#but I doubt they’ll appreciate my thoughts

[chaosbutautism]

Why I think the ‘Lucky Guy Isn’t real’ theory would be bad if it was true

Lucky Guy, we all know him, but actually, we don’t. There is so little information about him, the main theory in the fandom is that he’s just a placeholder for a different person. But…why?

Now, I’m not calling the theory itself bad. It’s a logical conclusion to make when you’re faced with the info we have. I just think that, if Netease is actually going this route, there is a lot of wasted potential. Plus, they did a horrible job at it.

Evidence for this theory includes: his subtitle being ‘Deduction Substitute’, the ‘I’m me, and everyone of you.’ quote, the vagueness of his rumor ‘We don’t know how many people have taken apart in this game; we know that he played the game.’ and the general lack of information we’ve been given on him.

These do point to the idea that Lucky Guy is just a figment of Orpheus’s imagination, a placeholder for a real person…but why this guy? Look at his design, it doesn’t fit with any of the other characters. If he’s, if the theory is right, supposed to be a placeholder character, why is his design so out of place? How did Orpheus come up with this modern-looking guy? You could say ‘Well, Netease didn’t have enough time or resources to make a new character, so they just used an old one!’ But Netease is known for their attention to detail in both characters and skins. Also, why would a placeholder character have such a distinctive appearance? Did Orpheus just…make up a person on the spot? This person, who looks nothing like any other character? It would be so much more logical to make a simple, completely blank model, one that could resemble Tracy’s bot. It would be low on resources without breaking the feel of the game. If Lucky is purely here to serve as a placeholder, he’s doing a bad job at it.

Also, a placeholder to what? That note was mentioned once, only to be completely dropped and never mentioned again. Like, come on. You could, again from a non-lore perspective, argue that they needed a completely blank, skill-less character for the tutorial, but Netease was completely fine with using Leo, a hunter with his own skill set, as the tutorial for hunters. If that page was purely a plot device for the tutorial, why didn’t we go for an actual character’s diary, like one of the other veterans, immediately. Why did they make a cutscene with another character we never see again when we could’ve gone over the first game’s story, or at least just a simple tutorial sequence using Emma, the face of the game, instead? If a placeholder was not needed, why use it?

Now, after showing that the whole placeholder shenanigans weren’t even that needed for both a lore and a gameplay perspective, I’m going to talk about the actual meat of this rant/ theory combination. Why it would actually suck if Lucky Guy was just a placeholder.

First, details and info that directly contradict the narrative that Lucky is not real; he has a birthday, there’s a description on the site ‘His world is like a slot machine that he always wins; but what will happen if he stops playing?’, he has listed likes and dislikes and there are snippets from quizzes that dig into his personality while Netease hasn’t had a problem with leaving him out of other things like birthday letters.

And for my main argument: why it would be bad, narrative-wise, to just leave this character to rot.

His design looking modern compared to other characters could give us a plot with time travel, which would reawaken the more mystical and grim magic elements of the story. In the games, where things happen which are not explainable with science, this would actually be a good element to see. Fiona’s, Eli’s, Hastur’s, Yidhra’s, Patricia’s and potentially Arthur Byers’ stories already show the more magical elements of the story and how they compliment the world of identity V, time travel would be a very interesting plot point to explore.

An alternate idea, often used by fan-writers of the game, is that Lucky has been in the games longer than others, maybe even competing in multiple rounds. This could give leeway to explore the nature of the game, something we’re narrative-wise creeping up on. Netease could give us more information on the actual nature of the game. Again, with multiple gods, multiple dead people, characters with magical abilities and prizes that oftentimes seem to good to be true, there must be some magical elements to the game. There are also hints that the games are used as trial grounds for testing of some kind, with every participant being given some kind of code. This could be something Lucky Guy dives into as well.

And what if Lucky Guy doesn’t remember anything about his life before the manor. Amnesia is a commonly used trope for Lucky Guy in fanworks about him. If Lucky Guy doesn’t even know why he’s in the manor or for what prize he’s fighting for, he could give a truly interesting look at what the games feel like for someone who doesn’t have a goal. He would just be a lost person, no identity to call his own, just trying to survive the best he can. This could be an amazing perspective on the manor game he’s in now, since he’d have to focus on the people around him and adapt accordingly.

He could also be a puppet to the manor. A helping hand to Miss Nightingale for running the affairs of the game. This ‘traitor’ idea could be a really good plot point for the game. While still keeping him as not real, he now has a much more interesting role which could be used to make a truly dark story around one of the cannon games.

And last but certainly not least, they could give their technically first character ever the same respect as every.single.other character in the game and just give him a backstory. Not every story has to be connected to the manor itself, there are plenty of characters that were not connected to the manor in any way, shape or form before their game. All characters have a story, survivors and hunters alike. If they are not their own person, they are a part of a different character’s identity, used to propel their story forward. Why would what arguably is the starting point of Identity V as a whole be exempt from this? It’s no fun to have a character with nothing in a game specifically known for its interesting characters and wild stories. Even if it’s a bit of a late start, Netease, you have the foundations. Through quotes, introductions and snippets, you have a base. It’s not too late to give a character that is rotting both in lore and in gameplay a bit of use. Every single detail can be useful of storytelling, a big corporation probably doesn’t need a teenager to tell them that. Why would you let as big of an opportunity as a full character pass by? There is so much that can happen by adding an extra character to a story, especially one that has potential, as I have shown in both my own writing and this mini-essay written out of pure passion for a character. It’s never too late to pick up an old project and work on it again. Who knows, maybe you’ll make a masterpiece?

As a more personal, opinionated reason of why this post has this title; I think letting a full-on character go to waste is, well, wasteful. There’s so much potential in this character, especially since Lucky, right now, is still empty. That old diary page could be turned into a full-on book, that face with no name could be turned into the pillar of a story. You already have framework, the fact that he’s coming in later can now actually help focus on where there’s more expansion needed. He could be a perspective we haven’t gotten yet. A confused, lost guy who’s slowly figuring out what’s going on, not being blinded by the race to the prize, a pawn for the puppet master of the game to set in and pull something wild, someone who’s tired of the fighting, trapped inside a hellscape for far too long, someone with the knowledge of times not yet past, able to give insight to things others can’t have yet, a person with his own desire, trusting on his luck to keep him safe or even something entirely different. There’s so much more that you could do with this character than just an old placeholder with questionable logic behind it that wasn’t even needed in the grand scheme of things. You have a character, Netease, do something with it.

[feyburner]

I ??? woke up at 3am with this scene fully written in my mind palace and quickly jotted it down in the Notes app

*

Clark’s shaking his head before he realizes he’s doing it, and feels a twinge of embarrassment at his own bad manners when Bruce stops mid-word to look at him, brows raised.

“No?” he says.

“No,” Clark says, again without thinking, and again with the reflexive urge to apologize. Somewhere his mother is tutting without knowing why. But he doesn’t apologize, because he’s already saying, “No, it can’t—it can’t be that.”

“Okay,” Bruce says slowly. “Can you elaborate?”

He is, honestly, having trouble taking his eyes off the screen. The mockup design of his new suit is there, dark and sleek, ridged like tactical gear. The blue is like the last shade of evening before you can’t call it evening anymore, the color of nine PM in Kansas in July, so exact there’s a strong chance Bruce color-picked it from a photo. The yellow accents are the cool fluorescent yellow-green of lightning bugs. The red is dark as arterial blood. Every aspect of the suit has been updated—the colors deeper, the angles sharper, the S extending to the corners of its frame—but Bruce has done it without changing the fundamentals. It’s immediately recognizable as the Superman suit, just… well, a little cooler, maybe. A little more of the times. Even the tailoring is modernized. The neckline. The shape of the boots. Where the belt hits at the waist. Clark can tell just by looking that Bruce has not only spent a lot of time on this in general, he’s spent a lot of time designing it specifically with Clark in mind, Clark’s needs and preferences and the small discomforts of his current suit, things he might have mentioned offhand after a mission but never with the assumption that Bruce was listening or filing it away. No doubt the next slides of this presentation will detail all the hidden features of the new suit, and they’ll all be incredibly thoughtful if not slightly overkill, and Bruce will pretend his sole motive here was practicality and risk reduction and respond to any thanks with a curt nod.

And Clark wants to thank him. He will. It’s just.

“It can’t be… cool,” he says, inane. Bruce is watching him with that steady look that used to feel clinical, piercing, and now mostly reads as attentive. “It can’t be—like yours. Tactical, military-grade.”

“Lightyears beyond, actually.”

“It has to—Ma said once, a kid should be able to draw it with crayons. You know? I can’t look like a weapon. I have to—I want to look like a friend.”

He can feel himself flushing. It’s rare that he speaks like this, and rarer still that he does so while being stared at intently. Bruce may think of himself as the darkness, but his gaze is a spotlight: unwavering and revealing and more a little sweat-inducing, for one reason or another.

“Sometimes, when I show up, people laugh,” Clark says. “If it’s somewhere out of the way, where they haven’t seen me before. I show up and I look like a festival performer. It’ll be the worst day of their lives, and they’ve got no reason to trust my face, but when they see what I’m wearing—it goes from ‘Who are you?’ to ‘Who is this guy?’ And that’s a good thing.”

“Hard to be afraid of a man dressed in primary colors,” Bruce says, almost to himself.

“Exactly.”

“I see. Thank you,” he says, “for explaining.”

Clark tries not to show how surprised he is to hear that. Judging by the crook of Bruce’s mouth, his success is negligible. “Of course. Sorry I didn’t—I mean, thank you, obviously, for going to such trouble. I didn’t mean to come in here and—I really do appreciate it, I can tell you put a lot of work in—”

Bruce’s eyes cut away. “No. No need. I didn’t ask, before I…. It was only a first draft. If you’re amenable, I’ll incorporate your feedback into the second one.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yes, of course, but you really don’t have to—”

“If you have any further notes, I would like to hear them.”

There’s something determined in the lines of his face. Clark has the sense that this moment is important, that it’s a turning point, even if he’s not sure why. It feels like striking out into a sea of ice, a blank white expanse under which something precious and vital is hidden, has been hidden all along, just waiting for him to find it. To want to.

“Sure,” he says. He looks back at the suit and swallows, and knows Bruce will see the flicker of his throat and take some meaning from it, and wishes he knew what the meaning was. Or maybe Bruce won’t notice or read into it at all. Maybe Clark needs to calm down, in fact. “Um. I don’t want to assume, but does it… do things?”

“It does things,” Bruce confirms, after the barest pause. “Let me show you the next slide.”

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝟮𝟭

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N plans a special 21st birthday dinner, but her friends don't show up, leaving her heartbroken. But Matt, while dining nearby, notices her and decides that making her company would be a good idea.

WARNING: None. (Strangers to lovers trope)

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anon

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: I suck at writing "date" scenes, so I'm so sorry if this is rushed or bad ;(

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The flickering candlelight on the restaurant table cast a soft, warm glow over the elegantly set table where Y/N sat, looking radiant in her pink, floral dress that hugged her figure perfectly. Her hair was styled in a glamorous way, and her makeup was done just right, accentuating her sparkling eyes and the excited smile playing on her lips. It had been years since she had celebrated her birthday properly, years since she had allowed herself to hope for a special day dedicated just to her. Today was different. Today, she was reclaiming her birthday.

The restaurant was a stunning venue, with crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, casting a beautiful glow over the plush, velvet chairs, and mahogany tables. A grand piano sat in one corner, the pianist playing a soft, soothing melody that added to the sophisticated ambiance. Y/N had chosen this place specifically because it felt special. It felt like a place where beautiful memories could be made; and that's all she wanted, to be remembered.

On the table before her sat a gorgeous pink cake, adorned with delicate sugar flowers and a scattering of edible glitter that caught the light with every little flicker of the candles. Beside it, she had arranged goody bags filled with small, thoughtful gifts for each of her friends. She had taken great care in selecting each item, wanting her friends to feel appreciated and cherished, even on her special day. Her heart swelled with anticipation as she imagined their reactions.

The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. She glanced towards the entrance every few seconds, her eyes lighting up every time the door opened, only to dim when she realized it wasn’t her friends. She felt her heart race every time someone walked by her table, only to look up and see only a stranger.

"Would you like to order something while you wait?" The waitress approached her table with a gentle smile, her eyes kind but laced with concern, her hands holding the tablet that lights up her face full of empathy. This was her fifth time there.

Y/N smiled and shook her head. Again.

"I’ll wait a little longer. They’ll be here soon, I’m sure of it."

The waitress nodded and retreated, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts. She tried to stay positive, reminding herself that her friends might just be running late. LA was a busy city, after all, and traffic could be unpredictable. She busied herself by rearranging the goody bags and checking her phone for any messages or missed calls, but there were none.

Hours passed, and the restaurant began to fill up with other patrons, groups of friends and families laughing and chatting happily. Y/N’s smile began to waver, but she forced herself to keep it in place. She refused to let doubt creep in, to let herself believe that her friends wouldn’t come. They cared about her, didn’t they? They wouldn't just leave her alone... Right?

"Are you sure you don’t want to order something? Maybe just a drink?" The waitress returned, her expression a little more sympathetic this time, her eyes traveling from the cake to Y/N.

Y/N hesitated, her heart sinking a little.

"I’ll wait just a little longer." Shs replied, her voice barely above a whisper and full of guilty. She knew that she couldn't sit at one of the large tables for hours without consuming any food.

The soft melody of the piano continued to fill the elegant restaurant, creating an ambiance of tranquility that contrasted sharply with the turmoil inside Y/N. She kept glancing at the door, her hope dwindling with each passing minute.

As the reality set in, Y/N felt a lump rise in her throat, her eyes beginning to sting with unshed tears. Her friends weren’t coming. She was alone on her birthday, surrounded by strangers who seemed to be enjoying their own special moments. The weight of past traumas mingled with the fresh sting of rejection, making it harder to hold back her emotions. Her eyes scanned the room, feeling as though everyone was watching her, judging her for being so naive to think her friends cared.

At a table nearby, three brothers were enjoying their dinner, laughing and chatting animatedly.

Matt, the most perceptive of the triplets, caught sight of Y/N just as she wiped a tear from her cheek. It didn't go unnoticed by him since he arrived at the place, the loneliness of the pretty girl surrounded by a cake of flowers and small goodies. But now, her distress was palpable, her attempt to mask it with a forced smile only amplifying her pain. His heart clenched at the sight. His teeth captured his bottom lip in a gesture of nervousness and doubt before a sigh escaped through his nose.

Ignoring the conversation between his brothers, Nick and Chris, Matt focused entirely on Y/N. Despite her apparent beauty that caused small goosebumps to run down his arms every time his blue eyes found her figure, there was something more.

It was clear to Matt that she had envisioned this evening with a lot of love and anticipation, only to have her hopes dashed by the absence of people she, apparently, cared for. He noticed the way she tried to keep a brave face, smiling at the concerned waitress and politely declining to order.

Without a word, he stood up, causing his brothers to pause mid-sentence and watch him with confusion.

"Matt, where the hell are you going?" Chris called after him, but Matt didn’t respond, turning his back to his table and starting his steps.

He moved towards Y/N’s table with purpose, his eyes softening with empathy. As he approached, Y/N, lost in her sorrow, didn’t notice him until he gently pulled out the chair beside her. The sudden presence startled her, and she looked up with wide, tear-filled eyes widening at the sight of the prettiest boy she - probably - had ever seen.

"This seat isn't taken, is it?" He asked with the beginning of a smile on the corner of his lips, watching her closely.

"Oh, uhm..." Y/N looked around the completely empty table, frowning at the obvious answer to the meaningless question, before turning her eyes back to the boy. "No?"

"Right. I’m sorry to intrude." Matt said softly, his voice kind and soothing, settling down on the upholstered chair and resting his elbows on the pure wooden surface, his flaming blue eyes running over Y/N's features. "But I couldn’t help noticing that you seem upset. Are you alright?"

Y/N blinked in surprise, her initial instinct to brush him off, faltering under his genuine concern. She looked around again, still feeling the weight of judgmental eyes, but Matt’s calm, comforting presence made her feel a little less exposed.

The girl raised her hands, her fingers decorated with bright red nails and slightly trembling passed delicately over her cheeks and under her eyes, mentally begging that her makeup hadn't melted from the trapped tears.

"I-" She began, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath, shaking her head while lowering her arms, trying to steady herself. "I’m okay. It’s just… I was supposed to celebrate my birthday with friends, but… they didn’t show up." She laughed wryly at her own misfortune, lowering her eyes in shame.

Matt’s heart ached at her words. He could see the effort she had put into the evening, the beautiful cake, the goody bags. She had planned this with so much love and hope, only to be let down.

"I’m really sorry to hear that." He said sincerely, ignoring the firmness of his brothers' eyes on his back, probably confused. "It’s awful to be let down by the people you care about."

Y/N nodded, her tears threatening to spill over again, causing her to blink repeatedly in an attempt to expel them. She imitated his position, resting her elbows on the table and closing her hands in a sign of prayer, laying her left cheek above it, breathing deeply.

Her eyes found Matt again, taking in his warm, friendly eyes and genuine concern. It felt strange to open up to a stranger, but something about him made her feel safe.

"Thank you." She whispered, smiling brokenly. "It’s just… I haven’t celebrated my birthday in years. I thought this year would be different."

"Well, it still can be. How about I keep you company for a while? No one should be alone on their birthday." Matt smiled gently, observing her reactions closely.

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flicking towards Matt’s table where his - obviously - brothers were watching curiously, eating slowly while Matt's plate kept untouched. The idea of taking up his evening felt daunting, but the warmth in the pretty boy's eyes and his sincere offer made her feel a spark of hope.

"I don’t want to impose." She cleaned her throat, returning her eyes to him, laughing shyly, her voice soft.

"You wouldn’t be imposing at all." Matt assured her, shrugging slightly. "They can be alone for tonight, you know? I’d be honored to spend some time with you. Besides, it’s your birthday. You deserve some attention."

His words brought a small, genuine smile to Y/N’s face for the first time that evening. She felt a little of the heaviness lift from her heart, her cheeks heating up and her body feeling cozy and hugged.

"I don't even know you, I can't-"

"I'm Matt. Pleased to make your acquaintance." The brunette extended his right arm, his hand open and tilted to the side as a sign of greeting, a sarcastic look adorning his expression.

Y/N's eyes traveled from his open hand to his face and back again, her eyebrows furrowed and her lips slightly parted in surprise. He was stubborn.

A long, amused sigh escaped her red painted lips, giving up, extending her right hand, meeting his halfway, her fingers wrapping around his wrist.

"Pleased to meet you, kind sir. I am Y/N." She responded in an exaggeratedly polite tone, raising her nose in the air and closing her eyes in an attempt to look snobbish.

"Excuse me. Miss, would you like me to box the cake?" The waitress's voice echoed again gently, interrupting their moment. The woman stood a few feet away, her eyes traveling curiously between Y/N and Matt.

The two exchanged a quick glance before the girl looked up at the woman who had watched over her throughout the night, a light smile decorating her features.

"No, thank you. We'll eat it later." She replied, her heart warming at her own words as her eyes dropped to the beautifully decorated cake, knowing she wouldn't have to eat it alone. Not anymore.

"Actually, do you like pasta with shrimp sauce? They have the best one here." Matt's voice sounded before the waitress could leave again, his eyes meeting Y/N's, a gleam of excitement passing through the blue orbs.

"Oh, Matt, you don't have to, your plate is-" Y/N shook her head, pointing with her left hand at the table the boy sat at minutes before, ready to deny the suggestion before being interrupted.

"We'd like two pasta with shrimp sauce and your best wine, please." Matt ordered, a proud smile decorating his features, and his head tilted slightly upward so that his eyes could watch the waitress, who selected the opted meals on her tablet.

"Of course, I'll be back soon with your meals. Enjoy your date."

"Oh, it's not-" Y/N started, eyes widening slightly, interrupting her own sentence when she saw the waitress already walking away. Her eyes met Matt's for a few seconds before laughter escaped her lips, followed by the boy's.

Matt sighed, leaning in slightly, resting his armas above the wooden surface and tilting his face towards her, his big flaming blue orbs observing her as if she were a piece of the rarest jewel, focus entirely on her figure.

"So, tell me about yourself, Y/N. What do you enjoy doing?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then started talking.

They talked throug long hours, she told him about her hobbies, her favorite books and movies, the things that made her happiest. Matt listened intently, his eyes never leaving hers, his genuine interest making her feel valued and heard, his eyes lighting up with every word she spoke.

His questions were thoughtful, his comments encouraging, and slowly, Y/N felt herself relaxing, the earlier pain easing away.

In return, Matt shared stories about his own life, his career with his brothers, the things he was passionate about, the moments he went through after leaving Boston.

They laughed together, the conversation flowing naturally as if they had known each other for years.

As the evening wore on, Y/N realized that she was actually enjoying herself. The initial embarrassment and pain were replaced by a warm, comfortable feeling. She felt a connection with Matt that she hadn’t felt with anyone in a very long time, and surprisingly, she didn't feel scared.

When their plates were finally cleared away and their bellies full, Matt turned his attention to the beautiful pink cake sitting untouched on the table.

"That cake looks incredible." He commented briefly, his tone sounding like that of disinterest, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. "It would be a shame not to light the candles and make a wish."

Y/N bit her lip, looking at the cake with a mix of longing and hesitation.

"I… I don’t really want to make a big deal out of it." She admitted. "I don’t want to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ or anything."

Matt nodded understandingly, looking at her attentive.

"That’s completely fine." He assured, smiling openly. "We don’t have to sing or to draw attention at all. But you should still make a wish and blow out the candles. It’s your birthday, and you deserve it."

After a moment’s hesitation, her eyes traveling to the pink cake to Matt and back again, Y/N nodded, her pearly teeth trapping her bottom lip in a light grip.

Matt called the waitress again, discreetly pointing to the cake, receiving an understanding nod from afar.

It wasn't long before a black lighter was in his hands and the cake right in front of them. He carefully lit the lighter, approaching the small and orange flame to the 21-shaped candles, the pink color accompanied by small diamonds shining below the warm light.

Matt placed the already turned off lighter on the table again, turning his attention back to the girl next to him, his eyes brimming with admiration.

"Happy birthday, Y/N." Matt murmured softly, shifting in his cushioned chair to be closer to her. Her delicate perfume wafted to him like a gentle breeze, filling his senses. "I hope all your wishes come true."

Y/N felt a warm sensation spread through her chest at his tender words. Her eyes locked onto his for long, lingering moments, like two planets colliding in a beautiful explosion, before she turned her gaze back to the cake. She closed her eyes slightly, summoning a wish from the deepest part of her heart. With a gentle breath, she blew out the candles, the small flames flickering and extinguishing with a soft puff.

Matt clapped softly, his smile wide and genuine, his eyes widening like the one of a child in front of their favorite candy.

"Well done!" He celebrated, his brunette hair falling slightly into his eyes as he beamed at her. "Now, let me cut this beautiful cake for a pretty girl."

By the end of the night, Y/N left the restaurant with a magical smile lighting up her face, feeling as though she were floating with each step she took on the night streets of LA. Matt, meanwhile, left with his ears full of playful complaints from Nick and Chris, which were drowned out by the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest. His hand carried a pink bag full of goodies, and unbeknownst to him, a small napkin with a phone number written in elegant script nestled among the treats.

