#Wish I could fit into my brother's suit. That would feel better.

[pigaletta]

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[thisblogisaboutabook]

Baby, Mine

Azriel x Reader - Angst/Fluff - One shot

Rhys returns from under the mountain and Azriel’s life is changed forever as a bond snaps with the female his brother brings back with him. After an unexpected pregnancy is revealed, Azriel strives to show his mate just how much she and their child mean to him. Please read warnings below.

Bonus Chapter/Part 2

Warnings: discussion of rape and S/A, pregnancy resulting from rape, mentions of trauma, language, mention of pregnancy termination

“We should get up. My stomach’s growling.”

“And I thought it was just the little one chatting with my shadows.” Azriel teased, flushing beneath her gaze as his scarred fingers traced lightly over the growing swell of her abdomen, becoming more apparent by the day. He’d been nervous touching it for the first time, like he’d desecrate that precious life force growing underneath with his hands that had inflicted so much pain. But the way her eyes lit up the first time he touched it, he never wanted to forget the feeling of love and joy radiating into him through that newfound bond. It was beautiful - made him feel worthy of helping raise the beautiful life she was bringing into the world.

Though her stomach growled again, she made no move to get up, and by the way her hands were holding onto him, Azriel knew better than to go retrieve a plate from the House of Wind’s kitchen for her. So he sent a shadow beneath the door to see if Nuala or Cerridwen were there and if they could bring leftovers in, that is if Cassian and Mor hadn’t devoured the entire breakfast already.

“How’s she doing?” Rhys asked into his mind.

“Better than some days but not great, Rhys.”

There was a pause before Rhys’ guilty voice reentered his conscious.

“She’s the most selfless person I know, Az. I’m glad you two have eachother. But if she needs anything, if you need anything, let me know.”

And she was. Selfless in a way that Azriel couldn’t fathom. Selfless in a way that made his gut churn, a way he wanted to roar at the moon and the stars, and anyone who would listen. Selfless when she should have never had to be. She was bright and radiant and kind. The world looked at her and saw ethereal sunshine, walking starlight, unfathomable beauty both inside and out. But there was darkness and pain there too, so buried down deep that only Azriel could feel it in the middle of the night as whimpers disrupted her sleep.

So many nights Rhys would have to come in and cradle her mind, send her soothing thoughts and visions of anything beautiful that could mask the perils that haunted her dreams.

Azriel hated himself for it, the jealousy. He wished he could soothe her in that way but no matter how much love he sent through their bond, that darkness rooted itself so deeply within her that sometimes it took significant power from Rhys to reach it.

As if Rhys wasn’t already fighting his own trauma and waging against the insurmountable guilt he carried after being under the mountain, plus worrying about Feyre in the Spring Court. And that wasn’t to say Y/N was a burden in any way, though she felt she was. It killed Azriel to see both his mate and his brother fighting so much grief and not being able to do anything about it.

She’d have been better suited to be Rhysand’s mate than Azriel’s own by their intertwined traumas, by their ability to put themselves aside for a better world. Azriel, of course, fit into this court of dreamers but she… despite only being here for such a short period of time, she was the biggest dreamer of them all.

Another rumble from her stomach snapped Azriel out of his thoughts, mentally noting to Rhys, “She could use breakfast.”

“I’ll send some for both of you. You need to take care of yourself too.”

Azriel smelled the salt of her tears before he saw the silver lining her eyes. Propping himself up on an elbow, draping a wing over her, he began to ask softly, “Hey-“. Her head immediately shaking and she choked on the word, “No.”

“Baby, I know what you’re thinking and it’s not a burden. He just wanted to know if you needed anything.”

She took a few deep breaths, willing away those tears. “He doesn’t have to check on me. It’s my f-“

“Stop that. Listen to me, I’m always here to listen to you and I know that you’re dealing with complex emotions and trauma that I cannot even begin to fully fathom but this.. it’s not your fault.”

Her eyes welled up further as Azriel continued,

“I don’t want to lecture you or invalidate what you are feeling. Your emotions are justified but… these thoughts will eat you alive, they’re vicious lies that have been conditioned into you, and I can promise you that nobody blames anything on you. This entire family is so fucking grateful to have you as a part of it. In a world of darkness, where you had every right, every reason to bring that darkness with you, you chose light.”

He choked on his words as those tears flowed down her face. “You chose light when it only brought more darkness upon yourself.”

She cut him off. “She’s not darkness.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow. “She?”

And through her tears, he saw the slightest gleam of radiance in her eyes. “I can just feel it. Feel her.”

Azriel pressed a kiss to Y/N’s belly. “Yes, you are absolutely right. She is not darkness - she’s a beacon of light, the brightest star in the sky, perhaps aside from her mother - but the mental load you are carrying, it is dark and it’s heavy. And yes, you would carry darkness with you regardless of this spark of hope” he rubbed her belly in tender circles for emphasis. “But I know that mind of yours. That you are telling yourself that you’re a burden, that you made the wrong choice, when there was no wrong choice.”

At this point, the tears were streaming down her face, his shadows dutifully whisking them away, but only gratitude and love flowed from her.

A knock came on the door. Azriel’s eyes glazed over as Y/N recognized the telltale signs of what was happening. A line creased in his brow before she placed a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s okay, he can come in.”

“You sure, my love? He understands when you need space.”

She nodded. “I know but I think I need to see him today.” Azriel brushed his thumb in soothing ministrations across her abdomen until she pulled her night gown back down to cover herself.

The door creaked open and Rhys padded over to the bed, guilt and adoration limning his features. “Hey, starshine.” She blushed at the term. She hated her own name after Amarantha had called it so many times under the mountain. Rhys had begun calling her Starshine in secret due to her Day Court origins and the fact that he was convinced she’d been more suited for the Night Court.

Rhys had been drawn to her under the mountain, something about her reminding him of his brother. Rhysand could admit that Azriel was the most beautiful of the three brothers, his features seemingly crafted by the gods themselves. But if Azriel’s features were crafted by the gods, Y/N’s were crafted by the Mother herself. Aside from that, she had a quiet presence, though far less stoic and broody than Azriel’s, it was more of a quiet, gentle grace. A grace that Amarantha had tried so hard to shed her of but was never quite successful.

Amarantha, of course, made it her mission to both seek pleasure from her and torment her. When she never fully broke, Amarantha decided that instead of throwing her to the dark corridors she stuffed most lesser fae in, she’d make an excellent play thing. She looked mostly High Fae after all, yet had enhanced sexual appeal due to her nymph ancestry - perfect high and round breasts, long legs, a firm yet supple ass, and an arousing scent - needless to say, Amarantha delighted to add her to her roster of bed chamber accompaniment.

Y/N and Rhys developed a quiet understanding of each other and the roles they were forced to play in the year that she’d been under the mountain before Feyre arrived. They did not grow close enough for Amarantha to become concerned but enough that she knew her play things got along well enough to bring them both into her chambers at the same time.

Rhys would never forget the first time Amarantha had forced he and her into her chambers at the same time. Y/N tried to be strong, and she was. Another aspect of her that reminded him of his brother.

But she began to crack slightly, and Rhys knew Amarantha would make it so much worse for her if she did. So he did the only thing he knew to do and held her mind. He showed her visions of the Night Skies of the Night Court, the spirits of Starfall, the laughter of a family surrounding a table in a beloved restaurant, anything that could help her through it.

As he held her mind, she’d unwittingly sent visions from throughout her twenty-two years of life prior to being captured and brought under the mountain. She was loved deeply by her family who had little more than love to give. Eventually they had been murdered by Amarantha’s cronies at the age of nineteen - she’d been able to escape and live among the High Fae who sneered and objectified her, but offered enough coin to sleep with her to keep a roof over her head.

Rhys had determined that night that if they ever made it out of there alive, he was taking her to Velaris with him. She’d never live like that again.

He even smiled at the thought of introducing her and Azriel when she was ready to meet his family, already picturing his brother’s rose-dusted cheeks in her presence.

“Thank you” Azriel’s low voice withdrew Rhys from his thoughts, taking the plate from his hands.

A familiar scent wafted off of Rhys to Y/N. Pregnancy had heightened her sense of smell substantially.

As she sniffed the air Rhys gave a soft, sad smile at the eye brow she raised at him before asking, “Where is she?”

He shook his head, darkness rolling in waves off of him. “Tamlin locked her in his fucking manor. She had a breakdown.”

Her face drew tight. “That bastard!” Azriel flinched at the rage flowing down the bond. “She must have been terrified.”

“She certainly terrified the servants in his manor. She shrouded herself in darkness and nobody could get through to her.”

“He doesn’t deserve her.”

Rhys nodded. “He doesn’t.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Rhys. Where is she?”

“At the Town House.”

Her eyes blew wide. “Cauldron boil me, is she staying?”

Azriel smiled as he felt her excitement flow into him. A bit of that Day Court sunshine returning to her.

“I don’t know. She knows she can’t tell anyone if she goes back, but…”

“I felt it through the bond, Y/N. I think she’s here to stay.”

Azriel’s shadows agitated at the pause in verbal conversation, chattering back and forth,

“Secrets”

“Secrets”

He rolled his eyes and dismissed them, already knowing there were some things that remained between just Y/N and Rhys. He’d accepted it the very moment he’d shown up after he received word that Rhys was finally home and the bond snapped as soon as he laid eyes upon the radiant female by his side. He knew it snapped for her too when she walked right up to him, touched the hands he tried to hide behind his back, her eyes speaking everything she couldn’t. “I see your scars. I bear them too.” And pressed a kiss to each hand.

“Do you want me to leave? I assume she’s at the Town House but I’m sure she’ll be visiting here too, yes?”

Azriel bristled. No way in hell was Rhys going to make his mate leave, whether this home was his or not, she had a right to be present wherever she wished.

“Easy brother.”

Azriel shook off the feeling. The mating instinct was still so strong that he had a hard time not jumping in to defend her at the thought of any threat, physical or emotional.

“Y/N” Rhys took her hand.

“Don’t bite my head off for holding her hand, either.”

Azriel huffed before firing back to Rhys’ mind “I can’t wait for you to find your mate someday so you can see what it feels like to be so wound up like this.”

Rhys only gave a small, secret smile in return.

Y/N interjected. “Are you two done gossiping or can I know whether I should pack up or not?”

“This is your home just as much as it is my home. You are my family and I want Feyre to meet all of you. Cassian has already barreled through the door of the Town House along with Mor begging to be fed. Feyre went up to nap and recollect herself.”

“Can we have dinner with her… if she wants to?” She asked softly with a mixture of excitement and nervousness to her voice.

Rhys gave a nod. “I was thinking that same thing. Would you be comfortable?”

She nodded before the reality of the situation caught up with her.

“Y/N.” Rhys leaned in, gently tilting her head up to look at him. “I am not ashamed of you. I will never hide you or the life you are selflessly bringing into this Court of Dreamers.” His eyes lined with silver. “And I will always be so proud of the love that you both share. I knew from the moment I met you that my brother would adore you. And the fact that you two are mates? It’s one of the greatest things to come from that shit hole of a mountain. A reminder of the beauty that can prevail, even after the most dreadful of circumstances. I love all three of you.”

Azriel held his mate closely, ensuring she felt just how loved she truly was.

“She kicked for the first time the other day.”

Rhys raised a brow.

Y/N let out a sigh. “Ugh, you two are so skeptical. I really believe that this baby is a girl.”

Rhys eyed the scarred hand protectively placed over her round bump, so many complicated emotions running through him, with love being the strongest.

“Feyre will likely ask questions tonight regarding all of us, our stories. Nobody has to share anything they do not wish to, but you also may share if you are comfortable doing so. I would really like for Feyre to become a member of the Inner Circle-“

Rhys looked to Y/N rolling his eyes at the smirk and waggling eyebrows she gave him.

“Stop that. My point is just that, I would like for her to know all of you. I know she’ll love you all just as I do. Hell, she’ll probably love all of you before she’s ready to even fully tolerate me.”

Azriel let out a chuckle as his mate quipped “Tell me the story of the time she threw a shoe at you. It’s my favorite!”

“You cruel, lovely little thing.” Rhys laughed. “See you both for dinner.”

As Rhys exited them room, Y/N sighed. “You were awfully quiet.”

Az nudged her. “And that surprises you?”

“Okay, quieter than usual.”

Azriel pulled her in close, peppering kisses across her forehead. “I just don’t want you to do anything you’re not ready for. You are still healing and now you’ll be facing someone else that was under the mountain with you.”

“She saved us all, Az.” She looked up into his hazel eyes with nothing but genuine adoration. “Without her, I never would have met you. And what kind of existence would that be?”

She began picking at the plate Rhys had brought in. Letting out a moan as the flavors burst on her tongue.

Az couldn’t help the involuntary twitch of his wings at the sound.

She laughed. “Don’t get any ideas until I’m finished with my food.”

Azriel raised his palms. “I’d never get between my pregnant mate and her meal. With the way she’s started moving, she’d likely kick me away anyway.”

She took another bite while nonchalantly commenting, “I thought of a name for her.”

“Oh yeah?” Azriel’s brows raised in anticipation of a potential name for their child.

“Azure. The same blue as the skies. I thought…”

Azriel cut her off, marveling at the name. Whispering more to himself than her. “Blue like the Day Court skies, blue like the skies that I love to take you flying in.”

She flushed. “Yes, exactly. And though it’s a different shade of blue, like your siphons.”

A lone tear escaped his eye. “And,” she continued with a coy smile. “We could call her ‘Az’”

Azriel sat still for a moment. And she would have thought he didn’t like it had it not been the rush of pure shock and awe flowing through the bond.

Suddenly he took her face in his hands, barely giving her time to swallow the bite of bacon she’d just taken, and crashed his lips into hers. And after her lips were swollen and puffy from the heat of his lips, he began pressing kisses all over her belly, whispering between them, “I love you, little Az. I love you more than the skies I fly in. More than my own name. More than any dreamer could dream of being loved. I can’t wait to fly you through the open skies, and show you every shade of blue this beautiful world has to offer. Nothing in this world matters more than you and your mother. I couldn’t be more proud to be your father.”

And he meant it. Every single word. The blood running through the baby growing inside of his mate didn’t need to be his, what mattered was the love flowing within the child and he intended to pour every single ounce of love he had into their baby.

It was Y/N though who broke down at those words. She and Azriel had spent every free moment together since meeting. He’d healed her in ways that she never could have dreamed. Finding her mate changed the time after Under the Mountain from the lonesome trauma reckoning hellhole she’d anticipated and into a time of healing. He listened to her, understood her, let her set the pace in every aspect. And he’d shared his trauma with her, all of it.

The child who had been abused by a wicked stepmother and horrid step-brothers, overlooked by his own father had grown up to be loving, caring, and patient in every way. And now, he was going to be the parent of a child that was not his by conception, choosing to love the child just as he would his very own. A vow he’d sworn in their mating vows and sealed with a bargain.

“What is it, love?” Azriel wiped away her tears.

“Stupid hormones. I just love you so much and I need you to know that you are so much more than I ever could have dreamed of. If I had to, I would go through it all again as long as it led me to you.”

Azriel’s eyes began watering again. “Look at us, Y/N. We’re quite a sight. Whatever you say tonight, just don’t let Cassian know that I’ve gotten so soft.”

Her glassy eyes sparkled as she gave a sweet smile. “I have a feeling that softness has already been there, my love, I just had the privilege of coaxing it out of you.”

He smiled. “Truth Teller personified.”

————————-

“We’re heading up now.” Rhys’ voice cut into Y/N’s mind.

“Are you sure about this, Rhys? Most of them do not know what all happened under the mountain. What if it’s too much for Feyre to take in?”

“She’s my mate, I have to hope that she will love and accept us all in time. It may be a lot to meet us and hear our stories but they’re a part of us, a part of loving us. I’m worried about Cassian scaring her off more than anything.”

“Valid concern. See you soon. Despite the circumstances, I’m so happy she’s here.”

“You know,” Rhys chuckled. “I feel the same way about you, Starshine.”

“You flatter me. Now enjoy your flight with the literal girl of your dreams.”

“She’s glaring daggers at me right now. Pray I make it there alive.”

“Where’d you go?” Az nudged.

Leaning into her mate’s side, embracing the warmth of his arms wrapped around her shoulders she replied, “Rhys and Feyre are on the way.”

“Are you ready for this?” He asked.

“I’m sure you can already feel my nerves down the bond but I appreciate you for asking.” She teased.

Azriel kept his pace slow as they wound through the hallways of the House of Wind toward the dining table. “If you’re not ready…”

She took a steadying breath. “No, he needs to get off on a solid foundation with her. And Cassian, Mor, and Amren have eyed us for a while, they realize that something is off. Plus, I mean, look at this thing.” Her delicate hands found her stomach. “They’re going to figure out that the timelines don’t match up soon enough.”

“Our girl IS growing.” Azriel spoke, not missing the opportunity to feel the life growing within his mate.

She teased, “You’ve referred to the babe as “her” a few times now. Coming around to the idea?”

“I know better than to go against your intuition.”

With that, Y/N gave a wicked grin. “Mother knows best.”

As they approached the dining room, Azriel pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be right by your side.”

She beamed. “And I’ll be by yours too, with whatever you may share tonight…and forever, of course.”

As everyone arrived and gathered at the dining table, Y/N couldn’t help but admire how lovely Feyre and Rhys were together. Though she hated the situation that brought her there, that Tamlin tried to hoard her away in his manor, she couldn’t help but feel joy knowing that she was finally beginning to see the true Rhysand.

The Inner Circle kept up with the typical antics and plenty of laughter filled the space, but the conversation eventually turned more serious as everyone took turns giving Feyre insight into themselves.

Feyre looked to Y/N with curiosity. “You were under the mountain, but Azriel was not?”

Her hands shook as she prepared to share. A warmth covered them as Azriel gave a gentle squeeze, sending waves of that reassurance in abundance. She took a breath.

She began by sharing the background of her family, their deaths, that she’d sold her body to survive afterward, how she’d only been under the mountain for a year before Feyre arrived.

“You didn’t know Azriel before they took you?” Feyre asked. Not harshly, just inquisitively.

Y/N held her head high. Her story was not one to be ashamed of.

“I did not. Rhys was one of the only souls to show me kindness under the mountain. I have nymph ancestry with primarily High Fae features. Amarantha took an interest in me and….”

An unreadable expression covered Rhys’ face. This was his trauma too, but he gave a reassuring nod.

“She began taking me to her chambers. I had no choice. It was warm her bed, or face physical torture until death.”

Feyre flinched along with Rhys. Y/N recognized that they were remembering the human girl Amarantha had tortured to death just before Feyre’s arrival.

“She also, against our hopes, realized that Rhysand and I had an understanding of eachother - serve her or die. Being the lust-driven wretch that she was, she began taking us both to her chambers. There was no room for weakness in there. She wanted us just weak enough to submit to her, but we had to remain strong in every other aspect. The first time she had Rhys and I, together,” she cleared her throat, giving pause before continuing, “Rhys saved me. I began to crack, and he held my mind. I will let Rhys speak on his own trauma and the mental load he carried, but he didn’t hesitate to help me get through it. It was not the last time he had to help me through it.”

The table was completely silent. Heart-wrenching expressions filled each face at the table. Palpable rage could be felt radiating off of Amren, though her face remained straight.

Her voice began cracking. Azriel pulled her close into him. “When you saved us,” She looked to Feyre. “I don’t mean to fawn or gawk over you, but Feyre, you did save us.” Feyre gave an empathetic look, nodding to Y/N to continue. “Rhys brought me back to Velaris because he couldn’t bear for me to return to the life I was living, because this Court of Dreams is made up of individuals who have lived through terrible traumas and, despite every reason to lead bitter lives- have chosen to dream of a better world. To fight for a better world. And he knew a certain Shadowsinger and I would get on quite well. In fact, he’s been a smug bastard ever since over just how well things went between us.”

“When I met him.” She stared lovingly to Azriel who swallowed a lump in his throat. “The bond snapped between us immediately. The same day I was brought here, I met my mate.”

Instinctively she placed her hands on the swell of her abdomen. “Rhys gave Azriel leave to spend time with me, for him to help me through the aftermath of what I’d been through…”

“But two weeks after arriving back, my scent began to shift.” Mor’s brows furrowed in contemplation.

“I became very sick shortly after that. Rhys called in a healer, Madja, who confirmed that I was two and a half months pregnant.”

Cassian audibly gasped and Mor murmured “Oh my gods.”

