#me - she's just found out that the father of her children who she thought died some years ago

[post-futurism]

If you don't dream up absolutely insane reasons behind why people do things are you even alive

[xoxojuyo]

Nanny | jjk (m)

✦ summary: you take a babysitting job for the wealthy Jeon family, one night you get to see Mr. Jeon in the kitchen, finding him much more attractive in person than in photos. Despite his seemingly disinterest in you, he comes to you one night, summoning you to his studio.

✦rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

✦ pairing: dilf!Jungkook + f!reader

✦ warnings: married!jungkook, dad!jungkook, he is a father of two, older!jungkook, power imbalance relationship, he is your boss’s husband, mistress!reader, cheater!jungkook, swearing, kissing, boob play, finger licking, slight choking, fingering, degradation, penetrative s3x, no mentions of contraceptive use, he cums inside.

✦word count: 3.5K

✦a/n: this is written in first person, oopsie. hope you enjoy.

The clock indicates 9PM as I tiptoed out of the children's room, my steps light and cautious, mindful not to wake the little ones. I was the Jeon’s trusted babysitter.

My sister worked as Mrs. Jeon personal trainer. The woman would spend her whole day at the country club, pilates in the morning, then tennis and swimming lessons at the afternoon. She spent zero time with the kids, she is finally home after 7pm, but it was almost like she warded off her kids, I’m convinced she hates interacting with them, at nights she went to her room or to the patio to have dinner while FaceTiming an unknown man, that was my second hint that she could be cheating on Mr. Jeon, actually at that point I was pretty convinced. She went out with her friends during the weekend nights, going on clubs, bars or some girls night, she always had a plan, some days she wouldn’t come back until Monday morning, with her hair tangled and unkempt, pumps off and a dry colorless face.

She had fired the previous babysitter after she found out she was stealing some of the kids clothing and selling them online, she was an old lady who pretended to be a retired and experienced children psychologist, Mrs. Jeon never cared enough to read her resume, turns out she wasn’t, and it only took the effort of googling her name to find news about her other scams on rich families pretending to be a kind babysitter, and not only she was stealing the kids’ clothes, also Mrs. Jeon’s jewels.

Shortly after she hired a young kindergarten teacher, only lasted a week. Mrs. Jeon thought she was too flirty when she greeted her husband, truth is she never saw them interact, it might be the fact that the girl had a rising onlyfans page that Mrs. Jeon found about because the gardener had recognized her, and also because she was an impolite vegan, the girl demanded rudely to the chef to make her a special vegan meal, so Mrs. Jeon told her to not come back the next day.

Once the door clicked softly shut behind me, I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Babysitting could be exhausting, but I cherished these moments of tranquility after the children had drifted off to dreamland. I made my way to the cozy living room, settled onto the plush sofa, eager to enjoy a few moments of relaxation.

My sister received a call for help from Mrs. Jeon. Desperate because if she didn’t find a new babysitter before the kids finished their school day she had to stay with them for the rest of the day. My sister said she sounded as if someone had died, in complete panic. I got my sister’s call for help, she wanted to be in her boss’ good side and also to get my ass out of the couch once and for all.

I had just graduated, and conveniently unemployed. I had tried my luck in a big city, completely failed and had to return home. Had been rotting in my family home for almost a month until my sister told me she had a job opportunity for me.

- Just focus on taking care of the kids, don’t engage with the male employees on the house, she will think you are fucking them, she hates sharing her men. And if you get to see Mr. Jeon when he arrives early from work just say good night without making eye contact, no more exchange, understood?

In fact, I had never seen Mr. Jeon in person. There were huge family pictures all around the house walls, and small frames on the shelves that portrayed his beautiful face.

Mr. Jeon is a handsome man, with youthful features and athletic physique. From chatting with the maids I learned that he goes jogging at 6 AM, to the gym at 7, has breakfast at 8, then heads to work until 9 to 10 at night when he arrives home, takes a shower and goes to bed.

As weeks went by, my love for the kids grew, just as much as my curiosity for their gorgeous father.

The couple didn’t share a room, in fact, apparently they hated each other. They were a happy pair until she was “forced” to bare his children. Both families had agreed to unite in all aspects including business, but the warranty was to have at least one male that would take over everything one day. They did, the youngest of the two children was a beautiful and healthy boy, but Mrs. Jeon was left traumatized and deformed after the pregnancies, which caused the fall of their successful marriage.

Linda, their oldest maid said that it all started even before they got married, because both were compulsive cheaters that enjoyed to have interaction with people bellow their status, such as maids, trainers, secretaries, drivers, bodyguards, etc.

As I reached for a book from the nearby shelf, I heard a faint rustling sound coming from the kitchen. I paused, my heart skipping a beat. Perhaps it was just the house settling.

This weekend I had been tasked to stay over and take care of the kids while Mrs. Jeon was on a girls trip to Indonesia, she’s coming back on Monday.

I’d say Mrs. Jeon trusted me, I was her beloved personal trainer’s sister and I’ve been doing a good job taking care of the kids, acted as if the chef, the gardener, the drivers and the new pastry cook didn’t exist. She was happy with my work.

Her instructions were to just normally complete my Friday - Saturday routine with the kids, but to stay over to keep an eye on them at night, she didn’t trust the maids, one time she had a nightmare in which they all grabbed forks to kill them and fed her a broth made with their bones, ever since she’s been paranoid, she says they hate her so much she believes they are capable of doing it.

It was Friday night, the kids already asleep, I would usually go home after this, but I had to sleep on one of the guest rooms to check on the kids, and Saturday morning prepare them for their swimming lesson and entertain them for the rest of the day.

But then I heard it again, unmistakably—a soft shuffling, like footsteps moving across the tiled floor. My breath caught in my throat as I debated whether to investigate or retreat to the safety of the children's room. The staff had already ended their activities, they were all supposed to be in their chambers.

Summoning courage, I rose from the sofa and tiptoed towards the kitchen, my pulse quickening with each step. The dim light from the living room cast eerie shadows against the walls, adding to the sense of uneasiness that gripped me.

Peering cautiously around the corner, My eyes widened in astonishment. Standing in the center of the kitchen was a figure—Mr. Jeon, very alive and kicking.

He was so much more handsome in person, an unreal beauty. Blazer and tie off, sleeves up his elbows revealed his tattoos, they covered his whole right arm and hand, first three buttons undone letting me see part of his chest, he was bulked. A piercing adorning his lower lip, another on his right eyebrow, a couple more on his ears.

I had heard he did that to his body after he found out guys with piercings and tattoos gave Mrs. Jeon the ick. Apparently he really wanted her away from him.

- Who are you? He asked confused, looked like he already had a few drinks, was peering at the fridge looking for a beer.

- The babysitter.

- What happened to Ms. Barlowe? he asked while opening the beer can and pouring it in a glass.

- She was fired two months ago. I tried to respond as concisely as possible, but this man was making me feel things that would put this job on risk. He liked getting inside the staff’s panties? Then he could take me right here.

- What’s your name? How old are you?

- y/n, hadn’t you heard it’s impolite to ask a woman’s age. I’m old enough.

- Old enough? For what? He chuckled.

- To be your children’s babysitter. I said jokingly, nothing matters anymore, this man has me on my knees acting all flirty.

- Once we had a 16 year old. He said looking at me, taking a sip of his beer.

- Not that young, more like old enough to buy alcohol all that stuff. I said while looking down at my feet, shyness taking over me all of a sudden, I shouldn’t have said anything.

- Are you staying the night?

- Yes, I have to keep an eye on the kids while your wife is away.

- Then I’ll see you around doll, I need a shower. He winked and walked to leave the kitchen, when he passed by me he patted the top of my head.

What?! The nickname got me all confused and flustered, but then the way he touched my head, was it all in a “oh how cute” way? Or a “let’s fuck till daylight”?

I stood there, still processing the whole conversation we had, now I feel embarrassed.

Headed directly to the guest bedroom and took a shower too. I felt so hot, cheeks red and teary eyes. Got my pajamas on, don’t I own a prudish set? Pair of pants and an oversized tee. If he were to walk into the room and saw me wearing this, I bet he would laugh.

Of course I couldn’t sleep a wink. Thinking the hot man was somewhere under the same roof. Foolishly kept imagining things, the way his hands would feel against my skin, his big hands around my throat, long fingers inside my pussy. Oh god!

The mere three or four hours of sleep I got, I slept them like a dog, after about three orgasms I achieved by rubbing my clit. It felt awful afterwards. He was a married man after all, he didn’t love his wife but they were together, he got two children who I adored and spent a lot of time with.

Mr. Jeon would never look at me like that anyways, I bet he had a bunch of women already. Models, celebrities, escorts.

Saturday morning I had breakfast with the kids, I usually arrive after they had finished. Once done we head upstairs to get ready for their swimming lesson. They had a private instructor every Saturday to teach them how to swim, I sat on one of the pallets by the pool.

After the lesson ended, the kids wanted to stay and keep playing in the pool, it was a hot day since summer was around the corner.

- Pleaseee! You can grab one of mom’s swimsuits. The oldest daughter insisted I should join them on their little chasing game inside the water.

- I’d like to but it’s almost lunchtime and then we have things to do remember? You wanted to go to the supermarket and buy snacks. I insisted that it wasn’t a good idea, even though I really wanted to jump into the fresh water, but maybe it would seem shameless.

I ended up getting in. One of the maids brought me one of the many Mrs. Jeon’s bikinis, she told me she grabbed it from a big bag full of clothing she was about to throw away. It was a tiny black Valentino bikini with a white outline.

We played for a while and then got out to have lunch, we sat in the outdoor dining table, all soaked, the tips of our fingers wrinkled from spending too much time on the water.

And then he comes out from inside the house, wearing a black polo shirt tucked in a pair of navy blue jeans, black Saint Laurent sunglasses. He took them out and looked at me from head to toe, licking his lips.

Was he home the whole time?! I’ve never ran into him on Saturdays. I was standing up beside the table, opening a can of sprite for the youngest son.

The kids waved at his father and continued eating, he gave each a kiss on their forehead and stood in front of me.

- When is my mother supposed to pick them up? He said, head lowered to look at me in the eyes.

- Tomorrow morning.

- I’ll tell her to take them today, have everything ready. He said putting his glasses on and heading to the garage.

I’m already imagining things, foolishly thinking he might have a hidden intention to ask his mother to take the kids early, maybe all he wants is my ass out of his house and I’m here all nervous believing he might want some alone time to fuck my brains out, very unlikely.

Once the kids were gone I went to my room, packed everything. I was meant to leave after the grandma took the children TOMORROW, now they are gone and I’m confused on what should I do.

More like expecting Mr. Jeon to come home and…

Toc, toc, toc.

He opened the door and looked at me sitting on the edge of the bed.

- On my studio, in five. He said and quickly closed the door and left.

What the fuck?!

I was almost having a panic attack before I knocked his studio door three times. I decided to change into a white tank top, no bra, white cotton panties and a pair of blue stripped pants, what I had intended to wear tomorrow.

Heard a small come in, and opened the door to enter.

He was sitting in a grey loveseat, manspreading, left hand on his crotch, right holding a cigarette between his lips, such a breathtaking view.

- Come sit with me. He ordered patting the couch.

I walked slowly, still shaking from the nervousness. Sat next to him, hands and eyes on my tights, I couldn’t look at him.

- Is this what you want? He took my hand with both of his, which made me look at his face. He was waiting for an answer.

- What do you mean? Of course I knew what he meant, I guess I just wanted to hear him say it to be sure.

- Do you want me to fuck you? Here, right now?

Yes.

He grabbed my face by my chin and pressed his lips against mine. He let me set the pace at first. His lips were soft, breath tasted like tobacco. I could feel how at times he was struggling not to kiss me harder.

So I let him slide his tongue inside my mouth. He grabbed my hips to place me on his lap, groaning at the feeling of my covered pussy on top of his crotch. He bit and dragged my lower lip, his kisses started to descend from my chin to my neck.

- From the first moment I saw you, your eyes were pleading me to fuck you, then I saw you in that tiny bikini, so naughty.

My pussy was throbbing, his words and his desperate kisses against my skin had me drunk in pleasure already.

He took the hem of my top to remove it, tits bounced right in front of his eyes. He chuckled and looked at me with a smirk, grabbed them with his huge hands, caressing them as if they were two stress balls. With his thumb, he started rubbing my nipples, eyes on mine the whole time.

- You like that princess?

I was a moaning mess, nodded and arched my back. It felt so good, a numbing sensation right into my pussy hole, soaking wet.

He left my nipples to grab my buttocks, automatically started to rub myself on his bulge. He closed his eyes and moaned, then kissed my lips hungrily. Grabbed my waist and helped me pace my movements, he laid back on the couch, locking his eyes to mine.

I stood up to remove my pants, once off he grabbed my hips and sat me on his lap, this time my back against his chest. His rough hands start to brush my body, from my breasts to my stomach.

- Open your legs princess. Obeying immediately to his command, I was already desperate for his touch down there, couldn’t help but to feel powerless under his touch.

I whimpered as I felt his hands pushing my panties to the side, and started to stroke my clit. He then took his fingers to my entrance only to remove them quickly. I moaned and turned my head to look at him in disbelief. He brings his fingers up to my mouth, coated with my juices.

- Lick them.

I slowly wrapped my lips around his long fingers, doe eyes staring at his while circling my tongue against his digits. Spit dripping from my chin and his hands, such a filthy sight. He then removed them from my mouth producing a popping sound.

He took those two fingers down my pussy again, inserted them into my pulsing hole. His hands are skilled, every move he makes hits the right spot, I dropped my head back in pleasure and let out an embarrassingly loud moan, he started kissing my neck, sucking and licking.

- Such a filthy whore, you like my fingers? He said with a deep voice, groaning in my ear. His eyes were fixed in my pussy the whole time, he seemed to enjoy watching his fingers going in and out of my hole.

He had been fingering me for a while, when I felt that familiar response down my pussy, a numbing sensation signaling my orgasm was close to take place.

Jungkook thrusted and curled his fingers hitting the right spot with insane accuracy each time. His cock throbbed underneath me, my thighs trembled as I tried to keep them spreaded. The sight spurred him on as he added another finger, I groaned loudly at the stretch he was now giving me with three fingers.

- Come on baby, cum all over my hand. He mumbled against my ear. It didn’t take long for my release to come. Jungkook groaned, shifting his hips to get some friction himself as he helped you ride it out.

He laid me against the couch before his mouth littered hot kisses across my chest only pausing when he felt my fingers delicately trail along the waistband of his pants, looking forward to undo the button. Jungkook met my gaze with a smirk on his lips.

- Please sir, can I have your cock now? I asked, my eyes innocently blinked up at him. Jungkook groaned at my words, he felt himself twitch desperately against his cotton prison as he looked at my doe expression patiently waiting for him. He gently pushed me on the soft silk couch before beginning to free himself. His cock slapped against his stomach, pre cum already leaking from the tip which he used as lubricant as he gave himself a few pumps.

My legs automatically opened for him to slot himself in between. I felt his tip prod at my entrance, he began to rub, coating his hard dick with my juices. Jungkook sunk himself into my throbbing heat. He started off at a slow pace, kissing my neck softly. Once he felt me clench him, Jungkook started to move faster.

My moans caused him to thrust harder as he found himself wanting to draw more of them out of my pretty lips. It didn’t take long for me to become cockdrunk as I clutch at his forearms, the intense arousal forming again in your stomach. Jungkook felt his balls tighten at my chants.

- Fuck! Yeah sir fuck me harder, I love how your cock feels inside me. My words spurring him to drive himself deeper inside me. My eyes rolled back and my body went limp in his arms as I came for the second time that night. My body was sensitive as he kept thrusting through My orgasm trying to chase his own. He watched my eyes roll as I let him continue to use me like the a slut.

- Oh my god! Sir, please cum inside me, I want your cum inside my pussy. My willingness to submit to him caused his hips to sputter and coat my walls. I could feel his cum warming me from the inside causing me to smile at the feeling of being full of the essence of my boss’s husband. The action solidified the new dynamic between the two of us.

Jungkook pulled his softening cock out of me gently, I heard him get off the couch and leave the room to get a wet cloth to help clean up the mess in between my legs. I snuggled my head into the pillows behind.

- You did so good for me baby, was this okay? Is this what you need? Jungkook asked, sitting next to me on the couch. He moved some hairs away from my face and began stroking my cheek awaiting a response.

- I loved it, thank you sir. I spoke with a soft smile. Jungkook’s helped me slip into the comfort of the bedding in the guest room, he laid in the bed scooping me into his embrace. I laid on his chest whilst he stroked my back, lulling me to sleep with his actions and for the first time I slept peacefully in the embrace of my new lover.

[lullaebies]

Aegon III and Jaehaera had known from the night they should've consumated their marriage, that they never will — their one agreement had always been to reach an age they can petition for annulment.

When the time comes, it is harder to come to terms with it than expected. read on ao3. 💚

Annulment.

It is all Jaehaera ever wanted, as far as she remembers. The moment her grandmother died, she had been struck with how helpless she was in this Red Keep of terrors. Attempts on her life were made, more than once. Her Father may have once begrudgingly agreed to her betrothal, but he had not once thought it would come to fruition.

Made Queen at a young age, to a boy who shares her father’s namesake but could never share affection with her, she had always figured it would be easier to leave. To Oldtown, the home her grandmother always praised, or anywhere else, far, far away.

Her husband, surprisingly, never disagreed with this idea. She had been twelve, when they first had this conversation. She just had her first moonblood, and had been truly ready to pull a knife on her King if he tried to touch her in any capacity. 

Yet Aegon the Third reached for nobody, and the same night he stood by her and disavowed any vow their marriage had been founded on. He had been fifteen, the age her father already held her and her late twin in his arms, but he had no thirst for flesh of anybody — and most exceptionally, not of her.

That night had been the first time he made her cry. Cry of joy, that is; he told her he will not take her, and instead, that he is willing to listen and help her to where she may wish to take herself. That it may take time, but they could annul the marriage on grounds of it providing no children, given she is willing to wait and accept infertility as a guise.

Jaehaera was not stupid then nor now. She knows that he could kick her or axe her for false treasons if he wanted. He had given her a fair choice, for a respectful setting aside. Grandmother may have been disappointed in her, for not carving his heart out his chest and fighting for the crown, but he offered her easy freedom. And she wanted it so badly.

“You’ll be allowed to leave wherever you want. I swear you this on my mother’s memory.”

She cared none for his mother nor her memory, but she had known this opportunity is all she could ask for. She accepted it when she was twelve, not knowing if he would be true to his word, but alas, the time came.

Dressed in the darkest of colors in broad daylight, he comes to her rooms one day with an enchanting, rare smile on his pallored face. 

“The Small Council had brought up the issue of an heir,” he tells her. “I believe it is time for our ploy.”

Jaehaera inhales deeply, before rising from her seat. She smiles at him back.

—

Aegon is rather content with himself as he walks about the Keep.

He is twenty years of age, and his councilmen are livid with him. He had been recluse from holding courts, and hearing petitions; Viserys had to drag him by the ear to the ugly chair of swords. ‘ You do not appear enough in public, they are berating you in the streets!’ is a common complaint he hears, ever so directly only from Viserys, but in softer words from the councilmen at all times. 

Well, the councilmen can go piss on another tree, as do the common folk. He will grant Viserys some leverage alone, he does truly care, but gods, his chastising can be irritating .

He does not count more than three of his steps before he hears his brother rushing beside him.

“Aegon,” he rushes after him. “Are you listening to me? It’s preposterous!”

“What is?” he asks. The part where I told the Council I am to request annulment from the High Septon, or the part I named you heir for the while?

“You know damn well what is,” he says. “You just sent these schemers into a frenzy. They’ll pull women out of the depths of their grimy castle and blasted families to toss at you.”

“They would’ve done so anyways,” Aegon answers plainly. “Our lords of the Small Council are not men of great beauty. I cannot imagine any runs in their family lines. I only hope they’re reasonable to understand any rejection to come.” 

They enter his solar, and Viserys closes the door before giving him the most pronounced frown he can muster.

“I did not agree to being heir,” he says.

“Troublesome,” Aegon answers, sitting down on a chair. “To you, that is.”

“No, it is troublesome that you refuse to do your own duties,” Viserys says. “I think I do enough for you to not treat me like this.”

“You do enough to take over,” Aegon answers. “Why are you this contentious? You’ll do well with that. Little Aegon would be King.”

“Little Aegon spat on me today in order to escape his reading lessons. That is a grim future,” he says. “And you spit on me and your wife of nine years in the process of doing this.”  

“I didn’t know you as a fan of Jaehaera,” Aegon raises his brow. “Nine years with no heir are enough to know one is not likely to come.”

