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seventeenpins · 7 days

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knock him down a peg

pairing: QZ!Joel x F!Reader x Tess

word count: 4.4k

summary: A follow up to Never Pegged You For A Quitter. After a raid gone wrong, Joel's been acting out. Cue an attitude adjustment. Inspired by this ask! 🩷

content/warnings: threesome, pussy eating, anal fingering, Tess is 'daddy', sub!Joel, fucking with a strap-on, reader is injured, Tess is protective af about reader, Joel nuts a frankly concerning amount, references to fisting, Tess slaps Joel

a/n: uhhhh i've been working on this for MONTHS but i think it's finally ready?? shoutout to my co-writer @ozarkthedog without whom this wouldn't exist -- thank you for letting me scream about all of my horny Tess thoughts, helping me organise my brain, giving me about a million good ideas, and encouraging me the whole way thru, and to @sp00kymulderr for giving me the fic title (did you know you did that?? you did. thank you!!)

The three of you had been planning for weeks; maps spread out across the kitchen table. Packs filled with ammo and food and product. It was an immaculate plan, every variable accounted for.

It still went tits up.

Just that morning, FEDRA had changed patrol routes altogether, so your route out wasn't clear anymore. It was no matter, you'd figured. You could head south, through the old high rises, and hook around.

That's when you discovered why FEDRA changed their routes.

Swarms of infected like you'd never seen them had flooded the buildings, hissing and flailing and scrambling towards you. Tess nearly got bit. And then once you made your drop and collected your payment, you had to go back through again.

Tess and Joel had taken the rear, and you'd gone ahead, ending up face-to-face with a slimy FEDRA lackey who took all of the cards you had on you, half your new product, and still put you in lockup for three days.

All in all, bad.

Arguably better, though, than the noose.

Tess had been waiting for you when you got out and scanned over you as you limped your way out. Your shoulder had been dislocated, but she'd reset it as soon as you were let outside, cussing out the disinterested agents who were watching you, telling you to breathe deep and setting it on two when she made you count to three.

Now, you’re home, sat across from Tess, hissing as she dabbed iodine on the oozing cut beneath your eye. There was a gash on your abdomen that was just shallow enough to avoid the need for stitches. Small miracles. You watched her scan over you, head-to-toe, as if you were hiding some extra life-threatening wound that neither of you knew about yet. Her concern was firm and fierce; never sweet words, but warm hands and a careful touch.

Joel, however, wasn't handling things well. He was pacing back and forth, dangerously quiet. He wore a mean scowl, and his eyes were nearly black with fury. You could see all of his tells; the clench of his jaw, the flash of his eyes, the way his fingers twitched nervously and he refused to make eye contact with you.

The more he paced, the more Tess tensed till suddenly she snapped.

"Sit the fuck down, Joel. You're not helping, pacing like that," she scolded. He practically growled in response.

"It was fuckin' reckless," he spat, "Shouldn't've let her go ahead."

"Her?" you scoff, "We all decided I should go ahead. Someone's gotta do it, and I'm as much a part of this as you are."

He glowered.

"You think you're some kinda savior?” Your shoulder smarts, and the more Joel talks, the more you want to smack him. “Gotta protect me, is that it?"

“You’re more important here,” he argues, punctuating his point by jabbing his finger towards you, “Plottin’ out the routes, trackin’ product, inventory-”

“Joel-” Tess interrupts, “You know as well as I do that she’s been doing this just as long as we have. You wanna know why you weren’t the one going ahead?”

The guard dog reels, as if he didn’t know his place and his role were calculated. As if it weren’t something Tess would ensure.

“You’re talkin’ bout reckless? You’re the one getting reckless, Joel,” Tess hisses.

“It shouldn’ta gone like that-”

“Shit’s gonna go bad, sometimes. But we’re all here. We’re all okay.”

Joel huffs a sigh. “We nearly weren’t.”

Tess ignores him. “And you think being a martyr, putting yourself in danger ahead of us is gonna help us in the long run?”

“If I’d been up front-”

“If you’d been up front, right now we’d be cleaning your oozing face. Maybe you’d have some broken ribs, too.”

“But-”

“Nah. Shut the fuck up, Miller.”

Joel scoffs, nostrils flaring. Shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

The eye roll–that’s the final nail in the coffin.

Tess glowers. “You’d better fix your fuckin’ attitude, Joel, or I’ll fix it for you.”

He grinds his jaw, glaring at you both in turn.

But then Tess sees it; the way he’s starting to get hard in his jeans. You see it too, and you start to notice other things; the flush of his cheeks, his pupils dilated, blown black.

“Oh-,” Tess smirks and turns to you, “Look at that, baby. Looks like he wants a little attitude adjustment.”

You expect him to fire back, make some quip, talk some shit. Instead, he looks ahead. He avoids making eye contact with either of you. A deer in headlights.

“C’mon, Joel.” Tess soothes, stepping forward to rub small circles on his hips, holding and settling him with a surprisingly gentle touch. "Instead of letting you be a stubborn jackass, maybe we oughta fuck some good sense into you.”

Joel doesn’t groan, he just lets out a breath. You do groan.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to be good for us,” she taunts.

You’ve been on the receiving end of Tess’s mean streak before and it’s embarrassing how immediately it excites you. Whenever you think about it, your stomach flips and you have to actively restrain yourself from rubbing your thighs together. Her voice was then as it is now–gleeful and mocking. She made sure you learned your lesson- you fucked up, so now I gotta teach you how to act right.

The last time you’d seen her like that, the night had ended with your ass on fire, covered in raised handprints. Painful indents of bite marks bruised beautifully up along the insides of your thighs, and you’d come so many times you nearly passed out. These days when you touch yourself, you’re thinking of that; how Tess must’ve been wrist deep, fucking her whole fist into you as she opened her mouth, tongue ready and waiting, grinning when your release splashes her face and drips down her chin, telling you, “Now that’s better, baby.”

Now, fully back in the moment, you’re looking at her and you can see the fire in her eyes. Tess grabs you by the collar, kissing you hard. It’s a dizzying few moments as she licks into your mouth, tongue hot and sweet. You love how she tastes.

When she pulls away, you’re breathless and she’s smirking.

“Take a seat, honey,” she tells you, and pushes you back. You stumble and land in the armchair behind you. Then she turns to Joel. “You,” she fixes him with a stern glare, “No touching. Behave.”

She exits the room. You and Joel are left in silence.

You don’t know exactly what Tess has in mind, but you’ve got a pretty good idea.

Joel watches you, wordless. You can feel the energy, the urgency vibrating out from him, but he says nothing. Barely moves. Tess has him trained well.

You unbutton your jeans and lower your zipper. Shimmy them down your hips, past the swell of your ass, and kick them off.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and you know Joel’s just noticed you’re not wearing any underwear. You recline back, letting your legs spread. Letting him see every part of you.

The wound on your abdomen is hot, a burning pulse. Your shoulder aches. Your jaw stings. You’re pretty sure your face is a swollen, puffy mess, especially where the gash beneath your eye still weeps, and there are bruises in the shape of handprints all down your arms.

You need to feel good. Not broken or disregarded, and certainly not made to feel inadequate. You’d gotten your ass handed to you. Now, you need to indulge in some of your more hedonistic pleasures. And, you want to torture Joel, just a little.

Hoping Joel’s watching, but refusing to look up to see, you start to trace along your body. Your fingertips brush your lips first, trailing down your chin, your throat, your collarbone. It’s grounding. Assessing. You need to know what will make you feel good and what will cause you pain.

Slowly, you follow down your shirt, taking a moment to pinch your nipples, tracing a path along your belly, and then to the thatch of curls between your thighs.

You hear a restrained breath, and now you know Joel’s watching. You cup your mound, feel your own heat in your hand. You don’t want to go too far, don’t want to really start before Tess is back, but there’s no harm in warming yourself up.

A few minutes later, as you’re stroking your cunt, feeling yourself start to drip, she walks back in.

What a fucking sight to behold. Her own shirt is unbuttoned, harness secured at her waist and thighs, the firm silicone cock hanging heavy between her legs. She’s beautiful, breasts unconstrained by any bra, nipples hard, and legs so toned. She looks at you, your naked self, and her scowl softens.

She turns to Joel. “Now, that’s a good girl, huh? Look at that.”

Joel says nothing, just grunts a vague noise of affirmation.

Tess raises a brow. “Really, Joel?” she admonishes, “You had plenty to say earlier.”

He’s grinding his jaw, has been grinding his jaw for a while. You start to gingerly pull the shirt you’re wearing off and over your head, and Tess leans down to help, taking care to avoid your fucked up shoulder, all your cuts and bruises.

“This is what’s gonna happen,” she tells Joel, “I’m gonna fuck our girl, and you’re gonna watch. If you’re good, then we’ll fuck you, too. Got it?”

Joel grumbles an affirmation, but Tess is sick of his avoidance. She rounds on him, closing the space between them in only a few steps, and slaps him hard on the cheek.

“-The fuck, Tess.” Joel growls, and he’s mad now, “Goddammi-”

She smacks him again. “This isn’t a negotiation, Joel. You can leave if you want,” her eyes glance down to where his cock strains painfully against the fly of his jeans, “But I’m guessing you want to stay here and play with us.”

Finally, Joel looks at her. Directly at her. It’s like staring at the sun.

“Yes,” he admits, “I want to be here.”

“Good boy.”

Now, her attention turns on you. “How’re you feeling, baby?” she asks.

“Better every minute,” you grin up at her, fingers lazily swirling around your clit as you let yourself feel.

“Let me see,” she commands, and you let her spread your legs, opening your thighs wide as she examines your glistening cunt. She nearly gasps when she takes a look. “Oh, baby,” she praises, “Look at you-”, and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

It feels so vulnerable, having Tess on her knees in front of you, looking at you bare. She breathes in deeply, groaning as her nostrils fill with the smell of you. The vulgar eroticism sends another surge of arousal through you and you’re almost embarrassed at how much it makes you drip.

Gently, she presses an exploratory middle finger against your opening and hisses out a breath when she slips in easily.

She turns her wrist, twisting the digit, letting you feel the width of her fist pressing against your mound. The pressure against you is delicious. It obsessed you, every time you considered it; the way she can make every time feel like the first time. You could never get bored. She’s a force.

You want to taunt her or tease her, rile her up just a little more. You love her rough side. But you know she wouldn’t go for it, the state you’re in, and besides–you’re tired, and the way she’s fingerfucking you feels so goddamn good you can’t even think of a single thing to say.

She goes from stroking your folds and covering you with your own slick, to slipping her ring finger in with her middle. It’s an easy glide, too, and she starts pumping the digits, thumb hard against your clit as she works you open.

“God damn,” she groans, “All beat up and you’re still fuckin’ gushing for me, pretty girl.”

The pressure is overwhelming but you want to endure, need to endure. That doesn’t, however, stop your body from writhing and shaking, and the combination of her words and her ministrations, you know Tess feels how hard you’re clenching around her, feeling yourself get too close, too fast. She winks at you before turning back to Joel.

“C’mon over here,” she beckons him. He obeys, kneeling down beside her. She leans over and narrates. “Look at how she’s taking my fingers. Barely any resistance. Slipped right in, see how wet she is for me?”

Joel hums in acknowledgement, something between a sigh and a growl.

“Good thing she’s this wet already,” she tells Joel, nodding at the strap between her legs, “Otherwise you might have to suck it first-”

His growl turns into something like a whine, desperate and beautiful. You know more than most how much effort he’s putting into not allowing himself to speak. How he must really be desperate to get fucked if he’s restraining himself like this.

“And we know that’s not a punishment for you, don’t we?” She swats him on the cheek, “We all know how much Joel Miller loves suckin’ cock, huh?”

She’s not wrong. His eyes somehow grow darker, and you’re so focused at watching his reactions that you barely even register Tess spreading your legs even further apart till the head of her cock presses against your drooling cunt, and she slides the entire length in, bottoming out in a single smooth thrust.

“JESUS, Tess,” you cry out.

She just grins and holds you by the waist. “Hold on tight baby,” she tells you, “I know you can take all this and then some.”

After a few restrained thrusts, she finds her rhythm and starts fucking you. The initial sensation of being filled starts to wane, and you swear your pussy is a starving entity of its own. It wants and it wants and it wants.

The ache is so good, and she’s deep, too. It’s a perfect balance of pleasure and pressure. With each cant of her hips, you sink further into a blinding euphoria. It’s exactly what you need.

“Taking me so fucking good,” she praises, “Like you were made to take me. Goddamn, baby, you’re dripping like a faucet.”

“Needed this so bad-” you mumble, “Fuck, Tess, I need you-”

“You got me, baby,” she promises, “You got me, I’ll give you anything you need.”

Every word is punctuated by another thrust.

“Tell me what you need, honey.”

“Faster,” you gasp, “Please, Tess, need it faster-”

With a growl, she shifts you, pulls out for a moment and grabs you by the legs. She drags you further down the chair but rests the back of your calves on her shoulder before plunging the strap back in, deeper and rougher than before.

You wince a little, the tender part of your belly stinging, and she notices immediately. Rearranges you, just a little.

When she slides back in, the pain is gone. Only pleasure remains.

“See?” Tess snarls, “She knows how to be good, huh?”

Still holding your legs with one arm, she wraps the other around you and lands a hard smack on your ass, grinning when she feels you gush around her again.

You buck and writhe, and you know you have the stupidest grin plastered across your face.

She makes you dizzy.

“That’s it, baby,” she tells you. “So good, telling me what you need,”

“Fuck–” you rasp, “I’m gonna cum, Tess, please-”

She keeps to the rhythm, letting her fast strokes and the snap of her hips undo you. You’re close, so fucking close, but you can see the way she’s trembling, so focused on you, you don’t think she realises she’s close to the edge too.

Now, the only thing you want is for you both to cum together.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Tess, daddy, cum in me, please–”

A strangled moan leaves her, breathless, and she fucks into you and feels the way you tighten and pulse around the cock, feels the way you drip greedily down her thighs, and that’s enough; Tess comes with you.

As you come back out of the fog, your head is giddy with bliss. You’re tangled up, sweaty, sticky skin pressed together. You hold her close as she runs her hands up and down your back, soothing you. Your breasts are pressed together like a jigsaw puzzle, and the thought is silly, but it’s true.

The strength of your orgasm has knocked you numb, and it takes several moments for your vision and hearing to come back fully. Tess seems to be in the same boat, because it’s at the same time that you both hear it.

Slick squelches. Soft moans.

You both look over at the same time. Tess’s jaw drops. You feel another surge of arousal run through you as you focus on Joel.

“I’m- I’m sorry, honey,” he tells you, “Shouldn’t’a acted like that.”

You barely register his words. Instead, you watch how he’s stripped down near completely, barring his socks. That should make you laugh, but his legs are lewdly spread. With one hand he’s gripping his balls, clearly trying not to touch his drooling cock. With the other, he’s three fingers deep in his asshole, moving desperately. There’s a bottle of lube nearby and you can see its contents dripping down his wrist as he pumps his fingers hard and fast into his aching hole.

Tess looks stuck between telling him off for touching himself, and wholly impressed by his dedication to preparation.

“Well I’ll be damned,” she laughs, incredulous, “Someone’s eager.”

She’s still inside you, and you can feel another rush of your cum drip down the strap. An idea strikes you.

“Fuck him with it,” you tell her, looking down at the thick silicone as she glides out of you, “Fuck him with it, while it’s still dripping with me.”

Tess moves a hand to her breast, pinching and flicking at her own nipple, practically growling at your words. She stares at you for a moment. Then back to Joel.

He’s lost for words, too, it seems. He looks absolutely wrecked. His fingers are still buried deep, but they’re not moving anymore. Focus on the motion is forgotten, he’s just fixed on you both, eyes darting between you, waiting for a decision, any decision, to be made.

“Honey,” she smirks at you, “Why don’t you move over to the head of the bed there, that’s a good girl.”

You get up and scoot back, snorting a laugh as she swats at your ass while you rearrange yourself so your back is against the headboard.

“Spread those legs,” she orders. “Mmm yes, that’s it. My good fucking girl-”

She turns to Joel. “What a nice view, huh?”

Your lips are puffy and used, shining with slick. The room smells like sex, heavy and intoxicating.

“I think you’d better clean up the mess I made of her,” she gestures towards you and Joel doesn’t hesitate. “Hands and knees, Miller.”

He moves from his seat, crawling up the bed, wrapping his hands around your thighs and spreading them further.

The first stroke of his tongue feels like coming home. The hot, wet pass of it is intoxicating, and you’re already so sensitive you don’t need any focus on your clit to feel the build clutch at you again already.

“Good boy,” Tess praises him. He growls into you, the strokes of his tongue growing wider and faster, drinking up every drop of you.

He pulls away for only a moment. “Fuck me, Tess, please-”

“You focus on her and you’ll get what you need,” she promises, “But you’d better move fast, Texas.”

He sighs, but glances up at you. He nods, more weight to it than you’d expect, before he runs another lick up your cunt.

You shudder at the sensation, your legs turning to mush again. His calloused hands scrape against your thighs as he holds them apart, nuzzles at your pussy, dives back in, alternating between licking and sucking.

There are many things that can be said about the man worshiping between your legs, but no one could ever say he eats pussy with anything less than religious devotion.

He nibbles gently in a way that devastates, knocks you back and wears you down. Once you’ve hit one peak it doesn’t take you long to hit the next, and he has you on the edge so damn fast you’d feel embarrassed if you didn’t also feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,-” you breathe, “Fuck, Joel-! Can’t fucking stop coming- Fuuuckkk–!”

He blinks, dark brown eyes gazing up at you as he continues, relentless, barely impeded by the way your body is convulsing from the overwhelm of sensation.

You shudder on his mouth, legs shaking, involuntary whimpers turning into something more like panting whines and moans. You’re pretty sure the entire building can hear you. You really don’t care.

Tess has been watching the whole time, smirking but silent. Now she lines up her still-wet cock against his slick hole.

“Y’ready, Miller?” She asks, and you feel yourself melt at the tenderness of it. You fall in love just a little bit more, every time you see her soft.

He grunts an affirmation. His mouth is still on you but his movements slow and he buries his nose between your folds, nudging at you gently as Tess presses the head of her cock to his slick hole. The most beautiful whine slips out his mouth, reverberating against your cunt. You can feel the way his entire body moves, pressing up into you, as she lets herself loose, thrusting shallowly at first before snapping her hips in longer, deeper strokes.