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[dipperscavern]

Lord dippy!! Congrats on 1k they're soooo well deserved <3 you're ensuring the safety and well-being of your people (stark men's wives) and keeping us warm and well-fed (writing tons of amazing stuff), without you we'd never manage to survive trough the unforgiving long winter (the lack of good fanfics & blurbs)...anyways :3 may I humbly ask for an angst/comfort blurb with Jon?? In my mind he never left Winterfell and was forever happy with his alive siblings and he never had to feel like a bastard outsider. he didn't deserve all dat

hi baby!! this was so sweet omg thank you so much :( i hope you enjoy <3 (spoiler alert i got carried away) (as per usual)

jon snow x gn!reader

━━━━━━━━━━༺✰ ━━━━━━━━━━━

jon winces, a small noise emitting from his throat as pain seeps up his torso.

his cuts run deep; they’ll scar, melisandre says, but stannis’ closest thing to a maester insists on jon using a paste and bandages to allow them to heal. the paste certainly helps, but it still aggravates the skin when applied — no matter how soothing it was crafted to be.

the process is dreadful. it took minutes of him staring at the marks where he knows his blood left him, hesitation clawing up his throat before he worked up the ability to even begin. the open wounds have scabbed over, allowing the paste to coat them, but to jon, it doesn’t make the sight any prettier. he thinks the marred flesh a grisly spectacle.

memory of his fathers words echo in the back of his mind. lord eddard stark always appreciated scars on a man, saying it not only told a story, but spoke of how they survived it. a sick part of jon wishes there was no story of survival to tell.

a sharp intake of air passes through his lips as his hands shake, making his movements sloppy — accidentally pressing on the sensitive area more than he wished. he remembers when arrows pierced his skin, having a similar maintenance process as this; only these daggers wound unseen layers.

a knock on the door brings him out of his thoughts. it’s soft, tentative. he knows who it is before your honeyed voice rings from behind it. “Jon?”

he hums in question. “Can I come in?”

a second passes, a brief thought of covering himself enters his mind — a flash of insecurity pooling in his gut. it’s you, he reasons. but a different voice raises the question, would you reject the ugly parts of him?

his eyes flicker to his abdomen, another part of him now unworthy.

against his own better judgement, he hums in approval. he doesn’t turn to face you as the door opens; that small, aching part of him always wins one way or another.

he hears you turn the lock after you come in. he pretends not to know it’s because you realize he’s compromised, and you’re the only person he’d let see him like this. if he acknowledges it in full, he doubts his ability to keep his breathing steady — and these days his hands shake enough already.

another thumb-smooth of paste over a gash, another sharp ache. he grits his teeth in effort to conceal any noises that threaten to escape him. not in your company, not now. the atmosphere since his prominent death and return is tense as is.

unfortunately for him, you’re far too attentive to let it go unnoticed. a small turn of his head, and he sees your look of worry; the way your fingers grasp one another, no doubt in attempt to keep your qualms to yourself. it doesn’t work, it never has. not when it comes to jon, anyway.

“Jon, please let me help you.” a plea, a whisper of comfort you wish to offer him in the form of your saccharine hands. even as children, you insisted on bandaging his small cuts. putting cream on his bruises, dutifully checking on them until healed.

he stills. his voice a low, quiet rasp. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” your voice comes closer, and he feels you enter his space. what he wouldn’t give to make sure you never leave. “I want to. Can I?”

your hand wraps around his bicep, thumb moving slowly across his skin. a small, soothing touch that sends a warm feeling crawling up his spine. he’s lucky you don’t face him now, as you’d see the way his lashes have fluttered shut. such a seemingly simple thing you give him, and it makes his breath hitch all the same.

it doesn’t take much lately to set his emotions in disarray, and your touch is the only thing that helps. you seem to know this too, for your hands seek him now more than ever — and he would be a liar if he said he doesn’t cling to the respite you bring him like a lifeline.

his agreeance is nearly unheard, a small murmur accompanied by an even smaller nod. jon’s always had a hard time accepting help, especially it in the form of gentle touches and kind words; the kind he thinks himself undeserving of.

but you know jon. you know what he needs, even if he can’t bring himself to ask for it.

you press a small kiss to his bare shoulder, moving to stand in front of him. goosebumps trail his body at the feeling of your lips, and he bites back the want to close his eyes. he wants to savor the feeling, but he cherishes the moments gets to admire you even more.

your brows pinch ever so lightly when you see his abdomen, even with some of the severed skin already covered in paste. though you take the bowl harboring the medicine, a pang of embarrassment courses through him at your disdain. when your fingers reach to make contact, he expects pain, but none ever comes.

you touch him with a gentleness thats featherlight, and he subconsciously relaxes under your fingertips. he feels like his senses are on overdrive, feeling every touch, every breath. every unspoken word communicated through your treatment of him.

the silence is comforting, even as you frown. all of jon’s attention is on you, so much so that he doesn’t even feel the usual dull ache of torn skin healing itself. even so, you can’t seem to help yourself.

you whisper an apology, a hesitant confession. one that jon is caught off guard by. he almost doesn’t know what you mean, until he tears his gaze away from your expression enough to notice yours is trapped on the place where four daggers took his life. something clicks into place for him.

he stops your hand, his own wrapping around your wrist. not harshly, jon never is. “Hey,” he says. your eyes meet his. “You didn’t do this.”

though not directly said aloud, you know his true meaning. he doesn’t like when you apologize for things that aren’t your fault. even in his current state, he’s ever quick to reassure. “Y’ hear me?”

you nod, and while it’s not enough to remove the pity from your gaze, you don’t have that guilty look in your eye — like you did something wrong. jon knows you carry his death on your shoulders, even when the weight isn’t yours to bear.

he brings your wrist to his lips, kissing it before allowing you to continue. he can see the ghost of a smile grace your lips, and that’s enough for him.

minutes pass like that; you, tending to his wounds with the touch of embodied delicacy, and him, soaking up every piece of you he can. jons content to spend a lifetime in this very moment.

his wish isn’t granted, and soon, he’s reaching for fresh bandages. deja-vu of the arrows shot by a red archer lingers in the back of his mind, but the back is where it stays, as you’re forefront. always.

when he’s finished wrapping the white material, he turns to face you. “You don’t have to do that. Again.”

“Do you not want me to?” you’re sincere in your asking, and he knows you wouldn’t if he asked you not to — but he doesn’t, and his silence is telling.

you can’t help the small smile at his lack of words, and when you smile, jon can’t help but follow suit. mere days from being released from the strangers clutches, and you have him smiling. you’re a godsend. angelic. he’d tell you so if he could ever find the words.

but you’ve never relied on things only spoken. you step forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek and wrapping your arms around him; careful to avoid your torso touching his. jon’s appreciative of your effort, but he’s less hesitant, pulling you flush to him regardless. his head finds the crook of your shoulder, and he has no intent on letting you go anytime soon — unless there’s another knock on the door.

━━━━━━━━━━༺✰ ━━━━━━━━━━━

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Drives Me Crazy

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: You and Spencer fall into a routine when he walks you home after every shift. Then one day, a storm makes you invite Spencer up to your place where feelings are confessed over alcohol and dim lighting.

Square Filled: habits and routines for @genprompt-bingo (dreamwidth bingo)

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

What you do is rewarding. You love coming to work knowing you get to be surrounded by such loving dogs and cats who don’t have homes. Despite what people might think about shelter animals, they’re so loving and very kind. Once in a while, you’ll get an animal who is so scared that they’ll bite and attack, but you have people here to deal with those kinds of animals.

Not you. You only deal with the ones who love to play fetch and tug-a-war. The ones that love belly scratches and cuddles. Right now, you’re giving one of the new recruits a bath in the back. He’s a shaggy-haired dog who seems to think that bath time is playtime. To keep you safe, you have to hook their collar to the back wall so that they don’t jump out, but that doesn’t seem to stop this dog from trying.

“Pip, what are you doing? Come on, stay still,” you say to the dog as if he could respond to you.

You grab the shampoo and squirt it all over his back. You have brush gloves on so that you can scrub and rub at the same time, so that’s what you try to do. As soon as you touch his back, he jerks and barks happily. He thinks you want to play which brings a smile to your face.

“Pip, I have to get you clean. Then, we can play. I promise.”

He calms down enough to let you lather him up with soap, but he’s not so calm when the water comes out. You try to spray him down as much as you can but he starts to shake the suds off. Soap goes everywhere, and you squeal when it splashes all over you.

“Y/N?” You look back at your coworker. “There’s a Spencer Reid to see you.”

Shit, is it that time already? You look at the clock and confirm that indeed, it’s time to go home.

“Can you finish up here? I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“Sure.”

“Bye, Pip. See you tomorrow, big guy.” He barks out a goodbye and shakes for your coworker. “Good luck!”

You head to the locker room and change out of your soaked clothes to change into your normal ones. It’s always a good idea to wear some kind of scrubs here due to the shit, piss, and other fluids you get on your job. All of them come from animals. You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder before going to the lobby. Spencer waits there patiently, scrolling on his phone to pass the time.

“Spencer, hi,” you grin.

“Y/N,” he smiles. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah.” You two leave the shelter and start the walk to your apartment. “How was work? Tell me about your day.”

“I can’t give too much away about the unsub we’re trying to find. It’s still an open investigation.”

“Tell me something else, then. How is the team doing?”

“JJ is pregnant again.”

“That’s awesome! Good for her!”

“Yeah, she’s happy. Tell me about your day. I want to hear everything,” he smiles.

“Well, three new dogs came in today. One of them, poor baby, was so scared. We had to give her to the guy who deals with aggressive dogs. I know she’ll be a sweetheart in no time. Two got adopted today, which is amazing. I tried giving Pip a bath, but he thought it was playtime. I think I still have soap in my hair,” you chuckle. “I had a good time.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”

The walk to your apartment isn’t long, so you’re there before you know it. You stop outside the steps leading to your building and turn to Spencer.

“Thank you for walking me again.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Do you have any doubt?”

“No, I don’t,” you smile. “Goodnight, Spencer.”

Spencer waits for you to head inside your apartment building before heading to his own. The first time you met Spencer was when you were on the bus heading to work. You were late and didn't want to walk that day so you thought the bus would be faster. Spencer decided to take the same bus that morning, and the only open seat was next to him.

Due to traffic, you two were able to have a bit more time to chat. By the time you got to your work, you realized how much fun it was talking to Spencer. Luck would have it that the next day, he was taking the bus again. It turns out he took it in hopes that you would take it, and you took it in hopes that he would take it.

You don’t own a car so when he found out you were walking home every day after work, he decided that would be the day he would walk with you. He’s seen too much shit to let you walk home alone, especially after it got dark.

It’s become your routine now.

The next day when you get off work, Spencer is waiting in the lobby scrolling on his phone to pass the time. This time, he has a coffee in hand for you. It’s the end of the day, but you’ll never turn down a coffee.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you grin and take the coffee from him.

“It’s decaf so you won’t be up all night.”

“Smart,” you chuckle. “How was your day?”

“Still the same. Garcia came to me and told me she was looking to get a dog. Instead of going to the pet store, I told her about the loving dogs you have here.”

You gasp happily and grab his arm. “That’s so much better. We have such loving dogs here that are just looking for a home.”

“She’ll be by this weekend.”

“Awesome! I’ll take such good care of her.” You lean up and kiss his cheek. “Thank you for recommending me.” You stop outside your apartment building. “Give her my number, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Spencer.”

Well after you’re already in your building, Spencer is still standing outside of it. He touches the spot where you kissed his cheek, unable to ignore how tingly it made him. He smiles and heads back to his place with you on his mind the entire time.

Like Spencer said, Penelope walks into your job on Saturday morning, eager to look at what you have available.

“Are you Y/N?” she asks when you greet her.

“Yes. You must be Penelope. Spencer’s told me so much about you.”

“And he won’t shut up about you.” You blush. “Don’t look so bashful. That boy is head over heels for you.”

“No, he’s not. He’s just being nice. He’s a friend.”

“Not from where I stand,” she grins. “So, I hear you have some dogs for me to look at?”

“Yes, right this way.”

Spencer didn’t let up. He is always there when you get off work whether it’s day or night, cloudy, windy, cold, or hot. Storm season is upon Virginia, so the rain comes before you’re prepared for it. It’s so strong that you can hear the water pelt the roof of the shelter. Now is when you regret not having a car.

You grab your things and walk to the lobby, not expecting Spencer to be there. It’s pouring rain outside and he’s still waiting for you as if that’s supposed to deter him. He smiles widely when he sees you, and he holds up the closed umbrella.

“Is that going to fit both of us?”

“I’ll make it work.”

You two don’t talk much on the way home because all you’re focused on it trying to keep the rain off you. Spencer keeps the umbrella mostly on you so he’s drenched by the time you reach your apartment.

“I don’t want you catching a cold. Come inside, please. Wait until the rain stops.”

“I’m okay. My apartment isn’t far from here.”

You reach out and grab his elbow. “Come on. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Spencer has never seen the inside of your place since meeting you, so he’s kind of nervous for himself. He’s not very good when it comes to romance or women. In fact, he’s quite awkward at it. He doesn’t expect anything from you except maybe a towel to dry off, but you have other plans for him.

“Wait right here,” you say before disappearing into your bedroom. You return with a shirt and sweats. “These were my brothers. Change out of your clothes. I’ll wash them.”

“Um…”

“What? The bathroom is next to my bedroom. You’re going to catch a cold. You do so much for me. Let me do this for you.”

“Okay,” he nods.

He takes the clothes and heads to the bathroom. He leaves ten minutes later with his wet clothes in hand. You, having changed when he was, take both yours and his clothes to the washer. After putting a light load on, you join Spencer in the living room.

“Would you like something to drink? I have wine if you want to share it with me.”

Alcohol is bad. He doesn’t want you to feel like he’s taking advantage of you, but he’s also not objecting to it. He’d never do anything that makes you uncomfortable. One glass wouldn’t be so bad, right?

“Sure. One glass won’t hurt.”

You open a brand new bottle of wine and pour two glasses, bringing them to him in the living room. The storm outside doesn't look like it’s getting any better. It might go on all night. It’s a good thing you have a guest room. You turn the lamp on, giving a dim glow around you two. It’s all very romantic.

“You know, you don’t have to walk me home every day, right?”

Spencer shrugs and takes a small sip of wine. “I want to.”

“Why?”

Whether Spencer notices or not, he scoots closer to you so that his knee touches yours. “I work with murderers and bad people. I know how much can change in a matter of seconds. I don’t want anything happening to you. I might be lanky but I know how to fight.”

You rest your arm across the back of the couch, your fingers barely brushing against his shoulder. “You’re not lanky. You’re pretty.”

He laughs. “Thank you. You’re pretty, too.” He sets his glass of wine on the coffee table and seemingly sits closer to you. You pretend not to notice but you do. “Plus, the idea of something happening to you drives me crazy. The thought of not hearing about your day drives me crazy. The idea of someone else walking you home drives me crazy.”

“What?” you whisper.

Spencer looks at your lips which look so kissable in the dim lighting. They always look kissable but he has the courage now. Maybe it was the one sip of wine had or maybe he’s done pretending like there isn’t something between you two.

“I’m gonna kiss you now to show you just how crazy you drive me.”

He leans in closer but you don’t move an inch. You could stop him but you’ve been thinking about kissing him since you two met. His lips touch yours, a test kiss. A soft and tender kiss to test the waters. When you show no sign of rejecting him, he slides his hand in your hair and presses his lips harder against yours.

You open your mouth to him and he slides his tongue in. For someone who is awkward with romance, he sure does know how to kiss. Even after the rain stops and his clothes are dried, he doesn't leave. In fact, he doesn’t leave until the very next morning.

x

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[marlynnofmany]

Recreational Food

I admired the scenery as we walked. “I’m glad we came during the dry season. Looks like there wouldn’t be much solid ground otherwise.” This wide flat area was pretty clearly the flood plains for the river just over the hillside, with several tiny plateaus where huge trees had escaped getting washed away. Everything else was dirt.

Paint spread her arms beside me, basking in the sun like the little lizardy alien she was. “I’m just glad to be outside! It’s been so long since we had a delivery on an actual planet, not to mention one that smells nice.”

It smelled like dry river mud to me, which was nice enough, but maybe those trees were extra appealing to Heatseeker senses. There was a scent of something kind of like rosemary on the breeze, now that I thought about it.

Paint was still talking. “We’re not even in a hurry today! The drop-off went fine, so we can stroll back to the ship at our own pace. This is lovely. I could stay out here all day.”

The ground rumbled. Splashes and the bleats of distressed animals sounded from the direction of the river. The rumbling got louder.

I asked, “Are you familiar with the concept of ‘jinxing it’?”

Before Paint could answer, a stampede swept over the hill toward us. Paint screamed and bolted. I ran after her, frantically searching for a plateau that was both climbable and close.

“This one!” I yelled over the noise of what had to be hundreds of alien fauna. Vaguely buffalo-shaped things without horns. I’d study them more closely when they weren’t closing in fast. Paint barely heard me, so I towed her over to the plateau and boosted her up. She wasn’t a natural climber, but she made do, scrambling to safety with me close behind. We made it out of trampling range just in time.

I clambered up and lay flat under the spreading tree while Paint hyperventilated beside me, an ocean of brown fur rolling by underneath. The rocky ground shook and the tree showered us with leaves. But the branches didn’t fall and neither did we, and eventually the herd calmed down from whatever had startled them.

The problem was, they calmed down before they finished passing our tiny island. Thundering footsteps slowed to a mooing, moaning amble, with buffalo-things surrounding us for a good distance in all directions.

My phone rang. We both twitched. Luckily the animals were loud enough to miss it. I pulled the phone from my pocket, hands vibrating with adrenaline, and answered a call from the captain.

“Are you safe?” she asked, her voice distant over the phone. “We got a report of local fauna moving unexpectedly.”

I laughed, wide-eyed while Paint tried to get her breathing under control. “Yeah, we barely made it. I’m not sure how we’re going to get back, though. They’re all around us, and I don’t like our chances if we try to just walk through.”

“Yes, don’t get too close.” I heard claws on keys as Captain Sunlight checked the local information bank. “These creatures are known to be hostile. They also treat approaching shuttles like threats, which doesn’t bode well for an air rescue.”

I tried to breathe deeply and get my heart rate back to normal. “Threats that they should attack, or run from?”

“This says they face off with shuttles, and defend whatever territory they’re occupying at the time. Attempts to chase them away have been unsuccessful, as have attempts to lead them away.”

“Yeah, that’s the worst,” I said, glancing up at the thick branches above. “Our vertical access is garbage right now anyway. We’d have a hard time getting into a shuttle.”

Paint was looking a little more calm, though worried. “Maybe they’ll wander away on their own?”

I relayed the question in case Captain Sunlight hadn’t heard it. She said, “Maybe. Let me contact the local authorities for more information. Stay safe; I’ll call you back.”

I said goodbye and put the phone away, then just lay there listening to my heartbeat and the various grunts from below. Paint sniffed audibly, no doubt appreciating the spicy tree smell. I tried to enjoy the view. The buffalo-things had heavy paws instead of hooves, and their faces were misshapen to my Earth eyes, more mooselike than anything. The thick brown fur was normal enough, though.

I was trying to think of what breed of dog it reminded me of when a cloud covered the sun.

A dark cloud. The kind that might be full of rain.

“Oh no,” I said.

“That can’t be rain,” Paint said, scrambling up. “It’s not the rainy season!”

I got to my feet, clutching a branch. “It could be rain. A flash flood might solve one of our problems, but…”

“Oh, that would be so much worse!” Paint hugged her arms close. The air hadn’t gotten that much cooler yet, but rain could be bad for a cold-blooded Heatseeker. And that was even without considering whether we’d have to swim for it.

I looked around frantically. “There’s got to be something we can do. Maybe throw a rock and scare them into stampeding away again?”

We scoured the rocky plateau, but nothing came off bigger than a fingernail, and the only things up there aside from the tree were some sparse bits of grass/moss and stray dirt. Even the tree didn’t have any small branches that looked easily snapped off; they were all thick limbs. I could probably climb out over the herd if I really needed a stick, but that did not look worth it.

I checked my pockets. “Wait, I have food. Maybe that’ll help.” We’d left right before lunch, and I’d grabbed a few portable things in case the delivery took too long. I thought hard about what kind of food these creatures might like, and how they might react to it, as I knelt and emptied my pockets onto the ground.

It was all Earth stuff from the import sector of the last space station we’d stopped at. A packet of turkey jerky. Freeze-dried strawberries. A tube of peanut butter that had thankfully not ruptured in the scramble up here. Pop Rocks.

I picked up that last one, thinking fast.

Paint was reading the label on the peanut butter. “Oh, this is the one some of your people are allergic to. I suppose it’s too much to hope these creatures are as well?”

“I have a better idea,” I said, eyeing the lowest branch. It was sturdy. There were creatures below. And they were all wet from the river. I turned to Paint. “Throwing something might startle them enough to stampede if we hit one just right, but I’ll bet that’s not as startling as the sound of sudden hissing from the back of their neck.”

“Which of your foods does that??” Paint asked.

I held up the brightly colored package. “Recreational food. They’re basically sugar crystals with tiny pockets of compressed air inside. They pop and hiss when they dissolve.”

Paint shook her head. “I’m not even going to ask why.”

“Great.” I shoved the package into a thigh pocket that I’d be able to reach easily, then hooked an arm over the branch and climbed up.

“Be careful!”

“I will,” I said as the clouds darkened further. Lying on the branch like a particularly awkward jungle cat, I scooted over the edge of the plateau. None of the creatures seemed to notice, busy as they were in nosing the dusty ground for sprouted grass, or whatever passed for it here. Good. I wanted their heads down.

When I was over a big one, I stopped and got out the pack, oh so carefully. Dropping it now could well be the kind of mistake I’d regret for a long time. I ripped open the package with care, knees clamped around the branch, as thunder rumbled closer than I’d like.

Then I gauged the angle carefully, and poured a stream of Pop Rocks directly onto the buffalo-thing’s neck.

I heard it crackle and pop as the sugar dissolved in the wet fur. Suddenly everything was panicked bellows and the thunder of feet. I clung to the branch, hoping desperately that it wasn’t about to snap off under my weight. All I could see below me was waves of brown fur.

It felt like the stampede went on for longer this time. Maybe because I didn’t have any climbing to distract me; all I could do was hold onto the branch like the most desperate of baby monkeys, and hope it held.

It held.

Finally the rumbling footsteps receded over the hill, leaving churned-up dirt below and a very grateful Paint behind me.

“You did it! It worked! Now let’s go; I think I see rain!”

She was right. I shimmied back onto solid ground to pick up the rest of my snacks, shoving them into pockets alongside the crumpled Pop Rocks package, then I helped Paint scramble down from the plateau.

Wind had picked up, blowing rain towards us in a visible wall from the west. But something silver glinted in the sky to the north, which grew swiftly into the welcome sight of a local rescue shuttle.

We ran for it. It landed on the riverbed, door open and arms waving from inside, and we dove in just before the rain hit.

“Safe!” Paint exclaimed as the door shut and a Frillian in a uniform guided her into a chair. “That was too many close calls for one day!”

I followed the directions to take my own seat as the shuttle lifted off. A different Frillian handed me a blanket, though I didn’t need it. Nice and warm, though. I asked Paint, “Ready to go back to the indoors for a while?”

She settled a heat shawl around her shoulders and sighed with relief. “I suppose so. Much less chance of getting trampled or frozen there.”

The official next to me asked, “What caused the herd to move away? We were told they had surrounded the area.”

I grinned and dug out the crumpled package. “Recreational food!” There were still a few Pop Rocks caught in one corner, so I dumped them into my mouth to demonstrate. The expressions on the rescuers’ faces were great as the candy hissed and popped on my tongue. “I poured thith down on a big one,” I explained around it.

Paint added, “It worked great! Scared them right away.”

