#not to be that person but also if its easier for these like longer things you could try submissions rather than asks?

[bangcakes]

.

[juusasu4evagrrl]

Genuine question, does anyone want to hear about naruto from the prospective of a Liberian person grappling with the generational trauma of a brutal civil war or is that too heavy??

Like there's, I like sasuke cause he's a cool dude, very wholesome do tell, and then there's, I like sasuke cause the government also tried to eradicate my people group that one time and holding empathy for that dumbass kid teaches me to examine a my own experiences with compassion, honestly what a downer like who cares.

I don't know thoughts???

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

Hi Machine Gun Poem Doll is Piko's theme I will elaborate- “Machine gun poem doll sings” both dolls and older vocaloid modules share similar qualities (ball joints, inorganic materials, ect). “My crushed emotions” he had to do repression and shit so it's both emotions being smothered and them eventually smothering him after they become unrepressed. (1/? Definitely going to skip a few lines because ask limit is 5 per hour and it's 10pm) -🌟

i do think this is a really interesting interpretation of this song (and/or ig making it fit w/ piko) in taking those lyrics to represent literal machiery and stuff like that?

but again god this is sad asf what the heck 😭 save usb boy tf

[sometimesanalice]

That’s My Girl

Summary: Bradley has been looking after you for longer than he can remember. You’ve always been his favorite person. So when some guy makes an unwelcomed move on you, that last thing he’s going to do is just sit back and watch it happen.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 6.7K

Warning: language, male chauvinism, allusions to smut, some angst with a happy ending

(author's note: this is a fic is set in the 'Like I Can' universe, however it can be read on it's own!

In hindsight, Bradley should have known how rowdy the crowd at the Hard Deck was going to be tonight.

Sailors fresh off a several months long deployment were always a boisterous bunch. But Sailors fresh from a deployment during San Diego Fleet Week were a different thing entirely.

The bar is packed and humid, even with the doors and windows opened for the Pacific breeze. Penny’s old air conditioning unit might be on its last legs because Bradley’s shirt is sticking to the skin of his back. He’d nearly lost his mind when he’d seen that bead of sweat work its way down your neck and between your breasts when you’d pressed a kiss to his cheek and told him you were getting a refill and asked if he wanted anything.

Bradley really hoped you’d be up for leaving soon. He wouldn’t mind taking a dip in the pool at your apartment. Or better yet, getting you to join him for a cool shower.

It wasn’t the just the deep v of your tank top- or those sweet little embroidered flowers along the edges of it- that hand his fingers twitching to touch you. Although he liked those too.

It was that damn bow.

When Bradley had picked you up from your apartment earlier this evening and seen you wearing that, he’d given you a wolf whistle so loud it had caused your neighbor’s dog to start barking.

He’d taken advantage of your surprised laugh to back you up against your front door to get his mouth along the column of your neck. He’s always been a big picture kind of guy. And he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied until he was tugging open that bow between your breasts with his teeth.

You’d all but sighed his name as your fingers tangled in his hair.

Bradley.

And just as he’d reached your collarbone, you’d pulled him back up to your mouth like you were going to kiss him and murmured Later against his lips before slipping past him, like the menace that you are, leaving him to chase after the trail of your perfume.

You knew what you were doing, that was for damn sure. He’s always been a sucker for a bow. And for you.

Bradley had more than appreciated the extra sway you’d put in your hips just for him as you walked down your hallway towards the elevator. He’d grinned to himself as he set off after you, because at the end of the night, his girlfriend would be coming home with him.

Earlier in the evening, Coyote had been fast to claim the cluster of tables that some Butterbars had left to close out their tabs, most likely onto their way to the next stop of many for the night. It was lucky timing, because there’d been a nonstop steady stream of people making their way into the unofficial designated Naval watering hole for Fleet Week. There was a mix of civilians, Naval regulars who are stationed at North Island, and the visiting Sailors dressed in their uniforms on liberty. Bradley wasn’t sure how many more bodies could be packed in until some of the worn wooden shingles of the bar started popping off.

The lively and loud atmosphere of Fleet Week was something that Bradley had typically enjoyed in the past. He liked seeing people cut loose and laugh as they swapped stories with their friends and families. And he’d been happy to do his part to add to the good times, having been pulled to the piano twice already.

Over the years he’d built up a curated collection crowd-pleasers for occasions just like this. Part peacocking, part coping. While he’s never been the type to shy away from being the center of attention, he’d also found it was easier to breathe in the spotlight. Because with everyone’s eyes on him, it was impossible to feel alone.

So much has changed for him since getting permanently stationed in San Diego. And all for the better. That loneliness was a thing of the past, because now when he played, he was surrounded by all of his favorite people

But Bradley still ends his impromptu sets the same way he always has, with Jerry Lee Lewis. Only now he gets to sing it directly to the girl who’d given him the sheet music to the song in the first place.

The same one, he’s realized, who hasn’t returned back from getting her refill yet.

Bradley takes a quick glance around the corner of the bar they’d laid claim too. Bob, Fanboy, and Payback were lounging against the side of the pool table chatting up some of the visiting Sailors, since there wasn’t enough room to actually play a round without taking someone out with one of the cues. Coyote was leaning over the jukebox flipping through the albums with a pretty civilian who was out with her friends that he’d met and was clearly trying to impress. And Jake and Nat were seated with him at one of the tall round tables taking about the new Top Gun students, where your chair next to him was still empty.

Everyone was accounted for, except you.

There are so many people packed around the edges of the bar that it takes him a moment to find you. He thought maybe you’d been held up by Penny or Jimmy or some other familiar face, but he doesn’t recognize the man who standing way too close to you. But the firm press of your lips tells him everything he needs to know.

He sees the next moment playout as if it’s in slow motion. Watching as you attempt to take a step back, only for the guy to wrap his hand around your wrist to keep you from moving away. Bradley sees you glance down at that hand on you, and back up at the stranger. He knows that look in your eyes as you shake out of his grip. You aren’t just annoyed, you’re pissed.

Bradley slams his beer down and shoves his stool back.

He hears Jake curse behind him, “Oh, shit.”

Chair legs screech against the wooden floor as his friends hustle to follow after him, but he doesn’t wait for them to catch up.

There’s a trail of spilled cocktails and beers in his wake as he unapologetically weaves through the tightly crammed bodies that separate him from you. If anyone has an issue with him later, they can put a refill on his tab. But right now, his only goal is getting to you.

He doesn’t slow for a second. He just struts right up and steps in between you and the other man.

“Do we have an issue here?” he rasps, folding his arms over his chest.

Bradley takes the guy in with a hard glower. The name tape on his uniform reads Wilson. A LTJG, based on his shoulder boards, from one of the visiting ships. The man is big, but Bradley is bigger. And he outranks him. The guy might not know it yet, but it was just another thing he was planning on making crystal clear.

You put a hand on his tense shoulder. “Everything is fine.”

“It sure as shit doesn’t seem fine.” He doesn’t take his glare off of Wilson. “I think it’s time for you to go now.” He jerks his chin towards the front door.

“We’re just having a friendly conversation,” the other man drawls, sending him a wink. The implied innuendo makes Bradley’s jaw clench. There wasn’t anything “friendly” about the way he’d been using his size to keep you trapped at the bar.

The guy is trashed. There’s a blankness behind his eyes that Bradley doesn’t like the look of. He must have pre-gamed before going out because Penny and Jimmy weren’t ones to overserve.

“No, what you’re doing is paying your tab and leaving this bar.” It’s an order.

“Bradley.” You say his name like a warning. “I’m handling it.”

You pull on his shoulder, but he shrugs you off.

“No, kid, I’m handling it for you.” This asshole was Bradley’s problem to deal with now. He’d tapped in the moment he’d seen the man touch you.

“I see.” Wilson’s gaze bounces back and forth between the two of you, an oily grin appears on his face. “You’ve already got someone for tonight lined up. Damn, you didn’t waste any time did you, sweet thing?”

Anger flares hot and bright in his stomach.

“You better watch your mouth,” Bradley spits, pointing a threatening finger.

The bar around him blurs around the edges, but the man in front of him only gets sharper in focus.

You step around him and tug on his arm. From the corner of his eye, he can see you shaking your head at him. “Bradley, stop. I told you, I’ve got it.” Your voice is clipped, tight. “Let me take care of it.”

He knows you want for him to let it go. To back off. And he’s about to- for you- because you want him to. But then he sees the guy’s eyes drop down to the exposed skin of your chest- to that bow between your breasts- and smirks.

It’s a look so filthy that even Bradley feels dirty. He operates out of instinct. Stretching his arm in front of you, he purposefully pushes you back behind him to where he knows Seresin is standing close by, trusting that his friend will move you out of the way.

“A barrack bunny like you must know her way around. I don’t mind another man’s sloppy-”

For a moment, Bradley isn’t at the Hard Deck anymore. He’s standing in Jason Cameron’s kitchen, where the smell of weed and cheap alcohol and Axe hung heavy in the air.

Bradley’s fist flies on its own.

He barely registers the moment his knuckles connect with the other man’s jaw. He doesn’t see the man stumble backwards into the table behind him. He doesn’t hear the surprised gasps or the sound of glass breaking or the thud as the man hits the floor. There’s only the color red and the sound of his own ragged breathing.

When he shakes off the memory and returns back to his body, he’s almost surprised to see the broken bottles on the floor and not shards from a sliding glass door.

The next few minutes are a flurry of chaos as Wilson’s friends come and scoop him off the floor to make their exit. From the looks of irritation on their faces, it seems like this might be an all too frequent occurrence. He makes a mental note to try and look up the man’s supervising officer. And if he can’t find them on his own, he’ll ask Mav to help.

He can feel dozens of eyes on him, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Bradley takes a moment to apologize to Penny. He avoids looking directly in her eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment he’s sure is there. The adrenaline is still coursing and sparking through his body. He needs a moment to work off his anger and get his head back on straight before he comes to check on you. But he knows you’re in good hands with his friends.

Without being asked, he rights the table and stools on his way to the supply closet to grab a broom and dustpan. He takes his time meticulously picking up the bits of broken glass off the ground before he sweeps the rest of it up as he waits for his heartrate to settle back down.

When he’s done, he spots Nat and Jake sitting at the bar top and heads towards them. But for the second time tonight, you’re not where you should be.

“That was some left hook, Bradshaw,” Nat says, pinning him with a flat look over the top of her drink.

He ignores the comment. “Have either of you seen my girlfriend?”

Jake lifts his hand up at about your height. “About this tall? Great smile? Dating a man that’s clearly punching?” He chuckles to himself. “No pun intended.” Those dimples of his are more grating than usual.

Bradley’s hand flexes in irritation. His quick fuse is on its way to being lit again.

“Seresin,” he barks, low on patience, “Where’d she go?”

The other man lets out a low whistle and shares a look with Nat. “She left out the side patio door like ten minutes ago. Looked like she was about to spit nails too.”

“Goddammit,” he mumbles under his breath. He turns to Phoenix. “Did she really look that pissed?”

She shrugs. “I’m surprised she didn’t punch you, I probably would have.”

Bradley’s mouth drops open. “For what? For defending her?”

All he did tonight was stand up for you when someone crossed a line and tried to get physical with you. He wasn’t ashamed for doing it, he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“But did she want you to do that?” she asks, deliberately.

He doesn’t understand why Nat is giving him a hard time about this.

“That’s my girl and that guy wasn’t listening.”

Nat lifts a pointed eyebrow at him, “Sounds familiar.”

Bradley forces out a breath. “That was different and you know it.”

“All I’m saying is I think she was making herself pretty clear, but you chose not to hear her and did what you wanted anyways.” His teeth clench together as a rock lands hard in his stomach. “And from the sound of it, she wanted to handle it her own way.”

“Yeah, but…” You’re his, he wants to say, but holds back at the risk of sounding like the jealous boyfriend Nat thinks he’s being. Except he wasn’t being jealous, he just wanted to protect you.

“No buts, Rooster. You fucked up.”

Nat has always been a straightshooter. It was one of the things he’s always appreciated most about her, that and her keen ability to read people. He trusted her judgement. And if she feels this way, even if he didn’t necessarily agree with it, then the chances are very high that you do too.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, ‘shit’. Now go fix it.” She pats his shoulder once, and then gives him a shove to the side door they’d seen you leave from.

