#he has at least two horses he told me himself

[rottysphere]

Karl showers every once in a blue moon and all he ever uses to wash his hair is a spare horse shampoo

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Are LaDS Men V!rg!n Pre-Relationship with MC in LaDS present timeline?

Note: This is a personal take and observation in the LaDS men memories, short stories, phone call, messages, and etc. Nothing is confirmed by Infold and I maybe wrong/missed something from their memories. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Zayne - Yes

This is easy and Zayne confirms it himself. He mentioned that MC is his only experience. Although they are not romantically involve when they were still kids, (I strongly stress on this one as some creep send an anon message to me before that it is creepy to think that they have relationship pre-LaDS present timeline. Well They are not in a relationship. So hold your horses) I feel like he is strongly bound to her emotionally.

The need to protect her is strongly etched to him. Remember the wonderer attack when they are still kids?(Source: Nostalgic Sweetness) He wanted to cheer her up by freezing her melted popsicle. It maybe a crush or puppy love (whatever you wanted to call it) But this is his pure affection towards MC and he take it until he is an adult.

By the time they are reunited, they were awkward with each other but MC is the first one to show affection. She told him to not disappear again and constantly look up for him. I firmly believe that MC has crush with Zayne too because she remembers him well even with a blotchy memory.

Xavier - NO!!!

Before you kill me, just hear me out. Xavier's age is virtually unknown. For one, they never revealed it and two, Jeremiah was even uncomfortable about the topic of Xavier's age (source: Celestial Message). But who do I think he is been with? I Highly suspect that it is MC herself.

So how is his age and MC been related on him not to be a virgin, you say? Think about it this way, back when they Philos, it seems like (I feel like) he was already in a relationship with MC. That star ornament that MC is bothered about was from her (again not confirmed). And this previous/forgotten lifetime (by MC) they have already done it. Why else will he be so comfortable having very spicy and intimate time with her?

One of also the indication of them being intimate in the previous life was his being territorial with MC. He sometimes get a bit of Yandere vibe (I not really sure it its the correct type of dere to label him) but he kinds of a little bit rough when handling people who got overly close to MC. (Source: Myth and Celestial Message.)

Among all the LaDS men, he and Sylus shows sign in knowing what to do during the intimate moments.

Rafayel - Yes

Despite his flirty and confident demeanor, this baby is really a big baby! Don't get me wrong, he is not that innocent, he knows the deed (Source: gem Affection, Omnipotent perception, Your Fragrance, and Ebb and Flow) But he does not do the did, at least not yet.

Unlike Zayne and MC, who clearly hinted spending the night together (Source: Business Trip, Snowy Serenity, Hidden Motive and Moonlit Dream) Rafayel and MC after the kindled moment seems to be sleeping apart or Rafayel was out of the room or was fully dressed already (source: before Sunrise)

Some may argue that they already did it on "Gem Affection", they perhaps did, but what I'm infinitely having a debate with myself is, how Rafayel is kinda Distant again by "Into the Canvas". I don't mean distant physically, but him and MC is still do not seem in a relationship. They do not communicate well to establish plans in meeting up and he was just kinda following her around.

In the "Tailwag Moment" he was shocked and shy when he nuzzles MC. True it was kinda heated, but if you are already physically intimate with someone (specially guys) the awkward moment and hesitation to touch your lover disappears.

I also don't believe that Rafayel is a friends-with-benefit type of guy. This man is so devoted to MC and search for her when she disappears.

Sylus - Not Sure

Since Sylus was still fairly new compared to the other men, I do not have a strong assumption on whether he is a virgin or not. But if you ask how I personally feel about him, I will say yes, he is a virgin.

From here on out is just assumptions base on his current known memories.

Despite being rough and how he manhandles MC, he is actually giving me an Edward Cullen Vibe (OLD SCHOOL VIBE) Oh my gosh! I am old. Like Edward, Sylus have some heated moments with MC (mainly on Secret Times). Yes they are spicy, but it never really hinted that they pass more than heated make out.

We are also yet to see him kiss MC on the lips. And although, he already kiss her in the head, this is after he gave her a ring. (Thinking about a Victorian Type of Courting) He take her to dates, bring her food, give her flowers, and going on rides. I applaud Infold for creating Sylus as a guy who is mostly rough but he definitely have a sweet side.

He worries about MC, hum while cooking, and taking selfies with her.

I have mentioned this before in my previous entry, But Sylus never inappropriately touch MC. True he like to carry MC but never lays a hand in any parts of her other than her wrist. He also doesn't initiate her or gauge her into touching him.

His relationship with MC is Definitely HOT but not yet intimate.

As for previous partners, I don't think he have any as he is looking for MC as well.

[dalliancekay]

"I think Aziraphale needs to learn a lot more than that..."

Why do people keep (telling me again and again about this quote) assuming that Neil means Aziraphale needs some moral lessons, get off his high horse, learn some hard truths about Heaven, escape their grasp, finally understand that they are bad etc etc etc.

When the ask is about how Crowley is always forgiven from Aziraphale's point of view and how what (I see) Neil means is that Azi should also be told he's good enough. That he can be loved.

That what he needs to learn is how to believe in himself. To trust his mind, his feelings, to believe he is enough, he always was, that he doesn't have to be perfect or 100% right, that it is not possible and that it's okay. That he's okay. That he was lied to.

I wish we would frame Aziraphale's journey/learning as something else, not morality/awakening of some sort. Not as something he has to overcome. When Crowley changes his mind on something, no one says, oh have a gold star, you went against what Hell wants from you. Well done! Why do we do that to Aziraphale. Crowley is seen in Hell, giving presentations on some half hearted ideas that no one there really gets and getting accolades for things he didn't do at all and everyone is like, oh yay, look at him, so clever. Hahahah. Aziraphale also has to follow rules and do his tasks whether he agrees with them or not or he will be punished. He's not doing it for fun. He breaks rules when he feels he simply must and then everyone is like oh look, he is finally abandoning the rigid thinking that Heaven showed/taught him. But really, the naïve slow angel, he should try even harder.

Why such double standards?

Aziraphale is good and wants to do good. He is not sure of himself, true, but that's hardly his fault. Crowley is also good and tries to do good or at least limit the bad things he needs to do to survive.

They are two sides of the same coin. They both learn and grow. Sometimes the treatment the Ineffables get reminds me of how differently boys and girls are treated when they are learning behaviour. Boys praised for anything and everything even remotely good they do (cos they are expected to be naughty) and girls get the oh you should have already known better treatment. Aziraphale saved Job's kids cos he thought it was a horrible thing to want to do and expected to be punished for it. That's not - he didn't, it didn't change who he is. He did it expecting Falling. That's extremely brave. Yes Crowley has Fallen and people tend to see this as some extra superior move on his behalf, like he had everything figured out, understood how bad Heaven was and tried to bravely fix it. And Aziraphale needs to catch up with him. (If not by Falling himself than by doing some extraordinary learning journey to catch up with Crowley's knowledge). No. That's all HC. We don't even know why Crowley Fell. We don't. We know what he says happened (and we also know that he's not a reliable narrator...) and that's all we know. And even the things he says are not exactly showing him as some truth waving hero only wanting to make Heaven better for everyone and failing. Aziraphale is not breaking rules cos suddenly he used his brain and saw how Heaven is bad. He already knows that. He's risking punishment to help others. Again and again. And that's very kind and admirable and everything but it's not his evolving morality. He's already moral. He's already good. He always was.

He's also fucking cute. Let's not forget.

[motherjoel]

arms tonite (joel miller/reader)

summary: basically its YOU who gets stabbed by the baseball bat. joel isnt good with feelings. david does not exist david cant hurt anybody. a bit of angst and a bit of fluff. also LOOSELY based on arms tonite by mother mother

a/n: yawlllllll it has been a MINUTE but i am back for some tlou cause i just really wanted to write for these characters i love so very much. i apologize if the timing of their travel is fucked, i truly have no concept of geography so we can ignore that.

wc: 3.5k

warnings: just general tlou gore, nothin too bad

-

-

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with Joel Miller. But as you lay here, Joel's hands soaked in your blood as he attempted to stop it from pulsating out of your abdomen, you knew it was love that you were feeling. It was supposed to be simple. After your brief stay in Jackson, the two of you were supposed to take Ellie to the fireflies. Yet, nothing seemed to be simple these days, especially not around this girl.

In the amount of time the three of you had spent together, you developed an unbreakable bond. Ellie became a sort of surrogate sister to you- you’d lost your family when you were just a kid during the outbreak and you never had the chance to become a big sister. At least not for long. And then there was Joel. You weren’t quite sure what he meant to you yet, but you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t die for him. For both of them, really- a life without them wasn’t worth living. Of course, you never planned on telling them that.

The day started fairly nice- with Joel allowing Ellie to make her own decision about who would be taking her to the fireflies. Sure, you and Ellie would be fine with Tommy, but Joel had failed to consider the bond the three of you shared when making this decision. He was thinking of only himself and his fear- this is what you had told him last night after his fight with Ellie.

“What the hell was that?” you asked him after he stormed out of Ellie’s temporary room. 

“It was nothin’. Doesn’t concern you,” he replied, brushing past you as he made his way to the couch where he decided to set up camp for the night. 

“Um, it sure as hell does concern me, Joel. Are you seriously going to abandon us? After everything we’ve been through, after how much that girl trusts you, Joel!” you raised your voice a bit, trying to keep yourself from alerting Ellie upstairs. Those words stung him a bit. He didn’t see it as abandonment- he saw it as protection. After everything you went through together, he never once put himself first.

“She doesn’t know a thing about what this means,” Joel turned to you. “She- she’s just a kid, she-” he stopped himself, trying to gather himself. “I can’t bring her. I’m not capable, I’m slowin’ down and I just can’t. Do. It,” he exhaled, dropping himself onto the couch. 

“Wow,” you replied, softly sitting next to him. “You’re really underestimating yourself,” you sighed, Joel, lifting his face to look at you. “I mean, not only yourself but me, Joel. In case you’d forgotten, I’ve gotten myself through some tough shit. And Ellie? Man, she's the toughest kid I’ve ever met. Hell, she's one of the toughest people I’ve ever met,” you said, observing Joel’s worn face. “I mean… don't you think she at least deserves a choice?” you asked, hoping to convince Joel to come to his senses and realize who he was.

“I’ll take the couch. Bedrooms down the hall,” he grumbled before turning his back to you and lying down. There was nothing left you could say at this point, so you decided to spare yourself and make your way to the bedroom. The bed was pretty big. It could’ve fit two people.

The moment you saw Joel in the stables the next morning, you could feel your heart soar. Before he said a word, you knew he had made the right decision. The three of you squeezed onto the horse, Ellie sandwiched in the middle, and you were off. You and Joel sat in peaceful silence for a while, occasionally responding to Ellie’s rambling to show you were listening. Before you knew it, you were arriving at the so-called firefly base. 

“What the fu-” you started.

“Holy shit! Are those monkeys?” Ellie exclaimed, pointing at the crowd of animals before you.

“Must be from the old labs,” Joel muttered, a hint of interest in his voice

“Look at them go!” you giggled.

“First time seein’ a monkey?” Joel asked the two of you. 

“First time seein' a monkey,” you replied in unison, both awestruck. A smile crept onto Joel's face at this- the togetherness he felt in rare moments like this is what kept him going. 

You soon came across the fireflies symbol painted on a couple of signs, but no guards appeared nearby. You all dismounted the horse before making your way inside, guns drawn. You in the back, Joel in the front, and Ellie sandwiched between yet again. The building you came across was abandoned from the looks of it, with papers scattered about. 

“They just left,” Joel said, coming across a packing list among the scattered supplies. You suddenly heard a clang from another room, drawing your attention.

“Maybe not all of them,” you replied as the three of you carefully moved towards the sound. Your heart picked up its pace- whatever was in that room couldn’t be a firefly. Maybe a raider, you thought, which didn’t help your anxieties. Joel put a finger to his lips before opening the door, signaling for your silence. Relief rushed through you as you saw the source of the noise was just a few stray monkeys. It was only moments later that you heard voices- voices that certainly didn’t come from an animal. Peering out the window, the three of you saw a group of men, presumably raiders.

“Shit,” you murmured, instinctively grabbing Ellie’s arm.

“Out the back,” said Joel, leading the way for the three of you to make your escape. You ducked behind some sandbags for a moment before making your break to the horse. As Joel untied the horse, you heard footsteps quickly making their way over to you.

“Joel!” Ellie screamed as the man swung his bat at his head, hitting it on a tree and breaking it in two. While Joel dodged his attack you jumped on the man and banged him into the tree behind him before he knocked you back on your ass, banging your head on the ground. You’ve had your fair share of concussions, and you knew that's exactly what just happened to you. Joel quickly recovered from the first attack before grabbing the man, a wave of anger in his eyes as you’ve never seen before. His arm tightened around the man's throat, unrelenting in its strength. Struggle as he may, it wasn’t long before his neck was snapped. You remain on the ground, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you look at Ellie, shakily holding her gun. Her eyes darken as they shift down to your stomach. Your eyes follow hers and you finally see what she’s looking at. When the man hit the bat into the tree, it must've snapped in half. One half was on the ground a few feet away from you, while, unfortunately, the other half was buried in your stomach.

“Shit,” Ellie said, lowering her gun and walking over to you. Your hand reached down, adrenaline still pumping through your body, and you instinctively pulled the wooden piece out of your abdomen. You barely even felt it. Joel was silent the entire time, and you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. You threw it aside before noticing three more men coming your way. As fast as possible, Joel hiked himself up onto the horse and grabbed you while Ellie pushed from the ground before pulling herself up, you now sitting between the two. Joel didn’t let himself focus on the anxiety in his chest that blurred his vision- he needed to get you both to safety.

“Fuck,” you sighed, adrenaline wearing off a bit and pain seeping in. 

“Go!” Ellie yelled to Joel as you began to move. She grabbed her gun and shot backward at the men- she didn’t have the best aim, but it certainly deterred them from advancing anymore. Ellie kept peering over her shoulder, on high alert. If you weren’t putting all of your focus on staying conscious, you’d have noticed her slight tremble. You would have noticed Joel's body tense when your breathing slowed, his occasional glance over his shoulder. His erratic heartbeat as he tried to keep you talking.

“We’re gonna get back to Jackson and we’re gonna get some help,” Joel said over his shoulder. There wasn’t a hint of emotion in his voice- he was excellent at hiding how he truly feels. 

“No,” you uttered, using all of your strength.

“Sorry, no?” Joel questioned.

“Get her to the fireflies,” you whispered before your vision began to blur. Your lifeless body crumpled off the horse, Ellie attempted to hold on but it all happened too fast. The cold snow was stained red, the warm blood leaving your body melting the snow directly beneath you. Joel and Ellie quickly hopped down, one on each side of you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Ellie panicked, hands shakily reaching towards your abdomen. 

“Ellie,” Joel said, voice laced with panic. He motioned for her to grab his pack while he placed his hands onto the wound, blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers. He had never felt so helpless in his life- at least, not since Sarah. That same shuddered breathing coming from a person he loves- he couldn’t bear it.

“Joel, what the fuck do we do,” she asked. Joel continued to silently work on packing your wound with an extra flannel he had in his bag.

“It’s ok,” you croaked. They immediately turned to you on the ground, almost stopping in their tracks. “Just help me to that house,” you said, motioning towards a house about 50 yards away. You were struggling to breathe under the pressure of Joel’s hands on your wound- it almost seemed useless, you were still losing blood like crazy. Joel tied the flannel around your waist to try to keep the blood from seeping out. Once he decided you were situated, he picked you up bridal style and led you to the house. When you arrived, they gently placed you at the entrance, Ellie staying with you while Joel made sure the house was clear. He returned to help you inside, lying you on an old mattress. You let out a small laugh as you got situated.

“What?” Joel asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. How could you be laughing right now?

“Don’tcha think it's kinda cute?” you asked as he fussed with your bandages.

“What’s that?” he asked gruffly, not exactly in the mood for your attitude.

“Oh, just that I might be dying in your arms tonight. I dunno, feels like a movie,” you said, your pale lips curling into a smile. He gave you a look, pausing briefly to peer into your eyes. You wordlessly pleaded with him to lighten the mood a bit, for Ellie’s sake. He didn't say a word.

“Joel, what the fuck do we do?” Ellie repeated herself in her panic.

“It’s ok. You guys go. Now,” you said. Joel's eyebrows furrowed at this. “You leave, go north. Go to Tommy.”

“Um, the fuck?” Ellie asked. “I don’t know what you think this is but we're not leaving,” Ellie said, frustration creeping into her voice. She looked hurt by this, and it broke your heart. Were you doing the same thing Joel had done just last night?

“The kids right,” Joel said as you turned to look at him. “You’re either comin' with us or we're all campin’ here for the night. No in-between” Joel finished. You pleaded to him with your eyes again, begging him to just give up on you. The two of them would be fine, you knew it. But you didn’t know the emotional toll it would have taken on the stubborn man in front of you. He was stubborn, but so were you. Only you didn’t get a chance to prove just how stubborn you could be before you couldn’t fight the darkness that crept into your vision. 

-

You woke with a start the next morning. You often woke in a panic these days, but the feeling was only further cemented when you realized you didn’t quite recognize your surroundings. The only thing you could recognize was Joel’s eyes on you, which brought you some semblance of comfort. When he noticed you awake, he rushed to your side. As much as you could imagine Joel to “rush.”

“Hey, you uh, awake. You’re awake,” he said softly, trying not to wake Ellie asleep in the corner of the same dilapidated room you’d been in for a while now. 

“It would appear so,” you replied, attempting to sit up a bit.

“Hey, hey, relax,” he put his hand on your shoulder, urging you to lay back down. “Your infections bad. We managed to trade for some penicillin but it's not gonna be enough. We gotta figure out how to get you back to Jackson,” Joel said, lightly lifting your shirt to look at the wound.

 You cursed the heat rising to your face as Joel's fingers brushed your bare skin. You’d never been intimate like this before, though this was barely intimacy. He hadn’t ever touched your skin like this- with such delicacy. You were fragile to him at this moment, and you needed to be handled with care. You hated being a burden, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice to be taken care of for once.

You were too busy focusing on your own reaction to this gesture to notice Joels. His hands shook as he cared for your wound, wincing as he saw that it really wasn’t getting any better. He didn’t know what this meant- he wasn’t a doctor by any means, but he knew this wasn’t good. 

You were in and out of sleep throughout the next day or two, letting the dull, throbbing pain lull you into sleep. It hurt to watch Joel and Ellie worry about you, especially because there was nothing you could do to help. Your days felt numbered- the amount of penicillin was scarce and you weren’t feeling any better. You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open, much less speak. 

