#I think Elias and I have room for a nursery…

[eldritchhorrorluvr69]

Found a toddler in Artifact Storage? Three notes and I keep him

[puckingeccedentesiast]

Cradle Me

Father!Quinn x Son & Wife!Reader. Word Count: 1,1k Authorial Note: My next voted WIP! I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I did while writing it! Don’t know if it’s my best piece then. Warnings: Swearing, mentions of birth.

Elliot Samuel Hughes came screaming into the world at 4:12 p.m., Quinn only knew his son for a matter of awed, breathless moments before the world sharpened—and chaos erupted.

Nurses swarmed you, dabbing and cleaning with sodden warm towels. A warm, slimy bundle of swaddle-blanket and baby reached your chest as the obstetrician stepped back from your glistening body. Quinn's reddened hand slipped from your grip, instinctively cradling the baby to your chest. His other hand, shaking slightly, gripped the bed's plastic rail. Leaning forward, he rested his right arm limply across your shoulder, his forehead gently touching yours as the two of you gazed down at your son.

"How’re you doing, Dad?" the obstetrician asked from the sink as he scrubbed his hands clean.

Quinn blinked, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "I feel sick... but in a good way." He laughed softly, joy plastered permanently on his face. "We created a human... that's fucking scary but awesome at the same time."

Even in your post-birth haze, a smile graced your lips. It was an awesome thing indeed. This was your person now, a culmination of Quinn and your love. Despite this baby being considered a gift, he clearly was sent to test you and Quinn’s love for each other. No parenting class could have prepared you for the unfolding chaos that was leaving the hospital and heading home. The first day at the hospital was incredible, the nurses gently guided you and Quinn in the ways of parenting. But once you left and arrived home, the learning curve turned into an aggressive crash course.

Emotions ran high for every family member. Every nap missed, messy feed, spit-up, or nappy mess that needed cleaning up frayed the string further. Quinn and you had been remarkably naïve to think that this journey would be easy, even though you’d been dreaming collectively of this moment for years.

Quinn, along with self-proclaimed uncles Elias, Brock, and JT, spent hours working on the perfect nursery for baby boy Hughes. From wall decorations to the crib and changing table—which you insisted had to be powder blue with clouds and a grassy field with cows in it—the boys poured their hearts into it. Once they had finished assembling the room and you'd let it air out due to your hatred of the smell of fresh paint, you added the final details: books, blankets, nappies, and wipes, along with baby clothes hanging neatly on tiny coat hangers.

The first night home from the hospital was powered purely by adrenaline. You and Quinn took shifts with baby boy—changing, feeding, and sometimes just comforting him to sleep. By the second and third nights, the exhaustion set in. Leaving the warmth of the bed became a Herculean effort, especially for you. The physical toll of birth weighed heavily on your body, and sustaining new life felt overwhelming.

Quinn tried his hardest to take the load off, seeing how hard you were working to make the transition smooth, though it felt futile. His patience held up remarkably well for the first four days, but by the fourth night, tension crept in. Snappish words replaced your usual playful banter, and the distance between you felt like a growing chasm. Quinn’s touch, once so comforting, now felt foreign. Exhaustion tangled both your nerves, and intimacy between the two of you became a distant memory.

That night, an abrupt “goodnight” was shared, accompanied by a peck on the cheek. You both lay there in the dark, separated by a wall of fatigue, each praying for sleep that never came, as baby boy woke again at distasteful hours of the night.

Night five was the killer. Some ungodly hour like 1:03 a.m. glared back at you from the microwave as you ambled around the kitchen for the second time that night. You’d fed him twice now, but much of the milk had come back up in spit-up. Quinn had changed baby once and had checked on him again 45 minutes earlier.

There was one distinct problem: the baby only slept when he was held. You could do as many laps around the kitchen as you wanted, Quinn could rock him for hours, but as soon as baby landed on the bassinet’s mattress, it was like laying him on lava.

"Still no luck, darlin’?" Quinn’s voice came quietly from the doorway, his tired form silhouetted by the dim light of the stairs. He met you halfway, his brow furrowed with concern.

You let out a soft, frustrated sigh. "Every time I put him down, he cries," you whispered, blinking back tears. "I’m so tired, Quinn."

He stepped closer, reaching for your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "C’mon, let’s go back to bed," he murmured, leading you gently up the stairs. Exhaustion had blurred the edges of your world, and you forced a tired smile as he kissed your hand again.

"He’s just going to cry when I put him down, Quinn," you stated tiredly as he threw back the covers for you. The softness of the bed felt like heaven against your aching body, and you settled in without a second thought.

Quinn, now shirtless, pulled baby from your arms and nestled him gently on his chest, holding him snugly as he propped himself up with pillows. He tucked you in under his arm, pulling the blankets over both of you.

"Sleep now, darlin’," he whispered, kissing the top of your head. Baby wriggled slightly in his swaddle but quickly relaxed against Quinn's warmth. "If this is how we have to do it from now on, fine."

Quinn sighed, his grip tightening around both of you. "At least we have good chiros at the rink."

[twistedheartsclub]

Womb For You Male X Female Reader Part Two

Warnings: emotional manipulation, gaslighting, confinement, obsessive behavior, non-consensual touching, psychological abuse, forced domesticity, surrogacy coercion, subtle reproductive control, disturbing relationship dynamics, power imbalance, desperation, attempted escape, and implied sexual trauma.

PART ONE HERE

Y/N had just come in from her afternoon walk when she heard the soft clack of heels echoing through the front hall — not the gentle soles of Camille the maid, not the heavy boot-steps of Elias.

Heels. Precise. Purposeful.

She stepped into the hallway and froze.

Vivienne stood near the entryway, draped in a cream coat over a dark green sheath dress, sunglasses perched high on her sculpted cheekbones. Her platinum hair was twisted into a perfect chignon, not a strand out of place.

She looked like a magazine cover — aloof, untouchable, airbrushed in real life.

Their eyes met.

Vivienne slid the sunglasses off with a flick of her fingers, revealing pale gray eyes that didn’t betray surprise or warmth. Just… acknowledgement.

Y/N swallowed. “Hi.”

Vivienne’s lips curved into a tight smile. More reflex than feeling.

“Y/N,” she said smoothly. “You’re... showing.”

Her eyes dipped — not long, not fondly — but enough to assess the swell under Y/N’s sweater.

“Yeah,” Y/N said, voice quiet. “It’s starting to feel real.”

Vivienne nodded once, as if checking off a box.

There was no how are you feeling? No do you need anything?

No... connection.

“It’s good that the pregnancy is stable,” Vivienne murmured. “I’m only here for a few days — we have a gala next weekend, and the guest list is exhausting. I need to approve the caterers and dress arrangements. That sort of thing.”

Y/N said nothing.

Vivienne’s gaze flicked over her again.

“We’ll have someone come in to update your wardrobe,” she added, almost as an afterthought. “You’re starting to outgrow things, and I’m sure Elias hasn’t thought of it.”

A pause.

“You’ll look… better in something tailored.”

Y/N blinked, unsure if it was an insult, a gesture of care, or just a way to control how she appeared in public.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

Vivienne’s forced smile returned, thinner this time. She slid her sunglasses back on, already halfway turned.

“Rest well. I’ll be upstairs.”

And then she was gone — vanishing up the stairs with the grace of someone who had never been asked to clean her own home or speak more than necessary.

Y/N stood in the hall, one hand on the curve of her belly, staring at the place where Vivienne had just stood.

She didn’t want to be here.

That much was clear.

Not with Y/N. Not with Elias. Not with the baby.

Not really.

And suddenly, the lie in the medical chart — the one Y/N had tried to swallow — bubbled up again, sour and undeniable.

Because Vivienne hadn’t looked at her belly with wonder.

She had looked at it like a transaction.

The dining room table had never felt so long.

Y/N sat on one side of it — in her usual place, the soft light of the chandelier glowing against her skin and the curve of her now-visible belly. She wore one of the new dresses that had arrived that morning. Silky, fitted but modest. Soft blue. The tags had still been attached. A maid had cut them off for her.

Elias sat beside her, as he always did.

And Vivienne sat across from them — distant, silent, sipping white wine like it was water.

The meal was decadent: pan-seared duck, asparagus with lemon zest, and a delicate beet risotto. But Y/N barely tasted any of it. Every bite was a task.

The silence was unbearable.

“So,” Elias said at last, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin, “we should think about nursery design soon. I was considering the east wing, perhaps turning the old music room into a proper suite.”

Vivienne didn’t look up. “Do whatever you like.”

“I’d like your input, darling.”

She met his eyes. “No, you don’t.”

Elias smiled — that slow, gliding expression Y/N had come to recognize. The one that looked like kindness but felt like power.

“I think soft green walls,” he said lightly, turning back to Y/N. “Wouldn’t that be nice? With light wood furniture. We can have a rocking chair custom made for you.”

Y/N shifted uncomfortably. “That’s… kind. But I really haven’t thought about any of that yet.”

“Nonsense. We should spoil you.”

Vivienne set her glass down a little harder than necessary.

“You’ve already done that,” she murmured. “Haven’t you?”

Elias didn’t respond right away. Just refilled her wine for her.

���Isn’t it incredible,” he said after a long pause, “how nature finds a way?”

Y/N looked between them, her heart beginning to pound.

Vivienne’s fork scraped against her plate. “Let’s not pretend this is about nature.”

Elias’s hand drifted to Y/N’s — gently, warm — curling his fingers around hers with practiced affection.

“She’s part of our family now,” he said softly, not looking at Vivienne.

Y/N wanted to pull her hand away. She didn’t.

Vivienne stood without finishing her meal. “I have a headache.”

“Would you like me to bring you something?” Y/N offered quickly, just to break the tension.

Vivienne’s lips twitched. “No need. We have staff for that.”

And with that, she was gone.

Elias squeezed Y/N’s hand once before releasing it. “Don’t mind her,” he said smoothly. “She struggles with change. But she’ll adjust. Eventually.”

Y/N offered a tight smile. “Sure.”

But her stomach was knotted.

And she didn’t finish her food.

Later That Night

The house had gone quiet again.

Y/N couldn’t sleep. Her body was sore and restless. The baby kicked occasionally now — little flickers like static beneath her skin. She had started rubbing her belly without thinking, like she needed to ground herself in something real.

She wandered the halls with a mug of warm milk, hoping it might help.

Then she heard it.

Voices.

Muffled. Behind the closed door of Elias’s office. She crept closer, careful not to let her footsteps echo against the marble. The door wasn’t open, but sound leaked through — fractured, tense.

She recognized Vivienne’s voice first. Tight. Controlled. Angry.

“You said this would be temporary. You said I just had to smile until the child was born.”

“And you’ve done that, haven’t you?” Elias’s voice — calm, syrupy. Dangerous. “You’ve done very little, but still.”

“Don’t you dare—”

“You didn’t want the child. You didn’t want the responsibility. You didn’t even want me. You just wanted the optics. Now that your gala season is back in full swing, you think you can wriggle out of this?”

“I upheld my part of the deal. I let you have your fantasy. Your little domestic goddess.”

Y/N’s heart dropped.

“She’s nothing like you,” Elias said, voice lowering. “She’s warm. Kind. Innocent. She listens. She trusts. She’s not hollow. She’s not cold.”

“She’s your surrogate.”

“She’s more than that.”

There was a pause. Then Vivienne’s voice — clipped and colder than ever.

“I want out. When the baby is born, you’ll finalize the dissolution. That was the agreement.”

“And I’ve never broken a deal,” Elias replied smoothly. “After the birth, we’ll file the papers.”

“Then this is almost over.”

“For you, maybe.”

Silence stretched.

Y/N’s head was spinning.

She began backing away, breath caught in her throat — until she turned a corner and jumped.

Camille stood there, a tray in her hands, eyes wide.

“I—I’m sorry,” the maid whispered. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you… need anything?”

Y/N shook her head, heart pounding. “No. I was just…”

“Walking.”

They stared at each other.

Camille glanced back toward the hall, then stepped a little closer.

“You should go lie down,” she said softly. “You need rest. It’s better if you’re not seen wandering at night.”

There was no threat in her voice — just something almost like pity.

Y/N nodded, wordless.

She walked back to her room, shut the door, and stood there in the dark, one hand over her stomach.

She wasn’t part of a family.

She was part of a deal.

And soon… her part would be over.

But Elias?

He had no intention of letting her go.

The gala had begun two hours ago.

Laughter floated up through the walls, muffled and elegant. The clinking of crystal glasses echoed faintly through the stairwell. Music—something orchestral and soft—drifted like perfume through the halls. Even with her door closed, Y/N could feel it.

The house wasn’t hers tonight.

It belonged to people with pearls at their throats and art history degrees, men with gray temples and wealth that smelled like cologne and quiet violence.

She stayed upstairs.

Curled on the velvet loveseat in her room, wearing yoga pants and an oversized sweater, hair tied up, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. A bowl of sliced fruit sat untouched beside her, condensation pooling at its base.

She tried reading one of her fantasy novels—dragons, kingdoms, high stakes—but the words blurred.

She tried watching TV—some reality show rerun—but it all felt loud and empty.

The baby kicked once, and she sighed, rubbing her belly gently.

You're not missing anything, she told herself.

But curiosity tugged at her, the kind that builds like static in your bones.

She just wanted to look.

The hallway outside was quiet, lit in soft golden pools of light from the sconces. Her bare feet made no sound on the polished wood floors.

She padded slowly down the corridor, past her guestroom, past the quiet art gallery wall, until she reached the top of the grand staircase.

She stayed in the shadows.

The view from the second floor was almost cinematic. The massive chandelier glittered like a thousand tiny stars, suspended over a sea of silk dresses and sleek tuxedos. Waiters in white jackets glided between guests with silver trays. The air shimmered with perfume and soft laughter and secrets.

Vivienne was easy to spot—dressed in shimmering gold, standing near a marble pillar, laughing too loudly at something a man in designer glasses had said. Her makeup was flawless. Her posture rigid. She didn’t once glance toward the stairs.

