#featuring: uncle lamb

[two-white-butterflies]

coaxed you into paradise - c. 33

Description: The life of Saera Targaryen told in four acts. She was her father's forgotten daughter, cast aside as she looked nothing like her mother. Her younger days were spent beside her uncle. Years following her marriage with Ser Harwin Strong, she catches him in an affair with her older sister. She returns to seek solace in the arms of Daemon, whose loved her all her life.

masterlist for this series

Chapter Thirty-Three: Born With Sharp Teeth

In his day there was not a man so admired, so beloved, and so feared. To his enemies, he was the blackest of villains. There was not a rebel in the Stepstones that lived after his crusade.

But fatherhood has softened him to some extent.

Having children made him want to become a better person. When a man reaches his age, they only yearn for a warm home filled with healthy sons and daughters.

The old crown has chipped, but fragments of his past remain. He still acted upon impulse, allowing his fury to govern over rational thought, or in this case governing over his ability to do the right thing.

He closes his eyes, 'what would his wife do?'

He licks his lips, taking a sip of his wife's wine that Elinda Massey generously laid out for him.

Saera would return to Harrenhal, gather their losses and remain in the castle until the war is over. She'd do that to protect their other children. Saera would do the good thing.

There was a voice in the back of his ears, preying upon this vulnerability. All these years you tried to be a good person, but this is what fate gives in return. Set this ghost of yours free. Peace can only be achieved through violence.

An iron fist that would rule Westeros.

'I am not my wife' he told himself.

And therefore his actions must hinge upon what he desires to do.

He took mammoth strides towards Rhaenyra's chambers; the Dark Sister twirling around his fingers as he prepares for easy battle. He was not a sentimental person, he didn't feel love for anyone outside of his family. He believed that he loved Rhaenyra, because behind her eyes he sees his brother, Viserys.

But that love has turned into hatred now.

"Daemon," her lips turned into a thin line.

She knows that he knows.

"Rhaenyra," he replied.

A member of the Queensguard stands in front of him. Ser Erryk, a follower of his oaths. "- I apologize, uncle, but it needed to be done." she articulated, the aura of command radiates her figure.

"You have slaughtered your legacy," he responds coldly. "- those bastard sons of yours will not birth trueborn dragons." he added.

She laughs at him.

"Daegon and Alyssa are bastards too, fathered by your very own." she raises her voice, the madness of dragons behind her eyes.

"I'm tired of your whitewashing, uncle - tired of Saera boasting her children's Valyrian features when their claims stand upon lies." she gritted her teeth. "- you are greedy, the both of you have always been." she berated, not a shred of guilt behind her eyes.

"And what would that make you? The court of Dragonstone believes Jacaerys to be your heir - a child fathered by Ser Harwin Strong." he responded, the years have not stolen his wits.

"Those that are born with sharp teeth must use it well." she used his own advice against him.

He feels his vision blur, the feeling of drowsiness invades his being. Rhaenyra takes a step forward, and he remembers that Elinda Massey was Rhaenyra's handmaiden - not Saera's.

'The fucking wine.' he cursed in his head.

"When Saera and I were younger, you told us about a story: The Dragon and the Sheep..." she breathed.

The forest animal run away when they see the Dragon's shadow. The hares swiftly hide under their forms, the monkeys gecker and stay close to the trees. The runaway sheep does not know why the animals cower at the sight of a shadow.

But she knows that she must protect her lamb.

She tries to follow the hare and the monkeys and the bears, but all bend at the shadow of the dragon.

And the dragon feasts on sheep and lamb alike.

To the animals of the forest, the dragon is the blackest of all creatures. But when you are born with sharp teeth, you must use it.

Daemon awakens inside of a cell.

He sees nothing but darkness, smells nothing but shit. He remembers the commotion that happened hours days ago.

Issa ābrazȳrys.

His chest tightens, the room seems to have grown smaller. What if Rhaenyra were to happen upon his wife? He closes his eyes, not a firm believer of the gods, but he prays.

He prays to the gods that his family remains safe.

Daegon. Alyssa. Viserra and Daelon.

He opens his eyes, but is greeted with darkness once more. "I need to get out of here," he mumbles to himself. He will rot in this place if he stays for too long and he cannot stay for too long.

He needs to be in Harrenhal. He needs to protect his family.

"How long do you plan to hold him there, my Queen? Prince Daemon is an asset to the crown, without his military prowess - we'll lose." Ser Erryk speaks as the Queen's conscience.

She takes a sip of her tea.

"We'll leave him there for a few more days, allow the cells to soften his resolve, then I shall strike a proposal." she surmised. She remembers his advice again: give them pain so they're thankful when they're not in pain.

She breathes for a second.

"There was a time, you know, when Daemon adored me the most. He'd tell me stories and let me sleep in his bed. He was more of a father than my own, but things swiftly changed when he was exiled. My sister was whelped into this world soon after. I loved Saera, she was such a demure little thing who barely misbehaved - she listened to everything that I told her to do." she chuckled bitterly.

The ages have changed the sisters.

"When Daemon returned, I was no longer a child. I thought that he'd give me the same attention as before, but then he saw my sister and decided that she was worthy of better love. I was so angry at her, I barely spoke to her - I spent my time around Lady Alicent. It was unfair, our mother loved Saera the most and my father only wanted a son. I thought that Daemon was for me." she continued, feeling the tears pool around her eyes.

She wanted to speak about her sister further, but she prevents herself. She prevents herself from saying the whole truth, that she hated Saera, no matter how kind or obedient she is.

In Rhaenyra's eyes, it was just unfair.

How Saera had the freedom to choose her husband and live a happy life, while she's forever burdened by the weight of the crown.

A crown that she will fight for.

"She has everything, Harwin, Daemon, and she wants to take everything." she finished, but there were still words left unsaid.

(THE RED KEEP. KING VISERYS' REIGN)

Daemon takes a deep breath, the scent of the Red Keep was unique. A mixture of lavender and sandalwood oils that the handmaidens used on linen to ensure that fresh scent. "Uncle," he hears Rhaenyra's voice from behind him. He smiles.

"Rhaenyra, the sight of you is good for sore eyes." he places a hand around her shoulder. Daemon adored his nieces, he often brought gifts from the many kingdoms that he visited. "It's been far too long," she replied as they continued walking down the halls of the castle.

"Where is your sister?" he inquired, finding himself searching for Saera. While Rhaenyra has the same fire inside his veins, he finds peace with the younger niece - he finds tranquility in her.

"She spends time with mother sewing and embroidering. I cannot find myself to enjoy that hobby, no matter how hard I try." she chuckles, eyes suddenly filled with loneliness. She cannot relate to her own mother, and she doesn't know why.

"I came bearing gifts," he informed and Rhaenyra smiles - happiness finally reaching her eyes. "Her nameday is coming soon, and I figured that she deserved to have a lot of gifts." he added implying that all the gifts he bought were only for Saera.

"I'm sure she does," she mumbled.

She sees the way Daemon's eyes light up at the mention of her younger sister. She plays with the rings on her fingers.

Is she losing him?

Is he slipping through her fingers?

next chapter>>

[squish--squash]

shittens...

lore and bonus art under the cut

(before I really start the lore I just wanna mention these two hatched from eggs. I have my own speculative biology hcs about cotl that keeps the canonical eggs bc I'm crazy. I'd infodump about it but I'm not sure how my followers would feel about me talking about the reproduction about a fictional group of anthros LSDHGS-)

anyways. Beleth (she/her): the younger twin, second to hatch. she was actually the first shitten I designed, she's got at least two prior attempts at a design before I really settled on her current design. She has two sets of ears and no horns, and her body plan is more of a sheep, except her arms are more cat-like with paws. as a kid, Beleth's pretty energetic and loves to run around, and talking to everyone she sees. very friendly and social. also chaotic at times and causes mischief. Unlike the Lamb, who shears often due to crusading, Beleth rarely shears herself, and keeps extra wool that grows on her head out of her face by pulling it back into a poofy ponytail (it's also a couple shades darker than the lamb). She also always has two bells on her- the bells her and her sister wore when they were babies

Erinyes (she/they): the older twin, first to hatch. her design just popped into existence without me thinking that hard about it, and I'm ngl she's my fav shitten of the two LSHDLGHDS. Her face and body are catlike, but there's some sheep features, like the ears, horns, and hoofed hands. She only has wool on her head, and it's black; as a kid, she hardly sheared it, but as an adult she keeps it a bit shorter, shearing off pieces that get too long. They're not nearly as talkative as Beleth, but they're very fast and graceful. She had a habit of climbing the trees on the edge of the cult ground for some piece and quiet and Narinder would keep having to climb up after her to get her down. When her wool is longer but not longer enough to shear, she keeps the wool out of her face by tying it off to the side in two sections. They're a bit taller and slimmer than Beleth, even as adults

speaking of adults, this is a quick sketch of them when they're fully grown (they're immortal like their parents, and stopped aging once they reached adulthood - which took quite a bit longer lol)

as adults, Beleth because the head nurse of the healers, being apprenticed by the former head nurse (who had been with them both since childhood, her skull necklace prolonging her life); Erinyes becomes the head of missionaries, teaching newbies, organizing supplies to take and where to go, unloading the hauls, and sometimes even joining on missions herself. Their outfits are different as well: Beleth keeps the bells, but replaces the garment she wore as a kid with a pleated skirt, the bells attaching to the thick belt she wears; Erinyes wears a cloak like the Lamb, with an undergarment covering her body (this is mainly to protect herself from the elements when she's outside the cult)

anyways, here's a bonus: I made some wives for the sisters lol

Mabre (she/her): strong, suave, and part of the missionaries. after she was indoctrinated from Anura she was placed to be a missionary; her ass was not listening for the first day bc she was too busy staring at her new boss gayly. gets quite a few scars from her work (including a ripped ear) but she enjoys the work, and doesn't mind. It takes a while for Erinyes to realize their feelings and it's only after Mabre almost dies that she realizes, and promptly pulls a Narinder by ignoring said feelings until Mabre finally makes a move

Hetry (he/she): shy and polite worshipper taken in from Darkwood, was pined after immediately by a certain shitten. They didn't actually talk tho until a prank gone wrong via Leshy resulted in Hetry breaking her leg, and he developed an instant crush upon watching Beleth chew her own uncle out within an inch of his life. enjoys the pleasantries of life and the simplicity of her work. there's a lot of mutual pining until the two finally get together (Erinyes would tease Beleth about it, and then gets a taste of her own medicine after Mabre's indoctrinated)

(they both wear golden skull necklaces for obvious reasons, but Mabre also wears a missionary necklace, while Hetry wears a nature necklace intertwined with his golden skull necklace; they also become disciples eventually, Hetry through her worshipper status and Mabre by constant feats of effort and strength to support the cult)

[honkytonk-hangman]

Meet You All The Way

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x OC/Reader

Summary: Now that they have reconciled, Rooster struggles to figure out the right way to tell Maverick that he has a family all of his own now.

(Or, how Rooster comes to terms with the fact he wants Maverick to be apart of his family again, but leaves it until they both almost die to actually do anythign about it.)

Warnings: DAD!ROOSTER!!!!!! and idk maybe some language? Mav being sad :( unplanned pregnancy, not much else i think, but i repeat: dad!rooster!!!

Words: 11k!!!!!!!!!!

Masterlist

Rooster should feel good.

No, Rooster should feel great.

He had, for a while at least. In the hours immediately following their impossible return from what should have been the end for both of them, Rooster and Maverick had been granted a mercifully short debrief, and then like Mav had promised, they’d talked.

It had occurred to Bradley halfway through their reconciliation, just how long it had been, almost a full eighteen years, and how it was only then, after the last of his anger was finally let go, that he realised how much it had been weighing him down.

The lightness he feels in the wake of his forgiveness is short-lived, though, as they begin both reminiscing on their lives over the past eighteen years, their careers, sharing stories and various anecdotes they would have otherwise known if not for the rift between them.

Unlike the weight of his anger, the weight of Bradley’s guilt makes itself known right away. If Mav notices sooner, he doesn’t let on, and if it were anything else, Rooster might’ve appreciated the space, but now he just wishes the other man would bring it up, take the difficult part out of his own hands. He doesn’t, though, but six days into their post-mission leave, he does begin to let on that he knew something was up.

But enough was enough now, so Bradley steals himself, and does what he should have done from the moment they’d found one another again.

“Mav, there’s something I need to talk to you about…” he avoids visibly wincing at his own words, but doesn’t miss the downward slope of his adoptive uncle’s mouth, despite the reassuringly calm expression he wears. He doesn’t speak, but he does place his wrench down and turn to face the younger man as he wipes off his hands.

“I…” Rooster starts, but his voice cuts off without his full permission, and he drops his gaze. How was he supposed to do this? It wasn’t as if there were a guidebook he could buy. Rooster’s eyes catch on something to his left then, Mav’s photo board, his eyes lingering on one of the many pictures of his father that hung there.

He sends a quick ‘thanks, dad’ out into the universe, and turns his head back to the man in front of him, pushing off the bench he was leaning against so that he can dig his wallet out of his back pocket. It takes a bit of work to wriggle one of the small 2x3 photographs out from behind the worn plastic covering meant to display his ID, and takes a short moment to appreciate the image for himself before he looks back to Maverick.

“Here,” he says, watching as Mav pauses momentarily, before throwing down the rag he holds and carefully plucking the photograph from between his fingers. Rooster can’t help but bounce his knee slightly as he settles back against the bench, watching as Maverick’s eyes flicker over the photo seemingly inch by inch, taking in each detail closely.

At last, he looks up, lips pulled into an easy smile.

“She’s beautiful,” he says warmly, holding the page out again, and Bradley takes it without much thought, sliding it back into place while he nods.

“She is. Smarter than I’ll ever be, too,” he adds, his own features unable to hold back any longer from breaking into a full, soppy grin. Mav chuckles and tilts his head in understanding.

“Doctor Rosanna Lamb,” he says almost to himself, always in disbelief how he’d gotten so lucky. Mav whistles lowly.

“Where’s she stationed?” he asks, referencing the matching Navy uniforms you’d both been wearing in the photo, and settles himself against the side of the Mustang they’d previously both been working on.

“She’s a surgeon, so they’re generally happy to station us together. She put in a request for North Island a couple of days ago, after I told her about the new squadron they’re forming for us here,” Rooster tells him, pausing briefly before adding; “She’ll be here next week.”

Maverick smiles at him, and pushes off the plane, pulling Bradley in toward him, and giving his back a gentle smack as they embrace.

“I’m happy for you, Bradley, I really am,” he says after pulling away again, but still holding onto the younger man’s shoulders. He gives him a tight squeeze and releases him.

“I’ll have to take the two of you to dinner when she’s settled,” Mav states, and without much thought to it, Rooster hums noncommittally.

“Maybe.”

Mav raises an eyebrow in amusement, and cocks his head playfully.

“What? Not ready for her to meet the family?” he jokes. Rooster chortles, and shakes his head.

“It depends more on if Amelia is up for babysitting.”

Bradley can feel the moment his heartbeat spikes, watches intently as Maverick blinks in confusion, processing the words carefully as he does. Bradley flips open his wallet again, and this time he pulls out a different photo, bigger than the 2x3 one, and he unfolds it, smooths it out, before slowly handing it over.

Maverick cautiously takes it, his expression still pulled into a frown, but his sharp intake of breath is audible. He’s barely glanced at the photo before his eyes flicker back to Rooster, and then down again. He brings the picture closer, swallows thickly as he stares down at it silently. When Rooster can see his eyes have begun turning a little red, he clears his throat.

“His name is Nick. That one’s a little old, he’s nearly five now but it’s still one of my favourites,” Rooster smiles as Maverick finally tears his eyes away, holding his gaze with what the younger man can only describe as pure remorse.

“Nick,” Mav repeats, voice a little croaky, and Rooster nods.

“We usually just call him Goose.”

That makes the older man chuckle, and despite the melancholic look he still wears, he glances back down to the boy in the photo, dressed up as Luke Skywalker in his iconic orange flight suit two Halloween’s ago. Rooster had gone as Han Solo, and you as Leia of course.

“Yeah, he looks like a Goose,” Mav agrees, before the sadness finally begins to fade from his eyes, turning into nothing but pure adoration. He moves to hand the picture back then, but Rooster shakes his head, before gesturing to the photo wall.

“You keep it.” He tells him, lips twitching with a smile at the total lack of argument that comes from the other man, who immediately draws the photograph near again, subconsciously holding it to his heart.

Eventually, once Mav can be convinced to part with the photo, Rooster watching him fuss with his photo wall for almost fifteen minutes until the newest addition is front and centre, he pulls Rooster back in for a tight hug. He doesn’t let go so soon this time.

“He’s beautiful, Bradley.”

—

“Babe, I’m so happy for you, I bet you feel so much lighter,” your voice crackles over the speaker on Rooster’s phone, and he can hear the soft smile in your voice. He nods, even though you can’t see him.

“Yeah. I do. I really do.” he sighs contently, and curls an arm under his head. Some shuffling on the other end, your voice muffled, and then more clearly, you let out an exasperated sigh of your own.

“I swear to god, it’s like he has a sixth sense for when you’re on the phone… Come on, Goose, say hello to daddy…”

Rooster perks up, only briefly checking the time before his full attention is on the sleepy little voice that calls out down the line.

