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cowboylu · 3 days ago

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I’ll Make You A Believer

Hey…👀 sorry I disappeared forever lmao but here’s this. Also apologies to the anon who had to wait for literally ten business years for this hope you’re doing well xx also if there’s any mistakes or typos pls don’t be afraid to tell me cause I’m so fuckin tired lmao

There’s loud music playing when you step into the cabin, the cabin you and abby share on an old couples ranch in exchange for a few hours of work each day. The sight of her hat on the coatrack, on the hook next to yours, makes you smile and you idly balance yourself by hanging onto her jacket so you can take your spurs off.

You don’t bother with your boots however, and Abby must not have either ‘cause her boots aren’t in their designated place.

It feels good to be back. To be home.

You love working on the ranch, looking after the horses while Abby handles the cattle, even if being a wrangler wasn’t exactly what you ever saw yourself doing. The sunsets and sunrises are the best you’ve ever seen out here and Eleanor and Abraham are sweethearts, always offering tea and cake on the rare occasion you make your way up to the big house. Still though, ain’t nothing like seeing Abby’s boots next to yours.

Ain’t nothing like hanging your jacket on her hook so she’ll put hers on yours.

Ain’t nothing like finding her waiting on the porch for you or vice versa.

Ain’t nothing like coming home to your girl.

�� ོ ☼

When you get closer to the kitchen, you realise the song playing is by that Tyler guy you know she likes, something about following someone to Virginia or Virgie or whatever. Said Tyler guy also coincidentally happens to be the husband of one of your favourite singers.

You're ready to say hi when you round the corner, but the view you're blessed with demands you to take a moment to just look at her.

Her oxblood coloured T-shirt strains over her broad shoulders and it's a little damp from the sweat of the sun. Her blonde braid hangs down between her shoulder blades and the dark fabric of her T-shirt accentuates the stray hairs that have escaped from her braid, bleached lighter by the same sun. Your eyes travel down and back up, her boots, her jeans, the wrangler tag just under her belt and her ass just under that.

Lord...that ass.

If you ever needed proof that god existed, it was proven without argument when you met Abby.

After all, an angel can only be created by something capable of creating perfection...and it's either that or dumb luck.

Either way she's standing in front of you, letting you observe her without even knowing she's being observed. Without trying to be anything but herself.

You don't get to observe much longer though, 'cause her dog hears the creak of the old door jam when you lean against it and barks, startling Abby.

You greet Alice when she stands on her hind legs to put her front paws on your thighs, her way of asking for attention. You grant it, obviously, and smile at Abby when she comes towards you and kisses your cheek.

You stand to your full height and Alice gets the message, going back to where she was sitting on the armchair, giving you the chance to appreciate Abby closer. She's holding a spatula you realise, having completely not noticed what she was doing 'cause you were too focused on her.

"Good afternoon..." You say with a small smile, wrapping your arm around her neck to kiss her properly. "Been missin' you."

"Yeah?" She replies quietly against your lips and the hand not holding the spatula slips into your back pocket. "That's good."

You pull back to look at her and - Jesus Christ-the view is even better from the front. Which is saying something.

Those freckles...those eyes...those lips...that goddamned scar on her cheek that she got after a fight gone wrong in high school...the one that you cleaned footloose style while she lay in the bed of Manny's truck as Nora explained to you how to use paper stitches, god bless her.

The way the bottom of her eyebrows grow up and the tops grow down, the crease between them when she gets confused, the dip in her-

"What're you lookin' at?" She breaks your train of thought with a pretty laugh from her pretty lips.

"I'm so in love with you." You reply completely seriously, still gazing into her eyes like she's a statue that just came to life. In awe.

"Thank god."

Her lips meet yours again and your free hand runs up her arm, feeling her muscles and her warm skin.

She's always warm, even when she's cold.

"I love you too." She whispers against your lips, blindly tossing the spatula onto the counter so she can put both hands on you.

You back her up against the counter as you kiss, your hands on that ass that you love so much, squeezing and feeling and cursing the material of her jeans for being so thick. Even though they make her ass look so good. So good.

Abby pulls away, making you groan, but she rests her beautiful head on your shoulder and pulls you in for a hug, so you can't really complain.

From this angle, you can see the eggs she was frying over her shoulder and you smile when you notice they're burnt to hell.

"You're gonna have to make new eggs."

"Are they burnt?" She murmurs softly into your shoulder and you can hear the smile in her voice.

"Like shit."

"God..." she smiles as she pulls away and turns back to the pan, but you keep a hold of her around her waist, uncaring for the little voice in your head that calls you annoying for it because you like it too much.

You like Abby too much.

It's an hour or so later when you're done with dinner and relaxing in the two chairs on the porch. Alice lies in the dry grass a few feet away and Abby is staring out towards god knows what, but your eyes are on her.

You decide you want her to look at you, and so slowly rub the pointed toe of your boot against the inside of her right knee. She doesn't look, however, just pulls your leg up onto her lap.

You huff.

Her hand slips under your jeans to rub the slightly calloused skin of your own knee, but you want her to look at you. To react to you.

So you tilt your foot forwards and run the toe of your boot over the length of her inner thigh, following the seam of her jeans up and down...up and down, up... down...up, up, up...and down.

Abby's chest rises and stays there, but she still doesn't look at you.

Fuck it.

Your foot hooks around the leg of her chair and you turn her to face you yourself. Your beautiful girl.

"Pay 'tention t'me..." You murmur. "Let me look at you."

Abby sighs and you smile, because she lets it happen. You know she's not someone who does things she doesn't want to. Everyone knows it.

"You're beautiful." You say, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Stop..." for all that she's brilliant at, she's never been good at loving herself.

"Never..."

your foot rests on her chair, right between

her legs, to keep her attention on you with the anticipation.

Abby's eyes dart down to your foot before back at your face and when her pretty lips press together, you know you've got her.

"I wanna look at you forever...touch you forever..."

And with that, you press your boot forward, pressing into the belt buckle that sits on her navel.

She takes a deep breath like before and her hips twitch. Her fingers twitch like she wants to move too, but she's not very sure where to put her hands. The anticipation stops her from moving anyway.

You tilt your toes back and straighten your leg a little so your heel cap catches on the seam of her jeans, right over her clit.

Abby looks at you for permission, a small raise of the start of her eyebrows, and when you nod she tilts her hips to grind on you.

You admire her for a while. The way her own heel digs into the wooden porch and the way her denim stretches over her thighs. Her hips and her stomach and her chest and her collarbones and the muscle in her neck-

Your thoughts are stopped before you can admire Abby's hands and arms and shoulders and the sweat stains that you can just see on the maroon fabric of her T-shirt under her arms when she makes a small noise.

"Fuck..."

Abby exhales and grabs onto your foot, making you pull it away.

"Ah, ah." You interrupt her before she can complain, waiting until she slumps back in the chair to put your foot back on her. Though this time you use the outsole of your boot, under the heel of your shoe.

"Behave."

And behave she does, because Abby stays still and lets you set the pace. Lets you rub her cunt with your foot through her jeans.

Seeing her like this always makes pride swell in your chest. Pride and a sense of protection.

She could fight you for it, but she doesn't. Abby lets you have the control. She wants this. Just as much as you do.

#Spotify #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby x masc!reader #abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x you #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #sub abby #sub!abby

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the-winter-spider · 2 days ago

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Yours, Always | Part Eight

Steve x reader, Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Angst, fluff, little bit of this little bit of that

A/N: Only like 2 more parts of Bucky in the hospital, I just want him home so we can get to the good stuff 😅🤪

Masterpost

---

The door clicks shut, the sound hanging in the silence like an aftershock.

Bucky stares at it for a long moment, like maybe if he looks hard enough, it’ll open again. Like maybe you’ll come back, but you don’t.

His chest feels hollow, his hand still tingling from where yours had been just minutes ago. He swallows hard, then drags his free hand over his face, his fingers trembling against his skin.

Winnie watches him, her gentle, knowing eyes never leaving his face.

She saw it the moment you walked out of the room the way something inside her son cracked. Bucky lets out a slow, shaky breath and in a voice that’s so small, so quiet, he asks “Who’s Steve?”

Winnie’s brows pull together slightly, her lips parting. “What did she tell you?” she asks softly.

“Not much,” Bucky murmurs, his voice tired, strained. He leans back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as his jaw clenches, unclenches.

On an exhale, barely above a whisper “Not much about anything.” His throat bobs, his brows knitting together as his lip quivers, just barely. “Her life isn’t anything like I hoped for,” he admits, the words stinging his tongue like acid.

Winnie’s expression softens, something deep and heartbroken settling in her gaze. “Oh, James,” she whispers, shaking her head. “What did you expect?”

Bucky says nothing. Because he truly doesn't know what he expected but it didn't feel like this.

His jaw tightens, his eyes still glued to the ceiling like if he blinks, if he moves, the pain will swallow him whole.

Winnie lets out a breath, sitting down beside his bed, her hand covering his forearm, grounding him.

“That girl loves you so much,” she says softly. “Her whole world stopped when you were gone.”

Bucky flinches, because he knows he heard it in your voice. Felt it in the way you held him like he might disappear again. Saw it in the way you couldn’t even look at him when you talked about your life.

“She said there was a funeral for me...” he murmurs, his voice barely holding together. Winnie closes her eyes for a moment, as if she can still see it the way you stood at that funeral, hands curled into fists, face vacant, lost, broken beyond words.

“She never really believed it,” Winnie admits. “Not completely. Even when we had to bury an empty casket. Even when they handed me that folded flag. A part of her always thought maybe just maybe you’d find your way home.”

Bucky presses the heel of his hand against his eyes, inhaling sharply. “Who’s Steve?” he asks again, his voice raw this time.

Winnie sighs, her heart aching for him, for you, for all the years that were stolen. “Her husband.”