Azriel kept his composure for the sake of his mate, but this was killing him. His brother and his mate being forced by that fucking witch. “Azriel is not the biological father of this baby. The child was conceived under the forced coupling of Rhysand and I by Amarantha.”

Feyre’s face was a mix of sadness, and rage, and sympathy.

“There were options to terminate the pregnancy. However, due to my Nymph ancestry, such options can have negative, potentially deadly effects. Aside from that, though I never planned to have a child - I couldn’t bear the thought of losing another family member. Rhys, after losing his family, felt the same, which he only expressed after I shared my feelings with him. He was completely supportive of any decision I made.” Feyre looked to Rhys and then back to Y/N, no negative judgement written on those lovely features.

Y/N looked to Azriel with a loving grin “And Azriel- he took me to a priestess that night. We both wanted to accept the bond from the moment we met, the connection was unbelievably strong, I never believed in the power of the bond until I found him. And now because he’s ever the romantic, though I see him already blushing at the mention of it, he wanted to make a vow before the Mother - a vow to love me no matter what choice I made, a vow to love the life within me as his very own child, to love and cherish us both until his last breath.”

She pulled the sleeve off of her shoulder, revealing the intricate tattoo solidifying his vow.

“And Rhys,” She gave a soft smile. “He made a bargain to love and care for this child and to recognize Azriel as its father. We will not hide the parentage from our child. And Rhys, I know, already loves them dearly, but mine and Azriel’s decisions for our baby come first and will be respected as any biological parents would.”

She’d left out the part where Azriel had gone under the mountain to investigate later on and found that Amarantha had begun supplying a fertility tonic instead of birth control to Y/N after the Calanmai that Rhys had gone to the Spring Court and seen Feyre. Though she didn’t know who Rhys saw, she likely suspected he’d developed interest in someone else and become jealous, hoping an accidental pregnancy would either create a rift in any potential relationship or, even worse, that the baby could be used as leverage against him.

The table remained silent until Rhys chimed in. “So my brother is my child’s father. I’m sure stranger things have happened.”

Despite that sadness the Inner Circle felt, Rhysand’s comment elicited smiles. Azriel gave his brother a nod of thanks for breaking the tension while affectionately caressing his mate.

Mor eased the tension further by chiming in “Y/N! You are further along than we realized which means….. we get to go shopping for our newest family member sooner!!!”

Feyre decided soon after that she would like to work with the Court of Dreams.

————————-

Epilogue

Because his mate was always right, Azriel was indeed the father of a beautiful little girl, clever and stubborn like her mother, and the light of his life. Her mother the sun, and she the moon.

He and Rhys had just returned from taking “Baby Azzie” who was now a toddler to get pastries along the Sidra. Azriel returned with his half-asleep daughter in his arms, who perked up upon seeing her baby brother cooing in his bassinet. “Nyxie!!” She yelled, hurrying over to the winged babe. Rhys, however, arrived with numerous shopping bags in his own arms.

Feyre, who had been lounging with her head on Y/N’s shoulder gave the two a big smile. Y/N raised an eyebrow. “All of that better be for Nyx.”

Azriel and Rhys shared a laugh before Rhys spoke. “Well, half of it is, but only because someone batted her little lashes at us repeating ‘Brother, present. Brother, present’ until we took her into what is conveniently her favorite toy store.” Az cut in, “And because my brother is getting soft in his old age” before Rhys could remind Azriel that he was, in fact, the older of the two, Az continued, “Rhys had to buy something for her for every item she picked out for Nyx.”

Y/N groaned. “Cassian literally just bought her five new toys and six new outfits on their last outing.”

The raven-haired toddler with her mother’s nose and radiant skin, Rhys’ smile, and by some gift of the Mother - had Azriel’s golden-flecked hazel eyes, toddled up to Feyre, giving her a big hug. She then turned to her mother, leaning in to whisper something, that came out as quietly as a yell. “I got something for sissy too. Daddy has it in the pocket realm.”

Y/N’s face flushed as Rhys and Feyre gaped. “So much for keeping that a secret for a little longer.”

Feyre squealed leaning in and throwing her arms around Y/N. “I thought that maybe I was getting allergies, your scent hasn’t been as strong but you were glamouring it!”

Rhys pulled Azriel into a long hug, then walked over to Y/N with a wide smile, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Azriel placed a hand on his chest as he took in the sight of his blended family. It wasn’t what he’d ever expected but, to him, it was everything.

[buckets-and-trees]

I’d like to point out this man’s insane hotness🥵

Also… imagine needing a place to sit and Bucky tells you to sit on his lap😍

I've been sitting on this one for ages, Shannon, I'm sorry! But I was waiting for a storyline that truly swept me away because this look and the potential for this moment couldn't be squandered if I was going to take a stab at it...

Poison Blood from the Wound of the Pricked Hand

Characters/Pairings: Post TFATWS!Bucky x curvy!Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 3k Summary: You've made a life-altering decision, and even though it feels like the only choice you could have made, you hope it's the right one, and you hope the man you're being forced to rely on tonight will help you accomplish what you need to, or else your life could be at stake - not to mention the safety of so many others.

Content/Warnings: intense physical intimicy, but no actual smut (I know, shocker)

Author Notes: Possibly the last piece for the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend! And, yes late, but the final piece to complete out my collection for @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer - week twelve "what should I wear?"

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“How are things going in there?” Bucky called loudly to you.

“Um…” There was a long pause, before you called back, “Fine.”

You glanced at the clock.

You knew at this rate you were going to make the two of you late. But that only ate at you more. You weren’t trying to cause problems.

Or, rather, you weren’t trying to cause more problems. You already felt like a walking liability.

All you had tried to do was get out of the danger of your brother’s organization.

You had finally gone to the authorities, looking to make some kind of deal for safety, maybe witness protection, you didn’t know exactly how these things worked, only that you had to leave.

But evidently things had been even worse and more complicated than you knew, and the price for safety had come with strings.

They needed more information, and they saw you as a means to be able to get it.

And so they’d dangled a deal that required you to play your part as a trusted member of the family one more time.

You had only been gone for just over twenty-four hours, so it wasn’t likely that your brother would suspect your defection yet. But it was so recent that you still felt unsettled over whether you’d made the right decision - especially now that it wasn’t a clean break and you were being used be the people you expected to be the good guys.

“Are you sure?” Bucky’s voice broke through your thoughts again.

You shook your head. Since he was in the other room, there was no danger in him seeing your doubt and uncertainty.

Of all the moving parts in this scheme, Bucky was possibly the only piece you thought you might be able to trust. His reputation preceded him as someone more than capable of handling any dangerous situation, but he also seemed to harbor a question in his mind over working this operation and trusting the government agencies who had a hand in this.

You sighed, then bit your lip. The clock ticked relentlessly, each second a reminder of your indecision. Your eyes darted between two outfits laid out on the bed, both chosen with care but now seeming woefully inadequate for the task ahead.

You sighed, your eyes darting between the two outfits laid out on the bed. One was a sleek black dress, form-fitting and elegant, with a high neckline and long sleeves that would conceal the nervous goosebumps prickling your skin. The other, a tailored pantsuit in deep navy, exuded an air of professionalism and confidence you wished you felt.

Both outfits were carefully chosen to blend in at the high-stakes charity gala where you'd be making your reappearance in your brother's world. But which one would better sell the lie? Which one would make you look like you hadn't just betrayed everything you'd ever known?

You ran your fingers over the cool silk of the dress, then the crisp wool of the suit jacket. The clock's incessant ticking seemed to grow louder with each passing moment, mocking your indecision.

You needed to look like your old self, the trusted sister, and you’d worn clothes just like these a hundred times before. But now?

And with the added caveat of needing to have a brand new man on your arm and sell that he was a valid new part of your life, too?

You grabbed both hangers and went out into the living room of your apartment where Bucky had been patiently waiting for you.

Bucky's eyes widened slightly as you emerged from the bedroom, clothes in hand. He was sitting on the couch, hands in his lap, already dressed in a sharp looking suit with leather lapels - edgy but impressive. For a moment, you were struck by how different he looked from the dangerous operative turned superhero you knew him to be. He looked like he could effortlessly blend into the opulent setting you expected tonight.

"I can't decide," you admitted, your voice hesitant. "Which one do you think would be more… convincing?"

Bucky's gaze flickered between the two outfits, then back to your face. His expression softened, and you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

"The dress," he said after a moment. "It's more in line with what you'd typically wear to these events, right? We don't want to raise any suspicions by changing your style too drastically."

You nodded, grateful for his insight. "You're right. Thank you."

As you turned to go back to the bedroom, Bucky's voice stopped you. "Hey," he said softly, his blue eyes searching your face. "We don't have to do this if you're not ready."

For a moment, you were tempted to take the out he was offering. To tell him you couldn't go through with it, that you'd made a mistake. But then you thought of your brother, of all the people he'd hurt, and you steeled yourself.

"No, I can do this. Besides,” you thought of all the things you’d learned in different meetings and conversations and reports today, “this is our best chance to get the information we need to bring him and the rest of the organization down.”

“But it doesn’t have to be you,” he insisted.

You tilted your head and smiled sadly. “But it should be.” They had been planning to try and infiltrate tonight’s gala before you had presented yourself, but with you, you were practically a golden ticket into the event and into so many more of the areas once inside.

Bucky nodded, a mix of admiration and concern in his eyes. "Alright. But remember, I'll be right there with you the whole time. If anything feels off, just give me the signal and we're out of there."

You nodded, grateful for his reassurance. As you headed back to the bedroom to change, you couldn't help but wonder how convincing you and Bucky would be as a couple. You'd only known each other for a day, and while he seemed kind and protective, there was still so much mystery surrounding him.

As you undressed, you tried to calm your racing thoughts. You'd been to countless events like this before, schmoozing with the elite and corrupt. But never as a double agent, never with the weight of so many lives hanging in the balance, and certainly not since discovering the secret that had shattered your world and opened up your eyes to the fact that everything your brother was involved in was corrupt and dangerous.

As you slipped into the black dress, you couldn't help but feel like you were putting on armor for battle. The silk clung to your skin, cool and familiar, yet somehow foreign now. You zipped it up, fingered the neckline, then pressed your hand to your heart and took a deep breath.

In the mirror, you saw the woman you used to be—poised, elegant, the perfect sister to a powerful man. But your eyes betrayed you, filled with a storm of emotions you'd have to learn to hide in the next few minutes.

You applied your makeup with practiced precision, each stroke of mascara and swipe of lipstick another layer of protection, of disguise. Once satisfied with your appearance, you squared your shoulders, and put the lipstick in your clutch.

You emerged from the bedroom, smoothing down the fabric of your dress. “I’m ready.”

Bucky’s eyes roamed over you appreciatively, and you felt something pool in your stomach - the attraction to this man you’d been trying to ignore since you’d been introduced to him early this morning. You could not have a crush on this man who was supposed to infiltrate your brother’s organization with you, steal information, and try and get both of you out safely.

It would be too much of a distraction.

Bucky's lips quirked into a small smile.

“What?” you asked, suspicious.

“You forgot your shoes,” he said simply.

You looked down and sighed.

“Nervous?” he asked, his tone kind, soft.

"Bucky," you said, looking back at him, "how are we supposed to explain your presence? Won't my brother be suspicious of a new man in my life?"

"We've got a cover story. I'm a potential new investor in your brother's 'business ventures.' You met me at a networking event last week and thought I'd be a good fit for tonight's gala."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you just happened to sweep me off my feet?”

"Something like that," Bucky replied with a roguish smile. "We'll keep it vague - a whirlwind romance, sparks flying. Your brother will be more focused on the potential investment than on our relationship."

You nodded, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach. It wasn't just nerves about the mission now; the idea of pretending to be swept off your feet by Bucky wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Right," you said, forcing yourself to focus. "I'll just go grab those shoes."

You hurried back to the bedroom, slipping on a pair of elegant black heels. As you turned to leave, your eyes fell on a framed photo on the nightstand - you and your brother at last year's gala, both smiling widely. Your stomach churned. How had you been so blind?

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the guilt down and away. You needed to do this. There was no other path in your mind now that you knew the truth. Your eyes flicked from the frame to the luggage packed next to your door. When you’d left yesterday, you hadn’t taken anything with you, not wanting to draw suspicion. With this return to your place and the cover of being swept into something with Bucky, it gave you the cover to pack some of your things - luggage that was being picked up and taken care of for you by one of this “rich investor’s” staff to go with you on a two-week vacation to a private island in the Phillippines. It was a perfect cover, provided you could sell it.

He was so handsome, with his dark hair styled perfectly and his strong jawline. Still sitting on the couch, he radiated confidence and charm, making it easy to see why he was chosen for this mission. You couldn't help but feel slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

Bucky's eyes flicked over your ensemble. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice low and husky.

Your heart skipped a beat at the compliment, feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. "Thank you," you replied shyly.

You’d been so worried about all the other logistics of tonight, you hadn’t thought about the believability of you and Bucky until now.

“Come here,” he said, holding a hand out to you. You crossed the room and took it, gasping as he pulled you down to sit across his lap.

“Bucky,” you protested, insecure about sitting all of your plus-sized body in his lap. You had never been comfortable with your few previous partners in this situation, but he pressed one cool vibranium finger to your lips, while his other hand moved softly up and down your back.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispered. “You’ll need to look comfortable around me when I touch you, and if your brother is going to believe you’ve agreed to go away with me tonight, I can’t touch you for the first time while we’re there.”

You nodded. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and you shivered.

You felt a flush creep up your neck as Bucky's lips brushed your cheek. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, but you could feel the strength in his arms as he held you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself further. He seemed unconcerned, even happy to hold all of you, and the contrast between his warm flesh hand and the cool metal of his other arm sent tingles down your spine.

"Is this okay?" he murmured against your skin, his breath hot on your neck.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. Your heart was racing, and you weren't sure if it was from nerves about the mission or the proximity of this dangerously attractive man.

Bucky's hand traced lazy circles on your back, and you found yourself relaxing into his touch despite your better judgment. "We need to look natural together," he explained softly. "Like we can't keep our hands off each other. It'll sell the whirlwind romance angle."

You swallowed hard, trying keep it together.

Bucky's hand continued its soothing motion up and down your back, and you found yourself leaning into his touch despite your better judgment.

"Tell me more about your brother," Bucky said softly. "What should I expect?"

You tensed slightly at the mention of your brother, but Bucky's steady presence kept you grounded. "He's… charming," you began, choosing your words carefully. "Charismatic. He can make anyone feel like the most important person in the room. But there's always an agenda behind it."

Bucky nodded, his fingers still tracing patterns on your back. "And how does he usually react to you bringing someone new around?"

You sighed, leaning your head against Bucky's shoulder. "He's protective. Suspicious. I haven’t brought many men around. He'll probably try to get you alone, size you up."

"I can handle that," Bucky assured you, his voice low and confident.

You lifted your head to look at him, suddenly struck by how close your faces were. His blue eyes were intense, searching yours. "Bucky," you whispered, "what if I can't pull this off?"

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. "We will," he said firmly. It didn’t escape your notice that he’d said we, not allowing you to feel alone. "You're stronger than you think, and I've got your back.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Underneath that charm, he's calculating. Always looking for an angle, a way to use people. And he's dangerous when he feels threatened."

Before, you hadn’t questioned his cold side, thought it to usually be warranted, protective of you and the family and his organization. But now you knew better, illusion shattered.

Bucky nodded, his expression grave. "I'll be on high alert," he assured you. "We'll have to make sure he sees me as an asset, not a threat. But remember, we're not there to confront him tonight. Just to gather information."

"Right," you said, trying to calm your racing heart. "Just information."

Bucky's hand resumed landed on your thigh, and he squeezed reassuringly. You put your hand over his.

"Good," he murmured, eyes dropping down to your coupled hands. "That's the kind of reaction we need."

You nodded, trying to focus on the mission, on the act you needed to sell. But it was becoming increasingly difficult with Bucky's strong arm around you, his warm breath on your neck.

"We should practice," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "What if... what if we need to kiss?"

Bucky's eyes met yours, a mix of surprise and something darker, more intense. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, your heart racing. "We need to be convincing, right?"

Without another word, Bucky's hand slid to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. His lips met yours, soft at first, then with growing intensity. You melted into the kiss, your hands instinctively moving to his chest. The stubble on his jaw scratched lightly against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

For a moment, you forgot about the mission, about your brother, about everything except the feel of Bucky's lips on yours. It felt electric, a spark of something real amidst all the deception you were about to undertake. His metal arm tightened around your waist, and you gasped softly into his mouth.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Bucky's eyes were dark with desire. "That was..." he started, then cleared his throat. "That should be convincing enough.”

You nodded, unable to form words. The kiss had felt all too real, and you were struggling to remind yourself that this was just part of the act. You couldn't afford to develop real feelings for Bucky, not with everything at stake.

"We should go," you managed to say, glancing at the clock. "We don't want to be late."

Bucky nodded, but neither of you moved.

Then you leaned in and kissed him again. He returned your kiss, metal arm pulling you even closer. Your hands tangled into his hair, and you shifted in his lap so you could press your chest flush against his.

"We really should go," you murmured against Bucky's lips when you had to break off for another breath, but made no move to pull away.

He hummed in agreement, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, all thoughts of the mission momentarily forgotten. There was only the warmth of his body, the softness of his lips, the gentle scrape of his stubble against your skin.

Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the strength coiled beneath his suit jacket. Bucky's flesh hand slid from your hair down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps. You gasped softly at the contact, and he took the opportunity to trace your lower lip with his tongue. Heat pooled in your stomach as you parted your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss further.

His vibrainum hand continued its exploration down your body, while his warm, flesh hand stayed at the small of your back, anchoring you. You lost yourself in the sensation, forgetting for a moment about the dangerous mission ahead. Bucky's kisses were intoxicating, making you dizzy with desire. His metal hand traced the curve of your hip, sending shivers through your body.

Suddenly, the sharp ring of a phone cut through the haze of passion. You jerked away from Bucky, reality crashing back. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek black device.

"It's time," he said, his voice husky. "The car's waiting downstairs."

You nodded, trying to catch your breath and calm your racing heart. As you stood up from his lap, you smoothed down your dress, acutely aware of how close you'd come to losing control.

Bucky rose as well, adjusting his tie and running a hand through his slightly mussed hair. His eyes met yours, filled with…

Filled with what, you weren’t sure.

If you made it out tonight, maybe you might have a chance to find out.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Read more stories from the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend!

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What do we think? Do we want to see more of them?

I think this could be a post-TFATWS and pre-Thunderbolts kind of thing maybe. idk.

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[nonexistent-alfa]

The crown hosts a ball. Of course all noble households in the Roan kingdom are present. Same goes for the Duke's House of Henituse as well.

Cale, who had separated himself from the rest of his family members to go to a corner and enjoy the desserts with the invisible Raon and had kept his Dominating Aura activated to keep the annoyances away, is approached by his youngest sibling.

Lily, being the brave knight she is, asks her eldest brother for a dance. Cale, who already feels guilty for being as absent from her life as he is and not being a proper older brother for her, accepts it for her sake. He needs to do at least this much for her as an older brother.

There is, however, one tiny problem.

Cale, no, Kim Roksoo doesn't know how to dance. The original Cale Henituse was so invested in his act of being a trash that he never bothered to learn it, so currently Cale had no muscle memory to rely on either.

Lily, who kind of predicted this when she approached him, ends up leading the dance. It's truly an unexpected sight to see Cale Henituse dancing a waltz in the middle of the ballroom. The Commander, who was often seen bleeding out on the battlefield as he fought in the forefront, elegantly moving his body to the flow of the music was truly captivating.

Basen Henituse has never been so jealous of his little sister seven years his junior. Neither has he ever felt so remorseful of being born a man. He wishes he could share a waltz with his elder brother too.

Cale, the magnanimous brother as he is, readily agrees to dance with him. When they're off the floor, Basen makes a victory fist as soon as nobody is watching.

Duchess Violan hesitates at first. But then she decides she should join in on the fun too. Thus, for the first time ever, she shares a waltz with her step son. Something she only used to do with her husband and son, Basen, in the past. She never expected there would come a day when it would be possible for her to dance with Cale. However, as it seemed, today was the day.

Deruth is much too overwhelmed at being reminded of Jour to ask Cale for a dance. He's just happy watching the others enjoy themselves.

