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#god help him he was only 19 & so on & so forth

batwritings · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 19 - Sex Pollen

And now we add a bit of magic into the mix! :D Enjoy!~

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It wasn’t uncommon for Solomon to summon you for assistance with his work. Not only for you to learn and grow as a sorcerer, but having the extra source of magic around was never a bad thing. Well, not yet anyway. So you weren’t exactly surprised when you received his message requesting your help after classes were finished.

As you wandered your way over to Purgatory Hall, it dawned on you that your fellow human hadn’t exactly seemed himself that day. Something had been off about him, but you weren’t entirely able to put your finger on what it had been. And how odd it had been for you to be requested to his room directly and not his lab.

A strong, heady scent hit your nose the moment you stepped into the sorcerer’s room that was just a tad too familiar. Ah, that would be why you were asked to his room. The white haired man lay in bed, hand wrapped around his stiff member, his strokes switching between quick and and slow, languid.

“Ah, MC,” Solomon huffed when he saw you. You were quick to shut the door behind you, lest someone see your fellow human in such a state of undress. “I think you can see the issue I need help with. F-fuck…!”

You watched as his body closed in on itself, as if he was reaching an orgasm only for nothing to happen. He lets himself fall back against his bed with a frustrated groan and a heavy sigh. You looked between your teacher and his member in confusion. Sure his cock was an angry red, as if pressure was built up beneath the skin, yet…nothing.

“Y-...” It took you a moment of looking around the room to figure out the entire situation. Your eyes fell to a plant on his desk that you’d never seen before. “Did you pick this without knowing what it was?” You asked, slightly incredulous that the great Solomon would do something so…well, reckless.

The white haired human laughed a little at you. “Yes and no,” he tells you, hand falling back to his aching sex again. “It actually spored me in the face and I took it to study the effects it would have on me. Seems heightened sexual arousal is it’s primary purpose.”

You rolled your eyes a little, but before you could chastise your teacher, he spoke again. “Unfortunately…mmh…!” Another beat of breath was had before he continued. “It seems it will only rid itself from one’s system with an orgasm. And that…oh fuck…c-can only happen via penetrative sex.”

Your cheeks flushed a little at how blunt he was. But if Solomon was anything, it was about the science of things. A heavy sigh left you as you knew what had to happen to help your poor teacher. You set your bag down and began to disrobe, neatly setting your clothing on the back of his desk chair.

You nudged the sorcerer gently to get him to scoot over. “Thank you so much MC,” he praised and part of you hated how quickly that praise went straight between your legs. You grumbled softly in response about his reckless and irresponsible he was and especially to get you involved like this. “I promise I’ll make all of this up to you somehow.”

You squinted at him, hoping to whatever gods existed that he wasn’t hinting towards something like cooking for you. You were slow in letting him inside you; it’s not like you were the most prepped for this kind of situation. Nevertheless, life in the Devildom had taught you to live on the fly.

Solomon was thicker than you expected; what he lacked in length (which also wasn’t exactly something to shake a stick at), he more than made up for in girth. The slight burn from him stretching you open wasn’t entirely unpleasurable. If anything, it made it feel all the better. Now whether that was the spore’s effect or not remained to be seen, but eventually, you were fully seated on his member.

You slowly rocked your hips back and forth, getting a feel for the fullness that was your teacher’s cock before you began to lift yourself up and slide back down. Your fellow human wasn’t exactly quiet about this process either. The more you began to actually ride him proper, the more praise spilled out of him.

“Yes, that’s it.” “Oh gods MC you feel amazing.” “You’re absolutely perfect, oh–” and things of the like all fell from his lips as if they weren’t even second thoughts. As if they were true. And it was like you could feel it too; how his words sank into your skin and became kindling that added to the fire the two of you were feeling.

Before you knew it, you were riding Solomon with earnest, your hands against his chest to support yourself. His hands felt like they were everywhere and nowhere at once. They were burning your skin and you did nothing to stop him but enjoy the feeling.

It felt like time had stopped and it was just the two of you, experiencing this blissful pleasure. “Oh, MC, I’m so close,” your teacher huffed, his hold on you shifting to your hips where you knew for certain there’d be bruising. “Please, let me finish in you.”

He barely waits for you to nod before you can feel the sensation of fullness, wet and thick splattering against your insides. So many years has made the sorcerer wise, as he lets go of one of your hips to touch your own sex, bringing you pleasure you’re not sure your own hand or even a toy ever had. Solomon pulls you over the edge with him, groaning softly at the way your eager hole clenches around him.

The both of you relax against the plushness of his bed with heavy sighs as the buzz of sexual tension subsides. His soft hand caresses your cheek gently and you can’t help but lean into the touch. You can hear your fellow human chuckle softly at you.

“What would I do without such an excellent student?”

#bat writes #obey me x reader #obey me smut #solomon x reader #solomon smut #obey me solomon #om! solomon

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antimony-medusa · 8 months

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"They're honestly so sibling-coded."

I grew up in a conservative, rural area where people got married young. It was not uncommon to see marraiges happen when the people involved were 19, 20, 21, and there was this sort of expectation that any relationship you were in in your teen years had like a 70% chance of leading to marriage. More, if you were especially religious. This attitude was so pervasive that if a woman was friends with a man, or even hung out together, there was this automatic societal assumption that you were early relationship, which led into late relationship, which led into where you were going to get married, which led into babies and a family.

And I hated it. I hated it because I was aroace and didn't know it yet, but even just as a baby feminist feeling out what it meant to be a woman and how I was perceived in the world, I hated the assumption that all my m/f relationships were only worth something if they were leading to romance and marriage (and babies). The idea that men and women couldn't be friends, because men only thought about women in a romantic/sexual way, was actively taught me by everyone from pastors to helpful older coworkers. I even got told that f/f friendships were basically killing time until you got into a romantic m/f relationship, which is where you'd find actual fullfilment and happiness. It sucked.

And then I moved away, and I got out of the conservative religious circles, and then in my 20s, people kept saying the same thing. At least it wasn't saying "god made you for relationships (and babies)," but it was still saying that y'know, men are only interested in one thing, and it's cruel to lead them on, and so on, and so forth. Half of the world is going to only think of you in terms of what you're good for in relation to their relationship status, and the other half of the world is going to tell you to suck it up and deal with it.

This is still the background radiation of much of the world, still. I am getting this less in my 20s because many of my male friends are married, (or gay), but still, as soon as I meet someone new the interested looks start to pile in. As a person who doesn't plan on getting into a romantic relationship, I do not love this.

Immediately seeing a m/f friendship and going "ooooo they're KISSING" is not respectful of the guy's ability to have friendships with people he's not having sex with, but let's look at what it messages about the girl in this scenario.

A) women are only worth talking about in terms of what they can do to for men, what they are in connection with men B) friendship is unimportant and not real, women only exist to be romance options

So I feel strongly about allowing women to be percieved as their own beings and have cross-gender friendships without turning it into romance.

This is not an uncommon take on the internet! I see a lot of people talking about allowing people to be friends without defaulting to shipping.

But I don't know how to tell you that seeing a m/f relationship and saying "Oh they're siblings", when we're talking about celebrities/streamers is still sending a lot of the same messages. The core thing you're communicating is still the same. It's falling into the same traps.

I get the sense that a lot of people see a relationship they want to sort of celebrate and enjoy, and they know that shipping is bad, so they just shunt the "oh they're special to each other" to the left into a family dynamic. I will just say they're siblings, that way nobody can accuse me of shipping, and I'm good!

But what this does is still messages a) woman are reduced down to their relationship with a man, into what they can do for the man, and b) friendship is unimportant and not real, women only exist to be non-romanceable family and the rest of them, the romance options.

If the only way you can conceive of a woman as being important to a man is either being romantic/sexual with him or by saying that they're related, that's still bad. If you literally have to put one of the strongest relationship taboos in our culture in the way or you'll just default into kissing I guess, that's still messaging some really concerning things about how you're portrating women.

And once inside the family dynamics, jesus fuck, you guys. Family dynamics have such a trend to slot women into nurturing and protective roles, where the "older sister" "is the one with the brain cell" and "will take care of him" and will be there suborned to his story to be a surrogate mother figure that takes care of him. This, frankly, sucks.

I am an older sister as a fairly important part of my identity. I love being an older sister. But the way this fandom treats older sisters as tiny non-sexual mothering machines with no interiority or autonomy is not good at all, when it comes to actively respecting women as people.

Honestly, I don't like either option, but when you look at how women get treated when sisterified in fanon (older responsible figure who will take care of our precious baby boy) and how women get treated when shipped (mothering options still exist here but also sometimes they dom him), I might prefer the shipping. And I just did a whole multi paragraph about how much the shipping sucks!

I'm not even going to get into what happens when women get actively assigned mom in a family dynamic. All the worst parts of shipping with none of the fun smut.

I am aware I am talking about the worst excesses of family dynamic here, because this fandom offers lots to choose from, and there are ways to do family dynamic in a good way. Some of the most important relationships in my life are familial, and when actually delved into, you can absolutely still portray a full and nuanced portrayal within a family dynamic. This is a possibility. But god, when I look at the fandom trends and what rises to the top of my dash, oof.

And like, there's a larger trend in this fandom where people seem to be incapable of thinking of friendships as valuable and worthy, if you see them as important to each other it must be familial, but when you do it with women, damn.

Can we give seeing women as full autonomous being who are capable of their own opinions and desires a shot? See them as more than just romance options or [illegal to romance] options? Just let them be friends? Please?

#discourse #fandom meta

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maddyguru · 4 months

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Tw: incest, gang r*pe, non con, loss of virginity, characters aged up, itachi is 21, sasuke is 19, reader is always is 18+, trauma, ptsd, uchiha clan massacre timeline, breeding, forced pregnancy, MINORS AND ANTIS DO NOT INTERACT

I was rewatching naruto and when i realised...

What if, Sasuke and Itachi worked together to destroy the clan as per Danzo's order, since in this timeline, they were closer in age, and so they decided to not kill their precious little sister?

They killed their parents, friends and comrades, and in the end dragged the poor, defenseless girl into the hallway and broke their caring brothers persona, and without another thought, r*ped their little sister to further traumatized her.

Sasuke holding your hands above your head as his older niisan took your first time- one you've been taught to protect as it was too soon. It broke Itachi's heart when he heard you cried out for them to stop, but he must go on, for your sake...

When he breached you, he let out a sinister laugh, commenting about how naïve you are, and that innocence will further scar you as tonight was only the beginning of your personal hell. Sasuke could feel his heart was shattering to pieces when you called for oniichan to help you, begging with your eyes full of tears as your body swayed back and forth as you were raped right in front of him.

When itachi was finished, he made sure to cum inside you, making sure that by the end of tonight you would be pregnant by both of them.

Sasuke would be next, ignoring your cries yet again as he brutally assaulted you, bruising your tender breasts as he went on and on, fucking you and listening to your pathetic cries. He understands that all of this is for your own sake like he and itachi had planned, but god, this will eat him up alive.

In the end, both brothers cummed inside their precious sister, enough to plant their seeds into her, making her a young mother- not just a clan massacre survivor, but also a rape victim.

#tw.smut #tw. noncon #tw. angst #tw.blood #tw.incest #tw.dark content #tw.breeding #itachi uchiha x you #sasuke uchiha x you #naruto

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jamesunderwater · 1 year

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Hey there! Just recently found your blog and your work looks fab🤩🤩 just wondered if you’re still taking those smut prompts? If so could you do 19 with Jily pleaseeeeeee :))

Hello!! (': that is so sweet, thank you! This really made my day. And of course. I am always open to smut prompts, for the record. 😉

Send me Smut Prompts! 19: “sit on my face”

NSFW under the cut :P

“James?”

“Hm?” He lifted his head from between her legs. She bit her lip at the sight of his glistening mouth, knowing it was her all over him.

“I want to try something…”

He lifted a brow, immediately intrigued. While he waited for her to continue, he moved a hand from her thigh and pressed the pad of his finger against her wet opening. “I’m listening.”

She blushed and chewed on her lip, rolling her eyes back at the feeling of his finger. Her blush was surprising–very little in the bedroom made Lily Evans red anymore. “I…” she breathed out, as he continued to press his finger slightly into her. “I thought…maybe a new position for your mouth…might be fun.”

This did sound fun. “And what position might that be, love?” He brought his mouth back to her clit, just lightly ghosting his tongue over it. She gasped, a hand grasping at the sheets on the mattress.

“What if…what if I–sat over you?” She opened her eyes now, glancing down to see his reaction.

Both of his eyebrows rose this time, and he’d paused with his mouth against her, looking her right in the eye. “Fuck yes.”

“Are you sure?” She asked nervously, sitting up so that she was propped on her elbows.

James was already rolling over onto the other side of the bed, positioned so that she’d have the wall for leverage should she need it. “Lily.”

“What?”

“Sit on my face.”

With a grin, she moved onto her knees and crawled on top of him, one leg on either side of his chest. He moved his hands to her bare ass and urged her forward, so she obliged, despite feeling incredibly self-conscious. “Merlin, this is hot,” James mumbled as she positioned herself directly over his face.

Well, that did help with the self-consciousness a bit.

“Lean down just a bit…”

As soon as she did, she felt James’s tongue press inside of her, and Lily let out a long moan. He began pushing her hips back and forth against his mouth, flicking his tongue inside of her in fast strokes. There was something magnificently sexy about being on top of him like this–the power of it, really, and knowing he wanted her that much. Lily reached down and grasped onto some of his wayward locks, and James groaned against her.

“My–my clit…” was all she had to say for him to understand. He slid his tongue out of her and up to her clitoris, where she felt him rapidly sweeping it back and forth. She leaned up a bit so that the sensation against her was light, and James started moving his hands from her ass closer to the inside of her thighs, towards her pussy. She moaned at the feeling of it, the desperation to feel his fingers inside of her, the teasing of it all. He pressed his thumbs around her entrance without actually going in and she grumbled, “Fuck, James,” which only made his tongue move faster.

The exhilaration of it was going to her head. Dizzy, Lily leaned forward and pressed both hands against the wall. He was still refusing to touch her, and from the teasing alone she could feel herself getting close. Just a moment or two with his fingers inside of her, and she was sure to explode. “James, bugger all, touch me, goddamn it!”