The officials exchanged a look, then asked to see the package. I happily handed it over and explained where I’d gotten it. Paint said our courier ship would be happy to arrange a delivery of some if they wanted.

By the time we reached our ship, the local officials were ready to talk to the captain about ordering some recreational Earth food, to use for an entirely different purpose than it was made for. But that would hardly be the first time.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[ddejavvu]

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 2) / Part 1 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 16.1K / navigation / inbox

A/N: part two!! thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of the sweet, lovely feedback i got on part one, i was so happy you enjoyed the opening chapter!! this part gives some more backstory on reader+bradley, and i hope you like it just as much as you did the first! once more i'd love to hear your thoughts, thank you to everyone who said something wonderful and kind about the first part, it meant a lot to me. <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Instead of your alarm, you wake up to a call from Carole. It’s 7:29, and when you raise the phone to your ear, your voice is gruff and achy with sleep.

“Hello?”

It feels just like yesterday. Yesterday, that comes flooding back to you in a barrage of awful memories. All that’s changed is the bed you’re in; you’re still alone. You almost miss Carole’s response because you’re slowly taking in everything that hits you like an anvil from above, but you catch the last word and can discern her meaning.

“-visit?”

“Yeah,” You rub your eyes, feeling tears already gathered there; a great way to start your morning.

“Yeah, I’ll visit,” You confirm, and your alarm buzzes against your head. You hastily shut it off and yawn, only inducing more tears and sighing as you speak again, “I’m gonna run to the store real quick, get some stuff for cookies. He convinced me to sneak them in.”

“That boy,” Carole huffs, and even half-asleep, you hear her voice laced with fondness for her son, “Alright honey. How y’doin’?”

“Um,” You ponder, truly unsure as your fingers pick at a stray thread on the blanket; you’d been meaning to replace it for months. “Okay. Not okay, but not- not as bad as yesterday. I think-” You swallow, throat convulsing, “I think I love lying to him if it means I have him back.”

She’s silent for a moment, letting your words sink into your own brain. You feel guilty for them, just like you feel guilty for leading Bradley on, pretending nothing is wrong when your entire lives have fallen apart. But she eventually responds with all of the kindness and love she has inside of her, which is a lot.

“I know, baby. And it’s okay, it’ll get better. It’ll turn out right.”

“I hope so,” You breathe shakily, wishing either her or your boyfriend (pretend boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend?) were there to rub soothing circles into your back. 

“I know so.” She promises, and she’s never promised something she couldn’t guarantee. You hope this isn’t her first strike, because her never-ending optimism miraculously lifts your dreary spirits until your chest doesn’t ache with a sob begging to break free. “Alright, baby doll, I’ll let’cha get to baking. I’m gonna see if they’ll let me sneak in early, I- Oh! Nurse,” She calls away from the phone, and you hear her move on the other end, no doubt chasing down a poor nurse that doesn’t want to get fired for letting her in before visiting hours. You hang up the call with a snort, fond of how her fierce love for those around her hasn’t faded in all the time you’ve known her.

Pulling yourself out of bed is hard, but you do it for Bradley. You’re sluggish as you traipse to the bathroom, using deodorant in place of a shower and brushing your hair back into a ponytail. Showers are for people who have the luxury of time, you need to bake fast, and get over there to see if Bradley wakes up remembering anything new- er, old. You hope that he doesn’t, and then you hope that doesn’t make you a bad person.

One of the things you love about the place you’d shared with Bradley is that it’s close to a shopping center with a grocery store. It means that you walk to the supermarket, sandals on your feet and ratty, day-old clothes still on. No one seems to mind when you grab a basket looking like you’ve risen from the dead, and you collect the ingredients for Bradley’s favorite cookies with a skillful, experienced hand. You haven’t paid for anything by card in a while, you’d used emergency cash for the motel, and you wonder if you’ve been locked out of your joint bank account. Probably not; if the state of Bradley’s place had been any indication, he wants you back. But you’re cautious using the card anyways, in case a big red screen comes to life on the monitor in front of you and tells you you’re a terrible girlfriend. Almost a terrible wife.

You’re glad that you don’t run into any of your neighbors on the walk back home, because you don’t want to explain why you look the way you do, nor do you want to burst into tears when they ask where Bradley and his car are. You keep your head down and avoid the trike on the front walkway, ducking back into the house without being spotted. 

Firing up the oven feels heavenly, maybe because you’ve been eating scraps of motel food for two weeks. It reminds you of all the times you’ve baked with Bradley, or, more like the times you’ve baked while Bradley steals pinches of sugar from the bowl or tries to lick the beater when there’s raw egg in the mixture, resulting in more batter in his mustache than in his mouth while you try wrestling the spatula out of his grip.

You go through the oatmeal raisin motions absentmindedly; a master at your craft. It frees up brainpower to reminisce, and you sort through a mental file cabinet to find your favorite memory of baking with Bradley.

--

“I want to try the vanilla,” Bradley reaches for the teaspoon in your hands, and you jerk it away, thankful that it isn’t full of the brown liquid yet.

“Absolutely not,” You laugh, “Brad, it’s gross by itself. It’s like eating straight cocoa powder, it’s meant to be mixed in with something.”

He pouts, he actually pouts, a man of 36. The expression has his mustache hanging over his lower lip and you can’t help but giggle at it, leaning in to kiss the prickly hair on his face.

“You’ll have a cookie to eat soon,” You promise him, dumping a teaspoon of vanilla extract into the mixing bowl. He plays satisfied with your answer, but when you turn your back to fold the mixture in on itself with a spatula, you hear rustling behind you, then the click of a cap, and a muffled gag.

“I told you,” Your voice is sing-song-y, and you turn amusedly to watch Bradley duck under the sink’s faucet, rinsing his mouth out of the bitter taste. He’s scowling when he comes back up for air, water dripping from his mustache as he crosses his arms.

“I thought it would be good.” He mutters, and you nod, humming as a bit of batter smears over your thumb from the spatula.

“That’s because you didn’t listen to me,” You lament, “I know everything, Brad. You should just listen to me, always.”

“Oh yeah? Alright, share some wisdom with me, Almighty One,” He teases, pushing off of the counter to join you at your own, “What should I do?”

He moves with his arms crossed, standing just close enough that you know the only answer you can give.

“Mm,” You pretend to deliberate, really leaning into it with a few contemplative taps at your chin, “Kiss me.”

He gasps dramatically, which is the way that he does most things, “Excellent idea. You really do know everything.”

“Mhm,” You nod, craning your neck up as Bradley leans down to kiss you, “I told you. Listen to me all the time.”

“I will,” He promises, “Quick, tell me we should have sex.”

“Bradley!” You gawp, an incredulous laugh oozing out from your chest, leaving behind a snail trail of joy, “You’re insatiable! We’ve already gone twice today.”

“Mm, can’t help it,” He tsks, backing you into the counter and kissing you once more. His lips press firmly to yours, his hands at your waist caging you into his embrace, “Honey, you taste much sweeter than that vanilla shit.”

--

When you come to, you’re putting the cookies in the oven. You’re alarmed at how zoned out you’d been, but evidently you hadn’t burned the place down, and you shut the oven door, setting a timer on the microwave. You tackle the dishes next, using the time that the cookies bake to tidy up your work station. The dough comes easily off of the mixing bowl and the melted butter drips over your fingers before you scrub it away, still slightly warm from the microwave. There’s only a few plates in the sink that you hadn’t dirtied, and you wonder if Bradley had washed and dried dishes while you were away. Or maybe this was it, four plates of food in two weeks. You’d been treating yourself that way, but it’s heartbreaking to know Bradley had, too.

You try warding off your incoming bout of sniffles by retreating back to your bedroom, choosing a new outfit to wear to the hospital. If you show up in the same thing, Bradley might worry about you, and you don’t want him thinking you were too sluggish to pull yourself together for him. You’re hurt, wounded and scarred with lashes over your heart, but he’s the one with the broken ribs and the lost memories, so you need to play the part of the strong one; the uninjured one.

He can’t know you’re hurting in case he asks why.

Your shower is quick, and you try not to think about Bradley in case you succumb to the urge to cry. Of course, it’s impossible to chase the thoughts from your head, and the feeling of your fingers scratching shampoo through your scalp turns into the feeling of Bradley’s. The hand that slides down your side suddenly isn’t your own anymore, it’s a memory of his. A ghost of him, a whisper against your skin of ‘I promise, baby. You won't lose me’.

You hope more than anything that promise stays true.

You get yourself ready to go with more zeal than you’ve felt in the past two weeks. You’re taking the bus today, to cut down on gas money, and you’re sure you’ll spend the whole time worrying. You’re nervous about seeing Bradley, but it’s a few minutes past eight-thirty and you’re sure if he’d regained his memories, Carole would have notified you. Beyond the nerves you’re almost excited to pretend to be his girlfriend again, excited to live in the fantasy life you’ve created to preserve his peace of mind. You never thought you’d love to lie to him.

You’re much more put together today when you greet the receptionist, and you're not sure you could forget the way to his room if you tried. There’s a bag of the oatmeal raisin cookies hidden in your purse and you slip into the room just as a doctor leans over him to take his temperature.

You adore the way Bradley smiles at you. His eyes meet yours as you stand in the doorway, previously cautious and now elated that he seems to like you still. His face lights up and he calls, ‘Baby,’ alerting the nurse to your presence.

“Miss Mitchell!” The woman greets you, the one who’d brought Bradley’s dinner last night. 

“Hi,” You gush, a laugh bubbling up in your chest that’s made of pure elation. It’s a sickly sweet sound, one that you thought you’d never be able to make again after leaving Bradley. You rush to kiss him when the nurse leans away, scribbling down his temperature on his chart.

He lifts his hand to cup your cheek when you kiss him and the tears that line your eyes are happy ones; there’s still time. There’s still time to soak in his love before he remembers, there’s still time to lose yourself in this fantasy.

You take a moment to breathe after the kiss, doing so against his lips. He does the same, and you bask in each other’s presence, noses brushing and foreheads pressed together. Skin-on-skin, love-on-love.

“His heartbeat really did speed up,” Carole marvels, and you scramble to greet her, guilty that she’d slipped your mind in the rush of emotions you felt.

“Hi! Hi, sorry,” You stammer, wrapping her in a hug while she waves away your apologies.

“No worries, baby!” She squeezes your shoulders, beaming at you. You’re sure she’s thrilled you showed up, and you know Bradley is too from the way he grabs for your hand when you sit by his bed. He’s always been a touchy guy, his hands are never idle, but he’s never been quite this clingy before. It’s good, it helps ground you, and it’s what you need after a two-week bender in a motel.

“Brad,” You coo, unable to resist kissing him again when he turns his head to face you in the bed. He looks more comfortable today than he had yesterday, no more breathing tube or pale skin. There’s dark circles under his eyes, but you’re sure he’s still shaken up from the crash, and you’ll make sure he gets to sleep nice and early tonight.

If you’re able to.

Once you’ve kissed him you dot smaller ones across his face, heart soaring at the gentle laughter that spills from his lips as you do so. You kiss his nose, his cheeks, his chin, the space beside his eyes that’s wrinkled from years of laughter, and when his pretty brown eyes flutter shut, you go for the eyelids, too. You savor each one because you know it could be your last, and when he strokes the back of his hand along your cheek, you lean into the touch.

“Pretty girl,” He hums, and you feel your cheeks get hot. Newly showered, you felt more put-together than you’d been before, but you’d spent the past two weeks in a pigsty of your own creation, so the compliment means more than he knows.

Apparently, he feels your cheeks grow hot, too. His fingers pick up on the warmth and he laughs again, this time only a normal amount of raspiness clinging to the sound., He’s hyper-affectionate, taking his chance to dot kisses over your features for a change. The giddiness in your chest as his lips press to your skin, mustache prickling it, makes it feel like your heart will burst. You feel undeserving as he showers you with the affection you’ve missed so much, but you’re greedy so you take it anyways, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Carole was taking pictures of you in secret.

“I have some good news,” The nurse reports, and you turn at her voice. She’s angled towards Carole, obviously having meant to leave you and Bradley be in your couple’s reverie, but when she notices that she has your attention too, she speaks to the group.

“Nothing abnormal was documented during your stay here,” She reads off of her chart, “It’s just the concussion and the broken ribs, which is remarkable for the accident you were in. You’re very lucky, Mr. Bradshaw. There was some smoke inhalation from the crash site but that’s not a major issue anymore, and if everything remains stable until dinnertime, you can go home tonight.”

“Oh!” Carole squeals, clapping delicately with her hands in her lap, “That’s fantastic!’

Bradley seems equally pleased, smiling wide, and it takes a lot of willpower to mirror his expression. He knocks his nose into your cheek and you feel his grin against your jaw, so you bring a hand up to scrub through the hair at the back of his neck.

“That’s great,” You conclude weakly, blaming the lull in your voice on being so close to Bradley and not wanting to talk too loud. Carole eyes you nervously, though, trying to mask the worry in her eyes with a smile.

“You should still rest,” The nurse advises, “Those ribs won’t be healed for close to a month, maybe more. And you can sleep through most of the concussion, too. What’s good about going home is it’ll be familiar to you, and it might help trigger those memories you’ve lost. They’re still not back?”

“Nope,” Bradley shakes his head, keeping it pressed to yours, “I got nothin’.”

“Alright,” The nurse hums sympathetically, tucking the chart into a cubby by the door, “We’ll bring lunch at around one, Mr. Bradshaw.”

“Thank you!” Carole calls after the nurse as she leaves, then she stands in her flowy skirt, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

“Miss Y/N,” She beams, “Bradley’s already had his breakfast. Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no,” You shake your head, “Not yet. Are you going to get something?”

“I am,” She nods, shouldering her purse, “Would you like some hospital pancakes, baby doll?”

“Here,” You stand, but Bradley grabs your hand, keeping you close to his bedside, “I can-”

“You can sit down,” Carole narrows her eyes at you, teasingly menacing, “Sit your butt back in that chair and be with your boyfriend, honey! I can manage two to-go boxes.”

“Thank you,” You gush, settling back into your seat and squeezing Bradley’s hand. He doesn’t let up on his heavy grip until you’re planted in your seat, and even when he does loosen his fingers he still holds you. Carole winks at you when you leave, and Bradley’s attention is solely on you the second the door shuts.

“Y/N,” He murmurs, and sometimes you forget your name isn’t baby or honey around him. You turn, now a little more nervous to be there now that your buffer is gone.

His big brown eyes are oozing their signature sweetness, a golden glint in them under the lights of the hospital room. He looks healthier now, even though you know his ribs hurt, and you’re oh-so-happy to have your Bradley back.

“I missed you,” You confess, and his face breaks into a grin. He nods, leaning up to kiss you, and you close the gap so that he doesn’t have to strain his probably sore muscles.

“I missed you, too,” He breathes, and you kiss him over and over and over again until you think you might be stealing the breath from his lungs. You let up, if only to keep him healthy, otherwise you’d never stop.

“I wasn’t sure when you were coming,” His lips close momentarily around your lower one while yours frame his top in a sweet peck.

“The cookies needed time to bake,” You lament, your mouth slightly dewy from his kiss, “Sorry, babe. I would have come faster, I- I should have gotten up earlier, but-”

“You’re here now,” He cuts off your worries, the heated skin of his face pressing against yours like he’s trying to stick to you, “That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah?” You hum dazedly, drunk on his love, “What about the cookies, do those matter?”

His eyes widen in consideration and he tilts his head to the side, mouth scrunching in a thoughtful frown, “Yeah, those matter too. Oatmeal raisin?”

“Oatmeal raisin,” You promise, digging through your purse, “Are you still on the hospital diet?”

“Honey,” He declares, sounding like his father's son as pride prickles his mustache, “I’d eat your cookies even if they killed me. Lay one on me, sugar.”

You snort at his cocky drawl, withdrawing a cookie from the bag in your purse. You break a piece off, hand-feeding him like his arms are still weak.

“Speaking of sugar,” You muse, stealing a bite of the treat for yourself and speaking with it pinched between your teeth, “I was thinking about baking together earlier. It was awful being alone, there was no one to eat the sugar out of the bowl.”

“Or drink the vanilla extract,” He cracks, and you laugh with glee.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking of!” You gush, taking his hand once more and squeezing it, “You gagged.”

“I don’t know! I just thought it’d taste good! I love vanilla,” He laments, only fuelling more laughter from you. 

“Yeah, well you got a lot of it,” You chuckle, “Anyways, it was weird not having you there. I had to do the dishes all by myself.”

“Poor baby,” He croons, half sincere and half teasing. He strokes a hand down your cheek that you yearn to kiss, but it goes by too fast, “How’d you manage?”

“I thought about you,” You confess, and some of that amusement in his eyes dims, giving way to complete and total admiration.

“Yeah?” He breathes, incredulous like he's twelve and he can’t believe his crush actually likes him. He’s always had that sort of puppyish aura about him, like you’re not just his girlfriend, you’re his best friend, and he’s always happy you’re along for the ride. It’s probably why he holds your hand so frequently, like he is now.

“Yeah,” You nod, flipping his palm in yours and tracing over the lines etched into it, “It’s not home there without you, Brad.”

“We go back tonight,” He smiles, keeping his voice low so that it doesn’t shatter the serenity around you, “Together.” You notice a sheen of tears over his eyes and you fall in love with him all over again, unable to hold yourself back from admiring how much he loves you. You really, really don’t know how you fucked this up.

“Yeah,” You croak, smiling weakly down at his hand instead of into his eyes, “Together.”

“Breakfast,” Carole sings, propping the door open with her foot as she steps inside. Your heads turn in sync, and you see her holding two plates, both covered with plastic lids. “Miss Y/N, three pancakes for you, and there’s syrup for days.”

“Thank you,” You rush to help her, and some piece of your heart stays in Bradley’s palm when you drop it. You suspect you won’t get it back unless he forgives you eventually, or maybe he’ll keep it even if he does. You trust him with it, he’ll take care of it.

You wish you'd offered him and his heart the same courtesy.

Carole hands you your breakfast and takes a seat on Bradley’s opposite side, caging him in between his two girls.

“You want some, baby?” Carole croons at Bradley, but he shakes his head.

“No thanks, ma,” He clears his throat, turning to face you with a puppy-eyed look that he’s had mastered since age three, “But I would love another bite of cookie?”

“Oh, take it,” You grumble, handing over the baked good for Bradley to devour, “But if your blood sugar rises, or something, it’s not my fault.”

“Won’t tell a soul,” Bradley promises, a mouthful of oatmeal raisin already impairing his speech, “Thanks, honey.”

“Mm-hm,” You nod, your mouth similarly stuffed with food. The pancakes are good, considering they came from a cafeteria that also serves tuna and jell-o.

“Y/N, baby,” Carole calls just as much sugar in her voice as is in her breakfast, “Pass me that syrup?”

She’s asking for a container you’ve got in your hand, half-empty. She doesn’t want to open a new one and waste the contents, so you pass it over, but a drizzle drips off of the side and lands on Bradley’s chin. 

He rears his head back as it falls, but he can’t burrow far enough into the pillow to dodge it. You squeal through your mouthful, swallowing quickly and painfully to rush out an apology you’re sure he doesn’t care about receiving.

“Sorry, Brad.” You curse your clumsiness, grabbing for a napkin but getting a better idea instead. You stand and lean over him to kiss the syrup off of his chin, feeling his face split into a grin while your lips are still attached to it. You can't keep a smile off of your face either, licking your lips clean of the stickiness.

“Cuties!” Carole giggles, just as giddy of a grin on her face as is on yours and Bradley’s. You’re sure she’s ecstatic to see you getting along so well, glad to know your acting isn’t just that.

“I was telling Bradley earlier,” You speak disjointedly through a mouthful of syrupy pancakes, “When I was baking his cookies, I was thinking about the times we’ve baked together. Wanna tell’er what you did, Brad?”

“Oh,” He groans, “No. Not fair, baby, I’m bed-ridden. I’m dying,” He sticks a protective hand over his ribs, now magically unable to lift his head from the pillow, “You can’t tell embarrassing stories of me to my mom.”

“I didn’t! I offered you the chance to tell it,” You roll your eyes, wary as you hear a nurse pass by the door. Bradley’s cookie is in plain sight, and he stuffs it into his mouth for safekeeping as the footsteps pass. No one comes in, though, and he struggles to finish his mouthful.

“Oh,” Carol gushes, “Somebody tell me! I wanna know, y’know I love teasin’ you, Brad.”

“Mom!’ He gawps through a mouthful of oatmeal, “Rude!”

“What’s rude is talkin’ with your mouth full,” Carole scolds, swatting him on the shoulder, “Swallow first, mister.”

“He ate-” You start, but Bradley lunges for you with impressive agility, twisting his torso to the side to clamp a hand over your mouth. You laugh, long and loud and brash while Bradley tries to muffle it. In his haste to silence you he tries saying ‘No!’ but he’s still got a mouthful of cookie, and the crumbs that don’t get caught in his mustache rain over your legs.

You’re still laughing. It’s messy, it’s gross, there’s half-chewed cookie on your lap, but Bradley’s holding you close, his strong arms around your head while he keeps a tight grip on your mouth. He’s laughing too, chest shaking as he tries powering through the mouthful of food that he’s got. Finally he swallows, but he doesn’t let go, only blows fruitlessly at the crumbs littering your pants.

“I’m sorry,” He pants, short of breath from chuckling, “If you hadn’t been so hellbent on embarrassing me, I wouldn’t have spewed raisins into your pancakes.”

“Gross! Okay!” You laugh uncontrollably into his palm between giggles, kissing at the skin there, “Okay. You win.”

He lets up only when you stop struggling, letting yourself sink into his embrace no matter how uncomfortable. A thought prods at the back of your mind like a lightning rod, sending a jolt of pain down your spine when it reminds you that this isn’t real. But you push it away, you don’t let it paralyze you, and your smile never falls.

“I’m sorry,” You hum to Bradley, while Carole watches you with amusement dancing in her pretty eyes, as well as in her movie star smile, “I just thought your mom would have liked to hear. That’s all.”

“She would,” Bradley nods, leaning back in his bed, finally at ease, “That’s why you can’t tell her.”

“You’re no fun,” She groans, and you finish up the last of your pancakes, gathering all of the trash (and cookie crumbs) to put them in the can. You have to let go of Bradley’s hand to make it across the room but when you’re by the door you stay there, your boyfriend’s eyes trained on you like a hawk.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” You reach for the doorknob, then, while he can't reach you, “Carole, he ate vanilla extract.”

The nurse down the hall gives you a strange look as you rush to shut the door on both Bradley’s indignant shout and Carole’s gleeful giggles.

“Does he need help?” He looks at you skeptically, and you shake your head.

“We’re teasing him,” You brush the nurse’s concerns away, “Where’s the gift shop?”

True to your word, you stop by the bathroom, but your real destination is the gift shop. There’s a stuffed bear inside with fur the exact caramel shade of Bradley’s hair, and you only wish it had a mustache. Otherwise, it’s identical, flight gear on and aviators over its eyes. 

“Hi,” You greet the cashier at the counter, handing over the bear and a book you plan on reading to him in your downtime, “Just these.”

While she rings up your purchase you hear the sliding doors behind you open, and you turn to see your dad and Nick enter. Their faces light up at the sight of you, and when the cashier gives you back the bear, you show it off to them.

“Just gotta get it a mustache,” Nick tugs softly on one of the bear’s ears, “Now that’s a good lookin’ bear!”

“I was gonna get’im a movie to watch,” Your dad beelines for the DVDs, but you pull him back.

