#he was a father in that moment yes he was

[beloveds-embrace]

can we get Duchess reader yearning for a baby of her own 🥺 imagine there was a Ball in the neighboring kingdom and Duchess!Reader and Duke!Price was invited, celebrating the birth of the Kingdom’s new heir, a baby boy on her fellow Duchess’s arms.

And reader coos at the baby while masking the deep ache in her heart thinking that it’ll be so impossible to have a baby with her husband due to him and his lovers 😢

cue to Duchess!Reader having a heavy heart through out the entire event and even the days after that, until one of our boys asks her what wrong.

(And John having to hold Johnny back bc that nasty dog has been waiting to get his paws on her since forever)

Oh my god yes??? Anon i could smooch your brain right now yes??? This is so good i love it. Sorry for the abrupt ending though, had no idea how to finish it off 😔

Original Post

“Such an adorable little one,” you coo softly, the newborn held delicately and carefully in your arms, swaddled in the baby blue blankets you and John had bought among your other gifts for your fellow Duke and Duchess. “He looks so much like you, I’m in awe.”

Your friend laughs lightly, sipping on her drink. With a soft sigh, she leans closer towards you. The party is in full swing, so many other nobles mingling and networking, but thankfully you and your friend have your own little corner for now and everyone has already congratulated her and her husband.

“So,” she begins, her eyes flickering towards where both of you two’s husbands are speaking. The smiles on their faces are clearly happy, though you aren’t surprised; John had mentioned that he’s already friends with the Duke during the carriage ride. “So. What about you and Duke Price, hm? Any surprises we should prepare for?”

Ah. You had been dreading this.

You sigh, shaking your head. Though the smile returns as you gaze at the napping baby, so small and precious in your arms. With you friend’s permission, you gently kiss his tiny little fists. “Not at all. We are happy as we are.”

And it’s not as if you are lying by any means, oh no. You are happy. Life as Duchess was far, far much better than you had expected it’d be, a lot less restrictive than you had prepared for it to be.

But…

You can’t lie to yourself. You’ve been feeling a sense of discontent from the very second you stepped into the gala venue. Perhaps for even longer, though it hadn’t been especially felt until this moment. Not until you held this baby in your arms.

You want a baby, too, you had realized. Motherhood. A child all yours, calling you momma and toddling into your arms. You had been unable to stop yourself from feeling the little bud of jealousy towards your friend, because you knew you’d likely never experience such a thing due to your unique situation.

John has his own partners whom he loves. You weren’t among that list, and you didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of having sex with another man with the potential risk of your parents, or anyone else, asking for a paternity test because you know someone would ask. Your mother, probably; she was always warning you not to whore yourself out, and your father didn’t even need to say anything-

“My dear?”

John’s concerned voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his hand gentle on your elbow, and it’s only then you realize you had been staring down at the baby with such sadness, so not befitting of such a beautiful gala. So you shake your head, clearing your thoughts, and turn to him and your friend's husband.

When the baby squirms, you coo softly and hand him back to your friends, gentle and careful. That's when you turn to John, giving him a simple smile. "Yes, Your Grace?"

The worry remains on his face, less visible however, and his eyes look over you carefully. Your friends are too busy with their son and showing him off to care about what you two are saying in the corner he’s led you to. "Are you alright?”

As if you’d ever tell him what the issue is. You don’t want to make John feel pressured into this, of all things. You’d rather be divorced than do so, and that should speak volumes on its own.

It’s a silly want, anyways. You have everything you could possible need right now, married and stable. You aren’t about to ruin it with your own two hands.

So you nod your head, and brush away all thoughts of a little baby cradled in your arms. “Yes, I am. I was just lost in thought. Shall we return to the party?”

John observes you for a few seconds more, and then he sighs and nods. “Very well. Would you do me the honor of this dance, my dear Duchess?”

Between the dazzling lights and John’s arms, you can almost forget the lingering desire.

But over the next few days after the gala, it becomes clear to John- to all your the men that something is terribly bothering you. There is a lingering sadness around you so profound even your maids have sensed it, wondering if perhaps you and the Duke have finally had your first fight… but he looks even more more worried and confused than them. You weren’t mad at anyone, that much he could tell, but he didn’t understand the heartache plaguing you.

“…are you sick, my lady?” Kyle asks you one day, placing down a tray of fresh desserts. Your favorites, all made by Johnny himself, yet you barely flick a look towards it.

“Not at all. Thank you, Kyle, but I’m afraid I can’t eat anything at the moment.” Your reply is soft, patient, as it always is, but the furrow in your brows remain and your frown deepens. Kyle hates it. He hates it so, so much. You’ve even stopped taking your usual break-walks, staying inside your room and asking for nothing in particular.

“My lady,” he presses on, voice softer. Comes to stand close to you, and holds his elbow out. “Maybe a walk, then? You look tired. Some sun might do you good- or a picnic? I can pack the desserts and-”

You avoid his eyes and look away, shaking your head. “Thank you, but my answer’s the same, Kyle. I’d just… like to be left alone, please. Could I trouble you to also inform John I won’t be joining him for dinner tonight?”

You are simply glad you managed to hide the little paper you’d been writing on before he came in. Baby names, for the babies you’d never have. It certainly didn’t help make your mood better, but you couldn’t help yourself. Looking at John, or any of them, also made you feel guilty anew.

“…not a problem, my lady. I’ll leave the desserts here for you just in case.”

Several days later, it’s Johnny who comes to you. You are alone in the conservatory, trying hard to get over this stupid, lingering feeling. It’s silly, you know it is, but… ugh.

Johnny says nothing even when you call his name out with a questioning tone, and much to your shock, he kneels down to take your hands in his. It’s so wholly inappropriate, and you look around in fear of anyone seeing.

“No one’s around, m’lady,” Johnny shakes his head, not letting your hands go yet.

“Johnny-“

“No one’s around.” He repeats, firmly, and his eyes gaze at you. “M’lady. Have we made ye angry? Has anyone made you upset? Is my food not to your liking?”

“Johnny…” you sigh, shaking your head. Inwardly, you scold yourself for bothering everyone like this. This should have been your issue alone to solve and hide. “No, no. Nothing like that. I just need some time alone, in general.”

“But why-“

“No particular reason.” You quickly cut him off, gently pulling your hands away. “Please, Johnny. I’ll get better soon, promise. But I just… need time.”

But the desire, the longing, still remains. You can’t even confide in anyone, so you also feel painfully lonely on top of everything else. John is still searching, still trying to find what or who’s made you like this, but not even your closest maids are of help.

Still, while you wished to wallow your misery away in your rooms and office, you didn’t have much choice when you’d received an invitation to the opera troupe funded by the Price duchy; making an appearance was a must, and unfortunately John had a very important meeting that day so Simon is the one to accompany you.

“You’ve been sad lately.” Simon doesn’t beat around the bush, all the lights focused on the stage so you are both draped in shadows, hidden from sight.

You turn to him, a refusal on your lips already-

“No.” He shakes his head. “You aren’t just tired, Duchess. You are sad. Everyone can see it, and it’s making us worried. All of us.” He adds, not letting you latch onto your usual excuse. Performance ignored, his entire attention is on you.

And you are just- too tired. Ashamed of yourself, you sigh.

“It’s awful of me…” your whisper, bottom lip quivering. “I-… I want a baby, Simon.” You admit, so softly and quietly you don’t look at his reaction to see if he’d even heard you in the first place. You shouldn’t be telling him of all people your issues, but- you can’t help yourself. “A child. I want to experience motherhood, but- I don’t, I refuse to put such a burden on John, or get in the way between all of you again-“

You ramble on, not meeting his eyes. Your hands are tembling around the mask you’d taken off, holding it in your lap.

Simon?

Simon can’t take his eyes off your stomach. You. You, pregnant; swollen and glowing with a child. Maybe children, even. Their children. His. He can’t believe this is what has had you so upset for so long; did you think they- John- would say no to you?

“Darling, ” The nickname slips out; he couldn’t help himself. He is glad the no one is paying attention to them, in the higher rows. Simon laces your pinkies together, raising your hand to kiss your knuckles, silencing your worried rambling. “Darling. Let us return home. Staying here isn’t doing you any good. Tonight, I want you to let Kyle spoil you with a warm bath, and for you to eat and then sleep. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll speak. I’ll inform the troupe leader you weren’t feeling too well.”

“I- I… speak about what? What?”

Simon simply ushers you out, to the awaiting carriage. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, even when you pout and the it makes your lipstick glisten to prettily, though if you can feel that his hands are inappropriately tight around your waist, you simply blame it on your tightened corset.

At home, you are still confused. Simon is acting off, staring at you with a look that makes you all flustered, but you don’t protest when Kyle gently leads you away.

You’ll get your answers tomorrow, you are sure. But in the meantime…

“She wants a baby, John,” Simon groans, repeating the words again. His jacket is thrown off to the side, sleeves rolled up his elbows. Even from here, he can see how John eyes them appreciatively. “A baby, John. Seeing her pregnant-“

Another groan, but the one comes from between John’s thighs. Johnny, hands tied behind his back with Simon’s belt because the second he found out what the issue he was so, so ready to go and beg you to let him fix it. A bairn is what you want, a bairn is what he’ll give you- chunky, adorable, and hopefully looking like you.

John had to hold him back, though. He wants nothing more than to do the same, kiss you breathless and promise he’ll give you as many as you want, but he also knows you need a clear, rested head before he speaks with you.

The thought of seeing your pregnant, though, has his fist tightening in Johnny’s hair.

“I know. Fuck, I know, Si. Tomorrow, I’ll speak to her.”

[syluslnd]

mutual secret baby trapping? 👁️

he gets you pregnant on purpose & you let him

• Sylus, ever the manipulator, wanted you to carry his child. While he may have never been direct about it, he made sure that the outcome of your encounters would lead to this—ensuring that you’d become dependent on him in the way he wanted.

• He’s never been one to show his emotions easily but the moment he knew you were pregnant, something inside him shifted. It was a power play, yes but it also filled him with a deep, possessive satisfaction. He knew that now, you would be tied to him in a way that no one else could be.

•Sylus can’t help but feel a possessive glee when he sees you with your bump. It’s like a physical manifestation of his power, his control. He watches you, amused at how cute you look with your rounded belly, waddling slightly as you move. It’s an intoxicating combination of adoration and ownership.

•He’s giddy, though he hides it beneath his usual stoic demeanor. Deep down, he knows he’s secured you in a way that no one else could. “You’re mine forever sweetie” he thinks to himself, not just as a lover but as the father of his child.

•When you look all bummy and cute, Sylus absolutely melts—but only in private. He’ll tease you for looking adorable, maybe even mockingly calling you “helpless” in a teasing tone. He wants you to need him, to rely on him and seeing you like that, with your swollen belly and a tired expression, only reinforces the fact that you’ll never be leaving his side.

•He can’t help but think “This is it. This is my life now. This is forever.” Every time he catches you in an unguarded moment, lounging around in comfortable clothes, he’s reminded that he’s now the father of your child, and that makes him feel invincible.

• Sylus has always kept his distance from emotions, but now, seeing you in this vulnerable state, he realizes just how deeply tied to you he is. You’re carrying his child. This bond will never be broken. There’s no going back now, no matter what.

•In his mind, you’re not just someone he has in his life temporarily—you’re his forever. The thought of you as the mother of his children is oddly reassuring, knowing that you won’t be able to leave without tearing his world apart. He’s possessive in this sense, not just for the sake of control but because he can’t bear the thought of losing you now.

•Despite his hard exterior, Sylus finds himself becoming strangely tender with you. When you’re tired and asking for something simple, he’ll be the first to jump to your aid, never allowing you to carry more than you can. He’s not overly affectionate but when you need him, he’s there.

•In private moments, when it’s just the two of you, he’ll rest his hand on your belly, maybe even press a soft kiss to your forehead. He’s not one to show vulnerability but this is one of the few times where his feelings for you—his deep attachment—shine through.

•He might act nonchalant, even cocky, about it but Sylus knows in the depths of his mind that you’re never going to leave him. You’re bound to him now, not just by love, but by the child you’re carrying.

•This thought alone makes him feel more powerful than he’s ever felt before. You will always be his and while the idea of having his child makes him feel giddy, there’s also something else beneath the surface: a deep sense of satisfaction in knowing that he’s got you. Forever.

[solvicrafts]

This is a hard truth that a lot of people don't want to hear, that there needs to be a balance between holding men accountable for their behavior, pointing out injustices that they benefit from, and at the same time encouraging them to learn and grow.

And this goes for any group of people, really, but especially so for young men right now.

I was saying this shit back before the 2016 election and really pissed off a lot of people for daring to argue that we should encourage our allies instead of shaming and alienating them.

"Yes, absolutely, people should support our civil rights because it's the right thing to do, but a lot of people genuinely do not know how much of the world is structured to prop them up at the cost of bringing others down."

I'm going to say something possibly really, really controversial here, especially in the wake of THIS election:

Most people are capable of being empathetic, understanding, and logical, but if you are going to engage with them then you have to have the maturity to commit to reaching them.

At one of the places I worked previously, there was this security guard who worked a few nights at the end of the week who was honestly one of my best friends there. He was a well-educated, very devout Christian man around my father's age, and he was black. For context, I am a young Irish-American liberal Hellenic Polytheist.

We actually got along far better with each other than I did with all of the hippie woo neopagan people I knew there, and he with the Christians there. And that's because we were not only both well educated within our belief systems, we were also really good at meeting in the middle and extending social grace and understanding to each other. We found that our core principles were perfectly aligned, we just didn't always arrive to our conclusions in the same exact ways.

When the pandemic hit in 2020, he was reluctant to get vaccinated, and when we talked about it I was the one person who got through to him. And he told me so. He told me outright, after he got vaccinated, that it was my voice that changed his mind.

I did not do that by shaming him over all of the people he might kill if he caught COVID and spread it. I did not do that by attacking his intellect or scientific literacy. I did not do that by threatening his financial security and pointing out that companies are letting people go for not getting vaccinated.

I did it by acknowledging his beliefs and concerns (especially as an older black man, given this country's history), and agreeing that he absolutely has valid reasons to feel the way he does, but by letting him know that my position on this subject was one of caring about his well-being above all else and letting him know when I got vaccinated and where, and how the process went for me.

Look, shaming CAN be effective in some limited scenarios, and I've done that, too. I've shamed quite a few people on public transit for refusing to let disabled elderly people sit. I am very much guilty of telling a woman that her imaginary friend does not need a seat of their own so that a guy who fell over getting on the bus could actually sit the fuck down.

But when it comes to bigger picture social issues, it's so much better to try to reach people and establish dialogue FIRST. And I know that that is asking a lot. For many of us, it goes against our very instincts.

At the local farmer's market last week, I had a man come up to me in a MAGA hat and I was absolutely braced for a fight. Instead, he eagerly showed me pictures on his phone of the garden he was cultivating. He was almost GIDDY about his plants, about the wildflowers and the pollinators and the fruit and the trees. That man was reachable. He was not there to attack me for being a queer woman. He was there to bond over how cool plants are and had no idea what he was really signing up for.

It's so much easier to condemn people broadly as monsters, and I know it feels much more satisfying and rewarding in the moment. I've done it, too. I was downright obnoxious about it when I was younger. But this is not the kind of behavior that leads to long-term societal growth.

The more we cut off and alienate people, the easier it is for them to fall prey to indoctrination. Exposure and social engagement is our biggest weapon against bigotry and THAT is a major reason as to why the Republican party wants to destroy public education.

I have had an immense uphill battle with some of my closest male friends in trying to keep them from falling down the alt-right pipeline. It's been a nearly two decade endeavor in a few cases, but I have seen those men in my life gradually improve and become well-rounded, empathetic, and educated men.

I guess what I'm saying here is, if you have a man (or ANYONE for that matter!) in your life who is showing early warning signs and/or you believe is susceptible to the MAGA movement, please think about what I've said. It's so much harder to approach them from a place of understanding than of anger and I get that, but at the end of the day, one of those is going to be much more effective at changing their viewpoint.

Lastly, if you find yourself in a situation where you are trying to engage with someone who thinks very differently than you do, here are a few tips and some examples:

1. Acknowledge their viewpoint.

"I understand where you're coming from"

"I think I see why you think/feel this way"

Or even just asking, "I don't really understand, can you explain how you arrived to this conclusion/viewpoint/opinion, etc.?"

2. Offer them an olive branch.

"I see what you're saying, and actually, I think you will find that our opinions aren't too different from each other's."

"You have a point about this, and if I could just build off of that, here is where I am coming from."

3. Address their concerns

"Yeah, you're right, our taxes are already way too high, but if we didn't have to raise them at all and could, instead, take a hard look at how they are already being spent?"

"Wolf reintroduction absolutely could be a problem for farmers if it's handled poorly, and you're right that city people don't understand that as intimately as you do, but what if I told you there's a way we could work this out to your benefit, too?"

4. Thank them for listening! (even if they didn't magically change their opinion right away, you never know)

"I'm glad we had this talk, thank you for hearing what I had to say."

5. Reassure them that you listened, too! (even if YOU didn't change your mind)

"I can't say you've changed my mind, but you've given me something to think about."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 5

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: guys this not fully proofread as I am exhausted | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat

You cannot tear your eyes away from Daemon as you walk down the halls together. Though he already told you the blood on his armor was not his, you could not help but worry that perhaps he had a wound hidden away underneath his steel plate. Your stare is so heavy, he's unable to ignore it, thus why he huffs, "out with it."

You perk at his words and rub your hands together.

He raises a brow at you, "or do you merely think me so devastatingly handsome you cannot help but stare?"

You slowly shake your head, "are you certain you are unharmed?"

His eyes linger on you for a moment before he looks forward, "I am offended you did not agree."

You knit your brows, "you," you shake your head, "already know. You are comely husband."

He turns back to you.

You cannot name the expression he gives you.

"Did I not say I was unharmed?"

You stop in your tracks out of frustration, grabbing his arm, "Daemon."

He turns to you, face hardening at your look of concern.

"If you are hurt, then we should head for the maester's."

He chuckles under his breath and pulls away, "a funny thought coming from you."

Your brows furrow deeper as you tail after him, "I do not follow."

He looks over his shoulder, lips curling, "considering you are sick and yet nowhere near the maester's ward."

