#. | away at sea (phoenix)

[gilfrespecter]

Listening to coinstar by the growlers and thinking about mel so hard I get nauseous

Ridiculous stream of conscious in the tags apologies but not really

[0mg-bird]

Hangman’s Mystery - J Seresin x Fem! Reader

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Shy! Fem! Reader

Summary: Jake takes you to meet the crew after claims of him hiding you from them. You’re extremely shy and aren’t a fan of lots of people, making Jake be more protective of you. For once, Rooster knows more about Jake’s life than the others do.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety - protective Jake- Fluff!- language.

“All I’m saying is it’s a little suspicious.” Payback says, opening his locker up. Jake just rolls his eyes, preparing himself to go through this debate one more time.

“I hate to say this, but I agree with him.” Fanboy pipes in, pulling his flight suit off.

Somehow, the conversations lately always turn back to you. Ever since the flight crew found out Jake’s been seeing someone and it wasn’t a casual hook up, they’ve bugged him about it ever since. It had come up one night at the Hard Deck, when Coyote suggested to a perky blonde, who had been hitting on him, to focus her attention on the southern boy who was playing pool. She eyed Jake up, pleased with what was in her gaze and moved in on him.

Some of the boys gathered around to watch the cocky pilot work his magic. Coyote figured he was doing the pilot a favor since he hadn’t been seen with a girl on his arm in a while. Imagine their surprise when Jake took a step away from the grasp on his bicep.

“What’s he doing?” Payback questions, looking appalled.

“Is he sick?” Phoenix asked as she finished her beer.

Jake had smiled politely and rejected all advances the girl made, sending her away and going straight to his pool game again.

By the time Rooster came around with a fresh drink, the group scrambled to fill him in on the alien sight they just witnessed.

“He sent her away.” Phoenix said with a slack jaw.

“Like a poor puppy.” Coyote joked.

Rooster took a swig of his beer, then shrugged like they were idiots. “Yeah, he already has a girl.”

“What?!” They all exclaimed.

Ever since that night a week ago, Jake was being grilled on it.

As he takes out a fresh shirt to slip on, Jake shakes his head. “Coyote is getting married, and y’all are icing me for having commitment?”

Payback nods. “Well that’s because we knew of his fiancée, you have been hiding this girl like a dirty little secret.”

“I think him and Bradshaw are pulling our leg.” Coyote pipes in. “I think he made her up just to fuck with us.”

Jake laughs out loud. “You are just being ridiculous now.”

Bob, who has been quiet the entire time, ‘lurking’ as the crew likes to say, finally uses his smug voice. “Look, Seresin, I get it. I had a fake girlfriend too one time in high school, it’s embarrassing to admit, buddy.” His words make the guys laugh, and Jake shuts his locker with a loud clank. “She’s not fake! She just doesn’t really like hanging out with dick heads like you guys. She’s real shy.” He glares.

“Well, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Fanboy states. “Yeah, we want to meet her. You bring her to the Hard Deck on Friday night if she’s real, or else we will never stop bugging you about it.” He says, giving Jake a harsh choice.

His hand runs down his face. “I’ll talk to her about it.”

“He’ll talk to her about it, he says.” Coyote scoffs. “Okay Seresin, go talk to your fake girlfriend about it.”

