#all i can think about watching that episode

[drdemonprince]

Gender liberation, in the end, is not a war between the good group and the bad. It is a collective struggle against the laws, cultural norms, social rules, and institutional policies that restrict all people, and uses rigid gendered categories to keep us so restricted. 

I think if we are going to be able to move forward in this fight, trans men must abandon the notion that other men are fundamentally the “bad” gender — and that we don’t belong to that category because of our transness. We must embrace manhood as a state of both strength and profound lostness, an immense liability as much as it is a source of gender euphoric joy, and see the frustrated wanderings of other marginalized masculine people as of a piece with our own. 

And so, in the interest of helping us all find our way to each other, here are some of the major struggles that trans men and cis men have in common: 

Gender Dysphoria 

Many people believe the experience of having gender dysphoria is something like having a phantom limb, or seeing the wrong image in the mirror, but that’s rarely true. 

For a lot of trans people, gender dysphoria feels more like a maddening insecurity about how we look and how we are being perceived that seems to know no satisfaction, a mental itching that wanders all across our bodies, our faces, down our throats, across our hairlines, and even all over our clothes. It’s the uncertain sense we are not being ourselves correctly, an out-of-placeness that makes our very being feel like it has no right to exist.

Gender dysphoria is not caused by having the “wrong” gendered brain for one’s body (the notion of “male” and “female” brains is a myth), nor is it a mental illness afflicting only trans people. Rather, gender dysphoria is a pretty sensible trauma response to society’s unrelenting and coercive gendering. All people are categorized as a gender, assigned rules, and threatened with becoming less of a person should they fail to measure up. This means that even cisgender people can experience the terror of feeling that they’ve failed to enact their gender correctly and make themselves socially acceptable— a sensation that often gets called “gender dysphoria.” 

I think I first realized that cis people could be gender dysphoric when the actress Amanda Bynes revealed she had tumbled into a major depressive episode after watching herself portray a male character in the comedy She’s the Man. The disturbance she felt from watching herself enact the “wrong” gender sounded exactly like how I felt back when I looked in the mirror at myself as a “woman.” 

In 2019, when Jason Derulo complained about his bulge being removed with CGI for his role in the film Cats, I was reminded once again that cis people can feel utterly, dysphorically wrong in their bodies or how they are perceived. Each year, millions of cis people spend thousands of dollars on breast augmentations, jaw implants, hair plugs, and leg-lengthening surgeries, at least in part for gender dysphoric reasons, and if you’ve worn both male and female clothing before, you’ve likely recognized how much of the tailoring of garments is done to deliberately accentuate or even manufacture the gendered features of a person’s shape. 

Cis people feel ill-at-ease in their bodies, and fail to measure up to gender normative standards too. That’s how artificially constructed and harshly enforced these standards really are.

In recent years, I’ve spent a good amount of time in gay male bathhouses. When I reveal this fact, even to other gay men, I’m sometimes met with confessions of deep bodily insecurity. The idea of being nude in a highly gendered sexual marketplace often causes people’s worst gendered fears to bubble up. 

“I could never go to a place like that,” one cis gay man in his forties confessed to me. “My dick is too small. Nobody would ever want to look at me.” 

“I wouldn’t fit in there,” said another cis man, a short, effeminate type with long flowing hair. “They might think I was a girl and kick me out or harass me.” 

These men knew, of course, that I don’t have a penis, and can be mistaken for a woman from some angles. And I had just told each of them I’d never had any problem visiting the sauna. Yet they couldn’t shake the sense that I was doing manhood correctly enough, and they were somehow doing it wrong. Despite ostensibly being “cis,” they weren’t quite sure that manhood as a category could hold them as they really were — not when they were nude and vulnerable, surrounded by their idea of the proper man. 

Of course, having been in these spaces frequently, I could have told them that nobody there is the “proper” kind of man at all. There’s just regular human beings in there — with sunken chests, stretch marks, amputated limbs, multi-layered bellies, rounded backs, tiny hands, and eye patches. 

Over the years, cis men have shared dozens of gender dysphoric insecurities with me, about everything from the width of their shoulders to the length of their eyelashes to the way they hold a can of beer. And in some of the sections below, we will explore more specific examples, because these sources of dysphoria mirror trans men’s almost exactly. But it’s important to establish first that the major commonality across both groups of men is our fear we’re not being men correctly at all. 

Every man, I believe, grapples with the disjoint between their actual, complex human selves and the strong, built, stoic, powerful, masculine image that has been pushed upon us. And we fear living up to that standard because the consequences of that failure can be so harsh — these norms are quite violently imposed. 

Failing to be a man, in some sense, is what being a man actually means. We are united in the precarity of our position, as powerful as it is. A man in a tank-top with a bald spot sitting beside a lush pond. Photo by Beth Macdonald on Unsplash

Hair Insecurities 

“I wish I could grow a full beard so that I could pass better,” says Topher, a trans guy with long hair in his mid-twenties. “But I’m realizing that cis men with long hair get misgendered often too.” 

Dunmer, a bisexual trans guy, echoes this experience. “In this one chemistry class a few years ago, both me and this cis guy got called ma’am by a professor. I’m a rather effeminate/androgynous dude, but I have prominent facial hair. And the other guy who got misgendered was pretty masculine, but had long hair and was clean shaven. We both just kinda looked at each other and shrugged after it happened.” 

I’ve found that numerous cis and trans men harbor deep insecurities about their hair — where it’s growing, where it doesn’t, how it looks on their bodies, and where they might be losing it. It may sound like a frivolous subject at first blush, but hair is integral to gendered perceptions, as well as how others view our sexual attractiveness, race, and age. 

Trans men worry frequently about potential hair loss on T for more aesthetic reasons. I’ve known numerous trans masculine people who have avoided starting hormones because they’ve feared eventually going bald and becoming “less attractive.” And in this we aren’t alone, as 52 billion dollars gets spent each year (by people of all genders) on hair loss prevention treatments. 

“It’s helped me to realize that cis men are also scared of going bald,” says Topher. “When I worry about something gender-wise, I ask myself if cis men deal with what I deal with, and it’s helped me settle into my identity more.” 

Cis and trans men also share complicated feelings about body hair. Though being covered in a dark blanket of fuzz certainly reads as “masculine,” male beauty standards for the last several decades have eschewed hairiness in favor of a the glistening, action-figure-y look. Trans and cis men alike often fear that hair sprouting on their backs will make them unattractive, or that growing a “neckbeard” will be seen as slovenly. And it’s no coincidence that hairiness has often been linked with fatness and being racialized in many people’s minds — the uncontrolled proliferation of hair is often cast as animalistic, unclean, disgusting, less than human. 

But some men have sought refuge from such punishing standards within the gay Bear community. 

“I have never felt more welcomed in my masculinity than I have around other bears,” says Kody, a trans male bear. “I’m literally growing in my manhood — getting bigger, hairier, louder, taking up more space. While being really soft and tender too.” 

I wrote about the many struggles that unite trans and cis men, and how a deep appreciation for our commonalities is essential to the fight for gender liberation. You can read the full piece for free, or have it narrated to you by the Substack app, at drdevonprice.substack.com.

[slttygeto]

༉‧₊˚. episode 08: lost in the fire.

preview: " . . . Without a second glance, he flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his foot, his voice low and taunting. “I don’t feel guilt, doll.”

“I…” you cannot put into words how you feel, it feels as though you had swallowed your tongue and any smart retort you had prepared is thrown out of the window. Shuji notices the change in your expression, how you went from being incredibly affected by his words to nothing all of a sudden. There’s an emptiness behind your eyes as you nod at him. “You’re right.”

And then you were gone. ."

word count: 5,3k

content warning: nsfw warning! heavy smut, choking, biting, n!pple sucking, unprotected s/x, not enough foreplay, jealousy.

༉‧₊˚. note: happy new years :) starting 2025 with a new chapter! thank you to my amazing best friend @aurelianamu for being my beta reader and helping point out mistakes and things that needed serious editing! i am still on a hiatus, but enjoy reading. thank you!

༉‧₊˚. reblog + comment!

➜ MASTERLIST

Hanma openly admits his vocabulary isn’t exactly expansive, chalking it up to his teenage self choosing cigarettes over books, biker gangs over libraries and nasty fights over going to school. Only that he knows a couple of words, they’re still insufficient when he is facing this hurricane of emotions and fails to locate the heart of it. He can’t pull the plug on something that’s blurry, so he sits in his car and looks out of his window. The vehicle trembles in sync with the rhythm of his restless foot.

A tattooed hand goes up to his face, and he slides down his blouse cuff to stare at the watch adorning his wrist; 10:32PM. You had to be awake, right? 

One would question why he couldn’t simply send you a message, and the truth is far more complicated than that suggestion. He can’t message you when he was the one who told you he doesn’t fuck you on your period. You were offended by his tone more than what he was implying, and told him and he quotes ‘to go fuck himself and never come back again’. 

Now, this wasn’t the first time that the two of you had a petty argument, the earliest one Hanma can remember was of him saying he didn’t want to eat your homemade food because he thought soup was boring, and you had glared at him the whole night until he apologized with his head between your thighs. Or when you tried to insinuate that he was so much softer than you had thought, the night ended with tears streaming down your face as you gagged and choked on his cock. 

The two of you didn’t know what communication was, sex seemed to be the solution to everything. Well, except for this time.

You were understandably hormonal when you texted him, asking if he could drop by and hang out with you for a couple of hours at the beginning of November. And him being an asshole, he made some poor joke about how ‘he doesn’t fuck women on their periods because they’ll get attached’ and the rest is history.

Hanma doesn’t think he fucked up that badly, but that wouldn’t explain the fifth cigarette he throws out of his car window as he glares daggers at your balcony door. You can’t keep ignoring him forever, it’s been ten days. 

He mutters a sharp “fuck” under his breath as he swings the car door open, stepping out and locking it with a press of his key fob. His strides are long and confident as he reaches into the pocket of his suit pants for another cigarette. Shielding the flame with his hand, he lights it, the glow briefly illuminating his face before he tucks the cigarette between his index and middle finger. He ascends the stairs, smoke curling in his wake as he eyes the apartment doors one by one. Ironically, the one thing he had memorized beside the feeling of your hallway, was the smell of homemade food that emerged from beneath your doorway, a scent which was forever engraved at the forefront of his mind. 

A familiar wooden door greets Hanma as he steps into the dimly lit hallway, and he braces himself for how many times he is going to knock to get you to open the door for him. The memory of you whisper-yelling at him to just get in flashes before his eyes and an amused smirk finds its way up his lips, but it’s immediately wiped off when the door suddenly swings open. Surprised, he takes a step back with furrowed eyebrows, hand reaching towards his gun holster out of instinct. 

Then he hears it, the sound of high heels clicking against the tiles. 

You step out of your apartment with your back facing Hanma, allowing him to scan your outfit for a brief moment. It was cold outside, so you were wearing an oversized, fluffy and warm jacket on top of what he believes to be a short dress, and the black stockings you had chosen for the night bring more attention to your legs. To match the aesthetic of the outfit, you chose to wear your knee high, black leather high heeled boots, adding a couple centimeters to your height. And to finish off the look, you had styled your hair in a way that Hanma could only describe as intoxicating. The perfume you were wearing was dizzying, and it only worsens when you turn around and Hanma sees you with a full face of makeup. The right amount of glitter, the sharp eyeliner, the mascara giving your face that doe-eyed look and finally, that lip combo.

Where the hell were you headed to?

The good thing about working in corporate jobs was the amount of birthday celebrations to look out to. You had at least two birthdays each month, and November was no exception. But to ensure that not every winter birthday is celebrated inside the company, a co-worker took it upon themselves to invite everyone to a club, and who were you to turn down the offer? 

You hated being holed up in your apartment for too long, it made you feel claustrophobic and anxious, and you were getting sick of your balcony and the same boring view. The moment you step out, you get a whiff of cigarette smell and instantly, you realize who was behind you. Your movements are slow and careful as you lock your door, fix the scarf that’s wrapped around your neck to keep you warm then–you see him.