With one particularly brutal thrust, he knocks forward. The curve of his nose hits against your clit and you come again with a shriek, soaking his face as he takes everything she gives him.

You’re worn out, spent and satisfied. You clutch him by the hair and yank him off of you, and now his moans aren’t muffled anymore.

He keeps his head between your thighs, breathing in your scent as the cum on his face cools and starts to dry. He’s loud, whining and grunting, taking Tess’s cock like it’s his only purpose.

“Fuck, Tessa-” he sobs, the heat of his breath on your used-up cunt. “Feels- so fucking- good.”

“Feels real fuckin good, don’t it?” she echoes, rhythm never ceasing, “Lettin’ your daddy fuck you like this.”

“Uh huh.”

“You wanna be good for me, say thank you?”

“I-” His words come out stilted, punctuated by each thrust. “Yes-”

“Say thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank- Thank- you- daddy-” he chokes.

“Thank you for what?” you prompt, and Tess grins. Joel looks up at you with a flash of something that could be fury or hunger.

“Thank you-” he hisses, “Thank you- daddy- for teaching me a lesson-”

“Good boy,” she soothes, “Say ‘thank you daddy, for teaching me how silly and childish I’ve been.’”

“Thank you daddy,” he echoes, “For teaching me how silly I’ve been. How childish. Ain’t been actin’ right. Not to you honey-” he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. Closes his eyes when he speaks to her. “Not to you either, daddy.”

“You feelin good, baby?” she asks him.

He breathes out a shudder. “Feels so fucking good, but–”

“But?”

“Need more. Need to be touched.”

“Poor baby,” Tess pouts, “I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

He whines, but nods.

“But since you’re taking this lil attitude adjustment so well, I suppose we can let you cum. That sound alright to you honey?”

“Sure,” you beam, “He can rub himself up against the mattress if he likes. Cum just like that.”

“Mmm yeah,” Tess agrees, “You able to cum from rutting up against the bed?”

“Yes- yes anything, please-”

“Love it when he begs,” you sigh and Tess hums in affirmation.

She presses him down, keeps her cock in him as she knocks him so he’s flat on the bed, legs splayed, swollen dick rubbing against the covers as she holds him by the hips.

This whole time, she’s kept a steady pace. Not quite brutal, but certainly not leisurely. You see the way his own hips rock as he humps the bed, trying to find an angle that’ll give him the release he needs.

“I’m- fuck, I’m getting close Tessa– Gonna fuckin cum–”

“Good,” she smacks him hard and watches the flesh of his ass shake deliciously from the blow.

The masochist he is, it’s all he needs to tumble over the edge.

He comes with a shout, cum painting the bedsheets and pooling on the fabric, coating his stomach, his cock, his balls. Tess is still inside him, still hitting his prostate with every stroke, and it strengthens his orgasm to a point of almost overwhelming intensity. After a few moments, you’re not sure if he’ll ever stop coming, the amount of it verges on concerning as the pool of cum threatens to trickle over the edge of the bed.

Finally, his orgasm comes to an end, and Tess’s thrusts slow.

They both reel back, panting, Tess pulling out gently and Joel whimpering at the loss of sensation.

“Good boy,” she tells him, unbuckling the harness and letting the strap fall to the floor.

“Fuuuuuckkkkkk-” he sighs, and you giggle. His eyes snap up to you, but he’s laughing too.

He shakes his head and starts to peel himself up from the sticky mess he’s made. “Sorry I’m such a jackass.”

“Eh,” you shrug, “We know you’re a jackass.”

He nods, considering.

“And–” Tess joins in, “We know how to set you straight.”

He snorts.

“Just– I know you were scared out there,” you tell him, and he must’ve been fucked real good because he doesn’t even try to argue. “We’re always gonna have close calls. But we’re in this together, yeah? Don’t shut me out just because you’re afraid.”

He’s silent for a moment. Then nods at you.

“Okay, honey. And- thank you, Tessa. You know how t’ keep me in line.”

“Anytime, Texas,” she grins.

You get up and turn on the shower. The rest of the day, you’ll get clean. You’ll rest. You’ll let your aching bones start their healing. Just over the sound of the shower spray, you hear Tess speaking to Joel; “Now, unless I’m much mistaken, it’s your turn to change the sheets-”

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hangmanssunnies · 2 years

Text

Inconceivable!

Summary: No one tells you how hard it is to have to plan to leave and hurt the love of your life. However, when you know you want different things, you must choose. And your baby is probably the only thing you can ever imagine choosing over Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw.

Pairings: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Fem! Reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Word count: 8.2k words

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, fertility problems, panic attacks, Angst with a happy ending, threatening to break Brad's heart, so many references to The Princess Bride,Soft!smut, Soft!Bradley, Organized!Bradley. Let me know if I missed any others.

Authors Note: No use of Y/N. As always, I love BradBrad so much y'all. I don't know if I can write nonangsty smut. I was thinking of him and kids. The next thing you know I wrote whatever this is. Bradley wearing glasses 🥵. I hope you enjoy this! My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are always appreciated as well! I love reading through them.

You knew Bradley never wanted to be a father, which was just fine with you because you knew you couldn't have kids. You had known about your fertility problems for a long time and had long ago come to peace with it.

Y'all had several conversations about children when you first started dating. Once you both felt like your feelings on the matter were hashed out, you had never really felt like revisiting the topic. Your life wasn't less or empty without kids. You were perfectly content with the life you and Rooster had made together.

That's why you have no idea what to do with the situation you are in right now. You were at your gynecologist for your annual check-up. Taking a pregnancy test was standard procedure, something you didn't even bat your eyes about or worry over. What you weren't prepared for was the positive results back.

"I'm sorry?" You choked out in disbelief. "That can't be possible."

"I know this is probably surprising, but," your doctor starts to say before you cut them off.

"No. No, I have known since I was 17 that I can't get pregnant."

"Well, you are and can. Sometimes miracles like this can happen," your doctor responded kindly.

She went on to ramble more and talk about some next steps and options. You felt shocked, not entirely sure how to process the information she was throwing your way. You left the office a bit later, promising to set up a follow-up appointment.

Your first thought was to get an abortion. It was the obvious solution. Bradley didn't want kids, and you hadn't wanted them either. Right? You tried to think if it was true. Was it that you didn't want kids or just that you couldn't have kids?

For the next week, you tried to run the pros and cons and sort out your feelings on what was happening. You tried to act as normal as possible with Bradley. You didn't want to bring anything up until you knew how you felt.

Part of you kept coming back to when you were a little girl to how growing up before you knew that you couldn't have kids, the promise you would whisper to yourself. The promise of how you would do better than your own parents did.

You thought of the fantasies you used to have: the baby shoes, baking in the kitchen guiding a tiny pair of hands, sports practices, matching sweaters for family holiday cards, first recitals, proms and homecomings, dropping them off for their first day of college, and parent's weekends where you buy cheap booze, family trips, the possibilities of grandkids.

Now suddenly, all those fantasies were a possibility again. A reality that could come true in less than a year. Thinking about them brought an ache to your chest. An ache that manifested as want, a desire so strong all the cons you could come up with didn't really matter, well, all of them but one.

The biggest problem of the puzzle was Bradley, the love of your life. You had absolutely no doubt that he would do the right thing and stay by your side. However, you didn't want him to be a dad because he had to do it. The thought of him being forced to do something he didn't want to, just because it's the right thing, made your stomach roll. The idea of part of him resenting you, and eventually your child too, because of something you chose. That was something you couldn't live with.

So even though you felt a heavy hurt in your chest, you knew you had to leave Bradley. You weighed that heartbreak compared to the want for this child that had bloomed in your chest, and one outweighed the other. So now, on top of thinking about the baby, you started to think through quiet plans of how it would hurt your husband least to leave him.

You almost broke down one night and told him the two of you had been lying on the couch together. Bradley was casually spooning you from behind, one of his hands playing with a lock of hair while the movie he picked played on the TV. Of course, it was the Princess Bride, one of his all-time favorites.

You were half watching the movie, half dozing. Bradley was too good at soothing you, and you had started noticing a significant change in your energy levels as of late. You mentally made a note to bring it up at the follow-up doctor's appointment you had scheduled.

"I would do that," Bradley suddenly says, bringing you back to alertness.

"Oh really?" you hum, unsure what he was talking about.

"Yes, I would wait five years and chase after kidnappers, fight the prince, build a tolerance to poison, all for you, baby."

Bradley's honest love for you warmed your chest like it always did. However, the current circumstances turned that warmth into a bitter aftertaste in the back of your throat. What you were doing haunted you. His hand drops your hair and traces down your arm until he threads your fingers together. His large hand in yours helped further break down your resolve.

"What if I asked you to do something you didn't want to?" You ask him hesitantly.

"If you wanted me to, then I would," Brad tells you plainly. As if that were a given, you should just expect that his desires would line up with yours. It doesn't put you at ease like you were hoping it would.

"What if it was something you really didn't want to. Something bigger than sword fights and rodents of unusual size?"

His hand flexes squeezing yours a little tighter. Bradley doesn't say anything for a moment, and you wait with bated breath. Finally, he nuzzles your neck with his nose before asking, "Do you have something specific in mind?"

That was the moment, the moment that you could come clean to him. You could be honest and lay it all out on the table, but you don't. You can't. You aren't ready to let him go yet; it's too soon, you tell yourself.

So you lie to him, finally pushing the words out your throat, "No, nothing specific. Just asking."

Bradley's fingers that are laced with yours squeeze yours again, and you have the sneaking suspicion that he doesn't believe your lie. "Well, even if it was big. We would do what we always do. We'll talk about it and figure it out. Then I'll agree with what you want, just like I always do."

"You shouldn't do things you don't want to do just for me, Brad," you chastise him lightly. The heavy pit in your chest constricts even more.

He kisses your head, pulling you a little tighter against him in his embrace. "Sure, whatever you say, babe."

The whole thing sits with you for another week, and the doctor's appointment you made starts to creep closer. You are reading an article in incognito mode on your phone about nutrition during pregnancy and the importance of vitamins. Occasionally, you glance up to see Bradley sitting on the other side of the couch.

He has a thick World War Two biography book wide open, nearing the end. His reading glasses are perched on the edge of his nose. Even though you had teased Brad relentlessly when he first got them, the glasses were actually really hot. The sight of them on him now makes heat start to bud in the bottom of your abdomen.

You lock your phone and set it aside, looking more thoroughly at Bradley now. He was so so very handsome. You found it unlikely there would ever be another man you would allow into your bed after him. The edges of panic that seep into you every time you consider the inevitable end with Bradley makes a reappearance. You push it to the side as much as possible, but it creates a sudden desperation for him in you.

"Bradley."

"Yes, my love?" He asks, not looking up from the page in front of him.

"I need something."

"What do you need?" He turns the page of his book and pushes those damn glasses higher up the bridge of his nose.

"I need you," you tell him, biting your lip.

His eyes snap up from the page to look at you, and his eyebrows raise, processing your words. "What was that?"

"I need you to make love to me, Brad. I'm on fire."

He dog ears the page he is on his book and sets it on the coffee table, turning to give you his full attention. His hands casually trace up your leg, massaging the tense muscles of your claves.

You let out a soft sigh at the feeling. A few moments later, Bradley crawls up your body, pressing soft kisses to your neck and then melding his lips to yours. You sigh into his mouth, enjoying the taste of him, trying to savor it. You pull off his reading glasses so they aren't in the way, haphazardly tossing them away.

When he starts to pull away, you wrap your arms around him, drawing him closer, not wanting any space between you. You trace one of your hands down his neck and under the collar of his shirt, tracing his shoulders, kissing him harder, slipping your tongue into his mouth.

"What has got you so needy, sweet girl?" He asks you, confused, pressing a few soft sweet kisses to your throat.

"Just you, handsome man," you tell him, trying to draw Bradley back to your lips. Bradley smiles, hearing your words but then shifts off you and the couch.

Before you can protest at his absence, he goes to pick you up. Like every time Bradley picks you up, you are hit with the worry that it will be the time he can't do it, or he will drop you, make heaving grunting sounds, or some other terrible mishap will come to pass. It doesn't, though; he secures you in his arms and starts to carry you through the house to your room.

You start pressing kisses to the readily presented column of his neck then. When he reaches your bed and goes to put you down, you sink your teeth into the space where his neck starts to curve into his shoulder. Although he lets out a hiss, you hadn't held back with the bite. You made it intending to mark him.

When he does set you down, you scramble hurriedly to start undressing him, desperate to see and feel the expanses of his golden skin. Unfortunately, you only get Brad out of his teeshirt before he stops you. His large hands close around your wrists, holding them tight, preventing them from moving further down, lower than the top of his abdomen.

"Slow down, pretty girl. We got all the time in the world," he says. You know, he said it to be soothing, but he didn't know how wrong he was. He didn't understand the finite amount of time you had left together.

So when he lets go of your wrist, you instead start to pull off your own clothes and settle yourself on the bed. You stare at him expectantly and let out the smallest huff.

"Slow down." He tells you again, "And, don't move your hands off the headboard," When he is satisfied with how you are holding it, he starts to kiss down your body.

"Why are you so worried?" he breaths out against your inner thigh, pressing feather-light kisses to the skin there. "You know I'm going to take care of you, my love. I always do. There's no reason to be so worried."

Bradley's words manage to hit the exact spot of comfort you are actually needing. Even though you are planning on leaving him. You still want him to take care of you; you want to do this with him. But, you also know that can't happen. So, regardless you feel more at ease; the desperation in you is not quite so hot, not making you jittery with need.

Bradley rewards the way your body relaxes by licking stripe over you. You resist the urge to let go of the headboard and bury your hands in Bradley's thick hair. The way he sucks your clit into his mouth to roll his tongue over makes you arch, needing more. Bradley lays his arm across your hips, applying pressure to keep you still under him.

The more you work to struggle against his arm, feeling your high edge closer and closer, a thought suddenly pops into your head. Is it still okay for Bradley to hold you down like this? Are you going to hurt your baby? It's an irrational thought, you know that, but your body instantly reacts to it. Of course, so early into your pregnancy, there is no reason this would be a problem, but you still drop your hips down onto the bed, no longer trying to move them against him. Your distraction pulled you far back from the edge.

You try to focus on the feel of Bradley's tongue and how warm he feels with his shoulders caged between your thighs. But only a few breaths later, Bradley is lifting his head to look at you.

He has a crease between his eyebrows, and his tongue that was just around you darts out to lick to own lips. "What just stopped you from coming?" he asks, concerned. His voice is thick and low. His hold over your waist disappears as he draws soothing circles on your hip. Bradley's concern draws you back to him and into the want you have for him.

You let go of the headboard and stretch out your arms. Then, burying your hands in his hair, you tilt Brad's face to fully meet your eyes.

"Make love to me, Bradley," you beg him. He stares at you for a very long minute, and you stare back at him, waiting. Finally, he pulls his eyes away from yours and stares at your center in front of him.

"As you wish," he mutters the words. Rooster pulls himself off the bed and pulls his sweats off. You drag your eyes over his naked body, taking him all in. You lick your lips at the sight.

"You are breathtaking, Brad," you tell him. That smile that melts your heart shows up on his face, and he glows under your praise.

You crawl to the edge of the bed and trace your hands up his muscular thighs. You guide your hand upwards. You brush over his cock, not really giving it any attention, before outlining his side, watching his stomach and abs contract under your fingers. You go slowly, trying to memorize the feel of his skin under you. You kiss along his chest too.

He leans down and captures your lips. You kiss Rooster back, glad that the fervor has left your body, but you are no less desperate for him. The desire to memorize him doesn't go.

You urge him onto the bed, pushing him on his back. You straddle Bradley, settling over him, with his cock nestled in between your lower lips. You give a small rock, his head bumping into your clit. You moan a little and repeat the motion.

Leaning forward, you rest your hands on his chest to give you more leverage. Rooster moves his hips with you increasing the friction. The pace is slow and almost teasing for both of you.

Shifting your weight, you lean and kiss him again. Bradley's tongue slips into your mouth, running against yours. One of his hands comes up and rests on your hip, urging you, pulling you further down to rub against him harder. His other hand cups one of your breasts, his thumb running over your nipple in swirling strokes.

You break his embrace just to reach your hand and guide him inside. Bradley lets out a heavy sigh as he slips into you. You resist the urge to slide all the way down his length, keeping it slow.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he tells you, biting his lips.

"Love how you fill me, Brad," you sigh once he is fully hilted. Both of you are breathing more elevated. When you start to move your hips again, Bradley closes his eyes and presses his head back into the bed.

You immediately stop moving, glaring down at him. "No," you say, and his eyes open instantly, looking at you again. You reach up a hand to grip his chin affectionately, holding his face in place. "I need to see you."

"You are so beautiful," he tells you. Bradley does as you want and doesn't break eye contact again.

The room is filled with both of your moanings as you work together at a slow, steady pace. The way his hands run along your skin and back is almost reverent. The heat in you starts to build again. You grind down hard onto Bradley so that your clit gets more stimulation.

Rooster's right hand comes around and settles on your lower stomach, applying pressure and letting his thumb dip down to brush your clit in light strokes. You gasp, a moan breaking from your throat. You freeze on top of Bradley's cock, enjoying the zing his thumb just sent up your spine.

"That's right. So good." Bradley moans out, pressing his thumb harder into you. Even though he is filling you so deliciously, you don't feel close enough to him. You feel like you want to crawl into his skin. That would be the only thing that would satisfy your need for him.

You grab his hand that isn't on your clit and thread your fingers together. His hand grips yours back. Bradley doesn't make any movement to shift either of your hips, content to play with your clit and stare into your eyes.

"Fuck, I love you." Bradley groans out, biting his lower lip. You start to rock your hips into his again, but for the most part, keeping him fully hilted inside you. You almost feel like you are drowning in his eyes with how he looks up at you. His heavy-lidded gaze makes you clench around him.

Your moans and quiet pants mix with his. The tension in you grows as you swirl your hips into his.

"Need this, need you." Bradley swirls his thumb a little harder and does break eye contact to nip your neck, sitting more up on the bed to get a better angle. Having more of your skin pressed together helps ease more of the ache in you.

You grip his hair again, pulling him up, shifting, so you are chest to chest. Bradley's free hand clutches you close to him. You trace the scars on his cheek with your lips before kissing him again.

"I love you," you sigh against his mouth. He groans and rocks his hips into yours, creating a bit more friction. Rooster understands just what you need, not pulling out of you.

