#luke is my babygirl comfort

[bonanza-tact]

That meme about Comfort Characters

[sweetteainthesummerx]

⋆·˚ ༘ * oh, my, my, my ⋆·˚ ༘ *

nhl masterlist !

pairings: quinn hughes x childhood friend!reader, jack hughes x platonic best friend!reader, quinn x artist!reader

warnings: angst and comfort, fluff

summary: you and quinn throughout the years, and how you fall in love <3

song: mary's song (oh my my my) by taylor swift

word count: 4.4 k

notes: I love lake quinn sm :)

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

our daddies used to joke about the two of us, growing up and falling in love, our mamas smiled, and rolled their eyes

"oh, she's so tiny!" ellen cooes, cradling the little bundle of pink, "and she has your eyes, birdie."

your mother smiles at the nickname her college friend had given her freshman year, when a bird had pooped on her head during a girl's night out.

it stuck (literally), and almost 10 years later, as her best friend holds her babygirl, she's reminded of everything they'd been through together.

"congrats, man. the first girl in the family!" jim slaps your dad on the shoulder, the two men smiling at their wives.

"oh, she's just precious." you yawn, and all of the adults are reduced to an awwing mess.

quinn toddles over, chubby toddler legs still unsure. he lands on his butt half a foot away from ellen, who lifts him up with the hand that wasn't holding you.

"look, quinny."

quinn reaches out a finger towards you, and jim is about to chide him when your tiny little fist locks around it. his wide eyes widen even more. you gurgle happily at him, and for the first time in a while, he goes completely still, enraptured by the baby in front of him.

"oh." your father whispers.

"well, that's your son-in-law now," jim laughs.

"hey, don't count out jack! they're closer in age, after all."

your mom rolls her eyes, as ellen snorts, "let's not pre-write our kid's futures before they're five, please."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

i was seven and you were nine, i looked at you like the stars that shine

"y'know, birdie," ellen starts, "the boys might be right."

"no, they cannot eat four pb and j's and then go to the carnival-"

"no, not the little ones!", ellen laughs, "our husbands. they might be right."

"oh, that? the whole son-in-law thing?" your mom grins, as she watches luke chase after you with a worm.

the two women are silent and thoughtful as you - screaming at the top of your lungs - duck behind quinn, who sternly tells off his little brother. your sticky hands lace with his, naturally, albeit a bit awkward the way only kids can be.

you absolutely adore quinn. he's your protector, the one you turn to more often than not. jack is your best friend, and you remind her of that often. luke is your baby brother, the one you coddle and fuss over.

and the boys adore you just as much; jack plays pirates with you all day, Luke follows you like a puppy, and quinn...

he's staked a claim on you that makes your mom laugh, but worry a little when your older and you inevitably find someone who isn't him.

it never occurred to her that he might be the one.

"oh my god." your mom says as your dad walks in with jim.

"ha! see? I know I put money on my son for good reason." jim says gleefully, and quickly pipes down at ellen's dirty look.

"jack is also your son, man." your dad shakes his head.

"seriously? you guys made bets on the future love lives of your prepubescent kids?"

"birdie, it's just a joke!"

he eats his words as quinn leads you through the door. you're in tears, a nasty scrape on your knee. he's got your hand cradled in his.

ellen and your mom fawn over it, how brave you were, but all you could remember is how quinn held your hand the whole time.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back when our world was one block wide, i dared you to kiss me and ran when you tried

when you're ten, you almost have your first kiss.

you're going through a phase, really, when all you would wear were your overall jean shorts, a big t-shirt and your red converses. you have little pen drawings all over your shoes and shorts.

now, when you look at the photos from back then, you cringe a little at how lanky and young you look.

you're with the boys at one of the neighbouring lake houses, a couple of other girls and a few guys too.

everyone there lived on the same block, so it was odd that you hadn't all hung out together before.

quinn can tell you're uncomfortable around the other guys, who are loud and frankly very obnoxious. even his 12-year-old self can tell.

he tells you that you can all leave and go get ice cream near the boardwalk, but you refuse. you're 10 already, you can handle a few new strangers.

somehow, spin the bottle is brought up and you find yourself sitting cross-legged as one of the older girls - who's kind and much more grown than you - tellsdyou how to spin the bottle.

your hands shake and the backs of your knees are slick with sweat, but you spin anyways. you want to seem cool and older too.

you watch the root beer bottled patter as it turns, the ting, ting sound dissonant with your thumping heart.

it lands on quinn.

your quinn who knows all of the words to the spider man movies, who gives the last popsicle to you and lets you tuck your feet under his thighs when you get cold.

this is a disaster, you think, because you don't know how to kiss! are you supposed to use your tongue? you almost gag at the thought.

quinn can see your very apparent panic, and the only thing on his mind was to make it of away.

he wants to hold your hand, but when you turned nine you had decided that boys had cooties, so you refused to touch him or his brothers.

"...we don't have to," he offers, scratching his neck. one of the boys boo, and you flush.

you shook your head, "i want to."

he smiles, shy and boyish and your heart goes into overdrive.

his face matches yours in colour as he scoots forward awkwardly, cupping your face the way he'd seen his dad do to his mom.

as he leans forward, you burst into tears. if you kiss him, and he's disgusted by your kissing skills - or lack thereof - he wouldn't be your quinn anymore.

you run out embarrassed, leaving quinn's hand outstretched and the older girl from earlier confused and worried.

you think that you had ruined it all, but later that night when quinn offers to take you to get ice cream and lets you get two scoops, you know nothing can tear the two of you apart.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back to the creek beds we turned up, two A.M. riding in your truck and all I need is you next to me

the year quinn turned 16, he gets his boating and drivers license.

when the first real day of summer - he doesn't count the days until he sees you and the lake house again - starts and he finds you making eggs and bacon in the kitchen, he gives you an offer.

"hey, chickie." he tugs playfully at the string of your apron. jim had given you that nickname because of your mom's. chickie, like a baby bird. jack liked to call you chicklet, and Luke followed suit.

the adults think you've outgrown that name, and only call you chickie sporadically.

it's become special for you and quinn, sacred even,

"hi, quinny." you answer in the same tone, swatting him with the spatula in your hand.

"give me a piece of bacon and i'll take you out onto the water. i'll even let you drive a bit when we're far out." he murmurs as you turn the stove off.

"really?" you squeal, and he winces jokingly.

"yes, yes! finally!" you throw yourself at him, letting the older boy catch you around the waist. he grins into your hair, his cheek muscles unused by the seasons without you.

"okay, kid. pipe down. where's my bacon?" he grumbles, but he smiles when you turn around to fix him a whole plate.

you forget in all of your excitement that he doesn't even like bacon.

it's pathetic, really, but he missed you. he still does even though you're less than a foot away from him, salting your scrambled eggs.

he finishes his food faster than you do, and leaves to set up the boat with your promises that you would hurry.

he's excited; he hasn't seen you since christmas, and then, he had to share you with jack and luke and his parents too.

that year, you and jack had become decidedly closer, and quinn knows he has to establish that boat time was for you and him only.

so when jack and luke both follow you onto the boat, whooping and screaming, he's pissed.

and on top of that, he has to drive the boat while you and jack banter and threaten to shove each other off of the moving vessel.

it wasn't fair: you're his person. you guys did gas station runs together, you always looked at him with sad puppy eyes when you were cold.

he'd always grumbled and give you his sweatshirt when you refused to bring a jacket and ended up shivering. you always begged to braid his hair when the sun was at it's highest and there was nothing to do.

so yeah, excuse him if he was mad that your time together was interrupted by jack and luke of all people.

so when you walk up to him, hair messy and wearing nothing but your bathing suit and one of his old hockey jerseys, he tries his best to ignore you.

"quinny!" you exclaim, nudging his shoulder, and once more when he doesn't answer.

he glances quickly at you, but one look is enough to make his chest squeeze in that way that it started to do since last summer.

you had always been beautiful, but you were starting to be seriously gorgeous.

your hair is windblown, skin tanned and freckled with eyes bright from the sheer novelty of it being summer again.

you'd started to fill out more; the tiny bikinis you - and he - loved made something hot tug in his lower stomach.

tucking your hand into the crook of his elbow in the way that always makes him soften like butter, "I thought you were gonna let me drive!"

"ask jack to teach you," he snarks, and regrets it immediately at the hurt on your face.

his chest tightens, like someone has taken the hurt on your features and shoved it between his rib cage so he couldn't breathe.

the two of you don't talk for the rest of the day.

quinn feels like an asshole, and he really doesn't like how you refuse to sit in your normal spot next to him during movie night, instead opting to tuck yourself between the edge of the couch and luke.

and the salt on the wound was when you don't laugh at the stupid jokes he makes for you, especially.

his mom asks him what he had done when he goes to get more popcorn in the kitchen.

"what? why did you automatically assume I didn't something?" he asked, offended.

"because, that girl sticks to you like a magnet," ellen smooths his temple, "and because no one makes you smile and talk like she does. you've been silent all day."

the next night, he shows up at the door of your room in the lake house your two families shared.

he knocks, and pokes his head in, "chickie?

you're at your table, drawing again like you always were.

he keeps the little sketch of him you made last summer in his wallet, tucked under the picture of all of the hughes boys and you.

you ignore him, and he flops on your bed. the floral sheets your mom bought when you were 11 smells like you. he tries not to be creepy and inhale - at least too noticeably.

"gas station run?" he asks.

you finally spare him a glance, "quinny, it's past one o'clock, and it'll take at least 20 minuted to get there."

"please? I really want chips."

you sigh, ever the martyr, and agree. neither of you mention how the hughes stock up enough snacks to last at least 2 months the beginning of every summer.

the battle of who cracks first kept on, until finally, on the way back from the gas station, quinn sighs, "I'm sorry.

you frown, clearly not impressed, "I don't even know why you're sorry."

"god, this is embarrassing-"

"quintin, i swear-"

"i wanted the boat ride to be just us two!" he exclaims loudly.

there was a beat of silence, only the chirp of crickets that crept in the tall grass you could hear through the open windows of jim's truck.

the light on the radio shined, 1:59 AM.

"what?" you ask, a little confused and very much flustered.

"i missed you, chickie, and jack is always monopolizing your time! you're my person and-"

"are you jealous?"

"what?"

"oh my god, you are! you're jealous!"

"no!" he splutters, grateful that it's pitch black outside, because he can feel his ears heating up.

you laugh, tugging at one of his curls, as he grumbles something about not letting you eat any of his salt and vinegar chips.

"quinny?" you ask a little while later, when he's pulling back into the drive way, "y'know that you're my person too, right?"

you look soft and sleepy, under the light of the car, in one of his hoodies and sleep shorts.

he swears he turns into liquid in the drivers seat.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

well, i was sixteen when suddenly, i wasn't that little girl you used to see

"I wouldn't worry about that, chicklet." jack throws his arm around you, and you roll your eyes at the many girls starting to glare at you.

"I don't know what you're talking about." except you do.

there's a girl flirting with quinn, and she's pretty. she's got tattoos on her arms, and she's tall, almost tall at him.

you take a break from the self-deprecating comparison between yourself and her to admire quinn for one second.

he's gotten so tall and broad, all the signs of boyhood gone, except when he smiles that special smile for you. the one when his eyes get all squinty and he bares all of his pretty teeth.

your heart twists, because he hasn't smiled at you like that all summer.

you don't know what you did wrong. maybe he's outgrowing you. he'll be a college man next fall, and you're still in high school.

he's got the whole world in front of him, and well, you couldn't blame him if he didn't want to settle for you.

you realize your feelings for him the beginning of the summer.

or you uncover them, because if you're honest, they've always been there.

and right now, you're wearing your heart on your sleeve, because he looks so handsome in a tight black t-shirt and shorts, a backwards cap on his curls.

his biceps look huge, and between the teenage hormones and the two shots in your system, you want to climb him like a tree.

the more romantic side of you wished you had your charcoal and parchment, so you can copy down his likeness for when your old and greying and you can't remember how he looks illuminated by the moon and bonfire.

"yeah, sure. you're clueless." jack snorts, and he makes his way to the drink table at the party you're at.

you pass by Luke, who's preoccupied by a girl way too old for him, and go sit closer to the fire.

you're mad.

you're mad because you've dressed up real cute, in a tiny black tube top and denim shorts.

you're mad because your hair is curled the way quinn likes it.

you know that for a fact because every time it looks like that, he comes up behind you to wind his fingers through a strand. it was a hassle, and he won't even look at you.

"what's a pretty girl like you doing alone?"

it's a boy with mussed, brown hair and a nice smile.

he's cute. peter, or pierre, he introduces himself. he reminds you a bit of the boyfriend you had first semester of sophomore year.

you've had boyfriends, and quinn has had his relationships, but summer was sacred.

that's why you felt ill when you flirted with him, not because quinn was a mere 20 feet away, starting to glance over and frown.

quinn has always been a jealous motherfucker; you'd give it 5 minutes before he comes over.

you try not to gloat when he comes over in 2.

"hey, chickie. time to go." he tells you, taking you cup and winding an arm around your waist.

you roll your eyes, pushing him off, "no, I'm good here,"

quinn crosses his arms and puffs out his chest, biceps flexing in front of you.

the boy smiles - you've already forgotten his name, something p - and shrugs at quinn.

he's mad now, you can tell, but you wrap you're fingers around the other boy's elbow to egg him on.

"oh, for- that's it. c'mon."

suddenly, your feet are swept out from under you, and you're thrown over his shoulder.

you frown, realizing that you're in the air.

"hey!" you protest weakly as people turn to look at you. quinn continues his trudge all the way to where he's parked his dad's truck and dumps you on the hood like you weigh nothing.

"what are you doing?" he asks, eyes dark, "that guy is no good-"

"no! what are you doing?" all of your frustration pools in your throat, and embarrassing tears are starting to prick at your eyes.

"you won't even look at me all summer, you're flirting with some girl and you get mad at me? you're being such-"

he shakes his head, looking as exasperated as you feel.

"do you know how hard it is-" he breathes out shakily, "how difficult it is to control myself around you?"

"what?" you ask, heart beating in your ears, "what?"

"i have been in love with you since i was 12, chickie." his tone is begging, and so are his eyes.

he looks pained, and you want to relieve it so, so badly. but he still won't touch you. he's hovering away from you, like he has for the past month.

"i love you, and you see me nothing more than a brother, like how you see jack. and it hurts, here," he rubs the heel of his palm between his ribs, "to know that you'll never want me the same way."

"quinn-"

"no, let me talk. I've spent the past 6 years pining after you. I've tried to move on, but all...nothing compares to you. I want you so bad, chickie, but..." he turns from you, head in his hands.

now, if you weren't like 3 beers and 2 shots deep, you would realize that he can't really go anywhere because you're quite literally on the top of his car.

but drunk you is clearly a dumbass, because you think he's trying to leave. so you tell him what's actually on your mind.

"i love you!" you blurt out.

he turns slowly, "what?"

"i love you too. i thought you didn't want me because you're leaving for college, but i want you so bad, please-"

the next thing you know, he's between your legs, so warm and solid, pulling you in by your cheek like during that spin the bottle game 6 years ago.

you let him kiss you for real this time, you let him push up your shorts to feel more of your skin, you let him lick into your mouth.

he pulls away, and you whine, tugging him in again.

he laughs, which makes you laugh in turn, and you slide down the hood as you giggle. he catches you, because he always does.

"i love you." you tell him, and he flushes, nuzzling into your neck.

"say it again," he demands, just because he can.

"i love you, my quinny." you coo, and he wants to crawl into your skin and settle there forever.

"i love you too, chickie."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

oh, my, my, my

"told you so." Jim tells the rest of the parents.

the four of them - the weirdos - are on the second floor, leaning on the bannister as you make breakfast with quinn.

well, you make breakfast and he's distracting you.

he's got his arms wrapped around your shoulders from the back, and the two of you waddle like a pair of penguins around the kitchen gathering ingredients for pancakes.

you're giggling, and he's got a half-smile on his face.

you look so happy together than ellen and your mom are ignoring jim's gloating.

they are even kind enough to ignore the exchange of money between the two men, after all, your dad had bet on jack and lost.

"i can't wait for their wedding."

"hold on, now!"