“Joel,” you managed to croak- you couldn’t even spare the energy to seethe at the pain pulsating throughout your body.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he replied, kneeling next to you. He only called you sweetheart when he needed something- what did he need from you now? To live? “Whatcha need?”

“You’re special, you know that?” you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“And why is that?” he asked, wiping the tear.

“You really know how to make a girl fall in love,” you smiled- this isn’t something you ever planned on telling him, but as you lie there, vision blurring around the edges as the darkness caved in on you, there was nothing else you wanted to say.

Joel felt panic consume him when your eyes closed.

“Hey, hey darlin’, wake up for me, okay?” he pleaded. Ellie stalked over, panic heating her chest. “Ellie, grab her legs,” Joel said. It was like he was kicked into a new gear- he was going to do whatever it took to keep you with him.

-

You didn’t know where you were. The walls were unfamiliar and white- stark and sterile. The first thing you noticed was the couch in the corner of the room, occupied by your two favorite people. Joel sat upright, arms crossed and eyes closed. His brows were furrowed like he was having some sort of nightmare. Ellie’s expression mirrored his, as she lay on her side with her head resting on his leg, arms curled into her chest. Your heart warmed at the sight- he was becoming a father figure to her, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. You tried to sit up, failing immediately as pain shot through your body. You winced, perhaps a little too loud, as Joel’s eyes shot open. Ellie remained in a deep sleep on his lap.

“You’re up,” he acknowledged, almost like it was too good to be true. He carefully shifted his body so he could move Ellie from his lap and onto the couch before he stood to walk towards you. “She hasn’t gotten much sleep, be best not to wake her,” he said, leaning down to brush a hair from her face. Seeing him be this gentle with her melted your heart. 

“How, um, how long was I out?” you asked, lifting the sheets to see your wound. It was covered and clean, but you knew it was there from the way it throbbed.

“About a week. Scared the shit out of… the kid,” he said, sitting on the edge of your bed. He bit back what he truly wanted to say- you scared the shit out of him. But he wasn’t going to admit that you had that much of an impact on him. The second he lets others affect his life is the second he gets weak. There wasn’t a place for vulnerability in this world. “It was, a, uh, miracle that you lived.”

“Oh yeah?” your eyebrows raised. “Shit. I’m sorry for worrying… her,” you glanced at Ellie again as she snuggled into the couch. “How did I, um how did you guys get me here?” you asked. Your voice was hoarse from lack of use, but you tried to remain strong.

“We, uh, we gotcha back on the horse. Ellie led the way, I made sure you were safe, I mean, I just made sure you didn’t fall,” he replied, looking at his feet. “Took us awhile to get back, I… I didn't think you were gonna make it,” he replied, coughing to cover up the break in his voice. He was still in disbelief that you even woke up.

“Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me,” you laughed weakly. Then it was silent for a few moments, the two of you stewing in your thoughts. “You know, I think if it had been anybody else with me, I would’ve just died,” you remarked. Joel shook his head.

“Well, that’s not true. You’re strong” he said quietly.

“Well, yeah, sure I’m strong. But I can choose not to be. I honestly would’ve been fine to die if it was in your arms. But I couldn’t do that to you. Not… not again,” you paused, gathering your thoughts. “It’s just… you’re it for me, Joel. You and Ellie- you guys are it. And if I can’t have you guys, well, let's just say I wouldn’t mind staying asleep,” you confessed, avoiding eye contact.

“Ahem…” you heard Ellie clear her throat from her position on the couch. “Sorry, I have a habit of snooping, but holy shit you’re awake!” she squealed, bouncing over to you and plopping herself onto you in a hug. She knocked the wind out of you, and you may have cared if you weren’t so happy to see her.

“Hey, hey, easy on her now,” Joel said, pulling Ellie back from you a bit. He was still quiet, processing what you had just said to him.

“Ahhh, my sweet Ellie girl, how I missed you so,” you smiled, pinching her cheeks.

“Bullshit, you were definitely just dreaming about Joel the whole time. Must’ve been nice, sleeping that long,” she laughed. You ignore the first part of her sentence.

“Yeah, I guess I’m pretty well rested,” you smiled, ruffling her hair and pulling her into another hug.

“I’m gonna go get someone, a nurse,” Ellie excused herself from the room, leaving you with Joel yet again.

“I’m sorry if that was too mu-” you started before Joel cut you off.

“No, no, don’t apologize, sweetheart,” he said softly. It wasn’t a whisper- it was just soft. He’d been so soft with you. “I… I can’t say I don’t feel the same,” he looked down at his shoes.

“Oh, uh, you do?” you blushed. You felt so childish, like you were admitting you had a crush on him, but it was more than that. It was a partnership, a dependency- a loyalty to one another that didn’t need a label. Only, you couldn’t hide the way you felt anymore.

“Gosh, I can’t even tell you how it felt to see you like that. It should’ve been me, you know,” he said, disappointment evident on his features.

“Um, no, it shouldn’t have. Besides, how would we have gotten your big ass back to Jackson?” you giggled, grabbing his hand. His expression changed then as he looked down at your intertwined hands. “Joel, what does this mean?” you asked.

He chose not to respond with words- they were never his strong suit. Without a word, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips. It was soft and it was sweet and it was like nothing you had ever experienced before- not from someone you loved. You reciprocated, weaving a hand into his hair to pull him closer.

“Yeah, they’re just in here-woahhhhhhh!” Ellie yelled, giggling and running out of the room. Joel quickly pulled back and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“That little shit,” he sighed.

“Well, she was gonna have to find out somehow,” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his bruised knuckles.

[anna1306]

The Gone Prince

Daemon Targaryen x brother!Targaryen Reader

I know it has been a long, long, looooong time. I am so sorry for keeping you waiting on that. I am going to return to writing, more or less. can't promise to return to posting every single day, as I did before, but I am going to return to writing and posting. It has been a long time of depressed time, disorganised time and simple no strength time. This part I wrote and rewrote two or three times and I hope you will like what I come up with in the end. Love you all)

Part 1 here

Princess' chambers were big and full of light. It reminded you of quarters of your grandmother, always warm and welcoming to her family. You were sitting there on the sofa, speaking with your niece for the last ten minutes or so. You didn't want anyone to eavesdrop on your conversation, so you approached her later, not during the feast. After that same feast Viserys insisted that Rhaenyra and her family stay in the Red Keep for at least a week or maybe even longer, not wishing for his pregnant daughter to endure two big travels in a row. Also... You had to wait for Daemon to leave her alone. He wouldn't let you talk calmly to each other, not after all these years, you just knew it.

"If the King asked for you, I am glad to have you here." Rhaenyra said, as you noticed hint of coldness in her eyes, probably brought by Daemon's opinion, which he, no doubt, generously shared with his wife. You only smiled in response. You could understand why she didn't trust you fully. And it definitely didn't hurt that much. At least not like it did with your brother.

"You sound just like her, it is crazy." You said quietly. She looked at you confusedly, not understanding your words fully. "Like Aemma." Her expression softened at your words, as her hand came to rest on her rounded belly. "I am sure she is proud of you, watching you from the other side."

"I can only hope so... She never mentioned you, now that I think of it." Princess said. You shrugged, trying to stay calm and nonchalant about it.

"Not many people here did." You tried to hide your feelings behind a smile, something you learned to do long time ago. "I remember her mostly from our childhood. How Viserys was madly in love with her. He often made a fool out of himself and was so scared she would reject him. And Aemma only laughed and smiled at him with so much kindness in her eyes... One time he tried to graciously ride in front of her on the horse to show her that he is a good rider. Poor animal got scared of something and sent him flying face flat on the ground. He was so red in the face, but didn't say a word, I thought he would burst with embarrassment." Rhaenyra laughed, imagining her father at the scene, as you watched her attentively with a little smile on your face.

"I can imagine how amusing that was." She agreed. You nodded, looking away from her, knowing that she was still watching you closely. "Did the King say why he called you back after all those years?"

"To help him. Viserys is... Full of many feelings and guilt is one of them. Guilt for a lot of things, which I am finding out only now. That is one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you." You looked back at her, meeting her gaze. "He wants me to mend the rift in his family." Her smile faded a bit, as she lowered her eyes on her belly. Rhaenyra understood perfectly well what were you talking about without you having to pronounce it. "I was told you were friends with the Queen Consort once, weren't you?"

"It was years ago. I feel like it was the other life." She answered with a sad smile. Rhaenyra looked at you again, her expression once again calm and stoic, almost rid of all emotions. "I once knew a girl, my friend, who was kind, honest, supportive and who looked at bright side of things, who was romantic and hopeful. Now Alicent is different, full of..."

"Spite?" You suggested. The woman nodded slowly, almost unsurely. You sighed, having a strong feeling your emotions about losing someone that close to oneself could be similar in some way. "Tell me, do you think there can be a slight possibility of you getting back to being friends? Or at least... Not at each other's throats?"

"I don't think so. There were many things between us, to lead me to Dragonstone and out of any possibility of mending this. You probably heard about what had happened in Driftmark. She... The Queen showed everyone her true colours. Her true thoughts and intentions behind this righteous facade."

"Lucerys severely wounded her son, I can understand her rage and wish for justice to some extent. Not 'eye for the eye', but still." You argued with her.

"Her son is spewing lies. Both of them. She placed traitorous lies in their minds, spreading rumours about me, about my sons! All of them are just..." She hissed suddenly, grasping her belly and closing her eyes, almost wincing in pain. You shot up from your place immediately, ready to go for help, but Rhaenyra stopped you with a motion of a hand. "I'm fine... Just... Daemon's child is really active." She smiled tiredly, as you clutched your goblet with wine in your hand, distracting yourself from your thoughts with a drink. "Nonetheless... I am not sure there is a way to get through to her." Princess said calmer now.

"If there was a way... A possibility of bringing back this peace, if not friendship. Would you be willing to put the bitter past to rest?" You asked, sitting back on the sofa. Rhaenyra didn't say anything for some time, your words hanging in the air. She diverted her attention from you, watching her maids serving breakfast on the table, long silence surrounding both of you.

"In ideal world... I guess I would want that." She admitted quietly. You smiled to her a bit, nursing wine in the goblet. "She was my friend once, the closest person in this Keep. But what she and her father did..."

"Yes, men like Otto, can influence even the dust to hate the wind." You scoffed, agreeing with her. After seeing what was going on in the Keep, you understood that one of the main roots of problems was the King's Hand. Yes, he helped the King to rule the realms, almost ruling them himself from time to time instead of sick Viserys, but he pursued his own goals first and foremost. You could understand ambitions, it was explainable, but your priorities in this matter were different.

"Alicent isn't innocent. She willingly ate those lies and now she is a spitting image of Otto..." Rhaenyra made a pause, sighing, as she looked at you. "Alicent has that thought that my children aren't... Trueborn. She spreads this rumours everywhere, you know it." You nodded, hearing these rumours already. You had your doubts about it too, but didn't care much, they were children of your niece, that was all you needed to know about their parentage. "Every time I gave birth, she demanded I present my child to her immediately after. She isn't such an innocent girl she claims to be." Your gaze hardened at the realisation. You put away your goblet and looked at Rhaenyra seriously.

"If she orders that you should present your child like this again, don't even move from the bed. I will be near and I will deal with it myself." You promised her. "She can come to you herself if she wishes to see the child so much. And if she doesn't understand why her request is wrong, I will explain it to her personally." You answered her with determination. Princess smiled at you slightly and moved to stand. You helped her up and stepped away from her. "I better give you some space. If I can do anything for you, tell me. And just... Think about possibility of it. Just try..."

"I probably will... Thank you. I appreciate the talk." She nodded, looking at her. While you could see that she still didn't trust you completely, at least you two talked calmly and discussed matters at hand. Just as you were about to leave, the door opened. Daemon walked in, and the air left your lungs at the sight of his figure lightened in the sunlight coming from the windows. His eyes met yours and what little softness he had, instantly turned to coldness and distaste in a second.

"You?" He only said in disgust.

"Me.” You nodded with a sigh. “I am leaving already. Have a good day." You smiled softly at your niece before heading out, not wishing for your brother to get angry at your presence near his wife. He could hate you from the distance, you thought. You could handle it… Even though you were too sober for his hate not to hurt.

***

"It was great!" Jacaerys was almost jumping in his steps excitedly, as he walked a little bit ahead of you. You smiled, taking off your gloves still hearing three loud growls of your dragonbehind you both.

"I am glad you like the ride. They liked you too, little prince." How could you say no to those eyes, when he asked if he could fly with you on your dragon. You understood him, as they were rarity, the first three-headed dragon known to Targaryen House, at least according to the known records.

"Is controlling him different? Different from ours, I mean." He turned to you with a curious look. You shrugged, contemplating your answer.

"You tell me, I only flew on them." His excitement about the new dragon was big. So of course he was curious as to whether or not it was similar to the flight on the one-headed dragon. Vermax wasn't big enough yet, but he flew with his mother already. And you flew on Vhagar with your father or on Caraxes with Daemon too long ago to remember it correctly, so you couldn't really draw the comparison.

"You sure they wouldn't drop me?" Daemon was hesitant, standing several steps behind you, as you petted one of the long necks of your dragon. You turned to him, raising your brow.

"Don't tell me you are afraid." You smirked at your brother teasingly, watching his expression hardening.

"I am never afraid. Not of the dragons, I am a dragon myself!" He exclaimed, earning growl from one of the heads in response. "I just don't know how it would be." Daemon said quieter, glancing between them and you. You smiled, offering him your hand.

"Nuhys zaldrīzes(my dragon), do not fret. You said it yourself, you are a dragon, as they are." He smirked more relaxed, giving you his hand. You pulled him closer, placing his palm near yours. "See?"

"I know what dragons are to the touch, dummy." He scoffed, petting your dragon. You glanced around, making sure noone was there to witness it and kissed him on the cheek. "Hey!"

"Let's go, I want to kiss you in the sky." You smiled at him, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the side of your dragon, to the saddle, hearing his chuckle, as he didn't struggle against your grip one bit.

"I will be next!" Baela’s voice distracted you from your memories. You looked at the excited girl with a little smile. She was eager to fly with you too, but let Jace go first. You nodded to her, knowing that your dragon didn't mind flying several times in a row.

"You sure?" She eagerly nodded at your question. You glanced at her sister, standing beside her, her expression more serious though. "And you, Rhaena?"

"No." She snapped back, almost aggressively. You were a bit taken aback, and even if you didn't want to press her into saying anything else, you still looked at her, contemplating your next words. She glanced at you, noticing your stare and seemingly understanding that she was rude. Under your attentive, but soft eyes she shifted on her spot unsurely and pursed her lips in a thin line. "You cursed us." Rhaena finally said quietly.

"Sorry, what? I cursed you?" You chuckled, not expecting this answer at all. You crouched on the ground to be even with her height and look in her eyes. "What makes you say that, ñuhys bykus embōñys dārilaros(my little sea princess)?" You asked her. She wasn't confident anymore, glancing at her sister, who remained silent, as you talked. You patiently waited.

"Father said you cursed us. Your dragon has three heads which you stole from other dragons. That's why I don't have a dragon." She answered finally, as your heart tingled with pain once again. Strange... And you thought this pain was constant and couldn’t be that prominent anymore. You scoffed in disbelief. Daemon said you cursed their family? His silver tongue and sarcastic side definitely grew over the years. He was more like your father than you thought. You sighed, lowering your head, gathering thoughts of what to say to her.

"Maybe I did. But only because I want to strengthen you. They hatched in my cradle. I never tried to tame anyone and work for success." You carefully said, looking at wary Rhaena again. "I never tried hard to find a dragon and bond with him, make him respect me and listen to me. But you are going to be stronger than me. Like your mother and father one day you are going to tame the strong, mighty dragon. You are going to be more powerful than me, the one who cursed you."

"You are only telling me this, so I won't be mad." She mumbled, but you could tell that she was more at ease with you now.

"Maybe yes. Maybe no. Who knows." You shrugged with a smile, standing up. You gave her your hand. "Come on. They can fit us three. Maybe one of them is the one I stole from you, and he would like you more than me." Rhaena hesitated, looking at you with her eyes, so familiar to you. You could almost see shy Daemon in his childhood… She took your hand nonetheless, still wary, but more trusting you now, as Baela took your other hand with a smile, herself, brave like Daemon. For some reason you felt in peace with yourself at this moment.

***

"You got your mother worried, you know?" You sighed, noticing the boy with an eyepatch sitting under the tree in the Godswood with barely any light around, night dark sky looming over the city already. Aemond looked up at you and turned away from you instantly. You sighed, walking closer to him. While you didn't trust his grandsire and mother fully, the children weren't at fault. They were your nephews and niece, no matter the other blood. "What are you doing here? It is dark already."

"And? I am not a little kid, I can defend myself." He snapped at you, glaring angrily with his one eye at something in the dark. You sat near him, not really caring for his discomfort in the matter. From what you had seen, he was just not used to physical affection, but you didn't reach out for him, you just... Were there.

"I know that. But running away from the castle just because your nephews are there, isn't very brave." You answered almost in a thoughtful voice. He grumbled something in return that you couldn't quite understand. You glanced at him with soft smile. "You can't hide forever."

"They weren't punished! That dick... Sorry." He mumbled, losing his fight after one swear word, apparently being scolded for it beforehand. You only shrugged at this.

"Lucerys did a bad thing. I guess you can say he was kind of a dick that day." Aemond scoffed at this, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "But he's just a child. Like you are. And he tried to protect his family."

"I was maimed!" Aemond exclaimed, tones of Alicent's intonation and voice coming through his childish one. "He cut out my eye, and they were entitled enough to not carry any punishment!"

"Let me tell you something, and I want you to listen to me and hear me out, alright?" You asked him, as Aemond nodded gloomily and almost hesitantly, still being very angry. "If you held a stone over my brother's head, threatening to hit him in the head with it, threatening to kill him, calling him names and telling him that he was going to die screaming, I wouldn't cut your eye out. I would cut your throat."

"That..."

"Would you not protect... Helaena? Or your mother?” You continued with your point. “If someone would have tried to hit them with a stone, insulting and threatening them. If you had a weapon, what would you have done?" You looked at him, as the boy lowered his head, seemingly contemplating your words. He wasn't presented with the other point of view, it seemed.

"I... I would kill those who dared to hurt my family." He sighed defeatedly. You smiled sympathetically

"Aemond, I am not glad that Lucerys went unpunished. He should have gotten at least some kind of retaliation for what he did. Like serving some other House for some time as a ward, or I don't know, limitation of his dragon’s lessons, this is a bad punishment enough for his age. But not carving his eye or killing him. That wouldn't return yours." You pretended you didn't notice Aemond moving closer to you. You just let him be comfortable and at peace with himself.

