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gf2bellamy · 2 days ago

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guilt — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you are tired of spencer apologising all the time. or the one where you no longer want to be the cause of spencer's constant guilt. content warnings: literally just angst sorry :( a/n: bye i broke my own heart writing this

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at your reflection, your hands gripping the edge of the counter. Spencer had called you a little while ago, his voice carrying the unmistakable weight of guilt.

He'd been asked last-minute to teach a guest lecture, something he’d clearly not expected, and had warned you he’d be running late.

It was supposed to be a quiet night, just the two of you. You’d planned to unwind and to enjoy each other’s company. The things that, months ago, were routine.

You wiped away the last remnants of your lip gloss, staring at your reflection as you let out a heavy sigh. You’d tried to distract yourself, but it wasn’t working.

Your mind kept drifting to Spencer, to the reason why he wasn't here, and to the frustration that sat heavy in your chest—not with him, but with yourself.

You weren't angry. No, of course not. How could you be?

Spencer was the kind of man who gave every part of himself to everything he did. You admired that about him.

He was brilliant, kind, and incredibly humble—a combination that made your heart swell with affection. You'd watched him in his element, lecturing on topics that made his eyes light up.

You couldn’t help but smile at the memory of it. He was happiest when talking about his work, and those moments of joy filled your heart in a way nothing else could.

But tonight…tonight was different. It wasn’t about being angry. It was about the growing feeling in your chest that something wasn’t quite right.

The realization that you might be standing in his way, even without meaning to. You pushed yourself off the counter, turning to lean against it, crossing your arms tightly across your chest.

What bothered you was not that Spencer had to be away tonight, but the constant, nagging feeling that you were the one who was holding him back.

He carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, trying to balance the demands of his career with the needs of your relationship.

And no matter how many times you told him it was fine, no matter how many times you reassured him that you understood,

Spencer couldn’t shake the guilt. It was always there.

You hated it. The way he apologized. For things he didn’t need to apologize for.

For the long hours when Hotch kept him late. For the times he was called away on a case at the last minute. For the times you barely spoke because his mind was somewhere else.

It was as though, in his mind, every part of his life, every obligation, every commitment, was something he owed an apology for, even if it meant sacrificing his own happiness.

He deserved better than that.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head at yourself. Was this your fault? Were you the one making him feel like he had to apologize? Were you asking too much from him?

You didn’t want to be the one to burden him. The last thing you ever wanted was to make him feel like he couldn’t give his best to the things that mattered most to him, especially when it came to his work.

But you also wanted him to feel like you weren’t just another item on his to-do list. You didn’t want him to apologize for every moment he couldn’t be there, especially if those moments were out of his control.

With a slow exhale, you left the bathroom, catching your reflection in the mirror one last time. Your hair was slightly disheveled and your eyes a little too tired. You shook your head, pushing the thought aside, and stepped into the kitchen.

For a while, you just stood there. The hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the clock in the background.

Your fingers drummed against the counter as you stared at nothing in particular, your mind racing through the same thought over and over again.

You realized then, with an ache deep in your chest, that both your heart and your head had made a decision.

You bit your lip as it hit you, a cold, sinking feeling settling in your stomach. And before you could even process it fully, before you could find the words for what it was you were feeling, the familiar sound of keys rattling at the door sent a sharp jolt through you.

Your body stiffened instinctively.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, only then realizing the tears that had welled up. You blinked them away quickly, forcing them down before they had a chance to fall.

Why were you crying?

You couldn’t even remember why you had come into the kitchen in the first place. You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned away, heading back toward the living room just as the door opened.

Spencer stepped in. His tired eyes immediately searching for you. His satchel slid from his shoulder, landing with a soft thud next to the door. Before you could say anything, before you could take another breath, he had already pulled you into his arms.

“Hey, Spence,” you mumbled, barely able to get the words out before you felt him tighten his hold on you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your hair, his chin resting on top of your head before pressing a gentle kiss there.

There it was. That word. Again.

Your arms wrapped around his waist, and you rested your head against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, the rise and fall of his breath as he held you close.

But you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

Spencer didn’t let go. Maybe he knew you needed this, maybe he needed it just as much. But then something shifted.

You felt the moment he realized just how tightly you were holding on to him, how desperate your grip had become.

And you realized that he realized.

But you were terrified that if you loosened your hold even the slightest bit, it would be for the last time.

And yet, eventually, you did.

Slowly, hesitantly, you let your arms drop, though your hand lingered against Spencer’s stomach for a moment longer, reluctant to break the last bit of contact.

He noticed, of course he did.

His hands moved to your face, fingers brushing delicately over your cheeks before tilting your chin up slightly. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough to make your chest ache.

“How was the lecture?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended.

Spencer pulled away just enough to look at you, his fingers still tracing gentle circles against your skin before he finally let his hands fall. “It was nice. I enjoyed it,” he said simply.

That was it. No eager rambling, no bright excitement about the subject matter, no recounting the way the students had responded.

Because of course, he wouldn’t talk about it.

You closed your eyes for a brief second, pressing your lips together as realization settled over you. He didn’t want to tell you how much he enjoyed it—because he felt guilty. Because he thought saying so would make you feel worse about being left alone tonight.

Spencer was watching you closely, always attuned to the slightest change in your expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with quiet concern.

You hesitated. You didn’t want to do this now. You didn’t want to ruin his night, especially after a good day. But you knew Spencer. Once he noticed something was wrong, he wouldn’t let it go.

And just like that, you were trapped.

Before you could even think of a way to deflect, Spencer reached for your hand, pulling you toward the couch. He sat down beside you, his grip gentle.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured again, his eyes searching yours. “Really. I’ll make it up to you.”

Oh, God.

He thought you were upset about tonight.

You could feel the lump in your throat, the pressure behind your ribcage that had been building for weeks, months maybe. The weight of it all—the guilt, the apologies, the constant push and pull between his world and yours—was too much.

And suddenly, the words were spilling out before you could stop them.

“I think we should break up.”

The moment the words left your lips, you felt Spencer’s entire body go still.

Your hands slipped from his, the warmth of his touch vanishing in an instant.

“What?” he whispered, staring at you like you’d just shattered the world beneath his feet.

The sheer devastation in that one word sent another wave of tears rushing to your eyes. You blinked rapidly, willing them away, but it was useless.

“Why?” he asked, and that single syllable—so small, so fragile—nearly broke you.

Why did it feel like your entire heart was being ripped from your chest? You didn’t even want to imagine how Spencer felt. You were blindsiding him, springing this on him without warning, and the realization made the guilt in your stomach twist unbearably.

Spencer’s panic was immediate.

“I—I’m really sorry,” he stammered, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of what was happening. “I tried, I swear. They just— They really needed me to guest lecture, and I know I should’ve said no, but I thought—” He exhaled sharply, stumbling over his words as he desperately tried to fix something he didn’t even understand yet. “I can make it up to you. We can go out this weekend, or— or I’ll take some time off, whatever you want, just—”

“Spencer.”

Your voice came out louder than you meant, and you winced at your own volume.

He fell silent immediately.

The room felt painfully still, as if the air itself had thickened, pressing in around you. You stared down at your hands in your lap, unable to look at him—because you knew. The second you met his eyes, you’d take it all back. You’d fold under the weight of his gaze, of his heartbreak, and you’d tell him it was all a mistake.

But you couldn’t do this anymore.

“It’s not because of that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

You could feel his eyes on you, feel the confusion and desperation radiating off of him.

“Then why?” he asked, voice strained, raw.

You swallowed hard.

Because you were tired. Tired of being another thing on his long list of responsibilities. Tired of hearing him apologize for things that weren’t his fault. Tired of watching him carry guilt he didn’t deserve.

