#she's about 32 physically. As for mentally

[abearinthewoods]

How I know.

(I'm writing this all down so i can reference it when ever I get self doubt. I plan to link this to my family at some point so comments and reblogs will be heavily moderated.)

I remember the first doubt. I was using the mirror attached to the locker door at the rec center, a fancy one in California with a dome they would put over the entire poor deck in the winter so it could still be warm. I was in 3rd grade and this was an after school program my single mother used so she could work overtime without (hopefully) worrying about me getting myself or my two brothers into trouble.

Back to the mirror: I had recently learned more about the differences between genders, and looking between my legs, I would imagine finding out that I had lady parts, hidden away some how. I would often imagine this was some conspiracy where I was changed at birth from a girl to a boy and my parents were keeping it from me. (Truman Show resonated with me).

In 4th grade I used to go on about how girls were better than boys and always connected with girls more. (Until the Core™ Memory™ that turned me into an MRA towards the end of this school year.)

A few years later would be the first time I remember truely feeling out of place because of my gender. It was my cousin's birthday. Them being two nearly teenaged girls it was an explosion of gender and girly activities I didn't mind but could feel I wasn't supposed to like. Being autistic gives you a weird relation with societal norms, every abrupt reconciliation between how you think you are coming across and how you actually come across becomes an almost traumatic event. Fear of this in relation to me acting girly while male became crippling enough to keep me away from truly entertaining any further thoughts for a while, with the exception of the random joke.

After I moved up to my dads I exchanged brothers for sisters. For a while one would let me play with her barbie dolls, but eventually she said was it was weird and creepy. All of the sudden I could see it as she did, another painful reconciliation between my mental model and reality. Internalized transphobia is a bitch.

When I was dating my first girlfriend I wanted to stay up all night with her having pillow fights until it got physical. "Girls like mature guys, not immature playfulness" I got told by one of her close male friends.

The girlfriend I first hooked with was when I first made jokes about being a lesbian trapped in a man's body. It was becoming clear to me at that point that the bi women around me wanted different things in their male partners vs their female partners and we can guess which of the two I identified with more.

As an adult, there was this, like, medical hope? That I'd get a CT scan one day for some reason and find out I was a women all a long, overlies and all. At 25 I remember getting an xray done for back issues and googling to figure out if ovaries would show up on one.

Three years ago at 32 I was googling some random vague medical symptoms I was having and one of the many potential causes listed was XXY syndrome. This enticed me and I spent the entirety of that month learning about klinefelter syndrome fascinated by it for reasons that elude even the greatest minds. Finding out it wouldn't lead to hidden™ vag™ syndrome™ was disappointing. (I would make zero attempt to unpack why this was disappointing)

All this time, being an MRA and feeling tethered to the male gender because of it, I never actually *truly* entertained the idea that I wanted to be a women, just that I wanted to have a vagina and uterus and ovaries and that I identified with sapphic depictions of love more than any other and I got distressed feels every time somebody treated me differently from how women get treated it. Still cis thou.

I would often display masculinity as a show against anybody who would insult it or act like breaking out of its mold was inherently more virtuous than living within it. Not a surprise to anybody who knows me, spite is my biggest weakness.

The "would I mind living as a women" question never gained purchase in my mind throughout all of that. Even when I thought it, it was with the presumption that the answer was yes. Never actually thought out.

Until she walked into my life.

I, out of anxiety and a odd complicated form of (likely c-ptsd influenced) gender dysphoria from the bear vs man bullshit, made this tumblr, and started trying to work thru my feelings about all of that. I found out about the not-shit side of tumblr from r/curated tumblr so I started posting some thoughts from here to there. My first post idea happened to come on sunday so it worked out for self post sunday. a few posts in and I hit big on one post, and then the next. Talking about trans people, men, and trans men in these posts ( oh and autism, but its tumblr, thats a given).

During this somebody drops a few paragraphs and casually mentions in thier comment a quip about how a certain essay will always be relevant.

Unassumingly I middle click it into a new tab and resume reading thru the comments of my reddit post, go smoke a bowl, come back, and looking for another tab to do a thing I never got around to doing. I clicked on to it and become captivated:

If you haven't read this, its long, its somber, and its 100% worth the read.

I am eleven years old.

I am in a hotel room watching Maury Povich. A lineup of beautiful women makes its way onto the stage and we are told to guess which ones are “real” and which ones are “transsexual.” I don’t know about these words. [..] Instead, as the hotel coffee machine gurgles out an acrid belch, I feel hope welling up inside of me. How much does it cost to sit in the chair and have them flip the switch? Will it hurt? I don’t care. Any amount of pain will be worth it.

Remember the chair and the switch. This is important, but what started the crack was way down at the end.

I am now twenty-six years old and—this may freak you out—I’m not coming out. And I’m not transitioning. Here are the easy reasons: [...] Now—here are the complicated reasons, most of which I only realized while writing the easy ones: I hate that the only effective response I can give to “boys are shit” is “well I’m not a boy.” I feel like I am selling out the boy in baseball pajamas that sat with me on the bed while I tried to figure out which one I was supposed to be [.....] Because I am not a boy, but I had a boyhood. I was, and am, made to live as a boy and I cannot suspend the perspective that gave me and join in when it’s time to fluster one of those clueless fuckers into anger by calling him a fuckboi and then tell him his anger proves he’s a fuckboi, or to humiliate one with an OKCupid screenshot because we’ve willfully conflated the clumsy ones with the threatening ones so we can grab those solidarity faves. It’s fucked up. It has metastasized. [...] Because I am interested in complicating your definition of maleness and of boyhood. I was born into that shitty town, maleness, in the remains of outdated ideals and misplaced machismo and repression and there are some good people stuck living there. They are not in charge. They did not build it. And I don’t feel okay just moving out and saying “fuck y’all — bootstrap your way out or die out, I was never one of you.” I want to make it a better, healthier place—not spend all my time talking about how shitty it is and how anyone who would choose to live there deserves it. And to me that means considering them with charity, even when they make it difficult to.

This section is very long, even with all i cut out (that is very much still worth reading). Every single fucking word resonated with me. She understood my own relation with my own gender better than I did. I got shell shock from reading that article. I laid down, took a nap, and woke up to see it still on the monitor.

I posted a comment on reddit about how it "resonated with me in ways I still haven't unpacked", repeated it over here on tumblr, and then the™ thought™ entered my mind:

"If there was a chair, and a switch, would I sit down in that chair, and would i flip that switch?" I couldn't think of a reason why I wouldn't. Once I "allowed" myself to think that, I realized I was feeling loss at the fact that this chair and this switch did not exist.

(I knew this 5 months ago. But was still calling myself cis.)

I started walking around more recently while listening to female artists and one day near the start of the last month I found myself walking thru town thinking I was the girl from the Death Cab for Cutie's I Will Possess Your Heart music video. Doing my thing and going about my life. I could feel my ponytail rebound and whip around from the swing when ever I moved my head strongly. (I am bald) Now I imagine she's listening to those songs I was when I see the music video.

(At this point I still mentally think of myself as Cis.)

My best friend shows me netflix's The Witcher. Why do I identify with Yennifer? This is when I first start to admit it to myself.

Trump makes the one EO, people joke how it means he legally classified everybody as a women. For a brief moment in my mind I thought he had magically waved his pen and made me a women. I get my first hit of gender euphoria. I recognize it as gender euphoria. The walls are crumbling.

Finally, a little under 2 weeks ago I'm at my best friend's house again. They are gender queer and very supportive and i've just been watching them play video games while thinking about the music video experience and the Yennifer thing and the EO euphoria above and i breath just a little too loudly as some puzzle pieces are falling into place and they ask me whats on my mind, opening a can of worms they could have never seen coming. There was a long pause. Normally i would just make something up. I wanted to make something up. But I also wanted to let it out. I *needed* to let it out.

Now if I could just tell my family.

[oxytoxic-skeletonin]

Realized I forgot to post this!

During training, I decided to practice a dynamic pose with my gorl, Sonia! I was anxious about the foreshortening. But! It came out pretty good! 💚

[piracytheorist]

In Life, And in Death (1/11)

Fandom: Spy x Family Word count: 4.1k for this chapter | 32.4k in total Rating: T Warnings: Temporary character death, graphic violence, horror imagery, body horror, mild gore, whump, language Cover art by @buf309

Summary: Anya is kidnapped, and Twilight is thrown into the horrors of a mysterious, deadly village. Forced and then choosing to survive its trials - physical and mental - he's brought to figure out who he truly is. (A Resident Evil Village fusion)

AO3

~

Author's Note: Probably my most insane fanfic project yet. After I successfully probed SOMEONE, aka @spencer-is-someone, into watching a Resident Evil Village gameplay, they fell in love with Ethan Winters but felt he went through too much in the game, prompting the idea "What if Loid went through all that stuff instead". And well, 32 thousand words later, here I am, inflicting this literal horror upon y'all.

I made a post about it, and the absolutely wonderful @buf309 went and made this amazing cover art, and I literally couldn't be more thankful for that. I was so amazed when I saw the first draft sketch that I went like I'M GONNA WAIT TILL IT'S READY TO POST THE FIC. Seriously, words cannot describe how grateful I am, I sincerely hope the fic feels satisfying enough for the work you've done <3

If you know how the Resident Evil Village story goes, this is pretty much the same... yes, in all of its "parts-in-jars" glory (if you know you know, if you don't you will soon), just with Twilight taking the place of Ethan Winters. There will be a few changes from the original story to fit Twilight's character, some to facilitate the adaptation from game narrative to fanfic narrative, some to fit my own tastes, and an actually hopeful ending because we were all left heartbroken after the ending of RE Village so might as well pour some healing juice to put our hearts back together same way Ethan puts his limbs back together and hope for the best.

Do take note of the warnings, please. There is one part of the story I actually had chills while writing (yes, that part for those of you who know, it will be slightly changed but the essence will be the same) and it is based on the story of a horror/survival game, so make sure you're okay to read something as intense as this.

The story is written in full, though I'm still doing small bits of editing here and there. I don't have a posting schedule, but I'm thinking of updating twice a week, or once if I see the editing is taking longer. Chapter titles are taken from track titles of the game's original soundtrack.

So yeah, long intro over, take not of the warnings, I hope you enjoy if you read on!

~

Chapter 1: Bloodthirsty

~

“Anya, don’t sit so close to the TV,” Loid said, not looking up from the counter.

Unsurprisingly, there was no response. He wouldn’t doubt that she hadn’t even heard him, let alone acknowledged his request.

He picked up a handful of minced meat to mould into a burger steak, deciding to give her another reminder in two minutes from now. Yor had just left to walk Bond, so it was only his direction she had to follow – and she was starting to make clear whose directions she preferred to follow nowadays.

He placed the burger on the pan as his body tensed. A split second later, the door burst open.

He jumped through the opening between the kitchen and the living room, but even that seemed a pointless blessing as thick smoke quickly covered the apartment.

He rushed through it to grab Anya, who trembled against him, but he didn’t have the time to move away from the shots.

Two silenced shots, piercing through his clothes and reaching into the skin of his back.

No blood. But they were pinching his skin, and he immediately felt groggy…

He dropped to his side, unable to move as figures approached him. One of them took Anya.

“PAPA!” she screamed at him.

He feebly raised his hand. “Wait,” was the only thing he could say, before his hand dropped.

More figures approached him, and then his vision went dark.

~

Focus, Twilight.

Don’t open your eyes yet. Don’t alert the enemy yet.

He held his breath for a moment.

He was somewhere cold, outside.

He could feel something soft but freezing underneath him. Snow?

His hair didn’t feel wet, so he mustn’t have been lying there long.

It was quiet. He could only hear distant sounds of wind and crows flying somewhere close.

He couldn’t feel anyone’s presence, so he decided to open one single eye to check.

But then both his eyes shot wide open.

In front of him stood a magnificent gothic mansion. It could be a mansion, or it could be a damn castle. It was surrounded by a thick wall, like a fortress.

He sat up. He was indeed lying on the snow, but it was the least of his concerns right now.

He had apparently been placed on the castle’s garden. Right in the middle of the winter, it was only decorated by a few naked trees as well as three scarecrows.

Those didn’t seem to do their job well enough, he thought, as crows still flew around, some even sitting on them.

He got up, checking himself for injuries. He couldn’t feel any pain or any indication of pierced skin. How had they drugged him?

It was then he realized he was now wearing his jacket.

Had they dressed him for the cold? While taking off his apron and the gloves he wore while preparing food?

What the hell?

Where even was this place?

Why was he brought here?

Where was Anya?

His attention was drawn back to the apparently useless scarecrows, and a chill ran down his spine – unrelated to the cold – when he noticed something eerie about them.

Carefully, he took a few steps towards them.

His breath caught in his throat when he was close enough to notice.

Those weren’t plain scarecrows.

Those were actual, human bodies hanging on wooden crosses.

His breath finally came out shaky, forming a cloud.

What the hell was this place?

Unable to quell his curiosity, he stepped closer, trying to notice for any details on the bodies, in case he recognized them.

All three seemed to be men, of ages between thirty and fifty, and they couldn’t have been dead for longer than a week or so. The cold might have preserved their bodies, but exposure to the outside would do as much more damage.

He couldn’t recognize any of their faces – or what was left of them.

Well, he didn’t even know where he was, how far away from Berlint or even in Ostania for that matter.

He clenched his hands into fists and turned around, looking around the walls surrounding the castle.

There was a huge metal door blocking the path outside. No climbing the wall; it was too smooth and covered in even more slippery ice. Climbing the trees wouldn’t give him enough height to swing himself out.

Which meant, his only way of getting answers was through the castle.

He must have been placed there for a reason, after all, and if they’d wanted to kill him they would have already done so.

He reached the entrance, and the door swung open easily.

The entrance hall was as luxuriously decorated as the outside hinted at. A lush burgundy carpet went up the few steps, leading to a wall where a painting of three young women hung.

The door closed behind him, and he didn’t miss the definitive clang as metal bars started descending right in front of it.

He turned, and for a few seconds he weighed his options.

He could break the door quickly enough before the bars descended too low, and slip outside.

But then again, they obviously wanted him in there, and again, it didn’t seem that killing him was their priority.

He faced forward, ignoring the sound of the bars trapping him in there.

He might as well play their game.

He walked to the painting. Underneath it was an inscription that wrote “Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra.”

Which one was which?

The women on the painting didn’t seem too different from each other. The painting itself didn’t seem all too enlightening, either; it looked like any common Romantic-style oil painting.

Well, it wasn’t going to give him any answers, would it?

He turned around, walking down a corridor and out into another, larger hall. He noticed how warm the whole building was, despite the freezing weather outside and the apparently old construction of the place.

This hall had hanging, lit candles all over the walls, though they couldn’t be the source of the heating. The lighting was low, but lucky for him, he’d been trained enough in low lighting for that not to be an issue.

He jerked back at the sound of a swarm of flies coming his way, then he sensed someone’s presence.

Flies, he could handle.

But then the flies started gathering together, and within seconds they morphed into three women, dressed in black hooded cloaks.

“Wha—?” he whispered.

“Looking for Anya?” a voice said, and he assumed it’d come from one of the women. Who had just formed from flies.

The absurdity of his situation almost made him forget that she had just mentioned Anya.

Which meant they probably knew where she was.

However, he was too shocked by the sight that he couldn’t move when one of the women, all of whom were cackling, approached him and pushed him backwards.

She swung the scythe she held in her hand, and he pulled his legs away just before she could bury it in his calf.

“Oh, he’s feisty!” the woman said with a wide smile.

Her arm then almost zapped through the air, and his left leg was exploding in pain before he could even register the movement.

He yelped in pain as she leaned closer to him and took a long sniff.

Her mouth and jaw were covered in blood, though her blond hair looked pristine clean.

“Mmm, man-blood,” she said.

She then leaned back and started dragging him, by the scythe embedded in his leg, as he still lay helplessly on the ground.

She was too fast. He flailed around, trying to grab at anything they passed by to make her stop, even though that would mean the scythe would rip his entire leg open, but then another woman reached his other side and buried her scythe in his right leg.

He threw his head back, biting down another yell of pain.

Could he just have one moment?!

The women dragged him down another corridor and into what he quickly realized was a bedroom. They removed their scythes, and he quickly reached to assess the damage, when he heard the blond woman say “Mother, I bring you fresh prey,” as she pointed at him with her hand.

“You are so kind to me, daughters,” came a voice of a woman who sounded older than them.

Older, and bigger.

She was sitting on a massive chair, holding an equally massive glass of red wine. She took a sip from it, then stood up and turned to him, saying, “Now, lets take a look at him.”

He raised his head to look at her.

And then raised it higher.

She had the build of a muscular woman, with curves proportionate to her height, which must have been about three meters tall. She wore a black wide-brimmed hat over her chin-length black hair, and a long white dress that reached down to her feet, though she moved comfortably in it.

“Well, well. Loid Forger,” she said. “Came looking for your daughter, I presume?”

He sat there, frozen.

They knew who he was – or at least pretended to be? And they knew Anya was also taken?

She walked closer to him, smiling as she put her hands on her hips. “For you to think you can waltz right in here—let’s see how special you are,” she nearly purred.

She threw her hands up in a sign for something, and two of the younger women said “Yes, mother,” as they grabbed his arms and pulled him up.

His first thought was that he was standing up surprisingly well for just having had two scythes ran through his legs.

His second thought was terror as one woman grabbed his hand, and the other produced a very sharp-looking knife.

Before he could jerk back, she sliced his palm open.

He bit back a grunt; it wasn’t a deep cut, but it would be annoying…

His last thought trailed off as the tall woman reached down, grabbed his hand, brought it to her lips… and started sucking.

Now he really was frozen in terror.

What the hell was this nightmare?

The woman pulled her head back, licking at her lips with a blood-soaked tongue.

She threw his hand away. “Hmm,” she said. “Still fresh, but only barely.”

