#<- only reason I started tagging my tiny bullshit posts was because I realized it might be annoying if u have gb filtered 💀

[allgremlinart]

see because if Khan Minh Khoa has a mullet/longer hair then I can imagine Bruce braiding it/brushing it. so 

[thebibliosphere]

So I'm currently unemployed because I got fired for taking too much sick leave (it was legally sketchy blah blah blah but in the end I just can't work and take care of myself and investigate my mystery health problems at the same time). So I've been spending more time writing!

I really admire your writing and loved Hunger Pangs. I'm looking forward to the poly elements developing and I'm wondering if you have any advice for writing about poly. I've made one of my projects a snarky take on "write what you know" ... Apparently what I know is southern gothic meets Pacific northwest gothic, chronic illness pandemic surrealism, and falling back-asswards into threesomes.

I know this is a very open-ended question and I don't expect an answer, I'm just curious about it if you have the energy. As a writer, trying to write honestly / realistically about polyamory/enm, I'm curious if you have any thoughts on what's different about portraying monogamy or nonmonogamy in books, romance or erotica or otherwise.

I'm trying to read examples but it's hard to find examples that fit the niche I'm looking at. Excuse me if this question is nonsense, it's the cluster headaches.

I'm sorry to hear you've been dealing with all that and solidarity on the cluster headaches. But I'm glad you're finding an outlet through writing! And I hope you're happy with an open-ended ramble in response because oh boy, there's a lot I could talk about and I could probably do a better job of answering this sort of thing with more specific questions, but let's see where we end up.

There's definitely a big difference between writing polyamory/ENM (ethical non-monogamy) and what people often expect from monogamous love stories.

Just even from a purely sales and marketing standpoint, the moment you write anything polyamorous (or even just straight up LGBTQIA+ without the ENM) you're going to get considered closer to being erotica/obscene than hetero romances. It's an unfair bias, but it's one that exists in our society. But also the Amazon algorithm and their shitty, shitty human censors. Especially the ones that work the weekends. (Talking to you, Carlos 🖕.)

So not only do you start out hyper-aware that you're writing something that is highly stigmatized or fetishized (at least I'm hyper-aware) but that you are also writing for a niche market that is starving for positive content because the content that exists is either limited, not what they want, or is problematic in some fashion i.e. highly stigmatized or fetishy. And even then, the wants, desires, and expectations of the community you're writing for are complex and wildly varied and hard to fit into an easy formula.

When writing monogamous love stories, there is a set expectation that’s really hard to fuck up once you know it. X person meets Y. Attraction happens, followed by some sort of minor conflict/resolution. Other plot may happen. A greater catalyst involving personal growth for both parties (hopefully) happens. Follow the equation to its ultimate resolution and achieve Happily Ever After. 

But writing ENM is... a lot more difficult, if only because of the pure scope of possibilities. You could try to follow the same equation and shove three (or more) people into it, but it rarely works well. Usually because if you’re doing it right, you won’t have enough room in a single character arc to allow for enough growth, and if ENM requires anything in abundance, it’s room to grow.

And this post is huge so I’m going to put the rest under a cut :)

There's also a common refrain in certain online polyam/ENM circles that triads and throuples are overrepresented in media and they may be right to some extent. Personally, I believe the issue isn't that triads and throuples are overrepresented, but that there is such minuscule positive rep of ethical non-monogamy in general, that the few tiny instances we have of triads in media make it seem like it's "everywhere" when in actuality, it's still quite rare and the media we do have often veers into Unicorn Hunter fetish porn. Which is its own problematic thing. And just to be clear, I’m not including this part to dissuade you from writing "falling back-asswards into threesomes." If anything, I need more of it and would hook it directly into my brain if I could. I'm just throwing it out there into the void in the hope that someone will take the thought and run with it, lol.

I’d love to see more polyfidelitous rep in fiction, just as much as I’d like to see more relationship anarchy too. More diversity in fiction is always good.

Another thing that differs in writing ENM romance vs conventional monogamy is the feeling like you need to justify yourself. There's a lot of pressure to be as healthy and non-problematic as possible because you are being held to a higher standard of criticism. Both from people from without the ENM communities, and from the people within. Granted, some people don't give a shit and just want to read some fantastic porn (valid) but there are those who will cheerfully read Fifty Shades of Bullshit and call it "spicy" and "romantic," then turn around and call the most tooth-rottingly-sweet-fluff about a queer platonic polycule heresy. That's just the way the world works.

(Pro-tip for author life in general: never read your own reviews; that way madness lies. I glimpsed one the other day that tagged Hunger Pangs as “ethical cheating” and just about had an aneurism.)

And while that feeling of needing to justify yourself comes from a valid place of being excluded from the table of socially accepted norms, it can also be to the detriment of both the story and the subject matter at hand. I've seen some authors bend so far over backward to avoid being problematic in their portrayal of ENM, they end up being problematic for entirely different reasons. Usually because they give such a skewed, rose-tinted perspective of how things work, it ends up coming off as well... a bit culty and obnoxious tbh.

“Look how enlightened we are, freed from the trappings of monogamy and jealousy! We’re all so honest and perfect and happy!”

Yeah, uhu, sure Jan. Except here’s the thing, not all jealousy is bad. How you act on it can be, but jealousy itself is an important tool in the junk drawer that is the range of human emotion. It can clue us in to when we’re feeling sad or neglected, which in turn means we should figure out why we’re feeling those things. Sometimes it’s because brains are just like that and anxiety is a thing. Other times it’s because our needs are actually being neglected and we are in an unhealthy situation we need to remedy. You gotta put the work in to figure it out. Which is the same as any style of relationship, whether it’s mono, polyam or whatever flavor of ENM you subscribe to* And sometimes you just gotta be messy, because that’s how humans are. Being afraid to show that mess makes it a dishonest portrayal, and it also robs you of some great cannon fodder for character development.

Which brings me in a roundabout way to my current pet peeve in how certain writers take monogamous ideals and apply them to ENM, sometimes without even realizing it. The “Find the Right Person and Settle Down” trope.

Often, in this case, ENM or polyamory is treated as a phase. Something you mature out of with age or until you meet “The One(tm).” This is, of course, an attempt to follow the mono style formula expected in most romances. And while it might appeal to many readers, it’s uh, actually quite insulting. 

To give an example, I am currently seeing this a lot in the Witcher fandom. 

Fanon Netflix!Jaskier is everyone's favorite ethical slut until he meets Geralt then woops, wouldn’t you know, he just needed to find The One(tm). Suddenly, all his other sexual and romantic exploits or attractions mean nothing to him. Let's watch as he throws away a core aspect of his personality in favor of a man. 

Yeah... that sure showed those societal norms... 

If I were being generous, I’d say it’s a poor attempt at showing New Relationship Euphoria and how wrapped up people can become in new relationships. But honestly, it’s monogamous bias eking its way in to validate how special and unique the relationship is. Because sometimes people really can’t think of any other way to show how important and valid a relationship is without defining it in terms of exclusivity. Which is a fundamental misunderstanding of how ENM works for a lot of people and invalidates a lot of loving, serious and long-term relationships.

This is not to say that some polyam/poly-leaning people can't be happy in monogamous relationships! I am! (I consider myself ambiamorous. I'm happy with either monogamy or polyamory, it really just depends on the relationship(s) I’m in.) But I also don't regard my relationship with a mono partner as "settling down" or "growing up." It's just a choice I made to be with a person I love, and it's a valid one. Just like choosing to never close yourself off to multiple relationships is valid. And I wish more people realized that, or rather, I wish the people writing these things knew that :P

Anyway, I think I’ve rambled enough. I hope this collection of incoherent thoughts actually makes some sense and might be useful. 

----

*A good resource book that doesn't pull any punches in this regard is Polysecure by Jessica Fern. It's a wonderfully insightful read that explores the messier side of consensual non-monogamy, especially with how it can be affected by trauma or inter-relationship conflicts. But it also shows how to take better steps toward healthy, ethical non-monogamy (a far better job than More Than Two**) and conflict resolution, making it a valuable resource both for someone who is a part of this relationship style***, but also for writers on the outside looking in who might have a very simple or misguided idea of what conflict within polyam/ENM relationships might look like, vs traditional monogamous ones.

** The author of More Than Two has been accused of multiple accounts of abuse within the polyamorous community, with many of his coauthors having spoken out about the gaslighting and emotional and psychological damage they experienced while in a relationship with him. A lot of their stories are documented here: https://www.itrippedonthepolystair.com/ (warning: it is not light material and deals with issues of abuse, gaslighting, and a whole other plethora of Yikes.) While some people still find More Than Two helpful reading, there are now, thankfully, much, much better resources out there.

*** Some people consider polyam/ENM to be part of their identity or orientation, while others view it as a relationship style.It largely depends on the individual. 

[i-make-questionable-choices]

And Then There Were Two

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Blood, Injury, Character Death (alluded to).

Word Count: 1,655

Summary: Regardless of how hard Dean tries to keep everyone safe, some things are still out of his control.

A/N:I have been sitting on this one since fucking January, it was complete, it was edited and for whatever reason my brain was like: don't post it. So here I am finally overcoming that bullshit to tell you that one: I am alive. And two: this is going to be the start of a crap load of angsty oneshots because this is the first square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card: Amputation. As always, please leave kudos or a comment if you enjoyed!

“Y/N!”

Being weightless was strange, your stomach lurched as your body was whipped backwards. It was almost like being on a rollercoaster when the seatbelt wasn’t super snug and you kinda got jostled around a bit.

Except this time wasn’t just a tiny bit scary. This time was terrifying.

You hit the rocks with a sickening crunch, and there was no doubt in your mind that you had broken most of your ribs. You could almost declare yourself lucky -  the angle at which you had hit the wall had saved your head from being crushed like an empty soda can; and you simply tumbled down to the ground - almost.

The rocks in this area were prone to crumbling, and a net had long been installed on the cliff face to keep any of the loose cracks formed by erosion from breaking off completely and served as just an extra second for anything below.

When you had collided with the wall, however, the weight of your body sliding against the rocks had severed the net.

And the boulders came crashing down.

“No!”

Deans second cry of anguish was accompanied by the agonized screech of the burning wendigo; Sam had managed to get close enough with the blow torch in that brief moment of chaos to set the monster alight.

It was as though hell were raining down on you, the dust from rock hitting rock eluding your eyes as you tried to heave yourself up and out of the way, only for a softball sized chunk to hit you in the back and send you sprawling since more.

And then you couldn’t move.

The pain was unbelievable.

A screech ripped through you, loud enough to be heard as the final boulder hit the ground with a deafening crash. Loud enough to make Deans heart freeze in his chest.

Loud enough to make Sam’s drop into his stomach.

Their safety disregarded, the pair rushed towards where they had last seen you, shoving what rocks they could to the side with hysterical strength.

If Sams heart had dropped to his stomach before, he didn’t know where it was when he saw you.

The back of your shirt was tattered, soiled with blood and grime from the rocks where it had scraped across. One particularly large gash where the small chunk of rock had hit you.

As he took in the limpness of your form, he barely noticed Dean come to his side, trying to take in what neither of their minds wanted to accept that they were seeing.

Your arm, from the middle of your forearm and down, was pinned under one of the largest boulders from the collapse.

Already there was blood trickling towards you, small snakes leaving the shelter of the rock to pool against your face.

Dean threw himself against the rock, unable to grasp that even with the two of them, the rock that pinned you was simply too large to be moved.

Sam was too shaken to stop his brother, tentatively, he brushed your hair out of your eyes, relieved to feel the faint fluttering of your breath against his skin, and to see your eyes closed, you were, at the very least, not in pain.

He looked up at his brother.

Dean had collapsed against the boulder, in the faint moonlight, Sam could see tears budding in the corners of his eyes, mimicking those he felt himself.

“Dean-”

He stopped himself, loathing the way his voice cracked, hating the resignation to the inevitable.

“I know.”

Sam wondered if he hated that even more; Dean would always protest when any plan of theirs put one of you in harms way. He would always insist that there could be more options, even if that might drag things out so long as you and Sam were safe.

They both new there were no alternatives here.

Dean crouched beside you, shrugging off his jacket, then his flannel, the former of which he covered you with and the later of which he began to wrap around your arm. Accepting the stick from his brother he looped into the fabric, finishing off the tourniquet.

Neither brother bothered to check the time to ensure it didn’t stay on to long. There was no point.

Hesitantly, Sam retraced his steps to where he had dropped his knife. It had fallen from his hand as he ran towards you. When he had first gotten it he had appreciated the sedation at the end. Not to much to make it stick itself in a monster and not want to pry out, but enough to bite through the bones.

He hated that now, even though he knew he should be grateful, it was their only way of getting you out from that boulder.

Dean had hardly moved when he returned, still crouched over you, but one hand now cradled your cheek while the other rested underneath your head as if to protect you from the hard ground.

Sam could hardly keep his voice from cracking when he addressed his brother.

“You’re gonna have-”

“Don’t.”

Deans voice was so final, so flat, that Sam sagged from the power of but one word.

Without Sam having to finish, Dean moved his hands to steady you, one resting on the back of your shoulder, the other one your mid-back. The spurt of blood at the first saw of the knife was sickening, and Dean had to turn away lest he throw up. His heart seized in his chest as you tensed under him, and he steeled himself to hold you down to keep your thrashing at bay.

Your eyes shot open first, darting about before they fixed on his face, then on Sam’s blade that was sawing through your upper arm. As your body lurched, Dean prepared himself for a scream, only to have you vomit what little snack you had eaten before the hunt, and they pass out once more.

The sound Sams blade made as it sawed through your bone was spine chilling and part of Dean was relieved when it was over, the other part was even more inclined to vomit. 

 Barely seconds later, your body shifted as the knife severed the last of your skin and what was left of you arm slumped towards the ground.

Sam, who had discarded his own flannel alongside Dean, reached it over and wrapped it around and over the stump; he too could feel a sickness rising his stomach, the reality of what he did hitting him like a freight train.

As Dean scooped you up, gently maneuvering you over his shoulder, he met Sams eyes for the first time since the rock slide. Just like himself, Sam had silent tears racing down his cheeks, despair visible in the depths of his eyes. Dean longed to reach out and hug him, but more pressing matters were at hand.

The pace they made as they rushed towards the Impala was astounding. The hike out had taken them almost and hour and a half. It only took them half the time to make it back to the car. The whole time Sam had has his phone out, searching for a signal to call 911, Dean had tuned him out 4 minutes ago when he had started talking to the dispatcher.

They were to meet the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Fortunately the road out to Deadman’s Cliff was quiet and Dean didn’t have to worry about how fast he went as he pushed the Impala to her limits.

Sam, who was riding in the back keeping, albeit pointless, pressure on your arm, and checking that your were, in fact, still alive, had had to brace himself against the roof and seats a few times as Dean burned around corners much faster then they were meant to be taken. Sam would later wonder how they hadn’t crashed in those moments.

Only when they heard the wailing of the ambulance, nearly an hour from where they had began their drive, did Dean ease up on the gas. Fortunately for them, the ambulance was about ten kilometers down road, so they had just enough time to make a safe stop without the car flipping over.

It seemed unreal as the paramedics leapt from the ambulance, the bright lights of the interior felt fake as he watched them unload the gurney for Sam to set you on, they strapped you in, protecting your neck with a cervical collar before pushing you in. He hardly could process time as he watched Sam climb into the ambulance the doors shutting as Sam turned back to look as him and then the ambulance sped away, leaving a broken man standing in the middle of the highway.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, it could have be seconds, or minutes, maybe even hours; but eventually Dean snapped back into reality. He could no longer hear the wail of the ambulance, or see the bright lights even on the vast expanse of plains. He could feel the tear stains on his cheeks though, could feel the aching in his heart, and the terror in his mind. As he made his way to the Impala, he could feel a strange numbness seep through him.

He and Sam had done all they could to help you, but you had still gone almost and hour without basic wound care, resulting in a high chance of infection. The blood loss and the shock wouldn’t help you fight it off; and you had gone two whole hours without any professional help. Even then, the paramedic’s were still limited in what they could do to help you. And with a sinking feeling, Dean realized that your death could be coming far too soon.

It was too much, with so many feelings left unsaid, and so many more coursing through him, Dean Winchester sat behind the wheel, and wept.

-

Supernatural Tags: (open)

Dean/Jensen Tags: (open)

@akshi8278​

Bad Things Happen Bingo Tags: (open)

@badthingshappenbingo​

[unbridgeabledistances]

hi<3 okay i am finally writing the new kotss chapter, and once again here is a lil contemplative snippet of tumblr-drabble length as a preview for when i write the whole thing in a day or two!😌💜 (mostly bc i am feeling sleepy and sappy this morning about mickey’s growth and just. cannot get over it.)

hope u enjoy<3

--

He fucking loved the dog, okay?

When they were first waiting in that overly-bright room in the dog rescue center (or whatever the fuck it was called) with Ian sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, and Mickey had seen the bundle of fur with its paws hitting the ground, a scrawny puppy with a swollen belly and a protruding ribcage— he’d immediately known he was in trouble.

First, because there was no fucking way that Ian was going to let them leave this place without it, since he practically made heart-eyes the second the puppy stumbled its way over to him— and second, because Mickey was absolutely, totally sure that he was going to fuck this up. Even reading the fucking description on the website on Ian’s phone screen, “comes from a troubled past and needs a loving home,” made something twist in his gut— because how the fuck was Mickey supposed to provide something like that?

Mickey didn’t take care of shit like this, like fragile puppies or babies or anything he could mess up— and he especially didn’t let in anything more than he could handle losing, anything soft and helpless and innocent that he couldn’t let slip between his fingers on his own accord. He’d learned that shit early, when whatever whispers and soft traces of touches on his cheeks were ripped away by the pry of Terry’s calloused hands— when one day, when he was fifteen, he and Mandy and everyone else didn’t have a mom anymore. Losing his mom, losing his family after years on the road, even losing fucking Terry those now months ago; all of that shit compounded and pressed on the walls of his ribcage in a way that Mickey himself didn’t really understand, and apparently was oozing out of him in a fucking dog shelter as he stood there frozen, in the face of a helpless frame on wobbly legs with silky grey fur.

For some reason, even though he and Ian had been talking about the dog in the abstract for days now, something about seeing the dog scared him shitless— because taking care of shit was objectively scary, and Mickey was shit out of practice with it. He’d never been good, comfortable, at holding something fragile in his hands, something that he could mess up in a second with a slip of judgement. Mickey was great at getting shit done, but with something like this— well, honestly, he wasn’t sure if he trusted himself enough, to not make those split-second choices that Terry made, the ones that left cigarette burns on his sides and snapped his jaw out of place and left him with so many aching wounds that only became more dark and cavernous through the years.

I’m gonna fuck this up.

What if he got too mad and kicked the dog, what if he fed it the wrong shit and it withered away and became more frail than it already was, what if it ran away or got hit by a car or got fucking shot by a stray bullet in a shitty neighborhood? It felt scary to choose to care about something this fragile, to sign up for the loss and the ripping ache that would follow if Mickey overreacted or fucked something up or made a slip-second misstep. In the Milkovich family, loving was a liability— a promise that someone you cared about could get pummeled and bloodied and beaten in front of you, could get handcuffed and dragged upstate for months or years in the blink of an eye. When Mickey was fifteen, scratching “FUCK LOVE” and “STAY THE FUCK OUT” signs on pieces of cardboard with Sharpies he’d stolen from the dollar store, he’d made a promise to himself to harden himself against that weakness— against that loss.

And then, of course, freckle-faced chicken-legged Ian Gallagher showed up at his doorstep anyways.

So he’d let himself love Gallagher—and eventually he’d let himself love Franny after she plopped herself in his lap one day, wearing a princess tiara talking a mile a minute about monster trucks; and he didn’t even mind hanging out with Liam once in a while on those late nights in the Gallagher house, when Ian would be working a double shift and he and Liam flopped on opposite sides of the couch, watching shitty cartoons in a comfortable silence as the glow from the TV screen flickered on their faces.