You were doing this for him.

You took a shaky breath. “Because you shouldn’t have to keep saying sorry just for living your life, Spencer.”

“What?” Spencer asked again, barely above a whisper.

It was so unlike him. Spencer was a man of big words, of endless explanations and carefully chosen phrases. But now, he was stuck on the smallest, simplest ones. And somehow, that broke your heart even more.

“You—” You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair as you stood up, suddenly feeling like you couldn’t sit still. “You just keep apologizing.”

Spencer’s eyes followed you as you moved, wide and confused, his brows furrowed like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t make sense. “I—I don’t understand,�� he admitted, voice cracking slightly at the end.

“You apologize for every single thing,” you muttered again, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t even sure how to phrase your feelings in a way that made sense, in a way that wouldn’t hurt him more than it already was.

How do you tell someone you love that you’re leaving because you love them?

You swallowed hard. “You just have so much going for you right now.”

You met Spencer’s eyes for a fleeting second before looking away almost immediately.

You couldn’t do it. You didn’t have it in you to hold his gaze, not when the pain in them mirrored your own.

A single tear slipped down your cheek, and you brushed it away quickly, like you could pretend it was never there.

Spencer saw it, of course. And even though his heart was breaking, even though everything inside him was screaming to reach for you, to brush the tear away himself and hold you until you weren’t sad anymore, he stayed frozen in place.

You stared at the ground. “I am in your way, Spence.”

Spencer’s mouth opened instantly, desperate to argue, to stop this before it spiraled any further.

But when you looked at him—your eyes filled with quiet pleading, begging him to just let you speak—his lips pressed shut again.

“You’re so smart,” you said softly, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips despite the ache in your chest. “You get asked to step in for guest lectures last minute, and you do it—no preparation, no hesitation—just because of how brilliant you are.”

Spencer swallowed, his throat tight, his own tears welling up now.

“You’re literally an FBI agent,” you continued, your voice shaking. “And you still reread entire books while drinking one cup of coffee.”

He let out a short, broken laugh, but it faded just as quickly as it came.

“And yet…” Your voice wavered, your eyes brimming with more tears. “Yet you always come home and apologize.”

Spencer clenched his jaw, his entire body tense as he watched you unravel in front of him.

“You say sorry for reading too much,” you whispered. “For getting lost in something you love. For having these incredible opportunities that most people would dream of. And I just… I don’t understand, Spence.”

The tears were falling freely now, your chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Across from you, Spencer wasn’t faring any better. His own tears had started slipping down his cheeks, though he made no move to wipe them away.

“And on top of all that, you carry so much guilt,” you choked out. “I will never be able to fully grasp what it’s like to have a job like yours—to see the things you see, to shoulder the things you do. But what I do know is that I don’t want to be another thing that adds to your guilt.”

Spencer shook his head, his breath shuddering as he finally stepped forward, closing the distance between you. “You’re not—”

“I am,” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to say sorry just for being who you are, Spencer. I don’t want to be something that makes your life harder.”

Spencer let out a soft, desperate noise, barely more than a breath, as if the words physically pained him.

“You’re not,” he whispered again, and this time, he didn’t stop himself—his hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears with a gentleness that made your heart shatter even more.

“I love you,” he breathed, his voice raw. “You are not in my way. You are not something I have to apologize for. You are the best part of my life.”

Your breath hitched. “Then why does it feel like I am?”

Spencer didn’t have an answer to that question. Maybe because there wasn’t one.

Or maybe it was because the sight of your tear-filled eyes took his breath away.

That’s how much this hurt him.

But he still couldn’t take his hands off your face. He was terrified—terrified that if he let go, it would be the last time he ever got to touch you.

“But you’re not,” he whispered again, his voice breaking under the weight of his own devastation.

He looked at you with so much love, so much desperation, that it made your stomach twist painfully. He wasn’t just heartbroken—he was lost. Completely and utterly lost in the idea of a world where you weren’t his anymore.

You closed your eyes for a second, letting yourself memorize the warmth of his hands, the way his thumbs rested just beneath your cheekbones, like they belonged there.

You wanted to stay in this moment forever.

But you couldn’t.

So you took a step back.

Spencer’s hands fell away, lingering in the air for a second before he clenched them into fists at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with himself without you there.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. “And I love you.”

Spencer inhaled sharply, like the words physically wounded him. “Then don’t go.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes one last time.

And then you turned away.

#spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x you #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst

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ofbatsandballads · 18 hours ago

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“like real people do” by hozier is so jason todd coded it has me writing purple prose at 1pm on a friday. i was listening to that masterpiece of a song and couldn’t stop thinking of jay’s childhood first love being there the night he came back. so out came this sort of au based on the ‘superboy punches reality’ version of his resurrection.

tw for depictions of jason’s torture and murder, his being resurrected and escaping his grave, reader’s severe depression and suicidal ideation surrounding her grief, heavy codependency implied between jason and reader, and general resurrection angst.

It was a dark and stormy night. Isn’t that how these things always go? Horrid cliches find unexpected ways of coming back to life. Much like the life that sparks suddenly within the boy in the casket. Black, dark nothingness becomes humid, suffocating air. He tries to sit up and meets silk-covered mahogany that traps him. The boy in the casket does not know where he is. He does not know who he is.

He remembers feelings. Something loud, bright, and hot that made everything go dark. Resignation, the urge to protect, forgiveness. The feeling of his skull cracking, his collarbone shattering under the blunt force of metal. The laughter the laughter the laughter it is driving him mad. The white hot pain of his legs snapping under the weight of the man that laughs. The guttural feeling of betrayal and fear. The smell of cigarettes. He is the sweet boy that wants his mother.

Hope, bright and incandescent. Rebellion and longing. Anger, angst, the horrible need to be understood by the people you love most. Ambition, pride, joy, encouragement; the warmth of family. He is no longer a fatherless son. Hope, wary but resilient. Fear, then relief, at the sight of the Dark Knight.

The boy in the casket remembers. He still does not know who he is. But he knows he has a father. He knows it because he is screaming for his father as he tears through the silk and scrapes the skin from his fingers against the hard mahogany. He screams for his father as he kicks through the wood, as the damp earth fills the enclosed space and steals the little air that remains for him to breathe. He is thinking of his father as he pulls his body through the hole he made. The jagged wood is digging into his side and he feels blood drip hot down his torso. It’s different from the wet cold that surrounds him and he focuses on that to stay cognizant. But the earth presses in and he is tired. He is so very tired.

He remembers something else. He remembers being tired once before, but he was warm then. He remembers being cozy under blankets. Innocent laughter and innocent kisses. The prettiest eyes he’s ever seen and the love that gleamed just for him shining within them. Then a voice. Melodic and beautiful and sweet as honey.

“C’mon, Jay, don’t fall asleep yet.”

You would not want him to fade back into the eternal sleep he just woke from. No. He cannot go back just yet. He tries to dig upward, but his body aches. The earth grows thicker, turns to sludge that drowns him. He shoves one hand over his face to claim a bit of air and is given a mouthful of mud instead. He chokes out one final scream. His head is getting fuzzy, lack of air making his skull feel cotton-filled and staticky. Still he digs up and up and up. But there’s no light. Just more earth. Maybe he does belong here. Maybe someone made a mistake and gave him a few moments that were meant for someone else. He makes one last push, that familiar resignation washing over him again as he closes his eyes. Then a hand wraps tight around his wrist and he’s showered in the cold midnight rain.

You have a secret. It’s personal and it’s abnormal and it’s yours. You’ve been sleeping on Jason Todd’s grave for the past week. No one knows. Well, Bruce Wayne knows. He must. His son’s grave is on his estate, after all, and the Bat’s security measures are the best you’ve ever seen. You don’t know why he’s letting his dead son’s girlfriend sleep on his grave, but you’re thankful he hasn’t kicked you out yet.