The two of you build a rhythm together; finally, you can't hold back anymore. The bubble in you bursts, and you clench hard around Bradey's cock. Bradley takes a few more gasping breaths and then cums in you with a low moan. Bradley starts to move like he is going to pull out of you, so you whine and hold him closer.

"No, no. I need you closer," you tell him. You are still desperate to have him near. You press your nose into Rooster's neck, breathing in his natural musky scent. Trying to absorb the smell entirely, memorizing it before biting the skin and tasting it.

"Woah. Woah," Bradley says breathily. You let out a low hum in response, trying to savor his sounds as well. You wiggle your hips against him again, where he is still half hard. You consciously clench around his dick, reminding yourself how full Bradley makes you.

"Baby, stop," he says. Rooster's voice is wrecked, and his large hands hold your hips still. At first, you don't even hear his request until he repeats it more forcefully. Then he rolls you over onto your back and pulls out of you quickly. You gasp at the sudden loss of him. You have to lay there for a moment, trying to reorient yourself. Bradley is sitting on the edge of the bed, panting hard, his hands on his knees.

"Bradley?" You croak out, reaching a hand hesitantly towards him. He looks back at you, and his face is a mix of panicked and furious.

"What the fuck was that?" He asks you in a low growl.

"What was what?"

"Don't bullshit me."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," you tell him, drawing your eyebrows close together.

"That was was goodbye sex," he says slowly. Your mouth drops open, and you try to reach around your rattling brain to come up with an answer, an excuse. However, you find it completely empty.

"That was the exact kind of sex we have before I leave and deploy. You had the same look." Bradley was almost shaking, and you had no idea what to say that wouldn't be a lie.

"What's going on? Something has been wrong for weeks. I keep waiting for you to talk to me, and you fucking haven't."

"I —" you start to say, but Bradley's eyes are so captivating, so genuine, you can't lie to him. So before you even know what you are saying, the words fall out of your mouth, "I'm leaving."

Rooster physically recoils at your words. The line of his back is taut, and his eyebrows draw together. His mouth presses into a tight line. His jaw flexing, and you can tell he is clenching his teeth. "What did I do wrong?"

"No, sweetie," you say quickly. "It's not you. It's me." You tell him gently. It was you, well, you and this baby, but Brad didn't need to know that. Your words only seemed to make him more upset.

"Are you kidding me? You didn't just say that." He mutters it under his breath, pulling at his short curls in frustration and glaring at you. He is so tense the veins in his bicep and neck start to pop.

"I'm sorry," you offer him quietly.

"I don't want to hear sorry. I want to hear a reason. Were you going to tell me? Or just planning to disappear?"

"Of course, I was going to tell you."

"When?"

"Soon."

"Why? "

"I can't..."

"No. I think I deserve to know why the love of my life is leaving me," Bradley says, frustrated. He stands up from bed, goes to his drawers, and pulls on some boxers to throw on. He also grabs one of his old Sigma Pi shirts out of his drawer and throws it for you to shrug on.

You felt shame and frustration building in you. You didn't want to deal with this situation right now. You didn't want to have to tell Bradley why. Then to your absolute horror, and probably the hormones coursing through you, you burst into tears.

Bradley's pacing halts for a moment at the sight of your tears, but then he resumes momentarily as he balls his fist tight. His knuckles turning a paler shade.

"We want different things." You gasp out between the sobs racking your body.

"We want different things," he repeats slowly, like he is trying to piece out some hidden meaning in the words.

"Yes," you hiccup nodding your head.

"How could that be possible?" He questions you sharply. "If that were the case, we wouldn't have gotten married. And you didn't mention anything when we had our last relationship check-in."

Bradley was big on communication. He insisted y'all have seasonal relationship check-ins with each other to talk about anything that had happened and how you were feeling about your relationship. This conversation should have probably been reserved for the next one, but you couldn't wait a few more weeks before leaving, or Bradley would know.

You were going to start showing at some point; while all the articles you read were inconsistent about when that might happen, it would happen eventually. You knew it would probably be impossible to leave Rooster if he knew that you were pregnant. Every moment with him weakened your resolve to do the right thing.

"Things change, people change." You weakly tell him. Not able to conceive a better excuse.

"I don't understand why you are jumping into leaving me. Baby, why won't you talk to me?" Bradley suddenly dropped hard to his knees on the wood floor at the side of the bed. You winced at the sound it made. He pulls one of your hands into both of his. "Please talk to me," he begs you, holding your hand delicately in his. The puppy dog look Bradley has mastered coming out in full force.

"I can't…"

"You can," he reassures you, swiping a thumb across your pulse point. You felt your stomach roll, the emotions in you going haywire.

"I'm…" you trail off and then shake your head at him in denial of this situation. As soon as you tell Bradley, it will be over.

"It's okay, baby. Anything. You can tell me anything. Talk to me. I won't be mad," he adds on for your benefit. Your plans all crumbled at that moment because how can you deny Bradley Bradshaw anything when he begs for it.

"I'm pregnant," you finally whisper in a barely audible voice. With how Bradley reacted to your words, you might as well have screamed them. First, he flinches like a whole body flinch. Every muscle you can see tensing. He shutters and his grip on your hand tightens to where it is almost painful.

Bradley freezes like that for a moment, blinking at you owlishly, before he drops his head down, hiding his face from your view. Finally, he presses his face down into the bed.

You wait with bated breath. Rooster's grip on your hand didn't lessen in the slightest. You feel panic settle in the back of your throat when his shoulders start to tremble, and he still hasn't said anything.

"Bradley?" You flex your hand, resisting his tight grip, and he releases you. His hands fall limply on the bed. He still hasn't looked at you, though.

Tears start to streak down your face faster, and a small sob hitches in your throat. "I am sorry," you tell him sincerely.

"Are you really?" His low voice asks muffled.

"Sorry, or pregnant?" You ask pulling up the collar of his shirt you are wearing to wipe away some of your tears. "Because it's both."

His hands come to clasp themselves together, and you briefly wonder if he is praying. The shaking of his shoulders and the inability to see his face make it increasingly impossible to understand his reaction.

Finally, he looks at you, and those hazel eyes bleed back at you, tears still falling down his face staining his cheeks a bright red even through the healthy tan he has right now. Bradley's eyes trace over your face looking like he is searching for any trace of a lie. Then he examines your body under his shirt like he might already see a difference.

As if there was a difference, he would be able to notice now that he didn't notice before when you were naked, and he was inside of you. You wrap your arms around your chest, hugging yourself under his scrutiny.

"I'm going to keep it." You finally tell him now that Bradley's shining eyes are available for scrutiny again. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his face falls into a frown. "I'm sorry," you say again.

You try to think of the right words to explain yourself to him. "When I found out, I realized I wanted this. I know we always said we didn't. But I really want this baby, Bradley. I am sorry I kept it from you. I just didn't know how to tell you. And then I saw these baby shoes in the store. They were so cute." Your fingers knot into the edge of the worn frat shirt you are wearing. His hazel eyes aren't giving you much to go off of. They are still darting around your face like he is trying to figure out what you are telling him.

Brad abruptly stands up in the middle of your rambling. So, you halt your words. Watching him as he walks out of the room. You strain your ears, trying to listen to where he went. You hear the hallway door open and beeps coming from the safe. After hearing it click open and seal again, Bradley's feet can be heard on the hallway floor again.

Your mind runs, trying to think of what he could have grabbed from the safe. Your important documents? You silently make a note that was something that you need to be sure to pack. You wouldn't want to come back to Bradley to get your passport or something after leaving. Could it be money? Was he going to give you money to leave with and give you some of the cash you two had been saving to move?

The thoughts make breathing extra hard, and you start to suck air in and out rapidly. The panic floods your veins, making the walls of the room shrink inward towards you. Sharp tingles prick at your fingertips and toes.

Before you can run through any other possible scenario, he gets back.

You can't focus on Bradley enough to see him through the black that starts to edge in at the corner of your vision. You desperately try to pull a gasping breath in your chest. The action of breathing is suddenly too overwhelming.

The panic of what you had just done finally cutting into you. That Bradley now knew the secrets you had been harboring so close to your chest. There is wringing in your ears, the shuddering wracking your body. You curl into yourself to try and shield yourself from the hurt and panic ringing through your body.

Then, you are engulfed. There isn't enough weight on the outside of you to combat the storm of panic that was trying to burst out from the inside of your veins. Numbness fills your body, and you know you are close to passing out. The storm brewed inside you, desperate to escape your body, desperate to take you out at the same time.

Heaving in breaths gets harder and more difficult. You dig your nails hard into the skin of your thighs, trying to scramble for anything to steady yourself. Fighting each desperate moment when there is s shift.

At first, you don't know what has changed. However, your breaths get a gasp longer, allowing slightly more oxygen, and the black in your vision starts to recede. You slam your eyes shut at the nausea you feel. The more air you can finally take in, the more you are allowed to start making sense of anything besides your own haywire body.

You are wrapped in your weighted blanket, and the extra pressure is aided by Bradley. He is holding you tight within his arms and legs, and he has you pulled close to his chest.

His legs are wrapped around your hips and crossed in front of you. Giving the front of your body room. Your legs are trapped between you two. One of his arms is crossed over your chest, and the other is petting your head soothingly, playing with your hair occasionally.

Bradley is humming to you. You try and focus on the tune. It's like a lifeline; you cling to the sound, letting it help your thoughts trail away from your panic. You keep trying to breathe bigger, longer breaths consciously now.

It's a tune you have heard before. Finally, Bradley breaks from the humming, whispering one of the lyrics into your ear, and you can immediately place the song.

"Love of my life," he mutters lowly into your ear, and then he returns to his humming. You are flashed back to a different time he sang this song to you.

He had been perched on the bench of a piano. Fingers gliding over the keys in time, his sweet voice dipping between octaves. It was Love Of My Life, by Queen. It is the song Bradley sings to you before every single deployment.

The song feels like a confirmation that you two will not be making it. A confirmation he is letting you go. This is the song that always fills the space between you when parting ways. The small semblance of recovery you had made is gone. Your breaths start to quicken again as you are dragged back into the panic.

Bradley's arms flex hard, and there is slightly more pressure around you. The beads of the weighted blanket shifting under his hands. He continues humming the song, but this time he peppers in a few more of the lyrics.

"Love of my life, don't leave me," he croons softly into your ear.

You don't know how long Bradley holds you waiting for you to calm down. You don't ever feel at ease, but the slow breaths and Bradley's soothing voice help bring you down from the high and worst of the panic attack.

You manage to let out a little whimper, and Bradley's arms start to loosen around you in slow intervals. You turn your face to the side, slotting your eyes up to catch a glimpse of him. Bradley has his eyes closed, and his face is splotchy and red from crying still. You fill in some of the lyrics to his humming in a cracked, barely there voice. Those beautiful eyes flash open, hearing your voice join his humming.

He won't stop humming, though. Rooster's hazel eyes are so intense, a medusas snare, that even as hard as you try to close your eyes, you aren't successful. They have captivated you entirely. Bradley finishes humming the song and lets his arms slip from around you. His legs uncross, and they fall flat on the bed on either side of you.

You push the weighted blanket off your top, so it is pilled around your legs as you ease out of your curled position.

"BradBrad," you whisper for him. You are still trembling at the very tips of your fingers. The buzz and tingles at the front of your nose are still persistent, but feeling has returned to the rest of your body. The needles fade out of your hands and legs.

"Love of my life," he hums sweetly again. His eyes have a tiny bit of worry, but for the most part, they are full of love and adoration for you. His body is borderline hot to the touch and feverish behind you. His heart is thumping loudly under your ear.

Brad's now loose hands find new purchase, gliding over your hips, tracing slow, steady circles. Then his left hand starts creeping forward further. Bradley's large hand is suddenly under his shirt and splaying out flat against your lower belly. That is where it finds its perch.

You gasp at the feeling of his hand, at the placement of it. Brad's fingers make the tiniest indents pressing into your skin. Your breath hitches at his squeeze. The metal of his wedding ring is warm against your skin, a nice contrast to the rest of his hand.

Hearing the way your breath hitches, Bradley immediately lays his hand fully flat. Bradley now retreating to a feather-light touch. His fingers swirl in an unknown pattern on your skin. His hands like to trace the shapes of flight paths he has memorized.

It was something Bradley had confessed to you one night during pillow talk. The two of you sprawled together. You were laying half on his chest. His fingertips were tracing the length of your spine, in feather-light trials, moving from the base of your spine to the small of your back, then following the path again. His fingers would sometimes brush into your hair and give small scratches before tracing your flesh again.

"How do you do that?" You finally had asked him.

"Do what?" He responded, but something about the glint in his eye told you he knew exactly what you were referring to. Rooster just wanted you to admit it out loud.

"You are so consistent, but you keep me on my toes." Bradley's hand stills where it had been gliding on your back. Then he started to trace once more, but this time his fingers making small movements and taking on a new drag like pattern dancing across your back.

"Is that right?" He asked you, but there was a full-blown boyish smirk donning his face.

You nodded your head, licking your lips. The tingles that his hands were sending through your body started to warm you up even after just having finished with him. "Yes, it rocks my world. So, why don't you let me on the secret?"

"I'm just that good, baby," he told you cheekily.

"Bradley Bradshaw." You warned lowly.

"It's flight paths."

"What?"

"I use the flight paths I have memorized," his fingers danced in a looping motion doubling back and then tracing forward again.

"They make it easy to loop, but it's long enough that there is different pacing, or I use the piano," He told you, letting his fingers tap and shift along your back as if it was a set of ivories suddenly. It had made you giggle.

"That might have been one of the sexiest things you have ever told me, Bradley." You had told him before you kissed him silly. And letting him showcase those skills with his tongue for the second time that night.

Now, Brad's hand that is lying against your stomach also starts to follow a pattern. You open your mouth, but Bradley quickly cuts you off.

"Please, don't say sorry."

"But I am."

"That was a bad attack."

It was true that you hadn't had one that severe in a while. "I'm—"

"Do not say sorry," he repeats. You sigh heavily and move to stop leaning against Bradley. However, he doesn't let you. The hand on your hip and lower abdomen fighting you and drawing you flush against him. He settles you, so you are comfortably leaning against his chest again.

"I am sorry," Brad finally says, almost a whisper in your ear.

"You are sorry?"

"Yes."

"Why?" You question him. Not sure you understand what he is apologizing for.

"Why are you going to leave me?" Brad asks instead of answering your question.

You sigh and close your eyes. You lean your head back, so it's settled on Bradley's shoulder. Then take a deep calming breath before responding. "I know you don't want kids. You have always been very honest about that, and it's not your fault I'm pregnant.

"Well, I don't think you went and got pregnant by yourself. It's kind of a process that takes two contributing parties. Unless you are going to tell me that it's someone else's." Bradley says the words so incredulously that you know he has no doubt the baby is his.

"I know you don't want this, but I realized I do."

"What if I do want this?"

"I'm not going to let you do this just because you feel obligated, Bradley," you tell him tiredly.

"No. I want this."

"How could that be?" You ask.

You feel him shift behind you, and you open your eyes to see what he is doing. Bradley is reaching to the bedside table where you see a huge binder sitting.

It is a binder that you know well. Bradley is a meticulous and organized person. He likes to refer to this binder as your Life Plan Binder. It was full of timelines, dates, references, and lists. Everything Bradley feels is necessary for y'all's life.

You realize that this one is different from the one that lives on his desk. It is slimmer, and the front doesn't have a picture of the two of you slotted in the cover that the other did.

"The LPB?" You ask him, confused.

His left hand makes itself at home again on your lower abdomen, while his right hand puts the binder on your lap. Finally, you read the cover where it says alternative plans in bold lettering.

"I'm sorry I left earlier, but I needed to get this." He mutters into your ear. Brad's tone is deeply apologetic. He flips the binder open, and there are labeled tabs. You fully realize this is a binder you have never seen before. You scan the tabs and freeze up in Bradley's hold when you see the one he is thumbing to.

It is towards the back, behind the different tabs, including restations, health, new cars, vacations, and retirement, is a tab that has a simple label. It's blue and just says, baby. Bradley flips to the tab, and you see the cover page of the section with the table of contents. In bold at the top of the page, you read Baby Bradshaw.

A sob that ends up coming out as a broken laugh ripping from your chest. The section contents was filled out with thoroughly thought out plans on you having children, from a section with important timelines, appointments to schedule, college savings plans, and a section with boys' and girls' names that he likes.

You bring one of your hands up to stifle the sobs that are bubbling in your chest. You hold your hand close over your mouth to try to hold back the sound. His fingers traced over the page and the table of contents for the section.

"What is this?" You finally ask him.

"It's my alternate life plan binder. For you know, if other things come up."

"Why do you have a Baby Bradshaw section?" You hesitantly ask. His hand is still warm against your stomach, and he flexes his fingers.

"Well, a while ago, I started thinking about kids," he trails off, and you start looking through the table of contents again. You see that the most robust and largest section is actually related to adoption. You feel your heart melt in your chest. A new bright feeling of hope blossoms looking at the care, time, and thought he has put into this. As he continues, "and well… You know how I am. I wanted to be prepared for that possibility."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I've been ruminating, and I don't know. Maybe I would have mentioned it at our next check-in. But I knew you don't…" Bradley doesn't finish his sentence, and you lose your mind a little bit.

You pull the large binger up into your hands and shift. You struggle and move until you turn in his grip. Your legs wrapped around Brad's waist. You want to see his face, which is easier in this position. The hand that had been placed on your stomach curls around your back and waist, steadying you against him.

"You changed your mind?" You ask him. You let your hands trace over his chest, settling on cupping his face. Then, staring into his eyes, you look for any trace of anger or deceit.

"You seem to also have changed your mind, baby," he takes the binder from where it was awkwardly pressed in between you two. It allows you to settle closer to him. Bradley sets the binder to the side, momentarily breaking eye contact to make sure none of the pages are creased. Your chests were almost flush together. You wrap your arms around his neck, and then he is the one to hold your face. His eyes reconnect with yours, and you once again feel like you are caught in them.

The intensity and openness in his gaze make your lips move faster than your brain to lay out the whole truth for him. "I don't think that I ever wanted to not have kids. I had just accepted it because I knew that I couldn't." You explain, not breaking eye contact. Bradley's thumb traces a slow circle against your cheek.

"I would never let you do this by yourself."

"I can't just throw a wrench like this in your life, Brad."

He immediately starts shaking his head in protest. "It's our life. I'm not going to lie to you and say that you didn't hurt my feelings. If you left me," Bradly heaves a heavy shaky breath. You briefly wonder if he is going to cry again. Then he continues to explain, "I would be broken… shattered. I feel even worse that you didn't want to talk to me or tell me."

