#there is angst and homosexuals what else do you want

[that0nebird]

Yearly replay of telltale’s batman here I come

[ganxiously]

So, it turns out what I needed to get out of my writer's block was soul-wrenching grief and heart-crushing disappointment. And while I am happy about that (to an extent), I also wish my muse wasn't angst because I think I am hurting myself writing this fic and I need to now make it everyone else's problem.

Sitting there in the dark, on Eddie’s sofa, curled in on himself like it’s supposed to do anything to hold him together, one thought pops into his head, bright, neon red and in bold among the constant litany of boorish, black ‘This is all my fault’ — All of this is because I didn’t know what a Kinsey six is. The thought is unexpected enough that Buck unfurls a little, wondering where it came from and then he remembers their anniversary date. The memory leaves him breathless but he is curious enough to push past the newly burgeoning hurt and take out his phone. A quick Google reveals it to be the rating for ‘exclusively homosexual’ on the Kinsey scale so he looks that up next and as he’s debating whether to start from Wikipedia first or dive right into the Kinsey Institute website, his eyes land on the conspicuous ‘test online’ button right below the search bar. A part of him doesn’t want to find out, doesn’t want anyone else telling him what he is but the taunt is too much. If you had known, if you had just taken a moment to figure yourself out, maybe you could have said something. Maybe you could have stopped him before he walked away. He clicks on the first test that pops up, looks at the first question, goes to select option 1 and then stops and stares. ‘To whom are you attracted?’ should be an easy question to answer but the confidence to not think much has left him. He could easily choose ‘Both men and women’ but would that even be correct? He’s been so sure that he has felt attraction towards men a few times in the past but what if that was a mild interest at best? After all, no one had really pinged his radar the way Tommy had. He looks at the next question and that’s when the panic really starts to set in because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he prefers men over women or if he just prefers Tommy over women, over everyone else. What if Tommy is the outlier and he prefers women over men after all? The pressure in his chest becomes more and more painful the longer he stares at it so he closes the test and opens the next one on the list. That one starts off mild. The way the first question is framed makes it easy to answer that yes, while he mostly notices women, the occasional man does turn his eyes. The next one asks what he would be comfortable in calling himself and he thinks he could get away with calling himself bisexual but then there’s an option saying ‘could be bisexual but not sure if that’s correct‘. And again the thought hits, What if it’s just Tommy? He debates it briefly and then gives in and chooses the latter option. He breezes through the next couple of questions because he is at least sure that he would find it desirable to kiss people from both genders but then they hit him with the sexual preference question again. He backs out so fast his phone nearly slips out of his hand and with a sigh of frustration, he clicks on the next test. That turns out worse because the very first question stalls him and so it continues again and again and again until tears start prickling at the corner of his eyes and his breath starts coming in sharp, short bursts pulling his throat tight but not taking any air to his lungs. He keeps at it until there’s one more nameless person behind one more useless test clamouring at him, Tell us, tell us, tell us. Tell us you know what you want. He hurls the phone across the room, thankful when instead of landing on the floor, it silently hits the backrest of Eddie’s armchair and slides down into the crease with a swoosh. He should get up and retrieve it, he should go home really but what he does instead is let his head fall forward onto his raised knees and give in to the caricatured voice of his mind telling him, Of course, he thought you would break his heart. Look at yourself, you idiot.

This is basically just the set-up for the fic but rest assured I am dragging Buck down to the trenches before I let him swim up to Tommy again.

[amiiancasselmanyet]

Fix Me is a Mid 2000's Classic, You're Just Not From Canada

before I start this essay series, I would like to clarify that this is NOT a series of reviews but just me genuinely expressing my feelings I have towards the albums in question because I’m a highschool dropout…bon appetite or whatever

also tw for eating disorders, self harm, general mental illness and addiction but this is fix me, you probably knew that

When most people think about early to mid 2000s rock albums that became staples and bands that became household names, there's a few that genuinely come to mind. Let’s get the “emo trinity” out of the way; From Under The Cork Tree was Fall Out Boys sophomore album from 2005 that is still widely loved for good reason. The songs are good and the lyrics hit when you least expect it. Every. Single. Time. Then, of course, we have The Black Parade. I cannot express my love of this album enough, it is quite literally my all time favorite and while Three Cheers has a more solid concept (man kills other men to try and get his lover back, homosexual antics ensues), there's a reason it’s arguably their most well known and beloved by the kids who used to bully you in middle school. Of course we have A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out coming in right after this, there’s not much I can say since this album truly deserves it’s own essay that I won't manage to write (Ryan Ross please come back the kids and I miss you) but, like the other albums, it's a STAPLE at Emo Nites and Emo Nite knockoffs (shout out to Sneaky Dees in Toronto). There is, however, an album among them that's a hidden gem due to the fact that . Fix Me was the debut studio album from Marianas Trench, arriving in 2006. This album stands out from the others in a lot of ways, its sound, its vulnerability and its general lack of a concept. This album was a shot in the dark and a testament to taking chances. Let's talk about it. 

If you’re even a little bit familiar with Marianas Trench (you definitely are because you are on a blog dedicated to the drummer, my beloved bias Ian Casselman), the sound you’re used to most likely isn’t here. This album is gritty, it’s production is grungy. When you look at the other albums at face value, it stands out as nothing like the rest. If you dig deeper, however, you realize that this album truly was the foundation of what was to come. The guitar heavy sound continues throughout the discography, even if it feels less clean than its successors. It adds to the aggression a lot of the songs have, it makes the lyrics hit harder. It was too rock for the pop charts but too pop for the rock charts.(I’m pretty sure Josh said that but this thing isn’t getting a bibliography, this is a more sophisticated shit post on a blog that, again, focuses on the silly drummer with mutton chops) While the sound is incredible, the true core of the album lies in its vulnerability.

Fix Me is essentially an auditory diary, with each track feeling like a new entry. There are themes focusing on the actual struggles Josh Ramsay dealt with at the time. There’s a lot about addiction (specifically heroin), self harm, eating disorders (specifically bulimia) and general depression. It's angsty. It's difficult  to hear at times. You're not supposed to get personal during essays but this is literally on a blog where I refer to the followers as “casselman nation”, it’s a lawless land and fuck you I’ll do what I want. This album, at its core, felt like it was almost a diary entry from a younger me. 

14 year old me was very different from the current me, I had a different name entirely, a different outlook on life and a lot of things that shaped me today had not happened yet. I was unmedicated and everyone else's problem. If you ever scroll down on the personal tag of my main (you WILL NOT, you DO NOT need to see my digital footprint and angst), you'll notice that there's a lot of themes on this album that pertained to me at that time. I was VERY depressed, undiagnosed bipolar 2, bulimic and…doing things in school bathrooms I shouldn't have with items from my art class I shouldn't have had access to in that state (not going to elaborate, I’m sure you get where I’m going). When you deal with those things head on, you tend to, from experience, seek out public figures, whether it be musicians or celebrities or youtubers (shout out to Dan and Phil lmao) who have similar experiences that you had. For me, a big one from the get go was Marianas Trench. There’s something oddly comforting in not only knowing you’re not only alone but that you’re ALSO going to survive. I truly wish I was able to hug 14 year old me but I also know that they’d be proud that I DIDN’T do the thing I wanted to do before I turned 17.

There’s another reason Fix Me is truly removed from other albums and it truly feels like the biggest component; there's no concept. Fix Me has its own identity but it's not through a story or through successful singles, it's through the fact that it has none of it. It shines through its simplicity, its impact is through the way it can stand alone. It’s an album by the band that could be, and should be at times, put on shuffle. It’s an album where you can pick any song, off the top of your head, and listen to it when you’re feeling angry or sad or full of unbridled angst. Sure, you CAN listen to other songs on other albums one at a time, Masterpiece Theatre is the first on I can think of off the top of my head, however, would you want to? Would you want to listen to The End of An Era and have it followed up with a song like This Means War? It 100% kills the immersive nature that the band has carefully crafted over the last 20 years. (yes they’ve been a band that long considering the fix me bsides are from 2001, yes it makes me feel geriatric) I think the biggest reason that it personally hits every mark imaginable for a grungy punk record is the fact that there is no secret meaning hidden in each song, its open and honest from the get go. It’s raw, real and does exactly what it needs to do.

Through its sound, its ability to be honest and vulnerable in its writing and the easily accessible material, it's a staple. Shake Tramp belongs in an Emo Nite just as much as something like Sugar We’re Going Down and more than Welcome to the Black Parade (I love that song but it doesn’t fit the vibe as well as House of Wolves or The Sharpest Lives, Emo Nite is just catering to the normies and preps). Decided to Break Its video should be as beloved as I Write Sins Not Tragedies. Marianas Trench deserve their flowers for being such a staple in the lives of canadian teens who are struggling, the adults who want to comfort their inner teen selves and those who, in general, are feeling small.

[skarkkk]

I don't know how to start with Doctor Odyssey.

First,

He killed himself. He killed himself because he didn't want to live with himself anymore, with his addiction, with his marriage. He killed himself because he couldn't stand the idea of this fake perfect relationship anymore and how his fiancée and her mother knew he was struggling and didn't say anything and how this will destroy them and how this relationship that his fiancée wanted to be perfect was literally their downfall. His best friend sleeping with her, him crying over the news, Erik killing himself because that's what suicidal people do when they can't think of another option or ask for help. I really cried when Max comforted Erik and how the actor acted that way and it was relatable, feeling lost. Even though I thought at first that it was because of repressed homosexuality when he married a woman, even him taking off his shoes, standing on the railing of the cruiser and jumping because it was his way of freeing himself from the pain.

Second,

The threesome. I've been talking about their threesome vibes all along here and it happened. Stupid as a wish list and everyone wanting a threesome and my thoughts were "you all want it, do it!" and then Avery offered and they actually did it. When Tristan went in to kiss her and she grabbed his hair, can we agree that this man is submissive? Can we see how the desire was written all over Max's face watching them make out? And then he joined in, and Avery in the middle and oh my god I needed more. Of Max with Tristan, because if this is going to be more than sex I need it to be a threesome where they both love and touch each other, regardless. According to the preview for the next episode, it's going to happen again, during "gay week" and if they don't take the chance to do a scene with Max and Tristan, or one focusing on Tristan as I said before in the style of a man hitting on him and Avery and Max being jealous and that triggering another night. I need it to start with messy and sentimental sex and for them to end up together without problems, she as a doctor, Max as he wishes and Tristan as he wishes. I don't know if ABC will miss the opportunity to really do polyamorous representation or not, but I beg them to at least try.

Third,

A gay week? For fuck's sake, I'm gonna love that. At least one pan person, please, but focusing on that, someone really explores the depths of sexuality in this episode and something like acceptance, and mentions homophobia and how it all leads to Tristan and Max getting together too because there's no other line of thinking. I want it to not just be another comedy episode or one with gay people, but one that's really about us, about queers and has depth and is the perfect episode for an AIDs case and angst. I want them to really take advantage of what this episode can bring to the plot.

Fourth,

We get past Avery and Max so where is Tristan? And what happened to Vivian?

Fifth,

There's not much else to say, in my opinion, so there's an appreciation for the cruise ship staff. Rosie, the co-captain whose name I still don't know, the Captain. They're like family. And speaking of the cruise ship staff and remembering gay week, I heard right when the blond guy from Flash said he was bi, right? That could very well be used as well.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Spring, 2020 - JAG Headquarters Naval Base San Diego

Chapter 6 Part 1 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: After too long, it's finally the day of your inquiry. You're to be judged by a panel of your peers and with the COMPACFLT presiding. You're filled with nerves. Of course, Lieutenants Marks and Greybanks have your back as do the Daggers. One conversation with Rooster gives you hope, hope that your soulmate doesn't hate you, and hope that this inquiry will finally go your way!

Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish. The author has no idea how Navy inquiries go (so take all the legalese with a grain of salt).

This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.

Warnings: Female!Reader

Word Count: 4414

A/N: Hehehehehe! Now that I've gotten my wicked little giggles out of the way, I hope you're all ready!

But first! A disclaimer! I'm neither a law professional nor in the US Navy. In this more than any chapter for this story I've written, I implore you to ignore the pseudo-legalese and my fragrant lack of knowledge regarding military inquiry protocol.

And now to the fun part! We're going to get revenge on an odious little bird in this chapter! (Yes, I mean a particular character!) His number is up and everyone is very eager to see him BURN!

I'm sorry this chapter wasn't out at 6 PM EST like usual. What can I say except life happened?

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Tinkerbell

The courtroom is far less imposing than you were expecting. The walls are beige and unadorned. The truly imposing people in the room are your opposing counsel and the fact that this trial is being presided over by the Commander of the Pacific Fleet, Admiral Tom Kazansky. You’d think that facing down the COMPACFLT and a panel of fellow Lieutenant Commanders would take all of your attention, but you’d be wrong. The focus of all of your attention, and well, the attention of everyone else in the room, is on the cocky man sitting in the witness box. He's under oath, having promised to ‘Tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth’, but looking at his face, a part of you cannot believe he will do so. Whatever truths spilling from his mouth are likely to be false, nuggets of information so twisted and cruel that you can’t even hope the panel of Lieutenant Commanders in the room can make sense of it. The picture he’s painting of you is far from flattering, after all.

As Hawk tells it, you’re a temperamental female AMDO Lieutenant Commander with a penchant for throwing hissy fits on the job and sabotaging successful male pilots just out of spite for their physical prowess. It’s a convincing tale and makes you want to sink into the seat of your chair next to Commanders Marks and Greybanks as he smirks vindictively at you. As if he hadn’t dragged every inch of your leadership through the mud when he went through the events of the first AMDO inspection of the year, now you know there’s something else he has to mention for this trial. It hasn’t mattered how often Commanders Marks and Grebanks objected to Hawk’s rendition of the first AMDO inspection of the year. Admiral Kazansky had sustained all of the objections, but it seems to have been too little, too late. Nobody on the panel of seven looks remotely convinced of your innocence anymore.

“Moving on then. What, Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor, did you witness on the morning of December 18th at approximately 0530 AM?” Commander Wilson of the Judge Advocate General’s Corps is stern as he asks the question. When you’d expressed confusion to Commanders Marks and Greybank, you were informed that this was standard operating procedure in the Navy. The courtroom, for lack of a better word, is hushed. Whether you like it or not, Hawk has everyone on the edge of their seats, hanging onto his every word.

“I saw the Lieutenant Commander and the Lieutenants having words, Commander.”

