speak spanish as good as i used to so some phrases will be from google translate </3), some swearing, ADHD reader

NOT PROOFREAD >:D CHAOS

credit to my friend kelley for making that for me :D ^^ let’s pray she doesn’t see this and doesn’t find my tumblr account she would be ashamed of me

miguel has always been nicer to you than everyone else, he doesn’t really know why but he just gravitates towards your energy

your bubbly personality is a very stark contrast to his brooding aura

opposites attract i guess 🤷🏼‍♀️

but when you started to just hang around in his presence more, he picked up on some of the strange things you did…

for one, you literally could not sit still

he thought about webbing you to a chair just to ease his own anxiety by the constant movement

he also noticed you can’t be comfortable in any normal position

you always have to be doing something strange

usually that entails sitting upside down in chairs or with your feet propped up on the wall

constantly fiddling or picking at something

whether it be the necklace around your neck or a loose thread on your suit, something was always being messed with

miguel found all of these.. quirks, for lack of a better word, endearing

it was strange to him

he had been in love before, but he felt he wasn’t capable of love anymore

so when he started falling for you of all people, he was in denial

he just chose to ignore it, but you were like a leach that wouldn’t leave him alone

clingy af fr

one morning he came to get you from your apartment because you weren’t answering calls on your watch

one knock, no answer

second knock, still no answer

he grew increasingly worried about you and just walked right into your quarters

the door was unlocked

*que fight or flight miggy whos prepared to tear apart the house to find you*

only to find you in your bathroom with your headphones on

BLARING music

and taking some sort of medicine

you didn’t even hear miguel come in, so imagine your horror to him just hugging you from behind

��miguel? the fuck?? you scared the shit outta me…”

“¿que estas haciendo mi amor? estaba muy preocupado por ti..” (what are you doing, my love? i was worried sick about you…)

“i’m taking my adderall?”

“what does that do??”

“my adhd meds? keep me from going bonkers,” you couldn’t help but giggle at his face

“you have adhd???” he was completely clueless

“just a pinch” lol

this explained basically all of your strange habits that he came to love

since then, he always made sure to remind you to take your adderall

he could always tell which days you forgot, you become a lot more hyperactive than usual

sorry guys i had no idea how to end this but i haven’t seen any fics with an ADHD reader so i thought i’d contribute 🫶

ADHD PEEPS REPRESENT

love you all, if you enjoyed please show some love, and STAY FUCKING HYDRATED OR ELSE

RAAHHH

[chronicallyqueercoining2]

INTRO POST FOR CHRONICALLYQUEERCOINING

[Pt: intro post for chronicallyqueercoining end pt]

Reblog/like/follow/comment if you wish <33

Promo appreciated :3 /nf

I'm trying to find as many MOGAI community members as possible!!!

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(Pt: Requests I'll do + what is closed end pt)

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I do image descriptions as often as I am able! I try to go back and add them if I didn't!

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Name/Names: Chronic, Luna, Pix, Gem

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Identities: queer, polyam, trans, xenic, lesbian sapphillean, +more

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I do not care if you find me cringe.

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PLEASE do not start discourse on my page, whether that be syscourse or identity discourse or any other sort of discourse. It is draining. I do have my opinions on all of these things, but this blog is not about that.

[acewritesfics]

Change of Plans | TOMMY SHELBY

⚠️ I (@rainydayteacups) NO CREDIT FOR THESE FICS. ALL CREDIT GOES TO ACEY (@dlmlufics). She decided to step down and allowed me to take over this account. We found out we can transfer side blogs between main accounts. So that's how we did it.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Fic Type: Imagines

Request: from @rainydayteacups.

Prompts: romantic dinner, dancing and staying in.  

Warnings: None

Word Count: 840

TOMMY SHELBY MASTERLIST

"Tom?" Y/N says, hoping to find her husband inside his home office but is surprised and a little confused when she doesn't find him in there. He cancelled their valentine's plans when something came up at work. It needed to be sorted out right away, according to him. 

So here she is, alone on what is deemed the most romantic day of the year. The kids are with Polly until tomorrow and Tommy, so she thought, was caught up in work.  

"Maybe I should run myself a bath," she sighs as she leaves the office. 

"Mrs. Shelby," Mary, one of the maids stops her on her way to her and Tommy's bedroom.  

"Hello Mary, I thought I gave you the night off?" she greets the younger woman. 

"You did, Mrs. Shelby," Mary confirms. "I was on my way out when Mr. Shelby asked if I could tell you that he needs to see you in the bedroom," she adds with a blush to her cheeks.  

"Thank you, I was just heading that way now," she thanks her. "Now go and enjoy your night with your husband. I'm positive he has something magical planned for the two of you."  

"You too, Mrs. Shelby," she nods and leaves.  

Y/N continues towards the bedroom and walks inside finding the bedroom empty. Confused, she calls out to her husband once more before noticing the bouquet of her favorite flowers lying on the bed.  

"Walking over to the bed, she picks up the bouquet, smelling the beautiful flowers before picking up the note that sat in front of them.  

"To my beautiful wife, meet me in the dining room. Love, Tommy." She reads the note aloud. 

Deciding to not keep him waiting, even though she's tempted to get back for him cancelling their original plans, she makes her way to the dining room and is pleasantly surprised by what she finds. 

The room is lit with candles, music is playing softly in the background and the table is set with flowers, food, more candles and a bottle of their favorite whiskey. Tommy is standing at the head of the table, in his best suit, a content smile on his lips, his blue eyes vibrant and filled with love for the woman before him. Tommy has never been so grateful for having such a large home and managing to get this done without her suspecting a thing. 

"Oh, Tom," she breathes taking everything in.  

Tommy walks towards her and takes her into his arms with his thumbs stroking her hips. "I felt terrible about cancelling our plans." 

"It's fine, Tommy," she assures him. 

"No, it's not," he sighs. "Today was meant to be about us and I put work first." 

"You're certainly making up for it though," she says having forgave him as soon as she walked into the dining room, seeing the surprise he had for her. She wasn't one for surprises but made an exception for this one. Cupping his face in her hands, she brings him into a kiss. "And I much rather enjoy this than our original plans."  

"This is just the start of it, My Love," Smiling, he places a soft kiss on her lips before leading her over to the table. He pulls out her chair for her and slides it back in after she sits down. 

"I'm getting the full treatment tonight, aren't I?" she teases, grinning from ear to ear, fully enjoying this side of Tommy. It wasn't often they did something like this. Tommy showed his love for her in many ways but doing something this romantic was rare and has been since the war. Moments like this transported her back to how they were before their world was turned upside down by violence, grief and trauma.  

"You deserve it, Love. I promised you the world and I'm giving it to you," he tells her.  

"You are my world, Tommy," she reminds him, "and our children, of course." 

He leans over the table kissing her again. "I love you, Mrs. Shelby." 

"I love you too, Mr. Shelby," she replies, returning his kiss. 

After eating and a couple of glasses of whiskey, Tommy stands up and makes his way into the living area, turns the music up and returns to his wife, holding his hand out towards her. "May I have this dance, Mrs. Shelby?"  

"You may, Mr. Shelby," she says placing her hand in his. 

He helps her stand and leads her into the living area. Turning to face her, his arm slips around her waist as he pulls her close, his hand taking hold of hers as her free hand rests on his shoulder as they begin swaying to the music.  

"Polly won't be dropping the children off until the late afternoon and I've told the others that if anything comes up, they are to deal with it themselves," he tells her, once again surprising her. "Tomorrow, I'm all yours." 

"All mine?" she says making sure she heard him right.  

"All yours," he smiles kissing her. 

CREDIT: Razorblade and dots dividers made by me. Peaky Blinders divider made by @/firefly-graphics. Support divider made by @/cafekitsune.

TAGGED: @forgottenpeakywriter | @rainydayteacups | @bernelflo

[neoarchipelago]

Madripoor High (Part 1)

A/N: ok so hum... First part of something new... I have no idea for a title so please throw some ideas in the comments... Yes i have added a little hint of marvel but it is not in the marvel universe! I just love Madripoor. I kinda have the tittle 'Madripoor High' in mind but I'm not sure... Don't even know if I'll keep this going just... Let me know in the comments. Also edited this on my phone... Kinda sucky, I'll put it back correctly if I do keep it going.

