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rootedinrevisions · 6 days ago

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Through the Wreckage

SUMMARY: When a devastating tornado tears through town, Tyler Owens faces his worst nightmare: the woman he loves is missing. Tyler is thrust into a desperate search through the wreckage to find her. As the storm's aftermath unfolds, it forces him to confront his fears, regrets, and hopes for the future.

A/N: So got inspired for this after watching Twisters earlier today. Just the anguish that we saw from Tyler when he realized Kate was driving into the tornado made me wonder what would happen if the person he loved was missing or in danger. Hence where we ended up here.

WARNINGS: Destruction (ie: a tornado hit so damaged buildings, smoke, dust, sparks, etc.), Blood, Minor Injuries.

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

WWE/Wrestling: Cody Rhodes, Corey Graves, Damian Priest, Drew McIntyre, Finn Balor, Jimmy Uso, Jey Uso, Kevin Owens, L.A. Knight, Pat McAfee, Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins (if there is someone you're thinking of from WWE and they aren't on the list feel free to ask! There are so many guys on the roster that these were the ones that came to mind.)

The tires screeched as Tyler pulled up to the scene, gravel crunching beneath his truck. He barely shifted into park before throwing the door open and jumping out. His boots hit the ground with a thud, and the first thing his eyes locked on was the building—partially collapsed, its front wall completely gone. The inside was exposed like a broken shell, with beams hanging at jagged angles and smoke or dust curling into the air from where drywall and bricks had crumbled. His heart sank like a stone in his chest. This wasn’t good.

Behind him, Boone’s truck came to a stop, followed by Dani, Dexter, and Lily piling out of their vehicles. Tyler barely registered the sound of their voices calling his name as they ran toward him. His world had narrowed to the destruction in front of him, and one thought pounded in his mind: She’s in there.

Pulling his phone from his pocket with shaking hands, Tyler checked the last location pinged from your phone. His stomach twisted. It matched this address. He swallowed hard, the weight of dread pressing down on him as his eyes scanned the crowd of people that had been pulled from the building and huddled together on the other side of the street. His pulse quickened as he searched for you, desperate for even a glimpse of your face. But you weren’t there.

“Tyler, man, slow down,” Boone said, gripping his shoulder as he came up beside him. “Let’s figure out what’s going on—”

“She’s not out here,” Tyler cut him off, his voice tight and raw. “She’s not with them.” He gestured toward the crowd of people being tended to by paramedics.

His chest heaved as the realization hit him like a freight train: You were still inside.

Without another word, he turned and made a beeline toward the first responders standing near the edge of the debris. His strides were long and determined, his jaw set in grim determination as he ignored Boone’s calls to slow down.

The closer he got, the more chaos surrounded him. The air smelled of smoke and damp concrete, and the sound of crackling debris mixed with shouts from firefighters. But none of it mattered.

“Did everyone get out?” Tyler shouted, his voice hoarse as he reached the nearest firefighter. “Did you see a woman—about this tall, light hair?” He motioned frantically, his green eyes darting around.

He already knew the answer from their hesitant expressions, but he refused to accept it.

“Sir,” one of them started, stepping forward, “it’s not safe—we weren’t able to get to everyone.”

“Where. Is. She?” Tyler growled, his frustration boiling over. His voice cracked, raw with fear and desperation. “Her phone’s still pinging from here! I need to know if she made it out!”

Another firefighter shook his head grimly. “We’re still doing sweeps, but the building’s unstable. Most of the front wall came down in the collapse. We can’t risk—”

“Bullshit!” Tyler snapped, cutting him off as he took a step toward the wreckage.

Boone and Dexter were on him in an instant, grabbing his arms to hold him back.

“Tyler, don’t,” Boone urged, his voice low and firm. “You can’t go in there, man. It’s not safe. They’ll handle it.”

“She’s in there!” Tyler shouted, wrenching free from their grip. His voice cracked as he pointed toward the ruined building. “I know she is, Boone! I’m not waiting around while they do their sweeps!” His voice was shaking now, and for a moment, the raw emotion broke through his resolve. His chest heaved, his shoulders trembling as he ran a hand over his face, trying to block out the fear clawing at his mind.

The building groaned, a deep, unsettling sound that warned of further collapse. Tyler’s eyes darted toward it, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms.

If you were inside, he wasn’t about to stand by and let the clock run out.

“I’m going in,” he muttered under his breath, and before anyone could stop him, he broke into a sprint toward the wreckage.

“Sir! Stop! You can’t go in there!” a firefighter yelled, his voice sharp with authority.

Another called out, “It’s too dangerous! The structure’s not stable!”

But Tyler didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down. The sound of boots pounding behind him told him Boone or Dexter was probably trying to catch him, but he didn’t care. All he could see was the shattered entrance ahead, the gaping maw of destruction that had swallowed you whole.

As he crossed the threshold, the air inside hit him like a wall—thick with dust and smoke, making it hard to breathe. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth, squinting to see through the haze. The floor was littered with debris—chunks of drywall, splintered wood, and jagged shards of glass. Wires hung loose from the ceiling, some sparking as they dangled.

The creak of shifting metal echoed through the space, and Tyler froze for a moment, his eyes darting upward. A beam groaned overhead, threatening to give way. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to move, stepping carefully over a fallen section of wall.

“Darlin’,” he shouted, his voice hoarse and strained. “Where are you?”

His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the wreckage, his eyes darting from one pile of debris to the next. The oppressive silence was broken only by the occasional crackle of sparks or the distant shouts of first responders outside.

“Come on, darlin’. Give me something,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. He tried to focus, to ignore the dread clawing at the edges of his mind.

Tyler’s boot crunched on something, and he looked down to see a broken picture frame, the glass shattered across the floor. Around it were scattered papers, children’s drawings, and a few books covered in dust. He swallowed hard, the small remnants of normal life a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding him.

Pushing forward, he weaved through the destruction, stepping over overturned chairs and avoiding the sharp edges of broken furniture. The air grew hotter the deeper he went, the faint smell of something burning making his stomach churn.

And then he saw it.

A shoe.

Tyler’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized it—your shoe, half-buried beneath a pile of rubble. He stumbled forward, dropping to his knees as his shaking hands reached for it.

“Sweetheart?” he called, his voice breaking. He tossed aside chunks of drywall and splintered wood, the sharp edges cutting into his palms. Blood smeared across the debris as he worked, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was getting to you.

Finally, he uncovered your leg, and his heart seized. You were pinned beneath the debris, your body motionless. Dust and grime streaked your face, and your hair was tangled with bits of plaster.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers were gentle, but his hands shook uncontrollably.

Leaning closer, he pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, searching desperately for a pulse. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. And then he felt it—a faint, fragile beat beneath his fingertips.

Relief flooded him, and a choked sob escaped his lips.

“Thank God,” he breathed. “I’ve got you, darlin’. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

At the sound of his voice, you stirred faintly, your head shifting against the debris that cradled it. The faintest groan escaped your lips, so quiet he almost missed it. Tyler froze, his heart skipping a beat as his eyes shot to your face.

“Darlin’?” He said, his voice trembling with equal parts hope and fear. He cupped your face with one dirt-streaked hand, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “Hey, hey, it’s me. Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

Your brow furrowed slightly, and your lips moved, though no sound came out at first. He leaned closer, his ear inches from your face.

“Ty...” The broken syllable fell from your lips like a lifeline, and his chest ached at the sound of it.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Your eyes fluttered weakly, just barely cracking open, but it was enough. Enough to send relief crashing over him in a wave so powerful it left him dizzy.

“Oh, thank God,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to grip yours. He squeezed it gently, willing his strength into you. “Stay with me. Keep those eyes on me, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

You tried to say something else, your voice a faint whisper he couldn’t quite make out. He shook his head, tears pricking his eyes as he crouched lower to meet your gaze.

“Don’t try to talk,” he urged softly. “Just save your strength, darlin’. I’m getting you out of here. Just stay with me, okay? That’s all I need you to do. Stay with me.”

The faintest flicker of a nod came from you, but it was enough to shatter the fragile composure he’d been clinging to. His free hand pressed to his mouth as he choked back a sob, his chest heaving with the weight of his fear and relief.

The building groaned again, a deep, ominous sound that sent a shiver down his spine. He knew he didn’t have much time. He slid his arms beneath you, cradling you against his chest as he stood.

With you in his arms, Tyler turned toward the exit, his focus unwavering despite the chaos around him. All that mattered was getting you out of here alive.

Tyler adjusted his grip on you, holding you closer as he stepped carefully over the uneven ground. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The air inside the building was suffocating. Smoke and dust hung thick like a heavy fog, clawing at his lungs with every breath. His throat burned, and each inhale felt like dragging sandpaper across raw skin. He coughed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before forcing them open again. He couldn’t lose focus—not now.

Sparks rained down from a severed electrical wire overhead, the sharp sting biting into the exposed skin of his arms. He flinched, gritting his teeth as the acrid smell of singed fabric filled the air.

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice rough and desperate as he looked down at you. “We’re almost out of here.”

Your body shifted slightly in his arms, and a soft, raspy cough escaped your lips. Tyler’s heart jumped at the sound. Panic surged through him, as he saw how shallow your breathing was.

“You still with me?” He called, his voice cracking. “Hey, can you hear me? Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You coughed again, your eyelids fluttering briefly but not opening. A weak, almost inaudible groan escaped you.

“That’s it,” Tyler said, his tone urgent but soft like he was coaxing you back to him. “You’re doing good. Just keep breathing for me, okay? We’re getting out of here.”

He stumbled slightly as the ground beneath him shifted—a section of flooring sagging under the weight of the debris. Tyler’s knees buckled for a moment, and he tightened his grip on you, his heart racing.

“Dammit,” he muttered, steadying himself before pressing forward.

The building groaned around him, the sound of metal twisting and concrete cracking growing louder. He could feel time running out.

Another section of ceiling collapsed behind him, sending a fresh plume of dust into the air. Tyler ducked instinctively, shielding you as debris rained down. A sharp edge grazed the back of his neck, and he winced, but he didn’t stop moving.

The exit was just ahead—a faint sliver of light visible through the haze. Tyler pushed toward it, his legs trembling with exertion. His vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges as the lack of clean air began to take its toll.

His steps faltered, and he coughed violently, nearly doubling over. For a moment, he thought his legs might give out, but then he felt a small, trembling hand against his chest. Your hand gripped weakly at his shirt, your head lolling slightly against his shoulder.

“T-Tyler...” you rasped, your voice barely audible.

His breath hitched, and he forced himself to keep moving.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve got you, darlin’. Just hang on.”

The exit grew closer, but the smoke thickened, clawing at his throat and lungs. Tyler stumbled again, his knees hitting the floor as his body screamed for oxygen.

“No,” he growled, shaking his head as he clutched you tighter. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself back to his feet, ignoring the way his legs trembled beneath him.

The light from the exit grew brighter, and he could hear the distant shouts of first responders outside. They sounded muffled like he was underwater, but it gave him just enough hope to keep going.

Sparks rained down again, burning his exposed arms and neck, but Tyler turned his body to shield you, hunching over as he pushed through the final stretch. His back felt like it was on fire, the fabric of his shirt sticking to blistering skin, but he didn’t slow down.

Finally, he broke through the haze, stumbling out onto the pavement. The fresh air hit him like a punch to the chest, and he gasped, his knees giving out as he sank to the ground.

“Help! Somebody—” he coughed violently, his voice raw and barely audible. “Somebody help her!”

Paramedics rushed toward him, but Tyler’s focus was on you. Your face was pale, streaked with dust and sweat, but your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He reached up to brush a trembling hand against your cheek, his fingers stained with soot and blood.

“Stay with me, sweetheart. You’re safe now.” He whispered, his voice cracking as tears welled in his eyes.

Tyler cradled you in his arms, his knees rooted to the pavement as the chaos of the world around him blurred into background noise. His only focus was you.

Your head lolled weakly against his chest, and your breaths were growing more shallow and uneven by the minute. A fresh wave of panic crashed over him as your eyelids fluttered, threatening to close.

“Hey,” he called softly, his voice trembling. “No, no, darlin’, stay with me. Look at me.”

Your eyes opened slightly, your gaze unfocused as you struggled to lift your head.

“I… can’t,” you murmured, the words barely audible.

“Yes, you can,” he said, his tone firm but full of emotion. “You’re not quittin’ on me now, you hear me?”

You coughed softly, your body trembling in his arms. Tyler adjusted his grip, pulling you closer as if he could shield you from the pain and the fear.

“We have plans, remember?” His voice cracked as he spoke, tears welling in his eyes. “Dinner tonight, just you and me. You told me you wanted to get dressed up, and said I needed to wear that tie you like. I’m not lettin’ you out of that, sweetheart. You still owe me a dance.”

A weak smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but it quickly faded as your eyelids grew heavier.

“And the church,” he continued, desperation lacing his words. “The little church your parents got married in. We’ll get married there, just like you’ve always wanted. You can wear that lace dress you talked about, the one you saw at the boutique last spring.”

You made a small sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and your fingers twitched weakly against his chest.

“And kids,” Tyler added, his voice breaking completely now. “Two–hell, however many you want. We’ll give ‘em the best damn life, I promise you that. Just… just stay with me, darlin’. Please.”

Your eyes fluttered open again, glassy but fixed on him.

“Three or four?” you rasped, a faint hint of amusement in your tone.

Tyler let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over him like a flood. He cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing away a smudge of dirt from your cheek.

“Yeah, three or four is perfect, darlin’,,” he said, his forehead pressing against yours as his tears mingled with the soot on his face. “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just tell me the names you’ve got picked out, and I’ll make it happen.”

You gave a weak, tired smile, and he could feel the slight rise and fall of your chest against his. But your body still felt too limp, too fragile in his arms.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes again,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Stay with me, sweetheart. Stay with me.”

Your gaze flickered once more, but before he could plead again, the paramedics swarmed around you.

“Sir, we need to take her now,” one of them said urgently, but Tyler’s arms tightened instinctively around you.

“I’m not leavin’ her,” he said fiercely, his eyes wild as he looked up at them.

“We need space to help her,” the paramedic insisted, their tone gentle but firm.

Tyler hesitated, his heart warring with his head as he realized he had no choice. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“You hang on, you hear me?” he whispered, his voice shaking.

Reluctantly, he let them take you from his arms, his hands trembling as he watched them load you onto the stretcher. His heart clenched painfully as he saw your pale, dust-streaked face disappear behind the blur of paramedics working to save you.

* * * *

The waiting room of the hospital felt like a void. Time moved differently here, stretching out each second into an eternity. Tyler sat hunched over in a plastic chair, his forearms resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. Boone, Dani, Dexter, and Lily sat nearby, their voices low and subdued as they tried to offer support. But Tyler didn’t hear them. His mind was stuck in the chaos of the collapsed building, the sound of your ragged breaths, the weight of your fragile body in his arms.

He stared at the double doors down the hallway, willing someone to come through them with news. Good news. Any news. His burned skin throbbed beneath the bandages the ER nurses had wrapped around him, but he didn’t care. The only pain that mattered was the fear clawing at his chest. The fear of losing you.

“T,” Boone said quietly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s strong. She’s gonna pull through.”

Tyler nodded absently, his throat too tight to respond. He wanted to believe Boone, but the image of you lying so still, your face pale and streaked with dust, was seared into his mind.

The doors finally swung open, and a doctor stepped into the waiting room. Tyler shot to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Tyler Owens?” the doctor asked, glancing around the room.

“That’s me,” he said, his voice hoarse.

The doctor smiled softly, and Tyler’s knees nearly buckled with relief.

“She’s stable,” the doctor said. “She inhaled a lot of smoke, and there’s some bruising from the debris, but no major injuries. She’s going to be okay.”

Tyler exhaled a shaky breath, his hands dragging down his face as the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.

“Can I see her?” Tyler asked, his voice cracking.

“Of course,” the doctor replied. “She’s awake, but she’s still weak. Try to keep it short for now.”

Tyler nodded, barely hearing the last part as he followed the doctor down the hallway. His boots echoed on the tile floor, the sound somehow both grounding and surreal.

When he stepped into your room, his chest tightened at the sight of you. You were propped up in the hospital bed, an oxygen mask resting lightly over your nose and mouth. The faint beeping of the monitors was a comforting reminder that you were still here, still breathing.

