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dreamingumbrellas · 3 months ago

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why tua s1 is a masterpiece and 2-4 give me a migraine

i gotta use my english degree for something so lets talk about it

i’d like to note beforehand, that i’ve only seen about half of season 4. but given everything i’ve heard about it, i’ve decided to avoid watching it for my own mental wellbeing. i really haven’t enjoyed the last three seasons much, mostly i’ve been dredging through because of how much i love season 1. it feels painfully like seasons 1 and seasons 2-4 are for completely different fucking shows–particularly in tone.

i think tua season 1 attracted attention to its unique themes that are lost in the rest of the series. the primary themes are of trauma and dysfunctional family dynamics. it’s a story about seven severely abused siblings learning to cope with their trauma and reconnect as adults. season 1’s tone is somber. it shows us glimpses of the characters’ childhoods, and how it affects them in their adult lives. the characters in season 1 were, most importantly, flawed! they were assholes, because trauma turns people into assholes sometimes!

you can directly trace back the siblings’ character flaws to the shit reggie put them through. Luther was the golden boy, which put too much responsibility on his shoulders and isolated him from his siblings. As a result, Luther is ultra-loyal to his dead father, in obvious denial of the abuse he endured because he was never able to form an identity for himself outside of reggie and the academy! he is the only one that never moved on. and then reggie turned luther into (for lack of a better term) a giant monkey without his consent, causing him to hate himself and even further alienate himself from the rest of the world.

diego never left the ‘number 2’ headspace. he fights with luther even into adulthood. despite how much he claims to hate his father, he became a vigilante likely as an effort to finally be good enough for his dad. and lets not forget (unlike the writers) about his stutter–something that formed in childhood and came back as an adult when he was triggered with memories of his childhood. he’s inherently defensive because reginald pit the siblings against one another constantly.

allison is a narcissist–though, when we meet her in season 1, she’s more of a narcissist in recovery. she’s recognized how her childhood affected her and wants to become a better person to make up for the mistakes of her past. what mistakes again? well, she used her powers on her daughter because 1. she was never told no. reggie encouraged the usage of her powers, and the household where she grew up was violent, manipulative, and competitive. she had no sense of real normalcy, so she never learned how to build a happy, healthy family for her daughter. to cope with her trauma, she clung to her fame–this is shown both in adulthood and childhood flashbacks–leading her to become a movie star, and not accept her own faults.

klaus, well, klaus is the most obvious example of trauma. mostly due to reggie forcing his powers on him when he was a young childhood. locking him in a mausoleum for hours on end. he became a drug addict as a result. living on the streets, in and out of rehab, and stealing for money. we see him struggle constantly throughout season 1–through his interactions with ghosts (when its very possible he wouldn’t have developed such a fear of them if it weren’t for reggie), with flashbacks to his childhood and (later) to the vietnam war. his inability to take things seriously and his self-destructive behavior are both coping mechanisms. his siblings don’t trust him because of his lying and kleptomaniac tendencies.

five is a character whose development is utterly abandoned after season 1. he was only thirteen years old when he accidentally travelled in time to the apocalypse, where he remained for 45 years. i remind you of this because the writers won’t. he survived those years for his family! because he felt immeasurable guilt for leaving them! he was so lonely for these years that he developed a romantic attachment to a mannequin (something only referenced for a joke in later seasons). he was in an extremely vulnerable position when he was recruited by the handler (a character who was very creepy in her own right) and he was forced to use his childhood ‘superhero’ skillset to essentially become an assassin, a job he loathed himself for. all so he could have a chance to save his family. five is cocky, sarcastic, and yes, wants to save the world, but we forget that he wanted to save his family first. he was willing to sacrifice the world if it meant saving his siblings. and even once he returns to the present, he experiences ptsd flashbacks to his time in the apocalypse. five is severely traumatized and stuck between childhood and adulthood, has lived for far too long and has done too many terrible things to be a child, but is stuck in a childs body and never got the chance to emotionally mature past the age of 13. this in no way resembles the five we get in later seasons.

in season 1, ben is a tragedy. he is the character that haunts the narrative (literally). his death was the reason the family split up. he experienced an incredibly traumatic childhood, forced to slaughter people against his will. all so that he could die tragically young (we’ll get into his cause of death later). he’s stuck following klaus around for years, unable to interact with anyone else. he watched his brother deteriorate in front of him with no way to help. he’s angry about his death and sometimes takes out his frustrations on klaus. but at the same time, he was ‘the kindest’ of all the siblings. he cares deeply about his family, but can’t do anything about it.

i think it’s easy to forget that the initial focus of the show was viktor. viktor, who was told how unremarkable he was again and again. who was isolated not just from the world but from his own family as well. who was drugged up from an incredibly young age and forced to ignore his emotions. yes, the umbrella academy was abusive. but being isolated from his siblings was just another form of abuse. he grew up to resent his family on a lot of levels, writing his book as a method to vent his frustrations but only ended up in driving his siblings further away. viktor went through a lot of shit in season 1, and resulted in him ending the world. but did his family kill him? no. because that was the point of the entire show. that despite their trauma and how much they might resent one another, the siblings still loved each other more than the rest of the world put together.

everything ive outlined are the elements that make up season 1, and are almost entirely forgotten about later. but by losing the integrity of the characters, they lost the narrative. the point of the umbrella academy was never saving the world–it was about a broken family reconciling with one another despite everything. these points of trauma are taken seriously. it was the complexity of these characters, at least in my opinion, that attracted attention towards them. and sure, we didn’t love every character all the time. remember how much luther was hated in season 1? but it’s because he was realistic. these characters, and the shit they went through, weren’t a joke. and the season ended off in a way that forshadowed these elements being explored more in depth. remember how it ended?

with the seven siblings holding hands as the world exploded around them. and for only a few seconds, we saw them transform back into their child selves.

now, this plot point (whatever it might have been) was instantly cancelled and forgotten about in season 2. but it really makes you think about the season we could have gotten: the characters being forced back into their childhood, having to confront the root of their trauma and essentially, all their problems. they could look back at what happened to them with a mature perspective and worked through it, realizing that they were not each other’s enemies. they could have made up for lost time, helped eachother heal, and ultimately prevent the apocalpyse by being family. you know, something that would have actually wrapped up the narrative nicely.

so, what happened?

the shows original themes of trauma, and repentance, and family were abandoned in favor of humor and spectacle. it seems like the creators misinterpreted what made the first season so successful. sure, the first season had a lot of funny moments and great fight scenes. but it was the emotional depth and complexity that made the show what it was. but worse than that, it continued to spit in the faces of the characters trauma, downplaying it in almost every way possible.

klaus’ relapses were played for comedy. his fear of ghosts was drastically downplayed with the use of cartoonish ghost-buster ass looking ghosts. five’s ptsd was never acknowledged again; his coping mechanism, dolores, became a joke. luther lost all character complexity entirely, instead becoming a himbo (who we love, but, still). viktor rarely brought up the feelings from his childhood, and nobody acknowledged his tell-all book again.

one of the things that infuriated me the most was the incorporation of reginald in later seasons. lets remind ourselves of some things: he purchased seven children, treated them like objects without names, trained them tirelessly and deprived them of a childhood, traumatized them by turning them into murderers, pitted them against one another, and literally tortured them. and that’s only the things we see him do on screen. you cannot convince me for a second that any of the siblings would ever be able to be the same room as that man without having serious flashbacks. I don’t believe for one second that they’d work with him, trust him, or empathize with him in any capacity (except maybe luther) except they do, consistently. even five, who is easily the smartest member of the academy, and extremely protective of his siblings.

and- LEST WE FUCKING DISREGARD- reginald MURDERED ben.

the moment that happened on screen felt like the last shovel of dirt on tua 1’s grave. supposedly all the siblings REMEMBERED this incident in seasons 1-3. and yet they went to their fathers funeral, spoke to him (relatively) civilly, and teamed up with him after seeing for themselves their father shoot their brother in the back of the head for seemingly no reason. not only did they apparently not hold this against their father, but they never mentioned it once in three seasons.

and yes, i know, there is a very simple reason for this. it was obviously made up at the last moment for plot convenience. but the implications for this being retconned in are damning for the characters. by writing this in, the writers decided that the siblings commitment to one another is meaningless. that the foundations upon which this show was created, are fucking meaningless. they threw away not only the individual complexity of each character, but also their relationship as a family.

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 1 year ago

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Did You Like Them? || D. Targaryen x oc (Dear Motherhood Series)

GIF by unknown DIVIDERS by @straywords

summary: A heartfelt conversation between Leyla and her closest handmaiden reveals her feelings towards her first child, Alyssa.

a/n: pls pls pls send in some requests!!! this can be for the dear motherhood series if you like!

Dear Motherhood Series Masterlist

Leyla quietly moved her feet towards the nursery. The whole of castle were fast asleep and yet she was still awake, except for the few guards around, including the two infront of the nursery. She quietly opened the door and closed it slowly. Daemon was still asleep in their bedchambers.

The young Lady walked closer to the crib at a slow pace where her daughter, Alyssa laid asleep. She crouched down beside her, her eyes studying every feature of her face. Alyssa looked very much Leyla, except for the silver hair that she inherited from Daemon.

With so much intent, Leyla stayed there for the next 10 minutes, Alyssa’s chest falling up and down at a steady rate. The door quietly opened as Alyssane, her closets friend and handmaiden, approaches her. “My Lady, what are you doing up at this hour?” she asked before crouching down beside the babe’s crib.

“I like watching her sleep,” Leyla spoke in a soft voice, admiring her daughter. A smile makes it to Alyssane’s lips, “When my children were babies, it was my favourite time too,” She says as the two make eye contact and chuckle softly.

Visiting Alyssa in the middle of the night was a daily occurrence for Leyla. Of course, Leyla often saw her daughter throughout the day but it felt different watching her at night, all alone. Whenever they were around the castle or outside, the young Hightower would often feel quite awkward holding her own child.

The looks she would be given or the whispers that would go around drove her insane. So she rather enjoy her daughter’s presence alone, without the prying eyes of court. Leyla’s eyes flicker to Alyssane, she hesitates before opening her mouth to ask her question.

“Did you like them?” She felt herself holding a breath, “Straight away?” Alyssane’s eyes snap to Leyla. She noticed her hesitation before she covered it with a small smile. “Well, I was pleased they were healthy. I would’ve killed anyone that could cause them any harm.”

“Like them? I think that comes later, my Lady” Leyla listens intently. “When I look at her,” She starts, her fingers moving away a stray lock of hair fallen on Alyssa’s face, “All I can remember is the pain of giving birth to her. Those horrible nine months I had to endure.” Leyla confessed.

Alyssane held her hand in a comforting manner. “Having a baby is a sacrifice aswell as a blessing,” Alyssane added with a sad smile. Leyla knew that when she found out she was with child, her childhood was being sacrificed. It took her some time to accept the cold truth.

“I’m afraid, Alyssane. Father is asking for more grandchildren and there’s no doubt Daemon wishes for more heirs from me,” Otto had been on Leyla’s back on having children well, ever since she married Daemon. Even more after she had her first, Alyssa.

“Don’t be, my Lady. You are incredibly strong, having a child at ten-and-five? Not many people can do that and still continue with a smile on their faces. These feelings you’re feeling right now? They will blow over and overtime, when you look at Alyssa, you will feel a sense of accomplishment”

Leyla looked back over at peaceful Alyssa, “Thank you Alysanne,” she smiled gratefully at her friend’s comforting words.

It was the Hour of the Owl and once again, Leyla slipped out of Daemon’s hold and quietly moved away from the bed and into the corridors. The brunette was only helped guided by the burning torches that lit up the castle, although it was nearly impulse that led her to her daughter’s nursery.

That day had been particularly hard for Leyla. Otto had found out that she had been talking about finding ways to slow down the chances of becoming pregnant. That earned Leyla a harsh slap across her face.

The young Hightower didn’t dare to tell her Lord Husband out of embarrassment. Leyla was slightly surprised to see her daughter eyes wide awake. She quickly moved to her and carefully picked her up as Alyssa cooed making her mother smile.

She opened the curtains to allow light from the moon to seep through the nursery. There, Leyla stood cradling her daughter in her arms as she sung a sweet lullaby. She cherished these moments she shared with her first born, away from the bustling of court.

Leyla was slightly startled when she felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around her waist. “Husband,” “Wife,” He replied back in a husky voice, his head rested on her shoulder as they both look down at their daughter. “I thought I might find you here, pray do tell, what are you doing here at this hour of the night?” He spoke calmly, leaving a small trail of kisses along her shoulder and neck.

“I could not find sleep Daemon, and neither could your daughter it seemed” She softly chuckled as he joined. “Can I?” Daemon tilted his head to Alyssa as Leyla nodded. She carefully passed the 2 month old babe to her father as he softly patted her back, a soft tune coming out of his mouth in his mother’s tongue.

Leyla thought it would be impossible to fall in love with Daemon even more, well that changed ever since he became a father. He was such a huge softie when it came to Alyssa and she liked that he only reserved this side for her.

In just a few minutes, Alyssa had fallen asleep. Daemon slowly laid her down in her crib as the two stand in each other’s arm admiring the tiny human being they created. “Goodnight, my darling” Leyla leaned down to whisper to her before placing a gentle kiss on the forehead.

Daemon smiled as he watched the whole interaction. He always knew Leyla would be a great mother to his children. The couple quietly walked back to their bedchambers hand in hand with smiles on their faces.

taglist

@bellstwd @sesamepancakes @writtingforfun @bunbunbl0gs @mxtokko

#daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #house targaryen #fanfiction #matt smith #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen fanfic #prince daemon targaryen #dearmotherhoodseries #dearmotherhood #leyla hightower #house of the dragon headcanon #daemon targaryen imagine #dad!daemon targaryen #targaryenwhore #a song of ice and fire

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 2 years ago

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Mav's Reaction to Each Dagger Dating His Daughter

Pairing(s): Daggers / Mitchell! Fem!Reader (Mav's Daughter)

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Protective Mav Dad, Reader is Maverick's Daughter but no Description of Appearance or Biological Parentage; Can be treated as an OC; She's referred to as 'Baby Mitchell' occasionally; Third Person POV, No "You" or Y/N

This work, all of my other works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only.

Summary: Maverick finds out that his daughter is dating someone that he knows when she invites her new partner to dinner. And so he makes it his mission to greet them at the door first.

A.N. Starts out with the same basic set up but then it splits. All seven main Daggers have their own separate story (about 250 words each), so read your favorite(s) or all seven!

Master List

Maverick never exactly looked forward to meeting his daughter’s partners.

Maybe it was because he was a little worried that he didn’t exactly give her a healthy example to follow. Maybe it was because he was just trying to compensate for all of the times that he wasn’t there for her when she was little. Maybe it was because he was just a smidge overprotective.

But either way, he never looked forward to meeting his daughter’s partner.

So, when she told him that she was inviting over her new partner for dinner, and mentioned that he already knew her partner, Maverick was given a new mission—to answer the door before her. He wanted to see if her partner could cut it on their own without his daughter coaching them through every step of this new dynamic.

And when the doorbell rung five minutes ahead of schedule, Maverick sprang into action.

“I got it!” he called up the stairs to his daughter.

“No, I’ll get it, Dad!”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Maverick insisted, reaching for the front door.

Twisting the knob, Maverick flung the door open and paused when he saw who was standing on the other side of the door.

[Pick Your Dagger:]

Rooster

Rooster stood on the front steps of the Mitchell house, nervously shifting his weight around.

“Why did you ring the doorbell, Bradley? Just go through the side entrance,” Maverick instructed Rooster, completely missing the point of Rooster’s arrival. He held the door open and stepped aside. “But my daughter’s new partner is coming for dinner. You’re free to join us if you like, but it might be a little awkward.”

“Uh . . . yeah . . .” Rooster trailed off, really wishing that his girlfriend would get down the stairs already. “I was . . . going to stay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll just set out another plate.”

Rooster stared after Maverick like he’d grown a third head as he walked off to reset the dinner table. Shaking his head, Rooster glanced up at the stairs as his girlfriend hurried down them, smiling at his appearance. Rooster shut the front door behind him and held out his arms as his girlfriend threw herself at him.

“Hey,” she giggled, pressing a loving kiss to his lips, “how’d you survive?”

“Well, he seems to think that you’re bringing someone else home,” Rooster explained sheepishly, causing her to raise an eyebrow.

“You didn’t tell him that you were my boyfriend?”

“Well . . .”

Letting out a sigh, she grabbed her boyfriend’s hand and pulled him with her down the hall. Maverick was in the middle of setting down another plate when the young couple walked into the room. Maverick looked up and smiled at them. But he froze when he caught sight of their intertwined hands. Maverick straightened up and glanced erratically between Rooster and his daughter.

“You . . . you’re dating my daughter . . . Bradley?” Maverick asked his godson, who started to sweat a bit.

“Yes, we’re dating,” Baby Mitchell answered on Rooster’s behalf. “We have been for four months.”

“This is some kind of joke, right?” Maverick tried to laugh off, but Rooster and Baby Mitchell’s expressions did not change. “Right?”

“No, it’s not,” she replied calmly. “Rooster is my boyfriend. We’re dating. I invited him over for dinner. So, let’s have dinner.”

Baby Mitchell led the way over to the table and sat down in her seat. Maverick shot Rooster a look and in response Rooster simply shrugged his shoulders and followed after his girlfriend.

~~~~~

Hangman

Hangman offered Maverick a curt nod and his usual smile-smirk-combination.

“Hey, Mav—”

Maverick slammed the door shut and locked it, just to be sure. Shaking his head, Maverick glanced up at the stairs as his daughter hurried down them.

“Who was at the door?” she questioned, looking confused.

“Just . . . a delivery driver.”

“Where’s the package then?” Baby Mitchell demanded, frowning at him.

“Well, that’s the funny thing—”

The doorbell cut off Maverick’s lie and caused his daughter to shoot him an aggravated expression. Reaching around him, she unlocked the door and pulled it open to see Hangman still standing on the front steps of the Mitchell home.

“Really?” Baby Mitchell scoffed at her dad before letting her boyfriend inside.

“Oh, Hangman, I didn’t see you standing there,” Maverick lied poorly.

“Frankly, I was expecting worse,” Hangman told his girlfriend, who shook her head in response.

“Dad, Jake is my boyfriend and I invited him over,” Baby Mitchell began, trying to keep the aggravation out of her tone. “So, you can’t go around slamming doors in his face just because you don’t like the fact that we’re dating. Okay?”

“I . . .” Maverick trailed off when he caught his daughter’s annoyed expression. “Alright, alright.”

Baby Mitchell shook her head before turning for the dining room. She grabbed Hangman’s hand and pulled him along with. But, while her back was turned, Maverick shot him the ‘I’ve-got-my-eye-on-you’ gesture with his fingers. Hangman nodded in return, but Maverick didn’t miss the slightly nervous look that he wore.

