#aria barking

[jaystarry]

ok dont mind me i just need to get a thought out

to me this is such an indictment of the state of fucking tumblr (and social media as a whole) i see these ads pretty frequently when scrolling on mobile, and usually i just zoom past them bc i dont give a shit. only now have i realized they arent even fucking advertising anything. there is no service or product being sold here, theyve very simply said "we are going to endlessly annoy you with meaningless junk until you pay for ad-free"

like. i dont even rlly know if i have anything to say on this, other than being so fucking tired of literally every platform being rent-seeking now. i am not going to pay you to stop shovelling shit onto my doorstep. provide me any fucking benefit or stop inserting yourself into my life

[littleplantfreak]

mmmmmm free use with umemiya bc he just loves his girl so much and wants to indulge your desires and make you happy, even if those desires mean you slipping your hand down his sweatpants and groping and massaging his cock while he’s in the middle of enthusiastically telling you a story he’s already told you twice. he didn’t realize that you getting to do whatever you want with him LITERALLY meant you getting to do whatever you wanted with him, such as jerking him off despite receiving zero sexual gratification yourself.

this was supposed to be for you, but with the way you’re looking at him, he’s sure that you might be enjoying watching him crumble more than he is. but, you don’t allow him the luxury of indulging and are quick to snap him back to attention when he starts to melt into your touch and stop talking. no, you want to hear him continue. you want him to keep talking, keep telling you his story while you touch him. so, he does his best. but aw, why’s he stumbling over his words? :( why does he keep getting quiet and restarting his sentences? :( this is the third time you’ve heard this story, so surely he remembers better than this.

THIS IS LITERALLY THE FACE I MAKE EVERY TIME IVE REREAD THIS IN THE PAST TWO DAYS ITS BEEN GLARING DAGGERS INTO MY [REDACTED] FOR DAYS

[zep-zep-blog]

This is 100% based off the song and episodes 🫡. I also might rewrite this to fit Lucifer too.

Vox x gn!reader

Genre: Angst, fluffy ending, hurt/comfort, song fic

Cw: Imposter, talk of being replaced, mind control(?), swearing, fighting

☾Seeing doubles☽

Reader and Vox are getting married, but something seems off about reader and Vox seems more laggy than usual. Is it nerves or something else?

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Velvette knew something was off. She always had a hunch about something. She knew when Valentino hid his anger or at least tried..and failed, she knew when you and Vox tried to hide your relationship at first, hell she even knew Vox wanted to marry you before he knew himself. Yet she couldn't pinpoint what was off about you and Vox. You guys acted like normal, but Vox seemed more dazed than usual and you seemed to snap at random. That definitely wasn't right, but she chalked it up to nerves or stress about the upcoming wedding and all the planning that had consumed your daily schedule.

It started off small, making comments you usually wouldn't make, having a strange aura, and overall just acting off. Then, she noticed your taste was different, liking a different flavor of cake and other desserts. Then your style was weird, you had always wanted a certain type of outfit for the wedding and yet there you stood in the bridal store wearing something you would never even look at.

Vox was no different, he always had an 'all bark, no bite' vibe, but he seemed more dazed, and laggy, and he blue-screened more than usual. Again, it could all be chalked up to wedding nerves and cold feet or whatever. But when Velvette had a hunch, it was usually right.

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She placed hidden cameras around, ones that Vox couldn't connect to. She hired imps and sinners she made deals with to follow you and Vox around. She constantly tried to keep an eye on you and it finally paid off. She had caught you talking about not loving Vox and sucking the love out of him, this confused and worried her. This person wasn't you, you loved Vox dearly and definitely showed it.

When she found this out she tried to share it with Valentino, but he was both stubborn and blind to hear her out. She tried to get through to Vox, but he lagged and shooed her away. She was frustrated and royally pissed off, someone definitely replaced you and she will get to the bottom of it.

She decided to confront your imposter at dinner before the wedding in hopes of them coming forward. Unfortunately, it ended with everyone shunning her and shutting her down. She left the restaurant pissed, no one was listening to her clearly concerning revelation. She turned the corner and was face to face with you? The imposter?

"Oh, what do you want? I know you aren't the real [Name]." She says with a sour tone.

"Oh, I just wanted to apologize." Your voice rang out, but it had a creepy undertone.

"What the fuck-" Velvette gets cut off as a ring of green fire surrounds her and her vision goes black.

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For what felt like months you were trapped, stuck in this mirror-like prison. With no light except the natural red one that reflected off the crystal-like cave walls. You felt helpless, and scared, with no idea what that monster did to Vox. She was hungry for power and love, she fed off it.

You were so excited, to walk down the aisle with your fiance. To share vows, kisses, and cake, but now? It seemed all too futile. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying tears of frustration and sadness. Your hair was messy from being kept from a hairbrush for heaven knows how long. You had a few scrapes and bruises from wandering aimlessly in the dark, unable to see where a rock or wall was.

That was how it was until you heard the familiar voice of Velvette echo through the caves. Soon she found you, her phone flashlight bouncing off the crystal walls as her eyes met yours.

"[Name]? Is that really you? You're not that prick that replaced you, right?" She asked, looking you over with concern and weariness.

You nod several times, tears welling in your eyes as you hug her. This is the first contact you had with anyone for a long time. It wasn't the warmth of Vox, but it was still comforting nonetheless.

"We have to get out of this shit hole and stop her," Velvette says, pointing her phone flashlight toward the end of the crystal tunnel.

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"This day is going to be perfect. The kind of day of which I dreamed since I was small." Your imposter said, spinning a red rose in between her fingers before putting it into the bouquet.

"Everybody will gather 'round, say I look lovely in my gown." She said, twirling in the mirror, the white lace and silk of the outfit spinning around her figure. "But, what they don't know is that I have fooled them all." She smirks, placing the matching accessory in her hair. She had successfully replaced you and would soon get what she wanted.

'This day was going to be perfect..the kind of day of which I dreamed since I was small..but, instead of having cake with all my friends to celebrate. My wedding bells, may not ring for me at all..'

You and Velvette raced desperately to find a way out, hoping to make it before your double married Vox. You feared what would happen if those vows were made before you could escape.

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"I could care less about the dress." She said, taking a seat at the vanity. "I won't partake in any cake." She took one of the makeup brushes and applied blush to her cheeks. Your replacement stood up and again did a once over in the mirror before turning to a picture of you and Vox. It was your anniversary, both of you smiling and facing the camera. "Vows? Well, I'll be lying when I say, 'That through any kind of weather I'll want us to be together.'" There was a mocking tone in her voice as she scowled at the photo.

"The truth is I don't care for him at all." She took the picture frame and shoved it into one of the dresser drawers, slamming it shut in disdain. "No, I do not love the groom. In my heart, there is no room."

'But I still want him to be all mine.'

"We must escape before it's too late, find a way to save the day." You say to Velvette, searching around for an exit to the reflective prison. She places her hand on your shoulder, breaking you out of your desperate daze. "We'll make it. Don't worry.

'Hope I'll be lying when I say 'I don't fear that I may lose him to those who want to use him. Not care for love and cherish him each day. For I-oh so love the groom. All my thoughts he does consume.'

You and Velvette finally find an exit, rushing to see the surface of hell. You hope that time will be on your side and those wedding bells won't ring soon.

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'Oh Vox, I'll be there very soon.' You pray to the same god that condemned you down here as you and Velvette weed through the streets of the entertainment district. Hoping the crowd would move faster so you could make it to the venue before your imposter made it down the aisle. You and Velvette make it to the entrance, weaving in and out of the crowd as the wedding bells ring out. You look at Velvette with wide eyes, doubt clouds hers as she realizes there's a chance you won't make it.

'Finally, the moment has arrived for me to be one lucky bride.' She smirked as she walked down the aisle, your aisle towards your future husband. Her veil trails behind her as she steps in tune with the wedding march being played.

'Oh, the wedding we won't make, he'll end up marrying a fake. Vox will be-'

'Mine. All mine.'

She gets to the alter, facing a dazed and glitchy Vox. He was clearly under some sort of magic or curse as she stood there. Right as the officiant clears his throat to start his speech you burst through the doors. The guests gasped and turned their heads, there you stood looking madder than ever. The guests looked back and forth between you and the imposter, not knowing who was real and who wasn't. The sinner in your place stared daggers at you, throwing the bouquet to the floor.

"You bitch!" You screamed, pointing fingers at your double. The room went silent, most of the crowd was shocked. "H-how are there two of you?" One of the guests shouts, causing the rest to start whispering amongst themselves.

"She's a shapeshifter! She takes any form and gains power from the love you have for someone!" This caused the fake you to cackle. She stepped forward, smashing the bouquet. "Right, you are. I've been feeding off his love for you, every second I grow stronger." She stepped towards you, green flames engulfing her as she transformed back into her original form. "He may not be my husband, but he is under my total control-" You cut her off by punching her in the face and knocking her to the floor. At this point, the only people left were you, her, and the Vees, the guests had left in a hurry as soon as she transformed.

"Fuck with me or Vox again and I'll remind you why I'm down here." You glare, your words sharp. Her eyes were wide, you had landed a hit on her when she had been practically untouchable for years. She scowled, "This won't be the last time you see me. Mark my words." With that, she disappeared into a pillar of emerald flames.

As soon as she's gone you rush to Vox's side, putting your hands on his shoulders and shaking him softly. "Vox? Vox, please snap out of it." You beg, tears starting to well up in your eyes. Your voice broke as he didn't seem to register your words. You broke down, hugging him tightly. Velvette and Valentino stood there silently as you sobbed into his shoulder, your relationship, him boiled down to nothing from the shapeshifter's doing.

In a last-ditch attempt, you kiss him, hoping it would spark something between the wires for him to snap out of it. Your hands grip his shoulders as you pull away, looking at the black screen. It flashed and he slumped into your arms with a groan.

"Vox? Vox?" You gently shake him, trying to him to look at you.

He turns his head up and looks at you in confusion, "[Name]?"

You hug him tighter, tears falling down your cheeks. Vox is super confused as to why you're crying and the fact he was in an empty wedding venue with you.

"What the- what are we doing here? Why the hell are you so dirty?" Vox pulled away and wiped your tears with his thumb. "We can talk about it later, let's just get home." You say softly, leaning your head into his touch.

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Over the next few weeks, you and Vox planned a real wedding, with the real you. You and Vox picked the right flavors and bridal outfits, happy that it was actually you two. Velvette had never seen Vox this happy and she's his business partner and one of the closest people to him this side of hell.

You finally felt at ease when you walked down the aisle with Vox, saying your vows and slipping the matching rings on. Not even a spear made from shiny angelic steel could break this.

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IT'S FINALLY FINISHED ᕙ(⍢)ᕗ Hope yall enjoy <3

Requests open!!

Tag list: @mrssabinecallas

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Thirty

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Angst.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~2.7k

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You follow Shanks through the winding streets, your heart pounding in your chest. While he holds your hand tightly, your other is pressed against your throbbing abdomen which clearly doesn't appreciate your efforts to flee. The harbor looms ahead, the Red Force standing tall against the dark water. The ship's silhouette is a beacon of hope, a promise of safety and escape. Shanks pulls you closer as you both near the docks, his grip firm and reassuring.

The crew is already in motion, preparing for departure. Benn spots you first, your white nightgown a beacon in the night, his eyes widening with relief. “Captain!” he calls out, signaling the others.

Shanks leads you up the gangplank, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of pursuit. The familiar creak of the wooden deck beneath your feet brings a rush of comfort. You are home—no, the red force isn't your home, its just a place you temporarily live.

"Aria," Benn says, his voice thick with concern as he approaches. "You alright?"

You manage a weak smile, nodding despite the lingering pain. “I’ll be fine,” you reply, leaning heavily on Shanks for support.

“Get us ready to sail!” Shanks barks, his voice carrying over the deck. The crew are springing into action before he even finishes his sentence.

You catch sight of Yumi, safely bundled in a blanket and being comforted by Hongo. Relief washes over you at the sight of her unharmed. A huge sigh of relief escape your lips and you feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

As the Red Force pulls away from the harbor, Shanks guides you to a quiet corner near the stern, where you can rest but in view of the pirates still high on the adrenalin of the night. He kneels beside you, his eyes filled with a mixture of worry and anger. “What did they do to you?” he asks softly, his fingers gently brushing your injured lip.

You sit on the deck, the cool night air brushing against your bruised skin. Shanks’ touch is gentle, his eyes searching yours for answers.

“Collins didn’t appreciate me comparing him to you,” you murmur, forcing a weak smile. “Guess he didn’t like being told he’s not even a quarter of the man you are? His reaction was quite violent.”

Shanks chuckles, a low, comforting sound. But his eyes betray his concern. He knows you're deflecting, avoiding the deeper pain and fear that gnaw at you.

Around you, the crew goes about their tasks, but their glances keep flicking your way. They notice how quiet you are, how you're hobbling around like an old woman instead of the spirited young lady they’ve come to know.

Shanks’ gaze zeroes in on your neck and ears. “Your necklace,” he says softly, a hint of anger in his voice. “And your earring.”

You touch the lone earring still hanging from your ear and shrug. “Collins…he took them.”

Shanks' jaw tightens. His hand drops from your face to rest on your shoulder instead. “You need to rest,” he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Both of you.”

Yumi clings to Hongo’s leg, her eyes wide with exhaustion and lingering fear. You nod in agreement, knowing he's right even though every fiber of your being screams against showing weakness.

The crew watches as Shanks helps you to your feet, his arm steadying you as you limp towards the cabin. Each step sends jolts of pain through your body, but you bite back any sound that might escape your lips.

“Come on, Yumi,” Shanks says gently, extending a hand to the little girl. "Let's get Aria to bed."

She takes it immediately, her small fingers wrapping around his larger ones. As Shanks leads you both inside, Benn exchanges a look with the other pirates—a silent acknowledgment of the storm brewing beneath their captain's calm exterior.

You guide Yumi around the familiar cabin, her small hand clutching yours tightly. The lantern’s soft glow casts warm shadows across the room, giving it an almost cozy feel despite the tension hanging in the air. You kneel beside her, checking her wrist once more, ensuring the cast isn’t damaged.

“Does it still hurt?” you ask, your voice gentle.

Yumi shakes her head, her eyes wide and trusting. “No, Miss Aria. It’s better now.”

You smile, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Good girl,” you say softly. “Now let’s get you to bed.”

You help Yumi climb into the bed and pick at the quilt. The sheets are cool against your fingers as you tuck them around her, making sure she’s snug and comfortable. She looks up at you with those innocent eyes that have seen far too much in such a short time.

“Miss Aria,” she whispers, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

“Yes, Yumi?”

“Are you gonna tell Captain Shanks about the baby?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. Your hands freeze on the blanket, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t realize how much she’d understood or overheard. Your mind races as you try to find the right words.

“I…” You swallow hard, fighting back tears. You take a deep breath, forcing a calm smile as you look at Yumi. “There’s no point in telling him, Yumi,” you say softly. “Neither of us knew about it in the first place, and now it’s gone.”