“Our cousin has lesser qualities, but none of those influence the fact you don’t know where to put it in,” Viserys answers back. Aegon glares at him; he may have never truly touched Jaehaera, but he shared her bed enough for it to be convincing that they tried. His brother is just being a prick — or alternately simply sees through him. Aegon is appreciative of neither option. Viserys glares back. “There was a purpose to your marriage. And there will be consequences to future generations of our family if we dangle that throne in front of our children. Stability, is what matters to this realm. Not your damn whims.”

Aegon bites his lips. He hates it when his brother makes his points. More than often he is correct. However, Aegon had done all he could to find a solution that would allow him and Jaehaera the freedom they promised one another. I swore.

“I have no children, Viserys,” Aegon answers.

Viserys scoffs. “Because you wish to live as if you are dead, and you wish me complicit in letting you do so,” he spits back at him. “I’m not your heir. If you want to set our cousin aside, find a wife of good repute and family to replace her.”

Viserys walks out of the room in stomps mightier than stallions at stampedes, and Aegon rubs his temples. 

Seven hells.

—

Aegon finds Jaehaera in his rooms later that day, waiting by the fireplace. He cannot say he had expected her; she doesn’t come here if she doesn’t need to. The creak of the door makes her turn to him, her nightdress and robe swiping against the floor. Almost immediately she rushes up to him.

“I am getting pitying looks,” she tells him, and her eyes are bright with curiosity of all things. He had allowed her a prior warning that he is setting things to motion for this reason exactly. She may not resent it, but others would take offense for her. That being said, she is mighty jolly for a woman talking of being looked down on. “Did you tell them?”

“I have declared intentions,” he answers her. “Some are unhappy, and some are most happy, but regardless they are stewing over it and will accept it soon enough.” 

Jaehaera nods, breathing in some disbelief. “Is it that easy?” she asks. “Do I need to do something?” The jitter in her limbs is noticeable, she fiddles with her hands in some liveliness. 

“Nothing in particular,” he says, moving past her to sit by his desk. “I need to petition the High Septon, and quarrel some more with Viserys, but you only need wait,” he says. “Though it may be counterproductive for you to be here. That does not give the impression of giving up on a marriage.”

Jaehaera huffs at that, walking over to him. “Why should you mind? They’ll be thinking I am begging you to decide differently,” she says. “I will be the one to suffer their prying eyes, as it is.” 

“Anyone who thinks you’d beg a thing of me is denser than a rock,” Aegon shoots back at her. He will not have her self-pitying over their shared agreement, he has had enough complaints over this. “And you have agreed to it, so don’t you start.”

“I’m not starting a thing,” Jaehaera says, holding her hands together. “I only wish to know what is to happen to me.”

Aegon’s muscles tense. They’ve both spent days on end wondering what will come their way. To sit and wait watching bloody walls while their guards and guardians know not how to shield them from what’s impending. It makes him sick only thinking about it.

He breathes deeply, and takes up one of the parchment papers and his ink. He wanted to write this petition later, but if she’s already here, he might as well. “If you’d like to watch me declare you impotent to the High Septon, be my guest.”

Jaehaera huffs as she walks behind him to see. “Last I heard a husband requested annulment from his wife for impotence, he remained childless despite having three wives, and the lady had become with child within a year of her second marriage.” 

Aegon raises an eyebrow. “That’s your wish for me?” Perhaps a hex brought to word. A tsk leaves his lips— she wouldn’t know he would not mind it at all—

“No, that’s your wish for yourself,” she says plainly, and a dose of faux innocence creeps upon her words. “I’d never.”

Aegon's mouth scrunches to an annoyed pout. At times her intuition seems heightened and she simply knows what she shouldn’t. And of course, she must employ similar words to Viserys. He draws his chair closer to the table. Breathe, and distance yourself. 

He focuses on his lettering instead. A formal request is not so hard to write, but he is unequivocally aware of her behind him. I hereby request your permission to relieve me and Queen Jaehaera of our…

“Relieve? Are we pissing, Aegon?” she chuckles by his ear. He turns his face to glare at her, but he nearly slams his face to her cheek. She pushes her face lightly against his as if to shove him away, and straightens herself to proper posture. 

He could choose to be flabbergasted. He sighs out. No. This is not the way with her.

“Do you want this written?” he asks her sternly. Staring her down is difficult when he must stare her up from his seat, but he will not let her lose his mind so easily.

She has the mind to not be entirely shameless. “Yes.”

“Then go sit on the bed and wait.”

Jaehaera most certainly has some quip trying to escape her lips, but she holds it in well. Eyebrows are raised and eyes are widened with a stifled grin, but she does not continue. Certainly an effort on her side.

“I shall let you read after I finish writing,” he tells her. “I promise.”

Every agreement with her is kept in their silences. Flinging hands in the hair, she steps and sits on the edge of the bed, resting her figure against the post of it. She is still watching, but he is able to finish the letter with this safe distance. 

When he rises from his seat, her gaze lifts with his figure. She looks at him expectedly, like one of her kittens waiting for food to be graced upon them. He blows on the letter once or twice for the ink to set and brings it forward to her for the taking. 

Jaehaera’s eyes scan the paper slowly. Every time she reads she has the most focused look on her face. He never knows if she takes in her texts at such leisure because she needs further focus or because she chooses to ignore him, but he allows her the moment she needs, slipping to the side of the bed opposed to her. If she has any complaints, he can fix them on the morrow; he has had enough of a long day.

When she lets the letter fall to her lap, she turns to him with eyes brightened with some emotion as they seem slightly frightened. 

“Do you think the High Septon will think me lesser for this reputation?” she asks him. “His opinion may matter if I’d like to stay in Oldtown...”

Aegon hasn’t ever thought he’d see his wife quite so nervous. She hadn’t allowed fear on her hardened face since the death of her grandmother. Certainly not to him, at the very least. He himself can’t truly ever relieve himself of his own fears, but he does know he has more control in relieving hers.

“You know very well Lord Lyonel nor Lady Samantha care for the opinion of any septon,” he answers softly. “You are a Targaryen. You will be a respectable ward to any host, and if they do not see you as such, we will sober said hosts to the truth.”

Never again could House Targaryen be seen as weak. He will never allow such insult or audacity again, nor hurt. It is why she must live on; why he must live on. Feelings of shame overcome him, all he has already lost for being a weak child.

“I will not allow any disrespect towards you,” he says ever seriously. Jaehaera’s mouth is in a thin gap she quickly shuts close, and he finds that if he does not speak now, his lifespan might thin out in a way even he isn’t prepared to. “So you’ve decided on Oldtown?”

No surprise, really. She may find herself belonging around those kin better. He wonders if she would; since Rhaena remarried to Garmund Hightower, that place is of no less Targaryen presence than here. 

“Well, if they’d sober to my respectable self, I’d be most glad,” she returns to her jests. “I’d rather like to see the Citadel’s Sphinxes. ”Did you know they have the bodies of cats?” 

“I believe it’s lions,” Aegon replies. “Or so Lord Tyland Lannister once told me. Though perhaps he saw himself in it.” 

Jaehaera nods. “Overgrown, smart cats, who speak in elevated riddles,” she laments, and then a grin returns to her face. “Perhaps he was right to see himself in it.”

Aegon feels the corners of his lips upturn as well. “Perhaps he was.” 

—

Jaehaera puts her mother’s pearls upon her for the night’s ball. Every ball has its purpose, and this one had several. Aegon needs to look at prospective alternatives to her, as well as apparently needs to calm his sister’s and council’s beating hearts to allow them to put forward their own girls first. Jaehaera laughed at how exasperated her husband had been as he told her. The muscles of his face have been in a perpetual scowl since forever, but it somehow managed to deepen.

She stretched her thumb and index over the skin of his lips, forcing him to wear a smile again. “You should smile if you’d like to charm anybody,” she told him. “Councilmen and women alike.” 

He shoved her hand away, pouting. Perhaps it doesn’t matter; he needn’t do much. He is handsome enough, and eyes will be on him regardless, as well on the crown on his head. It is a risk, to force him to smile. He is no good at such; when it does not reach his eyes it looks a crooked grimace. She finds it amusing in some measure, but he may scare someone else.

Regardless, she had been excited for the evening. Aegon told her he invited the Hightowers for her, to see if Oldtown’s folk truly suit her.

“My Queen,” her handmaiden calls her, showing her headpiece intricate with pearls scattered across green fabric. It is very extravagant for this evening. “What about this headdress?”

“Isn’t it much for the evening, Leila?” she asks the woman with a grin. She quite loves Leila; she had been with her for quite a while. She used to be a cook, kind enough to make Jaehaera all the sweets she needed between cravings and tears. Jaehaera took her as handmaiden right away, when she found out she could.

Leila licks her lips, tentative in what she says next. “My Queen, I have wanted to tell you… there are rumors—” she looks down, truthfully saddened. Still, she dares. “That the King wishes to replace you.”

Jaehaera hums at her, lips unsure of what shape to make. “You needn’t be concerned, really.”

“But it is of concern, Your Grace,” Leila says. “I couldn’t bear some Westerland witch taking your place.”

Jaehaera’s blinks at the sudden confession, but tries to conceal it with a jest. “That is all well then. If Aegon wishes for another, he has plenty more regions to choose from.”

“Your maids count to three and ten in number, Your Grace. You’ll find each of us refusing them all,” she tells her. “His Grace should see the good in his hands.”

Jaehaera is surprised. She hadn’t ever truly thought any of the Keep cares for her presence much. Many other staffs she had thought she could rely on turned on her and let her almost fall to the hands of those who wish her ill will. It is hard to believe in anyone, in truth.

Her one assumption had been that she’d only miss the cats of the Keep —  Gon and Lena are quite old now, but their kittens grew up so well. Ron, Mond, and Rys often played together. She thought she might take Lor with her, if she left; he is a wee bit of runt, just like her. Her husband had fed the cats himself rather often, but he wouldn’t mind her keeping one, she thinks. He likes them better than some of his councilmen, but he would.

In fact, she can’t see him denying her them all, should she have asked. 

She swallows, and smiles at Leila, holding her hands. “I see good in these hands,” she says. “Do put the headdress on me. Even if Aegon cares little, I trust your sense of dress more than anyone else.”

“If he cares little, he’s the most foolish king that could be,” Leila says, pouting, but tending to her hair nonetheless.

Jaehaera laughs.

—

Aegon sees Jaehaera come into the ballroom when he is dealing with a flock of hens. Hens, being the court’s daughters (and at times, mothers), and the lot of them were sent to him by his councilmen, and most of all, his devious siblings. Viserys, Rhaena, Baela, the lot of them proving to be from the seven hells.

She enters with a soft green dress befitting an age-old dispute. Should he be angry? Probably; he can see Baela is quite upset, but he is first taken aback by the form of Jaehaera. His wife scarcely took to dressing grandiosely, always rather conservative with her hair up in plain braided buns, and her dresses styled more for girls than women. It is different today, with her lowered neckline and hair cascading down with only half an updo and a tiara-like headdress.

He knows not if the red of her cheeks is powder or shyness as she wades through the room. She had been most excited at the news of her kinsmen coming, but now she looks rather tentative at the stares, despite her eye-catching choice of garb.

It does suddenly dawn on him that she may like to look appealing in order to perhaps find a second life by finding a second husband. That is fair, he rationalizes to himself. He himself is deep in the clutches of all the women that could be her replacements even if he had no wish to remarry after. But I must, and she could choose.

Jaehaera looks for something in the crowd and he does not notice he is staring until what she looks for is revealed to be him , and a relieved, crinkling violet stare holds him in place. 

“Your Grace,” Lady Corinna Tarbeck wakes him from his sudden halt. “What are you smiling at so…” the blond Lady begins to ask. He quickly removes any trace of a smile from his face, swallowing. Corinna is one of Rhaena’s friends, similar in ladylike demeanour, but even her impeccably held shy smile fades rather quickly at his wife’s approach. Regardless, she greets her first as Jaehaera rushes forward towards her. “My Queen.”

“I do beg your pardon for the interruption,” Jaehaera says, and chews the inside of his cheek when she sounds rather sincere. “If I may have my King for a moment,” she asks. Lady Corinna does not stay beyond her welcome, and Aegon is left with his wife rather stone-like. He sets his eyes on the pearls on her neck, which leads to nothing good. He ends up looking at her collarbone, and his eyes only keep straying further than he’d like them to. 

“Who’s that? A Westerland witch?” she whispers with a grin. Aegon is astounded to a snort at her knowing; she wasn’t even wearing her houses’ colors. But a witch may be an accurate descriptor. She had appeared by his side as if by magic’s way. His dearest sisters never hold back.

“Frankly, yes,” he says. “Rhaena has brought a delegation of those. They move their face as much as dolls do.” 

“Well, I rather like dolls. They make great company to the lonely,” she says. Aegon purses his lips. He has felt loneliness in his miserly life, but he hasn’t a need to alleviate any as of late. He doubts these dolls’ company would be any more than hindrance; all Lady Tarbeck had the will to talk about is the beauty of his jewelled crown. “Have you seen the Hightowers? I shan’t like to stifle you in your endeavors, but…”

Yet she does, coming in and demanding the eyes of all. Aegon huffs, but takes her arm in his. Even if she will be free to leave the Keep too, they need to maintain stability and amiability to the crowd. To let her go should be nothing but the last resort in the eyes of their warring lords. 

“I saw Lady Samantha with her children, I’ll take you to them,” her teeth flash in at him in a grin, and he tries to ignore how she holds his arm to her side. It is easier when she starts to whisper to him about some of the ladies he should avoid as they go about the room.

“Lady Farring is pretty, but quite the leech. I’ve spoken to her over tea a few times, and she means it not, but she’s a drainer of energy. I have felt the years pass by me in an hour,” she says.

“You mean she will deny me a long life?” he asks. “You may have just fully endeared me to her.”

Jaehaera rolls her eyes with a repressed smile. “They’d think I poisoned you if I let you die so soon after my leave,” she complains. “There are finer ladies around. Lady Thorne and Lady Harte had always been sweeter souls. You’ll find them amiable, though delegating you to them might be unfair to them.”

“Am I not amiable now? I thought I was rather fair with you,” he answers, scrunching his nose. Was he not fair with her? He would not say he had been the best of husbands, but he did his best to keep her in her thoughts. Even when it was hard, when he didn’t want to at all. Viserys thinks he knows not the importance of stability of the realm, but he does. He worked hard to make sure they are all stable and well. So much so now thinking of her and her consequences are second nature. 

Jaehaera squeezes his arms, looking up at him, pouting with lips he just noticed had been tinted further red. “It was a jest,” she says, sullen. “I can’t deny you are fairer than I expected you to be. I haven’t thought this promise will come to fruition; I couldn’t know if it was all empty words. But I see you have chosen a kinder, loyal hand than many would, it is not lost on me.”

Aegon breathes in. What is this sudden confession? On other days she would have sufficed to have thrown a shoe at him if he had said something she misliked. He can’t remember when her eyes had last been such a clear shade of violet rather than melancholic orchids. “I am not sure if I should be offended if you trust me only now.” 

Then again, how many attempts on her life she can live through and believe trust’s a true thing? He hardly trusted anyone at all. Viserys, he did, and his sisters, sometimes— and–

Jaehaera flattens her lips against one another. “I am simply saying I chose to believe in what my husband tells me, as he proved he does not lie,” she says softly, and he thinks it another cynical joke, until she continues. “That is not meaningless to me. That is all.” 

“Jaehaera…” he starts to say, but he scarcely knows what to speak next. He is vexed to dry lips as he stares at her own. His word must be written in stone, as King, but he holds her arm tighter. Firm in decisions and firm in their enforcement. When he passes on, he wishes no decision to keep him haunting this red brick castle, nor the land it presides over. He means to do well with his own stubbornness, yet he feels some turmoil in his gut. 

Viserys says he wishes to live as if he is dead, but he still finds himself so easily stirred. He gulps it down, wills it all away. Calm down.

“Your Grace,” Samantha Tarly suddenly appears beside, her brood of children behind her. Her eyes crinkle at his wife. “And our royal kin,” she says, reaching to hug his wife. “I have not seen you for so long. You are radiant today.” 

Jaehaera allows her a hug, though it is quite the overstep; Lady Sam does not really know her, and they are kin by her marriage to a Hightower Jaehaera hardly knew as well. Their arms unlock from one another, and Jaehaera rushes to the point of it all. “May I walk about the room with Lady Sam, husband?”

And yes, Aegon knows why she is so persuasive of the idea. Life at Oldtown would be easier for her, he knows. He’d assume life anywhere but here would be easier. He could not bear to stay long in Dragonstone, where his mother’s death had taken place, but she had managed to survive nine years in the place that hunted her family. Though perhaps it is their family as a whole .

And how long will I have to wait to leave here? He suddenly wants to reach for her arm again. He shifts on his feet, unnerved. 

This was always the plan. 

There is turmoil in his gut, but he soon nods. “As you wish, wife.”

—

Samantha’s six children waddle after them like ducklings. Every few moments, Jaehaera looks behind her step to see the little towers not tripping on either of their skirts. There is true fear there; there is no need to add blood to the snot that already decorated their noses.

“Attentive, are you?” Lady Samantha says. “You have grown so much since I’ve last seen you. You used to be such a shy thing, hiding behind anyone you could find, but now you seem to have a place to hide your own littles.” 

“A most profound way to say I am no longer eight, Lady Sam,” Jaehaera tells her, maintaining an even smile. Lady Samantha is a cattier girl, more outspoken than most. She tries to blend into her image; she would very much like to be as brave. For years Lady Sam had stood by her decisions and rebelled High Septon to approve them as true. While not being complacent, she still forged her own life. 

“I am trying to say you have much grace and wits about you, Your Grace,” Lady Sam huffs. “The King too had quite grown. You look like a dashing unit. Dare I hope there is a purpose to this ball? A declaration for a happier realm?”

Jaehaera bites her lips. She had been thoroughly glad Lady Sam found her when she did. She never denied her husband was comely, but she did not expect any of her words to come as a surprise nor lead him to his intent gaze. She never wished it to be upon her before, and she had felt bare to his eyes under the loom of his broad figure. 

She had never been scared of him, including now but perhaps it is herself that she should’ve minded more. She liked that gaze, and the tightening hold of his arm. All her life she rather wanted to flee, but despite expectations, she did not feel trapped.

Jaehaera had simply meant to express gratefulness, how did she end up so chilled to her core?

“I, well…” she looks down at the floor. She oft refused to allow her and Aegon’s circumstances to chain her into reaching for him for any carnal comfort, but Lady Sam inserted that thought into her mind as brazenly as she inserted herself into Lord Lyonel’s bed. She can’t avoid the flush on her face, but she also knows this is her time to act in their plan. “I fear that is not in my cards, Lady Sam.”

The words feel rather uncomfortable on her lips, and Lady Samantha Hightower is nothing if not sharp to note as much. Immediately, she switches her demeanour to a more tentative one. “You believe there is no… fruit to be had?” 

Jaehaera clears her throat. “No,” she says, voice small. “And the realm is tired of waiting.” 

“I like fruit,” Samantha’s youngest child suddenly notes, holding his mother’s skirts, sniffling back snot. “I want a pango.”

Samantha rolls her eyes. “You mean mango, Arthur,” she says, and turns to the other kids. “Go look for some, all of you. Together. The first to find one will ride around the city with me.” 

The children are spurred into action, and they watch them rush away. One of them faceplants onto the floor midway, but luckily their father, Lord Lyonel helps him up, and soon is dragged to help the children on their quest. 

“Children are a workload at times,” Samantha says quietly. “The King seems content still, and you are still young.”

“He is pressured by his court, and I’ve never been his court’s favourite.”

“If my Lord Hightower had managed to resist pressure from the Starry Sept, so can the King from his court.”

“We’re not you and Lord Lyonel, Lady Sam,” she says tentatively, her eyes finding Aegon’s tall figure all too easily - he is with his sister, Baela, and one of her Celtigar companions. Jaehaera looks away quickly, suddenly feeling an illness in her gut. Samantha scoffs.

“If men aren’t as fickle as leaves. To think only moments ago his eyes latched upon you so..” she inhales. “His brother is a widower, is he not? With three children to boot. I would’ve gone to his bed, if I were you.”

“Lady Sam!” Jaehaera’s eyes become saucers. If she had been sick at her unforeseen possessiveness on her husband, thinking of Viserys in his stead — she could barf . “Do not even suggest it!”

“Well, I would… but in your case. Garmund and Rhaena may toil to compete with us to fill the Hightower, but should you ever need to come to Oldtown, you will have a place. Between ten children, what is one more aunt?”

Ruckus comes from behind, and they see Lyonel attempting to settle a dispute between the children over who found the mango first. Jaehaera is quite appalled at the display. Her kittens are wild animals and they never fought so hard over a thing. 

