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nymphomatique · 6 months

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You know, I really like your nerdy!Miguel and slutty!reader💅 Chef kiss💯

May I request a drabble where reader is going to meet her parents and she's really not happy about it? (Basically they are emotionally abusive towards her)

How would Miguel react if she just, you know, cries in his shoulder instead of fucking him like she always does?

(I'm just really into agnst sometimes, my apologies ⊂(・﹏・⊂))

P.s. English in not my first language, so I hope I wrote everything clear.

Thanks for you work!!

yes baby! and your english is perfect 🫶🏾 i hope i did ur request justice!

cw: feelings, reader going through it, emotionally neglectful parents, just a lot of feelings fr. brief mentions of sex i think, erm and barely proofread. enjoy!

you sat at your vanity in your dorm room, simply looking at yourself in the mirror. you felt like your stomach was going to drop out of your ass. you take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, hoping, praying, it grounds you.

within the reflection of your mirror, your eyes couldn’t help but focus on the figure sitting on your bed, nose buried in their laptop screen. you called miguel over with the intention of letting off steam at first, but the more you thought about it, the less it sounded like a good choice to make. so, you told him to make himself comfortable and keep you company, not without some snark of course. you feel bad sometimes, for snapping at him, letting out your anger on him, knowing he will take anything off your shoulders to bare upon his own. it crushes you inside to think about how you treat someone you care deeply about, even if you deny it to yourself.

your eyes meet in the mirror and miguel catches you looking, offering a warm smile in exchange. the moment is brief, and he returns his focus to whatever he was doing on his laptop, but as minuscule the moment, the more you feel yourself unraveling. a burning feeling crawls up your nose and you bow your head down, your face pulling downward. fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. please don’t leave me. i need you. your mind feels overwhelmed, and you can’t help the tears from falling down your cheek. you let them fall one by one, shame, guilt, and anxiety building up the more your tears spill.

your ears are ringing, you can’t. you can’t feel, you can’t see, you can’t breathe. a sob from deep within you leaves your mouth and you drop your forehead to your vanity, letting your emotion take over you. you can’t hear the soft lulling of music that you were playing while getting ready anymore, not the typing of keys from miguel. you’re so disoriented. when you feel something, someone strong and stable lift you up and bring you down onto your bed, your chest to its chest, you don’t question it. you know what it is. who it is. you let thick arms hold you, keep you together as you burst from the seams, the soft cooing and kissing lull your tears into a soft hiccup. the soft circles miguel rubs around your upper back make you realize what just happened and you’re embarrassed.

“i- i don’t- i can’t believe i-” you begin, but you’re interrupted by a soft squeeze from miguel.

“s’okay, baby,” he says softly, kissing the top of your head. “talk to me? please?”

and you decide you owe this moment of vulnerability to him, and yourself. and so, you take a shaky breath, and tell him why you panicked the way you did.

“my- my parents.. they..”

those words open a floodgate of bad memories and feelings. you tell him about everything. you tell him how your father and mother were emotionally absent. how they threw money at you when you needed them the most. how even at your lowest, your parents never cared for what they can do for you beyond the monetary.

you tell him about one moment in particular. where you were in first grade, you remember clearly. it was a day where you had to put together a career project based on one of your parents and have them sit and watch you present. and you remember being there’s, so little, so young, so expectant. watching everyone go one by one while you begged your teacher to wait for your parents to come because they promised! and you sat, and you watched the classroom door, and you waited until it was your turn. even as you presented, shaky voice and mispronounced words, you still held onto hope that they would come see you present even the last word to leave from your mouth.

but nothing. you sat back down and went through the rest of the day feeling sad and upset, but moreover lonely. you wish you had your parents.

“i remember asking them why they never came,” you sniffle, and miguel hugs you tight in his strong embrace. “straight up told me that it wasn’t worth their time.” the wounds of the old memory still feel fresh as you reminisce on them, years later.

“i will always be there when you need me. you’re forever and always worth my time,” miguel says, kissing your head. you’re silent, but you soak in his words. you know how you feel about him. i love you so fucking much that i hate you.

“m’supposed to meet them for dinner,” you breathe out, sitting up from miguel’s embrace. still, you reach to hold his hand tightly.

“you’ll be okay, baby. i’ll pick you up, and drop you off. anything happens, you call me and i’m there, yeah?” miguel whispers, running his hand up and down your thigh affectionately.

“yeah.”

when miguel drops you off, you take a moment to look in the fancy restaurant they’re both sat in. you look back at miguel and he reassures you once more, that “i will always be here when you need me.”

you lean in across the dash, pulling him into a deep kiss. “thank you.”

you finally get out of the car, but miguel watches you the whole way through, waiting until you walk in. your heart starts pounding but you remember when he said. i will always be here when you need me. i will always be here when you need me. i will always be here when you need me.

a reassuring breath calms you only slightly, but you walk in. your eyes flit to and fro in the dinning room, but when you hear boisterous laughter and haughty conversation in a booth ahead of you, you know they are your parents. you walk over to the table, not faulting when the mood fizzles, and a stale expression crosses both your mother and fathers faces.

“mother. father.” you sit across from them, your heart beating out of its chest. and you’re ready to take on your parents, knowing you have someone, miguel, who will always be there when you need him.

#<nerd!miguel3 #you’ve got mail💌#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara drabble #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel atsv #miguel o’hara angst

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rubyarrows · 4 months

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Impulsive Decisions

The fire raged on with a ferocity that seemed to devour everything that was in its path. Amidst the chaos, YN Voight stood on the opposite side of the street, her pounding against her chest as the sound of everyone’s cries filled the air. But there was one cry in particular that caught her undivided attention. The wails of a small child out of a second story window were the only one the young woman could focus on during all the commotion around her, fueling her determination as she watched the firemen around her scramble.

Without a moment of hesitation, YNN dashed into the blazes of the inferno, ignoring the calls of her to stop what she was doing and having her senses overwhelmed from the heat and smoke that now surrounded her. The intensity of her surroundings fueled her focus as she navigated the burning structure, each step being coordinated and careful maneuver. The child’s cries guided YN’s way through the billowing smoke and constant falling debris.

With adrenaline as her only ally through the blazing heat and flames, she found the little boy, trapped in the far corner of his family’s apartment. Fear was etched across his tear-stained face. The Voight girl scooped up the small child, shielding his fragile frame from the danger that surrounded the two of them. As they made their way back out of the fiery blaze, YN passed a few other people that hadn’t quite yet found their way out of the building and continued to guide them out.

When they all finally emerged from the roaring inferno, her heart raced as she cradled the child protectively in her arms close to her chest. Will Halstead, seasoned doctor at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center as well as her boyfriend, and her father, Sergeant Hank Voight, dashed forward with evident concern etched upon their faces.

“My god, YNN!” Will voice cut through the chaos that surrounded them all. His eyes instantly began scanning over her body as well as the small boy’s for any injury that could have come to them as they braved the blazes. Relief flooded his expression as he found the two relatively unscathed.

Hank’s voice bellowed soon after, his authoritative tone laced with worry and anger towards his daughter. “What the hell were you thinking, YN?” He questioned her as Dr. Halstead took the child from her arms to return him to his parents who awaited off to the side. “Running into a fire like that? That was a careless and stupid move on your part?”

“I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t have done yourself.” The YHC girl said as she looked into her father’s eyes and tried to catch her breath from the adrenaline high she was coming down from.

“Excuse me, Serge, if I may,” Will said as he stepped back up to the two of them, his voice firm but calm. “If it wasn’t for your daughter’s bravery all those people would have burned up in the flames. She saved them. YNN, saved a lot of people today. People who were trapped in their own homes and couldn’t find a way out. It takes a lot of courage to do what she just did. She only did what her father has taught her.”

The gravity of his words hung heavy in the air between the three of them, testament of his girlfriend’s strong will to be an ally to those less fortunate than her. Hank’s expression soften as he looked around them at the dozens of people his daughter helped, including and especially the little boy she came out carrying.

He looked back at YN with with gentle eyes, now that he had thought about everything that had transpired within the last half hour. “Get her checked out, will you?” He asked the Halstead man, in a slight grumble. “With how long you were in the building, the amount of smoke you inhaled isn’t good for anyone.”

As YNN sat in the ambulance, she couldn’t help but feel a storm of emotions swirling within her. Will stood by her side in a silent form of support, his presence a reassurance in the midst of everything going on. She knew her impulsive actions worried not only her father but him as well, but her sole focus had been on saving the boy.

“Thank you,” she said pulling the oxygen mask away from her face slightly. “Not only from saving me from Daddy’s lecture, but for just being here.”

Will smiled and reached out, taking her hand in his. “Babygirl, no matter what you do, I’ll support you. It’s just unfortunate that when dating a Voight, her dangerous and impulsive decisions come with the territory.” He stated with a small chuckle which in turn made the yea eyed girl let out a giggle of her own as she placed the mask back in its spot.

#ruby arrows #ruby arrows imagines #chicago med #chicago med x reader #chicago med imagine #chicago med imagines #will halstead #will halstead x reader #will halstead imagine #will halstead imagines #chicago med fanfiction #will halstead fanfiction

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vauxxy · 4 months

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sad, beautiful, tragic

distance, timing, breakdown, fighting

silence, the train runs off its tracks

kiss me, try to fix it

could you just try to listen?

hang up, give up

and for the life of us, we can get back

peter parker x reader!!

(treacherous part 2)

PLOT - in which peter parker tries to talk to his rival after multiple drunk make out sessions the previous night.

WARNINGS - sexual references, no smut, make out scenes, allusions to sexual activity, weed, smoking, kiss and makeup attitude

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

“just talk to her, don’t be an arse” gwen smiled, swaying with the movement of the subway. the sun peeked through the windows as the train made its way out of a tunnel and closer to their destination.

“what exactly are you supposed to say to someone you made out with like, 3 times while drunk?? especially if you used to hate their guts”

“i don’t know, ‘sorry i hated you before, i just internalised my fetish for goth stoners as hatred- let’s make out some more’ or something-“ gwen joked, before being cut off by a frustrated peter.

“are you kidding me? she’s gonna spot us across the carriage any second now and i won’t have any idea what to say to her!”

y/n sat cross legged in her seat, reading some depressing book from the early 1900’s about some depressing characters, written by a depressed closeted gay man. she tucked a chunk of hair behind her ears before re-adjusting her headphones. “i bet she’s listening to fucking my chemical romance or korn or some shit,” peter chuckled as his eyebrows furrowed, gripping onto the hanging bars of the train carriage.

“nope, look on spotify,” gwen corrected. peter turned away from y/n to look over at gwen, his eyes drifting to the screen of her phone.

“it says she’s listening to… taylor swift?” she said, a confused expression painted on her face. peter jolted his head back in shock, overcome with anxiety. “aunt may loves taylor swift…” he murmured, the rustle of the train carriage pulling him away from gwen.

“let me see what song,” peter insisted as he gestured to see gwen’s phone. she passed it over to him, watching his face move as he read the title.

“sad, beautiful, tragic… i’m pretty sure that’s from red, right?” peter questioned. gwen shrugged her shoulders in response. “i don’t know. i’m more of a midnights and evermore type of girl” she replied. peter scrolled down to the lyrics of the song, his eyes widening and his lips pursing.

“gwen, i’m totally fucked”

y/n had slept on what had happened the previous night. spider-man saved her from getting robbed and gave her some very unhelpful advice. what the fuck would spider-man know anyways? he doesn’t get any bitches. y/n may have also ghosted peter, but who cares? y/n put her heart out on the table, for some reason expecting more from the person who constantly teased her everyday for 2 years. sure, she should’ve saw it coming, but she didn’t. which is why she was going to be as dramatic as possible.

this meant a new playlist. no more limp biskit; nobody cries to ‘break stuff’!! it was time to listen to the entire red album on repeat, along with ‘ultraviolence’ and elliott smith. y/n was fully ready to be a sad little bitch.

on monday morning, she scored a seat on the subways and started listening to her new playlist, putting on one particular taylor swift song on repeat while she read her sad little bitch book. she looked up for a split second to see peter and gwen talking.

‘oh, so he can make time to talk to gwen, but not the girl he snogged three times?’ y/n thought.

y/n turned up her volume and put away her book as she listened to the lyrics of the song. the train pulled up to the station within walking distance to her school and so she stood up. catching the eye of peter as she walked to the doors, she quickly averted her gaze and took a few steps back.

peter flinched at the sudden eye contact, turning his full body towards gwen. “gwen. do something” he anxiously muttered. gwen nodded, smiling innocently, before beginning to casually walk over to y/n.

“y/n! how’d that hangover treat you?” gwen asked, pulling in y/n for a comfortable hug. y/n smiled hesitantly and embraced the act of affection. “so, so badly,” she replied, thinking back to the incident that followed the day after the party.

“the hangover is the least of my troubles” she stated and she glanced over at peter, who was watching both of them. “oh, do you mean…” gwen asked as she gestured over to the lanky boy trailing behind them, walking onto the platform as the train doors opened.

“what? no! i was mugged,” y/n announced, arching her eyebrows. peter didn’t look surprised. y/n took note of this, feeling somewhat offended that he didn’t care.

“y/n! are you okay?? how did that happen?” gwen asked, completely and utterly shocked. peter walked over. “wait, yeah… are you okay y/n?” he asked, breaking out of his anxious state for one moment.

y/n sighed softly, rolling her eyes. “i’m fine, spider-man saved me and then gave me some very unhelpful advice.” she said as she pursed her lips, her eyes darting between gwen and peter. “he’s a total ride though- i hope he’s not like… 46 or something,” she continued. gwen chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand as her cheeks turned pink. “did you get to feel his abs?” she asked as the trio walked across queens to get to school.

“yeah, they were rock hard. i didn’t expect him to be so fit!” y/n exclaimed. peter tried to stifle his blush as they got closer to the school, blocking out their conversation.

as they entered the gates, gwen quickly walked towards her class, leaving the two alone.