You can tell how deeply you hurt him. Even though you knew what you were going to do was wrong, now that you and Bradley are talking about it. You know you need to try and explain your rationale no matter how messed up it was.

"At first, I wasn't sure how I felt. I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn't do that before I knew how I felt. But then I kept thinking about all the times we talked about you not wanting kids. How you had so many good, valid reasons for feeling that way. I know you, Bradley. I knew that you would do the right thing as soon as I told you. But you don't need obligation ruling anymore of your life that it already does."

"So what if I was obligated? I agreed to be obligated to you for the rest of our lives when we got married. I want to be bound to you. I want to shoulder your burdens, just like you shoulder mine," Bradley says.

"A child is a lifelong burden for you to shoulder," you say. You need to know, need to be fully sure Brad understands.

"Do you think so low of me? Do you think I wouldn't love something that was a mix of you and me?"

"There are plenty of people in the world who don't love their children." You tell him, swallowing hard.

He lets out a long sigh, his breath fanning a bit over your face. "I want this baby. I want this baby with you. I want to be at every doctor's appointment. I want to know everything I've missed. I want family vacations where I can buy a Hawaiian shirt in three different sizes for all of us. I want little league games. I want a baby to sing to sleep. I want someone to put on top of the piano and sing to like my dad did. I want us to paint a nursery. I want Disney trips. I want to fight about curfew. I want to make breakfast on Saturdays and spend Sundays in the shop with football, restoring a beat-up first car. I want to make dad jokes. Fuck, I need to buy a pair of new balances."

Warmth fills you at his words. You let out a small laugh picturing Bradley as a stereotypical dad. How he wants all of that with you. That you won't do this alone like you have mentally been preparing yourself for since finding out. You run your fingers up and down his neck trailing it down his shoulder as far as you can reach before tracing back to his neck. A content sigh falls from his lips, and his eyes close, enjoying your gentle caresses.

"What are some of the names?" You break the silence after his confessions.

"I like Westley," he says with a small boyish smile. You bite back a grin at the name, playfully rolling your eyes.

"Oh, and is Buttercup on your list for girl names?" You ask him teasingly.

"Maybe," he says. You lean forward and peck his lips.

"You're not going to leave me," Bradley whispers with conviction. You know he is still coming down from the emotional roller coaster you just went through together. You also know Brad is going to need time to fully process this conversation and the change about to happen in your lives. However, you also know, without a doubt, that Bradley will be holding your hand at your next doctor's appointment.

"No, I'm not." You confirm and brush your lips over his softly.

"Stay with me forever," Bradley begs you in a voice a little too small for you to handle.

You hold the hazel gaze for a very, very long moment. You let him examine you, see the truth, and honestly bleeding in your gaze before you respond. What you want to say at first is: I love you. However, those words weren't quite right; they didn't seem to fully capture your intention and the emotion in your chest you felt for this man. So instead, you settle on the words you think will most closely allow him to understand. You brush your lips against him again, whispering your answer into them.

"As you wish, Bradley."

#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster smut #bradley bradshaw x y/n #hot 🥵#Coleys writing #bradley bradshaw fanfiction

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butch-reidentified · 10 months

Note

do you think it’s possible for a lesbian to be somewhat attracted to a trans woman (who passes well) if the only place she sees the tw is online/in videos/in pictures? i’m gender critical and i believe attraction is based on sex, but if somebody strongly resembles the same sex and you’re only seeing them from a physical distance, wouldn’t it make sense for somebody attracted to that sex to be able to find them attractive? (not referring to pursuing a relationship with them)

its almost 4am at the end of a long work week, and I'm still recovering from covid, so I hope this is coherent lmao

ik this will be controversial but I urge people to really mull over this before reacting in anger, though I really do understand the impulse:

honestly, as a (former) neuroscience researcher and someone still deeply passionate about neuroscience who likes to read neuroscience journal articles in her spare time... I think it's fucking complicated and there's a bit of intellectual dishonesty on both sides. the TRA side claims you can (only!) be attracted to someone's internal identity or ~gender feelings~ while the gc side claims that there is NO circumstance in which a person could pass well enough as the opposite sex to be perceived as attractive by someone whose orientation includes that "passing" sex.

and yet, I've had the experience of being at an lgbt bar or club and seeing someone I thought was a cute masc woman initially, only to realize it was an androgynous or slightly effeminate-appearing gay man - and many many lesbians I've told this to have shared similar experiences with me. I know a male transitioner online who is really cool and calls himself a eunuch rather than a woman or anything, and while I don't find him attractive, I have to admit that in the ~100ish photos I've seen of him (incl many candid full body ones taken by other people), I've not been able to "clock" any distinct male characteristics. maybe that would be different in person, but we live on totally different continents so idk.

I've known a TON of trans people irl, likely far more than most people on radblr or anywhere. this is partly because Florida has the second highest # of trans people in the country, and partly bc of where I went to college, and partly because my life is just strange like that. but I'll admit I've known a couple mt"f"-transitioned folks who I truly had no idea were male for quite some time - physically or behaviorally.

the reality is that your brain only knows what it perceives, and if it perceives a male as a female without your knowledge, and your orientation includes females, then it could be possible to feel attraction. however, I'm preeetty damn sure that would not persist beyond learning that person's sex is male, at which point you'd probably suddenly start noticing whatever male traits you were able to overlook initially. but I don't think it makes rational sense to claim that it's never possible to experience "mistaken" attraction for a period of time. there are known cases of historical women who lived as men who were flirted with by straight women who believed them to be male, for instance.

this is one of those situations where the truth (what I've said above) could be twisted and deliberately misinterpreted by the opposing party, which I believe to be why so few, if any, are willing to acknowledge this. but it's a question I've pondered a lot and this is the only logical conclusion I've reached. and it simply is not rational for anyone to act like anything I've said here implies that homosexuals can/should be open to dating/sleeping with the opposite sex. anyone who could come to that conclusion from this response needs a seriously intensive review of reading comprehension.

like I said I'm not fully awake so I'm sure I could have made my points here more clearly and I'm sure I'll get retaliation from people who want to nitpick my wording or whatever, like usual, but o well.

#mine #ask

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neverinadream · 1 year

Text

Little Chilwell - Part One

Summary: Both revelations are made and almost acts of revenge are plotted as you try to deal with the consequences of drinking far too much the night before.

Pairing: Mason Mount x Chilwell!Reader / Ben Chilwell x Sister!Reader / Ben Chilwell x Tabitha Hoffmann (OC)

Song Inspo: Rose-Coloured Boy - Paramore

Warnings: a little bit of angst, slow burn, references to cheating, mentions of alcohol, suggestive themes, mason being a little cocky, this is just a foundation shall we say to set up what is to come for them....clunky and almost useless opening

Notes: so this is me essentially starting over with this series, if you want to know why, you are more than welcome to ask why and i will happily answer whatever questions you have, you are also more than welcome to say that you don't like this new version and you like the old version better but this new version is what i'm going with now. i did originally have a taglist for the old version but i'm not sure if they'd want to be tagged in this new version, that being said if you do want to be tagged in future parts please just ask and i will do it. feedback is always appreciated!!

"Only one," you lie, before holding up all eight fingers and one of your thumbs, "and like nine others." Your hands flop down into your lap, the slapping sound they make as they hit your bare thighs makes you giggle. You do it again, giggling louder this time. It's only when you catch a peek at your brother's less-than-impressed expression that you finally stop. "We also did lots of shots too," you point your finger at Tabitha, who was sobering up in the backseat, "so many pretty, tasty colours. Did you know colours could have a taste? It's so crazy!"

Ben reaches across the console and taps your hand, pushing it away as you attempt to turn on the radio. "No," he mumbles, keeping his eyes focused on the road and not on the doings of his drunken little sister. Taking one hand off the wheel, he rubs the heel of his palm into his tired eyes, attempting to rid himself of some of the tiredness that still lingered. "How many drinks did you even have tonight?" He asks, concerned about the state you were in.

Ben flicks his attention up to the wing mirror, leaving you to ramble about the different tastes of colours, and takes a sneaking glance at Tabitha. She gives him a soft smile when she catches his eyes, quietly giggling to herself when he suddenly looks away. "You don't seem to be in the same state as my sister," he notices, clearing his throat to hide the crack.

He had seen you drunk before, but never in this state, and he was thankful that Tabitha was in a state where she could possibly explain your own.

"Well, I wasn't the one who bumped into my cheating, waste of space, ex-boyfriend tonight," Tabitha responds, glancing across at you. You seemed to be in your own world, with your forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window, watching in amazement as the street lamps washed by you.

"She bumped into Evan?" Ben frowns, tightening his grip on the wheel. Tabitha nods. Just his name was enough to get under his skin and boil his blood.

Evan Kinkle was your ex-boyfriend and someone who you thought could've been the love of your life. He was in the final year of his degree when you first moved to London and, since you were heavily naive back then, the idea of having an older boyfriend excited you. From the second you had met him, he was making you laugh with quick one-liners, complementing your looks, with a fixation on your eyes; he said your eyes had their own language and one that he wanted to learn.

He made you feel wanted and you loved him.

You loved that he was a gentleman.

Or, at least he was that good of an actor to make you believe that he was a gentleman.

He charmed you, your friends, and your family, tricking them into believing he was someone who he wasn't. No one would have thought that he would go on to spend his summer sleeping his way through the south of France.

"I thought he moved after he finished his masters?" Ben asks, giving her a quick glance.

"He did," she nods her head, "but it turns out he's back for a visit-"

"With his pretty French model," you interrupt, speaking with a fake, exaggerated French accent, "my beautiful girlfriend, Fleur, who I totally didn't sleep with the summer I was cheating on you. Blah. Blah. Blah. Prick." Feeling Tabitha's eyes burning into the back of your head, you let out an exaggerated sigh. "Yes," you mumble, sitting back in the passenger seat, "I was listening, but the lights outside were just more interesting than the topic of your conversation."

Rolling your eyes, you bite down on your bottom lip to stop it from quivering. Seeing him tonight, so suddenly and out of the blue, made the old wound feel fresh again. The alcohol did its best to numb the pain, but talking about him, even just for a few seconds, formed a thick lump in the back of your throat. The kind that you felt when you were trying not to cry.

"You're going the wrong way, by the way," you tell Ben, not recognising the street you were on.

"No, I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I am not," Ben repeats, stressing his words, turning a corner and pulling onto a new street, "because you're staying at mine tonight." He looks back at Tabitha. "You too."

After a few more minutes of twiddling your thumbs and sitting in silence, you release another exaggerated sigh. "This silence is deafening!" You exclaim, throwing both hands up into the air. Turning your head to look at your older brother, you pout, "can we please just have the radio on until we get back to yours?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so," he answers, refusing to look at you.

You whine like a child. "But why?"

"Sweetie, we don't need it on," Tabitha jumps in, reaching across to touch your shoulder. She always had a kind, gentle touch, making it hard to believe that she would ever have a bad side to her. "We'll be there soon," she tells you, peeking out of the window and spotting a familiar signpost.

You jolt in your sleep, turning your head from side to side, rubbing your eyes as you try to get a better sense of your surroundings. The white tiles going from the floor up to the ceiling were a big giveaway. The bathtub was an even bigger one. "Why am I in the bathroom?" You ask out loud, your voice sounding hoarse from your throat being dry.

"Fine," you mumble, slumping lower in your seat, with your arms folded tightly across your chest like a naughty child who had just been punished. Your head snaps to the side, giggling as you wear a smile so mischievous that it even has Tabitha groaning from the back seat. The fight wasn't over just yet. "I'll have to be my own radio," you swipe the empty plastic bottle from to cup holder, the clear plastic crunching under your tight grip, "any requests?"

———————

Climbing to your knees, one hand grips the edge of the marbled counter, keeping you balanced as your other hand reaches for the plastic beaker. The plastic beaker alone had you believing that you must've been in such a state last night that you weren't trusted enough with the glasses.

Pulling the beaker towards you, you give the inside a quick sniff, before filling it with some water. After taking a sip, just enough to wet your lips and give your throat a little bit of lubrication, you toss the beaker into the sink, wincing as it clangs against the sides. A groan slips past your lips as you press your forehead against the cold counter.

"I am never drinking again."

"Morning, sunshine." Lifting your head, you find Mason standing in the doorway, dressed in a pair of grey sweats, which hung dangerously low on his hips, and nothing else. "I thought I could hear the dulcet tones of a hungover twenty-year-old," he teases you. He slides both hands into his pockets, the action making the waistband of his sweatpants just move down ever so slightly. "Eyes up here, sweetheart."

"What are you doing here?" You ask, grabbing onto the counter with your hand. Climbing to your feet, you grimace at the state of yourself as you catch your reflection in the mirror. Black smudges of mascara were under your eyes and your hair was looking like what people meant when they said: you look like you've been dragged through a hedge backward.

"I'm crashing here, remember?" He tries to jog your memory. "Did Ben not tell you last night-"

"I've just woken up on a bathroom floor, with no idea of how I got here, Mason. What point of that makes you believe that I can remember anything from last night?" You interrupted him. Taking your thumb, you try to smudge some of the mascara stains away, but it was no help. Settling for raccoon eyes, you brush your fingers through your hair, partially fixing its current state. "I take it Ben picked me up last night?" You ask, taking small, unsteady steps towards the door.

Mason steps to the side, blocking your path. "Last night. Early hours of this morning," he shrugs his shoulders, "same difference I guess."

"Move," you insist, uttering the one-worded demand as you huffed out your chest and folded your arms.

Untucking one hand, he presses it against the doorframe, using it to balance himself as he leaned towards you. You took a staggered step back. "You should've heard the things you were telling me last night," he says, speaking with a low tone. A small amount of panic sets in. You couldn't remember much last night, only the bits that were coming to you in patches of faint clarity. You remembered bumping into Evan and getting subsequently crying in the toilets. You remembered getting yourself involved in a 'shot race' and getting angry at strangers when they spilled their drinks down you. "Oh, yeah," he watches closely as you tried to remember, "we talked last night."

"No, we didn't."

He nods his head. "We did."

"Bullshit."

"Not bullshit, baby," he replies, chuckling under his breath as you roll your eyes. He almost never referred to you by your proper name, always calling you sunshine, baby, or even princess. And you knew he never did it because he had an ounce of affection for you, he did it because he knew it annoyed you, a way for him to get under your skin without ever even trying. "You planted one right here-"

"Right, well now I know you're definitely bullshiting me," you cut him off, digging your elbow into his side and unblocking your path, "I would never kiss you. Not even if I was drunk."

Walking out onto the landing, you are quick to move your hand in front of your eyes, shielding them from the sun you can feel burning them. "Are we suddenly living on the fucking sun?" You whisper, groaning as the sun shines through the gaps between your fingers. One disadvantage of living in a house with predominantly white furnishings meant that when the sun did decide to come out and play, it reflected off each available surface. And right now it felt like your eyes were on fire.

You had only walked maybe five or six steps across the landing before you abruptly stopped. Turning clockwise and then anti-clockwise, you try to seek out Tabitha's usual girlish giggle coming from one of the bedrooms. "Do you hear that?" You ask as a low, more masculine chuckle is heard after another one of Tabitha's girlish giggles. Shushing Mason as he tries to speak, you take small, slow steps in the direction the noise was coming from.

"I wouldn't-"

"Shush!"

"I can promise you-"

"Mason, shut up!"

Mason rushes past you, blocking your path as you reach forwards to grab the handle. Instead of grabbing the handle, your hand collides with his bare chest. He shivers as your cold fingers brush against his warm skin, something which you seem to miss. He takes a step back, moving closer to the bedroom door.

"Shift it!" You demand, placing your hands on your hips, believing in your hungover state that a power stance of sorts might do the trick to intimidate him.

"No."

The power stance had failed you.

"Why not?" You ask, tilting your head to the side. A smile tugs on the corners of your lips. "Is the big, bad monster in there? Will the big, bad monster eat me if I go in there?" You reach out your hand, jabbing the tip of your finger into his chest. "Are you trying to protect me from the big, bad monster?"

He bats your finger away as you give his chest another poke. "For once, could you just listen to me?" He insists, taking another step back as you take a step forwards. A soft groan slips past his lips, feeling the cold, metal handle of the door digging into his lower back.

"Why?" You raise both eyebrows at him. "What could possibly be happening behind that door that you don't want me to see?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"This is bad," you mumble under your breath, pacing back and forth across the carpet, "this is....this is really fucking bad. This is so fucking...Why? Why? Why would they do this? Why would she do this? With him? With my brother?"

"No, Mason, I'm just asking you for the fun of it," you scoff, rolling your eyes.

———————

"I did say-"

"Then you should've lied, Mason! You should've told me a fucking lie!" You abruptly cut him off, shouting across the bedroom. He holds his hands up, a look on his face that said 'I did warn you,' and takes a step back. "You don't tell me that my brother and my best friend slept together!"

Why? Why? Why?

The same question repeated over and over in your head, replaying itself on a constant loop as you resumed your pacing. Was she unconsciously mad at you and this was some kind of revenge? Maybe. But you couldn't exactly think of a reason why she would be mad at you. You had been best friends for years and never once had you both argued or fallen out with each other.

Maybe she was unconsciously mad at herself and sleeping with Ben was an act of self-punishment? And if that's what it was, then this was something you, her, and an expensive therapist could easily fix.

"Could you stop moving? You're making me dizzy." His voice brings you out of your anxiety-induced state for the best part of five seconds. Giving him an apologetic smile, you bring your feet to an abrupt stop and notice that the room was no longer spinning. Perhaps, Mason wasn't the only one who was feeling dizzy. "Is it really that bad?" He asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Really, you silently ask him with your eyes as your face scrunches up in disapproval of his question. "How would you like it if one of your teammates slept with one of your sisters?" You ask, trying to put it into a perspective so that he might understand your grief. "Hmm? Think about that, Mason, think about....think about Jorgi getting a handy from one of your sisters. It's not nice, is it?"

"Well, both of my sisters are in happy relationships, so I don't think I have to worry about that ever happening any time soon." He tucks his hands back into his pockets, the front of his sweatpants subtly moving down just enough to grab your attention again. He chuckles under his breath. "You're not even trying to hide it, are you?" He asks, leaning against the frame. He untucks one hand and draws a circle in front of his face. "My eyes are up here, baby."

