#(or gone up north or treat her differently)

[dunadaan]

I’ve been feeling Créa creep up on me as of late and today I went back and reread my little document where I type up random ideas for scenes/fics and I was like. Wow who wrote this. This is really good. Why isn’t there more of this damn. But also wow I really put miss créa through the blender and she is a fine red mist a lot. But that is the life of a ranger…and even when she’s not a ranger anymore I press blend on high and she is sadly used to that

[bradshawsbaby]

Like Peas in a Pod

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: What happens when two wallflowers find each other?

Word Count: 5.7k

Author’s Note: I admit that this story is extremely self-indulgent. But I have a feeling that a lot of people can relate to what our leading lady goes through, and I hope you can find pieces of yourself in her!

Warnings: Mild angst, social awkwardness, feeling overlooked, alcohol consumption, flirting, fluff.

If you’d had it your way, you would be at home right now, curled up on the couch in a pair of cozy pajamas with a good book and a steaming cup of tea in hand. But instead, your friends had outnumbered you 3-1 and you were currently sitting in the middle of a noisy, crowded bar, the patrons loudly competing with the music that was blaring through the speakers.

“Do we have to go out tonight?” you’d groaned over FaceTime a few hours earlier. “It’s been such a long week. Can’t we just do a wine night and put on some movies?”

“We did that last week!” Shawna argued. “C’mon, I just got my nails done. Don’t let it be for nothing,” she teased, wiggling her manicured fingers in front of the camera.

“Besides,” Kelsey chimed in, “like you said, it has been a long week. We deserve a night out to unwind and treat ourselves.”

“Hopefully we’ll find other people to treat us,” Renee added cheekily, tossing her unruly dark curls over her shoulder as she winked.

“Besides, the girls at work told me this is a really fun bar. Apparently it’s where all the hotties from North Island go after work,” Shawna giggled.

Your former college roommate had just started a new nursing job at Naval Medical Center San Diego, so if anyone was going to know where the hot Navy guys spent their off hours, it would be her.

“It’s settled! We’re going to The Hard Deck, ladies,” Renee grinned, blowing you all a kiss. “Meet at my place at 8 and we’ll Uber over.”

As much as you would have preferred to stay at home tonight, you had to admit that Shawna hadn’t been wrong. From the moment you’d stepped foot inside The Hard Deck, you’d been amazed at the sheer number of attractive men crowding the space. You certainly never found men like this when you hit the bars downtown.

Renee, ever the mastermind when it came to scoping out the most advantageous situations, quickly managed to grab your group a table smack in the middle of the room. It had an excellent vantage point that not only made you most visible to the bar’s patrons, but also gave you a perfect view of the pool table, the dart boards, and the bar all at once.

“Cheers, ladies!” Kelsey exclaimed once you were all seated with your first round of drinks. “And a special toast to Shawna for telling us about this place!” she added with a grin, holding up her glass of hard cider.

The rest of you held up your drinks—Renee had opted for a bottle of Coors, Shawna had gone with an IPA, and you had chosen a High Noon—and clinked them together with a celebratory “Cheers!”

“Tonight’s the night that you’re finally going to find yourself a man,” Shawna told you, turning to you and playfully poking you in the side.

“Yes, it is!” Renee nodded in agreement, winking at you from across the table as she took a sip of her beer.

“Take your pick, babe,” Kelsey added, waving her hand to encompass the whole bar. “I’ve literally never seen so many gorgeous guys all in one place. And in uniform, too!”

You felt the back of your neck prickling and your skin growing warm at your friends’ expectant stares, a weak smile gracing your lips as you took a sip of your drink. It always ended up being like this. You loved your friends, and you knew they meant well, but they had no idea what it was like to be in your shoes.

The four of you had been best friends since college, despite the fact that you couldn’t have been more different from one another if you tried. Kelsey always joked that your four personalities combined helped to balance each other out.

Despite their differences in looks, style, and demeanor, Shawna, Renee, and Kelsey did all have one thing in common that you had never seemed to possess—the ability to turn men’s heads no matter where they were.

Shawna had the perfectly sweet girl-next-door vibe going on. With her strawberry blonde locks, big blue eyes, dusting of freckles, and curvy figure, she always attracted guys like bees to a flower.

At any given time, Kelsey looked like she had just walked off the runway. Even in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, she managed to look chic. With her tall, willowy figure, sleek dark brown bob, almond-shaped eyes, and lips that never needed lipstick, she had men drooling all over her.

Arguably the most exuberant member of the group was Renee, who had been a firecracker for as long as you had known her. The only thing bigger than her laugh was her smile, and she had the most gorgeous ebony curls that contrasted perfectly with her cinnamon-colored skin. Paired with her petite figure, she drew men in like moths to a flame.

And then there was you. Quiet, shy, bookish you. Throughout college, people had often commented that you seemed like the most grounded out of all your friends, but you knew what that really meant. You were boring. And you knew what people were really trying to say—how had you become friends with such fun-loving girls?

You loved your friends more than anything, and you were grateful for the ways they’d helped you come out of your shell since college. But you’d be lying if you said going out to bars with them wasn’t challenging at times.

They all knew how to light up a room, how to flirt and talk to random strangers and get phone numbers from the hottest men you’d ever seen. You—didn’t know how to do any of that.

You’d tried over the years, you really had. Mainly at the girls’ insistence. You made an effort to flirt with the guys they introduced you to, or strike up conversations with  random cuties at your favorite coffee shop, but it never seemed to work for you the way that it did for your friends. And guys never approached you the way they did Shawna and Kelsey and Renee.

The most painful experience had been a couple months ago, when a guy had come up to you while you were waiting to order a drink, smiling and chatting in a way that had you thinking he was interested. Your heart had soared inside your chest, only to crash a few moments later when he asked, “So, is your friend single?” while pointing at Kelsey.

You hadn’t told any of your friends about that encounter. You knew they’d just feel bad and you didn’t want them to. They were desperate to find somebody for you, and you didn’t have the heart to tell them that you’d given up hoping for that a long time ago. They just wouldn’t understand. They went on dates all the time. You were just the one guys approached to inquire after their relationship statuses.

“Don’t give us that look,” Renee told you, shaking her head and pointing an accusatory finger at you as you attempted to slink down in your seat. “You look hot tonight, and you need to show it off!”

“You do,” Shawna nodded vehemently, nudging you in the side again until you sat up straight. “I love that top.”

“See? I told you it was a solid purchase,” Kelsey winked, as she had been the one to convince you to buy the top in question when the two of you had gone shopping a couple weeks ago.

Despite your lack of hopefulness, you had put a good deal of effort into your appearance tonight. You couldn’t help it. A bar full of hot guys in sexy uniforms? You’d be crazy not to try. You’d spent over an hour on your hair and make-up, and had decided to finally take the tags off the top Kelsey had convinced you to buy. The neckline flattered your figure and hugged your body in all the right places. You’d coupled it with a pair of high-waisted jeans and strappy sandals to show off your pedicure. Even you had to admit that you looked good, but you still hadn’t seemed to catch the eye of any guy in the bar.

“Let’s just enjoy the night and focus on us,” you said, trying to deflect your friends’ intense attention. “If anybody else happens to come along, then so be it.”

The girls all shot you dissatisfied looks, but didn’t push the point any further. Shawna started regaling you all with stories from her new job, which allowed you to let out a soft sigh of relief.

As the night went on, you tried your best not to grow discouraged, but it was getting harder and harder. Countless guys had passed by your table, stopping to flirt with Renee or Kelsey or Shawna, or even all three, but their eyes skipped over you like you were invisible. Whenever your friends tried to direct their attention your way, they smiled politely before instantly turning back to the actual objects of their attraction. Every time you got up to use the bathroom or order another round at the bar, you attempted to smile and make eye contact and appear open and interested, all the things your friends had been telling you to do for years, but none of it worked.

At that point, all you wanted to do was go home, put on your pajamas, and live vicariously through a good rom com.

You were about to tell your friends that you were going to get going when one of the bartenders—if you’d heard correctly earlier, she might have been the owner—approached your table with a tray full of drinks, a smile gracing her lovely face.

“Ladies, these are for you,” she said, setting down a cider for Kelsey, a Coors for Renee, an IPA for Shawna, and a High Noon for you.

“Oh,” Shawna said, her blue eyes widening in surprise. “I think there might have been a mistake. We didn’t order another round, did we?” she asked, looking at the rest of you.

“Not that we won’t take them,” Renee chimed in with that bright laugh of hers.

The woman smiled at the four of you. “No mistake. These drinks are compliments of the group over there,” she chuckled, pointing at a group of officers clustered around the pool table.

The four of you turned your gazes in the direction she was pointing, your friends letting out various sounds of delighted surprise when they realized the men in question looked as though they had just been featured on the cover of Men’s Health magazine.

“Oh, we’ll definitely take them!” Renee beamed, flipping her dark curls over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Kelsey grinned up at the older woman gratefully.

“Of course,” she nodded, tucking her empty tray under her arm. She leaned in a little closer with a conspiratorial smile and whispered, “I’ll vouch for the fact that they’re good guys. But if they act like idiots, just come find me. My name is Penny.”

“Thanks, Penny,” Shawna giggled, reaching for her new drink. “We owe you one!”

Penny winked at you before heading back to the bar, which was surrounded by thirsty customers. Business was booming. If Penny was the owner as you suspected, then she must have been doing quite well.

“Should we go thank them for the drinks?” Shawna grinned, chewing on her lower lip as she glanced in the direction of the handsome officers at the pool table.

“Not yet,” Renee decided, smirking mischievously. “We’ll let them sweat it out a little bit first.”

“Renee!” Kelsey laughed, lightly smacking her on the arm.

“What? You know it’ll work. They’ll be eating out of the palms of our hands,” Renee grinned, taking a hearty sip of her Coors.

“They look cute,” you ventured, though your palms were already sweating at the thought of approaching them. You highly doubted any of them would be eating out of your clammy palms.

Clearly you shouldn’t have said anything, because suddenly all three of your friends were pouncing on you like ravenous wolves.

“Which one do you think is the cutest?”

“Do you see one you like?”

“Claim one now before we get over there!”

Their words loudly overlapped one another, to the point that you had to resist the urge to cover your ears with your hands.

“I—I—I don’t know!” you exclaimed, feeling your skin grow warm with embarrassment. You hated being the center of attention. “I just meant—I mean, they look cute for you guys.”

“Um, last I checked, you were just as single as the rest of us. Why wouldn’t they be cute for you, too?” Kelsey demanded, raising one of her perfectly waxed eyebrows.

“Please, you guys, let’s just drop it. I’m probably going to start heading home soon anyway,” you told them, sliding down in your seat and wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

“What? No, you can’t!” Renee and Shawna practically cried in unison.

“C’mon, we’ll go over to them now,” Renee decided, grabbing her drink and her purse. “You can’t leave yet,” she insisted.

Kelsey and Shawna nodded, grabbing their things and following suit, nearly having to drag you out of your seat to get you to come with them.

“Well, well, well, fellas,” smirked a blonde-headed officer as the four of you approached the pool table. “Looks like our little gift didn’t go unnoticed after all.”

Glancing down quickly, you spotted the name printed on his nameplate—Seresin. He was extremely handsome in that clean-cut, All-American way, with his perfectly coiffed blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and charming smile.

Renee, who always ended up being your group’s fearless leader, smirked in return as she stepped to the head of the pack. “Well, well, well, ladies. Looks like the guys who sent us those drinks aren’t half bad after all,” she said, resting a hand on her hip as she gazed up at the blonde man, challenge twinkling in her dark eyes. “Even if they weren’t brave enough to come bring us the drinks themselves.”

Kelsey and Shawna stood on either side of her, giggling softly, while you hung near the back, staring down at your feet as your cheeks burned hot.

“Most of us aren’t half bad. I can’t speak for Hangman here,” another voice piped up, deep and gravelly. You could sense, rather than see, Kelsey’s ears pricking up at the sound.

Glancing up, you saw another handsome man standing before you, looking every inch Kelsey’s type with his sunkissed brown hair, broad shoulders, tanned skin, and easygoing smile. If you knew Kelsey, you knew she was already imagining what that mustache would feel like against her lips. You clocked his nameplate as well—Bradshaw.

“Hangman?” Renee asked coquettishly, quirking an eyebrow as she glanced between the two men.

“My callsign,” the blonde cut in smoothly, pool cue still in hand. It was clear that while he and Bradshaw might be buddies, there was still a sense of competition between the two.

“Ah, callsigns. You’re fighter pilots,” Shawna commented, grinning knowingly. Thank goodness for her job at NMCSD. She was much more in the know than any of the rest of you.

“Not just any fighter pilots. The best fighter pilots,” came another voice from the other side of the pool table. When Hangman stepped to the side, you saw it belonged to a guy whose jawline looked like it could cut glass and whose smile could melt butter. His nameplate read Machado.

“Oh, yeah?” Kelsey asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “And who determines that?”

“The Navy,” Bradshaw replied smoothly, stepping a little closer to your statuesque friend. “We’re all TOPGUN graduates. The top 1%.”

“Hmm, and humble, too,” Kelsey laughed, delicately resting her hand on his arm as she did so. “So what’s your callsign then?”

“Rooster,” the mustached man told her, chest puffing out with pride. “But I’m being awfully rude. I didn’t catch your name,” he said, holding out his large hand.

“Kelsey,” she replied, her dark eyes twinkling as she slipped her hand into his.

You watched as, almost instantly, your friends partnered off quite naturally with the handsome aviators. Renee and Hangman were already bickering about the best way to sink the 8 ball, Kelsey and Rooster were talking about music near the window, and Shawna was flirting up a storm with Machado, whose callsign turned out to be Coyote.

Your stomach sank as you realized that you were suddenly on your own. As usual. Not that you resented your friends getting to flirt with cute guys. You always cheered them on when they met someone new, and you were always there to celebrate with them. You just wished that, for once, they had a reason to celebrate with you.

Glancing around, you saw that there were several other officers hanging around the pool table, though most of them seemed to be engrossed in their own conversations. No one was paying you any mind. And suddenly you felt like crying.

What was wrong with you? Was there something about you that just naturally repelled handsome men? Your friends were constantly telling you how beautiful you were, but that was hard to believe when you were the only one who never got hit on, never got asked out, never felt special or seen by anybody.

It was time to go home. You could feel the tears stinging the backs of your eyes, and the last thing you needed was to start bawling in the middle of a Navy bar. No one would notice if you just slipped away. You’d text your friends in the Uber and ask them to let you know how the rest of their night went. It always ended up being like this, and you weren’t sure why you had thought tonight would be any different.

Silently leaving your drink on the table with your friends’ things, you turned and began snaking your way through the crowd, trying to get to the bar so that you could close out your tab. Before you could get there, however, someone bumped into you from behind, sending your purse flying out of your hands.

Sighing softly, you dropped down to your hands and knees, praying you wouldn’t get stomped on as you tried to reach for it. Just as your hand was hovering over it, however, a much larger hand closed down around it and lifted it up.

Before you could shout for help, that same hand was hovering in front of your face, silently offering to help you up off the sticky bar floor. You lifted your head and your heart skipped a beat at the man who was gazing down at you. He had sandy brown hair, big blue eyes magnified behind a pair of military-issued glasses, and ruddy cheeks, an uncertain smile on his handsome face.

Wordlessly, you took his hand and allowed him to pull you back up to your feet. He was even taller than you had originally thought from your position down on the ground.

“Are you alright?” he asked loudly, trying to be heard over the din of the crowd.

“Yes,” you yelled back, nodding your head on the off-chance he hadn’t heard you. “Thank you,” you added.

“I’m guessing you were looking for this?” he went on, holding up your purse in his other hand.

You nodded again, accepting your bag with a grateful smile. “I guess I’m just a klutz,” you told him sheepishly, the realization dawning that this man had literally just witnessed you crawling on a grimy bar floor.

He smiled in response, which only made him look all the more handsome. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said, shaking his head. “Someone bumped into you.”

He had seen that? Had he actually been paying attention to you? Or did he just happen to be nearby?

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it,” you murmured, nervously fiddling with one of your bracelets as you glanced over at the bar.

He followed your gaze, his expression conflicted. “Well I don’t want to hold you up,” he told you, sounding vaguely disappointed.

Your head whipped back in his direction. “Oh, no! I mean, you’re not. I was just trying to get to the bar to close my tab.”

Were you losing your mind or did he really look disappointed now?

“Oh, you’re leaving?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. “I, um, I thought I saw you with the girls who were hanging out with my friends,” he explained, indicating the group at the pool table with his thumb.

He was a part of that group? Was this a sign that maybe you shouldn’t leave after all?