Warnings: sexual talk, weapons etc.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Cars passing by and people walking to their destinations. The busy city boomed around you, muffled by the headphones on your head. Your music blocked the chaos of London. You enjoyed London. You found it beautiful. Amongst all the countries you've been to… and that list was quite long, you enjoyed the weather. Exactly. The gloomy, rainy weather. The black umbrella shielding you from the crystal droplets as you walked to a small cafe. You were greeted as you entered, dropping your shield at the entrance before taking place at a table in a corner far from others.

Your coat was removed, your backpack opened to free your laptop. The nice waitress walked to you after several minutes, asking for your order.

"I'd like a hazelnut cappuccino and… the crumble please" you answered with a smile.

As she walked away you looked around, the almost empty cafe was quiet, the few people chatting or working. You smirked, turning to your laptop you went to check for your payment. You smiled as you watched the enormous figure in your credit account. Yes. Credit. Because in the underground, money is important, but credits… Those are so much more valuable. The Madripoor currency.

Sighing, you let yourself lean back on the sofa chair, crossing your arms. You were proud. After everything you've gone through, you have managed to become one of the most prized citizens of Madripoor. The hard work you've put in has paid off, the contracts have piled up, the price tag always climbing up. Your speciality? Tracking. To get into details, it was hacking. Now you mostly used it to track down targets for big mean people who always have something against another big mean one. You were good. You were the fucking best. So yes. You were proud, even if you had no one to be proud of you.

Cup placed in front of you, you were taken out of your daydream. You smiled up, thanking the waitress, closing your laptop and pushing it to the side to bring your little treats closer to you. Contract over, now you were free until you accepted the next one. It would fall quite fast, yes, but you thought you might get some rest. Go back to Madripoor, to Hightown, and rest.

You took a bite of the crumble, feeling the sweetness of it making you relax. You thought you might go shopping once you'd got back. Maybe you'd stay in and play, watch some movies. Maybe you'd go to Downtown…

A soft buzz captured your attention. You grabbed your phone, looking at the screen. Someone was calling. No one called. Very few… barely anyone had this number. It was used for emergencies only and it had been a year and half since it rang. You frowned. It foreshadowed something entirely different than a break. You sighed. Curiosity eating at you. Before it was too late you answered.

"Hello?"

"Tracker."

You frowned. A woman's voice. A woman who knew your screen name. Only people from Madripoor knew it. Or people extremely close to Madripoor.

"Be quick." You said.

"You were never patient muñeca."

Muñeca. Doll. In Spanish. You sighed, closing your eyes.

"Valeria, you fucking bitch, I thought you were in jail."

"I was. I got out. Then that cabron de Alejandro trapped me."

You smirked. Alejandro. You haven't met the man, but by the amount of times she had complained about him, it's like you knew him already. A little voice was heard behind her, notifying you that she wasn't alone in that call.

"Where are you calling me from?"

"A military base. I need your help."

"No."

"You didn't listen."

"Go on I'm listening."

"We need help to find-"

"No."

She sighed. Helping her? It was already risky. You could. You could get her out and free her but she'd get herself into trouble again. Helping the military? You? Tangled in the deepest roots of criminality? It was the stupidest thing to ask of you.

"Come on. You love a challenge. And I have one just for you."

"It doesn't matter if I love a challenge. You're on high speaker aren't you?"

"Well-"

"Of course you are. They wouldn't let you call anyone without supervision. They know who I am? They know what I do?"

"They do." She said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"So what's going to happen? I help and then what? They got pretty little pink handcuffs for me?"

"Well you can ask the skull face to put them on. Or the ADHD Scot." She answered even more amusedly.

"Valeria… what?" You asked confused.

"Come on. It'll be very interesting. I know you're curious. And this… is like tracking a sin cara."

"A no face?"

Damn. She might succeed to make you interested. But she might be bluffing as well.

"Yes. We need to find Echo."

"Echo? The scientist working for various cartel's and Mafia bosses? The man that no one has ever met or even seen?" You asked, irony dripping from your tongue.

"Are you skeptical?"

"Echo doesn't exist. It's a stupid invention from some idiots to sell products at a higher price. You're wasting my time. Goodbye and good luck Valeria" You rolled your eyes.

"I have proof."

You froze. Proof? Now curiosity prickled your skin. What kind of proof? How did they get it?

"Hello?"

"Shut up. I'm thinking."

She chuckled on the other side.

"We've heard that your work is based on contracts. We'd like to offer you a contract." A voice rang.

The raspy voice was soft but commanding. A man, probably in his 40's. He sounded calm, determined.

"And who might you be?" You asked, taking a sip of your cappuccino who was growing cold.

"I'm Captain John Price."

A captain. Fair enough.

"What kind of contract?"

"You help us, we find Echo, we neutralize him and get Intel. You get immunity on this mission and after your part is done, you have 24 hours to vanish."

You thought about the question. Finding Echo. Might be the golden contract for you. Not that you needed it. But this… this was a challenge. Not the boring easy tracks that you had to do. You knew how even the high table of Madripoor was starting to get annoyed about this intriguing character. Countering rules in Hightown and Downtown. This might be an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. You looked around you, at the calm cafe. Fuck… you might not get that break after all. You closed your eyes, preparing yourself to accept a deal you might regret.

"48 hours. Full immunity from the moment I step into your base until the end of the contract. I do things my way. You get your guy, your Intel. That's it. I'm not getting in the middle of the cartel's and other big brainless gorillas." You stated.

"Fine." You heard after a few pending seconds.

"Alright. I'll think about it." You finished.

"Didn't you just agree?" Another voice rang.

This time it was more… alive. The Scottish accent meant it was one of the men Valeria had mentioned.

"I'll agree when you'll receive the contract. I have to check something before I agree. I'll contact you and travel to you. Don't worry, you'll get an answer in the next few hours." You explained, opening your laptop.

"Should we send you a location? An email?" Another voice again. British accent but cute voice.

"No. I know where you are. I know how to contact you. I'll do so when the time's come."

"How?" The Scottish voice echoed in your ear.

"Oh… she'll have no problem with it." Valeria answered.

"See you soon." You concluded, hanging up.

Entering the base was easy. The new recruits keeping the gates were easily distracted. You infiltrated the base, making sure to deviate the cameras and stealing a 'visitor' badge.

You walked around, white wool shirt, black shorts with tights. Thigh high socks over your tights and comfy running shoes. Your black backpack and phone in hand. Sometimes, the best way to hide is to get attention… especially from men. You'd feel the looks, the way they were directed to your thick thighs, or neck, in plain view as you had pulled your hair back.

You were chubby, not exactly thin, tummy showing and chubby cheeks. At least, that was what was usually romanticized, the thighs, ass and boobs being overly sexualized. You wanted to roll your eyes. But eventually sometimes, men or women easily fall for it.

You took your time to walk around, discovering the grounds, the badge often being watched by what seemed to be higher ups. You'd fain innocence and bat your lashes when getting caught in places you shouldn't be, before letting them turn their backs and walking straight to where you wanted to. You weren't exactly wanting to be hidden right now. You were good at it. Hiding. But right now you wanted to explore.

The contract had been sent, signed and sent. You had gotten a chance to engage with the high table who agreed to such a contract. You didn't really need their approval. But you didn't want your place in Madripoor to be compromised by working with 'the good guys'. Not only did the high table saw no problem in it but they greatly appreciated you going after Echo. You were right, the character was definitely getting on their nerves, the echoes of him creating some ruckus in downtown.

You walked around a huge warehouse, military gear sprawled around. Most were used for training. You heard some noise not too far, deciding to hide behind big wooden shipping boxes. Voices echoed through the big place. You tried not to look too much. If you can see them, they can see you. You'd rather use your other senses to localize them. You only took one glance at two men standing back to you near a table full of items. One was overly talking while the other one rummaged through what seemed to be his gear bag. The man talking had a mohawk. It made you smile. The other one… was obviously wearing something over his head, but with their backs turned to you, you couldn't make out any more details.

The light reflected into the shinny blade of a combat knife. You blinked, almost hypnotized by it. You wanted it. The two men walked away, still babbling. You waited a few minutes before stepping out of your hiding place, going straight for the bag. You opened it, looking through the different things, looking for the pretty black mat combat knife. You almost jumped in place when you found it, taking the thingy with you before skipping back to your little exploration. This time, in a much more concealed way.

