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denpa-dere · 6 months

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house arrest 3

afab!mc x beelzebub

description: NSFW, you are confined to your room for your own protection. But how long will that last when the only thing standing between you and your housemates is a door and some willpower? Would Beel pass the marshmallow test?

warnings: Capital B breeding kink with talks of impregnation, babies, afab reader with she/her pronouns. Talk of emotional eating. Dubcon warning!!! This one turned out sounding kind of sketch in places, but actions depicted are intended to be consensual. Size kink.

Note: reader is described as being shorter and smaller than Beel, but I tried not to go into specifics. so just scale Beel in your mind to however big he'd have to be to be significantly larger than you.

|| Intro || Mammon || Asmo (mini) || Levi || Satan (mini) || Beel || Lucifer (mini) || Asmo || Belphie (mini) || Belphie || Barbatos (mini) ||

For the past few days, Beezlebub had been eating his feelings.

He was a menace in the kitchen, he could admit it. Since breakfast three days ago, no meals were able to be prepared to completion without interference from the sixth-born. Occasionally, one of his brothers would try to separate him from the fridge where he had set up camp, but each attempt only served to make him more irritable and territorial, less like himself. It soon became clear that their efforts were not worth the struggle and creative measures were implemented to allow for some form of cookery.

Belphagor hovered as much as his fatigue would permit, worried for his twin. Left unspoken for the sake of Beel's dignity, Belphie understood intrinsically the depth of the hunger you had unlocked in his brother. It was a terrifying force to be reckoned with, one that could very easily boil over into something disastrous.

At this late hour, Beel was alone, Belphie having retreated to the attic for yet another nap. Four puddings pushed down the memory of your scent for the nth time. Twelve poisoned apples for how his hands dwarfed your tiny shoulders. A couple boxes of leftover takeout to smother your big doe eyes looking up at him before the first shove kicked off a regretful fight between his brothers.

Guilt weighed like an albatross around Beel's neck. He loved his family- you were included in that. You rounded out their group in a way that felt complete. Beel wasn't always the most articulate demon, but his feelings were genuine and acute; sometimes overwhelmingly so.

"Oh, hey."

He felt sick.

Beel twisted to see you over his shoulder, refrigerator door still halfway open. You were standing in the kitchen doorway, looking unsure, picking your fingernails. You looked so small.

"I was going to get something to drink," You said, as if you needed an excuse to be there.

He smiled at you and hoped it was reassuring, "I think there's some juice left."

"Thanks, that'll work," You returned the grin, relieved he broke the tension first. He sat the carton on the counter and stepped aside.

See? You could both be normal about this.

“I feel like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you,” You mused, getting yourself a glass from the cupboard, “I’m going stir-crazy in there.”

Beel leaned against an opposite counter, “How much longer are you locked down for?”

“Ugh, I don’t know, two or three more days, maybe?” You mirrored him from across the room, “I hope Lucifer doesn’t think I’m doing this every month. Absolutely not.”

Every month.

This was going to happen every month? Indefinitely? He felt light-headed. How was he supposed to contend with this on a regular basis? A month was nothing.

“You okay?” You asked, shaking Beel from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” He replied, “Are you at least eating enough?”

“No complaints there,” You shrugged, sipping your drink, “Anyway, I should head back.”

The words came out reflexively the moment your back was turned: “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” You beamed back at him, stopping in your tracks. You were so pretty when you smiled. He felt his heart speed up.

“Can I walk you back?” He asked, knowing very well he shouldn't, but not ready to say goodbye just yet.

You hesitated for only a moment, "Yeah, I'd like that."

___

Trying to keep pace with you was always a little awkward, given your much shorter stride. Beel was used to waiting up for others after a few millennia of adapting to Belphie's slothful movements. Still, the urge to scoop you up and carry you with him tugged at his fraying nerves. Would you mind? You'd let him do it before…

Even if you did mind, it'd be easy, he thought, to simply hook an arm around your waist and lift you like a fangol ball. You could wiggle and fight as much as you wanted, but realistically, you were physically no match for the most average of demons, let alone one such as himself. Especially if caught by surprise, with no time for magic (or pact orders) to level the playing field. Despite all of your time spent in the Devildom, your trusting nature left you wide open to any number of those with ill intent. It was like you refused to understand that humans were prey.

Which is why you needed to be here, with him them, Beel reminded himself. To keep you safe. Because, right now, you were all but screaming to be devoured.

Sweat dotted his brow. Maybe going with you was a mistake. Without a constant stream of food to distract himself, his thoughts were drifting to dark and unfamiliar territory. Even tucked under his arm, were you really safe? He swallowed the rapidly pooling spit in his mouth, chewing on the discomforting idea.

"Well, this is my stop," You said, breaking the uneasy silence that had formed between you. Your hand hovered on the doorknob, but neither of you moved. He was certain you could read the distress all over his face. You were good at that sort of thing.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked gently, twisting the handle.

"I don't know," He replied, honest as ever, "I want to spend more time with you, but I'm worried."

"That you'll hurt me?"

He nodded, "Or worse."

You seemed to consider his words carefully. You studied his expression, though what you were searching for was unclear. Finally, you shrugged as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

"I'm not worried," You said, pushing open your bedroom door, "I trust you."

___

Beel loved his family. He loved you.

But he could stand for there to be more of you.

It was his single-minded focus, and had been since… since however long it had been that you'd allowed him into your room, he supposed.

You entered first. You showed your back to him and he went after you, blinded by instinct. Time was fuzzy after that. Later, Beel would go through and make sense of things. Right now, with your cunt squeezing him so deliciously, the only semi-coherent thought in his head was breeding you over and over and over again.

"More, one more," He slurred almost apologetically. If he could feel the satisfaction of cumming deep inside your tight little body just one more time, then he would be sated. Maybe. Probably.

You were like jelly, eyes rolled back, reduced to wordless noises while he bounced you on his cock. Your arms hung loose around his neck, legs locked around his waist. Dark marks bloomed across your skin, purple bruises in the shape of hands and teeth despite his best efforts to keep your trust. It took everything he had not to break your soft, salty skin when he tasted you. He mouthed at whatever exposed flesh he could reach, desires and intentions blurring hopelessly together into a confusing mess.

You fell against him with a pathetic cry as another orgasm was pulled from your poor, overstimulated body. You were trembling uncontrollably. He curled protectively around you, kissing your sweat-slicked temple and murmuring sweet praise that bubbled up through his mental haze. You were taking him so well, please, just one more for him, please, one more so he could make absolutely sure you wound up carrying his babies- and why stop at one? You were going to be gorgeous pregnant, working so hard to make their family even bigger, giving him even more people to love. Fuck– he couldn't get enough of you.

He felt a tightening in his core that signaled he was close. He held you in place, bottoming out when he bucked up into you. Stretched obscenely full, your walls pulsed around him, milking his cock for all he could give. You groaned something that sounded like his name muffled into his chest, your desperate keening triggering his own release. His previously rhythmic grunting built into a low growl as he pumped thick ropes of cum deep into your already stuffed cunt. Beel let out a small whine feeling some of his seed dripping out around him. It wasn't fair. It all belonged to you.

A brief moment of clarity washed over him in the wake. He knew you were tired- exhausted, actually, judging by your adorable fucked-out expression. That was okay, he could help. He'd get you cleaned up and into fresh pajamas before taking you upstairs to rest together in his bed.

Consequences be damned, he was going to keep you close. He knew Belphie wouldn't mind. Besides, what if he needed more later?

#obey me smut #obey me fanfic #obey me x reader #beel x reader #beelzebub x reader #x reader

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sometimesanalice · 9 months

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Leave a Light On

Summary: When Bradley had given you a key to his place, what he probably didn’t expect was to find you there at 2 am sitting at the piano you’d helped him find.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 7k

Warnings: lots of pining and yearning (Minors DNI)

(this was the story I was working on back in January, before the 'Like I Can' series and anything else on my masterlist. I'm so excited to share it with you all!)

When Bradley had given you a key to his place, you imagine he probably thought you’d check on his plants every now and then. That you’d pop by to give them a quick water and then be on your way.

Maybe that you’d take the Bronco out for a quick spin, so that his baby it didn’t sit there too long going unused. You were one of a very small handful of people he trusted to drive his most prized possession. There was something special about being behind the vintage wheel with the sun on your face as you cruised along the highway, even if it wasn’t the same without him sitting there smiling next to you.

He’d already put his mail on hold with the USPS, but you knew that he knew he could count on you to rescue any stray package that might slip through the cracks and make its way to the front door of his charming craftsman bungalow.

What he probably didn’t expect was for you to be there sometime past 2 AM sitting on the creaky bench of the old, but well-loved, piano that you had helped him to find.

You should be tucked away under the comforter of your own bed, in your own room, at your own place.

Instead, your fingers are navigating over the black and ivory keys trying, yet again, to make it through a tricky passage on a song that you’ve spent the better part of the last three months trying to perfect.

He was coming home soon and you couldn’t wait to hold him, to love him, to surprise him.

Each time he leaves, it gets a little easier to miss him. You wear your longing like a locket rather than an albatross around your neck, always there but easier to bear.

Rooster had a way of filling a space in a way you’ve never experienced before. His larger than life charisma was one of the first things that had caught your attention, followed by that damn smile of his.

He was always humming in the kitchen.

Or whistling in the car.

Or playing the piano to decompress after a long day.

Or listening to something on his mom’s refurbished record player.

His presence always so tangible and warm, like a blanket pulled fresh from the dryer. With Bradley around, you could wrap yourself up in the sheer comfort of him.

And when he was gone, it was the quiet that you struggled with the most. A constant reminder of just how far away he was. No texts or calls or voice memos throughout the day. No little everyday sweet somethings that let you know he was thinking of you.

The sound of silence followed you everywhere. Its heavy companionship making itself known regardless of how loudly you sang along to his favorite songs on the playlist he had made you or how many times you played through the song you were learning just for him.

You had grown up in the silence, you knew it well.

Parents who stayed together because it was easier than splitting the house and sharing the kid. And on the rare occasions it wasn’t quiet, it was loud. The kind that was inescapable regardless of how much you buried under the covers or how far you tucked yourself away in the corner of the backyard.

Until one day the glossy, satin walnut upright piano appeared along the wall in your barely used dining room. And then it soon became your favorite way to cover the quiet and to mask the loud.

Looking back on it now, maybe your parents had wanted something to fill the silence too.

The hours and hours of lessons you and Bradley had both been forced to sit through as children was something that the two of you had bonded over pretty early on. And while he had kept up with playing, it was something that had fallen to the wayside in your life. First with school, then with a career, and now with purposeful avoidance.