“She’s not fake!”

~~~~~~~

“Baby?” He calls, walking through your front door. Moving to set his small duffle bag on the counter, he toes off his boots, trying to place where you were in the sea side house. It was oddly quiet, maybe you had your head phones in, oblivious to the world outside.

Down the hall he goes, pushing open your cracked bedroom door. Your scrubs were tossed in the corner, almost making it into the laundry hamper. You lay sprawled in bed, hair out of your braid, asleep in one of Jake’s t shirts he left at your house and some boxer shorts.

Slowly, he creeps to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed as he strokes your hair. You slowly start to stir, opening your bright eyes to him. A smile creeps up your pink lips, you take a deep breath in and twist to sit up.

“Hi.” You grin, happy he’s here.

“You alright? It’s only five, you look tired.” His voice was calm, sweet to you as he stroked the under side of your chin with his finger.

You rubbed your eyes. “Long day.” You breathe. “Mr. Johnson passed this morning.”

Jake’s eyes grow heavy with sorrow for you. He knew that this was normal for you because you were an at home nurse and a lot of the time the elderly patients pass. “I’m sorry, honey.” He says, leaning to kiss your forehead.

You lean into his touch. “It’s alright, I should be used to it by now but…I don’t know, Mr. Johnson was a sweet man, I actually adored his company.” You softly laugh. “But, that’s life, I’ll be fine.”

Pushing the covers further off of you, you lean forward and sweetly kiss the man that’s been in your life for five months. Despite the somewhat short time period, you couldn’t imagine life being any different than what it is. Your mother and sister called you crazy for being with an aviator, reminding you that he won’t stay in town forever, that he is quite literally owned by the government and will be wherever he is assigned to. The thought was scary, getting so attached to someone just for him leave when his ship comes in. It made your anxiety tick higher when you thought about it for too long. But, you don’t think you’ve ever been this in love. You’ll be the first to admit that you’ve never been a social butterfly, you were stuck in a shell, hardly bothering to get close to new people. Your handful of friends knew this about you, so it was a surprise when they met Jake and all of his infectious attitude. Somehow, Jake had a way of prying that shell open, his strong hands took you off the shelf and he learned that there’s a light hearted, good time, girl under all the shy innocence. He loved you for both versions, and it made you love him even more.

You declared that if you could, you’d follow him anywhere.

As he takes a shower, probably using your shampoo, you move to figure out what it is that you wanted to make for dinner.

You turn on some music, cracking a beer open and taking a drink. Soon, the kitchen is full of a delicious scent that Jake smells all the way from the bedroom. He follows the waft, sweatpants low on his hips and a casual tank top over her upper half. Finding you stirring some vegetables, he kisses the side of your head, then snatches the half drank bottle from your hand. This is usually the routine, you can never finish the drink you intend to, so he’s there to finish it for you.

“I want to…ask you something.” He says, leaning back against the counter.

You hum in question, and he loves the little look you toss him from over your shoulder.

“You wanna go out on Friday night?” He asks, making you smile. “Sure, where do you want to go?” You ask, unsure why he seems off.

“Well, I think since I’ve met your friends, you should meet mine. Let’s go to the Hard Deck with them, honey.”

You immediately stop your movements, anxiety sweeping over you. “Jake…I don’t know…a bar…”

“I met you in a bar.” He reminds with a smug look.

“That was different.” You turn to face him. “I was dragged there for my sister’s twenty first birthday and you know I hated it the whole time.”

He smiles at your pointed look. “Yes, I know but this will be different. Look, we’ll go, say hi, prove you actually exist, then come home and have sex on the couch.”

Your eyes widen. “Jake!” You gasp at his bluntness.

“Fine, we’ll do it in the shower.”

“Just stop talking.” You shake your head, hiding your smile. “The crew really doesn’t think I exist?”

He comes to grips with your waist. “They think I’ve made you up, like some sad Freshman geek…like i’m Bob or something.”

“Who’s Bob?” You ask with confusion.

His head dips to your neck. “Come to the bar and you’ll figure it out.” He mumbles, inhaling your scent before nipping at your skin. It makes you laugh, desperate to push him away but his strong arms have you locked in.

Something about him could make you forget anything. Sadness, anxiety, tiredness…the veggies that are burning in the skillet.

As his mouth moves up your throat, he’s engulfing you like a starved man. You try to speak before he’s inhaling you deeply, pulling you impossibly closer with his mouth on yours, searing you with a kiss that makes your knees weak.

“Jake- baby- mm.” You battle. “Okay, I’ll go with you. Jake- vegetables are charring.”

He finally lets go of you, grinning at your laugh and the way you stumble slightly as he lets you go.

~~

Clammy hands run down your jeans, once, twice, three times before Jake pulls you towards the entrance.

“They’re not gonna like me.” You stress.

“They’ll love you.” He states, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“They’ll be bored of me in two seconds.” You continue.

“No they won’t, just breathe, honey.”

You’re submerged into a room full of talk and music, some rowdy college kids are being thrown out and you’re sure you stepped in a puddle of spilled margarita. Your eyes are wide, and you shift closer into the larger body beside you. Jake leans down to whisper in your ear that it’s calmer in the back.

By the pool table, a group is gathered there and you immediately assume this is the infamous crew.

Phoenix is the first to notice, she smacks Payback and Fanboy, motioning for them to look alive.

“Well well, here he is, the man himself.” Coyote says smugly, setting his pool stick down.

A shorter pilot approaches you. “How much did he pay you to be here?” He asks, confusing you.

“What?”

“Just joking, I’m Reuben, but everyone calls me Payback, and you’re gorgeous.” He takes your hand in greeting, making your face heat with surprise and embarrassment.

Payback is pushed aside, and replaced by another. “I’m Fanboy, his back seater which means he’d be shit outa luck if he didn’t have me saving his ass.”

You shake his hand too, unsure of what to say.

“So, what’s your name? Wait, what was the last one, Jake? Abbi? Alison? Sorry, he has a thing for A names. Your name start with an A?” His tone is teasing, but he’s so straightforward, it makes things awkward.

Jake’s grip tightens on you. “Cut it out, Garcia.” He slowly said with a warning look.

Fanboy puts his hands up in defense. “Just trying to get to know this mystery girl you hid from us, Hangman.” He claims, then goes back to your gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” You say softly, brushing him off.

You’re introduced to more guys, all who make some sort of snide comment about your relationship with Jake, well, except for Bob who was utterly polite. To your surprise, you’re introduced to Natasha greets you with a hug.

“Well, you’re real and not crazy so that’s a plus.” She jokes, making you chuckle. “You want something to drink?” She asks.

“You’re sweet, thank you. I’ll just take a beer, I’m not picky.” You say in a grateful tone, she nods, saying she’ll be right back.

Moving in from outside, Rooster makes his appearance.

“I missed the meet and greet? Damn.” He says, making you turn with a grin.

“Bradley, hi!” You greet, stepping away from Jake’s embrace momentarily. Rooster hugs you politely. “Hey girly, how are you?”

The crew grows a sour look.

“You two already know each other?” Coyote asks.

Rooster nods. “I was there when her and Hangman met.” He says so casually.

“Bradley and Ashley come over for lunch sometimes.” You add, making the group look at each other.

“Does no one tell us anything anymore or…” Bob trails off.

The night continues with chatter and worthless bets on pool shots. At no point does your hand leave Jake, whether it’s intertwined with his or on his arm, his back, your finger hooked on his belt loop, anything. It might make you look needy, but it’s something that eases your nerves.

When you do pull away from him with intention of finding the bathroom, he immediately turns when your warmth is gone.

“Where you goin’?” He questions.

“The ladies room, a place you can’t follow me in to.” You tease, starting to walk away.

He’s eyes scan the room, then watch you closely. He doesn’t miss the amount of guys that turn to watch you, scanning you up and down, definitely making comments about how good you fit in your jeans.

His paranoia gets the better of him, he marches across the bar to the hallway where the restrooms are. Back leaned against the wall, he waits, standing guard, in his mind, but the pilots call him a puppy.

“Mystery girl went and made him a golden retriever.” Payback laughs.

Fanboy nods. “We’ve lost him for good. What’s he gonna do when he leaves next month for Po-dunk, Texas- or wherever he’s from?”

They all watch as you and Jake slowly start to walk back to the group. Rooster, who finishes his beer, simply shrugs and leans to line his pool stick up. “He says he’s gonna take her with him and marry her.”

“What?!”

[sometimesanalice]

Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss. 

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”  

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.  

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can’t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier. 

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together?  You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day.  I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

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

[writing-until-i-drop]

Breeding Kink | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader | wc: 1,008

No use of y/n | 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings! Oral (fem receiving), unprotect p in v (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk, mentions of pilot death, lmk if I missed anything

a/n: this isn't the story I thought I'd write but it's what came out when I put my fingers to the keyboard???

Ao3

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Bradley had been back from deployment for two days, having spent that time sleeping and eating as much of your cooking as possible. This deployment had been rough, he had been sent out on a sixth month mission that had taken a year to complete with only intermittent communication home, and one of the other pilots had burned in around the eight month point, something your husband was having a hard time recovering from. 

The two of you were laying in bed, Bradley’s head on your chest, his calloused hand resting on your stomach. You lazily carded your fingers through his hair, which had grown longer while he was at sea, texting with Phoenix about plans for brunch that weekend. Bradley started to rub wide circles over your stomach, tickling you.

“Roo,” You giggled, “What are you doing?” 

“Thinking,” Bradley shifted so that he was laying between your legs, both hands resting on your stomach. You put down your phone, freeing your hands to rest them on his shoulders. 

“You want to talk about it?” Bradley didn’t respond right away. You patiently waited for him, watching him as he cradled your stomach, pressing soft kisses all over it. 

“Freighter had two kids waiting for him back in Missouri,” Your heart broke for the pilot and his family. Your worst nightmare was getting a knock at your door while Bradley was deployed, men in uniform waiting on your porch to tell you that he wasn’t coming home to you. “My mom used to say that I was the only thing that really helped her get through my dad’s death.” Bradley looked up at you with sad eyes, still holding your stomach. 

You knew what he wanted to do. The two of you had talked about having kids one day, when the time was right. The idea of getting your pregnant usually drove Bradley wild, leading to spur of the moment sex around the house, nothing but pure filth leaving his mouth. It was hot as hell every time but you had never really gotten into it to the level your husband had. Except what he didn’t know is that you had gone off your birth control a few months ago.

“I want to have a kid with you, sweetheart,” Bradley whispered, eyes flickering downwards, not meeting yours. “Not just because I might not come home one day because I’m going to do everything I can to come home but because I think we’re going to be the best parents.” 

“Then let’s do it, give me a baby, Bradley.” 

The look of surprise on Bradley’s face was precious. You wanted to snap a picture of it but before you could reach for your phone, Bradley was kissing you hard. You sighed into the kiss, spreading your legs so he fit more easily between them. You were wearing one of his shirts and underwear but both pieces of clothing quickly ended up on the floor alongside his pajamas. 

“I love you so much,” Bradley kissed down your neck, between your breasts, paying special attention to your stomach.

“I love you too,” You moaned as he settled between your legs, placing your legs over his shoulders. Bradley ate your pussy like a starving man, obscene noises filling the room as he licked and sucked, sliding two fingers in when you were wet enough. After a year of no sex, it was a mix of pleasure and pain but you were dying for more. 

“So fucking good,” Bradley kissed the inside of your thigh, “Missed you so fucking much.” 

“Missed you,” Your back arched as he pressed in a third finger. “Gonna cum,” Bradley doubled his efforts, rushing you towards your climax, and he didn’t stop when you reached it. Bradley kept going until you were pushing him away, overly sensitive after so long apart.

“Think you’re ready for me?” You tasted yourself on his tongue as he kissed you and you moaned against his lips. “You ready to have my baby?” 

“Please, Lee,” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I want to have a baby.” Bradley notched himself at your entrance then paused, giving you a serious look.

“Are we actually about to do this or are we just practicing?” You could tell this was important to him, he’d be okay with either answer because he loved you, but he wanted this to be the real thing.

“I’m not on the pill anymore,” You promised, leaning up for a kiss. “We’re going to have a baby.” 

“Fuck yeah we are,” Bradley’s kissed muffled your moans as he thrust into you in one quick stroke, his cock stretching you, filling you completely. “Gonna put a baby in you,” He promised, setting a deep, steady pace that had your back arching and toes curling. “I’m going to fill you up and fuck my cum back into you, make sure it takes.” 

“Fuck,” You gasped as he pulled your hips, shifting you into a position that let him hit even deeper inside of you.

“You’re going to look so pretty, tummy all swollen with your baby.” Our baby. Those words hit you like a ton of bricks. You were going to have a baby with Bradley and you were over the moon. “Shit, I’m not gonna last.”

“Cum inside me, baby,” You wrapped your legs around his waist. “Give me a baby.” Bradley reached between you, rubbing your clit until you were right there on the edge with him.

“Cum for me, honey.” And you did, falling over the edge of your second climax, Bradley following right behind you. The warmth of his cum filling you with the possibility of getting you pregnant was overwhelming, the sensation heightening your orgasm that much more. “That’s it, honey. Milk my cock, take every fucking drop.”

When Bradley finally pulled out he grabbed a pillow and shoved it under your hips, keeping them angled up so nothing leaked out. 

“I love you so much,” He kissed you sweetly, “So, so, so much.” 

Taglist: @wanderingsoul6261 @halflifejess @kyemna @alipap3 @yutangwl @teacupsandtopgun @glenpowellluver @closetspngirl @that-one-fangirl69 @starshinegrl @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @sarah-bear706318 @shanimallina87 @atuman @carolina-on-my-mind03 @winelover27 @cherrycola27 @cevansbaby-dove @runawaybaby3 @helloitzholly

“I love you too, Roo.”

[starseungs]

a phoenix's ashes. ksm.

kim seungmin x gn!reader — from a love that burned bright to a love that fell like ashes. only a sincere wish from the heart would make a love twice as better rise from its remains.

genre/s — exes to lovers, second chance, angst with a happy ending, pianist!seungmin, violinist!reader • 1.5k words

warning/s — not much other than pain, lack of communication as a theme

note — another seungmin fic because i need to get over this man 🧍‍♀️ its messing with my brain chemistry... | song inspos are « i don't want to watch the world end with someone else - clinton kane » and « huling sandali - december avenue »

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

In the windows of your sight, the view tints green.

They were a startling contrast to the bright white lights illuminating the stage ahead. It framed the picture of the scene well, you suppose. With the two performers seemingly glowing in the tints of yellow provided by the Brazilian maple flooring. You couldn’t help but be mesmerized by one of the two, who was donning a beautifully polished violin in her hands. The strings sang in delight as the woman delivered the intricately thought-out vibrations to all those who could hear. 

And those who did, listened. Down to every last sound.

To word it in the simplest way you could muster, it would have to be perfect. The type of playing every person who has learned the violin even once has dreamed of achieving. A small but content smile makes itself known on your face as desires and memories paint themselves in splashes. You were once like that; you hummed to no one in particular. Acknowledgement lost in the silence of muted praises. The green you were presented with made much more sense in the moment of awareness.

Envy. It was an emotion you've come to know, admittedly very well. Drips of resentment seeped through the river of flowing emotions that were overwhelming you. Despicable as it was, you let it be. After all, it was what kept you grounded. Only a fool would discard an anchor when heading into the chaotic sea. The precaution may not always apply—especially not in the depths of the darkest waters—but the thought is what keeps a lost sailor hopeful with the dreams of land.

A certain ring of a key brought you back to the moment at hand. In what seems like a flash, your eyes lost sight of the violinist you were dedicating your absolute attention to. Instead, your gaze shifted to her side, where a male was sitting in front of a sleek black grand piano. The furrowing of your eyebrows proved to be an unstoppable action as your mind connected the face to a name. One that you had refused to utter from the moment his figure stepped on stage. A dark, almost black, blue tie hung securely around his neck. It was in a shade that made you shudder with an awful interpretation.

Longing. You deciphered the tingle of desperation. Every piano key he pressed seemed to grow louder in your ears. It almost scared you to think that the pianist would overpower the strings of the violin you adored so much. A clawing feeling sank itself deeper into your skin, wishing to avoid memories of the time when the two sounds co-existed as a symphony. But it was eventually deemed unfruitful as the score ran to its end.

If only—oh, if only you could retrace your steps back to that time. Back when the music floated carelessly through the air. Without fear or judgement of those who were out of the equation. Back to when you loved with a passion. The days that let your heart skip in a melody resembling the piece being played. You let out a silent chuckle.

Maybe in another life. For now, the present will have to do. A soft smile graces your lips once again as you watch the pianist stand, plastering a content-looking smile at his splendid performance. 

You could only clap in respect.

Witnessing the last stage of the day brought an odd feeling. With the hall lights appearing to guide the audience away, the darkness being chased away was akin to multiple weights being lifted off your shoulder. That itself would have been the best way to end your afternoon. 

If only that didn’t mean having to walk under the dimming evening sky.

“You came,” a voice called out. The two words were short and concise. Straight to the point. A statement rather than a question. The frigid tone of someone who, in your memories, was always so warm made you exhale too shakily for your liking. It was humorous, as it was a great complement to the vibrant orange sunset amidst the chilly air of the incoming night.

The pavement crackled under your feet. “And you made it,” you stated back. His stare shot straight into yours from the minute you turned around. “Congratulations, Seungmin. You did well out there.”

“Even if it’s not the same?”

“What was there to be mourned about? The dynamics sounded heavenly in my ears,” you admitted. The moment of hesitation before your last sentence lingered in the air. You watched a lone leaf swing downward in the space between the two of you.

His next words were spoken through gritted teeth. “It could have been better.”