The air leaves Bucky’s lungs all at once. For a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink, then, he exhales through his nose, sharply, his hand dragging down his face.

“Right.” His voice is flat, unreadable, but Winnie can see it the devastation in his eyes, the way his fingers twitch like he’s trying not to clench his fists.

“He’s a good man,” she continues softly. “He loves her and Y/N, she loves him and Lily too. Maybe not the way she loved…loves you but its there.”

Bucky’s brows pull together slightly. “Lily?”

Winnie hesitates for half a second, gently. “Her daughter.”

Bucky closes his eyes.

And for the first time since he’s been back, since he’s been rescued, since he’s been breathing, since he’s been staring at the ceiling in this goddamn hospital bed, he wishes he hadn’t made it home at all.

Bucky’s entire body goes still. Not just still, paralyzed. His fingers twitch, then curl into the thin hospital blanket, his grip tight like it’s the only thing tethering him to this moment.

“She has a daughter?” The words barely make it out. His voice is hoarse, strangled, like they were ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

Winnie watches him carefully, her lips pressing together before she gives the softest nod. “Not in the way you think, sweetheart.”

Bucky’s throat bobs, his breath uneven.

Winnie’s voice is quiet, steady, filled with something he can’t quite name. “She’s her daughter legally, on paper and in her heart. But she didn’t birth her, that’s all I’m saying. The rest… she’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

Bucky just stares at her, the words should mean something but they don’t sink in.

Not yet, all he can hear…all he can feel is the ache in his chest, the one expanding, consuming, suffocating.

“A daughter,” he repeats, like if he says it enough times, maybe it’ll start making sense.

But it doesn’t.

Because how the fuck is he supposed to make sense of any of this?

Of years stolen, of an empty casket, of a love that never got to be anything more, of a life that kept going without him?

His heart is hammering, his breath is short and vision blurs.

He presses his fingers against his eyes, hard, inhaling sharply, forcing the lump in his throat to stay down, forcing his grief into the cracks of his ribs where no one can see it.

“James.” Winnie’s voice is gentle, but firm.

Like she already knows exactly what’s going through his head, like she knows that in the seconds since she spoke those words, he’s already convinced himself that he should have never come back at all.

“Look at me, baby.”

He doesn’t want to. He knows if he does, he’ll break. Slowly, reluctantly, his eyes meet hers.

They’re the same eyes that used to look at him across the dinner table when he was sixteen.

The same eyes that welcomed you into their family like you were always meant to be there because you were.

The same eyes that had to bury an empty casket and pretend it was enough.

“What did you expect?” Winnie says softly. Her voice isn’t harsh, isn’t cruel but it still feels like a knife between his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know what he expected.

That you’d be waiting? That time would have frozen in his absence, just like he did? That you’d still be his, in some way, any way, even after all this time?

“I…” His voice cracks.

He looks away, shaking his head, running a hand down his face again like it might wake him up from this nightmare.

Winnie sighs, squeezing his arm. “That girl loves you so much, James,” she says. “Her whole world stopped when you were gone.”

Bucky flinches.

“And when she had to start it again, she did the best she could.”

Bucky swallows, staring at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. A broken sound leaves Bucky’s throat.

A breath, a sob, a fucking plea for something he doesn’t even know how to name. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “She deserved better.”

“She deserved you.”

His breath stutters and his jaw clenches.

“James,” Winnie murmurs, rubbing slow circles on his arm. “She made a life for herself. She did what she had to do to keep moving forward but don’t think for a second that it didn’t cost her everything. She lost you, baby. She lost herself right along with you.”

He felt it the second he saw you. The way you looked at him like you’d seen a ghost, the way your hands shook when you held him.

The way your voice cracked when you spoke his name, the way you couldn’t even look him in the eye when you talked about your life, because somewhere deep down, you knew it was never supposed to be like this. None of it was.

Bucky swallows then clears his throat. He tells himself not to ask but he does anyway. “Do you think she’s happy?”

Winnie watches him for a long time.

So long that his stomach twists, turns, knots itself into something unrecognizable. She sighs. “I think she tries to be.”

Bucky nods once. Slowly and quieter than ever. “Does she love him?”

Winnie pauses.

She doesn’t answer right away, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “She loves him the best she can,” she finally says. “And he loves her and she loves that little girl with everything in her.”

Bucky stares at the ceiling, silent and suffocating.

“But,” Winnie continues gently, her voice so soft he almost doesn’t hear it “Not the way she loved you.”

His chest caves in. It doesn’t feel like victory, it doesn’t feel like hope. It feels like a slow, agonizing death, like mourning something that’s still standing right in front of you, like grieving a love that was never given the chance to grow.

“Get some rest, baby,” Winnie whispers, brushing his hair back like she did when he was a kid. “Goodnight my sweet boy.”

He nods absently. “Goodnight Ma.”

---

The night air was cool, wrapping around you like a soft whisper. The sky stretched endlessly above, a dark canvas splattered with stars, the moon casting a soft glow over the riverbank.

You and Bucky lay side by side on an old plaid blanket, the fabric rough against your skin, the scent of pine and damp earth grounding you.

This had been your thing for as long as you could remember. Escaping the noise, the weight of the world, and just… being.

Bucky sighed beside you, his hands resting behind his head, eyes locked on the constellations above.

“Do you ever think about love?” His voice was quiet, but it cut through the stillness.

You turned your head slightly, studying his profile. His features were relaxed, but there was something behind his voice, something careful, hesitant.

“Yeah,” you admitted, turning your gaze back to the stars. “I think about it.”

“What do you think about it?”

You breathed in deeply, the scent of cedar and the lingering smoke from your small fire filling your lungs.

“I don’t know,” you said, voice softer now. “I think it’s rare, especially true love…I think when it’s real, it’s the most powerful thing in the world but I also think it’s messy and complicated.”

Bucky hummed beside you. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence. “Have you ever been in love?”

You froze.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket, your heart hammering against your ribs. You kept your eyes fixed on the sky, but suddenly, the stars didn’t seem so captivating anymore because how do you tell your best friend, your only friend that you’re pretty sure you’re in love with him and you have been since you were eight? You don’t.

You could feel Bucky watching you. “Y/N?”

You wet your lips, swallowing hard. “I…”

And blessedly, cruelly he kept talking. “I am.”

Your breath hitched.

Your stomach twisted, a dull ache spreading through your chest. You forced yourself to breathe, to keep your face neutral, to not let it show.

“Oh?” You managed, your voice painfully even.

He let out a breath, something like a laugh, but it was softer, like he wasn’t sure if it was funny or not. “Yeah. I have been for a while, I thought it would go away if i ignored it but it's not, it's just....stronger."

Your throat tightened as you swallowed the lump caught in your throat.

You thought of Stacy. She was pretty, she was sweet, kind, popular pretty much everything you weren’t and would never be.

She had been hanging off his arm for weeks now, giggling at his jokes, showing up at his locker, touching his shoulder whenever she spoke to him.

You had told yourself it didn’t bother you. That it didn’t matter and you didn’t care.

You inhaled sharply, forcing a small smile. “She’s lucky, then.”

Bucky turned his head to look at you, his brows pulling together slightly. “Huh?”

“Whoever she is.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment.

Until quietly, carefully he did. “Do you think anybody could ever love me?”

Your chest ached.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze in the dark. He looked so vulnerable, so open, like he didn’t even realize it.

“Bucky,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “Any girl would be stupid not to love you.”

Something flickered in his expression. Something unreadable.

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked at you for a long time, too long and he turned back to the stars. “What about unrequited love?”

Your stomach dropped.

“What about it?” you whispered.

“Do you think it’s worse than never loving at all?”

You licked your lips, feeling like you were unraveling.

“Maybe,” you said carefully. “I think it depends.”

“On what?”

You hesitated, your fingers digging into the blanket. “On whether or not the person you love ever really sees you.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I think you’re right.”

The air between you was too heavy now, too thick, filled with words neither of you had the courage to say.

Bucky sat up abruptly, stretching his arms above his head. “C’mon,” he said, his voice suddenly lighter, different. “It’s getting late.”

Just like that, the conversation was over, it was buried.

You let out a breath, blinking up at the sky one last time. The stars were still there but they didn’t look the same anymore.

---

You don’t remember walking through the hospital.

You don’t remember saying goodbye to Winnie, don’t remember the quiet hum of nurses and the faint beeping of machines as you moved through the halls.

It’s all a blur, a haze, a dream that refuses to make sense.

All you know is that one moment, you were in his hospital room, holding onto him like you’d lose him all over again, and the next you’re outside. The cool night air wraps around you, but you barely feel it. Your legs move forward, autopilot taking over, and then you see blonde hair.

Steve, he’s there, he’s always been there, leaning against the rental car, arms crossed, waiting. His eyes land on you immediately, and whatever tension he had melts away when he sees you.

He pushes off the car, his expression softening. Before you even realize what you’re doing, you walk right up to him, straight into his chest. His arms are instantly around you, wrapping you up, pulling you flush against him.

Your breath comes ragged, uneven, as you grip onto the front of his jacket like he’s the only thing keeping you upright and barely above a whisper. “It’s him.”

Steve’s hold tightens.

“It’s really him, Steve. This is real.”

His lips press against your hair, lingering there, warm, reassuring. “It’s real, baby.” His voice is gentle, steady, the kind of calm you desperately need.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing against your cheek, and for the first time since you walked out of Bucky’s room, you exhale.

Steve presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then moves to open the car door for you. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

You nod numbly, stepping into the car, your fingers curling into your lap as Steve shuts the door behind you.

A moment later, he’s in the driver’s seat, keys in the ignition, but he doesn’t start the car right away. He just watches you. You stare straight ahead, completely still, completely silent.