It’s cooler outside.

The ocean breeze feels good on his hot, sticky skin. Bradley feels like he can breathe a little easier without all those people milling around him.

You’re not hard to spot. To anyone else you’d a solidary figure facing the ocean, but he’d know the shape of you anywhere.

From what Seresin said, Bradley had figured you’d be half way down the beach. He’d been planning just to follow the trail of steam to find you. But you’re still as a statue with your arms wrapped around yourself as you stare out at the inky waves.

The noise from the bar is muffled inside the walls of the Hard Deck, but still slips out from the windows that are cracked open and follows him as he walks towards you. The sand shifts beneath his shoes with every step he takes. The tunes from Penny’s jukebox get carried away on the wind and are replaced with the gentle roar of the waves as he approaches you.

The days are getting longer and dusk is rolling in. The sun is hanging low in the sky. Not quite set, but well on its way. He’d love nothing more than to pull you into his lap in one of the Adirondack chairs to watch the last glimmering moments of golden hour with you in his arms. But knows that’s probably not in the cards for tonight.

The two of you have had fights before. Usually over stupid, inconsequential things. Arguing with you feels different now than when it did when you were just friends. Now that you’re his girlfriend, it feels like there’s more at stake. He knew he’d never forgive himself if he fumbled the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Bradley wants to skip over this part to where the two of you are back on the same page. He wants to skip to the part where he gets to see your dimples and hear you laugh.

He stops just a few feet behind you. He knows you know he’s there, in that uncanny way you’ve always been able to sense him. The minutes tick by as he stands there and waits for you to acknowledge him. Or to turn around and shoot him that withering glare of yours. He’d take anything other than your silence.

But you don’t.

You give him nothing, which is almost worse.

It feels like a standoff.

He folds first.

“Sweet girl,” Bradley says, with a resigned sigh.

He doesn’t miss the way your whole body tenses at the sound of his voice.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, Rooster.”

The way you say his callsign lands like a punch in the gut.

You’re only standing a few feet away from him, but it feels like the two of you are miles apart.

“C’mon, kid, that asshole is gone now. Come back inside.”

“Seriously?” you laugh bitterly, still refusing to look at him. “You’re seriously going to ignore me right now too? I said I don’t want to talk right now.”

He feels his jaw tick. “Look, I’m sorry,” he starts, still not feeling sorry in the least, “But-”

You put a hand up and whirl on him, shaking your head in disbelief. The thunderous look on your face would have a lesser man taking a step back, instead Bradley steels his spine and digs his feet into the sand.  

“I really don’t want to hear it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this mad at you,” you fume. “Not even in high school when you got in that stupid fucking fight at that Homecoming party when I had to take you to the hospital.”

He presses his lips together firmly. There was a time and place for a conversation about that night, the one where he’d earned the scars on his face, but it wasn’t here and now. It was a secret he’d kept to himself for nearly two decades, the only other person who’d known the full story was his mom. But telling you about it now would only make things worse.

You continue, like a freight train without brakes, “And you’d been drunk then. Not that that excuses anything. But you’ve had, what? Two beers tonight?” When you lift your eyebrows at him expectantly, he nods curtly in confirmation. “So tell me what the hell just happened in there?”

He swears that sharp flash of your eyes could cut glass.  A lick of heat bursts behind his sternum. Hot and fierce.

“He wasn’t backing off,” Bradley grits out, trying to summon the patience he doesn’t have. “What was I supposed to do? Give him a pat on the back and let him keep hitting on my girlfriend?” You scoff and he feels his pulse kick up in his throat. “I have always had your back, and I will always have your back.”

Bradley doesn’t understand why you don’t seem to understand that he’d do anything for you. He’s been looking out for you since your bike handlebars had iridescent tassels streaming from them, and if he has his way he’ll be looking out for you until his number is up.

“But that’s the thing, Rooster! You didn’t have my back in there,” you argue, stepping forward so you’re toe to toe with him. Your use of his callsign again chafes against his ears like sandpaper. “All you did was manhandle me out of the way to get at him and throw fists. I mean, Mav and Hondo would have let it slide if they’d been there to see that. But what about Cyclone? Would he? Why would you put your career at risk like that? What were you even thinking?”

You’re looking at him like you don’t know him, and he hates it. Because you’re the person who knows him best.

He runs a hand through his hair in agitation. He’s been trying to tame his temper, that caged animal that paced within the confines of the ribs in his chest. But his anger and frustration has been feeding off of yours, meeting it measure for measure.

“I wasn’t. I wasn’t thinking,” Bradley explodes, flinging his arms out to the side. “I’m not going to stop and make a damn pros and cons list while I watch some asshole being disrespectful and getting physical with you. It’s not going to happen, kid.”

“And I told you that I had it handled!” you exclaim.

The sound of the waves gets lost in the way both of your voices are raising with each and every parry in the verbal fencing match you’ve found yourselves in. This has escalated quicker than he ever could have expected, and all he wants is to find himself back on the same page with you.

“How am I the bad guy in all of this right now?”

“Don’t you get it? I’m not mad about you wanting you to be there for me, I’m mad about how you went about it. You literally pushed me out of the way and passed off to Jake, like my voice and feelings in that moment didn’t matter to you. Like you didn’t care about what I wanted. You have never treated me like that before.”

Guilt makes his stomach churn.

“You and I both know that’s not true,” he replies. It’s an uncomfortable truth.

That dark period after his mom died and how he’d treated you still haunted him sometimes. When he’d try to set fire to all the bridges around him, including his friendship with you. He hadn’t been worth knowing back then, but you’d never given up on him. He remembers it like it was yesterday, he’s never forgotten it. On the nights he couldn’t sleep, it was one of the many things that played out behind his eyelids like a highlight reel of all his worst moments.

Your eyebrows pinch together in confusion. He sees the moment it clicks for you because the fire that had been blazing behind those eyes he knows so well transforms into something softer. Something sadder.

“Bradley, I’m not going to hold onto something from when you were eighteen and hurting and heartbroken.” Your voice catches with emotion. “But tonight? Tonight, you made me feel small. And you’re the very last person I thought who’d ever make me feel that way.”

He can’t even enjoy hearing you say his name again, because you look so disappointed in him. The two of you stand there staring at each other, searching each other’s eyes as the waves rolling in along the shore fill the silence.

The way your lower lip wobbles steals the fight right out of him. All that righteous indignation that had been whirling in his chest is gone quicker than it came over him at the sight of the tears welling up along your lower lash line.

He’d let you down back then. And he’d let you down tonight too. He feels like he’s broken a promise to you, one he’d made with himself a longtime ago. Bradley wants to be the man whose shoulders you could lean on, the one you trusted to bet there to support you. He never thought he’d be the guy who makes you cry.

Bradley says your name tenderly. Every single letter of it is precious to him because you’re the most important person in the world to him.

The single tear that escapes the corner of your eye and rolls down your face cracks his chest wide open.

He holds out his hand for you, but you half-heartedly bat it away.

“No, I’m still mad at you,” you say, feebly. It’s unconvincing at best.

“You can be mad at me, kid,” Bradley murmurs, “But just let me hold you.”

He needs to know that you’ll still let him. That you still want him.

Bradley reaches out for you again and this time you let him pull you into his chest. And when you thread your arms around his torso and hold him just as tight that knot in his stomach loosens. He rests his chin on your head and releases a sigh. With you in his arms, he feels like his feet are finally back on solid ground.

He knows he owes you an apology, a real one this time. He knows that he’s fucked up, he understands where he went wrong. But he can’t shake the feeling that he feels like he’s missing something, that there’s another reason playing into why you’re so upset.

Every one of your quiet sniffles twists the knife that’s lodged itself between his ribs just a bit more each time.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stand there wrapped up in each other, as he runs his hand up and down your back. There’s more to discuss, but he doesn’t rush you. He’ll hold you for as long as you need him to.

When you pull away, only far enough to look up at him, he takes the opportunity to gently cup your face in his hands. His thumb skims along the line of your jaw, your eyes are still watery.

“Sweet girl, why are you crying? I know you. Why does it feel like there’s more to this than just me being an idiot?” he asks, quietly. It still feels so fragile between the two of you.

“Because I l-like you so much. And I know you meant well, but I hated what happened tonight.” You wipe angrily at the fresh tears that streak down your face, like you’re irritated at them for them falling without your permission.  “My ex used to pull that kind of bullshit all the time and I always hated the way it made me feel.”

His hands fall from your face.

Your confession surprises him. “Jack?” Bradley asks, his eyebrows pulling together. You nod. “I thought you said he was fine? That the break up was mutual because things got stale between the two of you.”

It’s times like this where he’s reminded of just how much distance there between the two of you over the last decade before you moved to San Diego. Of how much of you he’s missed out on. All the little moments that made up someone’s life. There was only so much an email, or a text, or a call could do.

You sigh, heavily. “I’m realizing now that there were a lot of things I put up with Jack because I didn’t want to rock the boat.”

Bradley’s fingers flex involuntarily where his hands are resting your hips. He doesn’t know what to make of that admission.

“You got to give me more than that to work with, kid. Help me to understand.”

You run you hand along his forearm soothingly, like you can sense his unease. He slides his thumbs through the loops of your jeans, fixing himself to you.

“Jack was really good about wanting to show everyone that he was a good boyfriend. And he was- for a while.” You pause, pressing your lips together. “But there were a few times where we’d go out and he’d make a scene, like what happened tonight. Except instead of someone being an actual asshole, it’d be someone who’d started up some polite small talk with me as we waited in line. And it always became a bigger thing than it needed to be. Then afterwards, he’d make it seem like he was defending my honor or something, even though he knew I didn’t like the kind of attention and all the looks that came with it afterwards. But Jack was always about Jack, and he liked the hero edit his friends would give him.”

You look away from him towards the ocean, the sunset paints you golden. Bradley knows you’re collecting your thoughts, so he waits. When you’re ready, you turn back towards him. There’s a different kind of hurt reflected in your eyes, one that tells him tonight has opened up old wounds for you.

“He’d say all the right things around other people, but when it was just the two of us alone, I never got that side of him. At the time I believed he was saying them because he meant them, but I can see now that he never really showed me that he meant them. I took his words at face value and settled for them.”

You give him a self-conscious shrug. Like you’re embarrassed. But your big heart was one of the things he loved most about you, and he hated the idea that someone had been careless with it before it made it into his safekeeping.

Bradley swallows hard. That tonight reminded you of the low points in your past relationship is hard for him to hear. And knowing why, makes it even worse.

“I think, more than anything,” you continue, your voice much quieter now, “I’m just mad that I let myself get lost in that for so long. Like I knew I needed more and that I wanted more, but I kept putting him ahead of myself when he wasn’t doing that for me.”

You thread your fingers between his and squeeze them lightly. He squeezes yours back.

“But you, Bradley, say the right things and mean them. You show me how important I am to you, with or without an audience. No one has ever made me feel as special as you do. Like, you don’t buy me red roses because you think you should-”

“Wait,” he doesn’t mean to cut you off, but his mind has snagged on a critical detail, “I thought your favorite flowers were tulips?”

A soft smile coasts over your pretty face. “They are.” He loves the warm way you’re looking at him right now, tender and fond. “And that’s what I’m talking about. You show me all the ways you know me because you care about me and want to make me happy. You don’t treat me like I’m an accessory in your life. I mean, I didn’t feel like I could even hang art on the walls of the apartment I paid half the rent for without Jack having an opinion on it. And here you are letting me bring over kitchen towels and plants for you, and we don’t even live together yet.”

Yet. Such a small word, but it means so much to know that you’re envisioning the same future with him that he sees with you.

“I like that you do that. I want you to do that. I appreciate the way you show me you’re thinking about me too.” Bradley runs his thumbs over the back of your hands. “Although, I’d rather be the one buying them,” he says, only partly teasing.

You made his house feel like a home. He hadn’t had that in so long. He wanted you to have things there in his condo that you also liked and made you happy because he wanted you to stay. He couldn’t wait for the day the two of you shared one address instead of two.

“Does that mean I should return the throw pillows I found for you?” He spots a wink of your dimples. “They’re soft, but firm enough that you won’t hurt your neck when you inevitably fall asleep on the couch even though you claim you’re just ‘resting your eyes’.” He never wants you to stop teasing him.

