#and now it turns out that four of his children are involved with her/her family

[spacedace]

@proshipper-on-ship​ thank you for the Dick & Dan idea you added to my other post, please enjoy some of the fall out your comment resulted in haha

“So,” Bruce tried, looking hesitantly pleased at the surprisingly light atmosphere around the table. “Anything new and exciting going on with anyone?”

There was a smattering of answers from around the table. Jason didn’t offer anything - which wasn’t surprising, that he was even there and largely not starting a fight was more than enough as far as Dick was concerned - but with some ribbing from Steph, Tim eventually admitted to finally asking that boy he’d been interested in out. Dick joined in on teasing his little brother - and even Jay gave, for him, some gentle ribbing over finally getting the balls to do something, eh Timberland? - while very carefully avoiding mentioning his own sorta-kinda thing with Dan in Bludhaven. He’d deal with his siblings making him miserable and embarrassed over it all when he actually scored a date with him thanks very much.

Things were going good.

And then Damian cleared his throat, looking imperious and uninterested at the same time as he waited for everyone to turn to look at him.

“I have an announcement on an alteration to my personal life.” He declared, chin up and looking like he was already over this whole family-bonding-time thing, which was fair. Damian had gotten better over the years, but he was still not exactly the cute and cuddly little brother. Dick still had the scar from the last time he tried to hug Dami without warning a year ago and got stabbed for the effort. Still, he was sharing, willingly even! That’s progress!

At the head of the table Bruce tilted his head, looking as cautiously hopeful as Dick felt over the youngest Wayne actually offering to share something personal. “Have you decided on what college you want to go to then?”

“No.” Dami dismissed easily, without more than a glance in Bruce’s direction. “Night and I have decided to take some time to travel before continuing any further schooling.”

Huh, honestly, Dick was kinda surprised. With how much of a perfectionist Dami was, he’d thought he’d throw himself into college with the same ferocious, competitive drive he did everything else. But then again, if Elle Nightingale was going to be taking a gap year or two, it wasn’t as if it was that much of a surprise that Dami would go and join her.

The two gremlins had been practically inseparable since they were twelve and discovered a shared love of stabbing people and adopting every animal they see. If Dami’s best friend was going to go gallivanting across the world like she always dreamed of doing, Dick couldn’t actually be that  surprised that Dami would be going with her.

Dick took a sip of his drink as Dami opened his mouth to continue with what was probably going to be to most people the world’s most harrowing game of “how many incredibly dangerous animals can we see before we end up dead on our gap year” that the two demons were undoubtedly planning.

He regretted taking that sip almost immediately as Damian said, “Night and I took our marital vows yesterday. She sends her regrets that she was unable to join us for family dinner tonight.”

Predictably, the room broke out into utter chaos.

Dick choked on his drink, spraying across the table and splattering Babs with a shower of wine. She didn’t even seem to notice, dropping her own glass as she snapped her head over to stare at Damian, the sound of breaking glass and a deep red stain pooling across the table following as she did. At the end of the table, Jay made a noise like a dying goose as the samosa he’d just popped in his mouth threatened to kill him. Cass, perhaps the most outwardly calm at the proclamation, only stared with wide eyes at her younger brother as she hit Jason on the back in an attempt to make sure he didn’t die.

Dick could practically hear the old shrieking AOL dial up noise that was Tim’s brain attempting to process what his little brother had just said, while sitting next to him Steph gave a small shriek of you what? Duke’s head was on a swivel, eyes darting from Damian, to another family member, to Damian and back again as if unsure who to even look at in the moment.

Bruce just…stared, frozen in place, face caught in the most open look of shock Dick thinks the man has ever shown in his life.

---

Damian sniffed and cast a caustic look towards - of all people - Jason, “Unlike some people, I share my good news with the family in a timely manner.”

Jay sputtered, “You know what, fuck you! Fine, you want me to share the news?” Jay snapped his head towards the rest of them. “Jazz is pregnant, baby is due next month on the sixth. Baby shower’s next weekend at Robinson Park, show up or don’t, I really don’t give a fuck.”

Or maybe he was just going to try to kill them with a heart attack.

“What the fuck?!”

“Language!”

“Who the fuck is Jazz?!”

“Language!”

“Night’s elder sister and guardian, Drake, keep up. You should know this, you’re dating her brother.”

“I’m what?”

“And Grayson is having flirtations with her other brother.”

“Dan is Elle’s older brother? Wait - how do you know about that?”

“Todd and I are in the Nightingale family group chat. We have endured far too much waxing poet about your posterior over the past months.”

“Why do they all have variations of the same name? Who gives all their children the same name?”

“He likes my ass?”

“Oh my god, bigger picture Dick, focus.”

“Seriously, do they all have the same name outside of the older sister? I feel like we need to acknowledge they all have the same name.”

“Can we go back to the fact that Damian got married? To Elle? Yesterday? How did you even do that without anyone knowing?

“Dr. Nightingale is a notary.”

“...Dr. Nightingale as in the woman Bruce is investigating Dr. Nightingale?”

“Okay but the name thing? Please tell me you’re not naming the baby some variation of the name Daniel.”

“If the gremlins get their way it will be. Do you know how many lists we’ve made that they keep sabotaging?”

“So you have Dan’s number? Could you give it to me?”

“Jesus Christ, Dick I’m begging you.”

“Why did you guys even get married?”

“For the diplomatic immunity.”

“You don’t have diplomatic immunity.”

“I do now.”

“What does that mean?”

[corroded-hellfire]

The Bunny and the Hair - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: All you want is a cute photo of your daughter in her bunny costume and a photo of the whole Munson family together. But nothing is simple when the children of Eddie Munson are involved

Note: Happy Easter! Thank you to my darlings @munson-blurbs and @offensiunculaee for helping me brainstorm ideas when the only thing in my head was Eliza dressed as a bunny 💕

Words: 1.2k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Aww, come on sweet pea. Give me a smile.”

Your five-month-old daughter does the very opposite of that. It seems that Eliza Munson has somehow perfected the art of giving a piercing glare before mastering sitting up on her own without being a little wobbly. 

The fuzzy white bunny suit she’s in, hood with ears and all, paints the most adorable picture you’ve ever seen. It would be even cuter if she would flash a brief look of glee for a single photo. This Easter is warmer than it’s been in the last few years and it’s easy to understand that she’s getting hot, which is making her cranky. But you just want one good picture. 

“Just one little smile for Mommy? Please?” You raise the small silver camera to your eye before remembering that this new fancy one has a digital screen where you can see what the picture will look like without squinting through a little hole. 

Deciding to start snapping shots and see what happens, your forefinger presses the small shiny button that makes a soft click after click. A giggle bubbles out of you as you notice your baby getting grumpier and grumpier with each shot. A flipbook would be a perfect place to put these photos and flip through them to see Eliza Hulk-out in real time. 

She is getting officially fed up now. 

“Boys?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder to where your husband and sons stand, watching your attempt at an infant photo shoot. “Can you make her smile so I can get one good shot? Then I’ll get her out of that.”

If anything can make Eliza laugh, it’s her brothers. Particularly Luke, he likes to remind people. 

“Sure,” Ryan says, looking around for any prop to assist him. His brown eyes snag on the eggs on the coffee table, the ones you and the boys had been in the middle of preparing to be dyed before Eddie came out with Eliza in all her fluffy glory. “Hey! Liza! Watch this!” He catches the baby’s eye and picks up one of the boiled eggs and jumps up, pretending to crack it over Eddie’s head. It brings a small smile out of your daughter. 

“Hey, hey!” Luke says, waving his arms to attract his little sister’s attention. “Eliza, look!” The younger Munson boy grabs an egg and props one socked foot on the edge of the coffee table to leverage himself up high enough to copy Ryan’s actions.

“Oh, Luke, that one wasn’t–”

Your warning comes too late. The ten-year-old had picked up one of the eggs that had yet to be boiled in preparation for decorating. This comes to light when Luke crushes the egg over his father’s head and runny yolk and gooey egg whites plop down onto Eddie’s hair and drip down his frizzy curls. 

The air feels as if it’s been sucked out of the room. All eyes are on Eddie as his shoulders bunch up towards his ears and his jaw drops open, a small dollop of yellow yolk falling onto his salt-and-pepper scruff. It’s hard to tell how long the room is frozen, silent until—

Furious giggles come from behind you and it breaks the tension that kept the four of you rooted to your spots. You whip your head around to see Eliza laughing so hard that she loses her balance and flops down onto her side, unable to remain sitting up straight on her own. Quickly, you’re able to set her up right again and grab the camera getting a few shots of her, giddy as can be in her bunny suit. 

Relieved that’s taken care of, you now turn back to look back at your husband, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Neither has Luke. 

It’s obvious to you by the look on Eddie’s face that he can tell that it was an accident, but your son is wide-eyed in fear, clearly not getting the same sense. 

“E-Eliza, say bye-bye to Luke cause Dad is gonna kill me,” Luke says softly, never taking his bright blue eyes from his father’s egg-covered form. 

Eddie takes a step towards Luke slowly, clearly wanting to keep Luke in suspense until the last second, before he wipes a large glob of the sticky egg goo from his own hair and rubs it into the little boy’s messy curls. A maniacal laugh erupts from deep within Eddie as he tugs Luke against his chest, not letting his son get away as he squirms and squeals, trying to escape the shared messiness. Despite his protests, when Luke pulls back and looks up at his dad, he’s laughing. 

Watching the two of them in amusement, you put your hands on your hips and shake your head. Never a dull moment with the Munson men. The two of them continue to rub egg on one another as you turn towards the only clean boy in the house.

“Ryan, can you go get Eliza out of her costume? Last thing we need is her overheating.”

“Yeah, you get cranky enough already,” Ryan tells his baby sister as he scoops her up. Eliza gives a little harumph, but you think that’s more from the way the twelve-year-old holds onto her tightly than offense at his words. 

You set the camera down on the coffee table, making sure it isn’t near any of the eggs.

“Damn,” you say. “Forgot to get a family picture.”

“We’ll take one when Ry and Eliza come back out,” Eddie says, dodging Luke’s sticky fingers. 

“That’s gonna look great with you two looking like you fell in a vat of slime,” you say with a laugh. 

Your husband and his mini me only continue to get messier until you hear Ryan’s footsteps coming back down the hall toward the living room. The moment your eyes land on your daughter’s new ensemble, you have to do a double take. Eliza is beaming in her brother’s arms, wearing her bright pink bathing suit covered in large, white polka dots. 

Left speechless, your eyes widen and you’re only able to gesture with your hands towards the swimsuit.

Ryan shrugs as he hefts his sister up on his hip. “She grabbed it when I opened her drawer. And you said you didn't want her overheating.”

Your gaze slides from Eliza, over to Luke and Eddie, then back to Ryan.

“You and I are going to be the ones who stick out in the Easter picture,” you tell your oldest. “We look normal.”

“You mean we don’t look normal?” Luke asks, jumping on his dad’s back and scrunching up the man’s eggy curls. 

Sighing and shaking your head in amusement, you snatch up the camera and fiddle with it until you set the timer for three minutes. The entertainment unit is the perfect height to rest the camera so it can get a good shot of the whole family. You set it on the shelf right above the television and nod your family over toward where the lens is facing.

Eddie, still sporting Luke as a backpack, walks over and stands on your right. Ryan, carrying a still-beaming Eliza tucks into your left side. It’s impossible not to look over the gang around you, letting out a laugh as you take in the chaotic bunch.

“Smile!” Luke instructs everyone.

Eddie slips his hand around your waist and pulls your side flush up against his, squishing some of the egg whites against you, causing you to let out a squeal of laughter just as the flash of the camera goes off. Your husband grins and presses a big wet kiss on your cheek

“Now that picture’s gonna be a keeper,” he says. 

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Diabolik Lovers - Christmas with the Sakamakis, Mukamis and Tsukinamis - 1.Door

warning : fluff, no use of Y/n , comfort, kiss

The calendar

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

Sakamaki :

Chaos filled the house of the six half-brothers as their new bride, human though she was, began to decorate the house. At first everyone had ignored it, Shu had tried to sleep through it, Reiji had given her a warning look, Ayato even held out a bowl of takoyaki dough to her and would even have been willing to share it with her.

But even this didn't seem to dissuade her Kanato's candy attack, which he hoped would stop the noise, went wrong and he had to take a small Christmas star out of Teddy's hand. Laitos at least tried to get to her in his own way, but the more often he appeared with a Christmas coat, the more often she covered her body with tinsel.

Subaru also tried to get away - the last thing he wanted was to celebrate. But her partner would not be dissuaded. Over the last few months, she had done everything the vampires had asked her to do, some more brashly and brashly than others. She had improved her schoolwork as Reiji had asked, left Shu alone, made Ayato's takoyaki and played with Kanato.

She had even gotten involved with Laito's attempts and tended to Subaru's roses. ,,I'm going to celebrate Christmas, it's an important holiday... for me," she had announced at dinner, seeing the confused and unhappy looks on the brothers' faces.

But Christmas was approaching and the last time the immortal vampires had even begun to celebrate it, they had been children. They remembered their parents, but just as they remembered their father, this actually wonderful time with the humans was something the vampires hated.

But as the first snowflakes fell and the days went by on the calendar, she saw the six of them less and less. There were moments, and had already been several, when she appreciated each and every one of them.

Be it just a look, a smile or a brief touch. Even when she sank her fangs into her bride's body, there were gentle moments and permissive questions. But now she hadn't seen the boys since it snowed.

They seemed to have retreated into the shadows and whenever she came back from the town where she had bought new things, the villa was empty. "Christmas alone I'm happy" she thought with a sigh as she carried the sweet cake in her bag.

She knew that Kanato actually liked to eat it and yet once again no one seemed to be there when she walked through the big gate. Preparing herself to sit alone in front of a plate of chicken on Christmas Eve, she opened the door and closed it behind her.

But something was different. ,,Vanilla?" she murmured and looked around, surprised to see that lambs were hanging from the railings where she couldn't reach them, mistletoe was hanging from door frames and doorways and someone had baked cookies.

Venturing further, she placed the cake on the table in the living room. Suddenly felt a presence behind her and turned around. ,,You made this?" she asked in disbelief but full of joy and saw the six of them nodding.

Some had Christmas hats on while others had little badges in the shape of snowmen or reindeer. ,,Our blood deserves only the best".

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

Mukami :

Christmas was familiar to the four former humans. They all knew Christmas as the day of the year when love and joy in the family was most important. The community and being together was what mattered. The Mukamis, although not officially a family, had a bond that held them together and always would.

Together through the cruelty as humans that had been done to them, they had endured every day. But Christmas was the one day when all they remembered was the cold. How they could barely move their limbs.

Their clothes were so short that they feared their toes and fingers would freeze off in the morning. They associated Christmas with nothing but pain. In contrast to their Eva, the young human woman associated Christmas with humanity, warmth and devotion to love and family.

The sweetness of cookies and cakes as well as the hearty meat and the candles that lit everything up. The big green Christmas tree in the living room and the baubles that were hung on it together.

,,Please, you seem to mean it well, but this is just a torment for us," Ruki said and looked up from his book. Azusa seemed to want to hide behind his bandages, Kou looked deeper into his magazine and Yuma ate lots of pieces of sugar. None of them wanted to know anything about it.

A fact that she initially accepted, knowing only fragments of the pain the four of them had suffered and had to suffer to become what they were today. But in the end she didn't give up, they had to overcome their memories and her Eva would help the four of them.

With a lot of persuasion and overcoming, she finally got the four of them into the kitchen for a little rehearsal. Try making cookies as a team," she suggested and they all saw nothing but love and devotion in her smile.

Kou, with his ability, also checked this out and nodded slightly. What almost ended in an argument at first was a laugh between the four of them by the end of the day. Azusa had managed to make his cookies look like black coal.

Ruki's cookies looked perfect on the outside only to crumble on the inside, Kou had used too much sugar and Yuma's cookies had a hard inside but seemed to crumble on the outside. ,,This...isn't...necessarily...Christmas," Azusa mumbled and she put a hand on his shoulder, giving him an encouraging look before touching the other's hands.

She saw the realization in the others' eyes that behind all the laughter was understanding that it didn't have to be painful. ,,It's Christmas now," she said and the others agreed. Instead, they did a Christmas thing together every other day until in the end it was truly a Christmas full of joy and love for all of them at the Mukami house.

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

Tsukinami :

The two brothers knew a lot, they actually knew everything there was to know. They knew the importance of their destiny and the destiny of their wife.

They had learned a lot about the world of vampires and the bloodline during the time she was with them. In return, the three of them had developed a relationship based on love, not hate.

A love that could withstand a lot, be it Shin's temperament and feelings or Carla's illness Endzeit. They had endured a lot until one day their love told them about a human holiday.

,,Christmas Eve is a day of family and joy, forgiveness and coming together," she tried to explain and saw that Shin was already yawning and Carla seemed to be thinking. She even doubted that the two of them knew anything about Christmas.

When it came to similarities, they were a lot more different. ,,A holiday then," Carla murmured and she could see behind his bright eyes that he seemed to be thinking while Shin was probably thinking about it in his head.

She had no idea what else they would find out about this special day. Without her realizing it, the two of them tried to find out more and more as the future wife of the two of them, she deserved to experience this day in a special way.

Leaving everything they could find about it in books, it was Carla who made plans, Shin who gathered things together while keeping their mutual love happy to keep her away from the surprise.

A fraternal fall until the snow fell, the temperature seemed to drop even in the other world, and everything went according to the law of nature.

She was called out of her room by the two of them and she was worried that it was something bad. She had seen less and less of Carla and Shin always seemed to want to dissuade her from doing something. Before she stepped into the great hall, she was met by warmth coming from the fires in the fireplaces.

The crown lit up and from somewhere she heard classical music that seemed to dance around her and through the room like a light dance. ,,Welcome to your Christmas," Carla greeted his beloved and gave her a kiss on the back of the hand while Shin hugged his love and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ,,Can we get started?" the redhead asked, grinning at her before they both took her hands gently and began to move around the hall to the beat of the music.

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

Happy first day of December

[petriwriting]

Memories - Sirius Black X Reader

Summary: Harry finds an old notebook that belonged to Sirius during his Hogwarts days. In his scruffy handwriting, in an old dusty journal found in Sirius's bedroom is the story of Sirius' first real love.

A/N: Fluff, nostalgia, a little bit of angst if you look too hard. The reader is feminine, using she/her pronouns. Oneshot - blurb is very short but very sweet.

I made a friend today on the train to Hogwarts. She is very sweet and seems very nice. She had a ribbon in her hair, I thought that she looked nice. we talked and she said that she liked my hair too. I also made some new friends. I got sorted into Gryffindor house, it's crazy since my family is all from Slytherin house. I'm sure Mother will be so upset. She is always upset about something.

Harry read aloud to his curious friends, Hermione leaned over his shoulder curiously to look at the small dark grey journal, it was tatted beaten-down bound with leather, covered in dust, but well used.

"Keep reading, Harry," Hermione said gently, knowing that he wasn't reading it with malicious intent, but instead in an attempt to feel closer to his godfather. he turned a few pages until a page caught his eye, and began reading once more.

Reg and I got into a quarrel over some things that didn't really matter. he says I should be more concerned with our family. Reg and I used to be close, but after my third year, he became cold. I love my brother, but I hate to see him hanging around those gits. Malfoy in particular, but I know he is happy now as he has joined the Slytherin team. he's their seeker, but he's no match for Gryffindor this year.

This entry made Harry smile slightly, and chuckle. he continued to flip pages, it was heartwarming. He turned the pages, looking through some messy potions class notes and annotations, and an entry about the marauders map, and how he saw Peter Pettigrew (Wormtail.) sneaking out every night to sneak food from the kitchens. One page, in particular, caught his eye.

I Love Her.

I have loved her every day I've known her. She is brilliant, her eyes sparkle when she speaks, her smile is so bright it lights up the room as if you'd cast Lumos. She's incredibly intelligent, but kind. She's always been gentle with me. I've never met another like her.

I wish that I could make this all go away. All the secrets, the war, the hatred. I wish we could start a family one day, live in a little cottage, and raise children far away from here. We'd visit James and Lily every Christmas, and Remus on halloween. I could give her my mother's ring. I doubt Regulus would mind. We could be so happy. I remember the first day we met. I think i knew then that she was special. She has been unconditionally devoted to me. The night my mother burned my name off our family tree she held me in her arms as i cried and i finally felt what home is supposed to feel like. I wrote her a letter, expressing my yearning for her. I plan to give it to her very soon, along with a locket I picked out. Lily insisted on the dainty silver chain with a locket of our picture from our first year together, she even helped me enchant to image to capture y/n's smile as she sat next to me. she say's it's sentimental, and that girls like this sort of thing.

I never had a home, truly. just four walls surrounding me. My own mother disgraced my name, Regulus has been absent in my life. I'm thankful for my friends but my love for y/n is like no other. i just wish want her to feel the way i do, i hope she does. With everything, she can not get involved it's too dangerous. But I will love her anyway. The kind of love that could break the most heinous curse.

Harry stood for a moment, looking over his godfather's handwriting. it was sentimental. "I wonder if we could find her," Harry offered hopefully. "There's no mention of a last name." Ron pointed out. "I'm sure we could ask someone, if she knew the black family she can't be too terribly hard to find," Hermione said, offering a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "I think Sirius would love that."

[lewmagoo]

the killing moon | rhett abbott

part four of the wolf series ; must read previous parts before reading this one

listen to the playlist here

description: in which a wolf receives the greatest honor, but pays the ultimate price

characters: werewolf rhett abbott x werewolf f!reader, reader and rhett's children, my own ocs as members of the abbott pack

warnings: 18+ ONLY, smut, breeding kink, outdoor sex, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of death and murder, civil unrest, angst, violence, blood, bodily injury

It had been seven years. 

Seven years since that fateful day when your very life was put in grave danger, all because of the actions of one man. Seven years since you were stolen from your mate and brought to harm at the hands of ruthless werewolf hunters. 

It was all behind you now. The trauma still remained, but it had been soothed over the years, its pain lessening to a dull ache in your heart whenever you thought about it. Smoothed over by the loving hands of your husband. And by four tiny sets of hands that were a product of your love for each other. 

Things had changed in those seven years. Since that incident, the Supreme Court had cracked down on werewolf protection laws, at the prompting of the National Werewolf League. The penalty for werewolf hunting grew heavier. Zero-tolerance policies for the ‘sport’ were passed in every state. 

The Tillerson family was put entirely out of business. Following the death of Patricia during the harrowing moment of your rescue, Luke and Billy, the only remaining members of the family, were sentenced hefty to life in prison for their participation in your abduction. 

The NWL made a public example of them, using it as a way to send a message that told the nation that hunting was punishable to the highest degree of the law. No exceptions 

It started a revolution of sorts. Others came forward, with stories of how they had also been targeted by hunters. Gone were the days of being afraid to speak out. Wolves everywhere were empowered to stand up to those who’d inflicted harm upon them. 

And slowly but surely, hunting was eradicated. 

You and your pack never had to worry about hunters encroaching on your land again. The past agreement that Royal Abbott and Wayne Tillerson had come to over which plot of land wolves were allowed to live on was now null and void. You were free to take up residence wherever you pleased. 

Your pack, a mix of your own family, and the remaining members of Rhett’s, had banded together on the day you and Rhett had gotten married. The joining of two mates during a sacred ceremony, where you became one blood and one soul. 

Since then, you had lost a few members of the pack. Namely, you’d lost Rhett’s father, and his brother. Their involvement in the murder of Trevor Tillerson, with Perry committing the crime and Royal aiding him in covering it up, had brought the law down on them. 

Perry was sentenced to life in prison. Royal received a lesser sentence, but still had several more years to fulfill before he was reintegrated into society again. 

As for Perry’s daughter, Amy, she was already eighteen years old. After her father’s sentencing, you and Rhett had made the decision to take her in. His mother, Cecelia, took the aftermath hard. Losing her son and husband all at once was a lot for her. She fully admitted that she was not equipped to care for her granddaughter, so she turned her over to your and Rhett’s custody. 

You welcomed that little girl into your life, treating her as if she were your own. The two of you were closely bonded, even more so after what you had been through. Amy was more than happy to come live in your and Rhett’s home. Especially because that meant she would be there when you welcomed your first little pup into the world. 

A few months after your traumatic experience with the hunters, you gave birth to a healthy baby girl. She was the perfect mix of you and Rhett. She had his button nose. She had your eyes. She was beautiful. You named her Arya. 

Amy was overjoyed to have a tiny cousin to look after. She would hold and entertain the little one while you were occupied with other things. She never wanted to be away from the baby. You tried to encourage her to play with other children in the pack that were her age, but she didn’t seem to want to. She hadn’t bonded with them in the way that she’d bonded with you and Rhett. 

After spending a good portion of her young life with a physically absent mother and an emotionally absent father, she was holding on to the last two stable adult relationships she had left. The two of you gave her a sense of security that she’d never had before. She felt safe and cared for, for the first time in a long time. If she needed you to be surrogate parents to help her overcome the past trauma she had experienced, you were more than happy to be that for her. 

Along with Amy and Arya, your family began to grow in the next few years. Soon, you had a son, who you named Maximillian. Max for short. Following her, you had another daughter named Leia. And finally, you had your youngest, Zoella. All good, strong names that had once belonged to ancestors of your pack. 

There was something so special about raising your children in a pack. It wasn’t just family. You were all connected by blood and by spirit. A bond that withstood the test of time. You wanted your pups to grow up knowing their elders. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, those who had lived through times in history when wolves did not have the liberty to live freely within society. Times when they were mistreated and abused, simply for being who they were. 

Things had changed since then. Your community now had freedoms and protections that it had once been deprived of. Your children were growing up in a world where they were free to live where they wanted, be who they wanted, without hiding their true selves. 

But you never wanted them to forget all their ancestors and elders had endured to get to this point. 

It was important to you and Rhett that you gave them a strong foundation. Growing up, he didn’t have the kind of pack that you did. His family was dysfunctional at best. 

In the werewolf world, there was strength in numbers. His pack, if one could even call it that, had been small. Royal was the alpha. There was Cecilia, his mate. And Perry and Rhett, his boys. The only person to join the pack had been Rebecca, Perry’s wife. He had convinced himself and everyone around him that they were mates, when they were in fact, not. 

Even so, the product of their marriage was Amy. These six members made up the Abbott pack. Their small size made them vulnerable. That was why, when your pack came passing through, looking for sanctuary, they allowed you to have it. 

It was through that, that you met Rhett. From the very moment you came into one another’s presence, you knew you were mates. This led to your packs joining together as one. And Royal willingly surrendered his alpha status to Malakai, your uncle, and the alpha of your own pack. 

And for the first time in his life, Rhett felt like he was part of something. There was so much love within your pack. Everyone respected each other. Wolf customs were observed and held especially sacred. He’d never had that with his own family. Yes, he knew of his heritage, and he knew that being a werewolf was special. But that was as far as it went. 

He found a sense of belonging within your pack. And he knew in his heart that he never wanted his children to grow up the way he did, in a dysfunctional, broken pack. No, they would only ever know love, security, and safety. They would know where they came from and what their purpose was in the world. 

He made good on those promises. 

In your eyes, he was made to be a father. He embraced the role with ease, determined to do better than his own father had done with him. Where he had been told to “suck it up and be a man,” he told young Max, “it’s okay to cry. Sometimes ya just need to let it out.” Where he had been yelled at, he never raised his voice at his children. And if there were times when he lost his cool in front of them, he always made it a point to apologize in the end and make it right. 

He wasn’t perfect, but he worked hard every day of his life to be the father his pups needed him to be. And for that, you admired and respected him. 

Your love for him already burned like an unkempt flame, but seeing him raise your children? It grew tenfold. And as the years past, that love that you shared never wavered. It was undying. Eternal. 

You had watched him flourish over the last seven years. Without his family to hold him back, he had come into his own. He was an integral part of your pack, and did all he could to protect its sanctity. 

His deep loyalty had caught the attention of the pack elders. Especially your Uncle Malakai. He was getting up in years, and knew that he needed to hand off his responsibilities as alpha to someone who was younger and full of life. He had his sights set on Rhett, unbeknownst to you. 

Malakai consulted the pack elders, presenting who he wanted to choose to replace him. They were all in agreement that Rhett was the best choice for the job. 

And so, one evening in late October, you received a knock at your door. You had just finished dinner, and the kids were beginning their bedtime routine. 