You purse your lips together, your jaw tensing as you attempt to cease your annoyance. "You're delusional, okay, severely delusional," you fail to rid yourself of your annoyance, biting back at him, "you should go see a doctor about it. They might even be able to cure you of that small dick syndrome whilst you're there too."

"Oh, I will," he nods, scratching at his beard, "once I've finished moping up all that drool dropping off your chin."

Rolling your eyes, you shoot him a warning look. "We're getting off-topic," you insist, huffing out your chest, the air expelling sharply from your nose.

Mason had tried to put himself in your shoes, to see it all from your perspective, but unfortunately, he just didn't see how any of this was a problem. "So, Ben slept with your best friend," he shrugs nonchalantly, "I just don't get why you're acting like it's the end of the world or something."

"How do I put this in a way that your tiny pea-sized brain will understand? How do you think Ben would react if you slept with me? Do you think he would be fine with one of his best friends sleeping with his baby sister? Or do you think he'll give you a high five and congratulate you? Maybe even pop open a few beers and have a celebratory drink to celebrate you boning his sister?"

"Okay," he raises his voice to speak, "I get it, okay? Jeez, enough with the twenty questions."

With a grumbled sigh, you flop yourself onto the bed and believe that the world was clearly out to get you. First, it was bumping into Evan, and now it was your brother sleeping with your best friend. Did the universe hate you? Did it wish to refuse you even an inch of happiness?

Scooping the quilt together, you bury your face in the soft material. "I will get him back for this."

Mason scoffs. "How very mature of you," he comments, feeling his breath hitch in his throat as he looks up from the floor.

He clears his throat, darting his eyes between the floor and the part of your dress that had ridden up. It was wrong of him to look, and he knew Ben would sock him straight in the mouth if he caught him looking. But to get a glimpse of the roundness of your bum, it only helped to stir up a dull ache in the pit of his stomach.

He shuffles on his feet and runs his fingers over his beard and through his hair. Just anything to distract himself from the ache spreading from his stomach to his cock. Don't, he thinks to himself as he feels the blood rushing to a single point in his body. He was not about to get hard over the single, accidental, glimpse of his best friend's little sister's bum. God, it had been too long since he last had sex, he believed, if this was all it took.

"Uh, could you maybe sit up, please?" He asks, keeping his focus on the ceiling.

"What? Why?" You look over your shoulder, some of the colour draining from your cheeks when you catch a glimpse of yours in the opposite mirror. It was mounted onto the built-in closet door, facing the end of the bed, giving you the near-perfect view of your bum and everything under the end of your dress. Taking only a second to do so, you spring to your feet, the carpet soft under the souls of your feet. "Pervert," you hiss, pulling the end of your dress as far down as it would go.

He scoffs, bringing his eyes back down to look at you. "I didn't exactly mean to look-"

"Oh, but you still got a good look, didn't you?" You cut him off, folding your arms aggressively across your chest. "Creep."

"Don't flatter yourself," he rolls his eyes, dismissing you, "there was much there to look at."

Tilting your head, you note the flushed nature of his cheeks and the awkward two-stepping he would keep doing. "Hmm, sure," you hum, the shadow of a grin curling on the corners of your mouth, "then why are you blushing? Did you think about something you shouldn't?"

He wags a finger at you, "I'm not blushing."

"Take a look in the mirror for yourself," you unfold one of your arms and throw it out in the direction of the mirror, "take a look at those pretty, pink, blushing cheeks and then tell me you're not blushing."

A giggle passes your lips, which only serves to make his blushing cheeks worse. Mason was one of those people who could dish it out but could never take it, which made returning all the teasing he did that much sweeter. You could turn him into a stuttering, blushing mess in only a matter of seconds, and he had no weapon in his arsenal to get you back.

Letting your eyes scan around the room, you finally spot the suitcase pressed up into the corner, a couple of pairs of trainers sitting upon it, the small pile of dirty clothes sitting at the foot of the laundry basket, and the hoodie thrown carelessly over the arm of the cream armchair. There was too much white and cream in your brother's home, too much that it often made you nervous to even eat or drink anywhere but in the kitchen.

This was Mason's room.

Or, at least the one he was staying in.

Unfortunately, you hadn't noticed that when you sprinted away from Ben's bedroom, escaping and hiding in the closest room. If you had, you would've thought twice about lying down on the bed and hiding your face in the quilt.

"I'm taking this," you announce, grabbing the hoodie off the armchair. Tucking it under your arm, and ignoring his protest, you slide open the closet door, and remove a pair of his shorts neatly folded on one of the shelves. "And these too," you wave the pair of shorts at him. Normally, you might've borrowed clothes from Ben, but you weren't ready to face him. Not yet, at least.

Later? Maybe. But right now? No.

Keeping the hoodie tucked under your arm, you pull the shorts up your legs and underneath your dress. "Close your eyes," you insist, looking over at Mason, who had now moved from the door and onto the end of the bed.

"I'm seen your ass, princess," he smirks, "might as well show me the rest too."

"You should think about taking some comedy classes because that joke-"

"Wasn't a joke," he cuts you off, leaning back on his hands. He watches you, letting his eyes drag down your body and then back up to meet your eyes, and waits to see what your next move was. "What will it be?" He asks, licking his lips. You scrunch your face in disgust. "Gonna let me take a peek?"

Hurriedly, you tuck the ends of your dress into your shorts and quickly pull the hoodie over your head. You have to forget that it smelt like him, a smell so strong it was enough to make your head dizzy. Or at least dizzier than you already felt. Your head was still pounding like there was a miniature set of construction workers going at it inside your skull. And every time your stomach churned, you were scared you might be sick again.

"Now, if you don't mind," you bite back, tucking your hair into the sides of the hood, "I need food and to come up with a plan to get my brother back for sleeping with my best friend."

Mason gets up from the bed and follows you out of his room, jogging to keep up with you as you hurry down the stairs. "You're not actually going to do that, are you?" He asks, watching you disappear behind the fridge door.

"Uh, yes!" Swiping the butter from the fridge, you knock the door shut with your hip. "This is exactly like the time Ben put his football through the window of my wendy house," you explain, dropping the tub of butter onto the side and turning to grab a loaf of bread from out of the cupboard, "I'm not going to let this slide, or just brush it under a rug." Popping two slices of bread into the toaster, you push the handle down and take a small plate from the cupboard. "I will enact a revenge so terrible-"

"Okay, just calm down, yeah? He slept with your best friend, remember? Let's not act like he was committing war crimes," he takes a seat on one of the bar stools and props his forearms down on the countertop. He couldn't believe he was willingly going along with this silly performance. "Just...just sleep with one of the lads. That'll be a sure way to piss him off." He waves one hand in the air as he speaks, the movement of his fingers catching your attention for just a second. "And that'll essentially be no different to him sleeping with Tabitha."

You stare back at him with two raised eyebrows and a look of surprise on your face. "Jesus," you say, a little dumbfounded, "did you actually just say something smart?" Mason rolls his eyes. "But it would never happen," you quickly dismiss him, glancing over your shoulder when you hear the toast pop up.

He watches you turn away from him. "Why wouldn't it?" He asks, half-smiling as you curse under your breath. The toast had been too hot to touch and you had quickly dropped it onto the plate.

"Because none of them have the balls to go against Ben." You stick the knife into the butter, leaving it there as you pick up the plate and carry it over to the island counter. Leaving an empty stool between you and Mason, you take a seat, slapping his hand away as he reaches to steal a slice. "It's a good idea, Mase," you take a bite, "but like I said, it'll never work."

You manage to eat about half of a slice in silence before Mason is disrupting it. "Then sleep with me," he blurts out, turning himself to face you. Dropping the slice of toast onto your plate, you cover your mouth with your hand, coughing as you try to remove the small lump of toast stuck in your throat. "Okay, there you go," he chuckles, reaching out to touch your back, rubbing his hand in circles, "toast isn't exactly the thing I wanted you to be choking on."

Shrugging him off you, you push the plate away from you, losing your appetite for the sort of soft, buttery squares of toast in front of you. "You're disgusting, Mason, disgusting!" You swallow the lump of toast, still spluttering as you tried to catch your breath.

He takes the slice you haven't bitten into, takes a large bite out of the toast, and licks the crumbs off his bottom lip. "You said none of the lads have big enough balls to go against Ben, but you haven't seen the size of mine," he speaks through a mouthful.

"Eh, firstly, don't talk with a mouth full of food; didn't your mum ever teach you that? And, secondly, I never want to lay my eyes upon your tiny dick and even tinier balls, okay?" Hopping to your feet, you pull the plate away from him, scraping the leftover toast into the bin. You open Ben's dishwasher and stack your plate onto the rack, pushing it back inside and kicking it shut with your foot. Standing up straight, you take a quick glance at him and sigh. If you truly wanted to get Ben back, Mason was the better choice. There was no denying it. But he was also him, the person you had despised from the minute you had met. "...but-"

"But?" He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "But what?"

"But..." Your eyes linger on his for a second and then you quickly shake your head. "Nothing," you mumble, hearing two voices, Ben's and Tabitha's, coming down the stairs, "you're a pervert and severely disgusting! Go get some help!"

He chuckles lowly under his breath and finishes the rest of the toast, wiping his fingers against his sweatpants. "Well," he gives Ben and Tabitha half a smile and a subtle nod of his head, before turning his attention back to you, "if you ever want to take me up on that offer-"

"In your fucking dreams, Mount!"

"All the time, baby," he was quick to respond, earning a warning look from Ben, but he ignores it, "all the time."

Ben slowly turns his head in your direction, a puzzled expression setting on his brows. "What was that about?" He asks, one hand pointing over his shoulder. "What was he talking about? What's he offering you?"

"Drugs, Benjamin. Lots and lots of drugs. Mountains of drugs, actually. He needs some help moving them and I know a guy who can do that for him," you watch him roll his eyes, your brother was never a fan of your dark use of humour, "but enough of mine and Mason's new business plan, let's talk about you two." You wave your finger in the air, pointing at both of them.

Tabitha swallows a deep breath as the colour slowly leaves her face; her usual rosy coloured cheeks had turned ghostly white in a matter of seconds. Gotcha, you thought to yourself, watching her and Ben take not-so-subtle glances at each other.

F O O T B A L L T A G L I S T

"So, tell me," you kick two stools out for them to take a seat, "what did you two get up to last night?"

———————

@shanoontje @maseandkepa @theblxefox @blueathens @ofxinnocence @1-800-benji-chilwell @mrschilly @geek-and-proud @in-my-body-bag @laurasstufff1 @mountchilly @spicysainz @greykitkepa

#mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount one shot #mason mount blurb #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fic #mason mount x reader #ben chilwell #little chilwell #little chilwell 2.0

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rockanroller · 4 months

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ok the "creation story" of hazbin is slowly coming back to me as i reflect on the first two episodes and it was confusing.

here's how it went...

no god. only angels. "beings of pure light" that "worshipped good" and "shielded all from evil"

(who did they shield? idk, humans haven't been created yet, we'll get there in a second.)

Lucifer was one of the angels and he was a "dreamer" that the "elders" thought he was a troublemaker

(he's only shown making harmless fireworks) and "his way of thinking was dangerous to the order of their world" so he could only "watch" as they did things their way.

the *angels* make Adam and--not Eve--Lilith. Adam. and Lilith. from the dust. "equals as the first of mankind" but for some reason, even tho they were created equal, Adam "demanded control"

...just gonna express that sin hasn't even been introduced yet so why would Adam feel the need to do this? he was just *created* and instantly desires power even tho no one has bitten the apple or brought "evil" into the world yet? i get that there seems to be *something* Viv wants to do about the narrative of "good" and "evil" but it makes you question where those lines are in this world. we'll get to "evil" in a second. anyway...

Lilith refuses to "submit" to him and flees the garden.

now. listen. right after she runs away she's shown in a sad/depressed pose all alone, and there's this line...i'm still reeling from it. it's literally "drawn in by her fierce independence" ... what... the *fuck* ... does that even mean. independence means you can take care of yourself/stand on your own without needing someone else, it doesn't "drive you inward"... ??????

so... that line is instantly followed up with "Lucifer found her" and suddenly she's really happy and the "two rebellious dreamers fell deeply in love." and "together" they wished to share "the magic of free will with humanity"

((...where'd the rest of humanity come from all of the sudden?? they might've just meant ~ in general ~ or referring to the humans of the future, but they only mentioned Adam & Lilith so far, were they just "the first"?? and idk why Lilith knows about free will, she's a regular human that just got created?? like Lucifer could've told her about it but--hey--actually--she already *had* free will bc she CHOSE to leave Adam/the garden so do the other humans *not* have it for some reason?? what??))

moving along--get this--"they", as in Lucifer *and* Lilith, offer the "fruit of knowledge" (not the fruit of free will, fruit of knowledge) to... "Adam's *new* bride, Eve" ??? where did Eve come from???

((also even though the story says how Lucifer AND Lilith wanted to share free will w/humanity, Lilith is literally just standing there, Lucifer's the one who poofs out of a snake and offers the apple to Eve. did he just tell Lilith about the apple and Lilith agreed or brought up the idea? how was she involved?))

but the "gift came with a curse" bc giving humans free will was an "act of disobedience" that gave evil a way to get into Earth. ((insinuation of that Root of Evil thing in the visuals.)) bringing with it a "new realm of darkness and sin" and the "order heaven worked to maintain shattered."

so Adam insisting to have power over Lilith didn't disrupt heaven's order, or doesn't seem to count as "evil" or "sin" ...but free will invites evil? or is it the fruit of knowledge that invites evil? or is it Eve herself who-- ugh idk. ((as an aside, hazbin's story calls it the "fruit of knowledge" but insinuates it would give humans free will. in bible mythos humans are already made with free will by god so they were free to choose whether they "disobey" god or not. the fruit's "knowledge" is the awareness of good and evil. self-awareness and shame and shit like that which brings sin into the world so god tells them "don't eat it" but a serpent convinces them to. it's not free will or a gift. Viv can write whatever story she wants, just pointing it out.))

so, for doing that, Lucifer & Lilith are cast into "the dark pit (Lucifer) had created" but it doesn't tell us what happens to Eve or Adam.

((...and what's the dark pit? Earth??? Hell??? The dimensional concept of darkness/evil???? is hell literally *in* Earth or is it a pocket dimension somewhere?????))

and they did this so Lucifer couldn't ever see "the good that came from humanity, only the cruel and the wicked" ...so he becomes Sad BoyTM that "lost his will to dream" and mopes. meanwhile Lilith "thrived" and empowered demonkind with her voice and songs and "as the numbers of hell grew so did its power" so heaven felt too threatened by that and decided to do the yearly exterminations to "make sure sinners could never rise against them."

(("heaven made a heartless decision" is shown with a visual of Sera's silhouette who makes a sad expression, then a line about the exterminations brings up a silhouette of Adam's angel form smiling widely--there is no clarification in the narrative or visuals during the creation story that this is The Original Man Adam, we get that insinuation later when he says he's "the original dick".))

but Lilith was still hopeful and "her dream was passed down to their precious daughter"

((note! the grammar was off here bc "their" *assumedly* insinuates Lucifer, but him losing his will to dream is that last time he's mentioned by name in the story. we're just suddenly given the line "Lilith's hope remained and her dream was passed down to their precious daughter" and the only entity referred to in the narrative before that was heaven. so. unless Lucifer literally isn't her dad that's an error.))

and the last line of the story after that is "...the princess of hell" and of course that's when Charlie does the "don't worry mom I'll make you proud" line.

((last thing i'll say on that too is we were never really told what Lilith's "dream" was. to free demonkind? to empower them? to fight heaven? all we know is Lilith "wanted to share the magic of free will with humanity", "thrived in hell", and "empowered demonkind" that's it.))

phew. now listen--everyone's free to do what they want with story--i was raised Christian like a lot of folks but personally idgaf if you wanna shit on Christianity, or blend mythos together. and many story things that might be confusing or lacking can be like... "explained away", but usually what makes a story stick with ppl is when it makes sense without needing the extra explaining. and tbf some of this i don't think will make sense even if it's explained later.

this whole creation story kind of felt like decisions made along the way to fill holes in the plot or to "make" specific plot elements work together without considering if it makes enough sense as a cohesive story without needing extra explaining.

thems my thoughts on hazbin's "creation story" for now, opinions subject to change in the future.

#hazbin hotel first impressions #hazbin hotel creation story #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical #vivziepop writing

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skinnywalker · 9 months

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Hii I don't think you'll see this but can I request a Rebecca welton x reader? Maybe Rebecca and Keeley go to a lesbian bar, and since it's Rebecca's first time she is nervous. Reader can be a bartender or just a regular. Maybe reader buys Rebecca a drink. And Rebecca is touched by the gesture. Rebecca starts to loosen up a bit due to the alcohol. And they (reader and Rebecca) start a conversation and things just take off from their. This can be fluff or smut.

I hope that was helpful 😅

You read my mind anon :)

You look out of place. (Rebecca Welton x Fem reader.) minor NSFW reference

Rebecca is used to been looked at. Now matter where she goes people gossip about her. Sometimes even to her face. But this is a new kind of anxiety.

"Kelley was this really a good idea? I mean I'm not even sure I like women."

"You keep saying that and yet you wanted to come with me. Listen You can say no if women start flirt with you they'll listen."

Rebecca isn't really scared of the women, she's known she liked women for a while, but to say it out loud and act on it is frankly scary.

She takes a deep breath and keeps walking towards the bar. The music is loud and the women are beautiful, almost goddesses.

it makes Rebecca feel small and unseen. This feels like a terrible idea,

"Hello."

Rebecca jumps in her seat, the voice belongs to a woman now sitting next to her. The woman is she gives younger than Rebecca, She gives Rebecca a knowing smile.

"First time?''

"Am I that obvious?"

"Well, I was much worse my first time."

Rebecca suddenly feels seen, it feels almost nice.

"Thank you"

"For?"

"Talking to me, I'm sure there are more fun girls in here."

she laughs, it's not a mocking laugh.

"I think you seem fun, can I buy you a drink?"

"I'll just take a Pink Gin."

she ushers over the bartender and orders the drinks.2w

"So, if this isn't you're normal night out, why do it?"

"I'm trying to get over my ex-husband."

Rebecca goes off more than she meant to about Rupert and how their marriage ended, the girl listens interested.

"so...I guess I'm starting over now."

"I mean, a lot of us have had relationships with men...which we all regret."

Rebecca feels her drink warming her body and washing away her worries. She keeps drinking and the two keep chatting. the talk goes from men to spots to work to family to sex.