Lady Sam excuses herself to go help, and Lord Lyonel looks at her as if she is a godsent angel coming to his rescue. The children do look rough to sort out; but that familial moment does look rather sweet. And it should be, this family would be nothing but teeth rotting to live with, but Jaehaera can’t help but feel incredibly sour.

—

A few days pass, and Aegon is walking through the gardens with a Velaryon girl that Baela and Alyn seemingly manifested from thin air. She is a pretty one, but he can’t quite focus on what she is saying at all. 

In all honesty, he finds his mind rather preoccupied. After the ball he has seen Jaehaera only once, when going back to Maegor’s Holdfast. She had been all smiles early into the evening, but at evening’s end she had been abnormally quiet. Before they parted in the hallway separating their rooms, she quickly told him Lady Sam seemingly welcomed her to her home should she wish for a place in it… and escaped to her private quarters in a rush.

He does not know how to feel about it. They could’ve talked some more, could they not? She should’ve told him more, anything. He accepted it all already, but it felt all too sudden. He thought of going after her, but when he tried to think of what to say further, he couldn’t come up with a thing. She had made her choice, what more could he say?

I swore to her she could choose.

Aegon had penned the letter to the High Septon. The request of annulment has been stamped with his own seal, and is waiting to be sent by raven to the city his wife wishes to escape to. The Small Council had told him to do so when he had his assured pick of a wife — they never intended to let him off the hook, nor stall for even a moment’s time.

The day is a fine, sunny day, and the birds are chirping gleefully from the trees planted between the flowerbeds, but he feels properly forsaken.

“Your Grace, are you well?” Lady Daenaera asks him kindly. She is properly perceptive despite being on the younger side. Ugh. He had given Baela a truly dirty look when she presented her, for she had been three and ten… but then his sister whispered to his ears her own ploy. If you wish not for a wife, perhaps you’d  be better off starting with a companion. Daenaera spots a stone bench not far away from them, and flutters gracefully to it. “Let us sit. It is rather hot today.” 

She takes her place, poised in her seat, and taps the stone surface for him to join. I should at least be mannerly.

“Fret not,” he says as he joins her. Perhaps he ought to at least entertain her some. “The sun has yet to have found the way to strike me down, unfortunately.”

Daenaera blinks at him. “Unfortunately…?” she asks, and he sees the contemplation of her mind through her eyes. He feels the deepest shiver of embarrassment coursing through his spine. Seven fucking hells. Daenaera clears her throat. “You mustn’t say that, your Grace. I’d rather believe the sun a form of sustenance, if already,” the girl recovers faster than he does.

If he wished to disappear beforehand, he most certainly wishes he could disappear now.

“Yes, most certainly,” he answers stoically. “Baela does say there is nothing quite like feeling the sun upon you as you sail.”

Now, that is. Riding her dragon had been her love when they were children, but Moondancer is long gone. He feels an awful man, knowing it makes him feel safer, and it makes him feel worse, knowing he should be ashamed of it. Morning still frightens him; he is often nervous at the thought of visiting Rhaena knowing it waits at Oldtown too. Gods, Jaehaera is going to live with the pink beast as well.

Daenaera nods. “I would daresay it is like a hug. The scent of the salt sea is carried by the cold wind, but the sun keeps you warm with its embrace… Oh!” she suddenly exclaims, and for a moment he is confused, but then he feels a scratch by his pants. Looking down, he sees a pale young cat meowing at him. He quickly climbs on his lap. “How cute. Who’s this?”

“Ah, my wi—” he catches himself before he says it, though his tone falters henceforth. “One of the courtyard’s cats. This is Rys. He’s very good at catching mice, and very good at asking for meals.”

The little thing likes to persters him, less recluse than its parents watching from the green hedges. Jaehaera had been deeply connected to it, letting it into her rooms when she had been younger. The servants hadn’t been pleased with the tears he had brought to the furniture, but he had told them to let her be. Cats of all things they can manage in their keep.

He had not been dense enough to not realize that his name had been homage to her fallen twin. All her kittens' names implied her lost family members. When he had been younger, he had swallowed down anger, but he soon grew out of it when Rys had started following him around. Before Viserys had been returned alive to Westeros, that kitten had been representative of two deceased brothers.

Aegon pats the cat’s head gently. She may want to take him with her. The little thing nuzzles against his hand.

“Such a sweet thing. He loves you so,” she remarks fondly. Aegon finds himself withering only more and more. You have offered this annulment. 

“Would you like to pet him?” he forces himself to ask. It is at that exact moment that he notices Daenaera has distanced herself to the very edge of the stone bench away from him. She smiles at him awkwardly.

“I wished I could, but you see…” she scrunches her nose as if to hold back a sneeze. “Cat’s hair is something I’m rather sensitive to.”

He holds himself from cussing. There is cat hair, noticeable, white cat hair, all over his black clothes. He can’t believe this. Even my most mundane of days are fucking miserable.

Aegon holds onto Rys and stands up. “You should’ve said so, my lady,” he sighs out. “I do apologize then, I didn’t mean you discomfort… we may be better off continuing this meeting another time,” he looks down at himself; he isn’t sure if the servants would be able to get the fur out. “In different clothes, certainly.”

“No, no, you have caused me no discomfort, Your Grace,” she is hasty to reply. “Thank you for your time, and introducing me to the kitten as well. He is a part of the Keep, regardless of if I stay or…” Daenaera fiddles with her hands nervously. He wonders how much she is trying to force herself to fit. Baela and Alyn surely goaded her to do her best, and had not been an unkind companion, but he needs not a child to validate him. 

A rustle comes from the hedges, and he sees Gon and Lena weasling out of the bushes. Rys too jumps from his hands, to poor Daenaera’s fright and sneezes alike. He looks to where they are going — and clearly, it is for food brought by maidservants, and maidservants brought by…

Jaehaera.

Aegon meets his wife’s eyes, and halts. They are clear violets, nor melancholic orchids, but furious mauves. She is glaring daggers at him. 

At first he is taken by surprise. Then, he is angry. After all he had done for her? After all he is doing for her? You plague me for days on end and you think you get to scorn me?

Daenaera lowers her head to Jaehaera, trying to sniffle back the snot from her sneezes. “Your Grace!”

Jaehaera looks the girl up and down once, and storms away with tight fists. 

Daenaera seems at a loss of words, frozen in place — and he may have properly lost his mind. His legs start to stride after his wife on their own. 

—

Jaehaera is reeling from head to toe from what she has seen. 

It is one thing for him to look for a second bride. She knows he has little option in doing so. Despite her ladies-in-waiting’s staunch refusal to be possible alternatives to her, she had been willing to help him find a woman trustworthy and capable enough to be his new Queen, but this?

Little Daenaera Velaryon had been just that; little. A child. And an orphaned child, on top of all. She had raised her eyebrows when Alyn and Baela had brought her with them, but she pushed it aside, knowing the girl had been a companion to their daughter. 

She had talked to her before. She knows the sweet girl’s exact life story; mother dead to Winter Fever, and father who had felled while waging war. Baela and Alyn fostered her henceforth, and Daenaera had held them both in the highest esteem for it. 

Jaehaera couldn’t blame them if they saw her as a Queen in the making. The girl is beautiful, well-mannered, and charming to boot, but that does not change the fact she is three and ten, and most undoubtedly pushed to the role.

Jaehaera’s mother had been pushed to marriage at three and ten, and then pushed to her death as queen at no less than three and twenty. She is walking the bridge above the moat where her queenly mother has perished years before just now — how could he? He knows how hard it is to bear the crown. He hates it more than anything, how could he?

“Jaehaera!” she hears Aegon’s voice and stomps following her. She hastens her pace. She doesn’t want to talk to him; if she does she may just cry to his face, may just push him down the moat too. Of all people, how could you do this?

Aegon’s legs are longer than hers. She is barely within the confines of the Holdfast when he reaches and grabs her arm. 

“What is the matter with you?!” he has the gall to yell to her face. “You frightened your own maids and servants, not to mention Lady Daenaera.”

Do not speak to me about my maids nor my cats! As if he hadn’t held her kitten in his ploy. “For the while I am still here, they will bear my bursts, as they always have,” she snarls at him back. “Lady Daenaera is not yet their lady.”

It is hard for her as it is. Her maids and ladies-in-waiting had been so solemn after she had told them she’d likely leave. It had been so clear she could barely bring herself to leave her rooms and face them without her lash lines prickling with tears. And her cats, she thought to take them, but then again — she couldn’t take them all, and she sees all too well that this is their home, that they are used to. Aegon’s hands were safe for Rys.

Aegon’s hands are safe. They had been safe and they had been hers. She can’t look at him. If she does…

“Anyone who thinks you’d beg a thing of me is denser than a rock.”

You’re going to make me beg. Beg that he won’t betray her own belief in him doing this, if not beg him to let her stay. She can’t beg, she can’t be this weak. She is almost on her way away from here, why must she keep looking back ? It hurts. 

She tears herself away from him and tries to run towards her apartments in the Holdfast, but Viserys and his children are blocking the way. Naerys wakes in the hands of her nursemaid and Aemon seems to grow alert. Little Aegon says something, but she can't even comprehend it. Their father, Viserys only sports some confusion on his face seeing her, but she hears his voice when he calls out to his brother. 

She runs to the opposing hallway, until that hallway ends, and she’s by the King’s quarters.

Jaehaera hears her husband’s steps from behind her coming to a halt.

“Will you stop running away from me?” he asks. She is reticent to answer, there is a bile in her throat. He steps one step forward. “Jaehaera, please .”

“She is a child,” she finally says, voice a moment from breaking. “It will hurt her.”

Aegon is silent for a moment. “She wouldn’t be my first choice either, but Viserys married her age. Younger, even.”

She turns to him in fury, coming up to his face. She will not dare speak it above a whisper, Viserys’s children are not far away, but he should know better. “And Lady Rogare could not stand this court any more than any of us, and left him more than hurt. You know this.”

Jaehaera finally meets his dark purple gaze again. It is glassy.

He nods in melancholy. “Perhaps so. But we married younger,” he says shakily. He is holding her hands; his hands are warm. They are gentle; they are safe. “And now you are leaving me.” 

I am. She can’t tear away her eyes from him. I am leaving. His face is getting closer. I am leaving and never looking back. His forehead is pressed against hers. I will be happy in Oldtown. I will be happy anywhere else but…

Aegon’s lips are pressed against hers. 

Here.

She takes his face in her hands, and kisses him back.

—

He isn’t sure how they danced their way into his quarters. They have stumbled with each other within. Aegon is half bent for their kiss, one hand on the arm holding his face and the other on the small of her back, trying to hold against her leading, pushing small frame.

Aegon has gotten tastes of her touch before, but he had never realized before how she speaks through it. She had never not been honest, even if lying would have benefited her, but her hands and holds are a burst of anything he couldn’t expect. He falls back on his bed as his shins meet with its frame and she sits his lap before he could even think to contest it.

Her hands do not leave his face for more than a moment, and she is in such a frenzy she seems to forgo breathing. It makes his head spin, as if his heart does not already beat out of his chest. He never before minded the thought of his own heart failing him, cutting his days short, but now he only wants this moment longer.

“Jaehaera,” he breathes in between her pecks. She is scarcely listening, leaning more and more of her weight on him as she demands their lips’ touch. It is so brand new he can’t comprehend it, and it dawns on him that she can’t, either; she does not clutch him so for no reason. “Jaehaera, wait…”

“Kiss me,” her plea is frustrated. “Ple—”

He takes a hold of her face and stamps a hard, prolonged kiss onto her lips. I will not have you begging.

She stops, takes it in, and undeniably melts in his hands. Her hands fall and she holds onto the fabric of his doublet. She sighs sweetly when he caresses her hair. He pecks her more gently, listening attentively to her soft breaths. 

When he leaves her lips to take her in, she speaks straight to his soul.

“I will not leave you,” she tells him, so seriously it makes his heart ache. “I refuse to go.”

It hits Aegon somewhere too tender. He has no trust to lend to almost anyone. People come and go. They slip away to happier places; they disappear, they die, and he is left behind here. 

Even those he loves, he fears he only deigns to wither with him. He hurts even Viserys in his own incapabilities of carrying these burdens. But he could help Jaehaera escape it, he swore it to her ages ago, yet he can’t let her go. You are the only one who understands…

His own incapabilities have him failing at every turn, but he can’t do anything about it. He loves her. Aegon smiles up at her.

“You can go, lady wife, when I fade to ash on my pyre.”

Jaehaera’s face brightens up. The smile stretches across her face wide with a chuckle, and she brings her fingers to the buttons of his doublet. Each one she undoes strikes lightning onto him, and eventually, her hand lands on his chest, only the thin, flimsy shirt underneath protecting him as she pushes his back down the mattress. 

“As long as you know you will not do so any time soon,” she says, lowering her face against his for their noses to just touch. “You are mine while you are still warm.”

Aegon beams at her, and takes her kisses with stride and joy. He minds not a long life, if he has her to lean on.

—

When the time for the next Small Council arrives, Jaehaera enters it with Aegon, a piece of sealed, parchment paper in her hands. 

The lords come up from their seats in some haste. They are all confused at her appearance; she had never been a part of the councils, even if as Queen she had a right to request a seat. The only one that remains at his seat in the Hand of the King, Viserys—

While the rest of the lot are very much at a loss, he takes one look at his brother, and understands. 

“His Grace, Her Grace,” The Master of Coin, Lord Isembard Arryn, looks up to the two of them as Aegon takes his seat at the head of the table. “Is there a reason the both of you are here..?”

“The Queen requested her place,” Aegon answers plainly. He looks at the Kingsguards, rather annoyed. “Would anyone fetch her a chair?”

Jaehaera looks down, stifling a chuckle. Ser Raynard Ruskin quickly rushes to find her the seat. Grand Maester Munkun looks between her, Aegon and Viserys, while Lord Thaddeus Rowan is the one that asks of the elephant in the room.

“Her Grace is of course welcome. Yet, it seems to me something has shifted without us knowing?” 

Aegon hums, and turns his gaze to her. “Would you like to tell them, wife?”

Jaehaera takes center stage, at the same time Ser Raynard brings her chair to the table. She smiles at her husband. Gladly. She shows the councilmen the paper in her hands.

“This has been the petition for annulment we had planned to send to the High Septon, you see,” she presents it for all of them to see — only to soon take it in both hands, and rips it apart, letting the pieces of it fall on the table. “His Grace and I believe it had been a hasty decision yet still. As far as we are concerned it is null itself.” 

“Forgive me, your Grace, but the matter of an heir…?” Lord Arryn asks, almost rudely — but neither her nor Aegon are the one to answer him.

“Will surely sort itself out soon enough, if your royal lieges believe it well enough to renounce this decision,” Viserys says, cutthroat. His eyes fall back on her, reliable but challenging. “You better sit, Your Grace. It is an arduous path to care for a King and a Kingdom, and far more so with children to come.” 

Jaehaera sits down opposing him. Aegon sends his brother a quick glare, but it soon dissipates to a smile when Jaehaera takes a hold of Aegon’s hand.

“That is a path I’m willing to walk.” 

tag list: @boohoneyy, @serymn31, @dreams-cynicism, @shslkokoro, @sanbond, @tremendouswolfsaladranch dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive

[blueberry-rose]

Hello!!! It's nice to see new genshin wlw writers!!! I have a request, feel free to take creative liberties with it. Can I have a Harbinger! Reader x Arlecchino, where basically Arlecchino shadows reader to learn from about harbinger duties and responsibilities? The more they're together the more they like and fall for each other.

I struggled a bit on how to write this so I hope you enjoy it.

Arlecchino x harbinger!reader

Arlecchino is 19 at the start of this. Your age is not mentioned but you’re implied to be a little older. Mentions of alcohol.I might have made Arlecchino an angsty teen (but let’s be honest who wasn’t an angsty teen)but the fic is has a two year time skip.

You’re a harbinger and the new fourth harbinger has been assigned to shadow you. She’s so young no older than 20. She was pardoned not even a week ago and already a harbinger. You haven’t been a harbinger for long but you had to work for years to become one. And here’s the new big shot, a criminal turned harbinger.

You got dragged out of your thoughts when your door opened. You set your work down, looking up. She stood there. Her hair was too her shoulders clearly hasn’t been cut in a while, she just got out of jail what did you expect. She wore a suit. “So you’re the new harbinger?” You gathered your work up. Putting it in your drawer.

“Yes.” She had no emotion in her voice. God it was true Crucabena was a monster, you heard rumors about it, but you thought it was over exaggerated. But the look of this girl, it’s clear it’s true, sure she was good at hiding it but you could tell she looked like her whole world has been destroyed. Her voice rang out again dragging you from your thoughts a second time. “my name is Peruer- I mean Arlecchino.”

You laughed. “Not used to the new name? Don’t worry it took me a while too. I’ve read your file, you were raised in the house of hearth. Now you are the knave, and moth-“ she cut you off.

“I’m the father. The title mother died with that woman.” You saw the blacken part on her arms to rise slightly.

“Father? Ok, ok sorry, that woman was a horrible person. But most of us are. You will have to control that anger and curse of yours.” Her fists unclench her face going blank again. You sighed. “I’ll be honest with you harbinger work is not as fun as it seems. We do paperwork I lot, we do get the most important missions. But we usually delegate the work. And if you need anything you can ask me. Now come here I’ll show you most of the work we tend to do.” She walked to your side and watched you. You went on explaining how to delegate work and getting to know your agents to make sure they can handle the work. “Now I do actually have a mission we have to do, it’s nothing too much but it’s something.”

Arlecchino followed you she’s not much younger than you but it’s clear she’s used to shutting up and doing what she’s told. “you can talk, I don’t care if you have questions. You are here to learn not to just mindlessly follow orders,”

“I don’t do small talk, not after her.” Arlecchino clearly doesn’t like talking all that much.

“Her?” It was clear she peaked your interest. Her eyes widened slightly. “Was it a girlfriend?”

“No.” She said it coldly. “She was just my best friend.”

“Did she die, was it the former knave’s fault?” You wanted this woman to open up a bit. Getting to know her was a need.

“Yes, she’s dead, but her death wasn’t that woman’s fault entirely. I killed her.” Her eyes looked dead, it was heartbreaking.

“Oh,” you didn’t know what to say. “Why?”

“Why? Because that woman that I called mother found a it funny to force children to fight to the death.”

“What?” She- she. That bitch. children?” You were surprised this was monstrous. “I’m sorry it must have been hard. Living like that.”

“she impaled herself on my sword. She was mother’s own flesh and blood.” She said all of this with a straight face. Nothing.

“I’m sorry,” you put your hand on her shoulder she tensed, it was clear that she’s been abused. “You don’t have to worry about the old mother. You’re the father of the house now, you can create a new beginning. For the new children as well as the ones that survived her. And rest assured that I will be there if you ever need help.”

She looked at you pushing your hand off her shoulder, it wasn’t hard she just grabbed your hand to took it off. “Alright. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind”

It was like this for a while, she shadowed you for a month before she was allow on her own. You could see her slowly piece her mask together. She was gracefully, and calm. Seeming to be uncaring. You knew better though she seemed to trust you. She comes by your office every once in a while. It’s been about two years since she became a harbinger. And you two ended up on a mission together. It wasn’t hard pretty easy in fact you barely did anything.

“It was nice working with you again, it reminded me of when I was shadowing you.” You smiled at her as she talked.

“You were still piecing together your mask. I think I’m the only one that knows about how angry you were when you got out of prison.”

“I was still a child. I couldn’t help but get mad.”

“Child? you were like 20”

“19 actually, I’m 21 now”

“Oh, a year off forgive me.” You were messing with her. When she stopped suddenly. “Arlecchino?” You looked back at her.

“You’re important to me. You know that right?” You felt your face heat up, Arlecchino’s changed a lot from when you first met her. She was angry, and a reckless teenager, now she was a graceful and calculated woman. “Be ready at 8 pm tonight I’m taking you somewhere fancy to thank you for everything.”

“You don’t have to do that. I swear”

“It’s to late I already have a reservation. Do not keep me waiting.” She walked forward. You walked along side her.

“You don’t take no for an answer do you?” You teased her

“You didn’t say no technically. But no I am taking you to dinner tonight.” She looked at you her Crimson x’s burning into you.

“Alright, alright. I’ll go to dinner with you. Fancy you say?”

“Yes I’m taking you to a fancy restaurant, it’s the least I can do, you’ve always did whatever you could to help me and the house. It means a lot to me.”

It was 6:30 when you got home. Arlecchino’s taking you to dinner. You barely had enough time to get ready in fact you barely put on your shoes when you heard her knock. “Come in” you touched up your lipstick as she opened the door.

