#phoenix and dawn both do this

[six-legged-sea-leopard]

@reptired men will literallt b like “look at my beautiful goth daughter” and show u a meduim sized central/south asian hypercarnivore from the panthera genus

[youronlydarlin]

warning: none, Simon knows you can't resist him, Simon loves you so much it's giving me a migraine. Fluffyyyyy

Thinkin' bout Simon who acts all cuddly whenever he wants you in bed.

This is just his strategy, actually. He's noticed your unhealthy sleeping patterns since coming home from deployment. How you're still awake at ungodly hours of the night, and ready to start your day at the ass crack of dawn. It remains a mystery to him how you still go through your daily routine, with the same grace of a rising phoenix as if you weren't counting your blinks as a means of rest.

It's way past 10. And way past the time you should be in bed. But you're still hunched over your desk doing god knows what. He keeps a mental note in his head to come up with a another technique, this time for your bad posture.

He stalks towards you carefully, trying to make as little sound as possible. Large biceps wrapping around your middle while he nuzzles his nose into the crook if your neck. His stance looks uncomfortable, with his back slightly bent down to get close to your sitting body. And you abandon whatever it was you're doing in favor of cupping his face with both of your hands. The slight stubble on his jaw tickles your palms and you can't help but give a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

Sighing, Simon's shoulders relax at your touch. He pulls you closer to his chest and you laugh at the funny angle you're in. Only sitting at the edge of your chair now. The world is still and quiet, letting an intimate moment be shared between two lovers.

A long, loving kiss was given to your forehead, paired up with a warm hand slowly stroking your back and all of a sudden everything's that happened throughout the week is catching up to you. Feeling your eyelids slowly drop, you sling your arms around Simons neck. He knows exactly what that gesture means and he's already hooked his arms under your knees. Carrying you like a bride.

Gives one more kiss to the top of your head before saying "S' time for bed, doll..."

And you're nearly knocked out because of how soothing his voice is. You admit defeat, resting your head on his soft chest. Closing your eyes as you slowly drift off to a peaceful sleep.

"... Goodnight, Si.."

".. Goodnight, love.."

Gotcha.

Simon says in his head.

a/n: I am extremely eepy. But I choose soft Simon over sleep. Hopefully your getting enough rest, my darlings! Don't be like me!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

[formulawolff]

x. bringing the heat in miami - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 3.6k

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, mentions of masturbation, lewd humor, age gap relationship, ANGST, naughty text messages, banter, light flirting, toto being down astronomically bad (like actually in the trenches) yadayadayada

prev. | next.

party in the city where the heat is on 

all night, on the beach till the break of dawn

“welcome to miami”

“bienvenidos a miami"

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will smith’s infamous track fills your ears as you stroll in through the main gate of the track, fans clustered in thick waves. your name is called more times than you can count. posters, caps, shirts, you name it, wave about, begging to be signed. 

the sun shines overhead, casting bright, fiery light all around. although it was only around eight in the morning, humidity clung to the air, creating a sticky, dewy sensation on your exposed skin. fluffy clouds drift along, carried by a breeze as it rolls through. 

god, the weather was perfect.

hopefully it would be like this on race day.

“welcome to miamiiii,” alex bobs his head, singing along to the music, “are you excited? it is your home turf, after all.”

“if we were in phoenix, i think i would feel a little closer to home,” you suppress a giggle, “but yes, i am really fucking excited. everyone loves a race in their home country.”

“we’ll be in austin soon enough in october,,” alex shrugs, “when we’re in austin, i need you to show me how to ride a bull and teach me how to perfect that smooth texas drawl. i want to be like one of those little aunties who always say, ‘y’all come back now!’ like dolly parton! ” 

“you’re ridiculous,” the giggles blossom into a full-on laugh, “you don’t just start speaking with a southern accent. that’s not how that works.”

“sure it is,” alex nods, “hey, your parents are coming out for the race, right?”

“yes sir! they will finally get to see their baby girl in action!”

“they didn’t come out for a single grand prix last year?” alex raises a brow.

“i wasn’t winning races last year,” you counter, “i told them not to worry about spending that money during my rookie year. not everyone’s parents are loaded, you know.”

which, was a true statement. 

your parents had invested their time, hard-earned cash, weekends off, and a portion of their lives to get you here. you didn’t expect them to fly out for every single grand prix, make every event, or pay another dime towards your expenses. 

unlike many of the drivers, you were not born into an extremely lavish lifestyle. your parents were modest people, who happened to have a child later in life. ever since you were born, they lived in the same house, drove the same vehicles, and got by adequately. since they both worked full-time, getting you into the racing world was no simple feat. 

yet, they were determined to make your dreams become a reality. after years of careful coordination to the karting tracks, weekends devoted to races, and thousands upon thousands of dollars spent, you were offered a contract with williams racing. of course, you accepted that offer graciously. 

now, you were steadily paying your parents back for their dedication. once you signed your contract and those zeroes hit your bank account, you went out to the nearest dealership, purchasing a suburu wrx. with the premium package, at that. 

you would never forget your dad’s face the moment you pulled into the driveway, beaming as you placed the keys in his hand. 

that was one of the only moments you had ever watched him cry, wrapping you up in a tight, loving embrace.

“you didn’t have to do this. being your father is a gift in itself.”

“but you deserve it. you’ve sacrificed so much so that i could be in this position.”

“and you deserve nothing but the best, baby girl. you are going to be one of the greatest drivers formula one has ever seen. you make us so proud. keep making us proud. keep defying those odds. keep making history, baby girl.”

keep making history, baby girl.

as you stroll into the paddock, greeting the engineers, pit crew, and other team members, you can’t shake that feeling brewing deep within. 

it’s is a fiery desire, setting you ablaze with determination. 

you were going to keep making history. 

you were going to be the first american to win the miami grand prix. 

you were going to be the first woman to win two consecutive grand prixes. 

you were going to be the first woman to earn that title of world champion. 

you were going to chase that high. by any means possible. 

and nothing was going to stop you now. 

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“look at him,” lewis hamilton shakes his head, “he looks absolutely pitiful.”

“you think his little relationship is on the rocks?” 

“quite the contrary mate,” lewis remarks, folding his arms across his chest, “i think it’s more like the poor man is depraved. obviously the euphoria has worn off. he’s come down from that high. the man is craving more. plain and simple. a hand can only do–”

“i don’t need the mental image of my team principal wanking off,” george russell scoffs, rubbing his temple, “fuck, that is disgusting, lewis.”

toto wolff stood a few meters away from the drivers, engaged in deep conversation with bono and members of the crew. now that lewis knew the truth, he couldn’t help but notice how much power that american girl held over the team principal. it was almost as if he were deep in a trance, under some sort of spell. 

it was pitiful, really. just the sight of her was enough to send the team principal spiraling, intoxicated off her alluring aura. not like lewis could blame toto, though. there was no denying that the woman was extremely breathtaking. 

with her stunning features, witty mouth, unapologetic personality, and angelic presence, she was practically miss america.

well, not practically. 

she was miss america.  

everyone adored her. lewis could barely go throughout his morning without hearing her name being mentioned. whether it was fans, journalists, social media, even members of the mercedes crew, she was the hot topic of formula one, taking the world by storm.

toto was a lucky man. an extremely lucky man. 

if only she was into men her age. 

“my apologies mate,” lewis nudges george with his elbow playfully, “did we have anything going on today? any obligations?”

george’s brow furrow, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, “if we’re being honest, i can’t really remember. i think something to do with monster energy, maybe.”

“perfect,” lewis licks his lower lip, fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

time to text that little assistant. 

in all seriousness, he felt horrible for taking advantage of that young girl. she was only nineteen for fuck’s sakes, a fresh face to mercedes at the start of the 2024 season. that made her the perfect target to do his bidding. 

well, it wasn’t really bidding. 

more like investigative journalism. 

at least, that’s what lewis told himself to feel a little less guilty for what he was about to do. 

hey, do you by chance know toto’s schedule today?

seconds later, little text bubbles appear. 

he was meeting with you guys this morning, then he has an interview with the press around two-thirty p.m. it’s nothing super serious, just a brief session entailing his thoughts for the weekend. at four, he has a zoom call with a few of the mercedes execs. after that, he told me he was going to be out for the remainder of the evening. why? 

hmmm. how convenient. 

i was just curious. thanks for letting me know! i appreciate you, natila. 

of course, mr. hamilton! let me know if you need anything else! :))) 

it was now or never. go time.

after the meeting with the mercedes executives, lewis hamilton was going to knock on toto wolff’s door. he was going to stroll into that office, settling into one of those plush leather chairs. and before toto had the opportunity to speak, lewis was going to confront him about that american girl. 

how he was going to start that conversation, he had no idea. that would come to him in time as he went about his day, meeting with sponsors, flashing that lovely lewis smile, flirting with the reporters just a little. not too much so that it was obvious, but enough to make them blush a tad, giggling as they scrambled to stick to their script. 

but for now, it was time to focus on the matters at hand. 

across the track, a dutch driver strolls through the crowds, a jersey in one hand, phone in the other. glancing down at his screen, he curses under his breath at the throng of people. why were there so many people? where did they all come from? 

pausing for a moment, he taps his screen, thumb gliding through his contacts. 

“hey, where are you again?”

“we’re in the williams paddock!” her voice is an octave higher than usual, more than likely from anticipation, “we’ll see you soon!”

“sounds good,” max verstappen stifles a chuckle as he hears a voice on the other end, the words firm, demanding almost.  

“honey, who are you talking to? who’s coming over here?” 

“mom, please, just let me be on the phone for two seconds,” she exhales, “okay, i have to go. i’ll see you soon!” 

the walk to the williams paddock was excruciating, as max had to bob and weave through the masses to avoid reporters, potential sponsors, and any individual who called his name. it’s not like he didn’t like the fame that came with his success, it’s just that he didn’t like the constant cameras in his face. the prying questions. the intrusive comments. 

sometimes he wished he could just blend in, be like any other face in the crowd. yet, how could he when he was max verstappen? 

yet, as he steps into the paddock, he makes out the williams driver, her parents hovering around her as she introduces them to various members of the crew. at the sight, max can’t help but feel the corners of his lips curl into a smile as he notices the sheer and utter pride plastered across their faces. 

and they had every right to be proud of you. 

you earned it. 

“goedemorgen,” max clears his throat, raising his hand for a small wave, “i just came to stop by.”

the instant your mom realizes who is standing before her in the paddock, her eyes widen, lips parting, “oh my gosh – honey. look who it is!” 

“good morning max,” your laughter rings like bells as you cross over to the dutch driver, “how are you?”

“pretty good,” he nods, sticking out his right hand, “hallo, i’m max.”

your dad shakes his hand, squeezing it firmly, “nice to meet ya, max. i’m tony. this is my wife, heather.”

“pleased to meet you,” max beams, turning to your mom, “i brought something for you today. your daughter mentioned that you were a big fan of mine. so, i brought this jersey for you. she let me know your shirt size, so it should fit perfectly. my signature is on there somewhere, but i just can’t quite remember where.”

graciously, heather accepts the jersey, her eyes glossy, shifting to you as she wipes a tear, “oh, honey, you planned this?”

“of course i did,” wrapping an arm around her shoulders, you pull her in for a hug, “i couldn’t bear the thought of you guys attending the race without meeting any of my friends. besides, you deserve an all-inclusive experience at your first grand prix.”

“besides,” max shoots you a wink, “i wanted to meet the woman who crafted such a talented driver.”

at max’s compliment, your mom’s face flushes, “oh please! i can barely make it on the freeway without having a nervous breakdown. i don’t know how she can drive these things. it amazes me how confident she is and–.”

“i could show you,” max offers, “i have some free time tomorrow. i’m sure we could all meet up somewhere and i could take you for a spin, show you the ropes. how does that sound?”

“oh max,” your mom waves a hand, “you do not–”

“but i want to. it’s no issue. no issue at all.” 