It’s been four years since Jason died. Four years and you still can’t accept it. You visit him every day. You bring him flowers and read him books and tell him about your life. You try to pretty it up a bit for him. You tell him about the new sundress you bought; it’s red, his favorite color. You tell him about the amazing bakery that opened up in the Heights and how you think he’d adore their chocolate chip cookies.

You don’t tell him that you’re so depressed over his absence that there are times when you go weeks existing only in your bed with sparse trips to the bathroom. You don’t tell him that you dropped out of college after your first year, that you failed in your joint promise to go to Gotham City University together. You just couldn’t handle it. The weight of your grief is already an iron chain around your throat, hooked to an eternal anchor. You didn’t need the pressure of perfect grades—an unshakeable requirement of your scholarship as you couldn’t afford to go to school any other way. You certainly don’t tell him that you’ve considered joining him, that sometimes that seems like the only thing you want anymore.

But it’s been getting worse. You miss him. Not in any way that’s healthy. At least that’s what you were told by the grief counselor your mother made you see. You miss him so badly that you’re sleeping on his grave come hell or high water. Tonight it’s high water. The cold rain soaks through your hoodie and sweats, but you don’t care. You’ve stabbed an umbrella into the ground and you’ve got an old blanket under you, so you’re all set. The bone-chilling cold of the water doesn’t matter. The way that it lures you to sleep doesn’t matter. Your body temperature is probably dropping and sleep to the freezing is deadly, but that doesn’t matter either. What matters is that you’re here with the boy you love.

You have another secret. This one’s worse, so terrible that you even scare yourself. You’ve been considering digging up Jason’s grave for the past thirty minutes. It started subconsciously. You didn’t even realize you were clawing into the ground until the grass was uprooted. You’ve made a good dent now, maybe six inches or so. It’s insane. You’re insane. But you ache to be close to him. Jason Todd took half of your soul with him when he was lowered into the ground. The better half; the half of you that was light and joyous and filled with love. You want it back. You want him back. You don’t know what you would do if you dug up his grave, but you know that you’d be closer to him than six feet.

You lie in the rain and contemplate why you’re here. You’ve missed him this fiercely every day for the last four years. It’s just this past week that you’ve been drawn to sleep on the earth above him. Like a moth to flame, like Ariadne’s golden thread leading out of the darkness of the labyrinth. Or maybe you’ve finally lost what’s left of your mind. You think you have when you hear noises from beneath the earth.

“Finally talking to me, Jay?” you ask.

Melancholy sarcasm is made weak by the way your teeth chatter and how your shivering leaks into your tone. But then you hear it again. It’s faint, deep below and muffled but it’s there. Then a thudding noise. Over and over and over. Your heart kicks to life. Adrenaline shoots through you and the cold seeped into your body melts with the heat of it. Jason is dead. He’s been dead for four years. But something is alive in his grave. Your hands sink into the small hole you’ve already made and you shovel the earth out in a manic rush. You dig and dig and dig. Your arms are elbow deep when you feel fingers brush against your own. You should be afraid. You should run. Instead you reach further, grasp hard around the wrist and pull. The ground gives way and your reality shatters in an instant. You’ve just pulled Jason Todd from his grave.

He’s bigger than you remember. His body weight is crushing as he collapses on top of you. (You’re smaller than he remembers. He has a crystal clear image of looking up into those pretty eyes and now he can barely feel you squished underneath him.)

He’s covered in sodden earth from head to toe. There’s blood seeping warmly from his torso into your red hoodie. (Your arms are caked in mud. Why? What were you digging for?)

Even with his difference in size—he must be well over a foot taller and at least one hundred pounds heavier—there is nothing that compares to the pure shock of looking into his eyes. Piercing gunmetal blue that you see every time you close your eyes is now a deep seafoam green. And yet looking into them you still feel like you’re home again. (Those pretty eyes are still the same. They still have that gleam of love when they land on him. But they’re also red and bloodshot like you’ve been crying. Please don’t cry. He doesn’t want you to be sad. He loves you. He doesn’t know your name but he knows that he loves you.)

You’re both as still as the memorial statues of Martha and Thomas that loom protectively beside Jason’s grave. Shock settles in.

“Jason. Oh my God. Jason, you’re—“ your voice breaks before you can say the words you thought would only come in dreams.

“Alive,” he croaks, voice dry and grating from lack of use.

He is alive. He is alive and breathing and with you again. You don’t know what caused this, why a dead boy crawled from his grave in the body of a man, but you’re not going to ask questions. The only answer you need is lying in your arms. Tears stream down your face, only differentiated from the rain by their warmth.

“You’re here, you’re here, you’re here,” you murmur into his mud-soaked hair as you cradle his head in the crook of your neck.

“Here,” he echoes. “Real?”

It doesn’t feel like it. His head is hazy and clouded but he’s starting to recall things. Like a steady trickle of water coalescing into a stream, into a river, into a flood. He remembers your name. He remembers stolen tires and bat ears. He remembers chamomile tea with a butler and stories of old theatre productions. He remembers how all the classic romance novels in his freshman English class looked just like the pretty girl sitting at the desk to his right. He remembers sweet giggles and shaky hands and soft kisses. He remembers. But he can’t speak it. He can’t find the words or the comprehension. He sees these things in flashes, feels them in his bones but he can’t make his mind and body catch up. So he lurches forward, stiff and clumsy, and tries to replicate the warmth of your kisses that have survived death itself.

You kiss Jason Todd for the first time in four years. You taste your tears, the damp earth, and the blood from where he’s bitten his own tongue. You have never tasted anything better because for right now it tastes like him.

“Real. We’re real.”

A sweet surprise and a gentle reminder. The other halves of your souls have been returned, and you are both allowed to exist again.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #remy writes 🖋️#not tagging red hood tags bc he’s really not quite there yet in this fic #this is so dark and melodramatic but i also feel like that’s very fitting for jason #idk how i feel after proofreading it but it’s still put together enough to post. I think.

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fireladyofink · 19 hours ago

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Oh God.. uuhhhh.. been a minute since I tried one of these..

Skipping 1, hate first person, just can't do it, not even read it.

2 is 100% Andlàtkyn. There's some issues here and there but it will always be my pride and joy.

Due to not posting on AO3 (even though I really should be), 3 is mostly ineffective. Except Wattpad has tags. I'd say UTAU, dragons and crossover.

4, lol. Literally. Lately I keep using that (only when texting others) and it's bothering me. I feel like a simpleton because of how much I'm saying that, eugh.

5 I've honestly learned a lot while researching fics. For one, I found out lantana berries are toxic to humans yet taste like blueberries, and I have them growing in my backyard. They're actually my favorite plant! I love their flowers; so pretty, and they have such a uniquely funky smell as well. Part of why I adore them, it stands out so much without being a bad smell. And the leaves have a sort of citrus smell? I love lantanas.

6 I don't know. I've thought about requests due to the money, but I feel like I'd either struggle to start writing it or get carried away with it- or straight up not finish in a reasonable timeframe. Commissions? Like art commissions? Maybe in a few years when I'm more confident in my skills and also somehow have a drawing tablet to properly draw digitally. Something like that.

7 Either or. I love making sickeningly sweet coffee or various different teas.

8 Is honestly hard to decide! Off the top of my head I can think of Dust initially meeting Killer with the hilariously absurd question of "What do you mean you don't have a mouth? How are you speaking right now? Your ass?"

9 Believe it or not it was basically when I first got a phone and commented a short story in the comments of a YouTube video. Someone replied with a suggestion of Wattpad. The rest is history, lol.