“um, we have math-“

“i know, peter” y/n interrupted. her voice was cold and unemotional- a stark difference form her previous cheerful demeanour. this was the guy that she was squabbling with for years now… the guy that she also maybe had a few steamy dreams about as well. her preconceived notions about peter were contradicting with her fantasies and the realities of what happened over the weekend- causing her to spiral into a semi-depressed state of rage.

peter, on the other hand, knew exactly what he thought of y/n. he always thought that she was attractive, but a total arse. now, he found her being an arse super endearing. but that could have something to do with the fact that they made out 3 times and he almost touched her boobs.

the two walked in awkward silence to their math class, a strong tension in the air. they took their seats and sat painfully silently for an hour.

y/n tapped her pen on her notebook, not listening to a word the teacher was saying. ‘fuck it,’ she thought, ripping out a piece of paper.

she scribbled a few words down before passing it over to peter.

‘make up for ghosting me by skipping second period and hiding in the unisex bathrooms’

‘sure :)’

the unisex bathrooms were dimly lit, far away from the rest of campus. surrounded by unused classrooms. the unisex bathrooms were a prime hookup spot… but for y/n, it was her own personal hotbox.

she lit the end of her joint and put her lighter in her jacket pocket as she leaned against the bathroom wall. y/n took a drag as she stared at the wall. she took another short hit, before passing it to peter. he did the same, his legs crossed.

“so why didn’t you text me, dick face?” she started, crossing her arms. smoke escaped her lips as the talked, mesmerising peter.

“dick face?” peter repeated, stifling a grin as he shook his head.

“um… i guess i didn’t know what to say,” he replied, passing back the joint. y/n smiled awkwardly as she rolled her eyes. “classic parker…”

“well, do you know what to say now?” y/n asked, sliding down to the floor, head level with peter. he shrugged his shoulders. “kinda,” he muttered.

“are you gonna say it, mcslutty?”

“i don’t appreciate the name-calling, y/n.” he said irritably, his voice somewhat breathy.

“you ghosted me too, remember?” peter added, raising his eyebrows.

“yeah, but i was mugged!” she said defensively, opening her mouth in shock. “obviously i was too busy!”

peter laughed, covering his face. “fair point.”peter pursed his lips, looking down before taking another hit of the joint.

peter took a deep breath in, tapping the floor anxiously. “i really like you, y/n” peter averted his eyes. “i used the think i didn’t, but i was just lying to myself so i wouldn’t have to confront the fact that there’s actually nice stuff about you,” he’s smirked.

y/n chuckled. “what nice stuff?”

“your face, obviously. your musical skills, your rolling skills. you’re also really funny, and you’re so generous. you’re not nice to everyone, but you still help everyone- if that makes sense? but yeah… shit like that i guess,”

y/n smiled sincerely, slightly tilting her head to the side. “that’s pretty sweet, shithead”

it took them a whole 40 seconds before they started jamming their lips together, peter’s hands gripping y/n’s waist as she sat on top of his lap. her hands cupped his face gently, occasionally pulling a hand away and running it through his hair.

she pulled away for air, before continuing her attack on his lips, her hands trailing down his torso as she fiddled with his shirt. peter pulled away, looking up at her before her eyes drifting to her hands.

“what are you doing there?” he asked teasingly, his voice limited to a hoarse whisper.

she began to frantically kiss his neck, her hands still fiddling with the fabric of his shirt. “felt something hard. wondering if you’re ripped or just really horny.” she muttered breathily, one hand resting under his shirt as she caressed his torso, while the other hand gripped a bundle of his hair.

he looked as her curiously as she felt up his chest, watching her pull away with a look of shock and confusion. “peter? what the fuck?” she exclaimed, her hair messy and cheeks red.

“what? what’s wrong?” peter asked, panicked as his eyes drifted down to his pants, before meeting her eyes again. his face turned red, putting up his hands in surrender.

“hey, you were the one grinding against my-“

“no, you’re fully ripped!” she whispered, her eyes wide as her hand retracted from under his shirt. “jesus christ…” she muttered, lifting his shirt to take a peek.

peter burst out into a fit of dry laughter, tilting his head back and lightly hitting the wall of the bathroom stall.

“oh, yeah. that.” he said casually. y/n grumbled, standing up.

“right. i was not expecting that.” she huffed, her face completely red.

“anyways, i’m not fucking you in a hot-boxed bathroom stall at school. if you decide to stop being a little bitch and message me, maybe i’ll forgive you for ghosting me.” y/n proposed, leaning against the wall as she looked down at peter.

peter nodded, standing up. he opened the door, turning to face her. “yeah, i definitely won’t be ghosting you anytime soon. sorry about that, by the way.” he murmured.

“it’s fine. just as long as you send me a picture of your abs after school.” she demanded, her face completely serious as she looked peter up and down. peter nodded, his eyes wide.

she bit her lip, meeting his eyes once again. “seriously, they’re almost as good at spider-man’s.” she added, exiting the bathroom- leaving peter alone to deal with his thoughts.

#peter parker rivals to lovers #peter parker x reader enemies to lovers #peter parker enemies to lovers #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter x reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #spiderman x you #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland

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evilwickedme · 1 year

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Hi there!! Just saw your post ranking interpretations of spiderman based on how jewish they are. (Great post 10/10 btw.) At one point you say Spiderman's ethos and values are very Jewish -- as non-Jewish person who doesnt know that much about Jewish culture, I was curious what you were refering to more specifically! Thats potentially a long post so you don't have to answer if that's too complicated haha but I'd love to learn more :))

Hey thank you so much for asking (and for liking my post)! You're right in thinking this is a complicated topic but I love answering complicated questions so you're good :D

That said I'm not going to detail every part of Spider-Man's Jewishness, just because... Honestly, there's a lot. Recently I posted a TikTok on an aspect of his Jewishness I won't even be lightly touching on in this answer. But just because I can't and won't cover everything doesn't mean you can't learn anything at all, so let's focus on the Big One -

Responsibility.

Responsibility is a big part of Peter Parker's story, and by extension and as a result nearly every Spider Person has been burdened with it. Peter Parker is given great power, and therefore has great responsibility, we know this.

(Amazing Fantasy #15)

I think it's interesting the way that this was attributed to Uncle Ben in most of later canon and in subsequent adaptations*, because Uncle Ben does not - and CAN not, for the story to work - know that Peter has superpowers when he tells him this.

(*with the exception of the MCU, the least Jewish of the Peter Parkers...)

But if Uncle Ben isn't telling him this as a warning to use his superpowers wisely, then what could it possibly be referring to?

Everything.

Because a person doesn't have to have superpowers to have great power. This is true in the big sense - politicians and CEOs and your high school principal all holding extreme leverage over the rest of us - but more importantly, more relevantly, we all have a power on the people around us.

Among Jews, we have a phrase, which in Hebrew goes: כל המקיים נפש אחת, מעלים עליו כאילו קיים עול�� מלא. In English: anyone who saves a single life, it is on him as if he saved a whole world (adapted from wikipedia's translation of the Mishnah, Sanhedrin chapter 4:5). This is a double edged sword; we are capable of infinite creation, and infinite destruction as well. The phrase is mainly used in the sense of saving a life - you have saved not only that person, but also every person they may help or save or even birth later on. The Sages weren't picturing a superhero when they said this - they were referring to practical matters, and Uncle Ben is doing the same.

By delinking Peter's responsibility from his powers*, the overarching Peter narrative instead positions it as universal - you are alive, therefore you have great power, therefore you have great responsibility. You are a person, therefore you are an entire world. Spiderverse's insistence on the "it could be anyone behind the mask" only makes this argument stronger, in my opinion. The you who is responsible for everything you do is not Peter Parker, it's YOU. You, reading this, have great responsibility. You, reading this, are an entire world.

(*the MCU, in turn, explicitly linking Peter's powers or role as Spider-Man to his responsibility is an extremely early flaw, all the way back in Civil War when he talks around the phrase but we all knew exactly what he meant)

Anyway yeah. By no means comprehensive and not even everything one could say about this particular sub-topic, but, Peter Parker's Jewishness absolutely seeps all the way down to the big Spider-Man thing.

(See this post also as a fuck you to the guy who cried NO NO HE'S NOT JEWISH HE'S RESPONSIBLE!!! as if those two things aren't directly linked lmao)

#jew tag #spiderman #peter parker #judaism #jewish #comics #marvel comics #marvel #spiderverse #gail speaks #ask #forgondor #love ur url fyi #anti mcu #mcu my behated

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greenorangevioletgrass · 1 year

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forever young | b.r.b.

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw & Pete Mitchell (platonic), brief mention of wife

summary: the 4 times Bradley lost a parental figure, and the 1 time he regained one (and became one himself.)

word count: 4.9k

warnings: language, canonical character death, mention of cancer, falling out, grief, birth, so much angst, but angst with a happy ending!

notes: this is a little different from what i usually wrote. It’s more of a character study than anything else, but i’ve been working on it since late last year and i hope it doesn’t disappoint! happy reading! <3

✨ follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it! ✨

***

1. “May God bless and keep you always / May your wishes all come true / May you always do for others, and let others do for you.”

Bradley was barely four when he lost his dad.

He didn’t quite understand it at first. There were only Duck Tales on the living room TV with the volume down and the hushed tones of his mother and a couple of men outside the door one random afternoon.

“Carole…” Bradley recognized Uncle Pete’s voice right away. Recognized the particular inflection in the way he said it. He’d heard it many times over the phone, at the arrival gates of airports, around the house when his mom left the two of them in charge of the pies for a minute while she fetched his dad.

Bradley had grown accustomed to associating that sound with his family all together again.

But there was something different about how Uncle Pete sounded now. It wasn’t as bright —didn’t quite ring across the room like it usually did. It was muted, barely audible through the wall. So, so quiet.

And then his mother’s wails cut through the silence. He didn’t quite understand it still, but he jumped out of the couch and bolted towards the commotion.

There was Mom. Uncle Pete. No Dad.

They sat him down to explain what was going on. That his dad was badly hurt when he was flying.

“Is Dad okay?”

His mom’s face crumpled. It was a simple question, and yet it took her everything to muster the simple answer, “He’s not hurting anymore.”

It didn’t make sense to Bradley. If he’s not hurting anymore, why’s she crying like he was? Why was Uncle Pete standing there like he’s done something terribly wrong? What’s going on?

“When is he coming home?”

“He’s not, sweetie.”

“Why?” and he swore he didn’t mean it in a bad way. He was just… confused. If Dad was hurt but not anymore, then why wouldn’t he be coming home?

His mother was the smartest person Bradley had ever known. Granted, he might have not met that many people in the four years of his life; but he could always count on his mom to have all the answers. Whether it was about frogs, or where thunder came from, or why they’d sleep at night.

But now, faced with the question of why Dad wasn’t coming home, she just looked… lost. Her blue eyes twinkled in the light, but it made Bradley’s stomach twist to see tears in them. Her lower lip trembled as she managed to say, “He didn’t make it. He…”

Bradley wasn’t sad. He couldn’t be. He didn’t know enough to. But his mom broke down right in front of him —he wondered if that’s how he looked when he cried because his toy dinosaur went missing last week— and it scared him. It scared him because he didn’t know what to do. His mom was smart, she always knew what to do when Bradley cried. But what did he know?

Instead, he just shook his mother’s shoulder, just a little bit, just like how she would wake him up in the morning. “Mommy?” She cried even harder, and it scared him even more.

Bradley didn’t even realize he was crying, too, until Uncle Pete ushered him aside and kneeled before him. His hands were rougher than Mom’s, but they were steady. Solid on his little arms, then on the sides of his face, callused thumbs wiping his puzzled tears away.

“Kid…” He sounded like Mom, raspy and choked up. Looked at Bradley with those gleaming eyes like Mom, too —maybe they really were brothers and sisters. “Your dad’s in the sky now.”

Oh.

The Duck Tales theme song played in the other room, so distant now in his ears. Only his mother’s sobs and his own dissipating into sniffles. The sound of his heart in his head.

His dad had always liked the sky. He spent most of his time flying through it, him and Uncle Pete. Bradley liked the photographs he’d send home, the rolls of clouds and dust and the sunrise, he would stick ‘em on the fridge next to his drawings. He liked the stories his dad came home with —loved the way he described the rollercoaster-like feeling (even though he wasn’t tall enough to ride one yet, maybe next year.) He liked imagining how nice it was up there.

He didn’t know what Uncle Pete meant. He didn’t know if Dad wasn’t coming home for good, or if he could still come visit sometimes. But Bradley, aged barely four, knew two things; that his dad loved him and Mom more than anything; and if Dad couldn’t be with him and Mom anymore, Bradley liked to think he’d be somewhere nice.

Somewhere like the sky.

***

2. “May you build a ladder to the stars / and climb on every rung / May you stay forever young.”

Bradley was eighteen years old when his mom passed away, but at least he was ready this time.

He’d driven her back and forth to her treatments since he was 16, memorized all the numbers of her primary physician and oncologist and nurse, knew all the steps of checking her into the hospital and remembered every entry on every form. Took notes (mental and otherwise) on what to do in the case of… well, the worst case scenario.

(He hated that part the most. After all the talks of death certificates and insurance claims and bank account cancellations, Bradley filled in his application for the Naval Academy. He knew she was against it, but if she wasn’t gonna be here for it, he might as well be a little closer to Dad, you know?)

But time came and went, and so did she. Bradley kissed his mother’s bony hand, her sunken cheek, her graying skin one last time. And as the nurse pulled a sheet over her and hauled her gurney out of the room…

Bradley went to work.

The closest thing his mother had to a family was Uncle Pete —Maverick, Bradley had taken to calling him almost exclusively these days— and so that was the first phone call he made to break the news. At 7 AM in a hallway by the hospital cafeteria.

Maverick arrived at the Bradshaws’ family home later that evening, having flown in from Belle Chasse as soon as he could, front door unlocked, and found the coffee table filled with stacks of folders and documents, and his best friends’ teenage son —the orphaned son— pacing back and forth on the phone.

Arranging for his mother’s death certificate.

Discussing burial plans with the funeral director.

Calling the lawyer about the will.

Bradley, the little boy Mav used to haul around atop his shoulders, carrying the weight of the world on his own shoulders now.