~~~~~

Phoenix

Phoenix gave Maverick a sarcastic mock salute as the door swung open. Standing confidently on the front steps, Phoenix straightened up.

“Hey, Mav.”

“Hey, Phoenix,” he returned with a nod. He held the door open for Phoenix and she stepped inside. “So, you’re the one who gave my daughter a hickey two weeks ago?”

Phoenix blinked, clearly a bit caught of guard, before her usual confident demeanor returned. Phoenix nodded in response and didn’t let her nerves show.

“Yes. But, to be fair, you weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I assumed,” Maverick replied, nodding along. After another moment of thought, he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Well, at least you can’t get her pregnant.”

“You’re not going to give me a shovel talk?” Phoenix asked Maverick, folding her hands over her chest.

“I like to give it at the end,” Maverick assured Phoenix while his daughter hurried down the stairs. “Let’s me personalize it a little better.”

“Hey, babe,” Baby Mitchell called, pulling Phoenix in for a quick peck. Turning to Maverick, Baby Mitchell shot him a look. “I hope that he wasn’t too overprotective.”

“No, he was fine,” Phoenix assured her girlfriend with a small smile. “Though we have a debriefing scheduled for after dinner.”

“Dad.”

“What? I would do the same if she was a man.”

The two girlfriends shared a look and Phoenix shrugged her shoulders in response. Baby Mitchell let out a groan and shook her head.

“Fine,” she muttered, grabbing Phoenix’s hand. “Well, come on. Let’s get you some dinner first before you’re interrogated.”

~~~~~

Bob

Bob offered Maverick his usual awkward smile. Maverick blinked once in surprise before he let out a humorous breath of relief.

“Bob, I’ve never been happier to see you,” Maverick chuckled, holding the door open for the WSO.

“Really?” Bob asked curiously, walking inside the house.

“Yeah, I was worried that she was bringing Hangman home,” Maverick replied with a light chuckle, closing the door. “But I’m glad to see that I was completely wrong.”

“Thank you?” Bob returned quietly.

“Hey, babe,” Baby Mitchell called out to Bob as she walked down the stairs. “Glad to see that the dragon guarding the castle didn’t hurt you.” She hurried over and pulled Bob in for a quick kiss in greeting before turning to her dad. Leaning against her boyfriend, she smiled brightly as she glanced between them. “Should we sit down and start dinner then?”

“Yeah, I’ll start bringing stuff out from the kitchen,” Maverick agreed, walking off.

When Maverick’s back was turned, Bob reached out and grabbed Baby Mitchell’s ass playfully. She giggled and pressed a heated kiss to his lips that Bob eagerly returned. Reluctantly pulling away, she leaned towards his ear.

“We should go. Don’t want him to get suspicious,” she whispered to Bob.

“Alright. But . . . later?” he suggested, giving her ass another light pat.

“Absolutely,” she agreed with a wide smile.

~~~~~

Coyote

Coyote offered Maverick a small, nervous smile. Maverick paused for a moment before opening the door wider for him.

“So, you’re dating my daughter, Coyote?” he asked as Coyote stepped inside the house.

“Yes, sir,” Coyote returned politely.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Maverick replied, closing the door. “Yet, anyways.”

“Yet?” Coyote repeated, confused.

“I only make my daughter’s boyfriends call me ‘sir’ if I don’t like them,” Maverick explained quietly to Coyote, trying to prevent his daughter from overhearing. “And, frankly, as long as you don’t toss me out of my own home and onto my own lawn, I think that you’ll be okay.”

“I appreciate that, s—Mav,” Coyote corrected himself.

The sound of footsteps caused both aviators to look up. Baby Mitchell walked down the stairs with a bright smile when she spotted Coyote. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she pressed a quick peck to his lips before turning to her dad.

“Did you get the shovel talk out of the way, then?” she asked sarcastically, leaning against Coyote.

“Not yet,” Maverick replied before turning to Coyote. In a quieter voice, he added, “We’ll get to that after dinner.”

Baby Mitchell gently shoved her dad away from her boyfriend and shook her head.

“Honestly, I’m not sixteen anymore.”

“Well, I like Coyote a lot more than the boy that you were seeing when you were sixteen,” Maverick conceded, causing his daughter to wince.

“Who was—” Coyote started to ask.

“—No one!” Baby Mitchell interjected.

~~~~~

Fanboy

Fanboy smiled nervously at Maverick as the door swung open. Maverick could tell that the WSO was nervous if the way that he fidgeted was any indication, but Fanboy was doing his best not to show it. Unfortunately for him, Maverick was very observant.

“Hey, Maverick,” Fanboy greeted him politely with a slow nod.

“Hey, Fanboy. Come on in,” Maverick replied, holding open the door for him. Fanboy stepped inside and Maverick shut the door behind him. “So, you’re the flyboy who’s dating my daughter?”

“Yeah, I am,” Fanboy agreed confidently, though with an edge of concern. He glanced up the stairs for his girlfriend before turning back to Maverick. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, not yet,” Maverick replied calmly, shaking his head. “And between you and me, backseaters tend to be more . . . stable than their pilot counterparts. So, that helps you as well.”

“Well, I don’t disagree with that,” Fanboy chuckled before his girlfriend started down the stairs.

“Hey, amor,” Baby Mitchell called down to her boyfriend.

She hurried the rest of the way down and greeted Fanboy with a quick peck to the lips. She grabbed his hand and turned back to her dad.

“Everything okay, Mr. Overprotective?” she asked Maverick.

“Wouldn’t he be Captain Overprotective?” Fanboy quipped, earning a groan from his girlfriend and a distinct ‘dad’ laugh from Maverick.

“I like him,” Maverick chuckled, pointing over at Fanboy. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

~~~~~

Payback

Payback nodded and smiled confidently at Maverick as the door opened. Maverick shot Payback a small smile in return and held the door open.

“Are there any bets on how tonight goes then?” Maverick asked as he let Payback inside the house.

“A few,” Payback agreed, nodding along. “Why? Did you want to place your own bet?”

“No, no, I try not gamble. But, out of curiosity, is there a way to make sure that Hangman doesn’t win . . . at all? And maybe Rooster a little bit too.”

“You can’t threaten to chase after me in a F-18, you can’t make a joke about the two hundred pushups, and . . .” Payback trailed off, trying to remember the rest of the bets. “You have to greet me like you would a son-in-law tomorrow on base. But that last one is only if you want Rooster to lose.”

“How much money?”

“Fifty bucks each.”

“Well, his mother taught him not to gamble, so Rooster should have paid more attention,” Maverick replied, clearly taking the bet.

“Hey, babe,” Baby Mitchell called down to Payback, walking down the stairs. She gave him a quick hug and peck before glancing between Payback and Maverick. “Everything going well so far?”

“So far,” Maverick agreed with a nod and smile. “And by this time tomorrow, both Payback and I will be fifty bucks richer.”

“Good. Because that was the whole point of this dinner,” Baby Mitchell replied sarcastically. Grabbing Payback’s hand, she turned for the dining room. “Come on, let’s go eat.”

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annoyinglandmagazine · 1 year ago

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I’ve been thinking about Miriel and her impact on the House of Feanor on the whole, as you do, and I was thinking what if she haunted the narrative even more? I think it’s pretty well established that she was depressed in some shape or form, that there were mental health problems contributing heavily but there were definitely physical aspects as well, ‘But in the bearing of her son Miriel was consumed in spirit and body; and after his birth she yearned for release from the labour of living.’ And I know that Feanor being Feanor was ascribed as a huge cause of this, that he was just so much stronger than the average elf that his birth was particularly taxing but I’m going to go ahead and assume that even if Feanor had been a perfectly normal baby Miriel would have been impacted. It just feels almost like this infant is being blamed for his mother’s death which, while definitely plausible as something that happened in universe, doesn’t really feel fair to him.

I’m theorising Miriel had underlying conditions from long before she became pregnant that made her prone to things like fainting, exhaustion, chronic pain and that in all honesty her having a child was never going to be a good idea. But they wanted a family together and where could be a safer place to raise one? Everything was perfect and safe, why shouldn’t they be able to overcome this little obstacle to doing what everyone else seemed to be doing without issue? Towards the end she was entirely bedridden, not even strong enough to sit at her loom.

Finwë was relieved beyond measure when Feanor seemed to grow almost exceedingly strong and healthy, as if he’d gotten all the strength Miriel had been missing, and he thought that was the matter laid to rest, Feanor was fine and any children of his would be as well. Except they weren’t. Nerdanel’s pregnancies were always a time of great panic, not for her health really because it wasn’t Feanor’s genes they were worried about it was Miriel’s. And Nerdanel was nothing like Miriel but her children…..

Ñolofinwe watches Feanor pacing the palace in a frenzy while a crowd of healers stream in and out of a room down the hall, some five times the standard amount, and he wants to try and reassure him but knows he, with his perfectly healthy baby boy, delivered with no fuss by one midwife just like his two perfectly healthy sons beforehand, to go home to, is the last person in Arda his brother could stand to converse with right now.

The sons and daughters of Fingolfin and Finarfin grew swiftly, strong and athletic with hearty appetites and bright dispositions. Feanor could not bring himself to hate children so he settled for hating his brothers instead. He does not envy them their children, he loves his more than he could ever have loved anything and that’s the problem right there, he loves his sons and he’s absolutely terrified that he’s going to lose them if he lays them down too long. They’re so small and as soon as they leave his or Nerdanel’s arms they seem to tremble with cold so he sleeps with them against his chest for more of the first years of their lives than was usual. After those many sleepless nights he always finds it hard to sleep without being able to feel the rise and fall of their breathing.

Their cousins often do not understand what the difference between them and the Feanorians is, most of them have vague memories of getting scolded within an inch of their lives for fighting one back when they got into childish arguments. Mostly they just resented it or assumed it was favouritism if it were by Finwe or fear of Feanor’s wrath if by their own parents. Angrod did not think too long on how easily Caranthir crumpled to the ground at an unexpected shove, after all he was the older wasn’t he? Surely the rules about being gentle shouldn’t apply? He was equally puzzled when Fingolfin came running and scooped Caranthir into his arms, pale and panicked as Maedhros assured him he’d make certain Feanor wouldn’t hear about the matter if he was alright.

They train and become agile and skilled with blades and bows if not physically broad and strong in the way of their cousins but no matter how their health improves there are always concerns and during their approaching adulthood it becomes clear their worries are not only in body. There are migraines that leave them in dark rooms unable to bear even the sound of footsteps outside, days where Curufin and Maedhros struggle to allow any food past there lips, days where Caranthir sobs for hours with some inexplicable ache, weeks where Maglor cannot find rest no matter how much exhaustion he feels, little cuts and gashes on Celegorm’s arms that seem too frequent to be fully accidental.

If you were to look at this from a modern perspective it would probably be some genetic tendency to bipolar disorder and major depression but they wouldn’t have that kind of language because in my headcanons about Valinor they have very little experience with mental illness and no idea how to respond to it. I’m citing the whole Miriel incident to back me up there.

And just to make this even more angsty have a Tyelko quote from the fic of this I may or may not write ‘Amme always said we were her miracles, that our survival and strength was a blessing from the Valar. I was lucky to make it to my first winter. I wonder now if things wouldn’t have been better for everyone else if I hadn’t.’

#silmarillion #tolkien #Feanor #miriel #finwe #fingolfin #finarfin #caranthir #maedhros #curufin #celegorm #maglor #amrod #amras #angrod

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realdramalove69 · 3 months ago

Text

A Mother’s Love pt 1

(all characters are over 18)

*Riiiip*

The sound she had dreaded most had finally echoed throughout her bedroom.

“Fuck!” Casey cried.

Casey could feel the tears forming as she felt and heard her last pair of bike shorts finally give out. She had just managed to get them over her thick thighs and dimpled ass, the waistband not reaching any further up her stomach no matter how hard to pulled. But the moment she shifted her weight to try and walk, they tore at the seams. Her fat rolls spilled from the shorts, finally unrestricted and able to jiggle freely. The babies inside her womb began to kick as they felt their mother’s emotions well up. Casey moaned and rubbed the expansive flesh, trying desperately to make them stop.

Casey’s mother, Steph, heard her daughter cry out and hurried to see what the matter was. She opened the bedroom door and saw her fat, pregnant, crying daughter standing in front of her full length mirror. Her sore breasts were spilling from the too small maternity bra and her underwear was digging painfully into her waist. Her stomach was heaving from her crying and the thing looked gigantic held in her small hands.

It was all her belly’s fault, though. The five babies inside of her kicked aggressively, not caring that their mother was in distress.

“Oh, honey,” Steph cooed. “I told you we needed to go shopping sooner than later.”

“I’m so fat!” Casey continued. She picked up her pregnant gut to emphasize all the extra weight she had put on during these last eight months. “Every part of me jiggles and is sore and these babies won't stop kicking no matter what I do!”

“That’s good! It means you’re growing your babies nice and big and healthy. I can go to the mall later and get you bigger clothes–”

“I don’t want to get bigger!”

Steph sighed and hugged her crying daughter. She had to remind herself that Casey was still young and being so hormonal and sore was bound to cause tantrums. Yet, she couldn’t help but smile at Casey’s current predicament. Steph had always wanted more babies in the house, loving taking care of and raising her own child had been a great reward, but being a single mom all these years didn’t leave much time for dating and so she wasn’t able to have any more of her own kids. So when her daughter came to her in tears carrying a positive pregnancy test eight months ago Steph promised to be there for her and her baby (not knowing at the time just what they were getting into).

“Why don’t you go downstairs and rest on the couch and I’ll bring you some breakfast. Sound good?” Steph said, petting her daughter's tangled brown hair.

Casey nodded, her mom pinching her round cheeks before heading back down the stairs to the kitchen. Once alone, she wiped the tears from her face and pressed her hands into her lower back, watching in the mirror as her belly moved from her five babies kicking. She arched her back further, her swollen belly button pushed closer to the mirror as she turned to view her entire body.

“God there's so many of you,” Casey moaned. Her stomach growled in response. “At least it's the weekend.”

Grabbing a 5X shirt and her phone, Casey headed down the stairs, her gait wide and her steps slow and painful. Going downstairs was becoming harder and harder and Casey wondered if she would be relegated to the couch before the end of this pregnancy. The shirt itself may have looked like a tent, but once on the pregnant woman it barely went down to her outie belly button. She gave up on pants, she wasn’t going to leave the house today and her mom would go get her some new clothes later.

Panting and sweating, Casey came down the last step, her belly and breasts heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Heavily, she waddled towards the couch, the spot she regularly occupied indented into the soft cushion. She pressed her hands harder into her back as she struggled to walk the short distance. Sitting down was almost as hard but gravity helped her flop unceremoniously onto the couch, her belly jiggling as the babies kicked harder. Finally able to rest, Casey leaned back and let her belly overtake her lap, stretching past her knees and resting heavily on her thighs.

The coffee table was already covered in sweet pastries, orange juice, cereal and whole fat milk, bacon, and scrambled eggs. The smells made her babies kick even harder as she tried to reach for any bit of the food. Her belly was ironically the thing preventing her from leaning forward at all.

“Moooom!” Casey cried.

Steph came back into the room, carrying a stack of pancakes soaked in butter and syrup. Chuckling at her daughter’s predicament, she sat the plate on her daughter's stomach and watched her start eating.

“Here you are dear, eat up.”

Casey didn’t need to be told twice as she cut into the sugar soaked pancakes and shoveled the food into her mouth. By the time the stack was gone, her mother had another plate of fatty breakfast foods waiting for her.

It was important to her that her daughter eat as much as possible to grow these five babies. When the doctor told them how many were inside her womb, Steph felt her motherly instincts increase with every added inch to Casey’s waistline. She wasn’t just caring for her daughter, she was caring for her daughter and her five grandbabies.

Casey was less excited by the idea of raising these kids. She wasn’t in a relationship, not anymore, and she hadn’t even graduated high school yet. Graduation was still a couple of weeks away and she desperately wanted to walk across that stage and prove everyone in school they were wrong about her being a dumb slut. Her due date wasn’t until July and in spite of everyone saying she would go into labor early, her overgrown brood wasn’t showing any sign of exiting soon.

In record time the breakfast buffet was gone and Casey was left moaning and rubbing her even larger stomach. Stretch marks covered the tight expanse, new ones appearing almost daily as the babies and food added more inches to her waistline. Steph saw her daughter trying to reach the far end of her belly and decided to grab the lotion and help soothe the kicking.

“They’re getting so strong!” Steph beamed. “You’re doing so good, honey.”

“I can’t get much bigger,” Casey whined. “I’m gonna explode if they keep making me eat so much.”

“Nonsense. The babies need to grow big and strong so they have the best start in life.”

Steph scratched the red marks on her daughter’s belly. She was very proud of her for growing these babies big and strong a while still going to school. Steph had told her she was welcome to take a break and finish later, but her daughter was stubborn and determined to prove she could handle it all.

“Now rest up,” Steph continued. “I have to go get you new clothes and I need to restock the kitchen for the week.”

Casey grunted in response, her eyes closed as she continued to rub her groaning gut. Steph put on Casey’s favorite show, left a few bags of chips and cookies in arm’s reach, and left the gravid teen alone.

In spite of how uncomfortable she was, Casey managed to fall back asleep. A few hours passed and when she awoke her mom was still gone. She grunted as she tried to shift her stiff hips, her legs tingling from having so much weight pressing on them from so long.

“Guh, you guys are so annoying!” She complained.

She shoved her hands under her stomach and lifted the dome off her lap, shuffling herself towards the edge of the couch. The babies within began kicking harder as she shifted back and forth before standing up on her trembling feet. She leaned forward, her stomach hanging heavily between her legs as she spread them wider trying to find her center of gravity.

“Ugh!” She cried, pushing her hands into her back and bringing herself upright. “I just want to use the bathroom, why do you guys have to make it so hard?”

Slowly, the pregnant teen waddled towards the bathroom. She leaned heavily on the hallway wall, her waddle even wider as she felt her babies shift in her belly. Every inch of her ached: her hips from being so wide, her breasts from swelling with milk, her belly from stretching so tight with these five big babies. Why did she have to sleep with the linebacker?