He wrapped his hand into a fist, keeping it close to his chest.

“Then let’s devour his man-flesh quickly, mother!” one of the women said, handing a handkerchief to her.

“But I’m the one who captured him!” the blond woman protested.

“Now, now, daughters,” the tall woman said, patting at her lips with the handkerchief. “First, I must inform Mother Miranda. But later, well, there will be enough for everyone.” She threw the handkerchief aside, smiling down at him. “Put him up!”

The young women surrounded him, and though he struggled, they were too strong for him as they put heavy manacles on his wrists.

A thick build, but he could break out of them with little effort.

But then, they secured a chain to them, and the chain started going up. He was lifted off his feet, and started grunting as the full force of his weight fell on his wrists.

Don’t say anything. Don’t let them take a hold of any weaknesses.

He clenched his jaw, keeping his voice from making any sounds as they headed out of the room. The tall woman had to bend to get through that door, and one of the young women – the second one who had stabbed his leg – bent down and picked up the discarded handkerchief, smelling the blood on it and laughing, as she followed them.

Breathing hard, he looked up at the manacles.

The pain was intense but manageable, though he already felt the tingling of numbness in his fingers. By his calculations, he had about fifteen or so minutes before cut blood circulation would start causing permanent damage.

Escape, first. Then you can freak out.

He grabbed the chain and dragged his body up. Though his legs were still bleeding, he brought them up so he could hold the chain between his feet.

He was gasping by the time he managed that, but at least he had less pain on his hands and a better view of the manacles.

They were old and rusty, but seemed to have a fairly standard locking mechanism. Bringing his body closer, he fished the lockpick out from a hidden pocket of his jacket.

Biting his lip, he worked through the lock of the right manacle. Just as it opened, his feet slipped from the chain and dropped down, causing all of his weight to drop onto his injured left hand.

The pain knocked the air out of his lungs.

Think! Think! Pull yourself together!

Taking in a laboured breath, he looked back up.

The lockpick had slipped from his hand and was now too far down for him to get it. His right hand was free, but he didn’t have any other options left.

Reaching up, he wrapped his free hand around his left thumb, and with a sharp pull, he dislocated it.

As his other hand was coated in blood from the cut, his wrist slipped through the manacle as soon as his thumb wasn’t in the way.

He dropped to the ground clumsily, not managing to balance his landing.

Wheezing, he looked at his left hand.

Bleeding, and a dislocated thumb.

He gave himself ten seconds.

Ten seconds to wonder where the hell he had gotten himself into, what that tall woman even was, standing at three meters tall and drinking blood, and what her “daughters” were, emerging from flies and also participating in… blood drinking? Cannibalism?

Ten seconds, and he was back to himself.

Focus, Twilight.

He looked at his legs – they were still bleeding, but he felt confident he could stand on them. Though those scythes looked sharp, they must have split a tendon or two apart.

At the corner of the room stood a vanity table, and on top of it, along with various cosmetics, lay a small green bottle with a cross on the label.

He stood up carefully, glad that his legs weren’t trembling. He picked up the bottle, carefully reading the label.

Medical alcohol.

Not one to trust this place that much, he opened the lid, and sure enough, it smelled like ethyl alcohol.

He sat down with a grunt, pulling his right trouser up. He didn’t have any clean gauze, so his only option was to pour liquid right over the wound.

He braced himself for the sting of pain, but instead, the liquid brought a cool, numbing sensation.

And then, right in front of his eyes, his wound closed then disappeared completely.

He stared at it.

Ten more seconds.

What the hell.

He looked at the bottle again. Medical alcohol, it said. It smelled like it too.

He looked back at his leg, raising his other trouser where the other wound still stood.

What the hell?!

Uncertain, he poured a little less liquid over that wound.

The wound immediately stopped bleeding as new skin seemed to form, though it didn’t heal completely.

He let out a breath. If he were honest with himself, this wasn’t really the weirdest thing to happen in the last few minutes, was it?

He turned to his mangled hand. Just how much could that liquid heal?

He poured an equal dosage to it, and was still surprised to see his thumb painlessly slide into its place, as well as the cut close completely.

Well, at least it could be useful.

He didn’t have time to worry over the supernatural. He had to get out of there, and find out where Anya was.

He took the path of unlocked doors, as he didn’t want to waste time and noise trying to break the lock of every locked door he found. Breaking the windows wouldn’t lead him anywhere – each one was sealed shut, and though he wasn’t averse to turning into a hooligan for the sake of escaping, the entire castle seemed to be surrounded by that wall.

He needed to get to a higher floor, but the safest and most silent path led him to the basement, where he found himself walking along piles and piles of dead bodies.

He had to hold his breath as he passed them by; apparently the occupants of the castle had the habit of feasting on the blood of humans, and did it so often that the amount of bodies was too big to act as decoration for their garden.

It was all men, however. As young as twenty-three, from what he could gather with a quick look.

The fly-women seemed to be confident enough in their hunting that they didn’t take away the handgun from one of the more fresh bodies. Twilight couldn’t tell if that was a police officer, a soldier, or a man aware of what he’d been dealing with, but it didn’t matter to him. He undid the holster, as gently as he could out of respect of the deceased man, and he put it on under his jacket.

He checked the magazine. Ten bullets out of sixteen.

He looked at the man. Had he shot those first six bullets right before he was killed?

The man had a shoulder bag on him, and inside was a box of bullets, a total of forty. He slid that too over his own shoulder.

He kept the safety on the gun on, but held it in his hand. He picked up a hunting knife from one of the other bodies and walked on.

As the bodies thinned out, he found a lone skeletal figure draped in a plain canvas cloak. The limbs stood out, bare, emaciated, and rotting. While other bodies were in a similar state of decomposition, they were fully clothed, at most with a few rips in their clothes. This one was the only one so bare.

And it was holding a scythe in its hand, old and rusty in comparison to the women’s scythes, but still sharp enough to do harm.

He approached it carefully, keeping both hands on the gun.

He thanked his training for that, as the figure moved when he passed right by it.

He yelped in shock, moving away from it and raising his gun at it.

“Stop!” he said. “Don’t move!”

The creature, whatever that was, didn’t seem like it listened let alone register his words. It stood up, hunched over, then lunged at him with the scythe.

Not finding any alternatives, he shot right at its head.

The creature jerked back as a screech left its mouth.

Twilight held his breath.

His blood froze when he saw it still stand on its legs and try to swing at him again.

He shot again. He was perfectly certain the bullet got through its head.

Yet the creature moved again.

And he shot again.

Only now did the creature finally drop to its knees, but it was still screeching and growling.

Desperate, Twilight took the knife and drove it through the creature’s skull, three times, until he felt it stop moving.

It collapsed on the floor.

Hell knew if it would rise again. It was supposed to be dead already, wasn’t it?

He turned around and ran.

There were more creatures on the way. Some he slashed at with the knife, some he shot at, some he simply ran away from. A few managed to nick him with their scythes, and if he were honest, he was more worried about infections than the injuries themselves.

As he found a quiet corner, he pulled out the alcohol – or whatever that was. It seemed to work on the nicks too, making them close quickly and painlessly.

He supported himself on the wall, forcing his breath to calm down.

He had to get out. Now.

Holding the gun tight to his hand, he moved to leave, but then a buzzing and a voice sounded from behind him.

“Hmm. Warm, bright, red blood.”

He didn’t turn to look at her. He knew it was the blond woman.

He made a run for it as flies swarmed around him, until he found a staircase going up, reaching into what looked like a kitchen area.

“Where are you going, little one?”

The woman appeared right in front of him, cutting off his path. She was smiling at him, surrounded by flies, her face still stained with blood.

“I just want to find Anya,” he managed.

“Aw,” she said. She then pushed him back and he fell on the ground. She lay over him, reaching at his neck and biting.

Yelling, he took the gun and fired twice at her stomach.

She reached up, laughing as fresh blood ran from her lips.

He shot at her head.

“Your bullets cannot harm m—”

Her voice cut off when another of his shots passed through her and hit the window behind her.

The glass cracked, and it quickly shattered as a cold gust of wind blew into the room.

The gust threw the woman’s hood off her head. Twilight tightened his hold on the gun when he spotted a massive, fleshy scar on her temple, a bald spot from her long hair.

The woman shrieked, then growled. Her skin, already pale as it was, seemed to start cracking and turn grey. She looked at her hands, still gasping in pain, and then turned to him, yelling, “You stupid man-thing!”

His mind finally picked up the pace. The cold made her weak?

He stood up, raising his gun at her.

“How dare you bare your teeth at us!” she shouted, then lunged at him with her scythe.

He managed to block her attack, pushing her back, and he shot at her face.

She groaned, still standing, but she said, “What? My body—it’s breaking…”

He kept his gun up. “Just let me go,” he said.

A wild rumble came from her mouth as she turned to attack him again. She reached him, and he could only block her at the last moment, his arms taking the full blow of her scythe. “Give up!” she said, reaching back for another swing of her weapon.

He shot twice at her head, and she yelled again.

The flies seemed to drop in numbers, and her skin cracked more and more. He barely managed to avoid two more of her attacks, and then she fell on him, ready to bite his head off, he supposed in the split second it took him to kick her off of him.

He shot two more times.

“This can’t be,” she said, weakly now, her body swaying.

“Let me go!” he repeated, taking two steps back.

She screamed and reached back with her scythe, and he shot again.

And then a sizzling sound came from her body, as she started swinging wildly, not reaching anything. She groaned and groaned, and her body transformed.

It seemed to calcify into gravel, as she slowly stopped moving, her hand still up in a pose of attack.

And then it broke down.

Whatever it was, it cracked into small pieces, and what started as the form of a woman was now a pile of something on the ground.

Breathing hard, he leaned his back on the wall behind him and slid down to the floor.

His hands were trembling, his feet felt like water.

What the hell was all that?

Were was he?

Why was he brought here?

And where was Anya?

What were those creatures…?

He closed his eyes. Ten seconds. Just ten seconds to freak out.

He just had to get out. Find Anya and…

He opened his eyes, his throat tensing.

Did he really have to find her?

As far as he was concerned, right now she was a liability to him. He had to prioritize his safety first.

It wasn’t like there were piles of bodies of dead girls around, was it?

Letting out a deep sigh, he stood back up. The woman had managed to hurt him a little, but the healing liquid was in short supply and he could handle those injuries up to a point.

The woman. Who was now a pile of ash.

Calm down, Twilight. Get yourself in order and find a way out.

The castle proved massive, and he couldn’t find any viable exit paths even as he seemed to reach what looked like hallways reaching into bedrooms.

Then, a mournful scream sounded from a floor below.

“What have you done to my daughter?!”

His blood chilled. If the “daughter” had been that vicious, he didn’t want to face whatever her mother had in store for him.

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽

Prologue

(a/n: Hey everybody! First time writing here, so please 🙏 excuse my poor looking posts and grammatical errors /let me know if u see any!!/ English is not my first language so pls take that into account O.O tyy ❤️) WARNING!-there's i think one swear word

wc: 2.8 k words im sry really, like i yap a lot 😭

ALSO: please let me know if you're interested in the continuation

Imagine that in addition to your logical thinking, communicational skills and physical performance, Blue Lock also tests your mental health, because if you excel in these 4 areas, you might be worthy to become a manager of one of their players. However, competing with 199 other girls who are going through the same ordeal, let's admit, doesn't really calm your nerves. But how did you even end up in Blue Lock in the first place?

—————— Saturday morning, sitting in the corner of a nearby coffee shop, with your books open, laptop fully charged, your phone on silent mode with of course, a cup of caffeine on the side, you are ready to conquer those history notes. You had already started to memorize everything the previous week, so today was really about practicing and revising. After cracking your back and sipping some coffee, you began reading the first few lines on your laptop, occasionally peeking at the highlighted parts of your book in case you got stuck.

Time passed quickly, and when you looked at the clock on your phone screen, it turned out that you had been repeating ridiculously difficult names, dates, places and events which were described in an awful lot of detail for exactly 1 hour and 32 minutes. Seeing that, you decided to take a well-deserved break, which actually just consisted of texting and watching funny cat videos.

Closing your laptop and books, you gave yourself half an hour to rest, so that time wouldn't double leading to you procrastinating and forgetting everything you'd just revised. Reaching for your phone and turning off the silent mode, you started reading the few messages that had come in during your study session. Most of them were sent from your best friend, briefly stating that she had fallen asleep and will probably have stay up all night to cramp whatever material she can get into her head, hoping that she somehow manages to pass on Monday.

“Told ya to set an alarm >:( Well, you should have accepted my offer to study together HAHAHA good luck btw :D”-you wrote in response, feeling kinda sorry for her. Then you went straight to your emails after seeing a notification, where you found a recently received message with a strange title.

“BLUE LOCK INVITATION”

What the hell is Blue Lock? And why did you get an invitation? Your initial thought was that it’s a scam and were trying to delete the email if your stupid finger hadn’t slipped, making it press and open the email. Great, now your eyes were glued to the screen, trying to read whatever was on the message.

“Dear L/N Y/N!

We are honored to invite you to the Blue Lock Manager Training Program, where you will be granted the chance to work with one of our future star football players. We hope you will consider the offer because this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If you are interested, please come to the following address and time.

Any further questions will be answered on-site!

Blue Lock Assistant and Health Manager,

Anri Teieri”

Um, what the fuck. Yeah, doesn’t sound sketchy at aaall…as you read the letter over and over again, trying to make sense of it, not understanding how they even knew about your existence in the first place and more importantly…how did they get your email address? Although that wasn’t the point, it piqued your interest. You had so many questions yet you could only get answers on the spot.

“Smart tactic.”-you said, before browsing the internet to find something about this Blue Lock project. About 20 minutes later though, you leaned back into your chair and sighed in defeat as there was not a single thing about Blue Lock at all. The only thing you had was this quite fancy looking email.

Finishing the rest of your coffee, you began to think about the offer and whether or not to go. Your current job wasn’t good neither was the payment, which is why you recently had to take on a second job. But from what you read about the program, if you were to actually work with a soon to be star football player, the pay would probably be high. Plus, how hard can it be to manage a person, right?

After thoroughly thinking about the offer, you decided to give it a chance. Finishing the rest of your work, you came home and talked to your parents somehow persuading them to agree. Later that day you also informed your best friend as well. The weekend passed as you successfully finished your history exam on Monday and then you headed straight to the so-called Blue Lock building, the very next day. ——————

That's how you ended up in your current situation. On your first day there, they led you to a big hall with a bunch of people. To be specific, young girls around your age. Looking around for a bit, you realized that there were a lot of girls indeed, but no boys in sight. Finding it a bit strange, but shrugging it off, you turned around to face a huge stage, where moments later a pink-haired woman appeared, whose name you assumed and now know is Anri, introduced herself and greeted you from a big podium with a mic in her hand.

Finishing the brief intro she then continued with a very thorough and detailed speech, revealing that if you agreed to the conditions of the program, you would technically be locked up in the building for the next 3 months and would participate in intensive training, where you potentially could be eliminated for poor results.

“There goes my money…”-you thought, since you never really cared about football in your life nor did you know anything about it. Which in retrospect, you should have done or researched a bit before coming here since you applied to be a football player's manager after all.

“Well, it doesn't matter now anyway.”-you told yourself for some comfort. After Anri had finished her monologue, she instructed everyone that:

“If you agree and ready to take on the challenge then please go through this door!”-pointing with her microphone at a huge dark blue door that was slowly opening.

Hesitating a bit, you thought about all the possible things that could go wrong, but after a not-so-long train of thoughts you managed to convince yourself. Also that little push by a girl running towards the doors sealed the deal for you as you slowly started to walk towards the unknown.

“I mean, what can I lose, right? My sanity is gone already and even if I get eliminated, I'm just going to go back to my normal life again”-you whispered and with a small grin you officially entered Blue Lock.

To your surprise, the facility was quite clean and not to mention huge since most likely somewhere on the other side of the building, boys were kicking balls and running laps. Following the others, you arrived in what you assumed was a large waiting room with multiple TV screens on the walls. After managing to squish yourself through the crowd, a sudden voice spoke from the speakers and an egg-headed guy with a strangely perfect bowl cut appeared on the screens, introducing himself.

“Hello, diamond grinders! My name is Jinpachi Ego, the coach of the players in Blue Lock and the overall boss of the facility. I guess you already know why you’re here so I won’t bother with that anymore. First, let’s start with a quick count, which is...currently 200 people.”-he said and you looked around with wide eyes. The fact is, there were indeed many people besides you, but you didn't think such a large amount of them would participate.

'Pfft, no worries…'-you encouraged yourself, realizing that you’d probably get kicked out on the second day, if not today. You looked up to the screens again, and bowl cut continued.

“Out of these 200 people, the best performers will be given the best athletes to work with. But! You have to know what you’re doing. From now on, every minute of your time will be spent, from morning to night according to a routine and the underperformers will be eliminated. Understand?”

You nodded unconsciously, following those around you. This was serious and there was no turning back now. Even so looking at that man’s gaze as he spoke somehow made you shiver a little.

'What have I gotten myself into?'-the question suddenly popped into your head, making you doubt for a moment, if you being here was truly a good decision, but Ego's voice immediately made you get back on track.

“Great. Let’s start with a quick summary then. First, you will be divided into 20 teams, 10 people each. This division was based on your current abilities, but they can change over time while you’re here. Each week, the levels to pass are going rise and be harder, and those who can't pass will automatically fail and get eliminated."-he said leaning back into his chair.-"Next, is the routine which the assistant will tell you about in detail later. The goal here in Blue Lock besides creating football players, is to produce ideal managers who have the perfect skills and attitude to fit with them, and to maintain their level, helping them until the end of their careers.-he suddenly raised his index finger and the screens showed what looked like an animation of whatever he was about to say.-"This includes, one: Strategic and logical thinking, two: A healthy and fit body and three: The highest levels of media and communication! If you perform well in these three main areas, then a job and the experience of a lifetime are guaranteed! Don't disappoint me! Now lock off and goodbye for now!”