"Yeah well, you should know that toys are always better after you've tried a few."

"Really? How many toys have you tried?"

Rebecca laughs buzzing.

"so many!"

"would you show me them?"

Rebecca stops laughing, her attraction to the woman across from her hits her like a ton of bricks.

"yeah... Listen I know it sounds wild and fast....and it is but would you come home with me? Even just to talk?"

"As friends?"

"As anything you like."

"I don't want to be friends, I find you so alluring Rebecca."

Rebecca leans forward so her breath is on the woman's cheek.

"Then come home with me."

After an Uber ride that takes way too long they walk into Rebecca's rich house. The smell of coconut and green tea hangs in the air.

"Kiss me."

Rebecca's shyness is gone. They kiss on the couch in a slightly drunken blaze of passion. Finally, Rebecca breaks for air.

"Are you really single?''

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you're so beautiful and so passionate, I can't let myself love again if I won't be the only one."

She looks at Rebecca dead serious.

"You'll be the only one."

#rebecca welton #rebecca welton x reader #rebecca ted lasso #ted lasso being ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso

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accessible-tumbling · 8 months

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At source, the thread continues:

I follow/am followed by a lot of trans or trans-adjacent folks, but I have no idea how many people who follow me don't really know any trans people, and who, on seeing the rising hysteria about trans people, feel that maybe there really is something to worry about.

Maybe they feel no hostility to trans people, but have been led to believe that there are 'reasonable concerns' to be addressed, or that they are 'just asking questions'. At least one of my followers follows Cambridge Radical Feminists network, an openly trans-hostile group.

So if you're trans, or an ally, CW for transphobia and sadness here, maybe don't read this. But if you are feeling a bit 'on the fence' I'm begging you, listen to those of us telling you things are really bad here, and getting worse.

Neither my niece or my nephew were brought up with 'traditional gender roles'. My husband is the virtuoso cook in our household, and we have loads of pictures of both 'nephews' cooking with him. My niece wore her hair long, because she liked it long, and hated haircuts.

Her favourite colour is purple, so it featured a lot in her wardrobe, but I think because no fixed ideas of what it meant to 'be a boy' were imposed on her or her self-expression, gender was just a shrug to her. Until puberty hit, and suddenly she was very uncomfortable.

She was a bit grouchy and withdrawn, and began to act out at school. Not surprising for a kid in their early teens to be moody and challenging, not the stuff of newspaper headlines. We just took it in stride. Then a few months later it all came together - she was a girl.

We swapped pronouns, and once she decided on a new name, adopted that (it's a lovely choice!). My happy, goofy, animated little weirdo came back out of her shell. Her school friends are wonderful and supportive (we had a 'Gender Repeal' party where they brought hand made cards!

But getting healthcare, counselling and support for her was another story. Obviously we all had questions around whether this was a phase, or perhaps a stepping stone to something else - nonbinary identity, or just life as a boy who was quite gender-nonconforming.

These aren't things we are qualified to help her work through! Also, if in time and with a good counsellor it is established with certainty that yes, she is a trans girl, then we want her to have a therapist to help her with her feelings around that.

It's not an easy path through life, and it would be reasonable to have some anger, some 'why me' feelings, or some fears about that. We really want her to have that support.

We also wanted to have puberty blockers for her. She had expressed a desire for them, and it would buy her some time to think about what she wants from her future and her body without the pressure of a body that is changing in ways that are deeply distressing to her.

Since the Tavistock closed, there is no Gender Identity service on the NHS to refer her into. The new system is expected to open with a three year wait list. Her friends won't get their first appt until they are around 17 or 18.

We got her blockers privately. It's challenging because not all GPs will agree to share care with private services, so you're always hopping between two systems. It's not cheap either. Just over £100 a month. Not a lot of families have that going spare right now.

She had a fantastic youth club for LGBT+ kids that has been such a fantastic source of support. Their windows have been smashed more than once. Newspapers regularly talk about the threat trans women pose to us. There was even a debate about it in Parliament. It's hostile here.

At the beginning of the year, when Gary Lineker was being hauled over the coals for suggesting our government's narrative around targets of hatred was akin to 1930s Germany, the kids' parents offered them to move to Canada. Their dad texted us to say they seemed keen.

Canada has a better healthcare system for trans people, and there, my niece can change her gender officially with a minor bit of paperwork. Nowhere right now is perfect, but it's better.

So today, my niece and nephew left their home, their friends, their school, and most of their family to seek a better life away from the UK, which has become intolerably hostile.

I'm relieved. Canada is lovely. Travel broadens the mind. They are charismatic, kind, engaging kids. They will make new friends.

But we won't get their formative teenage years back, with them living ten minutes' cycle away. They won't get homework on my couch after school.

They won't get time with their dad or their grandparents, except for holidays. They won't play frisbee with their uncle, or go kayaking with me after school. We will be half a world away, hoping for the best.

This is the cost of the rising tide of transphobia. Lineker was right. Having a chunk of your family uproot for their safety and wellbeing while being victimised by your government probably does feel reminiscent of 1930s Germany.

I encourage you to scratch a little deeper at the 'just asking questions' brigade, at JK Rowling's desire to just 'protect women and girls'. That protection doesn't extend to my niece. The questions about her personhood left her without counselling, support or healthcare.

And one day, when she is not a trans child but a trans woman, I don't want her living somewhere that her identity is constantly sharing space with 'just asking questions about rapists', 'dangerous men in dresses', or discourse around whether she is allowed to pee outside her home.

The anti-trans brigade shares space, and a great deal of its ideals with fascism. Nazis attend their rallies. They quote Hitler. The policing of identity, the reinforcement of gender norms, the intense focus on fertility - all straight out of the fash playbook.

And those pressing for the marginalisation of a minority, squeezing them out of public life, pillorying them in the press, ruining their public standing - they don't stop there. Other targets for hate *will* emerge, if left unchecked.

One of the most famous images of Nazi book burning is from the looting of Magnus Hirschfeld's Institute of Sexology, which was leading research in trans and gay identities/sexualities at the time.

And fascist powers don't start with laws that say things like 'kill all the Jews'. They are worded as positives. The first anti-Jewish law was 'Law for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service' barring Jewish and 'politically unreliable' people from service.

(You can read more about anti-Jewish legislation here)

So when you see things framed as 'protecting women and girls' and 'defending women's sex-based rights' (surely things *no one* reasonable can disagree with!) ask yourself protect *from who* and *at whose expense*.

As we are left behind in a nation that is increasingly demonising foreigners and turning on its own, I am left with the thought experiment we were all given at school, 'What would *you* have done if you had lived in that place, at that time?'

Now is the place and the time.

Please, do something.

#alt text included #twitter #politics #uk politics #canadian politics #lgbtq #current events #medical decision-making #nazi mention #history #laws #long post #if for some reason you're still on twitter that thread is quite the honey pot #i'm blocking people left and right

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pardi-real · 6 months

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Judgment by Fallen Angel / Chapter 1 - Stage Play Commission

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[Devil's Palace, Garden]

One afternoon... I was taking a walk in the garden, when I heard a cat meowing from behind a bush.

> "A stray cat…?"

Rustle… rustle…

Muu: "Meow~, meow meow~."

> "What, Muu…?"

Muu: "Eh? Oh, my lord! Hehehe... I'm sorry, did you hear that? I was practicing my "normal cat" act."

> "Acting as a normal cat...?"

Muu: "Yes! I often pretend I can't speak when I go undercover… I've been practicing to act more like a cat! Meow~

How is it, isn't it pretty good? Fufu! With these acting skills....

I could even stand on the "next stage" where the butlers are going to perform!"

> "Next stage?"

Muu: "Yes, the butlers were all talking about it earlier. Something about a nobleman… has commissioned us for a new stage performance. The four of them who are available have decided to take on the project."

> "I see"

Muu: "Yes. The butlers really do a lot of things, don't they~? Oh, right. I'm sure they are practicing by now…

If you don't mind, would you like to go see them with me? I'm a little interested!"

> "You're right, it sounds interesting"

Muu: "All right! Let's go to the dance rehearsal room!"

Muu told me that the butlers were practicing for a new play. We went to the dance rehearsal room where they were gathering.

[Devil's Palace, Dance Rehearsal Room]

Berrien: "Ummm…"

Lato: "Hmm…"

Miyaji: "What should we do…"

Knock-knock… *Click*

Muu: "Hey everyone! Are you practicing hard for the play? Oh, huh…? Somehow, the atmosphere is heavier than I thought it would be…"

Berrien: "Oh, my lord... And Muu."

> "What happened?"

Berrien: "As a matter of fact... The other day, we received a commission to do a "stage performance" by a certain nobleman. We call it a performance, but.... It is kind of like an extension of the entertainment we usually show at parties."

> (Entertainment to show at parties?)

Come to think of it, when I first came to this world.... The butlers performed songs and dances at a ball where the four clans gathered.

The sight of Nac, Haures, and Fennesz dancing on stage...

I suddenly remembered about that day and felt nostalgic...

> "It was a dance before, right?"

Berrien: "Yeah."

Miyaji: "The client this time is a man who loves to watch the theater. This was before the lord arrived, but… He saw our skit at a party once and liked it very much. Well, it would have been fine if it was just that, but...

He wanted us to perform a new play at the opening of his newly built theater."

> "A new play…"

Berrien: "Yes… It's appalling.

The client is the type that seems to be artistic, radical, and enjoys controversy. And so.... He offered us these conditions.

"You must perform a new, original script about angels." "

> "Are we going to make the script ourselves?"

Miyaji: "Yeah... That's why we were in trouble.

"Devil butlers put on a play about angels."

It's obviously a dangerous bridge to cross. One wrong move and we could end up with a big problem…"

Berrien: "That said, It is difficult to refuse the commision.

The man is a member of a very influential family in Espoir and has a strong influence on the distribution of clothing in particular.

If we upset them, it'll probably be difficult for us to purchase new costumes or fabrics in the future…"

Muu: "Oh, no... Then you won't be able to get new clothes for the lord! ...And I might lose my clothes too... that's a bit of a problem…"

Lato: "Kufufu... You've become more like a butler, Mr. Black Cat."

Miyaji: "We were just discussing what kind of play we should put on. But... we couldn't come up with any good ideas. Fennesz is currently gathering materials in the library.... I wonder if there is such a thing as reference material for plays about angels…"

Just then… I heard footsteps approaching from outside the door.

Click...

Fennesz: "Sorry for the wait. I was looking in the back of the library… I lost track of time...-"

> "Fennesz?"

Fennesz: "Oh-, huh? My lord? Why are you…"

Muu: "Fufu… We came here to watch you practice for your play!"

Berrien: "Fennesz. Did you find any material that could be of help?"

Fennesz: "Uh? Oh, yes… Yes, I did. About the book on "Angels"... I've been trying to recall them from my memory, but... I thought maybe... this book would be just right."

Berrien: "What? This is…"

Miyaji: "It looks like an ancient book, and… The title is "Judgment by Fallen Angel" ?"

Fennesz: "Yeah. A long time ago, in this story by an unknown author.

'Four "fallen angels" who have awakened to their own selves... debate whether humans should be destroyed or protected.'...

It was banned soon after publication."

> "Banned…?"

Miyaji: "Hmm.... Why was it banned again?"

Fennesz: "U-uhm... Maybe it was because of the ending... It concludes with "humans should perish", I think that's what made it not good..."

Lato: "Ooh… That book sounds quite interesting."

Miyaji: "Actually... I'm surprised you have such a book, Fennesz."

Fennesz: "Ahaha... When I'm told not to read a book, it makes me want to read it..."

Lato: "Oh my. Mr. Fennesz unexpectedly misbehaves too."

Muu: "I understand that feeling very well!"

Miyaji: "I guess there are a certain number of people who like such tragic endings. But for the noblemen, it must not have been a good one."

Fennesz: "O-of course, when we adapt the novel for the stage... We make the ending to be the opposite of the novel's.

"Humans should be protected."

I'm sure the audience will be satisfied. Because we, the devil butlers... are the protectors of the human race too."

Miyaji: "I see... The audience will be watching the "argument of the fallen angels"... and conclude that "the devil butlers, after much debate, have decided that they will protect the human race." And that's the impression we can give."

Fennesz: "That's right! I thought it would help improve our image. That's why I brought this novel... W-what do you think?"

Miyaji: "Hmm… Yes, you've got a point. From what you just said... I don't think it's a bad idea."

Lato: "As for me… I'm a bit concerned about the original conclusion, but if Prof. Miyaji agrees, that's fine."

Fennesz: "I-I see… Okay, what about you, Mr. Berrien?"

Berrien: "Well, I... I mean… you went to the trouble of expressing your opinion on… but, I'm sorry."

Fennesz: "What…? Mr. Berrien?"

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#akuneko #aknk #devil butler with black cat

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gay-jewish-bucky · 2 years

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I just want to say that, while I get where it comes from, responding to the MCU mocking Steve's virginity post-serum and pre-ice with "Well, he and Bucky have been banging since the '30s," unintentionally plays into the wider social issue that drives their ridicule:

The notion that a, now "suddenly" (as said in this post, prior to the serum, Steve's virginity is irrelevant to them because of an ableist desexualisation of disabled people and our bodies), physically desirable and masculine man like Steve Rogers isn't sleeping with every woman he encounters is seen as inherently deficient and less of a man for it, that there is something fundamentally wrong with him.

It's and issue with how virginity in men is viewed by society at large.

While most articles I've found talk about this harm in relation to cisgender, heterosexual manhood (along with the double standards women often face) this is an issue that harms all genders and orientations.

Virgin-Shaming (TV Tropes):

Due to a Double Standard that emphasizes male promiscuity and female chastity, this trope more commonly applies to males than females. Virginity is seen as something silly that men need to get past as soon as possible...

Nature Abhors a Virgin (TV Tropes):

The negative attribute in question is defined very broadly. It can simply mean that they lack self-confidence, experience with women, or that they just aren't real men.

Unexpected Virgin (TV Tropes):

Due to a long-standing Double Standard, men are the most common examples of this trope. In fiction, men past puberty are often expected to have had sex.

Of Course I'm Not a Virgin (TV Tropes):

Everybody Has Lots of Sex is a concept so ubiquitous in modern western media, that the very idea that any character, for any reason, is a virgin is something that comes off as alien and bizarre. ...This trope is most common with characters who, given what other information we know about them, would have logical reasons to be a virgin.

Sex Is Cool (TV Tropes):

In the media, sex is often portrayed as "cool". If you're not having sex, then you're a snivelling misfit and a loser.

Virgin-Shaming: Having Sex Out Of Peer Pressure Robs Us Of Our Right To Choose (shethepeople):

Generally, if a person has not had their first time, they are subjected to offensive jokes about virginity. It is assumed that a person becomes ‘mature’ only when they have had sex. Otherwise, they are seen as the innocent kid of the group... Virgin-shaming is more common among men. This is because our society defines the masculinity of a man with his sexual prowess. The more sexually experienced a man is, the more masculine he is. Since men do not ‘lose’ anything if they are not a virgin, it is assumed that no rational man would say no to sex. When patriarchy has invested freedom, power and the right to complete pleasure in the hands of men, there is no reason considered valid enough for a man to deny sex, apart from some fault in him.

Sexually active women? Sluts. Virgin men? Losers. (The Strand):

Men, however, are generally far less encouraged to think out their decisions when it comes to when they’ll lose their virginity and to whom. In fact, rarely will you hear anyone refer to having “taken the virginity” of a man. Instead, men are more pressured from their compatriots to find a conquest as soon as possible to shed their virginity in order to seem more manly. For men, the pressure is quite the opposite. Once puberty hits, men are expected to become machines of sexual activity and to seek out conquests almost immediately... Why do men see the choice to abstain as so unnatural? Why do they feel the need to compare their “body counts,” as if it’s a measure of their manhood? Possibly, because men are taught that they are responsible for convincing women to sleep with them; that they’re the hunters and women are their prey. This message is hammered in by other males, as well as by pop culture. ...The reflex to judge others for not acting as society dictates is ingrained in us from childhood, but when you question those norms, you begin to see how utterly ridiculous it is to force those views on individuals.

Stigmatized Virginity and Masculinity (DigitalCommons at The University of Nebraska - Lincoln):

Virginity status is one way to make meaning of one’s sexual identity, with individuals often viewing virginity as a gift, a stigma, or a stage in the process of growing up (Carpenter, 2001). Viewing virginity as a stigma is congruent with hegemonic masculinity and cultural-level masculine sexual scripts of using heterosexual sex to define manhood (e.g., Humphreys, 2013).

When Having Sex Is A Requirement For Being Considered ‘A Real Man’ (Mel Magazine):

As Fleming explains, virgin-shaming is present in any social space where having sex is an implicit requirement for being considered “a real man.” ...Fleming says the virgin status is ascribed to someone and, when used as an insult, implies a failure of masculinity. Fleming’s paper tries to illuminate how certain groups subscribe to a dominant form of masculinity requiring men to objectify women and explains that being a virgin in this context means disobeying the rules of masculinity. (After all, you can’t really claim to be objectifying women if they’re not even letting you have sex with them.) In the recently published study, Fleming and Davis frame virgin shaming as a “manhood act,” one which allows men to be seen as belonging to the more privileged gender. One of the primary manhood acts, he says, is having heterosexual sex — and bragging about it. More broadly, virgin-shaming has the effect of suppressing alternative forms of masculinity that don’t necessarily place a high value on scoring with chicks; Men who act differently or hold a different kind of masculinity don’t get the opportunity to express that masculinity as much, while the dominant “hegemonic” kind endlessly gets repeated, putting down those competing masculinities. That repeats the cycle of men experiencing stigma for being virgins. The images we see in the media set the bar for what is normal and desirable. A large part of masculine protagonists in films, for example, portray an almost effortless ability in courting women. These sorts of images very easily become a model of what the pinnacle of manliness looks like, reinforcing the notion that, to be manly, one has to be “scoring” with chicks. ...What virgin-shaming could be used for, besides simply a way to look manly in comparison to someone else, was to actually bring the male virgin into conforming with the norms: essentially, to get him laid so he’s a man like the rest of the gang.