“No,” Bradley chuckles. “They sound perfect, but you’re going to let me Venmo you for them.”

“Ok, fine,” you agree. Almost reluctantly.

God, he loves you.

He leans in to kiss you. Once. Twice. Soft, sweet.

Bradley lets go of one of your hands to settle on your lower back and press you closer to him, until there’s no space between your two bodies. And brings the other one, with your fingers still tangled with his up against his chest. Before resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel like that tonight.”

“Thank you, I forgive you.” You set the hand not entwined with his on the side of his face, your thumb sweeps across his cheek. “But I need you to hear me when I say that I can hold my own just fine, Bradley. I know you want to have my back and look out for me, but please, just not like that. Even if your heart is in the right place, ok?”

He nods. “I hear you, sweet girl. It’s not going to happen again. I promise.” He turns his head and presses a kiss to your palm. And then lifts the one still in his up to his lips, and drops a kiss to the back it.

“Plus, you taught me how to throw a punch, remember? I’m pretty sure I broke a guy’s nose one time,” you grin.

“Atta girl,” he says with pride. It’s so much lighter between the two of you now. He takes a couple step back, letting go of you and giving you a not-so-subtle onceover. “Ok, hot shot, show me what you got.” Beckoning you over with both hands.

“I’m not going to punch you, Bradley.”

“C’mon, kid, show me how it’s done.”

You shake your head at him in amused disbelief. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No ma’am.” He taps his finger on his abs. “Let’s see it.”

You roll your eyes at him fondly. Then you hook your thumb over the top of your fist, just like he showed you all those years ago. And you ever so slowly, ever so gently press your perfectly aligned fist into his stomach. It could hardly even be considered a graze.

He doubles over with an overexaggerated oof and then tilts his head up at you and winks with a smile.

“You’re ridiculous.” The sound of your laugh fills his lungs.

It’s the same sound when he’d toss you into the pool when you were twelve. It’s the same sound when he’d spin you on the big tire swing when you were fourteen. It’s the same sound when he twirled you around the dance floor when you were nineteen at your mom’s second wedding.

There’s not just a glimmer of your dimples anymore, the full force of them hits him right in the chest.

“Speaking of punching,” Bradley says, straightening back up. “Hangman thinks I’m punching up.”

“Oh, does he? Interesting,” you hum. Your eyes shine in amusement.

He grins. “He’s not wrong. You’re way out of my league.”

You softly shake your head at him. “I’m just right for you. And you’re just right for me.”

He couldn’t agree more, but you don’t give him the chance too because you’re threading your arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to yours. With you in his arms and his lips on yours, he feels whole. You weren’t just right for him, you were perfect for him. And he’d never stop trying to be the perfectly right man for you.

No one’s ever had him, not like the way you do.

You’d always had a special place in his heart, but now the whole thing belonged to you. It was yours for the taking. He knew it would be in good hands with you, and he wasn’t going to stop proving to you that he was the one to be trusted with yours.

“Do you want me to take you home or do you want to go back inside?” He asks against your lips.

You kiss him again. “Let’s go back,” you say, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You owe me a dance, you know.”

He drops an arm over your shoulder. “I do?”

“You do.”

“Well then, lead the way, sweet girl.”

After he twirls you around on the crowded makeshift dancefloor of the Hard Deck, you let him take you home. Where he apologizes to you again, but this time on his knees with your thigh thrown over his shoulder. And twice more in your bed for good measure.

But not before he got his teeth on that little bow of yours.

He never stood a chance against it.

𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Bradley is about to line up his next shot at the pool table when Jake saddles up and nudges his shoulder.

“Looks like your girl has an admirer.” Hangman points with his beer bottle, directing Bradley’s gaze to the bar where someone is chatting you up.

He recognizes him from the most recent batch of Top Gun students. To call him overconfident would be an understatement. The guy is clearly as full of himself on the ground as he is in the sky, based on his body language as he monologues to you, all puffed up chest and cocky smiles.

If the guy had any common sense, he’d see that you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. It’s written all over your face.

“So it seems,” Bradley agrees, rests a hip against the table.

He’d noticed the guy checking you out. But it was pretty ballsy of the aviator to be leaning into you the way that he is, considering the two of you had arrived together and that Bradley had been the one tasked with doing some demonstration trainings with them earlier in the week.

The man makes some big gestures with his hands, he’s clearly reached the part of his story that’s meant to impress you. Bradley chuckles to himself when he sees the less than subtle roll of your eyes.

“Are you going to go all Rocky Balboa on his ass?” Jake asks with a knowing smirk.

You must feel their eyes on you, because you glance over in their direction.

He knows you can handle yourself, but he’ll be there if you want him to be.

Bradley lifts his eyebrow in a silent question. You give him a slight shake of your head and he nods.

“Nah, she’s got it.”

He sees the moment the guy fucks up and oversteps, because your eyebrows shoot up. You’re his sweet girl, but he knows the other guy is in for it when look that promises the best kind of trouble settles over your face.

His favorite menace.

Bradley watches on as you lean over the counter and ring the bell with enthusiasm.

A cheer goes up throughout the bar. He brings his fingers up to his lips and lets out a loud whistle.

You look rightfully smug as Penny points out the wooden sigh strung up between the beer taps to the confused Top Gun student whose bank account will be hurting in the morning.

“Damn. I forgot the kid is a straight hustler,” Jake says, clearly impressed.

“She sure is,” Bradley grins, still looking at you, “It’s a good thing she likes you or you’d be screwed.” He pats Jake’s shoulder reassuringly, before pressing the cue into his hands.

You return a few minutes later, with a tray of frothy, freshly poured beers for everyone wearing an all-to-pleased grin that lights up the whole bar.

He waits until the beers are safely on the table before threading a finger through your beltloop and tugging him to you.

“That’s my girl.”

Bradley tilts your face up for a kiss. It’s not his best work, you’re making it difficult for him since you’re too busy smiling.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Disclaimer: my writing playlist included Cassandra, The Prophecy, and Castles Crumbling. So legally I cannot be held accountable for any angst hangovers.

Thank you for reading!

If you want to see what happens next for these two, click here!

You can read more of my stories here!

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[rizsu]

the husband and his type of style jujutsu kaisen ⭒ fem-reader.

⤹ list ﹢ nanami kento, toji fushiguro, gojo satoru, choso.

﹙ syn ﹚ headcanons — as husbands, they all have their own unique characteristic.

+ love ‘su: “i thought you hated cho—” 🔇🔇🔇

NANAMI KENTO : the “get dressed” husband.

nanami's a man of his word. you want to eat out for dinner? get dressed by 7:00 p.m. you feel like doing a random grocery run? be ready by lunch, he'll come pick you up.

to nanami, nothing is more important than his wife's wants. having necessary items serve their purpose, obviously, but who doesn't like having their wants satisfied? he can never be one to hold you back from it.

happy wife, happy life. the motto he worships. as a man of tradition, he'd take a sick leave from his job if you wanted extra attention. a spoiler to the bone. whatever you want, just say the word and he'll tell you when to get ready.

TOJI FUSHIGURO : the “i'll make it” husband.

the king of craft. toji not only serves as eye candy for your eyes only, he also serves as your person handyman! whether it's to make, break, fix, or repair, he'll have the job done in no time. give him two hours, a beer, and a hammer.

to be loved is to be seen. for toji, he knows when you wish for something to be added to make daily activity easier. since you often crave snacks during the night, he reworked the nightstand's drawers into a small pantry filled with snacks.

sometimes you like to continue watching your show despite what you're doing. with this in mind, his new project is to either make a space into the shower wall where you can safely place your phone, or make a table for the bathtub when you're relaxing.

GOJO SATORU : the “don't you dare throw that away” husband.

a hoarder. most of the time, the items that gojo's been piling up in his studio are things that no longer serve him any purpose nor value. he simply doesn't feel like trashing it.

he'd run up the excuses that it's there for nostalgia, but if you ask him where or who the object came from, he'd be unable to answer. many times this led to unnecessary arguments. there was a time it got bad to the point he'd place the objects around the house out of pettiness.

this downside has its upside. with his hoarder mentality, you're guaranteed to find something you swore to the heavens you lost. there is always good in bad!

CHOSO : the “i miss my wife” husband.

doing grocery runs alone? he misses his wife. seeing a couple holding hands? he misses his wife. someone holding something that's enjoyed or liked by you? he misses his wife.

it's gotten to the point where if he's ever invited to a boys' night, the sentence “i miss my wife” is banned. if he says it he'll have to clean everyone's vehicle. to them, it's annoying. to you, it's peak husbandnity.

choso depends on you as much as you depend on him. oftentimes he needs a moment alone and you're always there to hold his hand. he's gotten used to such behaviour, so when he's set apart from you, the “i miss my wife” gets wicked.

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for Writing and Drawing Amputees: Bandaged Stumps

When writing and drawing amputee characters, unless your character only just lost their limb, they don't need to wear a bandage over their stumps.

to be clear, eda's depiction in the show was fine, since she'd only just lost her arm and went (presumably) without any medical attention, but because the show didn't have much time to show her afterwards, I've noticed a tendency of the fandom to draw her wearing the bandage permanently, so that's why I'm picking on her for my example lol.

It's a bit of a trope at this point, and I think it comes from one of a few different places:

Amputees do wear bandages on their stumps, but usually only for the first 6-12 weeks post-amputation, sometimes longer if the amputation was a result of a burn. It's possible people saw this though and assumed it was permanent.

Most amputees wear a sock made of either cotton or silicone under their prosthetics to provide them with some extra padding. These socks, called liners, often stick out from the top of the prosthetic socket and could possibly be mistaken for a bandage from a distance.

Some amputees will wear compression garments for a few months to a few years after their amputations which could also be mistaken for a bandage from a distance. These garments are designed to stop swelling and reduce phantom pain, but they aren't bandages.

Stumps get cold easier because their circulation typically isn't as good as the rest of the body, so some amputees will wear socks over them even if they aren't wearing a prosthetic to keep warm, which again could be mistaken for a bandage from a distance.

This one is funny, but in my experience unfortunately, it's the most common: people think the end of an amputee's stump is just a perpetual open wound that never heals. Meaning to avoid "gore" it needs to be covered. I've met fully grown adults who believed this until I showed up to work/uni without my prosthetics or socks on.

People are uncomfortable with seeing an uncovered stump and so put bandages over it to avoid confronting their biases.

Some combination of these points.

But yeah, unless your amputee has only just lost their limb in the last few weeks, they don't need a bandage.

The ironic thing too, is that for most amputees, bandaging a stump is nearly impossible. I've been in and out of hospital since I was 1 year old and only ever met 3 nurses and no doctors/surgeons who could successfully bandage my stump in a way that the bandage would even stay on. This is because stumps are usually tapered in shape (meaning they are wider at the top, closer to the body, and thinner at the bottom), so gravity will pull the bandage off 9 times out of 10.

On a final note: it's ok to show your amputee's stump, it's not gore, there's no blood, it just looks like a regular limb that just stops early. In fact, if you are writing/creating anything for kids or that is likely to be seen by kids, I encourage you to show your amputee's stumps at least once. I used to work on a disability awareness program for kids, and I lost count of the amount of times kids were terrified of me, because they all expected my leg to be bloody and gory. For a lot of kids, I was their first real-life exposure to an amputee, meaning they'd never even heard of people like me, or they had seen an amputee on TV, but because the show went out of its way to avoid showing the person's stump, they assumed it must have been because there was "something scary at the end" that they weren't supposed to see (kids are surprisingly perceptive, they will pick up on stuff like that without you realising). And scared kids aren't good at articulating why they're scared, and would often say really mean or hurtful things to me. I knew not to take it personally and learned how to handle those situations, but not everyone is used to dealing with kids. For a new amputee (or anyone who's less confident in their disability), the kinds of things those kids would say could be absolutely confidence destroying. I never blame the kids, it's not their fault, but the whole situation could have been avoided if they had seen people like us before they had the chance to hear the wrong info. Good representation like this can be the difference between a kid crying, making throw-up sounds and calling an amputee "disgusting monsters" (all things I've had kids do/say) and them just being like "oh ok, cool."