Hanma doesn’t miss the way your eyebrows twitch when you lock eyes with him, he can’t deny that the slight purse to your lips makes the coil in his stomach tighten, then your frown deepens. 

“Smoking’s not allowed in the hallway,” you point out towards the cigarette bud hanging between his fingers.

“Where are you going?” he completely dismisses your statement, eyes scanning your outfit from head to toe for what feels like the hundredth time. He knows exactly what hides beneath those layers of clothing, he’s touched and felt and groped it so many times already–then why does it bother him that you’re dressed so prettily for an occasion?

You’re already fed up with him, your high heels clicking against the tiles as you walk past him and Hanma almost groans when he gets a whiff of your perfume. Fuck, why did he have to be so stupid?

“Whatever, don’t stay here for too long or else they’ll kick you out.” You announce as you call for the elevator, pressing the button as you put your keys in your handbag. 

The tall man is quickly standing behind you. He knows why you’re ignoring him, but he doesn’t think it entirely justifies not answering him. “Did you not hear me?”

You scoff. “You’re saying that?” 

“It’s different, I’m asking where you’re going–”

“And now I’m asking you to mind your own business?” you hear a ding and step onto the elevator, Hanma right behind you. “I’m a grown ass woman.”

“Never seen your grown ass outside at night.” How blunt.

“Oh right, because in the last two months when you’ve known me and rarely ever visited may I add, you’ve never seen me go outside after 8PM?” 

You were bitter, that’s understandable, but that doesn’t explain completely avoiding his question, does it? He was only asking about your whereabouts so that he knows where to expect to see you! 

And perhaps even follow you there. 

Hanma bites his tongue at your words. He would never admit that you were right, or that he messed up by completely ignoring your phone calls and messages because you had told him that you were on your period. However, everyone makes mistakes and it’s what makes us human…

…or however that saying goes. 

The elevator starts to go down, his golden eyes alternate between scanning the number shown in bold colors indicating the floor number and the screen of your phone. You were sending a text in a group chat, he could see the name of it–something about your company, and next to it was the word ‘birthday party!’. He’s thankful that he’s being sneaky enough to be able to look at what you were typing, however that doesn’t last when you finally notice that he has grown a little too quiet. You hide your phone in your chest.

“Can you not?” you hiss, voice laced with venom as you shoot him a glare over your shoulder. 

“A colleague’s birthday?”

“What are you, twelve?” you furrow your eyebrows as you turn to face him fully. Even with high heels, you don’t reach his full height and you hate it. You hate that you are looking up at him, at his handsome face which you didn’t see for a full week, and you absolutely despise the way he is staring at you.

His eyes were devouring you, forcing you to think of anything but how you’ve made them roll to the back of his head countless times. You refuse to stare at his bulging arms, or how his hair was slightly disheveled from running a hand through it. Was he frustrated by his own actions? You hope he was, you hope he fisted his cock pathetically to the thought of you, that his whines were so loud it echoes in his empty apartment. You pray that a mission interrupted his alone time, and he had to finish off some guy he didn’t like with painful blue balls.

And you fervently and desperately hope that he cannot read your true thoughts.

“Add sixteen years to that,” he replies while bringing the cigarette to his lips, taking a whiff from the stick. He pulls his hand away, smirking when he notices the slight shift in your expression and it worsens when he blows smoke on your face.

“Stop that! I don’t want to smell like cigarettes when I get in the car!”

“Oh?” he tilts his head to the side, golden eyes locked with yours as he searches for another clue. “So you need a car to get there?”

“I would be crazy if I walked outside dressed like this.” you ignore his intense stare, masking your nervousness with annoyance as you pull out your phone again. 

“Who’s driving you there?”

“None of your damn business.” 

“An uber.” The elevator finally dings and you hurriedly step out of the cubicle, trying to get away from him as far as possible. 

“Oh! We got ourselves a detective here!” you exclaim jokingly, the sound of high heels clicking against the tiles echoing in the empty hallway. “You should work for the FBI, has anyone ever told you that?”

Hanma ignores your comments, his strides long and purposeful as he walks right behind you. “You keep clutching your purse, it’s open so you can make sure that your credit card is there and your forgetful ass didn’t actually miss anything. You’ll stop getting anxious when you get into the car and pay the driver–”

“Stop that!” You finally turn around to stare at him, and the tall man has to stop himself from scooping you into his arms and fucking you against the nearest wall. You puff out your chest like a balloon ready to burst, a fragile show of dominance and anger, but you were clearly fed up and you couldn’t handle hearing his voice anymore.

“You think you can read me easily, you think using your little criminal tricks on me will get you off the hook, it doesn’t.” you get even closer to the man, a manicured finger poking at his chest with each syllable rolling off your tongue. “You think you’re the only one who can read me? Well, I’ll tell you what’s in front of me right now.”

Hanma remains unnervingly quiet, so you continue.

"I see a man who couldn’t keep his word if his life depended on it. Someone who drowns his guilt in cigarette smoke because facing it is too much to bear. A man so shaken by the idea of me living my life without catering to him that he’ll go as far as to ruin it for me, hoping to force a reaction out of me. Well, guess what? You won’t. So enjoy your misery and your frustration, because tonight? You won’t be getting anything from me"

The only sounds breaking the stillness of the moment were the occasional hum of passing cars outside the building, their distant echoes a sharp contrast to the suffocating quiet of the hallway. The air around you felt heavy as you struggled to catch your breath, your face was in flames. Your gaze flickered wildly over Shuji’s expression, desperate to find even the slightest crack, some hint that your words had gotten to him, that they had landed where they intended to. 

But all you were met with was silence, dragging on until a scoff cut through the air and you felt your chest tightening. 

Without a second glance, he flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his foot, his voice low and taunting. “I don’t feel guilt, doll.”

“I…” you cannot put into words how you feel, it feels as though you had swallowed your tongue and any smart retort you had prepared is thrown out of the window. Shuji notices the change in your expression, how you went from being incredibly affected by his words to nothing all of a sudden. There’s an emptiness behind your eyes as you nod at him. “You’re right.” 

And then you were gone. 

He doesn’t try to follow you, the sound of your high heels clicking against the concrete becomes a distant sound the farther you walk away and he stands near the entrance of the building with his hands buried in his pockets. 

It was time to work.

—

“Where were you? We were looking for you!”

“Sorry! My cat threw up on the carpet and I had to clean it real quick,” you say with a wave of hands, looking around the crowded area with bright eyes. “Seems like the birthday girl is having fun!” 

You see a flash of red hair on the dance floor, and chuckle when you notice the way she seemed to effortlessly become the center of attention. People were cheering her on, clapping and asking the DJ to change the song just to match her energy. Meanwhile, you decide to take off your coat and place it on the chair that a coworker had reserved for you. 

You weren’t the type to go clubbing, years of being constantly guarded by your brothers had left you tense and uneasy under the flashing lights, but you envied those who did it so effortlessly. They wouldn’t look as awkward as you do. 

That is until you feel a pair of eyes following your every move, and you are forced to look at them. 

It was a coworker, someone you had grown comfortable around because of his kind gestures. He would offer to help you carry papers around even if you were going to take the elevator, and when you ran out of water or your favorite drink in the fridge, he would be the first to request a restock for you. He was a gentleman, one that didn’t know how to hide his attraction towards you.

And you didn’t seem to mind it, a woman could appreciate being treated nicely once in a while.

“Not going to join them?” He gestures towards the rest of your colleagues who seemed to be enjoying their time on the dance floor. You chuckle as you shake your head, leaning back in your seat.

“Dancing is not my thing,”

The man, whose name is Tomoya, takes this as an open invitation to sit across from you. He puts his elbows on the table as he leans forward, clearly invested in the conversation.

“Why? It’s just moving your body to the beat.”

You press your lips as you hum, leaning towards the brown haired man as you respond.“Hmmm, I’m not sure if I like that.” 

“How about this, if I can change your mind, you–” he pauses as he points his finger at you, eyes glimmering with mischief. “--go on a date with me.”

You scoff, raising an eyebrow at him. “A date?”

“Yup.” 

How do you explain this to a man you hardly speak to at work? How do you tell him that your life is already entangled with someone else–someone too deeply involved in your world to simply cut loose? The idea of going on a date with Tomoya doesn’t seem so bad, but the thought of facing Hanma, of telling him about the possibility that you want to end whatever it is you have, makes you hold your head in your hands. 

“We’ll see.”

You’ll deal with it later.

The rhythm of the music reverberates through the air as you find yourself on the dance floor with your colleague, Tomoya, who seems to be enjoying himself far more than you. The bass is heavy, the lights flicker like a heartbeat, and for a moment, you can almost forget your reservations. His encouragement draws a timid smile from you, and despite your clumsy attempts to follow his lead, you eventually surrender to the music. The tension in your shoulders eases as your movements become less forced, and soon enough, you find yourself laughing and moving your body to the beat.

You walk through the crowd to greet the birthday girl, your grin bright and contagious as you ask if she’s having fun. Before long, Tomoya succeeds to reclaim your attention. His lips move, but it’s hard to hear anything with the loud music.

“What?” you call out, cupping your ear for emphasis.

With a smile, he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I said, you look beautiful.”

Goosebumps rise on your skin at his words, and your face heats up. Your laughter quiets down as you shyly glance away, scanning the room for an escape from his intense gaze. That’s when you see him. A familiar figure near the bar freezes you in place. Your chest tightens, the world blurring as you focus on the tall man leaning casually against the counter.

“Are you okay?” Tomoya’s voice snaps you back, but your response is dismissive.

“Yeah, yeah,” you pat his shoulder with a forced smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Your steps quicken as you drag your feet through the crowd, each stride bringing more dread. Please don’t be him. Please. But as you approach him, there’s no denying it. That sharp grin, the cigarette dangling between his fingers–it’s him. Your hand finds his shoulder before you can stop yourself, and when he turns, you’re met with those golden eyes that seem to silently mock your surprise. 

“Well, what a coincidence, doll,” Hanma drawls, his voice dripping with amusement. “Do you need something?”

“Excuse me,” you snap, your hand gripping his forearm as you pull him to his feet. “We need to talk.”

“Oh absolutely,” he smirks, letting you drag him past the sea of curious eyes. He seems far too entertained for your liking, his laughter barely contained as you shove open the door to the women’s bathroom.

The startled gasps and shrieks from the women inside only add to the dread you were feeling. You glance around apologetically, muttering a quick, “Sorry,” as they scurry out, a few of them shooting you knowing looks. 

“Relationship emergency?” one asks before disappearing out the door.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, locking the door behind you.

“Are you insane?” you whirl around, glaring at Hanma as he leans casually against the sinks, an infuriating smirk painted across his face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Why? Did I ruin your little moment out there?” His tone is playful, but there’s an edge to it that makes your throat tighten and your mouth go dry. “Mad that I stopped you from almost fucking him?”

“Don’t you even start–”

“Or what?” His voice drops, low and dangerous, as he pushes off the sink and begins to close the distance between the two of you. The confidence in his stride makes your knees feel like jelly, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the way he towers over you so easily. “Tell me, doll, is this why you didn’t want to tell me where you were going tonight? Were you afraid I’d show up and fuck up your little date with that fucker?”

“Don’t call him that,” you retort, though your voice wavers under his suffocating stare.

His eyebrows raise, mock surprise etched across his face. “Oh? Defending him now, are we?”

“I’m not defending him!” you argue, though the crack in your voice betrays you. Shit, you were a nervous mess. “He didn’t do anything to deserve your anger.”

Hanma chuckles, low and menacing. “Anger? Oh, doll, I’m not angry. Not with him, anyway.” His steps falter when he’s inches away from you, his body caging you against the door. “Because we both know he doesn’t mean shit to you, right?”