The thing that Lily started, what was continued by Basen and Violan, naturally everyone wanted to be a part of it. Not everyone was lucky enough though. Cale accepted their requests for a dance because they were his family. As for the rest of the people present in this ballroom? He could care less.

He does end up sharing a dance with Amiru Ubarr and Rosalyn though, people who were good at leading the dance for the inexperienced him.

Once he returns from the ball, the children demand he dance with them. Raon, who watched his dance at the ball, tries to imitate his partners leading Cale through the dance. On and Hong are quick to learn as they watch before each following suit one after another.

It was the night the Black Castle shone the brightest and illuminated the Forest of Darkness to the point the name had never felt less fitting as it did that day.

Bonus:

Taking a leaf out of Basen's book, Alberu asks his precious dongsaeng for a dance. Cale is disgusted and flabbergasted but also plays along.

"dongsaeng, are you purposefully trying to step on my feet?"

"hyung-nim must know I never learned to dance, so it's expected."

"you didn't step on anyone else's feet though?"

"maybe they were just better at leading the dance than you are."

Alberu, baffled, "cheeky brat."

"the brat is older than yourself, hyung-nim."

"ha!" Alberu is in disbelief. "Well, i guess I should assign a dance instructor to my beloved dongsaeng then."

The dance ends and Cale whispers to him before walking away "sure. Send him to the Black Castle." Knowing it's near impossible for anyone to withstand the presence of the individuals residing there.

The next day, Tasha is at the Black Castle.

"My nephew asked me to teach the young master how to waltz. I was the one to teach that boy, so you can rest assured!"

Cale feels like he lost for the first time in a while.

[zaldritzosrose]

To Tame a Wolf: Part One

Summary: The battle for alliance had begun. The Greens and the Blacks. The North was a desired ally. And a marriage would be the way to secure it.

TW: She/Her Pronouns, use of OC (Lyanna Stark), mentions of character death, arranged marriage.

Words: 1,939

Part Two

Thank you to @lady-phasma for betaing this for me!

A Dragon In Winterfell

Lyanna waited outside, her brother having received word that Prince Aemond and his dragon were on the horizon. And Lyanna had been sent out to greet him.

Aemond flew on Vhagar, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. He knew, in theory, what he needed to do in negotiations: offer what the council had instructed him to, and not leave without an answer, or even better, an acceptance. But it was what was to be offered that bothered him.

He had never pictured himself as a husband. Not that he considered himself undesirable, it had simply never been something that had crossed his mind. But duty was duty, and if anything could be said about Aemond, it was that he would always do his duty. And right now, his duty was war.

The distant roar of a dragon was enough to signal the prince’s impending arrival, the looming shadow of the mighty she-dragon eclipsing Winterfell’s courtyard. There was, most likely, not a single Northerner who had truly seen a dragon up close. Even in the sky, Vhagar was a sight to see. As the shadow dipped, Lyanna readied herself and the nearby servants for Aemond’s arrival.

Aemond dismounted quickly. If it was his choice, he would have this entire situation done within a day. Politics, or should he say that patience was not his strongest suit. And patience was surely something he would need for this.

“My prince,” Lyanna dropped smoothly into a curtsy, as did the servants around her. Aemond inclined his head in respect, his movements stiff - both from riding and his wish to be anywhere else.

“My lady, I appreciate the welcome,” Aemond responded, the need to remain polite warring with the need to move on to the true reason for his visit.

But he did allow himself a moment to pause and look at Lyanna. If this was the woman to whom he was intended to offer his hand, surely, he should take the time to assess her as she was. While it might seem cold, Aemond knew this arrangement was not intended to be based on his desires. This arrangement was simply that. An arrangement. Feelings were of no consequence.

Though he had to admit, the stories of her beauty did not do her justice. She was a true beauty, he realised. The dark hair and grey eyes, so synonymous with the Starks. The soft rosiness of her cheeks, that had bloomed from standing out in the cold Northern air. He suppressed a chuckle realising that either way, on the surface, he would benefit from this arrangement with a beautiful wife.

“My brother awaits you in our Hall, my prince.” Lyanna gestured towards the large doors behind her, before leading Aemond out of the cold and into the warmth of Winterfell’s walls.

The halls of Winterfell had a beauty of their own. Heavy stone walls, built to withstand the cold and likely more sinister foes. Like the halls, he stood in reflected the people that lived there. Hardy. Stubborn. And hard to defeat. It was this notion that made him realise why the North was such a desired ally. Aemond had little interest in the décor and architecture. He had one focus, and he would see that through without distraction.

Lyanna walked quickly, the only sound to be heard was the swishing of the heavy fabrics of her gown and the soft clacking of their boots against the stone floor. There was no small talk, which if he had to admit, Aemond quite appreciated. The doors to the hall were opened and Lyanna only glanced back momentarily before entering.

“Brother, Prince Aemond has arrived,” she announced to whom, Aemond assumed, was Lord Cregan.

The resemblance was notable. The dark hair, grey eyes. But where Lyanna was soft, Cregan was harsh - ever fitting the Wolf in the North moniker. Aemond inclined his head, to which Cregan returned the same gesture before gesturing for Aemond to sit.

What surprised Aemond, however, was when Lyanna took a seat at Cregan’s side. He knew things were a little different in the North. But he had not expected Lyanna to be present in the negotiations. If she noticed his surprise, she said nothing. She simply waited for her brother to begin.

"Lord Cregan, it is an honour to meet you. I have come on behalf of King Aegon and the Green Council to discuss an alliance between our houses." Aemond spoke confidently, reciting the words that his grandsire had drilled into him upon his departure.

The negotiations were long, but in Aemond’s eye, they were fruitful. Cregan was receptive, more than expected, to Aegon’s offers as King. But Aemond knew that it was only a matter of time before the secondary motive for his arrival was to be revealed.

“And for the North’s alliance, what does the Crown offer us?” Cregan asked, the faintest of smiles on his bearded face as he glanced over at Lyanna.

Marriages and betrothals were common bargaining tools, so it was no surprise that this was the expected next step. Aemond still felt the faintest unease settling in his gut at the prospect.

“The Crown offers marriage, my lord. Between Lady Lyanna and myself.” Aemond said the words simply, there was no need for flowery proposals.

But the look on Lyanna’s face was not what he expected. Surely a lady would feel honoured to be chosen to marry a prince. Lyanna looked anything but honoured. While she did not look angry, she did not look happy either. She was simply…indifferent.

“A generous proposal, my prince. And one that I will duly consider.”

And with Lord Stark’s words, the negotiations were ended. Aemond hoped, deep down, that the decision would be reached before the day’s end. But he felt he was hoping for too much. The prince looked to Lyanna once more, hoping for some sort of reaction. Joy, disgust, anger. Anything would be better than the blank look that currently coloured her features.

Only time would tell.

Aemond left the hall, knowing his part was done. For now. But he could already hear the words being exchanged between the siblings. The words were not angry, but they were not kind either. And it seemed that most of the ire was coming for Lyanna.

“I am not a prize to be exchanged for victory, brother!” Lyanna snapped, “And especially not to a Kinslayer!”

Lyanna’s voice just carried through the heavy wooden doors. Aemond could not help but feel a sting at her words. Was it him as a man she took issue with, or being married off itself? The word Kinslayer also carried a sting of its own. it seemed the title had carried itself all the way up North. Aemond knew he should not let it hurt him, but to know even a stranger saw him like that, was a slice to his usual stoic heart.

He did not stay to hear the rest. Their conversation was not for his ears. He took himself down the halls, seeking refuge in what he hoped would be a library. With the help of a nearby guard, he soon found himself seated in a heavy armchair surrounded by books. A sole comfort no matter where he found himself.

Lyanna was furious. Though at who, she was not sure. She did not know Aemond well enough to dislike him, but she knew enough to feel a sense of trepidation at being his wife. Stories of Aemond Targaryen had not taken long to make their way North.

Infamous for losing his eye to his nephew, the self-same nephew he killed on dragon back not so long ago and claiming the largest living dragon at only ten years of age.

The stories painted him as a man of little emotion, focused solely on the duty of being a prince and dragon rider. Not a man Lyanna had ever envisioned herself marrying, that was for sure. Though if she were honest, she had never truly imagined marrying anyone. She had been lucky in that regard; most ladies of Lyanna’s age would likely have been married off by now.

But she was not just a lady. She was a Stark. Just as much a prize as the North itself. Even if she despised the notion.

She knew Cregan would accept the proposal. He had decided to support Aegon before Aemond had even arrived. Her brother was a smart man, smarter than most gave him credit. Despite his young age as a Northern Warden, Cregan knew well enough to side where the benefit would fall greater on their house.

And right now? It was to side with Aegon as King.

By marrying Lyanna to Aemond, Cregan believed that he was putting Stark blood closer to the throne. And that was more than worth the price of his sister’s disdain.

The betrothal was official. And Lyanna was set to leave with Aemond for King’s Landing as soon as possible. War did not allow them the gift of time. Lyanna had at least hoped for time to prepare to leave, but Cregan assured her that her belongings would follow on behind her.

And then she realised the Crown’s intention. The sooner the wedding was held, the sooner war would begin. War was the focus, that was obvious.

Aemond left first, assuring Cregan and Lyanna that everything would be prepared for her arrival. A letter had been sent when Cregan accepted, informing Aegon and the Council that the marriage was to go ahead.

The ride was long for Lyanna, and the time did nothing to bolster her feelings towards this marriage. She didn’t hate Aemond, she had assured him of that before he left atop Vhagar. And he has assured her in kind, he had no reason to hate her either. But they both knew that there was little between them.

They would barely even be considered friends, for they knew nothing of each other. There was likely to be little time to learn such things.

Almost two weeks passed and Lyanna was at the gates of the Red Keep. She had never visited the South herself, but her brother had told her stories. Nothing would ever compare to the beauty of Winterfell in her eyes, but she could appreciate the Keep, nonetheless. For it was to become her home, whether she liked it or not. She assumed people knew of her arrival. It wasn’t often that Starks, or Northerners, came to the capital and to come on the arrangement of marriage would be more than a novelty.

As the carriage came to a stop, Lyanna took a deep breath, hoping to somehow calm herself. She knew nothing of what to expect the moment she stepped from the safety of her carriage. A voice outside could be heard instructing the horseman to open the doors.

Suddenly,  the flash of sunlight hit her eyes. Different from what she used to in the North. As her sight adjusted, she felt a hand reach out and offer to assist her exit, which she gladly took. Thankfully, her welcome was quiet. War did that to cities, most people were likely safely inside their homes. And she was glad of it, a crowd was not what she needed at this moment.

She could see a handful of people, she assumed were royal servants and as she looked further, she saw the figure of Aemond. Standing tall and regal in the small group of servants. Strangely, she was relieved to see a face she at least recognised.

Even if that face belonged to that of a stranger.

a/n thank you so much to everyone who gave the confidence to do this! feedback is always appreciated!

[kittievampire]

hi hi ! so can i request OM brothers reacting MC self harming/attempting suicide (whichever one you think fits the brothers most) ? if that’s okay with you of course ? thanks lovie <3 !!

I'll only be doing cutting and other such unhealthy habits that fit the brothers here, if that's okay!

Lemme see what I have in my bag, my dear~

Click here if you wanna request!

Warnings: Angst, Self-Harm, Depression, Insomnia, Anxiety, Social Anxiety, Stress Eating, Anger Management Issues, Physical Insecurities, Workaholic Tendancies, Hurt/Comfort, GN! MC

Enjoy.

You'd struggled with depression long before you were sent to the Devildom. While the brothers had managed to keep you busy, to the point where your mind didn't have the time nor the energy to think about the things that made you feel so down, there were still plenty of times when you found yourself breaking down or even resorting back to the bad habits you'd thought you'd "grown out of." Life isn't easy, you know this. But you hated to make it someone else's problem. Whenever you'd tell someone about your issues, you always felt like a burden, so you kept it to yourself. When the brothers entered your life, you didn't want them finding out about it at all. That's when you tried to better yourself, get rid of those habits that kept you down in that place. But, unfortunately, life isn't easy, old habits are hard to kill, and secrets won't always be kept hidden.

Lucifer

You struggled with accepting the reality of life's cruelty.

You wanted to keep your mind busy so that you could have some form of escape, even if that meant pulling all-nighters just so you didn't have to fear the things that'd appear in your head once the area around you gets quiet and your mind is free to wander. This meant that you'd be doing a majority of your RAD schoolwork at night, weeks before the due date just so you could distract yourself.

You could still see the scars that littered over your arms, mainly those from your more recent assaults upon yourself, though you were always careful to hide them.

When you were in your room one night, however, you were wearing a tank top and shorts, ready to call it a night until your anxiety spiked and you were suddenly sitting at your desk, scribbling notes of random, possibly useless, information that you recalled from your lessons.

You managed to fall asleep like this.

Lucifer had only walked into your room to check on you, as he could see the faintest light seeping from beneath your door. He was just about ready to scold you for staying up so late, but when he entered the room and walked toward you, he noticed two things.

One being that you were very much asleep, your cheek pressed against an open textbook, and small scribble lines not going unnoticed as signs of your drowsiness before you passed out.

Two being that your arms were almost covered in scars.

His eyes widened, reaching a gloved hand out gently to twist your arm toward him, getting a better look.

There were scabs and old wounds that littered your arms, all the way up to your upper forearm.

His true surprise though, was when he saw one that was different from the others. It was still red, not bleeding, but it was more recent than the ones that had healed over.

Were you unhappy here? Why did you feel the need to do such a thing?

Lucifer couldn't begin to comprehend the complexity of human emotion, it wasn't his best suit in general. But this? He had no idea what he should do. Wake you up? Pretend like he didn't see anything?

He carefully carried you to your bed and tucked you in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, and softly wishing you sweet dreams.

After that, Lucifer would definitely check up on you more often. "How was your day, MC?", "Not too overworked, I hope?", "Perhaps your efforts should be rewarded. How about dinner? On me."

He never spoke to you directly about it. Even if he did, there wasn't much he knew to do. Despite this, he wants to be your rock, your shoulder to cry on. Every opportunity he gets, he holds his hand out to you, allowing you to rant about the shitty day you've had or how much you hate something/someone.

And every time, when he'd comfort you with a warm and tight embrace and soft strokes to your hair, he'd press a kiss to the top of your head, and whisper to you,

"I'm always here for you, whenever you need me."

Mammon

You struggled with talking about your emotions to other people.

Whenever you did, you just felt like a burden, so you often would bottle up everything you felt and let it all out at once when you're in the privacy of your own room, crying, and cutting.

Mammon walked in on you in the act, actually. His shades fell to the ground at the same time your small blade did.

"O-Oi! Whaddya think yer doin', huh?!" He asked, closing the door and rushing to your side. "Bandages," He muttered, dashing out of the room for a mere moment before running back in, unraveling the roll of bandages, and dropping the rest of the First-Aid kit. "Shit!" He fumbled with some of the supplies but quickly got to work on wrapping up your arms.

It was sloppy work, but at least he managed to tie it and stop the blood from seeping out of the cuts you'd made. The whole time, you just sat there, frozen in place, tears seemingly not stopping anytime soon.

When he was done bandaging you, he sat down at your side, and there was silence for the first time between the two of you. You didn't want to start bawling your eyes out, but you couldn't stop the small whimpers that escaped your throat, nor could you stop the tears that stained your face.

You rested your head on his shoulder and started sobbing, gripping his jacket, seeking his comfort.

Mammon flinched at the sudden contact but quickly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

Twenty minutes passed before he spoke amidst the silence after you'd finished crying.

"M'not gonna ask why... Just... Please don't do it again... I'll try to make ya happy, okay? Just promise me ya won't do it again."

Leviathan

You struggled with socializing.

Ever since you were a child, you never really fit in with society, so you just decided to hole yourself up in your room.

However, when you did try to make friends, you'd always get turned down rather harshly.

You were considered a weirdo.

So, you started cutting. It became a habit that stuck with you into your adulthood, and it was difficult to get rid of.

Even at the House of Lamentation, you found it too tempting. Especially when Asmodeus or Mammon would give you weird looks when you'd try to include yourself in conversation with the two of them.

The only person who could understand this was Leviathan, which is why he didn't ask any questions when he saw your scars. He didn't ask why you did it, didn't tell you off for doing it, he understood more than you thought. The thing is, his scars healed way faster because of his immortality.

"Don't hurt yourself, MC. Those dumb normies don't deserve people like you," He'd say, a determined smile on his face. "Why don't we do a marathon of your favorite anime? What was it? Devil Killer? (Cookie for whoever gets this reference) We can watch that and play video games all night if it means taking your mind off of things. So, um... L-Let's try to be each other's company, if that's okay with you..."

Satan

You were very emotional.

You'd be chided and teased for your short temper, your "crybaby" nature, but you just didn't know how to handle your own emotions sometimes.

Well, all the time.

So, you started cutting. Though, you didn't want to be conspicuous. You knew better than to let people know your weakness just from rolling up your sleeves. Your area of choice was your thighs.

You became fond of the cutting as a release of your feelings. This bleeded into your adulthood, and it was the only way you could cope without being so emotional.

However, nothing can get past the Avatar of Wrath when it comes to his own sin.

He could tell you were angry, angry enough to do something drastic, so he didn't bother knocking when he came into your room.

Satan saw you sitting on your bed, towel beneath you, thighs bleeding, a blade in your hand, and tears in your eyes.

He was quick to come in with the first-aid kit, neatly bandaging your wounds.

"Satan—" "Not right now, MC," He cut you off. He was upset that you were hurting yourself, and he couldn't trust himself to talk to you without scolding you. Scolding wasn't what you needed right now.

Once he was finished, he looked down at you, a distraught expression on his face. "Why would you do this to yourself, MC?" He asked softly, resting his forehead against your shoulder. He held your hips with his hands, trying to maintain a hold on you. "Why hurt yourself? Is it because of what others think of you? What you think of yourself?"

Satan tucked a few strands of your hair behind your ear, emerald eyes peering deep into yours. "No matter. You don't have to answer my questions now, MC... I just want you to be okay."

Asmodeus

You struggled with loving yourself.

You were always pressured to live up to society's beauty standards. When you tried, you failed more often than you didn't, and you'd be chided for your failure. That's why you started cutting in the first place.

Cutting gave you this kind of inexplicable relief. Since you hated yourself so much, there was a small voice in the back of your head telling you that something so ugly deserves this kind of treatment.

When Asmo saw your arms for the first time, he was frozen in place. The Avatar of Lust was speechless for the first time in years.

It was an accident, you'd never meant to expose your cut-up arms to him for fear of being judged. He was just really pushy about you trying out a new perfume, one that had a roll-on applicator.

"Darling," He spoke softly, keeping a sweet tone as he gently grasped your hands. "Did you do this?"

You bit your lip, casting your gaze down to your lap. Almost immediately, he grasped your chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting your head upward to look at him. The saddened expression in his eyes almost made you run out of the room.

He let out a small sigh, opening a drawer that was attached to his vanity mirror.

"You really shouldn't," He murmured softly as he squirted ointment onto your arm, rubbing it into your skin. "Your skin is too pretty, you're too pretty to be harming yourself like this."

Pretty?

You hadn't been called pretty before, not from what you can remember.

"Don't do this anymore, yes? Promise me you won't harm your beautiful body like this anymore."

Beelzebub

You struggled with your body image and stress eating.

You found it difficult to live up to the standards set by society, at least, that's what you felt. You always felt very insecure about your body, and your eating habits didn't help either.

The Avatar of Gluttony found out about your stress eating when he was raiding the fridge one night. You had woken up feeling especially stressed out about an exam you had the next day, so you had gone down to the kitchen to grab a snack.

You and Beel had a conversation about your habit, and how insecure you felt about yourself.

"Your body looks fine, MC," He said mid-chew, taking another bite of whatever food was left over from tonight's dinner. "I know the feeling. I eat a whole lot more when I'm feeling overwhelmed, that's why a lot of people think that I've got a black hole for a stomach. But there's nothing wrong with you. You're not weird or anything, I think you're perfect!"

The way he said all of this to you with that sweet smile of his almost made you cry.

Belphegor

You suffered from night terrors and insomnia.

Your anxiety made it difficult to sleep, so most nights you just wouldn't. You didn't even want to at this point, a direct result of your horrific nightmares. Your lack of sleep was evident due to the dark circles under your eyes the next morning and your struggle to stay awake at RAD.

Lucifer had gotten on to you for this, and Belphegor wanted to help.

That's why he was in your room. He was planning to help put you to sleep, but you couldn't stop squirming in your bed.