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn it

Ch. 1: You Boys Really Like to Play Doubles

Note: Okayyy another one in the lineup. Now that I'm back in my account I think I am going to make an update schedule. I hope you all enjoy this new series along with the others and let me know what you think. This first chapter is mostly backstory building but this story is my chance to be messy lol. It will have spoilers for challengers, but also a lot of things are changed. Please feel free to interact and give feedback (constructively) it inspires me to hear from you all. This obsession came fast so I feel like I already have so many ideas for these characters. This one is short because I was dipping my toe in but they will get longer! The aesthetic board for this story will be on the masterlist in a couple hours! Thank you and enjoy!

Tashi Duncan is an athlete. Hell, she’s the athlete. Of their arena. Of their time. She’s good. Great. Passionate. Beautiful…in the words of Art.

Sexy as shit in the words of Patrick and just about every other man who managed to lay eyes on her. She’s something to marvel at. And they did. Marvel. Art and Patrick stand there, jaws slack, eyes locked on the girl as she moves about the dancefloor absently. It’s like the opposite of how she moves on the court. There she’s a predator. Moving quickly, calculated, with strength. Here she’s graceful, eyes closed and enjoying the motions.

It’s their chance. A chance to meet her. To flirt with her. Con her out of her number when she wanders away from the group of women she’s dancing with over to the couches to retrieve her drink. It’d be easier to talk to her alone. They do their best work in a double, and as far as they knew, she had no partner. As far as they knew. 

And they’re basking in her attention. Taking turns in a whole new match. When one gets the gift of her gaze the other’s smile drops like a puppy waiting for its turn to be played with, her easy smirk resting comfortably on her face the whole time. Until she comes.

“Made some friends?”

The two of them can’t help but have the same thought. Art was admittedly more ashamed to have it but they both had it. There’s two of them.

“These guys are in the tournament. They play tomorrow.” Tashi smiles, holding her hand out to the girl and helping her step over the table so she can sit down next to her. Both men offer her their own hand to help her the rest of the way but she simply squeezes Tashi’s harder. 

Patrick and Art don’t know where to look. Before the girl’s arrival Tashi was the only person worthy of admiration here. She’s stunning, abnormally beautiful. But so was her friend. She had a darker complexion, with full lips coupled with a pretty smile. She tosses her silky dark hair over her shoulder, exposing more shiny skin. Her pink, strapless dress compliments Tashi’s royal blue one so much that even two men with no knowledge of women’s fashion would guess the choice was purposeful. They exchange looks as the women cross their legs in sync, Tashi handing her half-drunk beverage to her friend who rolls her eyes with a small as the boys’ eyes drop to her mouth. “Are they any good?”

Tashi hums thoughtfully, tilting her head lightly as if she needed to observe them to determine that. “From what I hear? Sometimes.”

“Not good like you though.”

That takes them aback for a moment. I mean, Tashi just won a tournament, she’s proven herself enough to pass judgment, all this girl has proven to them is that she’s hot. Who’s she to decide that they weren’t in the same league as Tashi. They weren’t, but who was she?

“You, uh, know that just from looking at us?” Art asks, finding himself sitting straighter at the scrutiny, the unimpressed looks on the two girls' faces getting to him as he wonders what it would take to change them.

All the girl offers is a shrug and a small smile around the straw, earning her a giggle from Tashi. 

“You know, we didn’t get a chance to see your match. What’s your name again?” Partick’s brows furrow as he glances between his friend and the two women. 

The smile drops from her face and her lips curve into a frown, cheek dimpling in a way that almost has the men forgetting she’d insulted them. “Wow.” she scoffs.

“You’ve got balls. You came to my party to talk shit to my best friend?”

That has them scrambling, stuttered half apologies from Art and sarcastic denials from Patrick. Anything they could blurt out to convince Tashi and her mystery friend to stay. All of it interrupted by their burst of giggles. 

“We’re just fucking with you.” The girl leans her head back against the cushion, puffing out laughter that makes Art’s head feel like it’s swimming. He blinks at the feeling and takes his own deep breath. “I’m Heaven, I’m nobody, I don’t play tennis.”

“Nobody? You don’t seem like nobody.” He doesn’t even recognize his own voice when he says it. 

“Nobody is nobody.” Patrick cuts in.

Tashi gives the girl a disapproving look that would put ice in the mens’ veins, pursing her lips in agitation briefly before turning back to the guys in front of them. “She’s Heaven Whitlock, she’s my best friend, and the best fuckin’ ballerina in the world.” 

Heaven lifts and drops her shoulder noncommittally, taking a deep sip of the drink. “Yeah. I’m the best fuckin’ ballerina in the world.”

The girls left soon after that so that Tashi could take pictures and once they were done, they were pleased to discover that the boys had waited to hang out with them more. The group made their way down to the beach and found themselves talking about all sorts of things. Life, Tashi’s earlier match, tennis as a spirituality. They were shocked to learn that Heaven knew a lot about the sport and could even play a little. But based on how they described it, she only knew enough to help Tashi train. 

Patrick felt aggravated and outnumbered by the fact that all three of the others were going to college. 

“Okay, so she doesn’t want her only skill to be hitting a ball with a racket. What the hell are you going to school for Miss Ballerina?”

“Train. I can get better.” Heaven shrugs. “Get my name out there too, before I join a company I mean.” 

“Can we see something?” Art blurts from his seat, shaking out the ash from his cigarette. “Like your favorite trick or-”

Heaven’s face lights up slightly. Her back has been straight up all night, her shoulders rolled back with poise, but she perks up in excitement at the thought of the opportunity to dance. “I like doing Fouette turns-”

“Heaven, in sand?” Tashi whips her head to look at her friend. “You don’t even have your shoes. You have your first audition for your school’s fall show when we get back don’t you?”

Heaven rolls her glossed lips inward, nodding, eyes dropping to the sand briefly before they return to the men in front of her. “Maybe another time.”

“Another time. There’s gonna be another time?” Patrick leans back in his seat, looking between the two women smugly. “Does that mean I’m gonna hear from you two again?”

“I’ll see Art at Stanford. Heaven will visit.” 

“He’s asking for your numbers.” Art offers. “So am I.”

Heaven’s brows furrow as she stands dusting sand off her hands before she helps pull Tashi to her feet. “Both of you?”

“Yep.”

“Want both of our numbers?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Oh, you boys really like to play doubles, huh?” She’s met with cheeky smiles and a shrug from Tashi. “Well, I have a boyfriend, so…” she grins, gesturing to Tashi. “May the best one win boys.”

The boys crane their necks briefly to follow Heaven’s walk up the hill, her sandals in hand, watching as she turns expectantly, holding out her other hand for Tashi to come up and take. They barely get out their offer for Tashi to come to their room later before she’s making her way up the hill. Her long legs carry her to her friend, whose hand she takes before swinging their arms back and forth, singing along together to whatever song is playing in the distance together.

As soon as they’re out of sight Patrick whips his head to face Art, a wild smirk on his face. 

“Which one do you want?”

“So…which one’s your favorite?” 

“Patrick’s got more natural talent, that’s for sure, but he’s stubborn, doesn’t wanna learn anything new. Art- what?” Tashi tilts her head at her friend’s scoff, moving to sit next to her at the small desk chair, watching as her friend rubs lotion into her face. “What?”

“Nothing, T, tell me about Art.” Heaven laughs, shaking her head. Tennis. Always about tennis. Poor boys. 

“Art wants it more right now. And he’s good. Could be great." She stands walking over to the closet and tugging on her jacket. “You set your alarm?”

“4:30, T. Gotta get our run in and practice for my audition before the tournaments start.” 

“Mm, good girl.” she smiles, dropping a kiss onto the top of Heaven’s head. “I’ll have my key.”

“You’re really going? You’re gonna go to their room?” Heaven turns in the seat and watches Tashi put on her shoes. The brunette pauses to look at her friend, walking over and crouching in front of her. Her hands rest on Heaven’s legs as she looks up at her.

“You jealous?”

“Want me to be?” Heaven asks, leaning her forehead against Tashi’s with a defiant look on her face. “I know you’re not gonna fuck them.”

“Really?” Tashi hums absently. “We’ll see. I’ll be back later. Why don’t you call Trevor while you have the room to yourself.”

With that she pats Heaven’s legs, pushing off of the floor and leaving her alone in the hotel room. 

Heaven takes her best friend’s advice. She calls her boyfriend. It was a mistake.

Trevor hates Tashi. He hates tennis. He hates dance. He hates everything. 

He didn’t use to. He used to think the girl’s dedication was cool. He used to love to come to showcases, recitals, even some of Tashi’s tournaments. But then he realized his place in everything. His place in Heaven’s life. Dance and Tashi, those two things would always come before him.

That’s the hard lesson everyone always had to learn. Tashi was always gonna win when it came to tennis and Heaven. Tashi was Heaven’s first…period. First best friend, first kiss, they’d taken each other’s virginities. They met in middle school. Heaven had been at the community center gym with her mother, running and doing weight training while her mom took a zumba class. Out on the court was Tashi. Beautiful and focused as ever. Heaven chose a treadmill that she could watch Tashi practice out the window from. She’d been startled when the taller girl came into the building and stood next to her machine and asked her if she knew anything about tennis and if she wanted to play. 

She wasn’t good. Tashi was determined to make her good enough to play with. Soon enough they were inseparable. Heaven would sit in the stands at Tashi’s games, yelling as loud as the girl playing when she won. Tashi would go to see Heaven dance, offering her applause when she won awards or starred in a show. Having Tashi was intense, but Heaven was intense too, in her own right. They were both passionate about their crafts, and loved the art of working hard. They liked making each other proud. 

Tashi was Heaven’s first everything except her first love. That was dance. Her muscles stretching into beautiful motions. Using her body to tell all kinds of stories. Becoming someone else entirely over the course of a song. Heaven would die if she couldn’t dance. 

She doesn’t feel like that about Trevor. He was a sweet guy, and she liked him. Despite Tashi’s constant digs that he wasn’t good enough or amounting to anything, Heaven liked him. Not everything has to be an intense feeling. Content can be good enough. I can be satisfied with content. 

But Trevor wished she would be normal. He wished she wasn’t so close to Tashi. He wished she wasn’t constantly working at something. At least that’s what he said when he dumped her over the phone. 

“Trev-Trevor. Trevor are you fucking serious?” 

Dial tone. 

Heaven’s lip curls up in frustration as she feels her eyes watering. She throws her phone against the wall, hearing the distinct crack of the screen. “Fuck. Fucking shit.” She…needs Tashi.

Pulling a baggy t-shirt over her sport’s bra and underwear she goes to the bathroom and rids herself of any evidence that she’d been crying before she heads to the room Tashi told her she’d be in. She creeps past her friend’s dad’s door so she doesn’t wake him and alert him that neither she nor Tashi were in bed. As she gets off the elevator on the boys’ floor she straightens as she goes to knock on the door, hearing the faint sounds of lips smacking and moaning. 

That makes her feel worse then she did when Trevor told her she wasn’t worth the hassle.

Heaven turns on her heel and goes back to the elevator. Her bare feet pad on the rug of the hotel hallway as she wraps her arms around herself until she gets back to her door. 

She ties her scarf around her hair before climbing into the bed the girls had been sharing, facing the window. The blinds rattle as the wind blows and the quiet tears on Heaven’s face are dry by the time Tashi slips into the room and into the bed behind Heaven. 

The bed dips slightly under her weight and suddenly hands are planted onto Heaven’s side. “Hev, I’m back…I had fun. Come on, I know you’re awake.”

“Cool.”

“I hooked up with them.”

Heaven turns then, laying on her back as Tashi leans over her, her hair making a curtain around her. “Which one?”

“Hmm…both. We didn’t have sex or anything but…I made out with both of them…and then they made out with each other. S’fun.” Tashi grins, flopping on her back next to her friend.

“They…ever done that before?”

“Nope” she smiles, popping the ‘p’ loudly. Both girls burst out into laughter as they think about the difference between their friendship and the two boys they met, so similar yet so different.

“You’re evil. You fucking homewrecker.”

“Ahh, they’ll be alright. It’ll be a good fuckin’ match tomorrow…winner gets my number.” 

Oh. 

“Trevor dumped me today.” 