Yumi’s eyes fill with confusion and sadness, but she nods slowly. You can see she’s trying to understand, to make sense of the adult world that has so suddenly invaded her life.

“It’s really for the best,” you continue, smoothing her hair gently. “I don’t have a place in the world, or a home. Bringing a child into that wouldn’t have been fair.”

She reaches out and takes your hand, her tiny fingers squeezing yours. “But you have us,” she whispers.

Your heart aches at her words, and you blink back tears. “Yes,” you agree, your voice trembling slightly. “I have you all. And that means everything to me.”

You lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. She smiles sleepily and closes her eyes, her grip on your hand loosening as she drifts off to sleep.

You sit there for a moment longer, watching her breathe evenly, the rise and fall of her chest soothing your frayed nerves. The reality of what you’ve lost and what could have been weighs heavily on your shoulders, but you push it aside. There’s no room for regret or what-ifs in your current world. Not anymore.

Shanks stands outside the cabin door, his breath caught in his throat. He had come to check on you and little Yumi, to make sure you were settling in for the night. Instead, he overhears your hushed conversation with Yumi, each word a dagger to his heart.

He hears you speak of the baby—your baby—and the reality of what you've endured crashes over him like a tidal wave. The pain in your voice is palpable, and it tears at him in ways he didn’t know were possible. Especially when you say you have no place in the world, or a home. His chest tightens, and he has to fight to keep his emotions in check.

Quietly, he steps away from the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. He needs air, space to think, to process this revelation. The ship rocks gently beneath him as he makes his way to the main deck where some of his crew are gathered.

Benn is there, leaning against the railing with a cigarette between his fingers. When he sees Shanks approaching, concern flickers in his eyes.

"Captain," Benn says, straightening up. "What's going on?"

Shanks runs his hand through his red hair, struggling to find the words. “Aria... she was pregnant,” he begins, his voice unsteady.

The crew falls silent, all eyes turning to him. He can see their shock mirrored in their expressions.

“And... she miscarried,” Shanks continues, each word feeling like it’s being dragged out of him. “I don't know how, but I know it's because of Collins.”

Benn Beckman, always the pillar of strength, seems momentarily unmoored. His cigarette falls from his lips, and he stands there, fists clenching and unclenching as the reality of Shanks' words sink in. "We need to end this," he says, his voice a low growl.

Hongo, usually calm and collected, now has a hardened look upon his face as his jaw clenches. Now he knew why you were limping about.

Lucky Roux, normally the heart of the crew with his jovial nature, has a rare look of cold fury on his face. "That bastard has no idea what's coming for him," he mutters. "We'll make sure he regrets ever laying a hand on her."

Yasopp, who had been leaning against the mast, straightens up, his eyes narrowing. "I've got a bullet with his name on it," he says darkly. "He'll never see it coming."

Monster, the gentle giant, lets out a low, menacing growl. "He won't get away with this," he rumbles. "I'll rip his face off for her."

Bonk Punch, always ready for a fight, slams his fist into his palm, the sound echoing across the deck. "We'll crush him," he says simply, his eyes burning with intensity. "He'll pay for what he's done."

Limejuice, bleeding from the finger he’d cut when Shanks had dropped the news, doesn't even seem to notice the wound. "He won't escape," he says, his voice trembling with rage. "We'll hunt him down, and we'll make him suffer."

Gab, the usually quiet and composed member, shakes his head in disbelief. "How could he do something so cruel?" he murmurs, his voice filled with sorrow and anger.

Benn steps closer, his eyes narrowing with a mix of anger and concern. “What do we do now, Captain?”

Shanks takes a deep breath, the salty sea air filling his lungs. “We get Yumi back home,” he says firmly before struggling to say his next words. He knows none of them will want to hear it. He, doesn’t want to speak it!“And then we focus on getting Aria back on her feet. Dealing with Collins will have to wait.”

You lie in bed, the gentle rocking of the Red Force beneath you doing little to soothe the turmoil in your mind. The throb in your abdomen is a constant reminder of what you’ve lost, of what could have been. You stare at the ceiling, the events of the past few days replaying over and over in your mind.

Yumi’s soft breathing beside you is a small comfort. She’s safe, thanks to Shanks and his crew. But safety feels fragile, like it could be shattered at any moment by the Commodore’s relentless pursuit. Your hand rubs your tired eyes and you shift your head to look at the sun just beginning to peak over the horizon.

You hadn't slept a wink.

Yumi stirs beside you, her small form shifting under the blankets. You brush a gentle hand through her hair, murmuring a soft greeting as her eyes flutter open. “Good morning, Yumi.”

She yawns, stretching her tiny arms before blinking up at you. “Morning, Miss Aria.”

Before you can say anything more, there’s a knock at the door. You glance over, your heart skipping a beat when Hongo steps inside carrying a tray laden with breakfast. His eyes flicker to you and Yumi, assessing the situation with his usual calm demeanor.

“Morning,” Hongo says, setting the tray down on a small table by the window. “Brought some breakfast for you both. And I need to check on you, Aria.”

You force a smile, grateful for his concern but dreading the inevitable questions about your injuries. “Thank you, Hongo.”

Yumi sits up eagerly, eyeing the food with interest. You guide her to the table, helping her get settled before turning your attention back to Hongo.

He gestures for you to sit on the bed, his expression serious yet gentle. “Alright, let’s see how you’re doing.”

You take a seat, trying to steady your nerves. As he begins his examination, you take a deep breath and decide to address the elephant in the room—on your terms.

“A Marine nailed me in the stomach with a rifle,” you say quietly, meeting his gaze. “It was hard enough to cause me to faint.”

Hongo’s brow furrows with concern as he continues his work. “And what did their doctor say?”

“He said it caused some bleeding… but he took care of that and gave me the all clear as long as I rest,” you reply quickly, avoiding any mention of the miscarriage.

He nods slowly, though you can see he’s not entirely convinced. He knows what you hide, but doesn't press. He finishes his examination in silence before stepping back and giving you a reassuring smile.

“You seem alright for now,” he says softly. “But if anything feels off or if there’s any pain that gets worse, let me know immediately. I want you resting, your body needs time to heal.”

“I will,” you promise.

Yumi looks up from her meal with wide eyes as she listens to your conversation. You offer her a comforting smile before turning back to Hongo.

“Thank you,” you say again.

He gives a slight nod and turns towards the door. "Take it easy today," he advises before leaving you alone with Yumi once more.

You exhale deeply and turn back to the breakfast tray, trying to push aside the lingering pain and focus on what lies ahead—one step at a time.

You sit on the deck of the Red Force, the sea breeze ruffling your hair. The crew moves around you, focused on their tasks, but there's an unspoken understanding to leave you and Yumi be. No one pries into what happened. They don't ask about the bruises, or your split lip, or the haunted look in your eyes. Instead, they offer silent support in their own ways—Lucky Roux passes you a plate of food with a smile, Yasopp gives you a nod as he polishes his rifle, and Benn keeps a watchful eye on the horizon.

Yumi sits beside you, her small hand gripping yours tightly. The island comes into view, its lush greenery a stark contrast to the dark memories you're trying to leave behind. As the ship docks, Hana and the villagers gather at the port, their faces lighting up with joy when they see Yumi.

"Yumi!" Yumi's mother calls out, rushing forward with open arms.

Yumi releases your hand and runs to her mother, who scoops her up in a tight embrace. Tears of relief stream down Hana's face as she holds her daughter close. The villagers cheer and crowd around, their joy palpable.

You stand back, watching the reunion with a bittersweet smile. Shanks places a hand on your shoulder, offering silent support. The crew disembarks to help unload supplies and greet the villagers.

Yumi's mother approaches you, still holding Yumi in her arms. "Thank you," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for bringing her back."

You nod, words failing you. The gratitude in her eyes says more than any words could.

Yumi wiggles out of her mother's arms and runs back to you, wrapping her small arms around your waist. "I'll miss you, Miss Aria," she whispers, looking up at you with wide eyes.

You kneel down to her level, brushing a tear from her cheek. "I'll miss you too, Yumi," you say softly. "Be good for your mama and Miss Hana."

She nods vigorously and hugs you tightly one last time before running back to her mother.

As you turn to head back to the ship, Shanks falls into step beside you. The villagers wave and call out their thanks as you walk away.

Back on board the Red Force, the crew resumes their preparations for departure. You stand at the railing with Shanks beside you as the ship begins to pull away from the island. The villagers grow smaller in the distance until they are just specks on the horizon.

You take a deep breath of salty sea air and let it fill your lungs. For now, it's enough to know that Yumi is safe and that you've done something good amid all the chaos and pain. Now you just had to figure out what you were going to do with yourself.

Date Published: 7/26/24

Last Edit: 7/29/24

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[ironicandpunny]

“The Kid”, a Leonard “Bones” McCoy fic, written by me for @rainpelt25 as part of an art exchange!

Summary:

(Y/N) gets hurt on an away mission, and has to spend a prolonged period of time in the MedBay. Somehow, they manage to break through McCoy’s icy exterior, and walks away fully healed with a new friend.

Doctor Leonard McCoy was never one for people. Not really, anyway. Saving their lives and feeling successful about his own life as a result of that was one thing, but being friends and making small talk? Another thing entirely. Jim always made snide comments about his poor bedside manner for a reason, after all.

So, aside from Jim, and Spock when he wasn’t feeling like a snide, pompous asshole, McCoy didn’t really have very many people he’d consider “friends”. Coworkers or acquaintances at best, patients at worst, and he’d like to keep it that way, thank you very much.

Imagine his surprise, then, when he met (Y/N). Not new to the ship, but not old, either, (Y/N) didn’t oft frequent MedBay, except for checkups, and one time, a broken finger, so McCoy didn’t really know them that well. That is, until the mission on Aria IV, where they’d been part of the ground crew, and in some stupid ass way or the next, ended up with a handful of broken ribs, a broken nose, and a bevy of scratches of different depths to give any good doctor a run for their money.

Luckily for (Y/N), McCoy was a damn good doctor.

Of course, being himself, he ordered a week of bed rest, and two week’s light duty for them, and even demanded that the first week be spent right there in SickBay, where he could keep a close eye if something were to go awry. It seemed like a fair deal, but (Y/N) was none too happy about it.

“Doctor, I understand your concern, but three weeks? I’ll die of boredom.”

“Just be grateful it’s not ten, like the old days.” McCoy gruffed, still working dutifully on their ribs, having already set them and now carefully bandaging them.

The kid, as McCoy had taken to calling them, groaned, tossing their head back melodramatically, making McCoy chuckle, just a bit.

“Is there nothing you can do to make it go faster?”

McCoy rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Not unless you wanna risk fracturing them again.”

Another groan, no longer paired with the head toss. “You suck.”

“So I’ve heard.”

And with that, he was done wrapping their ribs, and he stepped away, looking them over one more time. “How d’ya feel, kid? And don’t say ‘bored’, or I swear to God in Heaven, I’ll smack you so hard, your grandchildren will feel it.”

The kid gulped, and lifted their shoulders. “Fine. You must have some pretty good stuff.”

“The best Starfleet can get their hands on. Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Good, me too. I’ll get us some lunch.”

The replicator made easy work of getting something that suited both of their diets, and he brought the meal over to The Kid, sitting at their bedside, offering over a plate.

“And you’d better clear it.” He added jokingly, giving them a teasing grin.

“Yessir.” The Kid replied, just as jokingly, before digging in.

McCoy wasn’t sure how it happened, but somehow, this became routine while The Kid healed up. He’d take one or two meals with them, and just chat, about nothing but everything all at once. He got to know them pretty damned well, from their favorite color, to where they were raised. It was… nice. He was almost sad when it was time for them to officially leave the MedBay.

“Are we still gonna do lunch tomorrow?” The Kid asked, just before leaving.

McCoy chuckled, and shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “If you want.”

They blinked, as if shocked, and barked a confused laugh. “Of course I want. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

The question settled into McCoy, into his very bones and being, and he found himself nodding. “Guess we are.”

He wasn’t sure how it happened; He hadn’t been trying to make friends, but somehow, by some means, he and The Kid were friends. And he'd do everything in his power to make sure it stayed that way.

[klbwriting]

Surface Tension

Chapter 12: Pointless

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: this is just fluff

Summary: epilogue, five years later

Notes: I hope you enjoyed this little story! I hope to write another story soon, I do have another idea in mind, just need to flesh it out. comment/critique appreciated, song is 'Pointless' by Lewis Capaldi

Taglist: @hyperagitatedcydonian13 @gabrieleskywalker @philiasoul @duchcess

I bring her coffee in the morning She brings me inner peace I take her out to fancy restaurants She takes the sadness out of me

Orm let out a breath, seeing it as it drifted into the snow-covered forest. It was getting dark soon so he better head back to the house. Everyone would be arriving soon, and he wanted some time to get ready. He piled the wood onto the sled and called for Rex to get moving. The Pyrenees barked and started walking back through the trees to their home. He unloaded the wood into the shed, grabbing a few for the fire and walked into the mudroom of the cabin. The wood went into the holder, his hat and gloves into the cubby and his coat on the hook. The dog ran deeper into the house, and he heard the joyous laugh of a baby and smiled. The mudroom led into the kitchen where Y/N was standing by the counter, decorating a cake meticulously.

“It looks and smells amazing,” Orm said, walking over and kissing her head. She took some of the frosting and made to let him lick it off her finger. He leaned in and she poked his nose with it instead, laughing.

“Your nose was red, wanted to give it a blanket,” she teased. He laughed, wiping his face and stealing the bowl of icing from her as revenge. “Orm! I cannot chase you in this condition!” she said, motioning to her stomach, just barely a bump showing. He set the bowl down again, but not before taking some and eating it. “Go see your son, get yourselves ready for the party.”

Orm headed into the living room and lifted his two-year-old son from the playpen, carrying him up the stairs. If you would have told Orm five years ago, but when he and Y/N took off from Maine in the night that he would be living in north end of Yukon Canada with a son and a daughter on the way he would he laughed. They had been so scared for the first year, moving at night, staying away from the water and major cities, not sure if Atlantians tourists would see them. They didn’t talk to anyone, dropping communication with Arthur, Aria, Atlanna, everyone. They were in Alberta, just roaming, when Y/N found out she was pregnant and they decided to find a place and settle, at least for a while.

They bought some land outside a small town and built a cabin, adding to it when they needed the room. Now it was just enough for them and their children, and Y/N even got to open another café in the town, becoming popular quickly since she was the only place to get decent coffee. Despite all their safety and happiness, they still wanted to see their family and friends again. Orm took it upon himself to get back in touch with Arthur and the others, inviting them to surprise Y/N with a birthday party. She still thought that evening was going to be just her, Orm, and Naut.

Orm put Naut, named for Y/N’s father, in the tub and helped him get cleaned up before dressing him in his pajamas. No reason for him to be uncomfortable when he was meeting new people.

“Play in your room while I get dressed ok?” Orm said, sending him off. He dressed and was just getting finished when Y/N came in.

“The cake looks great. Still don’t know why you requested so much, its just us,” she said, getting a dress on. No matter if it was just them, she still dressed up for birthdays, wanting to celebrate them as much as she could.

