#something old new borrowed blue

[newobsessionweekly]

something old

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Tim Bradford x bestfriend!reader Series: Something old, new, borrowed, blue Fandom: The Rookie Summary: You and Tim have been best friends for years, but your friendship is jeopardised when you caught feelings for him and Tim decided he wants to propose to Lucy.

Angst

A/N: How I LOVE this one. I've been so exited to post it, I really couldn't resist any more. I hope you like it as much as I do. Feel free to give some feedback and if you have any ideas for the next parts, I'm all ears. Thank you so so much for your support, I appreciate every single one of you. Lots of love, bubs! ❤️ Warnings: eating disorder briefly described, getting drunk ? not proofread yet Requested: not really, yes maybe - here Words: 4k

You buried your head into cases, one after another, working overtime and exhausting yourself on purpose. Keeping your mind occupied with work and the treacherous world outside, you didn't have time to think about your own life. And it was for the best. For the past months you watched the man you've been in love with for years fall for someone you've considered your friend. Of course, neither one of them knew about the feelings evolving inside you with every sight of him, but it doesn't make it less painful. And it still keeps you up at night.

Tim has been your best friend since you can remember. You've been there for each other through thick and thin, always finding solace in each other's arms. He's been your shoulder to cry on, the first person to share your happiness with, and the only one who's got your back. Until now. Sitting at your desk, you checked your watch and sighed. It's almost ten pm and the bullpen is just as quiet as a grave. Your grave, plugged up by your own misery. You didn't catch sign of Tim for weeks, the last thing he said to you was a distant 'morning' thrown in a rush as he left for patrol duty with Lucy. It's funny how you imagined that seeing Tim and Lucy on a daily basis at the station would tear you apart, because right now, not seeing Tim for weeks broke you even more. They kept their distance at work, showing only professionalism as their sparkling glances filled with so much love and joy spoke volumes. Laughter slowly broke the silence, the well known voices echoing through the station. You raised your head a little, to take in the sight as you watched Tim and Lucy bantering. But you noticed something was not right, his smile didn't reach his ears as it used to, eyes don't seem filled with emotion and she didn't seem to notice. You knew Tim like the back of your hand. You could sense something's going on between them, but you lowered your head just in time, before your eyes could meet Tim's. Your intention was not to avoid him, not necessarily, but seeing him so late after his shift ended, surely caught you off guard. Just as his hand on your shoulder did.

You raised your head, startled by the unexpected sensation of warmth as his smile grew on his face, genuine you might say. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." he excused himself softly as his eyes searched yours, going back and forth between you and your desk, "What you doing here so late?"

You blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden closeness, the warmth of Tim's hand on your shoulder seeping into your bones. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe, lost in the depths of his gaze as his eyes searched yours with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"Just... catching up on paperwork." you managed to reply, your voice steady despite the chaos swirling in your mind.

Tim's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of something you couldn't quite decipher passing through his eyes before it was gone, replaced by a mask of sarcasm. "Doing the homework for the whole department, Detective?"

You chuckled softly, the sound feeling forced even to your own ears. "Something like that," you replied, offering him a weak smile in return.

Tim nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he pulls up a chair beside your desk, his expression serious. "Can we talk?" he asks, his voice low and hesitant.

Your heart skips a beat at his words, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind as you nod, motioning for him to continue. "Of course, Bradford. What's on your mind?"

He hesitates for a moment, his brow furrowing with uncertainty before he finally meets your eyes. "It's about Lucy," he says softly, his voice tinged with nervousness.

His eyes darting away from yours before finally meeting them once more. "I want to propose to Lucy," Tim admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm scared, scared that I'm not good enough for her, scared that I won't be able to protect her."

Your heart clenched at his words, the pain of your unspoken feelings bubbling to the surface once more. But you pushed it aside, forcing a smile onto your face as you reached out to take his hand in yours. "Tim, you're more than good enough for her," you said softly, your voice filled with conviction. "And as for protecting her, well, I think you've proven time and time again that you'd do anything for her."

Tim's eyes searched yours, a mixture of fear and hope swirling in their depths. "But what if something happens to her because of me?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart feels like it's been wrenched from your chest at his words, a dull ache settling in the pit of your stomach. You've known for a while now how deeply Tim cares for Lucy, how much he loves her. And yet, the thought of him spending the rest of his life with her, fills you with a sense of profound loss.

You shook your head, a sense of determination coursing through your veins. "Tim, you can't live your life in fear of what might happen and you can't blame yourself for the dangers of this job," you say, your voice trembling with emotion. "Lucy knows the risks. She chose to be with you, despite them."

His eyes searched yours, a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty shining in their depths. "Thank you, Y/N," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the din of the bullpen. "I needed to hear that."

You smiled, squeezing his hand gently before releasing it, a bittersweet ache settling in your chest. "Anytime, Tim. You know I'm always here for you."

You smiled, pushing the pain aside, burying it deep beneath the surface where no one could see. Because in the end, all that mattered was Tim's happiness, even if it meant sacrificing your own.

As Tim stands up from the chair, a playful glint dances in his eyes, and he can't resist teasing you. "You know, Detective, it's past your bedtime. Shouldn't you be tucked in by now?"

You roll your eyes with a laugh, shaking your head at his antics. "Oh please, Bradford, like you're one to talk. Last time I checked, we're both adults capable of burning the midnight oil."

Tim chuckles, his laughter filling the room with warmth. "Touché, Y/L/N," he concedes, his smile genuine. "But someone gotta keep you out of trouble."

You roll your eyes, unable to suppress a grin at his antics. "Like I need you to keep me out of trouble. I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much. I'm a grown adult who can stay up past bedtime if she wants to," you tease, flashing him a mischievous grin.

Suddenly, Tim's attitude shifts, a concerned expression playing on his face as he leans forward, his voice soft and earnest.

"Seriously, though, Y/N," he says, his tone gentle. "Don't stay up too late, get some sleep. You're no good to anyone if you're running on empty."

You're taken aback by his sudden change in attitude, the warmth of his concern washing over you like a comforting embrace. Despite the playful banter, you can see the genuine worry in his eyes, a reminder of just how much he cares about you, even if he doesn't always show it.

You smile softly, touched by his concern. "Thanks, Tim," you say sincerely, your voice warm with gratitude. "I'll make sure to hit the hay early tonight. Wouldn't want to dethrone you as the grumpiest cop."

Tim's lips quirk up in a small smile at your teasing, a hint of relief flashing in his eyes. "Hey, watch it." he says softly, his voice gentle. "But take care of yourself, okay? Promise me."

You nod, a sense of warmth settling in your chest at his words. "Promise," you reply, meeting his gaze with a reassuring smile. "And you take care of yourself too, Tim. Don't forget to look after your woman."

With a chuckle, Tim nods, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes as he turns to leave your office. "I won't," he promises softly, his voice carrying a warmth that fills the space between you. "Thanks, Y/N. For everything."

The station buzzed with activity around you, the usual hustle and bustle of the station fading into background noise as you sat at your desk, lost in a sea of memories and emotions. You've seen the bullpen and the files of criminals more than you've seen your own bed, the caffeine taking place of your breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Since Tim told you about the proposal, it's been radio silence from him, not a word exchanged between the two of you. The weight of his words hangs over you like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over everything you do.