You watched, you spied. You wanted to understand how the base worked before letting yourself meet your contractors. Above the training ground, higher up in some kind of level that was used to put away all the training mats and other training things. It was the perfect spot to look over the training grounds, inside of the warehouse. You watched the men fight each other. It was almost entertaining. Your eyes caught the mohawk boy again, teasing another man. The boy with a cap seemed to joyfully indulge in whatever he was saying.

They looked next to them, a big figure stepping into view. You frowned. The man's face was veiled with a mask, a skull… it wasn't printed. Was it a real skull? You put two and two together, now realizing this was the owner of the combat knife. You chuckled to yourself. As he stopped into the training ring, young recruits palling, your interest peaked.

Thirsty minutes passed by in a flash. You watched in amusement and almost in awe how the mountain of a man threw around the soldiers. He was strong. Fast. You could hear him scold every wrong move of the poor soldiers who faced him. He seemed to look around swiftly every time he had a break.

You stretched, feeling your limbs getting sore from sitting here watching the show. You blinked, watching down again, telling yourself that you should get going.

Eyes. Dark eyes. Looking straight at you. Your breath caught in your throat, a cold wave running through you. His gaze was cold looking up through the mask. You immediately rushed back behind something to hide. How? How?! You wore nothing shiny. You made sure that nothing could reflect light. You were hiding perfectly. How?!

You wanted to take another glance but it was too dangerous. You decided to get moving, your position now compromised. You hopped around to reach ground level. You skipped your way into an empty part of the warehouse. You remained as silent as possible, making sure that even your steps were inaudible. After twenty long minutes you allowed yourself to breathe. Maybe he hadn't seen you in the darkness and you were fine. It had been three hours that you were on base, and you were getting slightly hungry. Perhaps you'd get a snack before finally meeting the contractors.

You looked around, trying to figure which way out could lead you to a building where there was food. The empty warehouse only seemed to echo the voices of soldiers outside, barely audible and muffled. You grabbed your phone, walking towards a back door. Maybe you'd get off base to eat and then come back. You were craving pizza, perhaps-

You slammed against a wall. Not exactly a wall. A wall of a man. You looked up. Eyes falling into a skull mask. Shit. Something told you. That playing innocent. Batting your lashes, won't help with this one. You took a step back, his brows furrowing. You both froze for a split second, tension giving you goosebumps before you reacted the only way your brain could at the moment. You ran.

Throughout the warehouse, jumping over gear, boxes and other stuff that you didn't mind to look at. Why were you running? You were supposed to have immunity. But he didn't know who you were. Not yet. The sound of his heavy boots was the only thing you could hear. Shit the man was swift. He was fast and nimble. You parkoured your way to the back door, almost reaching it until you were tackled against a wall. The shock made you wince, cursing out. You were stuck. Stuck in between a wall, and a strong body. Unfortunately you had both run to a dark corner of the warehouse. You could barely see his eyes in the darkness. You were panting.

He shared your gaze. Eyes never leaving yours. The darkness of them made you shiver. It was odd. That tingly feeling all over you. You barely realized how your wrists were pinned above your head, in his large hand. Didn't even notice his other hand… around your throat. He wasn't applying pressure. He was securing you in place, warning you. You were trapped. You have been trapped very often at the beginning of your… career. However, it had never made you feel like this. Small. Hunted. Like a prey under the claws of a predator. There was no ego, no dumb boy trying to prove something. He had chased you down on instinct, caught you in a primal way. Honestly. It was hot. Thrilling.

"Who are you?" His deep voice said.

Shit… even his voice was hot. Putting your new kink aside, you frowned, gaining back some composure.

"Santa Claus." You let out ironically.

The hand around your throat squeezed menacingly. You gasped. He remained silent awaiting your new answer.

"I.. I'm a visitor." You tried, maybe the innocent act would work.

He pulled on your wrists, having you on your toes now. A last warning.

"T..tracker…" you mumbled.

He seemed in thought for a few seconds before releasing the pressure on your neck and wrists, but keeping them in his hold.

"How did you get in?" He questioned.

Ah yes… the usual interrogation.

"The young boys at the entrance are easily distracted…" you mumbled again.

You weren't pissed. You weren't exactly pouting… maybe a bit. You weren't expecting to be caught, or to be put in your place. You weren't expecting to be under someone's hold like this. You looked away.

"You armed?" He asked.

"I have my phone. It's the only weapon I need." You said, keeping the combat knife a little secret. Mostly because you wanted to keep it and he won't let you. He straightened himself, towering over you.

"I'm going to let you go. You better behave." He warned.

God.. you wanted to brat. You wanted to anger him and test him. You rolled your eyes at him, as the hand holding your wrists released. However the other remained on your throat. You frowned looking up at him, as your hands wrapped around his wrist. He stepped closer to you, eyes never leaving yours. Now what was he doing? He said he was letting you go…

Eyes widening, you felt the other hand roam your waist. You tried to push him away but he squeezed at your throat keeping you in place, your hands flying to his chest to fist in shirt. The hand traveled to your sides, down your back, then back to your side to finally reach your thighs.

"S..stop!" You let out, blushing.

"Breathe… I'm checking for weapons." He said in a chuckle.

He frowned, his hand meeting the handle of… shit. The combat knife was tucked into the back of your shorts, hidden by your shirt. You closed your eyes as he pulled it out.

"No weapons huh? You're already-" he stopped looking at the handle. "That's my fucking knife. You stole it?"

"I borrowed it. Sharing is caring right? We're on the same team…" you answered with a smile.

He put away his knife before spinning you around, bringing your back to his chest. How the hell did he move so fast?! How did he manage to pin your wrists behind you… and HANDCUFF YOU?

"Hey! Where's my immunity?" You complained.

"I'm not arresting you."

"You're handcuffing me to satisfy a kink?" You teased him in a bitter tone.

"I'm keeping you from stealing again. And I'm taking you to Price."

"Who?"

No answer, he simply pulled you forward, holding your wrists behind your back. Well. Wasn't this the perfect start to a contract?

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 11: Jeff

Word Count: 620/Rating: T/Pairing: none/CW: older Corroded Coffin, takes place in 2024, all of the guys are idiots/Tags: Jeff, Eddie Munson, Gareth, Grant, TikTok, modern!Corroded Coffin

Divider credit to @silkholland

Jeff has always been the brains of Corroded Coffin. He was the one who ensured the lighting was set before their performances at The Hideout back in high school. If an amp is faulty, he can fix it without batting an eye. Even in his middle school years, he was a proud member of the AV Club. 

But this?

Jeff squints at the phone screen, trying to navigate the For You page. He’s not exactly sure who ‘you’ is, because none of these videos seem remotely interesting to him. 

“What exactly am I doing here?”

“I dunno,” Eddie shrugs, scratching at the gray stubble on his cheek as he peers over Jeff’s shoulder. “Robin just said we need to make an account and to ‘connect with our younger fans.’”

Gareth has his own phone out to read off an article. “Says here that to create videos on TikTok, you press the little plus sign. Then you can add filters—”

“Filters?” Eddie’s brows furrow in confusion. 

“Smooths out wrinkles, hides zits, brightens your eyes.” Jeff fills him in, still focused on the app. “Okay, now what?”

Gareth scrolls a little more. “Music. You click ‘add sound’ and then choose the song you want.”

“Ooh, how about the one that goes ‘I’m working late, ‘cuz I’m a singer’?” Grant offers, singing in an awful falsetto. 

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Or we could…I dunno…use a Corroded Coffin song?” He taps the search box and types in the band’s name. “Hell and Back is our most popular on here, apparently.”

“How?” Eddie plucks the phone from Jeff’s grasp. “We haven’t even used this app before.”

“But our songs are on here,” Jeff explains, conjuring up all of his remaining patience. “And people use those with their videos.”

The other three band members nod, but Jeff’s willing to bet that none of them have any clue what’s going on. He takes the phone back from Eddie, selects the song, and turns to Gareth. “What’s next?”

“Hold down the red circle to record.” Gareth looks around at his bandmates. “Any ideas about what we wanna do first?”

The room plunges into silence until Eddie speaks up. “This isn’t the nudie website, right?”