"But that would bring me satisfaction. That would be fair." He still mumbled. You sighed and smiled slightly, looking at your nephew.

"You would become a great warrior one day, Aemond. Yes, even with one eye, believe me. You have one of the greatest dragons, you have dragon blood and very fiery heart. But one thing that a warrior should know – is when and where to stop. Not becoming unhinged monster to scare little children. But to be a good fighter, a hero they will write songs about."

"Like your father? Prince Baelon The Brave?" You shivered and stopped at this question. Looking at a child beside you, you didn't see him. You almost fell into your memory, where violet eyes were enraged. Brave was the prince who exiled his own son, not accepting anything about him. Brave was the prince who threatened to kill innocent people who just helped his son in his attempts to reach out to his own family. Brave was the prince who called his own son a leech and a taint on their reputation.

"Yes. Like him." You forced a smile and a calm tone. Looking away, you tried to calm yourself. Your father was long gone, but your heart and fear of him showing up behind any corner, was very much present. Irrational and illogical, almost childish. But it still lived inside your soul. "What do you say, should we go inside?" You offered.

"They are still there." He scowled at the thought of going back to his nephews.

"Why don't you try and... Befriend them again? I know you were close with Lucerys before." You noticed, as Aemond scoffed and looked to the side, seemingly angry again in mere second.

"He maimed me. I don't want to be his friend!" He said sternly, but you heard more behind child’s anger.

"Do you miss him?" He looked at you angrily, but sighed, his eye more pained than enraged.

"No!" Boy exclaimed, looking away and almost pouting. He sighed heavily, lowering his head and mumbling under his nose. "He was closer to being my friend though. Even if he teased me for being dragonless, he wasn’t like Aegon or Jace. But he cut out my eye! I hate him!" He added louder. You sighed, taking his hand into yours, choosing your words carefully.

"I miss one person too, you know... A lot. I would give anything to return to that person. And I know they are missing me as well to some extent. But they hate me. It is a strange balance." You started. "I hated them too once. I did horrible things because of them. I lied in their name. I even killed some people in their name. I framed people, I broke laws and all just because of their wish. I made everything they wanted of me." You told the boy quietly, holding his hand, but looking into the darkness of the garden thoughtfully. "My life was destroyed because of them. I was gone because of them. I lost everything because of them." You chose your words carefully, remembering everything that was happening so long ago, it felt as another life altogether.

The commotion from the Throne Room was heard well even in the hallways. You carefully stepped to the door, watching at the events inside quietly and silently. The Lord before the Iron Throne pleaded his innocence, but your father, Prince Baelon appointed to lead this trial, wasn’t going to listen. You stepped aside, when guards were dragging the lord out of the Throne Room through the door you were standing at. When they walked out of the Throne Room, you looked at them.

“What is going on here?” You asked them, feigning innocence. Guards bowed their head slightly to you.

“This Lord was accused of stealing a dragon egg. Prince Baelon sentenced the thief to thelife on the Wall.” One of the guards said. You nodded looking at the panicking and horrified lord, who looked down, seemingly not noticing you.

“That is a fair sentence. That would teach him to keep his mouth shut and not jump over his head, trying to take what is not his.” You said coldly. Lord suddenly shivered and looked up at you, as if suddenly realizing something.

“You… It was you… Let me go!” Lord screamed, trying to get out of guards hands and get to you. You just stepped to the side, letting knights drag the screaming lord away. Familiar footsteps coming from behind, you met with a slight smile.

“Was it the Lord, who saw us and tried to…” Daemon started.

“To threaten you, yes.” You nodded and glanced at your brother. “He is going to the Wall. And don’t ask what I did. Because the answer is nothing.” You walked beside him, slightly touching his shoulder. It was hard to convince servants to place a dragon egg in his rooms, but in the end it was all worth it.

"Do you hate them, uncle?" Aemond asked curiously, looking at you. You glanced at him, almost flinching, as if remembering he was still there. You smiled slightly and put a hand on his hair, caressing his white hair.

"I do to some extent. But I would die for them in an instant. I would kill and do everything I had done for them all over again." You answered him with a sad smile. "I hate them, as they hate me. But I love them at the same time. And I would get destroyed and crushed again for that person. It is... A weird balance."

"Can you... Teach me how to find this... Hate and love?" Prince asked quietly. You nodded.

"Yes, but not here. And definitely not in one day. It's getting cold and you can get sick. You wouldn't want to fall sick and miss our flight tomorrow?" You winked at him, as Aemond nodded with a smile.

"Let's go! I want to hear about that person!" He stood up, waited for you to stand as well and only after that he went to the castle with fast pace. Even being close and quiet child, he was still a kid. You looked at his back, missing the fact that a dark shadow from behind the bushes watched and heard your talk.

***

The flames of candles danced around the dark room. Skull of Balerion brought back memories to you, both of pleasant times and not much. Your life had changed, everything changed. And the family you were supposed to change with, wasn't the one you remembered anymore. Yet you still sought out comfort in this place.

You sighed, turning away from the skull as you heard steps behind you. As you assumed, that was Daemon. Over the years his footsteps became quieter, but still he was too familiar for you not to recognize him. His look was wary, he was tensed up as his hand rested on the hilt of the dagger on his belt.

"You chose a good place for a murder, almost poetic." You noted. Daemon scoffed.

"Don't tempt me." You could argue with him that temptation was more of his job in many ways, but you chose to stay silent on the matter.

"If you don't wish to kill me, I am at a loss of why are you here." You said to him, being pretty honest.

"I wanted to talk to you." He said, stepping to you. You smiled, shaking your head and refusing to admit even to yourself how much this single step made your heart shiver.

"Talk to me? It isn't your usual way. I think you better prefer not to speak with me at all or kill me. Or at least avoid me." You admitted, turning to the skull and igniting the candles, just to get yourself busy with something. "What do you want?"

"Where does the lie end and the truth starts?" He asked in response. You hummed in surprise, definitely not expecting such a question first.

"Such deep thoughts. Why so suddenly?" You heard another step, but you only raised your eyes to look at the skull of mighty beast. You wouldn't dare to fight your own death after all this time if it came to this. You wouldn't dare to fight him ever.

"We are surrounded by half-truths, lies and intrigues. You can fully trust noone and nothing. Tell me, nuha lēkia(my elder brother), how much did you lie?" You glanced across the shoulder at your brother. He was serious, his eyes were fixated on you, but there was something deeper inside him. You shrugged, looking at the fire on the end of a splinter with which you lighted the candles.

"Like many people, nuhor valonqar(my younger brother). A lot." You answered, not understanding why he was talking with you like that. He couldn't possibly know the truth, could he? You didn't tell anyone and made sure to be careful about it. And your father was too… Careful to not leave any trace of what had happened that day.

"I know that. You lied that you love me." He accused you, making you glance at him. "You lied that you will never leave me. You lied that you will protect me." His jaw tensed, and you were sure that this would be the end. Him accusing you of everything and you just accepting it. He probably just wanted to accuse you and be done with it. Suddenly, Daemon raised his head, narrowing his eyes, but not taking them away from your figure. "But I'm not here to tell you about those lies. I want to hear another one."

"You want me... To lie to you?" You laughed quietly, looking at Daemon in surprise. He was silent for a moment, before nodding, strangely serious about it.

"Let's play a game. Lie to me.” He repeated firmer, his hard eyes not changing, as he glared at you. “What did you say to my daughters?" Daemon asked. You raised your brows, not understanding what he was doing.

"What?"

"Lie to me about the things you said to Rhaena." He repeated, stepping closer. You sighed, mirroring this step to the side, keeping the same distance between you two, pretending you were just igniting the candles. Daemon was playing some game of which you knew nothing and wanted you to participate in it as well. And yet you let him have this moment.

"Let's see... I told her about how I cursed our family and how I'm going to make sure that she would stay dragonless." You spoke slowly, unsure smile creeping on your face. At the very least you could have some kind of fun.

"What did you say to Rhaenyra, when I interrupted you that morning?" He insisted, his step echoing through the high arches of the ceiling again.

"That she needs to end Alicent and her children once and for all, no matter the consequences." You simply breathed out, not even turning to him.

"What did you do when Rhaenys was promised to Corlys?" You giggled, remembering what happened such a long time ago. Honestly you were surprised that he remembered that.

"Nothing, I stayed at the Red Keep, not going anywhere." You answered, once again lying, remembering how you sneaked upon their ship, to say goodbye to your favourite cousin of all. Baelon scolded you, when you were returned back to the Red Keep, and Daemon didn't let you go for a week, afraid you would disappear from him again.

"What were you talking about with Aemond?" Another step along with the words. You scoffed, igniting another candle, looking at the flames.

"How he should hate Lucerys and wish him nothing but death." The game was weirdly funny, it almost made you forgot about everything that was brewing between you. Lies flew from your tongue before you could even process it.

"Why did you leave for Braavos?"

"Because I wanted to." You blurted out a lie before realising it. For a moment you froze, slowly turning around. There you saw Daemon barely a step away from you. His eyes became tense, dark violet, as he watched your face after you repeated a lie known to everyone in this game, where you should have lied. "I hate you."

"I didn't ask you to lie about your feelings." He retorted coldly, stepping to you, as you stepped away, your throat dry all of a sudden. "Enough lies. What happened?"

"Nothing." You shook your head and sighed. You wanted him know the truth, yet you also knew that it didn't matter anymore. Not with his family, not after all those years. It would only complicate things. "Daemon, you better go. Just continue hating me, this would be… Right."

"I said, enough lies." He crossed what little distance you had between you, backing you to the candles. Daemon grabbed you by the clothes, watching closely your face. Your heart beat like mad at the mere presence of your brother near you. "What happened?"

"Daemon..."

"What had happened that morning you left? Tell me the truth!" He demanded, his eyes boring into your soul. "I won't let you go before you say. I deserve the truth after your betrayal, after your lies and all the harm and pain you caused me..."

"He saw us!" You exclaimed, having had enough. Your feelings were overwhelming you to the point of just not caring about the consequences. "Our father saw us. He saw you on your knees, saw me in your bed, he saw everything."

"What?" His grip on you lessened, his face frozen with shock and still that angry expression. Yet you made no move to free yourself from his grip.

"He saw us. He learned the truth. And he was so mad at me for... How did he say? Right... "Corrupting you". So enraged hat he just threw me out of the Keep." You blurted out in one breath.

"You lie. If he... He would have punished me as well. Why didn't he punish me, why didn't you write anything to explain anything?" His voice was raising as well, mirroring yours.

"You still don't understand? You were his favourite. Not Viserys even if he was the eldest. Not me even if I listened to him always. You. Mother loved you the most, father adored you. He couldn't comprehend that you could lay with a man willingly. If I was some common whore or even a sister of yours, he wouldn't have batted an eye, but I am a man. And I can't want you, as it's a sin. As I am corrupting and tainting you with mere thought of it, let alone a touch. Putting a disgrace on your name. It was easier for him to believe I made you do this. Easier to hate one son and threaten to kill every person that brought my letters to the Keep. Easier to send dead ravens and tell his own son that he would be burned alive if he even dared to show his face again at his home." You couldn't stop words pouring from your mouth, you were silent for far too long and that pain had never left.

"No..." Daemon shook his head, seemingly not wanting to listen to you anymore, but at this point you had little to no care about his wish.

"And I knew he would be furious if I admit that you were the one to come to me. It would have killed him. And if not... He would have destroyed your life as well. And I lied, yes, I lied, I took it upon myself. I destroyed my life for you. I destroyed my life because of you, Daemon!" You raised your voice at him. He looked enraged and shocked, almost feral in the light of candles.

"Shut up!" He pushed you harshly back. You stumbled to the skull, the impact making you fall onto some candles and hitting your head against an old bone in your fall. You cursed quietly, feeling something sticky on your face. For several moments you layed on the floor, not moving, fighting with the headache and shock. Slowly you sat, grunting, warm wax sliding from under your hands. Your lip was split, as you could feel, and according to some stickiness on your temple, there was at least a gash on your forehead.

You looked up at him, his face not cold anymore, but full of many different emotions. Anger, sadness, fear. You groaned, trying to move. Leaning onto the skull, you carefully stood up, giving yourself a second of rest.

"Y/N, listen, I..."

"You are the Rogue Prince, future King or Prince Consort, King of the Narrow Sea, previous commander of the Gold Cloaks, husband to the heir of the throne and father of her future children." You stated in resignated tone, glancing at his frozen form. "I am the Gone Prince, who spent most of his life in Braavos. I am noone and nothing, with no lands or wealth. I am a leech, who taints the house reputation just by thinking of you. I am father's disgrace." You tried to straighten your back, but sudden nausea hit you, and you bent over, leaning onto the skull once again. "And I am here to help Viserys. Don't dwell on the past, as it can't be returned." You forced yourself to smile and look at him. "Go back to hating me. It would be easier... For both of us." You breathed out, slowly walking away from the basement, Daemon not making a move to follow you.

***

The evening was busy. It seemed that every person in the Red Keep decided to visit you. Firstly, there were Rhaenyra, who was alerted that you asked for maesters. Next was Alicent, who decided to visit you, the atmosphere becoming tense between two women for a hot minute, but they kept their temporary peace. Next was the King. Viserys got really nervous about hearing the news of your wound. He demanded to know what happened and who did this. The answer was simple.

"I fell." You lied again, as the maester cleaned your wound and gave you advices on treatment. After all those people visited you, you were exhausted and confined to your chambers. Following maesters' orders, Viserys forbade you to go out at least for two days. You tried to tell him that it was just a scratch, and you just need a good sleep, but he was too worried. Too afraid to lose another family member, as it seemed. So you relented and just read through some of King's journals he gave you to better understand the situation in the court, occasionally writing something in your notes.

You heard the door opening and closing and some quiet steps. Sighing, you turned the page, not wanting to face the person who entered your room.

"I don't need anything, Jenny, you may go for the night." You said, not wishing to see anyone right now after all of the commotion and noise. Not after the conversation down at the skull...

"I must consider adding that name to the list of my titles." That wasn't your servant. You turned to look at the man, who entered your room. Daemon. Of course. Without his weapon, without his dark attire, in white simple shirt, almost looking like he was fresh out of bath. Boy, did it bring back memories.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, obviously confused. Daemon shrugged.

"Can't I visit my brother, who clumsily fell and hit his head?" He said, making you shake your head with a quiet sigh. "Y/N, we need to talk."

"We already talked. I don't have anything else to say to you, so you are wasting your time here." You turned back to the journal again. There was silence and for a second you thought Daemon would leave you alone. You should have known better. Suddenly there were haste steps, after which the journal was ripped from your hands. You looked up at him, his determined look pointed right back at you. "Dae..." He put a hand on your mouth, shutting you up and making you freeze at the sudden physical contact.

"No! You said you don't have anything to say, so I will be the one who does the talking." He stated sternly, looking in your eyes. You slapped away his hand, but said nothing in response. Daemon sighed, still standing in front of you. "If what you have told me is truth, I didn't know it. Let me finish!" He interrupted you, as you tried to say something. "All these years I blamed you for leaving me without a word. Without a letter or explanation. I... I thought you did something for me again, that was noticed and made you guilty. I thought father found out of what you did to protect me. Then I thought you found someone else, some young pretty boy who adored you more than I did. It was easier for me to hate you." He admitted, and your heart broke a bit at his words ad his expression. You wanted to forget about what had happened and just take him into your embrace and not let go of him. But you both were too far gone for that. And revelation of the truth did provoke this conversation, but it couldn't change everything else.

"It is still easier for both of us to stay away from each other." Daemon scoffed in response to those words, leaning on the table, looking down at you.

"You can't be serious, Y/N. I know the truth now, that it wasn't your wish to leave me. And you expect the hate from me?"

"What do you expect? Us going back to where we left things? You aren't ten and six anymore, Daemon. I am not ten and nine. You are a different person, that I know nothing about. Hell, you have a family and duties." You breathed out, trying to stay calm.

"But I don't have you. And I haven't had you all those years. I have changed, yes. You have changed as well, hell, maybe even more than I have. But the fact that I need my elder brother never changed, no matter how much I hated and despised this thought." Prince looked at you stubbornly. You shook your head, looking at the notes on your table, just not to look at him.

"We can't go back to what we had, Daemon. It is impossible. I can't be your lover. And I doubt I can be your friend after all these years. You are a different person, completely unknown to me."

"Then I don't see a problem with anything. We just start anew." He reached out to you, grabbing your chin, making you look at him, his eyes burning with fire and passion. You pursed your lips, trying to calm your heart that was beating out of your chest just from a single touch of his. You had to learn to control yourself near him all over again.

"What we had was a sin. We are brothers. Even if our blood doesn't stop us as our House has queer customs, we are men. It is viewed as a sin. I won't put your reputation under a hit. The ending will be the same, Daemon. Us parting ways. It was hurtful the first time, there is no need to return to that." You tried to sound convincing enough for both him and you, but his grip on your chin only tightened, as your words sparked him with anger.

"There is no sin in this. This is us. We are both dragons, our blood belong together. There is nothing more true in this world than us. And if it is a part of us, if it is the most real part of us, it can't be sin." Daemon said stubbornly, as you put your hand on his, gripping his wrist in attempt either to bring him back to his feelings or pull it away from you.

"It is. We are brothers and we can't do that. If I was a princess or you were one, everything could be different. But we are what we are and this is wrong.” You lowered your head, leaning back into the armchair. “Father might have been right. If the gods punished me and not helped me all this time, then I am a sinner and a leech."

"Where the fuck did you take all of this, you have never been religious!" Daemon spitted out, looking at you, as his brows furrowed. You just tried to push him away, with your words, with your actions, but he never budged, on the contrary becoming more and more persistent. "Or someone is telling you this? Who is this cunt that spread this nonsense to your head?" He demanded of you.

"Noone, Daemon. This is my thoughts." You breathed out, as the prince sat on your lap suddenly. He had become heavier with years for certain, trainings and battles made him stronger, and you couldn't help but feel the stomach-curling feeling of familiarity of his body against yours.

"You were never like this. You loved me. You loved my body. You didn't think of me as of something wrong." He stubbornly said, as you pressed yourself into the chair, trying to distance yourself from him, even if it wasn't physically possible. "And I know you still feel the same, I can see this in your eyes."

"You are not wrong. I am. I made you like this." You breathed out, putting hands on his shoulders, looking at his hard face. Your repeated your father's words just to get him to see the reason and step back. "Daemon, this is wrong. Please, I beg you, go back to your wife, to your family."

