#and i regret it. and i am proud to say i haven't done that in a long time and instead when i find myself with that power i try to say

[andthebeanstalk]

Ya know. I spent most of my life with horrible painful soul-crushing social anxiety.

And after about 25 years of continuous hard work, suddenly, people started pointing out - to my utter bafflement - that I had, in fact, achieved my lifelong dream of being charismatic. I'm 29 now; I feel comfortable in most social situations, and it is a very rare person whom I cannot make laugh.

I am, undoubtedly, finally, charismatic.

But do you know what I found?

I found that now that I have an understanding of which social rules serve which functions -- Now that I have an understanding of just how much damage my awkwardness was doing to people, well,

I found that, actually, my awkwardness never really hurt anyone at all. People were just judgmental dicks to me about it.

Now that I have the skill-level to (most of the time) creatively vocalize what is in my head as soon as I think it and without fear, I can confirm once and for all what I had always suspected:

I was worth talking to when I was quiet.

I was worth talking to when I was awkward, and when the words in my head took time and patience to hear, and when most of my jokes didn't land. I was worth talking to the whole time.

So I just... I hope that if you've ever wondered whether you are worth communicating with, the answer is yes. Absolutely yes. Each of us has a soul worth sharing - and if you and I were talking, I would happily wait for you to speak (or communicate in other ways) without condescending, and I would never shame you for that harmless awkwardness that so many people feel the need to violently stomp out.

You are worth talking to. You just are. And you deserve people who will speak to you with kindness, with patience, and with the basic immutable respect owed to all people.

(I talk about this with some frequency, both on tumblr and in real life. At some point, maybe I'll gather all my thoughts on the matter into one post. At some point, I wrote about my personal experience trying to build my social skill. But I felt the need to say at least a little bit tonight after seeing this other lovely post, and I'm glad I did. It will happen again.)

#original #social anxiety #autism #that one post #actually autistic #self-diagnosis is valid - in case that last tag implies otherwise to anyone. i think it just denotes i am an autistic and not just an ally. #social skills #socially awkward #socially anxious #autistic positivity #autism positivity #like actually genuinely who does it hurt if i tell a joke that doesn't land? esp if the joke is not about another person #this is not a live comedy show this is life ya gotta learn to say 'ah well they can't all be golden!' #which btw is a line i use when my own jokes don't land and it usually plays pretty well actually. i've got a higher hit rate but #genuinely they just can't all be good! anyway i go into that in the post linked at the end there i think #people can tell when you're not sure of yourself socially and a lot of folks instinctively use that against you. and i am here to say that #it's fucked up that they are doing that and they need to step off actually. imagine getting to decide on which social cues are #acceptable and then using that power to be unkind. fuckin gross. i regret so deeply each time in my life i have made that choice. #being a kid who is abused like that so often it was eager to power trip when i met kids more awkward than myself. but it was wrong #and i regret it. and i am proud to say i haven't done that in a long time and instead when i find myself with that power i try to say #actually what do YOU want? to the people shyer than me. #i'm pretty rad now is what i'm saying lol #like all the ways that having a good social stat has improved my life just made me realize what bullshit it is that this was necessary #doing what I did is not desirable or possible for everyone. they deserve just as much out of life as i do. #side note: i think I've actually surpassed a lot of neurotypicals who had never even had to think about social rules 🤣. #like I feel no competition with other people who have struggled socially but now that I'm more charming than people who were dicks to me #I do feel like fuck you!! I win!!!! I can finally see enough of the full picture to say that your arbitrary rules were FUCKING ARBITRARY #I'm also aware of the fact that not everyone finds me charismatic but i am. in all the ways that matter to me. and I'm still growing! #note to future jack: you did save these posts in your notes app on the day this was written. #tbh i am often still awkward i am just not sorry anymore if i'm not hurting ppl. 'confident and awkward' really throws 'em for a loop! XD

[stxrvel]

hate is a strong word

summary: you hated Bucky and you were convinced that he hated you back. until one time he was talking to you and it started to sound... lovely? what was happening?

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: 6k

warnings: some bad words, a lot of arguments, a HUGE flashback, a little bit of angst i think? bucky and reader insult each other, reader doesn't like to listen, bucky is easily angered, bucky likes to destroy things when he gets angry but regrets it easily, this is not exactly a healthy relationship(? descriptions of weapons, missiles and buildings being bombed, reader is also very stubborn and likes to put her life at risk… or so.

note: hi guys!! so i came back and i am kinda proud of this one. i think i haven't felt that way in a long time. i gave myself the time to write when i felt like it and it was wonderful, so this came out. also i put the poll for a whole week and i can't change it now >:(, but i think this onsehot fits the angst with a happy ending (im not sure if this fits the angst tho, you gotta tell me) but im gonna try to do something else that fits the vibe, and i'll probably do some other poll to write about someone else. (also i think i should warn you guys that i dont think im that good writing action scenes or tension scenes, so if that's bad i hope you forgive me): anyway, hope you guys like this one!! i love reading your comments so if you want and can, please leave some <33 love you all and see you next time!

part 2

Bucky was really pissing you off too much at that moment. Or maybe you were feeling a little uncomfortable.

He hadn't spoken a single word to you since you had arrived at that tiny house, only shrugged silently and then exploded. You had seen Bucky explode several times before and you admitted that watching him was somewhat entertaining; seeing the faces of frightened people, trying to flee away from his angry face and destructive hands, but physically forced to stand by and listen to his scolding. You used to have fun with that. However, at the time, when you were the extreme recipient of that anger, it wasn't so much fun.

You had already heard a couple of broken glass, shattered wood and metal containers fall to the ground. Maybe five minutes or so had passed and he was barely pausing to look at his artwork. It wasn't too much that he had taken and thrown while you had stayed in the room, but it had all sounded very loud, so you had no choice but to go out and see what he was doing.

You were leaning against the threshold of the hallway to the bedrooms, right across from the living room and kitchen. Bucky looked like he had just finished getting all his anger out when he finally stood silently. He probably thought you were asleep while he was doing all that, as if that sound couldn't wake you up. Was he really that angry about what you had done? You mean, yes, it was very risky, but there you were alive, weren't you?

You felt the best thing you could do was to stay quiet and wait for him to say or do something, because you could risk that angry outburst really coming down in your face. For that moment he had only taken it out on the house, which had nothing to do with your problems, and you didn't want the arguments to start filling the silence that followed his stillness.

But, well, you didn't always do the right thing. That's why you were in that situation in the first place.

“Are you done yet?” you signed your sentence.

Bucky had a tense posture, squared shoulders moving in rhythm with his accelerated breathing. His back was to you, staring at the kitchen counter that had been left completely empty. You knew by the way he was clasping his hands that he was trying to maintain his composure.

“Are you serious?” his voice came out hoarse, a sign of his growing anger.

Maybe you should have stopped there, or when he continued to not turn to look at you, but you just couldn't keep your mouth shut.

“What's your problem, Barnes? Yes, I took a chance, but it's not that big of a deal. It's not for this,” you pointed to the mess around you, even though he wasn't looking at you.

“It's not a big deal, you say?” Bucky moved and you felt yourself watching his angry figure move in slow motion. “What's your problem?”

His beady eyes met yours. You felt a little intimidated by the ripples of annoyance coming off his body, filling the entire room with an unbearable, suffocating tension. His scowl and that strangely calm tone of voice made your hair stand on end.

None of the pieces of glass or splintered wood on the floor looked as dangerous as that expression on Bucky's face. He looked very angry, yes, but there was also something in his eyes when he looked at you. Something like concern… but that was impossible.

“Really, Y/N, what's your problem? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Now, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I was the mission leader!” his voice rose, his body moving forward as he pointed his index finger at himself. “And you were supposed to follow my orders.”

“I did, Barnes, I-”

“No,” he exclaimed, again moving closer. “You didn't do anything I asked you to do! Why can't you just…? Argh.”

You moved back a little as he planted his hands on the dining room table. You felt a little pressure in your chest at the sight of him like this, as if defeated and hopeless. Disappointed. But that was a common thing. That's why you used to have individual missions, and that's why you didn't really like working in a team. You mean, it wasn't wrong to do it, but everything always ended up in arguments because nobody liked the way you worked, so it was better to do it alone, right?

Seeing Bucky like that reminded you of how many times you had seen that look on the faces of Steve, Natasha, Tony, Clint, even Thor… It was never welcome nor were you comfortable with what was coming next, but it was the way you worked, how could you change out of nowhere something you had done your whole life?

Maybe you just had to apologize, sometimes that worked. Because you also knew that, knowing how bossy and caring Bucky was, you should have at least held back a little during the mission. Bucky's patience couldn't stand that sort of thing.

“Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I was a little careless, but that's how-”

“A little careless?” he interrupted you, his voice and face incredulous. "You almost got yourself killed."

“We're in this job under that risk, Barnes, that's not news.”

The man in the middle of the mess ran his hands over his face, elated, frustrated and surely overwhelmed. He let out a sound somewhere between a snort and a growl before turning back to look at you.

“Why can't you just listen?”

His accusing gaze enlarged a hole in your chest that you constantly tried to ignore, planting bitter feelings of sadness that you were usually very good at avoiding. But at that moment, for some reason, you couldn't stop your face from twitching at the strong, hurt tone of the man who looked at you as if he couldn't believe who you are and what you do. It seemed like Bucky was always in denial and today he realized that what everyone always told him was true.

That look, that dull gleam in his eye, that expression of understanding… All of that you were used to seeing, but coming from him it felt different. As if you hadn't really meant to cause those feelings, as if you wanted to turn back time to do things differently. The surprisingly incredulous and remorseful look was digging deep into your head, searing itself with hot iron to make sure to haunt you in the future.

At that moment you didn't care if Bucky realized how much his words affected you. Maybe you deserved to feel that way. Maybe he should have known that it affected you too much, that would surely do more than an apology.

“If only you had listened to me, we would have left sooner and without any trouble,” Bucky spoke again after what felt like hours of silence.

You couldn't take him back. It was true.

“Why did you…? Argh. Whatever. I'm going to report to Fury.”

His figure passed you like a blur. You barely felt his presence very superficially before all was silent again.

Your heart ached again. For some reason, it wouldn't stop hurting that it was still beating.

The day before.

“WHAT?” you exclaimed in disbelief and the director's tired look reappeared.

“It's already scheduled, Y/N, I can't undo it. So just go, try to cooperate together and come back in one piece,” Fury leaned back against the back of the chair, putting his feet up on the desk.

You looked at his shoes as if they were to blame for everything.

“It's funnier to think Bucky reacted the same way,” Tony spoke up, sitting in the chair next to yours, a mocking expression on his face.

“Shut up,” you smacked his arm before turning back to the director. “Sir, you know Barnes and I don't get along and knowing that, what makes you think we'll hit it off on a mission?”

Fury shrugged. “A hunch.”

“A hunch…?” you repeated in a low tone, twice as incredulous that the big SHIELD director had just said that.

“That's it, agent, you're dismissed.”

You left his office on your own, not because you had been dispatched. The walk to the housing complex took you longer than ever at that point.

You'd only had one mission with Bucky Barnes once a couple of years ago and it had been a disaster. Your group missions usually ended with a close call, but that time with Bucky it was like going to hell and back.

You two had never gotten along. Regardless of Fury's hundreds of attempts to get along, you had never managed to vibrate on the same frequency. It seemed more like you repelled each other every time you were together, and it was totally justified because Bucky was too bossy and wouldn't let you breathe for a single second. Every second of the mission had to be ruled by him because otherwise he was going to explode into a sea of rage and, God, no one wanted to piss Bucky off in that Complex. However, you were always the first to tell him that his tactics weren't working or that he was too slow and well, naturally, you ended up arguing.

You met Natasha and Steve halfway to the rooms and from the way they both looked at each other before the redhead approached you knew you must surely have a scrunched up face.

“Did something happen?” Natasha asked as soon as she reached your side and started walking at the same pace as you, slightly more hurried than usual.

“Fury assigned me a mission with Barnes,” you spat out the good news, impossibly frowning harder at the mention of that name.

“Oh,” Natasha nodded. “Well, you could try to work things out-”

“What things, Natasha?” you paused, turning to look at her as everything around you turned red. “There's nothing to fix here, because Barnes is a stubborn, obstinate, childish, bossy, stupid man who is incapable of speaking like a civilized adult and only knows how to shout orders everywhere as if he's the bossy one in the Complex. I can't stand him!”

“Wow.”

You heard his voice.

“I hope you know the feeling is reciprocated.”

You turned to see him, his body was leaning against the island at the entrance to the kitchen, in a strategic spot as if you could never realize he was there because your path was to the other side. Natasha watched between the two of you like a tennis match, fearful as if at any moment the screaming would start and she would have to run away.

You didn't know what to do. You were super angry, yes, and you felt your blood boiling inside your veins, too. And you'd said all that stuff to Bucky's face before, and God knows how many times before you'd argued just by seeing each other in the halls of the Complex. Despite that, you felt trapped. The anger was still there, yes, but his gaze pierced through you like a sword.

“Believe me, I don't want to go on this mission with a stubborn, obstinate, headstrong, ignorant, individualist like you either, who cares not for the safety of the team but for her own victory, no matter how she achieves it.”

With his eyes sharp, his heavy footsteps approached you, echoing in your head loudly like the second hand of a clock. He had stopped at a safe distance as he spoke and at one point Natasha had grabbed your arm when it seemed you had tried to approach him as well.

“You're a hypocrite,” you spat at him.

“Ha! Me?”

“You always play the saintly dove, but you know you're not much different from me.”

“I'm nothing like you,” Bucky wrinkled his face, as if the very thought caused him to shiver with disgust.

“You're an individualist, too, imposing your plans on others.”

“You never have a plan! What do you expect me to do, let you go and die?”

“I do have plans! But you don't like them because they are more effective than yours.”

“They're more effective at the cost of risking more of our lives.”

“That's what our job is all about!”

“Our job is about protecting! How are you going to accomplish a mission if you're dead?”

“Well, I've done pretty well so far, in case you haven't noticed.”

“If I had a nickel for every time you've gone airhead straight into danger and ended up nowhere near dead, I'd have as much money as Stark.”

“And if I had a nickel for every time your stupid, slow plans have caused you to lose sight of the target and made you come back empty-handed, I'd be twice as rich as Stark.”

“At least my kill rate is minus five.”

“And my hit rate is one hundred by the way.”

“Are you even listening to what you're saying?”

“That I always finish missions on the first try, unlike you?”

“That you're treating your life like it's something insignificant.”

“Ah, now you care about my life?”

Natasha tightened her hand around your forearm again preventing you from again getting too close to the man who was getting on your nerves. Before he could respond, you spoke again:

“Look, Barnes, to make it absolutely clear to you for the rest of your long life: I love my life and I love my job. I love my life because it allows me to have this job and I love my job because it allows me to have this life. If you have a problem with how I choose to do the job, that's just that, your problem. But don't think you're coming here to give me a psychology lesson to make me believe that I don't value my life just because now you've run out of arguments. It's because I value my life, Barnes, that I always come out of every mission unscathed. I don't put myself at risk because I'm oblivious. I always have everything figured out and that's why everything always works out for me.”

Bucky snorted, his body moving away from yours, but despite that expression on his face he didn't respond again. He gave you a sidelong glance before walking back into the kitchen.

Your shoulders felt a little lighter. For a moment you thought he was going to continue arguing.

Natasha next to you sighed, finally letting go of your forearm.

“Why did you hold me so tight?” you frowned at her, rubbing the part of your skin that was slightly red. “Did you really think I was going to fight a super soldier?”

Natasha shrugged under your gaze.

“We've known you to do crazy things.”

“I wouldn't have stood a chance of beating him even if he gave me the upper hand.”

Five hours earlier.

You hadn't seen Bucky for the rest of the day after that discussion, until the next day when you had to get on the Quinjet and didn't even glance at each other.

Steve was in charge of handling the airplane and, apparently, he was also in charge of briefing you on how you were going to proceed on the mission, because Bucky was too busy drilling holes with his gaze somewhere else on the Quinjet away from the two of you.

Neither spoke when you descended nor when you approached the base apparently in a state of abandonment.

Bucky's mission were flat and simple, but as usual he had no backup plan, because all his backup plans were the same: run away. Bucky had a chick's sense of survival, that's why when things went bad was the time when he would scream at you the loudest.

Just like it happened on that mission.

“This place is deadly quiet,” you spoke for the first time, barely earning a sidelong glance from the man next to you.

You had already finished thermo-sensor checking every floor of the building and it was indeed desolate. Still, you felt a strange uncomfortable chill run down your back.

“Well, that's what deserted means,” Bucky commented, his sarcasm sharp.

You rolled your eyes at him, even if he couldn't see you, and kept walking with your gun raised as you approached the checkpoint.

“I mean I can't even hear birds or crickets, doesn't that strike you as odd?”

“Well, we're on the fourth floor, wouldn't it make it stranger if you could hear them at this altitude?”

“Well, you can hear at this height. Tell me, do you hear anything down below?”

Bucky paused. They were a few steps away from reaching the room. His deadly stare caused you nothing but boredom and you would have ignored him completely except that he let out a sigh, dejected. You detailed him minutely as he seemed to focus his hearing on external sounds.

“There's nothing,” he spoke after a few seconds, his brow slightly furrowed.

“You see?”

“But that doesn't mean anything. We'd better finish this quickly.”