“Which Lieutenant Commander and Lieutenants, Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor?” It’s unsurprising when Hawk points to you as well as Bradley and Jake sitting in the gallery and states your full names. You were expecting this; both Commanders Marks and Greybank had prepared you for it. However, you weren’t expecting to see Bradley in the courtroom or the remaining Daggers. This closed inquiry indicates whether you will face a court martial. The only personnel in the room are those necessary for the defense or the prosecution. So that must mean that the Daggers are being called either as witnesses for the defense or a witness for the prosecution.

It hurts, seeing the new scars crisscrossing over Bradley’s face and the fragile way he shuffles in his seat as Hawks’ testimony enthralls the court. You, on the other hand, feel like you’re going to throw up. That distinctly sick feeling continues as Commander Wilson asks question after question, all of them intent on crucifying you. If he were in an F-18, you’d have the crosshairs on you and hear the tone of the missile lock. A victorious smile, poorly concealed, is on Hawk's face as his prosecution finishes questioning and takes their seats. Now, Commander Marks takes over the questioning for the defense.

“Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor, we've heard what happened on the morning of December 18th. Why were you on base that early?”

Commander Greybanks leans forward when Hawk scoffs and starts scrawling notes on the legal pad before him. “We were scheduled to begin training at 0800 hours sharp. But I wanted to get some additional time on the flight simulators, so I was on base earlier that day.”

“Then why were you in Hangar Two, Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor, when per your earlier statement, you were going to the Simulation Center on the opposite end of North Island Naval Air Station?”

You let a furtive smile curl your lips for the first time since the inquiry began. It’s fleeting because you probably shouldn’t be smiling, but the hope that question gives you is enough. Hawk’s expression makes you feel even better because he looks like he’s taken a sip of curdled milk from an expired carton.

“I was just on my way to the Simulation Center from the locker room when I saw the lights on in Hangar Two. It was 0530 in the morning, ma’am. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone else there. So, I dipped in through the back door to ensure nobody was messing with the proprietary Naval technology inside the hangar.”

There’s a distinct tremor in Hawk’s voice as he says the words. It almost feels like he’s worried about something - hopefully, something that the Commanders will uncover.

“What about the conversation the Lieutenant Commander and Lieutenants were having piqued your interest, Lieutenant Junior Grade?”

“I couldn’t quite hear it, Ma’am, but it was something to do with Lieutenant Bradshaw’s jet.”

Hawk takes a sip of water from the glass in front of him before he continues.

“I was not close enough to hear exactly what was wrong with the jet, Ma’am. But Tinkerbell was under the jet looking at the landing gear - the front landing gear in particular.”

“So what did you hear, Lieutenant Junior Grade?” Commander Marks is sticking to the facts, not letting Hawk philosophize in a manner he’d clearly like to if the way he swallows with each statement is an indication. She’s also quite content to let Hawk’s continued use of your callsign rather than your rank slide. It bothers you because you’ve earned your rank with blood, sweat, and a not-insignificant quantity of tears. But she must have a reason. Both the Commanders must have a reason because Hawk’s clearly discomfited at Commander Marks questioning him instead of Commander Greybank.

“As I mentioned, Ma’am, I heard nothing until Lieutenant Bradshaw got loud. He mentioned something about wanting to still fly.”

“Then what happened?” 

“Tinkerbell happened, ma’am.” There’s a distinct snarl on his face as he says your name. “She refused to let Lieutenant Bradshaw fly.”

“Was Lieutenant Bradshaw’s absence explained before that day’s exercises?”

“It was ma’am, by Tinkerbell of all people. She explained it as an acute mechanical failure on the front landing gear - not that I believed her.”

“And what happened after that?”

“Nothing, in particular, Ma’am. We flew in our assigned patterns through the morning and into the afternoon. It was the first hop after lunch that something out of the ordinary happened. Lieutenant Bradshaw came on comms at half-past two that day. He told us he’d been cleared to fly by Tinkerbell and that he’d be joining us up in the air.”

You feel like you’ve been sucker-punched again. Suddenly, you’re back on the tarmac, jet fuel exhaust wafting past as you scream into the comms. That panic, that pain, that feeling of hopelessness, and the fear is washing over you again.

“Twenty minutes later, I was watching a fireball burst against the side of the mountain. Tell me why it was that one of the US Navy's best aviators had to crash because one female AMDO couldn't do her job properly?”

“The defense has no further questions about the incident occurring on December 18th, Admiral Kazansky.”

“Very well, let’s take a half-hour recess and convene back here at exactly quarter past 11. We’ll resume with the questioning of Lieutenant Bradshaw at that time.” The Admiral looks tired - it can’t be easy presiding over inquiries.

The moment you are dismissed, the Commanders lead you to a secluded bench in the open central hall of JAG headquarters.

“That was rough.” It’s a matter-of-fact comment and not one that either of the Commanders is expecting a response to.

They let you sit in silence for a minute, at most, before Lieutenant Greybank hands you a bottle of water. “Do you still intend to testify to the status of your soulbond with Lieutenant Bradshaw?”

“If I need to.” You sigh, noticing the Daggers spreading out through the courtyard. Jake and Javy look like they're searching for you. So does Bradley - which you are not expecting. “It’s my last resort, sir, ma’am. If we need to mention my soulbond and soul-markers to sway the panel, then we will. I’m not ready to let my career go without a fight.”

“Alright. We’re going to go talk to Commander Wilson. I feel we have a few more pieces of evidence to submit to the Admiral and the panel, then.” You stand and salute the higher-ranking officials as they walk away before sitting back down as you let your eyes flutter closed. 

It’s warm in the sun-roof ceilinged room. If you ignore the chatter of people at the coffee cart across the way, you could almost delude yourself into believing that it’s the middle of summer. More importantly, you can believe that all of this is behind you. You let yourself relish in the heat and imagine a summer day where you're curled up under the lone oak tree in your backyard. There are birds chirping, and if you focus, you can just hear the soft susurrations of the ocean over the wind rustling through the grass.

Your fantasy comes crashing down around your ears when a body settles onto the bench next to you. You know who it is before you even open your eyes, the soulbond buzzing like a hive of agitated bees under your skin just in his proximity.

“Hi, Bradley.” Your face feels hot as you take in his face.

“Hi, Tink.” He sounds so subdued, so lost as he greets you.

“Are you doing alright?” You blurt the words out before you even think about them. You've meant to ask it since you heard he woke up.

“I'm okay, Tinkerbell.” He chuckles then, something soft yet mirthless. “Gotta take it one day at a time. Though I think I'm officially not a looker anymore.”

The scars are arresting, slanting bright red, and standing out from his still-golden skin. But they're not ugly; far from ugly, in fact. The new skin growing over the burns is pink and tender, the color of his lips when he bites on them as he's deep in thought. They make him look mature, almost otherworldly, sitting there in his white dress uniform with his cover perched on perfectly coiffed curls.

“That's a lie.” You’re so tired of hearing the lies, of the stress, and of the sleepless nights, more like exhaustion, that the words trip out of your mouth unbidden. Your brain catches up with your mouth just a touch too late, but before your mortification can set in, rich laughter fills up the space between the two of you.

“Tell me what you really think; why don’t you, Tinkerbell?” Something about being this close to Bradley Bradshaw makes you feel brave and bold.

“It makes you look mysterious.” His laugh makes you smile.

“I owe you an apology.”

“I have to apologize to you.”

You start speaking at the same time he does, your voice tapering off into shocked silence when you hear that he’s saying the same thing you are.

“What do you have to apologize for, Bradley?” Your voice is quiet as you stare in shock at him. He looks just as confused as you are. 

“I could ask the same thing of you. But if I do, I’m pretty sure we’ll be asking each other questions until this recess is over.” He smiles softly at you. “Why don’t you go first?”

Your voice is even softer because now Jake and Javy have found you and are standing within earshot. “I need to apologize to you, Bradley. God, I should have ensured the flight crew knew not to leave your jet unattended. I should have had a member of my team remove the ignition or disable the flight computer. Something, anything. Because seeing you crash like that was the worst thing I’ve ever seen. It was the worst thing I’ve ever felt.”

“I’m so sorry, Bradley.” You’re sniffling when you fall silent, rooting around in a pocket for a tissue.

You get handed a handkerchief, starched and pure white instead. 

“Sweetheart, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. I’ve been rude to you since the night we met. Truly, it’s because I was jealous.” He runs his hands through his hair in a frustrated motion. “That first night, I don’t know if you remember it, but when I met you at the bar, I could have sworn I felt something special. Something miraculous. I thought you were my soulmate. Then Jake found you in the aftermath of that bar fight, and I saw red. In those few moments, you shook me to my core. I’d sworn I would never find my soulmate, and I promised that if I ever found my soul, I’d never let them go.”

Your heart feels like it’s in overdrive. Did he just say what you think he did? There’s no way. How has he never realized that the dreams he’s had are about you?

“But I did. Sweetheart, I let you go that night, then again every time I saw you on Base. I never should have let you go. Please forgive me. You deserve so much better than the platonic soulmate you got, sweetheart. But I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I promise you that.”

You know you’re in a nightmare now. What about the dreams made it seem platonic to him? Maybe his dreams were different from yours because you’ve ended up naked in nearly all of them! But you can’t focus on that when your career is at risk.

“So you know?” Your voice is a little accusatory, a little angry, and a little sad. “You knew I was your soulmate, and you didn’t say anything?”

Your words make the sheepish grin on his face drop. “I-I…” But you don’t let him stutter out platitudes and even more apologies.

“I’ve been looking for you for most of my life, Bradley!” Your hands shake as you twist them in your lap, crushing the handkerchief in your fingers. “You…. only you. I thought you could never hurt your soulmate. The thoughts have been consuming me for months. What will you do if he dies? What will happen if he doesn’t remember you? What if he’s not yours? Why? Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you think it was okay to leave me waiting? To leave me not knowing?”

One big hand covers your cold fingers, carefully disentangling the kerchief. “I was scared, sweetheart. Terrified. I don’t have a good track record with soulmates. My parents were soulmates, and it destroyed my mom when my dad died. Here I am, doing the same thing he did. I couldn’t put another soul through what my mama went through. So when I got my marks, I pushed them to the back of my mind. I ignored all of the signs that a girl could be my soulmate - including the night I met you. You were the hardest to ignore, sweetheart. I wish I’d never done so because that wouldn’t have given Hawk a reason to target you like he did.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make, Bradley. That choice was mine. How dare you rob me of the choice of having the happiness your parents must have felt? This is my life, too, Bradshaw. Platonic or Romantic, you had no right to do that.” His gasp is audible as you look right into his eyes. “But I forgive you. So long as you promise never to do that again, we’ll be okay. But you’ll only get a second chance, not a third one.”

You stand up, carefully folding up the kerchief and pressing it into the breast pocket of Bradley’s suit. You dip down and gently kiss his cheek, tracing your fingers over one of the new scars. “As far as Hawk is concerned, I don’t think there is a single thing you could have done to stop him. He’s hated me since I told him off during the AMDO inspection - something I was well within my rights to do. This inquiry will prove that. I know it will. Give ‘em hell, Bradshaw.”

You’re smiling as you rejoin Commanders Marks and Greybank outside of the room, especially since you hear Bradley, Jake, and Javy coming up behind you. A big hand squeezes yours in passing, and you brace yourself to go once more unto the breach.

Bradley looks worn and tired as he takes the oath. He says each word emotionlessly, like he can’t bear to go over the accident, to relive the pain he was in.

“Do you believe the Lieutenant Commander released your jet purposefully?” Commander Wilson may be expressionless, but Hawk’s not as he catches your eye across the room.

“Objection! Leading Question!” Commander Greybanks doesn’t let the question get very far, though.

“Sustained.” Admiral Kazansky rubs at his temples as he dismisses the question. “The question is struck from the record. Commander Wilson, refrain from using leading questions, please.”

“Yes, sir. Lieutenant Bradshaw, who released your jet for use that day?”

The entire room seems to lean forward in their seats. There isn’t a sound in the room. Bradley makes direct eye contact with you before he rises to his full height in the chair.

“Nobody did, sir.” Three innocuous words which set the courtroom murmuring. Commanders Marks and Greybanks look nearly elated as they confer in hushed tones beside you. But you have eyes only for your soulmate.

“Then why did you get into your jet?” Commander Wilson’s wheeling. The biggest piece of evidence against you just dissipated in front of the prosecution’s eyes.

“I wanted to fly, sir. I wanted to prove that I had what it takes to fly the mission we were training for. It didn’t feel right that I was grounded while the remainder of my squad were allowed to show what they’re made of.”

Bradley’s chuckles are self-deprecating. “Of course, nobody from my squadron had the chance to fly due to my actions.”

“You are sure that the Lieutenant Commander stated there was a problem in the front-landing gear?”

“Objection! What’s the relevance of this question?”

“Admiral, if Lieutenant Bradshaw assumed a problem with the front landing gear, then conceivably, he could have completed the training maneuvers successfully. He merely would have had a hard landing. There would not have been a multi-million dollar explosion in the hills of San Diego, nor would there have been a lengthy stay in the hospital.”

“Objection overruled. Lieutenant Bradshaw, please answer the question.” Admiral Kazansky’s turned the full force of his green eyes to Bradley now.

“Per the maintenance report the Lieutenant Commander sent to me, as well as the parts requisition forms, the defect in my F/A-18 was a defective front landing gear.”

“I have no further questions.” Commander Wilson settles back into his seat as Commander Greybank stands up. “Defense’s witness.”

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, what happened once you took off?” 

“I relayed my coordinates to the group I was supposed to be flying with and joined the exercise. Everything was fine until after the simulated bombing run. As we were flying back in formation, everything in my jet started showing error signs. First, the left engine went out. Re-igniting did nothing. Then the radar conked out. Finally, I lost control. I saw flashing red on every instrument as the plane sank lower and lower. I kept trying to salvage the situation. But nothing I did helped. I pulled the ejection cords a little too late, and the doctors told me that I was engulfed by the fireball my jet created as it made contact with the hill. I don’t remember that part, Commander.”

You’re seeing the fireball in the distance again, hearing Bradley’s comms go dark and feeling his pain. Your hand shakes as you reach for your glass of water. This must be torture, or divine retribution because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to hear what Bradley went through without getting a little light-headed.

“I understand that might have been a harrowing ordeal. Do you believe the Lieutenant Commander caused the incident?”