Your eyes fluttered open when you heard him, and despite the exhaustion etched into your face, you managed a small smile.

“Hey, cowboy,” you whispered, your voice muffled by the mask.

Tyler’s lips curved into a smile, and he pulled a chair up to your bedside, sitting down with a sigh of relief. He reached for your hand, his fingers curling gently around yours.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

“I’ll try,” you teased weakly, your fingers giving his hand the faintest squeeze.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Tyler’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, his eyes drinking in the sight of you as if to convince himself you were really okay.

“I meant what I said out there,” he finally murmured, his gaze locking with yours.

You frowned slightly in confusion. “What part?”

“All of it,” he said. “The church, the kids, everything. I want it all with you, darlin’. I want to marry you, and I’ll wear whatever you tell me to.”

You laughed softly, the sound raspy but real, and Tyler’s heart swelled.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, your smile softening as tears welled in your eyes. “I want it all too, Tyler. I always have.”

Tyler leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Then let’s start with dinner,” he said. “Soon as you’re out of here, I’m takin’ you to the nicest place in town. No storms, no distractions, just you and me.”

Your fingers tightened around his as you nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Deal. Can we have Italian?”

For the first time in hours, Tyler let himself relax, a small smile playing on his lips as he whispered, “Sure, sweetheart. Anything you want.”

#Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens x reader #Tyler Owens x you #Tyler Owens Fic #Tyler Owens Fanfic #Tyler Owens Fanfiction

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aliesbienish · 2 months ago

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Hi!! I was wondering if you could please write a Paul x reader where the reader is super pregnant and is hungry all the time and eats the most random stuff and the pack teases her about it until Paul puts his foot down and tells them to back off

Thank you! I’m really enjoying the study of wolves🤍

Hi lovely anon, thank you for this sweet request - I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do x

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Recipe for Pack

There was no doubt who this baby belonged to, even in the womb. Since a few months into your pregnancy you’d been insatiably hungry, snacking continuously. Paul had always been the same, of course his excuse was his shifting. Unfairly that meant he got super hearing and strength while you needed to pee constantly and had nausea that rudely didn’t limit itself to the morning. So constant eating wasn’t an issue, it was the cravings that were becoming a hassle.

Paul, being a secret softie, had tried to cater to your every whim. Whether it was chocolate covered zucchini’s or melted cheese topped ice cream, he kept the judgement to a minimum. However these odd cravings did often lead to late night trips to the nearest 24 hour store located in Forks, a forty minute round trip. One particularly bad evening had him chauffeuring you 70 miles at 3am to Port Angeles, purely for a a chocolate milkshake and fries that got dipped into it. It was a miracle the machine wasn't broken.

But while Paul was nothing but accomodating, it couldn't always be said for the rest of his pack mates. Eating a hot dog with raspberry jam caused Jared to make vomiting noises. Adding leftover mash potato to a smore prompted Quil to question whether you needed a visit to a psychologist. Even sweetheart Seth made a quip that your cravings seemed like ingredients to a witches potion. Which was probably fair, as you munched on a buttered bread covered with rosemary.

But one comment, made sitting around Emily and Sam's dinning table took it too far.

Sitting with what to you seemed like a delightful combination of peanut butter and hot sauce bagels topped with orange slices, it was enough to elicit a groan.

"This seems to be getting way beyond normal now. I'm beginning to wonder if you are actually having these cravings or if you just like to make everyone else uncomfortable!" Jacob declared jokingly, but with your out of control emotions it was enough to stop you mid bite and feel shame.

"Right? I think next she'll just eat straight from the trash, it's not like she is far off!" Laughed Quil, causing laughter around the table.

Your eyes watered as you choked out "I'm sorry,"

"No, don't you dare apologise." Paul stated, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. "It's these morons who have no right to be teasing you." Turning to address the pack he gave them a hard stare. "You are all being absolute dicks. She's trying to survive extreme changes to her body, something we should be particularly understanding about, but instead your being rude and judgemental. If you all don't get your shit together and start being supportive then I will absolutely see if beating some sense into you in wolf form will help the process,"

The next evening you were all once again sitting around the dining table. The pack, showing their support, were all eating your newest and rather tame craving - chocolate covered bacon.

Sam got everyones attention and raised his fork in a toast "To our newest pack member,". The rest of the pack raised their own cutlery and echoed the sentiment.

This time the tears in your eyes were from happiness.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

#twilight x reader #twilight fanfiction #twilight #twilight imagine #paul lahote x reader #paul x reader #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote fanfic #paul lahote

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damiansgoodgirll · 8 months ago

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can you please write angst with damian priest where him and reader break up because she wants a kid and he doesn’t but deep down he knows he wants a family, but he is scared because he doesn’t want to give up his wrestling career because he thinks he can’t handle family and work together please❤️❤️

damian priest x reader

‼️angst, mention of pregnancy and mention of sex but no actual smut (don’t know if there’ll be a part two sorry)

what i always wanted

it was the way becky told you that you would have been an amazing mother and the way damian was trying to change the topic that you realised that maybe, all you ever wanted wasn’t the same for damian.

you spent an amazing night with becky, seth and their adorable daughter. actually, you spent more time with roux than with becks and seth and you loved every second of it

the ride back home was silent, only music playing in background, knowing that once home you had to talk about it because it was too evident in your eyes the need to talk about the whole situation, about damian changing the subject when becky complimented you on how good you were doing with roux, about you wanting to be a mother and about damian, apparently not wanting to be a father.

“can we talk about it?” you asked him once you both changed for bed.

“about what?” he asked you, sitting in bed.

“about tonight dam…why did you change the subject when becky said i was good with roux? it looked like you were annoyed…” you said.

“what? i didn’t, and i wasn’t annoyed i promise” he said reaching to cup your face with his hands and gently kissing your lips.

“don’t you think it’s time to talk about it?” you asked him, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling.

“what do you want to talk about love?” he asked, getting curious.

“us…the future, a family”

he didn’t reply at first.

“dam?”

“you’re not happy with me?” he asked.

“i’m so happy with you dam and i love with all my heart, we’ve been together for four years now and i wouldn’t change it in any other way…but we never talked about having a family…i feel like we should have this conversation” you said , slowly sitting in bed, facing him.

“why now? i thought everything was fine…it was because of roux?” he asked.

“i don’t know, maybe…everything is fine damian but i was wondering if it’s time for us to start a family…” you said softly.

“i don’t know mi amor…i don’t even know if it’s the right moment to have this conversation, it’s midnight and we’re both tired…shouldn’t we have this conversation another day?” he asked yawning and maybe he was right.

so weeks passed.

months passed.

and you both went on with your lives.

he took you on some fancy trips. you had the best sex, like always. you had dates every week. you had sex again. you had your little fights that always ended up with make up sex and damian apologising. everything was normal, except you never had that conversation again.

and in all honesty, you were getting tired of it.

in these past months you’ve spent more times helping becky with roux and the desire of being a mother grew. your best friend son, who was now 5 said how you were his favourite aunt and how he loved spending time with you. you even babysat your neighbour’s daughter when she needed a little help with her work shift.

you needed to talk about it with damian but you never knew when or if it was the right time. when you tried to talk about it last week, he stopped you, not even letting you finish and began to talk about wrestlemania.

that comported a fight between the two of you, that ended up having sex on the kitchen counter.

and then on the kitchen table.

one night, after dinner, you’ve been cuddling on the couch while watching a show that in reality neither of you were paying attention to.

damian knew something was wrong the moment he came home from training. how you both sat in silence while eating your dinner, but he was too scared to ask.

“dam?” you called him.

“yes?”

“can we talk?” you asked him now sitting on the couch in front of him.

“sure…”

“i’ve been thinking…we’ve been together for a while now, we have this amazing home together…what do you think about kids?” you were patiently waiting for his answer.

“us? having kids?” he asked you.

“yes! i mean, not now…we could wait for a few years but i really wanted to talk about it with you…do you want a family?” tears were gathering in your eyes when you saw how hesitant he was being.

“y/n…”

“dam” you said standing in front of him “it’s an easy question. yes or no? do you want a family?”

“it’s never an easy question if it’s involving kids…it’s not a yes or no type of question. it takes time raising a child…mi amor, it takes a lot of time and effort and money and…i don’t know…i never pictured myself being the type of father guy…i don’t see myself with kids”

his answer broke you.

“do you want kids y/n?”

“yes…” you whispered “more than anything…”

“why did you never talk about it?” he asked, leaving you speechless for a second.

“i tried damian, i tried…but you stopped me…taking about wrestlemania or your training with dominik…”

“no i mean…why you never said that when we started dating” he asked you.

“what? why? would it make any difference now?” you were shocked.

“you always knew i wasn’t the type to settle with a van, kids and dogs running in the house, the type of guy with a normal job, coming home every night and kissing you good night…i’m always travelling and luckily you’re able to follow me everywhere but how would it be with kids? they need stability, they need a home and we both know we can’t…i can’t provide those things with the type of life i have…i don’t wanna settle with leaving you pregnant and home alone, i don’t wanna settle with being away all week and coming home just for the weekend…i don’t want that” he said. his words breaking all the hope you had left.

in reality, damian wanted to have kids, a family with you.

he was scared.

scared of failing.

as a partner. as a father.

scared of being too old for raising kids now.

he knew his job was a hard job, especially if kids were involved.

he didn’t want kids before but everything changed when he met you. he was just too afraid of having something good happen and now he was pushing you away. he could tell how broken you were, how disappointed you were.

being a parent is a completely new experience and he was sure he wasn’t good at it. maybe because of his rockstar lifestyle before meeting you. maybe because he never saw himself with kids before. maybe because he was scared of not being able to focus on family and career at the same time.

he was just too scared and he was pushing you away.

“dam…please…we can’t let this thing break us apart…i love you so much and i want to spend the rest of my life with you but”

“but what?” he asked, watching you crying. seeing the damage he just done “i love you so much y/n but my answer is no. you asked me if i wanted kids and my answer is no.”

“so it’s over?” you asked him, not even being able to look at him in the eyes.

“you want to be a mother y/n” he came closer to you “i can read it in your eyes, i can see it when you’re playing with roux or holding our neighbour’s daughter, i feel it everytime we walk by to a kids store or a playground, how you admire all the kids playing with their friends…i love you so much y/n, that’s why i have to let you go…you deserve to find someone who shares the same wishes as you” he said, taking your face in his hands and slowly kissing your head.

i want to be that man - his mind kept screaming.

but fear stopped him.

so that’s how you ended up in your best friend’s guest room. rhea was the first person you called when you and damian broke up and to say she was mad - no, she was pissed at damian for being so stupid to let you go.

three weeks have passed since you last spoke with him and the pain you were experiencing was too much. damian wasn’t good either - rhea said - staying away from you was hurting him too.

three weeks of no contact. three weeks of feeling like shit. you were eating less and throwing up more. always sleeping in, never going out. no matter how hard rhea and buddy tried to get you out of the bed, you always refused. you felt like shit but you never felt like that shit. you had no energy, always tired and sick. you blamed everything on the break up but deep down you knew there was something off.

rhea blamed it on damian. on how he was hurting you and on how stupid he was.

but curiosity kicked in when you realised something was more than off as it was the first time you were feeling so weird.

that’s how you found yourself, sitting on the bathroom floor with a test in your hands.

“pregnant.”

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crazyk-imagine · 4 months ago

Text

Flickering Lights and Butterflies

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Enhanced!reader

Characters: Enhanced!reader, Paul Lahote, Sam Uley, Emily Young, Jacob Black, Seth Clearwater, Embry Call, Quil Atera V, Jared Cameron, Brady Fuller, Collin Littlesea, Reader's sister (briefly mentioned), Unnamed Aunt (briefly mentioned)

Warnings: Angst, fluff, Paul being a butt, pack loves reader, I'm making it canon (for myself) that Quil is the shortest one of all, the guys tease the youngest members a lot, Emily is my iconic queen, I love writing for them, the pack is a wholesome and chaotic crew, this would have been so long so I broke it into two parts, I like adding Brady and Collin because they're my fun extras, my babies are causing themselves issues, literally don't know how involved I got with this, Sam knows when to listen to his luna

Word Count: 2,040

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

You close your eyes and throw an arm over your head, covering the upper half of your face.

You can feel the energy from the person sitting beside you but don't move.

The crunching of the grass raising the hairs on your arms causing you to inadvertently shiver from the goosebumps.

"Are you ever going to come back inside?"

"Why should I?"

"First off, I don't want you to get a cold."

You sigh, "Emily-"

"I'm not pressuring you to come back inside but I don't want you to be cold. I don't want to lose another girl to hang out with because she was stubborn."

You scoff through your nose, lips twitching as you fight to keep your emotions in control. You push yourself up and stare up into the sky, blowing out a breath, seeing it disappear into the wind.

God it's cold.

"See, it's cold enough for you to see your breath which means it's time to come inside."

You smile at her concern, something you haven't heard in a while. "I'll be right behind you."

The knot in your shoulder tightens and the burning, tingling sensation is back. "I don't want to talk to him."

He huffs, "I'm not the bad guy here."

"You don't sound like the good guy either."

"Says you."

You push yourself off the ground and rush past him.

He grabs your arm, pulling you back.

You gasp in fear, grabbing at his hand; worried for his safety. "Get off me."

"Not until we talk."

"I don't want to talk. Let go of me." You avoid staring into his eyes.

"Give me five minutes. It's not going to hurt you."

"Let go of me."

"Look me in the eye and I will."

You shove him away and run inside. You lock yourself in the guest bathroom.

Emily runs in, glancing around in search of you. "Bathroom," she mutters.

The others enter, seeing their luna knocking on the door.

They turn to Paul who glares at the door with his arms crossed.

"What happened?" Embry asks.

"Little miss stains ran off into the bathroom."

They can see the play back in their minds and wonder what happened.

You hold your head in your hands, pleading to freak out. "No, no, no."

You raise your head, staring at the ceiling. "Please don't."

You can hear her pleading and assume the others are talking about you in a bad way.

You hyperventilate, unsure of how to calm down.

You hold your breath and rub your chest, mentally telling yourself you're okay and need to calm down.

The lights pop.

You don't want to go out.

"Sweetie. I need you to open the door. I need to see that you're okay."

Sam steps towards his fiancée. "What's happening?"

She places a hand on his arm. "Sam as much as I love you, I need you and the boys to stay in the kitchen."

He wants to ask more but can see by the look on her face, he won't get any. He nods and steps away.

She sits beside the door, "they're in the kitchen. I told them to go away."

"Emily," you whine, embarrassed.

"It's okay. If you come out, then we can take care of this."

You unlock the door after a few moments. "I am so sorry."

"I know," she opens her arms to hug you.

You immediately throw yourself into her grasp.

Paul catches slight movement from the corner of his eyes and smells the saltiness of your tears, furrowing his brows.

You two make your way back into the kitchen.

You glance at them from the corner of your eye, sensing the concern of Sam about his fiancé.

You lower your head.

Emily breaks away from Sam, mouthing that she's got this.

She places a gentle hand on your shoulders. "Do you want to go home?"

You raise your head and stare at her with a wobbly lip, tears trailing past your waterline.

She offers a gentle smile. "I'll stay with you tonight. I won't leave you alone."

"You promise?" Your voice cracks, breaking everyone's heart, namely Paul's.

She gives you an affirmative nod. "I promise. Have you ever known me to break a promise?"

You can't hold back the choking sob that escapes when you laugh.

She wraps an arm around you and pulls you out with her, heading into her old truck.

He follows behind.

As soon as you settle into the passenger seat, he tries to make his way to you. "Can I-"

She shakes her head. "Not now, Paul. She's- today's not good, okay?"

"What's wrong with her?"

She shakes her head, "I know that's not what you mean but I can't answer that because we need to go."

His eyes follow the truck as she backs out.

You look up and catch his gaze, his shoulders sag at the sight of your broken-down face.

You wake up and stare at the ceiling with the moonlight lighting the living room.

Emily lays asleep on the longer end of the couch, curled into the blanket since tonight's colder than it has been all week.

You push yourself up and think about everything that happened earlier in the day. You don't know whether you wish it didn't happen or if it happened sooner.

You wander into the kitchen and get yourself a glass of water.