Ignoring the grimace on your face, Bucky moved to step into the room whose door was wide open. You stared offended at his back and felt the urge to smack his big head with the butt of your gun.

“Here it is,” you heard him exclaim from inside.

Sighing you made your way to where he stood. A large display of old computers anchored to the wall.

“You should do it yourself,” you looked at Bucky with a smirk. “I don't handle equipment this old.”

Bucky only snorted in response and moved with his gun to another side of the room, leaving you in complete silence to do your job.

You moved quietly and sat down in front of the machines. You plugged them into the power source you brought in your suitcase and in a few minutes they began to work.

The mission was simple. There was one of the old HYDRA bases that contained specific information that Fury needed to find. Up to that point, they had searched about seven abandoned bases without any success. So there you were with Bucky, at the eighth base they had identified, digging through old commands and in another language trying to find the information they needed.

Ever since they left the Complex that morning you were convinced you would find nothing. They had already raided several bases and there were still a few more to go. The probability that you would find that information at that time was…

Bingo.

“Got it,” you exclaimed to Bucky.

You heard his hurried footsteps and then felt the warmth of his body next to you.

“Is that it?”

“Just a folder.”

“And why does it load so slowly?”

“It's an old computer, Bucky, it works at its own pace.”

Bucky gave you a sidelong glance. “Wish you understood me like you understand that thing.”

“Aish,” you pouted by way of mockery. “Jealous, Barnes?”

The aforementioned just snorted.

The load was running at forty percent and truth be told, yes, it was too slow. But you could do nothing but wait, there was no way to speed it up.

Bucky paced back and forth behind you and you just watched the green lines move as if that helped at all. But, well, what else could you do?

At one point, as the charge was about to reach eighty percent, you heard interference on your communicators.

“Argh,” you shook your head and raised your hand to move the device a little away until the sound died down. “Steve?”

There was no response.

You turned to look at Bucky, who had the same quizzical expression.

The interference returned and then you heard Steve's voice distorted.

“… of… moment!”

“What the fuck is he saying?”

Bucky remained silent, tapping the device on his ear as if that would fix it.

But you saw it before you heard Steve's voice again.

A clump of people through the window. A freshly loaded cannon.

“Barnes…”

And at that moment, Steve's voice filled them with clarity.

“It's an ambush! Get out of there now!”

The quickness of the impact didn't let you process what was happening. Less than a second after hearing Steve the ground shook beneath your feet. The cracks in the floor started small and then swallowed you apart.

You held onto a beam, barely lucid enough. You propelled yourself upward, swinging your forearms over the patch of ground that was still intact. You heard Bucky's grunts in the distance. He was surely all right.

You heard him call out to you too, but as soon as you could sit down on the ground, the first thing you did was to reach for the pendrive.

Your heart was pounding, so hard it might as well have flown out on its own. Your breathing accelerated, with adrenaline rushing through your body was the only thing you could feel. At that moment you felt capable of anything.

You stood up quickly to look out the window again. The people were gone and the cannon had been destroyed.

It was at that moment that you realized that Steve was still talking on the communicator.

“I'm fine,” you replied, after being able to decipher his words amidst the constant buzzing from the sound of the explosion and the dizziness you felt at the sight of the hole next to you.

“Okay, you're both fine,” the Captain spoke again.

“Y/N, you can get down from there and get to the floor below. I'll catch you.”

At the sound of Bucky's voice, you moved away from the window.

Bucky had landed on the floor below, and yes, from where you were you could jump up and you'd probably have nothing but a cramp.

“How's it going up there?”

“Well, the shields are holding up okay, but I've got poor vision. I think they're regrouping somewhere else.”

You looked around.

Most of the floor had swallowed up the computers, but the main one was still loading the document. You could see the green from where you were. It was at ninety-seven percent.

But it was dangerous to get too close. The pendrive was dangling from the main computer which was about to succumb to the cracked floor.

There was some concrete left in front of the computers that you could walk across, so, without a second thought, you mapped out a mental guidance plan and moved forward.

“Y/N, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I'm getting the pendrive.”

“What? Are you insane? That side of the floor isn't going to support your weight!”

“Yes it will. I know how to do it.”

You started walking all over the remaining edge of the floor in front of what was left of the computers. Small pieces would break off as you passed causing Bucky to hiss.

“Y/N, you'd better stop and get down right now. There's still a risk of them firing again.”

“I'm gonna get it, Barnes.”

“Y/N! Get down, now!”

Ignoring his command, you held onto the remaining wall in front of you as you continued on your way, almost reaching where the pendrive was, about to fall into the abyss.

Ninety-eight percent.

“Y/N!”

“Fucking hell, Barnes, will you shut the fuck up? Your yelling is breaking my concentration.”

“You want me to just stay quiet while you walk to your certain death?”

“I'm not going to dieee- ahh-”

Your left foot, the one in front, wobbled as a piece of the floor came loose. You clung tightly to the wall as best you could, breathing deeply to calm your racing heart. Panicking at that moment wasn't going to do any good.

“God, I can't believe this,” you heard Bucky's voice, muttering to himself. “Now are you really going to get off?”

His voice sounded reprimanding, but agitated. In the midst of that mess, you wondered for a moment if he was really worried.

“I'm almost there.”

You heard him grunt in the distance.

You kept moving your feet in the direction of the main computer, this time more cautiously and more slowly. The floor all along that edge was too cracked, on the verge of falling. You were surprised it had lasted this long.

At that point, Bucky started talking to Steve, but you kept your full concentration on not falling. Maybe Bucky was right and you really didn't have any regard for your life, but…. No, no. You were very sure of what you were doing. You couldn't give up without trying everything. Maybe for Bucky it was too risky, but that was your life. And you knew you could do it.

Ninety-nine.

You had reached the critical point on the ground.

The voices of the two men were becoming too overwhelming, so you quickly took off your communicator and stuffed it in one of your tactical pants pockets.

“What the fuck did you just do?” Bucky exclaimed, a considerable distance away. He wasn't as far away as you thought.

“Your voices are distracting me!”

Good. You were close. Maybe from there you could reach it… if you stretched a little… a little more… a little- Whoop. Nope. You weren't that close. Another chunk of floor fell and with it everything around you shifted. The concrete was so unstable that it tilted further into the abyss after your not at all incredible maneuver.

You had to get even closer.

You had to use plan c.

But for that, the pendrive had to be one hundred percent charged and you weren't sure you could wait for that. Or well, you weren't sure the floor would hold. You had to be quick.

You heard Bucky behind you, but his words were carried away by the wind. You couldn't focus on him because that would be too distracting.

So, arriving at point x, you executed your plan as quickly as possible.

You ran. Even if the world was falling down, you ran. In the direction of the pendrive. The green number didn't change. You took a deep breath. You felt the sparks fly around you. The sound of the ground cracking was going to haunt you in several dreams.

You picked up the pendrive. You would have a few extra seconds as you leaned over and climbed over the computers to gain momentum.

The bing of the computer filled you with a rush of adrenaline.

One hundred percent.

You jumped. You held your breath for a second. Nerves built up in your throat. You felt like you were going to lose consciousness for a minute. Maybe you heard Bucky in the background, you weren't sure, but knowing him he was probably still scolding you.

In the midst of a deep exhalation…

Your feet hit the ground. You rolled. You moved quickly as you turned to see that the ground was still falling. You got up and ran.

You ran until you collided with a solid body. Bucky was shaking your shoulders.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he exclaimed, his face angry.

You could hear Steve's voice through his communicator because of how close he was.

“Shit.”

He grabbed your arm and you ran again.

Somehow, Bucky managed to get you out of the building as they bombed it again. You had a gunfight the moment you touched the cold snow.

You moved alongside Bucky like a symphony, aiming and firing with your gun until you managed to get away.

When you noticed that you kept going and kept running…

“Where's Steve?”

“If you had your fucking communicator on…”

Bucky grabbed your hand again to keep running.

You quickly reached a shack that looked abandoned and the man next to you wasted no time in letting go of you and running in the direction of what appeared to be a garage. There was a motorcycle.

You reached into your pocket only to realize that the communicator had been destroyed.

And Bucky looked too angry to want to talk.

“Get on.”

He drove all the way into town, but he didn't stop there.

You were on the road for at least about two hours. You had no idea where you were.

Somewhere along that trip, Bucky stopped in front of another abandoned shack and from there he pulled out a car. He set the bike on fire.

You went back on the road, for at least another hour.

Until you reached a small town and Bucky finally stopped in front of a house that didn't look so neglected.

“They destroyed the Quinjet's shields at missile point. Steve had to leave. We'll stay here until I can get through to Fury and we know what to do.”

His voice gave no room for retorts.

Present.

Well, yes, you were a bit reckless during missions, but so what? You got what you needed thanks to your incredible action plans and always came out unscathed. If you didn't do that during missions, how far behind would they be now in their knowledge against the enemy? They would probably be sitting ducks. Bucky didn't see that.

You two didn't talk for much of the afternoon and evening. You had spent it in the living room, trying to avoid the mess he had made to get something to eat and rest. You had perhaps slept for about three hours when you woke up and saw him sitting in one of the dining room chairs. The room looked cleaner than before.

Bucky sighed when he realized you had woken up.

“I'm sorry I yelled at you.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Earlier when we arrived. And for all the mess,” he averted his gaze when you leaned on your forearm to get a better look at him.

“Don't you think it was the least you could do?” quizzical, you sat back on the couch.

“Weren't you the one who said I don't know how to talk like a civilized adult?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Sometimes.”

“Well, now I want to. That's why I deeply apologize for reacting that way.”

You remained silent, not really knowing how to answer him. On the previous mission you'd had with Bucky, when the whole mess was over and you were quietly in the Quinjet taking it all in, Bucky had only said “you're fucking crazy” to you before exiting the aircraft. There was no scolding, at least not from him, no complaining, no yelling. Just that. And with that you stayed for a week because you never even saw him again.

Despite the number of times you had heard that, you couldn't see it that way. That was your job, that was what you did and you didn't dislike it. You had done it forever, it was basically your way of life and you had always done it excellently. You trained and practiced for situations like that, that's why you were part of SHIELD's risk management team for so long. You used to risk your life like that to save other people and it didn't bother you. Now you were still doing it, also to save people. There was no dark reason behind it. You were contributing to a common good and that was enough.

“I guess I haven't made things bearable for you either,” you admitted with a hint of remorse.

“No, never,” Bucky shook his head in agreement.

“I'm sorry I scared you,” the words slipped from your mouth. You wanted to say something else, but, well, that had to work.

Bucky let out a short laugh. His head jerked in sync, his shoulders loose as if he didn't have a care in the world. For a moment you felt like you were somewhere else; maybe in a living room, some alcoholic beverage in one of your hands as one of your favorite songs played softly in the background, and Bucky. Bucky sitting in front of you, just like that moment.

Wow. What the fuck was that?

“You apologize for my reaction, but not for what you did?” his sly grin was getting on your nerves. You preferred it when he wasn't trying to upset you at the point of smirks. You never thought that was a weapon he could use against you.

Feelings.

Ew.

No, I hate Bucky Barnes. This is unacceptable. Mind, get your shit together.

“Well, I tried to do that earlier and you didn't care. I don't know what you want from me, Barnes,” you turned your head away, nonchalantly playing with your hair to avoid seeing those light eyes again.

“You'd better leave it at that. I couldn't take that knack away from you if I tried for years,” the sigh that accompanied his words reminded you of something you'd thought of when you were in the building. His face still looked calm, but a little upset by the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“Why do you care so much about that?” you asked him directly now that you had the chance.

You looked at him as he turned his head away, his eyes roaming over your face, confused.

“Are you asking me why I care about your life?”

Puzzled, you shrugged. His look almost made you think that was a weird thing to ask, but was it really? “Yes. Well…. You hate me.”

“What? I don't hate you,” Bucky shook his head, his face more contracted than before as if you'd said he had cat ears on his head. He looked almost offended.

And that was the really strange thing.

You mean, almost as long as you'd known Bucky your relationship had been based on fights and demeaning adjectives to each other. That he would say that made even less sense than you asking him why he cared so much about you. He had to be pulling your leg.

“What? But I hate you because you hate me,” you explained vaguely, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. That was one way of putting it; that is to say, Bucky never gave any indication that he didn't hate you. Or well…

“I don't hate you,” Bucky shrugged, his nonchalant expression confusing you that much more. “You're just a little… insufferable sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes. “That's just a synonym for hating.”

“I don't hate you,” he repeated, this time turning to look you in the eye. For a moment you felt like your breath caught in your throat and you were going to choke. “I know we argue and say a lot of things to each other, but… hating is too strong a feeling.”

“Are you really serious?” you shook your head to get the extraneous thoughts out; that wasn't the time to make a discovery, to realize you had lived a lie.

“Yes. And just to make you more sure, I wouldn't mind hanging out with you outside the Complex,” Bucky blurted out, matter-of-factly.

Your head went blank.

“WHAT?”

Several seconds stunned.

Bucky barely cracked a smile at your dumbfounded expression. It sure looked like you'd actually seen cat ears grow on his head. The things he was now saying… they didn't make sense. “You dislike the idea that much?”

“Do you want to not say things so drastically different every moment? You're changing my perception of reality.”

Bucky kept his small smile and you had to swallow hard to ignore the warmth that settled in your chest. It wasn't welcome, not at that moment. The sound of that music in the living room in your head was getting louder, as if your own mind wanted to mock your surprise.

“Well, back to your question,” Bucky moved his hands nonchalantly over his lap and your eyes followed his movement unashamedly, “I don't see why I shouldn't care about your life. We are partners, after all.”

Partners? After all you had been through? Were you partners? Did Bucky believe that?

“Are we?” you didn't try to hide the incredulous tone that accompanied your words, because it already sounded like you'd just stepped through the door into a parallel dimension.

“Sure,” Bucky nodded to emphasize your words and the calm expression on his face became more familiar with each passing second. Could it be that that had always been the reality and you had been deprived of it? “We've known each other for five years.”

“I always thought you hated me…” you mumbled to yourself, looking lost because your head recalling every fight of the last few years, since you met him, every tongue out and every exalted word, but his incredible hearing clearly picked up what you said as if you had murmured it in his ear.

“Surely it was a mistake in communication.”

“Mistake?” you frowned at his reassurance. “You always called me stubborn and childish every chance you got.”

“I thought we were annoying each other. Although, of course,” his face became a little more serious, “there were times when I knew you hated me intensely. You said really hurtful things, what was I supossed to do? That's why I never bothered to talk to you like this. You did hate me.”

“Because I thought you…! Argh.”

Bucky smiled again.

“You're the insufferable one, Barnes.”

You hated the way your head snapped back to that image in the living room, so peaceful and calm, so serene and warm, the moment his barely noticeable smile hit you again. You had barely managed to get those words out of your mouth before you felt yourself running out of breath again.

Were you asthmatic?

And why was your head suddenly filled with platonic thoughts you'd never had before in your life?

What the fuck was happening to you?

“This is the longest civilized conversation we've ever had,” Bucky spoke again, his gaze wandering somewhere in the room.

Yes, that was true. Whenever you talked for this long it was always to argue and say hurtful things to each other. But you were too surprised by everything he had said, because just yesterday he told you that he didn't want to come on this mission with you either and in his eyes you were sure you saw something like what you felt. Something of hatred, when you saw your eyes through his.

Did you just… imagine it all?

Did you think he hated you because you hated him too?

Or maybe you wanted to convince yourself that he hated you. Maybe it was easier to deal with that than with the idea that you…

Oh no.

No, no, no. There's no fucking way that's it.

But then Bucky stood up and with his smug, know-it-all, hateful look, with that sly, evil grin, like he'd always known everything, like he was squirming around enjoying your confused stare, he held out his hand to you and said:

“Shall we fix something to eat?”

Oh, no, you were screwed.

--

a/n: thank u so much for reading!! <3

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fluff #james bucky barnes #stxrvel talks #avengers #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #winter soldier #the winter soldier

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Fifteen

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hey, besties! Guess who passed their State Board Exams…? ME! I DID! Now, all I gotta do is fill out some paperwork, and I'll be licensed. I've started working already, but it's only three days a week right now, so pretty good! Don't hesitate to comment or ask me questions. I love hearing them and seeing others discuss them. Happy reading, everyone, and let the celebrations commence!

Chapter Warnings: Violence

The celebrations of Aegon's birth had finally arrived. All the Great Houses were expected to come—all but one. The Velaryons and part of the Targaryen faction were not extended an invitation. Rhaenys had taken this as a political slight by Queen Alicent. She was collateral damage in the cold war between Rhaenyra and her old friend. Guilty by association.

Lord Corlys was still fighting for control of the Stepstones and had put his loyal Lady Wife on the Driftwood throne to rule in his stead. The alliance of the Triarchy and House Martell of Dorne was of much concern, and without the aid of the King's fleet, the battle was all but lost. Yet, through it all, the Sea Snake remained on the collection of islands, fighting tooth and nail against those who wished control of his rightful territory.

Princess Rhaenys did not know of your efforts inside the Keep, slowly but surely attempting to send help to the losing battles. The day she was crowned the "Queen Who Never Was" came to mind. She felt abandoned by her cousins, Daemon and Viserys, for refusing to take a stance on the insurgents. Baela was her only solace, her heart missing the pieces her children used to occupy. She would never forgive them if her husband died.