“Dad,” You murmur, walking him and Nick towards the door, “He can just use his phone. Everything here is way too expensive.” You throw a kind smile at the cashier like you hadn’t just insulted her trade, “Thank you!”, and lead the way back to Bradley’s room.

The elevator ride almost goes sour when Nick tries pushing all of the buttons at once. You’re not sure how Carole has survived living with him for this long, but you swat his hands away with an incredulous shout.

“Don’t! I wanna get these back to him,” You beg, bear and book in hand, “I’ll bet he’s so bored.”

“You seen him already?” Your dad raises a brow, and you nod.

“Carole’s there, too,” You hum, “We just finished breakfast.”

“Does he ‘member anything new?” Goose asks, and that little lightning rod comes back, tazing your brain, burning one word into the matter there; liar, liar, liar. All of a sudden the elevator is too small, and you’d rather be anywhere but.

“Nope,” You shake your head, turning to face the doors of the elevator that ding, “Nothing.”

“Bradley!” Nick cheers, seeing his son alive and well, “Made it through the night?”

“Barely. Spent more time on my phone than I did asleep,” Bradley scoffs, and your heart skips a beat, not in a good way. Again you wonder if he’s found mystifying evidence of your breakup, an unfollow on instagram or a deletion of date nights from the calendar.

You’re sure he would have brought something up if he was confused, but you’re sneaking around, and it makes you paranoid enough to believe everything will fall apart at a moment’s notice. You have no peace, not when Bradley isn’t holding you.

“Well you’re going home tonight,” Carole reminds him, stroking over his cheek fondly, “You’ll get some good rest there, Brad.”

“Hey, alright!” Your dad whoops, “They’re cuttin’ you loose?”

“After dinner,” Bradley nods, “They said if nothing weird happens I can leave.”

“Congrats, Brad.” Nick claps him on the shoulder, standing in front of the seat you’d abandoned to go get his gifts.

His gifts!

You fumble with the bag in your hands, pulling the bear out first and passing it over.

“Oh, baby,” Bradley laughs, admiring its miniscule flight gear, “Bear’s almost as handsome as me.”

“Nah, a little more.” Pete squints at it, “It doesn't have that ugly mustache.”

“Hey!”, Father and son rage in unison, and Nick slaps your dad’s arm hard enough for Bradley, too.

“Uh, Carole,” You murmur, but the soft sound catches Bradley’s attention anyways. He’s drawn to you like a fly to honey, stuck in every last drop of your sweetness.

“I need to ask your mom a favor,” You smile down at Bradley, brushing hair away from his eyes, “Can we slip out?”

“Okay,” He hums skeptically, “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise,” You drag your voice out dramatically, leaning down to peck at his forehead. His skin is warm to the touch, and feels comforting against your lips.

“We’ll keep’im busy,” Nick declares, taking the book that you hand him, “Want me to read to you, Brad?”

“No.”

“Too bad! Ooh, Little Women. Wanna do voices with me, Mav?”

You and Carole step out before Nick or your dad could pull out any high-pitched giggles, and Bradley’s mom looks at you worriedly.

“What is it, baby doll?”

“I need help,” You confess, “If Bradley’s coming home tonight, he’s gonna notice a hell of a lot of stuff missing from our place. I just took everything I could grab and I ran,” You recall, dry swallowing at the thought of the boxes piled into your motel room, “I can’t put everything back by myself, and I- I don’t want to force you to help, but my dad and NIck can’t know, and-”

“Slow down, sugar,” She hums, reaching out to rub a soothing hand up and down your arm, “I’ll help you. What do we got, clothes and shoes?”

“And books, and toiletries, and... puzzles.” You concede drearily.

“Baby,” Carole arches a brow, looking almost sympathetically at you, “You brought puzzles with you?”

“I thought I’d be bored!” You reason, shoulders stiff to your ears, “But I haven’t had much of an appetite for puzzling.”

“Alright, I’ll help you,” She promises, “How long are we gonna need, honey?”

“A few hours,” You shrug, “We can carpool to base, I’ll pick up his Bronco, and we can head to the motel I’ve been at to get my stuff. We’ll need the extra space in the back of his car.”

“Okay! Okay,” Carole gushes, and you think she’s almost a little exhilarated by this spy operative, “Let’s stay for lunch, then we’ll go. We’ll say- uh, the house needs cleaning!”

‘Perfect,” You rub at your temples, “Thanks, Carole. And- and we’ll buy party decorations,” You snap your fingers, “I told him we were out here talking about a surprise, so we’ll throw a little welcome home thing tomorrow, have cake or something. That’s our alibi.”

“Got it! I’m off to the bathroom,” She heads down the hallway, “Get back in there!”

“-told you, I’m Jo!” Your dad is standing squared to Nick, eyes narrowed and shoulders tight, “It’s not fair that you get to be everyone!”

“Well if you did the voices right, I wouldn’t have to take over everything,” Nick huffs, “Tell’im Brad, that was a shitty Beth impression!”

“Both of you suck,” Bradley drawls, his eyes tracking you intently as you slip back into the room, “Baby, you okay?”

You shake off any residual nerves from your scheming with Carole, nodding as light-heartedly as you can, “Yeah! Yeah, Brad,” You take your seat beside him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight, “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you. He's always good at reading you, and everything about you right now is a lie. You smile at him, leaning in to kiss his cheek, but he doesn’t react like you want him to, he still doesn’t believe you. He studies you when you pull away, and you laugh in defeat, “I promise, I’m just exhausted from all of this. But that shouldn’t matter, I wasn’t the one whose jet crashed! As soon as we get you home I’ll be fine.”

That seems to work, clearing away the worry swirling in Bradley’s honey-colored eyes. He nods, smiling softly, “Yeah, me too.”

He takes your hand, and you’re starting to wonder how you’d ever survived without holding his. You hadn’t held hands this frequently even when you’d been together, not that Bradley knows there’s a difference. Your heart aches for the man beside you, how shaken up he must be to cling to you like a lost puppy.

While Nick and Pete argue you feel Bradley’s fingers slip from yours, and it’s such an unexpected motion that you turn to watch him. He’s looking intently at your hand, though there's an absent-minded air about him, and your stomach drops when he ghosts his rough thumb gently over your ring finger. 

“Brad?” You murmur, trying to keep from choking up, “‘Love you.”

He smiles, eyes trained back on yours and full of tenderness, “Love you too, sweetheart. Where’s my mom?”

“Bathroom,” You drop your eyes down to his hands, studying his own bare ring finger. You hope you get to see it decorated one day.

“Do you want me to read to you?” You look back up at him, your nose nearly bumping his cheek. Nick has left the book on the side table near the foot of Bradley’s bed in order to gesture with both hands, and you’re sure they wouldn’t notice if you lit it on fire where it sat.

“I’d love for you to read to me,” Bradley laughs breathily, “I haven’t been hearing your voice much lately. Not like I used to.”

“I know,” You lament, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble. You know he means unobscured, private, without beeping in the background and the ever-present threat of a nurse coming in to kick you out, but you hadn’t heard Bradley’s voice in weeks, so you understand the internal yearning.

“Come here,” Bradley suggests when you fetch the book, offering up the right side of his bed. It’s small, nothing you wouldn’t attempt at home but something you don’t want to risk in the hospital.

“No, it’s okay, Brad.” You shake your head, trying to pat the blankets down around him but he doesn’t let you, reaching for your thigh.

“No, I don’t wanna hurt you!” You insist, standing when he tries dragging you into the bed with him, “It’s okay, Brad, let’s just sit. We can be closer when we’re home, but for now I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He looks crushed. Really, truly crushed, his brown eyes holding such a vulnerable look in them that you feel like you’ve just punted a puppy across a football field.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” You repeat, swallowing thickly as tears prick at your eyes. You lean down to kiss his forehead, “I’m scared, Bradley.”

You’re scared about more than just that. You haven’t held him in weeks, nor has he held you. You’re afraid that you might never recover from this, but if he wraps his arms around you, buries his face in your hair and holds you close, you know you never will. You’ll spend the rest of your days living in regret, and your self-preservation instinct is kicking in again.

“Don’t be afraid,” Bradley murmurs, though he doesn’t need to be quiet now that Nick and your dad have stopped bickering. They’re stealing sneaky glances at the two of you, acting like their sunglasses stop them from being noticed even though their heads are turned towards you.

His words strike something within you that he didn’t mean for them to. He’s spoken unknowingly to your outstanding promise with yourself, that you won’t run away because something is scary. And your promise to Carole, as well, that you’ll make her son feel loved before he remembers that love wasn’t enough to make you stay.

“Bradley,” You breathe, book in one hand as you use the other to stroke through his hair. You’re standing at his bedside and he takes advantage of your proximity, sitting up and off of his pillows to lean his head against your stomach. 

You’re glad he can’t see your face, because tears rush from your eyes in seconds. He’s a sweet man whose brain operates on love first, and thought second, so when he hooks his arms around your waist and nestles his face into your tummy, you know it’s his instinct to hold you. 

At the sight of your tears the other men in the room decide to take their leave, smiling sadly at you while you comb your fingers through Bradley’s hair. 

“We’ll give you some time,” Your dad whispers, but Bradley can hear just fine, “Bye, honey.”

You aren’t able to offer them a wave in response, but they know you appreciate it. 

Once more the sterile hospital room is inhabited by only you and Bradley. Souls intertwined, tangled in some places and parallel in others, you hold him, stroking through his hair and praying he never picks his face up out of your stomach. There’s snot threatening to run down your lip but you don’t dare sniffle at the thought of ruining the moment, keeping your chest deathly still where it yearns to shake with sobs.

“I love you,” You whimper, dropping the book to cage his head to your belly, “I love you, Bradley, I- I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” He speaks into your stomach, and the sound vibrates through your body, warming you with a tingly sensation like the one you’d gotten from your very first kiss with Bradley.

You’re sure he knows you’re crying now, now that your voice drips with tears and your hands shake in his scalp. He doesn't break away, though, only tugs you closer, keeping his face nestled to your body as he pulls you into a sitting position on his lap. You’re mindful of his broken ribs, but there’s nothing wrong with his thighs, so when you land on top of them, you let yourself rest there. 

Bradley’s wormed his nose against your cheek, no longer snug in your stomach but flush to your face instead. He holds you like he used to, before you spooked and ran, before he fell out of the sky in a blaze of flames, before anything in your life was complicated. He holds you like he held you when you were just Y/N and Bradley, cradling your face to his chest and tucking his chin over your head.

“You’re hurting, too,” He murmurs, rocking you ever-so-slightly back and forth as you sit sideways on his lap. He keeps you tucked to his chest, smooths your hair with one hand and holds your waist with the other. 

“I’m the one that went down but you’re the one who got that phone call,” He moves his hand from your hair to your back, scratching aimlessly there, “You’re allowed to be upset over that. You don’t have to pretend like nothing is wrong just because I’m in the hospital. I don’t want you to pretend to be strong if it’s only gonna make you weaker. Talk to me, honey, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t!” You wail, clutching his hospital gown and praying you aren’t hurting his ribs, “Bradley, I- I can’t tell you. I can’t do that to you, not here, not now. I’m scared,” You weep, “I’m really scared, Bradley.”

“Don’t be. You’re okay,” He promises, pecking a soft kiss against the crown of your head, “Baby, you’re safe with me. You don’t have to be scared of anything. Of talking, or feeling, or hurting. That’s what I’m here for, angel, to talk with you, to feel with you, to hurt with you. That’s what love is, honey, and I love you, you know I do.”

His voice wobbles slightly on the last fragment of his sentence, and you don’t think you can handle seeing him cry. You’re terrified out of your mind, but determined just the same not to run, and it’s stuck you in this awful paralyzed state. All you can do is hold Bradley, all you can do is let him hold you, and hope that his memories never return.

“I don’t want to stress you out,” You mourn, picking your head up from his chest to press it to his face instead. You want to fuse yourself to him, so that he couldn’t cast you away if he tried.

“I’m stressed about whatever you’re not telling me,” He laughs sadly, a soft huff of air from his chest, “Baby, it makes me stressed knowing you’re shutting yourself in like this. Knowing there’s stuff going on up here that you don’t want to talk to me about.” 

He taps your head, then smooths his hand down the nape of your neck to rub at your back.

“Tell me,” He begs, voice raw with despair, “Please, angel, tell me what you’re feeling.”

You owe him the truth. Concealing the truth was one thing. Sneaking around, covering up behind his back so that he didn’t notice anything peculiar was a preventative measure. But now he’s asked for your honesty, now it’ll be lying if you don’t tell him. Now you’ll be lying to him, really and truly lying to him, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. You choose honor this time, sniffling hard and bracing your hand on his chest so that you can look him in the eyes if you feel brave enough.

“Bradley,” Your words roll off of your tongue with the weight of steel, and you have to force them out of your throat to get them to go at all, “I want to be honest with you. But I’m scared-” Your face crumples, and you fight to right it, “But- but that’s not fair to you. It’s not fair for me to shut you out, You’re right, you-” You falter, the pitch of your voice wobbly as you take a deep breath, “You love me. And I know I can be honest with you.”

“You can,” Bradley promises, stroking his knuckles over your cheek. He stares into your eyes, and you stare into his only to get a last glimpse of their sweet honey-like hue.

“You should know,” You drop your eyes, unable to confess while looking into his, “I love you, Bradley. I always have, and I always will.”

“I love you, too,” He promises, “Now what’s the matter, honey?”

“It’s-”

“Mr. Bradshaw?” A nurse steps into the room, and instantly the moment is shattered. There’s no picking up the pieces, no glue in the world strong enough to repair the bravery you’d mustered up to be honest with Bradley. 

He looks annoyed at her interruption, something you know he wouldn’t normally feel towards anyone doing their job, but he refrains from snapping at her.

“Yes?”

“We need to run some vital tests. Blood sugar, heart rate, breathing, the like. After they’re cleared, we’ll know if you can return home or not.”

From his hold on you, you gather that there’s nothing Bradley would rather do less in the world than let you go, and there’s nothing you’d rather do less than let him, but you peel away from him reluctantly, standing where you’d been tucked into his lap. He settles back against his pillows that you’re sure are cold now, and you tuck the blanket beneath his thigh to keep him warm.

He ducks his gaze and you see tears lining his eyes that you want to wipe away, but he grabs for your hand again, and you hope that’s enough for him.

The nurse pokes and prods at him, reads machines and scribbles their information down, and the door opens once again before she’s done conducting her tests. Carole, Nick, and Pete step back through the doors, smiling sheepishly at you. You have a sneaking suspicion that Nick and your dad had held Carole off from coming back to the room while you spoke, which you’re grateful for. You just wish you'd had a little more time.

“Alright,” The nurse claps, smiling cheerily like she hadn’t just shattered your moment, “You are in good shape, Mr. Bradshaw. Your blood sugar is a little high,” She notes with a furrowed brow, and you shoot a knowing glance at Bradley, “But everything else seems right. Your ribs should heal within a few weeks time, and once you get back home and see familiar surroundings, your memories should return. All you need to do is rest, once I get these processed and signed off by the doctor, you’ll be good to go!”

“Thank you,” Carole gushes, while Bradley just nods with a tight smile on his face, jaw tight in irritation at the four unwanted parties in the room.

“Goin’ home, big guy.” Nick grins at Bradley as the nurse makes her leave. He claps his son on the leg and this time Carole doesn’t intervene, “What’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

“Shower,” Bradley rasps, “There’s ash in my hair.”

“Not anymore,” You showcase your hands, dust and ash clinging to the spaces between your fingers from when you’d run them through Bradley’s hair. 

He laughs at the sight, “Still. The second thing on my list is sleep, and I don’t want to get anything on the sheets.”

“Good plan,” Carole beams at her son, hooking her arm around yours, “Baby, we should head out. We’ve got lots to do for this surprise of yours,” She gloats at Bradley, then turns back to you, “But you should wash your hands first, honey.”

“Okay,” You nod, eager to get out of a situation you’d been so courageous in only minutes before, “I’ll- um, get my stuff.”

You bend towards your purse, taking the bag of cookies out, “If your blood sugar rises and lands you in here for another night,” You warn, “I’m never making these again.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bradley nods, but your dad is the one to take the bag, not him.

“Don’t steal them,” You narrow your eyes at your dad and Nick, “And don’t get caught feeding him any. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am!” They echo Bradley, standing at attention. You scoff, turning back to Bradley and leaning down to meet him where he lays back on his pillows.

“I love you,” You hum, and he’s already reaching out for you before you can touch him. He sits upright, grabbing for your hands and tilting his face upwards to beg for a kiss.

“I love you, too,” He mumbles, speaking lowly against your lips as you kiss him. When you pull away he wants more, keeping your hands firmly in his grip when you try to leave.

“Bradley,” You let out a soft laugh, but you kiss him again anyways, knowing he’s still reeling from being a second away from finding out the truth, the extent of which he’s not prepared for.

“It’s okay,” You whisper against his lips, pressing your forehead to his, “We’ll talk later.”

”Yeah,” He nods, arching up into your embrace even though he knows he has to let you leave.

He calls out again before you leave, “Love you!” And you repeat it with a sad smile on your face, letting Carole take your hand while Nick and your dad sit at Bradley’s bedside. The last you see of him is his fading grin as you wave goodbye before the door shuts, and you’re in the hallway.

“Something happened in there,” She gushes, misplaced excitement shining from her eyes like a sunbeam, “I just know it! He was all lovey-dovey when you left, even moreso than usual. He really didn’t want you to go, angel.”

“I almost told him,” You mutter as Carole leads you to the elevator, nerves churning your stomach.

“What?” Her smile drops in surprise, and she stomps to a halt on the tiled floor. She presses the button, and when the elevator dings she ushers you inside.

“He asked me to be honest with him,” You recall, sick at the thought of how close you’d been to losing him, “And- and he was holding me, Carole, like he used to. And I couldn’t help it, I just- I wanted to tell him everything, I couldn’t stand lying to him and pretending nothing was wrong. But I- I don’t know if I can do that again. I don’t know if I can tell him the truth. I tried, and we got interrupted, I mean- isn’t that a sigh? Some sort of clue left by the universe to tell me to wait a little longer?”

“Baby I don’t think the universe is sendin’ you clues,” Carole looks sympathetically at you, “I think you’re lookin’ for reasons to run away again. I know I’m the one that told you to pretend, but that boy can read you like a book, and if he’s catchin’ on, maybe you ‘oughta give it up. I saw him in there, honey.” The door dings and slides open, and she takes your hand to lead you outside, “There’s nothin’ he wouldn’t forgive you for. He was clinging onto you like a leech, and I think he’d understand you were scared. Might not like it, but he’d understand.”

“He keeps saying that I’ll never lose him, or- or that he loves me, or that I can tell him what’s bothering me,” You gesture with your free hand as you walk to the parking lot, “And- and it feels so perfect! Like he knows exactly what I need to hear. Like I could tell him and nothing would change. But everything would change, and- and I don’t want that,” You suppress a sob as you reach Nick and Carole’s car, pulling open the door to the passenger’s side. 

She stashes her purse by your feet, stuffing the key into the ignition, “Baby, everything’s already changed. He just doesn’t know that. But he will soon, and once he does, he’s gonna realize why you’ve been acting so weird. If you were pullin’ it off, I’d say keep going. If he wasn’t asking questions, you could keep this up, ‘cause you’d be doing him a favor. That was the whole point, baby, to let him down nice and easy, give him a bit of time to adjust to the crash before confessing about the breakup. But I should’ve known he’d realize you were lyin' to him,” She scoffs, checking her mirrors, “That boy would notice you’d changed your haircut from just your voice on the phone. He knows you too well, honey, and if he’s askin’ all the right questions and you’re giving him all the wrong answers, that’s gonna stress him out. And that’s doing the opposite of what we want. If this is just gonna make things worse, I say tell him. But-” She backs out of the spot, en route to base to fetch his car, “Not yet. Wait until you’re home. Then he’s in a familiar environment, you can kneel by the bedside and grovel if you want,” She waves a hand in the air, “Just be honest with him baby, if it’s what he’s askin’ for.”

She barely lets you mull her words over before she starts again, “I think it’s a good time. You told me that when you left, you wish you hadn’t. And you’ve spent the last two days showing that to him, even if he doesn’t know that’s what you’re doing. He knows you love him, and I think he’ll forgive you if you confess that you were just scared of losing him. ‘Cause you can’t fake love like that, honey.” She eyes you through the mirror, “You can pretend y’all never broke up, but the way you love him, that’s not pretend, and he knows that.”

“I’ll tell him tomorrow,” You sniffle, “If he doesn’t know by then. I- I know I have to, even if it’s scary.”

“Atta girl,” She gushes, nearly flooring it at a green light in her excitement, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

“Don’t be,” You grumble, ‘Not yet. Not until I do it.”

“I know you will,” She decides, “You’ve never lied to me before.”

“Actually,” You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, “I have, once.”

She narrows her eyes, gives you a sideways glance as she makes a turn, “Oh, really? And when was that?”

“Uh, when we were in high school, I told you Bradley and I were staying at my place while my dad was gone,” Your face twists into an involuntary smile at the memory, “We went to Vegas.”

“What?” She shrieks, almost stomping on the breaks, “Vegas?”

“It was just for a night! And we didn’t gamble,” You scoff, “They wouldn’t let us into any casinos.”

“Ooh, you two,” She seethes, but it’s happened so long ago that she can’t be mad, not really, “Surprised y’all didn’t get married down there.”

“Actually,” You laugh, “We tried. But you weren’t there to sign off on it, and we were only 17.”

She shares a laugh with you at the memory, pulling into the security checkpoint outside of the naval base. You have to pass your ID over her, and you explain that you’re just picking up your partner’s car. They let you in, but you don’t think they like your presence very much, so you get the car and go as quickly as you can.

“It’s the motel just off the freeway,” You gesture in the direction of the place you’ve been staying, “We’ll load up the Bronco and meet back at our place.”

“See you there, babydoll,” Carole grins, already headed for the exit.

You roll up your window just as your phone buzzes, and you put the call on speaker while your phone balances on the cupholder.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” Bradley’s voice bleeds through the crackly speakers. Then, like an attached toddler their first night away from mom, “I miss you.”

It’s just what you need to hear after your gut-wrenching conversation with Carole, and you croon while waving to the security officers on the way out, “I miss you too, Brad. I picked up your car. Didn’t want her sitting all alone on base.”

“Thanks, babe,” You can hear the grin in his voice, “Is my mom still with you?”

“No, she’s driving herself,” You merge lanes, brain on autopilot as you head for the motel, “And don’t ask what we’re doing, it’s a surprise.”

He scoffs; you’ve caught him, “Fine. They gave me lunch. It’s the same as yesterday.”

“Poor baby,” You coo, feeling more at home in Bradley’s Bronco than you had in your half-empty house, “I’ll make you something good for breakfast tomorrow, baby. Eggs, pancakes, waffles, sausage, bacon, fruit, whatever you want to eat.”

He takes a pause, then, “I have something inappropriate to say. But your dad’s still here, so I can’t.”

You let out a bark of bewildered laughter, especially when you can hear your dad’s voice in the background as he groans.

“I get the idea,” You promise him, and you hear Bradley huff a soft laugh into the speaker. You almost want to record the call, just to keep the sound forever.

“When are you guys coming back?”

“I don’t know, Brad,” You lament, tailing Carole as she heads for the freeway exit, “Hopefully before dinner. But if not, I’ll definitely be there when you get discharged, and I can drive you home.”

“And we can shower,” Bradley adds on to your sentence, eliciting another disgruntled sound from your dad, “And sleep.”

“And we can shower and sleep,” You promise, chest feeling light at the night’s plan. You’re pulling into the motel parking lot now, the dingy sign colored more in spiderwebs than in neon.