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

a few years had gone and come around, we were sitting at our favorite spot in town and you looked at me, got down on one knee

you're on Quinn's lap, content and warm. the two of you had gotten up to watch the sunrise, first day of the summer at the lake house.

it's nice to have everyone in one place again, the two of you coming from vancouver, the boys from new jersey.

the past couple of years had been hard; a year or two long distance, until you went to study architecture at UBC after quinn had been drafted.

this year, 24 and 22, you finally get some rest and the promise of settling down more.

quinn's captain, and you have a good job that lets you work remote and do what you love.

and more importantly, the two of you are always together.

"babe?" quinn asks, running a hand down your arms, "c'mon, let's go to the dock?"

you don't protest, just happy to be at your childhood lake house.

he leads you there, like he always does.

"pretty." you stare out at the water, orange and pink sky meeting in the still horizon.

"yeah." quinn gives you a smile, rare for anyone else.

but he has always smiled for you, and you greedily hoard them in your memories.

"got something to show you," he pulls his wallet out, the two pictures in the clear flaps catch your eye.

one is a polaroid of you and your boys. quinn is 15, jack is 14, you're 13 and luke is 11. all of you are lanky and awkward, wrapped around each other and grinning ear to ear.

the other is also a polaroid, taken by ellen a year or two ago, when all of your parents came to visit your Vancouver apartment.

quinn's arm is around your shoulders and you're clinging to his side, one hand curled around his waist and the other on his chest. you're smiling at the camera, and quinn is smiling at you.

"cute," you tell him, but he digs a finger into the little pocket.

"fuck," he swears when whatever he's looking for doesn't come out.

"here, let me," you offer. you retrieve a piece of thick parchment with your smaller hands.

it's a sketch of quinn you did when you were in your early teens.

it's not great, you have to admit. the lines aren't smooth like how you sketch now, but the ink and paper is in pristine condition.

"quinn...you kept this?" you ask softly, oddly emotional.

when you look at him, he has a weird look on his face. he scratches his neck.

you stare at each other for a moment, the familiarity of your love almost stifling in the cool morning air.

and then he drops down on one knee.

you start crying, immediately.

that sets him off, and the two of you are blubbering as he tries to get through the speech he wrote in his notes 7 months ago after he got the ring and you were in the shower.

he tells you he loves you, how he's never going to leave you, that you're going to build a life together, just like how you've done everything together since you were kids.

you believe him, because your quinn is nothing if not earnest and steady.

you let him slip the simple ring onto your finger, and he lifts you up into strong arms to kiss you.

you're so deliriously happy that your teeth clash with his in a smiling kiss.

your families cheers from the porch, and you laugh, watery and heart full.

jack runs up first, swinging you around and clapping his hand down on quinn's shoulder.

Luke kisses your cheek and hugs his older brother, as ellen and your mom hug you together.

jim wraps his arms around you, pressing his lips to your forehead, "thanks for helping me win the bet, chickie." you chuckle, reaching for your dad next.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

take me back to the time when we walked down the aisle, our whole town came and our mamas cried, you said I do and I did too

the wedding takes place a year later, in a small winery near the house, because ellen and your mom refused to let you have the wedding on the dock.

this was your compromise, because it's a small affair.

your dad walks you down the aisle to quinn. you're smiling, like there's a hanger in your mouth because you're just so happy.

he cries when he sees you, and so do the other hughes boys.

you hear your mom and ellen, tears meeting shaky smiles on their faces.

your own college friend, your birdie, fixes your veil and holds your bouquet.

sweet promises are exchanged in your vows, and when you have your first kiss as mr. and mrs. hughes, all of your loved ones cheer.

quinn sweeps you off your feet and bridal carries you to a change room so you can switch into your reception dress.

he sees you later as jack, who volunteered to be the mc, announces you guys as mr. and mrs. hughes.

quinn's eyes are hot and dark as he sees your smooth skin under white lace, and whispers something into the shell of your ear that makes you pink.

you dance together, with his brothers and his dad, with your own too.

but the last dance is saved for the two of you.

"i can't wait to grow old with you, chickie." he whispers romantically.

"you'd make such a cute old man," you tell him, and he rolls his eyes.

you laugh, and so does he.

forever sounds real good to you.

★・・・・★・・・・ ★・・・・★

© sweetteainthesummerx.tumblr. all rights reserved. unauthorized copying, translation, or claiming of my writing or any works as your own is strictly prohibited.

[galactic-rhea]

WDYM Anakin is Luke and Leia's dad

I dunno if this post will reach the Star Wars fandom but I hope it does because I'm sure you all will get a good laugh at me.

As of recent I have developed a good hiperfixation for Star Wars, the thing is I knew nothing. NOTHING about Star Wars besides the fact it had aliens and...a war...in space? And funny swords. And main character is Luke or something, I spent over 20 years ignoring anything about Star Wars and somehow missing most references out there.

And recently, literally less than a month ago I saw a gif and said to my partner "oh this guy this guy looks cool, this gif looks nice" and he said "Oh well, he's a good character." And it all developed into me watching Clone Wars, the animated series you know and...and I was kinda blown away, on my opinion the show IS GREAT. And I love every character and their interactions, I love how much they focus on side characters, and they all seem very well written. I got hiperfixated really fast and saw Anakin and I was like "Omg, babygirl. He's a blorbo now."

And because of the show, this was super unexpected, but somehow I also got, really got, into the ship with Padmé because omg, cool woman. Literal happy squeaky noises of someone who was in a bad state and needed some good ol' distraction and comfort.

Now, like I said I knew nothing about Star Wars as a whole. And I still haven't watched the movies, besides the ocassional gif?

So imagine my shock, my surprise, my...bewilderment when I realized.

"Wait a minute, LUKE IS ANAKIN'S SON?! HOLY-"

Ladies, gentleman, and others, I think I came very late to this party and I don't even know how it took me so long.

Not only that, but because of this sudden love for the series, I went to my friends circle like "BESTIE, GUESS WHAT, I HAVE A NEW BLROBO AND A NEW FAV SHIP AND EEEP"

And my friends are like "omg that's amazing, what is it?"

I tell them, and of course they all know these characters and they all react like they know this very bad secret fact and I got told several times already "Please, don't watch the episodes 2 and 3 alone, it will hurt."

I feel like blissfully walking among rainbows and blue skies while everyone else know that my future is doomed. Somehow.

(Uncomfortable silence)

Not only that, but then I spent a whole deal of time thinking "Where the heck I have seen these guys" cus there was some fmailiarity I couldn't just point out and then one day I woke up, brushed my teeth and of all sudden I realized and it was such a shock.

Do you know how SURREAL is to get very into a character, and into a ship, and then realize they're the same from that super widespread meme that has been around for who knows how much time?

I swear I thought that meme was from some old medieval fantasy movies or something.

But alas, Star Wars now is EVERYWHERE. People do references to Star Wars ALL THE TIME and it's just now I'm catching them.

I got spoilers. From a meme. In a youtube review that had nothing to do with Star Wars hah. Everything is a spoiler, the world is an apparent spoiler. Now I'm here, trying to avoid spoilers from something everyone seems to know, even my family knows. It's so surreal and I wouldn't have it any other way 😂

Anyways, if you read until here, know that a wild ride still waits me, cuz I'm only starting Season 3 of Clone Wars and I don't plan to watch the movies until I finish the series.

And yes, I made this blog just to ramble freely about SW and draw stuff because it sparked my inspiration after a long art block.

Have this doodle I drew after watching the two first episodes, my offering for you reaching this far.

Note: Wouldn't Anakin and Padmé's ship name be Animé? Cuz that's hilarious.

[lady-ashfade]

Hello my sweet, sweet babygirl! Your event looks so delicious. ♡

May I order a galaxy mystery sweet with Lucerys Velaryon? You can ignore me if you’d like <3 thank you for all the hard work !!

ೃ࿔࿐The Green Sea.

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Lucerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

Bakery Event is closed

╰･ﾟ✧☽ summary: The Prince finally returns from his duties with his grandsire and the green eyed emotion comes for him.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 2.2k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: Jealousy, Luke Being Jealous, Little Angst, Arguing, Men Being Weird.

The young prince took pride in having his mind leveled when it came to your attention, he knew he needed to share you — as you did with him. It was still early in the betrothal process but long with the years you shared together, the admiration for you wasn’t newly found. At a younger age he struggled with keeping his disappointment of not being the soulful person to have your attention, but he grew. Soon the hidden feelings swept away in empty halls, or the words whispered only for the other becomes nothing to hide, you were his, his betrothed.

This week the air had shifted with more winds, he felt the lonely feeling without you by his side while taking care of his duties. Lucerys took sail with his grandsire to learn how to work the ships, his future men and tasks. Salty sea waves crashed into the side of the boat, he found himself staring down at the endless depths with you in mind. First it was your laugh that rang in his ears and smiling lips in his memory, he loved to make you laugh. Next, was the warmth of you by his side, wether looping your arm with his or cuddling in the privacy of his chambers — everything he loves reappears in his moments away from you.

His grandsire knows the look of his grandson, the longing for something missing and one he knows well, the same he had years ago for his wife. The wind blew the brown curls of his hair and the black and blue cloak from his back, Luke stood near the railing of the ship. Corlys approached the younger man with a limp making his footsteps louder in sound, the vibration ringing throughout the boards below.

“The journey is almost to a end, you’ll get used to the time away from land,” his words of comfort did little as it was not land he missed, “The sea can be huge when trapped away from the ones you love.” Corlys leaned next to Luke, his gaze falling below to the waves.

“Forgive me, I know my duties and will always be grateful for them.” there was a but, though he did not speak it.

“But the sea is not a woman, I understand that well,” corly grew a smile thinking of his younger days, “as I understand your betrothed takes quite a fondness with you, I’ve also seen the looks you give her. She’s a beauty, I can not blame you for missing her company.” Corlys placed his hand upon Luke’s shoulder.

“Learn to love the sea and time flies by, and remember you do this for your family.” with a few pats corlys leaves his grandson to himself and his thoughts.

Lucerys only returned to thinking of you by his side, maybe one day he could bring you along. The future is the both of yours to make.

— ‧₊˚ ࣭˚⊹‧₊˚⋆⁺₊ ࣪✩₊˚.⋆—

As the ship docks his feet move quickly toward the ramp down, ignoring the eyes of the crew and his grandsire. Once on soils ground he makes his way to the carriage awaiting him and climbs in with haste, he needs to see you. The time away was unbearable that his very bones ached to be reunited.

The life at the keep was as it was but more empty without him by your side. Picking up more studies, or chatting with friends — you tried to entertain yourself in his absence. The court was more hungry for your attention as many people gathered for celebrations of the moons to come. As new ladies began to flood in, you welcomed them and gave them friendship, and along was men who gazed upon you. The announcement of your engagement with The Prince was still fresh, men took it as a challenge to gain your affection — seeing as he was not here to say otherwise.

The gardens are the place you go to for silence and peace, also to remember Lucerys. A long time ago you meet here, surrounded by flowers of many kinds — blossoming their beauty. He was everything you wanted in a husband, kind, handsome and charming with a excitement for trouble.

The sound of footsteps made you realize the peaceful moment was over. Turning your heels the figure become clear, your lips curling upwards in a forced smile. A dark headed man, nearly a year older then Lucerys stood before you, his dark house colors proudly displayed on his clothing. He was much taller then you and make you step back at his looming shadow over you.

“Good Morrow, Lord Starrock. I hope all is well this early hour.” it was hard to kept up the acted as he has been forcing himself around you lately, being polite was growing harder to do. Yet he smiled and tugged his hands backwards showing no sigh of leaving.

“The Redkeep has been welcoming, my lady. Yet I was surprised to see you from my chamber window all alone, so I came to keep you company.”

“Yes, well thank for for that.” your nod was quick and your face feel immediately after, you turned to touch the flowers and walk aloud the path. Hoping he would get bored and walk off.

But he was nothing less then determined. “Might I been so bold to speak freely,” he asked and you only hummed in response, rolling your eyes with your head stayed away from him.

“The prince has left for his duties, leaving you here — Alone. I wonder if you are made for that life, to be the wife of a man who spends all of his time away.” he was bold, his words made you boil inside.

Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you sniff the opened flower and inhaled its scent before turning around to face him. Smiling you walk closer, wondering what it would feel like to strike him without consciousness.

At last you begin to speak your truth, “A life by his side is worth everything. The Prince is the only man for me, the best match to be made. He loves me, as I him. Would you not agree that is the work of the gods, Ser Darick?” watching his face become pale and shameful was entertaining.

He cleared his throat and shifted comfortably, “I meant well, my lady. My concerns come from a place of care,” his nerves smile told everything you needed to know, “a woman such as yourself-”

You raise a brow and scrunch you face, becoming something he’s never seen before, making him sweat, “A woman like me? I do hope you remember your place, Milord. I can handle myself greatly, and I will do my duty to His Grace as it’s intended.” he wanted to apologize to make up some stupid excuse but you walks away with deaf ears of his broken words.

Catching the eyes of your proud maid you rush past her, your dress clinch in your hands before making your way up the steps. There was a smile rested at your lips of the confidence you held. Shutting a man down was intoxicating. Yet you hadn’t realized the eyes spying on your interaction.

Lucerys stood above watching you talk with some man while the words muffled away before hitting his ears. The gardens are his spot to spend time with you, not some cocky taller untitled man who craves your attention. Nonetheless it was the flashing smile in your cheeks that sent unsettling feelings inside his stomach. All he wanted to do was see you, and yet you were with another man instead of welcoming him back — it was gut wrenching.

Straightening his back as you got closer to him, his arm rested on his sword resembling his older brothers temperament. Once your gaze feel on him, your smile becomes teeth wide and your feet lunged towards him. The sounds of your pointed shoes echoed on the stone and laughter emerged from your chest. Soon your arms flew themselves around him and he forgot his anger for a moment to hold you. 

Your head rested beside his neck as you smelled the salt on his clothes and hair, “You’re early, I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” you confessed before pulling away to grabbed ahold of his cheeks, and looking at his features to make sure nothings changed.

“Our journey was quicker then expected,” his hands still rested on your lip and not daring to let them leave, “I was expecting your face when I arrived at the gates.”

“No one informed me, I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” you stared at him innocently but the feel returned and made his stomach sick. 

His head leaned towards yours, his lips now in your ear, “Dismiss your maiden,” he demanded. You blushed but looked at him hesitantly, there was something about his tone that sounded laced with anger. But you do as he asked and sent her away with a look before his hands tug at your own as he started to rush through the halls. You could hear his huffs and you tried to question his actions without tripping over yourself.

— ‧₊˚ ࣭˚⊹‧₊˚⋆⁺₊ ࣪✩₊˚.⋆ —

He took you to a room that was unfamiliar and looked forgotten by everyone, surfaces covered in dust and webs on the walls. It was haunting. As you catch your breath he closes the door behind him.

“Might I ask what’s was the reason for that? I nearly fell,” you swallowed to clear the dryness in your throat.

“I’d like to propose a question as well, as I enter back home I find you with another man — In our place. The smiles you threw his way, no need to point out the obvious lust in his eyes while chatting with you.”

Realizing the motivation for his new found annoyance, and rudeness towards yourself, you looked at him surprisingly. “Lord Starrock wasn’t invited by my side, nor welcomed. Perhaps you didn’t see him approaching me,” you cross your arms, “but nonetheless, even if he was, to have you think i would even enjoy is company that way while we are betrothed is- Is,” you struggle to find a word or the emotion to use it with.

“Unbelievable insulting, Your Grace.”

The formal term stung in his chest because it was a phrase lost in time by the two of you, and now a insult you threw at him.

When you notice him going to speak you interrupted, “The conversation between us was that of you, and how I prided myself in being your betrothed. He raised the question if I would be lonely in the marriage because you’re away but I insisted against it.” you spat at him with venom in your tone.

“I don’t know that…” his voice was quite and shameful, and his head lowered itself along with his gaze.

“How could you? Had it occurred to ask me about it before accusing me of something your mind made up. I understood the unset feeling you experienced but you handled it horribly.” you said while calming yourself down from the stress, even running your hands along the fabric of your dress.

The silence was thick in the lonely and gloom room. He wondered if he could apologize for his mistake so you might not hate him forever while you wondered if he was going to at all. You knew him — you knew he would but it was hard to un cloud your judgment.

Lucerys stepped forward, bring his head up to meet your eyes with his, his own filled with sorrow. “I was out of line, I rushed because of this-” his fingers curled, “green monster inside of me. I was familiar with jealousy and thought I was capable of handling it, I apologize. Seeing you with another man was painful but no excuse.” Luke looked back down to the stone flooring.