Finally she reached the bathroom. She sat heavily on the toilet, her belly once again filling her lap. She was breathing heavily, her lungs on fire and her body covered in sweat. When she finished she pressed on the counter to try and heave herself back up onto her feet but she was too tired and could only sit on the toilet and wait for her mom to get back home.

Casey wanted to cry. In spite of putting on a brave face she was scared and tired and oh so sore. Every inch of her wanted these babies out of her belly but she knew they were going to be stuck in there for at least four more weeks. If she had a boyfriend maybe she would feel better about the whole situation. Sure, she was happy her mom was so eager to have grandchildren but Casey didn’t know if she would be a good mom.

After ten minutes of waiting Casey tried to stand up again but her legs had fallen asleep. She heard the front door open and sighed in relief.

“Casey? Honey?” Steph called out.

“Mom! I’m in the bathroom. Can you help me?”

Steph hurried to her daughter and opened the bathroom door. She saw her there, slumped on the toilet, unable to stand on her own. Steph lifted her and set her belly on the counter to give her daughter some much needed relief.

“Are you okay?” Steph asked.

“Yeah. I was just so tired I couldn’t get back up.”

“Oh poor pregnant girl. You’re growing these babies so big your body needs more fuel to keep it going.”

Steph helped her back to the couch and handed her some snacks. Casey grabbed them and began to eat, not realizing how hungry she was.

“Here,” Steph handed Casey the bags of new clothes and a breast pump. “Look through these while I make us some lunch. Let me know if you need help with the pump. Now that you’re starting to get closer to your due date we need to start getting your milk to come in.”

Casey groaned at the idea of having her breasts constantly being sucked on. Her tits had already grown from perky double DDs to monstrous G cups with fat brown nipples. She had heard breastfeeding would make them even bigger and wasn’t looking forward to it.

The pump itself looked simple. Casey read the instruction and lifted her shirt over her boobs. They hung heavily on either side of her stomach, still jiggly and soft but growing firmer. She attached a pump on either one and started the machine. A soft sucking sensation made her moan involuntarily as her nipples were stimulated for the first time since she got pregnant.

“Oh, wow..” she whispered as the pumps did their magic. No milk was coming out yet but it felt amazing all the same.

“Oh good, you got it situated,” Steph came back into the living room with a plate of sandwiches and a family size bag of chips. She set the plate on her daughter’s belly and watched as she devoured them.

Steph did wish Casey had a man in her life to take care of her, but she knew her daughter would find the right one soon. She was beautiful, smart, funny, and obviously very fertile. Maybe she could help her find someone? Her friend Carol’s son was about her age and they both liked the same kind of music.

While Casey finished up her lunch and went back to snacking and watching TV Steph went into the next room and gave Carol a call.

“Hey, Carol? It’s Steph.”

“Oh! Hi Steph. How are things?”

“Good! I had a kind of weird question.”

“Yeah? What's up?”

“You know my daughter, Casey, how she is pregnant with quints?”

“Oh yes, what a strong girl to carry that many at such a young age.”

“I know, I’m proud of her. But I worry she might be getting a little…lonely? She doesn’t have many friends at school anymore and no one has asked her to prom yet and I was wondering if maybe your son would want to? I know that's a weird ask but I’m just trying to make sure she has a good senior year before she has five little ones to take care of.”

There was a pause on the other line. Steph worried she had made a big mistake.

“Let me ask Steve and get back to you.”

“Oh thank you Carol! And of course if he doesn’t want to I totally understand.”

“I know but I have a feeling the two of them would actually get along well. He’ll be home in an hour and I’ll ring you after.”

“Thank you so much. Bye bye.”

Steph smiled and looked back at Casey. She looked miserable, her big belly covered in itchy stretch marks, her hair tangled, her eyes drooping. A spa day would be in order before she met Steve. If she met Steve.

“How would you like a trip to the spa tomorrow?” Steph asked as she sat next to Casey.

“A spa day? Would they even touch me?”

“Oh honey, they’ll give you a facial and a massage and we’ll sit in a warm hot tub and make your muscles feel a little less sore. How does that sound?”

Casey nodded. It sounded amazing. She was nervous about anyone seeing her naked but she supposed this was better than feeling like shit all the time.

“Great, I’ll set up the appointments. Get some rest.”

Casey leaned back into the couch and closed her eyes again.

Across town, Steve walked through his front door and greeted his mom. He went to head up stairs but Carol stopped him.

“Can I talk to you real fast?” she said.

“Sure?” Steve was nervous. Was something wrong?

They sat at the dining room table and Carol brought up instagram, going to Steph’s page and scrolling down.

“Do you remember my co-worker, Steph? I think you met at the christmas party last year?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Steve did remember Steph. She was by far the hottest woman he had ever laid eyes on.

“Well, her daughter, Casey, she’s…how do I put this. She’s going through a rough time right now at her school. She’s a senior like you but she doesn’t really have any friends because of…well this–” Carol showed Steve a photo of the most pregnant woman he’d ever seen. His eyes went wide and he felt his erection growing. “She’s pregnant with quints. I know I know it sounds insane but Steph was wondering if you would maybe try and be friends with her? Even take her to prom?”

Steve stared back at his mom and gulped. “Uh, yeah yeah I can maybe go over and meet her and stuff.”

“Oh you are such a good kid. I’m not asking you to marry the girl, she’s got five babies on the way for christ's sake, but just be nice to her and treat her normal, ok?”

Steve nodded and went up to his room. Carol had to call Steph back with the good news.

Once in his room he locked the door and opened his phone, quickly finding Casey’s instagram. There weren’t a lot of pictures of her on there, but her mom had documented Casey’s pregnancy on her own instagram. Five babies! God she was the hottest woman he had ever seen and his mom wanted him to go and just be her friend?

This would be a challenge he would gladly face.

#preggo kink #pregnancy #pregnant #multiples #plus size preggo #preg #hyperpregnancy #hpreg #multiples pregnancy #preg k!nk

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bohbee · 2 years ago

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Genshin x Pregnant Reader

Part 3

Part 1

Part 2

Characters: Tighnari, Cyno, Al-Haitham, Kaveh

Warnings: throwing up, blood, water breaking, cussing, nausea, pain, kids💀.

Notes: please read! Tighnaris will be a bit longer than the others due to him being part fox! Also water breaking doesn't usually hurt but it will for his!

Anyways not proofread

Masterlist

Al-Haitham

You sat in the bathroom the day had just started and you already threw up, Al-Haitham stood behind you softly rubbing your back, as Kaveh made you some remedy food. "Ugh, today's gonna suck." You said with a loud groan, before puking yet again in the porcelain toilet. Your grey hair boyfriend held your hair back "(y/n), I'm going to take you to the hospital." He said, causing you to whip your head towards him.

"Wha- it's just me being sick? You tell me each time that I will be fine how is this different?" You said in shock, his expression stayed the same, slightly worried yet calm. "You're pregnant." He said with a matter-of-fact tone. You went to go say something again however another wave of nausea hit you, making you throw up.... yet again.

~Five months later~

He was right, to say the least. Currently, the two of you walked around Sumeru City, a medium-sized bump on your abdomen. You sighed heavily, the two of you didn't want a kid yet, you guys made the best of the situation but it didn't stop you from feeling bad. "You alright?" His hand grabbed yours, turning you to face him. "I've told you to stop worrying about this." His eyebrows furrowed, and his hand that held yours moved to your stomach. Rubbing the bump softly, "This will be our kid, it isn't a problem." You smiled softly, despite him being based on logic, he was quite aware of your emotions.

"I know Haitham, come on, let's go get some food, they're hungry." He chuckled softly as you pulled him around the city. "Alright crazy, let's go"

~Eight months in the pregnancy~

You looked into Kavehs eyes with shock as the water dripped from your inner region. "Ka-" you went to say his name however his screeching interrupted you, he placed you in the wheelchair he made you last month and rushed to the Hospital.

You sat in the room alone, contractions slamming your body consistently. Kaveh ran to grab Al-Haitham as soon as he dropped you off in the hospital. The nurses informed you that your baby would be premature but that they would most likely be fine.

The hospital room door slammed open, interrupting your conversation with the nurse, Kavehs eyes shot toward you, and your boyfriend's eyes right after his. "Archons." He muttered before pushing past the architect, he slammed the nurse with questions before he interrogated you.

Your birth wasn't as painful as it should've been due to your baby's small size, however, she was completely healthy. Al-Haitham snipped the umbilical cord and walked back to you. "She'll be just fine, alright? Now, how are you?" He asked softly, the back of his hand pressed on your forehead. "Ah forget that, just get some rest okay?" He said before you could answer, he placed a soft kiss on your knuckled. "I'll be right here when you wake."

Al-Haitham was a patient father, always pushing his daughter to the better choices but still allowing her to have fun. Currently, you stood in the kitchen, your daughter strapped to your chest as you made dinner. Al-Haitham walked behind you, hugging you softly, and kissing your kids' forehead. "Smells good what is it?" You went to respond but your kid decided to make a Muffled noise before... "Dada" you whipped your head towards her. "No fair." You groaned...

(Bonus: Kaveh was an amazing uncle, he would often steal your daughter whenever Al-Haitham was at the Akademiya and you needed a nap. He often made her toys and even a playground. The cute baby brought the two roommates quite close to another.)

Cyno

Loud shuffles could be heard at the front door of your house, quickly catching your attention. You wobbled to the door of your bedroom, carefully peeking out. "It's just me," your husband said, causing a breath of relief to leave your body. You walked out of the room, his sunset eyes looking at you.

He let out a soft smile, "I got some medicine from Tighnari, it should help with your nausea. He also said it'd be smart to do some aerobic exercises." The white-haired male said softly, his hands softly caressing the bump on your abdomen. "Ugh, I just want to relaaaax." You groaned, a small pout on your face, which caused General Mahamatra to laugh. "Oh well, darling, this will help the birthing process okay?"

"Finee"

The two of you stood in the living room, your husband showing you some pregnancy-friendly stretches. "No no, move your hips out." He said calmly, his calloused hands gripping your waist and patiently showing you how to properly do it. A crack popped through your body, your back releasing pressure it had been carrying due to the child. "That soo nice" you groaned out, gaining an amused hum from Cyno. "See I told you, now go ahead and sit I'll make you some Duel Soul" you nodded softly and waited for him to come back.

~Nine months in the pregnancy~

"Agh!" A loud groan was yet again playing through the hospital room, Cynos hands grabbed onto yours. "Deep breaths remember?" You listened to his advice as another contraction rippled through your body. "Cyno-- ugh! It hurts!" You pressed your head into the pillow, sweat dripping down your forehead. His calloused fingers rubbed your hips softly, washing away a bit of your discomfort. "I know, it'll be over soon. Scream as loud as you need."

And that is exactly what you did. You grabbed his left hand which was rubbing one of your hips and squeezed it, causing his eyes to widen in shock. Not because it hurt, no something that simple couldn't hurt him, it was your immense strength that got him. He sat with you and let you squeeze him as hard as you needed, humming sweet nothings in your ear and praising you through the difficulties.

Cyno had to leave a lot due to his job, but when he was home he was the best father anyone could ask for. He would never fail to make the baby laugh, he finally had the dad joke title. Currently, the two of you stood in Gandharva Ville with your five-year-old messing with some jumping mushrooms. Loud laughter could be heard from each of you, you held your swollen stomach trying to calm the kicking infant in your belly.

"Hey kiddo, what does a bee use to brush its fuzz?" Your husband's voice said to your kid. "Hmmm, I don't know! What Daddy?!" They said with a large giggle "A honeycomb!" He exclaimed before tickling their stomach.

(Bonus: you would often visit Tighnari and Collie, and both of them would gush over your kid. Collie would always hang out with Cyno and your oldest, while Nari would stay back and assist you with your newborn. Each of them was amazing to the kids, your oldest even wanted to work in the forest like they did!)

Kaveh

His eyes sparkled when you showed up with a gift box in hand, "And what is this my love?~" he said cheerily before rushing you inside the shared house. "Hm.... a gift for the best architect in the world!" You exclaimed happily before kissing his soft cherry-tinted lips, causing the Acting Grand Sage to grimace.

Kaveh set the gift down on the table and carefully unwrapped it, making sure not to damage the gorgeous wrapping. Inside were multiple gifts. A new sketchbook, nail polish, earrings, and a......... a bag of really tiny hair pins. "My love! These are amazing, might I ask though.... what could these tiny bows be for, did you find a hairstyle you'd like me to try?" He asked, you looked down slightly, causing both him and his roommate to look at you in confusion.

"I'm pregnant." You mumbled softly, your eyes focusing on the intricate details on the tiled floor. "You-!" Kaveh exclaimed, dropping the pins and running over to you. "You?!" He said again with a large smile, tears globbing out of his eyes, causing you to giggle a little, nodding. "YES!" He yelled and grabbed whisped you into a heavy embrace. "My baby has a baby!"

~Six months later~

Pregnancy was easy for you, it seems that Kavehs empathic tendencies rubbed off on the newborn. They never really kicked or made you sick, however, they did make you crave food. So you sat with your Fiancé happily eating Rose Custard and a Pita Pocket Kaveh made you. His hand rested comfortably on your abdomen as he told your unborn child fictional tales. "You know Kaveh, you're going to be an amazing father." You said out of the blue, causing his peachy irises to stare at yours in awe. "My rose, you flatter me so much." He said with a large blush painting his face, he got up and smooched your custard-tasting lips. "Stay here my beloved, I'll prepare the bed for a massage. You deserve it after that amazing comment!" He said with a cheeky smile.

~Nine months in the pregnancy~

You huffed out, grabbing the stair railing, catching Al-Haitham’s attention. "(y/n)?" He said with a questioning tone, wet droplets filled his eardrums causing him to shoot up from his spot and grab your body carefully. "Kaveh!" He shouted, "They are in labor!" Your Fiancé shot out of his room and rushed over to the two of you. "Okay okay, let's go honey!" He said urgently, rushing you out the house.

Kaveh was an anxious father, however, he had an immense amount of love. He'd constantly be scared of hurting the child, even with the slightest touch. This quickly disappeared though, you'd often find the two of them asleep together, random pins in your now husband's hair.

You walked into your husband's office to give him some Padisarah Pudding, your irises locked onto a beautiful sight. Your beloved was slouched over on the table, papers sprawled all over the place, your child holding onto a lock of his hair. You sighed softly at the sight and placed down the pudding, carefully grabbing the Kamera. *click* the soft noise filled the room. Now this photo had to of been the best.

(Bonus: Al-Haitham and Kaveh were known as roommates that hated each other, however, this was not true. Al-Haitham was there for a large portion of your pregnancy, hell he even bought most of the stuff for you. He would give you random facts and assist you when it came to your cravings. He wasn't the best with kids, however, when he first met your child a small smile painted his face.)

Tighnari

The soft wind of Gandharva Ville tickled across your face, causing a sigh of contentment to leave your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut as you took in your surroundings, that was until soft twigs snapping caught your attention. You whipped your head to the noise only to find your beloved husband waving slightly "Hello dear." He said softly, walking over and sitting beside you.

A smile painted itself on your face and you placed your head on his shoulder "Welcome back, Nari, how are you feeling?" You mumbled, taking in his scent. "Relaxed now that I'm back, how're you and the kids doing?" His arms pulled you closer to him, your head now resting on his chest. "You make it sound like they're here already! But..... they missed their father I'd say...." You giggled softly, a light blush painting your cheeks. "Oh my! Well I guess I have to spend more times with my little plants now don't I."

~4 months in the pregnancy~

You huffed out and held your large stomach, despite being only four months pregnant your belly was LARGE. Having Tighnaris babies took a large toll on your body. As of recently, any food or food-smelling scent would cause you to throw up. Which made life hell for both you and all of Gandharva Ville. Tighnari would send people on missions to find different plants to ease his lovers seemingly endless nausea, everyday something new but nothing worked.

You sat on the chair after throwing up your old food, Tighnaris ears lowered as he watched your weak stance. "(y/n)?" He whispered, catching your attention, which you hummed in response. "I'm so sorry.." He walked over to you and hugged your frail body, "Just.... whatever you need.. tell me." He said, guilt rushing in his chest. "Nari.... I need to lay with you..." You said with a raspy voice, his ears perked up at your request, "of course."

~8 months in~

You thought four months was bad? No. Currently, you lay on the bed, the same bed you've been laying in for about a week in a half. The pregnancy really took your energy away, in the past you'd be able to join people for small walks, maybe on a good day dinner. But now you could barely get up to use the restroom. Your three children were definitely making themselves at home in your belly.

Tighnari walked over to your laying form and carefully helped you sit up, placing pillows behind you. "Is that comfortable?" He asked softly, causing you to nod. "Good, I've brought you some of the Pita Pockets Collei made, I placed some healing plants to hopefully allow it to stay down." He sat down beside you and unwrapped two of the four Pita Pockets. "Now you tell me which sounds better, Chicken or Shawarma"

~In labor~

A shrieking scream erupted through the village, causing Tighnari and Collei to drop everything they were doing and rush over to his house. Tighari ran into the room only to find your body on the floor in a puddle of blood and fluid. "Fuck" he said. He carefully lifted your body and rushed you to the nursery, placing you on the table. He was going to have to deliver them, you went into labor two weeks earlier than planned.

The birthing process was hell, your screams were loud causing him to get a major headache but he knew you couldn't control it. Luckily though it didn't take too long, with Naris' skills and Colleis assistance in a short 3 hours you were done and you lollied off into a much needed sleep.

You opened your eyes and looked around only to find Tighnaris's body curled into yours. Your movements quickly caused him to rush awake. "(y/n)! How are you? Do you need anything? The kids are in the other room. They're-" his quick speaking was cut off by your small giggle. "You big worry wart, I'm fine Nari, happy to be done with that whole thing.... but-" you stopped yourself, your eyes meeting with his curious earth-tone ones "But?" He repeated a large smile showering your face "I would kill for some of your mushroom soup right now."

Tighnari was a cautious tough loving parent, he would always make sure his three kiddos were safe and if they even dared to eat a suspicious plant oh they would have to face his Wrath. He would often grab the three of them and make flower crowns for you, teaching them different braiding techniques and such. Currently, you sat outside yet again breathing in the natural smell of the Village you called home. Small giggles interrupted you this time, "Hm?" You smiled softly at your three kids, each of them hiding something behind their back. "What's going on now my little devils?" You joked around, and your middle child stepped forward and shoved a small bracelet made of flowers in your hands, your youngest giving you a necklace, and your oldest giving you a crown. "This is beautiful! Oh, you guys are just the cutest aren't you? Help me put them on would you?"