Their favorite part of the evening was getting to curl up on the couch in the living room while their daddy read them a story. That time together as a family was sacred to you and Rhett. To bond with your little ones, to have a moment of peace as he read to them from a book of their choosing. You cherished every moment. 

But that night, that moment was interrupted by a guest. 

“I’ll get it,” Amy announced, already heading for the door. 

Rhett was just getting the kids settled on the couch, with you coming to join them all. You paused, however, when you heard your uncle’s voice. 

“Uncle Malakai’s here,” Amy called over her shoulder, moving aside to let the man in. 

“Evenin’, Abbotts,” he greeted you all, smiling warmly. 

Your oldest three children jumped up in excitement, immediately rushing over to hug their uncle. You smiled at their enthusiasm. They loved him so much. 

“Hey, we just finished dinner. Want a plate to take home with you?” You asked him. 

He shook his head as he lifted your youngest, Zoella, onto his hip, cooing at her. “No thanks sweetheart. I actually came to speak with you and Rhett.”

Behind you, Rhett rose to his feet. “Everythin’ alright?” He asked. 

Malakai held his gaze. “Yeah, everything’s fine. But it is important.”

“Okay, gimme one minute.” Rhett turned to address the kids. “Alright pups, Mama and Daddy have to go talk to Uncle Malakai for a few minutes. You be good for Amy, alright?”

“Okay Daddy!” They all echoed, and Amy took over tending to them, grabbing Zoella from Malakai to free his hands up before he turned to lead you both outside. 

Once on the porch, blanketed by cool night air, shoes thudding against solid wood, Rhett pulled the door shut behind the three of you. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Rhett questioned. You moved to stand beside him, your shoulder brushing against his. 

“I’ve got news. Bittersweet news. But I wanted to personally deliver it to you myself.” Malakai leaned against the porch railing, folding his arms over his chest. “If ya couldn’t tell, I’m gettin’ old. I’m not the wolf I used to be. My senses are dull, and I don’t think I can lead this pack effectively anymore. So I’m lookin’ for someone to replace me.”

His eyes never left Rhett’s. There was an intensity behind them, a conviction. Beside your husband, your breath caught in your throat. You knew what was coming next. So did Rhett. 

“Rhett, I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I want you to take my place.” He went quiet for a moment, allowing the news to sink in. 

Rhett let out an incredulous breath, shaking his head as he brought his hand up to run his fingers absently over his jaw. He knew what an honor this was, and he was floored. 

“Wh…why? There are plenty’a other pack members who are probably a lot more qualified than I am.” His disbelief was palpable. 

Malakai shook his head. “I took it to the elders. We’re all in agreement. We firmly believe you are the best wolf to lead this pack. Will you accept this honor?”

How could he deny it? Rhett had great respect and admiration for Malakai. He felt that declining this offer would be a slap to the face. And even more so, he had a duty to fulfill. To his pack. To his mate. To his children. 

“Yes. I’ll accept it,” Rhett finally replied. 

Malakai’s face broke into a grin. He stepped forward, reaching out to shake Rhett’s hand. “My boy. I’m so glad you said that.”

Rhett smiled back, though there was trepidation in his eyes. “So what happens next? I’ve never been part of an alpha ceremony.”

Malakai nodded. “Don’t worry, you’ll meet with the elders soon and they’ll discuss everything. The ceremony will happen on the next full moon. Which, coincidentally, is next Friday.”

Rhett’s eyes widened. He only had a week to prepare for this? It seemed like it was happening so fast. His chest tightened with anxiety. Had he really just agreed to this? The highest, most sacred honor in the wolf community? 

“A-alright,” was all he could say. 

You could sense his uncertainty. You placed a steady hand between his shoulder blades, and he relaxed a little under your touch. 

“I’ll get the elders together, and we’ll meet tomorrow morning at sun up, at my place. How does that sound?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’ll be there.”

Malakai bid you farewell before he walked off into the night, leaving you and Rhett alone on your porch. You stood there in silence for a beat, both of you processing what you had just been told. 

Slowly, you turned toward your husband, and as realization set in, your eyes filled with tears. “Rhett…” you whispered, your voice breaking. 

His eyes, blue and impossibly deep, met yours. “I know,” he whispered back. 

Without warning, you lurched forward, throwing your arms around his neck. His own arms instinctively came up to wind around your waist. You held each other, standing on your porch in the cool night air. 

“I can’t believe it,” he whispered when you parted, his voice thick with emotion. 

You smiled, lifting your hand to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead. “I can. You deserve this, my love. I can’t think of a better man to take on this responsibility.”

He let out a breath, a plume of condensation puffing out into the air, his head shaking as he did so. “I don’t know about that.”

You touched his face, bringing his chin up so he’d look at you. “Don’t you dare sell yourself short, Rhett. You’ve earned this. And you’ll be the alpha this pack needs, I just know it.” You leaned in to tenderly kiss him, and he reciprocated, mouth moving against yours with ease, familiar and soft.

“I love you, little wolf,” he murmured against your mouth when you parted. 

“I love you too. And I’m so proud of you.” You nuzzled your nose against his before you reluctantly pulled away. “Guess we should go back inside and wrangle the pups.”

“Guess we should.” He slipped his arm around you, and you sauntered back into the comforting warmth of your home.

That night, after the littles were all tucked in their beds, safe and warm, Rhett lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the conversation with Malakai. This was a life-altering moment. Things would never be the same again after this. It was the most important role he would ever fulfill, aside from his role as your mate and as a father to his children.

Was he cut out for this? Could he lead an entire pack of werewolves? This was no longer limited to just his family depending on him. This was an entire community. He would be the figurehead of the Northeast Wyoming Pack, representing a growing population of wolves, the largest in the entire state, in fact. The thought of being their leader scared the hell out of him.

But he would be a fool to turn down an opportunity like this. Not to mention, it would be seen as disrespectful to Malakai to decline this honor. So, the very next morning, he rose before the sun, ready to face the elders and formally tell them that he accepted this position.

You stirred when you heard him moving about the room, and you turned onto your side, squinting in the light that streamed in from the bathroom. When he saw that you were awake, he stopped at your side of the bed, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Gonna go meet the elders now,” he whispered.

“Mm,” you hummed, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Good luck.”

“Thank y’ darlin’,” came his reply. He returned your hand squeeze before he finally slipped away, pausing to shut off the bathroom light before he made his way down the steps. He was quiet on his feet so as not to wake the rest of the house, stopping at the door to grab his boots before he stepped out onto the porch, taking a seat on the bench near the door to put them on. 

He let out a soft sigh, steeling himself before he stood and began the trek across the property toward Malakai’s place, where the elders regularly met. The entire walk, his mind was spinning, trying to process the fact that he was going to stand before these revered wolves and begin the journey of receiving alpha status. Never in a million years would he have dreamed this would be happening.

But it was, and soon, he was on Malakai’s doorstep, lifting a hand to knock on the door, and taking a deep breath to steady himself. Moments later, the door came open, and there was Malakai’s wife, Larissa, standing in the doorway.

She smiled warmly at Rhett. “Good mornin’, honey!” She greeted. “Come on in, I just put on a fresh pot of coffee. Everyone else is on the back deck.”

He thanked her, leaning in to give her a quick hug before he headed into the house, right to the sliding doors that led out onto the deck. There, the five pack elders awaited him, each of them seated at the large rectangle table in the middle of the deck.

When Malakai saw him, he stood. “There’s the man of the hour,” he said with a smile, as Rhett stepped outside to join the group.

“Mornin’,” Rhett replied, reaching out to shake Malakai’s hand. He looked around the table, bidding good morning to each elder.

Gwenevere, Leo, Nora, Matthias, and Sebastian. All the oldest members of the pack. The purpose of their counsel was to ensure everything was done decently and in order. They were advisors to the alpha. 

“Have a seat,” Malakai urged Rhett, and he did so, thanking him for his graciousness. Rhett tried to hide his nerves, clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders as he took a seat across them at the table. His heart quickened in his chest. He knew that all of them could hear it. They could already sense his unease.

Gwenevere leaned forward, her hands folded on the tabletop. Her eyes, stormy gray, remained fixed on Rhett’s face, regarding him with an unreadable expression. “Malakai tells us you are willing to accept his position as alpha of this pack.”

“Yes ma’am,” came Rhett’s response. 

“This is the highest honor you will ever be given. Are you prepared to put the needs of this pack for your own?” Sebastian spoke up.

“I am.”

“And are you willing to protect them, no matter the cost?”

Rhett looked directly into Sebastian’s eyes. “Yes. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this family.”

“Young wolf,” Nora interjected, pointing her finger at him. “Do you understand how sacred this job is? Do you realize what is at stake here?”

He did not waver beneath her hard gaze. His mind went to you and his children. There was nothing he would not to do keep you safe. And he knew that he would be just as diligent in safeguarding all the other wolves that would soon be under his care. 

“I do. And I have t’ say…before you all showed up here all those years ago, I never knew what it was like to be part of a pack. Not really. My family was all I had, and when my brother did what he did…after what happened to m’ wife…you didn’t turn your backs on me. You showed me what it means to be part of somethin’. And I’m honored that you’d let me take charge of this. I promise to do everythin’ I can to be the alpha these wolves need me to be.”

His words hung in the air, and he awaited a response with bated breath. 

Matthias was the one who spoke next. “Rhett, when Malakai brought your name up as a potential candidate to replace him, all of us were in agreement that you were the best fit for the job. I know that you won’t disappoint us.”

Rhett shook his head. “I won’t let you down. I swear to you.”

The alpha and the five elders regarded him silently, before Gwenevere finally broke that quiet moment. 

“Then it’s settled. By the light of the next full moon, you will be named alpha over this pack.”

And just like that, the meeting was adjourned. 

Rhett went home that morning, his mind still spinning just as it had been when he woke up. Reality was beginning to set in. This wasn’t a fantasy, this wasn’t a dream. This was real, he was going to become an alpha in just a few short days. 

He knew that there was someone who deserved to know the news. So, he detoured on his walk home, and instead headed for the house that he had grown up in. 

His boots crunched against the gravel as he sauntered up the drive. He knew Cecilia would be awake. She’d always been an early riser. And sure enough, when he made it up to the porch, he could hear her singing softly to herself as she worked in the kitchen, making breakfast. 

Rhett knocked on the door before he called out, “It’s Rhett, Ma!”

Moments later, she was at the door, pleasantly surprised to see him. “What a nice surprise!” She exclaimed as she reached out to hug him. He reciprocated, hugging her extra tight. 

“Just thought I’d stop by for a few minutes. Been a while since we talked,” he mused. 

Cece smiled warmly. “Well come on in!” She motioned for him to step inside, and he did so, following her as she strolled back into the kitchen. “I was just startin’ on breakfast. I can fix ya somethin’, if you want. Could pan scramble you an egg, just like you used to eat.”

Rhett gently declined. “No, I better not. Gonna head back and eat breakfast with the babies in a few,” he explained. 

Cece’s face fell slightly. “Oh, yes. I guess you wouldn’t want to miss breakfast with them. Lord knows your father regretted not spending more time with you and your brother.”

Rhett didn’t acknowledge the comment. He didn’t want to get into a discussion about Royal and Perry. Instead, he kept the mood lighthearted. “I came because I have somethin’ to tell ya’, Ma.”

Her curiosity was piqued. “What is it?” And then, “it’s not a new pup, is it?! That would be wonderful!”

But he shook his head. “No, it’s not a pup. But…well, I’ve been asked to be the alpha of our pack.”

A beat passed. Then another. Her eyes filled with tears. “Rhett, that’s…that’s wonderful,” she whispered in disbelief. She pulled him in for another hug. “Oh, my boy, my boy. I’m so proud of you!”

When they parted, they were both smiling from ear to ear. “I wanted you to know before they announced it to everyone.”

She lovingly touched his cheek. “Thank you. I really appreciate you tellin’ me.” Her eyes still glimmered with unshed tears. “I really am so proud. Your daddy is going to be too. I’ll have to call him up and let him know. Unless…you want to do it?” She looked up at him hopefully. 

Rhett hesitated. His relationship with Royal was complicated. He had not spoken to him in a long time. Although seven years had passed since your abduction, and finding out that Royal had been involved in covering up Perry’s crime, it had still left a mark. 

Rhett had been able to move on for the most part, but there was still a disconnect there between him and his father. It was the fact that he had chosen to protect his oldest son, over his youngest. He had betrayed the trust Rhett had in him, and it severed any bond they might have had. 

“You can just let ‘im know,” Rhett answered his mother. 

She tried to hide her disappointment. “Alright, I will.”

He sighed softly before he finally decided to bid her goodbye. “Well, that’s all I wanted to tell ya. Ceremony will be on the full moon.”

“I’ll be there,” she assured him. Then she hugged him again. “Look at you. One of my sons, an alpha.”

He mustered a smile. “Who woulda thought, huh?”

She patted his cheek. “I would have. You’re a good man, Rhett. And it ain’t because of anythin’ me or your father did. You chose to do the right thing because that’s just who you are. And because of that, I know you’ll be the best alpha this pack ever had.”

He felt tears well in his eyes. Praise was hard to come by from his parents. Royal especially. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d heard his father tell him he was proud of him. And even now, he doubted the man would say those words, despite the high honor that had just been bestowed upon him. 

“Thanks, Ma,” he whispered. 

“I meant every word.” She parted from him, stepping back and motioning to the door. “Now go on, get. Enjoy your breakfast with your family.”

After sparing her a final glance, he stepped back outside into the brisk October air, pausing to take a deep breath. He hadn’t expected speaking to his mother to bring up so many memories and emotions. He tried to keep in touch with her regularly, especially because she lived right down the way from him, and he had no excuse not to speak to her. 

But sometimes, it was hard. Going back to that house was a reminder of a childhood filled with unrest. Back then, he hadn’t noticed how unhealthy it was. It wasn’t until after you walked into his life, and you started a family of your own, that he realized what a stable, wholesome family unit was like. 

He mourned for that little boy who had not experienced gentleness from his father. The way Rhett was with his own children was not the way Royal had been with him. His father had been dismissive of his emotions. Men don’t cry. And certainly not men who are part wolf. 

It was something that Rhett still struggled with to this day. You had helped him considerably in learning to express his emotions, but he supposed he would always have that small voice within him, telling him he was weak for allowing emotion to bubble to the surface. 

But he tried his best to put those days of his childhood behind him. He had four little ones that he had the opportunity to show love and patience to. He could give them things he hadn’t had when he was a child. He could be a good father. 

Just like he would be a good alpha. 

Your words from the night before rang in his head as he walked back to your house. Don’t you dare sell yourself short, Rhett. You’ve earned this.

It was time he trusted in his own abilities. 

In the following days leading up to the ceremony, Rhett was thrumming with nerves. The children noticed something was off. 

You had explained to them that their father was going to be taking leadership of the pack, but you weren’t sure how well their little minds could fully process the magnitude of the situation. 

But they would soon witness it for themselves. As small as they were, with your oldest being seven, and your youngest being only one, you still wanted them to witness this monumental moment in their father’s life. 

Your heart was warmed when, the night before the ceremony, you heard your son Max talking to Rhett as he got the boy ready for bed. 

“I want to be an alpha just like you when I grow up, Daddy,” he said. 

Rhett hummed, ruffling his son’s hair. “And I bet you will, buddy. Couldn’t think of a better wolf to take my place.”

The five-year-old looked up at his dad. “Are you scared to be an alpha?” He could not enunciate his L’s yet, so the word came out as “owpha.”

You watched from the doorway, eyeing Rhett as he knelt down so that he was eye level with Max. He hesitated for only a moment. His instinct was to deny fear, but what good would that do to his son? He needed to own up to his feelings. He needed to be transparent, because he owed that much to his children. “Yeah, I am. And y’know what? It’s okay to be scared.”

Max nodded, his little face serious. “Mama says that all the time.”

“And she’s right. Sometimes we gotta do things that scare us, because in the end, somethin’ good will happen.”

You could see Max’s mind working behind his eyes. “Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re really brave.”

Rhett didn’t bother to hide his tears. He hugged his boy to his chest, his large hand coming up to rest at the back of his head, cradling him there. “Thank you, bud.”

You were touched, and tears reached your own eyes. Max had such a tender heart. Even at such a young age, he was sensitive to the feelings of those around him. You hoped he would never lose that sweet spirit.

After their conversation, Rhett gently coaxed him into bed, making sure the blankets were tucked in around him, before you finally made your presence known. You reached out, placing a steady hand against Rhett’s back as you leaned down to kiss your son on the forehead.

“Goodnight, sweet boy,” you whispered.

“‘Night, Mama.”

After he was settled, the two of you quietly left the room, and Rhett shut the door behind him. And just like that, all four of your children were tucked safely in their beds, leaving you with a moment of peace.

“He loves you so much, Rhett,” you whispered to your husband as you walked toward the steps that led up to your bedroom. 

He nodded, slipping his arm around your waist. “He’s a good boy. Reminds me a lot of me when I was a kid…just, different.”

You paused, turning to cup his cheek. “Different because he has a daddy who’s patient and loving.”

Rhett let out an unsteady breath. “I really try, y’know?”

“I know you do, and it shows. There’s no doubt in that boy’s mind that you love him. There’s no doubt in any of our pups’ minds about that.” You leaned in to kiss him tenderly, and he hummed against your mouth, his large hands coming up to rest at your hips. 

“I love you,” he confessed.

“I love you too,” came your reply as your fingers stroked at the scruffy edge of his jaw. Another kiss, and you spoke again, “Now c’mon, let’s get to bed. Got a big day ahead of you tomorrow. Need all the rest you can get.”

You kissed him again, your body lingering against his for a moment, relishing in the closeness. These past few days had been all out of sorts for you both. Rhett was so wrapped up in preparing for the alpha ceremony that he hadn’t taken a moment to just be with you. To hold you in his arms, to sit in the stillness. 

He realized that this was what he needed. You were what he needed, you were the healing balm. So, that night, he let you be that for him. Let you snuggle against his chest, and whisper reassuring words as you rested your head on his chest. And for the first night that entire week, he found rest. 

The next morning, he woke to the first rays of morning sun peeking in through the window. He was safe and warm in his bed, with his mate in his arms, and for those first few moments of consciousness, nothing else mattered. 

When you stirred, you found him gazing down at you. You smiled sleepily, cuddling up against him. “Mornin’, my love.” And then, your eyes met his. “It’s ceremony day.”

He let out a hum. “Mm. I’m so fuckin’ nervous.”

“I’ll be right there with you, baby. I promise.”

And he knew you would be. 

When you finally forced yourselves out of bed, you took the time to prepare him his favorite breakfast. You wanted to make him feel special, and you succeeded. He sat at the table with his two littles, Leia and Zoella, in his lap, while Arya and Max had pulled their chairs on either side of him to huddle in close. It was as if they could sense his trepidation and wanted to comfort him. Surrounded by his wife and babies, Rhett felt all the love and support in the world. He had everything he could ever ask for. 

In fact, throughout that entire day, all four children stayed glued to their father, and he let them. Their presence brought him comfort. In anticipation of this very day, you had kept Arya and Max home from school, because you knew they would be out of sorts with the upcoming ceremony. They needed to be here, with their pack. 

Not to mention, Rhett needed them. 

As each hour passed, bringing sunset closer and closer, Rhett grew more restless. The anticipation of the full moon always made wolves antsy, but that, paired with the knowledge that in a few short hours, he would become an alpha, increased that restlessness tenfold. 

While the children were occupied with an art project at the kitchen table, thanks to Amy, who had offered to set it up for them, Rhett kissed you and informed you that he was going on a run to clear his head. 

“Want me to come with you?” You offered, snuggling into his side. The two of you loved going on runs together. It was where you’d slip into wolf form and dash through the woods, running just to run. It was such a freeing sensation. 

Rhett smiled softly, shaking his head. “Nah, I think…I think I need to do this alone. Gotta get out of my head go back to my roots.” Roots, meaning his wolf nature. 

You nodded in understanding. “Okay.” You stole another kiss before you stepped back. “I love you. Go.”

He stepped outside, and you watched through the window as he quickly rid himself of his clothing, sprinting right off the porch and shifting midair, landing on four paws before he took off toward the tree line. You couldn’t help but smile fondly. Oh, how you loved him. 

He was so anxious about what was to come, but you weren’t, because had no doubt that he was made for this. 

While Rhett was on his run, and Amy had the kids occupied, you set to work preparing for that night. You set out an outfit for your husband. A royal blue shirt that brought out his eyes, and a pair of his nicest jeans. You would be given special ceremonial robes to wear during the event itself, so you weren’t too concerned with what would be worn beneath them, but you still wanted the both of you to look your best. 

As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, you could feel an electricity in the air. Of course, this was brought on by the approaching full moon, but it was something more than that. Rhett felt it too, and when he returned from his run, he was wired and filled with new energy. 

By that time, you and Amy had set about getting the kids ready for that night. Arya had gotten ready all by herself, which she proudly announced to Rhett when he walked in the door. 

“You look beautiful, little gal,” he said with a smile, lovingly running his knuckle against her soft cheek. 

“I wanted to dress up like Mama,” she told him, smoothing her hands over her dress, one that closely matched the one you were wearing. 

“You look just like her, too,” he mused. His sweet, beautiful little girl. The girl who made him a father. 

“She does, doesn’t she? Resemblance is uncanny,” Amy spoke up. 

She, too, had dressed up for the occasion, and had threaded her long blonde waves into a thick plait that ran down her back. She was teeming with excitement for the opportunity her uncle had been given. He had been with her through her most transformative years of life, stepping in when her father couldn’t, and she’d developed a deep bond with him. Now that she was grown, she still appreciated all that you and Rhett had done to give her a good life. She believed he deserved this honor and then some. 

And she told him as such. As Arya ran to see if her three younger siblings were ready, Amy caught Rhett at the foot of the steps leading up to your bedroom. 

“I’m proud of you, Uncle Rhett.”

Rhett smiled softly. “Thanks, Amygirl. Means a lot to me.”

She returned his smile and gave him a hug, which he gratefully received. When they parted, she said, “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

“And I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

She nodded, her gaze soft. “I know you would.”

They shared a silent understand before Rhett finally headed upstairs, his heart warm from the interaction. He found you on the bed, getting your youngest into her little outfit. 

“Hey, ZoZo,” he greeted the tiny one, and she giggled in delight at the sight of her father, immediately reaching her little arms up. 

“Dada!” She exclaimed. Her vocabulary had just started to broaden, but she hadn’t yet graduated from calling him dada. And Rhett loved it. When his children called for him, whether it was ‘daddy’ or ‘dada’, it invoked deep emotion within him. Becoming a father was the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

“Mama’s got you lookin’ so pretty!” He hummed as he leaned down to take her into his arms. 

“Pretty!” She echoed in delight, clapping her chubby hands.  

As he snuggled his youngest against his chest, his gaze shifted to you. His mouth curled into a reverent smile, his deep blue eyes taking in your form. “Y’ look beautiful, Mama.”

Even after all these years, you still grew bashful when he complimented you. You rode from the bed, offering a loving peck to his lips. “Thank you, m’love.” And then, “I set out your clothes for you. Thought you’d look handsome in blue.”

He caught you, deepening what had been a light kiss. “Thank you.”

“Mhm,” you articulated. Then, you eased Zoella from his arms. “Better take this little one down to give her a little snack and let you get ready.”

“Okay. Be ready in a few,” he echoed as he handed off your daughter to you. He left a kiss on her head before he let you head back downstairs. 

It was time to finally ready himself for the ceremony. 

He hopped in the shower and scrubbed his skin clean, making sure to wash behind his ears like his mother had drilled into his head when he was a young boy. 

After a quick scrub down, he was hasty to dry off, and throw on his clothes. After his hair was combed down, cologne spritzed on his skin, and socks on his feet, he finally made his way back downstairs, where you and Amy were rounding the littles up to head out the door. 

“Okay! I need a picture of Daddy and the babies!” You exclaimed. “C’mon, gather round!” 

As Amy herded the children around him, you ran to grab your camera, and moments later, you’d snapped several pictures of this monumental moment, with intentions of placing it in a frame and displaying it in your home for years to come. 

“Can we go now?!” Arya asked impatiently. 

“We’re goin’!” Rhett replied. “C’mon tiny wolves, let’s get a move on.” He gathered Zoella in his arms, and then led all of you outside. 

Max and Leia held your hands, while Arya walked up ahead alongside Amy and her father. The place where the ceremony would be held was not a far walk. It was at a clearing in the woods, where the moonlight shined just so. 

Everything had been set up, and as you neared the clearing, you could see how whimsical it looked, and yet, it had an almost pagan feel to it. Fairy lights had been strung from the trees. Deer antlers, masks, and various items that had been passed down from ancestors. 

There was a bonfire going in the middle of the clearing. Adjacent, beneath an ancient weeping willow tree, was a pedestal with a pair of velvet robes placed upon it, and a wooden bowl filled with something you could not see, but would later find out was red paint, made from crushed rose petals and beetroot. 

Members of your pack had already begun to gather. The elders, along with Malakai were taking their places beneath the willow tree. 

As you neared the site, you shared a look with Rhett. 

“You ready?” You asked. 

He let out an unsteady sigh. “As I’ll ever be,” he murmured. 

You squeezed his hand. It was time. 

Amy retrieved Zoella from Rhett’s arms, and she guided the rest of your children over to a little area where other pups were already congregating. Knowing they were in good hands, you were able to move your focus to your husband, who was trying to steady his breathing. He looked like he was seconds away from spiraling. 

“Hey,” you said. You reached up, cupping his cheek, turning his face to you. Your fingers stroked his jaw. You placed your other hand on his chest, over his heart. “Breathe.”

He breathed in deep, his chest rising beneath your touch. Then he exhaled. Upon his second inhale, he focused in on the one and only scent that could ground him - you. That sweet, intoxicating scent that he loved. So familiar and comforting. 

The world seemed to fade out around him. It was just the two of you, sharing an intimate moment. 

“You’re okay.”

He was, wasn’t he? He’d be just fine. 

“I’m okay,” he repeated. 

You kissed him tenderly. It gave him clarity, and he parted from you feeling considerably calmer. He felt ready to take on the responsibility that lay ahead of him. 

He squared his shoulders and glanced around, taking in the sight of his pack members gathering ‘round in support of him. He saw his mother, standing proud, and he nodded at her, silently thanking her for being there for him. She placed her hand over her heart and mouthed I love you. 

And then, it was time. 

Malakai raised his hand. “Gather round, wolves!” He called out. 

Immediately, the group went silent, and everyone began to move toward the tree, but they left a center walkway clear for you and Rhett to walk down. 

A hush fell over the crowd. You grasped Rhett’s hand. 

“Tonight is a very special night. As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, I am surrendering my alpha status. This hasn’t been a decision I’ve taken lightly. I especially wanted to choose someone who was worthy of this position. Someone who will lead you valiantly. Someone who will love you. For me, it simply made sense to choose Rhett Abbott.”

A round of applause rippled through the group. Rhett felt his throat tighten as emotion washed over him. This amount of support was overwhelming for him. 

Malakai met his gaze. “Come forward.”

Hand in hand, the two of you walked toward the weeping willow, your heads held high. When you reached Malakai, he leaned in to kiss your cheeks, and then Rhett’s. 

Of the elders, Gwenevere and Matthias stepped forward, holding the ruby-red robes in their hands. Gwenevere placed yours upon your shoulders, while Matthias placed Rhett’s on his. That was the moment that it really began to set in for you. This was real. This was happening. 

Rhett couldn’t suppress the shiver that trailed down his spine as the velvet robe cascaded down his body. His heart quickened in his chest. His skin felt like it was alive with electricity, crackling and sparkling in a brilliant display.

The feeling was akin to the way he’d felt when he met you for the first time and realized you were his mate. Overwhelming, all-consuming, intense enough to drive him to his knees. But he remained standing tall, despite himself. 

“Rhett Abbott,” Malakai addressed him.

“Yes sir?”

“Do you pledge your undying loyalty to The Northeastern Wyoming Wolf Pack?”

Without hesitation, he answered. “I do.”

“Do you pledge to lead them benevolently?”

“I do.”

“And do you pledge to honor, protect, and defend them?”

“I do.”

Malakai nodded, satisfied with the answers he’d been given. He stepped toward the pedestal that stood nearby, his boots crunching against earth and dry leaves as he moved. Reaching out, he took the wooden bowl that had been placed there before the ceremony. 

“Kneel,” he commanded.

Rhett sank to his knees, humble before his pack. 