There was once a time when reading sheet music had come as easily to you as reading a book. And then one day, they were just a bunch of random dots scattered in between and across five lines on a piece of paper.

There was once a time when you didn’t even need to look down to know where your fingertips were flying to. And then one day, all your fingers could do was stumble and trip over the keys as you winced at the dissonance it created.

And when Rooster had learned about your mutual musical upbringing, he had made it his personal mission to try and get you to play something for him. He was so sweet, so sincere in the way he’d ask you, all big brown eyes and hopeful smiles.

It had always made your chest tight to brush him off. It was something he clearly wanted to share with you, but that part of you ached like a phantom limb. You didn’t know what would be worse embarrassing yourself or disappointing him with your lack of skill when it was something that you used to be so proud about.

It was easy to dodge him at first during nights out at the Hard Deck with your understandable Not with all these people here’s to your practical Mozart would just bring the vibes down’s to your evasive Maybe next time’s.

And when his polite requests were met with empty answers, he took it a step further.

One night in his bed, the curtains fluttering as the sea breeze mingled with his sandalwood scent, he’d whispered into your heated skin, “I’ll get you to play something for me one of these days. Maybe I just need to find the right form of bribery.”

His teasing innuendo juxtaposed deliciously with the deliberate touch of his fingers and tongue as he’d played your body to a perfect crescendo.

It reached a point where you couldn’t stomach to see the dejection in his eyes, the hurt he tried so hard to hide when you’d deny him yet again, that you had to own up to your closely guarded secret.

The confession had whooshed out of you in one breath, leaving you feeling deflated and defeated afterwards.

When you eventually mustered the courage to look at him, he’d been wearing the softest look of understanding on his face, as if he could sense the toll it took to admit the loss of that part of yourself. Then he gathered you in his lap and held you, all while the tears of frustration simmered behind your tightly squeezed eyes.

And when he offered to help remind how to read that language without words, to help you remember the letters of the keys beneath your fingers, it had made your heart hurt a little less.

You weren’t ready then, not like you are now.

But nothing gave you as much pleasure as it did to watch Rooster seated in front of the well-worn and well-played upright piano of Penny’s at the Hard Deck. There was nothing more exhilarating than seeing him in his element so at home on the bench, scuffed and scratched from performers of the past, as he shared that part of himself with everyone in the bar.

He made it look so easy. So damn effortless. His thick fingers flying purposefully over the keys as he played from memory. His joyous enthusiasm electrifying and substantial enough to get the whole bar singing along with him.

It always drew him a lot of attention.

How could it not? He was magnetic on a bad day and captivating the rest of the time. And entirely too handsome for his own good.

Interested eyes, curious eyes, hungry eyes followed him around more often than not after an impromptu performance.

However, those brown eyes of his were always set on you.

Never wavering, never straying from you as he’d weave his way poco a poco, little by little, back through the packed bar. Handing out high-fives to people on autopilot as he passed by to return back to your side. Glistening with the sweat he worked up and grinning widely as he’d greet you with a How’d I do, sweetheart?. Those big, capable hands sliding around your waist, in the back pocket of your jeans, under your top to rest on your low back.

The two of you never stuck around for long after he wrapped up. You didn’t mind helping him find ways to put that excess adrenaline to good use. Usually in the backseat of the Bronco.

You’ll never forget the first time Bradley serenaded you. The song meant for you and you alone.

If someone were to cut into that soft, pink part of your brain, you’re pretty sure they would find that memory pressed there like flowers between the pages of a book. Forever apart of you.

It was the song that always took you right back to that little vinyl shop along the pier. And back to that date that had almost derailed it all.

When Rooster had picked you up to take you to dinner all those months ago, he had seemed a bit antsy and absentminded.

Sure, he had gotten out of the Bronco to come fetch you like a gentleman, instead of sending some half-assed Here text like your ex had been fond of doing. You thought for sure he’d be hustling you back inside after he caught a glimpse of what you were wearing once you opened your front door to greet him.

So you were surprised when he’d simply pressed a dry kiss to your cheek and escorted you to his car with a hand placed respectfully between your shoulder blades instead of cheekily in that space between your low back and ass.

That spot that toed the line between decent and indecent. That spot that made him smirk when you’d give him a pointed lift of the eyebrow, because the two of you knew exactly what he was doing. And better yet, liked it.

However, that night it was almost like he was going through the motions, like he was already somewhere else.

The car ride to the restaurant was silent except for the white noise of the highway as he drove. The circular knob for the radio set to the left.

Off.

Which in hindsight should have been your first warning, since Bradley was never not listening to the Oldies station. A vintage vibe for your vintage boy.

When you were finally seated across from him at that new trendy Thai place you had been dying to go to, his fingers wouldn’t stop tapping out some unheard tune. On the tops his thighs. On the top of the table.

His eyes were landing everywhere else other than on you. On the large leaves of the potted palms, on the ornate pattern on the gold silk that was swathed across the ceiling, on the intricate hand-painted tiles on the floor.

You’d been trying to carry on a conversation for the past fifteen minutes and were feeling completely on edge when you had to repeat yet another question for him.

The anxious feeling growing in the pit of your stomach had been getting more and more difficult to ignore. You could tell he wasn’t really there, what you were trying to figure out was whether or not he just didn’t want to be there with you.

And god, the drinks hadn’t even come out yet. There wasn’t anything for you to distract yourself with other than your water glass, and even that was already empty except for a few melting ice cubes.

His half answers and noncommittal noises were rapidly clearing things up for you.

He’s breaking up with me.

It was at that crushing realization that the waitress had returned with your drink orders. The bright orange concoction that she set in front of you had been topped with a lovely purple orchid and glittery swizzle stick.

A happy looking cocktail for the girl who thought she was going to have another great date with the guy who was saved in her phone as “Golden Boy”.

“Have you two decided on what you want to eat? Or would you like to hear the chef’s specials again?” the waitress had asked, her gaze bouncing back and forth between you and Bradley.

You could tell that she was sensing the brewing tension between the two of you.

“I don’t think we’ll here much longer, maybe just the check--”

“Sorry, if we could have a few more minutes to decide--”

You’d both started speaking at the same time only to turn to the other wearing matching faces of absolute confusion. He’d gone ramrod straight in his chair, his fingers finally still on the tabletop. The shock in his eyes was apparent, and you could only assume it was there because you beat him to the punch.

The waitress had looked at you sympathetically before saying she’d come back in check in a few minutes and then quickly spun on her heel to take her hasty leave.

It was the look that she’d given you that had really sealed the deal for you, and wasn’t that just great? You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rest of the waitstaff was already hearing about the couple fighting at Table 12 and taking bets about whether or not they’d break up.

Lucky them, dinner and a show.

You’d reached the fruity drink in front of you, the condensation from the glass leaving a ring on the table and took a large sip for moral support. Feeling the weight his stare on you the whole time as you savored the tart taste of passionfruit as it burst across your tongue.

He’d just have to wait. It was your turn to ignore him.

As you’d swallowed it down, it had left you feeling more than a little angry that it tasted so good when you were feeling so shitty. He knew how much you liked an over the top cocktail, why couldn’t he have picked some dingy hole-in-the-wall to do this at rather than ruin this place for you? The hot prickling sensation of righteous indignation filled your chest.

You really didn’t want it to drag out any longer, setting your liquid courage back down you’d met his stare and got right down to it, “If you’re going to break up with me, Rooster, can you just do it now? I’d like to still be able to order Pad See Ew in the future without thinking about you and this moment.”

You removed the napkin from your lap, folding it up primly before placing it back upon the table as you waited for the final nail in the coffin to be pounded in on the remains of the happiest-and-easiest-and-clearly-too-good-to-be-true relationship you’ve ever had.

“Wait, what? I don’t want to break up.” His eyes were wide and searching, the hurt in his voice had been evident. And it was the first time all evening that he seemed to be present with you, like your Golden Boy had finally showed up to the date. “I thought things were going well. More than well, actually.”

“Yeah. I mean, I did too. Until tonight,” you’d agreed, defeatedly. “I’m really confused here. You’ve been completely distant tonight. Not to be vain, but look at me,” you gestured to the sexy lowcut dress you’d worn for the evening. It was something you’d been saving in your closet for the right occasion. And you’d thought it was going to drive him wild, but he hadn’t even given it a second glance.

You’d leaned in a bit, lowering your voice, “It’s a boob and leg dress, Bradley. I look really fucking hot, and frankly, I didn’t even think we were going to make it here once you saw this. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’ve missed a dinner reservation. And you haven’t said a single thing about it.”

It felt like a silly thing to be upset about in the grand scheme of things, but his inattentiveness that evening had stung more than you’d wanted to admit to.

“Trust me, sweetheart, I noticed,” he’d retorted hotly. His eyes had been heated as he’d matched your movement and leaned in further across the table. “Half the men in here noticed it too the second you walked in.”

You didn’t bother trying to hold back your scoff of frustration, the man was infuriating.

“Then I don’t understand why you’re making me feel like being here- with me- is the last place you want to be right now?” You’d given up on trying to sound unaffected, this was not the evening you had envisioned. It felt like being blindfolded on a rollercoaster, unable to see what exactly you were hurtling towards.

“I got my new orders today,” he’d blurted out, his eyes trying to read yours for the reaction. “I’m being send as aerial escort for a diplomatic mission. I ship out next Monday for six weeks.”

He’d told you later that he was grateful it wasn’t a longer one, he knew he was lucky because he could have just as easily been sent away for a deployment longer than you’d actually been together.

“Oh.”

You’d known that that moment would have happened eventually with his job, so you shouldn’t have been surprised. However, it was one thing thinking about it theoretically rather than looking at a ticking clock with a deadline.

“Cards on the table, sweetheart?” He’d waited for you to nod before continuing on, “I am really fucking into you. I’m trying not to put pressure on this, because I’m pretty sure you’re my dream girl. I wanted to take you out for a nice meal, get you a couple of those complicated fun drinks you like. I even looked at the menu in advance, they have one here that they light on fire and it seems like something you would love.”

He was right, it was something that you’d love. You had even eyed it when you first got the menu, but you hadn’t wanted to get anything that would draw you more attention when you already felt like you had too many pairs of eyes on you.

“Then I wanted to take you home with me and tell you after we had a great time out. I wanted to ask you to save that Sunday before I leave for me, so that we could spend the whole day together.” His fingers had started playing that unheard tune on the table again. “I wanted to show my girl the best time, to keep her wanting to come back and to stick around. So that someone else doesn’t catch her eye, so that I don’t lose her to someone better than me while I’m away.”