You glance down at your hands, absently tracing your fingers over Tim's dog tag from Afghanistan. He had offered it to you when he safely returned home from the war, a silent acknowledgment of your friendship and the bond you shared. And now, as you hold it in your hands, it feels like a cruel, constant reminder of everything you had lost and everything you could never have.

The tag feels heavy in your palm, a tangible reminder of the weight of your unspoken feelings for Tim. You close your eyes, willing the memories to fade, but they only come rushing back with even more intensity. Memories of late nights spent talking and laughing, of shared secrets and stolen glances, of a friendship that had once meant everything to you.

You've lost weight in the past weeks, the stress and heartache taking their toll on your body. Dark circles ring your eyes, evidence of sleepless nights spent tossing and turning, haunted by memories of Tim and the friendship you fear may be slipping away.

Angela, your only remaining closest friend and confidante, joins you at your desk, her presence a welcome distraction from the storm raging inside your mind. "How you holding up?" she asks softly, her eyes searching your frame with concern. "I, uh, heard about Tim and Lucy."

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," you reply, forcing a smile onto your lips as you clear your throat. "I'm really happy for him."

Angela raises an eyebrow, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Liar," she mocks gently. "You don't look fine."

You sigh, the facade slipping for a moment as you meet Angela's gaze. "It's just... been a rough couple of weeks," you admit, the words heavy on your tongue.

"I know, I'm sorry," Angela says sympathetically, reaching out to squeeze your hand in a gesture of support. "You know, I'm here if you need to talk or something. Or drink it away. Whatever suits you," she adds with a chuckle.

You spot Tim across the bullpen, his back turned as he converses with another officer. A surge of emotion wells up inside you, a tangled mess of longing and heartache that threatens to overwhelm you.

"You know what?" you say suddenly, your voice firm despite the tremor in your heart. "I could use a drink." You pause, a plan forming in your mind. "Or maybe ten. But I have to take care of something first."

Angela looks at you, confusion flickering in her eyes as you rise from your desk and make your way towards Tim. "Y/N!" she calls after you, but you ignore her, your mind made up as you steel yourself for the confrontation that lies ahead.

Outside, the sun sets in a blaze of orange and pink, casting long shadows across the pavement as the city begins to quieten down. But for you, the night is just beginning, a whirlwind of emotions and unanswered questions swirling around you as you prepare to face the man who holds your heart in his hands.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a mixture of uneasiness and determination swirling inside you. His gaze meets yours, and for a moment, you see a flicker of something familiar in his eyes, a warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Sergeant Bradford, may I have a word?" you ask, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you.

Tim turns to face you, his brow furrowing in concern as he takes in your appearance. The other officer excuses himself, sensing the gravity of the situation.

The circles under your eyes and the weariness in your expression send a pang of guilt coursing through him. He's been so consumed with his own turmoil that he failed to notice the toll it was taking on you.

"Everything okay?" Tim asks, his voice soft with concern.

"Yeah, just wanted to talk to you about something," you reply, your voice betraying none of the turmoil raging inside you.

As Tim's concern for your well-being rises, so does his guilt. He knows he's been distant, preoccupied with his own thoughts and emotions. But seeing you like this, so worn down and fragile, hits him harder than he expected. A surge of emotions threatens to overwhelm you, as well, the love you've buried deep down resurfaces, overshadowing the pain and frustration that have consumed you for weeks.

"Hold on a second, Y/N," Tim says, his voice tinged with worry. "When's the last time you slept? Or ate something?"

You feel a surge of anger bubble up inside you, a mask to cover the hurt and vulnerability that threaten to spill over.

"Okay, Bradford. Don't pretend like you care," you snap, your voice sharper than intended. Deep down, you're grateful to know he still cares, but the pain is too raw, too fresh to acknowledge.

"I just thought it's best for you to have this back," you continue, taking his hand and placing the dog tag in his palm. Your voice trembles slightly as you speak, the weight of your words heavy in the air. "You know, for the wedding. Something old. Like... our friendship."

Tim's heart sinks as you push the dog tag into his hand, your words ringing in his ears like a painful echo.

Without giving him a chance to respond, you turn and walk away, leaving Tim speechless and confused in your wake. Deep down, you know you've made the right choice. It's time to let go of the past and move forward, even if it means facing a future without the man you've loved for so long.

He knows he messed up, knows he let you down in ways he can't even begin to comprehend. But as he watches you disappear into the crowd, he's filled with a determination unlike anything he's ever felt before.

He won't let you slip through his fingers, won't let your friendship crumble away to nothing. Whatever it takes, he'll make things right, even if it means facing the painful truth that he's been in love with you all along.

The night air is thick with the scent of alcohol and laughter as you stumble out of the bar, Angela's concerned gaze following your every move. You've had way too much to drink, the alcohol coursing through your veins and clouding your thoughts with a haze of euphoria and pain.

But despite Angela's disapproving glances, you press on, drowning your sorrows in the numbing embrace of alcohol. It's a temporary escape, a fleeting moment of oblivion in a world that seems determined to crush you beneath its weight.

As the night wears on, the alcohol begins to take its toll, your movements growing sluggish and uncoordinated. Your laughter turns to tears, the pain of losing Tim as a friend hitting you with a force you can't begin to comprehend.

And then, just as the world begins to blur around you, Angela's voice cuts through the fog, her words a lifeline in the darkness. "Bradford, get your ass here and clean the mess you've made," she says over the phone, her tone tinged with worry.

Tim's voice responds, filled with concern. "What happened?"

"Y/N's a bit drunk and I can't deal with her by myself," Angela replies, her voice tight with concern.

"Give me five," Tim says, his urgency palpable even over the phone.

As Tim rushes to the bar, his heart pounds in his chest with a mixture of worry and guilt. He can't shake the feeling that he's somehow responsible for the state you're in, that his actions—or lack thereof—have pushed you to this point.

When Tim arrives at the bar, you're a total mess, the alcohol having stripped away all semblance of control. Seeing you like this, vulnerable and hurting, tears at his heartstrings in a way he never expected. He can't help but feel a surge of guilt wash over him, knowing that he's played a part in your pain.

He helps you into his car, his touch gentle yet firm, a rush of conflicting emotions floods through you. His hands are warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the cold reality of the night air.

You feel a pang of sadness as you meet his eyes, clouded with worry and concern. The distance between you feels insurmountable, a chasm widening with each passing moment.

"Come on, Y/N. The party's over. Let's get you home," Tim says softly, his voice filled with concern and they wash over you like a soothing balm, a reminder that even in your darkest moments, he's still there, still willing to help you pick up the pieces.

But you protest, your words slurred and disjointed as you gaze at Angela through heavy-lidded eyes. "Why did you call him?" you mumble, frustration evident in your voice.

He buckles you up, his movements careful and deliberate, a flicker of hope stirs within you. Maybe, just maybe, there's still a chance to salvage what's left of your friendship, to bridge the gap that's grown between you.

Tim exchanges a look with Angela, confusion flickering in his eyes. "Where are her keys?" he asks, his tone serious.

Angela shrugs innocently. "Yeah, that's the problem. She lost her purse. Don't you have a spare key?"