Malakai dipped his fingers into the bowl, gathering the homemade paint before he lifted his hand. With his pointer and middle fingers, he left deliberate trails of paint down Rhett’s cheeks. The red pigment symbolized the color of an alpha’s eyes. 

After the paint applied to Rhett’s ruddy cheeks, Malakai handed the bowl off to Nora, another elder. Then, he gazed upon Rhett, moving to lift his chin so he was looking up at him.

“You are the only wolf I trust to lead this pack in my stead. I am confident that you won’t let me down.”

“I won’t, sir,” Rhett assured him, his voice hoarse, emotion evident within its octaves.

Malakai then glanced at each elder. Gwenevere, Matthias, Leo, Nora, Sebastian. “It’s time,” he spoke to them.

They all gave him a nod of approval. 

Above the pack, the sun had finally sunk beneath the horizon, and the full moon was rising in the sky, its silvery light seeming to surround Rhett on purpose. You stared at him in awe, your eyes widening as you saw its pale beams glimmer against his hair, acting as a sort of halo. 

It was breathtaking. 

But the time to marvel was done, because Malakai stepped into the light, his shadow cast over Rhett’s kneeling form. The older wolf’s hands twitched at his sides, and his claws elongated from his fingertips.

Slowly, he raised his right hand. You watched as he placed that same hand against Rhett’s neck. He aligned his claws at the base, pressing them only slightly against his skin, preparing the younger wolf for what was about to happen.

Rhett locked eyes with Malakai. “I’m ready.”

All at once, the alpha sank his claws into the nape of Rhett’s neck. You flinched as he let out an agonized growl, his body going as tense as a taut rope while the pain blossomed within.

“Don’t fight it, young wolf,” Malakai commanded.

Rhett resisted the urge to pull away, but the pain was great and all-consuming, a burn that radiated throughout his neck and upper back. He groaned, huffing in labored breaths, as he realized his body was trying to shift. His jaw twitched as he tried to keep his fangs from lengthening from his gums. But it was no use. 

And then, seconds later, the pain he felt began to melt away. He never tore his gaze from Malakai’s. He watched as the alpha’s eyes glowed red as fiery embers, but then, he realized that red was fading away, slowly draining from his irises, replaced by a brilliant yellow.

You watched in amazement as the same ruby-red began to come to life in your mate’s eyes, dull at first, but growing ever brighter by the second. Your heart pounded in your chest, because you could feel it. That was the thing with mates, they could feel the other’s pain or distress. And you could feel it, but this was different.

This was…thrilling. It felt like you had just been struck by a bolt of lightning and splashed with a shock of cold water all at the same time. You gasped sharply, as did Rhett, and suddenly you felt more alive than you ever had in your life. So did he.

“It is done!” Gwenevere called out.

Seconds later, Malakai released Rhett, withdrawing his claws from the base of his neck. Rhett suddenly fell forward, catching himself as he put his hands out in front of him. The entire pack waited in dead silence, anticipation thrumming in the air like a magic spell.

And then, the alpha rose.

Slowly, Rhett moved, pushing himself up from the earth, and standing to his full height. Then he turned to face his pack, his eyes still gleaming red. A soft gasp went through the small crowd, followed by hushed murmurs.

And then, “Rhett Thomas Abbott, you are now the alpha of the Northeastern Wyoming Wolf Pack.”

Rhett let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and all at once, everything felt right. He felt whole, as if he had just fulfilled his very purpose in life. This was it. This was what he was meant for. 

And then, a display of reverence followed. 

Starting with Malakai, each and every member of the pack lowered themselves to their knees. Overwhelmed, you moved closer to Rhett, reaching for his hand, interlacing your fingers. The two of you stood there as your wolves knelt out of respect for their new alpha. The sight brought tears to your eyes. 

Your gaze shifted to Rhett, and you realized his eyes were glimmering with emotion, too. 

But the time for tears was over. So he threw his head back and let out a clear howl into the air. Everyone else followed, a chorus of wolf howls filling the woods, reverberating around you. It was an indescribable moment that you knew you would not soon forget. 

After that very special moment, a time of music and dancing followed. Old mountain melodies were sung, and you were inundated with pack members coming up to congratulate Rhett on his status, and pledge their loyalty to him as their alpha. 

And most important of all, your children came bounding up to their father, with little Leia launching herself into his arms, and Arya and Max laughing in delight as they secured themselves at his waist. 

Amy held a bouncing Zoella on her hip, who Rhett promptly reached for. Even as the littlest of the family, she seemed to know this was a time of celebration and joy, and she squealed when her daddy took her into his arms. 

And there he stood, an alpha, his wife and children surrounding him, and he felt as if he was on top of the world. He’d never dreamed that this would be his life, yet here he was, and he could hardly contain his wonder. 

“I did it,” he whispered to you, as you nuzzled close to him, joining him and the huddle of babies surrounding him. 

“You did it,” you echoed, unable to hide the joyous smile spread across your face. 

You were so proud, you could hardly contain yourself. 

That night, the celebration went on. You feasted and you danced and you sang and you laughed. You watched Rhett throughout the evening, and the only way you could describe him was radiant. He appeared to be glowing, just as he had when the moon touched its silvery fingers to his head when he stood beneath the weeping willow. Alpha status looked good on him. 

And then, came the best part of the night. For you and Rhett, at least. 

As the hours grew later, the pups needed to be rounded up and put to bed. Graciously, Amy assured you she would take care of them. 

“Keep on havin’ a good time,” she said. “I’ll get these kids settled at the house.”

“You sure?” You asked, fully prepared to do it yourself. 

“Course I’m sure! It’s nothing I can’t handle. Besides, you and Uncle Rhett deserve to celebrate some more. Wouldn’t want to take that away from you.”

“Alrighty then. Let me just kiss them all goodnight.”

Together, you and Rhett bid each of your children goodnight and sent them off with Amy. Other pups were being taken home as well, leaving just the adults left over. It was time for a full moon run, and because pups under ten years of age did not yet possess the ability to turn, they did not participate. 

As for the rest of you, you would shift into your wolves and run beneath the light of the moon, the night air rippling through your fur, free as a bird. It was exhilarating. 

And so, when the moon rose to its highest peak, another set of howls rippled through the group, and one by one, the transformation from human to wolf began. 

Rhett turned to you, his eyes bright with anticipation. “Ready?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Let’s go.”

You rid yourselves of your robes, followed by your clothing, and moments later, you were shifting. You into your wolf with its snow-white pelt, and Rhett into his wolf with its midnight black one. 

A rush of pure excitement rippled through you as you nuzzled your face against your mate’s fur. At Rhett’s signal, you took off into the woods, side by side. 

You ran like the wind, following your lover. You had mastered the art of communicating silently and through your senses. Every whine, every yip, every shift of the ears. You knew what the other was saying in an instant. 

And now, you knew that Rhett was leading you far away from the pack. In your heart, you knew why. You could feel it. It buzzed through your bloodstream like a crackling, surging current. A deep desire, an animalistic need. Your alpha was the only one that could fulfill it. 

And then, he stopped. And you did too. 

He turned to you, staring into your face for a moment before his eyes flashed red again. It struck you into a moment of submission, and you whined, lowering yourself to the ground and bowing your head. 

Then, Rhett shifted back into human, and you watched, still bowing at his feet, as he stood tall above you, naked as the day he was born. 

“Shift,” he simply said.

Seconds later, you had returned to your human form, remaining on your knees as he looked down at you. Your breathing was labored from your run, and it swirled in puffs of condensation around your head. Your heart was pounding in your chest. 

Rhett stepped forward, bare feet against cold earth. His expression was unreadable, yet he exuded power. Then, he reached his hand out, lovingly stroking your cold cheek before he brought his thumb up to trace the outline of your lips. You parted them and allowed the digit to press against your tongue. 

Something primal was ignited between you both that night. You could see it in Rhett’s eyes and feel it deep within your core. 

“What an obedient little wolf,” he murmured as you suckled on his thumb, moaning softly around it. “Been thinkin’ about you ever since the ceremony. Wonderin’ what it’d be like to fuck you as your alpha.”

Your moan turned into a whimper, and you pulled away from his finger to speak. “Want it,” you sighed. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?” His large hand closed around your jaw, holding your face in place. “I ain’t gon’ be gentle. Wanna mount you and take you hard.”

His words sent a thrum of arousal through you, to the point where it was almost painful. “Please.” 

Your eyes flickered down. God, his cock was already growing hard. It elicited a needy sound from you, a cross between a growl and a whine, wolfish and unbridled. 

Then he knelt in front of you, both hands holding your face. His eyes searched your own, just before he leaned in, lips crashing against yours. The kiss was deep, as if you were trying to commit the other to memory. Your hands came up to grasp at his shoulders, fingers digging into the skin. 

When you parted, you were breathless. Against your parted lips, Rhett’s tongue laved, delving into your mouth, letting you taste him. He was intoxicating. Not only did his scent overwhelm you, it consumed the air around you. During a rutting session, the scent of each mate would grow that much stronger to the other, creating a dizzying concoction that would send their hormones into overdrive. 

And that was what was happening at that very moment. You were growing high off of each other, as if you were one another’s own personal drug. 

Rhett moved to trail his nose down your jaw, nuzzling against your pulse point before he breathed in deep, inhaling your scent. Then, you felt his fangs, sharp against your soft skin. He growled low in his chest, and when he lifted his head, his eyes were glowing red again. 

“I’m goin’ to devour you, little wolf.”

You pressed your bare chest against his. “Do it.”

With a snarl, he threw his weight against yours, sending you tumbling to the forest floor as he pounced on top of you. However, his hand reflexively came up to the back of your head, so you wouldn’t hit it when you went down. 

You had squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation of the impact, and when you opened them, you found him hovering over you, gaze intense. He was looking at you like you were a little rabbit that he’d just caught in his greedy paws. 

He grabbed your wrists and pinned your hands above your head. “Stay,” he said. Obediently, you kept your arms where they were when he moved his hand. Then he leaned back to rest on his haunches, and you watched him, taking in the sight. 

He bit his lip, his eyes narrowing as he drank in your gorgeous form, spread out just for him. “S’pretty,” he hummed. “All for me.”

His hand flattened against your sternum before traveling downward. Down, down, down, until his palm was pressed over your mound, just above your cunt. But he didn’t dip his fingers inside. No, he instead shoved your legs apart and got down between them. You lifted your head to gaze down at him, only to find him nuzzling his face against your wetness, inhaling you. 

He nipped at your inner thigh, soothing the welt that was sure to follow with his tongue. “Smell good enough to eat.” His nose nudged at your clit, and you whimpered as he left a kiss there. “So good. So sweet.”

He trailed his tongue through your folds to tease you, but he found that you were already soaking wet. You had been from the moment you saw him assume alpha status in front of the pack. 

You didn’t want him to tease you. You wanted him to breed you. 

“Rhett,” you sighed. 

“I know,” he murmured. He left one more kiss to your needy pussy before he finally moved so that his face was hovering over yours again. He kissed you languidly, allowing you to taste yourself. 

When you parted, you reached down, with intentions of wrapping your hand around his cock, which was now fully hard and heavy with arousal. But he caught you. 

“Uh-uh, what’d I say?”

“To stay,” you whispered. 

“Be patient, I’ll give it all to ya,” he assured you, lifting your hand to place it back over your head. He kept his own hand enclosed around your wrists as he brought his left hand down to align himself with you. 

He slid his cock through your slick, pulling a breathless moan. You could feel your cunt pulse with need, so desperate to have him inside you. Your hips lifted of their own volition, trying to get him to slip past your entrance. 

Without warning, he gave a light cautionary slap to your pussy, and you yelped, jolting beneath him. “Fuckin’ impatient, girl,” he snapped. “I have half a mind to turn you over and fuck your ass instead, since your cunt’s so fuckin’ greedy.”

At that, you let out a frustrated mewl. “No! Stop teasin’ me.” Then, you gave him your best doe eyes. “I just want my alpha to fuck me.”

You saw it then. The shift in his eyes. There was a feral rumble that came from deep within his chest, and all at once, he let out a cross between a bark and a howl, his grip releasing from your wrists as he placed his hands at either side of your head. 

Without warning, and in one fluid motion, he thrust his hips forward, and all at once, your body was stretching to accommodate him, and you were crying out into the night air. 

He grabbed your face. “That what you wanted?” 

“Mhm!”

“What was that?” He punctuated his words with a sharp snap of his hips into yours. 

“YES!” You wailed. 

Again, he grabbed your face, mouth against yours, and he snarled. There was no warmup. He started off rough, and continued as such, driving into you with such force your body began to move away from his. 

“Fuckin’ stay.” Large hands grasped your hips, holding you in place. 

The pleasure was blinding, as if you’d been struck by a white-hot bolt of lightning. His command to keep your hands where they were be damned, you couldn’t help but let your arms come down to your sides, where you clawed at the earth, back arching off the ground. 

He didn’t chastise you. He was far too occupied with the feeling of your cunt tightening around him like a vice, inviting him deeper inside, where he was meant to be. 

He was quick to remove his hands from your hips, moving only to rest his forearms against the earth at either side of your head, bracing himself above you. You were surrounded by him. His warmth, his scent. It was all-encompassing. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him even closer, needing more. He kissed you, open-mouthed and breathless, swallowing your moans and sighs as he began rutting into you. 

He was so deep inside you already. You could feel every inch of him, thick and pulsing, balls heavy and aching and full against you. You couldn’t wait for him to fill you to the brim with his seed. 

He quickened his pace. Hard, heavy, deep thrusts that punched the very breath from your lungs. At some point your hands flew up to grasp at his shoulders, trailing down his back. As your body began to tremble with pleasure, you found it harder to control the animal within you, and your claws lengthened from your fingers, scratching at his flesh. 

His body jerked, and he grunted, snapping his fangs at you. But it wasn’t out of anger. The sharp sting of pain sent a delicious shiver down his spine. 

“Gon’ be the death of me, little wolf,” he groaned. 

But you couldn’t reply. You were already practically nonverbal, save for the uncontrolled squeaks and whimpers leaving your mouth. How was it possible to feel this good? There were tears welling in your eyes, sliding down the sides of your face as he repeatedly drove that thick cock into you. 

But Rhett wanted more. He wanted a position that fulfilled his primal needs. So he pulled out of you for a moment, shushing your cry of protest. 

“I’m givin’ it to ya’, puppy. Hold on.” He shoved your knees toward your chest, arranging you as if you were merely a doll he was posing. 

Then he straddled you, and you realized what he was doing. He’d put you into a mating press position, keen on finding a different angle to make both of you feel the most pleasure possible. 

You yelped as he slipped inside you again, bottoming out. At this angle he filled you all the more, if that was possible. It rendered you breathless as the tip of his cock kissed at the deepest part of you. 

“Rhett!” 

He didn’t waste time with the buildup. No, you were already drenched, so much so that there was an audible wet sound when he entered you. With your legs pressed up high, all you could do was lay there and take it. 

“So good f’me. Made to take my cock,” he grunted, bringing his hips down hard. He built a steady rhythm, faster and faster until he was all but pounding into you and you were nearly sobbing against the forest floor, consumed by him. 

It was rough and venereal and intense. You swore you were outside of your own body, experiencing this moment through your every sense. He was all you knew. Nothing else mattered. Not the cool earth beneath you. Not the full moon above you. No, he was the only thing that existed. Your mate. The keeper of your heart and soul. 

You didn’t bother to hide your ecstasy as he rutted into you. How could you? The sounds were escaping your throat involuntarily, pulled from its depths with each calculated movement. 

“S-so f—ah!—full!” You wailed. You swore you could feel him deeper than before, and that’s when you realized what was happening. 

Your eyes went wide as you felt the stretch. The expansion of his cock inside your walls. He was growing even bigger, and your body was taking it with ease, because that was what it was made to do.

As mates, your anatomy was naturally created to fit together. It was never a struggle to take every last inch of him, even when his cock grew within you. But oh, how overwhelming it was. 

You threw your head back, crying out, grasping for purchase at anything you could, which ended up being his strong forearms. Above you, his face was set in determination. Brow furrowed, jaw tense, brunette locks falling against his forehead. 

He was so big and strong and virile above you. With each growl and snarl he let out, the more your body trembled. The effect he had on you was unmatched. Dizzying, electrifying. 

The heat of molten desire began to crackle to life at the base of your spine. When he pressed his hips against you and nestled them deep, his pubic bone left just the right amount of pressure against your swollen button of thrumming nerves. 

And with each push and pull, your body became more responsive. Your cunt grew more slick around him, and you could feel the way your desire quite literally spurted around his cock. 

“Makin’ such a mess,” he breathlessly spoke. “Sweet lil pussy’s just squirtin’ all over me, honey, and I ain’t even made you come yet.” 

“C-can’t help it!” You cried out. 

He leaned in closer, hot and open mouth resting against yours, tongue smoothing against your kiss-swollen lower lip. “No, you can’t, can ya? The thought of your alpha fuckin’ you gets you so drippy, don’t it?”

Something white-hot flashed within you. An explosion of pleasure that turned you speechless. Your eyes filled with tears and your mouth fell open as you nodded dumbly up at him. 

He grinned, wolffish and wicked. “S’what I thought. Can’t even speak, it feels too good.” Another rough thrust of his hips sent you sobbing into the night air. 

He didn’t stop. He kept a hard, fast, steady rhythm, grunting and growling and snarling as he did. He mouthed at your throat, his fangs sharp, but never sinking into the skin, because even in moments like this, he still had incredible restraint with you. He’d be damned if he ever let himself lose control and hurt you. 

Just as he was going into a partial shift, with his eyes glowing and his fangs and claws elongated, so were you. You couldn’t contain it if you tried. You were wolves, mating in the most primal way, just as nature intended. 

Then he wrapped his hand around your throat. Squeezing just enough to make you lightheaded as he repeatedly drove his cock inside you. 

That’s when it hit you. 

You didn’t even realize how close you were. You were so preoccupied with the intensity of it all that it sneaked up on you. But when it did, it swallowed you whole. 

It felt as if you were free falling, suspended in air made of raw energy. Or maybe magic was the best word to describe it. It sparkled and crackled and washed over you from head to toe. 

You didn’t realize you were sobbing. You couldn’t hear yourself over the rush of blood in your ears. But hot tears had begun to flow down your face again, all while your body trembled fiercely beneath him. 

He hissed in surprise as your cunt began to clench around him, pulsing wildly as your orgasm tore through you. His forearms shook as he fought to hold himself upright, his breath growing labored. 

The sensation was so strong that you blacked out for a moment, and when you came to, you were staring into a hungry, ruby-red gaze. 

He’d stopped moving at some point, hips flush against yours, cock still nestled deep inside. He was exercising great restraint, allowing you a moment to come back to yourself. But you were still fluttering around him and he was moments away from losing his sanity, it felt like. 

In your hazy state, he suddenly seemed so much bigger above you. Imposing, in a way. But you weren’t frightened. Far from it. You’d never felt more protected. 

“I-I—” you tried to speak, but the words died in your throat, replaced by an involuntary sob. 

He softened. That furrowed brow relaxed. His eyes shifted back to a very human blue. “Shh,” he soothed. “I’ve got ya, little wolf.”

“N-no, I…” Why couldn’t you form sentences? Your brain felt like it had gone blank, filled with television static. 

His face contorted in concern. “Are y’ alright?” He nuzzled his nose against yours. 

“Yes,” you managed to say. 

“Then what, hm?” He was patient. He wouldn’t rush you into speaking if you weren’t ready. 

But you only had three words to say. “I lo…love you.”

“Oh, baby.” He kissed you again, so tender in contrast to how he’d been fucking you moments before. “I love you too. So much.”

Something shifted then. What had once been carnal and hedonic now melted into a moment of tenderness. Ever so carefully, he leaned back, and when you realized he was switching positions, you whimpered in pitiful protest. 

He soothed you by slipping his pointer and middle finger into your mouth, providing something to occupy your mouth so you wouldn’t spiral. “Hey, I’ve got’ya.”

Gently, he parted your thighs again, slotting himself between them. His arms encircled your upper body, and in one fluid movement, he lifted you, pressing you to his chest as he moved to rest on his haunches. You were straddling his lap then, chest pressed flush against his. His mouth hovering over your own, swallowing the yip you let out as he eased himself back inside you.

“R-Rhett…”

“I’m here.” One steady thrust upward. Then another. And another. 

A dreamy haze settled over you as your bodies began to move of one accord. You keened high in your throat, your arms coming up to wrap around Rhett’s broad shoulders, clutching him tightly, needing him close, needing every inch of his body against yours.

He held you lovingly as he eased in and out of your dripping core, bringing you quickly toward yet another release. All you could do was let him take you, his strong arms moving you up and down to meet each push of his hips. 

Your head lolled back, your body undulating against his. You were floating, drifting through time and space, on an entirely different plane of existence. There it was again, building, building, building. It wasn’t fiery or explosive. No, it felt like bubbles. Like your bloodstream had suddenly turned to fizzy champagne. 

It surged through you, flowing like the building tide, and this time, you knew it was coming. “I-I’m…!” You gasped into his open mouth, but you couldn’t speak.

“I know,” his voice was strained. “Me too. Let go.”

With a soft cry, you came apart again, head thrown back as your body was overcome. You didn’t remember crying out his name, but it echoed through the trees nonetheless. He kept moving even as you fell to pieces in his arms. He would put you back together again soon enough.

You went boneless in his grasp. With your face buried against his neck, you whimpered and sobbed quietly as he quickened his pace, chasing his own end. He murmured words of reassurance to you, but you couldn’t hear them over the white noise in your ears. 

His grip tightened on you, and his cock swelled within you again, all while he growled, squeezing his eyes shut as he neared that peak. 

“Gonna—ah!—gonna breed you again. Fill you up with another one of m’ pups.”

Please, you tried to utter, but you couldn’t form the word. You wanted it. Oh, how badly you wanted it. But he already knew. 

And then, it finally began to wash over him. Divine ecstasy that sizzled at the base of his spine. You felt it. The heat. The pulsing, the thrumming, filling you with spurt after spurt of his seed. And you took it all like his good little wolf. 

As he came down, you remained still in his arms, your chest heaving against his, your body exhausted but oh so satiated. You felt his hand at the back of your head, lovingly cradling you against his chest. The sound of his heart beginning to slow back down to its normal best calmed you. 

“Y’ still with me?” Came his gravelly question. 

“Mhm,” you sighed. 

He tipped your face up so you were looking at him, and he kissed you tenderly. “Did so good for me. Always take me so well.” Another kiss. 

“Love you,” you murmured. 

He nuzzled his nose against yours. “Love you too, little wolf.”

“C’n we stay here for a few more minutes?”

He smiled. “Yes we can.”

And you did. He remained there on the forest floor with you cuddled in his arms, just enjoying the closeness and the quiet intimacy. The afterglow was a time of bonding for the two of you, and you didn’t sacrifice one minute of that time. 

He lovingly caressed your skin, soothing you, anchoring you. It brought you back to yourself and replenished the energy you had expended during your tryst. 

Eventually, the spell was broken. “Think we should head back?” He asked. 

You sighed. “I suppose so.”

He kissed you again. “C’mon, I’ll carry ya.” The perks of having supernatural strength. 

You let him lift you into his arms, with your head tucked into the side of his neck. He carried you all the way home, and you felt so safe and at ease that you fell asleep in his arms along the way. 

When you woke, you were safe and warm in your bed, with your mate curled protectively around you, and you smiled to yourself. The events of the night before felt like a dream, but they were very much real. Your husband was an alpha now. And you had spent the night mating with him beneath the light of the full moon. How was your life even real?

Beside you, he stirred, a low, sleepy hum sounding from his chest. A faint smile tugged at his mouth as he pulled you to him. “G’mornin’.”

You hummed, snuggling in close. “Morning.”

He buried his face against your neck, inhaling your sweet scent. But he noticed something as he breathed in.

A large hand came down to rest over your belly. 

“It took,” he whispered. 

Your eyes widened. “What?”

His gaze locked with yours. “I told you I’d give you another pup, didn’t I? I can tell it took. Smell the same way you did after I put each of our babies inside ya.”

Your face broke into a grin, and you couldn’t help but laugh, placing your own hand over his. “Guess you really were serious about breeding me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Serious as a heart attack, honey. It’s my job to keep you full of pups, after all.”

“And you’ve done your job exceptionally well,” you teased as you kissed him. 

“Don’t I know it,” he replied goodnaturedly, bumping his nose against yours. 

You cherished that fleeting moment of bliss, basking in the joy that came from learning you would soon be inviting a new addition to your family. 

This same blissful, dreamlike feeling carried on into the days following Rhett’s achievement of alpha status. They were wonderful days. They were happy days. He assumed his role dutifully and made sure that his pack members knew that he was going to take care of them. 

They had no doubt he would, because Rhett Abbott always made good on his word. 

Four Months Later

Life had been good for you. Rhett was beginning to really settle into his position as leader of the Northeast Wyoming Pack, establishing his authority and benevolence. The wolves revered him. 

Your family was thriving. You had been slightly worried that Rhett taking on this responsibility would send things into upheaval for your children and their routine, but they had adapted beautifully. 

You had no doubt in your mind that this was always what Rhett had been meant to do. It was rooted in who he was as a wolf, an intrinsic ability to lead. 

And for those first four months, everything progressed as it should. 

But it wasn’t long before the sanctity of your pack, and everything Rhett had worked so hard for, was threatened. 

A story that had made national news. A group of rogue wolves had targeted The Montana Wolf Pack, killing several innocent members. According to local authorities, this group of wolves had tried to take control of the pack, and when their target had put up a fight, they killed several of its members in cold blood. 

The news of these killings hit close to home. This wasn’t an attack staged by hunters. This atrocity had been committed by wolves, members of your own kind. The ultimate betrayal. The National Werewolf League called for a day of mourning out of respect for the families affected by the unspeakable tragedy. 

Many wondered if this incident was an isolated one, or if other wolves would soon be targeted. Were more lives in danger? Would there be other uprisings across the states? Rogue groups bent on killing their own kind?

That remained to be seen. But it certainly put fear into the hearts of wolfpacks across the US. Yours especially, because Montana was just north of you. However, in the weeks following the attack on the Montana Pack, things remained quiet and uneventful. Life went on as normal.

Until one day, a visitor showed up on your property. 

It was a cold February day, and it had just snowed considerably the night before. School was canceled, so your children were outside playing in the snow with their cousins, having the time of their lives. Inside your cozy home, you were baking cookies while Amy had busied herself with making hot chocolate for the children to drink when they came inside. 

Zoella and Leia, who were still too little to play outside with their older siblings and cousins, were playing contentedly on the floor with little cloth dolls that Cecilia had made for them. The scent of baked goods, the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, and the sound of your little ones giggling on the floor, sent a comforting warmth through your chest. 

Rhett was upstairs, showering after he had spent the better half of the morning shoveling snow. It all felt so domestic. So human. Your happy, growing family, enjoying a snow day. But that joyous warmth would soon give way to sickly cold dread.

As you were lifting a tray of cookies out of the oven to cool, Amy noticed something. Her attention shifted to the window that overlooked your property, where the children were playing. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of a man approaching the children.

“Hey, come here,” she spoke up, waving you over. 

You left the tray of cookies on the counter and quickly stepped over toward where she was pointing. Sure enough, a tall man dressed in tattered clothes, had halted the children’s play to speak with them. Alarm bells went off in your head, and you immediately rushed to the door, prepared to run outside.

At that very moment, Rhett was coming down the stairs, and the first thing he picked up on was your scent. Not the sweet, nutty scent of cookies in the air. Not even your naturally occurring scent. He smelled the sharp sting of anxiety.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, already making his way toward you.

“There’s a man talking to the kids,” you explained.

His eyes widened, and in seconds, he was stooping to grab his boots and shove his feet into them before he threw open the front door. He jumped off the front porch, his gaze zeroed in on this stranger as Rhett quickly approached the children.

“Hey!” He called out, and the other man’s head snapped up. He was a wolf too, Rhett could tell by his scent. “Can I help you?” His tone wasn’t friendly. There was a warning edge to it. 

“Daddy, he was asking if we had any food to eat!” Arya informed him, her innocence palpable. She still had that childish gullibility.

But Rhett wasn’t gullible. His hackles were immediately raised because he could tell that something just wasn’t quite right. “Young’ns, go play,” he commanded in a tone that left no room for arguing. The children scattered, and then he turned to the man. “Any particular reason you’re botherin’ my kids?”

The stranger’s hands lifted in surrender. “Hey now, I wasn’t trying to cause any trouble. My name’s Kane Masters I’m just passin’ through. My truck broke down out on the main road. I can’t get it started, and I’ve got a mate and a baby to take care of. Could you help us, please?”