Y/N’s eyes drifted through the crowd—faces she didn’t know, champagne bubbling in delicate flutes—and then landed on him.

Elias.

Tall. Commanding. Dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that looked like it had been sewn onto his body. He stood with two older men, nodding politely, but he didn’t laugh. His smile was the same one he always wore around investors. Measured. Calculated.

He hadn’t seen her.

She watched for a moment longer. Just a glimpse. Just a taste of the world below.

She was about to slip away when—

“Enjoying the view?”

His voice. Right behind her.

Y/N jumped, spinning to find Elias standing one step up on the stairs, just over her shoulder. He hadn’t made a sound.

Her breath caught. “I—how did you—?”

His lips curved into a soft, amused smile. “I always know where you are.”

She looked down at her clothes, embarrassed. “I wasn’t trying to— I just wanted to see.”

He tilted his head, studying her like something rare. His eyes dropped briefly to the round swell of her stomach, then back up to her face.

“You should’ve come down.”

“I didn’t think I was supposed to.”

“You’re part of this house,” he said, stepping down beside her. “You belong here more than most of them.”

She swallowed. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

He reached up, gently brushing a stray hair from her cheek.

“Next time,” he murmured. “I’ll have something waiting for you.”

The sounds of the gala continued behind them — music swelling, laughter blooming, glasses clinking — but up here, it was just them. Close. Quiet. Intimate.

Elias leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

“You don’t have to hide, Y/N. You’re not some secret.”

She looked away, suddenly cold despite the heat in the air.

“But I feel like one.”

He said nothing.

Just smiled.

And offered his arm.

“Come. You’ve seen it now. Let me walk you back to bed.”

The gala faded behind the walls like a distant memory. Y/N had long since retreated to her room, changed back into her pajamas—and washed her face.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

The house was too alive. Beneath the silence, she could still feel the hum of music, the ghost of clinking glasses, the perfume of strangers lingering in the halls.

She lay in bed, one hand draped over her belly, her lamp dimmed to a golden glow.

The baby gave a small, firm kick against her palm.

Y/N smiled a little despite herself.

Then—a soft knock.

Not on the main door.

On her bedroom door.

Before she could answer, it opened.

Elias.

Still dressed in his black tuxedo, jacket removed, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, the top two buttons undone. His hair was slightly tousled, the sharp edge of the night worn down into something looser, darker.

“Are you awake?” he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded, heart already fluttering. “Yeah.”

He stepped in quietly and closed the door behind him.

“I just wanted to check on you. You disappeared so quickly.”

Y/N shifted upright against the pillows, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “The noise made it hard to sleep.”

Elias moved to the side of the bed and hesitated for a moment—then sat down gently beside her.

“You should’ve let me introduce you,” he said, looking at her with something like regret. “You looked beautiful, even just watching from the stairs.”

She glanced down at her lap. “I wasn’t dressed for it.”

His eyes dropped to her belly, softening. “You’re glowing.”

He reached out—without asking—and placed a hand over the curve of her bump.

Y/N froze for half a second.

But his hand was warm. Firm. Gentle.

The baby kicked once beneath his palm.

Elias smiled.

“She knows me.”

Y/N swallowed, unsure what to say.

He didn’t remove his hand.

Instead, slowly, Elias shifted—laying down beside her, turning onto his side to face her, his hand still resting protectively over the bump. They were barely inches apart.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly.

Y/N hesitated. Her body stiffened.

But something in his voice, in the way he looked at her—not demanding, but expectant—made her nod.

“…It’s fine.”

He exhaled, closing his eyes briefly, like he’d been waiting for that permission.

His palm moved gently in slow circles across her stomach. Tender. Reassuring.

“You’ve done so well,” he whispered. “So strong. So soft. I can’t stop thinking about how perfect this child is going to be. How perfect you’ve made her.”

Y/N’s muscles began to relax, almost involuntarily. The gentle pressure of his hand, the rhythm of his voice—it made something inside her quiet.

Like her body responded before her mind could fight it.

“You were made for this,” Elias murmured. “For creating. For nurturing. For being here.”

Y/N’s eyes slipped closed. Just for a second.

He kept rubbing slow, steady circles, the warmth of his body seeping into the bed beside her.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he whispered. “You don’t have to think. You just have to be mine.”

Her breathing deepened.

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t want this.

But the way he touched her, the way he spoke—it lulled her like a song she almost believed in.

When she finally drifted to sleep, he was still there.

Watching her.

Smiling.

The moon had long since passed its peak, casting silver light through the sheer curtains of the guestroom. The house had gone utterly silent, the glittering remnants of the gala resting downstairs like the bones of some elegant beast.

And in the guest bed, Elias Locke slept beside her.

Y/N didn’t stir, her body curled slightly on her side, hands cradled beneath her cheek. Her breath was even, peaceful, lips parted slightly. The soft rise and fall of her chest mirrored the quiet rhythm of the baby within her — steady, safe.

Elias had one arm draped lightly across her waist, his other hand still resting on the swell of her belly, thumb brushing against the fabric of her sleep shirt even in dreams.

His face was calm. Content.

There was no rage. No calculation.

Just devotion.

Possessive. Unshakable.

Like this was exactly where he was meant to be.

For the first time in weeks, he slept without waking.

At dawn, the first sliver of light crept across the floorboards, and Elias stirred.

He blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the soft gray glow of morning. Y/N was still asleep — lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, her lips trembling slightly in whatever dream she lingered in.

He watched her for a long moment, silent.

Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Soft. Purposeful. A claiming more than affection.

His voice was barely a whisper.

“You’re mine.”

She shifted slightly in her sleep, but didn’t wake.

Elias pulled back and gently lifted the covers to tuck them over her shoulders. His fingertips lingered at her temple, brushing a strand of hair back with reverence. He watched the curve of her stomach beneath the blanket—his child resting safely within her.

The life he created.

The future she would give him.

He stood, rolled his shoulders, and adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, still rumpled from the night before. There was no guilt in his steps as he walked across the room. No hesitation.

This wasn’t something shameful.

It was something earned.

Something fated.

He opened the door quietly, pausing once to look back.

She still hadn’t moved.

Still safe.

Still his.

Then he stepped out into the hall and returned to his own bedroom—just in time for the house to wake.

Six months.

Y/N was officially in her third trimester.

She had never been so aware of her body — the way her back ached constantly, how her ankles puffed by mid-afternoon, how her belly strained every shirt she wore. Even her thoughts felt swollen. Everything was heavier now. Louder.

But still…

People said she was glowing.

Even she couldn’t deny it. Her skin looked clear and warm, her hair thicker, shinier. Her eyes had a softness to them now — and Elias noticed every detail.

He noticed everything.

He was obsessed with her.

More than ever.

Always touching — a hand on her back when she stood, her elbow when they walked, the small of her spine when she paused mid-sentence. His palm rested constantly over her belly, as though he could feel the baby through sheer will.

And when the baby kicked, he looked like he could cry.

Y/N tried to keep some space. But it was hard. He was gentle. Attentive. Present in a way no one had ever been for her.

When her feet hurt, he rubbed them. When she cried for no reason, he sat with her quietly until the tears passed. When she couldn’t sleep, he read aloud from her pregnancy books or played music softly until she drifted off.

She told herself this was about the baby. Not her.

But Elias didn’t just look at her belly.

He looked at her.

Like he owned her.

Like she was already his.

Vivienne still came and went. Always brief. Always with a bag, a phone call, a schedule. She barely looked at Y/N anymore — but when she did, there was no hatred. No warmth either. Just cold distance.

She hadn’t once touched Y/N’s stomach. Or asked how she was feeling.

Y/N had started helping decorate the nursery — soft green wallpaper, tiny golden stars. Bookshelves. A hand-painted rocking chair. Elias insisted she choose the fabrics, the curtains, the crib sheets.

Vivienne had offered no opinion.

And the hormones?

They were ruthless.

Y/N cried over nothing. Over a cup of tea being too bitter. Over an ad about adoption. Over a duck waddling across a street in a YouTube video.

Worse still… she was horny.

Constantly. Desperately. Her body was begging for something she didn’t dare name.

She’d joked about it to Mariah over the phone one night, laughing through a pillow while curled on the nursery couch.

And her friend — bless her soul — had snorted and said:

“Girl, just sleep with the husband already. You’re halfway there.”

Y/N had hissed. “Mariah.”

“I’m just saying,” her friend teased. “The man worships you. If he didn’t have a ring on his finger, I’d be cheering you on.”

Y/N hadn’t laughed. Not really.

Instead, she had changed the subject and — for the first time in a while — confided in Mariah about the mistake. The doctor’s chart, the argument behind the office door, the chart that magically changed.

She told her everything.

Mariah had gone quiet at first. Then offered what Y/N wanted to hear.

“Maybe… it was just a lovers’ quarrel, Y/N. You said Vivienne looked checked out, right? She probably feels replaced. Like her body failed her. I mean… wouldn’t you be distant, too?”

Y/N had nodded.

She had to believe that.

She had to believe this was just complicated.

Not wrong.

But in quiet moments, when Elias brushed her hair and said things like “You were made for this,” and “She’ll have your heart,” and “I’ve never known peace until you,”—

Y/N felt it.

That creeping sense of something off.

Still… she reminded herself:

She was almost there.

Almost done.

She’d give them the baby. She’d get her final check. And she’d go back to her own life. Her own body. Her own choices.

Even if a small, quiet part of her might… miss this.

The luxury.

The comfort.

The being wanted.

It started with a wave of dizziness.

The baby had been kicking all day — stretching against her ribs like it was running out of space — and now, at nearly midnight, Y/N felt the ground tilt beneath her feet as she stood in the hallway outside her bathroom.

She clutched the wall, eyes closing.

Then, suddenly, Elias was there.

Strong hands steadied her waist, his voice low, firm, steady in her ear. “Careful. I’ve got you.”

She didn’t remember calling for him. But he was always there when she stumbled — like the house whispered to him when she wavered.

She was wearing a soft cotton dress. No bra. The weight of anything against her chest made her feel suffocated. She’d left on a pair of panties more out of routine than comfort, but lately, everything touching her skin felt wrong. Too tight. Too heavy. Too much.

“I feel off,” she murmured as he helped her into bed. “Everything feels… wrong.”

“You’re just tired,” Elias whispered, tucking the blanket over her hips. “The baby’s growing fast. You’re carrying so much.”

He lay beside her without asking.

He always did now.

At first, it was small things. A hand on her ankle. A rub on her back. A kiss to her temple before he said goodnight.

But tonight…

His hand rested on her belly again — warm, reverent — moving in slow, rhythmic circles.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, brushing strands of damp hair from her forehead. “So soft. So full.”

She leaned into the touch without meaning to. Her body ached, and his hand felt like balm. Familiar. Heavy and grounding. It soothed her fraying nerves the way warm sun settles over chilled skin.

She didn’t notice when his hand drifted.

From her belly to the curve beneath it… then upward.

Fingers grazing the underside of her breast.

She inhaled sharply — but didn’t move.

He paused, barely a breath of hesitation — and then his palm cupped her fully.

She almost moaned.

God, it was like scratching an itch buried deep in the muscle. Like heat blooming through bruised bone. That dark, hidden ache she hadn’t been able to soothe — he found it.

Her back arched slightly.

Her body, swollen and sensitive, betrayed her.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, mouth close to her ear now. “You’re trembling.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

But she didn’t stop him.

His hand moved again — down her side, tracing the curve of her hip, down along her thigh.

And then… between.

The pad of his fingers brushed gently against the fabric of her underwear.

She gasped.

“Shhh,” he murmured, stroking with slow pressure. “Let me help you.”

Her hips twitched.

She hated this.

She hated how good it felt.

How relieving it was — like slipping into a hot bath after holding tension too long. Like pressure releasing from deep beneath her skin.

He pulled the band of her underwear aside with slow, deliberate care.

And then his hand was there — gliding between her folds, stroking with practiced rhythm, like he’d memorized her already.

Her breathing picked up.

He didn’t speak again.

He just moved — slow, patient, relentless — like he had all the time in the world to unravel her.

Y/N gripped the sheets.

Some part of her screamed that this was wrong.

But another part — the part that had been aching for weeks, starved of real touch, stripped of her own body and given only service and care — that part welcomed it.

She turned her face into the pillow, tears burning the corners of her eyes.

Not from pain.

From shame.

From how good it felt.

The next morning, Y/N woke up alone.

The spot beside her was cold. Undisturbed.

For a brief moment, she convinced herself it hadn’t happened. That she’d dreamed it. That the pressure between her legs, the warmth that had bloomed in her core, the way she’d come undone beneath his hand — had all been imagined.

But then she sat up, and her body remembered.

The soreness. The softness of his voice. The way he’d kissed her temple before she fell asleep, like nothing had been out of place.

Her throat tightened.

She didn’t know what disturbed her more — the act itself… or how much she’d wanted it in the moment.

She didn’t cry.

She got dressed. Slowly. Quietly. She didn’t tell anyone.

And when she passed Elias in the hall later that morning, he greeted her with a gentle hand on her back and a murmured, “How did you sleep?”

Like it was just another morning.

Like nothing had changed.

And that terrified her more than anything else.

Time Skip – Eight Months

The baby was coming soon.

Thirty-four weeks.

Y/N’s belly was full and low now. Her back ached constantly, her feet were perpetually swollen, and it felt like she hadn’t breathed properly in a month. Everything was harder — sitting, sleeping, walking — and her mood shifted by the hour.

But the house remained calm. Too calm.

Elias was more attentive than ever.

He drew her baths. Bought her new pillows. Had the kitchen staff prepare specific cravings she didn’t even realize she had. He sat with her in the nursery every evening, rubbing her feet and talking to the baby. He whispered to her stomach like it was sacred. Like she was sacred.

But not once did he mention that night.

He didn’t have to.

The way he looked at her changed.

It wasn’t admiration anymore.

It was ownership.

Sometimes Y/N would catch Vivienne watching them — quiet and distant — from a hallway or staircase. Not jealous. Not even angry. Just detached, like she’d already removed herself from this chapter.