“Are you ready?” She walked into your room, archons she was beautiful, her once short hair now reached her butt, pulled into a low ponytail. She was wearing her normal suit. While you were all dolled up, in a full face of makeup, your hair curled, a long skintight black dress, black heals and a silver clutch. “Well look at you all dressed up.”

“You told me we are going somewhere fancy. So I dressed up.” You were blushing slightly, Arlecchino is so much taller the you and the way she was leaning on the doorframe had you melting. You forgot when you started to like her, but you never did anything you know she’s not one to form relations. Your relationship with her was purely based on work.

“You look beautiful, truly” there you go again your face is definitely super red. Arlecchino grabbed your hand and pulled to to follow her, you did of course,

“You’re not one to dish out compliments.” You giggled a bit.

“Then you should know I’m being sincere” she didn’t let go of your hand, she held it all the way to the restaurant. She only let go when you were sat, in a private little corner. “Go ahead and pick out anything you want, I’m paying after all” you looked at the menu. Everything was pretty pricey, now with you being a harbinger the price would be no problem but still you live way below your means. So going to fancy places isn’t something you do often.

“I’ll just have the steak.”

“I’ll order the same then” after a bit the waiter arrived.

“What would you like to drink, ladies?

“Just get us on red wine,” the waiter nodded before hurrying off. And coming back with the wine. Pouring two cups of wine, Arlecchino took a sip of wine.

“So why did you wish to take me to a restaurant? Especially such a fancy one?”

“Am I not allowed to treat my closest confidant.” She raised her eyes brow at you, her expression barely changing but enough for you to notice.

“I’m not saying that, it’s just” you sighed. “You treat me so differently from everyone else”

“Well maybe that’s because I think of you differently.” She grabbed your hand. Placing a kiss on it. “And I always have.”

“Arle.” Your face heating up. When she raised her eyes to meet yours. This crimson x’s focused on you. And only you.

“I, you’re not someone I can lose. Ever.” She placed a kiss on your hand again.

[drmaddict]

Patchwork

Summary: Henry becomes a father... Just not how he thought it would happen.

Word count: 2.160

Warnings: mentions of domestic violence, lots of fluff

"Six?"

"Six."

"Six children?"

"Well not biologically, but.... yes."

(Y/n) looked uncertainly at Henry. The blue eyes stared at her in disbelief.

"You have six children living in your house?"

She sighed. That was always the point at which every guy ran away.

"I understand if that's too much for you," she began. 

Henry shook his head still in disbelief, but grinned. "Do you ever sleep, or do you just get used to  sleep deprivation?"

She smiled cautiously. Didn't trust the peace yet, though. "To be honest there are two kids one 9 and one 12 and four pubescent teenagers."

He regarded her quietly across the restaurant table. "Are you okay?" he asked, "Did I say something wrong? I know my reaction may have been a little surprised, but I didn't mean to cut you in."

She relaxed a little. "It's just... Most guys run away as soon as they hear that, and that would really be .... a shame."

Henry smiled and shook his head. "I don't run away. I hate cardio."

That made her smile.

"But you'll still have to tell me how you get to adopt six children and teenagers.... And that as a single woman in her mid-twenties."

"It's like cats. Somehow I guess it doesn't stay with just one." She tipped her wine glass. "The first one was Jason. He was the son of my neighbors at the time and would come by my apartment every so often in the afternoon until his mother got home. One night he showed up at my door bleeding. His father caught him with make up and beat him black and blue. It took a while, but then he could move in with me. He's graduating from high school this summer. He has even been accepted to a make up school. He wants to go into film as a makeup artist." She smiled softly. "He's come a long way."

Henry curtsied in shock at the story. "Fatima is 16 and has been disowned by her family for not being a virgin. She has ambitions to study law. I don't think anyone will stop her from going to Oxford. Mike is almost 16 - next week - and grew up without a father and even though his mother tried everything, she has high level schizophrenia. She has been institutionalized and now lives in care. We visit her whenever her condition allows it. Mini - Emilia ran away at some point. We don't really know what happened. She is 14. Kamon is 12 and comes from a refugee family. His parents have been sent back to Thailand. We are trying to get a visa for them. Until then, I'm kind of his foster family. He and Mike are not officially adopted. Both love their family and do everything for them, even if they can't always be there. And Lilly. She is 9. Her family died in a car accident. No family member has been found."

She was silent for a moment and continued to contemplate her wine before looking up and looking at Henry.

"Henry... I understand if this is too much, but.... they've all been through enough in their lives and every single one of them has their reasons for making it hard for new people in our family. So if, against all odds, you say yes to this circus, know that it's not so easy to get out of it either." Her gaze became insistent. "If you leave me, that's one thing, but I won't do that to the kids."

Henry, who hadn't said anything all this time, took one deep breath and reached for her hand lying on the table. He smiled. "If they're willing to meet me, so am I."

Henry stood in front of a gigantic house. His house was already big, but this one surpassed it. Despite its size, however, it didn't seem ostentatious. It looked cozy and inviting. The word 'home' popped into his head.

Shouts and frantic footsteps sounded from inside. 

He pressed his thumb on the doorbell. Immediately, everything went silent.

The door opened with a jerk. A dark-skinned boy stood before him, beaming at him. From the colored eyeliner, he concluded that it must be Jason.

"Hello Mr. Cavill." he said in a noticeably loud voice.

Immediately, frantic footsteps sounded and he saw scattered bodies running through the background.

"Hi. Henry will do." he smiled.

"Come on in. I'm Jason. Ehhm... (Y/n) isn't here yet.... Mike had... They had to go to the hospital."

"Is he okay?"

Jason shrugged. "Normally, he is. Boxer you know... Tea?"

"Gladly."

He stepped into the house. It was swept as if empty, yet the traces of life could be seen in it. Self-painted pictures. Photographs. Various equipment for hobbies. Shoes in different sizes. And that was just the hallway. Henry let himself be led into the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs. None matched the other.

"Mike had a match this morning. (Y/n) said he's already patched up. They're already on their way here."

Henry smiled. "With something like this, you should take your time."

Jason set the steaming cup down for him and sat with him.

Henry accepted it gratefully. "It's very quiet."

"Be glad." was all he said, sipping his tea. "I don't want to chase you away, but it's like human history here. The periods of absolute peace are relatively negligible." He ran his index finger over the rim of his cup and grinned. "And I'm one of the worst divas here. Just a warning."

The front door opened and a rumble sounded, followed by an amused giggle. "Sorry about that." a boy's slurred voice rang out.

"That's okay big guy. Come on off to bed." he heard (y/n).

"I'm fine!"

"That's because they drugged your ass off so you can't feel your face."

"Where's Ammy?"

"Mike you need to rest now. You can call Amber when you're in bed."

"Who are you?" A blond boy in a gray sweatshirt and swollen face looked at him from the doorway, aghast. "Who's that?" he turned to (Y/n).

"A friend Mike. That's a friend. Jason stop filming him!"

Still grinning, Jason put the phone away and turned to Henry. "Welcome."

"What's the dog's name?", Kamon asked him.

"That's Kal...like Superman." he smiled at the shy boy.

"I like Batman."

Henry rolled his eyes playfully. "Oh yeah, why?"

"Batman watches out for kids nobody else wants. Like (y/n)."

Henry smiled.

"I told you not to rummage through my things!" yelled Emilia down the hall.

Henry and (Y/n) sat in the garden each holding a book.

"I wasn't rummaging. I was getting MY eyeshadow, that you stole from MY room!" shouted back Jason. "It's not my fault you leave your lovey-dovey fanfictions lying around in the open like that!"

"You have no business in my room!"

"That being said - Tom Holland? Really?"

A splintering sound rang out.

"I guess that was the vase, then," (Y/n) sighed.

"I would have thought she was more of a Sebastian Stan type," Henry reflected loudly.

"How long has she been sitting there?" whispered Henry to (Y/n).

"Since this morning. She hasn't looked up from that book in five hours."

Fatima sat at the large parlor table surrounded by books, writing notes and index cards.

"That's impressive. Scary, but impressive."

Kal walked over to the table and nudged her.

"I have to study! Sit!" Kal obeyed immediately and sat next to her chair.

"She'd make a good drill sergeant," Henry grinned.

(Y/n) sipped her coffee. "You've never seen her in exam stress."

"This isn't exam stress?"

"This is relaxed studying."

Henry looked in shock at the girl with noise cancelling headphones. (Y/n) grinned into her cup.

 "They need more glitter!" determined Lilly.

Henry reached for the can of edible glitter and sprinkled more of it on the unicorn cookies.

"Like this?"

The little girl looked thoughtfully at the tin. "Like this."

Henry bowed theatrically and slid the tin into the oven. "All for your majesty." The girl giggled.

(Y/n) just watched with a smile.

Jason and Mike sat on the sofa grinning together at a tablet, each with headphones in their ears.

This wasn't normal. Even Henry knew that by now. He wondered if they were both watching porn. He'd been that age once, too. He knew what that was like.

(Y/n) came into the living room and looked over there shoulders at the two of them. She laughed uncontrollably grunting, but immediately suppressed it and came over to him.

No porn, he concluded.

"What about these two?" asked Henry, pulling her to him on the sofa and onto his lap.

"Just a movie," she grinned.

"What movie?"

She continued to shake her head with a grin and waved it off. Henry was very reluctant to be shut out. So he sat (y/n) down next to him on the sofa and stood behind the two teenagers. When he saw his younger self in a black hoodie grinning and holding up a tarot card, he groaned in annoyance.

The boys snorted indignantly. Henry looked defiantly at the display.

"Oh come on Sweet Cheeks! What's wrong?" asked (Y/n) with a laugh.

He looked at her with an intensity that promised she would pay for this yet. She could hardly wait.

"What's with the hair?" laughed Jason.

"It was in back then!"

Henry stood in the kitchen making coffee while there was the familiar bustle around him. Kamon couldn't find his second shoe, Lilly needed a certain T-shirt, Jason occupied the bathroom, Mike shoveled eggs into his mouth, Fatima just drank the coffee straight out of the pot, and Emilia hid behind a book.

He could hardly believe that over a year should have passed already.

They had grown close to his heart. He didn't want to miss the chaos at all. The last time he left for a job, it seemed almost eerie how quiet it was that night. He had told (y/n) about it over Skype. She'd just grinned and said those feelings liked to sneak up on one.

"Do you think they want me in their life?" he had asked her uncertainly.

She had only smiled. "Wait a minute." She disappeared and came back a moment later with a piece of paper. She held it up to the camera. "Lilly drew this for you today." It showed eight roughly drawn people. Under each one, in capital letters, was the name.... except for (y/n) and him. It just said Mum and Paps. Henry stared wide-eyed at the screen. "Please act surprised when you come back. It's supposed to be a gift.", she put the paper back down. "Are you crying?"

Henry had remained silent. He had only nodded.

He smiled at the memory. The picture hung framed in the hallway. It had become Henry's favorite picture.

"Car one go!", (y/n) called down the stairs.

The three mismatched teens got up from the table and walked to (y/n)s car.

Henry packed the last of the snacks into Lilly and Kamon's lunchboxes before he, too, packed them into his cat and drove them to school. Jason had a little break from make up school and stayed at home.

Henry came back earlier than (y/n). He waited patiently for her in the kitchen. Looked at the mismatched chairs and the photos on the wall. Photos that now included him. (Y/n) came shortly after him and dropped into her usual seat next to him. She reached for the waiting cup of coffee and dropped her head on his shoulder. "How did I do this alone before?"

Henry laughed.

"I mean it. Don't you dare leave! I can't take it anymore!"

Henry just smiled at her. He got up from his chair and knelt down in front of her. He pulled a small box out of his pocket and held it in front of him. "I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life anywhere but with you and the kids. (Y/n) will you marry me?"

She looked at him with shocked eyes. "Are you sure?"

He nodded with a smile. "I want to take Lilly to her dance lessons. I want to be there when Jason gets his first jobs. I want to see Fatima come top of her year at Oxford - in law AND medicine." They both laughed. "I want to cheer Mike on in his competitions. I want to watch Emilia find the romance she secretly wants. I even want my heart to break when Kamon is reunited with his parents. I want to be with you. I want to be with the children. I don't want to run away. I want to be part of this family."

"You already are," she smiled, crying. She pulled him close and kissed him.

"Does that mean yes?" he grinned.

"Yes you idiot." she laughed.

[bimb0fy]

04; put me in a movie

pairings; luke castellan x hephaestus!reader

warnings; dark!luke, manipulation,

summary; lukes plan is only beginning, and you find yourself sucked into the middle of it.

word count; 1k words.

a/n; sorry this is late exam season is a bitch

masterlist!! | navigation!!

i. Mind games, don't leave me. come so far, don't lose me, it matters were you are. — when the sun hits; slowdive.

You sat down in your cabin, staring at the scrap book on your desk. You hadn't gone to work in ages now, your brother Alex was growing concerned. He knew something had happened but when he went to ask Luke, all that the other man returned was silence.

You didn't understand why it hurt you so much, not the choking but the words that he said to you.

Maybe it was the fact that when you were vulnerable, you told him the one thing you never wanted to remember.

You told him about your mom, how she died. How in her death bed she wanted everyone with her.

Everyone but you.

Your aunt told you it was because your mom didn't want you to see her at her weakest. That if you entered the room, it would become too real and no one wanted to stress out the dying woman.

But deep down you knew why.

You knew that deep down, she hated the monster you were.

No one wanted anything to do with your father, especially his ex wife, your mother.

Your father did love your mother, and she loved, for a while, she hated you because she believed that you were the reason he had left, but the moment you burned your favorite sweets, he appeared in your room, and he showed you what parental love was.

Luke hated that, he hated how easily it was for your father to reply to your cries, but when your mother found out, it infuriated her.

So when your mother heard about camp half-blood, she sent you away instantly.

That was were you met Luke. He was the one who greeted you to camp, who helped you get the hang of everything. That was when you fell for him.

He didn't remember these interactions and you couldn't blame him, he had yo take care of thousands of children, you were one of those who were a bother to him.

You heard a knock on the door, looking up to find Luke waiting for you. Your breathe hitched as he entered, he sat down, a comfortable distance between the two of you. He pushed a plate towards you, a smile on his face.

"I didn't see you at breakfast, since uhm." Luke mumbled as you took a bite from the mac and cheese. "How's the bruises?"

"They're healed. So I guess I'm fine." You muttered as Luke sighed, he sat up slowly, moving towards you before sitting down beside you.

You turned around to face him, it was Luke. Your Luke. He placed his hand onto your thigh, giving you a sympathetic expression before he sighed.

"I'm. I'm really sorry, about what happened." He stuttered out. You could see by the way his eyes were pleading that he truly was filled with remorse and guilt. The bright Luke castellan had changed, and you didn't understand why. "I. I didn't mean anything I said. I was just stressed and irritated and I took it out on you."

"I know." You hummed as you continued to eat your food, looking at the ground, a few tears leaving your eyes as he tusked, wiping them away.

"Don't cry mender, please. I. I really am sorry. Will you ever forgive me?" Luke pleaded, his eyes begging for forgiveness.

You wanted to forgive him, really you did, but you know that your father would never let you live that down.

Everyone at camp all wanted one thing, approval, and you had it so you couldn't mess up your chances at having a loving father for some boy.

But he wasn't any boy. He was yours. He was Luke, the man you thought you'd be with forever.

Maybe you were naive, maybe you just didn't understand what lobe actually was, but the way Luke held you, the way he always seemed to care about you, that was all you needed for now.

"I." You let out a breath as you turned to face him. You could see how Luke was waiting for your response. How he almost seemed. Anxious. "I forgive you Luke."

Your hand hesitantly found his, your rough hand intertwining his softer one. You would be lying if you said it didn't make you insecure, but Luke changed that, he changed so many things for you.

Maybe he did love you. That's what you thought, that's what you wish was the case, but he just needed you by his side during the war, he needed the most powerful woman he knew to win.

ii. she said, do you think you'll kill for me one day, yes, of course I will my darling.

You sat down, waiting at the docks for Luke. Little did you know, he was watching, waiting.

Kronos needed a blacksmith, and obviously, your name was the first he thought of.

To Kronos, you were Hephsaestus' most skilled daughter, to him, you were the love of his life. He was given a second chance, and his plans ruined him.

He knew he had to change you, you loved your father, he was one of the few he tried, but Luke knew he only tried because you were the one blessed with powers.

No one knew your strength, only you did. Luke would be lying if he said he wasn't curious. So, here started his plan.

He watched as Chris walked towards you, sitting next to you. He watched as your face shifted to disappointment as he told you how Luke couldn't make it.

"You know we've never really talked." Chris stated as you nodded, looking around. "So tell me about yourself."

"I don't know I guess. I've always been used to be what my father wanted I never like. Thought about it." You answered. You knew there was no point in lying, Chris was Luke's best friend and God be damned, you were tired of lying.

"That's harsh." Chris sighed as you chuckled. "Luke's sick by the way. He wanted me to give you this."

Chris took out a charm bracelet, one clearly bought from out of camp half-blood. You smiled as you put it on, staring at the charm bracelet.

Luke smirked from afar, the tracker was now planted. Curtesy of Kronos who gave him the spell after all. He felt dirty, feeding of you but he had to do it, it was his destiny, he was made for this.

He watched as Chris walked away and you turned to the ocean, the waves louder and harsher than usual.

You couldn't help but feel like it was a sort of warning from posiden, especially since you always loved the ocean, you often spared your chunks of food to posiden to let you be free.

You always wanted to live by the ocean, hell, you wouldn't complain if you lived on a boat, especially a yacht. You wanted to ignore the feeling, but it grew more and more everyone you looked away.

Maybe you should check up on Luke.

[rs-hawk]

Fluff only for this one. Woman Reader (sex irrelevant)

Your Godly lover had given you immortality after They nearly lost you. They couldn’t bear the idea of losing you. You hated Them for it even all these centuries later. You had to watch your family grow old and die. Your younger siblings. Their children. Their children’s children. Eventually you couldn’t even be around their descendants. It was too hard. All you could do was set up a trust fund each time you found out another had been born. You still had to take care of them somehow. They were all that was left in this world of your family.

You were a whispered legend in the county you lived in. Some thought you were a Spirit of the Forest that was from the pre-Colonization of the area. Some said you were a monster, lurking and read to eat unsuspecting youth who wandered into your trees. Others said you were stolen by a man who killed you. Very few whispered the truth, because those who had eventually were forced away from the area to allow it to be settled.

It wasn’t until some of your youngest sister’s descendants moved back to the area that you allowed yourself to peek at them. You’d find excuses to go to town, to find them. Your sister had been gorgeous. Maybe the most beautiful woman aside from your mother that you’d ever seen. She was tall, with eyes like clay, hair like midnight and skin so smooth you always wanted to be the one to paint it. Her descendant was none of those things aside from beautiful.

Her eyes shun like the midday sky, with hair that curled and twisted in ways you’d never imagined before the settlers came. Her face was round and childlike despite the life line that aged her face. Her skin burned easily in the sun that your sister loved, but there was ink on that skin. A permanent painting of a bird. You couldn’t help but smile. The more you saw her, the more you wanted to get to know her. You were attached. You did get to know her. You two chatted, and her voice sounding like a melody. You loved her. She was almost like her sister had come back to you.

Then she died.

You felt like your heart was torn out of your chest. You screamed, cried, begged your Godly former lover to let you die, but They didn’t. Then, a few days after, you stood at the edge of her funeral, watching her cold body be lowered into the ground. You saw her husband standing there with their child. A beautiful little girl who reminded you so much of her mother.

It wasn’t long until you saw that same beautiful little girl curled up in a ball in the middle of the woods, sobbing. Her father said he wanted to go camping, then left her. You couldn’t let the search party find her. They would give her back to that man who said she ran off, and she was too young to deny it.

As you sat with her head in your lap and she started to fall asleep, having washed the dirt out of her golden hair, your Godly former lover appeared before you.

“This will hurt. It always does.”

You look at Them, your lower lip trembling. “I know, but I had to save her. He would have just done something else if this didn’t work.”

They look down at the little girl, tilting Their head. “Her heart reminds me of hers. Pure. Soft. She will grow up to be kind, just like her.”

“I miss her,” you whisper, voice cracking as you look down at the sleeping child.

Your Godly former lover lays Their hand on your shoulder, squeezing it softly. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I love you.”

“I know. I wish you didn’t.”

“I know… me too.”

[shanastoryteller]

happy pride!!! much love!!! can we PLEASE have more zaggy boy? ✨🌺🌿

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Meg is in the middle of torturing several disobedient souls when Thanatos appears at her side. “I must speak with you.”