“then it’s a plan,” you can’t help but grin as your moms’ eyes light up, “what time works for you, max? since it’s only thursday, we’ll have some time in the morning before the practice laps. or, we could go after. whatever works for you.”

“let’s go in the morning,” max suggests, checking his phone, “i think i can make a few calls. have someone bring in a car. we’ll take it out on the track.”

“is that allowed?” your mom arches a brow, “i just don’t want you two to get in any sort of trouble. 

“oh mom,” you roll your eyes playfully, gesturing to max, “that is max verstappen. whatever max verstappen wants, max verstappen gets.”

“she’s not wrong.”

“okay fine,” your mom nods, and you feel a giggle forming at her overprotective nature. 

“just don’t give me a heart attack out there, max. i have a very important race to watch on sunday.”

as your parents talk to max, alex making his way into the conversation, you feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket. carefully, you fish it out, ensuring to shield your screen from your mom’s wandering gaze. 

this is unbearable. i need to see you tonight. are you going to have any free time? i vaguely recall you mentioning that your parents were going to be here. i will take no offense if you would like to spend time with them. i know you do not get to see them often. 

i need to be inside you, schatzi. i can’t think straight right now because the only thing i can think about is fucking that perfect pussy of yours. 

i miss my golden girl. more than anything. 

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“lewis? this is a pleasant surprise.”

“how’s it going mate?” lewis hamilton bears a quaint smile as he settles into a chair, face-to-face with the team principal, “things going well?”

“eh,” toto shrugs, his head bowed as he types away on his phone, “same old shit, you know.” 

“things going well with the horseback rider?”

oh, so he wasn’t going to drop it. silently, toto curses the attentive nature of his british driver, “they’re fine.”

“so,” lewis leans back, folding his arms across his chest, “when were you going to fess up and admit that your little girlfriend doesn’t ride horses?”

“i don’t understand what you–”

lewis scoffs, clicking his tongue, “i know exactly who your little girlfriend is because she’s a few spaces ahead of me on the grid.”

shit.

the expression painting lewis’ features is brimmed with satisfaction, his gaze piercing right through the team principal as he shifts uneasily in his desk chair, running a hand through his hair. 

toto was well aware that lewis had completely blindsided him, pinning him in a corner. it was quite literally perfect timing, as the team principal was merely minutes away from organizing his things, shutting down his computer, and heading out the door, well on his way to his golden girl. 

well played, lewis. well played. 

yet, he had to maintain his composure. he had to maintain that poker face as lewis cocks his head, prompting him to formulate some sort of witty retort. 

“i’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“bullshit,” lewis shakes his head, “you’re not a very good liar, toto. you of all people should know that i can read you like a bloody book. how long has this been going on?”

well, he had to fess up now. lewis would continue to call him out on his shit if he kept up with the lies. letting out a shaky breath, the team principal hangs his head in defeat, his heart thumping against his rib-cage, wiping his damp palms on his slacks.

no going back now. time to come clean. 

“since she won in jeddah. but if we’re being technical, it started in bahrain.”

“wait,” lewis sticks his hands up, squeezing his eyes shut, “pause. this has been going on since the start of the season? for weeks you’ve been sneaking around, meeting up with her in secret or something? was she the one who came to brackley between melbourne and suzuka?”

with all of the questions pouring from lewis’ mouth, toto’s mind reeled, a swirling torrent of anxiety, fear, and disappointment. his cheeks burn with shame, tinged pink. 

“yes, she was.”

tilting his head, lewis’ lips purse, “you like her?”

“well isn’t that blatantly fucking obvious,” propping his elbows on the desk, he massages his temples with his fingers, “how did you find out?”

“it wasn’t hard,” lewis shrugs, “i mean, i see the way you look at her.” 

toto’s eyes narrow at lewis’ vague response, “how. did. you. find. out?”

“natila texted me about it,” lewis coughs, averting the team principal’s beady stare, “she may have heard a conversation or two.” 

“regarding?” toto presses, satisfaction pumping in his veins as lewis starts to crack, shifting in the chair, “come on, lewis. you can’t just march in here and demand answers from me without sharing your sources. what did natila hear?”

“she heard the entire conversation you had with the drive to survive crew while we were in suzuka. they mentioned that they had footage of you walking over to her motorhome. that’s all natila heard. don’t fire the poor girl,” the words were rushed, breathy, “it was my fault. i asked her what she heard. i told her i would pay her if she told me what she knew.”

“well,” toto blinks, swallowing thickly, “did you end up paying her?”

“only like five thousand.”

“that’s quite a large sum over something you could have just asked me about personally,” clasping his hands together, toto raises a brow, “why didn’t you just come to me instead?”

“because you got so fucking defensive the first time i asked about it!” 

lewis did have a point. 

a good point, at that.

it was not like the team principal would have withheld information regarding his developing relationship with the williams driver. it was more like he feared what would ensue if he did share what had transpired. he trusted lewis, he really did. additionally, it wasn’t like this was just some average woman. his career, her future, and so much more were at stake. the benefits of keeping it all under wraps greatly outweighed the risk of discovery. 

more importantly, he was protective of his golden girl. 

she was his little escape from it all. a breath of fresh air after excruciatingly long nights in the paddock or disappointing days on the track. she was his sun, shining her vivid, warm, golden rays into his dreary and dull life. 

sure, toto was a billionaire. but money was not everything. 

nearly every day, toto’s mind wandered to their time spent together in brackley. the way she felt against his skin. the way her shy smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. the way her fingers felt intertwined with his. the way her lashes fluttered as she slept, lips parted ever so slightly. the way his hands roamed her curves, relishing the softness of her. 

that memory alone was worth far more than the number of zeroes in his bank account. 

“you’re falling in love, aren’t you?”

lewis’ voice is low, dangerously quiet. yet, there’s a curious glint in his eyes, the bitterness and anger no longer present. his body language is more relaxed, legs crossed, the driver fiddling with his thumbs. 

“i –” toto stutters, scrambling to find the right words, “yes, i am.”

“does she know?” 

“no,” he inhales sharply, “she doesn’t.”

“you want to tell her though, don’t you?”

“it would just feel rushed,” the team principal dismisses lewis’ inquiry, his voice hardening, “i have to be realistic here. no one falls in love that quickly. that’s just petulant.”

“well look at it this way,” lewis offers, “if you’ve had your eye on her for some time, then it’s really not that rushed. clearly, if you’re feeling those emotions so deeply, then it’s accumulated over time. i don’t want to pry, but how long have you been attracted to her?”

“you don’t want to know,” a chuckle rumbles in the team principal’s chest, “it’s embarrassing, really.”

“no, no, no,” lewis tuts, “tell me, toto. how long?”

“december 2022, when she signed her contract with williams. when i saw that photo of her, i knew i had to have her. last summer, in monaco, i may have slipped up and approached her at the afterparty. i flirted with her, but she dismissed me. so, i kept my distance. however, it was just growing harder and harder to stay away. it was impulsive, that night in bahrain. but i wanted to make a move before anyone else got to her.”

as toto finishes, he can’t help but notice lewis’ smirk, “holy shit, toto. you’ve been wrapped around her finger for quite some time then, yeah?”

“i wouldn’t say that–” toto begins, clicking his tongue, yet, he’s swiftly cut off as a new figure cracks open the door. 

george russell leans against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. his lips are pressed together, forming a tightly wound frown. 

“way to include me in the gossip session, guys. what did i miss? clearly, quite a lot. if you don’t mind, i would like to join the conversation. toto, would you start from the top? even though i’ve already heard most of it, when were you going to bring it to my attention that you were fucking that bloody williams driver?”

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taglist: @younxii @toldyouitwasamelodrama @kravitzwhore @persona1lies @pucksandpower @k3ira13 @prettiest-at-the-party @martwll @annewithaneofthegreengable @zoeyjadetice2010  @sinners-98-world @laura-naruto-fan1998 @nebarious @joalslibrary @swifth0lic

as always, if i forgot to include you, please let me know! thank you all for the continuous support! i love y'all sm!! <33

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

Original concept comes from @ceilidho’s military asset Soap. Further inspiration came from @391780’s Nikto version “The Summons”. Both are very good and you should definitely check out!!

Content: Post-trauma coping, Non-Con Touching and Kissing, Violence (mentioned), Unstable Soap

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

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Masterlist

[ereardon]

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Six

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader 

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: Ducky goes to her first doctor's appointment; Bob and Jake fight it out; Jake makes a staggering proposal

WC: 2K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

You caught the bus a few blocks from the library and rode it across town to the doctor’s office. Waited in the front area with all the other women in various stages of pregnancy. Your heart sank as you watched woman after woman file in with a partner at her side or a friend. 

You felt utterly alone as they called your name and you stood up alone. 

The sonographer pushed off of her stool and smiled. “The doctor will be in soon.” 

You nodded, laying back against the paper-coated exam table. When the doctor entered, she smiled softly. “Hi there, I’m Dr. Whitman.” She took a seat on the stool. “Let’s take a look here.” She pulled up the sonogram charts. “Everything looks good. You’re measuring at eight weeks and three days. How do you feel?” 

“Nauseous,” you replied. “Tired.” 

She smiled. “That’s par for the course, unfortunately. The second trimester gets better for most patients.” 

“Thank God.” 

The doctor clicked off the screen and folded her hands in her lap. “Y/N,” she said softly. “A core part of a pregnancy is a support system. Are you married?” 

You shook your head. “No.” 

“Do you have a boyfriend or family to lean on?” 

“It’s complicated,” you whispered. 

“I understand.” There was something so soothing about her. “But I also know that what many people don’t realize is that a core part of a healthy pregnancy is having people to lean on. Stress is not good for the baby.” 

“I barely know the father,” you replied. “And I’ve been staying with my brother. But he’s not happy about all of this.” 

The doctor nodded. “No pregnancy is easy to plan for,” she replied. “But keeping your stress levels low is critical, especially during this first trimester. Do you have any friends who can help support you?” 

You thought of Phoenix. So far she was the only one who seemed to want to help. You nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” 

“Good.” The doctor scribbled on a pad. “I’m going to write you a prescription for an anti-nausea medication. Take it once a day for at least a week to see if it helps.” She ripped it off and then handed you the sonogram. “And here’s a photo of your baby.” 

You held the black and white photo in both hands, choking on air. For perhaps the first time, it dawned on you. 

You were going to be a mother. 

***

“Fucking shit, Floyd, what the hell was that?” Jake whipped off his helmet the moment they stepped foot on the tarmac. 

Bob grunted and turned to storm away. Phoenix put one hand on his arm and he shrugged her off. She looked at Jake and raised her eyebrows. “Above my pay grade.” 

“He’s your back seater, Natasha,” Jake said and Phoenix’s lips pressed into a fine line. Jake only called her by her first name when things were serious. 

“He has his own mind,” she hissed back. “I can’t help it that you knocked up his sister.” 

Jake’s green eyes went wide with anger. Bradley stepped between them, trying to diffuse the attention. “Alright, hold on. Let’s just take a step back here before we say things we don’t mean.” 

“I meant it when I said you only think about yourself,” Phoenix said. Her words landed on Jake with a solid delivery. It had been three years, but their last fight still stung. 

Jake shook his head, heading toward the locker room where Bob had disappeared. Behind him, Bradley held both of Phoenix’s arms, keeping her back, his whispers blending into the whirring background noise of jets landing on the tarmac. “Floyd!” Jake’s voice rang out in the empty changing room. He was quiet for a moment before a clang caught his attention, the sound of a locker door slamming. He moved further down the halfway, rounding the corner where Bob stood wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans, a frown laced over his delicate face. “Floyd, listen–”

“I pretty much raised her,” Bob interrupted. Jake frowned, but stayed silent as Bob laced his shoes, refusing to make eye contact. “Our dad left. Our mom worked all the time to put food on the table. So that left taking care of Y/N to me. And I did it, because I loved her. I did it because I wanted what was best for her.” He looked up, blue eyes hollow against sullen skin. “And now you’ve shown up and ruined everything.” 