"You are my family. You are my blood. I want to be here with you now, not with them." Daemon stood his ground stubbornly. He didn't want to leave you apparently, but you couldn't have him risk it all again because of you, no matter how much you longed to hold him again in your embrace.

"I can't be the reason to hold you back. You loved them this morning more than anything. You hated me this morning. One conversation can't change that. You love Rhaenyra, you bled for her, you suffered for her, you long for her, you love her, not me and I can't..."

"All this time I was suffering for you. I wanted to forget you, believe me. I tried it all… Whores, wine, blood, killing, everything!" He cupped your face with his hands, looking intensely in your eyes. "I tried. Rhaenyra... She is good, she deserves love. And I love her. But she isn't you. It is different with you, and you know it. And if I had to choose, I would choose you every time."

Your heart clenched at the thought that he tried to forget you. His eyes were honest, and even after all those years away from him, you could always tell when he was telling the truth. He was sincere in his words at this moment. But you couldn't let him do that again. You didn't want pain for you, nor for him.

"Daemon, you are talking on emotions. You miss what we had once, but... Fuck, don't make this harder than it is." You pleaded with him, every reason to leave everything as it was fading in the face of his confidence and determination. You were losing this fight and couldn’t come up with any more reasons or words to convince him. To convince yourself.

"You are the one making it harder. Lēkia, you told me yourself once, we were born from one flame and blood. We were supposed to be together. I cried only for you, not one person saw my tears, because you are the only reason for them. I didn't mourn father, grandsire, Aemma, Laena, noone. I cried for noone but you. I need you in a way no word in Westerosi or Valyrian can describe. Now more than ever." He whispered, inching closer to your face, as something inside you was slowly breaking.

"Daemon..."

"Start with me anew. There is no reason for worry, I promise. All the time you stayed away, you protected me. You lied, you..." He scoffed, remembering your words he heard in the garden. "You destroyed your life for me. Let me now rebuild it."

"Daemon..." You touched his cheek, shuddering at the long forgotten feeling of his skin under your touch.

"Let me think for the both of us this time, Y/N." He squeezed your cheeks in his palms, looking in your eyes. "Let us sing dragon's song together again. Like we never stopped."

You breathed out, looking in his eyes. You saw anger, flames of indomitable passion dancing in his eyes, violet irises determined and fiery. He wouldn't step back. Even if he still felt some hate for you, even if he loved his family he had, you were something different for him. You were his centre, around which his world was turning. As he was your centre in return.

And you gravitated to your dragon, like always, leaning into him.

The Gone Prince Taglist: @wai-who @midnightprincess18 @fan-goddess @weird-addiction @rawinia @cannibalcoyote @cherry1a @darlinqvi @caelumwingstar @louventcavaliersx @parca0charos @azrealbanerstark @britany1997

[wandixx]

one-shot snippet

Duke was running out of fumes to run on. The last few days would be exhausting if it was just vigilante or just civilian stuff but no, he had to have it both. Because of Arkham break out, he had been called in three nights in a row, not for a whole patrol but he couldn't exactly sleep it off during the day like others did, especially not in a week when every teacher decided they needed to have test or quiz or what not. Naps meant he wasn't as sleep-deprived as he could be but he needed far more. But he couldn't because crime in Gotham never sleeps so he had normal patrol to finish and there were about two hours left.

Would something bad happen if he just stopped for a moment and laid on a roof? Ten up to fifteen minutes. It was a slow day too…

Yeah, no, he deserved a moment to rest and if something disastrous was to happen in the meantime he would shame other Bats for not giving him enough time to sleep.

It certainly said something that he found gravel covering this roof to be quite comfortable. He set a timer for ten minutes and let himself close his eyes.

When the loud screech of the timer jolted him awake, he was suddenly fully aware that he wasn't alone anymore. He sat up a little too quickly.

"Oh, you're awake" white white-haired girl around Damian's age chimed, sitting cross-legged just a few feet away from him. She wore something that could only be described as a lab safety hazmat suit, white and black with popping green accents. When had Gotham gotten a new vigilante/villain/whoever the girl was? "Good, I just returned from a snack hunt," she added, gesturing at a big textile bag lying next to her. Duke didn't have enough brainpower to do anything more than ask.

"What?"

The girl shrugged, take-out from BatBurger in her hand.

"You look like you have a bad day if not a few days, so I've got you my cousin's bad day combo or at least the closest thing I could. BatBurger burger isn't as good as NastyBurger but you certainly have better fries" As she spoke, a second take-out bag, 1 liter bottle of energy drink, juice bottle of the same size, and pack of convenience store brownies joined greasy paper bag sealed with a sticker.

"Is your cousin a speedster?" Excuse Duke, it was a totally valid question, he saw with his bare eyes both Wally West and Bart Allen when they visited Manor. No one else would be able to stomach the amount of food they inhaled during their stays.

"Nah, we're not that fast or that hungry. Though I think I may get closer to the speed of sound." So, clearly, a meta if white hair and weir aura that let his eyes rest weren't enough indication "My cousin when he has a bad few days often forgets to eat so this combo has to help with there too. But I'll steal your fries of course."

Duke was not going to look a gift horse in the teeth, so he grabbed one bag and tore it open. There was a classic combo with bigger fries and NightWings inside.

"Thank you…" he trailed off, hoping that the girl would take a clue and introduce herself but she didn't. She just drowned her fries in ketchup and started munching. She had her own juice.

"My cousin always said that each part of this combo has a different purpose." she explained instead, slightly muffled because of the fries in her mouth "This" she gestured towards the fast food meal "is to soothe your stomach. This "she tapped energy drink "is to soothe your brain and kick it back online. This "she raised a bottle of juice "is to soothe your taste buds because energy drinks are war crime against them and this "she nudged brownies "is to soothe your heart because Ancients damn it, this day is awful and you deserve it. At least that's what he told me when I had day bad enough to deserve that" she shrugged, licking ketchup of her finger. Suddenly she froze "You aren't allergic, are you?

"No, I'm not" he confessed bewildered.

"Good"

For a long moment, they sat in silence, devouring food the little girl brought. Duke distantly wondered if this was how the night shift spent their snack breaks. It felt nice.

He was finishing his part of the brownies when the girl spoke up again.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah," he was a little surprised to realize that t it was true. He'll have to note down what she put in this 'bad day combo'. "Thank you"

"Don't mention it." she shrugged with a general gesture of dismissal "You're one of my cousin's favorite heroes because you're vaguely his age and handle Gotham alone during the day and I quote "She did honest or God air quotes at that" 'As only hero in Amity-' which is a lie by the way, Val is doing great and even if he suddenly got problem with how she feels about his alter ego, he still has Sam and Tuck even if they're usually more of moral support. And I helped when I visited, so no, he isn't the only one. Anyway as he said 'As the only hero in Amity, my heart goes out for anyone who deals with this type of bullshit so Dani if you absolutely have to prank heroes, leave them out of it, especially Signal, he can't be older than Jazz, he doesn't need any more mess to handle.' All aliens and lanterns are also off-limits because he is a space nerd. But you aren't space-related so I'm like 80% percent sure he has a celebrity crush on you" She slurped more juice, unbothered.

Duke was thankful he wasn't swallowing anything because for sure she would choke. He took a split second to consider addressing… this whole situation and choose against it. He was not ready to be anyone's celebrity crush.

"Your name is Danny?" he asked instead.

"Dani" she corrected" with an I"

"Ok. It's nice to meet you Dani-with-an-I" She giggled, nodding her head slightly.

"It's nice to meet you too Signal"

Duke stood up, stretching a little. Dani joined him after hastily putting all the trash in her bag. She was a little higher than expected.

"I have to get back to my patrol"

"Cool," she drifted back a bit, making him realize that she was floating a few inches above the ground. She fixed her bag on her arm.

"Hey, can I hang out a little bit more? My cousin will go green out of jealousy when I tell him" she added with a mischievous smirk but Duke could tell there was more to it. He took a moment to consider it, which apparently made the girl nervous "I can be invisible the whole time, like before." she offered, disappearing in the meantime. He could still tell where she was, because of her heat signature, and aura but for regular people, she would be no different than the surrounding air.

"Yeah, you can hang around and you don't have to be invisible. Just don't get in my way when I have to actually do some fighting."

She popped back to the visible spectrum and pouted like Damian whenever he got benched.

" I can fight, y'know? I stopped mugging on a snack run."

It was ten goddamn minutes, how could she get so much food and stop a mugging in such a short time?!

Oh, right, superspeed. Still, impressive.

"I haven't seen it" he started, channeling all Dick-trying-to-wrangle-Damian-into-socially-acceptable-activity' energy he could muster "So I don't know how you fight or even what powers you have. If we tried to fight together we would trip over each other" It was a bare-faced lie, Bat Training made sure of that but he knew for a fact that if he said anything else, the girl would be mad and probably did her own thing.

Was that what Bruce thought about all of them?

Oh no.

Dani still looked displeased but after a moment of consideration, she nodded with a defeated sigh.

Suddenly she straightened like she got struck by lightning and whipped around.

"Wha-"

She just shushed raising her finger to her mouth. Duke did indeed quieten.

"I have enhanced hearing" she whispered "There is a mugging somewhere this way."

"Let's go then" he shot his grapple, waving his other hand at Dani to come with him before he jumped off the roof. He heard the girl giggle as she flew right after him.

" After this, you'll show me the coolest gargoyles, okay? Sam asked for photos"

"Okay"

It seemed that the end of this patrol wouldn't be as bad as the start was. Hopefully.

And afterward, he was going to lock himself in his room until the sky fell or he was well rested.

Yeah, that was a good plan.

*******

how do you like it?

[ignisgalaxia]

With the release of Prodigy season 2, the Trek fandom finally has an answer to what Chakotay's native ancestry is. He's Nicarao, a tribe from the western region of Nicaragua who actually share a common ancestry with the Nahua Aztecs of Mexico. The show even mentions the island of Ometepe specifically, which is the largest island in Lake Nicaragua made up of two volcanoes.

The reason this is so important to me is because my dad and his family are from Nicaragua. I’ve been getting more in touch with those roots over the last year or so, and I’ve found it very frustrating how there seems to be no Nica representation in media, at least not in the mainstream. But when I found out that Chakotay was a fellow Nica, I was literally bouncing off the walls. To think, one of my favorite characters has the same ancestry as me (well, almost, but I’ll get to that later)! When I told my dad, he laughed so hard because he never would’ve imagined.

But I haven’t seen a lot of people talking about this aspect. I get it, it’s a minuscule part of the wild ride that was season 2. But I’d really like us as a fandom to discuss this more. I mean, we literally don’t have to guess what tribe he’s from anymore!

So since nobody else has come forward, I am going to claim myself as the only member of the Voyager-Prodigy fandom with actual Nicaraguan ancestry, and am making this post to give firsthand information about the Nicarao and the nation as a whole.

Firstly, some context. My dad was born in Managua, the capital of Nicaragua, and lived there with his family until he was 7. Then they fled the country due to the Contra War that was going on. My grandfather was born and raised in Bluefields, a city on the country's Carribean coast, then went to college in Mexico where he met my grandmother. Neither of them are Nicarao, and are in fact very European (the DNA tests proved it). However, when they were all living in Managua, my grandparents had a handful of maids that worked for them (they had six kids they needed some help), and a couple of them were Nicarao. Specifically, they were natives from a village in the nearby mountains. So while I don't have info on natives from Ometepe, I do have some on the people in general.

The maids lived with my dad's family during the week and would go home to their village on the weekends. They primarily spoke Spanish, but he would occasionally catch them speaking in their native tongue which I assume is Nahua.

My dad recounted a time when the maids invited the family to their village for a day trip. He said they were living in Adobe houses and had lots of livestock (cattle, chickens, goats, etc) as well as horses, which he apparently rode for the first time there. He also said most of the natives had two primary weapons: a machete to cut crops and other vegetation, and a 22 single shot rifle. They used the rifles to shoot iguanas off trees. Iguanas and iguana eggs are a delicacy in Nicaragua that the natives are experts at making.

This is a direct quote from my grandmother when I asked her about what she remembered of them:

The people I knew, they were good and hard working people. Smart, happy, funny… they really are sociable, like to talk and say jokes invented with their mind and history. The women were skillful, knew how to survive. They cooked, cleaned, planted crops and vegetables. Good merchants, they really knew how to sell and buy.

I wish I had more info to share, but unfortunately season 2 could not have been released at a worse time because my grandfather has recently begun developing Alzheimer's or some other form of dementia and has been losing his memory over the last few months. Even when my dad and I were with him in May and I asked him to recount his earlier life, he repeated himself a few times since he evidently had forgotten he'd already told us those parts. If I had known how fast he’d be deteriorating, I would’ve started my work sooner.

If I do end up learning anything more from my relatives, I’ll update the post. For now, I hope this is of some use to people. And if anyone has questions about Nicaraguan culture in general, I’ll be happy to pass them along to my dad.

[twola]

Passerine - Chapter 6 [Finale]

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Wading through blood, you must confront the reality of where the road has taken you.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

chapter cw: graphic childbirth, smut, violence, blood, illness, graphic rape, death.

This is it, folks. Thank you for coming along for the ride. Please, I'd love your feedback after all is now said and done. Feel free to leave a comment or hit up my inbox. See you in the New Year.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous 

The wagon roughly bounces on the path, your teeth sink into your lower lip to stifle a groan. You cannot stop the tears from streaming down your face, not anymore.

One of your hands lies upon your distended abdomen, the child's movements having grown frantic and agitated.

Jack looks at you, fearfully, as he’s clutched in his mother’s arms. Another jostle of the wagon and the boy buries his face into Abigail’s bosom. 

Sadie drives the wagon, cursing each time it hits a rough patch in the road, which is often this north in Roanoke. 

From the ride to Copperhead and then turning around and piling into a suspiciously procured wagon, the last two days have been hellish. One hiding in plain sight along the river and the marshes, and the second was riding by night north again, trying to at least get past Annesburg. Ambarino -it would be safe there -

A horse pulls up next to the wagon, and a dirty and disheveled John Marston looks down at you, then down the bed of the wagon with a grimace, clutching at his bloodied arm. “How is he?”

Tears spill from your eyes anew as you look down. 

Arthur, bloodied, bruised, and barely breathing, lies in the wagon bed, his head perched upon your thigh, your hand lightly draped over his collarbone.

You can’t respond.

John realizes this, looking up the trail again as the horse plods forward next to the wagon. “We need to keep moving, get to Ambarino.”

Abigail, who has been quiet for most of the ride, pipes up. “John. We need to find somewhere to hunker down. Soon.”

“I know-”

“No, I mean now. She ain't gonna give birth in the back of a wagon.”

John’s eyes dart back to you, wide and fearful. “Shit, shit, alright,” he looks up the road again, then looks behind them.

He figures they are just north of Annesburg, he chews his lip before remembering,  “Arthur told me of a widow that lives up at Willard’s Rest. Kind woman. We can see if she’ll take us in.”

Abigail reaches over and places a hand on your belly, frowning when she feels how hard it is. She looks up at you, “Don’t you worry, we’ll get you settled.”

Another burst of tears overflow from your eyes. Your hand clutches at Arthur’s shirt, but your lover does not respond.

-

God bless Missus Balfour. She missed not even a step when a wagon and rider full of women and bloodied men appeared at Willard’s Rest, this safe haven hidden away off the road, far, far north of civilization. 

“Here, here, you can put him in that room there. Let me get this room ready for her. I’ll boil some water.” 

John and Sadie half-carry, and half-drag an unconscious Arthur up the stairs as Charlotte slowly walks you into the house, her arm under your shoulder. Abigail follows with the little shadow of her son directly behind her and rubs at her brow tiredly when they reach the kitchen.

Jack tries to bury himself in his mother’s skirts. She frowns down at him for a moment, and when John reappears from the other bedroom, she leans down and kisses Jack on the forehead. “Jack, I’m gonna need you to go with your father. You gotta stay with him and help him, alright?”

John looks as if he is about to say something, but wisely closes his mouth as Jack leaves his mother’s side to tuck himself against his father.

Abigail gives John a tired look, her brow furrowed and serious, “Please, take him a bit away from here. For a while.”

“What, wh-”

“So he don’t hear the screaming. John, please.” Abigail takes John’s hand and squeezes it, whispering low in an attempt for her son not to hear.

John blanches when he realizes what she’s talking about. He steels his jaw and nods, his other hand falling on his son’s head. He nods to Abigail, taking her hand and pulling it up to his lips quickly. “I hope everythin’ goes alright.”

Abigail’s brow falters, and she leans forward and catches him quickly on the lips, surprising him. He quickly recovers and kisses her back, and they both pull back slightly and lean their foreheads against each other, “Me too, John, me too.”

Your groan from the bedroom takes them from the moment and John’s mouth falls into a straight, hard line. “I’ll take him over by the waterfall. Far enough not to hear, but we’re close if you need anythin’.”

Abigail nods a quick thank you and darts into the bedroom.

John looks down at his son, the son for so long he had ignored, “C’mon now, let's get to see if we can get some fish for dinner. That’ll make everyone happy.”

-

Abigail leans over and undoes your boots as you sit in the bed, and after she works them off your feet, she helps you swing your legs up and sit atop the bed, as you breathe heavily. The tightening sensation in your abdomen comes again, and you hiss in pain.

“Breathe through it, that’s it.” Abigail takes your hand and lets you squeeze it. When the pain subsides, you let out a deep breath.

“I’ll be gettin’ everything together. You’re safe, and you’re gonna have the most beautiful baby.” Abigail cups your cheek gently, lovingly. Assuringly. You nod and her hand squeezes yours again before she leaves the room.

You close your eyes, the aching in your hips is near unbearable, and the pain that comes every few minutes is like a bolt of lightning strikes you at your core.

“You must be his wife.”

The dark-haired homeowner steps through the door, carrying folded linens and a large bowl of water, steam wafting upward as she sets it on the dresser.

You're genuinely surprised at the statement, unable to respond at first, “I-….”

“He’s a wonderful man, your husband Arthur. Probably saved me from starving. He couldn’t stop talking about you, his wonderful wife, how you were back home about to have your first child together, how he couldn't wait. He is smitten with you, dear.”

Oh god, your Arthur, your wonderful, sweet… dying Arthur.

“He’s, he’s…. agh-!”

You double over in the bed, clutching your belly and wincing, yelling out in pain as your belly tightens and hardens. Charlotte takes one of your hands in her own and lets you hold it through the contracting of your body.

Abigail bursts through the door, followed by Sadie. Grimacing, she rolls up her sleeves, muttering to Charlotte and Sadie to lay you back from your sitting position. Your head falls back on the pillow as you gasp in pain, clutching at your belly. Abigail pulls up your skirts, folding them at your hips. A warm liquid trickles against your inner thighs as Abigail mutters to Sadie, and the two women manipulate your legs to slide your bloomers off. 