Rhett stared at him, his eyes narrowed. There was an unsettled feeling in his gut. This fucker was lying. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I don’t know what you’re tryin’ to pull, but it ain’t gonna work with me.”

Kane’s jaw tensed, and his eyes darkened. “Did you not hear what I said? I have a wife and baby! You can’t at least offer them shelter while I figure out how to get the truck fixed? They’re gonna freeze!”

Rhett’s eyes flashed red, asserting his dominance. “And I have a pack to protect. I ain’t lettin’ perfect strangers into my home. You’ll have to find someone else to help you.”

Kane growled, low in his throat. “You’ll regret this, wolf,” he snarled.

Rhett stepped forward, standing eye level with Kane. His sudden outburst of hostility raised a warning flag for Rhett. “Are you threatenin’ me?” 

“Maybe I am. Are you condemning my wife and child to freeze to death?”

The alpha rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “Get the fuck off my property before I drag you off it.”

Kane stared Rhett down, his chest heaving. But Rhett didn’t budge. He had a gut feeling that something was amiss, and he felt that he was putting his pack at risk if he allowed this wolf refuge in his home.

After one last threatening gnarl, Kane finally turned and stalked off, snow crunching beneath his feet. Rhett stood there and watched him go, remaining there until he was out of sight. 

Once he was sure that the other wolf had gone, he finally turned back toward the house, where he found you standing in the doorway, looking on in concern. 

“What did he want?” You asked as Rhett climbed the porch steps. 

“He said his truck stalled on the main road, and he was lookin’ for a place his mate and baby could stay while he got it fixed.” There was a hard look in his eyes. One you couldn’t read. 

“What is it, Rhett? Why did you turn him away?” You questioned.

His gaze shifted to yours. “Somethin’ just wasn’t right. Can’t put my finger on it. But if you see him comin’ around here again, you come get me. Okay?”

You nodded, not keen to argue with him. If he sensed danger, then you would trust his instinct. “Okay.”

He leaned in then, large hand resting over your belly, where your unborn pup rested safe and warm, protected from the dangers of the outside world.

Rhett’s lips lingered against your temple before he pulled back. “I’m gon’ round the pups up and bring ‘em inside. Guy kinda gave me the spooks.” It wasn’t that Rhett was scared of him. He was simply wary. 

He brought the kids inside, where they all gathered in the kitchen for hot chocolate and cookies, completely oblivious. 

Rhett kept an eye out the rest of the day, and warned a few pack members to be on the lookout for Kane, should he return. He knew better than to ignore his gut feeling. 

But after that specific incident, things were quiet. For the next week, at least. In that time, the weather had improved, and the roads were clear, which gave you the opportunity to take your family into town. The kids were excited to stop by Ruby’s Diner, a favorite local spot in Wabang. 

All was well. You enjoyed a wholesome day with your mate and your children, seemingly without a care in the world. Until, suddenly, a dark cloud began to loom over you. 

No, it wasn’t a cloud. It was a shadow. A wolf. 

Rhett had slipped away for a few minutes, with intentions of taking Arya, Max, and Leia into the local toy shop to get them a little something. 

Zoella had fallen asleep in her stroller, and after Rhett assured you he would choose a little trinket for her, too, while he was with the older children in the shop, you had opted to walk to the truck and get her situated for the ride home. 

Just as you’d gotten her buckled in, you felt a presence behind you. “Excuse me, miss?” A voice filled the air.

You tensed, slowly turning around to face the stranger. Sandy blonde hair and unsettling, stormy eyes. They appeared to be both blue and gray at the same time. Something about his stare made you shiver. “Yes?” You cautiously answered, making sure that Zoella was hidden safely behind you as you squared your shoulders.

“I’m looking for a place to stay. I couldn’t help but pick up on the fact that you’re a werewolf like I am. I’ve been a lone wolf for some time now and I need to find a pack. Would you be willing to welcome me into yours?” 

You stared at him in confusion. Demanding to join an established pack was simply not done. The only way another wolf would join a pack that was not his own was if the alpha invited him into the fold. 

Something wasn’t right. 

“I-I’m sorry, we aren’t looking to bring in any new pack members,” you told the stranger. 

His gaze darkened, and anxiety crept into your bones. 

Rhett sensed it, too. You were his mate, after all. Mates had the unique ability to sense when the other was in danger, with an intense emotional connection that ran deeper than any human connection ever could. 

In the middle of that toy store, he froze. A nauseating shock of dread washed over him. Something was dead wrong. Without hesitation, he swooped in and grabbed Max and Leia, lifting them into his arms. They giggled, because they thought it was a game. But it was not. 

Then, “Arya, we need to go.”

The seven-year-old turned, her brow furrowed in confusion. “But Daddy—”

“Now, baby.” His tone left no room for argument, and she closed her mouth, a sad look washing over her face. But she followed her father nonetheless, because she could sense his urgency, and thought it best to obey him in that moment. 

Quickly, he made a beeline out of that store, into the balmy February afternoon. Just ahead, he could see you standing beside the truck, nervously speaking to someone. Alarm bells went off in his head as he moved quickly, still holding his children, with Arya clutching at the fabric of his shirt to keep up with him. 

“Excuse me!” Rhett called out, trying to keep his tone steady, so as not to frighten his little ones. The stranger’s head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed at Rhett’s presence. 

At your husband’s arrival, you began to visibly relax, though you still remained on edge. When Rhett got to you, he was quick to hand Leia to your waiting arms, while he set Max down at your side. 

“Do you need somethin’?” He asked as he stepped in front of you, effectively shielding you and his children from the other wolf. 

“It’s all the same with you wolfpacks, isn’t it? Selfish fuckin’ pricks, turning away people in need.”

Rhett spoke over his shoulder at you. “Get in the truck,” came his command, and you immediately moved to coax the kids into the vehicle, soothing Arya when she expressed concern over what was about to happen. She was very observant, and she could sense that her father was preparing for a potential altercation. 

As he turned back toward the stranger, Rhett’s eyes narrowed. “You’re with Kane, aren’t you?”

“And what if I am?”

That’s when Rhett growled low in his throat, eyes flashing crimson. “I don’t know what you’re tryin’ to pull, but you need to stay the fuck away from my family, and from my pack. I catch you botherin’ my wife and pups again? I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

Rhett Abbott did not make empty threats. And he did not resort to killing without cause. But if someone threatened the sanctity of his family, he would not hesitate to put them down. It was his duty to protect you and his pack. He did not take that duty lightly. 

His threat seemed to be enough to scare this stranger off, and he stalked away. Rhett stood there, watching until he disappeared. He was on edge. An odd feeling in his gut told him that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw Kane, and those associated with him. 

The ambush against The Montana Pack had happened only a few short weeks prior. Authorities still hadn’t caught those responsible for it. Rhett had a sinking feeling that his own pack was going to be the target of the next attack.

As soon as he was sure the danger had passed for the time being, he spun around on his heel and rushed to climb into the diver’s side, where he promptly turned the ignition over. You eyed him, reading his features. His jaw was hard-set, and his eyes had narrowed in that cat-like way they always did. 

“Rhett?” You spoke his name cautiously.

“Daddy, who was that man?” Max asked from the backseat. 

Rhett caught your eye for a moment before he focused on the road before him again. He was quiet for a moment, considering his response. “He’s someone who wants to hurt our pack,” he replied. “But I’m not gonna let him. Daddy’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

At his words, your heart sank. Rhett reached over the center console and placed his hand over your belly. You shook your head, because you knew what he was insinuating. “It’s them, isn’t it?” You whispered.

“We’ll talk about it at home,” he simply said. He didn’t want to upset the children.

The ride home was quiet. Rhett’s mind was going a mile a minute, the cogs turning as he came up with a plan of action. If an attack was going to be staged, the pack needed to be prepared. He would call a meeting to warn everyone.

And that was just what he did.

As soon as your children were deposited safely at home, with Amy keeping a watchful eye on them, Rhett arranged the meeting in the small conference building that had been built on the property a few months prior. It was nothing special, but it served its purpose as a designated meeting spot.

One member representing each family showed up for the meeting, all curious as to what their alpha had summoned them there for. The elders were also present, as they were required to be for such meetings. 

You stood by Rhett’s side, your hand intertwined with his, trying to mask the fear you felt. But it was written all over your face.

“I brought all of you here because there’s somethin’ you need to know. ‘Course, we all remember the massacre that happened to The Montana Pack last month.”

A few murmurs passed through the crowd. Hums of sadness in remembrance of what had happened. 

“They still haven’t found the wolves responsible for it, which means they’re still out there. I wish I could tell you that we’re all safe, but the truth is, we aren’t. I believe they’re gonna target us next.”

“How do you know this, Rhett?” Gwenevere spoke up.

He took a breath. You squeezed his hand. “Because I met them.”

This time, the murmur that went through the group was one of confusion and fear. The next to speak up was Malakai. “You spoke to them? And they told you they were coming after us?”

Rhett shook his head. “Last week, one of ‘em showed up in my yard, botherin’ my kids. Said his name was Kane. Some of you already know because I warned you that he was around your young’ns, too, because they were at my house that day. As soon as I talked to him I knew somethin’ was off. He gave me some bullshit story about his truck breakin’ down, and he wanted me to let his wife and pup stay at our house while he fixed it. I got the sense that he was lyin’ right through his teeth. I told him no. That pissed him off.”

He paused for a moment before he continued. 

“Then, today, we were in town, and a different guy showed up, claimin’ he was a lone wolf, lookin’ for a pack to be part of. And we all know no self-respectin’ wolf is just gonna come in demanding to be accepted into a pack. That ain’t how it works. Come to find out, he’s with Kane. I believe that they’ve been staking us out and they’re planning to come after us. I don’t know how many of them there are, but we need to be ready.”

“If they attack…this could mean war,” Matthias remarked. 

“I know,” Rhett grimly replied. “I don’t want to call it that, but for them to attack two packs in just a few short weeks…it means they won���t stop there. They’re just gon’ keep killing.”

“Alright, what’s the strategy we’re going to follow if they do attack us?” Malakai inquired. 

Rhett’s face was serious, his mouth etched into a frown. “First, we get all the pups to safety. If you can get ‘em here to this building without putting them at risk, do that. If you can’t, hide them in your basements, or whatever spot in your house is safest. Those of us strong enough to fight will be ready to intercept these wolves. I want a handful of you stationed in the woods, keeping an eye out. I’m not lettin’ them destroy our way of life. We won’t go down without a fight.”

Everyone was in agreement that they were not going to let these wolves take what was rightfully theirs. They would band together and defend their home and their loved ones. 

After that meeting was adjourned, everyone was on high alert, prepared for the worst. Ready to fight for their lives if need be. 

You were frightened. Not for yourself, but for your children. This was a real threat, and the mama wolf in you was prepared to do anything to protect your pups. But the thing was, Rhett didn’t want you involved in the battle. 

“If they come, I want you to stay with the pups,” he said, as you walked home that afternoon after the meeting. “Don’t want you out there fightin’.”

“But I have just as much a right to be out there defending our pack as anyone else,” you replied. “I don’t want to stand on the sidelines.”

Rhett stopped, turning to face you. “Listen to me. I know you’re capable of holdin’ your own in a fight. I don’t doubt it. But I can’t lose you.” His hand came to rest protectively over your abdomen. “I can’t lose either of you. I almost lost you and Arya seven years ago. I’m not goin’ through again, you hear me?”

You went quiet, nodding at his words. Those memories were vivid. The day the Tillersons had abducted you. You’d pleaded with them to let you go. You’d tried to reason with them by informing them you were pregnant, hoping Patricia would ease up on her cruelty. But she’d accused you of lying, claiming you were just trying to make her feel sorry for you. 

Reminders of that moment in time we’re difficult to process. But now, it helped you better understand why Rhett didn’t want you involved in the conflict. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll stay with the pups. But Rhett…you watch yourself out there, alright? As much as you can’t lose me, I can’t lose you, either.”

He reached a big gentle hand up to cup your cheek. “You won’t lose me.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep. 

His lips found yours in a gentle but impassioned kiss, and then he led you back to the house, where Amy was occupied with entertaining the children. You were so thankful for her and her willingness to help with the littles. She was your saving grace in time of crisis. 

You were much too exhausted to prepare a balanced dinner that night, and you didn’t want to put any more responsibility on Amy, so chicken nuggets and stovetop mac and cheese were the meal. 

Wanting to keep some semblance of normal, so as not to alarm the children, you ate together as a family. Rhett held your hand beneath the table, his thumb rubbing comforting circles on your wrist. It did little to quell the anxiety bubbling within you. 

That night, you put the kids to bed early. Rhett kissed them all goodnight, and once they were tucked in, he left you with a lingering kiss and informed you he was going out to check on the wolves stationed on watch that night. 

You curled up on the couch beneath a blanket because you didn’t want to sleep in your big, empty bed without your mate, and because you wanted to be ready if things should go haywire. 

But that night was quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary took place, and early in the morning, just before sunrise, Rhett returned home. 

His presence jolted you awake, and as you sat up, you noticed that there was snow in his hair, and on his coat. When you sleepily glanced out the window, you realized it was snowing heavily again. It looked like another storm was rolling in. 

“What happened?” You quietly asked as he shrugged out of his coat. 

He shook his head. “Nothin’. It was quiet out there all night. No sign of anyone.”

“Do you think maybe they’ll just leave us alone?” You continued, as you sauntered toward him, where he was unlacing his boots. 

He sighed, and when he looked at you, his brow was furrowed in a frown. “I don’t think so. I just have a gut feelin’ that they’re gonna come for us.”

It was your turn to sigh, and you stepped forward, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “Well, let’s get you warmed up in the meantime. And put some food in ya. You aren’t going to be any good in a fight if you’re starving and half-frozen.”

You then took his hand and led him to the kitchen, where you had him sit at the table while you set about preparing a pot of coffee, and making him some oatmeal, something that would stick to his ribs and warm him up. 

Ten minutes later he was tucking into his breakfast and sipping on a cup of black coffee, while you sat beside him at the table. You moved so that your legs were resting in his lap. He placed his free hand lovingly over your knee. 

“Want you to know I’ll do everythin’ I can to protect you and the pups. I pledged myself to this pack, but you come first. Always.”

“I know,” you whispered as you leaned in to kiss his cheek, which was flushed from the cold. He turned his head to catch your lips with his own. 

“I love you, little wolf.”

“I love you too.”

Little did either of you know that that morning would be your last morning of peace for a long time.

As your children woke up one by one, they happily clambered into the kitchen to greet the two of you. Leia climbed into Rhett’s lap, her favorite blanket clutched in her little hand as she snuggled into his chest. Arya took her opportunity to occupy his knee, crowding his lap and giggling as he teased her that she was going to squish her little sister. 

You went to wake little Zoella from her slumber, and soon, the kitchen was filled with the chatters of children and the smell of breakfast cooking and extra coffee brewing. And for a short time, everything felt normal.

Until a frantic knocking on the front door sucked the joyful spirit out of the air. Immediately, Rhett’s eyes locked with yours, and you were struck with fear. Quickly, he stood from his seat, carefully depositing Leia into the chair before he made his way to the door.

He hurriedly shoved his feet into his boots before he wrenched the door open, revealing a frantic Gideon standing on the doorstep. He was another member of your pack, one of the younger ones. 

“They caught someone trespassing in the woods!”

Rhett tensed, and glanced over Gideon’s shoulder, where he could see Malakai, and a few others, dragging none other than Kane Masters through the snow. In an instant, Rhett turned to you. “Take the pups up to our room and hide them in the bathroom,” he simply said. Then he kissed you, and left you standing there in the entryway as he dashed outside to meet the group. 

You stood there, frozen, watching him go. And then, as if something had struck you into action, you whirled around to hurry back to the kitchen. “What’s going on?” Amy asked, where she stood in the middle of the kitchen, a stack of breakfast plates in hand, ready to be washed. 

“We need to get the kids upstairs. Now. We’re in danger.”

Her large blue eyes widened all the more, and she set the plates down on the counter without a moment of hesitation, already moving to grab Zoella from her highchair. “Come on, we’re going up to Mama and Daddy’s room!” You announced, trying your best to keep your voice calm.

“What’s wrong, Mama?” Arya asked. 

“We just need to get upstairs, I’ll explain up there.” You guided her, Max, and Leia toward the steps, urging them to go quickie. Leia began to cry. So did Zoella. They knew something was wrong. Especially when you herded them into the bathroom. 

“Mama! Mama! Why are we hiding?!” Max cried, his little face full of fear.

“Listen to me, babies,” you spoke in your best calm voice. “Daddy wants us to stay in here for a little bit, alright? We can pretend it’s a game of hide and seek. But this time, we’re hiding from some other wolves who want to hurt us. But I won’t let that happen, alright? You’re safe in here, with me and Amy.”

As you got the children settled, you finally looked at your aforementioned niece. “Stay in here with them, and lock the door. I’m going to go get some blankets and things to keep them occupied.”

“Okay,” she replied, her face etched with fright. She was nearly nineteen years old, but in that moment, she looked as if she was nine again, nothing more than a scared little girl.

You reached out, wrapping her up in a hug. “We’re gonna be okay, Ames.”

Then, you slipped out of the room to gather the supplies you would need. Blankets, coloring books, snacks, your laptop so that you could put on a movie for them to act as a distraction. 

But out of the corner of your eye, you could see movement out the front window of the house. Your attention shifted to what was taking place outside, as the snow drifted about and the wind began to howl. 

You could see Rhett standing not far from the front of the house, speaking to the same man who’d shown up on your property days before. It gave you pause, and you inched closer to the window, tuning in to your supernatural hearing abilities to figure out what they were saying. 

Out in the cold, Rhett was unwavering. He’d instructed the wolves holding Kane to release him, so that they could talk face to face. Everyone around them remained on edge. But Rhett didn’t not go on the defensive quite yet. 

“What are you tryin’ to do here, Kane? Tryin’ to take my pack from me? Because that ain’t gonna happen.”

Kane scoffed. “You really think you’re so untouchable? Alphas are always so fuckin’ sure of themselves. We’re here to prove that they’re no better than the rest of us. That they’re not as indestructible as they think they are.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Rhett asked, his glance shifting to the tree line. He could sense something in the air, even as snow and wind swirled around him. 

“You know that pack in Montana?”

He knew where this was going. “I do. That was you, wasn’t it?”

Kane had the audacity to smile. “I wish I could take all the credit. I had help. Lots of help. And they’re gonna help me take down your pack one by one.”

“Like hell y’ are!” Rhett snarled, eyes flashing red. 

“You don’t scare me, alpha!” Kane’s own eyes flashed, but in a surprising revelation, they were not yellow, or even red. They were ice blue. 

Blue eyes in a wolf meant they had taken an innocent life. 

At the sight of them, the group surrounding Kane was immediately on high alert. “You think you’re starting a fuckin’ revolution? You’re dead wrong. You can’t build it on the innocent lives you took!” Rhett exclaimed, his chest heaving. 

“Oh yeah? Watch me. My revolution’s already started. So what if there are a few casualties along the way? As long as we eradicate the alpha order, that’s all that matters.”

“How the fuck do you plan to do that?”

“Like this.”

Kane lifted his head and howled. Seconds later, a line of wolves appeared along the tree line. This diversion distracted the pack members surrounding Rhett and Kane.

“Go,” Rhett commanded his wolves, and they took off toward the tree line. But the second they ran toward the danger, Kane was lunging. 

It happened so fast. Quick as lightning. A dagger was unsheathed from its hiding place beneath his coat. Rhett saw it, enhanced reflexes kicking in as he dodged the blade. But it sliced into his flannel and grazed his ribs. Nothing serious. It would heal within a moment. 

Meanwhile, as you stood watching from the window, you gasped, and out of instinct you lurched forward, yanking open the door and launching yourself down the porch steps. As soon as your slippered feet hit the snowy ground, you broke into a run, legs moving of their own volition. Somehow, you knew what was coming. It was a gut feeling, so strong it nearly brought you to your knees. 

Time slowed. You couldn’t reach him fast enough. 

Rhett was fine. Until, suddenly, an odd feeling began to wash over him. A sensation that sent a wave of sizzling warmth through his body. He tried to sidestep Kane’s next swing, but he grew unsteady on his feet, his senses suddenly dulled. 

lt was too late. Kane drove that dagger forward and plunged it straight into Rhett’s abdomen. 

Werewolves had the ability to heal from wounds. Depending on the severity of the injury, healing time could range from five minutes, to a few hours. It was common for werewolves to bounce back quickly from knife or even bullet wounds. 

By all accounts, Rhett should have been fine. The dagger plunged into him should have had little effect on him. 

But something was wrong. 

In the diversion caused by Kane’s wolves surrounding the compound, he had been able to move swiftly. No one expected him to brandish a dagger, because wolves didn’t fight with weapons. Combat was fought in wolf form. Using weapons was simply playing dirty. 

Malakai was the only one who remained close enough to hear Rhett’s pained growl. Immediately, he turned, acting on instinct as he broke into a run toward his alpha, ready to fulfill his duty to protect him, but it was too late. 

In the split second that Kane was close to him, Rhett locked eyes with him, gasping sharply as his assailant drove the dagger even further into his body. “Let this be known as the fall of The Pack of Abbott.”

Rhett weakly reached up, trying to wrench Kane’s hand off of the dagger so that he could remove the weapon from his body, but he was shocked to find that his physical strength was beginning to fade. He looked down at his hand and saw that it was trembling. He couldn’t grasp anything.

As Rhett came to this terrible realization, Malakai snarled, and within seconds, he was lunging. Shifting into his wolf form, he leapt into the air, one-hundred-forty-five pounds of muscle and sinew and fur, and tackled Kane to the ground. It was as if Kane had been expecting this. He made no move to shift into his own wolf. No move to defend himself. It was like he wanted Malakai to kill him. Like he wanted to die for his cause, as his wolves wreaked havoc around him.

And then, a scream sliced through the air. 

It came from you. Guttural and raw. A cry of your mate’s name. “Rhett!”

Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. 

Gasping sharply, Rhett managed to wrap his weakened fingers around the handle of the dagger and ease the blade out of his abdomen, dropping the weapon to the frozen earth. It left a crimson stain in the pure white snow. Slowly, he turned to you. He was already beginning to sink to the ground. 

“I-I told you to st-stay with the pups,” he gritted out, but you couldn’t hear him over the howl of the wind and the snarling of wolves all around you. 

You reached him, holding your arms out to catch him before he fell. His hand was placed over his abdomen, where blood was beginning to seep through his fingers.

“Rhett! Hey, we need to get you inside!”

“I can’t…I can’t.”

“What are you talking about?! Yes you can, come on!” 

But he was dead weight, and his knees hit the ground. “No!” You cried. Struggling, you managed to pull him upright. Your strength was enhanced because of your wolf abilities, but even so, he was heavy, and dragging him up to the house proved difficult. 

And then, Malakai was by your side, back in his human form. He was drenched in blood. You were too preoccupied to glance just beyond him, where Kane lay dead in a pool of blood. In fact, you barely noticed the wolves fighting around you, barking and snarling, clawing and tearing.

All that mattered was Rhett.

“I’ve got him, let’s get him the house.” Malakai carried Rhett up to the house, with you trailing after him, hot on his heels. As soon as you were enclosed in the safety of your home, you pushed the door shut, locking it behind you. 

“Where do you want me to take him?!” Malakai called over his shoulder.

“Up to our bedroom!” You replied. 

You raced up the steps after him, and watched as he carefully laid Rhett on the bed. In just those few minutes it took to get him inside, he had gone white as a ghost. Your heart sank in your chest. 

Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. 

“I’m going to get Doctor Tenpenny,” Malakai spoke. “That blade must’ve been laced with something.”

“Be careful!” You called after him. You knew that a battle had begun. 

Then, you rushed to Rhett’s side. “I’m here,” you assured him, lovingly squeezing his shoulder. “I’m right here, baby.” 

His teeth were chattering, and his eyes were squeezed shut, a reaction from the pain he was in. 

Your shaking hands moved to unbutton his torn flannel, carefully pulling the fabric aside so you could take a look at the damage. You gasped softly at the sight of the wound. It bled crimson, but there was a discoloration around it. That blade had definitely been laced. 

His skin was cool to the touch, and it sent a pang of terror through you. Tuning your ears in to his heartbeat, you could hear that it had begun to slow. 

“Oh, God,” you whimpered. “Don’t you dare die on me, Rhett! Hold on a little longer for the doctor to get here!”

At that moment, the bathroom door came open. Amy had heard the commotion, and she made sure the kids were settled before she moved to see what was happening. 

“What’s going on?” She asked, as she closed the door behind her. She saw Rhett on the bed, and she gasped softly as she rushed to you. “What did they do to him?”

“Oh, Ames,” you cried, turning and immediately wrapping your arms around her as tears began to stream down your cheeks. “He stabbed him with a poisoned blade!”

Amy’s face paled. “Did you call for the doctor?”

“Malakai is getting her. But I…I don’t know if he can hold on that long.” You released her, moving to Rhett’s beside again. You reached for his hand, squeezing it tight. 

He was so cold. 

With your free hand, you reached up to brush his hair away from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, only to fall shut again as he moaned softly in pain. 

“Hurts,” he whispered, as if speaking any louder would cause him more physical pain. 

“I know. I’m so sorry. Just hold on for me, okay?”

“What should I do with the kids?” Amy asked, uncertain. 

“I don’t…I don’t know,” you replied. You didn’t want them to see him like this. But there was an ache in your chest, and an intense feeling of dread. He was slipping away, you could tell. Whatever poison had been on that dagger was going to kill him.

What if he was gone before the pack doctor arrived? What if the children didn’t get a chance to say goodbye? Your hand came up to cover your mouth as you muffled a broken sob. How quickly things had changed. One moment, your family was talking and laughing around the breakfast table, and the next, the love of your life was fighting to stay alive, as your children watched a movie in the bathroom, unaware that their father was in such dire straits. 

“Just tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it,” Amy continued, reaching out to place her hand on your shoulder. 

But you couldn’t. You bent forward, your face buried in your hands as you let out a wail of agony, fingers tugging at the roots of your hair. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be. Yet here you stood, in the middle of a cold, hard reality.

So you took a deep breath and squared your shoulders, hastily wiping your tears away. Your brief moment of emotional turmoil had passed, because you had no choice but to let it. You had little ones to be strong for. They needed you. 

It was almost as if you shut off that scared, stricken part of yourself for that moment. Moving without hesitation, you grabbed the blaket that you kept at the end of the bed, pulling it over him, up to his shoulders, so that his wound wasn’t visible. Then, you turned on your heel, making a beeline for the bathroom, where you quietly opened the door and stepped inside.

There, you found your children huddled beneath a blanket, engrossed in the movie that was playing on your laptop. “Pups, I need you to listen to Mama for a minute,” you quietly spoke, reaching out to pause the movie. 

Zoella, who’d been snuggled in Arya’s lap, immediately reached for you, whining softly. You soothed her, lifting the one-year-old into your arms before you knelt down in front of the remaining three, trying to choose your next words carefully. “Your daddy got hurt just now, and it’s made him very sick. I want all of you to see him, but you have to be very gentle, alright? We can’t jump on top of him on the bed, we can’t even climb into his lap. But I want you to come and see him for a minute.”

“Is it a big boo-boo or a little one?” Young Leia asked, her eyes wide with concern.

“It’s a big boo-boo,” you softly replied. 

“Is the doctor gonna come and feel him better?” She continued to question. 

Despite yourself, you managed to smile softly at her mixup of words, though your heart was breaking in two. “She’s going to try, baby,” you whispered. Then you rose to stand. “Now come on, I want you to follow me.”

You took a deep breath to steady yourself before you cautiously led your children out into the bedroom, where Amy had taken a seat on the edge of the bed. She was clutching Rhett’s hand. 

You had the littles gather beside him. It was Arya who spoke first. “Daddy?” She whispered, her voice shaking. 

Rhett’s head moved slightly toward her, and he managed to open his eyes. He tried to plaster a weak smile across his face, but he couldn’t. “Hey, little pup,” he murmured, though it took great labor to do so. 

Arya began to cry, and she turned, burying her face against your belly. “Shh,” you soothed her. 

Your eyes drifted to Rhett’s face, and you saw an anguish you’d never seen before. Seeing his family in pain, and inadvertently being the cause of that pain, was more than he could bear. 