You sat at the exponentially smaller desk in your room, the maids you had yet to become familiar with brushing your silky hair as you read two pieces of parchment.

Jace and your father had sent you letters. Daemons were curt, mentioning nothing about how he missed or thought of you while away. It was as if he was speaking to a fellow warrior, not his daughter. Only ensuring you were still on track with your efforts, wanting to know how far the influence of the Hightowers reached and when to expect words regarding the Stepstones. You ignored him for now, folding it in threes and placing it in the side drawer of your desk as you read your brother's.

"Dear Sister,

Jealousy became me when I bid you farewell a few days ago. I knew what I said was wrong as the words lept from my tongue. I am not proud, and regret has haunted me since. I express my sincerest and deepest apologies.

You have always been open and honest with your emotions, and I wish to do the same. I love you, sissy, despite what my words may have alluded to. You have experienced hardships that no child of that age should witness, and you did not grow to resent your family for it. I cannot say the same for me if something similar happened.

I wish the Queen did not invite you to Kings Landing, not because I am jealous, but because I haven't a clue what I mean to do without you. Father wants me to be strong, like you. He wants me to practice swords like you. He wants me to listen to Mother's audiences like you, but I am not you. I am a boy whose lineage is clouded with stolen kisses and an accidental fire.

I wish you were still here so I could feel your embrace. I do not believe I can handle Daemon for much longer. How have you done it for so long?

The days cannot go fast enough as I await your return. I intend to give you a proper apology once you are home. Perhaps we can spend some time in Aegon the Conqueror's Garden as I grovel? I will arrange a picnic for when I do. I don't want to beg on an empty stomach.

Missing you,

Jacaerys Velaryon, your wretched little brother."

His endearing letter did not help the ache for Dragonstone. A smile burned your cheeks as you rubbed the dry paper between your fingers. You could smell the brimstone on the fibers, the sulfuric scent taking you home.

"My Lady," a servant gained your attention, taking your focus off the sweet words. "The men should be returning from their hunts in the Kingswood soon. I would suggest we start readying you for the tourney later today."

You nodded wordlessly, giving them a tight-lipped smile as you put Jace's letter next to Daemon's. You will be sure to write them both later.

You were confident Jace would love to hear how the tourney went. He had always gravitated toward stories of knights in shining armor valiantly jousting for a lady's favor. He had spoken several times about wanting to participate in the events. That was the only thing that pushed him to pursue the sword, other than your mother's and father's orders.

You could picture your little brother atop a white steed, armor resembling a dragon with a lance in his hand, asking for the favor of one special noble girl. The image brought a genuine grin to your face. Jace was always the gentleman his Mother taught him to be.

You wanted to stand out amongst the crowd of green royals you were sure to be seated with. It was to be your first public appearance since your legitimization, and you had to make an impression. You allowed your ladies to bathe you, and upon your exit from the tub, you requested one to show you the variety of gowns you had brought. Black was always the most innovative option, representing the colors of your House, and there were plenty to choose from, thankfully. It was only a matter of which one.

You decide to help your decision by considering the weather and environment. Most of the gowns you had were thick for the constant chill of Dragonstone and would indeed have you draped over a chair with a fan to cool off despite the changing seasons. That had only left you with a few options, which immensely helped. It had revealed a dress you once deemed too scandalous to wear in your family's presence.

It was not typical Westerosi fashion. Rhaenyra had commissioned a tailor in Dorne to create a gown when you officially became of bedding age.

You could tell it was something she had longed to wear as a girl, a freeing and rebellious design, but etiquette and her position would not allow her to wear such exotic clothing. You did agree with her that it was stunning. The deep plunging 'v' of the neckline certainly accentuated your breasts and made them much more pleasing to the eye as your maids tightened the strings in the back.

The fabric was a combination of red with an overlay of black lace. Golden thread held the seams together, and a matching cape to your shoulders, leaving your arms bare. Pieces of Aurelian were sewn on the shoulder pads of it, looking like crumpled yellow leaves that cascaded down your biceps. A circled belt of silver was delicately snitched around your waist, the excess of the metal resting between your legs.

After you were dressed, the servants ushered you to the vanity, holding the draping fabric so it did not catch as they began to fix your ebony hair. They elected not to put it in its usual braided style, instead rolling and twisting the long strands onto themselves until they reached the base of your head, pinning it to your head. It was simple, and you immensely enjoyed the freedom it gave to your range of motion.

Next, they adorned you with matching jewelry and a delicate headpiece that arched over the crown of your head. A necklace of a curled golden dragon wrapped around the hollow of your throat, a long needlelike chain attached to it as a polished metal fang hung at the end. They then slid a hammered bronze cuff on your wrist and rings of the same color, dragonglass, and rubies for its gems. The ladies applied the final touch of makeup to your skin, a fine powder to rid the shine from your nose, a dusting of rouge, and a hint of rose-colored balm to your lips.

You felt like the Targaryen princesses of centuries past, the blood of old Valeryia pumping your heart.

You would give anything for your Mother to see you now, dressed in the traditional colors of her House. Though you couldn't hide your relief in Daemon not being here, you were sure he would've made you change or barred your door to stop you from escaping in such scandalous garb. You stood, finding the dagger Daemon had gifted you and the belt it was connected with. You hooked it around your waist, adjusting it to be just out of view.

Your servants stared at you in awe, more amazed by their work than you as you grabbed the wreath of black charm lilies and black crystal pansies you requested to give your favor to the knights who asked. You didn't believe any of them would but knew it was proper to have one nonetheless. You smiled at your ladies, conveying your gratefulness through your unusual eyes. You turned, facing the three women, your cape resembling a waterfall.

"I believe I haven't inquired of your names yet," you prompted, looking them over. The youngest of three fiddled with the hem of her white apron, avoiding your gaze. "I do apologize for that. You all have been very kind to me."

"I am Jeyne," the oldest spoke first, giving you a curtsy. Grey hair poked from under her servant cap, wrinkles creasing the corners of her eyes.

"I am Fiora," the next one spoke, bowing. She appeared not much older than you, with bright green eyes and a splash of tan freckles on her nose and cheekbones.

You would guess the youngest girl, around Jace's age, continued playing with her clothes, muttering a meek "Dyana" and quickly bending her legs. You frowned at her response, sensing her anxiety, and reached for her tiny fingers, rough and dry with callouses.

"You need not be frightened, Dyana. I am not as wicked as the whispers claim me to be," you jested with a grin. She returned it, but it did not reach her eyes. A pang of sadness struck your chest as your gaze flicked over her as if you could understand the reason for her apprehension at a glance.

"My Ladies," you said, standing and clasping your hands in front of you as you bowed your head. "It is a pleasure to become acquainted finally. I am sure we will become close during my stay here." You smiled at all of them once more, your attention resting briefly on the meek fair skinned girl. "If any of you need something from me in the meantime, no matter how small or trivial, I will be at your service as you are to me."

The three shared bewildered expressions, Fiora's mouth agape as all muttered their thanks.

You supposed their reaction was understandable. They had never been treated like people before, almost making you feel bad for your motives.

Your plan would not hurt them in the long run. If anything, they would most likely be grateful to have a princess as an ally. Most nobles did not realize how much of their life depended upon the people serving them, not considering that they saw and heard everything within their homes. You would be a fool not to take advantage of that during such tumultuous times.

"Well," you clapped your palms together, giddy to finally have that out of the way, "I have grown rather famished and wish for some snacks before I watch men get rammed with sticks." Jeyne grinned, and Fiora bit her pink lips at your crude words. "I know that this is not proper, but I truly am in the dark. If you would not mind, could you lead me to the kitchens? I frequented them much at Dragonstone, as midnight snacking is a vice of mine, and wish to know where they are when the cravings emerge."

Knowing your next moves hinged on their response, you had planned those words carefully. You needed to tell them something that they believed was a secret. Daemon had told you once that revealing something one would deem embarrassing, that displaying vulnerability to a fellow human would have them drop their defenses, but if they were smart enough to realize this, it would ruin everything.

Fiora gave a toothy grin, nodding vigorously before looking at her companions. The other two shared the same smile. Through those actions, you could quickly tell what her personality was. She was a giddy and sweet girl, albeit a bit more susceptible than someone of her age should be. The other women followed along. Her joy was contagious as they approached the kitchens with you on their heels.

A self-satisfied smirk replaced the kind smile you wore for your servants.

Everything was going according to how you imagined it. Your maids took kindly to you, and as you traversed the long hallways and steps of the Keep, each passing nobleman and servant noticed your presence. One Lady gasped as you rounded a corner and met face-to-face, quickly scurrying away like a scared field mouse. A man who stood over a full head taller than you raked his eyes over your form, his attention staying on your breasts long enough for Jeyne to notice. She silently stepped before you could truly capture his face, only noting his long black hair and eyes.

Servants bustled throughout the kitchens, some throwing large pieces of dough on a floured table, others running with plates of food and ingredients in their hands. None of them paid attention as you entered, hidden behind the uniformed girls, having to duck beneath a misplaced stone in the stairwell ceiling.

Jeyne, Dyana, and Fiora led you through an archway into a room filled with even more people who still did not notice you, peeling carrots, potatoes, and other vegetables. You felt your chest deflate in defeat at your seemingly unimportant presence, not anticipating them to continue their tasks and not spare you a glance. It was not every day a member of the royal family graced them with their appearance.

It almost felt like the servants of the Keep did not see you as a Targaryen but as just another one of them. Your mouth soured at the thought, digging your nails into your palms until they left imprints. It would be best if you were happy to see them collectively agree you were not like the rest of your kin, but still, not receiving the recognition you tried so hard for was gutting. You could feel your body deflating, curling in on itself as your previous confidence dwindled.

No matter, you told yourself. This can work to my advantage.

They saw you as not someone to be feared, and perhaps you could extend those same opinions toward your Mother. Rhaenyra needed everyone who resided in the Red Keep to be on her side when she ascended the throne, the nobles who lived at court, and the knights who protected and defended the Targaryen name. Everyone was needed.

Jeyne handed you a peach from off the wooden table a male servant used to cut some vegetables, smiling as your thumb stroked the fuzzy skin. You could still remember when fruits such as that were unavailable to you, though these memories were faint and grew more difficult to recall as time passed. Dyana then found a jug of cider, filling a small goblet up to wash down the sweet taste that danced on your tongue, and Fiora used the corner of her apron to wipe the stray juices that dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. You smiled at them both gratefully, fighting on the inside not to swat their doting hands away, feeling like a child again.

You sucked the last bit of the pulp from the large seed before removing it from your lips and throwing it in the bucket they used for scraps. You continued to sip on the brass goblet Dyana had given you, following them from out of the kitchens and into a courtyard you had never seen before. It was lined with pens filled with livestock. Sheep, pigs, goats, and chickens belting, chirping, and snorting as you passed.

You were still determining exactly where the tourney would be held but had yet to hear of the vast and spacious arena it was. You knew you would be sitting inside the royal box next to the other noble members of your family, and you couldn't hide how less than joyful that made you feel. You did wonder if the King would be there, knowing that what the Maester and Otto said were complete lies about his health. Some of you still held onto hope that there was some truth in their deceitfulness. Indeed, they couldn't be so bold as to say something that could easily be disproven with one's eyes. The next Council meeting would undoubtedly be an eventful one.

Your ladies led you back inside an entrance of the castle you had never seen before, urging you to follow their steps and assuring you were close. Soon, the low rumbling of voices could be heard. Different pitches and accents all melted into one continuous barrage of sound as you ascended the stairs to your seat.

The first leg of the tourney was set to begin in a short while, and most of the royal family had already made their appearance. Even the eldest prince sat in a high back chair, practically falling asleep with a cup of wine in his hand. A slight grin formed on your face at the endearing sight, appearing as if you were looking at a babe rather than a man grown. His perfectly pink lips stuck out in a pout, a sigh escaping as he adjusted in his seat.

You were standing above him diagonally on the top riser and could see every huff, and every scoff he made as his Mother spoke to him, but Aegon could not see you. Queen Alicent said straight ahead, not looking at him as you saw her permanent scowl. It was her firstborn's name day, which should be celebrated with nothing but smiles and laughs. One would think she would be happy for such an occasion.

Aegon said something to his Mother that made her snap her head in his direction, ready to offer him some choice words as she saw you.

You could hear the gasp leaving Alicent clutching the pointed star of the Seven glued to her neck. You swore by the sound she made she had not seen you but the Stranger himself as her face paled. The Queen whispered something as she quickly looked away. Aegon was just as shocked as you regarding his Mother's reaction. He thought she might faint as he swiftly turned to see what it was all about.

Your gazes looked at one another, and your cheeks reddened under his stare. You felt your heart flutter in your chest, offering him a quick curtsey as you walked to an open seat at the lowest riser, crossing your legs as you adjusted the dagger at your hip.

Aegon had died. Well, it certainly felt like it when he laid his eyes on you. For once, his vision was clear and not yet clouded by the drink, and he could see your perfectly crafted body. He immediately went to the plunging neckline of your dress; how could he not? Your breasts were right there where he could see, noticing how much bigger they were than he initially imagined. He then noticed the curled golden dragon around your neck, reminding him of his own, Sunfyre. Had you chosen that for him? Did you purposefully put that on with him in mind? Aegon could feel his cock harden at the thought.

He watched you descend the giant stone steps, holding your skirts up so you did not trip as he saw your bare ankles. He could hardly contain the twitch of his hips at the sight. Aegon had been with many women in his life, too many to count, and yet seeing just a peak of your hidden skin had him nearly spilling in his breeches.

He thought back to your moment in the Godswood. Underneath the Heart Tree, the fragments of the sunrise peeking through the leaves dotted your skin with beautiful rays of yellow. One had been over your eyes, and Aegon had seen your pupils shrink and reveal more of the purple that bathed there. He never wanted to leave that moment with you. He wanted to stay forever underneath that tree, trace the scars on your skin, and kiss every part of you until he had you squirm underneath him.

Aegon remembered how your breathing hastened as your jaw trembled at his touch, your face contorted into a gorgeous pout as he pulled your lip with his thumb. He noticed how you were clenching your thighs together even though you had no idea. Nothing had changed between the two of you, he realized. Aegon knew you desired him as much as he desired you. You just did not know it yet.

Gods. He wanted to take the empty seat next to you so badly but knew what his Mother would say if he did-- what she would do if he did. So, instead, he signaled for a serving girl to fill his chalice to the brim, drowning his sorrows in Arbor Red.

***

You felt rather pathetic as you shifted in your seat, the wood creaking with your weight as you still held your wreath of flowers. You could sense everyone's eyes on you and the empty chairs positioned at your sides. No one wanted to sit next to the bastard, you mocked in your head, feeling as if your eyes would pop out of your skull if you rolled them any harder.

It was the fifth round of the tourney, and five men had been knocked off their horses, but no fighting had ensued. Bracken, Tully, Arryn, Tyrell, and Blackwood boys had to skulk back to the stables knowing they had lost.

The King had still yet to show if he was ever going to, and you had given a fierce glare at Otto Hightower a few rows up when he announced the tournament had officially started. You had caught the stare of Princess Helaena in the process and immediately softened, returning her kind smile before the One-Eyed Prince stole her. You made a mental note to see her at the feast the following evening, perhaps share a dance or two.

With the end of the fifth round started the sixth, and the vibrant lion banners of House Lannister were prominently displayed as Ser Tyland entered the arena. He sat atop his chestnut horse, trotting over to the squire that held his lance. He approached the royal box, and you thought for a moment he might ask you for your favor. You couldn't hide the distance as he smiled up at you but turned his face away, looking at someone behind you.

"I am Ser Tyland of House Lannister," he announced.

Yes, you twat, you said internally, we know who you are. You live here.

"Princess Helaena," he called, and she looked up from her fingers to the man below her. His voice nearly made you vomit. "Would you do me the honor of bestowing your favor for the next round, Princess?" he asked chivalrously.

She glanced at her grandsire beside her, and he nodded in approval as she stood, her pale yellow dress shining in the autumn sun.

"Of course," she smiled, walking to the steps to place her ring of white and blue flowers on the pole of his lance.

"I thank you, your Grace," he replied and then trotted back to the waiting young squire.

Helaena stood there momentarily, her eyes glassy as she looked at you. It didn't feel like her gaze was on you, but more looking through you as she whispered. "Heed the beast within the deep. Rock runs red, and rocks bleed."

You looked at her confused, brows furrowing, and reached for her hand, asking her to speak louder. She quickly smacked it away, her eyes widening in fear as if she was suddenly woken from a dream, and she hurried up the steps.

You didn't have time to dwell on Helaena's outburst as Ser Tyland Lannister's opponent entered the wring. His armor was an impenetrable crepuscule steel and as shiny as the scales that covered your dragon's flesh, a helmet the same color with a mane of yellow hairs spanning from his crown to the base of his neck. His banners were ones you had only seen on paper. Most of the fabric was black, just like his thick armor, but the sigil was a deep golden kraken with ten long tentacles, nearly spanning the entire flag. The squid-like beasts of House Greyjoy were said to terrorize the depths of the oceans and sink the ships of those unsuspecting.

You were unsure of which Greyjoy it was. Dalton or Veron or maybe a cousin or some distant kin that shared the name. You didn't care who it was. They were just another lord or knight seeking fame inside a wood and dirt stadium.