“I do not. The accident was due to my own stupidity. The Lieutenant Commander forwarded the parts requisition form and the maintenance report to me that day. She also informed me when the parts were likely to be available. However, I would love to know what caused my engines to malfunction over the desert that day. Under the Lieutenant Commander’s careful watch, North Island has seen fewer aircraft malfunctions over the past six months than over the same duration every year before her appointment to North Island.”

He winks subtly at you as he says the words, chest puffing out in pride at your accomplishments.

“How do you know that?” Commander Greybank is smiling slightly as he says the words as well.

“I’ve been cleared for light duty over the past two weeks. As such, I’ve been working in the records room filing reports for the Admiralty, including the AMDO reports. It was a matter of a few hours to collect the statistics on AMDO inspections. They were given to Admirals Bates, Simpson, and Mitchell as a report.” Bradley’s smirking victoriously at Hawk, and it doesn’t surprise you at all to see how red he’s getting.

“We have a copy of that report to present to the panel as evidence.” Commander Greybank passes the documents to each member of the panel.

“We have no further questions for Lieutenant Bradshaw. However, we’d like to recall Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor at this time. We'd like to present a new piece of evidence to the panel, which we’d like him to answer some questions on.”

“Motion granted. Lieutenant Bradshaw, you may return to your seat.” Admiral Kazansky’s eyes flash with a hungry look as Bradley salutes him and the panel sharply before clambering back to his seat. This is going to be good. Hawk deserves everything that is coming to him and more.

Once he’s been sworn in again, Commander Marks hands a flash drive to the Admiral. A TV is brought out under Admiral Kazansky’s gimlet gaze, and the drive is plugged in. The video is without audio but clearly shows Hangar Two, specifically Bradley’s jet. It feels weird seeing yourself on camera like that. Does your hair always stick up in the back like that when you run your fingers through it? But you forget about that when the screen shows you leaving the Hangar and talking to Lieutenant Green shortly before 8 AM. Marissa hadn’t left you alone until you’d agreed to get a cup of coffee, at the very least, with her before training started for the day. Your knuckles are white as you clutch your hands together under the table. The camera ticks forward five minutes, then ten, then fifteen. That’s when someone enters the Hangar and straps something into the front landing gear housing. It’s small and metallic. A techno-bomb of some sort, maybe? But far more damning is how the individual fails to hide their face or their patches as they turn to exit the Hangar.

There’s panic on Hawk’s face sitting in front of the panel now. It can’t be easy to see yourself sabotage a superior officer’s plane in front of the COMPACFLT of the US Navy and twenty other higher-ranking officers, all with righteous rage in their eyes.

“In light of this evidence, Admiral Kazansky, we move to dismiss this inquiry and would request that Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor be remanded into the US Navy’s custody pending a Court Martial hearing for sabotage.” There’s a sly grin on Commander Mark’s face as she requests your release.

“What? No!” Hawk’s yell sets the already agitated Naval Personnel into whispering in earnest. “Why are you arresting me?! She’s the dumb bitch who made a mistake! She should be facing a court martial! Everyone knows that women can’t withstand the pressure of being in the Navy! She’s proof, as is that cunt Lieutenant Green. Nobody gives a fuck that they know the NATOPS of the F/A-18 as well as the F-22 and F-35! They’re just here to be diversity hires. Both of them and every other woman in the Navy, Lieutenant Trace included, are probably fucking their way to the top.”

That’s about when Nat launches herself across the room, landing punch after punch to Hawk’s person before Jake and Javy haul her away - though you’re sure they don’t until Nat’s gotten a few good jabs to Hawk’s nether region. The Daggers, as a whole, are bristling with rage. But nobody seems to be angrier than Admiral Kazansky. One firm whistle and the room falls silent.

“That is enough!” Admiral Kazansky is so angry that it feels like the entire room is shrouded in ice. “Lieutenant Junior Grade Taylor, consider this an order. Shut your mouth. You are showing yourself to be a disgrace to your wings and the US Navy. I hereby remand you into the Navy’s custody until your court martial hearing.”

“Lieutenant Trace, report to Admiral Mitchell at 0900 hours tomorrow for the consequences of conduct unbecoming a US Navy Lieutenant in this inquiry.”

“Commander Marks, your request is approved. Lieutenant Commander, you are hereby found not culpable for Lieutenant Bradshaw’s accident on December 18th. We expect to see you back at North Island in your full capacity tomorrow morning at 0900 hours sharp!”

As he stands, the entire room stands in respect and salutes, waiting until the aged man returns the salute before he walks away. It’s over. You’re free. Commander Marks and Greybanks even have cease and desist orders on behalf of the US Navy against the paparazzi on your front lawn. You can go home now. Even better, there might just be something new brewing with your soulmate. 

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

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If your username is crossed out, that means that I wasn't able to tag you!

[deimosphilic]

2 - SAVED ME | NEYTIRI TE TSKAHA MO’AT’ITE

summary : after a long time of grieving, you decided to visit your late friend at the tree of souls.

paring : widowed!neytiri x fem!omatikaya!reader

warnings : homosexuals, no jake (sos jake meatriders xx), angst, mentions of death, homosexuals with children

authors note : AHH SUPER DUPER INSECURE AB THIS ONE SO BE NICE!! reblogs r always appreciated. !no use of y/n!

word count : 834

tags : @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @neteyamforlife @ambria

masterlist | series masterlist

it had been three moons. three moons since neytiri, and her children had come back. three moons since you found out that jake had returned to eywa.

you couldn't accept it. how could you? he was one of your closest friends. that was until today. you mustered up the courage to go and see him at the vitraya ramunong. it took a lot of convincing from your sa'sem, but you finally did it.

the closer you got, the more anxious you felt. trekking the same path you have since you were a child, the one you knew all too well. moving the same flora out of the way every time. you hated this. as blessed as you were that you could see loved ones that had passed, you hated it. you hated how you could see them for a certain amount of time before they were gone again. jake was gone, and he was not coming back any time soon.

and there you were, stood in front of it — the vitraya ramunong. all you wanted to do was turn back, and run. run far away and escape it all. but, of course, reality slapped you in the face, and told you, in its own way, that you couldn't. so, you took a deep breath, closed your eyes and connected your tswin to the tree. letting yourself be embraced by the great mother.

you opened your eyes to see the forest, as it always had been. without jake, you felt a shift in the atmosphere, but now, something was different. but here, where you knew he was, even breathing became more natural to you, normality was there, once again, even if it was for a moment.

you remembered this. it was the day jake had taught you more about 'rrta — earth, he would call it. you hated that language, the tawtute language. you hated them. 've'kì, is a strong word ‘ite,' your sa'nok would say, but it was true. which was why it surprised you, when you let him in so quickly, too quickly you could say.

"hey, you." his voice snapped you back to reality.

"jake?" you called out to the man standing in front of you. you couldn't believe it. even though you knew you were visiting him, it didn’t seem real.

"who else would it be?" he joked with a stupid, cocky smirk on his face.

you let out a quiet laugh. a laugh of disbelief, a genuine laugh of happiness, and a laugh of sadness. too many emotions coursing through your veins to process anything that was happening around you.

"uh, hello?" jake called your name and waved a hand in front of your face.

"i am sorry." you apologised and looked away, trying to hide the tears that were now pooling in your eyes.

he waved you off, thinking you just had a bad day or something. oh how wrong he was. something about the fact that he didn't know he was dead made goosebumps appear on your skin. but it did comfort you in some way, happy that he didn't have to live for eternity knowing he had passed to save his eldest son, neteyam, and passed to his biggest enemies, sawtute.

at least he died for a good cause, you thought. saving a young boy from death deserved praise, from both the living, and the dead. but jake was also young, him being thirty-two. he was no where near one hundred and eighty.

"what's on your mind?" he asked. his tone shifting from playfulness and confusion, to genuine worry and concern.

"oh- nothing. i have just had a bad day, that is all." you lied. you very obviously couldn't tell him the truth, you'd sound like a mad woman, to him at least. 'oh, i am crying because you are dead and i am visiting you in the afterlife.'

jake would most definitely laugh and think you were merely joking around. he knew of the vitraya ramunong of course, he'd been there himself. but him, jake sully, dead, absolutely not.

"okay then." he laughed and grabbed your hand, guiding you someplace else.

you both ended up at a quiet place in the na'rìng. somewhere where there was no nocturnal animals, somewhere where all you could hear was the wind rustling the flora. it was peaceful, ironic really, given its the afterlife and all.

you both sat down on the small patch of grass that was overlooking the crystal clear lake beneath you. you had been here many times, on your own though, it was your place. so to have someone here with you felt odd, but at least it was someone you trusted, someone you loved.

"you know, as much as i try to forget about my past life on earth, sometimes i have dreams about it, the good parts." he started.

"give me a story." you said. as much as you hated him ever mentioning that place, it'd be good to hear a story or two.

"well..."

TRANSLATIONS

vitraya ramunong = tree of souls

sa'sem = parents

tswin = queue

tawtute = sky people

ve'kì = hate

‘ite = daughter

sa’nok = mother

sawtute = the sky people

na'rìng = forest

[a-constant-gay-panic]

cAn you do a jealous richie Rozier x Male reader when someone keeps flirting with the reader and it ends with reader comforting richie at home if you can it be older richie

Only Him

masterlist 

pairing: older!richie tozier x male!reader 

summary: there’s no denying that your boyfriend, richie “trashmouth” tozier, is a flirt. in fact, it’s one of his many talents. due to this, he can appreciate the art of flirting but when it comes to others trying their luck with what’s his? that’s something he can't appreciate nor agree with and you’re left to pick up the pieces of the insecure man. 

warnings: legal consumption of alcohol, heavy swearing (it’s richie, what did you expect?), angst with fluffy ending, self doubt, reader gets hit on by a woman, brief hints to homophobia, bisexual reader if you squint and look into things 

word count: 1.7k 

a/n: ok so this turned out to be more soft than anything else. richie doesn't get very mad per say, just very insecure and upset? i hope this was fine anon. 

just a disclaimer, i’m not the most experienced with m!reader so please let me know if this is alright or if there’s anything i could do to make it better. your input is really appreciated :) love you all and enjoy 

— — — — — X — — — — — 

loud music blares throughout the entire club as you lean against the bar counter, a half drunk beer in hand. your eyes are trained on your boyfriend who seems to be in his element, hair wild and glasses foggy from dancing most of the night. you chuckle as you think of the hangover he’s bound to have in the morning whereas you’ve been mindful to not have too much alcohol, knowing that at least one of you had to be sober enough to drive home. 

you idly take a sip as your hand pushes your hair out your eyes which still follow richies every move. however, your moment of admiration is interrupted by a hand which wraps around your bicep. glancing down, you see the slender hand of a woman, nails manicured and painted a vibrant red which contrasts the black button up you’re wearing. 

your eyes lock with hers and she gives you a smile, her eyes shining with what appears to be excitement. “may i help you?” you ask half heartedly, already having a pretty good idea as to why she has approached you. “i’m sure you can.” she answers playfully, releasing her grip on your arm. 

you don’t reply, choosing to look at her expectantly with a raised brow as you await her next words. “mind telling me your name? or am i going to have to call you handsome the rest of the night?” her tone is a perfect balance of teasing and curiosity and even you are impressed with her confidence. 

“y/n.” you reply after a while. she smiles brightly at you and slowly nods her head. “y/n…” she almost purrs, “it suits you. a charming name for a charming man.” she furthers her appreciation of your, in your opinion, bland name. 

you down the last of your beer and place the empty bottle on the bar counter, ready to get away from her before her lighthearted words turn into anything suggestive. “well, as much as i’d love to chat more, i should be going. enjoy your night.” her small hand grasps at your bigger one as you turn to leave. “what’s the matter honey? you wouldn’t leave a lady all alone now would you?” 

you gently take her hand out of your own, trying your best to be polite about it. “sorry but i don't need company.” you reply simply, not wanting to bring attention to the fact that you have a partner - a male one at that - afraid of the repercussions which come with openly admitting to being in a homosexual relationship. 

“oh come on, live a little, why don't you?” her gaze is sultry and her words seductive as she steps closer to you and presses her chest against your own. you look down at her nervously. “listen lady,” your words are strained as you try not to get annoyed, “i appreciate the offer but i'm good.” 

little did either of you know, a certain glasses wearing trashmouth was silently watching the exchange from the crowded dance floor, his drunken state not helping him to recognise the uncomfortable look on your face as the woman continues her advances. 

“you’re so adamant on saying no but you haven't even considered my offer.” she leans up to whisper, her breath tickling your ears which causes a reflexive and visible shiver to run down your back. a shiver which, to the woman in front of you as well as your boyfriend, looks like a pleasurable action. 

richie’s head is filled with doubts as he watches the two of you, his own insecurities causing his eyes to water and the alcohol in his body making him act impulsively as he marches over to you. 

just as you're about to push the woman away once more, you hear the familiar voice, “what the fuck are you doing?” 

the woman leans away from you and her eyes land on the shaking frame of richie who is clearly, not only drunk, but fuming and bothered. you make eye contact with him and send a silent plea for him to help you get away from the persistent lady but he doesn't seem to get the message. 

“and who are you?” his eyes snap to the small woman when she almost hisses her words at him. he smiles mockingly at her before looking back at you while replying, “well i was his fucking boyfriend but it seems that the two of you are seconds away from banging each others brains out so i’ll be taking my leave now.”

with that, he storms away and you're left standing there in embarrassment, confusion and annoyance. 

the woman looks at you shocked. “boyfriend?” her tone carries across her judgement perfectly and all you can do is nod. “you're gay?” she says condescendingly with a raised brow. you nod again but choose to reply verbally too. “yes i am. that’s why i don't want company. now politely fuck off while i go chase my boyfriend.” 

you quickly walk away and she continues to stand there in shock, her reaction replaying in your mind as you step outside the club to try find richie. you knew being gay is considered ‘taboo’ but you still aren't used to the open criticism which comes with the title. 

walking to where you parked your car, you notice that it's not in its spot and immediately panic, knowing that richie has the keys and that probably means he’s driving to your house completely intoxicated and hotheaded. 

breaking out into a run, you head towards your shared home not wanting to leave him alone (if he makes it back safely that is. he was a terrible driver when he’s sober, you didn’t want to imagine him behind the wheel while drunk.)

you finally reach the driveway and sigh in relief as you notice the cat parked in it. you walk slowly up the driveway to the front door while you try to catch your breath. turning the door handle you notice it's unlocked. 