He outranks her, so she’d have to listen to him regardless, but the urgency in his normally flat tone is enough for a spike of worry to shoot through her. The only one able to pull an emotion from him besides irritation is Zagreus and he hadn’t even had this level of suppressed panic when he’d found out that Zagreus was attempting to escape to the surface. What could be worse than that?

She dismisses the souls and turns to him. “What’s going on?”

“Not here,” he says, and edge of nervousness around him that’s nearly enough to send her into an all out panic. They are alone, the only one able to overhear them is Hades if he’s paying attention and possibly Nyx, but that has never stopped him speaking freely before, or from assisting Zagreus on his escape attempts, something that is far more likely to catch Hades’s attention than the two of them having a conversation. He grabs her wrist, which she thinks is the first time he touched her since they were children. “Come with me.”

She doesn’t resist, letting him guide her through the levels of the underworld and then past them to the surface, which makes her nervous. She is a being of the underworld and unlike Thanatos, has no reason to venture to the surface. She is allowed, only because she’s never bothered before and so Hades has never had a reason to forbid here.

Meg is expecting Thanatos to settle them at the entrance of the underworld, out of reach of Hades’s eyes and ears but close to home.

Instead she finds herself in the middle of an orchard.

“Why are we – what are these?” She steps closer in fascination, the apples growing thick and fat amongst the branches, but not any sort of familiar hue. Instead they gleam silver in the afternoon sun, not like any apple she’s heard of on either mortal land or in Olympus. Strange yellow flowers crowd around the base of each tree, the grass soft and a vibrant green beneath her feet. “How? I thought – aren’t the mortals stuck in winter?”

“There is a god that stands against her,” Thanatos says.

Meg turns disbelieving eyes onto him. “Are they mad? Not even Zeus has been able to persuade Demeter to relinquish her grief. She even destroyed Dionysus’s vines and has driven the nymphs into slumber. When she find them, she’ll kill them, and no one will be able to stop her, just as they’ve been able to put an end to her winter. Who would be that foolish?”

Thanatos stares at her for one beat, then two, and by the third Meg can feel denial and desperation crawling up her throat.

“That’s impossible,” she snaps. “Be realistic. You said he couldn’t even escape under his own power, but you think that he can do this?”

“We are not the Prince’s Court,” he says. “It’s a real place, a piece of the underworld where Zagreus’s followers congregate after their death. Hypnos has been covering for him for years, ever since Zagreus’s first worshiper died and the Prince’s Court appeared on his scroll.” He visibly hesitates, then adds, “It’s beautiful. Even more so than Elysium.”

“No,” Meg says. “That’s impossible.”

“He has a blessed high priestess, and many more holy men and women, and temples, and this is one of the many orchards grown in his name,” he continues. “The call him Prince. They don’t even know his name. He’s – he’s done all this, and they don’t even invoke his name!”

Names hold power. Prince is a title, not a name, and so Zagreus has done all this nameless. Has cultivated a power of his parents but separate from them, building himself into the type of god that gets a throne on the pantheon without using the name his parents gave him.

No one has ever done that. Even Dionysus leaned into his status as his father’s son.

“You’re sure?” she asks. “It could be some other god, using Zagreus as a cover, to keep from attracting Demeter’s ire.”

Thanatos plucks one of the silver apples from the tree and presses it against her mouth.

She bites into it, the sweet flesh bursting against her tongue and the magic making her teeth rattle familiar and also achingly unfamiliar.

Zagreus’s magic causes strength to flood her body, one bite of an apple feeling like a god of Olympus granting her a boon.

She’s going to kill him.

[archaeologysucks]

Yesterday I broke through a long-standing brick wall in my family tree, and was finally able to connect one of my ancestors with her parents and siblings, which is pretty damn satisfying. It was a case of women getting lost in the records when they remarry and change their names, which is unfortunately extremely common. I also got to add another wild story involving bigamy and legal turmoil to my family history, and that's always fun.

I knew a lot about my great-great-great grandmother Mary Emeline Brown (1833-1910), but unfortunately the earliest proven record I had for her was her marriage in 1848 at the age of about 15 to John M. Armstrong in Jerseyville, Illinois. This meant that on the earliest census record (1850) that lists every person by name, she was already married, with no clues about her family of origin.

All I knew was that her maiden name was the extremely common Brown, and that her death certificate named her parents as John Brown and Ruth Nelson, with no indication who had given that information or whether they knew it to be accurate.

There was a prominent Brown family in Jersey County, Illinois, however, and I was sure Mary was connected to them somehow, but I couldn't quite prove it. I knew where her husband's grandfather and uncle's land was, and where the Brown lands were, so I made a map to see if that would help. I was able to prove that the Armstrong lands lay on the same major roadway as those of a John Brown (1790-1872), a few miles to the east, and for a while, I thought that might be Mary's father.

The only problem? There was no Mary listed among this John's children, and no obvious gap she might have fit into. Also, his wife's name was Margaret Piper, which is not very similar to Ruth Nelson. Well, maybe Ruth Nelson was not John's wife. Maybe Mary was born out of wedlock. Such things weren't uncommon. Damned if I could prove it, though, without doing some complicated DNA work, or finding some court documents that stated her paternity.

For a long time, I was stuck there, at the same dead end my grandmother had arrived at when she first started working on our genealogy in the 1980s. Just about everyone who listed Mary on their family tree on Ancestry.com gave her parents either as this John Brown, without offering any corroborating evidence, or else simply as John Brown with no additional information at all.

Well, the other day, I decided to dig a little deeper. I went through every single family tree that included Mary, to see if I could find even one clue that might point me in a useful direction. And I found one: a single ancestry tree that listed Mary's parents as Vincent Brown (c. 1805-1834) and Elizabeth Wilson (1810-1892). And more importantly, the researcher had explained their conclusions, which is something surprisingly few people on Ancestry.com ever do.

When Vincent Brown died in about 1834, he left a wife and a few young children, but because he was a young man, he left no will naming his heirs. However, court documents for his estate mention a child with the initials M. E. Brown as one of his heirs. This is not proof, but ….

In 1839, when Mary would have been about 6 years old, Elizabeth Wilson Brown remarried to Jonathan Routh, whose surname some sometimes spelled Roth or Ruth. It's not impossible to think a later relative might have heard the name Grandma Ruth, wife of Jon, associated with Mary's mother, and assumed that was her first name, confusing Wilson for Nelson as her maiden name, and also assuming Jon was Jon Brown, since that was Mary's maiden name. This is also not proof, but ….

On the 1840 census, which only lists the head of household by name, with numbers for each sex and age bracket for all other household members, all the known children of Elizabeth Brown and Jonathan Routh (spelled Ruthe on this record) are accounted for, and one is a girl between the ages of 5 and 9, who could be Mary. This is also not proof, but ….

Jonathan Routh and Elizabeth had three more children, but he decided not stick around. In 1845, he left Illinois for Texas with no intention of returning, and he did not bother to grant Elizabeth a divorce first. In 1852, he remarried in Texas, and had several more children. He served in the Confederate Army during the Civil War and died in 1864. In 1871, Elizabeth sued his heirs in Texas for half of his estate, because she was still his legal wife. The case went to the Texas Supreme Court, and she was ultimately awarded 1/4 of his estate ($750) in 1883.

When Elizabeth Wilson Brown Routh died in 1892, her estate probate documents named all of her heirs, which at that time included many grandchildren, one great-grandchild, and one surviving daughter: Mary Ernest. By this time, Mary E. Armstrong had divorced my great-great-great-grandfather John M. Armstrong (and good for her, because he was a piece of work), and remarried to Albert Ernst, a man 20 years her junior who owned a brewery. Well done, grandma.

Is that proof that my Mary Emeline Brown Armstrong Ernst was the child of Vincent Brown and Elizabeth Wilson Brown Routh? Well, no, not really. But it is compelling evidence, and a strong lead that I can follow up on by digging deeper into Jersey County, Illinois court records, and looking into what became of her theoretical siblings for additional clues. Importantly, there is nothing here to contradict the idea that this was her family. I am fairly confident that this is them, and that it's only a matter of time before I can prove it definitively. I love solving historical mysteries and puzzles!

[forthevillains]

Arranged marriage

Albert Wesker X fem! Reader

also if you’d like a second part with NSFW let me know;)

Wesker could never imagine himself being in a classic relationship, where he’d fall in love and take his time with the person. No he had too much to do, so much work he didn’t even have time to meet new people and make an effort to make a woman fall in love with him. Yet as he worked on the virus and nearly all the test subjects he’s injected so far died within first hours, a thought crossed his mind. His own body accepted it, meaning that someone with the same blood, with the same strong mind could do the same. And so he’s decided to find a wife, hell to even pay for her, he didn’t give two shits about it. He needed someone worthy of carrying his children that were to be the key to the future. That wicked thought of his soon came to reality, he’s found a beautiful young, intelligent wife whose father was willing to give her up for the money. It was the biggest mistake he’s made though, forcing someone as determined as you into the marriage.

You hated Wesker, so badly, most of the time you two were yelling at each other and Albert held himself as good as he could to not strangle you. It was a living hell, especially for people who have worked for him, having to witness you two fighting like small children.

You knew what you wanted and that was freedom. You’ve fought for it the best you could, not letting Wesker touch you at all, throwing one insult after another and as much as it seemed like the best way to make his visions come true, he restrained himself from touching you without your consent. He hated how morals got the best of him now, when he needed it the least, but whether he liked it or not, he knew that he’d go against himself if he ever did that. He was the one wanted by women, he never had to force himself onto one and he sure wouldn’t do it now.

He changed his tactics though. Letting you sleep in your own room, without him anywhere near you. Except for the cameras planted in a corner of every single room. He liked to have things under control and he couldn’t trust you just yet.

This lasted a year or two. No progress from your side, however Albert? He got so used to watching you do the basic things, to hear you complain about how much of a pain in the ass he is, how you disliked Excella for the mere reason that she kept annoying you with how much she’d like to be in your place. He was growing so used to you that he actually began to fall in love with you. Slowly, but deeply. No matter how bad of a relationship the two of you had, whenever he spied on you and saw you so careless, smiling at the peace you’ve finally achieved - he grew addicted to that. He wanted to watch you more often, but the goals he set for himself didn’t allow him to do that as often as he’d like. You’ve got the poor man wrapped around your finger and you didn’t even know.

Not only that, you’ve actually done much more, only to disobey, only to possibly hurt him. You still remembered how you sneaked out of your parents’ house when you were a teenager. So you did it again. And realizing that Wesker didn’t talk to you about it the next day - you knew you could do it again. He either didn’t care or didn’t see you, but both were to your advantage.

It’s no surprise that you settled with cheating on your husband. He was distant enough that you just wanted attention from elsewhere. You were bored, lonely, with no one to talk to, nothing to do, as Wesker was always working and you weren’t allowed to talk to anyone else. It also felt quite refreshing to get out of the imaginary handcuffs he put you in, even if it was for a mere hour. Surprisingly, he didn’t find out for the first few weeks. You could enjoy affection and sex and he didn’t know a thing.

Wesker noticed the difference in your behavior and was pleased by your sudden obedience, glad that you finally realized what’s truly best for you. If only he’d known… He felt like that was the time for him to move your relationship further, to finally act like husband and wife and so he began buying you small gifts, spending more time with you in mere attempts to form a bond. You went along, but still - you wouldn’t let him touch you at all.

He would find out eventually though. And god was he pissed to get to know such a thing. His blood was boiling and for a slight moment he considered killing you. How dare you do that to him? And only when he started to care about you!

The man you’ve been seeing is found dead soon. No regrets from Wesker’s side.

You’re getting furious though.

"I could never love you! Get that through your head, old man!” You shouted at him and for the first time since he married you, Wesker froze in place. Have you just called him old? Have you just admitted that he’s unlovable? He doesn’t get it. He really doesn’t, but he’s done playing nice.

He makes your life a living hell afterwards, having you by his side all the time, not even letting you shower alone, let alone go to toilet. He’s always with you, no matter what you do and even when he has work to get done - you’re there assisting him. He doesn’t care how bored you are, you’re gonna be there with him.

If you try to run away again, he might as well put a collar on you to put you in your place (don’t make him do that.)

You’re forced to get used to your new life. You’re forced to be with him, forced to love him. And once you fall, there’s no coming back. He’s going to push you, he’s going to make you fall, because that’s what he’s wanted since the very beginning.

[lovelytsunoda]

tell me something girl (are you happy in this modern world) // tom “iceman” kazansky

summary: after thirty years of marriage, heather kazansky reflects on the time she spent and the love she shared with tom as she prepares to write her eulogy and say goodbye to her husband.

pairing: tom kazansky x wife!oc (named heather)

warnings: canon character death (Tom) and mentions of gooses death from the original movie, depictions of grief, mentions of mental health and medication,

authors note: this is the fic I firmly believe I was put on this earth to write. I wanted to do so much more with it, but honestly would have ended up with like 16k words or something like that.

April 2022, Miramar, California.

“is that the admirals wife?”

“jake, shut the fuck up.”

heather kazasnky had never thought of herself as an impressive woman. she always found herself timid, shy and a little anxious. it wasn’t until the first offshoots of gray started to sprout in her hair, and she’d watched all three of her children grow up that she truly thought sh had done something impressive with her life.

she sat alone at a table in the corner of the hard deck, oblivious to the wandering eyes of her husbands trainees as her slender fingers navigated the keyboard of her MacBook.

“heather?”

she started at the voice, cheeks marred with the flush of someone who had just been sobbing as she turned to look at the speaker.

“peter,” she hummed. “it’s good to see you, maverick.”

heather got to her feet, pulling the other pilot in for a tight hug. “nice to see you too, heather. how are you doing.”

“the best I can. the kids are supposed to be coming up tonight to help with the funerals.”

there were always going to be two funerals. the first was the formal military funeral, where her husband would be buried in the same cemetery as nick bradshaw, and the other was more like a reception, something more human and less structured. for the people who knew him not as admiral kazansky, but as tom.

“I miss him, mav. the house feels strange without him in it. I’ve spent so long being heather kazansky, I don’t know how to go back to being just heather.”

maverick shook his head, taking a seat next to her. “you’re still you, heather. you’re still a mother to three incredible kids, and grandmother to two.”

“with another on the way.” she coughed, somehow managing a smile. “joshua’s new girlfriend is expecting. he told tom before he died.”

“congratulations, heather. how are the kids doing?”

“as well as can be expected. as usual, mitchell is the glue holding us together. cassie’s a wreck. she always was her father’s daughter. and for it to happen so soon after she had jamie just seems cruel. tom was going to retire, did you know that? he was ready to put his papers in, we were going to go to greece. it was finally us time again. he gave so much of himself to this country, and I was so excited to finally have him back.”

pete rested a hand on heathers shoulder, squeezing it through the fur of her cardigan. she was strong despite her age, still well built and sturdy, face marred with laugh lines but not a single telltale old woman wrinkle. “I’m so sorry, heather.”

“thank you.”

she turned back to her laptop, showing the other pilot what she was doing. “I’m gathering pictures for the reception. but most of them are of me. tom always had his fucking camera with him. I should have let the kids do this part. all I’m doing is making myself cry.”

she cast her eyes back to her laptop screen, resisting the urge to reach out and run her finger over the photo, soaking in the good memories as they came flooding back. in the picture, she and tom stood on one side of the kitchen counter, laughing with each other as they cut gingerbread cookies.

it had been their first christmas together.

“oh my god,” maverick laughed. “is that iceman in a cable knit?”

“he was so nervous about meeting my dad for the first time. I had to talk him out of wearing his dress whites.”

December 1985, Richmond, Virginia.

they had been together for six months, give or take the few weeks his team had spent deployed in the gulf, and nothing had intimidated tom kazansky more than meeting his girlfriends father. he had wanted to wear his navy dress whites in an attempt to make a good impression before heather had laughed and made him change into jeans and a sweater before they left the apartment.

even then, he had changed sweaters four times before setting on the white cable knit he was currently wearing.

iceman knew how stressed his girl got during the holidays. her family could bring out the worst in her, and they were both highly strung when they walked in the door.

now, she was off to the side with her sister, cradling a mug of hot coco in her hands as she watched him with a smile, chuckling as he dropped a cup of flour down the front of his jeans.

“you really like him, don’t you?”

heather looked back at her sister, who raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of her hot chocolate.

“I do. I really do, abigail. he makes me feel like I’m worth loving, if that makes sense. everything with tom is just so…easy.”

abigail frowned. “he’s a lieutenant, isn’t he? that means he’s going to be deployed a lot. are you sure you can handle that?”

heather sighed, taking a sip of her drink. “we’re trying. he was out in the gulf for a few weeks in september, and we got through it.”

“he’s barely taken his eyes off you since you got here. and when he looks at you, I don’t see anything other than pure, unfiltered love. I bet he’s got a polaroid of you in his cockpit.”

heather laughed, a warm and giddy feeling in her chest. it was clear how much her family loved iceman, and how quickly they were welcoming him into the fold.

“you know I’m losing him for two months in the new year. he’s off to california, got into some fancy fighter jet training program.”

“you can still go see him, right?”

“yeah, I’ve got a few vacation days saved u- oh fuck.” heather cursed, thrusting her mug into abigail’s arms as she saw what her boyfriend was doing. “give me one second, I’ve gotta stop him from screwing up the gingerbread.”

she pushed up the sleeves of her jacquard sweater, socks skidding across the kitchen tiles as she loosely knotted her hair behind her head.

“kaz, sweetie, give me the rolling pin. you’ve gotta knead the dough.” she smiles softly, putting herself between the pilot and the counter.

one of tom’s flour coated hands came to rest as her waist, his chin on the top of her head as she watched her dip her hands into the bowl of flour, and proceed to knead the gingerbread dough by hand. her lovers hands came to rest over hers, his lips soft and warm against her skin as they kneaded the gingerbread dough together.

“see, you don’t always know everything, lieutenant.” she hummed giddily, running her thumb over his wrist.

“yeah, but I know I love you, and that’s all I need.” Tom laughed, gently using his finger to guide her head towards his and placing a soft kiss on her lips.

April 2022, Miramar, California.

heather paused, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "i loved that man so much, pete."

the hard deck was getting busier, off-duty pilots and seamen flooding in from the base at miramar as shifts changed for the day. heather knew all about the dagger squad and the hazy series of events that brought pete mitchell back to the academy, often having to speak for her husband in meetings once his first cancer operation had left him unable to speak for himself.

"auntie heather!" a familiar face looked over from the pool table. bradley bradshaw was a spitting image of his father, right down to the way that his moustache was trimmed.

for heather, it sometimes felt like seeing a ghost.

"brad!" she perked up, waving him over to the table. "how are you?"

when she first came to visit her husband at miramar, somethign about carole bradshaw had pulled heather in. she hadn't known the bradshaw's long, but by the time that goose's accident happened, she felt like she had known that family her whole life.

she did what she could to help carole out afterwards, especially when it came to raising bradley, but as rooster got older and time flew by, it was so easy for carole and heather to fall out of touch.

"you look just like your dad." she hummed, hugging the pilot. "it's like seeing nick again."

bradley nodded solemnly. "i was sorry to hear about admiral kazansky."

"thank you. it had been a long time coming, but there's no way to properly prepare to lose the man you love."

rooster gestures to the group behind him, the mismatched group of people coming to meet him at the table. “aunt heather, I’d like you to meet the dagger squad: jake, natasha, robert, reuben and javy. we knew the admiral well.”

“hi.” heather said weakly, introducing herself. “I’m heather, the admirals wife. or, widow, I guess. I’m still not used to saying that.”

“are you getting ready for the funeral?” jake asked, promptly getting jabbed in the rib cage by natasha.

“what hangman means to say is: we all respected your husband very much, and we would be honoured to help you plan his memorial service.” phoenix corrected, taking heathers hand between both of her own.

“thank you for the offer, natasha.” heather smiled. “bradley, I want to show you something.”

she sat back in front of her laptop, using the touchscreen to pull up a video taken the first summer she came to visit miramar. she had timed the visit to coincide with her birthday, a small selfish part of her unable to fathom spending her birthday without tom.

bradley pulled up a chair next to the table, watching as the screen crackled to life, the date stamp in the corner reading june of 1986. they were inside the o bar, the video opening with heather resting her head on tom’s shoulder, then panning over to the massive birthday cake and sparklers set in front of her. carole bradshaw sat on one side of her, and charlie blackwood was at the head of the table, sitting next to maverick.

“is that my mom?” Bradley smiled fondly. “she looks so full of life.”

“she was.” heather laughed. “and you might remember charlie, she was one of mavericks many lovers.”

“hey!” pete scoffed. “things just didn’t work out.”