Your silence speaks louder than words, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs. “It’d crush him, wouldn’t it? If he knew why you’re so hesitant to go on a date with him.”

“I never said–” Your breath catches as his hand cups your jaw, tilting your face upward. 

“So you do want to go on a date with him?” His golden eyes burn into yours, searching for something, though his grin never falters.

You gulp, your voice barely above a whisper. “...maybe.”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip, and you can’t stop the way your lips part instinctively. “You’re a liar,” he coos, his tone dripping with mock pity.

“Am not–”

A gasp is ripped from your body when you feel his knee push past your thigh, landing perfectly on your clothed cunt as he presses you further against the wall.

“Let’s try again,” he purrs, pressing his lips against your ear. “Do you want to go on a date with him?”

Your lips tremble as you throw your head back, and Shuji’s hand lands perfectly on your throat. He feels a piece of jewelry there, but he ignores it as he squeezes your neck gently, drawing a quiet moan out of you. 

“I…” you start, unable to keep your eyes open as you feel your body burn up. The effect he had on you, the way it felt effortless to make a mess of you felt unfair. You gulp as you try to morph the lust in your gaze into anger. “I do.”

A pair of lips crash against yours almost immediately, and Hanma quickly catches as your knees give out on you at the impact. You would be lying if you said you didn’t miss this–his lips, how roughly he handled your body whilst making sure that nothing hurt you, because you craved it more than anything else. So you kiss him, fervently moving your lips against his as your hands claw at his shoulders and back. You felt like a flower starved of sunlight, withering in the absence of warmth and connection. 

Hanma couldn’t offer either, but his touch was enough to fill the void. 

He pats your butt and you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist before sitting you on the sink. The marble is cold, sending a sharp chill against your skin but it quickly fades away when Hanma’s lips travel down your neck, then your exposed chest where your perfume hits his nostrils the hardest. 

The tall man stands there, inhaling deeply as your scent washes over his senses, his eyes closing as he surrenders to its intoxicating pull. He notices the necklace, how it seems to be stuck to your skin even if it doesn’t match your attire and something coils in his stomach.

Without second thought, he sinks his teeth on the skin of your boob, a loud gasp ripping from your throat as your hand finds his hair.

“Not there–” You try to reason with him, but he doesn’t listen. Instead, he sinks his teeth into a different spot, watching as you throw your head back, your back arching in response, a wave of pleasure taking over.

If he could, he would tear that piece of jewelry from your body.

“Shuji,” the sound of his name slipping from your lips is a melodic drawl, intoxicating him like no drug ever could. An animalistic growl rumbles from the back of his throat as he pulls down the top of your dress, revealing your boobs. The cold air makes goosebumps rise on your skin, and your nipples instantly harden under the attention given to them. 

He fervently licks and sucks on the buds, shoving his hands under your dress. You are lost in the pleasure, fingers digging in his scalp as he gently bites on your left nipple, his hand groping the other breast. 

Then you hear a tearing sound, followed by a sudden chill, making you shiver as the coldness creeps in.

“Oh my god!” you scream in horror, instinctively trying to close your legs as you eye the ripped stockings. “Those were expensive you fucking asshole!” 

“Fuck that,” your heart stills when you see him lean down, biting your inner thighs and salivating at the sight of your black thong. “I’ve got money.”

“Y-You’re not buying me a-anyth–ah!” you try to cover your mouth when you feel his head get shoved between your thighs, a wet tongue pressing against the fabric of your thong. And then, you hear a dark chuckle. 

“You smell so fucking good. Did all that fighting turn you on?” he pulls away, his fingers playing with the straps of your thong. “Or did you fuck around hoping that I’d fuck the attitude out of ya?”

Stubborn yet looking for a good fuck, you respond breathlessly.“No.”

“No?” he tilts his head, a mocking expression on his face as he purses his lips. “So you don’t want me to fuck you?”

He sees you look down at your own lap, and bursts out laughing as he finally removes the fabric off of your body. “Ah, you’re so fucking adorable,” he moves away from the sink and starts to unbuckle his belt. You sit up on the sink to admire him as he frees his hardened cock, stroking it a couple of times before standing between your thighs. He notices your starstruck gaze, and a low chuckle rumbles from the back of his throat, as if amused by the effect he has on you.

“Cockdrunk already?”

“Shut up.” You pull him in for a kiss, your hand traveling down to line up his tip with your entrance. He parts his lips, but then you feel him smile against your mouth. You open your eyes to meet his gaze. 

He watches with an amused grin as your jaw goes slack the moment he pushes himself inside, but it quickly fades away when the wetness of your pussy washes over his senses and he has to take a moment to ground himself. 

He can’t cum too quickly, that would be pathetic.

Hanma doesn’t take long before starting to fuck you, slow and calculated thrusts quickly turn into hurried and sloppy ones when your pussy clamps down on him with each kiss he presses to your pulse. He feels his self control slipping through the cracks of his mind, and when he finally looks at your face again, he is reminded of why the two of you were fucking in the women’s bathroom. 

With a clenched jaw and flared nostrils, his hand travels to the back of your head and he yanks it back. 

“Thought we had an agreement doll,” he hisses through gritted teeth, barely able to keep his eyes open as he grips your hair. “I thought you knew that you couldn’t pull shit like that with me. But I bet you like it, huh? You love testing my limits–ah fuck!” you clamp down on him again when he hits that one spot that makes your eyes roll, the added friction of his crotch against your clit sending shivers down your spine as you arch your back.

“Oh my god!” you cry out, the burning in your scalp mixing with pleasure. 

Hanma leans forward, pressing his lips against your cheek as he growls. “Answer me.” 

Tears well in your eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer presence of him. He was everywhere–inside of you, touching you–and now it felt as though he was trying to invade your very thoughts. “Fuck, fuck Shuji please don’t stop, please–” 

He continues to fuck you at the same angle, licking his fingers to rub your clit in messy circles.“You like getting on my nerves, don’t ya? Makes it more fun for me to fuck you stupid.”

“Oh!” You gasp at the stimulation, eyes widening as you try to look down at where the two of you meet. “Oh, right there!”

“I asked you a fucking question.”He spits out venomously, his grip tightening around your head, forcing your forehead to press against his as he holds you in place.

“Yes!” You cry out, not caring about how fucked out you must look. “Yes, yes I do! I love it, oh my god please don’t stop fucking me, please–”

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought–come on baby girl, get filthy with me.” Hanma grins triumphantly, but the pleasure starts to wash over him. “Make a mess on me, pretty girl. Use my cock, you know how to do that.” 

He leans back, watching as you pathetically try to move your hips back and forth. After a few failed attempts, you break down in front of him.

“I c-can’t, I can’t!” You sob, your hips trembling and shaky. Hanma’s gaze locks onto yours, his dark eyes fixated on the tears streaming down your cheeks–the sight of you so fragile beneath him is enough to send him over the edge. “Please, please fuck me Shuji.”

“Fuck–” His hand wraps around your throat, fingers grazing your necklace as he captures it in the same motion, and then his hips find that same delicious pace. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing in the same dizzying motion that made you the loudest earlier, but instead he hears nothing.

You suddenly fall quiet as your body arches away from him and Hanma watches in awe as your hand shakily grips his forearm. The bathroom is filled with wet sounds of skin to skin, and then he feels something wet on his pants and a loud gasp painfully rips from the back of your throat. 

“Oh shit!” His proud laughter dies down on his tongue as your pussy clenches on him, burying his face in your chest. He reaches his own orgasm after a couple of strokes, biting down on your shoulder to muffle his own noises.

The two of you sit there in silence, with mostly you trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. You had never cum that hard before, not with a man at least, and your face burns with the realization that you squirted on him.

“Oh no, how am I going to clean that?” you don’t even notice that Shuji’s pants are soiled as well, his cock still nestled in your pussy.

“I don't pay cleaners so I can grab a mop myself.” 

“What?” you furrow your eyebrows as you stare at him. “What do you mean?”

“Did I not tell ya?”

“Huh?”

 His voice dips lower as his grin stretches wider, “I own this club, doll.”

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[cherryxbooo]

Hey 😊 I love your writing sooo much !

Would you maybe write a Tim Bradford imagine where you're also a TO and you're having feelings for each other but you both try to ignore them, not to let them get in your way during the job. One time that changes as like in the episodes where Lucy gets kidnapped, it's you instead of her after a date gone wrong. Tim is on the edge the whole time till they find you. And when he sees you in that barrel, barely alive, his world crashes. Of course you can be saved and he stays at the hospital all the time. When you get home he also insists on taking care of you and there he also finds the courage to tell you his feelings properly, how much he loves you and that he'll always be there to protect you. I hope that's okay with you 💗🫶🏼

I’m not going anywhere

Summary: Tim and Y/N, both tough and dedicated TOs, struggle to suppress their growing feelings for each other. When Y/N is abducted after a date goes wrong, Tim refuses to back down, risking everything to find her.

Note: I'm so glad you enjoy my stories, love! 🫶 Thank you for this amazing request, I absolutely love the idea! I decided to give it my own spin to keep it unique and fresh instead of copying the entire episode. I hope you enjoy it! 🤍

Reader x Tim Bradford

Genre: fluff/angst

Being a Training Officer was never easy. You were expected to mold rookies into dependable cops, but it was also your job to keep them alive.

Every shift brought challenges that tested your patience and skills, especially when you worked alongside someone like Tim Bradford.

Tim was a force of nature. His bluntness could crush egos, his discipline was unmatched, and his loyalty ran deeper than any badge.

As a fellow TO, I admired him more than I cared to admit. But admiration had morphed into something more, something complicated.

I had feelings for him. And it was maddening.

Tim was infuriating. He challenged me at every turn, pushed me to my limits, and managed to crawl under my skin like no one else ever had.

But then there were the moments that made my heart ache:

the quiet glances when he thought no one was watching, the softness in his voice when he checked on me after a tough day, the way he never let anyone, rookie or otherwise, disrespect me.

We would also text each other back and forth to check in on one another.

It got to the point where if one of us didn’t respond within an hour, we assumed something was wrong.

That’s what normal colleagues do, right? Checking up on one another, or am I just fooling myself?

For months, I’d buried those feelings, telling myself that they were a distraction I couldn’t afford.

This job was dangerous enough without the added complication of being in love with my colleague.

Still, there were moments when I wondered if he felt the same.

I mean, someone like Tim Bradford wouldn’t just know my favorite coffee order for no reason, right?

The station was already filled with people when I arrived, the smell of burnt coffee and stale paperwork filling the air.

I was halfway to my desk when I heard Tim’s voice behind me.

“You look like you didn’t sleep,” he said, stepping beside me.

“Good morning to you too, Bradford,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

“I’m serious,” he said, giving me a once-over and putting the coffee he got me down on my desk.

“Late night?”

“Something like that,” I muttered, collapsing into my chair.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Work-related?”

“No.”

He didn’t ask further, but the tension in his jaw told me he wanted to.

The truth was, I’d been on another date last night.

For weeks, I’d been trying to distract myself from my feelings for Tim by going out with guys I barely knew.

The dates were always the same, awkward conversations, forced laughter, and a growing sense that I was wasting my time.

But I kept trying, convinced that if I could just find someone else, I’d stop thinking about Tim every second of every day.

“How’s the rookie?” I asked, steering the conversation away from myself.

Tim sighed. “Still green, but they’ll get there.”

Before he could say more, Angela appeared, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Well, if it isn’t the dream team,” she teased, leaning against my desk.

“What do you want, Lopez?” Tim asked, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” she said innocently.

“Just enjoying the sight of you two pretending you’re not completely into each other.”

I nearly choked on my coffee. “Excuse me?”

Angela smirked. “Oh, come on. It’s obvious to everyone but you two.”

Tim’s ears turned red, and he muttered something under his breath before walking off.

“You really need to do something about that tension,” Angela said, winking at me.