With that, the egg-headed man finished his speech, disappearing from the screens and Anri, with a microphone in her hand, started to divide everyone up, while handing out papers with our new weekly routine printed on it. Seems like you have been assigned to group number 10. That's not bad, but were your abilities really worth as much to be a team 10 member? So far you have only (tried) to manage your own life and your current football knowledge was equal to zero. But there was no time left for further thoughts, because after receiving the uniform you had to immediately start on the first task according to your assigned routine for the day.

—————— Okay. This was harder than you thought. Wiping off the sweat from your forehead, you started running your seventh lap around the damn track again.

"I’m gonna pass out.”-you muttered under your breath, as your newly made friend, you’d just met a few days ago appeared next to you.

“Same, I'm too tired to be running around in the morning!”-she replied, and after a few seconds the sound of a whistle was heard, signaling the end of the first part of the warm-up. Well, today was going to be long again.

Your new routine consisted of starting your mornings at exactly 7 am with physical exercises and then, you had a quick breakfast. After that you had to start on some brain work tasks for the day, followed by communication class and lunch. A 15 minute break later, media and IT started and before finishing the day with a small workout again, were language lessons waiting for you. Yes. You also had to learn languages.

Unfortunately not just one, not two or three, but four fucking languages in which you had to reach a basic level. At least the variety was good, since now you knew how to say hello in French, German, Italian and Spanish. (multilingual queen slay) And then based on those you could decide which one you wanted to work on more and reach at least an intermediate level. If that was not enough, the knowledge of English was also mandatory, but at an advanced level. Also for every other day there were talks, activities and tasks about basic football for those (like you ^_^) to have a grasp on the topic. So there you were, in full uniform everyday for the last two months, suffering through training.

It almost hurts to admit, but on some days you started to miss your simple, slightly boring school life. Thinking back to your friends and parents who you hadn't talked with in a while, to those boring classes and your warm bed. Training was hard since other than having to excel at the 3 fields, worrying that you could get eliminated at any moment, if you lacked behind was stressing you out even more than you already were. On top of that, seeing that some of the girls were kicked out of the building was saddening, yet it worked like a charm to make you work even harder to survive till the end.

Sure, it’s not like it wasn’t good here since you arrived. Luckily, you quickly adapted to the new environment, getting used to the shared bathrooms, roommates, the extreme routines and plans you had to follow and the surprisingly good canteen food. But the lack of 'fresh air'of the bustling Tokyo, the crowded places, the subways and the fact you could sleep in on the weekends certainly made a void in your heart. The mountains were a beautiful view, but you started to get bored of them after a while.

That's how you usually spent the rest of your days with. Time also flew a lot quicker with your new friends who you suffered with together until they finally announced the end of the program, ordering everyone to gather in the waiting room. Everybody arrived on time and just a few minutes later bowl cut finally appeared on the screens again. —————— “Yo, diamond grinders! Congrats on surviving till now. Looking at your data and statuses, I'm pretty much satisfied with everyone. Well, it doesn't matter now, since the results are already decided.”-Ego said in a voice that lacked emotions yet again. Still the boredom and lack of sleep were evident on his face, noticing his eye bags and the empty cups of ramen in the background that he didn't even bother to clean up. He coughed a little before continuing.-“After analyzing every single one of you on each field, I have decided on which player to assign you, based on these factors and scores. Let's start now, shall we?"-he asked and a little icon of the first girl who was about to be assigned, appeared on the TV screens, showing her name and the team she belonged to.-"First of all, congratulations to Aiko Hashimoto…”-he said a girl's name that felt unfamiliar to you, and then went on with, what you assumed was the player's jersey number and the name of who she would be managing from now on. Meanwhile on the big screens the footballer's little icon made an appearance as well next to Aiko's.

Ego soon continued with announcing the girls by their rank and time seemed to slow down the moment he started speaking again. After a while, at least 20 minutes have passed, yet your name was nowhere to be heard. Even your closest friend was now assigned to some boy, while you were still waiting for your turn. 'Did you do that well? Maybe they just forgot to kick you out.'-you assumed after another 5 minutes passed. Listening to Ego as he was still announcing names, you glanced around at the remaining girls who seemed confident while standing, not hearing their names yet. They seemed certain that they were getting one of the top players you thought, while you, yourself were still unsure who you would end up with. Before any more thoughts could occupy your mind, the sound of a familiar name hit your ears.

“Next up is L/N Y/N.”-you heard from the speakers and finally your little icon also turned up on the screens. Oh my gosh, it’s you! Wait who was before you again? What numbered player are we even at now?!

Blinking twice, you looked up to the main screen, staring at the miniature doddle of you, while Ego was about to say the lucky guy's name you were going to work with. A sudden rush of excitement and worry began to overwhelm you, anxiously waiting to hear the fruit of your 3 months of suffering. Sure, you did do well in all areas required and even gained some knowledge about football in general, but was it enough? Every girl here did their best, trying equally hard, afraid of missing the opportunity of a lifetime and getting kicked out of the facility.

You gulped ready to hear whatever and whoever was waiting for you on the other side of Blue Lock. Ego’s voice rang through the waiting room as he said the following:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…”

(Oh my gosh, this was a long one, hope you guys enjoyed it ^^; i wasn't sure about this story since it's my first one, so pls let me know if you are interested in a continuation and tell me, who you think will get u as their manager? (★‿★) tyy

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 30. breaking news

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. physical aggression. verbal abuse (not to reader). infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. family drama.

word count: 3.4k

notes: thank you again for your patience with the chapter! life update: i resigned from my company (on good terms, even though the work had sucked my mental and physical health), and i am soon doing a trip to japan and southeast asia as part of my recovery. still, i will be actively writing and responding since this community is so important to me! also, has anyone been keeping up with jujutsu kaisen's manga?! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Life without a sugar daddy was rough.

As Toji Fushiguro's ex-wife and Naoya Zenin's ex-mistress, Mari faced this harsh reality since no one threw their money in her direction anymore. She slept little this past week, overwhelmed by financial stressors. While she still subsisted on the younger executive's credit card (with his fortune, Naoya hardly noticed the charges on his bill), she realized that she actually had to work for an income.

Such was the case as Mari walked home one evening after interviewing for jobs, her body and mind exhausted from fielding mundane questions about her previous professional experiences (which she had little of).

Upon unlocking her apartment door, she was immediately greeted by the sight of her illuminated living room.

That struck her as odd.

She always switched the lights off before she left.

However, when she spotted a familiar face down the hall, she found the answer.

"Tsumiki." Mari dropped her purse by the door. "What are you doing here?”

The woman had not seen her one and only blood-related child in months. While she knew that her daughter—who was, without doubt, a fantastically accomplished and intelligent young lady—just completed her second year at Oxford University, she thought the girl had chosen to remain in England for her summer break. Didn't Toji mention that she did not want to return to Tokyo?

Not that Mari complained. She was just...confused.

Admittedly, Mari should know the answer to her question, but she had been too ‘occupied’ to contact Tsumiki as much as a good mother should. As a result, Mari found herself in the dark about the girl's life in the United Kingdom, her plans for the university holiday, and her recent classes in…what was her field of study again?

Surely, Toji and his twerp son Megumi would know all the answers since Tsumiki had always been closer to her Fushiguro stepfamily. Quite a shame, since Mari would have considered her daughter as the most perfect angel otherwise.

She toed her shoes off.

“When did you arrive in Tokyo?” Mari continued with a plastered smile and approached the girl sitting with crossed arms in the living room.

Genetics ran deep between mother and daughter. Uninformed observers might even mistake the pair as sisters, the physical resemblance uncanny in how Tsumiki presented a more youthful version of the older woman by sharing the same warm chocolate-colored eyes, long dark hair, and flawless porcelain skin.

Yet, physical similarities meant nothing when Mari could not fully decipher her own flesh and blood.

“I came back to Japan earlier this week,” Tsumiki responded a terse edge in her tone.

“But I haven’t seen you until now.”

“Because I’ve been staying with Dad.”

“Oh.” So, she meant with Toji. “You mean your stepdad.”

“No,” she corrected sternly. “He's my dad.”

Theoretically, Mari could go into a whole tangent on how Tsumiki’s actual father was some middle-class nobody whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to since her first divorce (and that was many years ago). Or how the Fushiguros technically were Tsumiki’s ex-stepfamily since Mari had divorced her second husband Toji earlier this year.

But she spared her daughter from the reminders.

“Well, I’m glad to see you back, honey.” With a bottle of unfinished cabernet sauvignon in the fridge, Mari meandered to the kitchen to pour herself a full glass. She returned to living room and joined her daughter on the sofa. “How have you been? I’m guessing England has been treating you well? I have never been, so I wouldn’t know. Heard that the fish and chips are good there."

No response.

Am I being ignored? Mari commented inwardly and swirled the red wine in her chalice.

She took her first sip amid the long and awkward pause before switching the topic to encourage conversation. "Anyway, whenever you would like, you’re always welcome to stay a few nights here. Wouldn't hurt to spend some more time with your mother."

Only for Tsumiki to quip, “We’ve talked about this before. I don’t want to live with you.”

Now, this—Mari believed—was certainly uncalled for. "Watch your tone with me, young lady."

"For what? I am not here because I miss you," her daughter resumed. "If I had a better option, I would not bring myself to show up here and be in front of you."

The older woman placed her glass down and tried to appear calm. Hearing Tsumiki speak with such contempt twisted a deep knife into Mari's heart. Once upon a time, her daughter had been the sweetest girl—warm, full of life, and eager to express her innocent thoughts with anyone she encountered. Now, however, that same person had been tainted into someone cold, guarded, and withdrawn, demonstrated by her disrespect to the very woman who had given her life.

"That is no manner to talk to your mother," Mari cautioned.

"Well, maybe because I have my reasons."

"Which are?"

"Do you want to know why I did not bother to text or call you these past several months?" and Tsumiki did not wait for an answer before she angrily added, "Because I am so upset that you filed a divorce with Dad!"

While Mari had hoped to not bring up the topic before, she had no choice but to do so now.

"That big, burly, bulky man is not your father," she snapped. "He and his emo Harvard-bound son are not your family! In the eyes of the law, there is no longer any relation between you and them. But, I am your mother. I had given you life, and this is what you think of me?"

"Because I love them!" Tsumiki opposed through a hardened glare. "Dad and Megumi treat me more like their blood-related family than you do!”

Mari could not believe the preposterous words her daughter spewed. She always presumed that the Fushiguros had been corrupting her child, and to see her suspicions confirmed had Mari standing up promptly from the couch.

"How dare you say after all I have done for you, Tsumiki?" Mari interrogated angrily. "Did you think that I left your biological father and then divorced your stepfather for what...for fun?! These choices were difficult for me, too! But I made those judgments because I wanted to give you a better life in which we didn't have to worry about where our next meal, our next piece of clothing, or our next rent payment would come from! Your biological father is a no-name nothing. He could’ve never supported the lavish lifestyle you had experienced during your adolescent years. In fact, if I hadn’t married Toji Fushiguro, you probably wouldn't be studying at the University of Oxford right now! I, alone, could never have afforded all your years of expensive tutors or private school tuition. Please, think before you speak. I know I did not raise an ungrateful brat.”

Tsumiki furrowed her brows from the comments.

“You're the ungrateful one, Mom!” she insisted, and the said woman visibly reeled back when the girl continued to seethe with antipathy. “All the money that you had spent while married to Dad, he never asked for a single cent back. Never. In fact, he still pays for my university. In his eyes and mine, I’m as good as any blood-related child to him. He hadn't asked you to chip in because he knows you wouldn't have the money to. Divorcing the man you've been leeching off of isn't a sign of appreciation, Mom."

To hear her child defend another family, Mari wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or cry at how ridiculous this scene was, the only thing she could process being the pain and betrayal that slammed her with one bitter blow.

"Well, did you want to become a laughingstock?" the woman rationalized. "Given our ties to the Zenin name when Toji left the company, those nasty journalists would've clung onto any scrap to label you a buffoon. You know what those tabloid writers are like! I had the foresight to divorce that man. I did not want the disgrace if we remained attached to the Fushiguros."

After that response, Tsumiki turned quiet with one sharp exhale as her eyes snapped shut, and Mari, whose entire body had undulated from heavy and irate breaths, thought that finally—finally—she had won this godforsaken argument.

Until she heard the younger girl speak again.

"Yet, you have humiliated me more than anyone," and noticing how her mother quirked a brow, Tsumiki went on. "Who are you really trying to protect, Mom? Are you truly making these decisions for my benefit? Or is it...for yourself?"

Despite hiding a gulp, the older woman noticed her heart race. "What do you mean?"

"How can you explain this?"

As though that was her cue, Tsumiki reached for her phone. She tapped onto the front page of the Yomiuri Shimbun, the most highly circulated newspaper in Japan. Before Mari could read the bold title labeled as 'Breaking News,' Tsumiki provided her with a verbal summary:

"The world knows you're a homewrecker, Mom."

Naoya found no surprise when Naobito Zenin burst into his executive suite as an angry bull would charge toward a provoking cape.

Plenty of times, his father barged into his private office completely unannounced, slamming the door open with enough force to rattle the wooden bookshelves behind him. Usually, the dramatic entrance would be followed by a slew of harsh admonitions, and this encounter—Naoya could tell—would be no different.

The astringency cast on his father's countenance gave the executive no other choice than to rise from his seat, his office chair sliding back so he could pose tall and confident as the heir to Japan's largest conglomerate should be.

"Father," he greeted, curt.

Taking hurried steps around his mahogany desk, Naoya aimed to meet the older man halfway until he instead came into contact with one harsh blow that sent his face flogging to the side.

Naoya froze, his gaze lowered.

Instinctively, he reached for his throbbing cheek with one hand as the other wiped briefly over his busted upper lip. To have his father approach him physically like this didn't even register as a surprise. Despite his title as the Zenin CEO, Naoya continued to be scolded, lectured, and outright ignored because, in his father's words, he 'never seemed to get anything right.'

Even now, the older man found no hesitation in cursing out his only child.

"You fucking son of a whore! Want to explain why your affair with Toji's ex-wife is all over Japanese media?!"

Slowly, Naoya lifted his eyes from the floor. He had suspected that this would be the topic of discussion. In the last hour, Naoya saw his name plastered over tabloid pages, news websites, and social media feeds as an anonymous whistleblower tipped publishers in regards to his scandalous affair with Mari—and the millions Naoya spent to hide it. Evidence ranging from supposedly long-gone paparazzi photos to screenshots of money transfers circulated quickly with the internet.

Naturally, Naoya had seen the headlines too...

'Zenin Corporation CEO Exposed for Concealing Affair with Predecessor's Ex-Wife' 'Everything to Know About the Zenin Household's Uncovered Drama in Family, Business, and Love' 'Billionaire Naoya Zenin Entangled in Cheating Scandal, Accused of Bribing Press to Silence Coverage'

...and the comments:

'That’s why you can’t trust rich people. They never have any shame.' 'His wife and company deserve better.' 'Disappointed that this is the scumbag leading our country's largest company.' 'The Board should fire him.’

Now, that last comment struck a very particular chord, especially since the Chairman of that very Board stood before him.

Naoya clenched his hands, yet he stood mute. With every wrong move certain to cost him far too much in return, he was completely powerless in front of the family patriarch and, as a result, his first logical reaction was to defend himself.

"I do not have the evidence yet, but I am certain Toji had planned this, Father. Him, and also Sukuna, Geto, and Choso. All four leaked these details because they didn’t want to see your son succeed. I will resolve this. I am going to call Toji immediately and—“

"You're right," Naobito interrupted coldly. "If Toji had still been CEO today, he would've made sure that none of this bullshit would’ve happened.”

Naoya widened his eyes in bewilderment, not anticipating his father to twist his logic like that. He already received a literal slap across his face, but to realize that Naobito still compared him to his older cousin all these months later drove him insane!

"No, Father. What I meant was—"

"Oh, there is no need to correct me. I know what you meant," Naobito tested in a low voice. "What I gathered from this conversation is that I have given you a million chances in life, and you know what? You blew every single one of them. You're an asshole, you're a cheater, and you're a complete humiliation. I can always count on you to paint me as a failed father."

Outrageous.

With the bitter staring contest between father and son, the latter boiled internally listening to the insults from the man who sired him. For the ruthless Naobito Zenin, Naoya meant no value as an heir without the ability to achieve his high standards. 

"Some twisted brain you have for sleeping with your cousin's ex-spouse,” Naobito then chided, yet amusement remained absent in his tone. “Was that the low-class tramp I saw in the photos with you on the private jet the other day?"

The blonde kept his mouth shut.

But his father wanted an answer. "Well?!"

Suck it in, Naoya. That's all you can do now. "Yes."

What a sight, to see how someone blazing as a furious flame then erupt into a violent volcano. Naobito grabbed his son's collar, pulling him forward and shoving him against the wall. His fists shook as he sought the other's gaze.

"You're fucking married, you realize that?!" he snarled.

"I do! Which is why I have cut Mari from my life! I don't talk to that woman anymore."

Unimpressed, Naobito tugged forcefully at Naoya's shirt again. "I am truly astonished by what an idiot you are. Your answer doesn't change shit." He tightened his grip and did not care that his son wrapped both hands around his wrist to prevent himself from choking. "Let me tell you something, boy. I did everything—everything—to convince our Chief Operating Officer to let his treasured daughter marry you, you despicable bastard. He didn't want to hand the girl over because he knew—oh, that man is wise!—he knew that the union mainly served as a tactic to improve your public image and that there was little obvious benefit for his child. Power and money did not interest him when compared to his daughter, so the one promise I made is that you would love her," and he roared, "so, what the hell have you done?!"