“I’ve gotta go, Brad.” You put the car in park, grabbing your phone and switching speaker off, “I love you. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He’s hesitant to answer, and you wish you didn’t have to hang up. You know he’s still uneasy about the way that your talk ended earlier, but he finally speaks up, “Alright. Love you, too.”

“So much,” You hum, “Love you so much.”

“So much,” He agrees, more of that audible grin in his voice, “See you later, angel.”

“See ‘ya,” You hum, and it doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would to hang up, not after that.

Carole’s standing ready at the strip of doors, and you pull the small, rusty key out of your pocket. There’s nearly ten boxes stacked in your room, and you prop the door open with one as you gather anything that isn’t packed away.

You haven’t changed clothes much since being there, nor have you been keeping up with your hygiene as well as you should be, so the clean-up process feels like a day's worth, not two week’s worth. But you’re thankful for the easy pickup as you load it into a half-empty box, hauling it out the door and to the Bronco.

Packing the boxes goes fast when you work with Carole. It had been much more of a struggle to cart two at a time from your place to the motel room, but with a little maneuvering, all nine boxes fit snugly between her car and yours.

“Alright,” You dust off your hands, picking at the edge of your nail, “You ready?”

“Actually, you go home,” She decides, “And I’ll go to the party supply store. I’ll pick up some ‘Welcome Home’ stuff, and when I get back I’ll help you with the rest of the boxes, and we can set up together.”

“Perfect,” You heave a sigh of relief, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Of course, baby!” She seems to have a never-ending supply of optimism, one that you’re thankful for because you seem to harbor the opposite.

Hauling your boxes back into the house is unexpectedly the easy part. What’s harder is putting everything back, filling in the gaps in the bookshelf with your own volumes, stuffing the dresser with the clothes you’d chosen to take with you.

When Carole gets back you’re dragging your thumb over the shirt you’d taken off of your pillow, ready to fold it and destroy the evidence of its association with your two-week disappearance. She peeks into the bedroom, expecting to find you hard at work organizing your novels, and instead sees you sitting on the bed looking like you’re going to puke.

“Baby,” She hums, “What’s the matter?”

“He put this over my pillow,” You sniffle, staring down forlornly at the object that had offered comfort to Bradley when you hadn’t, “He slept with it.”

“Oh, baby,” Carole whispers, standing behind you and rubbing your shoulders, “He loves you. Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you think it means everything’ll turn out okay?”

“What if he doesn’t want me back?”

For the first time, you say it out loud. You’ve insinuated it, sure, thought about it, but you’ve never said it yet. Not out loud. You voice the fear that’s been bouncing around like a balloon in your head, popping it and feeling the aftershocks flow through you. 

She’s quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say any more than you do. But she bends down, wraps her arms around your shoulders and hums, “He will, baby. He’s been sleepin’ with your shirt this whole time, he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t miss you.”

“But even if he misses me, I still hurt him,” You sniffle, “I- I left, is missing me enough for him to want me back in his life? What if I went too far? What if we can’t come back from this? What if I lose him forever, Carole?”

“He kept my ring.” She murmurs, her voice the calm to your storm. 

“What?”

“He kept it. Even though it wasn’t on your finger, he didn’t give it back to me. And he wouldn’t dare give that to anyone else, Y/N. It’s your ring, he knows it. That’s why he kept it, ‘cause he still wanted you to have it. He loves you even if you did hurt him, baby,” She sniffles, and you feel bad that you’ve made her cry, “That’s what love is. Sometimes you hurt each other, but if it’s love you find your way back. And what you’ve got is the strongest love I’ve ever seen.”

Your silence is enough of a reply, and you’re glad because it’s all you can muster. You can’t find the words to thank her, to tell her you hope she’s right, to beg to whatever deity exists for mercy. All you can say is, “I don’t wanna take it off,” As you stroke a finger down the shirt over your pillow.

“Wear it,” She suggests, pulling at the sweatshirt you’re wearing, “Put that on underneath it, baby. He won’t notice, and you can have it on you as a reminder that he misses you. Maybe it’ll give you the courage to tell him.”

“Okay,” You sniff, a stray tear drying sticky on your cheek as you stand. She turns you around and pulls you into a real hug, and you let her squeeze you before going to the bathroom to change.

The shirt smells like Bradley now that he’s slept with it for two weeks. You’re sure you’re just immune to your own scent, and that he could still find traces of it to lull him to sleep at night, but wearing it now feels just as comforting as you bet it felt for him to sleep with it.

When you wander out of the bedroom you find Carole in the living room. She’s standing on your coffee table with her right leg, and her left is on the arm of the couch. She’s pinning a banner to the wall, ‘Welcome Home Bradley!’.

“Hey honey!” She beams at the sight of you in your shirt, you’d forgone the jacket to not overheat while moving things around. 

“Do you need help?” You watch her drive a pin into the wall with her thumb, and she shakes her head as she reaches down for another one, “No, I’ve got this. You just take care of your boxes, I can handle the party.”

“Yeah, you get the fun part,” You tease, and she laughs.

“Darlin’, I wasn’t the one to take my puzzles and run. Now go put ‘em back, I’m sure they’re the first things Brad’ll notice are missing when he gets home.”

You head back into the bedroom without any complaints. It’s hard to put everything back. No, it’s nice to put everything back. What’s hard is pretending it was never gone in the first place; what’s hard is lying.

You slide a lone book into its place on the shelf, one last spot left beside a photo album. Your fingers brush over a gemstone on the cover and you tug at the hefty spine, catching the jam-packed book before it can fall.

“Wow,” You breathe, barely aware that you’re speaking out loud. The cover showcases Bradley pressed up against the hospital’s nursery glass, peering in on a very sleepy baby you snoozing in her bassinet with Carole holding him up. You’d been born shortly after Bradley, not even a year, and he’d been very excited to meet his new best friend at the hospital.

A flip to the first page finds you in your dad’s old apartment, sleeping in your crib while Bradley’s hand wraps around the bars he’d pulled himself up on. Then the next page showcases a photo of him in the crib, curled up in the space by your feet while you sleep peacefully in your own spot.

You take the photo out of its sleeve, flipping it over to read the inscription you know by heart on the back: Bradley’s attached to Y/N at the hip. Won’t sleep anywhere else.

The next photos are more of the same. Bradley holding you on the couch, a gummy grin on his face at the baby in his arms. His hands barely bigger than yours, handing you a toy fighter jet. Tummy time on a play mat, where he’s holding a rattle just out of reach to get you to crawl like he’d seen your parents do. A shot of you tugging on his wispy hair, then a shot of Nick dragging a crying Bradley into his lap while your dad holds your previously clenched fist open. They tell their own story.

You’d been fated best friends from the start, but as you age in the photos, your relationship changes. All of a sudden there’s puppy love in your gaze when you reach your tween years, braces in your mouth and hearts in your eyes. There’s a picture of Bradley teaching you how to skateboard, and you're holding his hands for dear life. You distinctly remember a fiery flush to your cheeks in that moment, and you’re glad the camera hadn’t captured it. There’s New Year’s Eve in your matching pajamas, you cradled in Bradley’s arms like they’d make you pose every year since you’d come into the world. It was cute when you were kids, then it was embarrassing when you were teenagers, and now it’s cute again. In the photo you’re looking at you can’t be more than fourteen, and you know the second the shutter clicked on the camera, you’d scrambled out of his arms like they were burning you. 

You flip through more pages, watching your relationship blossom from friends into lovers. All of a sudden you’re holding hands, you’re matching outfits, and you’re kissing when you think no one is looking. Then there’s the famous picture of Bradley on his 18th birthday, glaring at the camera with a box of condoms in his hands, courtesy of his dad. Funnily enough, your dad shares Bradley’s expression in the background. The inscription on the back of that one reads: Just making sure he’s safe! Don’t want any grandkids, not while I’m still in my glory days - Goose.

That New Year’s Eve photo is special. It’s you still cradled in Bradley’s arms like always, but you’ve leaned up to kiss him, and he’s leaned down to kiss you. You distinctly remember it being the first time you’d willingly kissed on camera in front of your parents, and the giddy smiles you’d forced into makeshift puckers are clear as day in the photo. 

The matching pajama sets you’ve outgrown together are all stored in a box marked ‘sentimental’, not one that you’d taken with you when you’d left. You have a current pair, red and black buffalo print bottoms with fuzzy black tops, and you plan on asking Bradley to wear them tonight.

You haven’t noticed, but a smile has grown on your face, etching itself into your features as you relive your love story. You flip through family vacations, holidays, birthdays, sports games, barbecues, a million family events that Bradley joined you at. There’s never any of you apart, even though he’d been moved around for his career, because no one has ever thought to take a picture of one of you without the other. There’s no Y/N in this book, there’s no Bradley, there’s only Y/N and Bradley, and that’s what you want to be for the rest of your life. You want to fill out the rest of this book with aging photos, clearer in quality while the old ones yellow. You want to stuff this book until the bindings rip, you want to look back through it one day in a rocking chair beside one of Bradley’s own, faces wrinkled and hair grayed. Your story can’t end here.

Your phone buzzes on the bed, and you drop the photo album there while you check your message. No surprise, it’s from Bradley.

- The doctor signed off, I can go home after dinner, which shouldn’t be too much longer. How’s it going over there?

That’s great! You type back, biting a smile off of your face as you respond. It’s residual from looking through the photos, but you have to remember, you’re not there yet. It’s going good. Your mom is scary agile.

- What’s she doing?

Can’t tell you ;)

- Damn! Thought I had you there. Your dad’s eating one of my cookies :(

Tell him I said to leave you alone!

- He says you’re not the boss of him.

Tell him your mom said to leave you alone.

- He says she’s not the boss of him.

Tell your dad to tell him to leave you alone. She’s his boss.

- My dad’s eating one too :( 

Those assholes! I’ll make you more, baby ❤

- I love you best. ❤

I love you too baby ❤

The lingering fear of a breakup - a real one this time, one that doesn't rewind itself amidst burning jet fuel - is stuck in the back of your mind, and you suspect it will be until you finally confess. But the photo album and Bradley’s messages have combined to lift your spirits, and filing your shoes back into their places doesn’t weigh you down as much as you suspected it would. You try to make them look haphazard, jumbling them with Bradley’s and turning a few of them upside down. You two are notorious for having out of control shoe collections, Bradley’s sneakers and your own shoes constantly tumbling out of the closet like a cartoon.

 By the time the sun starts setting early on your California dream you’re nearly done, there’s just a few last garments to slip into your closet. You do so while wrestling with the clothes that are already in there, a hefty collection that leaves little room for the dress you’re trying to wedge inside. Nevertheless, a too-full closet is better than a half-empty one.

“Sugar?” Carole calls from down the hallway, hopefully not precariously balanced on any furniture this time, “Nick says they’re just serving Brad his dinner.”

You finally manage to set the clothes right on their hangers, panting slightly as you withdraw from the closet, “Okay! I’m almost done. We have a lot of clothes.”

She laughs, “Yes you do! You should eat somethin’ before we leave.”

“There’s no food here,” You sigh, “The fridge is empty. I’ll have to go shopping later. I’ll just stop for fast food on the way.”

“Party’s all set up,” Carole nods, jerking her head back towards the hallway, “If you keep the lights off in the living room tonight, he won’t see it until tomorrow.”

“Okay. Are you coming over to celebrate?”

“Yeah, I was thinkin’ for breakfast,” Carole nods, “We can bring food?”

You laugh huffily, “I wasn’t kidding about there being nothing in the fridge. Anything’s appreciated, thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, baby,” She beams, but reconsiders with a slightly furrowed brow, “Although, I hope this is the only time.”

“Me too,” You scoff, “Alright, let’s head back.”

True to your word, you pull through a fast-food drive-thru on the way back to the hospital. Carole knows Nick’s order, and you know your dad’s, hopeful that they’ll be tired of hospital cuisine and yearning for a burger instead.

However, when you get there, they’re waiting in the lobby, Bradley sat between them. You hadn’t realized how early they were letting him out, and Carole takes the bag of food from you so that you can properly hug Bradley. He stands the moment he sees you, eyes pooling with such urgency as he tries to respect the no-running rule of the hospital. You struggle just the same, and the moment you’re within arms reach of each other, tears start flowing. Bradley yanks you into his chest, almost tipping you forwards and himself backwards with the momentum of his hug. His chin nestles straight over your shoulder, as does yours to his, and it’s the kind of hug you get from him after a long deployment, maybe even more desperate now. His breathing is ragged beside your ear, but not from his medical conditions, from the desperation clogging his lungs. His fist is tight in the back of your sweatshirt but the fabric is loose on you, and it’s not a tight enough hold for him. His fingers scrabble for the shirt beneath the hoodie, gripping onto both garments and keeping you closer than you ever thought you could be with Bradley. Your hands immediately encircle his shoulders, and your fingers find purchase against the baby hairs at the back of his neck. You scratch through the ones at his nape, hearing him sniffle sharply where his chin rests on your shoulder. The hand that isn’t fisted in your clothes is tight to your hip, gripping you so hard that you can feel his nails through the jeans you’re wearing. It’s not painful, it’s just firm, and its strength is reassuring. It’s grounding to hug Bradley again, unobscured by breathing tubes, hospital beds, or prying nurses.

You hear someone’s phone camera sound off, but you’re far from discouraging it. In fact, you’re going to ask whoever it was to send you the photo later. The hug turns into an embrace, one where you sway lightly from side to side, anything that isn’t you or Bradley fading into the background. Your eyes are screwed shut but tears still cascade down your cheeks, melancholy waterfalls that drip off of the curve of your chin and stain Bradley’s t-shirt. He’s dressed in what he’d been wearing beneath his flight suit, the material thankfully not ripped or burnt thanks to the coveralls. You take the lead, pulling back, but he keeps the same level of contact with you. When your chin slips from his shoulder he grabs your face instead, using it to keep you pressed tight to his body. His eyes are teary themselves, streaks of the shimmery stuff down his cheeks and probably in his mustache, too.

“Hi,” You croak, smiling giddily through your tears. 

He smiles, though the chubbing of his cheeks nudges a few more tears out of his eyes, “Hi.”

You smear them away with the palm of your hand, and use your thumb to rid him of the ones clinging to his undereyes. His hands are on your cheeks, too, and he tries mirroring your ministrations, but his thumbs are too shaky to do so. For fear of poking your eyes out, he clamps his hands over your cheeks again, content with holding you while your tears run over the hills and valleys of his fingers.

“You’re standing,” You marvel, ‘I thought you’d be in a wheelchair.”

“It hurts a little bit,” Bradley admits with a slight grimace, and you back away like you’ve been struck. He doesn’t let you get far at all, dropping your face to tug you back by your waist, “-but I’d rather break another rib than let you go.”

“Sap,” You accuse, and Bradley laughs.

His lips twist into a sheepish smile, “Maybe. You can be my tree. I’m stuck on you.”

You sniffle, brow furrowing, “Huh? ‘Cause of the sap thing?”

“Yeah,” He laughs, “Isn’t that what it means? Sticky and sweet like tree sap?”

“I don’t know,” You breathe bashfully, your voice rife with part confusion and part sheepishness, “I guess that makes sense. But I’ve never been called a tree before.”

“I’ll work on my flirting,” He promises, stroking his thumbs up and down your sides in soft, soothing motions, “Can we go home now?”

You nod, “You should hug your mom first.” Only then does Bradley remember that you’re not the only other person in the room, turning in your grip to see your mini crowd of adoring onlookers.

He chuckles, “Sorry. Hi, mom.”

“Hi baby,” She gushes, letting him squeeze her in a hug. He’s much more gentle with her, out of longing for you, not disrespect.

Nick reaches over to ruffle his hair and your dad nudges you sideways, “Happy to have him back?”

“Yeah,” You gush, a breathless whisper, “Nervous, though,” You admit, “What if he slips in the shower, or something? Or- or some freak accident happens and he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will,” Your dad slings an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you close by your shoulders, “He’ll be alright, kid. And hopefully by tomorrow he’ll remember everything, maybe look at some pictures tonight to jog his memory. Show him stuff you took of these past few weeks, the places you went or the food you ate.”

You don’t have any pictures of your pitiful motel room, nor the candy bars you’d raided the minifridge for, but you wouldn’t show them to Bradley if you did.

You nod, breaking away when Bradley searches for you after his hug with Carole, “Thanks, dad.”

“You gonna be okay getting settled tonight, Brad?” Nick asks, already bringing a french fry to his mouth from the bag in his hand. Your dad has your food as well as his own, and you take your bag back from him as Bradley nods.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Thanks, guys.”

Everyone says their hasty goodbyes, and your hug with Carole lasts a second longer than you hope anyone notices.

“Tell him.” She whispers against your ear, the words a feather light breath, “He loves you.”

“I’ll feed you in the car,” Bradley grabs the bag of food from your hand when you nudge him towards the exit, “Can I have fries?”

“You’ve been on a diet of chicken and potatoes for two days,” You take the hand that he offers you, curling your fingers around his, “You can have the whole burger if you want, Brad.”

Bradley stops short in front of the bronco when he sees it, “There she is!”

“She’s here,” You laugh, “Perfect condition. The air freshener’s still good.”

“Poor baby,” He heads for the passenger’s seat, swiping a hand over the hood of the car on his way, “She probably thought we forgot about her.”

He settles comfortably in the passenger’s seat, though you’re sure it feels awkward to be there in his own car. He throws his head back against the seat and sighs, long and loud, a noise he would have made fun of his dad for making mere years ago.

“Comfy?” You glance sideways at him, your food in his lap while he rests against the seat. He nods, reaching for the bag as you start up the engine.

“Here baby,” He calls, popping two fries in front of your mouth just before you turn out of the parking lot, “Fries.”

You carefully bite them out of his hand, tipping your head back to get them fully into your mouth. You mumble ‘thanks’ through them, and you’re not sure if he can make out what you’re saying, but you hope it’s obvious.

“I can’t wait to get in bed,” He groans, “I know it’s only been a few days, but I can’t remember being there for three weeks.”

“It’s cold without you,” You hum forlornly, checking your blind spot before merging, your hands stiff on the wheel. Your words leave more of an aftertaste on your tongue than the fries do, and it’s an unpleasant one. They mean more than you let on, and your brain is clouded thick with the worry of sleeping in a cold bed for the rest of your life. 

There’s a moment of silence that Bradley lets follow your words, then he promises, “I’ll be there tonight. And every night after that.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Burger?”

He laughs, leaning in his seat when you turn, “Burger.”

He holds the food up to your mouth, letting you take a bite that smears sauce over your mouth. He takes a napkin, cleaning up after you and dabbing all of the mess away. You’re absolutely certain that if you weren’t on the road, he would have kissed it off. You make a mental note to eat just as messily when you get home, for experimental purposes.

“Can I have a bite?” He asks tentatively, and you turn at a red light to smile and nod.

“‘Course, Brad. I meant it, if you want it you can have the whole thing.”

“I don’t want you to go hungry,” He hums, taking a chunk to the left of your bite mark, “Thanks, babe. Fuck, that's good.”

“Did they finish your cookies?” You exit the freeway, muscle memory guiding you home.

Bradley speaks through a mouthful of burger, unpleasant to hear but somehow endearingly domestic, like he’s not worried about looking handsome for you. “Yeah. I got one more, but they mowed through the rest.”

“Those bitches,” You hiss, and he laughs, “Okay, we’ll bake tomorrow. But I’m keeping the vanilla away from you.”

He scoffs, “Always with the vanilla. I drank it one time!”

“One time is enough for a lifetime ban!” You insist, turning onto your street, “Okay, you shower and I’ll eat, then we can get into bed.”

“Sounds good,” He drawls, stuffing your food back into its bag and swapping it to you for the keys, “I’ll be quick in the shower.”

“No rush,” You croon, holding the hand that he offers you as you take on the front walkway together, “Don’t hurt yourself because you’re too eager to get into bed. It’ll be there even if you take your time.”

You’re bound for the kitchen and Bradley the bedroom, but you remember you have to keep the lights off so that he doesn’t see your decorations. You send him off with a kiss at the hallway, intent on watching him leave before setting up at the table.

“Goodbye,” You hum, standing with your lips puckered in the doorway of the hall, “If you need help, just yell for me.”

“Will do,” He nods, puckering his own lips and pressing them to yours with a cartoonish smack! You watch his ginger walk towards the bedroom, his hips off balance as his ribs ache in his chest.

Once you’re in the clear you flick the kitchen light on, choosing to stand at the counter instead of dirty the table. You busy yourself with your phone, tapping on an impatient text from Carole: ‘Have you told him yet?’

Not yet. You write back, munching on a french fry, Not in the car. He didn’t ask, either.

- Don’t lose your nerve, you can almost hear the critical tone of her voice just by reading her message, The longer you lie, the more he’ll worry about you.

I know. I’ll tell him.

- ❤️

“Babe?” You hear Bradley call over the stream of the shower, “Babe!”

You abandon the last few fries in the container, stuffing your phone into your pocket to rush to his aide. Horror flashes through your mind, visions of Bradley bleeding down the drain or hunched over in pain.

All you see when you burst into the bathroom is him looking like a puppy in the rain, a pitiful pout on his face as water runs down his face and through his mustache.

“I can’t wash my hair,” He laments, “It hurts.”

You can’t help but coo, “Oh, baby. Lemme help you.”

“Thanks,” He mumbles, “I already have the shampoo.”

True to his word, there’s shampoo smeared over his hands. Apparently he’d tried his best, but couldn’t move well enough with his broken ribs. You try not to laugh at his misfortune, especially because he’s in pain, but he’s just too cute to ignore. You try to muscle down the thought that this might be the last time you ever shower with Bradley, even if you’re not really in the water with him. You wet your hands, then wipe the shampoo off of his palms, reaching for his scalp.

“I’m sorry I’m making you stand in front of me naked and we’re not having sex,” Bradley huffs, “Believe me, if I thought I could, I’d be jumping you right about now.”

“It’s okay,” You chuckle, muffling the sound into Bradley’s forehead that you kiss chastely, “We should hold off on sex, at least until your ribs are healed.

Or until you know the truth.

“They don’t hurt too bad now,” Bradley muses, “But when I raised my arms to shampoo, it was really bad.”

“I’ll reach for things for you,” You promise, scrubbing shampoo into his scalp. It knocks loose leftover ash from his accident, and it flows down the drain in a swirl of gray bubbles.

“Oh, fuck,” For not having sex, Bradley’s making some awfully pornographic sounds, “That feels good.”

“I’ll bet,” you hum, “Can’t imagine having ash in my hair for that long.”

“It’s not pleasant. Oh god, babe,” He groans, “Hurry up and rinse it out, I’m gonna fall asleep standing up.”

“Okay! Okay,” You laugh, scrubbing in one last circle at the nape of his neck then reaching for the showerhead, “Have you washed your body already?”

“Yeah,” He murmurs, letting the water flow through his hair and rinse the shampoo out, “Oh my god, this is what heaven feels like.”

“Come on,” You smile, reaching for a towel, “Do you need help drying off?”

“You just wanna feel up my thighs,” Bradley accuses, and you laugh good-naturedly.

“Nope. Ass.” You admit, “But if you can do it yourself, then go ahead.”

“No!” He catches you as you stuff the towel to his chest, pulling you back towards the shower, “Uh, I need help. I think you should wipe down my very toned chest and my tight butt.”

“Oh, really? That’s what you’re having trouble with?” You snicker, and Bradley nods proudly.

“Yep. Can’t get my hands over my shredded back either, such a shame.”

“Alright, you flirt,” You scoff, “Turn around.”