(Bonus: Collei would ALWAYS steal your kids, she was a proud older sister and you never had any arguments against her actions. She would often dance around with them in the forest, always telling them fun stories about Aranaras. And when the green-haired storyteller wasn't there, Uncle Cyno and Aunt Nilou would be. Cyno would always come prepared with fun jokes, causing your youngest to always giggle. Nilou would often dance with Collei and the kids, sometimes even sneaking them some Padisarah Pudding.)

♡♡♡♡♡

Held this off for a while, hopefully it's alright.

#genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin reader insert #genshin oneshots #genshin impact #al haitham x reader #tighnari x reader #kaveh x reader #cyno x reader #genshin impact x reader

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deluxewhump · 3 months ago

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Life oversharing with yall :)

CW: pregnancy loss, abortion, grief

I’m married to the love of my life and we want to have a baby together. At 30, I went off birth control and I got pregnant four months later and was thrilled. I found out about a severe fetal anomaly at 12 weeks after regular testing and decided to get a termination. I had to go to another part of the country due to laws in my state. I got pregnant again five months later and was thrilled again. I carried her for five months and found out at the 20 week anatomy scan about a severe and fatal heart defect. I confirmed this diagnosis at a fetal cardiology specialist and decided for her sake to terminate. Had to go to another part of the country again. The issues from the first and second pregnancy are unrelated. We got extensive genetic testing both times and the results said there is no indication either of our genetics caused these anomalies. We are both healthy people and our genetic counselor called it, and I quote, “shitty luck.” That’s where I’m at. I have grieved two children in a year and a half and honestly the second one was hardest because I carried her for 20 weeks not knowing anything was wrong. I was so, so in love with the idea of my daughter. I was able to obtain her ashes which was a surprising comfort to me. I want more than anything to have a baby. I was always a strong supporter of abortion but obviously my situation has made me even more enlightened. I would have liked to have had MY doctors perform the terminations and have grieved them in my own bed instead of a hotel bed. But it is what it is. I am fortunate enough to have the money and resources (and a supportive partner) to avoid even more pain and grief, especially the pain of my children. Not everyone is so lucky. I am going to try again, and it will likely be my last attempt. I hope to hell I get a child out of it. If not, I will reevaluate my future. I am trying to be fearless.

#edit: thank you guys 💕

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eclipsedrgn · 2 months ago

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𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑬𝒍𝒔𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔

5 years later, you are living your best life in california but you didn't realize you were never going to get that happy ending.

TW🔞 mature content, suicide, depression

California had become your sanctuary, a far cry from the shadows of Gotham that had once consumed your life. You had spent the last five years building something new—something simple and pure, far removed from the chaos that had torn you apart. Your daughter, Amara, was your light, and your days were filled with moments that reminded you of just how far you had come. The boys still visited regularly—too often for you to catch your breath at times, but you didn’t mind. You loved them, and seeing them happy and healthy filled the holes that Gotham had left in your heart.

You had even managed to put the past behind you, at least mostly. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell Amara the full truth about her father. Instead, you offered her a softened version of Bruce Wayne—the protective, loving, and kind man he had been before everything fell apart. She was too young to carry the burden of the real story, too innocent to understand the pain that had consumed both of you after Jason’s death. And for now, that was enough.

It was a Monday morning like any other. Amara was at school, and you were working your usual shift at the nearby café, smiling at regulars and enjoying the quiet rhythm of life you had built. The bell above the door chimed softly, signaling a new customer, and you looked up from behind the counter, ready to greet them with the usual warmth.

But the words died in your throat as soon as your eyes locked onto the familiar, piercing blue ones staring back at you.

Bruce.

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. You blinked, your mind struggling to process what you were seeing. You hadn’t seen him in five years—not since you left Gotham behind, not since you promised yourself you’d never face him again. But there he was, standing in front of you like a ghost from the past, his face etched with something you couldn’t quite place. Regret? Sorrow? It didn’t matter. He didn’t belong here. Not in your new life.

“(Y/N),” he mumbled, his voice low and rough, as if the sound of your name caused him pain.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. The sight of him, the sound of his voice, brought everything flooding back—the years of betrayal, the pain, the abandonment. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, didn’t trust yourself to keep the anger and hurt in check.

Without a word, you turned to your boss, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned in. “My ex is here,” you said, your tone trembling. “I need to go.”

Your boss, a kind woman who knew your story—at least parts of it—nodded quickly, her eyes filled with understanding. “Go out the back. Take your time. I’ve got this.”

You gave her a shaky smile, grateful for her kindness, and hurried out the back door, your hands shaking as you fumbled for your phone. The second you were outside, you dialed Jason’s number, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts as you waited for him to answer.

“Ma?” Jason’s voice came through, sharp and filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Jason,” you whispered, glancing over your shoulder as if Bruce might be following you. “He’s here. Bruce is at the café.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Jason cursed under his breath. “Fuck. Okay, stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

“I’m heading to my car,” you said, your voice still trembling as you started walking quickly across the parking lot. “I don’t want to be here when he—”

You didn’t finish the sentence. A strong hand grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. Your heart leapt into your throat as you spun around, coming face to face with Bruce. He stared down at you, his eyes filled with something dark and unreadable, and your breath hitched as you tried to yank your wrist free from his grip.

“Let me go,” you hissed, your voice low and full of anger.

But Bruce didn’t release you. He just stood there, staring at you, as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

You glared up at him, your anger boiling over. “What, Bruce? Are you here to drag me back to Arkham? Is that what this is about? Because if it is, I’m not going quietly.”

For a moment, Bruce’s expression didn’t change. He just stood there, his grip on your wrist firm but not painful, his eyes locked on yours. You could see the storm brewing behind them, the way his jaw clenched as if he was holding something back.

“I’m not here to take you anywhere,” he finally said, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion.

“Then what do you want?” you snapped, your chest tight with anxiety. “Because I don’t have anything to say to you.”

You tried to pull your wrist free again, but he still wouldn’t let go. His gaze softened ever so slightly, but there was something desperate in the way he was holding onto you, like he was afraid that if he let go, you’d vanish. And maybe, in a way, you had. You had built a life without him, without Gotham, without the pain that came with it.

“I just want to talk,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, anger bubbling up inside you. “Talk? What could we possibly have to talk about, Bruce? You made your choice years ago. You left me in that hellhole, and I’m not going back. Not to Gotham, and certainly not to you.”

His jaw tightened at your words, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he just looked at you with those same sad eyes, the weight of everything between you hanging in the air like a suffocating fog.

“You need to let me go,” you said, your voice shaking with emotion. “I have a life here, Bruce. I moved on.”

Bruce’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something—pain, regret, maybe even fear. But then he spoke again, his voice steady but soft. “I… I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” you snapped, frustration mounting.

He hesitated, his grip on your wrist finally loosening. “That you were pregnant.”

Your blood ran cold, your heart stopping in your chest as the words sank in. He knew. He knew. Somehow, despite all your efforts to keep Amara a secret, Bruce had found out. Your mind raced as you tried to figure out how, when, but none of it mattered now. What mattered was keeping Amara safe.

"How did you know?" You whispered, "How did you know about her?!"

"Harley slipped up..."

You yanked your wrist free from his grasp, stepping back quickly as you glared up at him. “You don’t get to know her, Bruce.”

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened, the sadness in them deepening. “She’s my daughter.”

“She’s my daughter,” you shot back, your voice trembling with anger. “And you don’t get to walk back into my life after all this time and just claim her. You lost that right when you left me to rot in Arkham.”

Bruce flinched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a deep breath, his gaze lowering to the ground. “I didn’t know what they were doing to you. If I had—”

“Save it,” you interrupted, your voice cold. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You didn’t care then, and I don’t need you to care now.”

He looked up at you again, his eyes filled with something close to desperation. “I do care.”

You shook your head, backing away from him. “It’s too late, Bruce. I don’t need you, and neither does Amara. We’re fine on our own.”

Before Bruce could respond, you turned and walked quickly toward your car, your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel his gaze on your back, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t let him back into your life. Not after everything you had been through. Not after what he had done.

As soon as you reached your car, you climbed inside, locking the doors behind you. Your hands were shaking as you dialed Jason’s number again, your breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

“Ma?” Jason answered immediately, his voice tense. “Where are you?”

“I’m in the car,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “He knows, Jason. He knows about Amara.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Jason cursed softly. “Fuck. Okay, stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as you glanced in the rearview mirror. Bruce was still standing in the parking lot, his hands in his pockets, watching you from a distance.

“I just want to go home,” you whispered, your heart breaking all over again.

The roar of the engine filled your ears as Bruce’s firm grip on you didn’t relent, even as you screamed, fought, and kicked against him. Your mind was racing, panic taking over as you were hoisted into the Batplane like a prisoner. You were desperate, your thoughts only on Amara. She was waiting for you, expecting you to pick her up from school like any normal day. You couldn’t let Bruce drag you back to Gotham, back to the nightmare you had barely escaped from. Not again.

“Bruce, stop!” you shouted, your voice hoarse from screaming. “I need to go back! Amara’s waiting for me!”

Bruce’s face remained as unreadable as ever, though his grip tightened slightly as he sat down in the cockpit. With a calmness that only further infuriated you, he lifted his phone, dialing quickly.

Your heart sank as you heard him speak into the device. “Jason,” Bruce said, his voice rough but composed, “I have her. Bring Amara to the manor.”

“No!” you screamed, struggling harder against his hold. “You can’t take her! You can’t bring her there!”

But Bruce’s gaze didn’t waver. His jaw clenched, and he didn’t even look at you as the Batplane took off, soaring into the skies above California. “It’s the only way,” he muttered quietly, more to himself than to you.

The cold, metallic walls of the Batplane only deepened your sense of dread. You knew this feeling too well—the feeling of being trapped, of having no control over your own life. You tried to reach for the controls, but Bruce’s hand shot out to stop you, his grip still firm but not painful. His silence cut deeper than any words ever could.

"Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why now, after all this time?"

Bruce remained silent, his blue eyes focused on the horizon ahead. You wanted to hate him, to scream at him for doing this to you. But beneath all the anger, there was something else—something that hurt more than anything.

Fear.

You were terrified. Not of Bruce, but of the possibility that this would all unravel. You had built a new life with Amara, and now everything was being torn apart. If Bruce knew about her, what else could he take from you?

Minutes passed like hours as the Batplane crossed the distance between California and Gotham. You had stopped screaming, though your heart was still racing, your mind spinning. And when the Batplane finally landed in the familiar shadows of the Batcave, your stomach twisted with anxiety.

Bruce unbuckled his seatbelt and, without a word, lifted you into his arms again. You didn’t fight this time. The shock and exhaustion had left you numb, your thoughts jumbled as he carried you out of the plane and into the dimly lit expanse of the cave.

The moment you stepped onto the Batcave floor, you heard voices. Familiar voices.

“Mom? Bruce, what the hell are you doing?” Dick’s voice rang out, his footsteps hurried as he rushed over.

Tim followed closely behind, his expression a mix of confusion and alarm. “Bruce, stop—what’s going on?”

But before either of them could intervene, Bruce was already moving, carrying you toward the mansion’s inner halls with grim determination. He didn’t respond to his sons, didn’t look back as they trailed behind him, their voices growing more frantic.

“Bruce, stop! Let her go!” Dick shouted, his voice desperate.

Tim’s voice was filled with disbelief. “You can’t do this! What are you thinking?”

Damian, however, stood in the background, his arms crossed, a scowl plastered on his face. His cold, calculating eyes watched the scene with thinly veiled contempt. “Who is this woman?” he muttered, his voice laced with disdain. “Another one of Father’s… harlots?”

You barely registered Damian’s words as Bruce carried you through the manor and up the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest as you realized where he was taking you.

The master bedroom.

Your pulse quickened as Bruce reached the door, his grip still firm but not harsh. Without a word, he opened the door and threw you inside, locking it behind you before you could even react. The heavy door slammed shut with a finality that made your stomach churn.

“No!” you screamed, pounding against the door with all the strength you had left. “Bruce, let me out! I don’t belong here! Let me go!”

But the door didn’t budge. From the other side, you could hear Bruce’s voice, low and full of regret. “I’m sorry. But this is the only way to get you home.”

Home.

You pressed your forehead against the door, tears burning in your eyes as you pounded your fists weakly against the wood. This wasn’t home. It hadn’t been for years. Not since the day Bruce had sent you to Arkham, not since everything had fallen apart.

“Bruce, please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Please don’t do this.”

But the only response was silence.

Meanwhile, back in the Batcave, chaos was unfolding.

Jason had arrived using the Zeta Tube, his expression dark and his steps hurried. And with him was Amara, her small hand wrapped tightly around his as they emerged from the glowing portal. Jason’s face was set in a hard line, his jaw clenched as he scanned the cave for Bruce.

“Where is he?” Jason demanded, his voice rough with barely restrained anger.

But before anyone could answer, Amara spotted her older brother. Her face lit up, her bright eyes sparkling as she let go of Jason’s hand and rushed forward. “Dickie!”

Dick smiled through the tension, dropping to one knee to catch her in his arms. But before Amara could reach him, a flash of steel cut through the air, and suddenly, a katana was pointed directly at her throat.

Damian.

The youngest Wayne’s face was set in a deep scowl, his eyes sharp and distrustful as he held his blade steady. “Who is this child?” he asked coldly, his gaze never leaving Amara’s terrified face. “And why is she in the Batcave?”

“Damian, no!” Dick shouted, his voice filled with panic as he rushed forward, his heart stopping as he saw the fear in Amara’s wide eyes. “Put the sword down!”

Jason’s entire body tensed, his eyes flashing with fury as he stepped forward, his hand already reaching for his gun. “You little shit, if you don’t move that sword right now—”

Tim’s voice cracked with urgency. “Damian, stop! She’s just a kid!”

But Damian didn’t move, his grip on the katana unwavering. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Amara, his voice dripping with contempt. “A kid? Father brought this child here, but she’s no family of ours.”

Amara’s lip trembled, her small body frozen in place as she looked up at Damian, tears welling in her eyes. “Jayjay…” she whimpered, her voice trembling with fear.

Jason took another step forward, his hand still hovering over his gun. “Damian,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Put the fucking sword down. Now.”

For a moment, it seemed like Damian might refuse. His eyes flicked from Amara to Jason, his scowl deepening. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he slowly lowered the katana, the blade clinking softly as it hit the stone floor of the Batcave.

Amara let out a shaky breath, her tiny body trembling as she rushed into Dick’s arms, burying her face in his shoulder. Dick held her tightly, his own heart pounding as he shot Damian a furious glare.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Dick snapped, his voice trembling with anger. “She’s your sister!”

Damian scoffed, sheathing his sword with a dismissive wave. “Sister? Father never mentioned any child. She’s just another stranger.”

Jason, who had been seconds away from pulling the trigger, let out a low growl, his body still tense with barely restrained rage. “You touch her again, and I swear—”

Tim quickly stepped in, placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder to stop him from escalating things any further. “Jason, don’t. Not here.”

Jason clenched his jaw, his eyes still locked on Damian, but he nodded reluctantly, stepping back as he ran a hand through his hair. He looked down at Amara, who was still clinging to Dick, her small body shaking with fear.

“We need to get her out of here,” Jason muttered, his voice rough with emotion. “She doesn’t belong in this fucking circus.”

Tim nodded in agreement, his face filled with concern as he glanced toward the stairs leading to the manor. “We need to talk to Bruce. Figure out what the hell he’s thinking.”

Jason glanced at Amara, his heart breaking at the sight of her scared, tear-streaked face. “I’m going to get her out of here,” he said quietly, his voice softening as he knelt down beside her. “Hey, kiddo. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Amara sniffled, wiping her eyes as she looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “I want to go home, Jayjay.”

Jason’s heart clenched, and he nodded, scooping her up into his arms as he held her close. “I know, sweetheart. I’m going to take you home.”

But as he turned to leave, the sound of footsteps echoed through the cave, and a familiar figure appeared at the top of the stairs.

Bruce.

His eyes swept over the scene in front of him—Dick holding Amara protectively, Jason’s tense, angry stance, and Damian’s cold, calculating expression. For a moment, his face softened, his gaze landing on Amara, but it quickly hardened again as he looked at his sons.

“Amara stays,” Bruce said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Jason’s eyes darkened, his grip on Amara tightening as he took a step toward Bruce. “Like hell she does.”

But Bruce didn’t back down. His gaze flickered to Amara, who was clutching Jason’s jacket tightly, her tear-streaked face peeking out from behind her brother’s shoulder.

“She’s my daughter too,” Bruce said quietly, his voice filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

Jason’s eyes narrowed, his body trembling with rage as he glared at Bruce. “You don’t get to decide that. Not after everything.”

The tension in the Batcave was suffocating, the air thick with unspoken anger and unresolved grief. Jason’s fury had been building since the moment Bruce dragged you back here—back to the city that had chewed you up and spit you out, leaving you to fend for yourself in Arkham. For years, Jason had kept the truth of what happened to you a secret, only revealing bits and pieces to his brothers when necessary. But now, standing face to face with the man who had abandoned you, with Bruce demanding to be part of Amara’s life, Jason couldn’t hold it in any longer.

The words exploded out of him like bullets from a gun, each one laced with venom. "You don’t get to decide shit about Amara, Bruce. Do you even know what you put her mother through? Do you know what she went through in Arkham?"

Bruce’s face paled at the accusation, his expression shifting from firm resolve to uncertainty. His blue eyes flickered with confusion, as if he couldn’t understand what Jason was getting at. "Jason—"

"Do you know what they did to her in that hellhole you left her in?" Jason spat, his voice trembling with barely contained rage. "They fucking raped her, Bruce. The guards, the inmates—they took turns with her like she was some kind of goddamn toy. You left her there to rot, and they broke her."

Bruce froze, his eyes widening in shock. For a moment, the words seemed to hang in the air, too horrific, too painful to fully comprehend. Bruce's entire body stiffened as the weight of Jason’s accusation settled on him like a heavy blanket.

Dick’s face drained of color as he stood holding Amara, his arms tightening around her protectively. His jaw clenched, his heart breaking at the image Jason’s words conjured in his mind. He glanced down at Amara, her innocent face nestled against his chest, oblivious to the horrors being discussed. He needed to get her out of here.

"Tim," Dick called out, his voice trembling with the effort of keeping himself together, "take Amara upstairs. Now."

Tim’s eyes filled with tears, but he quickly nodded, rushing over to take Amara from Dick’s arms. "Come on, kiddo," Tim whispered, his voice breaking as he gently lifted her into his arms. "Let’s go see Alfred. He’s making cookies."