But none of that felt like a choice—all of those people, those warm bodies to love, just fell into Mickey’s lap; so it wasn’t Mickey’s fault, really, if shit hit the fan. It wasn’t like he made the choice to love them in the first place— it just happened.

But adopting a dog (or having a fucking kid, like he knew Ian wanted)— that was a choice. That was telling something, someone, that you were ready to take care of them; that you were ready to lose everything when they inevitably got taken away, that you were ready to pour all of your fucked-up bullshit into someone and hope that you weren’t the reason why they turned out screwed up. It just seemed like too much; and in the face of the tiny fucking furball that Ian was cooing over as he sat cross-legged, Mickey’s immediate impulse was to keep his distance and tether himself into the linoleum floor miles away.

But of course Ian had done that fucking thing only he had the power to do, and melted whatever iron walls Mickey had soldered into place with a gentle Mick, d’you wanna pet her?— and of course the fucking dog had to nuzzle her goddamn tiny wet nose into Mickey’s hand, and give a too-trusting lick to his palm as she rolled over onto her back, exposing her vulnerable belly even after whatever fucking dog-fight bullshit she’d been through— and immediately Mickey couldn’t couldn’t see a timeline in which they didn’t wrap this fucking mutt up in a soft towel and take her home to the dog bed in their apartment and get her healthy on gourmet fucking dog food from a monogrammed tin bowl.

So even though it drove him fucking crazy that she was so fucking skinny, and the entire first night when she’d slept curled on the bed he kept waking up and googling the best dog foods and exercise regimens and refilling her water bowl at the kitchen sink like an obsessed fucking maniac— he really couldn’t help it.

Against every instinct, he’d chosen to love when he didn’t have to— and he was starting the realize that maybe that shit wasn’t a weakness.

**

“So, I hear you guys’ve got a new mascot.”

Tommy was ambling in the front door, right on the dot of their 2 P.M. opening time, with Kermit skittishly following a few paces behind him.

Ian rolled his eyes from behind the bar when he thought Mickey wasn’t looking (fucking traitor).

“Yeah, I think the whole neighborhood knows by now. Someone’s been a little too eager with the dog photos.”

Which— fuck that. So what if he fucking posted a few pictures of Baz to the mostly-defunct Alibi Facebook page that Kev had given them the login info to, some of which featured Baz wearing Mickey’s sunglasses when they were partway through a walk? Nobody needed to know that Mickey alone was behind that shit— Ian liked taking dog photos too, even though they were never as good as Mickey’s, and mostly just featured the moments Mickey was passed out on the couch with Baz sleeping on his chest.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Ian grinned and turned towards Mickey. “Nothin.’ Just nice to see that you’re growing into the whole dog parent thing. Though it is kind of turning into a stage mom thing.”

Mickey furrowed his brows. “Fuck you. The customers love her. It’s good for business.”

Ian held up his hands in surrender, still smirking—which just cause Mickey to shove him gently in his sternum.

“It’s not my fault Baz is the prettiest pit on the fucking Southside.”

In the corner of the bar, Baz was sitting on her cushion that they’d bought at a boujee pet store down the road, to keep downstairs at the Alibi so they could keep her other dog bed upstairs— and when Tommy and Kermit came into the room her ears immediately lifted, her tail twitching excitedly at the new faces. Tommy just gave a wary side-eyed glance to the dog pillow before plopping himself onto his usual stool, but Kermit nervously crouched beside the cushion and gave Baz’s chin a scratch.

“Ey! Paws off the princess until you drop some money on a beer, Kermit. I didn’t haul myself down to the empty bar on a Monday afternoon to watch you pet my fucking dog.”

Kermit shuffled to his usual seat beside Tommy at the end of the bar. “She’s cute. I didn’t realize pit bulls could be so scrawny.”

Baz was already filling out fast in the few days she’d been living with them; but it was true that she was still small and wiry for her age. Mickey made sure they got some sort of fresh dog food shit from the pet store that they had to keep in the refrigerator (even though Ian insisted kibble was fine, like a fucking cheapskate) to get her strength up, and he also got a bunch of fucking vitamins, like salmon oil and shit to make sure her coat was shiny—and yes, okay, maybe he also bought her a badass collar with spikes on it, and maybe he also dropped money on one of those engraved pet tags in the shape of a skull and crossbones that said “Bazooka Gallagher-Milkovich” on it with the Alibi’s address on it. He couldn’t fucking help it; they had a steady stream of cash coming in from crowded nights, they were planning on doing Ian’s karaoke shit once a month, and Mickey felt like they could afford to spend money on shit like this—like they could afford to do this right. And because of Mickey’s doting, even though Ian had started to take Baz for runs in the morning, it was no secret that she liked Mickey ever-so-slightly more than Ian; when they were laying in bed at night Baz would always hop up and curl into Mickey’s side and leave inches between her and Ian, causing a surprised chuckle to escape Mickey’s lips the first time it happened as he scratched behind her ears. Ian just stared at him, with some sappy fucking smile on his face.

“The fuck’re you looking at?”

“Nothing. Just glad we took her home.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but felt a smile creeping onto his lips despite himself. “Yeah. Me too.”

“And I’m definitely not jealous of a dog right now.”

**

It was later in the evening and the bar was pretty empty, a standard for a Monday night— Mickey had been trying to train Baz to stay on her cushion now that she’d learned how to sit and lay down on command; much to the amusement of Tommy and Kermit, who kept fucking distracting her. If Mickey had his way, he’d train Baz to bark at Kermit whenever he said something stupid (the guy just got on his fucking nerves, what could he say)—but of course Baz had other plans once she realized Kermit was the one of the pair who would pet her, and kept nuzzling her head onto Kermit’s thigh and thumping her tail on the floor.

“I thought pit bulls were supposed to be vicious.”

“Fuck you, Kermit. That’s fucking… dog racist, or some shit.”

Kermit just meekly looked down at his half-empty beer glass, as Ian came in the front door from where he was bringing in the sandwich board from the curb, not expecting any more customers for the night. He reached down to ruffle Baz’s fur along the way.

“How’s our girl doing?”

“Pretty good. Once these assholes get out of here we can called it a night.”

Tommy scoffed at that. “Milkovich, we’re some of your most loyal customers— hell, we’re your only loyal customers. I think we deserve more than insults.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna go drink the day away somewhere else?”

Tommy faltered for a moment, and raised an eyebrow. “Touche.”

“Alright, bozos. Time to pack up. No one else is coming in tonight, we’ll see you tomorrow. Me and Ian have better shit to do.”

Tommy drained the last of his beer, placing a wad of one-dollar bills on the countertop and giving an exaggerated salute. “Until tomorrow, gentlemen.”

When they left the bar and the doors were locked, Ian’s shoulders started to shake with laughter. “Jesus. I never thought I’d be at a point in my life when I’m dependent on the consistent generosity of Tommy and Kermit, but here I am.”

“More like consistent alcoholism.”

Ian smirked, then flopped to sit on a barstool opposite the countertop from Mickey, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Are you fine taking Baz out? I’m kinda tired, wanna get a start on dinner.”

“Yeah, man. Works for me.”

They’d been living with each other in the Gallagher house for months, sure, but they were still new at doing this— at only accounting for each other’s schedules, at divvying up tasks like walking the dog and cooking dinner and doing fucking dishes rather than just coasting on someone like Debbie getting them by. Things were different now— things were settled and quiet, in a way that still made Mickey like he had to rub his eyes extra hard to clear them in the still, dark mornings in the apartment, like he wasn’t convinced this shit was real.

After dinner they sat cross-legged on their bed, watching a movie on Ian’s old beat-up laptop with Baz sitting between them and chewing on one of her toys that squeaked loudly every few seconds (this one was a stuffed animal in the shape of a police officer, because in Mickey’s own words at the pet store, “ACAB motherfucker”)— and later that night, wrapped in the smell of laundry soap on clean sheets and dog shampoo, Mickey slept easily.

Maybe this was something he could trust himself to hold on to.

[all1e23]

Chocolate Dipped

Pairings: Sugar Daddy!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Steve has finally had enough of these two idiots. 

Warnings:  Angsty stuff. 

A/N:   I am feeling better! Just in time to make you guys cry for Christmas. This is in Steve’s POV at the start. I think I grabbed everyon’s tags but I was pretty sick this week. If I forgot to add you please shoot me an ask and I’ll correct it today. Also, half edited. I got lazy. lol If you like it come sing me a song, write me a story or scream at me!  This is the sixth part of my series Sugary Sweet. Make sure you catch up!

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!***

“You goin’ home tonight, buck?” 

Steve hung around the doorway to Bucky’s office, hovering like a worried parent. The small room was lived in. Two weeks have passed since they attended Stark’s gala, and Bucky made it a point to work himself to death every single day since. There were cartons upon cartons of takeout, guest pillows from his penthouse on the leather couch that sat under the large windows on the south wall, and Steve caught Bucky wearing the same white button-up three days in a row. 

Bucky was avoiding something, and Steve had a decent idea of what that ‘something’ was. 

“Hm?” Bucky mumbled, barely looking up from his computer as he did. “Uh, no. Not tonight. I want to get this done for the Danvers account.” 

Steve sighed as he spun his keys around his fingers, debating how far he could push this before he drove Bucky away. 

“We have people who do that now, Buck. Go home and get some sleep. Wash your hair.” 

To Steve’s delight, Bucky looked up, humor lighting up his eyes and smile curling up the corners of his mouth. 

“You sayin’ I look bad, Stevie?” 

Steve forced through his concern long enough to grin. 

“I’m saying you haven’t been home since you broke up with Y/n. Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

Bucky’s smile fell the moment Steve said her name, and his eyes fell back on his computer. He wasn’t going to talk about Y/n or their arrangement. There was nothing to say. It was never a real relationship as much as Bucky wanted it to be, so there was no reason to treat it as such. 

“I don’t have anything to say about it. There was no break-up. It was a temporary situation, and it’s passed. Let’s all move on with our lives.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Goodnight, Steven.”

The quiet tug of the door and the hitch of the latch echoes in Bucky’s empty office, leaving him alone in the darkened building. He knew Steve was trying to help, but Steve wasn’t. Bucky didn’t need to be babysat. He needed to go back to that coffee shop, pay for your coffee, and walk away before he let his heart fall yours. Yeah, he knew sulking in his office wasn’t going to fix anything, but he couldn’t face going home. Your toothbrush was still hanging next to his, that drawer in his dresser was full of your clothes, and there was the picture of the two of you resting on the nightstand. Taking down the pictures in his office was bad enough; at least here, the sheets didn’t smell like you.

It has been weeks when the hell was he going to get over you?

Bucky really hoped it would be soon. 

The bar was packed. No stool was empty, and the floor was full of kids half his age waiting for what was probably their first beer. Steve groaned. Dealing with grumpy Bucky and now this was completely unfair. The loud cheering made Steve wince as he pushed towards the middle of the crowd, it was hard to see through the crowd of twenty-year-olds, and he has never felt quite as old as he did at that moment. 

When did he become this grumpy old man? He blamed Bucky. 

Steve caught his wife’s whistle and grinned when he spotted her in one of those half booths that no one actually enjoys sitting at. 

“How is he?” 

Steve sighed and placed a kiss on her cheek as he squeezed into the seat next to her. That was a loaded question. He gripped his wife’s legs and pulled them over his lap, tucking her under his arm. Steve was going to make the most of the dollhouse-sized booth. 

“He’s… a mess. I know he misses her, but he won’t talk about it. I’m not sure what happened, but I don’t think it was a clean break like he’s making it sound.” 

“Do you think she left him?” 

He shook his head.  

No, Steve knew Bucky well enough to know guilt when he saw it. 

“I think Bucky didn’t speak up when he should have is what I think, and maybe she got tired of waiting to be more than a game.” 

Steve took a sip of Sharon’s red wine and made a face. She grinned and ran her fingers through his bread, scratching gently until he hummed softly and leaned into her touch.

“Well, I think,” Sharon whispered, watching the sleepy smile tug at Steve’s lips. “We are stuck sitting at the bar. The dining room is full of what appears to be teenagers. Somehow when we weren't looking, we became the oldest people in the room. It's a tiny booth or share a table with strangers.” 

“That’s alright. We can stay right here.” Steve nudged her chin up with two fingers and smiled. “I like being stuck with you.” 

“You think that sweet talk is going to get you somewhere?” 

“Pretty confident. Bucky taught me all I know."  

Steve grinned and pecked her lips.

A loud voice interrupted Steve’s train of thought and he couldn't help but listen in. 

“Look, if fancy man bun can’t see how awesome you are, then you don’t need to waste your time on him.” Steve tried to fight his smile. Whoever that was, he wouldn’t mind sharing a table with them.

“But… I think I love him.”

Steve froze when he heard your voice, and he subtly peeked over his shoulder to find you sitting at a table nearby. You weren’t alone. There was a blond guy he didn’t know, his arm was around your redheaded friend that scared the life out of him sometimes, Nat he was pretty sure, and another red-haired woman he didn’t know. He turned back around before you caught him spying, and he tried to listen over the boisterous shouts and loud, obnoxious music.

This was getting ridiculous. He was getting too old to go to places like this.

“And that sucks,” The guy continued."He’s shit for dragging you along because he knew how you felt. Everyone knew. I’m not saying marry Johnny Lightning--”

You were talking about Bucky.

“Storm.”

“Storm. Whatever. I’m not saying marry him, but it will help take your mind off the asshole who broke your heart.”

“First of all, I only know his name. I don’t have his number because I don’t want to go out with him, Clint. I don’t want anyone else. Can we just stop talking about this, please? It’s bad enough you drug me out of my nice warm bed and made come here. Please stop talking about Bucky.”

“I wasn’t going to let you hide in bed for the rest of your life,” The woman -- Nat, said with a hint of venom in her voice. “I wish you would have talked to him like I told you to. Something is off about this whole thing.”

“I didn’t have time! Things were over before I realized they were.”

“You could go talk to him now?”

“What’s the point? He’s obviously done with whatever we were. I haven’t heard from him in days.”

Bucky was the one that broke up with you? Steve hadn’t expected that, but perhaps he should have.

Steve fidgeted enough to wiggle his phone out of his pocket, silently quieting Sharon before she could make a fuss and draw your attention. He snapped a picture over his shoulder, even though he shouldn’t. You were staring at rose necklace Bucky gave you in Boston while your friends chatted amongst themselves, your eyes were red and puffy like you had been crying non-stop for days. You looked incredibly lonely for someone sitting in the middle of a crowded bar and surrounded by friends.

He dropped the image into a message and sent it off to Bucky.

“I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

Steve placed a kiss on Sharon’s head and slid out of the booth, smiling at her confusion. He walked straight to your table and stopped next to you, making a point to get his shoes and black dress pants in your line of vision. You looked up, and your fingers slipped off the necklace, your mouth fell open and stuttered incoherently.

“Y/n, I think we should talk.”

-----------------------

Across town, Bucky sat in his office, still sitting at his desk hours after Steve left him only now he was staring at his phone instead of his computer. Bucky hasn’t been able to look away from the damn thing since Steve’s text came in over twenty minutes ago. You looked good. Great. A little sad, maybe, but beautiful. He read Steve’s words one more time, and his heart clenched again.

She doesn’t look like someone who moved on. I think you left a few things out of the story.

So he did leave some things out. It was his right to leave out whatever he wanted to. Steve didn’t need to know why things didn’t work out. It wouldn’t change the outcome.

“Hi.”

Bucky’s fingers shook at the sound of your voice, so much so he dropped his phone back onto his desk. You stood in the doorway to his office, fidgeting and uncomfortable. You were still in that little black dress you were wearing in the photo, so you must have come straight from the bar. Bucky slowly leaned back in his chair, his eyes glued to yours.  

“Hi… what are you doing here? How did you get in?”

You looked guilty, and Bucky had to fight back a grin.

“Steve gave me his ID.”

You held up a little white card as an explanation and gave him that same shy, nervous smile you gave him when he offered to pay for your coffee all those months ago. Steve could never just mind his own damn business. Nosy little punk. 

Bucky should probably thank him for meddling this one time -- depending on how the rest of this night goes.

“Of course, he did.”

You took a few steps in, just enough that you could place the card on Bucky’s desk a keep your distance. Bucky watched your eyes scan his desk for your missing pictures, and he wanted to jump in and tell you they were on the bookshelf behind him now. They were hard to look at it all the time now. He saw relief flood you as you spotted them.

He still didn’t understand why you were here.

“Is everything okay, sweet girl?”

The name just slipped out. Bucky hadn’t meant it to. You weren’t… well, you weren’t anything anymore, and he didn’t have a right to call you pet names, but he couldn’t help it. Bucky wanted to call his sweet girl forever. Would have, too, if only the stars had aligned the way Bucky had wanted.

Bucky watched you as hesitated. You took a step forward and then stopped as if you were trying to decide where to go, towards him or out the door. He saw the conflict in your eyes as you fought with yourself, and then you stood up taller with your shoulders squared, having made your choice. You strode towards Bucky with determination, walking around his desk, and Bucky pushed off from his feet, letting his chair roll back enough to give you the space you needed-- wanted.

He hoped it was what you wanted.

Bucky didn’t move or make a sound. Just held his breath and waited.

You sank down on his lap, straddling his waist as you’ve done during the hundreds of times you’ve visited him in his office. Bucky waited until you settled comfortably, and his hands came up to wrap around you and rest against your backside. Your own find their favorite spot tangled in his hair, and the tears catching in your lashes were caught right away.

It took every ounce of strength he had not to lean in and kiss those tears away.

“You left.” You whimpered. “Just disappeared and stopped talking to me like we were never… something.”

Bucky’s heart twisted into something dark and ugly. He hadn’t thought there was much to say. Things had been off since he came home from Boston, and then that boy, he didn’t think there was anything left after that.

“I thought--” Bucky’s arms tightened around you, fingers pressed into your skin as he forced himself to admit what he was scared of since he first met you -- you didn’t really want him. 

“I thought maybe you liked that kid from the gala. He's closer to your age and… he could be someone who wants the same things you want. I didn’t want you to feel like you were stuck with me if you didn’t want-- if this was temporary. I thought that’s what you wanted.”  

“No, that’s not what I want.”

Bucky swiped his thumb under your right eye, wiping away the tears he could no longer stand to see. He didn’t know how to ask if you loved him or how to tell you that he wanted more, but this? He knew this. Bucky’s spent the last eight months asking you want you wanted and doing everything he could to give it to you.

He could do this.

“What do you want, babygirl? Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

There was only one thing you wanted.

“I want you to love me,” you choked out in a desperate, hopeless plea. “I want you to love me like I love you. I want you to be in love with me.”

“Oh, baby.”

Bucky cupped the back of your neck and let the other rest on your back, firmly holding you in place on his lap. This was something he should have said months ago.

“I’ve been in love with you for months. Maybe since I bought you that first cup of coffee and you looked at me with those sweet lips and pouty eyes. You’ve had my love, sweet girl.”

You sniffed and took a breath, your bottom lip still trembling as you twisted over his words.

“But-- I, I heard you telling you Sharon you didn’t want a future with me.”

Bucky’s nose crinkled, and his brow furrowed. “What? What are you talkin’ about, baby?”

“In Boston. That night you were drinking at the bar. I came down to… to see you, and you said you didn’t want a family right now and not with me.”

Bucky was smiling, and he could tell by your pout you were about to jump off his lap because of it. He couldn’t help it. This was good. The best news he has heard in weeks. This was all because he was an idiot, and he could fix that. He could stop being an idiot. Bucky took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around your waist, letting the chair lean back all the way, so you fell against his chest, and your feet came off the floor just enough to make you unstable if you tried to get up on your own.

He needed you to stay put a little longer, and if you wanted to leave after he said his peace, he would let you go.