“Oh, um, yeah,” you nodded, chewing on your bottom lip as you tried to think of what to say. “I just, um…well, it’s kind of loud in here and I just…” Your sentence trailed off as you realized how lame you sounded.

“Would you like to maybe go outside for a minute?” he suggested. When you hesitated, he stammered, “I mean, of course you don’t have to. I’m sorry. I mean, obviously you just want to get out of here and I’m—”

“No,” you cut him off, briefly brushing your fingers against his arm. “I mean, I would like that,” you clarified with a shy smile.

“Oh,” he blinked, looking a little surprised. But then he brightened instantly, his bright blue eyes shining as he smiled at you in return. “I’m Bob, by the way. Bob Floyd,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand to you.

Slipping your hand into his, you smiled wider as you told him your name, beaming when he repeated it back to you and told you it was pretty.

“So do you have a callsign, too, Bob?” you asked curiously as he led you through the crowd and towards one of the back doors that faced the beach. “Your friends were telling me and my friends their callsigns earlier.”

“Oh, um, yeah,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck as he held open the door that led to a little back patio with picnic tables. It was relatively empty, except for a few people hanging out in the sand. “My callsign is Bob. Original, I know,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh, as if he was used to being made fun of for it.

In that instant, you felt a deep sense of connectedness to him that you couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the way he ducked his head and averted his gaze, like he was trying to hide, or the way he nervously shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but you were suddenly certain that no one understood what it felt like to be in your shoes more than he did. To be overlooked, forgotten, underestimated. To be uncomfortable in your own skin because you were so certain you were never going to be enough for people.

“I like it,” you told him with a smile.

“Thank you,” he replied sincerely, looking caught off guard and surprised by your words once again.

The two of you wandered over to one of the picnic tables and took seats opposite each other, the fairy lights strung up outside illuminating his features as he gazed at you.

“Is this your first time at The Hard Deck?” he asked curiously, resting his elbows on the table. “I feel like I’d remember seeing you.”

You bit down on your lower lip to hide your smile, his words warming you from the inside out. “It is, actually. It was my friend Shawna’s idea to come tonight. She just recently started working at NMCSD and some of her co-workers told her this was a good spot.”

“It is,” Bob nodded, smiling at you. “Penny Benjamin, the owner, is a good woman and she always makes sure to look out for us.”

“I’m guessing this is a regular spot for you guys then?” you questioned, glancing up and spotting your friends through one of the windows. They looked like they were still having a good time with the aviators they’d found.

“Pretty much, yeah,” he chuckled. “It’s been almost a year since I’ve been back in San Diego. I was at TOPGUN a few years ago, then got stationed at Lemoore, then got called back to TOPGUN last October for a special mission, then got asked to stay on permanently with my new squadron. The Hard Deck has become like a second home,” he joked.

You laughed softly, charmed by the way he told you the story without a trace of arrogance or conceit. Clearly, he was one of the Navy’s best pilots if he had been called to TOPGUN not once, but twice, but he wasn’t bragging or boasting. He was just stating the facts.

As if he could read your mind, Bob explained, “I’m actually not a pilot. I’m a Weapons Systems Officer. I ride in the rear of the jet and deal with navigation and operating the aircraft system. I wanted to be a pilot when I was young, but my vision’s always been a problem. I’m proud to be a WSO though. And I have a great partner.”

“I think that sounds really impressive,” you told him honestly, reaching out and resting your hand over his. “I’m sure that takes a tremendous amount of skill and talent. If it was up to me, we’d never make it off the ground,” you grinned.

Bob smiled in return. “I’m sure you’d get the hang of it real quick. You seem really smart,” he said, the tips of his ears turning red as he ducked his head slightly. “So, uh, what do you do?”

“I’m a teacher,” you replied. “I teach history to middle schoolers.”

“Now that’s something I’m sure takes a tremendous amount of skill and talent. Just the thought of middle schoolers terrifies me,” he admitted, which made both of you laugh. “And history, too, huh? I love history. It was always my favorite subject in school.”

“Really?” you asked excitedly. It was rare that you found someone who enjoyed geeking out over history as much as you did.

“Absolutely. If I hadn’t gone into the Navy, I would have loved working in a museum or something. Maybe being a teacher, but like I said—middle schoolers terrify me,” he grinned, his eyes crinkling.

“There’s always high school,” you pointed out with a smile.

“Even worse!” he exclaimed, which made you dissolve into a fit of giggles.

The two of you sat in companionable silence for a few moments, taking in the sound of the ocean waves and the faint trickle of music coming from inside the bar.

“Is that a piano?” you asked when the sound of the music registered in your ears.

“Sounds like Rooster is already trying to show off to your friend,” Bob teased, glancing over his shoulder as the door opened and a small group of rowdy sailors made their way outside.

“Trust me, Kelsey is probably eating it all up right now,” you assured him with a knowing look.

“My friends are very smooth with the ladies, but they’re also good guys, I promise. Your friends are in good hands,” he told you.

“It’s funny, Penny told us the same thing earlier,” you said.

“Ah, well, no one’s more trustworthy than Penny,” Bob smiled.

You nodded and the two of you sat in silence once again. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, however. You didn’t feel the need to fill it with awkward chatter. You were more than happy to just sit there with him, enjoying the cool evening air and listening to the sound of the waves lapping against the shore.

Bob looked like something was on his mind, like he wanted to say something, but was holding back. When you met his eyes and cocked your head to the side curiously, however, he seemed to come to a decision.

“Why were you going to leave?”

You were a little taken aback by his question and immediately dropped your gaze to your lap, fiddling with the strap of your purse and trying to figure out how to answer his question in a way that didn’t make you sound completely pathetic.

“I’m sorry, that’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked that,” Bob chastised himself, shaking his head. “Please, just forget it.”

“No, um, it’s okay,” you reassured him, clearing your throat slightly. You suddenly wished you had thought to grab a cup of water before coming outside. “Um, I guess I just realized that my friends were really hitting it off with your friends, and I didn’t see any point in sticking around any longer.”

Bob seemed troubled by your response, a small crease appearing between his brows. “Wasn’t there anybody for you to talk to?”

You turned your face away in embarrassment. Things had been going so well. You didn’t want Bob to know what a wallflower you truly were.

“Um, no, not really. My friends are the ones guys usually want to talk to,” you admitted quietly, your voice nearly drowned out by the wind. Your mouth felt so dry, and your hands were sweaty as you wiped them against your jeans.

Bob fully frowned at that. “Guys should be lined up out the door to talk to you,” he said softly, his voice serious.

“That’s sweet of you to say,” you murmured, staring down at the table instead of meeting his eyes.

“I’m not just saying it,” Bob insisted, his tone so urgent that it actually caused you to lift your head up to look at him. “You’re sweet and kind and funny and smart and so beautiful. Guys would have to be insane not to want to talk to you. I’m honestly shocked you’re out here talking to me of all people.”

“Don’t say that,” you begged him, your heart hurting to think that other women didn’t appreciate the wonderful man sitting before you.

“I know that I’m not like my friends,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he blushed furiously. “I know I’m not the kind of guy that girls want to talk to. So I know what it’s like to feel like you could just disappear in a place like this and nobody would notice. I hate that you feel that way, too.”

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. You had never met anyone before who seemed to know your thoughts so clearly, who could read your mind and understand everything you were feeling.

“Bob,” you breathed out, reaching across the table and clasping one of his hands between both of yours. “I think you’re a terrific guy. And the girls who can’t see that? It’s their loss.”

He smiled at that, his gaze fixed on your face as he rested his free hand over yours, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “I’m really glad you didn’t leave.”

“I’m really glad you asked me to stay.”

He said nothing in response, just held your hand tighter as his blue eyes bore into yours, as if he was reading the very depths of your soul.

The air hung thick with tension as the two of you stared at one another, leaning in closer and closer until your lips had no choice but to meet, his mouth firm, but gentle as it closed over yours.

It was soft and sweet and chaste, but when the two of you pulled back, you were both stammering and blushing like a couple of schoolchildren.

The stillness of the moment was broken a moment later when your friends shoved open the door and spilled out onto the back patio.

“There you are!” Renee exclaimed, hands on her hips as she did her best impression of your mother. “You had us scared half to death!”

“I told you she was fine,” Shawna insisted, rolling her eyes and mouthing ‘Sorry!’ to you.

“See? Nothing to be worried about,” Kelsey added. “She’s with…” She let her sentence trail off, shooting you a look to make quick introductions.

“Um, Bob! This is Bob,” you quickly supplied, squeezing his hand and shooting him an apologetic look.

“She’s with Bob!” Kelsey said, poking Renee in the side.

“Floyd, there you are! We were wondering where the hell you got off to,” Hangman said, joining your group and wrapping an arm around Renee’s waist.

“I guess they did notice we disappeared after all,” you whispered to Bob with a knowing smile.

“Of course we did!” Kelsey butted in, smiling when Rooster stepped up behind her and slipped his hand into hers.

“We were all going to head back to my place for a midnight swim,” Shawna explained, beaming up at Coyote. Your friend’s apartment complex was the only one that had a pool, and her landlord was cool enough to allow residents to use it whenever they wanted, so long as they were mindful of the noise. “Invite your friend!”

Your cheeks grew warm as everyone stared at you expectantly. “Um, Bob, would you like to come swimming with us?”

“I’d love to,” Bob grinned, his eyes fixed on you and only you.

Your friends clapped and cheered, which made your cheeks grow all the hotter.

“C’mon, let’s go close our tabs. Jake’s paying for the Ubers,” Renee smirked, patting the blonde’s chest as she gazed up at him.

“Aww, thanks, Jake,” Coyote grinned, smacking his friend on the shoulder as he and Shawna headed back inside.

“Owe you one, man,” Rooster nodded, leading Kelsey back into the bar.

“Hey, wait a second—”

“That’s what you get for losing two rounds of pool,” Renee teased, planting a kiss on his cheek before dragging him back inside.

Once you and Bob were left alone in the blessed silence once more, you looked at each other and couldn’t help but crack up laughing.

“I think your friends have really met their matches in my friends,” you told him playfully, gathering your things and rising from the picnic table.

“I think so,” Bob nodded, rising as well. “But I think I really met my match in you.”

Smiling, you slipped your hand into his and beamed up at him. “I couldn’t agree more.”

And as you walked out of The Hard Deck hand-in-hand with Bob, catching the victorious looks and playful winks your friends were shooting your way, you found yourself very grateful for all the times it had never worked out for you before this. Because you were certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that Bob Floyd had been worth waiting for.

[misstycloud]

Can you do yandere boyfriend and yandere in-laws

You and your husband were driving up north to visit your in-laws. They were a nice couple who’d decided to move to a small town after retirement. It made sense to you, after decades of work and stressing over all that life throws at you, who wouldn’t want a little seclusion?

For the entirety of you and your husband’s relationship, he’d talk about his parents and how glad he was to have what they have; he loves you so much. They were his role models in just about everything. It was a bit weird to you how inspired he seemed by his parents relationship, sometimes. He could go on and on about how he was lucky to have you and you two were going to be together forever- like his parents who’s been married for a little over 30 years. He’d also never fail to mention on how he would give you everything and tread you right- again, like his dad does his mom. However, you shook it off as him admiring them and being very close, especially since he’s an only child.

That was not all. From the moment you met them in person, you had a strange underlying feeling regarding them. You hardly believed they were criminals or something of that kind, but there was something. For example, you’d catch his mother watching you from time to time. It could be when you’re outside in the garden and you’d notice her watching from the kitchen window, quickly averting her gaze and busy herself with the dishes. Or when his father insisted to accompany you to the grocery store despite his now-bad leg. You had told him he should stay at the house and that you didn’t need help or anything, but he dismissed your rejections. Not to mention their willingness to help your with just about anything, and your mother-in-law did not spare any expense in the seemingly random gifts she bought you. Mind you, this was back when you and your husband hadn’t even been together that long and you’d barely gone over the official couple threshold.

“We’ll be there soon, honey. It’s not far now.” Your husband said to you, giving you a quick glance before fousing back on the road ahead of you.

You smiled and responded, “That’s good, I can’t wait to get out of this car.” You sighed and looked at the fields passing by outside the car window.

With a frown, he asked, “Are you feeling nauseous? Does your back hurt? Are you sore anywhere? Should I stop?” Immediately he began ranting about your comfortablility like he’s done all through your relationship.

“No!” You exclaimed. “There’s no need to stop, I’m fine. Just feeling a bit cramped up is all. It’ll be better when we’re there.” You explained while grabbing his hand and showing that you’re good.

He side-eyed you for a second, as if he was trying to find evidence you were lying. Then he breathed out in relief, “Okay, I don’t want you to be in any pain or be uncomfortable in any way-especially now.” Your worrying husband let go of you to move his hand over stomach and stroke it in gentle movements. All while still keeping an eye on the road, of course. It wasn’t long until his happy mood bounced back. “I’m so glad we managed to come out here, it’s feels like ages since last time. And I know how anxious my mom has been to see you again.” He chuckled at his mothers attachment to her daughter-in-law. He would almost say she loved you more than him with how she fawned over you. Though, he didn’t mind.

You simply smiled in return.

When you finally were at your in-laws house, your mother-in-law was instantly at your side, trying to help you he out of the car despite you being very capable of doing so yourself. Your father-in-law scolded her and told her to let you be, in which she shushed him.

It wasn’t long until she started pushing gifts in your direction. Although, they were much appreciated this time around considering your current state and needs. The couple treated you to a nice home cooked dinner and the conversation shifted between different topics. After devouring the delicious chocolate cake being served as dessert, you felt it was time for bed. You had already been quite tired during your journey but it the fatigue was really hitting you now. You yawned and told the others you were going to bed, asking your husband if he was going to go with you.

He shook his head. “No, you go to bed first, sweetie. I’ll be right up, soon.” He reassured and kissed you on the forehead as a sign of affection. Then he gently ushered you upstairs and after you were out of sight, went back to his parents seated in the living room.

“Straight to bed, then?” Mother-in-law asked with a smile.

“Yeah.” Your husband answered.

“Oh, I do hope the bed is comfortable enough for her. I bought a new madress since your last visit. Lovely girl, was to afraid to say it made her back hurt. It’s rare to find such polite young people nowadays, wouldn’t you agree, honey?” The elder woman turned to her spouse, who nodded in agreement.

“I’m sure she’ll love it, mom.” Her son said and sat down in a cushioned chair.

“I hope.” she sighed, “She deserves a good nights rest. You’re lucky to have her, son, don’t forget that.” She half-jokingly reminded.

He chuckled and responded with, “Of course not. I love her more than anything. She completes me.” Thinking back to all the wonderful memories, he adorned an elated expression. “Besides, weren’t you the ones to teach me to never let go of what I love?”

“Haha, got me there. In all reality though, you did a good job taking her back. You know, I was a little worried for a moment there, thinking the wedding might be called off. I thought she perhaps found out about your…hobbies.” Mother-in-law raised a brow at her son, leaving the question open.

“No, it was something else. Fortunately.” He added. “But we fixed things and everything is as it should be.” his attention was turned towards his father, who for the first time spoke up.

“Well, relationships have been known to be a bit tricky for us” he referred to their family. “We are known for being somewhat intense with our feelings which may not always be appreciated. However, it is the truest form of love one can give and I’m so lucky to have found a partner who shares this view.” He placed his hand over mother-in-law’s who awed. “You said everything is steady, but you should still be careful. It would not be beneficial for either of you if a last resort has to be used.”

“Of course not.”

There are many stories of evil mother-in-law’s who despised their sons wife for the simplest of reasons. They would be cruel and treat the wife worse than dirt, all while playing innocent whenever someone had payed a little closer attention. She hated those women. How could one treat their child’s one-and-only that way? Though, she knew her view on love and relation did not match the majority of society so that might have something to do with it.

She absolutely adored you. You were simply perfect for her son. Kindness, humility, beauty- these were only a small range of your qualities. In a way, you were like the daughter she wished she had. Of course she wasn’t disheartened with her son’s birth, she would love her child no matter what, but she couldn’t lie and say the thought of a little girl wasn’t tempting. It would be so fun dressing up, doing each others hair, teaching her how to do makeup if she was interested.

She wanted to do those things with you someday. Sadly, she could sense you being a bit apprehensive to her company at times. She knew it was likely due to the excitement she radiated. She couldn’t help it, though! You are just so sweet it makes her want to bite into you like a piece of cake(don’t worry she wouldn’t actually). Mother-in-law has reminded herself to keep things down as to not overwhelm you, but it’s hard. If only she had the level of control her husband did.

Father-in-law is a admirable, hardworking man. He is clear-headed and calm; rarely does anything get to him. Although most would think him somewhat scary and stern, you actually like him a lot. He is not all toughness as he might want you to believe, in fact, he’s been very kind to you. That’s not to say that mother-in-law hasn’t been, but it’s just different with him, somehow. You felt like the two of you had a mutual understanding of kinds, and you also liked that he understood not to smother you.

