#but for real i could use some commissions this month
Note
Hiii
Alastor X human!reader where she is desperate to make a deal for fame and glory.
She tries to summon a demon, accidentally conjuring Alastor. Beside her feisty facade she’s quite innocent and naive. He’s intrigued by her and toys with her, like a prey,tricking her into him, she signs the deal. He’ll come back after 1yr to collect his pretty little prize…her body and soul. 🌶️🔥
Title: A Price to Pay
part 2
You frowned at the check your boss had handed you.
Too little. You looked at your boss, a nervous smile on your lips as a laugh bubbled out of your throat ”haha this is half of what i should be getting. That’s funny, where's the rest? Am i getting that in cash or some?” Your boss laughed “HA! No thats what you’re getting for the week‘
Your eyes damn near popped out of your head.
For the week?
This was your pay for the entire week?
Oh hell no!
You poked a finger into the mans chest “What?! The whole week? I’ve been singing my ass off in this shit hole for two weeks! Where are my commissions?” You were angry!
He gave a low laugh as he pulled out a cigar ”You think just because you’re my best in this joint that I wasn’t gonna get the Final Cut? You better take it before i hand your ass nothing”
You sniffled as you wiped at your runny nose.
The yellow paper with EVICTION stared at you as you felt another wave of tear hit you.
Why?
Why couldn’t you just make enough to stay afloat?
Why did you have to suffer?
Why didn’t fate grant you mercy?
You had been busting your ass for months trying to make enough money to just pay the damn pills.
You were the best singer on your side of town and that shit hole needed a singer almost every night and when big shots went there. The money wasn’t terrible, it beat standing out on the pier at night, waiting to be taken to gods know where.
You laughed dryly, you would gladly get pimped out if it meant that you could still afford food to eat.
Why was life so cruel?
You had worked so hard and it felt like it was all for nothing.
You could hear your momma in your head
”You wanna dream big? Then never let life beat you down. Take it by the balls and make your dream a reality”
The next thing you know, you found yourself pulling out your mother’s old grimoire and drawing symbols on your bedroom floor.
what the hell were you doing?
You used to scoff at your mother when she did spells.
Because magic wasn’t real…right?
But it felt like you had no other option as you threw some herbs into the small fire pot.
Momma used to tell you about all types of things that were possible with a little magic. That you always had friends on the other side who could help if you knew what you doing.
And you indeed had no fucking clue.
But you were tired, angry, and desperate and wanted to do something about it.
This was your life!
You felt your body tingle as you chanted the incantation.
The room turned cold and the fire from the candles blew out. The building started to shake as you spoke the last verse and suddenly you were thrown back from an explosion in the middle of your pentagram.
You watched in terror as the floor glowed red and rising from the smoke was a very large demon.
You panicked as it began to stand, gulping at its full height.
Oh what did you just do?
—————————————————
Alastor blinked as he stood. Fanning the smoke away from his face, he grimaced once he saw the pentagram, candles, and herbs. Who dared? His ears perked at the sound of heavy breathing. He turned his head and red eyes caught sight of a mortal woman standing against the wall, eyes wide.
He took a step towards her, head tilting as she cowered away. He huffed as he got to the edge of the protection boundary. He gave her a smile, sharp teeth glistening with narrowed eyes
“Hello my dear”
——————————————————————
You took in the tall demon that stood in your bedroom.
He was dressed like one of those fancy gents.
Red and black tailored suit with a cane.
You watched as he curled his lip when he saw your protection boundary. You felt your body freeze as his eyes met yours.
Red.
Glowing red.
He was rather handsome looking for a demon.
He reminded you of-
“Deer” you squeaked, causing Alastor to tilt his head, ears flicking.
oh come on! You can’t be scared of something that you’re in control of!
”Hello my dear” you heard him say. He stood on the cusp of the salt boundary giving you his full attention.
That smile of his was very uncanny.
You shivered.
You found your nerves and puffed your chest out
”Hello demon-sir”
”Alastor” you blinked at him “w-what?”
He never lost that smile “The names Alastor. Pleasure to meet you” you were at a lost for words. Alastor took your silence to look around, your spellbook caught in his attention before he took you in.
You cleared your throat “I summoned-” “conjured” “You to um make a deal?” You said uncertain
Alastor smirked “oh reallly? And what makes you think Ill make a deal with a human like you?”
You frowned ”You don’t have a choice! I summoned YOU here you have to do what I ask!’
He laughed darkly “Oh my dear that isn’t how things work” he looked back at the salt ”lets chat”
You didn’t trust him, but he seemed friendly girl don’t do it
you inched close and with a sweep of your foot, dusted a bit of the salt to let him through.
Alastor stepped through and now you were being towered over.
Alastor took you in.
what a small thing you were. He was sure you had no idea what you were doing or dealing with.
But if it was deal you wanted, he will grant that.
”What do you want?”
You wrung your hands nervously as you spilled your sad excuse of a life and your far fetched dream.
You felt a surge of determination as you finished your little rant “That’s why I need a deal! I deserve to rise to the top! I’ve worked my ass off for years and nothing! Why-Why should I settle for this? My life deserved to be full of glamor and money! I deserve that right? Right! S-s-so what do you say”
Oh what an innocent thing you were.
Such a fire that had nowhere to burn.
Perfect
Alastor feigned mulling it over, your face dropping as he walked away from you.
”A deal works both ways my dear”he started as he turned back to you “What will you give me in return?” His smile stretched across his face as his calm facade faded.
You gulped but you were not gonna back out “Ill give you anything j-just please I don’t care what I have to do!”
He was in front of you in a flash, making you take a step back nervously
“Anything?” A clawed hand squished your cheeks hard as he leaned his face to yours
”prove it” he purred
You blinked. How the hell were you suppose to do that?
Nothing in this world is free. Your momma taught you that and your warning bells were screaming.
His thumbs was running over your lips and you opened your mouth to suck it.
You could die right now. Was this worth it? To give up your dignity to a demon?
Alastor growled and in a swift motion, you were on your bedroom floor, heart thumping in your ears as you looked up at the demon on top of you.
Alastor’s free hand swiped down your body, tearing your clothes to shreds, leaving you naked.
You felt a soft heat curl in your stomach.
Alastor laughed darkly as he took in your naked form. His hand dipped down and thumbed at the small bundle of nerves, causing you to jolt.
Oh he was going to have fun with you
”One year.” He said as he dipped a finger into your tight heat.
You gasped around his finger.
”You’ll get your fame. You’ll have riches and power beyond your imagination. A top star. It’ll all be yours. But in one year you are mine. Your soul and body. Do we have a deal?” He was slowly fingering you, relishing in the softness your cunt offered as it squeezed around him.
Your body and soul in exchange for glory.
Did you still want this?
”yes” you whimpered
A green glow emitted around the two of you. Alastor eyes glowed and his antlers grew as he plucked his thumb from your mouth and slammed his lips onto yours as he rubbed your clit as he slammed his fingers into you.
”mmmhmm hmmm!’ You cried into his mouth as your orgasm hit you.
Your cunt clenched around him, creamy slick drowning his hand.
Your body buzzed as he retracted his fingers, watching in bliss as he licked your cum off his fingers.
”Oooh such a sweet cunt” He Purred at you as he scooped you up into his arms to lay you on your bed.
”Ill always keep close watch my dear, so don’t think you can back out of this” he said, you blinked sleepily as you felt the coldness of a necklace clasped around your neck.
“One year my dear”
Your world faded to black.
pt 2 coming soon..hehehe
@thewinchestah @catherine1206 @stygianoir @jellibean2018 @markster666 @strawberrypimp666 @3verlark @alastor-simp @alastorsaries @alastwhore666 @gojosaturos-wife @tojirights @polytheatrix @dennsfz @horrorartsworld @prosciuttosblog @yourdoorisunlocked @dievia3 @alastorsdarling @t0byisher3 @mneferta @purplecatsandhearts @alishii @okay-babe @danveration @absurd-ash @peachedtv @simphornies @fatnug @alastorsdear @alastwhore666 @stawberrypimpsimp @altruisticalastor @queenariesofnarnia @scaramoochiie @rradio-static @someonethatsnotimportantplshelp @squeekycheesecurd @squixythebee @catmunist @lbcreations-blog @coleisyn @bratty2bunny @v0xsw1fe @alstorloml @fizzled-phoenix @siiv3r @k1y0yo @yunimimii @wisteria-seal @kassa-stardust
#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor#alastor the radio demon#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel fanfiction#jyoongim#alastor x y/n#alastor smut#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel smut
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jjk characters as male thot jobs
including: satoru gojo, suguru geto, toji fushiguro, kento nanami
contents: sfw but very suggestive, jjk men acting like sluts, gn!reader but there is a fem term used once
a/n: you might not consider some of these as “thot jobs” but im here to hypnotize you ouuuuhhh *wiggles fingers around* .. this is so silly but i had a blast writing this one
☆ . . . since gojo’s brain is hardwired to find teasing others amusing and quite the pass time i could see him as a dentist. you go to your local clinic for a annual deep cleaning and this man purposely goes out of his way to make things seem inherently sensual but still manages to do his job professionally. he’ll coo and praise you for following the most regular orders “now open real nice and wide for me … that’s righttt, good girl.” and “bite down on this … mhm yes just like that, you’re doing a great job.”
he’d definitely be like the annoying ones who still try to have a conversation while knuckles-deep prodding in your mouth. “i can tell you haven’t been flossing as much as you should be, what’s up with that?” and all you can do is narrow your eyes at him. he always caress your jaw and cheek too even through the latex gloves his touches are so intimate and gentle at the end of your appointment you’ll be genuinely considering if you should fuck your dentist or not.
☆ . . . i had multiple options for geto but firmly decided on a ceramic artist. i can envision him owning a modern yet whimsical pottery studio —he wanted the modern look but nanako and mimiko insist on the whimsical interior.— he offers free beginner classes twice a month. omgg the way his hands knead at the clay and skillfully sculpts on the wheel with his fingers meticulously bending, making his veins more prominent while delicately morphing the creation into a vase. he annunciates his instructions with melodic calmness but still has authority present in his tone i swearrr his voice is like honey.
you catch his eye in one of his classes and offers extended hours free of charge to help you “better your form.” he sits behind you, cradling your forearms directing your movements but still making room for you to assist your own creation. his warm minted breath tickles the back of your neck causing goosebumps “make sure to sit close to the wheel and anchor your elbows tightly against your body…” the sultry in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed with him slightly moving to your ear next “don’t be afraid to make mistakes it’s all about trial and error darling.”
☆ . . . like the unemployed bum toji is, he seems like the type of man to pride himself as a ‘jack of all trades.’ which is why i see him in the freelancer field of work, specifically, a personal shopper. he has an app on his phone where he can either accept or deny requests. he’s quite picky with commissions when money isn’t running low, but don’t get him wrong, he’s willing to go the extra mile to please his clients. always prefers phone calls over text when discussing farther details knowing his gruff voice will have the recipient weak in the knees. he isn’t shameful to treat his full time employment as a part time hookup arrangement…if he’s lucky enough that is.
“here’s your stuff pretty.” the quite taller and muscular man at your porch hands over a brown bag containing your groceries. you don’t miss the way his hands graze yours in the exchange, his sharp eyes examine you like you’re his prey; awaiting for your next move in a game you involuntarily started playing. words of gratitude try to slither past your lips but ultimately couldn’t —you’ve officially peaked his interest— “hey, why don’t i help you unload your items?” at that you nodded making way for the sleazy man to enter your home and eventually your bedroom as well.
☆ . . . what differentiates nanami from the rest is that he’s unaware of how insanely attractive his profession as a baker is. he truly doesn’t understand the appeal of a man in an apron kneading dough and decorating pink frilly cupcakes. he co-owns a bakery with haibara !! they even enrolled in culinary school together. the interior is quite morden with wisteria and other succulent plants hanging from the ceiling; most of the time he’s clueless to very clear advances from others or kindly shut them down saying how he’s “not looking for anything serious” which is a lie he himself started to believe.
but on a faithful sunday autumn morning you stroll in just salivating at the thought of warm dewy chocolate filled croissants, fresh from the oven, when you see him; clad in a bulky knitted cream sweater tying a black apron around his slim waist whilst his becipes bulged slightly through the thick material of the sweater. “good morning, what can i get for you today?” one thing lead to another making you leave with not only a croissant but the blond man’s phone number —due thanks to his cheeky younger coworker, yuji, who wrote the number on your receipt including a note that read: ‘he’s soooo into you :)’—
reblogs & feedback is extremely appreciated !! <3
#gojo satoru#suguru geto#toji fushiguro#nanami kento#gojo smut#gojo fluff#jjk gojo#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#jjk toji#toji smut#toji x y/n#toji x reader#jujutsu kaisen toji#toji fluff#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu nanami#jujutsu gojo#jujustsu kaisen fluff#jjk scenarios#nanami x you#nanami x reader#geto smut#geto x reader#x reader#nanami smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu geto#toji#nanami fluff
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Hey, Hope you're having a good day or night wherever you are.
Can I request a headcanon about 141 with a female reader who likes to draw and sketch a lot? Platonic ofc.
thanks anon, hope you have a good ____ as well <3 i used to be a sketch/artist girl so this was so cute to write :)
an artist’s touch
┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊
summary: When you aren’t on the field, you are an avid artist of multiple mediums. It isn’t brought up much but once it is, the 141 has plenty of questions (and even some requests).
pairing: Taskforce 141 x platonic!fem!reader
warnings: swearing, mentions of blood/violence
┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊
tbh when you first joined, they didn’t know much about your hobby (being part of a specialized task force is busy yk?)
but it was revealed when you finally were granted leave and you discussed your plan upon your return home
“my first stop is going to be to cass art :)”
immediate cacophony of “you draw?” “you’re an artist?” “have you ever drawn us before!”
after a few minutes you quelled all of their questions (“yes, yes, and i literally joined 4 months ago and haven’t had access to a pencil”)
ghost comments, “make sense why you’re so good at stabbing people”
“god you’re so morbid ghost”
when back on base, you were shy to show you’re talents but you eventually relaxed the more you were with your teammates
eventually you began to bring out your sketchbook or paints out when you were relaxing after a mission or training session
once in a while, someone will tell you your work is amazing but if you’re in the zone, they’ll leave you alone
one time price accidentally left his mug too close to your paint cup and you ended up swirling your brush into it
queue a long lecture about how you should pay more attention (but who am i kidding that coffee is so strong he probably didn’t notice)
you humored soap and drew what you thought the real simon riley looked like
ghost snuck a peek and one of the drawings was surprisingly accurate
speaking of which, you may or may not have used your teammates as drawing references but you’ll never tell
gaz just has such angular features which makes drawing his figure so easy
mans looks like a walking drawing figure
it’s relaxing to let your mind wander and hands do the work as you fill a page or canvas
painting at home in your studio helps you to unwind from the grueling job
once, you sketched a few designs for gaz when he mentioned wanting to get a tattoo
“i don’t know gaz this is permanent” “i’ve seen your sketches and they’re amazing! just send me a few designs”
he landed on a cool watercolor piece you had made months ago
after your design, you would all joke about how you would redesign ghost’s tattoo
“Lt. that shit is heinous, just let me draw you a coverup” “no.”
while you don’t accept commissions anymore, you did gift your captain a painting of his favorite secluded lake scenery
he has it hanging in the foyer of his elegant flat
while you don’t really exchange gifts, everyone knows what they would get you
ghost has taken special attention to the brand of pencil you use and the gouache paintings that litter your quarters
everyone likes to joke w you on the comms
“hey do you think you could paint a picture with the blood of your enemies?” “jesus! soap…but yes i could”
#task force 141 x reader#task force 141#cod x reader#call of duty modern warfare#cod mwii#modern warfare 2#simon ghost riley#call of duty#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#madebyizzie#141 headcanons#mw2 headcanons#mw2#izzie is writing
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The King's Men - Chapter Fourteen
Day: Saturday, March 9th / 10th*
Time: 3:55 PM EST
Nathaniel's heart skips a beat. The heat that gnaws at his chest is
an ugly mix of gratitude and shame. He tries to speak but has to clear his throat before trying again. "But why? I've done nothing but lie to them. I willingly put them all in danger so I could play a little longer. They got hurt last night because of me. Why would they protect me now?"
"You are a Fox," Andrew says, like it is that simple, and maybe it
is.
Nathaniel drops his eyes and works his jaw, fighting for a center he is quickly losing hold of. He barely recognizes his own voice when he says, "Andrew, they want to take me away from here. They want to enroll me in the Witness Protection Program so my father's people can't find me. I don't want—" he starts, but that isn't fair. "If you tell me to leave, I'll go."
He doesn't say it will kill him, but he doesn't have to. Andrew hooks his fingers in the collar of Nathaniel's sweatshirt and tugs just enough for him to feel it. For a moment Nathaniel is months away from this moment, standing in the darkened front hall of Andrew's house for the first time with a warm key digging into his palm. It feels like coming home, and it is enough to take the edge off his fear.
"You aren't going anywhere," Andrew says: the same words, the same promise. He is speaking in English again, and Nathaniel understands why when he hears Andrew's next words. Andrew is playing instigator and inviting the Foxes to the fight. "You're staying with us. If they try to take you away they will lose."
"Take you away," Dan echoes. "To where?"
"Are we talking about 'away for some questioning' or 'away for good'?" Matt demands.
"Both," Browning says.
"You can't have him," Nicky says. "He belongs with us."
"When people find out he is still alive they will come for him," Browning says. "It is not safe for him here anymore, and it sure as hell isn't safe for you. It is better for everyone if he disappears."
They understand better than he ever would, since Kevin has already told them of the Wesninski-Moriyama alliance. They'd been dealing with Riko's madness for a year now thanks to Kevin, and they look wholly unimpressed by Browning's warnings.
"What part of 'go to hell' do you need us to explain to you?" Allison
asks.
"We're all legal adults here," Matt adds. "We've made our decision. Unless he wants to stay with you, you'd better bring Neil back to us when you're done with all your questions."
"'Neil' isn't a real person," Browning says, fed up with their willful
ignorance. "It's just a cover that let Nathaniel evade authorities. It's past time to let him go."
"Neil or Nathaniel or whoever," Nicky says. "He's ours, and we're not letting him go. You want us to vote on it or something? Bet you it'll be unanimous."
Art used with permission by Kurra. Thank you @kurra!
*Due to the Leap Year, I have opted to highlight the day rather than the date to keep the events in occurrence to the 2007 year. I will continue to mark both days accordingly.
#aftg#all for the game#neil josten#tkm#the kings men#the foxhole court#andrew minyard#palmetto state university#psu foxes#andreil#on this day in aftg#otdiaftg#palmetto state foxes#otdi all for the game#nora sakavic#the foxes#on this day in all for the game#kevin day#nicky hemmick#aaron minyard#coach wymack#betsy dobson#abby winfield#matt boyd#dan wilds#renee walker#allison reynolds#artists#kurra
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Hello! Can you write about spy x family? (I'm obsessed with Loid) where OC is engaged to Loid/Twilight and becomes jealous of Yor.
Sorry, English is not my first language.
Twilight x gn!Reader; "Jealous"
notes; i love some twilight fanfiction, esp because everything is freaking SMUT (last time i checked)!!! we need some sfw ish in here!!!
tw; Reader uses They/Them pronouns!, jealousy
wc; 1.2k
Twilight and [CodeName] both got married on a whim for the benefits inside their spy company, neither did they expect to actually fall in love and want a proper marriage with each other, but they did! They were one of the cutest couples around, and when they worked together they were the absolute dream team. They would get the mission done and thensome, do some afterwork, clear the paperwork out, the two would go the extra mile to make sure no one had to clean up after them.