I glared at her. “There is no tension. Besides, I'm going on a date later tonight." I added to make her shut up.

“Sure, but we both know the real reason why you're going on that date,” she said, walking away with a laugh.

I glanced at Tim, who was now at the other end of the room, barking orders at a rookie.

For a moment, our eyes met, and my heart did that stupid fluttering thing I hated so much.

Angela might have been onto something.

That evening after my shift, I found myself sitting across from Eric, my date for the night.

He was tall, dark-haired, and charming in a way that felt almost too polished.

We’d met at a coffee shop a week ago, and while I hadn’t been particularly interested, I’d agreed to go out with him.

“So, what made you say yes?” Eric asked, flashing me a grin.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” I admitted, sipping my drink.

He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

I nodded, but my mind wasn’t really on him. As he talked about his job in finance, I found myself comparing him to Tim.

Eric was nice, but he didn’t have Tim’s sharp wit or his quiet strength.

“You’re distracted,” Eric said suddenly, his voice breaking into my thoughts.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “Long day.”

“Let’s fix that,” he said, signaling the bartender for another round. “How about we go somewhere quieter after this?”

I hesitated, knowing I shouldn't agree to go with a stranger but I wanted to forget about Tim.

His charm had a rehearsed quality, and his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Something about Eric felt... off.

But I pushed the thought aside, chalking it up to my overactive imagination.

“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile

Eric’s apartment was in a run-down building on the outskirts of the city.

The moment I stepped inside, unease crept up my spine.

The place was sparse, too sparse, and smelled faintly of chemicals.

“Nice place,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

“Thanks,” Eric replied, locking the door behind us.

When I turned to face him, his expression had changed. The easy smile was gone, replaced by something darker.

“You’re a cop, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low and sharp.

I froze. Not understanding why that was important. “What?”

“I saw your badge the other night,” he said, stepping closer.

My heart raced. “Eric, I think you’re confused—”

Before I could finish, he grabbed my arm, his grip bruising.

“You cops think you’re so smart,” he snarled. “Always sticking your noses where they don’t belong.”

“Let go of me,” I said, trying to pull away.

He didn’t. Instead, he shoved me against the wall, his hand clamping over my mouth.

“You’re going to regret this,” he hissed.

Panic surged through me as he dragged me toward a side door. My mind raced, searching for an escape, but he was too strong.

The last thing I saw before everything went black was the glint of a syringe in his hand.

When I woke up, my head throbbed, and my body felt heavy. I was in a dark, cold room, my hands bound and my mouth gagged.

Eric stood over me, a twisted smile on his face.

“Slept well, officer?” he taunted.

I glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

“You thought you could mess with me?” he continued, pacing. “Well, now you’re going to see what happens when people cross me.”

He opened a barrel in the corner of the room, the metallic smell making my stomach churn.

“No one’s coming for you,” he said, lifting me effortlessly and shoving me inside.

As the lid closed, plunging me into darkness, I fought to stay calm. I couldn’t die here. Not like this.

Meanwhile, Tim paced through the station, his instincts churning. Something was wrong.

He couldn't explain it, but the nagging feeling in his gut had only grown stronger since Y/N hadn’t responded to his messages.

It wasn’t like her to leave him hanging, and she always checked in after her shifts or when she went out.

He tried to push the thought aside, she was a grown woman, capable and strong, but it wouldn’t leave him.

Tim knew her routines, and her habits, and something didn’t add up. He checked his phone again.

Nothing.

“Where is she?” he muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling over.

Back at his desk, Tim pulled out his phone and shot her another text:

“You home safe?”

The minutes ticked by, and there was no response.

He told himself she was probably asleep or didn’t hear her phone. She always replied, though. Always.

Another text: “Y/N, call me when you get this.”

Tim stared at the screen, waiting, the worry clawing at him now. He scrolled through their recent messages, trying to reassure himself.

Her last text had been earlier in the evening: “Heading out now. Have fun working your long shift!”

It sounded normal. Casual. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He stepped out into the hallway and called her phone. It rang and rang before going to voicemail.

“Y/N, it’s me. Call me back when you get this, alright? Just… let me know you’re okay.”

He hung up, his chest tightening. Something was definitely wrong.

Tim called her again, then again, but there was no answer.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, pacing back and forth.

He decided to start with the basics. Heading to Grey’s office, Tim knocked and stepped in without waiting for an answer.

“Bradford, what can I do for you?” Grey asked, looking up from his paperwork.

“Have you seen Y/L/N? She didn’t come back to the station tonight, did she?” Tim asked, keeping his tone steady, though his mind was racing.

Grey shook his head. “No, she clocked out on time. Why?”

Tim hesitated. “No reason just hadn’t heard from her. Thought she might’ve stayed late.”

“Everything okay?” Grey’s perceptive gaze lingered.

“Yeah. I’m sure it’s fine.” Tim turned and left the office, though his gut told him otherwise.

Tim strode into the bullpen, where Angela Lopez and Nyla Harper were deep in conversation over their laptops.

“Have either of you heard from Y/N?” Tim asked abruptly.

Angela looked up, frowning. “Not since this morning. Didn’t she have a date tonight?”

The word date hit Tim like a punch. “Do you know where?”

Angela shook her head. “She didn’t say much, just that it was someone new she met online. Why?”

Tim’s jaw tightened. “She’s not answering her phone.”

Nyla set her coffee down, her sharp instincts immediately kicking in. “How long has it been?”

“Hours,” Tim admitted, his frustration evident. “She always checks in. This isn’t like her.”

Angela exchanged a glance with Nyla.

“Alright,” Nyla said, standing up.

“Let’s figure this out. You said she had a date, does she use any apps? Maybe tech can pull her messages.”

Angela nodded. “She mentioned using something, but I don’t remember the name. Let’s get tech on it.”

Angela grabbed her phone, calling tech support while Nyla placed a calming hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“We’ll find her, Bradford,” she said firmly. “You know Y/N, she’s tough. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

Tim didn’t respond, his jaw clenched tightly.

The bullpen was full of people and their voices, but to Tim, the noise was a distant hum.

His focus was razor-sharp, his jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth ached.

He loomed behind the tech analyst’s desk, the tension radiating off him making the others keep their distance.

Angela and Nyla exchanged concerned glances nearby, but no one dared to interrupt him.

“Anything yet?” he barked, his voice cutting through the room like a whip.

The analyst flinched slightly but kept typing. “I’m pulling her dating app data now. It’s just taking a moment to decrypt the server.”

Tim’s fists clenched at his sides. Every second felt like a lifetime.

Y/N was out there, somewhere, and the thought of her being in danger gnawed at him like a vice around his chest.

Finally, the analyst straightened. “Got something!”

Tim surged forward, leaning over the desk as the analyst brought up a profile on the screen.

“She was messaging a guy named Eric Dawson,” the analyst explained, scrolling through the messages.

“They had arranged to meet at a bar in Eagle Rock.”

Tim’s heart pounded. “What bar?”

“Solana’s Tavern,” the analyst replied.

Nyla crossed her arms, her brow furrowed.

“That area’s rough. Not exactly where you take someone on a first date.”

Tim’s chest tightened further. “Pull traffic cams from outside the bar. I need to know if she made it there and if she left.”

The analyst nodded and got to work, typing furiously. The tension in the room was suffocating as everyone watched the screen in silence.

Tim paced behind the desk, every step heavy with barely restrained anxiety.

“Tim,” Angela said softly, approaching him.

“Maybe you should take a beat. Let us handle this.”

He spun around, his eyes blazing. “No. She’s counting on me. I’m not sitting this one out.”

Angela held up her hands in surrender, backing off.

“Got it!” the analyst said, breaking the silence.

Footage from a traffic camera outside the bar flickered onto the screen.

They watched as Y/N appeared, her expression hesitant as she walked into the bar.

“There she is,” Angela said, pointing at the screen.

Tim leaned closer, his eyes locked on the image of Y/N.

He barely noticed how hard his hands were gripping the edge of the desk.

The analyst fast-forwarded the footage, scanning for her exit. About an hour later, Y/N appeared again, walking out with a man.

The guy had his hand on her arm, his grip firm, his body language all wrong.

“She doesn’t look comfortable,” Nyla said, her voice low.

“He’s leading her. She’s not willingly going with him.”

Tim’s stomach churned. “Run his plates,” he snapped, his tone sharp.

The analyst zoomed in on the car the man guided Y/N towards, pulling up the plate number.

Seconds later, the vehicle’s registration information appeared.

“The car is registered to an address just outside the city,” the analyst said.

“A warehouse on the outskirts of town.”

“That’s it,” Tim said, already moving.

He grabbed his vest and radio. “Gear up. We’re heading there now.”

“Tim,” Grey’s voice called, cutting through the chaos.

Tim stopped but didn’t turn around.

“You need to stay focused,” Grey said firmly, stepping closer.

“I know how much this means to you, but if you’re too emotional, you’ll compromise the operation.”

Tim turned, his eyes hard. “With all due respect sir but again, I’m not sitting this one out.”

Grey studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Fine. But keep your head on straight. She’s counting on you, and I can't afford to lose one of my best officers.”

Tim nodded sharply, strapping on his vest.

“Let’s move,” he said to Angela and Nyla, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With the rest of the team following behind.

The warehouse loomed in the distance, a decrepit shell of concrete and rust that felt suffocating even from the outside.

Tim’s heart pounded in his chest as he and the team moved in silently, weapons drawn.

Every instinct screamed at him to hurry, but he forced himself to stay focused.

This wasn’t just another rescue mission. This was Y/N. His Y/N.

And he was barely holding it together.

They moved through the darkened halls, their flashlights sweeping over scattered debris and abandoned machinery.

The air was thick with the smell of oil and mildew, but there was something else, a faint metallic tang that Tim couldn’t quite place.

It turned his stomach.

“Clear,” Angela said, her voice steady as they swept one room after another.

Tim’s jaw clenched. Every second that passed felt like an eternity, and with each empty room, the knot in his chest tightened.

“Over here!” Nolan’s voice cut through the tense silence.

Tim turned, his flashlight catching the glint of something metallic in the corner of the room. A row of barrels.

“No...” he whispered, his legs moving before his brain could catch up.

The closer he got, the stronger the smell became, an acrid mix of chemicals and fear.

He dropped to his knees in front of the nearest barrel, his hands trembling as he pried the lid off.

Empty.

He moved to the next one, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Bradford,” Angela said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“No!” he snapped, shaking her off. “I’m not stopping.”

The third barrel was heavier. He could feel it as he pulled at the lid, his muscles straining. And then it came loose.

Tim’s flashlight illuminated the inside, and his entire world shattered.

It was her.

Y/N was curled inside, her body limp, her skin pale and clammy. Her wrists were bound, the rope digging so deeply into her skin that blood had dried in angry, red streaks.

Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling so faintly he almost missed it.

“Y/N!” he choked, dropping his flashlight and reaching in to pull her out.

“Get a medic!” Angela yelled, her voice distant as Tim focused solely on Y/N.

He cradled her against his chest, his hands shaking as he checked for a pulse. It was there, but weak.

“Come on, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Stay with me.”

Her eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. But then her lips parted, and a barely audible whisper escaped.

“Tim...”

Relief surged through him, hot and overwhelming.

“I’m here,” he said, brushing the hair from her face. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Her head lolled against his chest, and he tightened his grip, as if holding her closer could somehow shield her from everything she’d been through.

The paramedics arrived moments later, but to Tim, it felt like hours.

He reluctantly let them take her, his hands still hovering as if afraid she’d disappear if he didn’t keep touching her.

As they loaded her into the ambulance, Angela placed a hand on his shoulder again. This time, he didn’t shrug it off.

“You did good,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer. All he could think about was the sight of her in that barrel, the life nearly drained out of her.

And how he never wanted to feel that kind of fear again.

The first thing I felt was pain, dull, throbbing, and constant pain.

It was everywhere, but especially in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe deeply without it stabbing me from the inside.