Another pain, and this time you cannot help the moan escaping your throat as your abdomen tightens. It's like your body is collapsing in on itself, and you are barely cognizant of the women in the room. Charlotte steps in and helps as well, and by the time the pain lets up, they have stripped you down to your petticoat shift, have propped your legs up, and your knees falling open.

You're in so much pain that you don't think about decency at all, Abigail propping herself between your legs, your entire lower half on display. Another strangled cry claws its way out of you as you throw your head back.

“Arthur-” you call out in vain, “I need Arthur-”

“I know, honey. He’s just in the other room.” Sadie pats your hair back as she holds your hand.

“H-how am I supposed to do this without him?” You weep, squeezing your eyes shut against the waves of pain.

Sadie frowns, looking across the room at Charlotte. The women share a knowing, pained glance between them - a look of familiarity, of pain, of uncertainty.

Of losing one’s other half.

-

The shitty, ramshackle cabin smells of unwashed men and rotting food. Arthur doesn’t know what’s going on -why is he here, what is this place?

Two men sit at a table, playing cards and drinking from open bottles of whiskey.

Their vests are green. Arthur seethes and goes to pull his gun from his belt, to find that there is none. There’s no gun, no belt. He looks down, and frankly, there is no him. He is not… really there.

His confusion is interrupted as a half-dressed man bursts through a door from another room, hoisting his pants up as he steps in.

“Donal, you rat bastard - how’d you pick up a thing like that?”

The dark-haired man laughs as he places his h cards down. “Enjoy it while she lasts - I’m sure she won’t be so tight when we take ‘er back to Hanging Dog.”

The returning man rebuttons his pants before sitting down in an empty chair, “‘er cunt is still real nice.”

“Wait till you fuck her ass, talk about real nice.” The third chuckles, taking his bottle of whiskey and taking a long drag.

“Ain’t you worried about Van der Linde?” 

“Naw, ain’t no one comin’ for her. She ain’t anyone important.” Dark-haired man takes a large swig of whiskey before slamming the bottle on the table. He takes his gunbelt off and places it on the table as well as he stands up.

“Now if you excuse me, think I’ll fuck that tight little hole again.”

Why couldn’t do anything, why couldn’t he kill them? What was this all?

The door swings open. That old, dirty, ratty bed where he found you, it’s there. Lantern light spills out, casting shadows through the room. Arthur is able to follow, somehow, in this incorporeal form.

You’re curled on the bed in a fetal position, nude and unbound. Your skin is peppered with bruises and your hair disheveled and dirty.

Arthur has never felt so helpless, like he was on the outside, looking in. 

“Come on now, get on your back f’r me. Been thinkin’ bout you all day.”

The terrible clicking sound of a belt being undone pierces the stillness. You don’t move on the bed. The O’Driscoll starts to work at his trousers as he approaches your battered form. His pants drop to the ground as he reaches the bed. He manhandles you onto your back with no resistance, no fight in you.

He climbs atop you, parts your legs, and settles himself between them. The O’Driscoll spits in his hand slathers it over his hard cock, and without any preamble or gentleness, he pushes himself inside your abused cunt.

Arthur is stuck - he can’t look away, he can’t do anything. You don’t scream, or cry, or fight. You simply squeeze your eyes shut for that moment of penetration, completely resigned. Is this… is he seeing what happened to you? This, this heinous violation that happened because he wasn’t able to keep you safe.

The O’Driscoll moans in pleasure and Arthur wants to tear the world apart. Your body moves back and forth on the bed with each heinous thrust of the man on top of you. He grabs one of your legs and pulls it to rest on his shoulder. You don't react at all, staring at the wall.

“P-pretty miss.”

You need him, you need him, and again, he cannot keep you safe. 

Arthur sees red, unable to do anything but watch.

You turn your head, catching Arthur’s gaze. Your eyes are dull, worn, dead. You can see him, the first acknowledgment from anyone all night.

You open your mouth and the most blood-curdling scream he has ever heard fills his ears.

-

Arthur’s eyes open;  his vision blurred for several moments before being able to focus on the ceiling.

The screaming - it's not from his dream, it’s real, it’s happening right now - you need him-

He blearily awakens, his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood as he pants. He struggles to sit up, but finally does so, his head spinning. He feels so weak. Another pained scream from down the hall. Wheezing, he clutches at his chest as he sits up in the bed. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, blood staining the fabric. 

He hears Abigail through the wall, some sort of murmured affirmation that he can’t understand.

The baby-

Arthur slides from the bed onto unsteady feet, nearly falling as he stumbles forward and grasps onto a dresser to stay upright, loudly panting. 

Another scream. The baby, you’re having his baby-

He wipes his mouth again as he looks around, recognizing the bedroom as one he’s seen before - he’s up at Willard’s Rest, Charlotte must have taken them in.

Arthur musters the little strength he has and takes step after unsteady step, leaning against dressers and the wall as he exits the bedroom and slowly drags himself down the hall.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, breathe through it.” 

God bless, Sadie Adler is here too.

Arthur sucks in a loud breath as he leans against the frame of the open door, quickly exhausted by the exertion he has already gone through. It takes moments for his vision to correct and his lightheadedness to subside a little. Only then is he able to take in what is happening in this other bedroom.

You recline against Sadie, who rubs at your biceps gently as Abigail sits between your spread legs, arms bloodstained up to her elbows. Her brow is furrowed in concentration. Charlotte Balfour leans over and places a wet cloth against your forehead, wiping away the sweat.

He must be dead, he must be. There’s no way on god’s green earth he’s seeing this. He’s completely unnoticed by the women, all rightfully focused on birth and life and not on a dying man.

“There we go. Alright, come on now honey.” Sadie coos gently. You grab at one of her hands and she holds it with the strength that Sadie is known for.

Abigail looks up to see Arthur leaning against the doorframe. Heaving breath, trying to keep himself upright. For an instant, she wants to go to him, but another scream escapes your throat and she immediately turns back to you. She mutters something to Sadie that Arthur cannot hear, and Sadie moves to let you lay down in the bed as a racking sob shudders out of your body.

“Couple good pushes left, you can do it-” Abigail places one of her hands below your knee and pushes your thigh back to round your belly. Sadie does the same with the opposite thigh, one hand free to brush back sweaty strands of hair from your forehead. Abigail nods to Charlotte and the latter takes Abigail’s place at the side of the bed, taking your thigh in her hands, holding it back the same as Sadie.

You scream again, head craning back on the pillow. Your hands clutch at the bedding beneath you with an unmatched strength. 

“Yes - yes, there we go, here we are-” Abigail mutters, her free hand disappearing between your legs.

Your voice, rough and abused, suddenly changes tone. From fearful and pained to something fierce. The scream from your lungs is one of determination - of strength and power and by god, he’s never been so in awe of you.

Arthur’s heart stops beating at this moment, and he nearly forgets the weight in his chest that makes it nigh impossible to breathe.

“Now push-” Abigail orders.

A fresh burst of tears works its way down your face as you suck in a breath and clench your teeth as you follow Abigail’s instructions. A defiant yell claws out of your throat. Arthur’s hand squeezes the doorframe with a strength that nearly escapes him, all from you. He wheezes, trying to keep quiet as the birth unfurls.

Fitting, a dying man witnessing this space of women delivering life. Fitting, that he's at the very least able to see this feat of strength from you, after everything you’ve been through. 

But in this moment, you didn’t need saving. Not by him.

Your screams are of strength, not fear nor pain.

You didn’t need him. 

You’d be fine, even after he’s gone.

One last strangled cry from your throat and you grit your teeth, pushing with every fiber of your being. Sadie leans forward and pushes your thigh apart just a bit more, Charlotte following suit on her side of the bed.

“Yes, yes, that's it!” Abigail exclaims.

The world slows, collapsing in on itself, he wasn't just watching the labor of a woman, he was staring at the birth of stardust, creation, and holiness incarnate. He, the sinner that he is, does not deserve to bear witness to such a thing.

From his vantage point leaning against the doorframe, he sees the baby’s head appear between your legs, cradled by Abigail’s waiting hands. 

He can’t hear the women’s exclamations, a tinny sound having taken over his hearing. Arthur watches you suck in another breath and bear down once again.

In a rush of blood and fluid, Abigail catches the child as you deliver. 

Arthur has never seen something so beautiful in his life. All the riches in the world, he’d have traded for this moment. The three women murmur joyful praises at you as Abigail rubs at the newborn roughly swaddled in the clean linen. 

The tinny noise goes away when the babe wails, a high-pitched screech that fills the room, over your panting, over the beating of Arthur’s heart, the crackling of his lungs. 

“Oh honey, y’ did perfect.” Sadie grins, letting your thigh down gently as she leans over toward the table and picks up her hunting knife. Abigail coos at the baby and undoes the linen enough to make that pulsing blue-white cord, the last connection between you and the child, accessible for Sadie to cut above the child’s stomach. Charlotte blots your forehead again with a wet cloth, holding your hand as you try to crane your neck to see your baby.

Abigail smiles as she places the newborn on the bed and wraps it tightly in linen with practiced ease. Once satisfied, she nods up to Sadie, who with Charlotte, slowly and carefully adjust the pillows behind you and help to pull you into a reclining position.

Abigail places the child into your waiting arms.

The baby wails and it’s the most beautiful goddamn sound that he’s ever heard. This sight is the most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen. You, in all of your glory, settling in on the other side of childbirth.

And then reality crushes back in.

Arthur can taste the coppery blood in his mouth, and he slumps down the doorframe as he coughs, losing his breath as the back of his hand is covered with blood. Through his fading vision, he makes eye contact with you, hazy, but perfect lying there on that bed, holding his healthy child. You look horrified as you try to get out of bed, crying out in pain as Abigail and Sadie try to push you to lie down gently again, the baby wailing against your breast. Charlotte begins to round the bed to reach toward him as he collapses.

Crumbling to the floor, blood bubbles across Arthur’s lips as he wheezes, drowning in the weight of his own sins.

-

Your head pounds as you awaken, being jostled roughly and uncaringly. It takes you a moment to realize you are gagged, something tied across your jaw. Your eyes dart back and forth as they get used to the light in the room.

You know this room. The pit of your stomach opens up as you are roughly placed against an old bed, and you can see your companion.

Dark, greasy hair. Dark, ruthless eyes. A green scarf tied around his neck.

Companion, captor, rapist.

‘Ello there love, time for us to get to know each other.

You try to claw at him, but he proves to be too strong - and the both of you tumble onto the dirty old bed. He is able to hold you down as he stands up, one elbow across your back and his hand encircles your neck, pushing your face into the mattress.

You’re just gonna make this worse for yourself.

You scream against the gag, in rage then in pain when he pulls your arms backward and tucks them behind your back. Rolling you over, he keeps weight and one on your shoulder, your arms scream in pain as he holds you down.

He snarls as he catches his breath, pulling his knife from his belt.

You goddamn witch, I should kill you instead of fuck you. But it’s been so goddamn long since I’ve gotten my cock wet-

He draws the knife’s blade slowly across your collarbone. You stop fighting, afraid that the blade is going to pierce your skin. Instead, he starts drawing it down the front of your blouse, and buttons start popping and flying as he drags the blade against the fabric. He reaches the last button before your blouse gets tucked into your shirt and places the knife on the bedside table. 

This is takin’ too long. He smiles, and your stomach drops as he takes a fistful of your blouse and rips. 

You scream into the gag again as he continues, tearing the blouse off of you, the sleeves falling down your biceps, disconnected from the rest of the fabric.

His arm moves from where he holds you down to land on your chemise’s neckline and you immediately take advantage of his weight being gone, trying to sit up and throw an elbow. He is wise to your moves, however, and catches your arm as you swing it.

Fuckin’ Van der Linde whore-

The O’Driscoll backhands you across the face, leaving you smarting and gasping out in pain, falling back to the bed.

Another rip. Your chemise is torn at the neckline, between his two hands, and he continues to tear the cotton in half, your breasts uncovered as he looms over you. You can taste blood in your mouth as your eyes water over, dizziness taking over your being.

You can feel the cool knife blade against the curve of your waist as he slides it against the ties of your skirt, pulling the blade up and slicing through the strings, placing it back on the table side as he starts to pull your skirts off, his grubby fingers digging into your skin, gathering your bloomers as well as he works them down your hips, thighs, and legs. Your knee-high stockings get pulled from your feet.

You begin to weep as the O’Driscoll strips you naked on that shitty bed, every scrap of clothing gone. A rough, dirty hand squeezes a breast, grabs your hip, smacks your ass. Fingers reach to toy with the dark curls hiding your cunt.

He leans over you and pulls the gag down, smirking evilly.

Your man isn’t here to save you. He’s not coming. It’s just you and me like it always has been.

Like it always has been. 

Like it always has been.

You know how this ends. You know what happens next. You know the pain, and the shame, and the pity and hurt in Arthur’s eyes when he finds you. 

You cannot keep letting him do this. He’s right, Arthur is not coming.

The O’Driscoll stands to full height and begins to undo his gunbelt, a sickening grin still on his face. He looks down, starting to unbutton his pants and you see the glint of the knife on the side table as the lantern light flickers. With his eyes off of you, you swing your arm up, grasping the knife and immediately turn it on him before he has a chance to react, jumping up from the bed.

You sink the knife into the O’Driscoll’s neck. He sputters in surprise for a moment as he rears back, his blood spraying out between your bodies. 

You grit your teeth and pull the knife out of his neck and immediately plunge it in at a different angle. Warm lifeblood splatters all over your chest, your naked breasts, your neck, your face. The man makes a gurgling sound as he begins to slump forward on top of you. You let go of the knife and push him with all of your might, and he rolls to the side off of you, off the bed, crumbling into a jumble of limbs on the floor, blood seeping out of the holes in his body.

You lean over and pull the knife from his neck.

You stand above him as he dies, his blood dripping down your naked form. For so long, this man has controlled you, taken your body as his own, and held you down in fear and nightmares, long after his death. But now, now you stand above him, knife in hand, like a warrior queen. 

You are unashamed of your nakedness - you needed no armor to vanquish him. You are unashamed of the blood - it is not smeared between your thighs as evidence of violation, it is splattered across your face, your breasts, trailing in rivulets down your belly and your legs.

The O’Driscoll shudders in a death throe, his eyes wide as he stops twitching.

You grip the knife tightly in your hand. He’s dead, he’s dead and he can’t hurt you anymore. He can never hurt you again. 

The room begins to fade away.

And for the first time in so very, very long, you wake up in your bed, alone, at peace.

-

The oil lamp flickers, casting a shadow throughout the room. You frown, mentally taking note to get more oil the next time someone goes to town. 

You tiredly wipe the table of crumbs with an old rag, collecting said crumbs in your hand and tossing them in the sink, along with the dirty dishes from dinner. You had no desire to address those dishes tonight, the sun has long gone down. Sighing, you wipe your forehead of dotted sweat with the back of your hand as you clear the rest of the table.

A muffled bang comes from the door, and you hurry toward it before another knock rings through your house. Opening the door, it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness.

John Marston stands in your doorway, holding a large canvas sack over his shoulder. You smile and step out of the way for him to come inside. He does so, stepping immediately toward your newly cleaned table and placing the sack down on the table. You consider scolding him, but hold your tongue as he unrolls the canvas, a large, paper-covered slab of meat as his bounty. Freshly shot, you know, Abigail having mentioned that John was out hunting this morning.

“Guess you were successful?” You laugh as John rolls his shoulder.

“A little bit.” He mutters, rubbing at it.

“Gettin’ old there, cowboy?” You tease, and Marston scowls back at you, his scars across his face always making him look more severe than you know he is. But the scowl does not remain long.

“Shaddup.” He laughs in that rough voice that brings you such comfort.

You laugh as well, placing your hand on his bicep, “Thank you, John, this means a lot.”

“You sure you’re alright out here? You know Abigail would rather you stay with us.”

“John, I’m fine. Besides,” You motion over to the wrapped flank of meat that he has placed on the table, “You provide enough as is.”

He rolls his eyes, “You do know I’m gonna get an earful from Abby when I get back to the house.”

“John Marston, both you and I know that you was gonna get an earful from her no matter what my answer was.” 

He smirks, looking at his feet. Still bashful, after all these years. He looks up again, that half smile across his face, the silvered lines of his scars visible through the beard that doesn’t grow along them.

His gloved hand reaches toward you.

“You let me know if you need anything. Seriously. You know I watch out f’r you.” John squeezes your shoulder in a comforting manner. 

You smile, brushing his hand from your shoulder, and reach around his shoulders to bring him into a hug, “Thank you, John.”

“You’re family to us.” You can feel him nod, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing gently.

“You tryin’ to butter me up to watch the baby?” You smirk as you unwind yourself from him, laughing.

John scratches the back of his head sheepishly, tilting his hat for a moment before resettling it, “I mean… an extra pair of womanly hands carin’ for a baby is always welcomed.”

“Think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

“Abigail thinks it’s a girl. Says she’s feelin’ different this time around.”

“And you?”

“I don’t do a lot of thinkin’… you know that.”

“You’re a silly man. Now go back up that hill and take care of your pregnant wife.”

-

“Mama.”

You crack one eye open. The sun has risen in the east, and the door to your bedroom is open wide, and a small shadow appears at your bedside.

“Susannah.”

“Mama please-”

You sigh, yawning before giving in, knowing you can’t win this fight, “C’mon now, come get into the bed.”

The girl giggles and dives under the blanket that you hold open. You wheeze as she climbs over you, a knee to your belly, a hand squishing your breast, and finally her small body curls in against you under the warm covers, and you blow away a few strands of sand-colored hair from your face as she tucks her head upon your breast. You close your eyes again as you wrap your arm around her, hoping she will fall back asleep with you.

Blessed silence.

“Mamaaaaa-”

Interrupted.

“Yes, dearest?” You sigh, but you can’t help but to smile as the small body next to yours squirms under the blanket.

“Tell me about the house by the waterfall again.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve told you about it four times this week.”

“But I wanna hear it again.”

You sigh, looking up at the ceiling, but start the story anyway,  “You were born on a bright, sunny day… like today.”

She crawls up to look you in the face, “And everyone was there.”

“Yes, everyone was there. Abigail and Sadie and Missus Charlotte helped me bring you into the world, just like how I’m gonna help Abigail bring the new baby into the world in just a few days.”

You kiss her forehead, brushing the mess of her honeyed hair back. “And when you came, and you cried and cried, but it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.”

“Before you were born, your papa said he loved the name Susannah. That’s why you’ve got that name,” You poke her little nose and she giggles, just like every time you tell the story. What joy simple things bring to a child.