“You know you don’t have to do all of this by yourself, right?” Mav quietly piped up over dinner on his third night. “I may not look it, but I know how to handle these… logistics.”

“I know,” he replied almost immediately. “And I appreciate it, I really do. I just— I need to do it myself, if that makes sense?”

Mav simply nodded and didn’t push any further, and Bradley never said it, but he’d never been more grateful.

Because the thing was, he really did need to do it himself. To have some semblance of control. He didn’t have any back then, during his father’s death. The whole world spiraled out of its orbit, and he was somehow on the outside looking in. Watching as the grownups pat his head, his arm, his cheek, with their grownup remarks of you’re getting so big now, such a tough guy, your dad would’ve been so proud of you, look after your mom, will you? He felt like he didn’t deserve any of it.

Bradley puts on his suit, the one he wore for senior prom, and he nearly laughed at his own reflection. The last time he wore this suit, he was worried about the acne on his forehead and whether he’d get to make out with Cassidy Foster. And now…

Now he was thinking of the eulogy weighing him down in his inner pocket, worried about whether there’d be enough food at the wake. Looking like a kid playing dress-up as an adult —awkward, gangly limbs and clothes that never fit quite right. But he was grown. Nearly six-feet tall, finished high school despite everything, looked after his mom right til the end, and he hoped to God his father would’ve been proud of him.

“At least she’s up in the sky with your Dad, huh?” Iceman squeezed his shoulder reassuringly at the wake.

The irony was not lost on him. His mother hated that phrase. Hated how it used to make her sad when Bradley was younger, whenever he talked about ‘visiting Dad in the sky.’ Hated how it turned her angry as they got older, because he never grew out of it —out of the fixation on flying. On being miles up in the sky only to end up six feet underground like his father.

And he hated that she never understood.

Almost as much as he hated that she wasn’t here anymore.

Uncle Slider must’ve noticed the unease on his brows and chimed in to lighten up the mood. “I mean, you’ll be up there with us in no time, right, kid?” The slap on his back is sharper this time, and Bradley would’ve welcomed it… if it weren’t for the fact that he still didn’t know if he got into the Academy or not.

He thought he could focus on the funeral first. But the whole day, his mind shifted to the unopened envelope at home. It felt wrong to rush home when the last bit of dirt had barely been scooped onto the gravesite, but he did it anyway.

His childhood home, a modest two-bedroom bungalow with white-paneled front, sat on a quiet street in the suburbs of Virginia Beach. So still and soundless, now that Mav had gone back to base in Louisiana with Ice. His dress shoes made his toes ache even as they landed on the doormat. The ring of keys rattled as it laid on the console table. The light switch gave under his fingertip, and so did the envelope as he ripped them open. His heart was bursting out of his chest, and he tried to remind himself, this is just formality, there’s nothing to worry about, I’m already in…

But the words printed on the letter said otherwise. Bradley willed himself to read it, over and over, make sure that he read it right. He’s all grown now, he couldn’t have possibly misunderstood “we are unable to offer you admission.” But as the water welled up in his eyes, he started to think maybe he wasn’t that much of a grownup. Maybe he was just a kid, crying on the floor of the entryway of his childhood home.

Alone.

The house just swelled and sunk with his erratic breathing, heavy and aching with sobs. He didn’t like it one bit. He half-expected his mom to call out his name from inside the house. To tell him to eat. Take out the trash. Come sit with her and watch a cheesy romcom on HBO, anything because what the fuck was the point, then?! He was surrounded by everything she was —everything she used to be. It was such a cruel punishment to be grounded with all these ghosts.

Couldn’t meet his Dad halfway in the sky. Couldn’t be with Mom here on the ground, either.

Bradley eventually clambered up to bed—his parents’ bed— shoes toed off on the floor, jacket tossed on the chair. On any other occasion, his mother would’ve told him off for throwing his clothes around, but tonight was an exception. She would’ve understood. Just like she did when he started having nightmares when he was 6, or had his heart broken for the first time at 15.

That night, living through a nightmare and a broken heart all in one, Bradley, aged eighteen, curled up into his mom’s side of the bed and cried himself to sleep. His world was spiraling out of its orbit once again, and his head hurt. The mattress spun on its axis, and he drifted off daydreaming, hoping, pleading that he would wake up to find himself and his family pieced together again.

Somehow.

***

3. “May you grow up to be righteous / May you grow up to be true / May you always know the truth and see the light surrounding you.”

Bradley was twenty two when he lost his godfather, but at least it was out of his own volition.

He wished it hurt just a little less, but it was even worse because the day started out so good.

Maverick had flown in for Bradley’s graduation, and took the boy out for drinks at a local bar. It was pretty special; this marked the first time they went out for proper drinks (the occasional secret beers they shared at Mav’s garage whenever he came around to visit didn’t count, thank you very much.) They sat in a dark green leather booth in the corner, gin and tonic glasses perspiring, condensation pooling around the coasters.

“So you were shipped off to Bosnia and Iraq back-to-back, twice, because you were messing with the wrong girl, huh?”

“Or the right one,” he sighed.

It made Bradley chuckle. Leave it to Maverick to be the smartest pilot in the Navy and the dumbest son of a bitch when it comes to love.

“But enough about me.” Maverick swiftly changed the topic, leaning forward on the wooden table, “What are you gonna do after all this? The world is your oyster and all that…”

The butterflies swelled in Bradley’s stomach, and he could barely contain his gleeful smile. “Well, uh… Pensacola, actually.”

“What?”

“I’m a little bit behind, I know— but I can still make it as a commissioned officer and catch up with you in the sky in no time, old man.”

“But… what about traveling, or an, an, an internship somewhere—”

“Internship?” Bradley laughed —he didn’t think he’d ever heard Maverick say that in his life.

“I thought you enjoyed civilian life.”

“Come on, Mav. You and I both know I’m not cut out for anything else.”

It’s true. Baseball was fun and he was good at it, but he was nowhere near going pro. He did well enough in college, but that’s because he needed to. It was a stepping stone; a few inches higher towards the sky. A little closer to where he was supposed to be.

“Kid… It’s a tough gig. Are you sure about this?”

He didn’t understand it one bit. Out of all the possible reactions he’d played out in his head, this was strangely not it.

“What’s going on? I thought you of all people would be excited about this.”

“I know. I just… I don’t—” Mav sighed heavily, and the way he looked genuinely unsettled was unnerving. It’s strange. “I don’t think you’re ready.”

“I’ve been ready. Without the Academy or the Reserves, this is my last chance.”

And then Mav’s face dropped. So did the pit in Bradley’s gut. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but something was off.

“What is it, Mav.”

He was quiet for the longest time. Droplets rolled down the glass, and one slid along Maverick’s hairline. Bradley wanted to stop breathing altogether because it sounded too loud in his ears. But when the older man finally spoke up, he could hear him just fine.

Every single treacherous word of it.

With everything he’d gone through in his young life, Bradley thought he’d gotten used to heartbreak. His world was touch-and-go for as long as he remembered, but Mav was the only solid variable in that equation. He was away a lot, given the nature of his work, but his presence had always been at the forefront of his memories. In stories, in emails, in summers working in his garage.

And all the pieces of the puzzles painted a picture-perfect support to pursue his dreams, chase the sky. Which was why this whole thing didn’t make sense.

There was a boulder in Bradley’s throat, but he swallowed the ache. “Why would you do that?”

It barely sounded like a question. It was more like a demand.

Answer me. Look me in the eye. Tell me the truth.

“Because I care about you, kid.”

Bradley scoffs. “Come on—”

“It’s different out there… when you’re really out there. It’s dangerous—”

“Yeah, I know what I’m getting into, Mav. You told me all about it, all my life.”

“No, you don’t understand. The things you see out there, the people you lose…”

“What, like my dad?”

The words fell out of his mouth much too easily, it was horrifying. He wanted to take it back —but he couldn’t. He was already hurting, and part of him wanted Mav to know exactly what he’s feeling.

Maverick’s face fell, the pang of hurt flashing right before his eyes. “Exactly.”

“And whose fault is that?” Again, it didn’t sound like a question. It sounded like a statement.

One that changed everything.

Maverick was arguably the only constant thing in Bradley’s life. When everyone else aged up and moved on, he stayed the same. Just as lively, just as funny, just as youthful. A Peter Pan-like figure. But in that moment, Bradley finally saw the age catching up to him. The weariness. The fatigue.

The imperfections.

Maybe that’s where Bradley went wrong. He never saw Mav’s flaws —or maybe he refused to see him as any less heroic or invincible or fearless as he imagined as a child. Maybe that’s why it hurt so devastatingly.

He couldn’t read the look on Mav’s face. Maybe it's guilt, or desperation. Or maybe it’s defeat.

“I can’t let you do this, kid.”

And just as Maverick knew he’d lost, Bradley also knew he’d made up his mind.

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.” He got up from his seat, nevermind that his so-called uncle figure still froze in his seat. “We’re done here.”

Three words. So definitive. So… final. So short a sentence that ended a lifelong relationship, rivaled only by Bradley’s parents. With everything he’d gone through in his life, Bradley should be accustomed to heartbreaks. And he was —or so he thought, as he gathered his keys and jacket and left him alone. At least this time he chose to walk away.

***

4. “May you always be courageous / Stand upright and be strong / May you stay forever young.”

Bradley was thirty five when he attended Ice’s funeral. It shouldn’t have hit him as hard, but it did.

He’d got to know Ice after his dad passed—he and Mav became inseparable—and the shenanigans they used to pull together… Playing video games in his living room. Teaching him how to throw knives on the maple tree out front (which his mom had an ulcer over). Playing baseball with his sons—and accidentally breaking his own window.

But that was before things had gone south with Mav. He reckoned, whatever rapport he’d established with Ice was null and void by default.

Until the man himself makes his way over to Bradley at the TOPGUN graduation. All dignified. Important.

Familiar.

“Rear Admiral Kazansky, sir.” Bradley straightens up and salutes him. It felt funny to be saluting the man who got him in more trouble than Maverick back in the day, but what could he do.

Kazansky lightly waved him off. “At ease, Lieutenant. I just wanted to say congratulations.”

Bradley looked at the hand extended before him, and shook it just as formally. “Thank you, sir.”

He smiled—it’s even funnier to see his formal, snark-less, non-gum-chewing smile, but Bradley reminded himself, this is not the time for shits and giggles.

“What’s your call sign again?”

“Rooster, sir.”

There’s a glimmer in his blue eyes. Then a smile—the amused smile Bradley grew up with. I knew you were still in there somewhere . “First Goose, now Rooster. Keeping it in the aviary, I see.”

“What can I say, sir? We’re a family of aviators.”

And suddenly, Bradley was 9 again, giggling with his Uncle Ice, making bad puns after watching Ace Ventura.

Ice—Admiral Kazansky— smiled to himself as his laughter dissipated, studying the young man before him. A dead ringer of his old man, mustache and all. Bradley hadn’t been able to grow it out the last time they saw each other—six years ago. There was warmth between them, but the mellow air was palpable. Bradley was sure he saw tears in Kazansky’s eyes.

“Your, uh, dad would’ve…”

“I know,” he whispered back. It was a pretty standard thing to say at this point, but Bradley knew it meant something else. Something more. Not just to him, but to Uncle Ice himself; he never got to see Goose graduate alongside him at TOPGUN.

And nor did Maverick get to see Bradley graduate now.

It seemed that Ice had the same thing in mind, because his next question was, “Have you talked to—”

“No, sir.” Bradley’s answer was a little firmer this time. “And I’d rather not.”

The Admiral nodded, opting not to press any further on the matter. Bradley liked that about him. He always knew how to give him space—something Mav never picked up on—and in that moment, it was widely appreciated.

“Well, you should come by our house for dinner one of these days. My boys are in town right now, and I’m sure they’d love to catch up with you.”

Another thing he liked about Ice; he would always let you know he’s there.

“That’s very kind of you, sir. But, uh, I ship out first thing tomorrow.”

“Some other time, then.”

“I will.”

And Bradley made good on that promise. He stopped by for dinner once he returned stateside, and every time he found himself back in San Diego. Ice wasn’t quite a parental figure in the traditional sense (at 25 years old, he reckoned he was getting too old for that), but he was familiar.

Solid.

There.

And he was, for a good ten years.

Ten years was a long time to know someone—a privilege for most people, in the case of their acquaintance with Admiral Kazansky. But once again, Bradley felt rationed for his time with the people he cared about. There was a time bomb with every single one of them, and Uncle Ice’s started when he first fell sick last year. There was nothing left to do—who was he anyway, in the grand scheme of things?—, so Bradley mostly just braced himself for the inevitable impact.

One would think he was ready to receive the bad news.

But Phoenix and Bob very narrowly escaped death in the crash just yesterday—that’s another time bomb he never heard ticking until it sputtered and nearly exploded. And as the Blue Angels streaked overhead, the engine roar sounded like a million time bombs ticking and exploding at the same time. Phoenix, Bob, even Mav…

One of the jets pulled up into a vertical climb—the “missing man” formation. And just like that, there were only two time bombs left echoing in his head.

Ice.

And his dad.

Running out together, thirty years apart. Leaving chemtrails in the sky long after the planes disappeared out of sight. Until the sky cleared (which it eventually would), and so did everybody.

Bradley wondered if he would always be the last one standing. He used to think it was just the shitty cards he was dealt, but maybe Hangman was right. Same old Rooster, always up on his perch, waiting for the right moment that never comes. Maybe it was a subconscious decision on his part, too.

The crowd dispersed, and Maverick was the only person stood frozen among them. Bradley still couldn’t forgive him for what he did, but he almost wanted to. Of all people, the old man would know something about being the last one standing.

“Ready to go?” Phoenix snapped him out of his reverie. Her hand landing lightly on his back.

Bradley took a deep breath. Whatever thought he had, whatever he wanted to tell Mav would have to wait. Now’s not the time. Now was the time to mourn the last of his parental figures, those who passed and those Bradley left behind.

***

+1. “May you stay forever young.”

Bradley was thirty eight when he became a father for the first time, and he was terrified.