‘he either left it open for me or forgot to lock it… again’ you think absentmindedly as you close and actually lock the door behind you. your eyes adjust to the dark house and blindly make your way up the stairs, heading to your bedroom with the hope of richie being there. 

your wish is granted as you spot his figure laying on the bed. making your way over to the still man, you quietly kick your shoes off  before sitting on the opposite side of the bed. richie’s back is towards you so you aren't sure if he's sleeping or not but your confusion is cleared up when you hear a hushed mumble come from your boyfriend. 

“what are you doing here?” you frown at his harsh tone and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “where did you think i was going to go?” you ask rhetorically in an attempt to lighten his mood but it doesn’t appear to work. he shrugs your hand off him before spitting out, “somewhere else to fuck the chick from the club.” 

his blunt words never fail to catch you off guard and you gape at him, not sure how to respond or go about fixing the issue at hand. 

“why would i be doing that?” you manage to say after a few seconds. “cause you seemed to be getting real close earlier. she was all over you and you didn't do shit about it.” his voice wavers slightly and you realise that he’s fighting back tears.

“i wasn't getting close with her and you know it… i would never do that to you rich.” you try make your words as sincere and soft as possible, hoping to calm down the jealous and hurt man in front of you. “then why the fuck was her hands all over you, huh? she was throwing herself at you and you didn't seem to mind.”

you frown and place your hand on his shoulder again, this time in an attempt to roll him onto his back so that you can see his face but he resists and you sigh in defeat. “you seem to think you know exactly what happened and if that is the case, then  you should know that i turned down her advances multiple times but she wouldn't  take no for an answer.”

his tense body visibly relaxes a little at your words but you know richie and he’s a stubborn man. “i tried to get away but she wouldn't leave me alone. she was quite persistent and you interrupted as i was going to tell her to kindly fuck off.” 

a small but noticeable chuckle escapes his mouth and you smile to yourself, knowing that you’re close to breaking his jealous act. 

“and you know what? even if we weren't dating, i wouldn't  go for her. she’s not my type. i prefer obnoxious trashmouths who can make me laugh without even trying.” you slowly rub his arm, your touch comforting and reassuring. “i like people who know what i'm thinking even when i don't know myself. people who look at me like i'm everything to them.” you gently pull his arm and he rolls over to look you in the eyes. “people who see my flaws and insecurities yet love me regardless… people like you richie. only you.”

you notice tears in his eyes and your hand comes up to cup his face, thump smoothing over his cheek as you gaze at him lovingly. “i love you. not her, not anybody else, you. you are my life and i wouldn't trade you for anything.” 

he smiles as tears escape his eyes. you lean down and your lips brush against his. “you mean everything to me tozier.” you mumble before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. you can feel him smile against you and when you pull away, you can see relief and pure adoration in his eyes. 

“i love you so much.” you say before pulling him into your arms, letting his head rest against your chest, doing everything in your power to let him know how special he is to you. 

“i love you too, y/n… more than anything.” he whispers and you know right there that this man means the world to you and you do to him. you look in his eyes and you see your future with him. you see the life you’ve always wanted. judgement and criticism be damned, you’d marry him one day. 

you would make him the happiest man alive and he’d do the same to you. you would make him yours for life and for whatever comes after it. 

— — — — — X — — — — — 

[mitz-prompts]

prompt: hannigram, baseball AU

so i was rereading some of my old baseball fic and i was thinking about how the really special thing in those fics, that i can't really pull off in other fandoms, is the focus on like... analytical masculinity, and brotherhood. like the way it's so easy for some cis men to be Men, and Brothers, and Relaxed In Their Own Skin, and how interesting it is to write from the perspective of the men for whom it is not easy, but they nevertheless have to pretend it is in order to be accepted by the specific culture they find themselves in (professional sports)

and i started noodling with like... if i had to write an alternate universe where Will and Hannibal were also inside the culture of professional sports, where would i place them?

and how would they respond?

so okay. Will. let's start with Will.

if you put Will Graham in a professional baseball clubhouse, i could definitely squeeze some masculinity angst and homosexual longing out of him.

but i also don't love the idea of him being a player, because i think that playing sports - being physically fit and getting a lot of sun and nutrition and aerobic exercise - would create a way healthier neurological baseline for will graham than what we're used to in canon.

also i think to progress in a team sport, to keep getting promoted from the high school leagues all the way up to the majors, you can't be an antisocial dick 100% of the time. you have to be able to play on a team and people have to like you, to some extent. otherwise you wouldn't make it that far because your team would keep losing and/or people deliberately wouldn't scout you because you'd be too much of a social poison in the clubhouse.

and the idea of will graham actually doing that seemed ludicrous to me

so i scrapped the idea of him being a player

what he COULD do is analytics. he could definitely be the moneyball guy. he could definitely do the math. and he could also have impeccable insights into other teams' players, he could catch on to little things that change the game. he could be hired on as a stats guy and wind up being the guy who can magically clue you into the opposing pitcher's tells.

the question then becomes - how did Will get into baseball in the first place, if he wasn't a player? how did he wind up dedicating his brilliant mind to baseball instead of being a cop or a bug scientist?

enter: dad graham. he wasn't a boatyard mechanic, at least not at first. he was a player

i couldn't decide if he was just in the minors or if he got to the majors... i feel like he would have to be a minor leaguer to establish the poverty angle of will's childhood, but i like the idea of Will getting to see the major league clubhouse as a young kid. maybe dad was briefly a major leaguer but didn't have a notable career.

the point is, will didn't have a mom, and got dragged all around the country by his dad's career, and he LOVED it

will graham was never an athletic kid

and, though he wouldn't know it until later, he was gay. and probably autistic.

and he did not, could not, navigate the rules of masculinity as demonstrated by dad and colleagues. if there were other kids in the clubhouse, will didn't get along with them. he wasn't relaxed like them, he wasn't casual, he wasn't comfortable in his own skin.

he envied what the adult men had

he sorely envied the camaraderie and trust and confidence that he could only mimic but never truly internalize

he grew up watching and watching and watching. and idolizing. and coveting.

maybe he did start to play a little bit, too, but i imagine he got bullied badly in school the few times he did go. or bullied somewhere else. or something. i just want some rude kids to beat him up so bad that it permanently fucks up his shoulder for life. and he has to look at his dad's face after, and know that his dad is disappointed in him somehow. for permanently killing the dream that his only son might play pro ball the way he never could.

so anyway. will's obsessed with baseball and finding his way into the industry because he needs dad's approval one way or another.

dad probably dies at some point. it's very sad. but will's already on this path. he sees pitching stats in his dreams. it's his entire consciousness. it's all he knows how to do.

he's probably in his 20s during the stat revolution in baseball, when moneyball happens and they all realize they can use computers and math to make a team do better. and will becomes a hot commodity. he gets promoted and promoted and scouted by other orgs

maybe he settles in at his dad's favorite major league team. feels like some kind of karmic justice.

so when he's in his late 20s, he starts traveling with the team. since he's the stats guy and he's the secret weapon and he can give tips in real time.

surreal, to be on the airplane with a bunch of young men his same age. they mistake him for a player sometimes, at first. some of the players try to talk to him, give him nicknames. he's not good at it, never has been. but he does catch himself staring at them sometimes. the way they touch each other, like it's no big deal. the way they flirt and tease and shove each other around. the way they jostle and joke and sleep on each other's shoulders and make crude jokes and prank each other.

he wants it, he tastes it salty on his tongue. he gets very well acquainted with his hand. he keeps his head down and wears his glasses and plaid shirts, just far enough on the outside to not get dragged into the clubhouse dynamics he observes from behind the wall of the fishbowl

and then they all stay the same, but will keeps getting older, and before he knows it, he's in his late thirties, and older than every player in that locker room, but it still feels like they're dad's friends, and he still has lurid fantasies where they hold him down and fuck him. But. He's dealing with it.

so that's Will

enter Hannibal

I don't know what the fuck Hannibal's backstory would be to get him to this point; frankly it feels necessary that he would have some sort of childhood trauma informing his entire vibe. but let's pick up with him at age 15 or 16, and he's getting involved in the Japanese leagues

He's obsessed with Baseball.

Well

He's obsessed with hurtling rock-like objects at human beings at high speeds.

Baseball is a sublimation of that obsession and he pursues it gleefully

I think it'd be easier for him to slip his way into the Japanese leagues to start with because I think it'd be easier for him to lie convincingly there

because the culture of baseball in Japan isn't as diametrically opposed to Hannibal's entire aesthetic in quite the way the American baseball culture is

anyway he somehow socially engineers his way into a kinesiology degree, and maybe some pitching coaching

and he's very pleased for many years doing secret things that nobody knows about

flash forward thirty years to him getting hired as head pitching coach on the team that Will works for

i think Will would be fascinated by Hannibal's ability to code switch

He dresses down and acts like one of the guys when he's coaching, you literally would not recognize him. slides much closer to Nigel than Hannibal. but it's all a performance.

Hannibal's whole personality changes if he's speaking to the team owners, or even the team manager

he's a chameleon. he's very comfortable in every situation.

he's one of a kind

and the stats, somehow, SOMEHOW, show Will something absolutely mind-boggling

which is that, somehow, somehow, buried in the data, there's a statistically significant trend suggesting that hannibal is deliberately coaching the pitchers to throw in the top of the zone more often. they're missing at the top of the zone more often than missing at the bottom of the zone. they're getting tired faster. it's completely absurd.

Will tells Jack about this, but the team is having an absolutely blessed season, their record is way over .500, and Jack is entirely uninterested in messing with a good thing.

but this cannot be the secret sauce that's making them win. it's just not possible. this trend means that when the pitchers get tired, they lob one right down mainstreet, instead of burying one in the dirt -- when the pitchers blow up, they blow up bad

but things are smooth sailing despite all that. jack thinks it doesn't matter if hannibal is giving the pitchers bad technique, because hannibal is clearly winning the head game with their confidence, and that's making all of the difference. he starts calling hannibal "dr. lecter" and the players pick it up as well.

will stalks hannibal and pores through the data, blah blah blah, relationship development and tension and AU stuff and romance.

eventually we discover that hannibal's anachronistically gothic library at home is full of manuscripts and artworks and historical tomes about humans being stoned to death

and he's got some kind of like. framed oil painting. of randy johnson murdering that fucking mourning dove with a 100mph fastball

hannibal has sketchbooks full of little drawings of medical diagrams of the human skull. and reparative surgeries.

and basically. basically. hannibal just wants to ply the strings of fate just enough that one day, one day, he'll get to watch someone get murdered by a baseball. he's obsessed with the idea of seeing human brain matter smeared on the backstop.

and will is horrified by this but literally no one believes him, because it's absolutely ridiculous

and eventually hannibal seduces Will, as one does, and they conspire to make the murder pitch even more likely. the end.

also maybe will gets some dick at some point

[fanfic-the-wish-your-heart-makes]

Nathaniel Barnes (& Harvey Bullock & Jim Gordon) Defending Homosexuality (Nathaniel Barnes x Male/Nonbinary/Not Cis etc. Reader, but this also has other cool stuff apart from romance like, uhm, him🤭😂)

@honestmrdual asked: So, about Barnes x reader request... How about Barnes and male reader, who insist on making their relationship known to public, at least in the precinct, and Barnes, pretty obviously, being opposed to this idea? Humour, or angst, or both, you can decide! :)

Author's note: Here are all of my thoughts, I hope you like them😊 This is soo much longer than expected

Reader: ambiguously not perceived as a woman (so a man, nonbinary, masculine/very androgynous woman, etc.)

Other featured characters: Harvey Bullock because he's gotta be against homophobia. Also a little mention of Jim & Oswald because they had something going there 😉

Warning: homophobia (not from the love-interest though 🙂), illegal homosexuality

First of all: whether homosexuality's illegal in Gotham or not, Nathaniel Barnes doesn't think of it as a sin. He may be a lawfully good character, thinking that the only line separating him from animals is the law, but he's not stupid: a healthy consensual relationship just isn't immoral, illegal or not. There's not the least bit internalized homophobia in him, and I can imagine that even if homosexuality was illegal, it would mostly go ignored by the police. Though it would be comically tragic for someone to get thrown into a cell next to an actual criminal. One's in for murder while the other just kissed their partner?? Gotham's crazy!

If it was illegal, Barnes would do anything in his power to make sure to help the wrongfully convicted. He starts out small by letting them go free on his own, going home in the evening to assure himself that you're still there in his arms, not in some cell. He knows he's already doing so much but what if it isn't enough?

He loves what you share and is very aware of how quickly things could go wrong, so when you ask him to make your relationship public, he's vehemently against it and very confused. "Did someone hit on you? Do you want to tell them that you're in a relationship? Because you have my full support to make up a partner if you want to."

When you tell him that that isn't the case, he assumes that it's something else. "Are you jealous? You know that I love you. I don't think that anyone at the GCPD wants to be with me." He leans towards you and lowers his voice, "But between us: I wouldn't want to be with any of them even if I didn't have you." He even tries to throw shade at his co-workers despite normally being very professional, "Some can be a little..." You smile at his obvious contrition, "Stupid?" you offer. He purses his lips and makes a vague hand gesture, which makes you laugh. He's really trying not to be mean.

Despite the now light-hearted atmosphere, you bring the conversation back to your request, and he gets serious again. The idea might sound naively dangerous to him but you obviously care about it, so he doesn't dismiss it right away. He wants to know whether there's a smaller problem that he can solve. Do you doubt his love for you? Are you afraid of someone taking him away from you?

If any of these is the case, he makes it one of his missions to prove you wrong. Not that he doesn't make you feel loved any other time. He's very thankful for you. But if it's not enough for you, then it's not enough. Feelings are valid...and so is your safety: he doesn't give in.

"Even just the fact that I'm a known police officer could put you in danger", he stresses, "And I can only think in horror of the hatred that would certainly be directed at us for other reasons."

Things continue as they were, until one day when he overhears some officers make fun of Jim Gordon for being called Penguin's bitch - with lots off ugly terms thrown at Jim - none other than Harvey Bullock, the man Nathaniel would have expected at least some homophobia from, defends his partner and gives them hell for the things they said.

"You got a problem with Jim banging a known criminal? That's fine with me, hell, I'd have a problem with it too if it was true! But you target my buddy because he's with a man? Seriously? Your girlfriend doesn't even know you've been looking at someone else, but you're criticising him for being in a consensual relationship, which, again, isn't even real?! Check your morals, man!"

"Okaay, Bullock, chill, I was just joking around. Besides: it's illegal, you know that, right?"

Harvey raises his eyebrows, "Well it shouldn't be." "Careful there, Bullock. Don't want to get thrown out by the captain, do we?" Harvey huffed, "I think he's got a little more common sense than you think." "You don't seem completely convinced." "Ugh, stop it. Get yourself a life. Maybe I'll ask him sometime."