“Hey, let’s give Daddy a hug, alright?” You suggested, gently guiding Arya away from you and toward the bed. 

She wrapped her arms around her father’s neck, resting her forehead against his. Her tears dripped down onto his face, but you could see that they weren’t all hers. They were mingling with his own tears.

“Are you going to be okay, Daddy?” Arya asked. 

“I…I don’t know,” he honestly replied. 

Immediately, she turned back to you, weeping all over again. Rhett squeezed his eyes shut, his bottom lip quivering. You noticed sweat on his brow. His skin had somehow grown paler. 

But you wanted each child to get a chance to hug him, so you pushed your fear aside and encouraged Max to give him a hug, and then little Leia. Finally, you leaned down with Zoella in your arms and said “give Daddy a kiss, Zozo,” and she happily kissed him on the cheek, because she’d always loved giving kisses, even when she was a small baby. 

There, in those fleeting moments, Rhett was surrounded by those he cherished most. And he knew, that if he was going to succumb to his injury, he would go peacefully, knowing that he was loved. 

But that peace was soon interrupted by the sound of Malakai returning with Doctor Tenpenny. The tender moment was forgotten as the pair came rushing up the stairs in a hurry. The abruptness of it all sent the children into a bit of a frenzy. Zoella and Leia began to cry. Max and Arya huddled close to you, frightened. 

In a split second, you had to decide what to do. Their panic was only going to worsen the situation, and possibly put Rhett into distress. Thinking fast, you quickly guided them to the stairs, waving Amy over as you did. 

“Look at me,” you spoke to the young woman, and she lifted her fearful blue eyes to yours. 

“Let’s get them downstairs, it’s better if they’re safely out of the way. Are you okay to stay with them in Arya’s room? Or do you think you want me to stay with you?” You could see how upset she was. You didn’t want to overwhelm her. 

“No, I-I can handle it. I’ll keep them safe inside and I’ll put the dresser in front of the door, just in case anyone tries to come in.”

You reached out to squeeze her hand. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Together, you guided the children downstairs, where you led them safely to Arya’s room. As soon as you had them all settled on the bed, you knelt to speak to them. “I need you to be brave for me, okay? I know you’re scared. It’s okay to be scared. But right now, I need to go upstairs and be with Daddy. Stay with Amy, she’ll keep you safe. Alright?”

“Mama, don’t leave,” Arya whimpered. 

You took her sweet face in your hands. “I’m not leaving. I’ll just be right upstairs. Be my brave girl, okay?”

“O-okay,” she whispered in reply. 

You kissed the top of each of their heads before you finally slipped away, rushing to pull the door shut behind you before you dashed back upstairs. 

There, you found Rose Tenpenny hovering over Rhett, carefully examining his wound. Malakai had left as quickly as he’d come, because he had to get back outside to defend the pack. That left just you and the doctor in the room. 

Quietly, you moved to stand at Rose’s side, and she paused to glance up at you. Her expression was grim, and it made your heart sink like a stone in your chest. “He’s in a bad way,” she told you. “Just from the way the wound looks, I can tell that dagger was laced with wolfsbane.”

A gasp tore from your throat, and your hand came up to cover your mouth in shock. “Oh my god,” you whispered. 

Wolfsbane was poison to wolves. Poison of the deadliest kind. Surviving its effects was unheard of. 

“It’s already in his bloodstream. It doesn’t take long for it to set in,” she explained. 

You held back a sob, the hand over your mouth lowering to rest against your belly, where your unborn pup lay. You had only one thought. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

The doctor’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Her eyes, deep brown and ever sympathetic, filled with tears. She could not sugarcoat her diagnosis. 

“I can give him some ancient herbal medicines that will help slow its effects, and ease his pain. But I’m afraid that all I can do right now is make him comfortable. I’m sorry.”

Your tearful eyes flickered to Rhett’s sickly form. His eyes were closed. His breathing was shallow. He was getting worse by the minute, and your world was falling apart. Your shoulders shook as another set of sobs wracked your body, painful and deep. 

You were losing him. And there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

To be continued…

-

taglist:

@bradshawsbitch @laracrofted @sebsxphia @milesmillergf @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @withahappyrefrain @damrlova @just-in-case-iloveyou @theliterarybeldam @nobody7102 @agentorange9595 @powerlvr25 @mygyn @yanna-banana @whisperofsong @kmc1989 @peachystenbrough @callsign-magnolia @briseisgone @up-thereinthesky

[imeanyourmomsprettyhot]

You Have No Right II Aemond Targaryen

part one

story masterlist / masterlist

summary: Driven by sheer desire, the One-Eyed Prince tries to find the woman that caused his sleepless nights full of lust and frustration.

warnings: female!reader, dark and possessive Aemond, sexual scenes, violent scenes

tag list (comment if you want to be added to the list):

@lilitheal @aemonds-fire @toodlesxcuddles @shygardengalaxy

══════════════════

The years carried over the land and in that time, The Realm's Delight, Princess Rhaenyra, had left King's Landing off to Dragonstone, with her husband and her children.

The girl wondered, if she left because of the rumors and whispers growing stronger. People believed her children were bastards, not belonging on the Iron Throne one day.

While some were still referring to her as The Realm's Delight, others dared to use words like 'whore' on her. The girl though was never interested in the royal's gossip. It was not for her to care for other people's lifes, especially not of the ones that saw themselves as better—the highborns.

She was now eight and ten, long old enough to work on her own. Her mother got old, and whoremonger were rare. It was now on her to support her mother.

She worked in bars and tried her luck as a weaver, but those things didn't quite do it for her. But it worked out in her favor, when the Red Keep was looking for maidservants and she got accepted to work as one.

She didn't care for the royals of this world—the upper class in general. But they paid good money, a warm bed, enough food, and the safety of the castle.

The farewell from her mother was not as hard as she thought it would be. Especially, after she told her to not ever come back, if she lost her work again.

Her mother wasn't a bad person, she really wasn't. But she held grief and wrath in her heart, after she realized no man wanted her any longer.

The closer she got to The Red Keep, the more uncertainty grew inside of her. She left anything she had behind, beginning a completely new life, and working for the royals of King's Landing.

Her anxiety reached it's peak, as she stood right in front of the servant's entrance. The knight, guarding the door, gave her a suspicious look, as she approached the back door.

"Who are you?" He asked, his voice steady and his posture straight.

"I am the new maidservant," the girl shyly responded.

The guard opened the door.

"Camyla!" He shouted, not leaving his eyes from the girl.

Soon, a beautiful lady stepped out of the door, not older than thirty. She examined the girl through her blue eyes, brushing blond strands of hair behind her ear.

"I'm here to work," the girl felt so small, standing in front of a guard and the lady, Camyla, carefully looking down at her.

"Then get inside and we will find you some work, child!" The woman suddenly laughed.

The young girl did not hesitate a bit, as she made her way into the castle. She followed Camyla down the hallway of what seemed like the kitchens of the castle.

Camyla asked for her name, as well as a few other things, involving her age, family, and if she had any kind of references.

The woman had quite a good paste in her walk, which the girl tried to imitate, to not be left behind. They walked through the underground of the castle, soon heading into a small room.

"Get comfortable here, child. Laurane will get you in the morning and show you anything you need to know." Camyla explained and the girl nodded, "You have to learn fast and quickly become unimpressed by this house and it's residents, do you understand me?"

The young one nodded again. The strict, motherly tone in Camyla's voice, reminded the girl of home. It wasn't a good thing, nor was it a bad thing either.

The woman turned on her heel and left the girl alone in the tiny room. This room was nothing more than four walls and a door. The bed just about fitted on the right side, while a small table and a drawer were standing on the other. She had about one-and-a-half square meter of free space to move freely—the room was really tiny.

She unpacked the few things she had—two nice dresses, one for sleeping, her hair brush. As she had anything sorted in the drawer in no time, she made herself ready for sleep.

The bed was comfortable, like lying on a cloud. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought about tomorrow day—another wave of anxiety crept up her throat.

---

"Good morning," a voice woke her up, "I'm Laurane."

The room brightened up, as Laurane lit up the candles. The girl's eyes slowly opened, her face puffy and still tired from last night's sleep.

"Get dressed and meet me outside. Oh, and don't forget to put your hair up!" She kindly smiled and placed some clothing on the table, before she left

Laurane seemed like a nice woman, and the girl wondered, if all the maids were as friendly as her—they probably weren't, but just the thought of it, made her happy.

The girl got up and changed her clothing to the red dress, Laurane gave her. She threw the white apron over her head, smoothing out the pleats with her hands. She put her hair in two braids and pinned them up, to create a low bun on the back of her head.

Laurane was already waiting for her in the hallway, greeting her with another warm smile. The two started walking down the long path to a long staircase.

"You will attend Princess Helaena for today," she began, "She is the most kind and simple of the Targaryens, you should not have any problems with her."

They both arrived at the top of the staircase, turning to another hallway.

"You open her curtains, place fresh water on her table, take something out to dress for her, and ask if there's anything else you could do, got it?"

The girl nodded again, right before they finished their walk at a large, thick door. A guard in silver-white armor was standing in front of it, who quickly stepped aside.

"It's good that you're not much of a talker," Laurane hinted, "Keep that trait up, it'll make things a lot easier for you here."

Laurane knocked on the door of the Princess' door

"If they don't answer, you are allowed to step inside," she explained and opened the heavy door, soon after.

She let the girl get inside, before closing the door again, as the young maid was left her on her own. In her head, she went through her tasks one more time. Curtains, water, dress, asking—seemed pretty simple.

So the girl made her way over to the windows, almost tiptoeing over the floor. She drew the dark green velvet curtains open, and the room filled up with the light and the warmth of the sun.

"Good morning, Princess." The girl turned around, facing the just woken up princess.

The Princess rubbed her eyes, as the bright sun light hit her face. Her violet gemstones twinkled beneath her eyelashes, marveling the young maid, who was just filling up a bowl of fresh water.

"I have never seen you before, you are pretty!" The Princess chanted.

The girl turned around and the two violet eyes were watching her carefully. The Princess got out of bed, while the young girl placed a soft smile on her face.

"Thank you, your grace. I really appreciate it," the thankful look on the girl's face, made the Princess smile, "I just started working in The Red Keep, my Princess."

The girl made her way to Princess Helaena's closet, taking out a few of the dresses in there. She held them up in the air, so the Princess could look at all of them.

"How about the light blue?" The Princess asked.

"Excellent choice, my Princess." The girl replied, earning a satisfied look.

The young maid helped the Princess get dressed, and they both looked proudly in the mirror. The girl had done a great job, and Princess Helaena thought that too.

The girl was about to leave, when she remembered to ask the Princess for anything else she could do. She turned back around, but the young woman was staring out of the window.

"Is there anything else you need, my Princess?" The girl asked.

"He's draped in obsidian whispers. Protect the wisp of hair, or fall in the trap of of the heir." She calmly said, as if she wasn't actually paying attention to the words that came out of her mouth.

The girl didn't know what to say. She didn't notice how her lips parted in sheer disarray. She had heard before that Princess Helaena was a bit different from other people—that she had a screw loose. But until now, the girl could not comprehend what that was supposed to mean.

The Princess looked like her mind suddenly came from a long travel, back to it's body, as she turned around and looked at the young maidservant.

"No, I don't need anything. Thank you." She simply said with a soft smile on her pale lips.

The girl closed the door to the Princess' chamber and didn't move for a few moments. She tried to reflect and understand what just happened, what the Princess wanted to tell her, or if there was even something to tell and that weren't just meaningless words from a confused-minded girl.

She eventually started walking again, as she came to no conclusion. There was other work to do now, so she made her way to the small creek, right outside of the Red Keep.

She met a few other maids there, some very young, some a lot older. It was time for cleaning the sheets, and there was a huge pile lying on the ground.

"Come here, sister," one of the young maidens called out for the girl, "Sit with us!"

The girl was astonished by the kindness of everyone in the Red Keep—not even the Princess had any cruel facet on her. She never thought that it was like that, not in any way.

She approached the women, and took a sheet from the huge pile. She started scrubbing the thing, while the other girls continued with their talking. But their attention, all of sudden, turned over to the new girl.

"How was it with Princess Helaena?" One maid asked, the other ones carefully listening from behind.

The girl looked in the curious eyes of the maidens, not entirely sure what the question was supposed to mean. Perhaps they had the same experience with her than she had. Or it was just a way to small talk with her.

"It was good," the girl began, "She seems really kind."

"Oh, that's nice." The maid replied.

In their faces, the girl saw that they expected a little more. Maybe they wanted to know if the rumors were true about the Princess?

They went back to their work, as the girl opened her mouth again.

"But," she caught their attention again, "We had a strange conversation of some kind."

"Strange?" One of the maids asked, "In what way?"

After that question, she knew what the girls were up to. They wanted to know the gossip, some weird encounters that are worthy to talk about.

"I'm not quite sure..." She continued, the other maids hanging on her every word, "I was about to leave, when she all of sudden started saying incomprehensible things to me."

"Like what?" One girl instantly inquired.

It was clear as day that the maidens weren't interested in the young girl. They only cared for the chitchat she could give them.

"Just something about being careful." She told them, not wanting to reveal everything.

"Oh..." The maidens looked devastated, desperately wanting something interesting to know, "Be careful then."

The maidens went on with their work, leaving the girl all puzzled. What did they mean by that? Did they believe what Princess Helaena said?

"What is up with that?" The girl asked, not earning the maiden's full attention back, "Do you think what the Princess said is true?"

"Of course it is," one said, not looking up from scrubbing the sheets, "Or at least most of the time."

And once again, the girl was left fully baffled and loaded with questions. But this time, the maiden noticed her confusion and decided to clear up her mind.

"Princess Helaena is a prophetic woman, you know? She knows things before they happen and tells the people who have to know."

But the maiden's explanation just caused more distress in the young girl's head, which did not get brought to light this time.

'He's draped in obsidian whispers. Protect the wisp of hair, or fall in the trap of of the heir'

She repeated those words over and over again, in her head, but they made no sense.

Obsidian whispers?

And what trap of what heir?

Those words sounded like meaningless phrases, coming from a princess, who got lost in her own mind—and who did not find the way back. But were they really that meaningless, when even random maidservants talked about the Princess having prophetic visions?

Noon went by pretty quickly, and the late afternoon kept crawling in, as the girls have washed and hung all the sheets up and the young maid made her way back to Princess Helaena's chambers.

The day was over for the royalty of the kingdom, and the young girl prepared a bath for the Princess, who has not yet returned.

The girl filled up the tub with warm water that she first heated up over the fire. It was a long process, carrying the heavy buckets over and over again. She worried she was too slow, as she heard the door open—The Princess had arrived.

She continued her work, as she noticed a shadow entering the room. She looked up, wanting to greet her Princess. But instead, a tall man with long white hair and an eyepatch over his eye, was staring at her. His hands were placed behind his back.

The One-Eyed Prince—Aemond Targaryen. He was by far the most terrifying of them all. Not because of his looks, but because of the rumors that were told about him in the city.

"Where is The Princess?" He asked, his voice monotone, as he looked down at the pathetic little maidservant.

"I'm sorry, my Prince, Princess Helaena has yet to arrive at her chambers." Her voice was steady, while her insides were trembling. She didn't even knew why, but Prince Aemond's aura frightened the young girl.

The Prince just hummed in response.

"Is there anything I could do for you, my Prince?" She asked, hoping so badly he'd say no.

"I will just wait for The Princess then."

And with that, he went out of the bath, placing himself on one of the chairs in his sister's bed chamber.

The girl continued her hard work, carrying the bucket from the fire place to the tub. She was breathing loudly, as her arms got weaker and the bucket heavily. She felt the eye of The Prince on her the whole time—he observed if she did her work correctly.

She wanted to ask him for the audacity that she had to carry this huge thing over and over again and he just watched, probably amused by the view. But she was able to tame her anger and only said such things in her mind.

Yet she found, it was probably better to be angry at Prince Aemond, than to fear him right now. How would she be able to properly work, if she was uncomfortable and utterly scared of him in that moment?

She has finally finished, the exact same moment she heard The Princess enter her chambers. This time she knew it was her because she immediately started happily talking.

"Aemond!" She extolled, her voice full of joy—she loved seeing him.

The Prince stood up, approaching his sister. They talked for a moment—how Prince Aegon was once again seen in Flea Bottom, and how The Queen wanted to keep that information from The Princess—but the girl was unable to hear their words. Prince Aemond had left the chambers, and The Princess entered the bath.

"Good afternoon, my Princess," the girl bowed, "Your bath is all set up."

The Princess smiled at the young maidservant, and turned around, signaling the girl to help her open her dress. She opened the laces, and the blue fabric fell down on the floor, leaving the young princess all naked.

The girl tried to keep her view as straight as possible, as not to look at her princess in any kind of inappropriate way. She turned around and walked over to the tub, slowly getting in the warm water.

The girl sat by The Princess' side for the whole time—she was a rather quiet person for someone of royal blood.

"Would you bring me something to drink?" She asked the maidservant, who immediately jumped up and brought a chalice of fresh water.

But as she returned to the bath, Princess Helaena was again having this hollow look in her face, just like earlier that morning. Her gaze went up to the young girl's face, and her eyes widened.

"Beware his obsidian whispers! Beware his trap! Beware the Heir!" She shouted all of sudden.

The girl jumped up, while Princess Helaena repeated her words from that morning. She was confused, and scared, and even more confused. But The Princess' mind eventually came back again to it's body, as she looked at the girl with a much clearer face.

"I won't be needing you any longer for today," she mumbled, looking down, "You can go to bed."

"Th-thank you, my Princess. Sleep well." The girl bowed again and quietly left the chambers.

She walked down the long stairs and the even longer hallway, all the way to her tiny, dark bed chamber. In her head, the words of The Princess repeated themselves again, and more questions shot through her mind.

What was Princess Helaena on about? Should the girl even believe her words? And if so, what could those words possible mean? What had she need to be careful for?

She took care of her hair and her clothes, as she finally slipped down in bed. Her legs were hurting, and her back was aching—as she was not used to this type of work. She decided to calm her mind, and not think about this 'prophecy' any longer.

The girl tried to fall asleep as quickly as possible, to let her body rest as best as it could. The bed was comfortable. The mattress was soft and the blanket held warm—she felt cozy. It was like her own little safe haven. Quiet, warm, and protected.

<< next chapter >>

[anoray]

I've rewatched some key episodes from The Bad Batch Seasons 1 & 2 in anticipation of the series finale. While it's fresh in my mind, just sharing my two cents on what could possibly happen based on the prior events and character arcs.

Hunter: He's always been extremely reticent to join in Rex and Echo's efforts to help the clones even as the Empire uses and discards them for nefarious purposes. Hunter only gets involved if it will save a member of his own crew/family. He wants Omega to be safe and have a "normal" life in a place like Pabu, but at the same time, I'm doubting born-and-bred-soldier Hunter feels like he'd ever truly fit into such a life himself. It seems the major turn left for Hunter is to finally choose to throw himself full-throttle not only into saving Omega, but the clones imprisoned on Tantiss as well. Hunter can see by now that if Omega's ever going to have any chance of being safe, Hemlock and his research must be destroyed to the point she is no longer of use to the Emperor. If Hunter's arc goes this way, it is likely to cost him his life, but his sacrifice will have huge, positive ripple effects on Omega and everyone he saves in the process. I certainly don't want him to die, but the odds are definitely not in his favor knowing how SW has a penchant for killing off the father mentor.

Crosshair: He is the Batcher who has always questioned Hunter's leadership going back to before his chip was superzapped to follow the Empire's orders. Now that he's back with the Batch and clearly on a path to redemption thanks to Omega (similar to the redemption of Kallus in Rebels), I will be surprised if he is killed off in the finale. They seem to be setting him up to become the new main protector for Omega (with Hunter trusting him in that capacity despite what happened in Ep. 11). It seems possible Crosshair could become the new leader of what is left of the Batch if Hunter does indeed perish in the attack on Tantiss.

Wrecker: The Big Guy is going to survive (and I will include Batcher the space pit bull dog in this prediction). If they intended Wrecker to bite the dust, I think it would have happened with the demise of the Marauder. When Omega put Lula away with Tech's goggles, this seemed more about her putting away her childhood once and for all, not a premonition of Wrecker meeting a sad fate. Then again, they could pull out a Gregor's fate for Wrecker at the end just to feast on our tears.

Tech: As I've mulled over in other posts, I'm now 99% sure CX-2 is a Winter Soldier Tech. In the four remaining episodes, I don't expect they will even begin to redeem him, but maybe Omega figures out it is Tech and then the Batchers incapacitate him in some way to take him away in their escape from Tantiss. Perhaps it will be up in the air whether or not AZI the med droid and Omega can help Tech be anything like his real self again, but at least there will be hope. My thought is that if the team loses Hunter, I think the writers will counter that by restoring Tech to the team (I am recalling how my blorbo Kanan died but it led to Ahsoka's return). Maybe this is all clown-wig crazy talk, but Tech's my main blorbo in this series, so why not stay on the denial train for a bit longer?

Omega: Definitely will not die. I am quite sure she will insist on helping the children "specimens" escape (insert Zillo beast shenanigans here) and Emerie will be very much involved in how this all takes place. At the very least, Omega may convince Emerie to secretly transmit the Tantiss coordinates so Hunter and the others can find them. The big question with Omega is what the writers have in mind for her character beyond this series when it comes to the extent of her Force sensitivity. There is the possibility she will go train with Ventress and/or she and the Batchers will get absorbed into Rex's crew at least for a while to continue to help clones in need.

Echo: To be honest, his presence in the Batch has been very off and on due to his dedication to helping his fellow clones from the Empire's mistreatment (which Hunter has not wanted to be part of). So he already seems detached from the main Batch in many respects. As such, I'm thinking Echo will survive the attack on Tantiss to be part of whatever is planned for Rex's continuation story. Also, since I don't think Cody is CX-2, he could be part of the calvalry charge with Rex and Echo as their forces back up the Batcher's rescue of Omega. It would be great to see Rex, Cody, and Echo free their brothers from Tantiss, and I hope we won't lose either Echo or Cody in the process.

The Empire: Hemlock & Co. will suffer a major setback, but it remains to be seen if the Bad Doctor will be taken out (and by who) in the process. Emerie is very likely to die if she fully turns on Hemlock, but they could surprise us with her escaping along with the children under her charge. Nala Se is pretty much a goner and I doubt she'd cooperate again no matter what the Empire does to her at this point if she knows that Omega and the other children are safely away.

Well, that's all I've got, we'll see how much I got wrong when the credits roll. For now, here come the storm clouds of battle--and may our heroes prevail!

[lunarmoonanons]

A Baby Dragon’s Curiosity

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕  

YN just wanted to find the Dragons, she couldn’t understand why her mother was so scared. 

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕  

Masterlist 

Alysanne had grown quite used to wearing her mourning blacks. It had been a year since Viserra died, Alysanne didn’t know if her marriage to Jaehaerys could be saved as she blamed him for the death of Viserra and hated him for preventing her from retrieving Saera. So she chose to go to Dragonstone with her two youngest girls.

 That caused a great fight between the elderly couple.Jaehaerys argued that YN was too young to be without her father, and Alysanne argued YN needed her more since Jaehaerys couldn’t even keep the other girls alive. In the end YN was taken away. A move that grieved all involved, as they did not want to truly separate their family.

It was a foggy day on the island, the old Queen had only just awoken to her daughter Gael jumping on her bed. Amused as she sat up to greet her sweet simple girl, Alysanne stroked her daughter’s silver hair whilst resting Gael’s head to her chest. 

“Tell me my sweet love, did you leave your baby sister out of cuddle time to have me to yourself?” Alysanne teased. 

“No. YN’s not in her bed.” Gael said simply. 

“What?” Alysanne sat up immediately. YN always waited for her mother in her room if Gael didn’t bring her over. Now that YN had turned 4, she was gaining more and more of a wanderlust. It was hard to keep sight of her so who knew where she wandered to this time. 