10 Off the top of my head I can't think of anything beyond something very specific for the fic I've been thinking about again lately, Ninjagaësia. Only time I've written outside of the UT fandom too, I specifically want to get around to writing that version of Zane more. What I had planned for him is fun as hell. An absolute badass.

11 Lots of comments, votes and people enjoying it. Which, continuing the above mention, Ninjagaësia doesn't qualify for. Pretty unsuccessful, but for once I don't really care.

12 Undertale AU's. I doubt I'll ever leave, either.

13 No. Hell, my ultimate fic of Andlàtkyn was written throughout the later half of highschool. I am technically working on an original story on the sidelines, I call it my worldbuilding project because I'm building up so much lore in this world before I actually touch on the story itself outside of a vague idea. About 60-ish different species of people, including the were-diseases. Last I counted, anyway. I'll be working on it for years, I know it, and I don't mind that either.

14 Comments talking about my fics on said fics. Actual interactions! It brings me joy. 🧡

15 My family is well aware. I don't bring up a lot of details but the last time I went into vague detail with my mother it was over a scene in Andlàtkyn (no direct spoilers) and she interpreted it weirdly and now she teases me by asking if I'm killing babies again! A bit awkward..

16 Actually finishing a damn story. I don't mind the periods of no writing until I get inspired again, but what annoys me is when I can't seem to finish anything. Only ever finished Andlàtkyn. I still have yet to write anything for the sequel to it, either! Zeradelsída is still just a bunch of loose plot points..

17 I am semi successfully writing benevolent eldritch horror. It doesn't intend harm, but it is truly.. horrifying nonetheless. The uncertainty of someone knowing he died, feeling his own heart stop beating, and feeling something OTHER seep inside and force it to start again, pulsing in his veins, fusing with his anatomy, permanently altering both him and itself into something completely unknowable.. I'm rambling. Anyone who hasn't seen my Wattpad, read Awakened. If you don't mind ridiculously long fics, read Andlàtkyn too!

18 I have at least 7 I mostly expect to finish, with at least 4 others just kind of.. there. I don't think I've posted any of those, either. I also have ideas inspired by dreams that I'd love to write down someday, though don't really expect to actually codify.

19 I kind of just don't. I work on different projects as the inspiration hits, take a backseat for a month or so, then come back to either the same project or a different one.

20 Hmmm.. Hard to think of something specific. I'm leaning towards stuff in Andlàtkyn. I don't really have a favorite kiss scene because I don't do romance. I write adventure! Andlàtkyn has some side romance though- not that any of it is my favorite. Platonic stuff, though.. I'd say my favorite is honestly Lust and Alter incidentally befriending each other and becoming venting buddies. It's the cutest thing, their friendship is adorable and wholesome despite the background angst. I didn't write nearly as much of them as deserved.

21 Honestly it's mostly lack of inspiration that I'm pretty sure stems from depression. If I could get an ADHD prescription or depression meds I'd probably be a lot better but like. I am completely broke. So much so that those issues aren't even in the top 10 of pressing problems solved with money.

22 Given I've literally only done it once.. not really. I guess I post it around everywhere I can think of in excitement?

23 That one continuous dream I had that went on over a month centered on a Nightmare that was freshly corrupted. He was honestly so nerdy and adorable despite putting on the brave and mildly "evil" front. The boy. Him. Goddamnit I want to write that at some point.

24 Honestly I can't think of anything for this one.

25 Oh yeah, I can't think of anything off the top of my head but there's a lot I'd like to fix in all of my stories, lol.

26 Kind of? It's a more recent development, did it for Zeradelsída which still has yet to be written, did it for that Ninjagaësia too. A little bit of a broad, even vaguer outline for things I want to happen in Awakened, too? More like events, no particular order or connection.

27 A few of those WIP's that haven't been posted... Okay technically just one. There's also the very first fic I wrote that is subsequently the only one I've ever deleted.

28 Angstiest often coincides with cursed for some reason, so I'll just go with the ending of Andlàtkyn for the Apple Twins.

29 I kind of just.. don't. If I do, I start hating everything, and because I'm not THAT bad at spelling and grammar I think it's mostly fine the way it is.

30 Oh absolutely. It's particularly obvious when one looks at Andlàtkyn, which I wrote over the course of 4 years. Really neat transition, if I ever manage to do it, I'd rewrite the beginning a little to match the rest when crossposting to AO3. If I ever get around to that.

31 Again, Andlàtkyn. That fic is my baby, man. It's so precious to me.

32 Honestly I don't know for this one, which is weird.

33 100% Ink of Awakened. My little boy. I have some friends that would rib the hell out of me if they ever found out, lol. Thankfully the main one doesn't even remember that he has a Tumblr.

34 I was not expecting how hard of a question this is! I thought it was Andlàtkyn, but thinking about it.. I don't think so? It might simply just change depending on which one I'm currently fixated on, but at the moment I think my favorites to get that on is Awakened and Ninjagaësia, second of which already has basically nothing to begin with.

35 I don't have anything, oof.

Fanfic/Author Ask Game

Write a scene from [insert fic] in another character’s POV

Which of your fics is your pride and joy?

What are your top three most commonly used tags on AO3?

What are some words or phrases you feel like you overuse?

What’s something you learned while researching a fic?

Would you ever accept requests or commissions?

Coffee or tea while you write?

What is your favorite line/section from [insert fic]?

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

Is there a character or ship you'd love to write for, but haven't yet?

What makes a fic 'successful' in your opinion?

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Do you have an 'official' creative writing background such as a degree or previous experience publishing?

What makes you happiest? New fic comments, kudos, bookmarks, user subscribers, story subscribers, or Tumblr asks?

Does anyone you know in real life know you write fanfiction?

What do you struggle with most when writing?

What is something you recently felt proud of in your writing?

How many WIPs do you have and how many do you expect to finish?

How do you get over writer's block?

Share your favorite kiss scene from [insert fic]. If there's no kiss scene, share your favorite moment of intimacy (romantic or platonic)

What stops you from writing more in your free time?

Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

Which scene/theme was the inspiration for [insert fic]?

Are there any moments in [insert fic] that feel "blurry" to you? Is this a stylistic choice, or would you go back and clarify the descriptions if you were given the chance?

Do you ever "prep" your fics with outlines or warmups before you start writing, or do you just dive right in?

Are any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

Have you noticed your style change over time?

What fic meant the most to you to write?

A character you enjoy making suffer.

A character you want to protect.

What is your favorite fic to get comments/messages on?

Wild Card: Ask me something else!

#questions #ask game #asks

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 1 day ago

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This is all I've read this month, in chronological order. Every month I always think it's too little but unfortunately it's the best I can do.

Please give love to these writers, reblog and comment because they are very talented and deserve so much.

As for me, you won't see me posting for a while. I'll be back sooner or later but I can't say when. Writing has always been a joy for me but I haven't felt well lately and I don't even feel like opening my wip files (stuff that nobody needs anyway so who cares, I’m just another stupid voice in the chaos), let alone finding an idea that doesn't make me gag.

If you need to ask me something for my challenge I'll be here for you but for the rest I probably won't be that active, sorry.

Please mind the tags and warnings to make sure a story doesn’t trigger you and makes you uncomfortable, I’m not responsible for what you choose to read, only you are.

Biting down - @psychedelic-ink

Joel Miller x f!reader

you finally go and get your nipples pierced.

Give me Hell - @aurorawritestoescape

Stepdad!Joel Miller x f!reader

you come home drunk and Joel isn’t happy. He decides to teach you a lesson.