Sometimes it was annoying how easily it is to forgive him, but he hasn’t acted like this before, so maybe you could let him off easy this time. So you exhale deeply and groan before closing the gap between you and take his lips into yours. You hum and wrap your arm around his shoulders, he is taken aback by the moment but sobers up to kiss you back and take your body back into his arms. Your lips moved slightly opposite but alined with one other, it was heated so you both moved your heads to take different angles, switching from left to right.

His lips pulled away first for air and they were glossy with mixed spit, but he only kept his head slightly away from yours. When you opened your eyes you found his half opened and dazed, and his hair messed up from the hand you ran throughout it. Reaching up from his neck you fixed his out of place curls and cracked a laugh. His chest vibrates with his own laughter, your smiles matching,

“I forgive you, Lucerys. Just don’t make a habit of it, or i wouldn’t be so kind.”

“If I act that way again, I give you my full support on knocking me back down,” he said. You both shared a look before returning your lips again, and pressed your bodies closer together, nearly stumbling to be pressed against the wooden desk.

[jennifer-jeong]

Fluff + Comfort | GN!Reader Warm Tea and Hugs

CONTENT Gender neutral reader, reader is ugly crying, shared home, hugs, kisses, comfort, fluff, established relationship, ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

AUTHOR NOTES Pick your favorite character and read! The wording might not perfectly fit all characters I’ve listed so I apologize for making anyone too OC. Also feel free to pick a character I didn’t list! This fic is for you and your personal comfort :) Also! If you’re reading and you’re feeling down, I hope this is able to help even if just a little bit. Just know you are indeed doing great and you’re not alone. Please take care of yourselves! Mwah.

ITADORI YUJI, OKKOTSU YUTA, TOGE INUMAKI (SEE NOTE 1 at the bottom), Gojo Satoru, KAVEH, KAEDEHARA KAZUHA, THOMA, KAEYA, CHILDE, VENTI, Tighnari, Xiao, Kamisato Ayato, MARIUS VON HAGEN, LUKE PEARCE, RAFAYEL, Xavier, SUGAWARA KOUSHI, Yamaguchi Tadashi, Kuroo Tetsuro, SABITO, AMAJIKI TAMAKI, NITORI AIICHIROU, HEARTSTEAL APHELIOS (SEE NOTE 2), Heartsteel Ezreal, SHXTOU (vtuber Shoto), Howl, OR any babygirl man <3

WORD COUNT: 996

You weren’t unfamiliar with the current feeling you were having but it still sucked nonetheless. You’ve been having a bad day, week, month, basically it’s just been sucky. One of your preferred ways of coping was just to cry, sometimes with your sad playlist to get it flowing. Basically, let it all out with a good cry and hope it gets better. You were fine to cry alone, if anything it was better that no one had to see you like this. You could ugly cry all you wanted and not have to be perceived. But both fortunately and unfortunately your boyfriend came home a few hours early. He was supposed to be out for work until early tomorrow morning but he wanted to see you and surprise you by coming the night before, albeit late at night. He called out your name happily to locate you within your shared home. You trust him so when you heard him you didn’t feel the need to hide or pretend you weren’t crying. You called out his name to signal you were in your room and immediately he could tell something was off. Your voice was hoarse and cracked and so he quickly put down his stuff to speed walk over to you. When he opened the door and saw you crying he immediately rushed to you to envelop you in a hug. “Baby what’s wrong?” he said with a slight pout and concern in his eyes. He loved you so much and just wanted to make you smile and happy, he knew that emotions were normal and that having a good cry is good, he even does it himself sometimes heh. But he hates to see you cry, it breaks his heart a bit. He ushers you to the bed so you can both sit and hug comfortably. You tell him that it’s just been a lot and you rant a bit about your troubles. You don’t say a lot but he doesn’t need to hear the details to know how you feel and how to comfort you. “I’m so sorry darling. Listen, I love you so much and I’m sorry you have to go through this right now. I wish I could take this all away for you and maybe I can’t but I know that I can try my hardest to try and help. You’re such a sweetheart and a gentle soul and you deserve the world.” He gives you forehead kisses as he wipes your tears with a tissue he grabbed from your table. He hugs you tight as you ugly cry a little from his words. “You’re doing amazing, darling. You’re always doing your best and I hope you never forget that. You’ve told me so much about you and your past and I hope you know how strong you are.” He strokes your hair and your back as he says this. You feel his heartbeat, his body, and the vibrations of his voice against you as he speaks. “Let it out, we’ll get you a snack, and we’ll sleep, you can deal with whatever else tomorrow. For tonight please just rest, you always work so hard.” You pull back to give him a small nod. He smiles at how cute you are even while crying and gives you a long, reassuring kiss. He cups your face with his hands and wipes your tears a bit with his thumbs. You both pull back and you croak out “I’m sorry that you had to come back just to worry about me and comfort me.” “You always take such good care of me, this is the least I can do. Let me know how else I can help support you. If you need more hugs, kisses, reassurance, or anything at all, just tell me. Okay?” He says warmly, smiling at you with soft adoration in his eyes. You nod again as tears flow out because he’s treating you so sweetly. “Thank you… I love you so much and I appreciate you,” you say, half crying, as you kiss him. “No need to thank me baby. I love you so much too.” You sit with your foreheads pressed together for a bit as you finish crying. “Let’s get you a snack sweetheart,” he says while standing up and offering you his hand. You nod and smile.

He holds your hand all the way to the kitchen and it makes you giggle and your heart flutter. He makes you both cups of your favorite tea but decaf because you need to sleep! He grabs you some of your shared collection of snacks and you head back to the bed. You finish your tea together while chatting about his recent work/mission and you both feel warm from the tea and also just from each other. You put down your cups and lay down to cuddle. He turns the lights off and wraps his arms around you. He lays on his back to let you sleep on his chest with one arm around you and the free one brushing through your hair. “I love you so much. Never forget that. I hope that you also love yourself as much as I love you because you deserve it. If you can’t right now, that’s okay, we’ll do it together, slowly.” You share a few more kisses as you tell him you love him too, that you’ll definitely try, and that you hope he loves himself like that too. Your hearts are full as you drift into sleep together. Maybe the future will be nice, but even if it isn’t, it doesn’t matter. You’ll always have him and he’ll always have you. He’s given you the power to love yourself and you’ve given the same back. Life will inevitably get hard but you feel like that you might just be able to face it because you’re not alone. You both doze off into the night, smiling in each other's embrace.

NOTES (YES I KNOW THEY CAN’T TALK LOL HERE ARE MY EXPLANATIONS) NOTE 1: personal headcanon that will be in Inumaki’s own fic eventually: Inumaki learned to not funnel cursed energy into his speech for short periods of time and he uses it for when you really need to hear his voice, you can also help him suppress the cursed energy by blocking it with yours by mentally aiming it at his throat. NOTE 2: since this is for heartsteel Aphelios (because I haven’t researched regular Aphelios’s lore enough yet) it seems that he can still talk, he just chooses not to. He lost his ability to sing but I haven’t found anything that says he can’t speak or use his vocal chords. In game, he still has the ability to yell or grunt when he’s attacking or even doing his emotes. I just headcanon that he doesn’t like how his voice sounds after losing his singing voice (even though you reassure him he really does sound the same) and it also strains him to speak for too long. But, he will speak to you commonly in short bursts, or will speak when you need to hear him.

|| MASTERLIST <3 || Thank you for reading! ||

[ralvezfanatic]

hihi quick poll again :33

these are the fics currently in my google docs ! some are requests and some are not.

will work on them in order of votes probably

[scrumptiousstuffs]

okay hopefully this will be a more fun ask. immediate answers only, no thinking. all are for both First and Khaotung.

favorite role

who you want to see them working with (separately or together)

prettiest they've ever looked (I know this one is hard but I want the first thing that pops into your head)

most babygirl moment

the time they broke your brain

photographic evidence is a must!

This was fun, anon!!! So, like you have requested, the first thing that pop into my mind:

1. Favorite role: Akk and Aye no doubt. Those are my babies. I love most of their roles pre-CP and all the one after CPs but AkkAye in The Eclipse has my heart and soul.

I can’t tell you how much I relate so much with Akk and his struggle in high school. I was Akk in my teenage years (minus the pyro tendency) except I don’t have my own Aye (or even Wat/Kan) to get me through those tough years. First was exquisite in this role. The way he conveyed his confusion while trying to come to grasp with his feelings while all his previous beliefs being systematically dismantled was amazing to watch.

And Khaotung as Aye - what can I say, he had me with his swagger and cool cockiness, trying to hide his depression and anger towards a system that cruelly took away his only father figure (also, I am ashamed to say it took me awhile to recognise Khaotung as Aye cause it was such a contrast with his performance in Longtae and Fong 🤣😂 - that’s how much of a chameleon this boy is when acting!)

My favourite moments for AkkAye (that doesn’t involve kissing) have to be these 2:

a) Aye seeking comfort from Akk who for the first time realised how much his school is bullying a student

b) And when Aye caught Akk smiling at their candid photo at the vending machine - Aye’s soft smile as he realised “ah…this guy does have feeling for me” while Akk looks panicky but at the same time realising Aye won’t tease him (that much) for his blunder!

2. Who I want to see FK working together (separately or together): I’m going to exclude people they have already worked with in this category (which really just means EarthMix and GemFourth 🤣 - cause as much as I love the other 2 CPs as well, I just can’t see GMMTV putting all 6 of them again like MLC)

For First - Tay Tawan, Arm Weerayut or Mond. Tay brotherhood with First off-screen is one of my favourite thing ever. I don’t care what they play in a show - brothers? Enemies? Best friends? Just give them to me!!!!

As for Arm, I think he is one of the more under-rated actors that GMMTV on their rosters. I know he often plays minor/secondary roles - but he has potential for so much more. I like him so much when he played View’s love interest in 55:15 Never Too Late!

With Mond - Boeing was sussed but his chemistry with First in Not Me?? - 🙌🙌🙌

For Khaotung - Gun (I’m still waiting for Home School season 2 😩), Nanon/Luke or Perth.

Nanon has been absent from acting for god knows how long. I say a good script with Khaotung will be enticing!

And I have always wanted Khaotung + Perth as brothers (the plot is secondary)

As for Luke - it is time for him to be induct in the BL world (plus his ghostship with Khaotung in Safe House? ADORABLE ☺️)

Picture courtesy of @/asianmenarewinning

And as CP, I want FirstKhaotung to act with a GL couple. Personally, I adore June/View (unfortunately, we know this GL is highly unlikely to happen). So, I’ll take NamtamFilm (who so far is doing amazingly in Pluto) or Ciize/Kapook.

Above Picture courtesy from this website

Above picture from here

3. Prettiest they’ve ever look

Khaotung when he became Barbie during one of their event- LOOK AT THIS BEAUTIFUL ANGEL

First was especially exquisite during the Moment magazine photoshoot (truly one of his best photoshoot) - THAT BONE STRUCTURE (I’m still salty nobody has picked my boy up yet as a brand ambassador)

4. Most Babygirl moment (again the first thing that pops into my mind)

When First make those small tiny excited jumps while talking to his bestie during the SFxEMFK DeadpoolWolverine Screening 😬

Khaotung famous pout during School Rangers after losing 🤭

5. That time they broke my brain - so many moments, but alas, the most recent video of FK vibing in PolyCat concert (with a song that is about pining and never confessing towards your bestie on the bg) will have to take the cake! Cause it’s still fresh on my mind (and basically everyone in this fandom) 😫….

[just-somehuman]

I AM BACK FROM THE DEAD AND I BRING YOU BIBLE VERSES THAT REMIND ME OF THE OM CHARACTERS ✨✨✨✨✨✨

__________________

Lucifer - Galatians 6:2

"Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ."

Reminds me of Lulu because he tends to take on everyone's burdens as well as his own. He puts others before himself usually, and that's just mfmfmfmf <333

Mammon - Proverbs 18:24

"A man of many companions may come to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother."

You can't look me dead in the eyes and tell me that Mammon hasn't always been the first to help them whenever MC needed it, and without hesitation too. Bro is so babygirl 🤭💖

Leviathan - Isiah 43:4

"Because you are precious in my eyes, and honoured, and I love you."

Sobbing everytime I read this verse.

These are the words Levi needs to hear because lil bro has a self-esteem the size of a molecule.

AND I KNOW SOME OF YOU NEED TO HEAR IT TOO 🔫🔫🔫

JESUS LOVES YOU, I LOVE YOU, WE ALL LOVE YOU ❤❤

Satan - James 3:17

"But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere."

Allow me a little over-analysis time hehe:

So basically Satan can be regarded as "wisdom" since he's the brains of the bros, and he technically came from the Celestial Realm since he was created just before the bros fell (or as they fell).

Ik ik he was created wrathful and vengeful, but he wasn't techincally. That anger isn't his: it's Lucifer's and his dad's. Imagine Satan being like a pure, clean, blank slate that was corrupted within seconds of his creation with anger that wasn't his.

TEARS RN 😭😭😭😭

Asmodeus - 1 Peter 4:8

"Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins."

I love this verse sm. Peter cooked, ate and left no crumbs.

Asmo loves the most out of the bros and it's so sweet <3

Beelzebub - Psalm 37:37

"Mark the blameless and behold the upright, for there is a future for the man of peace."

Beelie is generally (usually) the most calm out of the bros.

Lil homie so peaceful tho bc all he does is eat, work out, eat some more, love his bros, chill with MC, and eat again 😭

Belphegor - Matthew 5:4

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."

Homegirl is still mourning the loss of Lilith.

I guess you could say MC was the comfort? 👁👁

Diavolo - James 2:24

"You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone."

AHFJKSJAKDJAK TO EVERY BELIEVER THAT SEES THIS, THIS IS SO IMPORTANT!!!!!!!

In relevance to Diavolo, it's more of him genuinely being a good person and not just in other demons' words.

Kind of 😭

Barbatos - Romans 12:12

"Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer."

And Barbatos is all of the above ✨

Except maybe the prayer one bc I don't think there's any distinct faiths in OM 💀

Luke - Philippians 4:13

"I can do all things through Him who strengthens me."

I think this is just such a Luke thing to say, especially since he's young and can't do much 🥹

Simeon - 1 Corinthians 13:4

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud."

ANOTHER FAV OF MINE 💖

I don't think I even need to explain why this reminds me of Simeon.

Solomon - Eccesliates 1:18

"For with much wisdom comes much sorrow; the more knowledge, the more grief."

I present to you my favourite verse AND favourite book.

FUN FACT: King Solomon wrote Eccesliates, so these are the literal words of Solomon.

I guess not much more needs to be said as to why this reminds me of Solobro 💀

Thirteen - Psalm 41:7

"All who hate me whisper together about me; they imagine the worst for me."

Y'know I don't know much about Thirteen but I assume girl's got haters 😭

Raphael - Psalm 34:13-14

"Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking deceit. Turn away from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it."

Honestly I have no idea why this reminds me of him, it just does.

Mephistopheles - Romans 14:21

"It is good not to eat meat or drink wine or do anything that causes your brother to stumble."

Homie loves his lil bro more than anything, so he would do just about anything for him.

Pretty sure brother in this verse means neighbour or friend but it's the same thing.

BONUS:

Little D - 1 Corinthians 13:1

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal."

I HONESTLY JUST CACKLE EVERY TIME I READ THIS VERSE 😭😭😭

I'm pretty sure that Little D just wants to fit in with the rest of the squad though, so all of its yapping is with love 💖

__________________

OKAY THERE'S MY LIST THINGY. IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY. I'LL MAKE AN ARR ONE TOO BC WHY NOT.

Also why was half the words cutting off at the end of each line when I made them small text lol 💀

[captainstressed]

im back with another quickie! this is based on a generated prompt about pg having a nightmare/waking up in the night and luke being there to comfort her.

this one is just shy of 500 words but i like it and i hope you do too.

quick a|n: bebita is baby/babygirl in spanish, a friend from the fandom gave me the idea for one of my previous garvez fics and i just love it so the nickname makes another appearance.

It took Luke a few moments to realise the sounds he was hearing weren’t part of some dream he was having, he reached a hand behind him and softly patted the space beside him whilst the sleepy mist cleared his head. It was empty and the sheet was cool but the noise continued; Pulling his hand back, he scrubbed it over his face in hope of waking himself more and turned over.