Naoya had heard his father’s warnings countless times, yet he previously brushed each one aside with an ambivalence he now acknowledged as foolish. Unlike before, the threat to his hard-earned position suddenly became very, verypalpable. He grappled with a strange fear, unable to pinpoint what precisely unsettled him the most. The scorn from a world that no longer saw him as an honest businessman? The sneers from relatives with an undeniable reason to mock him? Or perhaps the fury from his draconian father, whose disappointment cut deeper than any public disgrace?

"I—" Naoya's choked voice resembled a croak. He could hardly breathe. "I apologize. This entire situation...this got out of my control."

Alongside his callous disregard for his son’s feelings, the Zenin patriarch even scoffed.

"This isn’t about getting out of your control, boy. This is about your complete lack of judgment. In fact, Daisuke called me when he saw the headlines, and you know what he told me?" and he had to refrain from flinging his son onto the ground before he continued, "That Y/N's been staying in her family residence again because she is going to leave you!"

Naoya held his next breath. Fuck, he knows. Naoya intended to keep his recent arguments with you a secret, hoping to resolve the situation first. However, since your father snitched...lying would be a dangerous move.

"I have not seen Y/N in a week because we've had a few fights." Naoya did not dare admit the details about how you two became arguing spectacles, first in his cousins' presence and later on at the café. "Just...marriage quarrels. We will get over—"

“She would be a moron to stay married to you,” Naobito cut off. "Y/N and your unborn child deserve more than to have a public disgrace like you in the household."

Right. Had he not been reminded, Naoya would've forgotten that he had lied to his father about your pregnancy, too. His hands grew clammy where they still seized his father’s wrist.

“There"—a cough—"there is no child,” Naoya blurted out, determining to rip all bandaids off in one go.

Naturally, his father became perplexed.

“Excuse me?” His hold loosened just enough for Naoya to gasp properly for his next breath.

“Y/N is not pregnant,” Naoya repeated, his voice hollow with resignation. “During our last family dinner, I only said that because I wanted to please you.”

The older Zenin became still, appalled by the younger one's bravery to say those words. For a moment, Naoya braced himself for another physical blow before his father released him, shoving Naoya backward such that he stumbled.

“If you weren’t so disappointing, there would be no need for you to lie to me,” Naobito pointed out coldly. "Not only to me, but also your wife, your colleagues, and your shareholders on matters about your family, your marriage, or your commitment to the company. If Toji had not brought this to the media's attention, how much longer would you have manipulated the truth for your benefit?"

There he went again.

"I don't understand," Naoya protested, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "Toji doesn't belong in this family anymore! Why do you keep talking about him? Father, you forced him to leave earlier this year, citing his threat to our family and company's reputation."

"You're the one to talk!" Naobito shot back. "At least Toji has the brain that you utterly lack." Before the younger man could react, the Chairman had already turned on his heel. "I have made my decision."

His decision?

A confused Naoya watched his father head for the exit.

"Wait, Father...!"

"Enough!" The infuriated man raised a hand right as he neared the door, a warning for him to not speak further. "Our discussion has concluded. Effective immediately, Toji Fushiguro has been re-instated as the Zenin Heir and CEO."

Instantly, Naoya slumped forward in disbelief.

Even as the older man disappeared, the room appeared to spin dangerously. Toji Fushiguro...re-instated? As the heir and CEO?

Naobito Zenin could never make up his mind, now could he? In Naoya's head, this must be some cruel joke.

Ever since he comprehended his ability to bend fate to his will, he had promised himself to fight tooth and nail to defend the (very rightful!) position that he worked hard to earn. He had disposed of his cousin through slander, he had to put up with shitty corporate politics, and, hell, he had to even marry you!

Some may label Naoya's current negative publicity as irredeemable, but he held hope the situation would normalize once the steam blew over.

With these thoughts in mind, Naoya regained his balance and rushed out as well. "Father!"

However, by the time he reached beyond the doors, Naobito Zenin was no longer there. Even his secretary could not be found as, instead, two imposing figures stood by the desk where his assistant should be. Naoya didn't recognize them. The men were tall and well-built, their muscled arms and thighs visible despite the fabric that covered their tattooed skin.

"Nice to meet you," one started after the long silence. "I am Eso and this is my younger brother Kechizu."

A stumped Naoya frowned.

"May...I help you?"

"No," the other answered nonchalantly, "because we are here to knock you out."

"Wha—"

And Naoya's vision went dark.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Note that Eso and Kechizu are Choso's younger brothers in JJK. (Both are not completely human in canonverse, but we shall suspend beliefs.) Also, I cannot explain the satisfaction as I wrote about Naoya and his mistress finally getting wrecked! Talk about justice being served! There were many ways these scenes could have played out, but I strategically chose Tsumiki and Naobito as the agents in the discussions. Freed from corporate America handcuffs, I plan to post again soon. Love you all!

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[the-bleeding-weave]

Heres some miscellaneous tulpar crew headcanons :D

Anya

Shes 32 but gets mistaken for being older because she has dark circles under her eyes

She smokes regularly and its caused her voice to become deep and a little raspy, but still melodic and relaxing

Her favorite musicians are ethel cain, alex g, panchiko and neutral milk hotel. She loves atmospheric spooky music as well as melodramatic songs that have a story behind them.

Her favorite animals are bovines of any kind but she has a special love for bison

She grew up on a small farm in west virginia and has a soft spot in her heart for animals

She believes in some cryptids and swears up and down that shes seen a Not Deer in person. Growing up in Appalachia will do that to you

Daisuke loves listening to cryptid stories she knows

Shes seen some Freaky Shit while she was growing up, especially weird things with wildlife. She spent tons of her free time playing in the woods as a kid and has tons of creepy stories which caused her to become pretty superstitious

Shes half cherokee and japanese and likes engaging in her cultures a lot

One of her superstitions is that you cant whistle at night (she has 100% yelled at daisuke for doing it before)

She knows some navajo and a little bit of japanese

Her favorite movies are The Last Unicorn, Everything Everywhere all at Once, and Miss Peregrines home for Peculiar Children (she has a crush on miss peregrine)

She has a champagne colored 1999 toyota carolla that she loves dearly. His name is Frank and she regularly talks to him (mostly to keep herself from going insane from road rage but also just for fun)

Curly

His faceclaim is jensen ackles

Hes 35 years old and scouse/scottish

Hes a social drinker but only likes IPAs and indie craft beers, hes a tad pretentious about it but hes aware of it

He listens to a lot of dad rock and pop rock, like imagine dragons and aerosmith, but he also appreciates classic punk bands like rage against the machine. He has a guilty pleasure for Adele and his favorite song is "love in the dark" (he knows every single word to it by heart and sings it in the car)

He loves dramatic sappy love songs but hell never admit it

He had an emo phase in his teens that hes kinda embarrassed about. He got the classic swooped emo haircut and he repeatedly destroyed his curls with straighteners for YEARS. It took ages for his hair to recover

His favorite movies are The Green Mile and Interstellar

Hes intersex and hes very open about it, his pronouns are he/they but hell allow you to call him she/her if what youre gonna say is funny

He thrives on physical affection and LOVES giving hugs and patting people on the back. Hes very good at giving hugs too

He has a dark blue 2019 honda civic that he put a spoiler on just because it looks cool. He also got a sick sound system installed and loves just sitting in his car listening to music.

Jimmy (IF HE WAS A NORMAL PERSON AU)

Hes 34 and his face claim is Skeet Ulrich

He had an incel phase when he was an older teen/ in his 20s but grew out of it, now feels pretty embarassed about it but tries to teach other people how to avoid it

He has a modestly popular twitch channel where he plays games with guests (mostly curly and daisuke) and talks about life and mens issues, such as mental health awareness and self improvement (he hates the manosphere tho dont worry)

He likes debating right wing pundits and trolling the shit out of them

Him and anya are good friends even though he was an asshole to her in the past. He was super apologetic to her and since she saw he had changed a lot she accepted him back as a friend. (He did NOT assault her in this au he was just a misogynistic asshole)

He likes playing guitar and singing when hes alone

His favorite movies are the matrix and fight club and he will talk to you about breaking bad for HOURS

He has narcissistic personality disorder and tries to spread awareness about how its not just "The Disorder that Makes you Evil". Yes hes in therapy for it and tries to give tips to other people with npd about managing their disorder and being aware of how they treat other people

Hes able to do an eerily accurate impression of Dagoth Ur from Morrowind and loves saying out of pocket things with it

He has a red 2012 subaru forester that he pays no mind to. He has crashed 3 cars in the past tho, hes a terrible driver but refuses to admit it.

He never changes his oil, the check engine light has been on for months, and the rotors scream for mercy every time he so much as graces the brake pedal. Cars tremble in fear of this man.

Daisuke

Hes 22 years old, filipino, japanese, lao and mexican and takes a lot of pride in it

He was born in California but was raised with all of his cultures alongside american culture

Hes fluent in spanish and japanese but only partially fluent in vietnamese

He LOVES music and knows how to play guitar and the khaen

He listens to a lot of folk punk and takes inspiration from Harley Poe and Days n Daze. He makes his own songs but hes a little shy about playing them for people

He listens to tons of music genres but especially hyper pop, breakcore, jumpstyle, phonk, and parody stuff like lemon demon or weird al. He also has a special love for will wood (probably a small crush too)

He loves singing in groups and did it a ton on the tulpar, memorizing his favorite songs and playing them until the rest of the crew knew them too

It became a ritual that whenever daisuke was on his break hed get out his guitar and start up a song and anyone could join him in singing if they wanted. Anya and curly loved singing with him but jimmy only duetted the songs he really loved. Sometimes he would break out his own guitar to play with daisuke too

The favorite song to play for the whole crew was Psycho by harley poe and it even got swansea to join in as a backup baritone sometimes

They ended up really bonding over those duets and daisuke is really proud of that fact

Daisuke has a drivers license that he only recently got but he has no car

He loves getting stoned with anya and watching nature documentaries while they giggle at the stupidest things.

He cries pretty easily when he feels comfortable and safe with the people around him and hes trying to learn to be less afraid to show his emotions. Turns out, hes a VERY emotional person.

He cries easily if a song is especially beautiful and the one that never fails to jerk his tears is king park by la dispute, mainly the ending. He just adores the sheer power behind he vocals

His parents are really supportive but really want him to get out of the house and start his own life.

Swansea

Hes 60 years old and a proud italian new yorker/new jersey man

He sounds like a raspier tony soprano

He gambles causally but has a strict budget for himself

His favorite music is classic dad rock, some metal, jazz and blues but he especially likes frank Sinatra. Weirdly enough punk just isnt his thing

He has a wife named Andrea who he would literally kill for. Theyve been married for 30 years and they have 3 daughters

He drinks a lot of root beer. So much root beer.

He got arrested when he was 18 for punching a cop at a protest and beating the shit out of a nazi. He has his mugshot framed in his living room proudly.

He was a punk teen and he attended a lot of protests for queer rights and anti-police brutality. Now he doesnt really have the time for it but hes more than happy to give advice to young protesters and activists (wear a gas mask, conceal your identity, dont tell people youre going unless theyre going with you, and how to identity under cover cops)

His alcoholism started in his 20s and he got his shit together around his 30s but struggled on and off with addiction until finally going clean for 13 years straight

He loves white chocolate

He was actually like super model handsome when he was younger and is insecure about how alcoholism caused him to physically deteriorate (hes still handsome but he refuses to believe it)

Sopranos is his favorite show and he quotes it regularly

He has an old beat up 1997 ford f150 that he treats like a second wife and uses her to carry around his tools. He calls her bethany and gives her hood a pat before he gets in the driver seat every time.

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 16 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You're convinced you and Bradley could go on the same date a million times over, and you would find something new to love about it each time. You don't want the weekend to come to an end, but at least you get to enjoy time with a favorite visitor on Sunday evening. 

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, smut, pregnancy discussion

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Bradley was dressed and lounging back on the pillows with his arms tucked behind his head. You were getting ready to go out, and he was thoroughly enjoying watching you put on your red lingerie. His favorite set.

"We could just stay in," he murmured as you clasped your bra and rolled your eyes. Your face was made up and you were standing at the foot of the bed wearing barely anything at all. "We should just stay in."

You scoffed and said, "You should let Tramp out so we can leave in twenty minutes. I want to eat hot sauce with my sexy husband."

"Fine," Bradley sighed with a smile, pausing in the doorway to watch you slip your red dress over your head. The same one you wore on your first date together. The one Bradley loved you in every time you wore it. And then he walked through the kitchen to let Tramp outside. Your new French press was on the counter along with the half unpacked Amazon box that neither of you had time to get to all week. But he reached inside and pulled out one of his new notebooks and took a pen out of the drawer.

Bradley had been working late all week for various reasons. He'd missed a lot while he was deployed. Plus the Slayer and Dean court-martial was moving ahead. And also, Maverick had offered him the chance to meet some pilots fresh out of flight school with the promise that Bradley could help with some training exercises in the coming months. He was tired. Next month was his thirty-seventh birthday. He was feeling his age.

He clicked the pen in his hand and opened the notebook to the first page.

My wife does this thing, and it drives me absolutely wild. When I tell her I'm tired or point out a gray hair in my mustache or mention that I've been feeling my age, she just laughs at me. Sure, I can still run ten miles and lift weights for hours on end, but she can wear me out in an instant. Emotionally, mentally, or physically. She can say one sentence to me like, "I want to go eat hot sauce with my sexy husband," and I am emotionally tanked for the rest of the day. Because I fucking believe her. She actually does want to eat her favorite food with me. And she actually does think I'm sexy. And she's too smart, so trying to keep up with her mentally drains me every single time. And physically... Well. That's where she manages to

"You ready to go, Roo?" you asked, walking into the kitchen looking exactly like you had more than a year and a half ago when you and he were just starting to fall in love. Well, he was already half in love with you by the time that first date rolled around. And by the end of the night, he was a goner.

"What's wrong?" you asked, reaching out for his hand with a little crease between your eyebrows.

"Nothing," he rasped as his eyes dipped down to your cleavage. "Just thinking about how I don't even have to try to play it cool tonight, unlike on our first date." He leaned down and kissed your lips softly and then added, "You look fucking incredible."

"I don't care what you say, we're not staying in for the night," you whispered, running your fingers along his tattoo and pulling him in for a kiss that was clearly at odds with your words.

"Whatever you say, Sweetheart," Bradley replied. He let Tramp back inside and then walked out to the Bronco with your hand in his. And then he got to do one of his favorite things. He opened the door for you, helped you climb in, and buckled your seatbelt. But as he started to pull his right hand away from your body, you caught it and held him close.

"Hey," you whispered. "I don't have to try to play it cool tonight either."

"No?" he asked, his eyes fluttering closed as your lips met his.

"No. I love you so much," you replied. "And I would go on the same date with you a million times, because each time would be a little different, and I know I would remember them all."

Bradley could feel goosebumps on your arm, and your eyes looked a little vulnerable. Last time you and he had visited the hot sauce restaurant and the pier from your first date, it had been on your birthday. And you cried that night. A lot. Because you wanted to be pregnant, but you weren't. He briefly wondered how many other times you'd cried for that reason that he didn't even know about.

He wanted a baby. He still did. But it wasn't his top priority. He understood now how much you'd let it hurt you month after month. And it wasn't the same for him. He knew that now. And he didn't want you to feel like you were failing yourself, your relationship or him ever again. Because you weren't. You were more than enough.

"I remember every minute I've ever spent with you, Sweetheart. And I dream about it when I'm deployed. And I want to have decades of stuff to remember."

"Just keep feeding me hot sauce."

"I fucking plan on it."

-------------------------

The ride up to Del Mar was beautiful. The sky faded from orange to purple as Bradley drove and sang along to his Motown playlist with his hand on your thigh. You thought about how you had a panic attack on your birthday after the negative pregnancy tests, but the memory of it didn't hurt as much now.

"What are you thinking about, Baby Girl?"

You glanced at your husband out of the corner of your eye as he parallel parked the Bronco in front of the restaurant. "Honestly?"

He met your eyes briefly as he straightened out the tires. "Yeah, honestly."

"I still want to have a baby, Roo," you said easily, this time without your heart aching. "I still think about it. But it doesn't make me upset like it used to."

He killed the engine, and coaxed you over to his lap. "Come here." When you were settled on him with your hands on his shoulders, he kissed you. "I still think about it, too. I still want it. But not at the expense of this," he added, gesturing between his body and yours before he let his big hand settle on your hip. "I don't want anything at the expense of this."

You took a deep breath and nodded. "Neither do I. And I know we agreed we can talk about this at length in a few more months, but I don't want to stop trying. And if there's still something wrong after a year, maybe we can talk to some doctors?"

"There's nothing wrong with us, okay? There's never going to be anything wrong. But if we still don't get pregnant, there are other options," he told you gently. "Like... fertility treatment or adoption agencies. But whatever we do, it's 50/50. We do it together. And I promise I'll take care of you better than I did before."

You were silent for a beat, because these were things you'd already thought about. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "I'm just saying, if we want a baby, there are other ways to make it happen. But I'm never going to stop wanting to fuck you, so don't think for a second that we're taking that off the table."

You shook with silent laughter before your giggles bubbled over. "Okay, we won't take that off the table, Roo."

He kissed your cheek and said, "Keep your pussy on the table." But he was laughing too, and you felt really good inside. His hands were heavy on your hips, and his lips were nipping at your neck. "Just let me feed you hot sauce and love you, and then we'll figure the rest out later if we even need to. I wanna give it a little more time, okay? Some more time with you off birth control. Some more time with us just being us. Like this."

"Yes," you agreed. "This is perfect. This feels good."

Now he was rubbing his mustache along your cleavage, and you knew you needed to get him inside the restaurant while you still could. "I'm hungry," you whispered.

"Me too," he agreed with a smirk.

"For dinner," you clarified with a laugh.

When you finally got him inside the restaurant, you could hear his stomach growling, so you didn't feel too bad. "Order two meals you want to try, Baby Girl," he said casually once you were seated.