You start on his back, and of course, it’s very fit. It’s nothing you haven’t touched before, in fact, you’re surprised there’s no scars there from your fingernails, but this is more intimate, more romantic, more sweet. This is love, not lust. You scrub the towel over his skin, wiping the water droplets away and rubbing into his tight muscles. You take extra care to dry off the small of his back, smoothing the towel down over his ass, too. Despite his earlier cheekiness, he doesn’t make any comments while you’re working. You wrap the towel around his thighs, pressing a kiss to his hip as you bend down to dry his calves off. He stands still to let you get his ankles dry, and you tap his foot to turn him around.

Now he’s looking down at you as you towel off his calves again, getting any splotches of water you may have missed before. You dry out the soft tuft of hair at his groin and move to his chest before you can tempt yourself, not wanting your first sexual encounter after a life-threatening plane crash to be a blowjob up against the shower wall. Especially not before you tell him the truth.

Now that you’re on your feet you’re face-to-face, though yours is bent slightly to track any water droplets you might have missed on his shoulders. You towel off his underarms carefully, making sure not to aggravate his muscles that are already bleeding pain through his gut. You swipe the towel over his neck, and in doing so, you’ve set your hand just below his chin. It’s as natural as breathing to slide it up his jaw, and he’s already staring at you, breath shaky as you return his gaze.

He moves first, but you take his cue right away. He leans in to kiss you and you’re happy to press your mouth to his own, not caring that there’s a drop of water leftover between his fingers that transfers to your skin when he cups your face.

“Baby,” He whimpers, desperate and longing, “I- I missed you.”

There’s tears beading at the corners of his eyes, and you manage a sad smile when you wipe them away, “Why, silly? I was only gone for a few hours.”

“I know. I just- I’m real shaken up,” He admits, “I- I don’t even remember the crash and that’s the scary part. I almost died and I’ve got no clue what happened. I feel lost, like- like I’m still stalling or something, just waiting to crash.”

“I’m so sorry,” You croon through your own tears, “Brad, that must be so scary, I- I can’t even imagine.”

“I just need you,” He breathes, clutching at your shoulders like they’ll recover his plane, “Just don’t leave, please.”

“Sweetheart,” You coo, equally endeared and saddened by his sudden panic, “We're not at the hospital anymore, there's no visiting hours. Why would I leave? We're home, we’re gonna get changed, and then we’re gonna go to sleep. You’re safe now, okay?”

“Okay,” He nods, voice a mere whisper, “Okay, let’s sleep.”

“Clothes first,” You remind him through a cheeky grin, and the expression scrunches your tear-stained cheeks, cracking the stiffened substance, “We’re sleeping.”

“Alright, alright,” He laughs as you poke at his bare chest, “Will you help me? I managed to bend over and slide my t-shirt off but I don’t think putting something on will be as easy.”

“Mhm. I was hoping,” You reach for the sets of matching pajamas, holding them up enticingly, “You’d match with me?”

He laughs, the sound thick and genuine in his bruised chest, “Of course. I won’t look as good as you, though.”

“Yeah, my mustache is better,” You sigh, scratching a nail over your upper lip that’s morphing into a grin. You whirl on him with his shirt, helping ease his arms into the fabric and stretching the neck hole over his head so that he doesn’t have to bend down. All in all, it works, even if the neckline is a little stretched. He doesn’t need help with his pants, but you feel compelled to do it anyways, sliding his boxers and then the soft material up his legs and tying it tight at the waistband.

“Thanks, honey.” He murmurs, bending at the waist and sitting on his side of the bed, “Fuck, that’s nice.”

“Lay down,” You push against his chest, helping him recline against his pillows, “I’ll be right back, B.”

You change quickly, too eager to crawl into bed beside Bradley to care that you’ve left one bite of burger and a few lone fries on the counter. Ants be damned, you’ll clean up tomorrow. When you emerge from the closet you wriggle happily beneath the covers next to Bradley, flicking the light by the doorway off so that all that’s left is your bedside lamp.

When you settle on your pillow he’s already looking at you, and the tip of his nose bumps your own. You melt into a girlish giggle, something that a teenager would produce after a particularly bad pickup line and a single red rose.

“Hi,” You gush, overjoyed to have him so close again. You kiss his nose in your fervent enthusiasm, and he smiles sleepily against his pillow.

“Hi,” He hums, reaching for your waist and pulling you close, “C’mere.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” You stiffen, but he molds your body to his anyways, “Brad, be careful.”

“I will be! I said it before, you can’t break me. Just let me hold you.”

You croon a sad sound as he wraps you in his arms, a sound of longing, of adoration, of grief. He clocks it as sweetness, though, and holds you close. Your face is buried in his chest and you feel his lips move against your scalp when he speaks.

“Y/N,” He starts, and your heart rate spikes at just your name, “About earlier-”

“Tomorrow.” You blurt, anguish rising in your chest, “Brad, can we- can we talk tomorrow? I’m not trying to hide from you,” You promise, but you’re nestled into his chest and muffling your voice, “I trust you with the way that I'm feeling, I just- I just want to sleep. I want to breathe for a minute. And we can talk tomorrow, is that okay?”

He takes a moment to deliberate, really, truly thinking about it. While he does so, your hands tighten in his shirt, desperately clinging to him. But eventually he nods, disjointedly so into the crown of your head, “Okay.” His hands tighten around your waist as he speaks, and you melt into his embrace, scooting impossibly closer. “Okay, honey, we’ll talk tomorrow. Let’s just sleep.”

Settling into his embrace has never been so easy. Since the moment you'd been in them for the first time only hours old in the hospital, you’d known his arms were made for holding you. They’ve been yours for as long as you can remember, even longer than that according to the photo album you’d skimmed through earlier. Bradley had been the third person to hold you, second only to your parents. Sure, he couldn’t remember it either, and Nick and Carole were probably doing most of the work keeping you balanced in his little lap, but the point is, he was made for holding you, and you were made for being held by him. Your face tucks so naturally under the curve of his chin and your lips press even easier to his throat, kissing at his voice that you love so much. It comes out to thank you for the adoration in a gentle hum, one that thrums against your lips. 

His hands revel in their access to the extent of your back, brushing and roving and stroking over every inch of the space he’s granted. It’s ticklish but you don’t dare squirm, letting his fingers send miniscule bolts of electricity through your skin.

“I love you,” He reminds you as he holds you close, the sleepiness fogging his brain clear as day in his voice, “I really, really do.”

“I love you too, Bradley.” You promise, kissing up his chin to his lips. The pecks you plant there are short, sweet, and chaste, but when you’re done laying them over his face you decide that you want to fall asleep facing him, not hidden away in his chest. Sure, it’s warm and safe there, but you can’t drift off to his sweet face if you can’t see it.

Your solution is to plop your head back onto your pillow, throwing a leg over his waist to keep yourself close. His eyes are droopy, and hold all of the tender sweetness of the puppies he so often resembles. He’s clearly exhausted, and your own eyes slip shut at the sight of his struggling to stay open.

“Night, Brad.” You yawn, settling against your pillow with the tip of your nose brushing his own, “Welcome home.”

“Night, baby. Love you,” He gushes, as if you hadn’t just exchanged the words seconds prior. But it feels good, it feels right, so you say it back.

“Love you, too.” You use the last of your energy to reciprocate, sleep taking hold of you in its comforting embrace. You slip away like sand into unconsciousness, all of your thoughts about love, and life, and Bradley, and none of the horrific possibility of his memories returning. Nothing’s going to ruin this moment for you, not now.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[my-little-random-world]

Marta: Do you think we’ll need more fruit? Or… Fina: Marta, calm down, please. Everything is going to be fine. I know you’re doing this for me, and that’s what matters. Marta: Well, I’m also doing it for myself. I really appreciate your father. I want to show him how I feel. Fina: Whatever the reason, it’s not necessary, really. I appreciate it a lot. Marta: Besides, doing these kinds of things makes me feel like we’re a normal couple. Fina: Haha.

Isidro: Good morning, daughter. Fina: Hello, Father. Isidro: What are you doing here so early? Fina: Um... Marta: Good morning, Isidro. Isidro: Ah, good morning. I heard voices and thought it was my daughter talking to Teresa. Fina: We came to have breakfast with you. Marta: And since you’re such an early riser, we wanted to have everything ready for when you got up. Isidro: You’ve gone to so much trouble. Fina: Father... Isidro: Are the two of you finally going together? Is that it or not? Fina: No, be patient, please, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Marta: Don’t you prefer to talk with a coffee in hand? Fina: Yes. Father, no one’s leaving here, neither Marta alone, of course, nor me after her, which I would have done without a doubt. Marta: We’re both staying.

-Next Scene-

Isidro: So, does that mean all the doubts you had about running the company without ending up like your father and brother have been resolved? Marta: It’s true that I was tormented by the thought that ambition might consume me, but after talking with Fina, I realized that as long as she’s with me, that won’t happen. Because she’s my support, and she’s my pillar. Fina: Father, trust in us. This is a decision we’ve made together, and we want you to be a part of it. Marta: And although you may have reasonable doubts, it matters to me, it matters to us, what you think. Isidro: Marta, I want you to understand... Marta: I understand you. You don’t have to justify yourself... Isidro: No, no, let me, let me finish, please. I have to look out for my daughter. When I asked you to leave her, I looked into your eyes and knew I wasn’t being fair. Because your eyes told me that you would never abandon her, because that would be like tearing part of her soul away. Marta: That’s right.

Fina: Well, we’d better eat these scrambled eggs, or they’ll be cold. Isidro: Yes, ma'am! Scrambled eggs... You know, Kelly would say this needs a slice of pancetta. Marta: Pancetta! Fina: Look at him, seriously, there’s no excuse bad enough for him to break his diet. Isidro: Oh, for God’s sake, what a tyrant you are, daughter. Marta, help me convince her, please. Marta: No, the one I need to convince is you, to start addressing me informally... we could say... well, we’re almost family. Fina: Fruit! Father, what you need to eat is fruit! Pancetta, what pancetta? Don Damián: Good morning. Fina: Good morning, Don Damián. Isidro: Do you need something, sir? Don Damián: I was just looking for Gema or Teresa... Because we’ve run out of coffee in the dining room. Marta: There might be some left in the kitchen. Don Damián: Well, no problem, I can check. Eh… by the way, I wanted to let you know that tomorrow some technicians will come to install a television set. I mention it in case someone doesn’t want to miss the momentous occasion. Marta: Looks like we’re modernizing. Don Damián: Eh, yes. Well, Julia deserves the best welcome. *crickets* Well, I’ll stop bothering you. Enjoy your meal. Isidro: Well... is that pancetta coming or what?

-Next Scene-

Don Damián: This morning, when I saw you having breakfast with your father... Fina: Yeah, I saw your face; you were waiting for us to invite you to join, weren’t you? Don Damián: I know I can be pathetic, but yes. Fina: No, Don Damián, you’re not pathetic at all. Don Damián: It’s not your fault, but I didn’t like feeling like an outsider. Fina: In any case, it’s something you need to discuss with your daughter. Don Damián: Yes, I should talk to her, but the problem is that our communication isn’t very good right now. A family issue has come between us. Fina: Yes, Don Damián, I know. You understand that Marta is affected by it, right? Don Damián: Yes, I do. I’d like to fix things with my daughter, but I don’t know how to start. I thought maybe you could help me. Fina: What? Me? No, Don Damián, this is between you and your daughter. I don’t want to get involved or get dragged into it. I hope you understand that. Don Damián: Yes, I know I acted wrongly, Fina, and I’m very sorry, but I can’t change the past. What I want is to make amends. I’m also capable of doing good things, Fina. If Marta trusts you enough to tell you all the bad things I’ve done, she must have also told you how I burned those photos they took of you two. Remember how I made sure your father got the treatment he needed. Fina: And now you come here so I can repay you for all those favors by talking to Marta, is that it? Don Damián: No, no, no, no, please don’t misunderstand me at all. Everything I’ve done, I did from the heart, and I would do it again, Fina, a thousand times. Just as I would cover for my son again. Protecting your loved ones comes naturally to you, doesn’t it? Love is impulsive. Fina: Don Damián, please, I don’t even want to hear about it. I can’t do what you’re asking me to do. Don Damián: I just want Marta to forgive me. Is that so hard for you to understand? I beg you, Fina, give me some clue about how I can do that. Fina: Marta just wants to be herself and live accordingly, without having to justify herself, without pressure. Until you understand that, there’s not much you can do. Don Damián: I’m trying my hardest. Fina: Is that how you try? By sending me to Barcelona or talking to my father to convince me to leave? Is that how? Don Damián: That was at the beginning. You have to understand that it was very hard for me to find out about your relationship like that… all of a sudden. Fina: Don Damián, no! I’m not going to help you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: How are these getting longer lol

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

If you thought the darkness was torturous, the light proves to be worse. You look at your surroundings. It’s eerie. A room curated for one. For you.

The white fluffy stool in front of a matching vanity. A picture of a woman in white sitting in a meadow, flowers all around and a stream flowing through the lush field. A vanity painted with flowers, the night tables matching; the bedspread under you similar woven with pansies. The trim at the top of the wall is pink petals on white and a soft rug under the foot of the bed.

It’s all very cute but deranged. You’d love to have all this and more but you’d rather your apartment. If the price is those three men then you’d rather a gutter. Most importantly, you want your dog.

You can’t even make your demands. The walls can’t give you what you want. You doubt your captors will either but you can try. You can wear them down. You can be nice sure, you prefer that, but it doesn’t mean you can’t be your own brand of evil.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. The noise needles in your ears and you hear the mechanism click. You raise your head to watch the door open and the one with the beard enters. Alan, Arnold? Ugh, you don’t care.

He doesn’t break the threshold. He crosses his arms and stares at you. A ripple in his forehead underlines his thoughts.

“I’m going to bring you out but you have to be good,” he says.

You close your eyes and drop your head. You fill your chest and let out a blasting wail. He grunts and stomps to the bed. He grabs your shoulders, shaking you until you nearly swallow your tongue. You bite the tip as he sits you up and you’re forced to face him.

“No, no more of that. Or you don’t get your first present.”

“I don’t want any of your presents,” you sneer.

“This one, I think you do,” he intones, “I’m asking you to give me a chance. Let me show you that this isn’t just for us. This is about you, honey.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you hiss, “why can’t you just let me go?”

He shakes his head, “it’s too late for that.”

“I won’t behave. I swear, I’m going to scream–” you inhale and he quickly covers your mouth, his other hand coming around the back of your skull. 

He hushes you as his blue eyes darken, “honey, I’m being nice right now, so you need to go along with this. If you don’t…” he pauses and looks over his shoulder, “I don’t know what they’ll do.”

You furrow your brow. Getting out of this room is one step closer to escape. You can be good. For now.

You let the tension leave your body and soften your expression. He senses it and slowly slides his hand away from your mouth. You flick your lashes, putting on your best pout.

“Okay, Alan, I’ll be good,” you avow.

His brow tweaks and his cheek ticks. His nostrils flare as his chest rise and falls, “it’s Andy.”

“Right, I’m sorry, I’m really freaked out,” you show your teeth sheepishly, “that other guy… he hurt me.”

“Which one?” He asks.

“Er… stache guy.”

“I’ll talk to him,” he huffs, “can I untie you?”

“Yeah.”

“No, honey, I’m asking,” he looks you straight in the face, “you’re not going to try anything, right?”

“I can be good,” you squirm, “my wrists hurt.”

“Alright.”

He lays you back and rolls you over. He pulls the tape away from your arms, then your ankles. You think of the trick from the van. You know his weak spot but it’s too soon for that. Timing, it all comes down to the right opportunity.

“Let’s go,” he takes your hand and helps you up.

You get to your feet and let him lead you out. His large hand clings to yours as he pulls you after him like a child. As you go into the hall, you examine every inch of the place. He takes you into the front room, a low din that in any other circumstance would be cozy.

It looks like any other living room. A sectional and an armchair, an artificial fireplace set into the wall, a mantel trimmed in tinsel, a rich carpet spread over the dark hardwood, and shelves of books along with a television mounted to the wall. The tree in the corner stands bare over a red velvet skirt.

“We can decorate the tree tonight and see if Santa leaves anything for tomorrow.”

You hold back a scoff, “um, I know Santa isn’t real.”

He chuckles, “it’s a joke.”

“Is this the surprise?” You deflate. Sounds like work to you. Of course, your apartment is too small for a proper tree but you’re less than excited for a pastime you always longed for.

“No, not the only one,” he lets you go as you tug on your hand. “Honey, we did this all for you.”

You turn on him, “I didn’t ask you too.”

“Hey, hey, why are you acting like this? You’re such a sweet girl.”

You swallow tightly and hear beeping again. Then a clamour that includes a scramble, some scraping and the thump of a door against something else. You try to see past Andy as you feel cold air rush in from outside. You want to race past him but he’d be on you in a moment.

You hear a familiar growl before another voice wafts in from the entryway.

“Ah, he bit me. Again!” One man says.

“You think I’m having fun at the ass end?” The other retorts.

“Woah, oh, shit–”

There’s a duller thump and you hear claws and paws on the floor. Your heart leaps and you look around Alan– Andy as you hear the heavy breaths bounding towards you. 

“Ernie!” You squeal as the Saint Bernard lumbers in, furtively searching before he spots you. “Ernie, my boy. Oh, baby boy.”

He nearly knocks over Andy as he barrels into your arms. You hug him around the neck and inhale the scent of his fur. His collar tinkles and let his warmth ease your fear. You were so worried about him, more than even yourself.

“You said it was a puppy,” the bare-faced man snarls as he shakes his hand.

“I didn’t know…” Andy says.

“He is a puppy,” you insist.

“Who let the pussycat out?” The mustachioed creep asks.

Your eyes shoot darts in his direction and his hand shields his pants, almost instinctively. Ernie drags his large rough tongue up your cheek. He was scared too but now you have each other.

“Surprise,” Andy says, “so now, honey, you’re going to be good, right?”

You look at him and chew your lip. His eyes fall to Ernie and you put your arm in front of the dog. He doesn’t need to put his threat into words.

“Shit, I’m bleeding. That thing got shots?” Scarf asks.

“What about the girl? She got me good,” Mustache snickers.

“No, but maybe I should get checked now,” you snip.

“Woa-ho!” Mr. Caterpillar exclaims, “she’s got a mouth.”

“Honey,” Andy warns, “we’re being good, right?”

You huff and nod.

“So, apologise.”

“What?” You burst out, “he–” You stop and look between all three men. You have Ernie but you’re more worried about him getting hurt than knowing he’d hurt them in an instant. Even then, he has his head low, a steady rumble brewing in him.

“That thing needs to calm down,” the naked faced one whines, still cradling his hand.

“He’s confused,” you defend your son, “okay? And I’m sorry, er, dude, I’m sure you don’t have any communicable diseases.”

“The fuck? Disease– Alright,” the man steps forward, “that’s it. First she bites me, then she kicks me in the dick and now–”

“Lloyd,” Andy puts his hand up, “no. We’re all just getting used to each other. You’re not exactly easy to be around yourself.”

“Fuck that, I’m funny,” the fuzzy lipped man, Lloyd, argues.

“Everyone just quit,” Andy demands, “alright? Did you get the food?”

“Food?” The bare-faced man shrugs out of his jacket, “what food?”

“For the dog? I told you–” Andy begins.

“Ah, shit, knew we forgot something,” Lloyd chuckles, “he’ll be fine. He can eat chicken, can’t he?”

“He has a sensitive tummy,” you say.

“Jesus,” the third man grumbles as he hangs his scarf over his coat. “I’m not going back. It’s late.”

“Can he have rice? Carrots?” Andy suggests.

“I guess, I don’t know if he’ll eat 'em,” you look at Ernie as his deep brown eyes meet yours. You pet his head to keep him calm. He doesn’t like these men any more than you do.

“Fine,” Andy huffs, “go get the decorations,” he orders the others.

“Why don’t you get the decorations?” Lloyd sneers.

“She needs to change,” Andy explains.

“Like we can’t help her,” the other man challenges.

“I don’t often agree with him, but he’s right. We’ll get her changed.”

You grimace as your eyes ping pong at the back and forth of their conversation. This isn’t good. You don’t enjoy being talked about like you’re not there.

“How about I get myself changed?” You offer.

The men turn to you. None of them seem impressed. A sudden peel of thunder fills the room and you look at Ernie. His bark echoes in your ears.

“Shut that thing up,” Lloyd snaps.

“He’s quiet,” you say, “he was just saying the same about you.”

“Really?” He goes to take another step forward and the other man stops him, “Ransom, let me go.”

“I’ll take her, you two go get the decorations,” he says.

Andy frames his hips and sighs, “fine. We all know the plan. Let’s stick to it.”

You want to raise your hand and clarify that you do not, in fact, know the plan but you suspect you’re not a part of the collective. You keep your hand on Ernie and gulp. He nuzzles your hip.

You bend and pet behind his ear, “it’s okay.” It’s not. You move to face him, “sit,” you raise your voice, “stay. I’ll be right back.”

As you stand, the dog obeys. He’s a gentle giant, at least with you. You pat his head and turn away. The men watch you.

“That thing listens?” The one they called Ransom asks.

“He can.”

“Come on,” he beckons you with two fingers, a smirk ghosting on his lips.

“This is bullshit,” Lloyd mutters as Andy approaches him.

“We can keep talking all night,” Andy pats his shoulder, “or get things moving.”

“Whatever,” the man smooths his mustache.

You reluctantly move towards the third man, the one with no personality grown out on his lip or jaw. A baby face if you ever saw one. The way he leers makes you uncomfortable. He smells like Armani.

“Not smiling now, are you?” He says under his breath as he ushers you down the hall.

He points you into that same bedroom. You stop just inside and he shoulders past you with a grumble. You watch him go to the wardrobe and open it. You look between him and the door. You could make it.

You wait a few seconds as he pushes hangers over the bar. You take a step. He doesn’t notice. Another and he’s bitching about colours. You didn’t think men were that picky. You get right in the frame of the door and back out. He looks around the open wardrobe.

“Bye,” you wave and pull the door shut.

You know he’s probably swearing at you but you can’t hear him. You hold onto the handle and hit the little lock icon in the corner of the keypad. The deadbolt rolls into place.

This is it. You edge out to the living room. You don’t see anybody. Ernie sits where you left him, sniffing the air. He sees you and perks up. You wave him over and he lifts his rump, taking careful steps across the room.

You grab his collar and take him with you to the front door. You twist the handle, it doesn’t budge. You flip the lock over it, still nothing. You don’t know what to do. What the hell?

You search around you. The windows are barred, you can’t get out that way. There’s a small box right beside the door. You flip it open to reveal another keypad. Fuck.

“And where are we going, pussy cat?” The question nips your ears as a plastic ornament pings off the wall beside you. You spin and face the mustachioed menace. 

“You know, I just need some fresh air.”

Ernie growls and puts himself between you and the man, keeping the distance with his body. He prowls around, snout low as he paces back and forth. Lloyd steps closer and the dog mirrors him.

“Call that thing off,” he demands.

“Why would I do that?” You challenge.

“Well I’m sure you wouldn’t like it if I made him stop,” he opens and closes his fist.

“You wouldn’t hurt a puppy–”

“I’ll do what needs to be done,” he tilts his head.

“Ernie,” you call the dog, “quiet. Sit.”

The dog lets out a wispy boof but listens. He flops his butt down and glares at the man. You put your hands up and step forward.

“You’re mean. How can you threaten an innocent dog?”

“He drooled on my Jimmy Choo’s,” he says, “come on,” he grabs you by the back of the neck, “let’s go get the dumbass out.”