Tashi turns on her side at that. Her ever-inspecting eyes scan Heaven’s face before narrowing a little. “No bullshit? Good fucking riddance. Should’ve dumped him when I told you to. Damn, would’ve been an even better match if I knew that earlier. Imagine how they’d play if the stakes were the winner gets both of us at the same time.” She laughs, putting her legs under the blankets. “It’d be fucking funny.”

“Yeah, T. Fucking hilarious.”

Tashi is at the courts by 5 am the next morning, and Heaven is running on the beach. She normally loves training with here friend, but right now, she needs a fucking break. Being drilled about the audition or talking about this deathmatch for Tashi’s phone number doesn’t feel like something she wants to do right now.

Still, her and Tashi’s workout playlist blasts in her ears as she fights the sand’s resistance, panting out breaths to Lose My Breath by Destiny’s Child. That is until she sees something moving out of the corner of her eye. 

It’s the blond one. She wasn’t sure which one’s name was which, but to her, the blond one was the cuter one. She liked his smile and he looked like he had a nice body under his baggy shirt yesterday. His tight athletic tank today shows her she’s right. Popping an earbud out, Heaven slows to jogging in place, offering him a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, you’re up early, aren’t you?”

“Might not play tennis, but I’m still an athlete. I get up at 4:30 everyday. Clearly you do too.”

“Uh,” he adjusts his cap on his unruly blond hair before covering it back up, matching pace with her in her jog. “Not really, but the match is in a couple hours and I gotta explain to my family how to watch it. There’s a lot of them. And Patrick snores.”

“I see. Well, you’re gonna have to get used to it if you’re gonna get with Tashi.” His mouth opens and closes at that, like he’s shocked she knows he’s interested in her friend. “She told me about the stakes for today…and the other stuff.” 

He falters in his step at that, placing his hands on his hips as he laughs in disbelief, before pulling her shirt over his mouth for a second to hide his face, ears red. “You guys share everything, huh?”

“Apparently you do too.” Heaven laughs, pausing in her jog to stretch her leg when she feels tightness in it, bending over to work the muscles. If her eyes hadn’t slipped closed she would see Art’s eyes dart to her backside before looking away in an attempt to be respectful. He absently thinks that Patrick is right. Hot girls usually are friends with other hot girls. “But I’m rooting for you…uh…?”

“Oh, Art. I’m Art.” he breathes, willing his eyes not to slip again.

“Short for Arthur?”

“Um, yeah, but nobody calls me that. Except my grandma when I’m in trouble.” He blushes. Heaven straightens, and offers him a pretty smile.

“If one of you is gonna be seeing Tashi, I need to know your full name. I’m sure you can carry the speech to the other one too. If you hurt her, you die, I’ll kill you little white boy, you get it right?” 

“Right.” he hums, rocking on his feet. “So, you guys are close huh? She talked about you a lot last night. Fucking hates your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well, she won’t have to worry about him anymore. Done. As of last night actually. Tashi was saying she wishes would’ve known that before your little bargain. Then, it would be both her and my number on the line. What can you do?” Heaven shrugs absently. She was flirting a little. Sue her. She’d just been dumped and was finally free to start having fun. All summer she’d been traveling with Tashi, being a good little doting girlfriend, turning down every hot guy she met. Only ever having one slip up, with Tashi. She knew they both were into her friend, she didn’t expect anything-

“So raise the stakes.” 

Heaven’s eyes widen as Art looks at her earnestly, looking embarrassed by his own words. “What?” she laughs.

“You can…definitely tell me to fuck off…but…we would be interested in having your number added to the…pot? Fuck, that sounds awful, Patrick and I want your number too. I want your number too. If that’s okay.”

“And you wanna play for it?”

“Those are the rules right?” 

Heaven observes the man in front of her. Boyish. Cute. And nervous. He doesn’t know how hot he is. Not like his friend. Not like Tashi. He doesn’t know what he looks like. And he seems sweet enough, nervous to offend them, but determined enough to push past the embarrassment to get what he wants. “Tashi’s rules. Not mine. Do you guys want to play for my number?”

His jaw sets slightly as he looks her up and down. “I wanna earn it.” 

“Okay, winner gets Tashi’s number. And mine.” 

[empty-fantasies]

Lament

In which Capitano realizes that he is simply a fool in love

Character(s) Included: Capitano

Knight AU, Knight!Capitano and Royal!Reader, slight fluff to angst, possible one-sided love/unrequited love, hurt and only slight comfort (if you squint really closely)

Regal, elegant, refined. It is almost comical to the knight who has witnessed all your clumsy moments behind closed doors.

Gone were the times of youthful adventures and endless mischief. From sneaking into the nearby village and avoiding supplementary lessons to facing the reprimanding of exasperated tutors, Capitano and you were inseparable since the day the king assigned the former as your personal guard.

To be honest, it was quite the feat to have Capitano even entertaining the idea of skirting duties. A young boy then, temptation was easier when you spun a tale of needing to run errands and that it was more training to prepare him for the many dangers you’ll both face in your later years. Yes, that’s how it would always go. You, with a cunning tongue, taking advantage of that growing need to uphold justice and to become the epitome of a true knight was a rather common sight then. Something that also turned into a small prickly thorn as Capitano and you matured. And, the only memories in which Capitano knew more than to be disciplined and how to simply be nothing more than a young boy indulging in childish curiosities.

Fleeting days of joy have ended for both you and Capitano have grown into your respective roles upon coming of age. A poised royal diligent in their studies, committing to their promise for prosperity and wielding their intellect for sake of security. And Capitano, an honorable and just man who became your most trusted knight—unyielding against the daring few who swore to harm the crown and the astute voice you needed when guidance of others was nothing more than false reverence. That is what you and Capitano were. A royal and a knight—bound by the strings of fate and duty to your roles.

Still, Capitano was but a man. And a man he was, coming to the realization that his heart too can yearn for another.

It’s in the way that the feather quill swiftly glides across the parchment in front of you that day. Jet black ink sealing away your future that had long been decided before either of you could comprehend it as a possibility. For duty and for honor, he would have said in moments of doubt and hesitation. It is but a necessary move to protect all those that you cherish ever so much.

And yet, it’s the almost inaudible sigh that has him second guessing himself. Then again, perhaps it is no longer impossible to pretend that he isn’t a fool for believing that fate would give him one small chance. How could he do such a thing when his throat was constricting? Every objection to this arrangement died like a candle reaching the end of its wick. Every letter received and sent was another dagger to his armored heart. Fury, frustration, guilt; a well of emotions dragged him down to the depths below.

The fateful day eventually reared its ugly head around the corner. All preparations were finished ahead of time and it was Capitano who was selected to escort you to be received by the neighboring kingdom so that the ceremony can finally commence. It made perfect sense for why Capitano was chosen. Having been there through thick and thin, growing into the fine knight that he is as you an empathetic and respected ruler, encouraging you that what you are doing is only right despite his clenched fists. Constantly reassuring you that you are more than prepared even though he was not ready to accept a cruel reality.

It made perfect sense. To everyone but Capitano as he stood at the gate, silently toying with the idea of asking you to run away with him. With each step forward, the regret became more suffocating. So much so that all Capitano could focus on was the increasing distance between you and him. Armor too heavy, throat too parched, mind far too distracted. How long would he have to endure this?

“This is Capitano. Knight Commander and my most trusted guard,” your voiced echoed.

Capitano remained silent, regarding the soon-to-be-king with respect that was expected of him. The man was loyal through and through to the sword wedged in his heart he so readily handed over and all he could do was peer up at the wielder at the end—you—who he swore to when he bent the knee that fateful day.

He could only nod in the end, bowing his head and biting his tongue to save the remnants of his heart. He was but a sword at the end of the day. Hardened and shaped to cast aside what distracts him. Merely a knight commander who so happened to have grown up alongside you and has been the shoulder you weeped on in times of need. An extension of the crown and soon-to-be the other man who would stand by your side once the marriage takes place. It was selfish of him to think that he’d escape his role so easily with just a few words. He knew it from the day he walked into that long corridor alongside the former commander, all but naive to the image he had to uphold. He was a knight commander. A swordsman who so happened to have the right tact to earn his spot and acknowledgement from the crown.

Nothing more, nothing less.

[redrose10]

Trope- exes. Who didnt end badly, still has residual feelings for each other & met again at a mutual friend’s birthday dinner/hangout (?) with prompts 36 & 46 ? 🤎

I went with Yoongi for this one since he’s like 99% of the requests I get. I hope that’s okay!

< I Will Always Love You >

Yoongi x Female Reader

Warnings: A few swear words

#36 “Are you finished, so you’ll listen to me?”

#46 “And I’m here to save you.”

*******************************************************

Twelve months…two weeks…four days…five hours. That is how long it’s been since you last saw him. Since you last saw Yoongi. That night your world came crashing down. The two of you had been arguing all week. Little things here and there.

He left a dirty coffee cup on the counter and an argument ensued.

You forgot to pick up his medicine at the pharmacy on your way home and he took it personally.

He did a load of laundry and accidentally shrunk your favorite sweater. He offered to buy you a new one that night but you felt like he did it out of spite.

You accidentally knocked over a glass of wine all over his laptop causing it to short circuit. He could easily afford a new one but it was the principal of it all that upset him.

The final straw was when he skipped date night. He left you sitting at home alone for hours watching the meal you had worked hard on go cold. When he finally walked through the door he said you guys needed to talk and you agreed. After almost two hours of you both pouring out your hearts you both agreed that your three year relationship had run its course and it was best to go your separate ways.

So you found yourself a cute little apartment several blocks away. Yoongi made sure to stay out of the way as you and your best friends Jungkook and Jin helped you pack up and move all of your things. As you were leaving Yoongi told you to take care of yourself and that he would always be there if you ever needed anything. You told him to the same even though you both knew deep down you would never contact each other again. You gave him a hug and walked out. That was the last time you saw him.

Because even though you shared many of the same friends it was surprisingly easy to avoid him. It also helped that it seemed like he was doing the same. One of you was always conveniently busy or sick so it worked out.

Except tonight. Tonight was the one night you couldn’t avoid. One of your good friends Jimin was getting married. He made you promise not to skip out on the wedding and of course you agreed even though you really wanted to, especially after getting confirmation that Yoongi would be there.

Things had gotten easier as time went on over the last year or so. You stopped crying over him every day. Then you stopped thinking about him every single day. You heard that he had started dating some woman a few months after your breakup. It hurt deeply but it also motivated you to try and move on too. You went on a few dates here and there. You had a small thing with some guy named Namjoon but even though he was really sweet and nice and handsome that fizzled out after a couple of months leaving you single again.

You somehow managed to get a last minute date for the wedding though. Your neighbor. He was cute but you quickly found out he was arrogant and rude. The first thing he said to you was how he thought your dress would be shorter and you had to watch him check out practically every woman at the wedding while you were sitting right next to him. Even though you were miserable and feeling more alone than ever as you watched Jimin saying ‘I do’ to the love of his life you still did your best to fake happiness.

Jimin and his new bride walked down the aisle and as you turned to see them off you saw him. Yoongi looked as beautiful as ever, his hair was longer and his suit was somehow casual yet still wedding appropriate and looked great on him. He was smiling at Jimin and his bride before looking back and smiling at a woman. She was gorgeous with a smile almost as beautiful as his. He looked happy and content and even though you felt a small burning sensation in your chest you were happy for him.

Cocktail hour flew by and then it was time for the reception. You did your best to avoid Yoongi as much as you could through the evening. You caught little glimpses but thankfully it didn’t seem like he saw you at all, or at least he was pretending like he didn’t which you appreciated.

Dinner was served and then you sat through several speeches. Jimins best man Hoseok recounted several funny stories, a few of which you personally remembered, and it felt really good to laugh like that again.

Then the dance floor was opened up. Your date surprisingly asked you to dance. You accepted and headed to the floor. Even though he was dancing with you, his eyes were scanning over every other woman within the vicinity. At one point he even creepily licked his lips earning an eye roll from you.

“Hey uh you ready to go? I think we should find a room so we can finally be alone.”, he mumbled in your ear.

“No thanks.”

“Come on Y/N, don’t be such a prude.”

“She said she’s not interested. So I suggest you fuck off. Maybe try one of the other women you’ve been staring at all night.”, a very deep and very familiar voice said from behind you.