Grant snorts. “No, that’s OnlyFans.”

“That was a quick answer, Granty-Boy. A little too quick.”

“Beavis! Butthead!” Jeff snaps, effectively shutting them up. “Robin’s email said we should just introduce ourselves and say that we’re excited to be on TikTok.”

He aims the camera at Eddie first. “Go ahead and say your name.”

“Eddie.”

“Christ on a cracker.” He massages the bridge of his nose. “Try actually greeting people. Like, ‘hey, I’m Eddie.’”

“Coulda just said that,” Eddie grumbles, but he looks into the camera and repeats what Jeff said. The rest of the band follows suit as Jeff directs them.  

When it’s Jeff’s turn, he smiles and turns the camera on himself. “I’m Jeff. Welcome to Corroded Coffin’s TikTok!” He moves his finger off of the record button. “All right, let’s see what we got.”

“Go ahead and say your name.”

“Eddie.”

“Christ on a cracker. Try actually greeting people. Like, ‘hey, I’m Eddie.’”

“Coulda just said that. Okay, hey, I’m Eddie.”

“Great. Okay, now Grant.”

“I’m Grant. Super excited to finally be on OnlyFans.”

“Grant!”

“Sorry, I mean TikTok.”

“Gare?”

“Hi, I’m Gareth. I like long walks on the beach, outdoor concerts—”

“This isn’t your personal dating profile.”

“Just making conversation.”

“You’re all hopeless. Anyway. I’m Jeff. Welcome to Corroded Coffin’s TikTok!”

Jeff glances up from the video, cringing as it starts playing on a loop. Whatever Robin had in mind for this social media endeavor, it probably wasn’t this. 

“Hey, Gareth?”

“Ya?”

“Can you Google how to edit videos on TikTok?”

--

[kvtnisseverdeen]

This is my humble take…

Joe Alwyn was Taylor’s best boyfriend. She knows this and her fans know this. But he demands actual work and accountability. Taylor is a white rich conservative girl first and foremost. And she’s very narcissist. Joe is the first boyfriend of hers to put actually limits on how her public personal affects him and their relationship. And she liked dating him at first because he was private and reserved and she was desperately trying to scape the industry and she found the most non-industry British man ever. She liked that security and knowing he didn’t attract that much attention. Then, she slowly gained her reputation back on track and realized that she could finally go back to being the person that plays for the media again. And yes, maybe her relationship with Joe was slowly fading — it happens a lot. But she clearly says in her lyrics that wanting to be shown off in public is one of the reasons too. Because she likes that every relationship she’s in gets consumed by her fans and the media.

And Joe Alwyn required her to go and do some work on herself! He comes from a very activist family. He was the one that made her be more open about social activism. It was because of him that she tried to do the bare minimum like encouraging during elections, have more racially diverse people on her music videos and tours, and do a very cringey job at supporting lgbt rights. But it was at least something…

Isn’t funny that the moment they broke up she went back to being very problematic? The climate terrorist that she’s been for the pass year and then wanting to sue people for spreading her private flights information (knowing this is public information). Then dating that racist man that mocked woman of color and admitted to watch what he did, being quiet about the war that’s going on, and the lame and immature issue she created over some of Olivia Rodrigo’s songs (a literal new artist and teenager at the time) to the point she cut total ties with her and her next man being a very typical conservative macho man that seems to love the attention just like her. She’s back at being who she’s always been…

“Your integrity makes me feel small” Yes, Taylor, indeed. I am glad you know this too.

oh you absolutely have said it all. this is extremely well said and on point.

i find it so odd that most swifties can't pinpoint that the real issue between joe and taylor was taylor once again giving into the industry and being a rich white capitalist which is something joe is not and does not want to be, and most likely caused the demise of their relationship. taylor herself has said this in her songs (like the lyrics in peace, as you said). so yeah, maybe she wanted marriage but joe probably wasn't comfortable marrying someone who had completely different morals than him which is his right. let's be real here.

and oh the relationship between her and travis probably set her "redemption arc" far back than ever. she really was finally speaking up on so many matters and now she's dating a problematic trump supporter, giving into the media frenzy with the NFL, and has done no activism despite having the biggest platform. i think what sucked the most was her being times person of the year and using it to talk about travis and how she wasted 6 years of her life being private. so disappointing. and the cherry on top are some of the lyrics from ttpd (ex. 1830s racism lyric) like WHAT?

another thing swifties misinterpret is that no one would've known joe if it wasn't for taylor and that he's living off of his songwriting credits from folklore/evermore. joe who is notoriously low-key and has stated he just wants to be seen as human never used taylor for clout and has avoided saying her name in interviews, even after the break-up. not because he didn't love her, but because he did not want to feed into the media frenzy. and if all eyes are on him, he's using it to make a statement about palestine which is amazing. sure, you may not have known joe alwyn if it wasn't for taylor but he never used taylor's fame to make him more famous. and might i argue, it was taylor who despite releasing positive songs about him sometimes didn't defend him (like in the folklore sessions where jack antonoff was obviously being rude to him? or how she told her fans not to go after john mayor releasing speak now tv but didn't say anything for joe when her fans have been harassing him like crazy?)

on the other hand, we have travis kelce who has most definitely brought her up in every capacity like on his brothers podcast and let's be real, most of the swifties didn't know who travis was (i didn't!) unless they were football fans. we saw proof of that when NFL sales and viewership was significantly higher. so yes, travis is using her name for clout and feeding into the media frenzy. and then you have swifties saying he loves her and supports which yes, can be true, but you cannot deny that taylor and travis' relationship fed the media, fed the NFL, and diverted attention from more important issues like gaza. and while taylor and travis had their eyes on them, they didn't use it to do any good.

so yes, you are right. joe was taylor's best boyfriend.

[gaarasfiance]

Cardigan

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem Reader (version of jason isn’t mentioned but i wrote it with his original storyline death from Batman: A Death In The Family, not a later, retconned version)

Warnings: angst but also fluff, reader is a famous singer, use of Y/N, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, lmk if i missed any), swearing, makes references to other songs (Lover by Taylor Swift, Lucky People by Waterparks, and Favorite Record by Fall Out Boy), i reread this like 8 times but i couldve missed things so don't flame me if theres any fuck ups in there lmao

Word Count: 4,175

A/N: (yes i know cardigan is part of the teenage love triangle songs, yes i made it into somewhat fluff because i fucking wanted to, whats it to you? I was just listening to cardigan (by taylor swift if you were unaware) in the shower and had this beautiful idea of like what if rather than it being about getting cheated on, i make it about the reader experiencing Jason’s death (and resurrection)? also i color coded the dialogue which is something i normally don't do soooo fun little touch i guess.) (originally posted may 22, 2023 on an alternate account)

IMPORTANT NOTE: Italics mean it’s a flashback, bold and bigger means it's a song lyric, regular text means it's happening in real time. (with very obvious exceptions) Cool? Cool. also, real quick, THE FLASHBACKS ARE NOT IN PERFECT CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER!!!!

“HELLO GOTHAM CITY!” The crowd roared in excitement. Y/N was excited too, it was her first show in Gotham in a long time. This was her first tour in a long time. Of course, she let the public think that it was just because she was a teenager focusing on school, not because when she was 16 her first love the love of her life had been brutally murdered…

“It’s really nice to be playing a hometown show, and since this is my first one in forever, how about I play you something brand new?” Screams erupted in the audience, people pulling out their phones to get the first recording of a brand new song. 

“This one means a lot to me, it’s about someone very special to me, and how he came back to me when I needed him most. This is a quieter one so I'm gonna need you all to listen, and please don’t judge me if I cry during this. Alright, this one’s called ‘cardigan’ everybody!” 

Rows and rows of people buzzed with excitement as the music began to play.

~

Vintage tee, brand new phone

Y/N and Jason walked in, strutting about as if they were models in the new vintage tees Y/N had bought for them at the thrift store just days before. They strolled about the mall, eventually making the stop to get Jason a new phone, he had dropped his from a rooftop on patrol the night before. Oops. 