When [CodeName] and Twilight renewed their vows because they ended up falling in love for more than mutual benefits, the two decided to go a little big. [CodeName] wore the most extravagant clothing, and Twilight wore a tailored suit to his liking. The couple held a huge after ceremony, inviting most of the company to join and celebrate their marriage. It may sound uncharacteristic for Twilight, but it was most definitely in character for [CodeName].
During the couple’s dance, as they were following tradition, [CodeName] leaned into Twilight and whispered “[YourName],” No explanation aside from a single name that left their lips. Twilight looked confused at first, but then it clicked- [CodeName] was dropping their real name. Twilight smiled warmly, bringing his partner in for a kiss. Twilight had long forgotten his name, but to know that [CodeName] entrusted him with such personal information brought warmth and joy to his heart. Especially on such a special night like this.
[YourName] didn’t need to know Twilight’s real name, all they needed to know was that the man loved them and that he was accepting no matter what, which Twilight was. They just thought it would be a cute detail to drop on Twilight in the middle of, what the couple considers, their first real dance together as a ‘properly’ married couple. That night, [YourName] and Twilight got home, took off the over-the-top clothing, changed into pajamas, and shared a nice glass of red wine on the couch while watching some old TV shows that [YourName] enjoyed.
It would be about three years later that [YourName] had to be put on a mission that placed them across the country. With a sadden face, [YourName] said their goodbyes to their husband and kissed Twilight one last time before them and a few other agents were shipped off. Twilight would be out of commission for about a day before he recovered, maybe he and [YourName] needed this split because the two of them were so dependent on each other.
The two would always reference each other as partners for each other, and because the couple did work so well together and cleaned up after one another without needing a second thought, they did get paired up together what could be considered all the time. Now, sometimes [YourName] would be paired up with another person and other times Twilight would be paired up with a different person, and it never shattered each other. But being away from each other for months really took Twilight aback and he just needed a day to recuperate.
During the few months that [YourName] was gone, Twilight was placed in charge of Operation Strix, which forced Twilight to find a wife and child. It had been quite some time since Twilight had to fake such an in depth relationship, and without [YourName] here to confirm that it was okay, or better yet have them play the role of his partner, he felt a little sick to his stomach. But a mission was a mission and it needed to be done.
He wouldn’t get comfortable in his position, but he would get a better understanding of becoming a father in case he and [YourName] wanted children. Every day, when [YourName] was still out on their mission across the country and wasn’t here to call or see him in person at the hospital, Twilight thought about how different the mission would have been going if only [YourName] was around to assist as per usual. For some reason, he felt he’d be further in his investigation. Perhaps because they were truly married and didn’t have to put on some act for the world to see, or because perhaps the two of them have talked about a family before and this would just fill that hole temporarily.
One day while at the hospital, looking over some papers, Twilight got a call that he was needed in the lobby. He had assumed that perhaps a patient was having a breakdown and needed some comfort from their doctor. Instead, nurses were welcoming a new nurse. “Loid!” His co-worker greeted as they walked over to him, “Have you seen the new nurse? Not to be unprofessional, but smoking hot,” The co-worker laughed but Twilight rolled his eyes while pretending to humor the thought, looking around for this new person. He didn’t expect to see [YourName], dressed in scrubs, holding a cup of juice, and laughing with a few of the other nurses.
Twilight blinked a few times, a huge smile on his face when he made his way over. A few of the girl nurses giggled before shying away, while the guy nurses simply roamed off to allow Loid and [Name] to talk. “You’re back,” Twilight whispered, half shock and half relief flooding his face. “Mhm, and I’m assisting you on Strix. I’m a nanny on the side.” [YourName] replied in the same whispered tone. Twilight’s heart broke a little at the news, that was the last thing he wanted [YourName] to see; him acting as if he had a wife in front of other people. “I understand, are you caught up?” Twilight asks and with hesitation [YourName] nods their head.
It would be a few days later that Loid brings up the idea of hiring a nanny to assist with Anya during the week. The nanny would come in the afternoon, help out with homework and study time, then head home around dinner. Yor of course thought the idea was wonderful and let Loid make a list of people, which most were fake just so they had no choice but to hire [YourName].
A few days later, it was a Saturday, Loid and Yor sat together on the couch while [YourName] sat on the chair across from them. Yor, to make their relationship look believable to the naked eye, wrapped her arm around Loid’s arm. It took everything in [YourName] not to break right then and there and claim Twilight as their own. They knew that this was for the mission, but unfortunately, jealousy doesn’t understand that.
The interview went great and Yor agreed with Loid that [Name] should be hired, “Let me walk you to your car.” Loid offered. This was mostly so they could get alone time together before the night ended. “Do you enjoy a clingy wife?” [YourName] asked as they walked out the apartment complex, Twilight was taken aback before shaking his head with a small chuckle- he had never seen [YourName] jealous before and it was quite cute to witness. “No, darling, she simply wanted to sell what people think her and I have. I love you no matter what.” Twilight promised, opening the door for [YourName].
[YourName] nodded slowly, smiling eventually. “I want to kiss you so bad..” [YourName] says, “I know, one day soon, dear.” Twilight replied, allowing [YourName] to get into their car and he shut the door before stepping aside and watching [YourName] drive off to wherever they stayed for the night. Twilight hoped that they would stay at their home, so they could be around a familiar setting and smell familiar smells.
He wanted them to be comfortable, for [YourName] is his partner, and they are his.
#spyxfamily x reader#spy x family x reader#s x f x reader#sxf x reader#twilight x reader#loid x reader#loid forger x reader#anime x reader#x reader
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Hey, what's up, hello, I'm Xel, I truly have Donald Duck levels of bad luck and yet I do not have the rage button that makes things work out if I throw a tantrum, which feels like yet another failure of media, what is the deal with this.
The deal is:
Temp job had to let me go instead of make me permanent because the economy scared the 5 people over 65 in that department out of feeling safe enough to retire
None of my applications are getting interviews and I don't know what I'm doing wrong. Donald Duck tantrum did not assist me in this realm.
Holy shit seasonal depression I can't get out of bed like.... A Lot.
I have a convention to go to in February where I am selling art in the art show and where I will see many of my friends the only time per year.
I'm scared of everything haha wow 😬
I'm am an artist who just feels too upset and worried to art
I'm having trouble getting everything together and maybe will feel better with some level of stability? I need to do a lot of paperwork. It is proving hard. I have the Tumblr popular suspicions about my level of neurodivergance. (Fun story: I told members of my my family that I have thought in the last two years especially that I might have ADHD or Autism or something, and my cousin said, "Oh, honey *just the last two years?*" Obliterated.)
My abusive dad recently joined a cult and my grandmother thinks he'll try to contact me after 15 years and I'm fucking scared of him and that is Affecting Me in A Way boy howdy.
I do not have the money to pay rent even a little bit! I'm trying to get January and February taken care of maybe? So I can try to exist for this period of time and maybe not have a breakdown or get evicted or something?
Some real not awesome medical junk happening also because why not.
SO, I'm doing Tumblr's favorite thing and being a starving queer artist with brain worms who needs help. If you are interested in helping me out and making a donation to the "Why don't my Donald Duck tantrums solve my problems" fund, I would be Really Grateful.
I am on Ko-Fi, which is really just a funnel to PayPal, over here.
$2500 would keep me on solid ground. I'll try to keep a tally here in a read more along with a expenses tally if that would help you feel better about me! I know I've had to ask frequently in the last few months, so I understand thinking I'm full of it.
I have a commission to finish currently and a few buttons and things that need to be mailed. You could also ask for button and commission, but I am doing prep work for my part of the art show in mid February, so I'm not available until after then for that!
My grandfather used to do a Donald Duck impression that was really good and it convinced me that either he WAS Donald Duck or that old people all knew how to do this because they all talked like this in the era Donald Duck was from.
Here is Ko-Fi again. If there's something you'd like to see me post or unearth in atonement, let me know. If you'd like other places to aim your dead green American presidents, I can give you that too.
Thanks for reading and/or reblogging! Tell me how Donald Duck's freakouts impacted you. Take care of yourselves!
Rent is $710/month, so 1420 is January and February.
65 for the internet, 130
65 for car insurance, 130
65 for electric unless I can get the assistance plan up again, same 130
250 to survive at the con maybe?
Also just like food until i can get the foodstamps stuff sorted??
Gas???
Anyway, that's an idea of what and why, if that is helpful.
Jan 8:
We are at $460!
Thanks!
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What if the reader ACTUALLY ended up getting pregnant by soundwave? 👀 How would the cassettes react to the fact that they're going to have a baby sibling soon? Feel free to write this 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜
Wwwwwwweeeeeeeeellllllllllllllllllllllll I might just have to give this a try anon, I definitely haven't been thinking about it since that last ask... (Or applying the same thought to other bots that you can totally ask me about at any time if any of you are so inclined)
I hope you all enjoy, and if you like my writing style you can always commission me!
All three of the minis still had their own unique expression of frozen shock when Frenzy finally went silent, leaving you to sit awkwardly across from them at the breakfast table. Soundwave knelt at your side, his demeanour tense but supportive as the quiet continued for several agonizing moments. It was Laserbeak that found his voice first, shaking his helm as if he was trying to process the information but simply couldn't. "How's that even possible?!"
"You're WHHHAAAAAATTTT?!"
Even without utilizing her sonic scream, Frenzy had the walls shaking for the entirety of her outburst, though such a reaction was more or less what you'd expected given the news you and Soundwave had just dropped.
"From the look of it, I'm due in seven months." you answered simply, unwilling to admit that was a guess at best. Based on your symptom you could reasonably estimate you were about two months in, but there was no way to know if this was going to proceed like a normal pregnancy, and it wasn't like you could swing by a doctor's office for answers. Soundwave settled his claws on your shoulder in a gesture of support.
"Known phenomenon. Scattered historical records." Soundwave answered for you, his explanation only somewhat shorter now than what he'd given you when everything had come to light. He'd also been able to translate and show you some of the texts describing the process, which included an explanation as to how Cybertronian gametes could "read" the genetic information of other species and interpret it to match their own anatomy, allowing for reproduction between vastly different beings. The little one within you now would be fully Cybertronian, but still related to you thanks to the wonders of alien biology. You wondered briefly what features of your own might be recognizable; your smile, the shape of your eyes, the proportions of your limbs...
"Well... When's the little one gonna get here?" Laserbeak continued as the others remained silent. Ravage was tense in his chair, optics narrow and audials pinned back in deep thought whilst Frenzy still found herself incapable of getting her jaw off the floor.
Giving the minis a date seemed to make the news that much more real, and the three exchanged looks, silently discussing their feelings on the matter with expressions alone. Too many emotions passed between them for you to identify even a fraction, but you caught a considerable amount of uncertainty from all three, which we to be expected. Frenzy finally spoke for the group, crossing her arms as if she was seated at a negotiating table as she tilted her helm for a pointed question. "Are we gonna have to share a room with them? It's already pretty crowded with the three of us."
"Search for more spacious dwelling; initiated." Soundwave replied quickly. The question was one the two of you had asked yourselves, and though searching presented its own dangers, you had concluded it would be far from ideal to have a growing family in this crowded bunker. In a mere month your mate had crossed hundreds of miles in his search, and the list of new potential homes grew each time he returned. Said information was relayed to the minis in a succinct summation of his activities. "Several possible locations located. Scouting to continue."
Hearing of a new home caught the interest of all three, an understandable reaction considering their limited space at present, and also seemed to turn some of their surprise to anticipation.
"Well, if we can get somewhere with a little more elbow room... I'm on board." Frenzy said as she returned to her more casual sitting posture, looking more open to the idea now that she had some time to process and could imagine the fun that might come if it. Seeing a smile pull on her lips gave you a great deal of comfort, and you felt your shoulder relax in Soundwave's grasp. The music loving femme tapped her chin as she pondered the possibilities. "Something beachside would be pretty tight."
Matching her energy, Laserbeak added his own two cents, equally excited at the prospect of moving from their cramped abode. "I could go for something up in the mountains, nice to have open air under the wings."
You prepared to reply with a list of the places Soundwave had scouted, but Frenzy scoffed at Laserbeak's suggestion before you could speak, returning to her old self with impressive speed. "Boring! How are we gonna have fun in the middle of the woods?"
"If the bitlet ends up flying, where else am I gonna show them the ropes?" he replied, holding up his wings like hands in his exasperation.
The comment took you pleasantly by surprise. Moments ago they'd been so shocked you couldn't really tell if they were at all on board with the new family member, but Laserbeak was already planning for including the little one, and Frenzy made it clear she was doing the same with her retort.
"How can I take them to rock concerts if there aren't any?" she asked in equal exasperation, making you smile at how she was also planning for their future sibling. You were confident now their initial reaction had been purely one of shock, and now that it had faded they were all proving more than amenable to the idea of a little brother or sister.
"They can fly there!" Laserbeak replied as the silly argument intensified, the two minis squabbling over the best places to live for the sake of their interests as well as their future sibling. Ravage remained removed from the entire discussion, but you found his posture far more relaxed, and when his gaze met your own for a second time he was far from displeased. The Felicon looked to you for a moment of consideration before giving a nod, his way of indicating that he too was fine with this most unexpected turn of events. You nodded back in appreciation. This little one may have been unplanned, but they would be anything but unloved.
"Arguments unhelpful." Soundwave sighed as the petty squabble grew lightly physical, juvenile slaps being traded by Frenzy and Laserbeak as they debated whose idea for a new location was "obviously" superior to the others. You chuckled lightly and gave his servo a pat, certain this chaos would hardly compare to what your little family would be dealing with in just a few short months.
#transformers#maccadam#earthspark#transformers earthspark#tf earthspark#transformers: earthspark#tfe#tfes#soundwave x reader#human reader#self insert#transformers x reader#x reader#sparklings#human/bot babies#i like writing baby robots#can you all tell?#frenzy#ravage#laserbeak
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I didn’t want to make any public posts about what’s been happening in the past days in our fandom because of my health issues. Some of you know, mostly people I consider my friends now, others because I was offering emergency commissions to solve hospital and treatment costs, but my health isn’t that good lately and the level of drama, intensity and everything around this topic was affecting me. Still is a bit. However, after everything that has come out, so many similar experiences, so many people being manipulated, hurt and damaged because of this one individual who I considered my friend, I can’t remain silent anymore. I just can’t. I’m still shocked and feeling so many emotions, from sadness to concern, from disappointment to anger. Even guilty for not realizing how disgusting this person was. It’s unbelievable.
I won’t go into any details, those involved know everything that needs to be known. I will not share screenshots either but there are plenty to prove what this person tried to do until the end and how many people she damaged.
I became her friend months ago, around August/September of last year. I considered her a real friend, a good one even, she was nice to me all the time and talked to me every day for all these months. She bought my friendship with love bombing, gifts, with praise about my art and me, a fucking naïve idiot, thought she was sincere. I never noticed the red flags until it was too late, how she was collecting artists along the way and discarding the ones that weren’t useful. She was after popular people, writers and artists, anyone that could give her status. She wanted her name seen everywhere and she invaded every space she could. She also promoted her server to anybody who had big numbers or was known in the HG fandom.
I didn’t know anybody in the fandom, only some names I followed because I admired their art or writing. I always spent my days in any fandom as a spectator, doing fanart and having casual conversations but not getting close to anybody. She was the first person I let get close to me.
I trusted her and that was a mistake I’ll regret for a long time.
She took advantage of me not knowing anybody, she used me as a dumpster bin to trash talk about others, she played victim over and over again, she claimed some people hated her, and she made me believe so many things that I later discovered weren’t real. She twisted reality to her convenience; she created a false narrative where she was the poor victim who was attacked constantly and that she only wanted the best for everybody. She just wanted to be ‘nice.’
Knowing English isn’t my first language and sometimes it’s hard for me to understand certain expressions, she used that to be able to act as a bigot without me noticing until it was too late.
And I believed her. I believe every single fucking word she said about others, because why would she lie? She was just trusting me with things, right? She was just warning me about people, she cared about me, she was just looking out for me.
I’m a good friend, I know I am. Friendship has always been important to me, and I’m faithful to whoever I care about. I thought I was being a good friend to her by defending her and giving her my thoughts and opinions about all these ‘awful’ people who didn’t like her and were against her.
She just wanted an ally.
Her love bombing and praise only lasted until I didn’t act the way she wanted.
I confronted one of her ‘friends’ in her server after that person was exposing an innocent writer just to humiliate them. I was mistreated and attacked. She, the owner, didn’t do anything to stop it while I was telling her in dms what was happening. She didn’t do anything at all because she didn’t care.
She didn’t care either when I showed her proof that her friend was a terf. I was worried, I was so naïve I thought maybe this person didn’t know about her friend being transphobic. But she knew. She didn’t act surprised, she just did her best to clarify she wasn’t a terf ‘by association’ in between jokes and tried to justify her friend over and over again. She dismissed my worries and acted like it wasn’t such a big deal.
I trusted her to the point I felt safe enough to tell her I am autistic and how hard it was growing up not knowing that, how everyone treated me as if I was dumb when I was a kid and a teenager. Her attitude towards me changed after she knew my diagnosis. From treating me like I was a child to a condescending way to talk to me whenever I did ‘wrong.’
I supported her when she decided to create a BB just to be called silly and treated as stupid because I wouldn’t join if the terf was there. She simply didn’t care I was affected because I’m non-binary and trans. She just wanted artists for her shitty event because she needed to make a name among other events. She kept insisting that I join, even after she knew the terf was going to be a part of the event. She wanted me to be a pinch hitter artist.
I finally opened my eyes after my medical emergency in February. I decided to open emergency commissions to help with the costs and that led me to talk to people I never talked to before. People this individual didn’t want me to talk to.
I don’t know why things happen but everything seems to happen for a reason. Some people that reached out to me to help me were people this individual talked shit about over and over again for months. And to my surprise, they were nothing like I was made to believe. On the contrary, these people were sweet, nice, and were actually sincere.
Her reaction to me talking to them was passive-aggressive comments, jokily threats and playing the victim. She also started giving me the silent treatment in order to manipulate me again. Which, luckily, didn’t work.
This disgusting individual lied so much I have spent the last few days wondering how much of what she said was true and how much was bullshit. She tried to mess with friendships, she tried to ruin a relationship, she made racist and transphobic comments, she lied about so many people that didn’t deserve it, she thought her lies wouldn’t catch up to her and kept acting like a ‘mean girl’ who wanted to be number one in popularity. She thought having popular friends, who she bragged about, would keep her away from anything.
She thought she was safe and that I was stupid enough to keep believing her.
I’m not stupid. I never was.
And I will not remain silent while she still plays victim, while she decided to blame ME for all of her fucking mess.
When this whole thing exploded, she desperately tried to convince someone she wasn’t bad, that it was all a misunderstanding and that she was just venting to me. A good pity party because she was being called out and she didn’t expect it. She tried to convince them that I was to blame. She didn’t hesitate to throw me under the bus, to make anyone believe I was the villain, exposing me with screenshots, for all we know, were probably manipulated by her. It is now known that she edits, changes and deletes messages.
I’m not a villain for exposing the truth to people I now care about. To people who have been nothing but nice to me even tho they are aware I said awful things about them based on what this individual told me. She tried to brainwash me with her lies and almost succeeded.
The past few weeks have been hard. But it’s harder to see how many others she hurt.
She’s not a good person no matter how much she tried to act like one. Her disgusting behavior led to so much damage and she got me involved in it, using me until the end.
This behavior is not ‘fandom drama,’ it is dangerous behavior, one that should not be tolerated or accepted. Fandom is not a place to escalate in popularity, to surround yourself with popular artists just to get something from them. Fandom should be a safe place for us to enjoy, to escape from reality, from the real world that is hard enough for so many of us.