“Seungmin, you should know by now that I’m never going to be the mind reader you expect me to be.” You sighed in defeat. “I could know you, but I could never be you. So, tell me what you actually want to say.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” he spits out. “You knew me too well that I let myself take advantage of the security you gave me. But that didn’t mean you had to break what you’ve built for yourself just because of me! How much more selfless do you want to be, to the point that you become a selfish coward!”

A car rushed by the barren sidewalk the both of you stood on. The sun had long since been gone, replaced by the moon to be the sole spectator in the exchange between two old flames. Lines of streetlights resembled the lights on the stage you had abandoned, imitating previous performances you once shared with Seungmin. You clenched your fists at the flashes of memory.

“You can’t just hold on to the past like that, Seungmin—”

“Not if it was the present and future that I wanted!” He cries out. “You would never understand what I had to go through when you stepped off that stage for good. The endless nights that I thought to myself, how you could just make that decision like it was nothing. But in the end, it was just me refusing to acknowledge that you had given up. You gave up on me. On us.”

The spear that had lodged in your heart long ago started moving again. You had so much to tell him—that you couldn’t. Not when your conversations with the constellations had you blaming yourself the same way he did to his own. It was never about whatever thought Seungmin made into a conclusion on his own. 

It was the complaint-turned-advice that you failed to apply to yourself.

“Stand on stage again, Y/N.” You flinched at the emotional cracks in Seungmin’s voice. “Stand beside me again.”

In that moment, you proved him right once again. Exactly how long are you going to act selfless to shield your selfish cowardice? You claimed that you wanted to be the muse for Seungmin’s harmony. Yet the moment your skills were questioned, you let go of everything without even a second glance. Now, did you really have the right to dictate whether you were enough for Seungmin or not?

“The violin is no longer for me,” was what came out as a whisper. You watched as Seungmin’s eyes glistened to produce clear beads resembling diamonds. Fear that he might have caught on to the undertone of weariness you were trying to hide after a year of endless convincing. “I’ve left it behind me. It’s been a year.”

A storeowner nearby shuts the front doors of his shop.

“Even the person I fell in love with?” Seungmin asks. “The person you were at the beginning of what we used to call us? The person who shone brighter than the high-grade theater lights, no matter who else was beside them? The same person who could never compare to the stars in the night sky with how much they burned with passion? If so, then tell me right here and right now. That the one I loved has long been left behind by the year as well.”

Your hands twitch to grip an imaginary violin and bow.

“Seungmin.” 

“Please,” he pleads desperately. “Break what’s left of the man who loved that version of you. I refuse to let the fragments of what you were continue to be the reason I keep myself understanding of the pain you bring to me. This is my last wish to you, Y/N. Please let my heart hate you as well.”

Something wet fell in droplets right by your shoes.

“I can’t.”

There were streams flowing down your face.

“I haven’t left that version of me behind.”

A bubbling wail makes itself present in your throat.

“I never forgot how much I loved the violin.”

Slow footsteps echoed through the area.

“And especially not how I continued to love you even throughout that one year.”

Warmth. Like the yellow tint emitted from the Brazilian maple flooring when the overhead lights hit it during a performance. Like the heat of the moment when you reach the climax of a piece. You were back in Seungmin’s arms. In the stage where only you and him existed.

Just where you needed to be.

SERIES TAGLIST ━ STATUS: OPEN — ASK OR COMMENT 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @wnbnny @xocandyy @minluvly @moon0fthenight @estellaluna @hanjsquokka

[hisui-dreamer]

where the light is dim

Pairing: Malleus Draconia x gn!reader

Synopsis: everyone's wandered off in the festival, and you can't even find a familiar face

Tags: poetic themes, fluff, diasomnia shenanigans

Word count: 436

Notes: happy chinese new year everyone🧧🏮🎆!! this was heavily inspired by a chinese poem that takes place on new years (which i attempted a translation of below hehe), and plus it's the year of the dragon, so now we have mal mal festival time (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

Masterlist

The east wind blows breezes a thousand blossoming trees,

The stars, like rain, descend like a gentle breeze.

Bejewelled carriages and fine horses leave a fragrant trail on the road,

Phoenix flutes resound in the wind, the jade lantern’s light flows,

All night, the fish and dragon lanterns dance.

Maidens adorned with gold, extravagant pins in their hair,

Smiling shyly, fragrance lingering in the air.

In the crowd, searching countless times,

Suddenly, turning my head,

There stands the one, where the light is dim.

―青玉案・元夕 辛棄疾

The street pulses with energy, vibrant and bustling beneath a canopy of scarlet lanterns that sway gently in the evening breeze. Each lantern, adorned with intricate designs and tassels, casts a warm, inviting glow that bathes the cobblestone pavement below in a rich crimson hue.

The air is alive with the hum of chatter and laughter, as locals and visitors alike meander through the thoroughfare, their footsteps echoing against the ancient brick walls that line the street. Vendors peddle their wares from colourful stalls, their voices competing with the lively strains of traditional music that drift from nearby taverns and teahouses.

'Where is he?' you thought to yourself, tired from the heavy ornaments painstakingly styled into your hair as you turned and turned your head to catch even a glimpse of him amidst the bustling crowd.

Malleus had invited you to a short trip to the Far East, prompted by Silver's longing to explore the lands of his childhood hero, and swiftly organized by Lilia's enthusiastic urging. You're not sure whether Lilia was aware of it or not, your travels happened to coincide with a grand local festival.

The street offers a multitude of intrigue, from mouth-watering scents from the food skewers to the delicate souvenirs hand-crafted by merchants, and it's not long before you find yourselves gradually becoming separated from the group amidst the bustling crowd. The allure of the vibrant surroundings pulls each person in a different direction, until eventually, you can no longer spot any familiar faces amidst the sea of glamorous outfits adorning the local ladies.

A whirring noise catches your attention, and you turn to the direction of the sound. Your gaze is met with the spectacle of fireworks illuminating the night sky, their explosions of brilliance painting the heavens with vibrant hues, scattering glittering sparks like diamonds. Brilliant reds, dazzling blues, and alluring golds intertwine and collide, creating a breathtaking tapestry of colour that captivates all who gaze upon it.

It's a view you want to share with him.

You weave through the crowd once again, deftly sidestepping opulent carriages and elegant ladies. Their alluring perfume mingles with the joyous melodies of the flutes, enveloping you in a whirlwind of sensation that leaves you momentarily dizzy.

A glance down a narrow alley catches your attention, and in the distance, a lone lantern flickers. Squinting to sharpen your focus, you realise you've found the very person you're looking for.

Malleus, tucked away in the shadowy corner, his focus fixed solely upon a weathered lion stone statue.

You can't help the exasperated smile that graces your lips.

Maybe you should've expected that.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[cyborg-franky]

For the lovely @argothesame thank you for the love and support! I feel rusty so I really hope you like this <3<3

Marco x GN Reader SFW WC: 740

“It’s so fuckin’ hot I hate it.” You whined and draped yourself over the couch in Marco’s office, fanned yourself with a file of paperwork, and looked utterly pathetic. Marco peered over his glasses to look at you melting. He chuckled and stood up from his work.

“It’s not that hot yoi,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulders and you shot him a look as you carried on fanning yourself, tugging at the neck of your shirt desperate for anything else to help. The windows were open but not even the lovely sea breeze was enough to cool you down. 

“Easy for you to say, you run cool because of your devil fruit,” you said with a huff and watched him open the fridge, get a large jug of water and pour you both a glass, soon joining you on the couch once you’d shuffled up enough to make room for him. You took the glass and held it against your forehead with a sigh. “Thank you,” he just nodded with a lazy smile as you started to down the water. Enjoying how cool and refreshing it was, you needed this.

“If Ace comes in today, I will throw myself into the sea. The boy is so hot; he raises the temperature just by being in here,” you warned. Marco hummed, sipping his drink and putting an arm around you. You were about to groan and make a fuss, cranky from the rise in the summer temperature, not needing extra body heat but you saw the flicks of blue in the corner of your eye and feel the air change. He was cooling you down, and you leaned into him with a relieved mumble.

You closed your eyes when he started to run his fingers through your hair, playing with the strands as his cooling touch chased away the nasty sticky feeling. You didn’t feel like you were sweating buckets now as you felt a happy shiver from being in Marco’s proximity. He kept you wrapped in his arms and the cooling blue flames. You started nodding off when the cup of water you’d held tightly tilted enough to splash water down your top. You made a started sound and sat up. Marco took the cup from your flailing hands as you wiped yourself down with a mumble. 

Marco chuckled, the low rumbling in his chest as he watched you panic dry yourself. “What’s the matter, little bird? I thought you wanted to be cooled down,” the lazy smile soon slid into a smirk as you fixed him a side eye, flapping your shirt up and down to do your best to dry it. “Not what I had in mind,” you sighed. You’d been so comfortable in his embrace, like your own personal cool summer breeze in the form of strong arms.

You could see the crinkle around his eyes as he gazed at you lovingly, amused as he set down your water and pulled you back against him. Using his flames to keep your temper down, you settled against him again, your irritation from moments again washed away with the gentle breeze that wafted in through the open window. 

“Can we stay like this all day?” you asked, your fingers interwining with his as you felt his lips brushing against your forehead, a quick kiss. “Hmm, as much as I’d love to, I can’t yoi,” Marco replied. You knew that would be his answer. He was always so busy either with medical things or navigation.

You were always baffled by how someone as busy as Marco could be so laid-back and relaxed. It must have been something to do with the phoenix making time an illusion for him. “Yeah, I know,” you tried to keep the disappointed tinge from your voice, but Marco saw through it, always able to read you like a book.

“But, when I’m done, we can go for a late-night flight?” he offered, and you perked up, causing him a laugh. He loved your honest reactions. “Sound good? I take it?” His smile grew, and his beautiful blue eyes sparkled as the flames' reflection danced in the depths. 

“That sounds perfect,” you smiled and leaned up, kissing the stubble on his chin as he held you a little longer. He waited until you slipped off into an afternoon nap, gently laying you down on the couch, and then went back to work.

[ryin-silverfish]

I understood that Fox spirits with gold and white fur are normally heavenly foxes. But Su Daji in the versions we know, killed people before the events of the story. So, will any type of fox spirit get this color when it already has its nine tails? even if they are already foxes that killed people?

I am kinda confused by the wording of this question. Correct me if I'm wrong:

-Heavenly foxes = foxes with gold/white fur and 9 tails

-Heavenly foxes are "good", or at least work for the establishment

-Su Daji of the Pinghua version is a heavenly fox, judging by her appearance

-But she kills people and isn't good

-Does that mean gold/white fur color and 9 tails is merely a signifier of power in fox spirits, and has nothing to do with their alignment or allegiance?

Well...time to dive into some fox spirit lore.

In the oldest Chinese legends, nine-tailed foxes are very much divine beasts. The Girl of Tushan, for example. Nine-tailed foxes also appeared in Han dynasty grave reliefs and paintings as part of Queen Mother of the West's worship:

They were very much auspicious beasts, like Qilins or Phoenixs. Same goes for white foxes.

The exact point in time where "Auspicious Foxes" started shifting into "Demonic Foxes" is unclear, but it probably had something to do with the change in ways people conceive of yaoguais: namely, the idea that anything that grow old enough can become a yaoguai.

Foxes seemed like a prime candidate for that kind of stuff, because unlike dragons or phoenixs, they were just too common, mundane, and eerie. Divine beasts don't sneak into your chicken coop under the cover of darkness.

By the Northern and Southern dynasty, in Ge Hong's Baopuzi, there was already the idea that animals that reached a certain age could transform into humans, and he cited foxes, wolves and jackals as an example:

"...They can live up to 800 years old, and when they reached 500 years old, these beasts transform into human shapes."

Around the same time period, Guo Pu's Xuanzhong Ji gave an even more elaborate account of fox spirits' transformation:

"Upon reaching 50 years of age, foxes can transform into women. 100 years, beautiful women, divine shaman, or men in order to charm women. They can know things from thousands of miles away, are masters of the arts of charms, able to make people lose their minds...at 1000 years old, they can commune with Heaven, and are known as heavenly foxes."

This concept of heavenly foxes had a renaissance in the Tang dynasty, where folk worship of foxes were very popular, and Daoist influences meant that many foxes in Tang folklore were practitioners of the Daoist arts.

If foxes could cultivate, it was only natural that the best cultivators among them could become immortals, just like human Daoists, and get a job in the Celestial Bureaucracy.

Curiously enough, all Tang dynasty heavenly foxes were male foxes, and the troubles they got into often stemmed from their own lust and entitlement to human women.

Heavenly fox status also offered them protection from death sentences: when they were subdued by Daoist masters or immortals, the punishments were either beating with a rod or exile.

However, only one Tang text connected heavenly foxes with nine-tailed foxes and a specific fur color: You Yang Za Zu, which I cited in a previous answer.

In a sense, this fusion of nine-tailed foxes with heavenly foxes was really going back to the roots of "Nine-tailed Foxes as Auspicious Beasts".

But it didn't last, and by the Song dynasty, nine-tailed foxes had undergone full yaoguai-fication like the rest of their kind.

This is just my speculation, but "Nine-tailed Foxes as Demonic Spirits" could perhaps be traced back as far as their more auspicious associations: the nine-tailed foxes of the Book of Mountains and Seas were just another type of man-eating fantastic beasts, after all.

Anyways, it is at this point that the idea of Daji being a nine-tailed fox first appeared, and FSYY Pinghua went a step further by merging Daji with the "heavenly nine-tailed fox" of You Yang Za Zu, turning the auspicious divine beast back into the demonic.

But, back to your question: a white/golden fox, or a nine-tailed fox, is not necessarily a heavenly fox. In the Qin-Han era, that's just an auspicious beast.

By Guo Pu's definition, a heavenly fox is just an incredibly powerful 1000 years old fox. By the Tang dynasty definition, a heavenly fox is a long-lived master of the Daoist arts who managed to get a job in the Celestial Bureaucracy.

They absolutely can be assholes (though shielded from the worst punishment). The idea that a heavenly fox is also a nine-tailed fox of unusual fur color is specific to that one passage in You Yang Za Zu and FSYY Pinghua.

Having nine tails/white or golden fur doesn't say anything about a fox's alignment or morality either. Rather, it says more about people's general conception of foxes during that specific era, and what was auspicious in one dynasty could easily become markers of the demonic in another.

[kurithedweeb]

Dear Sir Garroth,

Allow me to be plain with you, Sir. I'm angry at you. Pissed at you, really. Extraordinarily pissed, if you couldn't tell from the scorched edge of this letter you will likely never see. I'm not even sure why I'm still writing this seeing as I tried to burn it before I finished the first sentence. Perhaps only because it's something to do.

I was stabbed the day before the battle ended, do you remember? By a frost dagger. I would have appreciated the warning that the cold will run through your veins, perhaps from a man who used to wield one himself? You know how the cold afflicts me, you bastard. No matter, my blood is plenty warm with hurt now. Since you first bound it on the field, my stitches have been torn thrice. I collapsed the moment I stepped through the portal and had to be helped into town to see Donna.

Though she may be a wondrously talented medic, Donna is no healer or witch. There's only so much she could do and so she's ordered I remain on bedrest until I've healed to her liking. I'm loathe to bring that woman's wrath down on myself, hence why I am now writing pointless letters to men stranded in different realms. She has four children now, Donna; Yip, twin boys Lello and Rollo, and a girl named Luca. She's only a babe, Luca, still in her swaddling, but the twins must be nearly ten. I tell you this because it's been fifteen years. We've been gone fifteen years. You may still be gone years and years.

Levin is grown now. Lord, even. He resembles you very much, all keen blue eyes and wisps of blond curls falling in his face, but his mannerisms are alike his mothers'. He has a faint trace of your accent in his words, too. He did not recognize me. I'm told he was too young when we left to remember us properly, though Malachi supposedly does. He's a trader these days, out at sea with Logan when we arrived home. Levin didn't speak with me long, as busy all day as our lady is—was. He did tell me he'd been excited to meet us both, that his brother and Uncle Dante had told him stories of us as he'd grown, and he'd known that if we were anything at all like how they'd described then we were good men he'd rather get to know.

Dante's grown old. I last saw him hours ago, and now he is head guard rather than the slight boy fresh from the academy we knew him as. The dark circles under his eyes make me worry he hasn't had a proper rest in years, and he's thin in a way I wish I didn't recognize. Do you remember the night he snuck away to handle the O'khasian archers? You might not. I've found even so soon after to my eyes the days and nights blend together at times. I remember the great tears rolling down his face when you and I removed the arrow and picked the remains from his face. That night left a scar on either cheek, rough ones shaped like starbursts or comets. The shape far-off lights make in the night when you squint just right. He felt so small in the cradle of my arms then. He's of a height with me now, standing eye to eye.

We missed their entire lives in the Matron's realm. Gone in a blink. Our boys, our brother, our friends, they have all moved past us. Irony of irony, they've sent us off into the Matron's embrace already, Sir Garroth Ro'Meave. Buried us and moved on.

Because of your actions, we have missed the whole of their lives, the lives we could have shared with them. Should have. All for what? For a man you hadn't seen in at least a decade, one you no longer knew at all?

Everything has changed because of what you did, you ass. I should tell you I will never forgive this deed of yours. And yet I miss you already.

Sincerely yours,

Your second-in-command, Sir Laurance Zvahl of Phoenix Drop.

[inspofromancientworld]

Legendary Creatures: Simurgh

By Alaexis - Own work, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2115489

A simurgh (سیمرغ, also spelled senmurv, simorgh, simorg, simurg, simoorg, simorq or simourv) is a Persian bird that is related to the phoenix that spans an area from Georgia, to Armenia, and the Byzantine Empire and other areas that were influenced by the Persian Empire.

By Unknown author - This file has been provided by the British Library from its digital collections.Catalogue entry: IOSM J.67, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=31453107

The word simurgh is related to the words meaning 'the bird of Saēna', a raptor, probably an eagle, falcon, or sparrowhawk as the Sanskrit śyenaḥ (श्येनः) meaning 'bird of prey'. Though it is also closely related to the phrase sī murğ (سی مرغ) that means 'thirty birds', which was used by Sufi poet Abū Ḥāmid bin Abū Bakr Ibrāhīm (c. 1145 – c. 1221; Persian: ابوحمید بن ابوبکر ابراهیم), better known by his pen-names Farīd ud-Dīn (فریدالدین) and ʿAṭṭār of Nishapur (عطار نیشاپوری) in his The Conference of the Birds as a word play.