The 'Problem' of Male Virginity (Everyday Feminism):

One of the things that I’ve seen come up over and over again in the aftermath of the UCSB shooting is the number of men... talking about the shame and pain of being a male virgin. They talk about feeling broken or unworthy, that they’ve missed some sort of open time frame where they could lose their virginity and now they’re (metaphorically) screwed. It feels like everyone knows – like you’ve been branded by a giant V. One of the reasons why men tend to freak out about the idea of being a virgin – especially being a virgin past college – is that we’ve grown up in the shadow of a cultural narrative that we believe to be law. The Standard Virginity Loss Narrative tells us that men are supposed to lose their virginity by a certain age – sometimes by age 18, sometimes by 21. The earlier you lose it, the better off you are... The narrative is fiction. It’s an idealized, heteronormative, suburban middle class ideal that the vast majority of us don’t live in. The story turns our sexual development into a performance, just as masculinity is often a performance. And just as traditional masculinity is a fragile thing, any minor deviation from the Virginity Narrative throws the whole thing into disarray. When men fail to live up to this entirely arbitrary standard, we feel not just as though we’ve failed but that we’re failures. We’re defective. Wrong. And there will be plenty of people eager to reinforce the narrative, to mock us, and tell us that this deviation from the narrative calls our masculinity into question. Just as the gender police are eager to punish people who don’t live up to the traditional definitions of manhood. It’s not really surprising, to be honest. We fetishize virginity in men and women, just in opposite ends of the spectrum... But losing his virginity, on the other hand? That’s when the world is supposed to open up for you. The coming of age narrative for men inevitably links losing one’s virginity with becoming a man. When you cry and moan about how awful it is that you haven’t had sex yet, you contribute to the problem. You’re helping to perpetuate the idea that virgin = defect. Even when those complaints are turned inward and you’re silently castigating yourself, you are continuing to reinforce that there’s something wrong because you haven’t had sex yet. You have to learn to let go of being defensive about it or feeling embarrassed, to stop responding as though being a virgin means you’ve done something wrong or that there’s something wrong with you. It means you have to consciously reframe your own thought patterns, reminding yourself that not having had sex yet has no bearing on your value as a person no matter your age. “You’re still a virgin.” “Yes, and?” “Have you ever even seen a woman naked before? “Not yet, so?” The people who will mock you and try to shame you are of no account; they’re showing themselves to be assholes, and why should you care about the opinions of assholes? Your value doesn’t come from who you have or haven’t slept with. It doesn’t come from where you fall on the bell-curve of starting sexual activity, whether you were precocious or a late bloomer.

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #steven grant rogers #sex and sexuality #marvel critical #mcu critical #sexism #long post

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violett-orwhatever · 9 months

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I have come to the conclusion that I don't dislike macaque anymore and that I never hated him before either. I just have beef with his fans bc they are infuriating me (obv not all of them but there's a good amount out there)

Mischaracterizing aside (this excludes AU's do whatever you want, I'm only referring to canon compliant stuff) I feel like he gets too much praise

And I honestly think theres two reason why ppl originally started liking him from his first appearance onwards...bc he's tall dark and handsome or whatever, and bc Billy Kametz (and Alejandro Saab) has a seductive voice. You can't tell it's bc he's tragic or whatever bc in his debut episode his only goal was to kill mk which is why I didn't like him AND HE DIDNT EVEN DO THAT FOR LBD he just did it bc he was mad at wukong like what the fuck dude 😭

I started sympathizing with him later on bc he did get tortured and that's...a not good thing (I never felt anything about his death bc we don't know anything about that, since OUR JTTW isn't exactly a reliable source considering LMK's version has different lore in some places (for example not making tang sanzang the whimpiest whimp around ty for that creators))

Also hot take: I partly blame the samadhi fire incident on macaque. BECAUSE HE WAS THE ONE WHO THREATENED TANG TO FINISH THE RITUAL sure maybe he wasn't thinking straight and I understand that he just wanted to be free if LBD but in the process he got mei hurt

Wukong said he never ment for mei to have the fire, sure his plan wasn't thought out well but let's say nezha and macaque hadn't intervened, there's no saying for sure what he would have done but he sure as hell wouldn't have mei get hurt

Macaque also never got a redemption arc even tho many claim he did. He sided with the gang and helped out in s4 but that's not...real redemption. He just had some off screen self reflection and suddenly a good amount of ppl act like he pulled a zuko when he never even apologized for what he did!

wukong apologized more than once in the last two seasons but apparently he is the bad guy here bc he's stupid and a bad mentor and - that's a whole other can of worms bc i think they both equally suck and excell at being mentors (both of them got the right idea but the execution...)

Aaand this concludes this months rant

#lego monkie kid #jttw #journey to the west #lmk sun wukong #lmk wukong #sun wukong #lmk macaque #lmk six eared macaque #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #rant post

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make-me-imagine · 2 years

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Heat of the Moment

Trope: Sudden confession in the heat of the moment.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x GN!Reader

Warnings: Brief mentions of violence/fighting - in past tense. Brief arguing. And some kissing.

Words: 1.2k

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @caswinchester2000, @imaginesfire, @rexit-moSpn Taglist: @kaashi, @witchygagirl

*yes, the title is a reference to that episode.

You let out a huff of breath as you watched Dean. He stood on the other side of the room, unpacking the weapons. You hadn't heard him say a word in hours.

"How long is he going to act like this?" You asked in a low whisper.

Sam frowned a bit as he looked back at Dean, before turning back to you. "No idea." As he finished wrapping the bandage around your arm, he asked softly. "What happened back there anyway?"

You sighed. "When we were back in the tunnels, I stopped because I heard something. By the time I turned to call out to Dean, he was gone. So I decided to check it out myself. And surprise surprise, it was the creature."

"But you guys killed it, so why is he so mad?"

"Because between me finding the creature, and Dean finding me, I got hurt. And apparently to him, nearly got myself killed. He told me off in the tunnels, and hasn't spoken to me since."

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

You shook your head. "No, let him stew. If he wants to be angry let him. And if he wants to talk he will." You let out a soft sigh. Thanks Sam." He nodded as he stood, patting you once on the shoulder before he left.

Looking back at Dean, you saw him walk out of the room, without sparing you a single glance. You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the pain in your chest. You didn't get it, this wasn't the first time you had gotten hurt, and it wasn't the first time any one of you went off on your own during a hunt. It may have been a close call but you weren't mortally wounded. There had been a dozen worse scenarios in the past so why was he so mad at you now?

The pain in your chest seemed to grow the more you thought about it. He had been acting off for a while now, mostly in regard to you. As though you couldn't do anything right. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you rose and stalked down the hall towards your room. Since when did you care so much about what Dean thought about you? Since when did his silence feel so loud?

Lying back on your bed, you stared up at your ceiling.

When did you start to care so much? Probably since his laughter turned into music. Or ever since his gaze started to make you feel exposed. Since your feelings of friendship, became more. Since you shoved them away, hiding them from everyone including yourself.

Suddenly, you felt a tear slide down your cheek. Quickly wiping it away, you pushed down the rising tightness in your chest. You wouldn't cry over him. You would ignore the feelings until they faded.

After a while, the dejection faded, and was replaced by the previous anger. You weren't sure how long you had been lying there, staring up at the ceiling, until there was a knock at your door.

Looking over, you see it swing open, revealing Dean standing in the hall. He looked at you, his face blank and voice steady. "Dinners ready"

"Ah, he speaks." You said dryly, not moving from your position.

Dean let out a sigh before beginning to walk away. You watched as he stopped, mid step, before turning and stepping into your room and closing the door. "You wanna know why I'm angry?"

"I know why you're angry Dean, but it doesn't make any sense."

"What, I can't be concerned with your well being anymore? Or upset that you went off on your own and almost got killed?"

You sat up, staring at him with a hard gaze. "What about all the times you've gone off on your own? All the times me or Sam saved your ass from getting killed? I don't recall ever getting so angry that I ignored you for hours at a time. Or punished you for your stupid decisions" Standing up from the bed, you faced him. "I get that what I did was dumb, but you would have done the same exact thing if you were me, so don't act like I'm some irredeemable screw up."

As you yelled at him, you saw his anger begin to fade. When he spoke, there was no ice in his tone, but it was stoic, intense. "This was different."

You scoffed. "Why? Because you don't think I'm capable enough? Is that why you've been leaving me back so often on recent cases? Making me do the research and interviews, while you go after the monsters?"

He took a step closer to you, his voice began to rise again. "That's not why, I just-. You got hurt, you could have gotten killed."

You let out an exasperated laugh. "I got a gash on the arm, it's not like it almost took off my head. So why are you so upset? Why am I suddenly not good enough to be a part of this team?"

"I trust you Y/n, and you are a part of this team, but you wont understand!" His voice was louder now, almost desperate.

"Then make me Dean! Tell me whats going on!"

"Because I love you, alright?! And I don't want to see you get hurt! I don't want to lose you!" He let out a soft breath. "Dammit." He turned away from you, startled and angered by his sudden outburst confession in the heat of the moment.

You froze, your mouth agape, and eyes wide. "What?" You questioned, your voice almost a whisper.

He shook his head as he stared down at the ground. "I don't know when it happened. A year ago, a few months ago, I have no idea. I just, couldn't stand the thought of putting you in danger anymore." Slowly, he turned back to you, and you could see the vast emotion in his eyes. "I wanted you safe, back here, in the bunker. Always here, so I could come back to you, always knowing you would be here. Because every time you go on a hunt, I'm terrified you're not gonna make it back."

You felt almost dizzy from the array of emotion that passed over you. All this time, you thought it was just you. That there was no way he would ever know how you felt.

Slowly, you walked across your room, stopping right in front of him. "Well, now you know how I've felt every time you go off on a hunt without me."

You saw confusion cross Deans face as he processed what you said. He swallowed slowly. "For, uh, for how long?"

You shrugged, smiling softly. "A while. But I never thought- I didn't think you could ever-"

Before you could finish Dean suddenly pulled you into a kiss. You froze in surprise for a moment before you felt your body relax. His hands gripped your sides where he had pulled you closer. You brought your hands up, placing them on his chest as you kissed him back. Slowly you laced your arms around his neck, as he wrapped his around your waist, pulling you closer.

You had each imagined kissing before, in shameful daydreams you both shunned from your minds. But nothing you imagined was as perfect as this moment. You melted into each other, forgetting your anger, your guilt, and your pain.

The future would bring with it, more fear and stress for each of you as you raced straight into danger, side by side. But your determination to keep that unspoken promise of always returning home, would provide you with the strength you needed to keep it.

xx End xx

Not sure how I feel about this one, but I hope you enjoyed it!

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imperator-titus · 5 days

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If I could come up with a title for this series, I would, but I can't.

Thank you to the few people enjoying my work! It has encouraged me (probably a little too much.) This one is pretty long. There may be a lull soon simply because I haven't finished Act 3 on my own so I don't really have an idea for how that'll go. I also don't really know how it'll go in general because this is a fairly sanitized version of my daily daydream material. Concepts ranged from Rowan being a 'minor death deity that Withers pulled into Toril' to 'Rowan can do a lot of things with the power of imagination and suddenly she's a Sister of Battle punching Steel Watchers or a cyberninja a la Cyberpunk getting the Party out of trouble.'

Anyway, Tags (Trying to update when I realize something should probably be tagged): Astarion x Tav (Rowan, not reader, human, agender AFAB but lets the team refer to them as female), Canon x OC, Isekai, Angst, All the Vampirism Warnings (Blood, Biting, etc.), Sexually suggestive situations, Allusions/Mentions of Suicide, Memory Loss, Gender Dysphoria

The group had infiltrated the goblin camp yesterday and decided to take a day to properly rest and come up with a plan. ‘Plan’ was a rather loose word, mostly consisting of “turn goblins into bloody pulp and ash” and bullshitting.

Rowan was, of course, still in a sour mood from her last encounter with Astarion. He was still doing his best to avoid her, lest she turn that icy glare on him again. Everyone noticed and he did a poor job of lying.

“Maybe you should come with us,” Karlach offered a little hopefully as she watched the others’ breakfast being made. “I find it pretty relieving to take out my bad mood on something squishy and gross like a goblin.”

“I think, perhaps, Rowan could talk to us first, instead of putting herself in harm’s way,” Wyll rebutted with a wry smile. “You know, it's been some time and we don't really know much about you.”

“Not much to tell,” she responded woodenly, stirring the potatoes she was frying.

“But where are you from? You're clearly not from Faerûn. But you can speak with us, so it can't be anywhere too exotic,” the Blade continued to ponder aloud. Gale scoffed.

“Ridiculous. You didn't see her when first we arrived on that abysmal shoreline. She was clearly plucked from Faerûn when the nautiloid went through some temporal shift between planes.”

“Heyyy,” Karlach started cautiously, holding up a warding hand towards the woman in question, “why are you almost as red as me? Are you alright?”

Rowan screeched. Loud, piercing, and feral. Everyone recoiled. Lae’zel half-drew a knife. With seething rage, the human hurled her spatula into the ground by her feet with enough force that it sank in a few inches with a satisfying shnk.

“You want to know if I’m alright?!” she screamed, looking them all in the eye, settling on Astarion’s for a few moments. “I am actively going insane, and you’re all compelled to make it worse!

“You’re right, I'm not from here. I don't even know where this place is in relation to where I'm from. Why am I terrified all the time? Why do I ask you dumb questions?” She pointed into the sky with a rage-trembling finger. “That's not my moon! Those aren't my stars! The only things that talk are humans. Elves, dragons, magic? Make-believe tales for children. The dead stay dead and they have nothing to say to us. The existence of God? Practically a matter of philosophy.

“As if it wasn't enough that I am in a place that I am wholly ill-equipped and untrained for, every day I wake up on this horrifying rock and forget a piece of what my life was like before. I have been standing here, making our food, while desperately trying to remember the faces and names of people I loved, the things I've done, the shit that makes me me, and you all come up and fucking prod me about stuff that means nothing to me. I spent our first week here debating the possibility that I've died and this is my own personal hell, which I didn’t believe in until I was being constantly tortured by this place. The person I shared most of my life with is just a shapeless fucking shadow now. I have almost completely lost the concept of who I am as a person. Nevermind that you” Rowan singled out Astarion with an accusatory finger “keep saying and doing things to me that make me want to peel off my own skin on a near-daily basis because for some reason I’ve now long forgotten, they trigger a deep-seeded revulsion at the concept of my having a corporeal form that I am unfortunate enough to still inhabit.

“So, to answer your question; no, I’m not alright! Make your own fucking last meal before you get eaten by goblins.” Rowan turned on her heel and confidently walked out of camp.

She was out of sight by the time anyone could speak.

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?” Gale asked, an inquisitive finger on his chin. “A world with no magic? How would that even work?”

“The worm has scrambled her senses,” Lae’zel said dismissively. “There is no reason to believe anything she says. You should have allowed me to put her down long ago.”

“But it would explain everything, wouldn't it?” Karlach uncertainly voiced, crossing her arms. “She didn’t even trust the vegetables.”

“I cannot imagine losing my very sense of being, surrounded by strangers in a strange land. And to not even have an inkling of combat training,” Wyll mused with a sad shake of his head.

“Well-” Astarion started, one emphatic hand frozen in the air and the other on his hip, before huffing in frustration.

“You were going to say ‘good riddance’, weren’t you?” Shadowheart teased with a sly smile. She knew he couldn’t say it.

The vampire sighed and lowered his hand. “It’s hard to say good-bye to a reliable meal that cleans its neck.”

“Are you crazy?!” Karlach cried, clenching her fists and furrowing her brow. Her fire blazed for a moment before she turned to gather her equipment. “We can’t let her go out alone!”

“Surely she’s coming back? She left her things,” Gale pointed out.

“Wizards really are idiots,” Karlach said over her shoulder with clear annoyance. “Rowan knows she won’t make it out there on her own! A bedroll isn’t going to change that.”

“The danger will either teach her to fend for herself or cull the weak,” Lae’zel pointed out before returning to her tent.

Karlach growled and made a rude gesture in the githyanki’s direction. Astarion also turned to leave, but the tiefling carefully pinched his shirt between her claws just briefly enough to tug him and ruin his balance. “No you don’t, you leech, you’re coming with me.”

“Why me?” Astarion whined, trying to see if she scorched his one decent shirt. “You might recall that she has been very unpleasant towards me lately. I don’t think this is the face that will win her back,” he argued, flamboyantly fanning his hands from below his chin to the sides of his face, smiling as he did so. The smile dropped, replaced by a glower as he flicked his hand in the wizard’s direction. “Take Gale.”

“Nope, you got the most to apologize for. Now put your leathers on and let’s go.”

In a few minutes they were on the road, just the two of them. Astarion debated whether or not Karlach was going to singe his ear off before he muttered, “This is ridiculous.”

“I know, deep down, you don’t mean that.”

Astarion scoffed. “How much complaining must I do before you lot realize that I don’t want to do good things?”

“Have you ever considered that maybe you were a good person before Cazador?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with now.”

“You’ve had a hard go of it, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a dickhead to everyone.”

“This is probably a bad time to say that I’ve been letting you go in the wrong direction for the past 5 minutes?”

Karlach roared. Astarion veered a few steps away to avoid being burned. “What’s wrong with you?!”

Sheepishly, he started leading her in a different direction. “I think the answer to that should be quite obvious.”

Karlach stomped beside him for a bit before becoming visibly confused. “Wait, how do you know the right way?”

“I can smell her blood on the wind,” he answered theatrically, fingertips twinkling in the air like magic. Karlach’s eyes went wide in shock.

“She’s hurt already?!” Astarion rolled his eyes.

“No, darling, it’s just a vampire thing.” Karlach walked silently for a few more beats.

“Like one of those dogs that track something by its smell?” she asked rather innocently. Astarion bristled.

“No.” He eventually sighed in defeat. “Yes, like a scent hound.”

It wasn’t that long before they caught up to Rowan. They found her on the stretch of beach where she and Shadowheart had awoken and started this journey together.

“What is she doing? This isn’t that far from camp,” Astarion pointed out, almost a little miffed. “I thought she was going to find a dragon or something to gobble her up.”

“Looks like she’s fishing, big guy,” Karlach answered earnestly, unsquinting her eyes. “And you are going to go ask her how it’s going.”

Astarion huffed. “What if I mess this up? I’m going to mess this up. Apologies and caring aren’t exactly some of my strong suits.”

“Then I’ll drag her back. She might be a little crispy, but better than goblin food.” When Astarion started to argue, Karlach pointed a firm finger toward the beach. His shoulders sagged in defeat before he rolled them back to swagger with his usual self-importance.

The beach was an absolute mess. The forgotten bodies of dead fishermen were mostly bones, their flesh taken by both animals and the elements. Fetid piles of goo pooled under the nautiloid’s hulking tentacles. Thankfully, a breeze was pushing the smell away from them.