Tim's jaw tightens with frustration. "No. You?"

Angela shakes her head, her expression apologetic. "Obviously not, that's why I called you." she smiles at him playfully, "Good night, Bradford."

As Tim starts the car and pulls away from the curb, the world outside blurs into a hazy kaleidoscope of lights and shadows. You bumble something incoherent through the drive, your words slurred and disjointed as you struggle to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

He helps you out of the car and guides you inside his house, his touch is both gentle and reassuring. Each brush of his hand against yours sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, igniting a fire deep within your soul. You lean on him heavily, your legs wobbly from the alcohol as he guides you inside.

Tim leads you to his bedroom, his movements gentle yet firm. He helps you out of your shoes and jacket, his touch lingering longer than necessary as he tucks you into his bed, tracing invisible patterns along your arm, pulling the covers over you. You can feel the warmth of his touch seeping into your bones, soothing the ache in your heart and calming the storm raging inside you.

"Can I get you anything?" he asks softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort. "Do you need anything?"

You mumble something incoherent in response, your words slurred and barely audible. As he sits beside you on the edge of the bed, his touch becomes hesitant, unsure of how to navigate the tangled web of emotions between you. His hand hovers over yours, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he debates whether to reach out or pull away.

"You," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper.

Tim's heart skips a beat at your words, a surge of excitement coursing through him as his touch falters, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt. But all he finds is raw honesty, a vulnerability that takes his breath away and leaves him feeling exposed.

He maintains a serious expression, his concern for your well-being overriding any other emotions.

"You're drunk, Y/N," he says softly, his voice tinged with regret. "You don't know what you're talking about."

But you're insistent, stumbling over your words. "I know," you say, your voice tinged with desperation. "I know I love you and I know I need you."

Tim's heart aches at your words, the weight of your confession hanging heavy in the air between you. But he knows you're not in the right state of mind to have this conversation now.

But you shake your head stubbornly, your words slurred as you try to leave the bed. "I need to go. What would your fiancée say" you insist.

"Take it easy, Y/N," he says gently, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. "You need sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

But you plead with him, your eyes searching his for any sign of reassurance. "Please don't go," you whisper, your voice tinged with desperation.

With a sigh, Tim gives in, knowing that arguing with you now would only make things worse. "Fine," he says softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I'll humor you and sleep on the floor."

You pat the empty side of the bed, a small smile playing on your lips. "Here," you say, your voice soft and pleading.

Tim chuckles softly, shaking his head in amusement. "You're so drunk," he murmurs, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you close. "And you're definitely gonna kill me in the morning."

Tim settles into bed beside you, his touch is gentle yet firm, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back. The warmth of his embrace envelops you like a cocoon, comforting and familiar, and you find yourself leaning into him instinctively, seeking solace in his presence.

"But it's definitely worth it," Tim whispers softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that makes your heart swell with love.

His touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that burns brighter with each passing moment. It's as if every brush of his fingers against your skin is a promise, a silent reassurance that you're not alone, that he's here for you no matter what.

And as you bury your face against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulls you into a sense of peace you haven't felt in weeks. In this moment, with Tim's arms wrapped around you, everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you alone in the darkness.

But beneath the surface, a storm rages within you, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions that threatens to tear you apart. Guilt gnaws at your insides, knowing that you've burdened Tim with your drunken confessions, knowing that you've crossed a line that can never be uncrossed.

His touch is tender yet tentative, as if he's afraid to break the fragile spell that binds you together. He can't help but feel a sense of peace wash over him, knowing that in this moment, nothing else matters except the two of you, wrapped up in each other's arms, clinging to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, there's still a chance for love.

And yet, despite the turmoil raging inside you, there's a sense of rightness in this moment, a feeling that you've finally found your place in the world. In Tim's arms, you feel safe and loved, cherished in a way you never thought possible.

[be-an-echo]

watch the world burn

@seethesunny this is for you

[ye-olde-tardis]

When I was a kid I thought "something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue" was a doctor who reference that people made at weddings.

[achievementofthemajority]

Okay, can I get a hell yeah for bi Buck!! Not trying to step on his moment to make it about Buddie BUT I thought about something this morning and I have to get it out. It's about the interview where Ryan says, “There’s something new for both of us (coming up this season)". Eddie must be very involved in this plot line, otherwise it wouldn’t be something new for Ryan as an actor. If he’s just being a supportive bff, that’s nothing new for Eddie/Ryan. The way he phrased it is sus. You combine that with how they said Tommy would be around for only a little while, and I'm thinking we're getting Buddie sooner than some people think. Those who don't think of this as a stepping stone for Buddie, please, remove head from ass. It's definitely happening, and soon.

[getosugurusbangs]

sorry for betraying you all and changing my blog theme 😔😔

[random-jot]

Something Blue: Afterlife

An anime-inspired 'opening sequence' for my original comic 'Something Blue,’ which you can read for free right here on tumblr!

Song: Afterlife by Avenged Sevenfold

[madebysimblr]

Cordy: You’re really going to go to Selvadorada?

Ollie: I really am. It’s rare enough that they’ll scout anyone outside of the country, let alone two of us. Be happy for me?

Cordy: I’m thrilled for you, honest! Just going to miss you.

Ollie: AWH. I’ll miss you too.

Carl: I’m just sayin’! If that boy hurts one hair on my precious little girl’s head I’ll castrate him!!!

Gigi: Take it down a notch Dad.

Carl: I’ll be at precisely the notch I see fit!

[wedding march begins to play]

Gigi: Ok, ok. But it’s time. Remember that this is my special day?

[spottedenchants]

🌱 for the fic title ask?

🌱 Do you have any preferred structures/themes in your fic titles?

ooooo okay- for structure, short answer, kind of, longer answer:

Ficlets:

my first batch of TS!Mighty Nein ficlets = 'In Which Essek and So-and-so Do Thing'

prompt fills = lowercase adjective ending in -ed

Chunky Main Point fics (title case):

generally applicable song lyrics OR a line pulled directly from the C2 transcripts

overall though, puns/wordplay are my go-to if i can't find something fitting xD

As for themes, nothing overarching there, but the titles of Essek & Kingsley fics tend to reference Mollymauk in some way

Thanks for the ask! :D

fic title ask meme!

[nate-fraust]

Something Old, Something New

Sorry, don’t really use Tumblr except to see what new stuff’s being posted about my ships, so this’ll be a lame first post.

Anyways, I guess the prompt for this sort of thread thing is “Post a snip of one of your oldest works vs. one of your newest.” In that case, I’ve got a few things for y’all.