You only then recognize his smile was mocking. You feel a pinch in your chest. You shake your head, "we are not the same. If there was something to be done about my affliction, my father would have seen it done years ago."

Daemon laughs.

You wait for him to explain his laughter, but he does not. You take his arm again, "what amuses you?"

Your husband looks at you, then at the hand you had on his bicep, "through it all, you hold your father in such high regard."

You clench your jaw and release his him.

He enjoys your dejection, thus why he takes your hand, placing it back in its place with a chuckle, "say it isn't so— I dare you."

You look back at him. His smile is like a needle through your heart. He must think you're stupid without even trying. You mutter, "I am merely stating facts."

He laughs again, "your frail heart keeps you naive."

The feel of his armor is suddenly scorching and you have to pull away. He stares at you after the fact, but does not take your hand again.

You do not speak until you reach the door to the meeting room. Once there, Daemon motions with his head, "wait for me. You like flowers don't you?"

You look over your shoulder and realize that he was motioning to the window that gave view to the gardens. You turn back to him and step forward, reaching out to retrieve the flower in his hair. It would not be appropriate for him to attend a council meeting like this.

Daemon mistakes your action for affection, and moves his head away so you cannot caress his cheek, "I said I am unharmed, woman. Now go sit down."

He walks off after this, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall alone. Just as he enters the room, you struggle with yourself if you should call out to him or simply run up to him and snatch the flower off his head. But then, the moment is gone and he's already inside.

You cannot find it in you to sit as you overthink what would become of your husband because of the flower in his hair.

Just as you begin to pace around, you are rendered frozen when you hear your name get called.

Viserys smiles at you, as he and his council members walk over, "good morrow."

You make eye contact with your father, who was walking just behind the king, and lower your gaze as you curtsy, "your grace. A pleasant morning to you."

Viserys stops in front of you, clapping his hands once, "why, you look fetching my dear," his eyes examine your hair, and you, yourself, are reminded by the presence of the blossoms on your head, "did you pick those from the garden?"

You rise and smile at your husband's brother, shaking your head, "my ward, ser Erryk, was kind enough to- ..." you catch yourself amidst your confession, eyes suddenly darting to your father.

Otto's jaw is set and his eyes are already angered.

You gulp and decide to continue nevertheless, "...accompany me flower picking in the meadow."

Otto huffs audibly, but the king's reaction is so stark in contrast, your father does not have the opportunity to butt in this moment. Viserys claps once again and smiles, "oh good. Some fresh air always did help me. Of course, when I say fresh air, I really mean going on dragon back, but strolling in the meadow picking flowers is a fine pastime."

You are touched by the king's amicable sentiment. You repay his smile with your own, "I completely agree."

"I do not," Otto says, "what if you get an attack in the middle of the nowhere? What if the pain is too great and you are not brought home in time?"

Viserys and you turn to the Lord Hand. The king responds, "she was accompanied by her ward. Is that not why you requested one for her?"

"I requested a ward to keep her in check to prevent her from doing things that would cause her affliction to worsen."

You tense under the harsh sound of Otto's voice.

Viserys recognizes your discomfort and waves him off, "you needn't be so hard on your daughter. It is good for the spirit to reserve time frolicking."

You gulp the next time the king smiles at you. You do not smile back and merely curtsy at him. With that, he and his council members go into their meeting room and you are left alone once more.

The council members' muttering comes to a halt when they see prince Daemon in his seat.

"Kind of you to join us today, brother," Viserys huffs, "we were just talking about you."

Daemon eyes Otto, "the topic being my bride, no doubt."

Otto has to fight the urge to roll his eyes as he walks to his chair. His throat constricts, as if he was about to retch, when he sees the flower by his ear. He thinks of you and the flowers in your hair and figures Daemon did this to spur him in. He releases a deep breath to calm himself, "the topic being your power tripping with the City Watch last night."

Daemon glares at him. The king sits at the head of the table. The prince links his hands together, "you would know to mind your tongue, Lord Hand. I care little for the tears my wife will shed once I sever your neck from your spine."

"Daemon," Viserys snaps.

"And what I did last night was clean the streets from the putrid scabs of the city in preparation for my birth of my brother's child."

"And you exacted a very public show of extreme violence while doing so," Viserys leans on the table, "you maimed and mutilated peopl-"

"Criminals," Daemon whips his head. He raises his brows, "would you rather they strut free and continue stealing, raping, and killing in your city?"

"I would have them see justice."

Daemon chuckles dryly.

Viserys raises a finger, "your blade is not the writ of justice."

"Do you mean to tell me it's yours?" the younger Targaryen narrows his eyes.

"I AM THE KING," the elder Targaryen snaps.

The prince does not flinch, "speaking loudly will not make it truer, brother."

Needless to say, the meeting is coarse and uncomfortable.

You start from where you were sat by the window upon witnessing Daemon shove the meeting doors open. He storms out of the room grumbling and you have to gather your skirts to run off after him.

"What's happened?" you mutter when you reach his side.

He ignores you, simply continuing to march away with a storm cloud overhead.

You are partially surprised to find that he was heading towards your shared chambers. He shoves the doors open then marches towards your private baths. There, your tub holds steaming water. You were grateful the servants thought to prepare the bath here and not Daemon's personal quarters.

Daemon begins to callously remove his armor and immediately ceases when you come towards him to do it yourself. You look between his hard expression and hard attire, thinking of something to say to calm his down.

You think of nothing.

The moment he is free of his steel, he removes the rest of his garbs himself and steps into the tub. You meant to remove the flower in his hair but then he wordlessly offers you his arm, expecting you to clean him, and so you do without fuss.

In the quiet of washing and splashing water, you feel Daemon slowly begin to relax. He leans back, releasing a sigh as he shuts his eyes. You stare at him for a long moment. He is beautiful.

"Your father is a fucking cunt."

You purse your lips as you release his arm. He opens his eyes when you pull away, then watches as you circle around the tub. You sigh as you take his other arm and begin scrubbing it, "he is... sometimes unkind."

He scoffs, turning to you, "sometimes?"

You focus on his arm, unwanting to meet his gaze, "he was kind to my mother... I think. And to my brother... sister... sometimes."

Daemon watches you, brows furrowing, "and you?"

You shrug, "sometimes?"

"Why do you defend him?" he tilts his head.

Finally, you look at him. The glint in his violet eyes make him appear as though he genuinely wanted to understand you. You shrug once more and shake your head, "he is my father."

"He is a cunt."

You tilt your head, scooping water onto his arm, "surely you've thought the same thing about your brother." You look between his arm and his face.

Daemon does not respond. He does, however, pull away from you.

You stare at him, trying to anticipate his next move.

He motions with his head then leans back in the tub once more, "strip. You should bathe with me."

You stiffen at his proposal, but do not object otherwise. You gather your hair and turn around, "will you undo my laces?"

Daemon, for some reason, is taken aback by the request. There is something that swirls in his gut. Still, he moves towards you and undoes your ties, pushing your dress down after. You shudder when he frees you of your shift and strokes your spine with the back of his hand.

"The king demands we have a family dinner before the tourney tomorrow," Daemon mindlessly mutters, "you must wear something pretty."

You gulp when he kisses your shoulder and scratches your sides until he's cupping your breasts. You gasp and turn when he tries to pull you in. Finally, the flower in his hair falls off when your nails dig into his scalp as he kisses you.

By the time the water goes cold and your bliss from love making wears off, you are faced with the fact your neck and collarbones are covered in glaring purple and red marks again.

Daemon does not relent as you both dress. He is adamant in covering your skin with bruises and bites. You are not surprised that he makes you wear something that showcases your decolletage, but you at least find solace in the fact he makes you keep your hair down in its natural state.

The air is tense as your families eat dinner. You sit next to each other, with him to your right, followed by Viserys and Aemma. In front of the queen was Rhaenyra, then Alicent by the left, Gwyane, and finally your father, who sat before you.

There was something serene in the sinister way Daemon strokes your arm and pushes your hair back. You knew he was doing this to rile your father up, yet you did not know why your body found comfort in his touch.

Then, in a flash, you were nothing but uncomfortable when your twin drops his silverware and blurts out, "you will not lose your hand if it does not grope my sister as we feast."

Daemon, who had been rubbing the your back all the way to the side of your breast, turned to your brother, who sat across him.

Gwayne clenches his jaw, expecting him to pull away.

Instead, Daemon moves your hair to one side of your shoulder and caresses your neck with the back of his hands, "oh, but you see, now that I've..." he smiles, "sampled your dear sister, I fear that it might."

Otto is next to drop his utensils. Your body burns at Daemon's words but you can do nothing but lower your head in mortification.

Viserys sniggers. Aemma glares and nudges him.

"You would not understand this, for you are unmarried," Daemon says turning his head, "but perhaps your father will."

Viserys nearly chokes on his meal, but then clears his throat, "brother-" he withholds his laughter, "-that is quite enough." The king looks at the faces across the table, none of them but him and Daemon finding this predicament amusing, "I'm sure everyone is... overjoyed that you and your bride have found marital bliss, but do keep your manners," he nods, "you are seated before the king."

Daemon turns to Viserys and straightens up. He nods, "my king."

Viserys clears his throat again and nods, "manners, brother."

"Hmm, like you with Aemma?"

Rhaenyra slams her hands on the table, pushes her chair back, and stands. All turns to her and her sour expression as she speaks, "I'm quite finished with my food. If I may be excused... my king."

Otto stands next, his chair skidding behind him, "I am quite finished with my food as well," he nods at Viserys, "I wish you a good meal."

Your belly rolls when he looks at you.

"Daughter, might you walk me out of the room, there is something I wish to discuss with you."

"She is quite busy with her food," Daemon immediately answers for you, "if you wish to speak something, speak it in front of us."

Your throat tightens.

"Tis a personal matter," Otto speaks firmly, "I would not put my child in an uncomfortable position."

Gwayne watches your expression, feeling restless because of your glaring discomfort.

"But you've already done so announcing your desire to speak to her so that she could not refuse," Daemon snaps.

Your chest begins to constrict. Gwyane picks up on how your breath quickens.

Otto clenches his jaw, "I wish to speak to my daughter."

"Yes, and I say fuck off."

"Daemon," Viserys finally snaps, turning to the said man. The king turns to you, peering past his brother, "you may speak to Otto if you wish, or you may simply continue with your meal."

You turn to your skirt and clench the fabric in your hand.

Daemon rubs your nape and your skin reacts with goosebumps. You gasp when his hand is snatched away by Viserys. You turn to them, struggling to breathe as you watch them bicker in High Valyrian.

Aemma tries to interject, but the brothers do not acknowledge her.

"Sister," Gwayne calls to you.

You want to turn to him, but you fear you will crumble in tears if you do.

The room is silenced when you stand. You feel everyone's gaze on your skin. "I wish-" you speak through a heavy breath, "-to retire."

You run out of the room before anyone can respond. Your heart drums in its cage but you tell yourself to run and to keep running.

Gwyane stands, ready to chase after you, but Daemon blocks him and their bodies violently collide. Daemon shoves him back and Gwyane is about to lunge at him but hears the voice of her baby sister calling his name in concern. His face twitches as he holds himself back.

"She is my wife," Daemon says.

"Then fucking go after her," Gwayne snaps, raising an arm, "she'll be heading to the temple, undoubtedly, which is outside the Keep, if you are not aware."

"Go on!" Otto snaps, pointing a finger, "chase after her."

Daemon seethes at the instruction. Dare he? He'll break the arm that fucking finger is connected to. He wants nothing less than to do what that cunt says.

"Go to her, Daemon," Viserys urges.

He glares at his brother, offended by his alliance with the fucker. Now he is really not going to do that. He's left with no other choice but to leave the damned dining room though. How lucky of him to run into the Cargyll twins on his way out.

"You," Daemon barks, calling the attention of the two men. He marches over to them, hands balled tightly into fists.

"My p-"

"The fucking Hand has upset the bitch again," the prince snaps, "she's run off in a fit to gods know where."

The two watch the prince have a hissy fit in High Valyrian before realizing he referring to his wife. Arryk says, "the princess has run off at this hour?"

"Her cunt twin said she'd go to the temple, but maybe she's fallen dead halfway through her sprint."

The twins turn to each other in horror.

"Ah, if only the gods were that kind," Daemon scoffs then looks between them, "find her. I do not wish to hear her pathetic sobbing."

Erryk's nostrils flare. Arryk clenches his jaw and nods. The latter begins to walk off and has to reel his brother by the arm to follow.

Daemon storms off to the dragon pit.

Arryk eyes his brother. Erryk's eyes remain on the prince, until his twin calls his attention.

You arrive at the temple of the Seven, forehead and nape sheened over with sweat. You nearly collapse before the Mother. The only reason you do not, is because two septas catch you before you collide with the shrine of candles. Upon recognizing you, they are quick to attend to you, saying they will get you water and a towel.

Running is a horrid activity that seems to only more horrid each time you do it. You find that your heart cannot keep up, and you are pushed into horrible breathlessness. Your father was strict to never let you run. You do not know if it is simply because you are not capable of running or because of your affliction that made it so.

You thank the gracious septas for their care and ask them if they would pray with you. Unable to deny you, a woman so devout and so... pitiful, they help you get on your knees and you recite The Mother's prayer together. At some point, you begin to weep, and once more it becomes increasingly harder for you to breathe. The septas have to stop praying and attend to you again.

"Princess!"

You are made to sit down on the floor. The two septas are replaced with two men, both dressed in steel, one as seemly as the other, albeit the mark of abject concern on their face. You frown as you look between Arryk and Erryk's worried features. Your scratch your eyes as they speak to you. The weight in your chest makes it hard to understand.

You hiccup as one of them scoops you into their arms. You do not realize you were being carried out of the temple until you are outside. "Wait," you sigh when you managed to catch a breath, "wait."

Whoever is carrying you does not hear it, but his brother does. He says, "wait, Erryk. What is it, princess?"

"I wish to pray," you mutter, eyes still wet with tears, "please."

Arryk looks at you. Erryk shakes his head, "we have to bring her inside."

"Erryk," Arrryk knits his brows, "she wishes to pray."

"She is in no condition to—" Erryk's words falter when your hand comes to his cheek.

You feel your lips tremble and you barely manage to speak, "please."

A line forms between his brows at the sound of your weak voice, "my prin-"

"Erryk," you stroke his cheek, "I need this."

Arryk looks between you and his brother. He watches him sigh and turn back. He follows after Erryk as he goes up the stairs, back towards the shrine.

You are placed before the Mother once more. You sigh and allow yourself repose before shifting on your knees. The twins leave you to your prayers, standing by not too far off.

Erryk's eyes remain on you. Arryk's eyes remain on Erryk.

"You tread a dangerous path, brother."

Erryk does look away.

Arryk sighs, turning his gaze over to you.

You sit on your knees, one arm rested on the plinth as you take a stick and light it. You whisper, "mummy," then light a candle, "me," then light another. Your soft whispers flutter in the echo chamber.

Both twins feel fangs rip into their stomachs as they watch you. Erryk's features are more honest to it however, which is why Arryk catches it and speaks again, "you are sworn to her, you fool."

"And you are not?" Erryk snaps, turning to his twin.

The brothers stare at each other for a moment. Arryk purses his lips and tilts his head, "I am not in love with her."

"Then leave," Erryk motions with a nod. He shifts in his spot, linking his hands together as he turns back back to you.

Arryk snorts and clenches is hands. His ears perk at the sound of your hushed sobbing. His heart clogs his throat.

Erryk sighs through his nose, "you are still here."

"I cannot leave her."

Erryk turns to Arryk, "then you are just as foolish as I."

"I-" Arryk starts. He cannot look away from you, "... I am sworn to her."

"She is beautiful," Erryk says.

Arryk finally tears his gaze only to shoot his brother a warning look, but Erryk's eyes are back on you.

"She wove flowers into my hair mere hours ago," he knits his brows, "she laughed and beamed and glimmered," Erryk sighs, "now she crumbles and weeps and hurts."

Arryk knits his brows, just as deep as his twin's.

You wipe your tears as you soothe yourself. You voice goes low again as you continue to pray.

"I am not a fool," Arryk says

Erryk laughs dryly, turning to him, "very well. If y-"

"I know she is beautiful," Arryk cuts him off.

His lips flatten.

Arryk gulps, "outside and within."

"As I said," Erryk replies, "just as foolish."

"I do not understand what could posses someone to hurt such a creature."

"Perhaps there is no soul to posses."

Arryk shakes your head, "you cannot allow your anger to get ahead of yourself, fool. You are glad the prince did not notice."

"The prince is too caught up in himself to notice anything that does not directly a..." Erryk's words go dry.

Arryk knits his brows, finding his twin was staring at something behind him. He looks over, stiffening when he catches the very person they were speaking of walking over.

Daemon makes a beeline towards you. He stops just behind you, lips and brows tense at the sound of your evidently upset voice. "Should you be doing this?"

You perk at the sound of the voice and look over your shoulder. You stare at Daemon, unsure if you were imagining him or if he was really there. You find that you don't really care, "will you pray with me?"

He does not like that you do not answer his question. He shifts on his spot, "did you faint or fall out of breath?

You turn back to the candles, "you must not be real."

"What?"

"I do not think my husband would care," you mutter, clasping your hands together in prayer.

Daemon does not move.

"You would pray with me then," you add, "you are kind."

The prince's face contorts. He feels like he is choking. He comes to your side, slowly dropping to his knees. He clasps his hands together, propping his elbows in front of him. He is taken aback by how you rest your head on his shoulder with no hesitation. He stiffens and a part of his mind screams to shove you away. He does nothing of the sort however.

"I tire," you admit.

"Then we sh-"

"Tell him to grant me my prayer."

Daemon slowly turns his head to look at you. He sees the way the tears trickle down from the bridge of your nose, "tell who?"

"The Stranger."

Daemon turns to the statue of the Mother. He wants to be difficult and tell you to simply move to the other statue, but instead he asks, "what is your request?"

"Death."

He turns back to you, expecting you to name a name. You do not, so he asks again, "your father?"

Your brows furrow, "no."

He turns to his hands. An unnamable emotion seizes him, "so... your husband?"

You finally lift your head. You turn to him, a deep frown on your face, "I do not wish you harm, Daemon."

He turns to you.

New tears burn down your cheeks.