“Hi daddy!” The five-year-old had clearly been asleep until recently, his voice excited, but a little droopy still.

“Heya, Goose, how’re you doing, pal? Are you getting excited for the big move?” Rooster feels bad he isn’t able to head back even for a few days to help you organise everything, but he also knows you were more than capable and more than prepared, had this sort of thing down to a T by now.

“Uh-huh! Can’t wait to see you daddy! Mommy said there’s gonna be a beach, and lots of planes, and–” Goose’s voice cuts off for a moment as you say something inaudible to him, but he’s back before Rooster can comment.

“And she said Uncle Jake is with you!”

Rooster’s eyes narrow and he glares, but only because neither of you are able to see him.

“You don’t have an Uncle Jake,” he grumbles, going completely ignored as Goose continues to talk about all the things he was excited for in California. When the boy is done listing things, Rooster clears his throat a little.

“Are you excited to meet your Grandpa Mav?” He feels a nervousness at the question, unsure if the boy would remember the name you and he had given his adoptive uncle when they’d spent an evening going through his mom’s photo albums, so that Goose could see the man he was named for.

“Uh-huh! Mommy said he put my picture on his wall!” Goose preens. Rooster chuckles and realises you must have shown him the photo he’d snapped earlier, of the newest photograph that had pride of place at the centre of the collage.

“He did, he was very particular about making sure he could always see it,” he hears his son giggle down the line, and the sound makes every bit of hardship he’d ever endured worth it. He’d go through a hundred times worse if it meant he could hear it everyday.

“It’s okay honey, you can close your eyes,” he hears you coo, can picture the way Goose is sleepily blinking, struggling to keep his head off your pillow.

“He’s dropping off again, Roo, say goodnight while he can hear you.”

“Goodnight buddy, I love you so much.”

“Love you too, daddy.”

You talk for only a short while longer, before you too head to sleep, and Bradley finds himself grinning up at his ceiling, his heart thumping rapidly, excitement building in his chest as he mentally begins to count down the days until he has you both in his arms once more.

SIX YEARS EARLIER

The music in the club is loud enough that you can feel it in your bones. You’re almost tempted to make everyone go to an audiologist in the morning, but you figure you were already the acting buzzkill of the group, you didn’t need to be a nagger too.

You weren’t always this crotchety when you went out with your friends, usually if you were at your local bar, you had no trouble letting loose and winding down, but you weren’t at the Hard 

Deck right now.  No, tonight you had followed your friends and colleagues out to one club, and then another. Gone were your comfortable jeans and sneakers, or even your uniform, instead you were currently wearing heels that were only just on the right side of comfortable, and a dress that made you feel pretty.

It was rare any of you got away from base long enough to put on something nice, and even rarer that you weren’t wearing medical scrubs or khaki, so your friends were busy making the best of it. You had elected to be designated driver, or designated uber caller, knowing you’d probably not be able to relax anyway, given how tipsy some of your friends were getting, and how anxious the clubbing scene made you.

You were only slightly appeased by a friendly group of men that had joined you just after you’d arrived, they all seemed nice and respectful enough, but you couldn’t help still keeping your eyes on where several of them dance, intermingled with your friends.

Movement to your left almost makes you jump, and although you’d hoped the dark lighting would conceal your surprise, the apologetic smile sent your way tells you it hadn’t. You’re joined at the table you’d found by one of the men now part of your group, the tallest one, with a moustache you honestly wouldn’t have thought anyone could pull off as well as he definitely is managing to do.

You hadn’t really spoken much to any of the men, happy to listen and let your friends get their flirt on, but you had to admit this one was kinda cute.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” he says, taking a seat at your left, though he frowns and quickly pulls a small clutch purse from where it had clearly almost been flattened even further, and places it on the table.

“I was just distracted,” you say with a shake of your head, and turn back to the dance floor, not wanting to stare at him. You couldn’t quite tell the colour of his eyes in the dim lighting, but they were oddly hypnotic, big and soulful. He settles in with a fresh beer, and you figure he mustn’t be the dancing type.

“Yeah? How's the overwatch going?” he asks, and you glance back at him, lip quirking now.

“It’d be better if they stopped disappearing into the crowd,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. The man cracks a smile, and you have to blink away from the brightness of it.

“I’m Rooster, by the way,” he offers out a hand, and you think it might be the first and only time anybody had ever shaken hands inside this club. “Rooster?” you question.

“It’s my callsign,” he tells you, sipping his beer, and looking like he’s about to explain to you what a callsign is, but you cut him off.

“Wait, you’re an aviator?” you ask, a little surprised, but it turns into wry amusement and you shake your head.

“Of course you are,” you chortle, mostly to yourself as you cast your eyes back to your friends and their partners on the dance floor.

Rooster’s brows dip and he leans forward a little, looking quite concerned, but once more, you speak before he can.

“My friends and I, we’re all part of the Medical Corps.” you inform him, and watch recognition turn into his own amusement.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around North Island,” he says, making you laugh again.

“It’s a big place. And unless you’re regularly getting surgeries, I don’t think you would.”

“You’re a surgeon?” Rooster asks, his eyes flashing with intrigue, and his expression turning impressed. You duck your head a little, but then stop yourself. You weren’t on a blind date with one of your friend’s friends. You didn’t need to make yourself smaller for this man. After all, he was a Naval Aviator, if anybody would understand having a job that required intense skill, he might.

“Yeah,” you nod, before cocking your head. “You guys heading out on the carrier?”

“No, we’re here for Top Gun. Just graduated,” Rooster tells you, clearly proud, and from what you know, he had every right to be.

“Oh, Wow! Congratulations,” you offer genuinely, tipping your water at him. Rooster leans over and taps his beer with your glass, before finishing it. Even though he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he drinks, you get the distinct feeling of being eye-fucked and you’re once again glad for the low lights, your face growing hot at the thought of what he might possible be imagining right now.

Okay, he was definitely more than just cute.

Rooster, much like yourself, is his group's designated driver, and after moving your chairs a little closer so you could talk without yelling, and his arm finds its way slung over the back of yours, his fingers brushing up your shoulder every so often as he talks. It seems to be natural that eventually he offers to drive both of your groups back to base.

You weren’t normally the kind of person to just roll with these sorts of punches, after all, you were a surgeon and in the Navy. You had a certain amount of discipline instilled in you… But Rooster was absolutely your type, and you got the feeling that regardless of your mutual attraction to one another, considering how your friends were liberally mixing with his, he would have offered anyway.

The ride back to base is filled with a heady tension, even as your friends drunkenly chatter in the backseats. Rooster had given a not-so-subtle glare at his friend who tried to call shotgun as you were leaving the club, and you find yourself once more seated beside him, only this time, his hand ends up wrapped around your mid-thigh, squeezing every so often as you both engage with the conversation.

By the time you’re dropping both your friends and Rooster’s at the nearest entrance to the on-base housing, you have excitement settling into your stomach and your own hand covering his on your thigh.

“Make sure you drink some water before you sleep! And lay out some pills for the morning!” you call out to your friends as they file out the back of the blue Bronco, most waving you off, only Jess turning back to you as she fumbles with her seatbelt, aided by her now-companion, a darker haired man you didn’t get the name of. “Thank you Doctor Lamb,” she sing-songs playfully with a smile and a roll of her eyes, but you don’t get to reply before she’s jumping out of the car, giggling as her new friend follows her, his hands magnetic to her waist.

The door shuts with a slam and a light smack. You turn back to Rooster, who is already looking at you intently, his eyes roaming your features, somewhere between amusement and fondness.

“Lamb? I bet that gets old on the mouth of sailors,” he says, briefly pulling his hand from yours to adjust his gearstick, and he begins to slowly exit the parking lot.

“Only some,” you laugh, but take a questioning glance at your moving surroundings. “Where are we going?”

Rooster jumps a little, as if he hadn’t realised he’d been driving at all, and the car starts to slow slightly, before it leaves the base entirely.

“Shit, sorry, I live off base, I didn’t even– I just assumed– Shit–” Rooster’s panic is a little adorable, his eyes wide and his voice sincere. You chortle, and place your hand on his leg this time, to let him know you weren’t offended.

“It’s alright.” you tell him, giving his leg a squeeze. Rooster seems to relax some, and shoots you a tight, but bashful smile, even as he wraps his fingers around yours again.

“I just want to hang out with you some more,” he seems almost embarrassed to admit, but tightens his grip on your fingers anyway. You can’t help but smile wider, which spurs on his own, and soon you’re laughing again, giggling in a girlish way that you’re fairly certain you haven’t let loose in years.

You wind up back in Rooster’s house, both of you sat at the rickety old piano he says was passed down to him from his parents. He plays absently, lazily as you both talk, until you raise a hand and begin tapping out a few notes of your own.

Rooster smiles at you, looking between your fingers and your face, and seems to lean in closer.

“You could have said you played, instead of listening to me wreck the keys for the past hour,” he says, nudging your shoulder. You almost instantly drop your hands from the piano and shake your head at him.

“I don’t! Really, I just know the notes… back in med school I used to do this memory association game with my exam notes and piano keys…” you slowly begin playing the very small amount that you know, and after a few moments, Rooster joins you, copying each note after you play it.

You shrug at him, and lift your hand to rest it on his forearm instead.

“Then, when I was sitting my exams, I just needed to tap my fingers on the desk, and it’d jog my memory,” you demonstrate, tapping out a few silent keys on his thick, tanned arm. Rooster grins, nodding as he looks away from you, taking the tune with him as he seems to play randomly. You stay listening for a moment, feeling the muscles in his arms tense and move with each stroke, and you find yourself lost in the feeling for several moments, until he swings his head back in your direction, and you blink up at him, realising he’d been talking.

Rooster chuckles, and stops playing long enough to rest his hand on your thigh again.

“What is ‘Rosie’ short for?” he asks again, cocking his head slightly. Your lip quirks at the fond warmth in his voice. This certainly wasn’t the sort of attention you were used to from apparent one night stands, who could barely care enough to find out your name let alone what it was short for.

“Rosanna,” you tell him, and to your own ears it almost sounds strange. You can’t remember the last time somebody called you Rosanna, you barely even used it in an official capacity if you could get away with it. Rooster shifts and seems pleased with the revelation, his head cocking again and his eyes lighting up.

“Rosanna? Like the Toto song?” he asks, making you laugh. You nod and can’t help but feel your stomach twist and your heart speed up when he starts to tap out the song’s main melody. You have to bite your lip as he continues, and you lean into his side, smiling up at him as he meets your gaze.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you ask, feeling your pulse get even quicker. Rooster nods, but doesn’t stop playing and you wait for a moment, wondering if you were really about to tell this virtual stranger one of the more embarrassing things about you. You decide to go for it though. For some reason, you think he, more than anyone else you’ve ever met, might understand.

“When I was a little girl, my dad used to play this song all the time. I used to think it was written for me. I used to ask him to play ‘my song’,” you say quietly, offering a soft chuckle when Rooster doesn’t immediately respond. You peek up at him a little nervously when his playing trails off, only to find him staring down at you in what you can only describe as sheer adoration. It makes your face grow hot and your already twisting stomach begins to fill with butterflies.

After a few seconds, he starts to play again, not as slow or lazily this time, properly, but he still gazes down at you.

“That is the sweetest thing I have ever heard, honey,” he says to you, smiling softly to himself. You’re about to respond, but he opens his mouth again, startling you slightly as he begins to sing the opening lines of the song.

Rooster’s voice is deep, gravelly, but suits singing well, and a part of you wonders why he never pursued performing instead of flying. The other part of you quickly forgets this line of thought as he continues to serenade you with the rest of the song, right up until the second chorus, when you place your hand over his, interrupting his playing, and catching his attention again properly.

When you kiss him, not bothering with starting slow or easy, and skipping straight to deep and full, Rooster kisses you back instantly, hands dropping from the piano keys right away to find purchase on your body. It takes little effort for him to pull you into his lap.

After that you leave the piano stool altogether, transferring to the far comfier mattress in his bedroom, and you don’t leave it for the rest of the night.

THREE MONTHS LATER

“Rooster?”

Your voice down the line is like a shock to his system, as though he’s just had a bucket of cold water thrown over him.

“Rosie?!” Rooster winces even as he asks. He already knows that it's you, he’d recognise your voice anywhere, even if he hasn’t heard it in over two months. Your quiet chuckle down the line goes someway to relax him, even if he’s now dealing with the crushing guilt that this call brings.

“Hey pretty girl,” he adds after a moment, feeling himself fall easily back into the comfort he’d felt when talking to you all those weeks ago now. When you’d first met at the club, you’d asked if he was going to ship off soon, and he’d told you no, but he should have known better, should have known the Navy wouldn't've kept him around in North Island for long.

“You didn’t call,” he can practically hear your faux pout, and relaxes himself back into his cot, glad his bunkmate won’t be back for another hour or so. Rooster reaches up and plucks a piece of paper that had been tucked into the wire above his bed, gazing almost lovingly at the illegible scrawl.

“Couldn’t, honey. You’ve got typical doctor’s handwriting. I’m looking at the note you left me right now and I’ve been trying to decode it for weeks,” he tells you with a smile, glad to hear your playful scoff on the other end as you quietly curse him (or yourself) out.

A thought strikes him then.

“How’d you get my number?” he asks, tucking the keepsake chicken scratch back into the wire over his bunk.

“Oh, ah, you know how I’m doing my flight surgeon quals?” you ask, and he hums even though he hadn’t known at all.

“Well, one of my charges, he’s an aviator too, we became friends and were talking and you came up and he said he knew you, so he gave me your number cause I said that I really needed to talk to you…” your voice rattles off in a frenzied manner, and Rooster is too caught up on the rising panic you give off to wonder about which one of his friends you had run into.

“Hey, is everything okay? Calm down for me sweetheart,” Rooster sits up a little, and tries to exude some comfort through the phone. He’s glad it seems to work, because he can hear you taking several deep, slow breaths while he waits for you. In fact, he waits so long that he’s about to talk again when you suddenly cut him off.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words hang thick in the air, and it takes Rooster a moment before he is able to properly process them at all, his chest lurching and his stomach flipping when he finally does.

Once more though, before he can speak, you’re off, hurriedly talking again.

“I had a medical this morning and I’m already twelve weeks. I haven’t slept with anybody else so it’s definitely yours, and I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to let you know…”

Rooster goes over the information in his head, taking a moment to calm himself as you clearly wait for his reply this time.

“How do you feel?” he asks you, hoping that over the phone his tone wouldn’t give you anything more to stress about. He hears you laugh a little then, though it’s nervous and a little watery. It makes him wish he were with you for this conversation, able to pull you in close and wrap you up.

“I feel okay, I guess. It’s moved some stuff up in my game plan, but hey, things change right?” You sound shaky, but there is resilience in your voice that tells him you mean it. That steadfastness is likely the reason you’d toughed it out through med school and became a surgeon. It goes quite a way to soothe his own nerves.

“How are you feeling?” you ask a moment later, and Rooster almost laughs at your concern, but he appreciates it too much to do so.

“Surprised,” he says, hesitating slightly before he continues. “A little excited, if I’m honest.” he speaks carefully.

“Yeah?” your voice sounds soft and small and Rooster dislikes the lack of certainty in you.

“Yeah.” he assures you, listening to you titter about on the other end, clearly fidgeting with something.

“I don’t really know what to do…” you tell him, sounding more relieved now, more like yourself. Rooster lets out a sigh and squints up at your illegible note, thinking back on just how much he’d been thinking of you these past months.

“I really, really like you. Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since I left… I know it’s not ideal, but I want to do this with you, if you want me there,” Rooster hears his pulse racing in his ears as he speaks. It feels silly to get nervous now, he’d been day dreaming about running away with you since his second day on the carrier. On the other end of the line you let out a soft little laugh, making him smile at the sound.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot too,” you reply sweetly, before hurrying to clarify; “Before I found out, I mean…”

Rooster chortles and switches the ear his phone is pressed to.

“I’ll look at the paperwork then?” you suggest carefully, making him nod, even though you can’t see him.

“Send anything you need me to sign through the official channels.” he confirms with you, but softens his tone after a moment. “I want you to go over to my place when you get a chance. There's a key under the pot plant. You remember that keepsake box on top of the piano? There’s a ring in there… It belonged to my mom. I want you to have it.”

There isn’t much time for you to argue with him about it, almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, there’s an Ensign at his cabin door, and he’s hurriedly apologising to you before he’s forced to hang up.

For a few days Rooster’s head is in limbo.

Butterflies have taken up a post in his stomach, bursting forth any time he thinks of you, or of his kid, and everything that the future is going to bring. It makes him think hard about a lot of things; money, his house and the feat that would be babyproofing it, you with his moms ring, a wedding…

More than anything else though, it makes him think of Mav.

Anger boils inside him each time the thought arises, but it quickly settles into some kind of guilt in the pit of his stomach, before he snaps and tells himself he has nothing to feel guilty over. He didn’t owe Mav any part of his life.

In fact, you and this baby gave him the perfect opportunity to move forward at last with his life, to stop being haunted by the past. He had something to focus on now, something to be other than who he once was.

Two weeks later Rooster finds himself frowning down at a text on his phone, his brain rapidly attempting to connect all the dots and figure out just what the hell he was looking at.

Hangman: I’ll have you know, I’ll be referring to you as ‘Hen’ from now on :)

Hangman: Congrats by the way. It’s about time you settled down, old man.