“That cake will be gone in the morning, and you know it, now we can enjoy it for a few more days,” he said, pulling her to him, kissing her softly. His hands drifted to rear, pulling her against him. “I know you just put the dress on…” he whispered, kissing down her neck. She giggled, pushing him back gently.

“You can rip it off me later alright?” she said, kissing him again. There was a knock. “Who…who is possibly here?” Orm shrugged and waited for her to turn before smiling. She went to get Naut, wanting him close in case whoever was at the door was a threat. Orm answered, smiling at his brother who pulled him into a hug instantly. He led them into the kitchen where Y/N waited, eyes filling with tears. Everyone filed in, Orm reuniting with his family and getting reintroduced to AJ and to Arthur’s other 2 children. Atlanna was holding one with Tom holding the other. Aria, Dean, and their child walked in after and looked at Y/N holding Naut still.

“O God, Orm procreated,” Aria said, leaning to Dean for drama. She ran over, hugging Y/N gently and looking at Naut. “He’s beautiful, so blond.”

“It’s a very strong gene that hair,” Y/N agreed. “This one will probably match.” She patted her stomach and Aria squealed. “Now, can everyone quiet down for a second?” The group looked at her. Orm smiled.

“I thought, it’s been long enough, our family should be able to see us,” he said, moving over to her. She nodded and looked at him.

“Thank you, this is great,” she said. He kissed her softly before letting Atlanna come over. Y/N gently handed Naut to her, telling him that this was his grandma. He seemed nervous but soon warmed to the queen.

“He looks just like Orm did at this age, is he trouble? Orm was trouble,” she said. Y/N nodded. Orm and Arthur stepped aside as everyone kind of sectioned off, finding food or exploring the cabin.

“I’m glad you called,” Arthur said. He watched as AJ and his other kids played with Aria’s child and Naut while Aria, Atlanna, Mera, and Y/N watched them from the couch. Tom and Dean were discussing the cabin, looking at the fireplace. “This is amazing, who knew my dick of a little brother would be capable of all this.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Orm said. “Y/N is what brought this about.” Arthur shook his head.

“It isn’t just her either. You were already doing the work, trying to be a better man. That’s why she chose you,” Arthur said. Orm nodded with a smile. He went to the stereo and turned on a song. Y/N looked up as he approached, offering her his hand.

“Care to dance?” he asked. She smiled wide and nodded, taking his hand. He pulled her close, hand to her waist, the other in her hand. “Does this make you happy?” She nodded, kissing him softly.

“Yes, this makes me happy, you make me happy.”

I make her cards on her birthday She makes me a better man I take her water when she's thirsty She takes me as I am

[forgottenarthur]

Storm at the Gates | Arthur & Aria

"They're out there!" Arthur stabbed a finger in the direction. "They're at our gates! This requires a resolution and I can give it! Please! Father! Now is the time! Let me--"

"NO!" boomed the emperor. Roderick Varmont's gaze was steel, tooth to tooth in full snarl. "You will do nothing of the sort. This is not a matter requiring imperial intervention."

Breath hissed between his clenched teeth. "Once before, Father, I stood in this position while a riot overtook the people in my charge. I cannot stand by--"

"MY charge!" declared Roderick, rising from his throne. "These people are no concern of yours, boy! And there is no trouble here! You will report to safety and you will do nothing. That is an order!"

Arthur's shoulders hunched. He couldn't slow the pounding in his chest. He tore his gaze away, towards the sandstone floor. "Yes, Your Imperial Majesty," he bit out, at last, tracing a cursory bow and stalking out of the room.

All around him, shrieks echoed through the corridors. This was wrong, he thought. All wrong. All his life, Arthur had trained, sword in hand, heavy armor banding his body like a steel glove. He was meant to be a warlord. He was meant to fight, not to cower behind stone. The gates boomed. They were pushing against them.

Even at Kil-Kennar he'd not hidden. At Kil-Kennar, he'd led the charge, when he might have quelled them, instead. The great gates shook. Arthur balled his fists. He was naked without his sword. Without his armor. And Kil-Kennar was all around him. He smelled the metallic tang of blood. The battered gates boomed in his chest. Screams echoed in his earts. It was all come again. Aine's bright red blood splashed upon Daybreak's gleaming blade and too-hot upon his own face. Weeping, screaming. Even then he might have spared lives. Even then...

Boom, boom! The gates clanked and clattered and Arthur had not even a sword.

'Hold fast!' some past version of him had barked to his men. The people howled outside. They wanted blood, red as the banners he'd used to claim Kil-Kennar. His men were praying. Pleading. There were far too few.

'We fight for our emperor!' Arthur had shouted. 'We fight for our lives! And we fight for our god! Hold fast and take heart, for there are no greater warriors in all the world! Today, all who raise their swords with me are sons of our divine emperor, my own brothers in bloodshed! Emmissaries of the true god, your deeds shall never be forgot!' He had them, now. He could feel it. When he had finished speaking, Arthur unsheathed Daybreak, turning towards the shivering gates. 'Those men are calling for blood. Let's give it to them!'

His words has swayed them. He knew it well. The cowering men had taken heart, rising, a hundred swords unsheathing with his own. But the consequences had been terrible. They were all of them -- soldier and rioter, alike -- his people. His responsibility. Every drop of blood had been his own, every broken bone, and every life forever altered. If he had only spoken out to the crowd...

He still might. They were at the gates, again, crying out for justice. He had taken justice from them before. But this time...this time it could all put to rights. Aine's life could not be restored, but the Stafford name could! How could it be worth all this bloodshed? Arthur turned back towards the room he'd just left, about to march back into his father's presence, but he recalled, then, his emperor's final words. If he spoke, now, it would not be with the voice of the god. It would be his own mortal hubris. It would be a sacreligious betrayal of his own true emperor, the God's own Champion. He could not.

Still and half shivering, Arthur turned his back upon the shuddering gate. He felt sick, nausea rising towards the crown of his heart with each heartbeat. He darted for the stairs. There was nothing he could do out there but, he reminded himself, there was something he might still do within these high walls. He knew where the women and children would be sheltered. he could take charge of the guard, he could see to it that they were all kept safe within the walls. He breathed a little easier at the thought, yet still the booms shrieked in his ears. Up and up and up he wound, mind turning over to his mother, his sister...and to Aria. The Queen and the Princess would be well protected, he had no doubt, his father's men would die defending them, if needs must, but Aria? Where was she? Who would look to her safety beyond keeping charge over some kind of prize?

Sucking in a deep breath, Arthur ran up and up and up, taking two stairs at a time. He had to find her. The first two places he looked, she was not, but at last he came to a small room, high above and replete with windows. Fear was a bird hovering just at his heart, weightier and weightier with every room he checked. God, he prayed. God, save her. He couldn't let her be hurt no matter what, but even worse to think of her injured with the way they'd left things after the Ice Ball! Yet, as he came into the room, his prayers were answered. There stood Eilionora and Aria. His heart was in his mouth to see her so close to danger.

"What are you thinking?!" barked Arthur at the guards, storming into the room. "Get them away from the windows! These rabble-rousers have projectiles! It's not safe!"

Eyes widening, the guards jumped to attention, moving in towards the women, but as soon as they moved to draw them from the windows, Eilionora resisted. Arthur ignored them all, stepping up to Aria, himself, and pulling her away, towards a dark corner of the room while the soldiers dealt with her struggling sister.

"What were you thinking?!" demanded Arthur, hands fluttering anxious across her waist, her arms, her shoulders, her head with its crown of ebony hair, searching for any wounds. She was so slight, her eyes wide, and his heart was a hammer, hands frantic in their search. What would he do if something had happened?

But he couln't think of that, couldn't think at all, as the weight of her eyes fell upon his. His questing hands slowed. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright. She looked at him. He couldn't breathe. Her breath was warm. One hand stopped at her waist, pulling her close. The other touched her face. The heat of her satin skin. His thumb gently traced the sweep of her cheek. He tucked a strand of unruly hair behind her ear. "Are you all right?"

[swaps55]

Mezzo - 05 - Glass of Gasoline

Pairing: mshenko | Rating: M Tags: Canon-typical violence, trauma, dealing with your problems poorly, body autonomy struggles   Summary: The twists and turns of ME2, through the eyes of everyone but Commander Shepard. Chapter Summary: Omega lets Sam Shepard off the chain.   Thank you to @sinvraal for betaing!

Chapter 5: Glass of Gasoline | Read on Ao3

02 November 2185, Omega Nebula, Sahrabarik System, Omega

Shepard shouldn’t be struggling with biotics. The implant insertion had been flawless. Every scan showed it was communicating with his nervous system exactly as designed. If anything, the biosynthetic fibers used to repair his nervous system should improve his ability to tap the gravity well, and the advancements in implant technology should increase the strength of his fields considerably.

He shouldn’t be struggling.

Perhaps this should not be troubling Miranda more than Shepard nonchalantly agreeing to stroll across a bridge dressed as a mercenary, in plain view of a vigilante shooting anyone who comes into scope, but thankfully Archangel isn’t stupid. The moment Shepard puts a shotgun into the back of a Blue Sun and opens fire, not one sniper bullet strikes his shields.

Archangel is indeed in trouble, just as Aria told them, and those who are drowning tend not to question lifelines.

Except Shepard, who has questioned everything Miranda has offered. Her attempts to ask about the implant’s performance have been swiftly rebuffed, but she can feel every futile twist and churn he makes in the gravity well. At best his corona is no more than a pale glimmer, a weakening flame desperately seeking oxygen.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

Well, not quite. The scarring still remains. Easily repairable if she still had access to the Lazarus lab, less so on the Normandy, but still possible. A few more weeks, and that, too, would have been rectified. There would have been no visible sign of her work. 

Damn Wilson and his short sightedness.

Shepard has been right at her fingertips for two years. Height, weight, body temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, metabolic rate, all of it. She is more intimately familiar with the body of Sam Shepard than she ever will be with a lover.

But she has no baseline for him.

Even without the biotics, he still fights like the Alliance’s hero. Alliance Ns are a sight to behold, and all of Shepard’s muscle memory remains intact. He is swift, brutal, with no fanfare or showmanship. Just a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips that chills her right to the bone whenever she glimpses it behind his faceplate.

Miranda is well-equipped to handle herself but she is no soldier, and this is a battlefield. For all her skills and all her training, it is Jacob and Massani, the former Blue Sun with a grudge they had recruited upon arrival at Omega, who carry the weight of the fight.

She checks the right corner as they enter the ground floor of the shipping warehouse where Archangel chose to make his stand, gagging at the sickening rot of death inside. Blood stains the floor, some blue, some red. A row of bodies lie hastily covered under tarps. Scouring mars the walls, with overturned furniture forming a hasty barricade. 

She is so caught on the sight of it all she doesn’t spot the mercenary on her left until Shepard yanks her out of the way and unloads with his pistol. A body hits the ground with a thud and a squelch. She didn’t see him switch to the pistol from his shotgun. Surely there hadn’t been time. But the man who would have killed her now lies in a pool of his own blood, and Shepard is already moving up a set of stairs towards Archangel’s perch on the second floor, her brush with death already forgotten.

“Massani, watch the entrance,” he barks over his shoulder.

“Goddamn right,” Massani replies, checking his heat sink. Combat is comfortable on him, like being in his armor is more natural than being out of it. But he still wears it, unlike Shepard.

Shepard becomes it.

Read from the beginning | Read the rest on Ao3 | The Mezzo Playlist

[jaystarry]

hi gay people in my phone how are u :3

[littleplantfreak]

umemiya being used to taking care of himself and everyone else, especially when it comes to bandaging and disinfecting his own wounds after whatever fight he finds himself in. so he can’t help but look at you with such fondness when you insist on patching him up yourself, regardless of what time of day it is or what you’re doing. he just sits there and lets you work, and he has to admit that it’s nice to be looked after for once. you could tell that man to strip down to his underwear, yknow, for medical purposes ofc bc how are you supposed to get to the scrapes on his knees and hips, and he would. he knows what you’re doing, but he still pulls off his shirt without complaint anyway. SIGH.

im biting him rn. I’d get such a high from taking care of him. Just let me baby himmmm.

Hes so so sweet when you patch him up too and he’s pliant and does whatever you say, every so often brushing stray hairs out of your face while you work on him, grazing your cheek with his fingers or placing a hand on your hip or leg to keep you steady while you’re bending down to get a cut lower on his body and he’s just touchyyy and he realizes he really likes being taken care of by you

[darkmagenugget]

Would you be willing to share where puppy Aria came from? Like, did she change, did your way of depicting her change, etc.? Totally fine if the answer is no

She was always fascinated by mine and chaos' tails and ears. But when it was suggested by our girlfriend that she gave off shiba-inu vibes Aria lit up at the suggestion and wanted to go for it. So I edited her emotes and profile picture, and then after we found out that not only was this a good fit for her, but she can communicate with barks as well. So, aria is puppy now.

-Ashe

[sedehaven]

Forte

summer rain falls, silver and pianissimo, ringing the leaves of clover and whispering through fields

of sweetgrass and wild onion, thunder rolls from the south, distant purr of a gulf storm, percussion

of hail fall, drumming the tin roof, crescendo, lively winds crying arias through falling water, through pines and reeds

thunder bellows overhead, shaking the house, the earth, rippling puddles, car alarms scream and dogs bark at the

sky, everything bright and loud, everything forte, forte, forte

[eclipian]

Fox x Wolf x Coyote

pt: fox x wolf x coyote

reminder beings will almost definitely not turn out exactly as described, and these can be edited and changed as needed.