You signaled for a servant, and he gave you a chalice of wine as you slumped in your seat. You didn't want to cloud your mind with alcohol, always the one to be alert and observe things other people may not notice, but this was getting rather irksome, and you needed something to do other than sit and look pretty.

"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," the knight said, his horse a dusty grey color as he lifted his helmet off his head. You ignored him with confidence that it was not you he was speaking to, taking another gulp of wine as you swirled the drink.

Dalton was a fierce and ruthless man. You had heard his stories of his youth sailing the Basilisk Isles with his late uncle, pillaging the towns there. He had somehow claimed a Valyrian steel sword named Nightfall during those plunders. At one point, he had aided in the battle of the Stepstones as a sellsail, where his uncle was murdered. It had been rumored in a fit of vengeance, he killed every enemy within his sight and emerged from the battle victorious and drenched in blood. Since then, he bore the title of the Red Kraken.

"I come seeking the favor of the bastard girl the court speaks so much of." A collective gasp sounded in the royal box, shocked at his words.

You barked out a laugh at Ser Dalton, attempting not to choke on the liquid you just swallowed. You should have been insulted at him for calling you such a name. In the eyes of the law and the Seven, you were no longer a bastard, but clearly, that did not stop people from claiming you as such.

"You have found her, Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy," you mocked, crossing your legs as you began to play with a small leaf. You smiled as you noticed the maroon outline of his House sigil on his breastplate.

Everything thing about him was dark and menacing. He radiated an aura of malevolence from the inside as if you would cut him open; he would not bleed the same red. "Though, I do not think you deserve my favor after calling me such a name." Men and women released more gasps, and you could hear someone muttering a soft "Gods be good" under their breath.

You waited for the following apology, but it did not come, leaving you sitting there like a fool. You hummed in disapproval, pushing yourself upright.

"I am no longer a bastard girl," you stood, holding the flower wreath between your fingers, "but that of a woman born from a night of sinful heat and passion. I am skilled with the blade and well-read. I study history, philosophy, and the politics of the realm." Ser Dalton's onyx gaze crept from your leather slippers to the white streak in your hair. He watched you step closer and lean over the railing so only he could hear you. "I am not just a simple fucking bastard girl."

He watched the words roll off your tongue, gripping his lance tighter with parted lips as you placed the circle of black and wine-colored flowers on it.

You fixed your spine, staring down your nose at the bannerman before you. "Win this joust Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, and I will forgive the slight you have made upon me. For I am afraid if you do not, the sand of the Iron Islands shall turn to glass, and your Salt Wives will finally be free. You have my favor and my luck." You flicked your wrist as you walked back to your seat. "Off with you."

"Thank you, Princess. You honor me deeply." He lifted the fist that carried his helmet and crossed it over his chest, bowing his head with an amused smirk.

You sat down, grabbed the cup you had been working on, and asked the servant to fill it again, unbothered with his courtly manners. Ser Dalton placed his helmet back on and readied his horse for the first bout.

You almost chuckled at the sight, drink to your lips. Sitting on his horse, he looked like a nasty black pony with a yellow mane, ready to bite and kick anyone nearby. His whole get-up was quite ridiculous as you continued to watch.

Ser Tyland's armor was so very much... Lannister. There was no other word to describe the style. He wore a long red flowing cape, his dense silver breastplate trimmed with gold in the shape of a lion.

An announcer with a sizeable brass horn stepped onto a wooden platform a few meters before the royal box. He wore a plum-colored hat with a dyed feather and an off-white tunic dampened with sweat and stained with dust as he shouted the outlining phrases for the beginning of this round. He introduced each House and their respective ranks within them.

"Ser Dalton of House Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, conqueror of thirteen Salt Wives, Lord of the Iron Islands," he boomed into the sky, swaying his hand to the right side of the arena to where the man was. He paused to let the crowd shout their praises.

Screams and hollers of people echoed loudly, drowning out the announcer as he introduced Tyland next. You could see the proud Lannister boy's ego was hurt at the apparent favoritism, and you feigned a pout at the sight.

Finally, he blew his horn, signaling they could begin. Ser Dalton did not waste a breath in fear as he charged at Ser Tyland, his yellow-striped lance already bent and ready to take his opponent off his horse. You scoffed, taking another sip of the sickly sweet wine.

If he planned to knock Tyland down on his first try, he clearly did not comprehend the point of a joust. You did not understand why the audience would love him if he intended to get this over swiftly. This was supposed to be entertainment and not battle. It was meant to be a spectacle for the crowd, a break from the mundane life of the court.

At the last second, as Dalton and Tyland were about to collide stick to the chest, Ser Dalton lifted his lance straight. Ser Tyland's breezed past his rival, completely missing his goal with a cheer from the crowd. You mirrored their sentiments but did not show it on the outside, only adjusting in your seat with a soft sigh. You saw Dalton to the left now, and if you did not know any better, smirked at you. Arrogant, just like the Lannisters.

They went at it again, the hooves of their steeds thundering on the packed earth. This time neither of them started with their poles down, only for Ser Tyland to raise it at the last moment and knock Ser Dalton in the shoulder. Sadly, he did not fall off his horse and only lost his grip on the lance, dragging a line in the dirt. You laughed, pleased to have witnessed at least some bruising to the man's pride.

You tried your best to ignore the stares of those behind you. They had been on you since you sat. No doubt, if you looked, you would only be met with aversion and disgust. You steeled yourself, moving from your slouched position to rest your hands on the arms of the chair.

Aegon was part of the stares, though his expression differed significantly from the others. His Mother had cast him a sidelong glance at his reaction, and only then did he outwardly calm. He had been inside his mind until the squid boy approached you, asking for your favor. He even had the gull to call you a bastard! In front of nearly the entire court of the Red Keep! Oh, how Aegon wanted to call his dragon and burn the fish to pieces.

It also did nothing to soothe him when he saw you lean over the box fence, telling the squid boy only something he could hear. He knew your breasts were on display for the man judging by his hungry gaze. At one point, Aegon swore he saw him adjust his stance in the saddle.

Aegon was furious. His nails dug into his seat's material, feeling splinters wedge underneath them. He stole a pitcher of wine from a servant, keeping it on his lap so he could have continued access to it.

He was so, so furious as he watched your sudden interest in the tournament. He knew you were only mesmerized by the men in front of you because Ser Dalton gave you attention. Aegon wasn't upset over that; no, he was upset over the fact that the Lord of Pyke had won the round by hitting Tyland Lannister straight into the chest, sending him flying into the dust. He noticed how your shoulders lifted with barely contained excitement as he watched Ser Dalton send a bow your way.

He groaned, not filtering his discontent for the rest of the rounds that unfolded, which, sadly, each one Ser Dalton was the victor of. Eventually, the final bout started. His opponent was a Glover boy from the north, unsure of which one, but it didn't matter as he witnessed the Red Kraken get thrown from his horse. Aegon couldn't help but cheer theatrically at the sound of the lance splintering when colliding with his stomach.

He had caught your sudden gaze then, brown eyes flitting over how he stood and clapped his hands. You didn't smile but gave him a look of confusion, your thick brows furrowing. He had felt his jubilance subside, but only slightly.

Suddenly, Ser Dalton shouted, yanking a sword and shield from his squire and challenging the victor to a duel. Aegon felt his stomach sink into his chair as a strand of his blonde mane obscured his vision. Oh, splendid, he mused; the squid has pride.

The Glover had taken up the challenge without strife, still proudly wearing the banner of his House on his back. Aegon wondered if you had ever witnessed a duel before. He knew you had taken a life, but it was not the same as watching someone do it. Selfishly, he dreamed you would turn away at the sight and seek comfort from him, but that was all it was... a dream.

You watched with surprise as the Glover's and Dalton's swords clashed, the clang ringing in your ears. Each slash and thud of their metal longswords sent a jolt through your bones, curling your toes and squeezing your drink in a vice-like grip. You hated to admit that you felt nervous, your heart beating just a little too fast to be considered normal.

Ser Dalton's swings were wild but held a skillful precision, connecting with the Glover's side. It knocked the wind out of the poor boy's lungs and had him raising his shield as Dalton kicked it, sending him stumbling further.

He was so savage, so bloodthirsty that it made you shiver. You finally understood why he was called the Red Kraken, and you feared for the Glover's life. Surely, he wouldn't kill the boy; you hoped he wouldn't. The poor lad looked like he had just become a man. He was much shorter than Dalton but still taller than you, and he looked like this was his first tourney. You wished he would yield.

Ser Dalton swung at the boy, his armored fist connecting to his jaw with a nauseating crunch of bone and metal. Confidently, he kicked to disoriented teen in the stomach, knocking him to the ground, his sword falling just out of reach. He went to pull his shield to defend himself, but Dalton stomped on the arm that carried it. You could see how the Kraken stood over the Armored Glove, unable to hear what he said to him. You didn't need to. You knew what came next, and it did not frighten you. The Glover lost the duel as the Greyjoy raised his sword, cutting off the words that attempted to leave his tongue with a blade to the throat.

It was bloody. So very bloody. The essence of the Glovers' life force spurted from his body onto the face of Ser Dalton Greyjoy, dripping from his chin. You heard the gasps of those around you, a platter dropping at the horrific show as the ground became saturated with red. You didn't feel sad as you watched two people drag his body away, the crowd bursting into cheers and applause. In fact, you felt hardly anything, sitting as if nothing had happened as the announcer raised Ser Dalton's hand in triumph. You were used to death by now.

To the outside person, you looked alright, but Aegon knew you were anything but. Your knuckles blanched around your drink, resting it in your lap. He felt foolish to think you would shy away from such things. He knew you were much more robust than that, but still, he hoped you would run to him.

Everything next seemed to happen in slow motion. Aegon watched the crown of roses intended for the Queen of Love and Beauty be placed into Dalton's bloodied palms, strutting over to the royal box as he called out the most beautiful name he had ever heard... Yours.

His little one. His love.

Aegon went to jump out of his seat, but the firm hand of his Mother yanked his arm, abruptly pulling him back down before he could mock the royal family with his outburst. He wanted to rip his Mother off him and run to you. He wished to hide you from the hundreds of eyes staring at you. This wasn't right. He panicked. This cannot be right. You were his, and he was yours until the end of days.

He pictured what Ser Dalton's head would look like on a spike as you walked down the stairs and onto the small platform below. He watched the Salt Lord's eyes rake across your body as he placed the crown on your head, whispering something that made you clench your fists.

Everyone knew what this meant grandiose display meant. The Lord Reaper of Pyke intended to court his pretty girl and make a Salt Wife out of her. No, Aegon thought. That will never do.

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I hope y'all liked this chapter. It's an exciting one! We've met a new character, Dalton Greyjoy. He plays a big part in The Dance of Dragons. I won't spoil it for anyone, but let's say his heart runs black… The next chapter is the feast for our baby boy's 20th birthday! Let's hope Aegon gets everything he wishes for.

Tagged Peeps:  @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @fatalewomen, @somemydayy, @ariana-dumbledore8, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @sunny-boy-06 

Bold means I couldn't tag you for some reason :(

#aegon the second #house of the dragon #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #prince aegon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x you #hotd aegon #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii smut #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii angst #aegon ii targaryen x female reader #game of thrones fic #game of thrones #hotd fanfic #tom glynn carney #hotd #hotd fanfiction

[dingochef]

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking, light bondage, blindfolds, shitty parents, nightmares, arguing

Summary: You and Jake work through the details that make marriage work and deal with a few bumps in the road. News from your Dad doesn't help.

Word Count: 5.0k

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Chapter 18

Chapter 19

A Rose By Any Other Name

You're walking home, (and still in constant awe and adoration of your engagement ring) from the ferry terminal towards your house. When your phone rings, the display showing "Dad". You keep walking and answer the call.

"Elsa, Congratulations on your engagement," your dad practically shouts on the phone.

"Thank you, Dad," you reply cautiously, "Is Mom there?"

"No, she isn't."

You're not sure how to continue the conversation, so you go with the 'running away' tactic.

"Well, I'm almost home, so anything else you want to talk about?" you ask, hoping he says no. The awkwardness palpable even from 2,000 miles away.

Your Dad takes a deep breath,

"Yeah, Elsa, I have a few things to talk about with you, if you want to."

You reach the front porch of your house and sit down on it.

"Umm, yeah, I'm listening."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking about what happened at Christmas. I heard everything; I apologize for being a coward and staying in the kitchen."

You give a small hum of assurance that you're listening. He continues,

"I'm so sorry that I failed you for so long. I know now I should have done more to balance out your mom. It's not an excuse, it's a regret."

He pauses and takes another breath, "I was checked out, should have been there more."

"Dad, what's done is done. This is feeling a little like Cat's in the Cradle," you answer, finally having something to say.

He laughs,

"There's that wicked sense of humor," he pauses, "I want you to know how incredibly proud I am of you and what you've become."

"It's good to hear you say it, Dad, but all our family dysfunction isn't going to be solved in one day."

"I get that, Elsa, I really do. But it's a starting point."

"There's something else I need to tell you, your mother and I are separating."

You croak out a very surprised, "What?"

"Christmas was a wake up call, that I haven't been happy in our relationship for a long time, but I stayed because it was comfortable and familiar."

Jake pokes his head out just as you say,

"It seems like a drastic step to separate, did you guys try couples therapy?"

Jake looks at you and mouths

"Who is that?" to you.

"My dad," you cover the phone and whisper back. Jake's eyes narrow and his brows furrow together. He goes to say something, but heads back into the house.

Your dad has taken his time in responding, he sighs,

"I invited her to go with me, I've been going on my own since Christmas, or find a new one, but she didn't want to go, or try."

Your dad's voice cracks on the word try. He is starting to cry and for the first time in a long time you wish you were in Michigan to give him a hug, this is the most vulnerable moment you've ever experienced with him.

Jake has reappeared and hands you a gin and tonic and squeezes your shoulder as he gives you space to talk.

Your dad draws in a deep breath to settle him and starts to talk again.

"My time left on earth is a diminishing resource,"

you interrupt him, "That's a little grim." He huffs out a soft laugh.

"I had the epiphany that I want to spend it with the people that make me happy, not just out of habit. A big part of it is how she never let go of the argument from Christmas. I won't be with someone who is driving away our children chasing the past. You kind of inspired this, by the way."

"That kind of sounds like I caused your separation when you say it that way," you try to joke.

He laughs on the other end, the tight band around your heart loosens a little.

"That's not what I mean exactly, just you've built this world of people who love you for just being you. Every time you've faced something that would decimate most people, you jumped back up and kept going to do what made you happy. Like you know that the love you share with Jake is worth fighting for, even if it means a fucked up relationship with your mother. I need to do what makes me happy and loved, and right now that's not being with her."

You laugh a bit darkly, trying to keep the tears at bay that threaten to spill,

"Dad, don't know if you didn't notice, my relationship with Mom has always been a bit fucked up."

"Yet another thing I ignored, I've missed so much, Elsa, I'm so sorry for that."

"It's okay Dad, you're at least self aware now, plus it's another thing you can add to your therapy list, you know in case you run out of stuff to talk about. Want to use every minute of that hour, get your money's worth."

"Did you just make a cheap dad joke about therapy?"

He's laughing and you can feel him lightening even over the phone.

"Yes, I did. You're the only person I've ever known to cut open the toothpaste tube to get that last little bit."

"Hey, it works. There's at least two more tooth brushings in there," he's at least joking a bit.

"Well, I'll let you go Elsa, you probably want to eat dinner with your fiance and not talk about an old man's laments. I want you to know how proud and amazed I am at what you've done with your life. I think Jake loves you deeply and he's good for you."

"It's really good to hear that," you pause,

"You might want to consider a trip out here, alone, actually get that visit in. I love you, Dad."

"I love you so much, Elsa."

"Bye."

You hang up the phone and hold the cold drink to your forehead as though the coolness could soothe your inner turmoil. When you go inside Jake is sitting on the couch, pretending to read a magazine. He chose his spot on the couch because he could keep watch over you outside on the porch. A wave of warmth rolls over you to know how protective and loving he is. He starts to get up and you motion for him to stay. Putting your drink on the coffee table, you flop down on the couch next to him. He waits patiently for you to talk and pulls you into his arms.

You break the silence,

"I didn't think I'd have to add 'Parents Getting Separated Likely Divorced' to my Matthews Family Dysfunction bingo card, but here we are."

Jake is visibly surprised,

"That's out of left field, you were talking to your Dad, right?"

"Yeah, he called to congratulate us on getting engaged and decided to let me know about them separating at the same time. You know for efficiency reasons, couldn't have those be two different phone calls," you snort thinking of the range of emotions in one phone call.

"So, they're separated. Any particular reason why?"

Jake is cautiously wading into the emotional quagmire.

"He said he's been doing a lot of thinking and therapy since Christmas, and realized he wasn't happy in their relationship and hadn't been for a long time."

"Wow, you'd think that he'd just run the last mile of the marathon and stay with her and not start over so late in life."

You laugh,

"I got the impression it was more of a 'I'll be damned if I'm going to run my last mile with you.'"

Jake at least rewards you with a light smirk.

"Part of it was my mom's insistence on holding onto the past, he said he wouldn't be with someone who would drive his kids away for something that could have been."

"So, how do you feel about this?"

He pulls you closer for a hug as he kisses the top of your head.

"Surprised and not at the same time, my parents have always been together but I don't know that I ever saw them in love with each other. I remember Dad as a little kid being really bright, laughing, and funny. Always smiling, that started to fade over time, I don't know if that was the toll of a strained relationship or if it was him kind of checking out trying to cope with it."