His confession had your heart taking up residence in your throat. Having him lay it out for you so clearly and knowing that he’d felt as serious about you as you did about him was everything you had wanted to hear. However, one thing nagged at you.

“Bradley, you make me happy. Like really, really happy. I’ve only got eyes for you. If I’m being honest, this stopped being casual to me around our third date. And I trust you enough to know you’d tell me if this”, you’d gestured between the two of you, “wasn’t what you wanted anymore before starting up with someone else. I hope I have that same trust in return, because if you’re worried about me stepping out on you while you’re away, I don’t know how this is going to work. And I really want it to work.”

“Shit, I’m really striking out here. Batting 0 for two,” he’d sighed out more to himself than to you, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair. “Our third? Really? I thought for sure after that disaster that you were going to block my number.” He huffs a laugh, cheeks turning the same shade of pink that they had that chaotic evening on the beach.

“Bradley, it was comically bad.” You couldn’t help but crack a smile at the memory of it. “You were trying so hard and you were so flustered. It was so endearing.”

“Who would have guessed getting attacked by seagulls and coming home covered in sand flea bites could have been so appealing?” He joked self-deprecatingly.

“Me, I could have. Since I was with you,” you said sincerely, “No one I’ve dated has ever put half as much effort into trying to make me happy as you have.”

The two of you exchanged a soft, tentative smiles.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you had a wandering eye or anything, I promise.” His eyes pleaded with you as he reached for your hands and threaded his fingers through yours, his palms slightly sweaty. “This deployment is different for me. I’ve never had to ask someone to wait for me before, never had anyone who wanted to. And I’ve been really in my head because I was trying to find the right way to tell you, to ask you.”

You were still getting to know all of the expressions of his face, but the look of open insecurity he was wearing was new to you. And you’d felt something deep in your chest release and unlock.

For how easily he owned a room, for how confident he could be, getting to see these tender parts of him because he trusted you with them had made you ache in the most bittersweet of ways for the man who was in front of you.

You held his gaze, taking in his anxious expression. How anyone couldn’t want this man or didn’t think he was worth the wait was incomprehensible to you.

“So Sunday the seventeenth, huh?” you’d said with a grin.

His relief was palpable as he’d squeezed your hand a bit tighter, “Yeah, baby, you up for it?”

“A perfect day with my dream guy?” you mused, squeezing his hand back, “Yeah, I think I’d be up for that. I’m up for all of it.”

Not just the date. Not just the deployment. You already knew. With him, you wanted it all.

When the waitress returned a few moments later, Bradley ordered a green curry for himself and the Pad See Ew for you. Along with one of those complicated, fun drinks that arrived with fanfare and flames, all while he played with your fingers.

And after you were finished, she’d dropped off a fluffy looking coconut covered dessert that she’d stated was on the house as walked away with a wink.

You’d totally called it, dinner and a show.

As you’d left the restaurant, he tucked you in close under his arm pressing kiss after kiss to your temple as you made your way back to the Bronco.

And later, when he had taken you back to his place for the night, your boob-and-leg dress forgotten somewhere on the floor, he’d apologized again. This time with his mouth on your body.

Twice.

It had been a fluke, really, finding that record tucked away in that small, but well-kept shop on that Sunday before his deployment.

You’d surprised him with a certificate for a haircut and hot towel shave at an upscale barber for a little pre-deployment pampering. He’d gotten his hair trimmed the day before and he was somehow looking even more sunkissed than usual. His patterned shirt was mostly buttoned up and he had on your favorite pair of jeans- the ones that might have been a bit too snug, but did devastating things for his ass.

It was the outfit he’d been wearing when you had first met.

You and Bradley had spent a lazy, perfect morning at the beach reading and lounging and trading sea salt kisses before changing and to grab a bite to eat. He’d held up a towel up around you to slip into your sun warmed dress, behaving himself for the most part. But you’d still caught him sneaking a peek from over the top of the terry cloth.

After eating a late lunch at his favorite little café that served the best cioppino, you’d popped in and out of the various shops that dotted the boardwalk near the pier. It might have been the bottle of wine you shared, but he made sure to stop at every photobooth you passed along the way, collecting strip after strip of snapshots and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

His hand staying in yours the whole time.

When he’d spotted the tiny record store, he’d cheerily pulled you along with him wanting to look for new additions for his ever-growing collection. It was his newest hobby after getting his mom’s old record player restored. You had even helped him build the sideboard he had specially ordered for it to display his prized collection in the living room of his home.

You could hear him talking excitedly to an associate about some Jerry Lee Lewis albums, who offered to take a look in the backroom for him. You never had good luck when you tried to search for specific things, so you were happy to meander around a bit aimlessly and see what spoke to you.

Casually flipping through the stacks, you’d gasped when you landed on what appeared to be the holy grail of all vinyl records ever made.

“Bradley, look!” You’d held out the record for him like a prize. And he abandoned his own search to come join you on the other side of the store.

“Soldiers’ Sweethearts, huh?” He grinned at your find, his eyes crinkling around the edges. The navy colored jacket highlighted a trio of glamourous looking women, each of the three records featured a different performer and their covers of songs popularized during WWII.

“Mm-hmm,” you’d preened, feeling entirely too pleased with yourself. “You’re a soldier, I’m a sweetheart. I’ve never seen anything more perfect in my life. I have to get it.”

“Well I’m not a soldier, technically,” he’d chuckled, as you’d rolled your eyes at him. The joke had you scrunching your nose, and his mustache grazed you as he leaned in close to press a quick kiss to it. “But you’re definitely a sweetheart, sweetheart.”

You were still trying to learn the ins and outs of that part of his life. But you’d liked how he never made you feel stupid when you had questions. More often than not he seemed excited to answer them for you, that you were interested in what he did.

Rooster gently took your newest most prized possession into his big hands, “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Flipping the album over, he’d scanned the tracks listed on the back for the three records. “Some classics, but a lot I don’t think I know. Definitely some intriguing titles, like ‘Daddy’,” he read aloud with a raised eyebrow and a grin that could only be described as lewd.

The man was a menace and had no problem finding new ways to make you blush. You were grateful that the shop was empty except for the two of you, as you felt the heat rise in your cheeks.

“What about ‘Who’s Taking You Home Tonight’? Have you heard that one before, sweetheart?” His large body moving in and crowding yours, the smell of his cologne making your thoughts go a bit fuzzy around the edges. Your heartbeat kicked up in tempo as he brushed a piece of hair off your forehead.

That find was definitely a jackpot.

Him and those records.

“Mm, or how about ‘Make Love To Me’?” He’d murmured into your ear, his free arm slid slowly against your waist, making a home for itself low on your back. The warmth from his hand seeping through your dress and into your skin.

It was heady being the target of all his heated words and teasing tone. The pull in your low stomach getting more intense with every moment you’d stayed pressed against his hard body. You could see how his pulse was pounding arditamente con forza, boldly with force, from how close your face was to that thick throat of his. And you had wanted to--

“I knew we had it somewhere!”

The associate’s cheery announcement as he returned from the backroom startled you back into yourself. Feeling flustered you’d tried to pull away, but Bradley just kept his arm locked around you as he’d made his way to the counter.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. We’ll take this one too,” he stated as he’d smoothly placed your Soldiers’ Sweethearts album on the top of the pile he had accumulated. Only letting go of you to pay.

Naturally, you’d wanted to play the record the second you made it back to Bradley’s place.

He set it up for you before giving you a lingering, deep kiss leaving you to your own devices as he worked on the final few things left on his to-do list before his deployment early the next morning.

You were happy to make yourself comfortable on his wide seat couch with an Old Fashioned listening to Jo Stafford’s soothing voice with your eyes closed, wanting to luxuriate in the moment.

One where Bradley was less than twenty feet away puttering around in his kitchen and humming and murmuring to himself.

One where you could call out to him and he would be in front of you in a few long strides.

You wanted to avoid thinking about the next day and the beginning of your new normal.

One where you couldn’t expect text messages from him throughout the day.

One where concern and uncertainty would follow you around like a dark cloud until he came back home to you.

But he was here for now. And you wanted to savor it all, to soak up all of its sweet, syrupy goodness like the expensive cherry in your glass.

He must have sensed the turn in your thoughts because his sandalwood scent gave his closeness away before his voice did, “What do you say, Miss Soldiers’ Sweetheart? Can you spare a dance for me?”

You opened your eyes to see him standing before you with his hand outreached for you. The smile so gentle and open on his face, made it impossible for you to do anything other than wordlessly nod your head in agreement as you’d let him pull you up from your comfy perch.

“Apologies in advance for any injuries caused by my two left feet,” you joked a bit bashfully as he wrapped his arm around you.

“Lucky for us, I was gifted with two right feet. Don’t worry, we’ll even out each other,” he murmured.

He pulled you into his gravity, pressing your joined hands against his chest where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. The hand on your lower back urging closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between your bodies. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head where you had tucked it into that safe space where his neck meets his shoulder.

take me in your arms, and never let me go whisper to me softly while the moon is low

True to his word, he’d guided you in a smooth, easy rhythm. The confidence in his steps as you were held within his sturdy arms was enough to make you feel secure in your own movement. With him you were completely taken care of.

hold me close and tell me what I wanna know say it to me gently, let the sweet talk flow

Your other hand slid up slowly from where it was resting on his shoulder to wrap around his neck, fingers threading through the fine hairs at the nape of his neck as your thumb traced the thick column of his throat.

Come a little closer, make love to me

He held you tighter, held you closer, as the song came to an end. The easy rhythm turning into a gentle sway that continued as the next song began. And the one after that.

That night in his bed he moved against you with such purpose, such tenderness. The sex with Bradley was always stunningly good, he was never content to let himself come until he’d rendered you thoroughly boneless and breathless. He was easily the best you’ve ever had, but that night it was different between you two.

The mood weighty and intense, both of you exposed in a way you hadn’t been before. But there was no mistaking the deliberate way he touched you, the unwavering way he rolled his hips against yours, the unguarded way he held your gaze as if he was committing that moment to memory as he made love to you.

He’d held you close to his warm body, his fingertips leaving trails of goosebumps, as you shivered through your orgasm. His mouth pressed against your ear as he whispered soothing sweet somethings until he followed you over the edge.

For Bradley, you were up for it. For him, you’d be up for all of it.

yesyesyes

Things were a bit too quiet for you.

You heart clenched in a different way when you looked at Penny’s piano on those evenings you spent with the Dagger Squad without him. The ache was still there, but so was a new kind of longing. Part for him, but also for yourself.