“Jay, baby, you can’t just use Bruce’s credit card without asking all the time” Y/N smiled, knowing Jason wasn’t going to listen to her 

“Says who? Besides, I told him I was taking it. If he didn’t want to pay for me to get a new phone, he should’ve given me a secure pocket in the suit for it like I asked.” Jason shrugged. He wasn’t atrociously rebellious at all times, but he knew Bruce had more than enough money for him to get a new phone, and to treat his girlfriend, and best friend, when he wanted to. “Plus, if I didn’t take his card, I wouldn’t be able to spoil you, would I?” He wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple as they walked out of the store.

High heels on cobblestone

Y/N’s heels clicked loudly against the cobblestone walkway as she made her way to the entrance of the Wayne gala, arm linked with Jason’s. 

“Are you sure I look alright? I’ve never worn a dress this fancy Jason. Should I even be at a Wayne gala I mean–” Jason cut her off.

“Sweetheart you look perfect. And if anyone tells you otherwise I will personally ask Bruce to kick them out.”

“Jay, you can’t do that.”

“According to who? I have adopted Wayne privilege and you’re the one who’s Bruce’s favorite”

“I am not Bruce’s favorite!”

“Yes you are, princess.”

He dragged her into the gala, excited to spend a night with her, and after that, her first Wayne gala was nothing but history, as she attended every single one at her lover’s side.

When you are young they assume you know nothing

“That boy is a delinquent Y/N! I doubt you even know anything about him, has he even told you how he came to meet Mr Wayne?” Y/N’s father shouted. He’d never liked Jason, despite him being Y/N’s best friend for years before things ever became romantic. She used to be able to avoid it, but when her mom moved out of state for work and Y/N wanted to stay in Gotham… well this was her only option.

“Yes dad, I know how he met Bruce! You realize I knew him long before he was adopted by Bruce Wayne right? That I didn’t just go for him because he was rich? You assume because I’m young that I know nothing!”

“Clearly you don’t know anything if you would choose to be with a boy who is a thief! He tried to steal Mr. Wayne’s tires!”

“He was trying to steal them because he was living on the streets and needed money to fucking eat, Dad! Clearly you’re the one who knows nothing here!”

She stormed out of the house, furiously texting Jason and trying to will away the angry tears. 

Sequined smile, black lipstick

Y/N grinned at Jason, her black lipstick fresh as they prepared to go to a party. Bruce had cleared Jason of Robin duty for the weekend and they’d decided to take time to enjoy being normal teenagers. 

“What do you think?” She asked, still smiling

“I think… I’m really tempted to kiss that lipstick right off of you”

“Come do it then.”

Sensual politics

“Do you ever think about sensual politics?” Y/N looked up at Jason, her head in his lap as he read a book.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘sensual politics’?”

“Like the politics of being flirtatious or like building a relationship with someone, but like also kind of a play on sexual politics and people’s perception of the difference’s between men and women and the politics of it, you know? Like they’re both very different things but you can name them the same thing”

“And you’re calling that sensual politics?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“I wish I could understand what’s going on in that brain of yours. You’re such a nerd, princess”

When you are young they assume you know nothing

“Jaybird, if you hurt her, I hope you know I’ll have to break your legs” Dick shrugged as if this was common knowledge.

“I won’t hurt her, Dickwad. She’s the best thing to happen to me.”

“Okay, but you’re young and stupid, anything could happen.”

“Just because you knew nothing when you were young doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

But I knew you

Years ago, Y/n was 11 and Jason was 10. Y/N was on her way home from the school when she saw someone she recognized. 

“Hey! You’re the boy from the library! You showed me my favorite book!”

Jason flushed, unaware that she’d remember him, or that she’d take the recommendation he’d once given her seriously

“Yeah uh, hi. My names Jason, Jason Todd.” He stuck his hand out to shake.

She placed her hand in his and shook. "Y/N."

Dancin' in your Levi's

Y/N and Jason slow danced in her room, her record player spinning some old collection she’d snagged from Wayne manor.

“I was unaware that Levi’s were ballroom attire, Monsieur.”

“And I was unaware your bedroom counted as a ballroom, Mademoiselle”

Drunk under a streetlight, I

“Jason you’re drunk.”

“No I’m notttt. Please Y/N pleeeeaaassseee be my girlfriend.”

“You’re drunk Jay, if you weren’t then you’d remember I already am.” She laughed, watching her lover shoot up in excitement

“Really? That’s so cool!”

I knew you

"Y/N what do you think? Do you think he'd like this for his birthday?"

"Why are you asking me? You're his brother!"

"Yeah but you know him better than anyone else"

Hand under my sweatshirt

"Jason Peter Todd get your cold ass hands out from under my sweatshirt!"

"What do you mean princess?" He dragged his freezing cold hands further up her back

"Eek!"

Baby, kiss it better, I

Y/N carefully finished wrapping the bandages around Jason's waist.

"I can't believe you got stabbed!"

"Kiss it better?"

"Dork." She pressed a kiss to his bandages, before making her way up to his lips.

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite

“What’s got you down princess?” Jason quirked an eyebrow, the moment Y/N entered the manor there was an unhappy energy on her, like she was faking her smile. He knew her all too well. “Come here”. He opened his arms to her, gesturing that she should come lay with him on the excessively large couch (rich people bro) and she happily obliged, latching onto his side like a koala with her head on his chest.

“It’s just… I don’t know, sometimes I feel like an old cardigan, under someone’s bed. Just… forgotten.”

“I could never forget you. Sometimes people lose things that are important to them. If you’re an old cardigan then I’m finding you and putting you on because the whole time you were my favorite.” He pressed a kiss to her hair.

“How poetic” She could feel his chest shake as he laughed.

“What can I say? I’m a man of literature. Speaking of which! Do you want to watch Pride and Prejudice?”

“Again?”

“Yes, AgAiN”

Y/N looked up at her boyfriend, beaming. “Always.”

A friend to all is a friend to none

“You can’t keep acting like nothing is going on Jason. You love her, so why are you friends with someone like the asshole who ruined her reputation?”

“Dammit Dick, I didn’t even know that he was the one who did that until a like week ago!”

“And you’ve hung out with him twice since then! A friend to all is a friend to none, Jaybird.”

Chase two girls, lose the one

Surely all of Gotham had heard them arguing from their favorite spot on the roof of the library.

“Jason I understand that you want to go meet your birth mother, but why does that mean you have to not be in touch for an undetermined amount of time? I don’t understand why finding her means leaving me!” Y/N hadn’t meant to shout. She wasn’t actually mad at him. She understood why he wanted to go, but that didn’t make him leaving hurt any less. Why should she have to lose contact with him, let him run off to another continent without any knowledge of if he was okay?

“Sweetheart I’m not leaving you, I’m just trying to find my mom…”

“Yeah, at the expense of me! Jay I will never prevent you from doing something this important to you but that will not change the fact that this hurts me. That I’ll be lying awake at night not knowing if you’re okay or if you’re even going to want me when you come home! Not even being able to ask Bruce if you’re okay because you plan on doing this without his knowledge! For fucks sake Jason do you realize how that would feel?”

“God dammit Y/N why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because you’re LEAVING ME. You know what, go ahead and go Jason. You’re choosing to chase two girls and you’ve lost this one.” She made her way down, trying not to let her hands shake from all the emotional turmoil, at least not until she was on the ground again. There was no way she would know how much she’d regret saying that to him.

When you are young, they assume you know nothing

“It’s your first heartbreak Y/N, you’ll get over it. It was teenage puppy love, something was bound to happen.” Her father had no clue. It had been days and she hadn’t heard from Jason. Last she checked with Alfred, Bruce had followed him out to the middle east somewhere. 

“This was, this is so much more than that. You’re doing it again, assuming that because I’m young I must know nothing.”

“Clearly you don’t know anything.”

But I knew you

“When were you gonna tell me that you being a literature nerd was knowledge Dick wasn’t supposed to get his hands on?” Y/N gave him a look. The look that says ‘i didn't know this was a secret so you can't be upset i spilled’

“Shit, princess, please don’t tell me you told him… he’ll never let me live it down!”

“Oops?” She shrugged. He started to say something else but she kissed him before the words could escape. “It’s alright Jay, it makes you a romantic. And it means I know you better than him.”

Jason smiled. “I guess you’re right…”

Playing hide-and-seek and

“Do you wanna play hide and seek?”

“Sweetheart, aren’t we too old for that?”

“Who said that? Come onnn"

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“You know I can’t say no to you.”