He’d been through war and back again, and nothing could ever compare to the 14 hours he spent accompanying his wife in labor. She was kicking and screaming as she fought for her life and the baby’s, and all he could do was just sit there and hold her hand? He was already away for much of the second trimester, and that’s all he could contribute?

But he heard the baby cry as she landed in his arms the first time, loud and clear like the jet’s roar, and his whole world turned upside down. The team of doctors and nurses moved around like organized whirlwinds, but he stayed put with his girls the whole time. The sky was no longer his gravity; this baby, this family was.

He received a text from Maverick a couple of hours later, saying he’d arrived at the hospital. He fully meant to give a summary of how his wife and baby were doing, but when he saw the old man in the hallway with a flower, he broke down completely. Maverick couldn’t rush over fast enough. Bradley was in bits, and he had never seen him cry this hard since he was 8.

“Bradley. Hey. You okay? Are they okay?”

“She’s perfect,” Bradley managed, “Oh God, they both are.”

Maverick pulled him into a long hug. Bradley thought he was chuckling in relief (and partly at him, too). It wasn’t until they pulled away that he saw the red-rimmed, teary eyes of his surrogate father.

Bradley pulled himself together. “Would you like to see her? She’s sleeping in the nursery.”

“Show me the way.”

Bradley led Maverick towards the nursery, right by the window, where they could see the rows of babies bundled up in their bassinets. Bradley was about to point which one was his Stevie, but Maverick beat him to it.

“She looks just like you,” Mav mused.

“I know. Houdini’s so mad that she carried her around for 9 months, only to pop out a mini-me.”

They share a quiet laugh. It was nice, but… Bradley still couldn’t shake off the buzz going through his head.

Maverick softened, ever so slightly. “Talk to me, kid.”

Bradley was quiet for a moment. He was faced with two choices; either dismiss this and just enjoy this rare, nice moment, or address the pestering worries at the forefront of his thoughts. The former was easier, but he was a dad now, goddammit. He needed to stand up and face the real-life monsters, too.

“I was a mess. Crying and scrambling all over the place. Not exactly the best way to start with this… dad thing.”

Mav smiled thoughtfully—mischievously, almost. “Did you know that… when you were born, your dad cried so hard, he gave himself a nosebleed?”

“Seriously?”

“Mm-hm. The nurse had to pull him out of the birthing suite and everything. He turned out to be a great dad.”

Bradley wanted to recall the best moments, but he couldn’t. Truth be told, he could barely remember his dad. He remembered his scratchy mustache, his hoots and cheers wherever he went, his singing as Bradley sat atop the piano—his butt buzzing from the vibration of the sounds. But he didn’t really remember his dad.

He remembered his mom, and the many times they held each other’s hands because each other was all they had. He remembered Ice, who came around after Dad’s death and became a comforting figure at a safe distance.

And he remembered Mav, who was somewhere in between.

“Yeah, well… He wasn’t alone,” Bradley concluded.

“Neither are you.”

A pause. It took a death-defying mission on enemy territory (and a lengthy conversation to follow) for them to patch things up, but they were here now. Neither of them said it, but they were so relieved they finally had each other again.

“He would’ve been proud of you,” Mav said. “I know I am.”

He usually steered clear of all the cliched “would’ves” about his dad, but this one was an exception. Upon looking at his newborn baby girl, Bradley caught a reflection of himself in the window. It looked so much like his dad—and yet, it didn’t. The lines on his face ran deeper now. His shoulders were broader, heavier under the flowy linen shirt. He was much older than his dad when he had Bradley—it’s funny to imagine young 20-something Nick ‘Goose’ Bradshaw parting wisdom about fatherhood to Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw.

But his father was eternally imprinted in himself. His memories. And as he turned to Maverick—his Uncle Pete— he could see Dad’s pride in his eyes, too. This time, instead of brushing it off, he embraced it. He embraced the fact that no matter where he went, who he gained and who he lost, who was returned to him, that his dad would always be there for him.

Close to his heart.

Up in the sky.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #the actress & the aviator #pete mitchell #pete maverick mitchell #top gun maverick #ava writes

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torturedpoetemotions · 9 months

Text

The thing is. I think Aziraphale does know Crowley quite well, but he's also coming at Heaven from a very different perspective than Crowley.

That is, he's seen over the centuries how hurt Crowley was by being cast out. He knows the Crowley that clung to his chair and cried in despair, "all I ever did was ask questions!" He knows that Crowley refuses to be called nice or good not because he isn't those things, but because they weren't enough for Heaven. And Aziraphale knows that Heaven was wrong about that! Crowley has always been good and he has always been enough.

So he comes to Crowley with what he believes is a gift in hand, saying "see? I have always known you were good and nice and enough, and now I can prove it! Heaven is broken and that's why they cast you out, but now we can fix it all!"

But Aziraphale, while he may never have quite fit with the other angels, was truly cast out only a couple of years ago. Crowley, on the other hand, was cast out eons ago. He has lived with the grief of that for a long, long time. He has accepted it, if not fully moved past it. And he has seen it for what it is in a way Aziraphale has not had time to process.

Crowley has been a part of Hell when Aziraphale has not and has seen how not-different the two sides are firsthand. They're both toxic, authoritarian beaurocracies that don't care about each other or creation itself. (Or even their supreme leaders, really. Both God and Satan make scant appearances throughout the series, and I don't think this is incidental at all.)

At the end of last season, Aziraphale saw that the demons were going to destroy Crowley and wasn't all that surprised. But Crowley realized the angels were going to destroy Aziraphale and how callous Gabriel in particular was about it, and he was shocked, angered, saddened. All the time Aziraphale had spent defending them, saying they were really the good ones, and this is how they treated him! Crowley saw that, and he never forgot it...and he never told Aziraphale about it.

It's also hinted, several times throughout the show and especially in season two, that Crowley was VERY high up when he was an angel. It's hard to say how high up given we don't know which, if any, prior hierarchy of angels is being used (though I can guess). But he was shown to have had access to some of Heavens greatest secrets with no more than a flick of the wrist.

And if he was higher up than Aziraphale (almost certainly), he saw more of the inner workings of Heaven's high command. He knows how thorough the corruption and authoritarianism of Heaven extends. He knows, deep down, that he never did anything wrong. He knows he was cast out just for being who he was.

So when Aziraphale comes to him with this offer, it doesn't feel like a gift at all. It's his one friend, his closest friend, the person he loves above all others, saying "I can make you good enough! YOU are broken and that's why they cast you out, but now I can finally fix you!"

And they both walk away heartbroken.

#good omens 2 #go2 spoilers #go2 meta #ineffable lovers

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hollandorks · 2 years

Text

middle of the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

epilogue

summary: y/n’s life changes immensely, starting with the Batman falling out of the sky right in front of her and ending with a promising new job at Wayne Manor. As her life intertwines with that of both Batman and Bruce Wayne, she begins to figure out that there’s more to both than meets the eye. No spoilers for the Batman movie.

a/n: I apologize for how short this is but--it wasn’t ever really intended to be an actual chapter. It’s merely meant to bridge the gap at the end of the series into the sequel.

But...this is it. This is the end. I may still have lots more to explore in this world with these particular characters, but this is the end of this particular journey. Thank you so so much to everyone who has been on this wild ride with me--whether you were here from chapter one or before, or if you’ve only recently discovered this fic.

It has been such an unending joy writing this story and sharing it with everyone.

I’m so glad you have enjoyed this story with me and loved it as much as I have loved. I have so many other words to say but I’m feeling very emotional already and need to cool it down. Let’s just leave it at thank you, and I love you all.

This chapter is NSFW. 18+.

Song to play as the credits roll: Opalite by Martin Luke Brown

(yes I know this gif is Selina and Bruce but shhhh pretend she’s the reader)

Series Masterlist

word count: 3375

They stayed wrapped together until the middle of the night. It was the best date she’d ever had.

The newspaper headline glared up at y/n as she tugged the piece of cloth over her face. It was the first time in a few weeks that something other than the huge drug bust and takedown of mafia crime boss, Salvatore Maroni, had graced the newspapers.

BRUCE WAYNE TO WED

She smiled at the words as she tucked the ring safely between her breasts from where it rested on a long chain.

It had been his mother’s. The second piece of jewelry he had given her. The pearls had been carefully cleaned of her blood and returned to her at the hospital after the gala.

The ring had been a surprise. It was a simple band with a big diamond. Simple, understated. Just like Bruce. Perfect, like Bruce.

Her heart squeezed happily as she remembered the moment he had presented it to her.

He had woken from a nightmare. Kissed her senseless. Told her he loved her with his words and with his touch. Let his tears coat her skin as they moved together in the dark. It happened like that, sometimes, one of them waking in fear and needing touch in order to be reassured.

She had made breakfast while he showered. Brought it into the bedroom–their bedroom now, no use in pretending they weren’t sleeping together. He had been in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, water dripping from his hair, when he went to the dresser and turned around and got on one knee.

“I wanted to do this–better,” he had said. Stuttered adorably as he continued, “I–I’m no good with saying how I feel. So all I’m going to say is that I love you and want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”

She had said the words “Are you serious?” about six times before he gently reminded her that he’d asked a question.

The answer had been yes.

That had been a couple of months ago. She wasn’t really sure how the news had gotten wind of their engagement, but she didn’t really care. She strongly suspected that Alfred had told them. He’d beamed like a proud father and immediately gone for their most expensive bottle of champagne. Had cried when she’d asked if he’d walk her down the aisle and again when Bruce asked him to be the best man.

Now, the ring was nestled safely near her heart while she got into the Batmobile and put the key in the ignition.

Y/n sighed happily as it roared to life.

“Please don’t tell me that’s what I think it is,” Bruce said in her ear. He’d promised to keep her in the loop when he went out as Batman. Just in case.

And she sometimes came to help him. Like she was currently doing as she sped down the tunnel and out into the streets of Gotham. They had an agreement now–he trained her whenever he had time, brought her in when he needed help on cases, and had even gotten her a bulletproof vest to wear. He’d made her promise to stay disguised at all times, and even was in the process of making her a cowl of her own. That was bulletproof, too, like his, but had no bat ears. She’d also had a condition of her own–no capes.

“Well, you’re getting your ass kicked. I’m not going to let you die before I get your last name.” As soon as she’d gotten home, she’d checked the screens and seen how surrounded he was. He was holding his own, but a little help wouldn’t hurt.

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

But he didn’t get angry, not like he used to. They’d worked together for months. She’d gotten much better at fighting. Had learned which of his weapons she liked best. Had learned she had a deep, deep love of the Batmobile while he seemed to prefer the ease of the motorcycle. Her disguise had started simple, just a hood pinned to her hair and a cloth covering the lower half of her face. Sometimes, when she wanted to be funny, she stole Bruce’s eye makeup and wore that, too. It always earned her a smile or a rolling of his eyes.

The arrest of the mayor and the fifteen other men had created a power vacuum. All sorts of terrible criminals started appearing and making grabs for power and territory. Drops were worse than ever, despite that big drug bust. It had been a taxing six months for Gotham and for Batman, too.

Plus, the trial was set to start by the end of the year. She would be Mrs. Wayne by then. It loomed over her like a dark cloud most days.

Minutes later, she clipped the first guy with the Batmobile as she came tearing around the corner. They were close to the Iceberg Lounge. She hadn’t ever been back, though she did see Lena and her son as frequently as she was able. She hired some of the girls part-time when she was able at her pride and joy, a restaurant she had teasingly named the Gotham Project after Bruce’s journals. It was an amalgamation of the things she loved: cooking, and helping Gotham. She also hired newly released (and carefully vetted by Wayne Enterprises finest private investigators) convicts as waiters, chefs, and hosts. People paid to come eat, or they paid it forward for someone less fortunate to enjoy a good meal. She provided supplies for the needy, too, helped by generous donations, including a very generous one from her fiance.

Y/n leapt out of the Batmobile and hit one man in the thigh with a bolt from the crossbow. Hit the next in the face with a gloved fist. They were all wearing clown masks.

“What the fuck?” she muttered as she took in the sight.

“Took you long enough,” Bruce said as he appeared next to her. He blocked a blow from hitting her in the face. She shot another bolt from the crossbow over his shoulder. She still wasn’t great with the weapon, but damn did she like how cool it made her feel. And Bruce had remained insistent: if she was going to help him, she couldn’t use a gun anymore. She had learned to pick her battles with him.

“Sorry, someone forgot to tell me they were going to get beat up by a gang of clowns tonight.”

One of said clowns landed a punch to her kidney. Her breath left her in a huff.

Bruce had already knocked him unconscious by the time she straightened.

“Look out!” she said as another clown came at him with a knife. Her memory flashed to another night, another knife, blood on her hands and in the seat of the Batmobile. With a shout, she smashed the butt of the crossbow into the mask.

The man…laughed.

Bruce leaned over him. Grabbed him by the shirt and held him up. Ripped off the mask. Underneath, he was a normal guy. Forgettable, even.

He smiled at them. “Boss said to tell you hi,” the guy said.

He had something in his other hand. He lifted it.

Y/n didn’t let him get any farther than that. She hit him in the face again and he went limp.

A playing card fluttered to the ground.

Bruce carefully picked it up. Flipped it over.

“A joker,” he said, showing it to her.

She shrugged. Pointed to the men scattered around them. “Gang of clowns, joker card….really went all out on the branding. Sounds like someone else I know.” Bruce stared at her in a way that suggested he was raising an eyebrow beneath the bat cowl. She started ticking things off on her fingers, “Batman, Batmobile, bat cave, bat knife. Bat blade? Batarang.”

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s go.” Home was the unspoken word. They were always careful what they said around each other, just in case. They didn’t want either of them to be tied to Bruce Wayne, to Wayne Manor. To each other. To Alfred.

They took different routes home, too, always careful.

Bruce had beaten her back. Was already scribbling fiercely in a journal, the joker card tucked between the pages.

She yanked her hood and vest off and tossed the Batmobile keys on the table next to him. Started taking off the armor around him while he wrote. He lifted one arm, then the other, letting her work around him without interruption.

She had read most of the journals. It had taken him a while to let her. Well, she’d actually started reading them one night while he was out. They’d fought about it when he’d caught her, and she’d come to understand how…important it was for his process. He needed to shed the skin of Batman each time he came back, and writing out his thoughts helped. It was how he figured stuff out.