After drinking as much as you can, you glance out the window and stare into the forest, always finding it peaceful since you were a kid... back when you two were friends.

You sigh, remembering how embarrassed you were, it was stupid but then your parents got into an accident and your sister was taken to live with your aunt in California while you were left in the care of Emily because she was your godmother and wanted nothing more than to keep you in Folks.

She tried all she could to keep you two together, but your mom's sister fought harder for your sister.

You know Paul probably doesn't even know why you were so upset or what happened since a proper funeral didn't take place, you don't even know if he knows.

You blink and you’re back to reality, no longer stuck in memory lane and find a wolf near your house.

It's him, you know it.

There's no other reason a wolf would be nearby at this time of night, intensely staring at your house or you.

You turn away, unsure of what to do about everything that's happened.

You step back into the living room, checking on Emily, smiling when you see she's still asleep.

You wipe the stray tear that trickles down your cheek, thinking back to when you and your sister would stay in the living room for your sister hangouts.

A shadow moving near the door alarms you, causing you to turn and investigate.

You jump, placing a hand over your heart, wanting to curse him out.

You carefully unlock the door and step outside, making sure to grab your key beforehand, in case you get locked out.

The last thing you need is Paul to try and get you back inside and/or scare the daylight out of Emily because of him.

You sigh, crossing your arms. "What do you want?"

His eyes are drawn down towards your chest at your movements before trailing back to your annoyed expression, something he finds himself falling more and more for.

"If you’re just going to oogle me like a piece of meat, I'm going back inside."

His hands grab your wrist, stopping you before you can step closer to the door. "No- I- I didn't come here for that."

"What did you come for?" You snatch your wrist back from him.

The porch light buzzes, you pray this doesn't take long.

"I wanted to talk."

"Then talk."

"Could we skip the attitude?"

"The only one here with the attitude is you."

"Says the one who keeps running when I open my mouth."

"It was a bad idea coming out here to talk to you, just go, Paul."

He sighs.

The light pops, breaking above you.

You flinch, raising your arm to cover your face and slowly dropping it so the pieces of light don't cut your skin.

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you away from the mess. "Hey, hey," he cups your cheeks. "Are you okay?"

You avoid making eye contact with him.

"Stop fighting me and look at me."

You turn your head and find his concerned expression to be the most breathtaking thing you've ever seen.

His eyes are drawn the red line across your cheek. "Your-"

Emily opens the door, staring at the two of you and looks to the side, finding the mess. "You two get inside so I-"

Paul shakes his head, "I'll do it. You take care of her."

"You need to tell him."

"I don't have to tell him."

"He's your best friend."

"Was my friend but then he started growing up and became a butthead."

"Boys who like someone are mean to them because they have the emotional capacity of a stick."

You owlishly blink, listening to the phrase she said. "Yeah, I know. He's prime example number one."

"Not all relationships are perfect."

"That's true and we're not in one."

"Maybe he can help you?"

"With what?"

"Your issue."

You shake your head, "no. He's not helping me."

"He's the only one who doesn't know."

"The other guys don't know."

"I think out of all the boys, other than Sam, Quil might know what happened, other than that they don't."

"And I don't know them."

She sighs, "is this really the attitude you're going to have towards the one the universe decided was yours?"

You pretend to think about it for a second. "Yep."

You step out of the hall, watching him try and remember where to put the broom. "Give it." You put it back in its place. "Thanks."

"It was no big deal. I didn't want you to get hurt."

You roll your eyes. "That."

"What?"

"Why do you keep doing that?"

"Why do you think?"

The question holds no attitude even though the phrase seems like it.

"I don't know because you won't talk about it."

"Do you- nevermind."

"No, tell me."

"I don't want to do this right now, Paul. Please, go home."

"No," he stands his ground, tired of you pushing him away. "What happened with us because one second we're friends and the next we're not."

"Did you ever think maybe you acting like a dick was reason enough?"

"You're blaming me?" His shoulders tense up.

Emily notices and eyes him from the couch.

"I didn't make fun of my friend and get the other kids to join in on the tormenting, you did that easily enough."

"I didn't mean to. I told you-"

"That was not joking around, and you blatantly made fun of me."

"I- I didn't know any better. I was a kid."

"Just because you were a kid, doesn't mean you didn't have a brain, you just had to use it. You know those kids are ruthless and mean then you joined in with them."

"I didn't think they were close to me."

"They hated me."

"Everyone hated everyone, girls were gross then."

You scoff, looking away to hide the fact that that day was the beginning of the end for you as you tear up. "I don't want to talk to you anymore," you tell him wiping your cheek.

"Why are you crying?"

"Do you even know how long that stupid nickname has stuck around, even now because you still use it?"

"It's cute."

"It's annoying. I don't like it and you still bully me."

"It's not bullying if it's endearing."

"Try the opposite."

"Okay," he sighs, "I'll stop using it."

"I'm happy the two of you are acting like your friends again but it's almost two in the morning and I'm tired."

"I'm off patrol and it's raining."

"Convenient," you mumble.

He smiles, staring at you as you plop beside Emily. "The lights are still working."

"I noticed." She places her hand on the back of your head and mindlessly pats your head.

You fight to keep your eyes open, listening to the two talking while you're becoming more and more relaxed.

Tag List

@kmc1989 @gilbertgirl13

Continue to: Part II

Paul Lahote Master List

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darlingpwease · 1 year ago

Note

I wonder if Can you write Yandere Omega Seth (from Ennead) if you okay with it

I'll find you

hide as much as you can // I'll find you

♡ fictional mythology, unhealthy behaviour, lovehate dynamic (love -> lovehate), animalistic behaviour, pet names, power exchange, mention of bloodletting (seth), hints of incestuous relationships?; beta!reader -> alpha!reader, heqet/khnum!reader implied

♡ rough treatment, mild blood kink, mild scent kink, heavy petting, dubious consent -> consensual, unprotected sex / breeding, bondage by sand, power imbalance -> power exchange; word 'womb' used once for Seth

𓂀 Contacting this omega is not the best solution — you realized when you first met him, while coming out of the Nile, the keeper of the floods of which you were.

Of course, it's not that you were obliged to communicate with any of them or even be interested in your distant relatives, who were no more than the seventh water on the jelly, but you needed to come out of the depths of the Nile at least from time to time — and when you finally come out, for the first time you meet an unusually red shade, burning like a torch against the background of burning golden sand and the sky blue as the waters of the Nile.

He was like a creature that was born from the spilled blood of all the fallen warriors who did not find their way home, but took refuge in your waters, sprinkling your waters over and over again until the river turns red like the sunset.

His name was 'SETH', he was the god of war and the desert, his parents were Geb and Nut — and when your gaze first crossed, it was as if you were hit on the head with something; almost a low cry of 'YOU WERE NOTICED' so loud that if you were human, you would turn away and run away, — under the sand, under the ground, under the water, no matter where, — but you are not a human and, even if you were weaker than him, you would not run away.

After all, who is the 'God of War and the Desert' against the Deity who keeps the Nile?

“Don't you dare look at me like that anymore.”

wolf cub.

You can guess that his behavior is probably an attempt to attract, as a fertile young omega provokes a fertile young alpha to get angry and chase after him, showing everything they can, just to prove that they are good enough to fill the womb. You know all this. After all, you were the one who created the figures of people who were illuminated by Ra, and you were more than able to watch these playtimes when the lovers went too far in their games and fell together into the coastal waters after a long chase.

And you more than know the brilliance of those eyes — and react faster than realize, like water, which acts intuitively, not relying on reason, to survive. They say that betas have a stronger intuition with understanding of the world — it's not for nothing that you are one of those gods who prefer maximum detachment, 'spirituality', achieved through refusing to accept the role of omega or alpha.

And you let your instincts dictate.

Before his cheeky mouth has time to say anything, you just have to make a wave so that the waters of the Nile aim at him like a beast that has found prey — and break against a strong, slender figure, without causing severe pain, but forcing him to take steps back, no longer bursting into your space.

SETH'S hair, dripping and darkened from the water, sticks to body — but before he has time to resist you in any way, calling to himself the sands of the desert, submissive to him like a tamed pet, you dissolve into the water, returning to your native current...

“I'll find you!”

... The waters of the Nile easily take you into themselves as a natural part, hiding you from the outside world, dissolving like everything that falls into the water abyss and stays here; it's not for nothing that people say that it was water that gave birth to life, and that water is necessary for life.

And although you are not a water Deity, you are also worth something.

𓂀 You know that this is not Ra — although the method of summoning is the same, Ra would rather strangle herself than summon you, especially so soon after the last arrival. Even if you had a... good relationship, — you both contributed to the appearance of 'humans' — it was obvious that you were still different.

Your clay figurines needed a bright fire to come to life, just as she craved worship and followers — it was an interchange where mortals became what brought you closer and pushed you away from each other.

However, SETH was looking for you for other reasons, quite different from 'worshippers'.

Although you are used to being summoned in other ways, such as sacrifices and festivals, you must admit that you clearly underestimated the son of Nut and Geb, who were no better than any of them — but at least they were smart enough not to try to find out from Ra a way to summon you without having to wait at Nila.

Because more than herself and power, Ra loved only to have fun — and sometimes you wondered if she was looking for power just to have fun.

“... Heh.”

When he looks down at you, like a child who has found a gift hidden from him, his scarlet lips stretch in a cheeky smile.

If most gods and goddesses somehow have more alpha and omega traits, then SETH looks like there are too many of these traits in him, like an omega-like alpha or alpha-like omega than beta.

“It turns out that this is the only way you can be summoned? I thought to the last that she was lying...”

The scarlet spot spreads across the water surface of the unusually calm Nile, dissolving in the streams of water that carry the particles with them, absorbing a new part of itself into its course. If people knew how much Nile water contains particles of their children, parents, friends, spouses, enemies, detractors, traitors — would they drink it?

If they knew that the same water absorbs the blood of the gods they worship, what would they look like, scooping up water like the purest gold — the same as he controls, the God of the Desert, smelling of sand dust, dry grass and heat?

“I don't care. You're here, so it was worth it.”

You don't think that the blood of God should be used for such things, like simply calling you from the river bottom, but don't say anything, giving someone to continue — and SETH continues without hearing an answer.

And although he, in fact, created a trap for you, filling the entire stone floor with his sand to make sure that you don't run away anywhere, you feel more like in the paws of a small puppy than in the cave of a mature wolf.

Wasn't it really an exaggeration to be afraid of him?

... Apparently, you have been under water for so long, absorbing the blood of warriors and animals, that you have become too sensitive to any danger...

“I promised you I'd find you.”

𓂀 SETH smells of freedom — not the freedom that has no limits or restrictions, only dead bodies that float along the Nile can have such freedom, but the freedom that is like the hot breath of the desert during the day and the icy whisper of the desert at night; it smells of heat, dry grass, the blood of soldiers and treasures captured with the help of weapons.

You pretend that you don't notice when treasures fall to the bottom of the Nile, and that, moreover, don't understand who gives you them; but it's hard for you to deny that you don't like the look of them. After all, the Nile is not just a 'river' or 'your home', but your temple and refuge, and the sight of expensive and precious things sheltering the once bare, dreary bottom undoubtedly improves the view and your mood; especially when the current of the river carries you further, and gold, like a lighthouse, shines; sprinkling the dark bottom is like the moon shining on the darkest desert night.

SETH is hot and fervent, like burning blood flowing out of him until you hand an object that can immediately contact you, instead of flooding waters, as if out of spite spending more than really needed, as if the more blood, the faster you will rise to the surface.

(in a sense, it is, but for other reasons...)

You can understand that this relationship is frowned upon, at least by his brother, but there's not much you can do — the waters of the Nile are all-encompassing and almost omnipresent, and the way SETH regularly calls you is almost charming if it wasn't so intense, as if every time he struggles with himself in the desire to devour you or to drag away, but at the same time I have to give up this need, which is close to the human need to drink water. You don't need to ask him about it to know — the way he looks at you, as if wanting to sink his teeth into your skin and take you to his cave, is more than eloquent, and even the way his smell intensifies, silently shouting that he is a strong, healthy and fertile omega, in itself is an obvious sign.

And the fact that you are just as quiet and calm, like serene dark waters, untouched by gusts of sandy wind, only further inflames his burning passion and desire, which he himself cannot describe in any way except as 'mine'.

Mine.

Mine mine mine — you give life, carry life, no matter in a running stream or standing water, watching as the surface is filled with bodies and blood, dirt and tears, bodies entwined in passion and love embraces. It doesn't matter — everything will be dissolved in your current and carried away until it becomes no more than another drop in billions of the same, carrying information that only you know.

SETH, on the other hand, carries with him the smell of something wild, giving life, — but also ruthlessly taking it for himself, strewing everything with the red-hot gold of the desert, which becomes more and more every time you rise, noticing how the waters that used to caress the fertile lands now nourish the sand.

And you know what will happen next — SETH has never been a secretive type, even if his method of hunting was closer to big cats hiding until they get close enough to bite into the throat and gnaw, taking them to their hideout. SETH is the same cat — big, red and strong, smelling of mature omega when he notices that you are more responsive to this fragrance.

SETH is not at all deeply interested in the topic of "let's mate" — are you sure that he is attracted not at all to your physical data or smell, but to how comfortable and safe he is next to you, letting him finally relax, looking for comfort in your waters, and that if he decided that you would be his, then you will be his.

He will always find you.

𓂀 SETH is persistent, stubborn and aggressive. Even if his emotions are a sphere that is easy to push and cause pain, you understand perfectly well that he is the god who will break rather than bend.

But when he asks you what happens to the bodies of those soldiers that he led to war, when they find themselves in the Nile, like bags full of blood, breathing and thinking recently, at first you don't know what to answer — not because you can't share his silent pain, looking like a scorpion that suddenly bared you have a soft vulnerable tummy, but because you have nothing to answer.

What happens to the bodies? The Nile absorbs them — everything that was dumped into the waters finds itself in the stomachs of animals or in water particles, carrying with it such an amount of memory that nothing else can contain.

“... If I die one day, will you promise that my memory will be preserved in your waters?”

You no longer know if you are talking about the waters of the Nile or something else — but you know that you will probably never find SETH like this again.

Unusually fragile, as if really an ordinary omega who just wants to have a family, a common nest and puppies. To have you as an alpha, to be in the same nest with you and to have children together.

What can you say other than consent? No matter what happens, he will always remain in your memory — as a special memory that will never be erased.

“... Thank you. I'll never forget you either. And I won't let go.”

His eyes are burning just like the sunset on the background.

“We'll be together. Always. Because I chose you and I won't let you go.”

𓂀 His power becomes stronger, and when you meet him again, you have nothing to oppose when the sand from the land and the bottom rises to grab you.

Undoubtedly, it wasn't something that you 'didn't expect' — SETH was never the type who tried to hide what intentions he had if he saw that it would affect your attitude, and even if he found comfort in your touches and hugs, covering him like a blanket from the whole world, he never had this safe habit of 'being content with little'. His intentions were obvious from the first meeting and did not change at all — you were perfect, from head to toe, the only one with whom he would like to spend one heat and then make you spend thousands more, finally feeling complete, finished.

He, the god of the Desert and War, with you, Deity of the Nile flood — is not the best couple that can be?

'No'?

... Ha, does someone think that things like "imperfect couple" or "more worthy" or "more accessible" or "morally wrong" or something else will stop him?

Does he need permission? If he wants it — he will get it. And nothing can stop him.

Even if you are a beta, you smell fertile, pleasant, sweet — you smell of life, sex, from which children are born, absorbing the spilled blood and creating from it what brings birth and fertility, and SETH has always been more than gambling and ready to put everything on the line.

And you knew it.

Even if you are safe in the water, once you get out, nothing can save you — especially when you step on the sand, which immediately becomes your cage, locking you in. The waters immediately splash out of the Nile, crushing on him, but now SETH moves only a couple of steps, becoming much more powerful — and when palms grab by the wrists while teeth close on neck, everything inside you starts screaming again that you need to run right now.

Now the sand turns out to be decorated with spots of the deity's blood.

His mark pulsates on never-marked neck — and although it is not the same among deities as among people, you clearly see that for him it was not at all 'just a bite' or a 'mating mark', but a sign of possession, while the pupils in the blood-red iris, the shade of red-hot metal, expand, and a nimble pink tongue licks the blood from scarlet lips.