She felt him chuckle beneath her and groaned, hating him. He was massaging just outside of her now, and her orgasm was hanging at the edge. Her breaths were coming in faster, and she’d begun moving her hips against his tongue involuntarily. He seemed to be waiting for her to be almost there to finally—

Without warning, James suddenly slammed two fingers deep inside of her, and Lily clenched around him. It took two pumps of his fingers in and out for all of her muscles to tense up and the orgasm to spill over her. “Oh my god!” she cried, pressing down into his mouth and hand with no reservation. She rolled against him wildly, crying out his name and fuck, fuck, yes, until finally the pulsing orgasm began to slow. Breaths coming in hard, Lily collapsed onto the other side of the bed, her shoulder touching James’s.

“S-sorry…if I…suffocated you…” she said between breaths. When she looked over, James had a huge grin on his face, and his eyes seemed dazed.

“Lily Evans…you can suffocate me like that whenever you want.”

#jily #jily fic #jily smut #jple #jily fanfiction #jily fanfic #james potter #lily evans #the marauders #mwpp era #mwpp fanfiction #marauders fanfiction #my writing #smut prompts #jily*#smut*

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redfoxwritesstuff · 27 days

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Sunflower, Book 1, Chapter 19

Tom Hiddleston x OFC Series rated: E Chapter warnings: Flashback- I'm still blueballing you on the smut, it's just getting worse this week. The flashback is sexy but hardly crossing to rated M AN: Special gift for a reader having a bad day- Bonus chapter. This will be the last of the bonus chapters though since running two series at the same time is a bit demanding (and a self made hell). We get to learn a bit about Sally's dad! Also, Mia's baking is wholly based on my attempt to make the same for my sister on a time crunch. My centers didn't set though! I love step dad Tom. Masterlist Kofi

~~~~~<3

Mia felt silly banishing Tom to bedtime duty as she quickly whipped egg yolks and sugar. She was rushing and knew that was a recipe for disaster but she didn’t want to give herself a second to chicken out.

She hadn’t know what to expect having Tom back and so she hadn’t planned a fancy dinner or a night out. He was scheduled to be in late so it didn’t seem like it would have mattered anyway, she would have had to have been quick to get Sally back home and to sleep.

Tom showing up significantly earlier was a huge weight off her shoulders logistically. She wasn’t very good at being a wife yet, she didn’t even know how to be a girlfriend very well but she wanted to show him her gratitude.

Ray, Sally’s father, had been her last real relationship and the only things he cared about were booze, gambling or sex. If she wanted to thank him, it had to be with one of those three things if not all three.

Tom was like no man she had ever known though and she didn’t know how to show him her gratitude. The best she could come up with was to make the fanciest thing she could think of.

Would it stack up to the vase of flowers on the counter in front of her? She sure as hell hoped so. Doubt ate at her as she mixed the whipped sugar and egg yolks into the hot cream.

This was a terrible idea.

It was by far, the worst idea she had had since agreeing to stay married.

She saw that body- there was no way in hell he ate things like this. He probably would rather a bowl of fruit or something. On the other hand, she had seen the foods he had ordered when they had gone out to eat.

Again and again she went back and forth on the quality of the idea as Tom crossed the hall from the bathroom with Sally on his back. Giggles filled the apartment and god did it sound good.

As Mia was filling the two small dishes with the mixture, Tom was leaning against the wall by Sally’s bedroom door. “Having fun?” Mia called to him.

“Oddly enough, yes.” His chuckle made her smile. She couldn’t help it, it was just such a unique sound.

~~~~~<3

Mia listened to Tom’s voice reading story after story while she willed the mixt o bake faster. She had managed to get the custards out of the oven before he had finished reading the tenth story. Maybe it was the twelfth?

Who knows anymore? That little girl had Tom wrapped around her finger. Hopefully it would last. This game they were playing, this gamble on forever with a stranger could have shattering results on that little girl.

Fuck, they were being so selfish trying.

Cooling the dishes was the most high stakes gambling she had done in at least a year. Okay, maybe staying married was up there too. If she cooled the water bath too quickly, they would shatter. But she needed them cooled to finish setting.

She didn’t have an extra so she was fucked if one shattered. It felt like she had melted her fingertips off handling the little containers but she got them cooled. The centers had a little more jiggle that she would have liked but she could only hope they would finish setting in the freezer while they finished cooling.

Mia plopped them in the freezer as Tom starting Fox in Socks. She would have to tell him to limit Sally’s stories eventually so that kid would get to sleep at a decent time but for now she couldn’t bring herself to. Sally hadn’t had a father figure in her life in years and she couldn’t stop her from indulging in it at the moment.

Plus, she needed all the extra time she could to finish this stupid ass dessert.

~~~~~<3

Mia didn’t have many fancy kitchen trinkets or tools but the one thing she was rather proud of was her kitchen torch. It wasn’t the big fancy ones that burned propane like on the cooking shows but it was good enough.

Mia toasted the spoonful of sugar she put on each custard as she listened to Tom say goodnight for the fourth time. Maybe it was the sixth time?

He was so good with Sally. Someday, some woman was going to make him into a really good father.

It occurred to her that she could be that woman. If things worked out between them during this year, she could be the woman that made him a father. In a way though, hadn’t she already made him a father over night? The thought was so shocking to her that she nearly burned her finger when she forgot to turn the custard.

Finally, after over an hour bedtime routine that Mia would have accomplished in fifteen minutes, Tom closed Sally’s bedroom door behind him.

“You escaped the clutches of the small child, congratulations!” Mia cheered.

“It was a long, well fought battle but with dedication, I did come out victorious.” Tom made his way toward her, “What are you making now?”

“It’s nothing.” Mia said, setting the torch down and looking intently down at the quickly hardening sugar topped custard. “Is she asleep?”

“Out like a light. She’s a lovely little girl.”

Mia laughed, “Give it a few weeks and you’ll probably be running for the hills.”

Tom protested and Mia conceded that Sally was indeed a good kid. She was the kind of kid that made people think they could have kids as she sent him to go sit down anywhere but where she was working.

While she watched melted sugar solidify, she also watched Tom as he lounged on the couch. His long legs stretched from one end to the other and he had a book in his hand. She couldn’t see what he was reading but she knew it was something she probably wouldn’t read.

She could see the top of the book, his long feet poking over the arm of the couch and the top of his head and little else. It was a view she liked though she couldn’t explain why. He looked like he belonged there, lounging on the admittedly too small couch.

She should have just sucked it up and got a better couch form somewhere that didn’t require her own assembly.

It was almost nine at night. This time a week ago she was just starting to get really drunk. Over the last two weeks, she had tried hard to remember what had happened but all she could come up with was the bar in the resort she worked out and sitting next to a handsome man who purchased her a drink. And then another.

It seemed pretty safe to assume that man was Tom, though. It had been a wild two weeks. She had fought, argued, gave in and everything in between. This had been two weeks that had changed her life in so many ways already and it was thanks to that man reading on her couch (their couch) alone.

Tapping a spoon against the disk of sugar atop the custards, she found them solid. Crème brûlée was the only really impressive thing Mia thought she could make. It was also something she had an almost total ban on ordering at a restaurant on principle alone. It was offensively easy to make but disturbingly bad for you.

The ceramic ramekins clanked onto the small dining table. Mia stared down at them for a moment and gathered every ounce of courage she could. Tom had again and again shown a good faith effort to build a relationship with her and she had not made it easy.

This last week she had fought him on almost every effort than got upset when he got busy and distant. She needed to make an effort too. He deserved her making an effort.

If she wanted this to have any chance of becoming something real, something more, then she needed to invest in it too.

“Okay.” Mia took one last deep breath. “You can look.”

Tom sat up quickly, tossing the book he had been reading on the couch and swinging his legs to the ground. He was up and eagerly making his way to the table as if he had really just been itching for the word.

“What have you been up to?” Tom was clearly excited.

Mia picked up one of the ramekins and held it out to Tom. “Happy two week anniversary.” After a pause, she started to panic. “I don’t know if you like these. Or if you can eat them. Or, whatever. I don’t know. It’s fine if you don’t-”

“You made creme brûlée for us?” Tom was shocked. “Out of what?”

“It’s not healthy, that’s all you need to know.”

Tom laughed that laugh that was oh so unique to him. “But you just had the stuff to make creme brûlée? Just sitting around casually?”

“Do you like-”

“Of course.” Tom took a seat at the table and tapped the spoon against the glass like disk of solid sugar.

“I wasn’t sure if you could have something like that.” Stop talking. She hated how words left her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. Awkward word vomit fueled by every insecurity she had ever had.

“What do you mean?” Tom cracked the sugar top with a solid whack of his spoon.

“I just-”

Tom scooped a spoonful of custard up, being sure to grab some of the shattered sugar before glancing up at her. He watched her intently as he ate the first bite. Vanilla exploded in his mouth, carried on a current of rich custard. Delicate sugar shards gave the custard texture and carried their own caramel taste along with a touch of bitterness.The center of the custard was just slightly warm still but mercifully, Mia saw that it was set.

“Something you watched or read got into your head. I can always eat dessert, even if I can’t. I would rather put in more work than not eat a sweet. And this is delicious darling. Happy two week anniversary.”

~~~~~<3 ~~~~~<3

Tom flipped her so that she was on her back and he hovered above her. Gripping the fabric of the dress, he carelessly yanked at it as he stood up, pulling it harshly down her body.

The dress caught on her hips though. Tom hadn’t ripped it far enough down for it to slip past her waist. Tom didn’t know if the dress was designed to go on from above or if the maze of fastenings simply extended far below where he had torn but he didn’t care.

Leaning down, he placed soft kisses between her breasts and down her stomach as he grabbed fistfuls of the dress again. With a great effort, he ripped the dress further down. As soon as he had the slack to do so, he pulled the dress down her body and threw it on the ground behind him.

Her panties were plain, simple and not what one would expect to find under a wedding dress. They hadn’t stopped long enough to worry about shopping for such things.

Standing over her, he started to work his buttons free after yanking his tie down until it was hanging loose, nearly undone. She was sprawled out before him, naked breasts on full display for his hungry eyes.

He enjoyed the view. There were little scars and marks on her body showing a life well lived. She had marks where her body and grown quickly at one point. Her belly curved and swelled ever so slightly, soft and inviting to the touch.