The hospital entrance glows behind the windshield, the weight of it all sinking in, pressing into your ribs, your throat, your lungs.

“Sweetheart.” Steve’s voice pulls you back, but barely.

You blink, finally turning your head to look at him, and the moment your eyes meet his, the dam breaks.

Tears well up, spilling over, and a sob tears through you before you can stop it.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He reaches for you, his palm cradling your cheek, his thumb swiping away the tears just as fast as they fall.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I don’t…”Your breath stumbles. “I don’t know how to feel, I feel, its so much Steve, I...”

Steve exhales slowly, his free hand finding yours, gripping it tight. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight, okay?” he says, his voice calm, certain. “You’re allowed to just… feel it. Process it.”

You nod shakily.

“I was so scared,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I thought…” Your voice breaks. “I thought if I ever saw him again, it wouldn’t be him. That it would be some version of him I wouldn’t recognize.”

Steve nods.

“But it’s him.” You suck in a sharp breath. “It’s Bucky. It’s really him.”

Steve doesn’t speak for a second, softer than ever. “I know.”

He squeezes your hand gently. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You hesitate, because you don’t know what to say. You don’t know where to start, where to end but you do know one thing. “I don’t want to go back to the hotel yet.”

Steve studies you for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

He pulls away, his hand leaving yours just long enough to put the car in drive and as he pulls out of the parking lot, the city lights stretching out ahead of you, you close your eyes.

The city lights flicker past the windows in soft blurs of gold and white as Steve drives, the hum of the engine filling the silence between you.

Your mind is somewhere else.

Somewhere back in that hospital room, somewhere between the past and the present, trying to find a place where they can coexist without breaking you.

Steve’s voice pulls you back. “Lily says she misses you.”

You blink, turning to him. “You talked to her today?”

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I did, she kept asking to see you.”

Something in you softens. “Do you think she’s still awake?”

Steve glances at the clock on the dashboard before huffing a quiet laugh. “Of course, it’s Saturday. She’s probably still watching movies with my mom.”

You hesitate for half a second before reaching for your phone, your fingers trembling just slightly as you hit FaceTime.

It rings once.

Twice.

“Mommy!”

Lily’s beaming face fills the screen, her strawberry blonde curls a wild mess, her little pink pajamas slightly wrinkled. The sight of her is an instant balm to the chaos in your chest.

“Hey, baby.” You smile, your grip on the phone tightening like somehow it’ll bring her closer.

“I miss you,” she pouts, eyes wide, sweet, so full of love.

“I miss you too.”

“Are you coming home tomorrow?”

Your breath catches, because home, your true home is wherever he is, wherever Bucky is and now you have her too and suddenly you don’t even know what that means anymore. “Soon, angel,” you say softly. “I’ll be home soon.”

She tilts her head, studying you the way only a child can. Then, her brows pull together. “Why do you look sad? Why are you crying?”

You exhale slowly, forcing a small smile. “They’re happy tears, Lil. I’m happy.”

She frowns, unconvinced. “Good, you always look sad.”

Your heart clenches.

A sharp, aching twist in your chest. You swallow hard, nodding quickly. “You make me happy.”

She watches you for another second before nodding, her expression softening into something so small, so knowing. “I’m happy that you’re finally happy.”

You feel it like a punch to the gut.

Because when had she noticed? When had she learned to read the sadness on your face like it was written in ink?

Your throat tightens, but you keep your smile steady. “I love you, Lily.”

“I love you more!” she grins.

“Not possible.”

She giggles, covering her face with her hands before peeking out between her fingers. “Good night, Mommy. Good night, Daddy!”

“Good night, baby girl,” Steve says, smiling.

The call ends.

The car is quiet again, but it’s a different kind of quiet now.

You stare down at your phone, your mind circling back to her words, over and over again.

“You always look sad.”

Steve must see the shift in your face because he reaches across the console, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Softer than ever. “Things are gonna change, aren’t they?”

“I'm not sure how much more change I can take.” Your voice, quiet, broken.

---

The air was still warm from the afternoon sun, golden light spilling in through the open kitchen window as the sound of Lily’s laughter echoed from the backyard. She and Sarah were out in the garden, something about finding the “biggest, most beautiful flower ever” to bring inside.

You were standing by the counter, drying dishes while Steve put them away, the two of you working in perfect sync, like you had been doing this forever, in a way, you had.

Steve leaned back against the counter, watching you, his eyes filled with something soft, something warm. “So, I was thinking…”

“That's never good.” You smiled, glancing over at him, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “About?”

“Ha ha, funny.” He breathed out, then he hesitated for a second, running his fingers over the edge of the counter, almost nervous. “About Lily.”

Your stomach did that little flip it always did when he talked about his daughter. “What about her?”

He inhaled deeply, steady, certain. “I want you to adopt her.”

You froze, the dish towel slipped from your hands. “You….what?”

Steve pushed off the counter, stepping closer, close enough that you could feel his warmth, the steady presence that had held you together for so long. “I want you to be her mom, officially. If…if you want to.”

Your chest tightened, your heart slamming against your ribs. “Steve…” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“I mean, you already are,” he continued, rushing now, like he wanted to say everything before you could stop him. “She calls you Mom. You tuck her in at night. You make her lunches and hold her when she cries and tell her stories about mermaids and astronauts and whatever else she’s obsessed with that week.”

His voice is quieter now. “You love her, she loves you..” he swallowed “And if anything happened to me, you’re the only one I’d trust to take care of her.”

Your eyes burned. You did. You loved her so much it terrified you sometimes. “I just…” You wet your lips, blinking fast. “I just don’t know if I have the right…”

Steve’s hands found your arms, gentle but firm, grounding you. “You have every right, Y/N. If you want it.”

You exhaled sharply. “But Natasha…”

“What about her?” His voice was soft, sure.

“She’s her mother, she always will be.”

Steve nodded. “She will and you know what? She would’ve loved you.” His lips curled slightly. “She would’ve been happy knowing Lily had someone like you in her life. That she had you to love her.”

Your breath caught, your throat tightening as you blinked up at him. “You really think that?”

He smiled, warm and certain. “I know it.”

You stared at him, at the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, at the quiet confidence in his voice, like there was no doubt in his mind.

Suddenly, there wasn’t any in yours either. You let out a shaky breath, nodding once, then again, stronger this time. “Okay.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly, his breath catching. “Yeah?”

A small laugh slipped from you, wet and disbelieving. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

Before you could say anything else, Steve had you in his arms.

His grip was tight, almost desperate, like he wanted to hold on forever. You felt his breath against your hair, his heartbeat steady against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too.”

When Lily ran inside a moment later, dirt-streaked and breathless, holding up a flower that was much too big for her little hands, Steve knelt beside her, his eyes shining.

“Hey, baby girl. How do you feel about making it official?”

“You asked her daddy?! She said yes?!” She squealed and threw her arms around you, burying her face in your neck. You knew you’d never be able to live without her being your daughter ever again.

---

The morning air is cool, crisp, the sky a dull gray, mirroring the weight in your chest. Steve pulls the rental car to a stop outside the hospital entrance, shifting into park but not moving to unbuckle just yet.

You exhale, smoothing your hands over your jeans, the fabric cool beneath your palms. Neither of you rush to speak because this is it.

Not forever, not yet, at least but for now. You decided your stay till Bucky heads home, Steve’s heading today.

You finally turn to him, your lips parting slightly, but he’s already looking at you and you see something in his eyes that you don’t quite recognize.

You don’t know what it is but he does. He’s been coming to grips with it for the last few days, and now, sitting here with you, he feels it down to his bones.

He knows how this ends, how you two end because if it were Natasha, if she had somehow come back to him after all these years, after all the mourning, after all the grief he knows exactly what he would do and he knows exactly what you’re going to do. He doesn’t know when it will happen, or if it’ll even be you to do it. He hasn’t decided yet, but for right now he’s going to keep you as long as you’ll let him.

“I don’t have a flight booked yet,” you murmur, forcing a small smile. “But Bucky said he should be getting released soon, so I should be home in a couple of days.”

Steve nods, you don’t notice the flicker of something behind his gaze. The way he’s memorizing this moment, committing it to memory because he knows, this is the last time you’ll say it like that, the last time you’ll consider him…home.

“Take as long as you need,” he says instead, his voice gentle, steady, warm. “Lily and I will be waiting when you’re ready to come home.”

You nod, reaching for his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you,” you whisper.

You wanna say more, say thank you for everything, for understanding, for never holding you back, for never demanding more than what you could give.

He swallows, then lifts his hand to your face, brushing his thumb along your cheek and he looks at you like he’s already mourning you. Like he’s saying goodbye without saying it, like he’s letting you go, even before you’ve made the decision to leave.

But you don’t see it because you still think that maybe, somehow, you can hold both pieces of your life together.

That somehow, this doesn’t have to be a choice, but Steve knows better.

So, he just smiles. “I love you.” He says it like It’s not a question, not a plea, just a fact…one that will always be true, even after this.

You smile back “I love you too.”

Steve nods once, then pulls away, his hand leaving your cheek, his warmth fading as he reaches for the gear shift.

You step out of the car, the door closing softly behind you and as he pulls away, you watch him go, lingering in front of the hospital doors longer than you should.

You step through the hospital doors, the cool air inside a stark contrast to the warmth of the morning sun outside.

You move down the hallway, rounding the corner just as Winnie is walking out of Bucky’s room.

She spots you immediately, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Just in time,” she says, giving your cheek a quick kiss as she passes. “I was just heading to grab some breakfast. I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

You nod, offering a small, tight smile. “See you later, Winnie.”

She squeezes your arm before continuing down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

You take a breath, then another and it still somehow doesn’t feel like enough but you knock lightly on the door before pushing it open.

Bucky is sitting by the window, his good arm resting on the windowsill, staring outside. “Ma, I told you, I’m not hungry.”