Alysanne jumped out of bed, wrapping a robe around herself and running over to YN’s room, and saw as Gael said. YN was not in her room. Alysanne began to hyperventilate and ran to a guard, alerting them that the princess was missing. She couldn’t lose her baby after just four years with her. 

~~~

YN sucked her thumb as she toddled along the path of dragonstone. She was awoken in the early morning at the sounds of dragons calling to the sky. Deciding that the best course of action would be to go to the nests of their dragons and play with them.

 She had been toddling for a while now, having passed a couple fishing peoples along the way. Some of whom had given her some food, or let their children play with her, the adults keeping a watchful eye on her as she traversed her way to the dragons. The fishing villages were no strangers to Targaryen children on the island, but it did cause some concern that such a young child was wandering around by herself. 

“Hello little princess, why are you out here all alone?” A kind woman asked, her two children right behind her. 

“...’m finding dragon..” YN mumbled around her thumb as she twirled the curls on the back of her head. 

“Dragons? If you want to find a dragon there are some over that hill. But let’s wait for someone to find you first.” The woman tried to soothe her. YN looked at the hill then started toward there. She paid no mind to the woman who wanted to follow but not many would get close to the dragons. 

Once she had reached the height YN was elated to see Silverwing relaxing on the grass. She giggled in excitement and went to go toward the beast, but she was stopped by an armored hand that grabbed her. The guard who had found her picked her up with ease, relief washing over his face. 

“Little princess. How long have you been out here?” He asked her, but she made no reaction. With a sigh he carried her back to the castle as she traced the designs on her armor. Once they reached the castle, YN was plucked out his arms as Alysanne hugged her closely. 

“My baby! My little dragon, don’t ever do that again!” Alysanne sobbed and held her close. YN patted her mother’s wet cheeks and started to whine in worry at the sight. Mommy was supposed to be happy, not crying. “Never wander from me again. I can’t lose you too.” 

Before anyone could help the queen, she returned back to her room with her daughter. Her whole planned day was thrown away, Alysanne just wanted to hold her baby in her arms. She stared into YN’s youthful face and saw her baby Viserra, feeling guilty at pushing her to marry. 

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep you safe. I’m sorry I let you wander away. My poor baby, my poor baby. I’ll never let you go again, I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let anyone take you away.” Alysanne whispered. Her tears dropped onto YN’s confused face, with a deep sigh Alysanne brought her quivering lips to kiss YN’s forehead. 

YN didn’t understand what was happening, but her life had felt so different since Vissy stopped seeing her. She hoped her sister would come back soon, mommy and daddy wouldn’t make shouting noises at each other and maybe YN could visit the dragons like she used to.

Taglist:

@missglaskin​

[akwolfgrl]

I've had an idea for a while now, but I don't read much one-piece modern aus. (Opps I posted a little to soon lol)

Sanjis life is similar to cannon. He ran away when he was 8 and found Zeff when he was 10 had to return to his birth "family" at 21. He grew up with the younger gang, Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, and Chopper.

Sanji and Zoro were roommates in college, just as they finally confess thire feeling for each other. Sanji dissappears, and no one can find him, and the police are of no help. 8 years latter Zoro after returning home from a major Kendo championship, runs into Nami and a child of 6 years old with curly eyebrows.

Turns out Judge demanded Sanji marry Pudding (18 not 16) or eles he would charge Zeff with kidnapping and/or ruin his business the reastrunt. Sanji recltuntly agrees to this deal. The Vinsomkes were a once powerful family that are losing that staus but still have enough to get away with shit.

Pudding was in love with someone eles but also didn't have a choice in this marriage and after becoming pregnant (with she didn't want but didn't have a choice) had bad post partom and did receive help from a therapist for it but she kept dissapeing. For awhile, she would evently come back, but one day, she never did.

Sanji was able to get a divorce but had to sign a contract that he would work exclusively for the Charlotte Family. Devopling recipes and useing as many of thire products in cooking vedios as ge can. (They make four, suagr, cooking and baking utnicles, they make premade baked goods. All sorts of things.) Robin was his lawyer In all of this. That's how he met her and Franky. He moves back to town when it's finally safe to do so. He moved back while Zoro was out of town and was finally able to reconnect with his friends and real family.

The reason Nami is babysitting is because Sanji is showing off a new project to Katakuri, his main concatct to the Charlotte's.

Pudding does come back after the divorce and sees her daughter once a month. Part of the reason she dispared is so they could get a devioce. When Zoro is dating Sanji, she makes sure he's good for them both. She did care for Sanji she just was in love with someone else and wanted her own life. Wanted to make her own decisions and be her own preson.

Sanji has a flouting home that he and his daughter live on. Franky designed it with help from Usopp.

At some point, I'm thinking that the vinsmokes show up again. Judge wants to marry Sanji off again to someone eles. However, Sanji is no longer a Vinsmoke, and Robin made sure the Zeff would be under Big moms portcestion as well.

Zeff is very involved in his granddaughters life and definitely thinks Sanji shouldn't have gone, that he should have put up more of a fight, but what's done is done.

I'm thinking something sweet for the little girls name, but I'm not sure what. Uncle Kat is her favorite of her mothers and her father's siblings. She has only met Reiju once but not the other 3.

Luffy-???

Zoro-swords he is going to run the dojo with kuina (not dead in wheel chair)

Nami- works as a fashion bloger/model

Usopp- writes and illustrations children's books

Chopper-peditrasion

Robin- lawyer

Franky-constrcsion

Brook- in a band

[lokidokieokie]

The Price of Deception pt 1

Summary: After discovering Loki's failed attempt at taking over Earth, his family confronts him and he must earn their forgiveness.

Pairing: Avengers!Loki x Fem!Wife!Reader

Warning(s): angst, and uhhh more angst, I don’t really know what else to put here

Note: Slight AU here, Loki did not die and the events of Thor did not go to the extent of the film

You hadn't seen Loki in months, not since he left Asgard to explore the Nine Realms. At first, you didn't think much of it. After all, he had always been restless, eager to see new things and go on adventures. But then, your children started asking for him.

“Mummy, when is Daddy coming home?” your daughter, Freya, asked one evening as you tucked her into bed.

You sighed. “I don't know, sweetheart. He's still out exploring.”

“But I miss him,” Freya pouted.

“I know, I miss him too,” you admitted, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “But he'll be back soon, I promise.”

Days turned into weeks, and still there was no sign of Loki. Your children grew more and more restless, and you started to worry. What if something had happened to him?

One day, as you were putting your six-month-old son, Magnus, down for a nap, you heard a knock at the door. It was Thor.

“Thor! What brings you here?” you greeted him warmly, inviting him in.

“I do not bring good tidings, sister. I'm here to bring you to Midgard,” he said simply.

“What? To Midgard? Why?” you asked, confused.

“It's about Loki. I do not have time to explain; it is urgent that you and the children come with me to Midgard at once.” Thor replied cryptically.

You hesitated. In your centuries of life, you had never once been to Midgard. With their backwards traditions and views on women, it was never a place you deemed worthy of visiting. But when you thought about how much your children had been asking for their father, you realised that you didn’t have the heart to deny them the opportunity. 

“Alright, Thor. We’ll come with you,” you said firmly.

Thor nodded, and the four of you set off for Midgard.

As soon as you arrived, you could tell that something was wrong. The Avengers--or so you assumed--were all gathered in the common room, looking tense and worried. And in the middle of the room, chained up and looking dejected inside of a glass container, was Loki.

Your heart sank. What had he done now?

“Mummy, is that Daddy?” Freya asked, tugging on your sleeve.

Her sweet little voice seemed to grab the attention of everyone in the room; and soon all eyes were on your little family. 

Attempting to ignore their stares, you turned and nodded at your daughter. “Yes, sweetheart, that’s your father.”

“What's he doing there?” Freya demanded.

You didn't have an answer for her. You were now too busy staring at Loki, trying to figure out what was going on.

Trying not to wake the sleeping baby in your arms and keeping a firm grip on your daughter’s hand, you turned to your brother-in-law and asked. “Thor, what's happening?” 

Not meeting your eyes Thor replied, “It's complicated, sister.” 

You glared at him. Complicated? Wasn’t everything that involved your husband complicated? “I want answers, Thor. And I'm not going to ask you twice.”

Thor sighed, looking defeated. “Loki...he tried to conquer Midgard. He attacked New York.”

Your blood boiled. “He did what? Why would he attempt such a thing?”

"I don't know," Thor admitted. “But he's here now, and we need your help.”

“My help?” you repeated incredulously.

“Yes. He’s refusing to talk to anyone. But I thought that possibly, if you talked to him, you could get through to him.” Thor said, looking at you hopefully. 

You gaze shifted over at Loki. He was watching you, his eyes filled with sadness and what you assumed was regret. You could see the pain etched on his face, and for a moment, you felt a twinge of sympathy.

But then you remembered your children, and the way they had been asking for their father. You thought about how much they had been missing him, and how much they had been looking forward to seeing him again. And you knew what you had to do.

“Fine,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I'll talk to him.”

A/N I always feel the need to write angst! 

Taglist! Everything: @thewaithfuckingannoyme @evelyn-kingsley​ Loki: @dryyoursaltyoceantears

[homosexuhauls]

Diane Clarke was just 10 when she went through two life-changing losses. First, she lost her mother, who was stabbed to death in her own home. Then, she lost her father – the person who had killed her mother.

Pauline Benton, 32, was killed by her husband in 1978 after she told him she was seeing another man. Her death followed a “loveless” marriage in which she was allegedly controlled by her husband, who treated her as though she was a “possession”.

“When we got to the top of our street and there were blue flashing lights, I knew something was up,” Clarke tells The Independent. “All the neighbours were outside the house. There were ambulances and police cars there.”

The now 56-year-old recalls trying to go into her home in Cannock, Staffordshire, but being sent to her neighbour’s instead. Frustrated that nobody would explain what was going on, she had to wait until the next day for her grandfather to tell her news that no child should ever have to hear.

Clarke’s father was charged with her mother’s murder, which he denied, but he admitted manslaughter. He was sentenced at Birmingham Crown Court to three years in prison.

Clarke visited him in jail while living with her mother’s parents. Then, when he was released, she and her brother went to live with him again. As a child who could not fully understand the magnitude of what had happened, Clarke wanted to live with her father again, but now desperately wishes she had remained with her grandparents.

While Clarke’s situation may sound deeply shocking, she is not alone. Men who kill their partners in the UK automatically hold on to parental responsibility for their children – even if they are in prison. It means they remain in control of their children’s lives – including choosing where they live, and deciding on their healthcare needs, for example – unless a court removes parental responsibility.

Jade’s Law

With families up and down the country facing this situation, Labour has lent its backing to Jade’s Law: a proposed piece of legislation that would withdraw parental responsibility from a mother or father found guilty of murdering their child’s other parent.

In its current form, the proposed law – named after 27-year-old Jade Ward, who was stabbed and strangled in her home by her ex-partner Russell Marsh as their four young sons slept – would not cover a situation like Clarke’s, because her father was convicted of manslaughter, not murder.

But the mother of two, now a domestic abuse campaigner, is calling for the law to be broadened in order to cover both crimes when domestic abuse is involved.

‘Play fighting’

Clarke tells The Independent that her mother met another man, which she saw as her “way out” of the toxic relationship with Clarke’s father. It was when she finally plucked up the courage to tell her husband the truth that he turned violent.

A newspaper cutting about the case describes how Benton’s husband – “incensed” at hearing of her six-month affair – “plunged a bread knife into her chest”.

“It was sold in the newspapers and in the court as she asked for it because she had an affair,” says Clarke.

Court reports said Clarke’s father was a “normally placid man”, but a social enquiry report used in the case, seen by The Independent, quotes Benton’s father describing him as a “jealous man” who tended to treat his wife as “a possession”.

Clarke remembers how her father, who was married to her mother for 15 years, would physically fight with his wife until she would go into the bedroom crying. Her father would refer to this as “play fighting”, she says.

“My relationship with my mum wasn’t good, because my dad was getting me to mock her and abuse her as well,” she recalls. “So when he killed her, I missed my dad more than I missed my mum.”

While her father was in prison, Clarke spent her time looking after her mother’s parents, who were “wrapped up in their own pain”.

“They were on Valium. They were drinking,” Clarke recalls. “I was looking after them. They’ve lost their daughter, their daughter has been killed, you know – they’re devastated.”

She says nobody checked to see if she was coping when she started at a new school, and recalls the “traumatic” experience of sitting making a Mother’s Day card, which she addressed to her grandmother.

“I was getting bullied at that school by this time, as well, because I was getting more and more vulnerable. I didn’t tell anybody I was being bullied.”

‘I was having nightmares’

Living with the man who had killed her mother wasn’t easy. Describing the situation after he was released from prison, Clarke says she played the role of mum, doing the cleaning, washing and cooking, and feeling “desperately, desperately alone” while doing so.

“I was having nightmares,” she adds. “Somebody was trying to kill me in the dreams. I’ve always thought ‘I’ve got to be careful what I say or do, because what if he kills me?’ And even though he’s an old man now, I still have that fear.”

After leaving school, she “hit rock bottom”, getting into a relationship with a violent boyfriend and making an attempt to kill herself. Clarke is still vaguely in touch with her father, but effectively considers herself an orphan.

“If I saw him in the street, I would try and avoid talking to him,” she says. “But if I came face to face, the inner child would just be happy and pleasing and say hello and be respectful towards him, because that was the way I survived when I lived with him.”

Speaking to The Independent about Jade’s Law – which was debated in parliament at the end of last year – Ellie Reeves, the shadow minister for prisons and probation, urged the government to take action.

The Labour MP for Lewisham West and Penge, who leads on violence against women and girls in the justice team, said: “It is shocking that, as the law currently stands, killers retain parental responsibility after murdering their child’s mother – enabling them to continually abuse and assert control over their children even from prison.

“Labour has called for Jade’s Law to automatically suspend parental rights for fathers who have murdered their child’s mother. This will put the rights of victims above those of perpetrators, and work to end violence against women and girls. That is how we will prevent crime and protect families.”

A spokesperson for the Ministry of Justice told The Independent: “Judges are required to put the welfare of children first, and can effectively remove all rights and powers from a parent who has murdered the other.”

Responding to the Jade’s Law petition, the government said it recognises that in situations where a parent is convicted of the murder of another parent, the process can be “onerous”.

Dr Adrienne Barnett, who specialised in family law while practising as a barrister for more than 30 years, told The Independent it is “incredibly rare” for a father’s parental responsibility to be withdrawn, “even in the most heinous and harrowing circumstances”.

Hazel Mercer, of Advocacy After Fatal Domestic Abuse, says the families she supports after domestic homicide find the fact that perpetrators still have parental rights “highly traumatic”.

The national domestic abuse helpline offers support for women on 0808 2000 247, or you can visit the Refuge website. There is a dedicated men’s advice line on 0808 8010 327. Those in the US can call the domestic violence hotline on 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). Other international helplines can be found via www.befrienders.org

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter 11.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: flashback one - day one, eighteen years ago

Warnings: graphic violence and mentions of death involving minors, implied child abuse, depictions of poverty and corruption, alcohol, starvation

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 11 - FLASHBACK: ONE

note: the next couple of chapters will be heavily influenced by the ova 'no regrets'. if you have yet to watch those episodes, i highly encourage to check them out. otherwise you will get spoiled on elements revolving around levi's backstory. i will also preface if you are sensitive to violence involving children fighting each other, then you may want to skip this flashback.

“Another!”

Thwack.

EIGHTEEN YEARS EARLIER

There are two of everything right in front of your eyes.

The world splits in half, meshing and morphing into shapes and spaces you can’t quite comprehend. 

Your fingers seek to cling to a nearby lamp post and miss — but a two-step stumble helps you grab onto the cool metal on your second reach. 

Stability. You need some kind of stability.

Especially if you’re going to win against him.

You’re only nine years of age when Mother tosses you into the world of illegal street fighting. Starting kids young means the return investment can provide longevity — for her and her wallet. Surviving and winning are ideal, but betting against a wounded horse can also turn a profit.

No matter what, she cannot lose.

This woman is not your mother, not really — your biological mother is long gone, trapped somewhere lost in the spices or selling the night to strangers.

Perhaps she’s even dead. You almost prefer that narrative. It sounds peaceful.

(Mother says you have that woman’s eyes. You’re not sure if she’s lying.)

Calling her Mother evades wandering questions from Military Police that patrol the streets of the Underground City from time to time, looking to issue fines or arrests. According to her, they leave unassuming parents alone — the police pity the mouths they have to feed yet turn the other cheek without a solution.

Mother is vicious. Mother is cutthroat. Yet Mother is hailed for her ingenious operations by her circle of drunks and degenerates.

Mother spends too much money at her favorite pub, Roxy's, where you’ve spent countless nights falling asleep on benches waiting for table scraps. 

And Mother has made it very clear that she sees one trajectory for your miserable life:

To utilize all of your fury in the name of the almighty coin.

You are not her first child, nor will you be her last. There used to be six of you, but she’s now waning down to four. Unfortunate accidents — kids never last long in the Underground; a sector full of orphans with sullen faces, hungry bellies, and hungrier fists.

Most families down here cannot afford children. Hustlers, however, can. From trafficking to spice mules to fates far worse than your own, you’re considered lucky.

(According to Mother, parentless brats are easy targets and even bigger wins.)

Eventually you’ll die somewhere in a sewage drain like the others before you. 

Just not today.

Fighting is hard — of course it is, you’re just a kid — but now, at twelve years old, you refuse to lay down and die.

You intend to win. You intend to live.

So you endure and you punch your way out of death’s cold fingers day after day after day.

Sort of like him.

Your opponent in question waits for you to find your footing at the dismay of the wails and shouts of onlookers creating the circle around you. He stands on the other side of the rowdy circle with practiced fists held high at his defense.

Like he’s done this as long as you, if not longer.

(He could very well be the reason you’re sent to an early grave if you’re not smart about your next lineup of attacks.)

The child across from you — possibly the same age, give or take a year or two — has the coldest stare you’ve ever witnessed. He’s small in stature; the tattered hand-me-downs hang off of his boney frame, the fabric too baggy for his malnourished body.

This boy, however, is fierce. The way he carries himself through this entire street brawl screams trained — as if he came out of the womb kicking and screaming, ready to fight.

He isn’t one of the barrack brats sent for easy slaughter nor is he a stolen kid like you.

At the edge of the circle, a tall and lanky man with a tan fedora watches intently. He’s the one who asked the boy to throw another punch a few minutes earlier. His eyes never leave the boy’s movements for a second. 

A cigarette dangles between his fingers like he’s not the least bit worried about the boy’s safety, not even when you finally charge him with a punch.

The boy dodges, swiftly swinging his own. You duck before it can connect with your face.

Over and over, you meet like this. Swing and a miss. Kick and a block.

You’re evenly matched.

People are getting bored. They want bloodshed, not skill.

If you win? It could win her a lot of money.

If you lose? It’s one less mouth to feed and a new opportunity to find fresh meat.

A clean punch from your fist finally connects with the boy’s eye, earning a chorus of boo’s. Once more you flop back against the street lamp in exhaustion, holding onto its metal body to ground you. 

The boy grunts, holding his face. The man on the sidelines merely laughs, amused at the surprise shot.

You wonder if this man is the kid’s father.

(You can only hope not all parents, adopted or otherwise, are like this.)

Yet the boy does what is asked of him: another. He stalks towards your shaking body at the street lamp and swings, but you manage to duck to the ground with a sweep of your leg before he can land the blow.

He falls to the floor, offering an opportunity for you to scramble on top of him to get the upper hand. You roll together in the dirt-ladened cobblestone street, ripping at each other's hair and yelping with a ferocity of wild animals.

People shout and toss their coins into the makeshift ring, throwing obscenities and swears in an effort to finish the bitch already!

You’ve learned quickly that the bitch is a crude name for you.

And he does try. The boy bites, kicks, grabs what he can while you defend your face and neck, forcibly rolling yourselves over to get a few cheap shots in. You’re pretty sure you hit him in the eye again. He hits your jaw and draws blood.

In a blink his hands fly to your throat, squeezing but without intent. You gasp under him, kicking and flailing your limbs to find something nearby to stop him.

Then a gun fires overhead.

The fight — once hopeful to the brink of death — is over.

“MPs inbound, seven o’clock!” shouts an older woman from the sidelines.

The carnage scatters into the darkened alleyways of the Underground.

The man coaching the boy on the sidelines now enters the invisible ring to grab him, effectively pulling him from you. The boy lets go of your throat instantly, disinterested in finishing the job. Unlike so many others before him, he doesn't care about the kill. It's unusual.

A surge of air hits your windpipe and you choke on it, still seeing double of the gray-eyed child as he disappears out of view.

“Get up, James.”

You recognize the voice.

"James!"

The name she gave you.

“Hurry, they’re coming.”

You move, but it's not fast enough. Mother drags you by the hair to help you onto your feet, scowling at the interruption of a fight she was so damn sure you had.

(You don’t think you would have won.)

“Mother, who was that?” you ask softly, finding that your voice is hoarse from all the shouting and strangulation. “The boy, who was that?”

She ignores you, grappling with your wrist to drag you into an alleyway.

Your eyes stay transfixed on the billowing trench coat of the cigarette man until he, too, disappears from the watchful eye of the military police.

Once you're out of sight, Mother drops to a crouch, assessing surface-level bruising and scrapes with her eyes.

Nothing about it is loving.

“You have to train to be as good as him,” she finally tells you.

Your eyes meet for just a second.

She was probably beautiful when she was a teenager, but her soul made her ugly. Harsh lines cut into her face from years of smoking. Her voice is bumpy like gravel, but there is a sickeningly sweet tune to her tone even when dealing with her children.

It can be terrifying sometimes; how soft she can sound with such angry, unforgiving words.

“Answer me, James,” Mother demands as she tugs your bruised wrist closer.

You don’t move your face, even if your entire body hurts. 

“I know.”

“He could have killed you.”

“I know.”

“But you would have won.”

(You don’t think you would have won.)

You keep your gaze to your scuffed shoes as she harshly wipes the blood from your face with a handkerchief.

“Say you would have won,” Mother insists. “You can be easily replaced by another sibling if you don’t think you can win next time.”

“Next time?” you accidentally ask, and those lines on her face sink deeper. Your eyes widen. “Yes, Mother, I would have won. You know I’m your best child.”

The lines on her forehead gradually smooth out. Her red lips curl into that sick, sweet smile.

“That’s right. You are my best child.”

If it were any other situation, then perhaps this statement would bring you some comfort. It doesn’t.

Being her best means you’re taking the brunt of the worst fights. Being her best means you have to fight harder with the same consequences if you fail.

You say nothing, do nothing, and wait for her to stop wiping at your sore face. It takes a few more seconds, but once she’s satisfied, Mother stands at full height and resumes her descent into the alleyway.

Her hand fishes an unassuming cloth coin purse from her jacket pocket and you immediately know where you’re heading. 

.

.

.

.

If you love the prospect of pissing money away, then Roxy’s pub in the southern quadrant of the Underground City is the place to be.

It’s Mother’s favorite place — where the downtrodden meet to pretend things aren’t so dire in the Underground City. It’s routine for the same group of people to end up here every other night, if not every night.

Because of the frequent patronage, the staff are willing to give you under-the-table food scraps for free so Mother can use her money for other things.

Like gambling.

According to one of the regulars named Bill, it was you who took the brunt of the street brawl wounds: busted lip, sprained ankle and wrist, potential concussion to the head. Under a makeshift bandage placed by one of the whiskey-soaked corner dwellers of the pub, the congealed blood on your forehead intermittently tickles your brow.

He implies your opponent didn’t end up much better. Bill won’t go into the specifics, but he says it's impressive you’ve held your own against that little devil.

Most people at the event bet against you. A draw was your best chance at survival.

You take Bill’s word for it.

Despite the lack of win, Mother celebrates with her favorite bar-goers. They’ve been drunk for well over three hours now, sloshing ale and whiskey across the bar top with little consideration. They cheer her name — not yours — and fill her glass as a cigarette dangles between her fingertips.

Payment after payment, money pours in front of her ashtray from regular betters.

People who have no excuse to gamble their money away but live for the thrill of it.

You, however, hide in the shadows of the pub — out of sight and out of mind.

God, you're exhausted.

Finishing your roll of bread given to you by the barmaid takes effort. Even the act of eating leaves you spent. 

Halfway down you stop trying, staring at your food with a grimace. You wonder if there’s water to wash it down. Maybe if it’s mushy, it won’t be so bad.

Yet when you raise your attention from your lap, you’re surprised at what your eyes catch. The sight rushes the air rushes from your lungs.

Although the small person's head is bowed, you recognize the mop of wild black hair instantly.

(It's him.)

In the opposite corner of the pub, the boy from today’s street brawl sits quietly on a bench. Splotches of bruises peek out at the apple of his cheek. His reddened hands rest idly in his lap while his feet dangle, too short to reach the floor beneath his hole-ridden shoes.

(He's really here.)

And his guardian — his father? — is the man whooping and hollering over copious amounts of liquor beside Mother. You make the connection with a wandering gaze, noting the very same trench coat from the street now spilling over a bar stool in Mother’s proximity.

How long have the two of them been here? This entire time?

Without thinking, you slowly stand from your bench and take a breath.

You’re not sure what possesses you to hobble towards him.

Maybe it’s because he looks so sad.

Maybe it’s because you’re projecting your own wayward confusions and sadness onto him.

Maybe it’s because there aren’t many kids left that understand what it means to put your fist to someone’s face with the intention of breaking it.

And just like that, he notices you, too.

There is a sharpness in the way his chin tilts to acknowledge your growing presence, quick to detect and assess the danger.

You pause in your next step, on your bad ankle, and wince.

Gradually the boy raises his attention, sockets sullen and as gray as the iris of his eye. His left eye is purple from where you socked him twice at the tail end of the fight.

He doesn’t speak.

Neither do you.

Wordlessly, you limp closer towards his bench. He doesn’t move. You lean back and start to fish for the food burrowed in your tattered coat pocket, but he tenses.

Glares.

As if you’re going to bring out something that will finish the job that street brawl only started.

Instead you hold out your free hand — wait, I'm no threat — and produce the half-eaten roll of bread given to you by the barkeep in the other.

“Have you eaten?” Your voice is still hoarse from shouting.

The boy continues to glare, briefly dropping his attention to the bread now outstretched for him to take.

He remains silent, immobile, while the party rages in the other room.

Maybe it’s a lost cause.

Maybe this was a stupid idea.

Maybe—

“No.”

Small but audible; the boy answers in a murmur. For a kid so agile in a fight, he sure looks scrawny up close. 

Breakable.

“Would you like some?” you ask instead, gesturing once more with your outstretched arm for him to take the bread you have left.

He doesn’t react beyond blinking down to the food again.

“I already ate half of it,” you add, like it’ll make taking the free handout easier for him.

Fraction by fraction, the small boy removes a cracked and bruised hand from his lap and raises his slender fingers to take the bread from you.

You let go once there is weight to its end, mindful of your distance.

The boy studies the food as if it’s a rare specimen, looking it over for mold or poison, before heading the already bitten half to his mouth.

He swallows thickly, coating a dry throat.

“Thanks.”

The gratitude sinks your shoulders down, lessening the stress pinched in your back. You sigh softly once he’s taken a bird-sized bite, chewing slowly to savor the taste.

You want to tell him that you ate just as slow so he doesn’t feel self conscious but decide against it.

“Can I… sit?” you ask as he starts on his second bite, causing him to pause. Contemplate.

He nods once, so you nestle into the empty spot beside him.

For what feels like hours you sit beside this strange quiet boy in silence, happy not to be alone.

He eats in a mild-mannered way, careful not to spill crumbs on his worn clothes. 

He finishes his half of the bread eventually but never tries to speak to you. 

You don’t mind.

Here on this bench, two children of the Underground City can rest — if only for a short while.

You both tense at the sound of a loud howl from the bar, but it is only you who looks. Some of the patrons have begun a slurred rendition of a surface hymn. A man shouting louder than the rest, belligerent and shitfaced, catches your attention. 

It’s him: the boy’s keeper. Long, unkempt hair flies out from the bottom of the hat like wires as ale sloshes high over his head.

Others join his singing with grating enthusiasm.

“Is… that your dad?” you gently ask.

The boy continues to pick apart what’s left of the little roll, ignoring your question.

You turn your chin to watch the drunk tirade, assuming he won’t respond.

Until—

“Is that your mom?” he retorts, and you whip your attention back to him.

The boy watches you instead of the rowdy pub patrons.

You suck in a sharp breath, uncomfortable with the sight of how badly his eye has been blackened thanks to your attack.

Are you sorry, for bashing his face the way you did? Is he?

Mother’s told you it’s nothing personal. It’s just business.

(No one stuck in the Underground City can afford to feel remorse — or worse: regret.)

“No,” you answer, and he takes another bite. “I call her Mother, but… she found me.”

He doesn’t react — only chews, like every bite may be his last, and swallows. His tongue darts out to lick the crumbs from his busted lip.

You lean in closer to whisper again.

“Do you have a na—”

“Levi!”

A name.

The shout erupts from a familiar gruff voice. The drunken trench coat man hangs over the bar, squinting to find somebody in an alcoholic haze.

Your question dies on your lips when the man's attention lands on the two of you.

“Oh! Levi! There you are. Ready to head out, boy? You’re supposed to be training in a few hours.”

He turns widely to the crowd of drinkers, belligerent and wasted.

“Not that he needs to. Kid’ll kill just about anyone you ask him to. Gotta keep a runt busy, am I right?”