Growing impatient, she leaned up and eagerly assisted with the buttons on his shirt. The way her breasts moved with her body was mesmerizing, distracting to him. His fingers yearned to touch them instead of the buttons of his shirt. He all but ripped the shirt off as soon as it was sagging around his body, eager to feel her flesh against his.

~~~~~~<3

Tag List: @winterisakiller, @alexakeyloveloki, @jennyggggrrr @dangertoozmanykids101, @tilltheendwilliwrite @tinchentitri @wizardcherryblossom @buttercupcookies-blog @violethaze @kats72 @soulpiercing @evedia

#tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x original character #Tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston x reader

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eupheme · 1 year

Text

Somewhere In Between | Day 19: Reading

professor!otto octavius x f!reader

Rated E | 1.4k

Tags: age gap, bossy!otto, fingering, edging, actuators as light restraints, praise kink, cockwarming, implied PiV

Poem referenced is Leves Amores

When you find yourself with writers block, you turn to your lover for help. However, you’re not expecting his approach to be quite so hands-on.

You stare at the blinking cursor, willing the words to manifest in your mind, to form the exact conclusion you need.

All you needed was to wrap things up, tie them in a neat little bow. The outline was there, but the wording never quite felt right. The sharp punch you were looking for just out of reach.

You suppose, it doesn’t help that you’re horribly distracted. That you came over to his apartment, laptop in hand, knowing that he’d keep you on track better than if you were at home, surrounded with possible diversions.

And yet, here you were, with the biggest distraction of all. Each edit had been met with a kiss, as you sat beside his modified, overstuffed armchair. Where he had been going over an upcoming lecture - glancing up from the text to give a murmur of encouragement, a smile.

The kisses turning needy, until you were easing onto his lap - your work quite forgotten. Fingers twisting in the thick wool of his turtleneck sweater, one of his actuators curling behind your back to keep you pressed close.

They always betrayed him. His arms, connected to his unconscious thoughts. Contrasting with his words, his “you should be working, my dear”, while they nudged you just a little closer, until you could feel where he thickened inside his trousers.

“I missed you.” You breathed, “I want you. God, I want you.”

There was the peek of his tongue against his bottom lip, his own gaze heavy-lidded. Thumbs brushing back and forth against the curves of your breast, where you could just feel them over your own clothes.

“What do you want?” He asked, watching beneath those thick brows, eyes that catch everything.

“I want you to take me,” You sighed with need, leaning forward to brush your lips against the coarse strands of his beard, where he had grown it out with the changing of seasons, “Want you to take care of me.”

You ached for him, the feeling of him beneath you winning out over the rest.

He laughed then, a low, rough sound. The skeleton of a smug smile from his past, softened by those dark eyes.

You’re lifted, the metal arm against your back curling around your waist. Flipping you until you’re facing the desk, a second arm nudging over your laptop.

“And I want you to work.” Otto told you firmly, a hand pressing against your belly, holding you snug against him, “That’s why you came here, isn’t it?”

He isn’t wrong. And so, you’re sitting, sullenly.

Editing for the second time, stalling as you pick for clues. Shifting impatiently against him, thinking with a corner of your mind about how you can feel the thick curve of him pressed against your ass.

The hand on your stomach twitches. With each stroke of your keys it inches downward - something that you’re acutely aware of. You wonder if it’s encouragement.

If he’ll touch you, if only you keep writing.

It works. It’s good enough for you.

His palm presses against you, the heel of his hand just shy of where you need him. It makes you gasp, your eyes leaving the screen, drifting down.

Rocking against him, trying to get him to adjust his touch. Feeling where the tips of his fingers brush against you, the middle sliding just down the seam of your leggings. The others tracing against your clothed lips, your inner thighs.

“You stopped.” He rasps, the sound low in your ear, “Keep going.”

With a shaky breath, you do.

Ironic that your essay explored the ideas of decadence and aestheticisms in Victorian poetry - because you certainly felt like you were indulging, giving into pleasure over sense.

It would almost be inspiring… if it wasn’t so distracting. But you try - blinking to keep the words in focus as his fingers drift, touch, press.

Winding you up, until you’re biting your tongue between teeth, rocking your hips into the cup of his hand. Eyes closing, testing just how far you can move, if it would be enough.

“You haven’t mentioned Symons.” His idle comment brings you back, as you frown.

Glancing at the paragraph you’re combing through - realizing he’s been reading along. It prickles you, defensiveness curling with the pleasure in your belly.

“We haven’t covered much from him. I thought my other examples were strong enough.” You explain, just as his hand drifts.

Edging past your waistband, beneath the fabric of your underwear. Enjoying your tone - the debate.

“If you were taking my class-” He begins, but you’re cutting him off, with a shake of your head.

“If I were taking your class, this paper would be on nuclear physics, not poetry.”

Otto laughs at that, the sound rumbling. Before you feel his lips ghost against the back of your neck. Fingers that touch down against bare skin, where you’re warm and wet for him.

“Art and science have always been lovers, darling.” His voice is low, amused. Lips pressing against the hollow under your ear - raising goosebumps in its wake, “A man can be well-versed in both.”

You have no retort, not when he’s touching you like this. A finger parting you, sliding back and forth over your clit. His other hand moving to cup your breast, as an actuator loops around your waist, pinning you against him.

Your kisses, and the way you curl,

Delicious and distracting girl,

Into one's arms, and round about,

Luxuriously in and out-

His breath warm in your ear as his fingers circle, as he quotes poetry to you. The smooth tone of his voice washing over you, your head tilting back against his broad shoulder.

Strong to embrace and long to kiss,

And strenuous for the sharper bliss,

A little tossing sea of sighs,

Till the slow calm seal up your eyes.

You moan, and he can feel just how soaked you are for him, for him alone. Those arms move, then.

Lifting you just off his lap, the careful tip of another tugging at your leggings. Pushing them down mid-thigh as he works open his belt.

Pulling himself out, where he’s heavy and flushed for you. Setting you down against his cock, trapping it between the pillow of your thighs, trapped snugly against your cunt.

He lets you rut against him, slicking him up with each pass. Eyes dropping to watch the flushed head slide against your skin, how you wished it was pressing inside, instead.

You fingers drift down to touch him, but one of the actuators curl around your wrist, gently bringing it back to your keyboard.

“Finish this up, darling, and I’ll give you what you want.” He promises, a chaste kiss against your neck - before he leans back, giving you space.

The thud of your pulse in your ears is still distracting, as is the warm length of him pressed against you.

But you try, thinking about what he said. Adding in a little more detail, encouraged by the subtle rocking of his hips. The slide of him against your clit, though whenever you make a sound he stops.

The slow edging winding you up.

You’d always done well under pressure, under a deadline. Two hover over you now - one tomorrow, another so much closer. The length of time you can last before it’s too much.

Another line flows from you, and then another. Piecing the puzzle of your words and thoughts together. Keying the final line of the conclusion with a little flourish, your head tilting to the side so you can see him.

Where he watches, already reading over your shoulder. A low growl to his voice as he moves again, like before.

“Just look at you. So goddamn clever.”

The praise lances though you, warm and coiling in your belly.

An actuator nudging your laptop to the side as he stands. Another arm bringing you with him, bending you over the heavy wooden desk.

His body, so thick and tall and sturdy behind you - his hand wrapped around his cock as he drags it over you, notching himself right at your entrance.

As he asks, “That’s why you’re my girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You moan, and he’s making a rough, appreciative noise as he presses into you.

Filling you, finally. Nudging his way inch by inch as your fingers curl around the edge of the desk, as to try to rock back to meet him.

As you manage one last gasp before he’s fully sheathed. Before he gives you what you’ve earned.

“Yours.”

[dilfcember masterlist]

(Taglist: @andrewrussgarfield, @luxuryberzatto, @obiknights)

#ahh I am excited for this one I hope you like it 📖💕#wwdilfcember #otto octavius x reader #otto octavius x you #doc ock x reader #doc ock x you #Otto Octavius x f!reader

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pisupsala · 1 year

Text

One for The History Books [Chapter 21] [Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw]

[Summary] You are an archivist at the Pentagon, sent on assignment to TOPGUN to catalog and report on a top-secret mission. In the days under the Californian sun, a certain naval aviator puts your once orderly life in a tailspin that you might never recover from.

[Pairing] Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc

[Warnings] Mature content: swearing, (explicit) smut. 18+ only.

[Words] 10.3k

[Library]

Chapter 21 - Landfall

“You know we don’t have to open it tonight, right?” You’ve noticed Bradley has been eyeing the box with a sort of nervous apprehension—his eyes flicking back and forth while you eat, still seated on the floor.

It feels like that’s the best place with zero pretense instead of sitting on the sofa, or god forbid across from each other at the table. “It can always wait.”

That’s not to say you are not dying to know what’s in the box and why Bradley brought it. But you shouldn’t push it—especially not today. Everything still feels raw, precarious almost.

But still, Bradley took the massive first step in trying to fix the situation between you, and give you what you had been asking for him. Pushing him more right now wouldn’t be fair.

It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed. Bradley kept his suffering locked away for so long, and carried the burden of his traumas by himself while directing you away from it. Now he’s made the conscious decision to let you in.

All you can really do now is listen to him and support him in the way that he needs you to. And no matter how hard it might be for you, that also means backing off sometimes.

Bradley shakes his head in response. “I want to,” He looks at you with those warm dark eyes, still full of pain. “Because I want to make sure there’s not a doubt left in your mind that I’m giving every part of me to you before I leave.”

You can’t help but blush under his intense gaze.

“You’re really all or nothing, aren’t you?” You smile before turning serious. “But Bradley, I don’t want you to hurt yourself on my account like that. I don’t want you to tear yourself apart because you think this needs to be fixed completely, like, right now.”

Pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, you add: “I don’t doubt you. And I’ll be here when you come back, waiting for you. And the box will be here too.”

“I don’t want to lose my nerve.” Bradley admits sighing lightly. You sit in silence for a moment, contemplating.

“Then, let’s do it.” You conclude, smiling up at Bradley. “Let's get rid of the pizza boxes first, though. Do you want another beer?”

“Are you sure you’re done?” Bradley looks at you somewhat skeptically as you get up from the floor. “You ate less than half of your pizza.”

“Oh, yeah—I’m pretty full.” You shrug.

Truth is, as that pizza was the first big meal you’ve had in about a week, the three odd slices you had made you feel overly full. You only started feeling hungry after the enormous dark pit in your stomach finally dissolved—because this is not the end. This is a challenge you need to overcome. And together you will.

“Are you okay?” Bradley’s words are pointed, not accusatory in any way, but worried. “We haven’t really talked about—well, my week was absolute shit.”

You chuckle humorlessly. “Well… same here.”

Obviously, you hadn’t been okay. At all. Like, Bradley is probably too much of a gentleman to say anything, but between the bruise, bags under your eyes, messy hair, and pallid skin, you look at least partially as shitty as you’ve been feeling.

You pushed yourself through the days at work, numbed by a near-constant stream of music, podcasts, and movies, collapsing in your bed the moment you came home, exhausted beyond belief. Yeah, it sure as shit didn’t help you could barely keep anything down, the corrosive feeling in your stomach pretty much locking you up from the inside.

“But I’m okay now.” You assure Bradley with a small smile, before adding teasingly: “If you give me a kiss, I’ll feel even better, actually.”

You lean in, bending at the waist and resting your hands on Bradley’s broad shoulders for stability. With a playful grin, he obliges you, pressing his lips against yours.

“It’s making me feel better, too.” He murmurs against your mouth softly. You squeeze, feeling Bradley’s muscles move under your fingers. You’ve missed him so much, but your kisses don’t go any further than that. You can feel his hesitancy—he’s not done with his bloodletting yet.

He still thinks there is a chance you won’t want him anymore. It’s pretty clear to you that this is just as much for himself as he says it’s for you. He needs to confront his past to start making his own peace with it; only then can he move past it.

And you will let him take the lead as long as you keep going forward, supporting him every step of the way.

Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You good, babe?” You half-whisper, eyes closed, reveling in his proximity.

“Much better, darlin’.” Bradley murmurs back, his voice deep and rough. It sends a jolt down your spine.

Not the time.

Putting the pizza boxes in the kitchen and grabbing two more beers, you sit back down on the floor next to Bradley. He’s fidgeting, peeling the label off his nearly empty drink.

You pop the new bottles open, offering him one. In a single swig, he empties the beer he had been nervously handling, setting it back on the small coffee table off the side before accepting the new bottle.

Reaching out, he pulls the box closer so it sits just between both your legs. His hand rests on the lid for a moment.

“Do you want to open it?” You quirk your eyebrow at Bradley’s sudden request. Gently putting your hand over his, you shake your head with a ghost of a smile on your lips.

Your instinct keeps telling you to help him, ease his discomfort, and carry the brunt of the situation because you know you’ll be able to handle it. You would do anything to lighten his burden, but some things are not up to you. You understand now this is not one of them. There’s no need to tell him—he knows—he needs to do this.

As Bradley slides off the lid, you can’t help but lean forward to get a good look at the contents of the box. The entirety is messily filled to the brim with pictures and what looks like albums. Some seem to be thrown in haphazardly on top of the rest, edges bent and damaged from being jostled.

“Oh…” The sound escapes you involuntarily as you realize what’s on the pictures. They are family pictures. Bradley’s family. Your heart clenches for a second—Bradley really took your words to heart.

“It’s ehm-,” Bradley hesitates for a moment, clearing his throat, searching for words. “These are all the pictures I have left from my family.”

Your head snaps to look at him—Bradley is looking forlornly at the pile of pictures, fingers tracing one that is on top before grabbing it. He studies it for a second, and then wordlessly shows it to you. Your eyes flicker over the picture before returning to his face.

“I don’t really—I have no idea what to do with this.” He admits with a deep sigh. “I wanted to show you, but now that I opened it…” Bradley trails off.

“Is that you with your little league team?” You smile up at him kindly, pointing at the picture in his hand. “Where was that taken?”

You gently guide his hand closer to you both, so you can look at the photo better. There’s a gaggle of kids in the picture, all still very young in cute and messy little baseball uniforms.

“I - I think that’s still back in San Diego.” He starts hesitantly. “I think I was too young for little league there, that must be something like the local tee ball team.”

“Which one are you? — Wait, don’t tell me. I want to see if I can guess.”

Having faced a myriad of difficult decisions and situations in his life, Bradley didn’t think he’d view opening a box of old pictures as such a hurdle. His heart is beating loudly, and he has to consciously keep his hands steady.

He hasn’t really thought it through, and he hadn’t really prepared—he barely remembered what was in the box, or what state it was in. What was he actually going to do with this?

Somewhere, having to go through those pictures was always going to happen, but he’s been putting it off for so many years now that he can barely believe the moment is here.

But for one thing, he knows he can rely on you. Your kindness, your empathy. Your love. You wouldn’t let him struggle through this by himself. Like now. With gentle questions, you steer his thoughts away from anxiety and focus on the small things.

You keep guessing wrong which kid he could be, picking ones that have darker hair. Not being able to keep a small grin off his face, he points to the small and skinny kid squinting against the sun in the second row.

