#he ​pulls out the full name because once an angry father always an angry father

[arthur-lesters-right-arm]

I think this divorce will finally be the one where Arthur demeaningly refers to John as Johnathan

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Konnection ||

Pairing: Dragon Shifter!Ari | Drakaina Shifter!You.

Trope: You hate his guts and he loves it aka my favorite.

Description: You are a bratty little Drakaina. And do you know what happens to them? They get disciplined. By their Dragons.

Warning(s): Dubcon (just to be safe), smut with plot, chase kink, shifter couple, you straight up hate Ari, power imbalance, age gap, he's a warlord, size kink (gone wild), infantilization, humiliation, ass play (not his dick), his cock is too big, degradation, spanking, manhandling, hair pulling, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, doggy style, allusions to exhibitionist stuff, angry Ari, Daddy kink, he treats you like a kid and calls you one, cum play, brat taming, boob play, minor overstimulation, fear kink-ish. MDNI.

Note: I had so much fun writing this lmfao. Pissing off scary men so they can fuck me up hell yeah! Unedited because it's late and I am tired but I want to see something. Let me know if you liked it, thank you <3 

MASTERLIST 

. . .

You have always done whatever you please. Restraint and denial aren't— or rather, weren't concepts you were familiar with before you caught the eye of the tyrannical brute named Ari Levinson. It did not help that your stupid and treacherous spirit reached out to his when your eyes locked with his electric blue ones for the first time and konnected with him before you could stop it. As if Ari is not rich enough with his generational wealth and noble family, the fact that he leads the Military Legion of the Draconic Empire you belong to hence all the real power doesn't help your case. 

You hear a deep growl behind you and you angrily flap your shiny crimson scaled and gold streaked wings. They are miniature when compared to his colossal black ones that are scaled a dark teal and streaked silver. The sound of them cutting through the air as he chases your tiny form through the sky is so heavy that it puts strain on your eardrums, their enormous size causing actual turbulence in the air itself. 

Ari is a warlord and his Dragon form a battle hardened, much experienced arsenal full of tricks, infinite strength and agility and much training. You know you don't stand a chance against him, you didn't when you angrily transformed when he was about to put the band of his claim around your neck during your betrothal ceremony and you won't even if you by some miracle grow into his size all of a sudden. But his smug smile had been too much for you to handle, the lewd whistling and remarks of his filthy fellows only making it worse. You had confessed to him in a letter that you didn't want to marry him and you wished to revoke the konnection, you had always been clear about not mating in the Draconic way, and you did not want to marry anyone, least of all a filthy wardog covered in mane like some earthly animal. 

The thought makes you sick to your stomach. 

You hate your family for putting you through this. Not that you have any faith in Ari's decency to think that if your father had refused your hand to him he would have taken it as an answer, you still resent how your parents and other family members jumped upon the opportunity to serve you up on a gold platter just because a Levinson asked for your hand in marriage. 

You feel the sky tremble again. He is growling a warning to you. It is a prompt for you to stop and know better. To help yourself while you still can. Save yourself before things become irreversibly complicated. 

But you wouldn't be you if you weren't stupidly stubborn and childish. 

And so you spin midair and wheeze out angry smoke before you burst out the most scorching fire you can muster out right at Ari. Of course, the range and intensity is inadequate. The brute is too big and hard. You huff out and dash downwards and out of his grip because he reaches you at once, his already cunning Dragon features not looking too impressed with you. You chuckle as you go fly in the other direction, thinking you have fooled the assholic mass of scale, muscle and tyranny.

But alas! 

Your eyes widen and your mind doesn't comprehend it at first. It happens much too fast for both your perception and expectation to understand. And by the time you catch on, Ari's claw that easily holds you like a toy is tossing you on a mountaintop like you're nothing more serious than a doll before he deescalates himself on top of you and you gasp, your pearly beige wings darting to shield your eyes from what you suspect will be the crushing of your body under the brute's. 

“Shift.” You know not how he does it but the beast crash-lands against the ground with such force that the whole mountain shakes from the weight of his anger and yet he doesn't hit you. Dust clouds erupt all around you and you cough, squinting your eyes as you peek up at him from behind your wings to find he has surrounded you in the curtains of his own to shield you from the change in environment as your body lies between his claws and he glares down at you with his electric blue. 

You whimper and feel your jaw twitch as your lips tremble. Your forehead aches and you feel your eyebrows raising in an obtuse angle as a reaction to your condition. Ari— or rather, his form is titanous as he looks over you like the shadow of destruction, the air that his flared nostrils angrily exhale out fanning the entirety of your tiny form. You feel yourself beginning to break, anger giving way to regret and better sense scold your impulse. But then—

“Right now.” He emphasizes on his previous words and you hear an actual snap in your head before you feel your eyes blaze with anger. 

“Nu.” There is an unreadable shift in his harsh gaze for a few moments as he just watches you, wordless. Did you, a foolish little girl from a family of humble means, tell him; Ari Levinson, who has been nothing but generous to you despite your constant displays of dimwittedness, no? 

“I will not repeat myself.” To someone not belonging to your species, your conversation would seem like soundless mouthing for the pitch your kind uses in this form is inaudible to lower life forms. But you hear his threat loud and clear. 

“Yur nut the boss o' mee!” You owe the lisping and baby-like voice to your tiny form. Although it's normal for Drakainas to be smaller than Dragons, their smaller size comes with speed, a feminine cunning, sharper claws, short ranged but molten breath and expendability. But it seems in your case that when the sun was granting his children, your kind, their abilities, you were knocked out somewhere with a food induced coma. 

Though Ari has had enough encounters with you to know better, he still stops to stare at you; your unwavering foolishness. Are you, something so defenseless and vulnerable against him, seriously saying that to him when he is already so angry?

You stupidly gain confidence in the wake of his disbelieving silence. When you should be quiet, submissive and apologetic, you instead push yourself off the ground with the v-shaped mid joint of one of your wings and use the other one to wipe your eyes clean of their glaze. Your claws ball into tiny fists and you huff up at the mountain of a Dragon, pouting from how your nape hurts when you do. 

“Ugh, I tuld yu I din wan' marry yu, yu dumby brute!” You jump up with the use of your hind legs so you can bang your miniature fists on his firm chest protestingly. “Hate yu, hate yu, hate yu! Leamme!” You give him a smash with each word, glaring up at him like you're in any position to. “Dun wanna—!”

Ari is in actual disbelief of your sheer audacity as he stops his mouth from falling open simply because he is not used to this. If anything, he is a foreigner to this attitude being directed at him. Because do you even realize just how monumentally fucked you are?

“You either shift and make it somewhat easy for yourself,” you gasp and slip back onto your ass with a gulp when he lowers his great head to put emphasis on his words. “Or I rip your petulant little kiddy ass open as is.” Your eyes widen when you feel the tip of his monstrous form graze against your small leg. 

Fuck.

His Dragon cock alone is bigger than your whole Drakaina form.

There is something about the murderous glint in his electric blue eyes that finally makes you cease your race with reason and you let it infuse with you. 

Your body reacts before your mind can even form the intent of obeying him and you pout softly. Your traitorous little desperate soul and the damned konnection! 

“Oh, no…” Your speech returns to you as your body begins to shift and from the baby dragon form emerges a fully developed young woman. 

Exactly what he likes. 

“Oh, yes.” There is a deafening crack in the air before bright light hits your darkness accustomed eyes and you wince before bringing a hand to them for protection as you wince from the overflow of sensory data. 

“S- Stay back!” You warn and hop backwards as though you're still on your haunches. It'll take you a bit to readjust to your human form. It's not very common except for cases like weak Drakainas like yourself. 

Ari's cock is an angry red as it curves against his stomach. The sight makes you gulp and his not being bothered about it only makes it worse. Not that you mind being in your natural state too much, but right now you feel so exposed and vulnerable under his electric glare that you can't help but hug yourself. 

“You're only making it harder for yourself, kid.” 

“I am telling you, stay—” you quickly bend down to pick up a rock before you hurl it at him. “Stay back!” Ari turns sideways and his long hair flops along. When he turns to look at you, a crimson little cut glints in the sunlight for just a millisecond before his skin naturally comes together and closes on itself. 

Of course. 

“Ugh! I don't like you! Why don't you get it!” Your fists are balled at your sides as you huff and puff. 

The man only sighs as he closes in on you. 

“I swear— ah!” You scream as your foot slips off the edge and your body goes to tumble down, arms flailing about but before anything devastating can happen, a rough grip on your hair catches you and drags you back onto the ground. “Oh m- my—” he doesn't let you recover from your shock.

“Stupid and petulant girls like yourself never know what's good for them” you pout and whimper as your hair goes to cup over his that is holding your hair tight. “That is why they need someone to show them what's good for them” you jump like an animated character with a cartoon-like noise when his free hand swings through the air to crack against your ass. 

“Ow! Oh!” Ari doesn't stop. As he walks you back to the middle of the mountaintop with your feet barely touching the ground because of how he holds you, he cruelly warms your ass up until it's flushing a humiliating shade of red. “Stop! You brute!” You bounce on your toes as you try to dodge him by swinging yourself left and right but to no avail, Ari is too fast and his range is too great. 

“You don't say that when you fuck yourself stupid on my cock and cry like a little kid who is getting handled by their Daddy” your blood runs cold as the feeling of his words calling you out like a splash of ice cold water. 

Okay. 

Maybe your weakness got the best of you one or two times. 

Or a couple.

But that's not the point!

It's his fault, he's the manipulative tyrant! 

“I— ow!” You cry again because his assault on your ass is unceasing. “I— I've no idea what you mean, meanie!” He scoffs as he places you on your soles so he can bend you over to target your sitspots. 

“I am sure.” Your body rocks forward with his beastly hits. Your ass is stinging and you're sure he has blistered it with his stupid warlord hands. “Now get your tail out.” The humiliation makes you want to throw up. Cold sweat threatens to drown your body and your ears turn beet red. 

“What?! No!” You cry out when your words make him target your sore spots. “I- I dunno how to in this form!” He scoffs again. 

Your audacity is what keeps him going. 

“Do it how I taught you” okay, yes. But he's a bossy mean tyrant who doesn't back down if you deny him! And no one helps you because he's both your Konnection made and fiancee. 

As well as literally Ari fucking Levinson. 

You never really have a choice with him. These kinds of tricks aren't common for someone with your strength and state of underdevelopment most because you've never really cared about the Dragon stuff but one day the depraved dictator decided that he wasn't going to let you cum if you didn't grow out your Dragon tail while still in your human form. He went so far as to even threaten you with a spanking. And your readers can judge you all they want but if they had ever been stuck balls deep on Ari Levinson's monstrous cock with their pussy sore from the frustration and their hips so desperate that they throbbed with need, they'd understand why you laid weakly against his chest and surrendered yourself to his will before carrying out his messed up wish. To be fair, not that you would ever be fair with him, he had praised, kissed and spoiled you a lot after that. 

Not out of the goodness of his heart though.

No.

The pervert loved to stroke your tail and play with its base when he made you sit on his massive lap. 

“Or what?!” You demand angrily. 

It's a thing. You always submit -under his evil coercion, you must add- and do what he says. But then you recover and you act like you don't know him. 

Ari loves it. He has seen it all and there isn't much that isn't mundane to him. But you, you keep him on his toes. 

His ferocious little fireball. 

Ari finally stops the spanking. You wince as you feel your cheeks seethe. He brings you closer to his hairy face by the grip he has on your head. There is a complex look on his face. He looks done and unwilling to do to you what he must if you keep this up. 

“You know you don't want to find out” you watch his face for a slip, trying to sway his heart with an expression or two of your own. But as always, it doesn't work with the brutish dictatorial tyrant of a giant. 

So you whimper and try to look away but his hold restricts you. Choosing to avert your eyes from him instead, you whimper as you focus on fulfilling his demand. As you go about it, you cannot help but wonder why Ari wants you to do this right now. Usually when he does this, it's when you're cuddling— you mean, when he's cuddling you, okay?! Ugh!

“Oh…” You groan as you feel the crimson and gold tail growing out just above your ass. It's not painful but it makes you uncomfortable. As well as humiliated. 

“Stay still, or so the Sun help me” you don't need to be told twice. Never when you're so tightly held in his grip. It's too late. 

You feel Ari grab your tail and you whimper from the sensitivity, gulping down the bile that forms in your throat when you feel his long and thick fingers grazing the soft scales -he likes to call you a kiddie Dragon because of how nonlethal you actually are- as he slowly strokes the length. His fingertips feel the hot base for a few moments and your knees nearly buckle shut. The firm hold on your head helps keep you remain in the inverted 90° angle he's made of your body.

Ari spits on your pucker and you almost jump from the sensation of his hot spit landing on your hole. Oh, yes. It becomes too exposed for comfort when he bends you over like this. And no, it does not mean that you know this because he does it often. Absolutely not. You uneasily try to shift away but he hooks one knee in the curve between your stomach and thighs to keep you upright as his fingers work the natural lubricant in and work it open a little. The next blob lands on your tail and something about the sensory overload and his attitude makes you angry but you're too caught and weak. 

But still, before you can try to hold your own, the warlord is pushing the tip of your tail in your pucker and your eyes widen in shock. You begin to struggle. He has never done that before. 

“W- What are you doin— ah!” Even though your Drakaina skin is soft, the sensation of the rigid dents and your own body being forced into your tiny hole causes an explosion of scorching blood in your face. “Oh—! What are you doing, you! Oh my— owie Dada!” You break and though you don't see it, a crooked smirk of satisfaction makes its way onto his face. “Pleasie!”

There. 

You talk big game, but a little bit of pain and you're the most compliant little thing alive. 

“You look so pretty, kid” your features scrunch in discomfort as you squint at the ground because there isn't much else you can do. “Stuffed full of your own bratty little tail” your ass is so full of yourself. The humiliating sensation makes you pout. He gives a firm pat on your plugged ass before moving on and you nearly retch from the embarrassment. “Get on your knees” he finally releases your hair and you land on your hands just in time. 

“Y- You…” And your mouth is trying to run again the moment he isn't holding you. Ari snorts under his breath as he gets on his knees behind you. “Y- You're so twisted and weird! Military men—”

“It takes some nerve to act like that when I can literally see you messing yourself up like it's your job” you feel like screaming. You hate it and you hate him. He always gets what he wants and your traitorous body only aids his pompousness. “Dripping yourself silly like a soppy little bride slut” you feel the rough skin of his hands stroke against the sides of your sore thighs before he pulls you back towards him. “It looks like you pissed yourself like the stupid little baby that you are” your wrists become jelly and your upper body collapsed on your elbows when his scarred fingers dip between your legs to collect your sweetness on them before he spreads your petals to both feel your warm cunt and coat as much of his digits in your slick as he can.

“D- Daddy…” You hate it. The twisted use of the word scalds your tongue. And yet you cannot help it. Your thighs only quiver more. 

Ari brings his fingers to his lips and puts them in his mouth before sucking at them. “Hmm” his bigger body rocks against your much smaller one to rub his own spilling cock on your spanked skin. “Tastes like a silly little kiddie brat slut” your sensitive and tender skin does well in pampering his stiff skin and Ari uses your ass like a plush little pillow to stroke his cock.

“D- Daddy— I mean, you brute!” Sparks go off in your mind when you feel him stroke the summit of his dick against your drenched pussy as one of his hands hold you to his while by the grip he has on the curve of your hip. “Stooop! Owie! No! It won't fit!” And true to your word, your small pussy rejects his cock with a bratty squelch. It's one part of your body that is just like you. And Ari has punished it on several occasions for his misbehavior exactly as he does you. “I- I am too small you giant! Not everyone can be a colossal like you- ouchie!” 

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Too small now, are you?” He is breathless from the strength it's taking him to be patient with your opening's constant rejection of his cock whenever he tries to push in. “You weren't acting like it when you made a spectacle of our engagement like I am some lowborn pauper that you can just humiliate like a peasant wife who doesn't have a whole generation of noble wives to represent” he bites back a harsh curse when his cock slips away again. His fingers tighten on your side and he pushes you tighter against him before realigning his cock with your bratty hole and slowly forcing it in with slow rotatory movements where he penetrates you spec by spec. “You weren't too small when you challenged your future husband and tried to burn him with your pathetic little candle fire” the insult makes you angry but his cock has intruded you and his satisfied pat to your ass coupled with your pucker clenching around your scaled tail renders you speechless.

“O- Owie!” It feels good. But the strain his girth puts on your poor band is almost too much. You fear you will rip. “D- Daddy, please!” That always softens him up. Oftentimes just a little but beggars can't be choosers. 

“You will shut up and take it if you know what's good for you…” But he is far too angry today. His hairy chest drapes over your back and the coarse hairs make your tender skin tingle. “Even though we both know you're too dumb to understand that” you feel him pull out of you almost all the way out before he plunges himself back in, his length cruelly pushing your velvet walls apart and reaching your cervix already. But Ari doesn't hit it just yet. 

“Oh!” You squeak out when your body rocks with another thrust and then another. He is gaining pace. You don't notice it but your ass has managed to push your tail nearly halfway out and Ari stamps it back in at the same moment he snaps his hips against yours. “Daddyyyy, hnng!” Regardless of your dislike of the name, it is the one you find yourself calling him when he has you bent over like this. 

“Tell me you're sorry for what you did” he peers at the sun that is changing its colour and Ari decides he can thoroughly address this later. It is not like you are going anywhere. You are his and he will never allow it. “Tell me it's because you're a stupid little kiddie brat who hasn't had a day's discipline in her life and that is the reason you need a husband like me to keep you on a short leash” the sound of his cock moving in and out of your tight pussy is so loud that it is clear even in the heavy winds. Your pucker blinks around your tail. “Say it!” The harsh strike he gives to your ass has you crying and parroting out his words before your mind can catch on. 

“I- I am sorry for… for… ah!” His stiff tip touches your cervix and the bittersweet pleasure makes you choke him out. His baritone groan grinds its way into your ear from how his colossal form is bent over yours so he can reach your neck and hear your whimpers. “I am sorry for what I did today, Daddy!” 

“Keep going” he demands with a smack to one of your tits now. You jump up from the shock. Damn, you didn't even know he could reach you like this. He continues to fuck you like a hound taking his bitch. 

“I, uh…” You rake your mind for what he demanded of you, sighing in relief when you remember though his assault on your sensitive spot makes you arch your back. His beard digs into the skin of your jaw and shoulder when his mouth reaches for your carotid pulse. “I—” he takes a beastly sniff of your bubbling vein and you nearly give up but a pinch to your nipple brings you back to your task. “It's— oh, yes!” You finally remember his words and get to it, your sore ass cheeks clapping from how rapidly he is fucking into you. “It's because I've never seen a- a-” your eyebrows furrow and eyes flutter shut when his lips latch onto the skin of your neck in an unfriendly way. “Ah!” His fingers find their way to your throbbing cunt and you let out the most obscene moan you have ever heard. 

“Say it.” He growls before he begins to suck a mark of his ownership into your tender skin.

“It's because I've never seen a day's d- discipline in my life and— fuuuck!” The feeling of his rough finger pads is delectable against your soft folds and your head collapses between your shoulders. The vibration of Ari's hum against your skin along with the breathtaking jab he gives to your cervix makes your head spin and you give up. You are yet to build tolerance to his touch. Your high bubbles out of your loins like molten lava and your toes curl as your body tries to stretch to both react to and withstand the strong orgasm. “I am a stupid k- kiddie brat slut who needs a hubby Daddy to keep her in her place” you mumble out in one breath as you let yourself rock back and forth along to his thrusts, mind numb and pussy dumb. 

Or is it the other way around?

“And who is your hubby Daddy?” Ari lets your cunt go to grip both your hips so he can go into his incubus-like trance. 

“You” your words are nearly incoherent but he hears them just fine and with much satisfaction. “Only you are my hubby Daddy…” You are thankful for the temporary vertigo that has taken over your senses. It renders you deaf to the filth he makes you say.