But you’d made it through that deployment with the help of your three favorite sweethearts: Jo, Vera and Anne. Although you always queued up one song in particular anytime you found yourself missing him a bit more than normal.

And when Bradley returned back home to you six weeks later, it was easy to fall right back into him. That quiet period was almost too easily forgotten when he was around to fill a space.

That night at the Hard Deck when he serenaded you for the first time, it was normal for him to strut over to the old jukebox to unplug it. His timing impeccable as always, silencing whatever country song Jake had queued up.

What wasn’t normal was the way he took you by the hand leading you directly to the old upright and pulled you right onto the bench next to him.

There was already some sheet music spread across the shelf, you’d noted as he’d wiped his hands on the outside of his jeans before settling his hands on the keys. It only took you a couple bars of the intro to realize what song he was playing, already completely enamored before he’d even opened his mouth to sing.

It was your song.

Nothing in the world could ever compete with Bradley Bradshaw’s deep, raspy voice singing just for you. The significance of the song meant for you and him alone.

You heart had swelled in your chest until you thought it might burst from happiness. Never in your life had you been so thoroughly swept off your feet. It was a gesture came from his heart that made a home in yours.

Ever the showman Rooster put on a full performance, his aviator sunglasses sliding down his nose as he really leaned into it.

Your wide grin had turned to laughter when a few members of the Dagger Squad jumped in as back-up vocals, singing into their beer bottles in a way that obviously had been rehearsed. You didn’t know how he managed to keep it a secret. While Rooster was a vault in his professional life, when it came to his personal life Bradley couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

The whole bar was having fun with the jaunty tune, some couples dancing along in smooth circles on the sticky wood floor as he crooned. He’d leaned over to place a kiss on your cheek every now and then in between verses, and you’d felt yourself fall for him even harder.

He’d pulled you into his lap once he was done playing, as the din of the resumed chatter softly cocooned you. You’d seen all you needed to know reflected in his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

“Will you play it again?” you’d asked against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.” And you rested your head on his shoulder watching his fingers get into position on the keys once more as he played the few opening notes.

Somewhere you heard a groan followed by a grumbled, “Not again.”

“Shut it, Bagman,” you bossed at him, not even bothering to look in his direction. You only had eyes for Bradley.

“You heard the lady,” he chuckled. “Shut it, Bagman.”

And then he played it again.

take me in your arms, and never let me go

You should be asleep in your own bed and not at his place with only the soft light of the lamp above his piano and a now cold cup of tea to keep you company.

Tired of tossing and turning, you’d given up on the idea of getting any sleep at your own place after the second hour of trying. Throwing on your slippers, you’d grabbed your keys and then drove over to his place, still in the oversized t-shirt you’d put on before bed, in hopes that scent of his sheets would help lull you to sleep.

But all it did was make you miss him more.

It was too quiet without his soft breathing next to you as he held you close and tucked against his chest.

Too quiet without his records.

Too quiet without his happy humming.

Too quiet without him.

The sound of the tea kettle on his gas range had helped fill the silence, but it was his piano that had called you as you had waited for the water to boil. The sheet music you had left there from the last time you were over beckoning like a siren’s song.

It was your secret.

Only for a few more days, only until he came home.

You wanted to surprise him, to sweep him off his feet the way that he always did with you when he played for you.

During that first deployment, for the first time in years, your fingers yearned for the feel of cool, smooth keys beneath your fingers.

You hadn’t even told Bradley, the one person who would understand it the most, that you’d been thinking about it. Let alone that you were actually taking classes again. Making up excuses about manicures or errands or spin classes for why you were busy for an hour every Tuesday at five PM.

The thing that had once hurt your heart the most, was now the only thing that helped soothe the ache of missing him. The only thing that made you feel close to him when you were thousands of miles apart.

You wanted that familiar comfort of making music. You wanted it because you missed him, but you also wanted it for yourself.

A co-worker had given you the name and number for her kids’ instructor, Mrs. McMullen, an elderly woman who started teaching after her husband passed away. It took you couple weeks to work up the courage to make the call, the sticky note burning a hole in the pocket of your purse you had tucked it into.

You had been an anxious mess the day of your first lesson, hands shaking like you��d had one too many shots of espresso. It felt strange, a little surreal sitting there in the body you’d grown into on the padded bench in her cozy living room. One of the walls filled with shelves and shelves of sheet music, her own personal library.

And for a brief moment, you were transported to a different year on a different bench in a different room. Now and Then. Older and Younger. Both versions of you there to learn. All too familiar, yet entirely new.

You started with the basics. A reintroduction to those lines on the page and the notes that spoke their own language for those who knew how to read it.

Your fingers wanting to move quicker than your sluggish mind, like an echo of a memory of how it used to be. You winced and apologized after every wrong note, until she put her hand on yours, her skin looked as delicate as her fingers did, and said gently, “We learn by doing, mistakes only mean that you are trying. Once more, once again.”

After that first lesson, you’d gone back to your car and promptly burst into tears. Overwhelmed tears, happy tears. That tender part of you still soft, however no longer aching.

You’d left feeling lighter as you pulled away from her house to go meet up with everyone at the Hard Deck, but also with a packet of sheet music to practice for your next lesson.

When Rooster had told you about getting his new orders, when he had asked you again if you were still up for it. You’d told him the same thing you had at that date, you were up for it all.

You would take the sadness with the sweet any day of the week for as long as he was yours.

You’d known how you would fill the space he left behind. And exactly how you wanted to welcome him home. You’d been excited to put that certain song just for him in your cart, and then tacking on one more song to your order, a song that would be just for you.

Both you and Mrs. McMullen had be surprised at how you’d been able to pick things back up over the months, you still weren’t anywhere as good as you were when you were younger, but it wasn’t nearly as daunting as it used to be. And when you showed up to your next lesson after your songs had been delivered, she was more than happy to help you figure out ways to simplify the songs a bit so that you’d be ready when he returned.

And now you’re bent over Bradley’s piano with a pencil tucked behind your ear as you played through the hardest bit of the song, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve gone over it tonight. This morning? You were in that liminal space between yesterday and today. Where the time on the clock was just a suggestion because it felt neither here nor there.

You had practiced and practiced the song you had wanted to play for him once got home. You’re pretty sure Mav wasn’t supposed to tell you the significance of that particular song, but it had made your heart flutter wildly in your chest when he’d told you. And every time you’ve heard it since then.

It was polished, it was perfect, it was ready. All you needed was him.

The one you’re playing now con amore, with love, is the piece you pull out when you long for him the most.

The cover of the song had made you think of him from the moment you’d heard it. It was more lyrical and delicate than the original, and captured just how you felt about him. Just how much he meant to you. Sometimes you sing along with it, sometimes you just let the keys and pedals express the things you otherwise could not.

It was the song of your heart.

Your fingers trip over one of the notes yet again, probably from the lack of sleep, but you weren’t ready to crawl back into Bradley’s comfy bed. Not just yet.

Sighing, you pull the pencil from behind your ear, muttering to yourself out loud as you note the spot on the page. It was already filled with little pencil marks, some older and some newer. All made because you were trying.

Once more, once again.

Breathing out slowly, you settle your hand back on the keys-

“Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

Read {vol. ii} here!

He's a sneaky one, friends! I have Part 2 in the works, not to worry! We have to see how it all plays out! (put intended)

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist for the grand finale!

Here's a link to the Soldiers' Sweethearts Album, if you're curious!

But this is their song, the one Bradley serenaded her with! Jo Stafford's version of 'Make Love to Me'

I ended up making two moodboards for this part!

Here's the more colorful one! And here's the more yearn-y one!

You can check out my other stories here!

And a big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for letting me spam you about this one!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

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

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jackiepackiee · 20 days

Note

Hi pooks do could you do romantic headcanons for the flags (anyone you'd like) with a reader that goes absolutely quiet after an argument, but it's not silent treatment, it's just that they've grown so used to it.(totally didn't base it on me, totally not.)

But only if you're comfortable with it of course!

Have a great day or night and take care.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝓁𝒶𝑔𝓈 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝒬𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓇𝑔𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 - 𝒻𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔

𝒯𝓎𝓅𝑒 - 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒸𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓃𝓈

Iceman

The terrifying thing about your arguments is that Iceman is not very talkative

Or expressive for that matter

So when you’re afraid of his reaction, and he doesn’t have any signs of obvious anger or sadness…

Well, it’s scary!

He’s a big guy

So the argument is going… alright

Bad of course, you’re fighting, but it’s not that bad

Until he makes this face

It’s a sorta of distance, anger that he never ever shows

And god, does it set your brain off

Although, only you know that

Because to everyone else, your face is blank and you’re completely silent

He is confused

I mean, that’s his job?!

To be rather stoic, not you!

His lover, he knows you

And he knows this isn’t normal for everyday behavior

The argument ends there

He’s too confused to speak

So… he figures you’re upset

And when he does, he pauses

Then, he hugs you

Pushing back his coat to have your arms wrap his waist

Covering you from the world

He doesn’t know what to do for you other than a hug

A kiss would be too much? And his voice is calming, however he fears that he’ll stumble his words and make things worse

So, a hug

He’ll be okay with silence, as long as you’re okay by the end of it

Pianoman

He’s a good arguer… unfortunately

His authority shows when he fights and it is QUICK to scare

He doesn’t intend this, but work has changed him

He is so used to dealing with men who’s entire job is full of gun shots and shouts being barked orders at

So he forgets that you’re his sweet lover, and can’t handle the very intense energy

If anything confuses him, it’s silence

I mean, the flags are LOUD

Albatross always joking with Doc, Chuuya telling them off. Lippmann practicing lines with Iceman on book

But his lover shouldn’t be silent

He sorta… freezes?

Finally realizes that you haven’t put a word in for the last 5 minutes

It’s just been… nothing

A blank stare, crossed arms, and a closed mouth

He felt bad with a deep feeling inside his chest

He gave you time, thinking you’d need it

He walked out awkwardly

And left you in the apartment

He goes for a drive, and comes back

When you’re still quiet, he decides action is needed

A kiss on your hand and up for arm

Ending on your lips followed by an “I’m sorry”

He pets your cheek, pulling you against him

It’ll be okay

He is VERY happy when you’re back to speaking

But for now… he can live with the silence you desire

Doc

He isn’t the argument type

But he works too hard!!

And you’re so concerned for him

I mean, he is sick himself so he shouldn’t be around others with a weakened immune system

He is stubborn and defensive, much to your dismay

And he isn’t easy to convince

Your concern over takes you

What once caused words to spill from your mouth at him, now made you silent

He thought you needed a second to think

Process your next sentence

But that next sentence never came

He stares at you, but stays silent too

Maybe this is the vibe now?