“No.” You look at him with comical disbelief. “You were not that blond as a child.”

You scoot closer to him as you bring his hand with the picture up to your face.

“That’s a trick of the light though, isn’t it?”

“Nope. Wait, I’m sure there’s more in here.” Bradley grins despite himself. “I think there might be a whole baby album.”

“Well, I for sure need to see that.”

Bradley leans forward, casually rifling through the pictures at the top of the box. Not being able to stop yourself, you spring up to stop him.

“Bradley, the pictures will get damaged like that.” You admonish him mildly as you carefully pick them up one by one and setting them aside. “Your memories deserve to be handled with care, don’t you think?”

“You’re right.” He concedes as he feels his heart do a strange little jump. It’s almost painful, but it gives Bradley a strange feeling of elation. Back when he was moving around a lot from his childhood home to college, to boot camp to his first station, he simply consolidated all pictures into this box without much thought.

And here you are, carefully picking every picture up and arranging them in neat little piles on the floor next to the box. The gentleness of the gesture feels deeply intimate. Like you give every snapshot of his life a little bit of attention as you handle it with so much respect. Kindness. Love.

A kind of mercy he hasn’t allowed himself in all these years.

Much more carefully, he pulls out the baby blue album. His baby album. In all these years, he didn’t think he’d actually be looking through that again. That’s a thing for moms to do, right? Show every embarrassing childhood picture to your girlfriend and tell them every awful story.

For a second, Bradley thinks about Mav - he knows so many stories. He was there for them for all those years. As were many others that flew with his dad, although not as much.

In the end, Mav was there for more stories of them than his own dad was. His mom was there for all of them—well, almost all of them. Some teenage mistakes Bradley would rather take to the grave, and would be more than happy if Mav did too.

Throwing up riding on the back of Mav’s motorcycle when he got too drunk for the first at a house party at the age of 15 would be one of those. Mav had laughed at him so hard, Bradley was sure would never live that one down. In all fairness, he never told Bradley’s mom what happened. He just got Bradley home.

Bradley leafs through the baby album, your chin on his shoulder, loving the little notes his mom made. The first plate of spaghetti (it was a massacre), the first time on a swing (never wanted to get off), first day at preschool on base (many tears), on the pier waiting for daddy to come home.

“You look so annoyed there.” You chuckle, pointing at the picture of a 3-year-old Bradley holding a scrunched-up welcome home sign in his little fists, barely dried tears staining his rosy cheeks.

“Oh man.” Bradley laughs lightly. “All I remember from that is we just stood there on the pier—it took forever, and it was so hot that day.”

He pauses, trying to remember.

“I begged for an ice cream and my mom would tell me it’s a little bit longer; we had to wait for dad.” He reminisces. “That must have been the longest carrier docking in all history.”

You giggle, thinking back to the past summer. Waiting for the carrier to dock and the sailors to disembark was tortuous under the summer sun for you, let alone for a small child.

“The next time I remember waiting like that…” Bradley trails off, suddenly deep in thought. “My dad never walked off the carrier.”

You hold your breath for a second.

“Only Mav came back.” Bradley swallows. “I could barely understand why we were there. Why we were leaving without dad.”

“That must have been really hard.”

“I mean—I don’t know… I was so young, it took me a while to comprehend my dad really wasn’t coming back.” Bradley has a pensive look on his face, as he stares at the far end of the room rather than at the album in his hands. “I remember much more vividly suddenly having to move out of our house, going out of state, living in a smaller place just together with my mom.”

“How old were you?”

“Barely four. I think?” He shifts uncomfortably. It was easy to talk about the light stuff, although it always inevitably leads to dark memories. His dad not coming home, his mom always crying, moving away. Exactly the things he doesn’t like thinking about.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” You supply sincerely. God, his dad died so young.

“‘S okay” Bradley mumbles.

“Is that why you never wanted me to wait for you at the pier?” You inquire carefully, remembering Bradley’s exact argument of it being too hot and too boring.

“Yeah, no—a bit, I guess. But, no one had ever been waiting for me, you know?” He leans his forehead against the heel of his hand. “I went through all those rites of passage in the Navy by myself, just me. I thought I was fine with that.”

You regard him carefully as he still stares ahead, but you’re not sure he actually sees anything.

“I mean, none of my friends or girlfriends ever came. Sure as shit never invited them.” He just drops that casually into the conversation as you feel your eyebrows pull into a slight frown. “I guess none of them were tenacious enough,”

His eyes finally meet yours as he grins.

“Or pigheaded enough to just go find everything out and show up.”

You scoff lightly, a grin pulling at the side of your mouth. “You say that as if you didn’t want me to be there.”

“No, no, darlin'—I fucking loved it.”

“Do you think you are that undeserving?” Your question cuts sharply through the conversation.

“What do you mean?”

“You say I was pigheaded for showing up, but you were just as pigheaded for not inviting me—or anyone for that matter.” You cock an eyebrow. “So don’t you think you deserve anyone to wait for you?”

Bradley sighs heavily.

“I suppose—I guess because there might be a day I don’t walk off that ramp, and I thought it would be easier if no one is waiting.”

“You believe that to be the inevitable outcome?” You intone mildly.

“No, no—I just…” You can tell by his manner, Bradley is getting frustrated.

You’re digging.

Back off.

Let him take the lead.

“I’ll wait for you here at home or on the pier—wherever you want me to be.” You sooth.

“I’m sorry.” Bradley apologizes softly. “I don’t mean to be so dark about it.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too.” You reply. “We don’t have to talk about it now. We have plenty of your pictures to go through.” You joke lightly, before adding more solemnly: “And we’re here for each other. That matters.”

“That’s all that matters” Bradley replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

For a few moments of silence, you look through the next pages of the album. Bradley’s mom’s neat script shortly commentates every milestone. She clearly took a lot of care in making the album and took pictures prolifically.

Back then—before the age of video calls and digital photography—you suppose it was the only way to document everything that had been happening at home while Bradley’s dad was away.

“Your mom is so pretty.” You lightly trace the edge of the photo, adding: “I can see where you got your looks from.”

Bradley chuckles in response. “You should see my dad—wait -” He leans forward to grab another album from the box. As he lifts it out, pictures slide from the pages, falling out of the bottom. You quickly sit up, helping Bradley tilt the album on its side, so the pictures top falling.

“For fuck’s sake.” He sighs, annoyed.

You pluck the pictures that fell out of the box. They are wedding pictures of Bradley’s parents—they look resplendent, both dressed in white, smiling broadly. They are an incredibly good-looking couple. It strikes you how much Bradley looks like his dad—tall, generous smile, and of course the mustache. He looks dashing in his Navy whites, the same way Bradley does.

“You really look a lot like your dad.” You say pensively. “But I definitely see your mom in you too.”

“Mav used to tell me how much I resembled my dad when I was growing up.” Bradley carefully cracks open the album to straighten some loose photos. “I always took a lot of pride in that. Recently, he mentioned my temper is definitely my mom’s.” He chuckles dryly.

Carefully, you tuck one of the photos that fell out between the empty page. “Do you agree?”

“My mom…she—she always kept up a brave face.” Bradley shrugs somewhat uncomfortably. “She would never get really mad or sad, even though… she was. She would always hide it from me.” He slowly leaves through the album, eyes running over the pictures of the happy couple. “All the way to the end.”

Bradley pauses for a moment, as you tuck the other picture that fell out on another empty page.

“I overheard my mom and Mav have an absolute blow-up argument at the hospital. That was months before she passed away— I’ve never heard her so angry, like, screaming at each other. They stopped arguing the moment I walked into the room.”

“I was nearly 18, not really a kid anymore, but mom never told me what they argued about. And even then, she would only cry when she thought I couldn’t hear.”

“It sounds like she was trying to protect you.” You supply kindly.

“I think she bottled everything up to the point of explosion.” Bradley sounds distant. “I guess I’m kind of the same way.”

“I still think…” Bradley swallows before continuing. “I believe that she never really got over my dad’s death. Mom would look at these pictures every day in the hospital, and I think she bottled up all her grief for so many years, it broke her heart for good.”

“I’m sorry, that’s really sad.” You say softly.

“I try not to think about it too much.” Bradley shrugs again, in a slightly more agitated manner. “It just makes me think about how she spent all those years grieving by herself and I couldn’t help her… was she ever happy again?”

There’s no answer to that question.

“I think you can be happy about things even when still feeling the loss, because it’ll always kind of be there, right?” You begin slowly. “And our mom still had you. From what I hear, she clearly loved you a lot, going to great lengths to protect you from her pain. Maybe your happiness became her happiness.”

“I hope it did.” Bradley sighs. Every page turned, every picture finally uncovered again, is like the weight is slowly rolling off him. Bottling up hurts. And it hurt for so long, the pain became a constant background noise. You’re right, he’s had moments of happiness despite the pain. Becoming a pilot despite the odds. Making it to TOPGUN. Surviving that mission. He’s been happy with you.

It’s mostly in hindsight that he’s aware of the grief he still has in him at every moment. Bottled up. Closing the wedding album, he traces his fingers over the cover. It’s a matter of perspective.

Ironically, he pushed the happiest memories into a dark corner—literally in the back of his closet—never looking it at them because he couldn’t separate the happiness from the grief. And maybe, they don’t need separating. You’re right, the loss will always be there, but that doesn’t mean the happiness of those moments disappears.

Ultimately, Bradley is becoming more and more sure of one thing. He couldn’t do this without you. He wouldn’t want to do this without you. Putting away the album, he wraps his arm around your neck, pulling you against him. You easily accept his gesture and lean into the hug, putting your arms around him.

Bradley realizes that today is the first time in many years he allowed himself to reach out to someone for comfort emotionally and physically and that it was so readily given to him. Finally, the ever-present pain seems to dull.

“Thank you for sharing all this with me.” You whisper against his neck.

“It feels right.” He admits. “Things just feel right with you.”

You can’t help but smile as press yourself into Bradley. You’ve struggled with how… right things feel with Bradley. Always aware with the looming of darkness in the back of your head that this thing might not be more than a blip on the radar. Just a temporary madness.

Like a knot being pulled loose, a new calmness anchors itself in you. It feels right. You can finally, unequivocally accept that.

Slowly untangling from each other, you talk about look through one of the pile of pictures. Bradley laughs as he talks about breaking his nose during a training game in middle school baseball after a pitcher from the opposing team nailed him in the face as he was batting. Convinced he did it on purpose, Bradley waited for him after the game and started a fight. Getting a black eye and detention to boot, he elected to call Mav to pick him up and go to the hospital, too embarrassed to call his mom.

“God, that dude was massive—had at least 50 pounds on me. I have no idea what I was thinking.” Bradley rubs his hand over his eyes, still laughing.

“What did Mitchell say about it?” You ask, laughing too.

“Mercifully very little—all he told me was to get my temper in check or to get stronger and learn how to fight better.” Bradley grins as he rummages through the box.

“Solid advice.” You drawl sarcastically. Although you haven’t worked with Mitchell much directly, you’ve seen plenty of him in action and his unorthodox method of leadership. You are not at all surprised he would tell a 12-year-old that.

Bradley suddenly stills as his hand comes upon an object of smooth wood. He tries to keep his breathing even - fuck.

He forgot this was in here.

You notice the sudden shift in Bradley’s demeanor, his hand half-hovering in the box, clutching an oddly shaped box. The moment you catch a glimpse of the dark polished walnut, the realization strikes you. It’s a display case with his father’s funeral flag and medals. Judging from Bradley’s reaction, it’s not a pleasant find.

“I - I -” The words are dying in Bradley’s throat. When he turns to you, you see the panic in his eyes. Carefully, you reach out to him, resting your hand on his shoulder. You don’t speak, leaving Bradley space to sort his thoughts and emotions.

He pulls out the display case, weighing in his hands hesitantly. He sits in silence, looking at the neatly folded flag behind the glass. Bradley swallows heavily, like he wants to say something, but the words won’t come. You rub your hand in soothing circles over his shoulder. You bite your lip to stop yourself from speaking. He needs this.

“My dad was Mav’s RIO.” Bradley’s voice is so soft, so broken, you would have missed his words if you had not been looking at him. “He died ejecting from their aircraft over the ocean.”

You move closer to Bradley.

“He just didn’t walk off the boat one day.” His fingers run over the wooden sides of the frame. “And I barely remember.”

Bradley pauses to steady himself.

“I don’t know where the stories from my mom and Mav start and my own memories end—like playing the piano. I know my dad used to teach me simple tunes, but I…” He trails off for a moment. “But I remember the piano gathering dust for several years a lot more, and my mom crying when I started taking lessons.”

From the corner of your eye, you see Bradley blink rapidly.

“You know…,” You lick your lips nervously, trying to choose your words with care. It kills you to see him like this. “Memories are just one aspect of remembering. We remember through our actions too.” You turn to look at Bradley. His eyes are wet, as he stubbornly stares at the display case.

“Whether it’s through telling those stories, pictures, or playing the piano,” You continue, voice gentle. “That’s how you keep memories alive.”

Bradley doesn’t reply, eyes still trained of the blue and white of the folded flag, fingers twitching.

In a sudden move, he pulls you against him, practically dragging you from your spot next to him into his lap. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck. His fingers are digging into your flesh as he seems hell-bent on crushing you into him.

You let him.

You run your fingernails through the short hair on the back of his head comfortingly. Bradley is taking shaky breaths, his shoulders jerking lightly..

He can’t remember the last time he cried. Was it as his mom’s funeral? Or some time when he got way too drunk after boot camp? But now he can’t seem to stop himself. The tears just keep coming, like all the pain is suddenly fresh again.

You don’t say anything, and Bradley appreciates that. He presses himself into you like he wants to drown himself in you, trying to focus on your soft breathing to calm himself down.

You have no words to help Bradley feel better, but sometimes it’s not necessary to speak to offer comfort. So you sit like that together on the floor, wrapped up in each other. Time could have been standing still all around you, and you wouldn’t have noticed.

Eventually, slowly, Bradley’s breathing evens out. It’s like the atmosphere evens out with it—the final slivers of tension, the precarious balance of emotions and rawness in your hearts— start dissolving around you, leaving only love.

Bradley presses a kiss against your jaw and whispers a thank you.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, babe.” You chuckle, hugging him a bit tighter against you.

“I’m thankful for you.” He replies sincerely, pressing more kisses against the column of your neck. You pull away a fraction to capture his lips with yours. Lightly biting down on his bottom lip, finally, he tilts his head in such a way that lets you deepen the kiss. You can’t even describe how much you need this: to feel Bradley again.

Gracelessly, you try to get up while guiding Bradley up with you without breaking the kiss. It’s a mess of limbs and hurried movements. You stumble as your foot gives out from under you, nearly falling onto the sofa. Bradley easily catches you.

“Fuck - my foot is asleep.” You wince as the pins and needles shoot up your ankle.

Bradley laughs. Light dances in his eyes as he hoists you up, legs wrapped around his waist. Seeing him like this makes your heart soar.

“Don’t let go of me.” He warns you, still smiling.

“I can’t.” You echo. “I don’t think I ever can.”

With practiced ease, Bradley steers you both to the bedroom. You’ve spent the evening in the past and you need to get back to the present to ground yourself in each other.