Yoongi and your date were having a stare down before your date scoffed mumbling something about you not being worth the trouble and walking away.

“Want to dance?”, he asked stepping in front of you.

Speechless you nodded. As he placed his hands on your hips it felt like your body was on fire and you wanted to lean into him to savor the feeling.

“Yoongi I…I thought you were here with a date.”, you questioned.

He smiled, “I was…I was dancing over there with her and then I saw how uncomfortable you were and now I’m here to save you.”

You quickly backed out of his grasp, “What?! Yoongi I’m not going to be the reason you two break up. You’re disgusting for doing that to her.”

You stormed out to the balcony area needing some fresh air. Yoongi followed closely behind.

You had tears already forming from all of the emotions you were struggling to sort through, “Leave me alone Yoongi. Please just go back to your date. I’m not going to be the reason something happens between the two of you. I don’t want her to get upset with me or think I’m trying to get you back or something.”, you pinched the bridge of your nose trying to stop the tears from falling, “I just want you to be happy and you looked so happy earlier and that makes me so happy and I just…”

You were in a panic thanks to feeling guilty because what if she saw you two and feeling angry that he would do that to her and feeling hurt at the reminder that he wasn’t yours and finally feeling a sense of relief at having him so close once again. The comforting mix of his cologne and shampoo taking you back to a simpler time but making it all worse.

He lightly chuckled before wrapping you in his arms allowing you to cry into his chest, “Y/N, are you finished, so you’ll listen to me?”

You nodded, though refusing to look at him.

“She’s not my date like that.”, he said causing you to finally look up at him in confusion. He used his thumb to wipe away the tears on your cheek.

“She’s just a friend.”, he said making you roll your eyes. He laughed but continued, “She’s just a friend who has a huge huge HUGE crush on Hobi but was too nervous to ask him out. She asked if I would be her date tonight until she had a couple drinks and worked up the courage to tell him.”, he turned and smirked, “And it looks like it worked.”

You looked over and saw Hobi and that woman slow dancing while smiling lovingly at each other.

Yoongi continued, “And if you must know I was so happy earlier because I got to see you Y/N. I miss you. I was hoping you’d be here but then I saw you had a date. Jimin said he was no one but I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“Yeah he was a mistake more than anything.”, you grumbled getting a smile out of Yoongi.

He wrapped his arms around you again and you allowed your body melt into his, “I missed you Yoongi.”, you mumbled into his skin.

“I missed you to Y/N. Fuck, I was so stupid for ever letting you go.”

“I should’ve fought harder too. I was just so tired of the arguing and feeling like everything was falling apart.”, you sniffled feeling tears begin to form again.

“Hey hey don’t cry any more. Y/N I hate seeing you cry. I’m here now. And maybe…maybe if you want to…we can start over.”

You looked up taking in his soft features and he gave you a small smile.

You nodded and gave his cheek a kiss which he happily received.

At some point someone had cracked open the door to allow the chill air to fill into the reception room which also let the soft hum of the music stream out onto the patio.

“They’re playing our song.”, you smiled as the familiar tune of I Will Always Love You rang through the air. Yoongi had sung the song to you one night after your first big fight. You were convinced that he was going to leave you. He wasn’t great at speaking his mind so instead he pulled you down on his lap and sang the song trying to do his best Whitney Houston impression. He did it to cheer you up but also let you know that no matter what happened between you two he was always going to love you. After that night it became your song.

Yoongi smirked, “Yeah I think our friends might’ve had something to do with that.”

He was was pointing inside and you saw a group of your friends staring at you both while giggling and giving you a thumbs up.

“Well if they want a show then we’ll give them a show.”, he said before taking your hand, “Y/N will you dance with me?”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst but you agreed before he quickly twirled you around and back into his comforting arms once again.

[rosiescrypt]

Doctor's Visit | Implied Harvey [Stardew Valley x Reader]

Word Count: 847 Warnings: Mentions of fainting, no name used Pairing: Harvey x Disabled!Reader implied

A/N: Written in 2nd Person because I am cringe but I am free. This is not proof read at all.

Three, two, one. The way that you blacked out wasn’t too unexpected, it started happening a lot since you started to live in Pelican Town. It did come unexpectedly this time, well not really, but at this point you would like to pretend that you only passed out when you were up too late on the farm, or out in the mines, but you knew that wasn’t true. 

Waking up on a hospital bed was something you had became familiar with, but not something that you had let yourself grow accustomed to. The hum was the first thing you let yourself tune into, having been out a lot longer than you were used to since they had time to move you.

“Harvey,” You called out, your eyes landing on the doctor, who was only a few feet away, reorganizing a few things.

“You’re awake,” He said, his voice cheery as he turned to look over at you, but his eyes held a deep bout of worry. You didn’t let yourself think too much into the look in his eyes as he walked to be by your side as you sat up. “Easy does it,” He said, moving his hand to give you a small bit of help to sit up.

“I’m alright,” You assured him, your voice gentle as you took his hand to help you sit up all the way, letting your feet dangle over the side of the exam table you woke up on. You didn’t say anything about how you having been asleep up there was dangerous, there were only so many resources that this small town clinic could have.

Harvey’s brow furrowed as he looked at you, his arms crossing for just a second. His mouth opened and shut a few times, like he was planning how to speak, what to say to you as you sat there, looking at him expectantly. 

“You passed out in the town square,” He said after a moment. Like this was somehow going to convince you that you weren’t okay.

You couldn’t help the laugh that pushed past your lips, your head shaking gently. You knew he was telling the truth, you were there when it happened. The look of confusion that shot over Harvey’s face made you take a deep breath, clearing the laugh from your throat before speaking.

“I’m alright, I just,” You paused, thinking of how to say it. Your last job didn’t have the best health benefits, and then this one the only clinic was ran by the doctor before you. “I’m disabled.” 

That was how you decided to say it, it made it a lot easier than to explain all of that. 

“In your files-” Harvey started, but you promptly cut him off.

“I was unable to get a proper diagnosis before moving here,” You explained, trying not to let yourself get red in the face. You always had this small habit of second guessing yourself, why you couldn’t get a diagnosis, even when symptoms were right there. 

Harvey stayed quiet, taking a moment to process before moving to pick up a clipboard, jotting a few notes on there, you watched him, confused by the man’s actions. 

“What are you..” You asked, a small pause as you tried to move to see if you could read the clipboard. “Doing?” The final word came out of your lips as he set the clipboard back on the counter. 

“Making a note,” He said, walking over to you, pressing the back of his hand to your head, just to make sure everything seemed fine without making it too professional feeling.

You just nodded, you didn’t seem too bothered by it, you were used to that, the notes, the comments, the “What if you’re making it up?,” all the “What if it’s just in your heads?” So in your mind, Harvey was doing the same thing.

“I can recommend you to an out of town doctor, to see if they can help you,” He said, his eyes locked on yours. “Also, I do believe you need to take it easy with the physical strain you’re putting on your body until its figured out.”

You let those words settle in, the care in his voice, the way that he was taking you seriously, you couldn’t help the large smile that came over your lips.

“I will, thank you, Harvey,” You said, you did move to hop off the examination bed. “This means a lot.” 

To you this meant the world, the urge to hug the man was strong but you were fighting it off. It wouldn’t be too odd since how close knit the town was, how close you’d grown with him over the year.

“Of course, I care about you,” He said, his hand reaching to gently set on your shoulder, so you used this as a chance to push forwards to give him a hug. 

You then stepped back, both of you a bit red in the face before you said your goodbyes and headed out, back to your farm, a grin on your face.

[champagnefountains]

I have a request if they're still open.

Alastor decides to hire Reader as a radio intern. He first did it for entertainment, sending them out to do ridiculously hard and long tasks for his own amusement, like fetching him coffee from the other side of Hell in a super short period of time or proof reading scripts that he purposely made completely illegible to anyone but himself, but had slowly begun to fall for them the longer they stuck around.

ALASTOR - H.H.

Prompt: Being Alastor's radio intern.

Thank you for your request anon! I hope you'll enjoy this one!

Word count: 1.5k+ words. Genre/other tags: Fluff. Humour. Warnings: None.

You were unfortunate to have your soul be owned by the renowned Radio-Demon. Tough luck. You were merely a desperate soul who needed a major favour to be done by yours truly, and are now forever tied and forced to do his bidding. You initially expected a life-time of torture and pain, but was pleasantly surprised when he had requested for you to be his personal radio-intern-slash-assistant.

"Dear Charlie and I have been so, so busy and I just need an extra hand is all...and that's where you come in!" He chimed, pinching your cheek. Alastor explained that he needed someone to assist in managing his radio-broadcasts and schedules while he was out playing hotelier. And just as you thought that you were off the hook, it turns out that this had been his own, little way of torturing you.

Alastor made you do the most ridiculous and tedious tasks ever – like fetching a cup of coffee from a cafe situating on the other side of Hell, or obtain some weird, obscure item from sketchy shops in the most dangerous and chaotic districts in all the Nine Circles, only for it to have little to no significance to him at all. Of course, you did some actual radio-intern-related tasks, but it didn't make things any easier for you. More so than often, Alastor would give you a stack-pile of his broadcast scripts to proof-read. The only problem was that all of it was mostly illegible, almost appearing like chicken scratch. It was then that you knew for certain he was doing this as some sort of sick entertainment for himself, knowing that he had the neatest penmanship amongst the entire team. Oh, and don't even get started with the ridiculous deadlines!

All in all, Alastor was constantly giving you a hard time. However, you were determined to not let him continue to walk all over you. After some time, you were slowly getting used to his strange requests and behaviours, and managed to find ways to work around them. Oh, he wanted his oddly specific order of coffee? You already had it ordered beforehand, and even had the beans supplied to have it readily brewed in the Hotel. He asked for some random-ass antique item? You had already established some connections during your previous commutes, and will have it delivered on the doorstep the next day. You needed to proof-read his scripts? You've learnt to decipher his hieroglyphics and were able to get them done hours before its deadline, whilst also adding in a few of your own critiques and comments.

Already a couple months in the job and you've already got it in the bag. And if he was being honest, Alastor was surprised with your progress. Dare say that he was even impressed! It was like no matter what he had thrown your way, you were able to catch it with ease. Yes, he had to admit: he did initially hire you for his own entertainment – you were his little play-thing when boredom struck – but you had proved yourself as an important asset and massive help towards him and the Hotel. You even went out of your way to help with tasks in the Hotel, such as tending the front desk with Cherri, assisting in the kitchen with Nifty, and even managing some group activities alongside Charlie and Vaggie.

You were incredibly hard-working, selfless and compassionate. Alastor and everyone in the Hotel could see it. It initially ticked Alastor off, seeing that his plans were foiled and were tailored to your favour, but the more you stuck around and spent time with himself and everyone else, he genuinely began enjoying your company. And vice versa. When he wasn't being the overbearing and unreasonable boss that he can be, you actually found yourself having fun in Alastor's presence, now often chuckling at his jokes and schemes.

But that wasn't the only thing that changed.

Alastor came to a stark realisation that he had developed feelings for you. It was a foreign feeling to him, which initially confused him at first but it filled him with such warmth that his cold-heart craved for. He found himself seeking your presence constantly (more than usual, that is), always making an effort to talk to you (again, more than usual), and at times, forcing you to stay in his office while he worked on his scripts, and even have you sit through his broadcasts. Even if it wasn't obvious, Alastor's feelings were overwhelming him with each passing day – he didn't know how to go about it. 

So Alastor resorted to what he does with most things – in straight-forward and curt fashion, of course. 

"S-Sir, you...y-you want me to do what?" You stuttered, a rapid and violent blush suddenly taking over your face. "I said, I want you to go out with me!" Alastor repeated nonchalantly, all the while jokingly tapping a finger on his microphone, "hello, hello? Is this thing on? Testing, testing!" You couldn't help but gawk at the deer-demon and his bluntness. He had summoned you to his office out-of-the-blue, requesting your presence urgently in the midst of an activity session you were co-hosting with Vaggie. With the way he went about it, you would've thought that there was some sort of emergency. Not...well, not this.