A new unnamable emotion seizes him at the sight of your wobbling lips.

The twins find themselves looking away when the prince wipes your cheek.

You lean into his touch, "I have prayed for the same thing every night since I was ten."

Daemon's forehead curls, "what do you pray for?"

"To die."

The hand he had on your face tenses.

"It is pointless," you push his hand away, retreating from his touch, "my pain does not subside. My heart and flesh grow weaker each day."

Daemon is uneasy as you turn back to the Mother. He shakes his head, "I do not think the gods listen to such sinful prayers."

"Sin?" you chuckle under your breath.

Somehow your laughter sounds sadder than your weeping.

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision.

The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

You stare at his outstretched palm, then look up at him as he stands. You are loathe to move. You do not think you can, even if you wanted to, "I tire."

He leans over, draping your arm around his shoulders, "I'll bring you to bed."

You say nothing as Daemon pulls you in and carries you in his arms.

For the final time tonight, another unnamable emotions seizes him. It only further intensifies when you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

[skay-ali]

Tears of an angel

The idea of ​​a Wayne reader, who was well received from the beginning at the mansion and by its members, has constantly crossed my mind. A good family relationship that took an obsessive turn, not only with his family but also with other people.

A weapon, your head felt pressed with great force, so much so that, if you didn't make an effort to keep your head up, the force would surely send you to the floor.

There were many people, an endless number of blurry faces that surrounded you, they were horrible, it made you nauseous to see them, although some were also reindeers, it was difficult for you to recognize them, not only the criminals were vile, sometimes even people who seemed normal hid big things, you learned throughout your life.

Of all the possible hostages, you were the first to be threatened, you regretted leaving your home, you should have stayed locked in the safest place you created.

Yes... you should never have gone out, all your thoughts repeated it to you, you were wrong to leave your safe space, now you were surrounded by people and criminals, when it was over the cameras and the reporters' unconscious questions would come, thousands of news stories about you, the majority that would leave you feeling bad, and the feelings of guilt that would torment you for a long time.

You inhaled air, it became difficult to breathe, if you didn't control yourself you would panic, you would create a big scene, you couldn't do that, it would ruin your image more, you were already doing it while crying silently, your appearance was horrible, your hair disheveled, makeup ruined , a red nose dripping with snot.

You were a Wayne by blood, that was proven by your DNA, along with the similar characteristics that you inherited from your paternal grandmother.

You remember having been in this house all your life, the memories related to your mother were few, mostly blurry, difficult to distinguish from your short childhood and adolescence in the care of your father, as if your mother had never existed.

Your life was almost good, although there was a gap between you and your family, you did not receive excessive neglect, hatred or jealousy from each member of your family.

You were like a rarely recurring character in everyone's life.

The bad things in your life were not reflected in your relationship with your family, that was the least of your problems, something insignificant in your opinion, with what was happening outside.

It's funny to think about it, your father, you knew very well that he thought, that you lived one of the best lives, you really did, you had a family that never mistreated you, a good home and money, many privileges hand in hand with the latest , but that great privilege brought you something bad and terrifying, something that began to rule your life.

Being part of a large family made you a target, first of criminals, who took full advantage of using you as a means to achieve their ends, from criminal minds who kidnapped you as a hostage for their evil plans, as criminals who only wanted a great reward on your head, although in the end you were saved by the city's great vigilantes or the police, nothing took away the long moments of anguish, in which you were trapped in a dirty place, full of unknown people with bad intentions, vulnerable , having a gun pointed at some part of your body.

They were very difficult moments, fear ruled you along with paranoia, you did not normalize it as part of your life even if they were constant episodes in your life, you developed a trauma, one of your defense mechanisms was to disconnect from your surroundings, letting your body lived everything and your mind turned off, everything was black or white, a great void, until they saved you.

As a helpless person, who was in constant danger and only waiting to be saved by his brave knight, even though he wasn't that bad, you felt completely useless.

Things became worse, when you started to be afraid to leave your home, you became a complete renegade, in your big stone tower, a burrowing mouse or was it a rabbit... an asocial being...

How would you not be if your second problem was that, the social ones, people who, since school, persecuted you, wanted to be your friends or so they said, like a stupid and naive girl you believed them the first time, until you saw how they abandoned you When they already got what they really wanted from your father, suddenly their friendship no longer worked and they left you, often disowning you, as if you were a bad person because of your status and money, you were not seen as a girl who hardly understood their around and that he feared society itself, each person.

You couldn't even trust kids your age anymore, they all wanted to destroy you, finish you off.

The third problem in your life, the reporters and paparazzi, who harassed you every time they could, it didn't matter that you were just a minor, they found a way to get what they wanted and make you look bad, take advantage of every part of you. , without caring about the consequences of their actions, the repercussions that occurred in your life due to their news.

The horrible photos, where you hated seeing yourself, just an imperfect and horrible being, that was you... Your last problem, you... you hated yourself, maybe you were a bad girl, someone selfish and super annoying along with all the other insults professed by people who already got something from you or never did and were no longer chasing you, useless... very useless, that you were not able to protect yourself and avoid getting into trouble, you bothered everyone, the police, the heroes, your family... all for not taking care of yourself for wanting to live a little, for being too selfish.

Not even pretty, those words loaded with a very strong poison, that many girls said to you or whispered to each other in their groups of friends, or the boys who blatantly mentioned it after you rejected them, or all the people who looked at your images in the gossip programs or magazines, when the worst photos they took of you were uploaded to gain more audience, because it turned out that you were their great gem, it was a great gossip, you became out of nowhere, the public's favorite, to get the best gossip.

That was your life, although you couldn't change it... there was a small opportunity to improve it a little. Cross saving yourself off your list, give yourself something better.

First, giving all your supposed fans a good image, being perfect in their eyes, someone with great beauty and without imperfection, a star, someone to adore.

Something that at first was only to avoid more bad photos of you and news, became an addiction, how could it not be, if when you were careless for a moment they took the opportunity to humiliate you and make you look like a horrible being again, you didn't want to be that horrible being. , not again, so beauty treatments, excessive care of your body, clothes that highlighted you better, a great activity with your followers, if they wanted that from you you would give it to them, that was the easiest.

That didn't stop you from feeling bad on the days when you were with your great confidant, Alfred.

When you saw yourself in some reflection, at times you didn't recognize yourself, who were you? What did you become? Maybe the man who always had time for you got disappointed.

But seeing your reflection, that arrogant smile, the other person who was reflected told you that it was the right thing to do, they could no longer destroy you if they thought they had everything of you, without them realizing it you would end up on a great altar, you would be far superior to everyone, Maybe then they would never kidnap you with many followers who would give their lives for you, would they defend you because you didn't want that? When your other self shook her head to the side and feigned empathy for you, her words that you should stop worrying about people who would never do the same for you.

“After all, maybe that man you appreciated a lot did something for you every time they buried your name in the mud... nope, he never did, maybe he was just pretending that he cared about you, he loved your father and your father much more your half-brothers, you were the last task on their list, you just don't want to accept it, like the stupid girl you were."

Her big arrogant smile was the last thing you saw of her.

You should never have gone out, a big party with a lot of people, the idea of ​​showing off with all of them, showing a little superiority, having the media pleased and therefore the people, making her, your reflection, pleased, that she was happy and will no longer torment you.

Speaking of her, she was watching you, you saw her in a glass, her icy gaze, oh... she's so disappointed, you heard her words clearly.

“Oh, what a coward you are, you're seriously crying, what a crybaby baby you are, making yourself look ridiculous in front of all these self-centered people, a couple of photos like that and you'll please all the people who want to see you in a bad way.”

“pathetic, very pathetic, maybe that's why you are never someone your family appreciates, remember their faces the few times you spend with your family, they pretend to be fine, but in reality they only put up with you... just because they can't get rid of you”

His cruel taunts were very painful, like thorns, he knew very well how to attack you.

You closed your eyes, squeezing them as tight as you could and covered your ears, you didn't want to hear her anymore. In a few minutes you were white, far from everything. Batman and Superman along with their companions appeared to control such a commotion, although it would be easy to control the criminals there were many hostages in danger.

An extremely complex job, it was even more so when Bruce and his children saw who one of the hostages was, you.

Determined to save you, they entered one of the last rooms, only to find everyone alarmed, some alarmed and others watching somewhat shocked.

A large pool of blood and a man on the floor, one of the participants in the crime, and near the man, a woman, difficult to recognize due to the blood on her face, who brutally attacked the dead man on the floor. Her thin heels crushing the man's skin, again and again.

I wish, Bruce, I had never been able to recognize that person, that deranged young woman, who madly attacked a person with a smile. Where his little smiling daughter had gone, who always visited him or tried to spend more time with him or her brothers.

Normally I like to make a prologue and depending on the reactions continue the story. In addition to developing the yandere little by little, I simply felt that this story needs a little more things before starting with the yandere

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Summary: When Noah was left alone to take care of his daughter about two years ago, he never thought he would find someone else he would trust enough to include in his little family. But things can change.

Series masterlist

Sunday morning, the sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the busy city center. Noah walked beside you, a relaxed smile spreading across his face as he held Luna's hand while she looked around her at the vibrant streets filled with laughter and the aroma of street food, with curiosity.

The little girl had never liked strollers and had always refused to use one. She mostly wanted to walk or be held in her father's arms.

"Yes! I saw it! It was hiding behind the trees but I saw it!" She said.

"The unicorn was hiding behind the trees?"

"Yes! It was white and big and pretty but it was hiding. But I saw it anyway!"

"That's great! I'm happy you saw it!" You laughed.

As you walked along, you paused to admire a shop window displaying colorful toys. Luna squirmed excitedly. “Look, Daddy! Bunnies!” she exclaimed, pointing at a big, fluffy bunny in the window.

"Yeah, that one is really pretty." He agreed.

Just then, a group of people, obviously fans, caught sight of Noah.

They talked for a moment between them, poiting at him, and soon whispers turned into excited shouts, and within moments, several people had approached, their phones out.

“Noah! Can we get a picture?” one voice called, followed by others echoing the request.

Noah's demeanor shifted almost instantly. The polite smile faded, replaced by a look of concern as he straightened up. “I’m sorry guys, not when I’m with my daughter.” His voice was steady, but the tension was palpable as he shifted his focus back to Luna, who looked at him with confusion.

“Daddy, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice trembling just a little as he easily picked her up.

Noah lowered his tone, trying to reassure her, but his eyes darted nervously to the little crowd formed around you. It wasn't even exactly a crowd, maybe a dozen people at most, but that was enough for Noah to worry.

“Nothing, sweetheart. Just some people who like dad's music.” But the enthusiasm from the fans was relentless.

“Please! Just one quick shot.” someone insisted, pushing closer. Noah’s face tightened, protective instincts flaring as panic flickered in his gaze.

His hand caressed the little girl's back, holding her close as if someone might suddenly jump in and snatch her from his arms.

You knew that if it had been any other time he would have gladly stopped for a few pictures, and if it had been any other time where he simply didn't feel like interacting with them, he would have explained how he felt and walked away. But he was with his daughter and this time it was different.

You knew how Noah had always wanted to protect her from the internet and fans, how he had never posted a photo of her on any social media before deleting them all, how he didn't want his daughter to end up in the spotlight. And he didn't want her to end up in any picture of video taken of them and posted online.

"Just a picture. Please!"

God, some people are really out of their minds. Is it really so easy to forget that people, even if public figures, have a life outside of their work and a minimum amount of privacy you have to respect?

“Come here, sweetie,” you said, stepping forward and gently taking Luna from Noah's arms.

He didn't hesitate for a second, letting you take her without putting up any kind of minimal resistance, showing that he trusted you completely.

As you cradled her close, you could feel her small heart racing against you, instinctively hiding her face in the crook of your neck.

Good. No pictures or videos of her face.

“Let’s go look at some toys,” you whispered softly, wanting to shield her from the chaos. Luna clung to you, comforted by your presence, her earlier excitement replaced by uncertainty.

“Okay.” she replied anyway, her trust in you evident. You turned to Noah, who stood frozen, a mix of gratitude and worry etched across his features.

“It's okay. I've got her.” you assured him.

Noah nodded, relief flooding his expression as he let you take her away. You hurried into the nearby toy store, leaving Noah with the fans, Luna giggling as you entered the vibrant space filled with colorful displays and soft music. You felt the atmosphere shift as the door closed behind you, the chaos outside fading away.

Once inside, Luna obviously wanted to explore and you put her down, kneeling to her level. “Look at all the bunnies!” you exclaimed, gesturing to a display filled with plush toys. Her eyes sparkled as she darted toward the shelf, her earlier apprehension forgotten.

“Can I get one, please?” she asked, her voice filled with excitement as she clutched a particularly fluffy bunny.

“Of course! That one’s perfect,” you replied, smiling at her. She hugged it tightly, Mr. Flop still in a hand.

Moments later, you glanced back toward the door, where Noah had just entered, his expression softening the moment he saw you and Luna together. He took a deep breath, and you could see the tension in his shoulders start to ease.

"You alright?" You asked.

“Yes. Thank you, for what you did,” he said quietly, approaching you both. His voice was sincere, a mix of relief and gratitude. “I was starting to panic. I hate that feeling of being unable to protect her, especially when I know how intrusive some fans can be.”

You nodded, understanding the weight of his concerns. “It’s important to keep her safe,” you said softly. “I wanted to make sure she was okay. You shouldn’t have to worry about that while you’re out with her.”

Noah smiled, his eyes reflecting appreciation as he knelt beside Luna. “That means a lot. The way you immediately stepped in, worrying about her. It means a lot to me.”

Luna, oblivious to the deeper conversation, held up her new bunny. “Look, Daddy! It’s so fluffy!”

“That’s the best bunny I’ve ever seen,” Noah said, his smile returning, the earlier panic dissolving into laughter.

"Yeah but... but I don't want Mr. Flop to feel sad because I have another bunny. I think I'll leave this one here."

As you all explored the toy store together, Noah took your hand, his grip warm and gentle as he interviewed his tattooed fingers with yours. He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles with a soft smile.

You let your thumb run over his fingers for a moment as Luna dashed ahead, her laughter ringing through the aisles as she discovered new toys.

That afternoon, you lounged comfortably on the couch at Noah’s house, your head gently resting on his shoulder, the light streaming through the windows and casting a warm glow across the living room. The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with the soft sound of crayons scratching against paper as Luna sat on the floor, completely engrossed in her drawings.

Suddenly, she looked up. “Daddy! Can we do a spa day? Like we did last time?”

Noah raised an eyebrow, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Right now?”

“Yeah! Please!” Luna insisted, bouncing on her knees.

“Okay, let’s do it.” Noah chuckled, clearly amused by the idea. Luna squealed with delight and dashed off to gather supplies. You exchanged an amused glance with Noah, who shook his head with a smile.

“What exactly does a spa day involve?” you asked, genuinely curious.

"I guess you are gonna find out soon."

Luna returned, triumphantly raising two tiny bottles of bright pink nail polish in her hands. “These!"

Noah let out a mock sigh but couldn’t hide his grin. “What can I do? It makes her happy.”

Luna turned her attention to you. “Will you help me, please?”

“Of course!” You moved closer to Noah, who extended his hands with a mix of amusement and reluctance, one to you and one to Luna.

As you took the nail polish, you carefully began applying it to Noah’s nails, trying not to burst out laughing. The warmth of his skin felt nice beneath your fingertips.

Luna watched intently, her face serious with concentration. “Make it pretty!” she said while working on the other hand.

You laughed softly as you painted his nails, the bright pink contrasting sharply with all the tattoos that sprawled across his skin. “You know, this really matches all your tattoos, you should definitely wear it more often,” you teased, unable to suppress a grin.

“Yeah?” he replied, glancing down at his hand. “Pretty stylish, huh?”

“Definitely!” you said, finishing up the second nail.

Luna couldn’t contain her excitement. “Your nails look so nice daddy!”

Noah chuckled, shaking his head again. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Luna leaned in closer, carefully holding Noah's to paint the next nail. You watched her concentrate, the way her little tongue poked out in concentration making you smile.

“Just wait until you have to explain this to the guys.”

“Joke's on you. Last time they told me I looked very pretty.” he laughed, the sound warm and genuine.

Luna looked up at her dad, her eyes shining with pride. “You are pretty, dad!” she exclaimed, her innocent honesty making both of you burst into laughter.

“Yeah, he is,” you chimed in, smiling at Noah, who looked slightly bashful under the compliment as a light shade of pink suddenly appeared on his cheeks.

“Alright,” he said, finally breaking into a full smile. “This is the best spa day ever.”

As Luna finished up the last nail, she stepped back to admire her work. “You look amazing!”

“Thanks to my talented nail artist and her not-so-bad assistant,” he replied, looking at both of you with genuine affection.

You watched as Luna returned to her drawings, sprawled out on the floor with her crayons, the colors filled the page as she drew what seemed like a little house.

Noah leaned back on the couch, a thoughtful expression crossing his face, before closing his eyes for a moment.

"You okay?"

“Yeah, its just... this morning really got to me,” he said quietly, opening his eyes and turning to you. “I hate how some people seems to think they have the right to invade our private lives.  Especially when it comes to Luna.”

You nodded, understanding what he was trying to explain.

“I want her to have a normal childhood," he continued, running a hand through his hair in frustration, "I don’t want her to grow up in front of a camera or have to deal with people dissecting her life just because I’m in the spotlight sometimes. I mean, look at what happened this morning. It’s like people forget that we’re just trying to live our lives. I'm not even famous enough for that.”

He paused, his gaze drifting back to Luna, who was completely absorbed in her art. “She deserves to be just a kid, to explore and create without anyone watching. I think about the fact that people can post pictures online—pictures of us together, and it drives me crazy knowing that anyone can comment on them, say whatever they want. It’s not just about me anymore; it’s about her, too. I don’t want to see her face plastered online for people to judge.”

You kept nodding, without interrupting him.

“What bothers me the most is how little respect there is for privacy. I don’t want her growing up with that kind of exposure. I want to control what parts of our lives get shared and what stays private. I want to be the one to decide when she’s ready for the world to see her, not some random person with a phone. And these are the same fucking people that go online saying that I can't be a good father because of my lifestyle and based on the few things they know about me. Or think to know.”