[extended with titles and maybe personality description, & pref no emoji pronouns. ]

divider credit + divider credit

Name: Blaze , Hunter , Amber , Rusty , Apollo , Ember , Copper , Cooper , Clover , Willow , Robin , Daisy

Age: 18 yo

Pronouns: They/Them , Kit/Kits , Vix/Vixs , Vi/Vix , Ze/Zer , Vu/Vulp , Pou/Poun , Ru/Russ , Pup/Pups , Fox/Foxs , Cub/Cubs , Red/Reds , Sly/Slys , Trick/Tricks , Tail/Tails , Hunt/Hunts

Titles: The Fox , The Trickster , The Yipping One / The One Who Yips , [pronoun] Who Yips , The Trickster / The One Who Tricks , [pronoun] Who Tricks , The One With Red Fur , [pronoun] With Red Fur , [pronoun] Who Cause The Most Mischeif

Gender: Vulpisgender , Foxentiyian , Foxstar , Foxemojic , Foxloser , Foxfreak , Foxlexic

Orientation: Pansexual , Queer

Other IDs: Fox-blooded , Fox/Kit/Kitsune Omninoun , Foxperspesque , Vesifox , Assigned Fox at Birth

Role(s): Academic , Role Taker , Battery

Species: Fox

Origins/Modifiers: Vulpgenic

Aesthetic(s): Bastardcore , Chaotic Academia , Autumn

Interests/likes: Hunting , Birds , Bird Watching , Play fighting , Autumn , The night

Dislikes: Loud noises , Water / Getting wet , Garlic , Bright lights

Name: Asena , Ash , Luna , Fang , Lexi , Maple , Ares , Maya , Lup , Lupus , Ovais , Owen

Age: 23 yo

Pronouns: He/Him , Hy/Hym , Grr/Grrs , Growl/Growls , Wolf/Wolfs , Woof/Woofs , Howl/Howls , Moon/Moons , Pup/Pups , Awoo/Awoos , Hou/Houn , Ba/Bark , Bork/Borks

Titles: The Wolf , [pronoun] Who Howls at the Moon , The Pack Hunter , [name] the Wolf , The Beast Of Midnight , The Beast Of The Moon

Gender: Agender Man , Wolfgender , Wolfmestic , Wolfmoonbodiement , Wolflexic

Orientation: Bisexual Arospec , Wolfpackim Attraction

Other IDs: Wolfxper , Wolf Omninoun , Wolfvesi , Lupinevior

Role(s): Protector , Confidence Holder , Wolfroleic

Species: Wolf

Origins/Modifiers: Faunagenic

Aesthetic(s): Meatcore , Cottagegore , Forestpunk

Interests/likes: Hunting , The moon , Night , Swimming

Dislikes: Light , Loud noises

Name: Eclipse , Orion , Blaze , Mai , Savio , Caleb , Caesar , Ronen , Aria

Age: 20 yo

Pronouns: It/Its , Grr/Grrs , Co/Yot , Yip/Yips , Bark/Barks , Howl/Howls , Paw/Paws , Pup/Pups , Arf/Arfs , Mutt/Mutts , Fur/Furs

Titles: The Coyote , [pronoun] Who Is Cunning , [pronoun] Who Tricks , The Trickster , The Trickster Coyote , The Duality of Nature , The Duality of Nature [Prnself]

Gender: Genderfluid , Caninemestic

Orientation: Omnisexual Acespec

Other IDs: Vesicanine

Role(s): Comedian , Black Sheep , Chaosnaut

Species: Coyote

Origins/Modifiers: Faunagenic

Aesthetic(s): Vulture Culture , Salvagepunk , Coffinwood

Interests/likes: Skulls , Collecting things , Late nights , Being with friends

Dislikes: Pepper , Bright/Flashing lights , Being wet

[junicai]

message incoming.

| summary | woken up in the dead of night, Johnny answers a terrifying phone call. 

| part | one, part two: message received.

| word count | 1.4k

| warnings | descriptions of a panic attack, stalking

| era | circa. late june, 2017

The small hours of the morning are usually peaceful in the 127 dorms; the sun not risen enough to disturb those that spent their nights tucked into mismatched beds, chasing rest as a balm for their perpetual exhaustion. Soft breaths keep the silence at bay, the two boisterous boys gone quiet under the allure of sleep.

The scene is altogether tranquil, undisturbed by the pressures and stresses that accompany every waking hour. Still, hushed, and fuzzy at the edges like the world has yet to quite wake up alongside those that lie in repose under the darkness. 

The shadowed room flares up into brightness as the face of a phone lights up with an call. 

Johnny groans as he rolls over onto his side, hand yanking the covers over his ears at the incessant ringing blaring through the bedroom. 

“Donghyuck,” he complains, dropping his pillow over his face to drown out the light burning into his eyes. “Answer your goddamn phone.” 

Donghyuck only grunts a reply, not moving from his cocoon of blankets, face invisible from Johnny’s vantage point. The phone keeps ringing. 

“Donghyuck!” Johnny rolls over again to throw the pillow in his grasp at the ambiguous shape of the boy asleep in the bed next to him. “Pick it up!” 

Any reply offered is garbled into the pillow Donghyuck has his face buried in, but he does begin shuffling beneath the covers; a hand appearing to slowly creep its way towards the phone laid on top of the bedside table. 

But before Donghyuck’s hand can snag his phone, the call cuts out - a cool silence filling up the room once again. 

“There you go,” Donghyuck mumbles sleepily, his hand waving about aimlessly and then darting back under the covers again. 

Johnny drops his head back down onto the mattress - now sans a pillow - and sighs. His eyes are wide open at this point and his limbs are filled with the fight-or-flight response that any ringtone injects your veins with in the middle of the night. Without a drop of sunlight to speak of though, he could only imagine what time of the night it was, and contemplates the merits of just throwing in the towel and getting up to start the day now. 

Another phone ring breaks Johnny’s mourning of his sleep.

“Donghyuck!” Johnny barks, patience wearing thin. 

“S’not mine, hyung!” Donghyuck groans from beneath his pile. This is true. Donghyuck’s phone had been knocked to the floor beside the bed, the screen facing up and altogether blank. 

Johnny looks over at his bedside table, only to realise that this time it is his own phone lighting up with a call. 

His hand meets the cold metal, fingers grasping the phone and lifting it to his face to allow him to squint into the bright light to check the caller ID. Presumably, it is a spam call - or a sasaeng that had managed to get their hands on another one of his phone numbers (he had only replaced it the other week?). None of his members would be calling him at this time of the night (morning?), Johnny is certain of this. They all understand the importance of sleep in this industry, and would be reluctant to disturb another member without the wrath of the devil himself chasing them down. 

Moreover, Johnny knows that at this exact moment, all his members are in their own beds right down the hallway. He had watched them go, one by one, after finishing up a movie they had all watched together, curled up on the couches and the floor. 

Eyes finally adjusting, Johnny takes a closer look at the phone in his hand. 

Aria’s contact name flashes up at him like the glint off steel, and a cold spike of dread slips down Johnny’s back. 

He scrambles to accept the call while simultaneously shoving himself upright in his bed, the covers falling to his waist forgotten. As his thumb slides over the accept button however, the call has already ended and silence swallows up the bedroom once again. 

Johnny can’t call her back fast enough, confusion and concern melding together in a strangling blend of panic. His call is picked up almost immediately, quiet panting down the line from the opposite end. 

“Aria?” Johnny has the phone up to his ear between one second and the next. “What’s wrong? What’s happened, why are you calling me?” His voice is rough with sleep, undercut by the bitter taste of alarm. 

“Oh- oppa, thank god-” Aria chokes herself off with a stuttered gasp, the wetness in her voice causing Johnny to swing his legs out of the bed, feet on the ground before he even realises what he was doing. “Thank you for picking up, thank you thank you thank you-” 

“Aria, what’s happening? Talk to me.” Uncaring of his sleeping roommate, Johnny is on his feet in a moment, banging around the room to tug on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, one foot already out the door. “Where are you?” 

“I’m- I’m in the dreamies dorm,” Aria’s voice is hushed but still audible, like she is cradling the phone up close to her mouth. Laboured breaths accompany each silence with an ominous air. 

“Why are you there?” Johnny questions, startled, knowing full well that he had watched Aria slink back into her own bedroom in the 127 dorms at half past ten, claiming she wanted to finish up a chapter of her latest book and heading to bed early. “What’s going on, Aria?” 

“I forgot- I forgot to get something that I needed for today- for filming and it was important! So I went to go, to go get it from my bedroom here but-” Aria cuts herself off again, breath coming in much panicked gasps. 

A soft thunk sounds down the phoneline. 

“Aria? Angel, what happened? Are you still there? Aria?” Johnny has one foot in a shoe, and is tugging the other one on impatiently with the laces still tied, phone trapped securely between his ear and his shoulder. “I need you to talk to me, tell me what’s going on, can you do that for me baby?”

On the other end of the line, Aria chokes herself through the beginnings of several cut off sentences, her breath coming shorter and shorter with each wet gasp, a rasp accompanying each rattling sob. “I think- I think there’s-, Johnny-” 

“You think what?” 

Aria goes silent, breaths cutting out entirely. “I think someone’s here.” 

Blood frozen in his veins, Johnny abandons the idea of grabbing a hoodie and swings himself out the front door of the dorms without a passing thought for their neighbours. 

“Someone? Someone asides from the members? Someone you don’t know?” He fires questions down the phone, cursing whoever assigned the 127 and dreamie dorms to separate floors of the same complex. 

Aria whimpers, the sound soft and scared. “Oppa, what do I do, please I’m so, I’m so scared, please please, help.” Her voice cracks over the final words, begs fading out into muffled sobs as she slaps a palm across her mouth. 

Heart threatening to beat right out from between the space in his ribs, Johnny feels something in him crack at the echo of her voice down the line. “Baby, okay, listen to me. Everything is going to be fine, okay?” he sooths, trying to calm his breath while he paces down the stairs at a dangerously fast speed. “Are you safe? Are you hidden?” 

“I’m like, tucked behind the uh, the cupboard in the bathroom.” Aria whispers, sucking in small breaths between the words. 

“Good, that’s good baby, I need you to keep breathing for me. Can you do that for me?” Johnny coos down the phone at her, blood pounding in his ears. 

“Johnny, Johnny oppa I’m scared-” 

“I know you are, but I promised, okay angel? Everything is going to be okay-” 

A splintering crack echoes through the tinny speakers, Aria’s ear-splitting scream following in the next second. 

The phone call drops. 

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

The Silver Dragon (34/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 6792

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: The King is dead. Aegon, his heir is missing. While Aemond ventures into the heart of Flea Bottom to find him, Arianwyn is left in the castle with the Queen as she realizes her fairy tale has likely come to an end.

Warnings: References to sex; references to Aemond's brothel experience.

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The Search

Though she had given him her permission and had every confidence that he could keep himself safe, Arianwyn felt worry settle in her heart as Aemond disappeared from her sight.

He was venturing into a part of the city she had never seen – had never wanted to see. A place where the worst men and women the realm had to offer gathered to engage in sins far beyond her imagination.

It was in that place where her father had earned his first title – “Lord Flea Bottom.”

Yes, Arianwyn would need to pray often today.

“What will happen?” she asked, bracing herself on the back of the chair he had just been sitting in. Though she addressed the Queen, she was unable to tear her eyes from the door, some small part of her hoping that her husband would come rushing back in. “After they find Aegon, what happens next?”

“We must crown him as quickly as possible,” Alicent explained, still picking at her nails. “Before Rhaenyra arrives, if it is possible.”

Arianwyn’s face twisted with confusion and no small amount of fear. For wherever Rhaenyra went, Daemon followed. “I don’t understand. Rhaenyra is coming here? Does she mean to attack? To take the throne by force?”

“No, darling,” the Queen quickly corrected. “She is coming so that we may make peace in the family. We arranged it after you and Aemond left the dinner.”

“Oh.” Arianwyn wrapped her arms around herself as she felt the ghost of her father’s fingers around her neck. While Alicent and Rhaenyra had been planning for peace, Daemon had tried to kill her. “Will she still come? Since… well, since everything that happened?”

She was surprised when the Queen hugged her then, and even more so when she laughed.

“We were going to discuss a formal betrothal for you and Aemond,” she said through her girlish giggling. “It was to be a symbol of the family reuniting. Now that you’ve already gone and been married, I haven’t the faintest idea what we will do instead.”

Arianwyn couldn’t help but smile. “My apologies for the inconvenience?”

The Queen gasped, suddenly pushing her back to arm’s length. “No, Aria! No, it is I who should apologize to you! Your wedding celebrations must now be set aside for the time being. I’m so sorry.”

A barking laugh escaped Arianwyn. The King was dead, the heir was missing, and the threat of civil war loomed like the darkest storm clouds. Yet the Queen was concerned that a wedding feast – one which was not particularly wanted by either the bride or groom – had to be delayed?

“Alicent…” she sighed. “The wedding celebrations surely don’t matter anymore.”

“Of course they matter!” Alicent exclaimed. “My wedding celebrations were some of the happiest days in my life. I want you and Aemond to have the same.”

Arianwyn wanted so badly to change the subject. To ask more questions about Rhaenyra’s return or what would happen with the succession when she found out Aegon had been crowned. Whether there would be war.

But the Queen had just smiled. She had laughed.

If Arianwyn could provide a happy distraction on the worst day of Alicent’s life, even for a moment, she would.

“You have never told me much about your wedding,” she said encouragingly. “But I imagine it was far grander than mine.”

Alicent smiled back as she slipped into the memory of the past. “It was quite grand. I imagine the Crown had every flower in Highgarden brought to the capital. Everything was so beautiful.”

“You were married in the Grand Sept, yes?”

“Yes, we were,” she said with a smile. For such a devout woman, it must have been an honor to be married in such a holy place. “It was said to be the largest gathering of nobility since the Great Council. It certainly felt like it. I was so nervous, with all those people staring at me. I had always been content to fade into the crowd, but suddenly I couldn’t hide anymore.”

“What about your dress?” Arianwyn asked, trying to keep the conversation light and happy.

She did not know that that was the worst question she could have asked.

“It was equally as lovely as everything else, and the finest thing I had ever worn. The three-headed dragon was emblazoned on the silk – white, obviously. But the lining of the sleeves was a rich red. And the bodice had the most delicate gold embroidery that ended in these beautiful dragon’s wings that…” As Alicent’s voice trailed away, her face fell once more into heartbreak.

Arianwyn wrapped a hand around the Queen’s wrist, concerned by the sudden change in her. “Alicent?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Aria,” she said, though her voice was nearly as distant as her eyes. “I just remembered… the wings, you see. They… Rhaenyra kept getting caught on them.”

“Princess Rhaenyra?”

“Yes, she was helping me to dress,” Alicent explained. “She dismissed the servants when she came, and dressed me herself. As I had done for her so many times. And she asked me… whether I truly wanted to marry Viserys.

“I think she wanted me to say no. To beg her to help me escape, to sneak me away to Syrax so we could fly away together. But, as much as I loved her… I did want it. I loved Viserys, too. Not in the same way, of course. But he is – was – the King. And he was so kind to me. I felt the gods had called me to fulfill a sacred duty to my country and my King.

“I tried to explain it to her, but she would not listen. She only saw it as a betrayal – of her and her mother, Queen Aemma. Things were never the same between us after that.”

Arianwyn was stunned. She had never seen the Queen so vulnerable. Alicent had always been so poised, so together, so strong. And she had never known… “You and Rhaenyra were friends?”

Alicent squeezed Arianwyn’s hand to the point of pain. “She was my greatest and dearest friend. We were raised together, learned together, played together. In truth, we were quite like you and Aemond.”

With all her heart, Arianwyn prayed it was not true. For if Aemond ever treated her as she had seen Rhaenyra treat Alicent… she was certain it would kill her.

She had a thousand more questions and apologies, but before she could voice any of them, Orwyle walked into the room.

“My apologies, your Grace, your Highness,” he said. He looked nearly as tired as Alicent, and just as nervous. “You asked to be informed when the Silent Sisters were ready to begin their work.”

Alicent wiped away tears that had not fallen and released Arianwyn. “Thank you, Grand Maester. I will be there shortly.”

Orwyle bowed and left as quickly as he came.

Turning to the door, Alicent again looked every inch a Queen with her back straightened and her head held high. But now, Arianwyn knew the scared, lonely woman that hid behind the crown.