“Here's what's going to happen now” he says once he has run his tongue over the very noticeable bruise he has made on your neck. “I am going to fuck all the funny little thoughts out of your rebellious little head until you're rightfully wearing my cum” the overstimulation makes you uncomfortable and both of your holes sensitively clench. “And then we are going to fly back to the venue and you are going to thank me and kiss my hand to show your gratitude after I put the band on you” you feel his speed increasing and you further lower yourself to hold your head; bracing yourself. “You are going to kneel as you do, so everyone can see you for the hypocritical little whore you are.”

And Ari Levinson always gets his way. 

. . .

I appreciate reblogs <333

[feelmyskinonyourskin]

What You've Heard [Bodyguard AU Trope]

Pairing: Billy Russo x AFAB Reader

Trope de Sept Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Bodyguard AU alternate universe 1. Character A is tasked with keeping Character B safe. Feelings, or at the very least sexual tension gets involved "Billy Russo is your bodyguard, hired by your diplomat father. You hate him and he hates you but still, you end up in bed with him."

Warnings: SMUT/18+ (don’t interact if your age is not in your bio). No use of Y/N. Dom/sub dynamics, Oral (M receiving), Use of toys (vibrator), Mutual masturbation, Pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart), Light choking, Pussy spanking, P in V, Creampie, No aftercare.

WC: 2,800

*I never give permission for my fics, manips, or any other original creation I post on this site to be copied, posted elsewhere, translated, or fed into any AI program. The only platform I currently post anything on is Tumblr. Thanks!*

“You are such a goddamn spoiled brat.”

“Oh shut it Russo, you’re the one ruining my evening and my life!”

Billy was right behind you as you climbed the stairs two at a time, holding the skirt of your sequin evening gown practically up your thighs in order to avoid tripping. You just wanted to be as far away from Billy as quickly as possible. 

“Believe me baby, if I could be anywhere else in the world right now I would be, but your daddy is paying me too much money to keep you safe, which is what I was trying to do. I’m sorry it made you a little…testy.”

You rolled your eyes and spun around on the spot at the top of the ornate staircase in your penthouse apartment. Billy stood on the last stair, allowing you to be face to face with him, making close eye contact to make sure he got the message.

“Testy? Really? I’m working the room at a charity event and you deem some handsome well-todo dangerous enough to pull me out of there prematurely and ruin my night and expect me to not be testy?!” you shouted in his face

“Okay. Maybe he wasn’t dangerous. Maybe I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” 

Even during a heated argument, Billy had the ability to remain eerily calm and even-toned which just irked your irritation at him even more. 

“Don’t you dare tell me you were jealous, Russo.”

“Not jealous, just doing my job.” he replied “You know, you dignitaries' daughters are all the same. Full of yourselves. Assuming everyone is always so charmed by you. So happy to just be in your presence. Assuming everyone just wants to fuck you.”

“Pfft. Maybe they do. Just admit it, Russo, you do too.”

“What if I do? Huh Princess? You gonna do anything about it or just keep running that pretty fucking mouth of yours?”

You don’t know why you did it. You knew he was just trying to rile you up. To upset you into stomping off and cursing him out under your breath for the rest of the night. But you were so sick of him winning every single time the two of you butted heads. Which was a lot. And in that second, your brain told you it was the only thing that would shut him up and actually give you the upper hand for once. So you did it. You pulled him in by the lapel of his suit jacket and kissed him.

For as hard as your lips were planted against his, it was a surprisingly tender and soft kiss.

After the initial moment of shock wore off, Billy reached forward to place a hand on your waist, His tongue traced the crevice between your lips, inviting himself in further. Oh god, was Billy actually kissing you back?

You pulled away as soon as you realized it, meeting his dark gaze. The corridor echoed with silence as the two of you stared each other down.

“Billy, I…”

“Bedroom. Now.” he commanded with a raise of his brows and a nod towards the hallway.

“I.. wait what?”

“Do not. I know you heard me.”

But still, you weren’t sure what was going through his head. Was he telling you to go to your room because he was angry and sending you to time out like a misbehaved toddler? So filled with lust that he couldn’t control himself in your presence a moment longer and wanted you far away so he didn’t give in to it? Asking you to go to the bedroom so he could meet you there and continue this?

Processing words had never been this difficult as you remained rooted in your spot at the top of the stairs. He answered your unspoken question, lunging forward to lift the skirt of your gown up your thighs so he could pick you up in his arms, wrap your legs around his waist and resumed kissing you deeply. 

He practically threw you on the bed, taking a step back as you bounced and looked down with his lust filled eyes. 

“You know princess, as much money as your daddy spent on this place, it sure does have thin walls.”

“What?”

“Any time you bring one of those air-headed, spoiled boys around here when I’m on night duty, I can hear everything.”

“You… you can?”

“Yes. Every moan, every whimper. You know, you’re not that good at faking it.”

“How do you know I’m faking it?”

“You see, the walls are so thin, that I can hear everything on the nights you have company… and the nights you don’t.”

You looked up at him, confused. He took a step to his left, reaching out and opening up your nightstand drawer and held out your favorite vibrator in front of you.

“So, I know what you sound like when you really are coming and when you’re just playing along so some rich asshole’s feelings won’t get hurt.”

“So?”

“So, if I hear you fake it tonight, I’ll know. And you better not. Now come on, stand up and let me get that dress off of you.”

“Billy, I…”

He just raised his eyebrows and you obeyed, standing and facing away from him. As one hand worked the zipper down your back, the other was caressing, roaming up and down your arm and the curve of your waist. His lips soon found your neck, licking and sucking as your dress slid down your body and pooled on the floor around your feet.

Billy continued to press sloppy kisses into your neck and down your shoulder as his left hand crept around to your front, reaching between the delicate lace of your bra and skin to find your nipple. His fingers worked it, pinching and pulling lightly to elicit a moan from you, before squeezing your entire breast in his hand.

Meanwhile, his right hand moved downward, toying with the top of your panties as he kneeded your chest, only moving onward once you were pliably moaning in his arms. He stroked you over your panties a few times

“Already soaked for me. I know you’ve wanted me since your daddy first hired me and you laid those pretty eyes on me. But I didn’t know just how high and dry I was leaving you. Tell me, you ever think about me on those lonely nights while you’re using that thing?” he nodded toward the vibrator he left laying on the bed

You nodded in response, grinding your crotch down against his hand, hoping to feel some more friction in relief.

“What was that? I can’t hear you.”

“Yes Billy.”

“Yes what?” He slid his hand down your panties, hovering his fingers over your sensitive bud while he waited for your response.

“Yes –Oh god. Yes, I’ve thought about you when I touch myself.”

“Good girl.”

Finally, he began working his fingers against your clit, rubbing slow languous circles to tease and work you up.

“Oh god Billy.” you threw your head back against his chest as he picked up the pace

“Damnit, you sound so pretty moaning my name.” he growled in your ear “Tell me something…”

“Mmm yeah?”

“When you’re thinking about me, late at night, what are you thinking about?”

“Billy… I”

“C’mon now baby, don’t get all shy on me. Remember, I’ve heard you before. And I know you’re not shy with those other guys. So tell me. What have you thought about me?”

“Your… your hands Billy. Touching me just like this.”

“And?”

“And your mouth, all over me.”

“And?”

“And me, on my knees f – for you.”

“Well, I’m not about to stop you. Go ahead, if that’s what you want.”

You slowly turned to face him as he licked his lips into a smirk across his perfect face. Damn him and that cocky grin. If you weren't so desperately needy for him right now, you’d smack it right off his stupidly beautiful face.

Instead, you obeyed, taking your time to drop to your knees in supplication before him. You drew out the reach forward of your hands towards his thighs in an attempt to regain some control over him, to punish him just a little for how easily he was bending you to his will right now. 

His lust was obvious, straining against his perfectly tailored dress pants right in front of your face. You rubbed his clothed bulge a few times before finally bringing him some relief and freeing him from his pants.

Grasping him firmly, you gave him a few long strokes that made his eyes squeeze shut. They snapped open and met yours though when you wrapped your lips around him and took his cock down your throat in one swift motion.

“Damnit princess, I knew that smart mouth of yours could do a lot but this, I think, is a much better use of it, don’t you?”

You pulled back to say something smart-alicky, but he pushed you back down on his length via a hand placed at the base of your skull, before you could retort, keeping you in line just how he wanted you.

He grunted as he continued to hit the back of your throat. Just as suddenly as he made the noise, it disappeared. His quiet observance of your obedience resumed, the wet sounds of you sucking him off the only other noises in the room. 

His pace slowed, no longer guiding your skull in a steady rhythm as his pleasure caught up to him. Your throat became an anchor point for him to push you off before he could finish, his long fingers giving you just enough pressure to want more. 

“Show me.” he finally spoke

“What?”

He reached for the vibrator once more and held it out in front of you.

“Show me. Exactly how you touch yourself when you think of me.” he commanded

You felt the heat pooling in your cheeks as you took it from his hand and rose your feet.

His suit jacket found a home in the chair in the corner, followed by his tie, while you also rid yourself of the remaining pieces of fabric barely keeping you concealed from his gaze. Now totally bare except for the strappy pair of heels on your feet, you laid back on the bed and guided the toy between your spread legs. Keenly aware of just how closely his stare followed you while you moved, you pressed the button to turn it on to the lowest setting, letting the humming vibrations tickle your most sensitive area.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the pleasure began to build.

“Uh uh. Eyes on me.” he instructed

You opened your eyes to meet his piercing stare, now feeling even more vulnerable in front of him as you brought your other hand between your thighs, keeping the vibrator on your clit and pushing two fingers into your pussy. Pumping them in and out slowly in order to work yourself and him up, you noticed how he lurched forward, as if to help. But only for a split second before he was upright, facade of a man in charge back in tact while he reached down and began to fist his own cock.

“Tell me, pretty girl, what else do you think about me doing to you?”

“I think – Oh god. I think about riding you. How good… it’d feel.

Billy had a difficult time deciding where to focus his attention - the way your pussy looked so pretty being spread open and fucked by your fingers, the ethereal way your face looked as you brought yourself to ecstasy, or how intently your eyes met his, growing desperation to cum swirling behind them.

“I can’t decide princess, if I want to watch you finish like this, or make you be good and wait until my cock is inside you.”

You stifled back a beg and simply whimpered at his conundrum. You both knew what you really wanted was for him to fuck you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to beg for it. Not yet. Begging for it would be the ultimate victory for him and he’d never give you another inch of resistance against him as your bodyguard without bringing it up. 

Just as you thought you were going to come apart, Billy reached forward and pulled your hand away, the vibrator whiring in the air as your pussy clenched around your fingers, desperate for the release he denied you. You wanted to cry. You also wanted to cum.

“Did I give you permission to cum?” he asked

“Pfft. I need your permission now?” you sassed back

Whack.

His large hand came down in a swift swat to your pussy, the stinging sensation sent a jolt through your already sensitive bud, causing you to clench around your fingers once more.

“Yes. You do. Since I can’t get you to listen to me out there” he nodded towards the door, an action which brought your mind temporarily back to the situation at hand. You were laying naked in bed, about to beg the head of your private security detail to fuck you senssless. A man you loathed and we’re stuck with for the foreseeable future. No way this could end poorly.

“I might as well make you listen in here. Understand?”

His voice brought you back into the moment and your desire won the game of tug of war against your brain. You nodded in response.

Whack.

“What was that?”

“Yes Billy.”

“Good girl.”

You removed your fingers and turned off the vibrator, looking up at him with the most doe-like eyes you could give, waiting for his instructions.

“You think about riding me? Okay, I’ll give you what you want this time, but don’t get used to it.” he said as he climbed on the bed beside you.

Tugging at your waist, he guided you to hover over him. In another moment of trying to show him you still had some control in this situation, you swirled your hips a few times, running his length through your now soaking folds. 

He caught on to you right away, fingers pushing into your hips hard enough to ache in order to stop you from being able to move at all.

“Easy sweetheart.” he warned

He took it slowly, once he finally released a hand and guided himself inside you, allowing you to adjust to every inch before pushing further. 

Billy studied your face as you oriented yourself on his cock and once he was satisfied with how your eyes pinched shut in pleasure and your lips remained slightly parted in anticipation, he began to rock you. With less of a death grip this time, his hands moved your hips back and forth, until the two of you got in a rhythm and you took over.

“You know sweetheart, after listening to you all those nights, it’s nice to see just how pretty you look getting fucked. I knew you would.”

“Mmmm Billy.”

“I knew it would sound just as pretty when you moaned my name too. Go ahead, let me hear it again.”

“Oh god– Billy.” you whined again, feeling the nirvana of him all the way through your body.

You brought your hands to his chest to steady yourself as he began to thrust upward and meet your tempo, taut muscle under your fingertips like heated marble. 

Every thrust, every slap of sweaty skin, every grunt from his smug fucking mouth had you careening closer and closer to your edge.

“Billy– please. Please Billy, may I cum?”

‘Yeah princess, go ahead. Let me feel it…”

That was all it took for you to release, crying out over and over as you came undone, his name a symphony spilling from your lips.

Billy wasn’t far behind you, the way his face contorted a rare moment of vulnerability from him. He spilled inside you with a silent sigh then stilled beneath you.

Only for a moment though, until the mental fog cleared and his eyes met yours. A dark abyss. But not in the lascivious way they were earlier, in a way that felt vacant and void. 

And the next thing you knew, you were flat on your back in the bed and he was getting dressed in the corner of the room.

“I’m going to make my rounds. Do all my safety checks for the night.” 

He left you without another word as he walked into the hall and closed the bedroom door behind him.

[icycoldninja]

Hey Icy Ninja, how are you, love your head canons and angst story from Devil May Cry... I have a request, feel free to not do it.

I wanted to ask for Dante and fem! Reader daughter, she is Dante's world, he taught her everything fighting demons, royal guard, how to navigate herself in the world, he is her biggest supporter. His daughter is nineteen and got into one of the prestigious colleges studying the history of Demon and Humans (ofc, Sparda will be in legends and as debated once feudal lord of Fortuna).

The angst I want is Dante's reaction to night, the reader coming back home in tears when she was supposed to be miles away in her dorm. Only to find out some jerk played with his precious daughter's heart, just to use her for her body. Ofc, Dante knows this guy, his daughter always told him everything. I want maddening and angry Dante serving.

ABSOLUTELY! BRING ON THE ANGST!

His baby girl (Dante x Daughter!Reader angst)

Dante was so, so proud of his little baby girl. Her whole life, he'd trained her and protected her, and taught her the ways of both demons and humans. He'd cared for her since she was a tiny, little bean-shaped bundle of cuteness, and now that she was all grown up, he couldn't help but feel his heart ache with both pride and a profound sadness that she was leaving home for college.

To be honest, it wasn't all bad because his daughter would be studying Demon and Human history, which meant she'd get a chance to learn all about her dearly departed granddad, whom Dante was sure would have been overjoyed to meet her. Yes, it was sad seeing his baby girl go away, but she was, in a sense, getting to grow closer to her grandfather in a way Dante never got the chance to.

It wasn't like you were cutting all contact with him either, you always called or texted whenever you had time, telling him all about the debates you got into over Sparda's legacy and how you were at the top of your class since you'd gotten a head start so early in life. Dante's chest burned with pride every time he heard from you; each accomplishment you related to him making him all the more impatient for the holidays to come so you could come home and see him again.

He never expected you to suddenly come home in the middle of your semester, red eyed and sobbing as you knocked frantically on the door. Dante didn't waste any time in throwing the door open and pulling you into his arms.

"Hey honey, what's wrong?" He asked, rubbing your back as you cried into his shoulder.

"Daddy...my boyfriend dumped me." You managed to croak out, hanging onto your father's neck with all your strength.

"Your boyfriend?" Dante repeated, trying to recall his name. "G/N? Seriously? That bastard hurt you?"

You were crying so much, you were pretty much incapable of speech, the most you could manage was a feeble nod before you burst into even more tears.

"What'd he do?" Dante asked, scooping you into his arms and cradling you as if you were a toddler again.

"He...he lied to me. He said he loved me but he was just using me for my body...." You couldn't continue anymore, the sadness and pure betrayal in your heart overwhelmed you, and you broke down even further, crying in your papa's arms.

"It's ok, sweetie," Dante assured you, carrying you to the living room and setting you down on the couch, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders soon afterward. "You wait right here and pick a movie or something, OK? Daddy'll be right back and then we can have a movie night, just the two of us."

"Where are you going?" You sniffled, tugging the blankets around your shoulders as you watched the man locate his pistols, Ebony and Ivory, before shoving them into the holsters on his waist.

"Gonna go find that rat bastard who tricked you and make him pay," He replied, disappearing out the door before you could reply.

Dante was gone for the next 3 hours, but when he returned, he came bearing gifts. He had three plastic bags full of your favorite treats and snacks, and had apparently gotten a pizza on his way home.

"I took care of that loser for ya, don'tcha worry," He'd said, chuckling as he sat pulled his still-smoking pistols from their holstersand sat down. You knew you should have felt bad since your dad most likely just committed homicide, but hey, the asshole deserved it.

"Did you pick a movie yet?" Dante asked, pulling a bag of pre-made popcorn and some candy out of the sacks of snacks he'd brought home.

"Nope, can't think of anything," You answered, voice still shaky from all the crying you were doing earlier.

"Alright, I'll pick then," Dante chuckled, tossing a bag of Skittles into your lap. "I'm thinking comedy, yeah?"

"Yeah," You agreed, nestling into your father's shoulder, feeling for a fleeting moment like an innocent little girl again watching princess movies with her daddy.

[blue-bujo]

Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader): Chapter One

You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.

Roy Kent x female reader

Will try to update roughly every two weeks

Chapter One: The Other Beautiful Game

Words: 1.9K

Content: Kent-level language (you know what you're in for)

Cricket. Polo. The real football.

There were many popular sports in England, but the downfall of all of those was the fact that they were all at the mercy of the weather. That was why, in your humble opinion, the best sport in the world was bowling.

You were fully aware that the rest of the world definitely didn’t consider it a real sport, and that was fine. But to you, it was the best. No other sport could be enjoyed by 4 year olds and 94 year olds at the same time, all while having full access to a pitcher of beer and never being rained out. Nor did any other sport create friendships so instantly while in good natured competition. It certainly had for you.

You, the army brat, who had moved every year and always ended up being the new kid with the accent different from everyone else’s, had always found common ground in whatever bowling alley had been closest to base. Bowling was its own language, its own gateway into other people’s lives. When you’d finally stayed somewhere for more than two years when you were in high school, you’d made yourself a fixture at the lanes. You stayed in England for college – no, university – and worked your way through every beer league and youth camp you could. The bowling alley was your home, and you ended up staying even after your father retired from the army and returned to his hometown with your mother. Your place was here, behind the counter and coaching leagues.

It was a shallowly connected life. You had a few friends from your own league, as well as your coworkers, and some regulars that you absolutely loved, but mainly, you saw people for five minutes while they paid and figured out which size their rental shoes needed to be before they went to the lanes and you watched from a distance, telling yourself that it was fine.

One day, and especially lonely one, you were scheduled to work a children’s party. You were slightly hung over from the pitcher you’d shared at your league the night prior, and weren’t looking forward to all of the noise that children would inevitably cause. Taking a preemptive Excedrin, you pulled up your hair and braced for the worst.

The birthday child was a blonde girl who was all smiles, leading seven little friends and their adults behind them. You plastered on your best customer service smile and got through the chaos of check in, shoes, snack bar follow up, and lane assignments, then collapsed in your chair to stare into space for a while, until someone needed you.

The respite was brutally short.

You didn’t notice at first, but eventually you realized that you had somebody standing at the side of the counter. It was because of his shirt. Anywhere else, it would have stood out obnoxiously, but the red, orange, and yellow tie dye blended into the colorful walls. You turned quickly once you realized he was there.