“I didn’t know she was your sister,” Jake said. “And we didn’t mean for her to get pregnant. It just happened.” 

“But it happened to her!” Bob shouted and Jake took a step back. There was something unhinged about angry Bob. So different from the wallflower that he had always been. You were the one thing that he cared enough about to pick fights over. “You happened to her. You ruined her fucking life, Hangman.” 

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” Jake said. “It’s her life, Floyd. Not yours. It’s hers. You’re acting like I did this to you as a personal attack.” 

“She was just starting to get her footing,” Bob said quietly. “And you took that away from her. You took away her future. Everything she worked so hard for. Everything we both worked so hard for. To get out of Chattanooga. To not end up like the rest of them.” 

Jake sighed. “So that’s what this is about, isn’t it,” he said. “It’s not about me. And it’s not even really about Y/N. It’s about you.” 

Bob squinted. “What?” 

“You’re mad because you think this foils all of your plans, all of your work, everything you did to get the two of you out of that small town life.” 

“She deserves better.” 

“I agree.” Jake shook his head. “Listen, man, I’m not going anywhere. This might not have been what I expected. Hell, it might not even be what I want. But it’s where we are. I’m not going to leave her alone in all of this.” 

“She isn’t alone,” Bob said. “She has me.” 

“Does she?” 

***

A little girl set a pile of library books on the counter in front of you. She was barely tall enough to reach, her thin arms struggling beneath the weight of the books. “Hi,” she chirped.

You turned and smiled. She had big ears and a wide, uneven grin. “Hi there,” you said, scanning the first book. “Wow, you scored big.” 

“I like bugs,” she explained and you slowly noticed every single book was about snakes or bugs. You could feel bile creep up your throat as you nodded. 

“That’s nice.” 

“Do you like bugs?” 

“Not really.” 

She frowned. “That’s too bad. Do you like puppies?” 

“Yeah, puppies are better.” You finished scanning her books. “Do you need a bag?” 

She shook her head. “No, my mommy is over there.” She pointed at a pregnant woman standing next to the door looking at her phone. The little girl cocked her head to the side. “You look like her.” 

“Really?” You squinted. The woman by the door was taller, with different hair. “How so?” 

“You’re going to be a mommy,” the little girl said. “All mommys look like that.” And then she grabbed her books and jogged off toward the door. You had to practically pick your jaw up from the ground, hands dropping to your barely visible bump. How had she known? Then again, kids were like animals. Sometimes they knew things. You watched the little girl hand the books to her mom, who slid them into a tote bag before grabbing her hand tightly. 

Something stirred inside of you. It was too soon to be the baby, realistically you knew that. But somewhere, deep down, you knew it was the baby making their presence known. 

“Hi there,” you whispered, one hand over your belly button. 

***

It was late. You were asleep on the couch when the door opened. You opened your eyes wide, watching as Jake and Bradley dragged a barely coherent Bob through the door. You stood up, wiping at your eyes. “What the hell?” 

“He’s wasted,” Bradley said. “We tried but we couldn’t stop him.” 

You put your hands on your hips, turning to Jake. “Did you do this?” 

“I’m so tired of everyone blaming me,” he replied. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. 

Bradley cocked his head. “Here, let me take him.” Easily, he slung Bob over one of his shoulders, carrying him straight into the bedroom. You dragged your hand over your face, turning to Jake. 

“What’s going on with him?” 

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Jake replied, looking at his feet. “He and I, we uh, we had a fight.” 

“About what?” 

He lifted his gaze to yours. “You know what.” 

“Oh. That.” 

Jake nodded as Bradley stepped back into the living room. He looked at you, and then Jake. “I'm going to head out.” 

“Thanks for bringing him back.” 

“Any time.” Bradley paused by the door. “Hey Y/N?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Be patient with him. He’s still processing.” The door shut softly. 

“He heard me say that I hate him,” you whispered, moving back onto the couch, curling into a ball. Jake followed, sitting on the other end of the couch, a safe distance away. “Maybe he hates me, too.” 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Jake replied. “He wouldn’t act like this if he didn’t love you.” 

“Then why is he hurting me?” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. 

“Because he’s hurt, too,” Jake said. “And it’s easier to be mad.” 

You tipped your head to one side. “That night we met. You had no idea I was Bob’s sister?” 

“Fuck no,” Jake replied and you smirked. He shook his head. “You’re gorgeous, but I never would have looked at you, let alone did what we did if I had known.” 

“So it wasn’t some ploy to get back at him for whatever the hell you two have beef about?” 

“This has become a lot bigger than I ever imagined.” 

You sighed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a cool girl you met in a bar and had sex with and never saw again. I’m sorry I’m ruining your whole life.” 

“Maybe it’s not so bad,” Jake whispered and you looked up, surprised. “Maybe I needed something to change.” 

“So you’re not upset?” 

“I’m upset,” Jake clarified. “This isn’t at all what I expected. But it’s done, right?” he asked. “We just have to deal with the consequences.” 

“How romantic.” 

“Fuck.” He leaned back. “Shit, I, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

You shook your head. “It’s OK, it was a joke.” 

“But is that what you want?” he said quietly. “Something romantic?” 

“No. I don’t know.” You pulled your hair back into a loose bun, fighting for words. “I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know anything.” 

“Are you happy here?” 

You frowned. “What do you mean here?” 

“Staying with Bob.” 

“He’s my brother.” 

“I know, Y/N.” Jake rolled his eyes. “That’s why we’re in this lovely predicament. I’m asking if you feel safe here.” 

“Bob would never hurt me.” 

“I think he already has.” Jake’s words stung and you realized for the first time that hurt was much more than just physical. “I was thinking. There’s an apartment across the hall from mine. It’s two bedrooms.” 

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” You practically scoffed. 

Jake shrugged. “Why not? At least for now. Until he cools down.” 

“That’ll only make him angrier.” 

“I don’t give a shit about what makes Floyd happy,” Jake said. “I care about what’s best for you.” 

“Do you actually?” you pressed. “Or is that just what you think you’re supposed to say and feel and do? Take away all of the outside voices and opinions. What do you, Jake Seresin, want?” 

He was quiet for a moment. Then, in the smallest voice you had ever heard, he replied, “To be a good dad. To do the right thing.” 

You nodded. “OK. I’ll move in with you.” You looked up into his clear green eyes. For the first time in weeks, you felt hopeful.

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@bobfloydsbabe @blue-aconite @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @mandylove1000 @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me  @kmc1989 @gigisimsonmars @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @shanimallina87 @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @yanna-banana @bbyvanessaa  @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @joaquinwhorres @boiolay @sometimesanalice @spinning-away @mycobrakai1972 @xomrsalliej4787xo @na-ta-sh-aa

[ot3]

I have also long been fond of the idea that phoenix is an only child because his parents miscarried or lost a child before he was born and he absolutely does not know about this. I think this ended up in a situation where his parents were both kind of overly protective and cautious but kind of emotionally distant in a way he wasn't able to understand or articulate. I like to think it's not until trucy is in her teen years and phoenix specifically sees her do or say something that he can pinpoint as being a direct result of several years of exposure to his particular brand of deficient parenting that he has the dawning realization that Hold On... Maybe My Parents Had Stuff Going On In Their Lives I Didn't Know About. Maybe They Are Whole Entire People With Internal Depth. This inspires exactly zero behavior changes in him. But it'd certainly an enlightening thought to have

[lynzishell]

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Transcript below the cut:

Dawn: I don’t know why I let you talk me into watching this movie tonight. Phoenix: It’s not even that scary, just sit back and relax. Dawn: Fine, but if I scream and wake up Aspen, you’re gonna be the one to get her back to sleep. Phoenix: Deal.

Dawn: [squealing] That’s so creepy.

Phoenix: [laughing] Put your foot down. Dawn: Just tell me what happens. Phoenix: No, you have to watch.

Dawn: Then I’ll watch from here. Phoenix: You’re being ridicu—

Phoenix: [jumps] Shit!

Dawn: Ahaa!!! Phoenix: Just come back over here.

Phoenix: See, isn’t this better? Dawn: Shhh.

Phoenix: Okay but why is he wandering off alone?

Dawn: You’re cute when you’re scared. Phoenix: I’m not scared, I’m annoyed. Dawn: Mhm.

[Both scream… followed by fits of laughter and shushing]

Phoenix: I can’t believe she didn’t wake up. Dawn: [giggling] I know. Phoenix: So, I was thinking, we should get away for a little while. Dawn: I like that idea. What did you have in mind?  

Phoenix: Well, Julian is staying in Chestnut Ridge through the holidays, so that frees us up for Winterfest. I was thinking we could spend it up in Mt Komorebi, maybe rent a cabin for the week.

Dawn: If we were going to do that, we probably should’ve booked one months ago. Is anything going to be available?

Phoenix: I might have something lined up already. A guy at work rented one but he can’t go and it’s too late to cancel, so it’s ours if we want it.

Dawn: Really?

Phoenix: Mhm. It’s walking distance from the ski slopes, and it has a hot tub, and there’s three bedrooms so we can invite Atlas and Asher if you want.

Dawn: You had me at hot tub.  

[roosterforme]

The Kind of Girl I Could Love | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: Bob has a secret admirer, but he's convinced it's actually Jake and Nat messing with him. 

Warnings: Pure fluff

Length: 1900 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female Reader

I wrote this for my Love Is In the Air playlist! Check my masterlist for more!

It started out with a simple note.

I like your glasses.

Bob held the note card in his hand and glanced around the deck of the aircraft carrier as discreetly as he could. There were people everywhere. Anyone could have left this for him to find on his seat inside the cockpit of the F/A-18 that he shared with Phoenix. 

I like your glasses.

Bob didn't even like his own glasses. There was nothing to like about them. They made him look even more awkward than he already felt, and he couldn't wear anything else, or he wouldn't be allowed to be in the Super Hornet at all.

So he scrutinized the handwriting, but it didn't look familiar. And that's when it dawned on him. Phoenix and Hangman were just messing with him. They did this from time to time. One time they covered his car in post-it notes. Another time they hid his helmet bag from him. 

He rolled his eyes and scrunched the note up in his fist. Bob was completely unremarkable. Nobody would ever leave him this kind of note. Nat and Jake should have known he wouldn't fall for it this time.

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

Bob found a second note a few days later.

Your smile is nice. I wish you would smile at me.

He sighed and tilted his face up to the heavens. Great. Now he was going to have to call Nat and Jake out on their little pranks. He could feel his cheeks flushing pink this time. It was so embarrassing that his teammates thought it would be funny to do this to him. Nat knew how shy he was, and how he wished he could find a girl to date. 

Bob glanced around again. There were a few women on deck at the moment. None that looked like they would be remotely interested in him. They were all either too old or too attractive. And who would have access to his cockpit seat anyway? 

It wasn't a good idea to get his hopes up when he just knew who was behind this. 

"What's wrong with you?" Nat asked as she climbed her ladder. "I already apologized for eating your croissant! I didn't know you were saving it for later!"

Bob shook his head. "This isn't about the croissant, Phoenix. But I wish you and Hangman would stop picking on me."

"Huh?" she asked before boosting herself into the seat in front of him.

But it was time to get to work, so Bob crumpled up this note as well and tossed it into his helmet bag. "We can talk about it later," he mumbled as he started his preflight safety routine. 

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

Now things were getting out of hand. 

You look handsome in your flight suit. Tall and strong.

Bob took another close look at the handwriting. It looked fancy and feminine, but nothing like Nat's. He supposed Jake would be able to imitate something like this if he really tried. 

"Hey, Hangman," Bob called to him. 

Jake turned and shrugged at him from the top of his own ladder. "Yeah?"

"Can you just knock it off?" Bob asked, waving the note card in the air.

Jake squinted like he was trying to see what Bob was holding. "What are you talking about, Bob?"

"The notes!" 

But it was too late, because now all of the conversation was being drowned out by the deck speaker system. The final mission announcements were being made as Phoenix got settled into her set. 

Bob would have to talk to them both later.