(Btw: thx to @n1hila for the tag. If anyone else would like to join, like @mel-kusanagi, you can, but you don’t have to. I’m just a dude lurking in the shade of y’all’s brilliance :) )

So, since I got tagged on the basis of my writing, I guess I’ll start with that. Writing

The first section is an excerpt from the first chapter of “coNTROL”, the first fanfic I ever published during my early years as a part of the inFAMOUS fandom. I’d initially posted it on Fanfiction.net back in September or October of 2013, but I deleted it from my account there and reposted it to my AO3 five years later. This story sparked my love of writing and storytelling, so much so that I’m working on earning my bachelor’s in Mass Communication/Journalism right now. The second section is “Phantom”, my latest one-shot. I wrote it as part of the “Codextober” challenge from @orphiceonian, using the prompt “Blade”. I’d intended to follow it up with another one-shot of Loki (or Delus/Luka/Leug, as I would call him using the “Isu” name he would most likely have) meeting Aletheia/Angrboða (Drud/Drutes in “Isu”) during his time apprenticing under Promethus/Consus (Permenos/Setor) at his workshop prior to the War of Reunification* in 1923 Isu Era. However, classes and assignments got the better of me. Perhaps I’ll finish it over this break.

Old:

His brain drummed a maddening beat against his skull as he limped towards the destroyed military truck. Dammit, he cursed. Would this incessant pounding never end? He reached the truck, which had evidence of a firefight or some sort of incindeary devices all over it. The back of the truck was facing him, a box of smoke and flames. Delsin rushed as best he could towards the opening, trying to ignore the oily stench of smoke and burning human flesh.

He saw the shine of a DUP officer's helmet, and ignored it. Why should he care for the oppressive SOB? He peered around and noticed movement through the fumes. He hurried over to the figure and tried to get his attention.

"Sir? Sir, you need medical help." Delsin said to the hunched over man as he clapped him lightly on the shoulder. Don't we all, he reflected bitterly. "I need to ca-".

The man grabbed his arm and held on like a vise. "No!" he shouted hoarsely. "No hospitals! They're never taking me back!"

Delsin tried to wrench his arm away from the madman, and ended up touching his wrist to the stranger's thumb. A roar sounded in his ears, and they flew apart. Delsin hit the ground and slid to the back of the car, bashing his head on the end of a cold metal bench. He barely heard the crack of the man's neck as he slid into unconsciousness. New:

Wind rushes into me as I come back to myself. Far off in the distance, a sable speck plummets into the spear-din, glinting and crossed. I watch it fall.

Someone is screaming. Somewhere, someone is screaming.

The heat is at my back. I turn to face it.

Ice shoots through my heart.

“ You ,” I sputter, gilded spittle flecking Delus’ scarred visage.

“Aye.” The bastard’s smile is cruel, lit from within with madness. “ Me .”

He goes to pull his dagger from my chest, but I grasp onto his arm in a grip made tight from death. His eyes are full of hate and panic.

With the last of my strength, I cast Gungnir far from me, willing it farther and farther still as I pull the traitor’s blade deeper into myself.

Delus is screaming in my ear, cursing me, my blood, my kin. I close my eyes against the truth as he howls to the roaring winds, crying of his hand in beloved Balthas’ slow death. I close my eyes and call out to the Swayer, drawing it back, back, back-

My blood-brother chokes on his words as Gungir tears through us both, fleeing far to the north. We fall.

The air is thick with cries of “ Zàw! ” and the black scent of death, but my eyes are fixed on his. There are no promises, no oaths to be made in the face of such a sight.

My body is cold now, yet the wound burns all the same.

Delus’ mouth moves, gilded tongue full of venom-

* - The War of Reunification was a conflict that likely would have been analogous to the Aesir-Vanir War of Norse myth. If the conflict was continent-wide, it could have also/otherwise been the basis for the theorized Proto-Indo-European myth of the “war of the functions/foundation”.

Bonus: Art

I’ve been drawing for far longer than I’ve been writing, but I don’t stake any significant claim on it. However, I do have a few pieces in my Google Photos. Old:

This is a drawing of Delsin Rowe from one of my other (unfinished) inFAMOUS fanfics, a Last of Us crossover titled “The Light”. Had I continued with it, Delsin would’ve looked something like this by (probably) the middle of the story. His right forearm has a green-blue shattered arrowhead, which was supposed to signify the Glass powers he would have gotten at some point in the journey.

This is a drawing of Diana Prince/Wonder Woman, semi-inspired by Christy Tortland/Serena Kenobi’s iteration of her in her “Hunter” Wonderbat series of fanfics. If I’m remembering correctly, I may have based the body off of Gina Carano, but I really should have worked more on Gal Gadot’s face. Either that, or I should’ve just done Jamie Alexander instead.

New:

This is an early sketch of a marble statue of Dagris, a “god-king” deity from a homebrew DnD campaign I’ve been involved with for a few months. We’ve stalled for the moment, so I figured it would be alright to put this out into the world.

---

Bonus2: Poetry

Yes, I’m still here. Yes, I’ll be getting out of y’all’s hair in a moment (if you’ve not stopped reading already). Just wanted to leave you with a few snippets of poetry. 

Old: It’s pointless to write these words,

for I’ve dug my grave with my own hands,

with my thoughts,

and they're simply wind to you.

I’m grasping at an image,

A watercolor from the back of my mind.

The paints run down

As the image is washed in the river of thought.

I want to know;

I need to see.

But it’s not for me.

New:

Before me, behind me, above me, about me,

The sky. 

Choked by the fideless clouds,

It roils, gelt in fury.

Orcus’ rictus gapes;

Kharon, bowing, beckons,

Cyan cowl stained,

Blotted by woeful waters.

Onward, ever onward;

Through tongueless tears,

Through faned fears,

Through a thousand-thousandfold.

Not so strange,

The fruitless ash,

Maddening horse-gallow.

Not so great,

The landless thorn,

Crossless cedar-hyssop.

Gloryless wanderer,

Sightless sees,

A pitiless gaze,

A manger seiged.

[guinevereslancelot]

got my friend a silver sixpence for her shoe bc she got engaged (and she's estranged from her parents over it) and she told me she's getting married barefoot 😂

[newobsessionweekly]

something new

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Tim Bradford x bestfriend!reader

Series: Something old, new, borrowed, blue

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: After you engage into an undercover operation and Tim hears nothing from you for a whole week, he finally made peace with his feelings. Tim's confession changed everything and made room for something new between you.

Angst | Fluff

A/N: Here it is, part 2! I'm so glad you like the series as much as I do and your support is heart warming, I swear. Your kind words and appreciation are one of the reasons why I keep doing this. Thank you, thank you, thank you, a million times. @fluentmoviequoter here is the second part, sweetheart.

Warnings: mentions of pain, getting shot, blood

Requested: no

Words: soon

The morning light filters through the curtains you picked some years ago, casting a soft glow over the bedroom you knew way too well for your liking, as you slowly begin to stir from your fitful sleep. Your head pounds with the remnants of last night's alcohol-fueled escapade, a relentless reminder of the reckless choices you made in the throes of the night.

As you blink away the haze of sleep, your eyes widen in shock when they land on Tim's bedroom, and you tried to search for any clues of how you ended up in his bed and especially what you did last night. But your mind doesn't have any plans to cooperate, leaving you clouded with a thousand questions stirring up your mind.

You shift slightly in bed, surprise and regret washing over you at the sight of Tim lying beside you, with his arm draped protectively over your waist and his features softened in the gentle light of dawn.

His tousled hair falling across his forehead in disarray, giving him an air of vulnerability that tugs at your heartstrings. You can't help but admire the lines of his face, the rugged contours softened by the peacefulness of sleep. There's a quiet strength in his aspect, a determination that shines through even in his most vulnerable moments. It's a strength that you've always admired, a quality that drew you to him in the first place.