"Did you hear what I said after that?”

“No," you squeaked. “I ran back up to our-- your room.”

“Our room.” He corrected.

"Our room." You amended. "Then you came up and we-- Well, we made-- we..."

Bucky didn't need you to say anymore. He remembered. Bucky absolutely remembered making love to you. He held you against him and carefully explained what really happened that night.

“I did say that, but that wasn’t what I meant. It came out all wrong, and you'll be happy to know Steve and Sam would beat my ass to defend you without a second thought. What I meant and what I explained to them that night was I wanted to wait until you were ready for all that because if I’m going to do all that? Get married and have kids; I only want to do it with you.”

You groaned and thumped your head against his chest. “Why is Nat always right? She said you didn’t mean it. That it was a mistake.”  

Bucky chuckled quietly. His fingers gently rubbed at your scalp, and his lips found your skin, pressing soft kisses to your temple. “Probably because she could see it written on my face. According to Sam, I look like a lovesick idiot every time you’re near me.”

Forcing yourself to lift your head, you met his eyes and whispered,” Bucky, I do love you, and I don’t want that dumb bellhop from Boston or any other guy. You’re all I want, but I’m not ready to get married right now. I know you are, and if you want all that right now-- I don’t know, okay? I graduate in May, and then I want to work and-- and --I don’t think I can--”

Bucky’s thumb settled over your lips, stopping your panic.

“I know, and that’s why I said I wanted to wait. Let you find your footing in a new job and get yourself settled there before we even talk about it. I wanted to tell you all this in Boston. Tell you how much you mean to me. How you’re all, I think about, every damn day and the nights that I’m not with you are like torture.”

Your eyes twinkled with someone Bucky didn’t like, and his cheeks warmed right away.

“So that was the whole picnic thing? And renting out the skywalk?”

Bucky nodded sheepishly.

“I might have chickened out. I was worried you didn’t feel the same, and I wasn’t ready to lose you.”

One thing was certain; you were made for each other. You were both idiots.

“So, you do see a future with me?” You asked, nerves showing through your shaky voice. You needed to be sure. You couldn’t go through all that again. 

“You weren’t just changing the subject with sex every time?”

Bucky barked out a laugh, the chair under you shaking from the force of it. You pursed your lips. He didn’t have to laugh so hard. It was a serious question. Bucky gave your hip an apologetic squeeze and shook his head.

“No, I didn’t mean to do that. It was incredibly sexy to hear you say you only wanted... me. You could have asked me for anything, and you just wanted me. I like that."

“It’s true, though. I don’t want any of that other stuff. You’re the only thing I want, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, and his hand slipped under the hemline of your dress. “Somethin’ you want… right now?”

Your slender fingers gripped his wrist, and you shook your head. “Nope. What I want right now is to get you home, shower, and maybe sleep till late tomorrow. I haven’t-- I haven’t been sleeping great lately.”

The confession made Bucky remember how terrible he probably looked from his own sleeping habits over the past eighteen days. The last he saw in the bathroom mirror, the dark circles under his eyes, were getting pretty hard to hide. His beard was unkempt and thick and Steve wasn’t wrong about needing to wash his hair. He raised the arm you were still clutching and pressed a kiss to your fingers.

“This how it’s going to work from now on? Just goin’ tell me what to do all the time?”

“Yep. That’s how it works when I’m your girlfriend.”

Your eyes widen dramatically, and Bucky grins.

“I am… I mean, it’s okay I said that, right?”

“Well, you are my girl.”

Bucky can feel your tension deflate, and he really likes the smile on your face.

“Mmm, and you’re my sugar. My sweet fella.”

[freddiefcknmercury]

A Promise(part 2)- Crimson & Clover

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader(Black coded/Genderless)

Word Count: 2.7+

Warnings/Disclaimer: SMUT. ANGST. cursing. mild depression/heart-ache. etc etc. if something needs to be tagged please lemme know.

A/N: LOL I'm back on my bullshit yall. heavy angst/depression from the previous Steve centered storyline so if you haven't read "You really think I didn't know?" I'll do some magic linky links here and at the bottom just in case. Also I'm trying something kinda different with the way I post the fics so feedback is welcome.

ALSO this one comes with a tiny playlist! there are Bolded lyrics throughout if you want to get a deeper sense of where I was emotionally writing this and where reader is as well you can Def give these songs a listen, they are in order of appearance:

Crimson & Clover- Tommy James & The Shondells

Every Time I Breathe- Arlissa

Navy Blue - Hasani

Summary: Bucky takes an extended leave for "work" related reasons and reader slips back into some dark places in his absence...

~*As always, be Nice to me I’m Delicate*~

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

He said he might be gone most of the week. Sam called the day before and all you know is it's something important. He didn't go into detail, just packed a bag and you'd never seen him do that before. But he was also only gone a day or two at a time and never felt the need to tell you about it before now either.

Up until recently you'd tip-toe around each other. Not like you used to with Steve though, worse. Bucky is a lot better at making sure you don't know he's there until it's too late. It felt like you'd never get used to each other, or more likely that you'd never want to. You might've still been secretly hoping that he'd stop caring and go away... after a while you got tired of your own bullshit and realized he's giving off that vibe on purpose. Wordlessly telling you how you should feel about him, not wanting to get too close. You never much liked being told what to do.

It was only about two months before you became a Barnes' expert. You'd sit up at night listening intently for when he'd shower, get in bed, or wake up. He never slept more than five maybe six hours at a time, you'll never understand how he can function like that. You know how he likes his coffee, which angle he holds his cup. How and where he takes off his shoes, how much ice he puts in a drink, the way he likes to cut his toast, and what time he has to do all of it. There's an almost unnerving pattern to him, one that's always been there and you were just unwilling to notice for so long, and you're not sure if he's even aware of it.

You woke up to him already gone. You knew he was leaving but actually being left alone like that unsettled you more than you anticipated, a serious case of Deja vu. You went into your routine like normal, because everything still was, but by the fifth day... you stepped into the front room and got that empty feeling. One you hadn't really had since...

It stopped you for a few seconds longer than you liked and a large knot formed in your stomach. You spent the whole day trying to ignore the feeling but it only got worse. Like a hunger pain but much more vague, crawling through each muscle. You'd catch yourself staring at his room, Bucky's room but also... Steve's. It's the first time you let yourself admit to him fully crossing your mind in over a year.

You laid up in bed, trying to count the metaphorical sheep to no avail. Getting up thinking that a snack or a warm drink will stop the restlessness, you pause in the tiny hallway shared by your bedrooms. The low blue light from the moon outside dustily illuminating the space through  a cloudy bathroom window. You stare at the door like any second he's going to ask what you're doing up so late and you can tell him to mind his own business while pouring two cups of tea.

You just wanted to touch the knob; turn it to make sure it still works- that you're still "allowed in there if you want". But stepping inside was too far, an invasion of Bucky's privacy, and you felt it. But you couldn't help yourself. You needed to know.

They were definitely cut from the same cloth. Sparse furnishings and no decorations, save a few very small trinkets he'd held onto from who knows where. There is exactly one row on his bookshelf filled with composition notebooks that were beat to hell and back. Sticky notes lined the edge of most of the pages, so much so that they easily could've been mistaken for feathers on a quick glance. You dare not touch them. Observing someone with a past that checkered is very different to reading into the things they deem worthy of physically writing down.

Where Steve used to leave small drawings and notes Bucky left half empty ink pens and a few well used pairs of gloves. You saunter to the far corner of the room and caress a worn leather jacket hanging precariously on the lowest peg of a coat rack. Doing a slow sweep of the space something in the otherwise barren closet catches your eye. The knot in your stomach that had almost disappeared was back and it brought friends. Your shirt. His shirt. The big one that said BROOKLYN across the front, what you didn't know was your "going away gift." The one you balled up and shoved in the top corner of his closet, at the time hoping you'd never look at it again. You're amazed that it's still here, that Bucky hadn't tossed it out or tried to give it back to you when he moved in.

So you put it on. You're still not sure why but you needed to wear it. To feel it drape over your skin, enveloping you in warmth and that beautiful clean familiar scent you... loved once. It sent a shiver down your spine. The knots in your stomach were gone but now there's one in your throat. You can feel the tears seated right behind your eyes. You sit on the bed holding your face pleading with the water to stay put but it's too late. You miss him. You hate to admit it, but it's true and it always has been. You're angry and you should be, you loved him- you thought he might've loved you. Pulling the hem of the shirt up you wipe the tears off your face and fall into a pillow, trying to calm yourself out of your rage unintentionally drifting into sleep.

*****************************************************

You wake up to the sound of music in the kitchen.

...Ah, now I don't hardly know her, but I think I could love her...

You sit up quickly checking your phone: 11:34am. You'd fallen asleep in Bucky's room, in his bed. A blanket had been placed over you and a short scan of the room returned a brown leather duffel bag and set of black boots that weren't present last night. He'd come back early this morning and found you here. You can feel your heart fall straight out of your ass, the void that was left being filled with pure embarrassment. Is he angry? He did tuck you in...

As slowly and quietly as possible you make your way towards the door, poking your head out just enough to assess the situation. You can see his back in the kitchen, he's hovering over the sink. You notice the couch, the spare blanket and pillow from the bathroom closet folded neatly on one of the arm rests, he had to sleep there. The void gets deeper. You pull the door open just enough to slip out of and there's a quiet creak. Steve never did fix that, and you just figured out why.

Bucky didn't turn around but definitely noticed. He steps to the side, now in front of the stove and you here something crack and sizzle. You're not sure what to do here. You can try to apologies and explain but there's no un-embarrassing way out of this one. You fold your arms over your stomach trying to hold all your very delicate pieces together while you attempt to speak up. Finally reaching the bar and fully prepared to say good morning when he quickly sets a hot bowl down in front of you. White rice and a fried egg- runny yolk. You'd make it for breakfast when you'd get up early or couldn't sleep, a friend from school put you on to it. Looks like he's been studying you too. You make eye contact but, just briefly. From what little of the expression you get on his face nothing indicates that he's mad. But he hasn't said anything to the contrary either.

How was your trip?  Dangerous I bet-sorry you couldn't come home and sleep in your own goddamn bed! Oh?! AND you made me breakfast!

You feel like a crazy person.

"Comfy last night?"

He's pouring himself some coffee, not yet turning your way. There's no hostility in his voice.

You chuckle nervously.

"Yeah.. sorry about that."

"Don't worry about it."

He sets a small glass of juice down in front of you. Heavy eye contact this time, but his expression is soft. He didn't ask for an explanation and you really didn't want to give him one. But you still feel guilt looming over you. You take the glass in both hands and nurse it.

He nods at you with a squint, taking a big sip of coffee.

"If I knew that was yours I would've given it back."

The shirt. You forgot you actually put it on. You hold your breath stroking the fabric gently. Contemplating your next words.

"It's not- well, not really."

He raises an eyebrow.

"It was a gift, so I guess it does belong to me..."

Glancing back down at it you can see him realize it says "Brooklyn." His expression changes to a knowing one and it reads like regret but he quickly tries to box it back up for you. This is a new move for him.

There's a much longer pause in conversation than either of you would like before he shifts his weight awkwardly.

"Sorry."

You push glass, now empty back across the bar towards him.

"Don't worry about it-"

You swivel in your seat quickly, taking your bowl and getting up to leave. He steps out from the kitchen after you.

"Thanks for breakfast."

The tears had been welling up and started to pour over as you left. You're still in no state to pretend to be a functioning person right now. Trying to save him from your ugly cry face by escaping but he grabs your shoulder gently suggesting you backwards.

You cover your mouth to hush a sob. You can see your chest start heave but there's nothing you can do to stop yourself. He grabs the bowl setting it down carefully, then you feel a warm metal sensation squeezing the back of your neck.

"You don't have to be over it."

He's been back a couple hours and already knows you're still a mess. You scoff, laughing at yourself really.

"What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing."

He whispered back quickly, exasperated, but tender.

You sniffle; pathetic.

"That's not how it feels."

"He fucked up. He just doesn't know it."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders pulling you into his embrace.

It's nice to feel another person. A real solid human being; you can't remember the last time you hugged someone like this. You turn in his arms to face him. He looks tired. Not just 'had-to-sleep-on-an-old-couch' tired. Emotionally repressed. Maybe he has actually wanted to talk to you. He pulls you into him, it's just a hug  but it almost hurt how sweet this was.

Then a thought came to you, not really sure how, you can't handle more rejection right now; but you kissed him anyway, hard. Like him being gone almost killed you- because it did. He pulls away from you, just a little, reading your face his own expressionless. You search his eyes for any kind of hint as to what's going on inside his mind. You're not ready to admit this was a mistake yet. There's no real way to know how long you stood there like that. You only dare to move after you hear the song change in the background.

Words... thought they just fade away

but hurt... gave them a place to stay

"Do something."

You were sure it was just in your head but it creaked out past your lips in less than a whisper, pleading with him.

He covered your mouth with his, smoothing both hands down your neck to your shoulders gripping them gently, intently. You cling to his waist almost afraid to explore anywhere else, then slowly drag nails along his back. He pulls you back into him, you want to fuse with the warmth radiating off of his body, he bends and you collide onto the floor with a muffled thud. He cradles your head quickly so you don't get hurt but you wouldn't care at this point.

The way you fit into each other is unnerving, like your bodies weren't meant for anybody else. You both scramble to undress him in between breathy wet kisses and he's... magnificent. He pulls off his shirt and you swiftly run fingers from his neck down each arm. The metal one is warm, this surprises you for some reason. You watch as each "muscle" dances at your touch and you catch a small glimpse of something on his face that resembles insecurity... or fear. He shelves it quickly in response to you bucking your hips up to dismiss your underwear.

He buries his face in your neck, warm breaths ghosting your skin. Hooking his hands behind your knees he hoists your legs up around his waist. He bites down gently and you gasp. It's too much. He's everywhere, all at once. The last person to touch you event remotely close to this was-

"...Steve."

It just came out, you almost didn't notice it. Bucky stops, pulling back and away. He scans you, a pitiful, panting mess on the floor. The most vulnerable you've probably ever been and definitely in front of him. He shakes his head slowly once, chest heaving.

"No."

Knots line your stomach once again. He grabs your wrist to hold your arms in place up above your head and presses his forehead against yours.

"Look at me."

You hold eye contact there for a solid minute, you're sure of it. He leans forward delicately dragging teeth against your ear.

"You're gonna keep saying it until you can't forget."

He drops his hips and lines up with your entrance. You feel a thick wash of euphoria from the pressure, throwing your head back as much as possible given the floor. You roll your hips along to his, cradling each other perfectly.

His eyes didn't leave your face until you both feel your legs begin to tremble.

"Oh Bucky."

The only words you can remember.

You feel every stroke hasten and all his muscles tighten each time his name falls from your lips. He pulls your shirt up to your neck looking to spatter kisses and bite marks across your torso. You futilely dig one set of nails into the floor and the other in his shoulder as he hungrily growls into your stomach, cursing, longing for mercy.

"Fuck."

You pull him back up to your face demanding his tongue. You hear the floorboard creek from the pressure of a metal hand, the flesh one surely bruising your hip by now. There's a deep enduring moan from the back of his throat as he finds his release inside you. You gasp at the sensation and you both pant into each other, nothing but a mess on the floor now.

He presses a long, firm kiss into the bridge of your nose then falls gently on his back beside you. You roll your head up to look at his face, whatever it is he's feeling isn't immediately obvious as he stares up at the ceiling. You shift onto your side placing a light, cautious hand on his chest and he glances over at you, reaching to squeeze your thigh reassuringly.

The sky is Navy Blue soon to be baby blue and baby you got nothing but time...

He looks over your face in a deep sigh before retiring his gaze to the ceiling.

"I don't know him... The guy that left you like that."

You watch intently has his jaw clenched, he's never been able to hide that bit very well.

"I don't know what kind of..."

He trails off, clearly upset.

You sigh deeply.

"I was gonna die that night."

He rolls his head back to look at you.

"The day I met him? I had pretty much made up my mind."

You start to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. Almost reminiscent.

"But he found me in the staircase..."

You hate how subtly he did some things. If you weren't lying next to him. There's no way you'd ever be able to tell his breathing had changed.

"Essentially-"

You pick your head up, chin on his sternum.

"He saved my life."

You state matter of factually. You watch his body relax in a short, bitter way.

He rolls his head over just enough to look you in the eyes. You kiss his chest once tenderly before moving to stand up. You extend a hand down for him to grab.

"That isn't good for your back."

"You really think I didn't know?" Part1

[vintagedolan]

overturned (egd)

ethan’s tried everything to get you to hear him out, and you aren’t budging until a news article on twitter changes everything in an instant

word count: 4.7k

requested by: anon (thank you bby!)

warnings/tags: angst angst angst angst, did I say angst???, but in typical lynds weak bitch fashion it ends up okay at the end 🥴

feel free to send in requests! and check out my masterlist if you wanna :)

You were running out of counter space, and that was saying something. The kitchen was beginning to smell like a florist shop, rich and beautiful with the number of bouquets. Luckily, they’d all come in vases, or you wouldn’t have had enough containers to keep them in.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang again. You grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, already feeling guilty. When you opened the door, it was the same sweet woman who had been there everyday, twice a day at least, for the last 6 days.

“Hi Mary,” you sighed. You’d begun a bit of a friendship with her, the exchange of her handing over the flowers commonplace now. 

“Hi Ms. Y/N. Those are particularly good ones, I think the shop found a new supplier. Blue hydrangeas are hard to come by, especially out here. He must be paying a fortune for those,” she said, raising her eyebrows. You knew that - your favorite flower wasn’t common in California. 

“Money isn’t really an issue for him,” you mumbled, holding out the water. “Here, take this, I know it’s hot out. I’m sorry you keep having to come out here for all these. You’d think he’d take the hint.” 

“Oh nonsense honey, I don’t mind at all! It’s actually quite heartwarming.” She took the water, offering you a warm smile. 

“Heartwarming?”

“To see young love so strong. Most people these days just give up and move on. He’s persistent.” Mary gave you a look that was laced with meaning, like she was trying to convince you of something. But she let it go quickly, sensing she may have gone too far.. “Well, I’ve got more deliveries to make. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon.” 

You waved as she got back into the delivery van and pulled out of the driveway. Pulling the door behind you, you carried the bouquet in and sat it amongst the others, her words ringing in your ears.

Persistent. That was one word for it. Guilty might be more fitting.

It’d been a week since your argument, and you were still wrestling with the whole thing. The fact that you could play the entire thing back, word for word in your mind, wasn’t helping anything. 

-----

“You can’t keep doing this,” Ethan said, leaning back against the couch. The fact that he was being callous about it wasn’t helping matters in the slightest. 

“The hell I can’t. Don’t try and put this on me Ethan, don’t you fucking dare.” 

“What the hell did you want me to do?” He snapped back.

“Just fucking tell me. That’s literally all I ever ask for you to do, and you just keep hiding shit from me!”

“I’m not hiding anything, you’re just paranoid.” 

Wrong answer.

“Oh, okay, you’re right. Yeah, just paranoid. Well, hope you don’t mind, I’m gonna go spend the whole day with my ex. Oh wait, shit, shouldn’t have said that, too much information for you.” You spat the words, the anger you’d been holding in finally bubbling to the surface.

“We were filming, it’s for work.” His tone was short, anger escalating.

“I understand that. But you could have at least told me that’s what you were doing, instead of some vague ‘oh I’m just filming a collab’ bullshit. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”

“I don’t tell you shit because you always react like this! Everything I do makes you pissed at me!” Ethan said, exasperated. 

“No, I react like this because you don’t tell me in the first place! You never ask me if I’m okay with anything-”

“I shouldn’t have to!” He was yelling now, something he never did. He knew how you got when people raised their voices, knew how it made you feel. “You don’t get to control my life! I’m my own fucking person!” 