Except that he doesn't. He has neither the time nor the nerves.

Nathaniel tells you the story, promising to work on it, just way slower than you wished. He waits until he heard the next hateful comment so that he could directly intervene, making his already planned speech later seem more natural.

So it comes that he spends more time outside of his office until one day when he heard Jim again, "Doesn't seem like Oswald if you ask me" followed by "Except that I didn't ask you, you fag-" "LANGUAGE", the commissioner's word gets everyone's attention, "like this is highly inappropriate here, any place really. You are police officers, show some goddamn respect!"

"But he's literally called his bitch in the streets-"

"Are we not in a police precinct?"

"Of course we are, sir, but it's also illegal to-"

"And do you not have a brain, detective?" "Sir, I wasn't trying to say that detective Gordon is seriously a f-"

"You're missing the point: hate speech of any kind isn't tolerated here."

"Got it-"

"-nor should you use it at home." He noticed the silence around him. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Wow, that felt good to get off his chest! He still needs to make that speech, which would normally be really easy but he doesn't want to make your relationship public or out himself to be honest. He wants to appear completely distanced from the topic, non-emotional, just rational.

When he asks what your ideas are, he's frustrated that something feeling so right, so wonderful, has to be justified at all. He's nervous about the speech: normally he only stands behind the law, and now he's speaking out against it? He's conflicted.

"Why don't you let someone else speak as well?" you try, knowing that he can take on too much work.

"What?" he asks, not wanting to put that burden onto someone else. You shrug, "Let Gordon say some things, he's the one you always complain about being one step away from being a criminal. And you say that he's got people who look up to him."

"No", he protests, "it has to come from someone who has never misstepped."

You give him an unconvinced look, "You have misstepped."

He takes in a sharp breath at the memory. "You killed a man and I still trust and love you, Nathaniel." He looks a little less sceptic now.

"That speech can come from any cop and it will come from someone who at least once committed a crime. I'm not saying that you should let someone else say everything, just that you might wanna talk about it with some other detectives first. Make it appear natural."

The perfect opportunity would come: the time when the crime incidents skyrocket and the precinct has to clean rooms to make way for prisoners.

"Alright everyone, listen up! We've obviously got too little room for perps, so we're gonna have to prioritize."

He takes a deep breath and thinks back to your impressed look at his practiced speech, "From now on, there are a few deeds we will no longer persecute. Not just because of the current lack of space but because they shouldn't be crimes."

He looks at the officers, most of whom don't look extremely bothered, and starts the list, "Anyone here on grounds of consensual relationships to someone of the same sex is to be set free without any entries."

By the end of the list of other "crimes", a few people are looking at him confused, some even angry but not many more than he expected. One officer raises his voice, "So what about that black-haired guy we got in for kissing another man?"

"He's in for sexual harassment!" Jim Gordon comes to his aid spontaneously. "He'll stay", Nathaniel continues, noting that a few people's sour expressions disappear.

"Finally for those of you still unconvinced, who don't have the brains to think by themseleves: before you arrest someone for any of the things mentioned before, ask yourself: would I rather harm one person or save many? A lot is on the line, we've gotten more bombings in four months than in the last year combined. So be smart."

"I'll drink to that!" Harvey shouts and the resulting laughter lightens the mood.

That that day more people visit the GCPD captain's office or pass by and say their approval. It's the beginning of a new time for the precinct and hopefully eventually for Gotham.

However, that still doesn't mean that he likes the idea of criminals knowing that you mean so much to him.

He'll tell some colleagues about you though. They deserve to know what a wonderful partner one can have as a police officer.

[beautynthewitch]

Everything will be okay. ( a WandAgatha fanfic. )

Summary: In Paris lived Wanda with her husband, a small but violent man who didn't hesitate to abuse her physically, mentally but mostly sexually. A few months ago, she met Agatha: a rich and beautiful woman who didn't hide her homosexuality. One night, it was too much for Wanda and the violence from her husband got too extreme for her to stay anymore.

More info: In this AU, Wanda don't have her power. She will learn witchcraft from Agatha.

Warnings: Angst, NSFW ( mention of rape, scenes of violence, blood, mention of murder. )

—

Paris, 1860.

The big city was slowly fading into the darkness of the winter night, the shining of the moon and stars illuminating with a soft light the streets and houses.

2 Am. Everyone should be asleep, but in the Raquin's bedroom everyone was still up; Camille, a blond haired man with large green eyes, was laying down in a large wooden bed with his spouse: Wanda. Both of them were fully awake, but not for the same reasons. . .

Dressed with only a thin night gown cut just under her butt, Wanda could feel the nasty and disgusting looks of Camille going over her body, cherishing every shape of it. She felt disgusted by it, but even if she wanted to tell him to stop watching her sleep, she didn't; scared of his response or reaction. Camille was a very violent man, who never hesitated to hit Wanda to make her his sexual toy. Her eyes closed for a few minutes, trying to think of something else, but she reopened them quickly; feeling a cold hand sliding over the shapes of her waist and butt.

— Not tonight Camille, please. I'm tired. Let me sleep for once.

Whispered the redhead as she pushed away the man's hand, making him growl with anger; suddenly making the woman turn around as he cupped her face with his hand, making her look into his eyes. Wanda froze; clearly scared by the man.

— If I want to use you tonight, you'll shut up and let me use you. So don't push me away again or I'll swear to God i'll make this night the worst you ever had.

Wanda's body was trembling, but her will to do as she wanted was too strong and so, she pushed away the man again; getting up from the bed just after, caressing her own cheek, this one hurting.

— Wanda, I'll ask you one more time: come back on the bed.

— No. I won't.

— No ? I see how it is.

The man slowly got up from the bed, stepping forward to the woman with calm but loud footsteps. And as soon as he was close enough to Wanda, he grabbed her reddish hair; pulling it hard enough for her to fall on the ground. She whimpered, hiding her face with her arms to protect herself.

— Without me, you're nothing. So stay at your fucking place. If I want to use your body every night, I'll do it even if you don't want it.

After these words, Camille took again the woman's hair to push her over the bed, now his body towering over hers. Wanda eyes quickly started to get wet from tears, she was terrified; she knew Camille could do anything to her.

— Camille, please, I am just asking for one night of peace. You'll do whatever you want tomorrow but tonight I –

She got cut in her sentence by a sudden and hard slap across her face; a new whimper fading between her pinkish lips. Camille cupped his spouse's face once more.

— One more word or even a sound and I promise on my mother's head that the next slap will be with my hand closed.

Wanda was trembling, now sobbing as she was quietly begging Camille to stop and leave her alone; but everything got worse quickly: forced kisses over lips, soon her neck and breasts as his hands were touching her body to come and take off her panties.

— Camille please!

She was begging, using her hands to punch and push his body. And finally, with all of her strength, she pushed the man away to make herself fall from the bed and get away from him.

— You slut! Start to run because if I catch you, you'll have way worse than what I was supposed to do to you!

Wanda looked up over the bed to see the man's silhouette stand up, doing the same as well; and without more thinking, she ran to the bedroom door, opening it so hard that the handle slammed against the wall. She ran down the stairs, but her feet slipped and she fell right on the wooden floor; her face hitting the wood maybe too hard because of how her lips were now bleeding as well as her nose.

She was on her stomach, face against the wood as Camille was getting to her, now towering over her again but this time he was on his feet. His hands took the woman's hair in a ponytail to pull it hard enough for her to squeak.

— You're fucking pathetic, Wanda. Look at you, who would want someone like you. You disgust me.

Laughed the man before tightening his grip on the girl's hair and suddenly, BOOM, he hit her face against the floor. She squeaked in pain, blood dripping from her lip and nose as he was now letting go of her reddish hair to walk forward in the room.

— You have no one to run to. Who would want a filthy slut like you ? Even your dad did not want you, he preferred to go to war and leave you.

Wanda looked up from wooden floor, everything was moving around her, it felt like she was on a boat; she was hearing Camille but her own breath was louder than his words and the sound around her.

— Get up !

He got closer to her to take her arm and make her stand up.

— Come on you are the one who wanted to run away, go ahead it's open. I can even help you !

Camille left her to go open the door, slamming it against the wall. He stepped outside to scream for help, screaming very loudly to make sure everyone would hear him. But no one moved, everyone acted like nothing was happening.

— See ? No one gives a fuck about what's happening here !

— Camille please let's just go back into our bed to sleep and forget everything...

— No Wanda. You wanted to run away so go ahead, run ! Run to nowhere since no one gives a fuck about you !

He stepped forward, now close to the redhead; close enough to pull the girl by the hair from the stairs to the door, pushing her outside.

She looked up at him when hitting the floor by the violent push he gave her, eyes full of tears. Camille took her by the shoulders, pushing her against a wall.

— You're miserab–

As he was talking, he suddenly stopped when he received some spit on his face: making him grunt in disgust, letting the ginger go from his grip. Wanda spat in his face.

She fell on the floor, quickly getting up to get away from Camille; but she felt bad for leaving the shop. She couldn't just leave like that but she also couldn't stay like that with Camille. The pressure was suddenly falling on her, looking back at the shop, she stopped herself in her run.

— What are you waiting for ? You should hurry before I catch you, Wanda.

A shiver run through her back, when hearing the psychotic man talk again as he walked towards her in a menacing way; was he really going to chase her into Paris ? Or was he just trying to scare her ? She didn't want to know.

Her feet started moving again on the cold ground before she looked away and started running away. Away from him. Away from everything she had here.

Bare foot, in a thin night dress, running for her life in the parisian streets as her tears were rolling doing her doll cheeks. How could all of this have happened ? Had she ever done something bad to him for him to get so violent with her ? Was it her fault ? She could hear the man whistling from afar to signal he was following her.

Running and running, Wanda's body was feeling weak. She was running for almost an hour straight now, loosing hope every second: but suddenly, the Harkness house appeared in front of her eyes. She made it. She finally found her lover's house and everything would be okay! Tripping, panting, crying; she finally reached the house. Walked up the small stairs in front of it, she banged repeatedly her fist against the door, begging in her mind for Agatha to wake up.

— For God's sake, I'm coming !

The hollow voice of the woman could be heard from behind the door, some mumbling following her first words. Now opening the door, a gasp escaped the black haired woman's mouth. She could barely recognize her lover with all the bruises and dirt on her face.

— Wanda is that you – ? Oh dear lord, my sweet angel –

She got cut in her sentence by Wanda falling on her knees; the older one rushing toward the redhead to help her stand up, even taking her in her arms and carrying her to go inside the house. Agatha walked into the living room, putting down her Chérie near the fired up chimney.

— You're all cold and dirty, Chérie. Wait here, I'll come back.

She stood up, leaving the room to go right in the bathroom and get a basin with a towel, also some clothes. She knew what had happened. She knew exactly who put Wanda like that, a fire lighting up in her mind; she couldn't stand it anymore, seeing her partner with bruises and scars everyday wasn't an option anymore.

She walked back into the living room: a basin of water, a towel and some clothes in her arms. Putting it down near the victim, her warm hands slid over Wanda's cheeks to caress it softly.

— It's him again, isn't it ?

Wanda nodded her head, melting against the touch offered to her.

— He'll never hurt you again, I promise. I'll protect you with my own life if I have to.

Her right hand reached to the towel, wetting it into the bassin before rubbing it gently over Wanda's face, getting her face clean. Soon she did the same with her whole body; well most of it, especially where she was hurt from her race outside and finally, she helped her put on the clothes.

Both women stayed for minutes, maybe an hour in front of the chimney, Agatha mostly waiting for Wanda to fall asleep so she could put her in bed; and when it happened, Agatha didn't wait a second more to do so: putting Wanda in bed and tucking her in.

And soon, Agatha was on her way to the boutique where Wanda ran away from: but contrary to Wanda, she wasn't going to let the frail and miserable man hurt her, even raise his voice at her, he wouldn't have time to anyways.

[seidenbros]

Let's Hide Under the Covers

Pairing: Wylan van Eck x Jesper Fahey Summary: “I can’t look at myself without seeing my father,” Wylan said with a sigh, his eyes fixed on Jesper’s chest again, until Jesper tilted his head up again so they could look at each other. “You look nothing like him.” Jesper raised his other hand as well to frame Wylan’s face and kiss the tip of his nose. or Wylan gets kicked out by his father after finding out that he is homosexual. Jesper and Kaz take him in, but Wylan struggles with looking at his own reflection, always seeing his own father there. So, a bit of change needs to happen. Word count: 3.580 Warning/Tags: angst with a happy ending, emotional abuse, Jan van Eck is the scum of the earth, established Wesper, mentioned homophobia, mentla breakdown, love confession A/N: Inspired by one of shog_draws (Instagram) drawings. This turned out a whole lot angstier than I wanted it to be, but ey, just go with the flow, right? No beta as usual, I hope you like it 💚 Read on AO3

He knew the face that was staring back at him when he looked into the mirror, had known it all his life, but ever since being kicked out, Wylan always saw his father when he looked at himself, and it tore him apart. He actually looked a lot more like his mother, but lately, he saw the man who loathed him that much more and more. The shape of his eyes, the freckled cheeks, even his hair. It was delusional, Jesper had told him multiple times that he looked nothing like his father, and he should know since he’d spent a lot of time looking at Wylan’s stupid face.