Belphie had taken the floor out of respect for your privacy, but he couldn't sleep hearing you toss and turn in your bed.

"Alright, move over," He said abruptly, standing over your bed and kneeling on it. You felt a dip in the mattress and shifted, moving over to give him room on your bed. He slid under the covers and wrapped his arms around you, clinging to you like you were a body pillow.

Belphegor buried his face into the back of your neck, breathing in your scent as he closed his eyes. "Sleep, MC... I'll be here when you wake up."

Hope you liked it, anon!

Masterlist

[genderqueerdykes]

Things commonly asked while questioning one's gender

Here are some questions you may ask yourself if you are in the process of questioning your gender; if these questions have occurred to you, or create a dialogue or reaction in you, you could possibly have an experience that falls under the trans* umbrella. PLEASE note that NONE of these are REQUIREMENTS for being trans- people have asked me to lay out some basic questions you can ask yourself or a checklist and this is what i've come up with so far:

Does being called by my birth name bother me? would i be happier going by a different name of a different gender or a different name somehow?

Do the pronouns assigned with my birth gender feel inaccurate somehow? would i be happier if i changed my pronouns? does the gender marker assigned to me on licenses and IDs bother me or feel inaccurate?

Does the way other people address me affect me? does the way other people perceive me and assign gendered terms and roles to me in passive conversation bother me? does it bother me that people treat me like a "man" or "woman" when that's not how i feel? does it bother me when people aggressively call me sir, ma'am, lady, man, sister, brother, etc.

When engaging in roleplay or thought exercises, do i find myself naturally envisioning myself as a different gender, or creating characters of a different gender because it feels more safe, natural or comfortable to me while doing thought exercises or fantasizing? do i find that it comes easily to me to put myself in the shoes of another gender, perhaps even moreso than my agab?

Do I find myself relating to one gender moreso than others whenever I engage with fiction? do I find that I wish I could be a lot more like characters of a certain gender ? Do I find that it's easier to project myself on to characters of a different gender?

Do i feel trapped, uncomfortable, upset, irritated, or freaked out when other people comment on how feminine or masculine i am? do i feel like they are wrong in how they see me? do i feel uncomfortable when separated by genders with my peers? do i feel alienated when assigned to be partnered up with one gender but more at home with another? do i feel as though i'm forced to use the incorrect gendered spaces like restrooms?

Would i feel better or more free if i tried to look for different clothing? do the clothes i wear now feel wrong, restrictive, uncomfortable, or in some other way like they are not mine or do not suit me?

Do i wish my voice were lower or higher? does my internal view of how my voice should sound match how it does, and do i feel like i should change that to feel more comfortable and safe, or more like myself?

Do i wish my body were different in some way? does my internal view of how i look match how my body looks? is there something that's wrong or makes me feel uncomfortable? is there something that would make me happier if i changed it, like my musculature, fat distribution, facial structure, hair growth, and so on? do i feel as though something is missing, or needs to go?

Do I feel as though the genders described to me by others just don't fit? do i feel as though i just cannot fit into the boxes of male and female? do i feel as though no matter what gender i try to identify with , it is still inaccurate? do i find that i have an experience with a gender, but it's nothing like how most other people describe their experiences?

Do i wish that i could have more freedom in my presentation and identity? would being able to change my identity on occasion be more beneficial to me? is it too difficult for me to nail down an exact identity and it would be easier for me to identify with a more nebulous term like genderlessness? do overly rigid pre-defined genders or presentations make me feel trapped or left out?

Would i feel more comfortable if i were the one defining the terms i identify with as opposed to other people assigning them to me based upon how i look, sound and act?

Do i feel as though it is not possible for me to be cis no matter what way i try to present or which genders i identify with?

Do I find myself naturally looking up to gender non conforming, trans, nonbinary and other queer people in general? do i find that the way they go about presenting their genders and interacting with gender makes more sense than how cis people approach gender?

this is not an attempt at a diagnostic tool, nor is it required for you to experience ALL of these things, or even most of them. every trans person experiences something different. i'm presenting a list of common questions people ask themselves while questioning their gender. we will continue to add as we think of things

[saibugslegacy]

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

Hogtober Day 3 - Sebastian Sallow

Word Count: 1482 Characters/Relationship(s): Ambrose Varyn, Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt Setting: 5th year, canon, Undercroft and Room of Requirement Genre/Tags: Angst, the start of what I like to call the "Sebrose Divorce Arc"

“Now for the moment of truth,” Sebastian said. He was obviously nervous and Ambrose didn’t blame him. If this canvas didn’t fit into the Triptych…

“It has to fit,” Ambrose said.

He approached the triptych and lined up the canvas with the panel on the right side. As soon as he laid it out the canvas piece grew and mended itself until it fit the space so well it was like it had never left it. Ambrose heard Sebastian sigh in relief behind him.

The new view was a coastline, specifically a cliff face with trees lining the top. Ambrose had no idea where it was. He was incredibly lucky Sebastian grew up in the Hogwarts area or they would be completely lost.

“I don’t suppose you recognize the location in this bit of canvas?” Ambrose asked.

“The good news is, I do, in fact,” Sebastian answered.

“And the bad news?”

“We’re in for more trouble.”

Now it was Ambrose’s turn to sigh, though not in relief. Of course. Why could nothing be simple? Why did he have to blast his way through goblins and poachers to complete even simple tasks like retrieving a piece of a portrait?

“I know that coast,” Sebastian told him. There was an edge to his voice Ambrose didn’t like. “Ranrok has taken over a huge mine and the surrounding area. Marunweem has suffered for it. It’s as bad as Feldcroft’s become. Should we head there now?”

Ambrose’s impulse was to say yes and just go to get it over with. What was one more of Ranrok’s messes to clean up? After that he was sure there’d be another. Better to get on top of it and get the job done than whine about it.

Unless there was a better way. Maybe instead of cleaning up all of Ranrok’s messes Ambrose could stop him from making them at all. He already had another pair of eyes that would suit that exact purpose.

“We should wait,” Ambrose suggested.

“Why?” Sebastian demanded. Ambrose narrowed his eyes at the tone but he let it slide like he always did. Sebastian always got touchy around the subject of Ranrok and goblins, but Ambrose knew Sebastian well enough to know touchy was all it would be.

“We’ve been a step behind Ranrok this whole time,” Ambrose pointed out. “I may know someone who could help us get ahead.”

“Who is that?” Sebastian asked. See, he was already more on edge than angry, which was progress.

“A friendly goblin,” Ambrose said, completely thoughtlessly. Maybe the rest of the situation could have been avoided had he put a little more thought into his words and the boy in front of him. “He won’t-”

“A friendly goblin?” Sebastian exclaimed. “You know goblins cursed my sister to shut her up. Said she should be ‘seen and not heard’.”

Ambrose did know that. He bit back another sigh. Sighing seemed to be all he did nowadays.

“I do,” Ambrose replied patiently. “But not all goblins-”

“Not all goblins what?!” Sebastian cried. “Have you forgotten Feldcroft? Have you forgotten the mine we just went through?”

Ambrose felt his fingers clenching into a fist as he tried to control his frustration. Sometimes Sebastian reacted in anger in a way he didn’t mean. All Ambrose had to do was stay calm and the anger would pass. But with Sebastian continuing to interrupt him he wasn’t sure how long his patience would hold.

Ambrose hated being angry. It made him feel dirty and wrong. He especially hated acting on his anger. That made him feel like his mother. His patience was his virtue. It kept him calm, collected, and had saved multiple tense situations from escalating.

But over the last few months he hadn’t been able to wish away his anger. He pushed it away but it just stored itself in the back of his mind. His frustration, exhaustion, irritation, even the pure rage he felt when the Poachers attacked his brother. He was on the edge of snapping already and Sebastian was making it hard.

“No, Sebastian, I haven’t,” Ambrose assured him. “But you aren’t listening to me.”

“Why would I listen to someone so ignorant?!”

Ambrose swung.

His fist collided with Sebastian’s jaw, sending him stumbling into the wall behind him. Before he even realized what he was doing Ambrose swung again, hitting him in the temple and leaving him sprawled on the ground.

“How fucking dare you,” Ambrose growled. “Ignorant? Me?! After everything I’ve done for you? I was right there next yo uou through your tempter tantrums and outbursts and stupid decisions, having your back you ungrateful child. I ask you for this one thing, to have an open mind and be reasonable, and you called me ignorant?!”

“You are so full of spite and bitterness you don’t even see it. How your darkness infects everyone around you. How ignorant you are. I clung to you anyway, so sure I could help you. For once not because I thought it was my responsibility, but because I wanted to because for some reason I care about you. I wanted to be your light but now I’m not even sure you deserve it. You don’t deserve my patience. You don’t deserve my trust. And after that you don’t deserve my friendship.”

“Then keep it!” Sebastian shouted back. “I don’t want it anymore if you’re going to think like this! I don’t want to be saved! I don’t need saved! Anne does! And if you aren’t going to help me get justice for her or save her then stay out of my life.”

Ambrose wanted to stay. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe to apologize. Maybe to yell more. Maybe to try and reason with him. But none of those things happened. None of those things would matter. Sebastian would hear none of them. So he left Sebastian there on a floor with an already forming bruise on his jaw and Ambrose’s broken heart right next to him.

He didn’t really expect anyone to look for him. No one else knew what happened to him. He assumed he could spend the rest of the night right where he was and just gather himself in the morning. As always, he underestimated his boyfriend.

When Ominis found him the Room of Requirement had been completely torn apart. As soon as Ambrose had stormed in he’d sent Deek away so the house elf wouldn’t have to see it, then he started throwing things to the ground and casting every destructive curse he knew. By the time he’d sank to the ground on the staircase, broken and defeated, there was nothing left intact.

His desk was in charred pieces. The potions stations had been demolished, spilling ingredients, glass phials, and deformed cauldrons onto the floor. Dirt covered half the room after he cast bombarda at his plants. Most of them were on fire now. The banners and statues he used to decorate the room had been torn apart.

When the door opened Ambrose didn’t bother to move other than to turn his head. Ominis stood there, wand lit with red light. He seemed frozen, trying to take in however much of the damage his wand could pick up. Ambrose wanted to warn him to be careful since he wouldn’t be able to see things like embers and glass, but his voice didn’t seem to work.

“Reparo,” Ominis casted. The spell worked perfectly. He’d need new ingredients and seeds but everything else fixed itself right before his eyes, down to the Slytherin banners on the wall. He felt sick looking at them now. His brain kept going back to the Scriptorium, where he’d let Sebastian torture him only for everything to end like this.

“Ambrose?” Ominis called into the room, grip on his wand so tight Ambrose could see his white knuckles from across the room. Right, Ambrose probably blended into the chaos Ominis had fixed for him.

“Over here,” Ambrose muttered.

Ominis approached him, putting a hand out to feel the staircase. He slid down to sit next to Ambrose. For a few minutes nothing happened. Neither of them moved or spoke or even touched. Just being around Ominis helped him relax some. It was hard to be angry around him. Not that he had much anger left. Now he just felt lost. At least with Ominis he didn’t feel alone.

“What happened?” Ominis asked quietly.

“Sebastian Sallow,” Ambrose answered, but calling his mumbles speech may be a stretch.

“I see,” Ominis sighed.

He scooted closer and Ambrose turned to rest his head on Ominis’s shoulder. Ominis set down his wand to wrap his arms around Ambrose’s shoulders and just held him. Maybe Ambrose should have cried. He probably needed to. There was no better time to do it. But he didn’t have tears or rage left. All of it was gone along with Sebastian.

[nebulablakemurphy]

The Queen’s Hand

(Part VII: Birthright)

Summary: Y/N Targaryen is Princess of the seven realms. First born daughter of, Viserys I and Aemma Targaryen. Heir to the iron throne, forced to make impossible decisions to ensure peace amongst the land and the safety of those she holds most dear.

Warning: this chapter includes the birth of Rhaenyra’s daughter who unfortunately does not survive.

Prologue | I | II | III | IV | V | VI

“This is treason and you know it.” Aemmia snaps, her cheeks flush from tears. Her eyes burning with the fire of the dragon.

“I understand that you are upset.” Aemond attempts to gentle his wife, “but you must compose yourself. This is not good for the babe.”

“It is too soon to know if I’m with child!”

“Helaena told me so.”

Aemmia sighs, looking away. Some consider Helaena mad, but Aemmia knows better. Viserys knew things he could not, same as her mother.

“Rhaenyra is the rightful heir. I intend to uphold her claim.” She says, with fierce determination.

“Aemmia, please.” Aemond catches her face in his hand. “I will no longer argue the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s claim. But the fact remains, my mother and grandsire have set this chain of succession in motion. I cannot stop it. I cannot make Rhaenyra Queen anymore than I can raise my father from the dead. If we do not accept the crown it will pass to Aegon.”

“Aegon cannot be found.” Aemmia steps away from his hold.

“They’ve not been looking very hard.”

“Why not?”

“Because they do not wish to find him.” Aemond confesses. “This is best for everyone. You and I on the throne, the coronation will be peaceful.”

“Aemond, I will not betray my family. If we send for Rhaenyra-”

“If Rhaenyra becomes queen, she will kill my family.”

“Why do you believe this?” Aemmia wonders, have Otto’s lies poisoned him so? “My aunt is not vindictive or cruel. Now she may forbade you from speaking ill against her children, but she would not harm you.”

“Her children have done it before,” Aemond reminds her, “and even you spoke against me.”

“You called them bastards.”

“Are they not?” He challenges.

“They are Targaryens,” Aemmia corrects him, “same as you and I.”

“Hmm.”

“It was you who attacked them.”

“Attacked them? Four against one.” Aemond huffs. “Yet none of them maimed.”

“You tried to kill Jace.”

“I was trying to defend myself.”

“As Lucerys was defending his brother.” She dares him to argue.

“Say what you will, dear wife. But if it were me who harmed one of her children this way, my father would have removed my eye himself and presented it to Rhaenyra on a platter.”

Aemmia reels back at this, “I cannot say if that is true. You knew a much different man than I.”

“Because he loved you.” Aemond says simply. “A privilege I was not afforded.”

“I-”

“When all is said and done it matters not. With us on the throne, we can ensure the safety of your family and mine. You will have the power to unfuck this as you see fit. I cannot give all you ask of me, but I can make you Queen.” Aemond pauses, “Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.”

“Why would you do that for me?” Her brow furrows.

“I despised you for years. Feeding into jealousy, unable to understand my father’s devotion to your mother and Rhaenyra’s children over me, his own son. But as I’ve come to know you, I see it a bit differently. We are not so different, two sides of the same coin. I…feel for you.”

“And I for you,” Aemmia breathes.

“I do not know if it is love, but I have never felt it for anyone else. I do not wish your family dead, I do not wish you to suffer. Allow me to do this for you.”

-———————————🌱———————————

“Y/N!”

The sound of her sister’s distressed cry sends the Princess scurrying to Rhaenyra’s rooms.

“Rhaenyra,” Y/N murmurs. She is in a state of undress, suited only for the birthing bed. Bent forward at the waist, gripping the door frame which overlooks the balcony. It is far too soon for her labors. “You must sit.”

“We are past that now.” Rhaenyra tells her. “This is happening.”

Y/N looks to the maester. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“I am afraid not, Princess.”

Rhaenyra reaches for her, “I need you.” Her voice is choked with pain.

Y/N crosses the room. Taking her sister’s hand and fussing about her endlessly. “I’m so sorry, Rhaenyra. I failed you.”

“Often times I felt the world has failed me, but never you, sister. Never have you failed me.” Rhaenyra gasps, clutching her belly.

“Let me help.” Y/N says, moving to knead the small of Rhaenyra’s back.

Rhaenyra shakes her head. “Daemon wishes to move immediately for the throne. He’s gone to madness.”

It’s been all of half an hour since the news arrived by raven. Alicent and Otto plan to use their absence to usurp Rhaenyra, forcing her own niece to take the crown.

“I know Aemmia and I love her like my own. She would not supplant me of her own free will. Whatever game Alicent is playing, I do not wish her to be caught in the cross fire. If Daemon moves it will be a blood bath, you know it as well as I.” Rhaenyra forces the words out between contractions.

“Rhaenyra, what would you have me do?” There’s blood, too much blood.

“You are the one meant to advise me.” Rhaenyra attempts a jest. “I have sent Jacaerys, whatever claim remains to me it is now his. I don’t not want any decision made while I’m abed.”

“I will send Harwin to back him,” Y/N suggests, “be sure Daemon is respectful of your wishes.”

“Harwin is an asset, but he holds little authority in court. Daemon trusts you, he may listen if you speak.”

“I do not wish to leave you this way.” Y/N confesses.

Rhaenyra reaches back, catching her sister’s hand. “It’s as mother always said, this is our battle field. We must learn to face it with a stiff upper lip. I will be alright until you return.”

Y/N nods, perhaps it is silly to worry. Rhaenyra has five children, but this is different. Still the Princess raises her chin, facing the council room with grace.

Harwin looks…perturbed to say the least. Daemon must be eating Jace alive.

“Might I ask exactly what is still up for discussion when your Queen has willed you wait for her? I assume my nephew, Jacaerys, was very clear.”

The room is silent for a long moment.

“Princess,” Lord Corlys, barely recovered from his injury in battle for the Step Stones, nods down to her hands.

Y/N follows his gaze, her mind spiraling with a grief so intense she has not yet felt it. She swallows, composing herself. Wiping her hands down the front of her dress to clean them; staining the material in her sister’s blood. “We are not to make any decisions in the absence of Rhaenyra.”

“We must make preparations, Y/N. War does not stop for a laboring Queen, I’m afraid. You will be most useful at my wife’s side.” Daemon tries to reason. However harsh his words, he does love Rhaenyra and wants her cared for in his absence.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra cries. The awful sound of it echoing off the walls.

“Clearly you are the one she wants.” Y/N insists. “I will take over as head of this proceeding.”

“You would stand against your own daughter?”

“Wouldn’t it be best to first rally our allies?” Y/N ignores his question. “Assuming we know who still stands with us.”

Daemon looks down at Y/N’s hands again. “What of Aemmia?”

“Whatever my daughter hath done is in the name of this family, and our rightful queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. Aemmia is strong. She would not be so easily won over by the Hightowers. She would however be smart enough to play their game,” Y/N looks him dead in the eye, “and win.”

Daemon’s jaw ticks, “come Jacaerys, I will teach you the true meaning of loyalty.”

———————————-🌱———————————-

“Let the seven bear witness! It was King Viserys’ dying wish, that his first born child, Y/N Targaryen’s daughter, Aemmia Targaryen-”

Aemond feels his wife’s fingers tighten around his, as if the name startled her. Aemmia Strong is no more, he squeezes back. You’re alright.

“And his true born son, Aemond Targaryen, should succeed him. It is your great fortune and honor to witness this today. A new King and Queen to guide our city.”

Aemmia is grateful when she is asked to kneel to the High Septon, for fear she may faint. Her knees hit the top stair harder than strictly necessary. She can’t go through with this.

‘But, there is new hope. With Aemmia and Aemond’s union, our houses might stand together once more.’

Her grandsire’s words ring in her ears. This will not unite them. It will break any bonds that hold them. I cannot do it.

“May the warrior give them courage.”

I miss you, grandsire.

“May the smith lend strength to their sword and shield.”

I’m sorry, Rhaenyra.

“May the father defend them in their need.”

I need you, father.

“May the crone lift her shining lamp and guide their way to wisdom.”

Forgive me, mother.

With that the High Septon is finished.

“Crown of Viserys, the peaceful. Passed down to the next generation.”

Aemmia’s head is light, the metal of her grandsire’s crown too cool against her skin. Even it knows, it does not belong.

‘Tonight I want you to see me as I am.’

If only he were here. Her grandsire did not wish this. He would never let it happen.

“The crown of the conqueror, passed down through generations.” Criston Cole crowns Aemond next. A clear sense of accomplishment about him.

As if this has not been cruel enough, they are now expected to stand. Aemmia hopes no one will notice the wobble in her stance. Turning out to face the masses.

Aemond presses a kiss to her temple. Tis done. Drawing his sword, he kneels, presenting the blade for her to wield. He looks up at her, “my Queen.”

Aemmia takes the hilt carefully. Lifting it from his outstretched hand to the sky.

“All hail, her grace.” The Septon announces, though confused by the lack of ceremony. “Aemmia Targaryen, first of her name. Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the seven kingdoms, and protector of the realm. Aemmia the Queen!”