“she was always too good for you, pete.” heather laughed, pointing to another space on the screen. the group was singing happy birthday, supported by a rockabilly piano backing track. “bradley, there’s your dad.”

goose was sitting in front of the grand piano, a toothpick hanging between his teeth as he hammered away at the ivory keys, aviator glasses over his eyes.

“happy birthday dear heather, happy birthday to you.”

the camera panned back to heather and tom as she blew out the cake candles. tom pulled her in to a soft kiss while the rest of the table cheered, and then the video cut to black.

“mitchell has been digitizing all of this stuff for us. I caught tom watching our wedding videos before he died.”

“remember when slider and wolfman got absolutely shitfaced at your wedding and tripped down the reception stairs?” maverick laughed to himself “did anybody ever get that on video?”

heather shook her head, a bright smile on her tear stained face as she hunted through the original wedding folder. “I’ve got you one better.”

September 1987, Monterrey, California.

mrs. heather kazansky. she could get used to that.

she was sitting with her sister and tom’s parents, the former two who were conversing with each other in polish. she twirled her wedding band on her finger, face flushed and spirits high as she looked on at her husband.

tom was with maverick and slider, the group of aviators dressed in their best white uniforms, beer bottles lifted high as they drunkenly hollered the words to an old rod stewart song.

“and I know your name is rita, because your perfume smells sweeter.”

abigail was filming, zooming the camera lens in on heather as she asked: “are you sure you don’t wanna back out now? till death do you part, you’re bound to this dumbass now.”

heather laughed, playfully smacking at the camera. “yes, I’m sure!”

“stay with me, come on stay with me!”

sliders voice was three decibels louder than everybody else, and he was also significantly drunker. one of the bridesmaids had her eyes on him, and there wasn’t a doubt in anybody’s mind that ron kerner would have somebody in his bed that night.

iceman’s face was flushed, his arm thrown around maverick as they rocked on their feet, skin sweaty and hair mussed.

but in the midst of all this chaos, he still managed to look over at his new wife, blowing her the softest kiss. she smiled, catching the kiss in her hands and pressing it to her heart, a moment her sister was able to capture frame for frame on digital video.

tom had watched the video hundreds of times as he sat alone in his office, struggling to come to terms with the fact that he’d be leaving not just the love of his life, but his three beautiful children as well.

April 2022. Miramar, California.

“that’s the kind of love that people only dream about.” natasha smiled softly. “you’re lucky you got to spend as much time with him as you did. most couples don’t make it as long as you guys did.”

heather smiled shakily, reaching for her drink. she’d left the sprite so long that the ice had half melted, condensation dripping down the glass.

“he was so good with the kids, you know. I was on and off depressed for a while after joshua was born. my mental health had never been perfect and I was on a low dose anti-anxiety medication for a long time. but after Josh was born, everything just got so much harder and I could barley get out of bed in the mornings. tom would take the kids to school, make their lunches. he was teaching full time at top gun by then, so he took a few days off to stay with me, make me feel like myself again.”

“he was a good man.” robert smiled, rubbing her shoulder.

“yeah, he was.” heather bit her bottom lip, pulling a photo up on her laptop that had the dagger squad letting out a chorus of ‘awe’s’

the picture was taken in 1989. tom was dressed in a gray waffle knit shirt, a pair of pit viper sunglasses on his forehead as he held a smiling baby in his arms. mitchell’s wide eyes looked up at his dad, his tiny fingers wrapped around in of tom’s larger ones.

his name was mitchell ronald kazansky, because tom had made a lame bet with maverick and slider (that he lost) and had to name his firstborn after both of them (because he was a fucking idiot at times, but she loved him anyways).

the boys were both easy children, but cassandra? she was a daddy’s girl through and through, and tom would have moved heaven and earth for his little girl. whatever cassie wanted, she often got, well into adulthood even. she was the spitting image of her father, from her honey blonde hair right down to the birthmark on the underside of her jaw.

when tom walked her down the aisle at her wedding three years ago, he cried all the way to the altar. but not half as much as he sobbed when he held his granddaughter for the first time, cancer-stricken and barely able to speak, but still brimming with joy as he held jamie to his chest.

“he lead a good life. one he was proud of. he used his last words to tell me as much.” heather choked out, overwhelmed by emotions. “I just wish we’d had more time.”

pete placed his hand over hers, squeezing it reassuringly as natasha rubbed her back, and rooster gently squeezed her shoulder.

there was still so much love that heather kazansky still had to give.

still so much love that she was surrounded by.

and maybe that was tom’s way, even from the grave, to tell her that everything would still be alright.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @httpiastri @sidcrosbyspuck @twinkodium @sidcrosbyspuck @oconso @thatsdemko @lorarri

[axelsagewrites]

Ramsay Bolton*My Father Would Kill Me

Pairing: Ramsay x F!Reader

Summary: The reader decides to try convince Ramsay to help her family in less honrouble ways.

Requested by @darkrose33

Warnings: Ramsay, swearing, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, fingering, humiliation, spanking, rough sex 18+

Word count: 3411

A/N: Ramsay is a terrible terrible person who did terrible terrible things that I do not condone...however Iwan Rheon made him so attractive in a strange way so you cannot blame me for writing smut for him

Masterlist Here

Ever since Ned Stark had died and Robb rode off into war the north had fallen into what you honestly thought was madness. The trade between Winterfell and the rest of the North had basically been cut off then randomly started again then slowed down then stopped then picked up again. Crime was all over the place since there was no Stark to fear.

Lords began to try snatch more power after Robb was murdered and the fights. Good gods the fights between houses and lords and ladies were endless. Petty fights turned into alliance breaking feuds. Up until recently your family had been relatively okay. until wilding attacks began more frequent in the surrounding villages. Before the Starks deaths they used to send men patrolling around the villages and outskirts for criminals and wildings, but the Boltons had no continued this. They didn’t care how the rest of the north was as long as they had Winterfell.

“We can’t continue like this,” you overheard your father tell your mother, “I must go to the Boltons and plead for their help,”

“What use is that? Roose hated you before he took the castle. You think he’ll help us now?”

But then the news came. Roose Bolton was dead. many said it was his bastard son had killed him and was the new Lord Bolton of Winterfell. Everyone knew before her death Catelyn Stark was terrified that a bastard would take Winterfell from Robb. How could she know that the bastard would turn out to be Ramsay Bolton?

Despite the news making your stomach churn it gave your family a brief glimmer of hope. The enemy of my enemy is my friend after all. Your father insisted this was your only hope and bundled you into your finest furs to go to Winterfell alongside him.

Now you were sat in Winterfell with your father waiting for its new lord to come and speak to you. It was hard not to grow nervous the longer you were forced to wait for Ramsay’s arrival. You had met him once years ago as a child. He had picked you a daffodil from the gardens to give to you, he must have been no older than seven. You had found it sweet at seven but when the other children noticed they teased him for presenting a lady with a weed. Ramsay pushed over the boy who had started the teasing however unfortunately for him that had been ten-year-old Theon Greyjoy who tattled on him, and Ramsay was dragged away by his father.

However, the Ramsey that entered the courtyard where you waited with your father looked far different from before. He no longer had noodle arms and knobbly knees. He walked with confidence oozing off him and a strange look on his face you could not quite place. His hair was no longer an overgrown bird nest on his head but a curly mop of locks that fit his face. If it weren’t for the rumours, you had heard about him on first glance you would have assumed he was a respectable lord of a noble house.

When Ramsay approached you noticed almost a twinkle in his eye. He ignored your fathers outstretched hand to take your hand into his. His hands were rough, but you noticed how soft his lips were when he placed a kiss to the back of your hand, “My lady,” he greeted, “How lovely it is to see you again,”

You tried not to blush as you bowed your head and gave a slight curtsey, “As it is to see you Ramsay- “your father shot you a shocked look at your slip up, “I mean my lord,” you tried to correct but Ramsay just chuckled at your embarrassment.

“Its all right My Lady. Old habits are hard to break,” his eyes lingered on you before going to your father. “How may I be of assistance my lord?”

Your father tried to explain the situation as best he could, but you could see Ramsay bore as each word carelessly fell from your father’s mouth in a half-jumbled mess. “As you can imagine lord Bolton it can be quite the struggle. It means so much to my family-to my daughter,” he said as he grabbed your arm desperately trying to keep his interest, “If you could spare even a few men- “

“I’ll have to take some time to consider it,” Ramsay cut your father off with a fake smile that made your stomach churn, “In the meantime you’re free to roam around Winterfell. I’ll tell them to set each of you up a chamber,” Your father’s disappointment was written across his face. He hadn’t expected this whole thing to last more than a couple of hours, but Ramsay clearly enjoyed having the upper hand, “If you’ll excuse me my lord, my lady,” Ramsay bowed his head, eyes focused on you before walking away with his hands clasped behind his back.

“When Ned Stark was in charge,” your father whispered in your ear, but you gave a sharp elbow to his side, “What?” he spat.

“Give him a chance,” you shot back in a whisper, nodding your head to where the guards stood obviously trying to listen into your conversation. “Lets just wait and see,”

Once you were in a private chamber your father began his long and incessant vent. While you could understand the frustration you also just wanted him to shut up. “I have half a mind to march up to him and- “

“Let’s not be hasty,” you cut him off, practically pushing him into a chair, “Why don’t I go enquire about food and we can figure out what to do after supper? We’re clearly not going home till tomorrow anyway,” he grumbled but finally agreed.

After you had requested for the kitchen to send your father some food, hoping a full belly would calm his temper, you suddenly found yourself walking to Ramsay’s chambers where the maids told you he’d be. You knew if you left it for your father to do it would not go so well. You paused in front of the door, unsure of what to say when you went in or if he would even let you speak. It was so out of the norm for you to be in a lord’s room especially alone. Perhaps this was a mistake.

Then the door swung open. A maid with a full basket of washing stood in front of you with a shocked expression. “What is it?” you heard Ramsay call from inside.

“You have a visitor milord,” she said, her eyes darting away from you. “The lady (Y/N),”

“Send her in,” Ramsay said but you could hear the smirk in his voice.

The lady gave you a sad smile before hurrying past you. you took a deep breath before entering the room, closing the door partially behind you, “My lord,” you greeted with a curtsey.

Ramsay was stood in his trousers and undershirt, and you blushed at the sight. Without the tunic and cloak, you could see he was far more muscular than you had expected. “What happened to Ramsay?” he enquired with a raised eyebrow as he crossed the room to where you stood by the door.

He was less than a foot away from you now and you could smell the sweet musky scent off him, “It would be improper my lord,” a smirk crept on his face.

Ramsay leaned in closer, one hand moving to shut the door behind you. his ears were by your lips, and you could feel his breathing on your skin, “More improper than visiting my chambers unattended?” he said before pulling back to where he stood before.

You blushed under his gaze, “My lord I came to- “

“Ramsay,” he corrected.

“Ramsay,” you smiled, the blush now spreading to your ears, “I came to plead for you to- “Ramsay sighed as he stepped back and walked to a table that held a jug of wine and two goblets. He poured two as you repeated practically the same speal your father had. He held one out to you and you took it without instruction to which he smiled at, “So it would mean so much to me if- “

“What do I get out of this arrangement?” he asked cutting you off. You were stunned for a second as you began to stammer for a response, “I’m a reasonable person my lady. I like to think at least. Its not crazy of me to expect to be compensated for my losses,”

“Of course, my lord,” you said, “It’s just that- “

“That your father has nothing to offer?” he asked, and you nodded sheepishly, “Perhaps then we should consider other options. Perhaps you have something to offer for instance,”

“My lord im afraid I have no more than my father,”

Ramsay laughed as he finished his wine, “I promise you my lady you are very,” Ramsay began to close the gap between you, now towering over you, his eyes gazing down into yours, “very mistaken,”

A flush spread across your cheeks at the look in his eyes and your gaze fell to the floor to avoid it, “I don’t understand what you mean my lord,”

Ramsay’s fingers went to your chin which he gently pulled up to force you to meet his eyes again, “I think you do though,” he said, his voice low, “I think you wouldn’t have come to my chambers if the thought hadn’t crossed your mind,”

You swallowed and stuttered under his gaze. While you had found him incredibly handsome you were a lady. To sleep with someone before you were wed could be catastrophic, “I cannot jeopardize my virtue,”

“Who would have to know?” his head dropped so that his lips were beside your ear again.

You shivered as his hot breath kissed your skin, “Its wrong,” you stuttered, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Can it be wrong if it feels so good?” he whispered before placing a kiss behind your ear.

You gasped slightly at the gesture and felt his smirk against your skin, “My father would kill me,”

Ramsay pulled back from your neck and took your face into one of his hands, his thumb stroking across your cheek bone, “As if I would let him to such a thing to such a pretty little thing,” it was hard not to lean into his touch.

“I’ve heard of the things that you do,” you stuttered, and it only caused his smirk to grow.

“A good girl doesn’t listen to the hens clucking,” he tutted, “All I have ever done to you has been kind,”

The memory of the daffodil brought a sad smile to your face, “Ramsay I- “

“If you can look me in my eyes and tell me you don’t want this, I’ll let you leave,” he said as his hand fell from your face.

His eyes never left yours however and you squirmed under his gaze, “I- “

“I’ll know if you lie,” he added as he stepped closer to you leaving no space between your bodies. His hands went to rest on your hips, “Tell me sweet girl,” he leaned closer, so his forehead was pressed onto yours, his lips an inch from your own. The words were caught in your throat as you tried to answer. “No one has to know,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over yours.

Without thinking your hands crashed onto his however while you intended a quick kiss Ramsay’s hand quickly went behind your back, pulling you closer to him and deepening the kiss. They felt like velvet against yours and you felt yourself get lost in the kiss. You had forgot about the goblet of wine you held until it fell to the floor with a clatter, the wine splashing on his fur rug. “Ramsay im so sorry,” you stammered as the kiss broke when you noticed the stain seeping into the carpet.

“Its okay,” he said taking your jaw in his hand and forcing you to face him. “You can make it up to me,” his lips dived back in for another kiss but this time his lips were far more desperate. He bit down on your bottom lip causing you to gasp into the kiss. You felt him smirk before he slid his tongue in. you moaned into the kiss at the feeling of his tongue mixing with yours.

You had kissed a couple lords before but none like this. No ones hold felt as strong as Ramsay as he pulled you as close as possible to his body. Your hands rested on his chest which felt so strong under your fingertips. Your hands crept up to his wide and muscular shoulders that were barely covered by the thin undershirt. Ramsay’s hand slid from your back to your arse that he dug his fingers in over your dress. You gasped when he suddenly spanked it and Ramsay just chuckled in response. With his hand lower down and pulling you in you could now feel his hard member pressing against you.

Without much warning Ramsay broke the kiss to harshly turn you around as he hastily began to unlace your dress. It came off quickly along with your shift. The air felt cold against your skin despite the fireplace in the corner and you flushed under his hungry eyes, “Much better than any of my dreams,” he grinned from behind you, his hands going to hold your breasts as he pressed himself to your back.

You gasped when he began to squeeze your breasts, his lips falling to press hard kisses along your neck. You felt his hard on pressing and grinding into your ass as his hands massaged and squeezed your chest. His kisses turned into sucking hickeys into your skin. “We shouldn’t,” you said but it came out as moans.

Ramsay chuckled as he let go of you before turning you to face him, “Then why are you moaning at my touch darling?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. His hand trailed down your body and your breath caught in your throat as his finger ran across your folds, “You’re so wet,” he chuckled causing your skin to turn hot, “And you’re blushing,” he laughed, “You really are desperate, aren’t you?”

His lips captured yours again this time your hands holding onto his arms to steady yourself as his finger teased you, running up and down your fold but never going in. you whined into the kiss as his finger ghosted your clit. “Please,” you whined against his lips at how tortuously gentle he was going.

 Ramsay let out a dark chuckle as two of his fingers quickly dove inside of you. the burn of him filling you up made you gasp but Ramsay didn’t stop as his fingers began to massage inside if you, “Is this what you want darling?” his other hand grabbed your jaw as he forced you to look into his eyes. “You want me to fuck you with my fingers?” The way he began to curl his fingers made you moan but you didn’t answer, “Answer me,” Ramsay gripped your jaw tighter.

“Yes, my lord,” you said.

“Im beginning to like the sound of that,” Ramsay smirked as he repositioned his hand, so his thumb was now rubbing your clit. Your fingers dug into his strong biceps as you tried to steady yourself as your legs began to feel less stable and a knot was growing in your stomach. He clashed his lips back onto yours in a messy desperate kiss. His spare hand went to your ass. He placed a hard spank on your ass before rubbing his hand over the read mark. He enjoyed your gasps and moans each time he spanked it and praised the growing red mark.

Suddenly Ramsay pulled his fingers out of you causing you to whine as the growing knot suddenly disappeared. Ramsay spanked your ass at your protest before shoving his fingers that were wet with your juices into your mouth. “Suck,” he commands, and you greedily complied. Ramsay moaned at the sight of your soft lips around his fingers, “I’m going to ruin you,” he said before he pulled his fingers back.

Without warning Ramsay almost threw you onto the bed that was thankfully soft. He didn’t waste time in crawling over your body, leaving dark hickeys across your skin as he did. You moaned at the feeling of his lips sucking your skin, your fingers in his hair pulling it gently. “You look good enough to eat,” Ramsay said, and you shivered at the suggestion. His mouth wrapped around your nipple which he began to suck on the hard bud. His hand went down to your soaking cunt, rubbing sloppy circles on your clit. This plus the way his teeth grazed your nipple caused a series of moans to fall from your lips.

Ramsay let go of your nipple before he quickly flipped you onto your front. As you lay on the bed, face in the pillow, you heard Ramsay shuffling behind you and soon he was back behind you, lifting your hips up to be against his now naked length. Ramsey began to tease his cock up and down your slit causing you to whine. “I suggest you hold onto something darling,” Ramsay said as he lined his tip up with your hole before pushing into you. you gasped as it filled you up far more than his fingers had. Your hands curled into the sheets beneath them, your knuckles turning white at how strong your grip was, “I’m not very good at being gentle,”

And with that Ramsay began his thrusts. They were deep and precise as he filled you up completely causing a mix of gasps, moans, and curses to fall from your lips. You could hear his own grunts and moans as he thrust into you. his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips which you figured would leave deep marks by the time you were done. Ramsay sped up his past, his thrusts slightly sloppier but still just as deep.

“God your amazing,” Ramsay grunted as his thrusts grew quicker. “You take me so fucking well,” he said as one of his hands moved to rub circles on your clit. Your moans only grew and to try hide muffle them your face buried into the soft pillow. Ramsay’s hand shot to grab your hair, pulling your head up and out of the pillow as he pounded into you harder, “I want to hear you,” he grunted as he relentlessly pounded into you causing loud moans to tear through your throat, “That’s it,” he said, “Moan my name,”

“Ramsay,” you moaned, your voice shaky from the pleasure building within you. Ramsay’s hand dropped your head but this time you did not try concealing the moans he caused. He slapped your ass yet again before grabbing your hips tightly. His fingers sped up their circles and your moans grew louder, “Fuck. Please Ramsay. Please don’t stop,” you begged.

“That’s right,” he said, his thrusts becoming sloppier, “Who’s making you feel this way?”

“You are,” the knot from before was back and the pressure built even quicker than before, “I think im gonna- “you tried to warn as you felt your walls start to clench around him. Ramsay had moved your hips slightly causing him to hit a new spot that sent the pressure over the edge. You were practically shaking around him as the organs ripped through your body causing your lips to almost give out.

Ramseys arm went under your hips to hold you up. His thrusts were even faster as you rode out your orgasm but the way you had began to clench around him made his own come even quicker. “Fuck!” Ramsay groaned when he suddenly spilled inside of you. his grip on you was tighter as his orgasm took his breath away.

You crashed onto the bed when Ramsay’s arm fell away from you. he soon fell beside you on the bed sweaty and naked and panting. You forced yourself to roll over and stared up at the ceiling as you realised what you had done, “My father’s gonna kill me,”

Ramsay rolled over to place a kiss to your lips, “You’re far too valuable now to let him do that love,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I've Had A Thought. I was thinking about the scene where Eragon is reminiscing over Brom's message to him as his father, and how Eragon is confounded and troubled that he in no way mentioned Murtagh. I found it a little sad that, for whatever reason, Brom decided Murtagh didn't bear mentioning. Then it crossed my mind to consider the possibility that Brom didn't know about Murtagh at all.

As it turns out, Eragon actually does think about it in that scene- he says, "He must have known about Murtagh. He couldn't not have." And admittedly I don't think this is the most likely scenario or that it's now my personal interpretation of canon, but the idea really has captivated me. Because it actually does fit within the facts! (the new book notwithstanding)

Brom was a gardener at Morzan's estate for three years, and while it's probably more likely that he learned about Murtagh in that time, I think it's certainly feasible for him to never know. Morzan was very determined to keep him hidden and took a lot of precautions to ensure just that. Oromis said Morzan forced all his servants to swear fealty and Brom found a flaw in his wards to infiltrate, and possibly he was able to do so because a job as a gardener didn't require such strict oaths because it wasn't in proximity to Murtagh.