He took a deep breath, “And it’s not just about her now. I want to protect you too. Some people can be so cruel, and I don’t want you to be a target for their opinions. You’re part of our life now, and I want to make sure you’re safe."

He took a deep breath.

“Let it all out?” you asked gently after a moment of silence.

He chuckled softly, a hint of relief in his tone. “Kind of. It just builds up, you know?”

“Thank you for worrying about me, but I can handle it,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “You’re a good father, Noah. Don’t forget that. You’re doing everything you can to raise her well, and it shows. Luna is happy, and that’s what matters most.”

His expression softened. “I just want to protect her and give her a life where she can be herself, without all that noise. I want to make sure she grows up knowing she’s loved.”

“You’re already doing that,” you reassured him. “You’re present, you listen, and you create these moments for her. That’s what makes you a great dad.”

Noah smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing as he looked back at Luna, still lost in her drawings. “Thanks. I guess sometimes I just need a reminder.”

“Come here,” you said, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a gentle hug. As you held him close, you pressed a kiss to his temple.

"I love you." He whispered reasting his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you.

"I love you too."

In that moment, Luna looked up from her drawing. “Daddy! Look at my drawing!” She held it up proudly, revealing a house, some birds and trees.

“That’s so good!” Noah exclaimed, his earlier tension melting away as he talked to her. "We will add that to the others on the fridge."

She giggled, basking in his praise.

As Luna returned to her art, you and Noah exchanged a knowing glance.

"Everything's gonna be okay. It already is."

He just gave you a little smile.

Some hours later, you stepped out of Noah’s house, walking across the yard. You gave Noah one last kiss and waved at Luna as she clung to his leg on the porch. The soft hum of their voices faded behind you as you made your way to the car parked just outside his gate.

Just as you reached the driver’s side door and your hand was about to grip the handle, a voice called out, soft but firm, from across the street.

“Are you Noah’s girlfriend?”

You turned toward the sound of the voice, spotting an elderly woman standing in the garden of a modest house next door to Noah’s. She had delicate features—her skin a soft, pale olive tone, and her dark eyes were almond-shaped, sharp, and full of warmth. A few strands of silver hair escaped from the bun at the back of her head, and her cane, dark wood with a polished sheen, tapped lightly on the ground as she took a step forward. She wore a simple but cheerful floral dress, obviously faded with time, like she wore it often, but still vibrant.

"Yeah, I am," you replied with a polite smile, pausing for a moment.

The woman’s face brightened, and she took a few careful steps toward the sidewalk, her cane tapping gently against the pavement. Her voice was soft but full of affection. “Oh, I’m glad to finally see you. I don’t get out much anymore, but I’ve heard good things about you.” She paused, her gaze softening with a look of quiet pride. “Noah is such a good man. He deserves someone like you.”

You smiled warmly at her as she reached out a hand.

“I’m Mrs. Lin,” she introduced herself, her grip firm despite her age. You shook her hand.

“I’m his neighbor," Mrs. Lin continued, her voice gentle but steady. "Noah’s helped me a few times with things around the house—things I can’t quite manage anymore.” Her eyes glistened with affection as she looked toward Noah’s house. “He’s always been such a good boy. Always so kind to me. His friends too.”

You nodded, "Oh, I know."

There was a pause, and Mrs. Lin’s expression softened as she glanced back toward her own home. “Last time I saw little Luna, she was only two years old. I doubt she even remembers me. I’d love to see her again, if that’s possible.”

“Maybe one day we can stop by to say hi, I can ask Noah. I'm sure Luna would love to meet you again.”

Mrs. Lin’s face lit up at your words. “Oh, that would make my day! I’d really like that.”

“We’ll make it happen, then.”

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Lin said, her smile still wide. “Take care, and tell Noah I said thank you again for all his help.”

“I will,” you said with a nod, turning toward your car, looking at the lady disappearing behind the door of her house.

"Is this okay?" Noah asked, adjusting a vase of daisies on the counter, a proud smile on his face as he stepped back to admire the setup.

The next morning you were at the café again. A small sign reading “The Breakfast Nook turns three today” hung on the door.

You and Noah had spent the last hour decorating it with soft fairy lights draped from the ceiling, while fresh flowers in delicate mason jars were scattered across the tables. The scent of fresh-baked cookies wafted through the ai, free samples to entice customers and bring a little joy to their morning.

"It’s perfect," you replied, grinning as you took in the sight of the shop. The little details—a few candles flickering softly, the cheerful splash of flowers, and the freshly printed sign promising free cookies—had turned the space into something special. "I think we’re ready."

He flashed you a quick smile before leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead. "You did an amazing job," he said quietly, his voice soft but sincere.

Before you could thank him, the bell above the door chimed, and in walked your coworker Grace, her posture as rigid as ever. You knew she’d be a little skeptical about your morning plan, and you braced yourself for her usual comments.

"Well, well, well, look who’s gone all Pinterest on us," Grace remarked "You sure you’re not planning on opening a flower shop instead? ‘Cause I don’t see much ‘coffee’ going on here." She raised an eyebrow, a smug smile creeping onto her face.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, Noah leaned against the counter, cool and collected as usual but with a little smirk on his lips. "Good morning to you too, Grace."

Grace shot him a side-eye but said nothing, her lips quirking into a smirk as well. She wasn’t exactly fond of Noah, and it wasn’t a secret. Ever since you’d started spending more time with him, Grace had made it clear that she wasn’t a fan of your "rockstar boyfriend". But Noah didn’t seem to mind; if anything, he seemed to enjoy the playful back-and-forth.

"You two are like a walking rom-com," she said with a dramatic sigh, throwing her apron over her shoulder.

"Thanks, Grace," you said.

Just as you finished saying that, a young mom entered, two kids in tow, their eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of the cookies.

"Free cookies?" The little boy’s face broke into a wide grin, and his sister tugged on their mom’s sleeve.

"You got it," you said with a smile, handing them each a cookie from the counter. The kids eagerly tore into them, eyes wide with excitement.

Noah chuckled softly as he watched the kids, clearly amused by their enthusiasm as their mother asked for a coffee with double cream. "Guess the cookies are doing their job."

And then more customers filtered in, all taking advantage of the free treats, the shop’s atmosphere becoming warmer and busier by the minute. Behind the counter, you and Grace fell into a comfortable rhythm, as you kept chatting with Noah in front of you. The gentle hum of the café was the perfect backdrop to the easy conversation between the two of you.

Noah was eating one of your cookies when you grabbed a few of them off a tray and slid them into a small paper bag.

"Hey," you said, catching his attention as you held up the bag. "I made sure to save a few extras for Luna. I think she'll like these."

He glanced at it, his expression softening.

"I'm sure she will, thank you."

"No problem."

"I’ll make sure she gets them later. She’s been asking me when we can come by the café to see you again."

"Tell her to come soon then. I’ll save some fresh ones just for her."

Noah chuckled. "She'll love that for sure."

As the door kept chiming, the steady flow of people seemed to spill into the shop, drawn in by the combination of free cookies and the cozy charm of the space. You caught glimpses of families, couples, and people with books or laptops, all taking a seat and enjoying the welcoming ambiance.

It was simple but you loved it.

You were putting a glass on a shelf behind the counter when you glanced out of the front window, and everything stopped.

Outside, several trucks were pulling up, unloading large boxes and equipment. Workers scurried around, setting things up.

You stared at the scene, your chest tightening.

They were putting up a sign.

Jason’s Ink Studio.

A sharp breath hitched in your throat, the realization setting in. You didn't know what to expect, but seeing that name in the world again? It felt like the ground shifted under your feet.

Your ex was back.

The sign went up, clear as day.

Jason’s Ink Studio.

And as you stood there, the noise of the café faded around you, replaced by the pounding beat of your own heart in your ears.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @mathfairchild1 @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lma1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme

TBAF Tags: @aubrey-melinoe @klutzy-kay24 @mrscevans @concreteangel92 @iconic-taurus @niicoleleigh @cheyyyyr @supersquirrel1996 @respectfulrebel @alwaysfighforwhoyouare @clickmedead @missduffsblog

[hvbris]

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

"Thanks," she smiled, taking the blanket he was handing him. She used it, folded, as a makeshift pillow. It was definitely much more comfortable than the cell's cold, hard tiles.

Violet managed a sad chuckle. She could tell Theo was trying to make light of their terrible predicament and didn't want to dishearten him. "I don't think it did, but a fish with a hat sounds much nicer than the orderlies," she replied, attempting to joke back, but unsure if she was having much success.

His comment about his hallucinations did give her a moment of pause. Could she have hallucinated, too? Her fuzzy memory might mean she had been given medication. But the Hound... no. It was real... right?

She nodded. "We got very far, yes," she conceded. Violet didn't have the heart to despair Theo with the many flaws her father had pointed out. The truth was that their plan would have never worked. "But we paid quite the hefty price for it." She brushed the back of her neck. "Sorry I got you in all this trouble, Theo."

"The screams were real," she assured him, "we both heard 'em." That had to be proof that it wasn't a hallucination. "I saw the orderlies carryin' a body, wrapped in bedsheets. I think someone died, yes..." She shuddered.

He shifted himself to the end of his bed when he saw Mauve taking a seat in his doorway, folding up his blanket as he went so he could pass it to her to sit on, it would at least offer a buffer from the cold hard floor. She asked him what he remembered and he hesitated, more so when she asked about the day before.

"I think I was tied up for most of yesterday," he looked towards the ceiling he had become so used to seeing. "I think I was hallucinating too." He looked to the corner where he'd seen the black dog, brought on by Mauve's description of why she was so scared of corners, but he decided instead to comment, "unless a talking fish with a top hat came through yesterday?" He knew it couldn't have been the case but he was trying to make light of a very hard conversation and he was also doing his best to stall while he tried his best to remember the day before.

It seemed Mauve could see he was struggling and his eyes went a little wide as she explained, the pieces and shreds of memory falling into place to be quite clear again. He moved a hand to check his side where the orderly had jammed the shock baton into him and wince for the very sore bruise that greeted him. "I... can't believe we got that far." They had got all the way to the desk, "You even touched the papers," he remembered, a slight tremble to his voice for it all, for how very close he believed they had come to freedom. He had suffered no lectures as she had and so was still convinced their plan had been a good one.

"But the screams yesterday, they were real?" He double checked, not too sure what had been hallucination, dream or real from yesterday. "Did someone die?"

[novaursa]

Where Wolves Wonder (1/2)

- Summary: You and Jon were always close, but as the years went by and those feelings grew, your mother decided to put an end to it. 

- Paring: stark!reader/Jon Snow

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Next part: 2/2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The frosted breath of Winterfell’s courtyards felt sharp on your skin, yet you and Jon were unaffected as you shared quiet moments in the early mornings, wrapped in the whispers of the waking castle. As twins, you and Robb had always shared a close bond, but something about Jon’s presence grounded you in a way that felt… different. He was a mystery, dark-haired and solemn, so much unlike the rest of your family, and yet a steady presence, as constant as the winter snow itself.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Jon asked softly one morning, his voice barely audible as he leaned against the training yard wall. His eyes lingered on your face, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as you approached him. “Or did you come to see if I’d frozen solid?”

You gave a soft laugh, shaking your head. “If you froze, I’d think you more of a fool than I’d ever imagined, Jon Snow,” you teased, crossing your arms and mirroring his posture.

A faint chuckle escaped his lips, but there was something softer in his gaze—a look that lingered just a second too long, as if he were memorizing every detail of your face in the dim morning light. You felt a flutter, a warmth creeping into your cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. You had seen the way he looked at you before, the way his hand sometimes brushed yours just a second longer than necessary, and yet neither of you spoke about it.

“You spend so much time with him these days,” Catelyn said one evening, catching you by surprise in one of the dimly lit hallways of Winterfell. Her tone was light, but her gaze sharp. She studied you carefully, and you forced yourself to meet her gaze, though you felt a pang of guilt.

“He’s family,” you replied, hoping that the evenness in your voice would convince her.

“Is he?” she asked, her tone a touch more pointed. “He’s your father’s son, yes, but…” Her voice trailed off, eyes narrowing, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Just… be mindful. Some bonds are best left at friendship.” Her words lingered, heavy with something unspoken, but you nodded politely, her warning pricking at your heart.

As the weeks wore on, however, it grew harder to heed her caution. You and Jon found yourselves slipping into shared conversations, hushed whispers in the darkened corners of the halls, or quiet moments near the Godswood. One evening, after a long day, you found yourself sitting beside him on a stone bench by the weirwood tree, your shoulders almost touching.

“Y/N,” Jon said, his voice a quiet murmur, “Do you ever wonder… what it might be like, if things were different?” He didn’t meet your gaze, his eyes fixed ahead, but you could see the tension in his face, a wariness that he couldn’t quite mask.

“Different…?” you asked, though your heart already knew where he was leading.

“If… if I were truly one of you,” he said, his tone hesitant. “If there wasn’t… this distance between us.”

You placed a hand on his, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steadiness of his presence. “You are one of us, Jon. And to me, that’s all that matters,” you whispered.

The softness of your words hung in the air, your hand lingering in his, and Jon’s gaze softened, his expression vulnerable in a way you’d rarely seen.

But this moment was not yours alone.

Behind you, unbeknownst to either of you, stood your mother. Catelyn’s gaze was fixed on you both, her expression unreadable, yet her hands were clenched tightly, her knuckles white.

It wasn’t long before she confronted you, her voice tight with worry and unyielding resolve. “You will not spend any more time with Jon. You’re not to meet him in secret corners or dark hallways. Is that clear?”

You stared at her, heart pounding in your chest. “Mother, he’s my brother—”

“He is not your brother,” she said firmly. “There is a line, Y/N, one that you must not cross. He… he doesn’t belong as we do, no matter how much your father thinks otherwise.”

Your heart sank, anger flashing in your eyes. “How can you be so cold? Jon’s always been part of this family.”

Catelyn’s expression didn’t soften; instead, it seemed to harden. “I’m protecting you,” she said, voice laced with a hint of regret, though she pressed on. “One day, you’ll understand why.”

You turned on your heel, storming away, her words weighing heavily on you. But as the days passed, your mother’s warning settled into an insurmountable barrier, each glance shared with Jon feeling edged with longing and hesitation. Yet the ache in your chest never seemed to lessen.

Jon’s gaze found yours often in those fleeting moments across the halls, his silent question lingering between you both: What could have been, if only things were different?

The clank of steel and laughter echoed through the training yard of Winterfell. Robb’s hearty laugh boomed as he caught Theon’s playful shove, and even Jon managed a faint smile, though it was fleeting. Ever since Catelyn’s orders to keep you away, he had grown quieter, his gaze darker, lost in thoughts that weighed heavily on his heart.

“Gods, Jon, you look as if someone died,” Theon joked, leaning his practice sword against his shoulder. He gave Jon a once-over, his smirk widening as he took in Jon’s expression. “Or have you just realized that brooding doesn’t make you look half as mysterious as you think?”

Jon shot Theon a warning look, but the Greyjoy only laughed, unfazed. Robb, however, glanced between them, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the anxiety coming to light on Jon’s face.

“Leave him be, Theon,” Robb said, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice too. “Maybe he’s got a ghost haunting him.” He threw a look at Jon, his grin softer. “Or maybe he’s finally realized how much work it takes to keep up with me.”

Theon snorted. “More like he’s mourning the loss of a certain shadow that used to follow him around.” His tone was casual, but his words hit close to the mark. “Funny, though, I haven’t seen her lurking around you lately, Jon. Did she finally realize she’s wasting her time?”

Jon’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening as he looked down, unwilling to let Theon see the flash of pain in his eyes. Your absence weighed on him like a chain around his neck, each day feeling colder without your warm, steady presence. He missed the quiet conversations in the Godswood, the way your laughter softened the edges of Winterfell’s grey stone. But Theon would never understand that—he’d never understand how every second away from you felt like a punishment he didn’t know how to bear.

Seeing Jon’s expression, Robb’s smile faded. He placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder, squeezing it. “Come on, Jon. Ignore him. You know Theon loves to rile people up.”

Jon forced a small smile, nodding, but he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.

“Ah, don’t take it so seriously,” Theon added, still grinning but with a slight softness in his tone as he noticed the effect his words had on Jon. “Just a bit of jest, you know. It’s not as if she’s left Winterfell.”

Robb shot Theon a warning glare, but Jon cut him off. “She might as well have,” he muttered, his voice so low they almost missed it. There was a rawness in his tone, a crack that neither Robb nor Theon had heard before.

Theon raised an eyebrow, finally catching on to just how deep Jon’s feelings ran. He let out a low whistle. “Gods, you really do have it bad, don’t you?” He crossed his arms, studying Jon with newfound curiosity. “I always thought you were just fond of her, but this… You look as if she’s been sent off to the Wall.”

Robb shot him a warning look. “Theon, leave it,” he said, his voice firmer now.

But Jon didn’t seem to hear either of them. He took a shaky breath, finally meeting Robb’s gaze. “I… I know what it must look like, Robb. And I know she’s your sister. But… it’s like she’s the only thing that makes sense here, the only person who looks at me like… like I belong.” His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “And now… I don’t know what to do without her.”

The words spilled out before he could stop himself, and he immediately regretted them, looking down as if the ground might swallow him up. He hadn’t meant to admit it, to say aloud the longing that had been festering inside him.

Robb’s expression softened, a glimmer of understanding crossing his face. He placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder, giving it a firm, reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone, Jon. No matter what my mother thinks. I’ll talk to her.”

Jon shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. “She won’t listen, Robb. Your mother… she’s right, in a way. I don’t have the same claim, not like you. I’m just… just a Snow.”

Robb shook his head, undeterred. “To hell with names and claims. You’re my brother, Jon. Nothing can change that.”

Theon, watching the exchange, sighed and rolled his eyes, though there was a faint smirk on his lips. “If you two are done with your heartfelt confessions, there’s still a swordfight to finish here. And if Jon’s too busy sighing over lost loves, then I’ll gladly take the win.”

Jon’s hand went to his sword, gripping it tighter, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he looked up at Theon. “You’d have to earn it first, Greyjoy.”

And for a moment, the heaviness in his chest lightened as he lunged forward, a hint of his old spark returning. But even as he clashed with Theon, the ache of your absence remained, a shadow in his heart he couldn’t shake.