I will not let her step on me anymore. I will not be her scapegoat. And she will not get my sympathy anymore.
Please be safe out there, do not let these people harm us anymore. This individual and her fucking terf friend can go fuck themselves.
I am so tired.
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baby, let's play house. rooster (part 1)
part 2
pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader
synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.
wc ; 12.5k
warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of infidelity; mentions of vomit; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics; one mention of suic*de but it's not a plot point; age gap
note: uhm... i blacked out. idk either. part 2 should be out eventually, which of course means that i haven't even started writing it yet. there will probably be several mistakes in here regarding the navy, etc. so i'm sorry about that i'm just dumb :-(
sol. sunderlust. crab. bestie... i love you forever, what would i ever do without you?
When you’re fourteen, sitting on a floral couch in one of the nondescript, army-commissioned houses you’ve been moving to every few months since you were old enough to remember, your mother turns on Cocktail with Tom Cruise, and you decide that, once you’re grown up, you’re going to be a bartender. You’re going to do just what Tom does - get a job in some dive, work your way up, learn the bottle slinging and the shot pouring and the flirting, and then you’re going to franchise the whole thing and take it national. It’s going to be just like TGI Fridays, except your drinks will actually be good instead of whatever watered-down punch they serve.
Of course, you’re fourteen, and you don’t even know what alcohol tastes like yet. Years later, you’re going to take a shot of Tequila at a bar, you’re going to splutter and cough and think you might choke, and it’ll leave you wondering if maybe you’ve made a mistake. But for now, you’ve got a dream, and you’ve got a plan, and not a smidge of doubt that you’ll make it all come true.
You’re going to do just as Tom Cruise does - minus the best friend’s suicide from the movie and the real-life Scientology thing and all that. But you’re going to be successful. You know it.
So this, then. This is not part of your plan at all.
Behind you, there’s a bang, and then the back door is ripped open. The buttery light of the bar spills in a rectangle across the beaten path, but it doesn’t reach your little corner. You hear the muffled thud of footsteps, a curse, followed by a shout of your name.
“Yeah?” you call back, hope you don’t sound like you’re balancing on the edge of a mental breakdown. Hope you don’t sound like you feel.
“Your shift’s about to start. I really need you in there cutting up some limes, please,” Jerry, your co-worker, says. Thank God he doesn’t walk over to investigate just what you’re doing huddled in the sand behind the bar.
“Okay,” you answer, voice a little wobbly, “I’ll be in in a sec.”
You wait until you hear the door shut behind Jerry, then you unfold yourself, get your shaky legs underneath your weight. You feel like somebody hit you over the head with one of those huge hammers they use to knock down walls. The nausea is back, too, something queasy and watery that shifts through your stomach.
Inside the bar, everything is like it always is. The chatter of the customers, the drawl of the music, the smell of beer, and the Ocean Breeze scented cleaner you use to wipe the floors. Far below it, the scent of the real ocean breeze drifting in through the opened windows. It seems wrong for the Hard Deck to be unchanged, unaltered, untouched when your own life has gone so completely off the rails.
You sneak in a quick, discreet bathroom break to swipe at the mascara smudged beneath your eyes, to dab at it with some damp toilet paper, to hope nobody will notice the obvious signs of tears still clinging to you. To stare at your reflection in the mirror for a moment, try not to think about that stupid test you buried at the bottom of the trashcan. You can taste your heartbeat in your mouth.
You don’t look any different - same nose, same hair, same eyes - but something has irrevocably shifted inside of you.
Behind the counter, you cut up the limes you promised Jerry. The scent clings to your fingers, the juice settles in the calluses. The steady sound as the knife meets the cutting board and the familiar motion of your hands help to ground you a little.
“Could we get a refill?”
You lift your head and then immediately lower it again, shoulders going up, turning to the side in an attempt to hide your face. If there are two people you don’t want to see tonight, then…
“Oh my god.” Natasha’s face pushes into your line of vision, her eyebrows crinkled, her mouth pursed. “Have you been crying?”
Waving her words of concern away with one hand, you grab for their empty glasses with the other.
“Allergies,” you lie. “I’ve got two on tap here, which one did you guys have? The German or the…”
“You don’t have allergies,” Bradley points out. You’d made it a point not to look at him, but now your gaze snaps in his direction. He stands with his eyes narrowed, with his hands on the polished wood of the bar top. Concern flutters across his face.
There’s something about Bradley Bradshaw. You like to think of it as a gravitational pull. Something with force, something that makes people look at him. Something that grounds them, too, though, gives them a tether.
Ever since he first walked into this bar a little over a year ago, it’s like he’s become a fixture in your life, even if you only see him once or twice a week, even if it’s just a quick exchange of words over a countertop. Bradley Bradshaw makes for a good North Star.
He shrugs, and there’s something almost sheepish to it. “It was part of your list of reasons why you’re better than Hangman last month.”
You pause, still holding the glasses, and stare at him. He looks right back.
“That’s beside the point,” Natasha pipes up. She’s balancing both her elbows on the bartop, pulling herself closer. “Why were you crying?”
That sort of shifts reality back into focus. What are you supposed to say? I let a guy who isn’t even really my boyfriend but also not really not my boyfriend knock me up, and now I have no idea what the fuck to do? To two people who are little more than glorified acquaintances?
You shrug and decide they look like they’d enjoy the new craft beer Penny got on tap. It has notes of vanilla and apple, and you’re not much of a beer person, but even you like it. Or at least you used to.
“It’s nothing,” you say, drawing the first glass. It ends up perfect - amber liquid topped with just the right amount of foam, the little bobbles popping as you push it across the counter toward Natasha. Your life might be a mess, but at least you still know how to draw a damn good glass of beer from the tap. “Don’t worry about it.”
Natasha’s eyes narrow, but then she lets it go. “You know I’ll beat a guy up for you, right?”
You don’t doubt it. If there’s anybody in this bar you wouldn’t want to cross, it’s Natasha, and not just because of whatever training the Navy put her through. You’re convinced she came into the world knowing how to take a guy out.
“Yeah,” you agree and are surprised to find you mean it. Realistically, you’re not particularly close to any of the pilots. You chit-chat sometimes, have had a few drunken conversations after everybody else has filtered out of the Hard Deck while wiping down tables or collecting shot glasses, but that’s not really enough to support a true friendship. Still. If you asked, you have no doubt Natasha would go to bat for you. “It’s okay, though. I’m fine. I’ll put this on your tab, yeah?”
She looks like she wants to say something else, but then decides to let it go. Sighs, “Okay.”
As Natasha pushes off the bar to rejoin her group of friends toward the back of the bar, Bradley takes a step closer instead. You make it a point not to look at him, but the yellow and white of his Hawaiian shirt flashes in your periphery despite your best efforts.
He places a large hand on the countertop, palm down, and you should be looking busy, but all you can do is stare as his fingers starfish across the wood.
“You can talk to me, yeah?” he asks, and his voice is soft enough that it almost disappears in the din of this Saturday night. “Whatever it is.”
You do look up then. Bradley has brown eyes, round and big and deep. There’s something about them that makes you want to trust him, trust his words, trust the sincerity. It almost makes you start crying again.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you.”
Then somebody’s shouting an order at you, and you’re pushing a coaster under a sweating Cuba Libre, you’re pouring a Tequila shot, you’re looking for the maraschino cherries, you’re passing out salt shakers, and you don’t notice as he disappears and you don’t think about anything for a short, blissful, beautiful time.
+
Two months ago, you met Luke halfway through the door of a bar you’d seen on Instagram, something with low lights and neon signs and booths cushioned in lush, ruby velvet. They had this signature cocktail there, something with rum and gold foil and a lot of smoke that drifted up in sweet-smelling plumes.
Luke was charming and laughed a lot, and when he put his hand on your waist, when he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat or two. And still, the first thing you told Penny about at work the next day was the cocktail and not the guy.
You’re almost entirely sure you’re not in love with him, but you’re excited about the idea that maybe someday you could be. Luke is a nice guy. He works in finance somewhere in San Diego, takes you to expensive seafront restaurants, and once or twice, he even bought you expensive lingerie. Luke likes the same movies as you do, likes putting on Jazz music when you go down on him in his car, and that always manages to make you feel strangely sophisticated even with a dick in your mouth. He’s older, and he has a real, grown-up job, completely unlike you with your singles soaked in beer.
He’s a stead-fast, reliable guy. If you have to be in this situation with anyone, you figure it’s better to be in it with him than some twenty-something surfer dude who couldn’t even find the word responsible in a dictionary.
The anxiety has been gnawing at you since last night, has been chipping away your composure and your calm. Has reduced you into a jittery, terrified, chafing shell of your former self. All day you were fumbling - burning your hand on the heated water kettle in the morning, almost running a red light, cutting your finger deep enough it didn’t stop bleeding for a whole five minutes.
Earlier today, you took a last, desperate stand. Propelled by the sort of hope that exists against all better judgment, you went on a CVS run and returned with three more pregnancy tests. You left them back at your tiny apartment, right on the counter where you put them out in the first place, those three tiny, horrible, life-altering plus signs laughing right in your face.
And that was it then. Your fate decided. Your luck run out.
Since you were fourteen, sitting on that floral couch, the course of your life had seemed so clear to you. You’d been so sure of where you wanted to go, so sure of how to get there. And yeah, okay, maybe you used to think you’d get there sooner, but that’s never deterred you before. Slow and steady wins the race, that’s what you used to think.
Now, ten years later, everything is muddled. You can’t see an inch ahead in the fog of all this.
To add insult to injury, those tests were fucking expensive. The next time you check your bank account, you might start crying.
So you spent a good fifteen minutes curled up on your bathroom tiles, staring at your shower curtain, blinking away tears you never shed. You spent a good fifteen minutes trying to figure it out, trying to untangle it, trying to make sense of how you could fuck up so completely.
And then you finally picked yourself up, massaged the grid pattern of the tiles off your cheek, and shot Luke a text asking if he was free tonight.
He drops by at the end of your shift.
“Hi, babe.” Luke grins as he slides into one of the bar stools. “You good?”
You nod, then pause. “Not really?”
You’re wiping down the bartop, dumping an ashtray you collected from the smoking zone outside into the trash. The Hard Deck is empty now, even the last stragglers filed out. Bob selected a song on the jukebox before he left, something slow and decidedly country. Your hands shake when you go to wet the rag again.
Luke frowns and leans across the bar to look at you closely. “What happened?”
“I have to tell you something,” you say and run the tap. The water hits the chrome of the sink with a splatter.
Luke raises an eyebrow, grins. “Illicit confession?”
Under any other circumstances, you would have laughed. But your stomach is coiled up in knots so tight you wonder if they’ll ever untangle again. Like the earphones you fish from the bottom of a purse.
You just so manage a half-hearted chuckle, a sad, pathetic little sound that has Luke’s eyebrow climbing even higher.
He pushes a brown paper bag across the counter. “I brought your favorite take-out… Would that cheer you up?”
Almost immediately, your stomach growls in answer. You’ve been so hungry the past few days that you can’t even manage to be embarrassed. “Mexican?” you ask, something like excitement in your voice for the first time in over 24 hours.
“Ah...” Luke bites his lower lip. “No, uhm… I got something from that one place we went to. The fusion kitchen?”
“Oh…” The excitement dampens immediately, and you force a smile. “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”
“Sorry… you did say you liked it when we went.”
He’s right. You did say that.
Luke likes experimental food, things like that cocktail with the gold foil. Things that look much better than they end up tasting. He takes pictures of them and posts them on his Instagram, and he always makes sure not to get your hand in, your purse, your foot. He doesn’t even follow you back, and you want to not care about trivial things like social media so very badly that you never ask him about it.
He looks genuinely apologetic, though, so you resolve to forgive him. You smile and say, “I did! This is great. Thanks, Luke.”
His satisfied smile puts you at ease.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
It’s a bit like a bucket of ice water. The ease slips away as quickly as it came. You start wiping almost furiously at a stain on the bartop, then give up. Stare at your fingers gone wrinkly with the sudsy water.
You open your mouth, and then you say, “I’m pregnant.”
It’s not what you meant to say. You meant to ease into this, make it sound… less final, somehow. As if that’s at all possible. As if that isn’t exactly what it is. Final.
You’re never going back from this, you realize suddenly. No matter what happens from here on out, there’s never going to be another moment where this hasn’t happened. Where you weren’t pregnant, where you didn’t mess it all up. The plan, the dream, the life.
Tears aren’t enough anymore. You’re going to run headfirst into the ocean and scream until the saltwater fills your lungs.
Luke laughs. You stare at him.
It takes a moment, but slowly he realizes that you’re not joking. That this is serious. The smile slides sideways off his face.
“Oh,” he says, and you can’t look at him anymore. So you let your eyes wander, down towards the lapels of his white dress shirt. He’s still wearing his suit and tie, and the realization that he’s come straight from the office touches you more than it should. At the same time, guilt settles in your stomach. You’re doing this to him, you’re altering his life, you…
The rational part of yourself scoffs, takes over the reins. It takes two to tango, you remind yourself. This is as much his fault as it is yours.
But that doesn’t get rid of the bitter taste in your mouth.
“Why…” Luke pauses. “Why are you telling me this?”
When you look up at his face again, his expression is carefully blank.
“Uh…”
“Shouldn’t you be telling the father?”
You blink. The cogs of your mind turn slowly like somebody slapped gum between them. “I am,” you say, wondering what the hell he’s on about.
“I’m not the father,” Luke says, very matter-of-factly. “You don’t need to lie about it.”
“I’m not lying.” You’re too stunned to even be insulted by the insinuation.
“It’s alright.” He shrugs his shoulders, his expensive suit in the tacky, glossy fabric catching the light. “It’s not like we’re exclusive. I don’t mind if you slept with somebody else.”
“Not exclusive,” you repeat lamely. Maybe that part shouldn’t catch you as off guard as it does. You’ve never discussed it with him in as many words, never sat down to have the whole boyfriend/girlfriend talk, but you’ve been seeing each other semi-regularly for two months now, and you’d just sort of assumed…
“Sure.” Luke nods. “Don’t blame this one on me, then.”
Oh. Your heart clenches, and suddenly it feels like you can’t breathe.
“I didn’t sleep with anybody else,” you say, but your voice sounds far away.
Luke shrugs. “Well, it can’t be mine.”
You don’t even know what to say to this. You’re in desperate, burning need of a shot, and the realization that you can’t have one zaps through you like a pain.
“We always used a condom,” Luke is saying, and his words drift to you through a fog, through a mist, through a thicket of fear and anxiety and ice-cold panic. “I made damn sure of that.”
“It’s not….” You clear your throat. “They’re only like… 98 percent safe. Condoms, I mean.”
“What, so you’re saying we’re those two percent?”
He looks like he’s about to start laughing again, and suddenly you barely recognize him. You’ve always known that Luke wasn’t the love of your life, but that was fine. Love hadn’t been part of the plan anyway, that was for later, much later, after you’d gone international and gotten rich off Mojitos and Pina Coladas and the occasional Old Fashioned. But Luke had been… well, he’d been nice. Always. He’d been someone to laugh with, had been long walks on the beach, and quick tumbles in his backseat. He’d been fun and nice and…
And you’d been stupid enough to hope. Hope for more, hope for better, hope for something.
“I can’t have a baby with you,” he says. His voice rings with finality.
What are you supposed to say to that? With those three positive pregnancy tests back home on your bathroom counter. With the knowledge that you haven’t slept with anyone else.
“Well,” you whisper, and the words come out softer than you want them to, “you are.”
Luke is very quiet for a moment. He’s looking right at you, the blue eyes you used to think were open, inviting, now slitted and probing. Like a snake.
“Jesus,” he says finally, draws back to run his fingers through his hair, a gesture of exasperation. His voice has lost some of its calm. “What do you want from me?”
You wonder if you look as dazed as you feel. “I don’t… I don’t want anything from you.”
That’s not true. You’d like him to hug you. You’d like him to tell you it’s going to be okay, even if that might be a lie. You’d like him to be nice to you.
Instead, Luke, who looks increasingly distressed, jerks his head and says, “If it’s a family you’re after… I can’t give you that.”
Everything has happened so quickly - the toppling of your plans, the chaos of your life. You haven’t really had time to think about how you want him to react. Not like this, though.
“Why not?” you ask and regret the question the moment it’s out of your mouth. You sound like a child - lost, confused.
Luke sighs. He rakes a palm over his face and shakes his head. When he finally looks at you again, there’s something almost guilty on his face. You can’t tear your eyes away, can’t help but feel your stomach plummeting down down down toward the ground. It’s like standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, feeling what the fall might be like even with both feet firmly planted.
“I can’t give you that,” he says, “because I already have a family.”
Beneath you, the ground seems to quiver.
“What?”
Luke pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, then reaches into his pocket and produces a shiny, golden wedding band. When he slips it back onto its original place on his finger, you watch the patch of pale skin, several shades lighter than the rest, disappear.
Your breath gets stuck somewhere in your chest.
“You’re… married?”
“Going on five years,” he says, and you think he sounds sad, but maybe that’s just your hope getting the better of you again.
You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you just stand there with the rag still in your hand, listening to the sad, sad voice of some wanna-be cowboy drawling from the speakers. Hear the phantom thud of the cues hitting pool balls. Turn your head to where the pilots were having fun earlier, back when things weren’t all jumbled up.
The whole world moves far, far away from you. Like something you watch on TV screens, something intangible, something fake. It’s not something that happens to people like you. It’s not something that happens to real people.
“It’s… you didn’t tell me that,” you say, and it’s like your voice echoes through a long, long tunnel, bounces off the walls like a tennis ball. “I didn’t know.”
And then you think back on it. Think of whispered phone calls in the dead of night, think of erratic work schedules, think of his insistence to come here instead of going to San Diego. Think of how little you know of his life, how firmly he kept you locked out of it.
Suddenly you’re not so sure if you didn’t know or if you just didn’t want to know. If you closed your eyes to what was right in front of you.
Guilt and anger and confusion flash through you in rapid succession. You feel sick to your stomach.
“I’ll give you money,” Luke says. It’s a peculiar thing - you see his mouth move before the words ever reach your ears, like a movie that’s gone out of sync with the audio.
“Money,” you repeat, very slowly. Or maybe not slowly at all. You just feel like you got stuck in molasses, like the whole world has been dipped in something sticky.
“Well. You’re getting rid of it.”
It’s not a question. He says it like it’s a fact, like it’s something that’s already been decided. Like it’s something you don’t get a say in.
You stiffen, fingers sinking into the wet rag. Soapy water drips over the lacquered wood of the bartop.
“No,” you say. “No, I’m not.”
About five minutes ago, you hadn’t even made your mind up about it yet. Hadn’t decided whether to keep it or not. Had still been weighing the pros and cons in your mind, turning them over like a Rosetta Stone that might help you decipher the encrypted, tangled mess of your thoughts.
And now that he’s said it, now that the option is right there in the open, suddenly you know that’s not the way you want it to happen.
“What,” Luke says, “you wanna have it?”
“Yes,” you answer, and you know it’s the truth.
Maybe it’s stupid. You’re twenty-four. You’re broke. You pick up shifts at a bar to pour tequila shots for other people. You live off the guys you flirt with long enough they decide you’re worth a tip. All those plans of grandeur, of franchises and cocktails and Park Avenue apartments, are dead-ends. You’ve been walking a cul-de-sac your whole life.
And still… something about it feels right to you.
You’ve been thinking about the whole thing in theory - the theoretical truth of that test, the theoretical reaction of Luke, the theoretical existence of that baby, the theoretical impact on your life. But it’s not a theory. It’s real.
There’s a baby growing in you.