Yes Sir - @probablyreadinsmut

Dave York x f!reader

Drabble, gun smut

Untitled - @mybvalentine

Joel Miller x f!reader

(Un)faithful chapter 2 - @probablyreadinsmut

Javier Peña x f!reader

After Javier takes a bold step into the bathroom, your friendship dynamic takes a dramatic turn.

Finite eternity - @sizzlingcloudmentality

Professor Reed Richards x f!reader

after getting your phd you return to your former professor to thank him. he says some nice things and you get a "you're coming" guarantee. coming to dinner that is.

Love me like a loaded gun - @joelmillerisapunk

fuckbuddy!Javier Peña x f!reader

Javier Peña is a man who never stays, but that doesn’t stop him from showing up at your door, seeking solace in the only way he knows how.

-or-

my interpretation of Cinnamon Girl by Lana Del Rey if it was a Javi fic

You oughta know - @yxtkiwiyxt

Joel Miller x f!reader

You and Joel return from a double date, and you find out he’s jealous of your colleague, Frankie

Going down - @aurorawritestoescape

Joel Miller x f!reader | Frankie Morales x f!reader

you have a hot boyfriend and a hot ex who’s still obsessed with you. Why not get the best of both worlds?

BDSMaid epilogue - Series Masterlist @mountainsandmayhem

Joel Miller x f!reader

After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Untitled thigh riding - @probablyreadinsmut

Javier Peña x f!reader

What happens behind Buc-ees stays behind Buc-ees - @probablyreadinsmut

Joel Miller x f!reader

56 year old Joel Miller spends his days as a blue collar contractor busy on the job site, though his idea of being 'busy' involves standing around cat-calling ladies all day long. One day he tries his luck with you and he gets more than he bargained for in the process.

Naughty thoughts - @aurorawritestoescape

Professor!Joel Miller x f!reader

you’re failing Prof. Miller’s class and he finds a punishment for you.

Owned Collection - @milla-frenchy

Joel Miller x fem reader

Family time - @greenwitchfromthewoods

Frankie Morales x f!reader

you came back from your parents in a really bad mental state

What If We Kissed In The Buc-ee's Bathroom?

CatCaller!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Ol' Joel has done goofed, he's let you into his life and now you've completely turned it upside down. Oh and we're doing more than just kissin' it that bathroom ;)

Girl Dinner part 4 - Masterlist - @slimybeth69 Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Joel Miller x f!reader

After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

Perfect Match - @aurorawritestoescape

Dieter Bravo x f!reader x Marcus Pike (lactation kink)

Dieter becomes a face of a dating app and meets you and your husband while shooting an ad for it. Feeling an immense attraction, he invites you both to his penthouse, planning to enjoy the night and you to the fullest.

Untitled - @letsgobarbs

Kermit (Pedro Pascal Close Encounter 50th) x AFAB!Reader

PWP with Kermit

Hold my hand - @aurorawritestoescape

Clint x f!reader

you have good news for Clint and it seems that you two are ready for another big step in your relationship.

The Senator’s secret - @baronessvonglitter

modern!Oberyn Martell x fem!Reader x modern! Senator!Marcus Acacius

An old flame invites you to be his fake girlfriend so he can spend the evening with his new secret lover. It doesn't hurt that the three of you are attracted to each other..

Shameless - @milla-frenchy

Lucien De Leon x fem reader

you ask Lucien to come over and he does exactly what you need him to

Vices - @baronessvonglitter

Din Djarin x OFC x bi! f!Reader x OMC

You're not one to be shy of your vices, but a night with a mysterious woman has you and your work partner Din chasing new highs.

Visitation - @gothcsz

Javier Peña x f!reader

Javier visits you in prison after putting you in there.

(Un) faithful - @probablyreadinsmut (Chapter 3)

Series Masterlist

After an admission from Lorraine, you and Javier take some time to think about what you both want, but after a tortorous round of golf with Randy and your husband, the writing on the wall becomes visible for both you and Javi.

Bottoms up - @joelmillerisapunk

bfd!Joel Miller x bfstepdad!Arthur Morgan x f!reader

a threesome sex pollen fic where two men kiss

Iron hand - @thundermartini

Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Back in Saint Denis to recharge after a bounty, Arthur makes an unforgettable encounter. Fate makes you cross paths again months later.

Dark Room - @gothcsz

Javier Peña x f!reader

Accidentally getting locked in the photo developing room with Javier.

For you I’d steal the stars - @gothcsz // Drabble

Marcus Acacius x POC f!reader

The afternoon - @frannyzooey

Joel Miller x f!reader

Preciosa - @lotusbxtch

Pero Tovar x f!wife!reader

You would have never predicted that such a delicate thing would be Pero Tovar’s undoing.

Last Call - @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal

Joel Miller x f!reader

After you breakup with your boyfriend of 6 years, you head to the bar to wait while he packs up his shit at your place. Joel is a bartender in the bar you randomly picked. Will fate bring you together? tldr: Joel talks you through it.

The Condom - @toxicanonymity / Drabble

Javi P x f!reader x Steve Murphy

Good Boy - @sp00kymulderr / Drabble

Joel Miller x trans male reader

We shouldn’t have done that - @yxtkiwiyxt

dbf! joel miller (or maybe it's just dad’s buddy) x f!reader

It's been a while since you've seen Joel, not since that 'moment' that happened between you two. Now, you have to face him when Sarah calls you in a panic, asking for a ride from a party because her friends are too drunk to drive.

#V feb recs #feb recs #pedro pascal characters #ppcu #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #joel miller #javier peña #lucien de leon #din djarin #kermit snl #reed richards

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archiewantsheetmetal · 2 days ago

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First Official Hello From Archie!

HELLO Layton Nation! Welcome to my Layton blog. My name is Archie, and I go by he/him. I am a minor!

DNI if you:

- Are a pedophile

- Ship any minors with any adult characters. This is also pedophilia

- Are a zoophile

- Are a strictly 18+ blog

- Are homophobic, transphobic, racist, or xenophobic I just post Layton stuff here and interact with the fandom. This is my only Tumblr blog. I really like Professor Layton. I don't tag triggers or spoilers unless it's something major, like if it's very mild blood or if it regards a Layton reveal, but if anyone has an issue, they can come to me through dms or asks! I am not a scary person. Like at all. I love interacting with the Layton fandom and to be honest I am probably just as scared of you as you are of me. So don't be afraid to be friends! I love getting questions and requests! I just won't respond to anything NSFW. I do not reblog NSFW content. On Archive of Our Own, my username is Archierot! You can find any fics I may post there. Currently, there are only three published works on my page, but there will be more to come. My askbox is almost always open! I just may be a little slower to get to some of them, or if you say something very nice or funny, I might just keep it in there so I can look at it when I need to.

Taglist and friends below!

LIST OF MY FRIENDS!! MY LOVELY FRIENDS THAT I LOVE FOREVER!!

@casualfr1days!! My best friend DREWWW!!!!! ! ! ! ! ^^ AMAZING person all around and very very pretty art. THEY ARE THE REASON. I am in the Professor Layton fandom. drew it is ALL your fault. Wonderful to be around and I feel like I can talk to you about my bugs forever.

@justkillingthyme MY LOVELY BEST FRIEND THYME!! ^^ FRIENDLY KIND FOREVER!! I love their art and their writing!! It's very distinct and has inspired several of my own creations. I'm very lucky to be friends with them. Very funny person and joy to be around.

@jesterday00 MY BEST FRIEND SKEETER!! HI SKEETER ^^ I LOVE this person, their art, and their writing. Very very kind and very funny. I'm glad to have met you! Gives you a BIG fist bump.