The bench creaks.

The boy — Levi — stands obediently. His hands are empty, bread devoured and gone, but he continues to regard you from his peripheral vision.

You stay put, lips parted with a sentiment, a feeling, you cannot put into words.

For whatever feels like forever, you both stare at each other.

Then he leaves without another word.

You stay and fall fast asleep on the bench, bruised cheek pressed to the warmth of where a scrawny boy named Levi sat, until Mother is ready to stumble home at sunrise.

.

author's note: i know this update a rough one, but i promise the next is that levi/james banter we know and love. i've planned this structure from the original outline, so i hope the next installments are as exciting to you as they are to me. the original concept of silver underground was to build a memory loss fic starting at the middle of the story as it's technically your perceived beginning. now we're witnessing the real beginning.

if people are interested, i may write levi's pov of the flashbacks as additional content.

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan

[sparkypantaloons]

Safe, Sound

Bruce checks in on each of his kids before he goes to bed. Even if most of them are adults who live in their own homes...

~~

Most nights, Bruce does his best not to give into temptation. Well... paranoia, to be more accurate.

Contrary to the many admonitions from his children, he has actually had therapy. And whilst he's not always been the best at employing the coping tools he learned in his sessions, it didn't take $300 an hour to know that indulging in unhealthy behaviours was... well, unhealthy.

Some nights though, he can't help himself, and rationalises that indulging a little every now and then is by far the least destructive of all the available options.

Better a light rain, than all out storm.

Still, he does his best to 'reign it in', as Jason would say, as much as possible.

Tonight, as much as possible is zero.

It could be the weather, he considers, racing towards Bludhaven, through hail that is falling in sheets. All the bad things that have happened in his life have happened in bad weather. Pathetic fallacy at its worse. Dark clouds have always made him worry.

Or, perhaps, it might be the fact that he's exhausted, he thinks, scaling the fire-escape to the sixth floor apartment. Perpetually so, but particularly this week. Back to back nights facing nothing but the infantry of Gotham's worst. No detective work involved, just a battle of attrition, against thugs and goons and scum. The fatigue of it settling in his bones. Slowing him down, when he needs to be fast.

Then again, there's every chance it's Jason. He mulls it over as he disables the security measures on the apartment window, squeezing his sizable frame through the much smaller opening. Last he spoke to his second son, the twenty-four year old had told Bruce to go fuck himself, before promptly jumping off the nearest roof. Jason had always been one for melodramatics, but the first time his boy had stormed off in such a huff he had literally died, so Bruce isn't too hard on himself that a repeat performance makes him anxious.

Maybe though, he decides, stepping lightly across the wooden floor, careful to avoid the warped beams that would sing under his weight, maybe, this is just being a father. And whether your children are adults or not, whether they fight crime in disguises or not, some nights, for no reason at all, you just... worry.

When Bruce had been a boy, a little boy, no more than six or seven, his parents had bought him a rabbit. Flopsy, she'd been called And he'd been obsessed. Such a soft, fluffy little thing. He'd watched her fall asleep in the evenings, all snug in her hutch. Only to wake in the middle of the night, suddenly convinced she wasn't breathing. Having to rush over and check, carefully watching for the rise and full of her tiny body.

It's the same example he had given his therapist, when explaining why some nights he just needs to check, needs to see with his own eyes that his children are okay. That they're safe. Alive. If only to stop the runaway train of terrible thoughts that loops his mind.

He looks down on Dick's sleeping form, the younger man's cheeks flushed with warm. His hair is sticking out all over the place, his arms flung above his head. Blissfully unaware that the Batman stands over him.

Dick has always slept like the dead. Had spent his early years in the circus afterall, a perpetual hive of activity and movement and noise. Dick impervious to it all, falling asleep on whatever comfortable surface was available. Totally oblivious to the world around him.

Bruce watches the gentle rise and fall of his boy's chest. Slows his breathing to be in time with Dick's. Lets the calm of it wash over him. Then he turns to leave the way he came. Resetting the security measures as he goes.

These days he has a tried and tested routine for checking on his family. With Dick in Bludhaven more often than not, he usually has to start there, (depending on Nightwing's evening activities). Then he loops back to Gotham, and moves on to the next.

Stephanie is easy to check. Easier than he'd like, in fact. Most of his kids, and kid-adjacents, have inherited his own paranoia around security. Have layers and layers of protection around their homes. But Steph still lives with her mother. A mother who hasn't even the remotest suspicion that her daughter is Gotham vigilante Spoiler, by the way. So the former Robin can't exactly booby trap their apartment windows.

She does have a couple of cameras set up outside of them though. So Bruce's first step is always to hack their system. Set them to loop the last three seconds, so she doesn't know he's been there. Then he'll slide open the window. Sit in the frame and watch until his heart calms that fraction more.

Except tonight, there's no way to open the window without waking her. Weather as awful as it is. Hail plinking against the pane. The best he can do is press his forehead to the glass. Watch her through the heat vision lenses of the cowl, and try to untwist the worry in his heart.

Steph sleeps like Dick does, arms splayed above her head. As though she was too tired to do anything but fall into bed. The sheets are a tangle, strewn across her sleeping form. Arms and feet and leg left uncovered, diagonal across the bed.

Bruce slips quietly away. Unloops the camera traps as he goes.

Jason is next. And couldn't be more opposite to Steph when it comes to security. Maybe most like Bruce in some respects.

He never sleeps in the same place two nights in a row; uses a complicated pattern for choosing which safehouse to stay in next. The security on each is as complex as anything Bruce has ever seen. And if it wouldn't immediately trigger a flurry of furious epithets from the younger man, Bruce would tell him how impressed he is. How proud he is.

However impressed he might be, Bruce is still Jason's Dad. Is still the one that taught him, gave him the solid foundation that his skills and training are built on. It takes him a while, but Bruce still manages to disable the security measures on the living room window of safe house 13. Makes his way carefully to the bedroom.

Jason has never been an easy sleeper. More like a cat than anything else. Ready to wake and bolt at the slightest of disturbances. He curls up like one too. Duvet and pillow hugged tight to his chest. Face set in perpetual frown, knees drawn close to his body.

He grinds his teeth too, and Bruce briefly wonders if his boy has been wearing his mouth guard, like he's supposed to.

He resists the temptation to check. Resists too, the urge to gently rub away the worry lines from Jason's forehead. Instead just listens in wonder, at the gentle snores that provide the incontrovertible proof that his darling boy is alive.

He always lingers a little longer with Jason, always so grateful that Jason's there to check at all. Instead of the cold, empty room that had been left in his place for so long.

Then he leaves the way he came. Takes his time ensuring the security measures are restored just right. Before slipping back into the wind and the hail and the night.

Tim is next. And Bruce isn't sure which is worse, that Tim now lives on a boat or that he's got a boyfriend.

Bruce hates boats. No real reason, just never been a fan. And... well, no, okay, he doesn't hate that Tim has a boyfriend. But he does hate that Tim having a boyfriend means checking in on him is now a little... weird.

Consider: doting father checking in on his much loved son? Acceptable. Understandable. Endearing even.

But: much loved son in bed with his new boyfriend, when doting father arrives? No longer endearing. No longer endearing at all. Now weird and uncomfortable and a little bit creepy.

Small mercies mean that, tonight at least, Bruce knows Bernard isn't around. And for that he is thankful. Whatever is driving this particular bout of paranoia won't be satiated by a vitals check. Even if Tim is the only one of his children willing to let Bruce monitor them 24/7. The silver lining of a missing spleen, Bruce thinks.

The real problem with Tim though, is the sleep talking. More than once Bruce has been sure the younger man has seen him, when he starts angrily garbling out sleep-tinged words. Only for Tim to then end the sentence with something utterly bizarre, like "put the gravy in the toilet", or "remember to pay the elephants".

It's adorable, and dangerous. Because Bruce is then left trying desperately not to laugh and blow his cover. It wouldn't do for the Batman to fail at his most basic stealth training because he got caught giggling, after all.

Tim is already mumbling to himself by the time Bruce reaches him. The younger man's face smushed into the pillow, one arm flung over the edge of the bed.

"I need the teapots to unsubscribe." He says angrily, words slurring together with sleep. "Why did you promise me parachutes?"

Bruce tries not to grin too wide as he makes his way from the boat.

The hail has turned to snow now, and it's nearing half four in the morning. The Batmobile cuts through the flurry, heading West across the river and out of the city. Bruce puts a call through to Cass.

"What's wrong?" She says as she answers, face appearing in the Batmobile HUD. She knows how early it is in Gotham.

"Nothing," Bruce says with a tired smile. "Missed you."

Cass rolls her eyes affectionately. "Home next week."

"How's Hong Kong?" Bruce asks, as the car pulls off the bridge.

Cass frowns, tilts her head side to side. "Unhappy." She says.

"Hn." Bruce replies. He's been following news of the unrest relentlessly since Cass has been gone. It's not even a week, but he'll be happier once she's home. Always worried she'll make the trip permanent, like she had once before.

"Bad night?" Cass asks.

Bruce shakes his head. "No." He lies.

Cass sees through it. "More sleep." She admonishes gently, and taps her watch on the screen. "Nearly home?"

Bruce chuffs a small laugh, he's meant to be the parent here. "Nearly home." He reassures her.

Cass nods, blows a small kiss to the screen then clicks off the call. Bruce pulls into the Cave.

Alfred is stood waiting by the car bay. He looks unipressed. "What time do you call this?" He asks, eyebrow raised as Bruce climbs out of the car.

Bruce looks sheepish. Shucks off the cowl. "Sorry," he says "I—" He cuts himself off. Chest tight again as he thinks back to the start of the night. The all-consuming worry for his family. The inescapable need to check, to know that they were okay.

Alfred gives him a sad smile, holds a hand to Bruce's face. "You need more sleep, lad." He says gently. "Let's get you to bed."

Bruce nods. "That's what Cass said." He leans into the touch ever so slightly.

"Smart girl, that one." Alfred says with a grin, gently helping Bruce remove the cape and gauntlets.

"Let me check the boys first." Bruce says, once his uniform is off. Alfred leading him out of the Cave.

Alfred heaves a sigh. "Safe and sound asleep for at least four hours, Bruce."

"I know, I just..."

Alfred nods knowingly. Squeezes Bruce's shoulder. "Sunday brunch is at 11am. I expect you to be on time." He says.

Bruce gives him a small smile. "G'night Alfred."

"Goodnight, son."

Bruce heads to Duke's room first. The teenager isn't often at the Manor. Stays with his cousin Jay in The Narrows most nights. But the commute to Gotham Academy is shorter from the Wayne Estate and he has exams this week.

The teenager's lights are still on, school work strewn across his desk. He's half sitting in bed, a physics text book open against his chest, glasses still on. Bruce crosses the room quietly, easier now he's in slippers and pyjamas, and gently pulls the book from Duke. Carefully slips his glasses off his face. Duke stirs ever so slightly, sliding further down the bed to be more horizontal. Bruce tugs the covers up. Switches off the light.

Damian's room is next to Bruce's and as he pushes the door, Bruce is ready for the night to be over. For the tightness in his chest to finally ease, and the unbidden thoughts that taunt him with unfulfilled horror to cease. But Damian isn't there, his bed empty, sheets kicked to the floor.

For a moment Bruce's vision whites out in panic, his lungs paralysed as he tries to make his brain work again. Kick-start his mind's hard drive and scan all the contingencies it stores, because his boy's, his darling littlest boy is—

"Father?" Says a small voice, thick with sleep. A warm little hand, slips into Bruce's own. Damian looks up at him. He's wearing dinosaur pyjamas. Rubs at his eyes with a small fist.

Bruce picks him up without thinking. Sits the nine year old on his hip and hugs him close.

Damian settles his head against Bruce's shoulder. Pushes his palm to Bruce's chest, frowns at the rapid beating of his father's heart.

"Wosswrong?" He mumbles, eyes already slipping closed.

Bruce squeezes him tight. "Nothing son, nothing at all."

He considers for a moment putting Damian back down in his bed, but the nine year old's fingers cling to his shirt.

Instead Bruce takes them both to his own room, settles the pair of them under his own covers.

Damian falls asleep almost immediately. He's curled into Bruce's side, clinging to his arm like a baby koala. Bruce runs a hand through his boy's hair, let's out a long, slow breath.

Sleep is calling him now, the world outside muted by the snow that steadily falls from above.

He has one more check to make. Reaches for his phone and thumbs in the passcode for the interface that will show him the status of his team, his family. A text comes through the encrypted comms chat before the information loads.

Oracle > Batman: About time you got home. Safe &amp; sound here. See you for brunch x

Bruce smiles, finally gives into the temptation to sleep as relief washes over him at last. He fires off a single character response before he slips away to dreams.

Batman > Oracle: 🦇

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter 6: If You'd Accept Surrender

(Moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter summary: It's Thanksgiving in Barrow, and Lydia and Ben try to work out each other's feelings - and (kind of!) give in...

Word Count: 7.6k

Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)

Content (chapter specific): Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (Lydia turns 42, and Ben is 47); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; masturbation (F; implied M); descriptions of PiV sex; strong language; alcohol consumption; weight and body insecurity; descriptions of emotionally-abusive past relationship; liberal arts profs feeling weird about Thanksgiving, kind of; emotional insecurity; self-confidence issues; a bit of angst; a lot of yearn.

A/N: With HUGE thanks to @lunapascal for triggering a wave of late 90s nostalgia, the title of this chapter is taken from 'Walking After You' by the Foo Fighters. (I wish they would accept surrender too, dear readers.)

I don't quite know how, but this chapter just got together (ironically, given who we're writing about here) and, well, here it is. Aside from these two bouncing around not quite making contact, metaphorically speaking, Lydia learns more about Ben's family and finally visits his (very nice) home.

I had a bit of a wobble about the story after Chapter 5, and then got a wave of beautiful comments and responses to the story that made my heart sing for joy. Readers, you're all bloody wonderful and I love each and every comment and thought you've shared about these two and their story. In the words of a post I reblogged earlier this week: the love is requited. They're just idiots.

Further A/N after the chapter to avoid spoilers.

See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background.

Thanks, as ever, to @lunapascal and @julesonrecord for loving Bendie as much as I do.

Taglist: @lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @cutesyscreenname, @tessa-quayle, @vermillionwinter, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @perennialdoll247, @love-the-abyss, @imaswellkid, @intheorangebedroom, @javierisms, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @littlemisspascal, @khindahra, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @ruebyretro

It’s just over a week to go before the short vacation around Thanksgiving. The four of you - Ani, Evan, you, and Ben - are eating lunch in the main campus restaurant. The seasonal decor - Halloween ghosts and smiling pumpkins now replaced by cartoonish turkeys and cornucopia displays - has triggered a conversation about plans for the holiday. In turn, because this is a gathering of liberal arts academics and you never miss an opportunity to overthink something, the conversation has also involved grappling with the more problematic aspects of Thanksgiving.

Ani is working through their complex feelings regarding the holiday. “As a queer person of colour, the annual celebration of coloniser assholes is my kryptonite,” they mutter. “But my mom loves this shit, and I love my mom.” Ani forlornly sips their water and looks at you. “I think you might be the only one here who can mark this thing without being a hypocrite, Lyd.”

You huff a laugh. “And that’s mostly because I don’t actually mark it, right?” The holiday is not and has never been a ‘thing’ in your neck of the woods, though you were very familiar with it through popular culture, access to American children’s magazines, and clickbaity BuzzFeed articles on “The 25 Weirdest Thanksgiving Dishes EVER”. 

“So what are you planning on doing while everyone else is refusing yet more turkey leftovers, Lydia? You staying put or taking a little trip somewhere else?” Evan asks, swigging from his can of La Croix. He and David are bringing Evan’s mother to a fancy hotel in Boston for a spa retreat. Ben, meanwhile, is going to spend Thanksgiving at home on the west coast with his mom and extended family for the first time in several years. He’s incredibly excited about it, even if he needs to write a conference paper while he’s away.

You put down your fork and spread your hands ahead of you, preparing to wax lyrical about your Thanksgiving plans while everyone else is out of town. 

“Dude, I’m going to live my best life. I also have to write my paper for that visual arts conference in New York in a couple of weeks, but only after living my best life.” 

Ben watches you affectionately as you prepare to set out the details of your plans. He hasn’t told you this, not yet, but your ability to describe the most ordinary-seeming things in just the right way, with loving care and attention, is one of the (many) things he likes about you.

“We start the day with homemade blueberry pancakes,” you begin, eliciting exaggerated oohs and aahs from your friends. “Served with a scoop of crème fraîche and drizzle of maple syrup, with a giant pot of good filter coffee on the go. Then, we move on to the Macy’s parade. I’m mostly hoping for an inflatable going rogue.”

Ani laughs. “I’m going to open a book on that. A wager on whether there’s a rogue inflatable, and a sub-wager on which inflatable??”

“I will not be watching football,” you continue. “I have a better place to be. For reasons known only to themselves, the college film society has decided to take over the little film theatre downtown for a season of European classics over the vacation. I will therefore be giving thanks for Francois Truffaut and The 400 Blows, which is their Thanksgiving afternoon screening.”

Ben closes his eyes and hums appreciatively, nodding. 

“I then intend to round off the day with takeout and a whiskey sour made at home,” you conclude. “But,” and you look down at the table and bite your lip, “and not to get sentimental on main, I’ll drink it and be quietly thankful for all the good things I’ve got to experience here so far. You three, most of all.”

You lift your eyes and realise that Ben is looking right at you, eyes and expression softer than ever. 

It is just over a fortnight since your birthday. Two weeks, more or less, since he’d held your hand and spun you around on the dancefloor, making you laugh and smile more than you’d done in a very long time. No time at all, and forever ago. The ghostly trace of his touch on your waist, on your back, on your hip still haunts you. His card is still on your nightstand. 

At night, you fall asleep trying - and failing - to resist conjuring up the image of his smiling face. Your dreams about him are erratic. Some are pure fantasy, some sexual, others decidedly unromantic. In some, he evades your grasp, slipping away just as you get close. In others, he ignores you completely. Worst of all are the ones where he ventriloquises the bullying you dole out to yourself, reminding you that you are too plain, too old, too big, too much.

You get used to spending the first few minutes after waking reassuring yourself that they were just dreams. Nothing serious. Nothing real, even though you know you’re lying to yourself. After all, it was your subconscious inventing the scenarios that crept into your sleeping brain.

For all that, things have continued much as they’d always done between the two of you. Lunch. Coffee. Sometimes drinks with others after work. Silly conversations in the staff lounge that make the two of you crease and wipe tears from your eyes with laughter. He never sees the sad expression that sometimes creeps over your face after he leaves your office or disappears to a class. Never catches you tracing your fingers over the memory of his touch on your hand or arm. He never hears you crying in the night when you jolt awake after another bad dream.

You don’t bother trying to talk yourself out of your feelings. What would be the point in denial? Far better to remind yourself that you can’t - indeed, rarely - get what you want, because he doesn’t want you. Couldn’t want you. He’d had opportunities. He didn’t do anything about it. The proof of his feelings - or lack thereof - was staring you in the face.

And besides: you were only visiting. 

So settle for friendship. Settle for the warmth of a friendly glance from his chocolate eyes. Settle for a flash of that smile, for the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, for the sight of his broad outline at your office door, coffee mugs in hand. 

It would have to be enough.

The grocery store is busy with last-minute Thanksgiving shoppers, picking up essentials for the next day’s family feast. You stare at your phone, brain whirring as you try to scale down a pumpkin pie recipe and convert the frankly bonkers system of US weights and measurements and then work out exactly how much butter you need to buy.

“They bang on about having had a revolution and yet they kept this system? The metric system is right there, fuck’s sake…”

Your screen flashes suddenly with an incoming call:

Ben Morales

An involuntary flip of your stomach. You tap the button on your earbuds to accept the call, forcing a casual tone.

“Hey, Ben. How’s the Bay Area? Everything okay?”

“Hi, Lydia. Uh, can’t answer to the Bay Area. Still here.”

“Still here? Oh - oh no. Is everything okay? Has something happened? What can I do - I’ll do whatever you need, no mat-”

He inhales and exhales. “It’s fine, I’m fine, everyone at home is mostly fine. My mom’s just called me in a fury. One of TJ’s boys got a vomiting bug and, well…”

Your face falls, devastated on his behalf. He’d been so looking forward to this. “I can guess. Everyone’s got it.”

“Everyone’s got it,” he echoes. “My mom is fine - fine enough to be really angry at Dylan, that’s my nephew - but it still sounds a bit like…” he trails off, and giggles despite himself. “Like a puke-pocalypse.”

You bite the inside of your cheek but can’t stop yourself from laughing. “Shit, I’m sorry, Ben. Just ‘puke-pocalypse’ is such a fucking funny term.”

He’s laughing now, too, and you feel your heart swelling at the sound of his voice, giggling away like a badly-behaved kid.

“Long story short, I am not going to California. They don’t want me getting sick, either. Not with that big conference in Louisiana the week after.”

“I’m sorry, truly. I know you were looking forward to this.”

He sighs. “I was. But what can you do? Anyway, the longer holidays are coming up. I’ll see them then and we’ll do a video call tomorrow. And I can really focus on getting my conference paper written. It’ll be okay.” He seems to be reassuring himself more than you.

“I’m calling because I was wondering if you’d…if you would want…” He pauses again. “If you’d like to come over and watch the parade tomorrow morning? If you’d like the company of a seasoned giver of thanks.”

You smile in the dairy aisle, even though you feel a flutter of nerves run through your body. “I would really like that. I can bring over the stuff I’ve bought for breakfast and make it at your place? I’ve got enough to feed the five thousand, honestly.”

Note to self: buy more blueberries before you leave the store.

He chuckles. “I wasn’t going to mention it, but I was only after the food you described the other day. This is all a convenient ruse.”

You hum, as if trying to deduce whether this is a ploy. “I should have known. You only want me for my pancakes!”

The words are out before you realise what you’ve said. You hope to fuck he hasn’t noticed. Deflect, change the subject?

“Actually, Ben, do you want to come to see 400 Blows tomorrow, too? Or are you otherwise occupied with blueberries and batter?”

You swear you hear him sigh happily. You push it aside as a kind of aural illusion, putting it down to your overactive imagination, caught up in trying to distract from your stupid slip of the tongue. 

He doesn’t want you. He’s just being nice. That’s all. He’s just really nice. He doesn’t want you to be on your own. He’d do that for anyone. 

“I would really like that.” 

He takes a breath and continues. “It’s a d- I mean, it’s a deal. So, uh, what time works for you to come over?”

Ben being Ben, he has insisted on picking you up, to save you having to walk over while carrying the supplies for the blueberry pancakes. You aren’t entirely sure how he manages to be as attractive (if not more so) in a grey sweatshirt, faded jeans, and a cosy navy pea coat as he is when he wears a shirt and tie, but somehow he just is.

“Let me bring these through to the kitchen, and I’ll dig out the utensils and pans. Have a look around - you can judge me on my DVD selection if you want.” He winks as he totes the bag of groceries towards the kitchen. 

His house is nice. To your eyes, it’s like something from a picture book or an old movie: two stories, painted a sort of primrose yellow with white accents and sash windows. Steps up to a porch and the front door, a small but neatly trimmed lawn in front, a garage built in the same style as the house to one side. At a guess, you’d place it as dating from the first decades of the twentieth century. 

Inside, a parquet hallway, walls lined with framed posters and prints, leads towards the staircase. Two doors open up off the hall: one to a spacious living room at the front of the house, and one to a dining room at the back, which is connected to the living room by glass-panelled doors. The kitchen, adjoining the dining room, wraps around the back of the house. A small deck accessible from the kitchen leads down to the back yard. The rooms are bright and inviting. You think there might be a basement, judging by the windows you could see under the front steps. Possibly even an attic, if the small round window in the gable at the front was anything to go by.

Fuck, this is really nice. 

It’s also very him. There are little piles of books where you’d least expect them: on one of the lower stairs, on his hall table, on the floor beside the armchair in the corner of the dining room. The framed prints in the hall are clearly all meaningful to him: prints of various paintings, posters from gigs, theatre productions, art exhibitions, some vintage postcards. This is, without doubt, a lived-in home, and it’s clear that - as with his office at work - Ben is not terribly precious about everything being absolutely pristine or neat at all times. But even a cursory glance reveals something of his taste and sensibilities, and suggests the care he must have taken in picking out furniture, or even refurbishing pieces (the man clearly likes the period from the 1920s to the 1960s, you think), and making his house a home. 

You try very hard not to fall for the house, too. Bad enough whatever you’ve got going on for the man who lives there. But - like him - it’s so charming and appealing that you’re fighting a losing battle.

You decide to take a closer look at the living room, admiring the fitted shelving in the alcoves on either side of the large, cosy fireplace. A small, wood-burning stove nestles in the hearth. Family photos line the mantel, with vintage railway posters advertising the Union Pacific Railroad’s Californian routes framed on one wall. The room is bright and high-ceilinged, TV in one corner, shelves of DVDs underneath. Through the glass doors into the dining room you spy a record player, speakers, and shelving holding an extremely impressive collection of vinyl records. 

Best of all, though, is the Lego model of a Saturn V rocket that you spy on top of the shelving in the dining room. You idly wonder if he’s got the lunar lander set as well.

More family photos pepper the bookshelves in the living room, alongside the occasional trinket or tchotchke. A black and white photograph of a man who is Ben’s double in almost every way, save for having straighter hair and different eyes. You guess this must be his dad, captured in his twenties or so, wearing a beautiful light-coloured short-sleeved shirt decorated with abstract embroidery. 

A small figurine catches your eye: a woman in a green mantle, with a pinkish red robe, covered in the unmistakable patina of age. You instantly recognise it as a miniature statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe, standing on a little wooden base. Its presence here feels surprising, somehow. Nothing had ever given you the impression that Ben was remotely religious, but then again - had you even discussed it?

The doors from the dining room into the living room open and Ben comes in as you look intently at the little figure. “You know who she is?”

You nod. “Apart from my professional expertise including religious art, you’re looking at the product of a Catholic education. I may not be much of a believer, but I learned a lot about iconography. And, full disclosure, I still love a holy statue.” You hold your hands up. “It’s the kitsch, I can’t deny it.”

He smiles and moves towards you. “I’m not much of a believer, either,” he says, smiling. “But she belonged to my abuela - I mean, my grandmother.” 

You nod, and a framed photo beside the statue catches your eye. In it, a woman - her long greying hair pinned up - is sitting on an armchair, holding a tiny infant and beaming. Standing beside her, a toddler - no more than two, you reckon - is scowling at the camera. He’s wearing a pair of denim dungarees and a stripy, long-sleeved t-shirt.

“Wait - is that - that’s you? That’s you, oh my god!” You look more closely at the picture and Ben puts a palm to his face. 

“Dammit, you’re too quick. That’s my abuela holding TJ, just a few days old - that’s when he’d come home from the hospital with my mom. And yes, that’s me. I was thrilled to become a big brother, as you can see.” He rolls his eyes and chuckles. 

You look carefully at the furious face of the little boy, his hair maybe a shade lighter than Ben’s dark brown locks now, but his eyes are unmistakably the same. Even the toddler’s pout is familiar. You’ve seen it in action, when the copier refuses to cooperate with him.

“You might have been pissed off, but you were still pretty cute,” you say softly, smiling at him with perhaps more affection than you might otherwise have deemed wise. 

“Cute, huh? You must be wondering what went wrong.”

You good-naturedly roll your eyes and shake your head. “Far from it. I’m sure that kid would be thrilled to know who he’d grow up to be.”

He smiles a tiny smile and blushes slightly, casting his eyes downwards. Silence, for a moment. 

“So you were close to your grandmother?”

He nods, smiling at the photograph. “She was really great. My dad’s mother.” He points to the photograph of the handsome young man in the formal shirt. “That’s him. Diego. He’s just a kid there.” He smiles at the picture, mirroring his father’s expression. It only serves to highlight the resemblance even further. 

“Dad worked long, hard hours, and my abuela took care of us when my mom had to get a part-time job to help make ends meet - used to read to us, bring me to the library, tell anyone who’d listen that I was the smartest kid in the world.” He chuckles. “Not the easiest thing being a little boy who loved books and making up stories when everyone else was sports-mad or running around in a cut-up tshirt pretending to be Rambo. But she never stopped encouraging me. She encouraged all of us.”

He picks up the little figurine. It looks even tinier in his broad hand. 

“She swore blind that nuestra señora here helped with my SATs. Or rather, her prayers to nuestra señora helped me get the grades I needed for college. Never mind all my hard work! So when I left for school, she gave me this. Said it would keep me safe.” He places it gently back on the shelf beside the picture. 

“Like I said, I’m not a believer. But the statue is a little bit of her, and how much she loved me, and I liked having that with me. You know what I mean?” He looks at you, big brown eyes soft and searching.

You feel your heart swell. Shit, Lyd. You’ve got to get over this. You have got to get over him.

“Yeah, I do,” you nod. “I have a couple of things like that - little tokens that mean so much. She must have been so proud of you when you did so well at college, got into grad school...”

He exhales. “Oh, man. She was obsessed with everything I did in college. I had to update her on my classes every semester so she could brag to the ladies at the hair salon about how smart I was.” He laughs briefly, then his face falls a little. “I just wish she’d seen me graduate. She, uh, passed a month or so before we got our final degree results.” 

He looks so sad all of a sudden. Spontaneously, unthinking, you reach out and gently touch his bicep in a gesture of comfort. 

He turns to face you, eyes widened a little in surprise, and lightly pats your hand. “It’s okay, really. Sorry. Just got a bit…melancholy there. Anyway, I’m thankful I had her when I did.”

“Ah, bringing it back to today’s theme. Nice segue, very impressive, no notes.” 

He grins. “She’d have liked you.” He’s rubbing his hands together and making a beeline back towards the kitchen.

“Okay - I can’t wait any longer. Pancakes and parade time, I think?”