If he didn’t want her to read something, or wanted her to wait while he processed it for a bit longer, he told her. She respected it. Understood that some things were harder for him than others. Never pushed, never snooped.

He had never written about the gala, despite her urging him to.

Some nights were harder than others. Sometimes he would wake her in the night with his shouts. Sometimes her nightmares woke him instead. Sometimes touching wasn’t enough. Sometimes when she woke, he was gone from the bed. She always found him downstairs working those nights. Sometimes he found her in the kitchen inventing new recipes to try at the GP.

When she finally had him out of his armor, she lightly kissed the space between his shoulder blades. There was a bruise on one side. She kissed beside it. She could tell by how his stance relaxed that he was getting to the end of his writing.

“You’re distracting me,” Bruce murmured. She could hear the smile in his voice. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Sorry,” she said as she held him close. Stayed still while he finished writing.

“Why clowns?” she asked after he had shut the journal. He tried to turn around but she wouldn’t release him from her arms. He twisted so she was still holding him but he was facing her.

“I…think it might have to do with that asshole I locked up. The one with the scars.”

She frowned, remembering a journal entry from before they’d met. “That’s…not good. He’s in Arkham right?”

Bruce hummed. She could almost hear the gears turning in his brain as he teased it all out.

She kissed his chest. Raised up on her toes to reach the base of his neck. Slid her hands up his ribcage.

He groaned. “You’re really distracting me,” he said again, blue eyes blazing with desire already. He was growing hard against her.

“That’s the point,” she said, and kissed his lips. “Work is over for tonight.” She kissed him again. Traced his lower lip with her tongue.

His hands grabbed at her ass and lifted her so he was carrying her. She wrapped both legs around his waist. She clenched her thighs and was rewarded with a moan against her lips. His fingers tightened. He walked her to the elevator. Held her against him with one hand and fumbled for the button to take them upstairs with the other.

She would never grow tired of this. Of him. Of how strong and capable he was as he held her.

He pressed her against the wall of the elevator and kissed her hungrily. Lightly massaged one of her breasts over her shirt until she gasped.

The elevator doors slid open. He carried her up the stairs easily. He wasn’t even breathing hard. At least, not from carrying her. She wrapped her legs more tightly around him and wiggled her hips. That earned her a gasp of breath.

In a flash, he had her pressed against the wall of the hallway right outside their bedroom.

He lightly bit the soft flesh of her neck and then kissed the hurt away. Her head thunked back against the wall as his lips moved against her clavicle and then back up her neck. He kissed the base of her ear. She shivered.

“Bed,” she gasped. Tightened her legs again unconsciously. “Now.”

“So bossy,” he said against her lips, but did as she told him. He set her down. She tried to pull him close for a kiss, but he turned her around. Pushed her so she was bending over the bed.

Her stomach flipped in anticipation.

He tugged at her pants with one hand and his own with the other. She loved when he was like this–bossy and insatiable and purposeful in his movements. She loved when Batman came out to play, as she’d once teasingly put it.

Bruce moaned her name as he entered her. He felt every curve of her with his calloused hands. Kissed her shoulder blade in the same spot she had kissed him only minutes before. Her hands fisted in the blankets as he moved. She said his name once, twice. Bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. One of his hands flatted against her sternum and pulled her up against him. He traced the chain of the necklace her ring was on. He kissed the top of her shoulder. Her back arched. His free hand slid down her abdomen and teased her clit.

God, she would never get enough of him.

“I love you,” he said in her ear, and it was enough to make her come.

He came a moment later with her name on his lips.

“Oh,” she said as she twisted to lay on her back on the bed. Her breath heaved out of her.

Bruce stared down at her for a long moment. His eyes sought out the ring where it rested against one bare breast. He leaned down abruptly and kissed her again.

“I love you,” they said at the exact same time when he pulled away. They shared a smile.

She stood and led him by the hand to the shower. Gently removed the makeup from his eyes while the water heated.

As they both hurriedly washed, Bruce said, “I think we need to let Gordon in on this.”

She sighed. “I told you work was done for the night.”

He shot her a look. “I have a bad feeling,” was all he said. But he was right. First the ex-mayor and all of that shit they’d been through, now Maroni and the Drops business, now the man already behind bars in Arkham. Something bad was brewing in Gotham.

She nodded. “Okay. Let’s see if he’s awake.”

It was long past the middle of the night. They had spent the darkest hours of the night together, like they did most nights.

Gordon was awake. He agreed to meet them at the signal tower.

“I’m driving,” y/n said as she practically skipped to the elevator. Her entire body was pleasantly warm. Bruce tried to steal the keys from her and sighed when she darted away. She was in the driver’s seat of the Batmobile before he could get in another protest.

It had been a while since she’d seen Gordon. They had talked on the phone a few times to prepare for the upcoming trial. Mostly the Wayne lawyer talked to her and then to him, separately. And even with the crime rates trying to rise in the wake of the arrests made after the gala, they hadn’t had much reason to bring Gordon in on anything.

Until now.

“Are you two partners now?” Gordon asked with raised eyebrows when they emerged from the elevator together.

“Something like that,” y/n said. She had to be very, very careful not to touch Bruce or look at him too lovingly while near Gordon. He was a detective, after all, and he knew that she was in love with Bruce Wayne. If they weren’t careful, it wouldn’t be hard for him to fit the pieces together that she was in love with Batman, too.

She hoped her face didn’t show what they’d just done in their bedroom.

“Congratulations on the engagement, by the way,” Gordon said with a flash of a smile. He glanced at Bruce. “Looks like you were too slow, buddy.”

Y/n couldn’t help it. She snorted.

“We’re just friends, detective,” Bruce said. She could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Lieutenant,” y/n corrected him. “Gordon got a big, fat promotion for all of the work he did to root out the corruption in Gotham.”

Gordon looked…embarrassed. “Yeah, well, I still have lots of work to do, alright? What did you need me for?”

“Came across a bunch of guys in clown masks,” Bruce said. He tugged something from his belt and passed it to Gordon. “Gave us a joker card.” Gordon’s eyes flashed. He had seen firsthand what the psycho in Arkham was capable of. It was one of the first big cases he and Bruce had worked together, apparently. “This, on top of Maroni and the rest of it…Something’s happening. Thought you should know to keep an eye out.”

“Thanks,” Gordon said. “I’ll look into it and let you know what I find.”

“Keep your eye out for a wedding invitation,” y/n said with a smile as Gordon got on the elevator. He gave her a startled look before the elevator doors closed and he disappeared from view.

Bruce tugged her closer. “Gordon’s invited to our wedding, huh?”

She smiled. She finally gave in and kissed him, now that Gordon was gone. “Of course he is. It’s a very exclusive event, so only our closest friends get to come. Speaking of, how many strippers can I invite?”

Bruce laughed. She held the sound close to her heart. Bathed in his joy. She had never loved anything as fiercely as she had loved him. As she loved all of him.

“I thought it was just Lena?” he asked skeptically.

“Well, a few others from the Iceberg Lounge wanted to come too, I guess. Not because you’re famous, I might add. Mostly because they’re my friends.”

Bruce sighed. Kissed her temple. “Invite as many strippers as you want.” Most of them were strippers, dancing in the Iceberg Lounge for the guests, still. But things had gotten better, they’d told her. The owner of the club, a man named Carmine Falcone with mob ties, had become much more involved since she’d left. The beatings had stopped, debts had been lowered, and things had generally improved. Lena had been quick to tell her that while the working conditions were better, the patrons were just as bad as always. They’d agreed that they couldn’t win everything.

Y/n smiled and hummed thoughtfully. After a moment, a thought struck her. “I wish my mom could come,” she said around a sudden lump in her throat.

“Me too,” he murmured. “And my parents. My parents would love you.”

“My mom would have figured out faster than me that you were Batman,” y/n said. Bruce laughed again. She let him pull her close against his side. “Have you seen the paper, by the way?”

Bruce stilled. “No, why?”

“Bruce Wayne’s engagement is public now,” she said. “That’s how Gordon knew, I expect.”

Bruce was quiet for a long moment. “I just assumed you’d told him,” he finally said. “How’d the press get wind of it?” There was a certain tightness to his voice that she didn’t miss.

She knew he hated putting her in the spotlight–hated either of them being in the spotlight–but she couldn’t help the little thrill she got thinking of the announcement being splashed across Gotham. He was hers, and now everyone knew it.

“Oh, I have a feeling it was a certain meddlesome old man who told them.”

They both laughed. Bruce tucked her closer and brushed his lips across her forehead. “I can’t wait to make you Mrs. Wayne,” he murmured. Her heart leapt. She couldn’t wait to be Mrs. Wayne, either.

Hand in hand, they watched the sun rise slowly over Gotham.

The night was over.

A new day had begun.

taglist:

@pop-rocks-and-skittles @calumspupils @n1ght5h4d3-24 @keepingitlokiii @11mb0 @illicitghosts @cat-purrsonified @blue-aconite @junggoku @ohheyitsrowan @angxlictexrs @glowexe @avengersgirllorianna @brynhildrmimi @takeyour-pants-off @twilightdollie @p-writes @lady-x-red @xingqiusliegee @scxrletwitches @justine-en @philiasoul @srryxmate @thecherrybombcom @minstens @curly-bookworm @call-me-nayo @tojisprincess @parzival3 @reggxe-a @fetaneecole

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melancholicbutterflies · 10 months

Text

Now Hold On, Baby

Prompt: Elvis and his buddies are tossing the football around and you accidentally get hit. Needless to say, he more than makes up for it.

wc. 1,570

warnings: my awful understanding of medicine, elvis being a southern gentleman.

A/N: wow two fics in two days i'm impressed with myself LOL. I said i was gonna do football!elvis fic and i did! not sure why all my fics lately have been so fluff-based, but there ya go. there are potential other avenues i could go down with this setting, so if there's interest i may further develop the fic :O

"What a nice day to study outside," you remarked, smiling as you seated yourself in one of the nearby Adirondack chairs with your friend, Janie on the college's green.

"I agree on the first part, don't much care for the 'study' bit," she grumbled, flopping down next to you melodramatically.

"Oh, come on. It's better than studying inside. I've had enough of stuffy libraries, haven't you?"

"Oh sure. I just don't get why we gotta spend a beautiful day like this cooped up in books."

"Well, what would you rather do, then?"

"What would I rather do? What would I rather do?!" She cried.

"Yeah!"

Pausing, she laughed. "Gosh, it's been so long since I could choose what I wanted to do that I forgot what I even like!"

You laughed together.

She wasn't completely wrong; this semester had been a doozy, a far cry from your first one freshman year where everything was new and exciting, the feeling of finally being on your own for the first time in your life leading to more partying than school, the reason you were all there after all. The spring had been a real shock, filled with nonstop deadlines, rigid professors, and nearly as many all-nighters although not of the partying kind. It was a rude awakening for everyone in your year, but for Janie in particular, who had some attention issues although she was plenty smart.

"...Right now, I just wanna sit down and relax. Close my eyes a bit." Janie was saying drowsily, looking as if she was about to drift off to sleep right then and there. As the sun shone on you, a gentle breeze passing by, you had half a mind to join her. Your barely opened textbook slipping from your fingers as your body let loose some of that much needed tension.

Not two minutes later, you faintly heard someone yell "Heads up!" Thinking nothing of it, as it sounded as if it were a ways away, your mind felt fuzzy as it entered that half-dream-like, half-awake state.

Suddenly, it wasn't so fuzzy anymore. It was downright aching, like a bucket of ice-cold water rained down on it. Opening your eyes, you realized you'd been hit by some flying... football? Your hand massaged the side of your head while you looked blearily around for the source of the assault.

"Oh, man, I'm real sorry darlin'," a familiar-looking young man came jogging over to you wearing a forlorn expression. "It wasn't me, but I ain't gon' make excuses for them," he jabbed a finger in the direction of a few other young men, looking concerned. It was then that you realized who they were. You were speaking with royalty, as far as most of your fellow students were concerned. Football was big at your university, and from what you'd heard, your school was one of the top contenders. Elvis Presley, the man standing before you, was a big reason for that. He was quarterback, and he reveled in the attention as much as he enjoyed playing.

"Darlin'?" He questioned; thick dark brows furrowed in deepening concern. "You all right? We need to get your head looked at?"

"No, no," you shook your head, regretting the action as you felt like a rock was rolling around in there. "I'll... I'll be fine. Just try not to hit me again." You joked weakly. You thought it was funny, but also got your point across, and you went to move back to Janie. You didn't realize you were moving sluggishly, and walking not quite straight, until you caught the grass getting closer to you.

"Wha-

"Damn it!" You heard Elvis cry, and stupidly you shut your eyes, as if accepting your fate. "Gotcha," he cooed in your ear, and you came around to the fact that you were now in his arms, his nice, strong, warm arms... You looked up at him, eyes blinking, your head nearly lolling to the side if it weren't for his hand cradling your neck. "It's gon' be OK, sweetheart. Gon' get you to the nurse to get that head looked at. You're stubborn as hell, girl," he shook his head at you, half smile on his face. You wanted to poke it, your hand raised to do so but it landed on his cheek. He laughed. "'Nuff of that, woman. You want me to trip with you? We'll both crack our heads on this sidewalk." In your muddled state you laughed; the image was rather funny.

Some time later, you woke up in the nurse's office, alone. Where were you? You tried to recall the last moments but were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come in?" You said hesitantly.

A young, dark-haired woman came inside in a nurse's uniform and greeted you pleasantly as she took your vitals. "You had quite a bump earlier, didn't you? Came in all zonked out."

The machine beeped. "Good, 107 over 20. Had you all the way down in the eighties, was thinking we'd have to send you to the hospital!"

"Oh, gosh."

"Luckily, you're looking a lot better. You don't still feel dizzy, do you?"

"No, I feel all right. Still a little bruised, though..." You went to feel your head, coming up against a light bandage. "Don't fuss with it, it needs to heal. I'm glad you came in when you did. If it weren't for that handsome fella that brought you, carrying you like a white knight and everything!"