Rowan remained seated as he approached, but an ever-so-slight turn of her head indicated that she knew he was there. “I’ll be honest, you're probably the second-to-last one I expected to look for me.”

“Darling, I’m hurt.” He feigned a blow to his ego, but realized she couldn’t see. With a tone like a lady-in-waiting looking for something scandalous, he asked, “Who's the first?”

“Karlach,” she answered immediately.

“Well, she’s here too,” he said after a deflating huff. “Almost ruined my shirt dragging me out here.”

Rowan didn't respond, merely flicked the end of her fishing pole. Astarion could hear her breath change slightly for a moment before returning to normal. Actual normal, not that high-chested cornered-animal breathing she usually did. Her heart beat a steady rhythm in his ears.

“Fishing? Really? We thought you were looking for a way to kill yourself.”

“I liked fishing. I still remember that,” she told him calmly.

“I think I’d rather die,” he remarked before lowering himself onto a nearby rock that wasn't too dirty. A few moments passed in silence as he tried to figure out how this whole apology thing was supposed to work.

“What’s it like?” Rowan asked before he could even start to find the words. Red eyes flicked over to her, but her attention remained on the water. “Forgetting who you are?”

“Well, I lost myself all at once, so I’m not sure that it compares.” He also didn't like to think about it too much, but it kept coming up in conversations. The group had a way of doing that, making everyone slowly expose the most horrible shit that happened to them. “You had a point, though. The dark shape sitting in your memory. As if you might be able to squint hard enough to make sense of it, but you can't. It nags at you, that it's there and you can't get to it.”

She flicked the end of the rod again, a look of deep contemplation on her face. It eventually softened. “That first night you came to my tent, when I asked you not to stop? I'd forgotten my husband’s name. I spent all day trying to remember it. I was afraid I’d forget something else in my sleep.”

Astarion still didn’t understand why Karlach insisted he be the one to do this. Maybe he was capable of empathy and compassion when he was a mere elf, but life as a spawn had surely broken the part of him capable of relating to the plights of others. He didn’t feel the need to apologize for teasing her, because that was fun. They all did it to one another, why was she special? No one apologized to him for making barbs about his condition.

Although… When she pushed him off of her, when she screamed at them all and ran away, he was afraid. Afraid that Rowan would be gone for good. Not just afraid that he’d have to find some other necks to bite, but that he would no longer feel her warmth. She would no longer be there to admire him and he couldn’t spy on her in the mirror when she wasn’t looking. That cute little look of utter concentration, the nimble flicks of her fingers as she used some thoroughly practiced skill. Here she was, so focused and casual as she waited for her prey to strike.

It hurt when they made those jokes about him. Would he feel better if they apologized? It would have to be genuine. That was probably why he didn’t want to apologize. Astarion was a lie, a lure, and probably hadn’t been genuine in over 200 years.

“I’m sorry about the other day. When I pushed you,” she said, solemnly breaking the silence between them. “I wasn’t ready to accept that my old life was gone. You didn’t know that what you said would hurt so much.”

“I said something very cruel,” he responded after the initial shock wore off. “The circumstances only made it that much crueler. For once, I… I am actually sorry.”

“I’m glad I could be your first,” Rowan joked with a completely straight face. Astarion laughed loudly and if he hadn’t covered his eyes, he would’ve seen a broad smile spread across her face. When he was done, she swiftly pulled her line out of the water. “Come on, then. Who else is going to make dinner for those idiots?”

Astarion turned first to leave, only to find Karlach grinning and giving him two thumbs up. How embarrassing.

“So, we’re all good now?” Karlach asked excitedly as they approached.

“We’re all good now,” Rowan confirmed with a nod. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Karlach’s eyes went big like when Scratch begged for scritches. “It’s awful what’s happening to you. I still remember what it was like when I first ended up in Avernus. At least I could take my anger out on demons. All you have is a frying pan!”

Instinctively, Rowan tried to place a hand on the woman’s arm, and nearly did, but Astarion swatted the hand away before she could burn herself. Instead, she smiled up at Karlach. “Well, when Dammon can finally fix your engine, I'll be first in line for a hug.”

“You can count on it!”

They walked along, Karlach in front and Astarion bringing up the rear. Not that there was much danger the way Rowan fled, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

Karlach was humming to herself when Astarion sped up to walk beside Rowan. In a quiet voice, he asked, “Did you really mean that? That I make you want to… peel off your own skin?”

“It’s hard to explain. It’s not about you,” she answered with a reassuring tone and a soft smile. “You’re the only one… touching me and pointing out the way I look and it just… reminds me that I’m in this body and I don’t like it. I would say that I’d rather be a ball of pure energy, but then I’d have Gale sucking on my neck.”

Astarion laughed loudly again. Karlach looked back at them and pouted. “What’s so funny?”

“Talking about how cute Gale is,” Rowan lied, only to be attacked with one of Astarion’s sharp elbows.

“Gods, don’t tell me you believe that,” he warned her, a defeated look in his eyes. Rowan shrugged.

“What? You’re all cute. Druids were cute. Those tieflings were cute. Bet there’ll be a lot of cuties in Baldur’s gate.”

Astarion glowered at her. “I am not. Cute. I’m gorgeous.”

“Aww, take the compliment, Fangs,” Karlach admonished him, her flames running hot like a blush. “I think it’s sweet. She’s never even seen an elf before and she thinks you’re cute, not disgusting.”

“Wyll showed me a picture of a kobold once. They looked pretty cute too.”

Astarion gagged loudly.

#astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #bg3 fanfiction #fanfiction #isekai #bg3 tav #Rowan OC #tw sexually suggestive situations #agender oc #original character #tw suicide #tw suicide mention #tw memory loss #tw gender dysphoria #titus writes #a non hero's guide

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multicolour-ink · 1 year

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Oh I can imagine that when mario and luigi find survivors they will freak out when they see that Luigi has been bitten and think he will turn into a zombie,and tried to kill him, only for mario to kill them instead to protect his brother

referring to this and this

While Luigi may act sort of the same, I imagine his appearance would change a bit. Maybe a more grayish skin tone and/or altered irises. So it's very easy for people to pick him out of a crowd. He can't just walk up to anyone like normal anymore (except for Mario).

So when they do find survivors, they are in no way able to accept that Luigi is harmless. One even pulls out a weapon. And that's when Mario snaps. Unable to stand by and let them kill his brother, he does what he can to protect him....

Oh! 👀 Now that opens up a lot of doors!

Let's assume for simplicities sake that the events play out similar to TLoU.

Mario and Luigi have managed to survive together, just the two of them - until one day on a scavenging hunt (or whatever job it is they are doing) they are ambushed by infected, and Luigi gets bit.

And at that moment Mario's world starts to crumble, because it's suddenly no why him this can't be happening I was supposed to protect him I can't lose him please

The next few days of waiting are torture; Mario even starts to consider the crazy idea of asking Luigi to bite him, just so they can turn together.

But Luigi doesn't turn, much to Mario's sheer delight; word of this soon spreads to a resistance group, who ask Luigi to come to them so they can figure out a cure from his condition. Mario is reluctant because - even though you did mention Mario is a nice guy who just wants to help others - this is still a zombie apocalypse. TLoU proves that desperation always sets in during the worst of times. So even though Mario tries to help as much as he can, he soon learns he has to turn many down, even if it goes against his very nature.

So the journey plays out pretty similar to TLoU - heck even the confrontation between Joel and Ellie in the house, as well as this line from Ellie could fit into the story

"Stop with the bulls***! What are you so afraid of?! You think I'm gonna end up like Sam? I can't get infected! I can take care of myself!"

This is pretty much almost word for word on what could happen between the Bros. Luigi knows that Mario has always been protective, but considering he's now immune, Mario, in his opinion, is just throwing himself in front of a sponge. There would definitely be conflict, and the Bros would have to work on that new trust in order to get to the resistance group.

Now at the very end...the moment Luigi needs to be sacrificed for a cure.

Much like Joel - Mario snaps. He can't, won't, have his brother come this far, only for once again there be another chance he can be taken away from him again. The world has already given up on itself, but the Bros have never given up on each other. They need each other as their own cures for this bleak world.

So Mario goes on a rampage, until he rescues Luigi, and manages to get them away before they are caught again.

Now...for the ending. I thought long and hard about how I believe this would play out, and from what I've decided - Mario still lies to Luigi, but Luigi immediately picks up on it. Neither brother confess to each other out loud (something they have had to do for the very first time in their lives) but they both know the truth. Luigi doesn't miss the look in Mario's eyes, the blood on his hands. But he's not angry, because he knows he would've done the same thing. They both know that they need each other, and they would never give each other up willingly.

On a side note: I legit thought that this was what they were hinting at during the end of TLoU with Ellie. The way she replied "Ok" to Joel's lie seemed to hint that she knew he wasn't being honest, but chose not to bring it up because she knew she would've done the same if it was him.

Only for that to get completely blown out of the water by having Part 2 say that Ellie wanted to sacrifice herself, even though there was no hint of this at all in the first game 😑

Perhaps later on down the line, Luigi tries to research how his condition could help people, without the need to sacrifice others. Mario tries to get him to give up on it ("It's all useless now") Luigi challenges his brother by asking if he would give up on him....

Cue a slightly awkward and guilty Mario....

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watchinglikeafangirl · 2 years

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VegasPete had two intense scenes this time so what does that mean for me and you? Yess, each gets its own analysis!

So, enjoy part one since it's too hot here and a migrane is coming.

VegasPete - captured and hostage 1/2

To understand why this particular scene feels so intense, we have to revisit the very first one of this episode.

"Do you know how sexy you are?"

Many people referred to the meaning of this scene as an equivalent to the forest episode with KinnPorsche because VegasPete is as isolated from the world as they were. This isolation is in reach of our hands in this scene, we can taste it. They just had sex, they share some thoughts, they stare into each other's eyes.

"I just live in the present. What I'm feeling, that's all I think about."

I am not quite sure if it's really the truth because it seems more like a vague answer to Vegas' question if Pete just accepted himself or not. It's more like an idea we all have, we all wish would one day happen to us. Blending the real life out, not caring about what other people do or say or care about seems like a hard thing to do and certain people's opinions will always affect us. I don't think we can just shut it all off.

But that's what this scene is about. They wish to be carefree, Vegas wishes to be carefree. In the end, it's just that: a wish. A wish that can only exist in an isolated mind far from reality because it's something ideal that will never happen. The scene is tragic in this matter but it's just a little talk between them. There are no windows, there's no outside, no reality, so it's a save space to share those thoughts.

This scene is very important as it draws a line, colors the difference between them sharing little thoughts and reality hitting hard. They live there alone. Vegas can actually feel appreciation, cooks for Pete but then his father hits him and the world hasn't changed one bit. The bubble he himself created, let him believe his own lie and disappointment is what he gets in return. Yes, Pete is there, Pete didn't run, Pete helps him but no, feelings don't change the world.

Moving on to the scene I call "aggressive knife-grabbing"

We start with a sequence of an angry, sad and disapponted Vegas and a Pete that's lost in thoughts.

"I don't like it. Then why didn't I say no?"

But Pete isn't alone all the time. Vegas brings him food, though it's again just instant noodles. Since Vegas is suddenly very distant, hides his face and was gone for a long while, Pete figured the father showed himself again. Before, Vegas was open, calm and smiling but there is always a change in attitude when he got hit. The change from last scene to this one is fatal and it's rather painful because Vegas takes ten steps back again. He is again a kid that's angry at his father. This anger comes from disappointment though he should have learned by now, there's nothing to expect. But well, in our role as kids, we never learn to expect to get no love but harm as a reward for our existence. Vegas stays in his mindset, so the mental abuse can never stop.

Pete tries to reach Vegas again, tries to touch his face but Vegas acts all cold towards him. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to deal with it. His response to Pete's concern is more like a: don't try to fix me when I can't fix myself. He doesn't accept the fact someone could care. Like I said, ten steps backwards because he doesn't feel appreciated any longer. But Pete being there is not a dream nor pity, it's care.

This comes from Vegas' very dominant character trait: selfishness.

"It's up to you Vegas. It's your choice."

This is when things start to get out of hand because Vegas starts choking Pete. For Vegas, Pete's words imply he is too weak to cut ties with his family and run. But what Pete means is Vegas chooses to let his father have that effect on him. He once overcame it and the hitting didn't hurt as much any more. But here, he wasn't prepared, caught off guard and robbed of his happiness. The scene itself was different, so is Vegas' way of dealing with it. But Pete still tries to remind him of the power he has over his father. Vegas still has the power to decide it's not gonna hurt any longer the way it does now. It also implies he always had that power, just didn't know about it or how to use it.

"Anyhow, you're just my pet."

Pete is once again the prisoner, the pet. He is not allowed to have an opinion on his own. Vegas threatens him, telling him he shouldn't get too ahead of himself. From the mere second on Vegas puts his hands on Pete's throat, an old mask reappears. I'm not saying, he's not angry, his emotions are halfway true, but it's not true he only granted Pete to share so many of his thoughts, that he was waiting for Pete to stop, that Pete should stop being himself. This is clearly something he only says to protect himself. Like I said, he's saying "I'm not fixable" though he knows deep down that's not what Pete was trying to do. There's no pity here, it's far more complicated and deeper. So Vegas is just saying all that bullshit to push Pete away.

But then things get out of hand and suddenly there's a knife pressed to Pete's neck. None of them is moving, both confused what led to this moment. They went too far. This image of the other changes the whole perspective of things. Vegas is in shock that he is threatening Pete with a knife, that his anger is strong enough to randomly kill anyone who provoces him, even if that anyone is Pete. Pete on the other hand is just truly devastated since Vegas doesn't seem to understand a word he says, that it doesn't have to be like this and that Pete has feelings as well. Vegas' face shows regret while Pete is breaking, starts to cry.

Pete insists Vegas should kill him, but Vegas doesn't. He can't. He doesn' have a reason to. For him, he calmed down the second that knife went to Pete's neck. It shook him awake. But Pete is now breaking down since Vegas was so gentle with him before but then turned into the scary kidnapper from episode 10.

And then follows the most intense line of this scene:

"I got nothing left. Not even my hunmanity."

Vegas' expression changes immediatly. His eyes are wet, his face regrets, his body is restless. He realises what he'd done. He did the same as his father, he made Pete feel like shit because Vegas himself does. The parallel to Pete's line "they don't do this because we suck but because they themselves suck" is too obvious here and it hits Vegas. He's in this context and in this scene right here, no better than his father. The abused turned into the abuser.

It's not like he didn't abuse anyone before, we see Tawan was extremely manipulated, but none of the people before have said so. They never let him feel their pain.

Then again, it was Pete's humanity that helped Vegas but he took that humanity by force. Pete didn't give it to him willingly, so Vegas drained him. He broke Pete by ignoring his needs and by just thinking about himself because he feels like he's the only person on earth who suffers.

"I've always been useless."

Pete just drops these heavy lines, aiming right to where it hurts Vegas. By saying "you're my pet", Vegas gave Pete a purpose - in a way. He told him his worth and what role he plays in Vegas' life. But in doing so, he gave Pete something to feel pathetic and even worse. All his life comes crashing down on him because Vegas treats him no different than all the other people before. In my notes I wrote: Vegas drove Pete to the edge of the cliff where his entire life comes back to him, all the aweful days he did nothing, didn't talk back, was never respected.

This is not about the time with Vegas, it's about the raw side of Pete because he shows Vegas how much he kept hidden because he was just the pet. he hoped to be treated differently after a while but Vegas just proved he won't, so this disappointment and regret of ever hoping and anger against himself, lead Pete to not see any purpose in his life any longer when this is all he ever gets and seems to deserve.

"I never exist. I have no feelings."

Because he's always been used, became useless to himself.

"I don't freaking have anything left within me."

Because Vegas took his humanity by force.

"I can't take myself anymore, Vegas."

"If you don't kill me today, I'll do it myself."

And this is where the tables turn because Pete actively harms himself. He grabs the knife, it cuts deep through his hand and he lets out a noise of pain, because hurting yourself, even when you feel like you're ready to die, still hurts, doesn't make you numb.

Vegas wants to save Pete from himself but stumbles backwards when Pete tells him to let go.

"Pete, I'm sorry. Okay? I give up, Pete. I'm sorry."

This is obviously too much for Vegas to bear. It's all so messy and an overload of information. This scene holds so many emotions, one is unable to name them all. Regret is not enough and love is too much. So I'm not even trying to word this. Just watch the frustration, disappointment, anger and self-pity run over Vegas' face when he sees he damaged more than he ever wanted. We know Pete is not the only one he held as a pet, so Vegas is probably thinking what horrible human being he is, having done such severe harm to a person's confidence and will. He knows he went to far after the incident with his father. His impulses are too strong from being mistreated all his life. He snaps so easily and it led him to where he is now. With a man he kinda has feelings for, standing in front of him, ready to take his own life in order to escape his fangs.

"Don't leave me, I'm begging you."

Here we see his selfishness once again. He may not mean it as selfish as it sounds but Vegas has always been someone to believe the world turns around him, like he is the centre of everyone's attention when in fact he's not. His idiology fights against the rest of the world. It's him against it all. With Pete, he is willing to make an exception and let him be by his side. But then it will be an "us against the world" which is not what Pete wants. The world doesn't care about him, so why cry about it when nobody's gonna listen?

"I'm a human, Vegas. I have feelings."

Pete is once again stating his point that he is not an emotionless wreck. At this point, I think Vegas never asked Pete about his thoughts because he thought Pete would come around eventually. Those lines show a completely different side. It's the side of a desperate prisoner who wants to flee whereas Vegas only knew the calm and balanced side of Pete until now. So it didn't occur to him that Pete was not okay with this situation at all. Because Vegas can't see things from the other's perspective. He doesn't have (much) empathy.

I think it's still pretty unclear how long VegasPete are on their little vacation but judging by the way Pete's wounds have recovered, I would say a long time. So Pete was coping with all of this for like three weeks or something while Vegas thought it would be okay to keep someone in a room without windows. So yes, Pete can't believe Vegas when he implies he will free him from handcuffs. He just can't trust Vegas. It totally makes sense to knock Vegas out and flee because this was the only way to escape at all, because this was not a relationship. It was the captured and the hostage. Pete was captured and would have never been freed because Vegas was his own hostage, because he was too caught up in his head.

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #vegaspete #didn't check for mistakes sorry #but i need to sleeep

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