“Control your life...” you breathed it out, shaking your head in disbelief. “Right. I control you. I control you, but I’m the one who can’t ever post a picture with my boyfriend, can’t post a snapchat because people might realize that we’re together, can’t go out without telling you where I’m gonna be. Can’t have my clothes in your closet in case it’s in the back of a video, can’t leave our room when you’re filming in case my fucking reflection or the sound of my footsteps end up in shot. I can’t hold my own boyfriend’s hand in public, I can’t go on a date without security there. But you’re right, I’m the controlling one.” The tears were coming now, and Ethan’s eyes were wide. You made it a point to never complain about the things that life with him entailed - it was always worth it. But right now, you let them fly. You wanted him to know, to realize, to fucking appreciate exactly what you did every day, just for him. Maybe it would make him understand why you were so upset.

“I-” He started, but you cut him off.

“I give up so many little things, every fucking day, and I do it for you. And I ask you for one fucking thing - just to give me the respect of telling me when you’re gonna be around your ex for work, and you can’t even give me that. Just one fucking thing Ethan, that’s all.”

“You knew what you signed up for when you decided to date me.” 

You weren’t sure what response you were expecting, you weren’t even sure what response you wanted. All you knew were his conceited words were the final straw.

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

-----

When you came back out of the memory, you were gripping the flowers so hard you were surprised you hadn’t broken the vase they were in. With a deep breath you went to the counter, scooting another vase to the side to make room for the new ones. 

You pulled the card from the small holder nestled amongst the flowers. Your name was scrawled on the outside of the envelope in Ethan’s handwriting. 

You never thought that handwriting could make your heart hurt. With delicate fingers you pulled it open, fishing out the tiny card provided by the florist shop.

I never thanked you enough for everything you gave up for me. I’m sorry. I love you more. 

The tears were instantaneous, just like they were every time you opened one of the notes. They were all gathered in a little pile by one of your candles, each one a small declaration from Ethan.

I fucked up. 

I can’t imagine my life without you. Please call me back.

Please give me a chance to make it up to you. 

I miss you so fucking much. 

But it didn’t matter what he said - each one ended with the same four words, and that’s what brought the tears every time without fail.

I love you more. 

You could remember the first time he’d said it. Toes in the sand at the end of a picnic blanket on the beach, fire behind you keeping you warm as you watched the waves crash. His arm had been around your shoulder, you were leaning into his chest. And you said I love you to him for the first time. 

And he’d responded with ‘I love you more’, as if that was the only correct response. 

“What?” You’d asked.

“Well, you love me. Take that and add just a little more, and that’s what I feel for you. So, I love you more.” He explained it as though it was common sense.

And it had become the most unplanned little trademark in your relationship that you cherished more than you realized. Every time you said I love you, that was his response. When you were leaving for the day, when he made a stupid joke, cuddling in bed, after sex, when you were done singing terribly in the car. 

He never missed one, never forgot.

You were realizing now that you’d taken advantage of what it really felt like to be loved like that. 

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, wiping at your eyes. You’d cried too much over the last few days, not having enough distractions to keep the memories and thoughts at bay. You couldn’t even use your phone - the missed calls and texts were too tempting to respond to. You needed to hold strong, and really think about everything when you were rational enough to figure out what you wanted to do. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t love Ethan anymore - you’d always love him. In fact, it was that maybe you loved him too much. Maybe you were giving up too much to fit your life into his. You wanted the simple things, the little things in your relationship. You wanted to go get ice cream with him on friday nights, hold his hand while you shopped, post stupid instagram stories and snapchats. You wanted to be able to talk to your friends about your own boyfriend and not be afraid that they might be using you to get information to sell to tabloids. They were little things, but they were still part of the ideal relationship you always dreamed about having.

And you knew that Ethan did it to protect you. He didn’t want fans harassing you any more than they already did, didn’t want you in danger. You’d been around for the stalker, and he’d almost broken it off right then for your own safety. But you’d stayed, and you’d followed his rules and you’d given it all up. 

You did what you had to, but you never really thought about how it made you feel. Were you being selfish? Maybe. But part of you needed to be - you were bad about putting other people’s problems in front of yours, pushing down what you wanted, what you needed, in order to appease everybody else. 

So as badly as you wanted to, you didn’t call him. You didn’t text him, you didn’t facetime him. You put your phone in a bag with a towel and some sunscreen, changing into a bathing suit and heading out to enjoy some California sunshine. 

The pool in your neighborhood wasn’t as nice as the one at the boys house, but it would do the trick. It was part of the reason you’d decided to rent the place, but you’d only used it a few times. In fact, you might as well have given up your lease for the last 6 months anyways - you were rarely anywhere but Ethan’s. 

Maybe that was it. Maybe you just needed some time to yourself, to figure out how you’d changed over the last year of your relationship, figure out who you were when you weren’t with him. Either way, you were going to have to talk to him about everything eventually - and you needed to get your mind settled on exactly what you wanted before you said anything. 

You laid out on one of the lounges, closing your eyes and trying to relax. But the images wouldn’t stop rolling behind your eyelids, like a slideshow of all the best things you never wanted to forget. 

And Ethan was in every single one of them. It didn’t matter how hard you tried - anything worth remembering and reliving had him written all over it. Your road trip across the US, he was right there in the passenger seat. The fourth of july when you’d gone camping and set off fireworks - he was the one with the lighter. The first time you’d caught a wave surfing, he was the first thing you saw when you turned back, arms raised high as he cheered you on, loud enough for the whole beach to hear. 

This was going to be harder than you thought. 

You fought within your mind for a few more hours, reaching farther back, back before you’d met Ethan, trying to find memories. It worked for a little bit - some trips you took when you were younger, late nights with old friends. You were finally getting the hang of it when someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“Uh, ma’am? Sorry, but you’ve gotta leave.” You opened your eyes, blinking up at the boy who’d tapped you. He was a young teenager, you could tell, and after spotting his whistle and red shorts you realized it was the lifeguard. “There’s a storm coming in, supposed to be pretty bad,” he added. 

“Oh. Okay, yeah, sorry,” you mumbled, trying to orient yourself again. As you packed up your things, you looked up to see a rolling dark cloud coming in above your building. It was rare that it even rained in LA, much less stormed. 

Guess your mood really could bring the weather. 

You went back to your house, assaulted by the smell of the flowers after being out of the room for so long, and changed into shorts and a tank top. You couldn’t tell if it was getting darker from the sun going down or from the storm. Either way, you decided it was time for dinner - cooking would keep you occupied enough. 

You pulled up an intricate recipe, one you knew would take a lot of focus and time, writing down the instructions so you could pull up Netflix on your phone and watch a few episodes of your favorite show. The more things on your mind, the less space for Ethan to creep in. 

The method worked, and you moved around the kitchen, cutting up herbs and mincing garlic, enjoying the process and the relief from your thoughts. You frowned when you looked over the tops of the flowers on the counter - the sky outside was so dark that it could have been midnight. You paused, heading over to the doors.

As soon as you opened them, you realized that the storm was going to be a bad one. The wind was whipping, and the temperature had dropped at least 20 degrees, causing goosebumps to rise on your arms. You’d never seen a storm come through LA like that. 

“Damn,” you muttered, closing the door and locking it before heading back inside to finish up your dinner. Even over the sound of your show and the air conditioning, you could hear the wind outside. Eventually it even began to thunder - you didn’t mind. Storms were always your favorite weather. 

You know who didn’t love storms? Ethan. He hated them. You were hit with another memory, from when you’d flown home to New Jersey with him. A storm had rolled through, with harsh winds and hail, and he’d clung to you through the whole thing, making sure you stayed at his side and away from the windows. He couldn’t sleep that night, and you’d stayed up with him watching harry potter to keep his mind off of things.

He wasn’t going to be doing well during this storm, that was for sure. You were overwhelmed suddenly with the thought of him alone in the house, curled up on the couch under a blanket. Just the thought of it made you sick to your stomach - you hated seeing him upset. 

Before you could dwell on it any longer, you were suddenly surrounded in darkness. 

‘What the fuck?” You moved to the light switch, testing it. 

The storm had knocked the power out. Lovely. 

“Well... pb&j it is then,” you sighed to yourself, turning off the burners on the stove and abandoning your dinner plans that definitely required electricity. It was like the universe was playing some sick joke - oh you wanna ignore your problems and distract yourself? Nice try.

With a lost appetite and nothing else to do, you retired to the couch, deciding to just keep watching netflix as the storm rolled outside. You expected it to blow over, but even after two episodes it was still raging outside. It sounded a bit like your house was going to come apart at the seams. 

Trying to ignore it, you kept watching, dismissing your phone’s notifications of 20, then 10 percent battery. You were sure the power would be back on soon anyhow and you could charge it. 

And then everything happened very quickly after that.

It started with a text from your best friend. You swiped down so you could read it.

have you checked twitter? wtf is going on

You frowned at that, exiting out of your texts and opening the app. You didn’t get on often - usually it was just slander, but occasionally you would check to see what was going on in the world. And even though it had been a while, your notifications were much, much higher than usual. 

It only took a second for you to realize why. The article had been sent to you at least a dozen times, all with messages of concern attached. But you couldn’t read any of them - all you could see was the TMZ headline.

Dolan Twin involved in major LA crash, scene shut down

And right below it was an image of a mangled white tesla, upside down on the side of the road. 

You couldn’t breathe. That was Ethan’s car. Ethan was in that car. 

“Oh no, oh no no no no,” you groaned, immediately closing out and going to your contacts. He was the first one on the list of recents, and you immediately clicked to call him. 

The dial tone came through three times before the call disconnected.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” you cried, going to your text messages. 

are you okay?  was all you had typed, and then your screen went black.

Your phone was dead.

“FUCK!” you yelled, panic overriding everything else. In the back of your mind you knew that you had a power bank somewhere that you could charge your phone off of, but the thought of looking for it wasn’t even feasible.

By the time you found it, you could be halfway to their house. 

Without another thought you ran to the table by the door, grabbed your keys and sprinted to your car.

The rain was coming down in sideways sheets, droplets stinging against your bare skin as they hit. Even though your car was right outside, you were soaked by the time you threw the driver’s door open and climbed inside. 

You fumbled with the keys, trying to start the car, hands shaking. You were a mess. It wasn’t going to do you any good to get to try to get to their house if you didn’t make it there yourself. 

“Okay breathe Y/N, breathe,” you mumbled, turning the key and starting to back out of the driveway. The rain was relentless, your wipers going as fast as they could on the highest setting as you started down the road. You drove painfully slow, lucky to find that there were very few people out on the roads. You could hardly see in front of you at all.

In the back of your mind, you weren’t even sure why you were going to the house. He wouldn’t be there. Maybe Grayson was there. Grayson would know what to do. 

The drive that usually took 10 minutes took 20 this time -  you couldn’t go over 25 without losing your visibility entirely. Your heartbeat was through the roof the whole drive, and you were blinking the panicked tears away as they came so you could see. Both hands were gripping the wheel so tight your knuckles were white until you got to the house. You pulled up to the small box that unlocked the gate, typing in the code without thinking.

The power was out. The gate wasn’t going to open. 

“Fuck!” You yelled again, still panicking. In a moment of insight, you remembered something. When they’d installed the gate, you’d been there to help supervise, and the installer had shown you all something.

“There’s a reset code that will activate the battery pack in here. In case you ever get locked out, or there’s no power. Just type it in and then type in your usual code and it should open right up.”

“Shit, shit shit,” you mumbled, reaching out the window and trying to remember the code, remembering the numbers but not the order. 6736. No. 3766. No dice. 7663. Nothing. Finally, you tried again. 7636. The buttons lit up blue, signaling you’d done something right. 

You quickly typed in the code, letting out the breath you’d been holding when the gates began to swing open. You rolled up your window and pulled up the driveway, throwing your car in park and climbing out immediately into the rain.

And to your confusion, the driveway was full. The Porsche was parked in it’s usual spot, the Bronco behind it. Ethan’s Jeep was to the side, and there right in front of you was the Tesla, in perfect condition, parked and waiting.

“What-”

“Y/N? What the fuck? What’re you doing?” 

When you turned at the voice, you could have fallen to your knees right there in the rain. 

Standing outside the front door, still under the stoop and protected from the rain was Ethan, whole and unharmed. 

Every doubt you’d had, every question you’d asked yourself about what you wanted and what you needed over the last few days was suddenly irrelevant. None of it mattered. You’d do anything, you’d do everything for him. There wasn’t a single fiber of your being that questioned it anymore. He was the only man you were ever going to love, and you’d been dumb to think otherwise, even for a second. You were meant to be with him, and that was the end of the story.

You ran straight for him, dropping your keys on the way and barreling into his arms. He caught you, the force of it almost knocking him off his feet. 

“Hey, hey what’s wrong, what’s goin’ on?” He carried you inside, into the dark, and it wasn’t until you were out of the wind and the rain that you realized that you were sobbing. You could hear the gasps coming from you, like they were being ripped out with hooks. You knew you were scaring the shit out of him, but you couldn’t get enough of a breath to even say anything. All you could do was cling to him, relish in the reassurance of having him there with you, perfectly fine and alive and safe. You buried your face in his shoulder, breathing him in as best you could through your gasps.

He seemed to realize that you were incapable of speaking, so he sat down on the couch, you in his lap pressed to him as tightly as you could be. He wrapped his arms around your back, squeezing you to him in the most blissful way as the sobs continued, rough and ragged. 

“Sweetheart, you’re shakin’ like a leaf. You must be freezing,” he mumbled, grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapping it around your back. You were still soaking wet, and you knew that the water would probably ruin it, but he didn’t seem to mind. 

“Are you hurt? Baby please - talk to me.” He pulled back just enough to look at your face, and even just that tiny loss of contact was excruciating.

“Are you hurt?” He repeated, some of the worry leaving his eyes when you shook your head no. “Then what is it? What’s wrong?” 

“I saw an a-a-article, and I t-thought-” you couldn’t get the rest of the sentence out, you just broke down again.

“I saw it too. They already took it down, and their asses are getting sued,” Ethan said, a bitterness in his tone that you weren’t used to.

“I thought it was your car, I thought it was y-y-you,” you stuttered, burying your face in his neck.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call?” 

“I tried- it disconnected.”

“I was probably on the phone with the lawyer,” he mumbled his explanation, still unsure. “But hey, I’m okay, I didn’t even leave the house today. I’m safe, and I’m here. I’m right here.”

“Yeah,” you whimpered, the tears still coming. 

“Tell me what to do, tell me how to help,” he pleaded, obviously at a loss. He’d always told you he hated seeing you upset, even a little bit. 

“Just hold me, please,” you asked, feeling vulnerable but knowing it was what you needed. 

“Okay. Okay.” 

He wrapped his arms around you even tighter, pressing you into his chest. His arms were strong and stable as they coiled around your waist. You focused on the feeling of them around you, holding you steady as he rocked side to side, so subtle that you weren’t even sure that he realized he was doing it. You breathed him in, the smell a mixture of his skin and his deodorant and the ghost of the cologne you knew he’d put on that morning. It was the most grounding thing you could find besides his voice in your ear, whispering sweet reassurances.

It took a few minutes, but you were able to breathe again, body finally processing out your adrenaline and allowing you to stop shaking. He didn’t let go, even when the tears had ceased - he kept his hold, leaning his head against yours, pressing kisses to your temple, your neck, your shoulder. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” you whispered when you got to the point where you could trust your voice, sitting up and taking a deep breath. 

“Me and smooth cat are just fine,” he said, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It was the first time you’d laughed in a week, and it felt almost foreign. 

“There’s that smile I’ve been looking for.” Ethan breathed out a sigh of relief, reaching up to wipe your tears. When he did, you laid your cheek in his palm, so thankful for the feeling of his skin on yours. 

“I’m sorry you thought I died. But I’m really fucking glad you’re here,” he admitted, staring at you, eyes tracing the features of your face in the candlelight. You’d barely even noticed they were burning, giving off just enough light for you to see each other.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” you smiled. You couldn’t believe you’d ever thought you could live without him. 

“Did you get my flowers?”

“Which ones? The first bouquet or the 15th?” You teased. 

He blushed at that, cheeks turning your favorite shade of pink. “I went a little overboard huh.”

“I made friends with the flower delivery lady,” you shrugged.

“Of course you did,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I missed you so much, you have no idea.”

“I missed you too. I missed us,” you sighed. 

“Does that mean... does that mean we’re okay then?” He asked it nervously, obviously scared of what you would say.

You watched the relief cross his face when you smiled. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

“Oh thank god,” he said, hugging you to him again. The blanket fell off your shoulders and you shivered as the cold air hit your skin again. You weren’t dripping wet anymore, but you were still damp, the occasional droplet falling from your hair and onto Ethan’s shirt. 

“Well in that case, let’s get you warmed up huh? And get you away from these windows.”

You let him carry you to his room, past his bed and into the bathroom where he sat you down and started running a bath and lighting the candles he always kept on the sides of the tub for you. It was as easy as breathing to undress and climb into the water, feeling it warm you up from head to toe. Though the most relaxing part was when Ethan climbed in behind you, leaning you back gently so you were resting on his chest. 

And when you rolled over just slightly so you could look at him and tell him that you loved him, you knew exactly what he was going to say. The words were so much sweeter falling from his lips than they had been when they were on paper.

“I love you more.”  

[sinsbymanka]

ooh for the femslash feb prompts- f!aeducan/f!brosca. sfw,your choice between 'Trust me, you don’t want to meet my family' or 'You’re right. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m just making it up as I go along.'

Thank you friend! I've never written an Aeducan/Brosca before. Both of those work SO WELL for this pairing but I went for your first prompt: "Trust me, you don't want to meet my family." I’m submitting this for @dadrunkwriting!

Title: To Fall on Her Sword Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Words: 1523 Relationships: Female Aeducan/Female Brosca (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Multiple Wardens (Dragon Age), Warden Brosca (Dragon Age), Warden Aeducan - Freeform, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Post-Betrayal, The Aeducans are f’ed up, Brosca has had enough, Arguing, Kissing, Orzammar Culture and Customs, Femslash February ​ Summary: Natia Brosca knew that letter Gorim Saelac gave Sereda Aeducan was gonna cause problems. She just didn't expect the problem to be Sereda gaining a bit of a death wish. And, by the Ancestors, Natia has saved Sereda's life enough that if anyone is going to kill the princess, it's gonna be Natia.

Read on AO3

Natia knew that letter was gonna be trouble the second that warrior handed it over to Sereda.

Not that she could read it even if she got her grubby hands on it. Natia’s reading lessons were only brief moments snatched by the fire at night with Sereda, which meant she was just beginning to recognize the shapes of letters on signs in Denerim. She couldn’t even hazard a guess as to what they meant.

But there were other things Natia understood very well. She recognized the shocked relief on the warrior’s bearded face when he saw Sereda’s blonde braids. She knew the emotion choking his voice meant he was on the verge of tears when he fell to his knees in the marketplace before their exiled princess. She even recognized the way he stumbled to his feet, it meant a wound hadn’t properly healed and now never would.

She saw the way Sereda reached for him greedily, the way her eyes flashed with concern when he tripped on his aching joints.

More importantly she knew the parchment he handed over, rolled into a tight little tube, was the creamy, expensive kind that cost the same as a full meal in Dust Town. The expression on his face spoke volumes, none of it good. The wax sealing it shut had the crest of Orzammar embossed within it.

...And Natia knew that the tiny tremor in Sereda’s fingers was the only hint of emotion the princess would show as she took the paper and tucked it away with a brisk thank you.

If that was the last of it, Natia would be happy. But Natia also knew it wasn’t going to be the last of it. She just didn’t know exactly what kinda trouble it was gonna cause until they had Denerim at their backs and were heading deep into the Brecilian Forest.

Natia didn’t realize that Sereda had lost her damn mind.