“Ser Warren, please return Aria to her rooms,” she commanded. Then, with a look of regret towards the Princess, she added, “I will need your help after I’ve attended to the King. I expect you’ll want to change your clothes. It will be too warm in the Keep for leathers.”

Arianwyn curtsied, her head bowed. “Yes, your Grace.”

-

As the pleasure houses came into view, Aemond felt his heart begin to race. Every time he blinked, he saw flashes of the past.

It was not mid-morning, but the middle of the night. The windows were filled with candlelight, and glowing lanterns filled the street.

The street was not nearly deserted, but teeming with bodies. The nauseating smell of so many different perfumes and oils threatened to make Aemond empty his stomach of his nameday feast.

He was not a man. He was only a frightened little boy, shaking with fear of what would await him past whatever door Aegon pushed him through.

Arianwyn was only his best friend and favorite cousin. She had no idea where he was, for she had already gone to bed, exhausted from her boisterous dancing at his party earlier that evening.

Aemond had to remind himself, over and over again, what was really true.

It was the morning. He could see that the sun had not yet crested in the sky.

The street was mercifully clear. Yes, there were whores and hungover patrons milling about, but he had more than enough room to breathe easily. There was no scent of unwashed bodies and heavy perfume, only of stale ale and sea air.

He was no longer a boy, but a man.

A married man, for Arianwyn was now his wife. She was still at the Red Keep. She would be there waiting for him when he returned. She would wash away every memory of this horrible place with her sweet words and gentle kisses until no other woman existed but her.

Aemond wanted desperately to return to her now, but he could not.

First, he must find Aegon.

If the gods were kind, they would find him at the first brothel they checked. It was the only brothel Aemond knew, and he would prefer not to acquaint himself any further with the debauchery of the city he, unfortunately, still called home.

“May I ask where we are going, my…” Ser Criston only just caught himself before letting Aemond’s title slip. Espionage was not typically a skill required of a Kingsguard. He still fiddled restlessly with the common clothes they borrowed from the Servant’s Hall.

“Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk on my thirteenth nameday,” Aemond explained. The tale came surprisingly easily, far more so than when he had told Arianwyn. Though perhaps it was his nerves that set his tongue loose, for the offending brothel was now only steps away. “It was his duty as my brother, he said, to ensure I was as educated as he was.”

He stopped in front of the brothel’s doors. Even now, they were large and looming, the same terrifying image that had seared itself into his young mind. He took hold of the iron door knocker. Though the metal was cool, it seemed to butn his skin.

“At least,” he mused, “that’s what I understood him to mean.”

Then, along with the pounding of his heart, he knocked three times.

Criston looked puzzled as he scanned the street around them. “I don’t follow.”

Aemond leaned forward, almost envious of Cole’s ignorance. Or he would be – if he didn’t have Arianwyn. “He said, ‘time to get it wet.’”

Cole blanched, looking anywhere but at the face of the boy he had practically raised. “Every woman is an image of the Mother, to be spoken of with reverence.” Then he, too, seized the knocker and pounded thrice, eager to put an end to the conversation.

Aemond decided not to tell him that the name of this particular brothel was “Mother’s.”

“Perhaps not every woman,” was all he added. The image of the whore that Aegon hired for him appeared in his mind. Her wide blue eyes that beheld him with condescending curiosity and amusement. Her big nose and small chin. That horrible smile of hers, suppressing a laugh that the pathetic little boy below her couldn’t get hard.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to summon Arianwyn’s face. Her sparkling silver eyes that held nothing but love. Her rosy cheeks and ever so slightly upturned nose. Her brilliant, broad smile that lit up the entire world with unbridled joy.

The memory soothed him, letting him nearly relax, despite where he was and why he was there.

Until the brothel door opened.

He did not know why, but the gods were punishing him.

It was her. The same woman – the same whore.

He hastily turned away, needing every ounce of restraint he had to prevent him from turning tail and running all the way back to the Red Keep. To Arianwyn.

“We’re closed ‘til midday,” she said, running those devilish blue eyes over both men. “The girls need their rest, don’t they?”

Aemond couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even think. He was in hell. Right in the middle of King’s Landing, he had stumbled into hell.

Thankfully, Criston took the lead. “We are not here for business, madam. We simply wanted to ask a question, if we may?”

She leaned against the door and gestured for him to continue.

“Sometime last night, we… misplaced our drinking companion,” he explained. “Knowing that he has been, in the past, a patron of your… fine establishment, we thought to inquire here as to his whereabouts.”

“And describe him,” the whore said, suddenly intrigued by Criston’s request – or, more specifically, his fine manner of speech.

He sighed. “That is a delicate matter.”

Aemond finally turned back to warn him not to give too much away, but he again startled at the sight of the whore and had to turn away. He could not stop Criston from leaning in to whisper in her ear.

“You see,” he said, “the man we seek is the young Prince Aegon.”

Now she was truly intrigued.

“I may trust, I hope,” Criston continued, “in the discretion of your trade.”

“The Prince is not here,” the whore laughed. The sound cut through Aemond like a blade as he looked at her, frozen in panic at the sound that had haunted him for years.

Criston was not fazed. “Has he been here? Earlier, perhaps?”

“Quite a bit earlier,” the whore replied, finally catching a glimpse of Aemond and grinning in the same horrid way she had that night. “Years ago, in fact.”

“But more recently?” Criston asked.

The whore continued to glare at Aemond, and he ducked his head in shame. He was a warrior, a Prince, and the rider of the largest dragon in the world. How could a single whore make him so afraid?

The object of her amusement out of sight, she turned back to Cole. “He does not frequent the Street of Silk. His tastes are known to be… less discriminating.”

“Meaning what?”

“I wish you luck, good Ser. And my best to your friend.” She looked directly at Aemond then, and every drop of blood in his body sang in terror.

He could face a dozen dragons larger than Vhagar, an army of ten thousand men when he had no sword, or the Stranger himself, and still, he would never be so scared as he was at that moment.

Cole stepped away from the door, leaving Aemond alone to face his tormentor.

“How you’ve grown,” she crooned wickedly.

His mind raced, and every hideous memory of that night shot through his head faster than he could think.

But then, there were new memories.

The memory of the whore’s dry, blistered lips faded away as he remembered the feeling of Arianwyn’s cool, soft kisses.

The rough, calloused hands that had forcefully held him down to the rough linen sheets of the brothel gave way to Arianwyn’s loving caress, tracing her Runes on his chest, his arms, and his face.

The whore’s mocking laugh was drowned out by Arianwyn’s cries of pleasure, and her countless declarations of love.

Aemond would never truly escape what this woman, at Aegon’s behest, had done to him. But he would fear her no longer.

For he had nothing to fear from her anymore. Not when he had Arianwyn to go home to.

He let out a hum, the remnant of a swallowed retort, as he turned from the whorehouse door and followed Ser Criston to wherever their next destination lay.

She was trapped in this hellhole at the heart of the city, and he was not. Once they had found Aegon, he would leave this wretched place and return to the castle – where his beautiful, wonderful, perfect wife was waiting for him.

This whore and what she did to him would, eventually, be no more than an unpleasant memory.

Arianwyn – her kiss, her touch, and her love – would be with him forever.

-

Despite the approaching winter, the day was growing hot, and Aemond and Ser Criston Cole were swiftly losing their patience. They had knocked on a few more brothel doors but only ever received the same answer: Aegon no longer sought his pleasure on the Street of Silk, but in some other, unnamed den of sin.

“It seems you were mistaken as to Aegon’s habits,” Cole remarked as they strode down a particularly foul-smelling alleyway.

Aemond huffed, wishing he could take off his cloak to escape the heat. “He could be in the hands of mercenaries. On a ship to Yi Ti. He could be dead.”

“Let us hope, for your mother’s sake, that is not the case.”

They continued searching for the most loathsome parts of the city for what felt like days. When they found somewhere suitably offensive, Criston would ask the most repellent people they could find some decidedly non-subtle questions – never to any avail.

After another failed interrogation with a man who smelled worse than a sewer and clutched more half-empty bottles of ale than he had teeth, Aemond reached his limit. If where Aegon enjoyed himself was somehow viler than where they had already been, perhaps their father had been right to so long deny him what was his by birth.

And yet, if Viserys had chosen his heir only by their suitability for the role…

“Here I am, trawling the city, ever the good soldier, in search of a wastrel who’s never taken half an interest in his birthright,” he spat with disdain when they were finally mostly alone in a back alley. His rage had grown so hot that he stilled, his feet rooted to the broken pavement.

Cole continued for several paces before he realized Aemond had stopped. The exasperated look on his face only served to further infuriate the Prince.

“‘Tis I, the younger brother, who studies history and philosophy, it is I who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be –”

He cut himself short before speaking his treason aloud, licking his lips to try and quell the dryness that had settled into his skin. He cursed himself for voicing his traitorous desires. It had been foolish giving in to such weakness, no matter how right he was.

Aegon had abandoned his studies when he was fifteen years old. He had given up on his training not long after. When he wasn’t absent from their lessons with Cole, he was too hungover – or worse, still too drunk – to ever pay attention. To Aemond’s knowledge, he had never attended a meeting of the Small Council or offered even the slightest insight into any matters of court.

Beyond that, he openly debased himself for the whole city to see. When he couldn’t sneak out to the Street of Silk – or wherever it was he no doubt sired countless bastards – he had his way with the servant women in the Red Keep. Some willing, some not. Orwyle must have brewed more moon tea during his time as Grand Maester than any of his predecessors.

It was Aegon who acted as if he were the second son, not Aemond.

Aemond had never done anything but what was expected of him, and more besides. And what did he get as reward for his years of study and training, his steadfast devotion to his duty?

Nothing.

Less than nothing, actually. His eye had been stolen by his bastard nephew without justice, and now the burden of making his degenerate brother a King fell to him.

His scar was burning again. Just as it had when Luke had laughed at him at that hateful dinner. But now, Arianwyn was not here to calm him.

Cole gave him a look of pity and approached him. “I know what it is to toil for what others are freely given,” he said, trying to calm the raging Prince.

A growl escaped Aemond as his lip twitched, another jolt of pain running through his skull. He had to look away to avoid turning his furor on the innocent knight.

“We can’t find him, Cole,” he snarled. “We are decent men with no taste for depravity. His secrets are his own. And he is welcome to them.”

He stepped forward, baring his anger in his one eye as he leaned in to make another near-treasonous declaration. “I’m next in line for the throne. Should they come looking for me, I intend to be found.”

-

Arianwyn smiled when she saw Rhaenys leaning at the window, trying to offer sympathy and friendship. But when she beheld the anger on her cousin’s face, she quickly dropped her gaze to her clasped hands and settled into her position behind the Queen.

“I will do you the considerable courtesy of assuming there is a good reason for the outrage of my treatment here this morning,” Rhaenys spat, glancing briefly at her young cousin and the bruises still marking her throat.

So that was why Alicent had wanted her here, to temper Rhaenys’ rage. What had been done, Arianwyn wondered, to warrant such anger?

“My sincerest regrets for the lack of ceremony,” Alicent said, unable to keep the exhaustion and grief from her voice.

Rhaenys sighed, reading the Queen with ease. “The King.”

Alicent nodded.

“And you are usurping the throne.”

It was the most matter-of-fact accusation Arianwyn had ever heard. She wanted to argue, to defend the Queen, but it was unnecessary.

Though she was weary, Alicent still had the strength to defend herself. “It was my husband’s dying wish.”

Rhaenys scoffed.

“Believe it or no,” Alicent continued, “It is of no consequence. Aegon will be King.”

Again, Rhaenys looked to Arianwyn. “Why have you come here? Why bring the girl?”

The Queen bit her cheek before speaking. “I came here to ask your support.”

“Well, I must credit you for your boldness.”

“House Velaryon has long allied itself with the Princess Rhaenyra, and what has it gained you?” Alicent asked, reaching a hand out to pull Arianwyn along as she approached Rhaenys. “Your daughter dead, alone in Pentos.”

Arianwyn had to again look away from Rhaenys as her eyes went wide with indignation at the mention of Laena’s death. She knew why Alicent invoked her, but still, she wished she did not have to be so cruel.

“You son, cuckolded. Rhaenyra’s heirs are none of yours,” Alicent pressed. “It is your husband who grasps so heedlessly for the throne. And even he has abandoned you: gone these six long years to fight a desperate battle, returning grievously, if not mortally, wounded, leaving the Lady of Driftmark to chart her course alone.”

It was clear that the words had struck a chord, but Rhaenys was far too proud to admit it. “The word of my house is not fickle,” she said, turning away and returning to the window.

“No,” Alicent called, chasing after the Princess and taking her by the arms. “But, dear cousin… you, more than any soul alive, understand what I say now. Princess Rhaenys, I loved my husband, but I will speak the truth we both know now: you should’ve been Queen.”

Arianwyn’s heart wrenched. What would her life have been if the Great Council had made just that decision? Would Daemon have calmed without the constant temptation of the throne? Would he have been a true father to her? Would she ever have been born?

No matter the answer, she still felt a pang of regret that her beloved cousin was only the Queen Who Never Was.

“I little thought to hear those words from you,” Rhaenys said, grasping the Queen’s hands.

“The Iron Throne was yours,” Alicent insisted, “by blood and by temperament. Viserys would’ve lived his days a country lord, content to hunt and study his histories. But… here we are. We do not rule, but we may guide the men that do. Gently away from violence and sure destruction and instead toward peace.”

Rhaenys scoffed and tore away from the Queen. “Is it in the name of peace that you’ve imprisoned me? And what of my dragon?”

“You are not a prisoner!” Arianwyn shouted, running up to embrace her cousin, but stopping and shrinking away when faced with her furious violet eyes. “And neither is Meleys. Right, Alicent?”

The Queen looked to the floor.

Arianwyn was taken aback, at once consumed with horror and disgust. “Aunt Alicent? Please say they are not our prisoners.”

“If we are overmatched,” Alicent explained, “Rhaenyra will be tempted to strike us, and war will ensue. Without your dragon, she may be persuaded to negotiate.”

Both Rhaenys and Arianwyn turned away from her. Neither had ever thought Alicent capable of such action. Such cunning and stealth was far more like her father.

“I’m so sorry,” Arianwyn whispered, at last taking Rhaenys’ hand. “I did not know you were here against your will.”

Rhaenys started to reply, but Alicent again cut in.

“If it’s Driftmark you want, you shall have it,” she pled. “for you and your granddaughters to pass on as you see fit.”

Not releasing Arianwyn’s hand, Rhaenys turned to face the Queen. “You are wiser than I believed you to be, Alicent Hightower.”

“A true Queen counts the cost to her people.”

“And yet you toil still, in service to men,” Rhaenys taunted, dropping her young cousin’s hand to approach Alicent. “Your father, your husband, your son. You desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison.”

She whispered something then, something that Arianwyn could not hear. But she could see the devastation on the Queen’s face and knew whatever it was had somehow been more cutting than all she had said before.

“Do you not do the same, cousin?” she asked, drawing the shocked faces of both women.

“Lord Corlys has abandoned you,” she continued, “and Driftmark, and indeed all his duties to wage his private war. He has returned only long enough to instill his restlessness in Baela, but he abandons her, too.