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

"I know I'm an easy target, and I know I don't usually get annoyed, but please. Please, just stop."

Jake and Nat both looked at him from across the table as they ate their dinners later that night. 

"Stop what exactly?" Jake asked. "Is this what you were trying to tell me earlier?"

Bob's cheeks flushed. He couldn't believe they were going to make him spell it out like this. 

"The notes, guys," he said, pulling the newest note card out of the pocket of his flight suit and sliding it across the table. "It's not funny."

Jake and Nat both leaned closer to read what was written there, pretending they had never seen it before. 

"You have a secret admirer?" Nat asked, her eyes darting up to meet Bob's.

Jake grinned. "Someone has a crush on you."

Bob took the note and crumpled it up. "I know it's you two, so can you please stop!"

Nat and Jake looked at each other. 

"Did you write it?" she asked, and Jake shook his head.

"Did you?" he asked, and she shook her head no as well. 

Bob didn't think he should believe them, but he really, really wanted to. Just the idea of someone thinking about him in that way made him want to smile. 

"It's not us," Nat said with a grin. "But we'll help you figure out who it is." 

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

Bob didn't want to get his hopes up. But when he thought about who might have access to his cockpit, he immediately thought about the mechanical crew. And when he thought about the mechanical crew, he thought about you. 

He had seen you out on deck the other day, but you were so beautiful. Way too gorgeous to be leaving the notes. Just the prettiest smile. Sometimes you said hi to him, and he'd get so flustered, he could barely respond. 

It was too unlikely though. And he wasn't even sure if it was a woman leaving the notes. 

"I have an idea!" Nat said as she checked the air pressure in the tires. "Why don't you leave a note?"

Bob thought about it for a second. "I guess I could do that."

So he left a note on his seat asking who you were.

And the next time he climbed the ladder, there was another note card waiting for him. 

I'm too shy to tell you who I am. But I work closely with your jet. And I have a crush on you.

Bob's heart was pounding. There was nobody on the tarmac at the moment, so he showed the note to Nat.

"The plot thickens!" she said as she read it. "I wonder if it could be her."

Bob looked in the direction that she had nodded, and there you were. You had your hair pulled back away from your face, and you were wearing your typical jumpsuit. And you were smiling, your eyes catching Bob's for a split second. 

"Nat. Come on. She's so pretty.

Phoenix just laughed at him. "You're a catch, Bobby! Even if it's not her, you can still ask her out."

But he just shook his head and muttered, "No, I couldn't."

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

Bob got two more notes the following week. 

Your accent sounds cute. Where are you from?

This person has heard him speak before.

Bob had only ever been complimented on his accent when Jake had as well. Everyone loved Hangman's Texan drawl, and only mentioned Bob as an afterthought. But when he wrote a note telling you he was from Montana, and asking you as politely as he could if you were a woman, Bob got another note in response.

I've never been to Montana. Yes, I am a woman. You sound smart and organized in the air.

If it wasn't for the fact that this woman had mentioned his glasses, Bob would have been convinced these notes were meant for Jake. 

And now Bob was facing a different problem: the aircraft carrier would be arriving back in San Diego in a few days. His missions were finished. He didn't have much reason to climb up into his cockpit now, and he still didn't know who the notes were from.

In a final effort to try to bring his admirer out of the shadows, Bob wrote one final note and bypassed all of the mechanics to leave it on his seat. 

When we dock in port, would you like to meet in person? Near the Admiral Kazansky memorial statue? I'll wait there as soon as I get off the carrier. I hope you'll be there too. 

On his way back across the deck, he saw you dressed in your jumpsuit, and you smiled and waved at him. Maybe Nat was right; he could still ask you out no matter what, even if you weren't the one leaving the notes for him to find. 

But he felt a connection with the note writer. She seemed to like him as he was. He never had to show off or pretend he was confident like Jake for her to notice him. So he would wait, and hopefully in two short days, there would be someone meeting him at the statue. 

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

Bob was starting to sweat through his khaki uniform, and it wasn't even that hot outside. 

"Are you sure I look okay?" he asked Phoenix, and she continued to make a fuss over him.

"You look so good," she promised, combing her fingers through his already tidy hair and readjusting his glasses. "Here, open up." She popped a mint into his mouth, and Bob rolled his eyes.

"I highly doubt I'll be kissing anyone, Phoenix."

"You never know, Bobby. I'm still holding out hope that the cute mechanic is your note writing secret admirer."

Bob let Phoenix lead him down the ramps when their deboarding group was called. He was so nervous now, he just wanted to go right home and pretend none of this had ever happened. 

"Go find your girl! Text me later!" Nat told him, pushing him in the direction of the statue. 

Bob wound his way slowly through the crowd. His heart was pounding. What if nobody was there? What if nobody came? What if it was just Jake waiting for him after all?  He felt sick, with clammy palms and an upset stomach as he neared his destination.

"Bob?" a soft voice called to him, and his eyes drifted up a uniformed body, his eyes coming to settle on your face.

"It's you? The pretty mechanic?" he asked, and when a smile found its way to your lips, you nodded.

"Yeah. It's me. Are you disappointed?" you asked, twisting your fingers around each other and shifting your weight from one booted foot to the other.

"D-Disappointed?" Bob asked, setting his duffel bag down next to yours. "No. I was hoping it was you. I still can't believe you noticed me."

You giggled, a cute, surprised expression on your face. "Bob, you were the most noticeable guy onboard!"

Bob inched closer to you, but you didn't back away. You actually stepped right into his personal space and ran your palms up to his shoulders and kissed him softly. Desire bloomed through his body, and as you pulled away from him, Bob leaned down for another kiss. His glasses bumped your cheek, but you didn't seem to mind as you kissed him over and over, until he felt a little dizzy. 

His glasses were askew, but he could clearly see the gentle flutter of your lashes as you opened your eyes and gazed up at him.

"Do you want to go grab lunch with me?" you asked, your expression so open and your face so pretty. "I want to hear all about Montana in your sexy voice."

"Yes, of course." Bob blushed and fixed his glasses, but he scooped up both duffel bags and followed you along the dock, listening to you gush about how strong he was. 

The last thing Bob heard as he disappeared into the crowd with you was Jake wolf whistling and Nat yelling, "Go Bobby!"

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

Bobby!!! So noticeable!!! Thanks to @thedroneranger for helping me shape this fic together!

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[dee-writes-angst]

SUMMER (Chapter Four)

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY healing is a long journey that can't be summed up in just four simple seasons, but it seems with the help of a certain shadowsinger at your side, you've seemed to do it.

CONTENT WARNINGS mentions of nightmares, apologies, scared reader, comforting Azriel, Cassian POV, and mentions of wingspans ;)

AUTHORS NOTE the finale you've all been waiting for is finally here as promised! Thank you all so much for your support during this series, I am excited to be back and writing for you all again! Love you all and I hope you enjoy! <3

Summer arrives like a promise fulfilled, a canvas awash with vibrant hues of green and gold, as if nature herself has donned her finest attire. The air hums with the gentle whisper of transformation, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the promise of new beginnings on its warm breeze.

As the sun stretches its golden fingers across the land, casting long shadows that dance in its radiant glow, there's a palpable sense of rejuvenation in the air. It's as if each dawn heralds a new chapter, a chance to shed the burdens of the past and embrace the endless possibilities of the present.

In this season of abundance, life bursts forth with an exuberance that is both intoxicating and invigorating. The world awakens from its slumber, blossoming with a riot of colors as flowers unfurl their petals in joyful defiance of the lingering chill of winter. Leaves rustle in the gentle caress of the wind, their verdant whispers carrying tales of resilience and growth.

Amidst this symphony of nature's symphony, there is a sense of newfound strength coursing through every living thing. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, the warmth of the sun infuses each day with a sense of possibility, igniting a fire within the soul that refuses to be extinguished.

In the heart of summer, time seems to slow, allowing moments to linger like the last rays of sunlight on a balmy evening. It's a season of exploration and adventure, where every day holds the promise of discovery and every sunset marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

And as the days stretch languidly into twilight, there is a quiet resilience that takes root, a deep-seated belief in the power of new beginnings and the strength that comes from embracing change. For in the heart of summer, beneath the sweltering heat and the endless blue skies, lies the untold promise of tomorrow, waiting to be seized with both hands and forged into something beautiful.

(Mid Summer, Velaris)

The afternoon sun poured into the training ring, casting long shadows of the figures sparring lightly within it. Cassian was across from me, a patient yet mischievous grin on his face, as he handed me a training sword. “Ready to get your ass kicked, or are you going to make me work for it today?”

I smirked, feeling the flutter of my old spirit stirring within. “Dream on, Cassian.”

The clash of our swords sang through the air, a melody of metal that resonated with the pounding of my heart. Each strike, each parry, felt like shedding layers of fear that had cocooned me since losing my wings.

“Focus,” Cassian said, his voice a mix of sternness and encouragement. “Remember, it’s not just about strength. It’s about knowing your opponent.”

I nodded, gripping my own wooden sword a little tighter. As I lunged forward, Cassian parried easily, countering with a swift movement that I barely blocked in time. We moved in a rhythm, the clack of our swords punctuating each maneuver. My muscles remembered the dance, even if they ached from disuse. Cassian’s style was a flurry of motion, designed to overwhelm, but today he tempered his usual ferocity, giving me room to find my footing again. The physical exertion was grounding, pulling me further away from my mental ghosts.

Laughter and shouts from Mor, watching from the sidelines, filled the arena, her cheers a buoyant soundtrack to our dance of blades and as we paused for a break, Mor jogged over with a waterskin and a smirk. She threw an arm around my shoulders, squeezing tightly. “Look at you! You’re almost back to your old self,” she beamed, her pride evident.

The warmth from her compliment soaked through me, loosening some of the tightness still lingering in my chest. “Feels good to move like that again,” I admitted, allowing the truth of my words to wash over me. It did feel good—like claiming back pieces of my soul, piece by piece.

“You two look like you’re having fun,” she smiled, squeezing me close again as she handed me the waterskin. After I took a long drink, she shot me a sly glance. “Speaking of fun, have you noticed how Azriel can't seem to stay away from your side?”

Mor’s eyebrows wiggled as I coughed on the water, wiping my mouth as I tried to compose myself. “He’s just being supportive,” I muttered, feeling my cheeks heat up.

Cassian chuckled, leaning on his sword. “Oh, he’s being supportive, all right. Haven’t seen him this glued to someone since… well, ever.”

I rolled my eyes, but the seed of awareness began to sprout in my mind. Azriel had indeed been a constant presence, his quiet strength a comfort I hadn’t realized I’d leaned on so much.

“Do you think it might be a mating bond?” Mor asked casually, too casually, as she inspected her nails.

The question halted me, the weight of the implication settling in my stomach like a stone. The mating bond was sacred, profound—was I ready for something like that? The very thought made my heart race, not just with fear but with a blossoming hope I hadn’t acknowledged until now.

“Maybe he’s just being a good friend,” I countered, but my voice lacked conviction.

Cassian raised an eyebrow, giving me a knowing look. “When you know, you know,” he said simply. “And it looks like you’re starting to realize something there.”

We resumed training, but his words echoed in my mind with each strike and block. Azriel’s face appeared in my thoughts, his smiles, the gentle touch of his hands, the way his eyes lit up when he looked at me lately. My feelings for him, which I had shelved as mere gratitude or the simple need for companionship during recovery, seemed to be deepening into something richer, more profound.

As we finished and walked back towards the House of Wind, Mor looped her arm through mine. “You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” she whispered. “But don’t close your heart to the possibility of something beautiful. Azriel cares for you deeply, more than just as a friend or protector.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow that bathed the world in a soft, forgiving light. It felt symbolic, reflective of my own internal dawn. Maybe, just maybe, I was ready to consider that what lay between Azriel and me could be the kind of love that songs and tales were spun from. As fear and doubt receded, leaving room for this new, tender hope, I realized that my journey of healing was also leading me down a path of rediscovering my capacity to love—not just Azriel, but myself and this new life I was slowly, bravely building.