The bedroom is a mess; sheets crumpled, pillows strewn around the bed. But neither of you cares. Bradley gently lays you down on the bed, your legs still hooked around his hips while he rests one knee on the mattress for stability.

His hands run up your sides, bunching up the silk of your blouse. Your breathing gets heavier as you feel his large warm hands through the fabric. Your fingers dance up his forearms, past his elbows, over the rippling muscles of his upper arms, pulling yourself up by his shoulders as you sit up to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

Gently grabbing one of your wrists, Bradley slowly lays you back down.

“Let me take care of you now, darlin’.” He practically purrs. A giggle escapes you as his lips latch onto the column of your throat, his thumb running over the erratic pulse point on your wrist.

You sigh as you close your eyes, allowing yourself to feel even more. Bradley’s free hand is deftly undoing the buttons of your self-proclaimed armor. Arching your back off the mattress, brushing your bra-clad breasts against his chest, the silk shimmies off your body.

Momentarily leaning back, Bradley easily shrugs off his own shirt as you pull your arms from the sleeves—both garments end up somewhere in the dark of the room. Not missing a beat, you trail kisses up his broad chest towards his neck. Lightly biting down on Bradley’s collarbone, he hisses. You love that sound.

Fingers brushing down his stomach, you feel his muscles move under your feather-light touch as you reach the waistband of his jeans. Before you can do anything else, Bradley swipes your hands away, smoothly bringing them over your head and pinning them down.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” He murmurs against your lips, free hand undoing the button of your slacks, and slipping into your panties. “I’ll take care of you.”

You moan in response. Bradley wastes no time running his fingers up your slit, rubbing your clit at a tortuously slow pace. He knows your body almost as well as you do yourself; keenly feeling when to speed up, add pressure, mapping out every sensitive spot.

Your hands twitch, but Bradley doesn’t yield his grasp on your wrists. His lips travel down from your jaw, over your throat, nipping on your collarbone, down to the lace edge of your bra. The sensation of his hot breath through the thin fabric makes your head spin. You arch your back, trying desperately to maximize contact.

“Plea- please.” You beg in a whisper. Bradley just grins as he gently nips at the flesh of your breast. He has a need a regain control, a push to assure you, but mostly himself, that despite your relationship fundamentally changing with new emotional depths he never explored with anyone like that before, he is still him.

He plunges two fingers into you, his thumb on your clit finally speeding up. Bradley leans back up just a little, hearing you whimper at the loss of contact, so he can take a good look as your body moves under him—hair mussed, blush spreading down your chest, breathing heavily as you buck up against his hand.

Fuck, you look so good, you feel so good.

And you’re like that just for him.

Your eyes search Bradley's—pupils blown, dark with desire, a light blush dusts his cheeks—they are filled with warmth. Love. You tilt your hips up, muscles taut, as the pressure starts building in you. Bradley immediately responds to you without needing a single word, knowing exactly what you need: his fingers hooking up in you, moving in tandem with his thumb. It tears an incoherent moan from you.

Finally he releases your wrists and without hesitation your hands tangle into his curls, pulling his mouth to yours non-too gently. As he leans over you, never missing a beat, pumping his fingers in your pussy relentlessly, he uses his other hand to push away the lace of your bra. His fingers immediately pinch and pull your nipple, adding to the building pressure in you.

“Bradley…” You moan unabashedly. His skin is so hot under your touch, everything about him sets you aflame. You buck your hips harder, feeling so close already. Bradley drags his teeth along your collarbone, stopping at the pulse point at your neck, and biting down.

You scream out in ecstasy, your muscles coiling tight, wrapping yourself around Bradley, pulling him along in your wave. Bradley’s mouth crashes into yours, swallowing your scream. As your cresting wave makes landfall, a calm settles back into your tired bones, and suddenly tears spring up behind your closed eyelids. Bradley is still kissing you deeply, his tongue moving against yours, devouring every thought.

You break the kiss to catch your breath, your teary eyes meeting his for a few seconds. As he hovers above you, you take every bit of Bradley in. Your muddled brain tries to come to a coherent thought, but in the end, you feel it more than you can formulate it.

You are the luckiest girl alive.

Hands moving of their own accord, you reach for Bradley, nails lightly raking down his chest. Bradley pulls you up with him, cradling your face in his hands as he presses a kiss on your lips. You pop the button of his jeans, sliding your hands down his boxer shorts. Grasping his rock hard shaft, you start pumping slowly. Bradley groans as he nibbles your bottom lip.

“I’m not done with you yet, darlin’.” He teases.

You giggle softly. “But I want you.”

Bradley only responds by unclasping your bra and sliding it down your arms. You press yourself against him, wanting to feel him against you. His hand is massaging your breast, tweaking your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine.

Skimming his fingers down your sides, he tugs your slacks and underwear down your legs in one smooth gesture. They end up somewhere in the darkness of the room, along with the rest of your clothes. You push his pants down his thighs—he easily steps out of them and you pull him with you onto the bed.

His hot mouth is on your tits, as you palm his cock.

“I need you inside me.” You breathe. Bradley doesn’t respond at first, kissing and nipping his way down your body.

“I’m still not done with you.” His breath is hot against your soaking pussy. You whimper, blindly reaching for his hair as his tongue presses against your still-sensitive clit. Hooking your knee over his shoulder, using the leverage to tilt your pelvis just so, you know you’re not going to last very long under his assault. He squeezes your thigh as you tug his hair painfully. You roll your hips against Bradley’s face, setting a much-needed feverish pace. He acquiesces, tongue flicking against your clit without break, tearing a litany of swears from you.

“F- fuck, Bradley - don’t stop,” You beg, breathlessly. “You’re so fucking good.”

His free hand harshly squeezes your breast, pinching and manipulating the nipple as he hums—you feel the deep vibrations go through your core. Your body feels electrified, the pressure building in you from Bradley’s onslaught. He can feel your body stiffening, hips jerking, breath quickening. He knows you’re close, and he wants to pull you over the edge of pleasure.

You are mumbling incoherently, Bradley’s name on your lips like a prayer, as the coil in your stomach is wound almost painfully. Just a little bit more. He is relentless in his mission, tongue lashing against you. Splaying his hand on your lower stomach, Bradley stills your hips, building the anticipation even more.

Just when you think you cannot take it anymore, the coil in you springs. You cannot even begin to care how loud you are right now. Bradley is still holding you down, his mouth buried in your pussy as you cum, moans filling the room.

It feels like your breath has been ripped from your lungs. You are only vaguely aware of the tears leaking from your screwed-shut eyelids—your brain feels like it has been disconnected from your body completely, static electricity flickering through your veins.

“Fuck, darlin’…” Bradley is panting. His voice is suddenly close, concerned. “Hey, are you okay?” His finger trails down the wet streak down your cheek.

Slowly opening your eyes, colorful spots filing your vision, you look up at Bradley. You don’t know why there are tears on your face. The intensity of the moment is overwhelming, but you aren’t sad in any way.

“I’m okay.” You croak, softly pressing your lips against his, tasting yourself on him. “You just completely blew my mind.” You joke lightly.

“I’ll accept that reason.” Bradley grins. “Do you need a break?”

You shake your head almost petulantly. “No, I need you.”

“Please.” You add softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. You want Bradley close.

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear. “Anything for you.”

He slides his cock into your slick pussy, drenched in your own cum, in one swift motion, filling you to the hilt. You moan as Bradley swears under his breath.

“Fu- fuck, darlin’, you feel so, so good.” His voice is deep, rough, and so close, his mustache is brushing against the shell of your ear – it’s sending shivers down your spine.

Bradley sets a slow, almost leisurely pace. He wants to savor this; your blushing face, glassy eyes looking up at him as you wrap yourself around him. Your look of love. This is how he wants you committed to his memory forever, and quietly wishes this would be the look he would see in his dreams.

In the meantime, he will make to be worthy of that look every day. So you will look at him like that every day. Only at him. Your fingers are running down the side of his face, a small smile gracing your lips. He grabs your hand and presses a kiss against your palm before intertwining your fingers with his, squeezing your hand as he rolls his hips against you.

It feels so intimate. So much more intimate than ever before.

You always tried to be strong, but you had also shown your vulnerability and insecurities to him. You cried, you were angry, your hands shook when you unbuttoned his shirt. Now that you know him, arguably better than almost anyone else, Bradley cannot help but feel like the axis has tilted. He trusts you. With himself, with his pain and his love.

Admitting and accepting that makes everything so much clearer.

“I love you.” The words come out naturally. It’s a verbalization of what he’s been feeling for a long time now and saying the words is familiar, because really, he’s told you many times in many different ways already, just not with those words.

“I love you too.” You gasp. “S- so much.”

Leaning on his elbow, fingers still intertwined with yours, Bradley speeds up the pace—his cock driving into you hungrily. Your tits bounce deliciously every time he fills you to the hilt, your hips rising to meet his every move. He missed you so much, he knows he’s not going to last long.

You feel Bradley’s hips starting to stutter irregularly as he’s speeding up, a light sheen of sweat forming on his brow. Your nails rake over his back, tilting your hips for more friction. Bradley groans, brow furrowed as he searches for release.

“Will you cum for me?” You encourage sweetly. “Cum for me, Bradley, I need you.”

How can he refuse, when you ask him like that?

Bradley pounds into you, your moans and his swears filling the room. He squeezes your hand painfully, as he closes his eyes for a moment, never losing the relentless pace.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m so close.” He grinds out.

“Please, Bradley -” You beg in a whispery voice.

Bradley moans loudly, swearing as his movements turn erratic, trusts turning irregular until his hips stutter to a halt. Breathing heavily, he rests his forehead against yours—your breath mingling before his body slowly sinks into yours. Together you lay there in a bubble of contentment, between the messy sheets, clothes strewn around and the chaos of your week.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Darlin’, are you awake?”

You blink heavily against the sunlight streaming into the room. You went out like a light last night. Both Bradley and you were so exhausted from everything that happened that week, you pretty much fell asleep on top of each other. You only managed to go to the bathroom before completely conking out, Bradley was already fast asleep by them.

“Wha- what time is it?” You ask, voice thick with sleep. It’s only as you gain some awareness of your surroundings, you notice Bradley is not in bed with you anymore, rather standing next to it, bent over you. He’s dressed in only his boxers, while you are still naked under the covers.

“It’s a little past 11.” He replies, pressing a kiss on your temple. Fuck, that late? “But more pressingly, sweetheart; you don’t have any coffee. Actually, you don’t have much of anything in the house.”

Oops.

“Yeah, I kinda forgot to go shopping.” You mumble, rubbing your eyes.

“And here I was going to make you breakfast.” Bradley teases. “Come on, get up. At least let me take you out.”

“I need to shower,” You yawn, scratching your head. “Ugh, and wash my hair.”

“Well, let’s go take care of that.” Bradley grins, as he scoops you up from the bed, causing you to squeal in delight as you scramble to grab onto him. He effortlessly pulls you up from the bed, the covers still wrapped around you. You laugh together as he carries you out of the bedroom.

The shower take way too long—mostly because you spent less time washing, and more time pinned against the tile wall, moaning in ecstasy. Gasping for breath, wetter from sweat than water and Bradley’s cum dripping down your thighs, you end up kicking him out of the shower. You’re going to be stuck there for the rest of the day and your water bill will be through the roof. He leaves you with a wink.

You make quick work of washing your hair, lathering it with conditioner and shaving for good measure. Hair wrapped in a towel, you get dressed in comfortable jeans and a simple cotton shirt. You’re going to need to blow dry it before you go out—also you should really do your makeup. The bruise is slowly getting over the worst of it, but it’s still pretty visible.

Head bent down, rubbing the towel through your hair, you walk into the living room. From the corner of your eye, you see Bradley sitting on the couch, fully dressed already. “Babe, are we really out of all coffee?” You’re dying for a cup.

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you look up, holding the towel up from your face. Bradley is gingerly holding his parent’s wedding album, carefully moving the loose pictures into place.

“Do you think it’s fixable?” His voice is quiet. “It was my mom’s favorite album.”

You blink, before rewrapping your hair and sitting down next to him. Carefully, you pick up one of the pictures and inspect it.

“Yeah, I’ve seen this happen a lot with picture collections we get. It looks like the glue disintegrated.” You note as you look at the back of the photo. As you suspect, the glue in the corners has left only brown residue and has long-lost its function. “We do restorations regularly—well not me, per se, I did it as part of my rotations as an intern—but it can be anything from humidity, or just a bad batch of glue…” You trail off, realizing you’re rambling.

“Can you fix it?”

“Me?” You cannot hide your surprise at his request. “I mean—I can get some of the supplies we use at work.” You regard Bradley carefully. “Do you want me to do that?”

“Yeah…” He sighs. “I’m kind of… scared I’ll ruin it.” He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “And you’re the archivist here.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not really a conservation specialist, but I’ll do my best.” You reply earnestly. This feels like a pretty serious responsibility. “I’ll get some special glue, and maybe some protective sleeves and smaller boxes to store all the other loose photos, okay?”

You smile lightly at him, feeling a blush creep up. The way Bradley puts his trust in you to care for the last tangible memories he has from his parents gives you butterflies. “Your mom did such a great job dating all the photos, I can order them for you.”

You pause for a moment.

“If you want, that is.” You backtrack, unsure. This is not a history project, it’s not an anonymous donation to archives from someone’s estate, these are Bradley’s memories. It should be his choice. “I will do what I can to help you.”

“Thanks sweetheart.” He carefully closes the album. “I trust you completely with this—you know so much better than I how to care for all these things.”

“But they are still your memories.” You say, voice soft. “And in the end, you need to be happy with it.”

“You make me happy.” Bradley replies mischievously.

“You are impossible.” You grin, as move to get up.

“Impossibly in love with you?” He teases.

Okay. So it would be a complete lie if that doesn’t make your heart jump so hard it’s making your rib cage rattle as blood floods to your cheeks. Regardless of how fucking cheesy that is.

You try your best to shoot him a withering look, although it probably lacks power. Bradley is trying to get a reaction out of you. You can tell by that cheeky glint in his eye, the way his mouth is pulled in that cocky half-smirk and the casual figure he cuts, leaning back on the sofa; he knows he succeeded.

You just grunt in embarrassment, pulling the towel back over your face as you leg it out the room, leaving Bradley to enjoy his victory.

Bradley ends up taking you to a diner—which is fine by you, because regular refills on coffee is exactly what you need right now. You slide into a booth together, Bradley immediately wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

If Bradley was tactile before, he’s turned it up to 11 today. Not that you are complaining. It feels like you need to fill up on everything Bradley—like you’ve lost precious time, even if it was just a week—before he leaves again.

Rationally, you know it’s only a month. He’s been gone for longer. You’ve been through this together. But it suddenly all feels strange again, a little bit apprehension under the surface, as you see your connection in a new light full of new heights and depths. It never felt better, but this time being apart will be different from before.

You eat your breakfast in relative silence—honestly, after the first bite of your blueberry pancakes, you realize how much you are starving. You lean back against Bradley, nursing your coffee.