“And yet you don’t fault him any of it. No, you manage his castle, his island, and his fleets. You raise your granddaughter. All of it, on your own. But still, you came all the way here to… to what?” Arianwyn could not hide her confusion, nor her anger at Rhaenys’ false righteousness and hypocrisy.

“You know Jace, Luke, and Joffrey are not Laenor’s sons. I know that you love them, despite it. But you love your house, too,” Rhaenys looked away, her cheeks flushed, but Arianwyn pressed on. “You may be a Targaryen by birth, but you are a Velaryon by choice. You are the Lady of Driftmark, perhaps even more than Corlys is its Lord. So why did you argue for a bastard to take the Driftwood Throne, if not simply because it is what your husband wanted?”

“History remembers names, not blood,” Rhaenys sighed.

“Are those your words, or his?” Arianwyn asked.

Rhaenys did not answer the question but posed her own. “Did you know your grandsire, Lord Yorbert, cast a vote at the Great Council? Twice, in fact. Once as the Lord of Runestone and again as the regent for young Jeyne Arryn. Tell me, Aria, do you know for whom he voted?”

“He voted for you, Rhaenys.”

She smiled and nodded. “With his two ballots, he was likely the majority of my supporters. But how could he vote any other way? As Jeyne’s regent and defender, and with his own daughter – your mother – as his heir. Women ruled in the Vale since even before the Andals came, just as they do now.”

Arianwyn ducked her head in shame, but Rhaenys lifted her chin to face her as she went on. “If you believe the King changed his mind on his deathbed, I will respect that. But answer me honestly. Who is best suited to rule, Aegon or Rhaenyra?”

Neither, she wanted to say. But that was not an option.

Aegon was a drunken fool. Rhaenyra a self-important egotist.

Only one of them was married to a monster.

“Daemon cannot be King,” she finally replied.

Not the answer Rhaenys wanted, but one she could accept.

“Baela and Rhaena are on Dragonstone,” she murmured, dropping Arianwyn’s chin.

“I know,” the girl replied.

“What will he do to them, I wonder? When he learns that I was in attendance at Aegon’s coronation.”

“We will find a way to get them out – safely. We will negotiate, or you and Aemond can fly to their rescue. Or… well, I don’t what, but we will do something.”

For a moment, the hopeful, determined look in Arianwyn’s silver eyes almost convinced Rhaenys that it was possible. But all her life, Daemon had always gotten what he wanted.

“Thank you, Aria. I should like to be alone now.”

“As you wish, cousin,” she said, stepping to the Queen’s side.

Alicent nodded to Rhaenys before moving to leave the room. “We will leave you with your thoughts. Ring the bell when you have an answer.”

Arianwyn dutifully followed the Queen, leaving the room in a heavy silence.

“Aria?” Rhaenys called as the girl stepped through the door.

“Yes?”

“I am glad you did not listen to me. That you did not leave when I told you to.”

“As am I.”

-

Aemond was admittedly thankful that they had still not found Aegon by the time his anger faded. If they had located him when his blood was still boiling, it was all too likely he would have throttled the new King. But it was difficult to hold on to anger when the day was so gods-damned hot, making the putrid smells of Flea Bottom all the more pungent.

At least they were no longer in the heart of Flea Bottom. They had only just made their way back to the Street of the Sisters – and with it, some semblance of civilization – when Ser Criston stopped before a small square.

“My Prince,” Cole whispered, indicating a collection of tables outside a tavern with the tip of his chin.

Scanning each of the patrons, Aemond’s eye finally settled not on the uneasy face of Ser Erryk Cargyll but on that of his grandsire, the Hand. What in the name of the gods was he doing in this place?

Of course. It could only be one thing. Aegon.

But why here?

They did not have Aegon. Not yet. If they did, they would have brought him back to the Keep, or some other, more secure place.

That was when he saw the woman. Though she was dressed far too finely to not stand out so deep in the city, no one looked at her as she made her way to the table.

Where she calmly sat across from the most powerful man in the realm.

Otto leaned in, and Aemond recognized the look of fury on his hooded face. He had never been the recipient of that look himself, but he knew it was a look that all wise men should fear.

He turned away from the woman, nodding to ser Arryk, who sat at the other end of the table. The knight leaned forward, depositing a large sack – no doubt filled with an obscene amount of gold – on the table.

The woman handed the bag to her attendant, who wasted no time counting their take.

Aemond did not know who this woman was, though he had to admire how she set his grandsire on edge. But he knew one thing for certain: she had Aegon.

He grabbed Cole’s arm and moved them from the center of the alley to a small nook between a cart and a pile of crates. They could still see what was happening at the table, but hopefully, they would be hidden from those they watched.

The meeting did not last long. The woman leaned in, and the Hand’s face resumed its regular haughty impassivity, muttering only a few last words before he stood. Then, with no farewell to either the Cargyll twins or the mysterious woman, he strode casually back down the Street of the Sisters. South, towards the Red Keep.

The twins did not wait long before they, too, stood and made their leave. Erryk gave the woman a brief nod and possibly his thanks before following his brother to the North.

“Follow them,” Aemond commanded, not waiting for Cole’s reply before setting off in the same direction.

They followed at a distance. Thankfully, the twins seemed too engaged in an argument between them to keep too careful a watch for any pursuers.

It was not long before Aemond realized where they were heading.

The Grand Sept.

Any admiration Aemond had for that woman from the way she handled Otto dissipated instantly. What kind of person used the holiest place in the city to stash their captive? It was a wonder she had not been struck down by the Father for her blasphemy.

After the doors to the Sept closed behind the twins, Cole drew his sword and moved to follow.

“No!” Aemond hissed, stepping in front of the door to block his way. “We will not spill blood inside the Sept.”

Cole looked at him with apprehension. “I am afraid bloodshed may prove necessary if we wish to deliver brother to the Queen, and not the Hand.”

“I will not desecrate a holy site,” Aemond replied through gritted teeth. No matter the monster others may think him to be, he was gods-fearing.

“Very well, my Prince,” Cole sighed as he lowered his weapon. He gestured to the landings flanking the entrance, immediately reverting to the role of Aemond’s dutiful instructor. “We will stand on either side. When they come out, we will have them surrounded.”

He looked at Aemond sternly as he gave his final instruction. “If it comes to a fight, only come to my aid if it is absolutely necessary. Your priority must be securing Prince Aegon. If you must leave me behind to do it, then leave me behind.”

Aemond nodded and took his place on the landing, his back pressed against the wall.

After only a few moments, a shout came from within the Sept. From the many times he had seen Aegon drunk, Aemond easily recognized his brother.

So, the twins had found him.

Aemond crouched on the landing, whispering a brief prayer. To the Father, for forgiveness for whatever Aegon did while he was inside the Sept. And to the Warrior, for the strength he needed for whatever was about to come.

There were more shouts, each slurred and unintelligible. As they grew nearer and nearer, and louder still when the Sept door opened, Aemond willed his heart rate to slow and his mind to clear.

Then it was time.

Ser Arryk was holding Aegon’s arm behind his back as the Prince flailed uselessly against his captor. Even as they stilled, when Cole emerged from his hiding place with his sword drawn, Aegon stumbled to find his balance.

Aemond stood, stepping toward his brother but not drawing his weapon.

Still, when Aegon saw him, there was the sting of betrayal in his hazy eyes.

That wound, the fact that his brother was so quick to doubt him, cut deep. It sent a pulse of pain through his scar that momentarily blurred the sight in his good eye.

Aemond only had to blink to clear his vision, but even that put him one step behind.

Aegon had thrown his elbow into Arryk’s stomach and freed himself to bolt down the stairs opposite Aemond.

Cole’s blade was still out, and Arryk had drawn his, as well. They both blocked Aemond’s shortest path to his brother.

He had no option but to turn and run down the other stairs to try and intercept him.

Thankfully, Aegon was slower than him and much, much clumsier. Especially when drunk.

He had barely made it off the steps when Aemond barreled into him, sending them both tumbling on the pavement of the courtyard below.

Aegon tried to get away, but he could hardly stand. As he crawled across the ground, Aemond caught his ankle and pulled him down.

“No!” Aegon shouted, flailing his arms to try and push Aemond off him. “Stop! No!”

It was not a convincing plea, not when he began to giggle like an idiot immediately after, as if all of it – the fleeing Septon, Septas, and passersby, as well as the swordfight now raging between Ser Criston and Ser Arryk– was simply a game.

Aemond growled as he struggled to restrain his brother’s arms, not caring that his hood had come down, exposing his hair – his identity – to all those who looked on. “I was hoping you disappeared.”

“Is our father truly dead?” Aegon asked, his voice momentarily clear.

“Yes,” Aemond answered, ignoring the pang in his chest. It was inconsequential compared to the rage that was again rising within him. “And they’re going to make you King.”

He shouted when Aegon spat in his eye and bit his hand. It was instinct, the primal need to protect his remaining sight, that had him releasing his grip on his brother as he reeled back.

With another prayer of thanks that Aegon was still drunk, he surged forward again, catching him around the waist.

“No!” Aegon continued to struggle, even as they both stood.

But he was at too much of a disadvantage. Aegon was not half the warrior Aemond was, and his mind was still clouded by whatever he had done the night before.

“Let me go!” He pleaded as Aemond wrapped his arm around his neck, trapping him. He repeatedly shouted as he was pushed toward Ser Criston, who had finally defeated and disarmed Arryk.

“I have no wish to rule!” he bellowed. “No taste for duty! I am not suited!”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Aemond conceded.

Aegon turned, spinning himself partway out of Aemond’s grasp, but he did not run. Instead, he only faced his brother to beg once more.

“You let me go,” he implored, clutching Aemond’s face as if it was his last grasp on reality. “I will find a ship and sail away, never to be found.”

Gods, Aemond wanted to say “yes.”

Surely, it was what duty demanded. He would spare the realm the inevitable disaster of the depraved, drunken fool’s reign and free Helaena from the constant abuse of her husband.

Had he not told Cole less than an hour ago how he was far better suited to the throne?

But the more he considered the possibility, the more he knew it to be impossible.

To crown himself King would be to make Arianwyn his Queen.

He had no doubt that she would be an excellent Queen. She would be more than that – she would be perfect. For she was far bolder and more brilliant than most of the Kings that had gone before them. And she had the knowledge and blood of the First Men, the Andals, and Old Valyria.

Together, they stood a chance of building something greater than them all combined.

But to put a crown on her head would be to invite death.

Daemon was already itching for war – with Viserys’ death, it was all but inevitable. If Aemond made Arianwyn his Queen, her father’s destructive rage would be centered on her.

The Rogue Prince would burn the whole world just to bring his daughter down.

Aemond once told Arianwyn that he didn’t want to conquer the world, only to save her.

Now he was faced with that very choice.

It was so easy to make.

Ser Criston approached and wrapped an arm around Aegon’s shoulder.

“The Queen awaits,” he murmured.

Neither Prince looked at him.

Aegon tightened his grip on his brother, his face red as he silently, desperately plead for his freedom.

Aemond only stared blankly back.

For a moment, it looked as though Aegon would weep. But he held on to that last shred of dignity. He bit his lip and dropped his hands, letting Cole lead him away.

Aemond stood, frozen in place.

He had just given away what most men would kill and die for, yet he felt no regret.

That morning, he had agonized over whether his duty was to his brother, his King, and his country, or to his wife and true love. Ser Warren had given him a way out of making that choice.

There was no way out now. But all along, the answer had been simple.

Arianwyn. It would always be Arianwyn.

Next Chapter

[tonyspep]

~*~viva las avs~*~

A/N: litterally every hockey rpf idea that pops into my head i share with my wonderful bestie bre aka @fallinallincurls, and this is no exception. i sent it to her months ago, and here i am finally getting around to posting it, lol. basically tyson jost was never traded from the avs and is engaged to jesse compher, jt's youngest sister and nate is dating his younger sister morgan while jt is dating kacey jost, tyson's younger sister. they are all in vegas for jesse's bachelorette party and of course i wouldn't be me if ej wasn't included in this fic, too. his love interest is modeled after the actress connie britton from the shows friday night lights and nashville.

~*~bright light city gonna set my soul~*~

(gonna set my soul on fire)

parings: tyson jost and jesse compher, nathan mackinnon and morgan compher, jt compher and kacey jost and erik johnson/oc

summary: jesse, morgan and kacey are in vegas for jesse's bachlorette party and after ej's string of smart ass comments, nate along with jt and tyson end up in vegas, too and what happens after is anyone's guess

rating: t

oh, there's black jack, poker and roulette wheel

a fortune won and lost on ev'ry deal

all you need's a strong heart and nerves of steel

viva las vegas, viva las vegas

“viva las vegas” - the bruce springsteen version

Nate was determined not to let EJ win.

If there was one thing the older man had been able to do since they met, it was being able to get under Nate's skin. Even when they were separated by a few hundred miles with it being the middle of the off season and Nate was back in Cole Harbour and EJ was in his sprawling Hollywood Hills home.

His jaw ticked as he saw another comment from @bighorny under Morgan's latest post.

@stayincomphy more like stayin' hot hot hot

And of course he tagged him in it, telling him to keep an eye on his girl.

Morgan was in Vegas celebrating Jesse's bachelorette party. This last Christmas the Comphers had rented a cabin in Vermont for the holiday and of course Tyson, Laura and Kacey had been invited along with Nate and his parents and his sister Sarah and her husband, and not even a day into the trip, Tyson got down on one knee and asked Jesse to marry him.

Sometimes Nate still feels like his ears haven't recovered from Morgan and Kacey's squeals and shrieks as they practically tackled the youngest Compher once Tyson had slid the ring on her finger.

He knows EJ is doing this to get a rise out of him, which is his favorite thing to do that doesn't involve horses or wine, but this time it's not going to work.

Morgan would never do anything and he's stupid for even thinking it.

Josty was completely chill about Jesse having her bachelorette there and JT told Kacey to have fun, which is what he told Morgan to do too. Though he did make sure his favorite white bikini stayed behind. No one was allowed to see her wear that but him.

Seeing her laying on a lounger chair at the Aria's pool, classic blue and white striped one piece with cut outs on the sides made him close the app. If he kept looking, he'd miss her more than he already did and she'd barely been gone two days. He needed to take his mind off of all this. Just as he was about to grab Cox's leash, his phone pinged and of course it was a text from EJ.

[horseboy] you dogg you can't seriously be sitting at home in bumfuck canada while your girl's living it up in lost wages for shame nathaniel for shame

[dogg] fuck you johnson. you're just trying to get a rise out of me and it's not going to work this time. go pet a horse or stomp grapes or clean your dentures old man

[horseboy] me? try to get a rise out of you? Impossible

[dogg] i'm taking cox for a run and shutting off my phone. you'll be talking to the ether or whatever

[horseboy] the dogg doth bark too much as the saying goes. give the man of the house some head pats and ear scratches from his favorite hooman would ya? you have fun trying not to think about your girl living it up and looking so good doing it

Taking Cox for runs is how Nate always cleared his head when things were waying on his mind. When Morgan was with him they would meditate or do yoga, which always ended with him grabbing her when she got into more advanced poses and they would become a tangle of various limbs, laughing as he practically smothered her with his bigger frame.