Hangman: Also, don’t be worrying about Dr Lamb. I’m local to her for the foreseeable future, I’ll be around if she needs anything while you’re away.

Rooster: How do you know Rosie???

Hangman: Was roped into taking part in flight surgery qualifications while my squad’s on maintenance.

Hangman: She’s too good for you.

Rooster: I know. Thanks for having her back. I appreciate it a lot.

Hangman: I’m not doing it for you, Bradshaw. Lamb’s a friend. 

Hangman: Besides, I gotta get in good and early if I’m going to be Uncle Jake :)

Rooster: Absolutely not.

Hangman: Suffer :)

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

“Hey there little man! Look at you! There you are!” Rooster swallows the lump in his throat as he stares down at his son, totally and completely captivated. It had been almost twelve hours already since he’d come screaming into the world, and Rooster isn't sure the intensity of his love for him will ever dull.

He’s got the tiny baby against his chest, one hand behind his head for support, and the rest of his arm cradling him close to him as he bounces gently, pacing slowly back and forth across the small hospital room. You sit comfortably in your hospital bed watching him, and Rooster can tell just from your expression that you feel the same way as him right now.

“What are we gonna name him, baby?” you ask after a few more minutes of serenity. The two of you hadn’t really discussed names yet, with Rooster only having returned from sea a week and a half ago, and with all the other organisation that needed to happen before your son’s arrival, it just hadn’t come up.

“Something with song lyrics,” Rooster replies playfully, shooting you a grin. “How about… Fernando? Or Jude?” he suggests, directing his questions mostly at the baby who gargles up at him, his sweetly wrinkly little newborn face the cutest he’s ever seen.

You snort and shake your head.

“No. Veeto.” you say with a scoff, and Rooster laughs gently, so he doesn’t disturb his baby too much. Slowly he moves back to your side, carefully settling on the edge of your bed, and shifting his son to lay in his arms instead. Rooster isn’t even really thinking about names, too lost in admiring his little guy when you clear your throat and speak again.

“I’ve been thinking… What if we called him Nick…?” your voice is quiet, nervous almost, but you’re watching him intently when his gaze falls on you. Rooster blinks at you, feeling the lump in his throat return and he does his best to swallow it down again, but it seems determined to stay this time.

“Nick?” he asks, voice cracking slightly, and you nod. You stay quiet as Rooster looks back down at your son, drawing him close again as he runs a finger over the top of his dark crop of hair.

“Are you a Nick, little man?” He asks softly, rocking the baby slightly. “Are you our Goose? Our Baby Goose?” he asks, feeling the way his voice shakes as he speaks the words.

As if he could understand every word, the baby in his arms begins to fuss, though not cry, and he stretches up with his tiny little fingers. Rooster offers out his own finger, lets his son wrap his fist around his pointer, and he knows it’s nothing but coincidence, but in that moment he feels like he’s receiving some kind of blessing. Your hand appears blurry in his vision, and you curl your pink in with his own, the three of you tethered now, and its then Rooster realises he’s blinking back tears.

Looking up at you, he struggles for words, but finds he doesn’t need them as you lean forward to wipe his eyes with your sleeve, your own eyes a little red and wet.

“I think he likes it, honey.” you tell him, and Rooster can only nod, and you both turn back to stare lovingly at your Goose.

The peace lasts approximately half a day more before you receive your first visitor.

Rooster looks up at the light knock on the door to your room, and he’s not too proud to admit he frowns when he first sees who it is.

“Hangman?”

“Jake!”

Both you and Rooster let out your exclamations at the exact same time, and the man in question takes that as his invitation. Hangman saunters into the room, grinning widely and looking at you. He’s all done up in his dress whites, a large colourful gift bag in one hand, and a similarly large box under his arm, a large sparkly bow wrapped over its top.

“I thought you were in–” once again, both you and Rooster start speaking at the exact same time, and you’re both cut off by Hangman waving a hand flippantly.

“I pulled some strings, just be grateful,” he tells you playfully, before placing both the bag and the box at the foot of your bed, and leaning down to carefully give you a short hug.

Rooster has to purse his lips some, mostly because when Hangman had told him months ago that you were a friend, he hadn’t really considered it much. He knows the man had been there for you early on in your pregnancy, before he’d gotten sent away, but for some reason, he hadn’t really thought the two of you were actually friends.

“Thank you, but you shouldn't have…” you shake your head at him, even as he whirls around, straightening his coat as his eyes land on Rooster, and subsequently, Goose.

“Alright, let me meet the little tyke,” Hangman is across the room in mere seconds, back straight and his demeanour formal, like he were on parade, or an admiral had just entered the room. 

Rooster stands to greet him, though is a little bamboozled when the blond holds his hands out.

“Good to see you, baby daddy.” Hangman nods, his voice serious despite the nickname. He wiggles his hands to motion for Rooster to hurry up. For a moment, Rooster can’t help but clutch his baby even tighter to his chest.

“Do you know how to hold a baby, Hangman?”

He receives an eye roll of near epic proportions in reply.

“I’ve held more babies than you have, old man. Come on, lemme hold my nephew.” Hangman’s words throw Rooster off for just long enough that he blindly lets him transfer Goose out of his arms and into his own.

Rooster grumbles when he watches how Hangman seems to expertly manoeuvre and handle the baby. He makes a note to ask about how many babies he’d had to hold later. It wasn’t exactly something that appeared like a natural trait for the otherwise cocky, brash and reckless aviator. Instead, Rooster crosses his arms firmly over her chest and eyes Hangman wearily.

“You are not his Uncle.” he says flatly, before giving you the same eye, leaning around the now distracted blond. You pout and cock your head some.

“I think it’s cute!” You argue, but Rooster is already shaking his head.

“No. Veeto.” he mimics your words from earlier, but you only proceed to cross your own arms over your chest.

“Too bad, daddy, I’ve earned it.” Hangman announces, and Rooster glares back at him, watching him bounce Goose in a manner even he has to admit is sort of sweet to watch.

“No.” Rooster reiterates, but even he can feel it’s slightly weaker now. You aren’t even looking back at him anymore, you’re watching where Hangman has lifted the baby up slightly, and he points over to you, speaking softly.

“Did you Mama give you a normal name? I told her we’d have problems if she decided to go with something as stupid as Bradley Bradshaw,” Hangman asks Goose, but the question is directed at you.

“His name is Nick. After Brad’s dad.” You inform him, sobering a little. Hangman repeats the name, bouncing Nick a little more as he does.

“Honestly though, we’ve been calling him Goose since we decided.” You continue, smiling softly as Hangman walks your baby back towards you. Rooster frowns again, feeling a little jealous and annoyed that he didn’t get to hold his baby again, but even as the blond places him into your arms, you’re looking up at him and gesturing for your husband to come collect him again. You’d been holding him practically all night, not only were your arms dead sore, but you understood Rooster’s desire to be near his son if he could help it.

Rooster comes over and collects Goose, bundling him up against his chest again and shushing him as he fusses at all the movement. Hangman watches him with a slight smirk, but cocks his head and gives his head a slight shake.

“Goose is nice. Keeps up the bird theming you got going on.” Is all he says, before he’s turning back to you, stepping around Rooster to grab the packages from the end of the bed.

“The bag is just a little something for Nicky-boy, from his uncle Jake,” he trails off as you peek inside, and then pulls out a plush Donald Duck almost as big as Goose himself, and dressed like an old-timey aviator.

"Not his uncle." Rooster says again, almost out of resolve now as he looks at the gift. So far, Hangman was actually making a half decent definitely-not-uncle...

“Oh Jake, that's so sweet, thank you!” you gush, holding out the toy immediately for Rooster to take, and for a moment you all watch as he gently introduces the plush to where Goose shuffles and fusses. Almost on queue, when the teddy is within reach, he grabs it by the head as best as his little hands can and tugs it near. Rooster adjusts it, so none of the little bits are anywhere near a mouth or eye, but even he can’t help but grin down at the clear acceptance and approval his son radiates.

“This is from Phoenix. Said it’s a bunch of self-care stuff. I don’t know. Call her.” Hangman shrugs unhelpfully as you lift the lid on the box, and begin looking inside. You preen and ask the blond to pass you your phone, where you seemingly shoot off a text to your other aviator friend, and Rooster forces himself to come to terms with the fact he’s missed a lot while away, even if he feels on the same page when it comes to you in most other aspects.

Hangman stays for a short while, but has to leave almost as soon as he’d arrived to catch a flight back to his posting. Rooster makes another note to call him later, thank him properly, even if it's something he dreads doing simply for the smugness he’s sure to receive alone.

When the evening rolls around, Rooster helps you with everything you need while you feed Goose, helps you wipe your face, and adjusts pillows and blankets around you, before he finally suggests you try to get some sleep before the next meal time. You barely argue, your eyes already fluttering shut, and Rooster collects Goose up, burping him and changing him before he decides the two of them will take a nice little walk.

Rooster hadn’t really had a plan or a direction in mind when he’d begun slowly moving down the now-quiet hospital halls. You’d been moved out of the main maternity ward earlier, and into a private room in a quieter part of the hospital, thanks to your healthcare and pre-planning with the hospital. Considering all of the staff worked with you, it hadn’t been hard for them to arrange a nicer room for you post-birth.

Rooster bounces Goose gently as he walks, curiously peeking in at the empty or occupied rooms as he passes, noting that most patients appeared to be older folk. He’s humming softly under his breath when he glances in at an open door, only to stop dead in his tracks.

Rooster feels his heart skip a beat, and then thump wildly against his ribcage, so wild in fact he has to look down at his baby briefly to make sure he isn’t being disturbed by it. Goose sleeps soundly though, and quickly, Rooster finds himself peering back into the room he’d come to a stop outside of, his feet drawing him slightly closer, though keeping back enough he wasn’t fully visible to the person inside.

He feels like he’s seen a ghost, almost, but just as he starts to come back to himself, he’s hit with a whole new panic.

Why was Admiral Kazansky, his once ‘Uncle Ice’ in the hospital?

Before Rooster can begin to come up with some answer, or rationalisation, an all too familiar voice calls out, and suddenly he feels like he’s twelve again, peeking around the office door of Uncle Ice, hoping to get some of those butterscotch candies he kept in his top draw once the older man noticed him.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Ice asks, and from where Rooster is peeking in, he can see the now grey-haired man shifting to try and see who was at his door. For a moment Rooster considers running, just clutching his son to his chest and speed walking away, but for a reason he’s not entirely sure of, he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Admiral…” He hears his own voice rasp out, conscious of his arms gently moving Goose to a less visible position. At the sound of his voice, Ice straightens up and pulls his reading glasses off, squinting at Rooster as he steps in just slightly, though still lingering by the door.

“Bradley?!” Ice asks, a grin breaking out across his face as he takes the younger man in. He hadn't seen Ice in almost as many years as he hadn’t seen Maverick. “Get in here!” the older man all but orders, getsuring him forward all the while pushing himself up to a seated position, fiddling briefly with the buttons on his bed control.

“I’m sorry to drop in like this, I was just passing and I saw you–”

“Don’t even finish that apology, Bradshaw, just get in and sit down.” Ice says a little firmer, and Rooster feels himself compelled to obey. Gingerly, he thanks the universe for the older man’s distractedness as he steps fully into the room and toward the seat by his bedside, unsure when exactly or if at all he should mention the baby cradled in his arms.

Just as he’s figuring out some kind of explanation, Ice looks up at him, and despite his features having aged significantly since they last saw one another, his eyes are sharp as ever, piercing as he scans Rooster’s face, before they quickly drop down, and he’s taking in the sleeping bundle in his arms.

“Oh…!” Ice’s voice has a hush to it now despite his apparent surprise, his gaze flickering back up to meet Rooster’s, seemingly looking at him in a new light now.

“Oh, Brad…” There’s a softness underlining his words now, and a warmth that nearly makes Rooster start to tear up.

Instead of crying, though, Rooster distracts himself by adjusting the baby in his arms, shuffling so that Ice can get a better look at him, shocking himself slightly when he doesn’t even hesitate to hand him over when Ice silently asks to hold him.

Rooster helps get him situated, and quietly sits back down again, watching as his Uncle Ice cradles his son, cooing softly down at him as the baby wakes a little.

“He, uh, he was born last night… 2:34 in the morning, 6 pounds, 8 ounces… I can’t remember what the doctor said his height was…” Rooster rattles off the information blankly, though stumbles a little as he fails to recall some of the details he feels like he should remember. Once his son was there, though, Rooster had found it hard to pay attention to anything else.

Ice glances up at him and chuckles warmly.

“Looks around 20 inches.”

“Right.”

They sit quietly for a few seconds before Goose stirs more and just as Rooster jerks to go to him, Ice is cooing again, bouncing and rocking him gently, in the way only an experienced parent knows how to do, and the sight makes Rooster falter and fall back in his seat, amazed that the baby ceases his soft cries almost immediately. Ice looks over at him and shrugs.

“Still got it.” He jokes. Rooster can’t help but grin. He’d spent many a summer alongside the Kazansky children when they’d eventually come along. He had many vivid memories of visiting Aunt Sarah in the hospital with Mav and his mom after each were born. He remembers how all the doctors and nurses were fascinated by how instantly Ice could get a baby to stop crying. In the back of his mind, Rooster recalls his mom saying that the famous ‘ice coldness’ that gave him his callsign must have worked on baby’s as well as aviators.

“Congratulations, Bradley. I’m so proud of you.” Ice says then, tearing his eyes at last from the baby to stare at Rooster.

“Thank you… he’s uh… he means everything to me.” Rooster tells him, feeling his chest squeeze up again.

“I know the feeling.” Ice nods in agreement, rocking the baby again. “Have you named him yet?” he asks then. The question makes Rooster swallow thickly, but he nods, and does his best to clear his throat.

“We named him Nick. After dad.” he says, and watches how Ice takes the information in, and although his smile softens, he doesn’t look at all surprised. He almost looks like he’d known the answer to his own question all along, and for some reason he can’t explain, it brings Rooster comfort.

“His mom and I… we’ve taken to calling him Goose… it suits him.” Rooster goes on, not feeling like he has to explain himself or his choices, knowing that Ice understood him to the core. The older man lets out a small dramatic ‘oh’, and looks back down at the baby in his arms, bringing him closer to his face as he starts baby-talking to him softly.

“Goose?! Are you little baby Goose? Of course you are! Look at you, of course you’re a Goose!” Ice keens affirmingly, taking a moment to swipe his hand over the thick dark hair on the baby's head, smoothing it down as Goose begins to blow bubbles. Ice starts to chuckle, but the sound is cut off by a rasping hack, his head snapping away from Goose and into his shoulder as he coughs violently, whole body juddering as he attempts to suppress his movements, trying his best not to shake the baby.

Rooster hurries to his side, collecting Goose from his arms, and then moving for the glass of water on his website, filling it up and offering it out as Ice hacks and splutters viciously, his throat sounding like he was coughing up gravel and rocks.

It takes a moment, but eventually the older man starts to get a hold of his coughing and his breathing, and he lets himself fall tiredly against his pillows, gratefully accepting the water when he spies Rooster holding it out for him.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, voice sounding raspier and weaker now. Rooster frowns and swallows.

“Are you alright…?” he asks, knowing deep down that the answer was likely not one he’d want to hear. Ice takes a large sip of water before leaning back and sighing lowly. After a moment, he fixes Rooster under his intense gaze and smiles softly.

“No. But I’m trying to be.”

Rooster stares, all of a sudden wondering where all the years had gone, and how much time he wasted ignoring everyone who reminded him of his past, instead of acknowledging their importance to him, and their influence on the man he was today.

He opens his mouth, but the older man cuts him off.

“I don’t want to talk about that, though. I’d rather focus on the future, and on how you’ve been. Tell me all about your family…”

Rooster does. He talks for longer than he thought he would have, tells his adoptive uncle the entire story of how you met, how Goose came to be, and all the little things inbetween. Honestly, he talks openly in a way he hasn’t in years, but is long overdue, and he relishes in the familial approval of his Uncle Ice as he laughs and hums along to each story, asking questions here and there or chipping in.

He tells him all about you, your fling back after he’d completed TOPGUN, and how he feels like from the moment the two of you sat at his piano together, he’d just known you were it for him. How for the first time in his life he hadn’t felt any rush, because he knew you were it, and then how that romantic sentiment was thrown overboard when you’d found out you were pregnant. He tells Ice how you’d decided to get married, mostly so that the two of you (plus Goose eventually) could be counted as a family unit in the Navy’s eyes, and how it would just make things easier.

Rooster even divulges how even though your marriage was one out of practical reasons, and you both referred to each other as spouses, Rooster wants to give you a real wedding, a proper one. He quietly tells Ice that he knows neither of you would have considered marriage so soon if not for Goose, but that he feels for once in his life, a choice he’s made is emphatically, without a doubt, the right one.

By the time Rooster is done, he feels lighter, happier if that were even possible, and he and Ice sit in amicable silence for a few moments, listening to the various medical machines around the room beep and whir softly.

Rooster knows the question is coming, and he surprises himself when it doesn’t spark an immediate souring of his mood.

“Does Maverick know?” Ice asks softly, nodding at Goose, who lets out a tiny whine as if in reply. Rooster takes a moment to calm his son and make sure he isn't about to fit, before he sucks in a deep breath and answers.

“No.”