You smirk, leaning against the doorway. “Jeez, Buck, it’s only been ten years. Didn’t think I aged that much.”

His body stiffens and faster than you can even register he spins around, eyes wide, disbelieving. “You’re back.”

He’s on you again, his sling is gone now, his left arm still wrapped at the shoulder, but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping both arms around you and you feel it.

His hands, both of them pressing against your back, pulling you flush against him.

You swallow hard, your fingers clutching the back of his shirt. “Of course I’m back,” you murmured into his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. His arms just tighten, holding onto you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I don’t know,” he finally whispers.

You don’t say anything to that, you just let yourself sink into the feeling of him, a feeling that will never be enough, not after all this time apart.

After a moment, the two of you sit down by the window, you pulling another chair beside his. The view outside is nothing special, just the distant skyline, the tops of trees swaying in the breeze, the occasional car moving down the street.

But Bucky stares at it like it’s everything. “One of the things that kept me going,” he says after a moment, voice quiet, distant, “was looking up at the sky.”

You turn to him, watching the way the morning light touches his face.

“No matter where I was, no matter how far away it felt, I kept thinking…” he pauses, swallowing, ”that you were under the same sky. That we weren’t really that far apart after all.”

You squeeze your hands together in your lap, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

You don’t say anything, you don’t think you can.

Bucky turns to you. “Tell me about Steve.”

You freeze, your stomach tightens.

“You mentioned him a couple of times yesterday,” Bucky continues, watching you closely. “And I heard Ma say he was waiting outside for you.”

You nod slowly, your fingers fidgeting with your left hand, the one that should have your ring on it. “He’s my husband.”

Bucky goes still, he knows of course he knows, his Mom already told him but it feels different hearing you say it. It was something he thought maybe, just maybe if he played his cards right you would call him some day but he doesn’t say anything.

You keep going. “He’s… amazing, really. He anchored me, I don’t know where I’d be if he hadn’t…” You shake your head, trying to find the right words.

“Where did you meet?” Bucky asks, his voice calm, steady, unreadable.

“A grief support group.” His brows furrow slightly.

You exhale, looking down at your lap. “He was the first person who really tried with me after I lost you. He didn’t have anybody for the first little bit, either. It was just… us.”

Bucky nods slowly.

He’s trying to picture it. Trying to imagine you, his girl, showing up to a grief support group because of him. Because he left, because he felt like he had something to prove because he felt he would have it all figured out if he just did a couple of tours. Because you thought he was dead, he should have been.

“Steve lost his fiancée,” you continue. “Natasha, she died giving birth to their daughter, Lily.”

Bucky’s head tilts slightly. “Lily?”

You smile softly. “She brought out a kind of joy in me that I hadn’t felt since you.”

Bucky’s chest tightens.

“After a couple of years together, we eloped.”

Bucky stares at you. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You nod, your smile turning a little sad, distant. “Nothing crazy. Nothing big.”

“But you always wanted some big wedding,” he says, almost like he’s confused.

You meet his eyes then and you see the realization settle over him before you even say it. “That was before I lost you.”

Bucky’s mouth opens, then closes and nothing comes out.

Because what the hell is he supposed to say to that?

What is there to say?

You clear your throat, breaking the silence. “After we got married, I legally adopted Lily.”

His brows pull together again.

“She knows about Natasha,” you assure him. “We keep pictures of her all over the house. She knows who her mom is.”

Bucky nods slowly. “You have a family,” he says after a moment.

You nod. “I have a family.”

Bucky inhales deeply, running his hands over his thighs before exhaling slowly.

“Are you happy?”

And without hesitation, it slips out before you have the chance to even think it through. “No.”

Bucky flinches, like the answer actually hurts him. Hewas expecting you to say yes, to tell him that you were fine, that you had moved on, that you had found happiness again.

But you didn’t and he doesn’t know what to do with that. “No?” he echoes, his voice almost uncertain, like maybe he heard you wrong.

You just stare at him. “No.” You take a deep shaky breath looking back at the buildings surrounding the hospital watching the car drive by, you can feel Bucky staring at you waiting “I tried to be, I really did. I have moments where I feel joy but they always get dimmed. I just, my life isn’t what I dreamed it would be, I think that's why.” You pause and in a low voice “I thought about it y'know.”

“Thought about what?” Bucky's voice is soft, gravely, his eyes never left you.

You finally turned to him making eye contact “Ending it all, I almost did it once but I just thought what if you were still out there.”

“Y/N…”

“I know it's heavy and you have enough going on I just, I’m so happy you're here.”

He reached out taking your hand in his squeezing “If you ever, ever think like that again please, I beg you please talk to me.”

You nod, deciding to change the subject your eyes go to his shoulder, the one wrapped up. “What happened Buck? Your Mom says you wont talk.”

Bucky inhales sharply, his fingers twitching where they grip yours, he doesn’t say anything not right away he just stares down at your intertwined hands like maybe if he focuses hard enough, the past ten years will disappear.

Maybe you’ll be kids again, sitting in the back of his truck, dreaming about the future that never came.

He sighs. “Because there’s nothing to say.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s bullshit.”

He smiles slightly at that, the you from before never letting him off the hook that easily.

He watches your eyes drift to his shoulder, wrapped in thick gauze, the skin underneath bruised, raw, healing. “What happened?”

His gaze flickers away for a second and he exhales hard through his nose, his free hand dragging over his face, quietly, reluctantly. “They almost took it.”

Your stomach twists violently. “Took what?”

His lips press into a thin line before he finally looks at you. “My arm.”

A chill crawls down your spine. “Bucky…”

“It happened right before they found us,” he continues, voice flat, almost detached. “We didn’t know help was coming. We thought that was it. We thought we were gonna die in that fucking basement.”

You stiffen, your fingers tightening around his.

“They must have figured out a rescue was close,” Bucky goes on, staring at some invisible spot on the wall. “Because they started executing us. One by one, taking us out before anyone could get to us.”

You stop breathing.

“It was my turn, they went to drag me out,” he says, his voice eerily even.

He huffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Carlos tried to stop them. I told him not to, told him it was too late.”

His throat bobs. “He didn’t listen.”

You can barely keep yourself together.

“Carlos tackled one of them before they could pull the trigger and in the chaos, I got loose… but one of them had a machete.”

Your stomach drops.

“He just started swinging the thing, tried to take my whole arm off. Got through most of my shoulder before the blast happened.”

Your lips part, but no words come out.

“I thought I was dead,” he admits, voice rough, raw. “I thought…I felt myself slipping and then the whole place shook. I woke up in a helicopter with a medic shoving a needle in my neck.”

Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to stifle the sob that’s rising in your throat. “Bucky.”

He finally looks at you. “They saved it,” he says, glancing at his shoulder, at the thick gauze covering the mangled skin beneath. “It’ll never be the same, and it hurts a lot, the nerve damage is irreversible.”

You shake your head, tears burning in your eyes. “But you’re here,” you whisper.

His expression softens, he nods. “I'm here.”

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fictfrenzy · 18 hours ago

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assigning the "batfam"* instruments bc im bored. sidenote idc if you disagree make your own post ^__^

Alfred: French Horn. idk man i almost gave him saxophone but didnt wanna give bruce french horn. so here we are. hes still more of a piano guy but this isnt abt that

Bruce: Saxophone. i think it still works with him! smooth andd cool. works for me, works for him

Barbara: Euphonium. sorry i fucking love the euphonium, its a great instrument. shout out euphonium players. i think it fits barb because its like, deep and Important when its in a piece. usually. and makes great background!

Dick: Trumpet. hes as loud and annoying as one <3 additionally a piece thats on the rougher/faster lol end of the musical spectrum will feel kinda empty without a trumpet.

Cass: Flute. im a flute player + i love cass. the flute is an instrument that you have to really strain to hear in any given piece, which really matches her thing of just Appearing Out of Nowhere. but if you give the flute a solo, it usually slays rly fucking hard, and cass is the same as a character!

Jason: Tuba. he has the vibe of a tuba player. i dont actually know much about the tuba itself, but like its genuinely a rly cool instrument solo or not. and i think that just matches jason

Steph: Clarinet. matches the flute, but still has its own spotlight (in fact usually the favorite instrument of the 2, like goddamn bitch why are there so many clarinets!!!!). I really like how the clarinet sounds in solos, specially some of the lower notes, and i just ghergjhh. matches the flute. stephcass. youre welcome

Tim: Trombone. hes tiny. trombone big. hes probably the type of player to stand/lean on his case. not only is tim being a trombone player comical, but like, i think it works for him. specially given the genre range of the trombone!

Duke: Oboe. matches flute & clarinet (they are my fav trio eat shit & die!!!!), but also has its own theme— i think its quite versatile in the way that a mix of a trombone & a clarinet would be. duke also just has that vibe man idk

Damian: Triangle. "the triangle is the easiest instrument out there!!" "triangle’s so easy" "the triangle is like for little kids" damian decimates three entire audiences with a triangle solo. bows out. the triangle is NOT easy and i fully believe he’d be given the triangle bc of people underestimating him and surprise, surprise, the triangle's quite difficult!!! but not for dami of course, hes gonna excel at it. duh.

anyways. queue clapping. youre welcome

*not everyone, one day maybe !! but i wrote these on a whim during class & could only cover so many people lmao

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silver-rosetta · 2 days ago

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Hopping right on because that result is insane! Not a fan!!