By Nickmard Khoey - https://www.flickr.com/photos/nickmard/2887513290/in/set-72157607483985460/, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5619184

The simurgh is frequently depicted as a winged creature, large enough to carry an elephant or a whale, with the body of a peacock, head of a dog, and claws of lions. Sometimes, it has a human face. It is old enough that it 'had seen the destruction of the world three times over'. It also plunges itself into flames every 1,700 years, similar to phoenixes.

By Painting: Unknown 7th century artist.Photographer: undetermined - This file has been extracted from another file, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=95912662

They are benevolent, purifying land, bestowing fertility, mediating the union between the Earth and the sky by serving as a messenger. It lived in the Tree of Life in the middle of the world sea. When it flew away from the Tree of Life, the Tree shook so hard that it lost leaves, which became the seeds of every plant. It also expresses the divine mandate of kingship and priesthood.

By From the Sarai Albums. - http://www.ee.bilkent.edu.tr/~history/Pictures1/im16.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5760173

Abul-Qâsem Ferdowsi Tusi (940-ابو��لقاسم فردوسی توسی 1019/1025), also Firdawsi or Ferdowsi (فردوسی) wrote the most famous story about the simurgh in his Shahnameh (Book of Kings). In it, a prince named Zal, son of Saam, was born albino, causing his father to cast him out, believing him to be demonic. A simurgh rescues him and raises him, teaching him wisdom as they have all knowledge. When Sal was old enough, he wanted to rejoing humanity and the simurgh and the simurgh gave him three feathers to call her should he need her help. He married a woman named Rudaba who had a difficult labor with their first child. The simurgh responded to his call for help and taught him to perform a cesarean section.

[missmarveledsblog]

Fan girl ( Mickey garcia x reader)

summary : when bob is sent from the hard deck to his little sisters sos message well she is not what they expect

warnings : other then shitty friend it's mostly goofy fluffy fun. mutual pining , slight age gap like ten years or less , idiots in love nerdy good fun , dry humping is as smutty as this part goes next part will be more spicy if another part is wanted that is ?

The hard deck well was the hard deck , the place filling up , tag chasers sizing up what  would be their goal for the night as the naval officer done the same.   bob nursed his ginger ale listening to phoenix talking away to him and javy , watching rooster and jake sizing the sea of woman as well as each other like a competition  and listening to fanboy talking about the latest season of some fantasy show he was watching as payback simply asked what he done last night  . that was til the buzzing of his phone pulled from his pocket looking at the string of texts coming up , he knew she was in san diego , they planned to meet up some point  but what he didn’t expect an SOS  and his little sister almost begging him to get her .  He tensed up standing almost spilling his soda . 

“ hey what’s wrong” phoenix asked concerned tone pulling his fellow dagger squads attention. 

“ i gotta go my little sister is in trouble and needs me , shit where are my key” he panicked looking around. 

“ pocket come on” nat took the keys from his pocket placing them in his hand. 

“ hey i’ll pay your tab” she smiled softly as he nodded . 

“ we’ll come too incase “ rooster pulled the nearest to him which happened to be hangman and fanboy . 

Rushing out he was scared shitless afraid of what was going on and what trouble she could of gotten into at a comic book convention . 

The crowd thick ,  eager  fans pushing and shoving dying to  get a touch even a glimpse of the panels and their stars  and usually she was the same . an eager bunny ready to hear the plans and spoilers to a new movie coming .  But now she felt small , tiny as she looked down at her costume , the cosplay she took months perfecting  and yet the whole mood soured by her so called best friend and her weird ass boyfriend . it was honestly so childish and petty but hell her family told her to watch out for that one  and now she was stranded at a convention in san diego the only upside was her brother being stationed here somewhere she was unsure where but honestly the “ i told you so “ lecture would be worth it if it meant she wasn’t left alone in a big place she no idea where she was .   a few  saw her distress eager to help even offering to stay with her while she  text her brother  and if he was coming they would stay til she was safe .  and they did but she eventually told them she was fine making her way out to the entrance knowing her brother was on the way . it really wasn’t her fault and should of seen it coming the whole trip was iffy carrying the bags of her back as she soldiered on to out to the front.  She felt sick and scared and now she was crying outside dressed up while people looked at her like she was some kind of weirdo . 

“ hey sweetcheeks what’s the tears for “ a voice called looking to see a dude coming her way dressed as batman not even a good batman more dollar store kind. 

“ i’m ok i just wanna be alone thank you “ she sniffled moving away .

“ come on don’t be like that  you shouldn’t cry your too hot too cry”  he smiled hand coming to her cheek as she pulled away . “ come on i’m nice guy” he said standing to her closer .

“ stand back “ she snapped only for him to pull her arm harder and her knee to come up hitting him so hard honestly she turned his balls into  a bat cave sending him  groaning to the ground only the dude seemly wasn’t happy to be bested as he pulled her again . 

“ LET HER GO” was all she heard and seen was her brother and three men charging towards her. 

“ fuck off man we’re talking “ the man groaned still trying to push past the pain . 

“ no were are not douche wayne” she stomped on his foot and  grabbing her bags and running to her big brother .   as he went to follow her only for bob to pull her behind him . 

“ i’d walk if i were you these ain’t costumes little boy” the tall blonde smirked as  the man finally caught a look ,   his face draining of any color staring up at the men before him .  walking away muttering something about her being “ a bitch anyway” . 

“ what the hell why you alone where’s annabelle “ bob asked checking her over making sure she wasn’t hurt although her arm was red. 

“ she left me here , her stupid boyfriend kept making sleazy comments and she blamed me after i told him stop  she got my bags and stuff out of her car and they drove off left me here” she sniffled tears filling her eyes. 

“ come on we get you back to mine knew she was a snake “ he gruffed, throwing his coat over her body . 

“ thank you and you guys “ she turned to see his friends all bashful smiled thrown her way . 

“ Did you know bob’s sister was hot” rooster whispered as the two men shook their  heads . 

“ hey baby on board you gonna introduce us to this sweetheart” the blonde called . 

“ hangman  , rooster , fanboy this is my little sister y/n  , y/n this is three of the  seven dagger squad member .. now there come “ he said still pissed she was left stranded and hell annabelle was definitely not gonna be let off with it when he told his other two sisters . she was the baby of the family of course they were protective . 

She sat in the car , she just wanted to get in her pj’s and binge a comfort show but now she was hyper aware of the beautiful ass men in the back seat of  the car . 

“ nice costume darling “ the blonde drawled . 

“ its a cosplay man , right pretty girl..who is it ? “ the mustache man scoffed before a sweet smile turned to her . 

“ Daenerys targaryen “ the one with the kind eyes spoke up.  “ violet eyes “ he explained. 

“  exactly you got that from the white hair and violet eyes most people thought i was Rhaenyra since the whole house of dragons thing “ . 

“ i recognised the clothes from the season one when she was with the dothraki” he spoke up getting more animated as the other two looked completely lost .

“ hey ten point to ..” she paused unsure which one he was but she was guessing who it might be. 

“ fanboy ma’am but mickey is fine” he smiled . 

“ well ten points for mickey “ she giggled . 

“ hey that’s show were they have sex and dragons right” the blonde asked. 

“ yes but it more to it hangman right … i’m bradley “. 

“ he’s right a lot more than sex and dragons but they are cool too i guess” she snorted only for her phone to start buzzing . “ you called mama” she squeaked . 

“ sorry” bob winced although he was on partly sorry . 

“ hey mama … no i’m ok now bobby got me … yeah i’ll stay with him tonight … no mama i haven’t even told him that part” she whined .  

“ told me what?” . 

“ fine i’ll put you on speaker “ she sighed . 

“ bobby baby she can stay with you when she moves there right?” 

“ MAMA im a grown ass woman” she exclaimed .

“ bobby ?” her mother voice called . 

“ of course she can” he nodded . 

“ y’all can hear me right “ she turned to the guys in the back who eagerly nodded.  “ you  know i’m twenty two years old right i ain’t a baby” she called down phone. 

“Thanks bobby “ her mother called.

“Whoops bad signal” she rolled her eyes hanging . 

“ real mature grown up” bob chuckled as he hit the answer button on his car and she groaned face red of course this would happen around the hot guys .

Pulling into bobs  driveway she barely spoke given he was too busy talking to their mom and then it was their dad soon the whole family as she honestly was wondering if the creepy batman was a better choice after all.  She stood stretching out as the guys got out the car too even bob was slightly confused. 

“ can you order pizza bobby i need to shower and wallow for the night maybe watch a movie or two maybe avengers or something”she smiled weakly . 

“Ohh good choice  nat and the guys are on their way “ rooster smiled brightly .

“ oh cool well i’ll go shower” she ran into the house as bob looked into the groupchat . 

“ really hangman “ he rolled his eyes.  “ baby on boards got hot ass sister you gotta see this”  he read the message out . 

“ hey i mean since she gonna be living in san diego it good she has friends right “ he patted his arm heading in the house a swagger on him  ready to  put on his A game .

 “ i won’t let bagman get your sister plus i feel like we had a connection “rooster called as he ran into the WSO  house. 

“ you not going to say anything?” bob look at his friend. 

“ wonder which avenger she like most i like the falcon or winter soldier“ fanboy mused walking with  bob .

It didn’t take long for nat , payback and javy to show up all curious to see how hot said sister was  til she walked out wearing sweats and oversized t-shirt , hair air drying free from the long white wig as she stood seeing more people standing in her brothers living room .  

“ hi i’m nat you must be y/n it nice to meet you “ the dark hair woman stood forward . 

“ nice to meet you too bobby told me all about you .. all of you actually kinda already know all your names “ she chuckled. 

“ yeah well ok come on lets get the movie on “ bob rolled his eyes as she made her way in  her eyes looking to see where to sit and seeing those kind eyes barely looking her eye or trying not to . 

“ mind if i i sit here” she asked pointing to the spot as mickey just smiled the two not even acknowledging the shoving match of the other trying to get the other side til she felt herself bouncing slight. 

“ let watch the revengers huh sweetheart” jake flashed as flirty smile as both her and mickey’s heads shot in his direction . “ if it scary let me know , ill protect ya” he winked . 

“ dude it’s superheroes” rooster rolled his eyes .

“ what one should we watch ohhh maybe timeline order or  we could do mini marathon of them separately although it would only work for some maybe timeline order is best”she mused. 

“ timeline would be better although cause then if we went separately well we would have to watch the series” mickey agreed . 

“  i do need to rewatch the falcon and winter soldier” she nodded . 

“ lets watch that movie” jake nodded. 

“ it’s series no … we could switch and watch different franchise maybe star wars the new acolyte is out “ she mused. 

“ i have yet to watch that i’ve heard mixed review so i’m sort of well waiting to form my own opinion .. if you feeling the superhero vibe we could watch the boys “ he point out as the other were totally lost . 

“ that makes me want to watch supernatural i mean jensen ackles as soldier boy is wow but i do love me some dean winchester” she nodded in agreement. 

“ good omen always makes me wanna watch doctor who obviously david tenant is fantastic but he is my favorite doctor”he chuckled . 

“ oh my god you seeing what i’m seeing “ nat whispered as two nerded out . 

“ unfortunately i do” bob gulped. 

“ can we watch shawshank or something while they figure out well i don’t have a clue what they're even talking about now “ jake head tilted. 

“ i mean i love the last of us the casting is spot on but if they are  sticking to the source material and timeline i am so not looking forward to season two but i am so excited as well “ she sighed .  ( cause same ) 

“ are we invisible to them ?” javy asked looking around the room . 

“ i think that us out of the race “ rooster  chuckled . 

“ are we watching a movie or not” jake asked confused completely and utterly . 

“ oh shit sorry erm we could watch..” 

“ we’re gonna watch shawshank “ bob spoke up saving the whole room from another nerd session .   “ no talking steven king” he added making her mouth close. 

“ i was gonna ask if pizza was coming “ she huffed . 

“ steven king is cool though” mickey whispered making her nod eagerly . 

It was six month since her brother rescued her from being stranded in comic con , creepy batman and meeting his friends  who were also her friends even if she was ten years younger than them it still was nice being able to come to a new place and not feel so alone .  going to the hard deck being able to head to a group and not being a loser sitting on her own .  also another thing she loved was being able to be herself especially with mickey probably only one of the group who shared her love for the things of the nerdy side of life .  the two would talk from everything from gaming , anime and comics . most of time the rest of the group left them to it because it was like they were talking another language.  They did like watching it unfold even bob made his peace at thought of his friend and little sister maybe striking up some form of romance . the only thing that was stopping them was well them , both oblivious to the other feelings that even stevie wonder could see .  so maybe a little help would be ok , a little meddling would be helpful and give them the push they needed . 

She was getting ready knowing the dagger squad coming over for a night of gaming  which honestly she didn’t think twice about  knowing it was probably going to be a few games of mario kart  til jake says it not real game like pool or darts when he loses.  She felt a little silly doing her make up and hair nothing major but she like looking nice especially when a certain hot as fuck WSO was going to be there . she couldn’t help the crush that grown , he was well hot , nerdy and a sweetheart she didn’t even stand a chance .  yet anytime she flirted it was falling on deaf ears or unless it was his way of being kind and not out right rejecting her but hey it didn’t help to look right?. 

He was nervous  , like hands sweating as he walked up his fellow WSO porch all because he had a major crush on his little sister . He didn’t even have an excuse the moment he saw her as Daenerys he was  smitten and the more time he spent time and got to know her  that just made him a goner. Never had he connected with someone  so easily  getting to truly be himself yeah payback was his buddy but even he had to tell mickey to talk about something else , y/n didn’t and when she did it was talked about some just along the line of it .    her smile took his breath away , her eyes made him get lost in them  just everything about her had him falling more and more.

Just as he was about to knock bob open the door stepping out looking at the man smiling nervously before walking around as if he was leaving .

“ wait is it not game night?” he checked his phone checking he had the right night unless he conjured the whole thing .

“ please don’t mess up cause hangman said he has dibs “ was all bob said before running to his car and driving off.

“ where’s he going “ she asked standing at front door brows furrowed .

“Think flying finally caught up to the guys i think they forgot tonight i can go if you want” he curse the lame stupid mind of his .

“ i mean or you could say and we could actually play something decent don’t get me wrong the italian plumber is cool but well it nice to play other game with more to em “ she smiled widely .

“ Or hear me out we can actually watch something we like “ .

“ star war marathon ?”

“ star wars “ he confirmed as two ran into the house excitedly .

Working in a team as she got the snacks and drink and he got the movie up and ready internally screaming to calm the fuck down . his hands so sweaty he was would drop the remote out of his hand and the way his heart was beating she had to of heard it . he felt like a nervous teen being in presence of his crush those nerves pulsing through every fiber his body making him shiver at possibly of making a huge fool of him .

“ you ok .. cold here let me get you a blanket “ those eyes filled with concern or worry making him melt like a puddle maybe it was good thing having her doting on him like this and her attention yet that made him notice that was always something he had. He wondered why that was but the though went as fast as it came the moment She sat down putting The blanket On the two of Them only then he notice the light were dimmed god he needed to get his shit together .

Maybe she was too close way to close , he could probably hear how hard her heart was beating or the way her breathing was labored. hopefully the movie would help distract her , let her gather herself . She watched the text coming on mouthing the lines she seen so many before only to hear the mumbling of said words making her head turn to see mickeys mouth moving she couldn't stop it the giggle that spilled from her lips making his cheeks heat up.

“ sorry” he winced .

“ no don't be it cute“ she whispered unaware her world had on him . the whole time she tried and really tried keeping her eyes on the screen but it was hopeless when they would drift and land on mickey . studying every feature on his face those kind eyes , to the chiseled jawline

“ does he know how hot he is” she thought only it seemed she was thinking out loud .

“ does who know?” .

“ em han solo of course” of course her brain would betray her .

“ i think he does” he chuckled . “ really han solo?” he teased .

“ yeah like you're not gonna drool when leia gets in that bikini” she shot back. “ That is my next cosplay idea” she mused only for him to choke on the air and internally thank whatever god there was a blanket was covering in now. “ wow that bad?” she joked .

“ oh quite the opposite i mean jesus you might kill some dude with heatstroke it will that hot “ he absent mindlessly confessed.

“ i think your being too kind” she snorted .

“ i’m being deadly honest hell have you seen yourself you make jake nervous not that he admit it out loud but shit you would send a guy into cardiac arrest” .

“ yeah ok says the hottest guy ever “ she scoffed only to freeze .

“ hottest guy ever ?” he didn't know were this confidence came from but shot was he gonna question it .

“ so hot id give a dude a heart attack ? “ she countered.

“ i stand by what i said “ he turned so he was facing her the movie long forgotten in the background .

“ i stand by what i said” she copied his movement turning to face him , eyes darting to his lips biting her own .

“ can i .. i wanna kiss you so bad right now” he licked hos lips hands itching to touch her skin .

“ i kinda hope you do “ she smiled softly. that was it that was the ok he needed to surge forward pressing his lips on her . every cliche that she read , seen or heard . those things she felt skeptical about made her want to kick herself cause as she felt herself kissing mickey garcia she understood it all , felt it all . those firework , puzzle piece coming to get , lighting her own dark world , nerve coming alive sort of moment , the soft moan that came muffled by each other . his hand nestled at back of her head and other on her hip pulling her closer her hand scratching the back of his neck . hating her lungs and their stupid need for oxygen she pulled back slightly her head pressed again his delighting in the turn about in the night as he couldn't stop like he was addicted between taking breathes plant soft kisses upon her lips . the kiss starting again more heated as she straddled his lap feeling him nipping her lower lip as she gave him the entrance they both needed , that twirl and dance feeling the taste of each in a tango while his hand fell her hips . her skin heated, burning in a desire that only he could quench . the need building in her core needing the friction she ground down that delightful feeling of him growing hard beneath her , hands guiding her movement panting foreheads pressed together eye locked. blown lust filled pupil and lidded eye mirror between the two as groan came from his mouth and whimpers spilled from her . he could feel that winding and tightening feeling that was building like all his sense on her . only her scent filled his nose , only her sounds filled his ears and one her touch was all that matter . he was addicted not knowing how he went so long in life and never feeling this , fuck he felt like he was robbed . in all that both so lost in a bubble of lust it was lost on them the sound of a key in a door not til they heard the “ Hell yeah” that broke the spell , burst that bubble as mickey looked to see the horrified face of some of dagger squad and proud smile on hangmans .