The applause starts slow, but is ever building. Aemond stands beside her proudly now, she has done her part. Her hand gone limp in his, eyes glossed over, she has checked out. Though no one but he is the wiser.

Only the explosion from the entrance and rubble flying in all directions pulls her from it. There is a dragon, she can make out the shape of someone on it’s saddle, but she cannot say who.

As the dust settles, Aemmia spots Rhaenys; Rhaenys sees her. Their eyes locked as Meleys rears back. Aemmia’s fingers curl around Aemond’s outstretched forearm. Though his body would do little to shield her, it is the only protection he has to offer.

The roar that sounds will live forever in her mind, no fire joins it. This is not and execution, it’s a warning.

———————————-🌱———————————-

“Ahhh!” Rhaenyra’s head falls forward in defeat.

“Good,” Y/N says, “very good. You’re nearly there.”

“Princess,” one of Rhaenyra’s maids calls, “you should not do this alone. Let us help you.”

Rhaenyra says nothing, bearing down against the pressure in her abdomen.

“Once more,” Y/N encourages, prepared to catch the babe.

Syrax cries out in distress as Rhaenyra brings her sixth child into the world.

The infant, a girl, perfect and beautiful. Completely still. She is small, but appears healthy though she does not cry. Y/N turns the baby over, rubbing at her back. “Come on, little one.”

Rhaenyra looks to her sister.

“We must have the maester!”

“Yes, Princess.”

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra shakes her head. “Give her here.”

“She will be alright.”

Rhaenyra leans her forehead to her sister’s. “Thank you for staying with me.”

Y/N slides the baby into Rhaenyra’s arms.

“I should like to be alone now.”

“I cannot leave you.” Not like this, she shouldn’t be alone.

“Even you cannot shield me from this. I have lost a child, I must grieve.”

It isn’t fair. Y/N forces herself to her feet. Covered in blood and the aftermath of a newborn babe. Holding her composure out the door, down the hall. But the tears come, hot and unbidden. Scorching her cheeks.

She tears at the strings of her gown as she walks, letting it pool at her feet then stepping over it. Shedding it the way a snake might shed it’s skin. She is different now, forever changed.

“My darling.” Harwin greets her just beyond the door of their guest chambers.

“I-” Y/N puts a hand up between them. “I cannot be comforted.”

Harwin holds his stance, not moving toward her. “You must have a bath.”

Y/N shakes her head. “There is a war to be fought.”

“In your dressing gown?”

“I do not have armor.”

“We will get you some, when the time comes.”

“Do not coddle me.”

“I apologize, that was not my intent. I only want to be sure you’ve thought this out.”

“Thought it out?” Y/N forms her mouth slowly around each word. “The Hightowers have held our daughter against her will and forced her to commit high treason. The repercussions of which sent Rhaenyra into such a state of distress that she has lost her child.”

“Viserys would have wanted-”

“My father is not here! He’s gone. Dead.” The word burns it’s way from her throat. “He left me and he’s never coming back.”

“Y/N,” Harwin runs a hand over his face.

“If my father were alive, he would open the floodgates and rain hellfire upon them.”

“Look at me.” Harwin crosses the room, taking her face in hand.

“She’s all I have left of my mother.” Y/N shoves him away. “All I have left of him. I cannot lose Rhaenyra. I will protect her at any cost and no one will take her from me!”

“My love, you are not yourself.”

“No, you’re wrong.” Y/N insists. “This is who I am, Harwin. This is who I’ve always been.”

“I have known you some thirty eight years, married to you for over twenty of them. I know who you are, Y/N Targaryen. I know you and I love you. Therefore I will be the first to tell you when you are making a mistake.”

“That is the problem, Harwin.” Her chest heaves with the weight of it. “I’ve changed, I am different.”

“Push me away and reel me in as you wish, but I will not abandon you. When you die it will be with my slain body at your feet, my sword and shield in your hand. If this is the war we are fighting I will stand at your side. I am not your enemy. I’m only asking to weigh our options.”

Her defenses dissipate. “Your patience and understanding touches me deeply. I do apologize for taking my frustrations out on you, it will not happen again.”

Harwin softens at this, “you need not apologize for being human.”

“I do not see a way back from this.” Y/N admits. “They have gone too far.” She puts a hand to her aching heart.

———————————-🌱———————————-

It has been three days. Three days since the coronation. Aemmia has just changed into her nightgown when she hears rustling from the adjoining room of her apartment.

Aemond.

“Come to celebrate?” Aemmia shakes her head. “I am exhausted from the day’s affairs. I wish to sleep.”

Silence.

“Aemond?” Aemmia turns to farther investigate. There is someone there, a man. His hood draw up, covering the top portion of his face. “Show yourself.”

The cloak is pulled back, Aemmia squints into the dimly lit corner. He reminds her of someone…someone she used to know. But it couldn’t possibly be, “Laenor?” Now she is seeing ghosts.

The man takes a step toward her. “Ser Lynis will do.”

“It was you? All these years, the one my mother was writing from the Step Stones.”

He nods.

“Does she know you’re here?”

“Your mother wanted to come herself, badly.” Laenor explains, “but I had a better chance of getting through the passage ways into the castle than she did.”

“Are you…staying?” Say yes. “Or perhaps I could come with you?” Please.

“Not just yet. But we do not want you to think yourself forgotten. Your family will not abandon you here, Aemmia.”

“In all these years I have not forgotten you. It is so good to see you again, Uncle.”

Laenor opens his arms to her, “come.”

Aemmia runs, all but jumping into the familiar hold of the man who would put her up on his shoulders as a child. “Will you tell her- tell my mother I did not want this.”

“She knows.” Laenor assures her.

“And the crown,” Aemmia makes a run for it, “my grandsire would want Rhaenyra to have it. Our true Queen.”

Laenor wraps his hand around it, tucking it safely into his satchel. “Well done, sweetheart. You’ve made us all proud.”

“Will I see you again?” Aemmia asks.

“When the time is right.”

Part VIII

Taglist @evyiione @giulia2372 @bubblebuttwade @hotd-fanfic @leoramage @hyperfiaxed-freak @chonisbestmistake @poemfreak306

[gothamusing]

DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE (2024) PART TWO. a collection of memes derived from the deadpool and wolverine movie, for roleplaying purposes. feel free to edit as you see fit. do not steal. (18+).

i know how to fuck people up for money, but you, you, know how to save them.

they call me the merc with the mouth. they don’t call me truthful timmy, the blowjob queen of saskatoon.

you know what, you’re a fucking joke.

i have never met a sadder, more attention-starved, jabbering little prick in my entire life.

you will never save the world.

you couldn’t even save a relationship with a goddamn stripper.

i wish i could say you’d die alone, but it’s one of god’s best jokes that you can’t die, except that’s on all of us!

i’m gonna fight you now.

you dirty bitch!

i take it all back, the honda odyssey fucks hard.

oh, we’re just getting started.

i don't like you.

and who’s this succulent reminder of my own inadequacies?

i can tell you now, it’s just a common courtesy to ask before you drink up all of my liquor.

it’s a good thing i don’t give a fuck.

it’s like pinocchio jammed his face in my ass and started lying like crazy.

people like us don’t go quietly.

let’s get the fuck out of this place.

don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar.

you made it out alive?

look, there’s strength in numbers, all right?

i know what it means to feel self-doubt.

dick head here, talk to him about team up. then he came down with a little case of the deads.

if he survived that, he is praying for death.

where i come from, we call that suicide.

i’m sick of this shit. i'm sick of hiding.

let’s face it, our world’s forgot about us.

i ain’t know my daddy, but i’m sure i shot out of his dick ready.

you're all fucking dead.

my god, read the room.

i’m not looking for company.

i got to have a life because of you.

trust me, kid, i’m no hero.

i couldn’t have them thinking i wanted to be there.

this suit’s all i got to remind me of who they were.

we won’t pull this off without you.

where'd you get that little beauty?

oh, this is gonna be good.

you know how long i’ve been waiting for this?

you just make sure people know what happened here today.

when you get out of here, you have a drink for me, yeah?

some motherfucker’s still trying to ice skate up hill.

you shouldn’t have done that.

you are an interesting one, aren’t you?

you’re hiding from them, from all the ones you let down.

that’s not all you did, is it?

i can silence all those voices.

i've got you.

either you kill me or i kill you. both wonderful options.

oh come on, mr. pg-13 except the last one.

why are you like this?

i know your brother.and as much as i wanna fucking kill you, every bone in my body wants to fucking kill you. he would not let me stand here, and watch you die.

my brother loved you.

if he knew about you, if he knew where you were, he would have torn a hole in the fucking universe to bring you home.

they’re gonna make him do this till he’s 90.

you put all these bullets in my belly and i’m gonna find out why.

you don’t have to stick your fingers in me.

jesus, just ask sometimes.

we had an agreement.

oh, i hate you so much.

why was thor crying?

you tried to kill me.

you come for the king, you better kill the king.

you had to go and piss on my side of the fence, and now the fence must come down.

don’t worry, i’ve called some friends to make sure were not disturbed.

what’s cafe gratitude doing here?

oh, that's funny. i can gently tap the fourth wall too. the proposal.

the fuck was that?

bitch, you think that’s what i do?

i take it they’re not friendly.

i’d love to get in the mix, but i have low bone density and i have to keep my face safe.

when i want your opinion, i’ll take wolverine’s dick out of your mouth.

i think it’s been steadily great since endgame.

what are you talking about?

uzi time, baby.

i think i'm hit.

you did that on purpose.

listen to me, gorgeous. how long does it take for you to regenerate?

you really are god’s perfect idiot, aren’t you?

how dare you, you insensitive son of a bitch.

how was i supposed to know he doesn’t regenerate? i’m not a medicine woman.

i’m gonna get you to safety.

hey, why are we stopping?

listen to me. you're gonna live.

i don’t think he’s gonna make it.

i could taste his final thought. he was so afraid. but he died a hero.

he died from murder, you dumb fuck!

what’s the wind resistance on those blowjob handles?

sorry, i'm just a catty bitch when i'm jealous.

all right, let's do this. maximum effort.

the mask is really intimidating, huh? it’s like batman except he can move his neck.

if you’re not gonna swallow, spit it out.

trust the laws of physics if you don’t trust me.

you heard that asshole upstairs. even if we pull this off, we’re dead, permanently.

you didn’t ask for any of this.

i lied right to your face.

say hi to your friends for me.

i can’t hear you over all the noble sacrifice.

why are you fucking doing this?

sorry, i’m just stalling. i think i’m nervous about dying.

for the first time in my life, i am proud to wear this suit.

there’s nothing you or i can do to bring them back now.

he has risen, babygirl!

we’re doing just fine, you piece of shit.

what the fuck is happening here?

i was just doing what you don’t have the guts to do.

you look damn good in that suit.

i'm so sorry.

i wanna show you something.

i could eat.

you know the avengers discovered shawarma?

what are you gonna do next?

i’m shaking like an angry vibrator.

everyone wants to matter.

give me the fucking dog.

i did it for you.

i know you don’t want me, but i did it for you.

turns out, i am the world’s saving type.

i’m tired of these absolutely vile rumors that i got (blank) killed.

holy shit, girl, you crazy.

gotcha, fuck face.

[talaofthevalley]

for "send me a yugioh character", i could go with the obvious one (your wife), but instead i will pick: blue angel! (only if you want)

How dare you tease me with questions regarding wife. Jail for Sam, jail for ONE THOUSAND YEARS-

But yeah I can do Blue Angel.

Why I like them/why I don’t Blue Angel/Aoi is fine. I don't like or dislike her necessarily. I think she's interesting to think about from a writing perspective (glances at the giant analysis post in my drafts), and I can easily write walls of texts about her motivations and behaviour. But that doesn't really translate to me being invested in her? I don't think she's a bad character, just underutilised, and one of the characters who got off the worst from not getting a complete character arc.

Honestly the only thing that makes me irritated with her is solely caused by fandom influence. Like god speed to the people who wish she got more and think the world of her, I would never look down on ya'll or claim you should stop. This is 100% a me problem and I try my best to not make it other people's problems. But this is my post, so.

My irritation comes when people make her more noteworthy than she actually is. It's a common occurence with female characters in fandom, where rather than work with the flaws and hurdles they have, they're made more competent and stronger instead. Or making bonds with other characers that don't make much sense or have any meat behind them. Like putting the character on god mode and calling it a day. And that doesn't automatically make for interesting writing.

Frankly I like Aoi best when she's kinda pathetic. I think it's funniest that way.

What I like about their appearance Since she's the poster girl of "gees Aoi how come your brother lets you have two FOUR designs?" I'll do all of them.

Aoi: The standard blend. She's cute! A little bland maybe? I like her short hair. Wish she had some colour somewhere though, like in her hair or eyes. As is she doesn't much look like a Yugioh character in her civilian form except for the artstyle of the show she's drawn in.

Blue Angel: My idol girlie. I really like this design, it's cute and kinda gaudy but in the best way. The way her hair is done I especially love. That she's clearly inspired by Hatsune Miku without looking like a rip-off is very fun too.

Blue Girl: Again, fun short hair! It's very Ghost Girl inspired, which makes sense since Aoi is taken under her wing in S2. Not much else to say really, other than I like the colours and the sporty vibe.

Blue Maiden: I think this design would be great were it not for the lipstick. I've made a low effort edit removing it and I think she looks so much better without it. And again with the hair, I really love it. The light shade of blue is very pleasant to look at, and I like the half up-do she has. The wet suit look fits her archetype change and partnering up with Aqua, but it does sometimes feel like it was meant for a different character and was tweaked to fit Aoi better.

Do I prefer their dub names or original names? Sub name. I don't watch the dub nor do I like it, so I don't like any name changes either.

OTP Zinniashipping I guess? But the one with the depiction of Miyu I have in my head. It's not a ship I seek out.

NOTP Angelmakershipping.

OT3 None.

Favourite card they use Trickstars my beloved. My favourite Trickstar monster ever sadly didn't appear in the show, but Trickstar Bloom is another one of my favourites so I'll go with her.

Favourite moment they were in I think.... the scene at the very start of S2, when Aoi and Yusaku talk at the Cafe Nagi truck. It's by itself a very funny scene because of how uninterested Yusaku is in interacting with her. But I like it because we see Aoi bracing herself before thanking Yusaku for helping her when she collapsed on the roof. Aoi's very self-centered in S1, and she clearly struggled getting the words out to a person she claimed was trying to suck up to her last time they talked months ago, but this shows she's grown a little. And again, it's very funny how obvious it is Aoi has no clue how to interact with Yusaku when he is giving her nothing to work with.

Least favourite moment I did have a part in mind for this, but the more I thought about it the more I realise it's less a fault on Aoi's part as a character and more on the writers.

So I'll go with the other option; the scene before Blue Girl vs Soulburner. It's a moment that's not out of place with how Aoi's been written until now imo, and that's why I like it in a way despite how bullheaded she's being. Trying to offer assistance to Playmaker's team and the Ignis, saying Akira will definitely be of help to them. But when Playmaker refuses their help and Soulburner points out they have zero reason to trust SOL Tech, she gets offended and demands they hand over Ai and Flame. And it turns into a duel, despite Playmaker being confident they could talk this out since Ghost Girl was there. And Emma gets upset with Aoi for escalating the situation to this when it didn't need to. And I know this is in my least favourite moments for her but that's interesting character writing!! It's fun she's being a stubborn and petty teenager.

[sketchy-saram]

Okay! Day 1, Introduce your HoF! I wish I had more time--maybe I'll reblog this with some art later, if I can. But my Canon HoF is Bronwyn Aeducan! She is a fierce warrior whose first love is battle, and she'd rather solve her problems by beheading them, if possible. She and Gorim were together romantically, but honestly probably more from proximity and being companions in arms than being compatible.

She was extremely proud and determined to prove herself as a commander. She never wanted the throne--she probably would have been happy killing Darkspawn till she died, if her brother hadn't betrayed her. The sight of her coming out of the tunnels, covered in gore, feral and absolutely alight with murdering, must have been something for Duncan and the other Wardens to behold, when she found them.

She took to the whole thing like a fish to water. Especially when Alistair acquiesced to her leadership--after all, that was basically the role she had been preparing for her whole life. Fit like a pair of Dalish gloves. At first, she didn't know quite what to make of so many mages and humans and whatnot, but she gradually grew to enjoy the freedom from strict Dwarven caste expectations that had never let her relationship with Gorim be anything more. She actually made friends, which she had never had, since as an Aeducan everyone was either trying to kill or manipulate her. She definitely related to Alistair a lot on that level. (Her best friends were Shale and Sten, but she also had a soft spot for Wynne and Alistair.) She was genuinely pleased to see Gorim alive in Denerim, and happy he had found someone. It never even occurred to her to be jealous. (Although she was baffled that he could give up fighting to be a merchant of all things, LOL)

She helped Harrowmont ABSOLUTELY out of spite, and took so much satisfaction out of murdering her piece of shit brother. At least, she thought she would. It all made her feel pretty hollow. She swore to never go back to Orzammar after they finished there--it was dead to her, like she'd been to it.

After all the worries about being knifed in the back, then, it was so surprising when she found herself so charmed by Zevran; an Elf sent to kill her....who didn't even do a good job of it. He flummoxed her, confused her, and even affronted her, just on a technical level. It took her a looooooong time to believe any of his flattery. But his affability, his easy-going nature even in the face of everything he had suffered, and his hedonism eventually wormed their way under her skin. The first time she took him to bed, she told herself it was just scratching an itch for both of them, and that she would fight better after getting it out of her system.

Well, let's just say Zev was more than enthusiastic to take pointers in other areas than just fighting, and apparently the itch was a rash, because it kept happening. Bronwyn's worst nightmare was the hot few seconds after Taliesen offered to take Zev back to the Crows. She was already preparing to be betrayed again... one that, she was shocked to find, would have been more obvious, and yet about as brutal as losing her whole life had been. And then he turned them down, and she knew she'd keep that silly Elf twink safe forever.

(Now they are the Thedas couple that hang out in the bar and entice hotties into an unforgettable threesome 😉 When she isn't busy keeping order or killing more Darkspawn, anyway.)