@hotsaucewmilk BEST FRIEND HOTSAUCE!! !HLELO ^^ FUNNY GUY ALERT!!! GREAT ARTIST ALERT!! And he's also british so maybe he knows layton. idk. were investigating the matter

@toonypow BEST FRIEND BEE!!! HI BEE HI BEE ^^ GREAT writer. Has made me cry on Bsky. Wonderful art that I've seen.

@mysterysnail APPEL. OLIVE. YOU. ^^ shares a similar sense of humor to me. thank you. SSHAKES your hand. VERY FUNNY PERSON AND I'VE SEEN SOME OF THEIR ART!! VERY GOOD!!

@speedygoreman speedy... ^^ I AM still scared of you KIND OF. a little bit. BUT I THINK YOU'RE COOL. AND I LOVE READING THE STUFF YOU POST. KLG. UGH. UURGH. @huevobuevo you/. i remember you. ^^ you're realy fuckin funny man. best first impression. i miss you heuevo............. @constantpan1c ^^ hi!! friend!! yay!! funny kind nice. not part of the layton fandom but i listed them here too. giggle If I didn't include you on here, I'm probably scared of you and I'm not sure if you consider us friends !!

TAGS!

#archiereblogs - what it sounds like !! these are just reblogged posts. #important - probably important ! #archiesfavs - MY MOST FAAAVORITE POSTS!! HIGHEST HONOR I CAN BESTOW!! They go here so i can look at them later. #phantom railway au - the 1930s-esque depression au i created for professor layton! #askarchie - just stuff from my askbox #archiesart - all of my art!! I'm trying to do more of it. #inbox thyme - all of or most of thyme's asks. because theyre in there a lot! #archiestupid - shitposts. this might be considered art too but if its too stupid it goes in there. #archierants - me talking. probably includes all analyses ive ever done. #pl creature au - my mythical creature/monster au i created for professor layton! #archierot - ALL of my fics and fic related content! #archiedoodles - doodle request answers! #pl/professor layton - professor laytong stuff! THAT'S ALL I CAN FIND!! Some tags may not have any posts in them! That's because, moving forward, I want to keep my account organized. That's what the empty tags are there for! So I can use them from now on. I'll try to edit existing posts to include these tags if I see them. I'll tag the taglist so you can use it to like. find stuff. if you need to.

I hope you guys like my stuff! -Archie!

#archiereblogs #important #archiesfavs #askarchie #archiesart #inbox thyme #archiestupid #archierants #pl creature au #archierot #archiedoodles #professor layton #pl #intro post #pl phantom railway au

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sometimesanalice · 11 hours ago

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Morgannn!! 💖 oh I’m so, so happy you liked this! Fluffy, fun, and flirty vibes for days!

I’m so happy that it was something that made you smile! 🥰🥰

More for you!!

Oh, this was absolutely delightful and fun and exactly what I needed after this week! I broke into giggles and a smile more times than I could count! I love everything you write, but sometimes you pop off with the best little details and phrasings and it's such a joy to read your writing!—🥹🥹🥹

And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

Quite literally the vibe for modern dating, and especially with how many men always forget Feb 14th is a holiday!!!!!— I just imagined her being like “are you sure??” like five times and this guy being like “it’s a Wednesday like yeah”. But truly, the amount of me not utilizing the notifications on their built in calendar is a CRIME. But especially on international hearts day!

And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Men don't appreciate good fashion. That's why we dress for the group chat and ourselves!— the girlies(gn) just want to look and feel cute! But also, you know that group chat was popping off with the🔥 emoji, lol

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

This visual this gave me! A beacon of pink! Get her a drink!— goodness knows miss ma’am needs one! She was just trying to go with the flow and have fun! But I loved trying to find ways to highlight just how out of place she was there, not only like with how she felt but also the setting!

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

STOP, THIS GOT ME!— I MEAN CAN YOU IMAGINEEEEE

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

Snaps for Selleck mention.— the OG mustache man!

Oh.

AN ITALICIZED OH, SO YOU KNOW IT'S GOOD!!!— ITALICIZED OH SUPREMACY!! (Also I’m so endlessly tickled by the amount of support the italicized oh has gotten 😂 I know I posted about it specifically, but I love how much love we all have for those two little letters!)

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

This was entirely too relatable. Those jeans are too slutty and the group chat must know! (nothing wrong with taking a lil pic either 🤫) — I was so obsessed with the idea of her being like “you guys won’t believe what happened” and her phone just blowing up the other night of her best babes wanting allll the tea! You know the brunch talk is going to be popping! (But the slutty beans and that cock walks are a lethal combo!!)

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

This whole pool scene was so fun! You captured Jake and Bradley's game with so much descriptive detail, it made me want to watch the movie again! Jake would absolutely get hustled, that man has too much ego to not get played.— ahhhh!! This is the best thing you could have said because Morgan I know nothing about pool lmaooooo 😂 I was reading as much as I could and snooping on r/billiards to figure out what was going on hahaha! All the while cursing myself for deciding her ace needed to be her sneaky pool shark skills. He would SO get played, he wouldn’t be able to help himself!

In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold.

This is quite literally one of my favourite ways a kiss has been described. So visual, yet you can feel it. It's going to be rolling through my brain for a bit, I love it!— stopppp!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 there’s always so much pressure to try and get a first kiss right, so that makes me so happy that it landed well with you!! 🫶🏻

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in.

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own. “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it. But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#thank you for reading and reblogging!#I’m just so happy you liked it!! 🫶🏻#the babe with the big move

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swagyalastorwife · 2 days ago

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Lucifer x reader who doesn't like to be touched

Author's notes : hiiiiiiii guyssss (^-^)/❤️ sooo i write this for a request

⚠️warning ⚠️: none i think (^.^)

♡ Lucifer understood well that you didn't like to be touched

♡ And for him it was a little difficult because his main love language is touch, words of affirmation and gifts.

♡ But he will always respect your choices and will not force you if you do not want to be touched, he is a nice little king he is not mean

♡ He knew that you had your reasons for not wanting to be touched so he respects

♡ One day you and Lucifer went to a restaurant and when you opened the restaurant door to go home you tenderly grabbed Lucifer's arm holding him close to you.

♡ Your action was not without effect for Lucifer on the contrary it happened in several stages:

stage 1: shock took hold of him

stage 2: he was paralyzed and could no longer move

stage 3: he realizes what is happening and relaxes

stage 4: joy replaces shock

stage 5: you got a Lucifer with completely red cheeks with a fast beating heart

♡ He will not say anything about the fact that you are holding his arm so as not to make you feel uncomfortable but he does not won't be able to concentrate on your conversation, he's much too happy for that

♡ He won't tell you but the fact that you don't want to be touched upsets him a lot because he's afraid that it means that you don't love him and when you do this kind of little act {holding his arm, cuddling him from time to time} reassures him and shows him that you love him.

♡ Lilith destroyed his heart and you are the one who fixed it he will be ready to do anything for you, even if not touching you is a real challenge for him he will do it because you are everything to him

♡ Joy completely invades him, like a teenager who has just received his first kiss.

♡ And if you notice his change in behavior he will try to deny it but will end up admitting that he is happy that you grabbed his arm:

“What’s going on Luci, something’s wrong?”

"no...no everything is fine it's just that it's the first time you've held my arm"

“ha I’m sorry if you want I can stop”

“NO, sorry I didn’t mean to shout, it’s just that no, it doesn’t bother me, on the contrary I really like it when you hold my arm.”

♡ He will literally be red {yellow rather} from his head to his toe and he will think about it all night, he will not be able to sleep.