Forgive him, he’s more physical and not mental

It finally comes to him that you’re not going to talk

He stares at you for a while

Then he turns to his pocket

He gets… a lollipop?

He always gives his patients lollipops when they’re sad, you know this

So you take it with a weary hand

But… it’s so sweet!

By the time you finish it, you are feeling better

You may not speak for the rest of the night

But! You will feel better emotionally

Chuuya

Fights… well they happen

Serious fights are normal, especially for the double whammy of you two being teens and a couple

He tries his absolute best to not yell

But, his resolve is only so strong

He’s naturally loud

His words aren’t that mean, as he saves those for people he thinks deserve them

And you? He would never love a bad person

That doesn’t mean it isn’t hurtful

So… when his voice raises the way it does when he’s talking to an enemy, you freeze

No longer responding

He isn’t how he is with Dazai, not at all

He notices your change the SECOND you stopped

His heart stopped, thinking you’re scared of him!

That’s one of his biggest fears

He needs to you feel safe with him because you are safe

It doesn’t occur to him it’s the argument making you upset, and not him scaring you

You sad eyes look into him

Body vulnerable and shying away

“Hey… I didn’t mean it.”

He isn’t great with apologies, so this is a bit of a shot in the dark for him

And he isn’t sure why you’re quiet, but he hates it

Unless you ask, he won’t leave you alone for a SECOND

“I’m sorry.”

He sorta rambles out a bunch of words

But one string of them sticks out, the last one he says

“I love you.”

That was the first time he said that

He was so scared you feared him, he wanted to confess truth

And that was enough to let you speak again

Albatross

Alby isn’t exactly… emotionally mature

So when your arguments get truly serious instead of mock and banter, it’s a lot

His colder tone, sharp eyes

He obviously forgets how scary he is

There is a certain growl in the bass of his voice

So, for you it’s no surprise that you can no longer say anything

Words don’t even form

And he melts back into his old self

“Baby?”

He walks over to you… and pokes your cheek

Something that always makes you giggle

But no, not even a smile

Internally, he’s freaking out

So, he walks to the kitchen

He gets little note pads and a pen

He asks you to write down anything

How are you feeling?

Is your throat suddenly hurt?

Can you talk, but don’t wanna?

After each, he gives you a cheek kiss

As a sort of reward for communicating

Finally, he picks you up and whisks you to bed

You’ll be okay in the morning, especially with his cuddling

Lippmann

Lippmann is not the type to get into arguments

He is silver tongued and he knows it

It’s quite literally his job at the port mafia

So when you do fight, he’s a bit unhinged

Since the topic has to be very specific or important

If he knows one thing, it’s how to interpret words

Loads of different types of speaking, tone, speed

He’s a master of speech

So silence?

He is confused

How is he supposed to work with this?

And that makes him realize, “I shouldn’t think of my love as another port mafia case. I need to be genuine”

And his real talent comes out

He gives you time

Before simply pulling you with him to the couch

He puts on a movie, and turns the cold silence to something comfortable and warm

What a guy

#bsd x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya #bsd fanfic #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x fem!reader #chuuya x you #chuuya stormbringer #stormbringer x reader #bungou stray dogs stormbringer #doc x reader #iceman x reader #albatrossxreader #pianomanxreader #piano man bsd #albatross bsd #iceman bsd #lippmannxreader

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bizlybebo · 4 months

Text

thinking about ollie now btw.

thinking about him and chip, first of all. thinking about how chip saw this little kid and he saw himself, and so he desperately began to scramble to be everything he needed as a kid that he never got. chip ended up getting caught between 'do cool shit to impress him' and 'keep him safe'. and you can practically see and mark the exact moment where it teetered over into 'keep him safe'. chip's found people that make him want to be a better person and it's so gahgdjhkjwehtjk to think about.

thinking about chip chastising ollie for cursing despite ollie picking up every bit of it from chip.

thinking about ollie calling for chip when things go awry.

thinking about chip just taking the time to check on ollie every time he gets the opportunity.

thinking about ollie clinging onto him and begging not to go home just yet because of the adventures chip's brought him on.

and thinking about the way it haunts chip to hear it because he so desperately wants ollie safe and the albatross isn't always safe. ollie shouldn't be as violent and rowdy as he is at 12 or 10 or 9 or whatever his canon age is.

thinking about ollie and gillion. thinking about gillion being this massive immovable force, this strong warrior in the eyes of a child. thinking about how gillion likely doesn't know how to act around ollie at first because he was never socialized around other kids growing up. but he and ollie actually have so much in common and their friendship is so fucking precious too.

thinking about ollie telling gillion about his journal before he tells chpi and jay.

THINKING ABOUT THE BATTLE THE 2ND TIME THEY WERE IN ALLPORT. thinking about gillion very clearly prioritizing ollie's safety; telling kuba kenta (paraphrased) 'youre going to let him run back to the ship and youre not gonna fucking hurt him' and preparing to use magic or some other spell to protect ollie.

thinking about ollie probably asking to hold gillion's sword. gill's probably like 'hell yeah, but only the worthy can support its weight!' and he lets ollie hold it but magically or however tf holds some of the weight himself so that ollie can actually keep it upright.

THINKING ABOUT OLLIE AND JAY OH MY GOD. thinking about how ollie calls her 'miss jay' which is just fucking adorable. thinking about how he seems to think she's the coolest one on the albatross,, thinking about how he's probably enthralled by jay's inventions and the things she tinkers together.

thinking about how, after jay got her 'wings' (the magical tattoo that allowed her to cast flight), the first thing she did was fly ollie around.

thinking about her trying to be a good role model for ollie because she's like 'well the other two are kind of idiots but i think i can do this right at least'.

thinking about her watching ollie talk about his mother and thinking about her own mother, her own family, and just silently whispering a prayer to the stars, please let this boy's family be good (and as far as i know, his family is good).

#vixen rambles #queueing this one cause its 11pm and i think i've already jrwi-posted so much today #jrwi #just roll with it #jrwi riptide #i need to make a separate tags for my jrwi ramblings i feel like #oliver teach #ollie jrwi #chip bastard #chip jrwi #gillion tidestrider #jay ferin #jrwi spoilers #< not very big ones but spoilers nonetheless

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spade-riddles · 10 days

Text

The album and the Matty Healy of it all; the Allegory and a literary breakdown for you all :)

As an english girly, I am having the most fun dissecting this album. She wrote her entire story into the album. It’s an allegory, each song has two major interpretations, one is the obvious (matty/joe/travis/PATERNITY TEST) whereas the other is her truth. This is a literary device that has been used in writing throughout history since forever. Everything about this album is so intentional, especially the Matty Healy of it all. This album has been planned so meticulously, every move she’s made with the beards has been to directly tie into the songs and the references. She needed a heavily documented example, she wants people to believe it, so when she burns it all down she can say “look at how easy is was to construct a narrative, hide an allegory within it and watch no one get it, it’s happened my whole life”, this is why this album is so much louder to all of us than the rest of them, because we have always seen the second story but now she’s making it more obvious. But they will get it, the story in this album is so strong, she’s coming out and she’s made this so she can send people to look back at her music (lookin’ backwards/might be the only way to move forward- her entire catalogue is the manuscript) screaming “I told you, I laid it all out. You didn’t believe me!” This is the post mortem, every reason why she’s ‘dead’ (the inauthentic version) is laid out in the album.

For example, i’ll break down ‘Fortnight’ since we have the MV imagery too. On the surface is about her fling with MH. If you get down to the next layer it’s about the failed coming out & Karlie. About how she almost had it all “for a fortnight” (just a metaphor for a short time), how her plans got ruined and how she’s doing it over again. She was supposed to be sent away, she was meant to go stay in the asylum (the closet).

“Now you’re in my backyard, turned into good neighbours”.

She has Karlie so close to her, but hidden in her backyard, no one can see her in her backyard.

“Your wife waters flowers, I want to kill her.” There is something that is in the way of them being together, she wants it to end (her public narrative). Could also be a reference to JK, he gets to to be with Karlie, watering flowers in her garden (betty’s garden anyone) while Taylor watches, she wants to kill the perception of him as Karlie’s husband.

The rest of the song moves into Karlie & Taylor getting closer, they’re plotting a way out.

“Now you’re at the mailbox, turned into good neighbours, my husband is cheating, I want to kill him.” Again, Taylor’s husband is her public persona, she wants to kill it.

When you add in the music video, she’s breaking out of the asylum with her twin, then she was put right back in there and her twin is performing experiments on her. I think Post Malone represents both Taylor and Karlie at different points in the MV, because both of their own choices are also part of the reason they’re still closeted, she’s acknowledging this. But then something happens, one of them can’t do it anymore so they run away. This is the release of the album, specifically 2am 04/19 (fresh out the slammer), Taylor’s on top of the box, she’s out; this the endgame for her now, but Karlie is still stuck in the phone box (the closet). But not for long! 😘

Every single song is like this, there’s a very intricate but obvious second story. They’re not all about Karlie, there’s a lot about her childhood, other muses (thank you aimee is not about Kim, it’s about a hometown love), growing up, her fans, the industry, closeting, christianity, masters heist.

I’ll touch base quickly on ‘The Albatross’.

She’s coming to take down SB, i’m not sure 100% how but I think it has to do with the coming out and exposing everything he’s done to her to keep her in the closet for so long (it’s a lot darker than people think).

She is here to destroy him.

“Now you’re persona non grata” he’s not going to be able to work anymore, he’s going to be exiled from the music industry.

There’s always been the iffiness around the masters situation, people saying she was told prior, her insisting she wasn’t. The below is a confession (and a threat).

“Wise men once read fake news

And they believed it

Jackals raised their hackles

You couldn't conceive it

You were sleeping soundly

When they dragged you from your bed

And I tried to warn you about them”

She lied, she knew about the master situation but she said she didn’t. Her fans believed it though and they crucified him, she tried to warn him how powerful they were. She’s already embedded that image of him in their minds, so when the next thing comes out (lol), they’re going to raise absolute hell, his entire career is going to be over.

“thanK you aIMee”, the entire world right now thinks it’s about Kim Kardashian, because she capitalised ‘KIM’ in the title, there’s that line about her kid singing her song (which coincidentally did happen). It’s so obviously about her right! No, it’s another “blue dress on a boat”, something she has done throughout her whole career is splice monumental images of Taylor Swift ™ into her songs, so she can sing about her real life without being questioned. Except this time, she’s trying to make you question it, that’s why it’s so OBVIOUSLY 🙄 about Kim Kardashian. A red herring if you will 😉. It’s meant to point you towards one thing, when it’s really not about that thing at all.

tldr: everything about the album is intentional, she’s layered two narratives together on purpose. one at surface level, one a bit deeper.