Amara blinked up at him, her small face full of confusion, but she didn’t protest. She didn’t understand why the grown-ups were acting so strange, why her big brothers seemed so upset. She clung to Tim, her little hands grasping at his shirt as he carried her up the stairs, her bright smile slowly fading as she sensed the tension in the air.

As soon as Tim disappeared with Amara, Dick’s composure shattered. He turned to Bruce, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and fury. "Is that true? Is that what happened to her in Arkham?"

Bruce didn’t answer, his throat tightening as he struggled to process what Jason had just revealed. His mind was racing, images of you flashing before his eyes—the way you had looked at him when he locked you in that room, the way you had screamed for him to let you go. He had thought he was doing the right thing, sending you to Arkham to keep you contained, to keep you from spiraling out of control after killing the Joker. But now, hearing what had happened to you, knowing that he had left you to suffer through something so horrific, the weight of his decision crushed him.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Bruce whispered, his voice hollow.

"Why didn’t I tell you?" Jason’s voice cracked with disbelief. "You didn’t care. You didn’t care enough to check on her. You left her there, and now you want to waltz back into her life and play happy family with Amara? Fuck you, Bruce."

Bruce’s fists clenched at his sides, guilt and regret crashing down on him like a tidal wave. But before he could respond, a loud, sharp sound rang through the manor—a gunshot.

The sound reverberated through the halls, echoing in the cavernous space of the Batcave.

Everything stopped.

Dick and Jason’s eyes widened in horror, their bodies freezing for a split second before the weight of what had just happened hit them like a sledgehammer.

"No," Dick breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he turned toward the stairs. "No, no, no."

Jason was already moving, his heart pounding in his chest as he sprinted toward the stairs, his boots slamming against the cold stone. "Mom!"

Bruce’s face drained of color, his entire body going numb as the realization settled in. His legs moved on their own, following after Jason and Dick, the panic seizing him in a way that left him breathless.

Damian, who had been standing off to the side, scowled as his brothers ran past him. "What now?" he muttered, irritation lining his voice.

But when he caught sight of Bruce’s expression—the way his father’s face had gone pale, the terror in his eyes—Damian’s scowl faltered. He hesitated for a moment before following the others, his confusion growing with each step.

In the kitchen, Alfred had been preparing tea when the gunshot rang out. His hands trembled, the teacup slipping from his grasp and shattering against the floor.

"Dear God…" Alfred whispered, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear the hurried footsteps from the Batcave, the frantic voices of the boys as they raced up the stairs.

Upstairs, in one of the manor’s hallways, Tim had been gently carrying Amara, trying to distract her with stories about Alfred’s famous cookies. But the moment the gunshot echoed through the manor, Tim’s heart dropped into his stomach. He stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat as Amara looked up at him with wide, confused eyes.

"What was that?" Amara asked, her voice small and scared.

Tim’s eyes welled with tears, his throat tightening as he held her closer. "It’s okay," he whispered, his voice shaking. "It’s okay, sweetheart. Let’s go see Alfred."

But even as he said the words, the truth hit him like a freight train. He knew, deep down, what that sound meant. And it tore him apart.

Jason reached the door to the master bedroom first, his heart slamming against his ribs as he threw himself against it, his voice breaking with desperation. "Mom! Mom, open the door!"

Dick was right behind him, his eyes wide and frantic as he pounded against the door. "Mom, please! Let us in!"

Bruce arrived next, his face pale and his breathing shallow as he grabbed the handle, trying to open the door. But it wouldn’t budge. The lock held firm, keeping them out—keeping you in.

"Mom!" Jason screamed, his voice hoarse as he slammed his fist against the door, his strength failing him for the first time in years. "Please, don’t do this!"

But there was no response. Only silence.

The gunshot still echoed in his mind, loud and deafening, and Jason’s chest tightened with a fear he hadn’t felt since the day he had lost you the first time. The day he had come back from the dead, only to find that you were gone, locked away in Arkham, lost to him.

And now, it was happening all over again.

Bruce’s hands shook as he fumbled for the key, his fingers trembling as he unlocked the door with a loud click. The door swung open, and Jason was the first to rush inside, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes landed on you.

You were sitting by the door, slumped against the wall, your hand still holding the gun that had been pressed to your temple just moments ago. Blood pooled around you, staining the floor, and your eyes—those eyes that had once been so full of life—were now closed, your face pale.

Jason let out a guttural scream, the sound tearing from his throat as he fell to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached for you. "No… No, no, no… Mom…"

Dick followed close behind, his face contorting with grief as he took in the sight of you lying there, lifeless. His heart shattered into a million pieces, and he collapsed to the floor beside Jason, his hands shaking as he tried to reach out, but couldn’t.

"Mom, please…" Dick sobbed, his voice broken. "Please don’t leave us…"

Bruce stood frozen in the doorway, his entire body numb as he stared at the scene in front of him. He had failed you. Again. The weight of it crushed him, the realization that he had pushed you too far—that he had been the cause of your suffering. His legs buckled, and he sank to his knees, his face buried in his hands as the sobs overtook him.

Damian stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock and confusion as he watched his brothers fall apart. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say, what to do. He had never seen his father like this, had never seen his brothers so broken. And he didn’t understand why this woman—this stranger—had caused them so much pain.

In the kitchen, Tim held Amara tightly, his own sobs muffled as he rocked her gently, trying to keep her from hearing the anguished screams coming from upstairs.

The room was deathly silent save for the heart-wrenching sobs that echoed through the walls of Wayne Manor. Jason sat on the floor, cradling your lifeless body in his arms, rocking you gently as if it could somehow bring you back. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his chest tight with the overwhelming grief that crushed him from every side. Your blood soaked through his clothes, but he didn’t care. He held onto you as if letting go would make the reality of your death even more unbearable.

Dick knelt beside him, his hands trembling as he stroked a lock of your hair, his eyes red and swollen from the tears that hadn’t stopped falling since they had found you. His heart shattered as he looked into your eyes—eyes that once held so much love and life—but now were dull and lifeless. The realization hit him like a freight train: they were too late. He had lost you.

Jason’s sobs grew louder, more desperate, as he rocked back and forth, his face buried in your neck. "Mom… please…" he whispered, his voice thick with grief. "Please come back… don’t leave us…"

But you were gone. And nothing—no amount of pleading, no amount of tears—could bring you back.

Dick’s sorrow turned to rage, his blood boiling as he turned his gaze toward Bruce, who stood frozen in the doorway. Bruce’s face was pale, his eyes wide with disbelief, his breath shallow as he stared at your body. The weight of what he had done—what his choices had caused—was crushing him, but it was too late. He had failed you in the most unforgivable way.

"This is your fault," Dick growled, his voice low and dangerous. He stood slowly, his hands clenched into fists as he glared at Bruce, his eyes filled with fury. "You did this."

Bruce didn’t respond, his throat tightening as the words cut through him like a knife. He couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t argue. Deep down, he knew Dick was right. He had put you in Arkham, had abandoned you to that nightmare, and now… now you were gone because of him.

"You left her," Dick continued, his voice shaking with anger. "You left her in Arkham to suffer, and now she’s dead. Our mom is dead because of you."

Jason’s body shook with silent sobs, his grip on your body tightening as Dick’s words echoed in the room. "We lost her," Jason whispered, his voice barely audible. "We lost her…"

Bruce’s heart shattered as he took a hesitant step forward, his eyes locked on your lifeless form. "I… I didn’t know," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I didn’t know what they were doing to her…"

Dick’s eyes blazed with fury as he stepped forward, his finger jabbing toward Bruce’s chest. "You should have known! You should have been there! But you weren’t! You weren’t there when she needed you, and now she’s gone."

Bruce recoiled at the accusation, guilt and regret tearing at him from the inside. His legs felt weak, his breath shallow, as he took a step back, his entire world crumbling around him. He had failed you in the worst possible way, and now, there was no way to make it right.

Dick wiped the tears from his face, his voice trembling with emotion as he spoke again. "Amara will be under my care from now on. Kori and I will raise her. We’ll give her the life Mom wanted for her—a normal life. Away from all of this."

Jason’s breath hitched, his sobs subsiding slightly as he slowly stood, still holding your body in his arms. His eyes were red, swollen, and filled with an emotion that Bruce couldn’t quite place—grief, yes, but something deeper, something darker. Jason met Dick’s gaze and gave a small, shaky nod, as if silently agreeing to Dick’s decision.

Dick turned to Bruce one last time, his voice full of venom. "You don’t get to have her, Bruce. You don’t get to be her father. You lost that right the day you left Mom to rot."

Without another word, Dick turned and walked toward the door, his heart heavy with the weight of everything that had just happened. Jason followed closely behind, carrying you gently in his arms, his face pale and drawn with grief.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, the tension was palpable. Tim sat on the floor, his back against the wall, holding Amara tightly in his arms. Tears streamed down his face as he clung to her, his chest heaving with quiet sobs. He had tried to keep her distracted, tried to pretend like nothing was wrong, but the gunshot had shattered that illusion. He knew what had happened. He knew you were gone.

Amara squirmed in his lap, her innocent voice cutting through the silence. "Timmy… what was that sound?"

Tim’s throat tightened, the lump in his chest making it difficult to breathe. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, couldn’t bring himself to tell her that her mother was gone. He swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he whispered, "It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay."

But even as he said the words, he knew they were a lie.

Damian entered the kitchen, his face as cold and emotionless as ever. He glanced at Tim, his eyes narrowing slightly before he let out a sigh. "She’s dead."

Tim’s heart clenched, and he let out a choked sob, his arms tightening around Amara as if holding her close could somehow protect her from the truth. "Don’t say that," Tim snapped, his voice breaking. "Don’t say that in front of her."

But Amara had already heard. She had heard Damian’s words, and though she didn’t fully understand them, she could sense the weight of the news. Her tiny hands gripped Tim’s shirt tightly, her small voice trembling as she whispered, "Where’s Mommy?"

Tim’s chest tightened, his sobs muffled as he buried his face in Amara’s hair, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet.

Damian, for once, remained silent. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his face set in a deep frown. He hadn’t understood what his brothers were so worked up about—why they cared so much about this woman. But seeing the way Tim clung to Amara, the way his brothers had fallen apart upstairs, a small part of Damian—one he would never admit out loud—felt… something. Something he couldn’t quite place.

But he didn’t know how to respond. So, he said nothing.

Back in the master bedroom, Bruce stood alone. The sound of the door closing behind Jason and Dick echoed in his mind, but he didn’t move. His eyes were locked on the spot where you had been, where Jason had cradled your body, where Dick had delivered his damning words.

His knees buckled, and Bruce fell to the floor, his hands trembling as he buried his face in them. The weight of his choices, the consequences of his actions, crushed him.

He had lost you. And in doing so, he had lost everything.

The silence of the room was suffocating, the only sound the faint echo of his own ragged breathing. The world seemed to close in on him, the guilt, the grief, the overwhelming sense of failure consuming him whole.

He had failed you.

He had failed his family.

And now, there was no way to make it right.

#batman #batfamily x reader #batfam

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anticapitalistclown · 1 year ago

Note

clownie

how would lookism men be as dads ?(how many kids, girl dad vibes or boy dad vibes)

yes! prepare yourselves bc this is going to be a long post...

Lookism men as dads headcanons

let's start with J High Crew and +:

Daniel - he has the vibes to have 1 boy and 1 girl, they're three years apart and get along surprisingly well, they have the typical sibling fights but at the same time they're partners in crime. His kids are well educated and are really respectful, but both of them are as bold as the father.

Zack - same as Daniel but reverse, he has a girl, an older sister responsible and harsh, the pride of her father, and the little one, a boy, a funny and impulsive little Zack that makes sure the family keeps a constant eye on him. They're four years apart, as soon as the eldest got into kinder that Zack went for a second.

Vasco - Vasco always wanted a big family, since young he wished for three daughters, genetics had other plans tho, he went for a daughter and had a son, a healthy and strong one, a year after he wished the gods for a daughter but life blessed the family with another son and so on till Vasco had three sons, each one a year apart from the other, the eldest, a strong, kind and responsible son, he is the peace maker of the siblings, the middle child, a wild and funny version of Vasco he gets along with Daniel's first child, the third child, an adventurous and curious boy, so curious that makes him get in troubles for that, making everyone worry about him. Five years later since the youngest was born, life blessed the family with a girl, a kind and adventurous little girl that gets spoiled by her father and has three bodyguards so called brothers.

(sorry about all this text but I love the idea of Vasco wishing for three daughters and having three sons instead)

Jay - I don't see him being a dad, more of the cool uncle (like jinyoung), but if life gave him a child, it would be a girl, a kind and classy girl.

Jace - a son, a little version of him, a little detective, he will born at the same time as Vasco's third son, a chaotic duo that will continue the father's heritage, on the other hand he would be like another big brother for Vasco's daughter.

Vin Jin - he was afraid his bloodline will inherit polycoria as him so he would be really reluctant to having kids, still, life blessed him with a daughter, she's the apple of his eye, his partner in crime, the reason that made him a god parent for her.

Johan - a son, a gentle and kind son, he's spoiled by Zack's eldest daughter and gets along really well with Daniel's kids.

Big Deal

Jake - he was more than fine settling with an only child, but life blessed him with two sons, genetics are hard on his side so Jake would have two copy and paste versions of him, they are two years apart and get along really well, even more when the youngest enters puberty, they share the same friends, same adventures and great times. The eldest is the extroverted one, his charisma makes people want to be around him, the youngest is more quiet but makes the most random and unhinged plans, when both brothers are together they make the most funny dynamics.

Sinu - a son, the best friend of Jake's kids, he's the eldest of the new gen of big deal. Sinu settled perfectly well with a son, but will foster home some runaway kids.

Samuel - a daughter, Samuel wasn't even sure to be a dad but to think of causing the same pain he had to suffer because of a shitty absent parent, to his bloodline made him settle and be more responsible. Samuel's daughter is spoiled to the brims, she is quite arrogant but she is not a bad person, at least that is what the big deal kids say. Every parent is scared of her, they will all let their sons date everyone they like and encourage them, but will warn them about Samuel's daughter, not bc of the girl, but bc of her father.

Jerry - a son, another blessed with a son and strong genetics, Jerry was more than fine with a single son, the wife did a great and enough hard job of bearing the big son of such a big man. He is the same age as Jake's youngest son, they're inseparable.

Jason - life blessed him with two daughters, they're five years apart, being the youngest, the youngest of all the big deal kids. The eldest daughter and the big deal boys are like peas in a pod, which makes Jason worry about her.

Brad - Brad settled happy with a son, the voice of reason of the big deal kids, he's a year younger than Jake's eldest son.

Lineman - a son, the second youngest of the big deal kids, he is a good boy but always manages to get in trouble (Jason's youngest daughter fault).

Hostel

Eli - his daughter, Eli settled with Yenna, he worked hard for giving her the world and wouldn't change it other way.

Warren - a son, who Yenna cared of him as a big sister, Warren also took in the family Like What and So Funny, so he has two daughters and a son.

Geniuses

Gun - he was blessed with a daughter, a spoiled girl, the pride of Gun, he taught her how to fight, how to grow up without needing any man, Gun raised a girlboss but surprisingly he did well enough to not give her any trauma. Gun didn't care much of making a bloodline of warriors so he was more than happy with raising his daughter.

Goo - two monsters both one year apart, first a boy, and then a girl, both are the the same as him, and the three of them are everyone's worst nightmare.

James - a son, unhinged just as his dad, the new nightmare of the next gen.

Ansan

Taesoo - three kids, his first one, a daughter, a smart girl both academically and street-smart, his best helper, the middle, a boy, a little wild version of him that makes his eldest sister stress, luckily, the third child, a girl, made the middle one focus and mature because she truly is a menace. The eldest and the middle child are two years apart, and the youngest is six years younger than the eldest and four than the middle.

Hudson - a daughter, she has Taesoo's eldest as her role model, she is smart and spoiled by her dad and uncles, doesn't need siblings bc Taesoo's kids take care of her.

Chungcheon

Jibeom - three, Jibeom wanted to maintain the tradition of having a big family so he got blessed with three children, the eldest a strong and independent boy that helps the family, the middle child, a smart daughter, daddy's princess, the youngest, the black sheep, a rebellious boy that warms Jibeom's heart, his youngest son makes him remind of his little brother.

Jihan - unlike his older brother, Jihan had more than enough with his only son, if the boy felt lonely he had his three cousins to play with, his little rebellious and hyperactive son made the same and enough chaos as Jibeom's three kids. When the two youngest cousins of the Kwak family were together the whole town trembled.

Workers

Eugene - twins, two girls, two times eviler than their father, the new gen better be careful.

Yuseong - a boy, the protector of his cousins.

Ryuhei - a girl, a beautiful and evil girl spoiled to the brims by her father.

Kenta - a boy, his heir and his pride, he will seek revenge on Gun's daughter only to get gasslighted by her

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sinon36 · 7 months ago

Text

Echoes of Salvation: The Deal (Part I). Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x afab reader (Zombie AU)

Part II

The story starts after the dash.

Warnings: some gore, some mistakes, some bad writing (eh… we all have to start somewhere), not proof read, some independent woman surviving on her own without the need of help from men (cause I like self reliant women and people in general, they are a great inspiration to us all, really).

Disclaimer:

Dear readers,

Please be kind. This is my first fanfiction ever that I wrote and posted, so please be kind and overlook any potential inaccuracies, mistakes, grammatical errors as I’m not a professional writer and also English isn’t my native tongue. Though I have studied British English I am sure I haven’t really managed to accurately portray the British way of speaking, so please, feel free to point out anything that might poke you in the eye while reading this.

Also, I would like to tell you that this fan-fic is the love child of my obsession with our favourite masked man Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, and my love for anything zombie apocalypse or world-ending alternate universe or actual universe. Tbh If I wasn’t a poor student I would probably be a prepper, just like Frank from HBO’s TLoU. Most likely will be. I’m a little weird like that, you’ll see more in the future.

To close this little rant, I hope you’ll enjoy it, even if it’s short, I would really like to continue this if you deem it worth it enough. This will probably be a slow-burn kind of romance: 1. because I’m a sucker for the kind of slow-burn strangers/enemies to lovers fanfics, and 2. because it’s more realistic, let’s calm the whore-y instincts and be reasonable people that don’t climb masked 6-feet-tall strangers like trees.