More quiet prevails, this time Rooster avoids looking in the other man’s direction, busying himself fiddling with Goose’s little PJ’s.

“I’m not going to lecture you, Bradley. You’re a grown man, an adult, a father. Your choices are your own,” Ice says, voice sounding bereft, but Rooster can sense his sincerity, which somehow doesn’t make him feel better or secure in his grudge. “If you ask me not to mention any of this, I promise this little rendezvous will stay between us.” the older man goes on to assure him, making Rooster glance sharply up.

Ice is regarding him somberly, but he reaches out to grip Rooster’s shoulder firmly, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“I understand. My lips are sealed.” he makes a zipping and locking motion over his lips, and then settles back against his pillows.

“I should be getting back. And let you rest…” Rooster starts, receiving a hand wave from Ice.

“Perhaps I’ll be able to convince you to bring your family over for dinner sometime…” Ice trails off, and Rooster takes his cue to stand. He reaches out for Ice’s shoulder this time, and mimics his previous shoulder squeeze.

“I’d like that. I… I hope you get better…” Rooster says, and gets another hand wave.

“If you need anything at all when it comes to the baby, don’t hesitate to give Sarah a call… she won’t say anything either if you ask…”

Rooster thanks him and quietly makes his exit, Ice clearly already dropping off. It makes Rooster wonder how weak he usually was, and how much he’d exerted himself due to his and Goose’s presence. He returns to you in your room, just as Goose begins fussing for food, and he helps as best he can once more as you go about feeding him.

When both you and the baby are asleep once more, Rooster sits quietly, watching his son’s chest rise and fall and considering the turn of events in the last day or two.

He finds himself once again surprised by the lack of anger that came at the mentioning of Maverick, and as Rooster contemplates if it were just his good mood from welcoming his son into the world colouring his emotions, he comes to the realisation that for the first time since he was eighteen, he doesn’t feel such an unrelenting fury anymore.

He wonders if becoming a father has anything to do with his sudden change. He thinks of Goose growing up, of the family he had, and his chest starts to hurt a little. You didn’t have any immediate family to speak of, and all he had was the Navy, and maybe, Uncle Ice. He understands then,  why you were keen on letting Hangman be so present in Goose’s life, if you were as close as it appears you are.

Hangman was many things, and if one of those happened to be his wife's good friend, who took care of her when she was pregnant, sick, and alone, helped her to appointments, and made sure she got her quals on top of it all... well, Rooster is okay with that.

Maybe even okay with Uncle Jake, though he's not sure he'll ever admit it to anyone's face.

Rooster sighs and rests his hand on his son’s head, smoothing back his hair. Maverick was still, despite over a decade of separation, the closest thing Rooster had to a family. There’s a part of him that realises, when he thought about the future, though present for him now, when Rooster had imagined having a wife and kids, he’d also subconsciously imagined having made up with Maverick by that point in time. Despite what he’d done, Rooster is hit with the realisation that he wanted Maverick to be a part of his life, he wanted his son to know him, to love him as much as Rooster loves him, deep in his heart.

Rooster decides then that he will forgive Maverick. He’s not sure when exactly, he doesn’t know if he’s completely ready for all of that emotional unpacking so soon, but he promises himself, and Goose, that he will resolve things with the only father he has left, before it’s too late.

PRESENT DAY

“Are you ready, babe?” you ask, looking over at your husband in the driver's seat, where he’s been sitting ever since pulling up to the massive private hangar. You’d managed to get Goose unbuckled and out in the time Rooster had taken to just sit, staring blankly ahead.

His gaze snaps to you then, and you smile softly, reaching out to take his hand.

“Are you ready?” you ask again, meaning altered this time, and you watch him process, nodding even before he’s fully back to himself. He squeezes your fingers and draws them near, placing a kiss on your knuckles before he releases you.

“Yes ma’am. It’s been a long time coming.” he tells you, finally exiting the car, and moving to the side door to grab the cooler of snacks and drinks you’d brought despite your host's insistence you bring nothing.

You smile and raise an eyebrow at him over the top of your car.

“I should say so!” you snark playfully, receiving a cheeky grin in reply as Rooster rounds the car and dips down to press a much-too-heated kiss to your lips.

“I know, I know, honeymoon in Hawaii, I know…” despite his apparent complaining, he presses another kiss to your lips and you can’t help but moon up at him.

“I love you,” you tell him, before straightening up and checking you’ve got everything. “Ready?” you ask again, watching as Rooster opens his mouth to confirm, but the voice you hear is much smaller, and from about knee height between you.

“I’m ready!” Goose announces. You and Rooster both look down to where your son has materialised between you, pushing the pair of you apart as if annoyed by all this dilly-dallying, and pulling a loud chortle from your husband.

“You hear that, sweetheart? Boy’s ready to sortie!” Rooster rallies him, and you all begin to move. “Go Goose, go, go go!” he continues, in what you know is a mimic of the launch crew when he takes off on a carrier. You watch as ahead of you Goose takes off in a little run, his legs a little too short to really carry him too far, but you call out to him to wait for you anyway, uncertain of how tidy this hangar you were headed into really was.

As the three of you get closer, you begin to make out an assortment of people, all gathered around mismatching couches and chairs that were arranged under the shade of the hangar, a BBQ set up nearby already steaming away with several men standing around it.

A loud, boisterous laugh draws your attention, just as it draws Goose’s and the second he realises his Uncle Jake is present, your son moves at what you’re sure are supersonic speeds, his little voice suddenly much too loud.

“Uncle Jake!” Goose shouts, launching himself across the gathering, and you’re thankful for aviators needing fast reflexes, because you aren’t sure how else Jake manages to catch the mass of a toddler flying for him.

“Hey hey! If it ain’t the coolest little man I know!” Jake announces, his hold on Goose easily shifting so he can lift the boy right up off the ground, and hang him upside down slightly as he giggles manically.

Now that your son wasn’t just running around of his own accord, you let your eyes leave him, secure in the knowledge that Jake adored him far too much to let him get into trouble. You and Rooster approach the group, calling various hellos and greetings, but you’re both interrupted from mingling too much as a man you’ve only ever seen in photos steps towards you, wiping his hands off on his jeans, though they don’t look dirty.

“Rosie,” Rooster begins, stepping around you slightly to getsure to the man. “This is Pete Mitchell. You can just call him Mav. Mav, this is my wife, Rosie.” you can hear the slight shake in your husband’s voice, so you give the hand that holds your a squeeze, before releasing it to offer it out to Maverick, who keenly shakes it, his smile warm and welcoming and, you think, a little nervous.

“It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much.” You tell him, and earn a soft little laugh.

“It’s my pleasure, really.” Maverick insists, and oddly, you feel like he really means it.

“Hangman, can I borrow my son for a moment?” Rooster suddenly calls out from beside you, catching the attention of the blonde, who currently had Goose hanging over one shoulder as he seemingly critiqued Payback on the grill. Jake turns to look at Goose, saying something only they can hear, before he lifts the boy to sit fully on his shoulders, and begins moving in your direction.

Maverick somehow lifts an eyebrow and frowns at the same time, shooting Rooster a questioning, clearly confused look. Rooster rolls his eyes heavily, before jutting his thumb in your direction.

“Against all good sense, the two of them are friends.” he says by way of explanation. You shake your own head, but ignore it. You know Rooster’s relationship with Jake was complicated, even more so recently, but you also know the two trusted and respected one another. The ribbing was just a bonus.

When Jake is only a few feet away, he reaches up and plucks Goose down, flipping him once before his feet hit the ground, and your son explodes in a fit of giggles and demands to go again.

“Not just now Goose, come here for a sec, there’s someone who wants to meet you.” Rooster says gently, crouching down to receive his son as the boy tottles over to lean against his father’s legs.

You stay standing, but watch as Mav seems to anxiously copy Rooster’s movements, crouching down to Goose’s height. Your son all of a sudden turns shy, backing into his dad, and Rooster wraps an arm around him for support.

“Goose, this is your Grandpa Mav…” Rooster says softly, watching as Goose glances toward the apparent stranger with mounting curiosity, though he still lingers in his father’s safety.

“Hey, Goose, I’ve been waiting all week to meet you,” Mav says, and you wonder why he’s so nervous when he seemed to have an immediate aptitude for talking to kids.

“Yeah?” Goose asks shyly, making both Rooster and Mav chuckle, the older man nodding.

“Oh, hey, what’s that you’ve got there?” Mav asks, pointing to the small model toy jet clutched in one of the toddler's chubby hands.

At first Goose shoves the toy behind his back out of instinct, but after Rooster whispers an encouragement to him, he pulls it back out and holds it out, showing it to Mav, who cautiously inches closer.

“Woah, look at that! Is this your favourite?” Maverick asks, earning instant approval as Goose begins stepping closer too, and letting Grandpa Mav get a good look at his toy, bonding instantly as Mav asks him more and more questions about the plane, and Goose realises that much like his dad, or Uncle Jake, Grandpa Mav was a fountain of knowledge on aeroplanes.

In less than three minutes Mav has Goose in his arms, and he’s carrying the boy around the workshop part of his hangar, showing him everything and anything he points to, and answering every question the toddler can think of.

You have to wipe your eyes on the back of your hands, leaning back into the warmth of your husband as he wraps himself around you, his chin resting on your shoulder as you both watch Mav pull down a toy jet similar to Goose’s, only this one you’re sure is as old as you are.

“Thank you. For everything.” Rooster says softly, making you turn your head to look at him.

“I’m proud of you, Bradley, I really am.” you tell him, cupping his cheek and giving it a kiss as best you can.

“And now I can give you that beach wedding and Hawaiin honeymoon, hmm?” His voice is full of a gentle laugh and you join him, your cheeks becoming sore from smiling so much.

“Well… I think we’ll have to wait a little bit for that. At least until Goose’s backseater is here.” you say airly. Rooster hums, his hands moving to rest over the barely noticeable bump in your belly, which is then covered by your own.

“Yeah… Now I’ve just got to figure out how to tell Mav about that.”

[kedicatt-cotl]

Buyana and words

My mind has been permanently lost while i was trying to understand the children development milestones to properly write the babies, it’s so much harder than I expected. Especially with Buyana.

This doodle features the first names she’s ever learned, the ones of her closest family members and her own. Later, she would learn the names of her uncles and aunt... eventually she would.

Even this list took her some time to make, because learning new words is hard.

She spoke her first word at 11 months old, and it was "bye-bye” that she said when Lamb was leaving for another expedition.

The first name she’s said was Baba (Baabaa).

Later, after learning some more basic words like “kitty”, “more” and “book” (I don’t feel like making up a cult child vocabulary on the spot), at 15 months old, to everyone’s surprise, she learned... the names of Baal and Aym. Whether it was because their names only have one version to them and can’t be shortened in daily speech, or because the names of Narinder and her other siblings are simply too long and complicated in comparison... It just happened. Must I say, Vlastislava was baffled! She was sure little Bunya would know her name before everyone else’s! Narinder was baffled, too, but he didn’t show it. He was pretty much used to it at this point, after going through the same thing twice before.

By the time she turned 2 years old, she knew all of the 7 names listed above, even if she couldn’t pronounce them correctly yet.

[stellanslashgeode]

Unpopular ask: orange🧡, blue💙, purple💜 pls!

🧡: What is a popular (serious) theory you disagree with?

The Jedi do not steal children. If you want to have a conversation about something real (if they are separated from their parents too young, if they created a cultural pressure that encourages parents to give up their kids) I will hear you out. I hate this theory so much I wrote a fic featuring a support network of parents who refused the Jedi. I had a mother tell a Jedi to their face that there are aunts and uncles who she only knows from baby pictures, that she had such a hard time getting pregnant she knew she couldn't go through with that with her daughter. But they couldn't avoid tragedy because after O66 because the Sith came to steal their kids. Because that's their favorite thing to do. They got caught multiple times in 4K doing just that.

💙: Which character is not as hot as everyone else seems to think?

You know what Aayla Secura never did it for me. I get it, you can see her midriff and she's attractive. But there's just so many other Twi'leks out there who have more interesting characterization in my eyes. Maybe I didn't read those Republic comics from 20 years ago, idk. I think she and Bly are cute together, tho.

💜: Which character is way hotter than everyone else seems to think?

Someone else asked me this so I'll answer both and tag you. I have a lot to say here. Starting with my love of characters in one or two episodes.

Cut Lawquane! Y'all are sleeping on him. I love a family man. He's not the stepfather he's the father that stepped up. He's so much of a wife guy that he dyed his hair pink so he looks more like his wife! Here's the real controversy, Cut has all the qualities that make y'all go wild for Hunter, but unlike Hunter he can keep his found family together and safe. And he's hot! He's rocking those lamb chops. Please more fan art of Cut and Suu.

[firebloodanddragons]

OF DRAGONS AND LAMBS - CHAPTER 3 (AEMOND TARGARYEN X READER)

Chapter Summary: Aemond has a duty to his family. You have a duty to your husband. And you both shall obey despite your clear reluctance or the nascent attraction you might feel for each other. But the fire of passion is quick to grow and not easy to extinguish.

Tags for this chapter: Slow Burn / Sexual Tension/ Protective! Aemond/ Orgy / Prostitution/ Violence / /!\ S*xual Assault / Explicit Language

Author’s notes: This chapter contains explicit sexual content. Please read the tags carefully before reading this chapter! Thank you.

[CHAPTER 1]  [CHAPTER 2]  

CHAPTER 3: A STREET OF SILK, RATS AND DRAGONS

           Prince Aemond was never fond of festivities. Even before having his eye taken by his nephew and thus before becoming the main subject of gossips in court for a while, he used to find them not only boring but pointless, preferring the comfort of his chambers or even the quietness of the library where he could find peace and tranquillity. The prince was a lonely soul, always had been. And if  he used to think that loneliness miserable and unfair as a child, now he thrived in it. The second son saddened to be rejected and ignored by his father and the young uncle pained to be spurned by his nephews was no more, buried in the embers of his fiery hatred, or so he liked to believe.       But Aemond knew his duty and his responsibilities, all the values bound to royalty. They had been taught to him even before he knew what it meant to be a prince of Westeros or the second in line to the throne -his mother Alicent had made sure of it- and he had embraced them without thinking twice even if they meant making sacrifices. Behave like a prince. Obey your king. Respect and protect your family. Honour your wife. Have faith in the Seven. Keep your Valyrian blood pure. Keep your Valyrian blood pure. Aemond snickered as he stared at the deep red colour of the wine in his cup. That rule was of no importance now, wasn’t it? Since tomorrow he would fly to Storm’s End and choose one of Borros Baratheon’s daughters to be his wife. A demand from his grandfather the Hand that displeased him possibly as much as the feast he was attending.           The Baratheons were no Valyrian. They didn’t look Valyrian, not even a little bit. They were tall, of course, but often massive and disproportioned. Their hair was always thick and black and in harmony (if we could call this harmony) with their dull dark eyes and their grotesque and rough features. They had nothing Aemond deemed beautiful or to his taste. And he was not thrilled to conceive heirs that would look like mules or worse like his aunt Rhaenys. A dragon and a stag do not suit each other. If anything, the dragon eats the stag.   “I don’t know about you, brother. But I fancy lamb tonight.” Aegon whispered to Aemond’s ear as he stood up to reach a jug of wine and fill his empty cup.   Aemond was no fool and he knew his big brother. When he said he wished to eat lamb, he didn’t mean actual lamb. He meant the ravishing young lady dressed in pale green and sitting quietly next to her husband. He meant you.         “Although I don’t mind a lion as well. Oh, and an apple to stay healthy.” And a Lannister and a Fossoway then. “Do you wish to join us? We’re meeting in the street of silk, away from prying eyes. I haven't been there in ages but I believe it is the perfect place to celebrate and get it wet as you might agree.” Aegon laughed as he grasped tightly his young brother’s shoulder. But Aemond remained as stoic as ever. "Besides, I'm king now. I can't be seen in Flea Bottom anymore... Did you know there's a tunnel in the Red Keep that leads straight to Chataya's brothel?"       “No, I didn't and no, I do not wish to join you. I'd rather leave you to your depravity, brother.”         “Oh please, Aemond. Don’t be such a prude twat. I invited the Stokeworth girl just for you.” “For me? What do you mean?”         “Oh please, I've heard about your time alone with her in your chambers.” He winked salaciously. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to put your sword in her tight warm sheathe once more.”     “Not that it is your concern, brother, but I did not sheathe any sword.”       Aegon’s eyes widened and he sat on the table to stare at his brother incredulously. He wanted to know more. “Really. How come? She’s a beautiful creature. I would have not hesitated.”   “The creature is married. I do not think Lord Rosby would agree that a man defile his wife.”           “Oh, but he did.” Aegon laughed in his cup and Aemond frowned at him, unsure to understand. “She’s my coronation gift, a sign of good faith from House Rosby.”   Lord Rosby was not always honourable but he was proud. Surely, he would not have offered his wife willingly or without blackmail. Aegon must have threatened him or promised him something he could not refuse in exchange. Aemond was sure of it.       “So, no need to worry, brother. No one is defiling anything. It is freely given.”         “She.” Aemond corrected between his teeth. “What?”           “What about Helaena?” The second son asked as a masked attempt at making his brother reconsider his lustful plans. “Do you want Helaena to join us?” Aegon was shocked but he didn’t seem to have any objection.           “My king, it is time for your dance.” Otto Hightower said as he grabbed Aegon by the shoulder like a child he was tired of and snatched his cup.         “But I don’t like to dance!”         “Aegon.” Aemond whispered contemptuously        

***

           It was very late. The full and silvery moon was high in the sky and the cackling of poultry wandering the streets had long stopped, replaced by the squeaks of rats and thundering voices of the drunkards celebrating the coronation of the new king in the streets .   You were not accustomed to this kind of foul place. Stokeworth was not a seat that was famous for its debauchery and your father had always made sure that you never go beyond the castle walls. Dirty streets reeking of ale, piss and shit. Alehouse and brothels. All these were new to you. And yet, despite the stench and the obvious danger that animated the Street of Silk, you smiled, finding a certain joy and amusement in seeing free-spirits enjoying life as if there would be no tomorrow.         “We’re here.” The guard who had escorted you from the Red Keep said as he stopped in front of a large wooden gate. You looked at the establishment. It was two stories tall with a stone ground floor and a timber upper floor. There was no window, at least none with a view on the street, certainly to preserve privacy, and over the door swung an ornate lamp of gilded metal and scarlet glass, common to all the whorehouses of Rhaenys’ Hill you had seen on your way here. The guard knocked on the door and the leaded peep window opened to reveal a pair of wary and piercing blue eyes that immediately frowned at your escort and then at you with an intensity that made you look down.   “A golden dragon loves silk.” The guard said and the door opened.     Wrapped in your cloak, your face hidden under the hood, you stepped into the brothel with caution and the door closed immediately behind you. You jumped a bit and turned around only to see that the man who accompanied you was gone.       The knot in your stomach that hadn’t stopped growing since your husband had announced you that King Aegon had requested you here in Chataya’s brothel tightened even more and you put your hands over your belly to soothe the pain. The blue-eyed woman noticed and smiled kindly.     “Perhaps the lady would like something to calm her down.”           There was pity in her voice. It was meant to comfort you, you were sure. But it had the opposite effect. That woman run this establishment. She knew what was expecting you in one of these rooms. So the pity in her voice only confirmed what you already knew; you would not enjoy your night here.     “The golden dragon is upstairs, waiting in the Turret Room. Follow me.”  