"...Go out with you? Like...on a walk, or something?" You slowly reiterated, trying to get a grasp on what he was trying to say. Alastor hums to himself, tapping his chin in thought. "Well, if that's what you prefer to do on our date, then I suppose that would be quite swell! We can fit that right in once we've had our dinner," He nods after a brief moment’s contemplation. It nearly sent your eyes popping out of its sockets. "Woah, woah! A-A date?! You mean, a date?! With–with me?!" You exclaimed, pointing to yourself in disbelief. The Overlord rose a brow.

"Why, of course! You're the only one in the room that I'm currently talking to, dear! Oh, hoh, you're quite silly, aren't you?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "B-But...don't you think this is like–I don't know, a bit unprofessional, sir?" You timidly ask, picking at your fingers, "you are my boss, after all..."

Alastor tilted his head to the side, humming, "Hm, perhaps. But I believe we’ve already crossed that boundary long ago, don’t you think? We’ve treated each other like good, ol’ comrades rather than just co-workers these past few months, have we not?” You blink. “I…I guess we have,” you blankly affirm.  

“Right? So, with that being said, I can't help but want something more. I do wish to properly court you. After all, it's not everyday a mortal soul such as yourself could pique my interest. That means to say that you’re quite exceptional, dear!” You couldn’t help but nervously chuckle at the flattery, shaking your head, “w-well, I don’t know about that–” 

“Oh, none of that nonsense!” He suddenly swoops in, waving a hand and shaking his head, “I don’t think I’ve met anyone who has managed to keep up at my level the way you have. It’s very impressive and admirable – take my word for it!” 

Alastor then suddenly evades your personal space, leaning down to eye-to-eye level with you. It startles you momentarily but you decidedly maintain eye-contact with him, too nervous to look away. It causes his grin to widen. "And I can bravely assume that you wouldn't mind taking up my offer...as you haven't yet made any effort or comment to decline it, hm?" He smartly comments, looking at you expectedly. 

Well..damn, he got you there, didn’t he? Because in truth, you did enjoy the playful dynamic you've established with him. You found satisfaction in the little praises and smiles Alastor would send your way whenever you accomplished something and slowly, you found yourself valuing his opinion of you. You then tried to up yourself with each passing day, and it was just as shocking for you when you came to terms with your own feelings. 

And that’s how you found yourself being courted by the Radio-Demon himself. 

After that, nothing much had changed in your dynamic with Alastor – you still continued being his radio-assistant. Well, other than the fact that he had become more openly sweet towards you. This meant calling you a variety of pet-names and giving you a little less work for you when he knows you’ve worked yourself hard enough. Small pecks and kisses will be rewarded when you would hand him his cup of coffee every morning, and he would invite you to join and sit on his lap when he would do his frequent broadcasts. He would also teasingly ask you to call him ‘sir’, knowing that it’ll fluster you so much – he just loved and enjoyed seeing you turn red all over. He even stopped with his hieroglyphics, reverting back to his usual handwriting when writing his scripts – the joke’s gone a bit stale, he says. And at the end of a long, tiring day, Alastor would have you in his arms as you happily basked in each other’s company.

[sukunasweetheart]

That schoolboy sukuna art you reblogged got me thinking🤔its a bit basic but still😵‍💫 tsundere bully!sukuna being so mean to popular!reader cause he likes her‼️ Anytime one of his friends suggest that he likes her, he gets 10x meaner. Meanwhile reader genuinely thinks the dude that just tore up her homework HATES her. Then one day he goes too far and really embarrasses her so she starts crying while her friends try to comfort her (he threw dirty water on her or something🤷‍♀️) Obviously readers had enough of him so she confronts him the next time they see each other alone, only for that dude to end up blurting out how much he likes her. Readers standing there flabbergasted😦🧍‍♀️ and then tells him off (he deserves it💀) . They dont see each other until their highschool reunion 5 years later(?) Sukunas matured alot but of course readers still hesitant to even talk to him. Blahblahblah he apologizes, reader forgives him after they hang out a few times and then BOOM dating‼️

This was such a anticlimactic end but i hope you get what i mean. Reader doesn't start liking him until monthsss after the reunion. Sukuna still seeing her as his first love/crush except he's not a weirdo about it anymore. And cause he probably just threw all his focus on taking over the family business (this is canon gege told me)

Literally i lowk fw this idea sooo hard... like childhood bully that grows up around you, little sukuna has always been a harrassing you ever since youve moved into the neighbourhood, and it carries over into highschool as well...

Its like, to the point where you have personal beef with him, always ready to square up when he's around...

but the fact that he never has his lackeys with him when he does bully you, and the one time someone did try to give you some silly treatment while he was watching, he gave him the beating of his life behind closed doors...

Sukuna having silly wet dreams of you and then being extra mean the next day. You retaliate physically, giving dainty little punches and kicks, you know, the kind that does zero damage, but for some reason he backs off easier than usual that day and walks away, muttering something under his breath, something that you can't quite hear clearly.

after all those years of pretending to hate you by calling you names and teasing you relentlessly, sukuna has the gall to confess right after graduation. he just blurts it out kind of accidentally, in the spur of the moment, because he feels like it'll be his last chance to ever come true with his feelings.

except, he ends up getting the scolding of his life, as you tell him off for the pestering way he's treated you, only for him to turn around and tell you he has feelings for you?! you tell him that it was cowardly of him, and he should take this as a lesson to treat the people he likes better, before turning on your heel and leaving him in the dust. you're his first love, and also his first heartbreak.

couple of years later, there's a highschool reunion happening, and although you wanted to avoid it because of the awkwardness of having to meet sukuna, you still ended up going because you really miss your old highschool friends.

you're at a nice restaurant with your buddies, enjoying your time, yet also noticing sukuna's missing presence in the back of your mind... you probably think he's not coming to avoid you. not that you care for it.

things were going smoothly, but then he eventually did show up. late to the party, as if he were the protagonist... everyone goes silent for a moment when he shows up, because he's arguably changed the most out of you all...

the rather bold tattoos done all over his body, piercings, and the black nail polish, how much he's bulked up in muscle. and that black button-up shirt is... well, very erotic. no longer that awkward, juvenile teenager you've always pictured him as. sukuna was never ugly per se, but goodness, this kind of glow up was really unexpected. and it turned out that he ended up taking over his family business, which kept him quite busy the past few years.

you catch his eye for a moment across the table, but you quickly look the other way. maybe he might've gotten hotter over the years, but you're not sure about that damn personality of his.

it seemed like he was finding it difficult to approach you in front of everyone else - he chases after you only when the meeting is over, and everyone had begun to go home. you feel a little nervous about the encounter, but the first thing he does is apologise, which gets you feeling a lot better about him as a person. sometimes, time does change a person.

and then sukuna tells you he wants to take you out for a meal, and asks you for your number... your old, easygoing self takes over for a moment. certainly a meal or two wouldn't hurt, would it?

(sukuna goes home and starts kicking his feet in bed that night, after scoring your number - beginning his lovesick era.)

[luckybyler]

This was a reply to someone else, but I'm making this its own post because so many people are being so evil right now re: Noah Schnapp.

You can find other, longer explanations with history and all, but all the places I've seen more or less agree with this:

So you're all calling people to cancel Noah because he's in favor of a Jewish nation in what is today Israel. Which is a perfectly reasonable, decent and educated opinion to have, especially when you, to use a trendy term, "educate yourself" and find out why the state of Israel was created.

11000 dead Palestinians, half of them children

According to Hamas. Don't forget that, ever. They're the current, official government of Gaza, thus they're the ones who give numbers. This means that the real number could be 10, 1 million, anything in between. What I've read is that they probably give more of less accurate total numbers. What they fail to do, however, is distinguish between Hamas militants and civilians, and beteween civilians killed by IDF strikes, civilians killed by failed Hamas or Palestininan Islamic Jihad's rockets (which happens a lot), and Palestinians murdered by Hamas/PIJ (which also happens, a whole damn lot). They also don't specify how many civilians they have prevented or tried to prevent from evacuating or receiving aid.

11k dead people is a horrible number. Even 1 dead person is a horrible number. However, urban warfare in such a densely populated area is its own kind of hell, especially when the other side is fond of using civilians as human shields in every way possible. The fact that the number is 11k and not 50k, 100k, and so on, indicates that the IDF have indeed done a lot to minimize deaths. You don't genocide people by doing roof knocks, opening evacuation lines, dropping guided bombs, putting up an Iron Dome to deal with rockets while avoiding escalation, etc. simply because actual genocide, while a lot worse, is also cheaper, easier and faster than what they're doing. This is important because caling every act of war genocide dilutes the word, and there are actual genocides happening around the world. Also, there is a difference between striking military targets and causing civilian deaths as a side effect (what the IDF is doing) and planning and carrying out a massacre deliberately targeting civilians and inflicting as much pain and humilliation as possible on them. And there is a difference between doing so by breaking a ceasefire (which is what Hamas did), and defending your country because if you don't do that a terrorist group will anhilate you (which is what the IDF is doing).

Back to Noah. So far, these are the things that people have tried to cancel him for:

Traveling to Israel (a completely normal thing)

Having Israeli friends (another completely normal thing)

Condemning Hamas' horrible attack on October 7th (the decent thing to do)

Posting a statement saying he feels unsafe as a Jewish person in the US (which, given the rise of antisemitic acts in the world, including the US, including where he lives and where he studies, is a valid feeling to have)

Signing a letter, along with Shawn Levy, Brett Gelman, Ross Duffer and I think Cara Buono, asking Biden to press for the liberation of every hostage by Hamas. This especially shows the utter ignorance of the cancellers because, as it turns out, caring about every hostage implies a slowdown of IDF's actions (and, at the time, a delay of a ground invasion).

Supporting the existence and preservation of the state of Israel (once again, a completely normal thing). The fact that people are turning against him for these things says to me that the real reason you are all hating Noah is beacuse:

He's Jewish. Like, really really Jewish.

And the fact that this all comes from a place of antisemitism isn't hidden at all: I've seen y'all on here, on Twitter, Reddit, every other social media calling him slurs (such as "cunt"), censoring his name, pretending he's not part of the cast, asking the Duffers/Netflix to fire him, wishing him failure, doxxing him, calling on his classmates to physically assault him, etc. He doesn't need to educate himself: you guys are already teaching him a great lesson on why a Jewish state is necessary. If that's the treament he gets from his own "fans", what can he expect from the world at large?

[cloudypariah]

How to perpetrate and sabotage your own kidnapping: A guide for dummies.

- The creation of the board (and its subsequent discovery)

Summary: Step One: host a brainstorming session with your teammates on how best to kidnap your future abductee. Step Two: have said abductee show up half an hour into the session and begin correcting your entire plan. Step Three: realise at the beginning of their impromptu presentation the target has absolutely no idea that they’re the target. Step Four: fail anyway.

Pairing: Dark!Poly!Task Force 141 x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Content tags: Dark content - Discussions around kidnapping, tense situations. If this is not your cup of tea, please go and find something different might better suited your palate. This is an 18+ fic meaning minors do not interact with this work. No one has permission from me to repost, copy or translate my work. No one has my permission to put my work into any AI source.

Notes: This is my first foray into the COD fandom and will be the first part in a dark comedy series. Please let me know what you think. Not proofread very well, sorry for any mistakes! Thanks for the motivation @live-love-be-unique !

Link to Task Force 141 masterlist / Link to COD masterlist

Captain John Price likes to think he knows his men well enough to trust them when his back is turned. Now that itself doesn’t necessarily mean knowing each and every one of their dirty secrets - he definitely wouldn’t come out smelling like fresh daisies if any number of his were revealed - but it does mean that he has the awareness to recognise that they all share one particular secret.

He sees it in the way Lieutenant Riley’s body language shifts when you give him his medical forms to look over, your consideration at offering him the option to disclose only certain personal information making the reserved soldier relax just enough to offer you a low thanks, accompanied with a stare that stretches on for a few moments longer than considered socially polite.

It’s also so amazingly obvious with Sergeant MacTavish. John’s surprised everyone else misses the way Soap’s smile takes a little longer to fade after departing for yet another mission, your swift congratulations on completing yet another physiotherapy appointment - “ Keep it up the good work big guy” - leaving the Scotsman floating on cloud nine damn near until the plane lands.

And how could he forget Sergeant Garrick? The man’s quick to change his tune and focus up, but the captain has observed Kyle absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder, thumb gingerly stroking the spot where your palm was only moments before, your figure long gone as you retreat down the corridor to where you came from.