You loved it when he let you do that, which was most of the time. And he always let you finish whichever one you liked better. And he never complained. You could feel his eyes on your body when you walked around to look at all the hot sauces on the shelves. Every time you glanced at him across the restaurant, he gave you a little nod or a wink. And there was no doubt in your mind that you were just as attracted to him now as you were the first time you were here.

When you brought some that you wanted to try back to your table, a brand new bottle of your favorite green sauce was sitting next to your favorite beer. "How am I supposed to deal with you, Bradley?"

"It's your favorite. And it's a tradition."

You laughed. "You bought me a whole case of 12 bottles online."

"You go through a bottler per week."

"That's actually fair."

Then your meals were delivered to the table, and you doused both of them in a rainbow of sauces and started eating. The two of you ended up sharing both meals, because you couldn't decide which one you liked better. And that one beer made you feel calm, and now Bradley's cheeks were rosy. After your conversation in the Bronco and the past week with him, you felt like all of the weight and pressure you put on yourself was easing up.

After dinner, you were laughing as he led you down the sidewalk with his arm wrapped around your waist. And you couldn't keep your hands off him either. "Why are we passing the Bronco? We should go home."

"Not yet," he whispered in your ear.

You gasped. "Are we going back to the silent disco?"

"Well," he rasped, looking at you with a wince. "Not exactly. I've been trying to get you back there for one, but they always seem to be when I'm deployed. But I had another idea. Let's walk down the pier."

You snorted. "You just want a handjob."

"Please," he replied, leading you across the street and down the pier. "Give me a little credit. I don't just want a handjob."

"Well that's good, because there are a lot of people out tonight," you whispered as he spun you around so your back was pressed against the railing and you were looking up at his face. "You're really handsome."

His cheeks were still rosy, but you thought perhaps your words had deepened the color. You ran your fingers along his scarred neck and across his cheek and into his hair. His eyes closed as he enjoyed your touch, and you studied him closely. He looked a little older than when you met him, with a few gray hairs here and there and maybe another wrinkle or two on his face. He'd been through a lot since then. He had the scars on his arm to prove it. But you didn't want to add emotional scars; he had plenty of those already. You just let him melt into your right hand as your left rested on his chest, and you looked at your diamond ring.

It was yours now, but sometimes you still thought of it as Carole Bradshaw's ring. Not in a bad way. Just as a form of recognition. It felt like an honor that you were wearing something so special. Maybe that was thanks in part to the words Bradley had read to you from his notebook. His recent thoughts and musings. But it was clear that some things were more important than others.

"I love you," he murmured, eyes still closed. "Are you ready for your newest playlist?"

"What is it?" you asked, his question pulling you back to the pier and the grin on his face.

"Just a little something I've been thinking about and finally put together." He pulled his earbuds out of his pocket and held one up for you to take. Then he tucked the other one in his own ear and kissed your nose. "It's all the songs I can remember from the silent disco. Plus what we listened to in the car that night. Oh, and a surprise track. Because I know you'll think it's funny."

Your heart swelled as you slid the earbud into place, and a few seconds later, the Cher song that played at the silent disco was on. And your heart was beating a little faster. And you couldn't stop smiling. "You really remembered all the songs we heard that night?"

Bradley shrugged. "I may have missed some. We'll add them if you remember more, okay?"

"I love this," you gasped, throwing your arms around his neck. "I love you."

He kissed your jaw and whispered, "I told you... I remember every minute I've spent with you. Or at least the way you've made me feel at any given time. Maybe the memories of some of the songs are a little hazy for me, but I remember how fucking good you made me feel that night. And how I was proud to be there with you. I still feel that way."

"Fuck, Bradley. You can't make me cry while Britney Spears is playing."

He laughed. "Okay. Let's dance then."

-----------------------

It was dark out. The other people who had been enjoying the view of the ocean from the pier had dissipated. An orange glow from the scattered lampposts softly lit your face like a dream. Bradley had taken to singing all the songs to you, just to hear you laugh and sing along yourself. The random mix of pop songs and '80s ballads and romantic Motown tunes kept a smile on your face. You laughed when Hey Soul Sister played, and you threatened to text Nat. And the whole time, Bradley held you close with his hands at your hips and waist.

"Oh," he said when the music went silent. "That's the end of the playlist."

"It's over?" you asked, leaning back against the railing and looking up at him longingly. You removed your earbud and handed it back to him.

"Baby Girl, it was almost three hours long," he informed you with a laugh.

You tipped your head back and groaned. "It was perfect." Then you gasped softly as his lips found the pretty expanse of your neck and chest which were on display for him. He was sucking gently on your collarbone as you said, "I knew I was in trouble after the first time you brought me here. You were so sincere that night."

Bradley hummed against your warm skin. "I was already thinking about spending the rest of my life with you."

"No! Stop it. We had just met." Your voice sounded breathy as he drew little shapes along your dress with his thumbs, your head still tipped back.

"Didn't matter. Already knew."

Your hands slid up from his shoulders into his hair, and he nibbled along the tops of your breasts as you made the sweetest little sounds. Your nipples were tight peaks against the fabric of your dress, and when Bradley ran his lips lower to feel you, he groaned. The texture of your lace bra filled his imagination with possibilities.

You tilted your head up, and when he met your eyes, you had the audacity to look surprised. "You're hard, Roo."

He raised one eyebrow at you, just short of rolling his eyes. "Listen... when two people love each other very, very much..."

Your laughter filled him. "Oh, is that how this works? You know, that sentence can be interpreted a lot of ways."

He had to close his eyes as you gently squeezed his length through his jeans. "It's how it works with you." He huffed out a breath when you licked his ear and added, "You make me greedy. I want everything."

You hummed softly as you unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans. Bradley glanced around to make sure you and he were truly alone as you whispered, "Then let's have everything. Even if it takes some time."

"I love that," he groaned as your cool hand dipped inside his boxer briefs and closed around him. One stroke and he was putty in your hands.

"And we'll start with the handjob that I was seriously contemplating giving you on our first date."

"Oh fuck, Sweetheart. You're too much." Bradley bucked against your belly as you ran your thumb along his balls. He'd let you go a little further with this, but then he was taking you home for the night. Just a little more. Each stroke was incredible as he kissed your lips.

But when you started asking him questions, he should have known he was in trouble. Because you always got unbridled information out of him when you put him in situations like this. "What do you want for your birthday, Roo?"

He was watching your hand pass over his tip as he grunted, "Another sexy calendar."

"That can be arranged," you said sweetly. "And how do you feel about me starting to save up some money for a first anniversary trip?"

"Do it," he growled as you rubbed at his precum with your thumb. But then he wrenched his hips away, and your eyes were transfixed on his cock as it leapt for you.

"You don't want to finish here?" you asked, your eyes moving up his body to his face as you licked him from your thumb.

After he zipped himself carefully back in his jeans, he said, "I don't want to ruin your dress, and I don't want to get arrested. Let's go home." He didn't even wait for you to respond. He just turned and picked you up for a piggy back ride back to the Bronco.

The drive home was similar to that very first date. After you kissed him while he fumbled with your seat belt trying buckle you in, he turned on another playlist before he started the engine. But this time he was driving to the house that you shared, not the apartment you used to live in with Maria. And he didn't have to leave you for the night to prove to himself that he could, and that maybe he was good enough. He was your husband now, and you had deemed him good enough for you.

Bradley's hand was gripping your thigh as he saw the craftsman down the block. As soon as he was pulling into the driveway, you were crawling toward him, and he barely had the Bronco in park before you were straddling his thighs.

"I want you in every way." That sentence was the best example of how you wore him out emotionally. It was fucking beautiful, and he could spend all night just thinking about it. But you were kissing him now, and he was already aroused again as he finally turned the key in the ignition.

"You own me." You really seemed to love that response as your lips stayed gentle on his and your hand drifted down his body to his zipper again. It was so dark outside, even in the neighborhood, but Bradley could see the question in your eyes as you pulled back a little bit. Maybe you wanted to make sure he wanted this, too. Maybe you wanted him inside you instead of anything else. He just wanted to be with you. "Anything you want, Sweetheart."

"Okay."

He shimmied his jeans and underwear down his hips, lifting you up as well with a soft laugh. Then you took his hands in yours and guided them slowly up under your dress. He was treated to the sight of you unzipping your dress and unclasping your bra and pulling them down so he could see your pretty tits and peaked nipples. But then his hands froze under your dress.

"You changed your underwear. Earlier tonight. After I left the bedroom."

Your laughter had your tits bouncing just enough to distract Bradley and lure his lips to them.

"Oh!" you gasped as he sucked on you. "I did. I know you like the red ones, but I wanted these instead. Do you know which ones they are?"

That was a ridiculous question, and you knew it. He ran his thumb up your slit and could feel the satin fabric and the fancy embroidered letters as you bucked. He sucked harder until you called out his name and braced your hands on his shoulders. You were wearing the underwear you had specially made for the honeymoon.

"Of course I know, Mrs. Bradshaw."

"You passed the test!"

Bradley tugged your panties to the side and thrust up into you in one fluid motion until he bottomed out. "That's a test I will always pass."

Your hands were scrambling around his neck as you leaned in closer and kissed him. He led your hips in a slow roll with his hands on your ass and whispered, "Just. Like. That."

You kept the pace going, already panting softly as he brought one hand back up to your tits. His other fingers trailed around your hip, and he tucked them inside the front of your panties. As soon as he brushed your clit with his knuckle, you whined for him. "Daddy."

It had been a while since he heard you call him that. And fuck if he didn't love it. But you looked almost surprised that you'd said it out loud, eyes wide as you rode him.

"I fucking love it when you call me that," he crooned as he pinched your nipple. Your pussy was already fluttering around him as you kept that perfect tempo. Bradley pressed his mouth to yours as you babbled incoherently, and it was just a lost cause as you raked your fingers through his hair. He came inside you as he kept pressing his knuckle to your clit.

"Come on, Sweetheart," he coaxed as your movements sped up and then slowed as your cries echoed inside the Bronco. Then your lips were all over his before you abruptly broke away.

Your voice was a sweet little gasp as you said, "Don't make a mess on the upholstery."

With a laugh rumbling deep in his chest, Bradley opened the door and lifted you down from the driver's seat. "Just one of the many reasons we're married."

--------------------------

You and Bradley were lounging in bed on Sunday morning, and he was doing a really poor job of making you want to leave to meet Cam and Maria for brunch.

"Aren't you supposed to be golfing today?" you asked with a laugh as he pinned your wrists over your head on the pillow.

"Yep," he replied softly. "Supposed to meet Jake, Javy and Bob in less than an hour."

You sighed as his lips met the underside of your breast. "Shouldn't you be getting dressed then?"

"I'd rather go for round three and then drink champagne in the bathtub with you."

Now that did sound nice. The weekend had been so much fun. Going up to the hot sauce restaurant had been perfect. You were exhausted all over from having sex and taking Tramp on long beach walks and staying up too late watching movies last night. And Bradley finished reading his notebook to you and promised he'd start from the beginning all over again. Frankly, you could use a nap already, so you weren't really sure how Bradley was doing so well at the moment.

"I'm supposed to go to brunch," you whispered, and Bradley rolled off of you with a groan.

"I'll get side eye for a month from Maria and Cam if you don't go," he said. "So I guess I'll just go play golf."

"We can do round three later," you promised, kissing his ear as you climbed out of bed and started to get ready. "You want me to bring you back some avocado toast?" you asked with a smile.

He made a disgusted face. "You know I hate that stuff. I'll just day drink and eat protein bars like a normal person until you feed me dinner."

"If I decide to feed you dinner later."

Bradley's face looked panicked. "You have to. Please? Sweetheart," he called, springing out of bed and following you to the bathroom. "Please?"

"You're ridiculous, Bradley. Go get a pack of chicken out of the freezer, and I'll make you some Marry Me Rooster tonight."

"Thank you." He kissed you so long and so passionately, you actually felt a little dizzy when he walked out of the room. "He's ridiculous," you muttered as you pressed your fingertips to your lips.

When you finally made it to brunch fifteen minutes late, Cam was glaring at you. "Maria wouldn't let me order anything until you got here. And I'll just bet you're late because Lieutenant Commander Mustache was doing something nasty to you."

You burst into laughter as you slid into the booth next to him. "I mean... I was just helping him with his golf clubs."

"The two of you are fucking filthy," he replied, flagging down the waitress while you and Maria laughed.

Brunch with the two of them was always fun, and you were on your second mimosa when Bradley texted you.

Bradley Rooster Bradshaw <3 <3 <3: Jake wants to know if we can watch Jeremiah tonight if he can manage to get Cat to agree to go to a movie. I told him I had to check with the boss. He laughed and said he should have just texted you instead of asking me... oh wait, I think he's texting you now. Why did I even bother? And then you got a text from Jake asking very nicely if he and Cat could drop Jeremiah off later on their way to a movie. You told them both yes, and when you got home from brunch, you started to clean up the living room. You found your underwear from last night on the coffee table, and your bra was draped over the arm of the couch.

"Don't look at me like that," you told Tramp. "We were just having a good time, okay?" Then you smiled, because you knew that your pup was going to love licking crumbs off of the one year old visitor and following him around the room. "Your friend is coming over. I expect you to be well behaved."

-----------------------------

"He's just so fucking cute."

"Roo! Stop swearing in front of the child!"

Bradley looked up at you from all fours on the living room floor. "Isn't he too young for it to matter?" he asked in all seriousness.

You were gaping at him like he was an idiot, and he started laughing. "The last thing I need is Cat mad at me because his first word is the f-word."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "If he doesn't learn it from me, then I'm sure he'll learn it from Jake."

"Yeah, well that's Jake's problem," you muttered, ducking back into the kitchen to check on dinner.

Bradley scooped Jeremiah up and said, "You're so freaking cute. Is that better?" The little bubble of laughter he got in response was most likely a yes, so he just went with it. "Let's see here. It's almost dinner time. And then I'll bet my hot wife will read us that book about trucks that you liked so much."

"I'll read it now," you said as you walked back into the room. "Dinner is not quite ready yet."

"Hell yes, she's going to read it to us now," Bradley said as he and Jeremiah crawled across the floor to the diaper bag where the book was stashed. He unzipped it and watched the kid reach in and pull everything out including the book. "Nice work. But my knees can't take much more."

With a groan, Bradley scooped him and the book up and carried them to the couch where you were sitting with Tramp. And you looked calm and relaxed as you held the child on your lap and opened the book. Your voice was so sweet, and you were so beautiful, Bradley noticed that Jeremiah seemed more interested in you than the story at times. And it made him smile, because that was pretty much the same way he always looked at you, too.

But he was done stressing about all of it. Bradley was in love with you, and the weekend was everything he wanted. Having a kid like Jeremiah all to yourselves would be a cherry on top of an already perfect life. And if you and he were both still keen on the idea next year, there were options to be discussed at length.

Bradley let himself hope, just the tiniest bit, that maybe you and he would get lucky before then. But he wouldn't drown in that hope like he had before. And he wouldn't let that hope overshadow how great things were right now. But he wouldn't abandon it either. He laughed as he thought about how insightful his notebook entry was going to be later tonight after Jeremiah got picked up.

"Should I read it again?" you asked, looking up at Bradley.

He kissed your cheek. "At least one more time, Sweetheart. We can't get enough of your voice."

You smiled as he and Jeremiah settled in to hear the favorite story again.

------------------------------

The perfect date to do over and over. Little Jeremiah is too sweet, I'm just hoping Cat and Jake are enjoying themselves, too. Just hang in there guys... Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 17

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[lightwise]

They Don’t Know: Where Our Characters Are at Going into TBB Season 3

Something I want us all to remember, partly in response to the leaked scene for TBB, and partly something I’ve been thinking about:

We, as the audience, know the full story (out of what they’ve chosen to show us so far) of what each of these characters has been through since season 1: Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Echo, Omega, and Crosshair. We’ve seen them together, we’ve seen them separated into pairs, we’ve seen Omega’s times of being captured, parts of Echo’s stint with Rex, and we’ve seen Crosshair’s time and journey with the Empire.

The last time these characters all saw each other in the same space at the same time, was Kamino Lost. The end of season 1. The platform.

There is an entire season worth of character growth, experiences gained, lessons learned, and hardships endured, that each of our Batchers has gone through—that the others don’t know about.

And especially related to Crosshair—all the other Batchers know, is that he potentially did something that gained him the ire of the Empire and put him in Hemlock’s possession. And that he sent them a warning message on an old comm line that could or could not even have been him. That’s it. That’s all they know. They don’t know what he did, or what has been done to him. They don’t know about the 32 rotations (I don’t think). They don’t know about his mission with Cody. They don’t know what his thought processes have been. They don’t know he’s been tortured. They don’t know that he helped and tried to avenge a reg. They don’t know the physically and mentally weakened state he is in.

Hunter, in particular, doesn’t know what’s happened to his brother, where he is at, how he looks or how he’s feeling right now. He doesn’t know. He’s been trying to hold his family together in a changing galaxy like sand slipping through a clenched fist, and the last grains are threatening to fall through. All he knows is that every last one of his efforts to keep his family safe have ended with the opposite effect.

And Crosshair doesn’t know about Tech. He doesn’t know how badly his brothers have missed him, even if they don’t talk about it. He doesn’t know about Cid or what’s happened with her. He doesn’t know how the rest have been trying to survive this whole time. He doesn’t know the hard choices that have been made, the questions that have been pondered, the decisions that Hunter has stood between, the potential lives that had opened up for them that were brutally snatched away the second they landed on Eriadu. He doesn’t know they tried to save him, that they were (finally) coming back for him. He doesn’t know how much Omega has learned, and grown, the relationships she’s forged, the smarts she has. All he knows is that he gave his last efforts of love and care toward a family that he thinks abandoned him, one last-ditch effort to keep them safe, and it backfired. The very thing he was trying to protect Omega from is the very situation she ends up in.

He doesn’t know (Crosshair). He doesn’t know (Hunter). They don’t know.