- Jester Lavorre (Her story is very much a coming of age, but I love that she never loses her warmth and creativity as a sign that she's "matured." She's a goddamn ray of sunshine! She loved an arch fey so much that her belief turned him into a god! She loved a lonely antagonist into being one of their biggest allies! She draws dicks on everything! She gave a hag a CUPCAKE. Insane. I love her)

- Max (Everything about her arc in season four drives me INSANE. The grief! The learning how to be open with her friends again! Her friendship with El! I love that their bond is a source of strength between them, I can't wait to see more of it in season five. )

- Alisaie Leveilleur (She is a badass. She's bad at art. She's always bickering with her brother. She saved his life after his stupid plan blew up in his face. She misses her grandfather that saved the world. She (nearly) smacks another character for suggesting a sacrifice play. She's constantly seeking out new ways to commit violence with magic. She has a sword. She's my character's little sister. She's even gay. Teenager of all time)

And then, for characters who use they/them pronouns!

- Delloso de la Rue (They're the event coordinator for the biggest party in the Feywild to exist. They are beautiful. They are insecure about their body. They fall in love with a mud-covered hobgoblin. They are oblivious to the pining of their lifelong friend, who sacrificed everything to be at their side. They can't communicate with either person for the life of them. They're an owlbear. They love peonies.)

- Chaos (The origin of everything. An eldritch being in a game about gods. They learn how to reconnect to their daughter in the first game, then unknowingly put her in immense danger in the second. They were a distant observer in the first, amused by the protagonist's roguelike shenanigans. By the second game, it's personal. They approach everything through the desire to experiment with fate and its outcomes. They have a bajillion faces. They hate small talk.)

Every poll on this blog is about fictional characters only. This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

#polls #that result took my breath away #i HAD to jump on.#Critical Role #Stranger Things #ffxiv #a court of fey and flowers #Hades #shoutout to all the Critical Roll women tbh #it was hard settling on just one... even if Jester's my actual blorbo lmao

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s1eutharchive · 1 year ago

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spent my morning thinking about the beauty of nancy being 'just a normal girl'. no matter what the world around her looks like, whether magic exists or mutants or superheroes and its the regency era or high fantasy, she's always just some girl who is too smart and curious for her own good.

#and i love that about her so goddamn much #feeling emotional about nancy on this fine day hbu #☾ ˙ * ✶ ˗ˏˋ ooc. ˎˊ˗

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dumpster-fire-sapphic-failgirl · 1 year ago

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If Aabria has 1 million fans, I am one of them

If Aabria has 1 thousand fans, I am one of them

If Aabria has 1 hundred fans, I am one of them

If Aabria has 1 fan, it is Brennan Lee Mulligan and I have been killed, please avenge me

#dimension 20 #aabria iyengar #y’all best not be coming for her about system choice or cinematic descriptions or shit like that #because i will fight you #but also that red headed dollop of sunshine and positivity and union solidarity loves and respects tf out of her #and i respect that #burrow's end #burrow’s end is gonna make me cry so goddamn much i bet

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tcustodisart · 9 months ago

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Whenever I drew Connie with a single dandelion behind his ear this scene was playing in my head like wii channel music.

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writingbylee · 3 days ago

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i be here— ready to cheer💕💕

Due to you being blood, Tymon will respect you marrying Elayna should you do so.

OH SHIT???? JOHANNA???

It would also help alleviate the rumors swirling as to why you have yet to marry

just let the man be a little gay goddamn

In the early years after they ended their illicit relationship, he might attribute the joy as ungentlemanly eagerness, despite him being the one to break it off.

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD TYLAND AND JOHANNA LORE OH MY GOD

If he is entirely honest with himself, which he does try to practice given most of Jason's flaws stem from a lack of self-awareness…

um i think i’m obsessed with Tyland? i think i’m in love? how is this happening??? so quickly???

Abrogail and Larys Strong stand amongst the crowd, which is expected given their uncle and niece are arriving.

OOOOOO HEY ABBY!!!!!!!

He slides them as he would beads on an abacus. Later, he shall sort everyone and figure out specifics, but for now, all he needs is numbers.

OBSESSED with this glimpse into Tyland’s psyche and how he both manages and plays the proverbial “game of thrones”

Otto's appraisals tend to be favorable when the subject doesn't back down or flinch.

I LOVE SEEING INTO TYLAND’S MIND OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDD

“I'm heartened to see Lia joining us.”

OOOOOOO HEY LIA!!!!!!

The wheelhouses roll in, the Lannister's first and the Reynes following.

i literally got so caught up in the story that i forgot that i was trying to pull out the bits i liked the most whoopsies

Both behave exactly as they should. Yet Tymon almost smirks as he observes the crowd, his eyes lighting in an almost cruel way, a shark surveying for his next meal. By contrast, Cerelle's cool appraisal, while still an assessment, comes off as more intrigued than anything else. She surveys everyone with an air of excitement.

LOVE this breakdown of how quickly Tyland sees and reads, accurately, the changes in Tymon and Cerelle. such a good look into how Tyland moves those people around his abacus!!

Assuming the worst of family isn't a good look.

fucking TYMON oh my LORD

Perhaps it's best Tymon sees him as useless and aging.

oooooo Tyland’s got your fucking playbook Tymon, get FUCKED

He must speak with Alon anyway. It might be prudent to go out of his way to befriend Alon.

hmmmm would it now👀👀

Tyland instinctively knows Elayna would ruin him were he a younger man.

babe i’m pretty sure she’s gonna ruin now as an older man— but whatever helps you sleep better at night my guy

I AM OBSESSED WITH THE WHOLE SEQUENCE WHERE TYLAND NOTICES THAT ELAYNA MOVES PEOPLE AROUND LIKE HIM. like i literally cannot pull out a favorite line because id just be copy and pasting the entire thing. the joy and nervousness in Tyland as he sees it, betraying him to still be that young man on the inside who is about to be ruined by Elayna. Tyland wanting desperately for Elayna to see it in him as well, and then she DOES. it’s so good. it’s just so good.

Much to his surprise, Cerelle looks at Elayna with a strangely wistful expression, one Tyland is intimately acquainted with.

NOT THE SAPPHIC SADNESS AHHHHHHHHHH

once again got sucked into the story and completely forgot to pull out my favorite bits of text because it’s all just so GOOD

OH MY GOD THE CONVERSATION BETWEEN TYLAND AND ALON!!!!!!! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO HAVE COHERENT THOUGHTS WHEN YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD???????? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO THINK ABOUT ALON’S SICKNESS WHEN IT MAKES ME SO SAD????? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FATHOM THE IDEA OF ALON KNOWING WHAT HE WANTS FOR ELAYNA BUT ALSO KNOWING THAT MUST BE HER CHOICE?????? EVERYTHING ABOUT THAT CONVERSATION MAKES ME WANT TO SCREAM AT THE SKY AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

no coherent thoughts. only Alon and Elayna. and also Tyland.

Wheel of Fortune: The Fool (Emperor, Upright)

Story summary: Elayna Reyne often imagines herself being someone and making a name for herself but only in the way young girls do. Unfortunately, when Elayna makes her way to King's Landing as one of Cerelle Lannister's ladies-in-waiting, Elayna finds dreams come with a price. Chapter summary: The Lannisters and Reynes arrive at King's Landing. Tyland begins the process of sorting and accounting for changes they may cause. Word count: ~6.5k Author's note: I want to thank @writingbylee and @baba-fett because y'all are always some of my biggest cheerleaders. I also want to think @emilykaldwen and @ewanmitchellcrumbs for letting me borrow Abby and Lia respectively. It means so much that y'all trust me with your OCs!!! Masterlist , Previous chapter

My good brother,

I apologize for my lack of letters as of late. Cerelle and Tymon's eight and tenth nameday is almost a moon away, and much preparation is to be done, both for the festivities and for their futures.

Both their father and I agree it is time both come to the Red Keep. We have ensured a place for Cerelle as one of Princess Helaena's ladies-in-waiting. Tymon shan't be staying as long. I bring him merely so he may begin to make more thorough connections. It will be good for both of them, and I trust both of them to take initiative.

I have a favor to ask of you. It is a large ask, but I fear no one else can help me. I would not mention this if it weren't important.

Tymon has taken an interest in Alon's daughter, Elayna. Despite multiple conversations, he cannot be deterred. He is determined to marry her. While the marriage is advantageous on paper, a union between Tymon and Elayna is ill advised. Most marriages learn to work towards a common good. I cannot see the two of them achieving a point of equanimity.

My son is headstrong, as I'm sure you have picked up on from my letters. Normally, this attribute is beneficial, but it isn't in this particular instance. This is where I must ask a favor from you. Tymon will not respect most men. Due to you being blood, Tymon will respect you marrying Elayna should you do so.

Alon shall join us on the trip to King's Landing, and he can speak with you more about this idea. We have conversed about it so this will not come as a surprise to him. Don't take this to mean I do not care for Elayna; I see much potential in her. I have done all I can for her, but the refinement she is in need of is not something I am equipped to deal with. You are in a much better position to do so.

It is an advantageous match. It may help open some of the few doors still closed to you. It would also help alleviate the rumors swirling as to why you have yet to marry. Ordinarily, I don't grant rumors and whispers my attention, but they have turned nasty as of late.

We shall leave in two moons time, not too long after the festivities. It shall be nice to see you again. Your presence is missed here.

Your friend,

Johanna

Tyland reads over the letter once again. The letter is nearly 3 moons old, and he keeps other, more recent, correspondence from her since then, but the contents of this one interest him still. Johanna’s preference for not sugar coating the truth behooves, and occasionally amuses, him. He places it back on his desk and pads over to his study window. The carriages should be there within the next several hours. This shall not be the last time he checks; he is inexorably drawn to the window, waiting and watching, eagerly awaiting Johanna’s arrival.

Tyland no longer feels strange when he sees her. In the early years after they ended their illicit relationship, he might attribute the joy as ungentlemanly eagerness, despite him being the one to break it off. Now, his joy stems from seeing an old friend. Truth be told, Tyland almost prefers her friendship to their scandalous affair. Hiding it still makes him sick with anxiety and worry, the fear of being found out never going away entirely. Distance doesn't always doom love, but it certainly destroys affairs.