You eat more blueberry pancakes than you thought humanly possible while you take in the spectacle of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade: three hours of inflatables, floats, and marching bands with special guests. Ben is surprisingly knowledgeable about the various character balloons and seems genuinely impressed when you recognise Thing 1 and Thing 2 from Dr Seuss, laughing as you point excitedly at the TV. 

“Sorry! It’s just totally new to me, and I’m basically an overgrown child.”

He shakes his head. “It’s great. Next year they need to get you on board as an international commentator.”

Next year. Fuck. There is no next year, at least not so far as this is concerned. Next Thanksgiving you’ll be an ocean away, not tucking into fluffy pancakes on Ben’s comfy sofa and picking out your favourite floats. 

“They’ll have to fly me back, I guess.”

The realisation reminds you how temporary all of this is. The fellowship. Your presence in this place. Your easy closeness to a man who, unbeknownst to himself, had stirred up feelings of affection, need, and desire in you, just when you thought they were gone forever.

The look on Ben’s face suggests that he’d forgotten this was temporary, too. You feel a surge of affection in your chest as you look at his face, a little crestfallen. 

Push it down. Push it away. 

While you’re clearing up, Ben’s phone buzzes with a message from his mom. 

“Shit, she wants to do a video call now. Is that okay?”

“Of course! God, don’t mind me. I can leave if it’s easier, let you have your time talking to your family.”

He turns, shaking his head. “I’m not kicking you out, you’re my guest.”

“Okay, but let me keep clearing up in here and you go and talk to her. That way you get privacy and it means the clean-up is done and dusted when you’re finished.”

He grabs his iPad and heads back into the living room, closing the doors into the dining area and kitchen. You continue with the washing up as Ben speaks with his family on the other side of the country, popping back to the dining table every so often to gather other dirty dishes and plop them in the sink.

Then, you hear Ben’s mom’s voice clearer and louder than before. It’s enough to stop you dead.

“Who’s the pretty woman in your dining room, Benjamin?”

What the fuck? How did she…

The doors have glass panels. Which you forgot about. You are an idiot.

She could see you popping in and out. You’re not hiding, as such. But you don’t want to provoke any awkward questions for Ben. 

“It’s my friend Lydia, mom. She’s the visiting professor this year, she’s on her own for the holiday too, so…we’re keeping each other company. I told you about her.”

He did? 

You try not to think too much about his use of ‘we’, or exactly how you would like to ‘keep him company’. 

“Well, does your” - Mrs Morales pauses for emphasis - “friend Lydia, the visiting professor, want to come say hi? Or have you confined her to the dining room and kitchen?”

Oh, shit. Shit. Could the ground just open up and swallow you, please? Come, friendly sinkhole, come.

Ben turns and looks at you over the back of the armchair, through the glass panelled doors. He raises his eyebrows, leaving it up to you to decide. 

What can you do, but say hi? 

You smile weakly as you come into the living room and settle on the arm of the chair, hoping you’re not at a terrible angle for the front-facing camera while repressing the screaming panic inside you. 

It’s your friend’s mom. It doesn’t mean anything because you aren’t anything. 

“Hello, Mrs Morales. It’s very nice to meet you. Happy Thanksgiving!”

You estimate that Mrs Morales is a little older than your own parents, though not by much. Her white hair is cut short and curls softly around her expressive face. He might be the image of his father, but he shares the same wavy curls, penetrating dark eyes, and kind smile as his mother. 

“Please, call me Ana. Are you enjoying your first Thanksgiving?” She arches an eyebrow and nods towards her son, expression deadly serious all of a sudden. “I hope he’s being a good host.”

You exchange a glance with Ben, who looks affronted, and laugh. “He’s a very good host. He’s made me feel so welcome since I came to Barrow in August.” You feel heat rising in your neck. “There’s just a really nice group of people here. Ben mentioned that you were unwell - I hope you are doing better now?”

Ana Morales smiles and brings a hand to her chest. “Thank you, my dear. It has been unpleasant, as you can imagine. Difficult when you live so far from your family, too.”

Ben huffs quietly. “Mom, TJ and Teresa and their families are like, five minutes away from you.”

His mom turns her attention back to you. “I’m sure you must miss your family too, Lydia. You’re here on your own, hmm? Sometimes the visiting professor travels over with their partner and children…”

Is she trying to suss you out? 

Ben looks slightly horrified at her line of questioning, but you nod and explain. “Nope, I’m on my own - no partner, no kids, unless I have really forgotten something at home!” Your joke doesn’t seem to land, and you try to deflect. “But I’m happy and I’m really enjoying myself here. It’s a wonderful experience and I’m very lucky. I guess that’s what I’m thankful for today.”

Oh, and I’m thankful for you and your husband because you created this specimen, congrats on the good genes guys.

She seems satisfied with your answer. This feels like a natural break in the conversation, and you stand up and start to make your excuses.

“I will leave you two, if that’s okay - I don’t want to keep you from catching up. It was lovely to meet you, Mrs Morales, truly.”

Ana tilts her head and smiles a genuine, warm smile. You notice how her eyes smile too, crinkling just like his do.

“And lovely to meet you, Lydia. Let’s hope we will meet in person someday.”

Smile, nod, wave, retreat. Wait - in person?

You gently close the door into the dining room and return to the kitchen, out of sight of the iPad’s camera, before exhaling, long and slow. 

The conversation continues in the living room, and you notice that Ben’s mother has switched into Spanish. In turn, you note that the timbre of his voice has dropped slightly as he switches into the other language.

It’s probably a good thing that your command of Spanish barely stretches to the basics - no fear of understanding what they’re saying. The most you actually overhear in spite of yourself is an exasperated “Mom!” from Ben, and his mother’s repeated use of a word that sounds like nobya or novya. Or was it nobeea? 

You focus on putting away the clean dishes and cooking utensils, avoiding the temptation to ruminate on what his mother must have thought of you.

A round of goodbyes and you hear the door to the dining room opening again, turning to see Ben standing by the table. He looks a little awkward, running his hand through his hair to the back of his neck. You can guess what’s on his mind. 

“It was lovely to be able to say hello to your mom. Really.”

“I’m sorry you got the third degree, though.” He extends his hands in front of him, as if showing two polar opposites. “This is mom and this -” he stretches his long arms further apart “- is normal personal boundaries, I’m afraid.”

You grin, relaxing a little more. “Man, if the roles were reversed, my family would have extracted full details of your blood type, social security number, and the name you chose at your Confirmation. And all in less time than I was talking to your mom.”

You can see the laughter rising from his chest through his neck to his face, and it is a comfort when you eventually hear it. 

“Are you part of a family of superspies, Lydia?” 

You pretend to think. “Hmmm. I don’t think so. But my mom would have been amazing at it. I mean, maybe she’s just in deep cover.” 

“I don’t think my mom could do deep cover,” he muses, looking up at the kitchen clock to check the time. “She’d end up telling someone before the first hour was out. Probably call her friend Julia, tell her not to tell a soul, and the entire neighbourhood would know immediately. Hey - we should probably get going if we want to make the screening.”

You nod and grab your coat and purse, tugging a soft pink knitted hat over your head as you lead the way to the front door. You wait on the stone steps outside as he locks up. 

“She really liked you, by the way,” he says quietly as he checks he’s properly locked the front door. You look at him, somewhat quizzical.

“My mom. Said you were clearly very sweet and told me I had to keep looking after you, or..”

“Or?” you offer the prompt.

“Or she’d fly over here and I would - and I quote - ‘know all about it.’” He grins. “Please use your new power for good, Lyd.”

The short winter days mean it’s dark by the time the film’s over and you leave the movie theatre, chattering enthusiastically about French cinema, the New Wave, Francois Truffaut, and the charisma of a young Jean-Pierre Léaud. You talk all the way to the Brunswick Café, a diner on Main Street that looked untouched since the 1960s - in a good way. Ben had insisted on going - best pumpkin pie in the world, apparently, and they had a tradition of opening for the afternoon and evening on Thanksgiving to cater to left-behind students and college staff. You were only too glad to continue the conversation over big plates of delicious grilled cheese sandwiches and golden, crispy french fries. 

You’re waving your hands around as you describe a day you spent in Paris as a doctoral student, tracing various locations from the film and ending with a visit to Truffaut’s grave in the Montmartre cemetery. You have completely forgotten about the french fry you’re holding between your left thumb and index finger, now serving as a kind of pointer as you detail the excitement of tracking down the locations and planning your itinerary. 

He’s listening intently with a smile on his face. 

And that’s when the bullying voice inside you decides to pipe up, speaking the kind of words you’d had thrown at you by your ex.

You’ve been talking for ages. You must be boring him by now. All you ever do is talk. All I ever do is listen to you. You’re just too much, Lydia. It’s…a lot.

You rein yourself in quickly. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been rambling away here and taking up all the space. Sorry, I just get carried away sometimes, I forget -”

Ben furrows his brow behind his glasses and looks at you, smile wiped and replaced by a serious expression. “Why did you stop talking? What do you mean, taking up all the space?”

You wave his words away, as if it was all self-explanatory. “You know what I mean, me going on and on and on. I know I’m a lot. I don’t mean to be. Just that when I get onto something I really care about I can’t stop sometimes and I’m too much. I’m sorry.”

His expression has shifted to one of confusion, brow still furrowed. He rests his palms on the table.

“Lydia, why are you apologising for being so passionate about stuff? I like hearing you talk. You know so much cool shit! You’ve done so much cool shit! Why wouldn’t I want to hear that? You hear enough from me when I get to talking about one of my ‘things’.” He’s shaking his head, an expression of his disbelief.

He pushes himself back from the table, leaning on the dark red banquette behind. 

“Lyd, I don’t want to pry but - have people told you you’re a lot or too much, or whatever, and that you need to talk less? Is that where this comes from?”

You avert his gaze. “It…it was said to me. And because the person who used to remind me isn’t, um, in my life now, I forget sometimes and get over excited and talky.”

He looks down. “Your ex?”

You nod, still unable to meet his eye. 

Very gently, he reaches over and pats the back of your hand. A tiny electrical charge shoots through you. His words are shot through with a quiet fury. “A fucking idiot, then. And don’t ever listen to a fucking idiot like that. You’re not ‘a lot’, or whatever they told you. You’re not ‘too much’. You’re - you’re exactly right just as you are.”

He moves his hand away. Now it’s his turn to avert your gaze, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. You look up and try to meet his eyes.

“Hey, Ben - hey, look at me. Thank you. That’s really nice, you know? I’m still working on believing that for myself, but it helps when you have such good -” you pause, unsure what to say in this moment of quiet intimacy, “-such good, um, friends to help you remember.”

He lifts his eyebrows and for the briefest instant you think you see a flash of sadness in his dark eyes. 

“Never say you’re ‘too much’ again.” His face is soft, and his voice reassures you in the same way as the touch of his hand. 

The urge to lean over, hold his gorgeous face in your hands, and kiss Ben Morales there and then surges in you like mercury climbing on a hot summer’s day. 

You take a deep breath and steady yourself, forcing the thought out of your mind before you do something stupid and make a show of yourself. And in public.

You’re interrupted by the server appearing at your table, her tray laden with enormous slices of pumpkin pie and a fresh pot of coffee. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Professor Ben! Long time, no see.” She beams at him. She must be in her mid-sixties, you reckon, short dark hair shot through with greys and the air of someone who has seen it all around here. 

Ben returns her smile. “Hey, Emma! I’m sorry I haven’t really been in a lot this semester. We’ve got some new courses on, and -”

Emma raises her hand to stop him. “I know, sweetheart, I know. And I guess you’ve been busy in other ways, too, huh?” She turns and looks at you, eyebrows waggling and a huge smile on her face. “It’s so good to see good people in love.”

I’m sorry - the what in holy fuck now?

Ben looks as flustered as you feel. His eyes dart over and back as he looks from you to Emma and back again. 

You try to help clarify things, words tumbling out in a rush. “Uh well no we’re not - I mean, I’m not - uh - I’m a visiting professor, Lydia. I’m Lydia. I’m a visiting professor. We -”

Ben finds his words. “We’re n-not a couple, Emma.” He shrugs gently. “I’m sorry, I know what you always say.”

Emma pulls herself up to her full height, coffee pot in hand. She looks at him sceptically, cocking her hip and raising an eyebrow. “Well, I’m sorry too. Just thought I saw what I saw from over at the counter. Didn’t say you were a couple, but…I got it wrong.” She offers a smile that seems more like a grimace. “Enjoy the pie, kids.”

You get the distinct feeling that Emma a) doesn’t believe you and b) feels personally attacked by the fact that you aren’t together.

Fucking tell me about it, lady. 

Ben sips on his coffee and picks up a fork to start on the pie. He pauses just before digging in.

“Hey, Lyd?” You meet his eyes. “Sorry about that. I didn’t intend to give any impression to her that we were…y’know. I’m sorry if it upset you.”

You wish you were brave enough to tell him that the only reason you might be upset over this is because you aren’t actually involved. But everything today feels like more proof that he just sees you as a good friend - including his response to Emma. 

You smile and shake your head furiously. “I’m not upset, I was just worried that you’d be upset!”

He looks up, a piece of pumpkin pie speared on his fork. “I’m not upset, Lyd.”

“Good. So no harm done. She was just eager to get you all coupled up.” You start into your own slice of pie, marvelling at the texture of the filling and the spices tingling on your tongue.

He laughs lightly. “True that. I’ve come here for years and she keeps saying it’s a crime I’m not with anyone.” 

She’s not wrong there. But only because you should be with me.

You sip your coffee. “In that case, you’ve been joined by a fellow hardened singleton criminal. Cheers.” You reach over with your mug and clink it off his. “Here’s to pumpkin pie, the French New Wave, and good people.”

He mulls it over as you walk from Main Street back towards the residential areas around campus. The same questions he’s been pondering since the night of your birthday.

What if he just said something to you? Told you how he felt?

What would you do? Would you be happy about it? Would you feel the same?

Would it ruin everything? Ruin the friendship he loved so much?

He tries to keep up the conversation but is happy to let you chat away, too distracted by the questions in his mind. He’s replaying the things you said today, looking for crumbs as to how you saw him, or saw your relationship, or hints that you might want more. 

You’d mentioned ‘friends’ a couple of times, hadn’t you? ‘Good people’. 

Maybe that’s how you see him. Just a friend. Someone you really like but - not like that.

Better not to do something stupid and get hurt. Better to insulate yourself from the possible blows.

That, after all, is why Ben Morales’ dating history seems so empty to those who work alongside him. He’s no monk - far from it, as the occasional hook-ups and one night stands (at conferences, or trips out of town, of course, because everyone knows everyone around here) prove. But better to do that than go all in, and risk his heart and his self-esteem being crushed. 

Again.

At least, that’s what he’d felt until you came along. He was happy, content with his life. He wasn’t lonely or looking for anyone.

Now, he’s not so sure if his self-preservationist approach is really the right course of action any more. Because of you, and because of what he feels for you.

He looks at you, profile peeking out from underneath your soft knitted hat and hands gesturing as you talk. 

You just need to tell her. Say it. Say the words. 

He steels himself. She’d have come on to him before now if she felt anything. Right?

He reminds himself of all the times you mentioned being ‘friends’. He pushes the feelings that swell his heart down, down deep, so that he can keep putting one foot in front of the other.

You part halfway between your place and his. It’s not very late, and you refuse to have him go out of his way just to walk you to your building.

“I know it’s the theme of the day, but - thank you. Best Thanksgiving ever.” 

He raises an eyebrow when you’ve separated, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. “Isn’t this your only Thanksgiving ever, Lydia?”

“And nothing else will ever compete. Pie, movies, parades, your mom saying I was sweet and pretty - what more could anyone want?”

He groans at the memory of his mother’s questions to you - and to him, though he hopes you didn’t hear and understand those. “I’m sorry. But it did capture some of the familial tensions of a traditional Thanksgiving.”

You wave away his apology. “Seriously, I’m so grateful. I hope you know.”

You move a step closer and reach out to hug him to say thanks. You can’t help but close your eyes for a moment, trying to memorise the feeling of safety and warmth that comes with embracing Ben, however briefly.

He smiles. “I know.” He turns his head to one side, as if he’s mulling something over in his mind.

“Okay, well…good night.” You lean in to give him a kiss on the cheek that’s facing you, remembering his gesture the night of your birthday.

Maybe it’s your timing. Maybe it’s the angle. Maybe you startled him. 

In the split second it takes you to move towards him, Ben turns his head. Instead of the softness and bristle of his cheek, your lips meet his.

The kiss, if you can call it that, can’t have lasted more than a couple of seconds before you break apart, startled and apologetic. 

“Oh fuck Ben I’m - I’m so sorry, I was going for your cheek and then you turned and -”

He’s blushing, eyes darting around and fingers flexing as they tend to do when he’s nervous or panicking. 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Lyd, I didn’t - didn’t mean…shit, I’m sorry. I turned and you were there and your mouth was - sorry.”

You pat him gingerly on the arm, trying to offer reassurance but terrified that if you feel too much of him, so solid and warm, you won’t be able to stop yourself going further.

“Ben, it’s fine. It’s fine.” Your tone is meant as ‘casual and nonchalant’ but is, in truth, very chalant indeed. “At least we got a kiss out of it instead of bonking our heads together and ending up with lovely Thanksgiving nosebleeds, hmm?”

He looks at you from under his lashes and does that half-smile that devastates you. “That’s something to be thankful for.” A pause. “I’d try to kiss you on the cheek again but, y’know, nosebleed risk. Need to keep at a safe distance.” 

You smile softly and start to turn for home. “Good night, Ben. Happy Thanksgiving. And good luck with the conference paper!” He grimaces, remembering that he has to write his paper, then breaks into a grin, salutes, and walks away.

Lying in bed, trying to sleep, your brain returns over and over to the moment your lips met his. Accidental and over in a flash though the kiss might have been, there was no mistaking how his mouth felt - masculine and soft, warm and inviting, still tasting of pumpkin pie and coffee. 

It was an accident. It had to be. But you knew, deep down, that when your lips made contact you’d both lingered just a second too long. You’d pressed your lips to his, and he’d returned the gesture, almost imperceptibly. You definitely weren’t imagining this. Or were you?

Should you have kept kissing him? What would he have done?

The more you thought about it, the more you reviewed every movement and gesture and moment of contact, the more your body began to ache for him. The gnawing pain between your legs demands to be relieved. You slip down your cotton pajama pants, and pass one finger over your slit experimentally. You gasp as you realise how wet and how swollen you already are, just from the memory of his mouth. His touch. His scent. The warmth of his body.

You begin to move your middle finger up and down, up and down, increasing the pressure on your clit, and he appears unbidden and unceasingly in your mind as you close your eyes, almost as real as if he was there in bed with you.

It’s him slipping a hand between your legs, splaying his fingers to create a bit more space as he strokes you. It’s his long, strong finger that’s dragging through the slippery wetness dripping from you. The pad of his thumb that begins to rub at your swollen nub in tight circles while he starts finding your entrance with the tips of his fingers.

You let yourself imagine what he would say to you, conjuring up the aural memory of his voice. 

“You’re this wet for me already, baby? Is that what I do to you?”

You can’t even form the word, so you whimper and nod.

“I think you like this, don’t you? What about having my fingers inside you?”

Your hips buck upwards slightly as you pick up the pace and try to slip a finger inside yourself. It could never be a match for those hands: so strong and broad but so gentle and kind.

You can feel the coil tightening within you as you get closer and closer to coming.

“Or would you prefer my cock inside you, my love?” 

Such is the wetness between your legs that the sound of your fingers working yourself to climax is loud and obscene. You’re so close now, getting nearer and nearer the edge as you imagine what it would be like to feel him bury himself in you, covering you with his broad body as he fucks you senseless.

The man in your head offers one final instruction to get you there and send you crashing over the edge: “Come for me, Lyddie.”

Across town, around the same time, the memory of your voice is issuing the same instruction to him as he seeks his own relief, unable to shake the lingering trace of your lips on his and frustrated at himself for not being brave enough to show you how he ought to kiss you. How you deserved to be kissed.

“Come for me, Ben.”

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more; other dividers by @cafekitsune)

Further A/N: They're getting there. Slowly. But they're getting there. All that frustration has to work itself out before the end of the semester, right? And the next chapter sees them about to head into the longer break for the holidays... ahem.

If you haven't seen Truffaut's The 400 Blows (Les 400 coups), then please track it down if you love movies. It's wonderful. If only I could go and watch it in a small college town movie theatre with Ben Morales, sigh...

[thatoneluckybee]

OKAY PROPAGANDA TIME! @yttd-enjoyerNo pressure for any of these lol, I added a lot because rambling and procrastination. I’m copy-pasting some descriptions from another post of mine. I was trying to look for some with good lore and magic systems, or that had great characters.

Cursed Princess Club: This one is adorable and hilarious. It’s a fantasy and comedy. The Pastel Kingdom has four children. The eldest, Maria, is 18, and so beautiful that forest animals follow her when she sings. The second oldest, Lorena, is 17, and so beautiful that flowers grow where she sleeps. The third child is prince Jamie, who is so beautiful that he is constantly GLOWING (literally.) And his twin sister, Gwendolyn, is the sweetest and perhaps most loved of all! The three sisters are happily engaged to the Plaid Princes. When Gwen meets her soon to be betrothed, though…. he finds her to be really, really, ugly. Gwen has to learn to love herself as she is with the help of a club for cursed princesses (and one prince who wants to change the club name desperately.) It’s hilarious. Someone swallows her fiance whole. Jamie can taste feelings through food and keeps accidentally violating HIPPA. Lorena beats the crap out of a bunch of clowns. Gwen keeps getting mistaken for an evil witch. There’s a really spoiled drunk llama named Laverne. Maria buys merch of her boyfriend’s fanclub. There’s an omniscient clam. It’s a glorious disaster. (Also that was what the screenshots I was losing my mind and spamming last night. I relate to the plaid guy on an eerie level. This one has INCREDIBLE character arcs and parallels and foreshadowing and details and AUGH)

Space Boy: This one is one of my all-time favorites, and I believe it deserves an award for it’s realistic character arcs and characters. I’d be convinced if you told me they were real people. Sci-Fi Romance. (A lot of romance. Not a particular favorite genre of mien it’s just like 70% of all Webtoons.) In the far future, humanity is exploring the furthest reaches of space using the freezing sleep thing (real thing, forgot name.) Amy lives happily on a mining colony in deep space, until her father loses his job, and she and her family are sent away from the colony, and everyone she knows, back to Earth, where she wakes up 30 years later (frozen sleep thing.) Amy is adjusting to life on Earth, the new technology, and trying to come to terms with the fact her best friend is now in her 40s and she’s missed it all in sleep. Amy’s identifying trait is synesthesia: to her, people have flavors to match their personalities! Well, everyone except a strange boy she meets a school, who refuses to speak to her, and doesn’t have a flavor, Oliver. Amy decides that she WILL find this kid’s flavor if it kills her, and manages to get herself roped in the most chaotic mystery involving ancient cults, alien artifacts, unsolved murders, a government conspiracy, and whether or not Oliver is actually who he says he is. It’s so sad but I love it so much and I want to send everyone to therapy. I don’t even like sci-fi usually so this was amazing for me.

Nomads: ONE OF MY ALL TIME FAVORITES. The concept is your stereotypical “there were five kingdoms after a war 100 years ago:” the Sun, Sea, Sand, Sky, and Snow kingdoms. To maintain the peace, traveling between the kingdoms is banned for average citizens. You may, however, choose to become a Nomad, and travel for a price: you can never have a permanent home. Lance of the Sea Kingdom REALLY doesn’t want to be a Nomad. However, his little brother Mikah goes missing, and Lance has to find him in one year (once Mikah turns 18 it’ll be impossible to find him.) It’s going well and dandy until some unfortunate circumstances result in him, his new traveling buddy Satra, and a magic talking cat-thing being mistakenly accused of kidnapping a prince. And now they’re wanted bounties. (This comic is HILARIOUS so many shenanigans and I love Satra so much.)

Castle Swimmer: Can’t reveal TOO much of this ‘cause spoilers but it’s a really really good story. It’s a fantasy romance too. In this society of “Mers” (merfolk), every kingdom has long awaited the day a mysterious, mythicaeing known as the Beacon arrives. He will grant each kingdom’s prophecy, be that granting them fortune or saving their lives. When the Beacon arrives, though, turns out he’s literally just some kid named Kappa who has no idea what he’s doing. Siren is the prince of the shark kingdom. They have a curse that will cause them to suffer and become covered in scars and eventually die. The only way they can break the curse is whenever the Beacon arrives—and Siren, as predicted, will kill him. The only problem is that Siren REALLY doesn’t want to be a murderer, and Kappa REALLY doesn’t want to die, and they both are pining HARD. 

Suitor Armor: This is a romantic fantasy but I like it because it doesn’t feel boiled down to JUST a “will they won’t they.” Fairies and humans have been at war for as long as anyone can remember, with heavy losses on both sides. A Lord rescues a child, a little girl named Lucia, to be his daughter, Kirsi’s, lady-in-waiting until Kirsi marries a nearby king. The only issue? Lucia is a fairy, and she and the Lord must hide that if she wants to live. After they’ve grown up, Kirsi and Lucia go to the nearby kingdom to prepare for the wedding, where Lucia meets their mage’s newest creation: an enchanted, sentient suit of armor named Modeus. And now we’re all aggressivley shipping a tin can with one of the coolest women ever. (And I LOVE the magic system in this… we don’t know everything yet, it’s being revealed as time progresses, but it’s amazing in my humble little opinion.)

Homesick: Recommending this one since you’ve read School Bus Graveyard! It’s almost a “sister series” in that the fanbases overlap lots and the creators have done collabs too! Disclaimer that it’s mature for a reason. It covers a lot of dark topics and is a HORROR FOR A REASON. School Bus Graveyard is incredibly dark, but it sort of eases you in to the terror while Homesick tosses you in like a flailing child. If you do choose to read it I can provide trigger warnings, though it may spoil some plotlines a bit. Rayne (my pfp!) wakes up on a rooftop with no memories at all and meets a boy named Samael, who quickly informs her that it’s the apocalypse. Cannibalistic creatures called murks roam the land, feeding on anything that makes eye contact. Rayne and Samael form a deal to survive, but things get really, REALLY messy when they encounter someone from Samael’s past and get wrapped up in something that might just be worse than the apocalypse. On top of it all, Rayne has noticed some strange things about herself, including terrible headaches that warn her of murks… (It’s so good I love it but good lord it gets dark. I really want to say more about it but the story doesn’t jump right into the main action or plot right away so I CAN’T WITHOUT SPOILING IT SOB.)

Okay limiting myself to six for now sheesh I typed a lot.

[absolutely-normal-about-x]

OKAY MY TURN NOW: drop the headcanon deets. What's living rent-free in your head right this moment 👀

HOLY SHIT GOT SHOT BACK- LANDKSBDKAHDKAND

But alright!! There’s so many (Aside from Legends Reborn)

I mostly keep this shit in my head and I can make a huge list of it but dawg most of mine involves my silly interpretations- plus I seen people

It’s kinda a mess to think about but I’ll go to my personal favorites

X being chunky always gives me some feels for me, like he would fucking rock it. He’s actually more tanky then Zero while he’s sorta at times a glass canon (Mf Died like multiple times and X died Once). It derives from the idea of why he chose a thicker body, because the area of his stomach was pierced by Sigma like twice. So basically it gives him extra defense. Despite the it he’s just a Flexible as ever but a bit more slower.

Meaning that his “Stomach” area is incredibly sensitive and he will smack you on instinct if you touch it. He suffers phantom pains occasionally. It's a massive bitch but he got used to it.

(Aka I believe Burly/chunky X supremacy)

X has a soft spot for children okay, since he’s very approachable to children, he would even let them draw on his armor. Babies are a definite weakness of his their tiny hands will make him cry so hard

So it would make sense that he would be a parent but he would rather settle down to start a Family in peace times and after he himself healed and rested.

Zero is kinda a low key creature, in the sense that he actually has retractable claws and can run on fours but only for extremely rare occasions. That's because he’s not only the ultimate war but also the ultimate predator. Aka he’s fucking lion coded

One of the reasons why X and Zero are always different compared to other Androids and shit is because they were made from Alien tech/Energy stuff. You can’t fucking tell that Dr Light didn’t used the material that Duo left to include that while making X right? And Zero…We all know Wily was on some crack (I’m always a believer that He used evil energy to create Roboenza and what could eventually become the Maverick Virus). And no one knew about the whole fiasco with Duo aside from Megaman and the others. So it makes sense that Light and wily (Possible Cossack knew something about it) Used it for their final creations.

Marty (From the MMX manga that I’m absolutely so normal about) has so much knowledge of Marine life and the ocean, Rescue worker regulations and information is insane. How the flying shit did a marine rescue worker end up as an infamous Pirate Queen is a mystery to anyone.

She's also tall and muscular and is absolutely more “Beast-like” (Having scales, fangs and retractable webbed claws) to give off a more intimidating impression to keep folks away from her and her crew.

Speaking of her Crew they are all composed of other marine Rescue types, a couple Human Cyborgs (and a few non cyborgs) and a few Repliforce defectors. (A small fun fact in my silly XxMarty Valentine manatee oneshot, Marty brought up Gale Albatross who’s actually a former Repliforce soldier that defected as soon as they declared independence not wanting to be apart of it but is untrusting towards the hunters).

She may not look like but she genuinely cares for everyone in her crew and would do anything to protect them. She also courted her hair after her fight with Byte back at X3 manga. She has matured over the years but still holds her mischievous/prideful personality.

Contrary to what it's led to believe her crew aren’t like…bad or act like actual pirates. It’s more like they are more of an independent group. Since that they deal with poaching, taking out criminals out of sea, providing relief for coastal communities that were strongly affected by war, etc…They just Red Alert if they weren’t Bounty hunters.

Axl is absolutely a Streamer and a bit of a meme master. He’s a deadly actor and trickster so watch out he fucking glad that he’s a goober!!

Since I’m on a Legends kick

Legends is underrated as shit I mean the potential is great! It’s so fucking expansive Idk where to start-

WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH CARBONS??

LIKE NO ONE IS MAKING HEADCANONS OF THEM AND ITS A CRIME!

I’ll probably do some of mine at somepoint how they are Biomechanical creatures and how they diversified and evolved (The master basically granted them access to things that were lost that belonged to their Reploid ancestors.)

Or how the Ruins can be function as Mystery Dungeons and the different between an Official Digger and a independent Digger and so much wkrbekeheiba)

There’s are what I have but dawg so many in my little critter brain of mine