Images are both Taylor’s & Aaron‘s words on the album, about hidden meanings and secrets.

And if you need any further proof, at exactly 4:19 of ‘The Tortured Poets Department’ title track, she says “who’s gonna troll you?”. The entire album is the troll, for the general public, it’s not about the men at all.

#submission

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chocsra · 7 months

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"Lovesick (Interlude)"

Chuuya x fem! reader - highschool AU

A/N: hii how are yall doing, its the weekend and yk what that means 🙏 thank you to all to those who have send me requests! i have read them all and plan to write all of them 😻🫶

thank you sm @sstarshroom for the request again 🫶😭

content: detention w your friend and school gangster chuuya nakahara, oneshot, pre-relationship (almost), romance, fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, i was thinking of kunikida when writing the teacher but then i realised he and chuuya would be the same age 😨

"This behaviour is unacceptable, Nakahara, I'll be calling your brother. Sit down."

A deep hoarse voice pierces through the late silence of the empty classroom, your teacher clicks his tongue in annoyance as he urges your classmate, Chuuya, to take a seat. The teenage boy, in his school uniform, shrugs and strides his way to the empty desk next to yours. "Ah," your teacher scoffs, stopping dead in his tracks. "Sit somewhere else, you need to learn your darn lesson." the man points an angry finger at the ginger, you look over to him, suppressing bits of laughter as Chuuya glares at the floor in irritation before taking a seat a few desks away from you.

He had short orange hair and piercing blue eyes, not the kind of blue that was like that of an ocean or jewel, but a dark, whirling storm. Chuuya Nakahara was a classmate of yours who was relatively short, athletic, independent and smart; but he had a pretty big issue within school, violence. Fights on fights on fights, the kid really couldn't catch a break from beating up people, could he? From what you've accumulated, he loved taekwondo as a kid until now before forming a loving bond with soccer; Chuuya loved fashion and forming good impressions, so it wasn't much to your surprise for him to show up to school on a motorcycle to achieve some 'gangster' look.

He loved stray dogs and begrudgingly fed stray cats, the loudness of the teenage boy was normal; but it brought some sort of fondness towards you, especially as friends. Yeah, you enjoyed having a nice friendship with the scruffy Chuuya Nakahara, the human embodiment of a chihuahua or grumpy cat. Sometimes, he forced you to go on morning runs with him, or rant about the future wine he was to buy and collect - 'bullshit', you thought, who would spend 30 grand on alcohol?

The redhead had a few friends in school - you, Albatross, the honour roll and senior student Kouyou Ozaki, his friend group who called themselves 'Sheep', based on a movie or something. Oh, and Dazai, well, you weren't sure if they were really friends or not - but by the looks of it, they seem to be the closest out of everyone else.

"No talking."

Your teacher orders, clicking the door open ready to leave; he sends an exaggerated glare at the both of you in the dim classroom that makes you suppress a cackle. Then, he finally left - his leather shoes clicking against the school floors. A heavy silence entered the empty classroom, hearing your teacher's ghostly footsteps until they disappeared. Chuuya then scoots his chair far closer to you, an irritated but victorious smile accompanied by the pleasant features of his face.

"Now how'd you end up in detention?" He questions with a proud smirk, patting your shoulder affectionately. "Slept in class," you chuckle, sighing, then resting your head atop the wooden desk; the ginger laughs in amusement, his angry mood quickly dissipated at the simple conversation with you. "what did you do this time?" you question, quirking a brow as the redhead scoffs, "The usual, beat the shit 'outta Osamu." he clicks his tongue. "Again? Over what?" you snicker casually, it wasn't very good to be friends with a school delinquent - but you knew he wasn't that bad, considering he was in tears watching 'A Dog's Way Home'.

"Poetry," Chuuya mutters, looking away shamefully, making you smile cheekily and laugh at the stupid reason. "Poetry?!" you smack his back playfully, making the boy wince in pain at the aggressive happiness. "He fuckin' said my love poems were shitty, that's not true!" You laugh at him for a split second, before cocking another brow. "You write love poems?" the ginger goes beet red at your realisation, before turning away and blushing, "It's just- whatever," Chuuya quips, you chuckle in pure amusement. "I never thought you would ever write a poem, a love poem especially." The boy scoffs, "The more you know, I guess."

"So then, who's it to?" You ask with curiosity filling your eyes, elbows planted clean on the desk. Chuuya shakes his head in denial, pursing his lips, not wanting to speak up. "That doesn't matter." he quips, biting his inner cheek in a flustered crisis; you only smile cheekily at his reactions, leaning in closer to his face, "Osamu?" the ginger flinches and almost flies off his seat at the name, scoffing absolutely baffled. "No!! What the hell?" you laugh, hitting the desk at the moment, watching as a small smile creeps on the redhead's face, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Did I not just say I beat the shit outta him?"

You both scoff and turn your heads away, "Well - you never told me you liked somebody." the redhead purses his lips in annoyance, "'Cause ya didn't need to know." you quirk a brow at the heavy tension in the room, both of you getting quiet. "So then who is it?" you ask again, tracing shapes on the wooden desk in front of you. "I can't tell you," the redhead states, fiddling with his fingers; you part your lips in a teasing manner, "Just tell me and-"

"and ruin our friendship?"

you widen your eyes at Chuuya's words, the ginger looks painfully ashamed at his slip-up, swiping his tongue against his inner cheek with the scrunch of his face. "What?" you blink, staring at him under the dimly lit lighting. "What?" he repeats, completely stunned at his own words.

A heavy silence filled the room, the boy pensively squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment. "Does that mean what I think it does?" You choke out, a pink blush prominent on your cheeks; the redhead runs a hand through his hair in mild frustration. "Sorry," Chuuya shies away, turning his head to face away from your pretty gaze.

In all those months of torturous school, you've met a nice boy by the name of Chuuya Nakahara. He loved soccer, taekwondo, motorcycles, and music, and had many friends that he held near and dear to his heart. To you, he was a short, competitive, school troublemaker that roamed those crowded hallways arguing with Osamu with boring eyes. But to him, you were a girl who kept him awake on those terrible, sleepless nights, he thought of your name when he was first introduced into poetry, and he gets reminded of your bright smile as he thinks of the word 'sonnets'. To the boy, sometimes he felt out of touch with reality; because he hated the thought of falling in love, he despised the slow melody in romance songs, but meeting you only made his life slow down, just like the poetic rhythm of a cheesy song.

No, Chuuya was an idiot in denial; everybody could tell - especially when he got hit in the face with a soccer ball as you captured his gaze, his vision blurred to only your perfection and your perfection only. Chuuya Nakahara, the boy who was your friend for God knows how long; is terribly lovesick because of you.

"You shouldn't be," you mutter, brushing your fingertips over his soft hands; the ginger only widens his eyes at your words and lingering touch, the sparkle in his eyes signalling his greatest happiness. "I like you too," you whisper, locking eyes with the floor as the heat in your cheeks never seems to dissipate. Chuuya's fingers shook slightly in shock, his lips parting ever so slightly; he stared at your beautiful features in that damn classroom, the soreness of his knuckles fading as your words were the best yearning kisses to it he could ever ask for.

"..Can I kiss you?"

He stammers, watching as your lips curve into a smile he adored so much. "You're such an idiot." you laugh, fingers grazing to cup his soft cheeks ever so softly, pulling his lips into a sweet kiss. Chuuya's heart thumped loudly in his chest, his shaky hands flying to your waist and hand to cradle them with the affection that danced with the praise he sang in all those poems. The redhead's hitched breath tickled your lips as you slowly interlock, eyelids and pretty eyelashes fluttering shut at the tummy twisting feelings; you both had fuzzy minds, losing the ability to even think straight.

And as you felt his endearing lips reanimate any bore or sadness in that tedious classroom, you found the dim lighting to be the most tacky source of illumination; because Chuuya was - a graceful presence that made any fairytale or novel vanish in envy.

"You two!! I leave you right under my nose and this is what happens?!"

Your teacher storms in, completely enraged with a hint of amusement as you both scream in terror.

Yeah, you were both fucked, but at least you got a great, loving boyfriend out of it?

#Spotify #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #15 chuuya #15 light novel bsd #chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #chuuya loves taekwondo canon #chuuya x you #chuuya fluff #chuuya bsd #chuuya x y/n

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cheaptaxidermy · 16 days

Text

JRWI SWAP AU Designs, Doodles and HCs (AU by @lui-gen )

Captain Gill

With how much OG Chip’s design changes over the course of Riptide I thought it would be cool to do a more mid-campaign design of Gill. The scribbles on his arm are supposed to be lightning tattoos that would parallel chips water ones, they seem like a cool way that gill could show his oath to the open sea, inspired by Finn. Unsure if he would have a prosthetic pinkie but i added it for now until the details of what happens at each island is figured out. I hc that the ship they were on before the albatross would go from the Big Chipper to like Destiny’s Tide or smth like that.

Chip, Jay and Pretzel :D

the designs are so fun argh also i can totally imagine Jay’s armour getting more like mechanical if that aspect of her is still there

Caspian aka Captain Trench

I’m not the best at designing but wanted to have fun drawing a sinister little Caspian. Notable things are the feathers that Price had in his design is flowing water, which is actually also his water whip that he can magically summon the handle for. Also had him and Gill have matching scars across the nose because its fun 💥

Captain Ruben of the Navy

Kept his missing eye and thought the backstory behind it could change so that he lost it in some sort of fight, so the navy replaced it with a magical one and now he uses it as the main weapon in combat (it shoots beams n shit). Initially just drew him in a looser brain but maybe a bun would be more fitting since its more practical. (Far left image is him as a kid)

Origins headcanons

So obviously, in this swapped au Gill and Chip/Bellamy would meet first. Here, Bellamy works as a bartender and is curious about this trion that claims to have been on the same crew as Arlin, but not enough to answer honestly to any of Gill’s questions. So Gill tries to prove his worth by making Bellamy a drink that he hasn’t had before: a squirty! Thats what I thought of last night at least there could def be a cooler things for them to do,,

Jay having been brought up very isolated on Fetherbrook, she is not used to seeing people like Gill, so upon her first instinct she assumes he’s some sort of monster and shoots at him (to Chip’s amusement.)