With everything said I do not own the Call of Duty character Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley (*whispers*Though I wish I did*) BUT I do own this piece of fanfic. Please don’t steal it. Repost it but please do give credit to other people’s work. You may notice some similarities to other fanfics, cause duh, I also read a lot of that, (isn’t that one of the incipient stages to becoming a fanfic writer?), but I would really like to give a shout out to the fanfic author that really inspired me to put fingers to keyboard and a fanfic into Tumblr, please, *drum rolls* a round of applause for @nsharks with her lovely fanfic ‘Bleeding Blue’. She’s really wonderful and you should really check her out.

Have fun reading and don’t forget to leave a comment or a heart. I wouldn’t mind suggestions of what to name Simons’ daughter. That would really make my day 😊

P.S. Sorry to all the fishing loving people out there, what I said was based on my impression of the fishing experience and should be taken with a grain of salt.

Yours truly <3

Synopsis:

It’s been five years since the outbreak happened. Five years ago, in London, a terrorist group released a virus in the city center. 24 hours later, people start developing flu-like symptoms. 48 hours later the infected turn into mindless ghouls biting healthy people and spreading the infection. Everything happened so fast. The army came in and tried to contain the outbreak but soon chaos engulfed the whole country. You learn that similar attacks happened all over the world: New York, Beijing, Moscow, Athens, and Tokyo. City by city, the whole world is ending.

You survived thanks to your mid-twenties life crisis that made you move into a cottage house by the lake in Lake District. The land you own is surrounded by thick lush forest that offers perfect cover for the tiny brick house that is your safe haven. With a water source close, off-the-grid energy, and a garden full of plants, fruit trees chickens, and whatnot, you live a comfortable life tucked away, far from the dangers of the cities. You are so far out of reach that in the past years you only saw a handful of infected, survivors that traveled far to escape and distant neighbours that got infected in the towns nearby. You can’t remember the last time you saw another person. But you are used to your loneliness. The end of the world brought only a mild inconvenience, now that you can no longer order things online and watch movies on Netflix or HBO. But with a library full of books, a homestead to keep you active and your Border Collie companion, Bellamy, life is good. Life is peaceful.

One day, while you are out fishing, a masked man, armed to the teeth and carrying a young girl in his arms threatens to kill you if you don’t provide him with medicine for his sick daughter.

The sky is cloudy above but some sunbeams break through to warm the crisp air this fine early spring morning. It’s a good time for fishing now that the water is warmer, they come closer to the bank in search of food. It’s a boring task after you arrange all your tools and launch the line in the water. It’s a game of waiting and watching for any small tugs or movement of the neon-coloured fishing line. You picked up fishing after a couple of months into moving here, when everything was a mess and so many repairs and renovations had to be made around the house. The guy from the tutorials you used to watch on YouTube talked about the calmness and relaxation fishing brought to him. Maybe you weren’t cut out to stand all day on shore and gawk like an idiot for hours at the thin plastic line submerged in the lake water. But you cannot deny the proud feeling catching a fish brought to you when the line finally went taught.

You try and ward off the boredom and instead try to focus on the warmth that spring brings after months of endless cold. The birds are singing in trees, preparing nests for future offspring, and the lake is calm, with bubbles on the surface indicating the abundance of fish. Life is good. Bellamy enjoys sunbathing next to you rolling in a patch of grass. Everything is peaceful. Nothing really happens here anyway. You close your eyes basking in the good feeling that overtakes you.

A branch snapping behind you wakes you from the meditation you have fallen into. You raise and turn from where you are crouched over your equipment. You come face to face with a strange figure.

‘Show me yer hands’ he tells you in a thick British accent, eyes focused on you and handgun aimed at your chest. He wears all black and a haunting white skull mask. He is tall, at least 6 feet tall, body poised to kill. In his other arm, you can see a little girl hugging his neck.

You slowly raise your hands. At your foot, Bellamy growls baring her teeth at the stranger sensing danger. You shush her grabbing her by the caller to keep her from attacking the armed man. You stand still watching in apprehension as the man studies you. You look at the ground where you left your backpack and your hatchet.

‘Don’t even think about it’ comes the gruff order. You nod trying to convey that you understand the situation. ‘There’s nothing in that bag worth a bullet’ you tell him in an even tone despite fear creeping down your spine. He hums in agreement. ‘And if you wanted to kill me you would’ve done it by now.’ He watches you like a hawk its prey. ‘So…’ you pause carefully measuring your words, ‘what it is that you want from me?’ he gestures you to take a few steps back and you drag Bellamy by her collar.

He kicks at the backpack spilling the contents. A bottle of water and a half-eaten sandwich, a hunting knife, and a rectangular box in which you keep the hooks, lures, fishing lines, and other small fishing equipment. He turns his gaze back at you and nods toward your dog. ‘Put a muzzle on it or I’ll shoot it’. your blood runs cold at the thought of losing your sole companion. You scramble to untie the scarf you keep tied around your wrist that you use to wipe away sweat from your forehead. You wrap the piece of cloth around the dog’s snout tight enough to not slip away. Next, the dark-clad man tells you to pack your fishing gear and collect your backpack, with one hand keeping it outstretched to the side and the other one grabbing at Bellamy’s collar guiding her forward. ‘Move. Eyes forward. Any sudden moves and I drop you.’

He walks a couple paces behind you. For how big he is you can barely hear him walk on the path. You can feel his gaze burning in the back of your head and the gun pointed at your back. As you start down the path you can make out the roof of your small house. Once you get at the gate you stop. ‘open it’ he instructs. ‘The key is in my right pocket’ you say slowly gesturing to said pocket. ‘Mhm,’ you hear him grunt. You slowly release Bellamy and fish for the key in your jacket’s pocket. You slowly take it out and put it in the keyhole turning it and opening the gate.

The familiar sight of your front garden does nothing to appease you in this situation. Bushes full of colourful flowers hug the narrow path toward the house. The wind catcher hung above your porch clinks melodically as a gust of warm wind catches on it. you take a few more steps on the stone path before you and you hear the gate closing behind you. What once was your safe space now traps you in with a stranger ready to shoot you or worse.

‘Tie the dog to that pole’ he orders you again. On your right, there is a small pole stuck in the ground. He throws a roll of paracord next to you. You don’t move at first. You had never tied Bellamy down before. You can’t even remember when you last put a leash on her. She likes to roam free and run around. The click of the gun behind you tells you that you have no choice. You drop the backpack and start to drag her to the pole. She tries to resist but you shush her and urge her to move. Once you finish tying her you turn towards the stranger. He nods towards the house and you start walking hands raised on either side of your head. Once you open the door he urges you inside.

‘Where do you keep the medicine?’ he grumbles urgently. ’Bathroom.’ you nod to the right of your living room. ‘Go get it!’ you don’t wait around you spring toward the white door. After a couple of minutes grabbing most of what you keep in the over-sink cabinet you emerge hands filled with gauze of all sizes and different bottled pills. You return to find the man placing the girl on the couch. She appears to be asleep. You almost forgot about her. She looks about 8-years-old. Brown hair is chopped short in a pixie cut. She’s wearing blue-washed jeans and a dark green hoodie that’s too big on her.

You watch as he peels the hoodie from her limp body. Underneath she wears a striped t-shirt, but what catches your attention is her left upper arm. Red stained gauze is wrapped around. You are still in your approach keeping a safe distance. ‘Was she bit?’ the words rush out in apprehension. From where he kneels next to her his eyes snap at you. ‘No’ he denies the implication of your words. ‘Put that on the table and go sit by the door’ You do as you're told eyes darting between the girl and the man. You drop everything on the coffee table and go sit by the entrance door hugging your knees. You watch as he works on bandaging the kid. Your eyes are glued to the girl’s arm.

Even though you lived so far out into the wilderness you saw pictures on the internet of bites from the infected. You read the posts of the survivors and heard the news broadcast on all channels. Then everything went quiet. The cable didn’t work and your phone had no signal. You knew shit hit the fan and that it was serious. Then, a few weeks later you saw your closest neighbour, Neil, an elderly farmer who lived about half a mile further up the river’s bank, growling and stumbling trying to catch Bellamy who was running scared towards you. You tried to talk him out of the trance-like state but to no avail. He kept stalking towards you, ready to take a bite out of you. You tried to tell him to keep his distance and warned him that you would protect yourself. The rest was a blur. You faintly remember grabbing the hatchet that you used to cut down logs for your stove. And then the struggle with the man, Bellamy barking, you crying out pleas for him to stop. In the cacophony of noises, you hit him with the blade right in the neck. The next thing you knew, your neighbour lay in a pool of dark blood hatchet still. It took you a while to register what you have done. You just killed a man. You couldn’t forget the way he lay there, on the gravel, hands stretched outwards bloodshot eyes staring emptily at the sky. That was the first time you encountered an infected. You distinctly remember the fear and adrenaline that took hold of you. The feelings that gripped your heart so tight and that made you take a life take over you as you watch the little girl, possibly infected, unconscious but on her way to the same madness that turned Neil into a savage monster all those years ago.

'She's feverish. You got meds or something to bring the fever down?' his question brings down from your rising panic at the thought of being stuck inside with a possible infected. ‘There should be some anti-inflammatory pills and some antibiotics. They are out of date but they could still work.' He grabs hold of the med kit you brought. He sorts through the drugs checking the expiration dates. When he comes across the antibiotics, he studies the pack carefully, his eyes darting back and forth from the label to the girl. 'How much can I give her?' he asks with a hint of concern his stern facade crumbling slightly.

You look at him unsure what to say. Those pills have been bought before the start of the outbreak. You doubt expired drugs have any effect anymore. You refrain from saying that though. He is stressed, he might take his anger on you. ‘She’s a kid, you mumble, so, about half of each.’ He carefully considers his next action. ‘She’ll need water to take them, you add from down the floor. And some food…’ He nods in understanding. ‘May I?’ you don’t know why you offer this stranger help. First, he disturbs you from catching dinner, next, he threatens to kill you and your dog, now he takes over your house and medicine. But you can recognize the desperation in his look, the way he fumbles with the packaging. He is a parent trying to save his kid. Even though you don’t have any of your own you recognize the parental instincts, the same ones you exert on Bellamy.

He looks at you unsure of what to do. He surrenders in defeat and nods at you to go on. You rise to your full height, which doesn’t add up to much compared to him. You walk past them all the way to the back of the living room where you disappear behind a white door. After a couple minutes, you reemerge from the kitchen with a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of steaming vegetable soup you made this morning. You slowly approach the couch watching him for any sign that you might cross a line. Instead of any aggression he takes a step back and allows you to go closer to the girl. You place the bowl and the glass on the coffee table and kneel next to the couch.

The girl opens her eyes and looks at you with distrust. Like father like daughter… you think to yourself. But you try to smile at her try to reassure her. ‘I brought you some soup, love’ you say in your most sincere and kind voice. ‘You must eat a little and then take some pills that will make you feel better’. You try to persuade her. She stares at you for a minute then at the man. They are suspicious of you and they have all the reason to be. You are a stranger to them as much as they are to you. Funny you are in the position to try and win their trust in your own home. You take the spoon you brought for her and dip it in the bowl. You take a spoonful and hover it close to your face blowing a little over it and then you swallow it. You can’t help the little moan of appreciation for your own cooking skills. ‘See? It’s good.’ You look at her with a small smile.

You don’t know where this came from; you blame it on the 6-foot-tall armored stranger whose stare drives daggers at the back of your head and your desire to keep your head on your shoulders and all your blood in your body. You don’t outright hate kids but you were never good around them. With a sigh, she sits upright and takes the spoon from you. She eats slowly. You keep watching her. She is a pretty kid. She has blue eyes and freckles on her small button nose. You wonder if she looks anything like the man behind you. She is pale and sweat collects on her little forehead most likely from her fever. She eats half of the soup you brought her and then turns her gaze towards the man. He hands her the two halves of the pills. She takes them in her small hand and grabs the glass. She hesitates. ‘It’s okay’ you reassure her and with a nod, she puts the half tablets on her tongue following up with large gulps from the glass. She scrunches her little nose in disgust at the chalky taste. ‘Atta girl’ you hear him utter from behind you. ‘Now lay down and rest.' he says to the girl in a stern yet gentle voice. He watches her nod and lie back on the couch her eyes half-lidded. He sighs, 'Good for now. ' he mutters under his breath. His eyes are fixed on her as he gestures to you. 'Come with me.' You rise from the floor and follow him outside the front door.

He leads you outside. When you cross the threshold, he takes a deep breath and a look of relief washes over his stern features. He gestures for you to sit on the front porch with him. 'We need to talk...' 'Yeah' you say crossing your arms defensively over your chest and standing as far away as the length of your porch allows. you take a moment to study him as he fixes you with a cold stare. You notice the many pockets on his vest and belt. A patch on his chest reads S.A.S. He's ex-military, you muse. His uniform makes much more sense now. But the mask still unnerves you.

He leans against one of the wooden porch support beams right hand hovering on the pistol holster. You think it's an act to intimidate you, to remind you that he is still armed and ready to strike you down in your own home. You stare at him a little defiantly. You’ll be damned before you let this weirdo intimidate you on your turf. He studies you from head to boots and back up. You sigh and square your shoulders showing him you are not afraid of him. ‘I’ve been watching you.’ He tells you in a matter-of-fact tone. You try to suppress the surprise on your face. You look down at his boots avoiding his icy gaze.

He’s been stalking you, and the realization dawns on you. You didn’t even notice his presence around the house. Stupid, you think to yourself, I’m growing complacent. But not even Bellamy caught his smell and she usually barks when someone or something comes close to the house. But earlier at the lake, he took you both by surprise. He’s good at keeping his presence concealed, you have to give it to him. You nod to yourself in understanding. He probably knows the layout of your house by now, he knows you are alone, and he waited for you to be outside and ambush you. You start imagining all the horrible things he could have done to you. But no, he instead approached you, gun pointed at you, nevertheless, when he could have already killed you and taken over your house by now. You hum and make eye contact with him.

‘Why keep me alive then?’ you ask him without beating around the bush. You study his mannerisms trying to catch something, anything to prove you he’s human. But he’s as unreadable as a statue. His gaze remains fixed on you, unblinking and stoic. You feel him studying you, taking in every detail of your person. He seems intent on reading into your every move.

In an even tone, he answers, 'Because you’re not a threat.’ His response catches you off guard, ego a little bruised at that, but you can’t argue with his logic. If he wanted to, he could have killed you by now, that’s for sure. You remain silent for a moment, processing his response. ‘But that doesn’t mean I trust you.’ He adds kicking off the beam and taking a step closer to you. He looks down at you tilting his head a little like a bird of prey watching a mouse, waiting for it to give chase and make the hunt more fun. You don’t give in to the urge to run inside and hide in your bedroom. Instead, you take a step towards him and look up at him ‘Because you need me’ you speak quietly. You can imagine a raised brow under that mask. You smile in triumph; even though he acts tough he needs help and all the intimidating façade was in a desperate attempt to get it.

‘I get it’ you continue having him figured out. ‘Your kid is sick and out there dangers are lurking at every turn. You need a place to stay until she gets better.’ You finish voicing your theory on why he’s really here having this conversation with you. His eyes closed in defeat. Gotcha, you smile even more widely at your deduction. ‘You can stay, you say as you turn and walk down the three steps of your porch heading towards the gate. ‘On one condition, you add stopping in your track. You turn fully towards him and he watches you curiously as if you’d have any power to demand him anything. ‘No harm comes to me or my dog’ you say remembering his earlier threats of him offing you both. ‘Do we have a deal?’ it’s not unreasonable, though it irks you that you have to bargain for your safety with a stranger. ‘Deal.’ He says in his usual gruff voice nodding to you in sign of respect for your demand.

‘Good’ you say as you stalk off towards where Bellamy lays muzzled and tied like a prisoner of war. You free her and she jumps at you happy to be in your proximity. She must have been worried sick here all alone. Poor thing. You then go to the gate and slide the too-large bolts meant to keep any unwanted guests outside. Or inside in your case. ‘And to think nothing interesting ever happens around her, right, Bell?’ your rhetorical question is met with a bark of agreement.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #zombie au #cod mw2 #ghost cod #cod x reader #call of duty #slow burn #simon riley imagine #simon riley fanfic

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sicklyseraphnsuch · 1 year ago

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Write something about Marceline meeting up with Simon after the finale?

"You know I love you, right?" Marceline flat out asks him, because this girl has never gone around or over anything that she could plunge straight through. Simon always admired that about her even when this trait of hers caused him a fair few heart attacks.

Simon adjusts his glasses, clearing his suddenly dry throat. "Yes, I am aware."

They're at his house, with boxes of his things piled up around him. Bonnie, Finn, and Marcy all came over to help Simon move out of his old house into a new, more private arrangement. But Finn and Bonnie cleared out some time ago, when Marcy sat him down with a mug of his favorite tea. It was an ambush in everything bit name.

Simon supposes that he deserves it. He hasn't exactly... made time to speak with Marceline and happily allowed her to divert her focus away from him. Someone snitched on him, clearly.

"Hmmm..." Marcy squints at him, absently spinning the mug in front of her. The now dull grey drink sloshes lazily within. "When... When you had your big revelation about Betty, that musta messed you up pretty bad."

Simon stares at the woman that was essentially his daughter. Even as a little girl, she had always been prodigiously insightful and observant.

"This... This was different. Betty was my partner. I was supposed to check in with her, make sure we were on the same page. You, on the other hand-"

"Are you about to explain my feelings to me, Simon?" Marcy cuts in. "Or make an assumption about me based entirely on your perception of me?"

Oooh. Even if she didn't have fangs, Marceline could cut with the sharp edge of her tongue. A conflicting sense of pride and shame tightens his chest. He looks down at his mug of tea, taking a very long drink.

Marceline sighs. "I'm not five years old. I'm fully capable of making decisions - healthy decisions even."

"I know that!" Simon snaps back, thumping a fist on the table. "It's precisely because you're all grown up that I didn't want to say anything. Look at you, you're so happy! You don't need to bother with a sad old man like me."

Marceline gently grabs hold of his fist. "If you did tell me, what was the worst case scenario?"

"It doesn't matter, I'm doing better now. I'm going through therapy. I'm fine -"

"Please answer the question."

Simon stays stubbornly silent for a few second. Marceline squeezes his hand until her grip begins to hurt. He shoots her a petulant glare and she offers an innocent smile.

"I could make you sad. There. I said it."

"Well... I've been sad before. I got better."

Simon stares at this woman who he used to carry with only one arm. She's near his height, possibly taller. If he tried to carry her, she'd float to spare his ego. She grew up and he was there but not really and it's just another one of the Crown's costs.