He swore he wouldn't let EJ win, but as he increased his speed while running, he knew he was defeating the purpose of clearing his head, but all he could think about was Morgan in Vegas. Suddenly, he was back home and he was booking a flight. Logically he knew Morgan loved him and would never stray and he tried to think about all the things that sucked about Vegas like the fucking Golden Knights, their stupid castle in their arena, their dumb goal song, glow in the dark jerseys, the sun and how he had to wear SPF30 or he'd turn into a lobster, hangovers and gambling but none of it worked.

All he could think about was how none of the losers who were hanging out at the hotel pool and in the casino would see Morgan with Jesse and Kacey and not know she was taken. Jesse had the cute diamond Josty bought last year and was wearing that bright pink sash that said Bachelorette and a little crown in every post she made.

Guys weren't exactly known for taking no for an answer, but if he was there they wouldn't have a choice.

Of course he booked tickets for Josty and JT, too. He couldn't exactly show up alone. That was creepy.

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

Tyson knew he wasn't supposed to tell Jesse. Nate made that explicitly clear and yeah Nate outweighed him by like forty to fifty pounds and was taller than him, too and was generally scary when he wanted to be, but Nate wasn't scarier than Jesse.

Also, how were they supposed to start their married life together if he was kind of lying to her when they were engaged? Wasn't that bad luck or something? Whether it was or not, he wasn't going to risk it, so he sent her a quick text about Nate buying him and JT tickets to Vegas and how they would be there around six local time.

Jesse texted him a teasing taunt that said does this mean i get to crash your bachelor party? i've always wanted to go to a strip club

Tyson flushed just thinking about it. While Landy's bachelor party had gone completely off the rails, somehow, they had not ended up at a strip club and the truth was he didn't really want to go to one for his, but maybe...

“Earth to Josty. Come in Josty.” Suddenly JT's hadn was right in front of his face and he remembered where he was. O'Hare airport waiting with JT for Nate's flight from Dartmouth to land, os they could board the flight for Vegas together.

“You told Jesse, huh?” There was a knowing smile on his best friend's face. “Duh,” Tyson's tone was unapologetic. “It's bad luck to lie before you get married. It's like breaking a mirror or walking under a ladder or whatever. I'm not risking it.”

“That's such bullshit,” JT laughs, shaking his head. “You figured as soon as she saw us, she'd kick your ass eve if this was all Nate's idea. You are so whipped, man.”

“Don't call me whipped. You're just as whipped!” Tyson insists. “You told Kacey we were coming, too!”

“Because we have an open line of communication like adults. I wasn't afraid she'd kick my ass if I didn't tell her. It's a whole different thing than what happened with you and Jesse.”

“Okay, that is bullshit. An open line of communication? You communicate through memes! I've seen your text thread! Like, adults, too, really Coms? You drink out of Kacey's old Buzz Lightyear glass hwen you stay over at my Mom's and both of you drink milk straight from the carton. If anyone's the adult, it's me! I'm getting married! I'm one step away from a joint bank account and dividing my portfolio or whatever Landy talks about!”

“I can't take the two of you anywhere,” Nate sighs, piniching the bridge of his nose when he finds JT and Tyson shoving at each other and laughing after he picked up his bags. “He started it!” They said at the same time only making themselves laugh harder than they were already.

“I should've brought Landy to keep the two of you in line.” Nate grumbled as they made their way toward the gate.

“Good afternoon everyone,” A beautiful strawberry blonde in the standard flight attendant unifrom is standing at the front of the plane. Her eyes are a warm shade of glittering hazel and her smile is blinding but genuine. “My name is Kylie and I'll be your head flight attendant on our flight from beautiful Chicago, Illinois to exciting Las Vegas, Nevada. Please be seated while I perform the in-flight demonstration and we'll begin serving drinks and food once we take off in about twenty minutes.”

Before the call to switch to airplane mode comes over the speakers, Nate sees a text from Morgan come through.

[Red] you have some explaining to do, nate

The disappointment behind her text is obvious and Nate knows he can't blame JT and Tyson for this, but it doesn't stop him from glaring at his friends and saying, “You two really couldn't keep your mouths shut?”

JT's not about to fight with one of his Alternates but Nate is also the guy who's dating his younger sister, and right now he isn't one of his Alternates, he's the guy who's dating his sister.

“This was your idea,” He reminds him, keeping his voice cool. “We're,” He points to himself and Tyson. “On this plane because EJ got under your skin. Don't forget that, Nate. If Morgan's mad or disappointed, you have to deal with that. Don't take it out on me and Tys.”

Nate knows JT is right. He can feel the tips of his ears go red from being sheepish. He should be better than this.

“Sorry, man. You're right.” He admits and JT nods. “Of course I am.” He says smugly and Nate rolls his eyes, pulling out his eye mask from his carry on bag. He pays for the in-flight WI-Fi and turns on the meditation app Morgan found for him and he lets his mind and body relax before they land.

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

With everyone settled and the food and drinks taken care of, Kylie is in the galley laughing at the younger flight attendants giggling over their phones. She checks her messages, breathing the familiar sigh of relief when she finds texts from her son and daughter. Marcus was a sophomore at the University of Virginia in Charlottesville on a lacrosse scholarship while Bethany was taking a gap year and backpacking through Europe with her two best friends. Next year she was going to UC Irvine to study astronomy.

She couldn't help but think her babies had grown up too dam fast.

Being a single mom hadn't been easy, but the three of them had made it through after her marriage with their dad had fallen a part.

“Oh my God Kylie,” Julie was twenty two and pettie with dark black hair and stunning green eyes. “The rich guy in first class was totally checking you out.”

“The silver fox?” Brandy, who had golden blonde hair and had recenlty gotten married was twenty seven as of last May, was the other flight attendant with them and her curiosity was piqued. Julie nodded eagerly, practically licking her lips while Kylie laughed and said, “Settle down now. We're not doing that. This is my job. I'm here to work. Not hook up or whatever you kids call it these days.”

“Is it because you finally gave your number to that super hot hockey player who's always flirting with you?” Julie's tone was hopeful. “The one who doesn't have his three front teeth? And is, like, ginormous? He's got the pretty blue eyes and the dimples, too, right?” Brandy questions. “Yes,” Julie practically gushes, clutching her chest as she swoons while Kylie sighs as she shakes her head.

“You two need to stop it. He is way too young for me. Now get back out there with your carts. We're on the clock and we are not being paid to gossip about something that is never going to happen.”

Erik Johnson, the ginormous hockey player with the pretty blue eyes and missing three fron teeth, was a frequent flier on this specific airline when he wasn't traveling professionally with the Avalanche. He was everything Brandy described and so much more. From the boyish flop of his unstyled blonde hair ot the ever present mischievous glint in his cornflower blue eyes to the way every shirt – button down, polo, sweater (if there was a chill) or t-shirt – stretched snugly over his obviously very firm chest to his flirtatious nature, he was hard to resist.

But Kylie had two college age children and he was in his thirties. Also, given their careers they would hardly ever be in the same place.

Not to mention his teammates could pass for any of Marcus's friends and she did not want to think about team events and games where she would be surrounded by women who were barely older than her own daughter.

Looking never hurt and it was hard not to enjoy the flirting. It was nice to know a man like Erik found her attractive.

Laughing to herself, Kylie put on an easy smile as she went back out to the cabin to see if the passengers needed anything.

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

In California, EJ couldn't help but think of a certain gorgeous strawberry blonde flight attendant.

At first he thought Kylie's apprehension had to do with the missing teeth. Even though plenty of women told him they thought he looked better without his fakes, some were unsettled at first.

Especially if they didn't know he played hockey.

But he learned quickly it had more to do with his age. Being one of the older players on the team he never gave his age much thought when it came to dating. He generally wouldn't date a woman who was in her early twenties, but dating someone older had never crossed his mind until he met Kylie on a flight to Del Mar race track in Pasenda a year and a half ago. And honestly he didn't see anything wrong with dating a woman in her forties.

He knew she was at least 45 or 46, but that didn't really mean anything. Age was just a number after all.

Laying out by his pool surrounded by his pack, the affectionate name he gave his four dogs, he couldn't stop his mind from staying on Kylie.

It had been a long time since he had spent so much time thinking of just one woman. He wasn't ashamed of his bachelor status. There wasn't much he was ashamed of, really. The whole shebang of a wife, kids and a white pickett fence wasn't where he wanted to be. He liked living his life; going to Del Mar on a whim, maybe Hawaii, slipping his number to a pretty girl at a bar etc.

Fucking Landy he curses to himself.

The “don't you get lonely” talk was coming on stronger and stronger from his best friend. While EJ took pleasure in getting under Nate's skin (it was just too easy), Gabe was a whole different animal. He would get all concerned and go into full helpful Disney Prince mode with those big stupid crystal blue eyes of his and his big ass forehead would wrinkle in a way that was, somehow, still handsome and EJ hated it because it always worked and next thing he knew, he was spilling his guts.

As he began to scroll through Instagram, his phone pinged. Julie was a flight attendant Kylie always worked with. Way too young for him but pretty in an objective way and she was funny, too. They would text back and forth and if he ended up on a flight it was quite the coincidence.

Apparently she, Brandy and Kylie were laying over in Vegas before flying to Denver. He didn't need to be back in Denver for a few more weeks to start seriously training buuuuuuut Kylie didn't need to know that.

And Vegas was nice this time of year.

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

How the girls were drunk already Nate didn't know.

They squealed when they saw them in the lobby at Aria and smelled pretty like they always did but the alcohol was still obvious.

If Morgan wasn't drunk she wouldn't have launched herself at him and started kissing him everywhere. She would've been mad, which is what he expected. Steadying her in his arms, she hiccuped and said, sincerely, “I missed you, Natey. You shouldn't be here, but I'm so happy you are.”

Nate couldn't stop himself from smiling. He had seen Morgan this drunk once. At the Dustin Lynch concert they all went to after winning The Cup last year. She was very clingy, basically, plastered to his back the entire night, her arms around his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist. Her freckles, somehow, stood out more like the copper and gold of her hazel eyes and her skin was flushed the warmest shade of pink and she couldn't stop laughing.

He loved everything about her, but seeing her like this was so rare he belived he liked this Morgan best of all. Then she'd go and something else and that Morgan would become his favorite and so on and so on.

“I missed you, too,” He finally said and she beams back at him and he wonders how he lived so long without her.

“Ugh,” JT groans bringing Nate back into the scene and there's Tyson and Jesse kissing like he just got back from war. Kacey laughs from inside JT's arms that are wrapped around her slim frame and teases her boyfriend, saying, “What, you don't like watching Tys try to see if his tongue can find Jesse's tonsils?”

“I need a drink,” The eldest Compher sighs with a resigning shake of his head. That breaks Tyson and Jesse apart and she giggles, “More drinks! Yes! Tha's what we need! You're so smart Joey!”

More drinks is defintely not what they need but Nate knows stopping them is pointless.

After checking into the suite the girls rented, they're piling out of Aria's front doors and onto Las Vegas Boulevard and none of them have a clue what the hot, sticky Vegas summer night will bring.

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

Layovers weren't something Kylie looked forward to. Though it was nice to not have to jump back onto another flight after only an hour or so after the passengers had departed and the plane was cleaned.

She let Julie and Brandy run off to cruise The Strip. They were responisble enough not to get into too much trouble with Brandy being married now, but oh to be young again she thought with a wry smile as he let herself indulge in a glass of crisp Pinot Grigio.

As she sipped at the wonderful taste of her favorite wine, an all too familiar voice reached her ears amongst the sounds of the dealers, slots and music thumping through the casino's speakers.

“Now, what's a pretty lady like yourself doing in a place like this all by your lonesome?”

A shiver only Erik could inspire races up her spine and Kylie's breath catches at the sight of the handsome, bulit hockey player. His hair's soft, falling just so across his forehead, those cornflower blue eyes twinkle with mischief and the promise of a good time. His dimples make her knees weak and if she wasn't sitting the sight of his unbuttoned pink linen shirt would have had them buckling underneath her. The sleeves are rolled up, of course, to reveal the tan skin of his thick vein covered forearms. His cologne is crisp and woodsy, a deep warm smell that makes her want to bury her face in his neck to breathe it in even deeper.

Taking another sip of her wine, she can't help the smile that crosses her lips. “You just happened to be in the neighborhood or something?”

Erik's eyes move shamelessly over her figure, leaving nothing but heat in their wake and Kylie is going to need something stronger than white wine if she's going to keep him at arm's length like she should.

He leans in, his lips hovering just above her ear, his breath warm as he says, his voice low and husky, making heat pool in her belly, “Something like that.”

“Erik...” She sighs, shaking her head, but there's a fondness in her tone, sparking hope for the Minnesotan. “I'm not getting down on one knee,” Erik laughs covering her her slender hand with his larger one. “A drink is hardly a proposal.”

“You flew all the way to Vegas from your house in California because Julie told you we had a layover here. I am a divorced mother of two grown children. One is in college and the other will be starting college next year. I do not have time for games.”

“That's fine because who said I was playing games? A flight from LA to Vegas is nothing. It's barely two hours. One drink and one dance won't hurt.”

The thought of feeling Erik's hard body pressed against her, his strong hands holding her hips as they swayed is almost too much to bear. He's far too good to be true. A handsome thirty something athlete interested in her, making her feel things she hasn't felt in so long, having the walls she built up starting to crumble, she almost doesn't know what to do.

Eyeing him critcally, Kylie huffs and holds up her index finger. “One dance and one drink, and that's it. Don't try to charm your way into antoher drink and another dance. It won't work.”

“We'll see.”

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

i know your motives and you know mine

the ones that love me, i tend to leave behind

if you know about me and choose to stay

then take this pleasure and take it with the pain

“love me harder” - by ariana grande and the weekend

Alcohol makes things increasingly clearer for Nate.

The three beers plus the copious amount of shots at Drais` in the Cosmo help confirm what he's known since he met Morgan, he can't live without her.

He thinks the DJ is playing that one song between Ariana Grande and The Weekend, but it's hard to be sure when all he's thinking about is Morgan.

She's pressed right up against him, moving her hips to the beat of the song and dancing has never been his forte, but she's always been able to pull him onto the floor without much protest from him. Even before they were together she could get him to dance.

He can feel her hips through the silk of the tiny slip dress she's wearing. It's burgundy and brings out the different shades of carmel and copper in her hazel eyes. One of the straps has fallen off her shoulder, the thin stripped is wrapped around her bicep and he can see the cluster of freckles he memorized after their first night together. Her red hair frames her face perfectly, her cheeks are flushed prettily from the alcohol and the dancing, her alabaster skin the color of a perfectly ripe peach now.

She stops grinding against him and he lets out a strangled groan, because, why??????

Then she drapes her arms around his neck, the chunky heels of her shoes bring her closer to his height and she rests her head on his shoulder and this he can do, sway and hold her close so he can smell the coconut of her shampoo and the peonies of her perfume.