It’s the most terrifying thought of your life. You’ve never experienced something so wonderful. Even as the fear eats away at you, even as your stomach churns and your head spins, some part of you feels illuminated with light.
Luke laughs. “Babe… no offense, but that’s a horrible idea.”
You clench your teeth and grit out, “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
He shrugs. “Well, you’re gonna get it. You really think you could raise a kid?”
“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, and wonder where all this calm is coming from. “But I want to try.”
Luke stares at you as if you’re growing a spare set of ears right in front of him. Then he laughs again, shakes his head. You can’t see what’s so funny about any of this.
“Babe,” he says, “this isn’t some new Cocktail recipe. This is an actual child you’re talking about.”
If you weren’t so goddamn tired, it would make you angry. Set fire to you like a fuse. But you’re drained, empty, hollow. You want to go home, want to curl up in bed, want to cry. You want to go back two weeks in time, back when you were still just a failing waitress with a big dream. Back before the responsibility of it all hunched you over.
“I’m doing it,” you say, and hope he understands the decision is final. Hope your voice is firm.
Luke exhales. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth, as he turns half away from you.
Finally, after an eternity, he says, “I can’t be involved in this.”
For your part, you understand that decision is final too.
You nod, grab onto the bartop to keep yourself from toppling over. The ground beneath you is a gaping, beckoning abyss. It’s going to swallow you whole.
“Fine,” you whisper. “I’ll do it alone then.”
For a moment, Luke looks almost surprised. As if he was sure you’d fold eventually, see reason. Listen to him.
You wonder if that’s how it’s been before - him pushing and you giving in. Rearranging your life to fit his schedule, his plans, his wants. Shrinking yourself to make room for him. And you didn’t even notice.
You straighten your spine.
“For what it’s worth,” Luke says as he slides off his chair, “I’m sorry.”
And then he does what men do best: He leaves. Walks away from you and the baby growing inside of you. Walks away from the mess he made, the dream he shattered, without a care or a thought. Without looking back.
You watch his retreating form, watch the set of his shoulders, the spring in his step, watch as he bounds down the steps onto the gravel of the parking lot, watch as the shadows eventually blot out the sight of him.
Good riddance, you want to say, but you can’t even form words.
With your heart torn to shreds, with your fear clawing a bloody path up your throat, you sink down onto the floor, press a hand to your mouth, and you sob.
+
Twenty minutes later, Bradley Bradshaw finds you in the exact same position.
You know it’s been twenty minutes because you’re staring at the digital clock of the dishwasher, counting down the wash cycle. The neon red of the numbers blurs through the veil of your tears.
It’s like somebody’s cut your chest open. Scooped you clean like taking a spoon to a tub of ice cream. Behind your ribcage, you feel hollow in a way that aches down to your bones. That spiderwebs through your veins.
Bradley pauses in the doorway, silhouetted by the outdoor lighting you still haven’t turned off. Like this, with your vision blurred, he looks like a drawing of the Virgin Mary on one of those cheap, tacky candles. Descending on a flurry of clouds and light and doves. Only this Virgin Mary wears Hawaiian shirts, apparently. It almost makes you laugh.
He casts his eyes over the room, a slight furrow dipping between his brows. It takes you a moment to understand he hasn’t seen you yet, not with how you’re crouching by the crates of Corona.
Part of you wants to hide, wants to crawl under the jutting canopy of the bar. Wants to pretend you’re not here, fold yourself into a tiny pocket square of a person until he leaves again.
“Hello?” Bradley asks, genuine confusion laced with the word, and you know you can’t do that.
“Hi,” you call back, and your voice sounds tiny. Miserable. You push up on your knees to preserve a bit of your dignity. The room goes spinning in a whirlwind, and you catch yourself with both hands on the wood, lifting up to peek at him over the edge of the bar. “I’m down here.”
For a moment, Bradley just stares at you. He takes in the scene, the smeared mascara, the swollen eyes, the fresh tears leaving tracks down your cheeks like you’re drawing rivers on a map.
Then he snaps into action. He’s crossing the room before you can even really come to terms with the fact that he’s here in the first place, pushing through the hip-high swinging door that separates the oval space hugged by the bar from the rest of the room and falling to his knees by your side.
“What happened?” Bradley asks, something hard to his voice. But when he goes to touch the side of your face, carefully as if you’re injured, as if you’re made of porcelain that’ll break at the slightest jostle, his brown eyes show nothing but genuine concern.
It makes you cry harder.
“Nothing,” you say, which is a ridiculous lie, all things considered. You’re crouching on the floor of your workplace, over an hour after your shift has ended, crying your eyes out. Clearly, there’s something wrong. “I’m fine.”
Bradley sits cross-legged on the hardwood floors, his knee close enough to graze against yours. He looks decidedly out of his depth, almost uncomfortable. Helpless. His mustache quivers as he opens his mouth, then closes it again.
But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to get you to explain it, doesn’t ask again. He just sits there with you, elbows on his thighs, and lets you cry.
It’s nice not to be alone. To have somebody with you, even if he doesn’t know you. Even if he has no idea what it is that has you on the brink of a complete crisis.
You do your best not to think about it. Not about the baby, not about the guy who just dumped you. Not about gold foil and Instagram posts and wedding bands. Not about how he’s made you a homewrecker, and you didn’t even know.
Maybe this is karma. The universe punishing you for your sins. Something like that.
Maybe it’s just really, really bad luck.
“What are you doing here?” you ask when you’ve finally calmed yourself enough the sobbing has subsided to sniffles.
Bradley jerks his head noncommittally. “I forgot my wallet.”
“Oh.” You try to get up, but your legs won’t cooperate. “I’ll help you look.”
He shakes his head, pulls you back onto the floor by the elbow. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll look for it later. What happened?”
There’s something about his tone that tells you this time he won’t let you get away with a half-assed lie. Which doesn’t stop you from trying.
“Just… rough day.”
Bradley looks at you, then pulls his knees up, lets his arms dangle between them. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, and his voice is very gentle. “But if you want to… I can listen.”
This is the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. He has the kind of face that makes you want to tell him things. Makes you want to spill your secrets to him, pour them into his space. He’s steady, reliable, calm. It would be so easy to trust him.
That’s dangerous.
But you’re so tired, and you’re so broken, and you’re so terribly, horribly lonely. With Luke gone, with your parents out of the picture, with nobody to help and no one to hold you, the loneliness is like an ache, like a stain, like something that festers and spreads and unfurls inside of you.
You just want to pretend you don’t have to do it alone. Just for a moment.
So you say, “I think I did something stupid.”
Bradley’s eyes are very brown. A soft shade of brown, like milk chocolate. When you look at him, you feel warm all over.
“Alright,” he says, and there isn’t an ounce of judgment in it. It’s just a gentle, careful nudge for you to continue.
“I…” You exhale shakily, look down to the floor, twist the bracelet around your wrist. It’s so much harder to form the words the second time around. “I’m pregnant.”
Saying it to Bradley, who is practically a stranger, saying it to someone outside of whatever little bubble, whatever vacuum two people playing at love built around themselves, makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.
You’re pregnant. In a few months, your belly is going to grow to the size of a watermelon. You’re going to get ultrasounds and wear maternity clothes and buy a crib. You’re going to hold a baby in your arms, a baby that will become a toddler, will become a child, will become a teenager, will become an adult. They’re never going to leave again.
I’m pregnant.
One moment - and in it the rest of your life.
It’s a skyscraper, it’s a monument, it’s a mountain. It dwarves you. How can you ever be enough for the path that lies ahead?
The panic jumps you. It rattles you. Suddenly you’re panting, you’re shaking, you can’t think, your head spinning circles around the enormity of it all.
“Oh,” Bradley says. He sounds like he expected you to say just about anything except that. “Congratulations.”
You stare at him, and he backtracks.
“Unless you don’t want me to congratulate you? Sorry, I shouldn’t just….”
“No,” you stop him, your voice a tiny, trembling thing. “It’s okay. Thank you.”
You wonder what it might be like if you were older, if you were married, if you weren’t such a fuck-up. Would people beam at you, hug you, shake your hand? Would they share the joy they must assume you feel?
Neither one of you says anything for a while. Through the opened windows, the sound of the ocean drifts in, of the waves crashing against the shore. The chrome of the fridge you’re leaning against is cold even through the layers of your shirt. You count the wooden tiles on the floor.
After half an eternity, Bradley says, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”
It’s like a knife to the heart, it slices right through you, stabs you between the ribs. And you’re not even angry, don’t even feel betrayed… it just hurts. The kind of pain that stays with you. The kind of pain that leaves phantom traces even after the wounds have healed.
“I don’t,” you say finally.
Beside you, Bradley shifts his weight. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?”
It’s almost enough to make you laugh. “It’s okay,” you say, even though it isn’t. This whole thing isn’t okay. “I’ll be fine.”
Without hesitating, Bradley says, “I know you will be.”
There’s such conviction in his voice that it baffles you. You stare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“He’s… have you told him, though? Or are you guys not in contact?”
Still trying to recover, you shrug. “Yeah,” you whisper, drawing your shoulders almost all the way up to your ears, “I told him.”
You can tell he wants to ask more, but he gives you a second before his next question. “And you… you guys are gonna try co-parenting? Or is he… are you going to get married?”
That makes you frown. You say, “What is this, the 1950s?”
“I just think….” Bradley clears his throat. “I just think if you get a girl pregnant, you should step up. Take responsibility.”
Of course he’d think that. You’re not even surprised.
There’s always been something traditional about Bradley Bradshaw, like he’s one of those men written by women people rave about all over TikTok. If he takes a girl out on a date, he probably holds open car doors and pulls out chairs for her, hands her his jacket if she gets cold.
Distantly, you wonder what that would be like.
“I don’t want somebody to marry me out of responsibility,” you say. “I can take care of myself.”
Bradley scrambles. “I know that!” he says quickly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift his weight forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “Of course, I know that. I just thought… I just thought you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
It’s such a simple thing to say, but it almost bowls you over. You turn your head to the side, press your face into your shirt sleeve and dig your fingernails deep into the skin of your shins.
Bradley watches you, eyes intent, and then he probes carefully, “Are you… are you going to keep it?”
You sink your teeth into your lower lip, blink against the sudden dampness. Keep your face turned away from him. The shame of it all, of the situation you’re in, of him seeing you like this, overwhelms you. Your vision blurs.
“I think…” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I always used to think if I ever got in this situation, I’d just get an abortion but now… I don’t… I just don’t think it’s the right thing for me.”
Slowly, he nods. “You want to have the baby,” he says, and it’s not really a question, but you answer anyway.
“Yes. I mean… I don’t know, it’s just… I want this. I don’t know why or how, but I… it feels like I have to do this.”
“Yeah,” Bradley says, completely sincere. “Your body, your choice.”
Now you do snort. “What, are we at a rally?”
“I follow a few Instagram accounts,” he admits. His voice has gone almost sheepish. “Abortion rights should be everybody’s concern. Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”
It’s endearing in a strange way because there’s nothing performative about it. It’s just bumbling and awkward and peculiarly genuine.
“You sound like you spend too much time on Twitter,” you say softly, and it makes him laugh. Bradley’s got a nice laugh, one that starts in his belly and seems to end at the back of his throat, punches out into the air from back there.
After things have gone quiet again, the anxiety sets back in. Or maybe it’s been there all along, chomping at the bit, and you just didn’t notice.
“You must think I’m crazy,” you say finally, a self-deprecating chuckle loosening from your throat.
But when you glance up at him from beneath lowered lashes, stomach tight with anticipation, Bradley doesn’t look judgmental at all. Instead, his face is wide open, his eyes clear, the corners of his lips still curled upward with the remnants of his smile.
Luke laughed at you, but Bradley is looking at you with something like admiration, and it takes your breath away.
“No,” he says. “I think you’re really, really brave.”
And then you’re crying again.
You’re surprised there are any tears left in you after your earlier session, but they burst forth now, in a sudden eruption of all the fear and all the pain. And Bradley is so nice. So goddamn kind even though he doesn’t know you, not really, even though this isn’t even his problem. Sits there on the floor of the Hard Deck with you at half past one am on a Sunday night, and doesn’t complain, doesn’t sigh. He just listens.
You don’t feel brave. You feel terrified, you feel overwhelmed, you feel… you feel… you feel like the whole world has toppled over. You feel like Atlas crashing down, buried beneath the weight of his burden. You feel tiny. Inadequate. You feel scared, scared, scared.
“I don’t know what to do,” you confess, choke it out between sobs. Wonder why you’re telling him this. When you don’t know him.
Funny how it is so much easier at times to be honest with strangers than it is to be honest with the people we love the most.
“I’m so… I’m so scared, Bradley.”
He moves as if to touch you, then seems to think better of it and slumps back into himself. The expression on his face is unreadable, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw clenched.
“He’s not gonna… the father isn’t going to help you out?”
It makes you realize you never really answered his earlier question. And you don’t know why, can’t explain it rationally, but for some reason, this, too, makes embarrassment well up at the back of your throat.
What is Bradley going to think? The poor, little, stupid girl who got herself knocked up by a guy who won’t even stay? Is that what everybody’s going to think now? Is that all you’ll be?
It’s a life sentence, this whole thing.
You shrug, pause. Shake your head. “No,” you say finally. “He’s not going to be involved.”
You know it’s true. Luke won’t come back, not now, not in ten years, not in twenty. There was something final about that exchange, something permanent. Something that can’t be undone.
Suddenly, you think of that tiny, unborn child inside of you. Abandoned before it ever came into the world.
It’s just you and me now, baby, you think to yourself, and it goes through you like a current, sweeps you under like a wave. We’re all alone. All we have is each other.
“What about your parents? Your dad’s in the Navy, too, right?”
If you could, you’d run away. Fold yourself to invisibility. Slip into the pockets between moments and become something other, something that exists out of sight.
You think of your parents. Floral couches and polished hardwood floors. Tom Cruise on the television as your mother scrubbed every part of the house like she was getting rid of an illness, wiping away a disease, perpetually finding another stain or another cobweb or another wrinkle to smooth over. Think of your father, rigid and strict and absent. Always on some mission, always thinking of a greater good that definitely didn’t involve you, always looking through you even as he looked at you. You don’t know if you have a single memory of him smiling.
You haven’t spoken to them once since you gave up a perfectly fine full-ride scholarship to college.
“My parents,” you say, and as the words spill from you, you realize they’re the truth, “would probably kill me if they found out I got pregnant out of wedlock. Maybe if I were married, they’d give me back my trust fund or something, but… No, I don’t think they’d help me out.”
A muscle in Bradley’s jaw jumps, then he’s looking away. Turning to the side so you’re knee to knee again. You stare at his profile, at the curl of his ears, the cut of his jaw. The jagged edges of his scars blur through the fog of your tears.
“So, how are you… do you have a plan?”
You had one. You had Mojitos and Daiquiris and Cosmopolitans. You had a slew of business classes at a community college. You had a dream and a set of tools to achieve it, and when you close your eyes, you can almost see it right there in front of you.
But now it’s been swept up in a hurricane. Swallowed by a tsunami.
“No,” you admit, and your voice trembles. “I have no idea what to do.”
Bradley’s jaw moves as he chews on his lower lip. He swallows, and his throat unudlates with it, and then he’s shifting, shuffling forward a bit.
“I…” He clears his throat. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks nervous. “I may have an idea.”
“An idea?” you repeat slowly.
You think he’s going to tell you about some friend who’s looking to hire someone, looking to rent out a very cheap apartment, works at a doctor’s office and is going to treat you for free. Something like that, maybe.
Instead, Bradley takes a deep breath and says, “Marry me.”
It takes a while for the words to register. At first, you think you’ve misheard, then you wonder if maybe the romantic parts of your mind cooked that up. If he even said it at all.
But Bradley is looking at you expectantly, the only indicator of nerves the slightest glimmer in his brown eyes.
And you can’t help yourself. You laugh, even through your tears. It’s a sound that rips from you unconsciously, unstoppably, because surely he’s joking. It’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.
“Good one,” you say, and wonder just how big of a mess you look like. You wipe at your cheeks, your nose with your sleeves and sniffle once, twice.
Bradley’s lips twitch into the pathetic half of a smile, then he’s serious again, avoiding your eyes.
And that, finally, is when you realize that he isn’t joking at all.
“I…” You pause, mind whirring, head spinning. “What?”
“It’s just….” Bradley shrugs, then explains, “It’s only a suggestion. But you said your family might consider supporting you again if you were married. It might be an option.”
You don’t know what to say. You feel like you’re in a low-budget Hallmark movie.
Bradley pushes on, “It wouldn’t be permanent. We could get a divorce quickie in a year or two, just stay together long enough for you to get settled with the baby and everything. Plus, you’d get free healthcare.” He glances at you, and the blank expression on your face must light a panic in him. Now his words come faster. “I wouldn’t expect anything from you, of course I wouldn’t. It would just be… keeping up appearances. Just for a while….”
Finally, he trails off. The silence stretches between you like a palpable thing, thick and dense like summer heat.
When you were twelve, sitting in the back of the car as your parents argued up front, the woods of Washington flying past in rapid ribbons of black and blue and green, the moon a disk of silver in the sky, a deer ran out into the road. You remember the screeching of the tires as your dad did what you’re not supposed to and brought the car to a sudden, abrupt stillstand. You remember the wide eyes of the animal, the muscles locked in its state of catatonic horror. You remember the flanks rising and falling quickly beneath the matted fur.
For a second, you feel like that deer. Frozen. Caught completely off guard. Vulnerable.
Then you think you might be a little overdramatic.
You say, “What the fuck, Bradley?”
Part of you expects him to backtrack immediately, laugh, and tell you that he was joking after all. But Bradley stands his ground, even as he still won’t look right at you.
“I probably wouldn’t even be home much anyway. I leave for work all the time,” he says, brows drawn into a straight line above his eyes as he stares intently at his thumb rubbing circles into the skin of his arm. “But I could babysit, and then you could go back to work. I really wouldn’t mind. I’m good with kids, you know?”
You’re not entertaining the whole thing, not really, but you can’t help yourself. Your curiosity takes the upper hand.
“Why would you… why would you ever offer this? You barely know me.”
Bradley seems to think about it for a long moment, his face unreadbale. Then finally, he says, “There’d be something in it for me, too, you know? I’ve been meaning to get assigned to North Island permanently, do a relocation. But those spots tend to go to the guys with family, so…” He shrugs, but the gesture seems forced. “I could help you out, you could help me out. Win-win.”
“That’s all?” you ask, and you don’t know why there’s something like disappointment in your voice.
Bradley looks like he wants to say something else, and for a moment his face is vulnerable. But then it shutters again, and he nods. “That’s all.”
For a second, just a second, you let yourself imagine it: Imagine saying yes to this mad, insane, incredible proposal. Imagine marrying Bradley, someone soft and warm and responsible, someone completely opposite to Luke. Imagine him in a tux and you in a white dress, imagine his mustache tickling against your cheek as he leans in to kiss you. You imagine one of the quaint little houses you grew up in, but one that would belong to you, at least for a while. You imagine a toddler running through it, imagine Bradley bending down to scoop them into his arms. You imagine a life without this aching, shifting loneliness. You imagine a life with Bradley.
When you finally shake your head, when you let go of that ghost, it feels like it takes a piece of you with it.
“No,” you say softly, and it breaks you open in ways you can’t describe. “I can’t let you do that, Bradley.”
It’s just too insane. Too far out there. It wouldn’t be fair to him, when you’d be getting so much more out of that arrangement.
And besides. I don’t want someone to marry me out of responsibility. That’s what you told Bradley earlier, and you meant it.
When you do marry, when you walk down that aisle, you want it to be for love. And people can call you delusional, naive, whatever. You don’t care. You just know you want the big thing, the real thing, True Love, capital t, capital l. You want the hurricane of romance, the monsoon of love. You want to fly into it.