You know he belongs to another, that your feelings for him can never be more than a fleeting fantasy. And yet, as you gaze upon him now, your heart aches with the knowledge that you must leave him behind, alone and unaware of the danger that lurks.

His strong, muscular frame fills the bed beside you, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his t-shirt as he sleeps. You can't help but admire the way the clothing clings to his chest, accentuating the contours of his body in all the right places. And as your gaze trails lower, you can't help but notice the way his sweatpants hug his thighs, the muscles flexing beneath the material in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.

As the shrill ring of your flip phone pierces the quiet morning air, you're snapped out of your reverie, the urgency of the call cutting through the haze of sleep like a knife. With a sense of fear, you reach for the device, your hands trembling slightly as you answer the call that could change everything.

"He needs you," comes the voice on the other end, cold and lacking emotion, a stark contrast to the warmth of the bed you've just vacated.

"Where?" you respond, your voice steady despite the confusion raging inside you.

"Don't worry, Foxy. We'll find you," the voice replies, a hint of danger hiding beneath the surface.

The urgency of the situation throws you into action, your movements quick as you gather your belongings, your mind racing with a million thoughts and fears. But beneath the surface, a sense of guilt gnaws at you, knowing that you're leaving Tim behind.

Tim's eyes flutter open, his mind still heavy with the remains of sleep. But as his gaze lands on the empty space beside him, a sense of confusion washes over him, quickly replaced by concern as he realises that you're nowhere to be seen.

As you prepare to leave, the sight of Tim emerging from the bedroom fills you with a tumult of conflicting emotions. His sleepy gaze meets yours, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow and the gentle curve of his lips.

"Morning," he greets you, his voice soft with sleep and confusion.

"Hey," you reply, your voice tinged with regret as you avoid his gaze, unable to bear the weight of his scrutiny.

"What happened?" Tim asks, his concern for you evident in every line of his face.

"I have to go," you say simply, your voice heavy with the weight of your secrets.

"Stay for breakfast, please," Tim pleads, his desperation palpable in the air between you.

"I wish, but really I can't stay, I'm sorry," you reply, the words catching in your throat as you turn away, unable to face the hurt in his eyes.

"Why?" Tim asks, confusion lacing his voice with uncertainty.

"I can't tell you," you respond, your voice barely above a whisper as you make your escape, the weight of your decisions heavy upon your shoulders.

As you step out into the morning light, a sense of emptiness washes over you, the absence of Tim's presence leaving a void in your heart that you're not sure how to fill. But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing remains clear: duty calls, and you cannot afford to let sentimentality cloud your judgment.

When you arrive at the station, you waste no time in searching for your superior. Every word spoken by the mysterious voice echoes in your mind, a tempting glimpse of the lead you've been desperately searching for.

"Sergeant, I received a call this morning," you say, your voice filled with urgency. "The Gunrunner needs me."

"Did they give you any details?" Caradine asks, furrowing his brow with concern as a serious expression is painted across his face

"No, sir," you reply, shaking your head. "He said they'll find me when the time is right."

Sergeant Caradine nods, his mind already racing with possibilities. "I'll get your room at the motel," he says, his voice firm. "This might be our chance to catch them. Report to me twice a day, morning and midnight."

You nod, a sense of determination settling over you as you prepare to embark on this undercover mission. "Yes, sir."

"Try to get as close as you can to the operation," Detective Sergeant Caradine advises, his tone serious. "And be safe out there."

As Tim watches from the bullpen, his gaze focused on you as you speak to Sergeant Caradine, a knot forms in his stomach, a sense of unease settling over him like a heavy shroud. He can't shake the feeling that something is off, that there's more to this than meets the eye.

His chest tightens with worry, his heart pounding in his ears like a drumbeat as he struggles to maintain his composure.

He clenches his fists at his sides, a sense of helplessness washing over him like a tidal wave. Turning his attention to Angela, he raises an eyebrow in silent question, a sense of concern etched into the lines of his face.

"What's all that about?" he asks, his voice low and tense.

Angela's lips quirk up in a cryptic smile as she leans in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Foxy is back"

The mention of your undercover name sends a shiver down Tim's spine, a wave of worry crashing over him. He knows what it means, knows the danger you're about to face, and he can't help but feel a sense of helplessness wash over him as he watches from afar.

"How did you handle Y/N last night?" Angela asks, her tone playful yet probing.

Tim tries to play it cool, to mask the storm raging inside him with a nonchalant facade. "Oh, you know," he says, his voice casual despite the heaviness of his feelings pressing down on him. "She insisted on sharing the bed, I made sure she didn't puke over my clean sheets. Nothing much."

But deep down, beneath the layers of sarcasm, Tim knows the truth. He enjoyed last night more than he cares to admit, cherished the fleeting moments of intimacy shared between you, even if they were born out of drunkenness and confusion.

Angela's teasing words cut through the tension like a knife, her insight piercing through Tim's defenses with unnerving accuracy. "Sure, Bradford," she says, her voice filled with sarcasm. "But you can't hide behind your finger forever. It's clear as day that she needs you, and you need her, you idiot."

He knows she's right, knows he can't keep denying the truth forever. But the thought of facing his feelings head-on terrifies him more than he cares to admit.

"Keep me posted," Tim says, his tone firm as he meets Angela's eyes. "All the time." It's a silent plea, a desperate request for reassurance, a silent vow to always be there for you, no matter what.

Five days, six hours and some minutes you forgot to count. That's how much you've spent between the four walls as you breathed the stale and musty air filled with disinfectant and despair and as you paced the length of the room, trying to keep Tim out of your mind.

It was useless to even think about the memories taking a break from hunting you as there was nothing else to do. It felt like a prison, reporting to Detective Caradine twice a day like clockwork, but each passing moment only serves to deepen the sense of isolation and frustration that weighs heavily on your shoulders.

But no matter how hard you try to push him from your mind, Tim is always there, his presence looming large in your thoughts and dreams. You find yourself replaying the events of that night over and over again, each memory blurring as you tried to remember.

Meanwhile, Tim has been driving himself crazy with worry. He's grumpier than usual, snapping at his colleagues and pacing the bullpen like a caged animal. Every passing hour feels like an eternity, each moment stretching out into infinity as he waits for news.

He tries to distract himself with paperwork and patrols, but his mind keeps drifting back to you, to the way you looked when you rushed out of his house that morning, to the cryptic phone call that set everything in motion. He knows he should trust you, trust in your abilities as a detective, but the fear of the unknown gnaws at him like a hungry beast, refusing to be silenced.

The creak of the motel room door snaps you awake, the sound slicing through the thick fog of sleep that clouds your mind. As your tired eyes struggle to adjust to the harsh overhead light, three figures barged in, their presence casting a threatening shadow over the room.

Your heart is pounding like a drum, the adrenaline coursing through your veins like liquid fire. This is it, the moment you've been waiting for, the chance to finally get close to The Gunrunner and bring him to justice once and for all. And even as fear and doubt threaten to overwhelm you, you steel yourself, knowing that failure is not an option.