Red.

RED RED RED.

Nails are no worse than the claws of a wolf, and even fangs look like they can easily tear apart a dozen other people who decide to intervene.

The sand squeezes your feet so tightly that you can't even twitch.

This is all completely wrong.

You cowardly escape into the waters — betas are not capable of mating, are not created for this, closer to 'asexual beings' who do not have a biological task in the form of giving birth, much closer to the primordial asexual matter than to the omegas and alphas giving birth, but for some reason a mark with an imprint burns on his neck which didn't exist before.

Was it you? Or was it the part of you that you denied? You didn't know. It is easier to plunge into the native waters than to try to figure out why for the first time its fragrance was so dizzying, or why you went for something like this. You're not like that at all — not like that at all. It's not normal.

But you'll have to get out soon anyway.

You don't want your omega to get hurt while calling you, right, alpha?

Interlude

“I'm surprised you decided to step in anyway, dear.”

When the sand almost gently wraps around your hands, you realize that the biggest stupidity you can do is to try to escape.

Even if there is water in things like vases in the room, this is too little to create the necessary amount — and even to make sand soft and heavy, such a meager amount is not enough, except to pour it on him and break a vase on this face.

“Wasn't it you who liked to be constantly huddled in your little shell? Hiding there from any danger and thinking that it will help you?”

His hands are not the same as before — slightly rough, wide palms that easily slide over your cool skin, leaving warm traces, slightly scratching with sharp nails, as if hinting that you should not do rash things; if he did not smell like a blooming omega, you would think that he was alpha or alpha-like beta.

“But it turns out that if it's not me, but someone else, then you're ready to help them! No matter how much blood I shed, you didn't come out — but as soon as it was Isis, you immediately got out to help.”

His mark on your neck has not been pulsating for a long time, but when his fingers touch your neck, he freezes for a moment, assessing the scar left, which is almost impossible to notice — and from something, your body again feels this soreness, fettering for a moment from the realization of what happened before the brain began to work feverishly.

Then.

Now you are experiencing phantom pain until you realize that it is not 'phantom' — SETH shamelessly licks your blood from his fingers when he realizes that he scratched the old mark.

“This is wrong.”

Even when blood drips down from the shoulder, you know that's not what you need to worry about — his body is hot as the desert during the day, especially when his hips easily sit on top of yours, taking care that the sand does not let go of your hands.

“I promised you I'd always be there for you; although it was you who avoided me all these years, not appearing even when the corpses filled the entire Nile, while the other gods were terrified of what was happening — but I understand. A lot to do, yes? You've always been busy and strict, ever since our first meeting, when you doused me like some kind of animal.”

The thick scent of omega is so strong that you are not sure if it smells from him or if it is something else — the same thing that made you bite his neck then; your bite is also still burning on his skin, although it looks much more noticeable on him, although you are sure that you bit weaker than him.

The sweet bloody fragrance makes you dizzy.

“And when I saw you, I realized that you didn't live well either; after all, who but me could take care of a hermit like you?”

His hands, in spite of everything, are omeganine soft and pleasant, even if he uses them to look even more wrongly charming, as if he did not sneak into your bedroom — in which you were definitely expecting this meeting — to "talk heart to heart" while his hot wet slippery thighs touch your hips,

obviously.

“I was doing the wrong thing. I gave you the 'right to choose', thinking that this is what lovers should do — but, you know, people around me explained to me what I did wrong. By own example. And I'm ready to show you what I should have done back then, instead of this idiotic thought that you'd think it over and make a nest with me...”

He purrs — deep in his throat, like a big cat, when a strong flexible hand gently rests on your chest while the second one uses the surface behind as a support, rubs against your thighs, leaving sticky wet traces of juice on your bare skin, from touching which your skin burns, and you don't look at him, making sure not to do anything you might regret,

“Look at your omega.”

but it's hard to do when his hand moves from your chest to your throat, not squeezing, but feeling quite threatening, even if you are sure that it will not cause any harm.

“Don't you dare take your eyes off me or I'll scratch them out. You can only look at me and see only me. No one else and nothing else.”

The way he hovers feels almost the same as when he was able to summon you for the first time — his hair hangs down freely, like the flames of candles burning around you, and the same abnormally bright glow burns in his eyes, like the eyes of a cat. Or a wolf.

An abandoned, starved wolf.

“... Like I said, no one cares about you but me — you can fight this idea all you want, but we both know it's true.”

It's wet, wet, hot, sticky, tight between SETH'S thighs — you didn't consider yourself a 'virgin', but when the smell gets stronger and sharper, even you need time to get rid of the veil of excitement that covers eyes in the basest way, looking at his strong thighs while red hair falls over his shoulders, revealing a view of the most handsome omega in your life.

“Therefore...”

His lips are scarlet, thin, beautiful, and when he bends over you, you can't feel the inarticulate delight and the misunderstanding that follows it, associated with the simultaneous desire to pull away from repeated unusual stimulation and the desire to take this stimulation, grab by the hair and breed until it becomes clear that you will need a joint nest, in which he will keep the puppies while you fill him again and again.

Over and over, until his belly is rounded.

This is wrong.

His legs are slender and strong, ideal so that you don't have to do anything while SETH is able to at least move his knees — but you are sure that if you just wrap your hands around his hips and squeeze, you will get much more pleasure and delight, hammering into him with the basest this is wrong in a way.

It's the smell of omega. Definitely the smell of omega.

You yourself can't feel like this for him — for omega, who first marked you, then pursued you for many years and now, finally getting a chance, immediately pounced like an overexcited wolf, to such an extent that you can see the juice flowing down his thighs, although you are sure that even he does not realize it himself, considering it nothing more than a 'punishment'.

“... let me take care of–”

Of course you will.

Everything happens in the blink of an eye — the water, the sand, astonished expression on his face and how it takes you no more than a couple of minutes to find yourself in a deliciously tight heat, from which his claws immediately scratch your hands holding him on his back until it bleed, but nothing in him tries to escape, even if SETH growls mixed with purring, choking on words as you snuggle tighter, allowing something more animal, dirty to take control.

You smell of life, passion, sex — 'the very sex from which children are born', the very life that gave rise to mortals, and you know that you have something to fill this womb with.

When his cheeks are covered with a bright blush, reminiscent of the shade of his eyes and hair; you can't help but reach out to burrow into his neck, not caring about the sand that is wrapped around your ankle — and not caring about the aggressive imperiousness with which SETH squeezes you while sharp fangs bite your lips almost to the point of blood, greedily kissing, almost devouring.

If you leave me again, I'll find you and kill you.

#.spicy♡#❖.my jewelry #🥮 — ennead #✉.seth #🧸.yandere au #🧸.omegaverse au #🧸.unhealthy #🧸.blood play #gender neutral reader #cw dark content #seth x reader #top reader #ennead smut

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everpresence · 2 months ago

Text

stop caring about what others think: the law perspective

hi, everyone! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

i've thought about writing this post for a while, especially since this is a mindset that i am freeing myself from. i know i'm not the only one who grew up in the state of being a people pleaser, so this is for people who were programmed to neglect their own desires and give in to pressure from family, friends, and society.

the other day, my mom noticed that i had a really long gray strand of hair. i didn't believe her at first, but when she pulled it out and showed it to me, i was shocked. it looked like it had been there for months, and i wondered to myself what i did for this to happen.

seth said that your physical body is a reflection of your beliefs, or your dominant dwelling state. if you notice that there is something "wrong" with your body, then you must first look into your thoughts and emotions over the last few weeks, months, etc.

Physical symptoms are communications from the inner self, indications that we are making mental errors of one kind or another. ♡ Seth (channeled by Jane Roberts), The Seth Material

after seeing that gray hair, i knew that it was because of stress. okay, what was i stressed about? i started looking back into what i had dwelt on over the last few months, and i realized that i was stressed out about a lot of things. what stood out, though, was my inner conversations about my family. i was mainly dwelling on what my family thought of me, whether i was worthy of their approval or not, if they were proud of me, etc.

in other words, i cared way too much about how they think and feel about me that it had translated to not only having that long gray strand of hair, it also translated to other physical symptoms (chronic fatigue, chest pain, rashes).

and not only did it translate to those physical symptoms, it also translated to my thoughts, emotions, and the events i was experiencing in the 3D. in other words, everything out here is a reflection of your inner state of being. the cause is always inner.

i found myself feeling more anxious about talking to my parents, wishing that they didn't bring up anything that i really don't want to do. i even avoided them for a certain period of time because of this fear. and since the law is always working 24/7, they ended up bringing it up way more often since i frequently dwelt on what i don't want to hear.

thankfully, though, if i decide to do the opposite (i.e., dwelling on what i want to hear instead), then the 3D has no choice but to outpicture what i choose to experience with my inner senses.

when you consistently dwell on people pleasing, on your fears and doubts about your family, peers, etc., these are all going to be translated into your thoughts, your emotions, your physical body, your experience—everything.

when you care too much about what other people think, when you consent to someone else's limiting beliefs about reality, when you care about external validation, it is only hindering your infinite potential. you are only going to experience such limitations and unhappiness in your reality because you chose to try to fit into someone else's box.

As long as you're in a state of consciousness where you care so much what other people think and what their attitudes will be, you're not going to get very far. ♡ Reverend Ike, "Your Unconscious Fear of Success Affirmation"

i am not saying this as a way to fearmonger, or to blame, or to guilt-trip you. that's not my intention.

i am saying this for you to fully realize the connection between your inner world and your outer world.

nothing is random. nothing is an accident. you are always getting what you concentrated upon, and therefore, you ultimately have the responsibility to choose what reality you want to experience.

you're the only one that can free yourself from these states. no one else can do that for you.

the more you focus on being true to yourself, the more you shift your focus from making other people happy to letting yourself be happy, the more you're going to experience the happiness that comes with the authenticity of your unique being.

yes, it might feel hard to do so at first, but that's because we have made a habit out of wanting to please other people and being rewarded with external validation. it is what we have gotten used to since the beginning of our lives.

however, if you want to be the best version of yourself, you must give up all inner conversations about what other people think of you, that what they think about you matters. stop the arguments in your head. their thoughts and opinions about you have no power over you unless you choose to give it to them. it only matters what you think and feel about yourself.

your inner world is your refuge, where every single reality you desire to experience and is already promised to you exists in this present moment. everything is happening all at once. here, you can experience how it'd feel now that you are free to be yourself, to do whatever you want, to be unconditionally loved and accepted no matter what. you must make this a habit, and the more often you do this, the easier it gets.

I must consciously return to my new state constantly. I must feel its naturalness, like my own bed at night. At first the new state seems unnatural, like wearing a new suit or hat. Although no one knows your suit is new, you are so conscious of it you think everyone is looking at you. You are aware of its fit and its feeling until it becomes comfortable. So it is with your new state. At first you are conscious of its strangeness; but with regular wearing, the new state becomes comfortable, and its naturalness causes you to constantly return to it, thereby making it real. ♡ Neville Goddard, "The Perfect Image"

if you find yourself going back to those old inner conversations, don't beat yourself up over it. don't criticize yourself. it's okay. consciousness is the only reality, but you are also having a human experience. you are on your own journey, and this is completely normal. be gentle with yourself and let those thoughts and emotions pass over, as they are only temporary. then choose to continue to let yourself dwell on who you really want to be within.

to wrap this post up, i have a song recommendation :]

i stumbled upon this song on spotify by paris hilton which features rina sawayama (I LOVE HER BTW RAHHHHHH). perhaps the lyrics will resonate with you guys and allow yourselves to enter the feeling of being your authentic self.

#♡#loassumption #law of assumption #loablr #affirm and persist #loa tumblr #loa blog #spirituality #law of attraction #loattraction #manifesting #manifestation #imagination creates reality #self concept #self actualization #growth mindset #glow up #this has been in the drafts for a while #Spotify

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xetlynn · 1 year ago

Text

Jacob Black x fem!Reader

Anything For You

Warnings:kind of angsty, cursing.

You’ve been best friends with Jacob for years, being so close with him his friends were your friends. Even Billy counted you as family. Especially due to your parents always being away for business oriented reasons, never having time for their daughter.

But as of lately Jacob has been distant, only because of an old friend back in town. Bella Swan. The girl who made your best friend ditch you for every plan you guys have made these past weeks.

Something you didn’t realize was truly bothering you until you called him one night. The one night you begged him not to miss and he did. It was the night of your concert for your school orchestra. A thing you took pride in.

When you looked in the crowd to find Embry, Quil, Seth, Paul and Billy. But no Jacob. His excuse was that he had forgotten, simple mistake.

Simple mistake that crushed you beyond belief.

It was one thing for your parents to miss your concerts, to not even come home for dinner. But Jacob doing this was a betrayal even you felt childish for being upset about.

And then today, you waited outside where he said he would meet you after dropping Bella off at home. He said that he would be there at 3 pm. As it is now reaching 5:30 you pulled out your sketch book. You talked to your school counselor who gave it to you, telling you to draw or write down how you feel.

Today you wrote, filling two pages front and back about how you miss your best friend.

Who you thought even at one point could have been more than your best friend. Thinking you guys were just reaching that point in life.

“[Name]!?” The voice made you hopeful but once it actually reached your ears you frowned slightly as it was not who you were waiting for. “Hey, Seth.” You forced a smile.

“Hey, uh Embry, Quil and I were gonna go to the beach. We noticed you’ve been sitting here a while. We wondered if you wanted to join?” His eyes looked hopeful.

The boy had a crush on you, he’s had one for a few years. Knowing who your heart belonged to he never said anything but everyone knew.

Even you.

“Uh, I guess.” You shrug, getting up from your spot.

Trying to enjoy yourself with the thoughts in the back of your mind was irritating, forcing yourself to laugh along with their jokes you actually didn’t understand.

The four of you tossed a ball to each other, Quil now had it in his hands and you sighed. Waiting until it came to you. “Hey, you alright over there?” Embry shouted with a grin on his face, not knowing you actually were not doing well.

“Oh, I’m fine!” You wave a hand to motion you were okay. Quil raised an eyebrow. “You sure it has nothing to do with Billy Blacks son?” He questions and your eyes spiked open from what he said.

“What?” Was all that could form out of your mouth.

“We’ve seen how much of a douche he’s been, [Name] we aren’t blind.” Embry tells you, not meaning to be so harsh but it just came out that way. You glance down, catching the ball from him. “I uh, didn’t know other people noticed.” You gripped the football, not wanting to make eye contact with them.

“Of course we noticed, especially when he fucking didn’t come to your concert you’ve been non stop talking about.” Quil rolls his eyes.

You laugh,

“It’s whatever, he’s happy hanging out with her. I can’t rely on him all the time.” You try to force up a lie on how you feel. “Yeah, okay. Throw the ball, princess.” Embry winks.

Taking in a breath you chucked it at Seth, not realizing how hard you threw it. And the fact that he wasn’t ready it hit him right in the face. “Oh my god!” You gasp, covering your mouth as the other two burst into laughter.

He groans, holding his nose, checking to see if it was bleeding and luckily it wasn’t. “I’m so sorry, Seth!” You run over to him. Trying not to laugh now as the others bent over holding onto each other as they can’t contain it.

“It’s okay,” he waves it off but you shake your head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He says and you pull him into a hug.

“You got one hell of an arm.” Embry snickers.

“Shut up.” You mutter silently to them as you hold the younger boy.

“Im really okay, [Name].” He tells you as his face burns hotter and he grows flustered.

“That’s what’s going to give him a nosebleed.” Quil teases and the two laugh again.

“Oh leave him alone.” You tell them then look down at him and your mouth goes into the shape of an ‘o’ so you let him go. The boy clears his throat. “I’ll go get the ball now.” He announces but as he turns around Jacob was standing there handing him the football.

His face laid no expression. Your heart races from him just being near.

“Can I talk to you?” His eyes meet yours and your posture straightens. “Can it wait for later?” You nervously glance at the other guys who stand awkwardly.

“We will just go.” Embry says, grabbing Seth nod pushing him away, Quil follows. You mentally curse at them for leaving you.

“Please, just hear me out.”

“What is it Jake?” You snap, acting impatient wanting to get whatever this conversation will be to just happen.