Bradley’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Okay. But if you… change your mind, yeah? I’ll be here.”
And he means it. Bradley carries his heart on his sleeve, you’ve learned this much. He tries to hide it, but he’s no good at it. Eventually, his emotions always get the better of him, burst forth like fountains. It’s part of his charm.
“What,” you say, “right here on the Hard Deck’s floors?”
It’s a sad attempt at a joke, but Bradley is nice enough to laugh anyway. “Sure thing. You guys have the cleanest floors in all of North Island, did you know that?”
You hum. “Sure. I’m the one who cleans them.”
Finally, you get up off the floor, unfold yourself from the bundle of misery you’ve crumbled into. Your legs ache, your back hurts, your chest still feels hollow. All the crying has left a dull pain pulsating behind your left brow.
The two of you look for Bradley’s wallet together, finally find it over by the pool table. You pretend like you’re not still reeling from his proposal, like it’s not suddenly become impossible to do so much as look at him without your heart flopping around like a fish finding its sad end on dry land.
“Can I give you a ride home?” Bradley asks as he watches you lock up. The Hard Deck has an old lock that gets jammed whenever the slightest bit of dampness creeps into the air. You have to hang onto the doorknob with all your weight while simultaneously turning the key to get it to lock.
“I drove here,” you say, casting your eyes about for the tiny tin can you call your car. You can’t even remember where you parked earlier.
“You okay to drive?” Bradley asks.
You glance at him. With the lights off, the parking lot is almost covered in a thick blanket of darkness. The headlights of a few passing cars winding their path along the coastal highway illuminate patches of gravel now and then. Moonlight spills silver and dim across his shoulders, like fingers caressing him. He looks concerned, examining the state of you.
The truth is that you’re tired. Bone tired. Dead tired. So tired you could probably go to sleep where you stand if you put your mind to it. But you don’t want to bother Bradley anymore, have already stolen enough of his time.
So you’re about to decline, but it seems you hesitated too long.
“I’ll take you home,” Bradley says decidedly, “and you can come get your car tomorrow, okay? I don’t think you should be driving like this.”
“You don’t have to do that, you….”
“I know,” he interrupts you, a smile spreading on his face. “But I’ll feel better knowing you got home safe.”
That makes your insides clench in a way they shouldn’t. Your chest feels tight, and you look away just in case you start crying again.
Is it too soon in your pregnancy to start blaming raging hormones?
Wordlessly, you let Bradley lead you across the parking lot toward his monstrosity of a car. His hand hovers at the small of your back, incredibly close yet never touching. He’s big behind you, bulking, and you try not to think about it. When he opens the door for you and waits until you’re buckled in to close it, you feel like your head’s going to explode.
The ride home is quiet, as is the town around you on this Sunday night. An old Killers song plays on the radio, and you think of deer stepping out into streets, then press your eyes closed and will the thought away.
In Bradley’s car, with the windows rolled down, with the Californian night breeze whipping your hair into your eyes and clearing the fog from your head, for a short, blissful while, nothing seems real. It’s one of those liminal moments, a not-time, when reality feels like a dream and even the sharpest knives don’t cut deep enough to hurt.
It ends quicker than expected because time always goes the fastest when you want it to go slow. Then you’re thanking him, saying goodbye, both of you pretending he didn’t just propose some strange, fake marriage to you behind a bar counter not even thirty minutes ago.
Bradley waits until you’re inside the building before he starts the engine again. You hear the roar of it as you climb the stairs up to the second floor.
In your bedroom, you don’t even bother getting undressed. You just slip under the covers, pull them up over your head, bury in the sticky, stale air beneath them, close your eyes, and fall asleep within seconds.
+
The first time you told your parents about your bartending dreams, your father yelled at you for forty-five minutes. He hurled words at you that hurt, that left scars, that made you wonder and kept you second-guessing yourself for years, that stayed with you. Your mother didn’t say anything.
Somehow, that was worse.
You call her on the landline at five pm on a Tuesday, just before your dad gets back home, and she answers after the third ring. You’re so sure she’s going to acknowledge the four-year gap in contact, the crumbling of the relationship, the fall-out of screaming and crying, and your dad kicking you out of the house.
What you get, instead, is a ten-minute spiel about who brought what to last week’s church potluck and which laundry detergent your father’s contact allergies don’t act up with.
You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, your digital alarm clock counting down the time in radioactive green. Outside, you hear the sounds of jets roaring through the sky. In your tiny kitchen unit, the faucet is leaking.
Finally, five minutes into a lecture on the advantages of pre-chopped garlic, you interrupt, “Mom?”
You wonder if she hears the shift in your voice, the slight tremble of it. Something makes her go very quiet on the other end of the line, no sound but her breath.
Drip-drip-drip goes your faucet.
When she doesn’t acknowledge you, you push on, your heart beating a staccato rhythm against your ribcage, “I might… I think I might need some help.”
She doesn’t answer for so long you think you might have lost connection. Then you hear shuffling, imagine her walking through her empty house the way she sometimes does - like a phantom, like a specter.
“With what?” she asks after an eternity.
It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating. Years of pain and fear clog up your chest, settle like goosebumps on your skin. You close your eyes and let your head drop back against your pillow.
“I’m pregnant,” you say.
And then you can feel it through the phone, like something physical. What you’ve always known deep down. The disapproval and the disappointment, and the complete lack of understanding.
You’ve never been who your parents wanted you to be, and they’ve always punished you for it like it was a crime.
When your mother says your name, it’s so plain. That she can’t understand what you’re doing, with your cocktails and your late nights. That she doesn’t see why you’d ever choose something like that over a real education and a real job. That she cannot fathom how it could come to this now - you, broke, young, alone, pregnant.
It’s like being five again, trying to get somebody to look at the picture you drew. It’s like being ten again and being overlooked. It’s like being fifteen again, still vying for the attention you’ll never really get.
Your mother is a stubborn woman, set in her ways. She knows what she wants from people, more specifically, what she wants for them. And you’re no exception. Nobody’s ever asked her a question whose answer she couldn’t find in the bible.
More than wanting you to go to college, wanting you to work in an office, your mother has always wanted you to get married. To fit yourself into the picture-perfect stencil of white picket fence and smiling husband she cut herself. For you to let some guy put a ring on you, put a kid in you, buy you a house and a porch swing and a family van.
It’s pathetic, but it doesn’t matter how much time passes. How much older you get. At the end of the day, you still want her approval, just once, even if you have to lie to get it.
So, like a child, like you’re five again, like you’re ten again, like you’re fifteen again, you say, “I’m getting married.”
“Oh?” your mother asks, and there’s so much hope in the one word it hits you like a ton of bricks.
“Yeah,” you confirm, and then the lies just burst out of you, and you hate yourself, hate yourself so much it’s like bile on your tongue, “yeah, we’ve been engaged for a while, and now with the baby and all… It’s been long overdue.”
Your mother almost sounds excited. Sure, she’d probably prefer for you to have been married before getting knocked up, but all of this must still seem better than the last plan you presented to her four years ago. “What’s his name? What’s he do?”
You squeeze your eyes closed. If your mother knew you at all, if you hadn’t spent the past few years not speaking, you’d like to think she would have heard the shame in your voice when you say, “Bradley. He’s a Naval aviator.”
It might be the worst thing you’ve done in your life: Dragging poor, kind Bradley Bradshaw into the mess you’ve made of your life. Nevermind that he offered. It doesn’t matter.
Your mother starts babbling, the way she only does when she’s actually pleased about something. She’s talking about how happy your dad will be that you’re getting married to a fellow army guy, but you barely hear it. Now that you’ve gotten the approval, it doesn’t feel at all like you thought it would.
It just hurts.
For a while, you just let her keep talking as you blink away the tears, as you stare at your bedroom wall, as your mind spins and spins and spins in circles. Then you promise to send her an invite, say your goodbyes, and hang up.
It’s like you’re numb all over. You stay on your bed for another five minutes, and then another, and you feel just as empty as you did after your last conversation with Luke.
What has your life become? How could it crumble as quickly as it did, going from okay to horrible in less than a week?
Even when you weren’t speaking to your parents, you never felt this distant from them, this far removed. A chasm you’ll never be able to breach. An ocean you’re never going to bridge. The only way you’ve ever gotten your mother to be happy with a decision you’ve made is when you lied to her.
The loneliness is everywhere, then. In your chest, in your bed, in your veins. Crawling like a shadow that swallows you whole.
And then the panic sets in, ice cold in your veins, and with it comes the guilt. Your stomach rolls with it.
What have I done? you wonder. What have I done to myself, to Bradley? How will I ever get out of this?
You scramble. Blindly reach for a dress to slip into, for a pair of flip-flops, for your car keys. It’s a miracle you don’t crash on your way to the Hard Deck. Your heart works itself up into a frenzy, and the guilt gnaws at you, slashes at you, paws at you. All these emotions are tearing you apart.
In the back, Bradley and Bob are playing Pacman on one of the retro machines. They’re pretty loud, too, and from what you gather in your mad dash through your workplace, Bradley seems to be disproportionally competitive about the whole thing.
Figures. Nobody gets into Top Gun without a cutthroat streak and a mean penchant for ambition.
“Bradley,” you say, and when he looks up, his eyes sparkling, the smile slides right off his face. “Can I talk to you?”
He seems stunned for a second, then nods and deposits his beer on a nearby table. “Sure thing.”
You lead him out the back. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spot the exact corner you huddled in a few days back, agonizing over the positive pregnancy test, the decline of your life, the decay of your dreams. Don’t look, you tell yourself, and then do it anyway.
The sun hasn’t set yet, but twilight is descending on the world rapidly. Everything is washed into soft pastels, the sand and the last surfers shaking salt water from their hair. Bradley’s shirt and the honey gold of his skin.
You can’t look at him. It’s a shame that grows in the pit of your stomach, that settles there, heavy like a stone. How can you do this to him?
You’ve never felt worse about yourself, and still… The fear is too big.
Since you decided to give up on the scholarship, since you walked out of your parents house four years ago, you’ve been on your own. You’ve been footing your own bills and renting your own apartment and paying for insurance on your car. You were alone the time you got a cold so bad you couldn’t get out of bed for two days. You were alone when your tire popped on the highway and you almost hit another car. You were alone when you got rejection after rejection from the big San Diego bars, the ones that end up featured on TV and in magazines.
And that was fine. You’re strong, you know you are. Any issue that came your way, you managed to figure out eventually. You’ve been doing fine without any help.
But this, here, now. This… You just can’t do it on your own. Not when it’s about a baby. Your baby.
So you take a deep breath and ask, “Is the offer still on the table?”
Bradley exhales. You watch as he takes a step closer to you, as his shoes move in the field of your vision, grains of sand crunching beneath the soles. When he speaks, a cadence of insecurity has snuck into his voice, “The marriage?”
You nod because you can’t say it. Your mouth just won’t form the words.
“If…” Bradley clears his throat. “If you want it… yeah.”
When you look up at him, there’s something strange on his face. Something that looks less like surprise and more like awe.
His eyes are so brown, and your heart beats so fast, and you’re dizzy like you just got off a rollercoaster.
“I…” You pause to collect your thoughts, and then you rush it all out at once, scared that if you don’t say it now, you never will. “If I were to say yes, like, hypothetically… I’d need to know that you’re not just doing it for me. That there’s something in it for you, too, so….”
He’s nodding before you’ve finished. “I told you. I wanna stay here. I’m sick of getting sent around the country all the time, so… It’s good. It’s an opportunity.”
An opportunity. That sounds like business, sounds like a transaction, sounds rational and level-headed and reasonable, and you latch onto the idea. Maybe if you try to take the emotion out of the equation, it’ll be easier.
Bradley seems relaxed about the whole thing, much more relaxed than he should be given the absurdity of the situation, but you feel like you need to make things clear anyway, if only to put yourself at ease. That’s what people do before singing contracts, right? Put all the cards out on the table?
So you go on, “And I wouldn’t, like… Like you’d still get to do anything you want. I wouldn’t expect you to help with the baby or anything. And you could keep dating, of course, you could, I won’t mind. I promise. It’d just be for show, right?”
Bradley hesitates, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something. But then he just shrugs, nods, says, “That’s fine. Yeah. Whatever you want.”
For a moment, you both just look at each other.
“This is insane,” you say because it is, and you don’t know what else to say.
And Bradley just chuckles and agrees smoothly, “Yeah, it’s nuts, isn’t it?”
As you look at him, here in this pastel lighting, here on the verge of something monumental, there’s something so reassuring about him. Something so steady and reliable and constant. Something that makes you think, with him, maybe it could be okay, no matter how insane the whole idea is. An opportunity. An investment that just might pay off.
North star, you remind yourself. Bradley Bradshaw is the North Star.
At the very least, you won’t be alone.
“So is that….” Bradley shifts, scratches the back of his neck. “You saying yes, then?”
There’s a lump in your throat like you’ve swallowed a pebble. It almost chokes you.
“Yeah,” you agree finally, and can’t believe you’re saying this, doing this, can’t believe you’re this mad and this selfish and this desperate. “I guess I am.”
It’s awkward after that. You both just stand there, you with your arms around your own ribcage, Bradley with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. Space and silence stretches far and gaping and glaring between you.
Then he says, “Can I hug you?”
That’s sort of the last thing you expected him to say.
You blink at him. “Uhm… sure?”
When Bradley pulls you into his arms, when he holds you against his chest loosely, carefully, giving you room to pull away at any moment, the whole thing almost bowls you over. It’s the first time anybody’s hugged you since you found out you’re pregnant, since your entire world came crashing down, and you can’t help yourself. It’s a visceral reaction. You cling to him, wrap your arms around his neck, press your face into his shoulder and your chest against his and squeeze your eyes shut, and stay there for longer than you planned to, longer than you should. Let him hold you tight enough that for a moment, for a while, it almost feels like you’re whole again. Like you’re not alone.
For the first time in a week, for the first time since that positive test, things feel real. You feel real. Only with his hands on you. The thoughts that have been echoing through your head constantly, loud enough to drown out everything else, quiet.
You could get addicted to it, could get greedy and selfish and never-satisfied. Could eat it raw.
Bradley smells like sunscreen and sandalwood. You try to commit that scent to memory, try to ingrain it into your brain and your body. Something to remember the next time the loneliness sets in.
Finally, he pulls away, and his smile is gentle. You feel every inch of separation like an ache in your bones, like an echo, like a reverberation.
You can’t cry again. You’ve been doing it so much recently that you just won’t allow it again. If you’re going to do this, if you’re going to be a mother and a wife, in whatever capacity, you’ll have to be strong. No matter how hard that will be.
“I don’t even have a ring for you,” Bradley says, a frown etching itself into his forehead. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” You’re shaking your head quickly, vehemently. “No, Bradley, that’s fine, you don’t need to….”
“I think you should have something, though. I want to give you something,” he interrupts you. “I just don’t know….”
And then he seems to think of something. The epiphany is practically written all over his face, and for a moment, he looks so much younger. Rosy cheeks and all.
Bradley reaches into his wifebeater and pulls his dog tags from beneath the fabric. Before you know what’s happening, he’s tugging the thin silver chain down over your head, moving your hair out of the way carefully. It settles against the skin of your neck, warmed by his body heat.
You stare down at the metal dangling over your dress, the letters of his name etched into it. Bradley Bradshaw.
Your heart seizes.
When you were younger, much younger, you used to dream of this. You used to imagine what being proposed to would feel like, what it would be like. A fancy restaurant, an expensive glass of champagne, and a diamond ring at the bottom of the flute. Something flashy, something extravagant, something beautiful. The man in your fantasy was faceless at first, and then he looked like Robert Pattinson, and then he looked like your first crush, and then he went back to being faceless again.
He never had a mustache. He was never a stranger. Your dreams were never this: Rushed and fake and no ring at all. You, pregnant with somebody else’s baby, and Bradley, marrying you to get assigned to a base of his choosing. None of it real. No True Love, no capital t, no capital l. Not even lowercase. Nothing but madness and guilt and business between you.
And still you want it, want it so bad it swells inside you, pushes against your ribcage with enough pressure to crack bones - you want to be wanted.
You wonder what Bradley dreamed of. Not you, probably. So much younger than him, so naive, so gullible, falling for married men and getting yourself into situations you can’t climb out of yourself. Making him do this when he deserves better, more, deserves something true and real.
It makes you sick to your stomach. It makes you want to cry. It makes you want to ask Bradley to hug you again, so you can forget, just for another second, just for another moment.
Instead, you say, voice barely a whisper, “Thank you.”
Bradley shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, and he sounds so genuine you have to avert your eyes. “We’re friends, right?”
Friends. This man you barely know. This man who is doing something unfathomable for you.
“Yeah,” you agree softly. “Friends.”
And then later, in the bar, as Bradley’s friends discuss some new Star Wars show you haven’t seen, as they order round after round of beer you can’t drink, as the sky goes from pastels to blues to blacks, you’ll pretend you don’t see Natasha staring at the dog tags around your neck, pretend you don’t wish you could hold Bradley’s hand, pretend you don’t feel like you’re falling apart, like you’re capsizing where you sit, like you're kicking water miles and miles and miles below the surface.
Beneath the table, you put a hand on your stomach, fingers spreading out, close your eyes, and let the current drag you under.
part 2
#rooster#bradley bradshaw#rooster x reader#rooster imagine#bradley bradshaw x reader#top gun imagine#mine#f:blph
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AITA for lying to my friends due to a psychological disorder?
Ever since I (21F, american) was quite young (I would say around my 9 or 10 years) my mother noticed I had a tendency for lying, sometimes even for no reason at all. Some years after that I started going through therapy and psychiatric sessions and was diagnosed as bipolar and, more specifically, mythomania (compulsive/pathological lying, the diagnostic changed depending on which psychiatrist I went through). My manic episodes usually last longer than the depressive ones and, when those happen, I usually just lock myself from everyone in my bedroom (I rarely leave home even during manic episodes due to my own fear of anything bad that could happen outside)
And I'd say it's during those manic episodes that the bad things start to happen. Ever since my early 17s I started fabricating my own life to online friends since I have extreme difficulty making friends on real life. This ranged from stuff such as me saying that I'm disabled and that's why I don't leave my house (not true, I can do it when necessary but otherwise I am able bodied) and other simple, white lies to stuff like my relationship with my family and living condition.
It was in 2021 I think it started to go downhill. I still don't think I was in the wrong for it since, again, it is a mental disorder but I decided to come ask others too since the one friend I have that knows about it thinks I might be an asshole about this in specific.
Around 2021 I started playing a specific game with gacha mechanics. To this point, the image I had painted to most online friends (with the exception of that one friend) was of a girl on her 20s with a good relationship with her mother but a bad one with both her dad and brother (a lie, as our dad left us when we were children and I have a pretty good relationship with my brother), disabled and in bad living conditions. Because of that, it had been some time (since the beginning of the lockdown) since some of these friends started sending me money whenever I said I needed it for one reason or another (usually to buy food or necessities like hygiene products) and, since I didn't need it at all, I would just end up using it on stuff I enjoy like art supplies or makeup.
The moment I started playing that game though (which none of my friends knew about since they still thought I didn't have my own computer), I started spending all of that money on the game to pull for characters. It wasn't a constant thing but it got specifically bad on 2022, when a character I really enjoy was released.
I still think it's not that bad since none of them gave me a lot of money anyways, but after what I already had was spent on the game and I didn't have any money to buy the currency, I went to the discord servers venting channel and started writing by impulse stuff like how my dad had evicted me and me alone from the house after I stood up to him and now I was living in my cramped old car on the streets with no food, clothes etc. Some of those friends got extremely worried or something like that and ended up sending me more money than usual so I could 'pay for a hotel' until I had time to get government support etc (I don't really know how that works anyways, but I said I'd try and thanked them a lot for it and said that as soon as I was safe I'd draw something for them as payback but I never did because it wasn't really like it was a commission anyways) and I spent it on the game to get the character and I did!