They’d met at university, but not because they were in the same courses or because they had the same friends, it was rather by accident. Wylan was studying music, because he wasn’t good at anything else - his father’s words of course. In fact, he was happy that he got this opportunity, to do something he loved, something he really burnt for. Being as good as he was, he got a few privileges, and maybe, it also had a bit to do with his father’s money, who’d donated to the university time and time again. So, Wylan got to practise piano in the auditorium whenever it was free and whenever he liked. It was some kind of escape from home in a way, so he’d really spent a lot of time there. And that was where Jesper had found him about half a year ago. He’d played a prank on one of his friends and he’d used the auditorium to hide. Wylan hadn’t realised that he’d gotten company, so engrossed in the piece he was working on. Jesper had taken a seat somewhere at the edge, drawn in by his playing, by the way he took the papers and scribbled something on them, his pen between his teeth or behind his ear while he was playing. Only when he’d leaned back and put down the pen, he’d realised that he wasn’t alone anymore, because Jesper had gotten up to clap and cheer for him. Needless to say, Wylan had nearly had a heart attack because of that, but in the end, this had been the day they’d started talking. And ever since then, Jesper had come by to listen to him play when he wasn’t in one of his courses or working as a barista. They’d had their first date about a month later, and hadn’t wasted any time to go on their next date and the next, share their first kiss and spend the first night together. Wylan had told him pretty early on that his father didn’t know about him being homosexual, that he was scared to tell him, and Jesper understood. His father had been really accommodating when he’d told him that he was bisexual, had told him that he loved him no matter what, since Jesper would always be his son - he just wanted him to come home with a nice person that treated him right. But he knew how closed-minded people could be, so he was perfectly fine with keeping what they had between them until Wylan was ready to tell his father, just that this opportunity had never presented itself, since someone had outed him to his father, sending him pictures of Wylan and Jesper together. It wasn’t a scandalous picture or anything, just the two of them being close, sitting at the piano bench together, sharing a kiss. That someone had followed Wylan to take these pictures in the first place, was outrageous, but when Jesper had found out that Jan van Eck had hired someone to spy on his own son, he’d nearly lost it, though that was probably more because Wylan had called him after being thrown out of the house he’d called his home for all his life so that he could come and pick him up. Oh, Jesper and Kaz had had to hold each other back to not go up to Wylan’s father and give him a piece of their mind. Wylan hadn’t even been able to get all his stuff out of there, just a couple of clothes before Jan van Eck had pushed him out the door telling him that he didn’t have a son anymore, and that he should never show up again. He’s already been a disgrace because he wasn’t able to read, but kissing another man, a man like him was even worse.

Two weeks had passed since that day. It felt like it had been yesterday, and at the same time, it felt like it had happened ages ago. Wylan was grateful for Jesper and Kaz as well, because the two of them shared an apartment and let Wylan live with them. He didn’t need a lot of space anyway, sharing the bed with Jesper, and he cooked for them as often as he could, sometimes even with Jesper together. Wylan was endlessly grateful to the both of them, and when he told them that he’d find a place of his own, even Kaz told him that he didn’t have to rush anything. Kaz, who looked like he could crush you with a simple look in your direction, or might plot your murder, had a soft spot for Wylan, especially after he’d heard about all the things Jan van Eck had done to belittle him, make him feel worthless. Throwing Wylan out had just been the cherry on top in the end, and Kaz was sure that he was better off away from his so-called father.

Wylan jumped a little when he felt a pair of arms wrap around his middle, a warm, naked chest pressed against his back. Jesper . He pulled Wylan even closer against himself, nuzzling his nose against the nape of his neck, into his hair there. He pressed a soft kiss to his spine after a moment, Wylan relaxing against him, putting his hands on Jesper’s forearms. He always managed to do that, put his mind to rest, let him calm down. It was almost like a magic trick or a switch that Jesper flipped.

“Why aren’t you in bed with me, Wy? It’s four in the morning,” he murmured against his skin, his lips slowly working their way along his shoulder, and if he could, he’d kiss every little freckle there, he’d told Wylan that much more than once. Jesper propped up his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder and looked at him through the mirror.

“Sorry… Just I don’t know. Sorry.” Wylan cast his eyes down and started nibbling on his bottom lip. When Jesper took his arms off him and stepped back, Wylan wanted to protest and pull him back, but there was no need to do that when Jesper turned him around to face him.

“Stop apologising and talk to me.” Jesper cupped his face and Wylan immediately leaned into his touch, craving it. “You do know that you can talk to me, right?”

“Of course, it’s just… it’s stupid.” Wylan’s hands landed on Jesper’s hips, needing that kind of body contact, because it grounded him. Jesper grounded him. 

“It’s not stupid if it affects you like that. Your feelings are valid, remember that!” Jesper had told him that before, but he knew that it wasn’t so easy for him to open up, to really talk to him, and express his feelings after years of being told that he should suck it up, get over it, and whatever else his father had told him. Even after his mother’s death, he’d been told these things, and once again, Jesper wanted to strangle that bastard.

“I know.” And he did, but it was still difficult to act accordingly, because he was too used to being silent about these things. But Jesper really knew how to break through his shell, how to wipe his mind clean. One kiss managed to do that, and feeling his lips on his own right now definitely made him a lot calmer right now.

“So…?” Jesper pressed carefully, mumbling the word against his lips before he pulled back, rubbing his thumb lovingly along his cheek. Wylan’s own thumbs slowly started stroking back and forth along his skin where his hands lay on his hips.

“I can’t look at myself without seeing my father,” Wylan said with a sigh, his eyes fixed on Jesper’s chest again, until Jesper tilted his head up again so they could look at each other.

“You look nothing like him.” Jesper raised his other hand as well to frame Wylan’s face and kiss the tip of his nose. “Your nose is much narrower than his, your freckles are nothing that you have from him.” Jesper kissed both cheeks, pretty sure that he’d gotten the freckles from his Mum. He’d only seen a picture once, and that was still in Wylan’s room in the van Eck mansion. “You have the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen, and you have so much love to give.” Which couldn’t be said for his sorry excuse for a father.

This time, it was Wylan who kissed Jesper, who rose to the balls of his feet and put everything he felt right now into that kiss. Jesper’s hands dropped to his shoulders, squeezing them, holding onto them until Wylan pulled back again.

“Thank you,” Wylan whispered against his lips, lowering himself again, his hands finding their way onto Jesper’s chest, placing his right one above his heart so that he could feel its strong, steady beat beneath it.

“I’ll tell you again and again if I have to.” And he knew he’d have to tell him at least a couple more times. Something like this wasn’t easily overcome, the emotional abuse of years manifesting itself like that. But Jesper would tell him and show him how wonderful he thought him again and again until Wylan believed it himself or rather didn’t doubt that anymore, and realised that he had nothing in common with Jan van Eck. For now, they went back to bed, cuddled close together and got a few more hours of sleep before they had to get up and face the day.

A few days later, Jesper came home late in the evening from work, looking forward to wrapping his arms around Wylan and pulling him close after the last couple of customers had really pushed him with their behaviour, but one of his colleagues had pulled him aside, had taken him to the back so that he could calm down a little, and then work behind the scenes more or less, clean up and stuff. That way, he hadn’t had to deal with them anymore. But now, work was behind him, and he could enjoy a quiet rest of the evening and night with Wylan, since they didn’t have to get up in the morning - and because Kaz wasn’t home for the night. He hadn’t told him what he was up to, just that he had some business to attend, and Jesper knew better than to ask any kind of questions about that.

“Wylan?” he called out once he’d closed the door behind him, taking off his shoes and hanging up his keys. No response. Instead, he heard music coming from the bathroom, so maybe, Wylan was enjoying a hot bath, figuring that nobody would disturb him. Jesper took off his shirt while he walked over to the bathroom and dropped it right in front of the door.

“Want some company?” he asked while opening the door and stepping inside, but there was no Wylan in the bathtub, and the situation was nothing like he’d expected. Wylan was sitting on the floor, his back against the bathtub, hugging his knees. He seemed to be in his own world, not realising that Jesper was in the room with him. His heart dropped upon seeing him like this. He knew that there were good and bad days. Days where Wylan was just himself, could enjoy their time together, laugh with him, but also days where he was somewhere far away, doubting himself and everything he was doing, and Jesper knew why this happened. They’d talked about it, about Wylan’s past, about his father and all the things that had happened, that Wylan had thought were normal until he’d seen Kaz’ and Jesper’s reactions. Jesper had promised him that he’d be there every time he needed him, every time he felt like this, so he wondered why he hadn’t called him or sent him a voice message. Then again… Wylan being Wylan didn’t want to be a burden to him. He wasn’t, not at all, because Jesper loved him and wanted him to be happy all the time.

“Hey…” Jesper lowered his voice as he sank down on his knees next to Wylan, carefully touching his fingertips to his bare arm.

“Jesper!” Wylan stared at him wide-eyed, before he quickly lowered his head again. “Sorry, I didn’t want you to find me like this. I wanted to clean up before you got back.”

“Clean up?” And the Jesper saw it. There was a pair of scissors lying next to Wylan, some cut off hair as well. Oh no . “Did you…?”

“I needed something to change and then I…” He shrugged his shoulders and turned his head a little to show Jesper just where he’d chopped off some hair. “Is it bad?”

Jesper reached out his hand to rake his fingers through his hair at the side, realising just how much was missing there.

“I think, we can fix that. You’ll just have to walk around with shorter hair for some time. Give me the scissors, I can do that.”

“But…”

“But what, darling?”

“You love my hair!” Wylan looked at him again, eyes a bit wide and his cheeks turning that beautiful shade of light pink that Jesper loved to see so much,

“I do, but I love you more. And I will still love you with short hair.” The words were out before he realised it, because he hadn’t said them out loud yet. He’d been feeling them for a while, had been thinking them, but it was the first time he spoke them. Upon realising that, his heart beat faster in his chest, especially because Wylan didn’t say anything for a moment. But then, Wylan leaned over and kissed him, soft and sweet at first, but more insistent after a moment, taking Jesper’s hand into his own.

“I feel the same way.” Wylan’s words were a mere whisper against Jesper’s lips, but he heard them, felt the vibration of the words against his lips, and his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest. He’d had his fair share of adventures and dates, but Wylan was the first person able to capture his heart, because he knew that it was safe with him.

“So that means you trust me to cut your hair?” Jesper asked with a grin, trying to take the seriousness out of this situation a little bit, grinning at Wylan and wiggling his eyebrows.

“I trust you with everything.” Honest to a fault, and that made Jesper’s heart speed up even more. Luckily, he had something to do, something he had to concentrate on, because otherwise, he’d probably start babbling because he was a bit overwhelmed with this admission. When Wylan tried to get up, jesper quickly put his hand on Wylan’s thigh and held him down.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Don’t you want me to sit down on a chair or something like that.”

“Nope, we’re good right where we are. Need you close.” With that, he grabbed Wylan’s calf and pulled him closer, pulled his leg over his own, grinning at him. “I missed you all day, so this is perfect.”

He took the scissors from Wylan and got to work. He really didn’t want to screw this up, but he had to go a bit with the length Wylan had already cut a part of his hair to and so he snapped away. He was so concentrated, that he stuck his tongue between his teeth when he assessed his work, looked at the left and the right side. He really managed to work in silence, or rather without saying anything because the room was filled with music and Wylan humming quietly along to it.

“Alright, we’re nearly finished.” Jesper looked at him, leaned back for a moment before sitting up straight again. “Just a little shorter at the front so I can see your stupid face.” He winked at Wylan as he said this, making him chuckle, and it was the sweetest sound he’d heard all day. “There, all done.”

Jesper put the scissors aside and leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips, before he carefully got up and helped Wylan do the same. He had to admit that he was a little nervous when he led Wylan to the mirror and stood behind him, so they could both look at his reflection. He certainly looked different, well, his hair did, but apart from that, he still had those incredibly impressive eyes framed by long lashes that showed so much kindness, still the same lips that Jesper loved to kiss, still the same man who’d stolen his heart that first day in the auditorium.

“It’s short.” Wylan stated, squinting a little as he touched his fingers to his hair.

Well, yes, Captain Obvious.

“And I… I don’t see my father anymore.” Without waiting for a reaction, even a word, Wylan turned around in Jesper’s arms and kissed him, full of love and feeling, and a lot of happiness. Jesper wrapped his arms around his waist and held him close, sinking into the kiss, happy as well because Wylan was happy.

They only broke apart when they heard a knock on the door and Kaz calling out to them. Jesper’s brows drew together in confusion.

“Didn’t he say, he’d be gone all night?” Jesper slowly let go of Wylan to turn towards the door and open it.

“Yeah, I thought so.” Wylan took Jesper’s hand in his own before they walked out of the bathroom. They still had to clean up, but they could do that in a minute.

“Kaz, we-”

“It won’t take long,” Kaz interrupted him and turned to go to the kitchen, expecting them to follow him, and they did. Jesper knew Kaz long enough to know what he wanted them to do.

“I think these belong to you, Wylan.” Kaz pointed at the pretty full table. There were some clothes, lots of papers - Jesper recognised the sheet music among them - Wylan’s beloved flute and probably the most important part, the picture of Wylan’s Mum.

“How did you…?” Wylan let go of Kesper’s hand to pick the picture up. He was biting his bottom lip to keep the tears at bay, but Jesper understood him, knew how much this meant to him.

“I have my ways. The less you know-”

“-the better,” Jesper finished for him, smiling at his best friend. “Thank you, Kaz.”

“Yes, thank you! You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“In fact, I do.” He didn’t elaborate, but Jesper knew what he meant, because Kaz had lost his brother, the only family he’d had left at this point, and for Wylan, it seemed to be the same, because Jan van Eck had never really been a father to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He tapped his cane against the table and then he was gone again.

“Did he…?”

“Trust me, you really don’t want to know.” Jesper let out a laugh, because it really was better not to know how he got certain things done. That way, they couldn’t tell anyone else even by accident.

“You’re right.” Now, Wylan laughed along with Jesper, leaning up against his side. “I’m just really grateful for that. Didn’t think I’d ever see my stuff again.”

“Yet, here we are.” Jesper pressed a kiss to his temple. “How about you bring that stuff in our room and I clean up the bathroom?”

Our room . To him it was, and he hoped that Wylan felt the same way, felt so at home here, that he could call it that. Because he knew for a fact that Kaz didn’t want him to move out. Otherwise, he would have helped him find an apartment right from the start.

“Are you sure? I can help you.”

“I know, but you don’t have to.” He cupped Wylan’s cheek and leaned down to give him a kiss. “And when we’re both finished, we can cuddle up in bed. Sounds good?”

“Wonderful.” Before he turned and put his belongings into their room, Wylan stole another kiss, unable to stop himself from smiling. He was brimming with happiness right now. He had the most wonderful boyfriend, Kaz had gotten him the photo of his Mum and his flute back among other things, and he finally lived in a place where he felt at home for the first time since his mother had died. He knew that there was still a rocky road ahead of him, that there would be moments like tonight when he’d be down, but Jesper had once again shown him that he was there for him, that he was by his side and wouldn’t just leave because it became difficult. Because he loved Wylan, and Wylan loved him, and that made all the difference.

[imaginarianisms]

Name / Alias: angel / angie (only if close g-d bless) / arcana <- core/host/singletsona name. collectively we& go by the imaginarians galaxy !!

Are you over 18? yes / no

|| WRITING. ||

-Are you selective about who you write with? No (anyone) / Semi (most people) / Yes (some people) / Highly (few people) / Private (mutuals only).

-Are you selective about who you follow? No (anyone) / Semi (most people) / Yes (some people) / Highly (few people) / Private (mutuals only).