He reluctantly pulls out your sketchbook and your eyes widen. You instantly run to your bag, digging through it to find that exact same book, not believing you actually left it back at the house.

“[Name] why didn’t you-“

“Oh don’t give me shit! I can’t believe you read through my book!” You snatch the book back, throwing it on the ground. “Why would you read it?” Your voice cracked as tears threatened to peak through. Trying to shove the feeling down.

“Hey, calm down.” He steps closer but you step back and a pained expression shoots across his face.

“Go vent to Bella about it.” You sat on the sad, picking the book back up and staring at it.

“Please.” He comes closer. “What!? Just say what you need to say. Get it over with since you obviously won’t give up.” Tears fall and you quickly wipe them away as you feel ashamed and embarrassed.

“I.. I didn’t realize I was being such an asshole.” He says, he follows every movement you make, “[Name] there are no excuses to how I have been treating you.” He falls to his knees in front of you. “No, there’s not. No excuse for going through my shit either.” You point a finger in his face, hiccuping as you cried.

“I know,” he sighs. “I don’t know why I got so excited when Bella needed me. I don’t know why I left you out and forgot your fucking concert. It was unexceptional of me.” He tries to get closer so you would look at him but you turned your head to stare at the waves of the water, gripping the book.

“You’re worth more than that. You’ve been my person- my number one for years.” He takes the book out of your hands, throwing it aside and holding your wrists. You don’t resist. You close your eyes, not wanting anymore tears to fall in front of him. “I got confused, I… I realized I need you. More than anything, more than the food I eat, the water that graces this Earth, I’d rather lose sleep that’s how much I need you. I need you near me or I can’t breathe. The distance that pulled us apart was slowly breaking me and I didn’t even know that feeling was because I wasn’t with you.” He expresses, his voice wavering throughout his words. Your body shutters as your silently sob, your lip quivering as you shivered.

The look on your face physically hurts him, his body feels like crumbling knowing that this was because of him.

“I want- need you to know I will do anything. Anything to make it up to you. To never see these tears fall from those pretty eyes unless they were happy ones.”

Your eyes follow from his hands holding tightly to your wrists, going up his torso then to his lips, and then lands on his eyes.

For the first time, the world shifted. Everything grows brighter, his touch burning but you don’t move an inch. An energy switch from wanting to hate him more than anything to just wanting him around you. Even without speaking you’d be okay.

A small noise escapes passed your lips, then you speak. “As much as I want to punch you, to tell you to go away and never speak to me again after you hurt me. I don’t truly wish for that. I want to trust every word and don’t look back.”

His eyes soften, he lets you go slowly. “Please forgive me.” He whispers, his voice trembling which breaks you. You pull him into an embrace, one hand stabilizing himself on the ground and the other wrapped around you. “[Name] there’s nothing in this world I won’t do to be yours.” He holds you closer.

“Just be here. With me.”

Then pushing him back to look at him again. “Always.”

Like magnets, force brings you two together, his lips on yours. Igniting a fire from every touch you lay on his skin.

Pulling away his fingers wipe away your tears and you grin at him. “More of that and I’ll forgive you for everything.”

He laughs, pulling you onto his lap. “Anything for you.”

#jacob black #bella swan #twilight #twilight x reader #twilight imagine #seth clearwater #embry call #quil ateara #jacob black x reader #jacob black x female reader #jacob black x you

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ideasarestuckinmyhead · 4 months ago

Note

Hello! I love your writing^^

If it's alright with you, could we get a short story or reaction(whichever works) of Seth where he finds out halfway that sugarboo is scared of being on a motorcycle even after they agreed to go for a ride with him when he asked while still keeping a tough Image and giving him the "don't tell alph" face , only for him to calmly help them slowly get over their fear and telling them they won't let anything bad happen to them.

Ignore the fear and focus on me.

Seth was half way in the ride with Boo, who was holding on him tightly. They told him they were fine and to just ride because Boo wanted to go on a ride with him. They don't usually get to hang out one on one most days because of his new job.

Boo behind Seth, was having a slight panic attack. Trying to keep their breathing regular as Seth speeds down the road he chose to ride on. It was outside of the town, simple dirt road for a nice quick ride.

There was a thunk, and some shivering from Boo this made Seth turn his head slightly. Trying to figure out if they were good or not, Boo clutch onto Seth even harder when he moved.

"Sug? You good, hon?" Steadying himself on the bike, it wobbled a bit from Boo moving. It didn't help they hit a pot hole a few feet back, did it surprise them? Thinking Seth spoke again gently.

"It's fine Sug, only a small hole I won't let ya get hurt." Turning back seeing no one Seth steadied the bike again. Looking over his shoulder he was about to speak again but paused. The look he saw on Boo was one of terror and saw tears in their eyes, worried out of his mind he slowed down and parked.

"Please don;t tell Alph..." Frowning Boo wiped their face. They felt embarrassed by their stupid fear they had. Seth took off his helmet and then gently took off Boo's wrapping his arms around their shoulder's.

"Sug, babe why didn't you saw you were scared? I would have went slower for you." Soothing Boo, Seth frowned as they sniffed into his chest. Hiding their face not wanting to be seen right at the moment by him.

"I...I wanted to ride with you! I feel like we don't hang out a lot anymore....." Whining out a bit Boo looked up at the cowboy. Seth sighed at what they said, then leaned down and kissed their forehead.

"Hon, if that's what ya felt why didn't ya tell me? I would have taken you on a hike instead, I never wanna make you do something you don't wanna!" Taking his hands off their body and went to their face. Softly holding them as he looked at them, looking straight in their eyes.

"I know, but I also wanted to ride a motorcycle...." Pouting a bit, Seth laughed at that but then thought of something. Grabbing the helmets the brown haired man looked at his partner.

"Look babe, we only have my bike to get back to town. So, wanna try again?" Questioning looking at them, Boo linked at him with puffy eyes. "Slower this time obviously. Just focus on me babe, ignore the fear. I got ya Boo." Adding encouraging words to Boo they nodded with a determined look. They wanted to try this again, Boo was so happy Seth gave them that pep talk.

So going back into position on the bike they clipped on their helmet. Seth smiled at them and followed their lead, getting ready to ride his bike again with them. Gently wrapping their arms around their brown haired partner, Boo focused on their breathing.

"Ready, Sugar?"

"Yes!" Excitement was now filled in them as the bike was revved by Seth. Slowly going back on the road Seth looked both ways and began riding back to town. Boo looked around as they drove back, now that they focused more on Seth than the riding they felt better.

Boo then wonder if they'll ever be able to ride his bike? Maybe not before they get over their fear. Lying their head on his shoulder, Seth smiled to himself as he noticed that Boo was now having fun.

#red rants #yuurivoice #red answers #yuurivoice alphonse #yuurivoice seth #yuurivoice bittersweet #red writes

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anon-sect · 8 months ago

Text

Picture source: @its.my.shoez Instagram account

Tracey received a call from his supervisor to come straight to his office shortly after arriving at work. He began to wonder what his supervisor wanted so early in the day. He hoped it wasn't bad news. He really didn't need to hear that. He was having a bit of bad luck situations recently. He had been behind in his portion of the rent on the apartment, having his roommate to make up the difference. If that wasn't bad enough, his car was in the shop, having major repair work done to it. He had been forced to use Uber services to get to work. He didn't need any more bad news at the moment.

Tracey entered James, his supervisor's office. He motioned to have a seat.

"I called you in before you got started for a reason. There is no easy way to say what i have to tell you. Unfortunately, there were some budget cuts, and your position was one the company decided to cut effective immediately." James paused. "I am sorry to bring such sad news to you, but it's out of my hands."

Tracey definitely didn't want to hear that at a time like now. There had to be another solution. Honestly, if there was one, he would take it no matter what it was. "I understand that, but please, is there any other position that is open or available. I really can't take any more sad news right now." He pleaded to James, hoping there was something he could offer.

James had one other offer, but those who were released or fired would not take it due to the dangers it carried in accepting it. He decided to offer it anyway. "There is one opening available, but it carries a risk." He pulled out the contract and slid it over to Tracey.

Tracey looked over the paper and read it twice. There was a large bonus of $100k once done, but there was a risk. "So I get the $100k, and the other gets $50k once the year is up, right?" He asked, to be sure he understood right. He saw James nod yes to his question.

"But remember the risk you take. If the owner decides to forgo the $50k, you belong to him. There is no return." James paused. "You literally are placing your life in another's hands. You fully understand?" James reiterated.

Tracey needed something good. "Can I choose who owns me?" He asked back.

"Ordinarily, you really don't have a choice, but I will make this one exception since you really were a good employee. Just write in the name of who you want it to be and sign it. We will do the rest." James promised. He would at least do this one favor for a guy who was having a bad day. Tracey handed the paper back with his signature on it. He ran it through his copier and filed the original. He handed the copy back to him. "Take this to HR." He instructed him as he placed a call down to HR about the position.

Several hours later, Seth came into James' office. He motioned for Seth to have a seat. He slid over the shoe box to him. He watched as Seth opened it and was puzzled why he was receiving a new pair of sneakers. "We have been wanting to try out an experimental product, but no one ever took the offer. That was until your coworker Tracey signed up to do it." He spoke as he also showed the contract that Tracey had signed. "These sneakers are Tracey now. He is still alive, just that he is a pair of sneakers. He chose you to wear him for a year. The point of the experiment is to test the durability of our indestructible formula. All you have to do is treat him like normal footwear for a year. If you wish to conclude the formula test for both of you, he gets $100k bonus tax free, and you get $50k bonus check tax free." He added to his previous words. He waited for Seth to reply back.

Seth took out the shoes and examined them. It was hard to believe the sneakers he was holding were actually his best friend at work. He wondered why Tracey would even agree to this. "Why did he choose to be my sneakers?" He asked, feeling curious. Like, who would really choose to be another person's footwear?

"The company had cut his position in budget cuts. To stay on with the company, this was his only option." James reported honestly.

"So I wear him for a year and return him back, and he gets $100k bonus check and I get $50k bonus check, all tax free?" Seth wanted to be sure he understood right.

"Yes, that is your first option." James spoke.

Seth heard first option which meant there was a second option. "What's my second option since I have a first?" He asked wondering what it could be.

"Your second option is that after one year, if you decide to continue with the experiment for us, you get $100k bonus check tax free, but poor Tracey will have to spend another whole year supporting your feet. Every year that you continue, you receive a $100k bonus check tax-free, but that also means you subject Tracey to being your shoes." James paused to be fully serious. "Option two means you are in control of his humanity or return to human form. He specifically selected you to wear him. So I sense that he has some sort of trust in you to decide how long he will be supporting your feet." He finished.

Seth, like the thought of receiving a $100k bonus check. Yet, this was his best friend at work who he was about to wear on his feet for a year. To receive that bonus check every year would be awesome, yet that meant keeping his best friend as his footwear. Could he really do that to Tracey, he pondered.

"We will revisit your option in one year. Until then, enjoy wearing Tracey." James spoke.

Seth put the sneakers back in the box and left the supervisor's office. When he got back to his desk, he opened the box and whispered to his sneakers. "I have to say, $100k every year sounds so nice. Sorry Tracey, but I have to take option two. I hope you understand, but I promise to take good care of you as you take good care of my feet for a long time." He took off his current shoes and put on Tracey.

Tracey thought he knew his best friend well enough. He thought that he would only be sneakers for a year. He thought that Seth would not be tempted by the amount of money. He saw he was wrong. He saw the pair of socks on Seth's feet weren't exactly clean and had a slightly strong vinegar odor. It was pressed hard into his insole face. This was his existence, to live as sneakers for Seth for at least a year or possibly longer.

FIVE YEARS LATER.......

Seth enjoyed a rather smooth life. For the past five years, the job gave him a $100k bonus check for continuing to test their indestructible formula. He has used Tracey for every gym and workout session. He has worn him to work every day. He even tried cutting him with scissors. He did anything and everything to try to destroy his sneakers, yet he remained relatively unscathed. Not only that, Tracey was the most comfortable footwear he owned. He didn't exactly know how Tracey felt about being sneakers every year, but the money was coming in handy. He even wore him on vacations that he took each year. His life was great, thanks to Tracey choosing him instead of someone else. There were weeks where he wore the same pair of socks every day to thank Tracey for the money he wad receiving each year. Life truly was great with having a pair of indestructible sneakers.

#inanimate transformation #foot domination #sneaker transformation

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prettypinkporkchop · 4 months ago

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A/n: MANS IS OLDER. I do not write about underage people, period. In this story it is after breaking dawn and errthang. Imma say he's 23 in this story!

Seth clearwater x fem reader

When you know, you know

Moving to Forks was not an easy choice to make. But, leaving behind your abusive boyfriend was much needed. Of course, missing family is a price to pay. It's just the fresh start, the new scenery, and new people. You're grown now and it's time to live on your own.

You sit on your couch in your very inexpensive tiny house. You made it due! It's cute! You have your laptop on your lap, sipping your favorite beverage.

"Hello, this is y/n speaking. How may I assist you?" You answer the video call for a customer. Working from home has helped a lot! You make barely anything but just enough for you. Unfortunately, you don't have a vehicle yet, so Uber is your bestie. Some days, it's not worth the money, so you walk.

Your shift is over. It was an easy day, thank goodness. You sigh and lay down on your bed. Suddenly, there's a knock on your door. You stand up, confused. Who is here this late? I mean, who is here, period?

You slowly open the door, and there stands a cop! "Is something wrong?" You ask. He's an older man with a black mustache.

His name on his shirt says, 'Swan'.

He rubs his chin and leans on the door frame. "I got a call for a missing person. They were last seen in this area. I was wondering if you have seen him." He holds up a picture.

You scan his face, taking in every feature. "No, sir. I just moved here a couple of weeks ago. I don't know anyone. I barely leave my house." You look at him.

"Oh, yes ma'am. I'm asking everyone around. Thanks for your time. Call if you find anything." He hands you a card and walks away.

Hmm. Missing person?

The next day, you decided to hit up the beach. You take an Uber to La Push. You step out with your bag. You brought dry clothes, towels, snacks, and drinks.

"Thank you." You wave to the Uber.

You make your way on the sand and lay your blanket down. It's a pretty warm day, just very, very cloudy.

You get in the water when suddenly, there's a loud group of voices.

"Hey, pretty lady! Why don't you come here?" A man from the sand calls out to you.

You scoff and keep floating on your back. Oh, shit! Your bag!

You quickly jump up and try to move as fast as you can through the water when one of the guys grabs your bag. There are three men. As you get closer, panicking, you see their red eyes. What. The. Hell. Thinking they are contacts, you look over their faces. The man holding your bag is the missing guy!

"Put my bag down, now!" You sternly say. You are used to dealing with horrible men and having to stand up for yourself. "Ooh, here that friends? We've got a fiesty one here." He chuckles.

The other man flashes behind you. You jump and begin to believe they aren't human. He wraps a hand around your neck, holding tightly. You try to elbow him in the stomach, but he doesn't flinch.

"I want to play with you before I rip your neck apart." The man laughs. The other two nod their heads, smirking.

He holds your arms while the other guys hold each leg. You scream as loud as you can, thrashing, to no avail. They lead you into the woods and drop you on the ground. One of them picks you up and throws you back into a tree.

The wind is knocked out of you. You gasp for air and try to stand back up.

A twig snaps, causing the three men to look up. "Damn it." They start running. Loud pounding on the ground and a terrifying roar fills your ears. A gigantic wolf sprints past you, chasing the other men.

Maybe Forks was a bad idea.

"Hey, don't worry. Let me help you." A soft voice is heard beside you. You look up to see a man with a gentle smile, holding out his hand. You grab his hand so he can lift you up. But, you are stood in shock as a surge of lightening runs up your arm. He doesn't let go. You both look up to make eye contact. He stares with a look of awe. There's something going on. Whatever it is, as lana del rey says, 'when you know, you know'.

He snaps out of it, blinking rapidly, then letting go of your hand. "I-i can explain everything. Do you have time? You are safe." He reassures you and looks over you for any injuries. You feel safe.

"Yes.'' You're still in shock. "Are you familiar with the Quileute legends?" He softly touches your shoulder to turn you around, looking over your back for any injuries. "No, I'm sorry." You say weakly.