Sometimes Y/N caught herself envying her for it.

She still called Mariah, though not often. Elias didn’t stop her. But he always hovered nearby. Listening. Watching.

And she lied.

She didn’t tell Mariah what had happened.

She just said she was tired. That the baby moved too much. That she couldn’t wait to go home. That she felt… lost.

“You’re almost there,” Mariah always said. “Just hold on. Once the baby’s out, you’re free.”

Y/N clung to that.

Freedom.

Even if it didn’t feel real anymore.

Even if part of her wasn’t sure who she’d be once this ended.

Even if she wasn’t sure Elias would ever let her go.

It started with pressure.

Low. Dull. Like a stretch of muscle too deep to soothe.

Then came the pain — crawling through her back, curling into her hips, radiating through her belly in pulses that made her fold over the bed frame, gasping for breath.

She was only thirty-five weeks. Early. Too early.

But the baby was coming.

And Y/N was not ready.

“Elias!” she cried from the bathroom floor, sweat already breaking at her brow.

He was there within seconds — hands on her waist, then her face. Calm. Always calm.

“You’re okay,” he said gently, brushing hair from her damp forehead. “I’ve been preparing for this. Everything is ready. I’ve got you.”

He didn’t sound surprised.

She expected a hospital.

Instead, he led her down a hall she hadn’t seen before.

At the end: a heavy white door. Inside, a room already glowing in soft golden light. White walls. Medical-grade equipment. A reclining birthing chair. Monitors. A tray of instruments.

A doctor and nurse were waiting.

“I—I should go to a hospital—” she gasped, clutching her belly.

“No.” Elias’s voice was velvet-wrapped steel. “You’re safer here. The baby’s safer here. These are private doctors. People I trust.”

She whimpered as another contraction rolled through her, knocking the argument from her lungs.

The next hours were hell.

Sweat soaked through her gown. Her thighs trembled with every contraction. The world blurred at the edges as pain pulled her under, again and again.

Elias never left her side.

He knelt beside her when she collapsed. He held her hand, gripped it tightly through every scream.

“Breathe,” he whispered against her ear. “You’re doing so well, my love.”

She sobbed.

“I can’t— I can’t—”

“You can. You’re strong. You were made for this.”

Her vision swam. Every breath was a knife in her lungs.

The doctor gave instructions in a calm, crisp voice.

“Ten centimeters. You need to push.”

“I can’t—!”

Elias leaned in, forehead against hers, voice full of reverent awe.

“Yes, you can. You’re mine. And you were built to do this. Bring our child into the world.”

She didn’t want to hear it.

But she pushed.

Again.

Again.

Her body broke open — fire and tearing and pressure so immense she thought her spine would snap. She screamed until her throat gave out.

Elias kissed her temple, fingers brushing her soaked jaw.

“That’s it. You’re almost there. Just one more. You’re perfect. You’re divine.”

She hated him.

She clung to him.

The room spun.

And then—

A cry.

Shrill. Wet. Alive.

The doctor caught the child and moved quickly, checking vitals, suctioning, wrapping.

Y/N collapsed back into the pillows, body trembling, soaked in sweat and blood and tears. Her hands hung limp at her sides.

She couldn’t speak.

She couldn’t think.

Elias stood.

He didn’t go to the baby.

He went to her.

Kissed her soaked forehead. Brushed her hair back like she hadn’t just been broken open in front of him.

“You did it,” he whispered. “You brought her home.”

Y/N sobbed — not from joy, but exhaustion. Numbness. Disbelief.

And when the baby was handed to Elias, not to her—

When he held her, beaming like a man who’d just completed his masterpiece—

Y/N realized:

She was no longer needed.

Two weeks had passed since the birth.

The house had shifted.

Quieter now, but not in a peaceful way. Like something was waiting just outside of view. Like she was no longer the center of the home—but a ghost living in the walls of it.

Y/N was healing slowly. Her body still sore, her stitches pulling if she moved too fast, her hips aching every time she got out of bed. She had refused narcotics, determined to stay present, even as the pain whispered through her bones.

She spent her days resting in the sunroom or the nursery lounge, reading from her small stack of postpartum books. She had read somewhere that it was better not to hold the baby if you were a surrogate. That bonding could complicate things. Make it harder to let go.

So when Elias had first offered her the baby—his voice reverent, his arms full of warm, soft new life—she had said no.

It broke something in her.

But she knew it was safer.

She still pumped milk for the baby—twice a day.

At first, she had hesitated. It was intimate. Exposing. But Elias had asked gently, so sincerely, and she felt like she owed them that. Just a little longer.

Elias was always there.

Still doting. Still watching.

He brought her meals, placed her vitamins in her palm, refilled her water glass when she wasn’t looking. He rubbed her back when she winced, adjusted her pillows when she couldn’t sleep.

“You’re recovering beautifully,” he would say softly, fingers brushing her shoulder. “You’re still glowing.”

Sometimes, when she pumped milk, she caught him watching her.

Not sexually.

Not exactly.

Just… staring. Intently. Like she was doing something sacred.

Like she was still his.

The baby—a girl—had been named Josephine.

Not Josie.

Not Jo.

Josephine.

An old name. Stately. Proper. A name Elias said had belonged to his grandmother. He spoke it with reverence, pride, almost worship.

He spent hours with her—rocking her in the nursery, humming songs in a language Y/N didn’t recognize, reading poetry aloud with a softness that made her stomach twist.

And still, whenever Y/N asked:

“When will Vivienne be back?”

Elias would smile.

“Soon, darling. She’s resting.”

Or:

“She’s at a spa in the mountains.”

Or:

“She’s working through some personal grief.”

Always a gentle lie.

Until one day… Vivienne was just there.

Y/N was walking past the nursery, water bottle in hand, dressed in one of her loose loungewear sets. Her body was still heavier, her chest sore, her gait uneven.

She paused in the doorway when she saw her.

Vivienne stood at the bassinet in a silk blouse and pearl earrings, her hand resting lightly on the edge. Josephine slept soundly inside.

Y/N hesitated, unsure if she should leave.

But Vivienne turned.

And smiled.

Cool. Tight.

“You did well,” she said softly.

Y/N blinked. “Thank you.”

Vivienne stepped forward and gently touched Y/N’s shoulder.

The touch didn’t linger.

“You made it look effortless.”

“I… tried to take care of her. My body.”

“She’s perfect,” Vivienne said. “You should be proud. You did your part.”

Y/N looked down. “I’m glad she’s healthy.”

There was a pause.

Vivienne’s eyes wandered the nursery, her voice softer now, almost casual.

“You know, Elias always wanted a big family. Six kids, maybe more. He came from a crowded house. Full of love, he says. I think he wants to recreate that.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Six?

Vivienne looked at her—really looked.

“You were his favorite. I could tell.”

Y/N tried to speak, but her mouth was dry.

Vivienne’s fingers brushed a stuffed toy on the shelf. Her tone didn’t change.

“He used to talk about legacy all the time. Now he talks about warmth. Love. How your body—” she glanced back at Y/N “—was made for this. You changed everything.”

And then she said it.

Words soft as silk, but sharp enough to slice open bone:

“You won’t be the last.”

Y/N froze.

Vivienne smiled gently.

Then walked past her, heels clicking softly against the nursery floor.

Time passed.

Y/N healed.

Her body slowly returned to itself — or something like it. The bleeding stopped. The swelling lessened. Her hips no longer ached every time she stood, and she could walk longer stretches without needing to rest. She’d even started brushing her hair again. Sleeping without medicine. Eating full meals.

She’d survived the storm.

But she hadn’t left the eye.

It had started two weeks ago.

Josephine wouldn’t take the bottle.

She’d cry, mouth open, rooting blindly, refusing the artificial nipple like it offended her. They tried different bottles. Different formulas. Heated milk. Pacifiers. Nothing worked.

“She needs you,” Elias had said, voice heavy with worry. “The doctors said if she doesn’t feed soon, she’ll lose weight.”

Y/N had hesitated.

She knew what would happen.

She had read about it—the bond, the hormones, the heartbreak. Breastfeeding blurred every line she had fought to hold.

But she’d looked at Josephine’s face—red, wet, hungry—and her heart cracked open.

“I’ll try,” she whispered.

The first time hurt. Her body wasn’t ready.

But the baby latched like she had been waiting her whole life.

Y/N cried quietly. She didn’t know why.

It became routine.

Y/N nursing Josephine, hair damp from a quick shower, robe slipping from her shoulder. The baby tucked against her skin, tiny fists curled. Her heartbeat slowing.

And Elias was always there.

Helping.

Too helpful.

He’d press a warm cloth to her chest before she began. He’d stroke her back, whisper affirmations. Sometimes—too often—he’d reach out gently, carefully, and take her breast in his hand.

“Let me help,” he’d murmur. “She’s latching wrong. This is better—see?”

His fingers were steady. Tender.

But not neutral.

Y/N would freeze every time. But she never pulled away.

Because in that moment, she was focused on the baby. And he knew it.

The worst part?

Some small part of her felt good.

Wanted the contact. Wanted someone to care for her while she cared for Josephine.

Vivienne’s voice echoed in her head every time it happened:

“You won’t be the last.”

One warm afternoon, after Josephine had finished feeding and was dozing in her bassinet, Y/N sat in the sunroom, arms limp, robe hanging loosely around her body. Her chest ached. Her heart did too.

She stared out the window at the garden.

And then she said it.

Soft. Steady. Almost like she was speaking to herself.

“I’m ready to go home.”

Elias, sitting in the armchair nearby, looked up slowly from his tablet.

He blinked once.

And then… he laughed.

Not cruelly.

Not sharply.

But lightly. As if she’d told a joke.

As if the idea was sweet. And silly.

He set the tablet down and stood, walking over to her with a calm so heavy it chilled her skin.

He leaned down, brushed a kiss to the top of her head, and whispered:

“You are home.”

And then he walked out of the room.

Just like that.

As if nothing had changed.

As if she was never meant to leave.

Y/N didn’t wait.

The moment Elias walked out of the sunroom, she stood—her robe barely tied, her feet cold against the tile—and followed him into the hallway.

She caught up near the staircase, her voice cracking under the weight of days, of months.

“My contract is finished,” she snapped. “I gave birth. I did my part.”

Elias paused, just briefly. His back was still to her.

“I want to go home.”

He turned slowly.

There was no warmth in his eyes this time.

Not the man who rubbed her feet. Not the voice that cooed to Josephine in the nursery. No. This was someone older. Someone entitled.

“You think this was about a contract?”

Her mouth opened—but he cut her off.

“You want to go back to your moldy apartment?” His voice was low, biting. “Back to scraping change from the couch cushions just to buy ramen? Back to working two jobs and getting nothing in return?”

Y/N flinched. “I—”

“You want to take the bus at night again, walk home with your keys between your fingers, pray your landlord hasn’t shut off your hot water?”

Her heart pounded.

“You don’t need a degree,” Elias snarled. “You don’t need independence. You don’t need a résumé. Your job—” he stepped forward, slow, deliberate “—is here.”

She took a shaky breath, lifting her hand slightly as if to reach for him. “Elias, please—”

He caught her wrist mid-air, then released it only to grab her face, fingers pressing painfully into her cheeks as he pushed her back against the wall.

She gasped, the back of her head hitting the plaster.

Tears welled in her eyes. “You’re hurting me.”

His face hovered inches from hers, breathing heavy, voice sharp as glass.

“I’ll give you everything,” he whispered. “Anything you want. You want clothes? You want art? You want a fucking garden? Done. A car? A private wing? A team of nurses? It’s yours.”

His grip didn’t loosen.

“But you do not leave me.”

Tears rolled hot down her cheeks.

“You were made for this. For me. For them.” His voice dropped lower. “You think Josephine needs you now? You think she’ll let you go?”

Y/N shook her head, but she couldn’t speak. Her lips trembled. Her breath came out in uneven sobs.

“You’ll give me more,” he whispered. “Sons. Daughters. A legacy. A house full of life. That’s what I saw in you the moment you stepped into my office. You want freedom?”

His eyes searched her face—hungry, wild, worshipful.

“You can be free, as long as your feet stay under my roof. As long as you carry what I give you.”

And then—

He kissed her.

Hard. Possessive. His mouth crushed against hers like a brand. Her hands trembled at her sides. Her sobs hitched against his lips, but he didn’t stop.

He kissed her like a lover.

Like a man who’d won.

When he finally pulled away, her tears were smeared across his face.

He looked down at her, quiet now. Calm again.

“You belong to me, Y/N.”

And with that, he released her face, gently brushed her hair back behind her ear… and walked away.

As if nothing had happened.

Before she ever walked through his office doors, Elias Locke already knew her name.

Y/N L/N.

Twenty-three years old.

A liberal arts dropout. Worked part-time in a bookstore. Babysat on the weekends. Paid rent late more than once. No family. No romantic ties. No legal representation. No financial safety net.

Just enough kindness to make her likable. Just enough desperation to make her pliable.

He watched her for four months before she ever knew he existed.

It had started with Vivienne’s silence.

She had come home from another appointment—third failed IVF cycle—and tossed the file onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m not doing this again,” she’d said flatly, uncorking a bottle of wine. “Pick someone else. You want a baby, Elias? Hire someone.”

He hadn’t argued.

Vivienne was beautiful. Elegant. Cold. She’d married him because of what he could offer: power, name, protection.

He’d married her because it gave him time.

And time is exactly what he used.

He had teams, of course. Quiet assistants. Discreet lawyers. Men and women whose jobs were to find women like Y/N.

Girls no one would come looking for.

Girls who wouldn’t ask the right questions.

Girls who could be folded, softened, turned toward a purpose.

They’d given him twenty profiles.

But he only needed one.

He saw her photo. A blurry DMV ID from when she was twenty-one. Big eyes. Shy smile. Slight slouch in her shoulders.

She looked hungry.

Not for food.

For someone to believe in her.

To make her safe.

To tell her she mattered.

And that made her perfect.

The first move was subtle: an anonymous donor to pay off one of her utility bills. Just to see how she responded.