“maybe you should come stay in mine” nat winced turning and leading bob out the door as hangman walked over high fiving his friend as others gave an awkward wave as the front door closed .

“ they're gone” he whispered abd yet her head didnt lift her cheeks were to red at the fact her brother just caught her like a horny teenager dry humping and heavy petting one of his friends well she was definitely never going to live that down .

“ hey come on” he kissed her cheek hand rubbing up her back she let out content hum at the feeling before she sat up .

“ did this a little backwards but i would love take you out …on a date” he smiled shyly .

“ take me out for breakfast but first mickey … take me to bed” she giggled grinding her hips down . her shrieks filled the house with how fast he lift her up fuck it she already got caught might as well go big or go home as he carried her down the hall .

[himasgod]

King Deshret x Reader IV part I

Where Deshret finds out that you are marrying Morax, and goes to great lengths to get to the location and beg for your forgiveness.

(PART IV DONE. I've decided to split this request in two, since I wanted to make it quite long and doing it in one post would be quite long. This part is about Deshret finding out that you're going to marry Morax and the next one, which I'll post in a few hours, will deal directly with the wedding and Deshret interrupting it. Thanks to sailorstar as always and, of course, enjoy <3)

XVII.

The nights in the desert had always been his refuge, a kingdom of endless stars above a sea of ​​golden dunes that only he could rule. The silence, once so comforting, now weighed on his shoulders like a blanket of ice. King Deshret returned to the palace after half a year away, the promise of returning to you still fresh in his mind. He had set out in the hope of bringing you an era of splendor, with Nabu Malikata at his side. But in his obsession with dreams of greatness, he had let himself be carried away by the intoxicating sweetness of the Goddess of Flowers.

When his sandals echoed in the halls, there was no welcome. He did not find you waiting for him with a frown or words of reproach for his prolonged absence. Instead, he was greeted by a desolate palace, as cold as a tomb. The servants avoided his gaze, bowing their heads in silence. Was there something they were not telling him? An inexplicable uneasiness began to stir in his chest.

“Where is the queen?” he asked in a grave voice to one of his oldest servants, whose face was marked by uncertainty.

“Your Majesty… the queen has departed.” The man hesitated, swallowing before adding, “You will find a letter in her chambers.”

The words fell like stones into a bottomless pit. Deshret felt his heart race as he walked through the halls with increasingly hurried steps, almost tripping in his haste to reach the room they once shared. The door, normally ajar to allow the light of the rising sun, was now shut tight. He pushed it hard, almost ripping it off its hinges.

There, in the vastness of the bed he had shared with you, lay a single scroll. Deshret approached slowly, as if the simple act of touching it could trigger a catastrophe. His hands, which had not trembled even in the face of the most fearsome armies, now trembled as he unrolled the letter.

“To King Deshret, who was once my husband: I hereby dissolve our marriage. I am no longer the queen who swore to remain at your side in the eternal dunes. I am leaving, for the fidelity I promised cannot be sustained in the emptiness of a love that has withered.”

The words were sharp, written with the precision of a knife. Each sentence was a reminder of what he had lost in seeking the company of another, of what he had let crumble in his pursuit of power and fleeting pleasures. This was not just a piece of paper; it was the end of an oath he had taken for eternal.

But it was the last line that broke what little remained of his temper:

“I return to my home in Liyue, where the vows I gave you will be extinguished like the embers of a fire that no longer burns. This time, there will be no turning back.”

XVIII.

The weight of your words echoed in his mind as he stood there in the dimness of your empty chambers. You had been so much more than a wife to him: you were the legendary Phoenix Princess, Liyue’s most precious jewel, the daughter of the Phoenix Queen. You had given up your golden destiny alongside Rex Lapis, you had abandoned the fertile valleys of your homeland to accompany the king of a kingdom of sand. And he, blinded by the promise of power alongside Nabu Malikata, had let the glow of that sacrifice fade.

When he was finally able to move, Deshret summoned his advisors, demanding answers. But all he received were evasive glances and empty answers. You had left with a small entourage, taking only what was yours, rejecting all the luxuries he had arranged for your comfort. Your decision had been final, unwavering.

Deshret felt an unparalleled emptiness devour him from within. The great king who had defied the gods was now nothing more than a broken man, a prisoner in his own palace. For the first time in centuries, King Deshret understood what it meant to truly lose. Not by war, not by the betrayal of allies, but by the foolishness of his own heart.

XIX.

A week later, Rukkhadevata arrived at the palace with news he did not wish to hear. She stood before him, compassion veiling her emerald eyes.

“Deshret,” she said softly, “I come with news from Liyue.”

“Speak, Rukkhadevata.” His voice was barely a whisper, as if the mere act of speaking words exhausted him.

Dendro Archon took a deep breath. “Rex Lapis has sent invitations to all the Archons. He is announcing his marriage with the the Phoenix Princess.”

His blood froze in his veins. He felt the world crumble around him, as if the palace walls were about to collapse on him.

“Marriage…?” he repeated in a murmur, unable to process what he heard.

Rukkhadevata nodded regretfully. “She has returned home, Deshret. She has found in Morax the love and stability that you denied her.”

XX.

The days that followed were a whirlwind of anguish. While Nabu Malikata spoke excitedly of the lavish ceremony Liyue was preparing, he could barely hear her. Her words were like a distant echo, lost in the storm of his mind.

He couldn’t bear it. The image of you beside another man, smiling as you once did just for him, consumed him. Morax… his rival, his opposite in so many ways, was taking away what he had cast aside.

“I must see her once more,” he decided, his pride crushed under the weight of his despair. He turned to Rukkhadevata with a plea he never thought he would make.

“Take me to Liyue, I beg you. Let me see her, even one last time. Let me beg her to reconsider, to forgive me… before it’s too late.”

Rukkhadevata watched him, pain in her eyes. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. He knew you had closed your heart forever. But after a long, tense silence, he nodded.

“I will take you, Deshret. But you must prepare for what you will find. It may already be too late. Sometimes, even for the gods, second chances do not exist."

XXI.

And so, the once invincible King Deshret, who defied the gods and dreamed of conquering the heavens, found himself in the position of a broken man, a king who had lost everything because of his own blindness. Now, he was not heading into a battle to win a kingdom, but into a fight for a heart that no longer belonged to him.

As the desert dunes fell behind him and the green valleys of Liyue rose before him, he knew he was facing his final battle. But this time, the price of failure would not be a crown, but the love he himself let slip away.

He was willing to stop that wedding. He was willing to get you back. Even if it cost him his life.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[autumnmist101]

Random Individual Hermit Head-cannons

Xisuma: Voidwalker

Keeps pictures of his favorite moments from each of the hermits' first seasons.

Void searched for Pearl and Jimmy specifically. Did this right after Grian explained his backstory and that he didn’t know if his siblings were alive.

Adopted both Mumbo and False in season two, but at separate times. They don't talk about it much though. ______________________________________________________________

VintageBeef: Cow hybrid

Makes the best deviled eggs anyone has ever tasted. ______________________________________________________________

Mumbo: Had a phase where he was a bunny hybrid (have a shpeel about it but that's too long for this post)

Would wear a fake mustache when he was too young to grow one. (The others found it adorable)

Second person to find out about Grian's backstory

Writes letters to Iskall while he's away doing Vault Hunters even though he knows he won't write back. ______________________________________________________________

Iskall: Man raised by villagers (I've heard this was popular hc/cannon)

Misses Architect and kept a picture of the potato Grian threw into it.

Hums the Dragon bros song while doing redstone

Reads every letter Mumbo writes to him while at Vault Hunters

Spent two days eating ice cream in bed when Joel dumped him (Stress dragged him out of it and made him do work) ______________________________________________________________

Gem: Hybrid forms: Tropical fish/sea creature, Fox, Deer, Elf

Confronted/nearly killed Scott during an Empires' meeting after hearing that he abandoned Pearl in DL.

Can't use chopsticks. Makes them shish-kabob sticks instead.

Loves ice-skating dates (platonic) with Pearl.

If she can't plays at least one T-Swift song on a road trip. Then she's the only artist the car gets to listen to when heading back home.

Protective as heck when she finds out someone's sick. (Nurse mod Gem activates)

Harder punches mean more love, and Gem is, according to many, a 'very affectionate' hermit. >:D

Twin of Fwhip, sister of Sausage. ______________________________________________________________

Bdubs: Hybrids- Bug, Glare, Horse

Can NOT have energy drink. Will be constantly building, and answering anything via screaming. Not to mention, won't be able to shreep. ______________________________________________________________

Scar: Hybrid forms: Vex and Cat.

Has a chewing necklace he loses constantly

An amazing cook despite the kitchen being on fire.

Has wheelchair and cane accessories from his friends. ie. wheelchair handle spikes from Gem, heated Star Wars themed cane handle from Grian.

Bursts into Disney songs at ANY reference he hears.

Jellie trained Katy Bee to carry a mini first aid box on her collar for Scar. ______________________________________________________________

Tango: Blaze-born

Raised by phoenixes.

Left home to be on his own. The portal he took to the overworld put him in a snow biome. Nearly froze before Zedaph found him.

Can actually hover, but usually forgets about the ability.

When needing in a tight space, will create a whisp of fire that he will then possess to fly into that space.

Cried for at least an hour whenever a Ravager died in DO2.

Freaked out when Pearl first tried to eat a red-stone torch and immediately taught her red-stone safety, as well as started using it. (Wants to be a good influence <3)

Still believes in Santa

Can play just about anything on kazoo.

Will NOT play Star Wars or Disney songs on the kazoo. ______________________________________________________________

Zedaph: Sheep hybrid.

Big Chappell Roan fan

Sunburns easily

Kicked out of a cult of lambs due to constantly calling the god they worshipped "Waiter" instead of "The one who waits".

Found Tango half frozen on a mountain. ______________________________________________________________

Impulse: Cast out from the nether realm for befriending too many humans.

Organizer of the Hermit Parent Club. Usually plans out field trips, pun offs, and when it's bring your kid to the server day.

Still has his first soup bowl of season 9.

Was standing right beside the cactus Skizz fell in when he was kicked out of heaven.

Helping Skizz out- "I'm an imp. My name's Impulse. What's your name, man?" ______________________________________________________________

Skizz: When meeting Impulse- "Mine's Skizzleman! I'm an Angel!"

Knew Impulse would be his best friend after that moment.

Can do a great Doodlebob impression

Cast out of heaven for being bad at making things. Not just alive things. All things.

The last straw for them was when he tried to make a Tasmanian devil. He did not know what a Tasmanian devil was. . . . He still does not know what a Tasmanian devil is.

When cast out was purposely thrown onto a cactus where he was found by Impulse. (They really didn't like his last creation) ______________________________________________________________

Joel: Hybrid forms- Wolf, Red Panda

Definitely NOT nervous around needles. Only babies, and Jimmy, are nervous around those.

Wears his Mazelean crown when he misses his friends in empires.

Constantly writes to Lizzie in whatever server she's on. Also keeps a small bottle of her perfume on his bedside table.

Can feel when another Life game is coming. (Sixth sense almost)

Has a dart board with Scott's face on it that he, and sometimes Pearl, use to prepare for the next games.

NOT scared of giant birds or any birds for that matter. That's for losers. And DIDN'T scream when he first saw Jimmy's canary wings. ______________________________________________________________

False: Eagle avian

Enjoys hunting rabbits/Joel in her free time.

Teases Mumbo about his crush on Hot Guy.

Has won countless rap battles

Can, in fact, smell fear ______________________________________________________________

Etho: Sings Barbie girl in the shower

Carries tools on him at all times

Keeps a Big Bro <3 bracelet from Gem in his vest pocket ______________________________________________________________

That's all for now. I have others; however, they were too long to be included in this post. I do intend to expand/story-fy a couple of these ones though, hopefully in the near future. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! <3

[jamilelucato]

possibility - fred weasley

pairing: fred weasley x slytherin!reader

(it can be read as a one-shot) (part 02 here!)

summary: Amidst the boredom, an unexpected connection sparks between (Y/N) and the charismatic mischief-maker, Fred Weasley.

note: They are in their last year at Hogwarts, so, for purposes, they are 18; besides, the whole canon of the book (it would've been Order of the Phoenix) is mostly nonexistent here.

the reader: can be interpreted as someone with ADHD; she loves literature and she has no friends.

words: 7580

Enjoy!

The lesson trudged on, dripping with tedium.

In truth, (y/n) quite liked Professor Flitwick. She had, in fact, eagerly accepted his invitation to become his assistant whenever the First Years graced his class. Being an assistant delighted her to no end. Yet, being a student, well, that was a different cauldron of bubbling potion altogether.

Today, Flitwick's lecture on Spellcasting and its perils was dragging on and on. As a sixth-year student, the curriculum seemed more intent on delving into existing knowledge than offering exciting novelties. While these topics might hold allure for a future Auror or the like, they were a one-way ticket to Boredomville for her.

Ever since (y/n) had decided upon her career path – a decision that seemed to have been brewed in the deepest recesses of her being – most of her classes had metamorphosed into a soporific ordeal. Hogwarts wasn't particularly renowned for its prowess in teaching language and literature, but that was precisely where her ambitions lay. A writer, a wordsmith, perhaps even an editor or a high school pedagogue. Anything that would let her commune with the magic of words, not the sort that burst from wands.

Now, she wasn't a woeful spell caster by any means. Professor Flitwick wouldn't have sought her assistance if she weren't a smart witch. But, her heart preferred the dance of ink on parchment over the intricacies of wand-waving, often rendering her classroom hours relatively inconsequential.

Seeking refuge from this stifling monotony, (y/n) allowed her gaze to wander. And in this sea of faces, her eyes collided with Fred Weasley – the school's most notorious ginger-haired mischief-maker. He was already watching her, a mask of effortless nonchalance draped over his face. He raised his brows at her, noticing she was staring back, and he did not look away. And so, they locked eyes, neither relinquishing the connection. It was not a duel of gazes; it was more like a shared secret, a silent agreement over how tedious the class was.

A minute passed in this silent communion until Fred graced her with a faint smile. The spell was broken, and her attention returned to her empty parchment. A quiet sigh fluttered like a long-forgotten page being turned, but it vanished into the air, unheard by all but her.

With pen in hand, she felt an almost magical compulsion to transcribe Flitwick's words onto her parchment. His voice, though droning before, now seemed less boring. 

“To its nature, we shall survive it, but the opponent targetted... not so much,” the professor intoned, the words finally finding their mark within her consciousness. Cruel nature, indeed. “Well,” she mused, her back moulding into her chair as her quill danced across the parchment, “Every spell I remember does possess a hint of danger.”

At long last, her notes held substance, and her enthusiasm, while subdued, had been rekindled. Her gaze again drifted sideways to where Fred Weasley was, only to find he had shifted his focus – to his twin, George.  

They sat side by side, mirror images of naughtiness. (y/n) sometimes forgot that they were identical twins because she was so used to having them around that they started to look apart. George's height had a mere smidgen of variance, while Fred's nose was a tad more prominent. Freckles played a symphony across their faces, arranging themselves differently – Fred’s were more concentrated around his forehead. Yet, at that moment, as (y/n) blinked through her confusion, she wondered if she'd mixed up their features. Had she glimpsed George's grin instead?

But then, as if choreographed by fate, Fred resumed his original posture and caught her looking. His lips curled into an unmistakable smirk. “It's certainly Fred, then,” she thought, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, unwanted.  She redirected her attention back to the good Professor Flitwick and his lesson, and weirdly enough, after all that gazing, she had regained her focus and was more ready to be a satisfactory student.

Amidst her studies, (y/n) was ensconced within the library's embrace.

This day bestowed upon the library an uncommon hush, a tranquillity that seemed to defy the norm. The librarian always managed to get the kids quiet, but she couldn't stop them from coming all at once when frenzied by the looming spectre of approaching exams.

However, an anomaly unfolded on that Friday afternoon, bestowing upon (y/n) the most unexpected gift – the library, in all its boundless expanse, was hers to claim. A rarity that, peculiarly, she found herself not enjoying. Amidst the solitude, her focus waned like a candle in a draft, flickering and unstable. Concentration eluded her, much like the fleeting caress of a dream upon waking. Reading, that intimate act of solitary exploration, seemed to have metamorphosed into a daunting endeavour. It was one thing to lose oneself in tales of princesses or the adventures of chiselled, sun-kissed heroes, but an entirely different ordeal to grapple with the intricate world of potion brewing.

For (y/n), the allure of fantasy books or any literary work was nothing short of enchanting, capable of whisking her away on wings of imagination. These volumes, she devoured with unbridled speed. Yet, a profound disinterest surged within her when it came to the theoretical tomes packed with knowledge mirroring the lectures she endured. If she were to be entirely frank, she might even admit a smidgen of disdain for these volumes.

So she would never take them to the dorms with her ��� she would much rather read them in the library, filled with other students. The presence of others functioned as a gentle but firm tether, binding her to the task at hand – reading, absorbing, and taking notes. The collective energy of focused minds bolstered her resolve.

Alas, a rather desolate air hung over the library's expanse on this day.

Thrice (y/n) had shifted her position, seeking companionship in proximity, only for her hopes to be dashed within thirty minutes. A sigh, tinged with resignation, escaped her lips, and in that crestfallen moment, a shock of crimson manifested in her field of vision. A pair of vibrant red-headed twins strode in. Nestled at the tables near the corridor's entrance, she watched them meander, their steps unhurried, eyes wandering. “Searching," her inner voice concluded. Certainly, the twins held a more potent allure than the secrets of cauldron cleaning or its ilk, a fact her current book seemed intent on imparting.