He thinks you’re a wonderful addition to the family, even if he wouldn’t shout it out for the world to hear. He’d be too embarrassed. You are a good person and great match for his son. You’ll make him happy beyond measure, which is what father-in-law wants. Now that you’re permanently in the family, he often thinks of the things he and his wife taught their son. Now, he doesn’t hope you’ll ever have to find out about them since he’s not sure how you’d respond to that knowledge; most don’t respond positively and it’s likely the same for you. They could damage you forever.

Father-in-law promises to protect you since you’re part of his family now, and he’ll do anything for his family.

[vinsmokesangio]

'You’ve always had me' | Trafalgar D. Law x female!reader 

pairing: trafalgar law x female!reader, a little bit of sanji x reader, but nothing serious. summary: You and Law have been childhood friends, having gone through similar traumas in the North Blue. You never left his side, becoming the first member of the Heart Pirates and consequently Law's second-in-command. During your crew's alliance with the Straw Hat Pirates, Law sees you getting very close to Sanji aboard the Thousand Sunny and feels an inexplicable jealousy.

cw: SFW, angst with happy ending, friends to lovers, fluff | heavy use of ‘y/n’ for grammar purpose 😛 wc: 1.4k author’s note: this is my first time writing for One Piece! I hope you like it! ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦··············•✦•······················•✦········

Just before departing from Zou, Law discusses strategies aboard the Straw Hat’s Thousand Sunny, deciding to travel to Wano on their ship while Law's crew remains on the Polar Tang. After a long discussion, Law notices y/n from afar, engaged in an animated conversation with Sanji. A pang of jealousy stirs within him as he watches. Sanji flirts, of course, and y/n laughs—a laugh that always made Law's heart clench, though he’d never admit it. That beautiful laugh only Bepo usually brought out of y/n, the one Law secretly adored.

Y/n observes Sanji eagerly as he adds spices to a cauldron, smiling at every word he says. Law, unable to bear it any longer, strides toward them. His face remains stoic, but jealousy burns in his eyes.

“Hey, Captain! Try this!” y/n says excitedly, offering a spoonful of sauce Sanji had prepared. Law, however, doesn’t even glance at y/n when he replies, his gaze still fixed on Sanji.

“No, I don’t want it,” he says coldly, still staring at Sanji, who looks back with a smirk.

“It’s a good thing he doesn’t want it, y/n-chan. I made it just for you,” Sanji teases, winking. Y/n smiles, but Law’s face burns, and he fights the urge to punch that perverted cook. Instead, he watches y/n taste the sauce and practically explode with happiness.

“Oh my God, this is so good, Sanji! Are you sure you don’t want to try it, Law?” y/n beams, her excitement palpable. But her joy is cut short when Law snaps at her.

“I said no, y/n!” His voice booms, loud enough to catch the attention of some of the crew members scattered around the ship. Y/n flinches, wide-eyed. Sanji, enraged by how Law had spoken to her, yells back at him, but neither y/n nor Law listens. Her heart races, and she finally explodes.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been rude to me since this morning!” Her voice trembles, and her legs shake. In all the years of friendship, Law had never raised his voice at y/n or acted so coldly toward her. Among the Heart Pirates, everyone knew Law only let his guard down when y/n was around, trusting her deeply. But ever since they allied with the Straw Hats, Law had been treating y/n differently, and now she had reached her breaking point.

Nami, sensing the tension between them, steps in to help.

“Sanji-kun! Why don’t you show me some of your new desserts, huh?” Nami suggests, luring Sanji away. With hearts in his eyes, Sanji follows her, leaving Law and y/n alone in the kitchen.

For a long time, Law remains silent after Nami and Sanji leave. He keeps his back turned to y/n, sensing the growing tension. Yet, his pride holds him back from admitting what’s bothering him. After a while, he finally speaks, still not looking at her.

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” he says coldly, but y/n can tell he's hiding something.

“I know something’s wrong. I trust you. You trust me. We grew up together! Just stop being such an asshole whenever I’m around!” her voice breaks, exhausted by the situation. Law is caught off guard by the crack in her voice—it was rare for y/n to sound this vulnerable. His heart aches, but he struggles to find the words. Admitting that he was jealous of the attention y/n gave to Sanji felt too difficult. He envied the way Sanji could make her laugh and smile—something Law couldn’t seem to do. But he was too proud to say it, even though y/n had always been close to him.

“You’re not going to say anything, are you? Fine.” y/n sighed, frustrated, and started to leave. Law watched as she walked away, anger and disappointment evident on her face. Guilt gnawed at him—he knew he was the reason she was upset. He wanted to explain and apologize, but his stubbornness held him back. Cursing under his breath, he slammed his fist against the counter, frustrated with himself for not being able to say how he truly felt.

—

Later that night, Law finds y/n sitting on the deck, enjoying the sea breeze. She looks calmer, but her swollen face suggests she had been crying. Guilt grips him as he approaches silently and stands beside her. Neither says anything for a while.

“If you came to treat me badly again, you can leave,” y/n says coldly, not taking her eyes off the sea. Law takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I didn’t come to treat you badly… I came to talk.”

Y/n turns her face to him, her gaze serious. Law almost loses his nerve seeing those eyes he loves staring back at him. She gives him a silent signal to continue.

“I’m sorry for how I acted earlier. I was being a jerk, and I didn’t mean to be like that with you,” Law admits.

“Why? Why have you been so mean to me since we made this alliance with the Straw Hats?” y/n asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Law hesitates but knows he has to be honest. His heart pounds as he prepares to admit his feelings.

“I’ve been feeling… jealous.”

Y/n freezes, her heart racing. She hadn’t expected that answer. All she can whisper is a quiet, “…What?”

“I’ve been jealous because… I don’t like seeing you spend so much time with that stupid cook and laughing so freely with him. It makes me angry and frustrated,” Law admits, clenching his fists.

Y/n processes his words in disbelief. Law? Jealous? Of Sanji? She never imagined it. After taking a deep breath, she responds.

“You… You’re jealous of me? With Sanji?” her voice is calm, and Law nods, still avoiding her gaze.

“Yes, I am. I know it’s childish, but the thought of you with him makes my blood boil. I don’t know why, but I just can’t help it,” he says, still clenching his fists.

“Law, look at me,” y/n says, taking his hand, forcing him to meet her eyes. Slowly, he turns, heart pounding.

“Me and Sanji… we’re just friends. He’s also from North Blue, and we were talking about that…” y/n tries to explain but hesitates, unsure if she wants to know exactly how Law feels. She takes several deep breaths, trying to speak but always stopping short.

“What is it?” Law asks softly, noticing her struggle.

“Why are you jealous? Tell me the truth, Law,” y/n presses. Law, surprised by the direct question, freezes momentarily before sighing heavily.

“I don’t know… I just don’t like seeing you with him. It makes me feel… upset. And angry.” Vulnerability wasn’t part of his usual demeanor, but with y/n, he couldn’t hide. He looks down at the sea again.

“What do you really feel about me?” y/n’s voice cracks as she asks, avoiding his eyes.

Law hears the emotion in her voice, making his heart hurt. He finally looks at her, eyes filled with frustration and sadness.

“I… I feel a lot of things. We grew up together. I care about you, but lately… those feelings have grown into something more. I’ve been struggling with them, especially when I see you with Sanji.”

Y/n, shocked and unsure of what to say, stumbles over her words. Law, anxious, assumes she doesn’t feel the same and starts to leave, but she grabs his hand.

“Wait! Just… wait.”

Law freezes, heart pounding as she stops him. Her touch makes his heart race faster. He looks at her, waiting for her to speak.

Terrible at expressing her feelings, acts on instinct. She pulls him close and kisses him intensely. Law is taken by surprise, but quickly responds, pulling her closer and pouring all his pent-up emotions into the kiss.

Slowly, y/n pulls away. With their foreheads touching, she whispers, “I feel the same way… about you… but I was so afraid of mixing things up…”

Relief floods Law as he hears her confession. He lets out a shaky breath, still holding her close. Vulnerable, he admits, “Me too… But I can’t hide my feelings anymore. I want you.”

“You’ve always had me,” y/n smiles, gently stroking his blushing cheeks. Law smiles back, kissing her again, relieved by her reciprocation. Their kiss is abruptly interrupted by the sound of a loud crash from the ship's deck.

“Dammit, Usopp, you idiot!!” Nami, Usopp, and Chopper, who had been spying on them, had fallen over. Y/n bursts into laughter as Law storms off, completely irritated, chasing after them.

“ROOM. SHAMBLES.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦··············•✦•······················•✦········

[lololololchips]

Kim Mingyu || in which love lingers…

synopsis: in which love lingers even after their relationship reaches its end. Mingyu discover that his enduring love and care for his ex will always remain, even if she has now found happiness in a new relationship…

genre: one shot smau, fake texts, fluff, angst, non!idol, lovers to strangers (?)

warnings: fem reader, cursing, mention of alcohol/being intoxicated

a/n: hiiiii i am very happy and excited to announce that this is my first collab!!! soooo allow me to introduce the amazing, talented, and great person that completed this smau @spamgyu !!!!! ces completely ruined me with her opinion on ex!mingyu to the point that it made me want to do an smau on the topic so here it is:)) the amazing writing portion that she did is towards the end so make sure not to skip over it and read it!!! also go show her support on all her great work, she’s gonna make u suffer and cry BUT HEY THATS OKAY🙈🙈 once again i’m truly so happy to have worked with ces so ENJOY WHAT WE PUT TOGETHER HEHE<333

Taking the final bite of his shave ice, Mingyu couldn't help but let out a pitiful chuckle as the cold treat made contact with his tongue - he had gone mad.

He had always wanted to visit the tropical island, looking forward to crossing off all the sights he had on his four year old list in his notes app.

Only difference was, it wasn't meant to just be him completing this list.

You were supposed to be there.

You were the one that had come up and done research for all the places he had paid a visit to.

From the small surf town up north to the local eateries, Mingyu couldn't quite find himself to enjoy the experience fully - knowing that there was something missing.

You.

It had been three years since the two of you had separated, both coming to terms with the end and moving on with your lives. It had been months since he had even thought of you - as a romantic partner, at least.

What was meant to be a birthday trip had turned to somewhat of a trip to tie up all the loose ends he never did seem to get to - nor was he aware had been undone.

This place was supposed to be for you two.

Mingyu knew it was stupid; relating every activity he had been doing back to you instead of fully enjoying the trip.

He was supposed to have moved on; and he has!

But why did his stomach feel like it was constantly sinking? Why did his heart feel as empty as it did the first day he had experienced a life without you?

With each picture he snapped, he found himself mumbling how much you would have loved the place.

It was everything you two had dreamed of, maybe even more.

You always did like the ocean - remembering the first time the two of you had spent at the beach together.

He could remember the smile on your face that day, almost as if it was just a week ago.

He could remember the sweet smell of coconut shampoo that lingered in your hair, wafting into his nose as the wind blew.

He could remember the sunkissed glow on your cheeks as the sun beat down on the two of you.

Would it have been the same if you had made it to the Hawaii trip with him?

Would you still have been using the same shampoo?

Would you still allow him to playfully drag you into the water - pretending as if you didn't want to wet your hair in the cold ocean water?

Probably not.

Time has passed, there was no way you were the same person - just as he wasn't that same foolish boy that he was when he was wrapped around your fingers.

You were most likely using a different shampoo now.

And you probably would have jumped into the ocean first.

He wanted to text you; send you all the images he took, update you that Matsumoto Shave Ice was as delicious as you imagined it be, tell you all about what he had been up to.

You probably wouldn't even care - at least, not like you did before.

You would simply reply casually, just like your other mutual friends.

Letting out a sigh, Mingyu tossed out the now empty cup - shaking his head to try and shake away the thoughts of you.

"I'm a fucking idiot." He scoffed, rereading the word vomit that he had spilled to you just a few minutes ago over text.

You two had been cordial, friends even - and now, that could possibly go down the drain.

All because of this stupid thing called nostalgia.

He had allowed for the emotional tie that the island had to overpower his coherent thoughts - typing all that he had felt the duration of his trip into the messaging app.

Mingyu knew he had to get it out, he had to let you know - he felt as though his chest would burst if he didn't. He had done so well holding back for the past few days, simply talking to you in his head.

But he heard it, someone had played the song the two of you had jokingly dedicated to each other after the break-up - and almost as if his younger self had possessed his body, he opened the messaging app and went on to spill all that his brain had been bothering him with.

His younger self missed you; gravely.

But not the you that was now, no - he didn't know who she is.

She is a stranger.

She may look familiar, having the same features that had once had him so weak in the knees - but she no longer felt like the home he once resided in.

He no longer knew the address to this home, nor does he think it has it's light on for him anymore.

Even if his kept the porch light on; just in case you needed to seek shelter in the darkest of nights.

It will always be on.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Knight in Shining Motorcycle: Part Two

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.7k

Warnings: feeling rejected and heartbroken, going on yet another bad date, belittling wait staff (by the date), fluff at the end

Summary: It's been a month since the incident with Jackson. It's been a month since you felt Bucky's arms around you. It's been a month and he hasn't said one word about it, and seems like he's gone back to his usual ways. It's time for you to move but why can't you?

read part one here: Knight in Shining Motorcycle

Squares Filled: seeking comfort in best friend (2020) for @star-spangled-bingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

It’s been a month since you and Bucky shared a bed. It’s been a month since he saved you from that disastrous date with Jackson. It’s been a month since you felt his arms around you, and you haven’t felt them since. It’s like after that night, Bucky went back to his normal ways of fucking a new girl every week. He refuses to think about that night, talk about that night, and acknowledge that it even happened.

Sometimes, he’d bring two girls back to the apartment for a very long night of you wanting to kill yourself from the noises you’d hear. You don’t get it. You thought you two had something. Were you just a means to an end? Another girl to get into his bed even though you never did anything other than sleep? Another notch in his belt?

The only person you can find comfort in is your best friend and Bucky’s sister, Mia. She’s the only one who will hear you complain about him because everyone does it. All of her friends who have gotten involved with Bucky have complained to her about how he didn’t treat them right or they caught feelings but he tossed them aside like they meant nothing.

However, this time it’s different. It’s the way you talk about Bucky or the way she sees him with other girls that makes her think there is something more to this than meets the eye.

“He hasn’t said anything to you?” you ask and fiddle with your cappuccino.

“No, sorry, hun.”

“I should move out. I don’t know where I’d go.”

“I wish I could say you can stay with me. Ty and I just converted the spare bedroom into our home office.”

“I know. I appreciate the offer. I have a little money saved but I have to tough it out until I get enough to afford something small.”

“Ty’s sister is a real estate agent. I can give her your number and she can try and help you out.”

“Yeah, maybe. I’m still trying to figure things out.”

“Hey, can Ty and I borrow your car this weekend? Ours is in the shop and we planned a romantic weekend up north.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll drop it off the night before.”

“Thanks!”

You take a sip from your coffee and hear a motorcycle in the distance. You’d recognize that bike anywhere. Bucky pulls up near the cafe where you and Mia are and parks on the side of the road. He has a girl on the back of his bike that he no doubt met that day. Right in front of him is some fancy clothing store she wanted to go to. She gets off the bike, removes her helmet, and leaves him on the bike to go inside the store alone.

Bucky looks in your general direction but with his helmet on, it’s hard to determine exactly what he is looking at. Still, that doesn’t stop the glare you’re giving him.

“Just ignore him,” Mia says and pops a doughnut hole into her mouth.

“Easier said than done,” you mutter and look away from him. “That next morning, he acted like nothing happened. I figured he didn’t want to talk about it. Then a couple of days passed and he still didn’t mention it. Weeks went by and now I know he’s doing this to me on purpose. He’s being an ass.”

Bucky gets off his bike and takes off his helmet to get some fresh air, and he leans against the side of it effortlessly. If you were to do that, you’d surely knock the bike over. He waits for his fuck buddy to come out of the store, and she bounces over to him with a bag in hand. She wraps her arms around his neck and he pulls her in for a kiss.

It’s the kind of kiss that is meant for the bedroom but also the kind of kiss you want to show off to someone. You can’t be here anymore.

“I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

You get up and toss some bills onto the table for your drink and leave in the opposite direction of Bucky and his new toy.

Bucky pulls away from the girl and looks over to where you and Mia are. When he doesn’t see you, he looks around for you only to see your retreating figure. He feels like shit for doing that. He absentmindedly rubs the knuckles that hold small scars from when he beat Jackson up for what he did to you.