“Sorry, I zoned out,” you blurted. “How can I help you, sir?”

The man – you recognized him from somewhere, you realized, but you couldn’t place where – startled at how quickly you acknowledged him. He had very expressive eyebrows, which shot up his forehead in surprise. He pointed at the lanes where the blonde girl’s group was bowling and grunted, “One of the little shits that my niece is friends with threw a ball right after another kid and hit the thing that pushes the pins out of the way, and now it won’t go back up. Can you fix it so their days won’t be ruined?”

You couldn’t tell if her was mad at the lane or at you; it seemed like he was angry in general, judging by the deep creases between his eyebrows. Best to take a cautious approach with him.

“I can’t fix it, but I can call the tech. Just a second.” You grabbed the intercom, but didn’t click it on. “It’s the gate on 15, yeah?”

“The what?”

“The black sweepy thing, on Lane 15?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Quickly, you called out, “Pete, I need a gate reset on Lane 15, please” over the speakers. Then you turned back to the tie dye man.

“Cheers,” he said. “Phoebe will be happy now.”

“That’s your niece? The blonde girl?”

He nodded. “Yep, that idiot.” He smiled and waved toward Phoebe, who was trying to get his attention. “She made me this shirt. I wouldn’t have picked it, but she made it, so I wear it to all her things.”

“It’s a good look. Matches the décor here,” you teased. “I almost didn’t see you, and you were right in front of me.”

A grunt was the only response you got. Fearing you’d been rude, you cleared your throat and continued. “Well. I’ll be here for the rest of the day, if you guys need anything else. You know where to find me.”

Another grunt, and eyebrow guy was gone, leaving you to put your head on the counter in embarrassment. That was so awkward!

You stewed in your awkwardness for another half an hour; nobody else came in to distract you. Distraction didn’t come until you got a call from the snack bar, signaling that they needed you to run the pizza to Phoebe’s group. Inwardly groaning, you picked up the tray and a stack of plates, and expertly balanced them as you walked to Lane 15. Phoebe and her friends were excited to see you, and their enthusiasm evaporated some of your self-pity. These seemed to be good kids.

“Okay,” you said, putting your hands on your hips and leaning down conspiratorially, “I only have two rules for you. Rule Number One: No pizza or drinks on the approach. Rule Number Two: I don’t want to see any pizza fingers in those balls, because someone will have to clean them.” You pointed at yourself as you said “someone,” which made all the kids laugh. “And Rule Number Three-”

“You said there were only two!” interrupted a young boy. Tie dye guy glared at him.

“Well, I lied,” you shrugged. That got a laugh from everybody. “Rule Number Three: Help Phoebe have a happy birthday!”

All of the kids cheered. Satisfied, you walked over to their grown-ups. “If you guys need anything, I’m Splits.” You tapped your nametag, bearing the kitschy bowling nickname that the manager had made you pick. “I’ll be at the counter.”

Your nickname drew a few chuckles and sympathetic smiles. One of the younger adults, who you also recognized in addition Phoebe's uncle, fixed you with a flirty look.

“Do they call yah that because you can do the splits, or…?”

“No, because I leave plenty on the lanes.”

He looked like he was trying to come up with another quip, but Phoebe’s uncle elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut up, Jamie. Not everyone loves you.”

Jamie, unperturbed, elbowed him back. “Whatever, Coach. It was worth trying. Sorry, Splits.”

You realized where you had seen him before. AFC Richmond was the local football club, and the young man was none other than Jamie Tartt. And now that you had figured out who he was, you had to ask, no matter how much it pained you…

“Can I get a quick photo? The owner likes us to whenever we have a celebrity guest.”

Jamie’s chest puffed out before he looked at tie dye man; you got the feeling his coach had lectured him before about showboating. “Sure, yeah, if that’s how it’s done here.” He checked his hair and grabbed a bowling ball. “Where do you want meh?”

“Uncle Roy should be in the picture, too!” piped Phoebe, shooting her uncle a pout. “He’s more famous that Jamie!”

The man you’d talked to at the counter, who you recognized but didn’t know where from, was named Roy? And Jamie had called him “coach?” Was he Roy Kent? How had you not realized?

It had to be the tie dye. Had to be.

“Fuck no, I’m not getting in a picture with that prick.”

“Please, Uncle Roy?” pleaded Phoebe. “It is my birthday.”

A grunt. You were beginning to think that they were his primary language, in combination with swearing. Roy Kent stood up, rolled his eyes, and got next to Jamie Tartt, glowering.

You reached into your back pocket and took out your phone to check how things looked. Bowling alley lighting was never great, but it was especially bad today. Jamie popped, because of course he did, but Roy melted into the wall, his obnoxious shirt effectively camouflaging him.

Thinking quickly, you went to the racks, grabbed a bright blue bowling ball, and brought it to Roy. He just stared at it.

“And what am I supposed to do with this? Throw a fucking strike on camera?”

“No, I just need you to hold it,” you huffed. “The camera can’t see you; your shirt blends in too much. Just take this, please, and this can be over.”

Without giving him a choice, you pushed the bowling ball against his arm. He took it awkwardly, his fingers brushing yours. You thought he shrank into his shoulders after that, but it could have just been him settling the weight of the ball, so you couldn’t be sure.

You took the picture and sent it to your manager, who started freaking out and texting a sentence at a time, but you retreated back to your counter after that. The rest of the afternoon went quietly. Phoebe’s party ended, and you watched as Roy and Jamie gathered all of the kids’ rental shoes and brought them up to you to return.

Sorry for flirting with yah earlier,” said Jamie, dumping an armful of footwear. “Old habits and all that.”

“It’s no problem,” you replied.

He gave you a wink and sauntered off. Then Roy deposited all of the shoes he was carrying.

“Thanks for being cool. Phoebe enjoyed it.”

“My pleasure. Sorry for the picture.”

“It happens. People are weird about fame.”

“Sorry all the same. Hopefully it wasn’t too awkward.”

Roy Kent wouldn’t look at you, and instead focused on a spot on the counter. Then he gave a last grunt and walked away, sticking out a hand to hold Phoebe’s. You watched them leave before grabbing a bottle of disinfectant to spray down the shoes. As you did, you mused that, for being a football manager and a player before that, Roy Kent was really awkward when it came to being recognized.

The sound of running feet tore your attention away from your thoughts. You looked up, ready to shout at some kids for horseplay, but it was Phoebe, running back to the lanes and grabbing a jumper that she had left. Then she jogged back to the desk, stopping on the way out.

“I had a really fun time,” she said.

“I’m glad,” you replied warmly. “I hope to see you come back.”

Phoebe smiled. “I think I will. I overheard Uncle Roy telling Jamie that he shouldn’t call strangers ‘fit,’ even if they are, and I think they were talking about you. Bye!”

She pranced off to rejoin her uncle where he was waiting for her at the exit, taking his hand once more. You could see them talking, and something she said made him look up abashedly at you. He held your gaze for just a moment, then threw Phoebe over his shoulder and stomped away. You had the rest of the night to ponder the fact that Jamie Tartt and maybe Roy Kent had considered you attractive. It made up for the awkwardness of the photo. Almost.

[scienter]

Yes! Finally, we see Kaladin again! And I finally got to my long waited confrontation between Adolin and Dalinar.

CHAPTER 19

He still did not know its name. It had never been offered. It was not a distinction the highspren gave lightly, though some other Skybreakers had been granted the names of their spren. “This emotion is unfitting of your station,” the spren said, audible and visible only to him. “Do not spoil your dignity with base sentimentality. You serve the law.”

Szeth doesn’t know the name of his spren? Huh.

I wonder if all highspren look down on emotion or just Szeth’s? Either way, Szeth's spren seems distant and cold.

Kaladin shook his head, then lifted his boot. Szeth found it amusing how Kaladin rammed his foot down, then stopped with a jerk a fraction of an inch from the plant. Trying to get it to flinch. This is a man, Szeth thought, who pulls back before crushing a weed.

That’s why Kaladin’s a Windrunner, Szeth! Kaladin even protects flora.

“No wonder you broke and gave up the spear,” Szeth said, “leaving your friends to battle without you. You have grown into a coward, then?”

Ugh.  Szeth, you dum-dum. Kaladin’s not a coward. He’s traumatized.  Szeth’s attitude is why Kaladin’s work treating mental illness is so important. Mental health is stigmatized in Roshar. People don’t get it - including the ones who are mentally ill.

“I think these plants are neat,” Syl said. She seemed to be trying to distract Kaladin from his annoyance at Szeth—which was an odd emotion to be displaying in the face of true statements expressed clearly.

“What?” Kaladin said, turning in the air. “Oh. They can’t hide, because they don’t move? Still seems strange to me that they can survive. I know the storms aren’t strong here, but people and animals are going to step on them.” “They’re more resilient than you think,” Szeth said. “Yeah, but once the real plants retract,” Kaladin said, “these will be sitting out in the open. Like the lone soldier in a company with no armor on.”

OMG. Kaladin’s flying to protect the plants! 😂

First, we got “book quartermaster depot” and now we get “real plants.” I love seeing Kaladin outside of a military or medical situtation. It's gold.

CHAPTER 20

I miss how the Stormfather used to be, the Sibling said. He was so much happier before. Not so angry all the time…

What!? Happy!? 🤨 The Stormfather is the grumpiest s.o.b. in this entire story. What happened to him? Did Tanavast’s death change him or something?

“For a deity, breaking a promise exposes them to destructive forces from others—and the magnitude of the broken promise often determines the severity of the consequence.”

“Yes, you have that option,” Wit said. “You always did—but if you break the contract, Odium can retaliate in person. He could bring the full force of his powers against you without risking retribution from other gods. Fen… he could kill every person on this planet with a flick of his wrist, if he wanted.”

This will probably be important in the second half of Stormlight or Mistborn Era 3/4. Brandon doesn’t drop information like this for no reason.

He and Dalinar locked gazes. Just go hug him, Navani thought, stepping up to Dalinar and putting her hand to the small of his back. Wish him the best. Tell him you believe in him. Neither spoke. Then Adolin spun on his heel and hurried toward the door. Navani sighed. “What?” Dalinar said to her. “He wants little to do with me these days, Navani. It’s best I let him go.” “He needs his father,” Navani said. “Regardless of what he wants. You’re simply going to let him walk out?” “We don’t have time for his drama, Navani,” Dalinar said. “Whatever I do, it won’t be good enough for him. I fear if I ask him for something, he’ll do the opposite. I…”

Interesting contrast to Lirin and Kaladin. I’m fascinated with Dalinar and Lirin as fathers because their dynamics with their sons are similar but have some major differences. For instance, Dalinar and Lirin vicariously lived through their eldest sons (e.g., wanting Adolin and Kaladin to be “better” than they were). Both sons pushed back. Adolin didn’t want to be king and Kaladin didn’t want to be a surgeon. Dalinar is guilty for Evi's death, while Lirin feels guilty for Tien’s death. Lirin was able to repair his relationship with Kaladin enabling him to give him a hug and tell him he loved him. Dalinar is unable to repair his relationship with Adolin so he doesn’t give him a hug or tell him he loves him. Both men have made mistakes as fathers, but Lirin’s mistakes are rectifiable. Lirin simply needed to change his attitude and perspective, which he did. But Dalinar can’t raise Evi from the dead.  Thus, Kaladin can forgive his father for his mistakes, but Adolin can’t so easily forgive his father for his.

That girl. That storming girl. She should have come to them with this. Navani forced her anger down. Shallan had, for better or worse, been trained by Jasnah—who kept these kinds of secrets as a matter of course.

Seriously, Shallan never had a good reason to keep the Ghostbloods from them. I know she didn't want them to know about Veil, but she could easily hide it as an undercover role instead of revealing it as an alternate personality. Shallan keeping her encounters with the Ghsotbloods secret was also counterproductive. She would be a more effective spy if she had access to the Kholins' resources the entire time. It’s been bothering me for 3 books now.

“I don’t like the idea,” Dalinar said, “of authorizing a strike on a group I barely know anything about. It means putting a lot of trust in someone who has apparently been lying to us all.” “Something,” Adolin said, “you know absolutely nothing about.”

“You’re supposed to be above gibes like that, son,” Dalinar said softly. “I raised you to be better.” “Raised me?” Adolin said. Angerspren pooled like blood at his feet—one of the few varieties of spren that ignored her orders. “You didn’t raise me, Father. You killed the woman who did.”

Well. Shit. Finally acknowledging the elephant in the room. Of course, this issue isn't going to be resolved with a single conversation. It's too awful. Adolin is nowhere ready to forgive his father. He may never be ready. (One could argue that Adolin should never have to forgive him.)

Pessimistic thought: what if Dalinar and Adolin never reconcile because one of them dies in this book? 🫣😟

“Why?” she asked Dalinar. “Why don’t you say more?” “He always throws it back at me,” Dalinar said, his thumb and forefinger massaging his forehead. “And in a way, he’s right, Navani. I didn’t raise him. He was always just… so perfect, all on his own. Or with Evi’s help, I suppose. I now realize I never did anything other than order him around.”

I love the father and son dynamics in this series even though they’re dysfunctional. Frankly, it’d be boring if it was harmonious and faultless. What would there be to analyze, criticize, or discuss if Dalinar and Lirin had idealized relationships with their sons? Stories demand conflict. Personally, I love dysfunctional familial relationships in stories. It’s interesting and realistic (see: my love for Gilmore Girls).

She frowned. “What is this?” “On the way to the meeting today,” Dalinar said, his expression distant, “I encountered a god…”

I’ve been thinking about who will Ascend to Honor, and I’m torn between Kaladin or Dalinar. I have a few different theories on what might happen.

Scenario 1:  Dalinar Ascends, becoming the vessel for Honor. He realizes he’s not the right vessel, but Kaladin is. He passes the shard to Kaladin. Kaladin becomes Honor.

Scenario 2: Dalinar gets his hands on a device that can contain the Shard of Honor. He passes the device to Kaladin, who Ascends. Kaladin becomes Honor.

Scenario 3: Dalinar Ascends, becoming the vessel for Honor. Kaladin inherits the throne from Dalinar, becoming the King of Urithiru.

Scenario 4: Dalinar Ascends, becoming the vessel for Honor. Kaladin dies, but Dalinar resurrects him as a Herald.

Scenario 5: Neither Dalinar or Kaladin Ascend. One or both of them die (permanently).

Whatever happens, I think there's a good chance Dalinar will try to Ascend to Honor because he’s designated himself the champion. He feels responsible for taking the lead.

And I'm sure something significant happens to Kaladin. Death flags and divinity flags are flying left and right for him (e.g., Son of Tanavast, Divine Destiny, the tower/crown/spear death rattle, etc.). I just haven’t formed a definitive theory yet because the foreshadowing appears contradictory.

me trying to fit the death flags and ascendcy flags together . . .

[raspberryfingers]

A Lion In the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 6)

WARNINGS: None

Word Count: 12k

—————

Angry. It had made me angry to consider that Lord Tywin’s name would end up next to mine in the history books, because why should it?

It had been just under two weeks since I’d last had a proper conversation with the Hand of the King, and since then I’d done plenty of thinking about the subject. It was incredibly frustrating to me that Lord Tywin should get some credit for my sword, because all that he had done was stuck his own blade into the man’s skull. He had not fought off the Baratheon soldier, he had not received disgusting threats. And yet somehow, when future generations told the story of the sword, they would have to recall that he had ‘saved my life’.

It was pathetic, and had reminded me of just how much I hated Tywin Lannister. What was even worse, I had let myself be swayed by his gifts and his charming words. How could I have let that happen? I was a Tyrell, after all, I shouldn’t have been so eager to thank him for a set of armor that my father easily could’ve bought. Not only that, but his words were all political, aiming to make me relax—to win me over to his side. And I’d let him get away with it. What a sad realization that had been. 

But, on the bright side, I was continuing to heal rather quickly, and the maesters had allowed me to start practicing again, even if it was only for 30 minutes a day. They said it might actually help to do so, and I’d been more than happy to hear it. 

My grandmother had found a man named Bronn, who was supposedly Tyrion Lannister’s sellsword, and I’d had quite a lot of fun practicing with him. He was a creative fighter, and also very instinctual. It wasn’t something I saw often, and I appreciated it. Plus, he was rather challenging since I couldn’t exert my full skill while I was healing. It was good for me. 

“How long do the maesters think it’ll be before you’re back to normal?” Bronn questioned, grinning as I blocked his swings. We’d only just started meeting, and our current arrangement was 3 times a week. I expected that soon that would increase, at least until Ser Elias came to the capital. 

“They said I should be completely healed in a month at the very latest, but expect it’ll be sooner. I’m personally quite excited. More than anything I’m just glad I can walk around again, and that there’s a sword in my hand instead of a cane,” I noted, spinning my blade backward and dodging Bronn before going on the offense. 

“I’m lookin’ forward to it. You’re good now, can’t imagine what you’ll be like once you’re not in any pain,” he said, huffing out and moving rather quickly to block me. Gods, it felt good to be swinging a weapon again. I had been glad when Bronn suggested that we use real blades and not sparring swords.

“I suppose you’ll see then, won’t you?” I smiled, finally relenting in my attacks and catching my breath. Our 30 minutes were up, unfortunately. I tossed Bronn the small bag of gold that we were paying him, and he gave me a good nod as he shoved it in his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. 

“Suppose I will. I’ll see you in a couple of days, Lady Tyrell. Don’t bother making yourself look pretty next time,” he flirted, chuckling as he left the practice room. I laughed to myself once he’d gone, shaking my head and sitting down on a small bench. There was that, too. Bronn was quite the relentless flirt, and though I tried not to pay him any mind, I had to admit that he was rather charming. And, unlike most men, his flattery didn’t make a person uncomfortable.

I sighed out, reaching for my canteen and taking a sip of water. I was in good shape, of course, but I’d spent nearly three weeks bedridden, and so I had to rebuild a bit of my stamina again. There was a rather noticeable pain in my side, too, but it was far more bearable than it would’ve been even a week ago. Plus, it was worth it to be fighting again. 

I pulled my sword onto my lap just as I always did after practice, pulling out a cloth and meticulously running it over the metal. I didn’t even know why I bothered keeping it so clean, in a week or two I’d be using an entirely different sword, but there was something rhythmic about doing it. 

I found myself humming a tune, which for a moment I didn’t even realize was the Rains of Castamere. Bronn had been humming it during practice, and the bits that he had sung were quite nice. With impressive skills and a good voice, I found myself wondering how the freshly knighted man wasn’t married yet.

“And so he spoke… and so he spoke, that lord of castamere… but now the rains weep over his halls, and not a soul to hear…” I sang softly, additionally beginning to whistle afterward. The song did make me a bit bitter, but gods, the man who’d written it had made it undeniably good. I hoped that someday they’d write a similar tune for me. 

“Lady (Y/N)?”

I looked up from my blade, finding the Lord Hand standing at the open entrance to the practice room. He looked somewhat surprised, and I watched him come down the steps into the room. 

“Hello, Lord Tywin. Is there something I can do for you?” I questioned, rather annoyed that he was intruding. It was a public space, of course, but cleaning a sword was supposed to be soothing, not cumbersome. I was also annoyed because it reminded me that I’d been tasked with speaking to him about my sister's wedding. My grandmother wanted me to figure out who was paying for what, and how much we ought to spend. I knew that I was unfortunately going to have to try and convince him to spend more. 

“No. I heard someone singing, I did not realize it was you. I wouldn’t have expected you to be singing that song in particular,” he replied, looking around before settling his gaze on me in a challenging manner. I only scoffed.

“Rest assured, Lord Tywin, I give more credit to the man who wrote the song than you,” I shot back, glaring at him in a similar manner. We both stared each other down for a moment, but I was distracted by even more footsteps in the hallway. His guard came into view in the doorway then, and I raised my eyes at the sight of a crossbow. 