In the late hours of the night, Tyland catches himself wondering if Cerelle and Tymon might be his. The others are not, he knows this for a fact. No proof exists, but the thought sticks in his mind.

Tyland sighs. He shakes his head in an attempt to clear it, banish all distractions. He drums his fingers on the windowsill. Johanna rarely asks much of him yet this request sours in his mouth. Perhaps it is the acknowledgement of the rumors as to why he hasn't married yet. Even now, despite everything he has achieved, people gossip about him. The longer he waits, the more people question why. None are so bold as to say directly what they think, but he hears the term “bachelor” thrown around in hushed whispers.

Tyland runs his hands over his face. He should at least get to know Elayna, he supposes. It wouldn't hurt. He looks out his study window once more, pursing his lips together. If he is entirely honest with himself, which he does try to practice given most of Jason's flaws stem from a lack of self-awareness, Tyland hesitates at the idea of giving up his current life. While the constant barrage of letters irritate him, he enjoys the freedom he has. He inhales and slowly exhales.

“I shall give it a chance.” Tyland murmurs.

It would be an advantageous match, both for his family and for himself. Jason's hubris and inattentive nature endangers them; taking advantage of Jason's foibles would be easy if it weren't for Johanna. Marrying the only Reyne daughter strengthens the bonds and takes away any incentive of undermining or rebellion. It also strengthen his position, incentives forward movement, perhaps towards Master of Coins.

Tyland nods.

It isn't a terrible idea. He can't truly judge how good of an idea it is until he meets Elayna, but on paper, it is a fairly solid suggestion, certainly one he'll take under advisement.

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

Tyland stands in the courtyard. The arrival of the Lannisters and Reynes causes buzz, and more people stand with the greeting party than he expects. Despite it not being for him and his family, pride creeps through him and settles in his chest. Abrogail and Larys Strong stand amongst the crowd, which is expected given their uncle and niece are arriving. Queen Alicent and Otto stand among them, again not a surprise due to Otto's first wife being a Reyne as well. Truly, more people stand in attendance than Tyland expects, and the sight raises his spirits significantly.

Tyland rolls Johanna’s suggestion around in his head as he notes who stands in the courtyard and on the steps, each person's ties and allegiance a number in the equation. He slides them as he would beads on an abacus. Later, he shall sort everyone and figure out specifics, but for now, all he needs is numbers.

“I imagine you are excited to see your nephew and nieces.” Otto's voice almost makes Tyland start.

“I am.” Tyland smiles. “I haven't seen them in quite some time.”

Otto nods. He interlaces his fingers behind his back. Tyland watches him, keeping his best blandly happy expression on his face. He doubts Otto suspects anything, and he will not give him a reason.

“I do wish my brother was able to make the journey.” Tyland offers as a way of distraction. It isn't as if he is lying either, he does wish Jason could be here, even if he would be irritated with him before the end of the week.

“It is one of my few regrets I was not able to see my brother and nephews more. Yet I wouldn't change it. The Realm comes first.”

“A sacrifice made in name of the Realm is a worthy one.”

Otto lets out a low noise of agreement. He studies Tyland for a second, gaze cool and appraising, but Tyland stays steadfast. Information is knowledge, and Tyland gleans what he can from watching interactions. Otto's appraisals tend to be favorable when the subject doesn't back down or flinch.

“I'm heartened to see Lia joining us.”

Tyland means what he says, but it is also a self-serving statement. Changing the conversation gives Tyland a chance to breathe, releasing him from Otto's scrutiny for a moment. Few see Tyland for who he truly is. If Otto pays too much attention, he may get a peek behind the carefully crafted façade, which is not exactly what Tyland wants.

Otto doesn't need to know the full extent of Tyland’s ambitions. He doesn't need to know if things go according to plan, Tyland sees himself as Hand within the next decade, perhaps within the next five years if he plays his cards right. Otto is crafty, he surely expects Tyland desires more than Masters of Ships. However, if he sees Tyland as a threat, Tyland will gain no traction.

Better to let Otto think he aims for Master of Coins, a more than respectable position.

“Yes.” Otto turns his head. As he looks at his wife, Tyland swears Otto's jaw softens the slightest amount. He turns his attention back towards the gate. “My understanding is Alon has done much to keep the peace and ease tensions.”

Oh. Tyland tries not to blink. Tensions between the deceased wife's family and the new wife isn't a new issue, he supposes. Alon reaching out shifts dynamics, and if he reaches out to one, he surely reaches out to more. Alon may be in many people's good graces.

A bead on the abacus slides.

Thank the Seven Tyland makes time for people. He fears it may not be enough some days, given how much damage control he must do when Jason comes around, but anything helps. He loathes it, but in his sleepless moments, Tyland wishes he had been given the gift of gab. Not because he likes talking, precisely the opposite; he wishes it came easier to him because it feels so difficult and even tedious, depending on the person.

“Alon is a good man.” Tyland pauses. Oddly enough, he remembers Alon being the one to give him the idea. Not directly, of course, but Alon put the idea in Tyland’s head as an offhanded comment. With his new knowledge of Alon reaching out to Lia, Tyland wonders if it was on purpose.

He could offer the tidbit now, a fact about him that may cause Otto to look at him in a better light, but before he can, a crier catches everyone's attention. The carriages are close. Everyone in the courtyard turns towards the portcullis and gate, the chatter easing into whispers. People shuffle about the area, and Tyland moves instinctively with them as everyone shifts into their respective places. No one moves too far, they more move outward and away from clusters.

The wheelhouses roll in, the Lannister's first and the Reynes following. Tyland watches the wheelhouse eagerly. The closer he gets to seeing his family, the more his body almost vibrates. While he came here with a purpose all those years ago, he still misses his family, even Jason on occasion. He cannot say he misses everyone from Casterly Rock; a good portion of why he left is because of the people. Jason being named heir over him still stings on occasion, and the treatment after absolutely hurts. He consoles himself with his position now, but some damages cannot be undone.

Johanna exits the wheelhouse first. She looks much the same as Tyland remembers, the only sign of the years passing the wrinkles on her face. Tymon and Cerelle both stand taller than Tyland expects. He accounts for some growth, given it'd been several years since he's last laid eyes upon them, but he didn't prepare himself enough. Tymon stands almost as tall as Jason. In stature, he looks much like his father, but his eyes and facial features are more Johanna’s. Cerelle appears much the same as Tymon. Yet as Tyland looks at them, the difference between the two couldn't be plainer.

It's in their eyes.

Both exit with the appropriate amount of decorum. Both behave exactly as they should. Yet Tymon almost smirks as he observes the crowd, his eyes lighting in an almost cruel way, a shark surveying for his next meal. By contrast, Cerelle's cool appraisal, while still an assessment, comes off as more intrigued than anything else. She surveys everyone with an air of excitement. When her eyes land on Tyland, Cerelle smiles. She smiles at him exactly the way she did when she was a young girl, eagerly greeting him and plying him with questions about King's Landing. Tyland smiles softly back.

Otto and Alicent greet Johanna first. Tyland stands back and awaits his turn, content on observing for now. While speaking with Johanna is one of his priorities, it isn't as if another opportunity won't present itself. Besides, if his nearly 20 years of being at court has taught him anything, appearing too eager to speak with someone will not only raise eyebrows but also invite unwanted eavesdroppers when the important conversion occurs.

When Johanna turns away from Otto and Alicent and towards him, Tyland takes his cue. He steps forward.

“Johanna.”

“Tyland.” Johanna’s tone warms up when she addresses him. They step towards each other but remain the appropriate distance apart, although the distance is still much closer than Johanna stands to most. “It is good to see you.”

“ ‘Tis good to see you as well. It has been far too long.”

“Uncle.” Tymon steps forward, hands clasped behind his back. “You look well.”

Were Tyland a fool, he might believe Tymon's words. Unfortunately for Tymon, Tyland was not born yesterday. While Tymon's tone is convincing, he nearly looks through Tyland. Tyland suspects he only doesn't because he is kin.

“Tymon. As do you. You are much taller than I remember.”

Irritation flashes briefly through Tymon's eyes, not true anger but the aggravation of talking with a doddering relative. It hurts for a second, but Tyland pushes past it. While it does sting, being seen as old is to his advantage; Tymon will stay out of his way if he perceives Tyland as useless. Guilt briefly washes over Tyland. Assuming the worst of family isn't a good look.

“Uncle!” Cerelle nearly chirps. She sounds genuine in her greeting unlike her brother. Out of the pair, Cerelle holds a soft spot in Tyland’s heart. He suspects she exploits it on occasion, as young adult are wont to do, but he doesn't mind as much as he should. Cerelle at least has the decency to treat him as family, no matter how long it's been since he's last seen them.

“Cerelle. ‘Tis good to see you. Your mother told me you have good news?”

“I do. ‘Tis very exciting news.” Cerelle nearly beams. Tymon's upper lip twitches.

“We both have exciting news.” Tymon corrects Cerelle.

“And I am at liberty to discuss mine.” Cerelle's matter of fact tone nearly makes Tyland raise an eyebrow. He looks at Johanna out of the corner of his eyes, wondering the exact nature of Tymon's news. Johanna’s displeasure is brief but strong. Tymon must catch it for he smiles, stiff but a smile nonetheless.

“Forgive me. Your news is more pertinent.”

Interesting. Tymon sounds surprisingly sincere, which feels at odds with the knowledge his apology isn't of his own volition. Still, Tyland zeroes in on the slight smirk, a brief twitch of Tymon's lips betraying him.

Perhaps it's best Tymon sees him as useless and aging.

The footman announces the beginning of the Reynes leaving their wheelhouse. Cerelle and Tymon slot themselves neatly beside Johanna and Tyland.