I hoooope you like iiiiit(^-^)/❤️

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itsaspectrumcomic · 2 days ago

Note

Hello :),

[EDIT: This is a super long asks, sorry about that 😭. I‘m just very unsure of this whole topic and I tend to ramble when I‘m nervous.] I‘ve been following your little comics for a while now (and always thought "ah, I do have a few symptoms but I‘m surely not autistic, I‘m not that extreme") aaaaaaand it turns out I may have it! At least every single test I did (which were a lot with a few months in between) resulted in a high percentage and I‘m actively looking for a therapist to get an official diagnosis- but that‘s not the point I‘m trying to get to, sorry I‘m rambling a bit.

Ahem I‘m still pretty new in this autism… community? Can one call it like that? And I constantly doubt my self-diagnosis and stuff, especially because I have trouble finding out if something is a special interest or just a hobby. Recently, I saw one of your comics in which you mentioned books would be a special interest of yours (or have been in the past). Is that really a thing? I‘ve had a phase where multiple people told me I was addicted to books because I just couldn‘t stop reading/rambling. Whenever I had the time I read, and that is not an exaggeration, I read from morning to evening. Over the years, I started analyzing the books, making up my own stories and getting into writing. Now (which means in the last seven months) my… hobby has changed to (over) analyzing every aspect of a specific show I‘ve watched, and how every tool (animation, camera work, music etc.) was used to enhance the story. I literally can‘t just… not talk about it. It‘s agonizing to talk about other topics, although it has somewhat gone better over course of the last couple of months. And the worst is that the show‘s second season was a total writing disaster and I can‘t stop thinking about it, to the point that I kind of want to slam my head in the wall just to get it out and focus on idk. My English exam or smth. It went so far that I actually started my own rewrite because it bugs me so much how the writing changed and-

I‘m stopping here. Sorry again I‘m also a bit sleepy rn, so my brain is not working correctly. What I‘m actually asking is: does that sound like a hyperfixation? Because every website so far has told me autism means obsessing over niche topics, but writing and books are pretty mainstream, right?

Oh and how the heck am I supposed to know what is neurotypical and what’s autistic?? Because ever since I started researching, I keep catching myself doing stuff like rearranging spoons so the comfortable spoons are on top, or keeping tissues in my pockets to rip them when stressed, but isn’t that normal? Everyone wants to have the comfortable spoons on top, right? Right??

All I‘m saying is… I’m confused. And nervous. And constantly doubt myself. Your comic made me think that maybe some of the self-doubt wasn‘t as warranted because special interests don‘t have to be super… special?

Yeah and I really like your comics byeee :).

Hello, I'm glad you like my comics! :)

Anything can be a special interest! It doesn't matter if it's considered mainstream or a lot of other people like it too, and it doesn't have to be 'strange' or 'niche'. If you are intensely focused on a subject, activity, piece of media etc, spend a lot of time thinking about it, learning about it, talking about it, and get a lot of joy out of it, that counts as a special interest. The difference is the intensity.

For example, a neurotypical person might like Marvel shows, enjoy watching them and chatting about them with friends and maybe own some fandom related merch or occasionally write fanfics, whereas an autistic person with Marvel as a special interest might rewatch them over and over, have dialogue memorised, want to collect every figurine, write about and analyse it, know trivia about the production and the comics etc.

(This is a generalisation btw - a person can be obsessed with something without being autistic, they'd need to have other traits too. And you don't have to know absolutely everything about a subject for it to be a special interest.)

All that to say yes, if you have an intense interest in books, reading them, writing them, analysing them, then it definitely counts! Same goes for your show :)

If you relate to that and other autistic traits, you are welcome to consider yourself part of the autistic community.

(Btw, I think most neurotypical people don't really think about whether the most comfortable spoon is on top. I think they just put the spoons in the draw and move on to something else.)

#ask #anon ask #actually autistic #advice #autistic traits #when i moved into my own place i simply did not bring the cutlery i didn't like the feel of lol #comfy spoons only in this house

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flippedccc · 3 days ago

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Bang Chan drabble

Bang Chan x gn!Reader

genre: college au!, romance, angst, fluff

warnings: mentions of ages and age gaps

wc: 412

author's words: tysm for all the likes for my last fic! Got some ideas in my mind so I thought I should write this down. I probably will write a college au drabble for every member in the future (maybe, just maybe, pls don't have any high hopes on this)

Again, feedbacks are much appreciated!!!

I don't know if every couple has this moment, when they do something intimate, they feel shy after the sweet feeling faints away. Especially for us who went from friends to lovers. Things that we didn't think were really anything before, somehow make us overthink a lot recently.

In the past, when you acted like a spoiled child, Chan would think you were cute, but now when you act like that, in addition to still thinking you were cute as always, he would also laugh like a wolf chan and feel a sense of pride.

"This is my girlfriend! She's cute, right? RIGHT?"

Sometimes he would think about it and feel shy, and hide in a corner with blushed cheeks and red ears and laughing silently.

Maybe it's because his smile or it's from your friend's perspective, but when your friend sent you a screenshot of Chan smiling at you and said that this was Rachel looking at Monica, you were literally laughing your head off.

You showed your phone to Chan and even explained what your friend meant. You started laughing so hard just half way through and fell into his arms. Fortunately, you two had developed enough tacit understanding during nighttime activities, and he understood what you were trying to say from your intermittent words.

But he couldn't really understand why. In your friends' opinion, do you two not look like a couple? Or are your friends hinting that the age difference between you and him is too big, but you didn't get it and instead laughed here heartlessly?

Chan felt sad when he thought of this. He helped you sit up straight, then frowned and asked you with his puppy eyes.

"Baby, do you think I'm old?"

"No, why would you think that?"

You got confused for a moment, not understanding why he was suddenly talking about ages, but you still subconsciously began to comfort him.

But Chan didn't answer you, but pouted and started talking, "It must be that baby acts like a spoiled child too often. I will also act more like that in the future! So I look more compatible with baby."

? Oh... wait... I don't think this is going the right way...

You don't really understand, but it's nice to see Chan acting like a spoiled child. You feel joy rushing through you when you think about being able to tease him with it in the future.

Just wait, Bang Chan! Your days are coming!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist: @m-325

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lastofthewardens · 1 day ago

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oof. probable BIG spoilers for the new show under the cut for people who care about that. nothing is confirmed, but i wholeheartedly believe this to be the truth, so READ AT YOUR OWN RISK because i'm basically just screaming into the void in long form with nowhere else to let this out. my heart hurts so much right now.

for context, i'll be censoring characters/properties i mention that are unrelated so this doesn't show up in those search results.

so i guess the writing is basically on the wall about what will happen with foggy. i tried to stay positive, be delusional, rationalize a way out of what admittedly always looked bad to me. i didn't want to believe it because getting rid of FOGGY NELSON in a DAREDEVIL show seemed absolutely insane to me, especially when there are comic plots they could use to achieve 'matt losing foggy' and then go back on it afterwards. i did my best to not think about it for months at a time, reasoning that it can't be what it looks like, but at this point, the show comes out next week, and here we are.

now obviously nothing can be 100% confirmed until the episode comes out, i'll take all this back if i'm completely wrong, etc. etc. maybe this is the just the CRAZIEST long game of all time, the most coordinated possible lie. but based on the leaks i've seen, the interviews they've been giving, and what we can piece together from officially released material.. yeah, it looks like it's pretty much over.

they all talk like people who are preemptively trying to do damage control. i get the impression they KNOW this will upset maybe not MOST people but some amount of people, and they keep trying to pass blame around, hoping they won't have to take accountability. no one seems to want to own this plot point or acknowledge they've gone along with it. if i'm being completely honest, and i won't go into details because there's no point, but over the past year since this roller coaster started with the first leaks, i've lost a lot of respect for some of the people involved due to the way that they've chosen to engage or conduct themselves with regards to foggy's death.