"I'm glad he's going to therapy, that's pretty smart of him," Jake offers.

"He said he has regrets from my childhood and how he let my mom dominate my life, so he's at least aware of that. He also said he is really happy for us and thinks you love me deeply and am good for me, which I'd have to agree."

You lean over to give him a peck on the cheek. Jake can tell you're still processing the conversation and will likely talk to him again about it.

"You ready for some dinner? I made a stir fry," he asks quietly.

"That sounds lovely," you stand up and wrap your arms around Jake's torso.

"I love you so much, Jake Seresin."

He replies,

"I love you very much, Elsa Matthews, soon to be Seresin."

You know you have to talk about some of the details of married life like keeping your last name, but you're emotionally spent for the day.

–

It turns out that conversation happens very soon on the next sunny Saturday afternoon. You and Jake have convened at the dining table to discuss “Life Stuff” as you called it. A file folder of your financial stuff, your laptop open to your financial tracking software, and Jake's tablet are laid out on the table. He keeps all his financial info electronic so that he can access it from anywhere the Navy sent him.

You start,

"So, I want to get married sooner than later, I don't want a really long engagement because we're trying to plan the 'perfect wedding.'"

"I agree, we'll have to see what's available for locations and work from there," Jake nods.

"Okay, that's good, that's probably a whole nother day of effort, but I thought we'd tackle the hard things first before picking wedding colors, you know the things that actually make marriages work."

Jake is smiling his panty dropper smile,

"God, I love it when you get all engineer on me, planning stuff, solving problems. It's kind of hot."

He smirks as he slides his hand up your thighs under your dress.

"Jake," you stop his hand and pull it off your leg,

"This is important stuff and you doing that is highly distracting and you're not going to get me all wet and bothered to discuss whether we do a prenup or combine bank accounts."

"Okay, I'll behave for now," he raises one eyebrow and gives you that smirk again.

"So, I came up with these things to discuss from my research. Not that this is the only time we'll talk about it."

You look down at your list,

"First, what debt do you have? I'll start, I have," you scroll through your accounts on the laptop,

"$367 on a credit card that is paid automatically each month from my checking account. You?"

He scrolls,

"Credit card only, $582. Also paid automatically each month."

"Okay, that was stupidly simple, by some stroke of luck, we have no student loans, car loans, mortgage, or a crippling gambling problem."

Jake laughs,

"You know this might be easier if we just swap the laptop and tablet with each other."

"Okay," you shuffle the tech around and scroll through Jake's accounts. Checking, savings, credit card, investment account, and what looks like a retirement account. All of which are healthy and reasonable.

You look over to Jake and he looks shocked,

"El, I didn't realize how loaded you are, maybe I should have made you pay for dinner more often."

You laugh,

"Most of my net worth is in this house, I've been maxing out my 401k and Roth IRAs since I started working. That's a lot of it, but also I don't really live an extravagant lifestyle as you've noticed. I drive an 8 year old Honda, probably the second most expensive thing I've bought in the last few years has been my bike. I've been putting the equivalent of a monthly payment for a house, since I don't have one, into a money market account since I bought this place. That's all because I really do earn good money at my job, six figures."

Jake has been nodding the whole time,

"So, level with me, what was your gross salary last year?" he asks.

"$150,000," you answer, waiting for Jake's response.

He has a pleased look on his face, none of the insecurity or jealousy you've seen from guys before,

"Nice, beats my $85k a year."

"It doesn't matter who makes more money, because I think it's our money when we get married which leads me to the next question. How do you want to manage money? Combine accounts or keep separate accounts?"

Jake answers,

"I think that combining is the way to go, it seems complicated and kind of petty to have to balance out every transaction to make things even. If it's one account, it's our money that we use for our lives. You?"

"I'm in favor of the combined account, pretty much for the same reasons. I see you're a member of a military credit union, so that might be the place to have our accounts. We can compare that stuff and choose the best one."

"Sounds good, what's the next question?"

"What purchases can we make individually and what ones do we need to consult each other on?"

"Obviously the big ones, houses, cars, anything that you might consider taking out a loan for. I'm not sure if there's a dollar amount that would trigger it, because spending $500 on a couch is different than spending $500 on shoes. Not that you're the type to do that," he looks at the ratty Chaco flip flops you're wearing.

"Hey, they still work. I'll get a new pair when they break. It's just my Midwestern soul and the ingrained thriftiness. I think it's context dependent too. I'm going to go with the 'when in doubt ask' policy."

"Agreed, what's next? This feels like a job interview almost."

"We should discuss if we want a prenup."

Jake starts,

"I think it would be wise to protect your assets, Elsa."

You scoff,

"It feels really cynical. Like we're expecting this not to work. The big thing is the house, it's in my name obviously, I was considering adding you to it, so you'd get if anything happened to me, or we can set up a trust that automatically transfers it to you. A trust might not be a bad idea if we plan on having kids. Hah, that's the next question."

You look at Jake and he seems a little overwhelmed,

"Are you okay over there?"

"Who knew getting married would be so complicated. El, I don't want the appearance of me marrying for your money. Your mother has already made me paranoid about not being enough."

"Jake, if you wanted a sugar momma, you could have reached way higher. There's plenty of rich old ladies on Coronado Beach looking for a young buck like you."

He relaxes and laughs a little,

"Who says I'm not playing the long game for when you'll be a rich old lady?"

It's your turn to laugh now,

"Jake, this is our house, I need to set up a will anyway and we can discuss options with a lawyer if you want."

Jake looks satisfied with that answer. He looks at the list of questions,

"So, kids, yes or no, and how many?" he asks.

"I do want a family, not giant, but at least two kids. All the only children I know are kind of weird. Seeing you with Ellie and Gigi made something click on in my uterus, because I was definitely filled with the urge to give you babies."

"I'm sure I could help you with that primal urge," he jokes,

"I'd like a family, but as I said before you get to make the ultimate decisions on all of that because it's your body and you'll bear the brunt of it."

"Fair, would we both work if we had kids? I don't really think I'd like to be a stay-at-home mom, I'd like to keep building my career."

"While in an ideal world you or I could take a multi year sabbatical and raise some kids, I'd expect that we'd both want to work, and I'm okay with hiring a nanny or daycare, are you?"

"Yeah, I am. I was a daycare kid as my mom was a teacher. I went during the school year and I think there's some good to it, the socialization. It just depends on finding the solution that feels right."

"Alright, hit me, what's next?" Jake asks, rolling his shoulders.

“How do you feel about me keeping my last name? You've casually mentioned me changing my name."

Jake thinks for a moment,

"I just assumed you would, you know tradition and what not, why wouldn't you?"

"My whole professional life is under Matthews, my patents, licenses, and journal articles. All under Matthews, keeping that consistent is important to my professional reputation. Plus, it always felt a little patronizing and demeaning to me. It feels like a relic from the past when women were just traded around by fathers to husbands like property."

Jake's face twists into a disagreeable expression, his mouth pulled tight.

"I guess, I've always thought of it being a unifying thing, like 'Team Seresin'. Not you submitting to me like property."

He looks worried as he continues to speak,

"Do you not want to be Mrs. Lieutenant Seresin? Were you going to change it for Liam?"

"No, I wasn't and that's not what I'm saying, it's just arbitrary that it has to be the woman who changes her name, do you want to be Mr. Dr. Matthews?"

He shakes his head,

"Why would I change my name? It's not what people do."

"Jake, just because it's been done that way for a long time, doesn't mean we have to do it. We can be committed to each other without the same last name."

You sigh a little louder than you should.

"I just thought that it would be something that brings us together, being the Seresins, a family unit. What if we have kids, what is their last name going to be?" he asks and clenches his jaw waiting for the answer.

"I'm more than fine with them having Seresin as a last name. I wouldn't want to burden a kid with a hyphenated last name."

"You could hyphenate, what about being Elsa Seresin-Matthews?"

Jake raises his eyebrows like he's found the magic solution.

"That's a giant pain in the ass and you know it." you huff, feeling your cheeks heat up. Jake's eyebrows drop and furrow together as he considers what he's going to say next.

"Elsa," you're surprised he's using your full name and not just El,

"I can understand why you wouldn't want to change your name, but it just feels like you're bucking tradition just to do it."

"That's what you got from this discussion? I'm just being contrary for the fun of it? Please stop saying it's tradition, because sometimes tradition is a word for the stupid way we've always done things."

You wince internally at the last part, momentarily forgetting how much of Jake's life is ruled by tradition and the Navy.

Jake's mouth stretches into a thin flat line, his anger telegraphing across the room.

You and Jake are now staring each other down, obviously both angry. You're about ready to leap in for another round like the hot headed idiot you can be when Jake holds up his hands in a surrender motion.

"Let's hold up a second. You've said your piece and I've said mine. I think we need to cool off and separate for a bit before we make this nasty. I know how I can be a righteous asshole when I'm pissed off and I don't want to go there."

You take a deep breath,

"Fine, I'm going to go for a bike ride, might as well use this energy for something."

Jake nods curtly, acknowledging you.

You change into your workout gear and head out on your bicycle. As you round the corner of the block, your phone dings with a message from Jake,

"Went for a run."

You snort that he's also expending angry energy in a physical way. Your conversation plays over and over in your head. Changing your name, beyond the professional reasons, just always felt off. Like you know intrinsically that you're Elsa S. Matthews, PE, PhD. The way Jake didn't really get the professional reasons why keeping your name the same was probably what hurt the most. He knows how important your career is to you. Changing names and not having that continuous professional history could undermine your career. Just another piece of bullshit female professionals have to deal with. Another mile and your white hot rage dims and your brain fixates on the rhythm of "Elsa S. Matthews". The syllables syncing up over and over in time with your legs pushing down the pedals as you try to burn this frantic electric energy.

You stop to look out over the bay and it occurs to you that there is a compromise here, the S standing for Samantha, a name you don't care about. You weren't named for anyone, your mom said she read it in a novel when she was pregnant and liked it. How easy would it be to change your middle name to Seresin? Elsa Seresin Matthews. You can keep your professional name the same, Elsa S. Matthews. That feels right to you, like the joining of names not obliterating one for the other or tacking on a clunky name at the end of a full name.

Your ride home is quick and you fall into the same rhythm as before except to Elsa Seresin Matthews. Desperate to find Jake and resolve this, you pick up your pace.

Arriving home and you put your bike away as fast as you can, desperate to see Jake. You walk in through the back door just as Jake walks in through the front door shirtless, sweaty, and wearing rather skimpy running shorts. His golden treasure trail just peeking out of the waistband. Your brain automatically wants you to wrap your legs around his waist and fuck him as soon as possible, but you know you and Jake need to talk.

You meet in the middle of the living room and start talking at the same time,

"El, I didn't–

"Jake, I was being–"

He cock his head when you laugh.

"This feels like a rom com where the characters fight over something to add a conflict to the plot. Like we both just enter the house at the same time and start talking over each other."

He cracks a smile and starts to talk, "El, I didn't think through all the professional implications of changing your name. I can see how that would upset you, given how hard you've worked and how much your career means to you. I was wrong to diminish that."

You swear you see a light bulb go on above Jake's head. Like he unlocked the Rosetta Stone, and figured out what bothered you most.

"Did anyone ever tell you you're a smart one?" you tell him. He smiles and shakes his head.

"You're right that's why I got upset. I don't fault you for assuming that I'd change my name, a lot of women do. I also can see how it looks like I'm rejecting your name and in a way you."

Jake looks away for a second.

"It stung, and I fixated on us having the same last name as something critical to being married, when it's not."

He takes your hands in his,

"Us being married and committed to each other whatever our names are is the important part."

"I have a proposition," he raises his eyebrow and takes a step toward you. You laugh at him as you stop him with your hands on his chest, his hands landing on your wrists,

"Not that kind of one, yet. Keeping my name as Elsa S. Matthews is important for me, but the S stands for Samantha. A name I have no affinity for, my mom got it from a trashy romance novel. I want to change my middle name to Seresin. A name that means a lot to me and to you. What do you think?"

The panty dropper smile blooms wide and open on his face,

"You're calling me smart, but you are the smart one. I would be very touched if you took my name as your middle name. I was at peace, okay, a grumbly peace," he slightly rolls his eyes, "With you keeping your name, but I really like this idea. Elsa Seresin Matthews, sounds good."

You lean up to kiss him,

"I'm glad. And we just had an honest to goodness fight, didn't we? I think we came through it all right, good communication skills, go us."

You wave a tiny pretend flag with your hand in celebration.

Jake pulls you close to him, and whispers in your ear, his voice low,

"Know what the best part of a fight is?"

A shiver rolls along your spine as Jake drops a light kiss just under your ear. His hands sliding down your back to grab your ass and pull you close to him.

You stutter a little as you answer,

"N-no, what's the best part?"

He smirks into your neck, stopping his efforts to give you a hickey he replies,

"The make-up sex."

A wave of arousal flushes down your body as you gaze into Jake's eyes, the green blown out by his pupils wide with desire. His hands slide from your ass to under your thighs. He lifts you up with ease and your legs finally wrap around his waist. You kiss him like you're both running out of oxygen and you're trying to steal it from each other's lungs. He backs you up to the nearest wall and pins you up against the wall, his legs supporting you and your hands around his neck. You are grinding at each other desperate for some friction. You whine because you're wearing padded bike shorts, and you can't feel Jake like you need to.

"Need more,” you pant against his lips,

“Need you,” he also pants against your neck, where his head had slipped down.

He unzips your bike jersey to get more of your skin against his, and he huffs,

"Stupid sports bra.”

"Put me down for a second."

He lets you down gently and you peel your clothing off as fast as you can. Jake has the same idea and pulls his running shorts and underwear off in one smooth motion. As soon as he can he pulls you back up to him, moaning at the contact of skin on skin. He steadies you against the wall again, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.

"I didn't think you'd be able to rip through my bike shorts like you did my underwear," you gasp out as Jake enters you. Jake's only answer is a string of curse words and sex babble, "Fuck, god you feel so good, El. Love you so much."

“Love you so much, Jake.”

He starts a fast rhythm, your mutual need to be close and chase your highs spurring him on. The feeling of being completely surrounded by Jake and his hard wall of muscle, his scent, and the feeling of your sweat mixing as you slide against each other is amazingly overwhelming. Your brain is reduced to one thought as he pounds into you,

“Jake. Jake. Jake.”

Jake lifts you a little higher, grips your thighs a bit harder, and you are seeing stars as his cock hits the deepest spots in you.

"Love you, oh fuck, right there, so good. Don't stop," you plead with him.

The pleasure is overwhelming with each thrust, the room is filled with only your heavy breathing, moans, and the obscene sound of fucking and skin slapping on skin for the next few minutes.

"Touch yourself, El, make yourself come, so beautiful when you come on my cock,” Jake grits out as he grips your thighs and ass harder. You comply, and snake your hand down and start rubbing your clit frantically, trying to match the pace. You look Jake in the eyes and start talking,

"I wanted to wrap my legs around you the second I saw you come through the door, half naked, sweaty, and my god, your chest. Want to fuck you all the time."

Jake's reaction is to pound harder and faster, erasing your ability to form coherent sentences.

“Fuck, El. I want you all the fucking time. I can't believe this pussy is all mine.”

"Fuck, I'm so close, Jake, so close. Come with me, please."

Your climax slams through you like a car hitting a brick wall. Your eyes close involuntarily, and you can see stars dance across your eyelids.

“Fuck, El. Milking me so good, so fucking tight,” Jake grits out as comes, right on the heels of your orgasm. His hot come filling you up as you spasm around him on each wave of residual pleasure. Somehow Jake holds you up through the aftershocks, his head on your shoulder as you catch your breath. He kisses you sweetly on the lips, and says,

"I'm going to put you down now, you good to stand?"

You just nod and hum as he pulls out and sets you down. You wrap your arms around his torso to lay your head on his chest, only to realize how sweaty it is. I pull my face back and suggest,

"I think it's time for a shower, we both are sweaty and reek of sex."

"Excellent idea." He responds, and you can see from the look on Jake's face that he has more thoughts for later.

Chapter 20

@kmc1989

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mamachasesmayhem

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

@djs8891

@atarmychick007

@memoriesat30

@midnightmagpiemama

@mygyn

#top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #hangman #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake seresin x you #top gun smut

[justxtalking]

I'm so mad right now and I need to rant. I know I should get over it, but I literally can't. It's so annoying to meet hxh fans in real life.

I'm buying bit by bit the volumes of yu yu hakusho and hunter x hunter (level e is not available in my country), and reading them (again). I got volume 28 and took some photos of some panels that I liked and shared them as a collage in my story. It looked nice, I liked it and I am really happy that I finally got it. The thing is that a friend I haven't properly talked to for I don't know how long saw my story and realized that I liked hxh. We started talking, but damn, I don't regret sharing what I bought, but why are people like this? This is the second time it happens to me (third time if I include a non-fan but knows hxh): everytime someone hears that I like togashi's work, they start complaining about the popular hiatus (as if he's the only mangaka who does that). I so prefer to meet the guys who act all surprised everytime I go to buy a hxh volume in the comic book store. At least they try to make a conversation about the story and just ask me about my favorite character.