As you're ushered into the waiting car, your old flip phone is cruelly destroyed, but you refuse to let fear dictate your actions. With determination burning bright, you steel yourself for the road ahead, ready to face whatever challenges come your way. The Gunrunner may have taken your phone, your only chance of being found in the when needed, but he can't take away your determination to see this through to the end.

Tim sat at his desk, his fingers tapping restlessly on the surface as he grappled with his deafening emotions. For so long, he had buried his feelings, convincing himself that his heart belonged to Lucy. But as he watched the chaos unfold around him, his thoughts kept drifting back to you.

He finally allowed himself to admit the truth he had been avoiding. His feelings for you ran deeper than he had ever realized, a realization that both terrified and exhilarated him. It was a revelation that shook him to his core.

As Nolan's voice broke through the quiet, Tim's mind raced with a newfound clarity. "Sergeant Bradford," Nolan's voice crackled over the radio, snapping Tim out of his trance.

Tim swiftly grabbed the radio, his voice firm as he responded, "Nolan, switch to channel 9."

"We've got movement. Target's heading eastbound on 5th Street," Nolan reported.

Tim's heart skipped a beat as he processed the information. "Copy that. Maintain visual and keep a safe distance. I'm en route to coordinate backup," Tim commanded, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

As he prepared to lead the charge to rescue you and arrest the suspects, Tim made peace with his past and embraced the future that lay before him, one where he finally allowed himself to love and be loved in return.

You were caught in the middle of a chaos, bullets whizzing through the air like angry hornets, each shot a deadly reminder of the dangerous dance you signed up for. The Gunrunner's men clashed with his arms supplier, their once-profitable alliance now shattered in a storm of betrayal and bloodshed.

A stray bullet grazed your side, igniting a searing pain that threatened to engulf your senses. But even as agony rippled through your body, you pushed forward, driven by a singular purpose: to bring these criminals to justice.

As the cacophony of gunfire echoed through the air, the wail of sirens pierced the night, heralding the arrival of law enforcement. Tim's voice cut through the chaos like a beacon of hope, his commands ringing out with authority as he led the charge.

"LAPD! Drop your weapons! Hands where I can see them. On the ground, face down, spread your arms and legs," Tim's voice boomed, commanding obedience from both friend and foe alike.

You followed Tim's instructions, your movements fluid despite the pain that gnawed at your every step. As you knelt on the cold pavement, your eyes met Tim's, a silent exchange passing between you like a secret shared in the dead of night.

As Tim approached, the clink of metal echoed through the air as he secured the handcuffs around your wrists, his touch gentle yet firm. "You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court," he recited, his voice low and urgent.

But even as the cuffs clicked into place, there was a silent understanding that passed between you and Tim, a shared acknowledgment of the sacrifices that had brought you to this moment.

"You okay?" Tim's voice was soft, a quiet murmur that cut through the chaos like a beacon in the night.

For a moment, the world seemed to still around you, every sound and sensation muted by the gravity of the moment. And as you met Tim's gaze, a silent understanding passed between you, a shared recognition of the dangers that lurked in the shadows.

"I'm fine," you whispered, the words a hollow echo of the truth that lay beneath the surface.

But even as the lie slipped from your lips, there was a flicker of gratitude in Tim's eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the sacrifices you had made in service of the greater good.

"Bull. You're bleeding," he whispered, his jaw clenching in frustration and disappointment at your lies.

With a grimace, you glanced down at the wound, the pain radiating through your body like a wildfire. But even as you felt the tendrils of darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision, there was a steely resolve in your gaze, a silent vow to see the mission through to its end, no matter the cost.

"I'll be fine," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to maintain your composure.

As you stand in your dimly lit kitchen, exhaustion weighing heavily on your shoulders, the thought of a proper meal and a hot shower feels like a distant dream. The events of the past week have left you drained both physically and emotionally, and the prospect of mustering up the energy to cook dinner seems daunting.

Just as you begin to resign yourself to another night of solitude, a knock at the door startles you from your reverie. With a weary sigh, you shuffle over to answer it, already bracing yourself for the inevitable conversation that awaits.

Opening the door, you're met with the sight of Tim standing on your doorstep, a concerned look etched upon his features. His presence is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a reminder that you're not as alone in this world as you sometimes feel.

"Hey, uh," he begins, his voice slightly hesitant as he searches for the right words. "I was in the neighbourhood and thought maybe check on you." there's a hint of concern in his voice, a silent plea hidden behind the casual facade he wears like armor. "I was thinking maybe we can go grab some dinner. You look like you could use a proper meal."

"I appreciate the offer, Tim, but I'm really tired," you protest weakly, your resolve crumbling in the face of his insistence. "I was just planning to make something quick and calling it a night."

But Tim isn't one to be deterred so easily. With a gentle yet firm resolve, he brushes off your protests and offers to take care of dinner himself. His concern for your well-being is palpable, his desire to help you through this rough patch written plainly across his face.

"Nonsense," he insists, his voice unwavering. "You've had a rough week. Let me take care of dinner tonight."

Your protests falter in the face of his unwavering determination, and with a resigned sigh, you finally relent. "I… I don't know, Tim."

"Yes, you know," he replies, his tone gentle yet firm. "Go take a bath, relax, and let me help you."

With a mixture of reluctance and gratitude, you nod, silently accepting his offer of kindness. "Ugh, fine," you concede, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "But don't expect anything fancy from my kitchen."

As you emerge from the bathroom, refreshed and revitalized by the soothing warmth of the bath, you find Tim bustling about the kitchen, the savory aroma of your favorite meal fills the air, tempting your taste buds and stirring a hunger you hadn't realized was there.

Tim turns to greet you with a smile, his eyes bright with warmth and mischief. "How was the bath? Did it work its magic?" he quips, his tone light and teasing as he gestures towards the steaming pots on the stove.

You nod eagerly, the anticipation of a delicious meal and Tim's company lifting your spirits in a way you hadn't thought possible. "Absolutely," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you take a seat at the table. "I must admit, I'm curious to see if your cooking skills live up to the hype."

Tim feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. "Ouch, that hurts," he says with a dramatic sigh, before breaking into a grin.

As he serves up generous portions of the meal he's prepared, the two of you settle into an easy rhythm of conversation and laughter.

You take a bite of the savory dish and you can't help but let out a satisfied sigh. "Wow, Tim, this is amazing," you exclaim, your taste buds dancing with delight. "I stand corrected – your cooking skills definitely live up to the hype."

Tim beams with pride, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. "Told you," he says with a playful wink.

You chuckle, shaking your head in amusement. "Well, consider me impressed," you reply, lifting another forkful of food to your mouth. "You might have to start coming over more often if this is what I have to look forward to."

"I'd love that."

With each passing moment, the barriers between you seem to fade away, leaving behind a sense of warmth and intimacy that fills the room. The laughter comes easy, the smiles genuine, as you bask in the simple pleasure of each other's company.

"About the other night…"Tim begins, his voice soft but determined as the conversation turns more serious, a weighty silence settles between you.

You fidget nervously with your fork, unable to meet his gaze. "I don't really remember much," you admit, your words coming out in a rush. "But I do remember waking up in your bed."

Tim's expression softens, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Yeah, about that," he says, reaching across the table to gently take your hand in his. "You were… um, pretty vocal about your feelings."