My eyes fluttered open, and I was greeted by a blinding white light that made me squeeze them shut again.

I tried to move, but my body protested. My throat was dry, my lips cracked.

“Y/N?”

The voice was soft, deep, and familiar. I forced my eyes open again, squinting, and slowly turned my head toward the sound.

“Tim…” I croaked, barely above a whisper.

He was right there, leaning forward in the stiff hospital chair like he’d been glued to it for hours.

His hands were gripping mine tightly, and his face was a mixture of relief and worry.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice rough and unsteady.

His eyes softened as they roamed over my face like he couldn’t believe I was actually there.

“Where am I?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

“You’re in the hospital,” he said, sitting up straighter. “You’re safe now. We found you.”

The memories started flooding back. The date. The man. Everything.

My heart rate spiked, and the beeping from the monitor beside me quickened.

“The barrel…” I whispered, my voice breaking.

Tears stung my eyes as I remembered the cold, the suffocating darkness, and the terror that had gripped me when I thought I’d never get out.

Tim’s hand tightened around mine, grounding me.

“It’s over. He can’t hurt you anymore,” he said firmly, his voice laced with a quiet rage.

“I thought… I thought I was going to die,” I admitted, my voice trembling.

Tim’s jaw tightened, and he leaned closer. “You didn’t. You fought, Y/N. You held on long enough for us to get to you. And I swear, nothing like this will ever happen to you again. I won’t let it.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks as I looked at him.

His face etched with so much emotion that it was hard to believe this was the same Tim Bradford who kept his feelings so close to his chest.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He shook his head, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Don’t thank me. Just… promise me you’ll be more careful. No more dates with guys like that.”

I let out a weak laugh that quickly turned into a wince. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

His lips curved into the faintest smile, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade.

The drive back to my place was quiet. Tim insisted on taking me home himself after I got discharged.

I didn’t have the energy to argue. My ribs ached with every bump in the road, and the painkillers they’d given me at the hospital were starting to wear off.

When we got to my place, I reached for the door handle, but Tim was faster.

He was already out of the car and opening my door before I could even unbuckle my seatbelt.

“You don’t have to hover, you know,” I said, trying to inject some humor into my voice.

“You’ve barely been out of the hospital for a day,” he shot back, ignoring my attempt to downplay things.

“I’m not taking any chances.”

I didn’t argue. Honestly, I didn’t want to be alone.

Inside, Tim helped me settle on the couch, propping me up with pillows and making sure I had everything within arm’s reach: water, my phone, and even the remote for the TV.

“Comfortable?” he asked, standing in front of me with his arms crossed.

“Yes, officer Bradford,” I teased, giving him a tired smile.

He smirked but didn’t respond. Instead, he disappeared into the kitchen, and I heard the faint clatter of dishes.

A few minutes later, he returned with a cup of tea.

“Here,” he said, handing it to me carefully. “Drink. Doctor’s orders.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you become so domestic?”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said, sitting down in the armchair across from me.

We sat in silence for a while, the tension between us thick and unspoken.

I sipped my tea, glancing at him occasionally, and each time I did, I caught him staring at me like he was afraid I might disappear.

“You know,” I said finally, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

Tim frowned. “I’m not going anywhere. End of discussion.”

There was a finality in his tone that told me arguing would be pointless. Still, I couldn’t help but ask,

“Why?”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his fingers tapping restlessly on the armrest.

“Because I need to make sure you’re okay,” he said quietly.

Something in his voice made my chest tighten. “Tim…”

“I thought I lost you,” he said, cutting me off.

His eyes met mine, and for a moment, all the walls he kept so carefully constructed were gone.

“Do you know what it felt like, finding you like that? You were barely breathing, Y/N. I’ve seen a lot of horrible things on this job, but nothing ever scared me like that.”

I set the cup down, my hands trembling. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Don’t be,” he said firmly. “This wasn’t your fault. But I can’t—” He stopped, his voice breaking.

“I can’t go through that again.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at him, my heart aching at the raw emotion in his voice.

“I’m still here, Tim,” I said softly.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and he nodded. “Yeah. You are.”

Later that evening,

The room was quiet, the soft hum of the TV filling the background.

I was cocooned in a blanket, my body still aching, but the dull pain was nothing compared to the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

Tim was sitting close, his arm stretched along the back of the couch, his presence steady and comforting.

Without thinking, I shifted closer, leaning my head against his shoulder.

It wasn’t intentional, or maybe it was, but it felt natural like this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Tim didn’t move. He didn’t say a word, but I could feel him tense slightly under my touch.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

I lifted my head, glancing at him in confusion. “For what?”

“For everything.” His eyes were fixed on the TV, but he wasn’t really watching it.

“For not seeing the signs. For not protecting you. For letting this happen to you.”

“Tim…” I reached out, placing my hand lightly on his arm.

“You couldn’t have known. It wasn’t your fault.”

He finally turned to look at me, his blue eyes swirling with guilt, and something deeper, something I couldn’t quite put into words.

“That’s not all I’m sorry for.”

A knot formed in my stomach. “What do you mean?”

Tim hesitated, his jaw tightening as if he was debating whether or not to say what was on his mind.

Then, he shifted, turning his body toward me fully. “I’ve been holding something back. Something I should’ve said a long time ago.”

My heart began to race. I swallowed hard. “Tim…”

He shook his head, cutting me off gently. “Just… let me finish.” He took a deep breath.

“When I saw you in that barrel, when I thought I might lose you, I realized how much I’ve been lying to myself. About you. About us.”

His words hit me like a freight train, and I struggled to find my voice. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” He paused, his voice soft but steady.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I’ve been in love with you for months. And I’ve been too much of a coward to say it because I thought it would mess everything up. The job. Us. But after what happened…”

His voice cracked slightly, his vulnerability breaking through. “I can’t keep pretending anymore. I can’t lose you without you knowing how I feel.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding so hard it drowned out the noise of the TV, of the world.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and before I could stop myself, I let out a shaky laugh.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” I whispered.

Tim’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” I took a deep breath, the words spilling out before I could overthink them.

“I’ve been going on those dates to forget about you.”

His eyes widened, shock flickering across his face. “What?”

“I thought…” My voice cracked, and I looked down at my hands, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

“I thought you’d never feel the same way. I thought if I distracted myself and forced myself to move on, I could stop feeling this way about you. But it never worked. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Tim.”

Silence settled between us, heavy and charged. Then, Tim let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “You should’ve told me.”

“I was scared,” I admitted, finally looking up at him.

“Scared of ruining what we have. Scared of losing you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt.

He reached up, his hand gently cupping my cheek. His thumb brushed away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.

“Not now. Not ever.”

I leaned into his touch, my heart swelling with relief, with joy, with everything I’d been holding back for so long.

“You mean that?”

“Every word,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.

Slowly, he leaned in, and my breath caught in my throat.

He gave me every opportunity to pull away, to stop him, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to.

When his lips finally met mine, it was soft and tentative at first, as if we were both still testing the waters.

But then it deepened, carrying months of unspoken emotions, of longing, of everything we’d tried so hard to ignore.

When we finally pulled apart, I let out a breathless laugh, leaning my forehead against his.

“That was a long time coming.”

“You’re telling me,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

I pulled back slightly to look at him, my expression turning serious. “What happens now?”

He smiled softly, his eyes warm and filled with a rare tenderness.

“Now, we take it one day at a time. No rush. No pressure. But I promise you this: I’m not going anywhere.”

Tears stung my eyes again, but this time, they were tears of relief, of happiness.

I smiled, leaning into his embrace as his arms wrapped securely around me.

“I think I can live with that,” I murmured, my voice muffled against his chest.

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, I felt more at peace than I had in weeks.

Maybe even months. No matter what challenges lay ahead, I knew one thing for certain:

We’d face them together.

The end

[fly-torio]

Okay so I've been thinking about this post a lot during my DS9 rewatch and it just struck me how much I miss filler episodes. GOOD filler episodes. The ones that create characterisation and relief. Don't get me wrong, I love In Purgatory's Shadow, In the Pale Moonlight or Improbable Cause or even The Marquis ("It's easy to be a saint in paradise" line lives in my head rent-free) or any of the mainline story episodes, they're splendid, but they aren't what made me fall in love with DS9 on its own. The episodes I watch and rewatch and share with friends are not those. It's Only a Paper Moon, The Wire, Our Man Bashir, House of Quark, Hard Time, ... Nor the Battle to the Strong, Past Tense, Far Beyond the Stars, Doctor Bashir I presume, Bar Association, Trials and Tribble-ations, and so many others... All filler episodes I can't watch The Wire, Doctor Bashir I Presume or Hard Time without sobbing. I can't imagine a DS9 without Far Beyond the Stars. These episodes mean a lot to me for the experience it shares, the recognition I get to see. And they wouldn't be included in most new series. DS9 was so good at letting its characters be living, breathing, broken and healing individuals, and it got to do that by showing how they were also fighting their own battles or having fun. They showed us why their fight was worth it, and what I had to lose. It didn't just lower the stakes, it upped them at the same time because god, please, let my silly little goobers live, I want them to play the next chapter in their James Bond simulation, I want them to play some more sports, I want them to fall in love and utterly fuck it up. And the best part was that the filler episodes added storytelling elements, it lulled me into a sense of safety. It used its time to flesh out the world. Garak's shop blowing up? Can just as well be a filler or a main ep. Bashir getting stuck on a planet with a medical issue to solve? Time to worldbuild something about the Dominion! Quark getting into a scheme that completely spirals? Either it'll give you a laugh or it is the first time the Big Bad get named. I don't want big action sets every episode, I want to feel connected. I want these characters to be people, to live lives, to feel as real in the heartwrenching and hilarious extremes. Life is absurd, bigger than I can ever hold in my hands. Give me back the moments where I remember it is also small and meaningful, and worth going through.

I don't know what those '90s sci Fi TV writers were putting in their shows but I wish they'd start doing it again

[daenysx]

I fear I needed part two of modern!James headcanons like yesterday so if you ever feel like gracing us with more delusions about him being the perfect man, feel free to do so

here's part 2! thanks for reading, angel <33 (part 1)

okay, so james has this rebellious side and he's kinda reckless at times, right?

(especially when he's with remus and sirius)

you never know what's gonna happen with these three

but-

i also think james can be really predictable too

he has routines he likes to follow

he enjoys making lists of things in his head and do them in an order- after some time you got them all figured out

like- he'll always eat the same comfort meal every friday night or watch the same episode of his favorite sitcom when he feels too tired to focus on a new show

after an exhausting day, he'll just collapse on bed and beg for you to play with his hair

he likes making shopping lists

and i know- this is really basic but just imagine james potter going through the fridge to keep track on everything you're running low

he is responsible when it comes to chores. it's hot because he mostly completes them without wearing his shirt

his goal is obviously distracting you but he claims 'it's because it gets too hot'

now- back to being smutty here

james loves to be kissed

he actually kinda lives to be kissed

every inch of his skin begs for it

his favorite is when he lays down on bed and you get on top of him to love him right

neck kisses are super important

and-

kisses on his happy trail

i mean for real- he'd be lifting his hips for more, and you'd of course tease him

but he's so ready to surrender, he's like 'please angel, i'll do anything'

he loses his mind every time he feels your mouth on his cock

literally.

never ashamed on finishing too early (i mean, what's too early?)

he says you're so hard to resist and he's just obsessed with your mouth

charming

he loves sleepy sex

loves sleepy everything, really

he thinks you look so cute for him when you're almost awake and blinking your eyes at him

james potter is the type of man who'd get his thigh between your legs to give you something to hold onto whenever you feel restless in bed

he thinks you look good wearing his glasses but you can't believe him because how does he see anything without them?

his favorite color is red

he loves kissing you after you applied your lipstick

even if that means a potential argument

speaking of arguments

i think james believes arguments are too exhausting and he avoids them mostly

he tries to fix things before the argument stage, he feels uncomfortable when he's angry

he's too sunshine for all this

and he grew up in a peaceful home environment so he's not used to do things by arguing

let's change the subject

his handwriting is a mess most of the time

because he tries to be quick and scribbles carelessly

he likes drawing when no one's looking

james has too many friends

everyone likes him because how can they not? but mostly it's because he's really kind and he likes meeting with new people

he has too many friends but only two of them matter the most (wink wink)

and you (obv)

finally

he'd love love love the skincare sessions you give him

i have a fic about it here

but i really do think he likes being taken care of

okay i'm done?

you can send me an ask if you want more headcanons for james! not just for this context but anything you wanna see, i can try

[luvhaos]

how about “ i like you. a lot. like a lot, a lot” and joshua :)

joshua hong x reader 𖦹 word count: 853 2025 drabble dialogue game — open

content: drunk! joshua, pining, light angst and fluff

You’re on the ninth episode of the show you’re binging on Netflix when your phone rings. You glance at the screen, see Seungcheol’s contact photo, and you answer. “Hello?”