You take the entire day to walk around town and be by yourself, so when you get home it’s already dark. Bucky is in the kitchen cooking something when you put your keys in the bowl by the front door. You round the corner and see him cooking something with only a towel wrapped around his waist as if he just got out of the shower. However, there isn’t any water on his body.

“Grab it while it’s hot,” he says.

“Really? You’re cooking in a towel? You couldn’t have gotten dressed first?”

He opens his mouth to reply but someone speaks from his bedroom that interrupts him.

“Bucky, where are you? I’m getting lonely.”

Bucky doesn’t feel guilty that he has a girl over. He feels guilty that you caught him. He sees the heartbroken look in your eyes that makes him want to shoot himself.

“Thanks for the offer but I’m not hungry. I’m sleeping over at Mia’s tonight.”

He lets you walk away.

The weekend comes quicker than you’d like. Without a car, you’re stuck in the apartment, and you’re not about to ask Bucky for a ride on his motorcycle. You’re stuck in your room on your phone when you get a message from Mia.

Hey, I know you didn’t ask for this but I hooked you up with someone Ty knows. He’s super nice!

like a blind date?

Yeah. I can tell him you’re not interested. I figured this is your chance to get over my brother.

yeah, i can try. where is the date?

At the new bar that just opened next to the cafe. His name is Travis. I told him 7 tonight.

okay. thank you. i’ll let you know how it goes.

Seven is three hours away, so you better get ready now. After taking a shower, you look in your closet for something to wear and come across the dress you wore for your date with Jackson. You haven’t worn it since because of the memories attached to it. Not memories of Jackson, memories of Bucky. Next to that dress is Bucky’s leather jacket he told you to keep. Like the dress, you haven’t worn it since and you’re sure as hell not going to wear it now.

There is a floral print dress that goes down to your ankles. It’s off the shoulders with long sleeves down to your wrists that bunches so the sleeves look flowy instead of compressed. The entire dress is flowy and light, perfect for a blind date. The match, you have chunky white wedges that give you a few extra inches. You keep your makeup light, hair down in soft waves, and jewelry that compliments the dress.

You leave your room and look at Bucky’s closed door. He’s been spending a lot of time in his room this past week with girls he picks up from anywhere. The only reason you’re telling him where you’re going is because you live with him. If you don’t, he’ll send an army to go look for you. There are noises and giggling coming from inside the room but when you knock, they cease.

One minute later, the door opens a crack and Bucky stands there with messy hair and sweats on.

“I’m going out. Don’t wait up for me.”

Bucky takes a moment to look at the outfit you’ve chosen and his demeanour changes immediately.

“Where are you going?”

“I have a date.”

“You don’t have a car.”

“I’ll Uber. Have fun with your girlfriend.”

You leave before he has a chance to say anything else. It takes the Uber ten minutes to get to you and another thirty minutes to get to the restaurant. Mia sent you a picture of what the man looks like but it was grainy and unclear. You step out with your phone in hand while looking around for Travis.

“Y/N?”

You turn to see an attractive man wearing a nice suit. You look at the picture once more to confirm it’s Travis, which it is.

“You must be Travis,” you chuckle nervously.

“Yeah. Wow, Mia sent me your picture but nothing compares to real life. You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you blush.

“I made us a reservation. Shall we go inside?”

“After you.”

You two walk inside, get your table, order, and start chatting about your lives. Travis is a bit boring when it comes to having adventures. Unlike you. You can write a book about the adventures you’ve been on because you have Bucky as a roommate. When he’s not fucking some random girl, he’s actually pretty cool to hang out with. You two have been everywhere in town doing all sorts of things.

“So, what do you do for work?” Travis asks and sips his drink.

“Uh, I am an IT specialist who works from home. I get calls daily on how to fix computers and other tech-related stuff. It pays well and I get to stay home, so that’s a bonus.”

“That’s awesome. I’m terrible when it comes to computers.”

“What do you do?”

“I am a financial manager. Like you, it pays well but I’m stuck in meetings and in the office all the time.”

“Have you always wanted to work in the financial world?”

The waitress comes by with your food and sets the plates in front of you and Travis. You think she’s going to walk away and you can continue your conversation with Travis, but that’s not what happens.

“Am I supposed to be impressed with this?” he asks angrily.

“Excuse me?” the waitress stutters.

“I don’t even have to touch this to know it’s cold. Do I have to go back there and tell you how to do your damn job?” 

Your mouth opens in embarrassment and shock.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll take this back right now and have it fixed.”

The waitress grabs the plate without looking at you and leaves immediately. Poor thing looks like she is going to cry. Travis shakes his head and turns back to you as if this never happened.

“So, anyway, I went to business school and all that, but it’s nice to get out of the office every once in a while, you know?”

You have no idea what to say. Mistreating waitstaff is an immediate turn off. Everything attractive about this man suddenly turns sour. You’re lucky you saw this early on instead of at the end of the date.

“I’m sorry, I have to use the ladies room. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, sure.”

You take everything you own with you because you’re not coming back to this table. You make it seem like you’re going to the bathroom in case he’s watching but once your table is out of sight, you find the first waitress you see which so happens to be yours.

“Hey, I am so sorry about the way he spoke to you like that. I don’t even know him. My best friend set me up. Listen, I gotta get out of here but the table we’re at is by the door. Is there a back entrance I can use?”

“Yeah, I got you. He gave me the ick as soon as I saw him,” she shutters. “Follow me.” She takes you through the kitchen and the back door that they use when they go on breaks. “Good luck.”

“Oh, and don’t be afraid to spit in his food.”

“Trust me, the cook’s all over it.”

You walk through the small alley next to the bar to the main street. You take out your phone to call an Uber, but luck has it so that you don’t have any service. You try moving the phone around, even walking down to the street light, but nothing comes up.

“Damn it,” you mutter.

You can’t call Mia. You can’t use your car because she has it. The only person you know is Bucky. Should you call him? He’s probably frolicking with that woman still. Even if you were to call him, he’d probably hate you for ruining his date. The only other option is to walk home even though it took thirty minutes to get here by car.

The road stretches through the mountain briefly which you don’t want to walk through but what else are you gonna do? If you can’t get service in a busy restaurant area, there is no way you’re gonna get service in the mountains. The walk gives you time to think about your life. You have a good job that pays well but you can’t keep living with Bucky if it means seeing him with all these women. You have a major thing for him and it kills you to know you’re not the one he’s going home with.

Ten minutes go by until you hear the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle. It races past you without a second thought, screeches to a stop, turns around, and slowly creeps up behind you. You don’t have to see who it is to know who it is. Bucky pulls up next to you and walks the bike to keep up with your pace.

“Get on the bike.”

“No, I’ll walk. Thanks.”

“Don’t be difficult, Y/N. Get on the bike.”

“How the hell did you even find me?”

“I asked Mia. She told me the guy you were on a date with. I looked him up, and he posted to his Facebook about how his date ditched him, and all women are beneath him. He’s a fucking loser. I mean, he still uses Facebook,” he chuckles. “I figured you were out here somewhere.”

“Stop stalking me,” you roll your eyes. “I’ll meet you at home.”

“Get on the damn bike.”

“No!” Bucky revs his engine and surges forward, parking right in front of you to prevent you from going further. You try to go around him but he moves his bike in your path. “Why the hell do you care about me? You’ve proven I mean nothing to you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he asks and gets off his bike.

“You fucking know what I’m talking about. If you don’t, then you’re not worth my time.” You try pushing past him to continue your walk but he grabs your arm to prevent you from doing so. You quickly turn and slap his face. The shock is enough for him to let go of you. “Don’t fucking touch me. The last time you touched me, you left and never spoke of it again. Just go, please. You have a girl waiting for you at home. Just go to her.”

“I can’t!”

“Why not?!”

“Because she’s not you!” he yells loudly.

“Do better,” you scoff.

“Fuck,” he mumbles to himself. “I love you!” You pause to take in the information. “I can’t get you out of my fucking head. I’ve been trying all month to get you out of my head. None of the girls I’ve brought home have ever stuck because they’re not you. Being with you that one night has been better than anything I’ve done all fucking month.”

“Then why did you let me walk away?” you ask in a heartbreaking tone.

“Because I’m an idiot. Because you’re the realest thing I’ve ever had, and I didn’t want to fuck it up.”

Silence befalls the two of you, and you look around the desolate road.

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

More silence. Bucky takes three big steps to get to you, grabs your waist with one hand, slides his other into your hair, and kisses you like he was supposed to a month ago. His lips fit so perfectly against your own like they belong there. You’ve pictured this moment in so many different ways, but this is not on your list.

“Are we really doing this?” you ask when he pulls away.

“Do you want to?” You nod with a smile. “You’re my girl now.”

“No more other women.”

“I’ve got the one I want.”

He leans down and kisses you again, this time, making your head soar to new places.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[abalidoth]

Replanting (Chapter 1)

[read on ao3]

When you feel the missile clip the corner of your mech's leg joint, you know it's over.

It feels like a line of white fire directly to your brain; your pain and the mech's mingling. But pain is nothing, pain is your every day. It's the immobility that terrifies you. Your mech knows before you do that the leg won't work, can't carry you back to base.

They won't send a field repair team out this far, not into enemy territory. Not even for the material outlay of the mech. You have no illusions of what would happen to you if they had to extract, but at least it would be fine, given a new pilot and allowed to keep doing its duty.

Don't think like that, it sends to you. I don't want another pilot.

You struggle a few dozen meters until the residual coolant in the leg motivators gives out and the intractable hand of physics pulls your mech to its knees. A cloud of dust billows up around you and you give up the rest of the way, mech lying on its side amid the baked earth and the scrubby bushes.

Creosote bush, the mech says. Didn't know it grew this far north.

You know it's just trying to keep you from panicking. It's not working -- you can feel your heart racing, the connection gel around you contracting in an autonomic effort to keep you from thrashing in the cockpit. Worst of all, your handler's ever present voice in your ear has gone silent.

A pilot's job is to keep its mech moving. No more and no less. You know there's no real affection from your handler, that her ministrations are part of the system, but you can't think about that sudden abandonment without a pang of grief. She should be there, she should always be there, but now there's nothing. Silence and static.

That feeling gives you a rush of adrenaline, coarser and hotter than the artificial flush the mech gives when you complete an objective, purely a product of your own withered adrenal glands. You have to get back you have to get back. You struggle to your knees, planting the mech's hands in the caliche like anchors and shoving so hard you feel something pop. (In you? In the mech? Is there a difference?)

You make it another hundred meters before you fall again, and the Caskie mech finds you, hitting you with an EMP before you can take them down with you. It lands with a jumpjet hiss in your sightline, so you're treated to the view of the alien-looking mech opening its canopy wide, two pilots getting out of the crude-looking mechanical cockpit.

---

They salvage the mech with you in it.

The pilots didn't seem to know what to do with you; you could hear from your outboard sensors that they were discussing in that strange, fluid accent how to get you out without killing you.

(You don't understand why that matters.)

Eventually, they just called for reinforcements; three heavy carriers showed up some indeterminate amount of time later. They haul your mech, pilot included, through the air on a frankly ridiculous web of heavy cables. You see the desert fade to green, canals threading through the land like veins, as you pass from the disputed zone into Union territory.

Your mech keeps a constant stream of commentary, talking about the plants that it sees, pointing out where old semi-arid forests have been restored. Its voice across the neural tunnel holds false cheer, picking up whenever you start panicking, but the enthusiasm is genuine.

Finally the carriers land at a base. It looks much like Conclave military architecture, concrete in utilitarian blocks, but you can see shining glass and chrome off in the distance, a city. They must want to keep you a ways away from civilians. You suppose that's fair.

They land you in an empty mech bay. It’s been cleared out hastily – you can see the Union mech that used to reside there off to the side, plugged into an aux power array. Your mech is not the right size, not the right shape, but a gaggle of mechanics come out anyway. They locked a restraining clamp on you at some point so you can't move, can't fight. Still, the mechanics move around you warily, like you'll snap and take them all out at any moment.

You would, in a heartbeat. Not just to get the euphoric response, but to quiet the anxiety, the feeling that you're entering a world where you don't have the tools to survive. But you can't, and a quiet part of you (or the mech) is relieved at that.

They strip your mech of all its weaponry, a harsh and hasty disassembly. You feel each removal sharply. Not physically -- mercifully, the mech has dialed down the haptic connection so it's left to suffer alone -- but in loss of potential, the closing of options. 

Finally, when everything is done and your mech is defenseless (other than being a fifteen ton vehicle) a tall woman in a labcoat comes out, flanked by guards with red cross emblems on their sleeves.

"Hello," she says. Her voice is formal, neutral. Lower than you expected, with just a hint of that singsong Cascadian accent. "Can you hear me? Or see me? We have sensitive solid-conductance microphones on the outside of your mech so we can hear you if you speak."

You know the trainings. A pilot is part of the system, part of the Conclave war engine, and cogs don't speak. Your tongue flicks idly against the suicide capsule in your back left molar. You go to press in on it.

You feel something, like a hand, guiding you away. A great wave of fear washes over you, and you know it's not yours.

Please. No.

You stop. Think a moment. 

"Hhhhh."

It's been a while since you've spoken. Just whispers in the dark with your handler, words carrying neither voice nor meaning. Your throat is dry, and you feel for a moment like it's not there. (Why would a mech have a throat?) You clear it, and try again.

"Yes. I can hear you."

She nods. "Good. I'm Dr. Mia Crane. I'm required by Cascadian Union treaty to inform you that as a prisoner of war, you have rights including food, shelter, protection from torture, and the right to ask about your other rights." She adjusts her round framed glasses. "I'm required by basic hospitality to ask you your name."

You pause. You know what names are, of course. Your handler's name is Rebecca. But that's not something pilots have. "I, uh. No?"

She blinks, a little taken aback. "Okay, well, we can work on that. Do you at least acknowledge your rights as a prisoner of war?"

This isn't going to end until you acknowledge, you feel, so you just say "Yes."

"Okay. Is there anything we need to know before we get you out of there?"

"I don't want out," you say. Your throat tightens.

You can't stay in me forever. It's okay. You'll find a way back to me.

You hear a hissing sound, and the low, sick gurgle of the connection gel draining out of your suit. Before you understand what's happening, the canopy drops open and you stagger out of the mech onto the diamond-patterned steel catwalk.

The sharp edge of disconnection, the sudden hole where there should be something inside you, keeps you off your feet. You stagger to one knee, felled as surely by shock as you had been by the missile.

The guards rush over to you and help you up. You want to fight them off but your muscles are jelly. Your head hurts.

Dr. Crane looks you over. You know she's not your handler, but you reach for the familiarity anyway, half expecting the usual routine, the ministrations that get lost in the foggy haze of post-battle euphoria. If your arms weren't being held for your own stability, you'd start opening your suit.

Instead she shines a light in your eyes and asks you to stick out your tongue, making notes on a clipboard as she goes. She puts a strip of fabric around your arm and it gets tight for a moment. "Elevated heart rate and systolic pressure, pupil dilation is beyond what I consider normal."

Your heart hammers in your ears. The smells around you -- the saccharine sweet of connection gel, your own body, something undefinable coming off the doctor, heighten to a nauseating strength. Your head hurts. "Are you going to..." You swallow. "Do you have the syringe?"

Dr. Crane tilts her head. "The syringe?"

"When the..." How do you explain this? You haven't had to explain any of this, people just know what to do. "When I'm done. Rebecca, she has the syringe, it's blue, and."

"Do you know what's in it?" she asks, gently. Too gently. The words are too soft, they smother you, it's too hard to breathe.

Your head hurts. The lights beat down.

"No, but it... she... always..."

Your head hurts.

Your head hu--

---

There are voices.

At first you don't care. You just want to go back to sleep. But there's something wrong with your bed, it's too soft. And the voices don't sound right -- that soft lilt, one you've only recently heard.

"Patient has been stable for six hours. Their heartrate is still a little funny, and I'm not sure this godawful cocktail of tramadol, modafinil, and tricyclics we pulled out of their tox panel is good for anything other than keeping them from dying of withdrawal, but we should be seeing them awake soon."

"Thanks, Dr. Chen." You recognize this voice, soft and husky -- it's Dr. Crane. "Have you figured out the... um. Mortality problem?"

"Part of it is that stimulant cocktail, I'm sure -- we haven't had the chance to pull in a full Conclave mech with pilot intact, and our field teams don't have the tools to stabilize someone as quickly as we were able to do here. But the most likely reason... false molar full of tetrodotoxin. We made sure to extract it. Carefully."

You probe the back of your mouth with a sluggish tongue. There's still a tooth there, but it feels strange. The one that had been there was artificial already, of course, but this one is much smoother, more like the rest of your teeth. Something lightens within you -- you've lost an option, sure, but maybe you were never good with options.

"Fuck," Dr. Crane says quietly. 