And it will be a shock and a turning point when they finally see each other again, see how worn down and battle-weary and utterly traumatized they all are individually, how much has been lost, how much has been broken, how much things have changed in their second time period apart. And what they choose to do with the broken pieces of who they each are now, will determine how they can heal together, going forward.

We know. But they don’t, yet. Let’s give them grace as they each learn who each other is again. And hope they can give that grace to themselves and each other, as well.

[evillemons]

Hi! Do you think the bts members have a certain age limit on the people they would date? Not sure if you’ve done a headcanons on this yet :D

Hi! I wrote about this briefly in their ideal type posts, but to add an elaboration:

What ages the BTS members would date

RM - Maturity level is of utmost importance to Namjoon. So while he would date someone maybe 2-3 years younger than him or the same age, I could also see him with a much older woman, possibly as much as 7 years or so. Life experience, emotional maturity, and ability to be introspective is the key, more so than age as a number. Although, he would find dating an older woman incredibly sexy. So at his current age of 30: ages 27-37.

SUGA - I am inclined to say that age is absolutely irrelevant when it comes to love for Yoongi, but realistically there would still be a cap. Like Joon, mental age is more important than physical age. He wouldn't have a problem dating someone younger if they were compatible (maybeee as young as 25, any younger would feel like a sibling to him), and he would definitely be okay with someone quite a bit older, by 8-9 years even. At his current age of 31: 25-40 (a large range, but I think that suits him).

V - It would be unlikely for Taehyung to date someone older than him, as he would lose that sense of protectiveness he loves to provide (especially because Korea is so sensitive to the age hierarchy). Someone younger, definitely. It would allow him to teach her about life and feel secure in his provider role. Old enough to be out of college and in her career though, as someone too naive might feel burdensome or annoying to him. At his current age of 28: 23-29.

j-hope - Age isn't a huge deciding factor for Hoseok, although I see him most likely with someone close in age to him. It would be ideal for him to have a partner in the same stage of life he is (even if they live a completely different lifestyle and/or career), as he wouldn't want to be a teacher for someone younger and would feel insecure with someone too much older. At his current age of 30: 27-32.

Jungkook - I think Jungkook would be content dating someone within about 5 years of him, older or younger. Someone younger would allow him to feel protective an authoritative, while someone older would be able to act as a source of guidance for him (and it would be super hot). He could adapt to either someone more experienced, or someone who has never dated before. At his current age of 27: 22-32.

Jimin - Jimin seems he would have a preference for women who are younger and cuter. He would also date someone the same age as him, but absolutely not older. An older woman, even by a year, might make him feel insecure or inadequate and like he needs to act a certain way around her. At his current age of 28: 23-28.

Jin - Like Jimin and Tae, Jin would heavily prefer to date someone younger, as fulfilling the traditional Korean relationship dynamic is important to him. A woman one year older might be ok as long as she is the housewife type and doesn't use her age as leverage. However, even if she is young, he would still want her to be relatively mature and settled. At his current age of 31: 25-32.

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32

He catches Eddie’s eye. Eddie shakes his head slowly, and Steve understands his meaning: don’t make it obvious.

Steve gives him a short nod, then his attention is arrested by Tommy, who’s storming up to him. “Harrington.”

“Hagan.”

Tommy’s eyes narrow. “He turn you fag or something?”

Steve laughs, loud and bold, and claps Tommy on the shoulder. “You’re funny,” he says, then quieter, “especially for how many times I’ve caught you staring at me.” He steps back and grins at Tommy, who’s white and rapidly turning red. “I never-”

“Oh, that’s right,” Steve says amiably. “It was Nathan, wasn’t it? Who you couldn’t keep your eyes off of. Does Carol know?”

Tommy comes at him swinging, and Steve barely dodges in time. “Yeesh, touchy. Guess it must be true, then. Y’know, you could talk to her about it. She might be down.”

Tommy swings again, and this time his knuckles catch Steve’s bottom lip. “Dammit,” he sighs, wincing when he tastes blood. “I was doing so good, too.” He moves to the side just as Tommy rushes him again, nudging him just the slightest bit to let his momentum carry him forward and onto his knees. He mentally thanks Nancy and physics homework, which isn’t really a sentence he ever thought he’d say.

“Okay, okay, break it up,” the gym teacher says, pulling Tommy up and glaring at both of them. “Do I want to know what’s going on?”

Their gym teacher, Mr. Craigs, is a forty-something-year-old veteran with the look in his eye to prove it. Anyone with a brain was at least a little bit scared of him.

“No, sir,” Steve says politely. “Sorry for causing a disturbance.”

He can feel Tommy seething with anger beside him. Mr. Craigs turns his gaze on Tommy, and Steve’s a little surprised he doesn’t start vibrating. “No. Sorry, sir,” Tommy grits out.

“Lets keep it that way,” Mr. Craigs orders, and both boys nod. “And Harrington, go wash that blood off.”

Steve wipes his lip. “Sorry, sir,” he says, and turns to do just that.

Somehow Eddie’s made it back to the locker rooms already, because he had time to find a rag and wet it before Steve walks in. He hands it over and stares as Steve dabs at his lip. “You’re kind of an idiot,” he says finally.

Steve snorts. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Eddie sighs. “You’re also really brave. I don’t know that I’d have the guts to drop my friends like that.”

“The difference between us is your friends are good people,” Steve says, moving the rag and staring at himself in the mirror, replacing it when more blood seeps out. “My friends are dicks.”

Eddie just smiles at him. “Not anymore.”

Steve grins back, even though it stings. “Not anymore.”

“Still bleeding?” Eddie asks, inclining his head towards Steve’s lip. “You feeling dizzy at all? Maybe I should escort you to the nurse.”

Steve grins as Eddie does. “I think you might be right,” he says. “How many fingers’re you holding up, six?”

“Doesn’t sound right,” Eddie says seriously. “Might need to get you checked out.”

“Probably so,” Steve agrees. “Might need you to walk me back to class after.”

Eddie put a hand to his chest. “I wouldn’t dream of doing anything differently!”

They collapse in giggles, Steve quickly sobering with a hiss when it re-opens the wound. “Dammit,” he mutters.

Eddie looks around then quietly asks, “Need me to kiss it better?”

Steve inhales sharply, studying Eddie for a second. “I think so,” he whispers. “Might be the only thing that helps it now.”

Eddie smiles nervously and steps forward. “We’ll have to be quick,” he says apologetically. “No one should come in, but…”

“We never know,” Steve agrees. “I know.”

“Okay then,” Eddie says, and steps forward, placing a few soft fingers on Steve’s cheek, tilting his head down just a bit until their lips brush, once, twice, three times until Steve’s had enough and puts a gentle hand on the back of Eddie’s neck, exerting just enough pressure to pull him in the rest of the way.

Immediately his eyes slide shut and he tilts his head to slot their lips together perfectly.

And it really is perfect, he thinks, as he tilts his head the other way, smiling when Eddie moves to follow him.

He pulls back with a gasp and grins when Eddie’s eyes flutter open. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, loving the smirk that curves Eddie’s lips up.

“Me?” Eddie asks. “I think you’re describing yourself.”

Steve suddenly giggles. “We’re doing a terrible job of waiting.”

Instead of laughing along, Eddie’s expression shutters. “Sorry,” he murmurs, tilting his head down and taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Hey, no,” Steve says, reaching out and brushing Eddie’s arm with his fingers. “I wanted that, okay? I could’ve said no and you would’ve respected it. I’m not upset about it at all. I, uh, actually wish we weren’t somewhere as public as we are.” He blushes at the admission and Eddie’s raised brow in response.

“Yeah? You gonna take me home? Show me the full Harrington experience?”

“Shit, man,” Steve laughs, “what experience, I’ve never been with a guy before.”

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[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #97: DA:TV, but make it Gilmore Girls

If there's two things I walked away from Dragon Age: The Veilguard with, it's 1) a never-ending love for the Lucanis x Crow!Rook romance, and 2) a never-ending love for Viago de Riva.

There are a whole host of fics where Viago, willingly or unwillingly, acts a parental figure for Crow!Rook. But I, being me, couldn't help but wonder what if Viago was Rook's biological parent?

Or: what if Rook was the bloodline heir of the Fifth Talon?

aka The Shadow of Your Heart fic

Just imagine it:

As part of their training, fledglings of House de Riva are sent to seduce a target when they are 16 years old.

Viago's target is the daughter of a well-to-do merchant and his elven mistress who lives in a manse outside of Salle by the name of Dionisia Vitale. He finds the woman tolerable enough company, but is deeply uncomfortable letting anyone touch him in such a way, and after completing his task leaves her with the impression that things had been so awkward between them because he prefers the company of men.

So it is a surprise when Viago receives a message from Dionisia six months later asking to meet... and even more of a surprise to find her heavily pregnant. ("All children of mine are bound to the Crows," he tells her, feeling an odd moment of sympathy for his father. Viago had brewed the potion to inhibit his fertility himself. Obviously the formulation is ineffective on his bloodline... "Then they will have a profession, at least," Dionisia quips in that charming way of hers that might have made him love her, if he thought he could love anyone at all. "All that I ask is that they know you, and once they begin their training they're allowed to know me still.")

And so Zoraida de Riva is born three months later, on the last warm day of the year 9:31, shortly after the end of the Fifth Blight.

Zoraida's childhood is as normal as it can be having a career-driven assassin for a father and a loving, if often physically distant, elf-blooded mother.

Zoraida is halfway through her training when Viago rises to the rank of Fifth Talon, violently deposing his predecessor - in part because of her plans to install Viago as a puppet king in place of Fulgeno II and use Zoraida to keep him in line. But this changes very little. If anything, the bloodline heir of the house is treated worse by their trainers in the attempt to prepare them for anything and everything Thedas might throw at them.

Otherwise, canon proceeds apace, with Viago struggling to balance being a father with his political ambitions, and Zoraida putting an unholy amount of pressure on herself to live up to her father's reputation. She becomes a fully-fledged Crow at age eighteen (never having been sent to seduce anyone, Viago not wanting to risk becoming a grandfather at 32) and for a while all goes well...

...until Zoraida decides to impulsively rescue a group of captives from Antaam slavers, and Viago has to send her away on a long contract outside of Antiva until tempers calm down.

Over the course of her travels with Varric, Zoraida becomes Rook, and gains a dwarven story-telling uncle and a dwarven best friend who's neither intimidated by her ancestry or looking to use her connections to get ahead. Rook knows this contract is meant to be a punishment, but it might be the best thing to ever happen to her.

When Neve suggests they hire a specialist to deal with the gods, Rook can't help but make a face. Lucanis Dellamorte may be the mage killer they need, but he's still on the list of people Viago suggested she get close to growing up (and which Rook completely ignored, because she's willing to do a lot for her father, but hanging out with his boss' grandkids isn't one of them).

Then she meets Lucanis and he's hot and competent and kind - and Rook just about has a mental breakdown about pursuing him, because it's one thing to disappoint Viago, but it's another thing entirely to prove him right and have to live with his smug face every day for the rest of her life.

Meanwhile, Lucanis does not immediately realize Rook is the latest alias for La Princesa de la Casa de Riva, but has an arc of worrying if she's using him to get ahead in addition to his canon arc of unwilling possession and year of torture before he puts the pieces together. They eventually get their act together, but there's an additional layer of everyone in our lives wanted us to get together; are we acting on our own desires or in response to theirs? atop of everything else.

The Veilguard succeeds in killing the gods, stopping the Blight, and trapping Solas in the Fade, but that's largely secondary to the interpersonal drama playing out between missions.

This should be compounded by the fact that none of the other companions are aware of the fact that Viago is Rook's father. There should be complex theories involving intersecting love triangles ripped straight from Bellara's serials, which Rook and Teia do their best to encourage before the game is eventually given away by a very confused fledgling who was not expecting to be set upon by two very powerful mages and a fire-breathing Qunari looking for gossip.

(Even Lucanis is pulled into the game, treating it as another one of the training exercises Caterina used to put them through, and at one point has Taash convinced that Viago and Rook are half-siblings, while simultaneously having Bellara convinced that Rook and Teia are half-siblings who've fought over Viago's affections since they were teenagers.)

Additionally, Illario's plot line should be played up for maximum drama, in which he genuinely tries to seduce Rook to his side, sensing that her backing would serve him better as First Talon than Zara's. (He should give it his all, but be stymied by the fact that Rook is just as much of a demisexual as his cousin is, and not quite know what to do with someone who values their House more than their own personal ambition.)

Bonuses include:

Rook's mother being alive and in the background throughout, happily selling cheese across Northern Thedas and doing her best to cultivate drama on her daughter's behalf. Her home on the outskirts of Salle acts as a second HQ for the Veilguard, and she's deeply involved in pulling Rook out of the Fade prison.

Teia being the ultimate stepmom, despite the fact she refuses to admit she's old enough to be anyone's mother.

About twice as many quests involving the Antaam invasion and Illario's attempt to take over the leadership of the Crows.

All the scenes of Viago being parental just off screen. He's not the best father and his idea of father-daughter bonding tends to involve more poisons than most people are comfortable with, but he tries and Rook wouldn't change him for another.

Navigating what it means for the future Fifth Talon of rising House marrying the First Talon of a dying House (while the Seventh Talon of another rising House is waiting for the current Fifth Talon of a rising House to pull himself together and propose to her already).

And that's all I have. I feel like there should really be more, but basically it's just all the things I love about Viago and Rook being found family being slightly altered so that Viago is Rook's ill-equipped but trying his best teen father. As always, feel free to adopt, just link back if you do anything with it.

More DA Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

[aisereththeprince]

Posting the Submas (+ Akari and Elesa) hc from my Masterpost here.

•The twins are both autistic. Elesa and Akari have ADHD.

•Emmet has about 1 or 2 full boxes/pastures of joltiks. 2 of which are shiny and are siblings.

• Ingo adopted an injured zorua. After the events of PLA he brought back both a hisuan sneasel and a hisuan zorua. He gave said zorua to Emmet.

•Elesa and the twins are childhood besties. Elesa later met Skyla cuz Gym leader stuff and... they get into a relationship lol

• Talking abt relationships: Elesa is Bi, Skyla is Les as for the twins idk but I was thinking ftm and pan. Akari is AroAce, Lucas is Gay and Barry is Bi. They're all gay lol /hj

•The twins' parents didn't know how to raise autistic kids, neither did they really like the transitioning, so Drayden was the one to step up and raise them. (Even though he was often busy w Gym business.)

More under cut

• Ingo was trapped in Hisui for seven years. Akari for five. She ended up landing w Ingo in Unova instead of Sinnoh when they came back. Parts of their memory is still foggy but after half a year or so they remember pretty much everything they had forgotten.

• Akari took longer than Ingo to remember things at the beginning and had to stay with the twins a while before remembering her mother, Barry and the professor. (She has the impression having seen a similar face elsewhere (Kamado)).

• Akari's middle name is Dawn. She used to not like the name Akari but now she prefers people call her that instead.

• Lucas is Akari's twin brother. He really reminds her of Rei. (Also Lucas has a thing for Barry later on after PLA stuff)

• The twins live together. They always have, they always will.

• The twins almost never fight. Almost. When they do it gets really bad. It's SUPER rare tho lol (rarer than a shiny in early Gens)

• After PLA, Ingo picks up carving wood into stuff as a hobby. He's REALLY good at it. Emmet has always liked reading. Sometimes he prefers audiobooks.

•The twins were 25 ish before PLA and 32 ish after PLA. Ingo looked really bad in Hisui (suffering of illness, mental health and physical scars and more) so people there thought he was older, therefore he did too.

• Many thought Ingo dead and some thought him murdered. By Emmet. This added on to Emmets stress and grief but he never gave up his search. Elesa forced Emmet to take a break at some point because things were getting BAD.

•Ingo just can't smile. His frown is unintentional (like in canon). This will be used as a fluff thing when he gets back after PLA events :]

[eri-pl]

Silm Advent calendar 17: Generations

Today, instead of fiction, you'll have a loredump (terrible as the foundations of the Earth… ok maybe not).

Because, no matter, how much I would love a young Estel complaining on learning history, I think this would be more helpful. When writing Númenor stuff (and other, but this one is for Númenor) I often encountered a problem of "but how old would this character be at this point, and would they even be alive? would they have family?), so, I made a comprehensive info.

Also, instead of a drawing, charts:

All the (proper) kings and queens of Númenor, their ages at various events in their life + linear trends for the early part (stable trend, only slightly falling) and the late part (predictably crashing down).

Now for the lore:

Numenoran age. They aged in a somewhat Elvish way. Up to the age of 20 they seem to age normally (physically at least; mentally they age faster and are more capable than normal Men), then their biological aging slows down about 5 times, so (after 20): biological age = (age/5 + 16). 

It gets fuzzy near the end, because the early Númenoreans lived to 400 and more in good health, then either died or aged rapidly. Also, for the line of Elros and particularly good and noble kings the biological age would probably be lower, knowing Tolkien, and for the particularly fallen ones the aging would be faster. But it’s a good estimate. 

I’ll be putting estimated biological age (rounded to a nearest full number) in [] brackets.

Data to help estimate the missing birth dates: The men usually married at age of 45 [25] up to 95 [35] or even 120 [40] if they were important or talented. The women usually married at age 40 [24] - 45 [25] up to 95 [35]. In the line of Elros it was even later: for men up to 150 [46] or later, and for women often 95 [35]. The women were fertile up to the age of about 125 or 140, the text is fuzzy about it. Also, they had long spans between kids, usually 10-15 years, never below 5. So says the "Fall of Númenor".

Kings:

I'm skipping the Tar- / Ar- for sake of readability; we all know they were kings anyway.

1. Elros (ruling name: Minyatur) was born in FA 532, but more convenient for the math will be to call it SA -58. He became king in 32 (all further dates are SA), aged 90 [34]. He died in 442, aged 500 [116].