She wept.

The second: a customer came into the bookstore and suggested a local ad they’d seen for a surrogate company that offered bonuses for first-time carriers.

Y/N laughed, but she asked for the pamphlet anyway.

That night, she read every word of it.

Elias watched her through camera footage routed from the bookstore’s “security system.” He knew every book she shelved. Every late lunch she skipped.

By the time she filled out the application, he already had the position cleared for her.

They were looking for women with past pregnancies?

That changed.

Vivienne hadn’t cared to read the paperwork. She hadn’t cared to meet the girl.

She just said, “Fine. Let me know when it’s over.”

He did everything else.

The interview? Scripted.

He made sure to be the one to meet her. His assistant was “called away” at the last minute. That first coffee shop meet-up after the signing? Planned. The drink he gave her wasn’t just healthy—it was meant to induce softness, to increase oxytocin levels.

And every question he answered? Practiced.

He wanted her to feel safe.

He wanted her to believe he was the one person in the world who cared about her well-being.

Vivienne caught on eventually.

“You’re watching her too closely,” she said one night. “She’s the surrogate, Elias. Not your mistress.”

But he didn’t answer.

Because she already knew.

Because it had stopped being about just the child the moment Y/N smiled at him during the contract review and thanked him for the opportunity.

She had no idea he had hand-selected her.

That he had visited her apartment while she was out, walked through her bedroom, sat on her bed.

She had no idea her email, messages, browser history — all filtered through him. Logged. Observed.

She had never stood a chance.

Vivienne didn’t care until Y/N moved in.

That’s when she started leaving for “gala trips.” For “spa recovery.” Her way of saying: I see what this is, and I won’t interfere. But I also won’t stay.

She hadn’t wanted a child. She’d wanted image. A name.

But Elias?

He’d wanted a lineage.

A house full of warmth. Children who looked like her. A life sculpted in the image of devotion and obedience. Not cold perfection.

He wanted someone who could be shaped into love.

Someone who would never leave.

“I’ll give you what you want,” Vivienne had said on her final night home. “One child. Then you free me.”

Elias hadn’t answered.

He just watched Y/N from the hallway mirror as she rocked gently in the nursery, running her fingers along the edge of a mobile she hadn’t realized he’d handpicked himself.

She was everything.

Soft. Afraid. Beautiful.

His.

From the very first day.

And soon?

She would understand.

This wasn’t a story about a surrogate helping a couple in need.

This was a story about a man building his family from the bones of a dream.

And she was going to give him every child in it.

Y/N’s hands trembled as she shoved clothes into her old canvas bag — the same one she had carried when she first arrived at the estate. The zipper snagged. Her robe got caught in the teeth of it, and she hissed in frustration, tears blurring her vision.

She didn’t care what she packed.

She just had to leave.

Sweat clung to her neck. Her chest heaved.

Get out. Get out. Get out.

She tore open drawers, yanked things from hangers. A toothbrush. Socks. Something of Josephine’s she didn’t even remember keeping. Her breath came in shallow gasps.

She reached for her phone — the one she hadn’t used in weeks — but it wasn’t there.

It was always in the same drawer. Beneath her nursing bras. Always.

She ripped the drawer out completely, spilling its contents across the floor.

Gone.

Gone.

He had taken it.

A cry broke from her throat — raw, sharp, ragged.

But there was no time.

She grabbed the half-zipped bag, yanked it over her shoulder, and stormed out of the room barefoot, barely registering the sting of cold tile beneath her feet.

Down the stairs.

Through the grand foyer.

Out the front door.

She ran.

The air hit her like ice.

The sun was setting, casting golden firelight across the estate lawns. The gate at the end of the long drive rose like a wall of iron bones, two guards standing at attention beneath the stone archway.

Y/N sprinted.

Bag slapping her hip, breath ragged, tears smearing down her cheeks.

They saw her coming.

They did not move.

“Please—” she gasped, slowing as she reached them. “Please, I have to go. Let me out. Please—”

They didn’t look at her.

Not even a flicker of recognition.

Two men in gray uniforms, faces blank as statues, eyes forward.

Y/N dropped the bag, threw herself at the nearest one, clutching his arm with both hands. “Please, I need to leave—just open the gate—just open it—”

He didn’t even flinch.

She sobbed, pulling at his sleeve like a child, her voice cracking open.

“I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home. I want to go—”

And then she heard it.

Footsteps.

Measured. Calm.

She froze.

The guards shifted slightly — not to stop him, but to acknowledge him.

Elias.

Walking down the gravel path like he was heading to a garden party. Shirt sleeves rolled. No tie. No rush.

Just control.

He reached her slowly.

And when he saw her — tear-streaked, shaking, barefoot, clinging to a guard like a lifeline— he didn’t yell.

He didn’t scold.

He simply opened his arms and whispered her name like a balm.

“Y/N…”

She stumbled back, wiping her face, chest heaving.

“Don’t—don’t touch me—”

But he did.

He stepped forward and gently, tenderly cradled her face in his hands, thumbs brushing tears from her cheeks, brushing her damp hair back behind her ears like she was made of porcelain.

“Shhh,” he murmured. “You’re scared. I understand. I shouldn’t have left you alone. This is too much for you right now. You’re tired. You haven’t healed fully.”

She cried harder, turning her face away—but he didn’t let go.

“You don’t have to think anymore,” he whispered. “You don’t have to run. You’re safe.”

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead — warm, slow, deliberate.

Then, with one smooth motion, he bent and lifted her off her feet, bag forgotten on the ground, and held her against his chest.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t fight.

She was too tired.

Too broken.

He carried her like a bride.

Back toward the estate.

Back through the gilded doors.

All the while, his voice in her ear—sweet as sugar-laced poison:

“I’ll give you everything. You just have to stay.”

[starry-hughes]

random soft thoughts

baylor waking jack up in the middle of the night to watch a meteor shower with her and he gets her up on the roof with him and they are watching it from there

charlie not knowing who to take dress shopping with her so she asks trevor’s mom to go with her and his mom cries

kasey asking mackie if he sees them married one day and he’s telling her like yeah and talking to her about the life he thinks they will have

daisy having one of the worst nightmares ever and crying for her parents and they rock her in their arms until she’s calmed down a little then they go downstairs and watch paw patrol until they are all asleep

kendall feeling homesick so elias plans a dinner with all her mom’s favorite recipes and sends hers out for the day so when she comes home she sees everything and is like oh my and cries

mac and brock picking out the color for the nursery and she’s thinking about what if they have to move or whatever before they find out about his contract so he’s like i don’t care baby we can paint thousands of rooms whatever color you want

poppy sat up today for so long that sawyer decides she needs a gift and takes her to the store and lets her pick out a new stuffed animal. but poppy doesn’t like that she can’t have it in bed since they practice safe sleep

emery walking around the book convention and jamie just following her and people are filming them because he’s just the perfect boyfriend carrying her bags and taking videos of her.

[sc0tters]

welcome to this little daily au thought that I call, I wasn't gonna do one today but then I finished all the work I had planned for today and figured I'd make something up for the aus too. a lot of these guys are not getting married anytime soon here is how I think the proposals go down / where they are when it happens!

Quinn and Rouge

Quinn proposed to Rouge in Greece where they were on holiday and he had this whole big speech that honestly was Quinn putting his entire heart on the line for her to see. And god was he absolutely in love with her.

Jack and Mila

Jack proposed in their apartment just wanting to finally make Mila is wife, partner and everything in between.

Trevor and Blair

Blair proposed to Trevor in the living room! He laughed and she thought he was turning her down but he actually went into the other room to get the ring that he had been hiding for her.

Alex and Spencer

Alex put the ring into her pasta and Spencer unknowingly gave that bite to Reese, it was a long few days after to study her poop to get that ring back 😭

Luke and Allie

Luke got these baby onesies for Willow and Poppy that said will you / marry me?

And she actually thought it was the cutest thing in the world especially as she saw the marry me one first.

Sidney and Alessandra

Sidney proposed to her on a helicopter! He wanted to do a big gesture because he knew that Alessandra was a little annoyed that Serena got proposed to first. Alessandra would never say it but she wished that she got an intimate and sweet proposal like Serena did, she didn’t need all the extra fluff on it.

Dawson and Emilie

Dawson proposed to her at the bookshop that looked onto the area where they first met. He spent the whole day showing her memories that he had of their firsts.

John and Maya

John proposed to her at the lake house after he took her to a mini island with a picnic!

Nico and Bianca

Nico proposed to her in Switzerland! He took her in a hike and at the top of it he proposed.

Jack and Kennedy

Jack proposed when she was baking. He bought the ring and was going to plan it all out but when he walked into the apartment to see her and Sofia baking in the kitchen he knew he couldn’t wait and he didn’t want to have to.

Will and Bailey

Will proposed to her in their apartment after they started doing their second babies nursery.

Phil and Victoria

Phil proposed to her on the ice actually! Convinced the team to let him use the umich ice for where they first met.

Leon and Serena

Leon convinced her to go out on a walk during her birthday weekend. She was so hot and sweaty but then turned into a crying mess when she saw him down on one knee and that ring in his hand.

Elias and Gracie

It was in the car when the quads were all asleep after a late night game. Elias looked over at her and just went “let’s get married.” He had hidden the ring in the glove compartment “it’s never gonna be the perfect time but you’re perfect, the family is perfect, everything is.”

Jeremy and Adelia

They were in bed after a long day when he pulled the ring out as he went on about how their family was everything that he wanted but he wanted to make sure that if anything happened to him that Adelia and Brodie were set for life.

Andrei and Annabelle

Andrei proposed to her on a yacht after dinner!

Mat and Maddie

They were a vegas wedding! They were there and drunk and Mat said she was the one he wanted to live with for the rest of their lives so what was the point of waiting really.

Nico and Margo

Nico was taking up every inch of her as they sat in the bathtub when he mumbled it going “fuck let’s just get married.”

Luke and Gwendolyn

Gwen actually proposed to him, it was his birthday and she felt so loved and cared for that she knew she wanted him to be her husband. She proposed that night when they got back from his party and she started crying as the nerves overwhelmed her.

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Love Grows (demon!Bucky and pre-serum!Steve omegaverse au)

34

THREE WEEKS LATER Steve watched as Hodge packed. As it turned out, Symbol of Courage was filming in California instead of Brooklyn, like they all originally thought. Not that it mattered to Hodge. Not that it mattered that much to Steve either. For a moment, Steve thought about packing all of Hodge's possessions and sending them to his new – currently temporary – address. But there was still a part of Steve that wanted them to work this out. A very tiny, itty bitty part, but still a part.

"'Ya sure you don't want to come with me?" Hodge asked, zipping his suitcase closed. He didn't look at Steve. In fact, he hadn't looked at Steve since their big argument. Sure, Steve knew that if there was anyone as stubborn as him, it was his husband, but it did seem a little ridiculous to not even look at him.

You don't stand a chance, Steve internally teased the now avocado-sized sixteen week old baby.

"Sun might do you some good," Hodge added, lifting his suitcase from their bed.

"I'd rather stay here," Steve said, hands on his more prominent bump, "Less smog."

"Right," Hodge nodded, gaze still down.

Steve wasn't sure if it was because of guilt for how he had acted, or if Hodge was just done with him too. Steve wasn't even sure which reason he preferred.

Scratching at the scar on the annex of his neck and shoulder, Steve followed Hodge down the hallway. It was a constant reminder of what was supposed to be a permanent bond. Steve didn't know if all mated couples went through rough patches like this, but it sure as hell had never been portrayed in any of the omroms like this. Did their honeymoon phase officially end? Or was it something else?

"Have a safe trip," Steve held himself. He hadn't touched Hodge in almost a month and he'd be damned if he made the first move due to an apparently outgrown habit.

Nodding, Hodge said, "Thanks," and then left. No well-wishes for Steve and their unborn baby. No hug or kiss to try and remedy the situation they were now in. Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.

Guess it's really over.

Putting on the chain, Steve wondered, why aren't I falling apart?

Heading into the kitchen, Steve filled the tea kettle. Then, he crossed the hall towards the soon-to-be nursery. Little by little, Steve began moving his art pieces and the supplies he used to make them, out to the living room. After all, it wasn't like Hodge was home long enough to use any room except the living room and that was mostly just to sleep, and now he wouldn't be back for at least three months.

Thinking about it, Elias-or-Macy might show up before their father. And really, wasn't that something to think ab–

Knock, knock.

Hearing someone at the door, Steve wondered if it could be Hodge coming back to apologize. Or if it could be Hodge coming back because he forgot something.

Sighing, Steve made his way towards the front of the apartment. Standing on his tiptoes, he looked through the peephole. When he saw that it – thankfully – wasn't his husband, Steve unlocked and unchained the door.

Revealing a smiling Bucky with a tray of freshly baked cookies, "Hi."

"Hi," Steve's cheeks started to redden under the alpha's gaze and how pleasantly surprised he was to see him. Glancing to the kitchen where his water was boiling, Steve invited, "Would you like some tea?"

"That sounds wonderful," Bucky's grin grew, crinkling up to his steel-blue eyes.

Once Bucky was inside, Steve closed the door and gestured for him to enter the kitchen. Just in time too as the kettle started whistling. Steve reached for the tin of herbs Peggy sent over and asked, "Any particular tea? I think I've got just about anything and everything."

"What are you having?" Bucky asked, joining Steve at the counter.

"The Sousa Special," Steve teased, putting a good helping in the whale infuser. "I don't know what it is, but this kid craves the most disgusting things."

"Yeah?" Bucky chuckled, leaning against the counter and facing Steve, amused. "Like what?"

"Well, terrigen for starters," Steve wrinkled his nose at the stench even if he did desire and crave the taste now. "Asparagus with peanut butter for second. Oh! And rare meat. Now, I'm talking about so rare that all I do is heat it enough to not be cold. And even that doesn't seem to be good enough for them half the time." Steve joked, "It's almost like they want me to go out and rip the meat off of a living cow and eat it bloody and raw."

"Is that unusual?"