"Simon." Marceline is hovering over the table now. "I lost you for a second there. What's that big brain of yours overly complicating now?"

Simon frowns at her. "I have no idea what you mean."

"Uhuh, listen. My partner is a certified genius, so I know for a fact that you geniuses tend to lack a lotta common sense."

"Have you told Bonnie this?"

"Verbatim. But this isn't about her, or me. This is about you."

Simon grits his teeth. "It's been 'about me' for long enough, hasn't it?" He shoves away from the table, gets onto his feet, and picks a random box to start piling stuff in. This will absolutely ruin Bonnie's meticulous organization, but that's just...

He sighs, steps back, looks at the label on the box before picking up Bonnie's abandoned clipboard to figure out the correct items for the box. In that whole time, Marceline doesn't speak. But he can feel her eyes on him like the sun through a magnifying glass. He sorts his stuff. She lets him.

Simon takes a deep breath. "I thought... It's bad enough that you spent all those thousand years watching over me. Then it turns out that even before I had the Crown, Betty was doing all of that. I just... I'm so useless."

"You're not-"

"Yes, yes, yes. But I... I need some time to work on myself, you know? I'm tired of being so..."

A hand settles on Simon's shoulders. He turns and jolts as he sees Marceline with a thin film of tears over her eyes. He immediately reaches over, pressing his palms against her face, thumbing the space beneath her eyes.

"Oh see, now I've made you cry."

Marceline shrugs. "It won't kill me."

"But that's the thing! You don't have to-"

"It's not that!" Marceline pulls away from him. "I don't have to do anything, you're right! But I want to stay with you!"

She blows out a short, ragged breath, running a hand through her hair. Simon slowly lowers his hands, crossing his arms and hunching over as if to protect his soft underbelly.

"I'd be rotten company."

Marceline fiercely shakes her head. "Not to me. Not if it's you."

Simon bites his lip. There's a tightness in his chest as if his heart was bloated from too much blood. He can't look away from her and yet he can't stand to stay seen.

"You don't want my help, fine. You've got professionals looking after you. And that's great. But please don't shut me out. I can't. Not again."

Marceline looks away for him. And this looks familiar even a thousand years later. The way she holds her head high, the way she clenches her jaw, the way she stubbornly refuses to acknowledge the tears trailing down her face - it's all the same.

Simon wraps both arms around her. She struggles for a second, trying to squirm away before she gives up, leaning into his hold.

"Okay," he murmurs into her shoulder.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Marceline coughs out a tiny giggle. "Are we just gonna keep saying okay to each other until the world ends or what?"

Simon readies a joke but swallows it at the last second. He lets her question hang in the air until it becomes heavy and leaden. She stiffens up, limbs locking and spine straightening.

"I think... I can do that."

"Yeah?" Marceline's voice is sooo small, half disbelief, half hope, and all pure, raw heart.

"Until the world ends... You and me. We're survivors. Remember?"

Marceline laughs, a frail, watery sound from the hollow of her throat. "Yeah. I remember."

#adventure time #fionna and cake #simon petrikov #marceline abadeer #marceline the vampire queen #my specialty is adding as many references as i can

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theblueflower05 · 1 year ago

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Hmmm how about Alpha!reader overstimulating Omaga!Lo’ak because she was jealous seeing him being a little too nice to another female alpha. So she punishes him from sunset to sunrise. Idk if this is any good but just a thought, Love. ABSOLUTELY LOVING YOUR A/B/O series, can’t wait for the next chapter 😘

This is probs my fave slutty ask I’ve gotten. When I saw it I fucking SCREAMED.

It also is kind of a sister story to my Tsireya x Jealous Reader. Like same same, but flipped.

You’re possessive, and it’s not something that you hide.

Lo’ak learned it pretty early on in your relationship. You’re an extremely transparent person, you wear your emotions on your face and your heart on your sleeve. He appreciates it because it because as someone who’s always eager and anxious to impress, you don’t keep him guessing much. You tell him what you feel, what you want.

And you want him to be yours, and only yours.

Smut under the cut

It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

You’re not nasty about it- you don’t snarl at him for spending time with his friends and family. You encourage other healthy relationships in his life. You’re a good woman, his father reassures him proudly. A good alpha, Neytiri tacks on for good measure.

You have zero tolerance for other alphas touching what is yours.

You’re gentle, a weaver. Not known to the clan as a warrior or hunter. Your parents are passed onto Eywa, and even when they were still Pandora bound, they weren’t high standing members of the clan- and yet. You’ve carved out a place for yourself. You’re respected, as a young capable alpha in your prime.

You don’t enjoy fighting, don’t enjoy being angry or violent. But you will become so, to protect what is yours.

Lo’ak had never seen your temper flare the way it had earlier, down at the beach.

It was a little scary- to see you like that. Your powder blue eyes that are usually so soft had gone hard, your pupils slits. The snarl that had left you had made almost all around you take a step back- it was all Alpha. Powerful. Full of rage. A warning for bloodshed.

It had taken two Alphas, twice your size, to drag you off and he’d watched with large golden eyes. In complete shock. At the unfortunate unfolding of the situation-

“What are you doing? Go to her, you skxawng ” his elder brother had hissed at him, kicking him into action.

Lo’ak had followed like a Viper wolf pup as you broke away from the other alphas- snatching out of their grasps with a huff- and had made your way back to your shared home.

He feels like shit, horribly bad, as he enters the Mauri. His tail between his legs and his ears twitching on his head.

You’re pacing, back and forth. Clearly still upset. Your chest is heaving and your thick take twitches sporadically-

“Y/N” he murmurs, calling to you because you won’t look at him.

You just continue on. Still raging. And it’s hard to watch- especially knowing that he had caused the whole thing.

“Yawne, please-“ he continues, coming forward and reaching out to you. His large five fingered hand coming around your petite wrist.

“No. Do NOT touch me right now” You yank, hard out of his hold, and finally turn to him.

What he sees breaks his heart.

Your eyes are big and swimming, tears leave tracks as they rush down your face. He’d never seen you cry, not like this. The sight alone has the hair on the back of his neck raising-

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry Mamas, don’t cry” his tone is hushed, hesitant. He doesn’t know what to do. Everything in him is telling him to rush to you. To hold you, to make you hold him.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad” you snap at him, hating how he’s looking at you with that pitying gaze. “I’m so fucking angry right now Lo’ak”

You almost never call him by his real name- it’s always affectionate pet names. Hearing it makes his ears lower, flat into his braids.

“I could fucking kill her” you seethe. Continuing, because you have to get this anger out somehow “I don’t care if she’s the Olo’eyktans daughter- how dare she lay her hands on you! You’re mated- you wear my bite!”

Tsireya had been a problem for months now. She had always had her eye on Lo’ak and who could blame her? The Omega was gorgeous. Capable. He’d passed his Iknimaya and was a valued hunter.

And he had a fucking wife.

You thought that she’d get that through her thick skull.

And yet her advances never seemed to stop. They were usually small- barley there things. Occurrences that drove you crazy but that you couldn’t really prove.

“She was just being nice-“ Lo’ak urges and you scoff.

“Don’t. Don’t play dumb when I know how smart you are. She touched your scent gland- she may as well have scented you. I can still smell her on you. Even now” you’re voice is shaking as you try to control it.

Lo’ak feels horrible.

He’d chalked Tsireya’s actions up to kindness- since he had arrived in Awa’atlu the Alpha and future Tsahik had been nothing but nice to him and his family. He’d noticed her advances and while flattered, had ignored them. Pushed them to the side.

Why would he focus on any other Alpha when he had you?

He shouldn’t have let it get this far. She was helping train him, like she used to. It was all supposed to be innocent-

The weight of the reality of the situation is crushing. Another Alpha had touched his scent gland. So be it it was the one in his wrist, the most innocent. But still.

A lump sticks in his throat as panic rises in his chest.

What if…what if this changed things? He had been so hesitant, so confused when you’d courted him. Had been even more so when you bonded him. You’re so good, too good for him.

Had you finally gained clarity? Had it donned on you that he wasn’t worth being with?

“Please” Lo’ak begs as he reaches out for you only to be rebuffed once more. It makes hot tears sting at his eyes “please, I’ll be better. I won’t let anything like that happen again- don’t make me leave. Don’t leave me”

Your eyes snap to his and your mouth pulls into a deep frown. You’re too pretty to look so upset. He hates it.

Lo’ak drops to his knees, right in front of you. His neck tilting to the side, his braids falling away. His clear, unprotected throat on display for you.

Only the faint scarring of his bite mark visible.

It’s the ultimate form of submission. Even most Omegas don’t give it so freely. Showing one’s mating bite is intimate. Big. Off limits.

A small gasp leaves your mouth.

He doesn’t care.

He needs you to get it. To understand.

“I’m yours” he vows, like he had the first night youd made Tsaheylu. The first night he’d taken your knot. The first night he’d felt your teeth sink into his skin.

Your hand cups his face and he leans into it. Your still shaking. Still haven’t calmed down. “You’re mine?”

“Yeah.” He whispers, his tongue coming out to wet his dry lips “I’m yours”

“Prove it”

————————

He knew you weren’t going to go easy on him, but holy fuck.

There was no way to foresee just what the night would entail.

You could make Lo’ak cry from pleasure on any given day. Your pretty pussy, your hot mouth, your skilled hands? They could all bring him to tearful orgasms, easily.

This is something different. Lo’ak feels like he’s been broken down to bare bones, to the base of who he is.

It’s been hours, the sky had turned from blue to black- and was on its way to being blue once more. The birds chirp as the dawn breaks-

And still you give him no reprieve.

He’s a mess- flat in his back on the thread bare bed mat. The sheets and bedding had been pushed away ages ago- there was nothing to tangle himself in. To ground himself with.

He can only lay there and take what you give him.

You’d been fucking him for hours. Bouncing on top of his hard cock relentlessly.

The worst part is is that you don’t even look worse off.

No, You’re goddess as you’re perched on-top of him. Beautiful and ethereal- and wrathful.

You ride him like you have something to prove, your hips moving in dizzying circles. You’re so fucking wet, the juices from your pussy drop down, coating your thighs and his groin- you have to be close to coming.

And yet you don’t. That glorious knot never locks around him. He never gets the fulfillment that he truly needs.

You’ve wrung orgasm after orgasm out of him throughout the night- but you haven’t let him cum inside of you. And you haven’t knotted him-

It’s fucking torture. His body needs it. His cock screams, not recieving the intense pressure of you constricting around him when he shoots off is painful. It leaves him feeling frustrated and unsatisfied.

“Please” he gurgles out the plea as he feels the base of his tail start to tingle- a clear sign of the incoming orgasm.

You glare down at him “please, what?”

Lo’aks eyes squeeze shut, the tears running consistently into his hair line. He’s wet everywhere- sticky. A complete mess.

“Please knot me, Alpha. I need your knot”

It’s nasally and whiney and way too fucking loud. Deep down, he knows he should be ashamed of it. The neighbors can hear him getting worked over like this, punishes beyond belief, but he can’t bring himself to care.

If you want them to hear, then he’ll make sure they do.

He’ll do anything you ask.

Your eyes are hard, unforgiving. Still puffy from the furious tears you’d shed and Lo’ak can’t help it.

He reaches up with weak arms to cup your pretty face. His large thumbs rub soothing circles in the delicate skin under your eyes “love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry…I never want to do anything to hurt you”

You go soft on top of him, your hips stoping their mean swivel as all of the fight seems to drain from your body. Your head hangs. Tendrils of your long hair fall in your face-

“As I love you, sweet Omega”

————

Listen I could go in but I’m gonna cut it there lol somehow I end up writing whole ass mini fics for these asks! They’re just too good!

#lo’ak smut #lo’ak x reader #Lo’ak x reader smut #omega loak

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prozac-shaped-urn · 5 months ago

Text

Deborah Vance meta analysis (again)

Alright, it's time to read too much into shit but considering that JPL straight up said the whole opening sequence of season 3 with the Ceasar statue was foreshadowing... I feel like I can be forgiven for what's about to come out of my fingertips.

Anyway. I am once again putting my psych degree to use in dissecting fictional characters and story arcs. Enjoy x

So! We have the Margesson family with Fred, Martha, Deborah and Kathy. Fred and Martha were five years apart in age, as are Deborah and Kathy (considering there's a reference to Deb's age in 301 as being 70 – which was Jean's age at the time of filming – I can safely assume JPL are using J and Jean's real ages here). That's just enough of an age difference in siblings for there to be a firm power imbalance and hooboy. Hooooooo boyyyyyyyy that's an entirely different can of worms I analyzed a few years ago and turned into 98k... But before I get too into the weeds here, I should introduce my thesis:

Deborah Vance is a survivor, a provider, a mother, and an icon. She was forced to be the first three thanks to her childhood family dynamic and built an empire as a result.

What we've been given in terms of parental backstory is minimal. Deborah mentions her dad being a drinker (304). Based on DJ's addiction storyline, I can reasonably assume JPL are educated on addiction patterns and family trauma cycles. Kathy says their mom wouldn't have wanted there to be animosity between her and Deborah (307), and based on Deborah's isolation and decision to go no-contact with Kathy, I think JPL are leaning towards Deborah needing to distance herself in order to make sure she doesn't explode and cause bodily harm... more than she ends up inflicting.

There are elements of classical narcissism in Deborah's behavior – mainly the need to have zero contact with the narcissist in order to heal. While I don't think Kathy is a narcissist, I firmly believe Frank was. He was jealous, histrionic, selfish, and cunningly manipulative. These are all traits of Narcissistic Personality Disorder, and yeah, Deborah possesses these qualities too. The difference between her and Frank, though, is that Deborah is using these tools to ensure she succeeds. She doesn't use them to take someone else down. She lets Ava go so she won't get in the way of Ava's success. She doesn't want to take up all the space in the room. She wants Ava to learn from her and apply the lessons so she can also succeed. It would be very easy for someone to take a single look at Deborah and assume she's hollow – and I think the pilot did a very good job of showing just that! The only glimpse we get behind the curtain is when Deborah sees that Frank died. She doesn't react except to say, “I can't believe they used that photo,” which is classic avoidance and emotional detachment. It's a coping mechanism she developed in her childhood.

I have to interject here and mention Deborah's desire to keep DJ close when she was a child. When a narcissist has their hooks into someone, they don't let go. They will use every tactic known to mankind to ensure the safety blanket they have chosen doesn't leave. So when Frank blew everything up, Deborah left, and Frank went after Kathy because she was 19 and easily manipulated. I think Deborah witnessed what Frank was doing to her and Kathy and decided to protect DJ by pulling her onto the road in a tour bus so Frank couldn't get to her. Obviously this backfired and resulted in DJ having a healthy(ish) relationship with Kathy because Frank was a master manipulator. Deborah saw that toxic father/daughter bond and went, Nope, not trying to fix this one – I'll only make it worse. Not to mention Frank's smear campaign! I mean Jesus Christ, the guy just couldn't wait to sign divorce papers. He had to destroy everything so Deborah wouldn't get somewhere without his help. So she wouldn't succeed on her own. So he would get all the credit, much like Ira did (“He gets to take credit for me? Put my photo up on his fucking wall?” 108).

In terms of why Deborah is the way she is, that's layered and difficult to summarize. A lot of her behavior stems from childhood trauma and her early adulthood. I think if Deborah had never met Frank, things would have been very, very different between her and Kathy. I think they would have continued to support each other and openly communicate, and despite there being a power imbalance between them, as Kathy matured and Deborah witnessed her growth, I think that Deborah would have been proud of the woman Kathy turned out to be. I think she's still proud of the woman Kathy turned out to be, even if she “hates” her or whatever. The dynamic of older sister/younger sister is very fraught with a mix of caretaking and jealousy. It's a super complex relationship, which is only usurped by the mother/daughter dynamic. Judging by how deeply bonded Deborah and Kathy were before 1976, it's very clear why Deborah feels so extremely betrayed by Kathy for what Frank did to them both. And it's also very clear why Kathy's appearance triggers Deborah so harshly she vomits.

Kathy embodies all the trauma from Frank, and keeping her distanced for so long let Deborah fall into a false sense of security and assumption that she had healed from all the shit that happened (which is debunked in 206 – “I got over my husband, but I never got over [losing a late night show].”) She never did. And knowing how Deborah reacts to the possibility of failing, which is to say that she doesn't react well – insomnia, anxiety, obsessive behaviors, defensiveness, blackmail – for her to not only not be healed after 50 years but to also be so overcome by emotion that she has a physical reaction? That's unconscionable. Unacceptable. A weakness. A secret shame. She's failed and it's the end of the world. And in most cases in her childhood and marriage to Frank, it kinda was...

*big deep exhale*

Here's where the rubber meets the road when it comes to Deborah Vance's relationships. Any kind, any shape, any depth, anything. She's afraid to let someone down. She's afraid that she won't be good enough. She's afraid that she won't be strong enough. She's afraid that she won't have all the answers. She's afraid to not be able to provide the way she wants to and has been able to in the past. And it's all due to a number of factors:

Her mother died first

Her mother died when Deborah was 15 and Kathy was 10

Her father died when Deborah was 17 and Kathy was 12

Her father was an alcoholic

Her household wasn't big on rules

As I mentioned, the mother/daughter relationship is the most complicated relationship dynamic. Regardless of what gendered roles are, biologically speaking, the mother/child bond is unique in that the mother's womb is where the child literally grows. Mother and child are connected by blood and tissue for almost a whole year. There are certain things that are established at the time of conception which can never be established by the father and child. It's just that simple. Mother/child bonds are more intense as a result. Being the eldest daughter meant Deborah and Martha had that bond and it was uninterrupted for five years. As childhood psychology analysis can and will predict, having an only child status for any length of time will make the bond between mother and child more intense than that of succeeding siblings. Having multiple siblings doesn't detract from the mother/child bond, but the eldest will always have a little extra special bond with the mother. So Deborah losing that bond first was the biggest blow to her developing psyche. That was a loss she felt more acutely than Kathy.

Deborah became a mother at 15. When a parent dies, it's the eldest siblings – but specifically the eldest sisters – who immediately start parenting whoever is left, including anyone in the family unit – parents, grandparents, siblings, aunts, uncles, whoever. From what we know of Boomer culture and Greatest Generation morals, there's a very good chance Fred just delegated his parental duties to Deborah and checked the fuck out entirely after Martha died. From what I see Deborah doing when it comes to parenting, I wouldn't be surprised if this is a family pattern and learned behavior based in the fear of not measuring up.