"May I, uh, lift to see your back?" He asks. You simply nod your head. Oh, yeah, you wore a tank top to swim in. He gently lifts it, and he sighs. "Okay, not too terrible."

He grabs your duffle bag, picking up everything, giving you a drink, and you guys walk. He ends up telling you about wolves and vampires. Most importantly, he imprinted on you.

Soon, you end up in his truck. "I'm going to take you home. Can you promise me you'll be safe?'' He looks at you pleadingly. "Yes, Seth." You smile at him.

Even though he is tan, you could see a red tint glow on his cheeks when you said his name.

1 month later

"C'mon, y/n! It'll be so fun!" He begs, gently pulling your arm towards your front door. "Seth, I don't know. What if your friends don't like me?" You question. He gently pulls you into his chest, looking deep into your eyes. "I like you, so they will." He smiles. You shudder at this physical and eye contact.

You guys have not kissed yet or made anything official. There's just so much tension!

You give in and sigh while smiling back at him. "Fine." You giggle.

You guys pull up to a small house in the middle of nowhere! There are so many dudes here and a few girls. Some old men, too. The young men are all shirtless. "Seth, I have to tell you something." You look away from the window and at him.

"Anything." He puts your hair behind your ear and cups your cheek.

"You know how I said I moved to Forks for personal reasons?" He nods his head. "I'm ready to tell you. I was in a very abusive relationship. I had to get away. I needed a fresh start. I grew up, and my home didn't feel like home anymore. Something pulled me here, and I'm not so sure why. But, now I know."

He has a tender look on his face. He leans in, pressing his lips to his forehead. You crumble and close your eyes, soaking in the feeling pouring into your body. "You will never be hurt again. Do you understand?" You whispers. You bite your lip and nod and then turn back to the window. He steps out of the truck and opens your door. You step out, and he instantly grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers. He walks up to the group of guys. "Sup?!" He beams.

"Oh! This is y/n, isn't it?" He reaches his hand out, "Paul." He smiles. You shake it and smile at him. "Nice to meet you." You reply. He turns to look around, "my fiance, Rachel is somewhere. She's Jacob's sister! I think he's the one that chased the vampire away from you." He awkwardly takes a bite of his steak he holds in his hand.

"Yeah, yeah! I think." You turn to Seth. He leans his head down on yours and whispers in your hair, "it's okay. You're doing perfect."

The night was so fun! You learned so much more about the tribe! Your favorite girlies are Renesme, Kim, and Emily.

Seth opens your door and walks inside with you. You turn to face him to say goodnight. Instead of words, he holds your face and gently presses his lips on yours. You're shocked but quickly deepen the feeling by kissing back. You hold on to his shirt on his sides. He smells so good. His lips move with yours perfectly.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes. "I love you." You blurt on accident but you felt it.

His lips spread into the happiest smile. "I love you, too!" He picks you up. You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, and your legs wrap around his waist. He brings you to your bed.

When you know, you know.

For the first time in years, you feel safe.

#embry call #twilight #jacob black #jared cameron #paul lahote #quil ateara #sam uley #seth clearwater #twilight wolfpack #leah clearwater #seth clearwater x reader #seth clearwater imagine

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rootedinrevisions · 12 days ago

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To the Sky and Back

SUMMARY: After a falling-out with Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, reader tries to piece her life back together, avoiding every place and routine that reminds her of him. But when Bradley faces a high-risk mission, a visit from Natasha "Phoenix" shatters her fragile peace, forcing her to confront the depth of her feelings. With Bradley’s life hanging in the balance, she must decide whether to risk her heart again and let him know just how much he means to her before it's too late. A story of love, loss, and second chances, To the Sky and Back explores the courage it takes to hold on to what truly matters.

A/N: This was a combination of two different asks that I received! One was requested for the prompt and then the other was requesting some angst with Bradley where the angst is a little more prolonged. Thanks to both of the people who sent the request for this in! Hope you enjoy it!

PROMPT: "I'm sorry I'm not the person you want me to be."

WARNINGS/TAGS: Angst. Some more angst. And then some fluff.

WORD COUNT: 7.4K

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell: Himself (RPF), Characters He's Played

Twisters: Tyler Owens, Boone, Scott, Javi

Top Gun: Maverick: Rooster, Hangman, Bob

Marvel/MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

The Hard Deck hummed with its usual Friday night energy. Glasses clinked, laughter rose in waves, and the jukebox crooned an old Tom Petty song. You sat at the bar, absentmindedly tracing the condensation ring your drink had left on the wooden surface. It had been four months since you’d seen Bradley Bradshaw—four long months of waiting, wondering, and overthinking. You couldn’t decide if the knot in your stomach was from excitement or the growing anxiety about what, exactly, you and Bradley were.

Your heart jolted when you heard it—the unmistakable low rumble of the Bronco’s engine pulling into the parking lot. Your pulse quickened, and you felt every nerve in your body go on high alert. Turning toward the door, you saw him.

There he was. Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, in all his casual, rugged glory. Light wash jeans clung perfectly to his long legs, paired with a simple white undershirt under an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt. His aviators, always a part of his signature look, were perched on his face, but as he stepped inside, he slid them off, tucking them into his shirt pocket. The room seemed to dim around him, your focus narrowing solely to the man you’d spent countless nights thinking about.

His eyes scanned the bar, and the moment they found yours, a lazy, lopsided grin spread across his face. He didn’t break eye contact as he ordered his beer from Penny. Then, beer in hand, he made his way to you.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said smoothly, his voice low and warm, like a melody you’d missed without realizing it.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you slid off the stool, your arms wrapping around him instinctively. The tension of the last four months melted—if only for a second—as he looped an arm over your shoulders and pulled you in. He smelled of salt and sunscreen, the lingering scents of the ocean clinging to him.

“Missed you, sweets,” he murmured near your ear.

Your throat tightened at his words, but you forced yourself to play it cool, smiling up at him. “Missed you too.”

For a moment, you were lost in the way he looked at you, the warmth in his hazel eyes making your chest ache. But then, with a slight squeeze of your shoulder, he pulled away.

“I should go say hi to the gang,” he said, gesturing toward the pool table where Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote were gathered. “You don’t mind, right?”

“Of course not,” you replied quickly, shaking your head. “Go catch up.”

He gave you another of his disarming smiles before walking off, his long strides carrying him toward his friends. You watched him go, heart sinking slightly as you turned back to the bar.

The reality of your situation hit you again: you didn’t know where you stood with him, and the months apart hadn’t brought any clarity.

The laughter from his group reached your ears, and you sipped your drink to distract yourself. You wanted to be happy just to see him again, to feel his arm around you, to hear him call you “sweets.” But in the pit of your stomach, the question gnawed at you: What are we?

The night had deepened, and the cool ocean breeze filtered into the bar as the laughter and music continued around you. Bradley had been with his friends for most of the night, his easy smile and quiet laugh lighting up the group. You didn’t begrudge him the time to reconnect, but your heart weighed heavier with every passing minute. You couldn’t wait any longer.

When he came back to the bar to grab another beer, you saw your chance. Before he could return to the others, you touched his arm, stopping him.

“Bradley,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the jukebox. His hazel eyes met yours, warm but questioning. “Can we talk? Just for a minute.”

His brows knitted slightly, but he nodded. “Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

You gestured toward the patio doors. He hesitated for a beat, then set his beer down and followed you outside. The night outside was quieter than inside the bar, the faint crash of waves filling the space between you.

Bradley leaned casually against the patio railing, but there was tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He seemed almost hesitant as he met your gaze.

“What’s on your mind, sweets?” he asked, his voice warm, though a flicker of unease crossed his features.

You exhaled deeply, gathering the courage to say the words that had been circling in your mind for months. “I need to talk about us, Bradley. I need to know what we’re doing.”

His expression faltered, confusion laced with discomfort. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “We’ve been doing this for a year. And I’ve been happy—really happy—with you. But I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with not knowing where I stand. I need to know if this is going somewhere.”

He shifted his weight, dragging a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think we needed to put a label on it,” he said, his tone measured. “I thought we were good.”

“That’s the problem,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “I might have been okay with that before, but I’m not anymore. I want more, Bradley. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine. Officially. Exclusively.”

He frowned, the lines on his forehead deepening as he crossed his arms. “I don’t see why we can’t just keep things the way they are. I like what we have. It works.”

“Does it work for you? Because it’s starting to tear me apart,” you shot back, your voice louder now. “I’ve spent the last four months not knowing if I was the person you missed or just someone to pass the time with when you’re here.”

Bradley’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes burning with something between guilt and frustration. “You think I don’t miss you?” he asked sharply. “You think I don’t care about you?”

“I don’t know what to think, Bradley!” you admitted, throwing your hands up. “You never tell me how you feel, and you keep everything so damn vague. I don’t even know if you’ve been with anyone else, because we’ve never talked about it!”

His jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I haven’t been with anyone else. It’s only been you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache, but it didn’t ease the tension coiled tightly inside you. “Then why can’t you just say it? Why can’t you call me your girlfriend?”

“Because it scares the hell out of me!” he snapped, his voice breaking slightly. He turned away, bracing himself against the railing. “I’ve seen what this life does to people. My dad left my mom behind, and it destroyed her. I can’t—” He exhaled roughly, his broad shoulders rising and falling. “I can’t do that to someone. To you.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You think you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length? You think it doesn’t hurt to feel like I’m asking for too much just to be something more to you?”

He turned back to you, his hazel eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I’m not the person you want me to be.”

His words cut deep, and a tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You swiped at it angrily, stepping back. “I’m sorry, too. Because I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending this is enough.”

“Wait,” he said quickly, reaching for your hand. “Don’t go. Please. We can talk about this—figure something out.”

You shook your head, pulling your hand away. “We’ve been ‘figuring it out’ for a year, Bradley. I can’t keep waiting for you to decide I’m worth the risk.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, his voice breaking. He stepped closer, desperation flickering in his eyes. “You are worth it—I just—”

“You just don’t know if you’re ready to admit it,” you finished for him, your voice trembling. “And I can’t keep waiting for you to be ready.”

The silence between you was deafening. He looked at you like he wanted to say something—anything—that would make you stay, but the words never came.

Finally, you turned and walked away, tears blurring your vision.

“Wait!” Bradley called after you, his voice raw. “Let me at least drive you home. Please.”

You stopped but didn’t turn back.

“No,” you said firmly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t follow me, Bradley.”

As you reached the parking lot, Jake Seresin stood leaning against his truck, his arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold. When your tear-streaked face came into view, his expression softened.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Can you drive me home?” you asked, wiping at your cheeks. “Just drop me off and come back.”

Jake nodded, his usual cocky demeanor nowhere in sight. He opened the passenger door for you without a word, and you climbed in.

As Jake’s truck rumbled to life, you glanced back. Bradley stood on the patio, his hands on his hips, his face a mix of heartbreak and confusion. The sight of him cracked something deep inside you, but you forced yourself to look away as Jake pulled out of the parking lot.

The weight of what had just happened settled heavily on your chest, and for the first time in months, you felt the full brunt of the unknown you’d been living with.

The hum of Jake’s truck filled the silence as you stared out the passenger window, the cool night air brushing against your face from the barely cracked window. You gave him quiet directions when needed, your voice soft and distant. Jake didn’t press, didn’t ask what had happened right away, and for that, you were grateful.

But the silence couldn’t last forever.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked finally, his voice even but cautious.

You shook your head, your eyes still fixed on the darkened streets. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Jake glanced at you briefly, the furrow of his brow barely visible in the dim light of the dashboard. “Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he said carefully. “You looked pretty torn up back there.”

Your jaw tightened, and you exhaled sharply through your nose. “I’m fine,” you said, though the crack in your voice betrayed you.

Jake didn’t push, but he wasn’t ready to let the conversation drop entirely. After a moment, he said, “You know, Rooster talked about you while we were deployed.”

Your head turned sharply toward him, your stomach twisting. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jake said casually, his hands steady on the wheel. “Nothing too specific, but… you came up. Enough to know you were on his mind.”

The words stung more than they soothed. If you’d been on his mind, if he’d thought about you during those long months apart, then why couldn’t he just give you what you needed? Why couldn’t he make things official?

“Great,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “That makes it so much better.”

Jake glanced at you again, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Look, I’m just saying… the guy cares about you. He might not say it the way you want, but he does.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Caring about someone isn’t enough if you can’t show it. If he cared, he wouldn’t make me feel like I’m asking for too much just to have some clarity.”

Jake didn’t have a response for that, and the silence returned, heavy and thick.

A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of your place. The truck idled quietly as you unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride,” you said, your voice softer now.

“Anytime,” he replied, his tone sincere. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

You nodded, though the tightness in your chest said otherwise. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Jake didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t argue. “I’ll wait till you’re inside,” he said, his voice firm but kind.

You gave him a small, grateful smile before stepping out of the truck. The cool night air hit your face, grounding you for a moment as you made your way to your front door. You fumbled with your keys, finally unlocking the door and stepping inside.

As you turned to shut the door, you glanced back at Jake. He gave you a short nod before driving off, his truck disappearing into the night.

The quiet of your home wrapped around you as you leaned against the door, your chest tightening with the weight of everything that had happened.

For the first time in a long time, you felt completely alone.

The silence of your home was interrupted by the sharp buzz of your phone on the counter where you’d dropped it. You hesitated before picking it up, already guessing who it might be.

The screen lit up with Bradley’s name. The first message was simple, almost hesitant.

Bradley: Just let me know when you’re home safe.

You stared at it for a moment, your chest tightening. A second buzz followed.

Bradley: Can we talk? Please?

Then another.

Bradley: I shouldn’t have said what I did. I just—I didn’t know how to handle it.

And another.

Bradley: You can put the label on it. Whatever you want. I don’t care. Just… don’t shut me out.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing with each buzz. His words were frantic, almost desperate, but that only made the ache in your chest deepen.

He didn’t want the label because he wanted it. He wanted it because he thought it would keep you from walking away. That wasn’t what you’d asked for. You wanted him to want you, fully and without hesitation. But this? This was him trying to patch things up without really understanding what had broken.

The phone buzzed again, another message lighting up the screen.

Bradley: I care about you. You know that, right?

You sat down on the edge of the couch, the weight of everything settling heavily on your shoulders. Your thumb hovered over the screen, debating whether to respond.

But you didn’t. Not to this. Not to him trying to fix things for the wrong reasons.

Instead, you set the phone down on the coffee table, face down, and leaned back, closing your eyes. If he really wanted to know you were home safe, he could ask Jake. The thought was petty, maybe even cruel, but right now, you don’t have the energy to be the bigger person.

You needed space. Time to think. And if Bradley wanted to prove he cared, he’d have to do more than send a flurry of panicked texts.

Your bedroom was dark except for the soft glow of a streetlight filtering through the curtains. You kicked the door shut behind you, your chest heaving with the weight of unshed tears.

Stripping off the shirt and jeans you’d worn to the bar, you rifled through your drawer for something comfortable. You yanked out a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, tugging it over your head in a rush to get comfortable.

The scent hit you before the realization. That faint mix of salt air, pine, and his cologne.

Your heart plummeted.

It was his shirt.

You froze, staring down at the faded Navy insignia printed across the chest. A lump rose in your throat, thick and unrelenting. Without thinking, you ripped it off, balling it up in your fists.

The scream tore from your throat, raw and full of anguish as you hurled the shirt across the room. It smacked against the wall and slid to the floor like it had no right to exist, like it hadn’t just unraveled you completely.

"I hate you," you whispered, your voice trembling as you sank to your knees. "I hate you, Bradley Bradshaw."

But even as the words spilled from your lips, you knew they weren’t true.

You hated the way he made you feel. The way he held you so close but never close enough. You hated the way he smiled at you, like you were the only person in the room, and the way your heart betrayed you by falling for him.

You hated that you weren’t enough for him.

Tears streamed down your face as you pressed your palms into the carpet, curling over yourself. He wouldn’t put a label on it to protect you, but what good did that do now? You were already in too deep. The dates, the late-night conversations, the stolen kisses, and the nights spent tangled in his sheets—none of it had been casual for you.

God, you were in love with him.

The sob broke free before you could stop it, wracking your body as you crawled onto your bed. You grabbed your pillow, clutching it against your chest as if it could anchor you, and let the tears fall.