but my gripe with them is not what this post is about. this post is about foggy.

let me back up first. when i watched daredevil, i didn't care about marvel at all. i was a fan of spiderm*n, but i didn't really read the comics, i only watched the original trilogy movies with t*bey mag*ire and the cartoons when i was a kid. i was primarily a DC fan actually, those were the comics i read, and god, I HATED the MC*U in particular. if you asked me at the time, i would've said something incredibly stupid like "spiderm*n is the only marvel character worth anything", and i would've been sat here years later cringing off the face of the planet remembering i said that.

and then i watched netfl*x's daredevil. i remember instantly falling in love with the show, the characters, the cinematography. man, i was obsessed. i loved everything about it, i loved nelson murdock and page, and i was so glad they let karen stick around because while i didn't read comics then, i was aware of her fate. but my favorite dynamic in the show was matt and foggy, right from the very start. and after years of watching them struggle, sometimes with painfully long waits between seasons, i'll never forget the absolute JOY i felt when they were stood in front of ray in season 3, saying they're going to represent him, and foggy says 'as nelson and murdock, attorneys at law'. united again at last. then nelson and murdock 'officially' became nelson murdock and page, and i was given the happiest possible ending for a show that was cancelled far too early. i carried that happy ending in my heart for a very long time.

when the show ended, i was obviously sad. i wanted to spend more time with all of these characters, and it was being cancelled for reasons that didn't feel fair after an amazingly well received season. i held out hope that maybe one day my favorite show would return, maybe a little different but with the same heart surely. surely. (if only i knew then what i know now). i didn't expect it though, and i made peace with my happy ending because that's something not all shows even get! i was grateful. grateful is the best way to put it.

and so i took that energy with me, and eventually, i decided to read some comic books. matt and foggy's relationship in the comics made me mourn for the season 4 that could've been because in my heart, i know they would've finally mended things properly. they would've worked together as a team again. and while the daredevil comics obviously have tons of other stuff going for them, matt and foggy were still at the heart of that for me. seeing the source material really enhanced my appreciation for the show and the characters, while also giving me something else to love about daredevil because many of those comic runs are amazing.

and when the new show was announced, i was so nervous but so excited. at first. but then what followed from there was a series of rumors over time about foggy and karen not being included at all, about foggy just being a cameo, foggy being KILLED off screen??? i remember just thinking what the actual fuck are they doing. and then everyone was fired! they hired a bunch of new people, said they were fixing things. there was hope. set pictures came out of nelson murdock and page, and for a day, i couldn't have been happier than i was seeing the three of them together again. then the other set pictures came out. videos. stories about those days on set being told by the people who leaked them. leakers who were supposedly reliable (as reliable as any of them ever are) said independently that foggy was still going to die. i was livid and upset and confused about how they could ever think this was a good idea.

for a solid year, i tried to ignore it was happening. 'they couldn't possibly be right, this can't be what it looks like, it's too obvious right? ...right?'. but i think it is what's happening. they are killing foggy nelson, in a daredevil show. and i'm absolutely devastated.

this is such an incredibly huge mistake for them to be making, even objectively. they talk about wanting this show to go on for 'season infinity', saying they have so many stories left to tell, and i just don't get it at all. 60 YEARS of comic history that i've come to love just flushed down the drain. so many story lines discarded, now impossible to adapt. so many story lines gutted, not impossible to adapt but missing the beating heart of it.

and it feels like no one cares. i go on social media, on twitter, on reddit. so many people just seem to think 'well, that's sad, but as long as it's a good story', as if foggy nelson isn't absolutely vital to matt's character, as if their friendship isn't part of the fabric. some people are arguing that 'it's never been done, and bold choices are good!' or else saying that they 'needed to raise stakes', especially to make bullseye look cool, all of which are absurd arguments to me. i remember when adaptations used to be love letters, not shitting on something just for the sake of 'doing something new'. i only wanted to see my favorite characters on screen again.

so the hardest part of this is feeling like there won't be any justice for this colossal fuck up. most people will obviously still watch this show. it will likely be extremely successful. just look at the early reviews, eating it up despite his death in the FIRST TEN MINUTES. they won't get the backlash that they deserve for shitting on the original show and the source material. at worst, a handful of people won't watch, like me, and they'll get some small amount of hate on social media, but largely, i suspect people will move on. (i won't).

there will be no justice. just insane disrespect for foggy's character, insane disrespect for his relationship with matt. i'm less sure about this part, but i've heard there's not even a funeral, that after he dies it goes to the title screen and then a year time skip. skipping all of the immediate aftermath in favor of what.. daredevil doing sick flips? another fight sequence? whatever. they couldn't even respect his character in death, but don't worry guys, i'm sure they totally 'care a lot'.

how they'll choose to handle it throughout the season will remain to be seen (or read and seethed about in my case because fuck that), so i can't speak on this part as much, but it seems like a disrespect to matt's character too. that man would never be happy again if foggy nelson died, but this new team clearly has other ideas.

and they could've fixed this. if you're someone who is upset, DO NOT let them fool you or talk you into thinking their hands were tied. the first and last two episodes are all new content the new team filmed. the story relied on everyone thinking foggy was dead, sure, but he didn't have to actually be dead. there's comic precedent for a fake out, and the death scene is newly filmed content. they even reshot scenes they'd filmed, like vanessa's when they got the actress back. however it plays out, the NEW team decided to make it play out that way. if i'm right and foggy is dead and there's no coming back from it, it's THEM who decided this. instead of making him look dead by constructing a death that he could come back from and then bringing him back after the plot they needed to tell (to keep the footage they already shot) was resolved, they just killed him. hold them responsible, always. don't let them pass the blame around the way they've so obviously been doing. this IS in fact on them, no matter what they say.

but at the end of the day, all that aside, my anger and sadness over this won't change anything. foggy's still dying. he's a character of his own with so many stories left they could've told, but they're discarding him in episode 1. any character development i'd been looking forward to seeing for him is all just gone. so many beautiful moments between matt and foggy just.. tossed away.

i'm a matt fan first. he's my favorite character. but i won't watch this show without foggy. there is no matt without foggy, to me. a permanent death, a matt permanently without foggy, is not a story that i'm interested in seeing or one i think is even worth telling. daredevil stories can be dark, yes, matt loses people close to him, yes, but there can also be a lot of hope, and foggy is his constant. there is no hope here. in retrospect, i know the original show didn't get everything right, but they would never have killed off foggy nelson. they knew how important he was. i believe that in my heart.

and i'm devastated. i've cried, honestly. because i don't know how i'm supposed to engage with anything daredevil now without it being tainted by this. i don't know how to watch the original show and not be thinking about what they've done, that the future of that version of those characters is what it is. i don't know how to read the comics and not be reminded of what could've been for matt and foggy, if people who actually cared about the right things had made this new show.

this isn't just.. a bad new show, that i can ignore, you know? if they'd kept it a reboot, excluded characters, i would've been annoyed but i could've just brushed it off as nothing to me. now that it's a continuation, and they've brought foggy back literally just to fridge him, it feels like something is being taken away from me. the joy that i felt watching season 3, reuniting 'as nelson and murdock, attorneys at law'. the joy that i felt watching foggy write nelson murdock and page on the napkin, and ending that show knowing they were going to be okay, even if i never saw them again on my screen. the happy ending i'd held in my heart all these years. it feels like that's been stolen from me by people who don't really get it at all.

i hope on tuesday i look like a complete fool for writing all of this, that i come back here and delete this post in embarrassment because i'm so completely wrong. i want to be wrong sooo bad, but i don't think that i am, and this all just really sucks. foggy nelson deserves so much better, and so do all of us fans.

#text #foggy nelson #daredevil born again spoilers

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