Ernie barks as you whimper. You flutter your hand at him as Lloyd’s fingertips pinch into your tendons, “Ern, it’s okay, I’m okay. Stay.”

He must hear the panic. He remains, restlessly shifting his front paws. You march beside the man back to the hallway. You reach to touch his arm and he only squeezes harder.

“Shouldn’t blame you for trying,” he says, “but I will.”

[jupiter-letters]

Dating J'onn J'onnz would include:

Fem!Reader or GN!Reader TW: None

A/N: For the sake of my sanity and J’onn’s happiness, Martians are alive and well and these headcanons are based more on the young justice show. The reader is already a member of the justice league in this but maybe I’ll do some civilian headcanons later.

You both started out as pretty good friends but you never thought he’d like you romantically due to cultural differences. For him what you looked like didn’t really matter, your personalities meshed so well he wanted you around all the time. 

Despite having an open and honest friendship you kind of tried to bury your feelings from J’onn when you guys would talk telepathically. He did pick up on this though and it bothered him for a while but he didn’t want to pry. 

There’s this lingering tension though, you both like each other but one doesn’t want to overstep and the other is afraid of rejection. Other people can pick up on it too but nobody wants to say anything. There’s this romantic undertone with how you guys talk to each other but again nobody says anything. The other members of the league watching you guys interact is basically like this:

J’onn: “Would you like some refreshments after your journey to the watchtower? I’ve prepared some coffee for you.”  You: Ah, no thank you I appreciate it! Are you ok? I heard your last fight in Metropolis was tough, I was worried about you.  J’onn: And I you, your battle with Grodd caused me some distress but it was well fought. I’m happy you are unharmed.”

Wonder woman, Superman and Shazam standing in the corner like ???🧍‍♀️🧍‍♂️🧍???

Things really get shaken up when M’gann makes her debut, she picks up on it as soon as you enter the room thinking you wouldn’t mind(due to your friendship of course). She ends up reaching into that crevice you thought you’d hidden. J’onn is unaware of this for like a second before she just comes out and says it. “Uncle J’onn have you guys started dating yet??” After she says that he’s looking at her like 👁️👄👁️. 

You fall out of your chair and M’gann realizes she messed up. Lucky for her she made a swift exit out of the room. You try not to make eye contact but J’onn is looking directly at you. 

At this point you both couldn’t put it off anymore and talked it out. You tell him your insecurities and he does the same. His fears about the attraction not being mutual due to the whole alien thing. Fortunately for you guys none of that matters since you’re so sickeningly in love. Now we get to the nitty gritty! The dating!

J’onn does everything in his power to learn Earth customs, especially your own culture, the language, the food. He wants to learn about it all to be closer to you. If english isn’t your native language he does a little brain download of it and speaks it with you. He’ll even prepare your favorite dish despite many, many failed attempts. When you make the same effort to learn about Martian culture it really warms his heart. It’s a rocky road but you get the hang of it, his family loves having you over. They’ll shapeshift into you when you come over and give you one big hug. 

You have to awkwardly explain why you’re seeing a new guy every week before J’onn chooses a form he likes. He doesn’t understand why it’d be a problem but he stops for you. It doesn’t matter though since he takes it off when you get home or when you’re among friends. He loves to shapeshift for you to make you laugh, turning into celebrities or mascots to prank you. You wake up in the morning and open the bathroom door to see Chiitan taking a shower. He’ll even do stupid stuff like long furbys or the fresno nightcrawler. 

Fighting together is a breeze, nobody is crazy enough to go after you in the field. And psychic attacks forget it, you can’t beat a martian when it comes to telepathy. People often underestimate how strong J’onn actually is so they do enter the process of fucking around and finding out. He never doubts your ability to protect yourself either but if the need arises and you get overwhelmed he will step in. 

You understand J’onn’s feelings more than most, despite constantly being linked to each other’s mind. Like Bruce his body language is subtle, there are certain ways his lips twitch or how he rubs his fingers together. You both have a great understanding of each other’s emotions, it’s so wonderful. He never keeps things from you and is very blunt with his opinions. He feels like it’s insulting to you to use flowery language instead of being honest. 

He doesn’t mind PDA, however much you’re comfortable with he’ll do. However he won’t be hanging off of you in public, he will stay within arms reach. He always wants you to know he’s nearby and you’re safe. His love language largely revolves around words of affirmation. J’onn is a great person to vent to since he is a great listener and he’s lived a long life so he’s got some words of wisdom. You need advice? He’s your man.

You can literally feel how much he loves you, he’ll even show you how he sees you. All colorful and bright like the sun. He’d literally walk through fire for you, his loyalty is unmatched.🗣️🗣️ You always tell him he doesn’t need to but he’ll do it anyway. After the most difficult day of missions and handling Martian and Earth politics, a moment in your arms rejuvenates him. For someone who isn’t super touchy the other thing he loves to do is hold your head in his hands and press your foreheads together. No words are exchanged, you just quietly enjoy each other’s presence. 

Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think. Please like or reblog if you like my stuff.

[ttinygoldenbird]

Athena "Thea" Second

My Our Life: Now and Forever MC!

Here's what feels like a very long ramble! (even wrote in a very professional way with proper capitalization n everything, lol)

I'm very fond of this lil character I've created for a game series that I cherish dearly <3

-- Step one ✩ ° 。⋆⸜ 

Pronouns: she/her

Nickname: Thea

10 years old and left handed

She has a scar on her neck that travels down to her collarbone but that part’s not really visible. She got it from an accident/clumsy moment before she moved. Now she tries her best not to get hurt.

She has two moles/beauty marks! One under her right eye and the other above her left eyebrow which she loves a lot. They’re like small stars that she gets to keep for herself (aw, my heart).

Star gazer, star lover, star admirer. Writes tiny love letters to the moon. Will absolutely point out and ramble about star constellations at any given time (Her favorite is Orion!) While she's a star and moon admirer by night she becomes a forest gremlin by day. UNTIL it's time for school and she’s suddenly quiet as a mouse.

Loves a bit of academic validation. Feels like she has to be the smartest she can be—to her, she has a pretty big namesake to live up to!

Owns a skateboard and feels like the coolest kid every time she rides it.

It didn’t rain a lot back where the Second’s used to live so! Anytime it rains in Golden Grove, and she’s able to take some time to herself, Athena will go outside, sit curled under her umbrella, and watch the rain blur the forest around her. This becomes a tradition and her very own act of self-love over the years.

She’s quite confident in how she views herself and doesn’t shy away from expressing her thoughts and feelings. She’s very vocal in letting Qiu and Tamarack know how much she appreciates them but she’s not afraid to join in on some teasing. Most importantly, she likes to make her loved ones feel loved!

Starts ice skating classes which she absolutely loves!

First time she met Qiu and Tamarack she whispered, “pretty” without even realizing it. They’re the prettiest people she’s ever met besides her mom.

Attached to Tamarack’s hip and she becomes her first BFF! However, at first she was unsure if Tamarack was genuine because of how many compliments she gave. That changed really quickly after they talked in her backyard after the first day of school. Forest gremlin buddies for life!

Admires Qiu like a lot. Except after learning how popular Qiu was on the first day of school, she develops a small amount of doubt on if they genuinely liked her as a friend. That worry washes away really quickly though!

Wants some stability in her life so moving to Golden Grove is troubling at first until she realizes she never has to move again then she falls in love with her new home.

She’s never felt a desire to meet her biological father because in her mind it’s always been her and her mom since forever. Why does she need to care about this silent figure? However, she does feel self-conscious whenever it’s brought up to other people because she never knows how they’ll react. It became a topic of teasing/judgement back in her old hometown.

She absolutely loves that she looks just her mom. And as far as she cares to know, the color of her eyes is the only thing she has in common with this unknown father figure. And right now? She’s not a fan of them. It’s a feature of herself that she’ll have to learn to love as she grows older.

-- Step two ✩ ° 。⋆⸜

Pronouns: she/her (?)

Still sometimes goes by Thea!

Age 14 and has grown quite tall.

Athena gathers any mementos from each season that she finds most beautiful. Such as, a flower from the first bloom of spring or a striking red leaf from autumn. They’re pressed and kept in a journal with the year and season written in the corner. Sometimes she keeps them because they remind her of Qiu and Tamarack…ohh what’s this feeling?

Still writes and whispers all her secrets to the moon.

Still in love with the stars and moon, skateboards, ice skating, and now takes pottery lessons!

Coffee becomes a staple in her life because she doesn’t know what a good sleep schedule is anymore. Too many late nights spent studying or watching the moon and stars.

Regularly has nail painting sessions with Qiu. Sometimes they even match each other! When she got her new ear piercings, Qiu went with her and got their own piercings

Listens to Tamarack practice her cello any chance she gets. It’s truly magical and if she could, she’d listen forever.

Believes it’s her duty to keep the neighbor trio together forever so the falling out between Qiu and Tamarack is a difficult thing for her. Qiu and Tamarack are her BEST FRIENDS! They can't Not like each other!

Still strives for academic success and validation (Look out she might burn out!)

Will absolutely give a big wholesome or cheesy smile every time for pictures even with her new braces.

She’s a creature of habit at heart so she likes things that are constant. Like her star earrings, gold colored sweaters, and favorite outdoor jacket. Though some things change like ooh new ear piercings! One summer she even dyes her hair a dark navy blue color to be a lil spontaneous! But soon wants her cranberry hair back. Her friendship with Tamarack is perfect to get her outside of her comfort zone that’s never negative.

She’s a pillar of support for her two best friends. Always willing to listen to any worries or problems. And while she keeps a lot to herself now, she will still open up if asked.

She’s always had a steady amount of confidence in herself but at 14 it starts to waver. She’s desperate to find a balance in how she views herself. Especially seeing Qiu experience a journey with their identity and becoming a little jealous of Tamarack’s femininity. Very complicated feelings that are hard to express and she’s always had an answer but now nothing’s clear.

Continues to be very close with her mom. Now that’s she older she’s starting to see her as a friend too! She tells her everything except her struggles with her identity. She needs to find the answer on her own (but oh, Thea, you can lean on the ones who love you!)

So far, I haven't thought too much on who Thea will develop a crush on, but it might start late step 2 or step 3! But, once she realizes she has a crush/likes another person, she doesn’t know what to do. She’s always watched her mom remain independent and she wants to be just like her mom so why does she have silly feelings about romance all of a sudden? There’s a lot to unpack with this one so that’s saved for step 3 Athena! Poor babes </3

And here’s some extra silly pictures that I think represent Athena pretty well!

[vodika-vibes]

Vodika... could we, please and thank you very much, get another mystic au with the Same Faces Gods? 👉👈 With a commander (Wolffe, Fox, Cody, Mayday, your choice). A first wohoo of love at first sight but busy.

Idk someone tries to appease the gods with a sacrifice, or the imperials try to replicate the technique but it backfires or a friend of 1st reader is a bit clumsy in a good way??

Of course you have every right not to do so!!!!

God Of War

Summary: Your cousin has been missing for months. Her social media has gone dark, and the people in the ExploraCorps have been tight-lipped about her whereabouts. Your family is sick with worry, and no one in the Empire seems willing to help. And then, when you're at work one day, everything changes.

Pairing: Commander Fox x F!Reader

Word Count: 3079

Warnings: Mentions of attempted human sacrifice, and kidnapping

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Thanks for your request! I wasn't sure if you wanted smut or not, so I erred on the side of caution and left this largely SFW. SFWish. I hope you like it!

You peek around your mother to look at your aunt. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped tightly around one of your cousin’s old stuffed animals. Her eyes are glassy with tears. Your uncle has been staring out the back window since you and your mother arrived.

“Are they okay?” You ask, your voice quiet to not be overheard.

Your mother presses her lips together, and lightly cups your face, “Never you mind,” She admonishes, “They’ll be alright. So far as we know, your cousin is alive. They’re just worried about her.”

“The ExploraCorps hasn’t said anything?”

Your mother tapped your nose, “Never you mind.” She leans in and kisses your cheek, “Go on, baby. You’re going to be late for work.”

Worriedly, you gaze at your aunt and uncle and then back to your mother, “Are you sure? Senator Organa won’t mind giving me the day.”

“I’m sure. I’ll take care of them today,” She lightly pets your cheek, then turns back to her brother and sister-in-law.

You watch them momentarily, then turn and hurry out of their house. Luckily, the taxi is still waiting for you and you climb in the back before giving the driver your destination, the senate building. 

When you completed the placement tests as a child, you had a predisposition for politics and law. You were lucky and were selected to be an assistant for Senator Bail Organa, rather than some of the less agreeable Senators. 

He’s an agreeable man, with a big heart, and has come to view you like a beloved niece. When you told him that you were going to be late that morning due to a family emergency, he offered to give you the whole day.

If you thought that your presence would help your aunt and uncle, you’d take him up on that offer. But your uncle took one look at you and nearly collapsed to the ground in his grief.

You pay your taxi driver and head into the Senate Dome, walking the familiar path without really paying attention. It’s late enough in the day that there aren’t many people roaming the halls.

Which is good for you, because you’re not paying the most attention to your surroundings. 

You don’t snap back to yourself until you open the door to Senator Organa’s office and he says your name. You focus your attention on him, and he smiles kindly, “I wasn’t expecting to see you until this afternoon.”

You pause, and then duck your head, “Sorry, Senator. My presence wasn’t helping things, so Mom said to come in.”

He looks worried, “Is everything alright?”

Your hands curl into fists, “My cousin is a member of the ExploraCorps. She’s missing. Has been for months, and no one is telling us anything. Her social media has gone dark and…” You trail off, “Well, we’re worried.”

“I can understand that. Would you like me to reach out?”

“I appreciate it, Senator. But I doubt you’ll get an answer any different than what we got.” You sigh, “I just need something to do, that’s all.”

He walks over to you, and lightly places his hand on your shoulder, “Well, I have a lot of that. Would you be a dear, and deliver this stack of missives for me?”

You glance at the small stack of brown envelopes, and then you nod, “For the Perkins Bill?”

“Indeed. I’m sure it’s going to pass, everyone supports it, but we need to do things properly.” He walks over to his desk and hands you the stack of envelopes. “Take your time, there’s no rush.”

“Yes, Senator.” You reply as you flip through the envelopes, and then pause when you get to the last one, “Senator?”

“Yes?”

“This last envelope isn’t labeled.”

“Oh?” He takes it, and stares at it in bewilderment, “I think this goes to the ExploraCorps.”

You stare at him.

“Ah, hold on.” He moves around his desk to open the envelope, and scans the content inside, “Ah, I was wrong. This goes to the Director of the MediCorps.”

A frown pulls at your lips, “Wasn’t the director of the MediCorps recently replaced?”

“Yes, he was.” Senator Organa flips open a binder and scans a sheet of paper at the top, “The current director is…hm…ah, here she is. Doctor Yasmin Kelb.”

“What happened to Doctor Trudel?” 

“Medically Retired.” Senator Organa replies, “Cancer.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It is.” You watch as he seals the paper in a new envelope and labels it to Doctor Kelb, “Here you go. Once you deliver all of these, come on back. I’ll have some more for you then.”

“Yes, Senator.”

“Good, lass. Off you run.”

You turn and leave his office, and stop in the hallway to organize the envelopes in a way that makes sense to you. Mentally, you map out the senate building and organize the delivery schedule in such a way that you won’t have to backtrack a lot, and then you start making deliveries.

The nicest thing about being Bail Organa’s aide is that you’re largely invisible. The people you work with don’t see you so much as Senator Organa’s crest on your nice jacket, and it gives you access to places where you normally wouldn’t have access.

It’s only fair. Senator Organa is a very well-respected man, almost as well respected as his lady wife. And anyone who is even remotely attached to him is treated with the same amount of respect.

It’s one of the few perks of your job.

The other one is the daily free food and coffee.

Finally, you only have the envelope for Doctor Kelb, and so you hop on the elevator to go up to the Director of the MediCorps office. Only to find yourself in front of an empty room.

“Everything alright?” A security guard asks as he walks over to you, glancing at the crest on your jacket, and the straightening.

“I have a message to deliver to Doctor Kelb for Senator Organa. Did the location of the MediCorps office change?”

“Yes ma’am,” He nods once, “They’re in the basement now. At Doctor Kelb’s request. You’ll find her office next to Director Frosch’s office.”

Slowly, you nod, “Next to the Office of the ExploraCorps?”

“That’s right.”

You hum thoughtfully, “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. Have a good day, ma’am.”

“You as well.” You turn and head back to the elevator, bypassing the first one and heading to the second one. There’s only one elevator that heads to the basement, for security reasons, luckily you already have an access card and you don’t have to go ask the Senator to use his.

You wave your card over the panel next to the elevator, and the door slides open several moments later. You hit the button for sublevel one, and you wave your card over the panel inside the elevator, which allows the doors to slide shut and the elevator to start moving. 

It takes almost a whole minute to get to sublevel 1, that’s just how massive the senate building is, and you scrunch up your nose at the scent. The sublevel smells like a disgusting mix of antiseptic, the pine of the cleaning solution that cleaners use, and mildew. There must be a water leak somewhere.

You walk down the hall until you reach Director Frosch’s office, and you peer at the two offices next to his. 

One is empty, it used to belong to the director of the EduCorps, but EduCorps was moved to the local university several months ago. But the other one has a temporary door sign marking it as the office of Doctor Yasmin Kelb.

The door is shut, but you can see a light on under the door, so you lightly knock and wait.

The door swings open so suddenly, and with such force, that you jump back.

If you were to meet Doctor Kelb on the street, you’d think that she was a professional dancer. Less thin and more willowy. She towers over you, standing nearly the same height as your uncle as best as you can tell, and she squints at you through a pair of wireframe glasses. “What?” She demands, impatiently.

“Doctor Kelb? I have a missive for you from Senator Organa-” You start, holding out the envelope, only to blink as the woman rips it from your hands.

“Yes, yes. Good.” She vanishes into her office, and you stare at the spot where the woman had been standing, wondering if you should just leave, only to jump when she appears again, “What are you doing?” She demands, “Follow.”

“I…yes, Doctor!” You step into her office and she slams the door shut behind you.

Her office is a mess. Boxes and books and loose papers leave very little walking space.

“Ignore the mess,” The Doctor says as she brushes past you, knocking a box full of papers to the floor. “I just moved in.” 

Her office is a lot bigger than any of the other offices. It almost looks like her office continues deeper beneath the Senate Building. 

“Doctor?” You ask.

“What?”

“Where are you taking me?” 

The woman sighs explosively, “Keep up, girl.” It’s not a very neat side-step of your question, and you’re starting to get an eerie feeling, as though you should probably leave.

“...Senator Organa will be waiting for me.” You say as you slow to a stop.

The woman sighs again and spins to look at you. There’s a frightening look on her face, and you take half a step back, only to trip over a book and fall.

“This,” Doctor Kelb says to you as she advances on you, a syringe in her hand, “is for the good of the Empire.”

“W-wait-!” You try to scramble back but there’s nowhere to go. 

You feel the sharp sting of a needle entering your neck and the cold feeling of something entering your body. Panicked, you manage to kick the woman off of her, but you only manage to get a few feet away from her before whatever she injected you with takes hold.

A terrified sob falls from you, even as the world fades to darkness.

Slowly, you come back to yourself.

You’re in a dimmed room, and you seem to be lying on stone. 

Immediately you know that you’re either no longer in the senate building, or you’re so deep beneath the building that you might as well be somewhere else. 

Slowly you sit up to take stock of your surroundings. 

The first thing you note is that you’re naked, even your hair tie has been removed. Your feet are chained to this stone bed, though there doesn’t appear to be anything keeping you from moving. 

There’s a deep gash on the palm of your left hand. Curiously, it’s already been wrapped in bandages.

You turn your attention away from yourself and to your surroundings. It appears that you’re in some kind of ritual circle, like the ones you learned about in history class all those years ago.

Across from you is a stone table. You can’t see, exactly, what’s on it, but you do see a blanket folded on the table, as well as the skull of some type of animal.

Around the edges of the circle is Doctor Kelb, as well as several members of the ExploraCorps.

They don’t seem to notice, or care, that you’re awake. 

“We have everything,” Director Frosch insists, “This is exactly what the ritual entails.”

“I agree.” Doctor Kelb says with a dispassionate glance at you, before she looks back at the director, “Best get started before the sacrifice starts making a nuisance of herself.”

“Yes, yes.” Doctor Frosch strokes his beard and then picks up a lighter and lowers it to a divot in the ground.

You watch, in numb horror, as flames spring to life around you. Blocking the people who kidnapped you from sight.

They mean to burn you alive.

You’re only thought, hope, is that maybe it’ll be quick. Maybe your death won’t hurt too much.

The flames lick up the sides of the stone bed you’re strapped and you can feel the almost cold heat of the flames licking the soles of your feet. You slam your eyes shut, you don’t want to see this.

Then the impossible happens.

The flames bend away from you, the pain in your feet fades, and a cool hand presses against your cheek. Tearfully, you look up.

A man is standing over you, just as naked as you are, but strangely, you aren’t afraid of him. “It’s going to be okay.” He says soothingly, as he drapes the blanket over your shoulders and wraps it around you.

You start as the manacles holding you to the stone bed shatter as if they were never there to begin with. “Who-?”

His other hand presses against your cheek, tilting your head back so you’re meeting his gaze, “My name is Fox. I am the patron god of the forgotten and the abused.” Something like malice slides across his face, “I do not think they meant to summon me.”

Even with the malice rolling off of him in waves, you’re still not afraid of him.

Then he smiles at you, soft and warm, and he lightly presses his lips against your forehead, “All will be well. I promise.” The flames finally die down and Fox helps you off the bed and stands you behind him. “Stay behind me, ad’ika.”

You nod mutely and cower behind him.

Director Frosch and Doctor Kelb step into the circle, “Finally.” The director says, “Proof.”

Fox gazes at them dispassionately.

“We are the ones who summoned you,” Doctor Kelb says, “You have to obey us.”

“Oh? I didn’t see you in the summoning circle,” Fox replies.

The two adults share a look before the Director clears his throat, “We are at war, we need your expertise to destroy our enemies.”

Fox smiles, “I am a god of war.”

“Yes! So you can kill our enemies for us-”

“I am not a god of slaughter.” Fox interrupts.

“Then…then you can tell us strategies to help us win-”

“I am not a strategic god.”

“Then who-?”

Fox advances on them, “I am a god of war. I am every mother who has lost her son. Every wife who has lost her husband. Every orphaned child.” He pauses and glances at you, “...every sacrifice. Everyone who has been forgotten and abused.”

The protective circle crumbles, not meant to hold the will of a deity, and the people who kidnapped you scramble back as shadows pool at Fox’s feet.

“How dare you call on me.”

You see the shadows sliding across the floor, and you slam your eyes shut as the shadows lift from the ground. This isn’t for your eyes. Even though you can’t see what’s happening, you can hear it.

Screaming, and begging, and the sound of something sharp cutting through flesh.

And then-

Silence.

The silence is almost deafening, and you only open your eyes when you feel those cool fingers against your face again.

“They will never harm you, or anyone else, again,” Fox says. There’s blood splattered on his face, and you use the corner of the blanket to reach up and wipe the blood off of his face.

His gaze softens as he watches you.

“What happens now?” You ask.

Fox hums thoughtfully as he takes your hand in his, “I have never had a priestess before. Though, I’ve also never had a priest before either. People generally aren’t fool enough to summon me.”

“I didn’t-”

“Shh.” He presses his finger against your lips, “I know you didn’t summon me. But, you are mine. Mine to protect, mine to hold, mine to love.”