It hurt. It hurt because the label didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Whether he called you his girlfriend or not, it wouldn’t stop the fear you felt every time he flew. It wouldn’t protect you from heartbreak if he didn’t come back.

And yet, the label was everything. Because it meant he chose you. It meant he wasn’t holding back, wasn’t keeping you at arm’s length because of his own fear.

The pillow muffled your cries as you curled into the fetal position, trembling from the force of your grief. You hated him, but only because you loved him so much more.

The light from the morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting warm, golden hues across the room. You woke with a start, blinking against the brightness, your head heavy from the weight of last night’s tears. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, the remnants of your sobs still echoing in your mind, the sting in your throat lingering.

You sat up slowly, the tightness in your chest reminding you of how broken you had felt when you finally gave in to the exhaustion and let sleep claim you. You hadn’t expected to wake up with this much pain still sitting in your bones. The weight of everything felt heavier today, more unbearable.

Then you heard it.

A knock.

A sharp, insistent pound against your front door.

You flinched, the sound jerking you from your thoughts. Your gaze flicked to the alarm clock on your nightstand. Barely eight in the morning. Who would be knocking at your door this early? You pulled the blanket off your body and swung your legs over the side of the bed, feeling the dull ache in your limbs from the previous night’s emotional rollercoaster.

With trepidation, you padded down the hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet. Your mind raced with thoughts of what could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.

You reached for the handle, taking a deep breath before opening it.

And there he was.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Standing there, one hand raised in the midst of another knock, his eyes wide, full of uncertainty and something else. Something deeper. His jaw tightened when he saw you, and for a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with the unspoken.

He was still in the clothes he’d worn to the bar last night, like he hadn’t bothered going home first. His expression was a mixture of regret and frustration, but there was something else too—guilt, maybe. Or maybe it was just that damned vulnerability that had always been so hard to read with him.

“Hey,” Bradley’s voice was softer than you expected, rough around the edges, like he’d barely slept.

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes flicking over his face, searching for something. What did he expect from you right now?

You weren’t sure you even had the energy to be angry with him. The night before had drained you, and the last thing you wanted was to face him again.

“I… uh, I wanted to talk.” His voice cracked, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You stood there, frozen, still not sure if you were ready to hear what he had to say. Last night had hurt too much, and you weren’t sure if you were willing to put yourself through more of it.

But, against your better judgment, your mouth opened. “About what?” You didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but the words slipped from your lips, laced with a bitter edge.

Bradley shifted his weight, his eyes dropping to the ground for a brief moment before meeting yours again. There was something desperate in his gaze now, something that mirrored the pain you’d felt last night.

“I screwed up. I know I did.” He spoke like he hadn’t planned the words but they’d come out anyway, raw and real. “I just… I didn’t think you’d want a label, but I get it now. I see that I’ve been messing this up for both of us.”

Your chest tightened. The familiar ache in your heart was back, that throbbing reminder of how close you were to breaking. He was standing there, telling you everything you needed to hear, but it didn’t change the fact that it was too late.

“I didn’t want to pressure you into something you didn’t want, but if I’m being honest… I don’t want to lose you.” His voice softened, and there was a flicker of something that could almost be called regret. But the words didn’t feel right. They didn’t feel like they were coming from the heart. They felt like something he was saying out of guilt.

The silence stretched between you. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, feel the weight of the decision that had to be made in the pit of your stomach.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. It was all too much, too soon.

Bradley stepped closer, closing the space between you, his expression pleading now, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.

“I want this with you, I do. But I—” He stopped himself, breathing out like the words were caught in his throat.

You looked at him, really looked at him. You could see the cracks in his façade, the uncertainty that was so unlike the confident man you knew. But even with that vulnerability laid bare, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all just words.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Bradley,” you whispered, shaking your head slowly. “I don’t want to be some maybe or could be. I need to know where I stand.”

Bradley’s face fell, his lips parting as if he were about to say something else. But nothing came. He just stood there, looking at you like he was piecing together what he should say next.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and for the first time, you saw the true weight of regret in his eyes.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the emotions that threatened to spill over again. “I don’t think you are, Brad. Not really.”

The air between you both thickened, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Without another word, you stepped back, closing the door gently in his face.

You leaned against the wood, closing your eyes as you heard his footsteps retreat, his presence now a memory.

You were alone again.

And maybe that was how it was always meant to be.

* * * * *

The days dragged on in a haze of quiet frustration and longing. Each morning you woke, the weight of the night’s emotional unraveling clung to you like a second skin. The sun would shine through your window, the world would move forward, but you felt paralyzed by your own hurt, by the thought of Bradley, by the pain of what could have been and what never would be.

You tried to get yourself back on track. You tried to act normal, to resume your routine, but everything seemed to remind you of him. His absence was like a wound that wouldn’t heal, reopening with every corner you turned.

The grocery store was the first hurdle. You knew Bradley went every Monday, and it used to be something the two of you did together. It felt like some unspoken tradition, something that was both ordinary and deeply comforting. But now, it just felt like a reminder of everything that had gone wrong. So you avoided it, switching your shopping day to Tuesday. Even though you knew he wouldn’t be there, the thought of running into him in that same mundane space, where everything felt like a memory, was too much to bear.

The Hard Deck was the next obstacle. The bar where you’d spent so many nights with him, the place where you laughed, argued, and shared quiet moments between chaos. You knew there was more than a 50% chance Bradley was there any given night. The bar, the music, the dim lighting that you once enjoyed felt suffocating now. You could hear his laugh in your mind, could see the glint of his eyes as he grinned across the room. But you refused to risk seeing him, to risk letting the pieces of your heart shatter again. Even when you drove by a few nights, when his Bronco wasn’t parked in its usual spot, you still didn’t stop. What if he had caught a ride? What if he was inside, and you just didn’t know? You couldn’t take the chance. Not when every interaction with him had the potential to destroy you further.

And the texts… the texts never stopped.

At first, they were constant—his messages coming in one after the other, in a rhythm that mirrored his thinking. Morning, noon, and night. He texted like he couldn’t bear the thought of you not knowing what he was doing, where he was. He sent them as soon as he woke up, like he needed to remind you that he was still thinking about you, even if he hadn’t quite figured it out himself. Those morning messages were the hardest to read, because you knew he hadn’t forgotten you. He was still holding on in his own way, but that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t fought for you when it mattered.

And then came the late-night ones. The ones that were sent in the early hours, long after the world had gone quiet. You would wonder if he was sober when he wrote them, or if he had been drinking, a little too far into his own thoughts and regrets. Those messages were the ones that made your heart ache because they felt like half-baked apologies, like words spoken too late. They didn’t fix anything, they just twisted the knife.

But the ones that hurt the most were always in the middle of the day. The ones sent out of habit, when he was about to head into the sky, the ones that used to bring you a sense of safety, a quiet assurance that no matter what, Bradley always had a way of telling you what he was doing. “Hey, I’m headed up. I’ll be in the air for a couple hours, but I’ll let you know when I’m back on the ground.” It was something that had become routine between the two of you. You never asked for it, but you always appreciated it.

Now, those messages made your stomach drop. You hated the anxiety that came with the first text, the one that told you he was headed into the sky. And you hated the sense of relief you felt when the second one came, telling you he was safely back on the ground. It was stupid. It was pathetic. But no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t stop caring. You couldn’t stop the gnawing feeling in your chest, the pull of wanting to make sure he was okay.

And that’s what drove you mad.

You hated that you still cared. You hated that despite everything, despite his distance and his indecision, you couldn’t make yourself stop thinking about him. You couldn’t make yourself forget Bradley Bradshaw.

Even as you tried to rebuild your life, to find new routines, new places, new things to focus on, it all felt like an illusion. Nothing felt normal anymore. Your world had become a strange, hollow echo of what it used to be. And no matter how hard you tried to avoid him, to erase the pieces of him from your day-to-day life, you couldn’t escape the truth.

You were still in love with him. And you were still waiting for him to make a decision.

But you knew you couldn’t wait forever.

You just didn’t know how to stop.

* * * * *

Two months had passed since that early morning when Bradley stood at your door, and in that time, you’d learned to carry on without him. It wasn’t easy—some days were harder than others—but you were slowly learning how to exist without waiting for his texts, without hoping for him to just show up at your door again.

You still thought about him. Not every day anymore, but almost. And that, you decided, was progress. It didn’t feel like much, but it was something. There were days when the memories of his laugh, the warmth of his hand in yours, didn’t sting quite as badly. And then, there were days like today, when the past came rushing back to you in a way you couldn’t avoid.

It was just a knock on your front door. You weren’t expecting anyone, and yet, when you heard it, you knew something was about to change.

When you opened the door, there she was—Natasha "Phoenix," standing in front of you. Her usual confident demeanor was a little softer today, like she was carrying something heavy that she didn’t want to talk about.

"Hey," she said, her voice low but steady. "Can I come in?"

You nodded, stepping aside to let her in. Something about the way she stood at your door made your chest tighten. It wasn’t just the fact that it was her—it was what she was about to say. You didn’t know how you knew, but you did. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this anxious.

The two of you made your way to the kitchen, where you offered her a drink. She politely declined, settling down at the table. You sat across from her, your hands fidgeting in your lap.

"Everything okay?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure why, but you already had a sinking feeling that you weren’t going to like what was coming.

She hesitated for a moment before speaking, her eyes meeting yours. "There’s a mission coming up. I can’t tell you much—it’s classified. But I wanted to let you know that Bradley might be flying it."

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You knew this was bad. You could feel it.

"Bradley’s been flying high-risk missions for years," Phoenix continued, her voice steady but firm, "but this one is different. This is the most dangerous mission he’ll have flown. The odds… they’re not good. It will take two miracles happening at the same time for him to get home safely."

You couldn’t breathe. You wanted to stop her, to tell her that you didn’t need to know all the details. But you couldn’t. The words had already come, and they were burning through you.

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes serious. "But there’s something else. Something I need to tell you, woman to woman."

You swallowed hard, trying to brace yourself, though you already felt like you were crumbling.

"Bradley hasn’t been flying with a clear head," Phoenix said, her voice dropping to a more quiet, urgent tone. "Not since the last mission. He’s been distracted, pulled in a thousand different directions. And if he doesn’t fly this one with a clear head… I don’t think he’ll make it back."

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you felt your chest tighten, the air suddenly impossible to breathe.

Bradley hadn’t been okay. He’d been struggling, and you hadn’t even known. You hadn’t been able to help him, to fix whatever had been broken inside of him. But this… this was worse than anything you had imagined.

You stared at Phoenix, your mind reeling. All you could think about was the possibility—the reality—that Bradley might not come home. You had never imagined a world where that could happen. Where you could lose him forever.

And then it hit you—the realization that it was never just about the label. It was about so much more. About how, no matter how much you wanted to be enough for him, you weren’t the one who had mattered enough to him for him to put everything aside, to fight for you. And that was painful. But the thought of him not coming home? That ripped you apart in ways you didn’t know you could be broken.

"Please," you said, the words breaking through the suffocating silence. "Please tell me he’s going to be okay."

Phoenix didn’t answer immediately, her gaze shifting away as if she was trying to find the right words, the right reassurance. But there was nothing she could say.

"I don’t know," she finally said, her voice so low you could barely hear her. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I’m not sure. I don’t know if he’s going to be okay."

The words hung in the air between you, suffocating you in their weight. And all you could do was sit there, trying to grasp onto the fragile threads of hope that felt so far out of reach.

It was the hardest thing you’d ever had to hear. The thought of him not coming home, of him being lost to the sky forever—it made your entire world feel like it was unraveling.

You thought you were past him. You thought you could move on, heal, and put him behind you. But now, all you could think about was the future, the one where you would never get to see him again.

It was too much to bear. And you hated it. You hated that you couldn’t walk away from him, that you couldn’t turn your back on the love you had for him—even if it was unspoken, even if it was unfinished. You hated that you couldn’t fix him, couldn’t make him see you the way you needed him to.

But worse than anything, you hated that you might never get the chance to tell him how much you loved him.

Phoenix’s voice cut through the overwhelming weight of your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. "They’re getting on the aircraft carrier at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow," she said, her words steady but carrying a weight you couldn’t ignore. "I’m not asking you to come. I’m not asking you to talk to him. That decision’s up to you."

You felt a lump rise in your throat, the tightness in your chest making it hard to breathe. She wasn’t asking you to go to him, but she wasn’t telling you not to, either. The choice was yours, but it felt more like a trap than an option.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the fridge in the corner. Phoenix didn’t seem to expect anything from you, but you could feel the gravity of the situation pulling you under. You didn’t know what you wanted, what you were supposed to want. All you knew was that Bradley was flying, and there was a real possibility he might not come back.

You swallowed, blinking back the tears that threatened to rise. "Thank you for telling me," you said quietly, your voice betraying the emotional weight you were carrying. "I—I don’t know what to do with this. But I appreciate you coming to me."

Phoenix gave you a nod, her face unreadable. "Just make sure you take care of yourself, alright? Whatever you decide."

You didn’t know what that meant. Taking care of yourself? How were you supposed to do that when the person who had occupied every corner of your mind was potentially flying into danger?

She stood up, her movements deliberate. "I’ll leave you to think about it," she said softly, her tone still serious but warm. "Take your time. But just know, whatever happens tomorrow, you’re not the only one who cares about him."

You nodded, not trusting your voice enough to say anything else.

She left then, and the silence in the room was deafening. The weight of her words, the knowledge of Bradley’s upcoming mission—it all settled like a stone in your stomach. You wanted to scream, wanted to run to him and beg him to stay, to take care of himself, to put everything on hold until he could figure it out. But you didn’t know if that would even make a difference. You didn’t know if anything would.

You sat there for a long while after Phoenix left, staring at the kitchen table as your mind raced, desperately trying to put the pieces together. Could you let him go again? Could you really do it?

Your phone sat on the counter, and you found yourself staring at it, knowing the texts from Bradley would come soon. They always did. But you didn’t reach for it. Not yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to open that door again, to let him back into your heart when you were still so unsure of everything—of what he felt, of what you felt, of whether or not he’d make it home.

And then, as the evening wore on, you found yourself pacing the apartment. You didn’t know what you should do. You didn’t know what to feel. Should you show up tomorrow morning? Should you see him off? Should you do what you’d always done—pretend like everything was fine, like nothing had ever changed? Or should you face the reality of it all, admit to yourself that you might never see him again?

The decision was suffocating. You were pulled in two directions, unsure of what the right choice was. Every part of you ached to see him one last time, to tell him what you had never said. But part of you wondered if you were just chasing something that had already slipped through your fingers.

And so, you sat with it, the uncertainty eating at you, and waited. Tomorrow would come, and with it, the moment when you would have to decide whether you could let him go—or whether you would risk it all to see him one last time.

* * * * *

The morning air was cool, but the nerves gnawing at you kept your body warm as you pulled into the parking lot at 6:15. You wanted to be here early—too early maybe—but you couldn’t take the chance of missing him. It had been two months since you last saw Bradley, and now, you had no choice but to face everything you’d been running from.

The lot began to fill as you sat in your car, watching people say their goodbyes—families, friends, all of them hugging and holding on to each other a little longer than usual. Each goodbye seemed to break something inside you, a reminder of what could be lost, of what you had once had and might not again.

And then you heard it. The familiar rumble of an engine. Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced to your right and saw it—the Bronco—pulling in next to you. You didn’t even have to look twice. You knew it was him.

For a split second, your eyes locked through the windshield, the kind of silent exchange that spoke volumes. Neither of you moved for a beat, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you like a thick fog.

You didn’t know who moved first, but before you knew it, the car doors opened, and you were walking around the front of the Bronco to where Bradley stood.

There was a long pause, the air between you thick with everything you were both carrying. Your lips parted first.

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words coming out choked and raw. “I’ve been… so messed up, Bradley. I’ve been pushing you away and—” You stopped yourself, your chest tightening as emotion swelled. “I didn’t mean it. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Bradley’s jaw clenched, his gaze turning hard with guilt before he stepped toward you, cutting you off.

“No, I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said, his voice low but raw, full of regret. “I took you for granted. I lost you.”

The tears you thought you had already shed seemed to fall again at the sound of his words, and before you could stop yourself, you felt the sting of them, hot and sudden, blurring your vision.