Penelope was cocooned beneath the sheets, as far across her side of the bed she could be without falling over the edge. An ache filled Luke’s chest when he realised the noise was coming from her, shuffling across the space between them he gently pulled down one of the sheets covering her face and his heart broke at the sight before him.

“Bebita..”

His voice was hardly above a whisper; Penelope’s cheeks were stained with tears, a small wet patch forming on the pillow beneath her head. Her eyes were closed and it looked as though she was still sleeping, not that it ever stopped her mind from spinning a mile a minute.

He slipped an arm across her waist, bringing his front flush with her back. His other hand drifted to her hair, tucking a section behind her ear so he could whisper reassurances in her ear. She shifted beneath him, a shuddered breath passing her lips as he held her impossibly closer.

“I’m here, it’s ok, you’re ok.”

His words were strengthened by a kiss to the side of her head; it was a handful of moments before he heard her wake up, a quiet gasp followed by a sob she couldn’t hold back.

“Luke?”

Penelope knew he was with her, could feel his arm around her and tried to draw strength from his presence. But she needed to hear his voice, the visions from her nightmare were already fading from her memory but the feelings remained.

“I’m here, it’s ok, you’re ok.”

Luke repeated his words from before, following them with another kiss to her head whilst his other hand smoothed down her hair in hopes of providing the comfort she needed.

She took a moment to revel in his embrace, allowing the feeling of safety to envelope her and clear away some of the haze left over from her nightmare.

They both shifted then, Luke loosened his hold on her and shuffled back a touch and Penelope turned so she could bury her face in Luke’s chest. His arms were around her once more as soon as she was settled, holding her close whilst he dropped kisses to the top of her head.

[pennysperfectpolls]

Adoption poll preliminary match 20

Essek Thelyss (critical role)

Kyoka Eden (Scarlet Nexus)

Luke Skywalker (Star Wars)

Only two will move on!

Propaganda under the cut

Essek Thelyss (critical role)

No propaganda give

Pollrunner note: he is very babygirl

Kyoka Eden (Scarlet Nexus) Propaganda

Kyoka spends the entire game (in secret for most of it) battling with the thought that her life only has purpose in service to Togetsu so long as she has Dr. Pope's memories, and knowing she has to betray Kasane, who is one of the folk she seems to have gotten closest to during the events of the game. It is also stated early on that due to an anti-aging drug OSF members generally do not age like most so their powers can last longer, meaning it is possible she has lost a lot of found family she formerly was close to, all of that is topped off with an identity crisis not helped by people (unknowingly) describing her as acting like Dr. Pope during combat. I am of the opinion that Kyoka just really needs a found family who she can comfortably know will be around for her in life and who she can be a mother like figure for. (Note: she is described as treating her platoons/friends as family and is said to have a strong motherly instinct for them.)

Luke Skywalker (Star Wars) Propaganda

Babyboy NEEDS a big loving family, he DESERVES and big loving family, YES the eu content still lives in my heart why do u ask

[bradshawed]

princess 👑 / common tumblr games!

cym as your comfort characters

join the party!

this has to be my favourite cym ask and definitely the easiest and the quickest one i’ve done idk why…you know i’m starting to see a pattern and i think i might have a type bc they’re all severe babygirls/princesses and i’m not mad about it, just an observation

you as tmr thomas (my chaotic babygirl ily)

@waklman as bradley bradshaw (ily the mostest)

@sematarygirls as babygirl!rafe cameron (u know we love u)

@thyme-in-a-bubble as nick nelson (deserves the world!)

@goodoldfashionedluvergirl as ricky bowen/luke patterson (such a pretty himbo)

@wolvisms as tasm!peter parker (pete ur the sweetest)

@bcyhoods as stevie harrington (princess stevie ily)

@bruisedboys as james potter (jamie ur so pretty)

[faithdeans]

@pinknatural tagged me to list 5 comfort characters and then tag 5 people!! thanks for the tag steph!! <333

Dean Winchester from Supernatural... my silly rabbit my special little guy... i mean you know. you know.

Luke Danes from Gilmore Girls grouchy man patient man silly little flannel wearing man bad at hugs huge heart i love you so much babygirl

Oz from Buffy the Vampire Slayer short king. gender. weird little dude i love himm

Claudia from Interview with the Vampire okay i still haven't watched the new show but it's my favourite novel and i love her soooo much she did nothing wrong ever

Tom Bombadil from The Fellowship of the Ring (book) okay i know he's in the smallest part of the book and not even in the movie but i think about him and Goldberry and Fatty Lumpkin all the damn time. unbothered whimsical nature king!!!!

okay i'm tagging @queerstudiesnatural @mrcowboydeanwinchester @magdaclaire @soupernatural @katya-goncharov

but no pressure ofc <333

[darcyfangirlsfrequently]

I Met You at the End of the World - Chapter 1: With a Little Help From My Friends

Work summary: Luke Alvez and Derek Morgan have been friends for years. When a group of hitmen targets Penelope, Morgan calls Luke and asks him to temporarily join the BAU to help them. Luke obliges, of course, and when he meets the famous Penelope Garcia, he gets more than he bargained for in the best way. (Going to span from season 11-15)

Chapter summary: After discovering that Penelope is the Dirty Dozen, Morgan calls in Luke as backup. Luke works his first case with the BAU team, and gets to meet the legendary Penelope Garcia.

Total word count: 6688

Chapter word count: 6688

Can also be read here on Ao3

“You’re the Dirty Dozen?” Morgan asked, his blood running cold.

Penelope nodded, her brown eyes wide and filled to the brim with tears and terror.

“We need to tell Hotch, okay? Like, right now.”

“Okay.”

The two made their way to Hotch’s office, Penelope clinging onto Morgan’s hand for dear life. Hotch could instantly see that something was deeply wrong. “What happened?”

Penelope explained everything to Hotch exactly how she had explained it to Morgan. 

Hotch was silent for a moment, considering, before quickly doling out instructions. “Garcia, take Morgan and Rossi, go to your apartment, pack a few bags, and come back here. I don’t want you going home until we can put an end to this, it’s not safe. Do you understand?”

Penelope nodded. “What do I do with Sergio, though? I can’t bring him here.”

“If it’s something you’d be open to, Jack and I can take care of him while you’re not home. He’s always been an animal lover.”

“That sounds perfect, thank you, sir.”

“Not a problem. Drive by my house on your way back here and drop off him and his things.”

“I will.”

Morgan, whose mind had been working a mile a minute, finally spoke. “Hotch, before we go, I have an idea.”

“Yes?”

“Are you familiar with the name Luke Alvez at all?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of him. He’s with the Fugitive Taskforce, correct?”

“Yeah,” Morgan confirmed. “He’s a friend of mine. He’s one of the best in his unit. I think he could help us with this, let me reach out to him and see if he can give us a hand.”

“I see no issues with that. Let me know what he says.”

“I will.”

Morgan looked at Penelope and nodded toward Hotch’s door. “C’mon. Let’s get Rossi and let’s go.”

When they arrived at Penelope’s apartment, Rossi helped her pack her things, and Morgan stayed in her living room to call Luke. 

“Hey, Morgan, it’s been a while. Nice to hear from you.” To some people, those words might have seemed sarcastic or passive-aggressive, but Morgan knew his friend was being sincere. It had been a while since the two had had the opportunity to speak, but that was understandable because of their respective jobs, and Luke did genuinely think it was nice to hear from Morgan.

“Yeah, I know. Look, man, I wish I could tell you this was a social call, but I have a favor to ask you.”

“All right, shoot.”

“You remember my friend I told you about, Penelope Garcia?”

Luke scoffed. “You mean your Babygirl? Yeah, I remember. What about her?”

“We just found out that she’s the target for a group of hitmen.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. That was pretty much my reaction too. My boss and I were hoping you’d be willing to come and help our team while we hunt these sick bastards down.”

Luke hesitated. “Morgan, don’t get me wrong, you know I’d love to get to work with you and your team, but are you really sure I’d be much help? I’m a manhunter, I’m no good to you as a profiler.”

“Luke, I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t sure. Some of these people are fugitives. You could really help us. Please, Luke, I—” Morgan’s voice cracked in desperation. “I need to keep her safe and I need the best people on this.”

Luke considered. It would be nice to get out of his comfort zone a bit and to be working with a team again. He had been running solo since Phil’s incident, and it had gotten old fast. “All right, sure. I’ll do it. When do I start?”

“Tomorrow?” Morgan asked hopefully.

“I’ll see you then.”

Morgan hung up the phone and called Hotch. “Hey, Hotch, it’s Morgan. I just got off the phone with Alvez. He’s in.”

***

When Morgan arrived at the Bullpen the next morning with Tara and JJ, Rossi was standing there waiting, looking grim. Hotch and Penelope were nowhere to be seen. 

“Hey, Rossi,” Morgan said. “Where’s Hotch and Garcia? I thought we had a case.”

“We do, but they’re behind closed doors.” Rossi gestured at Hotch’s office, where he and Penelope were undoubtedly going over the details about what the foreseeable future would look like. 

“Is this about the network of hitmen?” JJ asked.

Rossi nodded. “Yeah.”

“Any update?” Tara asked him, concern for her new friend obvious on her face. 

“Nothing yet,” Rossi replied. “But we’re pulling out all the stops.”

JJ looked between Rossi and Morgan, the two people who’d been with her after she received the news. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s got four hitmen targeting her, so she’s a little rattled,” Morgan told her. 

“Yeah,” Rossi said. “They were briefly discussing Witness Protection.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Tara said. 

“It won’t,” Morgan informed them. ��Last night I called a friend of mine from the Fugitive Taskforce, his name is Luke Alvez. He agreed to come work with our team and help us track down the network.”

“Oh thank god,” JJ sighed. With her past as a Communications Liason, as well as her more official, top-secret assignments, she had heard the name Luke Alvez before, and she knew he was one of the best. “When does he start?”

Just then the elevator dinged open and a tall, Latino man with short, dark curly hair entered the bullpen. 

Morgan smiled. “Right now.” He walked over to his friend and gave him a bro-hug. “Alvez, hey, man, it’s good to see you.”

“Hey, Morgan, you too, man.”

The two walked back over to the middle of the Bullpen, where Morgan made the introductions. “Everyone, this is my friend, Luke Alvez. Luke, this is Dr. Tara Lewis, David Rossi, and Jennifer Jareau, but if you call her that she will kick your ass. Call her JJ.”

JJ laughed and extended her hand. “He’s only slightly exaggerating. It’s nice to meet you, Alvez.”

“Likewise,” Luke replied, shaking her hand. “I’ve heard so much about all of you, but please, just call me Luke. Alvez is way too formal for my liking.”

“You’ll meet Hotch and Garcia in a few minutes,” Morgan told Luke once he’d greeted the others. “They’re just in his office discussing details. Let’s head up to the Round Table Room in the meantime.”

Luke nodded. “Lead the way.”

Hotch entered the Round Table Room a few minutes later, Penelope hot on his heels. “Agent Alvez,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Luke got up from his chair to shake his hand. “Yeah, likewise, Agent Hotchner.”

“And as I’m sure you deduced,” the Unit Chief said, “This is Penelope Garcia.”

Penelope looked at Luke, and he was enchanted. Morgan had shown him a few pictures of his team before, but none of them did justice to the vision of a woman standing in front of him. Even in her obviously distressed state, she was beautiful. “It’s nice to meet you,” he told her. “Morgan’s told me a lot about you.

She smiled, and Luke had never seen anything like it. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Let’s get to work,” Hotch said, effectively ending the greetings. Everyone took their seats. “The Pheonix division is requesting our help with two recent abductions, one of which has led to murder.”

Penelope took the remote that was handed to her by Morgan and began to present the case. “Uh, okay. Five days ago the body of Steven Jackson was discovered on a rural road just outside the city.”

“He was reported missing after missing several shifts at work,” Hotch continued. 

“Which brings us to our second victim,” Penelope told them. “Lance Coleman. According to authorities, three days ago he was due home in Phoenix from a business trip to Tuscon.”

“And security footage shows him entering the airport, but the flight manifest says he never got on the plane,” Hotch informed the team.

“It’s as if these two vanished,” Rossi said.

“On average, 90,000 people go missing each year,” Tara stated. “Fifty-four percent of those are men. Only fifteen percent return alive.”

Luke raised his eyebrows, impressed at the Doctor’s statistics and her ability to rattle them off without a second thought. From what he’d heard from Morgan, Dr. Reid—the one team member he had yet to meet—was the certified genius, and Garcia was the computer genius. He didn’t realize he’d be working with three geniuses, although he should have seen it coming. The members of the BAU had some of the sharpest minds in the country. 

“The preliminary M.E. report shows deep ligature marks and lacerations on Steven’s wrists,” JJ pointed out. “He was likely restrained for an extended period of time.”

“Which probably means that the unsub has a secure secondary location where he holds them captive,” Luke suggested.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Morgan agreed, secretly proud that his friend felt comfortable enough to contribute ideas from his own expertise. “It says here that Steven suffered repeated burns and contusions all over his body.”

“Extreme torture,” Hotch guessed. “The Unsub’s found an outlet for his aggression.”

“No obvious signs of sexual assault,” Rossi stated. “The torture could be what’s getting him off.”

“That makse sense,” Tara said. “He gets sexual gratification from inflicting psychological and physical suffering on his victims.”

“Well this level of violence suggests that it’s personal,” Hotch pointed out.

“Maybe it’s about revenge,” Tara replied. “These two crossed the Unsub, now he wants to make them pay.”

“Or, at the very least,” Rossi added, “he’s using them as surrogates for the true target of his anger.”

“It’s possible he was testing to see just how much torture Steven could take before he’d break,” Morgan theorized. 

Luke was astounded at the way this team worked, bouncing ideas off each other like it was nothing, practically reading each others’ minds. He hoped he’d be able to pick that up a little bit in his time with them so he didn’t feel like he wasn’t contributing anything to the team that had invited him in.

“Well, Coleman’s been missing for over seventy-two hours,” JJ pointed out ruefully. “If revenge is the Unsub’s motivation, he could already be dead.”

“Well unless we have reason to believe otherwise, we have to assume Lance Coleman’s alive,” Hotch instructed. “And we need to find him. Agent Alvez, I apologize that your introduction to the team can’t be more gradual, but this is the job. Wheels up in twenty.”

Luke nodded and got up to follow everyone else out of the room, casting one last backwards glance at the woman he was supposed to be here to help protect before he left.

***

Once at cruising altitude, Penelope called into the jet to provide the team with information she’d gathered in the first section of their trip. Or rather, lack thereof. “Besides being residents of one of the hottest—and I’m sure they’re all pleasant-looking but I’m talking Fahrenheit here—cities in the country, I can’t find any connections between the victims,” she informed them.

“Garcia, what about Lance’s credit cards?” Morgan asked. “Any activity?”

“Uh…” she searched for a moment. “His last transaction was a car service to the airport. Besides that, it’s a ghost town.”

“Both victims are low-risk,” Hotch observed. “It speaks to the unsubs confidence.”

“Steven looks like he practically lived at the gym,” JJ said. “They couldn’t be more physically different.”

“Well he definitely lived the Bachelor’s lifestyle,” Tara responded. “Single, lived in a studio apartment, worked freelance as an overnight security guard.”

“Yeah, and Lance Coleman was the opposite,” Luke pointed out. “He’s a family man, been married to his wife Karen for nearly 20 years.” As much as Luke enjoyed watching the team do their thing, he did want to pull his own weight, so he spoke where he could.

“And he also owned his own business,” Penelope said over the phone, adding on to Luke’s statement. “He would take weekly commuter flights to Tuscon to meet with potential investors.”

“Maybe the Unsub’s motivation is business-related, not personal,” Tara theorized.

“Garcia, see if Steven ever worked security for Lance’s company,” Hotch instructed.

“Gotcha,” she replied, signing off with a click.

“All right, so how did he get to these guys?” Luke asked, wanting to learn how profilers came to the conclusions that they did.

“I’m leaning towards a blitz attack,” Rossi told him. Having been in the FBI a while, Rossi was also no stranger to the name Luke Alvez. The man’s reputation preceded him, and Rossi knew he had a hard worth ethic and admired his eagerness to dive right into the team. He was confident that Luke would be a good asset as they attempted to take down the group of hitmen targeting Penelope.

“These look like electrical burns, the unsub could be using some kind of taser,” JJ pointed out, adding to Rossi’s blitz attack theory.