Arya sat beside you, fidgeting with her needle and thread, a perpetual look of boredom on her face, while Sansa, across the table, was meticulously working on her embroidery, lips pressed in a prim line of concentration. The gentle murmur of fabric against fingers and the faint pricking of needles filled the air as you all sat in an attempt at focused silence.

But your thoughts were far from the fabric in your lap. No matter how much you tried to focus on the delicate stitch pattern, your mind kept slipping back to Jon. The look in his eyes when he’d seen you last lingered in your mind, the quiet sadness that he tried so hard to hide, masked behind his usual stoicism. Every stitch you tried to sew seemed to weave his name into the fabric, and you let out a soft sigh, pulling your needle free after yet another botched attempt.

“You’re making a mess of that,” Arya muttered, noticing the snarl of threads as you tried to unknot your embroidery.

You gave her a small, exasperated smile. “You’re one to talk,” you teased, nodding toward her own uneven stitches, which were scattered across the fabric with little care for pattern or design.

Arya grinned, undeterred. “At least I don’t pretend to like it,” she said, casting a sideways glance at Sansa, who pursed her lips.

Sansa looked up from her perfect row of flowers with a slightly disapproving frown. “It’s a lady’s duty to learn needlework,” she said primly. “Besides, it’s better than… whatever it is you’re doing.”

Arya made a face, scrunching her nose. “I’d rather be sword fighting with Bran than doing this.”

Sansa’s expression softened a little as she turned to you. “You’re distracted today,” she observed, her tone less judgmental than Arya’s but still laced with curiosity. “You’ve been sighing at that fabric since we started. Is something on your mind?”

You bit your lip, hesitating. “It’s… nothing,” you said quietly, though your voice betrayed you, sounding uncertain. But both of your sisters were watching you now, their expressions expectant, and you felt compelled to offer them something. “It’s just… strange, I suppose, how things change without you even noticing.”

Arya frowned. “What things?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“Family,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “Sometimes, it feels like no matter how close we are… there’s still a wall between us.”

Arya looked puzzled, her head tilted in thought. Sansa, however, seemed to understand, her gaze growing softer. “You mean Jon,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

You stiffened slightly, glancing down at your embroidery. “Mother has asked me not to spend time with him,” you admitted, forcing yourself to keep the tremble out of your voice. “She says… that it’s best for everyone.”

Arya’s face hardened. “That’s not fair,” she said bluntly, scowling at the thought. “Jon’s as much family as the rest of us.”

You managed a sad smile. “Yes, but Mother… sees things differently. She thinks it’s better to… to keep us separate. She believes it will only lead to trouble.”

Sansa’s expression softened with sympathy. “I know she can be… strict,” she said gently, choosing her words with care. “But I think she’s only trying to protect you. It may not seem fair, but she’s thinking of what’s best, I suppose.”

Arya rolled her eyes, clearly less concerned with your mother’s intentions. “Well, it’s still stupid,” she said firmly. “You and Jon have always been close. I don’t see why that should change just because Mother has some silly ideas about what’s proper.”

A smile tugged at your lips despite the ache in your heart. Arya’s loyalty was unwavering, a constant source of warmth. “Thank you, Arya,” you murmured, appreciating her blunt honesty. “But I have to listen to her. For now, at least.”

Sansa, watching you carefully, reached across the table and took your hand, her grip gentle yet reassuring. “If it helps, you know we’re here for you,” she said softly. “Even if Jon can’t be as close… we’re still your family, and that won’t change.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand in return. “I know. I just… miss him,” you whispered. “More than I thought I would.”

Sansa’s hand slipped back to her sewing, her gaze thoughtful as she looked down at the floral patterns she’d been carefully stitching. “Maybe one day, Mother will see things differently. Perhaps she’ll understand that Jon’s part of us, too.”

Arya’s voice broke in, her tone defiant. “And if she doesn’t, then who cares? Jon is still here, isn’t he? He’s still family, no matter what anyone says.”

You smiled at Arya’s fierce protectiveness, her determination to see things in simple terms. For a moment, your heart felt lighter, as if the weight of your mother’s judgment could be softened by the loyalty of your sisters.

As the afternoon sunlight faded into golden hues, you knew you had to find a way to reconcile the longing in your heart with the boundaries set around you. But with Sansa and Arya by your side, you felt just a little less alone.

The castle was alive with a rare buzz, a tension that pulsed through the stone walls of Winterfell like a storm on the brink of breaking. King Robert Baratheon and his family had arrived that morning, and the atmosphere had shifted in a way you’d never experienced. Servants bustled, the smell of roasting meats hung in the air, and everywhere you looked, there were flashes of gold, crimson, and banners snapping in the cold Northern wind.

In the chaos of the royal visit, you managed to slip away from the eyes of your mother, of Sansa, and even of Arya, who had taken to hiding from the stern Septa who was assigned to “improve her manners.” You found Jon exactly where you expected: near the Godswood, watching the activity of Winterfell unfold from a distance, the cool detachment in his eyes like a protective shield.

“Jon,” you called softly, stepping forward, but he didn’t need to turn. You could tell he knew you were there from the softening of his shoulders, the way his stance shifted.

“Y/N,” he murmured in greeting, and there was a flicker of warmth in his gaze as he looked at you, a brief break in his guarded expression. Ghost, his silent white shadow, stood at his side, watching you with those intense, red eyes. Your own direwolf, Shadow, stepped up beside you, her dark coat blending into the shaded trees, her amber eyes fixed on her brother.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, standing in the pocket of silence that the Godswood offered, a calm oasis in the midst of all the chaos.

“Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” Jon remarked, nodding in the direction of the castle, where banners and torches flared in the brisk wind.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “It’s exhausting, is what it is. I feel like I’m in a cage. But at least here…” You glanced around, your gaze finally settling back on him. “It’s quieter.”

Jon’s expression softened, though there was a shadow in his eyes. “A cage,” he echoed. “I suppose I know that feeling too.”

It was then that you remembered the whispers you’d heard in the halls, the snatches of conversation that mentioned Jon and the future he’d chosen. The words had tugged at your heart, but you hadn’t had a moment to ask him if they were true. Now, as you stood before him, the question pressed on your tongue like a weight you could no longer hold.

“Jon,” you began, your voice low, almost hesitant. “Is it true? That you’re… planning to join the Night’s Watch?”

He looked at you, surprise flickering across his face before he glanced away, nodding slowly. “Yes,” he admitted, his tone resigned but steady. “I’ve spoken to Uncle Benjen about it. He says there’s a place for me there, and…” He paused, searching for the words. “It feels like the right choice. Like it’s where I belong.”

You swallowed, a pang of sadness tightening in your chest. “The right choice? Jon, you don’t have to do this.” You stepped closer, your hand brushing against his. “You belong here. You belong with us… with me.”

He looked down, his face unreadable, though his jaw tightened. “Here?” he echoed, his voice laced with bitterness. “What am I here, Y/N? A reminder of what shouldn’t be, a ghost that haunts your mother’s halls.” He shook his head, the muscles in his face taut. “Out there, with the Night’s Watch, I could be someone, serve a purpose. I’d have a place, even if it’s at the edge of the world.”

“But you already have a place,” you insisted, your voice thick with emotion. “With us—with me. I don’t want you to go.”

For a heartbeat, he looked at you, raw and vulnerable, his gaze filled with a pain you recognized but had never truly understood. “Y/N,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t stay here, not when I’m… so close to you, yet so far.”

Just as the silence between you grew heavy, Ghost and Shadow, sensing the change, exchanged a look before darting into the woods. Startled, you glanced after them, their forms blurring into the shadows of the trees.

“Ghost!” Jon called, his voice cutting through the stillness, but his direwolf paid him no mind, disappearing deeper into the trees with Shadow following closely.

Without a second thought, you both broke into a run, slipping between the trunks and branches as you chased the wolves. The air grew cooler as you moved further from the warmth of Winterfell, the sounds of the castle fading behind you. You finally caught up to them in a small clearing, where they had stopped, sniffing at something half-buried in the grass—a fallen bird, probably knocked from a tree by the wind.

Breathless, you stood beside Jon, a faint laugh escaping your lips at the sight of the two wolves nosing at the bird as if deciding whether it was worth their time.

“They’re quite the pair, aren’t they?” you said, glancing at Jon, your smile fading as you caught the lingering sadness in his eyes. He hadn’t stopped looking at you since you’d left the Godswood, and there was something between you, thick and unspoken, that words couldn’t seem to touch.

He took a step closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the chill of the forest. “Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low. “You’ve always been the one thing that made staying here bearable. I… I don’t want to leave you, but…” He hesitated, struggling to find the words. “But I don’t know if I can be what I’m supposed to be here.”

You placed a hand on his arm, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath the wool and leather. “And what are you supposed to be, Jon? Some… stranger sent to the Wall? You’re more than that. I see more in you than any title or duty.”

He closed his eyes, the conflict clear in the way he clenched his jaw, his fingers curling around your hand where it rested on his arm. “I wish things were different. I wish… I wish I could stay. But every time I see your mother’s eyes, I’m reminded that I don’t belong here.”

The distance you’d both run from Winterfell had made the world feel smaller, the space between you shrinking as he finally turned to you fully, his eyes holding a quiet despair mixed with longing. He was close, so close that you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his breaths mingling with yours in the cold air.

“Maybe one day, I’ll come back,” he said softly, his voice barely a murmur as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “But I need to do this, for me. You understand that, don’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding, though your heart felt as if it were breaking. “I understand, Jon. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop missing you.”

His gaze softened, a hint of a sad smile flickering on his lips. “I’ll miss you too, Y/N. More than you’ll ever know.”

For a fleeting moment, you were both suspended in the silent woods, lost in the ache of what could never be spoken aloud. You felt his hand linger on yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you in a way that made letting go feel impossible.

Then, as if sensing the silent goodbye, Ghost and Shadow returned to your sides, each wolf nudging against their human. You shared one last look, an understanding passing between you that held all the words you couldn’t say.

And then, without another word, you turned and made your way back to Winterfell, side by side but feeling worlds apart.

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 25

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: it's time for a training montage! minor injury, guns briefly mentioned

wc: 2.1k

Chapter Selection

“I can’t believe we’re doing this…” Jason grumbled softly, starting his bike.

“I told you; you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. Bruce said he'd send a car for me.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, gently squeezing.

“Absolutely not. If you’re joining Thursday training sessions, I’m going with you.” We flew down the street, Jason’s voice continuing in the speaker in my helmet; “I just don’t understand why you want to do this at all…”

“Training with more people will give me a more well-rounded experience. And while you are a very good teacher, you’re also my boyfriend. Somehow I feel like Bruce will be a harsher critic of my abilities.”

“And that’s a good thing??” He took a sharp turn toward the wealthy side of town.

“When we’re talking about possible life and death situations, yes. And I don’t really want you to have to be harsh with me, so why don’t we make that Bruce’s responsibility, since that relationship is already tense anyway?”

Jason sighed softly, gently squeezing my hands. “... I guess. … He can be a … tough teacher though. If he’s too hard on you, you don’t have to take it.”

“I know, baby. And he knows I’m not looking to be added to the patrol schedule, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Jason grumbled more, but continued driving to Wayne Manor. We parked in a large garage, and he led me to an elevator. After pressing several buttons we were headed down to the Batcave, where the entire Wayne family met us.

Damian spied us first, walking over. “Sister?”

“Hey kiddo! You gonna help train me?” I grinned, holding my hand out to him. He hesitantly squeezed my hand once, dropping it quickly.

“... I thought Father was attempting to make a joke when he said you were joining our training sessions…” he frowned deeply.

“Nope, no joke. … Is that a problem?” I raised an eyebrow.

“... I suppose not. … You will spar with me.” He gestured for me to follow him toward some mats.

Jason cried after us; “hey! Be gentle, demon brat. She's still new to this stuff.”

“I am not a fool, Todd. I am not expecting her to be a black belt.” Damian nodded; “stretches first.”

I took a seat and pulled my shoes off before stepping onto the mat, doing our usual pre-workout stretches. Eventually Bruce came over, watching us with vague interest on his face. “Alright, let's see what we have to work with.”

I nodded, and Damian and I put on some padding. We bowed to each other, and began. He started out slowly, letting me get in the flow of things. The others watched, periodically calling out instructions and encouragements. After a while I caught a glimpse of Jason in the corner of my eye, chewing on his lip, and Damian took that moment to sweep my leg out from under me.

“Oof!” I grunted softly as I landed on my back, blinking a bit.

“Don't get distracted. Your opponent will use that moment to their advantage.”

I nodded, accepting Damian's offered hand to get back up. “Go again?”

He nodded, and we went again, and again, and again. Every time, I ended up on my back, and he had another note for me. “Don't watch my face, watch my shoulders.” “If you aren't willing to hurt me, you will never win.” “Follow through, or none of this will matter.” “Focus on your footing; you're off balance.” “Breath with your attacks.”

Eventually, Jason stepped forward. “That's enough, take five.”

I nodded, letting him help me up, and bowed to Damian again. “Thanks for training me, Damian.”

He nodded, smiling a little, and bowed back. “You're not entirely hopeless, considering you're a civilian. If you take this seriously, you'll be a proper martial artist in no time.”

I grinned, nodding, and Jason led me to the side, getting me some water. “How do you feel?”

“I feel fine, baby! Damian is an excellent sparring partner.”

He frowned a bit, massaging my shoulders. “I dunno, some of those throws were unnecessarily rough…”

“Jace, do you think the next mugger I run into is going to be more gentle with me than that?”

He sighed, kissing my neck. “... No. … I just don't like watching you get knocked around.”

“I know, you're so protective of me~ it's sweet, but we gotta power through this part so I can get good.”

He sighed, holding me close. We watched the others pair up for more intensive sparring practices, and Bruce came over. “You did well out there. I want you to work on your balance for a while, Jason can walk you through that. And you should do at least an hour a day of simple exercises; stretching, strength training, and balance training.”

I nodded. “Got it. Thanks Bruce…”

He nodded, pointing out the equipment he recommended I use today, and went back to observing the others. Jason eventually led me over to the equipment, and we started working on my balance.

After weeks of gym days with Jason and BatFam training sessions, I really expected to see myself slimming down a bit. But when I looked in the mirror, I was still soft and curvy. My arm and leg muscles were more pronounced, and I was certain my core muscles were getting stronger too, but my tummy was still round and squishy. It didn't bother me, and Jason seemed rather pleased to not be losing my softness; he tended to nuzzle against my chest and stomach at night, like a big cuddly teddy bear.

Seeing my training progress wasn't making him any less protective either; every time I stepped onto the mat with one of his siblings I could hear him growling at them. It didn't deter Damian, or the girls, but Dick and Tim were particularly hesitant to give me a proper training session. They mostly stuck to helping me with warm ups, and shouting suggestions from the sidelines.

All of the bats were master martial artists, but each had their own preferred fighting styles. Damian taught me to fake out my opponent, and had a proclivity for taking out the leg. Stephanie preferred to mix up her fighting style, keeping her opponents off guard. Cass taught me to anticipate an opponent's moves, watching for the slightest movements that might tell me how to take them down. When Dick and I sparred, he mostly stuck to the basics, not wanting to risk injuring me in front of Jason. Tim mostly helped me work on my blocks and defensive strategy. Bruce stuck to observing and instructing, never actually entering the ring with me. And with the lot of them training me in various martial arts, Jason turned our gym days into gym-and-range days; we would do some stretches and basic core-building, and then we went to the shooting range to work on my aim.

One day before training, Damian had me kneel. Once I was on my knees, he held out a yellow sash with little black bats on it, saying something in a language I didn't know.

I took it, smiling softly; “what's this?”

“Your yellow bat-belt. You've leveled up in your training. Put it on.”

I grinned, nodding, and tied it around my waist; “yes, Sensei.”

Damian smiled at that, nodding once. Once he was happy with how the belt was tied, he led me to the mats for our sparring session. Tim snorted softly, watching from the side.

“What's with the belt? You know the mish-mash of martial arts she's learning wouldn't count at a proper school, right?”

Damian glowered at him; “she has leveled up in the School of the Bat. That is what matters here.”

“Well how come the rest of us don't get bat-belts then?” Tim smirked a bit; “you gotta make them for everyone, Damian!”

“You would not like a physical indicator of what level I deem you to be at, Drake.” Damian smirked at his indignant noises, and turned to me. We bowed and started our sparring session.

In our fourth spar of the day, I landed my first ever hit. One second Damian was in front of me, fists up, and the next he was sprawled out on the floor in front of me, looking up at me in shock.

“Oh my god, Damian! Are you ok??” I fell to my knees next to him as he sat up slowly.

“... I'm fine. … Well done, sister.” He smirked a bit; “now do it again.”

I could hear the smirk in Jason's voice as he called out; “way to go, babe! Kick the demon brat's ass!”

“Language.” Bruce frowned at him, and I helped Damian up.

“Sorry, B. Let's try that again,” he cleared his throat, putting on the most happy-go-lucky voice he could manage; “holy guacamole, bat-babe! Gee golly, can ya do it again, pretty girl?” 

Dick wrinkled his nose, groaning softly. “Dear god, I forgot you used to talk like that. Never do that again.”

“Agreed.” I laughed softly, sticking my tongue out at him; “that was horrible!”

He chuckled, winking at me. Damian frowned, snapping at us; “Enough! No flirting during training! Sister, let's go again.”

My head was ringing. Hands grabbed me, and I was carefully brought into a seated position. I blinked slowly, touching the back of my head gently. No blood. That was good…

“-idn't mean to! Fuck!”

“Well you did! So back off, Grayson!” Damian spoke sharply next to me. His small hands held the sides of my face, making me look at him; “... No dilation, that's good.”

I blinked slowly, frowning. “Wha- … what happened?”

Jason held me against his chest, frowning deeply. “You don't remember, baby?”

I started to shake my head, but the pounding in my head put a stop to that. “Ohhh fuck … ow…”

“Shit …” Dick whined softly from somewhere behind Damian. “Shit, I … I'm so sorry! I swear, I didn't mean to!”

“Dick, just shut up.” Jason growled, holding me closer. He carefully lifted me, holding me against his chest as he carried me toward a long bench.

“She's probably got a concussion. Don't let her sleep.” Tim frowned, bringing an ice pack.

Jason took it, carefully pressing it to my head. “Yeah, no shit…”

“What happened?”