2. Vardamir was born in 61, when Elros was 119 [40]. He inherited the throne in 442, aged 381 [92] and yielded it to his son immediately. He died in 471, aged 410 [98].

Here begins the early Númenorean model (described in terms of average age + standard deviation): a prince is born during his grandfather's reign, has his first child when he’s about 162±18 [48 ±4], becomes king at age of about 230±29 [62±6], yields the throne at age about 388±20 [94±4], dies at age of about 403±6 [97±1], saying farewell to his children and grandchildren. There are some exceptions, but it generally works like that.

3. Amandil was born in 192, when Vardamir was 131 [42], and Elros was 250 [66] and ruled. He became the king in 442, aged 250 [66] (Elendil was 92 [34]), yielded in 590, aged 398 [96] and died in 603, aged 411 [98]. He was 250 [66] when Elros died and 279 [72] when Vardamir died.

4. Elendil was born in 350, when Amandil was 158 [48], Vardamir was 289 [74] and Elros was 408 [98] and ruled. He became king in 590, aged 240 [64] (his children were 69 [30], 58 [28] and 47 [25]), and yielded in 740, aged 390 [94]. He was 92 [34] when Elros died, 121 [40] when Vardamir died, and 253 when Amandil died. He died in 751, aged 401 [96].

Silmarien was born in 521, when Elendil was 171 [50], Amandil was 329 [82] and ruled. Elros was notably dead and therefore not able to voice an opinion about the concept of ruling queens. She was 82 [32] when Amandil died and 230 [62] when Elendil died.

Isilmë was born in 532, when Elendil was 182 [52], Amandil was 340 [84] and ruled. Silmarien was 11 [which is normal 11]. 

5. Meneldur was born in 543 (again 11 year gap), when Elendil was 193, Amandil was 340 [84] and ruled. He became king in 740 aged 197 [55] (Aldarion was 40 [24]), yielded in 883 aged 340 [84], and died in 942 aged 399 [96]. He was 104 [37] when Amandil died and 252 [66] when Elendil died.

The Númenoreans started sailing to ME in 600, when Meneldur was 57 [27], Elendil 250 [66] and ruled, Amandil was 408 [98] (and we need to assume only a 3 year error to not have him alive at this point, and the date 600 seems like an approximation).

6. Aldarion was blond (yay, blond kings, it strengthens my blond Pharazôn hypothesis!). He was born in 700 when Meneldur was 167 [49], Elendil was 360 [88] and ruled. He became king in 883 when he was 183 [53] (Ancalimë was only 10), yielded in 1075 when he was 375 [91] and died in 1098 aged 398 [96]. He was 51 [26] when Elendil died and 242 [64] when Meneldur died.

7. Ancalimë was born in 873, when Aldarion was 173 [51], Meneldur was 230 [62] and ruled. She married in 1000, aged 127 [41] (Aldarion was 300 [76]). She became queen in 1075, aged 202 [56] (Anárion was 72 [30]), yielded in 1280, aged 407 [97], and died in 1285, aged 412 [98]. She was 225 [61] when Aldarion died and 69 [30] when Meneldur died.

8. Anárion was born in 1003, 3 years after the marriage of his parents, when Ancalimë was 130 [42], Aldarion was 303 [77] and ruled. He became king in 1280, aged 277 [71] (Surion was 106 [37]), and yielded in 1394, aged 391 [94]. He died in 1404, aged 401 [96]. He was 282 [72] when Ancalimë died and 95 [35] when Aldarion died. 

9. Súrion was born in 1174, when Anárion was 171 [50], Ancalimë was 301 [76] and ruled. (Súrion was preceded by two older sisters, who did not inherit because of family drama). He became king in 1394 (Telperien was 74 [31]), aged 220 [60], yielded in 1556, aged 382 [92], died in 1574, aged 400 [96]. He was 230 [62] when Anárion died and 111 [38] when Ancalimë died 

10. Telperien was born in 1320, when Súrion was 146 [45], Anárion was 317 [79] and ruled. She became queen in 1556, aged 236 [63] (Minastir was 82 [32]), didn't marry, and died in 1731 aged 411 [98]. She was 84 [33] when Anárion died and 254 [67] when Súrion died.

The war of Sauron and the Elves happened in 1693, and Sauron regained the Nine (and the Seven) in 1699, so since this date we can have him giving rings to people in our fics. At this time, Telperien is the queen and she’s 379 [92], she dies 32 years after. Still, Númenor doesn’t have full-on colonies yet, so I doubt any Númenoreans get Rings so early. They are also still very decent people at this point. 

11. Minastir was born in 1474, Telperien was his aunt, and was 154 [47] at the time, Súrion (his grandfather) was 300 [76] and ruled. It's confusing but it seems that he fought Sauron not as the king yet. He fought the war in 1700, aged 226 [61], Telperien was 380 [92], Ciryatan was 66 [29]. He became king in 1731, aged 257 [67] (Ciryatan was 93 [35]), yielded in 1869, aged 395 [95] and died in 1873 aged 399 [96]. He was 100 [36] when Súrion died and 257 [61] when Telperien died (obv).

12. Ciryatan was born in 1634, when Minastir was 160 [48] and Telperien was 314 [79] and ruled. He became king in 1869, aged 235 [63], yielded in 2029, aged 395 [95], and died in 2035, aged 401 [96]. He began exploiting the people of ME.

Here begins the late model (no averages, because they go down in a linear manner, so have a avg-stdev and avg+stdev instead): a prince is born during his grandfather's reign, has his first child at age of about 75 [31] (late period) to 145 [45] (early period), becomes king at age of about 240 [64] (early period) to 153 [46] (late period), does not yield the throne and dies at age of about 218 [59] (late period) to 373 [91] (early period), cursing his too short life. Maybe for the worse kings in the later period the biological ages should be higher than resulting from the calculations.

13. Atanamir (who called him “the Great”? I wouldn’t.) was born in 1800, when Ciryatan was 166 [49] and Minastir was 326 [81] and ruled. He became king in 2029, aged 229 [62], did not yield the sceptre (!) and died in 2221, aged 421 [100], because he clung to his life very hard. He was 235 [63] when Ciryatan died and 73 [31] when Minastir died.

14. Ancalimon was born in 1986, when Atanamir was 186 [53], and Ciryatan was 352 [86] and ruled. He became king in 2221, aged 235 [63], and died in  2386, aged 400 [96]. He was 49 [26] when Ciryatan died.

Umbar was fortified in 2280, during Ancalimon’s reign, when he was 294 [75] and Telemmaitë was 144 [45] and Vanimeldë was a 3yo child. Pelagir was built (by the Faithful) in 2350, still during his reign, when he was 364 [89], Telemmaitë was 214 [59] and Vanimeldë was 73 [31].

15. Telemmaitë was born in 2136, when Ancalimon was 150 [46] and Atanamir was 336 [83] and ruled. He became king in 2386, aged 250 [66], and died in 2526, aged 390 [94]. He was 85 [33] when Atanamir died.

16. Vanimeldë was born in 2277, when Telemmaitë was 141 [44], and Ancalimon was 291 [74] and ruled. She became queen in 2526, aged 249 [66], she died in 2637, aged 360 [88]. She was 109 [38] when Ancalimon died.

When she died, her second cousin and husband, Herculamo (born in 2286), usurped the throne at the age of 240 [64] and de facto ruled as Tar-Anducal. He died in 2657, aged 371 [90].

17. Alcarin was born in 2406 when his parents were 129 [42] and 120 [40], Telemmaitë was 270 [70] and ruled. He theoretically became king in 2637 aged 231 [62], actually became king in 2657, aged 251 [66], died in 2737, aged 331 [82]. He was 120 [40] when Telemmaitë died.

18. Calmacil (Adunaic name: Belzagar) was born in 2516, when Alcarin was 110 [38], Vanimeldë was 239 [64], and Telemmaitë was 380 [92] and ruled. He became king in 2737, aged 221 [60], died in 2825, aged 309 [78]. He was 121 [40] when Vanimeldë died and 10 when Telemmaitë died.

19. Ardamir (Adunaic name: Abattârik) was born in 2618, when Calmacil was 102 [36], Alcarin was 212 [58], and Vanimeldë was 341 [84] and ruled. He became king in 2825, aged 207 [58], died in 2899, aged 281 [72]. He was 119 [40] when Alcarin died, 39 [24] when Herculamo died, and 19 when Vanimeldë died.

20. Adûnakhor (Quenya name: Herunúmen) was born in 2709, when Ardamir was 91 [34], Calmacil was 193 [55], and Alcarin was 303 [77] and ruled. He became king in 2899, aged 190 [54], died in 2962, aged 253 [67]. He was 116 [39] when Calmacil died and 28 [22] when Alcarin died.

21. Zimrathôn (Quenya name: Hostamir) was born in 2798, when Adûnakhor was 89 [34], Ardamir was 180 [52], and Calmacil was 282 [72] and ruled. He became king in 2962, aged 164 [49] and died in 3033, aged 235 [63]. He was 101 [36] when Ardamir died and 27 [21] when Calmacil died.

22. Sakalthôr (Quenya name: Falassion) was born in 2876, when Zimrthôn was 78 [32], Adûnakhor was 167 [49] and Ardamir was 258 [68] and ruled. He became king in 3033, aged 157 [47], died in 3102, aged 226 [61]. He was 86 [33] when Adûnakhor died, and 23 [21] when Ardamir died.

23. Gimilzôr (Quenya name: Telemnar) was born in 2960, when Sakalthôr was 84 [32], Zimrathôn was 162 [48] and Adûnakhor was 251 [66] and at the very end of his reign. He became king in 3102, aged 142 [44], and died in 3175, aged 215 [59], very unhappy that he could not have his younger son succeed him. He was 73 [31] when Zimrathôn died, and only 2 when Adûnakhor died.

24. Palantir (Adunaic name: Inziladûn) was born in 3035, when Gimilzôr was 75 [31], Sakalthôr was 159 [48] and ruled. He joined the golden line and the silver line ancestry, being the 19th descendant of Meneldur and the 17th descendant of Silmarien. He became king in 3175, aged 140 [44], still did not yield the throne to his daughter (which I’m not sure the people would accept anyway), died in 3255, aged 220 [60]. He was 73 [31] when Sakalthôr died.

25. Miriel (Adunaic name: Zimraphel) was born in 3117, when Palantir was 82 [33], Gimilzôr was 157 [47] and ruled, became queen in theory in 3255, aged 138 [44]. She died tragically in 3319 in the Fall, aged 202 [56]. She was 58 [28] when Gimilzôr died.

Pharazôn was a year younger than Miriel: born in 3118, became de facto king in 3255, aged 137 [43], died (? I’ve seen a version of: “was frozen in time under mountains”) in 3319, aged 201 [56]. 

Other important people: Amandil was the 18th lord of Andúnië, which puts him in the same generation from the early kings as Sakalthôr. But also (assuming the cousins were not removed cousins), Pharazôn is in the same generation from the lords of Andúnië as Amandil, even if age-wise he’s close to Elendil. 

Elendil was a year younger than Pharazôn and two younger than Miriel: born in 3119, during the reign of Gimilzôr. He was 56 [27] when Palantir became king and 136 [43] when Pharazôn took the sceptre.

In 3262 Sauron was brought to Númenor (Pharazôn, Elendil and Miriel were 144ish [45]). In about 3265 he became Pharazôn’s main advisor and the temple was built. In 3310 (when Pharazôn was 192 [54] and starting to feel really old so the number in the brackets should probably be bigger) the fleet building began.

In 3316 Amandil sailed to ask the Valar for mercy. Unfortunately, we don’t know his age, but let’s estimate: he married at… 45 minimum, but knowing Tolkien it would be more like 95. Elendil was born a year to, say, 10 after that. So 3119 - (46 to 105) = Amandil born in 3004 to 3073 = 243 [65] to 308 [78] years old when he sailed. So he was old, but not necessarily very old. Also, when Sauron began his reign of terror, he would be 192 [54] to 261 [68]. When Palantir became king, he would be 102 [36] to 171 [50]. Also, he was definitely born before Gimilzôr became the king and was 29 [22] to 98 [36] at that time.

Post-Númenor

Elendil was born in 3119, became the High King of Men in 3320, and died in 3441, aged 322 [80]. He outlived Anárion by a year.

Isildur was born in 3209, when Elendil was 90 [34], became the co-king of Gondor in 3320, aged 111 [38], and the High King in 3441, aged 232 [62]. He died tragically in 2 TA, aged 234 [63]. He was 232 [62] when Elendil died and when he took the Ring from Sauron’s finger.

Anárion was born in 3219, when Elendil was 100 [36], co-ruled from 3320, died in 3440, aged 221 [60]. Meneldil was born in 3318, as the last child born in Númenor, when Anárion was 99 [36]. He became king in TA 2, aged 125 [41] and died in TA 158, aged 281 [72]. The ages gradually get more normal, and I won’t analyze the further kings anyway. Maybe next year. I really want to have a primer for "how old was Aragorn when…." :)

During the Fall, Elendil was 202, Isildur was 110 and Anárion was 100. A year later, in 3320 Gondor and Arnor were founded. Elendil was 203 [57], Isildur was 111 [38], and Anárion was 101 [36].

[canipleasegetthenumber15]

Aaand last B-Squad post for tonight <3 Just some little tidbits about the girlies. CW: There's discussion of murder, abuse (acid, cutting, psychological manipulation, and gouging eyes out), and trauma in the paragraphs below.

Boggle

Boggle was recruited by a local circus at a young age for her natural blue hair. At age 19, she survived the slaughter of her entire circus by a killer named The Clown, who gave her a Chelsea grin (aka Glasgow smile). She likes using her deadpan humor to make her friends laugh, and she's learning how to accept pain without masking it with humor. She’s incredibly acrobatic and flexible, and can fit through most openings. She’s now 26.

Butch

Butch grew up working in her family’s butcher shop. At age 20, she was one of the most skilled meat-preparers in her small home town before it was showered in radioactive acid by a mass-murderer called Radiohead. Butch was the only townsperson who survived the acid, which left her with burn scars and the ability to temporarily increase her strength, stamina, and speed. Her vocal chords were damaged and she cannot speak, so she uses ASL to communicate. She enjoys cooking meals, exercising, and taking care of her friends, and she’s learning to take care of herself and accept care, too. She’s now 30.

Bunny

Bunny worked on her aunt and uncle’s ranch as a lumberjack during college. At age 19, she went camping with her college friends and was the sole survivor of a murderous family collectively called Lancetfish. Although she didn’t suffer much physical damage, she has mental scars from the psychological manipulation Lancetfish put her and her friends through. She enjoys carving wooden gifts for her friends, and she’s learning how to trust people and allow herself to rest again. She’s a survivalist and has an excellent sense of direction and good aim (both in knife-throwing and shooting). She’s now 27.

Ballast

Ballast grew up on the coast and helped kickstart a fishing company, which was an off-shoot of a family friend’s company. At age 21, she was out on a boat working with her coworkers when a killer she calls The Stowaway, who had snuck aboard, killed her coworkers and left her blind by gouging out her eyes. She had thrown him overboard (though she isn’t sure if he truly disappeared), and managed to call for help. She likes telling stories to entertain her friends, and is learning to allow herself to enjoy activities again. Sometimes she wears fake eyes that glow. Her senses (except for sight) are sharp. Because she can’t see Butch’s ASL, she either uses her hands to feel Butch’s signs, or Bunny or Boggle translate for her. She’s now 32.

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 12 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Asking your friends for help when you need it is starting to feel good instead of scary. Even listening to Cat open up doesn't sting like it once did. Bradley starts to have an ominous feeling about his upcoming mission, and when the details are revealed, he's left wondering what his career will be like in the future.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff

Length: 4400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

There was truly something to be said for the way you felt after you talked to Dr. Genevieve. Even though your period was a few days late, and you had been holding out hope, you didn't go quite to pieces when it did end up starting. Sure, there were some tears as you opened up a new box of tampons, but you didn't dwell on it as much as you had the past several cycles in a row. 

In fact, when you thought you couldn't take the physical pain of your cramps and the mental pain as well, you called Maria. You told her that you didn't want to be alone and asked if she could stop by. And she came over with a backpack and some donuts. 

"What's in the bag?" you asked as you bit into a Boston cream. 

"Clothes for tomorrow," she replied, petting Tramp while she ate a chocolate donut with sprinkles. "I figured I could sleep over."

"You don't have to," you whispered, now feeling a little embarrassed. 

But she just shrugged. "I've been a little lonely, too. My new roommate has never been as fun as you were."

"Nobody is," you added, biting into a second donut. You figured you earned it, since you'd started to get back on track with what you were eating. "Thanks for joining me in the cafeteria at work."

"Thanks for actually coming to lunch. Cam is hella boring to eat with every day."

You groaned and headed for the couch with a bottle of wine. "Ugh, I left you hanging with Cam. I'm sorry." You were going to be better about taking care of everything. Yourself, your marriage, Bradley, and your friends. 

Maria just laughed and followed behind you with two glasses and a corkscrew. "I love him, but he's still a dude. And just inherently dumb. He can't help it."

The girl talk ended up spiraling into a great weekend, and when you went to work on Monday morning, you still felt good. And Bickel had been a saint, not acting weird or giving you too much distance at all since you broke down hard in his office. Sure, maybe he was asking you how you were feeling with a little more frequency, but he kept your workload the same and never questioned anything you handed in to him.

And then there was Cat. Since you kind of blew the Jake thing up in her face, she'd been very quiet. Jake was still claiming nothing was going on now, but you'd never have been able to get an answer out of Cat one way or the other. And now you were thinking maybe you should have just minded your own business. Because Jake seemed melancholy, and he hadn't actually ended things himself even after he learned about Uncle Hondo. 

"Good morning," you said to Cat later in the week when you walked into the lab. She seemed surprised you were greeting her.

'Hi," she responded, slipping back into her usual state of calm immediately. "If you're about to ask about the calculation set, I'm almost done. I just need another hour or two."