A blush started rising to your cheeks, and you glanced away. "He was awfully nice to do that. Then of course it was his friends who hit me!"

"Oh, I'm sure it was just an accident. Besides, girls have done less to get Elvis' attention," she winked, moving toward the door. "You should be fine but take it easy, no sudden movements and no sports for a few weeks!"

"Thank you," you said, grumbling you hadn't intended to get his attention, it seemed to be thrust upon you. You couldn't deny it was a kind act he did; you didn't know many men that would have gone through that much trouble to make sure you were all right. You definitely were lucky he had stopped you from falling and incurring additional harm. And, even though you'd never admit it aloud, you found him not horrendous to look at. Maybe even cute. You were sure he was well aware of his affect on the opposite sex, and rationalized he didn't need more compliments.

"Oh, there you are," a familiar deep voice sounded to your right as you stepped into reception, about to leave toward your dorm to find Janie. You hoped she hadn't gotten too much of a scare. For all you knew she was still knocked out on the lawn; she was the heaviest sleeper you'd ever known!

"Elvis," you said, and it was all you could say in your surprise of him staying close. "What... what are you doing here?"

"Making sure you were OK, silly," he rose to his full height from the chair, stretching. "A bigger ask than I'd anticipated; those seats were none too comfy." He teased.

"Oh, Elvis, that's awfully kind of you but you didn't have to."

He waved a hand off, "naw, I was raised right, I wouldn't leave a woman in distress, especially since it was my numb knuckle friends who got you into that mess. I hope you can accept my apology, darlin'." There was that beseeching look again in his blue hues.

When he turned those eyes on you, you were done. "Of course I do," you said softly. He smiled real wide then, straight, shiny white teeth nearly blinding you in their exuberance. "Oh, doll, I'm so glad to hear that, I am. I was so worried. I know how smart you are, I didn't wanna think we were responsible for knocking all that genius outta your noggin!"

You guffawed; it was so ridiculously inane, yet entirely endearing because of the genuineness with which he said it. But then you sobered at the realization that he knew who you were. Or knew enough to know how seriously you took school. "Wait, how did you know-?" As far as you could recall, you'd never spoken, hardly laid eyes on him more than once or twice in passing, and even then, thinking nothing of it. You weren't someone who got into sports.

"I sit a few rows behind you. Prolly didn't notice, I don't blame you. I'm usually late or taking a snooze, not the most dedicated student," he rubbed the back of his neck as if embarrassed. "Well, I reckon we probably had a few classes together last semester too, but I guess you didn't notice me."

He watched you as you formed your opinion about this, not upset, but strangely earnest. It took you aback. You would've figured The Elvis Presley would have been a lot more cocky and self-assured. He wasn't in the slightest. It was... delightfully refreshing.

"Well, I can be pretty oblivious, but I can definitely say I know you now, Elvis Presley." You smiled the first real smile since speaking with him, and he mirrored you happily.

"Where you headed?" He asked. "My dorm. I should check on Janie, my friend," you add in explanation.

He nodded. "How 'bout I walk you there? It's gettin' late, and it's not but a few blocks from my dorm."

"Sure! I mean, if you don't mind. You've spent enough time on me today as it is. I'm sure you have other places to be."

He stopped you by the arm, forcing your gaze to his steady one. "There isn't anywhere else I'd rather be." He said, and you believed him.

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fans #1960s elvis #angst #elvis fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #elvis presley x you #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvisaaronpresley #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x reader #elvis x y/n #football!elvis #football fic #college fic

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wen-kexing-apologist · 10 months

Text

If y'all don't stop tagging me in "list your favorite ________" challenges, I swear.....(kidding)

You know I'm indecisive and that the second I'm asked questions like this everything I have ever known or loved just falls right out of my head :'(

ANYWAY. I was tagged by @colourme-feral to name 9 favorite TV series. Nine? Not ten? Alright, whatever. Now presenting, in no particular order

wen-kexing-apologist's Top Nine Favorite TV Series

I think, much like last time where I listed my ten favorite characters AND THEN LEFT OUT PIKE MOTHERFUCKING DEXTER LIKE A GODDAMN NOOB I can't be certain I am forgetting one that I cherish greatly.

Avatar: The Last Airbender

I'm putting this first because A:TLA was a show I watched live in my youth and I remember running the hating Zuko to loving Zuko gauntlet in real time.

But seriously, you can't give me the single greatest redemption arc written in human history and not expect me to cradle this show close to my chest for the rest of my life.

There are so many shows we grow up with that we remember fondly and that in the grand scheme of things aren't that good, protected by young minds and nostalgia AND THIS ISN'T ONE OF THEM.

Seriously my poor mother has had to listen to hours worth of rambling about the incredibly strong adult themes, three dimensional characters, and conversations around war and the portrayal of no one society as inherently evil from both of her children.

This is my boy and I will love him until the end of time, I'm sorry that I hated you when we first met. In my defense the narrative compelled me to do so.

Sense8

Queer, sex positive, beautifully crafted, orgies as a symbol of human connection, the way the world is so small and that people from all over the world have skills that are valuable, that save lives, that are needed and necessary. Humanity and complexity given to people involved in the drug trade, humanity and complexity given to drug users, humanity and complexity given to gang members, humanity and complexity given to prisoners. Love, loss, tragedy, trauma, trans joy, throuple, couple and whatever the fuck Daniella is doing, one really good weed brownie curing transphobia.

The ending wasn't perfect but that isn't the Wachowski Sister's fault, it was Netflix's fault.

I Told Sunset About You/I Promised You The Moon

This show, especially I Told Sunset About You, may be the single most emotional a show has ever made me. I think I cried four times per episode for ITSAY, the only time I didn't cry four times was Episode 3, where foolishly I made it through 98% of the episode went "this edible ain't shit I don't know why everyone is so emo about Ep 3, it's been the most mild so far" AND THEN FUCKING BAM

Teh with the steel fucking chair!

When I tell you I spent hours, numb, staring up at the ceiling?? It's not an exaggeration.

When I tell you I thought about this scene for more than three and immediately burst into tears??? It's not an exaggeration.

This show altered my brain chemistry, this show altered my DNA, this show was so fucking good and ruined me so thoroughly that I wasn't even able to make my brain come up with things to analyze.

in this show, WHERE THERE IS SO MUCH THERE TO ANALYZE. I am making a friend watch it right now so I'm hoping I will have more to contemplate and talk about as I rewatch it now that the emotional impact has softened.

Moonlight Chicken

Look no further than my Gay Meta Masterpost pinned to my page to understand why I love this show so much. It is gorgeous, it handles the subject of disability well, it's the show that got me to start posting meta and as a result it is the show that got me all the friends I have on tumblr now.

This show is perfect, the acting is spectacular, the inherent queerness that runs through the narrative, THE LIGHTING. Aof knocked it out of the motherfucking park with this one.

The Eclipse

Folks let me tell you what happens when you go from Not Me to The Eclipse...

you fall desperately in love with First Kanaphan Puitrakul and his masterful acting ability. I love this show so much. P'Golf had things to say and she was not afraid to say it. The queer characters got to be complex and messy and wrong sometimes, none of the main characters were morally superior, they all contributed to maintaining the system, they all helped harm other queer people. This show was made with pocket change and a dream and it gave me two of my favorite kisses in BL, one of my favorite stories in BL, and my sweet summer child

my beloved Baby War Criminal who is my favorite character ever in BL. Look at him. He is under so much pressure. GOD I LOVE THIS SHOW. And I love Thua too.

Our Flag Means Death

Setting aside the problematic fans, I watched this show eleven times. It was one of the only shows I'd seen where every couple was queer, I love how gradually the writing team was able to move this show from comedy to something more serious, I love the way Stede returned home only to find that he had been forever changed, I love the way Blackbeard was on his way to grieving and healing with healthy coping mechanisms, and the commentary the show gave on how exposure to toxic masculinity and internalized/externalized homophobia (in the form of Izzy) can alter that course. I love that traditional roles and expectations are subverted in this show. That Pete and Lucius are in love, that Olu gets thrown around by Jim, that the show allows for an older queer person to both realize his sexuality and experience his first queer love.

And also

it introduced me to one of the first nonbinary characters I had seen on screen. Jim Jimenez you can murder me whenever you wish, it would be my absolute honor.

What We Do in The Shadows

For one, it's hilarious

For two, Jackie Daytona exists.

For three

It gave me Guillermo de la Cruz, the sexiest motherfucker alive.

The Owl House

Queer, neurodivergent representation????? In my TV show??????? A main plot point being around the all consuming nature of white supremacy and religious zeal. Hunter? Dear sweet, awkward, traumatized Hunter? RAINE MOTHERFUCKING WHISPERS?!

Listen, I'm a simple bitch, okay? You put an enby in my television and I will be forced to stan.

I mean look at them!

Word of Honor

*points to username*

If I didn't put WoH on here I would have to give up rights to my username.

This is the show that started me on the BL spiral and having read the novel, I have to say that I have never seen a show change a character and expand upon a story as well as Word of Honor has.

The sex appeal, the swagger, and the lowkey unsettling obsession The Scorpion King has in the TV show compared to the book?

Expert execution of fundamentally and fully changing source text. The costumes are gorgeous and the way I was driven to the brink of insanity by how gay this show was despite censorship is truly unmatched. I know censorship can dampen a queer story experience, but damned if i didn't go feral and say "I can't believe they got away with that" at every given opportunity.

And

It gave me my beloved Adult War Criminal, Wen Kexing, who as we all know, has never done anything wrong in his life, ever.

___

Bonus Round:

aka shows that I haven't or that haven't finished yet so I am contractually obligated not to put them on a list.

180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us

I have two episodes left, it is absolutely killer, and if it continues to be as strong as it is this will be a 10/10 show for me and join the ranks of my favorites. This show is driving me mad with both hands and barriers and I need everyone to know that.

La Pluie

There are three episodes left for this to go wrong which is the only reason why I haven't put it on the list. But similarly to 180 Degrees, if it continues the way it is going now this will be a 10/10 show for me and join the ranks of my favorites. I LOVE what they are doing to subvert the soulmate trope. It is a masterpiece so far and I need more people to be watching this.

Tagging:

@solitaryandwandering, @ranchthoughts, @wanderlust-in-my-soul, @so-much-yet-to-learn, and @neuroticbookworm

Your choice whether to participate or not and apologies if you have already been tagged.

#atla #sense8 #itsay #ipytm #moonlight chicken #the eclipse #our flag means death #the owl house #what we do in the shadows #word of honor #avatar the last airbender #mlc #toh #woh #ofmd #wwdits #la pluie #180 degree longitude passes through us #tag game

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telomeke · 4 months

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15 people, 15 questions

I got tagged by @colourme-feral (at this link here), @pandasmagorica (at this link here), @wen-kexing-apologist (at this link here), @dribs-and-drabbles (at this link here), @belladonna-and-the-sweetpeas (at this link here) and @airenyah (at this link here). Thanks for tagging me guys! 🥰 Hope you're all having a wonderful holiday season. 💖🎄

‌

1. Are you named after anyone?

Not anyone in particular; Mom's dad set out the names for the children of his sons but not his daughters. So Mom gave me a name that incorporates the concepts bright and strong. I sometimes like to think I was named after a laundry detergent. 🤣

2. When was the last time you cried?

I can't remember exactly… I never used to cry, not at stories or movies, unless they involved dogs dying (because that was my first exposure to grief, when my little furry boy died on me during my teen years). After more family members passed away though, I felt my core shift and now know what it is like to be moved to tears by a more human-centric grief and loss (I think I wasn't allowing myself to feel that before, as part of that armor you put on when out in the world as an adult).

And ever since I learnt my lessons I've cried a lot more often, sharing heartfelt moments with characters on the page or on the screen because I'm less afraid of showing emotion (as in, I no longer think of it as some kind of weakness). I think the last time I cried may have been watching Last Twilight? When I watched tough guy Mhok shedding his hard protective shell to love Day unconditionally, with the motivations behind his acts of love going mostly unnoticed and unseen by the object of his affections – e.g., the sunflower just before August turns up late, setting up Day's surprise birthday party and basically giving him away to others when you know his heart is telling him to keep Day for himself. 😢 (I've not watched Ep.7 yet, so I don't know if the meaning of any of this will change moving forward, or if there are more tears in store though.) And yes, I think the last tear I shed was when Mhok grabbed Day to kiss him at the end of Ep.6, to prove that he was loving him truly for his own sake, not plying him with secondhand emotion out of pity as Day had been led to expect from the world.

I may write more about Last Twilight in the future… It's easy to think of romantic love as a gift to be received, but Mhok really does exemplify that the human nature of love is rather more tied to wanting to give of oneself, and (for romantic love at least) that experience only achieves its fullest completion when it is met with the recipient giving you their love in return (or crushing your heart with rejection or indifference instead). And I do see the parallels between love rejected and grief; "grief is just love with no place to go" rings so very true.

3. Do you have kids?

No I don't, and it is maybe the one regret in life I will allow myself. "No regrets" is a great motto to live by, but if I could do things over again I might choose to have kids (whether my own biological kids or my own adopted ones; I'm a little too far gone and set in my ways to consider this now though). Never wanted kids before (noisy, troublesome, a dampener holding you back I told my younger self) – but when my nephew came along it was like somebody flicked a switch and I realized it was OK to feel that kind of unconditional love for another human being, for no other reason than the privilege of loving them. And I think being a parent (unlike a romantic partner) allows you to love truly unconditionally, without expecting anything in return.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

Used to like playing soccer/basketball/badminton as a kid, but only unseriously and very badly. Nowadays I swim a lot and the gym is my second home (but I'm not at all some bulked-up gorilla; I don't have the genetics nor the inclination to abuse my body with steroids, which is the only way to look like the bodybuilders and fitness models IMO). But exercise does wonders for your mental health in addition to your physical fitness; it's been my refuge whenever things got horrifyingly stressful in life by providing an outlet for stress, plus endorphins to make you feel better. It just doesn't feel like it would be any good when you're going through it, but you can sense it after. Which is also part of why it's so hard to get yourself up and exercising when you're down; the hardest part is overcoming the inertia that is doubly weighted whenever life is stressing you out. I always have to remind myself that the more I don't want to go to the gym, the more it is I probably need to go.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Sarcasm? What, ✨MOI✨? (Yes I'm being sarcastic here. I can be a bit too barbed with people I know, so I've learnt to pare it back, but my propensity for sarcasm has done me no favors in the workplace. It's also why I understand people putting up hard-shell defenses – shoutout to Pran in Bad Buddy and Mhok in Last Twilight.)