She led you to a round turret (hence the name of the room) that rose from the corner of the main hall and you followed her up the stairs. There was an odour of spice in the air and it was growing stronger with every step you took. It wasn’t so unpleasant but it tickled your nose. “It’s to cover the smell of sweat.” The Madam said. It was amazing how easily she could read people’s body but it was certainly part of her job.     Once upstairs, you reached a long corridor that led to a lone gilded door that didn’t look like any others and for a moment you stopped. You could hear the lewd moans and the growls coming from the room behind that door, sounds of pleasure that disgusted you.   You wanted to go back. You wanted to ask your husband to reconsider, to find another arrangement with the King. But you hadn’t succeeded in reasoning with him before so why would you succeed now? Surely, he would send you back here himself and make your night here even worse. “I know I am not supposed to say this to a lady but…” The Madam looked for your eyes under your hood. “It is clear from your reluctance that you won’t enjoy this. So, the best you can do, for your own sake, is to make it quick.” You met the blue-eyed woman’s compassionate look with stoicism, refusing to let her see your apprehension. “Let the King do his thing. From what I remember, he is not one who lingers.” She drew a long white tissue from behind her leather belt and offered it to you. “You’re a strong woman I can tell, but you might need this. If not for your tears then for something else.” You accepted it with a thankful nod and she opened the golden door.

A pale but thick smoke was floating in the room. Jasmin and lilies were burning in a large bowl, their perfume sweet but strong enough to cover the odour of the sweaty naked bodies intertwined on the large canopied bed or on the carpeted floor.   There were seven of them; four women (two of them were whores) and three men. Among them, you recognised Queen Helaena’s ladies in waiting, Lady Jane Lannister and Lady Genevieve Fossoway whom you had met earlier. The former was lying on the mattress, nude like everyone else in this room, showing her red fleshy arse that bore visible handprints to a man who was wanking his manhood behind her while she had King Aegon’s shaft in her mouth. He clearly enjoyed her affection as it seemed he had forgotten the presence of Lady Jane who was kneeling by his side, her small breasts aching to be touched.         “Your grace, your last guest arrived.” The Madam announced before leaving you but Aegon didn’t listen, his mind focused on the pleasure Lady Genevieve was giving him. Only the third man sitting on an armchair drinking wine with two whores on his laps did.   He was blond and he had big blue eyes that resembled Lady Jane’s and for a moment you wonder if the man wasn’t Jason Lannister, her cousin.   “I thought his grace had invited his brother the prince.” The man said as he got up to approach you, curious to see your body hidden under your cloak. You looked back at him, trying to ignore his erected sex pointing towards you. “That is definitely not Prince Aemond.” “A shame. I’ve always wanted to taste a prince’s cock.” One of the whores giggled.     “Come here I’ll let you taste a king’s cock. It’s even better.” Aegon declared, probably tired of Lady Genevieve’s devotion that he rejected when, with a single hand, he pushed her away from him and let her mouth be taken by the lord behind her who decided it was his turn to use it.         The young king staggered to the whore and with a clumsy hand he grabbed the jug of wine she kept in between her thighs to fill the first cup he found. Without saying a word, the girl took Aegon’s cock in her hand and brought it to her mouth to suck it greedily.                             “Aemond has always been an honourable cunt. He is not betrothed yet but he has already sworn faithfulness to his bronze hind.” Aegon said between two mouthfuls of the red alcohol and you frowned at the news of Prince Aemond’s betrothal. “I thought bringing the Stokeworth girl here would amuse him and help him loosen up a little but he seems to like the stick in his arse.”         “Stokeworth, huh? As in the wife of that good old Lord Lorys Rosby? You know your husband praised you a lot, my lady. Let’s see what you’re hiding under all these clothes.” The Lannister man said as he tried to reach out for the lace of your cloak. But you slapped his hand away.   Puzzled, he stared at you, refusing to believe you had dared reject him and hit him but before he could say anything, you spoke. “My husband sent me here to please the king. Therefore, I shall do what my king wishes, not you.” The blond man turned to Aegon but he ignored him, too busy to shove his manhood in the warm humid throat of the whore kneeling at his feet, his hands in the soft black locks of her hair. “This is absurd.”                      

***

           Until yesterday, Aemond never thought he would see those blue eyes again. The eyes of the woman Aegon had paid to take his virginity. And yet here they were again, staring at him with a hint of pride and amazement for the second time in two days.         She had grown older and fatter since the day she had dropped her silk dress in front of him but the kindness and comfort she had given Aemond on that day still shone in her ocean eyes.     “I didn’t expect you, young prince.” She smiled as she eyed at him from head to toes. How he had grown and what a fine handsome man he had become. “When the King said you might be joining him, I had a few doubts.” “I am not here to join my brother. I heard he might have invited a young lady to his … obscene celebration. I am here for her. She shouldn’t be here.”     “The king has invited a few ladies upstairs, your grace. You might want to describe the one you are looking for with more details.” She told him although she had an idea of the young woman he was looking for.         “She’s the kind of woman who doesn’t fit here. She looks small and innocent like a lamb but …”         “In her eyes burns a fire who could seduce a dragon.” She interrupted him and smirked lightly. “You still enjoy the same girls you liked when you were thirteen, I see.”   Embarrassed, Aemond looked down and for a moment he remembered his thirteenth nameday. How Aegon had put a cloak on his shoulder and brought him here. The sweat on his nervous hands when his brother had explained the purpose of this place. “Time to get it wet, little brother.” How he had mumbled a faint “you” when the Madam had asked him which of her “daughters” he wished to lie with. How soft and gentle her touch had been on his nervous hand as she had led him to one of the rooms upstairs and later on when she had stopped him from removing his clothes. “You don’t want to do that, young prince.”         “Where is she?” “With your brother the king, in the Turret Room. I am sure you remember the way.” Aemond let out a “Mmh” and quickly walked up the stairs that led to the room in which he had been escorted to six years ago. He crossed the corridor, ignoring the lustful and seductive gazes of the whores waiting for a client in their dresses of silk and once he reached the gilded door of the Turret Room and heard all the lewd noises coming from inside, he opened it with no hesitation, ready to spoil his brother’s fun.    

Aemond knew what to expect when he turned the knob – and even before, when staring at the flames in his chimney, he took the decision to come here. He had anticipated the orgy, the debauchery, the naked bodies mewling and roaring in pleasure and the alcohol flowing like water because he knew Aegon and his tastes. But what Aemond had not expected was to see you struggling on the mattress to keep your pale green dress on and your legs clenched while trying to push Lord Tyland Lannister away from you.       “Let go of me!” You ordered through your gritted teeth as you kept shaking your head to avoid the man’s kisses. Aemond could have intervened right here. His right hand itched him to seize the dagger strapped to his waist and to end this abuse with a swing of his blade. But he refused to give in to his temper, not out of fear of consequences (even if losing the Lannisters’ support would be a catastrophe for his family right now) but out of wrong fascination.     Standing in the doorway, a firm grasp on the handle of his dagger, he admired your resilience and your courage, how you were stubbornly fighting to preserve your dignity despite the undeniable strength of your enemy. You reminded him so much of him when he was a child, when there was a time his family thought he was weak enough to be beaten to the blood without a fight.   “You want it rough, huh? You want the lion to tame you?” Tyland Lannister growled before he finally managed to catch your lips and shove a hand in between your thighs.         Fuming, Aemond unsheathed his dagger but before he could do anything else, you dug your nails in your assailant’s face ready to tear a piece of his flesh. Your mouth muffled the man’s scream of pain before he eventually tried to back off, his face now bearing the traces of a deep and bloody scratch that would take days if not weeks to properly heal. But you were clearly not done fighting and as he attempted to get up you bit his lower lip as hard as possible to make him bleed.     “You fucking bitch! It hurts!”     “You found yourself a wild one, Tyland!” Aegon laughed at him and the man brought a hand to his face to ease the pain you had inflicted him, cursing you using all the insults he knew. But then he saw the blood on his fingers and his wrath burst, calling him to take his revenge.             He grabbed the glass jug and smashed it on the table and, with what remained of it, he threatened to hit you. You squealed and hid your face behind your arm, eyes closed but ready to get hurt, knowing there was no way for you to avoid this.         “Enough!” Aemond roared as he firmly grabbed the blond man’s arm and instantly tightened his grip to make him understand he would not hesitate to crush his bone like dried leaves.             You opened your eyes, astonished to see the Prince standing before you, protecting you.   “Brother!!! I knew you would come. Perhaps, you could show Lord Tyland how a dragon takes a lamb.” Aegon’s excitement was not to his little brother’s taste who met his grinning face with a fiery glare that could have melt the thickest of ice.   And suddenly the orgy was no more and everyone in the room was quiet, staring at the unpredictable young prince with fear, even Aegon who had never seen his little brother in a rage like that.     Aemond eyed at all of them, his disgust for their depravity and dishonour reflecting in his purple eye and then with a swiftness and strength you didn’t foresee, he grabbed you, lifted you up and threw you above his shoulder as if you weighed nothing. You gasped but you did not protest, still shaken by what had just happened. And somehow you knew you would be safer with the one-eyed prince than with any of these people.

           Aemond carried you out of the brothel without saying a word but right there on his shoulder you could sense how his anger was still boiling inside of him. His body was awfully tensed. His strong arm around your thighs was holding you so tightly it could crush your legs and his gait was fast and determined.                     You knew it would not be a good idea to talk right now even if you desperately wanted to ask him to put you down, so you remained silent and obedient until he decided to release you.           He sat you down on the edge of a well, in the middle of an empty tiny square, away from the hustle and bustle of the Street of Silk and silently plunged a wooden bowl in a bucket filled with water to offer it to you. The gesture was kind and caring but it was still full of anger and violence. You thanked him nevertheless and delicately reached for the cup. Your hands still trembled, an after-effect of your assault in the Turret room that Aemond noticed. So he looked down the well, lost in the memories of the brothel, imagining what could have happened if he hadn’t intervened. And he remained like this for a moment until the words he had kept to himself for so long finally came out. “Did he hurt you?” He asked without even looking at you and your eyes fell on his young face he was desperately trying to conceal under his hood.         You shook your head and whispered. “No. I am in one piece … thanks to you, my prince.” And he finally dared acknowledge your presence by his side.           “It was stupid of you to go there.”           “I didn’t have the choice. It was my husband’s request.”   “Then it is your husband who is stupid.” He spat. “What did he think sending you to this brothel? As if a lamb like you had her place out of the pen and especially in the Street of Silk in the arms of lustful drunkards.” “I think he knew what would happen to me in there but he obeys his king.” You drank a mouthful of water, wondering if you should say more. “And I am not afraid of lustful drunkards.”       Aemond smirked briefly. “Yes, I saw your courage. You were very brave.”     “It wasn’t courage.”       “Then what was it?”       “Self-preservation.” You corrected. “As you said I am a lamb out of the pen.” You joked even if you didn’t like the comparison and the prince chuckled, impressed there was still a laugh left in you after such a traumatic experience. Most ladies would be on the ground crying right now but you remained sturdy like a mountain in the wind. Your unusual strength was remarkable but Aemond couldn't help but wonder what hardship had made such a frail lady like you so incredibly strong.           “Then perhaps you should follow me back to the Red Keep and leave this foul place.”         “Follow a dragon? With all due respect, my prince, I am not sure it is a good idea. After all it’s a dragon who brought me here.”         “You’d rather stay among the rats? Be my guest.” He sounded serious, so serious you weren’t certain his words were intended to be sarcastic. After all, he didn’t seem to be the kind of man who had a sense of humour. His features  were always either cold or showing haughtiness.   “Rats, dragons … Honestly I don’t know what’s more dangerous.” You finally said.   “Dragons obviously.”     “I beg to disagree.” Aemond immediately frowned at you. He didn’t like your disagreement and it was certainly because he wasn’t used to being contradicted. He was a prince after all, and a formidable one. But you remained unyielding and continued. “When a dragon enters a room you see it, we both know it. Your aunt Rhaenys proved it this afternoon. But rats get in without being noticed. You realise they were here only when they’re gone. They could steal from you, bite you in your sleep and you wouldn’t find them… Rats are sneakier than dragons.” You quoted the prince with a cheeky smile and Aemond’s frown immediately faded to give way to a timid yet joyful smirk. You could tell he was happy that you finally remembered him and your encounter when you were kids but for some reasons, he chose to act as if what you said did not matter.             “Hurry. It is late and we should not wander here. You could use some sleep after what happened and so do I for tomorrow morning I shall fly to Storm’s End.”

You nodded, hopped off the edge of the well and quickly arranged your dress. You were ready to follow Aemond but then you noticed that the Targaryen prince hadn't moved an inch. In fact, he was standing still before you and you could feel his eye on your body clearly lingering on the parts your hands had just touched.           It should have made you feel uncomfortable. You even thought you were for second but you quickly realised that your heart pounding in your chest and your sudden refusal to look up at him were not signs of discomfort but signs of shyness.         “Your heart is racing.” Aemond declared and a blush rose to your cheeks. Did he just look at your chest? You instantly wrapped yourself in your cloak to hide it, finding the situation indecent. If your husband knew ... “I suppose my … look … make you uncomfortable. I understand why. It is not the most ravishing.”           Your eyes widened, horrified, and you urgently looked up at him. You didn’t want him to believe something wrong. “No, my prince. It doesn’t.” You mumbled.           “Then why do you look down like that?” His dark lilac iris was shining like the most beautiful jewel in the moonlight but it was as piercing as a blade, as if Prince Aemond was trying to cut your mind open to see what you were hiding from him right now. You knew Targaryens were special, even magical, and you hoped dearly they didn’t have that kind of power. The last thing you wanted was for the Prince to see the real reason why you had looked away and cover yourself, that for a short moment he had made you feel desirable in a way any other man not even your husband ever could.     “I find you intimidating.” You finally said. It wasn’t a lie but it still could be considered as one.     “Do you? You didn’t seem intimidated in my chambers this afternoon.”     You were silent again. Only this time there was no looking away. There was just you and Prince Aemond and an exchanged gaze that could melt the entire North. And it felt weird. Weird but excruciatingly amazing. Empowering yet debilitating. You could feel the fire in his eye consuming you, devouring you from within. But it was not painful. It was enchanting, thrilling even, like an unexplainable force pushing you to embrace the flames and let them warm your skin. Was it what people called ‘passion’? “Do I make you feel uncomfortable again?”         You shook your head and attempted to say “no” but the word got stuck in your throat and became a moan that awoke the dragon Prince Aemond kept dormant behind his cold mask.