“Dick threw you off the mat.” Jason growled softly, holding me close. “You're done for the day. Time to rest.”

“Ugh… ok. … Rest sounds good…” I frowned, closing my eyes.

Dick hesitantly mumbled my name; “I'm so sorry!”

“It's all good, Dick. I'm not dying.” I groaned softly, leaning against Jason.

Jay growled softly. “It's not all good. I told you to be careful. I told you not to hurt her!”

I shushed him softly, leaning in more. “No yelling…”

He sighed softly, kissing my forehead. “Sorry, baby girl…”

Bruce checked my eyes, frowning a bit. “... Nothing else she can do today. Take her home, have her take a few days off.”

Jay grunted his agreement and the next thing I knew, I was in his arms again, being carried to the elevator. Damian ran after us, bringing my bag along. I smiled softly, reaching down to stroke his hair. “Thanks, kiddo…”

He leaned in to my touch for a second before pulling back; “I'll come over tomorrow after school to check on you.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Damian.” He smiled a little at that, setting my bag in the car. Jason got me situated, making sure I was buckled, before getting in and driving me home.

“Fucking Dick…” he grumbled softly.

“Relax, baby. It's just a minor concussion. I'll be fine tomorrow.” I smiled softly, watching the scenery.

“Should never have happened…’’

“It was an accident, they happen. Don't be too harsh with him.” 

He sighed, resting a hand on my knee. “... This ok?”

I smiled softly and nodded, turning toward him; “Yeah, that's ok.”

He smiled a little and gently stroked my knee with his thumb; “when we get in, you're gonna rest on the couch. I'll get you some water, and aspirin, and I'll make something light for dinner.”

“Ok. Thanks, Jay~” I sighed softly, closing my eyes for a second.

“Don't sleep, now. You gotta stay awake for a while.”

“Ok, I'll stay awake.” I slowly opened my eyes, blinking a bit. “... So bright though…”

Jason pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his center console and passed them to me. I grinned, kissing his hand, and put them on. “Much better. … Takin' such good care'a me…”

He chuckled softly. “Anything you need, doll. Always.”

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Taglist (open):

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona @mystic60 @iwannabealocalcryptid @morstuavitamea-a @frosty--giants @arisa191 @prized-jules @phoenix666stuff @dinonuggysandhuggus @anuttellaa @whore-of-many-hot-men @cottage-worm @v1ckycheesue @roastyyytoastyyy @sarakmec @thestarcatcher7297 @stupidlyunhinged

[opiopal]

You guys wanna know a silly silly idea of Luci and mc talking I think abt often? Ofc you do,

(THIS IS A PLATONIC READ!!) (mc uses the word “love” though not in a romantic sense, also GN mc as always, any “she” and “he” used is in relation to luci and Lilith, NOT mc,)

I can’t help but imagine mc struggling with being related to Lilith, they can’t really help it. After belphie had… you know. And the truth came out, it just felt like everyone cared so much more all of a sudden. sure they all cared about mc before, but they feel like being related to her is the only reason they were missed so much..

so here they are, standing Infront of a portrait of her. she seemed so.. familiar. Maybe it was something about her jaw- or maybe her nose? Or the way her eyes seemed to be rested shut in a calm wise smile.. in their chest they know it’s probably because they see themselves in her. Or.. see her in themself. It’s odd to see her with similar features as mc’s own mother/father, sure liliths genes most likely had been watered down over all the years, but a small part of her seemed to still stand out. mc tugs at the bottom of their night shirt. They couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to bother anyone. So they found themself here, staring and wondering. They’ve come here more often as of late, and it’s really not doing well for their self imagine. Would things have been different if they weren’t related to her? Would the brothers have even given a second thought to mc after they left? Even though they know these thoughts are ridiculous, they can’t help but think about it.

eventually the sound of footsteps ring through their ears, a familiar heel clicking as the eldest approaches. They hear his footsteps pause as he notices them, they don’t bother turning their head to address him, secretly hoping he’ll just continue walking. though of course, he doesn’t. his footsteps grow louder and closer until he is standing right next to them, staring at their face for a moment before looking at the portrait as well. and it stays like that for a while, the two just silently standing together and staring at the painting. Eventually mc just can’t bite their tongue, and speaks up a bit involuntarily.

“would you have still loved me if you never knew?”

they bite their bottom lip almost the moment it leaves their mouth, regret and anxiety immediately makes their chest feel heavy and cold. They hardly even have to glance over to see his shocked expression, before it softens slightly.

“what?”

“I-i mean….”

they take a deep breath. Might as well get it over now..

“… would you guys have still cared if I wasn’t related to Lilith?”

they stare at the painting, waiting for him to speak, though the shock from mc asking such a thing is shutting him up. So they continue,

“sometimes.. when you look at me, it feels like you aren’t look at me like I’m.. well me… it feels like you’re looking at someone else. whenever I hear anything about her, it’s always so much good, about how amazing and kind and sweet she was. But I don’t know her. I’ve only ever seen her once and that was when I died. And then everyone including myself learned I was related to her, and it suddenly felt like everyone immediately cared a lot more about me.”

without thinking much of it they just keep talking, part of them wants to shut up but they just can’t.

“I’m my own person, I know I am. I’ve spent my whole life figuring myself out, struggling and fighting to be a good person, going through school, going through my life. But, now it feels like every move I make is being silently compared. I just…”

they finally shut up before they find themselves going around in circles, though they feel a heavy tinge of regret.

“…I’m sorry..”

their voice comes out small and ashamed. finally the eldest is able to regain his words and inhales,

“yes.”

“what?”

“Of course we would still love you Mc, I would still love you. Even before we discovered it, I could tell my brothers began to care deeply about you, and part of myself felt frustrated that I could understand why. you are smart, and determined, and kind, and extremely lovable. And quite frankly, I couldn’t imagine what life would be like if you hadn’t wormed your way into our hearts. i miss my sister, we all miss her. But we accepted her death a long time ago. Though the grief still hangs heavy on us, we know that you aren’t her. That would be cruel to not just us, but you.”

he reaches an arm out, mc stares silently, finally turning their head to look at him as tears start to well up in their eyes. They lunge forwards and wraps their arms around him in a tight hug in which he reciprocates.

“You have nothing to be sorry about Mc, myself on the other hand..”

he inhales,

“I am sorry.”

[pieflavorpie]

My unpopular opinion is that i dont enjoy bards Lament. At all. It is objectively good, well performed with appropriate buildup. However, I am a child with an absentee father, and i have had similar thoughts to him before, and i used to have a friend that went down his path. I have seen and experienced every point of view. And what that was isnt justice. Its not calling people out, or making them realise how they have hurt him.

Its a very broken, depressed man who finally snaps and burns down the bridges with his friends. No, VM never asked for Scanlan's mum's name because that's not something they do. If you can list me 5 times where the team ask questions about peoples backstory [before Bards Lament] BEFORE it became relevant, then you have successfully proved me wrong. Anything revealed is either probed out of them as part of recon, or willfully offered as a piece of friendship.

[E.g: Keyleth talking about her aramente, Pike's history with Grog vs Percy's backstory being revealed after they get invited to dinner with the Briarwoods and Grog talking about his pack when its revealed his uncle has the vestige.]

And he never offered any of this information. There have been several times where VM have shown concern and actively asked how hes doing just for him to lie and shrug them off. They prank him while he was asleep because they think hes a fairly centred person who will enjoy an attempt to bring things back to normal and they were drunk.

And yes, they are mean to him sometimes, because they are a group of assholes. They never disguise themselves as anything else. Vax and Percy's friendship post-briarwoods for a good while is based in distrust and self loathing, respectively. Everyone has moments where they say mean shit to Grog [except Pike] because he cant understand it.

And the "without his songs hes just a guy" comment or however it was phrased was a tactical comment. Because he would be. He doesn't have any sort of weapon beyond Mythcarver which he refuses to use, and he doesn't have anything else he can use to support or fight. The same applies to Keyleth without her nature magic, it applies to Percy without his guns, it applies to Grog when people are out of range.

And no, I don't blame him for snapping when he woke up. I doubt taking a -4 to any rolls made would translate to a Happy Peachy character in-story. And all of his internalised misery finally coalesces in his tiredness. But what happens isn't good. It isn't progress. It is showing everyone a wound that has been tearing open over months, and then promptly storming out.

And his whole "I didn't want my daughter to see me like this." Isn't some Grand Show of how much he cares, it shows him as fucking selfish. My dad being weak is what drove him away, his insecurity stopping him from getting help from my family. That line of thinking is what makes him a sad, lonely man rotting in a flat after abandoning many families like my own.

That man in real life was strong, a brilliant teacher of martial arts. A true marvel to see and train with. He had a certain charisma to him, but he had his shortcomings. And when his partner got too close to them, he'd hold them tight to his chest and scurry away, only coming back for the drunk sex and eventually leaving entirely. Having enough distrust in his heart to claim any unwanted children to be illegitimate.

Now, Scanlan is nowhere near as bad as him, but there are similarities. And enough that I feel my word has weight when I say, if I were Kaylie, I would not want to travel with him. If he truly wanted to be closer to her and do good for her, he'd get better first. And to get better, you need people. Plural. You cannot depend on one person. And that person can absolutely not be your own fucking child. I'm not saying he should've stayed with vox machina, but he should've stayed with a group. A group of adults that could support him. And honestly I feel like so far from my watching of CR, his epilogue with kaylie is the most unrealistic character development possible. I know she's supposed to be rough and hardy, but I refuse to believe that girl would not be breaking under her father's bleeding desperation for validation. And I definitely refuse to believe that she could actually help him to the point he'd gladly leave her on another continent while he talked to the people he'd snapped at.

Anyway, fuck dickhead dads who don't get actual help. Especially fuck them when they start depending on their children for them to be a good person.

For those who do not know. Scanlan's departure from the party in the stream wasn't as... friendly. It was kind of an ugly break-up. It came from Sam wanting to do some unexpected twist with Scanlan's character and it led to a very emotional moment. That he did not feel validated, that he did not feel appreciated and that he was considered a joke by the group.

And it came down to one phrase from Scanlan to the group: "What is my mother's name?" and when nobody was able to answer the question. Scanlan left.

However, interesting little tid-bit that might help understand this change. which comes from one of the Q&A. which is no longer up because... uhm... a whole other Drama I am not here to explain.

And what Sam said in that Q&A is that there WAS one way in which Scanlan would have stayed.

And it was Pike. who wasn't there at the time (technically was as an NPC, but since Ashley wasn't there, it's the same thing), but which Sam said was the only person who could change his decision.

And what has Pike done the entire season? BE that person who supported Scanlan in his darkest moment, and who deflated the situation probably without meaning to. And so he is able to leave the party in much better terms.

A shame because the emotional rollercoaster that it involved will be missed, but hey, it's cool to see what Sam meant by saying Pike was the one person who could stop Scanlan walking out of the party like he did

[the-screams-of-the-damned]

Noises In The Night

Posting for the @6esiree writing contest, written for a whole work on wattpad. In this story, the reader is Alastor's assistant at the radio station and a close family friend. Alastor has agreed to help you clear out your father's cabin about a year after his mysterious murder.

Warnings: Alastor is kind of a perv, slight somnophilia, questionable intentions, innocent reader, mentions of murder, no real penetration (sorry)

Promises: obsessive Alastor, human Alastor, cunnilingus, fingering, hair pulling

"I'll sleep on the couch," Alastor declared as he took the empty bowl from in front of you.

"Are you sure? I don't mind," you protest. You stood, pushing in your chair.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I've slept on the couch before," he assures you. He places a large hand on your shoulder, smile glistening in the lamp light.

You nod. "Okay."

He moves over to the couch, digging through his bag to find his pajamas. Yours are at the top of your bag. A cream colored nightgown with lace at the top and around the hem. You'd never admit that you'd packed it just for Alastor to see.

"Would you like me to step outside while you change?" He offers.

It hadn't even occurred to you that you'd be changing in the same room with him. You were positively pink at the thought. You could feel your insides stir at the image of him watching you change. A purely sinful thought.

"No!" Too quick of a response, far too quick. "I mean - I don't mind being in the same room. Do you?" You never met his eyes. A sorry attempt to hide what was happening in your mind.

"I don't.

Alastor tried to be a gentleman. He really did. He turned to face away from you as he undid the buttons on his shirt, trying to think of anything but you. He just couldn't help himself. The image of you was too tempting. He praised anything listening that you were turned away when he looked over his shoulder. Oh, how perfect you looked. He bit the inside of his lip as your skirt slipped down your legs. With all the subtlety he could muster, he began to memorize the details of your rear and legs that were now exposed to him. He pulled his pajama shirt over his shoulders and was forced to look away to button it. As he unbuttoned his trousers, he cursed himself for being such a pervert.

Your body itself didn't excite him quite enough. No, his own thoughts had created the erection that tried desperately to spring free. The thought of you giving yourself to him was what did it. The image of you laying down on your back, legs open and welcoming for him. The ways he could please you. Would you let him? Would you let him know you in the most intimate ways? Would you do that for him? And if you knew about his more unconventional hobbies? Would you do it then? Would you let him stain your heavenly wings red with his sins?

He pulled his pajama bottoms up, quickly buttoning them. He turned just enough to see you. Had he turned a moment later, he would have missed the sight of your cotton nightgown falling over your features.

"Are you finished?" You asked, trying to calm your own racing heart. You didn't want to ask. You wanted to wheel around without warning and catch a glimpse of him half naked. Perhaps he would be flustered. Perfect skin dyed red by embarrassment at being caught. Perhaps he'd like it. Perhaps he'd laugh at how forward you were and take you right then and there.

"Yes, you can turn around," he answered. You shook yourself from your thoughts, ignoring the stickiness in your panties. You turned to him, seeing him sit down on the couch. "Are you ready for bed?"

You nod, sitting on the edge of the bed. He leans over, turning out the lamp on the coffee table. The room settles into darkness, and your eyes adjust to see his silhouette.

"Goodnight, Alastor."

"Goodnight, my dearest."

Alastor didn't sleep. In fact, he didn't even bother to take his glasses off. Instead, he listened to the rhythm of your breathing. He waited, eyes adjusting to the dark until it was almost like daylight to him. After maybe half an hour, he heard your breath slip into the slow and even rhythm of sleep.

He stood, walking over to your bed. He'd become skilled at sneaking around, holding himself so that his footsteps were nearly silent. He stared down at you, admiring the way the moonlight bounced off of your skin.

Slowly and cautiously, he reached out a hand. He let the pads of his fingers drag across your cheek, down to your lips. They were parted only a little. His fingers traced the outline of your jaw, neck, and collarbone. You were so trusting to sleep in the same room as him. So very trusting. Your trust went straight to his cock, sitting heavy against his leg. His hand moved almost on muscle memory from the center of your collar bone upwards. His palm was flat against the column of your throat, thumb, and fingers on either side.

He pulled his hand away, not trusting it to obey him. He placed it on your shoulder. The thin straps of your nightgown left it uncovered, and he was finally able to feel your skin under his fingers. He trailed his fingers down your side, keeping his hands over your blanket for fear of what they might do if he let them under. He stopped as he felt the soft tissue of your breast.

You stirred in your sleep, rolling onto your back and starting Alastor. In his shock, his stealth left abandoned him. His heel hit a creaky floorboard as he jumped to tear his hand away from you, and your eyes flew open.

He shook himself from his panic. You hadn't seen him touch you. He could play it off.

"Alastor?" You rubbed your eye and began to sit up.

"I'm sorry, dear. Did I wake you? I thought I heard a noise and came to investigate," he told you.

"Oh. I think I'm just a bit jumpy," you claimed. You looked up at him, face shrouded in shadow as the light hit his back. "Being out in the woods like this can be a bit scary."

He nods. "I understand."

You sat up fully, rubbing the skin on your arm. "Esspecially since, y'know, people have been going missing recently." It was then that Alastor sat down on the bed, allowing you to see the gentle yet unreadable expression on his face.

"I promise that you're very safe. I wouldn't let a single soul in the world lay a finger on you," he assures.

"Really? You'd protect me?" You leaned closer to him.

"Of course! I'd wrestle gators if it meant you were kept safe," he promises. Something deep in your chest wanted more than that. You weren't sure what. However, his words presented you an opportunity.

"Would you sleep with me? Just for tonight?" You gave him your best puppy dog eyes as you asked.

You heard him swallow before answering. Had you been too bold? "Would you feel safer that way?" You gave him an eager nod. There it was. That blind trust turned him ravenous. "Then, of course, I will."

You pull aside the blanket, wiggling closer to the wall. He slides in beside you, adjusting himself while his back is turned so that you can't feel his arousal. It's a bit of a tight squeeze, which provides an excellent excuse to burry your face in his neck. You feel a soft chuckle reverberate in his chest.

"Would you like to cuddle?" His voice is a whisper, met with a nod. He snakes an arm under you and around your back, bringing his hand to rest on your hip. You wrap your arms around his torso, smiling like a schoolgirl. The stiring in your gut returns, and you make a brash decision.

You lift your leg over his hip and relish the way his breath hitches. Your nightgown rides up towards your hips. He brings his hand to your leg, pulling you closer by the plush of your thigh. He couldn't stop himself from squeezing a little harder, making you wiggle in his hold. Then you felt it, the unmistakable hardness of a man's erection. It made your heart jump. Of course, you wouldn't have sex with him. You'd been resolute to save yourself for marriage. But no sex didn't mean no intimacy.

"Alastor." His body tensed at the sound of your voice.

"Yes, my dear?" His voice was breathy and deep.

"Have you ever done these sorts of things before?"

He let out a deep breath before answering. "Yes, I have. I suppose you haven't?" You shake your head against his neck. He leans away from you, bringing his hand from your thigh to your cheek. Your eyes meet his, only inches away from each other."We won't do anything you don't want or that you're not ready for, okay? We could stop here, and I would be just fine with that."

"Okay." You nodded and smiled as his hand wandered just below your jaw. You pushed forward just enough to brush your lips against his.

Alastor's fingers curled under your chin, pulling your face close to his again. He captured your lips properly this time. It started soft and gentle, pulling away for quick breaths as he tightened his fingers around your hip. His tongue pressed against your bottom lip, and you opened just enough for it to slip past your teeth and run along your own. His hand made its way to your hair, trying to close an imaginary distance. You let him explore your mouth, occasionally running your tongue along his and enjoying the taste.