The princess fought like a warrior, Natia always appreciated that about her. Ancestors, it had been the reason she threw her lot in with an exiled royal rather than risk imprisonment. Sereda had confessed once that she’d been meant to lead her father’s army, and Natia could see it. In another world, she’d have been a warrior queen fit for the ballads.

In this world, however, Sereda was a pain in the ass that was going to get Natia killed.

Sereda threw herself into battle with no thought for strategy. Her warhammer swung into one wolfman’s ugly maw, shield bashed into another. She didn’t pay the slightest attention to the monsters flanking her. She just drove onward in relentless, foolish pursuit of blood.

If Natia wasn’t there, Sereda would be dead. Again.

But nobody was gonna pin a medal on her Duster chest for keeping the Kinslayer alive. They probably wouldn’t even do it if she managed to help end the Blight and save all these surfacers. Sereda Aeducan could afford to go out in a blaze of glory - they’ll remember her regardless.

Natia Brosca didn’t have that luxury. So when the last wolf dropped, she turned her ire to the Princess.

She’d lost her helm somewhere, Stone knew where, and her blonde braids were askew. There was blood running down her cheek, but Sereda’s blue eyes burned with desperation.

Natia knew that look too. It was the look some of the Dusters got in their eyes when they’d made up their mind to find their last fight.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Natia asked.

“There were werewolves.” Sereda picked up her helmet and looked at the dented metal critically, pointedly not looking at Natia. “Now there aren’t. Problem solved.”

“Come here,” Wynne ordered Sereda, exasperated. “Your head wound needs tending.”

“Let her keep it,” Natia declared hotly. “She’s in such a damn hurry to get herself killed, may as well not waste the healing.”

“Natia,” Wynne scolded.

Notably, Sereda didn’t deny it. She simply glared at Natia across the battlefield. Not to be deterred, Natia glared back. The silence stretched between them until Sten finally broke it.

“Asala-taar,” he rumbled. “That is what my people call it. The urge to give up because the battle is too much. We cannot afford such an ailment now.”

We can’t afford it in you.

Sereda with her quick mind. Sereda who knew what to do, how to talk to these nobles, Sereda who was indomitable. If Natia lost her, she may as well walk up to the next darkspawn and kindly ask him to finish the job that the Joining had started because there was no way they could do it without her.

No way Natia could go on without her.

Wynne’s hands reached for Sereda and she flinched away. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Natia challenged.

“I’m fine!” Sereda used her best princess voice. It rang off the trees with regal authority, silenced both Wynne and Sten in a moment.

Natia simply drew herself up to her full height and leveled her dagger in Sereda’s direction before whispering one word. “Bullshit.”

Sereda cursed under her breath and turned on her heel, vanishing into the trees despite Wynne’s sputtering protests. Sten growled in his own language and Natia moved without thinking.

“Stay here!” she called behind her, flying after Sereda’s retreat.

She did not lose this stubborn princess to the Deep Roads. Natia would not lose her here.

“Can I not have a moment’s peace?” Sereda called over her shoulder, sliding down the riverbank until her boots sunk in the mud. Natia clammored down after her easily, unencumbered by her leathers.

Her quick fingers twisted into Sereda’s chainmail and tugged. “What was in the letter?”

“What letter?” Sereda asked through clenched teeth.

“The one that made you decide to sodding end it all!”

Sereda whipped out her grip and turned, glaring at Natia. She could see herself reflected in those clear eyes, all frazzled orange hair and reddening face. “It is none of your business.”

“I saved your life twice, I’m sorta attached to it.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Well I did!” Natia yelled, crossing her arms over her chest. “And I’ll be the one that decides when it ends, thank you very much. So come out with it. What did your loyal knight give you?”

“My loyal- Gorim?” Sereda asked, momentarily perplexed.

“Yes! The one that looks like he’d throw himself on his blighted sword for you.” Natia sighed, exasperated. She understood that much better than she particularly wanted to. Sereda had that damn effect on people.

“Gorim was my Second. Before-”

The pain that crossed Sereda’s face was raw. Violent. Before. Before Sereda was banished, before they called her Kinslayer, before she almost died in the Deep Roads.

Before she picked the Grey Wardens, before she would ever have looked twice at Natia Brosca or the brand on her cheek.

“My father’s dead,” Sereda said quietly. “I’ll never see him again. The last time he saw me, he sentenced me to death.”

“So you wanna finish the job in his honor?” Natia asked. “He was a shite father. Lots of people have shite fathers, Sereda. You don’t have to please him, especially not now.”

“He knew I was innocent.”

That surprised her. Sereda reached up to her breastplate, touched the space over her heart. Natia wondered if that was where the damning letter was stashed. Sereda’s voice grew hoarse, but she kept talking. “He knew I was innocent, that I didn’t kill Trian, and he exiled me anyway to avoid the scandal.”

...well, lots of people did have shite fathers. But Sereda’s father was truly the king of shite.

“He ruined his only daughter’s whole life to avoid a scandal?” she asked dumbly.

Tears popped into Sereda’s bright blue eyes, but they didn’t fall. She nodded. “There’s no king now. He’s dead, but they won’t make Bhelen king. The other candidate, Harrowmont, doesn't have enough support. There’s no King, the throne is empty, my father is dead, and I am…”

She trailed off helplessly and lifted her arms.

“Better off,” Natia declared, crossing the distance between them to run her gloved fingers over Sereda’s bloodstained cheeks. “You’re better off. You don’t belong to them, not anymore.”

Sereda was hers now, and Orzammar could rip her from Natia’s cold, dead fingers.

“We have to go back, Natia,” Sereda whispered, tipping her face to nuzzle into the cool leather while her eyes closed. “I have to go back.”

They did. They both did. “I’ll be with you. I’ll be your new Second, watch.”

Sereda smiled. “Maybe I can meet your family.”

That startled a laugh from Natia’s chest. The beautiful, perfect Sereda Aeducan in her former hovel across from her drunk mother and ferociously cunning sister? It was too absurd. “Trust me, you don’t want to meet my family.”

“Why not?” Sereda asked glumly. “They can’t be worse than mine.”

Natia took Sereda’s chin in her fingers and guided it to her lips. “Not true,” she murmured softly, “I’m your family now. And I’m pretty sodding great.”

The smile underneath Natia’s lips when they crashed together tasted like sweet, sweet victory.

[bebepac]

The Pink Lady

I am participating in @wackydrabbles prompt# 42 “Let’s be honest with ourselves, we knew this was going to happen” will appear in bold

Liam, Riley, Hana, and Maxwell all belong to Pixelberry.  All other characters are my own creation to support our story.  

This is the 7th Chapter of Fast Forward To catch up on Liam and Riley’s future Life please click 

Fast Forward

I wasn’t kidding when I said this story keeps taking turns on me, and it did yet another one.  I really can’t control this one.  There are some mentions of some things if you are not following  the Life of Riley  or  some of my wacky drabbles or one shots.  Mentioned in this fic:  Riley’s horrible driving, The Pink Lady Guitar, and Riley’s Accident.  To get more back ground on them check out Ride with Me (my very first fic i posted)  and Ghost Girl from the life of Riley, and January 18th  Links are :  

Ride With Me

Ghost Girl

January 18th

Song inspiration for this chapter:  When I Was your Man by Bruno Mars.  

https://youtu.be/ekzHIouo8Q4

I don’t own rights to any of the music or lyrics displayed.  

Summary:  Von stays at the palace per Riley’s request.   Riley spends the day at the private beach with friends with Von.  Von attends his first courtly event, as Riley’s guest and gives her a very special gift from her past.

Warnings:  Profanity, depression, sadness, domestic violence,  Angry Liam.... becomes Evil Liam.  This just went dark.  Sorry guys not my intent.

Word count: 2733

Tagging:  @queenjilian @dcbbw @burnsoslow @loveellamae @lovemychoices @bbrandy2002 @nomadics-stuff @kimmiedoo5 @cordonianroyalty @cordonia-gothqueen @lodberg @aestheticartwriting @glaimtruelovealways @custaroonie @texaskitten30 @janezillow @atha68 @my0123456789universe @kaitycole @indiacater @losingbraincellseveryday @yukinagato2012 @furiousherringoperatortoad @marietrinmimi @hopefulmoonobject @sevenfuckslefttogive @ac27dj @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @mrsdrakewalkerblog @islandcrow @xpandabeardontcarex  @axwalker @sanchita012 @queenwalton @flutistbyday2020 @gabesmommie1130  @mom2000aggie @queenaaliyah @jared2612​

"Maybe you can fool her with that you are on vacation bullshit. Cut the crap. I saw your little interview. What do you really think you can accomplish by coming here now Donovan?"

"I think the real question is, why are you so insecure with your relationship, that you are coming at me like this bro?"

"Because I feel something from you; the only reason you have come here is to try to take My Queen back with you. You do realize we have a family together right? Riley loves me and our children, and I love my wife."

"Then why is she not your equal?  The way you overrule her and talk over her.  I have seen you do it millions of times in press conferences.  You even did it to her today.  I asked Riley was she pregnant. I didn't ask you.  You answered for her, like she was incapable of answering for herself.  No wonder I've been hearing from her so much lately.  I feel like all you want is a pretty faced, pretty shaped Queen to give you heirs. Riley is more than that. She is not a trophy. You treat her like she's property. Probably the only reason you want another baby is to show someone that she's yours."

"SHE IS MINE! You are sadly mistaken if you think you are gonna swoop in and …."

"Look who's up?" Riley walked back into the room holding Jaiden bouncing him on her hip. He rubbed his eyes. Liam gave him a kiss on the forehead. "My baby boy."  Ellie and Adam followed behind her, looking inquisitively at the stranger standing before them. 

Von gave them a tiny wave. Adam waved. Ellie looked right at her father. Von could have sworn he saw Liam slightly shake his head "No." Ellie did not wave back. 

"Von, I'd like you to meet our children. Ellie, and Adam say hello."

Both children holding close to Riley's hips peer around her but only Adam said hello. 

"Ellie where are your manners? Say hello to Mommy's friend."

Ellie said nothing but ran across the room to Liam. 

He picked her up holding her in his arms. 

"I'm sorry Von, she's usually not shy. I don't know what's gotten into her."

"No it's okay."  He looked at Ellie. Of course he was training her to be just like him. She was the crown princess.  They both had the same look in their eyes, staring at Von, anger. 

"And this is Jaiden."  

Von remembered everything Riley had ever told him about  Jaiden. When Riley's memories came back she had told him about what happened with him that day during the accident.

"He would be so happy you named one of your sons after him."

"I think so too." Von softly touched Jaiden's cheek and  he giggled.  He grabbed Von's fingers holding them. 

These two were definitely Riley's children, that Riley had the primary influence over them.  Not Crown Princess A-hole that was looking down at him sneering just like her father. 

"Von do you have a place to stay? We have plenty of room you could stay with us. We could get…"

Liam cut her off  yet again. "I'm sure Donovan has made his own arrangements Riley, we shouldn't interfere.  He said he is in fact on vacation, he probably has a plan."

Riley laughed out loud. 

"Actually Liam not really. Riley, you know me so well. One of the things that is my fatal flaw that Riley loathed was my lack of planning. However, bucket list item #13 stay in a palace, so there you go!"

"We can get someone to bring in your stuff. I assume you rented a vehicle?" 

"I did, my stuff is in the car. 

"We can do something fun but low-key tomorrow because I'll have the kids. You don't mind that do you Von?"

"No not at all, it will be nice to get to know your kids."

"We will have a great time, I could even drive."

"NO!" Both Liam and Von screamed in unison. 

"So she's never been able to drive, these are not recent events from just not driving much?"

"LIAM!!!!"

"And I was there when she took driver's ed….three times."

Liam laughed, shaking his head at Riley.  "You're lucky, you're beautiful and charming."

"VON!!!! You gonna tell my business out on the street like that?"

"Mommy says snitches get stitches," Adam chimed in loudly.

"That's right, baby and Mommy's always right."

Von laughed out loud, "The New Yorker is strong in this one."

Von knew right then, if Riley ever left Liam, and he got another chance with Riley, he wouldn't have a problem loving adorable Jaiden and Adam as if they were his own kids. Liam would never let Riley take Ellie. She was too important to him. She was him.

Servants helped bring his items in but one box he wouldn't let out of his sight.  He held it carefully.  "It's a surprise," he said.

"Tomorrow we are having a small get together here in the ballroom.  Please say you will attend as my guest."

He nodded to Riley.  

The next morning after breakfast Riley security team took them to the beach. He noticed right away the way Riley's guard Nico was staring at her in her bathing suit. That's why Liam wanted another child. He's staking his claim on Riley. Liam was so transparent, at least in Von's eyes. 

But how did Riley truly feel? he wondered.

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you recommended this.  I’ve never been so relaxed in my life.   Who knew the thing I was missing from my life was a private beach.”  

Riley laughed.  “I feel the same way when I come here.   I think about all the times we went to the Island to go to the beach.  Do you remember?!? Shoulder to shoulder with people.”  

Inviting her friends also built in babysitters so that he could talk to Riley.  He had already noticed some things he was worried about.

He decided to just jump into it.

“Riley, is something bothering you?”

“I’m just fine.”  She said smiling.  A smile he saw didn’t reach Riley’s eyes.  He saw sadness.  He’d seen that type of sadness in her eyes before.  Riley. Was. Not. Fine.

He watched Riley when she didn’t think she was being watched.   She took a sip of her water and put it down.  He noticed her hands were shaking.  

Riley looked deep in thought.  

**** 10 months ago *** “We’ve tried multiple times to turn the baby, but it’s just not working.  The baby is still breech. Being so close to your due date Your Majesty. I think a C-section would be best.  

“Both Ellie and Adam I had naturally.  “Will there be scars?”  

“We’ll do our best to make them as minimal as possible.”

“And there’s no chance the baby will turn so Riley can deliver naturally?”

“There’s always a chance King Liam, but it looks highly unlikely at this point.  A C-section is the safest option for both mom and baby.”

Liam gently rubbed Riley’s large rounded stomach.  “Yes, we want them both to be safe.  Is there anything else Dr. Ramirez?”  

“That’s all I can think of, we’ll have you back next week, as we’re going to start weekly visits from here on out.”  

“I just had one more thing, Go ahead Liam  I’ll be out in one second.”

He walked out the door. Riley waited until he closed it behind him.  

She chuckled at Riley, “You would think it’s your first baby how nervous you look.”  

“Well,” Riley tried to make her voice sound as nonchalant as possible,”  Since we’re doing a c-section would it be possible to perform a tubal ligation while i’m open already?”

“Queen Riley, you have plenty of child bearing years left, if we do the procedure and you change your mind, we might not be able to reverse it.”

“I won’t be changing my mind, I want the procedure.”

“King Liam hasn’t mentioned anything of the sort.”

“It’s not King Liam’s body, It’s mine.”

Dr. Ramirez gave her a knowing look.  “Is it though?  I don’t feel comfortable performing such a procedure on the Queen of Cordonia without the King’s consent or knowledge. Is there anything else?”

“No, That about covers it,” Riley commented with a stiff smile, walking out the door.  

He watched Riley looking down at herself.  Her hand still shaking touched her stomach for  a moment.  

There were sad tears in Riley’s eyes.   He remembered yesterday when he asked Riley was she pregnant and the mortified look that crossed her face for a second, that Liam didn’t even notice.

Realization hit Von like a ton of bricks.

“Riley. Two things.. First…. Why haven’t you told Liam you’re pregnant, and Second, why aren’t you happy about it?  

"It wasn't always like this. I really think somewhere he loves me. He is a good father Von, but not so great a husband. Sometimes he's sweet, but Sometimes I feel like he forgets we're supposed to be ruling together and makes decisions for all of us like I don't matter. Ellie matters more to him than I do. He wanted more children, so I've given him more children.  I've done and given him everything he asks of me, and at the end of the day, he doesn't take me seriously. I'm not enough. He's the ruling monarch with royal blood. No matter how much I give him it's never enough Von."

"You're enough for the right person Riley. You're enough for me."

Von took her hand in his. She quickly pulled away.

"Please stop. I can't take any more complications than I have right now."

On the way back they stopped with Maxwell to get Von a nice suit. Von saw immediately that Riley was his best friend by the way they talked. He liked Maxwell right away too. He reminded him a little of Daniel.

He sat at the dinner with Maxwell and Hana, they both were her best friends . They talked and laughed with him like they were old friends. He noticed Riley watching them from her dais as she sat next to Liam in their matching thrones.

She made her way over to him "Are you guys having fun?"

"Lots of fun Little Blossom, can we keep him?"

Von chuckled, "Maxwell you're hilarious. And how many stories does this guy have about peacocks?"

Riley let out a deep belly laugh, "He has millions. I've yet to hear the same peacock story twice."

"So Liam wanted me to ask you something, would you be willing to do a song for us, to open up the social part of the evening? I know you're on vacation."

Was this dude really this stupid? He was about to light a fire in this place, and in Riley.

"I'll do it for you, but I need to get something first."

He came back shortly with the same box he had been so protective over. He whispered something to Hana and she nodded.  Riley introduced him when he was ready.

He stood up. "Thank you for that lovely welcome Queen Riley. We grew up together in New York.  And she doesn't know that I spent the last 3 years looking for this, and just found it two weeks ago. This was part of the reason I'm here is to return it to its rightful owner. He opened the box revealing Riley's pink lady guitar. He walked closer so she could see it.

She jumped up out of her throne, gasping. Liam grabbed her arm. She slowly sat back down into her throne.

"I know what you're thinking. When I went to my fans to help me find it, I left one detail about The Pink Lady off the information.  After a few false alarms, Someone messaged me about this one. I just asked them one simple question, was there anything unique about it? They told me yes, on the back there initials engraved in the wood RB and DJ."  

Liam looked at the tears in her eyes in confusion.

"My Dad bought me that guitar. You know I lost almost everything I owned after the accident.  I could never find it, I looked for it, every chance I got."

When he handed it over to her she quickly checked the back.  She remembered her and Von engraving their initials after she played her first song she had ever written for him. She closed her eyes, also remembering walking around the store with her Dad, finding it for the first time.  She opened her eyes again looking at Von.

He smiled. "You'll never guess where it was.  In California. Thirty minutes from where I live."

"Hana if you would."

Hana sat at the piano playing for him. When he started the second verse, of the song,  Von's eyes met Riley's, and they never left hers.

My pride, my ego, my needs, and my selfish ways Caused a good strong woman like you to walk out my life Now I never, never get to clean up the mess I made, oh And it haunts me every time I close my eyes

It all just sounds like ooh, ooh ooh ooh ooh Mm, too young, too dumb to realize That I should have bought you flowers And held your hand Should have gave you all my hours When I had the chance Take you to every party 'cause all you wanted to do was dance

Now my baby's dancing But she's dancing with another man

Although it hurts I'll be the first to say that I was wrong Oh, I know I'm probably much too late To try and apologize for my mistakes But I just want you to know

I hope he buys you flowers I hope he holds your hand Give you all his hours When he has the chance Take you to every party 'Cause I remember how much you loved to dance Do all the things I should have done When I was your man Do all the things I should have done When I was your man

The crowd roared in applause.  

"Riley, play something for your people."

"That won't be necessary," Liam interjected.

Riley ignored him and had gotten up putting the strap over her shoulder.  

"I'm a little rusty, so hopefully it will sound okay.  This has always been my favorite song since the first time I heard it."

When Riley played the first few chords,  Von knew what she was playing.  She was playing their song. Playing it for him.

Liam recognized it right away too.  She could feel Liam's anger  radiating off him.

When the song was over everyone was cheering for Riley.  Liam excused them. Von saw how he gripped Riley's arm as they walked out the ballroom, and he didn't like it.  He followed them. As he got closer to the door. He heard Liam's voice full of anger. "HOW DARE YOU EMBARRASS ME LIKE THAT!"

Then he heard an unmistakable sound. He slapped  Riley.