"I suppose not." Steve shrugged, "Dr. Pierce didn't seem too concerned." Then, he lowered his voice as he confessed, "He wasn't even concerned when I told him about how I woke up in the middle of the night and started eating a raw chicken heart."

"You did that?"

Steve glanced over at the brunet to see if he was being judged. He didn't seem to be. Which was definitely good. He had been too nervous to tell anyone. Even having trouble telling his doctor. After all, he had read so many books and articles about how certain foods were bad and could even be harmful to the fetus. All Dr. Pierce had to say to that was how Steve wasn't supposed to look that stuff up. If Steve had any concerns or questions, he was meant to contact the good doctor, not self-diagnose himself.

"I told you, this kid is into some weird stuff."

"Doesn't seem too weird," Bucky shrugged. "I'm sure it's a delicacy in some parts of the world."

"Yeah, I'm sure too," Steve decided.

Fondly, Steve rubbed over his protruding abdomen. Allowing himself to mark the bump as a way to soothe himself. And while scent wasn't able to penetrate through skin and into the womb, Steve thought that it soothed his developing pup too.

"Have you felt them yet?"

Sighing in mock annoyance, Steve said, "No, not yet."

Bucky's gaze was affectionate. Too tender, Steve knew. And even though he and Hodge weren't in a good place, Steve couldn't do that to the beta. So, Steve redirected his attention to the tea. Bringing his own mug over to the table, Steve encouraged, "Help yourself to whatever. There's milk in the fridge and sugar by the coffee maker."

"Do you want me to bring you anything?"

For a moment, Steve's heart skipped a beat. He wasn't used to being asked that when it came to his own home. Then, his eyes started to water. He could blame it on the extra hormones all he wanted, but that brief realization broke his heart. How could he have gotten used to not being with someone – not just considerate, but – polite.

"Stevie?"

Sniffling, Steve wiped the escaped tears off his face and he shook his head, "No thank you. The baby doesn't have a big sweet tooth."

Joining Steve at the table, Bucky looked down at the plate of cookies he brought. "If I had known I would've –"

"No, it's fine," Steve assured, reaching over to give the alpha's hand a comforting squeeze. "It was very kind of you to even think about bringing me something."

Bucky shrugged, "It was the least I could do considering I'm the reason why Hodge is traveling across the country, leaving you all alone."

"Oh, please," Steve playfully rolled his eyes. "You didn't do anything."

"Right," Bucky nodded, looking down at his mug while he pressed his lips together.

"So, um," Steve started and paused, not knowing what to say. They were friends, Steve supposed they could be considered as such, but he didn't know all that much about Bucky.

"I, uh, noticed you've got some new stuff," Bucky said, gesturing towards the living room where Steve had been situating his latest projects.

Nodding, Steve smiled down at his abdomen and marked his bump, "Turns out I found my muse."

For a moment, the pair sat there in companionable silence. It was nice. But when wasn't it? Bucky just seemed to get him. Knowing when to let him be and when he wanted some company. Not pushing Steve around or ignoring him.

"Mind if I see a few?"

Hesitantly, Steve redirected his attention from the alpha towards the living room. He wasn't used to showing anyone anything until it was exactly the way he wanted it. And usually that didn't happen until after the gallery shows when he couldn't change them anymore. Most of the time, even once they were sold, he still found that he wanted to add this or lose that.

"I can wait," Bucky assured while Steve debated it.

"Thanks," a small, soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. A smile that his body seemed to save just for the alpha. Somewhere, deep down inside of himself, corrected, YOUR alpha. Steve tried not to think of Bucky that way, but he also couldn't find it in himself to argue either.

[racefortheironthrone]

It's certainly possible, but in a scenario in which royalty aren't the primary caregiver, would they immediately notice the difference in a baby in swaddling and be able to act on it with very little time to spare? I think there's an argument to be made either way. With regards to the other, I don't agree. To begin with, Rhaenys was in hiding directly above the nursery where her mother and Aegon were, so it's quite likely that Elia did not know where Rhaenys was or that she hoped that the best way to keep Rhaenys safe was for her to hide somewhere else rather than have everyone in the nursery.

Moreover, in my scenario, Elia isn't making her daughter do anything, she's making a snap-second decision as Lannister men are literally knocking down the doors, in which there are no good options. Moreover, even in the more gender egalitarian society of Dorne, it still would have been understood that Aegon as the rightful heir to the Crown Prince was the most in danger and his survival would be key to the preservation of her family's claim to the Throne and any chance at future revenge.

And in a scenario in which the Lannisters don't know what the baby Aegon looks like, they are going to assume that the light-haired child in the royal nursery with the Princess is Aegon. Her presence in the nursery with the child would ensure that the Lannisters didn't search the Red Keep or the city for the missing child.

Finally, I just don't think Occam's Razor falls down on the side of Varys lying. He's in a room alone with a dying man and the tunnels guarded by his loyal mute child-assassins, he doesn't have any motivation to lie to him. If he is actually a Blackfyre loyalist, he could just say that Aegon is a Blackfyre because Kevan's not going to be able to tell anyone. Hell, he doesn't even have to say anything, just wait patiently until Kevan dies.

Do you think that the baby swap actually happened? I prefer the theory that the baby swap did not actually happen, and that Aegon is the son of Illyrio and Sera (posited as a female-line Blackyre) - the baby swap does not explain why Elia would choose to protect the swapped baby with her life while leaving Rhaenys alone, nor Illyrio’s extreme fondness for the boy.

For almost a decade now, I've been an advocate of the double-swap theory, which I think does the best job of reconciling the actions of both Varys and Illyrio.

That being said, I think there are two perfectly cromulent explanations for Elia's actions in this theory: the first possibility is that Elia didn't realize that a baby swap happened very shortly before her death, and the second is that she did know, and that (just like Gilly in AFFC/ADWD) she was willing to endure suffering in order to ensure that her son would live.

[huggybug]

names - elias pettersson

word count: 0.8k words

series masterlist

“We are not naming our child after a rodent” You glare at Elias from your spot on the couch. Quinn and Brock had come over a couple hours ago to ‘help’ you set up the nursery but all they’ve done was assemble the crib and then decided it was break time.

“It’s an animated rodent Y/n” Brock says back and you roll your eyes.

“Even if that made it any better, our son will not be named Alvin”

“Why? I think it’s cute” Your husband says as he comes out of the kitchen with drinks for everyone and then flops down onto the couch beside you.

“You really want to name him Alvin?” He nods. “How are you going to explain how his older sister got a cute name and he got Alvin? He’s going to think we hated him before he was even born!” Quinn and Brock start laughing and Elias furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t hate him” You go to answer but then your front door swings open and squeals stream into the house. Grace comes running into the room and jumps onto the couch between you and Elias while Quinn’s kids, Will and Ella come in and jump on him, crowding his spot on the other couch.

“We have returned and now we need a break” You smile when you see Sophia and a very pregnant Bri walking into the room. Bri had coincidentally gotten pregnant about a month before you so you two had gone through it together and we’re finally at the end stages. She offered to take the kids out with Soph because it was stressful enough setting up a nursery without adding three rambunctious kids into the mix so they went out for ice cream.

“Oh come join us, the boys have been taking a break for the past half hour” Soph smacked Quinn’s arm and scolded him for not helping. He was the one with the most experience, having gone through the whole baby thing twice already.

“So what did we miss?” Bri asks once the kids ran off to the playroom, not finding it difficult at all to entertain themselves in there.

“E wants to name the baby Alvin” You say and watch as both girls’ faces twist in horror.

“Why do you hate your unborn son?” Soph asks and you laugh loudly.

“That’s what I said!” You exclaim. Soph was definitely your closest friend in the group. You loved Holly and Bri but since Elias and Quinn were so close, it was natural that you became besties with Soph.

“How could you do that to your poor baby?” Bri asked while leaning on Brock.

“Enough about names, let’s go get this nursery set up” Brock waved off the conversation and stood up which made the other two boys and Soph stand as well.

“I’ll go make sure they’re staying focused” Soph announces as she follows them upstairs.

“Is it bad if I want to totally choose the name myself?” Bri asks as she moves to sit next to you on the couch.

“No, I chose Grace’s name. Elias just agreed with me and said he liked it” You smile, remembering how easy going he was during the whole process last time.

“I feel like Brock will want to have a say but I don’t want a baby Alvin” You giggle and Bri just shakes her head. “I’m serious!”

“I don’t think you’ll have a baby Alvin and I certainly hope I won’t either. Usually women care more about the name so just have a couple suggestions and maybe let him choose from those?” You knew how nerve wracking it was to be going through this for the first time and that was why you and the girls made sure to be there for Bri 100% throughout her entire pregnancy.

“I hate that we’re both having boys because I want to ask for some name suggestions but I don’t want to steal the one you’re going to pick!” Bri was frustrated but still laughing and you smiled.

“I’m sure the names you come up with will be perfect”

…

“You weren’t serious about that name were you?” You ask Elias later, after you’ve put the kids to bed and you’re cleaning up the kitchen after your family dinner with Quinn’s family and Brock and Bri.

“Want to know my secret?”

“I absolutely do”

“I tried giving that bad suggestion so that you won’t think my real suggestions are that bad” You smile at him. It was cute that he went to such great lengths for you to just take his baby names into consideration.

“Aw love I’m sure your real names are good, let me hear some” You set the final of the dirty dishes in the dishwasher before turning it on and then directing your attention to Elias.

“I like Sam but Lucas sounds good with Grace. Also, I know you like Connor but we can’t name him after a guy on the team, Quinn will be mad” You laugh a bit at his comment.

“I love both of those names, you definitely didn’t need to pitch Alvin” You teased and Elias laughed softly.

“It was Quinn’s idea” You shake you head.

“Of course it was”

[dreamwritesimagines]

I don’t think the blue room will be a nursery…it’s gonna be an interrogation room where each one of Cherie’s family members is gonna have a stare down with Anthony

OH MY GOD😂

Lolll Percy and Elias will NOT make things easy for him, that's for sure😂

[niphuial]

Elias nodded, rubbing his nose. "I'll draw Auntie Ingrid for Katherine and Lucerys so they'll know what she looked like. Both her wolf and herself. But you'll have to color her wolf, Daddy. I don't think I'm good enough to ba able to get her fur color just right." He murmured, nuzzling closer to Niklaus. "Do my cousins need the Nursery? I can move to a different room." He offered, voice soft.

_______

"We can use Alta as a port, as it's one of the villages under my preview." Katerina said, before turning to look at Elijah, blinking tiredly. "Love, I know this is the first time you've ever had to deal with a pregnancy but please try to remember this isn't mine." At Elijah's wince, she nodded. "Yes, I'm far happier that it's with someone I love, but please don't treat me like I'm an idiot. I've been through this before. Truly, the only time you have to worry for me is...." She stopped, eyes going soft. "Probably the last few weeks and the birthing bed. Those were the worst for me. Otherwise I'll be fine." She took another drink of her blood mead, licking her lips. "Besides, you were the one saying I needed blood, so it's either this or eating pur sticks of blood butter because I'm not touching the actual blood alcohol."

this would be fun to watch

[x-amoromnibusidem]

Rhaenys III Targaryen

Rhaenys Targaryen was the daughter of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Nymeros Martell. She was born on Dragonstone in the year 280 AC, and her mother was bedridden for half a year afterwards. Rhaenys was presented at court by her father, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Whilst her grandmother, Queen Rhaella Targaryen, embraced her warmly, her grandfather, King Aerys II Targaryen, refused to touch or hold her, claiming she smelled “Dornish”. She had a small black kitten that she named Balerion, after the great black dragon of Aegon I Targaryen. Her younger brother, Prince Aegon, was born near the new year of 282 AC, fifteen months after her birth.

During the Sack of King’s Landing, a fortnight after the royal forces had left for the Trident, Ser Jaime Lannister killed Aerys in the throne room of the Red Keep. Jaime, though the only Kingsguard member left in the city, did not think his father Tywin Lannister, whose troops were attacking the city, would harm Rhaenys or Aegon. However, while Jaime was standing over Aerys’s corpse, Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch scaled the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast where Princess Elia and her children resided. Rhaenys hid under her father’s bed, a floor above the nursery, where her younger brother, Aegon, and her mother, Elia Martell, were. She was discovered and dragged out by Ser Amory Lorch, who proceeded to stab her with “half a hundred thrusts.” Ser Gregor Clegane bashed her brother’s head against a wall, and raped and murdered her mother with his hands still covered in Aegon’s blood.

Tywin Lannister commanded the deaths of Rhaenys and Aegon to prove his loyalty to Robert Baratheon, although he himself claims to have been shocked at the brutality of their deaths. In Rhaenys’s case, he believed Lorch, who tried to justify his savagery by claiming the girl kicked him and would not stop screaming, could simply have offered a few sweet words to calm her, and a pillow to suffocate her.