I had to keep the lie about being homeless and then getting government support ever since and last month me and my "real life partner" (not real but i made it up a few months before this so i just used it as a excuse that he was working to get us both a place to stay) were finally in a safe apartment. However, one of those online friends knew about my condition and started to suspect about it all and got angry at me for no reason, saying that I was stealing from my friends and being unfair on even denying that to her. After that she blocked me but I was able to lie to the server that she had threatened me and implied I was lying about it all which wasn't true because that was my real living situation.
I still don't think I am in the wrong, they all did offer it to me on their own after all and I already spent it so there's nothing I can do. Am I the asshole for lying due to a mental health condition?
What are these acronyms?
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There's something so depressing about being an artist on tumblr these days that I'm finding hard to articulate. Years ago, shitty one-hour sketches I posted would at least get double digits in the notes. These days, I can post commissions that took over fifty hours and get 5 notes at most. Blah blah do art for yourself, sure, but the important part is -
I Rarely Get Commissions Anymore.
Where I used to have to limit how many comms I could accept at once because I'd get that many requests, now I'm lucky to get two when I open up coms again. People don't reblog the art I do for myself, so no one finds my commission info that way. People don't reblog the art I do for commissions, so no one finds my commission info that way. People don't reblog commissions posts. A couple likes will get tossed at it from people who don't actually reach out in interest, so it doesn't circulate and it's just me reblogging it into the void, desperately hoping for some modicum of cash. I feel like people don't understand these days how little money most artists are bringing in, and the anxiety that comes with drastically declining circulation of art on websites like tumblr. Right now, for example, I'm desperate to earn as much money as I can during the summer because what I earn this summer? Has to last me rent for seven months straight to help offset the inevitable drain of all the savings I have. Normally some of that would come from art - nowadays, I can't rely on getting even a single commission.
I think this anxiety and this real material concern is what is behind all those "please for the love of god reblog art/posts you like" posts that people love to get angry about. If you haven't been here for years, it can be hard to see the ways in which this vanishing reblog culture has severely hit artists and forced many away from this platform. I don't want to leave tumblr or stop posting my art here, but good god is it depressing to see this site, and I cannot stress this enough, almost COMPLETELY VANISH as a revenue stream. I don't know what the solution to this culture shift is, but I do know that it's causing this site to deteriorate and forcing artists to move elsewhere and invest less effort on tumblr because it no longer makes any financial sense. I know that everyone is tired of hearing this, and fair enough, because there are plenty of other artists with louder voices than mine saying similar things, but please, if you like some art, consider reblogging it. Even if you have no interest in ever commissioning that artist. Others might see it and be interested, and that's how most new clients are made. Artists have rent on the line.
anyway, if you've made it to the end of this rant and haven't blocked me for it lmao, I still have commissions open
#semper rants about stuff#idk yall its just exhausting and im sure im not the only one who feels this
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2023 baybeeeee. havent done an art summary in a while since i basically stopped drawing early 2020 and didn't get back on the horse until mid-2022 (i wonder... what could have caused that!) i dont feel like my art has really changed this year, only in the ways that I draw specific sonic characters (looking through my archive is fun bc i can see the progression of the diseases known as Giving Them Big Eyebrows and Drawing The Monoeye) and--more exciting 4 me--my practice with paneling comics! :)
i think the progression is much more noticeably when you line it up with last year's sonic art... i can see all the Milestones.. more talking abt that under the cut
May: couch gets into sonic. June: Yucky Sonic 1.0. this was also the month when i Heard Of fleetway super. July: couch comes back from brazil, having read stc. this is also when i start dong actual short comics. compare may -> june -> july. (also please forgive whatever tf i was doing with skintones. i needed some practice)
august: merger au takes shape. dog invented. also i just really like that speed racer sonic mspaint picture. its fun :) september: deep in the fleet mines. october: i lose a lot of steam and mostly just doodle. another comic comparison for those three months:
november: frontiers comes out. i go crazy mode and make that sonic + knuckles comic with the pretty backgrounds and LOTS OF TINY TEXT. december: winter break AND im tired. january 2023 i come back insane crazy mode and write some fanfiction?? still havent finished that LOL. made some nice cover art :) february: i shift into knuckles mode fora month. make another comic. this one is much better i think :) november -> february
march: i shift into transfem metal sonic mode. also just stick to a lot of doodling. also write more fanfiction. crazy. april: transitory period as i shift back into stc/exit: sonic mode. may: more fanfiction. more comics. i really like how both of these turned out :) while the last two were definitely taking a lot more notes from stc, i think around here i start paying attention to and trying to learn from more creative panelling from artists i admire. like @/superemeralds THOAM and @/starrjoy's pandora au.
june: i play sa2 and it's good. july: i play unleashed and it is both miserable and good. i get in kind of an artistic frustration zone and wiggle my way out. august: idk i think im just chillin. super react dot jpeg happens. it's not even named that, it's named after the other image on the canvas, which was maria holding baby shadow. more comics.
september: i burn out for a bit. get real tired. eventually get back up and make more comics. the goal here and last month has become "try to make more interesting panel shapes. I've noticed other artists don't just use rectangles--try playing with irregular polygons and see where it gets you." well it gets you mixed results as you learn :) also i think after that pause i accept the monoeye into my life. sigh...
october: oc showdown starts and @/neurotypical-sonic asks me to make some halloweeny art :) feels like i dont do much this month bc i focus on those. november: A LOT OF ART?? INSANE. more oc showdown stuff. i play shadow the hedgehog (2005). it's good and i love it. i draw a ton of shit on one canvas for it. Fucking Dember: i have shifted back into stc/EXIT mode. motivation's a little weird bc work's a little weird. doing commissions also makes it weird. well im having fun and being myself :) a final handful of comics from this month:
idk maybe ill do something sicko crazy b4 the end of the year. mayb i'll follow exit sonic's example and #GetWorse. who knows :) well this is fun i love looking at my art and seeing and noticing things. thank u all for your support and I hope we all have a great 2024!
#id in alt text#partially descriptive... i put the details i figured were relevant#art summary#i have WPRDS to SAY. i like thinking abt my art#okayvwell this was supposed to stay a draft but WHATEVER
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Down Under
Commission Story
Ryan was finishing up getting dressed when his phone chirped from a notification. He reached over to grab his phone and grinned when he saw it was a text from his friend Morgan.
"Hey! I'll just meet you at Rocky's okay, see you soon!"
Ryan replied and got back to getting dressed. He didn't want to keep his good friend waiting after all. Ryan had only met Morgan a month ago, but the two had grown to be pretty good friends within such a short time. Coincidentally, they met at the same restaurant/bar they were meeting up at- at Rocky's.
Ryan had gone to Rocky's for a date. He had waited for an hour until he eventually accepted the fact that he had gotten stood up. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and moseyed over to the bar side of Rocky's. Ryan sat down on a barstool, ordered a shot of tequila, and immediately downed it with a single motion. He then ordered another shot and downed that one too.
"Hey, maybe you ought to slow it down, yeah?"
Ryan heard some guy with an Australian accent talking to him. He swirled around in his seat to face him, ready to tell him to go fuck himself, but he found himself speechless after seeing the handsome stranger. The young Australian young man was dressed in faded blue jeans and a band T-shirt. He had a lit cigarette, and he took a drag of it while he walked over to one of the pool tables. He exhaled a sigh full of smoke before speaking again.
"I saw you at the tables over there, lookin' real sharp and what not. You been here a while... I take it it's been a bad night?"
"Ha, you don’t know the half of it..." Ryan scoffed.
Ryan joined him on the pool table. The man introduced himself as Morgan and asked Ryan what happened. Ryan then proceeded to spill everything onto Morgan. He wasn't sure if it was the tequila that loosened him up or if it was Morgan's kind, caring eyes that made him feel at ease, but Ryan just felt so comfortable in his presence. But to top it all off, Morgan never interrupted or shamed him for oversharing. He listened, and once Ryan was done, he pulled him in for a tight hug. It was as if Ryan had known him forever.
Ryan sighed and smiled as he felt the warmth of remembering when he first met Morgan. He was grateful that he managed to exchange contact information with him the night he met him. He had gotten to know him better since then.
Morgan was from Sydney, Australia and was visiting family in the US for an extended period of time. He was 24 going on 25, and he was a freelance DJ back at home. He was by all means a pretty ordinary guy, but Ryan could not deny his attraction to him. He was infatuated with Morgan since he first laid eyes on him, but as he got to know him, Ryan became head over heels for him. It was an attraction unlike anything Ryan had felt before, and he knew had to make a move.
Ryan left for Rocky's after packing a drawstring bag. He stowed it in the trunk of his car and hightailed it to the bar. Ryan waltzed in and saw Morgan smoking a cigarette. The tanned Australian matched Ryan's eye contact and grinned. Ryan felt his cheeks blush at the sight of those pearly whites. He then lied to himself that it was a date rather than just another hangout session. Oh, can a guy dream...
The two young men spent the night laughing, drinking, and smoking together until it was practically closing time. Ryan was ready to say goodbye for the night after sobering up enough to drive home, but then Morgan invited him over to his place for a night cap. Ryan accepted the invitation without a second thought.
"Alright, bud, make yourself at home," Morgan said as he opened the door to his apartment. Ryan stepped inside and took a moment to really soak in the surroundings. "It ain't much, I know, but it's home."
"Don’t worry, Morgan," Ryan turned around with a smile. "I'll feel right at home here."
Morgan then proceeded to make night caps for the both of them, but he had unexpectedly run out of alcohol. But luckily, Ryan came prepared. He went out to his car and brought back a bottle of scotch he had packed. It was a special brew, Ryan's original recipe.
Ryan poured out the drinks; scotch whiskey for Morgan, and regular water for himself. He watched with anticipation as he saw Morgan drink up the special whiskey.
"Damn! This is good! Where'd you get this?"
"Oh, you know, I've got my connections..."
Morgan was too busy drinking up to question it further. Ryan hid his smirk by drinking his glass of water. Soon enough after some time chit chatting, Morgan had finished his drink Ryan had made him. Then, after some more time, the sleepiness kicked in. Ryan saw how much Morgan was yawning and excused himself out. But instead of actually leaving, all he did was open and close the front door. He then waited patiently for the sound of Morgan's snores, then waited for the snores to die out too.
Ryan crept back to Morgan's bedroom. He peeped inside, and a devious smile spread across his face when he saw a flat, deflated Morgan laying on the bed. Then, no longer needing to be discreet, Ryan began to celebrate his success. That special whiskey was specifically designed to turn the drinker into a bodysuit. Ryan could only ever get his hands on one bottle of the stuff, but one bottle was all he needed. He just needed to make it count. And that he did.
He walked up to the bed and placed a hand on the bodysuit. Ryan was in awe as he ran his fingers across the plastic leathery feel of Morgan’s skin, accidentally squeezing out any air it had as he did so. He stripped the bodysuit of clothes and whistled when he saw Morgan in the glory of full nudity. He caressed the face while wrapping a hand around Morgan’s limp dick, then gave the bodysuit a quick peck on the lips. Ryan had a feeling that his attraction to Morgan went deeper than some random lust. Holding the transformed Morgan in his arms confirmed what Ryan suspected along. He wanted to become a part of him.
Ryan leaned in and gave Morgan a kiss full of tongue. While French kissing him, he used his hands to stretch out Morgan’s mouth. It opened up like the mouth of a latex balloon. Once the opening was large enough, Ryan proceeded to dive head first into Morgan. Morgan being a slim guy leaning more towards the twink side made for a tight fitting bodysuit. Ryan was met with resistance but he pushed on at full force anyway. The bodysuit stretched like rubber as Ryan pushed his arms into Morgan’s legs; his fingers slipping into Morgan’s toes like a glove. He kept pushing and pushing until Morgan slurped up Ryan in one final wet gulp. Ryan filled the bodysuit to its limits, causing the bodysuit to drape over his own body like a rag. Morgan had become Ryan shaped because of it.
Ryan was filled with glee as he rested inside of Morgan. His little plan had worked, or so he thought. He tried to move around, but quickly found that he couldn’t. The bodysuit was such a tight fit that it wouldn’t budge no matter how much Ryan tried to move. Then, just as sudden, Ryan could feel the interior walls of the bodysuit closing in all around him. The bodysuit snapped into place like an elastic band, trapping Ryan inside. Ryan struggled but to no avail, and ended up blacking out inside of Morgan.
***
Morgan woke up feeling like absolute dog shit. His head was pounding, his eyes hurt, and his body ached all over.
He laid in bed as he waited for the room to stop spinning. Morgan could vaguely remember what happened the night before. He visited his family in the morning, gym in the afternoon, then hung out with Ryan at night at Rocky’s then at his place. Morgan could still taste the crude mix of alcohol and tobacco in the back of his throat. But despite getting cross faded, Morgan was sure that he didn’t drink or smoke enough to black out. He then remembered the scotch Ryan had brought over. He only had one glass of the stuff, yet it knocked him out like a light.
It also gave him weird fever dreams. He was dreaming that Ryan had gone inside his body; just putting him on as if he was a piece of clothing. Both his mind and body could vividly remember the feeling of getting stretched out to its physical limits as his body took in another body inside of it. His mouth stretching as Ryan stuffed his body inside of him. His internal organs moving aside as they made space for Ryan to take over the space inside his body. The thought of having another person inside of his body unnerved him. That dream was more a nightmare than anything else. Morgan wondered if he got a cramp because of how strong that body stretching dream was. He thought about it for a minute, then shrugged it off.
“That shit was too strong...” Morgan muttered. It tasted good, but if it singlehandedly caused his hungover and fever dreams, Morgan wanted nothing to do with it. At least, not until it was a special occasion again.
Morgan let out a loud burp. He smelled the foul scent of tobacco and something that smelled like fine leather. Morgan groaned and decided to go shower.
Morgan was still aching all over as he showered. He hadn’t felt that sore since he attempted a triathlon years ago. As he showered, he noticed how bloated he was. But the bloating wasn’t limited to just his gut, he was bulging in various random places around his body. His thighs, his arms, his chest, he had just packed on extra mass everywhere!
But as soon as he noticed it, the bloating began to quickly go away. The steam from a hot shower obscured Morgan’s vision as he underwent a second body transformation. All the body swelling was melting away until he was back to his usual, slim self. It was painful, but Morgan endured it.
And at the same time, Ryan had woken up inside of Morgan’s body. He could feel Morgan moving on the outside, which meant he felt Morgan’s body once again closing in all around him. But it wasn’t painful this time; in fact, it was pleasurable.
Ryan moaned from inside Morgan’s body, causing Morgan to moan too as the sound traveled out from within. Ryan’s body began to morph and stretch to accommodate its new shell. Ryan could feel the effects of having gone inside the bodysuit head first. Ryan’s arms filled into Morgan’s legs, his legs into Morgan’s arms, his face into Morgan’s cock and balls, and his groin into Morgan’s face. Only their midsections lined up as Ryan and Morgan merged into one human being. Now instead of just wearing Morgan, Ryan had become an irremovable part of Morgan. And as Morgan looked at himself in the mirror, Ryan could see himself through Morgan’s point of view too. He could feel everything now.
Morgan inspected himself in the mirror. All the body swelling had miraculously just disappeared as if it never happened. Morgan was confused, but not able to come up with any answers, reluctantly let it go. He stroked the edge of his jawline with thumb and forefinger. Ryan could feel his beard stubble on his toes. Morgan then walked out the bathroom, slipped on some fuzzy slippers to lounge around the day away. Ryan could feel the slippers wrapping Morgan’s feet on his hands. It was as if he was wearing a pair of fuzzy gloves himself.
And that was more or less how their lives played out from there on out. Morgan continued living his normal day to day life while Ryan got to ride passenger seat undetected from inside his body. Everything Morgan felt, Ryan felt the inverse of it. Every time Morgan took a deep breath or drank something warm, Ryan felt his own dick feel warm from the stimulation. The bodily sensations were a pleasure that were out of this world. Morgan fancied facial massages, which meant a hand job for Ryan; and whenever Morgan jerked off, a facial massage for Ryan. It was intensely and sensually homoerotic. Ryan still remembers the first time he shared an orgasm with Morgan. It marked the first of many, as he continued to live within Morgan’s, content with his new life as a young, scruffy, fiendishly handsome Australian twink.
Thank you for supporting!!
#male bodysuit#bodysuit tf#male transformation#twink tf#male takeover#male merge#potion#commission story#commission
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Alot of the plots were good - but some aspects just really made the season overall awful . How dare they do that to Max. I'm livid about that. You really had venca's curse represent su*cidal thoughts- which we see Max overcoming in part 1 . Then part 2: bam vecna k*lls max- the girl who str*ggled with ab*se, a horrible home life ,and throughout the season overcame her su*cidal thoughts but got an awful ending . And while dying she says over and over she doesn't want to d*e. It's cruel. Even if she does wake up from the coma - is she blind and or paralyzed and never able to skate again? Play videogames watch movies ?And for what- vecna is alive , and hawkins was still destroyed. Her sacrifice wasn't worth it. And Eddie's death was not only cruel but pointless too. He didn't even save anyone during the scene. And he literally mentioned how he did not want to become like his criminal dad . They kill him and the whole town thinks he's a worse criminal than his father. And he never graduated - it was "not his year". Aka part of his last words.The erica and lucas scenes of being attacked- honestly deserves it's own post. Also the romance is still low key one of the worst cringe parts of an otherwise great show.
I'm sorry m*leven is still so sus to me. Like besides all their relationship issues, it's weird s1-s4 parallels m*leven to family members. Like seriously side eyeing the Duffers just for those weird family parallels- if m*leven is romantic endgame. I mean ...nancy called herself "ruth" and el was in "Ruth, nevada" (and that's like 1 of 20 examples). Just to name one of many of those weird family parallels. Like why do that?? And yeah if it's an actual romantic declaration - you'd think they'd kiss like they did in the beginning of s4 . Not even getting into retcons like mike saying meeting Will at age 5 was "the best thing I've ever done". But now he says his "life started" at age 12 when he met el- cause "love at first sight" bs trope. Love at first sight isn't real. And mike literally the day they found her was suggesting ways to send her away so they could go back to looking for Will, and when he thought el lied ( about seeing Will alive) he slapped her hand and yelled "what is wrong with you?"2x then later said lucas was right to not trust her. Ummm... love at first sight? That?! Ok?And wow glad Will could hear mike's confession about how the 1st day he was reported missing- mike's " life began". Mike be like : "I knew Will for 7 years , before I met el . And all my friendships prior to meeting el- meant nothing to me- because my life only began when I fell in love with El instantly and rushed into a relationship after 1 week of knowing her (and when we finally Date- we just fight for 2 seasons straight). True love. "
Honestly they parallel robin/vickie/her bf to will/mike/El - which is also sus. Given how (supposedly straight) Vickie and her bf breakup- and Vickie seems into Robin at the end of s4.
But regardless I'm so sick of just getting "crumbs" whether byler is a queer bait or s5 makes byler canon. I'm just tired- especially after how the socials /cast and crew constantly pumped up byler during pride month- before part 2.