(Mid Summer, The River House)

That evening, the dinner with the Inner Circle was held at the sprawling, candlelit table in the River House. The atmosphere was thick with laughter and the clinking of glasses, a symphony of friendship and familial bonds. The windows were thrown open, allowing the crisp, cool air of Velaris to sweep through the room, mixing with the scent of jasmine and roasted meats.

As I entered the dining room, a subtle change in my demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by the group. Rhysand was the first to catch my eye, giving me a nod of approval and a warm, welcoming smile. Amren, ever observant, watched me with her piercing gaze, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips, acknowledging the shift in my spirits.

Azriel, standing slightly apart, offered me a soft, encouraging smile as I took my place next to him. His quiet strength bolstered my newfound resolve to engage more fully with those around me.

Dinner began with a lively discussion led by Feyre about a recent exhibition at the art gallery in the city. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she described the vibrant colors and revolutionary techniques of the new artists showcased. I listened, chiming in with my thoughts on the integration of night and day themes, which earned an approving laugh from Rhys.

As the meal continued, Cassian, true to form, began recounting one of his training escapades, embellishing the details to make his tale more dramatic. “And then, just as I was about to execute my perfectly planned maneuver, an Illyrian baby sneezed on me. Totally threw off my game!”

Laughter erupted around the table, and I found myself genuinely chuckling, the sound surprising even to me. “Only you, Cassian, could be outmaneuvered by a baby’s sneeze,” I teased, earning a round of applause and a mock bow from Cassian.

“See, she’s got jokes now! Our girl’s coming back to us,” Mor exclaimed, her face alight with joy. She reached over to squeeze my hand, her gesture warm and reassuring.

As plates were cleared and desserts were served, the conversation shifted to lighter, more personal stories. Feyre shared anecdotes about her latest painting misadventures, while Mor detailed her plans for the upcoming festival in the city. Each story, each shared laugh, felt like a stitch mending the frayed edges of my soul.

As the dinner party began to wind down in the warm, laughter-filled hall, a soft coo from the corner caught my attention. Nyx, cradled gently in Feyre’s arms, was awake and curiously peeking over her shoulder with wide, starry eyes. I felt my heart tug softly. It had been too long since I had held him, too long since I’d allowed myself to be part of these simpler, beautiful family moments.

Feyre caught my gaze and smiled, understanding immediately. “Someone wants to say hello,” she said softly, walking over with Nyx. His small hand reached out, and I couldn’t help but smile as his fingers grasped at the air between us.

“May I?” I asked, my voice a whisper of excitement mixed with a hint of uncertainty.

“Of course,” Feyre replied, carefully transferring Nyx into my arms. The baby settled against me with ease, a soft sigh escaping him as if he found comfort in my embrace. His tiny hand reached up, touching my cheek gently, an innocent gesture that felt like a reassurance of missed affection. It was as if he was saying he remembered me, that he too had felt the absence of our connection.

The moment wasn’t lost on Azriel, who watched from a short distance. His shadows flickered subtly around him, a telltale sign of his emotions stirring beneath that calm exterior. Since the conversation with Cassian and Mor earlier today, every glance, every small interaction with him seemed charged with a new, silent tension. My newly admitted feelings for him amplified each shared look, adding weight to the air between us.

As I rocked Nyx gently, my thoughts drifted to Azriel again. His presence at my side had become a constant, his support unwavering. The depth of my affection for him had crept up silently, weaving itself into the fabric of my daily life until it was indistinguishable from my other truths. I found myself stealing glances at him, each look a quiet confession of the feelings I was only beginning to allow myself to acknowledge.

Azriel eventually made his way over, his gaze softening as he looked at Nyx in my arms. “He’s missed you,” Azriel murmured, his voice barely audible over the low hum of conversation around us.

I met his eyes, feeling a flush of warmth at the intimacy of the moment. “I’ve missed him, too. Missed all of this,” I admitted, my voice thick with emotion. The way Azriel looked at me then, with such warmth and depth, made my heart skip a beat.

“Looks good on you,” he said after a pause, nodding towards Nyx.

The comment, simple and offhand, thrummed with unspoken meanings. It was a nudge against the boundaries we had maintained, a gentle probing into the new spaces of my heart that had begun to open to him.

As I handed Nyx back to Feyre, I caught Azriel’s arm gently. “Stay for a moment?” I asked, my voice hopeful, laden with the weight of all the things I hadn’t yet said.

He nodded, his usual reserve melting away for a moment as he stayed by my side, his presence a silent promise of things perhaps soon to be explored. We both knew something unspoken was shifting between us, and while neither of us was ready to dive into those waters just yet, acknowledging it—even in silence—felt like the first step toward a new horizon.

(Mid Summer, The House of Wind)

The following week, Feyre, Mor, Nesta, and I revived our "book club"—a ruse for nights filled with wine, wild discussions about our latest reads, and shared secrets under the cloak of night. As I sat curled up on a plush couch, a glass of wine in hand, surrounded by these incredible women, a profound sense of belonging enveloped me. Here, in these moments, I was safe to just be; to heal, to laugh, to grow.

The cozy nook tucked away in the House of Wind had become our sanctuary, a place where the Inner Circle’s book club convened to discuss literature, life, and everything in between. Tonight, as the flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across the room, I settled into my usual spot among the plush cushions, surrounded by my closest friends.

Feyre, Nesta, and Mor lounged around me, each with a book in hand, their faces alight with anticipation for our weekly gathering. The atmosphere was charged with excitement, the air buzzing with the promise of lively conversation and shared insights.

“So, what’s everyone reading this week?” Mor asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she glanced around the circle.

Feyre held up a worn copy of her latest find, a tale of forbidden love and political intrigue. “I’m revisiting an old favorite,” she said with a smile. “It’s like catching up with an old friend.”

Nesta, with a smirk playing on her lips, produced a rather scandalous-looking novel with a provocative cover. “I’m exploring the more… sensual side of literature,” she declared, her voice dripping with amusement.

As the conversation flowed around me, I couldn’t help but chuckle at Nesta’s choice. Leave it to her to bring a little spice to our book club discussions. I was hesitant to share tonight, scared to share my feelings so blatantly, to say them out loud in a space with women who would not so soon let me forget. Tonight felt different, though, I felt stronger, able to seize this chance to share with my friends the tumultuous emotions swirling inside me.

“I’ve been reading this collection of poetry,” I began, my voice tentative at first. “It’s funny how words can capture the complexity of human emotions so beautifully.”

Mor’s eyes gleamed with interest, her grin widening. “Ah, poetry—the language of the heart,” she said, her tone teasing yet tender. “Any particular poem speaking to you?”

I hesitated, my gaze flickering to the empty spot where Azriel usually sat. His absence was keenly felt, a reminder of the unresolved tension between us. “There’s one poem that resonates with me,” I admitted, my voice growing stronger with each word. “It’s about…” I faltered, the weight of my confession heavy on my tongue.

Feyre leaned forward, her eyes warm with understanding. “About love?” she prompted gently, her hand reaching out to squeeze mine in silent support.

I nodded, the words spilling forth in a rush. “About love, and fear, and the courage to open your heart to someone—even when it scares you.”

Nesta regarded me with a thoughtful expression, her gaze piercing yet compassionate. “Love is a battlefield,” she said, her voice soft yet firm. “But sometimes, the greatest victories come from facing our fears head-on.”

Mor chimed in with her trademark humor, lightening the mood with a well-timed joke. “Who knew our stoic Shadowsinger had a soft spot for you?”

Feyre smiled knowingly, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Maybe it’s time to confront the shadows and see what lies beneath.”

Nesta couldn’t resist adding her own brand of wit to the conversation. “Speaking of shadows,” she said with a sly grin, “has anyone else noticed Azriel’s wingspan lately?”

We all laughed at Nesta’s comment, the tension in the room dissipating as we embraced the camaraderie of our little gathering. Despite the challenges we faced, tonight was a reminder that with the support of friends, even the darkest shadows could be chased away.

As the evening wore on, our conversation drifted from books to more personal topics, each of us sharing snippets of our lives and experiences. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, a chance to peel back the layers and reveal the raw truths hidden beneath.

Nesta, ever the enigma, shared tales of her latest adventures in the human lands, her sharp wit and cunning intellect shining through with every word.

Mor, always the life of the party, regaled us with stories of her escapades in the Court of Nightmares, her laughter contagious as she recounted her misadventures.

And Feyre, with her quiet strength and unwavering compassion, offered words of wisdom and encouragement, her presence a soothing balm to our troubled souls.

As for me, I found solace in their company, the weight of my burdens eased by the warmth of their friendship. In their laughter and shared moments, I found the courage to confront my fears and embrace the possibility of a brighter future.

And as the candles burned low and the night grew late, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, I would face them with the unwavering support of my sisters by my side.

The support of the entire Inner Circle was a force as tangible as the magic that coursed through our veins—a constant, steadfast presence that fortified me against the darker moments. Their belief in me, their unyielding backing, gave me strength, and little by little, I began to feel not just the shadow of the person I once was, but someone stronger, resilient, reborn from adversity.

In these gatherings, these moments of shared vulnerability and joy, I was not just healing. I was transforming—emerging not how I was before the kidnapping, but perhaps even brighter, tempered by trials and warmed by the unwavering light of the family I chose and who had chosen me in return.

(Late Summer, The House of Wind)

The night pressed heavily around the room, its silence a thick, oppressive blanket punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of Azriel beside me. In the comfort of his proximity, sleep had finally granted me a temporary reprieve from the relentless torment of my nightmares. Yet, the peace was fragile, vulnerable to the slightest disturbance—a reality proven as a sharp, inexplicable chill sliced through the room's stagnant warmth.

The temperature plummeted, wrapping its icy fingers around my spine, jolting me awake. My eyes flicked open, instantly scanning the familiar contours of the room bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight. Shadows clung to the walls like dark, silent sentinels until one stirred coalescing into a form far too human, far too familiar.

Lyris emerged from the darkness as though materializing from my deepest fears, his presence a tangible echo of past horrors. His eyes, sharp and merciless, locked onto mine with the precision of a hunter sighting its prey. The sheer malevolence in his gaze sent a visceral shudder through me, yet it was no longer solely fear that stirred within my veins. Anger, raw and blazing, kindled within, fueling a burgeoning defiance I hadn't known I possessed.

"Thinking you could escape me?" Lyris's voice was a venomous hiss, his form inching closer with predatory grace. His smirk was twisted, a grotesque mask of sadistic anticipation.

But then, with the seamless reflexes honed by centuries of battle, Azriel was between us. His body moved with lethal precision, his hand snapping out to seize Lyris by the wrist, halting his advance with unyielding strength. "She's under my protection," Azriel snarled, his voice a dangerous, low rumble. His other hand flicked to his side, the sound of steel sliding from leather slicing through the tension as he brandished a dagger, its blade catching the moon's silver light.

Lyris recoiled slightly, his eyes darting to the blade then back to Azriel’s unwavering stare. "You think you can keep her from her fate?" he spat, struggling against Azriel's iron grip.

“Her fate is her own, and you have no part in it,” Azriel retorted, his wings unfurling menacingly. The air around us thickened with dark, swirling shadows, responding to the raw power emanating from him. In that moment, he was not just my protector but an avenging angel cloaked in night's embrace.

The room filled with a heavy, expectant silence, thick with the weight of unspoken threats. Breaking the tension, I found my voice, though it trembled with the force of my emotions. "Where are my wings, Lyris?" The question tore from me, a desperate plea tangled with a demand.

"Your wings?" he mused mockingly, his eyes glinting with cruelty. "Such a precious prize… Let's just say they're kept in a place where they await their true destiny—far from your reach.”

"Give them back," Azriel demanded, his tone lethal, a stark contrast to the deceptive calm of his posture.

Lyris's laugh was cold and chilling, like the howl of the wind outside. "You overestimate your power here, shadow singer. I could take her now, and you wouldn't be able to stop me."