-If your muse is canon, how much do you adhere to canon? Not at all / A little / Some / Mostly / Strictly / Not Applicable / Depends on the muse

-What post lengths do you write? One-Liners / Single-Para / Multi-Para / Novella / All of the aforementioned.

-Do you use icons and/or GIFS? No / Gifs / Icons / Yes / Sometimes.

-Do you write on other platforms? No / Yes

-What level of plots do you write? Unplotted / Open-Ended Plots / Semi-Plotted / Fully Plotted Epics / All of the aforementioned.

-How quickly do you usually respond to threads? Very Slow (more than a month) / Slow (3-4 weeks) / Average (1-2 weeks) / Fast (less than one week) / Very Fast (less than three days)

-What types of themes do you like? Adventure / Romance / Fluff / Angst / Violence / Tragedy / Domestic / Family / All of the aforementioned.

|| WHAT GENRES DO YOU LIKE? || ( Feel free to add!)

High Fantasy / Supernatural / Science Fiction / Historical / Horror / Comedy / Romantic / Drama / Action / Smut / Adventure / Espionage / All of the aforementioned

-Are there any themes you're uncomfortable writing on your blog? (Not triggers) No / Yes / Sometimes

-Do you have any triggers? How do you request it tagged? not particularly triggers persay but bc we're& a system, it's definitely best to ask depending on who's fronting. we've& been through a lot of serious traumatizing shit irl so like. a lot of shit that we& write doesn't bother us&. when i& ask for tws it's not necessarily for me& or for us& but it's for other people who may not be comfy w/ specific topics.

|| SHIPPING. ||

-What types of relationships are you open to? Romantic / Platonic / Familial / All of the aforementioned

-What types of pre-established relationships are you open to? Romantic / Platonic / Familial / All of the aforementioned

-Do you have OTPs? No / Chemistry Only / Yes

-Do you have NOTPS? No / Yes

-What is your muse's sexual orientation? Heterosexual / Heteroflexible / Bisexual / Pansexual / Homoflexible / Homosexual / Demisexual / Sapiosexual / Asexual / Still trying to figure it out / Depends on the muse you're asking.

-What is your muse's romantic orientation? Heteroromantic/ Heteroflexible / Biromantic / Homoflexible / Homoromantic / Panromantic / Demiromantic / Sapioromantic / Aromantic / Still trying to figure it out / Depends on the muse you're asking.

-Are you comfortable writing smut? No / Selectively / Yes

How early in a relationship do you ship romantically? Autoship / During plotting / After a couple IC interactions / Several IC interactions / Slow burn / Plot dependent / Never / Depends on how well the characters/muns vibe

-Are you open to toxic ships? No / Selectively / Yes

-Are you open to problematic ships? No / Selectively / Yes

-Are you open to polyshipping? No / Selectively / Yes /

-Are you an exclusive shipper? Never / Sometimes / Yes / I would be open to discuss it

-Does crack shipping ever happen? Nope / Yes / Depends

tagged by: stole it from ande / @loyalpromise lmao tagging: @dethdvncer @breakbcnes @velcryons @historias-multorum @creolejesus @lazaruhs @heavensbee @zcldrizes @goldenngore @shinobinvku @helbroth @inmydrcams & anyone else who wants to do this !! <3333

[maxeiil]

often times, I think about my Kairos time. From what I understand, its the period of waiting and praying until God calls you for something that can change you or someone else's life. Ever since I found God, I've always wondered when my time would come.

I have a lot of religiously influential people in my life, who seem to do amazing things, like my friend, Iraklis. He's just a kid like me, but whenever I see him, he's always praying and he mentions the Goodness of God any time he finds. He has a whole page on tiktok dedicated to Christianity, which is quite normal, but he's turned people to Christ. And he's just a kid.

I looked up to him and wondered what I could do to turn people to Christ as well, or at least open their eyes. But I realize, God doesn't call all of us in the same way to do the great things He has planned for us.

I tried to make efforts of showing people Christ by posting a lot of Bible verses and other Christian things on this blog, despite it being a fine art blog. (Well, its supposed to be one lol)

I wanna show people the true Goodness of my Lord. God saves people every day, man. He saved me when I almost died in February from a sickness nobody at the time knew I had.

I was miserable at the hospital. I slept all through the day and never got out of my bed. When I woke up, I always wanted to cry because it was still light outside. I remember always telling myself, "Child, day isn't over." all the time. My auntie came to stay with me for the night once so my mom could go home after staying with me all week. She prayed and prayed for me, practically yelling that my sickness wouldn't take over my body. And she was right. I remember when she told me to get up and when I did, I literally felt the weakness slip away. I'm not exaggerating my testimony because thats exactly what it felt like.

I came out of there after two weeks, not being able to run and barely able to jump, but I still jumped for joy, best as I could. I praised the Lord and I cried because I would have died without his Grace.

I used to be an evil child, already on my way to hell. I can't hide my sins from everybody and say I was perfect. I disrespected God, even in church because I didn't care. At those times, I had a lot of angst. I was only like 8 or 9 and I wanted to k-11 myself. I thought my family hated me and I started sh'ing in the 6th grade. But when I came to God and started reading the Word, every hardship in there, I could apply to my own life; Heartbreak, temptation, sadness, fear, and anxiety. They're nothing when you've got God. Bring your burdens to Him and He will take them away. Thats what He did for me and I love Him for what He's done. He's blessed me and my broken life, and turned everything around.

If I could swear as a Christian, I would swear that God will never let you down if you're willing to give your life to Him. He loves you. You may think everything in the world is for you, but it's really against you. People want to brainwash you and tear you down and conform you inro their ways. They'll tell you its the good life, the fun life, but they dont know crap about what they say. You'll never find happiness hooking up with people, doing drugs or bullying others. And you'll never find it worshipping the devil. The devil tried to take my soul, and thought he had it, but failed. Dont let him take yours. It will never be worth it.

God is patient and open to anyone and everyone. If you are truly willing to give your life to the Lord, I'm telling you, It will be so worth it. We get slandered by the people of this world because they dont see what we see and they think we are bigots who take the "fun" out of everything. We really aren't. God won't hate you for being an addict, or a homosexual, or a prostitute. When you believe in Him and repent, all of it will be forgiven. He doesn't hate you, but the bad things that the world tries to pressure you into. It's hard to preach that in a world of people who are too sensitive and think anyone who goes against them in the slightest is attacking them. Its real sad. I hope one day people will wake up and see His power, His rule over this earth.

I'll say it one more time. No matter how much you deny it, no matter what you do or say, God will always be willing to take you into His arms. Turn to Him, and He will make your paths straight. He will protect and guide you. Once you grab His Hand, He'll never let go of you. He loves you. He loves you all. Please. Why don't you turn to Him and love Him back?

This message wasnt really focused on one thing and I just typed as testimonies and such resurfaced my mind. But I hope this reaches out to somebody. God really does love you.

God Bless <3

[luckhissoul]

Name / Alias: Liz Are you over 18? Yes / No -

– W R I T I N G – Are you selective about who you write with? No (anyone) / Semi (most people) / Yes (some people) / Highly (few people) / Private (mutuals only). --

Are you selective about who you follow? No (anyone) / Semi (most people) / Yes (some people) / Highly (few people).

If your muse is canon, how much do you adhere to canon? Not at all / A little / Some / Mostly / Strictly / Not Applicable. canon to the books only - watch me act like the show doesn't exist. but of course i always am up for aus / crossovers and the like

What post lengths do you write? One-Liners / Single-Para / Multi-Para / Novella / All of the aforementioned.

Do you use icons and/or GIFS? No / Gifs / Icons / Yes / Sometimes. but i don't mind not using them.

Do you write on other platforms? No / Yes i have a few things on discord going. so that's always fun.

What level of plots do you write? Unplotted / Open-Ended Plots / Semi-Plotted / Fully Plotted Epics / All of the aforementioned

How quickly do you usually respond to threads? Very Slow (more than a month) / Slow (3-4 weeks) / Average (1-2 weeks) / Fast (less than one week) / Very Fast (less than three days)

What types of themes do you like? Adventure / Romance / Fluff / Angst/ Violence / Tragedy / Domestic / Family / All of the aforementioned although i don't like anything that's like overly violent

WHAT GENRES DO YOU LIKE? ( Feel free to add! ) High Fantasy / Supernatural / Science Fiction / Historical / Horror / Comedy / Romantic / Drama / Action / Smut / Adventure / Espionage / All of the aforementioned

Are there any themes you’re uncomfortable writing on your blog? (Not triggers) No / Yes / Sometimes i don't really like to write anything that's overly graphic that goes from smut to violence

Do you have any triggers? How do you request it tagged? no i don't have any triggers personally

– S H I P P I N G – What types of relationships are you open to? Romantic / Platonic / Familial / All of the aforementioned

What types of pre-established relationships are you open to? Romantic / Platonic / Familial / All of the aforementioned

Do you have OTPs? No / Chemistry Only / Yes

Do you have NOTPS? No / Yes i'm sure i can dig a few up. like i've seen thom / mat or nynaeve / mat and those are just -- uncomfortable lmao

What is your muse’s sexual orientation? Heterosexual / Heteroflexible / Bisexual / Pansexual / Homoflexible / Homosexual / Demisexual / Sapiosexual / Asexual / Still trying to figure it out / Depends on the muse you’re asking

What is your muse’s romantic orientation? Heteroromantic / Heteroflexible / Biromantic / Homoflexible / Homoromantic / Panromantic / Demiromantic / Sapioromantic / Aromantic / Still trying to figure it out / Depends on the muse you’re asking .

Are you comfortable writing smut? No / Selectively / Yes

How early in a relationship do you ship romantically?

Autoship / During plotting / After a couple IC interactions / Several IC interactions / Slow burn / Plot dependent / Never as long as we've said it was gonna happen beforehand. but it can start whenever

Are you open to toxic ships? No / Selectively / Yes / I am not sure mat's canon ship is toxic af and i love it lmao

Are you open to problematic ships? No / Selectively / Yes / I am not sure see above answer :o

Are you open to polyshipping? No / Selectively / Yes / I am not sure

Are you an exclusive shipper? Never / Sometimes / Yes / I would be open to discuss it i mean i have characters that i'm exclusive with that i ship with like @agoldenlily & some of their muses on @xradiant

Does crack shipping ever happen? Nope / Yes / depends / altho they normally become normal ships

tagged by : no one i was bored lol tagging : @caracarnn --- and anyone else who wants to do it?

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Winter, 2019 - San Diego, California

Chapter 4 of You Are My Soulmate

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: It's been a week since the accident. A week since you collapsed, a week since you saw the man who could be your soulmate fall from the heavens in a jet he shouldn't have been in at all. And you can't help but blame yourself. The should haves, would haves and could haves crowd your brain until there isn't anything else in it. Until, that is, you wake up one morning to find what looks to be all of the journalists in San Diego parked out in your front lawn. That's when you discover that Hawk had given interviews across the city dragging your name through the mud. You can't even open your windows without them hounding you. So you trust your welfare to your best friends, your family. And pray that Bradley Bradshaw wakes up soon. If only because you're not sure how much of this you can take. Meanwhile, Rooster's in heaven. He's got his mom and dad nearby, he's never hungry, thirsty or tired, but as time passes, he can't help wondering about his soulmate. Is she alright? Is she safe? She's not hurting too badly because of his stupid actions, right? One chance vision from the universe shows him what he didn't know he needed. Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships. Angst. Flagrant disregard for protocols or Authority. Angst. Anguish. This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story. Warnings: Female!Reader Word Count: 3142 A/N: Here's Chapter 4 of YAMS! This is where the shit hits the fan, quite literally for Tinkerbell and Rooster! Hawk makes a second appearance, and if you all hated him when you first saw him, you haven't seen anything yet! As always, your reblogs and comments make me so happy! Feel free to drop me an ask if you want to chat about this chapter or any of my other works! AO3:Cross-posted Here! My Masterlist Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

Tinkerbell

You feel rather like you're walking around in a haze after the accident. You live so close to base and have so many friends that are Navy or affiliated with the Navy that it feels a lot like the entire world is talking about what happened. The rumors and wondering comments follow you around. You can't even walk into the commissary anymore without hearing some new theory about what happened.

Jake and Javy do their best to shield you from the speculation, but you can't hide from yourself. Your brain may be telling you that it wasn't your fault that Bradley crashed, but your heart, your soul, is telling you differently. Your actions resulted in your soulmate being in a hospital bed, unconscious and unknowing right now. You could have done something more to disable his jet. You could've had the maintenance crew remove the master ignition switch. You could've. You could've. You could've. It's eating you alive. Since you're on medical suspension for a month, you don't even have the distraction of work anymore.

You have one week of relative quiet. Then you wake up one morning to your phone blowing up. Everyone you know who has your phone number seems to be texting you the same link. You're half awake, sleep clouding your eyes even as you fumble for your ringing phone and answer the phone call.

It's an awfully insistent voice asking you why you put Bradley in the hospital. You ignore it and hang up. The words don't penetrate your sleepy brain until a few seconds later, when you jolt up from your comfy spot in bed. You've gotten over sixty unread messages and fourteen voicemails in the past three hours. Most of the voicemails are from Jake and when you open the first of the many articles in your inbox, it's an interview.

You're going to murder Lieutenant Junior Grade George Taylor, the cocky little shit soon to be formerly known as Hawk. He's spoken to what seems to be every news outlet in San Diego and given them a tell-all expose about how you're a nosy, jealous bitch who hated Lieutenant Bradshaw from the moment she saw him and wanted him gone.

No wonder your phone has been ringing off the hook. Everybody wants to stick their mics into your face and get the true story. How could you tell them it was your soulmate's fault when he isn't even awake to corroborate your story? You don't even know if he is your soulmate, for goodness's sake. Not definitively, at least. 

You can't even draw back your curtains, because when you try, you are nearly blinded by the entire troupe of reporters camping out on your front lawn. No wonder Jake sounds frantic when you finally pick up the phone when he calls next.

"Hey darling." He sounds worried, like he's been pacing back and forth on the hot tarmac for hours. "What happened? Are you okay? Did you see my messages?"

"I saw, Jake. I was asleep. If you forget, I'm on medical leave for the next three weeks." Your voice is weak as you burrow back under your sheets. "I saw your messages, Jake. I'm dreaming, right?"