My conversation with this guy started with him just complaining about how togashi doesn't continue the story and he should leave it to someone else but he's too proud and blablabla. I tried to be sympathetic since he seems to be a fan of his work from years ago, but I did defend togashi a whole lot (he said I should stop defending him but never in my life I would do such a thing). I find it awful how some fans still put so much pressure on togashi to continue hxh when we know about his condition. And to just leave the story to someone else? It's clear that those people haven't done anything close to a story to say that.

I literally already made peace with the fact that I don't need an ending. As a fan, of course I want to know how it ends. But also as a fan, I don't want him to sell his soul to the devil only to know the ending.

And something I said to this guy was that he should make his own ending, I have mine and I will throw it away when hxh ends. It was literally a joke to lighten up the situation and it wasn't even something to focus on because in between I was saying other things. And he literally focused on that and said "don't let it be fujoshi" (used as an insult) and I'm here like: are we back into the 2000s and nobody told me?

1. What is the problem?

2. Why do you care?

3. We didn't even speak about any kind of ships, what are you trying to say?

4. Are you sure you know what type of story you're reading?

And this question is for me: How am I meeting dude bros in real life? Why are they in the WILD? AND HOW THE HELL DID I BEFRIEND ONE YEARS AGO WITHOUT ME KNOWING? I want a friend who also likes hxh and togashi's work to talk, but not like this </3

I'm so tired of these kind of people. While living my life outside of the Internet and just being in my corner of the fandom living the great life, I tend to forget that they still exist and there are people who still act like this. What annoys me the most is that literally, they don't know what type of story they're reading. They like to say they like hxh because they know it's good and it gives you some kind of "status" within the anime community because togashi is a really good mangaka and someone who influenced a lot of people within the manga community. Without him, shonen as a genre wouldn't be the same. But then, they also choose to ignore what they don't like about his work, like the queer elements. It's highly known that togashi loves to play with gender and sexuality, but that's only a fact for them when they find it convenient. If you don't like it, don't watch/read it, but it's ignorant and blatant stupid to just act as if it's not there and talk shit about other people only because it's uncomfortable to you. And I'm not even saying that everyone should analyze the story, some people just like to enjoy it and move on with their lives and some others don't know how to analize it, but one thing is that and another thing is just to close off to the possibility when it's clearly there. But of course, the others are sick, not them who are clearly homophobic and don't want to admit it. They should ask themselves why do they get so mad about the possibility of two kids being together romantically and just work on themselves. What's worst is that this guy even said to me he likes NANA and I don’t want to know what kind of interpretation he has because DAMN

To be honest, sometimes I'm a bit surprised about how well togashi seems to know the anime community, but of course he does, he's being a fan for how long now and he's being a mangaka for how long. And I so hope he keeps trolling because DAMN these people are annoying

The worst part is that these fans wouldn't even be friends with togashi or wouldn't like him as a fan because togashi really does look like the type of fan they would hate. Togashi likes BL, mpreg, obscure stories, horror (body horror even) and science fiction (both genres who allow and are known for queerness), he used to make doujinshis (even in an era that was even more bad looked upon than now), he likes to draw bishonen characters (even in a time which was more common to see buff characters in shonen), he drew gender-bender designs of kurama and hiei, he included a homoerotic art of kurama and karasu (a friend made it for him i think) in his doujinshi, he wanted to make a shonen with gay characters and crossdressing and the list goes on and on. He likes so many things that these others fans are disgusted by and it really looks like they don't know who they are admiring. The reason why ending D got so much negative attention when it came out is because it doesn't sound believable that a mangaka like togashi himself, the same person who made level e and is constantly worried of making an interesting story, would make such a bland and heteronormative ending in a story like hxh no less.

They should just shut up and go do their homework instead, they look ridiculous.

And no, I didn't answer this guy again and I don’t think I will, though I really want to troll him.

#hxh #togashi #justxtalking #rant is over #I've been trying to study korean but couldn't focus so i came here #me correcting the typos after i posted it #and by the way he doesn't like killua but loves gon #who hurt him so much

[trafficlife]

smalletho fic you say?👀👀👀👀

👀👀👀👀👀👀 indeed! smalletho fic idea that hit me like a sledgehammer two days ago!

SO. etho is a skilled assassin that's tasked with killing joel, who is a very bloodthirsty vampire, because all of the other assassins died to him

and since i am too excited to keep this to myself, i'll give you a snippet from the beginning! i am a little over 1k words in and i haven't even gotten to the part where etho meets joel

Etho was a mess. Well, physically he was. Maybe mentally as well, but he’d deal with that another day. His senses were completely overpowered by scarlet blood, thick and abundant and everywhere. It was on his face, his clothes, his dagger, his victim. And now it was pooling onto the pavement, creating a thick crimson puddle for Etho to stare into. A twisted mirror, that puddle of blood was. It was a reminder of how far Etho had come. Whether or not he was proud of his progress, he wasn't entirely sure. Etho couldn’t stare at himself much longer. He didn’t want to come to regret this line of work, when he was just so good at it. He’s been an assassin for four years. And in that time, he quickly climbed the ranks, becoming sought after by hirers and potential victims that wanted to kill Etho before he killed them first. And yet, even after four years, he was still astounded by how much blood his dagger could draw. Blood dripped down from the jagged blade, dripping onto the pavement and creating a path as Etho walked away. It was a path that Etho knew extended far past his victim, past the borders of his town. He had been traveling on this path for so long, he forgot where he started, nor did he anticipate reaching an end. Get the job done, collect your rewards, and run. That was Etho’s new motto, as it was all he could do. But no matter how far he traveled, no matter how much he ran, he was just running in circles. Etho fell into a cycle with no real way to escape. Even if he stopped this line of work, it didn’t mean he’d live peacefully. He had several targets on his back and became extra cautious of potential traps and hidden assassins. It was a dog-eat-dog world and Etho knew he wouldn’t stay on top for long. But somehow, the risk of getting murdered didn’t bother Etho as much as it should. He was more concerned about if, in the future, he could deal with the bloodbath he showered himself in constantly.

#꒰♡꒱— inbox #[🔎]— anon #꒰☆彡꒱— karma writes #smalletho #trafficshipping

[vera-king-hrfl]

Eventually, he recovers enough to slowly ease out of you and lift his weight from your bruised body, rolling onto his back next to you and gathering you against his still heaving chest. The two of you simply lie there for several minutes and breathe, basking in the afterglow. You finally lift your head to look at his face, and you see that familiar little crinkle between his brows that means he's stewing in consternation over something or other. You kiss his cheek.

"Everything alright?" You ask softly. You suddenly fear he is already feeling regret over your liason, or else telling himself he doesn't deserve you. But he turns to you and smiles...

"Yes," he says, turning himself onto his side facing you and propping his head on his hand, his elbow on the mat. His eyes flutter, and he takes a deep breath. "Gods yes, you were... that was... you, my dear, are the most incredible lover I've ever known and... and you've given me a night I never dreamed I'd experience. I am sorry that I lost control for a... moment. It just felt so right with you. I have always feared frightening... and I'm sorry I hurt you. I can heal these."

His fingers trace the claw marks on your body, the punctures on your flank, shoulder, and neck. You shake your head, catching his hand and kissing it, wanting to keep his marks, but here's still something brewing in his skull so you keep your peace. He draws a quick breath and pauses, then speaks again.

"I want you to know that I would never seek to compromise you. We can keep this as secret as you wish. I know relations with tieflings can be... looked upon unfavorably... by some. But, even so, I'd be very pleased if I could see you again, when we get to the city. Not because of the lovemaking, or... at least, not only because of that, I mean, I just..."

He's stuttering and you silence him with a kiss. You don't care about the pinpricks in your rump or the soreness between your legs. You enjoy the sting of the bites. You definitely don't give a damn about his heritage. You brush your lips against his, trying to put all of your feeling and your intention into the kiss. Finally you withdraw and gaze into his eyes.

"You didn't do any real damage and I heal fast. Please, I'm proud to wear your marks. I wanted you to let go and be in the moment. I pushed you. You've done nothing I haven't wanted and enjoyed." You caress his cheek. "Zevlor... you think I would be ashamed of you? I like that you're a tiefling, I don't care what other people think. And I will meet you in Baldur's Gate. In the bright of day surrounded by people. I feel no guilt or shame for being with you. On the contrary, I am proud to know you and I will be glad to walk the city on your arm. You need not keep this a secret, unless... unless you want to."

He's staring with wide eyes, a slow smile tugging at his lips. He chuckles and then sighs, flopping onto his back once more.

"Very well. You make a convincing case. The Gate, then," another soft huff of amusement, closing his eyes, "it matters not. No one would believe me anyway."

You wrinkle your nose. You'll see about that.

The night is getting old, and both of you have much yet to prepare, so with regret you draw on your clothes, give him one last lingering kiss, and depart on slightly unsteady legs to seek a wash and a few hours of rest.

#bg3 zevlor #zevlor #zevlor bg3 #afab reader #nsft #afterglow #touch of angst #part 12

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Don't You Forget About Me

Part Two

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Description: Jake's had to live with a lot of incredibly annoying people over his life. But of all of them, he's never been as frustrated by anyone the way he has been frustrated by one Bradley Bradshaw. Rooster may be a textbook perfect pilot but he hesitates too much. Tell someone they'll never get anywhere once and get your head bitten off? Sure. But at the same time, Jake can't help remembering the one person who had inspired him to dream of the sky. That Bradley, wherever he is, had better be proud. Because Jake is. This Bradley, no matter how sexy and alluring with his damned pornstache and effortlessly tousled curls had better watch out. His callsign is Hangman for one particular reason, after all. Everything comes to a head after the Uranium Mission. Maybe Jake's Bradley from Texas is closer than he thinks? Disclaimer: This is a Hangster story -> What you see is what you get, folks. Slight mention of homophobic/ lgbtq+ phobic family members. Word Count: 2755 Author's Note: Hiya! I wrote this fic for @roosterforme's Top Gun Rocktober Event based on the song Don't You Forget About Me by the Simple Minds. Here's part two. I hope you all like it! Part two happens after the Uranium Mission and is in Jake's POV.

It's been a long road, getting to where I am right now. Years of sweat and blood and tears. Years of ignoring my uncle's insistent demands for money, years of sporadic contact with Mom. But I don't regret one bit of the pain or sorrow of the past decade. I can't imagine what my life would have been like if I hadn't met Bradley at the party all those years ago. Hell, I probably would've been working on some ranch in Texas, still under my uncle's thumbs and miserable to boot.

I can still remember the smile on his face and how gentle he'd been with me. I mean, don't tell Phoenix or anything, but I haven't always looked this good. There was a time when I weighed about ninety pounds soaking wet. I was gangly limbed - all the grace of a newborn colt with none of the dexterity. The only thing I knew I wanted for the future was to stay with my boyfriend. That went over well, didn't it? Especially considering how monumentally that relationship crashed and burned.

It's weird, attributing so many of the biggest accomplishments in my life to one person, especially someone that I knew for only a night over a decade ago.  His words, his opinions, I remember them like I’m still sitting in the passenger seat of his car. But I barely remember his face or what he was wearing. The attraction? That I still remember. I remember that all too well, one could say. I’ve never felt like that with another man before him. Even the fact that he’d called me ‘kid’ hadn’t seemed to matter, not when my hand was in his and when I was transfixed by the heat in his whiskeyed gaze. It’s no wonder that whiskey is one of my favorite drinks, not when each sip makes me remember his eyes.

There’s only been one other person in the past twelve years that has made me feel the same way that Bradley did. Even his first name is the same, and his eyes. But he’s never once looked at me like he remembers me. So he can’t be the boy who changed my life. Then there’s the fact that until not too long ago, I couldn’t stand him either. Him and I, we’ve always been like oil and water. Bradshaw was the responsible person. The guy COs loved to fawn over because he flew by the book without ever deviating from it. I’m the renegade, the maverick - the guy you send in to get shit done no matter what. He was the asshole who everybody liked and who wouldn’t get off of the perch his namesakes loved to sit on. 

But even I can admit that things have changed over the past few weeks. I’m a part of a team, for one. Not just a lone ranger doing their own thing. I’m actually a part of this squadron. Standing in the Hard Deck after what has to be the hardest mission of my whole career, I feel better than I ever have. Let me make it clear. I was the auxiliary on the mission. A part of me is still not over that fact. I understand it now, but call it my ego or my need to succeed or whatever you want, it still stings. Maverick saw my performance up in the air, he saw how I flew and he still found me lacking.

But I was the man everyone could count on. The guy who made sure everyone came home. But why is the true hero of the mission, the man who made the one-in-a-million shot, sans laser sight, during the mission, nowhere to be seen?  Phoenix is doing shots with Bob. Payback and Fanboy are poorly serenading some unsuspecting girls on the other end of the bar to the song pouring out of the jukebox. But where is Rooster?

There must be something wrong because he hasn’t unplugged the jukebox even once and led the bar into an easy rendition of some Jerry Lee Lewis throwback from a century ago. I haven’t spent a single night at the Hard Deck out with him where he hasn’t rounded the night out with a surprisingly tuneful albeit drunken rendition. Between me and whoever else hears my mental dialogue, it should be illegal for someone to sound that good while drunk. The bar is packed, but well, you’d think finding a six-foot-tall man would be far easier than you think. But even as I order two beers from Jimmy at the bar, I don’t see Rooster Bradshaw anywhere. At least that is, until I’m in the corner of the bar near the pool tables.

He’s sitting on the deck out back, looking out over the placid ocean. It’s honestly a relief to escape the hoppy stale air and the insistent crowd the minute I open the doors. If I have to tell the story of my dashing rescue mission, complete with “Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman, this is your savior speaking.”, I might just scream. My throat is sore and I wish that the news of my derring do’s hadn’t passed around base the moment the carrier docked. 

But all of my thoughts fly out of my mind the minute I see his face. He looks good, it wasn’t exactly a secret that first night back in San Diego that I thought that. I’ve always thought he looked way too good to be true. But tonight, even I can admit that Bradley Bradshaw has looked better. There are dark bruises rising up across his chest, his arm is in a sling and as a whole he looks like he’d be better suited to curling up in bed than sitting out on the beach outside of a bar. Should he even be drinking with the potent meds I’m sure the doctors gave him? I’m kind of afraid to ask, so instead I sit down near him and hand him one of the beers. I rub the condensation away on my jeans and truly, I don’t know what to say.

A part of me knows that I should ask if he’s okay, but instead I ask, quietly, my voice barely audible over the rushing ocean tide, “Why did you do it?”

“Do what, Bagman?” He’s slurring his words, exhaustion evident in every pore. When he picked up a bruise on his cheek, I have no idea.

“Why did you go back?” I don’t know why of all the questions I have for Bradley Bradshaw after over a decade competing with him, it was this one that I chose to ask.

He looks confused for far too long before he rasps out, “I had to. Mav’s the only family I have left.”

His earnest, easy acceptance and love for our Captain leaks from every word. The look on his face, too, is unspeakably familiar. I can’t help wondering if maybe I have met Bradley Bradshaw before. But when? How? I don’t think we’ve actually talked to each other, not once since the day we met. It’s been friction, just glorious dizzying friction since that day. He pushes me to be better, even when he’s acting like I’m not worth the space I inhabit.

Tonight, though, Bradley Bradshaw makes me feel different. It’s probably just the exhaustion on his face as he sips lacklusterly on the beer in his hands. But I feel younger and older all at once. In the glint of the moon, his eyes flash golden.

“Why’d you do it, Jake?” I wasn’t expecting that question. Not at all. 

“I…” If he notices how my throat works as I try to string my disparate thoughts together, he doesn’t call any attention to it. I feel transfixed under the liquid amber of his gaze. “I had to.”

“Mav said we all had to come home. All of us meant you and him too. I’ve lost a wingman already. I’m not ready to lose anymore.”

I busy myself shredding the sodden label of the beer in my hands. It’s mostly full still, my mouth too dry and throat too tight to swallow any of the liquid. My head’s spinning too, caught in his gaze.

“Huh…” His chuckle makes my cheeks warm. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I didn’t either.” For several moments, it’s quiet outside. Then someone props the back door open and I can hear some of the music pouring out of the jukebox. 

Don't you try and pretend

It's my feeling we'll win in the end

I won't harm you or touch your defenses

Vanity and security, ah

Don't you forget about me

“Why’d you join the Navy, Hangman?” My eyes open at the unexpected question. I guess they’d closed when I listened to the song on the juke.

“I figure I might as well ask.” He shrugs, just the one shoulder, gesturing with his bottle to get me to spit the words on the tip of my tongue out.

“I met someone going to Officer Candidate School when I was seventeen in Austin. He was different … nice. I’ve never been called a kid more affectionately. He told me about the Navy, and well, there was nothing better waiting for me. So I joined up right after I graduated.” Nostalgia colors my tone as I think back to how different I was back then. “I think this song was playing on the radio actually.”

What I don’t expect to hear is laughter. Pained, overloud, sudden, jarring laughter. I turn my head and like I expected, it’s coming from Bradley Bradshaw. It rankles a little having someone laugh at something I’ve never told anyone else.

“What?!” If I sound like I’m snarling, well I’m sure it’s my prerogative.

“God you always were a little shit, huh?” The naked fondness is more than a little surprising. 

“What do you mean?” I’m pouting and grumbling, I know. My beer’s sitting on the decking and I have no idea where I should look. If I look into his smug face, I’m going to say something I know I’ll regret. 