"That's not all," Dr. Chen says. "There's extensive neural grafts consistent with the autopsies we've performed, but... there's something weird going on with the brain activity scan. I'm not sure what the Conclave is doing to their people, but it's scary."

"Nnn. 'M not," you say.

There's a rustling around your bed. You open your eyes and blink against the sharp light a few times, and eventually the face of Dr. Crane comes into focus.

"Hey," she says. "Glad you're awake. How are you feeling?"

You have no idea how to deal with this. Never expected to be in a hospital room of all things, being treated like valuable materiel instead of ammunition. So instead of answering her question, you just repeat your previous statement. "I'm not. Person."

She gives you a look you don't really know how to read. You never had to get all that good at reading faces, but you suspect this one might be hard even if you did.

"...well. Anyway." Dr. Crane clears her throat. "You had a medical emergency when you left your mech. You mentioned something about a syringe? I assume that's part of your post-operation routine? We've got you stable now. We're going to give you about another day to rest up before we bring you in for questioning."

"Questioning?"

"You're the only Conclave pilot we've brought in alive," she says, with a twist of her mouth. "It's damn near impossible to piece together any information about Conclave technology and hierarchy. I should know -- I'm the Union's top academic expert in Conclave culture and I always feel like I'm flying blind."

That was... a lot. You just nod.

"So you said something about... not having a name? Do you have something you'd like to be called? I know you're technically a prisoner, but you're safe here. People will respect what you say you are."

She says that last part with a lot of emphasis, a particular gravity to the words, but you're not sure why. "No."

"Okay. Designation number?"

"They re-assign our numbers every week so we don't get attached to them," you say.

She says a word under her breath that you don't know, other than that your handler says it when she gets mad.

"Alright." Dr. Crane takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose. "How about I just call you "Pilot" for now?"

That's what you are, and you don't see why that's so difficult, but at least this line of questioning seems to be over when you answer yes. She promises to check on you in a while, and leaves.

---

You dream about vines.

They're all over you. You haven't seen many vines up close -- there was sparse ivy on the back of one hangar for a little while before Maintenance took care of it. But you feel you know these.

They aren't strangling you. It almost feels like a caress, like the flight suit, like Rebecca's post combat care, but not quite any of those. It's pleasant. Cool rather than warm, and calming.

There is intense pain in your arms and legs, but it doesn't bother you. It's like someone is telling you that your limbs are being shredded, but the pain isn't getting through to the part of you that cares. It's just another sensation, less pleasant than the vines but certainly not bad.

You feel things you can't explain. A name, a pull in a direction that's not physical, feelings and sounds beyond your ability to parse. They build to a crescendo, and you wake with a shout. But at the edges of your awareness, the green is still there.

---

The next morning, you're herded into a shower stall with a clean jumpsuit, a washcloth, and a bar of soap. You clean yourself off as well as you can, given the circumstances. The soap has a soft smell to it, and no grit. It almost doesn't feel like it's cleaning you at all, without the scratches.

You knock on the stall door once you're finished dressing, and the door slides back. In addition to the two guards, Dr. Crane is there. She's wearing the same white coat, but her hair is pulled back, and she looks even more tired.

Still, she manages a slight smile. "Pilot. Did you sleep well?"

"No," you say.

"Ah. Well, hopefully we can help with that tonight. In the meantime I have some questions for you."

You follow her through a maze of white corridors, lit with skylights. Your sense of direction was never the best (your mech always took care of that, you think with a twist in your gut.) You wouldn't be able to find your way back if you needed to.

She leads you to a room with two chairs, both of them plush and soft. You feel like you're sinking into it; she looks like she's perched on hers. She balances her clipboard on her knees and starts in eagerly on the questions.

There's a part of you that feels you should shut up, refuse to answer, let them finish the work they didn't let your false tooth start. But one handler's as good as another. You're a weapon, and weapons know no loyalty. So you answer -- even when the questions don't make sense, or aren't about obvious things, or are about things you've never been allowed to see.

The reactions don't really make sense to you either. You talk about some of your worst missions, and she seems sad but like she knew what was coming; you talk about your handler, and she's gripping her clipboard so hard her fingers go pale. You stop trying to understand what's going on, and try to hit the same state of unconscious action that you do on a sortie. Question, response. Question, response.

There are a few about your accommodations. They're fine, of course. You have little standard for comparison, and if she asks if you need anything else, you feel she won't leave you alone with a "no," so you ask for books. Rebecca was always reading when you were doing synch tests.

After what feels like the whole day, Dr. Crane lets you go. She doesn't ask you any questions about the haze of green starting to fade in around the corners of your vision when your mind drifts, so you don't volunteer any information.

---

The next day's meal comes with a couple of books, and Dr. Crane seems determined to find you the right reading material because every meal tray thereafter has more. There's a shelf in your room for the purpose. It was a ruse at first, but it is genuinely a better way of spending your time then staring at the wall.

There's more questions, along with a handful of medical tests, supervised by Dr. Chen. Dr. Chen's questions are even stranger than Dr. Crane's, but at least they seem satisfied with the answers given by the scans and blood draws.

A few days pass until you get a good enough feeling of the layout of the facility to know which direction the hangar is in. You occasionally see Caskie pilots in groups of twos and threes, talking and joking with each other. No handlers, no augments that you can see -- if you hadn't seen people in those same outfits walk out of their primitive looking mechs in the desert, you wouldn't believe that they were pilots at all.

All of them are coming and going in the same direction, and it's a direction that Doctor Crane and your guards never take you. So naturally, the first chance you get when both of your escorts are distracted and you have the chance, you peel off that direction and start running.

Your augments sing as you stretch your legs. They’re not like infantry augments (or so you’ve heard) and they don’t have auxiliary power – you can feel them burning away your body’s energy, energy that would normally be supplied by your mech. But your desperation fuels them just as much as your calories do, and the initial burst of speed and agility is all you need.

The facility is confusing as always, but you spot a sign that says HANGAR and get reoriented. Startled cries fly in your wake, doctors and workers and pilots confused at your frenzied speed. Something that might be an alarm and might just be lighting flashes at the corner of your vision, nearly obscured by the green.

You get lucky, and a mechanic is coming through the secured door at the checkpoint at the same time you arrive. You take advantage of her confusion and duck underneath her outstretched arm, through the door and out into the hangar bay.

It's not hard to find your mech. You remember the layout from your brief spell of consciousness after arrival, the way your mech looked so different from the rest and didn't quite fit into its space.

You pull up to a stop, wheezing from exertion, and look at it with dismay.

Your mech has been dismembered, all four limbs strewn about the bay hooked up to various pieces of testing equipment. The body itself is on a riser jack, slightly askew like there wasn't the right connector to fit it, hooked up by thick cables and patched-together connectors to the exposed limb contacts. The canopy stands open, the inside unlit but visibly cleaned of leftover connection gel.

The sight makes you sick. You hold it down, but barely; but the nausea makes it hard for you to resist when a burly mechanic comes up behind you and wrestles you to the floor.

You're not sure you would have, anyway.

By the time Dr. Crane has shown up, your face is wet with tears and snot, and your breath comes only with sobs. You're still being pinned to the ground by a mechanic, but she's not putting her full weight into it. She more or less let go when you started crying.

Dr. Crane pushes through the crowd of onlooking mechanics and kneels down in front of you. "Are you all right?" she asks.

At first, you think she's addressing the mechanic; it would be such an incongruous question to a pilot about to be terminated for insubordination. After a silence disproves that theory, you shake your head and gesture with one semi-restrained arm to the mech. "No."

"I'm sorry, pilot," she says, "but you are still a prisoner. I'm going to request the board not to restrict your access for this, given that you didn't really hurt anything -- and I'm sure they'll listen to me -- but you surely didn't think you could just get back in your mech and run away?"

"No," you say again, frustration at your own inadequate words prompting a fresh fall of tears. "It's... you're hurting it, you're..."

Things click together, things that you've always known. Feelings shared through the neural tunnel, deeply held beliefs that couldn't be kept from a pilot. You understand, now, what your mech was trying to tell you all along.

"You're hurting her."

Dr. Crane looks from you, to your mech, back to you. She goes pale.

"Are you telling me," she says quietly, "that there's an AI in your mech? A sentient AI?"

You nod. It's too late to lie, now. To protect her. The green in your vision threatens to overwhelm you. You're sorry, so, so sorry...

"A sentient AI that... we have been effectively torturing for four days. Fuck." She takes her glasses off, buries her face in her hands for a moment. "I can't believe that didn't come up during questioning."

It could have. You had avoided the topic, because you were afraid of this happening -- your greater part, torn away and experimented on because you couldn't keep her safe. You had always heard that the Union had strange beliefs about machine minds.

Dr. Crane looks around to some of the mechanics. "Anyone who was working on this mech -- did you have any idea there was a sentient AI? Any anomalous readings?"

"Some anomalies came up in the report that indicated synaptic activity in the post-0.4 Turing level," says one mechanic, nervously playing with their hair. "But everything about Conclave tech is anomalous. Kinda got buried in all the other weirdness."

"Okay." Dr. Crane sighs. "Can we get some input/output hooked up to her, please? And give her her limbs back."

One of the guards flanking her frowns. "I don't think that's a good--"

"She's a prisoner of war, Ortega. Pretty sure removing a sapient being's body parts is against something in the codes. Not to mention the First Principle."

Ortega sighs, and waves some mechanics over.

---

They don't know what connection gel is, but it doesn't matter. The sensation of her against your skin is important, but not as important as just reestablishing the connection.

Dr. Crane apparently spots your longing glances towards your mech, and takes you by the arm. When you flinch back, she holds her hands up in a defensive posture. "I'm sorry," she said. "I was just going to guide you over there again."

There's a lot of activity going on in the hangar, between the mechanics re-arming your mech and the other pilots getting suited up to react in case she tries to start killing people. (You don't think she's going to, but you suppose you can't blame them too much.) It would be a shame if your reunion with your mech got postponed because you got beaned in the head by an inattentive mechanic carrying a crysteel strut, so you offer your arm to Dr. Crane again and she guides you through.

You don't want to take too long, but you're only going to get to do this once. You run your hand over the lip where the canopy seats into the body, feel the soft seal and the framework beneath, then lift yourself up over and inside the cockpit.

There's no gel, so you can't hear her voice right away, but you know what to do. Years of drilling guide your hand to the hidden compartment with the emergency connection pads. It falls open with a clunk, the ribbon cables and connection pads jutting out in a fall like vines. One on either temple, one on either side of the chest, one on the back of each trembling hand. You're probably being watched, stared at as you have been since you broke into this hangar, but you don't care. She's here.

Hello, love.

You shudder, come apart, not in a procedural way like with your handler but in a form that shoots through to the very core of you. Untouched, but undone. You have no words for her, but you know she can feel your relief and your joy. You crumple, weeping, and run your hands over the familiar inside of the cockpit.

The green in your vision doesn’t go away, but it recontextualizes. It’s her. It’s the part of her that lives in you, a fragment within a fragment.

It's a little while, just basking in the connection, before you realize you've fallen in an uncomfortable position. Your skin, your joints, protesting their treatment. You reorganize yourself, pull yourself from the connection just long enough to get there. 

They've hooked a set of speakers up to her ports. They come to life with a spiky flare of static as she finds her voice.

"Hello," she says. You can feel her voice from inside and outside, through the tunnel and through the skin of the mech. "I am a Conclave of God Armored Forces Samson-B Light Interdiction Unit, but I would prefer if you called me Acacia."

[writingwenches]

Aegon ii Targaryen’s Wives of the Seven Kingdoms AU

“I shall marry her in the tradition of our House.” — references King Meagor “The Cruel” Targaryen

What would be better leverage when seeking alliances during the Dance of the Dragons than a gaggle of beautiful hostages ladies, one from each of the Realms. See, sometimes Aegon can have great ideas too, MOM–

This seems like a project meant for collaboration~ I would love to hear any/all ideas, inspiration, suggestions, head-canons, regarding the idea~ Throw your OCs at me, if you want LOL

I’ve been watching too much asoiaf lore videos, and I can’t stop thinking about this AU idea.

Having a larger presence of Ladies at court can be a blessing and a curse. The scene where the nobles were forced to pledge allegiance to King Aegon ii could have gone differently, if those nobles knew before the meeting Seven of their daughters had been rounded up and wedded to the King. 😈

below is the current brain rot I have so far, and a place to keep track of ideas lol, I'm totally open to new suggestions and ideas! I have a longterm fic in the works, and it's slowly becoming less "fix-it" and more "make it worst" 😈

The Reach — Oletta Redwyne

Oletta has been raised at court for the majority of their life, being the only child of Lord and Lady Redwyne, whoever marries her would be the new Lord of Redwyne, and who better than a Prince? She has been instructed to court the prince from an age so young that she molded her entire personality around his likes and dislikes. Perhaps, she does not know who she is without him?

The Crownlands — Aemma Velaryon

i hate the idea of Helaena being married at 14 so I say its fake news never happened. I tried to create a "Rhaenyra's Daughter OC" that would be Rhaenyra's worst nightmare, and staunchly Team Green, and I love everything about her. Theoretically, Aemma marrying Aegon and ruling the Seven Kingdom's should be what's best for everyone...but is not what's best for Rhaenyra.

Iron Islands — Sansa-esque Greyjoy

An idea just as I'm writing them all down. A Greyjoy daughter born and raised on the Iron Islands to the hard and harsh life. Built by the sea, and trained by the sword, and hated every moment of it. She dreamed of being a fancy lady at court. Perhaps, when she is forced to wed Aegon, she refuses to use her fighting skills to help the other ladies...or perhaps she uses her skills against them, because no one is ruining her chance at an easy life...

Dorne — Need Ideas

In this era of Westeros, I treat dorne very much like "Dornish People: More like the SIX Kingdoms, am I right? *highfives all around*" soOo, my only idea here was a noble Bastard from another house, that Aegon took out of convenience. But, Dorne takes this as an offense and stands up for her, even if she never lived in Dorne proper? But, that's not fun for people who love Dornish culture so...I need better ideas lol

The North — Need Ideas

I have an OC northern house that would visit the capitol often, but also there's to many fun Northern OCs~

Westerlands — Need Ideas

Give me all the ideas~

Riverlands — Need Ideas

Give me all the ideas~

The Vale — Need Ideas

Give me all the ideas~

Stormlands — Need Ideas

Give me all the ideas~

[aussie-tea]

My personal headcanon is that Glinda actually hated Nessarose.

First and foremost I want to make it clear I don't think Glinda ever intended for Nessa to die. And even if she did I think Glinda would protect Nessa if only for Elphaba's sake.

But I do think that Glinda had a very unique third-party perspective on the sisters' relationship, and she would have seen how Nessa treated Elphaba; as nothing more than a personal assistant and human punching bag.

Glinda and Nessa were once extraordinarily alike. Both were beautiful girls, spoiled endlessly by their parents. They both treated Elphaba awfully, but the difference is Glinda has learnt, grown, and probably agonized over it. Nessa hasn't.

This was solely due to Elphaba. It was Glinda's friendship with Elphaba which taught her selflessness. And nothing shows this as clearly as her own desire for Elphaba's success, not only her own.

She even seems to recognize that Nessa is one of the things in Elphaba's life that is actually limiting her, and encourages space and separation between the sisters, which, arguably, is what's best for Elphaba.

Elphaba isn't the only person Glinda cares about that has been hurt by Nessa's actions either. Despite Glinda's moral flaws, she isn't blind to open cruelty and tyranny, especially concerning people she cares about. Nessa's treatment of the Munchkins, and Boq in particular, would not have gone unnoticed by Glinda.

Jealousy is also a huge part of Glinda's personality, so I can imagine her believing herself a better sister to Elphaba than Nessa. Or one more deserving of a sister than Nessa.

I attribute her reaction to Nessa's death to her guilt rather than any lost love between them. I can imagine that in the absence of Elphaba, Glinda might have wanted to step in as a grieving sister, placing flowers on her grave, saying a prayer.

It's further supported when Elphaba shows up, and Glinda immediately drops this act, showing her true blasé reaction to Nessa's death, whilst remaining sympathetic to Elphaba's pain.

Regardless of whether she is the besties-with-everyone schoolgirl in Act One or the happy-go-lucky Good Witch of the North in Act Two I can not imagine, in the musical, Glinda feeling anything but contempt towards Nessa.

[wordbreaker]

The Taming of the Dragon, 2 ✷ Aemond Targaryen

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen / F!OC

SUMMARY: One evening, Aemong, in dire need of clearing his head, catches a Dragonkeeper on the beach tending to Vhagar. The Queen of Dragons doesn't seem bothered by the stranger's presence. Quite the opposite. Aemond is immediately intrigued. Even more so when he discovers that the stranger is a girl who comes from the North and bears the name Snow.