Von pushed the door open seeing Riley in tears holding her face.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING MAN?!? DID YOU JUST HIT HER?!?!?"

"Von please go," Riley pleaded. "You'll  just make it worse."

"Riley you don't have to take this from him. Is this how you treat the mother of your children?!?!?"

"I will treat her however I please."

He yanked the guitar from Riley grip, holding it in the air.

"Please don't Liam. Please, I'm sorry Liam. PLEASE DON'T!!!!"

Liam ignored her. He slammed it hard to the ground, shattering it.

Riley fell to her knees bursting into tears. "This wasn't about him Liam, My father gave me this, and YOU RUINED IT!!!!!!! WHY?????"

"Maybe now you will think twice about sharing looks of lust for another man so blatantly in front of your King and His People."

He stood  towering over them. Von's grip tightened around Riley as to protect her.

"Let's be honest with ourselves, we knew this was going to happen."

He stared down at Riley on the floor crying, shaking. Von held her in his arms, her back against his chest. Von was staring at Liam in pure disgust.

"I'm sure you know you're not welcome in the royal chambers tonight, unless you're ready to do whatever your King desires you to do for you to be forgiven. Otherwise, find alternate sleeping arrangements."

Liam walked out the room, the door slamming behind him.

“

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: Fallout of Darkness -- Another Meme

I unfortunately don’t recall where I got this one, though I do remember picking it up in the #fallout 4 tag -- I think a number of people were using it for their Sole Survivors. Which is what I did! With the added twist of “let me do this universe’s Alice as well!” So you get double the information for the same price! :P

Note: This is vaguely set I’d say about halfway through the plot of Fallout 4 -- Victor and Alice have had the run-in with Ug-Qualtoth and gotten Alice sunlight immunity (see this post for more details), and they’ve met at least most of the other companions. Also yes, pets -- Victor does indeed adopt the “wounded dog” encounter in my verse! (And if anyone knows of a mod that lets you send her to a settlement for real. . .) Please remember I haven’t actually played much of the main plot myself, so things may be a little vague/prone to changing once I get further in!

name ➔

V: Victor Fitzwilliam Van Dort – my mother wanted me to have an "aristocratic" middle name, for some reason.

A: Alice Pleasance Liddell – yes, just like the historical Alice. I guess after Lizzie decided I should be "Alice," my parents decided to go whole hog with the reference.

are you single ➔

V: [with a warm look at Alice] No, I'm not.

A: [with a warm look back] Not anymore.

are you happy ➔

V: [still with that warm look at Alice] Very much so.

A: [smiling] A lot happier than I was in the past, that's for sure. Which is kind of sad, given it's post the nuclear apocalypse now. . .

are you angry ➔

V: [thoughtful] I – I was for a while. Not so much anymore – the worst of it has cooled. But – there's some things I think I'll always be angry about.

A: I think my answer's about the same. Given some of the nonsense we've been through, some low-level anger is just to be expected, honestly.

are your parents still married ➔

V: . . .they were when the bombs dropped.

A: Mine were when that bastard Bumby set our house on fire to cover up what he'd done to my sister.

NINE FACTS

birthplace ➔

V: Burtonsville – it's a tiny village in England. I don't actually remember it, though – my parents moved to Boston when I was only about a year and a half old. I grew up here in Boston and the surrounding area.

A: Oxford, England – my father was the Dean of Christ Church at the college when he was alive. I have fond memories, but I haven't been back since the fire.

hair color ➔

V: Black. Mother occasionally insisted it was dark brown, but – black.

A: Black, though weirdly I actually was almost a redhead as a child. It darkened straight through brown to this as I grew up. I've never been sure why it got so dark, though I suspect all that time lying in Rutledge, getting probably-inadequate nutrition and light for a growing girl, didn't help matters.

eye color ➔

V: Dark brown.

A: Green, though Victor likes being poetic with descriptions like "emerald fire" sometimes.

mood ➔

V: . . .er – generally anxious? Trying to be helpful regardless?

A: Sarcastic? To hide that I'm more worried than I let on?

gender ➔

V: Male, he/him.

A: Female, she/her.

summer or winter ➔

V: Summer – I'm not a fan of the cold. Though spring's my actual favorite season – I love seeing everything come back to life.

A: I feel like I should like winter more, because of the longer nights, but now that we've actually fixed the sunlight issue. . .yes, summer. I'm not really a fan of the cold either.

morning or afternoon ➔

V: Afternoon – I've never been that much of a morning person, and mornings tend to be – stressful in the Commonwealth.

A: To be fair, so are the afternoons, but – yes, generally you're not dealing with threats still wiping the sleep from your eyes in said afternoons. And in my case, they're closer to night, which is still the time when I feel most myself, so. . .

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

are you in love ➔

V: [exchanging a very warm look with Alice] Yes.

A: [giving it right back] Very much so.

do you believe in love at first sight ➔

V: Maybe not true love, but attraction? A sense of connection, kinship? Certainly – that's how I felt when I first met Victoria, and later Emily.

A: I can get behind that – my mother said she felt a pull toward my father when they first met. . .but I don't think love at first sight exists. You need to get to know someone – form a solid bond first.

who ended your last relationship ➔

V: [darkly cheerful] The American and Chinese governments, throwing nuclear missiles at each other! [sighing] No, that’s not quite fair – yes, they drove us into Vault 111, but the ones who actually murdered my wife and girlfriend were Kellogg and the Institute. The former more obviously than the latter, but. . . [voice cracks] Damn it, what was wrong with putting everyone's life support back on. . .

A: [puts a comforting hand on his arm] In my case, I never really had a romantic relationship before – even friendships were kind of fleeting, or long-distance. I've gone along with flirtations in the past to get meals, sure, but none of those ever turned into relationships. The closest I had was – well, Heather getting blood-bonded to me, which I didn't even mean to do. I was just trying to help her, and I didn't realize at the time. . . [bites her lip] I ended that – sent her away before she could get hurt by my enemies, explaining that what would make me happiest would be for her to be with her grandmother and stay in college. I wanted to go back and maybe try to help her some more once I was done with LaCroix's bullshit, but then. . .I hope she had a good life, in the end.

have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔

V: Not knowingly – goodness, what started off my, Victoria, and Emily's threesome relationship was an attempt not to break anyone's heart! It worked out very well, until. . . [shakes his head]

A: [squeezes his arm gently] I probably broke Heather's heart by sending her away – she looked so sad as she walked out the door. But it was for the best – I dread to think what would have happened to her if the Sabbat had realized I had a ghoul! Other than that – depends on if anyone I've drunk from was hoping for more than just a "quickie." I doubt that, though.

are you afraid of commitments ➔

V: I'm afraid of them being forced on me because of people randomly promoting me every time I even get close to an organization. [sighing, reaching up to fiddle with a chain around his neck] But – maybe a little. Seeing – seeing your wife get shot in front of you. . .then your girlfriend's half-rotted corpse beside her. . .it sticks with you.

A: [nods] Being the only survivor of the house fire that killed your family sticks with you too. As does two of the most prominent men in your life being the bastard who killed them and was trying to wipe your mind, and the bastard who killed you and turned you into a bloodsucker. Add in my own rather unromantic nature, and – yes, I did pretty much avoid commitments for a while. [smiles at Victor] I think I'm a little better about it now, though.

have you hugged someone in the last week ➔

V: Oh, yes – Preston and Piper just the other day, in fact!

A: I'm not usually much of one for being touched, so I don't hug much. . . [thinks for a moment, then hugs Victor] But I'll happily make the answer a "yes" in this case.

have you ever had a secret admirer ➔

V: Does the brief period of time where Emily was crushing on me before Victoria noticed and decided to let her and me know it was okay if we wanted to date too count? Otherwise, I really don't think so. I wasn't popular with girls before meeting Victoria.

A: Bumby never made it clear whether he wanted to just turn me into a prostitute or fuck me himself as well, but I wouldn't count him anyway, because he was a horrible waste of flesh. So I have no idea – don't think so. Heather was – very open about her admiration.

have you ever broken your own heart ➔

V: Again, what happened between me, Victoria, and Emily was an attempt to avoid that. . .I can't say I have. It seems like others always break it for me.

A: Sending Heather away did hurt me a bit – not in the same way it hurt her, but it was nice to have someone else around the haven. . . [looks up at Victor] And I did resist romance initially here. Fortunately tall, dark, and handsome here didn't let me break my own heart.

SIX CHOICES

love or lust ➔

V: Love, definitely. [going pink] I mean, lust can be nice, but. . .

A: Love – even alive, I wasn't particularly interested in sex. And as a vampire, any urges that way now go toward sucking on people's necks. Which I guess is sex-adjacent, but still. . . Maybe "love" for serious relationships, "lust" for getting a meal.

lemonade or iced tea ➔

V: Oh, I haven't had either in ages. . .and I recall needing a lot of sugar for both to enjoy them. . .I guess lemonade. I think I had that more often.

A: Literally can't drink either these days, for multiple reasons. . .but I'm going with lemonade because I have fonder memories of that. And – hmmm. I wonder if it’s possible to make a variation with that “plasma fruit” Ted came up with at Wildwood Cemetery. . .

cats or dogs ➔

V: Dogs! I had a dog growing up, Scraps, who was my best friend! And Victoria, Emily, and I were going to get a dog shortly after. . . [pause, shakes head] And now I have Dogmeat and Mutt! They’re a good pair.

A: Cats! My best friends growing up were the family cat, Dinah, and her two kittens, Snowdrop and Kitty. Being a vampire does tend to make animals rather mistrustful of me, sadly, but I had some luck feeding ferals pre-War. And we managed to trap a cat recently who didn’t immediately try to claw me and run away – I’ve named her Kit-Kat.

a few best friends or many regular friends ➔

V: A few best friends – I'm n-not good with lots of people, and I just. . .I'm always so awkward, s-socially. I'd rather have a couple of people I know I can trust.

A: The same – I don't trust easily, after all the bullshit I've been through. Give me a small circle of people I know have my back over a larger group of more casual friends any day.

wild night out or romantic night in ➔

V: Romantic night in. I'm not much for parties. I like staying home with the people I love and just – being together.

A: Sort of like "love or lust" above, this kind of depends. I like a romantic night in for any actual relationships, but I did my fair share of clubbing to find someone to drink from back in the day.

day or night ➔

V: Well, I do like a good sunny day, but. . . [looking at Alice] I've really come to appreciate the nights in the Commonwealth. And not just because of the stars.

A: [smirking at him] Flatterer. . .but yes, night. For the longest time, it was the only time of day I could be out in. . .and even though it's wonderful now to be able to go out during the day and enjoy that, night is still when I feel most myself.

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out ➔

Victor: No, but that's because I never did. I grew up in the middle of a plague – I didn't have much incentive to sneak out! It took until I was fourteen for cases to drop enough in our part of Boston for my parents to be comfortable sending me to a school with other children, and by then I was so used to staying at home, sneaking out never occurred to me.

Alice: Oh god, yes, the New Plague, that was horrific. . .on my end, yes, I was. I tried to sneak out a couple of times as a small child to have adventures in the garden late at night or in the middle of storms. . .if my parents didn't catch me, though, my older sister did. I think I only actually got outside once, and even then it was only for a couple of minutes before Lizzie caught up with me. Mostly because she was trying to sneak out too, and didn't want her little sister tagging along.

fallen down/up the stairs ➔

Victor: . . .yes. To both. I – I can be pretty clumsy if I'm n-not paying attention to where I'm going.

Alice: [giving him an odd look] I've fallen down stairs – rushing around as a child on imaginary adventures – but never up. I'm – not entirely sure how you manage that.

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt ➔

V: [tugging at the chain around his neck again, which is revealed to have a blue butterfly pendant and a gold wedding ring strung on it] Yes. Something I can't have, I'm sad to say.

A: [playing with her own necklace, which is an old iron key shaped like the symbol for Venus] Same here. I'd like to think your Victoria and Emily and my parents and Lizzie are in the same place, at least.

wanted to disappear ➔

V: Oh, plenty of times. I have an unfortunate knack for saying the wrong thing and then wishing I could melt into the floor. And – well, I suppose every time I've been hiding from enemies and wanted to just turn invisible counts. . .

A: I wanted to disappear in the asylum a couple of times, in the sense of 'just stop existing.' Survivor's guilt does a number on your brain, let me tell you. . .though I can actually disappear these days, thanks to Obfuscate! Though, annoyingly, I genuinely can't do it if someone's looking.

smile or eyes ➔

V: Oh, back to these? [thoughtful] I – honestly, I think eyes. Victoria and Emily's eyes are one of the things I remember best about them. . . [smiles at Alice] And my current paramour has some of the most beautiful eyes in the Commonwealth.

A: You're going to make me blush despite being dead if you keep on like that. Though, what's good for the goose is good for the gander – while I like your eyes, it's your smile that really warms my undead heart.

shorter or taller ➔

V: Um – shorter out of necessity. I haven't met many women who are six-foot-three.

A: Similarly, I'm five-foot-five, so I kind of have to go taller.

intelligence or attraction ➔

V: . . .I assume this means intelligence or looks, and – I can't deny I like a pretty face, but the main reason I got together with the women I did is because I could hold a good conversation with them. Intelligence.

A: My attraction seems to be based on actually getting to know a person, and I don't suffer fools gladly. Intelligence all the way.

hook-up or relationship ➔

V: Oh, relationship. I never had a hook-up. I can't – I can't just do the "one night stand" thing. I need something a little more.

A: Another one where my actual feelings versus how I'd act to get a meal clash – though admittedly, I never had a "proper" hook-up. I'd just get someone in a quiet spot, suck a bit of blood, and let them get on with their lives. But now that things are better, I'm only too happy to commit myself to a real relationship.

FAMILY

do you and your family get along ➔

V: Well, it’s something of a moot point now, but. . . [he waggles a hand, making a face] I have to admit, I never liked my parents much. They weren’t very “hands-on” in raising me, and I often felt like they considered me a burden. Or a bargaining chip for social status. I did my best not to rock the boat just because upsetting my mother never ended well, but. . . [sigh] It wasn’t good.

A: By contrast, I had a perfectly lovely family life – my parents were kind and encouraged my sister and I in our various pursuits, and Lizzie. . .she was the best older sister a girl could have. I felt like I could tell her anything, and even if the age difference made playing together difficult, she did try whenever she had a spare moment. The reason I have such an “enthusiastic” imagination is because Mama, Papa, and Lizzie never tried to stifle it. I was – I felt so loved and happy the first eight years of my life. . .and then Bumby took it all away. [she looks away] I – it’s not fair.

would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔

V: [completely deadpan] I was frozen at the age of 27 in a vault designed to store people long-term for unknown reasons, and was finally thawed 210 years later, to find my wife and girlfriend dead, my son kidnapped, and the world above having been turned into a wasteland of vicious wildlife, super mutants, and raiders. With parts of it still irradiated because people are STILL launching small nuclear missiles at each other. Also the people who kidnapped my son can apparently make synthetic humans and use them as spies. And in the middle of all this, I’ve somehow ended up the leader of a bunch of little farms and such that composes a ragtag peacekeeping force that is still better than the actual assholes in power armor who have moved in. You tell me.

A: I can top that – turned into a vampire at age 20 after moving to Los Angeles to make sure I was far away from a murder I’d committed, then ended up roaming the world after a literally-explosive end to my time there as everyone’s errand boy. Was in Boston when the bombs dropped and got staked when my hidey-hole collapsed in on me, meaning I too got essentially “frozen” for 210 years, until a raider attacking this fellow here yanked the stake out and I responded by sucking him dry. Leaving me in a post-nuclear apocalypse trying to survive in a world where anyone’s blood might be at least slightly radioactive. Also we discovered that vampires are in fact the result of a little bit of some Lovecraftian horror worshiped by the people over at Dunwich Borers leaking into our world and infecting our souls. So that’s fun.

have you ever run away from home ➔

V: No – again, grew up in a plague, never really wanted to leave the house because of it.

A: I threatened to, once or twice, when upset, but I never followed through. Though I guess my moving to California could be construed as a kind of running away after I killed Bumby. . .but I never thought of Houndsditch as home. Same with Los Angeles, after I left there in the wake of that mess with LaCroix.

have you ever gotten kicked out ➔

V: No, though – sometimes I thought my mother was thinking about it. Whenever my social awkwardness reared its ugly head at one of her parties.

A: My parents were never the sort to do that, and Bumby of course wanted me close at Houndsditch. And I left polite vampire society on my own terms after LaCroix.

FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔

V: . . .I’m not entirely sure how to classify my relationship with Strong. But I know he thinks more highly of me than I do of him. I – I try to be understanding, but it gets very tiring to listen to him go on about how one day Super Mutants will kill everything.

A: I had to be a lot friendlier to a lot people back in Los Angeles than I would have liked. . .but I don’t think any of them were laboring under the delusion we were actual friends. So no – if I don’t like you, I don’t hide it.

who is your best friend ➔

V: Alice, Preston, and Piper, definitely – they’re the ones I’ve traveled the most with, shared the most with, and just – feel the most comfortable around. [smiles] Oh, and Dogmeat of course.

A: Victor’s definitely my best friend – and frankly, I feel pretty close to Piper and Preston myself. They’re good people. [she smirks] Though Hancock and Nick are definitely the best people to snark with.

who knows everything about you ➔

V: Probably most of the people in the Commonwealth, I’ve had to explain about being frozen and what happened to my son a lot. . .more seriously, I’d say the above three. They’re the people I’m closest to, and the ones I’m most comfortable sharing information with.

A: I don’t know about everything, but – yes, Victor. And probably Piper knows the most after him, given she wanted to interview me for her paper.

[beccabear93]

Okay, I know I post a lot about my fics here lately, especially Dancing Queen, but it’s because of this: Writing this fic has, very literally, changed my life. In little ways, yes. In ways that are still a work in progress, yes. But it has still affected me more than anything else I’ve ever written.

First of all, it just makes me fucking happy. Less so now than when I started, but I still really enjoy some parts of it. And when I started, writing some scenes would literally leave me rolling on the bed, grinning to myself. I wrote more in 2 months than I have in 3 years for other fics, because I just loved it so much that I couldn’t stop. I thought about it 24/7. (Yes, I even had dreams about it. In fact, one of the biggest chapters in the fic, which we haven’t gotten to yet, originated from a dream.) And I’m trying to get that love and motivation back.

One of the things that I think of most when I am either watching the Honeybee Inn sequence or writing Dancing Queen is the way that Cloud holds himself, the way that he walks. I’m so aware of it while writing (even in times when I don’t mention it) that I’ve become hyper-aware of the way that I hold myself. I find myself doing posture checks about 10 times as often these days, which is... a really, really good thing, because I have back problems.

Writing about Cloud exploring his feminine (yes, we all know that word is bullshit in this situation, but it’s the best word for what I’m trying to explain) side and facing his fears is helping me do the same. Despite being a cis woman, I’ve never connected well with typically “feminine” things. Part of it was a lack of interest, but a lot of it was fear. Fear that I wouldn’t do it right, that I wasn’t “enough” of a woman to pull it off, whatever the fuck that means. But in writing about a man dressing up and just generally being brave, I’ve found myself wanting to do the same, The picture I posted of myself recently, with the makeup that I fucked up? It was the first time in about two years that I’d worn makeup or a dress. The first time in probably about a decade that I did my makeup myself. And yeah, I messed up, but it didn’t completely destroy my self-esteem the way it would have even just a few months ago. If anything, it just made me want to learn more so I can do better next time.

That night also led to another realization: that I loved the feeling of dressing up, but I hated how I looked. I hated that the dress looks so differently on me than the last time I wore it, because I’ve let myself gain so much weight. I was too embarrassed to go outside in it, or even to send my best friend a full-body pic. And yes, I know this site is all about body positivity and screaming at anyone who dares to get down on anyone (even themselves) about their weight, but it’s as simple as this: not only do I not like how I look, but it’s just not healthy. This is not my normal weight. This is my weight when I don’t exercise or eat right for years. And I don’t feel good in my body, either. I run out of breath unbelievably easily, I feel inactive and lazy all the time, and I go into another depression spiral every time I think about any of it.