“Hey babe,” You start, looking up at him through your lashes. “You’re flying out to Texas on Tuesday, right?”

Bradley nods. “Yeah, about that…” He trails off, while he fidgets with his mug. “No, never mind, it’s stupid.”

“What?” You sit up, looking at him curiously. The tips of his ears are red as he avoids your gaze. “Come on, tell me.”

“I’m flying commercial, so I was thinking to change my ticket to fly out of D.C.”

“Won’t that be expensive, changing it so late?” You ask, not unkindly.

“Well-” Bradley hesitates, eyes roaming the room nervously. You are seriously wondering what has him out of sorts like this suddenly. “I was thinking you could drop me off at the airport Tuesday and take the Bronco. You can use it when I’m gone, it’s safer than your car anyway. It would make me feel better if you use my car.” He ends his sentence hurriedly: “And then you could come pick me up again whenigetback.”

Letting out a deep breath, Bradley continues, voice forced light. “But it’s stupid, you have work, and you’re right, it’s probably kind of late to change my ticket.”

“Hold on.” You cut in, gently placing your hand on his cheek and turning him to face you. “Babe. Do you want me to take you to the airport and pick you up when you get back?”

“Yes.” He replies earnestly. “But it’s such short notice, I don’t want you to get into trouble with work…”

“I’ll handle that, don’t worry.” You smile. “Of all places, the DoD will understand I have to say goodbye to my handsome naval aviator boyfriend because he’s leaving for a month.”

“I’d love to do that for you. I want to be there for you.” You tell him honestly. “And I’m not saying that just because you’re lending me your car for a whole month.” You add with a grin.

Bradley laughs loudly at that. His eyes crinkle, the apprehension suddenly leaving him. He presses a kiss against your lips. “I’ll be rebooking my ticket then.”

“You do that.” You smile—it means you will have him with you for two more days, instead of him leaving on Sunday already. Sometimes things just work out like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After Bradley leaves for Texas, you spent your evenings going through the pictures from the box. Gently cleaning them, tucking them in protective sleeves and ordering them chronologically in new boxes where they won’t be thrown around so much.

As you clear out the box Bradley left you, you find small trinkets that must have been thrown in at some point. A small plastic soldier, scraps of paper, lots of dust. You clean everything and save everything that might be of worth in an envelope. It’s not up to you to throw anything away.

Stuck in the corner of the box, you find a pair of dog tags that belonged to Bradley’s father. They are smudged and dirty—you have no idea if that’s from being in the dusty box (which was stored god knows where for how long) or this is the way they were returned to the family.

You want to ask Bradley, but elect to do so when he is back. He calls you almost every day, but you notice his unease when you ask about objects from the box. It’s still difficult for him. And he tries so hard.

So instead, you order a flat, rectangular box through work, once that is specifically used to store small items. You fill it with soft foam, cut to measure, and carefully pin the dog tags into place. Bradley can decide what he wants to do with this later.

It’s late at night, almost halfway through Bradley’s training mission, you find something unexpected.

It’s a crushed ring box.

The hinges are rusted and twisted, the top of the box sitting at an awkward ninety-degree angle. It’s empty, the once soft fabric on the outside torn and stained. The button to open the box is loose in the socket, jiggling sadly with every movement.

It mostly likely got torn apart between the heavy albums between different moves, just loosely thrown in, unsecured in any way.

It doesn’t look like it can be salvaged. Not only that, but it’s beyond your skill, that’s for sure. Still, you carefully place it in an envelope. Maybe you can ask someone at work if they know someone (a jeweler? A carpenter? Who actually repairs things like these?), although it looks like a commercially produced box. Getting it restored will probably cost a lot more than getting a new one. But this is not your decision to make.

More importantly: there is a ring box, but no ring?

You should go to bed. But you cannot resist a good mystery. A missing puzzle piece.

It’s late, so Bradley is probably already asleep. He mentioned he has an early start tomorrow and you don’t want to disturb him. But you also don’t want to wait almost two weeks before you can ask about the missing ring.

You take out the last items from the box—it’s as good as empty now.

You use the torch on your phone to get a better look, fingers running along the edges of the cardboard. There’s a dust bunny, a few scraps of paper and what looks like a lone Lego brick. No ring.

Carefully peeling back the flaps on the bottom, you lean closer for a better look. Still nothing. You wiggle your hand under the flap, fingers exploring every nook and cranny. Your hand is getting coated in dust and what feels like grains of sand.

Yuck.

Still no luck.

Maybe there is no ring, and it’s been long lost between Bradley’s moves.

But that’s kind of boring.

Putting your phone away, you sit back, rocking on your heels.

Fuck this.

You flip the box over, shaking it with some vigor. Sand, dust and Lego hit the floor with soft thuds. Suddenly, a soft-

Ting.

Metal hitting the wooden floor.

Ting.

It bounces.

Quickly, you push the box out of the way.

There, between the dust and the grime, landed a golden ring. The almond shaped topaz, set between two smaller diamonds, glitters like the sun, even under the artificial light of your living room light.

Carefully picking it up, you study it. Like everything in the box, it’s kind of dirty and scuffed. As you look at it—it is a beautiful ring—it dawns on you. It looks familiar.

But… from where?

Oh fuck.

Pulling out the wedding album, you flip the pages until you find the picture you are looking for. You’ve spent a better part of a week, every evening after work (sometimes while on the phone with Bradley), carefully peeling the pictures off the page and painstakingly reapplying them until your back hurt. You’ve gotten plenty familiar with every photo.

There it is.

Bradley’s parents, in close up, smiling at each other lovingly. But more importantly, her hand is resting on his shoulder, and there, clear as day, sits that exact ring.

It’s his mother’s engagement ring.

Suddenly, your heart is beating so loudly, you can barely hear yourself think. You know Bradley didn’t leave it in there for you to find. Hell, considering the state it’s in, he probably forgot it was in there in the first place.

But.

You cannot deny that you’ve not allowed yourself a little dream here and there. In the long term, you indulge in the fantasy of getting married to Bradley. Would Bradley marry you? You’ve never talked about marriage, or kids, together.

Finding this ring now sets your mind into overdrive. He would look so good in his formal uniform. He would kiss you so sweetly at the alt- oooh, this is bad.

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

Okay. Focus on the practicals.

The ring box is busted, so you need to find a place to store the ring. You could order a new ring box online, but you don’t want the ring to just lie around your desk in the meantime.

It feels a bit too forward to place it in your own jewelry box. It’s not yours, it shouldn’t be there. The only other place… the box with the dog tags.

Your breath sounds loud in the otherwise silent room—adrenaline is still coursing through your veins as you open the small box. With the thin blade you use to lift pictures off the page, you slice a small slit into the foam, next to the dog tags.

The ring slides in easily, glinting happily in the light, cozily tucked next to the dog tags.

It looks… right, you decide.

You close the little box lovingly.

It feels right, having them together like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today is the day. You are bouncing on your heels, trying to see over the crowd of people in the arrival hall.

You’ve checked signs at the exit at least a dozen times. It’s really this exit. Every 30 seconds, your eyes flicker over to the display—no, the arrival hall for Bradley’s flight hasn’t changed, yes, it’s still the same exit. The airport app only confirms it.

You fidget with the belt of your light trench coat.

Why are you so nervous?

It’s only been a month.

You’ve arrived too early—Bradley’s plane hasn’t even landed yet. But you’ve been having this dreadful, horror-filled premonition you’d be late—when he finally asked you to wait for him.

You can’t fuck this up.

But now you’re here, a good 20 minutes early, nervously shifting your weight from foot to foot, watching people around you mill about. Weary travelers rush past you to taxis, while people have small and big reunions, and designated airport pick-ups hold signs with bored expressions.

It’s torture.

You should have brought a book. Or at least your AirPods or something. Anything to distract you from looking at the clock every 5-odd seconds, getting distracted by every announcement made, and ultimately disappointed every time with how slowly time is going.

Trying to stop yourself from pacing like an absolute madwoman in front of the exit, you stroll around the shops in the arrival halls—always in the line of sight of one of the information displays. Not that anything changes.

Listlessly you page through cheap romance novels, read a couple of headlines on the magazine rack and inspect small trinkets. There is a particularly unfortunate-looking plastic model of the Washington monument, leaning precariously forward like it’s in a tower of Pisa contest (you almost buy it because you feel so bad for it).

Unfortunately, that’s only 5 minutes gone.

You recheck your pockets for what must be the 348th time today. Phone, house keys, car keys. Chapstick, chewing gum, wallet. Everything is still there.

You walk past the flower stand, where big bouquets and bunches of roses in vibrant colors contrast starkly against the gray marble airport tiling. Aluminum balloons swing softly as people rush home. The smell of overpriced cheesy pastries wafts through the air.

You quickly stop by the bathroom—brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The bruise on your face has long disappeared. You look fine.

It’s too cold for the summer dress Bradley seems to favor, so you’ve opted for a wrap dress with longer sleeves that is more appropriate for the weather. You like to think that cut flatters you. You look good.

Slipping your hand back into the pockets of your coat, you slowly head back to the exit. Still no change on the display.

You repeat two more slow rounds around the shops, trying not to look like a total weirdo, when the display finally shows Bradley’s plane has landed. Faster than necessary, you leg it back to the exit, as if he could come out any minute. Yes, you know he still needs to make it off the plane, wait for his luggage, and then walk all the way where you are waiting but Bradley is here.

You’re about to burst with anticipation, hands clasped around your phone that you hold up to your chest because you don’t think you can stop fidgeting otherwise, and because it feels like your heart might leap straight out.

“waiting for luggage x”

Bradley’s message is simple and to the point, but makes you feel like you might just float above the crowd in front of you and straight into his arms.

He is so close.

Every time the sliding doors open and people file out, you bounce onto your tiptoes to see that familiar head of caramel curls with that confidently easy-going gait and that cocky smile that makes you weak at the knees. Bradley knows exactly the effect he has on you, and you’ve decided to just own it.

Fuck it, you’re in love.

And you know it’s mutual.

It’s like you’ve developed a sixth sense for Bradley. The moment the sliding doors open again, you feel him before you see him. He’s here.

Bradley’s stance is confident in his crisp khaki uniform as he steps out, not faltering for a second —but his eyes are scanning the crowd nervously. You stand rooted to the ground for one second before your brain jolts you into action: he’s looking for you.

Bradley’s heart is beating anxiously—where are you? — when, your voice rings out over all the noise around, clear as a bell.

“Bradley!”

You are weaving through the crowd, about 90 feet away, trying to get past the horde of people waiting as quickly and somewhat as politely as possible. He can see your shining eyes even from the distance: they are his beacon home.

Unceremoniously, he drops his bag on the floor, not really caring it’s in the middle of the path. He only has eyes for you now.

Finally, you break free from the line, running forward with your arms outstretched. Before you can take two steps, Bradley is running up to you.

You crash into each other, Bradley lifting you off your feet in one fell swoop. You wrap your legs around him, not really caring how the skirt of your dress is bunching up around your thighs. Your hands got to cradle Bradley’s face, lips inching close like you’re sharing a secret just between the two before you kiss him.

“Welcome home, lieutenant.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[note] aaaaand that it's for the main story. Almost. There is still an epilogue in the works where I'll try to tie up some of the leftover threads. Plus there's one side story that I'm particularly excited to write. Soon I'll probably take some time to thoroughly edit the story. I know for a fact some story elements fell a little to the wayside, and not everything works quite like I wanted it to (let alone that some sentences read like I've had a stroke half-way through).

Thank you for reading. Thank you for all the comments and encouragement. Thank you for helping me re-discover that writing can still be fun and it's okay to self-indulge. Ultimately, I hope my story brought you some joy!

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw x reader

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 19 days

Text

He Will Not Forsake His Saints

of David.

1 Fret not yourself because of evildoers; be not envious of wrongdoers! 2 For they will soon fade like the grass and wither like the green herb.

3 Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness. 4 Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.

5 Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act. 6 He will bring forth your righteousness as the light, and your justice as the noonday.

7 Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him; fret not yourself over the one who prospers in his way, over the man who carries out evil devices!

8 Refrain from anger, and forsake wrath! Fret not yourself; it tends only to evil. 9 For the evildoers shall be cut off, but those who wait for the Lord shall inherit the land.

10 In just a little while, the wicked will be no more; though you look carefully at his place, he will not be there. 11 But the meek shall inherit the land and delight themselves in abundant peace.

12 The wicked plots against the righteous and gnashes his teeth at him, 13 but the Lord laughs at the wicked, for he sees that his day is coming.

14 The wicked draw the sword and bend their bows to bring down the poor and needy, to slay those whose way is upright; 15 their sword shall enter their own heart, and their bows shall be broken.

16 Better is the little that the righteous has than the abundance of many wicked. 17 For the arms of the wicked shall be broken, but the Lord upholds the righteous.

18 The Lord knows the days of the blameless, and their heritage will remain forever; 19 they are not put to shame in evil times; in the days of famine they have abundance.

20 But the wicked will perish; the enemies of the Lord are like the glory of the pastures; they vanish—like smoke they vanish away.

21 The wicked borrows but does not pay back, but the righteous is generous and gives; 22 for those blessed by the Lord shall inherit the land, but those cursed by him shall be cut off.

23 The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in his way; 24 though he fall, he shall not be cast headlong, for the Lord upholds his hand.

25 I have been young, and now am old, yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken or his children begging for bread. 26 He is ever lending generously, and his children become a blessing.

27 Turn away from evil and do good; so shall you dwell forever. 28 For the Lord loves justice; he will not forsake his saints. They are preserved forever, but the children of the wicked shall be cut off. 29 The righteous shall inherit the land and dwell upon it forever.

30 The mouth of the righteous utters wisdom, and his tongue speaks justice. 31 The law of his God is in his heart; his steps do not slip.

32 The wicked watches for the righteous and seeks to put him to death. 33 The Lord will not abandon him to his power or let him be condemned when he is brought to trial.

34 Wait for the Lord and keep his way, and he will exalt you to inherit the land; you will look on when the wicked are cut off.

35 I have seen a wicked, ruthless man, spreading himself like a green laurel tree. 36 But he passed away, and behold, he was no more; though I sought him, he could not be found.

37 Mark the blameless and behold the upright, for there is a future for the man of peace. 38 But transgressors shall be altogether destroyed; the future of the wicked shall be cut off.

39 The salvation of the righteous is from the Lord; he is their stronghold in the time of trouble. 40 The Lord helps them and delivers them; he delivers them from the wicked and saves them, because they take refuge in him. — Psalm 37 | English Standard Version (ESV) The Holy Bible, English Standard Version. ESV® Text Edition: 2016. Copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Cross References: Genesis 6:9; Genesis 37:18; Numbers 6:26; Deuteronomy 6:6; Deuteronomy 15:8; Deuteronomy 30:20; 1 Samuel 2:4; 1 Samuel 2:9; 1 Samuel 26:10; Job 5:3; Job 5:20; Job 7:10; Job 11:17; Job 38:5; Psalm 1:4; Psalm 1:6; Psalm 18:21; Psalm 18:37; Psalm 26:10; Psalm 33:5; Psalm 35:10; Psalm 73:3; Psalm 112:5; Psalm 112:10; Proverbs 10:13; Proverbs 10:30-31; Proverbs 15:16; Isaiah 31:5; Jeremiah 12:2; Ezekiel 27:36; Matthew 5:5; Matthew 7:7-8; Matthew 8:12; 2 Corinthians 4:9; Ephesians 4:31; 1 Timothy 4:8; Hebrews 13:5; James 1:11; 1 Peter 5:7; 2 Peter 2:9; 3 John 1:11