A pang of guilt twists in your chest, the weight of your drunken words hanging heavy in the air. "I'm sorry," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was drunk and didn't know what I was talking about."

But Tim shakes his head, his gaze unwavering as he meets your eyes. "Yeah, well, I don't buy that," he says, his voice firm yet gentle. "I know you, Y/N. You can't lie to me."

Your breath catches in your throat, the raw honesty in his words leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. "If I could, I’d lose feelings for you," you admit, tears welling up in your eyes. "But it’s not that easy. It’s not that easy to just let go of someone you’ve seen as your whole world for so many years."

Tim's eyes soften, a tenderness washing over his features as he reaches out to gently wipe away your tears. "I’m going to need you to stop for one second," he says softly, his voice laced with warmth and affection. "Because I just find it so incredibly rude that you think I’m not head over heels in love with you, you idiot."

Your breath catches in your throat, disbelief washing over you as his words sink in. "You are?" you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Tim nods, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, Y/N," he says, his voice filled with conviction. "I know I love you and I know I need you."

His words were unexpected, filling you with confusion and some sort of warmth from head to toe as you searched for his eyes, intrigued, "But.. what about Lucy?"

A sense of disappointment washed over him, alongside a little sight of pain as he spoke, "She said no." he paused for a second to weight his words, "And that help me realise I didn't even love her that way. I somehow projected the love for you into that relationship. That's what the therapist said."

As Tim's words sink in, a surge of emotion courses through you, a whirlwind of disbelief and overwhelming joy. Before you can even process the full extent of what he's saying, he's already closing the distance between you, his arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace.

The warmth of his touch seeps into your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you lean into his embrace, the weight of his arms around you offering a sense of safety and security you hadn't realized you'd been craving. It feels like coming home, like finally finding the missing piece of yourself you never knew was missing.

For a moment, you simply revel in the closeness, in the comforting embrace of the man you've come to love more than words can express. It's in moments like these, with Tim's arms around you and his heart beating against yours, that you realize just how deeply you've fallen for him, how much he means to you.

As Tim pulls away from the embrace, his eyes soften with tenderness as he reaches up to gently swipe away your tears. "Please don't cry," he murmurs, his voice laced with concern and affection. Cupping your cheeks in his hands, he caresses them with his thumbs, his touch soothing and comforting.

Leaning in, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin. "I have something for you," he says softly, reaching for a bag hidden nearby. Your curiosity piqued, you watch as he handed you the bag with a small smile.

"What's this?" you ask, your voice filled with curiosity.

"It's something new," Tim replies, his own excitement evident in his tone. "Like this… new thing between us."

You reached into the bag and pulled out a neatly folded sweater. Tears well up in your eyes once again as you recognizes it – the exact replica of the one that had earned itself a wide whole and blood stains during the undercover operation.

"You remembered," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

"Of course, I did," he replies, his eyes softening with affection. "I could never forget how much you love that sweater."

Overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness, you throw your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. "Thank you, Tim." you buried your head more into his chest. "It… it means a lot. I don't know what I'd do without you," you admit, your voice barely a whisper.

Tim's arms tighten around you, as if he's afraid to let you go. "You'll never have to find out," he promises, his words filled with unwavering determination. "I'll always be here for you, Y/N. Always."

[wreckitredglare]

Marriage keeps coming up as a topic. In jest, in seriousness. Where I am the wife, where I am the former wife, where I'd make a lovely bride. And on occasion, where I'll be a fine wedding guest.

I wanted to marry for love. I wanted that so much. I still do. But when I was perfect for it, I wasn't good enough to be chosen. When I was married, I was a terrible wife. I can't subject anyone to that again. Not until I become better.

But I imagine the futures. I wish for them so terribly. I just won't ever have them.

[goxjo]

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

↪︎ a nsfw mini-series featuring various haikyuu x f bridesmaid!reader scenarios

A/N. I find myself cowering at the slightest hints of domesticity irl and therefore have trouble writing it so here’s a little idea I came up with that’s (sort of) close enough. AAAND I rewrote parts of something blue & something borrowed ++ they’re about 3-4 years old today sksks. Just wanted to show my earlier works some love that’s all <3

taglist. comment or send an ask to be tagged. please make sure your age is visible on your blog too <33

haikyuu masterlist ∘ general masterlist

꒰ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢 — 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 ꒱

I. Something Blue ⋮ Miya Atsumu

In which you, a bridesmaid, come across a groomsman who cannot wait to get away from all the drunk and lovesick fools at the wedding reception, much like yourself ⋮ Alternatively, in which you get to know each other while he’s balls deep into you

content. hookups, just a bunch of horny strangers, semi-public touching and grinding a.k.a. inappropriate pda, lots and lots of teasing, cockwarming, wc. 3.5k

II. Something Borrowed ⋮ Sakusa Kiyoomi

In which you find no way out of the most absurd wedding tradition of all time — the garter toss

content. light choking, slight humiliation, slight corruption, deepthroating, slight gagging, fingering, cunnilingus, mentions of alcohol, edging, slight praise kink, overstimulation, creampie, aftercare, wc. 6.1k

III. Something Old ⋮ Iwaizumi Hajime

In which the marriage of a close friend reunites you with your ex who returns after 3 years of no communication, making all unresolved feelings come to light ⋮ Alternatively, in which an ex tries to win you back

content. angst, exes to lovers, confrontation, quickie (sort of), semi-public sex, creampie, cum-eating

IV. Something New ⋮ Suna Rintarou

In which marital inevitabilities — merging families, in particular — force extended relatives to get to know each other. As if that in itself isn’t uncomfortable enough, you’re also forced to bunk with your future sister-in-law’s brother while you’re in town

content. and they were roommates!, reluctant roommates, acquaintances to friends with benefits to lovers, sharing a wall, mutual masturbation, some angst, bridesmaid & groomsman shenanigans

[ahappyphjl]

something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue...

[iamsoconfusedallofthetime]

Fanfiction of fanfiction is something I love and never get to see because it's so funny when it happens

Platonic Mal scenario where you know how he is about being invited to things and tell him if you ever end up getting married, he's obviously invited. He gets a little too excited about that and starts playing match maker so it can happen as soon as possible.

[emchant3d]

modern au, exes to lovers, transfem stevie harrington

Stevie Harrington is not having a good day.

By all accounts, she should be. Robin woke her right on time by pressing a perfectly made brown sugar shaken espresso into her hand. Nancy and Chrissy got to the venue earlier than expected. The hair and makeup people were on schedule. Their boozy charcuterie brunch during their prep time was perfectly served, the mimosas delicious and the food fresh and light enough to put on her nervous stomach. 

Everything’s gone off without a hitch. She looks gorgeous. She’s got her something old, her something new, her something borrowed, and even her something blue. Her hair’s done in a soft blowout, framing her face but out of the way, ready for the combs of her veil to slip into. Her makeup is elegant, not too showy and not too dramatic, neutral and warm and sweet. And her dress. It’s what she always dreamed of, clingy and silky with a dramatic leg slit and a long train, off the shoulders, perfectly white. She’s staring at herself in the mirror knowing that in forty-five minutes, she’s going to hold the world’s most beautiful wedding bouquet and walk down the most perfectly decorated aisle in the quaintest, sweetest church she could find, and she’ll stand across from her fiancé and take his hands and say “I do” and all of her dreams will come true.