"No rush," you replied. "Um, actually, I was wondering if you wanted to join me for lunch today?"

She eyed you skeptically. "In the cafeteria?"

You shrugged. "Or my office?"

When Cat didn't respond right away, you wanted to kick yourself. But then she said, "I feel like you and I just keep getting off to bad start after bad start with each other. I'd like to eat with you, but I don't want to go down to the cafeteria. At all. Just looking at Lieutenant Seresin makes me want to hide."

"Care to elaborate?" you asked cautiously. 

She just smirked. "Sure. Over lunch. In your office."

---------------------------

Bradley had stripped down to his underwear and gym shorts, and he was currently trying his hardest to meditate on his bed. Bob had spent the last several weeks patiently trying to explain to him exactly what went into it, but Bradley would reach a state of calm and then inevitably get distracted. 

He cracked his eyes open to see Bob in a state of complete relaxation on his own bed. Something about this just didn't work as well for him, and his brain was buzzing, so Bradley reached for his notebook instead. There were too many things he wanted to write down. It felt like he wasn't going to be able to stop emptying out all of his feelings now that he started, and after several weeks, the notebook was mostly full. 

The desire to be at home was overwhelming. Thinking about eating homemade Marry Me Rooster with his wife perched on his lap was all that was getting him through this deployment. As soon as he was home, he'd make sure you knew exactly what you meant to him. There were no conditions on his love, and he was embarrassed and crushed that maybe he made you think there were. 

He only had a few more weeks to go. But things with the mission were looking abysmal. Slayer and Charmer were getting worse to deal with by the day, and the way the admirals praised them was beyond ridiculous. Like the shiny, new aviators were somehow better than the ones with more experience. Like Bradley, Nat and Bob couldn't keep up now. It was hard to keep believing that the admirals would actually put the best team together to complete the mission. 

"Wow," Bob suddenly said, stretching his arms over his head and removing his glasses. "That was a great session."

"Yep," Bradley agreed, nodding as he scribbled in the notebook. "Really good, Bob."

But the other man was already pulling the bedding up to his shoulders, and Bradley knew he'd be asleep soon. "Good for you," he muttered, returning to his notebook. 

Nat and Bob were so good to him, this deployment should have been a breeze. And it had improved since he got to talk to you over facetime in the commanding officer's quarters, but he thought he'd go ahead and start a countdown in the notebook anyway. Just eighteen more days until he should be arriving back in San Diego. And he was hoping like hell he would get to call you again before then. 

But a few days later, he still hadn't been selected for another facetime session. And Bob and Nat got called out onto the tarmac after dinner for a repairs inspection that was performed on their Super Hornet. So Bradley headed to the gym for a workout by himself, and the room was thankfully fairly empty. He put in his ear buds and got out his phone. He selected the playlist you made for him last year called This is what a gym playlist should sound like, Bradley and he smiled. 

Pretty soon he was sweating, working his way through some bicep curls, when he saw Slayer out of the corner of his eye. He would ignore him. No problem. Only two weeks left to go. Only a few more days until the mission. "Do not engage," Bradley muttered to himself. 

But of course he couldn't control what Slayer decided to do, and the idiot wandered over toward him. And then he snatched his phone off of the bench, and Bradley was on his feet immediately, still clutching the fifty pound dumbbell in his left hand. 

"What the hell do you want?" Bradley asked, plucking one ear bud out. "It's bad enough I have to see you in the classroom all day."

Slayer just laughed, and Bradley realized he was staring at his lock screen. "Just wanted another look at your wife. How much younger is she, old man? She got a grandpa fetish or something?"

Bradley's fingers tightened around the dumbbell, and he wished he'd given more of an effort to meditating with Bob. 

He was seething. And then Slayer asked him, "You know what? Why don't you just give me her number so I can keep her warm next time you're out of town?"

Bradley had to fight the urge to throw the dumbbell at him. "You talk an awful lot for someone so stupid."

"And you strut around like you own the place for something who can barely fly."

Bradley's blood was boiling now. The admirals had pumped these kids so full of bullshit, there was going to be no arguing with him. Instead he snatched his phone out of Slayer's hand and pocketed it. "And you're slow as shit versus an old man. Now get back to your bunk, it's almost curfew for the children."

Slayer smirked at him as he backed away toward an empty weight bench. "Just wait. You'll see."

--------------------------

You had made it this far, you could make it two more weeks. But you got your period again, right on time. And you knew it was ridiculous to get choked up when you had to get the tampons and pads out again, because Bradley wasn't even home. You hadn't had intercourse since he left six weeks ago. You knew there was no way. But just the idea of knowing another cycle was ending had tears stinging behind your eyes. 

When you heard the doorbell, you quickly washed your hands and rushed out to where Tramp was practically howling at the front door. "Chill out," you told him. "You'll be happy. You loved him last time."

"Hi," Cat said as soon as you opened the door, and you saw Hondo pull away in his green Chevy. Jeremiah was in her arms, and once again, he smiled when he saw you. Things at work were a lot better, including having several nice conversations with Cat.

"Sorry, little guy," you said softly as they came inside. "No Rooster this time."

Cat laughed. "I think your dog will suffice. He loves animals."

When you closed the door, you watched Tramp follow them over to the couch, and then he started licking Jeremiah's little hands nonstop while the baby laughed. "If he's annoying, I can put him out back for a bit."

"No," Cat said as she and her son both laughed. "This is great." And then Jeremiah broke free from her arms and stood with both hands on Tramp. And you swore your dog had never been happier either. 

A little pang of sadness struck your heart as Tramp looked all too delighted at the attention he was being given. You were searching for a safe topic of conversation. Cat had been joining you for lunch on occasion, which was great. But now you found that you had so many friends, you needed to juggle your time with them. Cam and Cat were a little awkward around each other. And Cat wouldn't tell you exactly how she felt about Jake, but you knew Jake was sad and Cat was avoiding him.

So you asked her, "You still feel like hiding from Jake at work?" It seemed like a safe enough topic, and you almost laughed when she covered her face and collapsed dramatically against the arm of the couch. 

"Please! You keep asking me about this!"

"I'm curious by nature," you claimed. "And you never really told me anything."

She glanced at you as Jeremiah went crawling across the floor after Tramp. "I'm still embarrassed that I even kissed him in the first place. Uncle Bernie and I had it out several times about all the push ups, but he was just trying to take care of me. And I know that sounds like an excuse, but... keeping someone like Jake away from me is probably his top priority while Jer and I are living with him."

You tried to keep your composure, because you and Cat seemed to finally be getting along, but you just couldn't understand why she wouldn't give Jake a chance for real. "He's a good guy, Cat. God... I can't even tell you how many times he's helped me out and made me feel safe."

She turned to face you where you sat at the other end of the couch. "He's exactly like my ex husband. A cocky, handsome aviator who is too smart for his own good."

You shrugged and kind of nodded, because that definitely sounded like Jake. "Well whatever your ex did to piss you off, I doubt Jake would be the same. Are you afraid he won't accept Jeremiah?"

She swallowed hard. "I'd rather not even find out where he stands on his opinions about my son. And listen, there's a reason why my ex husband never met Jeremiah. And it's the same reason I never let him know our son's social security number or where we ran off to. I'm sure he has a hunch that I was able to transfer to Top Gun, but Mike is definitely too scared to come sniffing around for more while I'm with Bernie."

You shook your head in confusion. "Come sniffing around for more of what?"

"Money," she said simply, but her jaw was set, and she looked ready for a fight. And you should have probably known all along that there was more than what she had told you over the past few months. You were pretty sure you were the only one who even knew about Jeremiah, besides Bradley and Cam. And if Cat was the type of person who took their time opening up to people, you were surprised that you were the one she was talking to about this.

"He wants your money?" you asked softly. 

Since she borrowed your car, you knew she didn't have one, and she said that she was broke. But your jaw dropped open when she said, "Mike was dishonorably discharged from the navy for showing up to work drunk and drinking while on base. He tanked his own career, and nobody in Annapolis could even look at me the same after that."

"Why would he do that?"

She laughed, but she looked like she was going to cry. "Because I told him I was pregnant."

Jeremiah was laying on his back now while Tramp licked his neck, and he was giggling up a storm. "I'm so confused," you told her. "He didn't want you to get pregnant?"

"Well he told me he would be happy to have kids. But by the time I told him I was pregnant with Jer, he had already opened four credit cards in my name. He had already lost all of our savings. And he knew I was going to find out about all of it as soon as I mentioned us opening a bank account for our unborn child."

"Oh."

When she met your eyes, she shook her head. "He has a gambling addiction." You watched as she wiped at her cheek. "I used to own a beautiful house," she said, glancing around longingly. "I had a car. He and I had money saved. But he managed to lose all of it, plus the credit card advancements in my name. I owe more than half a million dollars in money that I didn't spend. Money that I never saw. And that doesn't include what I've paid to my lawyers. Mike did all of that while I thought we were building a life together."

"Holy shit," you whispered. You felt nauseous just thinking about it. And you were suddenly even more thankful for Bradley.

"So yeah... cocky, headstrong aviators might be my type on paper, but I can't get involved. And I'm sorry I was leading Jake on. But, it's not just him. I can't get serious with anyone when my life is a trainwreck that I will never be able to recover from. I'm going to be spending the rest of my life trying to make sure this doesn't all fall to him," she said, nodding toward where Jeremiah was now crawling back toward the couch with Tramp following right behind him.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I don't know what else to say except that you didn't deserve any of that, and neither did Jeremiah."

She reached down to scoop him up into her arms as he yawned. "Yeah well, I hope you're smarter than me. I hope you had a prenup."

You sat quietly and watched as she kissed Jeremiah's forehead and reached into the diaper bag she brought with her so he could eat some cereal. Cat had been honest with you. She told you months ago that she was jealous of you, and now you knew why. You had all these things that you were taking for granted. 

For some reason, you thought she ought to know that you'd been jealous all along, too. "You still have something so good though. Something I wish I had."

She looked at you like you'd completely lost it while Jeremiah ate some Cheerios. "What? A marriage that ended in shambles and a career that is hanging on by a thread? Or the inability to ever have someone take you seriously in a relationship ever again?"

"No. Jeremiah."

She looked at you, and her face dropped. "Oh." And maybe she realized that meant you and Bradley had been trying unsuccessfully, but you changed the subject before she could ask any questions. 

"But that doesn't matter, really. And you know, there are some things we do have control over here."

"Like what?" she asked, and when you smiled softly, she smiled back.

"Jake. I think you might be surprised by him, Cat. I think he'd be good with Jeremiah."

"No," she replied right away. "I'd rather not even find out. Besides, it's already too late with Jake. Even if he was going to stop sleeping around, it's done. He asked me out at least fifteen times. And I said no at least fifteen times."

"If he asked you out again, would you say yes?"

You jumped several inches when your doorbell rang again, and Tramp ran for the door like he was a professional guard dog. "We didn't even order a pizza yet," you said as you stood. But the closer you got to the door, you thought you knew who it must be, and you answered it anyway.

"Angel," Jake drawled, bending to pet Tramp who immediately turned into a puppy again at the prospect of pets from one of his favorite people. "Just thought maybe you'd want to get dinner and head to the Hard Deck later?"

When you didn't respond right away, Jake pushed the door open wider and let himself inside. Then you watched him freeze up as he saw Cat sitting on your couch with Jeremiah in her arms. "Cat."

She looked absolutely mortified as she stood up, but she had nowhere to go. She was reliant upon Hondo coming back to pick her up, and Jake was staring right at Jeremiah. "Jake," she said so softly, you could barely hear her across the room.

He huffed out a short breath and ran his fingers through his hair, past the scar on his forehead from the last time he was deployed with Bradley. You weren't sure what you should do, but then he simply said, "You have a kid."

Cat's chin was in the air again, and you knew she wouldn't let Jake or anyone else say one negative thing about that child without consequences. "His name is Jeremiah."

"Jeremiah," Jake repeated, and two sets of matching dark eyes were looking right at him before Jeremiah yawned and fell asleep on his mom's chest. "He's adorable."

Cat sank slowly down so she was sitting on the couch once again, and she looked like the fight was gone, almost like she was exhausted now. You nudged Jake in the ribs and then reached for Tramp's leash where it hung near the door. "I'll be right back. Just going to take him out." But nobody was listening to you. Once the leash was clipped on his collar, Tramp pulled you out onto the front porch. You caught one last glimpse of Jake taking up residence in the spot on the couch you'd vacated, and then you closed the door.

You puttered around the yard with Tramp before deciding to just walk him down to the beach and back. But the early spring air was chilly when the wind picked up across the sand, and you wished you'd taken a minute to grab Bradley's sweatshirt from the hook as well. 

Playing a comparison game in your mind would get you nowhere, you knew that. Everything Cat told you was completely fucked up, but she had to know how that Jeremiah was worth it. And you knew that Bradley was enough, even if it was just the two of you. But now you were a little worried about Jake putting his foot in his mouth. 

When you hustled back down your block, shivering as the breeze picked up some more, you saw that Jake's car was still in your driveway. And when you cautiously let yourself back inside with Tramp, you found Cat and Jake sitting very close together on the couch. And Jake was holding Jeremiah while he slept.

-------------------------

Bradley knew it would be a short call. The mission was scheduled for a few days from now, weather depending. But if he was allowed even five minutes with you, he'd take it any day of the week. 

When you answered his facetime call, you were sitting in your office with your lunch in front of you. "Roo!" you gasped, dropping your fork into your burrito bowl. "I miss you!"

"I miss you, too, Sweetheart."

He watched as you turned to someone off screen and said, "Okay, thanks."

"Who are you eating lunch with?"

"Cat," you replied quickly, and he was a little surprised by that answer. "She just stepped out into the hallway so we could talk. Please tell me you'll be home on time, Bradley."

He smiled and said, "Haven't been notified of any changes, so I think so. Please tell me you got plenty of hot sauce in there."

You laughed and tipped your lunch so he could see all of the green hot sauce. "Absolutely. You know how I like it."

"I do," he replied softly as he examined your face. Beautiful. Just gorgeous. And you looked so much happier now. You looked like you'd been sleeping better. 

"I wish I was sharing my lunch with you."

He nodded. "I've been thinking a lot about our dining room. And how it feels so good to hold you on my lap while we eat a meal off of one plate."

You gasped softly. "I've been thinking about that too." When your eyes drifted closed, you added, "And how you wrap your left arm around me and kiss my neck while he eat."

"Baby Girl." His voice was raspy, and he was aching to be with you right now. "We'll do everything." 

But he only had one more minute with you, and he wanted to know how you were doing. When he asked, you said, "I can tell you when you get home. Tell me about the mission."

"I can't say much. Teams get selected tomorrow morning. Flight is weather dependent. You know the drill."

"I do. I just want you to be safe," you told him softly. "Need you to come home."

"I'll be there so soon. I love you."

And after that, he still felt so good as he got to the classroom a few minutes early the next morning. Admiral Dean smirked at him as he took his usual seat, and the room started filling up. Other than the fact that he had to stare at the back of Slayer's head, he was ready to get this mission in the air and get home.

"As you well know," Admiral Dean started, "the final details will not be set in stone until the day of the mission. So we are left with two options, and we need to be clear on both of them. Option A: the two teams will fly in formation and strike the communications tower first before proceeding to the enemy base. This is the preferred option as we would be removing multiple streams of communication first, but we may need to switch to an alternate flight path if they have too many aircrafts in the air. So that brings us to Option B, in which you will strike the base first and then loop around to the communications tower."

Bradley's brain was literally numb from listening to this information over and over again. He understood the importance of what needed to be done, but this was overkill now. When he glanced at Nat, she looked like she was on the verge of falling asleep. Until Dean spoke again.

"If there are no questions, that brings us to team selections. Four aircrafts will be flying this mission. We've chosen the best, and I am already convinced of the success of this mission. The teams will be as follows: Slayer will be paired with Phoenix and Bob."

His heart sank. Shit. That was supposed to be Bradley's pairing. Fucking Slayer. But it probably didn't matter too much if he was flying alongside a different two-seater, just as long as he was in the air with his friends. Really, all four aircrafts were responsible for keeping each other safe, so he wouldn't be too far from them at all. 

"And the second team will be Charmer paired with Terror and Mack."

It took a second to register. But slowly, it seemed like everyone in the room was turning to stare at Bradley. Admiral Dean looked smug. Nat and Bob looked distraught. And Slayer looked damn near delighted. Then Charmer turned to him and laughed. 

And Bradley had the fleeting thought that his career was over. He was the oldest aviator in the room by a few years. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was falling short with proving himself in the air just as he had been messing things up on the ground with you. And that sick, embarrassed feeling in his stomach was there to stay as all those thoughts took up permanent residence in his mind.

-----------------------------

Oh. That stings. That really hurt my feelings. Bradley could fly circles around them. And how do we feel about Jake? Cat? Jeremiah? Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 13

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[huellitaa]

☀️🎀princess project: day 32!

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 wednesday 26.6.24

🗒🎀𓂃 ࣪˖ today's to do!

☀️ mental

painted for an hour ♡

chatted w wifey <3

🎀 physical

drank cucumber water!

hot girl walkkk <3

ate super healthy ♡

🧁 academic

answered lots of questions in history ♡

english midterm..............

worked on my maths homework

💬 social

cleared things up w my ex bsf because apparently she'd been talking shit about my wife !!!!

comforted my ex bsf even if i don't like her

made a new friend in history ♡

chatted to wifey and had a deep convo w her ♡

had to apologise on behalf of my ex friends to one of the girls i'm friends with now because they're not nice!

gossiped and ranted to my best friends about how annoyed i am about the fact one of our ex friends is now hanging out with my ex friends despite the fact she literally comforted me ab it and she's a backstabbing little

🎀 leisure

nothing here... ♡ (🎀🗒 mental note: DO MORE TMRW!!!!!!)

all my love 💗💬💘🎀