“Hi,” he says breathlessly, sounding more than a little exasperated. “I’m sorry to call you so late but Chan, Joshua, and I went out tonight and Shua’s pretty tipsy. He keeps asking for you.” 

Your heart stutters and suddenly, you’re more alert. You sit up, Seungcheol continues over the phone, “I need to take Chan home and he lives in the opposite direction of Joshua, and—”

“You need me to get Joshua home safe.”

“Yeah. Again, I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Cheol, I’m on my way. Just send me a pin.”

“Thanks.” After he hangs up, you see the pin and you pull on some jeans and a thick sweater. They’re at a bar on the other side of the city so you call a car to take you there. When you arrive, you squeeze through the crush of bodies until you find them at a table towards the back, the three of them cramped into the corner. 

Seungcheol’s busy trying to get Chan to put his coat on but Joshua spots you. His face breaks into a smile, eyes curving into crescent moons and mouth opening to show a toothy grin. He cheers your name, reaching a hand out for you. You offer him yours and Joshua pulls you into him, burying his face in your stomach and wrapping his arms around you. “Wow,” you say to Seungcheol. “Seems like you all had a wild night.”

He chuckles, finally managing to zip up Chan’s coat for him. “Thanks again for coming.”

“Always happy to help.” You pat Joshua’s head, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “Come on, Shua, let’s get you home.”

“Okay,” he says, and you’re glad that he can stand and get his coat on on his own. You bid goodbye to Seungcheol and Chan, and you take Joshua’s outside for some fresh air while you wait for the Uber you called. 

Joshua slings an arm around your shoulder, leaning against you. It’s unfair, you think, that underneath these yellow streetlights, Joshua still looks so handsome — all tousled hair and pink lips that stretch into a warm, drunken smile. 

Your face is on fire at this point and you’re glad when the car arrives. Joshua, even though he’s tipsy, he opens the door for you and you climb in first. He follows easily and the car pulls onto the road. You’re looking out the window, watching the neighborhood bleed into the next. You chance a peeks over at Joshua, he’s staring with a tilted head. “You okay, Joshua?”

He hums, “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

You laugh lightly and Joshua says, “No, really, you don’t even know.” He shuffles closer and asks, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure,” you murmur. 

Joshua whispers into your ear, “I like you.”

You try to keep your tone even when you answer with, “I like you too, Joshua.”

“No,” he says. “ I like you. A lot. Like a lot, a lot.”

Your heart is in your throat and all you can reply with is, “You’re drunk, Joshua.”

He frowns. “But it’s true.”

“Joshua…”

His shoulders slump, and he shifts away slightly, gazing at you with sad eyes. “Why don’t you believe me?” Then, he adds: “Let me down now, then. If you don’t like me in the same way, say it now — it won’t hurt as much.”

You want to tell him everything you feel about him, how he brightens up every room he walks in, how you love his laugh, how you don’t know what a world without him would be like and that you don’t want to know. 

But you can’t right now, not when he’s drunk. Not when he doesn’t fully know the gravity of what he’s saying. 

“Tell me tomorrow,” you say and he lifts his head to meet your stare. “If you still feel the same way about me that you do now, tell me tomorrow and I’ll tell you how much I like you tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The Uber rumbles to a halt and you usher Joshua out of the car. He clumsily opens the door to the complex, and you guide him into the elevator and towards his apartment. In front of his door, he says, “I’m going to call tomorrow.” He holds out his hand, pinky extended. “Promise.”

You wrap your own pinky around his. “Promise. Good night, Joshua.”

“Good night.” He enters his apartment, the door clicking softly behind him. You text Seungcheol that you got Joshua home and he tells you that he’ll pay for your car back to your apartment. 

You get back home, your chest unbearably tight. As you lay down, you brace yourself for the inevitable disappointment of tomorrow and the heartbreak that will accompany it. 

The next morning, you’re woken up by your phone’s ringtone. Sleepily, you answer it without even checking who’s calling. “Hello?”

“Hi.” It’s Joshua. “I promised I’d call. And I still really, really like you.”

[utilitycaster]

Following on the last answer you gave about Laura/Ashley.

What I'm stuck on is that this fear of making a mistake is not a new thing? They've been like this for all of this campaign, note Ashley not wanting to take the shard, Laura's constant fear of letting Imogen's mom stay on the moon, etc. And to a degree, I get it! Exandria is a pretty expensive and important source material - there's an Amazon series!!! - and it's scary to make any huge decisions in it. Additionally, I understand the feeling that there's something specific that the DM wants and you're just not getting it. But I keep wondering, how hard is it for Matt to sit them down and be like. Fuck around man, it's fine! (Or even the opposite! Give them some railroads, they're all over the place!) You know? It just feels to me that Matt can solve so many of these problems outside the stream with a quick convo and I'm so confused why that's not happening.

(I didn't watch this episode completely because the discussion at the end was giving me a very bad case of secondhand embarrassment due to how stupid it was. So if this happened and I missed it, feel free to ignore this.)

Yeah that is where I am at, and this is the MOST speculative I will get to the point that I'm making it nonrebloggable but my personal guess is that like. I watched a LOT of interviews at the start of C2, as a new viewer who was looking for more stuff (which...ultimately just resulted in a C1 binge) and the cast was at the time very cognizant of wanting to prove C1 wasn't a fluke and that they could tell another great story in the world with new characters. But they also prepped EXTENSIVELY for it; and also, in this case, I think a lot of the world was in a somewhat more nebulous state (ie, I think Matt probably had the concept of an ancient archmage plotting to release a god-eater possibly that far back...but I think Liam's concept for Caleb very much influenced the nature of the Assembly and gave Matt a place to put proto-Ludinus).

I think that with two campaigns under their belt, I don't want to say they rested on their laurels, because as I've said repeatedly the caliber of the vast majority of other things they've put out has remained high. But I think that because Campaigns 1 and 2 came together so well Matt might not have realized that Campaign 3, and his fairly specific intended plot, required more work and different work. Like, it required the level of planning and railroading you see for dimension 20 seasons. Campaign 2 could meander and focus on characters because the main goal it needed to achieve in a presumably 3 campaign story was worldbuilding, and I wonder if the fact that it diverged almost entirely from Matt's vision and still came out great obfuscated the fact that this wouldn't work for C3. Campaign 3 really needed to have realized and invested characters right out the gate with knowledge of the world. Like, I think it could have been solved with a conversation but I also think that there's been some sufficient "wtf" choices (bringing in Abu as the Arch Heart without any specific guidelines is one that comes to mind) that I wonder if the cast has entirely internalized how much this doesn't cohere narratively. And also, to be fair, I've played in D&D campaigns that didn't have a great plot or really any at all but I was having enough fun hanging out with my friends that I didn't really care, and since we weren't being filmed it didn't matter. It's a lot easier to see this stuff from the outside, is my thought. I don't think it's hard in terms of time and effort, but also, I know I kept thinking "oh HERE'S the course correction, finally!" pretty much up until the last ten or so episodes. I wouldn't be surprised if he kept thinking "surely this will pull together."

[shackleton2]

it's true and I say this as an avid binge-watcher who in the stone age had to look up transcripts of episodes because I couldn't wait THREE ENTIRE DAYS OF MY LIFE FOR NETFLIX TO MAIL ME THE NEXT DVD

Seasons of TV released as one fat drop of 8-12 1-1.5hr episodes, literally being told THIS IS FOR YOU TO BINGE IN ONE INSANE SITTING is the exact definition of my dreams and desires.

......why are they no good??

I can definitely think of exceptions, but "both of them have too much time and not enough time for the characters to struggle and grow and change," as it's well-put above, does seem to be the rule more and more. But what does that phrase really mean??

I saw something recently weighing in on this and saying series in particular seem to think every single thing depicted on screen has to move the story forward, possibly because everything is angled to encourage "binging". It's funny because that sounds like it should do the opposite of making the story feel ponderous and pointless!! So what's going on?

Maybe it's because Real Life™ isn't constantly moving towards one plot resolution, so the more you write a story where that's true, the more impossible true immersion for the viewer becomes?

But also I think actively designing a series to be compulsively watched in one or two massive sittings is hurting them as stories. Maybe it's because bingeing, especially as it's understood in other contexts, is not about enjoying something massively good, at least not after the initial part.

We all know this, right? You don't binge on something because it's just sooooo good. Are there people out there who have never done any kind of binge? Maybe so, so I'll tell you because I surely have: it's inertia. A really scary kind, to be honest, that feels, after a while of getting acclimated to nonstop-consuming the thing, like an absolute involuntary need. Because the second I stop eating the family sized bag of chips, stop taking another drink, stop lighting another smoke, reality will come rushing back in place of the comfort-stimulus. And in reality I am not experiencing joy or even pleasure, I am experiencing the kind of existential horror you get when you try to convince yourself you don't actually have to deal with your own mind. This 100% applies to letting the next episode autoplay after 5 hours of watching one story unfold.

Sorry I got kinda dark there, but the point I'm trying to illustrate is that I don't think you NEED a GOOD PRODUCT in order to get people to binge. And, well, that shows more and more with this "content" streaming services are releasing.

True Blood was a hot mess in so many ways and my mental health sure as shit was too but holy shit watching that obsessively years back was so FUN. That show and other story-loves of mine feel different from stuff getting released in full-season streaming dumps right now, and I don't think it's quality of writing or acting or effects or anything else making the difference as much as whether a show seems to genuinely LIKE itself, or whether it's counting on you finding it preferable enough to reality to let the next episode play and thus get good stats.

we need 15-20 episode seasons again these limited series have the worst pacing in the world and none of the character decisions hold any weight

[witch-from-a-block-of-flats]

The first half of episode 2 deserves more attention.

Warning! Yapping ahead!

(Also sorry for any potential english errors, it's not my first language)

He brings that up so casually. Honestly I don't blame him, because who would believe you if you said you have some sort of special ability? Only other people who know that superpowers actually exist. It's was kinda smart of Liu Xiao if you think about it. Dropping the word superpower and then watching people's reaction to it.

Now that's interesting. Because Liu Min is our villain from season 1. You know, that guy:

If you remember season 1 and begging of season 2, you know that Liu Min had a difficult relationship with his father (Liu Jing) who wished he "had half the ability of his younger brother" - younger brother being Liu Xiao. Does Liu Jing know that his younger son has superpower or was he just talking about his intelligence?

Also how on earth Xiang had met Liu Min when LM was a kid? Was he babysitting or something? Why does he mention Liu Min when Liu Xiao says "You know boss Liu (Jing)?". You know, his DAD.

Superpower user spotted?

I still don't know how to interpret this moment. Just an artistic representation of deduction/prediction? But the eye... the eye color change... Are they doing this on purpose? Are they trolling us? Powers related to the future finally appear? Am I reaching? Will we learn more about Xiang? I hope so, since he knows about Cheng Xiaoshi's dad.