I will surely draw more of this AU as it gets fleshed out but these are all my insane ramblings as of right now

#jrwi #jrwi fanart #just roll with it #jrwi riptide #jrwi gillion #jrwi chip #jrwi jay #jrwi caspian #jrwi price #jrwi pretzel #sketchbook page #traditional drawing #dnd art #jrwi swap au

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ikkosu · 1 month

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prowl prowl prowl prowl prowl prowl

read ur earthspark bumblebee fic and I loved it so much u don’t understand how much I love him literally kicking my feet and giggling rn anyways back to prowl. I want to have that man emotionally and a little physically broken and knocked down and he just can’t really go on anymore and then reader pulls him to their lap and hugs and comforts him and he starts crying and sobbing and shit and it’s just very fluffy and that’s when his possessiveness starts anyways this is just a very long ramble and braindump byee

a/n : 😭😭 HELLO???? YOU CSANBT JUST DROP A BOMB AT END THEN LEAVE LIKE ITS NOTHING???? WDYM POSESEIVE??? 🤨🤨🤨🤨 CRIMINAL BEHAVIOR . Ohhh but writing angst with prowl is literally the best tho

THEN, it hit him.

Prowl had expected it, ammassing data from the miniscule furrow of brows, tightening of the lips and shift of stance. Prowl watches. He scrutinizes. He thinks. A one, two, three step — he could calculate the next move.

But wasn't quick enough to register the pain.

He grunts as his helm jerks to the side. A momentum so vehement he staggered off his balance, breaking the rigidity composed of a cold, unflinching face. Now, he's reduced to leaning against the wall, optics a little wide as he took in the sequence.

Like a dam had been spooled, a breach of his calculations, Prowl is stoned cold, left wide open and vulnerable. Jazz would know. The tactician wasnt much good of a fighter.

Warmth trickled from his nose. It tasted bitter on his lips, tangy and acrid, as it dribbles down his chin and plinked onto the ground. He steadied his breath. His digits dig into the wall.

Compose yourself, Prowl.

"Bastard!"

—and he feels a pede hard against his abdomen. A bristle of pain blossomed. First, pinpricks sizzled then it drew every breath from his intake — and out into a grunt. Ivory plating chafes the mettalic floor, curating sparks that skid in tandem of his fall.

Such an open commotion deemed a kind of consequence. Almost immediately, voices bristle and clamour around the base. Comms clicked online. Habsuite door swishes open and out dawdled, droopy, sleep-lulled optics, once irritated by the interruption, now widened in alarm at the sight.

"That's enough." Someone had barked.

Prowl was much too lethargic to care, who. While he gathered himself, pedes scamper, a muffled distance away, not to him but a pitter patter towards the raved and seething bot. He was yelling obscenities.

Prowl tries not to care.

He ignores how it churns his spark a little, like a knife plunged into his chassis and twisting. Servos were quick to furl around the limbs and plating, holding the bot back. They tow him away to the nearest med-bay, he assumed. Struggle was evident.

What was his name? Vox? Vernheim? Vercul? He can't recall. Was it worth remembering? No. Perhaps, it wasn't. Another record he could pass off as insubordinate.

Prowl pressed his helm against the cold, metal floor.

It wasn't worth the risk.

Often, he had sought warmth from the cold, unfurling his beckon while what returned is repugnance. Like an albatross it curled around his neck, strangling the life out of him. You can't be burnt from something already doused of its flames. It was a purpose he tries to upholster, for himself alone and for the better good.

He tuned out the noise. Tuned out the wails of the bot that grew louder and louder as he mourned for his friend — or, he supposed, someone more.

Why should it matter to him?

He lifts his helm a little, high enough to regard the puddle of energon on the floor but low enough not to strain his neck.

Prowl curls out a digit and pressed it against the trickling wound. It coats the ivory tip mauve and another drop rolled from his finger and down where a visage rippled from the puddle. His face bared back. Blue optics, luminiscent and pure and the other, a black-swarthy hole, barren, was his other eye.

Is that how he always looked like? Exhausted? Haggard? The lines of his face, withdrawn and eyes, vacant? If he knew what his actions would have led to, would he have done the same thing as he did? A sharp pain broiled center of his abdomen, right where the pede had landed it's blow.

Prowl swallowed thickly.

Nobody came to him.

"Oh, my god. Prowl?"

He blinks out of his stupor. He's not looking at you, he realizes. His optics were roosted to the ground. To the floor. Then, slowly it trailed upwards to meet your eyes.

Soft, was what he thought as you stood before him in your sleeping garment, hair a mussed up tousle and eyes, glassy. Concern etched the seams of your face, lips frowning.

Irritation fizzles his spark. You should be sleeping. Not joining the myriad of foolish endeavors that had curated prior. But here you are, clutching your shirt, a face so expressive, envy posed a threat to his thoughts.

"Your nose is bleeding!" Your hands finds his shoulder.

Normally, he would dismiss you for being too invasive of his personal space. The difference between of just enough and overbearing isn't clear on your terms — but your voice was frantic. It wavered. He's not sure what to do with himself if it cracked any more.

"I know." He said calmly.

You shake your head in disbelief, now kneeling on the ground. You tugged him closer and every word that you uttered constricted your throat in pain. The pain you felt for him.

" Oh, Prowl. Prowl. Oh, god." Your voice was hushed, coaxing him like he was a child. "Why'd they leave you like this?"

He grits teeth. "Because they knew I'd be fine, alone if I were. And, I am. Now go to sleep. It's late. You have an early shift tommorow. Not to mention, three reports due Friday."

"You're not fine!"

"I am." He clipped.

"You're bleeding!"

"Don't test my patience—"

"You know, you aren't fine! " You rasped. "Stop denying this. Stop denying everything and be gentle with yourself for once!"

You cup his cheek. He bristled at the touch.

Go. Go to sleep. He wants to say. But it's proven difficult by the lump of rocks constricting his throat. He fears that if he uttered a single word — he won't be able to compose himself after, glass breaking at a mere swing.

"You're fragile enough, as is." You said softly. "Stop pushing yourself. Stop pretending. If not for me then...at least for your own good...take care of yourself."

Then, you cradled his helm and pull it against your chest, the possible thought of blood smearing your shirt was discarded.

The fabric nestled his face. It was soft and warm. The fragrance of flowers flared his nose. You smelled nice. Nice like spring. Nice like the morning light that spools through the blinds. When was the last time he was ever held like this?

Prowl tries to steady his thoughts.

"Let me go." He whispered but made no motion to move. His shoulders shook, his servos clamped up into a fist. He feels small. Like a toddler seething with an inner tantrum, tears and snot blotting their itty bitty faces.

You held him tighter. "I won't leave you. Not like this. Not like they did."

"I'm not asking." He bites back. Cool liquid prickles his optics. It's dried by your shirt. Whether or not you felt it, you don't say

"And, I'm not stating an opinion, either." You said, a soothing hand on his back. He's on the ledge, teetering over a cliff he can't climb back up lest he falls.

"A demand goes both ways, Prowl. I'm tired of seeing you like this. Everyday, where you're alone. Cooped up in that room and nobody would spare a glance—"

Your voice wavers.

Prowl buries his face deeper into your warmth. His servo clutched your waist, it was soft to the touch, pulling you close. He wanted to push you. Treat you like how he treats everyone else, a dynamic he often pondered if it was suitable enough for your sanity. But he knew, if ever the day he went too far and you would walk away, the cold shoulder prominent— he's never going to let you go.

"— Let me take care of you, please."

He still hear the voices. The whispers. The resentment. Everything vile that bore a mark on his stature. They purged his mind thoughtless, ushered him to a place, no longer where grief was present but an empty, desolate place where he's unable to escape from it so.

You’re never going to leave him.

And, he’ll ensure in many more ways than one you’re ever going to.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers idw #prowl x reader #idw prowl

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sensitiveheartless · 20 days

Note

...Somethin' please!

Hiya, thanks for the ask! :D This is the fic which I started writing a while back and then completely forgot about (the non-descriptive title I gave it did not help lol) — but basically it's a very silly college AU where Albatross comes up with a very stupid plan for Chuuya to get kissed for the first time at a dorm party. (Dazai has known Chuuya since they were both fifteen and is internally Seething over the entire situation)

Here's a rather long snippet to give the proper vibe:

---

Chuuya sighed, and thumped his head back against the wall of the closet.

Worse than the indignity of it all was how boring it was. Time felt like it crawled by even slower when he couldn’t even check the time on his phone.

Like anyone was going to come in, anyway. What kind of weirdo would be desperate enough to kiss someone who was blindfolded? And to kiss Chuuya, no less. He wasn’t exactly known for his sunny disposition. They’d probably be too afraid of him kicking them.

Chuuya shifted restlessly. He could just leave, he knew. Ditch the entire party. It seemed pretty lame so far, and it wasn’t like Chuuya wanted to be kissed…

Much.

…Alright, maybe he was a little curious, just to see what all the fuss was about.

But only a little. It was just that he hadn't ever gotten a chance to fool around during his high school years, not with how quickly everything went to shit—and even after Adam found him and things began to look up, Chuuya had been far too busy trying to put his life back together to bother with dating.

Still, this seemed like a pretty stupid way to lose his first kiss. Why the hell had Albatross thought this was a good idea?

Ugh. Whatever. He would give it another couple of minutes, and then he’d leave. Yeah. No one was gonna come in, anyway.

Of course, at that exact moment, the closet door creaked open.

Chuuya stiffened, glowering even though the other person wouldn't be able to see it. Raucous sounds from the party outside filtered in with the mystery person, at least until the closet door latched shut once again with a gentle click.

…So there were people desperate and weird enough to do this?!

“Hey,” Chuuya said, just to break the silence. He could hear the other person breathing, hushed and a little fast. Were they nervous? “Come to take a shot at it? Honestly, I think this whole thing is stupid as hell, but I’m not gonna stop ya.”

The other person’s breathing did something funny, but they didn’t move. They had to be standing quite close to Chuuya, considering how small the closet was, but the two of them weren’t touching at all.

After a moment of expectant silence, Chuuya frowned. “Oi, are you really just gonna stand there?” he asked, blindly reaching forward. “Who are you, anyw—?”

Before he could get out the last word, Chuuya found himself pulled abruptly into the person’s arms. Contrary to his expectations, however, he was not kissed—instead, he was crushed against the other’s chest, his cheek squished against what he guessed to be their collar bone.

Chuuya blinked behind the darkness of his blindfold.

This person had snuck in here, just to…hug him?

If it could even be called a hug, because it certainly wasn’t like any embrace Chuuya had received before. Nothing like the brisk but warm hugs he got from Adam, or the awkward one-armed hugs from Shirase, or the enthusiastic bone-crushing squeezes from Albatross whenever his friend got overexcited.