“Have you really tired of me this quickly, Lord Tywin?” I joked, deciding that I ought to lighten the tense mood as I put my cloth away and sheathed my sword. There was no point in continuing to clean it now. Lord Tywin looked back, seeing his guard and letting out a sigh.

“I’m going hunting, I need to distract myself,” he explained, blinking a few times as he shook his head with annoyance. I raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what beside me possibly could’ve gotten on his nerves so much that he needed to kill something. 

“Well, at some point, my lord, I do need to discuss a few things with you.”

“About?”

“My sister’s wedding to your grandson. I’ve been charged with the topic of finances, unfortunately for both of us,” I answered, adjusting my sword belt with a sigh. Lord Tywin only scoffed, kicking at the stone floor subconsciously. He was even more tense than usual, I could tell. 

“Well, I’m here now. Do you intend to make it quick?” he asked, folding his hands together behind his back. I laughed a little, looking at him as though he were a madman. Was he truly insinuating that I was going to be the one to make this difficult?

“That entirely depends on you. My grandmother did say to ask you about it as soon as I possibly could, though, so I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer through it either way,” I said, giving him a look of false sympathy. There was something amusing to me about knowing that he was already having a bad day. Why not make it worse?

Lord Tywin scowled, shaking his head and turning away from me entirely. I stood up as he started for the stairs, and I sighed out with frustration when he began to ascend up them. I quickly went after him, ignoring the slight pain in my side as I moved around his guard and reached out. I grabbed the Old Lion’s arm, forcing him to stop walking.

Feeling me do this, he turned around and raised an eyebrow. He was not in the mood for games, and presently neither was I. He attempted to break away from my grip, but I held on and instead reached for his bicep, walking with him like a proper lady now.

“I’m not joking, Lord Tywin, I do need to discuss the royal wedding with you. I understand that neither one of us wishes to have this conversation, so here is my proposal. Why don’t I join you on the hunt? After we’ve both killed something, perhaps we’ll feel a bit better and be able to talk about the subject rationally. Plus, I’ll even stand in front of whatever animal you decide to kill before you shoot it, that way you can pretend you’re hunting me instead,” I offered, smiling up at him and trying to hold back a laugh at how utterly angry he looked. He refused to even meet my eyes, and his eyebrows were furrowed so intensely that it was no wonder he had wrinkles.

“I do not appreciate your jokes, Lady (Y/N). Why would I invite you to join me for something that I intend to relax with?” he scowled, still not even sparing me a slight glance. I raised my eyebrows with false surprise. It was truly so fun to tease him.

“Are you insinuating that I’m disagreeable, Lord Tywin?”

“I’m not insinuating it, I’m stating it as a fact.”

I rolled my eyes, suddenly wondering if this was such a good idea after all. An entire afternoon with my worst enemy, how delightful. Though, perhaps I could ‘slip’ and let a boar take him the same way that one had taken King Robert. I wondered if that would make boars Cersei Lannister's favorite or least favorite animal.

“I promise to be agreeable, Lord Tywin. I could use a break too, in all honesty. I hardly doubt I’ll be allowed out of The Keep on my own, or without some great reason. It’s starting to drive me insane,” I said, sighing and continuing to hold his bicep. Lord Tywin relaxed a bit and positioned his arm to make it comfortable for me to hold, realizing that I wasn’t going to let go.

“Very well, have it your way then.”

“It’ll be rather fun, Lord Tywin. Let’s stop by my room quickly so I can get my bow,” I said with a pleasant smile, pressing my free hand to his arm in an encouraging manner. He finally looked over at me, and I saw in his eyes that it had been quite some time since he’d held a woman on his arm this way. 

“Of course.”

We made a small detour, and I could tell that walking with me made the Old Lion nervous, for he was constantly looking over to make sure I was alright. His other hand was always ready to reach out and catch me should I fall, especially anytime we went down stairs. It was quite interesting.

I was perfectly fine though, and finally broke away from him so I could retrieve my bow from inside my room. Thankfully, that was all I needed to do, already dressed appropriately for a hunt in my light green shirt and brown leather doublet. It was almost as though I’d stolen Loras’ wardrobe. 

“Are you as good with that thing as you are with a sword?” Lord Tywin questioned, watching me come out from my chambers with a bow wrapped around my torso and a quiver in my belt instead of a sword.

“I’m good with it, but I’m afraid I’ll never be as good at anything as I am with a sword. Well, daggers too, but that’s all,” I said, making sure everything was in place and then continuing to walk with him. I did not bother grabbing his arm this time, for it would’ve been rather awkward. Though, I supposed nothing was worse than the continual clanking of his guard behind us.

From my room, it was to the stables, and it was at the stables that Lord Tywin finally took the crossbow in his own hands and dismissed his guard. It surprised me, and I was honestly somewhat hesitant.

“Lord Tywin, surely it would seem improper for us to go hunting alone,” I said, pausing before I mounted my horse to make sure that we were on the same page. I was gripping the horn of the saddle and had one foot in a stirrup as I waited for his reply. I watched him carelessly mount his horse and then look down at me.

“I don’t concern myself with it. We can offer whatever we hunt as proof. Besides, people will sooner think you’re attempting to kill me than anything else,” he reasoned. I couldn’t help but laugh, finally mounting up and then adjusting all of my equipment.

“That would be rather relaxing, wouldn’t it? A dead man needn’t concern himself with the planning and finances of a royal wedding,” I joked, to which he let out a hardy laugh and nodded in agreement.

The two of us spurred our horses then, emerging from the Red Keep all by ourselves. Flea Bottom wasn’t necessary to pass through in order to reach the countryside, which made me grateful not because I minded the poor, but because I knew that today King Joffrey was there with Margaery. Lord Tywin seemed to know of it too.

“I hear my grandson is out with your sister today,” he mentioned as we rode. 

“Yes. She is exploring the city and making herself beloved to everyone, just as us Tyrells have a habit of doing. You’ve experienced it first hand, Lord Tywin.”

“Ahum, I certainly have.”

I couldn’t resist a smile, though I tried not to think much about it. It was odd, because I detested Lord Tywin for nearly everything he did, and yet when I actually spoke to him it was rather enjoyable. I reassured myself by considering the fact that I usually carried our conversations, and that the only reason I was even laughing or smiling to begin with was because I was teasing him. I didn’t know whether or not I was glad that he’d warmed up to my occasional insults, because while it made things easier, I wanted to hate him. I didn’t like the idea of not being 100% faithful to the vow I’d made as a girl. Perhaps that was why I’d been so uncomfortable with myself lately.

These thoughts plagued my mind as we rode through the city, but thankfully vanished when we finally emerged from King’s Landing and made our way to the Kingswood. It was nice to take a deep breath that didn’t stink of shit, and the woods were extremely peaceful, which instantly made me relax. I suspected that was why Lord Tywin desired so deeply to be in them.

“Do you ever miss the Rock, Lord Tywin?” I asked casually, the thought coming to mind as I admired the landscape. I wondered if it felt like King’s Landing at all with the way it was positioned along the coast.

“Sometimes. I've become just as familiar with the capital as I have with Casterly Rock, but it will never compare to home. The sun rises over the sea here, but at the Rock it sets. It’s quite beautiful,” he said, speaking freely. It surprised me to hear him be so open and honest. I couldn’t help but wonder if the woods alone was enough to make him feel so at ease.

“I remember it. Despite being quite angry with you, Lord Tywin, I can recall being consoled by the pink and orange among the clouds and the water that night. As a young girl from Highgarden, I’d never seen such a beautiful sunset,” I told him, searching the trees for whatever bird was singing such a pretty tune. I noticed that Lord Tywin was subconsciously doing the same. He did not have full control over everything he did, it seemed. It was rather fascinating.

“Do you plan to visit the Rock again, Lady (Y/N)?” He asked, looking over at me as we slowed our horses a bit. I smiled and raised my eyebrow, wondering if it’d just heard the man correctly.

“Was that an invitation, Lord Tywin?”

“If you’d like.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him get down from his horse. I did the same, tying my horse to a tree and fixing my clothes.

“What do you plan to catch, Lord Tywin?” I asked, adjusting my equipment now too. Lord Tywin looked rather intimidating with the crossbow in his hands, and it was surprising to see him hunt. I’d never envisioned him as a particularly outdoorsy man, I supposed. 

“A boar or a stag would be nice,” he answered, rolling his shoulders back to stretch out. I tried to reflect on the last time that I had been hunting—for anything besides a man, at least—and realized that it had certainly been quite awhile. 

“I imagine the fresh venison would be quite delicious.”

He nodded his head in agreement, and he motioned for me to follow as we started to get deeper in the woods. The twigs and leaves crunched under our feet, but not so loudly as to be disruptive to any animals.

There was a comfortable silence as we examined our surroundings, checking the ground for any sign of recent wildlife. After about half an hour, we observed just what we were looking for: stag tracks. At least, that was what we had originally thought.

“Lord Tywin,” I whispered, to which he turned back and looked over. I pointed down at the ground, and he carefully walked over to see them. His gaze was thoughtful as he observed the ground which I had gestured to.

“These look fresh,” he mumbled, and I made a noise of agreement. Slowly, we began to follow these tracks, and as we did I considered that we must’ve been tracking quite the deer, for the tracks were very large. 

My questions were answered when, after a few minutes of walking, the man beside me put his hand up to stop me. I instantly froze, and when I looked up from the tracks on the ground, I couldn’t hold back a gasp. 

Staring directly at us was a white hart, and a rather large one too. My gasp had caused it to look over, and it seemed to be staring at us just as much as we were staring at it. It was an absolutely gorgeous animal, with white fur that was practically glowing and a giant set of antlers. I wondered if this was the most majestic thing I’d ever seen.

It was odd, because I reached out to Lord Tywin to prevent him from raising his crossbow, but when I felt his hands I realized that he hadn’t had any intention to do that at all. All that either of us wanted to do was stare, for how could we kill such an animal?

A loud noise in a bush somewhere nearby frightened the thing, and it promptly ran off, but both Lord Tywin and I were too shocked to move for a moment. I only did when I realized that my hand was still on his, and when I looked down and saw it, I quickly pulled away.

“I’ve never seen a white hart before,” I said softly, swallowing nervously and hoping that he wouldn’t make a comment about me grabbing his hand. He’d looked down and seen it, and I found myself anxious because of it for some reason. After all, I had grabbed his arm without a problem just an hour ago.

“I don’t believe that I have either. Maybe once as a young man, but I can’t recall it if I did,” he said, contemplating it for a moment and then shaking his head.

“Well, if it looked anything like that, then I’m certain you would’ve remembered.”

“Yes, I suppose I would have.”

We looked at each other for a moment, and then back at the ground. So much for the ‘stag’ we’d been tracking. We’d have to find entirely new tracks.

“We ought to go back the other way, I don’t want to go too far from the horses,” I suggested, to which Lord Tywin nodded and began walking. I followed behind, and I could not get the image of the white hart out of my head. They were commonly associated with royalty, and I found myself wondering if perhaps Margaery’s marriage to Joffrey wouldn’t be so horrible after all. Though, that was a large assumption to place on the sighting of an animal. I would sooner trust my grandmother's opinion. 

“Lady (Y/N), look,” Lord Tywin whispered, suddenly getting my attention. When I lifted my eyes from the branch covered ground, I noticed not just one, but two stags grazing directly in front of us. Was this hunt the gods’ apology for the wound up my side?

I smiled at the Hand of the King, and he couldn’t resist a subtle one either as he carefully crouched by a log. I slowly made my way over and joined him, quietly drawing an arrow from my quiver and readying to draw. Lord Tywin did the same, loading his crossbow as gently as he could. 

Once he’d done that, I leaned toward him, motioning that I desired to whisper. He moved in, and my mouth came just before his ear. We were so close that I felt his hot breath on my neck.

“I’ll shoot first, it’s quieter. Once I release, you shoot the second one. The second one being the one closest to you, naturally,” I planned out quietly, making him nod in agreement. I wondered if this was the first thing he hadn’t fought me on at all.

I leaned away and carefully drew back my bow, aiming with relative ease. The only sound made was the small ‘plunk’ of the string releasing, and within seconds the deer I’d aimed at was dead, shot directly through its eyes. As we’d discussed, Lord Tywin pulled the trigger just after I’d released my arrow, giving us two dead stags and quite a victorious hunt. 

Standing, Lord Tywin offered his hand to help me up. I accepted willingly, feeling rather satisfied as we went to examine our kills. They were decent sized stags, and for a moment I almost felt bad. They had been so beautiful, and we’d taken it upon ourselves to kill them anyway. Well, we would at least make good use of them, and there was reassurance in that.

“Both clean kills. I’ll go get the horses, it’s too far for me to carry both of them,” he noted, making me scoff out in disbelief.

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying my kill, Lord Tywin. I’m not nearly as weak as you’d like to believe I am,” I informed him, somewhat offended by his insinuations. I stepped toward the deer I’d shot in an attempt to pick it up, but he gripped my arm and kept me from doing it. I was more than just a bit annoyed now. 

“No, I’m not going to have you try and lift that thing. I’ll go and get the horses,” he countered, making me full on scowl now. Why was he being so stubborn?

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lord Tywin. I’m just going to pick it up, it’ll be fine,” I said, breaking free of his grasp and lowering myself so I could get a good grip on the stag. 

“Lady (Y/N), I'm serious, do not try to lift up that animal!” 

I entirely ignored his command, doing precisely what he hadn’t wanted and raising my eyebrows at him once I’d managed to stand up without a problem. The deer was slung about my shoulders, and he looked utterly annoyed.

“Would you look at that, Lord Tywin, my limbs didn’t fall from my body!” I exclaimed, feigning shock and then rolling my eyes at him. His sentiment had been entirely pathetic, and I hadn’t a clue why he was being so adamant about it.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said after a moment, glaring at me and then lifting his own kill from the ground. I scoffed at him, my anger over the subject only increasing.

“I wonder if it’s possible that you’ll ever stop treating me like I’m still a child. I’m more than capable, my lord, I promise you that. And yet for some reason, you are always doubting me, always giving me far less credit than I deserve. Well, quite frankly, I’m sick of it. I’ve worked hard my entire life, and it wasn’t just so that you could constantly treat me like a little girl,” I ranted, frustrated that he wouldn’t even look me in the eyes as I said it. He looked entirely disinterested, nodding at what I had to say as he looked around. I was close to just snapping altogether. 

Lord Tywin looked around for a few seconds more, finally making eye contact with me when he was certain I was finished. “I will stop treating you like a little girl, Lady (Y/N), the day that you stop acting like one.” 

He moved past me before I could reply, beginning to walk toward the horses. For a moment, all I could do was stand there. I don’t know what I’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. Because it had made me even angrier, yes, but it had also hurt. Tywin Lannister was the one person on earth that I could not bear to be seen as a child by. 

As this hurt and anger built up inside me, I did not waste time following after him. I began to huff out, not with exertion, but with absolute fury. How dare he? After all that I had done to help House Lannister, he still refused to treat me with decency.

“I do not act like a child, Lord Tywin! I have tried my very hardest to get along better with you, for the sake of our families if not for anything else. Out of courtesy, I have held back nearly everything that I wish to say to you, but you… you are merely insistent upon being an insufferable cunt!” I yelled at him, watching him stop in his tracks. His back was to me, and I stopped walking too as I watched him process what I’d said. I had used his full ‘title’ again, though it was more out of hurt than anything. I did not feel like crying, but my lip trembled all the same. “Why… why do you have to be such an insufferable cunt?”

Lord Tywin finally turned to face me, and I prepared myself for whatever insult might come when I saw his signature furrowed brows. I expected something along the lines of ‘you’re a spoiled child’, or ‘because you deserve it’—that or some other horrible insult. But, as the Old Lion looked at me, something in him shifted. His brows relented, and he sighed out with a sort of defeat. 

“I didn’t want you to do it because I was worried that you would hurt yourself,” he said, blinking several times as his eyes narrowed. It looked like it had caused him pain to say it, although I was rather confused. How was that relevant at all?

“What?”

“I did not want you to pick up that deer, Lady (Y/N), not because I see you as a child, or because I see you as incompetent, but because I was worried that you might end up hurt,” he admitted, and for some reason it made him vulnerable. Why did he have such a hard time saying such a thing? It made sense, I supposed.

“And how was I to know that? I may be a woman of many talents but I cannot read minds. Why didn’t you just… I don’t know, explain that? Instead you decided that it would be easier to make me upset.” I adjusted the deer on my shoulder, starting to feel its weight quite prominently. Gods, I could not wait to be back to normal in a month.

“Sometimes it is easier to let people believe what they’d like to,” he noted, eyes still focused on mine. It was a change, for usually he did not bother to make eye contact when we spoke. I swallowed, staring at him for another moment and then shaking my head.

“Well I don’t want to believe that, Lord Tywin… I don’t- don’t wish for you to truly see me as childish or immature.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that I don’t. Not most of the time, anyway.”

We said nothing else, only staring for a few moments before continuing to walk back to the horses. If there was one thing that I could say about Tywin Lannister that was true 100% of the time, it was that he never failed to surprise me. In both good and bad ways, I supposed. 

After a few minutes we found the horses again, and I was grateful to be free of the ache on my shoulder as I tossed the stag onto the back of the animal. It was also fairly easy to secure, and it did not move an inch when I mounted my horse.

“We can discuss the wedding now, if you’d like,” Lord Tywin offered, getting onto his horse as well and shifting in the saddle. I immediately shook my head.

“No, I don’t want to talk about the wedding.”

“Why not? It was the reason you came with me.”

“Because I’m having too good of a time now to want to think about costs. I’ll just tell my grandmother that you agreed to pay for half of it and that’ll be that.” I shrugged, spurring my horse and starting off through the woods at a walk. Lord Tywin followed behind.

“Your grandmother won’t be satisfied with that. You’d be paying for half and supplying the food,” he pointed out, coming up beside me now so we could face each other as we spoke. I looked over at him with quite a bit of surprise.

“You’re the first man in history who’s ever wanted to pay more for something, I hope you realize that.” 

“If House Tyrell is also providing food for the wedding, then it is only fair that I pay more. I hope that you will trust me on the subject of economics.” Lord Tywin raised both eyebrows at me, and I couldn’t resist a small smile. Who else but the richest man in all seven kingdoms would I listen to on the subject of money?

“Very well, Lord Tywin, you will cover a bit more than half. Satisfied?”

He gave me a courteous nod and I laughed, shaking my head at how specific he was on the subject. Although, I suppose one only remains rich with smart financial habits, and being specific about costs certainly is one.

We finally emerged from the woods, and I inhaled sharply at the sight of the sunset. Although the sun was behind us, it was absolutely gorgeous, and the clouds painted all hues of orange and pink across the sky. Kings Landing, as hideous and horrible as it was, looked magnificent. It nearly seemed to glow.

“It’s beautiful,” I muttered, trying to recall the last time I’d seen the sky look this way. It had perhaps been years since I’d observed such a breathtaking view. 

“Yes… beautiful.”

Lord Tywin’s inflection made me curious, and when I turned to look over at him, I found his eyes fixed on me. He inhaled and looked back at the Red Keep, and I assumed that he’d nearly zoned out while looking at me. 

“It’s getting late, Lady (Y/N). That took much longer than I’d anticipated, and King’s Landing is too dangerous after dark. For us, anyway,” he said, making me laugh in disbelief. Too dangerous after dark? If anybody even attempted to lay hands on us it would be the last time they had hands. Although, I suppose I hadn’t brought my sword with me, and I was no expert with a bow.

“And what do you propose we do? One way or another, we need to get back to the Red Keep. Plus, I’m expected at a dinner with your daughter and the king. Both of my siblings will be there, and if I don’t go, it will look bad,” I explained to him, not sure what exactly he had in mind but knowing that one way or another we would have to get back. 