#Lord #envy #transgressors #evil men #destroyed #patience #Psalm 37 #Book of Psalms #Old Testament #ESV #English Standard Version Bible #Crossway Bibles #Good News Publishers

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quietbluejay · 21 hours

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The Last Church

Bluejay once again sallies forth to deal with her nemesis! (McNeill) He somehow managed to replicate the feeling of wanting to get into an argument with people Being Wrong On The Internet

nah he's not my writer nemesis that's probably Roche or Roberts. Love to post my transformers salt one of these days...

This is far from the worst prose I've seen from McNeill. It actually feels strangely bereft of purple.

so Uriah in his misspent youth stole a clock that's apparently counting down to doomsday seems kind of not appropriate to stick something you stole in your church after you found religion, but what do i know and at two minutes to midnight, a visitor arrives

girl help they are not sending their best there's a lot to complain about here but i don't even know if i should bother

I'm getting a headache

He really is a reddit atheist

liar GIRL HELP THEY ARE NOT SENDING THEIR BEST okay you know that feeling when you really want to get into an argument with someone online but you have to be so brave about it and walk away from the computer that's how i'm feeling rn tldr priest tells the story of the miracle of the lightning stone, emperor goes "it was probably paradoleia (sp?) and also sometimes lightning can cure people of blindness" emp continues mocking him the people who described it as "the emperor bullies an old man and then burns down his church" are 100% correct

[press x to doubt]

only religious people emperor ever talked to are protestants, got it

im wheezing here lmaoooo this is your example

IM CACKLING i think the emperor is. very stupid. hey neoth hey answer me what did you call your initiative to conquer the galaxy to unite all of humanity again? and how did you operate it? and with the goal of purging it of…what, again? like even ignoring historical inaccuracies as much as it pains my soul to let these things pass by EVEN IGNORING THAT those shamans were dead dog drunk when they made the emperor

this is a comedy

but also it's very annoying that the priest is not able to refute him on basic stuff and also. it makes the emperor look. very stupid. either that or you assume the emperor is just making stuff up to bully an 80 year old man

I WANT TO THROW HANDS AND IM BEING SO BRAVE ABOUT IT

hey so like what are you about to do to someone who disagrees with your view on cosmology?

is it crack? is it crack that you smoke?

but yeah this is so frustrating i am begging you give the poor priest ONE GOOD REFUTATIONNNNNN i don't care if the emperor brushes it aside that's not the point here anyways Uriah finally is Done and begins the Mass only to get interrupted by the Emperor going "there's no one here" bluh

I'm laughing so hard here I needed that ahhahahahahahahaha i feel like i should pull up the excerpt of the iterators from Horus Rising oh yeah so the Emperor reveals that "you thought it was God who saved you, but it was I, DIO!" uriah goes noooo ok fine u win my life is a lie but then

then the emperor destroys the church and talks about his grand ambitions to conquer the galaxy

as opposed to everyone else, who thought they were wrong im sorry i was weak i gave in to the bait

so, that was The Last Church i needed that laugh

In summary: -anti-religion that's basically just Anti-Catholicism as seen by someone whose only exposure to religion was American Protestantism which is pretty much most reddit atheists so a point to McNeill for accuracy there

HE DIDN'T EVEN TOUCH ON THE PROBLEM OF EVIL, SOMETHING EXTREMELY RELEVANT IN 40K!

like okay. I Will Be Fair this guy (the priest) got very little theological education and who knows how much actual history given the length of time BUT ALSO AS A HUMAN I JUST REALLY WANT SOMEONE TO TELL THE EMPEROR OFF

what if i i write my own version….but no, i shouldn't…haha…but…what if…. Emperor has the arguments of a 19 year old redditor and the debate skills of one too If you are a 19 year old redditor reading this post, this doesn't apply to you unless you are specifically the kind of atheist redditor who goes to religion subs and picks fights.

#warhammer 40k #bluejay reads warhammer

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boopshoops · 3 months

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Ya know what SIKE i'm just gonna answer all of these bc I wanna write smth

Yuu Shi

1. I- I have so many. There is a whole playlist dedicated to her, but if I had to pick ONE in specific, it'd be Thank God I'm Not You.... and Aishite Aishite Aishite as a close second with the bonus that her voice claim sang a cover of it- and Siren as a third. Im indecisive.

2. Cater Diamond! They share a similar sense of humor, and they go back and forth pretty easily, somewhat similar to her and Ace. However, Yuu Shi actually enjoys interacting on social media, texting, and spamming with horrid jokes or memes. They share similar family issues as well.

3. Vil Schoenheit. She disagrees with him regarding a large majority of his principles he stands so firmly by, but she also relates to him greatly. She looks up to him and wants to rival him simultaneously. Whether she is successful in that regard enters spoiler territory.

4. Bugs, spiders, and snakes. Shit gets wild with Jamil.

5. Music is her best class :D She used to attend a performing art school, so she is very familiar with all the assignments and is usually called on as an example.

6. Art. She can't draw for shit. The long process of improving at it also makes her want to crawl into a hole. Not good at something immediately? Abandon it! Thats her unhealthy motto.

7. Pop Music Club. I feel this is rather self explanatory(#5). Plus she really needed an electric guitar to borrow since she lost her own. Music in general helps keep her sane at NRC.

8. Leona Kingscholar. She wants to kick his ass so bad. She DESPISES him. Mostly out of fear, but she would never admit it. The first interaction with him in the botanical gardens really scares her.

9. Of the canon staff members it would be Mozus Trein actually. She finds history to be a rather easy subject, and she really likes his cat. There's really not any other reasons. She isn't a big fan of authority figures (if she isn't one of them).

10. Octavinelle! Pomefiore is a close second, with beauty being of high importance to her, but she doesn't go to the same lengths to maintain it.

11. Hooo she would never admit it, but most likely Riddle. She just wants him to break out of whatever chains his mother shackled him in. Maybe it is because she is projecting, or maybe it is because she actually has a soft spot. Maybe both.

12. Bean day >:) No magic? Sign her the fuck up. Any more details and I'd go into spoiler territory.

13. Again, Leona Kingscholar. She would get her shit wrecked in a fair fight.

14. She places pretty high in her class once she gets the hang of how the world functions. She has similar grades to Azul or Jade.

15. She holds a lot of secrets away from the other characters. The most obvious one is her real name.

16. Shameless TCOAV chapter one plug LMAO

17. She finds them bothersome. She dislikes how jumpy they make her feel, and even when they are kind she is apprehensive around them. Yuu prefers to avoid them.

18. The magic, for sure. Not only just the magic itself, but how it affects the environment around her. It was a serious culture shock at first.

19. No.

20. Hm. :)c a tie between book two and three. Wink wonk.

#boopshoopsramblings #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #oc #twst oc #original character #boopshoopsoc #yuu shi #SoundCloud #Spotify

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fatherenoch · 1 year

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April 19, 1681 / Diary of Ambrose Chamberlain (placed in the journal of Father Enoch)

Father Enoch has assigned me penance for what I did after seeing him perform his marital duties for God. I must write a detailed description, but I feel so ashamed. That is the point of the penance…my face burns even as I write.

I was such a sinful boy that night…after I saw them, my…Father told me I have to use this word…cock almost hurt with how worked up I was. It was twitching and throbbing through my breeches, and when I came back to my room, the front of them were a little wet. I was scared at first that I had, well, wet myself in fear, but it was just my cock (I hate writing this word!) leaking from how badly I wanted to touch myself. It was like my body was crying for me to touch. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned against the door, and I needed it so bad, I didn’t even bother to unlace my breeches. My cock was big and pressing against my clothes, so I started rubbing it through the fabric.

I had to bite my lip to keep from making noises, since I didn’t want Father to hear me sinning. My palm pushed back and forth and my fingers pressed against the tip…they got a little wet from where I had been leaking. It was so embarrassing to see my body give in to temptation, but somehow, that thought only made me want it more. Like I wanted to be embarrassed.

That touching wasn’t enough, I needed more…so I pressed my hand between my thighs and wiggled my hips to rub against it. I only had to do it for a minute before I released. My knees started to shake and I almost fell to the floor with how good it felt. I had never had a release like that before, even when Mariana. It was so intense I almost felt sick, but a good sort of sick…I know I stopped biting my lip and I started to whine like an injured puppy. So embarrassing…I started to cry.

Somehow, I was aching still. That had never happened to me. I felt so sensitive and like I had to get my breeches off immediately, so I unlaced them with my dirty, trembling fingers. All over my clothes and base of my stomach was my release, and oh God…

I took some of it on my hand and licked it, and it…I liked how it tasted. It made me twitch again to do it. It was like the devil himself told me to do swipe my tongue over my fingers and taste myself. I had to touch myself again. My legs were shaking so bad that I laid down on my bed. I took my cock in my hand and moved it as fast as I could. I was still crying when I felt myself releasing again. It was like when I was a boy and my father would be cross with me, and I would cry because I felt so guilty. Not because what I did was bad, but because he made me feel like such a naughty boy.

I felt like such a naughty boy again that night. I wanted to be punished like my father would punish me then, take the rod to me.

I hope my penance will lend my soul to be absolved. I feel so guilty for my sin…

#journal #diary

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christiansorrell · 6 months

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Play-By-Blog #6: The Isle by Luke Gearing

Welcome to my ongoing play-by-blog of The Isle by Luke Gearing! We are playing this adventure with its original system, The Vanilla Game (adjusted somewhat to fit the format). You can check out the Play-By-Blog Repository to get all caught up if you wish.

How Play-By-Blog works:

I write up the situation, NPCs, and more, just like a DM.

You vote in the poll to help decide the character's course of action.

I roll the dice, resolve actions, and write them up next week.

So on and so forth for the rest of the adventure!

Notation:

[Text in brackets is out-of-character/GM text!] "Non-italicized quotes denote text from the original adventure!" "Italicized quotations denotes NPC dialogue."

Our character: Medon Girou - Magic Cutpurse

Our map: The Isle

[You can use the link's above to find Medon's Character Sheet and map of the Isle. On the map, you are currently at B.]

Now, back to the adventure!

[Our first tie vote! To adjudicate this, I went through and found that the majority of folks wanted to take a violent approach focused on attacking the monk (there will be options to not necessarily kill him, if the fight goes that well) so we'll be going with Option #3: Strike Now with your Katana, cast Sticks to Snakes when you are able]

This was not the reaction you were expecting, not from a supposed man of god anyway. You look down at the slash the monk drew across your side. Its not a flesh wound... yet. For a split second, your mind is torn between two courses of action, fleeing or fighting. No, you need to fight. There's no future where fleeing gets you inside that monastery.

You draw your katana and strike out at the monk, now at the top of the stairs between you and gently rolling waves of the cove below. You slash out, slicing easily through is robes, revealing an aging set of heavy sailor clothing beneath. He barely avoids a wound, but he's on the back foot now. Even just one well-placed slash could take him down [Attack Roll: 6 - Success, below AV of 11 and above enemy AC of 2] [Damage Roll: 5 - Monk has 5 Flesh, 0 Grit remaining].

You turn and run further up the raising path leading back up towards the isle proper and the monastery beyond, hoping to position yourself for casting Sticks to Snakes, if you are able. He may not allow you that luxury. He slashes at you as you go, but misses [Free Attack Roll: 19, Failure - over AV of 10].

[Next round begins! Initiative: 2 - Even, player goes first!]

Now's your chance. You look down at the monk, still standing near the top of the stairs overlooking the cove. Small shrubs, grown in the rough patches of dirt between the rocky outcroppings, have been torn away with the recent transport of cargo. Branches and small sticks litter the path.

With your offhand, you cast Sticks to Snakes, muttering a hurried incantation and gesturing with crooked fingers at the ground below the monk. You feel the arcane power welling up inside you and traveling down your arm and off towards the monk, but something's wrong. It's too much and it's not right, not focused in the form you needed. There's just too much [Spell Roll: 10 - Failure, over ST of 8. The spell is now Corrupted.] [Miscast Roll: 3 - "You cast a random spell on your original target, in addition to your original spell."] [Random Spell: Wizard Eye].

The energy leaves you. An ethereal floating eye, visible only to you, appears immediately to the side of the man's head [Wizard Eye miscast]. In the same moment at the monk's feet, five sticks [2d6 roll of 5, 2 of which are venomous] wriggle to life, turning into living snakes. They surround the monk, following your command - to attack! Four of the snakes strike out and land their bites along his calves and ankles [Attack Rolls: 6, 2, 3, 6, 6 - 4 successes (including 2 venomous)] [Damage: 1 each for 4 total] [Saving throw versus Death (due to venom): 4 - Success, 13 - Failure]

The monk cries out in pain, beginning to kick down at the snakes before his body quickly weakens and a bloody foam forms at the side of his lips as he coughs. He yells out once more towards the monastery, weaker than before. The knife falls from his hands and he looks to flee, his dying mind panicking, but loses his strength as he goes, falling down the stairs and lying still in a dead still heap at the bottom [XP Granted: 50].

There is just the sound of the waves against the rocks and the soft slithering of snakes at your feet.

After a moment, the snakes revert back to sticks and the Wizard Eye fizzles. You head down the stairs to check the body. Other than the fishing pole, sack of worms, and fish in the bucket, the monk has little of value on him. Around his neck is a piece of twine holding an unusual iron seal, you take it. It doesn't look valuable but it looks esoteric, specific - the kind of thing the right person may want very badly or that could get you into places you would normally be barred from. Lots of stories you could cook up around why you have this seal, why you should be let into the monastery.

Beneath his robes, you find his arms and chest to be covered in tattoos, the kind commonly seen on lifelong sailors. What brought this man to this monastery and to this god? Well, perhaps he's in his heaven now, after attempting to defend this holy place.

You find some old rope along the jetty and roll down a large stone from above the cove. You tie the rock to the monk's torso, after carrying both to the furthest end of the jetty, and push the rock over the edge. With a deep crack, the monk's body whips off of the wooden slats at your feet and out and down into the sea.

You rest for some time [Grit healed: 1d6 roll of 5 - fully healed] before venturing forth. The midday sun hangs high overhead.

[This was a fun one! I lot of interesting roll results leading to some unexpected outcomes, for sure. I was going to have options to keep the monk alive and question him which would have worked when he had 1 Flesh remaining but those venomous snakes back a big, deadly bite! See y'all next week! - Christian]

[PBB #7 is up now!]

#meatcastle pbb #ttrpg #indie ttrpg #ttrpgs #fantasy #rpg #luke gearing #osr #play by post #play by blog #the isle

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prnanxiety · 2 months

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3/8/24

There is this thing so many young guys do. I say this as someone who was once a young guy (and still is god dammit!), who sees it pretty regularly now. Young guys are so convinced that if they show pain, fear, misery, et cetera, that it's the most shameful thing they can do. It's the same as being weak, and if you're that way it means you're pathetic. So these guys are raised all their lives being told "don't cry, don't be scared," etc. Their only safe outlet for any strong emotion is anger.