You let your hand wander, running over the collar of his sleep shirt. Your fingers came to the top button, fiddling with it in an anxious manner. He finally pulled his mouth away from yours, using his thumb to catch the trail of saliva that connected your lips.

"Dearest -" his voice came between pants and was whispered for only your ears. "Tell me what you want," he commanded. "I'll provide, my dear. All you have to do is ask me." His hand came to grip yours, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. 

Your mind struggles to put words to your desires. You have to close your eyes to say it. "Will you take your shirt off, please?" It came out a bit too formal for the situation, but Alastor was more than happy to oblige.

"Good girl." He took his hands away from you, making you whine softly against your will. You scooted back and watched as he sat up, hands making quick work of the buttons. With each button, the front slipped open more, exposing his chest and stomach in slow succession. The pale light caught the contours of his torso perfectly. He was lean with only the slightest outline of muscles. He was unsurprisingly well groomed, light hair over his chest and trailing down to his undercarriage.

As his sleeves slipped past his elbows, you reached a hand towards his chest. "May I?" You looked up at him, trying not to be embarrassed by how pathetically whorish you must seem.

"Of course, my dear. Come here." He patted his lap. You adjusted yourselves, letting him rest his back against the headboard as you straddled his lap.

You steadied yourself with a hand against his chest, nearly melting at the sensation. His skin was soft and warm under your fingers. You could feel the rapid beating of his heart underneath. He said he'd give you anything. Would he let you take his heartbeat? Would he give his life to you if you asked? Would he give you someone else's?

Alastor placed his hands on your hips, squeezing hard on either side. He pulled you flush against him, pressing your forehead to his. "Do you want to go further?" His breath ghosted over your lips, making your own get caught for a moment.

You had to think. How far did you want to go? You hadn't thought this far ahead. "Could you lead?" The request came out more like a whimper.

"Yes, I can. But you must promise me that you'll stop me if it becomes too much," he explains.

"I promise." You lean back and hold out your pinky finger. He laughs a bit before linking his with it.

Alastor places his hands on either side of your face, pulling you into another kiss. This one is more aggressive. His tongue seems to force its way between your lips as he pushes you further into him.

You bring your hands around his back, running your fingers along his spine and muscles. His tongue rubs against the roof of your mouth, causing a tickling sensation. His hands are warm, slight calluses along his palms. He brought them to your shoulders and then down your sides. He stops one hand at your waist, allowing the other to head down to your upper thigh. He pushes you down onto his lap fully, allowing you to feel his hard cock against your growing heat. His hand slowly moves to the hem of your nightgown, fiddling with the delicate lace.

He moves his lips from yours, pressing them against your cheek as he whispers. "Can I remove this?" You give him a mod without thinking. "I need words, my dear."

"Yes, sir." You hadn't meant to call him 'sir', but it felt natural. And you couldn't miss the way his cock twitched when you said it.

He brought his fingers to either side of you, gently pulling it up and over your hips. You lift your arms to make it easier, shivering as the cool night air hits your bare skin. Alastor leans back, looking down over your body.

Now, Alastor was no stranger to the female body. Between his various partners and burlesque shows, he'd seen his fair share of half-naked women. He never understood the excitement around them. Until now. Before now, he'd sat in judgment and superiority over the men who whistled at dancers and shouted marriage proposals at the end of a performance. But if you were up on that stage, topless in front of the crowd, he would become one of the many crazed men throwing themselves at your feet.

"This isn't an art gallery," you teased. Your discomfort added a hint of venom to your words. "You can touch me."

He chuckled for a moment before pulling your face to his once again. His chest pressed flush to yours. The warmth was all enveloping, wrapping itself around you and settling into every crevice of your bodies.

"If I touch you, my dear," he whispers. "I may never be able to stop."

"Then don't."

Alastor's smile seemed to spread even further. He brought his hand to your stomach, feeling the soft skin below his fingers. His hand trailed upward quickly, coming to cup your breast. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your shoulder. He squeezed the flesh in his palm, and you arch your chest further into his grasp. His free hand found your hip, slipping his pinky finger beneath the hem of your underwear.

You brought your hand to his hair, gripping it. You pressed your face into the top of his head, taking in his scent. As he slid his hand under your underwear to grip your rear, the vague smells of sweat and leather were utterly intoxicating. When he squeezed the fat of your ass, you instinctively pulled on his dark curls. The noise he released was strangled yet dripping in pleasure. You gave another experimental tug, earning another groan.

On the third tug, he finally spoke. "You're doing this on purpose now, aren't you?" His voice was breathy and spoken into your neck.

"And you're enjoying it," you mused. He dug his nails into your ass, making you yelp a little.

"Tread carefully, Doll."

Alastor began to trail his lips downward, leaving kisses as he went down your collar bone. The tightness in your core was becoming unbearable as he began to kiss over your breast. He licked over your sensitive nipple, enjoying the hardness against his tongue.

His own arousal had become excruciating. He finally brought the hand that wasn't firmly planted on your ass down under the waistline of his pants. He didn't miss the heat radiating from your core as he passed it. He loved it. He loved knowing how you enjoyed his touch. He took his throbbing cock into his hand, giving it a gentle stroke. You pulled on his hair at the same time, eliciting the loudest moan yet.

With that, Alastor had enough. The only noises he'd heard from you so far were giggles and little gasps. He wanted to make you scream. He pulled his hand from the flesh of your ass, teasing one finger over your covered heat.

"May I?" He spoke into your chest, running his finger from your clothed entrance to your sensitive clit. He gave a dark chuckle when you nodded. "Use your words, dear."

You gave a dry swallow. "Yes, please."

His slender fingers slipped below your panties, squeezing your clit between his fingers. Such a familiar yet foreign feeling. Sure, you'd explored on your own. You were used to the feeling of your own fingers along your clit or on occasion inside of you. How could the same action feel so much better when Alastor did it? He swirled the sensitive bud, loving the way your slick coated his fingers. You pressed your hips further into his hand. His concentration began to fault as he tried to please both of you.

He grazed the tip of his finger over your entrance. You let out a long whine at the feeling, making Alastor smile against your skin. He circled around your core a few times, teasing you. He finally frees himself from his pajama bottoms, allowing his cock to spring up against his stomach. He leans back against the headboard, trying desperately to keep his breathing even. You couldn't help but take in the sight.

His eyes were closed behind foggy glasses. His chest rose and fell with his labored breaths. The skin over his neck and chest was shiny with sweat. The faintest hint of abs showed across his stomach. And there it was for you. You'd never gotten a good look at one before, and here it was for your viewing. Caramel color that matched his chest, darkening along the bulbous head. Was that a normal size? It seemed a bit too large to be normal. Strong, slender fingers curled around the base, spreading some clear liquid over the length. It looked strangely... appetizing.

"AH!" You practically screamed when Alastor dipped his finger tip inside of you for a moment, cutting off your thoughts. You had to brace yourself against his chest as he laughed. "No fair," you muttered, meeting his eyes.

"I beg to differ," he mused. He leaned forward, kissing you on the tip of your nose. You tilted your head up, puckering your lips for him to kiss. He didn't hesitate to force his tongue between your lips.

You trailed your fingers down his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his skin. He pressed his finger back into you, swallowing the moan that escaped you. You gripped his shoulder in an attempt to cope with the stretch. His fingers were longer than yours by quite a bit. So much deeper. You couldn't help but grind into his palm, gaining friction on your clit. He took the hint, using his thumb to circle it. Alastor pulled away from you, nesling into your shoulder.

"My dearest," he whispered. "I want to show you something." He pulled back to look you in the eyes.

"Okay." Your voice came out as a slight whimper.

He removed his hand from your core, resulting in a soft whimper. He put his hands on your waist, lifting you off of his lap. He crawled off the bed. You looked on in confusion as he fell to his knees by the edge.

"Sit over the edge, dear," Alastor instructed. You followed, of course. He placed your legs on either side of his head, smiling brightly. "Such a good girl." He massaged your thigh gently, kissing the skin.

He looped his fingers under your panties. He slowly pulled them down your legs, eyes never leaving your core.

"If it becomes too much, tell me." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. You nodded. He took his glasses from his face, placing them on the floor beside him. He then pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another. He trailed up the inside of your thigh until he was barely an inch from your heat.

You were vaguely familiar with the concept of cunnilingus, but you'd never expected it. You watched him rub your clit with two fingers. You used your arm to support you as you leaned back.

Alastor gave a kiss to your muff, taking a deep inhale of your scent. He then pressed his lips to your clit. He ran his tongue over it. You were so. Fucking. Delicious. He began to suck on the little bud as though his life depended on it. You let out a low moan of pleasure. He used his tongue to flick across it, enjoying the way your thighs began to squeeze his head.

His fingers grazed your leaking hole before pressing one digit inside. You moaned again, louder this time. You felt him grin against you. Your body clenched around his finger, sucking him in deeper. He licked just above your pussy, making your hips buck into his face. He began the thrust his finger in and out of you. You tossed your head back in pleasure.

A second finger pressed into you. You whined. He ran his thumb over your clit to balance the pain and pleasure. His breath tickled your sensitive skin. As his two fingers pushed in and out of you, he ran them across your inside walls. He reattached to your bud, suckling and licking over it with a renewed ferocity.

"AAAaa- Fuck!" Your body shot forward as his fingers found a soft spot inside of you. His grin seemed to double as you buried a hand in his hair. He pulled away from you, removing his fingers as well. You whined desperately.

He licked over your entrance before pushing his tongue into your dripping cunt. He brought his fingers to your clit, swirling in between them. His tongue seemed too long to be human. It curled inside of you, hitting that soft spot over and over. Between his fingers and tongue working you, it's hard to hold back each moan and gasp that came from you.

The cool breeze came over your skin, making Alastor's lingering saliva feel ice cold against your skin. You lifted your eyes to the window. It was open, curtains spread wide. Any passing animal or hunter would surely see you if they turned to look. As the realization washed over you, it caused an odd ripple of pleasure in your core.

You felt a familiar knot in your gut as Alastor pulled you closer. He dropped one of his hands to his own arousal, pumping like his life depended on it. The way your thighs squeezed him and your hips bucking into his mouth told him you were close. He couldn't have been more excited. You were the greatest meal he'd ever had, and now, he would make sure you finished.

With one final press to your sensitive spot, you let out a scream of pleasure that made your throat go raw. The sound made Alastor groan, and the taste of your cum filling his mouth was more than he could take. He didn't breathe for a moment as he came into his hand, lost in the ecstasy of finally, finally, knowing what his dearest tasted like.

[nocasdatsgay]

A Lesson in Heartbreak

2 of 3: Words are Painful Weapons

Rating: T | Word Count: 3983 | Pairing: Azris/Reader

Summary: Eris and Azriel made promises they didn’t keep. When you confront them about it, Eris says some things he instantly regrets. Now him and Azriel have to fix what they broke.

Neapolitan Bonds Masterlist| Read on A03| Part 1| Read Below

Warnings: Angst, Eris has a sharp tongue, alcohol, drunk!Eris

A/N: HI so… yeah… I am alive. Sorry this took so long. A second shout out to @daycourtofficial for inspiration with Azriel and his comments when he comes back.

Tagging: @myromanempiree @pit-and-the-pen @lilah-asteria @thisblogisaboutabook @hieragalbatorixdottir @mybestfriendmademe @paleidiot @div94 (if you are tagged by accident or want to be tagged in the future, let me know)

“There. A letter to Tarquin and a letter to her.” Eris sent them with a flick of his wrist. 

Azriel calmed enough to sit while Eris penned the letters. They needed you to come home so they could talk with you in person. Deep down, Eris was thoroughly embarrassed over the whole situation. Not only at himself but for you leaving to another court. He wondered if this was how Tamlin felt all those years ago, when Feyre ran off to the Night Court. Eris suddenly had empathy for him in retrospect. 

He slumped back in his chair and sighed. He needed a stiff drink. But he wanted to be sober if you came home. Azriel sat across from him, arms  crossed against his chest and brows furrowed like he did when he was deep in thought. His eyes were still rimmed in red from earlier. The Shadows were nowhere in sight. 

“What?” Eris looked at his mate. 

Az cut his eyes to Eris, still frowning. “I want you to tell me exactly what you said to her.”

“I’m surprised your shadows didn’t already tell you.” Eris didn’t hold back his eye roll or his sigh. “I don’t fully remember.” 

Everything was a blur from earlier. When he got like that, he never remembered what he said. 

“Well think fucking harder.” Eris could see Azriel’s fingers dig into his sleeves. 

“She came in screaming at me about missing dinner.” It reminded him too much of his mother. The way she would yell at his father when he was a youngling. Eris tried to focus, to put that aside. “I told her the high lord meeting was more important. We were hosting, and.”

After a moment Az said, “And what, Eris”

He cursed under his breath. “I said she would understand that if she had bothered to help. Since she isn’t helping, she doesn't get to complain that we are busy. She knew what she was getting into when we mated.”

Azriel recoiled where he sat. “How could you say that to her?” 

“It’s the truth, Azriel.” Eris brushed back his hair with his hand. “This is what it’s like to be mated to a High Lord. We have responsibilities. Yes, I was wrong for implying she didn’t want to help because she asked and I told her she didn’t have to. I admit that.” 

Shadows came out as Az replied. “And we made promises we didn’t keep.”

“I know I did. It eats me alive that I broke them but what else am I supposed to do? It’s our first time hosting, I’ve only been High Lord for a decade and a half. She’s worked for multiple courts. She knows these things have to be perfect or others will talk.” 

“That doesn’t mean we can’t take a break to have dinner with her.” Az countered. 

Eris glared at him. “Do not act like you are any better. You weren’t there either.”

He winced. “You’re right. I wasn’t.” Then he glared back. “But maybe I would have been there if you let other people do their job instead of making it our problem.”

“Oh you’re going to blame me?” Eris was on his feet. “By the gods. I’m always your scapegoat because it’s easy to blame me than for you to look in a fucking mirror.”

“Eris.” A warning, as shadows built around him. 

“Am I wrong?” Azriel didn’t answer. Eris and his sharp tongue kept going. “You blamed me for centuries when it came to Mor. To this court. To my father. Let’s just add this to it.” He paused. Before he could stop himself he added. “It wouldn’t even be a fucking issue if it was just us.” 

Eris felt the shock through the bond from Az before he shut him out. Even the shadows recoiled from around Az.

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t have to repeat myself. We work well together,” he gestured between them, “because we know what to expect from each other. She wants so much more than either of us are capable of.”

Shadows shrunk back again. “That’s not true.”

“It is!” Then words spewed from his mouth like viper venom. “I wish Elain never told us. I wish I never let you get your fucking hopes up, looking for a third bond in every fucking fae you brought to our bed. But I love you, so I let you do it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Azriel was on his own feet, siphons on his hands flashing. “I always got your consent, you said it was fine. You brought your own-”

Eris’s mouth ran away from him again. He didn’t raise his voice; his tone did the work for him. 

“Maybe I lied. I only took other lovers so you wouldn’t feel guilty. I was just trying to make you happy because I was never enough for you. Even the Mother herself knew. She knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent us her.” 

Az looked like he’d been struck. Guilt and insecurity Eris had buried for decades laid out on full display. At that moment Eris hoped Azriel hurt just as much as he did. The silence between them was heavy and loud. It was finally Azriel who spoke, his own words sharp and stinging. 

“I never asked to be mated to you. You say this is easier for me and you, but it’s only easy for you. What’s easy is loving her. It’s not my fault you’re too fucked up to know that too.” 

Shadows grew thick around him and he winnowed out of the room. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You showered and changed into a soft seafoam colored nightgown, given to you by Samira. She was sitting by a small side table reading when you came back into the bedroom. She set her book down and got up from her seat. 

“Did you tell him, Tarquin?” You asked. 

In your haste to get away, you didn’t think about the implications of your actions. Namely as High Lord’s mate seeking refuge in another court. You liked Tarquin a lot. He was kind and you were so happy when Samira and him hit it off. But he was still a High Lord of another court. Samira didn’t look you in the eyes from where she had sat on the edge of the bed. 

“I only told him what you told me.”

“That’s fine,” you said quickly. You got onto the bed and crawled up beside her. “I understand. If you hadn’t told him, I would have.”

“That said,” she put her hand over yours. “You’re here as my guest. Any correspondence will come directly to me unless there is a threat to the court.” 

You winced and she gave you a sympathetic look. Your mates were both known for their tempers. Azriel was well known for his impulsive behavior. You prayed to the Mother that neither of them acted irrationally. A hard thing to hope knowing you sealed this room the moment you entered. 

“Did you want some tea or do you want to rest for the night?” 

“Tea. I need to talk if you’re willing to listen.”

“Always,” she smiled. 

You grabbed a light robe and moved into the small sitting room. She waited as Samira had tea brought to the room. She fixed you a cup, and then she sat down and took her own in her hands. 

“So what happened?”

You let out a heavy sigh, trying to figure out where to start. 

You explained the best you could. How they both made a promise to go to dinner and neither showed. You explained how distant they’d been for months. You explained how Eris told you that dinner wasn’t as important as whatever he was working on with the upcoming summit. 

“He said I knew what I was getting into when we mated. As if I’m not managing his court while his nose is stuck in itinerary lists.” You added bitterly. 

She winced. “And Azriel? What did he say about all this?” 

“He said he was sorry. He lost track of time. Conveniently he was silent when I asked why his shadows didn’t remind him.” You stared down at the tea in your hand. You could feel your eyes water again. “He hasn’t- he has always been more physically affectionate than Eris. Out in public, at least. But he hasn’t even-“

You stopped yourself, your face burning. Samira didn’t need to know how Az hadn’t even called you by a specific pet name in weeks. Eris even longer. And how was you supposed to explain they even stopped just casually touching you? It was childish, to be upset about something so silly. Yet thinking about it just made you cry again. 

You wiped your eyes. “It just feels as if  they don’t want me anymore.”

“They're your mates, of course they want you.”

“Mates doesn’t always mean love, Samira. They did just fine without me for what? Two decades? Maybe longer. Maybe they miss it just being the two of them.” 

“Now you’re talking nonsense. Stop it,” she gave you a pointed look. 