“Both victims went missing while traveling at night,” Morgan said. “That speaks to the Unsub’s knowledge of their schedules.”

“He may have stalked them over an extended period of time,” Rossi suggested.

Hotch nodded. “Which is how he knew the most opportune moment to strike.”

“There are no witnesses, no cameras,” Tara said. “They were simply gone.”

Hotch voiced what they all knew. “He targeted these men for a reason. The sooner we find out why, the sooner we’ll find Lance. JJ, Rossi, you’ll be coming with me to the Pheonix division headquarters. Alvez, Lewis, Morgan head to the M.E.’s office, see what you can find.”

Once assignments were doled out, the team could rest a bit before they arrived at their destination. 

“So Luke,” Tara called out. “What do you think of the BAU jet? Pretty sweet, right?”

Luke smiled. “Yeah, it’s great. I heard the legends about it from this one,” he pointed at Morgan, “but I never thought I’d actually get to ride in it.”

“Gideon and I begged for one for years when he first founded the BAU,” Rossi lamented. “Of course we only get one after I retire.”

“Should have stuck around then,” Hotch retorted, a small smile on his face that Luke hadn’t seen yet, nor had he expected. He laughed with the rest of the team at the easy dynamic they all had. He could get used to this.

***

Luke had been to M.E.’s offices in the past, but they didn’t get any less unsettling. 

“He suffered facial fractures, burns, and extensive bruising,” the M.E. was telling them.

“Have you determined COD?” Morgan asked her. 

She shook her head. “I haven’t finalized my findings, but preliminarily I’d say he died from cardiac arrest induced by electric shock.” She pointed at marks on the victim’s face. “I’m still trying to figure out what caused these.”

“Look at him, this is complete overkill,” Morgan said.

“Well, the fact that the Unsub’s stepping up his level of torture could mean that he’s getting frustrated,” Tara suggested.

Luke decided to throw out an idea of his own. “It’s possible he’s ex-military. It would explain his knowledge of multiple torture techniques.” As a former army ranger himself, he would know.

“Or the guy used Google,” the M.E. interjected. When they all looked at her confused, she quickly continued. “Trust me, I’ve seen some crazy stuff.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be the first time someone used the internet as a killing manual,” Tara conceded.

“Well typically these types of tactics are used to get a confession or information,” Luke said, continuing with his army theory.

Tara leaned over the victim, closely examining the small marks surrounding his eyes. “What caused these?”

“It appears that at some point during the torture, the killer staples his eyelids open,” she informed them. 

Tara was taken aback. “Well that is sadistic.”

“It might be symbolic,” Morgan offered. “The victims could have turned a blind eye to something that affected the unsub.” 

Luke nodded, seeing where his friend was going. “And now he’s punishing them for it.”

“The worst part is,” the M.E. continued, “it was done while this guy was still alive.”

Morgan nodded, unsurprised. “This Unsub wanted Steven to anticipate and witness his own torture.”

***

By the time the three of them made it to the Pheonix division headquarters, they already had a lead of sorts. The unsub had to have done something with Steven Jackson’s car. If they could find it, they could be one step closer to finding out how this Unsub abducted their victims.

Agent Webster, the Pheonix agent in charge, had some news for them. “According to DMV records, Steven Jackson drove a ‘91 Mustang.”

JJ sighed. “Older models, so no GPS.”

“I went ahead and issued an APB on his car,” Agent Webster informed them. “Hopefully we get a hit soon.”

Morgan’s phone began to ring, and he answered it, but didn’t give whoever was on the other line a chance to say anything first. “Hey, Babygirl, you’re on speaker, what’s up?”

Luke smirked. So that was why he was in such a hurry to say something. Luke had heard about the Speaker Phone Horror Stories of Penelope Garcia and Derek Morgan. Especially the one where they were the stars of a sexual harassment seminar the year prior.

“Okay, I did some spelunking and found that after Coleman missed his flight, he used not his personal but his company credit card to foot the bill for a rental car,” Penelope told them.

“Well that’s about an hour and a half drive,” JJ said. “He probably figured he’d make it home before his wife woke up.”

“Can you track down the Rental Car’s GPS?” Rossi asked her.

“I already meowed up that tree,” Penelope replied. “It is disabled. But, I am piecing together the GPS history as we speak.”

“That’s why you’re the best, Mama,” Morgan crooned into his phone.

“Oh, don’t I know it,” she teased back before vanishing with a click.

Luke had to keep himself from laughing. He never thought he’d get to see the Morgan/Garcia banter in person.

Rossi turned to the map on the board behind them. “He could have taken a number of different routes back to Phoenix. Highway 77, 87, or 10.”

“Well he would have taken the fastest route back,” JJ said.

“That’d be Interstate 10,” Agent Webster informed them.

“Okay, but what if he’s abducting them off the road?” JJ asked.

“This could be about road rage,” Morgan said. “Perceived slight while driving might have made them a target.”

Rossi seemed a bit dubious. “An extreme case of road rage that leads to abduction and murder.”

“But,” Morgan said, countering his own point. “If that’s true, the victims’ cars would have been abandoned, both are still missing.”

“What if they’re car jackings?” Luke offered. “Think about it. The Unsub lies in wait, he blitzes the victim at an intersection, then he drives off in their cars. I see it all the time with the Fugitive Taskforce.”

Rossi considered this. “So these victims weren’t targeted, they were picked at random.”

Luke nodded. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

“It is possible he used a similar ruse like Gary Lee Sampson,” Morgan pointed out. “He posed as a hitchhiker and preyed on Good Samaritans.”

“Probable waves down a passing car,’ Rossi continued.

JJ picked up his train of thought. “Appears lost or incoherent.”

“Claims his car broke down, his phone is dead,” Morgan said. “He needs directions or a ride.”

“And the next thing you know, you’re looking down the barrel of a gun,” Luke finished. “And the good deed is punished.”

*** 

The next morning they got a call. A body had been found. Tara and JJ went to get check it out, and they came back with a profile. The team gathered briefly, then delivered the profile to the Pehonix agents. 

“The Unknown Subject we’re looking for is a sadistic inquisitor,” Hotch started, “which means that he’s aroused sexually and emotionally by causing pain in the service of eliviting information.”

“The Unsub gets off on the fact that his victims won’t put up resistance,” JJ continued. “It allows him to push the torture even further.”

Morgan picked up the thread. “We think he’s a white male, in his thirties to early forties, who’s physically fit enough o subdue male victims.”

“He’s goal-oriented,” Rossi stated. “Driven by rage, which makes him extremely brutal in his torture methods.”

“This Unsub exerts power and control over his victims,” Tara added, “making them feel helpless until they give him whatever it is he’s looking for.”

“Based upon his systematic torutre,” Luke said, “it’s possible the Unsub is suffering from some sort of PTSD.”

Morgan picked up where his friend left off. “Given the sheer amount of work and effort he puts into torturing his victims, we think there’s a deep-seated personal reason for what the Unsub is doing.”

“It’s possible he appears unassuming with limited social skills,” Rossi offered. “Which is why he chooses to hunt at night.”

“He plays on his victims’ good will and sympathy before he blitzes them and abducts them from their vehicles,” Hotch informed the other agents.

“Becuase of the escalating torture, we believe this Unsub is becoming both increasingly desperate and volatile,” Tara told them.

“This Unsub is driven by a compulsion,” Morgan said. “A need-based desire. Because these men are surrogates, there’s a good chance his victims will never be able to give the Unsub what he ultimately wants.

“Understanding his motivation will be the key to finding him,” Hotch finished. “Thank you.”

***

JJ walked into the board room with some papers in hand. “Ballistics confirm the gun used to kill Lance was the same one registered to Steven Jackson.” She passed out the reports to everyone.

Agent Webster came in then with her own files. “I’ve got men canvassing gas stations, rest stops, any place where the unsub might have come into contact with the victims. So far, no solid leads.”

Luke smiled as Morgan’s phone began to ring, sure he was about to hear another legendary Morgan/Garcia interaction.

“Hey, tell me something good, boo,” Morgan said as he answered.

“I managed to partially piece together Lance’s GPS history,” came Penelope’s light and bubbly voice, “and I’ve got him on a route that takes him right up Interstate 10.”

“That’s the exact same route the first victim would have taken to work,” Tara remembered.

“Lance Coleman wouldn’t have been on that highway if he hadn’t missed his flight,” Morgan mused.

“So this is where both the victims crossed paths with the Unsub,” JJ said decidedly. “This must be the nexus.”

“I-10’s one of the most traveled roads in the country,” Agent Webster told JJ. “It stretches from California to Florida.”

JJ rolled her eyes. “Highway serial killer’s paradise.”

“Garcia, run our profile against the HSK database,” Morgan requested. “Check for any potential suspects connected specifically to I-10.”

“I’m on it,” she replied, the sound of her keyboards already clear over the line.

“How much are you willing to bet that whatever that Unsub is looking for is somehow connected to this highway?” Tara asked.

Luke was positive she was right. “I’ll believe it.”

JJ excused herself for a moment, looking absolutely exhausted.

Luke knew it wasn’t really any of his business, but he looked at Tara and Morgan curiously anyway, trusting they wouldn’t tell him if they shouldn’t. 

“She has a newborn and a seven-year-old at home,” Morgan explained. “And she’s not allowed to be back on caffeine yet.”

Luke nodded, understanding. “Ah, I see. Yeah, I remember when my sister was going through that. It was hard enough and she’s not an FBI agent. JJ’s strong.”

“You have a sister?” Tara asked him. 

“Yeah, two, actually. One older and one younger.”

Just then, JJ re-entered the room, looking as energized as ever. “Caffeine,” she announced.

“I am a fan,” Tara replied. “What about it?”

“You want your victims to stay awake and alert for what you’re about to do to them,” JJ said, handing everyone a new M.E. report.

Tara understood instantly. “So you give them caffeine.” She looked at the report JJ had given her. “Wow, astronomical levels, apparently. Wait, how did you… oh yeah. Sorry.” She laughed at herself, given the fact that this was just what they had been talking about before JJ came back in.

“Wait, why would he do this, again?” Agent Webster asked.

“Well, there are a variety of reasons,” Luke told her, unfortunately very versed in the ways of torture. “The caffeine would open up their arteries, which would increase their nerve sensitivity, and, in turn, enhance their pain levels.”

“Sleep deprivation,” JJ said, as if she couldn’t believe she had missed it. “So the torture isn’t about his anger, it’s a reflection of what he’s going through. He wants them to stay awake.”

***

Later on in the day, Morgan and Agent Webster came back into the room with some bad news. “We just received news of another abduction. David Whitfield.” She placed his photo up on the board. “Reported missing an hour ago.”

“His employer confirmed that he clocked out at 1:30 yesterday morning, but according to his roommate, he never made it back home.”

“Where does he work?” Luke asked.

“An old auto factory off Interstate 10 near Canton,” Agent Webster told them.

Hotch considered these details. “Fits the geographic profile and the timeline.”

“This guy has a precise MO,” Rossi admitted.

“How much of the Interstate is isolated enough for an abduction?” Morgan asked.

“There are a couple of gas stations, a diner, and a few rest stops,” Agent Webster rattled off. “Nothing really pops out.”

Luke formed a tight-lipped grin. “So, most of it.”

“Not to mention there are far more secluded stretches of Interstate,” Rossi pointed out.

“Why does he keep coming back to the same area?” Luke asked, sure the profilers probably already had a reason in mind. Little did he know, that was exactly what they all needed to find out.

***

This time it was Luke’s turn to call Penelope. How that happened he wasn’t really sure, but it was no big deal. He had her number in his phone, so he called her.

“Penelope Garcia’s house of everything made of sugar and spice and everything nice as well as everything sour and dour, what can I do you for?”

Luke was taken aback. “Um, hi?”

“Oh my gosh!” Penelope gasped. “Agent Alvez! Hello! So sorry for that! I didn’t think to check the caller ID! What can I help you with?”

“Hey, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. I should have been expecting one of those Great Garcia Greetings I’ve heard so much about. You’re on speaker, by the way. We have a particular stretch of the I-10 between Chandler and Phoenix that we need you to focus on, could you do that? Look for any accidents involving male drivers on that stretch of highway.”

“I absolutely can do that,” she replied. “Keep it coming.”

“We know the Unsub’s keeping his victims awake,” JJ told her, “so look for any accidents where the driver fell asleep at the wheel.”

They heard the clicks of Penelope’s keyboard for a few more moments before she spoke again. “Uh, okay, I am not finding any sleep-related incidents within that radius.”

“We know that the time of abduction is important to him,” Rossi said. “Widen the search to take in any accidents that occured between 1:30 and 2:00 a.m.”

The clicking picked back up again. “Despite on the I-10 there’s an accident like every forty-five seconds, I’ve got zilch.”

“Okay, we know this was a recent trigger, so expand your search parameters to incidents reported within the last few months.”

“Huh,” was the only response they got.

“What’d you find?” Morgan asked her.

“I don’t know if I found anything. I found a report citing sleep deprivation, but it’s not an accident, it’s a child abduction. Here we go, I managed to find the original police report from three months ago. Okay, a forty-three-year-old William Taylor was driving I-10 near Chandler, Arizona. It was late, around 11:30. He was with his five-year-old daughter Tatianna, they were returning from a dance recital. It says here he just worked a double shift at the salvage yard which he owns. He was super sleepy, he pulled off around midnight to a rest stop.”

“What happened next?” Luke asked.

“Looks like he only intended to close his eyes for ten minutes, but he woke up hours later and his daughter was missing.”

JJ put her head in her hands. “I can’t imagine. A parent’s worst nightmare. There’s your trigger.”

Rossi nodded. “He’s torturing them for answers about his daughter’s abduction.”

“Yeah, in his mind he believes his victims were involved,” Tara said.

“Garcia,” Morgan called out. “Any viable suspects?”

“Uh, no, the police canvassed the whole rest stop, and they came up empty. There’s still no leads. Hold on, according to Taylor there was a man with a skull tattoo on his hand who knocked on his window moments after he fell asleep. The guy told Taylor his tail light was out, and then Taylor went back to sleep.”

“Like you said, Taylor might have been suffering from sleep deprivation himself,” Rossi said to JJ, who nodded in response.

“It’s likely he was in a micro sleep and he imagined the man with the skull tattoo.”

“And like any parent would be, the Unsub is riddled with guilt,” Morgan stated.

“Yeah,” JJ agreed. “In his mind he wasn’t able to protect her and keep her safe.”

“And now in his delusional state, he believes each of his victims is the man with the skull tattoo,” Tara concluded.

“He’s forcing his victims to take responsibility for his own guilt,” Rossi realized.

“If he hadn’t fallen asleep at that rest stop, his daughter might still be with him,” Morgan added.

“So he forces his victims to stay awake as he wishes he had,” JJ said.

“Work and home addresses just sent,” came Penelope’s voice from over the phone.

“I’ll let Hotch know,” Rossi said, pulling out his phone.

Luke picked up his own phone. “Thank you, Garcia.”

“You’re welcome!”

He hung up the call and followed the rest of the team out of the room to go gear up. It was time.

***

“Hey, where’s your head at right now?” Morgan asked Luke as they drove.

“I just don’t understand what happened a week ago to turn a grieving father into a killer.”

“It could have been the stress from the case. The leads went cold and the guy just snapped.”

“Yeah, and the not knowing is the worst part.” Morgan’s phone rang then, but since he was driving, Luke picked it up. “Hotch, you’re on speaker.”

“There’s something you should know,” he told them. “The police found Tatianna’s body.”

Morgan and Luke exchanged a brief look. There it is.

***

They arrived on the scene to see the Unsub cornering David Whitfield between his car and a chain link fence.

“William Taylor, step out of the vehicle with your hands where we can see them,” Luke shouted at him.

“I got him!” Taylor called back. “That is the man with the skull tattoo, he’s right there.”

“That is not him, William,” Morgan told him.

“Dammit!” he shouted. “Why aren’t you listening to me? That man has my daughter!”

“No, he doesn’t,” Luke called out.

“Yes, he does! And I’m going to find her and I’m not going to let her get away with it again!”

“All right, William, listen to me, okay?” Luke said, stepping towards him and holstering his gun, knowing Morgan had him covered. Tara and JJ took that moment of distraction to run and grab David Whitfield and bring him to safety. “You can I both know they found Tatianna,” he continued. 