Azriel's response was swift and deadly serious. "Try it, and it will be the last thing you do." His wings unfurled dramatically as he snatched Lyris’ wrist in a powerful grip, the span of dark membrane filling the room with a sense of otherworldly power. The shadows around him deepened, swirling in response to his anger and the protective fury that laced every syllable.

The standoff stretched, a moment suspended in time where every breath, every heartbeat was laden with potential violence. Then, with a jerk, Lyris wrenched free, stepping back into the protective shroud of darkness. “She will never be free from me," he hissed, his presence oppressive, suffocating. "And neither will you."

Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he dissolved into shadows, leaving a cold void in his wake. His final words echoed ominously, a malevolent promise hanging in the air. As the immediate threat vanished, Azriel’s demeanor shifted, the lethal warrior receding to reveal his concern. He turned to me, his intense gaze softening. “Are you alright?” His voice was now a gentle whisper, a stark contrast to the deadly thunder from moments before.

I collapsed back against the pillows, my body trembling uncontrollably. The fear wasn't just about the physical presence of Lyris—it was the emotional and psychological terror, the deep scars he had left on my soul, that overwhelmed me.

Azriel sat beside me, enveloping me in his arms, his presence a solid, reassuring force against the lingering echoes of dread. "I'm here. You're safe," he murmured against my hair, his voice a soothing balm.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, sobs wracking my body as the terror slowly ebbed away, replaced by immense fatigue. "We have to get them back, Azriel. I need to feel whole again."

His embrace tightened, a silent promise of unyielding support. "We will," he assured me quietly. "No matter what it takes, we will bring them back.” He took a deep breath, his arms tightening around me as if he were scared that I might run from him. “Always, I will protect you. From him, from anyone who dares to threaten you,” he murmured into my hair, his breath warm against my scalp. His wings, now gently wrapped around us, formed a cocoon that felt impenetrable.

Settling back against him, I allowed the warmth of his embrace to seep deeper into my bones, expelling the lingering chill of Lyris's visit. His presence was a bastion, within which I found not only protection but a profound sense of belonging.

As we lay back down, the room once again shrouded in the soothing silence of night, a new resolve fortified my spirit. Lyris had found me, yes, but he had not found me alone, nor would he ever. Azriel’s vow to protect me was more than a promise—it was a declaration, a sentinel set against the darkness, both within and without. As sleep beckoned once more, the shadows no longer seemed an ominous threat lurking in the corners but allies, guardians cloaked in the same darkness that wrapped around us, a shield against all that would do harm.

(Late Summer, Cassian)

The morning after Lyris's intrusion, the House of Wind seemed to hold its breath, an unspoken tension palpable in the air. Everyone had shared their worries for her, our friend who had clawed her way back from that bastard's torment. We all worried, we all loved her so greatly, enjoyed the way her presence warmed Azriel’s cold exterior and to see her fall back into that dark place she had fought her way out of, to take Azriel unknowingly with her again, it poured a dark sense of grief over the house.

But amidst the uncertainty, the deep seeded fear of losing our friend once more, there was a glimmer of light, a beacon of hope cutting through the darkness. Entering the kitchen, I was met with a scene that caught me off guard—our friend, her laughter ringing out like a bell as she shared a moment of levity with Azriel. It was a rare sight, one that stirred a mixture of surprise and quiet satisfaction within me.

Azriel, usually cloaked in shadows both literal and metaphorical, had a small, genuine smile playing at the corners of his lips. His usually guarded demeanor seemed to soften in her presence, and I couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in the air between them.

Their interaction spoke volumes, a silent language of understanding and companionship that transcended words. Despite the trials they had faced, there was a sense of comfort and familiarity in their shared laughter, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was still light to be found in the company of those we held dear.

As I joined them in the kitchen, a silent witness to their shared moment of joy, I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the bond that had formed between them. Their friendship had weathered storms that would have broken lesser souls, and yet here they were, laughing together as if the weight of the world had been lifted from their shoulders.

And as I observed them, surrounded by the warmth of their laughter and the comfort of their companionship, I couldn't help but feel a surge of hope for the future. For in the bond between her and Azriel, I saw strength, resilience, and the promise of brighter days ahead.

(Late Summer, The House of Wind)

The day had been long and daunting, with every passing moment feeling like a test of endurance. The worry from my friends was palpable, their concern etched into every glance and every word. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate their care—it was their hovering, their treating me like a fragile thing, that grated against my newfound sense of strength. But amidst it all, there was Azriel.

He stood as a steadfast anchor amidst the storm, a silent guardian who watched over me with unwavering determination. While others fretted and fussed, he remained at my side, a silent sentinel who seemed to understand without the need for words. His presence alone was enough to bolster my spirits, to remind me that I was not alone in this struggle.

Throughout the day, I found myself stealing glances at him, marveling at the depth of his care. How had I not noticed it before? His gaze lingered on me with a mixture of concern and understanding, his eyes a window to the depths of his soul. It was as if he saw straight through the facade I presented to the world, recognizing the strength within me even when I doubted it myself.

As evening descended and the weight of the day settled upon us, we retreated to the familiar sanctuary of my room. Azriel had made it his own, his presence a comforting presence in the darkness. The routine of preparing for bed had become second nature to us—changing into pajamas, brushing our teeth side by side, and slipping under the covers as Azriel performed his meticulous check of the room.

In the quiet moments before sleep claimed us, we lay in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for Azriel's unwavering support, for his steadfast presence that had seen me through the darkest of days. It was a bond forged in the crucible of adversity, a connection that defied explanation yet felt more real than anything I had ever known.

“Azriel?” I called softly into the night, my voice barely a whisper.

He turned to me, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. For a moment, we simply gazed at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. And then, with a small smile, he reached out, pulling me closer until I was nestled against his chest.

At that moment, as I lay nestled against Azriel's chest, something shifted between us—a subtle yet profound change that altered the very fabric of our connection. It was as if the air crackled with an invisible energy, a tangible tension that seemed to draw us closer together.

I felt it first, the unmistakable sensation of the mating bond snapping into place with a sudden clarity that took my breath away. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a truth that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface. The primal need to be close to him, to feel his presence as an extension of my own, suddenly made perfect sense.

And then, as if in response to my realization, Azriel let out a small gasp, his arms tightening around me with a fierce urgency that mirrored my own. It was a primal, instinctual reaction, as if some ancient part of him recognized the significance of this moment and refused to let me go.

In that instant, all doubts and uncertainties melted away, replaced by a profound sense of clarity and understanding. We were bound together, our souls intertwined in a way that transcended the physical realm. And as I gazed into Azriel's eyes, I knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, we would face them together, united by the unbreakable bond that now bound us.

"I'll protect you, ensure you are safe and happy and loved," Azriel vowed, his voice a soothing melody that wrapped around me like a warm embrace, promising sanctuary in the depths of his love.

Tears welled in my eyes as his words washed over me, a flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm my fragile resolve. "As will I," I replied, my voice trembling with the weight of my own commitment, my heart laid bare before him in a moment of raw vulnerability.

His eyes, pools of darkness tinged with golden fire, bore into mine with a fierce intensity, piercing through the walls I had built around my heart. "Throughout all the seasons you will be mine, if that is what you want?" His voice was a whisper, yet it echoed through the chambers of my soul, stirring something deep within me that I could no longer deny.

With a trembling breath, I reached out to him, my fingers trembling as they traced the contours of his face, memorizing every line, every scar, every shadow that danced across his skin. "There is no one else I would rather share them with," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper, the truth of my words ringing out in the quiet room like a sacred vow.

And in that moment, as our souls intertwined in the golden threads of the mating bond, I felt a surge of emotion wash over me, overwhelming in its intensity. It was as if the weight of a thousand lifetimes had been lifted from my shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and belonging that I had longed for all my life.

With tears streaming down my cheeks, I pressed my forehead against his, our breaths mingling in the space between us as we stood on the precipice of eternity. In that sacred embrace, we found refuge from the storms that had battered our souls, forging a connection that would endure the trials of time. And as we surrendered to the pull of the mating bond, our hearts beat as one, a symphony of love and devotion that echoed through the halls of the House of Wind.

Together, we would face the challenges that lay ahead, our bond a beacon of hope in the darkness, guiding us through the labyrinth of life with unwavering strength and unwavering love.

For in each other's arms, we had found our home, our sanctuary, our forever. And as the night enveloped us in its embrace, we knew that no matter what trials awaited us, we would face them together, united in a love that was destined to last for all eternity.

[PREVIOUS]

[vintagerpg]

This is The Price of Freedom (1986). The game begins as Soviet forces begin their occupation of America. I don’t know why so much of this stuff came out in 1986, but they did (I mean, obviously they draw from Red Dawn, but it’s weird to have all of them in one grouping like this).

I do not know who this game is for. On the surface, it seems aimed at the same conservative-minded, Red Scare-fearing folks that Year of the Phoenix was aimed at. Certainly it was marketed toward them. The designer, Greg Cosikyan, though, was a liberal New Yorker (he considered himself a left libertarian at the time). I’ve seen him claim it was an experiment, I’ve also seen him express embarrassment over it. But this is also the guy who wrote Violence, Paranoia and Toon. I can’t help but see this as a send-up, or perhaps a Trojan horse.

The cover art is perhaps a good Rorschach test. I can see how that image would both unnerve and appeal someone under the spell of the Red Scare. But to me, the looming Lenin, the headbands and the lady (wrongly) carrying the massive RPG scream farce. The liberal use of “commie” in the text similarly undercuts the seriousness for me (Paranoia, which does something similar, came out two years prior).

The game is D20 and skill based. Its tightly designed, veers towards wargames for its action and is fairly unremarkable mechanically. There isn’t much in the rules about roleplaying, really, but the pre-gens have a lot of roleplay cues that support the idea that this is meant to subvert the conservatism the game appeals to. Maria is a Trotskyite Marxist, Billy’s hero is Bruce (no last name given, but of course it means Springsteen). Jake idolizes Bernie Goetz (keep an eye on Jake, jeeze), Johnson’s passion is money. Its a big spectrum of American personalities united against the commies, including some commies!

Added bonus: the intro scenario takes place on the Communipaw bridge connecting Kearny to Jersey City, making it the only RPG I know of that takes place in my good old hometown.

[astralexpressarchives]

Bird Symbolism on the Xianzhou

This all started with a question I asked my friend: "Well, have you ever seen a bird on the Xianzhou?"

Birds have played a major role in my very autistic investigations of Xianzhou lore. My intuition just knew that they were important so I started cataloguing every instance of birds appearing on the Xianzhou. I'll start with the more common appearances and then delve into the more obscure ones.

I would also like to preface this by saying I am not a bird scientist nor am I particularly interested in birds outside of the context of HSR. I simply noticed there were some repeating patterns and really wanted to make note of them.

So here's all the times I've seen a bird on the Xianzhou.

The Boring Ones

Sky-faring Commission/Starskiff Bird Symbol

This bird shows up all over the Xianzhou on buildings and signage. It is used on the signs indicating starskiffs but honestly can show up anywhere. Large associations with the sky-faring commission. Highly likely it is inspired by the white bird later in the post.

Jing Yuan's Finches

Another really obvious one as most people are familiar with his finches. As far as I know, they only appear in relation to Jing Yuan and don't seem to have any meaning outside of sheer vibes.

Before Dawn Lightcone:

"Do not make this decision lightly, general... Think about how you will be remembered in history..." The general of the Cloud Knights listens to his subordinates' words with eyes half-closed. "History will make its own judgment, but I have no interest in my legacy." "If I succeed, history will state that I am currently supremely confident in my masterful strategy." "But if I fail, then history will state that I am currently neglecting my duties in wanton pleasure, preferring finches over my people." A finch jumps down from his shoulder, and he extends his hand to catch the small creature. "I have simply made my own decision."

Yukong's Kestral

Similar to the bird that appears on Yanqing, Yukong's Kestral is a symbol that is connected to her beloved Caiyi.