Though (y/n) watched from her vantage point, removed yet intrigued, the twins' presence would've caught anyone's attention had there been any other student around. As their gaze swept the expanse, (y/n)'s musings dipped into the realm of speculation, imagining the myriad thoughts dancing behind those crimson veils.

In a place where solitude was typically her archenemy, she now sat pondering the enigma of the Weasley twins, the allure of their presence momentarily overshadowing the dusty tomes that lay before her.

Fred and George stood at a distance, too far for (y/n) to gain a comprehensive view. Instead, they ambulated the space with a purpose that eluded onlookers – a relentless quest for something unbeknownst to her. As they wandered, their forms flickered in and out of her view, now one visible, then none, then both, and once more only one boy.

Fixated on the one nearer her, she strained her vision to discern. Could it be Fred? A question played a merry dance in her mind, teasing but refusing to commit to a definitive answer. His profile was turned towards the shelves, a curtain of red hair obscuring details. Besides, distinguishing the twins remained a daunting task without a survey of their noses.

Abruptly, a voice infiltrated her thoughts, causing her to startle in her seat, “You know we saw you, right?”

She swivelled around, only to be met by the missing twin positioned just behind her. Leaning over her chair's backrest, he inclined his head inquisitively, a solitary auburn eyebrow arching with playful curiosity. Witnessing her wide-eyed astonishment, the Weasley released a soft, subdued chuckle, a mischievous symphony woven into the sound. “If you want my brother's number, you can just ask,” he added.

So the one talking to her was Fred. She quickly glanced at his nose bridge, trying to see the intricated details left by a Quidditch match gone wrong, yet his voice functioned as the telltale sign. He audacity to issue such a provocative remark to a girl with whom they held only the most tenuous of connections – that could only be Fred's doing. Moreover, his tone carried a specific timbre distinct from George's. It was, for lack of a better word, smoother to her auditory senses. Not that George's voice was anything less than agreeable, but his was a quieter, more reserved resonance. She mused that her lack of familiarity with George's vocal cadence stemmed from his status as the quieter half of the duo, while Fred's unending stream of chatter had made his vocal imprint indelible in her ears.

A manufactured laugh escaped her lips, a tinkling facade, "Haha, Weasley. I don't want no one's number."

Fred inclined his head, a bemused glint in his eyes as if coaxing her to reveal more.

Nestled more comfortably in her chair, she raised her chin a fraction, a silent assertion that she was unreservedly facing the boy. This small shift seemed to foster a sense of openness between them.

"Studying is boring, so you guys looked like a distraction," she declared with a nonchalant shrug.

His voice dripped with theatrical incredulity, “We? A distraction?” Fred's lips curled into a playful smile, his head tilting as he leaned slightly away. He stood tall, towering over most, a fact he seemingly embraced with ease. Though his height wasn't sufficient to overshadow Ron (a surprise, really), it cast a considerable shadow over (y/n), particularly in her seated state. The disparity in stature unfolded in a tableau that her neck found almost physically taxing to endure.

With the book held closer to her chest, (y/n) drew a deep breath, her response tinged with a touch of exasperation, “Honestly, anything is a preferable pursuit than deciphering 'how to brew... a potion.'” Her fingers clutched the book, the page title a weighty secret she held close, refusing to vocalise it aloud.

An unexpected shift occurred as Fred commandeered the neighbouring chair, situating it with a proximity that nudged their personal space. “And weirdly enough," he said. Lowering himself into the seat, he offered a sly grin, his gaze steady upon her, “You always get good grades at Snape's classes.” A movement almost imperceptible – a twitch of the head, a hint of satisfaction – played upon his features.

(y/n) registered the proximity with an awareness that tickled her senses. The book, her veiled treasure, lay nestled in her grasp, poised for closure to deter prying eyes.

She shrugged, expecting him to forget what she held close, “I'm Slytherin, after all.”

“Ah,” Fred snapped his tongue in the roof of his mouth, a sound almost as if he had drunk something and was now satisfied. 

Shifting her gaze quickly at George, she hoped he would come to her rescue and take his twin away.

“Not so fast,” Fred interjected, his large hand sweeping down to rest atop the book's cover. “What secrets are you hiding there?”

Her gaze flitted from his eyes to his hand, a growing wariness churning within her. Her fingers tensed around the book, futilely attempting to shield its contents. But deftly, the book was relinquished from her hold and into his.

His melodious voice breathed life into the words etched on the page, “Let's unravel this mystery... 'How to Brew a Love Potion,'” he read aloud, his playful and teasing tone. Amusement twinkled in his eyes as they danced up to meet hers. “Wow, (y/n), I'd never take you for one who needed a love potion.”

To match his wit, (y/n) maintained her playful gaze, a smirk curving her lips as her retort unfurled, “Oh, I don't know, Fred. Perhaps that's my secret to acing Snape's classes.”

Not even the weight of dark humour could ruffle Fred Weasley's composure. His smirk swelled, infused with a brew of mischief that danced in his eyes. “If that's the case, you're terrible at it. I distinctly recall a certain incident involving Snape's homework, and if memory serves, it nearly rendered you floundering.”

She averted her gaze, her attention shifting to the captured book still cradled within his hands, the prospect of regaining it receding into the distance.

“Thanks for the recall, top-tier student,” she quipped, a playful glint in her eyes. “Now, are you willing to tell me your secrets? What are you doing here, in the library?”

Fred's laughter danced like a secret melody, an intimate note that lingered in the air, his eyes shimmering with a clandestine glimmer. “What's life without a little mystery?” he joked, his voice a velvety caress.

She mirrored his stance, a symmetrical lean that brought them closer, the gap between their faces now an invitation. Their proximity wove a delicate tapestry between their banter and a realm of deeper connection. “Is that so?” she inquired, her words drawn out in a languid purr, the air heavy with a mingling of intrigue and allure.

He matched her pace without the need to ask. The dance of their words had woven a tapestry of amusement, their shared enjoyment eclipsing the pursuit of concrete answers. After all, Fred barely had learned a secret. He was smart enough to know (y/n)'s book had been opened on a random page.

“If I tell you why I'm here,” he mused; his gaze, which had been steadfastly locked onto her eyes, dared trace a path to her lips, “what will you give me in return?”

(y/n) thought herself very wicked when her answer came quickly, “A love potion?” she playfully suggested.

His smile faltered, his breathing taking on a deeper rhythm, a transformation she couldn't help but notice.

“I don't need that,” he purred, voice dipping lower, “however, you...”

An eye-roll framed her response, though she didn't retreat from his proximity.

“Weasley...” her voice began, her tone laden with a mix of exasperation and uncertainty, an attempt to convey a sentiment she was grappling to articulate.

“Fred,” he interjected, the word a soft murmur, his eyes holding hers earnestly. Noticing her bemusement, he continued with a gentle lilt, “Call me Fred.”

She processed his words, pondering the significance of calling him by his name instead of his surname – a departure from the collective label that often accompanied the Weasley clan around Hogwarts.

A nervous throat clearing preceded her tentative utterance, “Fred." She tested the name as if savouring the syllables as if she did not know it before.

Flirting was an uncharted territory for (y/n), a realm she now tiptoed into, fueled by trepidation and exhilaration.

“Lucian Flewchief's book.”

The words hung suspended, (y/n)'s brow furrowing as she sought to decipher their meaning. Was that Fred’s way of flirting back? Suggesting a book? (y/n) was puzzled. That was a new way of flirting she never knew of, but she hoped the book was some young adult fae fantasy.

Fred's perception of her confusion prompted him to lean back slightly, dissipating the cosy bubble they'd woven. He clarified, “That's our objective here – locating Lucian Flewchief's book."

Her understanding unfurled with an "oh" of realisation, the pieces clicking into place.

“We're also the reason behind the library's current solitude,” he continued, an impish glint in his eyes. “George and I orchestrated a bit of a distraction to ensure we could slip away without drawing any undue attention, Godric forbid, with a book in tow!”

So that explained why she was the only one lingering at the library. Though it made sense, it stirred a tinge of melancholy within her.

Curiosity nudged her to question further, her tone now coloured with intrigue. “Who is this guy? Flewchief? And why the necessity for secrecy around his book?” Her queries were genuine and earnest, though sadness crept into her voice as their playful exchange segued into a more sober dialogue.

Fred swayed his head before replying, “He's a master at pranks.”

An eyebrow arched in response, (y/n)'s curiosity unabated. While she may not have been an expert in the art of pranking, one would expect to have heard of such a renowned figure, right?

Observing her perplexity, Fred inhaled deeply before disclosing, his voice lowered almost to a whisper, “He's a muggle author.”

Recognition flashed across (y/n)'s face, though she remained silent. Yet, subtle shifts in her posture – a subtle sag of her shoulders, a slight tightening of her lips – betrayed a sentiment that did not escape Fred's notice. He understood the Slytherin disposition all too well; prejudices were not uncommon.

She unravelled a piece of herself with an unexpected candour, her words confounding Fred's expectations. Instead of disparaging comments or dismissing glances, she offered something else entirely. 

“I want to be a writer for muggles,” she confessed, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “I like to write fantasy, you know. But that's not a genre for wizards; our reality often rivals the most fantastical of fiction. So, my focus turns toward the muggle readers.”

Though caught off guard by the revelation, Fred remained silent, feeling a surge of admiration for her. He hadn't anticipated such a response.

“I can help you find Flewchief's book,” she offered, swiftly transitioning past the exposure of her own secret, determined not to let her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I know this library well, particularly the section reserved for muggle authors. I presume you and George have little familiarity with the place.”

A crooked smile curled upon his lips in response. “Indeed,” he admitted with a chuckle, “you could even say 'no familiarity'; it's quite fitting.”

While (y/n) couldn't quite fathom how any student or individual could navigate life without venturing into the depths of a library, she empathized with their unfamiliarity. The muggle literature section was cloaked in segregation as if Hogwarts itself was disconcerted by such volumes.

Rising from her seat, she gathered her assortment of potion books. Truth be told, she harboured no illusions about accomplishing any meaningful research that afternoon. She left only one book behind – the one currently cradled in Fred's grasp.

“Are you coming or…?" Her voice hung in the air, a hint of playful theatricality accompanying her question.

Promptly, Fred sprang from his chair, the solitary book still in his possession. With (y/n) as his guide, they embarked on a journey through the library's labyrinthine aisles. Initially, they returned her stack of books to Madam Irma Pince, whose sole acknowledgement was a fleeting glance, her eyes flitting over the pile as it landed on her counter. Her gaze flickered momentarily as if recognition finally settled in at the sight of the redheaded companion beside (y/n).

“A Weasley," Madam Irma Pince declared, her observation stating the obvious. Fred, however, found himself grappling with an appropriate response. Ultimately, he opted for a shrug, his head tilting in acquiescence.

“I’m Fred,” he offered, his voice laced with a touch of formality. “But, you are absolutely correct, I am a Weasley."

It was abundantly clear that the librarian was well aware of which Weasley he was. 

“Don’t tear my books apart,” she cautioned, her voice edged with warning. “And don’t you dare burn this place down.”

Fred's lips pressed into a tight line, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. He responded with a curt, “Noted."

(y/n) glanced up at Fred and then to the side, studying his expression. His tone left her somewhat perplexed – she couldn't discern if he was indulging in sarcastic provocation or if he held genuine offence at Madam Irma Pince's admonitions. She reflected that the torrent of criticisms from every adult figure must have been tiring. Yet, the twins hadn't acquired their notoriety by chance; their reputation as school pranksters was well-earned.

The three exchanged furtive glances before Madam Irma Pince averted her gaze to her counter. Her intentions, on the other side, remained veiled to (y/n). Fred possessed the capability to peek, but (y/n) held doubts about him exercising that prerogative.

Clearing her throat, (y/n) eased away from the librarian, and Fred followed suit.

“Take me to George,” she requested. Detecting Fred's immediate confusion, she elaborated, “So both of you can scour the shelves for the books. I can assist, but I'm not quite tall enough to reach all of the shelves.”

“Again," Fred inclined his head toward her, and at that moment, a subtle shift occurred, the playful dance of flirtation vanishing as swiftly as it had emerged, “Thank you for the assistance”. His expression was appreciative, genuine, a quiet acknowledgement of her assistance.

With a soft smile, she replied, “Don't mention it," her voice bearing a hushed quality, her gaze evading direct eye contact. “You’ll just own me one.”

He chuckled, “Uh, the unspoken possibilities.”

Indeed, Fred. Indeed.

It was a rather cold day. 

But it was Saturday and Hogsmeade trip day, so (y/n) put on her thickest coat and decided to face the snow.

Her fellow housemates buzzed with excitement, eagerly anticipating the visit. Yet, for (y/n), this outing held a more sombre purpose – a pilgrimage to Honeydukes. While her friends were pursuing quills and ingredients, (y/n) sought only solace in candy. These past few days had been trying, and the kitchen house elves had quietly declared her persona non grata, etching “no longer welcomed" onto their secret walls. So she’d have to buy her own sweets from now on.

“Feeling hot today?” a voice chimed from behind (y/n).

She clutched herself, attempting to stave off the relentless cold. Hogsmeade always exuded a chill, but it seemed that nature was intent on pushing the mercury even lower today. Not even her trusty coat could entirely repel the biting wind.

The voice was familiar; she recognised it as belonging to Fred Weasley.

“Where’s your other half?” she asked, noticing George wasn’t around.

“At the school,” Fred replied, bridging the distance with a few long strides. Given the frigid weather, (y/n) moved slowly, rivalling the old ladies of Diagon Alley. “He's caught the flu.”

A chuckle escaped (y/n), though her amusement was laced with empathy. “After today, I might end up just as sick.”

Fred mirrored her laughter, his eyes gleaming with a twinkle. Then, shifting his gaze towards their right, his expression became more earnest. “Come on, let’s get you something warm. Tea?”

True to his suggestion, Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop loomed just a few steps away.

(y/n) scanned her surroundings, from Fred to the inviting facade of the shop, and for a fleeting moment, the idea appealed to her. But then, a mental alarm sounded – this place was renowned for romantic trysts, a haven for couples from their year. For a time, (y/n) had considered herself above such traditions. But as her sixteenth birthday came and went, and she remained unattached, she longed for the experience of a boy inviting her to tea. Now, at eighteen, it seemed more a fanciful dream than a tangible possibility.

So Fred was definitely not suggesting it as a date.

“I actually have to head to Honeydukes,” she replied, her features arranged in a grimace, and she gestured with her body towards the store at the far end of the bustling Hogsmeade street. “That's the only reason I'm still here.”

Fred bit his lip in thought. “How about we grab a tea to go, then?” he proposed, his determination unwavering. He peered down at her, shivering in the cold, taking in her petite frame. “In less than fifteen minutes, you'll be on your way back to Hogwarts.”

The notion of sipping on something piping hot was increasingly appealing.

“Promise?” she asked, her tone a touch childlike.

Fred extended his pinky finger, encased in a slightly faded red glove – likely a Weasley hand-me-down. Not that (y/n) considered herself entitled or wealthy, but it was common knowledge that the Weasleys weren't the richest in monetary terms. Yet, they were undeniably wealthy in children.

Her own pinky fingers remained nestled deep within her pockets, safe from the cold. Fred glanced down and chuckled.

“Come on.”

She sighed, “Fine, Weasley. But you're footing the bill,” and when she noticed he was about to playfully protest, she added, “You were the one who insisted, after all.”

They walked together, resembling a pair of penguins navigating the icy terrain. (y/n)’s hands, nestled within her coat pockets, were shielded from the biting cold, yet their elbows still grazed one another now and then as they strolled leisurely.

Fred gallantly held the door open, allowing her to enter the cosy shop, and she expressed her gratitude in a soft murmur. While he proceeded to the counter to place their order (when queried, (y/n) simply requested, “Any tea will do, as long as it's the hottest available"), she contemplated the peculiar friendship that had taken root between them.

She'd never been an opponent of Fred, or the Weasleys, or anyone within Gryffindor, as one might have assumed. However, their closeness was a relatively recent development. When confronted with one of the twins' pranks, (y/n) was often the first to laugh, captivated by the sheer audacity of their exploits. She believed magic should be harnessed for amusement, not as a weapon; consequently, she found their approach to their magical talents endearing.

Because of her laughter, Fred and George had never targeted her with their pranks. Their mischief was generally directed at Malfoy and his ilk. Occasionally, she'd return to her common room and find something amiss, but she understood it was their way of rebelling against the entirety of Slytherin and its values rather than a personal affront.

By her fifth year, (y/n) considered Fred and George her acquaintances. They exchanged nods in the classrooms and other shared spaces. Being in the same year, she had grown accustomed to their voices and learned to differentiate between them.

Moreover, the Weasley twins had a certain charisma that she couldn't deny. She had met Fred’s older brothers before, so their good looks were no surprise. She realised this charm extended to Fred as he approached with two cups of steaming tea.

His freckles had always been a distinctive feature she admired. Yet now, she also noticed the appeal of his height, his shoulders broad and strong, typical of a Beater. His hair appeared soft and straight, inviting her fingers to run through its fiery strands, although she knew better than to entertain such notions.

Strangely, it was his nose that intrigued her the most. It was the distinguishing feature that allowed her to differentiate between Fred and George. She found it more masculine and captivating than the rest of his features. Not to mention his chest, which had once tantalisingly revealed his abs through a sweaty Quidditch shirt during a match. The sport certainly worked wonders on bodies.

“Thank you,” she said before taking a sip. She freed her hands from her pockets only with the prospect of holding something scolding hot.

Fred observed her closely as she tasted the tea, noticing how her eyes momentarily closed in bliss and how her body seemed to uncoil, the tension in her shoulders dissipating.

“All right, off to Honeydukes I go," she declared, pivoting towards the Tea Shop's exit.

Fred followed her, hastening to hold the door open once more. A subtle blush dusted her cheeks, and she was relieved that the shop was still relatively empty. A couple occupied a dimly lit corner but seemed too concentrated on each other to notice Fred Weasley being nice to a Slytherin girl. So that’s saying a lot about how entertained that random teenage couple was.

As they stepped back into the brisk Hogsmeade air, (y/n) noticed that Fred was still at her side. She didn't voice any complaint, though. Ever since the day he had sought her help at the library, she had resigned herself to the idea that she might never get the opportunity to converse with Fred alone again. George was always around, and if not him, then someone else. And even though, if she tried, (y/n) could engage in conversation with the other twin or with a Gryffindor student, she would rather not. 