William looked… relieved, almost. “You found my little girl?”

“Yes, a week ago,” Luke told him. “William, you were there.”

He shook his head viciously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You remember the volunteers? The search party? William, think back. Tatianna’s remains were found in the desert not far from the rest stop.” Realizing the Unsub was suffering a complete break from reality, Luke took his gun back out of the holster, knowing things could very quickly get ugly.

“No, no, no, no!” William insisted. “That was not her! She’s still out there!”

“Think about Tatianna, William!” Tara called out to him. “Think about what she would have wanted!”

William was silent for a moment before angrily declaring, “She’s alive and I’m going to find her!”

They were left with no choice, Luke, Tara, and Morgan all took a shot. William Taylor was dead.

*** 

On the flight back, Morgan and Rossi were teasing JJ about something and Hotch was doing paperwork, so Tara sat down next to Luke on the bench. “Hey, good job with that takedown today.”

“Thanks. You too. That’s always been my favorite part, you know? Not when we have to kill someone, but the satisfaction that we did our job, and people are safe because of it.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely the best feeling we get from this job,” she agreed.

Luke was silent for a moment before asking, “So what do you think happened to Taylor’s daughter?”

“Well, the police report assumed that since he didn’t have child locks on his truck, that she wandered off into the desert for some reason. I saw where they found her body, there’s no way she could have made it back to the road. And with the way temperatures drop in the desert at night, she didn’t stand a chance. But at the same time, Taylor was adamant up until the bitter end that a man with a skull tattoo abducted his daughter. An Unsub with a ghost in his mind is always dangerous, of course, unless it wasn’t all in his mind.”

“So… you really have no idea?”

“I really have no idea.”

***

When they got back to Quantico, Luke decided to head down the hall to where Penelope’s office was. 

"Come in," was her response to his gentle knocks. 

"I can't," he called back lamely. "I don't know the passcode." 

"Oh!" He heard some hurried movements inside the office before the door was flung open revealing a tired-looking but not less enchanting Penelope Garcia. "Hello, it's you. Come on in, what can I do for you?" 

"Hey, I just wanted to introduce myself properly. I didn't get the chance to the other day, and I just thought, you know, since Morgan called me in to help protect you, we should probably actually meet." 

She nodded, comprehending. "Yeah, that makes sense. And since you're probably going to be here for a while…" she picked up one of her fuzzy-tipped pens and wrote something on a bright pink sticky note. "Here is the passcode to my office. You should definitely have this." 

He smiled and accepted the sticky note from her and slipped it into his pocket, patting it to ensure it wouldn't fall out, then sat down in the office chair across from her. “How’re you doing?”

“Well, I’m scared, obviously, and I’m also feeling really guilty about the fact that you got pulled away from your job to help with this.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Luke assured her. “I’m excited to work with a team, I’ve only really worked alone or with one other person. Besides, I get to help take down a group of hitmen, what kind of Fugitive Hunter would I be if I didn’t want to do that?”

Penelope considered this. “That… makes sense, I supposed. Thank you, that alleviates my guilt.”

“Any time. Besides, with how much Morgan talks about you, how could I say no when he told me you’re in danger and needed help? What kind of friend would that make me?”

"How long have you and Morgan known been friends?" Penelope asked him.

"Over a decade," Luke told her. "We did eighteen months of deep cover together before he decided that wasn't what he wanted to do and joined the BAU."

"Wow," she exclaimed. "You've known him longer than I have? How have I literally never heard of you until now? Wait oh my god that sounded so rude–" 

"Don't worry about it," Luke laughed, waving her off. "I'm not surprised he doesn't talk about me much. Yeah, we've known each other a while, and we trust each other with our lives, but a lot of the foundations of our friendship we can't legally talk about. You know, classified intelligence and all that." 

It was Penelope's turn to laugh. "Oh yeah, I know all about that." 

"But he talks about you guys all the time, especially you. You could probably quiz me on the members of your team and I'd do pretty well. 

She raised an eyebrow at him, a challenge evident in her smile. "For real?" 

Luke spread his arms out wide. "Do your worst." 

"Who was the most recent addition to the team?" 

"That would be Dr. Tara Lewis, and, for bonus points, she joined after Agent Kate Callahan left and had a baby." 

"Ooh, you do pay attention, I'm impressed. Okay, which member of the team once faked their death?" 

"Emily Prentiss… who now works for Interpol, I believe?" 

"You believe correct. Which member of the team will politely avoid your handshake?" 

"That would be the one I haven't met yet, Dr. Spencer Reid." 

"Very good. Two members of our team have sons. Who has one and who has two?"

"Oh, it's JJ who has two, but that's cheating because I was told that yesterday, and Hotch has one." 

"I will forgive your cheating because you were honest about it. Which member of the team is Catholic?"

"Okay, Morgan never told me that about anyone, but that has to be Rossi," Luke guessed. "It takes one to know one." 

She cocked her head at him. "You're Catholic?" 

"Raised Catholic," he corrected. "Unless I'm visiting my Abuela, then I'm devout." 

"You lie to your grandmother? Naughty, naughty." 

Luke laughed hard at that, and she joined him. He could see why Morgan was fond of Penelope. She was clearly a very good person, and easy to get along with. He could see himself developing a very close friendship with the bubbly blonde tech analyst.

"All right, last question," she said once she stopped laughing. "Which team member is vegetarian?" 

"Okay, he never told me that either, but I'm going to guess you, based on other things he's told me." 

"And you would guess correct. Sure you're not a profiler?"

"I'm sure," Luke replied, still laughing a bit. Then he noticed a picture on Penelope's desk of her cuddling a black cat. "Is that your cat?" he asked her. It seemed like a silly question, but he did know she did a lot of volunteering at animal shelters, it wasn't a stretch. 

Her face lit up. "Yes! That's my baby, Sergio. I used to share him with Emily, but then she moved to England and left him with me because he also lived with me when did the whole fake-death thing. Do you have any pets?" 

"Yeah, I've got a dog, Roxy. Do you want to see a picture?" 

"Please!" 

He pulled out his phone and showed her his lock screen, which was him and Roxy. 

"Aw, she's your lock screen?" Penelope cooed. "That's adorable! She's adorable!" 

"Yeah, she's pretty great." It was then that he noticed the time his phone screen was displaying. "Speaking of Roxy, I actually have to go pick her up from my sitter's."

Penelope stood up to usher him out. "Yes! Yes! Go! Don't let me keep you from that precious girl!" 

"It was nice to meet you," he said. "Have a good night, Penelope." 

"It was nice to meet you too, Luke. Have a good night." 

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he left. "Thanks." 

Oh yeah. He would enjoy getting to know her.

[storiumemporium]

MAGNIFICENT MAGGIE, BELOVED WRITER EXTRAORDINAIRE, DARLING AUTHOR OF MY HEART

WHEN I TELL YOU I NEEDED RIP AWAY PANTS WHEN I SAW THIS—

The fact that this is mid war terrifies and intrigues me, I do not anticipate a happy ending already 😭😭😭

There’s blood and ash on his scarred face, a ruthless breed of fear in his remaining eye, icy blue, creek-shallow, soulless. The man clasping your wrist is Prince Aemond Targaryen. “I’ll break your neck if you don’t come with me now.”

Intense as ever, babygirl. 😭😭😭

But also— fear? For what I think it is??? 👀

Someone is shrieking, but not like a dying man. He has too much fight in him for that,

THERE'S MY MAN

A man in armor is cutting tatters of clothing from the so-called king. When he lifts the fabric away, skin sloughs off with it. Aegon wails, struggles, begs him to stop.

MY POOR BABY BOY NOOOOO

(Don't mind me champagne in the bg bc my fave genres of fic are anything hurt/comfort, wump, all that good shit)

“Shh, shh, don’t fight us, we’re trying to help—” “Aemond, let me die,” the burned man rasps. He is trembling violently, he is half-mad with pain. Meleys’ flames claimed a swath of his right cheek, his neck and chest and back, his arms down to his wrists, his belly to the crests of his hip bones. “Please. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want it to hurt anymore. Don’t try to help me. Just let me die.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHH

“Can you help him or not?!” Aemond shouts; and you know that he is not just afraid but shattering, spider-leg cracks inching across a window or a mirror. Perhaps the Greens have souls after all.

Brief intermission to say how much I love this beautiful boy 😭 he's so vicious and cold and terrifying but he's also a frightened baby brother grabbing the nearest person who seems capable of helping and dragging them back— himself! Not w a soldier or servant!— to save him when he finds the Maesters unsatisfactory 😭😭😭

(Bb I know the odds are you're gonna die and I'm going to mourn you so hard you clever snarly snarky asshole oh my god—)

“No drawbacks at all then?” Aegon manages between moans.

PLEEEEEASE DONT MAKE ME LAUGH IN THE MIDDLE OF YOUR UNIMAGINABLE SUFFERING OH MY GOD 😭😭😭

“Hello, angel,” Aegon murmurs as he gazes up at you, a ghost of a smile on his lips. His eyes really do remind you of home: ocean currents like iron, fog like flint. “Welcome to the end of the world.”

Maggie.

Maggie it's the first-

it's the

FIRST CHAPTER

MAGGIE WE'RE NOT EVEN HALF WAY THROUGH THE FIRST FUCKING CHAPTER I'M NOT GOING TO BE IN LOVE WITH HIM

ALREADY

“I’ve heard salt can be helpful for wounds,” Aemond says. “They used it on me when…” He gestures to his eyepatch, to his scar. Lucerys Velaryon took that part of him in self-defense; at least, that is what you have always been told. But you’ve read enough to know that for every event, there are at least two stories. Whatever the truth is, Luke paid for that eye. He paid, Rhaenyra paid, the world continues to pay the price over and over again. “Because it dries. It absorbs moisture.” You skim your palm over Aegon’s forehead, without lines of fear or anguish as he sleeps. There is a ring on his left hand, a gold dragon with glinting dots of jade for eyes. You twist off the ring so it will not hinder circulation as his fingers swell and give it to Aemond. “But burns weep as they heal. They need to be wet. If they get too dry, they will crack open and fester.” “Is that what happened to your brother?” Aemond asks. “Where we did not pay enough attention. The backs of his knees, the soles of his feet.” “But he survived.” “Yes,” you tell Aemond; and you can see how desperately he is searching for hope in your face, your words. “He did.”

Maggie you have the most incredible capacity to make me fall in love with side characters so effortlessly. Or all characters really 😭

Seeing him try so hard, even going so far as to mention a source of trauma for himself in an effort to provide knowledge/ask questions. Especially since he canonically hides his eye to not frighten women. And seeing him cling to Angel's every word in the hopes his brother makes it AUGH GOD—

There is a sniffle, a teardrop that falls onto Aegon’s filthy but unburned left hand and glistens there like a splinter of glass; you are alarmed to see that the Kingmaker is weeping.

Fun fact! There are certain sounds so high pitched only dogs can hear them properly!

That's the noise I just made reading this!

My family is searching for me, you know as you battle to save their enemy’s life, this maybe-king with silver hair and eyes like deep water. And then: I cannot leave him. Not now, not yet.

I'm so fascinating by her family, I know FUCK ALL about Clement and Everett beyond Everett's burns, but the dynamics being set up are already delicious and painful

You hold cloths dripping with cold water to his forehead. You feed him nibbles of bread and venison when he is conscious enough to eat, cinnamon tea, pomegranate juice, goat milk. You inspect him for any signs of infection. You braid a small lock of his hair before you’ve stopped to consider why you’re doing it.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god its happening all my favorite tropes are coalescing I'm eating ROCKS—

“Stop it, get off me!” You shove him away. He waits, bemused. “You can’t keep dragging me around like this!”

Aemond you're such a little shit I adore you 😭

“Then I have brought you a gift. You are needed now. Aegon is asking for you.” And then, when you hurry out of bed, finding your footing on chilly wood floors: “Well, that certainly got you moving quickly.”

I reiterate 😭😭😭

Aemond glances at you and Aegon with mild interest, then turns his attention to Criston.

The moment Aemond finally got to truly relax and know that his brother would be fine: he's already tryna make moves on the nurse 😭

Aegon grins, showing his teeth. His dazed, deep blue eyes glitter mischieviously. His hand has not disentangled itself from yours. “Then carry me.”

The moment I'd know I'm about to become a traitor istg—

Aegon embraces Sunfyre, clinging to him, resting his face against the dragon’s. They stay like that for what feels like a very long time. Then Aegon crawls back to you, sobbing with pain by the time he is lifted into the litter.

MAGGIE

PLEASE

THIS FEELS LIKE MARLEY AND ME I'M IN SO MUCH P A I N

“Permission,” Aegon echoes. He finds this interesting. He studies you for a while before he asks, his voice gentle: “What’s wrong with him?”

How dare you be gentle with me when you look like an undercooked KFC drumstick right now I HAVE to kiss you

You are betrothed to the Warden of the North, Lord Cregan Stark.

CREEEEEEEGAAAAAAANNNNN

Pls Angel is winning at life right now are you KIDDING ME??? CREGAN AND AEGON??? DAMN GIRL WORK—

Okay but genuinely this entire chapter was amazing and beautiful and painful. It has all my favored beloved vibes going for it and I need a week to pass by already—

Also an immediate line of thought I have

B&C hasn't happened, has it? Either bc the twins don't exist or they're not Aegon's? Something to that effect?

Criston says the Keep is safe, Angel singles out Daemon in whether or not they know abt the fate of Rooks Rest yet (and by extension Aegon's vulnerability), and both of the boys exhibit the sort of lightness and playfulness in spite of Dire Circumstances that I just don't think either of them would have, had their six year old nephew/son been recently beheaded within their mothers chambers. Much less the other threats made to Hel and Alicent that night.

So, will B&C happen? In the future to some Angel babies? Or will it happen much sooner to a crispy fried Aegon who has to be protected by his Angel, thereby gaining the favor of the people who don't know who she is? It would certainly give Aemond and Criston a reason to temporarily return- their King having to be protected by some random medicine woman.

Larys the creepy fuck is going to find out she's a Celtigar before the others and try and use that to his own ends, isn't he? 😭

SO MANY QUESTIONS, SO MUCH INTRIGUE, I'm so excited for this story Maggie ily I'm giving kisses for all this Aegon food I know is coming my way 😭😭😭

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 1: Am I More Than You Bargained For Yet]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra's wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook's Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother's life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting...

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, a brief history of burn treatments, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), a wild Sunfyre appears, catching feelings for literally the single most inappropriate man on the planet.

Series title is a lyric from: "7 Minutes in Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "Sugar, We're Goin' Down" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 5.3k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

💜 I’m going to tag like a bazillion people since this is the first chapter of a new fic, but I WILL NOT TAG YOU AGAIN unless you ask me to. I hope you are all doing well, wherever you are in the world! 💜

@doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya @helaenaluvr @hiraethrhapsody @backyardfolklore

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters! 

You scream when he grabs you, this lightning strike of a man with a grip like an animal trap that splits bones. He pulls you away from the soldier you’re soothing—a young dark-haired Norcross, disoriented, doomed, his intestines spilling out onto the grass and blood on his lips—and through the forest of smoke and corpses and pine trees. Your eyes sting and water, your boots snag on gnarled roots. When you yelp and stumble to the earth, the man drags you upright again. You struggle like a beast with a blade at its throat, cold, serrated, pressure on the jugular. You shove and scratch at him, trying to plant your boots in soil strewn with gore and glowing embers.

“Stop, stop it, you’re hurting me!”

“Hurry up.”

“You’re going to break my wrist—!”

He wrenches you around to look you full in the face, and only now do you know who he is. A gasp hisses through your teeth; the acrid air in your lungs vanishes. Every muscle and tendon and ligament of you is taut with horror, tight enough to snap. It’s like meeting one of the Seven, the Warrior or Stranger or Smith, a shade you know only from myths and nightmares. It’s like being led to the executioner’s scaffold. His long silver braid hangs over one shoulder. His eyepatch conceals the childhood maiming that left him half-blind. There’s blood and ash on his scarred face, a ruthless breed of fear in his remaining eye, icy blue, creek-shallow, soulless. The man clasping your wrist is Prince Aemond Targaryen. “I’ll break your neck if you don’t come with me now.”