She wasn't about to let either of them die if there was something as simple as sex to save them, so she bullied Alistair into sleeping with Morrigan for the ritual. Sooooo they all lived happily ever after. (She let Anora rule, because honestly, she was better suited. Bronwyn would know.) And for me personally, if anyone could find a way to beat the Calling, it would be Bronwyn. So I'm sure she has ❤️

[bearsinpotatosacks]

A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

They went back to silence as Mav sobbed. He wanted to crawl into Ice’s arms again, pretend that none of this had happened and that Bradley was just celebrating graduation at a friend's house. But the other knew he and Ice weren’t there anymore. Bradley was god knows where and Ice had just admitted that he didn’t trust Maverick anymore. There was no one left now.

~~~

Maverick tells Ice about Carole's wishes for Bradley's future and they make a plan. But will the cracks forming in their relationship be able to withstand the oncoming storm?

Words: 8112

This is also on my AO3, this is also from my post I made previously, thanks for all the encouragement

Stepping outside, the fresh summer air pierced the thick clouds of grief he’d been suffocating in all day. Funerals were never easy for him even though he’d been to far too many. He didn’t remember his dad’s but had vague memories of empty rooms and a deep sense of shame to grieve a man who was a supposed traitor. His mother’s had been just as quiet. The Mitchell’s weren’t a large family. His grandparents were dead or too frail to care for him after his parents died.

There hadn’t been many for a while after that. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to don his funeral clothes until he was old and grey, or until he was the one being mourned, if there was anyone to mourn him at all. 

Then, Carole’s father died and he adorned his stiff black suit once more. That familiar itching feeling as he stared at the mourners. People stared back. He was there for moral support and hadn’t met many of the Edwards, that being Carole’s maiden name, family and it showed. The well fitting suit seemed to swallow him as he stared back at them all. A child in an adult’s body. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Goose’s had been agonising. He didn’t have enough rank to warrant the full shebang. He’d only reached Lieutenant Junior Grade, one rank above an Ensign, a fact that played around in his head like a broken record, one that he just couldn’t process, the pill he couldn’t swallow, how little life Nick Bradshaw had lived and how it was all his fault. He hadn’t even reached twenty-six.

Yet again, after that heartbreak, he’d begged the stars above, prayed to a god he didn’t believe in to make sure he wouldn’t have to go through that again. Well, either he had bad karma or maybe God just didn’t like him, because here he was again. Heart broken and bleeding in front of him on the floor. Morose laughter echoing in dark rooms behind him. And that sinking feeling that he didn’t belong here, that he’d done something so wrong that he should be laughed out the door, swallowed up whole into hell. 

He’d wished he’d been the one to get terminal cancer most nights, just so Carole could be here instead. She’d know what to do. She’d put her life to good use instead of pissing off Admirals and getting his guardian angel, Captain Thomas Kazansky, soon to be Vice Admiral Kazansky if he carried on the way he was going, to save him. Bradley would be better off with his mother around, not some half-father, half-uncle that he was trying to be- and failing.

He collapsed on the front porch of Carole’s mother’s house. In all the chaos of navy life and his grief for Goose, he almost forgot she had a whole family out there that loved her. Although, her mother wasn’t in the best health, Parkinsons had taken control and she now had a carer living with her at all times. Carole and her sister, and the brother that was off galavanting somewhere, they never knew, didn’t have the money to put her in a home so relied on the generosity of the local hospice. 

This meant that Bradley’s Nana couldn’t care for him, and his aunt was too far away, living in Houston, for him to live with her. That, and the fact that Carole had ensured Bradley was left in Pete’s custody after she died. She’d left that in her will, her swoopy handwriting, smudged with tears, writing:

To my darling Pete, I leave you all of Goose’s belongings, that ceramic chicken you made me buy for the garden, and Bradley. 

You’ll need each other more than you know. And there’s only one person I know who will finish raising him the way I want.

With some help from Ice and Viper, now retired, he got himself placed as a test pilot in Kingsville, as close to a commuter’s job that Mav would ever get. He’d be starting in a few weeks, after the mourning period had gone and Mav was in need of something new to distract himself with. And he’d now be a full-time parent to Bradley.

Bradley. 

He heard him in the company of the various other ‘86 Top Gun Graduates. Slider, with his new wife Siobhan by his side, were telling him about his stories as a commercial pilot. It was a path most Naval Aviators took after a while of combat, it kept you in the air, and the paychecks and good views were an added bonus.

That kid was struggling so much Mav didn’t even know where to start. He had experience, of course, but his parents had died before he even really understood the concept of death. Bradley had been lucky enough to only be four when his dad died. Carole’s death had been different though.

There hadn’t been much escape, except school. When Maverick was away, Bradley found himself caring for his mum and himself despite her insistence that she was still capable enough. He was sleeping in her bed now, wrapped in Carole’s grandma’s quilt that still had a strange mix of Carole’s floral perfume and the clinical stench of the hospital.

Mav wondered what form his grief would take. It had already started to form as Carole got closer to the end. He was careful, every action took thought because he now knew, in such an intimate way that no child should ever have to know, what death was. Yet, he was also angry.

Although it was now his summer break, he’d be entering his Sophomore year of high school in September, in his last few weeks of school Carole and Mav had received a few phone calls about Bradley getting into fights. Some kids were being cruel, as kids could be, about his dying mother and something must have snapped within him. Apparently his friends had to drag him off one of the tormentors just to get him to stop. 

Mav didn’t really know what to say to discipline him. That’s where Carole and Ice had stepped in. It was right that he defended his mother, but perhaps he shouldn't go as far to almost give the kid a brain injury. Bradley was getting tall, he was the best batter in his baseball team already, and was growing up strong. Maybe he didn’t know his own strength sometimes.

The deck creaked as someone else joined him. He knew the footsteps in an instant and some part of the knot in his stomach eased. It was Ice.

“How are you doing?” He asked

Mav looked at him as he sat down. He sighed and leant into Ice’s touch. It was second nature to go to him. He let him guide his head down onto his shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Yeah, that was a stupid question,”

Mav pulled away and let his head drop into his hands as a whine escaped him. He didn’t know how he could cry any more but he did. Hot tears ticking his cheeks and making his hands slimy.

Ice rubbed his back, “Come on, talk to me.”

He’d gotten better at comforting him after that time in the lockers after Goose died. They knew each other better now and Ice knew that if not prompted, Mav would rather keep everything inside. All the bad feelings were easier to deal with when you didn’t have to deal with them.

“I’m not cut out for this.” He said simply.

“For what?”

Mav looked up and let Ice follow his gaze to look at Bradley. He was laughing through tears.

“Carole made you his legal guardian for a reason, Mav, she trusted you with him, she knew you’d look after him,”

“But I can barely look after myself!”

Ice shook his head and let out one of those half laughs you do to make a point rather than to laugh at anything, “You’d always do anything for that boy, you wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” 

“What do you mean?”

Mav thought back to Carole’s last days. The raspy sound of her breathing and the click of the life support machine. She was barely lucid, high on so many pain meds that in the end she’d thought he was Goose. But in the chaos and pain, she’d made him make a promise. And he couldn’t say no. 

“Carole asked me something, before she-.” He hesitated on that last word, it didn’t feel real yet. “-before she died.”

Ice went to say something else but he just held up a hand. He was still processing it all. Just saying it made him feel guilty, like it was a secret he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone.

“She made me promise to make sure Bradley didn’t fly.”

Ice wasn’t surprised by a lot, or at least he knew to hide it well. Mav knew his poker face when he did but right now it was too slow. His brows furrowed as he ran a hand through his hair, sans iced tips that he’d had when they’d met eleven years ago. 

“W-why would she do that? It’s all he’s wanted to do his whole life.”

Mav knew why. He remembered every time Bradley mentioned how one day he’d fly and how Carole had gripped something nearby, knuckles white. In hindsight, he could see all the signs so clearly. Her smile fake, not reaching her eyes and barely covering up the fear. And it was fear, not anxiety. Pure fear. The kind that only came from losing someone so close to you and possibly losing another to the exact same thing. 

“She doesn’t-didn’t want Bradley to die the same as Goose, couldn’t lose him too, not after what happened to his dad,” he said.

“But, that was because of a technical fault, by the time Bradley’s trained they may not even be using F-14s anymore!” 

Ice rarely raised his voice, too. It would be concerning if Mav didn’t know why he was doing it. It hurt him too, what he’d have to do. Part of him was just as confused, the other part, though, was on Carole’s side. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to him. He had to stop himself from wrapping him in bubble wrap some days. He had some of Mav’s qualities that he wished he didn’t.

“You can’t deny she’s partially right, though?” Mav insisted, he wouldn’t have Carole’s memory ruined.

“I guess, I’m worried for the kid too but to stop him from flying all together?”

Mav shrugged, “You can’t deny that he’s not ready.”

“I can’t,” he said, his voice low. “But to stop him entirely, not give him a chance to grow and get himself ready?”

“He’s already changing, Ice, it’s hard to think he was the same kid who was so excited to see the vultures at San Diego Zoo,”

They both laughed at the memory. They were visiting Ice in the summer of 1994, just after ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ came into effect and they were all celebrating Maverick and Ice being allowed to show their love.

“Yeah, he spent ten minutes just staring at them.”

“And it’s just as hard to think that he was the same kid in that car accident after they won their baseball league, calling for Carole and seeing his dad.”

Mav had barely been consolable when he’d heard about that. He was somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean when it happened. Luckily, the higher ups were understanding enough to give him a week to be there for him. Seeing Bradley, who was already looking so much like his dad, in that hospital bed with all those wires had almost killed him off. If Carole hadn’t needed him he probably would’ve, but she’d needed his strength to carry on, so he was there, every time.

“But he’s getting careful, considerate, he knows how close the line is and he’s making sure he doesn’t cross it,” he said. “And that’s good for most jobs, but if he wants to be a Naval Aviator, he can’t live like that, and I fear it’s only going to get worse as he learns to live with this grief.”

“Then you talk to him, maybe if he knows, then he can work on it and be the best Aviator he can be.”

“Don’t you think I’m going to try that!” Mav snapped.

Ice held up his hand in innocence then pulled Mav back in for a hug, “I know you will, you won’t stop trying until you get the outcome you want, I know you,” he lay a kiss on his forehead, so gentle it was like a ghost. “I’ll help you with anything, you know that, right?”

He nodded. Closing his eyes, he appreciated the darkness behind his eyelids. The sun had started to peek through the trees and it was getting unbearable. Everything was already too much and now he had to do this.

“I know,” he whispered. “I just know I’m going to lose him.”

“Maybe there’s a way that you won’t.”

“I mean, I can hope but-”

Ice shook his head and lay another kiss on his hair, “No buts, we’ll figure this out, we’ve got time yet.”

“Yeah, at least we’ve got that.”

~~~~

“I just can’t believe it’s all sent off, it doesn’t feel real,” Bradley said from the kitchen table. 

Mav chuckled and did his best to hide the growing fear in his eyes. Despite all his efforts over the years to try and divert his passion away from actual flying, Bradley still hadn’t caught on that they didn’t want him to fly. He’d only just applied to some normal universities instead of putting all his hopes on getting accepted into the Naval Academy.

And why shouldn’t he? He had recommendations from some of the most commended Naval Aviators still in the Navy. Hollywood, Wolfman, Chipper, Sundown. He’d asked him and Ice too, but they’d made some excuse of them maybe being too close and the navy perhaps seeing this as favouritism rather than an actual recommendation. That was bullshit, of course, Iceman was a Vice Admiral and the Navy’s posterboy for just about everything. Anything he put his name to got done, everything he touched turned to gold.

“I know, chick, how about you go and call your uncle Slider? I’m sure he’d want to know all about it.”

“Okay!” Bradley said and ran upstairs to use the landline.

He had to get him out of his hair for a moment. He hadn’t been able to stop him from applying, so now he had to do something he wished he hadn’t needed to do. He’d have to pull his papers. 

Ice entered the kitchen, came up behind him and snaked his hands up his sides. Kissing his hair, he turned him around, placed down the knife he was using to chop and changed his focus to his mouth. His hands came up to stroke his cheeks, Mav placed his hand on his and sighed as he kissed him. He loved those “Honey, I’m home kisses”.

“So, he still applied, then,” he said, his voice not showing the excitement most people thought they’d be feeling. 

He had some business in Texas. Now he had the authority of an Admiral, the Navy was throthing at the mouth to give him all sorts of important things to do and places to go. Luckily, he’d used this interest in himself to make them let him stay with them for a while. Mav was testing the new F-18 jet, one that Bradley would hopefully never fly- no matter how much he needled him for top secret info over dinner. 

“What are we going to do then? Hope he gets rejected?” Ice sat down at the table and pulled a chair out for Mav.

Mav took it, staring at his hands as he came to the conclusion he’d wished he never had to come to. Ice gave a weak smile as he lay his hand on his. He always seemed to secure and put together, coincidentally like a block of ice, but he knew that he wasn’t always. Yet, right now, he preferred to pretend he was just as strong as he was making himself seem.

“We can make sure he gets rejected.”

“What? Pull his papers?” 

Mav couldn’t get the words out to speak. If he did now he’d burst into tears. He wanted the earth to swallow him whole, he deserved nothing more.

Ice let out a whistle, “That-that’s going to take a lot of explaining, to the Navy and to Bradley, I mean, that conversation is going to be tricky to get right, to make him understand what his mum wanted.”

“That conversation won’t happen.”

Sitting back in his chair, Ice was confused again. His hand drifted from Mav’s to cover his mouth.

“You’re not going to tell him at all?” He said, his voice was barely audible, a soft whisper. “You’re just going to make him believe he’s not good enough? Mav you can’t do that.”

“What? No, I wouldn’t do that to him.”

“Good,” Ice deflated. “Because for a second there I thought you weren’t going to tell him about Carole at all.”

Now it was Mav’s turn to be confused. How couldn’t Ice get it? He was a smart man, why couldn’t he just get it?

“I’m not.”

Ice almost jumped backwards. His confusion turned into a strange mix of disbelief and rage. He’d never seen him like this. In every argument and spat he kept his cool and made sure not to say anything he’d regret, it pissed Mav off a lot whenever they came to a head. He was a bit of a hot head, he knew that, and when angry, lost control of what came out of his mouth. 

“But, how? How can’t you tell him? She's his mother, he deserves to know,” Ice said, raising his voice. “ What, do you think his own mother didn't know what was best for her son?"

Ice screeched his chair across the floor as he splayed his hands out in front of him. Mav did the same. His rage was starting to rise now, breath coming out through his flared nostrils as his hands began to shake. He had to be careful now, had to make sure he didn’t say something he didn’t really mean.

"I'm not saying that and can you stop putting words in my mouth!”

“Then what are you saying? Because from here it sounds a lot like you’re going to lie to the kid!” Ice spat. “Because you're the one saying you're not going to tell Bradley what his mum wanted for him, which he should know, it's his future that we’re meddling with.”

“Meddling? Is that what you think this is? Meddling like we’re playing a game? Is his life a game to you?” Mav had to try hard not to raise his voice too much to alarm Bradley.

“No, is it to you?”

“No.”

“Well it sure seems like it is.”

Mav clenched his hands into fists. He tried to take deep breaths but his vision began to get clouded by anger. Ice seemed to be too. He almost never snapped like this.

“It’s his life, Mav, I understood if you’d let him know it was Carole, be honest, but not telling him that really makes it seem like you’re playing with him.” Ice heaved, getting mad in a way he’d never seem him. “It’s his future you’re messing with.”

"I know that, you think I don't know that? That's exactly why I'm doing this, because Carole's his mum and I don't want to ruin that for him."

Mav thought back to when he found out his dad died. It was so far off and faded he was confused if it was real at all. He remembered thinking his dad was a hero, knowing it deep in his gut in a way he couldn’t shake. Then he’d been told what he did, and his image of his hero of a father was shattered by the apparent knowledge that he was a coward, a traitor, a deserter who didn’t deserve remembering. He couldn’t let Bradley go through that too.

"What will you say then? What will you tell him?" Ice said.

"That's he's not ready,” Mav replied like it was obvious. “It's not a lie, we both know he's not, we both want to protect him.”

“I know we do, but this isn’t the only way and that is not the only reason why, so why are we going to lie to him?” Ice smacked his hand against the other, as if being physical would make his point come across more.

"Stop making me out to be the bad guy here!"

"But it is a lie!” Ice shouted, fully shouted, loud enough that they both knew Bradley would hear, when he spoke next, Ice had lowered his volume. “Tell me, honestly, if Carole hadn't made you promise not to let Bradley fly, would you still be doing this?"

Mav looked away. He knew the answer and hated the almost smug look on Ice’s face when they both realised it.

"Exactly.” Ice said, this time with a glimmer of something else in his voice. “You're going to lie to him and sow seeds in his head that he's not good enough when he is.”

So that’s what this was about. Ice had opened up to him about his family life. From the outside, it seemed perfect, parents, sister, even a dog. They’d grown up in the suburbs outside of San Diego living on the wages of a two star Admiral. To anyone outside it was everything a child could want.

What you didn’t see from the outside was the expectations of his parents. He couldn’t just have a high GPA, it had to be perfect. He couldn’t just take one AP class, he had to take them all, couldn’t just be in the debate club, he had to be president. Even when it came to his naval career, his dad made sure he knew that he had to fly the best, fly the most accurate, be so technically perfect that no one was even close to comparing with him. It was only in meeting Maverick that he started to break free of that restrictive life, while still keeping with it in his form, of course.

That must be why he was so insistent that he doesn’t meddle. He doesn't want Bradley to have that life, not like he had it. What he couldn’t see was that this was nothing like that. He wasn’t doing this for his own enjoyment, if he hadn’t promised, he wouldn’t be doing this at all.

"But we both agree that he's not ready, so why is me telling him that sowing seeds of doubt?" Mav said.

He thought of all the years he was kept in the dark about his dad. He wished people had told him the truth instead of just treating him like shit without actually telling him what they meant. He’d had to learn his father was a traitor by himself, and had to wait even longer to find out the truth. If he could just make Bradley see that everyone was trying to protect him, then he wouldn’t be left strounging for answers like he was.

“Because you’re still not telling him the truth! You’re only doing this to make yourself feel better, to make you think you’re doing the right thing for him and not yourself!”

“How am I doing this to feel better?” Mav pushed into Ice’s space, all his focus was going into not escalating this further than it had to go.

“Because you’re controlling everything, telling Bradley a half truth so you don’t feel bad for not doing what Carole wanted.”

Mav snapped at that. He was sick of this. Fuck his focus, he hadn’t been this mad in a while, not for good reason anyway. And here was Ice acting all high and mighty, as though he hadn’t helped him do this, as this he hadn’t had just a big a role in this as he had. And he said he was doing all this to make himself feel better.

“I’m doing all of this for Carole!” He forced himself not to scream that, because maybe if he yelled then Tom would get it. “I’m not telling him it was her so he can still have her. I thought you got that but I guess you’re too dumb for that.”

Ice smacked his forehead and laughed. It was cruel. His smile was like a shark. They were back at Top Gun, back in those locker rooms with that petty rivalry and strong emotions. At least this time it was over something worthwhile. 

“I should’ve known you’d regress to insults, I expected more from you, thought you might be mature but no.”

He could kill him right now. He was seeing red and might just go too far. If it hadn’t been for Bradley upstairs, he did everything for Bradley these days, he might actually commit murder.

“Just stop acting so high and fucking mighty and maybe I won’t have to.” He seethed through gritted teeth.

“I I I, you’re making this all about you and you know what,” Tom lent forward, they were glaring directly at each other now. “I’m fucking sick of it, sick of you making this seem like this is what Carole would want, that she’d want you to mess with her son’s life instead of just doing what she said, that she’d want you to ruin her legacy all in the name of making yourself feel better.

“Well fine, but I’m not going to be a part of it, not anymore.” Ice spat. 

He walked into the hallway to grab his coat off the hook. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off yet. With a strong movement, he yanked the door open and stormed out into the yard. Pete followed without question. He wasn’t just going to leave this there.

“You’re already a part of it, you’ve been helping me this whole time,” Now they were outside, Pete felt he could shout like he’d been wanted to this entire time. “Ever since you became an Admiral you’ve been acting like you’re the king of the fucking world, well maybe the Navy thinks that, but you know what Tom?”

He seemed taken aback by him using his real name. They only ever used their proper names when something was serious. 

“What?”

“You’re not.” 

He could slap him right now, his hands were itching to, it was the same rush he got to push it further. This had already escalated, what harm would going a little further do?

“And stop pretending like you know what Carole would’ve wanted, you two weren’t that close, you’re just using her to hide your own guilt and then pushing that I’m doing the same to make sure you have someone else to blame.” Mav stepped back and swung his arms out. “Well fine, go and do that, but know that you didn’t know her at all, there’s a reason she made me promise to do this, because she trusted me, she trusted me to do the right thing, and she obviously never told you because she knew you’d mess it all up.

“You’ve always been like this, always been high and mighty with some other thing to blame, your dad, the Navy, it’s never you. You act like you’re this gift from God when you’re really this pathetic suck up who pushes people away instead of taking a single goddamn risk in his life.”

Pete didn’t even know where this was coming from. He didn’t believe it. He knew he didn’t and Tom knew. Sure, if it was fourteen years ago, back when they first met, sure, but not now, not after all they’d been through together. But Pete just wanted to see if he could finally make him snap. He wanted that high and mighty attitude ripped off his face.

“So yeah, maybe I’m not going to tell him, and maybe it’s kind of shitty, but you know what? At least I’m trying something, at least I’ve tried everything I can think of to make what Carole wanted come true. Because that’s what I do, I reach out to people, even if the rules say I can’t or shouldn’t, I do that because I know there’s something more than the rules.

“You’ve never cared for anyone that much. I thought you did but I guess not, because otherwise, you’d be here with me, you’d do this with me, but I guess you’re still that ice-cold robot I thought had changed for me,” he lowered his tone. “But I guess you change for no one.”

Tom held his hand on the door of his car. There were tears in his eyes and Pete instantly went cold. He’d done it again, opened his big stupid mouth and taken things too far. He wanted to take it all back but knew he couldn’t.

“Alright, Pete.” He said, and Pete could tell he was trying his hardest to keep his tone level. “If that’s what you truly think then I should go.”

His chin wobbled. Tears were running down his face. He reached out for him but stopped himself.

“You know I didn’t,” he whispered.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have said it.”

Tom turned around and got into his car. He didn’t slam the door. There were no rude gestures and no physical violence. Just a lump in Pete’s throat that he couldn’t budge and a great wash of guilt he wanted to be clean of.

Bradley must have come outside as Pete watched Tom go. He had Carole’s grandma’s quilt wrapped around him again, he always did when he needed comfort. 