“No, we don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Need to get back to the Red Keep. You have blankets in your saddle bags and so do I. Surely a woman who murders and hunts in her free time isn’t so refined as to refuse sleeping under the stars,” he teased, subtly grinning at the look of shock on my face. Was he utterly insane?

“I’ve never slept outside, Lord Tywin. Not genuinely, anyways,” I sputtered, knowing that the closest I’d ever gotten to doing so was laying out blankets in the middle of the hedge maze with Loras when I was a girl. 

“Perhaps you’ll like it,” he said, looking around for—or rather scouting for—a place to camp. I licked my lips anxiously, trying to find a way to convince him that we shouldn’t do this. To go hunting with him was one thing, but to spend the entire night with him? That was nearly as bad as saying that he was my friend, and if people found out the rumors would be ten times as bad. 

“But the dinner-“

“You don’t want to attend that dinner, Lady (Y/N). And even if you did, we’ve got a better dinner right here than they do.” He motioned his head to the deer on the back of his horse, giving me a somewhat annoyed look. I glanced at the Red Keep, and then back at him. 

“People will talk.”

“Let them. The last time I checked, your hatred for me was still very real and genuine. I feel quite confident that any rumors people might spread will quickly vanish the next time you happen to call me an insufferable cunt. Unless you disagree with my first statement, that is.”

I huffed out, shaking my head and looking away. Yes, he must’ve gone mad, because there was no other logical explanation for him not wanting to return to the Red Keep.

“Trust me, Lord Tywin, when I say that I completely agree with your assessment of my feelings toward you. It’s why I’m so vehemently against your current proposition. I’ve only been able to tolerate this time with you because I killed something. I would rather spend tonight with your daughter and grandson, rest assured,” I said, continuing to shake my head over the idea. The Hand of the King gripped his reins, turning his horse to face me and then settling. He had a very testing look on his face, and I only grew more frustrated as I realized that this was all somewhat amusing to him.

“You’re more than welcome to return on your own, I certainly won’t stop you. I promise you, however, that you will not find any more joy with the king or his mother.” He began to ride away from me now, and I sighed out as I followed behind him. He had laid his eyes on a particularly lucious field, and seemingly had every intention to stay there for the night. 

“There’s an inn nearby, Lord Tywin, why not stay there if you’re insistent upon not returning to the Red Keep?” I questioned, suddenly remembering that if we rode north for about 10 minutes we would stumble upon one. 

“Every inn within at least 20 miles of King’s Landing is full, Lady (Y/N). They’re accommodating the new mass of Lannister and Tyrell soldiers,” he reminded me, to which I groaned. He was right, of course, and I’d already known that, but it was a desperate grasp at something. “I don’t believe you’ll find sleeping outside to be as horrible as you are imagining it to be, and even if it is, it’s only a single night.”

I sighed, realizing I’d exhausted my arguments. I also had no desire to go through King’s Landing on my own, and I knew that Lord Tywin had won for the first time. I prayed he was right about it not being so bad. 

“Fine, Lord Tywin, I’ll join you. Though I am curious, when have you ever slept outside before?” I questioned, suddenly wondering how he even had such experience. How was it possible that the richest and most stuck up man in all of Westeros had done such a thing? Had he secretly taken the black? I laughed to myself at that thought, for it certainly would explain his wardrobe.

“The late King Aerys and I were rather fond of sneaking away from his Kingsguard as boys, and we could not go to inns without being recognized,” he revealed, which somewhat surprised me. It was easy to forget that at one point in time he and Aerys had actually been the best of friends, and it made me feel odd to learn such a fact about the two of them. It was strange to picture a young Tywin Lannister—with a head full of blonde hair—sneaking about with his silver haired companion. It was strange to picture Lord Tywin doing anything remotely fun or mischievous at all. Though, I supposed that sometimes certain people brought out certain sides of you.

“We can stay here for tonight.”

I was broken from my thoughts, and I watched the Old Lion dismount and lead his horse to a tree nearby. Just as I had suspected, he had wanted to stay in the grassy field. I followed him and dismounted too, of course, tying my own horse to ensure he wouldn’t run off or hurt himself. As I examined the stag tied behind the saddle, another thought came to mind.

“How do we plan to eat these deer without knowing how to skin them?” I asked, slowly realizing I had no clue how to skin an animal. I had turned to Lord Tywin, suddenly feeling utterly clueless. The fresh meat certainly would be good, but how on earth were we to prepare it? I certainly had no clue how to gut or cook an animal. I’d have much better luck seasoning one.

“Bold of you, Lady (Y/N), to presume that I don’t know how to skin an animal,” Lord Tywin replied with a hint of amusement, clearly enjoying the anxious look on my face. It only transitioned into surprise as I took in this new information about the man in front of me.

“You do?”

“Of course I do. I’ll find a good log and we can put them on that. Do you know how to build a fire?”

“No, but I can set up our ‘camp’ and perhaps locate some berries to accompany the venison. Maybe herbs, too,” I suggested, though I still found it somewhat ridiculous that I’d agreed to do this. I also felt rather embarrassed by the fact that I genuinely possessed no survival skills. It was something I’d never even needed to think of before.

“Very well.”

I watched Lord Tywin wander into the woods, and I sighed as I located the blankets and such in my saddle bag. It didn’t take very long to lay everything out, so I ventured into the woods myself now too, carrying an empty saddlebag and a cloth to wrap the fruit in.

Much to my relief, I found plenty of berries and herbs, and I was quite excited to bring them back to Lord Tywin. If nothing else, I could at least boast that we wouldn’t be eating any poisonous substances tonight.

However, when I was on my way back to our campsite I became a bit sidetracked. I suddenly noticed an unusually large tree, and it reminded me of one that provided shade for nearly an entire courtyard in Highgarden. I could recall climbing that tree as a child, and for some strange reason I’d felt compelled to do the same with this one. 

I placed my bag down, digging my boots into the base of the tree and gripping at ridges in the wood. I had prepared to start climbing, but was unfortunately interrupted by my least favorite sound: Tywin Lannister’s voice. 

“You shouldn’t do that. You’ve already been walking quite a lot today, among various other physical activities. You’re going to set back your progress.”

I turned and faced the Old Lion, sighing out with a bit of frustration before realizing he was right and relenting. I supposed that it had been rather stupid, in all honesty. I wasn’t even sure why I’d wanted to do it to begin with. I supposed I just missed home.

I placed both feet back on the ground again, bending over to grab the saddlebag and then beginning to walk back with him. We were both silent for a few minutes, but the question on the tip of my tongue did not wish to remain unheard.

“Were you looking for me?”

“Yes. It had been more than half an hour and you still hadn’t returned. I thought perhaps a boar had gotten you,” he answered sarcastically, making me involuntarily smile. Humor was not something that most people would associate with Tywin Lannister, but if you caught him at the right moment you would certainly find it. I supposed even if you didn’t catch him at the right moment he was still rather snarky, which frequently annoyed me. But, in this setting, it was rather nice.

“Why were you attempting to climb a tree? I was rather surprised to find you that way,” he questioned after a moment, looking over at me curiously. I couldn’t blame him, it was somewhat random. I wasn’t entirely sure what had gripped me either.

“There’s one just like it in Highgarden; I used to climb it all the time as a girl. I can still remember poking my head above the leaves and seeing out for miles… I suppose it was one of my favorite places. The other nice thing was that none of my guards could climb up it in their armor, so they’d be forced to let me stay up there,” I told him, laughing to myself at the memories of Ser Elias frantically trying to get me down. Eventually he’d given up, especially once he’d realized that I was surefooted. 

“I see. I take it your findings were successful?” Having noticed the weight at the bottom of my bag, Lord Tywin moved on from the subject. I looked down at it as well, satisfied with my collection.

“Of course they were. I never let you down, Lord Tywin.”

“Ahuh, never.”

We arrived at the campsite then, and I was pleasantly surprised to see a fire already going and a log already laid out in preparation. The Hand of the King certainly knew how to work rather quickly.

As we approached the fire, I noticed that he’d laid out the two deer nearby, though not close enough that they might attract anything to us. As I placed down the saddlebag he went over to them, picking one up and bringing it over.

“Come here, I’ll teach you how to skin it,” he offered—well, more like demanded—as he placed it down on the decent sized log he’d acquired. I finally permitted myself to say the thought that I’d been pondering all day.

“You have considerable strength for your age.” 

Lord Tywin suddenly stood straight and looked over at me with utter surprise. Both of his eyebrows raised at me, and for a moment my cheeks went hot with embarrassment. I supposed the sentiment had sounded better in my head.

“For my age?”

I stared at him for a moment, and for some reason his offense—as it was not truly that genuine—became amusing to me. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing, waving my hand as I giggled to insinuate that I didn’t want to talk about it. Lord Tywin simply scoffed, shaking his head and kneeling down in front of the stag. 

“I did not mean it like that. It was supposed to be a compliment.”

“Are you entirely certain that none of the berries you picked are poisonous, Lady (Y/N)?” he questioned, gazing at me with false concern. I continued to laugh, joining him in front of the log and nodding my head. Yes, he was in quite a good mood—we both were.

“Yes, I’m quite certain, my lord.”

He gave me the subtlest of smiles and then turned his attention back toward the stag. He looked at it for a moment and then nodded, reaching for the knife. When he held it out to me, however, I merely gaped at him. I didn’t have a single clue how to skin an animal, and I didn’t want to risk ruining our hunt.

“Lord Tywin, I-“

“Don’t get all whiny, I’ll help you. I wasn’t going to have you do it all on your own, that would be foolish,” he grumbled, grabbing my wrist and placing the knife into my palm. I sighed out with relief, swallowing as I glanced down at the carcass. For a moment there, I thought he’d expected me to just intuitively gut the damned thing. 

“How- How do I start?” I asked, completely unsure of how to even begin. After all, before today, I’d never even imagined I’d skin an animal. But Lord Tywin knew that too, and with an understanding patience he moved closer to me. He wrapped his right hand around mine, gripping it so that he’d also be able to control the knife. His palms were warm, and for once so were his eyes. 

“Let me guide, hm?”

I nodded, swallowing nervously as he brought my hand up to the stag's underside and pushed the knife inside. It was an odd feeling, though I was more preoccupied by the feeling of his hand squeezing around mine as he did it. That, and the fact that he was so close to me I could faintly feel his breath at the top of my neck.

I couldn’t focus on it, however, because he masterfully brought both of our hands down in clean cuts. We had opened up the animal, and I could see the pink of its raw flesh peaking through from under the fur. I began to wonder why the Boltons did not just do this instead.

“I won’t make you handle the intestines and such, but watch carefully so you at least know how,” he explained, suddenly letting go of my hand. I gave the knife back to him and watched with the intent to learn as he cleaned out all the organs, throwing them off to the side. I’d seen enough of mens internal organs in my life to not feel particularly disgusted by these.

“Shouldn’t you bury those to avoid attracting anything?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. He made a small noise of affirmation, moving closer to me—and handing me the knife—once more.

“Yes, I’ll do so while the meat cooks. Now, let’s finish skinning it. You’re going to dig under the fur, and hold it up with your other hand to get a cleaner cut,” he instructed, hand again coming to mine. The feeling gave me goosebumps, the hairs on my arm rising in response to his gentle palms.

But, either way, I did as I was told and reached to lift the animal’s coat with my free hand. The feeling was somewhat uncomfortable, but I did it nonetheless. When I looked over, Lord Tywin nodded to let me know I was doing it correctly. He then guided my hand again, cutting firmly underneath to remove the skin from the carcass. 

“I’d like to try on my own, if you’re alright with it,” I said genuinely, beginning to feel a bit more confident now that he’d shown me the general gist of it. He said nothing, but moved his hand away from mine and looked at me in expectation. I swallowed, reaching forward again and continuing to cut back the fur. His silence seemed like good enough of a sign to me, and eventually the majority of the deer was stripped bare. 

“Well done, Lady (Y/N). A woman of many talents,” he remarked, though it seemed half genuine and half sarcastic, as if it was in his nature to be rude but he was trying not to be. I held my tongue, instead letting him carve a reasonable amount of meat and push it onto a stick. I proceeded to season it, of course. I would not have my hard work from earlier go to waste.

I sat by the fire as it cooked, and meanwhile Lord Tywin went off a considerable distance to bury the guts. He also took the remains of the carcass with him, though I was not entirely sure where he planned to put it. I found it unnecessary to ask, for strangely I trusted him with it. Though, I could never admit it out loud.

After a while, Lord Tywin joined me in front of the fire again, and having already cleaned my hands I gave him the cloth. Once he’d wiped his own hands clean I offered him some of the berries I’d picked, and suddenly I was glad that I’d decided to stay with him out here, even if it was somewhat odd. I was glad that I’d convinced him to take me hunting to begin with.

“Aren’t you grateful that you brought me with you now, Lord Tywin?”

“How do you mean?”

“You didn’t want me to join you this morning. You were in quite the mood, and yet even despite that we’ve had a lovely day. In my opinion, at least,” I said, smiling at him as I took another berry between my fingers. Lord Tywin scoffed.

“You’re hardly ideal company.”

“Neither are you when you decide to be like this,” I complained, scowling and wondering why he was so quick to put his walls back up every time I began to tolerate him. I supposed it was a good reminder of why I hated him to begin with.

“I apologize for being rude,” he said after a moment, looking over at me. I could tell it was genuine, but I was still somewhat bitter. Why did he feel the need to be rude in the first place? It was so frustrating. 

“You ought to.”

Lord Tywin looked as if he was about to get snarky again, but he contained himself. What a miracle, it must’ve been the first time in his life.

“You’re right, Lady (Y/N), it has been a nice afternoon. It’s been far too long since I’ve spent a decent amount of time free from the Red Keep,” he admitted, which I could relate wholeheartedly to. “And I suppose it’s better that it was you rather than any of those other fools, snakes, spiders and mockingbirds.”

I couldn’t resist a smile at the reference to some of the Keep’s more infamous members. It really was quite the compliment, because even if I did hate him, he could at least trust the fact that I was genuine. False kindness was much worse than honest hatred, my sister had made plenty of people aware of that fact. However, this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“Are you suggesting I’m not capable of being a snake?” I questioned, wanting to get in his head. Such animals were often found underneath flowers, after all.

“You are most certainly capable of being one, but you aren’t. You have no political motivations, unlike your sister. You’ve admitted that all you want is for your father to give you complete command over the Tyrell army,” he answered, pointing out several true facts but ultimately missing an important detail.

“And you believe that prevents me from wanting to advance my siblings? Be careful, Lord Tywin, nightshade is often mistaken as a harmless berry. People only realize their mistake after digesting it,” I cautioned, using my own alias to make him rethink the statement. He pondered for a moment, staring straight at me.

“Have I made a mistake, Lady (Y/N)?”

I gave him a soft smile.

“No, Lord Tywin. Not you.”

He gave a surprised raise of the eyebrows, though he was teasing more than anything, and I felt oddly at peace for the first time in what must’ve been weeks. Yes, I was certainly enjoying today. Though, that thought led me back to something I’d wanted to inquire about earlier.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Lord Tywin, what happened? This morning, I mean. What made your day so awful?” I questioned, for he hadn’t been in nearly such a good mood when I’d first approached him this morning. He was even more bitter than he usually was, and that was saying something.

Lord Tywin blinked a few times, staring into the fire and probably contemplating whether or not he ought to tell me. He decided in the affirmative as he turned his head to look at me, opening his mouth to speak. “Tyrion wishes for me to give him Casterly Rock. He came to me this morning to request it.”

“Will you?” I inquired, staring at the Old Lion. Even just mentioning it had seemingly made him upset, and so I naturally knew that the answer would be no, but I desired to dig deeper into the issue. 

“I’d rather be consumed by maggots.” Lord Tywin only glared into the distance as he spoke; there was venom in his voice as he did. I sighed, trying to figure out where I ought to go from here.

“May I ask why that is?”

“It would be rather rude.”

“I called you an insufferable cunt a few hours ago, I can’t believe this to be so much worse,” I reasoned, huffing out with subtle annoyance. Lord Tywin similarly looked upset, but after a moment he confessed.

“I don’t believe that he’s well suited for it. Constantly drinking, constantly whoring. He would bring down the family legacy that I worked so hard to restore if I let him. Which is precisely why I don’t plan to do so.”

“Lord Tywin, why do you have such grievances against your child, who has never done a thing against you but exist?” I asked, feeling sympathy deep in my heart for Tyrion. As far as I was concerned, he was extremely capable. He’d done well as Hand of the King in his father’s stead, and he’d been responsible for the wildfire at the Battle of Blackwater. To any reasonable man, these were clear signs of competency. To Lord Tywin, however, nothing would ever be enough to override his contempt.

“Never done a thing against me? That boy killed his mother to come into this world. Don’t be foolish, Lady (Y/N),” he replied sharply, practically turning his head completely away from me. And so there it was, not only was Tyrion’s drinking and whoring embarrassing, but he had also been ‘responsible’ for the death of Lady Joanna. I merely shook my head at Lord Tywin.

“Me, foolish? Says the man who truly believes that Tyrion wanted to cause the death of your wife. I know you still feel her loss, and I know that you simply want someone or something to blame for it. Tyrion seemed to be the best culprit, didn’t he? Well, allow me to inform you that he most certainly is not,” I lectured, watching Lord Tywin move forward to take the meat off the fire now that it was ready. He glared at me once he’d done that, and it only prompted me to continue. “And, perhaps if you’d shown Tyrion an ounce of fatherly affection or kindness, he wouldn’t resort to whoring and drinking to fill whatever emptiness you’ve instilled in him from such a young age. You have outcasted him, of course he’s miserable.”

I watched his face rather carefully, gauging his reaction to hearing such a thing. I was correct, and he could not deny that with any real logic, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he did anyways.

“You make excuses for a man you don’t even know,” Lord Tywin pointed out, placing the meat onto a fresh cloth. It was so tender that we were able to take pieces off with our hands.

“I defend a man that wouldn’t need defending had he not been a dwarf. Plus, I have been in his position, fighting for my fathers approval so that I might obtain what I deserve. Tyrion is the most like you, Lord Tywin. He is most qualified to take over as the Lord of Casterly Rock, and you hate to admit it because of your personal grievances,” I replied, reaching for some of the meat once I was finished. It practically melted in my mouth, and I knew then that at least Lord Tywin had been honest about us having a better dinner here than we would in the Red Keep. It was sort of ironic that a better meal could be found in the Kingswood than at the finest tables in all seven kingdoms.

“My personal grievances…” Lord Tywin huffed, shaking his head before continuing, “my father, Lady (Y/N), made House Lannister the weakest of all the great houses. Our gold mines were just as abundant then as they are now, and for some reason, he believed that meant that anybody should be allowed to take from them. He loaned to nearly every single lord in the kingdoms, and gods forbid that he ever asked for that gold back. We were picked on relentlessly, all because my father didn’t have enough of a spine to realize that he was being used and laughed at. I grew tired of hearing that sound rather quickly, as you can imagine. I’ve fixed the ruination that my father brought upon House Lannister, and dealt with the personal embarrassments. He gave my mothers jewelry to a whore… so perhaps- perhaps now you can understand why I have very little interest in giving Tyrion the rock,” he said, staring into the fire for most of his rant. 

It was odd to consider, for I’d never really spent any time thinking about Lord Tywin’s childhood. I had known that people called Lord Tytos ‘the Laughing Lion’, but that was about as far as my knowledge on the subject went. After all, why should I take any interest in the man responsible for putting Tywin Lannister on the earth?

“But it’s more than just that, and I can’t expect you to understand what it’s like to lose a person that you love. I can’t expect anybody to understand what it was like to lose Joanna… I- I loved that woman more than anything. I loved her more than any man or god. And the day that I lost her, well…” he trailed off, and even despite the fact that he would not look at me, I could see the pain and sadness in his eyes. By some miracle, I found sympathy in my heart for this man. I supposed I didn’t have a clue what it was like to lose someone that way—not even an inkling.