In fact, it was rare to find someone she would like to engage in conversation with.

Fred was a… welcoming surprise.

“Uh," Fred's voice cut through the silence, which had settled between them as they enjoyed their tea, “can we make a quick stop here?"

They were passing by Zonko's Joke Shop, renowned for its extensive collection of prankster essentials. Of course, the shop would undoubtedly be on Fred's daily checklist. However, his request to pause at the store intrigued (y/n), given that she had never envisioned walking with him that day. Sure, he had treated her to tea, but that hardly counted as an expense, and she had mentioned her eagerness to return to Hogwarts promptly.

“It won't take long, I promise," he assured her, taking note of her delayed response. “Just add five more minutes to your wait. I'll escort you back, no worries."

(y/n) hesitated for a moment. “You really don't have to do that," she replied, taken aback by his gentlemanly offer.

“As if I'd let you make the journey alone."

She gazed at him in the wake of his response. “I'm a witch," she pointed out the obvious. “It's not like I can't handle a few dangers."

Fred cocked his head, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue. “Can you defend yourself against the cold?"

She didn't respond; her answer would have been a resounding ‘no.'

“That's what I thought," he declared, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, her free hand resting on her hip, her other still cradling her tea. “And what can you do to protect me from the cold?" she challenged Fred.

His smile grew, and he knew he had the perfect response. “Keep you from slipping on the icy ground."

Annoyed by his accuracy, she sighed loudly as they entered the joke shop.

The shop was bubbling with people: it was a living organism. (y/n) struggled to recall the last time she had set foot in this place. She had certainly visited the joke shop before, back in her third year when students were first allowed to venture into the village. Like her peers, she had eagerly explored every store without exception. However, as time passed, most of the shops had become familiar and somewhat ordinary to her. She only made the trip to Hogsmeade with a purpose now. Coming just for butterbeer seemed pointless, especially when she lacked the company of friends to sit with and share laughter.

So, following Fred Weasley as he browsed around the shop put her in a silent trance of observation and gaping. He moved confidently, searching for items and locating them quickly, with the same precision she'd demonstrated when she'd guided him through the library the other day. (y/n) followed at his heels, like a child following its guardian. In less than three minutes, they were already in line to pay.

“How do you know where everything is?" she asked, enjoying the moment of calm the checkout line offered. “I don't think gathering all that took you more than five minutes."

And it was indeed quite a haul. Fred's two hands cradled dozens of boxes and items like precious cargo in his lap. The teacup he had been carrying was now held securely by (y/n), ensuring that her hands were occupied with warm objects to fend off the cold.

Fred responded with a casual shrug to her question. “How do you know where all the books are in the library?" he countered.

“I don't know," she replied, her response unfiltered. “I guess I've just memorised it over time."

“Me too," he said, his eyes fixed on the shop as if watching his beloved. “Not to give reason to my fame at Hogwarts, but of course, my favourite shop has to be Zonko’s."

The line at the checkout stretched long, leaving (y/n) and Fred standing in contemplative silence, pondering the curious connection that seemed to be budding between them. Amid it all, (y/n)'s thoughts swelled like a bubbling potion. Were they friends now? Could she consider adding him to her list of friends for Christmas shopping? These questions lingered, but she found herself without a clear answer. It felt odd to directly ask such a thing; friends didn’t ask if they were friends. They either were or weren’t, organically becoming over time.

But despite the comfort she felt around Fred, she couldn't quite label it friendship. The issue, she concluded, was her own. She had a deficit of friends and now understood why: she wasn't wired for it. Friendship wasn't part of her programming. Fred, on the other hand, was a different breed. Friendship was his natural state, woven into his very essence. He exuded a friendly aura, even if many Slytherins would vehemently disagree.

She didn't need to wonder whether he considered her a friend. He most likely did. He never targeted her with pranks; he exchanged glances with her in class often and was currently offering to escort her back to school. Fred saw her as a friend.

But did she want that?

“What are you thinking?” he inquired, pulling her out of her contemplative reverie.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie,” he said, relaxing his shoulders. “I can see the smoke coming out of your ears like a cauldron.”

She had no clever reply, so she was content with wrinkling her forehead and lying. “I’m thinking about how quickly I will be able to get all the candy I want. Definitely not as quick as you, here.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Why?”

“I love candy and definitely know where everything is at the shop,” she explained, tilting her head unconsciously as she spoke. She explained, unconsciously tilting her head while talking. “But I have to gather enough to last until our next trip to Hogsmeade, and I'm not certain I can calculate that. I love chocolate, so one would assume I'd need to buy a lot to make it last. However, if I get too much, I'll eat more than I should. And trust me, I will eat everything I buy," she concluded with a hint of warning in her tone, as if she were issuing a threat rather than sharing a piece of information.

Fred swallowed hard, trying to wrap his head around her unique thought process. “Are you stockpiling sweets?"

She nodded, feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

“Well, if you do end up eating it all, I'll show you where to get more, you know, from the kitchen with the house elves," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up as if he were secretly pleased with himself for sharing this tidbit.

“Oh, Weasley," she shook her head, dramatically feigning pitifulness. “I already know the secret passage to the kitchen. That's precisely why I have to stockpile chocolate in the first place. I've been painted as a criminal there for how many sweets I've pilfered."

He couldn't help but chuckle, though he kept it discreet.

“I can't believe it," Fred said with mock disbelief, then paused as if pondering again. “Well, actually, I can."

With the two cups of tea-to-go in her hands, she raised her shoulders in a half-shrug while raising her hands in tandem.

“So yeah," she concluded, “I have to stock up until the Professors allow us to come here again."

Staring at him, (y/n) couldn't help but think that Fred was on the verge of saying something. However, something must have caused him to change his mind, and he remained uncharacteristically silent. A few seconds later, he was called to the cashier to settle the bill for his items. (y/n) patiently waited behind him, casually sipping her tea.

When Fred returned to her side, the numerous small boxes he'd been clutching had been consolidated into just two cardboard bags, which he effortlessly carried in one hand. The two of them exited the joke shop, savouring the last remnants of their teas. By the time they reached Honeydukes, the cups had already been discreetly disposed of in the nearest bin.

“Have fun," he wished her warmly, courteously holding the door of the candy shop open for her to enter. (y/n) returned his friendly sentiment with a smile—precisely the sort of well-wishing one would expect before embarking on a shopping spree in a candy store.

Fred lingered in a quiet corner of the shop, surreptitiously observing as she gleefully navigated the aisles, carefully selecting her candies and placing them into a plastic basket a diligent store employee offered. She appeared far more animated here than he had ever seen her before—back in the library, she had come across as somewhat bored, and the same was true in their shared classes. While she undeniably held the status of a top student with excellent grades, Fred couldn't help but wonder why she seemed to lack the enthusiasm and focus he might have expected from someone of her academic calibre.

However, gathering her desired assortment of sweets took considerably longer than the five minutes Fred had initially anticipated. When he finally met up with her at the cashier, the man behind the counter handed over not one, not two, but three full bags of assorted candies and confections.

Fred couldn't help but jest, “Wow, someone's clearly outdone me."

“Mine's supposed to last longer," she retorted with a wry smile, determined to maintain her composure. 

Fred's grin only broadened. "Will it, though?"

There was no malice behind his teasing; his natural inclination was to engage in playful banter, a habit he would have indulged with George, Ginny, or anyone else. If anything, he found himself enjoying the camaraderie that was forming between them, appreciating the quick-witted exchanges that characterised their interactions. And (y/n)'s response was predictable by now—a blend of half-anger and half-challenge that had come to define her expressions.

They left the candy store, their playful back-and-forth continuing as they walked, with Fred progressively leaning in closer with each exchange.

Fred's next question unintentionally left (y/n) feeling mortified as they approached the Three Broomsticks. 

“Are you sure you don’t want a good, old butterbeer?” he asked. “It’s alright if you do. I won’t linger at your friends’ table; I’ll just drop you there and find Oliver Wood or someone else.” He said, using Oliver as an example, for he was the one name he remembered to have seen around the village.

It was weird, now that Fred had come to think of it, how he did not recall seeing one person from Hogwarts around Hogsmeade, even though he knew it was a crowded day there.

She had no friends to meet there or anywhere else. She cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact, “I don't have friends in there."

The proximity to the inn allowed them a clear view through the frosty windows, revealing the familiar faces of fellow students enjoying butterbeer.

“Why? Haven't they come to Hogsmeade?" Fred asked in surprise, momentarily distracted by the scene inside. “I swear that's Carmen Highland if my eyes aren't deceiving me," he remarked, gazing at the occupants within.

Lost in the sight of her former friends, Fred hadn't noticed that (y/n) was gradually distancing herself from him. She knew Carmen and recognised the other kids at her table — Andrea, Miniu, and Shenny. But they weren't friends anymore. 

At least, not anymore.

“It is Carmen,” she reassured him, in case Fred would start considering he was indeed blind. “We’re just not friends, though.”

Fred finally snapped out of gazing through the cold glass window and returned his gaze to her.

“I distinctly remember all of you being quite lively at dinners and walking around classes," he said, furrowing his brows. “Unless Carmen has look-alikes I'm unaware of, I'm certain it's her. I've seen her during my Quidditch practices, competing for the pitch." 

A smile tinged with embarrassment danced on (y/n)'s lips. She smiled not because she was pleased with the memories but because she was trying to conceal her inner gloom.  “I used to walk with Carmen, and Miniu, and Andrea and Shenny. But that was way before.”

“No, I…”

“It was, Freddie,” she interrupted before he made her remember another memory. It was only because of her use of his nickname that he understood she wasn’t alright. “We were friends in the first year. Us and a bunch of other kids, so tight together because we were Slytherin, and we had to stick together because then we’d be victims of bullying from other houses.” Fred opened his mouth, but she continued, “Don’t deny it.”

Fred sighed and nodded.

“In our second year, the group started to shrink, and it ended up being just me and that table," she explained, her gaze distant, as if the memories were playing out before her eyes. "But I began to feel like I was there because I forced myself to be. I was being pushy. So when I stopped going, they didn't chase after me. That's when it became clear to me what our relationship was."

“What was it?" Fred inquired, genuinely perplexed, prompting (y/n) to wonder if he had ever experienced the abrupt end of a friendship.

“They weren't my friends," (y/n) stated matter-of-factly. “We didn't have a falling out or anything. I still greet them, and occasionally, we help each other with homework in the common room. But that's about it."

Fred pursed his lips thoughtfully, pondering the right words to respond with.

“Alright," he finally conceded. “I won't pry further," he said, his expression more serious now. “I can't quite fathom how a friendship could simply unravel like that, but it's clear it's not a cheerful matter. However, that doesn't mean you can't be with your other friends."

She rolled her eyes with exasperation and turned away from Fred and the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, her boots crunching softly in the freshly fallen snow.

“I don't have friends," she sighed, her breath visible in the crisp, wintry air. She could hear his footsteps, somehow always close behind.

Fred waited until he was walking right alongside her before he replied; his tone was soft and comforting. “You have me," he said, then hastily cleared his throat. “I mean, you have us. Me and George. I still owe you one from our library escapade."

“Consider it settled," she responded, her voice edged with a hint of exhaustion and her gaze averted. “You gave me a cup of tea, after all."

“That was just courtesy," Fred explained, his lips curving into a friendly smile, thinking their usual playful banter had resumed.

But (y/n) was weary, and it showed in her demeanour.

“Well, you're accompanying me back to the school," she tried again, her tone tinged with finality. “So consider that debt paid."

“Nah," he waved his free hand dismissively. “That's just me being a proper gentleman."

She rolled her eyes once more, a flicker of irritation crossing her features. “Fred..."

“We're friends, alright," he insisted, his tone gentle yet resolute, raising his voice slightly. “You have a friend... in me."

Without warning, (y/n) halted in her tracks, pivoting to face him fully, her expression a mixture of astonishment, incredulity, and a hint of amusement.

“Did you just quote a Muggle movie at me?" she asked, her voice showing disbelief.

“I’m sorry?”

“‘You have a friend in me’,” she repeated his words, this time adding a melody to her tone. “Did you quote the Toy Story song?”

“A toy story? Where is it?” he was genuinely confused, which led (y/n) to drop the subject since it was evident he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Never mind," she sighed, resuming her pace. “It's from a Muggle movie."

“And you've seen it?" Fred's stride matched hers again, his curiosity piqued.

“Unfortunately," she replied, her lips twisting in mild distaste. “I didn't quite enjoy it."

“Oh, why not?" Fred inquired with interest.

“It was... about friendship," she said, taking a moment to complete her sentence.

“I see," Fred mused, nodding thoughtfully as they walked towards the school, the snow beneath their feet offering a soft, comforting crunch with every step. “Perhaps I should watch it.”

“Yeah, why not,” she replied, not really wanting to participate in the conversation.

Fred knew when to shut up when he should, so they remained silent until the school entrance was visible.

“Uh, thank you,” (y/n) told him as they stopped in the middle of Hogwarts’ entrance corridor. It was a relatively empty hallway.

“See you around,” he nodded, and she bit her lip, turning her heels towards her House. “Friend,” Fred added a second later, only to see her turn her gaze over her shoulder.

“Bye, Weasley,” she said with a heavy breath out of resignation.

[senawashere]

You're still the one..

A/n: This song is so Jake Seresin. And also i realised i messed the time's and date's so be aware of it🫣 This is for @ohtobeleah 's Galentines day!!

Warnings: Mention of pregnancy and giving birth and mostly fluff (minors please still dont interact)

Word count:3,8 K

February 17 2024. 01.34 am

Jake Seresin never thought he would settle.

Jake Seresin never thought he would come home to freshly baked dinner almost every night.

Jake Seresin never thought he would come home from deployment with pure joy.

Jake Seresin never thought he would be a dad.

Jake Seresin also never thought he would be a husband. A great one.

But here he was being the best of him for his family.

One night, with his wife peacefully laying beside him and their two beautiful babies sleeping soundly in their shared room,Jake Seresin couldn't help but reflect on how the story of their love had begun.

As he lay there, the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains illuminated the room, casting a gentle aura over the scene. The hushed sounds of nighttime surrounded them, creating a tranquil atmosphere that contrasted with the high-octane tales of Jake’s daring adventures.

His mind drifted back to the Hard Deck, where the neon lights and pulsating beats had set the stage for their first meeting. Jake couldn't shake the memory of that night – the electric connection, the shared laughter, and the undeniable chemistry that had sparked between them. Little did he know that the chance encounter in the bar would evolve into a love story that now filled their shared space with warmth and joy.

August 18 2018:

The Hard Deck pulsed with the kind of energy that seemed to defy gravity, much like the Jake Seresin himself. Bright lights painted the room in vivid hues, casting an electric but also soft glow over the animated crowd. You, just another face in the buzzing sea of people, found solace in the dimly lit corner of the bar.

And then, he swaggered in, a living legend in khaki uniform and aviator sunglasses Jake Seresin, the talk of the town. His sandy blond,sleek hair and the unmistakable cocky grin made your heart flutter unexpectedly. As if guided by some unseen force, he ended up at the bar right beside you.

The air crackled with unspoken tension, a silent dialogue of glances exchanged beneath the pulsating beats. Penny must have noticed the incident because she leaned over to your ear and whispered encouragingly for you to break the ice.

"Fly any cool jets lately?" you asked, your attempt at nonchalance betrayed by the slight quiver in your voice,it wasn't expected.

He shot you a smirk, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and the conversation took off like a supersonic jet. Jake's tales of high-flying adventures and near misses filled the air, weaving a spell that drew you into his orbit. The chaotic sounds of the bar faded away as you found yourself captivated by his world.

“Do you think they are having fun?” Phoenix asked Rooster while sipping her beer.

“Nah,i guess not”

But your and his laughter became the soundtrack of the night, shared stories creating a bridge between two strangers who felt strangely connected.

The Hard Deck, with its bright ambiance and heady atmosphere, became the backdrop to a love story written in stolen glances and genuine smiles.

In the heartbeat of that night, you realized that Jake Seresin was not just a daring pilot but a soul with whom you shared an undeniable connection. The clinking of glasses and the distant hum of conversations faded into the background, leaving only the vibrant chemistry that sparked between you and the real-life Hangman, as the Hard Deck transformed into the unexpected stage for the beginning of something extraordinary.

And both of you were grateful for Hard Deck and Penny that night.

October 10 2019:

Life with Jake was fun.

Life with Jake was an exhilarating journey, an adventure marked by laughter, spontaneity, and a touch of unpredictability. From the moment he entered your world, it was as if a burst of vibrant energy had been injected into the everyday routine, transforming the mundane into a thrilling escapade.

His infectious zest for life was like a magnetic force, pulling you into a whirlwind of excitement. Every day was an opportunity for new experiences, whether it was exploring uncharted places or simply finding joy in the ordinary. Jake's playful spirit infused even the simplest moments with a sense of fun and wonder.

Together, you navigated the ups and downs with a shared sense of humor that made challenges feel more like temporary detours than roadblocks. Life with Jake was a rollercoaster of laughter, a soundtrack of inside jokes and spontaneous adventures that left a trail of fond memories.

What made it even more special was Jake's ability to find joy in the little things. Whether it was a spontaneous road trip, a homemade dinner, or just a quiet evening at home, he had a knack for turning the ordinary into something extraordinary.

It was in those everyday moments that you discovered the true meaning of happiness – the joy of simply being with someone who knew how to make every moment count.