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I think their general demeanour and what their overall body language is conveying.

7. What’s your eye color?

Darkest, darkest brown; so dark it looks black in all but the brightest light. You can't see where my pupils end and my irises begin.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings all the way. Don't like horror movies and I won't pay to watch them.

9. Any talents?

I have a number of interests, but whether or not I have any talent in them is for others to judge because – even though I'm proud of some of the things I've done – my ever-critical perfectionist's eye can never fail to see flaws and things I could've done better. Everything is always falling short in some way. So my interests are: languages and linguistics (I can handle a few languages, but only a couple have acceptable fluency while the rest are still in pretty rough shape, IMO). Love to write (in English only, more focused on fact than fiction, but even then the inspiration doesn't always flow). I have an ear (but not an abiding love) for music, so I will often be singing if I'm alone and need more than silence around me. I'm interested in biological sciences (wanted to be a palaentologist as a little boy; isn’t that every kid's dream at some point?) – animals, plants, and nature fascinate me. I used to like dabbling in visual arts, but that's been deadened a bit by having to work with some of that in my job (maybe that's why the visual aspects of BL will always fascinate me though). And I think I do have a knack for research, looking things up and putting facts together so that they can convey some kind of message or bigger truth.

10. Where were you born?

In the delivery room of a maternity ward. My roots are in Asia though, if that's what this question is getting at. 😆

11. What are your hobbies?

Scrolling through Tumblr takes up way too much of my time, but yes that is one of my hobbies. I watch BLs now and then, and from that I go on to do the odd write-up about aspects that interest me (especially culture, linguistics and BL visuals). Another current obsession is baking up fruitcake variations (part of the culinary landscape of the season) and this will continue as a hobby until I've baked it out of my system. I love to watch cooking shows, but I do this more to pick up tips on how to make my meals quicker, easier and tasty enough for me (I don't love cooking, but I cook a lot, to get around dietary intolerances more than anything else). Also – gym and swimming a few times a week.

12. Do you have any pets?

None at the moment. We had dogs growing up and I am an avowed dog lover. But when you're a working adult it wouldn't be fair to leave a dog alone for most of the day while you're out at the office, so I never got one after I began working. Plus dogs don't last long (15 years is already geriatric for a pooch) and I'm not ready to face the shattering grief when they have to leave you. But never say never... Maybe I'll get a kitty for a change? 🤔💖

13. How tall are you?

I'm tallish; tall in some countries, average in others. Taller than Singto, shorter than Ohm. 😆

14. Favorite subject in school?

Art and art history? We had a dream lecturer who made the subject come alive. Also a psychology elective that I took, for all its insights into the human mind. In school school it was a mix depending on my mood and the topic of the day: English, geography, biology, chemistry, mathematics, or art. Didn't like physics or economics at all.

15. Dream job

Something in research and analysis backing up the boys in The Sign. 😆 Or maybe volunteering at a charity to help with food/housing (but I can probably only think about doing this after securing my own retirement).

Onward tagging (I can't count so don't expect this to be 15): @7nessasaryevils, @crzshaly437, @faillen, @dimplesandfierceeyes, @neuroticbookworm, @greenreflections, @recentadultburnout, @thecleopatrawannabe, @nihilisticcondensedmilk, @allthegoodusernamesaretakenhuh, @lamonnaie, @non-binarypal7, @twig-tea, @williamrikers, @gillianthecat, @hughungrybear, @solitaryandwandering, @starryalpacasstuff, @rane-ab, @serafyne, @silvercrystal1, @tsukitsuki077, @5raccoonsinatrenchcoat, @vegasandhishedgehog, @reformedcharacter, @writerwithoutsound, @bengiyo, @gelofhellyeah, @shortpplfedup, @dc-alves, @zhaagdewin, @chickenstrangers, @ranchthoughts and anybody else who wants to play! As always no pressure if you don't wish to play either.

If you've already played do tag me with a link so I can read your 15 answers too! 🥰 (And I left out some mutuals because I see you've already been tagged; let me know too if you've already played so I can head on out to read your post as well! 😍)

‌

#tag game #15 people‚ 15 questions #always fun to play 🥰

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kissmyhandcallmedarling · 2 years

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protect me

james march x fem!reader

wordcount - 1,063

notes:

idek what this is; i really wanted to write some more jpm content

tw: blood, implied stab wound

holy shit look at that hand 🤤

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James Patrick March sat alone in his quarters. His gaze was fixed on the clock, a glass of untouched absinthe in his grasp. He sighed deeply, as the time ticked over to 2:25am. Knocking back his alcohol in one, he placed the glass on the mahogany surface that was the bedside table. James lay himself down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, smiling to himself as he admired his work; he'd always loved the colour of the ceilings, and how they perfectly contrasted with the light fixtured, ever since he had them first installed those many moons ago.

Suddenly, his ears pricked up, pulling him out of his tranquil state. James sat up quickly, trying to determine the excruciating sound he was hearing - it was a woman.

She was screaming.

And it hurt his very soul.

James felt his heart begin to race as he quickly caught up to his thoughts. Why was he affected so? After all, he was definitely no stranger to wails and cries of pain - in fact, the screams of his victims usually sent him racing into a state of ecstasy.

But this particular shriek pierced his psyche. And, deeply disturbed by his newfound weakness, James decided to investigate, in the hopes that the vision of whatever torture was taking place would bid him on his way to euphoria.

He strode over to the door, swinging it open and peering into the hallway of the seventh floor. No one could be seen, and so he wandered further down the hall. As he peered round the corner, his eyes widened - a young woman was pressed up against the wall by none other than his successor, John Lowe. He had no idea what had come over him, but one look at the lady, and he knew he had to save her. Everything from then on was a blur.

"No!" James screamed, running towards the pair and forcing himself between them.

"The fuck are you doing?!" John roared, his nostrils flared with anger.

"Not this one, John." His voice was calm, and steady. "Leave her be."

"You fucking bast-ard!" John slurred. His breath reeked of alcohol, causing a grimace to spread across James' face.

"Go to bed, John. Sleep it off. James gave his apprentice a pat on the shoulder. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Reluctantly, John sulked off.

James turned to face the young lady... the very young lady that was yourself. And his eyes positively lit up, captivated by your beauty.

"I am so terribly sorry, dear. Are you alright?" Though his question was immediately answered before you uttered a word, as the man noticed the blood stain, and your arms cradling your abdomen.

"No." You whimpered. "It hurts so very much. That man nearly killed me!"

James' heart shattered. Why he felt such affection towards a stranger he knew not, but what he did know, was that ignoring feelings simply made them worse.

"What is your name, darling?"

"Y/n."

"Well, Y/n, my name is James March. I own this hotel. Come," he held out his arm to you. "Let me take you back to my suite and I shall fix you up."

You obliged, and Mr March wrapped a hand around your waist, and walked you back to room 74. Once inside, he seated you on an armchair.

"Now, I apologise for my lack of medicinal paraphernalia - believe me, this is not my usual area of expertise..." He paused, reflecting on the fact that he could have worded that phrase slighty better. Oh well, he thought. "But I shall try my best."

James got to his feet, and strode over to the bar cart. He took a bottle of liquor in his grasp and brought it back over to you, placing it on the table beside the chaise. You watched as he disappeared into what you assumed was a closet, emerging several moments later with a wad of gauze and a clean white shirt in hand.

"May I see, my dear?"

With shaky hands, you slowly lifted your top up, revealing a bloody gash. James ripped a piece of gauze off, veins popping from his strong hands. You noticed a gold wedding band gleaming on his ring finger... and you couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. What? No. There was no way. And so you brushed it off. James doused the cotton in the spirits and approached you, crouching before you.

"This will sting a little, darling." He cautiously pressed the bandage to your wound, attempting to gently wipe away some of the excess blood.

You groaned through gritted teeth as pain surged through your body.

James' brown furrowed; it pained him.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Pardon?"

"I know who you are."

James felt a prickle deep within his chest...

"I'm not quite sure I understand what you mean?"

"I know who you are, sir, and what you've done. The people you've... killed." He shuddered slightly at your words. Was that remorse you detected. Surely not. "So why are you helping me? Why did you stop that man from murdering me? Isn't death what you're all about." You met his eye. "How am I to know you're not just going to kill me here, right now?"

"My darling, I shall answer your queries," his tone was smooth, masculine. "But first I'd like you to answer me something." James crouched before you. "If you knew of my past, whyever did you willingly come with me. If you're so concerned over the fact that I could pull out a knife and slit your throat without a second thought, why did you allow yourself alone with me?"

You were truly lost for words.

"Very well," the gentleman pulled up a second chair and sat himself adjacent to you. "I shall answer your questions first." He took a deep breath, before meeting your eyes. "From the moment I heard your cries of pain this evening, something shifted in me. If you truly believe you know me, then you would assume all forms of pain would entrance me - and they usually would. But tonight, when your shrieks pierced my ears, a hole was pierced through my heart. I was truly just as confounded as you, my dear. But when I discovered you, hurt and weak, my only thoughts were that I had to protect you."

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#james patrick march #jpm #james march #james patrick march imagine #evan peters #american horror story #ahs hotel #ahs fandom #jpm x reader #ahs #james march x reader #american horror story hotel

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littlerosetrove · 22 days

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HOLY SHIT!!!!! 🩷💜💙 I have a lot to say.

My initial Spoiler Thoughts for 7x4 in no particular order.

The Bachelor stuff, as expected, was cringe. In a fun way, but still cringe. Chimney definitely has a little crush on Joey (hello bi Chimney? 👀), and clearly Maddie and Josh are huge Bachelor fans. I learned that it was Jennifer LH that loves the show and so pitched this crossover to the writers. Good on her since she helped create Madney and Buddie. <3

Eddie gave Buck a look at Buck's comment of, “Sorry, I have a rule that I don’t date anyone I meet on a call.”

Bobby could tell something was off with Harry… from the waffles? Also, was that the same actor who plays Harry? It’s been a couple years, so no surprise he’s grown a lot and looks a bit different since we last saw him I think in maybe season 5A.

That has to be a low-key dig at Buck with Eddie saying “...it’s like that thing when you meet somebody and you just, click.” A reference to the cemetery scene and Buck saying the nonsense about how Natalia, after talking twice, sees him. As Eddie should.

Ravi is back! He looked fantastic and beautiful. Heh, loved the brief comedy bit of him asking who was gonna go into the sewer.

Eddie had Marisol babysit Chris twice in one week? ……..I feel mixed about that. I know Eddie is in a better place than he was with Ana, but for him to leave his kid with his, as far as we can tell, casual girlfriend? What confuses me and makes this harder to even analyze for why Eddie is comfortable with this is that, hi. We still know jack shit about Marisol. We just know she and Eddie are casual boyfriend and girlfriend, but not serious. And because we don’t know anything about Marisol nor their relationship, there’s too much to guess why Eddie is, again, cool with having Marisol babysit Chris. I’ve also seen some Latina folks, in the past few days, comment on the stereotype of people like Ana and Marisol playing “the perfect” girlfriend, being motherly and such, and there not really being anything else there. I have no further comment on that, but something to put out there I guess.

Buck complained to Maddie about Eddie having a new friend. And Maddie saying that Buck probably kept digging at Chris for questions. Buck is definitely feeling very insecure that Chris finds Tommy cool, and has some kind of connection with Tommy already (though we know nowhere close to what Buck and Chris have or will ever have). I feel for Buck, I do. Cause y'all, this guy is going to have abandonment issues probably the rest of his life. Yes he should know his place in Eddie and Chris's life by now, but....idk, it's still hard for Buck to trust his place in peoples lives. Buck go back to therapy, please.

Oh so Eddie has wanted Buck to hang out, like with the basketball games, but Buck has passed on that. Thus Eddie invited Tommy. And Eddie had looked so excited at the prospect of Buck getting to come watch the fight as well.

Ohhh really interesting scene with Athena and Harry. Harry even brought up the incident of years ago, of a cop pulling over his dad and pointing a gun at Harry. Harry in this scene was asking, basically, which is more important being a cop or my mom. Harry has the impression Athena cares more about being a cop and………. well………. history shows she does “”understand”” the cops side.

Honestly? I really think Eddie was talking to Tommy on the phone at the station. Given the episode, it probably was. Some may say it could be Marisol, but given how miniscule a role she’s played *gestures* in everything? Nah, it was Tommy. Even from his dialogue I could catch, idk, I still say Tommy. And goddd Buck was trying So Hard to get Eddie’s attention. Buck honey…. you’re embarrassing yourself.

The scene with Athena and the mom who accidentally shot her son got me. Well done, I cried. Let me also just say I’m so happy to have 911 calls that aren’t longer than necessary, but more so just right. Season 6 had an issue of dragging out the calls.

Ha! Chimney covering for Buck at the court and calling himself a beard. Chimney knows something is up, especially with Buck.

Can I just say, I loved seeing Eddie look so happy?? Being more at ease looks fantastic on him. <333

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Eddie act so broey with someone. Tommy really brings out Eddie’s “hey bro man dude what’s going on” side. Interesting interesting… But I am glad that Eddie has someone to connect with about the army, his interest in fighting, and apparently cars???? Stuff like that.

Tommy called Buck Evan, the entire episode. *squints* I’m not mad about it, but I’m a little ?????? about it. I don’t recall any past girlfriends of Buck who called him Evan. Always Buck. And Buck always introduces himself as Buck to everyone, sooooooo what? The only people to ever call Buck Evan is his parents, Maddie, and Eddie once in the memorable and iconic Will Scene. Like having Tommy call Buck Evan certainly sets him apart from everyone else and definitely past love interests…...