The songbird that perches outside your window chirps gaily. It sits outside most mornings, and you have grown accustomed to its song, greeting you in bed. A horse whinnies from outside and your daughter bolts upright, throwing the blanket off her body and half off of yours. In a jumble of limbs, she bolts out of the bedroom, “Mama, mama!”

“Susannah, mind your shoes!” you call as you climb out of the bed, but secretly you want to run as fast as your daughter as you find a robe and throw it over your nightgown. You know you just scolded her to put on her shoes, but you also forego anything on your feet as you hurry toward the thrown-open front door, where Susannah bounds out as fast as her little legs can take her.

“There she is!”

Oh, your heart. Oh, your world. You have to hold onto the doorframe as you watch your daughter dart from the front door across the grass to the hitching post, several strides away. The large horse, tied to the post, swings its head toward the joyful shouts of the child. From behind the horse’s rump, a figure strolls around, tall and strong and bursting with excitement.

He stoops down on one knee and catches Susannah as she throws herself into his embrace.

“How is my favorite girl?” He easily swings the child up into his arms, holding her out and twirling her in a circle before gathering her into his chest. 

“I missed you so much, Papa.” She buries her head into his shoulder. 

“I missed ya somethin’ awful, sweetpea.”

The man looks up at where you stand in the door and smiles. His dark beard is long, his hair unruly underneath that old gambler’s hat.

He marches toward the door, and when he’s a step away from you, he lets your daughter down, who immediately latches herself to his pants leg.

“Susannah, Go on and get dressed. Give your father a moment to wash up.”

She scrunches her little nose in mock irritation, but dutifully does so, scooting past you and into the house, leaving you and him alone in the threshold of the door.

“Missed you somethin’ awful too, darlin’.” 

You smile as his hands find your hips, “You owe me, Arthur.”

Arthur snorts, and his lips press gently at your exposed neck, “For what, leavin’ you with the little one while I rode a cattle train all the way to Denver ‘nd back? Sounds like you got the better end of the deal.”

You lean forward in his embrace as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Think you should stay closer to home next time.” You muse as you close your eyes.

Arthur’s hand creeps up from your waist and cups one of your breasts, squeezing firmly. You squirm in his embrace, gasping. 

“Stop - Susannah is right there, you-” You push his hand away from your chest but he only chuckles in your ear as he unwinds himself from you.

“I’m bringing her up to Abigail’s. She can watch ‘er for an hour or two.”

“You just got back-” You are cut off when his hand darts forward and grabs your rear through your robe and nightgown. You can barely keep yourself from squealing.

“Yeah, and I need to make love to my wife ‘til she can’t take it no more.” Arthur rumbles roughly into your ear with a tone of voice that goes straight to your cunt. You are unable to find the words to respond as he pulls back and nods, a smirk painted across his face.

“Gimme fifteen minutes. You better be naked in that bed when I get back, woman.”

You frown as he rights his hat back on his head.

“You know how obvious that is going to be?”

Arthur waves his hand dismissively, “You didn’t notice me takin’ Jack out on so many rides nine months ago?”

“Mama, can Jack take me for a ride on the pony?” Susannah darts past you, having changed into a cotton dress and thrown little boots on, her hair a disheveled mess.

“Ah, ah, come back here missy. Go get a ribbon and let me tie your hair up.” You scold, and your daughter scowls back at you with a nearly identical look before stomping back to her room.

Arthur chuckles, and your finger wags at him, “Don’t think I don’t know where she gets that from.”

“Her mother, exactly.”

“You son of a -”

Your daughter reappears and you close your mouth before cursing. She holds a ribbon out as she marches to you, turning around right in front of you so that you can reach her hair.

“Mind your mother, Miss Susannah.”

“Papa-”

“Or there won’t be any pony rides. I’ll tell Jack to have you clean out the pony’s stall today.” Arthur laughs, completely unable to be serious.

“Ew!” She shrieks, her hand darting upward to give you the ribbon. You laugh to yourself, taking the ribbon and gathering her hair into a ponytail, tying it up and over her head. Once secured to your liking, you gently tap her shoulder and she bounds toward Arthur, who immediately scoops her up into his arms again.

Arthur juggles the five-year-old onto his hip, to her joyous, shrieking laughter, “C’mon, let’s go up and save Jack from his daddy’s chores.”

As he opens the door to the cabin, Arthur glances back at you, his eyes darkening, “You best be ready when I get back.”

You roll your eyes, but secretly, a shiver goes down your spine at his implication. He gets like this - ravenous, hungry, passionate whenever he comes back from a cattle drive. As much as you hate the weeks alone, the amount of money Arthur brings home makes the ranch nearly abundant. Last year both John and Arthur went, and kept the families fed throughout the winter comfortably.

Of course, this year Abigail threatened to castrate John if he left her alone for six weeks at the end of her pregnancy… so this drive, Arthur went alone.

You pick up his mud-speckled leather coat, laying it over the wash bin. The sack of clothing Arthur left outside the door was sure to smell of a cattle herd - he was smart enough to leave it on the porch this time.

You make your way back to your bedroom, sighing as you idly rub your back. Your gaze catches the mirror above your bureau and you slowly walk toward it.

You stand in front of that mirror, pulling your nightgown up, up and over your knees, your thighs, your hips, your belly. You pull the fabric over your breasts and finally your head, holding it in one hand as you look at yourself.

There are no scars, just like that night standing in front of the fire in Valentine. There are no outward signs of what happened to you those years ago. Placing the nightgown atop your dresser, you glance in the mirror one last time. You see fuller hips, silvered lines at your belly, your breasts flatter against your chest.

A half smile comes across your face. No, the scars on your body were not from the O’Driscoll that raped you - they are from growing and birthing the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You look away from the mirror and let a breath out through your nose as you climb back into bed. Flopping back against the pillows, you smile to yourself as you wait for your husband’s return, naked in the marital bed as requested.

It is not several minutes more before you hear the front door slam and smile to yourself as you hear Arthur’s heavy gait beeline toward the bedroom.

The bedroom door swings open as Arthur barges in, and his hungry eyes immediately devour you whole as you recline into the pillows.

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur huffs, unable to move for a moment, staring at you. He pulls his hat from his head and chucks it to the floor.

“C’mon, ain’t known you to be one to keep your lady waitin,” you smirk, some of that old flirtation that you had at the beginning of your relationship shining through. You open your legs to bare your cunt, the dark hair parting as you spread your thighs further.

You’ve never seen him strip himself down faster. Boots tossed across the floor, his shirt thrown over the dresser haphazardly. He steps out of his pants and leaves them in a pile on the rug.

Fully nude, he climbs onto the bed, his hulking muscles undiminished by the years. Maybe, at first, in those months when he was bedridden at Willard’s Rest, where he slowly recovered from tuberculosis and you recovered from the ordeal of childbirth - was he a lesser man. But now? Now he was the Arthur you knew and loved - the Arthur who could tear men apart.

But you feel nothing but safe. You giggle as one of his hands immediately cups your cunt.

“Wife.”

You smile, your hands brushing down his shoulders to his biceps to his forearms.

“Husband.”

He parts your folds gently, rumbling as his other hand encircles his blood-hardened cock. He looms over you, and there is a secret sweet part of you that feels safe and protected underneath all of him.

“Sweetheart.”

He presses that trigger-worn finger inside you.

“Arthur-”

Your husband leans down and presses his lips against yours, his coarse beard tickling your chin as he begins to swirl and thrust that finger inside your cunt.  You moan into his mouth as you begin to cant your hips, wanting more, more.

Arthur lets go of his cock to steady himself against your bucking, groaning at your desperation. His hard shaft smacks against your inner thigh and you mewl and gasp as he slides a second finger into your cunt. He begins to rut himself against the jointure of your thigh and hip, his cock settling in there as he prepares you, eases the way, ensures that he would never, ever hurt you.

God, you love this man so much.

He pulls his fingers from your body and immediately smears your slick on his shaft, the head of his cock already weeping. His eyes trail from his cock up your body to lock with yours.

You raise your arms, open wide, inviting him into your embrace and he smiles, knowing he is home. Arthur takes that hefty cock of his and lines it up with your cunt. 

He grunts as he pushes into you, his head slipping inside as you whine; throwing your head back onto the pillow. He lowers himself down on top of you, plastering his entire body against you, and the two of you wind arms around each other’s boulders and your angles hook behind his back.

It’s slow, and full, as that first press inside always is. A strangled noise claws out of your throat as you dig your fingers into his back as those girthy inches stretch you. He rumbles against your neck as he works his way inside, his breath warm on your skin until he is hilted completely within you. He raises his head and kisses you headily.

Your bed is far more spacious than the small tent in Big Valley that saw your first coupling. 

“Don’t know - how many times,” his breathless voice is interrupted by the frenzied kisses he gives you, “...I had to fist m’cock at night - thinkin’ of you and this perfect little cunt.”

Arthur begins to thrust his hips against yours, finding that rhythm perfected by years of experience together, “My perfect little wife-“

“Missed you so much, Arthur.” You throw your head back against the pillow as he continues to roll his hips against you, his cock dragging in and out, in and out of the vice grip of your cunt, “I love you so much -”

A particularly deep thrust makes you gasp and Arthur groans into your hair, panting as he continues his pace, “God, oh darlin’ -my darlin’ girl… I love you-”

He grabs your hand, pressing it down on the bed next to your head, interlacing your fingers as his pace slows, becomes more measured, deeper. The gold bands around your ring fingers make a soft clink against each other, nearly unheard among the sounds of lovemaking. 

You cry out as he hits that spot within you again and again, sending you careening toward completion, the sensitivity of your channel making your legs shake and your breath hasten even more. 

“Ar-Arthur- oh… I’m gonna-“ you whine breathlessly, squeezing your eyes shut as your husband groans in recognition. 

“Come fer me, that’s it, come for me-” Arthur orders, throwing his hips roughly into yours in desperation, wanting, needing you to fall off the edge for him.

You cry out loudly as you throw your head back on the pillow, your hand squeezing his as the other claws into his back as you come, your entire body clenching as your arousal gushes around his cock. 

“Yes, yes - oh, my perfect girl, oh-” Arthur praises you as you ride out your release, and gives three more heady strokes before he finds his own. You come down from your high just in time to dig your heels into his tailbone, the sign for him not to pull himself from your velvet heat.

His hips stutter, and he lets out a long breath as he stills, cock twitching as he comes inside you. You whine as you feel the warmth bloom in your core. He cuts off the sound from your throat by kissing you, hard and fast, needy and desperate.

“My…” he pants between kisses, “pretty little wife-”

You smile breathily against his lips, “My strong, handsome husband-”

The wet sound of lips meeting lips takes over for several moments before Arthur slides himself from your body, settling on his side next to you before laying his head upon your breast. 

“Don’t go away for so long anymore. You gotta stay closer to home.” You muse as you run your fingers through his hair. The honey-blonde strands by his temple are peppered with grey- along with his too-long beard. Weeks in the saddle left your husband looking like a rugged mountain man whenever he returns. You’ll have to cut it later; it is growing longer than you like it.

He snorts playfully as he rolls off of you, sitting up on his elbow, facing you in the bed. With his other hand, he grabs the sheet that had been kicked away in the haste of lovemaking, pulling it up to pool around both of your waists.

You cannot help the smile that cracks across your face. You grasp his hand, his callused, rough hands that have built your home and provided for your family. The hands that rocked your daughter to sleep when she was a baby. The hands that keep you safe, warm, fed. 

The hands that pulled you from your pit of misery those years ago. Maybe if that hadn’t happened - maybe - maybe that tawny-haired girl running around the house wouldn’t be here. Maybe Arthur would still be robbing and stealing and ushering himself to an early grave. Maybe he would have bled out on that mountain in Roanoke instead of being dragged out by John.

It hurts, still. Every so often on quiet nights, you awaken sweating and fearful and an O’Driscroll’s laugh echoes in your mind. But then - you turn into Arthur on those nights and he holds you through ‘til the morning. He whispers sweet nothings until you drift off again. He reminds you of his love for you, through words and touches and enveloping you in the most intimate of embraces. The circle of gold around his left ring finger, though tarnished as he never takes it off even when he works, still glints in the morning light. 

And those nights that he’s out on the cattle trail? You pull yourself from your bed and pad quietly over to the other bedroom in the cabin, gazing through the sliver of the door partway open to see your daughter, born of struggle and the razor’s edge of that pain. How perfect she is. What joy she brings.

There will always be a part of you that O’Driscoll scarred you that night.

But maybe, just maybe - it fades, little by little over time. 

Arthur playfully squeezes your hand in return, “Them weeks too long f’r my girl? Miss me that much, huh?”

You bring his hand up from where he holds yours to spread flat across your belly, and you lean toward him with a smile on your face and lightness in your heart.

Arthur Morgan’s eyebrow arches with confusion.

The songbird’s luted melody softly echoes through the window of your bedroom, the mid-morning light spilling out over your sheets, over your bodies in your warm, well-loved marital bed.

“No, silly man. I’m pregnant.”

[nthspecialll]

Bill Williamson shaped by an army knife

(This post is a casual explanation(ish), not meant to defend but rather explore and discuss Bill Williamson's character and how it is shaped by the army, it has also been sensitivity and proof read by a native to ensure that I did not accidently word anything in a way that would hurt the native community)

As many knows, Bill Williamson was in the army, and if you look closer you can see the many different ways in which it formed him, the ways in which a constantly stressful envioment filled with death shaped the person he is.

I am going to mention the one thing that stood out to me first, racism. Now hang on when I say this, he isn't, he is not racist, but you know what he is? A parot who got fed words and repeats them. And why would I say that? Do I have evidence? Yes.

The two characters we see Bill go after is Javier and Lenny, he calls Lenny "boy" and says "come over here!" or "I don't like your attitude", meanwhile with Javier he straight up calls him a slur. But something to notice is that Bill praises both of those characters at other times. Bill calls Lenny "son" and yells to everyone about how amazing he is and the proud almost fatherly instrict is oozing. With Javier there is a similar interaction where he is drunk and he is yapping Sean's ear off about how amazing Javier is.

We do not see that with Micah (That I can find), the only possitive thing Micah says to either of them is "you aren't so bad, for a greaser". Another thing to point out is that Micah is constantly belittling both Lenny and Javier, saying things like "you can write and everything, unusual for one of you. Oh you know, hoodlums," Bill does not, he does not belittle them.

So why would he say such things? Because he was angry, and why would he say that because he is upset?

Bill was in the army, common knowledge, uncommon (or at least commonly forgotten) is the fact that he fought the American Indian War. He did not fight other white people, he fought the native americans, and they were scary. He tells that story himself in a camp interaction, talking about how scary it was, and I do think he was frightened and not just empty words as he at the end jumps at the sound of a neighing horse.

Bill saw people get murdered, he saw his friends get slaughtered and he was told by the army to turn that anger towards the natives. The army implimented racist ideologies to excuse the genocide they were making and to rile their armies.

I often think of the line between Bill and Dutch where Bill says "I saw things!" and Dutch says "I am sure you do! But I don't think you could understand it" and I think that is spot on. Bill saw his friends dying, he saw his comrades dying, people he was likely as close to as he was the VDL gang (I will return to that later) dying. All he saw were these people murdering his friends, not that those people were fighting for their right to exist, and for every body the army framed it all on the natives, that it was all their fault, without mentioning anything that the army was doing to the natives.

The only times Bill acts out in a racist manner is when he is angry and he is often angry at himself, but he has always been told that when he is angry he should direct it towards people of color by the army, so he does. He does not believe it, but he does it anyways. There are a few times, like in the camp interactions mentioned, where he is not angry, but that is simply the brainwash that the army put him under to justify killing. He is saying those things because he has been told to.

He says the words but they seem empty as his actions are more supportive of his friends than anything.

Another thing I noticed is how protective he is of the gang, not just of Dutch, but the gang, even though he is painted as lazy, many times he is not, especially when it comes to protection. I often see him standing at the edge of camp even when he is off guard, and in that one camp interaction where strangers find camp, he is there, he is watching over them, in the Valentine robbery he was also smart enough to know to bring backup, he knew that if things were to go wrong, he needed to have someone there, Arthur.

Now some people are going to come and say "Oh but he didn't realise the security job was a trick," no, he did not, do you know who also did not? Dutch, Lenny, Karen, characters whom it was mentioned in front of. The only ones who did realise were Arthur and Sean, and despite Bill trying to throw the blame off himself at first, he does blame himself, there are interactions of him saying he blames himself for Sean's death. Similarly when Angelo Bronte offers up money, he is not planning to take it, he is making sure no one else is, I got a whole post on that.

One of the other things about Bill, is that people say he did not care when Lenny died. I do think he did, he has so many camp interactions where he is calling Lenny son, being proud of him and so on, but I do think that the army got to him there too. When in battle people die, people die often and you cannot stop because they do, no matter how much you loved that person, if you are on an open battle field charging towards the enemy, you do not have time to stop.

When in the army you are expected to be a tough manly dude, in chapter six Arthur can ask if Bill is okay and he never gives a real answer, instead he shifts the convosation away. Bill believes he is not allowed to show weakness because doing so in the army was not allowed, anything unmanly was not allowed. I do also believe that is where he gets his fucked up realtionship with his sexuality (I am not even going to explain why I think of him as queer, I do believe others are able to see if, but also if anyone says "No he aint!" that is a fair opinion but the va does hc him to be queer), wanting to flirt (or at least befriend) Kieran but not knowing how to without coming off as unmanly.

Returning to how he would care for the army friends he made, is how he ended after he got thrown out. Bill says his biggest fear as a kid was to be an alcoholic and look at where he ended up. He even says he completely lost himself after the army, that Dutch "saved Bill Williamson."

Well even if it was not everyone whom he liked, there was at least one person. If we look at his letter from the army, he is thrown out for attempted murder and deviancy ("the fact or state of diverging from usual or accepted standards, especially in social or sexual behaviour." aka can be used for homosexuality). An interesting thing to note is that both of those alone is enough to throw someone out of the army, so why is both there unless they happened at the same time? I see it likely that Bill was discovered with a lover and either the person found them attacked Bill and lover or Bill attacked the person who found them to silence them. Either way, Bill did not succeed and instead he got thrown.