Ok ok I know that this moment roughed some feathers and almost no one is buying that Liu Xiao's power is just hearing other people's heartbeat. I'm not sure what to think either. I mean his song is literally called "Manipulator" I wouldn't be surprised if that was a lie.

But let's say he is telling the truth. You may ask why would he revealed his power to someone who clearly doesn't like him and could use this info against him? I think that this isn't a stupid move. His power is simple and not as powerful like time travel through photos for example but... you can't really do anything about it. Like what are you going to do, stop your heartbeat? We don't know the exact rules and limits of this power yet. Is there a distance limit? Does it work through phone calls? Does it work on recordings?

After thinking about it, personally, in my humble opinion, I think it's good for the show that we have someone with less spectacular power. Because:

It shows how diverse powers can be.

It forces writers to be more creative about how Liu Xiao deals with the obstacles.

There is certain charm to a character who is "weaker" on paper but is going toe to toe with someone who has a powerful ability. Sometimes it's not about pure power, it's about creativity.

I am genuinely curious how this man looked at his power [hearing heartbeats] and thought "yes, I will be the one to merge all the parallel lines".

Besides, we already had a power not related to photos - Li Tianchen can possess people he touches - so I don't think it's doing much harm to the series.

And now we go back to CXS's dad. There are so many questions. Why is he so important to Liu Xiao? What's his connection to Xiang? Is he still in Bridon? IS HE STILL ALIVE?

Xiang was terrified when Liu Xiao mentioned him so maybe he had/has a powerful ability? I think Xiang had something to do with Cheng Weimin disappearing. My current theory is that someone dangerous was after Cheng Weimin and his family (maybe the superpower police?) and Xiang helped him in some way but that's just a gut feeling. It's just as likely to be true as a version when Xiang helped people who wanted to get rid of him (or maybe capture him and use him? so many questions, not so many answers).

And to end this post that is already way too long...

WHAT DOES THIS BEETLE THING MEAN? P.H.? DO WE KNOW SOMEONE WITH P.H. INITIALS? If it was H. P. I would pull out my lovecraftian hat but it's not (unfortunately).

Paris Hilton is that you???

[sunlighthroughthe-ashes]

the mirages of what "might have been" can be one of the most painful things to experience. the chances we don't take; the words we stop ourselves from saying — the touches we hold ourselves back from having: they linger somewhere in the lining of our skin. somewhere in the salt of our tears.

watching this episode broke my heart a little. knowing that in both sa-eon's and heejoo's imagination: they have only each other and the steady flame of their love to subsist on. it's all they need — if you think about it; it's all they've ever needed and fell just short of possessing completely.

it's an ordinary sort of love that they crave: a daily devotion that can last for decades. a chance to do better; get to know and trust each other. a chance to celebrate christmas and mess up a meal and laugh over it together. the events that thousands of married couples have done over a thousand lifetimes — but with each other; it feels like the very first time love was invented between a man and his wife. it feels brand-new.

missed opportunities magnify grief — materialize longing into a physical ache between the ribs. you can see it in sa-eon's face throughout the entire episode — like an exposed wound barely able to articulate its own hurt.

i'm reminded of a line by poet phillip b. williams when i think about how happiness has always been just one step away for heejoo and sa-eon: "possibility was a bird i once knew. it had one wing."

[alrightbuckaroo]

Mood Ring: the moodboard tag game

The rules: Either: choose one of your published fics (or a WIP if you'd prefer), create a moodboard for it and share it along with a snippet. Or: Create a moodboard for your fave episode of the show, fave character, or a fic someone else has written that you love, and share it with some sentences about why it's a fave! (And tag people!).

29 Going on 30

During a trip to New York City to celebrate TK turning 30, TK and Carlos stumble upon a list of things TK always wanted to do before he turned 30, all of them being references to romantic comedies he loved so much growing up.

While TK is fine with leaving the past in the past, Carlos thinks there's no better time than the present. He thinks that TK deserves to feel the same type of love he loved watching on the silver screen, so he devotes the rest of their trip to just that.

Told through a tale filled with everlasting love, a never-ending trek across New York City and the occasional painful reminder of the past, Carlos learns a little more about the city TK once called home and TK learns a little more about himself.

Here's a snippet 💕

“TK,” Carlos turns to TK, the skyline forgotten and TK follows his motions. “In my vows, I said that you are the dream I would not allow myself to have, and every time I wake up next to you, I feel like I’m still dreaming. Every time I wake up next to you, I think this feels too good to be true.” TK wonders where this could be going, if they’re both afraid of the same thing and if so, what could that mean. “But,” Carlos says. “That’s what I love about it. Every day with you it’s like I get to experience falling in love for the first time all over again. I get to feel the euphoric rush of realizing I’ve found the one and I get to feel that again and again and again.” “I think that part of living life is finding new ways to left love in,” Carlos continues. “Learning that love can be an afternoon serenade, a hideous sweater that you still found a way to look good in or the realization that the love that feels too good to be true is the love that you’ve been deserving of all along.” TK is quiet for a beat; a medley of mixed emotions overtaking him. Love that feels too good to be true is the love that you’ve been deserving of all along. Maybe Carlos is right, maybe he needs to let himself finally feel comfortable with the idea that this type of love isn’t meant to crumble. He won’t have to dig through the remains of what’s left to restore himself. This love has a foundation that’s meant to last. Quietly, he asks, “You still think I’m a dream?” “So much I almost can’t believe my eyes,” Carlos replies with a smile.

Is now a good time to say that I've started working on an unofficial sequel titled 30 Going on Forever where they go back for Carlos' birthday, which is during Pride, and they do all the queer things teenage Carlos never thought he'd get to do (let alone with the love of his life)? I'm excited 💕

Thanks for the tags @heartstringsduet and @carlos-in-glasses for thinking up this fun game! Also thanks to this user for the divider!

[astudyinimagination]

You know what, don't just leave that there. Maybe, instead acting in deliberate bad faith, link the article: https://www.avclub.com/steven-moffat-condemns-ai

Heck, actually, I'm a bit miffed at the AV Club because the half of the subhead is not properly attributed. So I'm just gonna copy-paste the whole thing here because it's short. But before I do that, I'm going to say that, as an actual fangirl of Moffat, I forever have to contend with two things: 1. That he always does a lot of verbal vomit when he gives interviews. To be fair, I'm not sure that I would do that much better in his shoes. 2. That he has a certain sardonic wit that has always translated very poorly in written interviews, wherein writers almost never bother to try to convey his tone. He comes across much better when you can actually hear him speak, and in full context (something that's also rare in written interviews).

Full text of the article below (which includes a link to the origin of the interview, the Radio Times), with commentary from me:

Don’t worry, Whovians—it seems like the Doctor isn’t about to regenerate into a bastardized AI version of himself any time soon. Doctor Who writers Steven Moffat and Russell T Davies recently took on the topic of generative AI in a conversation with Radio Times, and while the former acknowledged that the technology is “fascinating,” he also derided it in the most “Doctor Who writer” verbiage possible. “My son explained it to me. He said, ‘Yes, it can do all these things. It might even get quite good at them. But it takes an immense amount of power to run AI.’ Whereas you can run a human being on sunlight and a vegetable patch,” Moffat said. [See, the first half of the subhead, or article subtitle, is Moffat's son speaking, but the subhead doesn't acknowledge that, which is extremely shoddy journalism on their part.] “Human beings are amazingly cheap, we’re knocking out human beings every day.” Definitely spoken like someone who spends his days writing about anything but. [Definitely spoken like someone with a very sardonic sense of humor, which apparently this writer can't grasp. By the way, the commentary in the article means that it's editorial rather than news, in case you were wondering.]

Still, Moffat does know his human patterns. “Unlike anything else in history, the more we use it, the less good it is,” he continued. “Because the more content that is out there produced by AI, the more it absorbs its own content, and eats its own tail.”

That’s a very astute—and upsetting—prediction, but Moffat and Davies aren’t all doom and gloom. After Davies got a quip in about how “television has run on those principals (absorbing its own content) for a very long time,” Moffat continued: “That’s true, but we occasionally have a new idea. I admit, it doesn’t happen very often, certainly not in my case, but occasionally I have a new idea. But [AI] will never have a new idea. That’s not what it does.”

Davies, for one, doesn’t think the two of them will be replaced any time soon. He’s also far more optimistic about the state of television than some recent reports suggest he maybe should be. The overall number of shows on the air may be steadily decreasing, but the showrunner thinks “the rate of new ideas on television is higher than we ever allow for.” “We always tend to think that things bumble along at a very average level, and the great outliers are here and there,” he continued. “And every month, or every two months—actually, every day, I could find you something brilliant on TV.” [I love his positivity here; it's very Doctorish.]

Hopefully, Doctor Who‘s upcoming Christmas special, titled “Joy To The World,” will be one of those brilliant things. The episode will feature Nicola Coughlan and see the Doctor (Ncuti Gatwa) check into a “time hotel” that allows him to visit every Christmas Day in history. You can watch that adventure on our present Christmas Day, even if you can’t travel back in time.

I’m just going to leave this here

[bullet-prooflove]

I have no idea if this is correct based on the NSFW rumor post (so if it's not, I'm sorry!) but immediately I thought of Joe Velasco and Reader. I've got SVU on the brain atm due to my binging the whole show (can you believe there are some episodes I still haven't seen? It feels like a crime in itself) and I'm still in season 1, just finishing the episode that featured BDSM and other things. Anyways, I was thinking for the rumor, we know canon Joe is looking to make a connection with someone and how he would be most likely during a sexual encounter. But what if the rumor was that Joe liked things rough or had a kink or something like that?

Again, I'm sorry if I'm not doing this right or even if you would be interested, but I just figured I'd give it a shot. 😊

Tagging: @kmc1989 @plaidbooks @witches-unruly-heart @storiesofsvu @rosaliedepp

Babe don’t you worry! This is my first time doing it to so we will figure it out together or make our own shit up!

I have this seasons eps to watch and then I think I’m all caught up.

So here’s what I came up with regarding that rumour:

You’re getting coffee on your way into work when you hear the rumour about Joe. your phone chimes and you pull open your Bad Ass Bitchez chat you have with a few other women in the precinct and there it is sitting on your screen.

About how he likes to leave bruises on his conquests, that he tends to get a little rough.

You know where it’s coming from, the cousin of one of junior detectives had a couple of dates with him a few months ago but it didn’t go anywhere. She’d tried to start things up again recently after they’d run into each other at the gym but he’d told her he was seeing someone, that it was starting to get serious.

Your cousin has a history of making up stuff,  You type back into the chat. Maybe remind her she could be ruining a good cop’s career with those half-truths of hers.

There’s silence after that but you know you’ve made your point.

When you lay eyes on Joe sitting at his desk, you know he’s heard it. His head’s bowed, his shoulders slouched as he focuses on the report in front of him, trying to make himself as invisible as possible.

Your palm comes to rest on the nape of his neck, your thumb tracing a soothing circle underneath that sensitive spot just underneath his ear. He sighs at the sensation, his muscles relaxing as he tilts his head up towards you.

“It’s bullshit.” He informs you, meeting your gaze. “You know me, you know I can’t stand the thought of hurting someone like that…”

You do know that, because you know Joe, his history, the type of man he is. You’re the one he spends his nights with, the one he makes love to in the early mornings as the sun starts to filter through the blinds.

“Keep your chin up.” You murmur, your hand shifting to his shoulder squeezing lightly. “The truth will come out, I’ll make sure of it.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[strandnreyes]

no rules in breakable heaven

E // 75k // complete

Carlos doesn't know what to expect when he takes a position as a private chef in the Hamptons for the summer. All he knows is that he needs a job, and one that puts a roof over his head, gives him a chance to practice his craft, and will look great on his CV is more than he could ask for. Turns out he has no idea what he’s in for.

—

“I’m Carlos. I’m the—”

“I know who you are,” TK says flatly, not sparing a glance as he pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge and then lets go of the door so it slams shut.