“What was that about?” He said.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he whispered through the tears. 

“Are you sure? It sounded pretty big.”

He racked his brain for an excuse, a lie to make sure Bradley didn’t find out now, “It’s been building for a while, Ice is an Admiral now, he has responsibilities and can’t just be my wingman, I guess I didn’t take it as well as I thought.”

Bradley stared at his hands as he wrapped them in the quilt. He stretched it around Mav. 

“Is there anything you want me to do?”

“No, chick, it’s not your responsibility.”

Bradley stared at him. He could see Goose in that stare, all the times he knew he was covering for his insecurities and wouldn’t let it slide. However, there was also Carole, and how she saw through and dealt with his bullshit no matter how many times he screwed things up with another Admiral, or Penny Benjamin.

“How about we get pizza instead of you cooking?” Bradley suggested.

Mav sniffed and wiped the tears from his face, “I think that’s a good idea, you go and decide what we’re having.”

‘I guess Ice is just another Admiral I pissed off,’ he thought as he followed Bradley inside.

~~~~

The silence in Ice’s office was deafening. Maverick knew the words but couldn’t get himself to say them.

Ice had Bradley’s application in his hands. He had his future in his hands and they both knew this could only go one way. 

“So, are you going to-” Mav started.

“Yes.”

They weren’t looking at each other. Maverick wished it was different. God, how he regretted saying those things. He’d give anything to be being chewed out for a stupid stunt than to be treated with Ice’s silence. It was worse in every conceivable way.

“I wouldn’t know who else to turn to,” he said. “No one else knows.”

He waited, then added, “No one else understands.”

Ice shuffled the papers into a neat pile and placed them on his desk. He picked up one of the pens laid in straight rows in front of him and noted something down on a piece of paper. This paper got added to the pile with a paperclip and put back into the folder it came out of.

“Once I send this,” Ice said. “He’ll be rejected.”

Finally, he looked at him. His blue eyes were soft like the summer sky, the wrinkles forming around them lax.

“There’s no turning back once that’s done,” he lent forward, it almost seemed like he was going to reach out and take his hand. “Are you going to be alright after this?”

Mav stopped for a second. His eyes widened and his body froze. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Even he didn’t believe that.

“I know how much Bradley means to you, and doing this, it will push him away,” he said the next line impossibly soft, like they were whispering in bed together and not sitting in a stuffy office. “I want you to be okay.”

Maverick gulped. He couldn’t reply, couldn’t because then he’d burst into tears. They hadn’t talked much after their fight, and by much he meant at all. The only time they’d talked in the last month was Ice calling him to say he’d been given access to Bradley’s papers.

“You know I will,” he sniffed and huffed out a fake laugh. “I always land on my feet, right?”

Ice sat back. A shade of disappointment crossed his face.

“Right.”

Maverick saw this as his cue to leave. The atmosphere around him was getting even thicker, you could cut it with a knife.

He had to get back to Bradley anyway. He was staying with his aunt over the winter break and Mav needed to be back in time for the new term to start. Taking care of Bradley had been the only thing that had stopped him after this sort-of-breakup. 

Ice stopped Mav by holding onto his jacket. His face was earnest and heartfelt.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I-we both said things we didn’t mean, right?”

Mav nodded. He hoped he’d ask if they could start again, but to no avail. Ice nodded and his shoulders seemed to loosen where he sat. His hand let go of his sleeve as Maverick headed for the door.

“His graduation is on June 6th,” he said. “Thought you might want to be there.”

Iceman nodded, “I’ll make sure to.”

There was nothing left to say. So Mav turned around and walked out with little hope in his heart for the months to come. The clock was ticking, he was running out of time and he could already hear each second passing by.

~~~~   It was a bright early summer day. They’d had the ceremony, had the pictures and were now milling around on the sports field. Bradley was deep in conversation with Ice, who’d flown in especially from San Diego just for this. They’d gotten back on terms again. No dates or kisses but close enough that Mav could see them getting back together in their future.

Their plan had worked, he sounded so maniacal saying that, and Bradley’s letter had come back saying ‘Rejected’. He didn’t understand, of course, he’d had all the recommendations, had the perfect grades, was captain of the baseball team and hadn’t gotten into fights, apart from a few around Carole’s death but the principle was lenient on discipline for those. All Mav could say so far was that it was lucky he’d applied to other schools. He couldn’t tell him, not yet.

He overheard his and Ice’s conversation now.

“So, which school did you go with in the end?” 

“Oh, Virginia,” Bradley said. “Political Science.”

“Interesting, well you’ll do excellent at anything you set your mind to, you know that, right?”

Bradley looked down at where he held his cap in his hands. He couldn’t tell if it was the memory of his and Mav’s fight that was making him awkward, or the sadness he still carried from being rejected from the Navy.

“Yeah,”

“And don’t get yourself too worked up about your application to the Naval Academy, okay? They rejected your Uncle Mav and look at how he turned out,” Ice glanced at Mav as he drifted by.

“I can still join OCS after college, though, right?” Bradley said. “I could’ve joined straight out of high school if I wanted but my guidance counsellor thought a break at college might help me rethink.”

“I think they’re probably right.”

Mav wandered off to the refreshments to get another drink. He’d have to tell him soon. He’d have to before he left for college because he wouldn’t have him going around thinkin he wasn’t worthy. This meant that this was probably his last day with Bradley, at least for a while. There was a chance he’d understand, that he wouldn’t cut him out of his life, but he knew deep down that was close to impossible. 

Far off, he looked at Ice and Bradley again, standing much closer than before. Bradley was lent down close to Ice as he spoke in his ear. He couldn’t see Ice’s face from here, and was too far away to hear but by their stances he knew it was serious. 

His stomach dropped. Ice wouldn’t tell Bradley for him, would he? What if he told him about Carole? He wouldn’t ruin everything he’d planned, right? Right?

Then Bradley stepped back. His brows furrowed as his eyes widened. Ice turned his gaze to the ground as Bradley’s head snapped to Mav. By the look in his eyes, he knew. Knew about Mav pulling his papers and knew he hadn’t told him yet. He looked ready to pounce as the confusion on his face swirled to anger.

Luckily, or unluckily, he was pulled away by one of his friend’s mums. Mav heard the clock in his mind stop. The alarms were going off as he hurried to his bike to head home. He wasn’t running, he told himself, he just needed a few moments to think of what to say. 

He waited for over an hour for him to come back. He turned his tie in his hands and wished he and Carole had swapped places. She wouldn’t have messed everything up like he had. Bradley would still have someone alive to take care of him, he’d still have someone to trust.

The slam of the door told him who it was. He didn’t have to get up to know. He knew by the footsteps, by the creaks of the floorboards and the shuddering breaths in the air. 

He forced himself to look up at Bradley and knew he’d run out of time.

~~~~

A car pulled up as dusk was falling. He only looked up out of some blind hope that it could be Bradley, that maybe he changed his mind and was coming back to him. No. That wasn’t his car. He should’ve known, some of the things he’d said, dear god, they hurt.

He knew Bradley didn’t blame him for his dad’s death but hearing him say those words cut deep. It cut even worse when he’d said Carole would’ve been ashamed. If only he knew, he couldn’t, but part of him wondered if it would’ve been easier to just tell him everything. But then all his work would’ve been for nothing.

Instead of Bradley, it was Ice. He walked simply over to him and joined him on the porch stairs. They didn’t speak for a while. They watched dusk fall below the trees, and the fireflies dance around the sky. Lights turned on in other people’s houses. Fireworks sparked in the distance as cars pulled into driveways.

“Are you going to say I told you so?” Mav said.

“No.” 

He couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. A great sob left him as he shuddered down and collapsed over his bent legs. Ice went to grab him but Mav pushed him off. There was no rage in his heart, not like the last time he was here, but a gaping disappointment instead.

“Did you have to tell him?” He pleaded.

“It was already his graduation and he didn’t know,” Ice’s voice drifted off. “I wasn’t sure whether you were going to tell him.”

Mav scoffed, then sobbed again as he looked up at the stars, Bradley was probably doing the same. He wished he knew where he was to comfort him.

“I told you in our fight that I would,” he sniffed.

“I know, I know, I guess I just didn’t know whether to trust you.”

They went back to silence as Mav sobbed. He wanted to crawl into Ice’s arms again, pretend that none of this had happened and that Bradley was just celebrating graduation at a friend's house. But the other knew he and Ice weren’t there anymore. Bradley was god knows where and Ice had just admitted that he didn’t trust Maverick anymore. There was no one left now.

“I know this isn’t the best time but I wanted to make something clear, before I go back to San Diego,”

“And what’s that?”

“I think we should break up.”

Mav laughed, honest to god laughter, “Haven’t we already?”

Ice looked down as he made his way down the stairs. That may have been cruel of him. Ice just stood there like a kicked puppy, maybe he was hoping for a different answer.

“Okay, then, just wanted to make it clear,”

Mav wanted to say something snarky, something like “Or to rub salt in the wound”, but last time he’d let himself blab hadn’t turned out okay. He decided to restrain himself. He didn’t need something else to feel guilty about.

As Ice slowly made his way back to his car, it must be a rental, Mav stood up. There were still tears dripping down his face. A mushy feeling of guilt sat like a rock in his stomach. It probably wouldn’t move for a while.

“Have a safe flight,” he called.

“I will do, if you’re not flying the plane,” he called back.

Mav laughed a bit, so did Ice. But he knew one joke wouldn’t fix anything. He watched him drive away as nighttime set in. He was in for a long night.

~~~~

Five years. That was the last time he saw Iceman. Five whole years. 

They flew by, though. After the tragedy of Bradley’s graduation, he was finishing his first year of the Naval Academy now meaning that all of Mav’s efforts had been in vain and he hadn’t stopped him flying at all, Mav had gone headfirst into missions.

He’d reconciled with Penny for a while, before pissing someone else off and getting sent to Iraq. Ice hadn’t helped him with that one, he hadn’t heard from him at all, in fact. He’d heard that he was now a full one-star Admiral, in charge of Top Gun which he found ironic in some kind of way, but nothing from the man himself.

That was until a week ago. Ice had access to most records if he asked nicely enough, and he knew that he always asked nicely, and found out that Mav was stationed somewhere in California as a test pilot. From there, he must have found his landline number and given him a call.

Mav had just come into the hangar, he still didn’t believe he lived in a hangar now but there you go, when the phone rang. To say he was overjoyed was an understatement. The only person he had in his life was his Warrant Officer, Bernie “Hondo” Coleman, but no one else. Bradley had sent the ashes of every card he sent back to him. And it had been radio silence from Ice, so to hear from after all these years had put a spark back in him that he’d known was missing.

He knew it may be foolish, but he couldn’t help but wonder why now? Why did he contact him now and not, say, when Bradley graduated college? Mav had been there, even if he got the cold shoulder each time. The part of him that still loved Ice, it hadn’t died like he thought it would, was jumping for joy and screaming that it was because he still loved him. And he couldn’t help but believe it. 

That’s why he’d come all the way to San Diego on a Wednesday morning to have brunch. So he could see if they still had a chance. He didn’t want to sound too desperate but he hoped with all his heart that they still had a chance.

Then the door jingled as the man himself walked in. With someone else on his arm.

Who was that? He took them both in, waving albeit a bit confused, and tried to pinpoint her to no avail. She had dark blond hair in neat waves around her head, her brown eyes sparkled with a smile. Ice was linked with her, arm in arm. Mav noticed how close they were, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. They were close like they used to be, like they were when they were in love.

“Ice, it’s been a while,” he said, holding out his arms for a hug.

“It has, it has,” Ice said. “A bit too long if you ask me, all that fighting, well, I don’t think it was worth five years of silence, especially not with you going through such a hard time.”

Mav smiled. That was his Ice. The Ice that cared, the one that worked so hard to play by the rules because he knew that they were there to keep people from being hurt. This was his wingman, back again.

“Oh, I almost forgot-”

Ice pulled away from the hug and put his arm around the stranger, at least to Mav, next to him. There was something in the way he looked at her that rang alarm bells in his head. His hand held her waist so delicately, with so much care that it had to mean something. She held him back with just as much sincerity.

“Mav, this is Sarah, my fiancée,” Ice said.

Fiancée? No, no, no. Not fiancée. That would mean that Ice had moved on, and there was no chance for them. Why had he come here again? Why did he put his heart on the line for someone who had already broken it?

Alright, Mav, the voice in his head thought, it sounded just like Goose, it always did, you’re forty-five, not fifteen, hear the guy out. 

“Fiancée, huh?”

“Yeah, he only proposed a month ago, it still doesn’t feel real,” Sarah said, with a completely normal amount of happiness in her voice that Mav still felt was completely unnecessary, like she was trying to hurt him more.

“Well, congratulations,” he managed to say.

“Thanks,” Ice said, “That’s what I reached out to you for.”

Mav felt his world shatter more than it already had. He had to nod and pretend that there definitely wasn’t a tornado destroying his insides at this very moment.

“Well, it’s great news, am I getting an invite or is this just to gloat?” He made a joke, somehow but his heart was breaking with every word.

“That’s kind of why I asked you to be here in person, not just on the phone or on an invite.” Ice smiled at Sarah, he could see the love in his eyes. “I came here to ask you to be one of my groomsmen.”

Groomsmen? He couldn’t just nod along in the crowds of people that there would no doubt be at this ceremony, Ice was a popular guy, but he had to stand up there with him and pretend that he was perfectly okay with it? What did he say? How could he say yes? How could he say no? Was there even a correct answer for this-

“Of course!” He heard himself say. “Anything for my wingman.”

Mav plastered on a smile as a server came their way and led them to a table. Ice and Sarah made all the subtle actions a loving couple made, ones he’d seen Goose and Carole do, ones he knew they’d done when they were together, all while his heart was breaking. Not for the first time, he wished it was Goose or Carole in his place, wished he could swap places and be in heaven for the day, although he knew he wasn’t going to heaven. 

He gulped, he didn’t think he was going to get through this.

If you follow me, then you'll know this started as a post, then I basically live-blogged me writing this in a day. You heard that right, a day! I'm very impressed with myself!

There are some lines that I love: "A wolf in sheep’s clothing" "Prayed to a god he didn’t believe in" "It sounded like Goose, it always did"

Also the line "in the end she’d thought he was Goose" when Mav’s thinking about Carole's last days, is a reference to my fic 'Halfway to Heaven'. Give it a read if you like angst like this.

Thank you everyone who encouraged me writing this and thank you for reading!

Also thought I might tag the people who left comments on the original post and the liveblogging one because the response did give me a kick in the arse to write it (I'm also off work so that helped too lol): @vote-4-crow , @gracie81 , @saengak , @sliderkerner , @calkale , @vex-glitch , @aquwalawa , @misunderstood-with-ideas, @caveiratimida

[once-upon-a-pirate-ship]

How Restlessly the Stars Do Gleam - Chapter 12: True

Cover art by the lovely and talented @snowbellewells!!!

Story summary: After the Evil Queen kidnaps and curses her family and destroys her kingdom, Princess Emma is on the run. She boards a merchant vessel with her godmother Red, and they intend to travel to Arendelle to seek magical assistance. But when Emma discovers the dark truths aboard Captain Silver's ship, she must put a stop to his cruelty and rescue the Jones brothers from their enslavement. Emma has to find her own allies and face her fears in order to save her parents, her brother Leo, and her kingdom.

Read it on AO3 from the beginning here.

Taglist, message me or reply to a chapter if you want to be added: @kmomof4 @teamhook @tiganasummertree @snowbellewells

Read chapter 12 below the cut or on AO3.

Please reblog, comment here or on AO3, and share the love because I am truly pouring my heart into this fic (as demonstrated below).

To lead was to sacrifice. 

That was something her mother had not only taught her but had attempted to prepare her for—to make her strong enough that she could do what was necessary, what others wouldn’t do, to put her people and the future of her kingdom above herself. Emma was never free to simply act as she wished; everything she did had consequences, each decision she made had an echo, reverberating far beyond her expectations. 

The well-being of her people sat heavily upon her shoulders, and she could not forget that. 

Robin had taken the news of the Black Knights and their quick demise well, and though a discussion was still necessary to determine their course of action, he had ordered they all sit for a meal and tend to the few wounds before considering their next step.

Emma had readily retrieved her salve and healing supplies only to stop herself, her eyes fixed on the figure she most sought as he sat some fifty feet away, the firelight staining his blood-covered cheek. 

Her hands ached to help him, heal him, tend to the cut he only sustained in the aid of her beloved brother—but that was what she wanted to do, not what she needed to do. Not what was best. Allowing herself even one step closer to him was the selfish thing to do, and she could not bear to cling to such weakness when her mother had raised her better.

She left it to Red and banished herself from his view, finding bittersweet exile at the base of a tree beside the creek. 

“Not hungry?” Leo plopped down beside her before she could respond or even react, shoving a bowl of stew into her grasp. 

Emma pushed it back towards him. “No, I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, tipping the bowl to his lips. 

She tried to find comfort in his less-than-princely manners, his endearing slobbish behavior, but she’d felt hollow since her latest sacrifice (maybe it would always be this: each choice chipping away at what was left of her until she was just a shadow of herself, just a figurehead perfectly fit for their crown. Did that make her a better ruler or a worse one?).

“You should be judging me right now,” Leo added, choking down another bit of stew. 

“Should I?”

He sighed, a lofty and pompous sound that reminded them both of their father. Leo set the bowl aside, either finished or no longer hungry. “Emma,” he drawled.

“Leo,” she replied, mimicking his tone.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”

She didn’t look at him. “About what?”

“About wh—Emma!”

“What?” she snapped, all her defenses rising at once, shielding her from everything she couldn’t stand to feel, couldn’t stand to know. 

Leo hopped onto his feet, glaring down at her with his arms crossed rigidly in front of him (so like their mother). “I swear to the gods above, Emma, if you keep pretending like there’s nothing going on—”

“There’s nothing—”

“I’m going to say something I never thought I would,” he threatened, ignoring her pitiful attempt. 

Emma pushed herself up to stand before him, folding her arms now too, though hers acted more like armor. “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“You’re being a coward, Emma.”

Fury barrelled into her, red and scalding and dangerous, knotting her hands into fists when they snapped to her sides. “Tread. Lightly.”

Leo did not waver. “No, I won’t. There’s been far too much of that around here.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about a certain someone and your inability to tell that someone how you feel.”

Icy resolve trickled down to her feet, sealing her where she stood. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“Emma, this is absolutely ridiculous!” he blurted. “You’re both being cowards about this, and if you could just stop for a second see that, maybe—”

“Maybe what?” she demanded. “Maybe we can live happily ever after, like our parents? Haven’t you heard? That didn’t turn out so well for them.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed, his jaw setting firmly. “You’re proving my point,” he said. “You’re just scared, and I get that, I do, but you can’t keep doing this.”

“No, Leo. You don’t get it,” she replied. “You have no idea what I’m doing. What I’m giving up. But I don’t have a choice, because I have to rule, Leo! I have to put aside what I want and do what has to be done so that if we’re not successful, if we can’t save our parents, I can in good conscience take the throne.”

Leo’s lips twisted in disgust. “Don’t tell me this is about class.”

She recoiled, pain shooting through her as if he had struck her. “How could you possibly think—”

“Then what is it? Why do you have to give this up?”

“Because I refuse to curse him, too.” She looked away, pulling in a shaky breath. “Even if I pretend like we’re not currently on the run, even if I ignore that every second should be spent strategizing to get our parents back, even if I act like it doesn’t take every drop of energy I have just to keep myself upright and moving forward—I cannot be oblivious to the sacrifice that all of our allies have already made, the death sentences they’ve already signed themselves up for. I’m so tired of the fighting and the bloodshed and the death and the sacrifice, but none of that is about to go away, because this is my life now. This is my whole life. It’s the curse the Evil Queen gave me, and I know it doesn’t compare to your agony, but I’m carrying my own burden now, Leo, and it’s killing me, too. I’m losing myself, too.

“I have to learn how to be strong enough to do what’s right, and I’m trying to figure out how I can possibly do that when all I want to do is run to him and find comfort—but it doesn’t matter. It can’t be. I’m just…I’m just glad that…that at least I’m respecting the distance he’s put between us.”

Leo’s eyes shone, even in the darkness, and he took her hands in his. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Emma, I promise.”

She withdrew from his touch, wrapping her arms around herself instead. “Yes, it does. I know you can’t understand, but just trust me on this. Please.”