After Rhaenys’s and Aegon’s deaths, Tywin Lannister presented their bodies to Robert clothed in red Lannister cloaks (to better conceal the blood).

|| Children of the Sun ||

#SummerIsForDorne

[bigfreakinfrog]

im super on a jonelias parent au kick right now and i AM going to make it everyones problem

and as much as i love them parenting together and being in love i also love the angst potential of them being broken up / not together and having to co parent

so i have an au. ( cw for trans masc pregnancy, cheating, jo///nmartin but like unhealthy kinda)

so Elias gets Jon pregnant. its an accident of course, they used protection. these things happen. he really shouldnt have slept with him in the first place, but there was so much excitement around jon’s promotion that one thing just led to another. its fine though, he just has to hope jon gets an abortion. 

jon tries. but ultimately decides that he cant go through with it. now elias is in a tough position. he knows about the dangers of the archivist job and as much as he is cold hearted, it doesnt feel right to let a pregnant person go through that. so he scrambles to change his plans, find a way to deal with prentiss, and to prevent any more attacks that may happen to the institute. jon is kept in the dark

they grow closer, naturally. elias wanted to stay out of it and only provide monetary support, but he could see how jon was struggling dealing with everything alone. he goes with him to his appts and eventually moves jon into the guest room in his home. its easier to help that way. and its nice having jon around. its not a relationship, neither of them have discussed anything, but more often than not jon ends up cuddling elias on the couch at the end of the night. jon starts sleeping in elias’s room and they plan to turn the guest bedroom into a nursery. they start painting it after they find out its going to be a boy.

this part im a little vaguer on but basically: near the end of jons pregnancy he finds out how much elias has been hiding from him, about the entities, and the rituals. elias admits to his own plans for a ritual and jon leaves him. he leans on martin and tim for support. elias continues to send checks for child support despite jons distaste at accepting anything from him. elias keeps his distance and avoids talking to jon as much as possible. 

fast forward abt 3-4 years. jon and martin get together and martin becomes Theodore’s stepdad. theo begins exhibiting weird behaviors in day care - terrorizing the other kids and knowing things he shouldnt. jon is afraid it means hes becoming an avatar and reluctantly brings him to elias for him. its the first time elias is meeting his son and hes shocked by how his eyes are exactly the same. theo immediately knows that elias is his other dad and jon has to cut the meeting short to avoid awkward questions. elias does comfirm that theo isnt an avatar, but he is touched by the eye. 

around this time martin and jon begin having lots of arguments about jons archivist position. martin wants to leave london and settle somewhere away from the fears and danger they pose. jon knows he cant leave (and part of him doesnt want to) and that he cant just stop being the archivist. during one of these arguments, theo gets upset and runs away and finds his way to the institute. elias finds him and calls jon who is frantic at this point. jon begrudgingly thanks elias for keeping theo safe. after this point theo constantly asks after elias and wants to see him, much to martin’s rage 

jon uses elias as a babysitter during a time he has no choice, hes worried the whole time but when he comes to pick theo up he finds elias reading to him on the couch. after this jon finally organizes visitation with elias. he realizes that its negatively affecting theo *not* having elias in his life, and he needs to think of his kid before himself. so elias takes theo 1 weekend a month (and then eventually 2). 

ok this has gotten way too long but basically the au from then on: elias and jon coparenting, martin being extremely jealous and repeatedly getting controlling, jon slowly growing distant with martin and eventually cheating on him with elias. also feat. theo trying to get his parents back together when martin and jon break up a la parent trap 

[crispmarshmallow]

and it’s so gut wrenching

Love me with your worst intentions. 

It had been a wedding gift from her brothers - a beautiful dagger commissioned by Doran and crafted by the blacksmith in Sunspear and bejeweled with the most precious stones Oberyn had acquired from across the Narrow Sea. They gifted it to her in a small chest as decorated as the weapon it carried before she left for Kingslanding. 

Elia had picked up the dagger from the velvet inside of the chest and relished in the feeling of it between her fingers when they handed it over to her. She had loved it. Daggers were one of the few weapons she had learned to use. One of the few that her delicate health allowed her to possess. I do not think I will need it. She had said to them. I will be a Princess of the Realm with many a sword and a Prince sworn to my protection. Doran and Oberyn insisted nonetheless - they would sleep easier if they knew she was not unarmed.

And she had not had any need for it. She took it with her wherever she travelled - from Dragonstone to Kingslanding and back - but she rarely took it out of its chest. Rare occasions being the ones when she had it lightly polished so it would not lose its lustre.

Elia had never felt the need for it. Until she did - at Harrenhal. Rhaegar had crowned another who was not her. And she knew - just knew - what precarious protection that her husband promised her within the Sept of Baelor was no more. 

Rhaegar rode past her after his victory against Selmy and though she felt insulted and neglected she kept her face neutral. She had perfected her mask as a princess far before she could even remember. She watched Rhaegar hand over the woven crown of winter roses to Lyanna Stark. She watched the uproar he caused. And she knew. Rhaegar had always been so cautious - he would risk so much for so little.

It did not matter that she carried his child within her - a child that could possibly be his heir. It was the last child that she would likely ever bear according to Pycelle. She had given Rhaegar Rhaenys and soon she will give another. The dragon must have three heads. Isn’t that what he always whispered to her? And she could not bear a third. 

Elia had noticed how his sweet little promises of love had grown far less frequent after the diagnosis by Pycelle. And she suddenly knew that was the reason - knew that was why he spurned her before all of Westeros for a woman already betrothed. She could no longer be an instrument in his precious prophecy. 

And so Elia took the dagger out its chest that night and slept with it under her pillow. She continued to do so after they left Harrenhal. 

Painted us a happy ending

She could not sweep Rhaegar’s actions under the rug. Elia had her pride and dignity to salvage. He had insulted her. House Martell. Dorne. And even his own children by neglecting her before the entire realm.

However, Elia and the little babe within her and Rhaenys held little power outside Dorne without Rhaegar. And so she could do no more than be as cold as the winters the House of his little Lyanna liked to warn of. Oh, a part of her wanted to do so much more. She wanted to coat her precious dagger in the poisons that Oberyn liked to experiment with so much and prick a small wound into her husband. She knew she could not do so though - she depended on him far too much. Moreover, it would tear her heart into two. 

It took an effort on her part, even with those dark thoughts, to be so cold to him. Somewhere along all the sweet promises he used to whisper when she had some use to him had made her grow to love him. Her coldness towards him and Aerys’ continued descent into madness was taking a toll on her. 

Pycelle had begun to worry for the child. And that made Rhaegar come seeking for forgiveness. Until then, he took her treatment with silence - ignoring anything out of the ordinary. Until then.

Rhaegar had apologized and kissed her tears of fury away. He whispered to her of how Lyanna Stark had been the Knight of the Laughing Tree and that his act had only been a reward for her valor and bravery and nothing more. He whisked Elia and Rhaenys away from Kingslanding to Dragonstone and catered to her every need.

And Elia had begun to believe his acts of repentance. He had looked so proud of her when she gave birth to little Aegon and how a comet shone over them as she did. He sang little Aegon a beautiful song. He said that little beautiful Aegon was the Prince that was Promised. 

Elia had begun to believe him and his promises again. She had. Just not enough to put the dagger back into its chest. 

Everytime you burned me down,

She loved him. She believed him. And she cursed herself for it. She wished she buried her dagger into his chest while she had a chance.

Rhaegar had insisted that they return to Kingslanding a month or two after sweet Aegon joined them. They had presented Aegon to Aerys and surprisingly garnered thin approval from the Mad King. 

After that Rhaegar had left Kingslanding with two  of the Kingsguard in tow. I must do this for the realm. He had refused to tell her what. Elia had supposed that it must have something to do with his plans in overthrowing Aerys.

She did not think him foolish enough to go and run off with Lyanna Stark. She didn't think he would risk war for a woman. And yet he did. 

He ran off with her. Brandon Stark demanded justice and he and his father were slaughtered before her eyes and the eyes of the court in a way so brutal that Elia began to have nightmares of her and her children in their place. Burning as Rhaegar watched passively - caring none for his family. 

As he did at the moment. War raged in the realm and no one knew where he was. And so nothing stopped Aerys from mistreating her and her children without Rhaegar in the city. Picking her as his target when he lashed out. 

He hurled insult after insult against her - blaming her for Rhaegar’s indiscretions. He had her humiliated before the court. Elia did her best to ensure that Rhaenys and Aegon were never in the vicinity when Aerys gathered in the Throne Room. She made sure Ashara had whisked them away to some quiet corner in the Keep while Aerys had his attention on her. 

She endured it - for her children. She would do anything for them. As she would have for Rhaegar. As Rhaegar would not have done for them. As he did not do for them. 

And Elia began to sleep at night with the dagger in one hand as Rhaenys curled around her body and she cradled Aegon in the other hand. 

Don’t know how, for a moment it felt like heaven

He came back to head the armies that he neglected for so long. Baratheon bagged victory after victory and Rhaegar could no more ignore his responsibility as the Prince and heir to House Targaryen.

She had not bothered to welcome him. She feigned illness to avoid it -  an excuse that was all too plausible. She did not want to see him after he returned from doing what he did with Lyanna Stark. 

However, Rhaegar saw fit to visit her and his children before he left for the battlefield. He came to Aegon’s nursery where Elia and Rhaenys spent most of their time these days. He came fitted in his armor decked with rubies and jewels and looked every bit the Prince that he was. The sight of him made her chest tighten with sadness and loathing and happiness at seeing him after so long. 

She watched him scoop Rhaenys into his arms and kiss her on the nose and whisper something that made his daughter burst into giggles. It would be so easy for Elia to think that he cared about his children - more than he cared about his stupid prophesy - to think that they could be a happy little family. Eventually, he put Rhaenys down and moved to pick up the sleeping Aegon to press a kiss to his forehead.

He approached Elia next. She curtsied to him and let him embrace her. She basked in its warmth for a moment. He whispered his little promises in her ears and Elia wondered if they always sounded so ridiculous. Lyanna Stark was the ice to his fire. Lyanna Stark was with child in Dorne. Rhaegar took his mistress to the homeland of his wife. 

Elia wanted to scream in fury and unleash the wrath of the Sun onto him - not even a dragon could prevail before the heat of the Sun. She thought of her dagger once more and of the satisfaction she would feel to see it in his heart. But it still remained that Elia was powerless without her husband. So she let him kiss her softly and let him mistake her tears of anger as tears of sadness at seeing him leave for battle. 

“Who do you think he fights for?” She had asked Ser Jaime  - the last of the Kingsguard in Kingslanding - a hostage to ensure the loyalty of his family as she was, as they watched Rhaegar and his host leave the city. . “Do you think he fights to keep Aerys on the Throne? Or to place himself upon it? Or so he can keep little Lyanna Stark? Do you think he fights for Aegon and Rhaenys?”

Jaime had hesitated. “He fights for you all, Princess.” It was an empty answer. Elia knew that the young knight almost worshipped the ground that Rhaegar walked upon. 

All? Elia had scoffed. “And yet he does not fight for me.” He never has and never will.

Rhaegar did not see fit to update her of his wellbeing or the state of war and the little news she received was always from Varys or Jaime. 

And a day came where Varys told her that her husband fell on the battlefield at the hands of Robert Baratheon - the name of Lyanna Stark on his tongue. Elia’s heart mourned while the darker parts of her soul rejoiced to see the man die at the hands of little Lyanna’s betrothed.

However, with his death it became more evident than ever how her position had depended on Rhaegar. Aerys blamed the Dornish for Rhaegar’s fate. He kept Elia and her children as he sent Viserys and Rhaella to Dragonstone - but not before stripping Aegon of his status as heir and handing it over to Viserys. 

Elia lost almost everything after her husband died - the husband that had thought not of his children or wife in his last moments. 

All Elia thought was of her children and she walked the corridors of the Red Keep with her dagger tucked into the sleeves of her dress with the two of them always by her side.

And it’s so gut wrenching, 

Aerys opened the gates for Tywin Lannister and Elia knew there was no hope. All she could think of as she rushed through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast with Rhaenys holding on to her hand and a babe in her other was that she was thankful that Aegon was away and safe with Varys. 

Elia did not trust Varys - he had simply been her only choice to keep her babe alive. If Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister did not kill Aegon, Elia knew Aerys would. So she had let Varys take him to safety and she hated him with every part of her being for not taking Rhaenys too.

She hid them in the chambers of her dead husband as she could hear the chaos coming closer and closer. She tried to keep her tears of fury and fear and helplessness at bay as she told Rhaenys to hide beneath her father’s bed as if the piece of furniture would protect her as her father should have. She let her take Balerion with her - her little black kitten. Elia could only wish that the kitten was as powerful as its namesake. Alas, she could only wish as the noise got louder.

She slipped her dagger out of her sleeves and clutched it so tightly between her fingers that it hurt. She had none to protect her and Rhaenys and the babe that she held. Jaime was with Aerys and Barristan was captured by the Rebels and the rest were with her husband’s precious Lyanna Stark. 

She murmured to the children in the room as she could hear heavy footsteps itching closer to them  - trying to reassure them and herself. She would not let them be harmed without a fight. She would protect them with the dagger that she thought she would never have to use and all that she had.

She would protect them as the man she loved and their father should have. She would protect Rhaenys and Aegon and even the child that she held and Elia Martell knew that it would still not be enough. 

  Falling in the wrong direction.

Contains lyrics from Wrong Direction by Hailee Steinfeld © Warner Chappell Music, Inc, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

[lifewouldbebetteronmars]

Hello, can you write a Thomastair based on the prompt where Alastair dies and Thomas thinks about their time together?? ❤❤❤

Of course I can! This is one of the ones I was actually excited to write because I know exactly what I want to write. I’m sorry that is took so long but it hurt to write and I hope you like it!

I hope none of you hate me after this because this fic might hurt more than Castle Towers Fall, and that’s saying a lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seasons of Love (Modern AU)

“Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty five thousand journeys to plan

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure a life of a woman or a man?” - Seasons of Love, Rent

Thomas could barely remember the funeral, it had gone in a blur. There wasn’t a lot of crying, maybe Cordelia and Jasper (not that he really understood what had happened), but Thomas couldn’t even recall if he had cried as well, he hadn’t really even cried at all the past few days. He felt numb the whole time as everyone droned on and on about how sorry they were, how missed Alastair would be, how they could only imagine how he felt.

Thomas didn’t even know how he felt. All he knew was that it hurt. Everything hurts. And unlike every time before that, Alastair isn’t there to make it better. He didn’t know if he was angry or sad, he didn’t know if he was tired or hungry anymore.

Now he just sat there on the sofa, staring blankly at the wall, all alone in his and Alastair’s flat. James and Cordelia had offered to take Jasper for the weekend, saying it would be a good distraction for the both of them. After Sona had died, Alastair went to court to get custody over his brother, something Elias had detested and tried his hardest to fight. Thomas remember how the trials had been, how Alastair was barely grieving his mother in his haste to make sure Jasper wasn’t ruined by Elias like he was.

Alastair was pacing the floor of their bedroom, to the point where Thomas was concerned for the carpet underneath his feet.

“Calm down, love, it’ll be fine.” Thomas had tried to comfort from his spot on the edge of the bed, but apparently it was no use, because Alastair was still stressing anyways.