Giving me your weekends, I

“You know we don’t have to spend every weekend together right? You can hang out with your friends or your family if you want.”

“Why would I do that when I could give you all my weekends?”

I knew you

"How did you know to tell Bruce I wanted adjustments on the Robin bike?"

"Because I'm just cool like that. And i know you. Now come on, let's take it for a spin!"

Your heartbeat on the High Line

Y/N pressed the side of her head to Jason's chest as a stranger took their photo on the High Line. The trip to New York had been spontaneous, something they'd decided to do for spring break.

After taking her phone back from the kind stranger and thanking them, Y/N turned to her dear boyfriend.

"I could hear your heartbeat you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, you'd think it was our first date or something." Y/n grinned.

"Because you make me feel... I don't know, like Pip if Estella was actually good for him?"

"Did you just reference Great Expectations at me as a way of expressing your feelings?"

"Maybe?"

"Kiss me."

Once in twenty lifetimes, I

Y/N often thought of how her mother had once told her that true teenage love like the one she had with Jason only came once in 20 lifetimes. Although, in retrospect maybe it's twice in two lifetimes, or once in one, for the partner who didn't die.

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite

"Would I still be your favorite person if I was a worm?"

"Well no cause you wouldn't be a person anymore, but you'd be my favorite worm-"

"You know what? I'll take it."

"You'll always be my favorite."

To kiss in cars

"Jason Todd, you are a menace to society."

"What? How?"

"You brought me out to Bruce's Rolls-Royce to make out."

"So?"

and downtown bars

"Who would've thought the boy wonder had a fake ID?"

"Maybe his girlfriend who's cousin made it for him"

"What? Which one?"

Jason smirked at her, knowing it was going to eat her alive not knowing yes im projecting how nosy i am onto the y/n "Sorry princess, that stays a secret"

Was all we needed

You drew stars around my scars

"Jason, it's just an old scar from scraping my knee a little too deep, it's no big deal!"

He continued drawing small stars around any scars he found on her, gently dragging the red marker along her skin. "I didn't say it was!"

But now I'm bleedin'

When Jason hadn’t come back, Y/N had done one of the only things she promised him she would never do: taking up vigilantism. She told Bruce it was only temporary. She told herself it was only temporary. But the longer she was in the game the more attached to it she became.

"FUCK!" Y/N yelped as she sat on her bathroom counter, pressing a damp rag to her wound, carefully wiping it off. "God dammit, I used to be patching up Jason's stab wounds, not getting stabbed..." She picked up her phone, dialing the only number she cared to call anymore.

"Yeah, Dick? Can you come over real quick? Need you to make sure this stab wound doesn't kill me..."

The audible "WHAT" echoed throughout the bathroom, despite the phone not being on speaker.

'Cause I knew you

"How'd you know I'd be here?"

Y/N found Jason at their spot on the roof of the library after Dick informed her that he'd had a particularly rough argument with Bruce.

"Because I know you better than anyone else."

Steppin' on the last train

Jason dragged Y/N towards the last train of the night, what they never knew would be their final date before everything went astray.

"Come on! The last train is the best one!"

Marked me like a bloodstain, I

The image of Jason, dead, being carried away by Bruce was forever marked in Y/N's head. He was dead. There was nothing else to say.

I knew you

Speaking at Jason's small memorial was never something Y/N saw herself doing.

"I uh- I really don't know what to say. You all always said I knew him better than anyone else, and I just wish I could've known the way to prevent this."

Tried to change the ending

Y/N tried so hard to change the ending of her story. Make it so she wasn't just the girl who lost herself in grief. But until unless she saw Jason again, nothing was going to happen.

Peter losing Wendy, I

As she sat there writing 'Cardigan' it occurred to her that Peter losing Wendy was a choice, and her losing Jason never was, but it fit. Their love was a magic only to be found in Neverland.

I knew you

"Hey Red, do I know you from somewhere in civilian life? You seem familiar..."

"No way, too new in town, sorry."

She knew she knew him. She just couldn't place why...

Leavin' like a father

Even though she'd told him just to go, Jason still stopped by Y/N's house before he left to find his mother.

"Please don't leave me, Jay." She cupped his cheeks, pressing his forehead to hers as tears streamed down her face

"Don't cry, baby, I'll be back before you know it."

Running like water, I

Of course, Y/N hadn't known the identity of the Red Hood the first time she'd spotted him. All she had time to think was wondering why such a large man, with guns nonetheless, ran from her like she was out to get him.

And when you are young, they assume you know nothing

"Why do people love to assume that because I'm young I must know nothing about love or heartbreak?" Y/N had asked one day. No one answered. No one knew. They only knew that they were all too aware of just how much she truly knew about both of those things.

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss

"I want a blue jay on my forearm. Full color. Can you do that?"

Y/N had walked into the tattoo parlor like she owned the place. She needed a way to let him permanently linger. The kiss of a needle in her skin the only way to physically represent him.

I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

"What if I had made him stay?!"

"Y/N there's nothing you could've done that would change things."

"But what if—"

"There was nothing any of us could do."

The smell of smoke would hang around this long

"Thought you told me that you quit smoking years ago Red."

"Yeah, well, old habits die hard."

"Rough day huh?"

"Yeah. Girlfriend from before all this almost saw me in the library today. She doesn't know about me."

"About you being a vigilante?"

"She thinks I'm dead."

"You know, maybe I'll do this and be totally mistaken and realize i'm delusional, but I swear to whatever fucking god is listening if i tear off that domino mask and Jason Todd is under there I will be pushing you off this rooftop."

"If I've been hanging out with Y/N this whole time I'm throwing myself off."

'Cause I knew everything when I was young

Y/N was playing a show in Los Angeles, touring at age 15 was insane, but then again, she never thought anyone would listen to her music.

"Alright everyone, I may be young, but I also consider myself to be quite versed in romance, who knows, maybe it's my lovely boyfriend, or the fact that I'm a hopeless romantic, but either way, this one's called Favorite Record!"

Even at a young age, she'd known everything she needed to about love, because it encased her every moment she spent with her favorite person.

I knew I'd curse you for the longest time

She sat at Jason's grave in the Wayne family plot for more hours than she could count, swearing at his headstone

"God dammit! Why didn't you come home? Why didn't you come back to me?" Sobs wracked her body. "I was waiting for you to come home."

Chasin' shadows in the grocery line

Every once in a while Y/N would see someone and think someone was him. Maybe it was her brain's sick way of coping. She reached towards the stranger in front of her.

"Excuse me-"

But when he turned around Jason was gone. It was just another high school boy who had vaguely reminiscent hair.

I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired

A knock came on Y/N's bedroom window. She opened it warily before the Red Hood came clinking in.

"Thrill of letting me think you were dead over?"

"Y/N please-"

"Did you sit and watch as I grieved? Stand by while I lost my mind because I thought I'd lost you?"

"Sweetheart, just let me explain–"

"Don't fucking 'sweetheart' me. Get out. Get out of my fucking room."

And you'd be standin' in my front porch light

"Get off my damn porch Jason." He was standing in civilian clothes, shuffling his feet nervously as if he was a little kid again.

"Not until you let me explain!"

"Fine. You get to come in for five minutes. See if you can explain to me how there is any way you can justify this."

And I knew you'd come back to me

Y/N sat with her jaw slack in shock after hearing Jason's story. How saying he died wasn't even a lie, how he'd been brought back, the madness he'd experienced, the resentment for nobody killing the Joker. (she flat out told him she would've if she thought she could do it without getting herself killed in the process)

"i'm such a fucking asshole."

"No you aren't"

"No you went through this whole traumatic experience and I've just been a dick to you!"

"And it's been totally justified! You should've been the first person to find out I was back. Honestly I'm surprised Dick or Bruce didn't tell you..."

"I'm going to ignore the urge to castrate both of them and just be happy you came back to me."

You'd come back to me

"I'll always come back to you."

And you'd come back to me

"Make sure you come back in one piece?" They were on the same mission, much to Jason's dismay, but they had to be split up.

"When have I ever not come back to you?"

"...."

"Don't answer that."

And you'd come back

They'd made it out of that atrocious mission. It all worked out in the end but it certainly had taken longer than they planned.

"hey, you came back in one piece, just like I asked."

"I always do, just for you."