Life with Jake wasn't just fun; it was a celebration of love, friendship, and shared experiences. He taught you that life's journey is not just about reaching a destination but about savoring the joy of the ride. With Jake by your side, every day was an opportunity to embrace the thrill of the unknown, and you wouldn't have had it any other way.

Especially after little over a year, Jake knelt on one knee one morning as both of you were preparing breakfast. As you turned around in your seat to grab the toast, you saw him on just one knee, holding a blue velvet box, delicately opening it to reveal a slim, gold ring with a dainty not so big diamond in the center – a thoughtful choice you knew he had made, understanding how he moved in minimalist jewelry.

"I had a speech, and - aside from the fact that I have a lot of things to say about you but, I don't remember anything else now and more than that but look I'm madly in love with you. And ı can't think of a day where ı open my eyes and not see you or going to bed without you being the last person ı talk to and I just - Screw it, Y/N, I can't imagine a life without you in it, and just - marry me, please?"

His eyes were already shining before taking a deep breath, his lips trembling as he bitten his lower lip, his lips already pink, and there he was proposing in his black fitted shirt and in his red gingham pajama bottom.

You screamed, placing your hands over your heart, shaking your head as you cried, "Yes! Yes, oh my God, yes, hundred times yes!" Before you could even stand up, you found yourself throwing yourself to the floor, where he hugged you tightly.

Also, you remember that celebrating only with close friends and family in your home was very humble.

You didn't know too many people and you two didn't want a huge ceremony. So the backyard was the cutest place to get married.

As your bridesmaids Phoenix, Halo, and Penny took responsibility for decorating the backyard of your shared home with all the decors, illuminating the trees and walls.

The moment Jake saw you in the simple white wedding dress, it became a moment etched forever in everyone's mind who was present.

He was crouched, pulling you inside for a hug before closing his open mouth in disbelief; you were also laughing shyly as you pulled him to yourself.

He wore a white suit, with pink embroidered flowers on the sides resembling the headpiece you wore.

Polaroids were taken, all the photos were captured on film, making everything about the night,everyone was having the time of their lives.

Whole dagger squad was there and they were the life and the soul of the party.

Jake’s sisters,his family and your siblings and family were there.

Even admiral Beau came. Maverick brought him; he also brought Ice.

The night was more fun, more enchanting and more emotional than anyone expected.

“They said, "I bet they'll never make it"

But just look at us holding on

We're still together, still going strong..”

January 30 2020:

Three years ago, on January 30, you remember telling Jake that you were pregnant. Technically, you screamed it out.

Both of you decided to attend Shania Twain’s show at Madison Square Garden, given your shared admiration for her.

He just came from a 4 week deployment and you knew he needed a break, especially during tense times.

So you planned a trip to New York because he loved there but honestly who doesn't love New York?

But something happened almost before 5 days before the trip.

You got sick. It all started with a lack of appetite, and then suddenly, you felt like eating everything and anything. You blamed hormones until morning sickness kicked in.

If there was one thing you absolutely hated, it was nausea. You remember waking up shaking and retching, your body still feeling the need to rush to the toilet despite not having eaten anything that morning.

For the first three days of these incidents, you were alone. Jake was about to return from the deployment.

Not wanting to disturb him and worry him, you didn't tell him anything.

Whenever he asked why you looked unwell, you simply told him it was just nausea and nothing serious.

One day after Jake went out with Bradley, you remember calling your best friend,Phoenix, asking her to bring you a pregnancy test, choosing to avoid any tabloid talk.

Your heart was pounding, legs bouncing,palms sweaty, and nausea had already begun when you followed the instructions, waiting anxiously.

And then it happened; a scream of disbelief, one hand covering your mouth while the other tightly held the test - you were pregnant.

You remember Jake loving many things, many people, and many abstract ideas like love. You knew he loved babies and kids, often talking about them with you, mentioning seeing you both building a family.

So, after visiting the obstetrician and learning you were five weeks pregnant, you were dazed and excited to tell Jake but decided to do it in a different setting.

Four days after your visit, you and Jake were at Madison Square Garden singing along with Shania Twain.

You stood in front of Jake, leaning your back against him, his arms wrapped around your waist, your hands holding onto his arms, both of you swaying to “You’re still the one’ " while his chin rested on your shoulder.

When you moved slightly to look at him, Jake gazed back at you while singing.

“You're still the one I run to

The one that I belong to

You're still the one I want for life

You're still the one that I love

The only one I dream of

You're still the one I kiss goodnight..”

He kissed your lips and lightly tapped your forehead. Slowly pulling back, he smiled at you.

And then you said it.

"I'm pregnant."

His eyebrows shot up, leaning closer, "I can't hear you!"

You grinned, turning in his arms, "I'm pregnant! Five weeks pregnant!"

His world stopped, mouth forming an 'O' shape as his eyes widened,

"Y/N, are you kidding?!"

With a surprised smile, he asked, lips stretching into a grin, "My love, are you for real?" he asked.

Nodding with joy, you brought his hand from his cheek to your stomach, saying, "You're going to be a dad!"

His breakdown, tears streaming down, biting his lip as he threw his head back, red-nosed,his adam apple bobbing and crying with veins visible on his forehead, hugging you before crying into your shoulder – the only thing he needed to cry into before crying to your shoulder.

His eyes were teary as he held you, feeling him pulling back to rest his forehead against yours, moving his hands to the sides of your neck, "I love you. I love you so much," pulling you back into a hug, one hand moving towards the back of your head, the other on your back, and bringing you closer.

The 9 month pregnancy was smooth and emotional.

The 9 months of your pregnancy were painful, but there wasn't much else to feel aside from your love for Jake's incredible support and assistance and your admiration for your daughter, Emma Seresin.

Since the moment Emma came into the world, you knew she had wrapped her tiny finger around Jake's.

Your daughter was a bond between both of you, but you took pride in her character and personality at such a young age.

When Emma turned 3, you felt proud of how you and Jake could chat with her, even if it was about Jake’s job or hard topics like that and you loved every moment of him talking about how much Emma loved strawberry chapstick or how her nail color was important for her.

On a day when a familiar nausea and change in appetite reminded you of a late period, one question lingered in your mind.

So, over a meal, you brought it up to your husband, who was struggling to eat with your daughter in his lap.

Long story short, you were pregnant – again.

June 26 2023:

You, your husband, and your daughter were sitting in your backyard, allowing Emma to get some vitamin D. While you were writing in your journal, both of you were on the swings, and Emma was playing with her toys and running around, Jake was reading a book beside you.

‘’Mommy?’’

"Yes, sweetheart?"

She ran towards you, putting both of her hands on her knees before looking at your eight-month-pregnant belly and grinning, "What's in there?"

Jake chuckled, putting his book aside to pay closer attention.

"Your baby sibling is in there," you smiled at her.

"But how? Can I sit in there too?"

You and Jake chuckled at her question. "You used to sit in there, darling. But then, you were born three years ago."

Emma frowned, looking at you. "I want to go back in."

You looked at Jake, silently asking for his help.

Before lifting her into your lap, he leaned forward, hands wrapping around her underarms. "But your sibling won't have enough space then."

"I don't care," she whined, crossing her arms and looking down while talking, her lips quivering.

"Your sibling needs all the space to grow up and play with you. Don't you want that?" You asked gently, one hand on your knee.

"But he'll take my toys."

"You can share all your toys with him, sweetheart. He'll share his toys with you too." You chuckled, fearing she wouldn't like her sibling. It was something neither you nor Jake was ready for.

"But, but, you and dad will buy more toys for him.I don't want him." She said with a whimper, arms crossed and looking down, her lips trembling.

You and Jake shared a look before turning back to your three-year-old.

"Emma," Jake gently called her name, looking at her without lowering his gaze, "Sweetie, look at me, please." Emma slowly looked at Jake, allowing both of you to see her teary eyes. "You know Mommy and Daddy love you, and we'll always love you, right?"

You reassured her, saying, 'We love you very much, baby, and nothing will change that,'" you said, placing one hand on your knee, "We're excited for your sibling to meet you. He loves you too."

"Didn't you get excited the other day to show him your room?" Jake asked, rubbing her back gently.

"Yes," she murmured.

"You have so much to show and teach him. You can be his first best friend. Isn't that nice?"

As if understanding what was said, Emma slowly nodded her head.

"We love you, sweetheart. Forever," Jake said, leaning to give her a kiss on the forehead.

Emma turned to her father, crossing her arms and raising two fingers, one for you and one for Jake, "Promise?"

As if your hearts melted right there, you would cry as you locked your pinky finger with hers, watching Jake do the same.

"We promise."

But nobody warned you about the hell you'd go through when your daughter started to envy Calvin.

The day Emma entered the hospital room, holding hands with Javy, and looked at you lying in the hospital bed next to Calvin, making baby sounds as he moved his arms and legs,his eyes wide open, you knew it was somehow going good.

She seemed very welcoming.

Jake sat on the other side of his son, playing with your hair as a non-verbal way to thank you and comfort you after the pain you went through. His lips were fixed in a smile; his heart was pounding with happiness at the addition of the new healthy family members.

Emma looked at her parents, unable to see the middle sibling. She was overwhelmed because she knew she would meet her brother.

"Hello, sweetheart!" Jake grinned at her, bending slightly and opening his arms. Before kissing her cheek, he hugged her tightly as he carried her to sit on his hip, watching her eyes immediately shift to the newborn baby.

"Meet Calvin, buddy." Tired but with a smile on your face, you spoke, hoping she would take the change lightly.

Well, at least you hoped so.

But as Emma threw herself onto Jake, burying her head on his shoulder, crying, it was expected.

Javy and his wife didn't know how to help. Just like Bradley and Natasha.

"Hey, hey, what's the problem?" Jake asked, rubbing her back as she cried.

"I don't like him," Emma said, dragging him, her arms wrapped around Jake's neck.

You both know she wasn't a kid like this and it surprised you both.

Your heart broke, and Jake's smile faded as if triggered by the screams of your daughter, Calvin started crying too. You sat down, gently picking him up into your arms, placing him against your chest, soothing him, and supporting the back of his head as you pleaded for almost everything to be done by him.

Until Jake locked onto Emma after realizing she was causing the crying. He got out of the small room and stopped in the corridor, holding her, bouncing softly to calm her down.

"Come on, baby, please calm down," he said with a sigh, "Why don't you like Calvin?" he muttered, rubbing her back.

Emma sniffled, pulled back, but while keeping her father's head down, she moved her hand to touch Jake's necklace - the one you and Emma gave him on Father's Day, "Because-because-because he's little and needs more attention, and you won’t love me anymore.."

Jake sat in a chair, still holding his daughter in the same way. "What makes you think that?"

"He will have more love because he's little and needs more attention."

Jake took a deep breath and let the words drown him. While it was true that the little one needed necessary and more attention, he didn't know how to explain to the older one that it wasn't the case.

"When you were a little baby," he started, looking at her, "Mommy and Daddy were everywhere with you. You wanted your parents,us, with you all the time. You cried when we were asleep, spit up too much on us," Jake chuckled to himself, remembering those moments and realizing how everything felt like just yesterday, "You always wanted your mommy and daddy with you. And we never left you," he finished, "So, what makes you think we'd leave you now, sweetheart?"

Emma didn't respond.

"Your brother can't talk yet. He can't say when he's hurt, he doesn't even know the taste of your favorite blueberry pancakes. And we have to make sure he does all these things just like you. But the thing is," Jake leaned to whisper in her ear as if sharing a secret, "Mommy and Daddy can't do it alone. We can't do it without you."

Emma slowly looked at Jake, her face with furrowed eyebrows.

"We promised, sweetheart. We promised to love you forever. Have we ever broken a promise?" He watched her nod, "And we won't. So what do you say? Can you give your brother a chance? Actually, he's quite funny." Jake smiled at her.

"Is he funnier than you?" She asked.

Jake laughed, "Much funnier! You just have to look closely."

Emma giggled quietly.

"Mommy is so excited for you to meet Calvin, do you know that? She was telling me about all the numbers you can teach him, all the pictures you two will take. And what he'll get you for Christmas."

"Can he get me a book about stars? With pictures?" She asked excitedly.

Jake grinned, filled her face with kisses, and heard her giggle, knowing it was one of his favorite sounds, "Tell him."

When Jake stopped, Emma sighed, lowering her shoulder, "Okay, Daddy. I'll say to him.."

"Thank you." He smiled gratefully, "Shall we go back?"

When your husband hugged your daughter and walked in with her in his arms, you couldn't know what to expect until you saw your them

Shy and embarrassed Emma, after sharing a glance with Javy,and hugged Jake after returning to her place.

Calvin had also returned to his place, and silence had returned.

Emma looked at him again, finally noticing how small his hands were, and got curious. Reluctantly, she leaned down a bit with the intention of poking his hand.

But the moment she touched him, it was the moment Calvin wrapped his fingers around hers, making her smile.

"He's holding my finger!" She squealed with delight, "You were right, Daddy. He is funny."

"Yes, you just need to get to know him a bit more," Jake said, bending down and kissing Calvin’s hand before looking at you and whispering an ‘’ı love you so much’’

He was happy that you were still the one to love.

02.05 am February 17:

There was a tired smile formed on his face after he thought about memories.

Beside him, his wife, you stirred in your sleep, a serene expression on your face.

That made him realize how late it was.

Jake turned to face your sleeping form. Moved some stray of your hair and kissed your soft cheek. and while he was looking at you he noticed something.. Jake's heart swelled with gratitude for the life you both had built together.

Your shared room became a sanctuary, adorned with the echoes of laughter,after some rough night; soft pantings and ‘’ı love you’s’’, sometimes a place where you comforted each other and the soft breathing of your sleeping kids, and the quiet acknowledgment of a love that had deepened with time.

In the stillness of the night, surrounded by the tangible evidence of your shared journey – the woman he loved, you, and the two precious souls you both had brought into the world together– Jake couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected beauty of how their story had unfolded. The Hard Deck, with its bright yellow lights and adrenaline-fueled beginnings, now seemed like a distant, yet cherished, memory in the symphony of their family life.

And he was grateful that you were still the one who he kissed for goodnight.

I loved writing this 🥹

I'm tagging people who might be interested:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsigns-haze @sailor-aviator @sorchathered @greenorangevioletgrass @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @floydsglasses @floydsglasses @lyn-js @seresinsbrat @torchflies @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @bradshawsbaddie @hardballoonlove @perfectprettypisces @topguncortez @hangmanapologist

[pelideswhore]

timeline

@a-chaotic-dumbass @nysus-temple here it is!! also tagging @godsofhumanity because you said something about calydonian boar hunt which i mention ever so briefly. the links will take you to fics i have written about the aforementioned occurrence since i will shamelessly take any chance to plug my writing.

Telamon (22) kills his younger half-brother, so both he and Peleus (19) are exiled by their father. Peleus is taken in by his uncle and marries his cousin. He eventually joins the Calydonian Boar Hunt, and accidentally kills his uncle/father-in-law, resulting in his fleeing for a second time. In this second exile he is accused of attempted infidelity by the King’s wife, whom he shunned. The news reaches his own wife, who kills herself, leaving the throne of Pthia to him. The King chases Peleus for revenge, organizing an attack on him by centaurs on Mount Pelion. Chiron aids Peleus and saves his life. This whole fiasco takes 9 years to unfold.

Peleus’ (28) success during the Boar Hunt results in his marriage to Thetis. A year after the wedding, he joins Jason on the Argo. Thetis gives birth to 6 boys before Achilles is born but they all die in infancy.

Priam (27) and Hecuba (25) introduce Paris (0) into the world and almost immediately abandon him into the wild. So far they’ve had Hector (8), his sister (7), Deiphobus (5) and the twins Cassandra and Helenus (4)

4 years later, Achilles (0) is born and dunked in the Styx; Thetis then leaves Peleus (34).

Phoenix (35) gets exiled and comes Phthia because Peleus (35) is his friend, Achilles (1) is living with his dad, he and childless Phoenix bond.

Patroclus (8) kills his playmate over losing a game of petteia; his father sends him away, Peleus (40) empathizes and takes him in, Patroclus and Achilles (5) meet for the first time (ROUGH SEAS)

Menelaus (16) and Agamemnon (21) seek asylum in Sparta, Clytemnestra (14) is immediately infatuated by Agamemnon, Helen (14) not so much. Castor and Pollux (14) are interested in the stories they have to tell.

Agamemnon (22) leaves Sparta to overthrow Aegisthus (20) in Mycenae; he (23) returns to ask for Clytemnestra’s (16) hand in marriage but she’s already married. He kills Tantalus and son (<1) and gets engaged to her (BLOOD-RED HANDS).

Helen (16) gets kidnapped by Theseus about a month later, the Dioscuri (16) bring her back; Clytemnestra (16) and Agamemnon’s (23) wedding gets pulled forward despite the mourning period out of fear for Clytemnestra’s wellbeing and because she is displaying symptoms of pregnancy. Peleus (43) leaves Achilles (9) and Patroclus (12) to go on a military expedition to Troy with Hercules and Telamon (46). When he returns it’s all he talks about and Achilles becomes obsessed with the idea of Troy. Podarkes/Priam (40) earns his epithet when his father (65) gets killed, Hector (21) has his first experiences with war. Telamon takes Priam’s sister as a concubine and she births Teucer, Ajax is 14 at the time.

Helen (18) gets wed off to Menelaus (20). Odysseus (22) marries Penelope (20), Agamemnon (25) and Clytemnestra (18) already have Iphigenia (1) and she’s heavily pregnant (OLIVE TREE)

Achilles (11) gets sent to Charon as a method of education, by now he and Patroclus (14) are inseparable.

Achilles (13) comes back home from Charon and teaches Patroclus everything he learned.

Helen (25) leaves Sparta with Paris (22) (WATCH THE STARS COLLAPSE), Hector (30) freaks out (GATES OF TROY); Achilles (18) impregnates Deidamia (17); Odysseus (29), Agamemnon (32), and Menelaus (27) come and get him for war (SKYROS); Penelope (27) is left alone with Telemachus (1) (CRAZY FOR YOU) and Orestes (10) and Pylades (12) are sent to Sparta to stay with Hermione (6) for her protection.

Achilles (18) goes to Phthia, his father (52) gives him gifts and weapons, Achilles takes Patroclus (21) and Phoenix (52) with him (SAY YOU REMEMBER ME). At Aulis, Iphigenia (11) is brought in as a supposed bride for Achilles, but she is sacrificed (WEDDING ALTARS AND SACRIFICIAL SHRINES). Electra (10) and Chrysothemis (4) are now alone with their mother.

Achilles (25) kills Andromache’s (35) family and she flees to Troy, where she remeets Hector (37) whom she knows from 29 years prior. They get married and a year later Andromache gives birth to Scamandrius/Astyanax.