“Tell me about her. What did you love most about her?” I turned to face the Old Lion more completely now, leaning on my hand as I sat. Lord Tywin looked at me then, and for a moment I thought that he was going to stay silent. But no, he decided to surprise me.

“That’s an impossible question to answer. I loved everything about her, from her smile to the way that she would attempt to break my composure at court. I sought her advice more than anyone else's, even Kevan’s. She was an advisor and a friend, and more than that she was one of the only people who could ever make me smile or laugh. And gods, she was so beautiful… there was something in her eyes…” 

I watched Lord Tywin go off to an entirely different world. He did not even seem like himself as he spoke about her, and it made me soften. I had never met a man who loved a woman so much, which was surprising given the fact that Tywin Lannister was frequently regarded as utterly ruthless. And yet here he was, with all the love in the world in his eyes as he spoke about his late wife. 

It was no excuse for how he treated Tyrion, of course, but I supposed it made more sense now. To care for a person that much and lose them… well, it would take a toll on anyone. It was also interesting to consider that many people had said the best part of Tywin Lannister died with Lady Joanna, because I found myself in disagreement with that statement.

The best part of this man had not died, for the way he was sitting here talking about her was so genuine, so pure. If this was not Tywin Lannister at his best, then we weren’t sitting here eating venison and berries. I suspected that the best part of him simply just hadn’t had anyone to show itself to since then. 

“If it is any reassurance, Lord Tywin, at least you got to experience such love to begin with, as did she. Most women can only dream of marrying a man who loves them that much, and you gave her that. At least, I know that I certainly won’t receive such affection from whoever I’ll end up marrying,” I told him, reaching out and placing my hand on his shoulder as a reassurance. He looked over at me, thinking for a moment.

“Perhaps you will, Lady (Y/N). Do not give up hope just yet, you probably haven’t even met the man you’ll marry,” he pointed out, being surprisingly optimistic for once. I shrugged, and now it was my turn to gaze into the fire.

“Yes, perhaps I will…” I trailed off, beginning to really consider the fact that I most definitely would not end up marrying a man that I loved. I would end up with some first born son or other, and the second that the ceremony was over my father would take the opportunity to pass on the title of commander to Loras. After all, what husband would want his wife leading an army? That would make them far too self conscious.

I sighed, reaching for the strings at the back of my doublet and loosening them as well as I could. Unfortunately, I’d gotten rather used to having Cerella there to help me, and now I had no chambermaid. I was going to have to do something unimaginable. 

“Lord Tywin… could you…?” I motioned to the strings on my doublet, and he instantly nodded. For all of his faults, he was at least not so cruel that he would not help a person even if it had no effect on his life.

He moved over to me, and I adjusted all my hair to make sure that he could reach the strings with easy access. For the second time that night, his breath was on my neck, and I could feel his hands working at the back of my garment. It was oddly intimate, and all I could do was look down while he helped me.

“There you are, all the strings are undone,” he said after a few minutes, moving away from me and sitting down on the grass once more. I nodded, letting my hair go back as I removed the doublet and was left in my shirt, pants, and boots. I folded it neatly and placed it down beside me, laying down on the ground and turning my head toward the fire. I would have felt rather uncomfortable being so casually dressed in front of any other man, but somehow it was not like that with Lord Tywin.

I suspected that it was reassuring to know that he took no interest in me, for why would he? Not only could he purchase any whore he wanted, but I was also an absolute nightmare for him. There’s nothing particularly attractive about knowing someone detests you more than anyone else.

And even more reassuring to know was that even if Lord Tywin—by some utterly insane means—had been attracted to me, he was not the kind of man who had no self control. Which is not to say that he did not have desires, because just like any other human I was quite certain that he did, but he was not a desperate man. Unlike most, his head did not turn to utter mush at the sight of a woman’s skin. 

It was this reassurance that allowed me to slowly drift off, even if I wasn’t on my bedrolls and had no intention of sleeping yet. It had been a long day, and I had certainly exerted myself much more than any maester would’ve recommended. That, combined with the sound of the fire and the darkness of night coaxed me into sleep. And I wouldn’t realize it until later, but the next morning I would wake up among my bedrolls and blankets, perfectly sound. Not only that, but I would also have an extra blanket: a blanket that Lord Tywin was lacking.

—————

Lord Tywin had been contemplating when he realized you’d fallen asleep. He was removing his own coat when he looked over and noticed your closed eyes. For a moment, he thought that perhaps you were just resting, but the slow pattern of your breathing was unmistakable. Yes, you were asleep. So what was he to do?

Should he wake you? Let you sleep in the grass? Well, he knew he ought to move you onto your bedrolls, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do so without waking you, and that was the dilemma. Plus, what if you woke up while he was attempting to move you? The last thing he wanted to do was freak you out or make you uncomfortable, especially after what you had revealed to him several weeks ago. 

While contemplating what to do, however, he couldn’t resist the urge to admire you. Lord Tywin had met plenty of women in his life, and yet you were certainly quite unique to him. All the Tyrell women seemed to have a certain wit to them that was impossible not to admire, or at the very least respect. 

He certainly knew you better than he knew any of your family, and he distrusted you significantly less than them. Well, maybe he distrusted you more than your father and brother, but who could blame him? The men of Highgarden certainly paled in comparison to its women. And his opinion on your brother was something else entirely, something you’d lecture him about eventually. It seemed you enjoyed doing that with quite a lot of subjects.

But right now, all he could do was admire your sleeping form. If he was honest, Lord Tywin was rather confused as to how you were not yet married. Because even if he did not want to admit it, he knew that you were, in fact, beautiful, incredibly intelligent, and well mannered. At least, you were with anybody besides him. 

Any lord should certainly want such a woman at his side, though perhaps other men were not so confident and felt insecure next to you. It was also entirely possible that you’d given your father such a hard time with the subject that he’d simply not cared to do anything about it. Not yet, anyways. It seemed that you already suspected your days without a husband were numbered. 

But that was neither here nor there, the only thing that mattered right now was that you were asleep. You looked so peaceful when you slept—to Lord Tywin at least. It was strange to see you this way, especially in sharp contrast to your usually bright and energetic person. It was also very different from the woman who told him off at every opportunity she got. You were a rather angry person, and Lord Tywin was not sure whether that was merely a reaction to him or a characteristic of yours, though he wished to know. 

But at least for now, here in this moment, you were at peace. He was determined to keep it that way, bringing him back to his dilemma once again. What to do? He did not wish to leave you in the grass, he had at least decided on that. That narrowed it down to two options for him: wake you, or pray you did not wake up as he carried you to your bedrolls. 

Lord Tywin’s mind felt cloudy as he debated it, but after pondering for a few moments more, he felt his nervous figure involuntarily moving closer to your sleeping one. Before he had time to rethink what he was doing, he gently slid one hand under your back. When you remained asleep, he exhaled with relief and carefully continued. His other hand came under your knees, and slowly but surely, he lifted you from the ground. It was only a few steps to your bedrolls, and his muscled arms did perfectly fine with your weight, even despite having carried around deer carcasses all day. Plus, he much rather preferred this to some dead animal, for you did not stink that way. You actually smelled quite nice, with a somewhat floral scent as befitted a Tyrell. 

Lord Tywin was careful as he set you down, placing your legs first. He kept his hand under your head, preventing it from hitting the ground with any real force as he lowered the rest of your body. He slowly removed his hands, sighing out when he observed that you were still soundly asleep. He’d moved you successfully, thank the gods. 

Lord Tywin reached down and covered you in your blanket, which based on the material probably only provided modest protection from the cold at best. Well, you were from Highgarden, why would you need heavy blankets in your saddlebag? That was what he reasoned, at least. 

Not wanting you to be cold, Lord Tywin got up and grabbed one of his own blankets. One would be enough for him, for he could always put his coat back on if he needed to. He came back to your bedrolls again, kneeling down before you.

Gently, and what another person might describe as rather sweetly, he brought the blanket over you, making sure that it trapped in as much heat as possible. His eyes scanned over your sleeping form once more to check that everything was alright. When he decided it was, a sudden urge gripped him. 

Lord Tywin could not explain what in the seven hells possessed him, but he found himself reaching toward your head, softly running a hand over your hair. The feeling made his stomach tighten, and that alone made him vastly uncomfortable. What was he doing?

He exhaled as his jaw flexed forward, his eyebrows already furrowed together just as they commonly were. Lord Tywin moved from your side and resigned to his own bedrolls, hoping to let the odd feeling pass in his sleep. When he woke in the morning and set his eyes upon you, however, that feeling would only take a few moments to return. And gods, as hard as he would try, it would not go away.

TAGLIST:

@cheyxfu @lemonscoffee @groovy-lady 

@ladysindar @vesta-ro @exo-nova @paola-carter

@prettykinkysoul 

@fullmoonshadowwrites @kishie8 

@the-desilittle-bird @dianilaws @girlonfireice 

@muscari-fae @lostgirllulu 

@abigfanofgameofthrones @smalltownbigheart 

@frombloodandflesh @supernaturalismyreligion666

@thanyatargaryen @rey26 @hexandale @pkawaiidesu5394 @aimsro @gbatesx @lockleysgrl

[aidensteddybear]

Regressor Jake and Caregiver Connor headcannons maybe?

They just feel very father and son coded after watching all stars y'know?

Regressor! Jake w/ Caregiver! Connor Headcanons

•Connor found out about Jake’s regression just a few days after interacting with him for the first time.

•Jake didn’t mean to regress in front of Connor, but he saw him as a father figure almost immediately and felt safe with him, which had triggered out his little side.

•Jake’s first time regressing in front of Connor was also the first time he had referred to him as “Dad”. It was completely on accident and the name just sort of slipped out.

•Connor was definitely confused by the nickname at first, but he put that and Jake’s sudden childish behaviors together, which caused him to realize Jake was in a regressed state.

•After that incident, Jake repeatedly apologized to Connor about regressing in front of him and calling him “Dad”. Though, Connor was more than fine with it and had to keep telling Jake that he didn’t need to apologize.

•Once Connor reassured him that everything was okay, Jake felt even more comfortable with him.

•On non challenge days, and sometimes after challenges, Jake most likely will regress around Connor for a bit, mainly to help with the stress of the game.

•Jake’s very clingy towards Connor and will follow him around constantly. Connor will also carry Jake around with him as well.

•Connor really enjoys caring for Jake, as he’s always wanted kids, he just never had them. He basically sees Jake as the son he’s always wanted.

•Jake calls Connor “Dad” pretty often when he’s regressed. Though, when he’s at a younger age, he’ll call Connor “Daddy” or “Dada” sometimes.

•Connor also has some nicknames for Jake. He mostly calls him “Kiddo”, “Buddy”, “Bud”, and “Son”.

•Connor makes a lot of corny dad jokes, which Jake always finds hilarious. Connor’s jokes always make him giggle and laugh.

•After Connor sprained his ankle, Jake got even more clingier towards him, since he was worried.

•Jake also tried his best to care for Connor as well, though he mostly just cuddled with Connor, which did make him feel less sad.

•When Jake’s regresses to babyspace, he tends to be very grabby, so he often pulls Connor’s sunglasses off of his head.

•Connor’s tried to take the glasses away from him, but every time he did, Jake would throw a fit over it. So now, Connor just lets Jake hold and play with them, as he doesn’t exactly want to deal with one of Jake’s fits.

•Speaking of fits, it’s pretty easy for Jake to have them. He doesn’t have full blown temper tantrums that much, but he definitely has fits where he’ll whine and become fussy.

•Connor isn’t the best at dealing with them, since he isn’t 100% sure what to do. He just gets sort of awkward when Jake has a fit or tantrum, but obviously still tries to comfort and calm him down.

•Another thing Jake will grab is Connor’s hair. He’ll either pull on his hair or just hold a very tight grip on it, so Connor always has to pry his hand away.

•Since there’s not much to do at camp, Jake gets bored pretty easily. Though, Connor soon found out that Jake gets very entertained with playing peekaboo.

•Jake is super cuddly. He will absolutely sit on Connor’s lap and snuggle with him for hours.

•Jake tends to act very protective with Connor. He doesn’t like anyone else interacting with him when he’s supposed to be receiving Connor’s attention. Jake gets very upset if he’s not getting enough attention and affection.

•Connor had to get used to the fact that Jake is extremely sensitive and cries easily. Whether it’s because he got very mildly injured, like a tiny scratch, or if it’s because he feels sad or angry, Jake is going to cry about it.

•However, Connor found a quick solution to soothing Jake, and that’s rocking him. It doesn’t take long at all for Jake to calm down when Connor cradles and slowly rocks him.

[lee-hatchett]

Lee hadn't planned to Volunteer.

It was a nightmare of a situation, to be sure. Lee was forced to be on stage with the other Victors, including Linden, fresh off her win only to be in that damned bowl again. He felt helpless, looking out at the crowd of faces. All of them in danger. All of them at risk. All of them hoping against hope it wasn't them. No one's odds had ever been this good, but then again, so many of them had gone up from zero percent. How could you draw breath in a scene like that?

There was ice in the silence amongst the District as the anthem played to their unhearing ears, and ice in the glaze of their eyes as the propos video played. The Peacekeepers in the crowds and on stage stiffened visibly as the video concluded, and then it was all Linden. Poor, small, Linden. What a terrible thing. She could draw herself, again, and Ellie would be... no. Lee couldn't think of that right now.

In fact, he didn't get the chance to. Linden was clearly scared, but she wasn't about to defy the Peacekeepers with weapons on stage. Her hand plunged deep into the bowl. It rotated once, twice. What a concept. Lee had always seen the Escorts do that, and it had always felt so cruel. So pointless. To stir the names before drawing. After all, what difference did it make? It had always seemed to him a nasty performance, as if to say, See? It's all equal. But now he saw it differently. He could almost feel the fire on his own fingers as she dug deep, probably chanting to herself, Someone I don't know. Not me. Not my friends.

She called a name, and Lee's breath fell from his chest. He didn't recognize it. He instantly bit his lip, angry with himself. How could he be glad at a time like this? But then again, how could he not? It wasn't Bluejay. It wasn't Juniper. It wasn't Elma. It wasn't any of the workers at the lumberyards with him. It wasn't his father's old drinking friends. It wasn't Bluejay's first girlfriend, or the patient Juniper had mended at the hospital. It wasn't any of the previous names he'd heard before, ushered to their deaths, and left families behind. He didn't recognize the name, and he was grateful. It wasn't him.

Someone shuffled forward from the crowd. Lee couldn't make out their form properly - the Peacekeepers were so tightly surrounding them. Even when brought onto stage, the escort lined behind the Tribute, blocking them from Lee's view at the back of the stage.

But Lee once again wasn't given time to catch his breath, because Linden's hand was already in the bowl again. Who knew what her reasoning was - maybe she felt she needed to be equitable. Maybe she felt she had pressed her luck with the deep end of the bowl. Maybe she, like Lee, now saw the futility of the gesture and wanted nothing more to have the ceremony be over so they could move on. But her hand was barely in the bowl when she snatched a piece of paper off the top. Her voice was like a Peacekeeper's gunshot.

"Alder Reid."

Lee's head snapped sideways, his jaw agape, as he looked for Alder. No, no, no! This couldn't be happening. He looked for Forest, for anyone on that stage. This was unreal. There was no way. With all the population of Seven here, the odds of this were astronomical. It couldn't be happening.

His breath fell full into his lungs. Lee took a half step forward, but no further. A Peacekeeper behind him grabbed him by the waist and pulled him back. Suddenly there was no air in his lungs anymore - he felt the cold metal of a pistol press deep into his ribs, pressing the breath out of him.

"Don't," someone growled in his ear. "Don't do a damn thing. Or you'll die right here, and he will still go into the Arena." And then there was nothing. Alder was gone - a mob of Peacekeepers doing their dutiful jobs. Linden was gone, the Escort escorted away. Forest was gone, ushered into the capital building with the other Tribute. It seemed like it was just Lee, alone on stage with the entirety of Seven watching, as he lost his breath. It didn't come in gasps, it didn't come in heaves. It simply wasn't there.

The barrel of the gun dug further into his back. He followed its lead, stumbling forward. A second Peacekeeper materialized, grabbing him by the elbow. Then a third, taking his shoulder, then a fourth, jabbing him in the back to move. So he moved. He moved.

Something in his soul moved, too.

No, Lee Hatchett had not planned to Volunteer. But he had found a calling all the same.

[fruk-choosing-a-username]

YOU ALL GET TO HEAR MORE ABOUT MY OBLIVION BLORBO FROM MY BRAIN WORMS

I was tagged by @lucien-lachance for the OC Infodump Tag Game!! Once again using my Oblivion OC Colonir, because Oblivion is what my brain is currently fixating on. My 3 brain cells pass around Oblivion and Baldur's Gate like blunts

Tagging anyone who wants to participate! Putting this under a cut bc holy fuck do I RAMBLE

________________________________________

Colonir Gladethorn Info Dump

________________________________________

1. What is your OC's name? How did you choose it? Were there any other names you considered?

- Colonir Gladethorn is his full name, I just used a bosmer name generator and combined the options that came up until one sounded good lol. His name actually used to be a dumb nickname (forgot what it was), and when I started thinking of what his "real" name would be I realized the real name was way better than the nickname and threw the nickname out entirely

2. How was your OC raised? What kind of background?

- Colonir was raised in Valenwood, but he was raised by a dumner named Veinis Raladayn. His parents died shortly after he was born, and Veinis was a friend to them both that was visiting Valenwood to get out of Morrowind for a while (if my timeline and math is correct, Colonir's birth was around the time of the events of TES 3). When they died, he decided to raise Colonir himself. He stayed in Valenwood so Colonir could grow up in his homeland. They lived in Arenthia specifically. Unfortunately they were pretty poor most of his life. He got into thievery and got in trouble with the law often, and was also always a pretty dark and fucked up kid. As a teen he would get into a lot of fights, and was pretty much the elder scrolls equivalent of the weird quiet kid. He would say horrible and violent things to people and Veinis would have to pull him aside like "DUDE YOU CAN'T SAY THAT STUFF".

3. What kind of values do they have? How were they instilled in them?

- Not really sure if Colonir really has any values. I suppose one could be he only worries about himself and anyone he actually does care about. He'll do deeds and jobs for people around Cyrodiil, but only if it benefits him in some way. Because of growing up poor and often being outcasted for being "weird" or "messed up", he ended up living most his childhood with a "the world vs me" mindset. He generally still has that mindset. He doesn't show how angry with the world he actually is, and he'll get in the habit of hiding his violent intrusive thoughts and be much more tame, but they're still there...

4. What does your OC look like? Have they had other designs? How has their look changed?

- I designed Colonir in game for the first time in 2020 when shit hit the fan and I wanted to try Oblivion again after trying and failing to play it years before. I stuck with that first design ever since, and he's only ever had small tweaks since then. He's Bosmer, so he's short, but he's also pretty well built. Not like, body builder level or anything, but one of his major skills is athletics so yeah. He's also kinda thicc. Because why not. He has slightly tanned skin, of course the long pointy ears, his eyes are green, and his hair is light blue and shoulder length. He usually ties his hair into a low ponytail and has curtain bangs. His face is round in shape and he has a bigger, kinda pointy nose. He doesn't have any scars or anything until YEARS later (that's his Skyrim design, Colonir in Skyrim is a whole other story)

5. Does your OC have a family? What do they define as family?

- As mentioned, he never knew his real parents because they died very shortly after his birth. Veinis is his adoptive father, and he always saw him as his real dad. He cares a lot about him and wishes to repay him for all he did for him throughout his childhood (and for putting up with him). However, there's the Dark Brotherhood too. He will very much believe they are his family as he gets accustomed to that life and grows closer to them all. It's one of the many reasons he loves Lucien so much: after he left Valenwood and ended up in this new province with no one to go to, Lucien gave him more people who understand him that he can truly trust. He gave him another family.