His hands were on you then, pulling you into his arms, warm and solid. He was trying to comfort you, but it only hurt more, the realization that he knew—he knew it was his fault. The pain you’d been carrying had finally broken through, and you couldn’t help it. You cried harder into his chest, unable to control it.

Bradley’s arms tightened around you, his own breath shaky as he pressed his cheek against the top of your head. You could feel the way his body shook with something deeper than just the coolness of the morning air.

And then, between sobs, you whispered it—the thing you’d been holding in, the thing you needed him to hear.

"I love you."

There was no hesitation. No stiffening, no pulling away, just him pulling you closer, if that was even possible.

His voice was rough when he replied, “I love you too, sweets. So damn much.”

The world seemed to stop then, everything else fading into the background as Bradley’s words sank in. The walls you’d built around yourself felt like they were crumbling as the words you’d longed to hear washed over you, finally, finally making everything feel right again.

But even then, the worry gnawed at you, pulling you from the moment. Your voice trembled as you looked up at him, hands gripping his shirt tight, “Come back to me. Please… come back alive.”

His hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours.

“I promise,” he said quietly, and you believed him.

But then, as if the weight of the moment suddenly hit him too, Bradley pulled back just enough to look at you fully.

There was something in his eyes, something that made your heart beat faster as he asked, “Will you be here when I get back? Will you wait for me?”

You nodded quickly, the answer spilling out of you before you could even think about it. “Yes,” you whispered, breathless. “I’ll be here.”

Bradley’s gaze softened, a hint of relief flashing across his face, and then he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was desperate and filled with everything you both had been holding back for so long. His arms wrapped around you tighter, and before you could process what was happening, his hands were lifting you off the ground, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pulled you closer, his lips never leaving yours.

You heard the whistling before you could think about it, the sound of someone teasing. Maybe it was Jake. Maybe it was Coyote. Maybe even Bob, though it didn’t matter. None of it mattered because all you could feel, all you could think about, was the heat of Bradley’s kiss, the way his arms made you feel safe and wanted, the way he was home in a way nothing else could ever be.

In that moment, there was no question—no more uncertainty, no more fear. You were with him. And that was all that mattered.

#Bradley Bradshaw #Bradley Bradshaw Fic #Bradley Bradshaw Fanfic #Bradley Bradshaw Fanfiction #Bradley Bradshaw Fluff #Bradley Bradshaw x reader #Bradley Bradshaw x you #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw Fic #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw Fanfic #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw Fanfiction #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x reader #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x you

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theygotbitchesinmedia · 8 months ago

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okay so here is her review: https://arkadymartine.wordpress.com/2015/09/27/the-traitor-baru-cormorant-a-reviewresponse/

admittedly its from 2015- i haven't poked around to see how she may have changed how she feels about it, and i know she did blurb seth's recent scifi novel (Exordia), so there's no bad blood there or anything. it's also a positive review, in general- she ends with this sentence: "I highly, highly recommend this book; I have not thought so much about something I read in a long time."

i am also coming into this as someone who has read all of seth dickinson's work for the game destiny, where he was near-singlehandedly responsible for a good oh… 80% of the interesting women (& overall interesting concepts lol!) in the game, and his writing of one of those characters in particular as a complex and flawed character got him bullied viciously off of all social media. if you've tried to find his social media presence and havent found anything, that's why. so i mayhaps have a little more emotion in the game.

THAT SAID. here are some specific parts from her review i find really fucking annoying! and color the way i feel about Memory & Desolation, despite them being so incredibly targeted at me as a classics person AND someone who fucking loves the specific sub-genre of scifi her novels are.

"[Traitor] asks a question which I find compelling as a student of an empire and as a queer woman. That question is: what do we gain by complicity? What do we – we barbaroi, we women, we queer people, we imperialized – what do we get when we say yes? When we say yes I will hide my true nature? When we say yes I will subsume myself into the beautiful machine? When we say can we speak English? Or the literature I love just happens to be written by straight white men – and mean it, too, mean it with the kind of depthless love that a person can have for a text that speaks to them, which holds up a mirror to them?"

i dont think the use of the greek word for barbarian does anything here (she also keeps coming back to the greek term orthos in her review, which also pisses me off lol), i dont think empire is a "beautiful machine," and i don't think the invocation of identity politics is useful. like. i know she's a byzantine scholar but if your first association with empire is purely a finite Historical Empire instead of, like, modern US imperialism, or British colonialism, you are going into this discussion with a certain set of values and opinions! a set of values and opinions that let you call an empire a "beautiful machine" in all earnestness. this claim probably seems unsubstantiated and nitpicky now just from this excerpt but ill come back to it with more i promise. on the idpol front, she also says immediately after this that she does believe that straight people can and should write queer people, but that they should listen to queer people when they point out those errors. she then continues:

"But then, critique: there are two points on which I think Dickinson’s portrayal of a queer protagonist has faltered, and I think both of these errors arise from the fact that he isn’t part of – as far as I know at the time of writing this review – a queer community. Firstly, I disbelieve Baru’s awareness of her own desires… …For the first portion of the book, her queerness felt more like a character trait assigned to her for reason of plot than a naturally built part of her as a person… Secondly, I wonder where queer people in Falcrest are…"

theres more to these excerpts, but. i personally didnt find the depiction of baru's desire to be unrealistic, and also this was a review of Traitor, specifically, so where on earth would baru have heard about queer people in falcrest? and more importantly, why should we care so much about queer people in the imperial core? moreover i think the way seth does it with svir is very very well done, and illustrates the hypocrisy of empire in a way that does NOT seem like what martine is asking for here!!!

"Why am I invested? I myself am a student of empire. I’m a Byzantinist. My academic work is about empire and its seductions; it is the animating principle of my professional life. And: I am myself someone who loves order over disorder. Who looks for systems in all things. Who is comforted by structures; who is concerned deeply with propriety. But here’s my real criticism of this book: I don’t buy the seduction of the Masquerade. And I think if this book fails, it’s there: in that its empire is too easily read as undesirable. As profane, unethical, fundamentally wrong. It is really overtly evil." … "The Masquerade isn’t civilized. It’s civilization, but I don’t recognize it as civilized, and this is a problem with a constructed empire. An empire relies on itself as the definition of civilization – I would footnote here Ann Leckie’s Imperial Radch as a SFnal example of an empire which is built on this principle, and which, for this reader at least, achieves the facsimile. (But then my ancestors were not enslaved, we were exterminated; not annexed, but exiled. Perhaps I like the Radch better than the Masquerade because I can find a place for myself in it, and cannot imagine a place within the Masquerade someone like me would ever be safe –)"

and THIS. THIS RIGHT HERE IS MY BIGGEST PROBLEM. critiquing the masquerade as not "seductive" enough, calling it too evil to have people join it- how does someone miss the point THIS badly??? like. are you FUCKING serious??? how do you read a book about the immense violence of colonialism and your problem is that it is boohoo too violent for people to join willingly. google literally fucking anything the US has done ever!!! and the invocation of the concept of "civilized" as an objective quality, despite the recognition that the empire constructs what counts as "civilization" is so fucking unserious/simplistic/juvenile! why do you need to imagine yourself a place in the empire? in the imperial core specifically!

and i think this particular approach bleeds into her books. i read them at Least 2 years ago, so this is mostly vibes-based, and i will avoid spoilers.

there is such a focus on the allure of the imperial core, on the "beautiful machine" of the empire as she calls it. there is violence done, but it is abstracted away from the wealth of the imperial core. there are no economics there. the empire sees her independent station as a backwater, and there is some cultural tensions there, but there is no realistic violence and exploitation! it is not clear at all what maintains the empire, besides some abstract idea of trade. i also don't know what her Point is with the naming & language conventions, which are very clearly inspired in part by ancient Mayan- e.g. the empire and core planet are called Teixcalaan. and idk this may be reductive of me but i think if you are going to pull features from civilizations that have been colonized and use them to inspire fictional colonizing forces, you ARE saying something there! idk! and like, the ancient Mayan

and on the ~representation~ front, i also don't think she does a better job than seth tbqh!!! i felt like the characters getting together came out of nowhere and felt anticlimactic- there is also not the tension i think there should be with the main character being an ambassador-ish and the love interest being… idr. junior intelligence officer iirc? idk! and for all her critique of baru's desire for women not feeling "real" or present enough, i do not remember the main character in Memory having any real focus on it!

i enjoyed Memory just fine, but i don't think it says anything interesting or novel or even critical about empire, and i found her review of Traitor extremely shallow and useless, if very revealing about her own outlook on empire lol!!!

this has been at best Minorly proofread and edited but im not like, writing an academic essay on the matter and so i apologize for any inconsistencies.

oh man thanks for this this is really interesting. i went and read the whole thing and i agree a ton with your critique. i'm going to stick my thoughts below the cut because i went on for a bit here, in typical fashion.

i personally didnt find the depiction of baru's desire to be unrealistic, and also this was a review of Traitor, specifically, so where on earth would baru have heard about queer people in falcrest? and more importantly, why should we care so much about queer people in the imperial core?

NO BUT EXACTLY... for starters this is explicitly a novel about colonized people taking place in a colony where none of the major characters are from the empire. where, when, and how would we take the time to explore what queerness looks like for them and more importantly, like you've asked, why the hell should that be a priority for the narrative in this case.

in terms of 'i found this to be an unrealistic depiction of queer desire' 9/10 times i feel like what that means is 'i found this to be an unrelatable depiction' which is an entirely different critique. i know i'm working with two additional books worth of context that martine isn't working with here. but even taking into account just the characterization we have for baru in traitor i think this is suuuuch an unfair complaint. i'm gonna pull the entire quote she says about baru's sexuality here because i have additional specific gripes with it.

Firstly, I disbelieve Baru’s awareness of her own desires. In the first portion of the book, I do not ever feel the weight of Baru’s own awareness of her sexuality; there is an absence of carnality, a kind of intellectual version of lesbian desire which is, to me, inconsistent with the sort of desire I expect. Not until the introduction of Baru’s eventual lover Tain Hu do I get a sense of Baru as a woman who loves women. Further, considering how very much the Empire of Masks and Increastic philosophy criminalizes the sin of queer desire, I wish Baru had struggled more with the nature of her desire. For the first portion of the book, her queerness felt more like a character trait assigned to her for reason of plot than a naturally built part of her as a person. This markedly improved in the second half, where Baru notices women in a way she does not notice men.

For starters, it is insanely hypocritical to me to complain that her desire both isn't carnal enough and she processes it too intellectually, but that she isn't struggling enough with it. Baru intellectually processes things! That's her entire character from the getgo! She also has a difficult time conceptualizing other people as fully realized beings with their own agency. These character traits paired together don't make for a particularly passionate and carnal relationship to her sexuality. She is also, at her absolute oldest in this book, 21! (Or 22? I can't remember. I know she spends 3 years in aurdwynn) and has spent her entire youth being groomed to be a scholar. Of course detached intellectualism is her primary way of navigating all things. Why wouldn't it be?

Baru primary motivation is to save taranoke, she wants to save the taranoki way of life, and part of that way of life includes an acceptance of nonhetero nonmonogamous relationships. Sure, a different character arc may have involved baru actually internalizing and then having to break free of the trappings of race, gender, and sexuality that the empire tries to impose upon its citizens. but that's not baru and acting like this is a writing flaw rather than a character choice is insane to me.

There's absolutely no reason for Baru to lie awake at night pontificating about how wrong and dirty of her it is to want to have sex with women because we are never lead to believe even for a minute that Baru puts any emotional weight in incrasticism. She doesn't conceptualize it as sinful she conceptualizes it as illegal!

And "Not until the introduction of Baru’s eventual lover Tain Hu do I get a sense of Baru as a woman who loves women. " is killing me in particular because like. Yeah. Tain Hu is baru's first love. thats the point. But beyond that this is just not being able to see anything other than what she's looking for because i think the chapters covering baru's childhood make it pretty clear that her feelings for aminata and cousin lao (im not double checking the name but im pretty sure it was this) are deep and strong. the fact that they're not as explicitly and straightforwardly romantic and sexual as her relationship with tain hu doesn't change that, and in fact, points to baru's struggle with/development of her sexuality that she claims was somehow missing in this book.

like i just simply can't see anything here but someone who is seeing an emotional landscape they can't relate to and assuming that means it's flawed writing. skill issue frankly.

She's also fucking insane for acting like the masquerade is too cartoonishly evil to be appealing. once again im going to post her full quote here because i think its important to see

its empire is too easily read as undesirable. As profane, unethical, fundamentally wrong. It is really overtly evil. It punishes sexual “deviants” with mutilation and death. It murders children callously. It inflicts plague and withholds vaccines. It lobotomizes its own emperors for the sake of convincing its populace that the emperor is just. Most of all, the Masquerade is a eugenicist empire: it is explicitly founded on not purity of bloodline but on purification of bloodline, on making people useful to it. It makes people: it breeds them carefully, it indoctrinates them through schools, it uses drugs and operant conditioning to transform their minds and make them into automata tools. It commits every atrocity that a modern Western reader recognizes as abhorrent. This is a problem. It is a problem because we are asked, as readers, to believe that there are reasons besides blackmail that a person would willingly become an agent of the Masquerade. We are asked to imagine that the Masquerade is a beautiful machine.

for starters. "It commits every atrocity that a modern Western reader recognizes as abhorrent." MODERN WESTERN EMPIRES DID, AND OCCASIONALLY STILL DO, MOST OF THESE THINGS!!! THIS IS US! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!!! I FEEL INSANE!!!!

I think the book makes it more than explicitly clear why the empire is appealing??? it has all of the capital???? its building schools and sewage systems and importing food and goods and teaching reading and writing??? baru's own internal narrative often shows her own strife at the fact that the empire has made genuinely incredible scientific advancements that offer significant improvements in quality of life to many, many people. martine actually acknowledges this in the next paragraph of her review, and then brushes it away as not being good enough. why? what about that doesn't convince you?

she is seeming to hugely ignore the fact that in the case of aurdwynn specifically, the bureaucracy of the empire is coming in to unseat feudal aristocracy! what the masquerade offers may not be particularly tempting to most of that ruling class, but its economic opportunities are more then believably appealing to the common people. i think this is made pretty clear when baru's ploy to use the fiat bank to make loans to the aurdwynni people and basically lessen the massive tax burdens from the duchies wins her huge favor with the public.

and frankly even for the ruling class the potential economic benefits are massive too if you're willing to participate in the empire properly. yes the empire doesn't have Moral appeal. it doesn't fucking have to. it owns pretty much every economy outside of the oriati mbo. the fact that that's not enough for her is as you've pointed out really really showing her biases and blind spots. 'no reason besides blackmail' MONEY!!!! MONEY! IT'S MONEY! THIS IS A BOOK ABOUT ACCOUNTING! HOW DID YOU MISS THAT!!!

and the invocation of the concept of "civilized" as an objective quality, despite the recognition that the empire constructs what counts as "civilization" is so fucking unserious/simplistic/juvenile! why do you need to imagine yourself a place in the empire? in the imperial core specifically!

And this is really it for me too, yeah. It's gross. It's absolutely gross. "An empire isn't believably appealing unless I, personally, find it appealing" there are people alive who are eugenicists, who love community policing, who believe in race science. the masquerade is an empire for them. the thing about empires is that they are only actually empowering for an incredibly small subset of people, and the fact that You, Specifically, Arkady Martine can't imagine being one of those people in this instance doesn't make it not believable. This is a shatteringly individualist way of engaging with a work.

As for your points about the way she handles empire in her own book obviously i can't have anything to say there because i haven't read it yet, but i do absolutely agree with you on this bit:

and idk this may be reductive of me but i think if you are going to pull features from civilizations that have been colonized and use them to inspire fictional colonizing forces, you ARE saying something there! idk! and like, the ancient Mayan

1000% i don't think this is reductive of you. whether or not you're consciously saying anything is one question but it's a choice that absolutely doesn't exist in a vacuum. out of curiosity i googled her to see if she was of mayan descent or anything and maybe she chose that due to some personal ties to the subject matter but she doesn't seem to be. which of course i don't think means she can't or shouldn't draw any inspiration from there but i do think all of these sorts of choices are meaningful

i don't really have much to say here to round off a conclusion but. wow. deeply deeply telling review that does not particularly make me want to read anything she has written beyond this.

#long post #lb baru cormorant #ask

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