Tags: @cupidsbeartrap

[bhaalble]

Indulgent as the concept of Gortash mourning Durge is I tend to resist it a little in my own canon. Largely on the back of "Orin told me how she humiliated you". Two things can be true at once: Gortash has a lot of history with and affection for Durge. And Gortash plans to WIN. His plans for the moment need the alliance of Bhaal's Chosen. For the time being: that Chosen is Orin. Its why he works with her without much complaint after Durge vanishes, why he has the line "we agreed not to meddle in each other's affairs" ready to go when Durge asks him why he never looked for them. This is also why I believe he makes beating her a requirement for properly reviving the old alliance (the vows are renewed, but you're not getting any active help from him until you work out succession issues with your sister). He would prefer it be Durge! But he can't afford to publicly move against Orin. In the event that Durge loses he'll be in breach of contract enough that she'll have the go ahead to kill him. He'll hedge his bets rather than risk backing the wrong horse, because he knows too well the consequences of getting on the bad side of Bhaal's champion.

What compels me, though, are the little potential moments of self-betrayal. The flickers of wounded ego when he sees them with their companions, and the smugness when he reveals who they are. Did they really think they knew a thing about you? The poor fools have been wandering around with a lion thinking its a house cat. They don't know what it really means to stick their hand in your jaws and emerge unscathed. No one but him ever truly has.

Nostalgia and some kind of unnnameable complexity when he hears from his sources that you've been busy in the hells. A reminder of where this all started....and his old host dead at your hands. Did you remember, he wonders, the little things he'd let slip about his time in the House of Hope? Was it on your mind when you did your bloody work on Raphael? He wonders what it would have been like to see it. If you would have let him come with if he had known to ask. Hardly your first journey to the hells.

Not his only parental figure you encounter. Its when he realizes you're at his parents (seen through the eyes of his Steel Watch, he can't resist checking in from time to time. He assures himself its to make sure the wheels are still in motion) he feels real dread. He never told you the Flymms were alive, much less tadpoled. But is the prickling he feels fear that you'll uncover something? A childish irritation that you might break his least favorite toys? Or shame that he's not there to soften this revelation for you, that his humiliating origin is known while he can't say a thing to paint over it as inconsequential?

The unexpected pride he feels when you return with Orin's blade. Even addled and physically deteriorated by everything that was done to you these last months, you triumphed. No more looking over his shoulder for Orin's blade.....and, he realizes privately. All those pretty words he's said about a future ruled by the two of you may suddenly not just be words anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, there is something like destiny at work here.

[robin374]

I saw that your requests were open and I jumped into action lol

Any ideas for the Mercs and reader with an “only one bed” trope? (Love the stuff youve written btw <3)

One Bed Trope with the mercs (part 1)

I'm gonna start with Demoman because he is my husband and gets the privilege of being the first.

Demoman ❤️

He just wanted to sleep man 😭

When you two finished the assigned mission that Miss Pauling gave you two, you went to the hotel/motel (how do you call it in English?). When you entered the room the first thing you two saw was a single big bed, for two people.

You looked at Demo and he was awkwardly standing there. He couldn't believe his eye

👁️👄

"I'll sleep on the floor, don't worry Demo." "No, Y/N. I've slept in all kinds of places, I think I can handle sleeping on the floor" "And that's exactly why you are sleeping in the bed"

At the end, you two decide to sleep in the same bed. He couldn't help but feel nervous, like yeah, he has slept at the top of Edinburgh's castle. Or with some random seals at a random beach. But he's never slept with the person he's in love with.

With that said, he remembers those words his Mom told him once.

"You better get a job, Tavish!"

I could give him a good job-

I don't know why he remembered that, don't ask me.

HE'S SO WARM KSDKAODJAKL I feel like his body would be so warm, because of the amount of alcohol he consumes.

He snores a little bit. Just tiny tiny tiny tiny little bit. 🤏

Not as much as Heavy at least.

He's a heavy sleeper so good luck trying to wake him up

I feel like he would see it as an opportunity to confess his feelings. Like you two are talking while laying down in bed, and casually spits it out. By the time you realize what he said, he is already sound asleep, his back facing you.

"I'm in love with you, Y/N" "Hmm? What did you say? I didn't hear you *Scottish snoring*

Scout 🤡

HE DOES NOT HESITATE 🗣️🗣️

He knows what these situations are about and he will not let it slide so easily.

He doesn't even ask you if you are okay with sleeping with him, he just says "I'm so tired, let's sleep!" And he launches himself towards the bed.

He will pat the space next to him silently telling you to sleep too.

But then reality hits him like a rock, he is sleeping with you. He is really happy, any girl would've slapped him at tha exact moment, but you just accepted your fate.

He doesn't snore, but he does this thing that dogs do that is moving his legs as if he was running.

You better be a heavy sleeper because he talks while sleeping.

"Spy stole my chicken and now I can't eat my bullets. " "Scout are you awake?" "Fuck you Spy, I miss my chicken :("

He got so red when he woke up in the morning. You were still asleep, that's the first thing he saw after opening his eyes. He wanted to kiss you so bad.

"Good morning, toots. You've slept well?"

He's so in love with istg.

But he won't confess, he wants to keep this as a (really) good memory and confess after he's sure that you feel the same.

Scared of rejection I guess.

Engie 🤠

He's so casual about it.

He has to sleep in the same bed as his crush? Well, darn.

"It is what it is" energy.

You don't want him to sleep on the floor and he doesn't want you to sleep on the floor. Oh no, sadly we will have to sleep in the same bed :( (that's sarcasm for those confused)

"Come here, sugar, I don't bite." Unless you want me to.

He snores more than Demo sorry, it's bearable though. It's like having a horse next to you huffing and puffiing. A horse you don't mind to ride (ok I'll stop now sorry lmao)

He's like a teddy bear, he doesn't mind if you hug him. On the contrary, he will "unintentionally" pull you closer.

He would wake up in the middle of the night, because he's not used to sleeping like a normal person would do. So he will take advantage of it and admire your beautiful face. How the moonlight delicatedly lights your face, your closed eyes giving that feel of calmness... He will eventually kiss your forehead and go back to sleep.

He won't say a word about it in the morning. He will just greet you like always do in the base and get back to work.

In the inside he's screaming, dancing, running, whooping of joy. For him, it's one little step more to you being his pardner.

[quicktimeeventfull]

@deathnotably hello sorry this took me seven days to write BUT this is in fact perfect bc i think about light and his horse every single day of my life. thank you!!!! <3 <3 <3

Light had not been especially excited about the program. There was something about it that felt juvenile — horses, he felt, were for children. Or at least horses which were supposed to make you feel better about yourself were. 

He wasn’t sure what horse therapy would even entail. He wasn't even convinced that there was anything about him which required fixing. The world is a terrible place, a kingdom of rot. He acknowledges it as such, and that makes him feel bad. Frankly, he thinks it’s other people who have a problem which needs to be resolved. If he wants to spent the rest of his life in bed, not eating or sleeping or speaking to a single person, then that’s his prerogative. It is, he thinks, a perfectly reasonable reaction to the state of the universe. 

Still. When Sayu had insisted, he went. He supposed that if he didn’t have any particular opinion on what happened to him he might as well take into account his sister’s.

And so here he is, standing in the dark of the stables, looking up at a massive black animal. It is inside its stall, but its neck and head arc outwards, watching him. It has big black eyes and breath that rises white in the cold. There are other horses in the stables, but he likes this one best because it had looked at him the second he walked in and followed him with its eyes. 

The rest of the people in the program are side the barn, huddled together by the door. He’d slipped past because he hadn’t wanted to wait with them for the clinician. Some of them had looked incredibly ill. Mentally, not physically; they had seemed miserable. He doesn’t like thinking of himself in the same category as ill people. He's only here for Sayu. It doesn't count.

He holds his hand towards the hose. It’s bigger than he had imagined possible. He’s tall, but the horse has a bulk to it that he hadn’t expected. In photographs they always look so delicate. 

It smells like an animal — acrid, earthy, not entirely unpleasant but alarming nonetheless. 

Its nostrils flare. He pulls back, and then, gathering his courage, places two fingers on its neck.

Nothing happens. 

He is not healed. He does not feel okay. There is only the warm flank of an animal beneath his hand, heavy muscles and more soft fat than he’d expected. It is faintly damp.

The horse flicks its ears and then its tail, then turns its head towards him and then past him. It is so large that the movement pushes his hand with it; he pulls it away, something twisting heavy in his stomach. 

It doesn’t make sense to feel devastated by something that he hadn’t thought would work. He swallows against a heaviness in his throat, then pulls his arms tight across his chest. Clearly the experiment has failed. He might as well turn and leave now.

“They aren’t magic.” 

He spins, then startles.

There’s a man hunched beside him, standing far too close. Light has no idea how he'd gotten there so quick, or without Light's notice.

He’s got long dark hair and eyes as black as the horse’s. He is wearing jeans and a white sweater that looks too thin for the cold. 

The man blinks at him, then goes on. 

“I’m not psychic,” he informs Light, who hadn't been thinking anything of the sort. “It’s just a bit obvious.” Something must cross Light’s face, because the man pauses, then goes on. “And there isn’t anything wrong with that. Of course. We’re all connected, and so on.”

There’s something vaguely condescending in his tone, but it’s not without compassion. Light can’t decide if he prefers that. If the man had been just a bit ruder, Light could simply have told him to fuck off.

“What are you talking about,” Light says, as flatly as he can manage. 

The man jerks his head towards the horse. “They don’t generate happiness. It’s not a Hallmark movie.” 

"I don’t —" Light isn’t sure what to say about any of this. “I’m going home.” 

“That’s fine. Would you like to feed her first, though? I’m L, by the way. Now we aren't strangers anymore."

Before Light can point out that he’s slightly past horse-feeding age, the man — L —  pulls a ziplock back out of his pocket and holds it out for Light. For one wild moment, Light thinks it’s full of meatballs, but when he reaches for it — more out of confusion than anything else — he discovers that they’re actually little balls of dark sugar oats. “Molasses cookies,” L says. “You can give one to her. Don’t — ah, not like that.” Light has taken one between two fingers, which seems perfectly normal to him. He considers whipping it at L instead. He had been trying to have a quiet moment of despair, and L is not only ruining that by handing him bags full of weird horse treats but also critiquing how he handles said treats. “She can’t see forward very well, so she'll bite off your fingers if you do it that way. Just lay it on your palm and hold it out.” “I don’t want to feed something that’s going to bite off my fingers,” Light says. “She won’t, if you lay it on your palm. Go on. You’ll like it.” The whole world feels so clouded and pointless and stupid that he figures he might as well do this one extra clouded and pointless and stupid thing; these days, that's how he operates most of his life. He drops the cookie onto his palm.

It’s very moist. He wonders how it would taste. He’d skipped breakfast. He holds his hand out for the horse. She leans down, as if this were a routine she was used to and he had been invented just to facilitate it. 

For a second his stomach swoops with terror as he head drops towards him — he can see her teeth, which are dull but massive, and can't help but imagine the thinness of his bones -- but then her nose touches his palm and the world goes suddenly quiet. 

It is the softest thing he’s ever felt, and she is the biggest living thing he has ever been near, and she’s eating right from his palm. 

He looks at her, entranced. It’s sort of disgusting, actually. His palm is getting wet. He can feel her tongue all over it. Still, when she pulls her hand away and flicks her ears he reaches into the ziplock bag and pulls out another. 

He is aware, distantly, of L walking up beside him. When the horse is finished the second, L takes the bag very gently from his hands. Light looks towards him.

He still feels very hollow. Possibly more so than before, really. It's easier when he doesn't subject himself to nice things; they leave an absence in their wake. But still the softness of the horse’s nose lingers. 

“It’s difficult,” L says, very quietly. “I know it is. It’s a lot of work, to do … all of this. To take care of oneself. And it’s not fair that we have to do it, when so many other people don’t. I wish there were some sort of magic cure and I wish they were it.”

“Who are you?” Light says. This, he realizes, is what he should have asked in the first place. “Are you an instructor? Did you follow me in?” L blinks at him. “What? No. I’m a patient. It’s just very cold outside.” Light stares at him, and L stares back. At last L puts the ziplock bag back in his pocket. “Don’t go home,” L says. “Give it a shot. One day. If you don’t absolutely hate it, I’ll give you my cookie recipe and you can make your own for her.” 

“Why do you —“ Care is what he wants to ask, but it feels almost trite. “You don’t know me.” “But I will,” L says, and smiles. It’s bright, almost childish, almost embarrassing to look at. “If you stay.” 

Light breathes out. “Okay,” he says. “Fine. Yeah. Okay. One day.”

[janovavalen]

✧IN ANOTHER LIFE. || loki laufeyson x fem!reader

summary: when loki needed to be comforted he found a timeline where his longtime wife y/n was alive so he could be grounded in this time of need, craving for her touch.

word count: 1511

warnings: pregnant reader! i repeat, pregnant reader, different timeline, a country life, reader obvi not knowing loki is impersonating….himself?, hurt/comfort<3

as the TVA slowly came to its downfall, loki, mobius and their friends all found there was possibly no other way to do things.

loki has manipulated his powers of skipping through time over, and over and over and every single time they went just how they did the first. loki was failing to believe there was hope in anything that existed.

while he sat with his hands on his head and his elbows sitting up on the desk in front of him he stressed and turned and pulled his mind to try his hardest to think of things while he still had plenty of time to save everyone.

mobius happened to walk in as he saw loki with nothing but the look of stress and couldn’t help but try and interfere.

‘so…what’s going on? why the long face’ he mumbled while pulling out the chair to sit next to loki who looked over at him with a small smile.

‘nothing…just trying to somehow understand…make sense of this all? understand what to do and how to change it’ he admitted. placing his hands down onto the desk as mobuis watched him.

‘well…sometimes things can’t be changed? sometimes things don’t have a answer and are better left without one…’ mobius told him while he always seemed like he tried to convince himself of his words.

‘no but…there’s always a way. there always is, i know it—‘

‘why do you believe that so strongly?’

‘because she told me so—‘ loki stressed, his forehead forming their lines of stress.

‘who?’

‘y/—‘ just as he said her name and thought of her face he cousins help but think of other things. was is possible that she was somehow still alive? on another timeline?

‘mobuis!’ loki hurried to turn to him, who gave a wide-eyed expression.

‘yes?’

‘i have to see her…she can help me—she will understand!’ loki hurried to stand up, taking out his tempad and switching though different timelines.

‘whoa—loki, you can’t just—‘

‘i’ll be back! i promise i just—i really need to see her, okay? i really need to’ loki silently begged mobuis who was slowly trying to believe and accept his decision. once he came with a conclusion he nodded with a sigh.

‘go ahead…and be right back!’

‘i will!’ loki yelled before looking up to see the yellow door.

once he walked through, Mobius stood by and waited.

‘i will!’ loki yelled before looking up to see the yellow door.

once he walked through, Mobius stood by and waited.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

just behind that yellow door in a wooden home with the beautiful view of trees, tall grass and even some horses. loki looked around a bit shocked to say the least, the y/n he knew from universes ago said she’d quote—

‘never live on a countryside cabin because it reminds me of the scary movie of cabin in the woods where everyone dies’

loki thought it was a bit funny but he didn’t beg her to move out of the city.

hesitantly loki shifted his clothes into something more simple and cleared his throat before combing his fingers through his hair.

walking up onto the wooden porch that was very spacious, it held two wooden rocking chairs and a small table in the middle of it with a cup of tea that looked to be recently drunk out of.

looking at the screen door that was followed with another door on the other said he opened the screen door and knocked on it.

heavily breathing with nothing but nervousness he cleared his throat again and waiting. he even heard a dog bark as he waited for the door to open. and oh boy—once it did.

another you came from behind the screen door with pajama pants on and a cropped shirt that looked a bit tight, as he looked down your figure he noticed a very prominent swollen belly.

you were pregnant?

‘loki? what are you doing here? I thought you just left?’ you wondered as you opened the door for him with a warm smile on your face.

he didn’t know what to say, he hasn’t talked to you since you left the avengers due to personal reasons. loki had knew where you were but didn’t want to bother you.

‘yes, i…well, i just thought i wanted to talk to you more’ he smiled down at you as you smiled and softly laughed with a shake of your head.

‘your so sweet, but we’ve talked all day—‘

‘i want to talk more’ he shrugged while you just laughed it off.

‘okay well; i was about to make dinner and your favorite dessert with some ice cream and (f/s) for the baby because she is every spoiled even before being born can your believe it?’ you laughed as you walked to the kitchen.

your little walk made him smile a bit at the fact the other you said you’d never get pregnant in a million years because life are little demons.

‘well, we need to give her any and everything she wants to stay happy, including you of course—‘

‘including me! that’s so sweet’ you teased once more with a tilt of your head and a smile.

he let the room fall silent for a bit before he remembered what was going on in the other world. sighing as he sat down in a chair you had noticed his face fall from his smile. frowning your eyebrows you walked over to him with bread in your hand as you ate it.

‘what’s wrong?’ you asked him while placing your hand down onto his face, soothingly moving your thumb under his eye.

he felt himself crumble, immediately. moving his head forward to press onto the side of your body he held his face there and let his arms hug your waist. you had felt his shoulder shake a bit which you immediately stuffed the rest of your bread into your mouth and sat onto his lap to completely wrap your arms around his shoulder.

‘oh, oh no—what’s wrong?’ you concerningly asked while hugging him as tight at you could without your stomach becoming smashed into him.

‘i don’t know? it’s just…i can’t think straight anymore like i used to and i don’t know what to do. the life i want seems to not want me and i can’t understand what i need to do’ he sighed while laying into you completely.

frowning your eyebrows and letting your eyes show sadness you shook your head a bit, forcing his head up gently.

‘you do know what to do loki. you know exactly what to do. how do i know? because i know you. i know that you always figure a way out and through, you always know what needs to be done and you know what is in store for you. your life is yours to shape, fate isn’t real, not with you around’ you smiled sadly as he let a tear drop.

leaning forward with nothing to say he let his lips smash against yours with nothing but love and passion. you were quick to reciprocate as you held the back of his head. letting your hand play through his hair.

he let himself fall into your neck as he inhaled your scent and hugged you tighter once more. giving him a kiss on the head as he closed his eyes, loki felt himself in complete comfort and control of his mind once more.

he didn’t want to leave. he never wanted to leave. maybe he could just send the loki you know and married into the portal and keep him there. letting the idea cross his mind he sighed and knew it was probably time to go since mobius was waiting with a open portal door in your yard.

sighing before he stood up he held your hand in his—‘i have to go back to where i said i was going…i’ve got to get that stuff we need—‘

‘ugh yes! before you do please please please! get the pickles with the cheese and hot sauce? i’ve been craving it since last night!’ you whined while holding your chin against his chest and looking up at him. he laughed and nodded while leaving down to hold your face between his hands and kissing your lips passionately once more.

you gave a smile before he walked out the door.