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            Lucella Snow had done her utmost to avoid the beach in the last days, for fear of finding Vhagar and her rider there. It had only taken one encounter. One encounter to remind Lucella why she had gone to such lengths to avoid Aemond Targaryen for two years.

The rumours that one’s ears picked up on the fly in taverns were true—the man was nothing but condescension and cruelty.

Lucella had taken care to establish a precise and safe routine, only approaching Vhagar when night had fallen and the dragon was enjoying a well-earned rest. Apart from a few rare occasions, the prince only took her flying during daytime. Her age forced him to control his whims. Dragons like Sunfyre or Dreamfyre were bursting with energy and could fly fast and long without tiring but the golden age of Aegon I's conquest was long gone. Centuries had passed and Vhagar had felt the effects.

It took nothing away from her greatness, but this reality—which many preferred to deny—showed that no matter how beautiful and majestic they might be, dragons too had to obey the harsh laws of nature—nothing could last forever.

Knowing this had prompted Lucella to don her armour and boots this morning. Duty had won out over fear. She hadn't even lasted two days and cursed against her lack of backbone.

Vhagar needed her and that outweighed everything else.

The sun blinded Lucella. It had already warmed the sand by the time she reached the yellow dunes. Now that the prince had caught her, Lucella saw no reason to come at night. She just hoped it wouldn't upset Vhagar. An old lady like her didn't react well to big changes.

Mealtimes would remain fixed for the same reason—three hours after sunset. The more thankless tasks, however, would no longer be hidden by the night’s thick and dark cloak but warmed by the gentle rays of the sun. This would be just as pleasant for Vhagar as it would be for Lucella, who, if she was honest, was beginning to feel the chill of the midnight wind. It didn’t take long to grow accustomed to the warm sun of the South, even for someone named Snow.

She finally caught sight of Vhagar. A smile lit up her face. Lucella would never tire of seeing her. The dragon was the last vestige of their history, a relic of war and a living reminder of a past that was no more. As majestic as she was frightening, her roars gave Lucella goosebumps.

The girl was relieved to see that the beast was alone. No princely rider to nag in her ears and complicate her already intense work.

Aemond Targaryen lacked a good education. It was obvious in the way he treated others and the way he held himself—straight, chin up, eyes fixed. Everything about him reeked of smugness. Coming out of a royal vagina—only by marriage, mind you—didn't give him the right to be so detestable.

“Rytsas, Vhagar.”

The greeting rolled naturally off her tongue. The dragon blew a puff of air in response, sending a few strands of Lucella’s hair flying with the hot gust.

Like all the other Dragonkeepers, Lucella had had to learn High Valyrian to communicate with the beasts. While her colleagues were content with only learning the commands needed to control the dragons, Lucella fell in love with the sounds, so different from their Common Tongue, and set out to learn more. The story of Old Valyria was simply fascinating. She understood why, even after its disappearance, families like the Targaryens and the Velaryons prided themselves so much in their origins. They were the heirs to a civilisation whose destruction had only strengthened the mystery surrounding it.

Lucella couldn't read complex books in the language yet, but one day she would, she was sure of it. The girl was nothing if not stubborn.

She let her bag crash to the ground. Vhagar lifted her neck to sniff at it, probably looking for her meal. She had come to associate Lucella with “food”, which worried the keeper, who had no particular desire to end up as dragon food.

Although she and Vhagar had developed a rather symbiotic relationship, the latter was still a wild animal, dictated by her instincts and desires. If she ever decided that Lucella was her enemy, the keeper would end up in her mouth or burnt to a crisp with no remorse.

“Be patient. You'll get to eat tonight.”

Instead of a carcass—which would never have fit in her bag anyway—Lucella pulled a dagger from her bag and advanced towards the dragon, who had gone back to sleep, having found nothing of interest among the leather.

Lucella brushed her fingertips across Vhagar's scales until she was close to her ribs. She brought the dagger close to the hard skin and began to scratch between the scales. All sorts of things piled up there, from crustaceans to piles of dry earth. They soiled her coat and ruined the magnificent green that characterised it—an abominable sight for Lucella, who couldn't imagine the Queen of Dragons being tarnished in any way.

The keepers back in the Dragonpit didn't bother with such elaborate tasks. They had never understood her love for Vhagar. Too weird. Too dangerous. They kept their judgment to themselves, but Lucella wasn't stupid. She could see it in their eyes, that damned scepticism. It was easy enough for her to perceive the question that adorned all their thoughts: why? Why bother when other dragons, much more docile, much calmer, lived and breathed?

Lucella didn't even know if her companions tolerated the dragons they bred and raised. It was not unusual to overhear conversations in which they railed against the Targaryens and their mounts. While she understood the hostility towards the royal family, nothing could explain their animosity towards these beasts.

According to Lucella, this hatred was totally unjustified. Yes, many had fallen victim to the dance of flames spurting from their breath. Yes, their fangs could devour anything, even a human, in just one bite. But dragons were still animals, a fact her colleagues tended to forget.

There existed no justification in the world for cruelty towards them, no matter what they looked like. Every animal deserved to be treated with respect and love, especially a dragon.

Lucella scratched another scale. A hermit crab had taken refuge in the joint of her wing. With the tip of her blade, she dislodged it and placed it on the ground. It fled and disappeared behind the dunes.

Seeing this reminded her why Lucella bent over backwards to make the dragon as comfortable as possible. She couldn't possibly leave Vhagar like that. Just the thought of crustaceans and other small animals with too many legs crawling over her own body made her shiver. Lucella had no scales to protect her, but she thought that even with this natural armour, the sensation must not have been pleasant at all.

Vhagar suddenly tensed. Lucella was trying to scrape off a particularly tough clump of dirt, but the place— between her protruding ribs, right on a fading scar—made it a delicate operation. She rested her hand and cheek against the dragon’s side.

“'s all right,” she said. “Shh... Lykirī... Calm down.”

The dragon didn't do so until Lucella had scratched the last barnacle. Filthy little beasts. They always found a way to cling on. She had lost count of the number she removed each week. Lucella went round the gigantic body, taking care not to turn her back on the beast, and started to scrap the right side. Throughout the operation, she kept reassuring Vhagar, either in High Valyrian or in the Common Tongue. The language didn't really matter. Dragons focused on one’s intentions, not one’s words.

“Are you the only one to come here? Were no others available?”

Lucella gasped when she heard the curt voice. It cracked in the air like a whip.

So preoccupied with her task, she hadn't even heard him arrive. He was staring at her with a blasé eye, his arms crossed, and his leather coat pulled tight. 

Lucella cursed under her breath for paying so little attention to her surroundings. Vhagar had this terrible habit of hypnotising her. The dragon captured all her attention and made her fall into an infinite well of admiration and affection.

“Vhagar killed a keepah three months ago.”

The prince raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by this information. Lucella was as surprised by his reaction. He must have heard about it. He should have. She was his dragon, after all. A rider must know such things.

Lucella knew Vhagar to be dangerous and impulsive, but she did not know her to be cruel. There had been no motive for the keeper’s death. Vhagar had been fed, washed, and hydrated earlier in the day. Nothing could have predicted the attack. The dragon had burnt flesh and bone, leaving nothing but a mountain of black ashes for the sheer pleasure of it. There was no question of instinct or nature. Vhagar had revelled in his screams and would no doubt have feasted on his flesh had other guards not interfered.

Lucella remembered the screams, Vhagar deaf to their orders, the smell of burning flesh, Elder Norbert's face twisted in the ordeal of the flames. She remembered rushing between the dragon and him, standing as a barrier, ready to sacrifice herself to give him a chance to live. She remembered Vhagar sniffing at her curiously, she remembered closing her eyes, her legs wobbling, ready to face death. She remembered the wind whipping her face as the dragon flew away, leaving the guardian for dead but Astrisse intact.

She'd had nightmares about it for months. The human mind was a curious invention. It replayed the worst moments of your life to make you realise how lucky you were. Finding comfort in horror.

But terror had not been able to overcome her fascination for the dragon that had almost killed her. She had gone in search of her in a fit of stupidity and found her in the middle of these very dunes. Hypnotised by her beauty, Lucella had forgotten that she could have devoured her whole.

Beside her, the prince smiled. Lucella thought that perhaps he and Vhagar were meant for each other—two unstable beings who liked to play a bit too much with fire.

The keeper let her gaze drift to his leather eye patch, but quickly turned back to Vhagar, who growled in greeting. She scratched at yet another crustacean, perhaps a little harder than necessary when she felt him approach, but who would know? No one. In any case, Vhagar didn't seem to mind.

Lucella felt his gaze on the side of her face. Her cheek began to itch.

“'m the only one who can get close,” she finally admitted in a weak voice.

Lucella cleared her throat. There was no way she was going to look shy and fragile in front of Aemond Targaryen. He would enjoy seeing her doubt very much. She wouldn't give him any satisfaction.

“A sort o’ appointed guardian, if yeh like,” she continued more confidently.

“If you're her so-called guardian, why haven't I seen you before?”

“’cause Dragonkeepers are taught t’ be as discreet as possible.”

He laughed.

“That doesn't make any sense.”

“And yet that's wha’ we've been taught since t’ order was created.”

“King Jaehaerys I founded the order to prevent dragons from being stolen.”

“Maybe in t’ beginning,” she shrugged, “but things ’ave changed. Kings ’ave died. Others took their place. Dragons ’ave multiplied ’nd they became uncontrollable. T’ order had to adapt ’nd maintain t’illusion.”

“What illusion?”

“That yeh control yer dragons.”

The prince glared at her, but Lucella wouldn't take her words back. It was easy to “tame a dragon,” a feat the Targaryens took great pride in, when seventy-seven other people were literally burning to teach them to obey. Dohaerās. Obey me. The word made them proud. But where was the merit in riding a dragon when some lost flesh and limb to make them docile? Obedience was born in suffering and fire, two things the Targaryens delighted in handing out, godlike, without experiencing them first-hand.

The ‘blood of the dragon’, they called themselves. Lucella had almost laughed when she had heard it. The Targaryens were as much dragons as she was noble.  Their 'gift' was just an illusion. The first riders of the lineage may once have had this talent, but it disappeared when the order of Dragonkeepers was created by Jaehaerys I.

Dragons had grown stronger over the years, their riders, weaker. Imbalance. Dragonkeepers were the ones to keep the harmony from falling altogether.

“How dare you spread such nonsense? In front of your prince!”

“’nd yet ‘am right, yer ‘ighness. D’ yeh honestly think yeh could tame a wild dragon?”

“Of course I can. I claimed the largest one when I was ten.”

And it had cost him an eye. Everyone knew the sob story. Surely a fair price from his point of view. Lucella shook her head, exasperated by the prince's obstinacy. 

“Except tha’ Vhagar is ovah two ’undred years old ’nd ’as four riders already. Yeh really think you could’ve tamed ’er when she was just a babe?”

“If her egg had been placed in my cradle, yes.”

“It helps t’ create a bond ’tween t’ future ridah ’nd their mount, true,” she conceded. “But ’t’s not enough. A dragon might recognise yeh and not burn yeh because o’ it, but there’s no guarantee tha’ it will let yeh ride it, let alone listen to yeh. There's this dragon we're raising right now. Very young. Only six months old. We started training it three months ago. Six keepers wounded. Two others burned to death. It ’as known High Valyrian for ’alf ’ts life 'nd yet refuses t’ listen.”

“Perhaps because you are not a Targaryen.”

She sighed. It was like trying to talk to a deaf man.

“Go on then. In tha’ pit, I mean. T’ last time yeh went in there everythin’ went accordin’ t’ plan, ain’t tha’ right?”

Lucella immediately regretted her words. Elder Galladon, perhaps the oldest keeper, had told her many stories about the royal children. Dragonkeeper passed the time like that and soothed their burns with laughter. The sordid tale of sibling quarrelling, a winged pig and a little prince almost burnt alive had stuck with her.

The prince glared at her. Suddenly, she understood why so many people would talk about him with trembling voices. Lucella felt the colour drain from her face. She gripped her dagger so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Careful now, girl. I could have your tongue for that.”

“Wha’ I mean,” she continued, undeterred, “’s tha’ any dragonkeeper could ride a dragon.”

They wouldn't. Of course. The crumpled ego of a Targaryen burned hotter than the fire of the dragons they rode.

“That's not true and you know it.”

“O’ course, ’cause I dunno wha’ ’am talking a’bout, right?”

Her words were laced with sarcasm.

“Exactly.”

She nodded. A forced smile tugged painfully at her cheeks.

“Keep believing tha’. I don't giv’ a fuck what yeh think.”

Lucella turned back to Vhagar and continued to scrape her scales. The back of her neck grew hot under the prince's piercing gaze. For a while, she managed to ignore him. She cracked on the fifth barnacle. Her hand slipped and the dagger fell to the ground. Her shoulders dropped. Lucella sighed.

“Why did yeh come here, anyway? Except to keep me from me work, tha’ is.”

Aemond Targaryen raised his only visible eyebrow and replied that he had nothing to answer for, least of all when it concerned his dragon. He insisted on the ‘his’, anxious to remind Lucella that she had no place here. She rolled her eyes.

If Lucella were honest with herself, she would find his undeniable love for Vhagar almost touching. But the prince annoyed her, and she would never dare to associate anything positive with this awful character. She preferred to let herself fall into a pit of hatred and annoyance. These emotions were familiar to her, far from the beat her heart missed when she let her eyes linger on his harmonious—no, royal—features. 

She looked away with warm cheeks and scraped away the few remaining marine intruders.

Lucella caressed Vhagar's green flank one last time. The dragon shook her head in response. The girl walked over to her leather bag and slung it over her shoulder. Dagger in hand, Lucella left without a glance for the prince.

Her work was done here and he couldn't make her stay, Targaryen or not. Returning to Dragonpit was more important than entertaining a prince who was as mad as he was lonely.

“I did not say you could leave.”

“Well I am. Good’day, yer ’ighness.”

Lucella walked past him and they found themselves side by side. She pulled the thick leather of her trousers as best she could and bowed low in a mocking curtsy. When she straightened up, Aemond was still staring at her. Head held high, she turned and left without a glance for this prince who was seriously starting to piss her off.

[vivacissimx]

roose bolton as a father figure to theon

the theon's disturbing relationship to paternalism beam is still shining bright. obviously the ned and balon and balon and ned Thing is happening but if we are going to embrace the horror of ADWD, let's lean all the way in.

the role of the father is molded as such to manufacture obedience from his children—generally speaking but also daughters in a specific way, sons in a specific way. filial duty is considered a virtue in westerosi society (even when your father fails to be virtuous himself) and it's the mode by which the father holds power over his children when they come of age. the father reproduces himself by claiming a son under his name & castle, the father reproduces his values by shaping behavior, the father punishes unsanctioned behavior not (merely) by criticizing the contents of the actions of the son, but by virtue of it being disobedient i.e. obedience to my instructions has within it an inherent Rightness / my instructions are Right because they are mine (circular i know!). this is probably doubled for those who follow the Faith of the Seven where the image of the father is a reflection of the Father aka disobedience flirts with blasphemy. sorry for the monologue—this is gonna be important later.

one of the reasons ned & balon come across as such supreme assholes in theon's ACOK storyline is because even outside the emotional reality of theon being a hostage from 10 years of age, he also pretty much does obey what they have to say. there is a time where he plays by their rules and they still don't approve of him or claim him fully. it's a social contract where ned and balon don't really fulfill their ends of the bargain, so it feels unfair. it feels willfully blind because ned and balon SURELY see the benefits they've accrued at theon's expense—ned lives in peacetime having experienced war, and balon keeps his life/lordship which if he were to have been executed for treason, would have all seemingly gone to a boy lord theon—yet they don't recognize the "theon's expense" part.

see how that works? "you are virtuous and right for following my commands" but theon follows their commands and doesn't get his Virtuous and Right headpats. and that rankles him deeply.

okay, now onto roose as theon's father figure in ADWD:

theon is part and parcel of roose's son ramsay. Reek belongs to Ramsay, and Ramsay belongs to Reek. in fact the original reek was a servant who roose gave to ramsay's mother as the first act of acknowledgement. it's through reek that ramsay became roose's bastard. we see that when roose demands ramsay give theon up (briefly), ramsay must oblige... hence, reek is still a form of reward/acknowledgement from roose to ramsay. theon is entangled in them and for roose to kill theon could very well be construed as killing off (ramsay as) his son

roose thanks theon for giving him the north via taking winterfell & (inadvertently) ruining robb's situation. roose is thanking theon for the ability to reproduce himself as lord of winterfell and warden of the north—a duty that a son owes his father

i wrote a post about theon's gender troubles that delves into his parallels with barbrey ryswell dustin—how roose treats them both with certain cares to insure their good behavior, and how they both see through the farce. however the difference in roose bolton's world of easy replacement (he replaces multiple wives, domeric with ramsay, reek with reek II) is that barbrey is warned of her fate via the example of bethany ryswell bolton, her sister and roose's dead wife, while theon is warned of his by the example of domeric bolton, roose's dead son.