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite

Y/N heard Jason coming in. His duffel bag clunked loudly against their closet floor, and she assumed he changed out of his gear at a safehouse before returning to their apartment. She flipped over the edge of the blanket, making room for him to crawl in bed with her. Once sufficiently comfortable behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, Jason spoke.

"Hey Y/N?"

She turned around in his arms so she could face him. "Uh oh, you didn't call me any kind of pet name, just my name, whats up?"

"Nothing I just... I just wanted to let you know you're still my favorite."

~

The tears were flowing freely by then. The audience screamed, cheering at the sweet song. “My favorite person didn’t get to be around for a while, but… he came back to me, and that’s all that matters. Now that's enough crying, I’ve got some much more fun songs, ARE YOU READY GOTHAM CITY!?” And with that, the show went on.

Hours later, Y/N made her way backstage, where she was immediately enveloped by the arms of a mystery man. She wasn’t scared though, she knew who it was. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he spun her around. 

He sat her down gently, beaming. “You wrote a song about me?” “Jay… baby a lot of my songs are about you.” 

“What?”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you managed to not know that even though I’ve told you before.”

“I just assumed you weren’t serious!”

“... You really think that Lover or Lucky People or Favorite Record, could have possibly been about anyone else?”

“And if I just like hearing you say it?”

“Then I’ll tell you forever.” When their lips met, it was a promise, one that this, this feeling in this moment, was real, and that it wouldn’t ever go away, because they knew everything when they were young. 

[sweetismyaddiction]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Fic masterlist | Masterlist

SUCROSE

Paring: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Visiting his mother that likes you dearly, to Spencer’s happiness, taking care of each other makes butterflies go all over the place. Asking for advice for friends. (They live in the same building, in the same corridor, just in front of one another… which helps the friendship but couldn't stop Dr. Reid from falling in love)

Word account: 1905

Warnings: Fluff, friends to lovers, anxiety, possessiveness?, pain, menstruation, innocent kisses?, talks abour orgasm...

A/N: English is not my first language. Reblog, like and comment. I am accepting suggestions for next parts. Please be nice. The Gif is not mine. Credits to the oner 

Chapter 3: Narcotics, care and family

Spencer's Point of View

She figured out my narcotic problem.

She didn’t ask a single thing, she respected and is supportive. I love how she takes care of me. I remember when she put the pisces together, I was in pain and was so rude to her, I wonder if someday I will deserve her.

—----------------

I was having a bad day, a bad week, and treated my friend in a way she didn’t deserved.

“I am sorry, I am really sorry”

She kept looking at me, in her door. I felt gray again, I felt worse than I was feeling.

“You never told me your name.”

“What?” Confusion was spread across my face.

“You never told me your name Sugarpout. We talk for months, but we have never said our names, we bonded, became friends and never had asked for names.”

She was right, now that she said it… I think about her constantly, I know so many things about her as she knows about me, and we never asked, it never even crossed my mind, it was so easy to be around her, I craved the company so much that I never remembered this little detail, such an important detail.

“My name is Spencer, Reid. Spencer Reid. What is your name?”

—----------------------

In this instant I had major head and back pain, thanks to the last unsub. At least we got him.

“Hey Sugarpout, I did a lot of research, and you basically can't take any painkillers meds. But luck you, I have a few tricks, and I’m gonna take care of you.”

Say the girl owner of my soul, invading my home, isn't she satisfied with invading my dreams and thoughts?

“Would you prefer to lay on the couch or in your bed?”

“Couch” I will have so many problems controlling my imagination and body responses if we get to my bedroom now.

“Leave your head like… this”

She adjusts me, and starts rubbing my forehead with some oil. I love her touch. I closed my eyes, starting to relax and feel better with the delicate massage she was giving, so caring, so… everytime was harder not loving her the way I do love. The selfish way I love. Wanting her all for myself.

—-------------------------------------

Y/N’s Point of View

“May I open a little of your shirt?”

He silently agrees, my hands slowly travel off his forehead, the sides of his face, his neck… starting to open a few buttons so I can reach and massage his shoulders more properly. My fingers do their magic putting pressure on his skin, feeling the tension slipping away second by second, every time my skin runs his skink, more comfortable is set between us.

“Feeling better?”

“You always make me feel better.”

“You should rest a little, I can keep you company if you want.”

“I would love you staying here with me.”

And so I did, I stayed for the whole day. Light music, reading, healthy snacks and lots of water, just enjoying our time together.

“I am going to see my mom this weekend.” He pauses, pressing his lips in a flat line raising his eyebrows a little looking at me as if considering his idea. “I… you know… my mom… would you… do you want to… go with me?”

“To see your mom?”

“Yeah. I mean, you don’t have to. I know she… well…” He laughs without humor. “It wouldn't be your first time seeing her, but I know…”

“Sugarpout, I would love to go with you, I want to go. I like your mother.”

He relaxes, and looks at me, in a way I don’t know how to describe, I just know that it makes me feel good, better, makes my skin light up and the butterflies alive in my whole body.

—------------------------------------

Spencer’s Point of View

Adoration, love… There are not enough words to describe my feelings for her, for Y/n, my Sugar, as I am her Sugarpout.

She made a few things to eat, and she called the doctor in the clinic to know if it was ok and what she could or couldn't make. So now we have a lot of cookies, cupcakes, cakes and brownies. She made sure to have enough for everyone in the clinic, and a side a special treat to my mom, in a special box.

“Hey mom”

“Ah, Spencer”

“Hi Mistress Reid. It's good to see you again, we bring a little something for you.”

“A present?”

“Yes, a special present for you Mistress Reid”

My mother's face lights up a little when opening the box. That is my Sugar, always bringing light to every place she goes… Maybe someday she will be truly mine.

“Oh, dear, you didn't have to…”

“It was a pleasure, as you can see, I put phrases from a few of your favorite books, so you can read and devour the words.”

“That is very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

They got to talk, a lot of talking, my mother even showed my baby pictures, to my embarrassment. But I couldn't feel that bad when they smiled so happily, the womens of my life.

“You are a very wise women”

Sugar compliments my mother, she is always so gentle and true. She is called by one of the doctors and excuses herself.

“I see the way you look at her. She is a good girl.”

“She is.”

“You should put a ring on her, a rare creature like her… is meant to be taken care of, I can see she cares about you.”

“We are friends, mom.”

“A mother knows Spencer. A mother always knows”

“Hey Sugarpout, sorry about that, the doctor just wanted to be sure about the ingredients. We don't want anyone having allergic reactions. Care to keep teaching me Mistress Reid?”

“I would love.”

“Once a professor always a professor.”

She pays attention to everything we say, to the whole conversation, until it is time for us to go.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N’s Point of View

Cramps.

The every month torture that people blessed with uterus go trough.

I don’t have the will to move, everything hurts, I am tired all the time and soon there will come the blood. I am thinking about calling in sick, or just losing the day… but I do need the money. Oh God, why wasn't I born a billionaire?

A knock at my door and a voice take me out of my sad thoughts.

“Sugar? Are you okay? Haven't heard of you yet today, I am starting to get worried”

“No, nothing is ok” I make a crying voice, to add more drama.

“May I come in?”

“Yes, use your key, I don't want to move”

Spencer cautiously entered my place, looking around, the view was terrible. I am swollen, feeling tired, dark circles under my eyes, some pimples… and even worse, I am in pain.

“What is wrong Sugar?”

“I am awful and everything hurts.”

Spencer comes closer and hugs me, the warmth of his hand is in the exact place, making the terrible pain more supportable.

“Oh, don't you dare move your hand. It is the perfect spot.”

“As my Sugar wish. Now. Can you tell why everything hurts? What is the problem?”

“The problem is that seems like the Devil is using needle high heels, knife needle high heels, made a fireplace and is dancing around my uterus.”

“So… cramps?”

“You say it like that because you ain't the one feeling it.”

“Oh, no Sugar. I am sure this is really horrible.”

He places his warm lips on my forehead in a tender kiss.

“There is anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“Just keep your hands in place. It is good.”

“Orgasm. It can help with the pain. When you orgasm, your body releases chemicals like oxytocin and dopamine that act as painkillers.”

“Are you saying that next time you are in pain I should give you an orgasm?”

“What?”