His fingers grabbed your chin and he pushed you against the well, making you gasp and hold on to him. His strong body pressed against yours and he felt the fire within him grow and tickle just like his manhood in his pants now so close to your sex. Aemond thought about how easy it would be, to just untie his trousers, pull up your dress and shove his hardening cock inside of you to feel the warm tightness of your cunt. But when he saw his hands on your waist and with them the images of Tyland Lannister forcing himself on you, he reconsidered and eased his grasp. A lady like you should not be treated like a mere whore. So his hand slid up to your face which was so soft and delicate against his rough fingertips, like the young petals of a rosebud, and with his thumb he brushed the corner of your lips, almost like he did this afternoon. However this time, his mouth - just like his vigorous body - was so much closer. It was so close actually he could almost feel the texture and the warmth of the pink flesh that he desperately wanted to claim with his own lips.   Aemond closed his eyes and let his spirit wander towards a world in which he would not hesitate to do all the inappropriate and lustful things he wanted to do right. He imagined your lips, so wet and so hot against his, your fleshy tongue caressing his, your small hands in his long hair and your legs tightly wrapped around his waist as he devoured your mouth like an apple given to a starving man.         But then you talked and broke the enchantment. The voice of reason he needed to hear.     “I heard they are quite beautiful.”           He opened his eyes and looked at you, puzzled. “What are you saying?”           “The Four Storms, Lord Borros’ daughters. I know why you’re going to Storm’s End.” You whispered and the prince let go of you. The reality was brutal. “Your family is sending you to a make a marriage pact with Lord Borros in order to gain the support of House Baratheon and annul the oath Boremund Baratheon made to Princess Rhaenyra, am I right?”   Aemond sighed, disappointed to have this conversation right now, but then replied. “They’re sending me because I own the largest and most impressive dragon in all Westeros. Surely, you’ll agree a dragon is more persuasive than a raven.”       “So is a Targaryen prince who is still to be betrothed.” You retorted. “You’re too clever for your own good, my lady.” He smiled a bit. He genuinely liked that about you.         “No, your brother the King happens to talk too much when he is drunk, that is all.” Aegon, of course. “What else did that fool say?”         “The King actually praised your faithfulness to your future fiancé.” You found a bizarre reluctance to say the word but you immediately chose to ignore the feeling.     “To Aegon, faithfulness is anything but a quality.” “Yes, I have noticed. I am so sorry for your sister, Helaena. She seems very kind.”     “My sister does not deserve a husband like Aegon. But it was my family’s wish to marry her to him.” “As it is their wish to marry you to a Baratheon.” Aemond didn’t like you for bringing back the subject for two reasons. One, he hated to be reminded he had to wed a plain-featured Baratheon girl. Two, this conversation on marriage pacts had dragged him away from a solace he wished would have never stopped. But you seemed as bitter as he was right now, so he would not blame you. “It is my duty as prince.” And duty means sacrifice, he thought in a voice that sounded terribly like his mother’s. “You don’t seem to enjoy it.”       “Do you know any duty that is enjoyable, my lady?”         You didn’t need to think about the answer. “No, I do not… Although, my husband said many times that there is not a more enjoyable duty than the duty to conceive an heir. Perhaps you will like that.”         Aemond was surprised by your familiarity and your sudden intrusion. Only Aegon, his brother, dared to talk to him about the pleasure of the flesh, most of the time providing graphic details Aemond didn’t wish to hear about. “Sorry, my prince. It was highly inappropriate.” You apologized when you noticed his astonishment.       “Do you? … Enjoy the duty to conceive an heir?” After your lack of decency, you found the question more than fair so you politely answered with all the honestly and prudishness you could muster. “I believe it is only enjoyable when you are a man. But you may know that already.” “Why would you say that?”         “Isn’t the pleasure of the flesh the reason why you came to that brothel?”     No.

[CHAPTER 4]    

[belit0]

GOD- I HAVE THE PERFECT SONG

am i the only person who when hearing "blood//water - grandson" thinks of indra? 😭

YOU GOT IT RIGHT! NO PROBLEM!!! (can be either to relate characters with songs or to talk about the characters themselves with the lyrics!!)

IN FACT, I ONCE STARTED TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR INDRA WITH THIS SONG BUT THEN I DISAPPEARED LOL, SO THIS IS MY REVENGE!!!

"We'll never get free, lambs to the slaughter. What shall you do when there's blood in the water, brother?" Indra asks in disgust, infernal fires roaring inside his chest at the image unfolding before him.

He holds his two nephews by the hair, a girl and a boy, as young as eight years old, presumably twins, whom he never had the good fortune to meet. When he learned his younger brother had had heirs, it was time to strike where it would hurt the most.

"The price of your greed is your son and your daughter. Again, what shall you do when there's blood in the water Ashura?" Both children cry in panic, begging their father to do something, to save them from the monster who stole them from the safety of their beds at night, to intervene and protect their lives.

On the floor, the younger Otsutsuki lies on his knees, both hands braced in front of his body to support his own weight, knowing that if he moves even a single muscle presumptuously, his brother will not hesitate to end his children's lives. There is a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, lower lip clenched between his teeth as he alternates his gaze between the two, trying to decide.

"Look me in my eyes Otouto, tell me everything's not fine, people ain't happy, and our river has run dry," Indra comments cynically, as if the kids' cries fuel his hatred more and more. He crouches down on the floor behind them and releases their hair to catch them by the neck, pressing them against each of his shoulders and stealing their breath in the process.

The little ones stop screaming due to the lack of oxygen, and the haunting Machiavellian grin shining on his older brother's face is something he only saw in his worst nightmares. "You thought you could go free, start a family, yet our father's system is done for." He can see his children's little faces turn redder and redder, paralyzed on the ground and adrift, following his brother's will only to try to preserve their lives.

If Indra really wanted to kill them, he would have done it already.

"If you listen here closely, there's a knock at your front door. I've been hunting you for a long time, and now I'm here."

"Please... Aniki!"

His response is a laugh full of malevolence, as he releases his nephews and hugs them as though genuinely loving them, holding their heads against his neck and kissing the crown of their heads as a doting uncle would. There is a different gleam in his eyes, unlike the one he wore the last time he saw him, when they fought to death the last time.

Indra is completely out of his mind.

"Aniki... Aniki... Aniki... no need to drag them into this, just take me and-"

"Beg me for mercy Ashura, admit you were toxic! You poisoned me just for some more power in your pocket... Now I am the violence, I am the sickness, won't accept your silence, beg me for fucking forgiveness!" His face transforms, features mutating into violence and proper madness, an aura darker than normal surrounding him as he holds the children by the collars of their shirts, lifting them into the air as he stands on his feet.

Ashura can only follow the image from the ground, in the same position since this terrifying scene began, watching bleary-eyed as his kids find themselves at the mercy of a true psychopath.

"The price of your greed is your son and your daughter. What shall you do?" Before he can reply to his twisted riddle, his children's backs are illuminated by a flash of blue, a cloud of electricity that stiffens their bodies. The elder Otsutsuki sends them flying through the air with ease, and before they can touch the ground, he pierces both of their chests with both of his hands, pulling out their hearts on the spot.

"I AM THE PEOPLE, I AM THE STORM, I AM THE RIOT, I AM THE SWARM! WHEN THE LAST TREE'S FALLEN ANIMAL CAN'T HIDE, POWER WON'T SOLVE IT! WHAT'S YOUR ALIBI ASHURA?" The wickedness of his actions is palpable in the air, and between unhinged screams he drops the inert bodies of his nephews, letting them fall to the ground with a hole in their chest and their dull eyes.

"WHAT SHALL YOU DO WHEN THERE'S BLOOD IN THE WATER?!"

[asmrtist-brainrot]

I was talking about the au Mitch realizing where he is and immediately jumping up only to be met by a sharp paint in his side.

He's panicking when he realizes he knows the sent which means they’ve been watching him.

He contemplates shifting and making a quick escape but Lamb stands up before he could do so.

“You, my dear detective, need to lay down and get some rest. You’ve been badly injured and there’s no way I’m letting you run about with it the way it is. Besides… I can���t have you dying on me” they whisper the last bit in almost a way that not even Mitch could hear.

“look. I’ll let you call your buddy and tell her that you’re fine, but if I hear anything about you telling her that your here… I won’t be afraid to cut you down a peg.”

Wait

They new who lopez was!?

*sigh* “I won’t hurt her. That’s not how I run things. But I need you to keep it on the down low that you’re here, got it?”

“yes.”

They just smile, easy-going, though a bit mischievous. It's something he still frustratingly found attractive because damn if they aren't the prettiest person he's ever seen.

"Good puppy."

I can imagine they're doing to both rile him up and inform him that they also know more about him then he knew about them.

They were real careful too, pretty off the grid. Essentially raised like they didn't exist so no one really knew about them at all. Everyone knew their brother Johnny, but not them.

(Okay, I should also correct myself - Lamb is Lorenzo's nibling? Making him their uncle. In this AU, their parents were considered unsuitable for the Lorenzo seat so they took up the leadership role)

He's lowkey treated like royalty, being tended to not only Lamb's personal medic but also given food by their cook and such. Mitch os also quire embarrassed to learn that he was laying up in their bedroom.

He wondered if he owed them anything, if they'make him pay back in blood.

Hesitant doesn't even begin to describe how he felt.

Mitch does ask directly about what they wanted.

When they smile like the cat that caught there canary, he needed to slap himself to stop from gawking.

"I know your current case has got you up in knots."

He's again surprised that they know but double at the bomb they dropped.

"They've got me and my boys all pissy too, and well, I know who's heading this whole thing and why they're doing it."

They're closer to him now, he gets top see how... Kind of soft their features were, offset by the sutble power in their body. It takes him a second to rein in his thoughts -

Only to be stalled out when they state, "You won't find anything about Antonio Del Cruz, but I promise his eyes are also on you."

~ Dari

[songsandremembrances]

Episode 5

I've often heard that the Russian language, when spoken, is harsh, guttural, and fierce. I think those who hold this opinion have not heard actual Russian. Maybe they've heard villains, soldiers, or border guards in movies barking orders or shouting or issuing commands and threats. But they've never heard whispered conversations, or poetry, or this song.

This version has lyrics included on the screen, so I won't write them here. The song, with its lovely, haunting melody, is an ode to evenings in Moscow. You don't have to understand the words to feel the emotion. And you don't have to be from Moscow to know the longing and love for home that this song evokes.

My dad used to sing and hum all kinds of songs, some of which I knew and some that I didn't. This one featured often in his repertoire, usually in the evening, after dinner.

Let's talk about dinner. Let's talk about Russian food, in general. Russia, or the Soviet Union, as it was called then, is a collection of peoples, with their own culinary traditions and a rich variety of food. Ukrainian and Russian foods tend to have many similarities, as do foods native to Belarus. That's because Russia, to a great extent, adopted foods from those areas. Other parts of the Soviet Union, such as Armenia, Georgia, Azerbaijan, and Uzbekistan, have culinary traditions that are firmly rooted in the Middle East and Central Asia. So, you get wonderful lamb kabobs or stuffed grape leaves, the way my Armenian uncle George used to make them, or amazing Georgian dumplings, formed to look like little drawstring purses and filled with all kinds of delicious meats and veggies.

In my family, we mostly stuck with the basics of meat and potatoes with the occasional side dish thrown in. Soup was almost always the first course, anything from basic chicken soup, to borscht (beet soup), to cabbage soup, to a barley and pickle soup (don't knock it 'till you've tried it; it's delicious!). In warmer weather the soups were cold -- cold borscht with sour cream or a sorrel soup with fresh cucumbers and hard boiled eggs. That last one was my favorite. Sorrel is a spinach-like leafy green that has a tart flavor, which, when added to chicken broth, flavors the entire soup with a fresh tanginess.

Main dishes were typically stewed beef or chicken with potatoes or noodles. I've never really cared much about the protein part. But potatoes and noodles are a different story! Potatoes could be stewed, pan fried, mashed, or simply boiled and served with fresh dill and butter. And noodles, boiled and then pan fried until the bottom turned crisp! Don't even get me started!

Vegetables were more rare. For one thing, they weren't always available in grocery stores. You could normally get carrots and maybe onions, but other vegetables were harder to find. When my parents did acquire veggies or fresh fruit, they almost never ate them. These were for the children, who needed the vitamins! Adults made do without.

But there were almost always mushrooms! Added to soup, fried with potatoes and onions, or pickled, they made up a substantial, and delicious, part of our culinary tradition, especially in the summer. That's when, out in the Russian countryside, we would forage for fresh white mushrooms and the more elusive "lisichky", Russian for "little foxes," the ones known in the West as chanterelles. Tiny and hard to find, they were fun to look for among the ferns and mosses of the forest.

Belye, or white, mushrooms are also known as King mushrooms, and with good reason. These are easier to find among the trees, as some of them can get huge! We would go out for hours, hunting these giants, and any other edible mushroom we could find, bringing back baskets full of edible goodness to be fried, pickled, or dried for later use.

My mom did make one veggie-based dish fairly often. It's called Tzimmes, an abomination made with carrots and prunes.

Not a traditional Russian dish, it's actually served on Jewish holidays, but living in the Soviet Union, we wouldn't have known that. No matter. I hated the stuff. Mushy carrots and slimy prunes! No thanks!

During family gatherings there were also "Zakuski," hot and cold hors d'oeuvres, that included red salmon roe on toast, sliced smoked salmon, cold potato salad, beet salad with garlic, a variety of pickled and fermented veggies, and kholodets! That last one is the Russian version of aspic, or jellied broth, made with with eggs, meat, or whatever else you can find, and served cold. You're welcome!

[krispyweiss]

Tim O’ Brien and Jan Fabricius at Natalie’s Grandview, Columbus, Ohio, April 20, 2023

Playing as a duo at Natalie’s Grandview, Tim O’Brien and Jan Fabricius sounded like your uncle and aunt might if they entertained the family sitting around the campfire outside the cabin.

But this hootenanny was happening on the bar-side stage in the Columbus, Ohio, restaurant/music hall and O’Brien, the former Hot Rize multi-instrumentalist and singer, is a world-class, Grammy-winning bluegrass musician, while your uncle likely is not.

Still, the familial vibe was strong enough to cause O’Brien to jokingly thank his kin for attending the show.

Eschewing amplifiers and playing guitar and fiddle (O’Brien) and mandolin (Fabricius) into mics and singing together in a shared microphone, the husband-and-wife music team delighted the small-but-appreciative crowd of around 80 concertgoers with covers (including their revelatory, uptempo, down-home take of Bob Dylan’s “Señor”), and selections from 2021’s He Walked On and the forthcoming (and superb) Cup of Sugar. As headliners, O’Brien and Fabricius had more time than when they last visited central Ohio in November 2022 opening for Chris Smither.

And they made good use of it.

There was no encore - “Why waste time?” O’Brien said - as the self-deprecating couple hit their stride on night two of a five-show run.

“Last night we were rusty; tonight we’re burnt out,” he said early on.

Both lies as O’Brien and Fabricius locked into mountain harmony and melody from the holler across 18 songs and 90 minutes of music.

Halfway through, O’Brien busted out his fiddle - playing, he said, is “like collecting stamps, it’s not for everyone” - and wowed the now-pin-drop-quiet attendees with the solo, gospel stomp “Working on a Building.” After singing his heart out, O’Brien reunited with Fabricius for the traditional instrumental “Rye Straw” before digging into Cup of Sugar’s “Diddleye,” which seems destined to be a beloved cover a few decades hence.

O’Brien returned to six strings on the homestretch, which featured several songs from Cup of Sugar including lead single “Little Lamb Little Lamb,” the rambunctious “The Pay’s a Lot Better Too” and “The Anchor,” which finds O’Brien longing for a time when the Fairness Doctrine and Walter Cronkite helped Americans have a shared sense of what is real.

“And that’s the way it is, April 20, 2023,” O’Brien said as the song - and the concert - ended.

Grade card: Tim O’ Brien and Jan Fabricius at Natalie’s Grandview - 4/20/23 - B+

4/21/23

[deva-arts]

🌿🌸Singles Masterpost!🌸🌿

Featuring the not-quite comics with quite as much lore!