Good on Maddie for rightfully being pissed at Buck for, even though he’s not sure he did it intentionally or not, but for hurting Eddie. I’m a bit pissed at Buck for that too. Like Maddie said, you don’t hurt the people you care about. 🤨

Well I’m glad that Athena stuck by Harry’s side through the whole process, buuuut I still think Athena needs to retire. (we know she won’t, especially with the confirmed 8th season, and who knows how many more. maybe in the last season.)

Eddie feels bad? Nah see it’s explained in this post by @bihoebuck about how neither Buck nor Eddie are right or wrong. It’s a quick post, read that and it’ll make sense.

I can't wait to see and hear more from Eddie next episode. Buck may now be focusing on his queer awakening instead of figuring out his feelings about Eddie (spoiler: he's in love with Eddie, we know this), but all of this must get Eddie thinking too. And not just "oh Buck was feeling left out, and I feel like I may have left him out too." Nah there's gotta me more to shake loose in Eddie's head, you know??

BI BUCK IS CANON BABYYYYY!!!! I gotta say the build up to the kiss was really good. And? Like y’all. I really liked how confident Tommy was. He seems to have a good head on his shoulders, saying a lot of right things to clear the air about Chris (that Chris couldn’t stop talking about Buck) and Eddie and such. Tommy even admitting that he’s a bit jealous of the family at the 118, since we know it was Not like that when he worked there. I’m guessing it’s not like that even at the station he currently works at. Now. Once again though we have another case of Buck Misunderstanding the mother-effing Assignment. And I do feel sorry for Tommy because Buck is… basically pivoting in his jealousy about Eddie - feeling like he’s losing Eddie and Chris because Buck will probably forever have abandonment issues - and instead of continuing to really think about why he’s feeling jealous in any regards about Eddie, he’s now thinking, “Oh. I was just wanting to spend time with Tommy. And oh holy shit I’m into guys? Yeah. Yeah I am!!” And so Buck’s queer awakening is kinda clouding his judgment and perspective. Don’t get me wrong! Buck is definitely bi, BLESS, but now he’s going to focus on this part, focus on Tommy, instead of figuring out his feelings about Eddie. I think Buck is still afraid to truly look close at his feelings for Eddie and untangle what it all means. I really wonder just how long Buck will consciously and subconsciously avoid thinking about what Eddie really means to him. I just hope Tommy doesn’t get hurt along the way. =|

PHEW. I got most of my thoughts out, but I’m sure I missed some details. Another really good episode in my books. Not perfect, but pretty dang awesome. 😎

#911 spoilers #9-1-1 #my thoughts #long post

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mother2monsters · 1 month

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(No title yet)

Forwarning...I'm not that fancy, never blogged before so I have no idea how to make this look appealing...maybe one day between my million kids and million jobs I'll figure it out.

Here goes nothing.... please don't be tooo harsh lol.... y'all I feel like my writing is trash lol.....ugh... ok fuck it.... Yoongi didn't raise no bitch!

He recognized the yearning in her eyes. If he allowed himself, it was the same yearning for her reflected in his. It was the last show, fuck it, he thought to himself, I’m going to enlist soon, I can have this one thing. Looking to where he’s seen her every show prior, she’s gone.

Meanwhile she cries tears of anguish watching him for the last time from afar.

Curious eyes look down on them both from above. Curious about the despair they see in her face and the lost look only they are able to distinguish within his eyes. Even more curious, when the guest comes out, she is inconsolable, leaning into her friend for support. During the show he seems to be looking for something in that particular spot but doesn’t find it. He checks all 4 corners and the lost look remains. A quick question is posed to the guest as he arrives to sit with the onlookers and he declines but is captivated none the less by the beauty and pain he sees in her face, he recognizes that pain. Deciding to put it off for now, the eyes above watch the show in pensive contemplation.

The show was amazing! she tells her friend as they plan their next move for the night. They’re both numb due to all the emotions he left on the stage. She’s emotionally raw and physically drained but thankful she was there. Or at least that’s the mantra she keeps repeating over in her head as they exit the arena for the final time.

That was phenomenal! A perfect ending to an amazing run! His family and friends tell him backstage. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling at this point yet, everything is too fresh, too new, his tears haven’t even dried yet. He regrets not finding her or trying sooner. He internally mourns what could have been and what may never be.

Meanwhile her and her friend roam the streets of Seoul in search of something to soothe the tumultuous emotions raging in their souls. They fear the announcement they know is coming come morning, “HELLO THIS IS BIGHIT MUSIC…”. Coincidentally they end up in a cafe surrounded with pictures and mementos of their idols, not the fried chicken that they’d set out for but not an unworthy substitution by any accounts.

#bts x black reader #bts x noona #bts ot7 x reader #jungkook x black reader #poly! bts x reader #bts x black noona #idol!bts x noona!reader #bts sub yandere idol #sub!bts x black!reader #namjoon x black reader #yoongi x plus size reader #yoongi x black reader #jimin x black reader #taehyung x black reader #bts needy #bts x plus size reader #bts x chubby reader #hoseok x reader #jin x reader

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kk095 · 1 year

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Victoria in the ER

Victoria was a 19 year old waitress at a nice, upscale restaurant in town. She was working there to save some extra money for cosmetology school, since her true goal in life was to cut hair and open up her own shop. The young lady always made good money from tips- although, it tended to be from men more than twice her age. Regardless, she was a beautiful young lady who worked hard in pursuit of what she wanted in life. She had wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, a perfect tan, stood at 5’5 with an average build, and had a conventionally attractive appearance. Victoria was a previously healthy young woman, so you may be asking yourself how she ended up in our emergency department last night.

Around 11pm last night, Victoria had clocked out of work. The restaurant actually closed on time for once, so the workers were excited to get home at a decent hour. The restaurant was in a smaller downtown area, so there wasn’t a parking lot associated with the restaurant. Instead, there was a parking garage a short walk away at the next intersection that workers of the shops and restaurants in the downtown area were permitted to use. During the trip to the garage, Victoria was a little bit behind the group of coworkers while walking to the garage. She was on her phone, not really paying attention. She didn’t look when she crossed the street. Normally this wasn’t a big deal, the area usually didn’t have a single car on the road at that time. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case last night. Before Victoria had a chance to react, she saw headlights in her peripheral vision. Her eyes opened up wide, before being struck by a car at a decently high rate of speed.

The vehicle struck Victoria in her right hip and right abdomen. She was thrown on the hood of the car, rolled onto the windshield, and thrown back onto the pavement on the same hip that was initially struck in a matter of a second or two. Victoria’s coworkers heard some sort of commotion and headed back, and were shocked to see one of their own laying in the street, severely injured. The driver of the car immediately got out and started panicking. “oh my god. Oh my god. I didn’t see her!” the driver of the car exclaimed anxiously. Victoria laid on the pavement, barely conscious. Her phone was about 25 feet away, absolutely smashed to pieces. Her right leg was twisted slightly outwards, and there was blood accumulating around her. “holy shit. Holy shit. What do I do?!” the driver cried, continuing her panicky behavior. Her coworkers immediately called 911 and explained that their coworker was struck by a vehicle while crossing the street after work, and needed an ambulance immediately. “is she dead?! Did I kill this girl?!” the driver of the car asked herself, thinking out loud, tears streaming down.

Emergency services arrived within a few minutes. EMS immediately went over to Victoria, the fire department secured the scene and directed what little traffic passed through that particular intersection, and the police were asking the driver of the vehicle questions. “I don’t know! I didn’t see her! I didn’t mean it!” the 30-something year old lady who hit Victoria said to the cops. The cops had said they smelled alcohol on her breath, and asked if she had been drinking that evening. The plot thickens in that regard! Meanwhile, EMS began their initial assessment of Victoria. She was semi conscious, groaning in pain occasionally. The medics removed her top and work pants, and noticed that there was major bruising in the upper right quadrant of the abdomen, lateral malrotation of the right femur, and a large, gaping wound in the groin area between the right thigh and genitalia. The wound was bleeding profusely, and there was pelvic bone protruding from the wound. Open pelvic fractures are an uncommon clinical entity, but they are a challenge to deal with because they’re often associated with complex, unstable pelvic fractures and major internal bleeding and/or hemorrhaging.

While the medics were beginning their initial examination of Victoria, the cops could be heard talking to the driver of the vehicle. “you failed the breathalyzer test ma’am. Your result was 0.13, more than twice the legal limit. You are being placed under arrest for driving under the influence resulting in great bodily harm. This is considered a felony offense in the state of South Carolina.” The officer continues. The driver was then read her Miranda rights, handcuffed, and taken to jail. Even though Victoria wasn’t paying attention (something the defense will likely bring up at trial), the driver of the car turned out to be quite intoxicated.

With the driver being taken into police custody, the medics continued their prehospital care on Victoria. Because there appeared to be serious blood loss, the medics had decided to place Victoria in a pelvic binder. A small seatbelt looking device was placed on both sides of her hips. A buckle was secured, and then a strap was tightened. Victoria moaned loudly in pain, since the device was essentially forcing her broken pelvis back into the correct position. Once the pelvic binder was placed, the bleeding from the wound slowed, but didn’t quite stop. Victoria was placed on a backboard with a c-collar, and taken into a nearby ambulance for urgent transport to our ER.

During the ride over to our hospital, the medics had set up a portable heart monitor with a 5 lead EKG, and obtained IV access. During transport, the young lady’s vital signs were: blood pressure 60/palp, heart rate 132bpm, O2 saturation 97%. The medics had started fluid resuscitation with 300 CCs warm crystalloid for fluid resuscitation and to keep her veins pumped up, a small dose of oxycodone for pain management. Further along during the ride over, Victoria becomes unconscious. For the sake of airways management, the medics elect to perform rapid sequence intubation. A 7.0 ET tube is placed into the young waitress’s airway. Once at the correct depth, the tube is held in place and secured with a blue tube holder.

In the coming minutes, Victoria arrives in our trauma bay. The EMS team gives us a quick rundown of the situation, and we transfer her onto the table underneath the large overhead light. “start the MTP, page the OR and ortho.” I called out to my team. “draw stat trauma labs, keep radiology on standby just in case. We should also do an abdomen+pelvis ultrasound. Get that set up for us Nancy.” Dr Lindsay added. Blood products were hung from the infuser, and the ultrasound machine was set up. The cold, conductive gel was squirted onto the young blonde’s belly, and the wand was placed down. I looked at the ultrasound monitor and saw a retrohepatic bleed in the upper right quadrant of the abdomen, and there was a major bleed in the pelvis causing pressure dependent tamponade. “forget radiology. She needs the OR.” I said, realizing the severity of the girl’s injuries.

Before we had a chance to finish up our examination and send her to the operating room, one of our nurses had discovered Victoria was in pulseless electrical activity. Deep, violent chest compressions were started by one of our nurses. The young lady’s chest caved in, her belly bounced out, and her perky C cup breasts jiggled around in response to the force of the compressions. Epinephrine and atropine were injected into her IV line, and her feet swayed at the other end of the table.

It took a few minutes to obtain a shockable rhythm. Once that happened, the defib paddles were gelled and charged to 250j, before being pressed up against the 19 year old’s bare chest. Her broken body flailed violently in response to the first shock, but there was no apparent change. A 2nd shock was delivered moments later at 300j, causing Victoria’s eyes to open slightly from the electricity. “no change, resuming chest compressions.” Was called out by Dr Lindsay. The cute, tomboy doctor placed the heel of her gloves hands on the young patient’s chest and began pumping away repeatedly. “1… 2… 3… come on, you got your whole life ahead of you…” Dr Lindsay said, thinking out loud. The paddles were ready for the next shock, and everyone stood clear. The 360j shock arched Victoria’s back for a moment, before returning to her previous position. The shock had no effect, so CPR was resumed. Dr Lindsay placed her hands in between the young waitress’s breasts and resumed strong compressions. The patient’s shoulders shrugged and her arms bounced gently with the compressions ongoing. Once the paddles were recharged, they were pressed back up against Victoria’s chest, and the next shock got delivered. Her feet kicked up above the backboard for a second before slamming back down, showing off the cute, silky wrinkles throughout the soles of her size 7 feet.

V-fib still persisted, and the code became more and more repetitive over the coming minutes- CPR, meds, shock, repeat. At the 14 minute mark of the code, the trauma team decided to perform a thoracotomy on Victoria in a last ditch attempt to bring her back. Betadine was splashed across her chest, and then a quick, clean cut was made. A spreader was placed into the incision and pried open the left half of her chest. Upon entry to the chest, the pericardium was incised to deliver the heart, and a vascular clamp was placed on the descending portion of the aorta near the diaphragm. Internal massage was then started. Victoria had a strong, healthy heart with barely any traces of fat on it.

After a cycle of internal massage, the internal paddles were charged to 20 joules, lowered into the young lady’s chest, and the first internal shock was delivered. A dull, wet thump could be heard while her torso jolted sharply in response. The monitors showed no change, so another shock was delivered after a cycle of internal massage. This second shock caused the young blonde’s breasts to jiggle in response to the electricity, but v-fib still remained on the heart monitors. The paddles were recharged to 30 joules, lowered back around her weakly fidgeting heart, and the next shock was delivered. Her toes curled and her feet flexed, showing off the cute, prominent wrinkles of her soles and her fresh white nail polish on her toes.

Victoria was shocked plenty of more times with the internal paddles and maxed out on drugs, but she wouldn’t convert out of v-fib. At the 26 minute mark of the code, it was discovered that Victoria’s pupils were fixed and dilated. At that point, the tough decision was made, and Victoria’s time of death was called at 11:46pm. The ambu bag was detached and the heart monitors were switched off. Her eyes were shut for the final time while the nurses removed the rest of the equipment from the young lady’s battered, lifeless body. Lastly, a toe tag was placed on the big toe of her left foot, and her body was covered with a sheet.

Victoria’s autopsy showed she died from a massive abdominopelvic hemorrhage. The major arteries of the pelvic cavity were compromised, but the Ivc also became partially detached from her liver, explaining the abdominal bleeding.

The woman who hit Victoria had her charges upped to DUI manslaughter and was sentenced to 15 years in state prison for her negligence that evening.

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