I laugh a little about his comment, poor Doctor Reid, someday I may kill him out of embarrassment.

“It is ok Sugarpout. I am just not in the mood for any sex activity. I am swollen and ugly.:

“You are as beautiful as ever. You are always beautiful”

“Thank you Sugarpout, you are always so gentle.”

We stay a moment in silence, just in each other's arms, but he has to break this moment even if neither of us want to. 

“Are we not going to work today?”

“We are going to work today.”

“Good, cause I kinda just passed by to see how you were doing. I got to go to the office. But, if you want, I can call back and see if I can take the day off…”

“No, no Spencer, you should go to work.”

“I really don't mind staying if you want me too.”

“I will be fine. Go make the others life more sweet Sugarpout”

I feel him relaxing against me, and stopping holding me really slowly.

“Do not worry, you are going to have a lot of time to take care of me. It can last fifteen days, ten days, a week… my cramps ain't regular. In the end it will be all fine.”

“Hope you get better as soon as possible.”

“Good work Sugarpout”

And then, he really has to go.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer’s Point of View

I am trying to concentrate on the job, but my mind always comes back to my Sugar, I know she said it will be fine, and she can be a little dramatic sometimes, but it does not change my concern.

“Ahn… hey Emily, what do you usually do to alleviate your period cramps?”

I did a lot of research about the subject, everything I could find, but with experience I learned that just reading isn't enough and every human experiences stuff in different ways.

“What? Where did it come from?”

“What am I losing?”

Emily is uncertain about answering Morgan, why he always shows… well he did grow up with sisters.

“I was asking Emily, how could someone alleviate period cramps.”

“Is this about the door girl?”

“What girl?”

“Sweet girl, that lives right across Pretty Boy and has his keys.”

“You’re kidding me!”

“Ask him.”

“Well, Spencer?”

“Yes, she is my neighbor, she is a really nice girl, and she has an extra key to my apartment.”

“If she is just a neighbor, why the cramps questions?”

“She is also a friend.”

“A very dear friend.”

“You should invite her to go out with us. I will love to know the girl occupying the Doctor Reid thoughts”

“Are you going to answer my question or just amuse yourselves with the new information?”

“Ok, I may have a few tips, but you will need to see what works for her, it isn't always the same.”

“And I can give you a few tips on how to survive this period, cause women can be savage, and I ain't talking savage in a nice way.”

Prentiss reprimanded Derek with a look and a little hit in his head.

I paid very close attention to what they had to say, so I was more prepared when I came back home, and being able to take care of Sugar, my Sugar. Doing my best to make her the more comfortable as possible, and the smile bright in her face was the best part of my whole day.

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Fic masterlist | Masterlist

Tag List: @mikitsuki

[peterm4rker]

¿dónde está la biblioteca? || z.cl

00. the markhyuk fanclub😍😍

★ @/zhongchle ;; bussiness management major zhong chenle is the college's basketball team captain. he has not ever been as passionate about anything in his life as he has been about basketball, and he recently decided he has not hated anything in his life as he has hated the spanish language. he is proud, his ego reaches considerably large sizes, but he has a heart to match it and a smile that can blow anyone off their feet.

★ @/proballer123 ;; chenles very own private account.

★ @/andy_parks ;; dance major park jisung is chenles very own best friend. ever since they met in the first grade, neither of them has seemed to be able to get rid of the other, although they dont seem to be trying very hard. his job is to take care of chenle, even when that means giving him reality checks. he met yn through mark, who met her through xiaojun, who met her through yangyang.

★ @/onyourm_ark ;; music major mark lee is one of the most lovable people you could ever meet. shy and awkward at first and one of the loudest people ever once you get to know him. he met chenle on a random tuesday as he heard him sing for an extra credit in one of his classes, he has since been begging him to transfer into the music program.

★ @/sechanhaexy ;; music major lee donhyuck, better known as haechan is the friend group's resident weirdo. although he has quite a strange personality, he is close to mark on the lovable scale. he is loud, outgoing and extremely flirty, no matter who is at the receiving end. he met chenle through mark and has made it his life purpose to annoy him since then.

★ @/hwanginjun ;; art major huang renjun is so incredibly tired. he doesn't only need to deal with the millions of dms requesting commissioned or even free drawings, but he also has to deal with his friends being absolute idiots. he became the voice of reason in the group after mark introduced them, although he mostly goes unheard. even when he attempts his best to stop them from doing stupid stuff, he always ends up joining them and would never replace them.

★ @/jaejaejaemin ;; photography major na jaemin is known to be the campus' very own pretty boy. even when people expect him to be conceited because of his beautiful looks, he is one of the nicest people you could meet. his coquette princess looks normally give him a free pass at the repercussions of his friends stupidness, even when he is most likely the one behind them. he met chenle through haechan.

★ @/jenonoje ;; physics major lee jeno is one of the most desired and "intimidating" people at smu. his big body and tough exterior might scream at you to run away, but if you talk to him only once you'll be even more in love than you were before. his eye smile and soft interior are what make him the puppy of the group. he doesnt normally shy away from his friend's stupid antics, though, and he is jaemins number one hater and enabler at the same time. met chenle through jaemin.

previous ★ masterlist ★ next

★ authors note ;; of course all of these are completely made up and do not reflect on the actual idols, they are just my own little vision of my boys. anyways! ★ back to the main masterlist ★ please do not copy, adapt or steal any content !!

© peterm4rker, 2024

[luminouslywriting]

I know you get a million anons for MOTA, but! Do you ahead any headcanons on what the guys would be like in the modern era? What types of jobs they'd have, their taste in movies/music/books/TV shows? Personally I think Gale would listen to a lot of podcasts, and Bucky would somehow know all the Gen Z slang even though he would be firmly a zillennial (I say as a zillennial, with love). Also, Brady would have a dating profile that the guys set up for him without his knowledge, and Rosie would be into country music and think it was a secret, even though everyone knows.

^^Gif is not mine and credit goes to carnevol!^

A/N: Sorry it's been so long since you requested this sweetheart! I'm just getting around to it and these asks have been rotting for a while, so my apologies! But I hope you enjoy! As always, my requests remain open and I don't mind spam!

Gale Cleven:

-For work, I either see him doing some sort of landscaping/construction business or being in teaching at the local college.

-He's still an old-fashioned sorta guy, even today—so that means that he isn't big on social media

-He loves audiobooks and podcasts, especially ones on mental health and history

-He definitely doesn't really get into sports, but he religiously watches the Olympics each year and that's his roman empire

-Could spout off the most random of historical facts all while on a date

-Definitely bisexual, but only his closest friends know that

Bucky Egan:

-ZILLENIAL FOR LIFE

-He's always trying to keep up with the slang because he's not necessarily still in the age group that's making the slang, but bless his heart, tiktok teaches him what he lacks

-Speaking of tiktok, he runs a random prank account (that mostly details his pranks on the rest of his friends)

-In a non basic way, he loves starbucks and going to the gym every morning....and yes, he probably posts about it on his story

-A sweet pansexual who just wants some attention

-Probably also the type of person who randomly decides he's gonna do some good deeds and pay things forward while at the grocery store

-For sure listens to Dua Lipa haha

Robert Rosenthal:

-Claims that he loves jazz and old music but secretly listens to country music and Taylor Swift when he's alone

-Probably some sort of professional athlete who has a successful podcast where he talks about music and books

-He's a well rounded man who likes to kick back and enjoy nature

-So he'll randomly go live when he's in the middle of a hike and no one understands what he's saying

-Still gives off grandpa energy--but mostly because he cannot understand GEN Z slang to save his life (though Bucky does try to educate him)

-Definitely the type of person to highlight different charities and causes in person and online to try and help others

John Brady:

-Has a music tiktok where he promotes his own creations, both instrumental and vocally

-Definitely has a dating account that he doesn't know about and gets sent on these dates ALL of the time without knowing it

-Also solidly a Zillenial, leaning more towards Gen Z—he really likes doing morning meditations on his account, but knows way too much about the Area 51 Raid for no reason

-For work, I definitely see him doing something sensible while he's working on his music career; so maybe he's a barista or doing accounting while he's trying to get things to take off

-Misses the college days because life was easier

-Definitely the one who organizes the social events for the boys in the Hundredth (right under Bucky's watchful eye haha)