Again, it may not be the most likely, but I can absolutely believe Selena might not have told him either. She also would have been aware of the serious danger Murtagh was in and would've wanted him to stay hidden. Even after Brom told her who he was and she started working with the Varden, she might have kept it secret. For one, Brom's hatred of Morzan is described as extreme and all consuming, and that it never waned with time. Even if she came to believe that Brom wouldn't harm Murtagh, she might not have trusted he could look at him kindly. And of course, telling him about her child with Morzan also risked damaging their relationship considering that they were lovers. Then there's the possibility that Selena did build all this necessary trust to tell Brom about Murtagh if he wasn't aware of him already, but it was too late for her to discuss it with him before she died. So I think it is conceivable that Brom actually never knew about Murtagh's existence.

Where this concept really shines is in an AU where Brom survives after Murtagh saves them from the Ra'zac. I've always liked these, and I sometimes toy with my own, but there's so many ways Brom could react and I've never been able to settle on one well enough to get invested in it. But I find this SUCH a fascinating take on it (especially if you wave off the detail that Murtagh's voice sounds ~exactly like~ Morzan's, which I tend to do). Brom recovers and meets their rescuer, and he has no idea he's looking at Morzan and Selena's son. Murtagh seems terribly familiar, but Brom has been relentlessly haunted by his past for so long now that he doesn't put much stock in the perceived similarities. Meanwhile, Murtagh realizes that Brom truly does not know that he's the son of the man he murdered, a precarious but welcome relief. Because he doesn't know- up until Murtagh's confession in the valley.

Brom is stunned by disbelief. It can't be true, Morzan had no children, because surely he would know, surely-! But another thought dawns on him, drowning out the memories of Morzan, because who could have been the mother of his child other than his wife: Selena? And Murtagh is looking at him with fear, fear that he'll turn on him because he shares the blood of the man Brom hated most. It's heart wrenching, because even as part of his mind tells him that maybe he should scorn him, Brom is looking at this man who single handedly saved him from the brink of death and saved Eragon and Saphira from far worse at the hands of Galbatorix, and who has given them extraordinary devotion ever since.

In his core, he accepts the truth of Murtagh's claim as he explains his past and recounts the story of his parents exactly how Brom knows it to be. The paradigm shift sends him reeling. Murtagh believes Brom is affected only because of his past with Morzan; he has no way of knowing what he felt for Selena. He still glances at him nervously, especially as he admits that he briefly intended to serve Galbatorix, yet then there's also a spark of trust and gratitude- maybe even hope- in his eyes when Brom doesn't rescind the way he vouched for him when they were stopped inside the gates. How could he? Murtagh has accomplished one thing neither Morzan nor Selena ever did: escape.

Despite everything, his aching heart feels something fiercely like pride. He would not dare ruin that for him.

Then to further prove the truth, like the world is laughing at his years of ignorance, Ajihad recognizes him, because after Murtagh was brought to Uru'baen, the Varden's spies informed him of Morzan's son. But of course, that was after Brom cut himself off and started living in Carvahall, so he never learned of that discovery. "Morzan's son" is said over and over, but in Brom's mind, that idea is far eclipsed by Selena's son. He's hurt and ashamed to realize he never knew something so significant about the woman he loved. And he feels guilty that Murtagh struggled for so long in Uru'baen because no one was there to save him when he was left helplessly alone. Brom must have been so close to him when he arrived right after Selena's death, but he just didn't know.

Brom is utterly at a loss. How can he process Murtagh- the child of Selena and Morzan, Eragon's half brother, and in a certain sense, his own stepson? What can he do now? He was already so terrified of telling Eragon the truth of being his father, and now he has another staggering revelation to inflict on Eragon and Murtagh both. The prospect feels terrifyingly impossible, but keeping his secrets has grown even more painful. Watching how easily and how well Eragon and Murtagh get along is now bitterly ironic. Even without knowing it, Murtagh is a great older brother, waiting vigilantly near his side after the battle. The injury Durza inflicted scared Brom in a way he can't put into words; he simply could not bear to lose Eragon. How could he risk that happening without telling Eragon how much he loves him and values him as his son? But telling him truth could be the quickest way to lose him. And now, with Murtagh, he has more to lose than he ever realized.

-And because Murtagh deserves it, I like all these changes resulting in the Twins never getting the chance to kidnap him, and so Brom has to figure out how to make the three of them into a family <3

[miss0atae]

What love can do in Meet You at the Blossom and how it can shape your life (after Ep 3 & 4):

It took me a while to write this post because I changed its title so many times. I wasn't sure I was conveying my thoughts properly. I wanted to write about the healing power of love between Huai En and Xiao Bao, but I had so much to say before so this title didn't work anymore.

[gif by khunkinn] @khunkinn

It's not a coincidence you can find the same pattern in some of the characters from My Stand In and Meet You at the Blossom since they were written by the same writer. Huai En and Ming, both had shitty parenting when they were young and it mostly came from their father. More than Ming, Huai En was shaped by his relationship with his father. His mother and his father were childhood sweetheart who never got the chance to be together because she was taken away by Huai En's uncle and he made her as his concubine. We also learned Huai En was born out of wedlock. His uncle's legitimate wife was jealous and tried to kill Huai En and his mother. His father wanted to save them (mostly his mother I think) but failed and Huai En's mother died trying to save the father. Huai En and his father found a way to escape and he was raised to seek revenge for the death of his mother. However, it didn't make them close. Huai En's father seems to consider that his son is also partly responsible for the death of his mother. It's not yet explain why… but because of his bias Huai En's father unfairly treated his son. In episode 4, Huai En explains to Xiao Bao how his father beat and scold him during his childhood. Huai En had no other choice but to obey him “unconditionally” or he would suffer physical pain. We can also assume he suffered mentally too.

[gif by omgtheregoesthefuckidontgive] @omgtheregoesthefuckidontgive

Huai En has been having recurring nightmares about the mistreatment of his father. He seems to remember vividly trying to avoid falling from a cliff and found no help from his father. Quite the opposite, he was also mocked by his father. It is likely something he had experience while he was young and that became so traumatic that he can't forget it. We could say that Huai En is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder since this event. A father is supposed to care about his children. That's what we naturally expect from any “good” parents. It's hard to understand why his father thought his son should be responsible for his mother's death. We haven't had enough insight on what his going on in Huai En's father head. However, we know he is very controlling and don't let his son do what he wants in life. Huai En only purpose is to help him get the revenge he wants. Anything outside this is considered useless and unimportant. I don't think Huai En even got the chance to really know what he wants or dreams for outside this purpose. He doesn't get to voice his opinion or to have something just for him. He must live for his father's desire. It was shown during episode 4, when Huai En had a vision of his father telling me:

“Remember, you were born to redeem yourself for your mother’s sake. Don’t harbor unworthy thoughts for anyone of anything. Understand? Don’t even think of trying to escape. No matter where on Earth, you can’t escape from my grasp”.

I’m still trying to wrap my head over this fact. When Huai En told the story of how he was born, his mother was still alive. So I don’t get why his father would be so hard on him when he is supposed to be the love fruit of the love he had for his mother. I wonder if his father is the kind of man who would value his spouse over his child. We know his father has an obsessive love for his mother. It wasn’t just the “I want to avenge her” it feels more like “she was supposed to be mine and I lost her so I will enact my revenge”. Huai En’s father appears to have an overwhelming obsessive desire to possess and protect his lover and he has an inability to accept failure of keeping her alive. It doesn’t matter if to get his revenge he has to hurt his own son. I believe this type of love is the only one Huai En had ever experience so he doesn’t understand it’s not a normal or healthy way of loving someone. He must have avoided to be with anyone because the only love he knows is the one his father has for his mother. Love is a painful affair. It can lead to obsession and physical pain. That’s why he is so startled by Xiao Bao regular love confessions.

[gif by guzhufuren]

Xiao Bao had an entirely different childhood. His parents seem to have a healthy relationship and to love each other. Xiao Bao is their only son so they spoiled him and made sure he had a good life where he wants for nothing. You can see how they care for him and wants him to be happy. Since he was loved and taking care of, Xiao Bao grew up to be a nice person who is not shy to show his love. He never had to experience the “dark side” of love. For him, this is only a positive thing. He is also a very charming man; very genuine so when he fell in love with Huai En, he didn't dither and decided to pursue him. It didn't matter to him if Huai En wasn't the woman he thought he was. As long as there is love, it's enough for him. Compared to what Huai En is used to know about love, Xiao Bao's vision seems quite refreshing. Especially as they are in a time period where queer love was frown upon, Xiao Bao's view of love, gender and norms is fairly modern. He claims he will find a way of making their relationship being accepted by his parents. Why is he not afraid of claiming his love for Huai En, despite him being a man? It's because Xiao Bao is sure of his parents' love for him. This trust exists because he was raised this way.

[gif by guzhufuren] @guzhufuren

Xiao Bao may appear to be a fool, but he is more than what he seems. He isn't a great tactician or a skilled warrior, but he is knowledgeable when it comes to emotions. It was shown when he had a conversation about love and death with Xiao Bao. He admits that humans lives for emotions and desires and that you can be sad when you lose a loved one. However you can't be miserable all your life because of this. This vision of life is in opposition with everything Huai En has been taught from childhood. I would even say he was stunned. Xiao Bao understood that Huai En because of his past can't really understand what love is supposed to be and he is ready to teach him. I think he does have strong feelings for Huai En. He may pout or act silly sometimes, but when Huai En conceded if they were someone he truly wants to love, it would be Xiao Bao, it truly delighted him. He is not the kind of person to sulk for too long. He is so genuine and overjoyed. I'm not going to say it'll be easy for them. Even if Huai En despises his father's love for his mom and really wants to experience a healthy relationship, the way this love shaped his vision of life will have an impact on his relationship with Xiao Bao. You can quite see it when he is adamant about Xiao Bao having “no thought about others” or to never lie to him. This idea that Xiao Bao wants to be with him “forever” and not just be with him, kinda shows that his past will have an impact. However, I believe Xiao Bao's good nature may soften him.

[gif by ruanbaijie] @ruanbaijie

As he said himself to Huai En, his lover is “tough on outside, but soft inside”.

PS: I edited this post with better credits for the gif creators. I tagged all of you, I hope it's alright. If you prefer that I stopped using your gifs, don't hesitate to tell me. I'll do better with the credits on gif from now on.

[117luv]

THE PARENT TRAP — LHS | CHAPTER 13

synopsis: jungwon and ni-ki met each other at a summer camp and found out they were fraternal twins. this leads to events where the two ex-lovers, heeseung and yn, are reunited after 14 years by their children.

genre: exes to lovers, smau, fluff

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, poor attempts in humor, grammatical errors, marriage, pregnancy, parenthood, miscommunication

taglist: CLOSED!

a/n: hi darlings! im back (FINALLY) again apologies for the super late update (a month later DAMN) but now we are finished with the flashback, ne ways enjoy this chap and love ya!! <3

masterlist | previous | next

Her mom was fuming after learning her "perfect daughter" had been ruined by a nobody. She kept telling her to avoid the boy, but now she is going against her by marrying him. She furiously went to their place and asked to talk to both of them. Fortunately, the twins were sleeping with Heeseung's parents that day, or it could have been worse. Yn looked at her mother, filled with anger and resentment. The older woman spoke up, which broke the silence. "Yn. I'm telling you this once, and once only. If you don't divorce him, I will put up the twins for adoption," she said. "You can't just do that, Mom. I'm their mother, and you can't tell me what to do with our children," she said while holding his hands.

She couldn't believe her ears; her daughter is now answering back to her. "I don't care. I will do everything if you don't listen to me. All I asked was for you to date a decent man, but you settle with him instead," she said. She was torn between being with her first love and being with their children. She looked at his face again and told him that everything would be fine. In return, he assured her that whatever choice she made, he would accept it. As she took her breath, she made her final decision.

"Fine. I will divorce him, but we will keep the twins. I will have Jungwon while Heeseung will have Niki. We will promise to never see each other after everything," she said. Her mom finds it amusing that she came up with such a deal, but if it means that her daughter will be away from Heeseung, then she will take it. "Okay, I will let this slide. But do know I'll be watching you two closely," she said while walking out of the door. After she left, Yn fell to the ground. Her sobs filled the living room, and Heeseung immediately hugged her as he comforted her. She wished to be woken up from this nightmare.

Anyone who might hear her thoughts might think she is fucked up. No daughter should be happy for their own mother's death. Yn had never felt more at ease than right now. It was like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. All the years that her mother had controlled her life had ended. The same woman who took the people she loved dearly away from her. Sure, she appreciates the things her mother did to her, but her control over her life was much greater. She is happy that she is gone. A sentence that she never thought she would ever say.

She flew from Canada back to Korea for her mother's funeral, where she met her younger brother, Sunghoon, and her father. She doesn't resent her father as much as she resents her mother, but she chose to be estranged from him after accident years ago. Sunghoon had been the best throughout everything; he had her back when no one was there. She couldn't thank him enough for his presence. After staying for only two days, she came back to Canada.

Her and Jungwon lived in Canada until he was 14 years old. By this point, it has been five years since her mother died. She had finally made the decision to go back to Korea. This was a step in finding the two missing people who are part of her broken puzzle piece, Heeseung and Niki.

taglist [CLOSED] : @yangwaa @emikisses @yohanabanana @arizejkt19 @skuwu-blog @beatr2x @svarcq @softiehee @enhastolemyheart @deobitifull @emxshu @bucketofhiros @lost-leopard-beanie @soobin-my-beloved @azurez @flwrshee @beomgyusonlywife @lalalalawon @yanagisprettygf @astrae4 @myjaeyunn @sesame-street-lol @yumilovesloona @jhopesucker @omgjwon @yoonjunshi @wannatinyus @yeahhemmings- @coupscheri @neozon3nha @mevalemadrws @wonyoungsvirus @ilvsoup @dneltrise @chirokookie @noascats @sxftiell @onionzzzs @nokacchan @i-yeseo @02zluvbot @iamliacamila @nicholasluvbot @ilovewonyo @ddazed-lhs @tobiosbbyghorl @youmenotyummy @minhoie @enhaz1 @beoms-sugar

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Eight

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Chapters two through seven from Tommy’s POV.

Warning: language, smoking, war mention(ish), PTSD mention(ish), suicide thought, ethnic slur

Side Note: Taking some liberties with some of the back and pre-pilot stories, as well as some of the stuff we just don’t know (Harry’s backstory and involvement in the war, as an example). Just go with it lol.

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter Eight: Devil Inside Me

There’s a devil inside of me, and he’s holding on. And I don’t know if he’s staying, or for how long.  Pulling at my heart-strings, kicking in my mind. And I’m sad to say he’s got me thinking, about the bad parts of my life.  — Devil Inside Me, Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes

Tommy was a dead man, walking through a life he knew he shouldn’t be walking, breathing an air that he shouldn’t be breathing. The realization that he hadn’t in fact died, or that he was actually going to go home, hadn’t even set in until hours after he stepped out of the train station the day they all came home. 

Well, not all of them came home. The faces of those he left with, who he fought with, who hadn’t been “as lucky” as him were always there, flashing just behind his eyelids with each blink. 

Ghosts of a fate that should have been his. 

He knew he wasn’t the same Tommy Shelby who’d left those handful of years ago. None of the men who were returning with him were. He could see it in Polly’s eyes the moment she saw them — a relief that was immediately replaced with a new coat of worry. 

Looking around as he stepped off the train, he was surrounded by men of all ages embracing their loved ones, crying, weeping. He watched John cradle his wife’s face as he kiss her, his children surrounding his legs. He watched Ada hug Arthur, then Freddie, before pulling him in for an extra tight hug. Tommy should have felt that same level of relief that he could see on his brothers and best mate’s faces, to be walking on English soil. 

But he still felt like a dead man. And it was all because of her. 

The first face Tommy saw as he stepped off the train was hers — the same face he saw while he laid in the mud. Another ghost, standing amongst the sea of people. 

The girl seemed just as surprised to see him as he’d been, and in a moment she was dropping her head and turning to leave. Tommy started to move forward faster, determined to reach her before she disappeared again. But by the time he breached the crowd in front of him, she was gone, and the cries of welcome from Polly, Ada, Finn, Martha, and John’s kids pulled him out of his odd trance. But still, in the back of his mind he wrestled with whether she’d really been there in the flesh this time, or if she were just another vision. 

Riding back into Birmingham, into Small Heath, and then walking down Watery Lane felt like a dream. His brothers and mates wanted to go to the Garrison first thing, but Tommy just wasn’t ready. After years of living in the trenches, the world around him felt very loud, very crowded, and he just needed a moment of peace in his old bedroom. 

Polly had kept his room the same as when he left. The clothes and sheets were recently washed, she’d told them on their way in. Tommy wondered if he could even fit in those old clothes of his anymore, instead choosing to pull out a shirt to sleep in from his luggage, breathing in the familiar scent. 

As he dug around further in his bag, he found the medals they’d given him. Acts of heroism and gallantry, the voices of those who’d presented them to him echoed through his mind as he scoffed. He picked them up and threw them in a drawer, then laid down on his bed. A few minutes later, he sat up and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He could hear the cheers outside, the music, the merriment and excitement of the war end, of husbands and fathers and sons returning home. 

Suddenly furious, he tore the drawer open and grabbed the medals and his coat, barreling out of his room and into the streets. 

“Tommy!” A female voice he barely recognized called out to him from the outside of the Garrison. 

He turned in time to Lizzie Stark wave a handkerchief at him, starting to walk his way. Ignoring her, he turned away and continued to walk, knowing that would be enough response to keep her from following as he walked down to the bridge. He waited at the ledge for a moment to see if anyone had followed him, but the music and merriment remained behind him as he pulled out a cigarette and looked down into the watery darkness of the Cut. 

The canal always made him think about his mother — another ghost in his life — and he wondered for a moment how much better it would be if he joined her. He wasn’t supposed to be here anyway, how easy would it be to just lean his weight forward. 

Right now, he reasoned that there were only two futures at play for him. He already saw the effects the war had on some of the other survivors, some of his comrades — the Flanders Blues. 

Danny had nightmares, and now it was starting to effect his waking hours, taking him ages to come back even after he’d already awoken. And there were others who were suffering far worse — like Barney, who had what they were now referring to as shell-shock, and Tommy feared would never be able to shake it and wondered if he’d ever leave the institution they’d admitted him in. 

Even now, Tommy could close his eyes and still hear the guns, the shouts, of shovels and picks breaking into the earth. He could feel the ever looming threat of breaking through the mud and finding the enemy — of always being so close to death.

He couldn’t even imagine a world where the things he’d seen would ever fade from his memory. The gore, the blood, the flesh. The smell of burning, of gas, of fire, of dirt, of blood. 

Whether those who’d died had found their way to a better place, Tommy no longer believed such a place existed. There was only a hell, and he’d volunteered to enter. 

The medals burned in his hand as he thought about all those ghosts — his friends, his comrades, even his enemies. They were gone, and he was here. 

He thought back to what he’d said to his brothers and comrades after they found out the war had officially ended. That this was their second life, their bonus life. Even then, Tommy wasn’t sure if he actually believed what he’d said in the throws of victory, of finding out that they weren’t going to die after accepting their fates. But now, standing over the Cut, Tommy knew that the only option for him was the second option. 

No one was ever going to put him or his family in the mud again. That one day, he’d build his family up so high that not even the King himself would be able to touch them. That was the only way they’d ever truly be able to find safety and peace. 

Lifting the medals into the street light, he read the engraving one final time before letting them slip through his fingers. He closed his eyes until he heard the expected splash. 

What he hadn’t expected to hear was a person exclaiming below the bridge. 

“Oi!” Tommy shouted, suspicion that he’d been followed creeping into his paranoid mind. “Someone down there?” 

Not waiting for a response, Tommy was already off the bridge and walking toward the underpass when he heard a woman respond. 

“You almost took me out,” the voice quipped, the body still leaning over the waters edge near where the waves were still bouncing. 

When the body straightened and turned toward him, he instantly recognized it. 

It was her — it was you. 

He breathed in deep, remembering his lit cigarette, and for a moment he had the thought that he’d actually jumped. 

Tommy could tell by the look on your face that you recognized him as well, and that the fact that you were standing there together was just as a surprise to you as it was for him.

“You were at the train station,” he tested, moving closer to the street light to get a better view and hope that it would prompt you to follow suit. Which, you did. 