Not to mention the fact we have to just see Will lie to mike to help m*leven. Even though he hates lying to mike. Like no that was Will's painting -el thought it was for a crush of Will's (she didn't commission it for Mike at all)! He was just trying to be a good friend and brother by trying to fix m*leven (and lying to mike to fix m*leven's failing romantic relationship).like think about it- mike literally thinks that d&d painting /"heart" metaphor was El's creative idea and something el made as a gift for him . When it was all Will!!! That "heart" line Will says to mike is used again later by Will- to encourage mike to confess he loves El. Will literally uses his own romantic words for mike- to encourage mike to confess to el instead. Gross. If m*leven is endgame- could they do it in a less awful way to Will? Not to mention mike finally says he loves el-partially because he's moved by Will's painting (he thinks is from el). Which is also messy for m*leven endgame. All those words in the car to mike were Will's confession (he literally just replaced his pronouns for "El" and "she/her" ). Even jonathan saw it that way. Will to mike: " you're guiding- inspiring . That's what you do. you're the heart, without the heart (i'd) fall apart. These past few months (i've) been lost without you.(cough mike said the "lost " line to Will first) .When you're different from other people ... when you're different ... sometimes you feel like a mistake. But you make (me) feel like (I'm) not a mistake at all. And that gives (me ) courage to fight on. If (I) seemed like (I) was pushing you away. It's because (I'm)scared of losing you. "
And the fact we're just left with Will sulking in the corner - and being a trope of "sad gay character in love with his (supposedly straight) best friend". And have Will low key fix that the dysfunction het couple - who have trivial convoluted drama/dysfunction every season they date. But never actually resolve any of their fundamental issues - lying, spying, neglecting all their friends for eachother ,etc. Because you know the trope: gays always have to step aside and sacrifice the romantic love they have for a friend -so that same friend can instead live " happily ever after" (in a het relationship). Even if that het couple is dysfunctional and poorly written. I'm gay ... and just so tired of this type of stuff , repeated over and over and over again in media. Do writers not realize bad-rep is much worse than no-rep?Like if byler isn't canon these scenes right here are literally just rubbing salt in the wounds of Will and other gay/queer fans who empathize or relate to him.
It's like i've mentioned in the past a lot of straight writers LOVE the 'sad gay - trope' . Alot of those straight writers don't empathize with us as people, they infact "romanticize our pain" and find it "beautiful" . And just find our suffering "dramatic and angsty" decoration to their story- where they can also add bragging points of being "inclusive". They don't actually care about how problematic the queer rep is -and how it negatively affects us.
Even Will said he'd rather "pull the bandaid off" in regards to romance drama between him and mike. But duffers didn't do that- or give any closure for Will. Nah they forgot his bday and did this instead. Heck, no romantic closure for Will or even the whole st*ncy/j*ncy drama. Which is a whole other can of worms in itself (i'm saying this as someone who doesnt ship either st*ncy or j*ncy). Regardless of what could happen in s5. I'm just tired of how poorly some (frankly most) of the romance is handled in the series.
If m*leven is endgame they did it in the most reductive , stereotypical, predictable, and also hurtful way possible to lgbt fans. Without actually fixing m*leven's real issues to make us like them together as a couple. Heck (not only do they have problems that were never fixed ) : like lying /spying/ mike still hero worshiping her - which were never fixed ). They're now just a cliche ("love at first sight couple", who ever since they started dating have artifical convoluted drama every season ). Literally s3 and 4 are the same: m*leven neglect their friends for eachother, lie to eachother , fight with eachother, then say they're in love. There's no change , no progess they just repeat the same problematic pattern. Forget mike saying in part 1 this was a fight the pairing "couldn't get past" or mike nodding to Will saying maybe he's afraid to tell el the truth, cause she may not like it. Ummm - part 2 doesn't connect to that, why would El not like his confession? Not to mention mike only can say he loves her in s3 and 4 when her life is in danger (and in s4 when Will encourages him to keep talking)- not sus at all. The whole season Mike shares dialogue with brenner - even in the love confession (ick). And lol after his love confession- el won't talk to him. (purposeful hinting it won't work out ? or just horrible writing for an awful romantic pair who always have had poor communication?) Straight-mike narratively just makes mike a sh*t friend too- going from a great , considerate,and observant friend in s1 and 2. But , then the second he starts dating El in s3 :he neglects his friends for 2 straight seasons in favor of El (all while being a not good bf to her for 95% of their relationship). And also he literally said his life didn't begin until el (this is literally insulting to all his prior friendships which were established long before meeting el ). Straight-mike isn' t the "heart" of any party as Will claimed - not anymore (he straight up says his other relationships don't matter. Will, lucas, dustin- pfft his" life didn't even begin " until el ). Some of the worst days of Will's life - pfft mike, his bff, doesn't care about Will's tra*ma cause it gave him the chance to meet el. And he'll say it -right infront of Will. Iike mike could have said he's grateful to have met el in so many ways - but bringing up the day itself like that. Ugh. But in the end, both seasons his friends are the ones who have to help mike retain this supposed perfect romance. And let's get real they have no chemistry as a pairing- Mike just doesn't seem genuine in his love . And the confession incorporating mike's desire to be "needed" and having mike call her a "hero" and "superman'.yeah- hero worship from mike and dependence from el (winning romantic combo) . Also yeah , weird how El's "hero' is her dad and mike's is El. Given again all the family parallels. Heck terry(mom)/ mike saying "I love you" to El- is what gets her to defeat vecna.
And If byler is endgame in s5 - the duffers are overestimating how much bs they can put queer fans through- before they give us a happy ending . Like wow thanks for ending the season with mike & Will standing together, in between 2 other romantic pairings. After you made Will suffer through a bunch of problematic queer tropes (that you may subvert in s5- in like... 4 years). I'd say that framing at the end is a hint of byler- but they did the same framing in s3 only to do this in s4. So they may just leave those hints in the show to string and queer bait us longer. But honestly even if byler is canon in s5 (i actually think it has a decent chance of being endgame ): the Duffers sabotaged themselves. Becuse now bylers are less engaged in wanting to watch s5, and in s5 you'd piss off the m*levens . Cause mike would have lied to El and led her on (or just said it cause he didn't want her to d*e/ he meant he loved her in a non romantic way). But also when mike did his romance speech to El- he said the most messed up stuff right infront of Will ( aka the day Will was k*dnapped is when mike finally felt alive- cause he met El) . THAT'S SO MESSED UP. most bylers probably won't even bother to watch s5 - assuming the worst again too.
So my point is - regardless of whether mike is straight, gay or bi (they wrote themselves into a corner where mike looks bad either way). And his relationships with both of them are messy af.
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January Creator of the Month:
Jerzwriter
Each month, CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers or artists, and this month’s creator of the month is CFWC's own @jerzwriter. The writer is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page.
Quick Links:
Tumblr Blog
Complete Masterlist
How do you want to be known on Tumblr?
Elsa
More below...
1- When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played?
It was sometime in 2017, and the first book I ever played was The Royal Romance, Book 1.
2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?
I joined a couple Facebook groups in 2019. I just wanted to discuss stories with others who were interested, as no one in my real life reads Choices. I didn't even know I was entering a fandom. lol I started reading fanfic on Tumblr the following year, but I found Tumblr intimidating, so I was mostly a silent reader. I didn’t start writing and contributing until May 2021, mostly because Open Heart was ending and I was in denial. 🙂
3- How did you pick your blog name?
It’s pretty boring, actually. I’m from NJ, and I write. I wanted it to be JerZwriter, so people would know it is Jer-ZEE-Writer, but that wasn’t doable, so it’s Jerzwriter, and most think it is Jerz-Writer. Oh, well!
4- Pull up the first and last posts in your archive, and tell us about them!
My first post was the first chapter of my Ethan x Casey x Tobias love triangle, Delaying the Inevitable (OH). It was my very first fanfic and I really didn't think I'd write anything beyond that. I was so green back then, not only to fanfic but to the fandom as well. I’m really glad that I was naive because I don’t think I would have had the courage to post it if I had, but I’m glad that I did.
My last post was Falling for You, a little drabble I wrote for Tobias x Casey (OH), and it featured a commission by the talented artist @weetlebeetle. It was a light, fun piece that took place early in Tobias and Casey's relationship, and it shows Tobias at his absolute simpiest. Lol
5- Do you write fanfiction, create fan art, or are you one of those really gifted people who do both?
Oh, how I wish I could draw, but I can't. So, I’m strictly a writer. I may try giving drawing a go again, but I don't expect much to come of it. lol
6- How long have you been creating for Choices and for any other fandoms?
Choices was the first fandom I ever wrote for, and I started in May of 2021. So, just over two and a half years. I have written a little bit for some other fandoms since that time, but I primarily write for Choices.
7- What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to create for?
Tough question. I write for Open Heart, Crimes of Passion, and Wake the Dead, and they are three of my favorite stories. I also loved Desire & Decorum, but I never wrote for it. Though, I’m planning a re-read, and you never know. 🙂
8- Share your first Choices fanfic or fan art that you posted with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were creating it today?
It was the first chapter of Delaying the Inevitable. I was so green when I started that series that I’m sure there are things I would change, but I’m still very proud of it. That series will always have a special place in my heart. I’d like to revisit it one day to “clean it up”, it could use some condensing. But I would never change the storyline.
9- What is your favorite piece of fiction or art that you created?
This is such an unfair question. lol The Delaying the Inevitable Series definitely comes to mind, but I’m also very proud of my Eli Sipes prequel stories, A Mother’s Journal, Coming Up Blank, and The End of the World. But Tobias and Casey are my favorite pairing, and I simply love the world I created for them. And while my headcanon for them is my favorite, I cannot pick just one fic for them, and I'm not going to! lol But, I've also written a bunch of AUs for them, and Friends* is one of my favorites.
10- Do you have a fic/art that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to do well but found it could use a little more love?
Yes, to both! The fandom is much smaller today, but back when we were more active, I learned you couldn't predict how a fic would be received. There are too many to name, but I will say whenever my smut does well (and quite a few of them have), I’m always astounded. lol
11- If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?
This is such a difficult question because I believe the best stories incorporate a little of each, and, as a writer, exploring all three helps spur creativity. Also, my absolute favorite is angst with a happy ending, so there is definitely some fluff in there (and I'm never mad at a little smut being thrown in!) But if I were forced to choose, it would probably be angst. I think that's where I am strongest, and I just love raw emotion. I think that’s where character development really occurs. I have not written as much angst recently, and I miss it. Perhaps I need a change in 2024.
12 - Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?
There are definitely parts of me in my MCs and OCs, but I do my best to prevent them from becoming self-inserts. I'm not as cool as any of them, that's for sure! lol That said, I do find inspiration for my fics in real life, so there is bound to be a little crossover. When using real-life inspiration, I try to change details so that the fiction is not a carbon copy of the real-life event. Normally, by the time I'm done, they're hardly recognizable.
13 - What element of writing/art do you struggle with most? Where do you feel you are strongest?
I struggle most with setting a scene. Dialogue is my strong suit, and that just flows for me. It flows so much that sometimes I forget to describe what's going on around the conversation. I think this is particularly easy to do in fanfiction because so much of the "world" has already been provided for us, so I recognize this more when I'm writing original works.
The other thing I struggle with? Brevity. I know I can go on, and on, and on. lol I've gotten much better at this, but there is still room for improvement.
14 - Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?
(Elsa leaves the room, quietly crawls under her desk, and hides…) YES!!! Far, far too many, and no matter how much I share those posts that say, "You don't have to finish! If you're not feeling it, move on!" I don't believe it! lol I really want to make wrapping them up a priority in 2024. But I also know writing - particularly good writing - cannot be forced. So, it's a goal, but I'll only do it if I feel it’s right.
15 - If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to see your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you show them first?
It would depend on who asked. I’m not ashamed of writing fanfic at all, but if I believed the person would be judgemental, I wouldn't be willing to share. A few of my friends have read select pieces of my fanfic, and I’ve always received positive feedback from them. I wouldn’t be opposed to sharing more. What I'd share would depend greatly on the person asking.
16 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing or art? Are there any artists that influence you?
There are many published writers that I admire, but I don’t think they've influenced my writing here. Within the fandom, there are many writers who have inspired me in different ways. There is no way I can ever name them all. But I'd like to give a shout-out to some.
@jamespotterthefirst and @bex-la-get were among the first writers I read when I joined Tumblr. I found their passion for both canon and the worlds they created inspiring, especially as Open Heart was nearing its end and all of us addicts needed our fill. Reading their works helped keep the story alive for me and so many others, and it inspired me to try my hand at it as well. To my shock, they were both so encouraging and supportive of me when I arrived, and I'm forever grateful. Back then, I thought they were rockstars - and they are! But now, they're also friends.
I wasn't familiar with @alwaysmychoices from the start, but when I came across their work, I was just blown away. Weekend with Dr. Ramsey will live rent-free in my head forever, and that headcanon about Charlie calling Ethan the night before she marries someone else. (I faint.) Ohhh, the delicious angst! The way she made me feel what Charlie felt was just mind-boggling, and it encouraged me to really dig into my character's emotions and bring them to life in a more meaningful way.
Early on, I read @utterlyinevitable, and the thing that impressed me the most was how Dom was willing to "write stories that “went "go there.” They tackled issues that others wouldn't touch. In their world, everything wasn’t perfect, including the characters themselves. I admired that vision and, frankly, bravery, and it definitely encouraged me to write what I wanted to and not what I felt was expected of me.
More recently, @mydemonsdrivealimo inspired me to explore parts of my MCs that I have not delved into in the past. In particular, Casey's bisexuality. It can be challenging to represent a bisexual character when they are in a straight-presenting relationship, and you risk alienating readers no matter what you do (looking at all readers here.) So it becomes easier to be lazy and ignore it. But that's a disservice to the character as much as it's a disservice to people living similar situations in real life... like I have many times. Through MJ's writing and our conversations, they've helped me become more aware and do a better job in this regard, and I'm not even sure if they know this - it may totally be news to them lol - but I'm eternally grateful. Now, I feel my girl Casey is free, and OMG, how I love our characters playing together in HC now!
Then there are @lilyoffandoms and @storyofmychoices, who bring joy to all that they touch. Who knew when Lily created a little drabble putting our characters in a new world together, it would end up being one of the brightest fandom spots of 2023? Who knew that so much more would stem from that one work? Seriously, it's been one of the highlights of my fandom experience this year, and it's helped me to find inspiration at times when I felt like it was lost. Thank you both - I am so lucky to have you both here!
There are so many more I could mention, but I'd still forget people and feel horrible, so I want to take the chance to thank every writer in the fandom for sharing their gifts with us. Each of you is an inspiration in your own way; each of you can give someone an idea, and you have no idea where that spark will lead. So, never stop sharing!
17- Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series?
Delaying the Inevitable, Friends*, All in the Past, and the WIP What’s Forever For. I also think some of my Ethan x Tobias works would have made for a good sitcom, and how I wish my Tobias x Casey friendship with Bryce x Jensen would be an epic sitcom. The world needs it! lol (Jensen belongs to @mydemonsdrivealimo.)
19- Do you write original fiction or create non-fandom art?
I do. Mostly shorter stories that will never see the light of day, but also some more substantive works... which will also never see the light of day! lol I wrote a novel-length political thriller some time ago. It would need a ton of work to bring it up to 2024, as the political landscape has changed so much. I also have two original WIPs I've been writing. One is an angsty story about a friendship that's loosely based on a childhood friend I lost to cancer a few years ago. The other is a polyamorous romance about two best friends who fall for the same person. It's really a beautiful, emotional story. If I like the end result, maybe I'll let it see the light of day... maybe. lol
20- What other hobbies do you have?
I enjoy theater, and I'm lucky enough to live in the best part of the world to partake in that. I go to a lot of Broadway, Off-Broadway, and local theater productions. I also love going to concerts - they’re like group therapy! Trust me, I got more out of seeing Noah Kahan and Hozier in 2023 than I did from the entirety of sessions with my therapist - and I loved my therapist. lol
Prior to 2020, I did a fair amount of traveling, and I hope to start doing a little more this year. But I have to admit, since the lockdown, I’ve become more of a homebody, and I like it, so we’ll see how that goes!
I used to be very involved with activism and advocacy for women’s, lgbtq+, and mental health issues. I still am, but in a different capacity than I was in the past. These issues require people fighting for them, and doing so has always been a huge part of who I am, but it can be draining, and burnout is real. I really reached the end of my rope. So, nowadays, I work as a volunteer for a couple local organizations that really mean a lot to me. I'm not involved in grassroots efforts or taking trips to talk to legislators as often, but I'm helping people on a smaller scale, and that still goes a long, long way.
22: BONUS - tell us anything you’d like (if you want to).
As most of you know, I’m one of the mods here at CFWC, so it was a little weird when my the wheel landed on my name. But, honestly, it’s happened before, and I've just spun again, even though I am eligible. But this time around, I decided to do it. This fandom really means a lot to me, and I wanted to share a little more about myself and my crazy pixelated people.
I'm truly grateful to everyone in the fandom who does their part to make this a place that many, like me, still see as a place they want to be. We're smaller, it's imperfect, it has plenty of problems, but I am choosing to focus on the good... because there is much more of that than there is bad. So, thank you to each of you... and I hope we all have a wonderful 2024! xo
PS... My header... I know Tobias wasn't technically an LI... which was truly criminal. So, that's what fandom is for, fixing what canon effed up. lol My favorite canon LI is Trystan Thorne (COP). I tried adding their picture to the header alongside Tobias, but it looked terrible, so here I am. :)
Thanks for taking the time to read this, and I can't wait to highlight more of you in 2024! :)
#choices fic writers creations#playchoices#choices the stories you play#cfwc creator of the month#jerzwriter#choices fanfic#playchoices fanfic#january creator of the month#open heart#crimes of passion#wake the dead
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Heart-Broken (Part 2)
Monster Pairing: Male!Orc x Female!Reader x Male!DragonBorn
Notes: No real warnings here, just a little continuation on the angsty breakup story. Enjoy!
Part 1
This story was first published as a Commission but was continued on Patreon! Support me there and get early access to your favorite stories before they're posted to the public.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Coffee in each hand, you used your hip to push open the door to your boss’ office.
You squinted into the dark room, stalling for a moment to let your eyes adjust to the sudden disappearance of light. The blinds were shut tight and you could barely make out the desk and few chairs in front of it. A lump lay sprawled over the desk's surface. Curled spikes prodded from the dark shape with little chains hanging from the silhouette. It said nothing as you entered the dark room.
“Rough night?” You asked. Placing down one of your coffees beside the lump. The same lump that grumbled and shifted so a clawed hand lazily slapped around the desk until it found the hot mug.
“I’m a homewrecker.” Lu mumbled. An almost sorrowful tone filling his tone.
You threw open the blinds. Bathing the room in sunlight as you answered.
“How are you a homewrecker?” You asked. Ignoring the pained complaints from the DragonBorn as he hid his eyes under a pair of heavily tinted sunglasses.
“Remember that girl I told you about,” Lu asked, leaning back in his overly plush office chair to sip his coffee. “Well, apparently…she has a fiance…”
You plopped down in one of the chairs across from Lu and arched an eyebrow. Waiting for him to continue. “I was so in love, (y/n). She was everything I wanted in a girl.”
“Her and the last four girls.” You said under your breath, behind your mug as you sipped your coffee.
Lu either didn’t hear it, or was too lost in his rant to comment. “We met again last night but she popped out that little nugget of information. Saying that her fiance was getting suspicious and she has to call it off.” Lu wiped a heavy hand down his long snout. The trinkets on his horns were disheveled and poorly placed. And the usual charming suit was wrinkled with a matching tie that hung loosely around his neck.
You were used to coming in here and seeing Lu in some sort of state because of a girl. Your last few months of friendship hardened you just enough to feel not much pity for him.
True, it was sad to see such a good man constantly ripped apart by horrible women, but Lu wasn’t exactly learning from his past experiences.
Any girl that showed him an inch of kindness and attention, and he was gone.
A puppy at the heels of its new owner.