barbrey steps into the role of domeric's caretaker and main maternal figure because her sister is dead. then ramsay kills domeric. roose allows it. barbrey puts it as: “The widow of Barrowton… and yes, if I so choose, I could be an inconvenience. Of course, Roose sees that too, so he takes care to keep me sweet.” sweet is not the best word for our barb but she plays along with roose's game despite there being no real endgame beyond a petty revenge against the starks. the writing is on the wall though. not to put too fine a point on it but: ramsay will kill any children walda frey has from roose, and barbrey will know precisely who did it

in theon's case, roose's manipulations go like this: “Serve us in this, and when Stannis is defeated we will discuss how best to restore you to your father’s seat,” his lordship had said in that soft voice of his, a voice made for lies and whispers. Theon never believed a word of it. He would dance this dance for them because he had no choice, but afterward… he will give me back to Ramsay then

roose actually tells theon the story of domeric. he describes domeric's relative capability and desire for brothers. he confesses that ramsay killed domeric and that he did nothing about it, that he fully anticipates ramsay to kill any children he has with walda. later, when theon is thinking about how roose will give theon back to ramsay, the conclusion is clear: ramsay is going to torture and abuse you, and i will do nothing—just like i will do nothing for any other sons i might have

theon co-victimhood with jeyne. does that make theon roose's sort-of daughter-in-law?

that last point was a haha joke... unless? after all, theon did canonically desire for ned to adopt him via marriage to sansa. so roose adopting him via "marriage" to ramsay, theon's use to roose being dependent on his subservience to ramsay, or more specifically, his role as legitimizing ramsay/reproducing roose in a similar way to marrying arya stark and having bolton children with her will... that is to say, haha

starks and boltons are foils, ned and roose are foils, ramsay's dogs and starkling direwolves are foils: if ned was a quasi-father figure AND simultaneously warden to theon then why would roose not be as well considering the stark/bolton relationship?

remember when i said that theon is intensely bothered by the fact that he "obeys" ned/balon but gets nothing for it? if you agree with that then consider this passage: Theon wondered if he might be allowed to fight. Then at least he might die a man’s death, sword in hand. That was a gift Ramsay would never give him, but Lord Roose might. If I beg him. I did all he asked of me, I played my part, I gave the girl away.

there's likely much more i could say here but those are a few points that i think are interesting as part of the larger discussion on theon as well as the social critique in ADWD theon POVs. i mean it really pulls the curtain back—stripped of all romanticism and in the dead of winter where nothing grows, what is a wife truly? a whore, jeyne says. what is a hostage? mine own face on their lie, not [even] a man, theon says.

what is a father? well in theon's decidedly horrifying case, it's the man who has use for you or else what's the point of you being alive

[agaypanic]

Love your work btw you’re amazing 😫😫! But anyways could you pls do a Bernard x reader where she’s Scott’s daughter and her and Bernard are dating but keeping it a secret and he finds out and like gets upset about it and overreacts a little and tells them they can’t see each other anymore and maybe like she has to leave the North Pole for some time but Bernard sneaks to her house and idk just some angst ouuu and maybe in the end everything works out and Scott apologizes, sorry it’s so long but i feel like this one’s a good one<333

The Boss' Daughter (Bernard the Elf X Calvin!Reader)

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Summary: The best part of your dad becoming Santa Claus was probably meeting his right hand elf Bernard. But when your dad finds out about your secret relationship, he thinks the best thing is to keep you away from the North Pole until you get over your “little crush.”

A/N: thank you so much for 1.3k followers!!! it means so much! reader is in college, spending her winter break at the north pole. possibly ooc scott/santa ?? also lowkey forgot that lucy existed lmao

***

You loved Christmas. Even before your dad became Santa Claus, you enjoyed the holiday. Well, as much as you could, considering that some of your pre-Santa Dad memories involved your parents fighting and having two somewhat bland celebrations at different houses. Other than that, you enjoyed the occasion.

But you loved Christmas much more now, due to a certain elf.

“Here’s some cocoa.” You said softly, setting the piping hot mug on Bernard’s desk as he read over some paperwork. He quickly scanned over the last paragraph on the page before looking up at you.

“Hey,” Bernard said softly, giving you a smile. “Thanks.” He grabbed the mug and took a sip, visibly relaxing from his stiff, hunched-over position. You leaned against his desk, drinking from your own cup. “How’s your day been?”

“Probably better than yours.” You laughed, looking at the vast amount of papers on Bernard’s desk.

“Yeah, probably.” He agreed, sighing at the sight before looking back at you. “But my day’s getting better now that you’re here.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet?” You giggled, feeling your cheeks heat up. No matter how cold the North Pole was, Bernard’s words always made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, as cheesy as that is. You push off from the desk and stand, taking another sip of your cocoa. “So, I have a question.”

Bernard pouted, turning his chair to face you.

“And here I thought you just wanted to see my handsome face and give me treats.” He joked. You snickered, slapping his shoulder lightly before settling in his lap, putting an arm around his shoulders to stabilize yourself. Bernard put the hand that wasn’t holding his mug on your waist, keeping you close. “What’s your question?”

“Well, I know that you get really stressed leading up to Christmas.” You twirled some of Bernard’s curls around your finger as you spoke. “And I know that you’d probably rather be running around the workshop making sure everything’s in order while my dad’s gone. And I came up here to spend my break with you, but I don’t exactly wanna spend it chasing you around the workshop.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be a question?” Bernard teased, and you rolled your eyes.

“I was getting there.” You said. “Anyways, I was wondering if we could do something together while my dad’s gone. Like go ice skating or look at the lights around the North Pole or something.”

“Y/n, you can do that any day.”

“Yeah, but not as a couple.” You argue gently. “Whenever my dad’s around, everything feels so awkward because we’re trying so hard not to give away the fact that we’re together. Christmas Eve is the one day that he’ll be away, and everyone else will be so busy making sure the night goes smoothly that they won’t notice us sneaking away.”

“Angel, I’m like, the main guy who has to make sure the night goes smoothly.”

You pouted, knowing Bernard was right. Although you knew he loved his job, sometimes you wished he wasn’t Head Elf. More of your limited time could be spent together. Plus, you wouldn’t have to worry so much about your father, who your boyfriend worked directly under, finding out you were dating.

“It was just an idea.” You sighed a bit dejectedly as you leaned more into Bernard. “I just… I wish we could do couple things, you know? Like in public. But I know Dad would probably go ballistic, and I’m not exactly confident in the other elves’ ability to keep a secret.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bernard replied softly, kissing the side of your head before taking a gulp of hot chocolate. “One day, it’ll be different.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, drinking and taking each other’s warmth. Eventually, Bernard looked down into his empty mug and sighed.

“I should get back to work.” He said, clearly not wanting to. You nodded, shifting in his lap to stand up when Bernard squeezed your hip. You looked at him with a raised brow. “At least give me a kiss before you go, angel.”

You grinned and did as he requested. Both of you tasted like chocolate and peppermint, and you couldn’t help but giggle when Bernard went in for another kiss when you pulled away.

Distracted by what you were doing, you and Bernard failed to hear a knock on his office door or the person opening it.

“What’s going on here?” You and Bernard broke apart, looking over to see your father looking at you in shock. You jumped out of Bernard’s lap, trying to seem like you weren’t just making out with him.

“Hey, Dad.” You said, your voice wavering from your nervousness. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” It was clear that he wasn’t a fan of what he just saw. “What are you doing here, on his lap?”

You and Bernard didn’t answer; you didn’t really know how to. All three of you stared at each other, you and Bernard with slight fear and your dad with sternness. The tension grew unbearably thicker by the second.

“How long has… this been going on?” Your dad finally asked. He wasn’t stupid; it was safe to assume that there was some kind of relationship between you and his Head Elf.

“Um…” You were glad Bernard decided to answer the question, because you’re pretty sure your voice died in your throat. He played with a pen on his desk, not wanting to look up at Scott. “About two… Yeah, two years.”

“Years?” 

“Dad, don’t freak out.” You took a step towards him, and his gaze snapped to you.

“I forbid this. Forbid it, Y/n.”

“I’m an adult; you can’t stop me from dating Bernard.”

“Oh, yes, I can.” Your dad laughed, but he was far from amused. “You’re my daughter, and he’s my employee. My elf employee.”

“We’re grown-ups; we’re allowed to decide whether or not we want to date.” You knew arguing with your dad was a bit pointless, but you figured you might as well try. 

“You’re right, you are grown-ups. Bernard is over a thousand years old!” Under different circumstances, you would’ve laughed. Although you looked the same age, Bernard was an immortal being. One of the things you teased him about was being a grumpy old man, which he would always respond to with an eye roll. Your dad sighed, putting his hands on his hips as he thought. “Y/n, pack your stuff. I’m sending you to your mother’s.”

“What?” Bernard was out of his chair and by your side in an instant, both of you shocked by your dad’s words. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m as serious as frostbite! And until you get this little crush out of your system… Y/n, you can’t come back to the North Pole.”

***

You felt numb all over. It had been five days since you left the North Pole, since you last saw Bernard. Your goodbye was filled with tears and kisses that your dad didn’t see. Bernard promised that he would see you again someday soon, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him you didn’t believe that.

You tried to put on a happy face for your family. But they all knew better. Your mother was mad at your father on your behalf, unable to understand how Scott could break his daughter’s heart by sending you away. Neil did his best to comfort you, being a psychiatrist and all. Charlie went on about how unfair it was that you couldn’t go to the North Pole anymore, slightly ignoring the fact that you didn’t care much about the North Pole compared to Bernard. And Lucy just hated to see you so sad, bombarding you with hugs every chance she got.

When Christmas Eve arrived, you wanted to hide under the covers. If your mom and Neil wouldn’t try to drag you out of bed, you’d sleep your way into the new year.

Your parents coaxed you into watching movies with them later that night. Despite the occasion, they steered clear of the Christmas movies, not wanting you to cry more than you already have. But Bernard was still on your mind as you toyed with the necklace that he had given you for Christmas one year, right before he admitted that he liked you.

While your family argued over what to watch next, you got up and went to the kitchen to make yourself some tea. 

You put the kettle on the stove and picked out some sleepytime tea, hoping that would make the night end faster. When it started whistling, you took the kettle off the burner. You heard frantic knocking on the door as you poured the hot water into your mug.

“Who could be knocking at this hour?” Neil murmured as he got up and went to the door. When he opened it, he froze for a second before popping his head into the kitchen. “Y/n, it’s for you.”

Confused, you left the kitchen. You didn’t tell any of your friends that you were in town, so you had no idea who was waiting for you on the other side of that door.

“Hey, angel.”

You couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of Bernard standing in front of you. At first, you thought it was your imagination, some cruel joke being played by your subconscious. But when you reached out to him, and he immediately laced your fingers together, you knew it was real.

You yanked him into the house, wrapping your arms around him with almost the strength of a death grip. Bernard did the same, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

Being too wrapped up in your little reunion, you didn’t notice your parents tell your siblings that it was time for bed in order to give you and Bernard some privacy. When you finally pulled away, you were a bit surprised to find the room empty. But you weren’t going to complain about it.

“What are you doing here?” You asked Bernard, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he was here, right in front of you.

“You said you wanted to be together for Christmas Eve.” Bernard held your cheek and kissed you sweetly, showing all the yearning you had both felt this past week. “I don’t care what your father says,” Bernard whispered against your lips, giving you a few pecks. “He can’t keep us apart. I’ll retire and leave the North Pole if I have to.”

“You don’t mean that.” You shook your head, grabbing Bernard’s hands. “Bernard, you love your job, even if it drives you crazy.”

“I’d go even crazier without you, Y/n. Not knowing where or how you are.” Bernard argued, squeezing your hands. “You know, I liked having you all to myself at first, but it’s so hard having to pretend I don’t love you as much as I do.” Your breath hitched at the sincerity in his confession.

“You love me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but with how close Bernard was, he heard it as clear as day.

“Of course I do, Y/n.” Bernard kissed you again, and then a few more times.

“I love you too.” You responded between the kisses.

Eventually, you were somehow all out of kisses to give. The two of you moved to one of the couches, where you cuddled up together. You didn’t need to put on a movie or say anything. You just soaked up each other’s presence that you had missed so dearly.

“Should we head to bed?” You asked after a long silence. “Or do you need to head back home?”

“I left Curtis in charge.”

“Oh, then you should definitely go back.” You snickered. You knew Bernard wasn’t entirely fond of Curtis, but he could probably hold down the fort for one night. “Come on, I’m tired.”

You stood up, Bernard close behind you. You started to lead him out of the living room when you heard a thump. Startled, you turned around to the source of the sound, seeing a giant red sack in your fireplace.

“Oh god.” You whispered, gripping at Bernard’s arm. You’d run up the stairs and hide in your room, but you felt frozen in your place. Bernard seemed to have the same sentiment, because the two of you stood and watched black boots appear in the fireplace.

Soon enough, your dad emerged, freezing as he saw the two of you.

“Y/n, I- Bernard? What are you doing here?” He straightened up, looking at the two of you inquisitively. It was softer than the last time he looked at you and Bernard, but you were still a bit weary.

“I came to see Y/n,” Bernard answered, feeling braver than he did while interacting with your father for the past week. 

“Yeah, I can see that.”

“Look, Dad.” You took a deep breath. As happy as you were to have Bernard back, you wanted to go back to hiding under your covers. “We don’t care that I’m human and he’s an elf. Or that he’s a thousand-year-old grumpy man.”

“Hey!”

“Bernard and I, we love each other. You represent a holiday that’s all about being together with the people you love; how could you try to keep us apart?”

Scott was quiet, staring at you with a blank expression. Eventually, he sighed.

“You’re right.” He said. “It was wrong of me to do that. I just… I don’t want my daughter getting hurt, is all. No father wants that. I’m sorry.”

Happy that he seemed to change his mind about the situation, you ran around the couch and hugged your dad. Being the big, jolly man he was, his embrace lifted you slightly off your feet.

“If you want, you can come back,” Scott said when he set you down. “To the North Pole.”

“Maybe.” You say, going back to Bernard. “Maybe I could go in the morning, bring the rest of the family.”

“That sounds good to me.” Your dad said, taking presents out of his giant sack and putting them under the tree. While placing them, he glanced at Bernard. “Bernard, if you’re here, who’s looking over the shop?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Bernard’s jaw clench, and you let out a small giggle.

“Curtis…” 

“Oh boy. Have fun with that.” Your dad laughed, setting down the last of the presents and tying up the sack. He pointed at you. “No peeking, Y/n. Not until morning.”

“I promise.” You said, knowing that you would grab a present to open right after he left. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’m guessing you’re staying here tonight too?” Scott asked Bernard, who nodded. “Okay. Take care of her.”

“I will.” The two men knew they weren’t talking about Bernard caring for you for just the night. They knew it would be much longer than that.

You waved goodbye to your father, and he soon disappeared up the chimney, leaving you and Bernard alone in the living room once again.

“I’m glad you came.” You said, leaning into Bernard’s side and resting your head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you and looked down at you.

“Me too.” He kissed your head. “I know you might still be tired, but there’s still about an hour of Christmas Eve left, and this neighborhood has really nice Christmas lights. We can go look, if you want?”

You squealed, kissing Bernard’s cheek and running to get your shoes.

***

Bernard the Elf Taglist: @katerinaval

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Dear Domestic Dragons Trust. I’m writing as I’m in need of some help with my newest companion.

I’ve recently acquired a pocket dragon from my elderly neighbors, they’ve recently gone to nursing home and couldn’t care for her any longer. She’s a beautiful little dragon with lovely rose scales. She’s been adjusting to the move well but there is one very serious problem with her, her weight. She’s extremely obese, to the point of looking like a giant pink ball. She has trouble walking and cannot fly at all. She’s always demanding food even just after being fed and worse yet is constantly demanding human food. How do I curb this food behavior and help her lose weight?

Hello!

How sad your neighbours were not able to take their little companion along, but how wonderful that you were willing to adopt her! We deal with a lot of dragons with various health conditions in our shelters and while the solution is rarely one-size-fits-all we can certainly give you some tips:

Focus on your relationship with your new dragon first. It's very good to read that she has adjusted well to the changes in her life, but dragon's tend to get very attached to their owners and it takes them time to switch those affections over to someone else. It's important that you and your dragon bond properly before you start extensively correcting her behaviour. Dragons hold grudges.