Past and Future Lightcone:

The wings of the paper kite in her hands were broken, brutally reminding her of her beloved's tragic passing. She kneeled next to the fire of war, eyes full of sorrow. "If you are the only one left to do this, then our sacrifice would..." Gunfire raged on, painting the sky red without dampening its majesty. She looked up at the sky, eyes full of fury.

Edit: Qingque and Phoenix

These aren't related to anything as far as I can tell but there is also this bird that appears on Qingque's outfit.

There's also a phoenix that shows up in the Palace of Astrum and again in the Seven Arbiter Generals myriad. It may be something related to the history of the Xianzhou (the planet they came from in particular) because it appears on each of those panels outlining the backstory.

The Fun Ones

Yanqing's Swallow

Now starting to get into the territory of birds that are actually pretty interesting to the lore. The swallow is a bird that is literally everywhere on Yanqing. The painting is found near the Petrichor Inn. - this is significant because the Petrichor Inn has strong associations with the Vidyadhara. The also appear on the handle of his sword and in his splashart.

River Flows in Spring Lightcone:

The young boy took a short break from his sword practice. The sunlight was baking his already heated neck. He slowly got into the water, whose coldness touched his bare feet. When the bell chimes and birds tweet, even the people far away would know that springtime had arrived.

The Water Birds

Repeated appearance of birds made of water both in relation to Yanqing and found in cages in the Vidyadhara section of the Xianzhou. I believe these are some kind of spirit birds similar to the water creatures that swim through the Scalegorge Waterscape and Dan Heng's own azure dragon. These are probably similar to the Oceanids of Genshin Impact where they actually contain souls that take whatever shape they want in the water - probably the souls of dead Vidyadhara if I had to guess. Why are they being caged and sold around the Xianzhou in Vidyadhara areas? I have literally no idea at this point.

Yanqing has these ice swallows appear during his attacks. There's a recurring theme of swords containing souls in Xianxia stories which is also loosely connected to the concept of Blade's sword graveyard in the Hellscape. I think Yanqing's ice birds are somehow souls similar to the water birds caged around the Xianzhou.

The uber weird part about all of this is how at the end of Yanqing's ultimate you see this image. In the background of the image are the mountains associated strongly with the Vidyadhara and Dan Heng in particular.

I don't know what this means for Yanqing right now but he is an expy of a pre-existing character from Honkai Impact 3rd: Ma Yanqing. They probably have some plan for him that isn't immediately apparent right now but I would like to point out that his grandmaster, Jingliu, is also heavily associated with the mountain moon realm and can also summon a sword made of water/ice. This does not appear to be a technique known by anyone else and Jingliu herself needed to defeat the abomination in order to acquire her singular ice sword.

The Crane

Appearing initially only on Dan Feng's clothing, the crane has made a comeback in the new Cloud Knights Martial Doctrine, On Swords myriad trailer. They are significant because the also appear among the mountain realm and the moon. Notice the association Jingliu, Yanqing, and Dan Heng in particular.

The Black Bird

So not all the birds in this picture are distinctly black but their colour is ambiguous and they are similarly shaped so I'm lumping them together. They all appear in association with the mountain area - Blade's sword graveyard is also in the mountain area. The top right picture is from Dan Heng's first fansong.

The White Bird

Not sure what species of bird this is supposed to be but there's a white bird that appears repeatedly in association with the mountain realm. More specifically, it appears among the clouds and may freely travel from the Scalegorge to the Mountains through the hole in the clouds. Bottom left is from Blade's fansong. I think these birds may represent souls and the dead in the same way that Blade's spiderlilies and swords do.

There's also this bird above the realm-keeping commission that I'm unsure how to categorize because of it's unique shape but it's also among the mountains and moon.

Edit: Dan Shu's Bird

This one is actually important for the spirit bird concept. In the Longevous Disciple relic set she tells us of a story that inspires her:

According to the legend, a certain delvemaster saved her partner by placing their soul into a bird, granting them immortality. However, she eventually could not resist the call of the avian and also transformed into a bird, flying alongside them. Over time, the delvemaster became confused and lost her true form, becoming a half-feathered, half-human monster. When her subjects stormed the palace and pierced her with blazing spears and arrows, the two birds sang a final mournful song and turned to ashes together. She loved this story so much that she took the essence and marrow of birds and transformed them in the alchemical furnace, then had someone weave these materials into a luxurious feather coat. She could not see just how beautiful the coat was, but nonetheless enjoyed walking around the house while wearing it — it was meant to be seen by a person who no longer existed. As the garb fluttered, she always felt that a bird-like soul was flying and passing through her hands and shoulders, ever-present.

It's not clear how much of the legend is actually true but it could be inspired by the spirit birds.

I think I've said just about everything that I wanted to say. I'm curious if anyone else has any thoughts on the birds. I've listed most of them but there are one or two paintings I left out from fear of repetition.

I have a lot of additional Thoughts about the birds but I'll leave that for another post.

[writing-until-i-drop]

Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 9

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Daisy starts to feel like a hostage but she comes to a decision.

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Natasha and Jake were unwilling to let me spend a minute of my day alone. When they were at work, I was hanging out with Penny, and if they were being kept late at work or had something else to do, another member of the Daggers was glued to my side. Right now, I was sitting on Rooster and Jake’s couch, playing Call of Duty with Rooster.

“Get him, get him, get him!” Rooster shouted as I aimed up my shot,

“I got him!” The headshot announcement flashed across the top of the screen. “Hell yeah!” We fist bumped as the round ended,

“You’re pretty good at this, Daisy.” Rooster stood, stretching. We had spent the last hour playing round after round without moving and my back was starting to ache. “Want another beer?”

“Yes, please,” I kicked my feet up on the coffee table, checking my phone. I had a missed call from Harvey and I swiped away the notification. I couldn’t talk to him before I made my decision on what I was going to do about Rudolph Lance or else I’d spill the beans and kick myself for it. “Actually, I think I’m going to go home.”

“No can do, Hangman and Phoenix will skin me alive if I let you leave before they get off.” I groaned, their love for me was undeniable, but the suffocating feeling was growing stronger with every hour that passed since the FBI knocked on my front door.

“I’m tired,” I complained, Rooster misunderstood me, pointing down the hallway.

“Second door on the left, take a nap.” The refusal was on the tip of my tongue but then it dawned on me that this would be the perfect moment to get some alone time. I feigned a yawn,

“Yeah, sounds good. Thanks for babysitting me, Roo,” He laughed, cracking open another beer.

“Listen, I realize we’re practically kidnapping you every day against your will and you’re trying to be a good sport about it but maybe once this whole situation is over, we can hangout and not have it be a hostage situation.”

Now I was laughing, a reaction that had been rare over the last few days. Rooster was a pretty good guy, I could see why he was friends with two of the most important people in my life. He could handle a serious situation but he didn’t take himself seriously, and he was a man who could see a need and meet it without being asked.

“If it means anything, you’re my favorite kidnapper so far, Roo.” It was true, he hadn’t given me any sad, pleading expressions, and had been prepared with a family sized bag of M&Ms and a twenty-four pack of beer. “Don’t tell Bob, I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Rooster laughed, “Now go, be alone for a few minutes.”

It was my first time in Jake’s room, I realized opening the door. He had been spending almost every night at my place instead and if he wasn’t in my bed, Natasha was. You get campus security called on you for a wellness check once in college and suddenly no one trusts you to be alone when things get hard. Ridiculous.

Jake’s room was neat and tidy, with green, plaid sheets on the bed, a cowboy hat on the dresser, and nothing on the walls. Men, I rolled my eyes at the lack of decorations. Maybe he’d let me buy a few things to hang up on the walls to make it a little more homey. I pushed out of my pajama pants and climbed into the right side of the bed out of habit, even though the left side had been my preferred side of the bed before meeting Jake, he had insisted on taking it because it was closer to the door.

The bed smelled like Jake’s cologne and it had me relaxing into the pillows, stretching out like a cat in the sun. I needed to figure out what I was going to do and the process of doing that had to start at the beginning. I pulled up the Wikipedia page on Rudolph Lance and read until I couldn’t see through the tears.

Rudolph Lance has admitted to ten murders and was convicted on January 13th 2002. His modus operandi (MO) was to stalk young couples, break into their homes, and torture them with a knife before ultimately shooting them in the head. While on trial, Lance pleaded guilty to the murders of ten people but did not provide details on his motive.

The FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit released a statement during their search for the killer stating that they believed he was motivated by a sense of excitement surrounded by the torture itself, which is why he did not spend more time on the murder itself [citation needed].

I remembered every minute of that night. My therapist had said that some victims of trauma tend to either suppress memories or remember them vividly. I was sadly part of the second group. When Rudolph Lance broke into our house, Harvey had been upstairs, sound asleep with a Beethoven CD playing on loop, which had drowned out all of the noises our parents made that night.

I had been playing hide and seek with my dad and had chosen the closet of their bedroom, its slatted doors had given me a clear view of every cut and stab Lance had inflicted on my parents. He had focused on my mother, taking his time with each of the cuts to draw out the pain. I knew there was nothing I could do, I didn’t have a cell phone and Lance never left the room to give me a chance to escape and go for help. It wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t save them.

The white carpet had been soaked red and when I ran to them, after hearing the front door shut, I found myself stained red. Our phone line had been cut, so I gathered Harvey in my arms, covered his eyes, and ran to our neighbors, banging on their door until Mr. Greene opened it with a shotgun in his hands.

The FBI questioning had been rough but the trial was even worse. The child advocate had done my hair in pigtails, which was a tad annoying as a twelve year old, and even though I could recall the entire event and clearly identify Rudolph Lance as my parent’s killer, the judge had decided that there was not enough physical evidence to move to a trial.

It had been the second worst day of my life. I was left with no answers and no resolution. Just a baby brother who didn’t understand that our parents weren’t coming back, a great uncle who didn’t know how to raise kids, and stories in my head begging to be put on paper.

If I agreed to speak with Lance, then I would get answers. The answers I had been chasing for over a decade and so would other families. He wanted to torture me, that’s what the FBI had said. I wasn’t naive enough to think that everything would go right and I would leave the prison with a smile on my face while a rainbow painted the sky. There was going to be a price to pay and whether I was willing to or not, I was the only one who could cash the check.

X

I was antsy to get back to Daisy. Maverick had been doing his best to accommodate the situation but he couldn’t just give me and Phoenix a month off of work to handle it. The squad had been a blessing, helping Phoenix and I watch over her. Phoenix hadn’t told us why she was so worried about Daisy being alone but I wasn’t complaining about being ordered not to leave Daisy’s side by her best friend.

“Hey, buddy.” Rooster greeted me, standing in the kitchen with a beer. I glanced around, not spotting Daisy anywhere but before I could panic, Rooster pointed down the hall. “She’s taking a nap but Hangman,” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Daisy’s dying for some time alone.” My knee jerk reaction was that that was not going to happen. But it made sense. Daisy was a homebody who enjoyed being left alone and we had been watching over her like hawks.

“I’ll talk to her,” He passed me his beer and I took a sip before passing it back. “How was she today?”

“She was fine, she’s a pro at Call of Duty, and she tried to make a run for it.” I froze, “But before you have a heart attack, remember that she’s currently asleep in your bed.” Right. That was a good point.

“Can you figure out dinner while I talk to her?”

“I’ve got your back, man.”

The sight of Daisy curled up in my bed was enough to make my chest feel lighter than it had in days. Her pajama pants were abandoned in the middle of the floor, which I folded and put on the desk. It felt good to have her in my space but it didn’t feel right. My room was far too spartan for her, she didn’t belong there, but I wanted her to.

My belt buckle hitting the floor woke up and she stretched out in bed, making a growly noise that made me smile.

“Hey, babe,” Daisy smiled, patting the space in bed beside her. “How was work?” The moment was so domestic it made my heart burst with happiness.

“It was good, there’s talk we’re going to be getting another big mission in a few months.” She nodded, blinking sleepily at me. “I heard you had fun with Rooster, baby.” I slid into bed beside her, bringing her in for a kiss. Daisy responded, wrapping her arms around my neck.