He does not wait for your protest or acquiescence. You couldn’t give it anyway. Your muddied boots move numbly as he tugs you forward, this man they call Aemond One-Eye, a monster, a murderer, a kinslayer. The earth is littered with carnage from the battle, charred ribcages and disemboweled horses, scattered armor and severed limbs. Ashes fall from the smoldering treetops like dark snow.

What does he want from me?

Rape seems unlikely; everyone knows Prince Aemond’s deviancies do not run in that direction. He is cold, hateful, dispassionate, made of stone. He does not lust for anything but power and retribution, fire and blood.

To kill me?

But why not do it here, now? There is a sword hanging from his belt, a dagger in one fist. There is no reason to wait.

To take me prisoner? To feed me to his dragon? To torture me for information?

Surely there are more knowledgeable people around to torture. What use could you be, a healer, a woman? Unless…

Unless he knows who my father is.

You glance down at the fabric band looped around the upper half of your right arm, the only mark you wear of your house, stark white banner, skittering red crabs. It is soaked through with blood. It is unreadable.

Someone is shrieking, but not like a dying man. He has too much fight in him for that, too much glass-clear agony, unwanted blistering consciousness. He screams like someone being flayed, gutted, burned alive. You’ve only ever heard this sound once before. You choke on the greasy, putrid, metallic sweetness of scorched human flesh as it sears down your throat, not knowing if it is real or remembered.

There is a tent in the midst of the pine trees, fluttering canvas that’s green like emeralds or jade. The wind is picking up; you will need to evacuate soon. The cinders will spread and the forest will blaze. Somewhere a dragon is roaring, wounded and mournful like the cry of a lost child. The screams of the man grow louder; they fill your skull like a fever, scalding and senseless and red. Aemond yanks the tent flap aside and pulls you in. And when you breathe it is nothing but the sickening miasma of burnt flesh, coppery blood, suffering, sweat, ruin.

He’s writhing on a wooden table, the man the Greens call king. It has to be him: white-blond hair down to his shoulders, blue eyes and fine aristocratic bones. Two ancient, shaky-handed maesters—hastily commandeered from the defeated House Staunton, you assume—confer nearby, clutching glass bottles of milk of the poppy. A man in armor is cutting tatters of clothing from the so-called king. When he lifts the fabric away, skin sloughs off with it. Aegon wails, struggles, begs him to stop. Aemond goes to his brother and carves away scraps of melted leather and charred cotton with the swift blade of his dagger.

“Shh, shh, don’t fight us, we’re trying to help—”

“Aemond, let me die,” the burned man rasps. He is trembling violently, he is half-mad with pain. Meleys’ flames claimed a swath of his right cheek, his neck and chest and back, his arms down to his wrists, his belly to the crests of his hip bones. “Please. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want it to hurt anymore. Don’t try to help me. Just let me die.”

Aemond looks back at you. “Can you treat this?”

He thinks I’m a Green, you realize with panic, with relief, with terror. And of course he would: you had wandered into the Greens’ side of the battlefield and therefore did not surrender or flee or die with the other Blacks, you were tending to a Green soldier when he found you. Aemond the Kinslayer would not comprehend the notion of service to humankind without a line drawn down the middle of it, of uncategorical compassion.

“Can you help him or not?!” Aemond shouts; and you know that he is not just afraid but shattering, spider-leg cracks inching across a window or a mirror. Perhaps the Greens have souls after all.

You shed your paralysis like daylight erases the stars and approach to examine the so-called king. You do not touch him; still, he whimpers, sobs, quakes like waves in a storm. “He needs more milk of the poppy. A lot more of it.”

“Yes,” Aegon agrees immediately. His streaming eyes—a bleak, murky blue like the sea off Claw Isle—list to you, agonized and grateful.

The maesters gape. “More could kill him,” one says. And they are petrified of being blamed for it. They are plagued by visions of Aemond hacking off their heads and displaying them on spikes above the stone walls of captured Rook’s Rest.

“No drawbacks at all then?” Aegon manages between moans.

“If his pain does not abate, he will die of shock,” you say. “He must be unconscious.”

“Knock me out,” Aegon pleads, pawing at Aemond. “Tell them, tell them.”

Aemond looks to the man in armor: dark-haired, olive-skinned, Dornish. Sir Criston Cole, you realize. The Hand of the King. The Kingmaker. After a moment, Criston nods. “Do it now,” Aemond orders the maesters.

Grimacing, grim, they pour the opalescent liquid into Aegon’s mouth. He gulps it down as quickly as he can. “Enough,” you tell the maesters. Instinctively, you reach out to comfort Aegon: a palm rested lightly on his forehead, fingers threaded through silvery hair that’s filthy with soot and blood. You should hate him, but you don’t. When you look at the Greens’ broken king, you cannot see a murderer, a usurper, a depraved hedonist, a consumer of innocence. You can only see a man worn threadbare by ill-advised bravery.

“Hello, angel,” Aegon murmurs as he gazes up at you, a ghost of a smile on his lips. His eyes really do remind you of home: ocean currents like iron, fog like flint. “Welcome to the end of the world.” And then he’s out, extinguished, eclipsed.

Servants bustle into the tent carrying heavy buckets. “What is that?” you ask.

“Pork lard,” one of the maesters says. “For his wounds.”

“No, no, no, some of these burns are nearly down to the muscle. They’re too deep, too fresh. Lard is for later, to help with scarring, although olive oil or rose oil would be better. He needs to be cleaned with vinegar diluted with water. Or red wine, if that’s all that can be found.”

“Vinegar?!” one of the maesters exclaims.

“It helps prevent infection. Nobody knows why.”

The same maester turns to Aemond, imploring him. “My prince, I can assure you, the Citadel recommends pork lard or cow dung as topical cures, or both used alternatingly. There are also reports of cases where frogs have been helpful, warmed in oil and then rubbed on the affected area.”

Criston blinks. “I’m sorry, you do what with the frogs…?!”

They’re going to kill him, you think. Not with malice, but with stupidity. A wasted life, a wasted death. You demand of the maester: “When was the last time you treated burns this severe?”

He glowers at you, sharp dark eyes like flecks of onyx in a nest of wrinkles. And you know you’ve won when he replies: “When have you?”

“My brother was burned in a housefire started by an upturned lantern. It was five years ago, but I remember the direness his injuries. And what was done to save him.”

Silence in this tent the color of summer: green grass, unsinged trees. Aemond waits for the maesters to produce some astute rebuttal. When they cannot, he orders the servants: “Vinegar, water, rags. Now.” They dash off to oblige him, wide-eyed and quivering like small dogs. Then Aemond looks to you. “What next?”

“His wounds should be treated with honey and then bandaged. The dressings must be changed frequently, at least once per day. He must be repositioned so the scar tissue does not immobilize his joints. He will suffer, it cannot be avoided, but he should suffer as little as possible. Listen to him when he says the pain is too much. Let him sleep. When he is awake, he must drink plenty of fluids. He is losing water through his burns, and it must be replaced. Milk is preferable. Tea and fruit juices are good as well. Some wine is acceptable if that’s what he likes best.”

“And it certainly is,” Criston mutters. You’ve heard the same: that the Greens’ king is a drunk, an adulterer, a coward, a ghoul. You cannot speak to any of this. You know him only as someone who is horrifically pained and sick to death of fighting. Again, without thinking, you comb your fingertips distractedly through his hair as he lies unconscious on the table, bleeding from everywhere. He’s so young, so breakable, so unlike the monster you’ve been led to believe he is.

“Get honey and bandages,” Aemond tells the maesters. They depart, casting each other incredulous glances: Are these our new overlords? Men who heed the wisdom of impetuous young women filthy with blood and earth?

“I’ve heard salt can be helpful for wounds,” Aemond says. “They used it on me when…” He gestures to his eyepatch, to his scar. Lucerys Velaryon took that part of him in self-defense; at least, that is what you have always been told. But you’ve read enough to know that for every event, there are at least two stories. Whatever the truth is, Luke paid for that eye. He paid, Rhaenyra paid, the world continues to pay the price over and over again.

“Because it dries. It absorbs moisture.” You skim your palm over Aegon’s forehead, without lines of fear or anguish as he sleeps. There is a ring on his left hand, a gold dragon with glinting dots of jade for eyes. You twist off the ring so it will not hinder circulation as his fingers swell and give it to Aemond. “But burns weep as they heal. They need to be wet. If they get too dry, they will crack open and fester.”

“Is that what happened to your brother?” Aemond asks.

“Where we did not pay enough attention. The backs of his knees, the soles of his feet.”

“But he survived.”

“Yes,” you tell Aemond; and you can see how desperately he is searching for hope in your face, your words. “He did.”

The servants return with buckets of water, handfuls of rags, glass bottles of vinegar that is cloudy and rust-colored.

“What’s it made from?” you say.

“Fermented a-a-apples, my lady,” one of the boys sputters. He watches Aemond out of the corner of his eye like sheep look for the shadows of wolves. He shivers, he sweats. This boy, who last night was fetching meat and mead for Lord Staunton, has heard the same stories you have: the degenerate king, his murderous brother.

“That’s fine then.” You haul over one of the water buckets and Criston helps you lift it up onto the table. You empty half a bottle of vinegar into the water, mix it by wobbling the bucket back and forth, and then soak a rag in the pungent liquid. “You can help,” you tell Aemond and Criston. “Dip a rag in the bucket, wring it out, then press it to his wounds. Remove any dirt or scraps of fabric. But don’t rub. Try not to damage the skin he has left.” You demonstrate: dabbing at flesh that is torn and bloody and blistered, a black-and-ruby wasteland that at best will leave him irreparably scarred and at worst will swallow his life like ships sink in storms.

Tentatively—with hands at ease with killing but not tenderness—Aemond and Criston join you, studying your movements and imitating them with great care. There is a sniffle, a teardrop that falls onto Aegon’s filthy but unburned left hand and glistens there like a splinter of glass; you are alarmed to see that the Kingmaker is weeping.

“Criston,” Aemond says gently. “We are doing everything we can for him.”

“Since the day he was born, I promised…”

“I know.”

“Your mother…”

“I know,” Aemond says again, and you think: The Greens aren’t demons, they aren’t savages. They’re just patchworks of memory and flesh and suffering, the same as any of us. “He will live. And his sacrifice won us a victory today.”

As you tended to wounded men caked with blood and pine needles, you saw them tangled above in the overcast sky, scales of scarlet and gold and an ancient muddy viridescence. There were flames and shouts, and then all three dragons hurdled towards the earth and out of view. “The Red Queen?” you ask Aemond, mindful to keep your voice perfectly level.

“Dead,” he says: dark satisfaction, fearsome pride. “And so is her rider.”

“The gods are good.” You are amazed at how easily it slips out, a reflex of self-preservation while your mind is elsewhere. Does my father know yet? Does Rhaenyra, does Daemon, does Corlys? People will be searching for you soon. If you do not appear from the smoke and chaos of the battlefield, your eldest brother Clement will come looking with his sword in hand. Everett, scarred and unagile but clever, will be pouring over maps to see where you might have ended up.

There is no suspicion in Aemond’s face when he glances over at you. He is gingerly cleaning soot and charred strips of ruined skin from Aegon’s chest, which rises and falls in deep, slow breaths. “Which family is yours?”

House Celtigar, but you can’t tell him that. You scramble for a noble family of the Crownlands whose accent you share, whose history you have been taught, whose men fight for the Greens but are not so distinguished that Aemond will know them well. “House Thorne.”

He nods. “Are you one of Sir Rickard’s sisters?”

You startle. Perhaps you have chosen the wrong disguise. “Far less illustrious than that. Just a cousin.”

The two maesters return, their archaic hands piled high with linen bandages and glass jars of honey, a fiery gold like sunset. “Set them down over there,” Aemond orders, pointing. He has a presence, it cannot be denied. He is tall, fierce, swift yet calculated. He moves like a man who has killed once, twice, again until it is no longer something that keeps him awake at night. It is something that has become a part of him like arteries or bones. “Prepare a room in the castle.”

“For Prince Aegon?” one of the maesters says, then quickly corrects himself. “I mean, for the king?”

“For until we decide what to do with him.” Aemond stares at Criston. Criston stares back, his dark eyes huge and shiny. There is a war to be waged, but Aegon will not be able to help them. Not for months, at least. Not ever, if he dies. The maesters disappear again, grumbling to each other. Unwelcome tasks, unwelcome guests.

Rhaenys is dead, you think as you work. It doesn’t feel real. Meleys is dead. Hundreds of Black soldiers are dead. Rook’s Rest is the Greens’ greatest victory yet, and one they desperately needed. This war is nowhere near over. And the betting odds keep changing.

You say to Aemond and Criston: “Help me turn him. We must clean the burns on his back as well.”

They listen, they obey, they help you because helping you means helping Aegon. When he is washed as well as he can be, you spread a thin sheen of shimmering honey over his wounds—an amber river that will trap moisture and discourage inflammation—and wrap him in bandages. The only burn you leave uncovered is the one on his right cheek. It creeps up over his pale face like red tentacles, curling and grasping, hungry, insatiable. They match now, you think. Two brothers, two scars.

Criston assembles a group of Green soldiers and Aegon is carried in a litter to the castle that serves as the seat of House Staunton, once allies of Rhaenyra, now traitors, now dead men walking. Outside rain has begun to fall, putting out flames born from dragonfire. The pine forest is saved; wounded men lie in the dirt with their mouths open hoping to quench their thirst. By the time Aegon is placed in an opulent bedroom with a view of Blackwater Bay, he has already bled through his bandages. You clean him again, bandage him, dribble milk of the poppy down his throat when he begins to stir and whimper. Aemond gives you command of a makeshift fleet of caretakers: the two requisitioned maesters, three maids, servants to bring food, drink, bandages, wood for the crackling fireplace.

My family is searching for me, you know as you battle to save their enemy’s life, this maybe-king with silver hair and eyes like deep water.And then: I cannot leave him. Not now, not yet.

In the night, as cool rain patters against the ocean and Aemond and Criston are slaughtering House Staunton men down in the castle courtyard, you dose Aegon with milk of the poppy every few hours. The maesters refuse to take responsibility for it; if the king is poisoned, it will be you who swings from a rope for it. You hold cloths dripping with cold water to his forehead. You feed him nibbles of bread and venison when he is conscious enough to eat, cinnamon tea, pomegranate juice, goat milk. You inspect him for any signs of infection. You braid a small lock of his hair before you’ve stopped to consider why you’re doing it.