So that night was one of two things that made me decide to start a weight loss program--one that’s actually healthy, that doesn’t rely on me cutting carbs or fat or sugar out of my life entirely. One that is actually showing tiny results after just two weeks, when other things didn’t work after I’d tried them for six months. The other reason was my decision once and for all that I want to adopt in a few years. I want to be able to carry my baby without it being a strain. I want to run around and play tag with my kid. I want to crawl around and give them piggyback rides and play all the crazy games they come up with. I want to be able to cook healthily not only for my sake, but for theirs, too. And it’s hard. I’m constantly busy, between working overtime and exercising and cooking and shopping and writing and tag wrangling. But after just two weeks, I feel better than I have in a long time. I have more energy, I’m happier a lot of the time, I’m proud every time I make something that’s healthy and tastes good, I can walk for 30-40 minutes and barely be out of breath for the first time in years... I feel good. And yeah, I haven’t lost much weight yet, but I’m sure that’ll come in time, and in the meantime, I feel healthier, which is so much more important.

And to get back to the original topic, the final way that writing Dancing Queen has affected me: it reminded me of my love of dance. I’m far from talented in that department, but I’m still dancing around my apartment like a dork and having tons of fun watching videos of competitions and researching different kinds of dances. It’s another one of those things that matters just because it makes me fucking happy, which means a lot when I’ve gotten used to years and years of almost constant depression.

[ruckystarnes]

Author: RuckyStarnes

Pairing: Clint Barton x Reader

Warnings: some swearing

Words: 863

Square Filled/Daily Challenge/Prompt: #9. “Don’t be mad but we have a child” “what the hell do you mean you have a kid” “no no ‘WE’ have a child” holds out puppy/kitten

Written for/Dedicated to: @honey-bee-holly ‘s 700 Followers Writing challenge

Summary: This will be the last time Clint let’s you go to pick up chicken feed.

A/N: Cut it down to the wire LOL because sometimes my best stuff happens as a result from procrastination 

Clint was busy working on repairing the banister of the stairs leading down into your basement when he heard a car approach. He stiffened for a moment, unsure of who it would be as his teammates would contact him if they wanted to visit, but the moment he heard the base of one of your guilty pleasure songs, he knew he could relax and keep working. It wasn’t like he forgot you were gone, he just have grown accustomed to the quiet that settle around your guys’ cabin in Upstate. It was like he had his hearing aids off 90 percent of the time with how still it would be there. He could hear your boots on the gravel, your voice low and muffled through the wood and concrete. A small smile crept on his face as he began to hammer the nail into the railing, securing it to the post beneath it. He gave it a quick shake to test to see if it would hold fine, and after a brief moment, he deemed it safe and started to pack up his tools before ascending the stairs to greet you. You were still in the garage when he got into the kitchen, setting his toolbox on the counter when he saw the door open.

“Hey babe,” he greeted cheerfully, walking towards you but hesitated when he notice you poking your head out of the door and move your hand. You were speaking too low for him to register, frowning because you only did that when you were trying to surprise him or keep a secret. “Babe? What’s wrong?” You turned towards him with wide eyes and a slightly opened mouth before smiling fully.

“Oh nothing, love,” you replied with a slight tremor in your voice, but your body language was betraying you. You watched him approach you with hesitation, his eyes roaming over you.

“Bullshit,” he countered slowly, stopping inches from you, eyes narrowing slightly as he focused on all the parts of you that he could use against you in an argument.

“Clint...please...don’t be mad, but…”

“But what?”

“But...we have a child,” you said just above the octave that you knew he could hear.

“What the hell do you mean you have a child?” he replied a bit too quickly, words dripping with disbelief and hurt. Of course he missed a word because his mind was racing.

“No, love. No, no. WE,” you replied, your hand motioning between the two of you before moving to sign with your next words. “WE have a child.” His eyes flitted to your abdomen and you shook your head as you opened the door and a little white ball of fluff tripped in, dark eyes looking up at Clint as the tiny pink tongue stuck out.

“Um...Y/N, what…”

“He was at one of those Human Society things at the pet store picking up the feed for the chickens,” you rushed out, “his eyes locked with mine and I was a goner, Clint. Gone. Like that!” You snapped your fingers and the small dog looked to you with his grin. “I just had to get him. I got dog food, leash and lead, dishes, pee pads, crate, everything we need for him in the truck.”

Clint looked at you, the disbelief slowly fading and being replaced with a smile and he shook his head. “You, miss, are in trouble,” he laughed, leaning down to let the small dog sniff his hand before scooping him up to hold him to his chest. “Did momma name you already?” His finger found the small tag on the purple collar that was mostly hidden in the white fluff. “Trickshot? Really?”

“What? He had to use some skill in order to get me to walk over there and pick him up,” you laugh, closing the door fully now. “I figure we can nickname him Tricky.”

“When I finally realized you said ‘we’ and not ‘I’, I thought you meant you were pregnant,” he smiled, rubbing his nose against Tricky’s.

“Well, there’s that too. That’s another reason why I got the puppy. Gives us more practice getting use to someone else’s needs.”

“What?!” He didn’t mean to shout, but you spoke so nonchalantly that he thought maybe you were joking.

“We have about seven months to get your archery shit out of the spare room,” you smiled, walking up to him as you pulled a picture out of your purse, showing it to him. His face made your heart swell and tear pricked your eyes; he was smiling from ear to ear as Trickshot licked his chin.

“A puppy and a little bean?” he finally managed out, eyes still focused on the small little blip on the paper. “Seven months? I can do that. I can get the guys to help.” He leaned in and kissed you softly, his free hand cupping your jaw. “We might need to reschedule the wedding thought.”

“You know Tony can marry us,” you laughed, “so we can get married whenever. It’s just paper, love.”

“Call Nat and go shopping for a dress. I think I wanna marry you sooner than later.”

[endlessgreysky]

August 10, 2.04 am

Fun thing about ptsd is that my brain protects itself from things, until it doesn’t. A lot has happened recently and I went numb for actual weeks, and I just had a tiny moment where I felt a tiny emotion and suddenly every emotion just rushed into the crack so quickly I had a panic attack.

Lost one of my friends. Out of everyone I’m friends with she’s the one I’d expect it from, she’s the one who’s problematic enough on her own that I honestly didn’t feel anything but rage at what happened. Then I felt nothing, and I felt a little weird and bad for it but it was more important how my friends were feeling anyway. The drama is between my best friend and her, so I’m just here being pissed because my best friend is my person and I’m wildly overprotective of her. But my other friend is like the ex-friend’s person, so it’s awkward bc she’s going to keep being friends with all of us and she just wants us to work it out. She talked to me about it yesterday and I’ve just been thinking about it ever since. The first thing I did when the drama happened was remove her from social media everywhere so she can’t contact me without it being a “request” so that I can choose whether or not I engage. Thinking back I’m just beating myself up because I’m so used to dealing with drama that I never stopped to think if that was the best idea in this situation. And it’s not like I’m super excited or ready or willing to let her even a tiny bit back into my life, but in all honesty everything I feel towards her regards what happens with my best friend, so if they work things out I’ll still have removed her everywhere. I guess I got so used to losing friends and everything being impermanent that it took me this long to realize the friends I’m losing now are the ones I’d started to consider family.

I’m pissed at her, a part of me hates her, a part of me never wants to even look at her face again, but it hurts. It’s just this nagging ache that I felt when I realized that she was my family for awhile and I just shattered a part of my family since she’ll always be around as long as my other friend is. And that ache is what let in all of my other feelings as something besides my numb depressed state.

My mom had someone she loved die today and threw herself into a dinner with my dads shitty fucking family right after. They condescended her because that’s what they do, they condescended me because they think she doesn’t know how to raise me, and honestly I just hate being around them and it was in the house I grew up in and it was just really uncomfortable. Not to mention that my dad exists to make me miserable. But my mom thought things were going really well and she was actually feeling great when we went home, only to find that my cousin posted the picture she took while my mom watched her take it, and tagged everyone in it except my mom. And it made my mom upset and excluded and all of those feelings which made me really upset bc no one gets to ever fucking make my mother feel that way. She deserves better. Quite honestly, I deserve better, but I don’t care enough about myself for that.

My two best friends in the entire world deserve better too. The one I talked about earlier has a lot of dumb family drama and it’s been a hell of a lot worse lately, and there’s nothing real I can do to help her besides talk about how nice it’ll be when we have an apartment together. It’s not very reassuring since I don’t even have a job yet. And her birthday is coming soon and her family is just remaining shitty as if she’s not about to turn eighteen which should be huge and exciting. And my other best friend goes through a lot and I just can only help her so much through text but she lives in another country so there’s literally nothing more I can do to help her. It’s the worst feeling in the world, to want to fix something or help someone and literally being unable to do it.

I’m really lonely. I still haven’t told my mom about my ptsd and I’ve kind of been closed off because I don’t want to tell her anymore. My best friend lives in another country, my other has a job, and my only other real friend now is moving into a dorm soon. Those are my people and they’re amazing people and I love them with everything in me but it’s just like, there’s something missing. I guess I was really in love with this guy that broke my heart and it’s not even him anymore, it’s just that I miss that feeling. I’m tired of being alone. And almost all of my trauma is from my ex, so being in a healthy relationship is literally the only thing that works best to heal and shit bc it replaces the bad memories with good ones. My therapist says if I do that enough it should blot them out a lot, and it’s worked so fucking well with my friends that I’m just dying for it to happen romantically. I’ve been having more flashbacks and nightmares again bc my ex is back in town and it’s just looming over my head. And just bc all of my mental health is getting worse. And I have a lot of methods to cope now that are helping, but there was something about my recent ex that just helped. Like, I had a flashback once and he wrapped his arm around me and that was all it took to calm me down. It was just the feeling of being with someone in that way that was safe and comfortable and it was something I’d never felt before and idk if I’m a junkie for it or if I miss it or what but I don’t know how to really get better without that happening. And it’s going to take so much time for that to actually be able to happen again and it’s just killing me ig. I’ve also jumped into this self destructive state where I’ve convinced myself that I want or even need to see my ex again for like closure or some bullshit, as if I don’t know the fucking panic I would go through even if we stayed forty feet away from each other the entire time.

My life has gotten so quiet and depressed recently that I’ve stopped listening to music most of the time, which is like ridiculously sad. And concerning. Music is literally the thing in this world that means the most to me that I care the most about and I just don’t fucking care about it right now. I don’t feel like I have the mental energy. I have no idea why or what’s wrong with me but you know what? It’s terrifying me.

I’ve been drowning all of my problems in fanfiction like nobody’s business. It’s wildly problematic bc I’m burying my feelings, I’m not doing anything bc on the days I don’t read all day I’m sleeping all day bc I read all night. I haven’t written anything for my novel in a month now and I’m very aware of it but I couldn’t be bothered to work on it, which is bad bc I’m about two weeks away from missing my second goal for it and I’ll beat myself up a lot once I start having feelings again. (Funnily enough I’m going numb again now that I’m getting all of my emotions out here.) I’ve deadass cancelled plans with myself and other people to read the fanfiction. And like it’s great fucking fanfiction but it’s getting far passed even the term unhealthy. In fact, I literally started crying during my panic attack earlier because I’d convinced myself Wade Wilson was so real that when reality hit I couldn’t handle it. It’s like I was using Wade comforting Peter (Parker, its Spideypool) as my own emotional comfort in that kind of relationship way I’ve been missing. And even knowing he’s not real I’ve been taking a lot of comfort knowing he would beat the shit out of my ex if he ever met him. But yeah I’ve been channeling myself through their relationship and living through it and it’s been one of my most incredible acts of escapism yet, and then I realized I don’t actually have someone to hold me when I break and reality crashed onto me so much fucking harder. And I think it’s also that I know Wade’s character enough to trust him and so I’ve become a fictional characters emotional leech and I let it get so intense unintentionally that I literally couldn’t handle the reality that didn’t have him in it. This kind of makes me sound crazy lmao. Funnily enough, I used to have breakdowns like this a lot whenever I got way too into my escapism. But usually it was just a lot of sadness - the only other time I had one at this level was when I started to realize that my entire fantasy universe wasn’t going to come to life when I grew up. Basically, I had a very intense childhood but like fuck i was lonely back then and I guess I must be that lonely now. At least this time I’m creating fake significant others instead of having only imaginary friends.

My therapist and I haven’t been able to meet much over the summer and it’s been enough for me to pull back and make my issues seem better than they are, which is probably a lot of the reason I’m suddenly a fucking mess. Luckily for me, she’s gone this week so I won’t get to see her 🙃. But anyway, I think I got everything out and I definitely feel like this helped. I needed to vent in a way I haven’t done in a while. I’ve also been being misgendered a LOT on my recent trips and it’s all by family which affects me worse bc they know my identity and don’t work to correct themselves. So that’s not helping. And it might be almost 3 am now but I’m definitely diving straight back into fanfiction for awhile longer before going to bed. I can admit I’ve taken it way over the top but escapism is my bitch for a reason and I’m not giving up on it now. I think I am gonna try to make some sort of note for my therapist so that I don’t keep talking about my issues like they’re better than they are. I always do it but with her it’s a problem lmao. Oh, I’m also avoiding sleep tonight bc I don’t want nightmares. So there’s that gem. I turn 18 in 15 days and I’ve stopped making plans bc I literally don’t care anymore. Taking stock on the things I’ve stopped caring about, I’m literally a huge fucking mess and I didn’t even realize. Oh! And I’ve also started having a lot of self esteem issues bc it’s hot outside and my stretch marks on my thighs show with my shorts on. That hasn’t been a problem for me in years.

Anyway, I think I’m finally done now. I seriously doubt anyone read all the way through this long ass vent, but on the off chance that you did, thank you for your time. I really appreciate it. I hope you’re having a better time than I am, you deserve all of the good things and I hope you’re getting all of them and more. Please have a good morning, day, or night. Stay hydrated and do something nice for yourself bc you deserve it! All my love 💕

Chris xx

[i-am-parsec]

Unaddressed Letters - Part X

                                                                                                              10/08/2018

You were standing in the doorway. I know it was you because I wasn’t scared, I couldn’t see your face but I felt your heavy glance. I lay frozen, afraid to lose you; you wouldn’t move, despite that pull, that warmness so familiar that would force me to reach out for you whenever you looked in need of a hug.  No, you didn’t move, you remained in the doorway and I, on your bed. Time and space lost their meaning to me while you were there, try as I might, I can’t tell you for how long we simply stared at each other but it was strangely comforting, I can tell you that. Not so much when you tried get closer to me and I realized - it wasn’t the lack of light in the hallway why I couldn’t see you, there simply was nothing to see, you were a shadow, a silhouette, a human-shape void. The cold moonlight that slipped through the window abruptly finished where you started. It scared the living hell out of me, I don’t need to write you that, I’m sure you could tell, that’s why you backed off.

Although, before you left you pointed with your inexistent hand at the bedside table where I write now. I followed it, looking away for a brief second and you were gone. After calling out for you in a meek whimper, I woke up.

Thanks for opening the little cabinet for me, my love. I wished you could have told me what the keys were for though, but don’t worry, it only took like an hour to figure out it was for the lockbox hidden under the bed. I haven’t read the notepad I found there yet, I’m waiting for sunlight as if that would bring any protection over me from whatever it is you hid in these pages, as ridiculous as that sounds.

For now, I think I should go back home. It’s funny, I’ll have to get an Uber because no matter how dumb this sounds, I can’t remember how to get there.

***

Ana and the kids are getting along surprisingly well. You know, I never noticed Esperanza and her having a pretty, little mole in the exact same spot, right below their left eye. I did noticed though how much you loved it, how you would call her “mi lunareja” - given that she had inherited all my moles - as you rocked her on her crib. I have trouble remembering when your lawyer calls or what my sister asked five minutes ago, but those moments, Chase, they stay with me, they give me a sense of direction. Our baby is here, nuestro Samuelito. My dad would have loved to hold his grandson in his arms, I can picture him crying happy tears while seeing his tiny face for the first time.

I can’t keep dancing around this, I have to read but…what happens with me after I do? Why did you feel the need to hide it? Why did you ask me to get it out last night?

I really wish, for once, you would write back, mi amor.

***

The day you told me that the show had been greenlit, I cried so loud I woke Esperanza up. I was hiding in the bathroom, holding my gigantic belly, as if I somehow could silence my screams from Sam’s little ears. Our little girl, despite being terrified of the big scary hallway, walked all the way from her bedroom to our bathroom and just sat there, on the floor, right beside me. She put her delicate head close to her little brother and caressed him. She waited, without questions or demands. She knew better than that. Our smart little girl knew what her mother was to afraid to tell herself - that I had prayed to my father’s soul you would give up on this nonsense, that you wouldn’t force us to move to Los Angeles, that you would realize we were happy there in Sacramento, we’re we had built our house - our home.

But you didn’t. And you landed your new “dream” job. And you bought our new “dream” house. And we left, to the city of dreams.

I remember watching you from the backstage. It felt so odd, I couldn’t find you there, surrounded by plastic faces and blinding lights, I could see your face but not you. I’d often ask myself “how did we get here? How did I let this happened?” I would wonder how our runaway trip with no money and little hope had ended up in this surreal rollercoaster up to the brim with money I didn’t need and goals I didn’t want.

I remember crying backstage and cleaning away the traces of my tears before you came to me, smiling like a madman, shooting one question right after the other. “Did you like it? Did you get that joke? Did I sound dumb saying it? Did my outfit actually look good?”

I would nod, no matter what, and you would hug me so tightly I couldn’t breathe, and still, I couldn’t find you there.

It all makes sense now. You were not there. Your heart was gone. You laugh was fake. You passion was fear. And you goals, your mood swings, your screams…it wasn’t you. I…deep down, I knew, but I kept hearing my mother’s pathetic excuses, “he’s in a bad mood, a lot of stress, it’s not his fault, he’s just angry and needs to get it out somehow, he’s not a bad man.”

She would always justify her boyfriends with those words. She would always have a reason for their fits, their hits, their abuse. You have to understand my horror when I found myself telling those exact words to Esperanza one night. I had promised myself to never hurt my children the way my mother hurt me. I was so focused on that, you slipped out of my worries. You became the enemy, that’s how I lost you, I let this...thing play with both of us, I believed its lies, and now you’re gone.

You included Henrik and Sean in your notes. Whenever I read their names in your messy handwriting, I can almost hear you whispering them in my ear. I am calling them, darling, but not tonight. I had enough pain for one day and I bet they are just as tired as me. Henrik has been spending almost all his time at the clinic and our dear Jack is on tour. He looks happy...but he’s not picking up my calls. Whatever new nightmares we’ll have to face after they read these notes, can wait.

Tonight, I sleep with my daughter and son, and I remember, I hold onto this, onto their smiles and soft hands, onto their life. I hold onto life.

Good night, mi amor, wherever you are.

More info, previous chapters and tag list under the cut

All chapters in chronological order, here. Previous chapter, here. Next chapter, here.

Oh, my god, I hate how this one turned out but I promised to post it tonight so here it is. Might make considerable changes when I’m on a better mood, but for now, this is it, folks. Also, would you guys like it if I added a song I feel fits each chapter’s mood at the top of the post? If you would, please let me know, and in case you’re curious about which song would fit this chapter, click here.

❤️Tag list❤️: @amyxmiaplay @awkward-bullshit @beck-pma @closedworldofmathiel @darktrash-drash @fanfictionrecommendations-com @flyingfishflopsthings @fruitycasket @a-happy-turtle-blog @hiimizzyxoxo @hishex @kitnkas @mcomegalletas @mijako98 @mjjau @mysterious-cupcake-ninja @mysticalanimallover @novasingalaxies @plutoandpolaris @probablyghosting @randomartdudette @saltyweirdbi @sassy-in-glasses @scarlet--raven @septicuniverse @skyewardlight @thevampireauthoress @youllnevertaketheskyfromme

Thanks for reading!!! If you enjoyed it, please reblog!!!