‘bye! come back as soon as you can okay? i need that food and a back massage’ you teased but with seriousness before winking as he nodded and let you shut the door.

when you did he sighed and closed his eyes to process what happened and how you’ve had a baby on the way. realistically speaking, the baby was his as well, so he thought of ways to come back and see the baby.

before he left of course he made the pickles, cheese and hot sauce appear on the pouch near the door for the other loki who may not have gotten the food you wanted.

walking to the portal, loki saw mobius who grinned.

‘get what you needed?’

‘of course, and i knew what we need to do, let’s go’

.

[sofmoth]

I Found My Place in This World (It’s in Your Wake)

here’s my entry for @beefrobeefcal’s september prompt!!! this is fairly out of my comfort zone so i do hope you all enjoy it! title is from 'she's the prettiest girl at the party and she can prove it with a solid right hook' by frank iero, work is not inspired by the song.

the photoshop is MYOB (mind your own business) mkay

also posted to AO3 by me (@sofmoth), link here.

divider created by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

husband!joel miller x wife!reader, WC: 1.03k

TAGS: husband!joel, anniversary dinner, all the fluff, chubby!joel, marriage has caused joel to gain weight, soft!joel, no physical description is given of reader, reader uses an inhaler, joel is goofin, POV u become one with the couch, joel calls reader “sweetie,” joel jokingly asks if he’s fat, reader jokingly calls themself “delicate," fuck i love this man

It’s officially been one year since you tied the knot, one whole year of living with your husband full-time. Joel had been fairly insistent that you lived separately until you got married, despite the fact that you spent more nights with him than without during your engagement. You never really minded, he had a mortgage to pay on his house but was still more than willing to help you with your rent until the day came.

One year later, and marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed overall a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline. It was only a drawback according to your brother-in-law Tommy; you love the way Joel’s belly had softened over the last twelve months.

No longer was he forgetting to eat breakfast, packing himself a half-assed lunch to take to his job sites, nor was he attempting to pass off three-day-old pizza as a full dinner. If you could go back in time ten years, tell your younger self you have a husband you love cooking for, you would vomit on your own shoes. Being who you are now though, it’s a joy to make him a meal, fulfilling to see how happy it makes him that you’ve ensured he eats well in the early mornings and has proper lunches to keep him strong until dinner. The way he relaxes on the couch with you after, pulling you on top of him to cuddle, the wonderful healthy squish of his tummy between you a reminder to you both that love is not all in the way one looks.

He had been self-conscious at first, when he stepped on the scale and saw the number had increased. You very quickly put that worry to bed, assuring Joel every day that he was still the sexiest man alive. You told him how sexy he was irritatingly regularly, and then he started to believe it. He started walking around the house in his PJ pants with his shirt off again, you begging him to flex, him obliging. Joel’s belly and the weight he gained were the most physical and personal reminders of how much you loved him.

To celebrate this first full year of your marriage, you made a fabulous meal so you could stay in for the night and enjoy it together. Pot roast and potatoes, enough rolls to choke a horse, two or three glasses of wine. Joel is doing the dishes, you lay on the couch watching him across the room. He glances back at you, smiling, and you wave with your fingers. The wine has certainly hit you; you’re not drunk by any stretch, but you’re definitely more comfortable horizontal. You close your eyes, listening to the sink run for a few minutes before the last dish clinks in the drying rack and the water stops.

“Wow. My wife made such an amazing dinner, and I’m so tired from doing those dishes. I think I’d like to sit and rest.” You can hear the dry playfulness in his voice, eyes still closed.

“Boy oh boy, that couch looks comfy. I think I’ll have a seat riiiiight here.” Your eyes fly open, hand covering your mouth as you cackle at the feeling of him sitting on your shins.

“Joel! No, c’mon! If you’re gonna sit on me, at least sit on my thighs. I’m so delicate.” Joel rolls his eyes, smiles as he scoots up.

“You’re right, this cushion is way more comfortable. I think I could fall asleep here, matterfact I just might.”

You reach for him, pinching his side playfully. He does sit on your thighs for a few minutes, arms stretched across the back of the couch, head tilted back and eyes closed. The muscles in your legs finally begin to feel like TV static, and despite the fact that you’ve sobered up considerably it’s still not a particularly pleasant sensation.

“Oh shit, baby my legs are falling asleep. Bit’s over, I gotta move ‘em.” Joel looks down at you, mouth open in mock-offense.

“Is my wife calling me fat? On our one-year wedding anniversary, of all days? How dare you, I cannot believe this.”

Still, he does get up; long enough to lay his entire body on top of yours. He nuzzles into your neck, his beard scratching your skin softly. He sighs deeply, squeezes you in a hug as you rest your hand on his back. And then he raspberries you.

You squeal, laughing wildly as he begins laying a barrage of kisses to your neck and face. You laugh so hard you start struggling to pull in a full breath, and Joel jumps up quickly to get your inhaler out of your purse. You’re still laughing, now coughing and wheezing at the absurdity of the situation. He shakes the little plastic container thoroughly before uncapping it and handing it to you, tugging you upright before you press the canister and inhale.

He rubs your back as you hold your breath, exhaling slowly with you. He presses a kiss to your temple, taking the inhaler back and replacing it in your purse. As he sits back down he pulls you into his lap, cradling you against himself.

“I’m sorry sweetie, I got a little carried away. You feel okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. It wasn’t full-blown, I was just getting too wound up. Thank you for getting it, though.”

“Of course. Don’t want my wife taking a trip to the emergency room, especially not on our special day. Here, lemme—”

He shifts so he’s laying on his back, holding you on his chest as always. He continues rubbing your back, occasionally kissing the top of your head.

“Hey, husband?”

“Yes, wife?”

“That joke you made about me calling you fat, it wouldn’t matter to me at all if you actually were.”

“I know, sweetie.”

You rub Joel’s shoulder gently with your thumb, feeling yourself growing tired from the steady rhythm and pressure of his hand on your back.

“You can go to sleep, we’ll be okay out here tonight.” You hum.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[its-all-papaya]

oh. OH. the hollow hereafter completely DESTROYED me 😭😭 beautifully written; reading that one hurt!! i'm amazed by the way you capture the energies they both give off so perfectly, i was so hooked on the story i couldn't stop reading. thank you for the amazing work!! 🫶🏻 for the kiss prompt game: can we maybe get landoscar + 29 or 33? 🌟

AAAAAHHHH the hollow hereafter was pain indeed. glad you enjoyed, though ! thank you for the compliment !

shameless plug plug plug: read my fic 👉👈

as an apology, I present to you: even more post-hungary landoscar ! but much fluffier this time. hope you enjoy 🫶

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

33. as an apology | landoscar | 1.5k (absolute lmao)

In the dark of his Monaco apartment, Oscar can finally admit it to himself: he’s scared. The creep of fear had been there from the jump as he’d finished the final lap in Hungary, but he’d figured he owed it to himself to put it off in favor of other things. Elation, for example. He’d won a grand prix. It was a moment he’d been dreaming of since he was a child and he’d only ever get the one maiden win, so he’d shoved everything prickly to the background and focused on the glow of victory in his chest instead.

See, Oscar is good at compartmentalizing. His friends in primary school had joked that he’d been born with emotions missing. For a while, he’d figured he’d grow into it – that his feelings would stretch as he did, and he was just a bit behind – but it had taken him until after his first single-seater to realize there was nothing lacking in the first place. He feels things. Probably just as strongly as everyone else. It’s just that the world isn’t entitled to experience every emotion along with him. If he can share the good things when he sees fit and save the less-than-good to deal with on his own time, Oscar figures he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth about it.

And honestly, there’s probably nothing to worry about. Lando was moody, but he’d been moody after every race for weeks. Just because this week’s letdown had starred Oscar specifically, just because Lando had spent the whole flight with his hood up, forehead tilted against Carlos’ shoulder as they laughed together at whoever’s phone was funniest, that doesn’t mean there’s anything seriously wrong. They’re good at giving each other space, he and Lando. Oscar likes to think he can read his partner pretty well. And Lando had congratulated him – on the track and more than once after. Besides, Alex has known Lando forever, and he’d taken one look at the lay of things in the airport – Lando with Carlos, Oscar half a dozen seats away – and cracked a smirk about it: “At least if somebody’s sleeping on the couch tonight, it’s gotta be him, right?” Alex wouldn’t have been joking about it to Oscar if he thought Lando was really upset about anything other than the way the chips had fallen.

But the thing is… neither of them is on the couch. Because Lando is home, and Oscar is here, in his nearly empty apartment in his nearly empty bed. Past 5 a.m., awake, restless. Oscar’s lived in Monaco over two months, but he’s only spent a handful of nights in his own place. It had felt silly, at the time, piling boxes in the living room knowing full-well that half his closet and all of his heart already had a home in the city. This lease might have Oscar’s name on it, but his home in Monaco is about five blocks north, probably sleeping with his mouth open and his phone dying next to him, nobody to remind him to put it on the charger.

They’ve been fine. They’ll be fine. But (and this is the part he’s been avoiding) fine as teammates is different than fine as partners. Patting Oscar on the helmet and smiling for a group photo is not the same as curling up next to him in bed and saying I love you as one of them switches off the lamp. Being fine and being good are different, and the minute Lando had pulled up to Oscar’s building and told him to have a good night, that he’d see him soon, Oscar had stopped being either. Lando is sulky after bad losses and he gets upset with Oscar about things dumber than team orders, but they don’t sleep apart outside of race weekends. Oscar doesn’t sleep here. And he’s the littlest bit scared that he’s going to have to learn how.

Time passes. Oscar worries. He can see the sun rising through the cracks in his blackout curtains by the time he hears the front door open and close. He’s managed something close to sleep by then, though, drifting and fuzzy and outside rational thought, so he doesn’t immediately clock the noise as anything to react to. It’s not until his bedroom door clicks open as well that his brain comes back online for real. He lifts his head from the pillow with a sharp breath in, but there’s really only one person it’s going to be. There are two keys to his place and one of them is on the nightstand with his wallet and his phone and the other went home in the pocket of a man he’s never turned away.

Lando’s soft around the edges in the early morning light. His hand is a little chilly when it lands on Oscar’s cheek, gentling him back into the pillow. Oscar goes down without a fight, always easy for anything Lando’s asking of him. He does lift the covers a little, though, hoping his eyes are pathetic enough in the dawn to get him what he’s after. Lando smiles, soft, and thumbs over Oscar’s cheekbone, chases it with his lips. Now that his partner’s back in his proximity, Oscar’s exhaustion sinks in for real, like it had been waiting for permission. His eyelids are so heavy, thoughts slow and only on the edge of sensical by the time Lando gets out of his sweatshirt and his shoes and finally – finally – slides into bed beside him.

Under the circumstances, Oscar has to remind his sleep-stupid brain that he’d literally won a grand prix just over 12 hours back, because he wants to label the relief of having Lando back in his arms better than anything he’s ever felt. Better than any trophy he’s ever held against his chest. He wraps both arms around Lando and draws him closer, closer still until Lando’s head is tucked safely under his chin and Lando’s thigh is nestled comfortably between both of Oscar’s own.

They give it a minute, just breathing together, before Lando smooths his palm up Oscar’s chest and over his shoulder. He draws back just enough to look Oscar in the eyes, then leans back in to kiss him gently. He’s indulgent with it, lips and tongue sleepy-soft against Oscar’s, palm cupping Oscar’s jaw and thumb swiping back and forth, back and forth, towards the place where their mouths meet.

“I’m sorry,” Lando says when they finally part for a second. He presses another long kiss to Oscar’s lips. “For, like… lots of things. But mainly this, right now. Can’t sleep without you.”

Oscar chases his lips once, twice, then breathes in for a four-count, out for a four-count. Lando wrinkles his nose against the puff of Oscar’s breath against his face.

“Can’t either,” Oscar settles on, scritching his nails through the back of Lando’s hair just to watch his eyes go half-lidded with the feel of it. He knows Lando. He’s known Lando. “Thank you for coming. I’m happy you’re here.”

They’re both bleary-eyed, on the cusp of 24 straight hours of holding their eyes open and deciding how they’re allowed to look at one another, but Lando’s gaze starts edging towards the sharp, mischievous place that makes Oscar’s heart beat slightly out of rhythm.

“You know what else you are?” Lando asks, and he’s back to placing wet kisses down Oscar’s neck, hints of tongue every other, like he can sense when Oscar’s thoughts are starting to get coherent again.

Oscar tips his chin up, helpless, “What’s that?”

Lando takes his time dragging his lips back up, up to meet Oscar’s own.

“A race winner,” he whispers low against Oscar’s mouth, and his next kiss is deeper, dirty. His fingers dip low on Oscar’s hip and Oscar wants to, he does, but he can’t help the yawn that hits him as Lando’s lips trace back down his jaw.

Lando laughs into his throat about that. He presses a trio of closed-mouth kisses across Oscar’s shoulder, down to his clavicle, then noses back up and kisses him on the chin.

“Sleepy one?” Lando’s eyes are sparkling in the almost-darkness.

“Mm,” Oscar agrees, only a little mournful. “In the morning?”

“It is the morning,” Lando says, smirk on his face.

Oscar shoves at Lando’s chest, rolls his eyes, because who’s fault is that?

“In the afternoon, then, unless you’re going to be annoying about that too.”

Lando’s gaze goes soft again and he shakes his head a little. He kisses Oscar once more before settling back against his chest, like he can’t help it. Oscar knows the feeling.

They’re both quiet long enough that Oscar’s convinced Lando’s fallen asleep, but just as he’s about to follow, Lando’s knuckles drag up his belly and knock against his chest: “Oscar?”

His accent’s thicker when he’s drowsy. Oscar loves the way it sounds around his name. He brushes his lips across Lando’s forehead and squeezes his hip, “Hm?”

“Love you,” Lando says.

“You too,” Oscar says back.

The Monaco sun keeps rising, but they both sleep deeply, content.

[scoobydoodean]

sorry if this is old/annoying disk horse, or it's addressed later on in canon (i haven't been in the fandom long and i'm on season 6 of the show), but what do you think about john winchester being another righteous man? do you think he really was, or it was mostly just a manipulation tactic (from, if i am remembering correctly, the angels)? i remember the show saying he went through 100 years of torture and didn't break, which was a bit wild to me, but y'know what, sure. alternatively, any thoughts on the fan theory from samgirls that sam is (unintentionally) the righteous man?

feel free to ignore if this is not your thing, or if it really is just annoying disk horse to go through, but i'd love to know your thoughts.

"The righteous man" is a story familiar to the angels and the demons. The prophecy foretold about the righteous man was that he would 1) shed blood in hell, breaking the first seal, and 2) be the only one who could end the apocalypse.

The bit about John being the original righteous man and not breaking on the rack was Alastair's manipulation tactic in 4.16 "On The Head Of A Pin":

I had your pop on my rack for close to a century. [...] John Winchester. Made a good name for himself. A hundred years. After each session, I'd make him the same offer I made you. I'd put down my blade if he picked one up. [...] But he said nein each and every time. Oh, damned if I couldn't break him.

And then a little later:

ALASTAIR: You know, it was supposed to be your father. He was supposed to bring it on. But, in the end, it was you. DEAN: Bring what on? ALASTAIR: Oh, every night, the same offer, remember? Same as your father. And finally you said, "Sign me up." Oh, the first time you picked up my razor, the first time you sliced into that weeping bitch... That was the first seal. DEAN: You're lying. ALASTAIR: And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break. We had to break the first seal before any others. Only way to get the dominoes to fall, right? Topple the one at the front of the line. When we win, when we bring on the apocalypse and burn this earth down, we'll owe it all to you, Dean Winchester. Believe me, son, I wouldn't lie about this. It's kind of a religious sort of thing with me.

John was never "the righteous man" meant to shed blood in hell though, so Alastair is lying at least in part (when he says it was "supposed" to be John). The concept of "the righteous man" originates with the angels/god, and Gabriel says in 5.08 that the archangels were always told it would be Dean and Sam who would be the vessels of the apocalypse who would end things, for the purpose of narrative symmetry with Michael and Lucifer.

You sorry sons of bitches. Why do you think you two are the vessels? Think about it. Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father, and Lucifer, the little brother, rebellious of Daddy's plan. You were born to this, boys. It's your destiny! It was always you! As it is in heaven, so it must be on earth. One brother has to kill the other. [...] Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you? Because from the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gonna end with you. Always.

@swordofsun makes an excellent case here that while the angels knew Dean was "the righteous man" the whole time, the demons may have believed it was John they needed for a time. However, there's also reason to suspect the demons found out rather early that John wasn't the person they needed to break (Dean is offered a crossroads deal to trade his soul for John's by 2.08) so it's unlikely John was tortured for anywhere near 100 years in Alastair-torture-chamber-time. Alastair has a motive to twist the truth. He's noticing water dripping from a pipe about to break the devil's trap, and wants Dean distracted so he doesn't have time to warn Cas and Uriel. Alastair is also an extreme sadist, and he knows that John is a sore spot and that telling Dean not just that he broke the first seal but that his father was supposed to break it but was unbreakable would cause Dean immense emotional pain. It's not only something that causes Dean to feel incredible shame and guilt, but continues the narrative of Dean inheriting burdens intended for John that he can't carry.

any thoughts on the fan theory from samgirls that sam is (unintentionally) the righteous man?

Alright. So. In the sense that Sam shoves Michael and Lucifer in The Cage thus "ending" the apocalypse it was foretold only "the righteous man" could end, I get what the argument is here. The problem is that from a practical standpoint, Sam doesn't break the first seal, so he already isn't the righteous man because of that. Additionally, Dean's arrival at Stull Cemetery is what actually allows Sam to take control over his body again. Without Dean showing up, Sam would never have taken back control of his body and the apocalypse would have happened anyway. So in a sense, the prophecy still transpires in a roundabout way through Dean breaking the first seal, then ending the apocalypse by showing up at Stull, making Lucifer angry (which destabilizes his control) while drawing Sam's consciousness to the surface so he can shove Lucifer and Michael into The Cage.

Practicalities of whether Sam fits the prophecy aside, I think the desire to frame Sam as the righteous man likely comes from a misplaced belief that the title of "righteous man" conveys actual status. The title of "righteous man" itself was a manipulative tactic intended to instill a sense of duty in Dean (that honestly worked very poorly because Dean simply isn't like Michael) and a sense of envy and inadequacy in Sam that would drive the brothers apart. The concept of "the righteous man" wasn't ever an honor or reward. It was a burden and a horror. It was a title bestowed on someone intended to be horrifically tortured, used, objectified, and forced to kill his own brother for the (alleged) "greater good". It is a huge mistake to envy that title and see it as a sign of status instead of shoving aside the curtain hiding the Wizard of Oz and recognizing that "the righteous man" and "the boy king of hell" were glorified titles for angel condoms being manipulated and used.