He remained where he was, resisting the urge to hug her fiercely. She wasn’t ready for him to push her any further. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t take matters into his own hands.

— —

With dawn came sorrow. 

Though perhaps it had never left, only hidden by the darkness, pieces of it distorted to look incandescent in the moonlight. 

Emma watched the last of his star dissolve into daylight, shivering when the burning cold spread across her chest. And at last she lay on her bedroll, wishing for all the impossible things that could bring her joy.

Half their camp had shifted their routines to become nocturnal, though many simply lost hours of sleep when sunlight prodded them awake. Emma was one such person, though on this day, she did not rise. Her limbs could not sustain her weight, nor had she the strength to stand. And the worries of her friends and allies had not gone unheard; she kept her eyes closed, her body still, and feigned sleep until the sun began its descent. 

— —

It was supposed to be a scouting mission, a task he could claim that would busy his mind and give purpose to his body, but as soon as he’d volunteered, his brother had swooped in and disrupted his plans.

Killian trudged along the farthest edge of their perimeter and then just beyond, looking for signs of their enemy and blatantly ignoring Liam who followed closely behind. 

The last of daylight was burning itself out, turning the world amber and radiant, but Killian was not in the mindset to appreciate such beauty, angry anticipation turning to bile in his throat as dread seeped into him.

“I fail to understand why you have yet to express your feelings,” Liam said abruptly, and though Killian had tried to prepare for such an assault, he still stumbled over the exposed root he should have avoided.

He caught himself, only having to pause a moment to reset his posture and composure before continuing, determined not to respond. 

“Killian, this is absurd.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said curtly, proceeding with his task.

Liam scoffed, unimpressed. “Come now, usually you’re a much better liar than that.”

Killian froze, rage prickling along his spine. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly decided against it, instead resuming his path at twice the speed. 

“Enough of this, brother. I know you wish for my silence but I have been silent too long. We must speak of this.”

“There is nothing to speak of,” Killian replied, his footsteps undeterred.

Liam laughed in disbelief and disappointment. “Of course there is,” he said. “Now could you just stop for a second and explain to me why you refuse to acknowledge this?”

Killian’s laugh was bitter. “Why, you ask. As if you don’t know as well as I that this can never happen.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Like hell you don’t.”

Liam caught his arm, forcing him to stop his progress. “The whole world isn’t privy to your darkest thoughts, Killian. Don’t act like I understand them or their logic, because I never have before. Tell me what you bloody mean,” he demanded. Killian snatched his arm away, turning his back on his brother. “Why can’t you be with her?” Liam added, desperate to understand. 

“You spend your days laughing at my so called absurdity with the Lady Red. Has the entertainment value run dry from this game of yours? Is it no longer diverting enough for you?”

“Enough!” Liam cried. “Why do you insist this can never happen? Why can’t you be with her?”

Killian spun to face his brother now, anguish and anger erupting from him in bitter, mangled words. “Because she’s the bloody princess! And I am nothing!” 

Liam fell silent, staring open-mouthed at his younger brother and all the pain he carried. 

Killian’s chest heaved, his teeth grinding together, but all the anger he’d used to fortify himself crumbled when he was compelled to reveal the truth. “She’s the princess, and I am nothing,” he repeated, calmer now, quiet misery and resolve. 

“That’s not true,” Liam protested weakly.

“I’m nothing—a former slave, not even a sailor, a swordsman, a knight. I have nothing I can offer her, nothing I can give that would make me worthy. I will never be enough for her, whether she has a kingdom or not. My only value to her is the blade I carry, the protection I can offer her and her brother. This, at least, I can offer.”

“That’s not true,” Liam insisted, crossing the space to his brother so he could grasp his upper arms, hold him in place, force him to understand that he couldn’t be more wrong. “You are not nothing. You have never been nothing. You are a good man, Killian. You don’t need flashy talents or titles to prove that. And yes, you are a valuable swordsman, that is true. But you must see that there is more that makes you worthy, Killian. She knows it, it’s time for you to learn that, as well.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Killian muttered, pulling away from his grasp, drifting into the darkness. 

“Of course it matters,” Liam replied, though he made no attempt to follow his brother as he withdrew to stare at the woods beyond. 

“It can never be,” Killian said, his eyes tracing the silhouettes of the trees. 

“Well that’s just ridiculous,” a voice called.

The Jones brothers started, wheeling around to find their prince looking displeased, clearly having just returned from his self-inflicted exile. 

“Your Highness,” Liam scrambled to greet him properly.

“I thought we were past this,” Leo huffed. “Please, call me Leo.”

“That’s not—”

Leo’s sharp look cut off the elder Jones. “Moving on,” he said, clearing his throat and returning his attention to Killian. “You are being ridiculous.”

Killian floundered. “Your Hi—er, Leo, I must apologize for whatever you have heard. I assure you that I am cognizant of my place and would never—”

Leo let out a groan, effectively silencing the absurdity. “Cut it out,” he whined.

“Allow me to apologize—” Liam attempted, but he was as unsuccessful as his brother.

“For what? For finally confronting your brother about what we’ve all been wondering forever?”

Liam blinked in shock, half a smile curling his lips though he was too stunned to fully process this particular development. 

Leo shook his head, approaching Killian with a determination that echoed his sister’s. “If you won’t listen to your brother, then listen to me. I’ll pull rank if I have to,” he began, but his joke fell flat as Killian had yet to breathe. “There is absolutely nothing you need to apologize for. Unless you want to apologize for taking so long, but I’ll forgive you for that. 

“From the moment I saw the two of you together, I knew. You’re not exactly the best at not hovering, and she can’t stand to let her eyes stray from you for more than twenty seconds. So I guess I would let you apologize for taking so long, but what I won’t do is let you apologize for loving my sister.”

“But I have no right to love your sister.”

For a second, Killian was certain the prince was going to smack him. “What I wouldn’t give for one of my mother’s speeches right now,” Leo grumbled, mostly to himself. “First of all, Killian, that is not true. Secondly, love is not something that can or should be controlled, and it certainly isn’t something anyone does or doesn’t have a ‘right’ to feel.

“You are so blinded by your fear and your doubt that you can’t even see what’s right in front of you. And both of you are too damn stubborn—but I’m tired of it. Take a breath and stop being a coward and an idiot, please, because I have always wanted a brother, and you’re just about the best one I could imagine having.” 

Killian could not speak, move, or do anything but stare at him, unwilling or unable to comprehend his words. 

“Bravo, lad,” Liam said, patting Leo on the back. “Now, if only we could find a room to lock them in together, then perhaps we would finally make some progress.”

Leo grinned, suddenly considering the benefits of having a second brother. He exchanged a look with his new ally, then turned in the direction of camp. “Now, are you coming, or do you require a formal invitation?”

— —

He’d hoped his brash words would spur Killian on, but all it did was make him…thoughtful. He’d been slow to return, trailing behind even his brother, and when he found the others gathered around the fire for their meal, he’d planted himself on the opposite side from Emma, leaning against a tree trunk and staring off into the distance. 

Leo glanced at his sister beside him, but her gaze was too fixed on the ground to be natural. He shook his head at the pair—more suited for each other than either of them realized—and he made up his mind.

It only took him a few minutes to set it all in motion, one quick excuse to Emma, a few words exchanged with an ally, and then he formed a tiny lie that his sister would not see through, a request to follow him so they could have space to talk. 

Leo brought her to a stop in an adequate clearing, making note of the exact position and perfect distance from their camp. And then he left, promising to return in a moment. How she fell for that classic trick, he would never understand.

Emma huffed, nudging a few twigs with her foot as she waited impatiently for him to come back. Her annoyance was a petty thing, stemming from his casual greeting upon his return to camp for the night, as if she hadn’t stood waiting in their spot and worrying that something had happened when he didn’t appear as quickly as he had before.

She spun when she heard him approach, only to find her brother towing an unsuspecting Killian behind him.

“Leo?”

“Bloody hell, mate, what are—”

Killian’s words caught in his throat when his eyes landed on Emma, but Leo’s grip didn’t lessen as he brought him to stand in front of his sister. 

“What are you doing?” Emma demanded, crossing her arms.

Leo released his hold on Killian, shooting her a smile. “Well, since I have no room to lock you two into, this will have to do.”

“What?” Killian asked, confusion mingling with his irritation. 

“You two are gonna stay here, alone, until you talk about everything.”

“We’re what?”

“Mate, you can’t possibly—”

Leo raised a hand, and they both fell silent. “Nope. This isn’t just about the two of you anymore. Your yearning looks are getting distracting. So now shut up, stay here, and talk!” he ordered firmly. For good measure, he pushed Emma a bit closer to Killian, and then he scurried away, certainly far too proud of himself. 

Neither spoke nor made any move until the sound of Leo’s footsteps faded into silence.

“I’m so sorry,” Emma said, “I cannot believe him.”

“No, Swan, there’s no need to apologize,” Killian insisted. 

They both shifted uncomfortably, glancing away and into the darkness. A few minutes passed with them unable to so much as look at each other, and then Emma sighed.

“As irritating as my brother is, perhaps he’s right,” she said. “And I suspect that if we go back now, he’s just going to drag us right back out here,” she mumbled, risking a glance at Killian’s face.

“He or my brother will, aye,” Killian replied somewhat bitterly. 

“So maybe we should…talk?” 

Killian’s expression darkened, his jaw ticking. “You needn’t say anything you don’t wish to,” he said, “and your brother or mine certainly shouldn’t be forcing you.”

She sighed, turning to find a seat on a fallen log a few feet away. “But maybe we should talk. If you want to,” she added quickly. 

“Swan…”

“Or I can talk. Or you can walk away, and we can just keep doing whatever it is we’re doing,” she said, her ire rising unjustly. “But I—” A jagged breath nearly choked her. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stand this, Killian.”

His shoulders sagged before he could hide his pain, a mask of resolve settling over his moonlit features. “If my presence distresses you, Captain, I will break my promise and we can part ways.”

Emma shot up, grabbing his hand before she could prevent herself. “No, gods. That’s not what I want. Not even close.”

His eyes searched hers. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice no louder than a whisper. Their hands were still joined, radiating warmth where they touched. 

“I want…” she hesitated, losing herself in his gaze. “I want you to be happy.”

“Swan,” he breathed, desperate and breaking.

“I want you to be safe, I want you to be cared for. I want you to be protected. I want you to never have to face a Black Knight again, but also…I never want to face a Black Knight again without you by my side. I want you to do whatever makes you happy. I want you to do whatever is best for you—and—and Killian, I am absolutely terrified that I’m not what’s best for you.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks, but she made no move to brush them away. “I don’t know if I can give you the happiness I want you to have, the happiness you deserve to have, and I know I can carry on in this war if you aren’t by my side, but even the thought of facing the next sunrise without you there—”

“Emma,” Killian cried, taking her other hand in his. “Emma, please.”

She wished she could take back her tears. Her eyes squeezed shut. “You can go. I can let you go, I swear. I am strong enough, I promise.”

“But I’m not.” 

She blinked away some droplets, inspecting his face for what she hoped to see and what she hoped she wouldn’t. “What?”

He shook his head at himself or his thoughts, dropping onto his knees in front of her. He could do nothing else. “I am so sorry, Your Highness. I have tried to keep my distance, I know I’m not—that I could never be—what you deserve, but I’m not strong enough to let you go. I promised weeks ago that I would never leave your side, but it was not the promise it should have been. I have not followed you solely because you are my captain, my princess, or because you will one day be my queen. 

“I thank the gods every day that you saved my brother and myself from our fate. I have watched you face great evil, I have stood helplessly by as you have buried your sorrow and bravely, regally led us onward. Your cleverness, your tenacity, your abilities with a blade—I cannot count the ways you have impressed me, challenged me, brought hope back to me. It is for all of these reasons but also regardless of them that I love you. 

“So while you are my princess and my captain, and while you do have my loyalty, my allegiance, and my sword, you also have me. My heart is yours, my darling Emma, my Swan Queen. I am yours for as long as you will have me.”

Emma fell to her knees, unable to stand above him a second longer. “Killian,” she murmured, letting go of his hands only so she could hold his face. “I love you.” 

He reached up, his fingers tentative yet imploring at her wrist. “How?”

“What do you mean how?”

“You’re a princess, Swan, and I am nothing.”

She shook her head. “No, Killian. You are absolutely everything. Now please, just—just kiss me.”  

Warmth burst at his touch, at the caress of his mouth against hers, and the world fluttered away into nothing, leaving only them and their lips and their embrace. Her hands moved from his cheeks to bury in his hair, to tease at the nape of his neck, but they were no longer just hands, they were anchors or tethers binding them and their breath and their life—because they weren’t separate, not anymore, not when their hearts beat in tandem and their lips moved together as if they’d always done that, and they were linked, their lives entwined into one perfectly woven thread that was stronger than any enemy they’d ever face. 

They lost themselves in the feeling of truth, in the wonder and beauty of knowing and being known, and when they parted to catch their breath, their arms moved to hold each other close, sealing their promise in the embrace of what could only be True Love.

[adoracora-elizabeth]

But Papa! Why? Chapter 18

Robert was surprised to see Cora was calling him. Was she not well enough to come to work? Last night when he left her place, she seemed to be fine. “Cora?” He answered.

“I need to go to New York, as fast as possible. I am sorry. My Papa…” Cora’s voice broke and Robert could only hear her sob.

Robert clasped his phone with both hands. “Cora? What happened? What is wrong with your father?”

“He is dying. My Papa is dying and I need to go home.” Cora sobbed.

“Wait, what?” Robert had trouble understanding what Cora said. “Where are you? Are you home? I am on my way.”

Robert passed Rosamund’s office. “Something happened with Cora’s father, I have to go to her.” He did not wait for a reaction and rushed to Cora’s house.

+++

“Please call or text me when you arrive in New York.” Robert had booked a flight ticket for Cora while she packed her bag. John drove them to the airport. She had just checked in and was now ready to go through security.

“I hope that I will be on time.” Cora’s voice was soft.

Robert took Cora’s face in his hands and pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Be safe.” He saw tears in Cora’s eyes. “I will be here waiting for you.” He continued.

Cora nodded and whispered a thank you.

He watched how she passed security, her small figure even smaller. How he wished he was going with her. He did not like it, that she was travelling alone. She had been very sick and now was going to lose her father.

He booked her a first-class ticket. This way she had her private little suite on board. Harold would pick her up from the airport, which made Robert feel a little bit at ease, knowing she was with her family the second she stepped outside the airport. He had asked Harold to keep him updated.

+++

“Harold, how is Papa?” Cora said when she saw her brother standing in the arrival hall.

“He is still with us, but we need to hurry. He is waiting for you.” Harold took her suitcase, and with his other hand, he pressed her against him. And started walking to the car. He had used one of the company cars with a driver.

The trip to the hospital felt like ages, but finally, they arrived. Harold gave the driver instructions to bring her suitcase to their family home and then walked to the front doors. “Are you coming?”

Cora felt nervous entering the room. Her father was lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by machines. Her mother sat next to him. His face was peaceful as if he was sleeping. She was happy to see his face without tubes sticking out of his mouth or nose.

“Cora, please say goodbye to your father. He is waiting for you.” Her mother said when Cora stepped closer. Her mother had dark circles under her eyes.

Cora took a seat on the other side of the bed and took her father’s hand in hers. Softly she pressed a kiss on it. “Oh, Papa. I have to thank you for everything. You did so much, and because of you, I am standing where I am right now. Thank you for giving me the chance to explore London and for letting me go.” She felt a soft squeeze in her hand and looked up. “Because of you, I met the most wonderful man, Robert would have made you proud.” That last part she said very close to his ear so her mother would not hear it.

Her father had opened his eyes and gave her a soft smile. “I am proud.” He said almost inaudible.

Cora felt a tear escape her eye. She pressed her father’s hand against her cheek. “I love you, Papa.”

After a long time sitting like this, his hand started to feel heavy but she did not want to let go of him.

Harold touched her shoulder. “Cora, you need to let go. He is gone.”

Cora stared at her father’s face. He was peaceful, it was something that made her feel a little bit better. He had not been anxious and she had told him about Robert. He knew she had found someone.

“Cora, let us go home. We cannot do anything else here.”

It surprised Cora how cold her mother sounded, but she had never shown a lot of emotions. In that regard, she did fit in with the English people. Cora felt her own eyes burn from all the tears, she was the opposite of her mother. Her emotions were always visible.

When they stepped outside, Cora noticed it was already dark. She looked at her clock and saw hours had gone by. She saw a text message from Robert. Her heart melted when she read it.

*In my heart I am with you.*

She looked at his profile picture, a dapper man in a light grey suit. His blue eyes sparkled, she still wondered who he was looking at when this picture was taken. Was it a former girlfriend? Cora took a deep breath before she answered his text.

*My father passed away.*

Tears rolled over her cheeks when she hit send. Harold wrapped his arm over her shoulder and pressed her against his shoulder.

“I am glad you made it in time dear sister.”

Martha turned around in her front seat. “You and Harold will make him proud, I know.”

Cora raised her eyebrows. What did she mean by this comment?

Harold’s grip loosened. “Can we discuss this later?”

Now Cora looked at Harold. “What do we need to discuss?”

“It can wait. Let us first have a good night’s sleep. It was an exhausting day.”

“Who is that man at the gate?” Martha asked, pointing at the gate infront of their house.

Cora tried to look through the window, but she could not see the man clearly. They were too far away.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

If your HOF/Hawke/Inky couldn't romance their usual partners, who would they choose instead?

Oof, this is a hard one.

Tabris/Alistair, Hawke/Anders, and Lavellan/Cullen are such an integral part of my canon run that I can't imagine them romancing anyone else. Like, it feels wrong to imagine them not ending up with their respective partners.

But, for the sake of discussion, I'll do my best to answer.

Rose is probably the hardest one because she and Alistair, and their romance, are so intertwined with everything that happens in DAO that I feel like she'd remain single if he wasn't an option, y'know? Her other options are Leliana and Zevran, and I can't see her going with either of them.

Leliana's sweet and Rose likes her a lot, but she's a little too into the Chantry. That's something I see Rose having a problem with; she's not exactly shy about telling off the mothers, sisters, and templars, or pointing out how they mistreat elves and mages.

Rose and Zevran are friends but I've never viewed him as an option for her; after everything Rose goes through in her origin, his openly sexual nature is just a major turn off for her. He calls her a sex goddess in their first conversation and that's just not it. They don't even start to become friends until after she tells him to stop looking at her that way and he respects her wishes.

Plus, Leliana and Zevran lack the shared experiences of being a warden, Ostagar, having to deal with the blight from the very beginning. That's something only Rose and Alistair have and that's what separates him from the others as a love interest... so yeah, Rose would be single, me thinks.

As for my Hawke, Ed's gay so if he can't be with Anders, his only other option is Fenris. I've romanced him before and enjoyed it, so I think he and Ed could work out... though again, it's a similar problem I have where Ed's relationship with Anders is so crucial because Anders saved Carver's life in the deep roads... y'know, Ed's brother who he cherishes above all else. Kind of a big deal. A huge factor in bringing them together.

Ed and Fenris always worked better as friends but out of everyone, Ed's the one I could actually imagine with someone else.

Finally, there's my Lavellan... once again, Ash ending up with Cullen is a huge deal for the narrative of DAI. I've talked about this before, but how I play DAI is my Lavellan is actually Surana from DAO. She and Cullen knew each other and maaaaaybe had a thing... but because Duncan didn't show up, she escaped the circle with Jowan. After he died, Ash joined the dalish, changed her name, and ended up at the conclave... where she and Cullen reunited and proceeded to have hardcore ex vibes the entire time they're at Haven.

If they decided that they're never getting back together, I think Ash might've ended up with either Josephine or Solas. She views Sera as more of a little sister and a friend. She likes Blackwall but he's not her type. The Iron Bull romance progression doesn't suit her even though she admires his intelligence and strength, she's just not up for a friends with benefits turned romantic relationship.

Ash always craved knowledge, and when she was in the circle, she knew the game that she needed to play in order to survive and come out on top... her pride and inability to see when she's wrong led to her downfall with Jowan. She needs someone who she can challenge and who challenges her, both without backing down, on a variety of topics; she needs an academic, I guess?? But she also needs someone who isn't afraid to humble her. Cullen, Josephine, and Solas all fit this in different ways.

I'm more inclined to push her toward Josephine though... I don't think she would've handled the Solas break up well at all.