“What if it’s the truth?” You were so sick of crying. You sniffled and wiped your eyes. “They know each other so well. What do they need me for?” 

They didn’t.

That was your whole issue. They didn’t need you. Eris and Az could practically communicate without words. They moved around each other seamlessly. Eris knew exactly how Az liked his tea. Az knew to move papers closer to the inside of the desk when Eris was on a rant, his hands moving about as he talked. Eris knew when to make the spare room without even asking Azriel if he needed it. You tried to watch, to listen. Five years and you still weren’t in tune with them. 

Samira shuffled in her seat, drawing your attention back to her. 

“Eris wrote a letter to Tarquin. I got it while you were bathing. It wasn’t much, just him requesting to know if you were here and if so, that you get this.” She held up an envelope with his seal on it. “I wrote back that I would handle communication and you’d be staying the night.” 

She laid the letter on the table in front of you. Your chest ached, begging you to open it immediately. You shoved it down. 

Samira added, “I informed him that if you want to stay longer, I can’t make you leave. Tarquin has already agreed to allow you to stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” you whispered and stared back down at your tea again. 

“Sleep on it. You can have breakfast with us and decide what you want to do in the morning.”

You nodded. Sleep sounded nice now that the adrenaline of the evening had crashed. You drained the rest of your tea and bid Samira good night. You left the letter on the table. You’d read it in the morning. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eris poured himself the stiffest drink he’d had in decades. The shame and embarrassment of everything was still burning in his chest. He downed his drink in one swing and poured another. Both his mates were gone. He walked over to his desk where the correspondence with summer sat. Your friend had written back instead of Tarquin. He downed his second drink. 

To make things less complicated, I will be handling correspondence until this is resolved. Unless there is a threat to the court, I will not involve the high lord. I promise I will give her your letter in the morning. She was distraught when she arrived and I’ve just gotten her calmed. She’s currently bathing and I will get her some tea to help her sleep. 

There was a break in the letter and she added. 

She has yet to tell me what happened fully, but as her friend I am warning you both that you two better make this right. I will try to convince her to return in the morning, but she is a grown female. If she requests to stay, Tarquin has already told me she may. 

Eris tossed the letter back onto the desk. He doubted once you found out Az left too that you’d come home. It’s what he deserved. 

He was a fool to think he could do this- have two mates. To think he could be any better than his father. Three years mated to you and he still couldn’t control himself. Couldn’t toe the line between work and leisure. Fifteen mated to Az and he still spewed venom in his direction the moment he was cornered. And Eris finally got a taste of his own medicine when Azriel spewed it right back. 

With a heavy sigh, Eris pulled out more parchment and ink. There would not be a high lord summit- not with all of this happening. He’d draft the letters and send them in the morning. If he could sleep at all, with no one sharing his bed. He went and made a third drink. He opened his bonds and see if you or Az would respond. 

Still shut out. The urge to down that third drink was strong. He needed to be sober in the morning even if he didn’t want to be. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Azriel flew until his emotions settled. Eris’s foul words rung in his ears still. ‘I wish Elain never told us’ he’d said. ‘Even the mother herself knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent her.’ 

His eyes watered and it wasn’t from the wind in them. There was an ache in his chest- both bonds were shut out. He and Eris fought plenty, before and after they reconciled and the bond snapped. Somehow this was still the worst. He ignored his own words that spewed like venom in response to what Eris had said. 

Azriel was angry and hurt. He left- if he stayed any longer the whole Forest House may have been burned to the ground. He circled the border between Autumn and Winter. He couldn't go back, not tonight. He landed in a clearing, stretching out his wings before tucking them back in. He didn’t want to go to Valeris. He had one other option. His shadows seemed to agree, as they circled him and he winnowed. 

He landed outside the wards of Rosehall. The fae lights shown through the window. 

She is awake. a shadow whispered. 

He thought about turning back. He didn’t want to disturb his mother, to bother her with his problems. Yet his feet carried him forward, the wards rippling around him. He tucked his wings in tight and walked to the door. He didn‘t have to knock; the wards were designed to let only few in and to notify her when someone arrived. He could hear the rush of footsteps inside and braced himself as the door opened. 

“Azriel?” His mother answered the door, a navy shawl you made for her wrapped tight around her shoulders, sides shaped to accommodate her wings. “What has happened?”

”I had a fight with my mates.” He said quickly. “They’re fine; I just- I couldn’t stay.”

His mother brushed back loose hair to tuck it behind her ear. He realized her hair was half braided. She nodded, and stepped aside to let him in. 

“I’m sorry, I can go.”

”Nonsense, come in. I just made tea.”

His shadows swirled past him, one or two weaving around his mother. They always loved her; probably more than him if he was honest. He stepped through the frame and looked around. He had visited two weeks ago and already things had changed. His heart skipped, looking into the sitting room. Feyre had taken to decorating his mother’s house with portraits and paintings. The one above the fireplace was of him and his mother. It was a new one on the wall to the left that wasn’t there two weeks ago that made him stop in his tracks. It was of his mother, himself, you, and Eris. From your mating ceremony, based on the clothing and how close together you all were. 

“The High Lady spoils me,” his mother said from his right. “Says my house is too empty. You should see the garden painting she had mounted in the hall a few days ago. Come.” 

He felt her hand grab his own. He could only grip back loosely. He didn’t realize how cold his fingers had gotten from flying. If she noticed, she didn’t say. She led him to the kitchen where a kettle sat on the stove. He sat at the small table and watched almost numbly while she gathered cups and poured the tea. 

“Zemër, tell me what happened.” 

Az looked down at the cup as she sat it in front of him. He wrapped his hands around it, letting the warmth ease the stiffness in his hands. If he was home, Eris would do it for him. He pushed that thought away. He took a few sips, relishing in how the warmth flowed through his chest. His mother waited patiently across from him, braiding the rest of her hair for bed. 

“I said some things I shouldn’t have.” His shadows nudged him on the shoulder. “I made a promise and didn’t keep it.” She hummed and tied off her hair. His voice cracked a little when he added. “I don’t know if I can fix it.” 

There was a beat of silence and his mother took a sip of her tea. “Why do you think such a thing?” 

“Because she left!” He snapped. His mother flinched and shadows hissed at him for raising his voice. “I’m sorry. She left and he- we’ve been so busy and she asked for one dinner and neither of us went. Then she left. And Eris said things. So I said things back.”  

He hated that hot tears fell down his cheeks. And that his mother was looking at him with pity. She reached over and took his hand, holding it tightly in her own. 

“Words are painful weapons and you are the best warrior in all prythian.” That made Azriel snort and she smiled softly. “This is a fight. Not a war. You haven’t lost yet. They are your mates. You love them. If you haven’t given up your love for them, what makes you think they have so easily given up their love for you?” 

She had him there. He gave her hand a squeeze, a gesture of thanks. Then a shadow swirled up his arm quickly. 

We must go. He furrowed his brows. He walks to our balcony. We must stop him. We must go. Go. 

“Shit.” Azriel winced at himself. He hated cursing in front of his mother. “Mama, I have to go. Thank you. For the tea.” 

She watched him stand, not letting go of his hand. “Be careful, my love.” 

Despite the tugging of the shadows he gave his mother a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you in two weeks. I promise.” 

She nodded and he winnowed away. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At some point, Eris wasn’t sure when; he grabbed the whole bottle instead of pouring himself a glass. He couldn’t sleep. Not alone, with his thoughts and past memories hovering around the edges of the bed. They we’re waiting in the dark to grip him when he was most vulnerable. So instead he drank. Drank to numb the emptiness like he used to in the days before. 

One minute he was in his chambers and the next he was stumbling up stairs. There were several balconies in the forest house but there was only one nearest to the roof. He built it for Azriel. It had no railings, just a place for him to take off when he went flying. Az swore he didn’t need it; but he still used it. In Eris’s mind, Az would use the balcony when he came back home.

Because he had to come home. You both had to come home. Eris didn’t think he could bear it if you didn’t. It took him a moment when he reached the door to focus enough to grab the handle. Gods, he hadn’t been this drunk since his youth. Pushing into the room, it was bare- save the single old couch, rug, and unlit fireplace. His gaze fixated on the double glass doors that led to the balcony. If he could just get out there, he could wait. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Eris nearly fell over, balance upended by Az’s voice behind him. He grabbed Eris by his shirt to pull him steady. Shadows that had been absent swirled in his vision, grazing his hair and neck as if checking him over. It took a moment for the world to stop spinning and his focus fixated on the male before him. 

“You came back,” Eris whispered. 

“Of course I did.” Azriel’s nose crinkled at Eris’ breath. “You're drunk.”

“Can’t sleep.” He felt his eyes water. He reached for Azriel’s shoulder but Az held him in place. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.” 

“Look at me,” Az’s hands were cold as they cradled Eris’ face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry too.”

“Your hands are cold.” He muttered, his own reaching up to cover them. He wasn’t sober enough to focus his magic like he wanted to. 

“They are.” Az gave him a soft smile. “I’ll live.” 

Eris frowned. “Why did you come back?” 

To Azriel’s credit, he didn’t seem shocked at the question. 

“I came back because I love you.” And Azriel meant it. 

“But you said-“

“I said it’s not easy.” He paused for a moment. “It’s not easy but I choose you. I will always choose you. Because I love you.”

There was silence between them for a moment. 

“She’s not coming back.” 

Az grimaced. “Eris, it’s late. She’s safe in Summer and probably sleeping. Like we both should be.”

“But I need her here.” Eris could hardly bear it. He needed you back. He needed to apologize. “Can’t we go get her?” 

“So you want to start a war with Summer?” Az’s face was serious but there was a tilt in his voice. 

“You’re laughing at me.” Eris replied solemnly. 

“You’re drunk. It’s hard not to.” He sighed, his wings slumping and shadows buzzing about them. “Let’s go to bed and sleep this off.” 

Eris was silent but seemed to concede. Az guided him out the room and back to their chambers. He would have winnowed if Eris hadn’t been so inebriated. He really didn’t feel like cleaning up vomit. 

“You’re too good to me,” Eris muttered as they made their way down the hall. 

Az tightened his arm around him. “I could argue the same.”  

More silence passed. “Do you think she’ll come back?” 

Azriel didn’t reply. He could only hope. His shadows whispered as much as he helped Eris undress in their chamber and get him to bed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In Summer, you tossed and turned. The air was too warm even with the cool magical breeze that floated through the open windows. The bed was too small. Too empty. You finally cast a spell on your blanket and pillows, making them colder. How funny you’d gotten used to Autumn's colder climate.

The spell worked too well. You were suddenly too cold, too cold without Eris and Az’s body heat to keep you warm. Tears fell on your pillow. They were probably sleeping fine without you. Your mind went to the letter you left in the other room. You were too afraid to open it. They probably only wanted you home until after the High Lords’ meeting. Or maybe they never wanted you to come back. You pulled the blanket tight around yourself. Whatever the letter said could wait until morning. 

You sighed and tried to go to sleep. 

Part 3

[2danesand1cat]

The themes of regret, grief, and guilt have been in my mind lately, particularly regarding my sweet angel child-Damian.

It’s a pretty consistent theme in the comics that Damian believes he is not good enough, he’s a monster, that he’s not like his father or siblings, and that he’s full of uncontrollable anger, malice, and spite.

And while of course each batkid (and especially Bruce) have their own unique experiences with guilt and regret, I can’t help but imagine what all of that must feel like to a kid so young, who is incredibly skilled and highly intelligent, yet also very naive in a way that a child is about the world and their place in it.

Damian is frustrated when people don’t understand his harshness and his intense motivations, as it creates a barrier in the way he relates to his family. Additionally, he is barely able to step out of his own perspective as a child, preteen, and even young teenager to understand other people’s ways and motivations. This would certainly be incredibly isolating, having this drive and intensity you were tortured to develop and that you are now being told is wrong even though that’s all you know. But more than anything, he just wants to please someone, and it feels like they just keep misunderstanding him. This, of course, is not to say they didn’t try. Dick, Alfred and Bruce are his heroes for a damn good reason, but it took a great deal of time and constant redirection.

Even now, as an early teen, he’s still struggling with maintaining all the work he’s done on himself to reframe his self image and control his emotions. YOU KNOW HOW DIFFICULT IT IS FOR A 14/15 YEAR OLD TO CONTROL THEIR EMOTIONS?!?!

Do you know how much guilt and regret that must take, to keep him on track?

His desire to please is so strong because each small bit of praise that he earns reinforces this very feeble idea that, maybe, just maybe, he is good, and is doing something right. Each time he hears these things, it slowly erodes that constant weight on his tiny little shoulders of the guilt he carries everyday.

I can’t help but think of all the times he pleaded with himself and some high figure or something to “please, make me good like Richard. Help me be better. Help me be like Father. Please, please please” as silent sobs gripped his tiny frame and tears poured down onto his pillow.

Or all the times where he is sketching or training or just trying to exist and is hit with a wave of guilt as he has a flashback about his time in the league or even his early days in Gotham. Those are the days when his sketches get crumped because “it’s not worth it to even try to create something beautiful” in those moments. And how he refuses to wrap his hands as he hits the punching bag over and over again, feeling a small bit of relief at every spilt knuckle because “I deserve this pain” is all he can think.

Still til this day, as nightmares come and go, he lies there in bed and repeats to himself that “yes, that was me, i did kill, i did slaughter”, and even though what he just experienced in his dream wasn’t real, it was all at one time very, very real.

There were times when he wouldn’t eat breakfast after he lay up all night, coming to terms with his past self, reasoning that breakfast is for people that deserve it. He must instead punish his body for the its sins. Seeking comfort to placate his conscious was weakness as well. He did his best to hide his guilt and suffering from Dick and Alfred and Bruce, as it was not their cross to bear.

What he forgets, and still often forgets, is that he is and was just a child. And what he is trying to learn is that everyone has regrets, but we are not our past, we are our efforts to create a better future self. It gets a little better each day. He is trying.

At least now, he has given himself the permission to seek out the love and comfort he so desperately craves. When he silently pads into Bruce’s room at night, Bruce understands. They don’t speak, not then at least, but Damian no longer constantly denies himself the goodness that he is learning he deserves.

[alexthebordercollie]

i'm always a sucker for the take that Ford does love kids, he's just not the best caretaker. i mean, he's immediately delighted to learn he's an uncle in tale of two stans, and he loves spending time with Dipper and Mabel, he's just kind of dense.

i think aus where he gets to be a dad with Fiddleford are so cute. and so interesting to see how he'd handle it. people always seem to forget what a softie he can be

Oh yes! It kind of bugs me how a lot of people act like Ford is cold when he really isn't. There are lots of little examples of him being an absolute sweetheart. He talks a big game about being logical and suppressing fear etc, but he's a deeply emotional person, and that comes through in his more personal journal entries. He's not some heartless robot. He loves sharing his joy and excitement with the people close to him. He craves human connection even though he's bad at it. He gets attached to weird little creatures like Shifty, he loves his niece and nephew and is genuinely happy to meet them. Not to mention Ford loves weirdness and creativity and kids are the weirdest most creative demographic of people out there.

I don't think Ford dislikes kids at all. I think his lack of emotional intelligence and tendency to be lost in his own world makes him a questionable caretaker. Not through apathy or malice, he's just kind of bad with kids. Making him a father is really interesting for this reason because I'm confident he'd love the shit out of his kids, but learning how to respond appropriately to their needs, keep them safe, and pay attention consistently when needed, would all be things he'd struggle with.

Ford also says as much in his journal that he didn't want to settle down and "start a family". I don't think he ever saw kids of his own as part of his future nor do I think he'd ever consciously choose to have them. That said these are the words of a young Ford with grand ambitions that children would have potentially gotten in the way of. I also think the way he shuts down the idea of "starting a family" is a response to the social pressure to get straight married which is also not something he would have wanted. I mean look how well that worked out for Fidds :/

But Ford's whole character arc is about humbling himself. Learning to let go of this fantasy of some grand destiny and find joy in just living life with the people he cares about. He learns to accept the love of others and to love himself without needing to prove anything.

Pictured above, is a combination of sleep deprivation and those little moments when you're a new parent and it dawns on you yet again that suddenly you have this tiny little human who's who world depends on you. That mix of fear and awe and overwhelming love that hits you in waves and turns your brain into mush for a moment.

Nik and Newt force Ford to put someone else over himself, forcing him to reassess his priorities much sooner.

Also I know this one wasn't really an ask but I really wanted to draw something for you because it was soooooo good seeing a real ask in my inbox. I would absolutely love to answer any asks people have about this AU. I'd love to draw more of Ford, Fidds, Stan, and the twins but it gets hard to decide what to draw with so many ideas in my brain. By all means, send me asks or suggestions for drawings and I'll do my best to respond to all of them.

[moonbaby26]

So in today’s Donquixote Doflamingo video essay I will…no, but really 😅. I’m rewatching Dressrosa (clip above). And every time I get to the emotional parts, I think about so many different things.

Sorry to victim blame, and heavy emphasis that I’m looking at this from Doflamingo’s POV here, not my own. But I really want to call out Homing in this moment. Because I think Doflamingo wasn’t all the way gone yet. Yes, even here. Not until he pulled the trigger anyway.

Why?

Because when Homing says Doflamingo’s name, the boy stops.

Right here.

He’s still listening.

Because he’s still a goddamn child. He is wanting direction. Just as we see him physically look to his father in the other flashbacks as well. He is always looking up at Homing as their lives continue to worsen.

He keeps waiting for his father to lead them. To protect them, to guide them, to do something other than to just be as useless and afraid as they are.

This instance here was the very last time Doffy waited for Homing to act however. Maybe only for a moment, but he did wait.

And how did Homing repay that very last hesitation of familial mercy from within his son?

Homing completely gave up. He accepted his own death as penance.

Because he still had no alternative to give his boys. Nothing but “sorry”.

Sorry I ruined everything.

Sorry I was so weak.

Sorry you have to become the man of our family at only ten years old.

In Doffy’s breaking mind, Homing may as well have spit in his face here, and Doffy becomes enraged just as he pulls the trigger. Because even in death Homing could only be weak. He could only fail them yet again.

And Doflamingo sees that replaying in Corazon as he reflects before heading out to kill his brother.

Homing chose to die.

But so did Rosinante.

They chose to fail Doflamingo and leave him.

They gave him no choice.

It’s not his fault. And he hates them for it.