“You ran into me that night, if I remember correctly. Called me an asshole and everything." This can't be happening. There is no way this is happening. My Bradley, the kind, supportive one, can't be Chicken Bradshaw. That's not possible. Please don't tell me I've spent the better part of a decade trying to antagonize the one person who convinced me that there was something better for me than being my uncle's whipping boy.

"I definitely did not." 

"You were about ninety pounds soaking wet. Sure, you look different, but that particular rage in your eyes? I've only ever seen it on one other person." He licks his lips, but while I should be focusing on what he's saying, I can't help noticing how chapped they are and how incredibly soft they look.

I'm frozen, paralyzed. Until a hand nudges my own. I'm not sure why I do it, but I put my hand in Rooster's. His hands feel the same as they did all that time ago. Big, just a little bigger than my own, the long fingers calloused but gentle and warm as they clasp mine.

"I know I'm probably not who you thought you wanted to thank." Is that self-deprecation in Rooster Bradshaw's tone? No way. He just saved the entire world as we know it.

"Who says, Roo?" It's gratifying to see the pink on the apples of his cheeks. This close it feels like there are whole galaxies in his eyes and I feel this sudden sense of deja vu.

In Austin, all those years ago, as we were talking high above the city in Bradley's vintage Bronco, all I wanted to do was sink into his lap and kiss him until all he knew was me. I thought I'd outgrown that particular fascination with the stars in his eyes and the scars trailing down the side of his face. Obviously not. 

A lot has changed in the decade between that night and this one. I'm still incredibly handsome, obviously, but muscular and fit, no longer emaciated and malnourished. Bradley's even broader and stronger than he was before - beefy is the only term I can use. And DADT, that one governing guideline for all non-heterosexual people in the military is dust in the wind.

But more than what I want, which is to croon 'Roo' into his ear as he rails me until I can't feel anything below my waist, I have to consider whether he wants me, too. It wouldn't be the first time that I'm too much for somebody. It probably won't be the last time either. 

"Hangman? Jake? JAKE!" I blink, sure I'm blushing because I think I just zoned out looking at his lips.

"You okay?" 

I nod, smiling just a little. He's close, incredibly, impossibly close to me.

"Jake. Tell me if I'm reading this wrong, but I really want to kiss you." His raspy voice sends shivers down my spine.

But I know he's not feeling his best, so I take control. His hair feels like silk at my fingertips as I peck his lips, once, twice, and finally a third time. It feels way too good, how even those simple kisses make me feel giddy in a way I've never felt before.

I cradle his face gently in between my palms, levering my body onto his lap until I'm straddling his waist.

"You look good, Bradshaw." His chuckle makes me smile, something real. Something soft and new.

"I am good, Seresin. Too good to be true." I kiss him again, relishing in the prickle of his mustache against my lips and cheeks. This new angle also lets me look, really look at Roo. There are dark smudges under his eyes, bruise-like in their intensity.

"Roo," My voice is gentle as I pepper kisses against his jaw. "How long has it been since you've slept, baby?"

His nose wrinkles. "I haven't really slept since before we left."

"Let me take you home, then, sweetheart?" His eyes darken at my words, but I stop him with a soft chuckle. "Not to do that. Though I do want to. You look as exhausted as I feel. I just want to see you sleep, darlin'. Okay?"

His nod is a little dazed, but he doesn't argue when I grab the beer bottles and slip back in to drop them off back at the bar. I get accosted on my way back out to Roo by the one person who would be perceptive enough to notice the two of us out there.

"Hey, Hangman." I blink, more than a little surprised at the surprisingly strong arm barring my way.

"What can I do for you, Bobby Boy?" 

He pushes his glasses up and says in a serious tone, "The two of you are good together. Take care of him, yeah?"

Now I really must've entered the twilight zone. I've got everything I've ever wanted and the one person who probably should disapprove of everything I do just told me to take care of Roo. But I can't help the giddy grin on my face. Rooster's still right where I left him, watching the few sparse clouds sail past the moon.

"Take me home, Seresin." I don't think I could stop smiling if I tried. He's said my last name so many times, in so many ways, but it's never been so fondly.

"You got it, Bradshaw." His hand is warm and secure in mine as I get him into the passenger seat of my pickup.

By the time I pull into my parking spot on base, Roo's nearly half-asleep. Sleep's tugging at me too, but I manage to keep it at bay until I have him in a pair of my flannel pajama pants, curled up comfortably under the sheets of my bed.

I lie down and face him, tracing each dip and strong line of his face with my eyes as I finally start to fall asleep after the mission.

"Hey, Jake?" I hum lightly, too tired to say anything more.

"Don't you forget about me, okay?"

"I'll be calling your name, Roo. I couldn't forget you if I tried." It's true. I never would've expected one of the worst nights of my life to lead to the one person who has always known what I needed. Now it's my turn to make sure he has what he needs.

Taglist:

@chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @cassiemitchell @dakotakazansky @roosterforme @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @sarahsmi13s @horseshoegirl

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun rocktober #jake hangman seresin x bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin #hangman x rooster #rooster x hangman #jake seresin x bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x jake seresin #hangster #sereshaw #this is a two parter #happening both before the boys are navy and after the Uranium Mission in TGM #this part is in Jake's POV

[the-wales-5]

"Her Legacy"

27th June 2023.

The Prince of Wales was on the way home from Sheffield which was the sixth and last stop of his 'tour' dedicated to a new initiative "Homewards". He felt pride but some kind of anxiousness over what will become of this project throughout the next five years consumed his thoughts as well. Therefore, when he got informed by his official secretary that his car is getting closer to Adelaide cottage, relief was clearly visible on his face.

His wife had returned home an hour before from her engagement at "Hope Street" and was cooking one of his favourite dishes for lunch. Her children joined her in the kitchen and asked about their father. Catherine told them that he most likely was on the way home already.

A few minutes passed and there he was, at home hugging his children and petting their Cocker Spaniel Orla. He was avoiding Catherine's eyes for some reason and she began to feel rather worried.

/

"William, is everything alright? You haven't eaten a lot for lunch and you also seem to be rather disconnected.." she said with hesitation right after George and his siblings left for the garden to play there.

"What do you mean, Kate?" William looked at her and pretended to feel surprised.

"I simply notice that you are stressed. We're always talking about it, aren't we?" She smiled a little and sat on a chair next to him where Louis was sitting before "Just tell me what is bothering you" she said.

William sighed and at last his eyes met Catherine's as he spoke up "It feels heavy, carrying my mother's legacy like that with no certainty. Of course I know that she would've been proud of me and I absolutely want her to feel this way wherever she is but I wish she would be here with us, and guide me through the process of making 'Homewards' and support me with many other situations that have happened over the last 25 years, you know?" He smiled faintly and Catherine put a hand on his knee as she said quietly "I know. I know that you miss her and wish all the things you've just said but you must remember that she probably still see everything"

"Everything?" William replied his wife's words and took a deep breath "Even those bad situations between Harry and me? If so, then she must feel heartbroken to see it".

Catherine hid a sigh and then she simply hugged her husband. "It's not your fault that all of it happened, William" she said. "You've done everything you could to repair your relationship with him, to make him realise that what he does is wrong. He did not listen. That's all. You have nothing to regret. And I believe your mum would tell you the exact same thing if she were here with you now" she smiled and squeezed his hand as she added " 'Homewards' is not her legacy, it is completely your own thing. Work on homelessness is her legacy in a way but each time you do something in that field or the environment projects, you are making your own legacy. And trust me when I say that your mother is supportive and proud, wherever she is and that 'Homewards' will be successful".

Her husband nodded and without saying a word he inhaled Catherine's hair scent. She smiled and caressed his cheek when she noticed his teary eyes. She tried to wipe his tears but then he gently grabbed her hand.

"How is it possible that you are giving me support just by saying a few simple words?" He asked with a little smile on his face "One would think that it is not enough after so many years together and yet these few words you just said are everything I wanted to hear since I left my last engagement in Sheffield today?"

Catherine kissed both of his cheeks and giggled softly. She wanted to say that he didn't need to thank her but right at that moment he put his finger on her lips and whispered "My mother would have loved you as much as I do, Catherine. I've told you about it many times, I am aware but I mean it. I really do".

They stared into one another's eyes for a few seconds and were about to kiss when all of a sudden they heard Charlotte calling them to come into the garden too.

/

In the late evening, before going to the bedroom, William was standing next to his mother's portraits. George quietly approached him and asked "Are you thinking about granny Diana, papa? Do you feel sad?"

William smiled at his son and then at his mother's portrait as he replied "No, I feel happy, George. I feel happy because granny surely feels the same when watching you, your siblings, your intelligent mum and.. and me from the above" he said and wiped his tears and put hand on George's shoulder as they walked away from that portrait together.

_The End_

#royal fanfiction #2023 #Her Legacy #stories #fanfictions #prince of wales #princess of wales #princess diana #prince george #william and catherine #kate x william #homewards #text post #tags

[depressedraisin]

ok ok quick summary of my thoughts and feelings so far:

it's 5:30 am and ive been up since 2:30 so probably gonna regret this but here we go

FIRSTLY, im incredibly INCREDIBLY proud of them for putting up the show. last week was tense and rather scary, we were all shitting ourselves with worry over alex's voice and health so i felt like i could cry in relief seeing look so much better and sound so much better and obviously being great at his job. the others, particularly nick on 4/5 and matt on body paint- fuck they were showstopping!!!!! overall very very enjoyable experience, im glad we have this.

YET.

yet. i AM disappointed and i got no qualms admitting it. the car is my favourite album, tbhc id die for, i literally spend so much time with their discography i probably AM a little too emotionally attached and not-objective about them. so yeah it's saddening. to not see the car and tbhc getting the limelight and the appreciation. i for one do believe there are songs in them which would work in a gigantic stadium or a festival, but we would never know if they do bcs they never gotta the chance to be taken out for a spin. also the rest of the albums- for a discography as diverse and as deep as the band's, so much of it sits in an attic catching dust. but yeah i get it i get it- logistics and commercial considerations and audience and all that. i get it....... sometimes. most times.

glasto did piss me off a tiny bit however. (just a little im sure it'll wear away soon). i was really fucking excited for it, jumped through so much to get access to the livestream and all, barely slept today just to watch it. i was holding out a lot of hope for this gig- ofc bcs it's glasto!!!!! it's such a consequential milestone in their career, it's been so long in the waiting. and being really fucking honest here- i took the "they'd surely do something different for glasto!!!" to heart. BUT I UNDERSTAND. i understand, why they might not have done anything, why things planned might not have worked out. I GET IT.

but also. there's a miniscule corner of my brain which is like. how different would a glastonbury show have been in an alternate timeline anyway? yeah they do surprise us, but signs haven't been pointing towards those directions at all in this tour. so all in all, yeah im disappointed. not so much for this one gig but the tour as a whole and the general attitude in this era. things alex has been talking about in the album.....at times their way of going about things seems so contrary to that. and yeah they're a band of 2 decades of experience and fucking professionals so no, i don't believe it's external uncontrollable reasons every time.

the monkeys are such an important band, yk? they might be the last of their kind- which other band will have their level of critical and cultural impact again. i hate LOATHE DESPISE to see all the potential getting wasted. they're saying such important things and not many are paying- but the band isn't trying particularly hard to get anyone to listen either. and yes, it's been the case long before alex got sick and long before they got up on the pyramid stage.

anyway enough whining and ranting for today.

i just love the car ok i'll defend it to my grave.

i just love the band so much i wanna give them a giant hug.

also yes i AM a lowly fangirl and miles kane not being there makes me sad.

#the car tour #arctic monkeys #glastonbury 2023 #my thoughts #don't @ me pls i do love them a lot

[bytheangell]

hello elle! i've noticed you haven't posted as much as usual and i figured that's something every writer goes through but i'm rooting for you! right now i'm trying to work on a waywood longfic that i hope to start posting this year 😅

hope things go fine for you, you always have my best wishes. since you said you're open to anything, maybe do you feel like to write more waywood? you'll have my enthusiasm and joy supporting you 😆

from the prompt list you posted, some i felt that waywood could go for were 4, 5, 7, 22, 47, 189 and 193. of course, you should only write what you feel like writing ☺️

(Read on AO3)

People always say that children can be cruel, but they often overlook the fact that they take after the equally heartless adults who raise them.

It was one thing when the other students taunted Robert for his family history - whenever he does too well, or too poorly, it’s either ‘good to know you’re smarter than a worm’ or ‘what did you expect from a Lightworm?’. Robert was used to that. No matter how far his family came, no matter how much distance they put between themselves and Benedict’s legacy, it never seemed to be enough.

It was another thing to have one of the Institute’s Professors step in to break up a fight and say “Why am I not surprised to find a Lightwood at the heart of another problem?” when Robert had done nothing wrong. He’d never done anything wrong. He’d done nothing but his best to keep turning his family name into something positive, something to be proud of. It was never enough. He was never enough.

And the one person who thought Robert was enough, Robert pushed away.

Robert didn’t wait for the Professor to finish before he turned, started running, and didn’t look back.

Robert hadn’t spoken to Michael in days now… or was it weeks? And yet in this moment, getting more lost by the second as he made his way through the pitch-black forest, everything inside of him screamed for Michael’s company.

Robert tripped over a root, or a rock and fell hard to the ground below. He felt a cut across his knee, the pain of a twisted muscle in his wrist, and even though he could get up if he wanted to he chose not to. He sat there, on the cold, hard ground, and his heart, mind, and soul all yearned for Michael to be by his side.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. He thought he may just stay on the ground forever, honestly. The next thing Robert knew, he heard the crunching of branches approaching, and then Michael was by his side.

“You’re hurt,” Michael said, reaching down for Robert. It wasn’t a question.

“Why are you here?” Robert asked, pulling his arm away from Michael’s reach and immediately regretting the action as a new sting of pain traveled from his wrist up the length of his arm.

“You’re hurt,” Michael repeated.

“The last time we spoke…” Robert trailed off.

“You were a proper asshole,” Michael confirmed, already pulling out his stele.

“Then why are you here?” Robert repeated.

“Because I could feel you out here, Robert. Hurting. Calling for me through our bond, whether you meant to or not. We’re parabatai…” Michael hesitated, but only for a second before pushing forward. “...and I love you. I told you that I’d never leave you; I’m not going anywhere.”

Michael held his stele over Robert’s healing rune, looking at Robert expectantly. Even after all this, he wanted to respect any boundaries Robert might set. Robert nodded slowly, closing his eyes against the comforting sensation of his parabatai activating his rune spread through him.

He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what he could say that would excuse his past actions, or show Michael the sort of appreciation he deserved for staying even now. Why should Michael bother to come all the way out here and help the person who kept trying to push him away?

But Michael was his Parabatai, and Robert should’ve known better than to think he’d have to say anything at all. In the silence that fell between them, Michael seemed to read his mind.

“I will always choose you, Robert. Even if you won’t always choose me.”

Robert didn’t deserve Michael, didn't deserve his reassurance and comfort... but just as Michael chose to be here, Robert could choose to accept it. 

And he did.  

#robert lightwood #michael wayland #waywood #tsc #shadowhunters #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #I fused two of these together for this one #it's been ages since I've written them so I hope it's alright <3 <3 #and I hope your fic writing and life in general is going well!! #ask rune #inquisitor-of-the-circle

[sweetmage]

Got obsessed with a new NPC, yippee!!🎉 Unfortunately he dies 😭

Anyway, here is a little bit of Niall and my new warden Valentin saying their final goodbye in the fade 🥲 

Words: 836

Series: Dragon Age Origins

Ship: M!Surana/Niall

Tags: Character death, belated confessions, final goodbyes

Reality crashed upon Val like a wave, sudden and suffocating. The Litany... all Niall could speak of was the Litany, as though he had not just admitted to giving everything with the casualness of a passing comment. 

'His body...'

Val shook his head slowly as though denial might displace the truth. "But there must be some way. Wynne is with us, she's a healer, she—"

Niall stopped him with a wan smile. "This isn't something any mage can undo. I have... minutes, maybe. Maybe less. Promise me you'll take the Litany."

"Of course, but—" His tone rose, words tumbling upon words in a rush to make sense of it all. "There must be something. There's always something. What about—?"

"Val," Niall spoke, quiet as a sigh. "Don't do this. It won't help you, it won't save me. I was never meant to save the circle or survive its troubles. I am dying. It is as simple as that."

"Then what do I do?" Val demanded, hands clenching uselessly at his side. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Fine. Just like you always do." His words were tinted with a morose fondness and his eyes lingered upon him like he wished to take his image with him to the Maker's side.

"I thought... I had hoped I'd bring you with me. Then you'd be free of all of this."

"I always thought it would be me that would take you from all of this. A foolish thought now, but... I wanted to. I had forgotten what it was like to hope. I saw no future for myself, I didn't really care if I lived or died. I would just keep going until I couldn't. But I wanted better for you. I thought when I was an enchanter I could raise my voice for the Isolationists, that maybe I could make a change. That you might be safer, might be happier, you wouldn't need to run away anymore."

Val's eyes fell upon Niall's form, pale and ethereal and flickering like a candle nearing the end of it's wick. "You would have done great things. You deserved better than this."

"I got what I wanted in the end. No thanks to me, but... I am happy to know you'll be alright. Even if I can't be there to see it with you. In the end, haven't we both escaped the Circle in some way? My only regret is that I could not save it. Perhaps trying to play hero was a foolish act. But if there is anyone who can, it's you."