Tyland finds himself waiting with almost baited breath. However long it has been since he's seen his family, it's been much longer since he's seen Lord Reyne. Rumors swirl about Alon's health. Normally, Tyland pays them no heed, but given he has the opportunity to find out for himself, he is a little curious.

Alon demounts.

The rumors clearly come from how Alon looks. Alon stands much taller than most normally, but he almost seems shorter today. Tyland almost raises an eyebrow when he sees Alon with a cane. A quick glance over at Johanna confirms Tyland isn't seeing things; Johanna turns her head at the same time Tyland does and nods when Tyland does lift an eyebrow. She doesn't mouth anything yet her look conveys it all. Johanna shall tell him about it when she gets the chance. Tyland turns his attention back to the wheelhouse.

Hopefully all isn't as it seems. Alon sits at nearly 30 years of ruling Castamere, longer than many live. His death portends changes, no doubt massive ones. Tyland glances over at Otto. Of course, when those changes happen, Tyland will be questioned. He purses his lips together. He must speak with Alon anyway. It might be prudent to go out of his way to befriend Alon. Certainly, he doesn't think it would hurt.

Elayna is next to exit the wheelhouse. When Elayna descends, Tyland’s gaze focuses on her. A quiet feeling builds within his gut. Without speaking a word to her, Tyland instinctively knows Elayna would ruin him were he a younger man. She's gorgeous, and the way she carries herself makes it clear she is aware of this fact. Watching her brings memories of the women his age at Casterly Rock, the ones who marry early because many sought them out.

She surveys the crowd with an air of nervousness and excitement in equal measure, but Tyland sees a quiet coldness lurking beneath the surface. It's in her eyes. They're wide with awe yet it isn't fixed. When her eyes move from person to person, the awe and apprehension slip, not overt enough most would notice but enough Tyland notes it. The look is no longer alarming but almost familiar, stirring a sense of recognition within him.

Elayna counts. Elayna counts like him.

Elayna sits with her own abacus, pulling the people along the track into where she thinks they belong. Obviously, others do the same. Sitting on the Small Council gives Tyland a perfect view of how many people scheme and plot here, but they move people differently than him. Tyland stares at Elayna for a moment, waiting for the expression to return. Words aren't his speciality, numbers are, meaning he couldn't explain why he recognizes she moves people like him, at least on the initial step. Yet he feels it within his bones and chest, sensation spreading from his heart and disseminating outward, she's like him.

Still, the worry from earlier gnaws at him, tempering his elation. Her counting is merely the first step, how she sorts and what she does are two different steps entirely. As surely as he recognizes Elayna is like him, he also sees the differences begin. Being wanted by others sets them apart. Tyland hears of it happening every year, how young men and women who are desired become different once they realize the hold they have over others.

“Don't let her smile fool you.” Tymon's voice nearly makes Tyland jump. He realizes, rather belated, he was staring at Elayna. Tyland turns his head. Tymon keeps his gaze forward. “She may seem friendly, but I assure you, she is not.”

“Oh?” Tyland arches an eyebrow.

“Yes. I made the mistake of befriending Elayna before I truly got to know her, and while Lord Reyne is content with his position, his daughter strives for more. If you understand my meaning.” Tymon sniffs. “I don't like using the word ambitious towards women because it seems... ugly.”

It seems Johanna wasn't exaggerating in her letter. Tyland merely nods.

“I see.”

What can he say to such a statement? Tymon presses his lips together. He stares at Alon and Elayna, watching intently as both Queen Alicent and Otto greet them. Tymon exhales after a long minute. His fingers flex against his sides.

“Cerelle will corroborate.”

Of course Tyland gazes at Cerelle, intent on gauging her reaction. Much to his surprise, Cerelle looks at Elayna with a strangely wistful expression, one Tyland is intimately acquainted with. Cerelle clears her throat.

“Perhaps we should speak with others. I don't wish to monopolize your time, Uncle.” Cerelle's mask falls perfectly into place, an excited young girl once more. Tyland turns towards Johanna.

“Shall we have supper together? Tomorrow night?”

Tyland offers not only out of politeness but also curiosity. It gives him an excuse to pry and find out more, unearth the history clearly at play here. Besides, Johanna will no doubt want to speak with him as soon as possible. Johanna dips her head.

“Yes. That would be nice.”

The three of them move towards the next group. Tyland presses his lips together. Already, he must exchange his abacus for a more useful instrument. These new pieces of information cannot be slid, he must analyze them.

The sound of a cane on stone makes him turn. Alon and Elayna approach him, Ryman lingering behind them.

“Ser Tyland. It has been quite some time.”

“Lord Reyne. It has indeed.”

“This is my daughter, Elayna.” Alon gestures to Elayna. Elayna curtsies. Tyland dips his head in response. When she stands once more, their eyes meet. Tyland waits with baited breath for a sign, an indication, she recognizes they are alike in some manner. The hope is juvenile, a fleeting and foolish emotion, but it burns within him.

He sees it. Tyland’s eyes catch hers as she appraises him. Her eyes widen, guilt crossing her face. Tyland smiles, not for politeness sake but to ease her worries. Elayna blinks. He almost sees her breath catch in her throat and then release, shoulders dropping a fraction. The recognition creeps into her hazel eyes. Tyland’s heart speeds up.

“It is an honor to meet you. Lady Johanna speaks very highly of you.”

Elayna's voice is lower pitched than he expects but not unpleasantly so. Quite the opposite, in fact. Much to his surprise, he hears more of a Castamere accent than a Casterly Rock one, and it sends a small bit of warmth through his body.

“I'm heartened to hear that.” Tyland murmurs. “She has spoke of you to me as well. She says you've been an excellent friend to my niece.”

Elayna positively beams at his words. A strange ache forms within Tyland’s chest at the sight and blooms outward, filling him with a pleasant, almost buzzing, sensation. The corners of his lips lift, curling into a small smile in response.

"You flatter me.” Elayna tucks a stray strand of hair back into her braid. She looks at him from beneath her eyelashes for the briefest of seconds.

“I speak the truth.”

Elayna grins. She ducks her head in an attempt to hide it. Alon gently clears his throat. The throat clear is meant for Elayna, and she straightens up at it. Still, her smile remains. It sends blossoming warmth through his entire body. Alon steps forward.

“When you have the chance, I should like to catch up more fully with you.” Alon keeps his voice low. Elayna stays back a pace, but her head turns towards her father, clearly wanting to know what he's saying. Tyland nods.

“Of course. If your travels were not too strenuous, perhaps we can do so this afternoon?” Johanna’s letter tells him what she wants from him but Alon's intent remains a mystery. This piece of information means he can better approach what Johanna asks of him.

“That sounds excellent to me.” Alon nods, lifting his cane slightly and rapping it on the ground. “Perhaps we can meet while the girls settle in? It will take me less time to get comfortable.”

“I have some work I must do, but once it is done, I shall let you know.”

“Excellent.” Alon steps back. “I shall see you later today then.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Ser Tyland.” Elayna curtsies.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Elayna's eyes light up with delight, her cheeks turning slightly pink. Pride surges through Tyland. Her reaction is genuine, and the realization makes his head spin slightly. Jason gets those sorts of reactions, never him. Alon begins walking, and Elayna dutifully follows, keeping close to his elbow.

A squeal of delight interrupts his reverie. He turns. Elayna steps away from Alon as Abrogail runs towards her. The cousins meet in the middle, both of them eagerly clasping the other's forearm. They chatter excitedly. Alon shakes his head, but even from behind, Tyland senses it's a fond head shake. He turns his attention towards the cousins.

He studies them closely. Abrogail and Prince Aegon are close, close enough people talk. He suspects within the next two or three years, the idea of marriage between the two will surface. Even if it doesn't, it's obvious Abby will always have Aegon's ear, whether she is aware of it or not.

If Elayna and Abby remain close, then Elayna may have an indirect line to Aegon. While Viserys still lives, Rhaenyra sits as heir, but all her legitimacy dies in the eyes of the Small Council when Viserys does. None of them speak it outright yet moves are made every day for this inevitability. A line to the future King would never hurt. Certainly, it would aid Tyland’s ten year plan.

Another bead slides.

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

His brief conversation with Elayna lingers in his mind as he goes about his duties the rest of the day.

Several fruitless hours pass.

Tyland stares at the ledger in front of him. Ordinarily, he distracts himself after an important conversation, finding he gains more after he gives himself time. Reviewing a conversation too soon leads to obsessing over what was said and unsaid, which, ironically, means he misses the key points because he bogs himself down in the minutiae. Yet he cannot think of anything else. All he pictures is Elayna's smile.

Maybe this is beneficial. Meeting her does change how he views Johanna’s letter. He is only a man; bright eyes, a pretty smile, and sincere flattery do work wonders. However, as much as he is taken with Elayna's appearance, and he is taken he cannot deny it, he keeps the warnings in mind as well. More accurately, Tyland reminds himself of Johanna’s words, not Tymon's.

Tymon may be blood, but blood doesn't guarantee brains. Tymon's youth also factors in Tyland’s opinions. Tymon is barely ten and eight, what can he possibly know? Tyland isn't entirely unsympathetic, truly. He remembers what it was like when he came to King's Landing, only ten and nine, a year older than Tymon. Tyland winces softly as a particularly embarrassing memory comes forward.

Tyland sighs. After a second, he caves to his desires and rubs small circles on his temple, even though it won't alleviate the pressure. Of course, it cannot be simple. Nothing directly involving him ever can be, despite his best efforts. He rests his hands on the table in front of him, careful of the ink in the ledger. After a moment, he exhales and looks towards the ceiling.

No answers come. No divine inspiration strikes. No help in any shape arrives. Tyland closes his eyes. Once again, he must come up with his own solutions and deliver himself.