Provide enrichment and encourage exercise. Perhaps her former caretakers were not often able to play and travel with their dragon anymore. Excitement and movement are healthy for all dragons and will usually be met with much more enthusiasm than restricting their food. Different dragons like different activities, but you could try setting up a treasure hunt for her with her favourite hoard items, get her a dragon puzzle box, or build a nice lair for her in a hard to reach place. Taking her along with you when you go somewhere is a great way to add enrichment to her life as well! (Some people have enchanted toys for their dragon to chase, but we generally do not recommend this, because not all dragons are able to distinguish between a magically animated toy and actual living creatures.)

Encourage your dragon's natural diet. Most north-western pocket dragons are flying land dragons who are happiest and healthiest on a diet of fruit and cream. They are omnivores, however, and often end up liking human treats. You wrote that she demands human food a lot and that is generally not great for them. So we recommend starting out by giving her plenty of her natural diet while preventing her from eating your food.

With a bit of luck her adjusting to her new life with you, will already have a positive effect on her habits! If you are very worried and would like a proper plan to manage her health, we recommend making an appointment with an occult veterinarian once you have gained her trust. They will be able to give you more specialised advice.

Best of luck!

~ The Domestic Dragon Trust

[websterss]

NO MORE BRATS (2) — COREY CUNNINGHAM

SUMMARY: After that Halloween night, you have to wait a whole year to touch and hold Corey again.

WARNING(S): Angst, fluff, mentions of death.

WORD COUNT: 1,142

PAIRING: Corey Cunningham x fem!Reader  

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! ♡ Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST | PART 1

You had imagined how your Halloween night could have gone, but you never would have guessed receiving a call from Corey’s mother crying how he had been arrested for manslaughter. You could have laughed right then and there when you heard her speak into the phone, but after further explaining that Mrs. Allen’s son Jeremy was dead. The brat you had mocked and gotten angry with for taking Corey away from your traditional night of horror films. Well, it felt like a massive slap across the face, and now the repercussions were being faced by Corey.

You weren’t prepared for the aftermath that struck. After Michael Myers disappeared, everyone shifted their fear and hatred towards your best friend. Someone who you knew to be good and pure hearted. Your Corey. Your introverted and socially awkward best friend was now labeled and considered Haddonfield’s new boogeyman, their new freak. It wasn’t fair.

You had reached for the telephone on the hook the same time as he did. You offered a smile as you greeted the dork you loved so much.

“Hey, bitch.” Your tone was soft and not at all harsh. He didn’t need you teasing him while doing a year. He needed you, needed a familiar face, and you were just that.

“H-Hey, stupid.” He teared up. A hearty laugh falling past his lips. You pressed the phone closer to your ear wanting to hear more of his voice. You let your eyes roam, taking in the new bruise painting the left side of his cheek and a cut on his chapped lips. He looked worse than when he did during your last visit. You didn’t want to bring attention to it, no matter how much it pained you. So you averted your gaze north. His hair was an unruly mess of curls. You hadn’t seen his natural hair ever since he discovered hair gel. Yet you knew inmates weren’t exactly living or being treated luxuriously.

“I see you let off on the hair gel.” You teased him. Your free hand played with the cord of the phone. “I like the curls. You should let your hair naturally be.”

“Yeah?” He perked up, subconsciously running a hand through his hair. “I-I was going for something different.”

“Oh yeah?” You played along. “Well, at least you didn’t shave it all off. I don’t think I could handle you without your hair.”

“I don’t think I could either…” He trailed off looking down.

Another thing you had noticed. “Hey, what happened to your glasses?” You slowly scooted your hand against the glass dividing you two.

Corey couldn’t meet your eyes.

“Corey?” You grew worried.

“They broke them…” He finally said.

“They? As in the ones who did that to you?” You couldn’t let it go. Not when he was suffering. You raised your arm higher tapping the spot where your finger aligned with his cheek.

“It doesn’t even hurt-“ Corey began to deny. Shaking his head for your sake.

“Cut the bullshit, Corey. Your pain is valid. If you’re hurting, then tell me.”

Corey slowly raised his head. He bit his lip. Then slowly gave in. His small nod in confirmation was all you needed. You closed your eyes.

“I hate this! I hate seeing you in pain. It’s not fair!” You exclaimed.

“It’s just two more months.” He reminded you.

“Yeah…”

“How are you?”

You looked up and narrowed your eyes. “I’m not the one behind bars Corey. I’m okay, really. How are you?” Here you were doing your avoidance thing. You weren’t here to talk about you.

“No seriously, tell me anything. It’ll make my day. What did you eat for breakfast?” He leaned foward pressing his head on the glass.

You sighed. “Breakfast?”

“Mmhm.” Corey nodded, urging you to go on.

“You know those chocolate chip pancakes with the-“

“Whip cream and syrup. God, that sounds so good!” He beamed. “You’ll have to make me some when I get out.”

You nodded furiously. Tearing up as you placed your hand flat against the glass. Corey leaned back and placed his hand flat over yours. “I’ll make you all the pancakes in the world…and so much more.” You gave a small smile. “God, I miss your touch. I just want to hug you so bad.”

“Two more months, peaches. Think you can wait till then?”

“We’ve made it this far right?” You beamed. “I’ll pick you up. I may or may not have gotten the car I’ve been wanting.”

“No way!” Corey’s mouth was agape.

“Yeah!” You spent the rest of your visiting hours talking about everything and anything, not wanting to let the conversation die down. You cherished every second with Corey.

Before you knew it those two remaining months had passed and Corey was let out. His heart skipped when the gate slid open and there you were perched up against your car. Your smile reached your eyes as he ran up to you. Enveloping you in a massive hug. His face falling into the crook of your neck. Inhaling your signature scent, and finally letting himself relax. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders pushing him against you closer. Your hands gripped and held onto his locks. You melted into his arms as he placed several pecks on your neck, then a few against your temple.

“Let’s get you home yeah, you stink?”

“Do I?” He smirked. Smelling into his elbow of his blue jacket. Then opening the flap and pulling you into it. You shoved him playfully trying to get away, but you wanted nothing more than to hold him longer. You were at arms length but something in you told you to finally take the first initiative. The first step into what you were holding back on. After a year of not being able to touch and hold Corey. You knew then and there you didn’t want to befriend that feeling ever again. It sucked ass, and now you were given a second chance to start something with him. You reached up and gripped the lapels of his jacket. Tugging them down. Corey followed and sighed as your lips molded together. Corey reached and let his hands roam your body, as you tugged and pulled on him and his locks.

“I meant what I said that night…” You pressed a hand on Corey’s chest to stop him in the midst of chasing your lips. “You’re mine.”

“Yours?” He hummed in amusement.

“I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t. I promise you.” Satisfied with his response. You smirked, leaning forward to tug on his bottom lip. Corey tried to take a nip of yours, but you only teased and made him chase you some more.

“No more brats, okay.”

“No more brats.” He agreed, melting in your arms as he pressed your waist against your car’s hood.

[goaliekisses]

we had a breakdown over some Unwholesome slutty sid content yesterday so here’s some wholesome content from the athletic on sid

It was 2016 in Minnesota and an aggravated coach Mike Sullivan was searching for the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins following a loss to the Wild. Sullivan needed to speak with Sidney Crosby and was walking briskly on the event level of Xcel Energy Center.

Then, he stopped in his tracks.

Around the corner outside of the Penguins’ locker room, Crosby, minus his jersey but otherwise still wearing his equipment, was sitting on the floor. Speaking with a child in a wheelchair, Crosby sat so that he could better make eye contact. He often does this. Sullivan executed a U-turn while his captain sat with the child for 20 minutes, a scene that unfolds countless times across North America every season.

Thousands upon thousands of people have flocked to arenas for decades to watch Crosby play hockey since was a boy. Crosby’s greater mission, though, has always been to comfort the sick and unlucky among us with an uncommon grace and thoughtfulness that is uniquely his own.

“There’s never been anyone like him before,” former Penguins general manager Jim Rutherford said. “And there will never be anyone like him after.”

The widely held belief that the world of professional sports doesn’t showcase any authentic role models is inaccurate so long as Sidney Patrick Crosby walks among us.

“You always hear that saying,” Bobby Orr said. “You know, that so and so is a better person than he is a player. Well, the great thing about Sid is, he’s one of the five greatest players in history. There’s no question about that. But he actually is a better person than he is a player. Now, think about that. I love him.”

On the ice, he is a living legend. The massive legs, the impenetrable ability to protect the puck, the greatest backhand ever, the cannon-like burst of speed through the neutral zone, the rare playmaking ability, the tenacity, the intelligence, the determination, the precociousness as a teenager, the longevity as a thirty-something and the ability to score goals on hockey’s biggest stage are all indelible trademarks of his greatness.

The mythology of Crosby off the ice, however, may be even more worthy of inclusion in the history books and it is very much rooted in reality. He’s not just an ambassador for hockey, but an ambassador of kindness.

“He was like that even as a little boy,” said Troy Crosby, his father. “He was getting so much attention when he was little, and then as he became a teenager. It could have gone to his head. He could have gotten a big ego. All Sidney ever cared about was taking care of other people.”

Crosby made his NHL debut on Oct. 5, 2005, in New Jersey. It was a zoo after the morning skate. Hockey was back after a year-long lockout, Crosby’s debut was being made in the New York area against Hall of Fame goaltender Martin Brodeur and it was Mario Lemieux’s 40th birthday. While he was the center of attention, Crosby, who had turned 18 two months earlier, wasn’t concerned about himself.

“He was giving these interviews and there were people everywhere” said Tom McMillan, the former Penguins’ vice president of communications. “But he noticed, in the hallway outside of the locker room, that his mom was being surrounded by reporters. He was worried about her. She was fine, but he was worried about her. So he comes up to me and says, ‘Hey, can you make sure my mom is OK?’ From the very beginning, he was worried about everyone but himself. He never changed.”

Including his salary and endorsements, Crosby has earned in the neighborhood of $200 million in his career. His father isn’t the only one who says Crosby hasn’t changed. His teammates agree. Team employees agree. Even living legends like Orr agree.

There is a simple explanation for this, Crosby insists.

“I don’t think money ever gives you the vehicle to treat anyone differently or to be disrespectful,” he said. “I get to do what I love to do and I’m very appreciative of that. I don’t take that for granted one bit, regardless of what my pay is. I get to do what I love. The least I can do is treat people well along the way.”

Crosby’s legend in the Penguins organization is such that his contributions to society draw biblical comparisons.

Literally.

“I always say that he’s like a child of God,” former Penguins broadcaster Paul Steigerwald said. “That’s how I’ve always seen him. He has a certain light in his eyes that I always notice. He’s a genuinely good soul. People often give credit to a person’s parents for raising a great kid. I totally get that and they did a great job. But I also see a natural soulfulness to Sid that is innate and not necessarily learned.”

Crosby is a role model, and he knows it. He embraces it.

“I’ve been around a while and I’ve met a lot of people,” Rutherford said. “I’ve never met anyone like him. He only does things for the right reasons. And he cares about people so very much. Other players of his stature don’t always act like this. But he’s different. And you see it most when it comes to the way he treats children.”

The Penguins are the NHL’s oldest team, thus, many players have children. During the Stanley Cup years in 2016 and 2017, it was commonplace for Matt Cullen’s children to be hanging on Crosby after playoff wins, as they would naturally gravitate to the best player in the world who just happened to be the nicest guy in the room.

Crosby, in fact, has been known to have spirited mini-sticks games with Nikita Malkin. And yet, his treatment of children isn’t confined to the children of his teammates.

One story lives in Crosby lore.

It was Jan. 11, 2014. The Penguins had just won in Calgary, 2-1, in the weeks leading up to the 2014 Olympics in Sochi. After the game, the Penguins departed to their bus on a frigid Alberta evening.

While sitting on the bus, Crosby noticed a handful of teenagers standing behind a fence, which was located on a steep hill beside the Saddledome. They were chanting Crosby’s name and had signs wishing him well in the Olympics.

Upon seeing this, Crosby, dress shoes and all, sprinted up the steep, icy hill. He not only signed all of their jerseys but talked hockey with them for a few minutes before slowly coasting back down the hill.

“I’ll never forget seeing that,” Steigerwald said. “Who else does that?”

Not many people would do such a thing, it can be presumed. But Rutherford saw it every day while he was the general manager of the Penguins.

“The way he treats children is the single most impressive thing I’ve ever seen in my career,” Rutherford said. “When you see those groups of people who want autographs, you have to be careful. A lot of those groups have people that are there every day and looking to sell autographs. But I’ll tell you this about Sid: Never, not one time, has he ever passed by a child who wanted an autograph. No child is ever left behind. I’ve seen him sign autographs and then get on the team bus. Then, he sees a kid pop up who didn’t get his autograph signed. So, he always gets off the bus and makes sure the kid has an autograph and a picture with him. He understands the effect he has on people, but he’s the farthest thing from arrogant you could possibly imagine.”

Crosby is a regular at the UMPC Pittsburgh Children’s Hospital. While the Penguins do occasionally orchestrate team visits that Crosby naturally takes part in, he’s a regular at the hospital. He does so on his own time.

No cameras. No reporters. No attention.

“I’ll be honest with you,” Troy Crosby said. “That’s the way he wants it. It means a lot to him to spend time with kids, just him and the kids. He doesn’t want people knowing about it and he goes to lengths to keep it that way.”

Crosby seems miffed when others are blown away by his character. To him, to be polite, generous and thoughtful is simply natural.

“Treating people the right way has always been important to me,” Crosby said. “Whether it’s your teammates, people you see at the rink, fans, kids, whatever. You’re supposed to be good to people in life. You’re supposed to be respectful. So, that’s what I try to do every day. It’s always been a very important thing to me.”

[schemmentisjacket]

Chapter 10 - Sad Cowboy pt 1

‘That was real nice hun, and I don’t say that about just anyone’s cooking, ask Janine.’ Melissa said, pushing her empty plate away and taking a drink from her ice water. ‘A glass of wine would have gone down nicely too.’

‘Maybe next time. When you’re not concussed. I’ve got some nice stuff in the wine fridge. Shall we move to the lounge? I’ll wash the dishes later.’

‘Really treating me,’ Melissa chuckled, the medication was beginning to kick in and the pain in her head subsiding, a light warm feeling coming over her instead.

They headed into the living room, a large clean room, a plush corner sofa with a coffee table in front, a reasonably sized tv, nothing crazy, an acoustic guitar on a stand and a couple of pieces of art on the wall.

‘Do you wanna watch something or just have some music playing and chat?’

‘Are you going to play for me?’ Melissa asked cheekily as they sunk into the comfort of the sofa. Melissa pulling her legs up and tucking her feet underneath to the side. Charlie leant back in the corner section that was almost a chaise lounge, legs stretched out in front of them.

Charlie blushed the tips of their ears turning red, ‘How about I tell you more about myself? You seemed interested earlier?’ They said deflecting the question.

Pulling out their phone, some quiet music began filtering into the room, filling it with soft country.

‘You really like country music huh?’

‘So I grew up on a ranch up north. A pretty successful family one. I was in college studying when my parents and grandparents were in an accident on the way back from a vacation. I’d never really had an interest in taking over the family business, so they had plans in place. The business was sold, but all the employees stayed on as part of the deal. I didn’t want anyone to lose their jobs or livelihoods. I kept a small cabin down by the forest and lakes that belonged to my grandfather’s family. Then once I’d finished my studies I started looking for places to live. Philly has a lot of stuff I like, hockey, food, a little taste of the city without being too crazy. The neighbourhoods that need help also remind me of home. There’s wealth but also those less fortunate. It’s not pity. It’s just wanting to help those how I can, I remember being different and not always meeting societies expectations. If that makes sense.’

Melissa smiled, tilting her head sideways against the back cushion of the sofa to look at Charlies profile, ‘I’m real sorry you lost everyone. Sounds like you picked something that called to your heart.’

Charlie avoided eye contact, but Melissa could see the misty look take over their eyes. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever really opened up to someone about it all.’

‘Well thank you. For telling me. Usually most people are intimidated by me. I mean usually thats the vibe I give off. But with you I guess you gave off some intrigue. All hidden and secretive.’

A watery laugh came from their mouth, ‘I don’t cover up like that outside of work. I guess I wanted to make a good impression and seem professional. Especially with you know Barbara being religious and stuff like that.’

Melissa let out a bark of laughter, ‘Barb ain’t that strait laced. Hell you should meet sea barb sometimes. She comes out at Pesca. She’d probably be more upset you thought you couldn’t be yourself around her.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Charlie hummed, ‘I get worries people will get the wrong impression of me, that I’m some sort of wrong un or thug.’

‘When you’re just a sad little cowboy.’

‘Yes Ma’am.’