Many of these posts have different characters featured in them, so I'll code (most of) them with emotes

Seraphina ⭔ Nathaniel ▭ Vincent △ Sonia ♡ Amon ▣ Ricky ⧖ Strohl ⚡️ Noctis 😈

🪴 Singles: (In a sort-of chronological order!) 🪴

You're Toasty △♡ Titan's ICU Ward ▭ | The Pie ⭔▭ △♡▣😈 | Beef Welly ⭔▭ | OC memes ⭔▭ △♡▣😈 | Young Subjects ⭔△ | Bald Bird Bros ⭔△ | Vincent's Spiel △♡| Sentry Spotted! ⭔| Needed Hug ▣ | Enter Ricky ⭔⧖ | In-Law Bonding ▭ △| Vincent buys pads. △♡| Vincent buys an Apology △♡| Amon and Adra ▣ | Labrat Headpats △♡| Sera's "Expressions" ⭔

| Day and Night ⭔ | Labrat times △| Shut up, Eric. ⧖| Post-Kiss Bliss ⭔▭| Scared Boy △ | Favorite food? ⭔▭△♡▣ | Sleepy Gang ⭔△▣ | Work Interruption ⭔▭ | Enter Strohl ⚡️| Snowy Vincent △ | Enter Titan 👹| True Face ▭ | Cuddly Ser ⭔▭ | Valentines 💌 ⭔▭| Lovers' Spat ⭔▭| Sera Loves me <3 ⭔ | He fears Nothing △|

| Lamb for Slaughter △ | Trust issues ⭔▭| Kisskisskisskiss ⭔▭| Living Room | Enter Hayes ⭔ | Vincent Timeline △| Excitement! △| Harpy Suit ⭔ | Doctor Wilson! ▭| Doctor... Wilson? ▭ | Vincenza's Secret △| Vincent's last Name? △♡ | Bird Smell? △♡ | Nate≠Handwriting? ⭔▭ | Fry me?⚡️ | How Variants? ▭ | Eggs Bad? ⭔▭△♡▣ |

Your Nightmare 😈 | Check Up ⭔▭ △| Cat Got! ⭔⧖| Beards. ▭△▣⧖| Beards 2 △▣| Young Nox ▭ | Too Green Too Blue ⭔▭| Doomed Siblings ⭔△| Edgy Ahh Painting △ | Chokeslams aren't fun ⭔| Sera's Cooking ⭔| Sleeby Nate ▭| Mom's Approval | Mom's Approval 2 ⭔▭| The Man in Red 😈

| Scar Map △ | Cake Face △ | Her Friend ⭔▭ | Amon <3 ▣ | What Could've Been ⭔△| Animatic ⭔▭△♡▣ | Baby Pantomath ▭ | Slap on the Wrist ▭ | Half n' Half! ▭ 😈| Don't Sign. | Range of Vision ▭ |

Uncle Vincent △| Snorefest ▭♡▣ | Pantsuit <3 ♡| Parenthood ⭔▭ | Sonia's Bag △♡| Noxes ▭ | Pain Scale ▭△ | Kisses ⭔▭ | Hoemio and Juliet △♡ | In another Castle △♡| Bleached △ | Cool Asf △ | Misunderstandings ♡▣ | Monster ▭ | Beach Bro ▣ | Doomed (human) siblings ⭔△ | Quick Smoke △ | Shocking Rejection ♡⚡️ | Nate in Theory ▭| Not A Psycho △♡|

[tonkirc]

Scuttlebutt tavern

Scuttlebutt tavern license#

Scuttlebutt tavern professional#

Where something didn’t exist to do the job onboard, he was more than happy to invent it! He is probably deserving of much more credit than his modesty would have ever allowed having helped to develop many of the things that we now take for granted on the race boats we sail today. Restaurants with WiFi in Everett Emorys on Silver Lake Scuttlebutt Brewing Company Famous Daves AFK Tavern Zab Thai Restaurant La Palmera Prohibition. His work spanned everything from building rigs, to developing marine load cells, to continually pushing forward the development of race boat hardware. Over this time his creativity, enthusiasm, and passion led to Diverse being truly that. The information is based on Ingress email damage reports from participating. In business, Lou co-founded Diverse Yachts back in 1983 and stood at the helm for nearly 30 years. This is not exhaustive information about the portal, Scuttlebutt Tavern Mural.

Scuttlebutt tavern professional#

Lou was competitive, fun, and forever generous with both his time and energy.Īt his happiest helping people on and off the water, he was fondly known by so many around the world as ‘Uncle Lou’ for his long and successful sailing career, showing many the way to be a professional sailor whilst making sure you had a good time doing it too! Choice of lamb and beef or chicken topped with lettuce, tomato, tzatziki and feta cheese, served on a fresh pita. On the water he was equally at home steering the IOR Maxi Matador 2, complete with his famous moustache, as he was (in more recent years) trimming the main on Mini Maxis and TP52’s. Sliced turkey breast, melted pepperjack, lettuce, tomato and mayo, layered on grilled sourdough. Broadway, and was an office secretary at Marko's Lounge, a strip bar on The Block that is now called the 408 Club.Lou Varney, 67, British sailing industry leader and renowned yachtsman, passed away after a battle with brain cancer on February 16, 2022.Ī passionate and talented sailor, Lou’s career transcended generations.

Scuttlebutt tavern license#

Patten, a former bar waitress from Cleveland, held a liquor license for a bar called the Scuttlebutt, at 721 S. Prevas said that Patten has no personal ties to Dupreez. Twenty-six days after Dupreez was sentenced, Patten offered Dupreez $6,000 for the license, which would be transferred from the shuttered Hollywood Show Bar to the nearby Thames Street location, Patten's lawyer said. We had heard some time ago that yesterday was going to be their last day. We do know that they have been actively trying to the sell what is Salem's biggest restaurant space. Nautical, tropical tavern and oyster bar featuring fresh seafood, fresh & frozen cocktails, and a huge rum selection. Scuttlebutt Tavern Wantagh, NY The Scuttlebutt Grille Cuttyhunk, MA. Scuttlebutt Tavern Address: 3947 Sunset Avenue Seaford New York. The scuttlebutt about Tavern in the Square Salem has been flying wildly for months. To support our sponsors, Scuttlebutt limits the number of advertisers in the. She is forbidden from operating a liquor establishment because she is a felon, but the license is valuable because no new ones are being issued. Scuttlebutt Tavern : Take Our Survey and Rate and Review This Business Here Local Business. Paul Lundwall is the President at Scuttlebutt Tavern in Wantagh, New York. The bar was open sometimes for up to six hours without a drink being sold."īut Stansbury said that no connection between the drug sales and the Hollywood Show Bar was made during trial, and therefore Dupreez was allowed to keep her liquor license. Found 2 colleagues at Scuttlebutt Tavern. An informer said Helen would keep the bar open just for her cocaine customers. Drug Enforcement Administration sources told The Sun in 1993 that "Helen's Bar was used to facilitate the sale of cocaine. This is the swashbuckling seafood bar and grill chain with a scallywag charm The Olde Scuttlebutt Tavern has a boisterous and rough-around-the-edges presence.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Not an ask but just a bit of kudos, I am really diggin "Tales from the Past". I'm very curious to see if Claire thinks it all a big coincidence and how Uncle Lamb will react to all of the info they find? Thank you for the lovely writing.

Tales From the Past | Part I, Part II

Scotland was unlike anything I had ever seen before.  The land was an unbelievable shade of green and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. The image I had of my witch and whisky maker family fit perfectly within this landscape. The rolling hills leading to towering mountains, and the glistening lakes reflecting the scenery around them gave the air of magic and endless possibilities. The deeper into the Highlands we travelled, the easier it was to see how the Scots, and my Scots in particular, transitioned and settled in the mountains of North Carolina. There was a familiarity between the two, but whereas Scotland felt old and full of legends, the North Carolinian mountains had an air of youthful mystery in comparison.

“Are we there yet, Uncle?” I asked as yet another town flashed beyond the car windows.

“Not yet my dear. We’ll be there in no time at all, just enjoy the scenery. Maybe you could come up with your own legend by the time we get to our destination!” He cheered then went back to humming a nameless tune.

I sighed and looked longingly out the window. I just wanted to be there, I wanted to see their home and find out more. “Are we going to Broch Morda and Lallybroch?” I asked not five seconds later.

“No, Claire.” Uncle Lamb said with authority. “We’re headed to a town called Inverness. My correspondent who can trace their lineage back to Lallybroch itself lives there. She’s more than willing to tell her family stories and that of her husband’s as well.”

“Fine.” I grumbled, “I still wish we were going straight to Lallybroch. Something is pulling me in that direction, we need to go there.”

“Patience my dear, we will get there, just after we’ve heard what these Murray’s have to say.” Lamb winked.

Inverness was beautiful, tucked away at the top of Loch Ness I could see the appeal and history all around, but I was restless.

“How long do we have to be here?”

“Long enough,” He laughed guiding me towards the door. “I thought you wanted to hear the legends?”

I groaned, “I do but I want to go see Lallybroch more!”

“Let’s see what they have to say first. We’ll need their story to help further our investigation, despite your curious insistence!” Uncle Lamb cut me off before I could speak further.

“Fine,” I murmured into my arm that rested on the door. My excitement crushed for a moment.

The countryside blurred by until the faintest idea of a town sprung up in spires and stone.

“Inverness?” I asked looking to at Uncle Lamb. He grinned and nodded, weaving our way through the streets to the tea room where the mysterious Murray’s awaited our arrival.

“Here we are, m’dear!” Lamb exclaimed throwing the car door open. “Would you get my satchel from the boot? We may need to take photographs and extra pens and paper! You never know what all they’ll have or have to say!”

His excitement was contagious and I felt my own lift to a nervous bubble. I still longed to see the fabled home, but deep down I knew I needed to hear what the Murray’s had to say.

“Are you Quentin Lambert?” A tall and lanky man with jet black hair and gray eyes asked as he approached our car.

“That I am! You must be Alexander Murray,” Lamb greeted, clasping the man’s hand.

Mr. Murray chuckled and nodded. “Aye, and this is my sister Jennifer.” He gestured to short girl with the same black hair and gray eyes.

“We’ve already got a kettle on, please join us inside.” Her smile was kind, but wary.

“Claire! Don’t forget the books!” Uncle Lamb called from over his shoulder absentmindedly as he entered the quaint stone building.

I took a moment to breathe in my surroundings. The bustle of people and their cars contrasting against the ancient stone buildings. If I closed my eyes and blocked out the modern sounds I could believe I was there when it all began. I could feel the clean Scottish air as it wrapped itself around me and those on the streets, smell the the roasting meats from taverns and hearth fires as well as fresh bannocks and bread, and I could imagine the sounds of wagon wheels and horse’s hooves on cobble and splattering mud. My imagination took me to a world where I could imagine my whisky making Scot walking down the street, and with a swish of a kilt he was gone.

“Miss Beauchamp?” I jumped, startled, my eyes flying open as the pack fell to the street. “Och, sorry. I dinna mean to give ye such a fright. Yer uncle was asking for ye. I came to fetch ye inside.”

My cheeks reddened from getting caught in my fantasy. The real world felt foreign and distant compared to where my mind had just held me. I slowly retrieved Uncle Lamb’s bag and followed Jennifer Murray inside.

“Claire! Claire! There you are, what kept you? No matter, you really must hear what young Mr. Murray has told me about his family! There was a tale that originated from a great uncle of sorts, and that very uncle could be the James Fraser we are striving to find! But I’m very much more fascinated in this enthralling tale of a cave, espionage and freedom! Please, come sit. Sit and listen!” Lamb managed to get all of this out in a single breath, his face red, but eyes alight with excitement. I noticed his hands were already ink-stained and smudged, his left worst of all.  

“Breathe Uncle.” I said, laying a hand to his shoulder. “I’m sure Mr. Murray doesn’t wish to recount the tale again.”

“I dinna mind at all! Would ye like some tea before I start?” Alexander Murray gestured to the barely touched tray of tea and shortbread.

“Yes, thankyou.” I replied, pouring my own cup and grabbing a biscuit.

“As I was telling your very enthusiastic Uncle, my family has many tales and legends as does most here in the highlands. But one, we can go so far to say, is one of the more famous ones.” he said lowering his voice with a wink. “This one legend was said to be the Laird of Broch Tuarach during the uprising of Prince Tearlach in 1745. It’s said that the Laird was spared at the battle of Culloden or most likely escaped the clutches of the British and fled back to his homeland. His hair was a fiery red, easily spotted and gave him little chances to hide. My–” he paused and then gestured to his sister, “–our great-great-great grandmother was this Laird’s sister. She hid him in a priest hole that her recently dead sister-in-law had told her to build. You see the Laird’s wife was a Sassenach and a faerie.

“The folk in the highlands were wary of her and her healing abilities, even though the laird loved her more than life. She was among those caught in the crossfire of Culloden. The Laird being so distraught had nearly given up the will to live and when he was well enough to stand, decided to hide in the hillside to better protect his family.”

“Och! You’re tellin it wrong Sawny!” Jennifer interrupted.

“Och aye? Am I? Weel why dinna you tell it then and let me save my voice!” he said and smugly crossed his arms and legs into a relaxed position.

“I will then!” She settled herself deep into her chair.

“As my brother said, our great-great-great grandmother was the sister to the Laird who became legend, and it is from her that we get our story. Before the days of Culloden and the blackened soul of Prince Tearlach set this bonnie nation into strife, the Murray’s and Fraser’s lived peacefully on the estate. The young Laird had taken a faerie to wife, but all that knew her well enough said she was kinder than of any fae, and that she loved the Laird and his family to the ends of time. It was when she caught a vision of great strife and suffering for her beloved’s people, she told her good sister to plant crops that would yield a great amount, and prepare hidden storages including a priest’s hole under the kitchen cellar. The fae and her husband rushed out to protect the people and try to stop the horror she had seen from coming to fruition.

“They had earned the trust of Prince Tearlach, and made their way into his inner council. Night after night, day after day, the Laird tried to convince the Prince of his doomed cause, but to no avail. The horror still approached and overcame the people of this good nation. Killing thousands, destroying homes and the highland culture at it’s roots. The faerie wife, so distraught at the destruction of her adopted home, begged for her people to save the Scots, to turn back time and not let it happen, but they didna answer. Instead, it’s said she curled up on a faerie hill just outside Inverness and died of a broken heart. Unable to save her beloved nor her new people, and the old ones wouldnae have her back.

“However, the Laird did survive! He made his way home to Broch Tuarach where his sister tended to his physical wounds, but nothing could take away the pain he felt at the death of his wife. He hid for months in the priest’s hole, listening to raid after raid from the British soldiers and he could have it no more. He was too much of a danger to his family, and he couldna bear to lose another part of his heart. One night, he hid himself deep into the caves of the hills that surrounded his property with naught but a dun bonnet to his name. Just far enough that he would pose no danger, but close enough that if he was needed, he could be called upon. For seven years he hid by himself in the caves, coming out at night, clad in brown from head to toe, hiding the flames of his hair under bonnet and cloak of night to deliver fresh meat of his kills to his people and family.

“The Laird’s most faithful servant would risk his life week after week to bring the Laird fresh ale, clothes, and news of the town and of his family when the laird could not make his way down the mountain. On a day, not unlike today, where the sun shone high and the temperature mild, the servant raced up the hill bringing his lairdship fresh supplies, only to be stopped by a wicked cluster of British soldiers. They accused the lad of stealing and chopped his hand off for his crimes, then stole the Laird’s supplies for their own gain. Outraged the Laird tended the lad as best he could in the cave before taking him to the estate for proper healing. It was then the Laird decided that his time in the caves were at an end. He had to stand, he needed to fight the cruelty and oppression being imposed on his people.

“Seven years since the uprising, and there was still a traitor’s reward for the Laird. The laird asked his brother-in-law to turn himself in, grab the stirling reward and feed the family and people he could no longer protect.”

Jennifer stood up and went to the window. I blinked trying to come back to the world around me. The tale she had spun so vivid in my mind, like that was the true reality and not this tea parlour.

“What happened to him? The Laird?” I asked, desperate to hear more.

She turned, the light a halo around her silhouette, “The Dun Bonnet Laird went to prison to save his family. If you go back to our family’s ancestral home and speak to the locals they may tell you of him in a different way, the story altering from family to family. But one thing is for sure, they say on the old fire feasts, ye can see the Dun Bonnet standing at the mouth of his cave, keeping his vigil for all who are under his protection.”

[evita-shelby]

Nothing More Difficult than Love

Chapter 22

Gif by @retromafia

Taglist: (I'll add it when i remember who was in it)

She had been three when she had been taken from her mother. She had been nine when saw the address of her mother’s home and planned her first escape.

She had been ten when she got caught boarding the train to Birmingham and it was two weeks later when they put her on a ship bound to Australia.

The people they gave her to where not good people, not like the Cuthburts of Green Gables nor even her first two or three families who didn’t even know what the awful priest had done to her and Michael when he was eleven and she was nine.

Anna had been thirteen when she should’ve died from the Spring Fever, but she didn’t and used all of her savings to book passage back home.

The Second Sight had brought her to a kindly woman who pretended the lost girl was her granddaughter until they were safe in English soil.

“My Annie, my beautiful baby girl.” Her mother cried and refused to let go. Anna felt that of either let go, they’d be taken away from each other again.

“See if you can name them, you were too young to remember, but if you have the Gift, you’ll know them already.” Her mother said encouraging her to introduce herself to them.

Her cousins were strangers to her, strangers she’d seen in those fever dreams while she was ill.

“Arthur, Tommy, John, Finn and I have girl cousin named Ada.” Anna named them and her mother beamed at her with motherly pride.

This was her family. This was home.

Anna Elizabeth Gray was finally where she belonged.

----

It’s the anniversary of Eva’s arrival when Polly’s daughter arrives.

She remembers how her uncle and aunt embraced her tightly at the docks and told her that she was safe here.

Then all her things had been packed on to a narrow boat she’d only seen in her dreams and photographs, and she was taken to the man she’d marry.

“Just last year we stood here.” This time he is standing on the January and Eva was still standing on the wharf.

“I’m glad you weren’t disappointed in me, Tom.” Eva pulled him in for a kiss the second he stepped off the boat.

“You could never disappoint me, love.” He kissed her again and again until Arthur reminded them that there were children around.

“I bet you won’t be saying that when I get fat and look like a potato in a dress.” She joked with her husband as Anna Gray and her mother are helped off the boat.

“Anna, this is Tommy’s wife and the person who told us you were coming home.” Polly brought the unsure thirteen-year-old girl to her, and Eva greeted her like she always does, a handshake, a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m Eva, it is such a joy to finally meet you, Anna.” The witch told the young girl who was just so similar and yet so different than her mother. Took after the Grays and Polly’s mother with light brown hair that looked almost blonde, had Polly’s features, but these remained soft from innocence despite all she suffered on the way here.

“Me too, I kept seeing all of you in my dreams that I bought a ticket the second I got better,” the girl smiled shyly with her cheeks pinking up. A Shelby who blushed at the slightest things, when you live long enough you see such strange things.