She murmurs the lyrics to the song, “Cause if you want to keep me, you gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, got to love me harder. And if you really need me, you gotta, gotta, gotta, gotta, go to love me harder.”

Sober nate would not do this. Sober Nate would be mortified. But Nate is not sober.

Nate has had three beers and who knows how many shots because the bartender saw Jesse's Bachelorette sash and crown thing and they wouldn't stop pouring Fireball? Jager? Crown? Nate can't honestly remember. What he does remember is hearing Morgan giggle and seeing her look at him, happy and dopey expression on her beautiful face as she draped herself all over him, which meant he was knocking back the shots as fast as he could.

So again, sober Nate would not do this, but Nate – to reiterate – was not sober.

“Morgan Marie Compher,” He says with all the conviction he can muster as they continue to sway. “I wanna marry you.”

“Natey...” Her voice is soft and hopeful as she touches his cheek. She bites her lip and Nate groans, it's so hot. “You really do?” She looks at him through her velvet lashes and he answers her. “Hell yeah, I really do.”

And that's how they find themselves her; The Little White Wedding Chapel.

Morgan squealed and launched herself at him, Nate somehow having retained enough of his quick reflexes to catch her slim frame. How they broke apart from their steamy makeout, their hands nearly tearing at their clothes, to find JT, Kacey, Jesse and Tyson they don't know.

They don't know how they got to The Little White Wedding Chapel, really. But they're there standing in front of an Elvis impersonator, JT and Tyson standing next to Nate and Jesse and Kacey next to Morgan.

“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here to join...” Elvis begins and Jesse hiccups and slurs, “Waaaaaait, a second! Mo Mo doesn't have a veil. She needs a veil.”

“Uh-huh,” Kacey agrees nodding eagearly. “Pause,” She hiccups, making the sign for timeout. The girls run off to the bridal shop in the chapel, giggling and stumbling as they grab Morgan and pull her along with them. When they come back five minutes later, Nate's breath catches.

His heart skips a beat and he breathes out, “Wow,” sounding mesmerized as Morgan walks toward him again, this time a soft tulle veil covering her face. It's fastened to a sparkling tiara and even in her burgundy slip dress and chunky heels, an outfit made for clubbing, she looks like a princess.

To Morgan as she stands across from Nate in his tight ftting black polo and matching slacks while the silver Tag Huer watch she got him on his birthday last year gleams on his right wrist, he looks like Prince Charming to her. He looks like the man she's been waiting for her whole life.

Elvis starts again. “Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here to watch this hunk-a-hunk of burnin' love join this little mama in holy matrimony...”

“I do,” Nate murmurs, feeling more certain of this – being with Morgan forever – than he has about anything.

“With the power vested in me by the great state of Nevada, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Nate lifts Morgan's veil and kisses her with all the tenderness and love he ever has. JT and Tyson whistle while Kacey and Jesse yell, “Get it, girl!”

The six of them pour out of the chapel under a flurry of rice and rose petals, laughing and hollering as Nate and Morgan kiss again.

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

but you're just so cool

run your hands through your hair

absent mindedly makin' me want you

and i don't know how it gets better than this

you take my hand and drag me head first

fearless

and i don't know why

but with you i'd dance in a storm

in my best dress

fearless

“fearless” - by taylor swift (taylor's version)

“I don't want to get married, Joseph,” Kacey says softly and JT blinks, his brain is workign overtime between all the shots and the beer and the champagne they all shared after Nate and Morgan's impromptu wedding. “Okay,” He manages, staring at his girlfriend curiously.

They're walking around Las Vegas Boulevard, not having a particular destination in mind and they let the others walk up ahead.

Kacey had caught him completely by surprise. He never expected to find himself falling for her while Tyson and Nate were falling for his sisters. One day she was Tyson's baby sister who teased and then suddenly she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

She was Jost, then she became Kacey and after that he was calling her Kace and then she had a drawer full of clothes at his place and he was calling her baby before he could blink.

Marriage was a long way away. She was finishing up her degree and he knew how important that was, that she graduate and have a job lined up before she moved to Denver. He admired that about her, how she knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go after it.

“I love you,” Her soft voice brings him back and he smiles down at her. “Me too, Kace,” He assures, brushing back a loose curl from her untamed tangle of curls he loves to run his fingers through. “Wanna show you how much I do, JT,” She murmurs into his chest.

He laughs and kisses the crown of her head and a neon sign catches his eye. He's just drunk enough to have the courage to do this. If he were sober, he wouldn't even think of doing this.

He tilts her chin upwards and bends, and they kiss softly, their tongues meeting and after breaking apart, he's pulling her toward the purple neon sighn that says Hart and Huntington Tattoo Company.

Kacey giggles as she unbuttons her tight pleather pants and the tattoo artist eyes her suspcioulsy as she lays down, revealing the skin of her slim hip. She's more or less tipsy now. It's been hours since the margirtas and the endless shots and the two swigs of champagne.

“I'm basically sober. Scout's honor.” Her Girl Guide's salute is clumsy and does not inspire confidence in the severe looking tatted up raven haired female tattoo artist. “I love him,” The young Canadian says, her soft tone radiating honesty and the older woman's blood red lips twitch.

In her green eyes, however, is understanding. “The letters JT with the number 37 hanging from the end of the J, yeah?”

Kacey knows the smile on her face is dreamy as she meets JT's familiar chocolate gaze across from hers and she answers, “Yes,”

While her hip is being tattooed, JT's tight fitting shirt has been discarded revealing his toned chest and six pack. Across his right pec her name and number for volleyball are being inked into his skin. He wrote her name down, so the tattoist could mimic his own handwriting and at the end of the “y” in her name he added, the number 10.

Most tattoo artists tried to talk couples out of doing stuff like this. Especially if they weren't married or they were far from sober. But the husband and wife who were tattooing the young couple that had stumbled in, had a feeling they were the real deal.

“That's forever, baby,” Jenny mused as her husband Ronnie wrapped his burly arm around wher waist as JT and Kacey left the shop, hand in hand, matching besotted smiles on their faces. “Fuck yeah it is,” Ronnie's gruff voice agreed.

i'm not usually this way but

you pull me in and i'm a little more free

it's the first kiss, i'ts falwless, it's really something, it's

fearless

oh, yeah

cause i don't know how it gets better than this

you take my hand and drag me head first

fearless

and i don't know why

but with you i'd dance in a storm

in my best dress

fearless

“fearless” by taylor swift (taylor's version)

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

and i know that it must be the woman in you

that brings out the man in me

i know that i can't help myself

you're all that my eyes can see

“feels like the first time” - by foreigner

What in the world have I got myself into Kylie thinks as she and Erik sway to the familiar guitar and keyboards to the classic Foreigner song “Feels Like The First Time.” It may have been only one drink, but it's been several dances to several songs.

Her hips fit perfectly inside his large, broad plams and the crown of her strawberry blonde hair slides right under his chin. Her body fits against his like they're two pieces of a puzzle.

This is too much and she shouldn't dare, but before her rational side can take hold,; she lets him tilt her head toward his and lets his lips draw hers into a kiss.

It's been too long since she's felt like this; completely overwhelmed by someone.

Erik can't remember the last time he's wanted to kiss someone so badly. The chase had always been the best part of the song and dance. He had never really wanted to catch someone until Kylie. Not because she was resisting his advances, but because he wanted to have her in his life, to share more than just his bed for a night or two.

The need to breathe is a curse because all he wants to do is keep kissing her. Their tongues met softly and they break apart, her slender hand clutching at his linen shirt while his large hand is firmly gripping her right ass cheek, keeping her pressed against him as they catch their breath.

“This is so very bad,” Kylie laughs in disbelief.

There are so many reasons why. Number one is being how she's three years shy of being fifty and as she triest to back out of his grip, he tightens his hold. “No way,” His voice is low and deep, making her knees buckle. “You're not running away after kissing me like that,”

“Erik,” She pleads for him to understand this will never work or for him to convince her that it will, she's not sure what she wants more.

“Here's the problem,” Erik murmurs, his other hand tracing the slim curves of her left side before he brings that hand to cup her beautifully formed high cheekbone, so it's impossible to look away from him. “It's been so long since anyone's told you how beautiful you are, how funny. So long since anyone's wanted you, which is a damn shame,” Every velvet word makes Kylie shudder and through the silk of her blouse she can feel her nipples peaking and God he's going to be the death of her.

“Which means all you can think to do is run. Well, I'm telling you that you're beautiful and you're funny and that I want you,” His nose moves up and down the curve of her neck, breathing her in before his stunning cornflower eyes bore into her cinnamon drenched hazel with such honesty and want, she has no choice but to believe him. 'I'll be on the fight back to Denver and you can decide to stop fighting this and take a chance or you can let me down easy. It's up to you, but trust me when I say, Kylie, you're beautiful and you're funny and I've never wanted anyone as badly as I want you.”

The kiss he leaves her with is as soft and tender as it is passionate.

She brings her fingers to her lips, watching Erik go and she knows no man has ever made her feel like this.

Erik is offering her everything. She just has to step up and take it.

and it feels like the first time

like it never did before

feels like the first time

like we've opened up the door

feels like the first time

like it never will again, never again

“feels like the first time” - by foreigner

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

maybe i've just gotta wait

maybe this is a mistake

i'm a fool yeah

maybe i'm just a fool yeah (oh, oh)

girl what would you do, would you wanna

stay

if i were to stay

“last first kiss” - by one direction

This is not, objectively speaking, something “grown ups” who are engaged would do; have four large supreme pizzas, a sick pack of beer and an assortment of candy inside a blanket fort while they're in their underwear, but Tyson and Jesse aren't really concerned about the perception of being grown ups, they're too busy being so in love they can't even see straight.

The deep evergreen lace of her bralette and cheeky underwear against her warm alabaster skin makes Tyson's blood grow hot and thick in his veins.

While Jesse can't stop thinking about how his black boxer briefs hug his thighs.

They both laugh and snort, unaware of the door to the suite opening and how JT and Kacey are stumbling inside. Or it could be Nate and Morgan. It honestly doesn't matter. What matters is they're here together, inside their blanket fort and Jesse has the 3.5 karart diamond ring on her finger.

“Awww man,” Tyson groans, making Jesse blink as she looks at him curiously while he pouts. “Morgan and Nate got married tonight. We're engaged. Elivs was supposed to marry us. They aren't engaged. That's not how it works.”

Jesse giggles and shakes her head as she crawls toward him to sit in his lap. Her amrs wind around his neck and she presses her forhead against his, lovesick smile on her pretty face. “I don't want Elvis to marry us, Tyson,” Her voice is soft and warm, making his heart skip a beat like always. “I want a whole wedding with everyone there. I want my Dad and Joey to walk me down the aisle, to give me away. I want to wear a pretty dress and you to wear a suit.”

Tyson swallows thickly. It's so easy to imagine Jesse on a summer day in a simple white dress with a short veil and Bob – please, tyson i think you can call me bob now and not mr compher – and JT on either side of her walking toward him. Kacey and his Mom are standing with him along with Fab and Barzy and he can't breathe.

Her smile is blinding just like it is right now with only the light from the glittering hotels on the Strip filtering through the sheets of their blanket fort.

He slips her engagement ring off of her finger and she yelps, “Hey!” but he silences her with a heated kiss before she can say anything else. Their tongues tangle together sweetly, her fingers sinking into his curls as his other hand, that's not holding her ring slides up and down her back until they break apart, their lungs burning with the need to breathe.

“Give that back,” Jesse laughs, shoving at his toned chest. “My super hot fiance gave it to me.”

Tyson laughs, loud and unabashed, like always. Flicking an olive from one of the pizzas, Jesse laughs and retaliates by flicking a pepperoni at him. A mini food fight breaks out, Tyson able to catch most of the toppings she flicks at him inside his mouth. They settle and he takes a deep breath, staring deeply inot the familiar warmth of Jesse's soft brown eyes.

He grabs for her hand like he did at the cabin last Christmas and her heart pounds like it did on that crisp winter day. “Tys,” Shaky and soft, falls off her lips and he kisses her quickly before taking another deep breath.

“We're gonna get married just like you want. You're going to wear a pretty dress and I'll wear a suit and your Dad and JT are going to give you away, but I want to promise you stuff right now. Say vows or whatever,” He waves his hand and she nods, feeling her eyes getting misty. “You're my best friend, J. Life is crazy and you never know what's goin g to happen the next day, the next minute or hour, but I know if you're there, it's going to be okay. I know it's not always going to be easy. I don't know a lot, like, having life insurance or buying a house, but I know there's no one else I want to learn all that stuff with execpt you. But what I do know is life will be the most fun because it's with you. I promise, Jesse Chloe Compher, that I will love you forever even if you steal the last of the ketchup chips, forget to buy milk and still can't cook. I promise I will take care of you and won't let you get behind on Grey's Anatomy and I won't watch ahead of you on Ginny and Georgia. I want to be your last first kiss. Will you be mine?”

Jesse can't stop the smile from crossing her face. Seh can't believe she gets to spend the rest of her life with the incredibly sweet and funny and cute boy that's in front of her. He slips her ring back onto her finger and she takes a deep breath, glancing at the diamond before meeting his beautiful, big chocolate eyes.

“Tys, I promise to love you forever. I won't ever let you get down on yourself after a bad game. I will always be your biggest fan, through the ups and the downs. No matter where hockey takes you, I'll be right by your side ready to cheer you on. I can't wait to see you grow and become the best version of yourself on and off the ice. I know you'll never let me down, that if I need you, you'll be there giving me all the support and strength. We can do anything together, so bring on buying a house and figuring out life insurance. I promise,” She laughs, touching his face before leaning into kiss him quickly. “To always make you smile and laugh, to never let you stay sad for too long. I promise to learn how to make Laura's famous Nanaimo bars so you'll always have a tatse of home around. I promise to wear something cute to bed every night. Yes, Tyson Jost, I will be your last first kiss.”

The next kiss they share is longer and as passionate as ever.

When Tyson lays Jesse down amongst all the pillows and blankets, she couldn't say, but all she knows is the warmth of his body against hers. Seh arches against him and he fumbles slightly with the front clasp of her baralette and then his lips are on her skin, making her thighs rub together as his tongue circles one of her nipples. He's so good at this she wonders how she lived so long without him.

They're a tangle of limbs; panting and sweaty, their skin sticking together after they both reach their highs, foreheads pressed together and dopey smiles on their faces.

“We're married now,” Tyson says huskily and Jesse giggles. “Yeah, we are. I'm Mrs. Tyson Jost,” She murmurs. “I'm Mr. Jesse Compher.”

And that's how they fall asleep in the blanket fort in the middle of the sprawling and expensive suite at the Aria hotel. Still a little drunk but as in love as they ever have been.

i wanna be last, yeah

baby, let me be your, let me be your last first

kiss

i wanna be first, yeah

wanna be the first to take it all the way like this

“last first kiss” - by one direction

soundtrack “viva las vegas,” bruce springsteen, “feels like the first time” foreigner “love me harder” ariana grande and the weekend and “fearless” (taylor's version) taylor swift