Carlos presses his lips together at the unexpected apathy, sinking back a step with a tight nod and a resigned, “Okay.”

He returns to his task, assuming TK’s time in the kitchen will be just fleeting as everywhere else Carlos has been since he got here, but when Carlos goes to grab the oat milk from the fridge, he sees that TK hasn’t left just yet.

He pops his hip against the counter and curls his lips around his bottle of water before saying, “What’re you making?”

Carlos looks away from him, trying to remember if the recipe he knows by heart calls for half a cup of milk or a whole. “Pancakes,” he answers.

With TK out of his line of sight, Carlos can think more clearly. It’s definitely a half.

He adds it to the blender at the same time he hears a huff of laughter from behind him. “My dad’s not going to eat pancakes,” TK tells him in amusement, like they’re playing a game and Carlos’ loss is a win for TK.

But Carlos doesn’t go down that easily, glancing over his shoulder to say, “They’re gluten free. Made with oats and bananas.”

There’s a moment of silence and then TK’s resigned, “Right.”

Carlos smiles to himself as he turns back around, but TK still doesn’t leave. Carlos can feel his presence, the eyes on him that make him feel flushed and nervous as he does something as simple as cracking an egg.

“Do you prefer strawberries or blueberries on top?” Carlos asks in an attempt to take control of the conversation, to gain back some of the power he feels like TK has over him by just standing and watching for a reason Carlos can’t figure out.

TK raises a brow. “Isn’t it sort of your job to decide what to make?”

Carlos plasters on a fake smile as he shrugs. “You seem pretty adamant on giving me your opinion. I thought you might have something to say about that, too.”

—

thanks @carlos-in-glasses for creating this!

Rules: Either: choose one of your published fics (or a WIP if you'd prefer), create a moodboard for it and share it along with a snippet. Or: Create a moodboard for your fave episode of the show, fave character, or a fic someone else has written that you love, and share it with some sentences about why it's a fave! (And tag people!)

tagging @reyesstrand @paperstorm @lightningboltreader @emsprovisions @heartstringsduet @ironheartwriter @whatsintheboxmh @tellmegoodbye @eclectic-sassycoweyes @she-walked-away @henrygrass @herefortarlos + open tag!!

[thewistlingbadger]

So when I watched season two for the first time I felt very weird very odd very baffled because it felt like so much information was being thrown at me while simultaneously it felt like nothing was going on. I was truly stunned by how the show was several hours long and yet I felt like nothing was happening. It was such an odd thing to feel. And I'm rewatching S2 for the first time now and that feeling is still there. The feeling of being overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the same time.

Only now, I think I understand why this is the case. I think the reason why S2 feels like a nothing burger to me is because they glossed over everything that was interesting. Just think about it a moment. The chem barons struggling for power was interesting. Caitlyn's squad going to the Undercity and messing with things, looking for jinx, was interesting. Zaunites rallying against piltover was interesting. Caitlyn's time as a commander was interesting. Vi's switch up on jinx from sister to enemy to sister again was interesting. Vi's emo phase was interesting. Viktor's time in his cocoon and his change of heart was interesting. Mel's family tree and her new powers were interesting.

These were all things that were very compelling and fascinating but we never actually got to spend any significant time on any of these. In fact the majority of these things received the music video treatment. VI after Caitlyn? Music video. Zaun after piltover comes in? Music video. Zaun after silco died? Music video. Caitlyn's squad in the Undercity? Music video. Caitlyn's impact as commander? Also music video. Other things that were interesting were just straight up ignored, like viktor's character switch up, like the change in relationship between jinx and vi, etc. These changes were just things that happened without any sort of reason behind it. Everything that would have been really cool to see was forgotten or only shown for the briefest of moments.

Additionally I think another factor that contributes to this issue is the structure of season two. At times, the season doesn't tell the story in order and certain characters FREQUENTLY disappear for periods of time. For example, in episode two you see that a chen baroness's lair was raided and filled with the gray. However it isn't revealed to the audience that Caitlyn's crew are using the gray in zaun and taking out chem barons until the next episode. When I watched that scene for the first time I was very confused as to what was going on. The scene where they do reveal that it was Caitlyn is so fast paced it's easy to completely miss what was trying to be communicating. I didn't even notice they were destroying shimmer in that scene until after the show ended! Showing vital information so quickly and telling the story out of order makes it hard to follow what's going on.

The disappearance of characters is also a major issue in my opinion. While writing characters off can allow for a more isolated moment to tell a specific story, season two didn't utilize this in the way that was intended. They wrote off several characters and then in that time, they didn't explore anything with the characters they kept. Then way later they brought back the characters that were written off earlier and now those characters that have been MIA are significantly different. There are several examples of this unfortunately. For example, Mel disappears in episode 3. We see her again in episode 5 to explore her story slightly. However Mel doesn't actually join the main story until episode 8. So she's been missing from the main plot line for 5 episodes. This makes her feel really disconnected from the events of the story. An even worse example is in Viktor. As the season progressed, Viktor became the season's main antagonist, but he was only in the show for 5 episodes. Whenever we saw him it was very briefly and we didn't understand why he was so different than he was in the first season. His personality kept changing every time we saw him. How can Viktor be the main antagonist if we rarely see him and don't understand his motivations? Viktor splits from Jayce in ep2, then he performed his first miracle in EP3. We don't see Viktor again until ep6 and by then he already has his own commune and everything. By episode 8, which is the next time we see Viktor, he has completely changed once again and is now actually functioning as an antagonist. So even tho the show treats him like an antagonist he doesn't actually function as one truly until the final two episodes of the show. You just can't have a character disappear for so long and change so much without explaining and showing why.

Season two DOES overwhelm the viewer and it does this by presenting tons of information in a brief period while also not giving the viewer all the possible information. So not only are you trying to understand what you just saw in a flash montage but you're also trying to understand how the show got to point A to point E when they never showed you B, C or D. The show presents information quickly and cuts out information for the sake of telling more story, but unfortunately by doing this they've cut out all the parts of the story that were actually interesting! So we ended up spending tons of time on things that weren't interesting!!!!

[danwhobrowses]

Critical Role C3 Ep 118 - Initial Thoughts

Well guys I maaaade it

It's 8am (well 9 now) and frosty in England and I had like, 1 hour light snoozing, I'm currently basking in the delusional energy being sleep deprived sustains until the inevitable crash but for now, an episode happened!

First of 2025, first I could watch in full thanks to PTO and willpower, shivering with nerves all day so let's cover the thoughts I remember at least (was staying as still as possible to avoid making noise for the others sleeping, so couldn't do the clickety clacks - and as you can tell by my use of 'clickety clacks' that my verbage may be as loopy as a rollercoaster at times)

Spoilers for the episode

Adorable abnormally named animals that looked more like a pupper and a gerbil, Bandit was true to his name

Oh geez more fucking monologuing, even Sam had the cup thing for it XD

Remember that fanart of Laudna, Orym and Ashton kicking Liliana after verbally dressing her down? Well that but this time with Ludinus, loved the pressing

Got some mini Ludie backstory and it was 'my family died as collateral in the Calamity', it's so hilariously basic at this point he deserved every bit of Ashton's 'get the fuck over it'

Part of me also couldn't help but think of Istho, the reluctant to die Paladin of the Lawbearer imprisoned at the Bloody Bridge literally a year ago, they had the same mantra

Would've been cooler to get a bit more Lawbearer sauce before in this campaign but fairs enough

Fearne just wants to give everyone cupcakes and candy and treats being the vessel of the God Eater like winning the lottery and I love her for it

It's not lost on me as an Ashton fan that Ludie never asked them what they wanted. There's a gist yes of controlling your own fate but still, got a lil' under your skin didn't they?

Chet no, don't try to open the cascade of sigils!

HA! Poofed out of his second monologue

Braius don't call him, you're gonna call him aren't you?

FUCKING LYING WHORE CHEATER BITCH Azzy, how's the family?

Brennan is untouchable but Matt's Fucking Lying Whore Cheater Bitch Azzy M still gives me the feeling of 'you know all the right things to say but I can still hear your manipulation'

Family, Braius, is right here! I get he's been around longer but first it's 'chase away and I'll remain' now it's 'don't let it out', mixed messages

I probably would've laughed to death if Ludie got distracted by the toy, though I do wish it was an Intuit Charge

RAVENOUS VOID OFF THE FUCKING BAT?? I was literally looking at that spell a few days ago

The aoe and save was so fucking high too, and I could've sworn Ashton can't be moved in Titan form, and resists all but Force Damage

Oh shit the neck! The neck comes back around!

God the cast rolled so badly for so long, and he kept saving and using his resistance

Not the neck ladies, the body, da body!

PATE I LOVE YOU

Pate noooo!

IRAAAAAAA I LOVE YOU!

MISTERRRRRR! I LOVE YOU!!

ASHTOOOOOOOON I LOVE YOU! That is my motherfucking barbarian tank killing the concentration

OH MY FUCKING DAYS POWER WORD STUN IMOGEN I FUCKING LOVE YOU!

I was counting the damage, once you knew it was below 150 all it needed was the math

Bless Ashley for wanting to go big but couldn't because of aoe

It had to be Orym, IT HAD TO BE ORYM, how's that for resolve?

Ira laughing in Ludie's face was cathartic too

'I don't want to hurt anyone, or kill anyone' - SAY IT LOUDER FOR THE ASHTON HATERS IN THE BACK!

We were so fucking close though, so close to the 'we can't absorb it but it can't stay here' point, we could've had an option C like sending it to a Demiplane

Surprised me how much Laudna pushed for pro-Predathos, given Imogen's reluctance, and Orym just unable to argue it because it's been argued to death

Oh god is he not dead? Fuckery duck, Laudna you have that ghost tracking thing right?

'What did you do to me, I used to be fun' - you still are you just have mushrooms planned with Fearne for after

Imogen you talked a lot about being free to decide your fate and now you're literally walking towards what 'fate' planned out for you

We are LITERALLY approaching what Ludinus wants to do

Child's voice is a nope, like an absolute nope

Like a 'Guys did we not learn from the Dominox?' nope

Because GUYS DID WE NOT LEARN FROM THE DOMINOX??

Orym insight checked a God Eater, got a whisper, stepped between it and the Ruidusborns, and that was not a red flag??

The collective 'ohhhh' though

Like, I get hearing it out, trying to see if we've simply been misinformed, but the proof is kinda in the pudding and it is dessert time

It knocked Chet into a wall for opposing, that's a nope

Hey Matt don't you think the Primordials partly responsible for this cage would have some resonance with it since we're getting clips of Tengar and Orym's Wildmother vision for all to see?

Imogen and Fearne NO

Predathos the nice hot faun lady told you to wait

Fearne YES but IMOGEN NO!

Fearne Yes! ...right? Answer the question cliffhanger! RIGHT?

I mean she heard her, that's something, are we gonna have to give Imogen her first death in the campaign? Can that staff factor in at all?

Definitely peeved that Imogen went and pulled a Frodo right at the last moment, but like the One Ring in Mount Doom she is being lulled by Predathos muddying her instincts, so I can kinda see why she thought it the kindest option, also le drama I suppose, Laura Bailey had to put her own third wedding one-shot in jeopardy

I have to be at work next week and there's a likelihood that the worst ending happens and Ludinus didn't get his ancient elf ass handed to him permanently ;_; so the stage is different, the health and spell slots are lower, but the fear is the same and I can't stay up for it

Contrary to others though I do still want a happy ending, the Hells aren't bad or evil for what they were attempting; the intentions was still good it was just not right. Someone else would've come, if not Ludinus then someone else with the same plan, but this is why we should've discussed alternatives earlier, this is why a united goal is important and why the Arch Heart fucking up the plan with his visit rubbed me the wrong way

At least now the Hells are gonna be on the same page with Predathos, it's about saving your people - so, save your people