And when no one else is watching, you untie the bloodstained armband of your own house and burn it to ashes in the fire.

~~~~~~~~~~

Someone is jostling you, grabbing at you. You fell into an exhausted, sporadic sleep in the next room long after midnight. It’s morning now; warm sunlight blooms like flowers on your face, yellow roses and buttercups and daffodils. When your eyes open, they are sore and unfocused. Aemond is a blur of white hair and black leather. He is tugging on you again, his lithe fingers like a vice around your forearm.

“Stop it, get off me!” You shove him away. He waits, bemused. “You can’t keep dragging me around like this!”

“Why not?”

Because my father is one of the wealthiest men in the Seven Kingdoms. Because I may not have silver hair or a dragon, but if you cut me open the blood of Old Valyria would spill out like red waves. Because the man I am pledged to marry is good at killing, very good at killing, maybe even better than you. “Because I’m a noblewoman. I’m a lady.”

“You don’t act like one,” Aemond counters. “Ladies flee from blood and gore. Ladies are nowhere to be found on battlefields.”

“I like being useful.”

“Then I have brought you a gift. You are needed now. Aegon is asking for you.” And then, when you hurry out of bed, finding your footing on chilly wood floors: “Well, that certainly got you moving quickly.”

“He’s in pain?”

“Not especially, from what I can tell. I think he just wants you.” Aemond glides out of the bedroom. You follow him to Aegon’s chamber. The Greens’ king is propped up in bed on a great mass of pillows, bandaged, limp, eyes glazed and barely open. There are men huddled around him. You recognize Criston, though not the other ones, some old and some young and all in armor. You hope that none of them are Sir Rickard Thorne.

You feel Aegon’s forehead for fever. To your relief, he is no more than modestly warm. He catches your hand, holds it tightly, doesn’t let go. After a moment’s hesitation, you sit down beside him on the edge of the bed. There is a curl of his lips, just a whisper of a smile, just a phantom of one. Aemond glances at you and Aegon with mild interest, then turns his attention to Criston.

“Aegon,” Criston informs the king, patiently, like a good father would. “We have to move you back to King’s Landing.”

“No,” Aegon says. His voice is so low and weak that he’s difficult to hear.

“Your recovery will be long and arduous,” Criston explains. “Aemond and I will be needed in combat. We cannot stay to guard you. The Blacks may try to retake Rook’s Rest. You staying here is not an option. King’s Landing is safer. It is well-supplied, it is protected. And we have our own maesters there who will help tend to you.”

“Can’t leave,” Aegon croaks. “Sunfyre.”

“Aegon—”

“I can’t leave without Sunfyre,” he forces out with immense effort. Then he gasps and moans, tears pooling in his eyes. You offer him milk of the poppy; he guzzles as much as you’ll allow him to have.

Criston sighs. “You can’t stay. And Sunfyre can’t leave. One of his wings was nearly ripped off, he’ll never fly again. We have no way to transport him, he’s too heavy.”

One of the armored men mutters: “And that’s assuming he wouldn’t incinerate anyone who ventured close enough to try.”

“Where is he now?” Aemond asks the man.

“Down on the beach, my prince. Eating dead soldiers.”

Criston shudders. Working in close proximity to dragons has not given him a liking for them.

“Can’t leave him here,” Aegon whispers, shaking his head.

“You must,” Aemond says.

“What if it was Vhagar?”

“I’d leave her. I’d have no choice.”

Aegon frowns, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s all too much for him. “Not the same.”

No, perhaps not; Aemond’s dragon may be the largest and most lethal in the world, but Aegon’s bond with Sunfyre is said to be what legends are built of, words written in ink and stone. You watch the agonized confliction on Aegon’s drawn face: can’t leave, can’t stay, can’t fight, can’t run. You say softly: “Could Sunfyre be assigned a detachment of guards?”

Aemond looks at you as if just remembering you’re here. “What?”

“Men could be tasked with ensuring the dragon is secure and fed. From a safe distance, of course. They could report on his health. Then perhaps when he is stronger, he can be reunited with the king.” The king. Again, it stuns you how easily the treason rolls out, like waves bubbling over rocks and sand.

Aemond turns to Criston. “Could it be done?”

“I don’t foresee many men volunteering for the task. But it could be done, yes. Sure.”

Aemond asks his brother: “Would that make a difference?”

Aegon’s eyes drift to you. They are churning with sluggish, clunky thoughts, heavy burdens to bear on raw shoulders. The braid that you wove absentmindedly into his hair is still there. “Alright,” Aegon agrees at last. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” Aemond says. “We leave at dawn tomorrow.” Then he looks to you. “You will come south with us.” His tone invites no argument. He doesn’t even conceive of it as a possibility. Why would you refuse? Why would you, a purportedly devout Green, shy away from the opportunity to nurse your king back to health? You bow your head in compliance. You wonder what is being discussed in the Black Council; you wonder what your father is thinking, what Everett believes happened to you.

“But I have to see him first,” Aegon says.

Aemond does not understand. “See who?”

“Sunfyre.”

“But you can’t walk to the beach,” Criston says. “You can’t walk anywhere.”

Aegon grins, showing his teeth. His dazed, deep blue eyes glitter mischieviously. His hand has not disentangled itself from yours. “Then carry me.”

The deal is struck, like a face minted onto a coin or a bolt of lightning meeting the earth. Soldiers transport Aegon down to the stony, mist-sopped shoreline. Blade-sharp agony is flooding back into his face, but he refuses more milk of the poppy. He wants to be awake when he gets there. He wants to be himself.

The soldiers cannot get too close to Sunfyre; no one besides Aegon can. He is helped off the litter and then tries to amble across the wet, grey sand. After a few steps he collapses. You rush to him, dodging Aemond and Criston’s grasps as they try to stop you.

“No,” Aegon says when you attempt to help him to his feet. He is panting from the pain, his face flushed with torment and exertion. His white-blond hair whips in the wind. “Do not follow me. Not even if I pass out, not even if I’m dead. I don’t know what Sunfyre would do to you.” And then he crawls forward alone on his hands and knees.

Waves crash, spraying saltwater into the air. Crabs scuttle over rocks. Gulls swoop low to claim mouthfuls of flesh from bloated corpses in worthless uniforms. The dragon known as Sunfyre the Golden is curled up on the beach. Many of his metallic scales are singed; the pink membranes of his wings are tattered like lace. His right wing hangs at a ruinously odd angle. You would know how to set that if he was a human. And you could do it without the threat of being reduced to ash and history.

Sunfyre unravels as Aegon nears him, long angular face rising, frayed wings settling by his sides. You have seen dragons before, of course—Syrax, Caraxes, Arrax, Vermax, Meleys—though never from this close. They horrify you. You cannot look at them without thinking of the devastation they sow like a plague, of how they so unmistakably no longer belong in this world.

Sunfyre’s head stretches out towards his rider, a half-dead man kneeling in wet sand and wearing only bandages and loose cotton trousers. Beside you, Sir Criston Cole sucks in a noisy, nervous breath. Aemond watches Aegon, his face like stone. His hair hangs in long, damp waves.

Aegon embraces Sunfyre, clinging to him, resting his face against the dragon’s. They stay like that for what feels like a very long time. Then Aegon crawls back to you, sobbing with pain by the time he is lifted into the litter. You give him milk of the poppy and he accepts it eagerly. He is unconscious again within seconds. Down the beach, Sunfyre looses a soft desolate cry like a plea: Don’t go. Don’t leave me. You might never come back.

~~~~~~~~~~

The drivers have been instructed to proceed slowly and with caution; still, the carriage pitches and jolts as you traverse the Rosby Road towards King’s Landing. In addition to the caravan’s most precious cargo—the Greens’ fragile and intermittently sentient king—it transports also two severed heads: Lord Simon Staunton’s in a basket, and Meleys’ in the bed of a mule-drawn wagon. High above in slate-grey clouds, Aemond and Vhagar are safeguarding your progress. Criston rides on a monstrous warhorse just outside the carriage. You are leafing through a book that you found in the castle library at Rook’s Rest: anatomy, surgery, sicknesses and cures. Aegon is bandaged and heavily medicated in the cushioned seat across from you. While servants flit in and out frequently, you are the only passengers in the carriage at the moment. You do not know that Aegon is awake until he speaks.

“Sinful,” he says. His voice is groggy, only half-here. He is gazing blearily at the illustration on the open pages of your book: a quite detailed naked man, his arteries and veins mapped like the roads of Westeros, his cock bare and sizeable.

“It’s informative,” you reply in your own defense, smiling.

“My father would have hit me for looking at something like that. If he’d noticed.” Aegon smirks, resting his head against the back of his velvet seat. His hair has been scrubbed and rinsed by servants, the braid you made for him undone. “He probably wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Mine has a great love for all books.” Bartimos Celtigar is eternally turning pages: computations, records, revenue. He does not just sit on Rhaenyra’s council. He is her Master of Coin. He funds her war effort, he fuels her like wood to a fire. “Besides, I have seen naked men in person. No book can scandalize me now.”

A little twitch of his silvery eyebrows: fascination, amusement. “He does not lose sleep over your spent innocence?”

“He has other things on his mind presently.”

“Like what?”

Like helping Rhaenyra win the war. You find a different truth to tell him. “Some men consider one daughter to be too many. My father has four. His attention is thoroughly divided.”

“He doesn’t like you?”

“He likes me plenty. He just doesn’t need me.”

Aegon nods. His eyes travel over you slowly and meditatively, not leering but learning, memorizing slopes and angles, taking you in like he’s never been able to before. He is in the brief lull between doses of milk of the poppy: lucid enough to speak but not so much that he can feel the full extent of his injuries. “Are you married?”

This is a bit of a fraught subject. “I am betrothed.”

“Oh,” he says, with what might be disappointment. “And he wouldn’t rather have you home right now? Putting all that knowledge of male anatomy to good use? That’s difficult to believe.”

You peer evasively down at your book. “He has a role to play in the war. I’ve been given permission to serve in my own way until it is over.”

“Permission,” Aegon echoes. He finds this interesting. He studies you for a while before he asks, his voice gentle: “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing. He’s honorable, he’s brave. He’s marvelously formidable. He could carry you around like a sack of potatoes.”

Aegon chuckles, a slow reflective laugh, curiosity, intrigue, something to think about besides the fact that he’s missing half his skin. “Do you fear marriage?”

What is the answer to that question? Do you even know yourself? “I fear being possessed. And having no remedy if the circumstances are not to my liking.”

“You can’t get one of your three superfluous sisters to marry him instead?”

You smile faintly. “No, we’ve met. He chose me, he favored me. I’m not sure why.”

“Probably because you’ve read all there is to know about cocks.” Aegon grins, drowsy and crooked and playful. “Who is he?”

“Just a man,” you say. You can’t tell Aegon more than that. It would give your Black affiliations away.

You are betrothed to the Warden of the North, Lord Cregan Stark.

[savoies]

last updated : 6/26/22.

-> blurb night blurbs can be found under ari's hockey blurbs.

-> crossed out means i no longer write for that player.

-> search ari writes for my works.

FICS: 1k+

ntdp/team canada/college hockey:

braden schneider.

say it first.

spooky scary skeletons.

to hold you.

drawings of you.

jamie drysdale.

uuu.

accidental love.

the happiest place on earth.

4 times he thought he didn't love you + one time he realized he was in love with you.

I'll be home for christmas.

dylan holloway.

all our dreams.

remember those days.

dylan cozens.

the boy in khaki pants.

owen power.

winning gold.

the taste of strawberries.

brandt clarke.

4,000 miles to you.

to hear your voice.

life as a simp

brennan othmann.

we're good.

chase stillman.

we're just friends.

patrick moynihan.

i'll take the floor.

trevor zegras.

blind.

luke hughes.

holiday hangouts

jack thompson.

4 times his love language was touch and one time he was touch starved.

brendan brisson.

all I want for christmas is you.

jack daniel's in the bathroom.

thomas bordeleau.

between the lines.

ethan edwards

with love, sunshine

nick blankenburg

3 times he asked you to hang out + one time you figured out it was because he liked you

BLURBS: -900

ryder donovan.

ryder meeting his daughter for the first time.

alex turcotte.

baby blurb w/ alex.

alex vlasic.

babysitting with alex.

vlassy with a babygirl.

vlassy taking care of an injured reader.

vlassy helping you through a depressive episode.

johnny beecher.

having a bad day and johnny cheering you up.

owen lindmark.

meeting owen's parents + friends.

meeting owen after he has a bad game.

patrick moynihan.

baby blurb with pat.

pat coming home from wjc.

pat helping you with stress.

valentine’s day blurb.

dylan cozens.

dylan coming home from wjc.

dating dylan and being on the team canada media team.

being dylan’s sister and him helping you with hockey.

telling dylan you wish he was nicer to you today.

dylan comforting you after a break up.

skater boy dylan mini series.

connor zary.

connor giving you a promise ring.

baby blurb w/ connor.

bowen byram.

bow coming back home after wjc.

jamie drysdale.

comforting jamie after wjc.

being bowen’s sister and dating jamie.

laying in his lap after a bad day.

“it’s pouring rain, why are you here? you’re gonna get sick!”

pretending to be asleep when he gets home.

stealing jamie's sweatshirts because they are indeed the best.

going to yosemite with jamie.

period cuddles with jamie.

celebrating the new year with jamie.

jack quinn.

being dylan’s sister and dating jack.

ryan suzuki.

stargazing with ryan.

alex newhook.

meeting alex at a coffee shop.

cole perfetti.

mini golfing w/ cole.

braden schneider.

braden calling you after a game because he is feeling insecure.

braden finding the playlist you made him.

braden during sex hc. (sorta nsfw)

dylan holloway.

you finding dylan has you as his wallpaper.

beach day w/ dylan. (a bit nsfw)

“it’s okay. i’ve got you.”

brandt clarke.

clarky calling you because he misses you.

ice skating/babysitting with brandt.

owen power.

owen trying to make you a birthday cake for your birthday.

owen is missing you in more ways than one. (nsfw)

ethan edwards.

ethan falling asleep as you play with his hair.

carson lambos.

nose kisses w/ carson.

thomas bordeleau.

bords as a dad.

cole sillinger

etched across your skin

[a-mended-pact]

Greiving Is Never Easy

Hiya! So this is my very first official fanfiction to be posted on Tumblr. I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Father's day challenge.

This is a Revamped version. I felt like I could do better from the original post of it. So here it is.

⚠️ Warning: Mentions losing a spouse and a parent. ⚠️

💬 Author's notes: This is a very personal topic for me. Having lost my father 6 years ago. This carries a lot of the same aspects of that. Writing this in Luke's point of view made me feel closer to my dad than I have felt in a very, very long time. This story holds personal memories with my parents that I cherish deeply.

✒ Word count: 908 words

It had only been a few months since my wife passed away leaving me alone with our daughter. Raising an almost grown adult by yourself still wasn't easy either. Today was her birthday. Her 21st to be exact. This is nowhere near how either of us planned on celebrating today. Her mother had been planning a miraculous trip for her since she was 15 on what we would do on her 21st. My daughter's birthday fell on March 17th. So you can only imagine where her mother wanted to take her.

She passed away due to an illness neither one of us were ready for. There were no signs to show she was sick. No signs to show anything was wrong. One day she came home from work feeling strange and exhausted. She went to lay down claiming she’d feel better when she awoke. I believed her of course. She was always someone you could trust. So I called Y/N to come over so I could kick her butt in one of our favorite video games to play together. 

Little did we both know that such a joyous time could turn into one spending nearly 2 weeks at the hospital with my wife, her mother on life support. 

--------------

My daughter was sitting across from me with her head on her hand picking at her cake with her fork. ‘Aren’t you gonna eat peanut?’ The worry in my voice was evident. I hated seeing her like this. She used to be so full of life. She’d share dumb jokes with me on a regular that would have me clutching my stomach with how hard I’d laugh. Those days were rare and slim now. Which shattered my heart probably more than my babygirl realized. 

She looked up at me and back at her food. Sighed and pushed it away. 'I'm just not hungry right now.' The sadness in her eyes didn't go unseen. I knew she could see the same misery swirling in mine. 'Your mom would want you to have a good time on your 21st birthday. Ya know?' I said it with as much softness as I could muster. Reaching my hand across the table to grab hers where it rested. ‘I know this isn’t exactly how today was planned to happen but it’s happening regardless of who is here or isn’t.’ 

The way she looked at me told me I said something I shouldn’t have. Yet I didn’t stop. ‘Your mother wouldn’t want you to spend today wallowing in your misery but rather rejoicing in the now and who is still here.’ I watched as her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. God she looked so much like her mother it made my heart ache. I missed her so much. 

I watched as tears started streaming down her face. Her breathing became irregular as she started to speak. ‘It feels just like yesterday you and mom were dancing around in the living room on christmas night.�� She sniffled as she continued her words becoming more breathless sounding. ‘ You convincing her to do the time warp from that stupid movie you love so much. You and her laughing and giggling as you dragged her into the bedroom telling me to go to bed.’ the small broken laugh that erupted out of her as she continued. ‘It feels just like yesterday when she told me that everything was going to be okay. After Mema and Papa passed.’ Her lips began to quiver. ‘Only for her to pass away a year later on the same day.’ That’s when she broke completely. Wrapping her arms around herself as her sobs escaped out of her. I didn’t move right away. Not like I should have. I want to give her some time to feel such raw emotions before she decides to lock them all away and it turns into aggression the way it has been since her mom’s funeral.  

I knew a part of her died with her the same way a part of me died with her as well. We would never truly be the same even if we did start to feel normal again. Did we really get better or just get used to the feeling of this constant grieving?

I got up and pulled my daughter from the kitchen chair. Wrapping her in my arms. Holding her as tightly as I could. ‘Peanut, It isn’t your job to hold yourself together for me. I am the parent after all. It’s my job to take care of you.’ Tears started streaming down my own face as she clung to me screaming into my chest. I could hear Roxy moving in closer to us concerned and wanting to comfort us. Forever the good girl. 

‘I miss her too. So much more than you realize.’ I began playing with her hair moving it out of her face as I whipped away her tears. `We will make it through this Peanut. Together.’ She smiled through her tears as I kissed her forehead. Besides missing my wife there was one thing I knew for certain. I would do everything in my power to make sure no one or anything makes my peanut cry like this again. She means too much to me. ‘I love you babygirl more than anyone or anything in this world. As much as I loved your mother I promise you from the day you were born I loved you even more.’