6. Does your OC have a mentor or someone they can look up to? Why do they look up to them?

- I'd say as a mentor, Veinis fits the bill for Colonir. No matter how shitty things got for them, Veinis stayed cheerful and positive. No matter how badly Colonir fucked up, Veinis bailed him out and remained patient with him. He worked very hard to make Colonir happy, because he knew how much he hated their situation and how upset it always made him. He taught him the skills of his class, everything he knows about archery and sword fighting, and combat in general. Damn good guy to choose as a mentor for this fucked up little elf

7. What has been the most significant event in your OC's life? How has this affected them?

- Oh god. There's so many. This twink has been through a ROLLERCOASTER. How about when he joined the Dark Brotherhood for the first time, and found a place to embrace the dark violence in him he always tried to control or hide? Or when the love of his life that gave him this new life was flayed alive and hung in front of him? And then he was thrown into a position of power he didn't think he deserved and ran away from the Brotherhood to avoid it? Or when he stepped into an Oblivion Gate for the first time and realized how fucked everyone really is? Then there's the whole "am I a hero or a villain" crisis he has through the entire main questline. He finds comfort and a friend in Martin but hey guess what HE LOSES HIM TOO. But it's okay because before Martin died Lucien came back, he never really died! So now Colonir can go back to his Listener duties! But wait, he's the Champion of Cyrodiil now, he'd be lying to the people and disrespecting everything Martin sacrificed himself for. He won't get over that until he becomes a vampire and almost gets enslaved by a deadric prince he went to for help. After that he'll realize the world is fucked up sometimes, and that the people of Cyrodiil don't need a saint, just someone willing to fight off the fucked up shit. Honestly this whole thing is a lot more complex and makes more sense in more detail, but if I go into any further detail this post will be the length of a novel

8. Who does your OC care about? Is it reciprocal?

- As mentioned already, he cares about Veinis and the Cheydinhal DB members as family. He also sees Martin as a best friend, and comes to respect the Blades as well, and becomes good friends with Jauffre and Baurus. Finally, he is MADLY in love with Lucien Lachance. Borderline OBSESSED with the guy. Heart eyes around him 24/7. All of his relationships with these characters are reciprocal in the respective ways (although for Mraaj'Dar it took a while LOL)

9. What are your OC's hobbies? How do they relax?

- Stealing. His hobby is stealing. And hiking through forests. He often relaxes by training. He likes feeling prepared and staying on top of his skills. Otherwise he's eating or sleeping lol

10. What should we understand most about your OC?

- He's really not a TERRIBLE guy. Yeah, he's an assassin and a thief and has "violent thoughts". SURE he emotionally manipulated the Grey Prince so he could beat him easier. MAYBE he killed Vilena Donton because he hated her so much and that landed him into a murder cult he now leads. But he's not like the fuckin Dark Urge from BG3 ok??? .... Except for the "leading a murder cult" part. I always saw him as morally grey. Still pretty evil, but he's capable of being "good" when he has to be. He didn't want to be a big shot hero, but he didn't want to see the world end either. He still lives in it, and so do the people he's come to care for.

[hmacas]

Everyone always said that fathers their daughters would be their first love. Every time I heard that sentence, my heart would be shattered once again. Because my father was never my first love. My father had never even been my father. He had just become a man who thought he was a father. From the first moment I was born, he didn't do anything to show me that he loved me. He didn't make you feel like it. From the first moment I was born, I was so dependent on that love that I never felt full.

Like every child, they would ask me, 'Is it your mother or your father?' I always called this question my father. Because I believed that the more I loved my father, the more he would love me. If everyone in the world showed interest and everyone showed love, it would not be comparable to a small movement of his. The happy memories that never left my head would turn into chains that suffocated me. Because I knew those memories were so few. I would give everything to relive those moments over and over again.

I had chosen to be an emotionless person. I’ve been like this since I was little. I didn’t like to show my feelings, to express them. Because that’s how I saw it from my father. And I couldn’t help but do anything to look like him. My whole character was the same as him. I understood something when I started to see in myself everything that I judged him, everything that I was angry with him. I wouldn’t be a parent for the rest of my life. Because if I were to push my children into this well, like him, I wouldn’t want to.

There would be some moments. I really feel like he love me. Or what I’ve seen. I couldn’t hold my eyes from crying. My eyes would fill up every time this topic was broken. It wouldn’t stop. Because I would love so much that this void would be filled, I would like someone to hear it. My traumas that I didn’t tell anyone, that I couldn’t tell, wouldn’t leave me behind. He kept coming across me somewhere. Even when I was talking about my father, my eyes would fill up, they wouldn’t stop.

I could never say I had my father behind me. I couldn’t say I would call when my head was stuck. I wouldn’t know if he would stop behind me. No matter what, I thought, ‘Are you okay, girl? The rest doesn’t matter.’ Would he just blame me or get angry if something happened? I wouldn’t know. But I knew he wasn’t just going to say, ‘I’m with you,’ even once. I knew he wouldn’t take me in his arms and make me feel safe. I knew that no matter how many times I dug his love for me, I would not be able to pull it off. I knew he wouldn’t show me the loving side he showed other people.

What did he know about me, for example? He found out today that I don’t like salads. Last week I didn’t like spinach. Even though he met my best friend, if I asked him by her name, he wouldn’t be able to tell me. He never knew I wanted to be a director. What was my biggest dream? What was the day that hurt me the most? Did he know that I was trying to commit suicide? Did he know my favorite color? My favorite number? The movie that changed my life? The book I said I can’t live without?

Did he really know me? He didn’t know I had a boyfriend. Did he know? How many times have I begged to die while drunk.. That I was abused.. I tried to commit suicide 4 times.. My sexual orientation.. I said I was once in love with my best friend.. In my lover’s arms, I cried because I don’t know how to love.. Every time I see a healthy father-daughter relationship, my heart breaks over and over again.. He didn’t know. He didn’t know how many books I had written. He didn’t know I couldn’t give love to people. He didn’t know I was afraid to love even my own sister.

I had a father. He was alive, he was in my life. My family was not separated. We lived in the same house. We were seeing each other all the time. But we were far away. We were so far away that there were worlds between us. It was not possible to unite those worlds. My father loved me, I knew. But he was terrible at showing it. It always has been. This opened a void in my heart that I could not close for the rest of my life. If 100 different men entered my heart, it was a void that none of them could fill. It would hurt me every time I remember it for the rest of my life.

I had my father, but i didn’t. He was a wind that came and went in between. I knew he was there, but I didn’t always feel him. I knew he loved me, but I couldn’t see him. I would give everything to be able to see it. But he still wouldn’t show me the side he showed everyone. Even now, if I was asked, “Is it your mother or your father?” I would choose my father. Because maybe one day this gap would be filled. Maybe one day this little girl who cried even when she talked about her father would recover. Maybe one day my father is worth this choice.

My father. My father for the rest of my life. Even if I die and he dies, my father. It’s because he couldn’t make me feel it. My father.. Because he couldn’t keep me alive. He wasn’t there, maybe some day will.

[sapphireginger]

You’re On My Frequency

Summary:

As he was about to take a sip of his drink, the radio in his office crackled to life and his grip crushed the glass in his hand. He marched in there and grabbed the microphone, his voice steely as he said, “Whoever the fuck this is needs to stop. This is my station. So, just stop it okay?” He was panting after his chastening, and thought that would be the end of it until…

“Who is this?”

AO3 Link

June 1st, 2021

One day, Stiles was sitting in his FBI issued SUV when the radio clicked on all by itself. It was weird and he almost turned it off. That was until he heard the call code and his breath stuttered. He shut it off and shook his head. No. No way. He elected to ignore it. He had places to be and an anniversary coming up. He didn’t need this shit.

However, strangely enough, it wasn’t just the FBI SUV radio that was acting up. It was his pal Thomas’s cruiser radio. It was the captain's radio. It was the store radio. It was every single radio and yet no one else heard it or acted any different. Stiles assured himself over and over again that it was nothing as he grabbed the bouquet of flowers and winced at the rain outside. At least he brought an umbrella right? Oh. That’s right. He left it in the car. So a soaking wet Stiles quickly ran towards his car. Suddenly, he tripped, crashing to the ground, the flowers getting crushed and well he just sat there and started to cry.

An angry, dirty and grieving Stiles got home and headed to his office. He should shower but fuck that. The fireplace was lit and he cradled a glass of whiskey as he stared at the picture on the mantle. “I might join you soon. I swear I’m going crazy. You’re supposed to be here and you’re not.”

As he was about to take a sip of his drink, the radio in his office crackled to life and his grip crushed the glass in his hand. He marched in there and grabbed the microphone, his voice steely as he said, “Whoever the fuck this is needs to stop. This is my station. So, just stop it okay?” He was panting after his chastening, and thought that would be the end of it until…

“Who is this?”

“Who are you?!” Stiles demanded.

“PH—89.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I assure you it’s my code. Who are you and how did you access this? It can’t be your station. It’s my father’s.”

Stiles froze at that and oh yeah, he has definitely gone crazy. “What’s your name?” he asked, glancing at the inscription on the radio.

“Peter Hale.”

When did the room get blurry and why was he so cold all of a sudden? Stiles didn’t know, but he would recognize that voice anywhere. He just didn’t understand. “Oh. I’m Sti—Genim. Though my mom always calls me Mischief.”

“Father says I’m a troublemaker but I think he’s just annoyed he never can figure out how I pull half the shit I pull.”

Stiles chuckled and glanced at the inscription again, letting his thumb brush over it. He smiled and pressed the button again. “Well get this…once when I was about twelve I think? Anyway I went around our home and moved everything a half inch to the left. It really frustrated my mom. She still has no idea how I did it.”

A laugh echoed from the radio and Stiles got chills. He knew that laugh. “That’s priceless dude.”

Stiles sputtered. Peter used dude? He scoffed, and Peter had given Stiles such a hard time about it. That made his smile fade because gave was the keyword. Past tense. The ten year anniversary of Peter’s death was coming up. Stiles would never be able to forget the worst day of his life.

Amber eyes flooded with tears but he pushed through it to continue the conversation. Whoever this was sounded enough like Peter that it was helping. Surely it wasn’t going to hurt anything if they talked more. Right? “Right? She always says I’m her Mischief maker but I prefer Master of Mischief and Chaos. What a mouthful that was for a six year old. Not like my full name though.”

The man whose voice was almost identical to Peter’s replied quickly. “Well, I bet I could say your name. What is it?”

Stiles snorted, his heart aching a bit. That was what Peter had said the first time too and well Stiles knew Peter was able to say it which was why he didn’t give his name this time. It would hurt too much.

“So, Peter Hale. Tell me about you? Are you even old enough to be on this?”

The offense and eyebrow quirk were obvious despite not seeing his face, or maybe that was just Stiles’s imagination.

“Listen here, Genim. I’ll have you know my father said I could use this as soon as I turned eighteen. I’m nineteen now. So there!”

Stiles snorted even as he froze again. Nineteen. Stiles remembered nineteen with Peter and fought back a gut wrenching sob. Stiles’s best friend Peter was nineteen when he died. Suddenly, Stiles was regretting this. He should shut it off and throw it away but the inscription prevented such an action. He simply couldn’t get rid of it. The radio was Peter’s and had been Mr. Hale’s radio before that.

“Dude?” Doppelgänger Peter’s voice said. “That was kind of a churlish response for me to give you, but how do I know you’re not some forty year old creep?”

“True, but if I said I wasn’t, would you believe me?”

Doppelgänger Peter didn’t even hesitate. “Well, yeah.”

Stiles scoffed. “Really?” he sneered, pain lodged in every fiber of his body. “How naive of you. You shouldn’t be so trusting!” He stilled and sighed, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes to stop the flow of tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Something is eating at you man. Come on. Tell me all about it, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart? You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not but you need an ear and I have two. Go for it.”

“You’re gonna wish that you hadn’t offered.”

“We’ll see. You just let me be the judge of that.”

Stiles sighed and took a deep, steadying breath. He had never really talked to anyone about what happened except his mother and well they weren’t talking now. She might as well have been living hundreds of miles away because that’s how it felt to gaze at the house when he drove by it on his way into work. He was cruel in his words. He lashed out and now it was just him, a portrait of Peter and this stranger on the radio.

“There’s a day coming up that sucks for me. I guess this entire month sucks for me. I lost someone very important to me. It’s really just me now. I have my mom but we don’t talk anymore. It’s my fault but…”

“What was the date of it if it’s okay to ask?”

Stiles huffed. “I’d never forget. June 5th, 2011.”

Silence is the response he got, silence and the crackling of static. After waiting he tried again. “Wishing you hadn’t asked?”

The voice still eerily like Peter’s was so soft when it spoke again. “Dude. Today is June 1st. 2011.”

Rage flooded Stiles's body at that moment and he smashed the lamp. “Don’t fuck with me and my grief. You have no idea what—who—I lost, Peter.”

“You’re right I don’t but I just looked at the calendar. I’m serious. I’m not being insensitive. I might be an asshole but not that kind of one.”

Stiles was only able to see red and he smirked. “All right. I’ll tell you something that happened earlier that year on April 28th, 2011.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Okay. I’m not a fan of that day but go ahead.”

Yeah this was freaky. “My best friend—whom I loved—and I went into the academy together. We dreamt of being agents for the FBI. Something went wrong in one of the shooting practices. A gun was tampered with and my best friend he—He nearly lost his leg. We got in a fight and he told me he’d never be an agent now and I should just go on without him but I told him not without him. He called me stupid and naive.

“We stormed away and the one fucking time we don’t stick to our never walking away angry…it’s the last time I saw him. On June 5th, 2011…our superior brought me in and sat me down. They had found his body. He’d been attacked by someone who I still haven’t been able to catch. I know the case like the back of my hand and 10 years later I’m no closer than I was then. So tell me Peter Hale. What happened to you on April 28th that makes you not a fan of that day?”

Stuttering breaths came through the radio. “Who are you man? Have you talked to Stiles? Did he tell you?”

Stiles hissed and stepped back. Nope. Not possible. He was drunk. Yeah. Yep. Yes, totally drunk and this was just a manifestation of his grief.

“Goodbye, Peter Hale.”

The protests were a blur as he shut off the frequency. He glared at the inscription. “Fucking bullshit.”

Stiles went to bed, determined to sleep off this horrible night. Maybe he would even be lucky enough to not wake up and would finally be with Peter again.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

June 1st, 2011

Meanwhile, on June 1st, 2011, a very pale faced boy who now looked so much younger than nineteen yanked his phone out and dialed the number he knew by heart.

“‘Ello?” a voice croaked.

“Stiles?”

“Oh. Hey. You good? It’s like…Shit Peter! It’s after 2 in the morning. If you’re gonna yell please just—”

“I’m not. I’m calling to apologize. I didn’t mean it. You’re my best friend since diapers and I want to be there when you graduate at the top of your class because you absolutely will.”

Stiles's voice was soft but hopeful. “Really?”

Peter smiled, his cheeks twinging pink. “Really really.”

They were both grinning like loons but Peter was scared that the conversation he had earlier was some kind of premonition but either way, at least this way he could make sure it didn’t happen. Ever.

“We should get some sleep,” Stiles whispered.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“Goodnight, Mushu.”

“Hey Bambi?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Stiles’s breath hitched and Peter heard his bedding rustle. “Dick move you jerk,” he said sniffling. “Doing love confessions over the phone is such a dick move.”

Peter smirked. “Yeah. That’s me. A dick.”

“It’s a pretty dick.”

“Been taking peeks there, Stilinski?”

“You wish, Hale!”

“No point in wishing for something, you already know is happening.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t you jerk. I actually lo—”

“Stiles?”

“Sorry! I dropped the phone. My hands were shaking.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Come over and I’ll fix that.”

“Wait. Like right now?”

“Yes. Right now.”

“Wooooooow! Are you booty calling me, Hale? That’s bold even for you. What if I want to be wooed?” he teased.

Peter smiled fondly. “Then I shall woo the fuck out of you. Your training is complete and all that’s left is testing. So this next week or so it’s you, me and Marvel. You down?”

“I’m so down, dude. Just remember the testing is June 5th at 9 am. Come watch? I’ll feel better knowing you’ll be there.”

Peter thought back to the words of the stranger Genim. “I’ll be there. I promise.” After all, if he hadn’t called he was waiting for Stiles to call first and he wouldn't have and now Peter sounded crazy but his gut was telling him not to ignore this. So, he didn’t.

Instead, they said goodnight again before hanging up. A part of Peter needed to know more details but if this was a universal wire crossing thing he didn’t know if he would be able to get back through. He would definitely try but he was already thinking of how to convince Stiles to add Star Wars to their weeks of hanging out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

June 2nd, 2021

Stiles woke with no hangover, realizing he didn’t drink and now had nothing to blame the previous night's bout of insanity on. He got up, threw back his covers, and told himself that he was just going to check, that was all.

The radio clicked on and Stiles felt like it was the right thing to do.

“Genim?”

Stiles blinked. “Hello, Peter Hale.

“Uh hey! So um this is weird.”

With a snort, Stiles replied, “Weird doesn’t begin to cover it. I mean fucking hell. How?”

“I don’t know dude. I swear I’m as confused as you, but listen. Did your best friend call you after the fight?”

“No. Neither of us reached out. Stubborn fuckers that we were. Why?”

Doppelganger Peter’s voice came through again. “Just hear me out, okay?”

“No promises, kid.”

That got him a slightly annoyed huff before the other started speaking. “Fine. So my best friend is named Stiles. He and I got into a fight at the academy. My fear of not achieving our dream together like we always planned kept me from reaching out. Until you. I called him last night and I told him, I love him.”

Stiles gripped the desk hard, his vision whiting out for a moment and then fading as black spots danced around his vision. Wait. So, Peter called him, HIS Peter. The dick did his first love confession over the phone. “It was a dick move.”

Peter gasped. “That’s what he said. Dude. Dude. Duuuuude. Dude! Holy shit!”

“Peter, is there anything custom about your radio?”

“Huh? Well, I mean, not really? Oh! There’s a small silver plaque with an inscription. Why?”

Stiles traced it with his thumb. “What’s the first sentence?”

“A star shoots across the sky hurtling through the dark…” Peter trailed off.

“And the shadows converge to swallow the dying spark,” Stiles finished.

Peter gasped. “How did you—”

“I added to it.” Stiles softly interrupted. “But upon the world it has made its mark and from the memories of its gazers it will never depart.”

𝙰 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚢 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔

𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝.

“That’s beautiful,” Peter replied. “I have so many questions.”

Stiles chuckled, wanting to believe it but still, he hesitated. “Ask your friend what his middle name is. Let me know what he says?”

Peter hesitated and then replied easily with, “Will do. He’s due any moment.”

“Really? Why is—”

“Oh! Hey, Bambi!”

A painful lurch exploded in Stiles’s heart at the nickname he hadn’t heard in ten years. Another voice joined and Stiles muted himself to hide his whimper.

“Hey, Mushu. What are you doing?”

“Oh, just messing with the radio.”

“Oooo talking to a boy?” he teased and Stiles bit his lip, his head pounding. He remembered this conversation.

“No! I mean kinda. His name is Genim.”

Silence and then…

“How the fuck did you end up finding someone to talk to who has my middle name as their first name?!” He grabbed the mic. “Who are you buddy? What game are you playing?”

“No game. Just a nightmare more like it.” 2021 Stiles managed to get out his reply without breaking after he unmuted it.

“Well, what’s your interest in my buddy here?”

Peter hollered trying to intervene. “Stiles, it's not like that.”

2021 Stiles agreed. After all, the Stiles there was the one Peter was with. Not him. “Enjoy your movie marathon boys.” He clicked mute again, but didn’t turn the radio off just yet, although he didn’t know why.