[thehollowprince]

Hey, it’s the “coding” anon here and honestly that answer to my question was excellent and the exact reason I come to your blog. I would absolutely love to hear you go on about the fetishization of m/m relationships!

This has been sitting in my inbox for over a week, and I want to apologize. I'm sorry for taking so long to get to this one, but I'm overworked at the moment. I've been pulling 60+ hour work weeks, by myself and I haven't had off since the first of December, so I'm a little tired. But I'm here and I'm ready to murder this bitch of a subject.

For starters, and for context, in case anyone who sees this doesn't follow my blog or, if you do and don't really pay attention, I am a gay man, so a lot of this comes from my own personal experience.

Now, onward my fandom soldiers.

M|M Fetishization & Objectification

I've only been super active within fandom spaces for the last couple of years. Before that, I just scrolled through Tumblr and reblogged gifsets and fluffy headcanons and whatnot, but even then I noticed a trend in fandoms that made me uncomfortable. That trend was the overabundance of gay men (chatacters) in fandom works, especially when there either weren't any gay men in that show or book or whatever.

I'm not at all saying we need less of that. I want and need more gay characters in the things I watch and read. That's actually one of the criteria I look for before I start a new show, or a book series or comics. I want to see myself represented in the media I consume, even if it is only this one tiny piece of who I am. But the problem for me arose when I saw all these fan works and headcanons and gifsets and thesis length metas about gay or bi male characters that were neither of those things in their original source material.

The biggest examples of this occured in fairly popular shows that I loved at one point, but do to a combination of bad writing and then the horrible fandom, drove me to actively dislike and avoid them. And that's always a sad thing, when you end up losing the love you had for something because others just won't let you enjoy it as it is.

Those two examples are Teen Wolf and Supernatural.

For years I watched people go on and on and on and on about Stiles Stilinski and Dean Winchester and how they were bisexual and so on and so forth.

There's nothing wrong with headcanoning a character as gay or bisexual, especially when those characters are severely lacking on screen and on paper. The problem arose when the fandom at large started to ignore the ACTUAL gay or bisexual characters that are in these shows and focus solely on their headcanons as the only representation in the show.

To start with Teen Wolf, we had, in the first season, an openly gay character that everybody in the school loved, that being Danny Mahealani. This character was introduced as gay from the very start, but oddly enough, there is almost no large fandom meta or fics or anything about him. In fact, a lot of his traits and qualities ended up transferred to Stiles, such as his intelligence and overall popularity. Hell, even Danny's attraction to Derek was stolen and transferred to him. These aren't things that Stiles is overall known for in the actual canon. He's clumsy and socially awkward and on the outskirts of the school like Scott (the main character) and has been obsessed (to the point of being considered a stalker) with one girl since elementary school, but somehow, in fandom, Stiles is suddenly the genius polyglot queer with severe depression who has a crush on the broody muscular werewolf who just wants somebody to love him.

Fandom created this portrayal of the character that didn't exist anywhere in the fandom except for his appearance. The reason I saw behind this was twofold. 1: fangirls (fandom is mostly female) want to see two "hot" guys kiss and get it on because they get off to it, much in the same way that straight men get off to lesbian porn. 2: Stiles (or any of these headcanoned characters) becomes a sort of self insert.

What I mean by that second one is that women and girls find a male character that's not "too masculine", usually kind of gangly or skinny, somewhat on the effeminate side. Someone that they can project their ideas and insecurities and so forth onto so that they can that pursue that relationship with the hunky manly man that they want to bang.

You may be asking yourself, "Why don't they just use one of the female characters as a self insert?" and I'm here to tell you that I have neither the time nor the experience to go into detail about internalized misogyny and how effects the way women do almost everything, even watching and interpreting their media.

But the reason they chose the male character is that, years ago, during the dark days of FF.net there was a lot of self insert OCs that infiltrated almost every level of fanfiction. Which caused the fandom gatekeepers to rear out of their hibernation and just shame anyone who tried to introduce an Original Character to this already beautiful world and ruin it with their lusts. Thus the OCs slowly disappeared and identifying with the male sidekick was born. And this is generally where we get the whole "my smol gay son!" bullshit. (side note: please keep in mind that 75% of shows are male characters and their problems, which is another cause for female fans to identify solely with men.)

So, for years, I watched Danny, and then his boyfriend Ethan, being shoved aside in fandom spaces so that the fans could focus Sterek (Stiles and Derek) despite the fact that both characters were stared to be heterosexual and that, on screen, they expressed nothing but mutual dislike for one another, if not outright hatred. This got so bad that Sterek, the crack ship whose members had no romantic or sexual interactions whatsoever, managed to beat (by a very large margin) actual gay ships from both this show and others in a fan poll. It got even worse when the character of Danny was written off the show (with no explanation) and we were introduced to the character of Mason.

Mason Hewitt was everything that fandom!Stiles was. He was smart and funny and openly gay and crushing on a hot werewolf. He even did the research that the fandom loved to attribute to Stiles, literally everything that the fandom had Stiles doing in fanon, but somehow the love for him (Mason) wasn't that big of a note in the fandom. I mean, Mason was even a major plot point of season five and the pack's mission to stop the Beast, but i heard nothing but cricket chirps from the fandom.

You'd think that after Stiles was written out of the show for the last season that maybe Mason will get some love now, right?

Wrong!

I didn't think it was possible to get any worse, but the fandom proved me wrong. Because instead of focusing all their pent up energy on Mason and his boyfriend, Corey, who had a number of cute moments in that final season, these fans focused on another crack ship that had no basis anywhere except in their fantasies. That ship being Thiam, which is based, once again, around two characters who actively dislike, if not outright hate, each other and even physically assault one another. But no, that apparently is a display of affection by someone who is emotionally stunted and just needs love to blossom and be his true self.

You notice how often the fetishization of homosexuality (even if only imagined) intersects with woobification?

You'll notice, if you look at Danny and Mason, that they're both POC, with Danny being brown (Hawai'ian) and Mason being black. Now, as I've said before on this blog multiple times, I am the Whittest White Man to ever White, so I don't have any qualifications to talk about fandom racism, so I'm just going to leave that little nugget there for you to think about and interpret how you will.

Moving on to Supernatural...

Before we start with this one, understand that I have not watched this show outside of an episode here and there since season eight, because I realized that no, this show wasn't going to get any better, so if any of this is contradictory to what has happened over the past six seasons (god, this show needs to die!) I do apologize.

Dean Winchester... I never really liked this character, especially as the show went on and I started to actively dislike and then, hate him. So it was annoying not being able to go into any aspect of the Supernatural fandom without coming across a post about Dean and his issues or his Bi sexiness or how his brother was mean to him.

Also, people, understand that this wasn't a new revelation for me. My dislike for Dean and the fandom's obsession with making him bisexual just so they could hook him up with Cas wasn't an overnight decision. I was there...

I was there at the Beginning, when this show first aired, when the ONLY constant characters on this show were Sam and Dean. I endured the hellfire that was Wincest and its infection of almost the entire fandom. Like, that right there, that was one of the most extreme cases of m|m fetishization I've ever seen, because the fandom needed to get off to two guys being together so badly that they turned to actual brothers for want of any other male character.

That's why Destiel immediately became so popular, because here was another guy that we saw with semi regularity that wasn't rated to the Winchesters, obviously they were meant to ship them.

Now, you may be asking yourself, "I thought this bitch was going to talk about gay fetishization, not his dislike for one character?" to which I'll just say I very easily go off tangent. But all of that is relevant because, come one of these later seasons, there was a scene where Dean was at a bar and the (male) bartender hit on him, and he didn't react negatively or homophobic.

Oh, my God, I watched my dash and the tags explode in post after post, meta after meta, about how Bi Dean was canon confirmed! Now he and Cas will HAVE to be together, because its canon that Dean likes guys. and Cas is an angel, who doesn't follow human sexual limitations, and... blah, blah, blah.

Cut to a few years later, and we're introduced to a character named Max Banes, a witch and hunter, who is openly gay and flirts with Sam in his first appearance. Where were all of his metas and fanfics and headcanons? Granted, he only appeared in two episodes, but I have watched people in this and other fandoms build mountains our of molehills, going on and on about how two male characters weren't actually straight and how they were destined to be together because the once wore similar style shirts a couple of seasons apart, or because of a carnation in a jacket pocket that signified love via the Victorian flower code (or something like that), or how the wallpaper of that room they shared a scene in was a subtle clue to their true desire for each other, etc.

And I'm not exaggerating there, those are actual examples I've seen in fandoms over the years.

But back to Max, why is it that he was left along the wayside, despite fitting most of the criteria that fandoms love in their m|m ships while Dean had entire thesis level posts about that time he shared a glance with Castiel or he let a bartender hit on him and not get upset?

And its not just these two shows, not by a long shot. If you were to go into literally any fandom of a certain size or bigger, you will come across fans putting two straight characters together because of "the chemistry" they have. Even if those characters are confirmed to be straight - especially if those characters are confirmed to be straight. Because when these loud fans don't get their crack ship that they rub one out to, they scream queerbaiting and homophobia and oppression, harassing the actors and producers and directors and writers.

Here are some others that just pop to the front of my mind...

Asher Millstone from How To Get Away With Murder (saw him shipped with Connor a lot, despite Connor's actual boyfriend)

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson from BBC's Sherlock

Tony Stark from Marvel comics (all because of one panel where he said "ladies and gents" when he announced he was off the market

Literally any male character in the MCU, which is his we get the things like Stucky and Stony that permeate the fandom on almost every level (and some leeway is given here because of the MCU's lack of wueer characters)

Klaus Mikaelson and Stefan Salvatore from The Vampire Diaries/The Originals (honestly, I was surprised that people in the TVD fandom weren't immediately all over Josh and Lucas, because they're literally everything that fans want and use in their headcanon gays)

Kol Mikaelson and Jeremg Gilbert, also from TVD

Elia and Filippo from Skam Italia (despite there being, once again, actual gay characters on this show. Hell, the entire second season was dedicated to a character coming out of the closet and being with a guy)

Etc.

I could go on and on but then this post would seem infinite.

Closing thoughts, please keep in mind that I am just one guy and that my opinions don't represent everyone in fandom spaces. But also bear in mind, that my frustrations are well founded and valid from my own experiences in the fandom.

My sexuality and the fact that I'm attracted to men is not a toy for a bunch of sexually repressed fangirls who think two guys being together is hot.

[unfallen-angel]

Winds and Storms PT. 13

** Gif is not mine **

Masterlist  //  Part 12  //  Part 14

Pairing: Bucky x FEM!reader

WC: About 2k

Warning: Some language. Some fighting. ANGST.

Gosh I love Bucky Barnes so much. Here is the next installment. I think I’m going to wrap it up soon because I don’t want to drag it on for too long. I’m sure I’ll write a lot more Bucky and other MCU characters.

Taglist is open if you still want to be tagged in this series or any of my other posts. Please check out my master list and send me any feedback! It’s always welcome! Seriously!

Tony spends the next hour and a half tell Nick Fury about your past and how they acquired you as an asset to the team. Explaining nearly everything, but leaving out a few of the finer details. Like you being kidnapped and experimented on by H.Y.D.R.A. Those tiny details weren’t really that important, right?

Bucky stood up after Tony finished his extended lecture and cracked his knuckles loudly. “It’s obvious that y/n is not a potential threat to anyone. Can we please just get back to our normal routine and forget about all this?” His fingers grasp your shoulder and squeeze gently.

You reach up and place your fingers over his, tracing your fingertips over the cold metal hand. “I wish it were that simple,” you whisper. “What is it that you want from me?” you ask Fury directly.

“I wish it were that simple,” he repeats your words and smirks, the corner of his mouth tilting up mischievously. “I’ve heard about these...gifts that you possess. S.H.I.E.L.D. could use something like that. A power like that could be harnessed to do a lot of good in the world.”

“It could also do a lot of bad,” Steve interjected sternly. “I don’t like where this is going.” He crosses his arms across his broad chest and moves to stand in front of the door like a human shield.

“Unfortunately it’s not up to you, captain,” Fury responds calmly, his one good eye leveling on you once more. “It’s not up to you either,” he says as you open your mouth to speak. “I’ve come to collect you so we can either do this the easy way or the hard way.”

Bucky lets you go and moves to stand in front of you. The metal in his arm coming to life as the plates shift quietly. “I don’t think you’ll like where this will end up, sir,” he says and his voice is low and deadly. His shoulders are relaxed, but his stance is dangerous. You could pick out the Soldier in the way Bucky moves his head and eyes, like a predator waiting for his prey.

“Stand down, Soldier,” Fury says sternly, but nobody moves a muscle.

“She’s one of us. If you want her then you’ll have to go through all of us,” Steve states and comes to stand beside his oldest friend. “She means more to us than you’ll ever realize and we’re not going to give her up easily.”

“I’m not a piece of property! You can’t just stake a claim and then expect to fight for it like you’re fighting for my virtue! I’m not leaving this compound for a while.” You stand and all but stomp your foot for emphasis. “You can’t just come in here with this S.H.I.E.L.D. bullshit and expect me to just bow down and submit to you. I’m a human being. I stayed in hiding for all these years to keep away from people like you!” Your fingers lace with Bucky’s and Steve’s as you stand between the two super soldiers, comforted by their massive forms.

However, it still wasn’t enough.

Fury looks over your shoulder and suddenly there is a cold barrel pressing against the base of your skull. “Agent Hill will escort you out now. I was afraid this would turn ugly.”

“How the hell did she get in here?” Tony roars, outraged by the breach in security yet again. “This is ridiculous!”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I overrode the system so you wouldn’t know who was coming or going. It should be back up within the next hour or two. No harm done.” Fury waves his gloved hand in a flourish and grabs you by the elbow. Agent Hill grabs your other arm and they both walk you out of the building like a deranged criminal. Your eyes met Bucky’s in a desperate plea, but he just watched helplessly, knowing that if he tried anything they would kill you without hesitation. He had found you once. He would find you again.

Deep in the pit of your stomach you could feel something churning. A hatred toward the situation that you found yourself in. A helplessness toward the broken look in Bucky’s eyes. An anger toward the people that treated you no better than a science experiment. The air around your form began to vibrate, to hum with an energy that was all but unfamiliar to you. It felt almost as if the energy around you was whip, coiled and ready to go, and all you had to do was let it go.

Testing the new feeling that was slowly seeping over every nerve ending in your body, you urged the air to whirl around you, causing just a slight breeze. Something that even the average person would just assume was the weather. You felt nothing like you used to. Not even a tingle of uncontrolled power. This feeling was entirely different, and it was hard to even put into words. You just knew that this power, this energy was yours and you could do whatever you wanted to do with it and it would not leave you depleted.

The whole team had followed Fury and Hill out of the compound and were voicing protests as the three of you approached the band of blacked out SUVs that they had arrived in. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered quietly to them and inhaled deeply. Agent Hill looked at you, confused, as your hair started to quiver.

“Oh shit,” you heard Nat say. “Get back. Get down. Do something because this is not going to be pretty!”

It felt as if you had drawn in all the energy from everything around you until it was coiled tightly around your entire frame, and just when it felt so tight that you were afraid you couldn’t breathe, you exhaled and the rush of energy erupted from your body. The gust knocked both Fury and Hill to the ground several feet away. They both landed with a hard thump. It rocked the SUVs to the side and the balanced on two wheels for a few moments before slamming back down on all four wheels, metal crunching as the tired bounced twice before settling.

You could tell that you had created a window for yourself to escape, but for some reason you found that you couldn’t move your feet. You were planted firmly where you stood as the energy churned and pulsated around you. Drawing close to your skin and then pushing out again. It was almost mesmerizing to watch. Willing the energy to stop, you curled your fists into tight balls, but it only seemed to make it worse.

The feeling in your stomach kept rolling. The energy around you kept churning. It felt equivalent to nearly being crushed to death by the pressure of deep sea diving, whatever that feels like. Panicked, you glance over your shoulder at Bucky and the rest of the team, but none of them made a move to come near you. Fury and Hill had also stood and were watching you closely but unwilling to approach. No one in their right mind would want to get near that massive jolt of energy.

As quickly as it started, the pulsating energy seemed to just vanish. The twisting tendrils disappeared within your body, but the feeling only intensified. You open your mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. Your hair continues to whip around your face like you’re standing in the middle of a twister. Dropping to your knees, you feel completely overwhelmed and helpless, like there was nothing else to do but surrender completely.

You realize just how wrong you had been to feel at ease with yourself. Whatever they had done to you in that base, you were far from better. Far from ever being in control of yourself. Far from being as confident as you were not even moments ago. You hear Bucky shout your name over and over as the feeling overwhelms you, the pressure crushing you all the way down to your soul.

And then it’s over. In a blinding flash of light and tremendous roll  of thunder, all the energy you had absorbed shot out of your body and leveled everything in front of you. Fury and Hill jumped to the side as the rocket shot past them. The SUVs were gone, nothing left but a few bits of crumpled steel and a large crater where they used to be parked. It was a massive blow that you hadn’t even meant to do.

Bucky shouts your name once more as he surges forward to get to you. No one else moves. They’re too shocked to do anything other than blink at the destruction before them. “Are you hurt?” Bucky pants as he drops to his knees in front of you.

You look up at him, tears staining your dusty cheeks, and just shake your head. Unable to find the words. To find any words for that matter. You couldn’t even fathom what you had just done.

Murder.

That is what you had just done.

The word repeats itself over and over in your mind and all the feelings resurfaced from your childhood. Every accident. Every mishap. Every death. All your fault, and there was nothing that you could ever do about it. Just like now. There was nothing you could do about it.

Bucky reaches out and takes you in his arms, resting his cheek against your hair. He inhales deeply and then lets it out. It almost sounds like he’s relieved, but how can he be? Had he not seen what you had done? Of course he had.

You pull out of his grasp and stumble to your feet. “Don’t touch me,” you gasp. “Don’t come near me.”

“Don’t say that, doll. You wouldn’t hurt me. It’s okay now. You’re safe. I’m sure we can fix this.” Bucky holds out his large hand, pleading you to take it, but there is fear in his eyes. He knows you’re going to run. It’s what you always do. It’s what he always did.

You laugh bitterly. “Fix it? I almost just leveled the compound and I couldn’t stop it! I can’t do this. I thought that whatever H.Y.D.R.A. did they somewhat fixed me. I thought maybe Shuri had fixed me, but I am far from fixed! I can’t even trust myself now! At least before I knew what I was capable of. This!” you sweep your arms out in a large gesture. “I can’t live in fear of doing this to anyone else. I killed those people, Bucky! I killed them. For no reason! AND I COULDN’T STOP!” you shout between broken sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry!”

You retreat further into your shell as you continue to back away from Bucky and the rest of the team, who had started to approach warily. Bucky’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he nodded once, understanding. It hurt like hell, but he understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood.

You want to run to him. To bury yourself in his strong arms and never let go. To get lost in his soft, tender kisses. To feel his lips on yours just once more, but you can’t. You can’t risk killing anyone else. “I love you, James,” you whisper sorrowfully and take off, sprinting from the compound without a backward glance. And they let you go. No one dared come after you.

“I love you too,” He whispered and gasps quietly, choking back a broken sob.

Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you replay Bucky’s heartbroken expression. How he reached for you even after you pulled away. How he whispered ‘I love you’ as you sprinted away.

There was nothing to do now but run. And so you ran. You ran from the fear, the anger, the love, the heartache, the good, the bad. You just ran to get away from it all, but you knew deep down that he would find you. He would always find you.

And that little sliver of hope was all you needed to push yourself forward.

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