It gets to a point where you can ask them, at least, outside the hospital, "how are you?" and they'll say "I'm fine," with a perfectly rehearsed straight face, that is really just this bandaid for all this suffering they can't share.

But that's not really all of it. Not when they're here, actually. We also get patients here for, you know, out of control emotional problems. That is, something horrible happens outside the hospital, and they want to kill themselves, or someone else, or both. We bring them here, involuntarily, and they want to leave. They ask about discharge, we give the same general answer, "it's based on prognosis, we want to know you're doing fine and you're going to be safe when you leave." Some patients will just immediately start reverting to that "I have to bottle it all in" behavior they've learned.

Guy on my unit today. 19 y/o on my unit, young guy. Thick bulgarian accent, barely speaks english. He's in here for homicidal/suicidal ideation. Story goes he went home and found his best friend in bed with his girlfriend.

While he was in the ED he had some violent behaviors, which necessitated the security team intervening. He also had a fork he took from a tray, which he broke in half? God, I hope it was plastic and not metal. This 19 year old was just fuckin jacked. Absolutely looked like he could take on any of the guards if he wanted to. Anytime we have someone stealing silverware like that, we treat it like the intent is to make a weapon out of it. So he's on a 1:1 sitter observation with me.

I ended up spending a lot of time with him today. We had to communicate with a digital translator, thank god hospitals provide us with those little pads on wheels for easy translator access. He told me this morning he's still got that HI. When I asked about SI, he said "I feel like shit," refused to elaborate any further. We talked for a while about medication and anxiety management, in the effort to get him to open up to me about what he's going through. But that's so hard to do when you've got the language barrier. It really forces you to boil down everything you say or do into a kind of thesis statement, that you ask someone to translate. All the ways in which a nurse learns to casually show, as well as tell, "I am here to help you," you end up bluntly saying face to face while you wait for the translator to translate.

After lunch came, he stole a fork off the food cart; our sitter caught him immediately and alerted us to it right away. The security guard and I had to go ask him to give it back. He tried in english to say a few times "don't worry about it," but gave up after we didn't leave him alone for a minute.

Half an hour later he punched the nurse's station window, which of course got all our attention. Most patients that would be an automatic sedative injection for the escalating behavior, but I grabbed the translator first.

See, this guy was increasingly anxious and agitated, but he wasn't actually directing any of this at staff. I hadn't noticed one single time of him staring, or posturing, or raising his voice. He punched the window, but he wasn't even looking at anyone when he did it. And when I asked him "will you please come back to your room with me so we can talk," he did so peacefully.

Just told me via the translator, "being in the hospital is bad for me, I want to leave." He was rocking back and forth now, sitting on the edge of his bed. And his face was doing that thing young guys' faces do when they're in this situation. Alternating between deadpan straight face "I'm fine" and that miserable, distressed, "No I'm absolutely not fine holy fuck I'm not gonna make it" face. And I had to give that awkward translation to tell him "I don't want you to go anywhere or make any decisions right now, with what's going on with you. You need to be here right now." Messages delivered via translator like that forcibly remove all nuance and disturb any ability to elaborate. Poor guy just kept asking to leave.

I came back and gave him a haldol injection in his shoulder. He actually gave a near perfect english "Damn, Bro!" When the needle went in his shoulder, and I couldn't help but chuckle a bit. He totally does speak a little english, it's just simple stuff like asking for orange juice.

He took a haldol nap. Two hours later he was pacing in the halls again, just increasingly agitated and anxious. Which sucked, I was really hoping the haldol would do it. It was pretty soon to do anything strong again after all, so I came back with some simple atarax. And I found him pacing in the hall.

And now his face is worse. It's more like he's just in that stressful trying and failing not to cry but still crying, face. You know what I did? I just offered him a hug.

And he went for it. We hugged for about sixty seconds. He was maybe four inches taller than me even with my running shoes on, and I still felt him holding onto me gently, crying into my shoulder. I tried my best to say Soojoovayum (google says the word is sazhalyavam, please forgive me I only picked it up on the fly) once or twice.

Because damn! The guy was living his life out there somewhere and he came home and his best friend and his girlfriend were in bed together! By this point I'd checked his chart history, and there's no recorded prior hospital stays! This guy looked too healthy and put together to be someone chronically malnourished, someone beat the hell up by life and treated like trash and having been to a psych unit before. I'd like to see more records, but honestly? This was probably a legit story! And the guy wasn't taking it out on staff! He didn't want to hurt any of us, he just wanted to kill his ex best friend and them himself. And we were here to stop him. It's not worth it.

The thing is, the hug and the atarax didn't work like I hoped it would. He was still clearly approaching panic. So I got the doctor's permission for an IM ativan, and it was granted over the phone.

In any case, I came back to the patient with the translator, my computer and the syringe. Patient was visibly at high level anxiety and desperately needed our intervention. I was getting my gloves on and having the translator explain the injection to the patient. That was when the patient snatched my syringe.

I am so, so thankful security recognized the concerning behavior and was already present before this happened. The guy had the needle off and was holding it at his own neck when me and the officer had to grab his arms on either side, CPI hold. Me and the officer together were holding this guy's arm when the officer managed to convince him to relinquish the needle. I only remember telling the officer "it's still sharp! activate the device! activate it! its still sharp!" Before another nurse thankfully just came by and took the syringe from him safely.

By this point a code was called. From here, the translator was helpful in... Actually, I wonder what the translator was thinking while we were shouting and grabbing the patient? I told him up front "hey sir this patient is starting to panic, it might get antsy in here" or something. But once the code was called, the doctors were on their way and the other nurses were getting the syringe for me, so all I had to do was sit with the patient and talk with him and security.

I thanked him for cooperating. At least, I think I did. I remember in the moment just seeing him finally fucking miserable. All over his face. Not ugly sobbing, but not hiding it anymore. He said in english to me, "I love you, bro." Oh, this poor guy. This is the kind of pain someone remembers for life. I just remember trying to reassure him. Someone else would have to tell me what I said, or show me the transcript from the translator, if they keep one.

Once the syringe was available, this time with orders direct from the doctors who were now on the scene; a full 5/2 injection. He was completely calm, he was reserved, he pulled up his sleeve and sat peacefully and let me do what I was going to do.

We talked a little bit more, he went back to his room, and the haldol/ativan knocked him out cold. He was down for 3 hours. Woke up, ate a late dinner, peed, went straight back to sleep. That was how my shift ended with him.

That guy absolutely had multiple attempts to hurt me. He could have taken a lot of guys I work with in a fight, and he could have ended my career early. Just having that ativan syringe could have put me in the ED, if only for monitoring. He never did it. He only wanted to do something about all his turmoil. Ugh. So many guys in my patient population just need a fucking hug.

Oh, also. Akira Toriyama fucking died! One the other patients on my unit was a DBZ fan! I had to break the news to him this morning! Damn!

#dear diary #diary entry #nursing #psych #psychiatry #psychosis #nurse #schizophrenia #cw: drugs #cw: addiction #akira toriyama

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yhwhrulz · 3 months

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Worthy Devotional 19th February

The harvest is being prepared! February 19, 2024

Acts 17:22-23 Then Paul stood in the midst of Mars’ hill, and said, “Men of Athens, I perceive that in all things you are very religious; for as I was passing through and considering the objects of your worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: TO THE UNKNOWN GOD. Therefore, the One whom you worship without knowing, Him I proclaim to you:

Several hundred years before Jesus was born, a plague broke out in Athens, Greece. In an effort to stop the plague and appease the ‘gods’, the Athenians sought counsel from a wise man named Epimenides from the island of Crete.

When Epimenides arrived in Athens, he was amazed at the number of statues of gods the Athenians had erected, to which he stated, “Gods must be easier to find here than men!”

The elders of Athens eagerly gathered on Mars Hill the following day to hear the wisdom of Epimenides and his recommendation for dealing with the plague. So the wise man instructed the Athenians to gather at Mars Hill, bringing with them a flock of sheep, a band of stonemasons and a large supply of stones and mortar. He also commanded that the sheep be prevented from grazing the entire night so that when they arrived the following morning they would be hungry.

The following morning, Epimenides stated, “Learned elders, you have already expended great effort in offering sacrifice to numerous gods, yet all have proved futile. I am now about to sacrifice based upon three assumptions rather different than yours.”

“The first assumption is that there is still another god concerned in this matter of the plague—a god whose name is unknown to us, and who is therefore not represented by any idol in your country. Secondly, I am going to assume also that this god is great enough—and good enough—to do something about the plague, if only we invoke his help. Thirdly, that any god great enough and good enough to do something about this plague is probably also great and good enough to smile upon us in our ignorance—if we acknowledge our ignorance and call upon him!”

Next, Epimenides ordered the sheep to be released, and he prayed, “O thou unknown god! Behold the plague afflicting this city! And if indeed you feel compassion to forgive and help us, behold this flock of sheep! Reveal your willingness to respond, I plead, by causing any sheep that pleases you to lie down upon the grass instead of grazing. Choose white if white pleases, black if black delights. And those you choose we sacrifice to you—acknowledging our pitiful ignorance of your name!”

As the sheep were released, the people were shocked when the sheep started lying down instead of grazing! Wherever they lay, an altar was erected and a sacrifice was made to the “unknown god!” The Athenians were freed from their plague, and the legend of their deliverance at the hands of the “unknown god” continued unto the time of Paul when he entered into Athens.

This amazing event became Paul’s point of departure for reaching the Athenians with the gospel of Jesus. God had laid a historical foundation to prepare their hearts for seeking and believing in a legendary “unknown god”; a god who had already demonstrated his saving power among them, but one whom the apostle had now come to identify…. and fully reveal to them!

God continues even now, preparing souls in mysterious ways, throughout the world! He is looking for laborers to go into the harvest fields! And no matter where you are, there’s a harvest field right outside your door…so go forth!

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albertfinch · 1 year

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BIRTHING AND MAINTAINING EXPECTATION

"Therefore I say to you, all things for which you pray and ask, believe that you have received them, and they will be granted you." - Mark 11;24

We must continue to maintain the environment of expectation. Think of the environment of expectation as a garden. To reap a good harvest from a garden, the garden must be maintained. Gardens must be weeded, watered and cared for on a consistent basis.

It is the same with the soil of our hearts. When we plant the seed of the word in our hearts, we must be sure that the lies of the enemy (weeds) don't choke out the nourishment needed for the seed to grow. This is why we must spend quality time with the Lord and ask Him to open the eyes of our hearts. He is faithful to speak and show us areas of our hearts and mind that need attention.

A BIRTHING SEASON

The key is to keep maintaining an atmosphere where expectations can continue to arise until the vision is finally fulfilled. We must also be careful to not compare ourselves with others and their progress as this will only fuel more disappointment and frustration. Each of us has our own unique purpose for our life from the Lord and He will bring breakthroughs forth in His divine timing.

God is giving us strategies when it appears that nothing is happening. Spiritually speaking, we must believe that we have the promise, the favor of God, and the breakthrough BEFORE it manifests.

DIGGING DITCHES

2 Kings 3 begins with Joram, the King of Israel, setting out with Jehoshaphat, the King of Judah and the King of Edom into battle against Moab. After a seven-day march, they were OUT OF WATER for themselves and their livestock.

Vs 10) "What!" exclaimed the king of Israel. "Has the Lord called us three kings together only to hand us over to Moab?"

Vs 11) But Jehoshaphat asked, "Is there no prophet of the Lord here, that we may inquire of the Lord through him?"

An officer of the king of Israel answered, "Elisha son of Shaphat is here. He used to pour water on the hands of Elijah."

Vs 12) Jehoshaphat said, "The word of the Lord is with him." So the king of Israel and Jehoshaphat and the king of Edom went down to him.

Jehoshaphat suggests to the others that they inquire of the Lord through Elisha, the prophet. Elisha responded when the three kings asked for his help. He asked for a minstrel! He had a harpist begin to CREATE AN ENVIRONMENT FOR WORSHIP! And during worship, the hand of the Lord came upon Elisha and he said:

"This is what the Lord says: Make this valley full of ditches. For this is what the Lord says: You will see neither wind nor rain, yet this valley will be filled with water, and you, your cattle and your other animals will drink. This is an easy thing in the eyes of the Lord; He will also hand Moab over to you. You will overthrow every fortified city and every major town. You will cut down every good tree, stop up all the springs, and ruin every good field with stones." 2 Kings 3:15-19

This passage speaks to us today concerning the power of worship! When we are dry – worship! When everything seems hopeless – worship! When we need a miracle – worship! When we worship, the hand of the Lord comes upon us and we receive what we need!

The Lord said to begin digging ditches, even though they would see no wind and no rain at all, yet the valley would be filled with enough water for them and their livestock. Even when we can't see the promises being fulfilled, God is fulfilling them! Yes, begin digging your ditches. Even if you don't see anything occurring in the natural, God is faithful to fulfill His Word!

God told them: "This is an easy thing for the Lord!" Yes, it's easy for God to move your mountain. It's easy for Him to fulfill His promise. All we have to do is our part – begin digging! Act upon His Word; believe what He says and He will do His part.

When you worship, you are digging ditches.

Whenever you pray with expectation and/or intercede, you are digging ditches!

Renewing your mind to the truths of God's Word is digging ditches.

Believing His Word and applying faith to promises is another example of digging ditches!

He is promising you today, just as He did to the three kings, that He will empower you to defeat your enemies.

THE LAND FLOWED WITH WATER

Scripture states that the next morning (after they dug those ditches!) the land was flowing with water from Edom. What would have happened if they hadn't dug those ditches?

Most likely, there would be no water; why take a chance to not dig? Why don't we believe God when He gives us a promise, even though the odds are stacked up against anything miraculous?

DIG THOSE DITCHES

It is time to believe the Word of the Lord and begin digging those ditches. But also we should remember that standing on the promises of God involves a level of spiritual warfare. Paul encouraged his spiritual son, Timothy, with this important key "...according to the prophecies which led the way to you, that by them you may wage the good warfare" (1 Timothy 1:18).

In other words, for each of us today, we need to take our promises and prophetic words that speak concerning the certainty of our future and wage warfare over them. Israel was told by God that their inheritance was the Promised Land, however, Israel had to drive out the enemies from their land of promise!

The Lord is encouraging you to take a firm stand, hold onto our promises, and maintain an atmosphere of faith and expectancy. Pull out every lie and every weed in your garden of faith and believe... believe... believe! There is NOTHING too difficult for God!

ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY

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