“You’re just in time for my wedding, Sally Anna, Linda says you can be a bridesmaid if you want to. You’re going to love Linda, she’s real sweet and gentle like a lamb.” Arthur said taking over the conversation. He had been Anna’s godfather, him and Polly’s late sister-in-law.

The bond between Arthur and Polly was more like siblings, than aunt and nephew and who could blame them they were only a handful of years apart.

“Got enough witches to make a coven,” Eva whispered to Polly as her daughter was introduced to Linda and Finn once they were all home.

Polly smiled and shook her head. “I was sixteen when my abilities showed up, how old were you when they started?”

The older witch was concerned at how her daughter’s ability came and how strong it was already. It wasn’t uncommon, especially on witches who have had magic in their family trees. Eva’s was particularly strong, made her wonder how old Diana will be when she gets her first vision.

“I was eleven,” Eva hopes Polly doesn’t ask what she saw.

Eleven-year-old Eva had seen the people who’d be killed in the Rio Blanco strike two weeks after. And then saw the president throw a feast for the general who killed them all. She had only missed the part where the state governor ordered their ships at the harbor to be burnt in the middle of the night as punishment for daring to skip the state dinner.

“It’s good for witches to see things so young, I’ve heard of children born with their abilities already active and have better control over them than I do as a fucking adult. There’s even a boy in Tulum, Mexico whose mother was able to see into the future when she was pregnant. Anna is at a good age to learn, Polly, don’t worry.” Eva elaborated.

In truth, Eva was worried, not about Anna, but for herself. Her visions had stopped coming. She could read the cards and see it vaguely, but it was as if something was blocking her connection with the universe.

The only times her visions stopped, like now, was when Gabriel died, and she had to identify him in the pile of bodies and body parts that used to be people she knew and had come to cherish and strangers fighting to survive.

Gabe died spilt apart by a faulty grenade, a man can survive without an arm and a leg, but a man cannot survive without a head. That did not stop men from pretending they were him or Alan to try and take the money that had been theirs.

It had been that afternoon when Eva ran out of tears to shed, and her visions ceased to come.

This time she is pregnant and the happiest she’s ever been. Eva doesn’t understand why the fuck her power has deserted her now.

No one knows about this, Eva is terrified of what could happen when they do.

----

Anne of Green Gables came out in 1908 and is Anna's favorite book.

its also my headcanon that she and Michael weren't separated until they were nine and eleven which was when Father Hughes sexually abused them. after that they were fostered out to other people and Anna tried to find Polly before she was supposed to leave for Australia.

the Rio Blanco Strike/La Huelga de RIo Blanco happened in January 7 and 8 of 1907 in Rio Blanco, Veracruz where Federal Troops under President Porfirio Diaz , a Colonel named Francisco Ruiz and the French and American owners of the textile factories opened fire on the 2000 employees and civilians who had been on strike since Christmas after they tried to unionize and sue the factories as they were being paid in vouchers for the factories' store instead of actual money. between 70 to 600 people were murdered and Diaz threw a state dinner to thank Ruiz for his work.

[blouisparadise]

Today’s rec list consists of bottom Louis fics that take place in the country, the Midwest, or any rural area. We hope you enjoy. If you do, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Save A Horse | Explicit | 2400 words

Louis goes to a rodeo with Liam, and gets a lot more than he bargained for. Featuring bull rider Harry, obnoxious t-shirts, and one hell of a night.

“Come on Jackson ain’t you been practicin? It ain’t fun for me if I always beat you,” the boy drawls out, voice slow and thick like molasses. “You comin out tonight?” he asks, nudging him with his elbow.

“Not tonight H, me and Liam are going to grab something to eat,” Jackson replies, the blush returning to Liam’s cheeks.

“What about you, what’re your plans for the night darlin’?” Harry asks, crooking an eyebrow in Louis’s direction.

Louis, who is the epitome of outgoing and confident, is at a total loss for words. He starts to say something but freezes, Harry now raising his other eyebrow and smirking, awaiting Louis’s response. “I uh- I’ll probably just go home,” Louis manages to stammer out, and what the fuck? Who is this man and how has he turned Louis into an introvert in a matter of seconds?

2) Gunsmoke | Explicit | 6527 words

Harry 'Gunsmoke' Styles and his boys Liam, Zayn, and Niall are all traveling cowboys who come across a small town on their journey to nowhere. They hang out at a tavern where Harry meets Louis, a cute and fiery bartender, and they may or may not fall in love.

3) Hey I Heard You Were A Wild One (If I Took You Home It'd Be A Homerun) | Explicit | 12106 words

Harry came to the bar to forget. Louis gives him a night to remember.

4) This Land Is More Than Dreams | Explicit | 12878 words

Louis is a student taking a gap year, travelling through the States. His plans change when he meets a cute cowboy-wannabe in one of the towns.

5) Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy | Mature | 13356 words

Harry owns a farm and Louis rides horses (and pretty boys sometimes) for a living. Harry hurts himself by being clumsy before he gets to ride a horse with Louis.

6) Manifest Destiny | Explicit | 15210 words

Louis is a Pony Express rider and Harry runs a station along the trail.

7) Baby Blue | Explicit | 39439 words

Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

8) I Ain’t Gonna Fence You In | Mature | 40645 words

Louis Tomlinson is a 18 year old city boy who is forced to spend his summer before his senior year at his aunts farm. There, he meets Harry, a 19 year old country boy his aunt hired to help around the farm.

Maybe the farm isn't the worst place to fall in love?

9) Boiling Blood Will Circulate | Explicit | 42420 words

The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

10) Your Touch Shouldn't Make Me Feel Like This | Explicit | 48883 words

Uni AU in which Alpha Harry has been in love with his omega friend for the longest time and one motorbike trip to the countryside with Louis made him realize that he could no longer hold back his feelings.

11) For the Sake of Propriety | Mature | 52360 words

Louis Tomlinson is the caretaker of an estate that is not truly his, and when his Uncle calls upon him to take it back, Louis knows he will soon be out on the streets with four overly zealous sisters to care for.  His only solution: wed the eldest two off and pray for the best.  When an even better solution unexpectedly presents itself in the form of the charming Mr. Styles, Louis is faced with a difficult choice.  But as with all things in the regency era, reputation very well may threaten to outweigh the fleeting matters of his heart.

12) Through The Wheatfields And The Coastlines | Explicit | 52855 words

“You’re not from around here, are ya?” Hot Cowboy asks, tracking his little lamb with his eyes. Louis frowns slightly, having thought he was doing pretty well at not sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s not like he’s not from around here — it’s not his first summer he’s spent at his grandparents'. But he supposes that the Manhattan city lifestyle that he’s used to is always going to shine through.

“I’m visiting family for the summer,” Louis explains, cheeks a little pink. “Trying to get some work done without distractions.”

13) The Bachelor | Explicit | 53953 words

The one where Harry dates six other guys and still falls in love with Louis Tomlinson.

14) Apples Always Fall (As I Do For You) | Mature | 54609 words | Sequel

Louis is staying at his Aunt's farm in a small town in Minnesota for four months. To deal with the boredom that sets in a week into his stay, he starts working at the local apple orchard, owned by twenty six year old Harry Styles.

Louis quickly finds himself falling in love with the orchard, and he finds a family in Harry's friends Niall, Liam, and Zayn.

He also starts to fall in love with Harry.

Falling in love with him turns out to be the easy part.

15) Such Good Luck | Explicit | 66025 words

An Edwardian AU where Harry is a young aristocratic lord and Louis is a working class dairy farmer. Secrets are a necessary part of their relationship, but Louis has one that could topple their whole world.

16) Given a Chance | Explicit | 173511 words

Five years after One Direction took their last tour, the last thing Louis Tomlinson ever expected to happen while on a tea run at the local Piggly Wiggly was to run into his ex-boyfriend and ex-bandmate Harry Styles.

The odds of them ever running into each other again had to be super slim, right?

Wrong.

What happens when you mix ex-boyfriends with a large serving of Small Town America? Will Louis and Harry be able to set aside their differences, or will Louis be able to stay breezy as fuck in the wake of Harry’s arrival?

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[tokoyamisstuff]

Scandal Ch. 5 - Loki x Reader

Summary: Loki returns to claim what is his - willing to kill everyone in his way.

Warnings: Angst.

Words: ~1800

I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I

Taglist: @catlover092402152, @hi-there-x, @haloangel391, @misssilencewritewell, @babayaga67, @accioremuslupinn, @mochimommy2002, @just-someone-who-likes-to-write, @damalseer, @bethanystan, @loser-alert, @star017, @nina1800, @queenariesofnarnia, @n1fangirlsblog, @vengefulsokovian, @lunamoonbby, @freyagallileaevans, @emmojoy, @literate-lamb, @aninnai​, @justsomerandompersonintheworld​

A/N: Sweet little Feedback Anon, I took your suggestion. You know which one I mean if you see it. (:

Btw guys I have like 60+ Drafts I need to finish so pls be patient with me.

Word sure spreads fast among the folk of Asgard, about Odin’s shame and your innocence.

Since his lies had weakened the favor among his subjects, the Allfather was desperate to clean his name and reputation, ultimatively inviting you to come back.

But you declined, stating that this wasn’t your homeland anymore ever since they betrayed you to fullfill their selfish ambitions.

However, Asgard’s hypocrisy wasn’t the only reason you chose to stay on Midgard - you just knew that it would break your heart every day you’d spend on a place with so many memories connected to your deceased husband.

Earthlings, the people of S.H.I.E.L.D and especially Thor’s friends Jane and Erik Selvic had basically become like family to you. Even though they could never fill the void Loki had left in your heart, things being like this was more than you could wish for.

“Lady Y/N!” a familiar voice greeted you, yet his worried tone startled you. Thor was already standing in your room, practically kicking in your door as he was visibly upset.

Immediately, you put Liam into his crib and rushed to his side. “What’s the matter?!”

A strange mix of horror and excitement was stretched across his face, making your heart sink to your stomach.

Actually, you didn’t want to involve yourself with the Asgardians any further. All you ever wanted was for your child to be healthy and happy, no matter where this was possible.

But Thor was still your cherished brother-in-law, as well as a wonderful uncle, never ceasing to provide for you and Liam, even when everyone else had forsaken you.

Yet what he was about to tell you let your blood run cold: 

“Loki is back.”

Immediately, all the walls you had built up over those past months were crumbling as you collapsed to the floor, crying out of anger and relief.

“H-How? How is this even possible?! He’s dead! Loki died!”

“Pull yourself together, Lady Y/N!” Thor has always been a rather touchy-feely kind of person, in opposite to his raw and bulky appearance.

But right now, he wouldn’t dare to hug or console you, like he’d usually do. Instead, he was offering you a hand to help you get back up - which you wouldn’t be able to take just yet. “There’s no use in overthinking this! We need to hurry!”

“What do you even want me to do?” you wondered, because if your husband was really alive, you’d doubt him wanting to see you. “He’s changed...killed a lot of people before he disappeared. And still, I don’t wanna fight him. How can I be of any help at all?!?”

“We know he’s probably after you and the child” the God of Thunder stated coldly. “So you need to be transferred to a safe location.”

What can be more safe than a base of S.H.I.E.L.D? If only you knew he had already demolished a whole, giant outpost of them with ease...

“I’ll explain everything to you on the way.” “Let me quickly get the baby.”

“What, did you forget the name of your nephew already?” you chuckled awkwardly, but seeming to have struck a nerve.

Thor was only slowly approaching the crib in which your lovely baby was resting, staring at it with awe while his trembling hand caressed Liam’s cheek.

“Incredible...” he whispered mainly to himself,  as if this wasn’t the thousandth time he would lay eyes upon him. “He’s just like I remember him.”

Something was off.

Of course Thor had a spare key to your flat, but you had never heared him unlock it - he had just kind of appeared in the middle of the room. Could as well be that you had been to invested with something, or buried in thought to notice him, and yet...

“Wait” you stated, making him flinch away from the child and turn around. “My knees are still weak. Help me up first.”

With heavy steps, Thor would force himself away from the crib and towards you again, lending you another hand and easily pulling you up - just for you to point a sharp dagger to his throat.

“Lady Y/N, when did you summo-”

“Shut up!” you hissed, and the god held his hands into the air to assure his goodwill. "Drop the disguse. Now!”

The man let out an amused huff, a taint of green covering his body to revert it back to normal - revealing your husband.

His hair had become longer, and dark rings showed how devastating those past months went by for him. Yet still, he was unmistakingly your husband.

Yet a faint, mad spark in his eyes was what worried you the most.

Now he was holding a knife as well, both circling around the crib with a knife at each other’s throat, as if to dance with each other.

“So it’s really you, Loki?”

“The one and only” he declared, chest swelling with pride at his performance and completely ignoring your hostile undertone. “I missed you painfully, my sweetling.”

He looked to the side where your son was still sleeping soundly, regret clearly visible on his face. “Wha- what name did you give our child?”

“Liam it is.”

The smallest of smiles tugged on his lips, swallowing harshly to surpress the sobs wanting to break free. “Beautiful name. Very well chosen.”

Pain was stretching across your features, desperately trying for the dam of emotions to not break. The dagger in your hand vanished, rather choosing to reluctantly caress his cheek - to make sure this was really him, and not one of his illusions.

And it was really him, leaning into your touch with a content purr. “Yes, my love, just like tha-”

A loud noise drang to his ear, effectively cutting him off. He needed a second to understand that it was in fact you slapping him what caused the interruption.

“Dear, wait, I-” Another hit, this time it was your knee digging into his groin, making him gasp in pain.

With his current power, it would be a piece of cake to block you - yet he knew that after everything that had happened to you, and everything he had done...

...it was what he deserved. So he would allow you to let off some steam.

Yet much to his surprise, you were done already - now grabbing desperately on his cloak and pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

He immediately reciprocated, dropping his weapon as well to embrace you fully, lips mingling with each other over and over again.

Oh, how long had both of you craved for each other?

“Sorry” you panted as your lips finally parted, “Just needed to get that off my chest.”

“Do not apologize, my love” Loki declared, chin resting atop of your head, still no intention to let go off of you. “I deserve far worse than that.”

You looked up to him, the kiss having made something surface in his eyes: So solemn, and incredibly fragile, it made your heart ache.

“Wha- what happened to you? Where have you been all this time?”

Loki’s face contorted at the question, as if the thoughts in his mind were physically painful. But his mind was clouded, unable to make his proper memory resurfacing. “Places far beyond your imagination, dear. And I have learned many things.”

“I-I thought I had lost you...” you ultimatively began to sob, face dug into his chest.

“No” the god whispered softly, his gaze still unwavering. “You always have me. I promise.”

“What now?” you sniveled as he gently pet your head, just as back in good old times. “Where do we go?”

“What do you mean?” Loki’s features creased into a slight frown, “We stay here. There’s no need to leave or flee.”

“Bu-” you hesistantly took a few steps back, to take in his full reaction. “But you’re a wanted criminal, Loki! On Asgard as well as Midgard!”

His manner became more defensive again, glee radiating off of him. “Oh, my sweet, innocent Y/N...still the idealist, I see.”

“And you are still insufferable” you scoffed back, crossing your arms. “What do you mean?”

Actually, you dreaded the answer.

The man seemed to be thinking about many things at once, eyes narrowing before he finally took a hold of your hand, squeezing it ever so slightly when he saw that you were still wearing his ring - even after everything that had happened.

“Y/N, my love, those deaths were a necessary evil.” He tried to peck a quick kiss on your hand, but you pulled away at those words. “The only crime I feel guilty for is having left the love of my life. But don’t you worry, I’ll make up for it.”

He summoned a staff, glowing in the same blue as the tesseract - and much to your terror, his eyes started to adapt to them as well.

“I will create my own kingdom, Y/N! Here on Midgard, with you as my queen! This is what you deserve, my love! You and our child will have everything you desire and more!”

“This is madness, Loki!” It wasn’t the first time he had heared that.

People always treated him wrongly, afterwards wondering why he was trying to create felicity on his own. “Is it?” he croaked, “Is it madness for a person born to rule two kingdoms to create a home he never had?”

His plan did not merit awe or any such feelings he hoped you to have - the only person in the world he thought would understand him.

“Loki, what your parents have done to you is inexcusable, yet-”

“They’re not my parents!” he screamed enraged, eyes then widened in shock that he had raised his voice at you. “My apologies, I...”

“They have kept the truth from you so that you’d never feel different. You know you’re their son, and the Asgardians are your family. You must know that!”

“You speak like mother” he spat, and still Frigga’s words he could not shake off as easily as Odin’s. “There is no going back to that place, and Jotunheim I never had a connection with. You most likely heared that I tried to kill Laufey, yes?”

Nodding in silence, you nervously bit your lip. “Please...” Wrapping your arms around him and placing one ear at his sternum, you could clearly hear how his heart was fighting a war, struggling to decide.

“You can still stop whatever you were gonna do. We can start anew somewhere, lead a peaceful life with Liam. I don’t need wealth or power, and you clearly know any of this wouldn’t give you the satisfaction you’re searching for!”

“As always, you’re right” he grumbled deeply, already regretting what he was about to do. “But it’s not that easy, my naive little dove.”

“No~” With his hand on the back of your neck, he infused a powerful magic inside your body, slowly shutting down your nervous system completely. As careful as possible, he cradled you in his arms and slowly led you to the floor, then proceeding to take his heir.

“The only thing I need for myself is our little family - and I will avenge you by murdering anyone that did you wrong, or tries to separate us again.”