“Dude! What the hell?” Peter hissed.

“He’s some random stranger! I was trying to test him. You like him!”

2021 Stiles knew what Peter did next. He remembered Peter leading him to the bathroom and pointing to his reflection. “That’s my type.”

“Yourself?” 2011 Stiles quipped.

“No you oblivious idiot.” Peter stepped closer, meeting Stiles’s gaze in the mirror. “It’s you. My type is you and only you.”

That was when 2021 Stiles finally turned the radio off. He wasn’t ready to listen to himself losing his virginity. He was already getting flashes.

He turned around to leave the office and his gaze settled on the living room. All the air left his lungs when he caught sight of something that hadn’t been there last night.

Shockingly, when he reached the living room, there was a new picture on the mantle. He nearly fainted at the sight of it. It was him and Peter at their academy graduation. “No. Fucking. Way.”

[solo-returned]

Name: Ben Solo

Alias: Kylo Ren

Age: 29

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Bisexual/questioning

Race: Human

Appearance: pale skin with several scars and freckles, strong angular features, brown eyes, big smile, full lips, long black hair, broad chest, tall and muscular build.

FC: Adam Driver

Personality: Complex, conflicted, a manipulator who’s been manipulated, angry, violent, volatile, sensitive, sarcastic, dry wit, can be compassionate but doesn’t like to admit it, desperately craves approval, vengeful, lonely, internally screaming more than half of the time, won’t speak honestly about his feelings because he’s afraid no one will listen.

Powers/Abilities: force sensitive, excellent lightsaber duelist, enhanced strength and agility, telepathic (to some extent, he has to concentrate really hard on one person and use the Force to enter their mind.), part of a Force Dyad (only if my partners are cool with it. This doesn’t automatically lead to sex/romance btw. I’d love to explore all kinds of relationship dynamics within the Force Dyad between him and Rey! I just think they’re neat. :3)

Flaws/Weaknesses: Hot tempered, easily manipulated (he’s not weak-minded, just vulnerable), mortal

Languages: Basic (English), Binary, Wookie, and probably several others

Style: Usually wears all black, whether he’s trying to be intimidating or comfortable.

Family: Leia Organa (mother), Han Solo (father, deceased), Luke Skywalker (uncle), Anakin Skywalker (grandfather, deceased), Padme Amidala (grandmother, deceased)

Backstory: (Follows The Force Awakens until the battle of Starkiller Base.)

That moment on the bridge was grueling. He knew what he had to do. His father could not survive if he was to finish his training and become a full Sith Lord. Kylo Ren was certain of it…but Ben Solo was not entirely eradicated, as he had claimed. Seeing his father again only salted the gaping wound in his darkened heart, fueling the conflict that had been building within him ever since he’d left the temple in ruins.

It got even worse when Han asked him to come home. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he did. Because for once, there was no judgment in his eyes or voice. It was an honest plea, a father calling out to his prodigal son. Ben almost broke right there. He would have, if not for Snoke worming his way into his student’s mind. Goading him. He knew what he had to do, and said as much, handing his lightsaber over to Han and quietly begging for help. When time came, however, to ignite the blade and snuff out his father’s light, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

He rationalized it by telling himself that he had a better plan than simply committing patricide. Go home. Play the part of the sad, broken boy who had seen the error of his ways and was seeking redemption. Become a prisoner, if he had to. Then, when the perfect opportunity presented itself, he would tear apart the resistance from within. Raze their base to the ground. Eliminate every single one of them.

He let go of the saber, leaving it fully in his father’s hands, and bowed his head as a mumbled, scattered apology fell from his lips. Of course his father wouldn’t strike him down, given the chance. Instead, he was roughly pulled into a tight hug and told that they didn’t have much time. The charges had been set. Before long, Starkiller Base would be no more. He let Han, Chewie, Rey, and the traitor- FN2187- Finn, as he liked to be called- escort him outside in a rush, only to be met with utter chaos. A firefight on the ground and a dogfight in the air made for treacherous passage back the Millennium Falcon, especially after the charges were detonated, opening up a massive hole for the Resistance X-Wings to shoot at. They almost made it.

Almost.

A couple of Stormtroopers caught them just a few yards away from the Falcon and opened fire, obviously thinking that Kylo Ren had somehow been captured. As always their aim was horrendous. Couldn’t hit the broad side of a moisture farm, much less an amateur Jedi and her cohorts, but they did manage to find one mark.

When Han Solo went down, everything felt like it stopped for a second that seemed eternal. It all restarted with a scream that blocked out all other sounds, and Kylo wasn’t sure if it was real or just in his head. He didn’t care. He’d chosen to spare his father, and the man had still ended up dying in his arms. He faded quickly, and when he was gone, Kylo saw red. He grabbed his saber from Han’s body and rushed into the fray, demolishing every trooper who dared to get too close. He could vaguely hear Chewie bellowing mournfully in the background; an odd comfort to know that he wasn’t the only one raging in his grief. Rey’s voice rang out, too, and Finn’s, shouting that they needed to go. The planet-weapon was imploding. Destroying itself from the inside. In many ways, he felt the same. He allowed Chewbacca to drag him aboard the Falcon, dazed and panting and trying desperately to push down the flood of emotions that he still had yet to process. His mind was in shambles. Fear, hatred, wrath, mourning, frustration, all aimed at everyone and everything, not just the Resistance. The massive loss of life as Starkiller folded in on itself rippled through the Force, only amplifying the raging storm within him. Another planet destroyed. How many did that make in total for the day? Five? Six? Seven? Did it matter? Yes. No, not when he’d lost the only chance at a relationship with his father. Not when he was stuck aboard this flying death trap with two people who hated him and the Wookie who had helped raise him. Not when he still had a mission that he was no longer sure he wanted to carry out.

Snoke was furious. He could feel it, though it was more projected directly into his mind than detected. Hux and Phasma were alive and furious as well, believing that he had betrayed them. He had, hadn’t he? Much like Luke’s Jedi temple, he’d left Starkiller base to ruin and run away. Again. The realization left a sour taste in his mouth. What was he going to do now? Carry out his plot to take down the Resistance? Join them and destroy the First Order? Both sounded appealing and abhorrent at the same time. He was being torn in two, still ripping apart at the seams when the Falcon landed, barely registering that he was being handcuffed and escorted off the ship. They didn’t trust him; he didn’t blame them.

[chertila3000]

Name: Benjamin Stein

Age: 21

Height: 1.55 m

Race: Demon

Eye of God: Pyro

Weapon: Two-hander

Characters for the image: Dilyuk, Albedo

Story: From childhood, the young demon dreamed of joining the best squad of knights and participating in exciting expeditions to the dungeons. And so he grew up and was finally allowed to participate in the selection, where the detachments recruit new members. The competition was successful, the demon was about to finish first, but a fire-breathing dragon attacked the capital and the city plunged into chaos. Squads of knights immediately rushed to defend the city from the huge lizard, along with the participants who had not even finished the selection, among which was Bendy. After a long battle, the dragon retreated in defeat. The knights loudly began to celebrate their victory, and young Benjamin enthusiastically rushed towards the house to show off his heroism, but ...

Having reached his home, the demon found that the huge scales of the lizard had left only chips from him. The shocked guy immediately rushed under the rubble to look for relatives. Under the rubble, he found Boris crying. Fortunately, the cub was intact, only a few small scratches and bruises covered his body, but here's the father ...

Henry was tightly pinned down by wooden debris, and a pool of blood was flowing from under his body. The demon tried for a long time to pull his adoptive father out of the rubble, chopping them with his sword, which Henry made him shortly before the tournament. And so the father's body was released, but it was too late...their father was not breathing.

The grieving younger immediately rushed to his brother, blaming him for what had happened, while Bendy himself did not deny his guilt, but plunged into devastating despair. The boy didn’t even notice how his body went limp and collapsed to his knees, and hot tears streamed down his cheeks, while the younger continued to furiously beat his chest with his fists, screaming like a demon is to blame. And indeed. If only he had not become a hero, if he had thought about his family at least for a while and immediately rushed to the house, this would not have happened ...

Shrouded in grief, Bendy sent the youngest to a monastery, where all the children who suffered and lost their families were sent. The demon left Boris under the care of his sister Alice, realizing that he was not mentally ready to look after the younger one, and the wolf cub himself refused to be with his brother.

Soon the demon received a letter stating that he had been accepted into a detachment of knights, but the place of becoming at least something good in his life, she only became a mortal reminder of her dead father. Bendy even wanted to refuse to join the detachment, unexpectedly for the brunette himself, his longtime rival named Cuphead came to him - the son of a local nobleman, who had long been in the ranks of the knights and had already achieved significant success. To his surprise, the once always laughing at him porcelain came to convince him not to give up his old dream. It was a long and painful conversation for both, which eventually ended with a couple of mugs of drunk in a tavern. As a result, Bendy reluctantly agreed, because the restoration of the house and the maintenance of his brother needed money, and they paid well in the service.

Time passed, the city was restored, and Bendy was introduced to the service. The brunet himself advanced well in the service and was no longer a standard private. There was more than enough money to restore the workshop, and Boris began to run it. The wolf cub, even though he was still angry with his brother, decided not to abandon the family business. Bendy, unable to cope with grief and self-guilt, often began to disappear after serving in a local tavern. And so, once full of life, joy and dreams, the guy was drowning in a sea of ​​alcohol, trying to get rid of the constant nightmares that began to haunt him from that very day. Betty (the owner of the tavern), Alice and even Cuphead, who often took the demon who got drunk into the insole, were worried about him and tried more than once to stop his periodic drunkenness, but everything was even. And so the guy’s life went in cycles, which began with a patrol, continued in the evening in the tavern, and when Betty closed the tavern and drove the drunk guy out into the street, he mortally went to his father’s grave, where he continued to pour out his soul and blame himself for what had happened until it the limp body mortally fell to the ground next to the tombstone. As a rule, in the morning he came to his senses at home, where Boris, dissatisfied with his antics, scolded him to the fullest, or in the barracks, where Cuphead had already taken on the role of educator, along with Alice.

But the demon did not notice all this, not their moralizing, nor with what sometimes contempt people once loved him looked at him, he just wanted to disappear, dissolve in his regrets, just come to his father’s grave one night and sleep there next to him ... forever.

But would Henry forgive him for that? Would you consider his action fair and right? Nevertheless, under his guardianship was Boris, who could not work at full strength, and the workshop had to be supported by something, the knightly oath that he took that he would protect the kingdom at the cost of his life, all those efforts, daily training and tragic victims , just to stick a sword into yourself at the end? Well, no, if he was already going to die, then only by protecting his relatives, at least in this way he can atone for his guilt.

[notsowrites]

4x13 Malex Missing Scene

Summary: Alex and Michael talk while they dance together at their wedding reception.

A/N: I have so many fic ideas for these two. They're husbands! Married!

----------

He can hear Maria and Dallas behind him, sees out of the corner of his eye as Kyle and Isobel slow dance together. He's not sure where Liz and Max are, but he's sure they're around. Eduardo and Sanders are up at the pool tables, looking like they're trying to one up another. He lets his fingers play with the curls that hang loose and long at the back of Michael's neck.

"You really want to be Alex Guerin?"

It hadn't been a decision he'd made spur of the moment. It wasn't even something he'd only recently been thinking about. His family name holds ties to a legacy that he wants to move past. 

Maria hadn't been wrong - he had been a surly, angry emo kid who railed against heteronormative patriarchal norms. Being the only out kid in a sleepy cowboy town would do that to you. But taking Michael's name, he's realized over the last decade, didn't have to mean embracing all those things he supposedly hated.

"I don't want our kids to ever worry about what it means to be a Manes Man."

Alex feels Michael stop moving from their gentle sway to the music, pausing to look at him. Michael's eyes are wide, and curious, and there's that look in them that has been there for days - the one that Alex knows means I am so in love with you it's embarrassing. A look that he hopes is reflected back in his own eyes when he looks at Michael.

"Kids?"

"I do remember you saying something about our yard holding aliens."

Michael drops his head forward, leaning against his shoulder and Alex can't help but turn his head towards him, getting a face full of curls as he presses a kiss to them. They're getting long, but it doesn't matter to him because Michael is as handsome as he's always been.

"That's something you want?"

He doesn't answer right away, not because he doesn't have an answer - but because he wants Michael to look at him. Once upon a time, he believed his only way to achieve any sort of happiness in this world was to marry Maria. That it'd be enough. And then for a fleeting moment he dreamed of marrying Michael - back before it was even legal, wishing that there was some way for him to be happy despite the world telling him he couldn't be. And in the aftermath of the shed, those dreams shattered, the pieces fractured for more than a decade. 

"I'm terrified of turning into my father," he starts, holding on a bit tighter to Michael. "Of not being a good parent."

"You'd be an excellent dad," Michael immediately argued with him.

"You're biased."

"You married me, husband."

He knows, logically, it'd be possible to make a new legacy for the Manes family name. To take the evil, twisted version his ancestors created and turn it into something better. But there is a part of him that wants to close that chapter in his life completely, to start this new one with Michael where he doesn't have to live with the weight of everything his father and his relatives have done in the past. He and Michael can begin their own legacy, a new one - and give meaning to a name that he knows Michael has always believed never meant anything.

"I am so in love with you, Michael Guerin" he whispers into the space between them, their foreheads gently pressed together, his hand returned to the back of Michael's neck, fingers pushed into the mess of curls. He feels Michael's arms tighten around him, pulling their bodies closer, their heads moving together just enough for Michael to push forward for their lips to touch. "And I'm sorry I almost didn't fight for us to have this."

It feels important to make sure Michael understands. There really hasn't been a good moment to talk about it all, between getting out of the pocket dimension and Kyle needing to do a full work up on him to make sure whatever had been causing his health issues inside the other dimension were gone, to planning the wedding and the honeymoon.

"We're here now," Michael argues with him, pushing back, his voice quiet. "And besides, it's gonna make for one hell of a story to tell our kids."

[bensonsbobblehead]

My babygirl - Derek Morgan x Daughter!reader

Description: Your dad meeting your boyfriend in the worst way.

Pairings: Derek Morgan x Daughter!reader

Category: fluff and a sprinkle of angst

Content warnings: talks of periods, teens making out (nothing graphic) , arguing , cussing.

Word count: 1.3k

*not my gif*

[masterlist]

You knew from the moment you entered high school your dad would always be on your tail. It was something you knew for a fact. Even in 2nd grade when a boy named Tyler sent you a love letter and your dad lost it.

“Derek she’s only in the second grade it’s not much I’ll find on him.” Penelope said as she did a deep dive on Tyler to calm your fathers nerves. Everyone knew how your father was.

“She’s 7 and I’m not having that not now at least”

Derek just wanted to protect you from the world. The things he seen on cases were a cause for that. He never wanted anything to happen to you at all. Derek did everything in his power to keep you away from the things he experienced as a kid.

Your dad has given you one “talk” in your life. Well your auntie emily gave you the talk while your dad was there for moral support. You had started your period in the middle of the day and frantically called your dad.

“hey daddy, I think my thing started and I need help” you said in a whisper, more scared than you thought you would be.

“Oh .. okay I’ll be on my way. Okay? You’ll be fine I promise” Derek said trying to stay calm.

“What was that all about?” Emily said to Derek noticing his body language.

“She um started her um period, do you think you could come with me to make it less awkward…for her?”

Derek was nervous, he had grown up with sisters but when it came to you he could never pull it together. Living with girls and raising one was two totally different things.

You always avoided the birds and the bees talk because you knew ‘no boys till you’re 30’. Derek never allowed you to go to parties, let alone have guy friends. It was his way of protecting you which just made you want it even more.

You never wanted to betray his trust but this was the biggest party of the year. It was also the party where Jackson, your boyfriend of 6 months, was gonna come over because your dad was on a case.

Jackson cared for you deeply. He always made sure you were eating and even binged Pretty little liars with you even though it scared him. Jackson was very protective of you knowing that you were always home by yourself.

You loved your father but he was never home. He trusted you to handle yourself and hold down the fort since you gotten old enough to stay home alone. You never snuck people in but you figured this one time wouldn’t hurt.

Since you started staying home alone your dad would always check in. Your phone had died in the middle of the party but you hadn’t notice. The case they were working on was closed early and he would be home sooner than he thought.

When you didn’t reply he just thought you were asleep. By the time his plane landed you and Jackson were on the way to your house. Once you got home, sat on the couch, and watched a movie. Five minutes later you started making out.

Tonight was the night you were both ready to take it to… the next level. You got in his lap while still making out. Your hands were in his hair and his hands were on your hips. You pulled his shirt off and unbutton yours exposing your bra.

You continued kissing when you heard your dad walk through the door. At this point he had already seen everything. You hopped off Jackson and he quickly put his shirt back on.

“Hello Mr.Morgan… nice to um meet you.” Jackson said in a shaky voice. The look on your dads face told you that this was the end.

“Hello, what’s your full name son?” Derek said to Jackson in an angry tone. “Jackson Joseph Long sir.”

“You can leave now” Your dad said stepping out the way causing Jackson to run out the door like a chicken with no head.

You had buttoned up your shirt and sat on the couch accepting what was next to come.

“This is what you do when I’m gone?” He said to calm for your liking.

“So this must mean you’ve been having sex huh? I thought I could trust you and this is what I walk in to?! ”

You never meant for this to happen you wanted to tell him but you knew he would never allow you to have a boyfriend.

This talk could’ve went way better but you were drunk and not in the mood. You were angry , embarrassed, and frankly over him being so protective. You were almost eighteen and having a boyfriend is normal.

“I’m seventeen and you would never allow me to have a boyfriend!” You yelled

“At least Jackson is here! He’s the one I call when I wake up in the middle of the night he’s the one that’s here when it thunderstorms not you. Cause you’re never fucking here!” You stormed to your room slamming the door before your dad could reply.

Derek knew he wasn’t home as much as he wanted to be but he was saving the world. You knew this and you weren’t mad at him but recently you’ve just been wanting your dad.

“Babygirl can I come in?” Derek asked knocking gently on your door. You unlocked the door and sat on the bed folding your legs. Derek came and sat next to you placing his hand on your knee

“I apologize for yelling and not being here.” Your dad said softly “I work these cases thinking I’m saving the world for you and I’m not even here to help you experience the world” you were now leaning on his shoulder as you heard him sniffing.

“Im not happy about you sneaking a boy over here but I am happy you have someone to be here for you when I can’t.” You didn’t mean what you said. When your dad is home it’s always the best and it’s a different feeling you chase when he’s gone.

“I’m sorry for cussing, slamming the door, and sneaking Jackson in. You are here daddy and it’s just I’ve been stressed. I’m so sorry.” You were now crying harder.

After a few minutes of silence your dad whipped your tears asking “So Jackson?..” causing you to giggle. “I really like him dad like a lot. He even watches Pretty Little Liars with me” you said smiling causing your dad to smile.

That night for the first time in a long time your dad rocked you to sleep. Derek was raising you on his own and he knew the day would come. When you finally would start finding love, he knew he couldn’t prevent it but he was here for you every step of the way.

That morning you woke up, freshened up, and headed downstairs. You heard your dad talking to someone but you thought he was on the phone. Jackson and your dad were waiting for you.

“Goodmoring, uhhh your dad called me, Actually a woman named Penelope Gracie called me and basically told me she did what she calls a deep dive an-..”

“You made Auntie P do a deep dive? Daadd” you whined.

“I had to meet the boy and he’s taking you to school so eat so you can be on time” your dad said sitting your plate down.

After breakfast you and Jackson were walking out the door.

Before you could leave your dad grabbed you and pulled you into a hug.

“I’m so happy for you baby girl.” he said as he kissed your forehead.

“And you get her home safe you hear me?” Jackson laughed even though your dad was serious.

You headed out to school holding Jackson’s hand with a smile on your face.