Alastair turned to him sharply, an unreadable look on his face. “But what if it’s not, Thomas? What if they rule in Elias’s favor? I won’t let my brother be ruined by that bastard, I won’t!”

“They won’t. Once they meet Elias and hear yours and Cordelia’s statements, Jasper will be in our custody, the lawyers said it would be an open and shut case. You know this.” Thomas had said calmly.

“But they also said that Elias could have a chance, with what his lawyers have been spewing about us.” Alastair spat and Thomas sighed, knowing he was right. Elias’s lawyers had pulled out all the stops in order to get Jasper. From saying Elias had successfully gone to rehab to saying Alastair shouldn’t have Jasper because he’s his half-brother, not even really a Carstairs in according to Elias’s lawyers.

Thomas then stood up, moving behind Alastair to wrap his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “But you and I both know that none of that matters. The judge will see through Elias’s facade and Jasper will be safe, here, with us before you know it. I promise.” Alastair turned and buried his head in Thomas’s chest.

“Thank you.” he whispered but Thomas heard him.

“Anytime, my love. Anytime.”

And Thomas had been right, the judge saw right through Elias’s facade at the last trial. Right after Elias’s lawyers had said it wouldn’t be beneficial for Jasper to grow up in a home with two men, instead of his own father. Needless to say, they had gotten to take Jasper home with them that very day. That was almost four years ago, even if it only felt like yesterday to Thomas. Alastair had only just been talking about what they were going to do for Jasper’s fourth birthday party, which Thomas didn’t even have the heart to cancel now. Even if Alastair wasn’t going to be there anymore. He looked around the room, at the photographs on the wall, all taken by Alastair, all of them amazing and special in their own way.

His eyes then focused on Alastair’s piano, just wishing Alastair come back and play it again for him. He could still remember the first time he had asked him to...

“Oh come on Alastair! Please!” Thomas had begged one lazy Sunday afternoon. They had spent most of the day in bed, basking in the sunlight streaming through the windows and sharing lazy kisses.

“No, Thomas.” Alastair had said and tried playing it off, saying that he was terrible at the piano, so bad that he would make Thomas deaf. But Thomas had said he would risk his hearing to hear Alastair play at least once.

Eventually Alastair had given in, rolling his eyes as he sat down at the piano bench. He took a deep breath before starting to play. It was simple, familiar tune that Thomas knew well. It was one of the first songs Thomas had sung to Alastair, an old Elvis Presley song, that Thomas had said reminded him of Alastair. And oh, Alastair wasn’t bad, not at all. He was absolutely amazing as he played the keys with a practiced finesse.

Thomas couldn’t help but sing the last line of the song as Alastair’s playing started to slow.

“For I can't help falling in love with you...” he sang, moving to sit next to the other boy, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Alastair leaned into his touch, resting his head on Thomas’s broad shoulder. His eyes were closed and he was breathing softly, Thomas would have thought he was asleep if he hadn’t just seen him playing.

“See, I’m terrible. I hope it was worth going deaf for.” Alastair whispered, eyes still closed. Thomas rolled his eyes and kissed the top of Alastair’s head.

“Yes, you’re absolutely horrible, Lassie.”

That little routine played out almost every time Thomas asked Alastair to play for him. Alastair would refuse and say he was terrible and out of practice, Thomas would convince him with kisses until he gave in and played a song or two. The three of them would spend afternoons like that; Alastair playing as Thomas sang, Jasper clapping from next to them on the bench, always asking them to play nursery rhymes he learned at his preschool.

He shifted his eyes from the piano to the rings on his pinkie and ring fingers. He looked at them with a sad smile, bittersweet thinking about the wedding they were supposed to have. They hadn’t told anyone their plans yet and hadn’t planned to, which annoyed all of their friends and family to no end.

They planned to take a trip to Paris in June, Jasper included, and have a small ceremony there, something small and intimate. It was their favorite place after all and it was where Thomas had realized his feelings for Alastair the first time and the place he’d proposed.

“Marry me.” Thomas had said. They were sitting on the balcony of their hotel room, drinking tea and talking before bed. Alastair had paused, his tea nearly spilling on him as the mug wobbled in his shaky hands.

He looked over at him, dark eyes wide and unsure. Thomas hated when he had that look on his face, one that he knew must have been constant during his relationship with Charles. Alastair looked down at his mug of tea just as quickly as he looked up, whispering. “Really?” It was just loud enough for Thomas to hear the way his voice shook, as if he thought this wasn’t real.

“Yes, really. I want you to be my husband, Lassie. I want to be able to call myself your husband and say ‘You see that beautiful man right there, that’s my husband’. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, until we’re old and grey, and wearing adult diapers because we can’t go to bathroom on our own anymore. I want us to have a family of our own, so Jasper isn’t by himself when he gets older. I want everything and more with you, I want that more than anything,” Thomas stopped, moving to get the ring box out of his pocket. He’d been carrying it around for months now, trying to get the courage to tell Alastair how he felt. “I’ve been carrying around this ring for a few months now, waiting for the perfect moment to arrive and I didn’t want to miss it. And now is the perfect moment. Because it’s just you and me in our favorite city in the world, and that’s perfect for me. So will you, Alastair Jahan Carstairs, marry me, Thomas Gideon Lightwood and make me the happiest man alive?”

Alastair finally looked up at him, eyes filled with tears, some of them slipping down his cheeks. He nodded with a small smile, not trusting himself to speak just yet. Thomas knew full well that he had a stupid grin on his face that Alastair would say make him look like an idiot. Thomas stood up and gathered Alastair into his arms, kissing every inch of his face that he could. Alastair was attempting to kiss back but it was hard with the amount of smiling he was doing.

When they had both finally pulled back, foreheads touching, Alastair’s arms wrapped around Thomas’s neck while his arms were wrapped tightly around Alastair’s waist. They stood there, swaying slightly to a beat no one else could hear.

“That last part was awfully cheesy, Lightwood.” Alastair teased lightly as he nuzzled their noses together.

“Soon to be Lightwood-Carstairs.” Thomas corrected.

“Or Carstairs-Lightwood.”

They hadn’t planned to tell anyone about what they were really going to do in Paris, Alastair had said it would be more fun to surprise them. He always did like the dramatics, no matter how much he denied it, it was a fact.

The ring on Thomas’s pinkie was smaller than the one on his ring finger, since it had been fitted for someone else. They weren’t fancy rings, made of silver with a small inscription on the inside of each one.

The bigger of the two read; A.J.C., standing for Alastair Jahan Carstairs. While the small read; T.G.L., for Thomas Gideon Lightwood of course. The inscriptions had been Alastair’s idea, he said it had made the rings a lot more personal than they appeared, like geodes.

He hasn’t taken the rings off since before the funeral. He hadn’t taken Alastair’s off since the hospital, when the nurse gave him Alastair’s bag of belongings. Thomas had cleaned it until his fingers were prunish, before slipping it on his pinkie, the only finger it would fit. He couldn’t bury the ring with Alastair, it hurt too much to even see him in the casket, much less with the ring he was supposed to have until he grew old.

But Alastair would never get to grow old. He would never have their wedding in Paris. He wouldn’t even be at Jasper’s birthday party next month, or the next Christmas, or their next anniversary. It made Thomas angry to think about that, that they didn’t get the years Thomas had promised him.

It made him angry when he thought of the time after their engagement, when they talked about death. How he’d made Alastair promise to find love again if he were to die young, and Alastair made him promise the same thing. He knew he couldn’t live up to that promise. He knew he never could. Because Alastair was it for him, he was the person who made his world turn and the one who made it feel like fighter jets in his stomach (not butterflies, because those are too soft to describe how Alastair makes him feel).

How could anyone else replace that? No one could. No can ease the unbearable pain he’s in, no one can make him stop feeling like he’s going to crawl out of his own skin. Alastair was the only one for him. His true love, his soulmate, all the cliche things like that.

“You better not fall in love with me, Lightwood.”

“That won’t be a problem, Carstairs.”

Alastair had teased when they first got together, half serious and half not. Thomas wasn’t sure if he was grateful that he didn’t listen or not. Maybe if he had listened he wouldn’t be in this position...no, he can’t think that. He would never regret Alastair, never. If he did, it would make him no better than Charles, and Thomas had always strived to be better than him, to make sure Alastair never felt the way he did with Charles ever again.

“I’m so happy I didn’t listen.”

Thomas had whispered against Alastair’s skin in bed that night, causing Alastair to look at him in confusion. He hadn’t remembered when he told Thomas to not fall in love with him.

“I’m happy you didn’t listen either.”

Alastair had said later on, when he thought Thomas had fallen asleep. He hadn’t, but couldn’t bring himself to tell Alastair that, knowing it would embarrass him.

He couldn’t help but lose himself in the memories, nearly drowning himself in the process. From the first day they met, it had been Alastair and it would always be Alastair. That had never changed. Not in the near decade he had known Alastair. Not even when he’s old and grey, in adult diapers and can barely remember his own name. It will always be Alastair.

“You must be Alastair Carstairs! I’m Thomas Lightwood, nice to meet you!” Thomas had said excitedly, holding out his hand for Alastair to shake.

Alastair looked at his hand warily before shaking it. “You’re a little too small, Thomas. I think I’m going to call you pipsqueak.”

Thomas hadn’t even been listening, distracted by the pretty boy in front of him. “I’ll call you Lassie then.” The other boy looked at him in surprise, a small smirk curling on his lips.

“I think we’re going to get along just fine, Thomas Lightwood.”

[samwpmarleau]

1) It doesn’t fit with GRRM’s track record to introduce something as monumental as this, let alone so late in the game, and have it be what it says on the tin. For Aegon to actually be Elia and Rhaegar’s son who miraculously appears at the 11th hour to save the day doesn’t fit at all. Also, unfortunately, GRRM’s presentation of his characters of color is absolutely abysmal. While he debunked the theory of Dany blowing up the Water Gardens (THANK GOD), that doesn’t mean he’s going to magically treat Dorne how it deserves to be treated. A lot of the “evidence” I’ve seen about Aegon being real hinges on GRRM actually doing right by his characters of color and their associated storylines, which is … not likely.

2) The Golden Company was founded by Bittersteel, the #1 Blackfyre supporter who kept trying to make the Blackfyre cause succeed even long after Daemon was dead. The GC has been faithfully pro-Blackfyre ever since, and was even led by a Blackfyre, Maelys, in the Fifth Rebellion as well, which was not all that long ago.

3) The GC has never broken a contract before — in fact, their words have been “as good as gold” since the very beginning when Bittersteel founded it — so why would they now? They would only break a contract for blood (“some contracts are writ in ink, and some in blood”), for a Blackfyre. They broke the contract so they can help put Aegon on the throne and finally complete what Daemon and Bittersteel began.

4) The GC met with Viserys and Dany and laughed them out of the room. Why would they then be all gung-ho for a different Targaryen? Viserys wasn’t even a madman or pathetic when he met with them (Dany was still “a little girl”), Robert had only recently gotten the throne and therefore it was at its most vulnerable, and Viserys was well-known in Westeros as the Targaryen heir. If they were going to support a Targaryen, it would have been Viserys. Or Daenerys. Yet they didn’t. So why support Viserys’s alleged nephew instead? They would only do so because the Targaryen was only nominally one, in reality a Blackfyre.

5) Illyrio specifically says the Blackfyres are extinct in the male line, meaning they are still around, only through the female line, such as Illyrio’s late wife Serra. Aegon being Illyrio and Serra’s son would explain Illyrio’s fondness for the boy, why he’s so sad to see him go, and why he’s so invested in putting a “Targaryen” on the throne. Additionally, he found Serra as a sex slave in a Lysene brothel — quite a long ways down from the favored son of a Targaryen king. It would make sense for Illyrio, who loved her deeply, to in her memory restore what was “stolen” from her family.

6) Illyrio has a trunk full of children’s clothes, despite the fact that he’s supposed to be childless. Good clothes, too. (Those clothes are also blue, the color Aegon dyes his hair. Maybe a coincidence, maybe not.)

7) JonCon notes that Rhaegar’s eyes were “a deep purple, darker than this boy’s,” implying to us the reader that Aegon is not Rhaegar’s. It’s also a hint that JonCon has suspicions that Aegon is not the real deal but is in denial, because if Aegon isn’t real, then that means Rhaegar really is lost to him forever and he can do nothing to avenge him.

8) I’ve seen the argument for “sun’s son” being Aegon but it doesn’t make sense. Asha is called the kraken’s daughter, for one, despite being a Greyjoy in her own right, so yes, it tracks that Quentyn can be called the “sun’s son” despite being a “sun” himself (and it just has better rhythm). Plus, if he weren’t the “sun’s son,” how would he instead be the “mummer’s dragon”? He’s not a dragon, he’s not a fake, nor is he being controlled by a mummer, whereas that fits for Aegon. And in Dany’s HOTU vision, there’s a cloth dragon swaying on poles above a cheering crowd — how would Quentyn fit that either (especially since he’s dead)? But Aegon would. This is also in the same passage as “slayer of lies,” mind you. Aegon is the lie to be slain. The other people in the prophecy are pretty clear as to their identities, so why would “sun’s sun” and “mummer’s dragon” be riddles?

9) The Blackfyres and their rebellions have been developed more and more through the years, including an entire Dunk and Egg book about the second one. Would be a bit odd to completely drop that thread, no? The Third Rebellion didn’t even happen until late in Aerys I’s reign, so it’s not like the Blackfyres will play a central role any time soon in D&E. In the main series, however, they would. Plus, GRRM wrote the D&E book about the Second Rebellion while he was also writing ADWD, and it’s in ADWD that history lessons about the Blackfyres are repeatedly brought up.

10) The parallel between Aegon and Jon. Jon is a real secret Targaryen raised without knowing his true identity, whereas Aegon is a fake secret Targaryen raised without knowing his true identity.