Losing both parents before the age of 18 steals away any remaining childhood. Orphaned children are immediately thrust into survival mode and will stoop to what seem like unwarranted extremes like manipulation, blackmail, histrionic behavior, and bullying simply because they have to survive. There is no real way for orphaned children to support and protect themselves unless there's also a built-in safety net of siblings. Eldest siblings obviously support and protect more than the younger siblings, but the reward of there being kind of a quid-pro-quo or IOU or something along those lines is usually enough motivation to take on the responsibility of caretaking. As supported by the text, Deborah did her job as big sister. She protected Kathy from bullies (206) and she kept Kathy close until Frank got in the way (104). She continued these patterns in other areas of her life: “I would love nothing more than to bury you in more debt than medical school ever could” (106), “I helped a lot of people. I wasn't perfect but I did what I could” (108), “You have no fucking idea how much I do for you” (104). The behavior orphaned children usually develop as a result of being thrust into survival mode looks exactly like narcissistic traits. But as is seen throughout the series, Deborah doesn't use these tactics to tear someone else down. She uses them to survive.

Having an alcoholic parent (and therefore an unreliable parent) leaves the job of parenting to the eldest children, and in Deborah's case, this most likely had the biggest effect on her choice not to parent DJ. (Yes, there could be family pattern/learned behaviors at play here, too, and it might be a mix of both.) Not only does Deborah hesitate to develop a relationship with DJ, she flat out runs away from the responsibilities on more than one occasion. She avoids supporting DJ at the trade show, she offers small comforts of hand-me-down clothes rather than healthy communication, she chides DJ for going to therapy, and she jokes about DJ's sobriety. DJ confronts her numerous times and asks for a relationship but it's all in vain. There will never be a healthy, communicative, supportive, guilt-free relationship there unless Deborah has extensive therapy. Addressing the alcoholism and addiction that runs in her family might be too painful, so she may never do it. I would like to think JPL will at least have Deborah try, because they're crafting a redemption arc with her. This is one area I would like to see developed and explored more.

Having no structure during childhood and adolescent years is very detrimental to the developing psyches of children. There is definitely a thing as too much regimen, but having no structure at all is like giving a child the keys to a car and saying, “Good fucking luck!” It's beyond the realm of unhealthy; it's destructive. The child will learn to adapt, though. Some resulting adaptive behaviors are adrenaline seeking, dangerous hobbies like extreme sports, attachment issues, Borderline Personality Disorder, and attention seeking behaviors. It seems counter-intuitive to develop traits that fit into a structure-free home, but the child is using these adaptations as a way to normalize a very destructive environment. They aren't running hog wild because they want to. They're running hog wild because there is no other way for them to get the attention and care they need. These learned behaviors continue into adulthood in the form of attachment issues, cluster B personality disorders (Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Histrionic Personality Disorder, and Anti-social Personality Disorder), commitment issues, detachment, emotional abuse and neglect.

Based on these five factors, if Deborah didn't take care of herself and Kathy when Martha died, if she didn't take care of her dad when he was drunk, if she didn't coddle to the needs of Frank's narcissism, if she didn't get a perfect score on being the strongest person in the room, then she was a failure and there were extensive repercussions resulting in her, DJ's and Kathy's safety and survival being threatened. The result of this constant need to always be right so she will survive extends into her adulthood, resulting in perfectionism, obsession, tunnel vision, stringent morals, and a lack of flexibility.

Again, I have to stress, the traits of classical narcissism that Deborah exhibits are a result of her need to survive as: the only child of an alcoholic, then the eldest daughter, then the mother figure to Kathy, then the caretaker of her father, then the sole supporter of Kathy, then the wife of a narcissist, then the rejected wife, then the emotionally wounded woman she is known as today. She's exhausted, and it's no wonder why. She's been the strongest person in the room since she was 15. She's had to be. There was no choice. She either stepped up and took initiative or she died. There was no in-between.

For Deborah, the holy grail of success is getting a late night show. It not only symbolizes an happy, intact family unit (because her dad only laughed during Johnny Carson – 304), but it also realistically equips Deborah to be able to provide for herself and her family. It gives her a tangible reward for surviving all the shit that's been thrown her way. It's a tenured career, it's status, it's reliable, it's sustainable (inasmuch as anything in the entertainment industry is). It's all the things her childhood never was. She's worked her whole life to keep her head above water, and even when she could take a day off she doesn't because she's afraid someone else will come along and take her spot – “You have to scratch and claw and it never fucking ends, and it doesn't get better; it just gets harder.” (102)

So... This is why Deborah is the way she is, and this is why I love her. I see myself in her and knowing that she and I share so many things in common is part of the reason why this show means so much to me. Yeah, it's just a fucking TV show. It's fake and all that junk, but to me it's representation. And that means the world.

I can't thank JPL enough for giving me the gift of Deborah Margesson Vance. I also wanna know when they snuck into my childhood bedroom because holy shit...

#hacks hbo #deborah vance #meta

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 1 year ago

Text

The Boss - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

This work, all of my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. I DON'T KNOW HOW MANY TIMES PEOPLE HAVE TO SAY THIS SHIT

Warnings: Bodyguard AU; Power Imbalance; Seemingly One-Sided Attraction; Not Necessarily Healthy Dynamics; Power Struggle; Implied Age Gap (Still VERY MUCH Legal); References to Stabbing; References to Death Threats; Referenced Nudity/Showers; Light Angst; Longing; Reader is a Bit of a Brat; Bradley Suffers; Female Reader with No Name or Identifying Description, No Y/N

Summary: You and your bodyguard, Rooster, are at odds when he tries to keep you locked in the safe house.

Part 2

Master List

It wasn’t like you asked to be the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the world. Your father was known internationally and so was the rest of your family by extension. With all of the fame, money, and power, of course, came the added side effects. Like the threats against your life, since you were your father’s only child after all.

Enter Bradley. Or Rooster as you were supposed to call him whenever you communicated via comms or within earshot of anyone else.

After several threats against your life, your father hired Bradley as your personal bodyguard. He was a part of the revered Iron Daggers, an underground squad of the most elite fighters that the world didn’t know about. Not the general public anyways.

The Iron Daggers had a reputation of pulling of the impossible. Of always protecting their targets and getting them out of whatever horrible situation in the end. And when your father contacted Maverick, the leader of the Iron Daggers, he sent Rooster.

The best of the best apparently.

And the best looking bodyguard you had or would ever have for the rest of your life.

Hell, you were only human. Rooster or Bradley, as you tended to call him when you were alone, which was often, was tall with a broad, muscled frame that you wouldn’t mind on top of you. His hair and eyes a light chestnut brown that just reeked of homey. And he was quite possibly the only man who you thought could pull off that mustache and somehow become more attractive as a result.

But there were rules. No fraternization or whatever. As if locking you up with just an absolute stud of a man was supposed to prevent you from falling for him.

Spoiler—it had the opposite effect.

But Bradley, ever the professional, never gave into any of your comments or you glances. The most he would do would be to smile sweetly at you and then go straight back to work. And fuck it was getting old. And embarrassing. But, of course, that didn’t stop your mind from wandering or your eyes.

Even on that night, when surrounded by the richest and most powerful people in the world who were all dressed to impress, you were staring at Bradley. He was never more than five steps from you and even if you didn’t have a staring problem, it would have been near impossible for you to be unable to find him.

Finding Bradley’s gaze deviating into the crowd, you couldn’t help but follow his gaze.

A man dressed in a suit that you knew was expensive, was clearly walking towards you through the crowd. You didn’t recognize the man, but you were sure that he knew who you were based on how he looked at you. Not stressed in the slightest, you turned to your right as you felt a gentle hand on the small of your back. In an instant, Bradley was right by your side, putting himself in between you and the approaching man.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Bradley asked, causing your smile to immediately brighten.

“Yes, you may,” you agreed, practically beaming up at Bradley.

He looked absolutely dashing in his suit, which was pressed and tailored to fit him perfectly. He was here under the guise of being a wealthy businessman and he seemed to play the part perfectly. He offered you his hand, which you took gently, and the two of you headed over to the bar together. Bradley ordered a drink for you and a glass of water for himself before turning to you. He leaned forward, causing your breath to hitch as his lips and the edges of his mustache brushed against your ear.

"Did you recognize him?" Rooster asked, talking about the man who tried to approach you.

"No," you replied, your eyes fluttering closed as you brushed your cheek against his own. "I don't. But I'm not worried about him."

"I'll be the judge of that."

And in an instant, the warmth from Bradley was gone. He was back in his protective body guard mode and nothing that she could do or would do would be able to break that concentration.

The two of you grabbed your drinks from the bar, after quick tampering checks, walked over to one of the tables in the corner. Bradley sat down and angled himself so that he could see the party, but you were entirely focused on him. And hell, anyone who was staring at you could have seen that the only person you had on your mind was Bradley.

It was a poorly concealed crush that was quickly getting a bit out of hand. After all, Bradley was a handful of years older than you and there was no way that your relationship would survive in ‘the real world.’ Though, you didn't care about that. But you knew that Bradley would never break and cross that line. He’d been in this business since he was eighteen. He wouldn’t crack.

So, you just kept tugging on the possibilities of a fabricated school girl crush to try and keep some kind of sanity in the mess you called your life.

“Why are you so tense?” you whispered to Bradley, grabbing his hand. “There’s security everywhere. We’re fine.”

“There’s security, but they’re not watching you.”

Taking a sip of your drink, you glanced out at the crowd once again, particularly the dance floor. Feeling a bit emboldened, you hurried to sip down the rest of your drink before hopping up from your seat.

“Come on. Let’s dance,” you stated, holding out your hand to Bradley.

“What?”

“I want to dance. So, let’s dance,” you replied as if it was a normal request.

“But,” Bradley started to protest.

“Please,” you whispered, which instantly caused his resolve to buckle.

“Okay, but I’m keeping an eye out.”

“I know. I’ll take it,” you responded, taking Bradley’s hand.

Pulling him up, you led him out onto the dance floor. A slower and more elegant song was playing, so you rested a hand on Bradley’s shoulder and held his hand. Bradley placed a hand on your waist at a respectful height and swayed with you to the music, though his eyes were always looking out at the crowd.

Sighing, you tried to get him to glance down at you for even a moment, but Bradley always took his job seriously and put it first. Really, you shouldn't complain since his attention was meant to protect you and make sure you woke up the next morning. But sometimes, you just wanted to forget all of that.

Resting your head against his chest, you closed your eyes and just swayed, trying to make the most of the moment. And unbeknownst to you, that subtle touch worked.

Bradley, once he felt your head on his chest, broke his stare out at the room and turned to you. Your eyes were closed, so you didn’t notice his stare, but a few moments later, you felt his thumb rub circles in your hip. Smiling softly, you listened to Bradley’s heartbeat and enjoyed the moment. Just when Bradley started to rest his head on top of your own, a scream echoed through the room.

In an instant, Bradley was on alert. Wrapping his arm protectively around your waist, he spun you away from the source of the scream. The both of you glanced quickly through the crowd to see what the commotion was about and gasped when you spotted a man with a knife sticking out of his chest.

You didn’t even have time to scream yourself before Bradley pulled you out of the room.

~~~~~

“That’s it. No more of those stupid parties,” Bradley stated as the two of you returned to the safe house.

You got away cleanly and the security checks were complete. You were safe. Bradley did his job and got you out of there in one piece. But Bradley was kicking himself the whole way back to the safe house. He should have gotten you out of the room faster. What if you were the intended target? Hell, he shouldn’t have let you out in the first place.

You were silent the whole drive home and Bradley had wrapped his jacket around your shoulders when you couldn’t help but shiver. The image of the stabbed man was still fresh in your mind and you were still in a bit of shock. Your bare feet padded on the cold concrete floor as your heels hung from Bradley’s hand.

“That’s the last time we leave here for anything pointless,” Bradley vowed, holding the door open for you.

But his words seemed to startle you back to reality. Flickering your gaze up to his hardened stare, you frowned lightly.

“So, I’m just locked away in here?” you whispered out.

“Until it’s safe,” he replied firmly, not even turning to look at you.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” you demanded, raising your voice a little.

“Sure. Do you want to live?” Rooster asked sarcastically, causing you to purse your lips together and glare at him.

“So, I’m just your prisoner now?”

“I’m pretty sure that prisoners aren’t supposed to pay their captors,” Rooster replied with a bit of an attitude, causing you to scoff. “Look, it’s simple. You go out and you’re in danger. So, you’ll stay here where it’s safe.”

You took a step towards Bradley, glaring up at him. Bradley stared down at you evenly and even though you couldn’t quite pick up on it, his self-control was dangerously close to slipping. Your eyes bore into Bradley’s soul as your lips curled into a scowl.

“You can’t keep me here forever. I’m not a prisoner. And I’m certainly not yours.”

Slipping off his jacket from around your shoulders, you shoved it into his chest before turning and storming off to your room. Bradley grabbed his jacket before it could fall to the ground and watched you as you stormed away from him, trying to not focus on the sensual sway of your hips or the subtle jiggle of your ass.

Gulping thickly, Bradley turned back to the monitors and focused on the task at hand. He gripped the table harshly, reminding himself why he was here.

He was supposed to protect you. And he almost failed at his job tonight. You could have been hurt because he wasn’t paying attention. And he wouldn’t let himself slip again.

~~~~~

You were furious. Absolutely furious with Bradley.

He managed to convince your family that it was safer for you to stay in the safe house or at least a safe house than to go out. And before you could even wake up the next morning, any lick of freedom was taken away from you. The chances to see your friends and family? Gone. Unless they went through the thirty security steps to come visit you in the safe house. Any chance to do anything outside of the safe house sans emergencies? Gone.

You were livid.

Storming downstairs in the compound, your bare feet padded against the polished concrete floors. You knew exactly where to find Bradley since he still sent you texts about where he was located in the house for safety procedures. You were still dressed in your pajamas, shorts and a tee shirt that actually belonged to Bradley, since you read through your texts with your family while brushing your teeth that morning.

Forcing your way into the gym, you stormed over to where Bradley was working out, pumping some large dumbbells as music played in the background. Grabbing the remote, you shut off the music, causing Bradley to drop the dumbbells and whip around just in time to catch your positively irate expression.

“Where the hell do you get off!?” you demanded, poking him harshly in the middle of his chest.

“You heard?” Bradley guessed, looking almost bored with the situation.

“Of course, I heard! You tattletale!”

“They requested a status update and I gave them one. It’s not my fault that they agree with me,” Bradley stated, earning a sharp glare from you.

“Do you want me to go crazy in here?”

“You have every kind of entertainment that a person could possibly need—”

“—I am trapped with only one other person, who just happens to treat me like a child incapable of making their own decisions, in this stupid prison that I never asked for!” you yelled, causing Bradley to pause. “Of course, I’m going crazy! Stop treating me like I’m some delicate baby! And it wouldn’t kill you to listen to me for once!”

Without another word, you stormed out of the gym and headed back to your bedroom. Bradley sighed, running a hand through his hair. He paced a bit, wanting to go back to the workout that he started. But the second that he sat back down, he was standing up again, your disappointed and betrayed expression stuck in his mind.

Bradley walked through the halls, knowing from the security updates on his watch, that you returned to your bedroom. Reaching the door, he knocked lightly on the bulletproof material, letting it echo for a moment before he called your name.

“What?” you called back, clearly annoyed.

“Can we talk?”

“Fine. Come in.”

Bradley opened the door, letting it close behind him as he straightened up. But when he finally looked up, he practically stumbled to the floor at the sight of you.

You were in the middle of tying your hair back and glanced over at Rooster from where you were sitting in front of your mirror. The clothes that you were wearing when you stormed into the gym to confront him were laid out on your bed. And what were you wearing?

A towel. A simple folded fluffy cream-colored towel was all that protected your modesty from his gaze.

“Well?” you demanded, seemingly unfazed by your state of undress.

In actuality, heat was subtly crawling up your neck when you caught the subtle dip of Bradley’s gaze to the tops of your breasts and then your thighs. But in the split second between Bradley’s knock and your answer, you were feeling overwhelmingly petty. And hell, if you were sick of being trapped in this place without any kind of escape, you assumed Bradley was just as pent up as you were.

And, well, you assumed that Bradley—the professional that he was—wouldn’t dare look at you or touch you and compromise his job. So, it was a quiet and not-so-subtle jab back at him for being such as ass and locking you in the safe house.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” Bradley asked, staring up at the ceiling awkwardly before turning back to you.

“Calm down, Captain Chastity, I’ve got a towel on,” you huffed, holding the towel together to prove your point. “And I was going to take a shower until you interrupted me.”

“Then why did you let me in here?” Rooster demanded, annoyance seeping into his tone.

“You wanted to talk and I wanted to get it over with,” you replied, standing up from your vanity.

Feeling a bit emboldened by the fact that Bradley wouldn’t even look at you when you were in this state, and in need of taking some kind of control in your life, you stood up and padded over to where Bradley was standing in your room.

His jaw was set harshly, making his jawline appear all the more sharp. Veins popped off of his neck due to how tightly he was holding his jaw shut. His cheeks were colored by perhaps rage or embarrassment or a mix of both. But he kept his gaze on your eyes. Never once breaking and glancing down to stare at the more scandalous views you. And well, if he wanted to play that game, you would play that game. This was a battle of wills and you weren’t going to crack first.

“I’m not your prisoner, Rooster,” you warned him. "You're not the boss of me."

"I'm just trying to do my job. Stop making it so difficult," Bradley shot back, staring you down.

In a flash of defiance and reflection of just how pent up you felt, you reached up and grabbed the fold of your towel. A quick flick of your wrist and the fabric gave way. Bradley, ever the professional, averted his eyes and stared at the ceiling as your towel pooled on the ground.

"Is that difficult enough for you?" you huffed, setting your hands on your now bare hips.

Staring up at him as he refused to move and look at you, you took two steps towards him, feeling more emboldened than before. Bradley noticeably tensed as you drew closer to him and raised yourself up on your toes to whisper in his ear.

“You can’t keep me locked in here forever," you vowed, causing Bradley's jaw to lock. "You're not the boss of me."

Bradley stayed where he was as you walked into your bathroom and started the shower. It wasn’t until he heard your shower door slide shut that he lowered his gaze away from the ceiling. Breathing heavily and now absolutely red in the face, Bradley glanced down to see your towel on the ground. Shuddering, he turned and stumbled out of your room.

He was about to turn for the gym before changing his mind and heading for his own bedroom instead. Slamming the door shut behind him, Rooster quickly locked the door behind him before heading for the shower himself. He wasted no time in cranking the shower to ice cold and shoving himself under the spray.

Jesus Christ, you were going to be the death of him.

Part 2

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