"You weren't playing hero, Niall." Val took a step closer to him, wishing to reach out and take him in his arms the way he'd always wanted. "I would never have made it from this place were you not here."

"We both know that's not true." Niall closed the distance between them, taking Val's hand in his own and pressing it against his cheek. There was no warmth or substance, all that remained was the memory of him. "I would have liked to have loved you," he said quietly. "Just once. When we weren't trapped in a cage, but I'm glad to have known you. It was a privilege. You will be alright, Valentin, you have fought worse and come out alive."

He could resist no longer, taking Niall into his arms and embracing him in a way the templars never would have allowed. "I love you," he murmured against his hair. "Do not die believing you've done nothing for me, for the circle."

"If it's you saying it, perhaps there is some truth. Before I was taken to the Circle, my mother always said that I was meant for greatness. I hope I haven't disappointed her..."

"She'd be proud," Val assured him, "you've done well." 

"If you see her by some chance, do tell her that I tried my best. But," he grew suddenly seriously, leaning back the embrace while his hands still rested upon his shoulders. "You must make it out of here alive. Do not forget the Litany, you will need it to stand any chance against the blood mages. And..." Another look, long and longing. Even among the troubled tides beneath his features, he'd never looked so at ease. "It is time for us both to be on our way. Be strong, Val."

"I... I will try. Should we meet again, it will not be today. You will not have gone in vain. Go easy into the beyond, you've nothing to wor—"

His words all but sent him on his way. Niall faded in an instant, passing on from this world and to the next.

"May your soul know peace," Val spoke to the air where Niall had been, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle so that the feeling of Niall's embrace would not leave him just yet. "And may your ashes know rest."

#character death tw #dragon age origins #dao #male surana #niall dao #jun fics

[kart0]

Venting about me being stupid tw ed and suicide thoughts

...hey

I feel like I should start this by saying I've been actually pretty well lately ! I am drawing again, I lost weight which was something I really wanted, I think I made new friends, and I've been growing a lot on social media - I love the attention btw

So what do I have to complain now ? Dani doesn't this get tiring ? Uhhh yes but it's my blog so FUCK YOU

Anyways, it's exam season and there's a lot of things to do. And I have to mention I am illiterate I do not read nor am good at writing. I guess it has to do with my anxiety, I have a lot of thoughts. A LOT. That keep playing 24/7, so it's kinda hard to write something coherent.

So, I have this class, ceramic class, and I am terrible at it. Like. Super bad. Everything I do looks so bad it's literally disgusting to look at. Ok so we had this essay to do and I did, proudly, and I finish it on time which made me so happy. And I thought I did pretty well in fact !

Hm. Thought. We got our grade today and I got such a bad grade. Like. Not even half of the grade. And now I can't stop crying and feeling so stupid specially because ! Basically everyone in my class uses Chatgpt and gets away with it. And I swore, on my life, that I would never, NEVER, use AI to do my work. To do nothing, really. I have an ego the size of the universe, and I am extremely proud. It's my dignity on risk. What would my parents think of me ? What would I think of myself ???? I would never do that. Instead I keep writing everything on my own, with references of course. I used to think I'd rather get a low grade instead of using chat fucking gpt.

Well, now that I actually got a low grade I am really really upset, and regretful. Why did I have to be so proud and stupidly arrogant with my abilities. I know I FUCKING KNOW I can't write for shit. I keep thinking about how I should've used AI.

And I feel so shitty I skipped dinner tonight. Because I feel like I should starve and die. I do not deserve food. All I have to feel right now is fucking pain, and be miserable. Because I am failing this class. And I know, rationally speaking, this is super dumb. It's just a class and it's just one essay y'know. And I need to eat. Cuz honestly I'm pretty hungry.

But I keep thinking about what I did, and how I could've done so much better. I feel like such a fool.

Such a fucking fool.

And now my thoughts are spiraling, how I should either dropout of college (again btw) or kill myself ! Damn bro. Chill for a second.

And I have been eating less. Too less in fact. That's how I've been able to lose weight. So eating even less each time feels like a sickly accomplishment somehow. And I keep weighing myself everyday, morning and night. Sometimes 10 times a day. And all I want is for the number to get lower. It's so sick I should stop but I don't know how. And I feel so embarrassed and ashamed, I haven't told anyone about this.

I need to lose more weight, I NEED to lose more weight. Keeps on replay, and I work even harder to not eat. It's a game of being unworthy of basic human needs. I am starving myself to death. I know that.

And now I am punishing myself by not eating anything at all because of a fucking essay. Why do I keep doing this. What am I even trying to achieve with this. I keep feeling sick and nauseated and it's so bad and I keep taking pills for headaches and I just feel so... stupid

But I need to see me getting skinnier. I feel proud. And there was a time when this happened before too, when I was 18-19. I was so skinny back then and I did not eat.

And now it's happening again and I can't remember how I stopped the first time.

I don't want to feel sick all the time. I don't want to keep looking at the scale. I don't want to think I have to deserve food.

I don't want to die.

But I want this to be over. So much. And I know it's not the end of the fucking world but why, why does it feel like this all the time. Why can't I be normal, and have normal thoughts, and behave normally, and just be fucking ok for once.

I was doing so well... How did I end up like this again.

When will this ever stop ?

#me #rant #vent #uhhhhh

[thessalian]

Thess vs Stalker Hunting

I've done my little bits of Horizon Forbidden West the last couple of days. There are issues about spoons, because work's a mess right now, but sometimes you just need to fuck up a bandit camp or two. Maybe dig up some greenshine. OR ... stalk the Stalkers. Literally.

Bandit camp. Poonk. Poonk. POONK. Nobody saw me. Nobody engaged. And again, one guy kept talking about how "she must have gone to lick her wounds" when a) nobody even fired a shot at me and b) EVERYONE ELSE WAS DEAD. Eh well. POONK.

So much climbing. So many near misses, close calls, and running around. But several outright slabs of greenshine so it's entirely worth it.

Ooh, hey, new form of Burrower. Hi, Burrower! ...Bye, Burrower. POONK

The Gouge is still kicking my ass. I got most of it, including the cluster, but the one remaining fucking fragment of greenshine is not worth Outlast-meets-Subnautica with fucking Burrowers. I get why you can't shoot them with an arrow underwater. But why, why can you not just stab them?

Look. Bellowbacks. Even if I am blowing you up, there should be some of your sac webbing intact enough for me to use to upgrade my weapons and armour! But no! Every time I kerboom you with a sac rupture, you deny me Bellowback Sac Webbing AND I AM FED UP WITH IT.

Time to take out my frustrations on another rebel camp. But lemme get some surrounding campfires first.

Yes, thank you, map, for finding me a route to the bandit camp by the paths. I would prefer not stroll through the front gate, thank you. So I will climb this mountain.

Ah. Here we are. Sharpshot booooooooooow ... GO.

I'm sorry. Three people just dropped dead in front of you, and you're now saying it was a false alarm?!? BWAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! ...Also POONK.

Okay, no one's alerted and I haven't seen anyone but they're still playing the tense music. Maybe because of people inside that bunker?

Definitely people inside that bunker. Oh, this is going to get stupid - shield and melee stupid. Time to improvise.

YOU ARE IN TIME OUT; GO STAND IN THE CORNER. Good! Perfect! Facing the corner like something out of Blair Witch! *WHACKSTABSTABSTAB*

And the other two did not come to your rescue. They will regret that. Shorter range Hunter bow. Poonk-poonk.

(Yeah, my draw speed on that's a little insane too.)

Huh. I guess these are where some of the weapons like the one that destroyed Verbena's forcefield were being developed. ...SYLENS. YOU. LIVING. SHIT.

I mean, I probably could take some of these schematics, but if Boomer ever got hold of them... Yeah, no. I will instead make a boom that she would be PROUD OF.

Okay, and it's still telling me that there's someone in this camp. BUT I SEE NO ONE. Stealthing stealthing stealthing...

...Oh. Right. The front door I avoided like the plague getting here. There is a lone sentry scouting the area, who apparently was not alerted because I cleared the place out so quickly and quietly. Ah well. Charger first, then HEADSHOT.

Okay, I'mma head out and get a few more-- Ooh, that says "unknown settlement", and it's in territory I'm going to need.

Thank you for the news about the rebel camps. At least one in your vicinity will not be a problem anymore, sir. (Kind of wish you had the option to tell them that.)

Right. Lemme do some trading and then see what I can upgrade.

...Not much. Not enough. Guess I'm going to have to go hunting Stalkers again.

Oop. BELLOWBACK CONVOY. DETOUR.

Right. Now lemme see if killing them without hitting the big sac in the back will get me what I need. ...ohthisisgonnahurt...

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK--

(I did get way better at dodge-rolls, though. Just ... not quite better enough. Hence...)

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!

Right. Okay. That's enough for now. Surprisingly, Stalkers are going to be easier. So long as I'm careful about how I hit their stealth generators, since that's the part I'm after.

Approaching from a different angle and ... yeah. They really do climb now, the little fucks. Okay, that one I can see and... GONE. Tree-climbing little shit.

Huh. There's generally at least three in these areas. But the other two aren't coming out. Time to do the usual. Hide in bush ... then shoot proximity flare-mine.

Theeeeeeere you are. My vision is mostly shit but I can see your shimmer surprisingly well. POONK.

Right. Third one. Another proximity mine aaaaaaaaaand...

AW FUCK!

No, I mean, I got the Stalker, but ... there was a duck. I NEED DUCK BITS.

Heeeeeeeeeere ducky ducky ducky...

...fuck.

Well, I can at least upgrade and shop some-- Wait. Is that purple-grade Utaru infiltrator-type gear? GIMME!

Right. To upgrade it, I'm gonna neeeeeeed... Fuck.

Heeeeeeeeere, Stalker Stalker Stalker...

DUCK! Sorry; Duck first, then more Stalkers.

Okay. I can get this a little more upgraded now. For more, I'm going to neeeeeeed... Stalkers. AGAIN. Also ... oh fuck we get Scorchers back?!? AND I HAVE TO HUNT ONE?!? Fuuuuuck.

...However, I do see a Scorcher site not too far from here... And in the same vicinity as some greenshine and a rebel camp--

And I will think about that tomorrow or something.

Look. I know. I know. There is a main quest and I should be getting on with it. However, my play time is limited and my spoons more so. Also I can't decide on whether I want to go for AETHER or DEMETER first. I'm at level ... 49 now, I think? Not 50 but close, anyway. So level isn't an issue.

(See, you might ask how? But ... like ... I hunt constantly when on the move. And when you add up the various XP extras for stealth kills, head shots, weak point shots, etc? I get a lot of XP very quickly.)

Anyway, level's not an issue but what I get out of it is. On the one hand, I figure that DEMETER is probably the quest that will let me deal with those damn metal flowers. On the other hand, @true0neutral informs me that one's reward for dealing with AETHER involves a really spiffy Sharpshot bow? That can also shoot Tear arrows? Aaaaaaand I am conflicted. Heeeeeeelp.

#Thess plays video games #Thess liveblogs Horizon Forbidden West

[words-after-midnight]

Hi! I went through the libaw tag while I was bored and???? It's so good??????

I am in love with Gabriel now. New blorbo acquired. All your snippets are great. And also all your chapter titles are fire.

Idk where you're at with the querying but best of luck on that. I wanna see this published so I can devour it.

Just wanted to say how much I love what I've seen of this story. You're doing great, bestie 👍

(Also, do you have a taglist?)

🥺 You just made my day! This was such a sweet message to receive. I'm glad you enjoy the snippets and titles (my titles are definitely a point of pride for me, haha), and that you find the story intriguing. That's the goal! It's not really the kind of story that tends to get much attention in these spaces, tbh, so I'm pleasantly surprised with the warm response some of my recent snippets have received.

Gabriel would most likely be shocked that someone considers him blorbo-worthy, but I'm sure he would appreciate your affections! I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with him myself, but he's definitely one of my more compelling characters and I'm proud of the way he turned out. As a character, anyway. As a person is more complex, lol. Either way, definitely poured years of blood, sweat, tears and research into that guy, and I suppose if I was trying to produce upstanding fictional specimens of humanity I'd probably be writing something other than crime thrillers.

More under the cut because this got suuuper long (💀):

RE: querying - I've been "getting ready to query" for like a year at this point, lol, but that's mostly because the edits after my last beta cycle became QUITE a bit more extensive than anticipated. It's definitely for the better, though. I'm very, very happy with the way it's turning out. Not only am I successfully addressing a lot of my own nagging issues and recurrent beta reader comments, but the structural edits are also allowing me to trim the word count quite a bit (which... the word count has been a MAJOR hurdle in my journey with this project, because of tradpub word count limits in my genre versus the complexity of the story). I'm about 70% done with edits at this point. There will be things actively happening on the querying front in the near future - I will update on that asap.

Re: taglist - I don't currently have any taglists because I worry about my ability to be consistent with maintaining them. You're not the first person to ask about a taglist for libaw specifically, though, so I might try to see if doing one just for that project is feasible. Stay tuned.

Side note, I saw your tags on my post from last year about libaw's history and while they are very (!!!) sweet I feel I must clarify: I started the project in 2008 (when I was 17, for reference), but I haven't been working on it actively throughout that entire span of time - there was a long period between late 2013 and early 2022 where I did very little writing/work on creative projects in general, so it was shelved for most of that. It took me 2.5 years to draft (2008-2011) - at the time it was two novels totalling ~400K words - and then I spent most of 2012 and 2013 doing large-scale revisions, which included a full rewrite/merging of the novels in 2013. Then I took it back up again for good in early 2022 (two years ago today, coincidentally). So that's definitely still a very long time to work on one novel, but not as long as the entire span of years since I started it.

I've always said this is the book of my heart, and I won't try to release it until I'm happy with it and know I've given it my best shot. I've never regretted that for a second, but it's taken a long time to get there, for both personal and skill-related reasons (namely, there's a social commentary element to the story that's taken me a lot of effort, research, and development as a writer to get right - it's ongoing, but I'm getting close based on recent feedback). To be close to reaching the point where I can genuinely feel "my" (independent, prior to pub-related edits) work is done after well over a decade is very cool for sure.

#ask #libaw #sorry this got so long jfc

[myretransitiondiary]

Morning gaming sesh of call of duty. Rudegrrl2667 on twitch if y'all are interested haha. Anyway. I'm posting a pic rn because I have like... *Knocks on wood* perfect skin RN and I have no idea why. I haven't been avoiding the foods I'm allergic too (turns out I'm mildly allergic to wheat, corn, beef and whey I found out super recently). I've been going to doc appointments because very often I get small hive-like occurrences around my nose and also on my back that last for weeks and sometimes even months.

I wish I knew how to get rid of the hives or whatever they are for good but unfortunately they are unpredictable and seem to have no rhyme or reason no matter what I've been eating or not eating (I've tried cutting foods out and also not, and still it's unpredictable). But today is a happy day because they aren't around! First time in months. Interestingly, my father also has issues with his skin and rashes on his face occasionally. Anyway, my skin is doing crazy good rn and I have no clue why lol.

Gratitude is important. I have so much to be thankful for in life. I've experienced a lot of bad in my life, yes. But also so, so much good. I'm so proud to come from the family I come from. I'm so proud of all of them and I feel proud to carry the same last name. I want to start accomplishing things. My family are doers. I need to start doing.

I got a seasonal position at Nordstrom at the perfume counter, it's a short term gig but it's kind of adorable. Looking forward to having something to do and making some money in quite a bougie atmosphere tbh haha.

I have to admit, I struggle with holding down jobs. I don't get fired, but I have moved jobs many... Many times. I have had bouts of panic and depression that pop up without warning that makes me want to give up which has lost me my fair share of amazing job opportunities. The knowledge of this is a little painful. I just want to do well and feel successful in my life and it seems like that is the one thing I cannot seem to achieve yet. It's not like going on disability is actually an option either, I've thought about it from time to time. It's just not enough money to live off of ultimately. Idk. It's definitely the biggest hurtle in my life, or has been.

My partner has been kind enough to support me while I've been out of work this time. I don't know what I would do without her honestly in so many ways. She shows me so much love and support, I often hope that I am doing enough for her in return. My partner is a newly transitioning transgender female (mtf). I love her and support her journey fully. I didn't regret transitioning the first time myself. Being Joey was an extremely important part of my journey to becoming who I am today.

Everyone is allowed to regret transitioning if they want to. I'm not saying you can't do that or feel that way. I just.... Don't believe in encouraging that way of thinking. If I had a child who ended up transitioning, I would want them to know that they should love themselves no matter what their human bodies look or sound like. Just because I don't look or sound how I would have if I hadn't transitioned to be a man, doesn't mean I'm not beautiful just the way I am now. I just wish we all wanted to love ourselves and wanted others to do the same no matter what.

God. Sometimes I wish I could give my partner advice when it comes to the next two years of transition for her.... I would tell her to stop waiting to live. Stop... Waiting to "arrive" at the perfect you. Let transition happen to you while you're living your life fearlessly. We are never done "cooking" as I like to say. So just go out and live like no one is watching 😭♥️

#artists of tumblr #artists on tumblr #detransition #lgbt #lgbtq #transgender #youtube #nonbinary #transfeminine #trans #ftmtf #ftmtf girl #non binary #skincare #dermatology #twitch #call of duty #transwoman #mtf #allergies #food allergies #mental illness #mental health