You were just there to pat him on the back and make sure he drank water and nibbled on something until he got over it.
“Did you eat this morning?” You asked. And Lu nodded.
“A bagel with cream cheese…alot of cream cheese.”
You let him have that. At least something was in his stomach.
“At least this time it wasn’t you being too cuddly or something stupid.” You commented. Remembering the last break up had you in a spiral of anger. Lu was the sweetest guy you knew. Even though the two of you weren’t in any sort of relationship, he brought you flowers on occasions and sometimes little trinkets were left on your desk after you came back from lunch.
He was thoughtful and kind. Just an all round loving man.
But the last girl hated it. Said he had been too overbearing, and embarrassing her with how much PDA he showed.
When Lu told you this, you almost stalked her on Facebook just to find out if you could…visit her and give her a piece of your mind. But that was illegal. And Lu had his confidence shattered so harshly that you had no time to make visits.
Building Lu up from that low blow took weeks. Until the new flame fanned through and he was back to his normal self.
Lu smiled that lopsided grin that told you he wasn’t in any mood to laugh, but found your words somewhat humorous.
“Yeah, I guess it is better that it's not my fault this time.” His talons tapped the side of his mug for a moment before he sighed. “I’m really stupid aren’t I?”
You laughed and shook your head, reaching across the desk to pat his hand affectionately. “I think you’re just really unlucky. How many women live in this city? And every one you choose is a bitch? I guess you have to dig through the dirt to find gold, right?”
Another heavy sigh came from Lu as he smoothed down the front of his shirt. It was a nice black button up with a green tie that matched his scales.
You spotted a small stain on the left side of the shirt, but the black material hid it well. He glanced at his watch and sniffled. Clearing his throat as he realized how late in the morning it was.
“I guess I should make an appearance.” Lu finally said after a moment of comfortable silence. He stood and started to correct his disheveled attire. You waited, sipping your beverage as he straightened his tie and tucked in his shirt.
He went to the mirror on the wall and took some care to realign his trinkets and chains that adorned his horns.
You always said that Lu was a handsome DragonBorn. And if you weren’t still healing from your last break up, you would be all over him. Like you said before, his gifts were adorable and he always made you laugh. Very rarely did you have a bad day that ended with you stewing in your frustration or anger.
Lu made you feel comfortable and relaxed just by talking to you. He was a sweetheart. But your heart was still too bitter to let someone else in right now.
“You’re staring.” Lu teased. Winking at you from his reflection.
You huffed. Used to the sudden flush of embarrassment every time Lu flirted with you. It took you a long time to accept Lu’s little jibes. But he did so, only with your consent and for your entertainment. He knew where he stood with you.
He was a friend. A work colleague that took you out for drinks and nothing came at the end of the night other than a “I’m home safe” text from both of you.
You sometimes fantasied the idea of the two of you dating. Seeing him treated the way he was, hurt you more than he knew. And not to brag or boast, but you would treat him well.
Like you did with Dax…
In sappy words, you treated Dax like a King and he treated you like a Queen.
Equals.
Partners.
You loved each other so sweetly that when you looked back on it, your lives together still brought on a wave of sadness. You never were left unwanting and never left feeling lonely-
Claws clicked in front of your face and you startled out of your thoughts to look up at Lu.
Who smiled down at you with a soft expression. A hand laying on your shoulder as an air of understanding passed between you.
“You’re thinking about him again.” Lu said. It wasn’t a question. Lu knew when you got lost in your thoughts.
The breakup, even seven months old, still hurts like a jagged knife to your chest. You weren’t sure how long breakup pain was meant to go for. But you thought you’d be over it more than you were by now.
You sighed and nodded. Letting your hand rest on Lu’s.
“We’re both suckers.” You teased. And Lu laughed. Nodding in agreement.
“I’m a hopeless romantic. And you’re a heart broken damsel.”
You jokingly glared up at the DragonBorn. “I’m not a damsel.”
“Well, I’m a Dragon and it's only fitting you’re the princess in the tower.” Lu said. Moving his hand and leading the way out of the office. You followed with your coffee in hand.
“What if I want to be the knight?” You asked. And Lu scoffed.
“I would love to see you in armor. You would be hot as fuck.” Lu said, passing between the desks and cubicles where the rest of his employees were. They smiled and greeted the two of you as they always did. Without enthusiasm but a genuine friendly tone.
No one liked working.
Everyone wanted to go home.
At least Lu was one of those bosses that also wanted to go home, but knew bills had to be paid and didn’t expect everyone to be all smiles and cheerful. Another thing you liked about him. He treated his employees like people. Not numbers or robots.
Just as you were about to leave Lu and go to your desk, a young man came jogging up to the two of you. He was red faced and puffing.
You knew this man.
He was Lu’s secretary. Even though Lu hated the idea, he was still around. Mostly because Lu didn’t want to fire a family man who just got this job. And also because his mother insisted.
“I can’t deny this place pays well. I’m not going to sack him because I hate being followed.” Lu would say whenever he complained about Matt.
Lu greeted Matt just as warmly as everyone else. But there was an undertone of impatience to it.
“Matt, what news does my mother want me to hear?” He asked. And you chuckled as you went to your desk. Just two desks away from where Matt trapped Lu.
“Actually, it's from the front desk. They couldn’t reach your phone.” Matt huffed. Taking a deep breath to stop himself from wheezing before continuing. “There’s a man downstairs that is looking to talk with you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he won’t leave without seeing you. The girls downstairs are worried.”
Now very interested, you slid your chair over to sit behind Lu so you could listen in. Your boss’ tail slid along the ground and pushed you back against your desk. You pouted at him as you were slowly shoved away from the very juicy moment.
“I’ll be down in a minute. Make sure security is at the ready in case it's a weirdo.” Lu said, his usual nonchalant, lazily tone now a hardened growl.
Lu tried to avoid conflict as much as possible. He hated how stupid most arguements were and most could be fixed with a very simple solution of people having common sense.
But when it came to his building and his staff, you got to see the Dragon side of him. He didn’t mess around when it came to the safety and comfort of his employees.
Matt nodded and scurried away. Pushing his phone to his ear as he went to the elevator. Lu sighed heavily and removed his tail from the back of your chair.
“Duty calls.” He said with a heavy expression.
“Tell me all about it when you get back?” You asked.
“Of course! We don’t get this much excitement all the time.” Lu expressed. Flashing you a smile as he followed after Matt. Giving the secretary enough time to give the heads up and be down there before Lu.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dax knew this building.
Many mornings and afternoons he had dropped you off for work and picked you up from it.
He knew the address and the floor you were on. Having sent many flowers and ordered food just for you.
It stung a little to be in a place that was so familiar to him. And he almost didn’t come. The chance of seeing you again made his chest tighten and his palms sweat.
But he had a job to do.
Tucker was worried about Pepper, his fiance. For the past couple of weeks she had been acting weird. So weird that even Dax had noticed the distance she started to bring to her relationship with Tucker.
And a week ago, Tucker finally folded and asked Dax about it. Confiding in his best friend about his worries about Pepper.
“What if she’s cheating?” Tucker had whimpered. “I don’t know how to take that.”
“She’s not.” Dax had reassured the satyr. “You know her family is strict. Maybe she’s trying to fix something with them and keep you out of it. She’s like that, remember? When the two of you started dating, there was a month where she refused to go out anywhere with you. And you thought it was because she was ashamed? But really it was because she was scared her family would see her with someone. Let me talk to her. Maybe she’ll tell me.”
Dax didn’t have to ask Pepper what was going on.
He followed her one night. Spotting her out in the city when he was about to go home from work. She was dressed up in her nicest dress. The one he remembered Tucker really liked.
And she went into a club. Alone. Which was strange because Pepper very rarely went anywhere without her group of friends.
Dax wasn’t usually the one to follow and spy on people. He liked to keep his business to himself and let whatever the fuck was going on, be alone.
But Tucker was worried.
And Pepper was acting weird.
His two best friends were starting to split apart and he really wanted to make sure Pepper was alright.
At least, that's what he told himself when he followed her into the club and spied her kissing the cheek of a green DragonBorn.
He looked rich. In that pompous, playboy way in a stylish suit and covered in shiny things.
His hands were all over Pepper. Holding her hand. Laying on her hip when they got their drinks and found a booth. Playing with her hair and watching her laugh with a distant, awe filled gaze.
Pepper was all smiles and sitting so close she was basically on the man’s lap.
He had seen enough.
And for a few days he wrestled with the idea of telling Tucker.
He deserved it know. Dax would never hide something like this from him.
But how do you tell someone, your best friend, that their child-hood sweetheart was out with other men without him knowing?
He didn’t know how.
And he had no idea how to confront Pepper either. Or how she would react to his knowledge of her outings.
But he did know he wanted to do one thing. Confront the guy Pepper was seeing.
Make sure he didn’t harass Pepper again and ensure he knew she was an engaged woman.
It was how you and he met after all.
It was one thing he was good at. Making men back down from harassing women.
On the beach, you were in a swimsuit that made you look so sexy. And him playing beach volleyball with Tucker and some other friends. He never lied to you, he had checked you out many times during that day. Who could resist such a sight?
But then a group of guys went to you and your friends, not taking no for an answer when you tried to get them to leave you all alone.
And so Dax, the intimidating, hulky gray orc had to step in and ask if everything was alright.
Pretending to be someone you knew until the group of idiots left.
One conversation later and he asked for your number. Which you gave and the rest was history.
The DragonBorn Pepper had seen might not know what was going on.
But if he did, Dax had to put a stop to it immediately before he confronted Tucker.
….He didn’t have a reason why this was the better plan. Probably to postpone the heartbreaking news to his friend.
But as the DragonBorn exited the elevators, wings neatly folded against his back, suit crisp and clean, Dax felt a surge of anger rise in him. Why this man of all people? Did Pepper seriously try her luck with a womanizer like this?
“Leave Pepper alone.” He growled. And the DragonBorn stopped in his tracks. The stoic expression changed to surprise and a long stretch of silence followed. The emerald gaze floated from Dax’s old sneakers, up along the torn black jeans, to the shaggy mane of hair atop his head.
The fucker laughed. Actually, laughed.
His clawed hands lifted from his pants pockets in an act of peace. Palms out towards Dax as if to stop the wall of fury coming any closer. The smile was easy going. But it made Dax even more irritated.
“Easy, tiger. Pepper already called it off.” The reptilian replied. “Are you the fiance then?”
The look this DragonBorn had already told Dax he knew Pepper was not his girlfriend.
“I’m a friend of his.” Dax replied. Allowing his anger to flow through his words. “Did you know about her relationship?”
“It wasn’t like she wore the ring.” The DragonBorn said. “The moment she told me, I left. I didn’t know.” He added on. Like he was making sure that was certain. “She told me her fiance was catching on and that we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I, for one, almost fainted when she dropped that bombshell. Could you pass on my apologies to the guy for me?”
Dax hated the genuine tone to this guy’s words. Like he was actually sorry for what had happened.
But there was no way he didn’t know. Someone like him didn’t care about such things.
He was a rich kid after all.
Dax looked around. People were staring. A handful of personnel were standing by the doors. They were big people. Minotaurs, other orcs, even an ogre stood among them. The women behind the desk were busying themselves with computers and patrons to the building. But Dax could see their concerned glances.
He couldn’t do this here.
Dax bunched up his fists and stuffed them in his hoodie pockets. The DragonBorn was around the same height as him. But he was thinner. And Dax leaned forward just a little to glare into the DragonBorn’s eyes.
“Make sure I don’t see you with her again.” Dax growled. Before turning on his heels and storming out the building. He saw the security guards about to step towards him, but in the reflection of the window, he glimpsed the DragonBorn raise his hand to stop them.
Dax left the building with that raging fire still in him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Lu returned from his adventure downstairs his expression was distant.
Thoughtful.
And you quickly finished off what you were doing to catch him as he entered his office.
“That bad?” You asked. Unsure how to handle this situation. Lu kept it professional when it came to the company’s business. You were left in the dark about a lot of it, which you understood. You were in no position to know anything about the company’s finances or hirings or anything to do with the higher ups. And you didn’t like pushing it to know either. Because it could come out that you were trying to worm your way into the business through Lu.
Which you definitely were not. But sometimes, the business hung on Lu’s shoulders like weights. And you just wanted to know if he was ok.
Lu seemed to be startled by your presence. He chuckled and scratched the back of his neck.
“Yeah, pretty bad. You won’t believe who-”
He stopped mid-sentence. And you waited patiently for him to name who had visited him without a call or appointment. Lu was an important man. But everyone knew they needed some sort of time slot to see him. Otherwise he shrugs them off and tells them to make an appointment if it isn’t an emergency. He had no time for random visits from strange people.
But he looked at you and you could almost see his expression change from confused to worried then to a laughing smile.
“It was a mistress…of my mother’s.” He finally said. Like he had been holding his breath for a long time. “Apparently she isn’t answering her phone. So, the lady tried to go through me to her.”
You scoffed and leaned against the door frame. “Really? What are you? A messaging dove?”
“That's what I said!” Lu exclaimed with a shake of his head. “But I am going to gloat to Mother that her little succubus friend came by. She’s gonna be so pissed!’
He waved you away as he picked up his phone. And you closed the door behind you as you left to continue your work.
That afternoon, you worked a little later than usual. Both you and a few other co-workers got caught up in an avalanche of paperwork. And with the weekend coming up, you really didn’t want to get caught working late again. So, you busted it out alongside your team and got it done just as Lu finished up his last meeting.
He gave you all a hard, but playful, look when he came out of his office and spotted your cluster of workers.
“You guys are going to make me look bad if you keep working so hard.” Lu sighed as he waited by your desk. “I want to be out of here by 4pm every day. If you all keep working this hard, I’m going to have to work harder so I’m not replaced.”
It was 6:30pm when you grabbed your bag and joined him by the elevators. Your team chatted between themselves as you all piled into the lift.
Lu conversed with Abby as he answered a few emails. Totally oblivious to her hints at getting a drink with him tonight.
You kicked his shin and he looked at you in surprise. Before following your sideward glance at Abby as she giggled.
“Oh, um, actually, (y/n) and I were going to go get dinner. I owe her for picking up some of my slack.” Lu said. You were totally dumbfounded by his response. But Abby seemed ok with it. She told him that she’ll ask again another time and say her goodbyes as the elevator door opened. Everyone piled out and left the building. You dragged Lu to stray behind the crowd. Pinching his sides.
“What are you doing? She’s so sweet!” You scolded Lu. Who sighed heavily and shrugged.
“I want to take a moment away from dating, that's all.” He told you. “And yeah, she is really sweet. But I don’t think she’s my type.”
You gasped theatrically at him. “You have a type?”
Lu pushed you playfully away. Making you laugh as you clung to his arm so you weren’t pushed too far away. “But seriously. Are you all good? Ever since that visitor today you’ve been acting weird.”
Lu made a show of hooking your arm under his and patted your hand affectionately. His love language was touch. Even to his friends he would hold their hands or link arms. It was just his way of showing affection.
“She shook me a little.” Lu said with a reassuring smile. “Promise I’m ok. Just had a lot of my plate today. Nothing some good food and a drink won’t fix.”
You let it drop. Lu would eventually either tell you what was actually wrong, or you would pry bits and pieces from him until you could figure it out.
Either way, distracting him with food was the best idea.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dax felt like a creep.
Straying near the building for the rest of the day until the last of the workers left, felt wrong.
What was he even doing here?
The DragonBorn said he didn’t know Pepper was engaged and said he had laid it off. Dax still had to go home and break the news to Tucker about all this mess.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t leave yet. Pretending like he cared what this DragonBorn did after he finished work. Because he was still postponing the heart shattering news to his best friend.
He sighed and leaned heavily against the car seat.
He had been here for hours. Waiting and watching. Unsure what he was really doing here other than scoping out for the DragonBorn. Sitting in his car across the street from the company you worked at. Watching the front doors as people started to leave.
And strange thing was, he hadn’t seen you leave yet.
Did you get a new job elsewhere? You were usually out of the office by 4pm. And you tried to worm your way out of working late all the time. You hated coming home and not have a lot of time in the afternoon for yourself.
Going home. Dax corrected himself. He sighed again and rubbed his eyes to relieve some of the tiredness from them.
It wasn’t until the sun had gone down did he finally spot the DragonBorn amongst the small crowd of workers. He was much taller than the rest of them and his laugh seemed to echo through the street like a melody.
But then, Dax saw you.
And his chest nearly burst open with the sudden rush of emotion that came over him.
You looked well. Dressed in one of your professional outfits that Dax had once helped you put together. Your smile was wide and your eyes gleamed with laughter.
He swallowed the thick ball that choked his throat and forced his gaze away from you.
His nails dug into the palm of his hand as his fists clenched. Watching the DragonBorn curl his arm over yours and his scaly fingers stroke your hand lovingly.
The emotion in him boiled into that all too familiar anger. He gritted his teeth. Feeling his jaw ache as his teeth were clenched together.
You looked up at the DragonBorn with that same smile that used to turn Dax to puddy. Holding the creature close as he led you to a nearby car. Where the driver got out and opened the door for the two of you.
She moved on quick. The bitter words bounced around in his head like a swarm of locusts. And that cheating scumbag has her under his thumb as well.
Your car smoothly pulled out onto the road once you were seated inside. And Dax turned his car on and followed.
At first, he thought maybe you were being dropped home. But instead the car drove past your place and pulled up by one of the restaurants nearby.
It was one of your favorites. Dax didn’t enjoy many of the dishes there but he loved taking you.
A night out and then a good movie cuddle session.
Another sharp pain in his chest made his knuckles tighten on the steering wheel. He kept driving. Moving quickly so you didn’t spot his beat up old car as you exited the vehicle.
But he pulled up in a parking spot down the street. Getting out just in time to see you and the DragonBorn go inside.
How was he going to tell you? What was his plan right now?
You haven’t spoken in 7 months and suddenly Dax is going to kick down this door and say that the Dragon is cheating on you with Pepper?
He stalled. Keeping away from the front of the restaurant where large, crystal clean windows displayed its patrons inside.
It would sound ridiculous…
What proof did he have right now? He hasn’t even told Tucker yet. What if the DragonBorn lied right to your face and you believed him over Dax?
He breathed heavily. Rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. He could feel the heavy scruff on his cheeks and chin and there was a sweaty scent to his hand.
In the sliver of glass that he stood next too, his reflection stared back at him with a sullen look. His hair was a mess and the hoodie he wore had stains on it. It was his workout clothes. Meant to get dirty and smelly before he went for a shower and change.
He could see you in the back. Seated at a corner table with a candle and decorative flowers as the centerpiece.
The DragonBorn spoke to the waiter and ordered for both of you while you picked through your phone.
Dax knew you hated eating dinner without your phone being on vibrate. You had once said it ruined the mood if a notification suddenly pinged during the romantic moments.
In the candlelight, you looked beautiful. You haven’t changed a bit. And it was eating at Dax that it wasn’t him beside you.
He couldn’t even remember why the two of you broke up. The argument was a blur to him. The day before it was even less of a memory. He just remembered being angry.
He was always angry.
“Excuse me, sir.” A voice called to him. And he was greeted with a kind eyed man in the restaurant's uniform. “A table for one? Or are you expecting company?”
Dax glanced back at you one more time before shaking his head. “No, thank you. I was just looking at the place. Driven past so many times, I thought I’d finally see it in person.” He lied. Hoping his smile didn’t show any of the pain he was feeling right now.
The man smiled in return and bid him goodnight before returning to the door.
Dax didn’t wait around after that. He needed to fix things with Tucker before he could confront you with this news.
Perhaps he could get Tucker to do it. Save the embarrassing meeting all together by getting the true victim of all this to break the news.
Another heavy sigh and Dax got back into his car and sped away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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