“Roo’s a good hostage taker,” She snuggled her face into my neck. Hostage. That word left a bitter taste in my mouth, is that how she saw herself?

“Are we suffocating you, baby?” Daisy sighed, kissing my collar bone.

“I know it’s with love,” Love.

“Lots of love,” I promised, my hand settling on her bare waist. “But if you need space and you promise me you’re not going to do whatever Phoenix is worried about, all you have to do is ask.”

“A few hours of alone time won’t kill me,” Daisy began playing with the hairs at the nape of my neck, pulling her head back so that she could look at me. “She’s worried I’m going to isolate myself and lock you all out.” I tightened my grip on her and she rolled her eyes at me, “I’m not going anywhere, Jake.”

“Rooster said you tried to run for it earlier,” Daisy’s eyes narrowed.

“Maybe he’s not my favorite babysitter anymore.” I laughed, kissing her forehead. “But don’t worry. I’m not running from this or you,”

“Good.”

“I’m going to do it,” She whispered with a frown. “I’m going to talk to him.” Pride and terror filled me in equal measure. She was going to do a very brave thing, one that would wreak havoc on her emotions, but I would be there by her side. That’s what I had to focus on. She was going to be fine because me, Phoenix, and the rest of the squad were going to be by her side the whole time.

“I’ll go with you.” Daisy kissed me, nudging her knee between my legs. I slid my hand to her ass, relishing the feeling as she moaned into my mouth. The door burst open, sending us apart.

“Please have clothes on,” Rooster shouted, standing in the doorway with his hand over his eyes.

“Roo!”

“What the hell, man?”

“Dinner’s ready,” Daisy groaned, pulling the comforter over her head. Rooster, still covering his eyes, “Thought you’d want to know. How’s the alone time, Daisy?”

“Go away, Roo.” He grinned,

“Sounds like it’s going good.”

“Want me to kick his ass, baby?” I whispered through the blanket, kissing her head. Daisy laughed,

“Can we eat dinner in bed?”

“Whatever you want,”

“Can I join?”

“No!” We shouted together, Rooster laughing his way out of the room.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dizzybee03 @littlezee80 @cinderellasmissingshoes @carolina-on-my-mind03 @mizzzpink

[panlight]

Do you think that Charlie also undergoes retconning/revision as the series goes on? In Twilight he seems somewhat distant but still buys Bella a truck, worries about her, etc. By Eclipse he can't work a microwave and is (at least through Bella's PoV) an unreasonable brute of a man. Do you think that Meyer needed to make Charlie more distasteful to the readers so that Bella essentially abandoning him (and Renee) wouldn't come off so cruel/harsh? Or did she just evolve the character as she went to mesh better with New Moon and Eclipse, even when those new character traits DON'T mesh well with FD/BD? Charlie was still in Bella's life in FD and presumingly Nessie was also still named Carlie as well.

Charlie is interesting because if you think about the idea that it was originally just Twilight and Forever/Breaking Dawn, Charlie seems to exist mostly so Bella can move to Forks and be largely unsupervised. I mean there's a story there about a girl reconnecting with the father she barely knows, but that's not the story SM is interested in and for the most part is not the story she is telling. I'd argue the movies made a bit more of an effort there, or at least Billy Burke made people care about Charlie. I don't remember people being all that invested in him when it was just the books, but movie!Charlie is largely beloved.

But yeah I think a lot about Bella's homelife is the way it is so that choosing to become a vampire doesn't seem so terrible. If she were close to her parents, if she had siblings, hell if she had any actual human friends she cared about, that decision would be a lot harder to make and there would be consequences, things she had to give up. But she doesn't really have anyone. She likes Angela well enough, but doesn't spare her a second thought after the wedding. Her grandparents are dead, no cousins or aunts or uncles. No friends back in Phoenix. Just Charlie, Renee, and Phil. And she gets to keep Charlie and doesn't seem to care about Phil at all.

I think some of the problem with Charlie is that SM was going for humor. Similar with Renee, I never really believed he didn't actually know how to cook. I assumed it was Bella exaggerating for effect. I didn't actually think Bella was paying the bills and doing the grocery shopping at 10, either. But then we get Charlie not even knowing how to boil pasta or not to but metal in the microwave. Like he hadn't lived on his own for nearly two decades, like he hadn't cared for his parents? It's just "haha look how clueless he is!"

I do think his disdain for Edward is largely justified, though, given what he actually knows. The "break-up" after the baseball game where Bella ran back to Phoenix and ended up in the hospital, and then her depression when he breaks up with her again, then her disappearing for three days because he needed help. Yeah, I'd think this guy wasn't good for my kid, too. But because it's a romance and Bella's the narrator, she paints him as unreasonable and Edward being a saint for putting up with it.

I don't think he was retconned as much as Renee; I think they both started off as well-meaning but comically helpless/clueless and that Renee took a darker turn whereas Charlie may have benefited in later works from how beloved movie!Charlie is.

[definitelyunhingedagentphoenix]

Director Morales: so what is a typical day like for you since you live with both Agent Phoenix and John Juniper?

Reginald: just fine, actually. Phoenix and I wake up at the crack of dawn to do something important like practice our bomb disposal in the backyard and Roxana and Juniper watch us from the kitchen window with 911 on speed dial.

John Juniper : *on his third coffee of the morning* I never even get the chance to brush my hair before they're up to their bullshit.

[r3linx]

Big men, who you swear you could beat in a fight but in reality it wouldn’t take an ounce of strength from him to completely crumble you to pieces whenever he wants. His big and beefy body being able to crush your bones under a few seconds. Taking action and simply folding you under them whenever he hears your statement of you being way stronger than him. Palms bigger than yours, fingers longer and thicker, comparing yours to his, your fingertips reaching just about past his second knuckles, him holding your wrists together above your head, knees next to you on both side of you as his weight pushed you further and further into the mattress and not being able to get out of his grasp no matter how much you’re tossing around; or scooping you up and throwing you around anytime and everywhere he wants. And don’t even get started on the oh but i’m bigger body type. These men literally does not give a flying fuck about it, he will do it anyways.

Big and soft men, who would never hurt you from their will since causing hurt to you in any form or shape could make him lose his mind. Also protecting you from everything that means a possible danger to you, showing no mercy to anyone who in fact isn’t you. And when it comes to times when you get hurt and the cause is indeed him, he internally eats himself up from the inside about how could he been so thoughtless when he promised to himself all he will give to you is pure love and affection. It takes a few caresses on his cheeks and a couple of kisses and he’s already melted in your arms, only focusing on you and the thought of beating himself up is completely forgotten.

Big, soft and mean men, who could tease you all night, ‘till dawn, because what could you do? Punch him? Yes, you could try but we all know it’s nothing against him. So you just patiently wait there, looking pretty, while they’re mercilessly play games with you. These men can also rail you until you basically and literally see stars, going at a relentless pace without faltering the hold they have on you. Nails bruising your hips, thighs and waist every single time you’re together and by now you just learned to handle it in silence. You did try to warn him about it and they learned from it for brief 5 minutes at max, then lust covered their vision once again and got back to his usual behavior, we could say that he almost snapped his hips against you even more greedily this time. But even then, they don’t do this out of will… most of the times..

And it gets even ‘worse’ when your pretty fingers doesn’t even reach around his girth, struggling there with both of your hands, sitting between his muscled thighs and choking you with every inch you take further into your mouth. Him fucking into your mouth, not giving you any breaks or time to collect yourself, he doesn’t bother to stop himself and by the time, he’s the one who guides your head up and down on him. Tears collecting in the corner of your eyes, ready to spill. Oh how much he loves to see your face contorted like this, your cheeks flushed deep red and lips swollen. It could be almost enough to make him come just from that sight, feeling him twitch in your mouth and in response a muffled moan escaped your throat, sending vibrations through his body, up his spine, making him throw his head back immediately. His palms almost stuck in your hair, gripping and pulling on your well-cared locks like his life depended on it but you just couldn’t feel it from the ache of your jaw, the pain was stronger and by the time he could finish, all your nerves went numb.

So in conclusion, was he stronger than you? Yes. And will you ever admit it? Well, probably no. ♡

genshin: DILUC; kaeya; ZHONGLI; ayato; BAIZHU; WRIOTHESLEY; alhaitham; hsr: JING YUAN; gallagher; dan heng; GEPARD; WELT; caelus; bllk: KUNIGAMI; NAGI; reo; ISAGI; otoya (?); rin (?); sae tokrev: MIKEY; draken; RINDOU; ran; hamna; valorant: SOVA; phoenix; chamber; gekko; ISO; obey me: lucifer; SATAN; BEELZEBUB; SOLOMON; haikyu: DAICHI; KAGEYAMA; kuro; iwaizumi; oikawa; BOKUTO; akaashi (?); suna (?); ATSUMU; ushijima;

AND ALL YOUR FAVS! ♡♡

[scarlet--wiccan]

Hey! Why was Wanda called “the Pretender” during the Krakoa era and how did it even come about? I’m not interested in reading Krakoa era X-Men, but I do like Scarlet Witch. I know it has to do with House of M and all that, but I thought it was put to bed during Uncanny Avengers so I’m a little confused why Wanda and House of M led to her being called the Pretender years later. Plus did Magneto have anything to say about it?

Wanda's treatment regarding the Decimation has never been consistent. Children's Crusade and AvX repaired a lot of the damage that had been done to her character, but she definitely backslid during Remender's run on Uncanny Avengers, and an overall negative perception of her persisted, especially among X-Men fans and writers, for the rest of the decade.

The Decimation became topical again in the early days of Krakoa. With the dawn of mutant resurrection, past genocides and extinction events were a frequent topic of conversation, and living mutants who had been affected by the Decimation were given the option of voluntarily dying so that they could be "restored." At the same time, members of Krakoa's unelected government, such as Exodus and Apocalypse, were focused on shaping culture, and this is where we started to see a more mythologized account of the Decimation, in which Wanda-- a "false mutant"-- is depicted as an insidious "Pretender."

Culty!

So Wanda becomes an enemy of the state, and we see over the next two or so years that everybody on Krakoa hates her and is totally bought into the Pretender narrative. There's a particularly clunky bit of dialogue in Way of X where we see mutants using her name as a slur. It gets so bad that Teddy, as the new leader of Kree-Skrull Alliance, refuses trade negotiations with Krakoa because of the insult to his mother-in-law.

And, fine, it makes sense that a lot of mutants would have very strong feelings about the Decimation. But it's abundantly clear, throughout this period, that Krakoan leadership is using Wanda as a boogieman figure to cultivate Krakoan nationalism and weird, pseudo-religious fervor about resurrection. All of this feels particularly sinister when you remember that Emma Frost took a psychic testimony from Wanda in Children's Crusade. She and Cyclops, who are both on the Krakoan Council, could have used that information to clear Wanda's name years ago and worked with her to provide restorative justice, something Wanda has repeatedly proven herself committed to doing.

So, what'd Magneto do about it? Not much. Rather than speak up on Wanda's behalf, he allowed his colleagues on the Council to continue dragging her name through the mud and exploiting the collective trauma of the Decimation for political ends. After catching major shade from an Alliance diplomat, he arranged a secret meeting with Wanda and the two of them reconciled in private. Magneto told Wanda about Krakoan resurrection, which, at the time, was a state secret, and Wanda hatched a plan to stage her own, very public death on Krakoa in order to gain access to the resurrection system from inside. This allowed her to enhance the resurrection process in such a way that it became much easier to heal Decimation victims and recover mutants who might have otherwise fallen through the system's cracks. These improvements played a vital role in saving mutantkind and resurrecting the Phoenix during the fall of Krakoa-- and Wanda's stunt played out in such a way that the Council had no choice but to clear her name.

This all happens in a miniseries called Trial of Magneto, whcih came out in 2021. For the rest of the Krakoan era, Wanda had a much better relationship with mutants, and so far, it seems like the Decimation has, actually, finally, been put to rest.