Your face heats at his words. Not that you’re complaining. You feel drawn to him, and you wonder if the ritual had something to do with that. But it doesn’t matter. Not really.

You don’t want to leave his side.

Fox moves his finger from your lips and leans in so his lips are hovering over yours, “I should finish the claiming,” He murmurs, chuckling as you try to lean in to kiss him, “But we’re not safe yet. And I want to take my time with claiming you.”

He pulls away and you make a disappointed noise.

Fox chuckles, “Patience, ner ad’ika. When we’re safe, I will give you everything you want and more.”

You try to hide your disappointment, but you must not do a great job of it, as Fox leans in and trails his lips from your ear to your jaw. It’s like shooting electricity down your spine.

He chuckles, “Oh, ad’ika, I am going to have fun playing with you.” Fox pulls away, “Is there someone safe in this building?”

“Um…Senator Organa is a good man.” You say, your face heated from embarrassment. 

“Then we should go to him.”

“W-wait! We can’t walk through the Senate naked!” You blurt.

Fox pauses and glances at you, and then down at himself, “I suppose you have a point. Can you get him here?”

“If I can find a phone, yes.” You step out of the ritual circle, and make a face at the bodies, “Gross.”

“They insulted me.” Fox says as he sits on the stone bed you were just chained to, “They’re lucky I didn’t do worse.”

“Ah, found one!” You pick up a working phone and dial a number you know by heart, “Uh…what should I say about you?” You ask as the phone starts ringing. 

Fox just shrugs and leans back slightly, his dark eyes locked on you, an almost hungry look on his face.

Slightly flustered, you turn away from him as your boss answers the phone. You give him a very abridged version of what happened, but you have the feeling that he knows something is wrong because he promises to be there immediately. 

“He’ll be here in a bit.”

Fox hums, and pats the stone bed next to him, “How about you tell me exactly what’s happening here?”

“I can do that.” You move to sit next to him, only for him to pull you onto his lap and bury his face in your neck. 

Absently, you wrap your arms around him and play with his curls at the base of his neck as you start talking. You know that nothing is going to be the same now.

You hope your mother will forgive you.

[citylighten]

At 6 AM Chestnut Ridge was in the process of waking up. As Zoe and the kids soundly slept, Michael stared at the ceiling with heavy pressure in his chest. He told Zoe he would call his father when his parents came back from Oasis Springs so he had to stick to it. If he procrastinated (shied away) she would’ve confronted him about his fear, and even beyond that, there was a chance he would be face to face with his dad for some reason later in the day. “This place reminds you of Tartosa, doesn’t it?”

Michael’s nerves eased when actually being in his father’s presence. Pietro did not look displeased and he had yet to make any sort of subtle, disapproving remark about one thing or the other. It was Pietro’s mellowed demeanor that allowed a natural conversation to rise. “It reminds me of what I remember about Terra Amorosa.” Pietro corrects. “From my understanding, the land has been gentrified to hell and back.” In conversations like this, it was impossible to forget that his father was an immigrant. If his faint accent wasn’t enough, then it was the nostalgia that hung in his words. “How did it feel going from Terra Amorosa to a place like San Myshuno?” “Horrible.” In the way the word was sneered out Michael knows this was not an exaggeration. “When I saw those buildings, I felt like I was looking at graves stacked on top of each other.” A moment of silence, “I tried to get accustomed to city life, but I never felt like I belonged there…being on this land is good for me.” Quiet, Michael thought of his youth in San Sequoia, wondering how satisfied his father was in the suburban atmosphere. It was more peaceful than San Myshuno, that Michael was certain of, but did his father ever really feel at ease? Before he could question this, Pietro’s voice brought him back to reality.“I know living here isn’t what you dreamed of,” he started, a hint of understanding in his eyes. “But you’re doing a great job with the horses. I appreciate your help there. But, what does that mean when you’re unhappy?” “You could tell?” “You’re my son, Michele.” Pietro says, “I know you better than you know yourself. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this…” the old man takes a seat on a bench, and though Michael knows he’s expected to sit beside him, he hesitates. Shit, what awaited him? A lecture? Silent and obedient, Michael sits. “I’m getting older,” Pietro begins, “When it comes to dealing with people, I don’t have the patience I did when I was a younger man. I could use your assistance with the wine distribution.” “Really? You want me?” Pietro nods. “I thought of asking Carlo some time ago, but I doubt he’d have any interest.”

“But what about the horses?” Michael finds himself asking for some reason, as if he cared about the creatures.

“They’ll be fine, I can always hire another man.” Pietro insisted. “But for this job I can’t hire anyone. That…and I would prefer to keep business within the family. I’ve come too far to give what I’ve accomplished to another man. You’ll shadow me, watch how I negotiate, then after so long I’ll leave business to you.” “All of it?” “All of it.” “I’ve never-” “I’ll be here for you as an advisor, you won’t be alone.”

Even in hearing those warm words, Michael hesitated. He didn’t know if he would have the temperament, the language, to enter business rooms, to embody his father. The weight of expectation pressed on him. But even so, this sounded better - far better - than tending to horses. He clears his throat. “I can give it a try…”

[zbeez-outlet]

i totally get ur annoyance with the vi calling reader 'cupcake' thing! idk if this might make it "better" (???) (and pls dont take this the wrong way!! just wanna provide some context :D) but it seems in the original league of legends lore, vi tends to call other people cupcake too!

she does it in this short story that was released way before arcane was even conceived of:

https://leagueoflegends.fandom.com/wiki/Interrogation_101

but i totally get why it would irk you given the arcane-focused fics that are coming out tho!

This is great context to know, but since my knowledge of League begins and ends with Arcane, it’ll probably always bother me at least a little because I will just instinctively associate it with Caitlyn. I think a lot of fans will for similar reasons. And I doubt, if we see them in the other shows they have planned, that they’ll have Vi use it on anyone else. But it is nice to know she uses it for other people too in the more extensive lore. Appreciate you!!

My thoughts on Vi calling Reader Cupcake

[presidenthades]

Finished writing the rough draft of Compromise Ch. 13. 🥳 Here’s the behind-the-scenes commentary for Lavender Ch. 3 to celebrate.

Usual disclaimer that these thoughts aren’t necessarily canonical to the fic verse until/unless I write them into the actual story.

Aegon: “I don’t like when Aemond beats me up, but if he does then Jace will kiss it better. 🤔.” This man would be writing Hurt/Comfort and whumpfic on AO3 lmao.

Aegon trains a bit more with the sword than in canon. Because he’s been named the heir, he is more willing to go through the motions of being the heir. His heart isn’t really in it until Jace comes along.

This chapter, Aegon has a bit of a breakdown when he realizes Jace isn’t in love with him (yet). To be fair to Jace, it’s only been a few weeks since they married. I also feel like Aegon, while definitely on his way to being in love, is still mostly in the infatuation stage. They’ll get there soon enough! His thoughts about her acting the same with any other husband are kind of true: Jace would be the textbook perfect wife no matter whom she married. But as we know from her POV, she has a lot happening under the surface, and those thoughts/feelings would be very different.

Myranda has made the mistake of confusing Aegon’s favoritism with genuine affection. I kind of feel for her, because life as a prostitution (even an expensive one favored by a prince) in this setting is not great. She’s convinced herself there’s a chance for her to achieve a happily ever after. But she knew about the moon tea meant for Jace, so it’s hard to feel too bad. 🤷🏻‍♀️

Aegon is upset when she says “I love you” because he’d rather hear it from Jace.

Of course Larys isn’t going to heed Aegon’s request to hide the truth about Myranda from Jace. TBH, if Aegon has been upfront about it, Larys wouldn’t have been able to use it as a weakness later. But Aegon is in panic mode.

Myranda is in unrequited love with Aegon, and Aegon is in unrequited (for now) love with Jace. What a mess.

I cackled when I was writing the bit about Aegon detailing Jace’s flaws. He immediately turns around to argue with himself about why they aren’t actually flaws. 😂

I mentioned Jace and Aegon’s marriage contract, and I went into more detail about it in Compromise. I also previously wrote another post about it here.

You know Aegon really cares when he makes sure his wife is eating. 🥺

In the letter to Viserys, Rhaenyra calls Aegon “your son” because she really can’t call him her brother, huh. 💀

There’s a theme in the fic of women first belonging to their father, then to their husband. It’s why Jace seems like a pawn at first. But later Luce takes advantage of the patriarchy to ensure she can stay with her sister.

I was cursing my decision to give Myranda her name when I kept writing about Myranda and Mysaria in quick succession this chapter. 💀

Just as Rhaenyra has a low opinion of him, Aegon has a low enough opinion of her to suspect her of the moon tea plot. Rhaenyra is a more plausible suspect than Daemon anyway.

Can I just say I love the word “whither.” I was disproportionately pleased to have the opportunity to use it in this chapter. 😅

Aegon thinks his wife is a goddess, but he loves her most when she’s just a human loading around in her bathrobe.

Jace isn’t one to bare her heart to just anybody. Her spiel about how much she appreciates Aegon is a very vulnerable moment for her. Luckily it pays off. 🥰

Of course I had to use the infamous “do you love me” quote. 😭 Obviously I recontextualized the question, but it still highlights Aegon’s doubts about his self-worth.

Aegon and Aemond are my favorite sibling dynamic to write, but Helaena is underrated in the annoying sibling role. Honestly makes me wonder what her canon dynamic with Aegon would be like if they weren’t married.

I totally made up the thing about Sunderland spiders. Maybe it’s true in-universe though.

Helaena is getting murky visions of Aliandra Martell. We know that Aegon isn’t interested in Aliandra, but Helaena’s a bit worried for a minute.

I’ve written Helaena as somewhere on the asexual spectrum, and probably demiromantic as well. She also seems pretty sex-repulsed (at least when male parts are involved), hence her aversion to being wooed by a man. Meanwhile, Aegon has almost definitely experimented with other guys before, so he kinda just rolls with it when he figures out Helaena has a thing with Rhaena.

Rhaena has some unresolved trauma around being ditched by Daemon after Laena’s funeral. 🫂 Probably Baela too, but Baela just keeps it pent up inside.

Rhaenys and her love of hennins (while Jace hates them) is one of my favorite niche medieval fashion jokes. 😂 I really do think S1 Rhaenys’s hair was hennin-like lol.

Jace sitting by the roses daydreaming about being at court: she was a big city girl stuck in the countryside. 🥲

“Too warm in here” makes Jace blush because when Alicent said it in Ch. 2, Jace was reminiscing about light bondage with Aegon. 🤭

“Punish me.” New Aegon kink spotted. 🚨

Anyway, done with the fun parts. Small Council scene: Viserys, loving father that he is, halved Aegon’s budget to give him more trouble. Viserys is already thinking about how to remove Aegon as heir, so he can’t have Aegon running around being all successful.

Aegon has the thought that “power belonged to the king” when he wonders if he’ll have any say in his kids’ marriages. This is another theme I wanted to explore in the fic: if the king’s word is law, that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s right. If a king considers only his own wants and expects everyone to just fall in line, he’s not a good king. Or a smart one.

Perks of marrying a Velaryon include Aegon having better grounds to ask Corlys for a loan. After all, the point of marriage is mutual political and economic benefit!

Aegon drawing a better city map shows how he is smart and talented, just maybe not at conventional heir things. 🥲 Jace appreciates it at least.

“Where should we start?” Jace’s question shows that she is starting to really believe she and Aegon are a team/power couple. ✊

Aegon and Laenor share a lot of interests and character traits, so they get along very well. Goldverse Laenor missed out. 😢 Laenor totally approves of Aegon appreciating Jace’s intelligence.

“We were told that you would be a bad husband and worse king.” It was Vizzy saying these things about Aegon. 💀

Aegon taking Jace to the city is their “Whooe New World” from Aladdin moment…plus Aemond and Luce tagging along for a double date lol. I actually had a variation of the Targkids’ secret outing in an early draft of The Golds, but I set it aside when I changed some plot points. I was glad to be able to use it in Lavender instead!

Aegon actually planned the outing really well. It would’ve succeeded if Larys didn’t deliberately sabotage it. I imagine that Larys’s spies heard about Aegon renting a mule-cart and buying the plain wool gowns from a maid, and from there Larys figured things out.

Confession: green and orange is not my favorite color combo. I think they clash really easily if you aren’t careful about the exact shades. I actually felt bad for Jace, who loves pretty things, having a dragon with that color combo. But I forced myself to think about when green and orange appear together in nature, and then I gave Aegon that romantic little monologue about a forest in autumn. 🍂

I think some extra materials related to the show stated Sunfyre was a cradle egg, but I opted for the book version. If I recall correctly, Sunfyre was already a young dragon when Aegon claimed him on Dragonstone in F&B. In this verse, Sunfyre got tired of waiting for his human and came to Aegon instead. ☀️

Aegon doesn’t go to the Stepstones and burn the Tyroshi’s brothers in this verse, so the Tyroshi causes less trouble in KL, so Gyles never gets kidnapped in the Lavender verse.

The man who yanks down Aegon’s hood was tasked by Larys to draw attention to the royals. All part of the plot to get Aegon in trouble. Larys also preemptively sent the gold cloaks to find them and cause even more chaos.

Viserys is dress up like a king because Larys forewarned him there would be trouble. Larys is also the person Viserys glances at behind Aegon.

Viserys accuses Aegon of dragging Jace to wine-sinks and “dens of ill repute.” This is false, but it doesn’t matter. What the king says, goes. Viserys came into the throne room knowing he was going to send Aegon away. (Aemond is just a bonus.)

See Chapter 4 commentary here.

[maddogofshimano]

The Value of Lies: Majima Boss Rush

Mild spoilers for Y0

A new Majima event! They added a few new cards alongside it

I had a moment of “huh, why’s Shimano from 1985 and not 1988? that’s too late for the YK2 flashback--oh NO............ during Majima’s torture in the Hole????” 

anyways, Shimano is not in the event. sorry to the Shimano stans

Summary: 6 months into Majima’s stint as manager of the Grand, he’s still chasing after as much profit as he can and has scouted a new batch of hostesses. One of them seems lackluster, but there’s more to her than meets the eye...

[Half a year after Majima Goro had began working as the manager of the Cabaret Grand.] [The Grand's revenue had been steadily rising, but was still nowhere near the desired amount-- For the sake of further profits, Majima was aggressively scouting other clubs to refine his own business...]

<door opens, Majima walks in> Majima: ...Sawabe. How'd the new girls do today? (tl note: The name is 沢辺 which is pretty much just Sawabe or Sawanabe)

Grand Employee Sawabe: ...They seem to be doing reasonably well, the customers who like inexperienced girls have been asking for them. Majima: I see. Any gals seem like a standout?

Sawabe: I don't know about a standout, all of them have something special... except for one. Majima: ...Except one? What's goin' on with that?

Sawabe: ...There was one who just didn't seem very motivated. Her name is Arisa. Sawabe: But it's my job to make girls like that useful, so I've been trying to provide lessons. Majima: That's true. I appreciate the help. With how the number of customers keep goin' up, I'll take all the help I can get. Majima: Unfortunately I still gotta be out of the club, so you're my only hope for trainin' the girls here. Sawabe: Please leave it to me. Sawabe: I know that people are the same as water, if left alone they'll settle in low places.

Sawabe: I'll manage the new girls diligently, and make sure they're trained well. Majima: Please see that you do. Majima: ...And just to be sure, ya ain't gonna fall for some of the girls you're teaching and get handsy, right? Sawabe: ...Absolutely not. I could never allow my family to be on the street because I broke one of the club's rules.

[two weeks later...]

<the door opens, Majima enters> Majima: ...I'm back. How'd thing's go, and how were today's sales... huh? (tl note: TWO WEEKS DUDE???)

Sawabe: Ah, welcome back, manager. (tl note: oh okay Majima didn't walk in on hanky panky. my bad. sorry for doubting you Sawabe) New Girl Arisa: ...Well, I'm going back to the floor. Majima: ...Was that Arisa you were just talking to? Sawabe: Yes sir. She just lost her parents. But she still comes to work and does her training because she didn't want to miss any days... Sawabe: So I hear her out when she has difficult feelings that she can't express to the customers. Majima: .........I see. Sawabe: At first I thought she just wasn't motivated at all... I even scolded her a few times before realizing this was the case--she just couldn't get into the right headspace with all that sadness. Majima: ...And ya believe that? Sawabe: Huh? O-Of course. There was nothing to indicate she was lying. Majima: Gotcha. Majima: Seein' as she's havin' such a hard time, I ought to talk with her. <out on the floor> Majima: ...Arisa-chan. Ya got a minute?

Arisa: Yes? Can I help you with something? Majima: If you're makin' a play at Sawabe, it'd be best if ya stopped. Arisa: Huh? What are you talking about? I'm not making a play... Majima: ...Heh, I'm just sayin'. Majima: If ya have any troubles I'm also someone ya can come talk to. Arisa: Umm... Th-Thank you. If you'll excuse me. <she leaves> Majima: ............

[another 2 weeks later]

Sawabe: I'm sorry, Arisa. We can only meet up after everyone has already left. (tl note: I RETRACT MY PREVIOUS APOLOGY. SAWABE YOUR FAMILY!!!!!!!!)

Arisa: No, don't apologize. I'm the one asking unreasonable things... I know we can't let anyone find out about this. Arisa: Besides, I would be happy being anywhere with you, Sawabe-san. Sawabe: Arisa... Arisa: ...Still... The manager isn't going to be back today, right? Sawabe: Yep, he said he was heading straight home. Arisa: So then... it's really just the two of us. Sawabe: Yeah, just us two. .....But, is it alright if I do a bit of work first? Sawabe: It's the last day of the month, so I need to get our sales money so it can be transferred to the bank tomorrow. (tl note: Sawabe if you flake to go fuck a hostess and Majima gets the shit beaten out of him I'm going to throttle you on his behalf) Arisa: Okay, I can wait 🎵 Sawabe: I'm sorry. I'll get it done quick. <she leaves> Sawabe: Now then just gotta get the money out of the safe... <he opens it> Sawabe: ...Hmm? Oh, Arisa must have needed to use the restroom. Now then... huh!!?? <a bunch of goons rush in> Arisa: Sawabe-san. Thanks so much for opening the safe 🎵  ....Now I'll be taking allll the money in it.

Sawabe: Wh-... What the hell's going on? <a goon punches him> Sawabe: Guh... <he drops> Brawny Thug: That dumbass was a good mark for this... Have a nice nap. Arisa: Soooo cool 🎵 Thug's Pal: Hehe... Now we just stuff all this cash into the bag.

???: ...I went to all the trouble of warning you. Arisa: !? Majima: I already told ya, "If you're makin' a play at Sawabe, it'd be best if ya stopped".

Arisa: Wh-Why's the manager... Majima: I noticed ya gettin' awful cozy with Sawabe a little while ago. Majima: So I started doin' a little diggin' and figured out your plan. Had to be gettin' some thugs to rob the safe with ya--your parents aren't dead, your little brother doesn't exist, all ya've been doin' since ya got here is lying and cheatin' people outta money. Arisa: .......... Majima: And on top of trickin' Sawabe, here ya are tryin' to clean us out, which is a much bigger issue. Thug: Well... Even if all of that is true, how do you expect to get yourself out of this situation now? Thug: I don't see any cops around... Don't tell me you plan on handling this all by yourself? Majima: ...Of course I plan to. Thug: The hell? Are you mocking me! <goons rush in> Thug: That's just fine!! If you can do it, go ahead!!!!

<EVENT HAPPENS>

Brawny Thug: N-... No way...

<he collapses> Arisa: ...! <Majima walks over> Majima: ...We're done here.

<he kneels down> Majima: Hey, can you stand? Sawabe: Ugh... S-Sorry... <they're both back to standing> Majima: Don't worry. I'll let ya off easy this time, since I knew what was happenin'. Think ya'll get tricked again? Sawabe: Th-Thank you so much...! Nothing like this will ever happen again...! Sawabe: But... I really didn't think Arisa would do something like this... Arisa: I'm sorry Sawabe-san, Majima-san... That thug was threatening me... that's why I... Sawabe: Eh...!? Majima: ...Are ya that stupid. Now I know ya ain't the kinda guy for this. On the other hand, you were the one that was trickin' that man, ain't ya? Sawabe: Eh... Wh-What do you mean? Arisa: ...Haa, I messed up. That guy said he was a former pro boxer, but he was way too weak.

Sawabe: A-Arisa... you... Arisa: I guess I can't fool you. Are you going to hand me over to the police? Majima: Heh, that's surprisingly upstandin' of ya. Majima: However, I ain't handin' ya over to the cops. Arisa: ...Huh? Majima: There's no profit to be made in that. Majima: I'd rather have ya work at the Grand again. Arisa: Work at the Grand...? Majima: Exactly. Of course, if ya run off or play hooky then I'll throw ya to the cops without mercy.

Majima: And you'll have to make yourself a diligent hostess and work hard--I'll forget about this whole thing if ya become a girl that earns more than ya were gonna steal from this safe. Arisa: ....... Majima: ...What d'ya say? Arisa: I will... return to working at the Grand. Majima: Heh, that settles it. Arisa: Sawabe-san... I'm sorry for deceiving you. I'll do my best from here on out. Sawabe: H-Hold on a minute, boss! I-Is that really okay? Even after all this... Majima: Mhm. Sawabe: I know I was the one who got scammed, so it might not mean much from me, but still... Arisa-chan has the worst sales out of the whole club.

Sawabe: And then she tried to rob us, so, is it really okay to hire that girl...? Majima: It's true that her sales were bad, but that's cause she was half-assin' it. Majima: You experienced first hand just how good she is at this, didn't you? Sawabe: ........... Majima: To keep up a deception like that, ya need all sorts of skills. Majima: You're much warier than most, but she still got her fingers on your purse strings-- Majima: Seein' that you're a very doubting person, she used a lie about her parents' death to get ya sympathetic-- Majima: Two weeks or so of keepin' up that lie, playin' the part of the girl ya'd want, all with the goal of slowly foolin' ya-- Majima: Even with the risk of "If I lose my job my family will be out on the street" ya still caved. Majima: Gettin' someone ya just met's guard down, gettin' them to open their wallet, lying to find out more about them-- Majima: And of course, keepin' up the lie so the person you're talkin' with doesn't catch on... Majima: To me, those are the ideal skills for a hostess. Majima: If she approached our guests with the same diligence that she went after you, I have no doubt that Arisa would be our number one. Majima: In order to make 100 million yen in sales, even though there's a risk, I'm not going to let a profitable woman like her go. Sawabe: ...You may be right, boss. Majima: Whew... Well, I'll see ya tomorrow, but... try not to get scammed again, okay? Sawabe: ...Y-Yes sir.

[Afterwards, when Arisa resumed working at the Grand, things went exactly as Majima predicted. With her ability to see through her customers and her skillful lies, she had one man after another captivated by her. Seeking to become the Grand's number one hostess, she has risen to the very top.]

<EVENT END>

Bonus stuff:

unrelated to this event they released a White Day Kiryu where he awkwardly gives you a return gift. I’m not even making fun of him that’s literally what the title of his card is

Ichiban got one too where he bashfully gives you a senbei

and then not a White Day card but still a guy giving a gift, we got a new KSR 1995 Nishiki

something I didn’t notice until looking through Nishiki’s cards is that they give a date on Nishiki’s new hairdo

ONE YEAR??? NISHIKI YOU ONLY HELD OUT A YEAR??????? it was Christmas in 1995 too so depending on when in 1996 this is it could be even less time. it does make it a kind of cartoonishly awful year for him to have experienced though, if you condense all of the flashbacks into that span. that’s rough buddy

enjoy him looking so sad and dejected (he failed to beat up Haruka)