11) There’s plenty of the “human heart in conflict with itself” that GRRM loves with him being fake. Dany gets another family member, the son of her beloved brother Rhaegar — only to find out Aegon’s a fake. JonCon raises a child for over a decade, the son of his beloved Rhaegar, redemption for losing at Stoney Sept — only to find out Aegon’s a fake. Dorne (Doran specifically) gets a piece of their beloved Elia back — only to find out Aegon’s a fake. Aegon himself has believed his whole life that he’s Elia and Rhaegar’s son, the heir to the throne, has gone through many hardships to get where he is — only to find out he’s been lied to since day one. Those are all very real, very poignant beats.

12a) The supposition that Elia would save her son but not her daughter — Dornish Elia, who would value her daughter just as much as her son — is nonsensical to me. I CANNOT get behind that one bit. Maybe I can justify Elia being willing to sacrifice someone else’s innocent baby if it meant saving her own (though that’s a horrible and heartless thing to do), but I CANNOT see a justification for her saving Aegon yet not Rhaenys. 

Moreover, if the baby weren’t Aegon, why would Elia be so willing to die for it? If it weren’t hers, if she had been pragmatic/cold enough to trade her baby for someone else’s, why on EARTH would she not have left that baby in the nursery and gone with Rhaenys, her actual child? The men Tywin sent had a reputation even back then and had scaled the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast. Elia would be dumb as a bag of bricks to think they would spare “her” son and Rhaenys, or possibly even herself. If they were to magically spare “Aegon,” great! Everyone’s happy (except Tywin). But why would Elia take that risk? No. She would only tell Rhaenys to run away yet stay with Aegon because he was her child and she had no other choice.

12b) If Elia switched the babies, then why don’t the Martells know anything about it? They were involved in a Targaryen restoration, Oberyn even went to Essos to sign the betrothal pact between Arianne and Viserys. Yet none of them know that their nephew is alive? If Elia really did take the pains to switch the babies for her son’s safety, why would she not have involved her family? At the very least, by having whoever she sent Aegon with even just hint to her family that he’s alive? But they know nothing. Zilch. They put their eggs in Viserys’s basket, then Dany’s, who are at best Elia-adjacent.

12c) Who would even be able to do such a thing as switch out the babies without a soul being the wiser? Varys, probably, but there is no way in hell Elia would entrust her son to him. Far beyond simply being a shady person in general who is out for himself and himself alone, he was the one who purposefully whispered in Aerys’s ear about invented conspiracies and betrayals. He made Aerys more paranoid, more dangerous. To the detriment of Rhaegar, Elia, their children, and the realm at large. Varys is the entire reason Aerys went to the Tourney at Harrenhal in the first place, because he convinced him that Rhaegar convened the tourney to meet with a bunch of lords in order to depose Aerys. Varys directly and gleefully contributed to Aerys’s further descent into tyranny.

Elia wouldn’t have trusted Varys as far as she could throw him, certainly not with something as precious as her child, not even if she were desperate. Even if she did trust him for some insane reason, how is Varys so powerful as to find a lookalike for Aegon but not for Rhaenys? Surely it’s easier to find a black-haired, brown-eyed toddler than a silver-haired, purple-eyed baby, no? Or why couldn’t he direct Elia to one of the many secret passageways so she could escape with the kids rather than this convoluted baby swap? Or any number of other things? At every turn, Aegon (but not Rhaenys!) being spirited away by anyone, most especially Varys, doesn’t hold up. Hell, why would Varys help Elia? What does he have to gain by not only helping her but egregiously undermining Aerys? Aerys whose ear he’s been meticulously whispering into, Aerys who’s the only reason Varys is at court and has power at all? Agreeing to and orchestrating the baby swap runs counter to everything we know about him.

13) Aegon being real means Elia and Dorne are essentially dealt two blows. We and they spend all this time believing her son was brutally murdered in King’s Landing. But then, psych! He’s actually alive! They get their hopes up, the wound is opened all over again, only for him to … be brutally murdered in King’s Landing. (Or possibly elsewhere, but likely KL.) Why is that better? What would be the point of Aegon being Elia and Rhaegar’s son if he’s just going to die like his “cover story” says he did? Actually, they’d be dealt three blows, really, given that Quentyn died as well in the pursuit of Targaryen restoration. Things are going to be painful enough without having Aegon be the real Aegon.

14) JonCon didn’t come to be Aegon’s caretaker until Aegon was 5. In other words, he wouldn’t recognize whether or not this Aegon is the one he saw as a baby. But because he’s so personally invested in Aegon being the real deal, he doesn’t question it too much. The result is that JonCon, who is well-known to have been close to Rhaegar and thus Elia (proximally, not emotionally of course, what with him hating her and all), him caring for the boy lends viability to the story. Which we see in action by Doran believing, or at least being willing to listen to, JonCon’s letter.

15) The Toynes have a very negative history with the Targaryens (and Barristan) but a positive one with the Blackfyres. Would it not make more sense for Myles Toyne to align himself with a Blackfyre rather than a Targaryen? Myles, who was the one who put his seal to the secret pact?

16a) It’s been 84 years. Even R+L=J, which is as much of a sure thing as you can possibly get, is disputed by some in the fandom. Some people believe Ashara Dayne is alive, and a subset of those go so far as to say she’s Jyana Reed. Some people have some theory about the Boltons being vampires. Like. It has been so long since the last book that things that would have been surprises or interesting twists have been examined to death, so by now they seem “too obvious.” Ten years ago, Aegon being real would undoubtedly have been a much more believed thing, because we’d have just recently been told it. But now? There’s been ample time to parse everything out and to determine that no, he likely isn’t real. Same for R+L=J. Ten years ago, or longer, Jon being revealed to be the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna would have been a bombshell. But now? It’s obvious as fuck. So to circle back around to “Yep, Aegon is real!” ignores the fact that it’s supposed to be a smokescreen and a twist.

16b) Related to this is GRRM’s own words. There’s an SSM where he’s asked whether Rhaenys and Aegon are really dead. He affirms that Rhaenys is but hedges for Aegon. Why? Not because he’s saying Aegon is real, but because he’s introducing the Young Griff arc. If he were to say, “Aegon’s definitely dead, too,” or “Aegon’s definitely alive,” that would completely spoil the tension and truth/untruth of the storyline.

Do I know that Aegon’s a fake? Obviously not, since we don’t have the books. But the evidence points to it being extremely unlikely that he’s the real deal. Like I also said, however, I’m not sure it really matters whether he is or not. So far as he knows, he’s truly Elia and Rhaegar’s son. His name is Aegon, he was raised to be a king, he seems to be quite a decent young man (people who cite him tipping over the cyvasse board can suck it), he will probably ride a dragon at some point, and so on. At the end of the day, who he’s biologically related to doesn’t seem super relevant.

[mobius-prime]

248. Sonic the Hedgehog #179

House of Cards (Part Two: Royal Flush)

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

Sonic and Tails are still embroiled in their fight from last issue, with Sonic trying to convince Tails to stand down so he can rush off to stop Rosemary and Amadeus from doing anything stupid. Tails, of course, refuses, hitting him again, and Sonic angrily tells him that while he understands sticking up for his parents, he's not cool with this whole "punching your best friend" business, to which Tails simply yells that Sonic's had this coming for a long time.

Oof, this is even worse than we previously thought. Rosemary and Amadeus approach the castle's side entrance, and Amadeus is suspicious when the codes he enters on the keypad let him in without a problem, realizing that since they haven't been changed since his arrest this must mean Elias is inviting him in. Indeed, inside the castle we see Elias urging his wife Megan along with their baby daughter Alexis to take shelter inside the nursery while he deals with the revolutionaries breaking in. He quickly orders Nicole, standing nearby, not to wake up his father under any circumstances, just as Amadeus and Rosemary enter the room.

I mean, while you have a point, Elias, the city is hardly going to fall to anarchy the moment it stops being ruled by a monarch. Keeping the peace is kind of the entire point of a democracy. Rosemary calls him out, insisting he should listen to his people who were just calling for a reformation earlier that same day, but Elias insists he won't step down, so Amadeus draws his sword. Elias reveals two honestly pretty cool-looking short double-ended blades beneath his royal cloak, and thus, the two parties clash swords…

And speaking of a clash, Sonic has finally gotten tired of fighting Tails inside the jail, heckled as they are by all the onlookers. Sonic rushes outside, and Tails follows him angrily, and what follows is possibly the most bizarre and scattered string of accusations he could possibly make. He calls Sonic out for, in order: leaving him behind on a lot of missions when he was younger, teasing him when he talked about his own adventures (to which Sonic objects that he teases everyone), and finally not immediately breaking his father out of prison when he got arrested. Sonic is truly baffled by the last one, considering Amadeus wasn't even in jail for a full twelve hours, and then Tails finally screams out the real reason he's so angry - Fiona. Yep, that's right, he's still hung up on Fiona - or should I say, Ian is still hung up on using her as a weird plot point in Tails' character arc.

Okay. You guys already know how I feel about the whole "Tails loving Fiona" thing. It's weird and unnecessary and just doesn't seem to fit literally anything else about Tails' character. But let's assume for a second that it is a valid thing to be upset about and that the whole plot point isn't weird as hell. A ton of things have just fallen into place with his little speech here. Tails has indeed been acting weird ever since Sonic returned from space, and he and Sonic haven't had a single good, honest heart-to-heart about it in all that time. Things have been strained between them for a while, and honestly, I'd say this is even less about Fiona than it is about Sonic being careless and forgetting to show Tails that he actually respects him. He's gotten so used to taking Tails' devotion for granted that once things started getting tense, he didn't know how to handle it, and ended up settling on the less-than-healthy option of  ignoring the problem and hoping it would go away. I've seen plenty of people point to this issue as a bad case of these two being totally out of character, but the problem that people cite always seems to be that Sonic and Tails are fighting at all, rather than what they're fighting about. And frankly, while Tails' initial stated reason for fighting Sonic - to help his parents overthrow the government - didn't make a ton of sense, anyone who knows anything about psychology knows that when one person is mad at another but isn't able to properly express why, those bottled up feelings can come bursting out in all sorts of bizarre ways, including many that don't seem to make any outward sense. And, of course, this can include blaming the other person for things that seem totally out of the blue - because that's not actually what they're angry about at all.

My takeaway from all this is that, again, Tails is not angry about the Fiona thing so much as that the Fiona thing represents a lot of what he has actually been upset about, and he's been carrying around these feelings of resentment that have been slowly building up for years. It's a very believable and reasonable reason for these two to end up butting heads, especially considering Sonic can be quite arrogant and self-centered at times, even without meaning to. In essence, what Tails is ultimately expressing in this whole outburst is that he's no longer content to simply be the forgotten sidekick who always has to take a backseat to Sonic's glory. And if you're wondering why Tails in the comics needs this character arc but not Tails in the games, that very premise is mistaken from the get-go - because he did get this moment of character growth in the games, just under totally different circumstances. Remember how the comics' Sonic Adventure arc never included Tails battling the Egg Walker or saving Station Square from the missile Eggman fired? In the games, that was a very important part of Tails' growth as a character - learning that he could be independent from Sonic and didn’t always have to rely on him or trail behind him, that he could be a hero in his own right. But that entire sequence was cut from the version of the story we got in the comics, and thus, Tails was still left as the sidekick, the little kid, the dependent younger brother without a family of his own. I would imagine that he had to teach himself a lot of that lost independence in the year that Sonic was missing - and it had to be jarring once he got over his initial joy at having Sonic back in his life, the realization that to Sonic, he was still the little dependent sidekick when he'd grown so much since those days. And since his life situation has so drastically changed even in just the last few weeks, all of these feelings have finally come bursting out of him in the form of siding with his biological parents over Sonic. With his above comments about Fiona and about taking away everything he cares about, the entire situation has just become crystal clear to Sonic, and now he wants to make amends, finally knowing exactly what has been bothering Tails this whole time.

But ANYWAY! While all that is going on above, Elias and Amadeus continue to battle it out, only to be shocked by the sudden appearance of a solid wall of nanites in between them. Nicole cheerfully announces from the doorway that while Elias told her not to wake up his father, he said absolutely nothing about waking up Sally, and that's exactly what she's done, with Sally glaring at the two combatants in stark disapproval.

See, this is why Sally should have been involved in the proceedings from the beginning. Outside, Tails has halted his attack after Sonic's words, uncertain about what Sonic is getting at, so Sonic explains himself.

There you go, Sonic. That was what he needed all along - a genuine apology and understanding of his feelings. Tails calms down once Sonic reassures him he's being sincere, and Sonic lightens the mood by joking that Tails has gotten too good at kicking butt for Sonic to want to continue being beaten on by him. Tails says he still wants to talk a few things out, but for now, they agree to team up, rushing to the castle to try to prevent Tails' parents from doing anything they'll regret. They're quite taken aback when they burst through the doors only to find Amadeus and Elias sitting down to a peaceful talk over tea, having agreed on a compromise. The government will be reformed into a combination of a democracy and a monarchy, with a council of six elected citizens being presided over by the king as a seventh member. This way, the people have a government that actually represents them, while they don't lose their monarchical heritage! That's actually probably the best solution that could have possibly been reached, and I applaud these two for having agreed on such an elegant solution.

Oh, Maximillian, so stuck in your old ways. Honestly, though, all things considered, I actually do not think he's a bad person. He's stuck in rigid tradition, but it was something he was indoctrinated into his whole life, and it's not surprising he'd be so resistant to change, especially after everything he's been through in his life. Remember, this guy can't be older than his mid-forties - it's not like he's some old and wizened ruler who has had time to process his life's experiences, he's barely halfway through an ordinary person's life span! That's a lot to deal with in a short amount of time. Outside, Sonic, Tails, and Sally watch the election take place, and Sonic asks Sally why she didn't run for a spot on the council, to which she slyly replies that it's likely for the same reason that Sonic didn't. I presume that means that she wants to have free time to herself to help lead the Freedom Fighters and not continue to be stuck at home, but we don't get a lot of time to think about that, because out of goddamn nowhere, Dimitri shows up in his little head-bubble and scares the living hell out of all three of the heroes, asking after Knuckles and warning them that Enerjak has returned…