Speaking with Alon is a start. Tyland opens his eyes, nodding softly. All he needs is a starting place. While he loathes not having a concrete plan of action, it makes him quite literally itch on occasion, he doesn't have enough information for a plan. He needs cursory research, and meeting with Alon provides it.

Tyland gathers himself. At supper, he shall glean more information, learn what he can. A single stray tidbit may aid his cause and center him, give him direction and purpose. The meeting with Alon will be of tremendous help; knowing Alon's plan will, at the very least, give him a bargain chip.

Tyland stands up, closing the ledger. Surely Alon is settled by now. He could wait, he supposes, but the thought doesn't sit right within him.

The walk to Alon's apartments doesn't take him as long as he expects. Alon’s position gives him a more than decent apartment, so Tyland doesn't have far to travel.

Alon greets him cordially. He stands without aid but stays close to the wall. Weariness clings to him like a coat. Without the pressure of presentations and greeting, Alon relaxes. Tyland notes the bags under Alon's eyes and the slight discomfort and stiffness in his posture.

“Ser Tyland.”

“Lord Reyne. I hope I'm not disturbing you.” Tyland pauses. “If you are not quite settled in yet, I don't mind speaking at a later time. We do not have to make time now.”

He does mind. Alon’s condition is the reason he offers. Alon shakes his head almost vehemently.

“Nonsense. I will always make time for those from home. Certainly, I shall make time for an esteemed member of the Small Council.” He steps aside, and Tyland enters.

“How are you finding things here? Are they as you remember when you were younger?”

Alon shakes his head, letting out a soft laugh.

“Things are quite... different. I don't recall the Faith of the Seven having as much hold, but. My memory may be failing me in my old age.” Alon keeps his face impassive and schooled, but a slight glimmer in his eyes betrays him. Tyland lowers his head and presses his lips together in a bid to keep his expression neutral.

“My memory must be failing me as well then.”

A hiccup of a laugh escapes Alon, lips twitching. He presses them together. The barely suppressed grin betrays him trying not to laugh. After a moment, he clears his throat. Warm civility falls naturally into place.

“Prithee, come in. Have a seat.” Alon gestures towards the main room of the apartment. Tyland steps forward and further into the space. Despite it being early in Alon's stay, Tyland glances around the area. Living spaces often tell much about a person. A book case catches his attention. It stands mostly empty except for several books on the top shelf. They're old and worn, not doubt memorized from how many times they've been read.

“ ‘Tis actually fortuitous you came by. I was about to come speak with you myself.” Tyland turns his attention back to Alon. Alon gestures towards one of the highball chairs. Tyland takes a seat, Alon following and sitting in the chair across from him.

“Yes. I am sorry about the delay. Several matters were more complicated than I thought initially.”

“I figured as much. As Master of Ships, you must be busy.”

Tyland nearly preens at the mention of his title. He is but a man, and while he pretends otherwise, flattery and recognition of his status do grease the wheels. He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter.

“You said you wished to speak with me?” Tyland settles his hands in his lap.

“I did.” Alon dips his head. “ ‘Tis about my daughter.”

“I see. Johanna said you might wish to speak about Elayna.”

“Did she now?” Alon raises an eyebrow. Tyland tries his best not to swallow or stumble.

“Nothing bad. She merely suggested it. She seems to think I might be of use. I actually wanted to speak with you myself about it so I may know more.” Tyland watches Alon carefully. “She did not elaborate much on the issue. Out of deference to you, I assume.”

“Johanna is very proactive. I do wish she had informed me she was writing you. To answer your question, we both wanted to talk to you about Elayna's future.” Alon stops. He presses his lips together as he carefully selects his next sentence. “I need someone to watch Elayna while she is here. Someone who will keep her on the right path.”

Alon opens his mouth and then stops. A brief look of concern crosses his face before a loud, harsh cough escapes him. The sound comes from deep within his throat, and Tyland leans forward, ready to call a Maester at any moment. Alon manages to reach for his drink with unsteady hands. As he does, his sleeve falls down his arm some, revealing dark and angry bruises. Tyland’s eyes flick from the bruising to Alon's face. Alon drinks deeply and greedily before setting down his goblet. When Alon lowers the goblet, Tyland catches the smell of the concoction, heart dropping some at the implications. The look must show on his face for Alon sighs.

“I bruise rather easily these days. ‘Tis no one's fault but my own.”

“You should have the maesters take a look at them.” Tyland frowns. Alon waves him away.

“The maesters have more important people to attend to.” Despite Tyland’s position, the authority in Alon's voice keeps his mouth shut. Tyland leans back in the chair. Alon coughs once more, this one not as violent. He clears his throat after, the look of irritation on his face one Tyland understands.

"I know it is a lot to ask. But I would not ask if it wasn't important.” Alon's voice comes out strained. Tyland leans forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs.

"Your illness has progressed, hasn't it?"

Between the strong herbal stench coming from Alon's drink and the loss of vitality, Tyland feels confident in what the answer will be. Alon’s frail state all but confirms his suspicions. Still, he needs to hear it from Alon. Alon presses his lips together. He looks away for a moment before letting out a sigh.

"The maesters say I will be lucky if I see next summer." He scoffs. "They know much, but I know my body and my will better than them. I have two more winters in me." He turns his attention back to Tyland. "Two winters isn't as much as I would like. I need to ensure Elayna's security before then. You're the only one I trust to treat her properly.”

Tyland blinks. He pauses and then clears his throat. As Alon's only daughter, Alon is always fiercely protective of Elayna. Pride swells within him but doesn't go far as his brain recalls Johanna’s letter. Alon isn't putting forth a betrothal but mentorship.

“If it is truly so much of a-”

“No!” Tyland pauses. “No, I mean. Yes. Yes, I will watch her, it would not be a burden. I merely...” Tyland stops. He tries collecting his words. Alon raises an eyebrow in vague amusement. “Why ask me? Would it not make more sense to betroth her to someone and have them ensure her safety?”

Alon dips his head. He presses his lips together and drums his fingers on his lap for a second. Eventually, he gathers the correct words.

“ ‘Tis hard to explain to someone without children, but. No matter how well you treat them and try to do what's best for them. Occasionally, instead of doing right by them, you wrong them. I fear I err'ed in my judgement. It was what was best at the time yet I don't find solace in that knowledge. I... I do not wish for Elayna's last memories of me to be me doing wrong by her again.”

Alon's voice cracks, tears welling up in his eyes. A surge of panic briefly overtakes Tyland. Should he... does he comfort Alon or avert his eyes and pretend he never saw? Alon sighs. He closes his eyes, and when he reopens them, clears his throat. Full dignity and determination return to his voice, an even keel once more.

“She is prideful and stubborn, which means finding her a lord husband is no easy task. Too many men see a difficult woman and see something either to be tamed or broken. My daughter will not receive the same treatment as an errant horse. I also know if she doesn't want to do something, she will make it quite difficult.” He lets out a dry laugh. “She comes by it honestly. Her sin is my sin. It must be her decision, or at least appear to be her decision.”

Alon fixes Tyland with a look piercing into Tyland’s very soul. His green eyes see through Tyland's physical body and into his character. Instead of shrinking back, Tyland meets him evenly. He keeps his gaze on Alon's, unblinking. Whatever Alon seeks, he shall not find it in a man who shrinks before him; Tyland shall meet Alon where he stands. Alon nods and blinks once, the silent and wordless approval sending a rush of pride and euphoria through Tyland.

“I know we haven't spoken in many years, but you would not be where you are if you weren't patient and reasonable. Elayna needs a guiding hand. I trust you. I trust you to keep her even keeled, and I trust you to give her sound advice. I don't want someone with their own ambitions clouding her judgement. She has enough of them on her own.”

This time, Tyland allows himself to preen. His chest puffs out slightly, and he lifts his head a little higher. His spine softly cracks as he sits up a little straighter.

“I appreciate your words.” He murmurs, attempting to downplay his reaction. Alon’s eyes sparkle.

“I speak only the truth.”

Tyland clears his throat. Alon’s praise feels genuine, and for once in his life, Tyland isn't sure what to do. He falls back onto the tried and true scripts.

“I am honored you asked me. I shall ensure Elayna makes the best decisions.”

“Excellent.” Alon smiles. It's a genuine smile, full of warmth and appreciation. “It should not be too difficult. I also asked Lia to keep an eye on Elayna as well for when Johanna returns to Casterly Rock.”

Tyland leans forward despite himself. He arches an eyebrow.

“Lia?”

“Yes.”

“I'm not sure I follow your logic.” Tyland tilts his head slightly. Alon’s eyes glitter.

“You are more than suited to guide Elayna through most of the political world, but parts of it neither you nor I can teach. And as much as I respect Lady Johanna, her politics are more suited to Casterly Rock.”

Tyland takes a moment, absorbing Alon's words. It makes sense. Tyland can help guide Elayna through certain decisions based on what he knows about the people around him, but she would need another woman's help when it comes to balancing the heart with reality. Slowly, Tyland sits upright. He nods, an impressed expression slipping onto his face. Alon continuously surprises him.

“I must confess. I never would have thought of that.”

“ ‘Tis my job as a father to think of these things.” Alon smiles at the compliment nevertheless.

“I'm sure she appreciates it.” Tyland murmurs. He watches more weariness seep into Alon's being. Alon coughs again, this one not as severe as earlier but nevertheless painful. He clears his throat.

“I am sorry to say this, but I fear my travels are finally catching up to me.” Alon's voice comes out a bit strained and weak, a bit of exhaustion creeping into it.

“I understand. It is long trip.” Tyland stands slowly. Alon starts as well, but Tyland stops him. “You need your rest. I can see myself out.”

#fic rec #reblog fic!!#other people's ocs #oc: elayna reyne #oc: alon reyne #PERSE #GAH #AH #AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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