"I wish you were, Tinky-tink." You can hear the pain in Jake's voice as a tear drips unbidden down your cheek. "Hawk's been swanning around on base. He's been talking shit all day. Javy's already punched him in the nose hard enough to cause a nosebleed. Thankfully Cyclone and Warlock weren't nearby or my darling would've ended up with a formal reprimand by now."

You have to smile, even if it's half-hearted, because it's so like Jake and Javy to have your back, even at the risk of their own careers.

"You guys have to toe the line, though, Jake. This may very well be the end of my career, but it's not going to be the end of yours." Your voice is filled with so much regret. So much pain and sorrow. "I'm not going to drag you and Javy down with me."

"Baby, who said you're dragging us down with you? We're your family, remember?" He sounds so genuinely distressed for you.

"I know, Jake. And I love you. I love Javy. But you can't punch Hawk out every time you see him on base. But you can smuggle me out of my house and hug me for a good long while later today?" You feel extra small in that moment, the flashes of light from the lenses on the other side of your curtain still burning after-images into your retinas.

"The paparazzi are all over, huh?" You can hear the furrow in Jake's brow as he asks you that question.

"I feel kinda like Marilyn Monroe. I have after-images burned into my retinas from the flashes on all the pictures they got of me in my frumpy, old, US Navy t-shirt a few minutes ago." You can just barely hear the rage in Jake's voice as he calls out to Javy and the other Daggers. 

"Hey, sweetheart." It's Javy's smooth, deep voice that you hear on the phone all of a sudden. "Jakey's flipping his shit, I dunno if you can hear him, baby, but we're really worried about you. Let me see if I can get Mav to let Jake and I out early. We'll roll up in the lifted truck with the blacked out windows, y’know, the one I kept telling Jake was a ridiculous purchase, and get you to our place. You know what Jake can drive like when he gets motivated."

You have to chuckle at that, a little. Jake normally drives like a perfectly respectable person. But when he's angry or worried, he's got a lead foot. You've definitely been holding onto the passenger "Oh Shit!" handles a few times as Jake drives.

"Pack your bags, baby. You're coming to stay with us until the paparazzi back off. All I know is that if I see that little ass wipe ever again, he'll be wishing that the worst thing he gets is a broken nose." Your chuckle is watery and sniffly at his words.

"Thank you, Javy. I love you."

"Love you too, baby. If you hear tires screeching on pavement, know that sound means that Jake and I are rolling up to break you out of jail." 

The phone goes dead soon after and it takes everything you have to not start hyperventilating on the spot. You could probably handle Hawk's interview alone, but now with reporters camping out on your front lawn and hounding your every move, it's only a matter of time before some other corrupt person lets it spill that Bradley Bradshaw might be your soulmate. With no knowledge of his prognosis, it's likely that you're going to get a court martial, then be dishonorably discharged, and finally imprisoned. Who'd ever take your word over Hawk's? There are still Admirals who believe that a woman's place is in the home, after all.

Everything you've ever worked for will have turned into dust in moments. All because of one action, one reaction, really. If he weren’t so badly hurt already, you’d hate Bradley Bradshaw for what he's done to ruin your life. But you can’t hate him. You couldn’t hate him if you tried. Now that you know he’s yours, that he’s linked to you in a way nobody else will ever be, ever can be, you can catalog all of the things you’ve ever felt about him. The instant jolt of attraction you’d felt that first night, the need to have his body pressed up against yours as he crooned sweet nothings to you? That must’ve been your bond asserting itself for the first time. Your giddy feelings after the AMDO inspection are just further proof. 

You pack bag after bag as you go over every memory you have with Bradley Bradshaw. In truth, he’s always in the periphery of your memories of your time at North Island, always in the shadows, lurking at the outskirts. You know it’s not his relationship with his team, because they love him. You have to be the reason why he’d become so nervous all of a sudden. Could he have sensed the nascent bond between the two of you? But that doesn’t explain the horrible things Bradley had said about you. You’ve gone over that night over and over in your mind, but it’s standing in your sun drenched bedroom that you finally realize why. Jake had come oh-so protectively up to you after the crowd had nearly crushed you, after Bradley had saved you. He’d smothered you in his embrace and his cloying older-brotherly love and had scarcely left your side the remainder of the night.

Could Bradley have thought that Jake was your soulmate? Jake?! The very man who is so in love with his own soul that he never even lets Javy get his own beer? Ever? The man who'd called you after Javy went into G-Loc and was in the hospital for the night, crying because he'd nearly lost the most important person in his life? That Jake? It’s a ludicrous thought to you, but a conceivable one. And you can’t even disabuse Bradley Bradshaw of the notion. Not when he’s lying in a hospital bed deep in a coma.

It’s that thought which swarms in your mind as you sit in your silent, dark living room waiting for Jake and Javy to come ‘break you out of jail’ as Javy had called it. You’re paralyzed by it, in truth. How? How can you fix this? How? The more you think about the situation you’ve found yourself in, the less you think you’ve found a solution. You’re curled into a ball on the sofa, staring blankly at the television you’re not sure when you turned on, when the door opens. You’re blasted with an onslaught of noise in the short while it’s opened.

“Hi, Tink.” You blink unseeingly at the voices. These are people you can trust, you know you can, but you can’t make yourself respond. All of your feelings have clogged up your throat, muting your voice until you’re caught in the riptide-current of everything that’s happened to you.

“C’mon, darling. Let’s get you out of here, huh?” You just nod, allowing Javy to put your shoes on your feet and wrap you in a big hoodie, drawing the hood over your face before propping a pair of sunglasses on your nose.

The sound is worse the minute you set foot outside of the door. The flashes are blindingly bright even through the dark lenses on your face, and if it weren’t for how Jake and Javy sandwich you between them, both of them still in their khakis, you’d have broken in the couple of dozen steps it takes to get into Jake’s lifted truck with the blacked out windows. The reporters are shouting questions to you so insistently that you can hear them even once you’re safely ensconced in the backseat with Javy. For several long moments, they turn their hounding on Jake as he carts your bags to the tailgate in a couple of quick trips. It’s barely ten minutes later that Jake takes off down the road. But it’s in the quiet of the cab that you break down.

It’s an acute despair that’s got hold of your heart, tears slipping down your cheeks in big globs at the pain you’re feeling all over again. It’s not enough that you had to watch your soulmate crash, that you can’t know how he is doing. No, now you have to face the entire world lambasting you for something that you didn’t do. This soulmate thing didn’t come with instructions. If the gods had been a little more specific, could you have avoided all of this? Why didn’t your life come with some kind of instruction booklet? Would it have saved all of this heartache? You honestly don’t know and you’re sure you never will.

Javy’s an angel throughout it, holding you tight against his chest and letting you cry until your tears peter out. You can’t hear anything for a long while, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the big palm cradling your head or if it’s just that the beating of your heart is drowning out everything else. 

“How’s she doing, darling?” You’re struck dumb, your mind moving far too fast to put your thoughts to words.

“I dunno, Jake.” The rumble of Javy’s voice in his chest feels like home. “She cried for a long time, and now Tink’s just lying against my chest limply.”

“I wish there was something we could do to help her more, Javy.” It sounds like Jake’s choked up. Why? It’s not like you’re anything special.

“What else could we do? We got that little prick under investigation. And I punched him square in the nose. Everything else is up to Bradshaw. And we’ll take care of our girl as long as we have to. She may not believe that she did the right thing at this very moment, but we’ll help her. It’s the least we can do.” Javy sounds so sure of his ability to help you. But what if you’re past saving? It’s not like Hawk will ever change his tune.

“Then why doesn’t it feel like it’s enough? This is Tink, Javy. Our Tink. We wouldn’t have each other without her.” You’ve never heard Jake like this.

“It’ll be okay, darling. You and me, we’ll take care of our Tink as long as we have to.” 

You must fall asleep after that conversation because the next thing you know is the feeling of cool blankets over your exhausted body and a soft pillow under your heavy head. Somebody has laid your cell phone down on the nightstand and your bags are in a corner. You feel weighed down and groggy, like you’ve been sleeping for far too long and yet are still completely exhausted. You have to force yourself to walk down the stairs of Jake and Javy’s house, though you can’t quite give up the comfort of the blanket they’d draped over you. Your socked feet whisper softly against the shining wood floors, and the stealth it provides leads to you seeing something which warms your nearly broken heart.

There are takeout boxes on the counter and two half filled glasses of wine nearby.  Soft music spills from the speaker on the counter and Jake and Javy are swaying gently to the beat. As you creep closer to the kitchen, you can hear the lyrics. If you know Jake correctly, it sounds like Tim McGraw’s My Best Friend. Jake’s mouthing the words gently, Javy’s head against the crook of his neck and his hand over Jake’s heart. Both of their eyes are closed and they look completely at peace with each other. Their love for each other speaks volumes. They seem so at ease with each other, like they belong here in each other's arms. 

In this cozy ranch style kitchen, all of your problems seem miles away. If you close your eyes and let the music wash over you, you would almost think you’re in your own kitchen, dancing barefoot in somebody’s arms. There’s a dog underfoot and even though the two of you nearly fall, it feels right. When you open your eyes, you half expect yourself to be there in your kitchen, to see Bradley looking down on you. But nothing’s changed. You’re still lost and alone. Adrift in stormy seas without a life raft or life jacket. But in the warm yellow light, you let yourself hope, just a little. You have Jake, and you have Javy. Maybe they’re enough?

Rooster

In the who-knows-how-long since he’s been stuck in limbo with his mom and dad, Bradley’s filled them in on everything they’ve missed in his life. He’s been yelled at and squished by both his parents and he feels more settled than he has been in a long, long time. From what his parents have told him, he’s not dead, not completely. There’s something tethering him to his life, something more than just his bruised, broken, battered body in a coma. 

If he stops concentrating on what it is, just a little, Bradley sometimes thinks he sees a string, shooting out from his heart and extending out, farther than he could possibly see. It’s crimson, the color bright against the pale nothingness he’s in, and god he wishes he could see who it points to. But more than anything, he wishes he’d just not decided to get into a broken jet and fly. It’s the biggest regret of his not-quite-life, not-quite-death, and he wishes more than anything that he could apologize to his soulmate.

But he can't. Not until he wakes up. It's impossible to know how many days he's been stuck in this liminal space too, the days punctuated by his mom and dad appearing and disappearing in golden motes of light, leaving him in solitude at times. It must be nice, Bradley's sure, to know you've lived a life well, to know your soulmate is waiting for you on the other side of a golden bridge waiting for you.

That's the first time he sees her, his soul. She's standing in a kitchen, wrapped in a fluffy blanket, the only parts of her visible are her sock-clad feet and her head. There's music playing, some country tune Bradley couldn't name if he tried. Her eyes are welling with tears as she watches two men dance. One is pale-skinned and blond haired, the other deeply tanned with close-cropped inky black curls. They're wrapped around each other, love dripping from every motion. Bradley knows exactly whose face it is, Tinkerbell, just as well as he knows the blond's face. It's a face he would have argued he's seen too many times since the Uranium Mission. Fucking Jake Seresin. But why's he dancing with somebody else? Shouldn't he be dancing with Tinkerbell? She’s in the room after all. How could he cheat on a girl like her? More's the question, why's he seeing Seresin and Tinkerbell instead of his soulmate?

But before Bradley can get or manipulate the visions to show him something else, he's left with only his thoughts. Those thoughts keep focusing on Tinkerbell standing in the kitchen. She’d looked so sad, so lonely. Oh god, is this when she found out Jake was cheating on her? He can’t help wishing he were there so he could hug her and kiss her tears away.  Which is ridiculous, right? But he does promise that the next time he sees Bagman, the two of them are going to have words. Nobody gets to treat their soulmate like that, not on his watch.

Taglist:

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🛩️ @daphne-turner 🛩️ @captain-fandomwriter58

🛩️ @caidi-paris 🛩️@mazzbarnes 🛩️ @thedroneranger

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I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[joseopher]

HELLO, LADIES, WORMS, HOMOSEXUALS

As we know I check the novacaine tags daily.

But today the lovely @asimplesweettart has informed me one of THE BEST novacaine fanfics has been updated!

Unicorn Puke

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

This fic is phenomenal!

We have

NOVACAINE!

Callum being sad

Nicogideon

Nico refusing to stop being horny for even two seconds

Parisa dunking on Callum for being sad and pathetic

Callum failing to handle emotions

Callum thinking murder will solve his emotions

ANGST

Actually some really sweet fluff

Tristan and Callum being so ridiculously fond of each other

Spoilers! Spoilers! Spoilers! Spoilers! Spoilers! Spoilers! Spoilers!

Okay so the first chapter is *chef's kiss*

The best part is when Nico is being SO in love with Gideon. Callum can't take this so he manipulates Nico to calm the fuck down but then Callum has to take those emotions on himself! 👀

So then Callum has to sit there thinking about Tristan. And it's torture for him. And Parisa obviously witnesses this and (in a girlboss move) is like “It’s a shame that all blew up before you got into his pants, really. I guess you’ll have to take my word for it. He’s very good in bed.”.

ABSOLUTE QUEEN!

Now chapter 2!

“For a while, he allowed hopeless yearning and self-loathing to play ping-pong with his brain. Then, he decided to be drunk.”

Callum is sooooo good dealing with emotions .

And then Callum sees Tristan and instantly drops his booze (which shatters all over the ground) because he's THAT in love. He can't even look at Tristan without losing it.

“Killing is seen as the ultimate inhumanity, an evil that you cannot recover your goodness from once committed. That was why Tristan had spared him that day, because Tristan was a Good Person who could not do Bad Thing.”

Callum have you considered that he cares about you?? (This is so spot on with Callum's character because this is EXACTLY what he thinks)

“You can be like that, Callum. But being a prick isn’t going to make me fuck off like everyone else.” 

✨ THEM ✨ 

This story is so in character oh my gosh

“Sensing that Tristan gave even an eensy weensy tiny shit about him was melting sparkly happiness all over the rest of his mind, causing the mechanisms of his brain to spark and malfunction. He was being forced to savor pity and that was the fucking line.” 

Callum will bluescreen over anything Tristan does and it's perfect.

Then Callum decides because he's happy, he needs to kill Tristan or Tristan needs to kill him. SOMEONE NEEDS TO DIE because he can't process this.

 “I’ve always wanted you,” 

MY BOYS! MY BOYS!

And then later they wake up in the same bed and Tristan is like “oohh Callum looks so peaceful” 

Then Callum wakes up and is a MASSIVE GRUMP

And Tristan's just:

“Ah, Tristan thought with a fond smile. There he is.” 

PERFECT! PERFECTION! AMAZING! PHENOMENAL!