So she should be having a good day.

Because it’s her wedding day, and Stevie Harrington is about to become Stefania Hagan.

Maybe that brunch wasn’t so perfect after all, because she thinks she’s about to puke.

“I can’t do this,” she says, but her voice is so soft it’s barely a whisper and the girls don’t even glance at her. “I can’t do this,” she repeats, and Robin - bless her, her favorite person in the world, her soulmate, her other half, her maid of honor - glances up. 

“What’s that, Evie?” she asks, and the others look over at her, and Stevie stands there beneath their gazes and knows if she just says it again, says I can’t do this, don’t make me marry him, get me out of here, all three of them would drag her to an exit and get her the fuck out.

They don’t even like Tommy. Robin actively hates him, actually, and that should have been enough for Stevie to never look at him twice.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough.

She thinks back to a few days ago, drunk in a bar with a white sash wrapped around her torso, a tiara on her head, and mascara running down her face as she desperately sobbed on Robin’s shoulder during her bachelorette party. That little meltdown wasn’t enough. And she thinks back further, to when Tommy proposed - in public, at a fucking baseball game, on the goddamn jumbotron. Dread had settled in her chest at the sight of the ring (huge, gaudy, she hated it on sight) even as she pasted on a smile and said yes. That hadn’t been enough.

But somehow standing here done up head to toe, about to walk down the aisle in her absolute dream wedding - that’s enough. Because everything about today is right. Everything’s in place. Everything’s gorgeous and going to plan and she should be so, so happy - but it’s the wrong man waiting for her at the end of all of it.

She can’t do this. 

She looks up and meets Robin’s eyes and forces a smile. “I said I need to get my veil,” she lies, and she slips into her shoes (red bottoms, a gift from Tommy’s mother, perfectly white and pointed and it’s her dream day, how can she be throwing this away?) and walks into the other room where her garment bag is hanging, and her veil is there with its delicate detail and it’s scalloped edges and it’s all so fucking perfect she’s going to scream, she wants to rip it to pieces and she wants to tear this dress off and she wants to sob, she doesn’t want to do this, she doesn’t want to get married - not to him. Not to Tommy. 

She could ask for help. Robin would have her out of here in five minutes flat, Nancy would craft an excuse to tell everyone, and Chrissy would cause a distraction. But even that’s too long of a wait. Even that’s too much attention, too much suspicion. She needs to move faster than that. She needs out now.

She quickens her pace as she crosses the room, dress dragging along the carpet, and she snags her phone where it’s sitting on the end table next to an overstuffed love seat, and in three long strides she’s out the door and in the hall and the church has been busy and packed all day but somehow, miraculously, there’s no one here.

No one sees Stevie as she gathers up the fabric of her dress in her hands and starts to walk towards the exit. No one sees as her walk speeds to a jog, and then a run, and then she slams out of a side door and she’s on the sidewalk and she’s sprinting, her heels are going to get scuffed by the pavement but she can’t care, she’s running as fast as she can and dodging people on the sidewalk as they turn and gawk at her and she cannot give them a thought, cannot focus on them even a little bit because she has to get away, escape is the only thought on her mind as she gasps for air, her dress is so heavy and it’s not made for running that’s for goddamn sure, and the last few years with Tommy flash through her mind - every time he’s undermined her or given her a backhanded compliment or policed her, told her she wasn’t feminine enough, told her she wasn’t trying hard enough to pass, told her to just keep it all to herself so no one would know she wasn’t cis, wouldn’t embarrass him by making a scene, all the times that come together to a glaringly obvious conclusion that he doesn’t really love her and she kind of hates him a little actually, and obviously she can’t fucking marry him and–

There. 

A beat-up four-door with an Uber sticker in the window. 

That’ll do, she thinks, and she changes course, shoulder-checking a man and not apologizing for it as she makes a beeline for the car. She pops off an acrylic wrenching the door open and tossing herself into the backseat, and she yells “DRIVE!” at the top of her lungs and somehow, through some miracle, they listen, swerving into traffic with a loud curse and a myriad of honking horns and a quaint, sweet little church growing smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror.

She’s gasping for breath, chest heaving, staring out the back window like she’s waiting for someone to follow her - and maybe she is, maybe Tommy is hot on her trail, or maybe Robin is coming to kill her for not including her in her mad dash to freedom and instead jumping in a stranger’s car going God knows where.

“So uh,” a voice says, and she whips around, staring wide-eyed at the brown eyes fixed on her in the mirror, and no, no fucking way– “where to, ma’am?” 

“Um,” she says, and her voice is shaky, cracking a little, she brushes her hair out of her face and stares and– wait.

There’s a beat. The driver’s eyes widen. Recognition flashes over his face at the same time it registers for Stevie. 

“Stevie?” Eddie Munson, her ex-boyfriend of several years, the man she hasn’t spoken to since that fateful night they went their separate ways, is staring at her in shock, not even looking at the road, and the only thing she can think is how he’s just as averse to road safety now as he’d been way back when.

“Eddie,” she croaks out. 

Too many emotions are overwhelming her at once and it feels like the biggest cliché in the world, but honestly, Stevie feels like she’s entitled to some dramatics. It’s her goddamn wedding day, after all.

Her failed wedding day.

Where she just left her fiancé at the altar.

“Oh god,” she manages. Her lower lip wobbles. Her vision blurs.

“Stevie,” Eddie says again, like a warning, and that’s enough to push her over.

She bursts into tears in his backseat.

“Hey hey hey!” he says like she’s a fucking spooked horse or something, which only makes her cry more, ugly sobs that shake her shoulders and drip tear drops onto her dress. “Stevie, honey–”

“Do NOT call me honey right now!” she manages, and he raises a hand in surrender before flipping on a turn signal and finding a parking lot to pull over in. 

“Okay, okay! No comforting pet names, you got it,” he agrees, and he shuts the car off, turning in his seat to look at her, concern painted all over his face and that’s just really not fair, she thinks, that he still looks so earnest and sweet and fucking worried about her.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, urgent and serious, and she shakes her head quickly.

“No! No, I’m - I’m fine, really,” she insists and he proves that he is a gentleman after all, because he doesn’t call her out on the blatant lie.

“Okay,” he says, level, his hand hovering in the space between them like he wants to touch her. “What do you need?” he asks, and she wipes at her face with her hands, swallowing down yet another sob.

“Get me out of here,” she pleads, and he searches her face for - something, she doesn’t know what, because she’s sure all she’s showing him is how much of a fucking mess she is, but he must find whatever he’s looking for.

He gives her a sharp nod. “Anywhere in particular, sweetheart?” he asks, turning to start the car again. She doesn’t call him out on the pet name this time.

“Anywhere but here,” she says, and he puts the car in reverse, pulling back onto the road.

“You got it,” he says, and some of that old charm must kick in - he winks at her in the rearview. She resolutely ignores the spike of emotion it gives her. 

Then she takes a deep, shuddery breath, and opens the group chat to break the news to her wedding party.

part 2