If anything, this grip was possessive, and seemed almost desperate with the way the person’s fingers dug into the curve of Chuuya’s spine, keeping the two of them plastered together. They were quite a bit taller than Chuuya, and their embrace was so tight that he could barely keep his toes on the ground.

It was annoying, but also kind of…interesting.

Chuuya tried to focus on the feeling of the fabric pressed against his cheek. Knitted, slightly scratchy material—with cables? A wool sweater?

It was certainly warm. Chuuya felt like he was burning up.

…He had really never been held like this before. Like the other person couldn’t bear to let him go. For the life of him, Chuuya didn’t know what to make of it.

After a few stunned moments, Chuuya squirmed a little. The arms around him loosened at once, allowing him to move his own hands up between them and brace himself against the mystery person’s chest.

Chuuya raised his chin towards where the other person’s face must be, and cocked his head to the side challengingly. “What? Was this all you wanted?” he asked, tapping a finger against the person’s chest. “Maybe you misunderstood the game, hmm? I thought you were supposed to ki—”

#I have no explanation for this one — except that I sometimes have an intense urge to put Chuuya in silly romcom situations #a) because i think he'd be hilarious in them #and b) I think he should get to experience some goofy low stakes shenanigans on occasion — dude goes through a lot #also always love Dazai getting chances to be Weird About ChuuyaTM lol #Dazai is losing his mind in this one akasdjfkdsjf #senhart's writing #ask game #long post

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punkascas · 3 months

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okay, so i don't want to, like, Start Something or whatever so we're doing a barely-tagged, separate post. i also realise this is mostly pointless because others have already said what i'm going to say, and did it better, with far more grace, and sound less like an asshole than i do.

but jesus louise helen christ, the weird fucked up ideas people have around abuse and personal responsibility and the effect of trauma. like as an abuse and csa survivor, it genuinely alarms me to read posts that use arguments i remember my dad making. like, i'm assuming most of this rhetoric comes from gen z — maybe that's inaccurate; maybe that's unfair. but right now i'm very much Having A Moment Here that the kids aren't alright.

no 22-year-old should be repeating the same awful, manipulative, logically and morally bankrupt justifications for violence and torture my dad says. like literally what's in the first two episodes of ofmd s2 is torture.

i love ed; he's an amazing character. taika is hella wowza top marks acting him. but like.

like.

torture, my dude. physical and psychological. trauma. harassment. that we see the lasting effects of through s2.

just. i. what??

so here we go, okay. have too many, zealously highlighted screenshots so i can dig into details.

cut to save your dashes. content warning for discussions of abuse and trauma (if that wasn't obvious), as well as spoilers for ofmd s2.

re: ed knew what he was doing was wrong and felt guilty about it at the time:

we have no on-screen, textual examples of this. not in the dialogue; not in the acting; not in the blocking; not in the cinematography or music. nothing.

knowing the crew are overworked and kind of traumatised by all the violence, ed bribes them with cake. because, as we know, cake like tea fixes everything. only ed wasn't even with them to share in the eating of the cake. he made izzy responsible for that. he doesn't give the crew a break; he doesn't choose less ethically-fraught prizes to hunt. there is not one scene of ed talking directly to the crew — until he points a gun at each of them.

we see ed crying (and drinking, and rhino horn-ing [way to help further extinction, man]) but it's always paired with shots or flashbacks that reference stede. ed is still all up in his feelings about stede, and ed confirms this when he tells frenchie the myth about albatrosses never needing to return to land. ed cannot go back, does not want to go back, because he was rejected. (like, stede is literally landed gentry, come on!) all he wants to do instead is stay at sea committing to this unhinged version of unstable, sadistic piracy.

but okay, okay. say we ignore all of that. let's say ed does feel sorry and guilty and ashamed of his actions. he knows what he's doing is wrong and unfair and cruel. that it's harming others. that it's particularly harming the dude that ed has, for better or worse, basically spent his life with (izzy; i mean izzy). ed… still continues to do the things! how far off are we at this point from the definition of malicious? you know action x hurts person b and then you do it anyway. is that honestly a better, happier, more ethically defensible reading of the character?

re: the crew didn't mutiny because they love ed despite his violent, sadistic actions.

mutinies were a thing, yes. but both historically and in the world rules established by the show, mutiny is disincentivised through threats, distraction via extra work, and corporeal punishment. we see both ed and izzy use all three of these to try to prevent the crew from disobeying orders. they didn't wait until the storm and izzy shooting ed to mutiny because they understood or sympathised with ed; they took the chance to kill him then because that was the first real opportunity they'd had. the reward finally out-weighed the risk given that ed was going to kill them all that night anyway.

again, we have no scenes, no dialogue, no visual or audio cues to tell us that the crew understands or loves ed — excluding izzy, obviously. fang could also be on that list, if you take into account his personality and his behaviour both in s1 and later in s2 in the fishing boat scene. but in the first two episodes, we only see the crew show trauma responses around ed. they talk about him but almost never to him. and when they do have a direct conversation with ed, it is either confrontation or head down, submissive, "of course, blackbeard; anything you say" placating. i'm so baffled where the show points to any sign of love from the crew towards ed before his "death".

re: ed can't be held responsible because he was suicidal.

uhm. no. hard no. a harder no than stede's brazilian cherry wood mast. fucked up people do fucked up things but part of being an adult is owning your fucked-upped-ness and not fucking up others while you work on unfucking yourself. children, children are not fully responsible for the impact of their actions on others when they're deep in their feelings, especially if they're feeling their feelings as a trauma response. this is because literally their brain cannot do that kind of control. it doesn't have that software pack installed yet. ed does have all the adult updates installed, even if he isn't running them at that moment. he has no right to take out his feelings on other people: to maim them, to psychologically torture them, to abuse them, to work them to exhaustion. to kill them. he does not get a free pass to do suicide by abused employees. (like suicide by cop but more indirect and passive and harmful.) talk about passive aggressive.

secondly, ed is not just passively suicidal and happy to find new risks that might end his life. he is very purposefully taking izzy with him (see: literally removing the bits of izzy that would help let him walk away from ed; the fact that ed becomes actively suicidal only once he thinks izzy is dead; the whole keeping izzy's corpse in front of his and stede's beach shack i mean inn — the codependence, she runs deep). ed is also putting the crew through the same risks, the same isolation, the same danger. both stede and izzy agreed that ed had gone full scorched earth policy. you don't get forgiven for the murder part of a murder-suicide pact just because of the suicide part. not to mention that no one (once again, you could potentially argue izzy as an exception) was good on a murder-suicide pact with blackbeard.

and then to say the crew felt guilty? i assume i'm misreading that. the crew. felt guilty. for ed's actions. that is, if not victim blaming and if not darvo, a very close inbred cousin of them. like hapsburg jaw inbred close.

re: ed healing and his view of himself as a monster.

to heal means, in part, to accept responsibility for the harm you've caused, whether it was intentional or not. it means making amends. it means building or rebuilding relationships where possible. it means putting the other person or persons' feelings and boundaries and need for safety above your desire for absolution or forgiveness. it means working through your own guilt and shame and anger (or whatever drove you to act the way you did) in a separate space, not with the people you hurt, but someone who can be a step removed, more impersonal and objective to help you reflect and face hard truths as needed. i say this as both someone involved in activism and community reparations and as an abuse survivor who has done nearly 30 years of therapy learning this in order to not hurt people. it's not ed's fault he's fucked up just like it isn't my fault i am. but it is on me, like it is on anyone, to make sure i limited as much as possible the harm i can cause to others because i learned some awful but very effective tricks at a young age to survive.

ed does not really do any of the above. he doesn't say "sorry". he speaks in generalised language. he complains about the cat bell (which he seems to wear only for one day, given the implied timeline with lucius and pete's engagement). i have a model ship on a stand that says "this is a safe space ship" as a joke because i work for the government and have written press releases that sound just like ed's "apology". where you take no responsibility and encourage "the culture" to move on.

so, really, my question becomes: ed sees himself as a monster. in s1, we had enough balance between ed's current actions and his referenced past actions to see this belief as likely untrue. in s2 though — i mean, is it? is that an unfair or inaccurate belief? i can understand how carrying that belief can get in the way of ed's growth and eventual healing but like. from an outside perspective of ed-the-fictional-character. he's not a "good" person. he's capable of and has done and continued to do horrible, cruel things. ethically, can you argue with that statement about him?

re: ed trying to destroy relationships because of his self-worth issues and instead the consequences of his actions proving that he's loved.

this is the point that made me go: right, no, i need to respond. i need to say my piece about this. izzy and the crew suffering ed's violent tyranny and then sticking around on the revenge anyway afterwards is not a sign of love. it is not showing love to bear pain for someone. it not showing love to let someone mistreat you, threaten you, hurt you, maim you. their actions are selfish and done to give them feelings of power and control over you. lying back and thinking of england to get through it is not love. it is absolutely a survival technique. but it is not love when you do it at the expense of yourself or others.

i also disagree that ed was trying to push people away or break his relationships with others. we know from s1 that ed is fairly blasé about whether crew members die. again, we don't see any friendly or intimate exchanges between ed and any of the crew to imply any kind of relationship there beyond "tools who accomplish ed's goals". the one exception, as always, is izzy. and as previously stated, ed seems bound and determined, in a very conscious way, to bring izzy into death with him. ed does everything in his power to make izzy want to kill ed, or at least agree that it's best if ed dies, and to want to kill himself so ed doesn't have to die alone. that isn't ed breaking that relationship; it's making it permanent in a really fucked up shakespearian way. the only relationship we see ed waffle between wanting to keep and wanting to push away is stede. after his corporate "apology" and the fishing trip with fang, all of ed's dialogue is with stede and a little bit with zheng until izzy's death scene. the crew loving ed just isn't a thing, at least not one we're shown. not from either side. ed's relationships are with stede and kind of, sort of with izzy (because he does manage to, if not fully break, do some major damage to that).

love did not save ed. ed wanting to live, because stede came back, because he didn't want to jump off hornigold's cliff in the first place, saved ed. izzy saved everyone else.

so yeah: that's it; that's the post. the rhetoric that abuse is love or that abuse can be "cured" with love or that trauma isn't lasting and serious and has impacts on people's daily lives is just. wild. wild.

and terrifying.

my dad was born in the 40s. why is anyone born in the 80s or later still defending this mindset? it honestly, truly freaks me out.

guess it's good i have a fucking therapy appointment on monday.

#ofmd critical #ptsd problems

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