No, Jonathan Price doesn’t miss a thing about his men. And it only takes two weeks and a long chat in the corner booth of the bar one quiet night - sans you or Laswell - before somehow his place becomes the meeting point for an unusual, though not unwelcome, topic - you.

More specifically, how to keep you.

The wooden shit box of a sports bar was where the first two facts were confirmed amongst them: 1. Every single one of the 141 men wanted you for themselves, but they weren’t above sharing. 2. You weren’t worth killing each other over, not when there was a much easier solution staring them in the face.

John’s house became the go-to place to discuss fact number three - They needed a plan.

It was Gaz who initially suggested the whiteboard after numerous interjections from Ghost and John; from everything to how to keep this from Laswell, to deciding which of your usual hangouts would provide them with the best opportunity to commence your “relocation”, to how to delicately but firmly explain said "relocation" to you once it was complete. Kyle loves his brothers in arms and never regrets a moment where his life is on the line if it means saving any one of them, but his patience began to wear thin when Soap got bored and started using goddamn paper planes instead of words to get his point across. At that Price finally relented and bought the damn thing.

Now, John was expecting you to pop by his place on Wednesday night to drop some papers off. A perfect opportunity, were it not for the fact that the gentlemen were still disagreeing on where to relocate you. However, it’ll allow you to grow more comfortable with him while he has some alone time with you, your presence like a balm on a wound - soothing and necessary (at least to him).

He had been looking forward to seeing you… tomorrow. So when you turn up not just on the doorstep but in the middle of the bloody hallway in his own bloody home halfway through the 141 “guys night”, his secondary action of shitting bricks quickly overrides his primary instinct to eliminate the threat.

He’s on his way back from the bathroom when he sees you standing, familiar folders firm in your grasp - fucking hell, is that his spare key too? - and a sour expression on your pretty face.

Your eyes narrow further when you spot him, striding over with fury rolling off you in small waves. “Captain Price, I know you did not leave these dossiers on my desk just before the end of my work day with a note stating they all need to be completed by the end of the work day.”

John’s senses are briefly overwhelmed by you being so close to him, the sight of you angry having a different effect on him than what you had originally intended. He’s never seen it before, and his hand twitches when you’re less than a foot away - fluctuating adrenaline or the desire to reach out and hold you, he’s not sure which is more prevalent. 

He always forgets to not be so obvious around you, but it isn’t as though you usually notice. (He’s not sure if the thought should make him feel sad or grateful.)

The sounds of his men arguing in the background, merely the next room over, are enough to bring reality crashing down hard.

His voice is deliberately loud and stalwart when replies. “You can’t be here.”

“Tough shit. Your lads night can wait.” You lean past him to the origin of what your gut was telling you was the sounds of the remaining 141 members quarreling. It’s easy to slip past Captain Price once your mind is set, the push of files against his chest preventing him from reacting for a few seconds - all the time you need to move down the hallway to where everyone else is bound to be.

John is quick to rush behind you, the arguing noises having swiftly changed to near cartoon-like crashes just moments before you enter the room. 

Ghost has migrated to the corner of the sitting area, standing as stiff as a fucking nutcracker, a mountain of crumpled notes and paper planes spilling out from between his arms. (His mask is still on thank god because it’ll hide exactly how caught out he feels, and if there’s one thing Simon Riley cannot stand it’s feeling like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar). His eyes instinctually watch your every move, waiting for your reaction.

Both of your gazes drift to the other side of the room, with neither of you failing to notice how the couch cushions are strewn widely across the space, (with one being stuck on top of a bookshelf for some odd reason) to find not one, but two soldiers gecko’d to the standing whiteboard.

Their demolitions expert is currently splayed out on the left side of the board and desperately grabbing the top of its metal frame, his stomach pressed into the cold porcelain and a left leg hitched up in a poor attempt to conceal the incriminating writing.

Price’s protégé is in a similar state. Dear Gaz has his back against the right side, with his arms outstretched to - much like Johnny - cover as much of their group planning as possible, a coloured marker clasped in each fist.

Two deers in headlights.

The sight of his task force is enough to bring back flashbacks of his original conversation with Kate about bringing these men together because Jesus H. Christ, what the fuck was he thinking?

There are a few moments when nobody moves or dares to breathe…

… except for you, of course.

You waste no time walking over to the two youngest members of the 141 as you attempt to shove them off the board. “Move,” you demand, palms pushing firmly against their sides. “I want to know what’s so important to everyone.” When they refuse, you do your best to stare at them, pleading with a pleasantly soft, “Please.”

Yeah, they both do what you say with ease when they hear that, giving you enough space to take in the somewhat smudged scribbles.

You miss the signal John gives Simon, the Ghost moving closer to your position as John quietly locks the door, and when your attention is drawn back to the board after the other two move you also miss all of the knowing looks shared behind your back. This was very far from ideal, but how can they recover from this?

They hope you understand that whatever comes next, they didn’t plan for it to start this way.

Kyle and John call your name but you ignore them, still processing the information written in front of you.

Johnny flexes his hands, preparing for the worst as you step back and say, “This is… bullshit.”

Every single member stops. That was not the reaction they were expecting.

Turning to face the group, you scoff. “I’m not even kidding. Firstly, you’re using guys' night to work, which is horrible for your mental and emotional health. And you should all know better.”

Four sets of brows furrow in united confusion. You don’t let that deter you from continuing, your arms gesturing haphazardly at the whiteboard. “Secondly, this is hands-down one of the worst brainstorms I have ever seen. This is not cohesive in the fucking slightest. Garrick, mark me.”

Kyle chokes on his spit, his brain short-circuiting before he sees your fingers wiggling at one of the markers he’s holding. The sergeant promptly gives it to you.

Your free hand takes turns pointing at everyone else in the room, a verbal command of, “sit down” directed at each man also. Dumbly and cautiously they all do. Ghost places himself at the end of the couch nearest the entrance, John strategically chooses a spot between yourself and the kitchen, and Soap and Gaz sit closest to you, where the two of them can hear you muttering under your breath as you draw what appears to be a massive cloud shape in the middle of the board.

Once completed, you fill your shape in with the word ‘TARGET’ and slam your free hand against the board. No one flinches, but if one were to look closely there would be some eyes widening in response. Johnny swears he sees one of your eyelids twitch.

“So,” you call out, “what do we know about the target?”

There are not only wide eyes looking at you, there are full glances exchanged between your audience.

“Seeing as you had the nerve to not invite me in your little meeting while keeping me on overtime” - Kyle and John squirm at that, and your finger makes a little circle - “we are going to be working on this project together. With all due respect, I’m not asking.”

Surely not…

And it’s when Captain John Price reviews the writing left over from the others that he realises Kyle and Johnny did one thing right during their clusterfuck of a coverup.

They managed to erase your name.

… you have absolutely no idea you are the target.

 A piece of writing far in the coroner catches your attention, and your shoulders slump. “The target likes knitting and ‘The Karate Kid’. In another life we would have been the best of friends.” A dramatic sigh leaves you, “Oh well, at least I’ll be able to give you some insight into the mindset of this individual. Any questions?”

Four hands shoot up.

Rubbing your hands together with glee, a maniac smile grows on your face. “Excellent.”

[honeytonedhottie]

how to isolate and grow⋆.ೃ࿔*:･💶

quick disclaimer : when i say "isolate" i dont mean the negative connotation of self isolation where you push everyone away, i mean the laying back and rly focusing and tapping into urself BY yourself.

accessibility : limit people's accessibility to you, or narrow down how many people you allow to access you. ur energy is SACRED ur time is a privilege. its important that ur no longer looking for outlets in people.

during this time of stepping back and being super picky with how and who u spend ur time with its the perfect opportunity to separate urself from the toxicity that some people in ur life might bring. in that same breath, its easier said for friends then it is for family members because when u think isolation ur probably thinking of being a home-body which is a part of it. but if ur home is whats making u sick then try and spend time AWAY of the home to do whatever u need to do.

self awareness and responsibility : take a moment and be truly objective with urself. practice having the difficult conversations with urself. u know ur goals, but are u the person that can have those goals? and if not, how can u get to become that person.

this is also the time to address things that you've been sweeping under the rug. address anything thats starting to become a problem and address bigger problems in ur life. we wanna be able to take responsibility for ourselves and PROBLEM SOLVE. be super clear on what u wanna focus on during ur self isolation period and WHY you are choosing to do this.

find a mentor : find someone who resonates with you, whether it be online or in person, who is living the life that YOU wanna live or living a life similar to one that u wanna live. u dont have to have just one mentor, it can be multiple mentors for different aspects of ur life that u wanna improve. ur mentors dont even need to know you honestly, just someone u look up to

detox ur brain : mental diet. mindset is EVERYTHING as you know if you've been consuming my content lately. everything and i mean EVERYTHING begins in the brain. the thoughts that u think today will be what u experience tomorrow. speak to urself nicely, throw away old thoughts that dont align with ur dreams and replace them with positive ones thru repetition, fixed attention and practice

do brain dumps before u go to bed, its good to get out all of the thoughts in ur head before u go to sleep, out of ur brain and onto a piece of paper or something else in general. it doesn't have to be in a negative connotation either, write down ideas that pass thru ur head, goals, inspirations etc.

clean out : anything that u tend to cling to, whether its devices, drugs, drinking etc. practice fasting from it. it doesn't have to be extreme, just taking a break from it REGULARLY will improve it so much. an analogy i like to use for gradual change like this is with a rubber band. if u stretch the rubber band as far as it can go too quickly then it'll break, however if u gradually stretch the rubber band little by little, you can stretch it super far and it won't break.

experimentation : while ur self isolating this is the perfect opportunity to experiment with ur physical. dye ur hair a color that you've always been wanting it to. grow ur hair a couple inches, take extra good care of ur skin, experiment with different clothing styles. become ur own MUSE.

with that being said i wish everyone luck and blessings as you isolate and grow 🫶🏽

[paper-mario-wiki]

Hey how do you cook chicken so often. It's always a huge fucking hassle to me to prep and cook chicken and it's so expensive I usually don't bother. Is there some trick you know for making it easy?

the answer's a lot more simple than ya think. i just have a huge bag of chicken breasts in the freezer. dont remember PRECISELY how much it was, pretty sure under $25 for 10 pounds at costco, and it'll last you several weeks when cooking for one.

the only real "prep" for making it easier is, when i don't have any chicken thawed in the fridge, i take some out of the freezer and put it into a plastic bag in the fridge. then, by the next day, ive got chicken that can be cooked and eaten up in 10 minutes. while still raw, it'll stay good for 2 days refrigerated, and up to 4 if you're stupid.

the breasts are actually a little bigger than i'd like when cooking just for myself, so while they're still frozen i find their middle and split them in half on the hard corner of my kitchen counter.

before seasoning, pat down the breast with a paper towel to get excess moisture off. it'll cook more evenly and make seasoning stick easier. i only use salt and pepper before cooking because im lazy and spiceless (poor), but you can definitely use herbs and whatnot when cooking. also smash down some of the thicker bits of the meat with the bottom of a cup or a mallet if you've got one. as long as the breast isn't thicker than, say, the width of your index finger, it'll cook through very easily, mostly in its own juices. otherwise you'll have a harder time cooking it evenly, though it can still be done. it just takes longer and might not look as nice.

pan-frying is as easy as putting in a splash of olive oil (not a ton, just enough for the breast to rest in), and cooking for 5 to 7 minutes on both sides, depending on how brown you want it. this is on medium-high heat, so i set my stove's little heat dial to 6 or 7.

for reference, the meal i made today (chicken breast, hashbrown, fried kale) was prepared in about 15ish minutes, including prepping the chicken and getting it on the pan, which was done first cuz it takes the longest to cook. the hashbrowns cooked on the far side of the pan away from the chicken, and the kale in my air fryer for 3 minutes. the chicken came off the pan first, and i let it rest for a few minutes while i let the hashbrowns finish cooking.

it sounds like a lotta work, but sincerely the most tedious thing about cooking with chicken is thawing it out, so having a few single-person servings of chicken in the fridge makes the whole process much simpler.

make sure that you're wiping down surfaces and utensils that the chicken touches while still raw, and try not to let any of the other foods at all. salmonella is easily avoidable, but still no joke.