The last two times he’d seen you felt different than this. Where before, even at the train station, you’d felt ethereal, otherworldly. Now, in this moment, you felt real, your body fidgeting uncomfortably as your eyes moved everywhere but refused to meet his own. He took the opportunity to get a better look at the mystery woman. 

The first thing he noticed was how different you looked now than you had in his vision. You were dressed in something similar to what his sister had been wearing earlier that evening. And while your hair seemed slightly in disarray and face looked flushed, you looked just as beautiful as you had the first time he’d seen you. 

His vision flashed before him, and he recalled the different version of you he’d seen. In his vision, you had on considerably less clothes, the recollection of your long, bare legs had him moving his eyes down your body. 

When his eyes reached back up to your face, your eyes finally met his again and a blush crept across your cheeks. Part of him wondered if you could read his thoughts. 

“I was,” you finally replied, your voice a little stronger than he’d expected. You motioned toward the water. “And you were throwing some medals into the river, yeah?” 

Sobering up, Tommy felt his back straighten a little at the notion. He hadn’t expected you to notice what exactly he’d thrown into the water. He narrowed his eyes, took a long drag of his cigarette, and made some comment about how the fish could have them. 

“Don’t think the fish’ll have much use for them,” you replied back, and he didn’t miss the way your eyes wrinkled and mouth flinched, as if holding back a smile at your own joke. 

Despite himself, the sight actually amused him enough to breathe out a shrug. “Seems we have that in common, then.” 

Not prompted at all by the thought of your legs from his vision, Tommy began to wonder how difficult it would be to persuade you to join his bed. It’d been a while since the last time he’d slept with someone. 

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he realized you’d indicated that you were leaving. He didn’t want you to leave though.

“You a whore?” He asked, reasoning that if he could pay you to stay with him, it’d be the easiest way to keep you from disappearing again. 

It wasn’t a crazy question. There weren’t many women walking around alone, at night, in Birmingham, who weren’t offering some intimate services. He knew it was where his unmarried brother and mates would be ending their nights tonight. Hell, one of them was probably giving Lizzie the attention he’d denied her at this very moment. 

He didn’t have anything against prostitutes, it was just another business transaction in his opinion. Plus, it was an easy way to have sex without the mess of feelings. 

But the way you’d rounded on him, planting your feet just a step away from him as your face contorted into something different than the one he’d just seen, his opinion on the question changed. 

You dove into a rant asking what the hell was wrong with him. 

“No, I’m not a whore!” You’d finally said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t support a woman’s choice to sell her services to men who will pay if it means making enough to survive in this God awful existence!”

Tommy chuckled, realizing that the two of you felt the same way about the profession. “So, you aren’t a whore, but you respect ‘em, is that it?”

You rolled your eyes and the sight made him want to smile again. He reasoned that this woman before him had no idea who he was — no person in Small Heath outside of his own family dared to talk to him like this, much less roll their eyes at him without the fear of his blade cutting through them, male or female. You were fearless, it seemed — or stupid. Either way, for the moment it intrigued him.

“Everyone sells part of themselves for something eventually. Sometimes it’s a woman laying on her back for a man. Sometimes it’s a man crawling through the mud for a King.” 

Your comment made Tommy shift immediately from amused and intrigued to angry. 

No, you weren’t afraid of him, but you should be. 

His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to you, straightening his back and shoulders, expecting you to flinch. But you didn’t, and he couldn’t figure out why the refusal to back away or even break eye contact made him want to kiss you rather than punish you. 

“You should go home,” he decided to say, choosing to soften his voice instead of raise it. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop himself from scanning down your face to your lips. “The next man you meet alone, under a bridge, at night, might not be as accepting to your ideologies as I am.” He darted his tongue out to lick his own lips when you pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth. While he was willing to let you get away with what you said to him this time, he still wanted to make you realize the vulnerable state you were in, how much power he really had. “If he says you’re a whore, he might treat you like one in spite of your pretty words.” 

He watched you finally react, a shiver running through you as your eyes met his again. He noticed the blush on your cheeks deepen as you took a step back, telling him you appreciated the advice before a strong breeze caused you to wrap your arms around your body. 

Tommy hadn’t even felt the cold since the minute he laid eyes on you, the adrenaline from marching down to the Cut and then finally getting to speak to you had his blood boiling. Without even realizing it, Tommy was shrugging his coat off his own shoulders and offering it to you, who hesitated slightly before accepting it. The sight of the oversized coat hanging around your shoulders made his chest tighten. He couldn’t figure out why it looked so right on you. 

Before he realized it, you were stepping away from him toward the steps of the bridge. His eyes met yours again, and something shifted behind them. Before he could ask, you welcomed him home and turned to finally disappear into the darkness, leaving him alone by the water’s edge again. 

Tommy didn’t know why he’d had a vision of you months ago. He didn’t know why he had met you tonight, or how it seemed you also knew about him. But he did know one thing — he was going to find out. 

——

Despite his initial internal promise to find out more about the mystery woman, Tommy found his attention otherwise occupied as he threw his energy into building back up the family name and reputation. And despite Polly’s insistence that they take a few days to get back in the swing of things, Tommy spent all his free time reacquainting himself with the family books, starting with the furthest back and moving his way forward. He was happy to discover that true to her letters, Polly had been keeping the betting business going with no qualms. Even with the amount of men in the war, there was enough steady flow of cash to keep everything afloat. 

The family business side of things hadn’t been as lucky. While still viable thanks in part to members of their gang who hadn’t enlisted, there had definitely been a drop in income. Tommy made a note of all the people he was going to need to visit. 

He could feel Polly hovering as he read through the books throughout the days. Having grown up with his aunt practically raising him, he knew how overprotective she was over her kin, so part of him thought nothing of it at first. 

He was nearly done with all the books, finally getting halfway through this year’s ledgers, when he discovered the real reason for Polly’s hovering. 

“Polly!” he shouted from his office, standing up and grabbing both books he’d been looking at before moving into the kitchen. He threw the first book open on the table in front of his aunt and pointed to the margins. “Who the fuck’s handwriting is this?” 

“Tommy—“ Polly began, moving quickly to close the doors to the bustling betting den. 

“Who the fuck’s handwriting is this, hmm?” He tapped against the book pages harder, leaning against the table as Polly closed the other doors, concealing them from any eyes or ears that may have followed Tommy’s tirade. “Fuckin’ answer me, Pol.” 

“I hired someone, alright Thomas?” her voice answered softly in contrast to his volume as she shook her head, waving him off. “You didn’t expect after all this time that we wouldn’t bring in new help.” 

Tommy threw a second book on top of the first and pointed again at the same handwriting in the margins. “And what is the same fucking handwriting doin’ in the family book, eh?”

Polly held his gaze. 

“Did an estranged family member show up while we were away? Perhaps a bastard looking for a father, or a long lost brother?”

She didn’t answer, her eyes narrowing at her nephew’s condescending questions as he went on, taking her silence as a no. 

“Okay then, how ‘bout a new uncle? Did you get married and you just forgot to bloody mention it, Pol? Is there a new last name we should be calling ‘ya?”

“No,” Polly answered straight, crossing her arms defensively as Tommy rose up. 

“No,” Tommy repeated as a mock and his body mirrored hers, crossing his own arms. “So, there is a non-family member auditing our family books then, yeah?” 

“Yes,” Polly answered again. 

Tommy took a deep breath, trying not to let his aunt’s stubbornness rile him up. There was information she was keeping from him, that she’d been keeping from him, and he wanted to know everything immediately. 

“Go on, Pol,” he went on, his voice still even despite its rise a few moments ago. “Tell me what you were thinking.” 

Polly held Tommy’s gaze for a moment before finally relenting, taking a deep breath that matched his own. 

“She’s a friend of Ada’s—“

“Fucking hell—“ Tommy’s eyes shot upward as he felt his entire body groan at the mention of his sister. 

He loved Ada, but the girl had never shown any interest in their business, either business, her entire life. In fact, the girl had never taken anything serious, so he couldn’t imagine the kind of company she chose. 

“She’s smart, Thomas,” Polly insisted, the use of his full name showing her seriousness. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to him. “Here, see for yourself. That’s a list of everyone who has tried to steal or skim money from us since she started.”

Tommy opened the paper, and immediately recognized most of the names. Two had been men he’d hired himself years ago. 

“It started with the betting books. Then I gave her one of our books just to see if she could spot anything. She didn’t know what it meant, just told her to cross check names and numbers.”

Tommy took another deep breath, “If she’s so smart, how do you know she didn’t know what it meant, eh? How do you know you can trust her?”

“Ask around,” she offered. “You’ll come to the same conclusion I did.”

“Where is she now?”

“I told her to stay away until you made your decision.”

“What decision is that? Whether to invite her back or kill her?” Polly’s eyes narrowed, and the reaction actually surprised him. He scoffed, “Really, ‘ave you gone soft on us now, Pol?”

She held her glare before raising her hand. “Just— just look into her first. Do that, and I’ll tell you everything I’ve learned. But, be discreet. Her employment was and still is a secret. Plenty of men were angry when we started taking care of that list.”

Tommy noticed some of the names next to the list had symbols next to them, understanding the meaning behind them. The two men he’d brought in both had black stars next to theirs. 

“Any threats?” Without realizing, Tommy began to take a closer look at Polly, searching for any new cuts, scars, or faded bruises. 

She scoffed, smiling as she shook her head. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Tommy took a deep breath, taking another look at the list. This really was impressive, and he was curious how exactly the girl had come to discover all of this. He’d paid close attention to her notes in the margins of the books and could already believe Polly’s insistence of her intelligence. 

But that didn’t mean she was trustworthy. This wouldn’t be the first time they’d been double crossed or infiltrated by an enemy or copper. 

“Fine. You’ve got a deal,” he finally said, folding the list up and putting it in his own pocket. “Just tell me her name.”

“Y/N.”

——

It didn’t take long for Tommy to find out where this Y/N lived and worked. Not only was the number of people moving into Small Heath minimal, but especially young women. 

Tommy had been avoiding the pubs since he came home, he still wasn’t ready to dive back into the crowds. But he heard the rumors of a pretty, out-of-town barmaid at the Garrison, and his curiosity finally won over. 

He thought his chances would be better if he went over early, and despite being gone for a few years, the old pub hadn’t changed a bit. Which meant, he knew exactly which nook and cranny to hide inconspicuously while the afternoon bustle began to ramp up. 

So far, it was just Harry tending the bar, the sitting area still sparse enough for one person to manage. Tommy watched as a couple men filtered in and out of the snug, and an idea began to formulate as he waited. 

He’d always liked the Garrison — it was conveniently closer to the house than any of the other pubs in the area, and it was slowly becoming the heart of the town for the everyday man. Presumably, all were welcome, even the men who preferred pubs that catered more toward the commies or Fenians. 

And he liked Harry. The man had never treated he or his family any different for being gypsies — Tommy chalked that up to him coming from Irish travelers himself. Even after Harry began to pay the Shelbys for their protection, he’d still treated them without some of the passive aggressive bitterness that some other patrons held. There was always a layer of respect, of common sense, and even a hint of humor that Tommy always appreciated. 

Even now, when Harry found him sitting in the dark corner of the bar with his paper raised like a shield, he hadn’t questioned and didn’t bring attention, an unspoken understanding it seemed and instead simply dropped a tumbler down in front of him and kept an eye on its fill level. And as if the man needed any more of a reason, Harry had fought in the war, up until he was sent home, and Tommy respected any man who fought for his country.

Yes, Tommy liked Harry, and decided in that moment to make the Garrison the Shelbys official pub.

He was beginning to formulate the deal proposal when the office door to his right opened and a body emerged. He pulled back up his racing paper, lowering it just enough so he could take in the backside form of a young woman as the door closed behind her and she walked toward the bar. He tried to listen as the women sat a book on the counter in front of Harry. The owner scratched his head as he looked at the page and shrugged. Tommy could read Harry’s lips as he shoved the book back toward the woman and told her he trusted her. She grabbed it and practically skipped away from the counter, obviously happy with the outcome of the exchange, and turned back toward the office door. 

It was you. 

The girl from his vision, from the train station, from the Cut. 

You were Y/N. 

Tommy felt his blood run cold at the realization and froze as you continued to look down at the book and walked right back into the office. You hadn’t seen him this time, and for that he was grateful. 

Because right now, he was angry. 

Who the hell were you, and what right did you have invading his space like this? First his mind, then his home, and now his business? Who the hell did you think you were? 

His blood turned from ice to a boil as he stood up and stormed out of the front door. Tommy could feel Harry’s gaze follow him with a silent question that he knew better than to ask. 

Tommy’s feet took him to the person who led him there: his aunt. 

Polly was near the fire, stacking some of the logs from the shed in preparation for a cold night. It was mid-December now, and the days were growing shorter than ever. All outdoor chores had to be done before supper and Polly always liked to get everything squared up and out of the way before she had to begin.

She heard Tommy storm in through the front door, she could always identify the sound of his footsteps over his brothers, even at a young age. He was heavy in the heels and he was always in a hurry, walking with his shoulders forward. Polly took it as a sign that he would be a leader one day, always firm in his resolve and destined to forever chase a dream bigger than himself. 

“Welcome back,” she said evenly, already feeling his attitude before he even made it through the doorway. 

Tommy didn’t answer her, only moved to close the door behind him, and then the betting doors, despite the house being quiet at the moment. 

Polly wiped her hands on her skirt and rose to look at her nephew, the sight bringing a crease to her brow. 

Tommy was always composed, the number of times she hadn’t seen him so could be counted on one hand. But now, in front of her, she could add another count to her list as she reached for him. 

“Tommy,” she started calmly, urging him to sit before taking the seat next to him. She was trying to decipher if his expression was one of anger, shock, or something worse. “Tell me, what is it?”

His eyes finally flicked up to his aunt, and the anger returned. “Y/N.”

Polly took in a deep breath, more of the picture starting to fall in place as her back straightened. “You saw her?”

He nodded. 

“You talked to her?”

He shook his head. 

Polly licked her lips and tightened them. “Why not?”

Tommy ran a hand over his face and assessed his aunt. He was contemplating whether he should tell her his vision. Polly was more in tune to visions and spirits than he was. And despite his outward skepticism of most things religious or religious adjacent, there was something deep within him that was never able to fully dismiss some of the mysteries that came from the Romani people. That’s why he was always respectful toward old gypsy women, and took extra caution to his aunt’s warnings. Same with Curly, his Uncle Charlie, and even his mother back in the day. Whether it was real or just something familiar from his upbringing, he knew without a doubt his aunt could have some insight into all this. 

Hell, she probably already had some insight. It wasn’t lost on him that his aunt often knew things that he didn’t. And while usually that was something he trusted to use to the family’s advantage, right now he wanted to know everything. 

“We’ve already met,” he decided to begin there, not totally lying but not divulging the whole truth yet. “The night we returned, down by the Cut. It wasn’t exactly the best of introductions.”

“Oh Thomas, tell me you didn’t —“

His brow creased at her response, noticing the look on her face and realizing what she must have thought. He breathed out of his nose, “Nothing like that, Pol. We just talked. I did ask if she was a whore and she nearly pushed me in the water.”

The corner of Polly’s lips flew into a smirk as she tried to refrain from chuckling. It was difficult though, she could only imagine what that must have looked like. 

“Tell me what you know,” he continued, back to business. “This girl keeps showing up in my life and I want to know why.”

Polly took a deep breath, her smile turning serious as she leaned back in her chair. He wondered if she caught his use of the word ‘keeps’ and would push on it. 

She didn’t, for now at least. “I told you I would tell you once you found out more for yourself.”

“I’ll keep looking into her — discreetly,” he added when he saw she was about to remind him of her secrecy. “But right now I know enough and if I don’t hear what you have to say it might make things worse.”

The anger he was feeling before crept back up. He thought about facing you again in this state, and truly he wasn’t sure how he’d react. Part of him believed he’d just torture you into telling what you wanted from him, who you were working for, what your game was. The other part of him believed he’d fling you over his shoulder and bring you to his bedroom. Both of which would be unhelpful to his current situation. 

Something bigger was going on here. He could feel it. And he wanted to know what. 

Polly was watching him during his internal battle and could sense his edge. She took a deep breath before nodding. “I believe she’s gypsy,” she stated simply. “Maybe not bred, but by blood.”

Tommy hadn’t expected Polly’s big insight to be this. He restrained himself from scoffing. “That’s it? Just because she might be gypsy you think she’s trustworthy to be privy to our family books?”

Yes, Tommy and his family came from a long line of Romani blood. But that didn’t mean it held any stock with him. Outside of his own family and extended family, other gypsies would be some of the last people Tommy would trust. 

“I think she has a gift, Thomas,” Polly continued seriously. “The first day I saw her, the day she met Ada, she predicted the end of the war months before it happened. To the day.”

Tommy’s brow creased. “One correct guess and suddenly she’s a fortune teller?”

“It’s not just that. There was gossip when she first arrived. Mrs. Tully was chirping about a batty new tenant who finally arrived in the empty lodgings they’d been keeping. Said she acted like she’d been living under a rock all her life — didn’t even act like she knew there was a war going on. Strange that a girl who barely knew about the war could guess the exact date of its end, isn’t it?”

Tommy made a mental note to add Mrs. Tully to his list of people to question. “I suppose. But still doesn’t sound concrete to me.”

“Perhaps, but there’s one piece that solidified my guess,” Polly replied, straightening in her seat. “She has a tattoo on her back — I only caught a glimpse but I’m sure of what I saw. I’ve seen the symbol before, once, when I was a girl. The crest of the Delphi family.”

Tommy’s shoulders squared at the name. He, like most gypsies, were familiar with the name and the crest. It was one of the oldest Romani families still around, and there was a reason for that. Their age and their affinity for fortune telling deepened their pockets enough to provide them with muscle and protection. They were ruthless when wronged, and their leader was said to unleash unimaginable curses on her enemies. 

And according to Polly — you, his mystery woman, had their symbol branded on your back. 

He ran through the possibilities of what this could mean in his head. You could have been a family member who ran away, or a slave to one of the leaders. Polly had mentioned she didn’t think you were brought up in the gypsy life, and from the little bit of interaction he had with you, he was inclined to agree. There had to be a connection between this woman, this family, and his dream. Which was beginning to feel more and more like a curse, or an omen to stay away. 

But then, why did every instinct fuel him to get closer, to find out more?

He got up from the kitchen table and began walking back toward the pub. He ignored Polly’s call behind him, obviously worried he’d do something irrational. 

But Tommy was beginning to form a plan, a battle strategy, if you will. To defeat the enemy, you had to know the enemy. And whether Y/N fell in that definition for him or not, he needed to gather as much as he could before he made any call. 

Over the next day, he managed to speak with Harry while avoiding you. It was easier to ask about you in the pretense of dangling a business proposal, claiming that he needed to trust his employees as much as the owner when it came to matters like this. 

“Oh, ‘ya shouldn’t ‘ave a problem there,” Harry had told him. 

“Forgive me for askin’, Harry, it’s just you don’t normally give jobs to women. Especially pretty women.” 

Harry breathed out of his nose before waving his hand dismissively. “Findin’ anyone to work when I got back was bloody impossible, mate. And when I finally could find help, even if they was a girl, they’d end up spending more time makin’ their own money on the side, if’ya know what I mean.” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “But let me tell ‘ya, Y/N’s been a dream since she showed up.” 

Tommy’s back tightened at the use of phrase. 

“She came in with all these ideas and improvements, ‘processes’ she calls ‘em. I tell ‘ya, I ‘aven’t met a more educated woman before in my life. I fought the changes at first, but dammit I can’t fight against less waste and more money. Oh, and don’t worry — I made sure she wasn’t a prostitute. Asked her ‘for I hired her.”

The corner of Tommy’s cheek rose slightly at the comment, curious if he’d been the latest of a long line of people asking her the same question. 

“And you’re sure?” Tommy asked, just to scratch a curiosity. “Not even recreationally?”

Despite himself, Tommy couldn’t keep out the thought of your blushed cheeks down at the Cut, the way you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, and the bareness of your legs in his vision. He adjusted in his seat before forcing his mind to stop before it went too far, noting to make an appointment with Lizzie the next time he saw her. 

Harry shrugged, oblivious to Tommy’s internal struggle. “She’s nice to the men at the bar, enough to keep the place calm and in good spirits. But I’ve ‘eard her turn down enough of ‘em to know she’s not interested in making an extra bob like that. Only once did I ‘ave to throw a man out for trying anything on her, and that was after she’d already damaged his boys herself. After that, the men seemed to get the message. She’s pretty though, and a good barmaid — think that’s why they keep comin’ back.” 

Tommy breathed a short breath of amusement out of his nose at the thought of you fighting. Granted, he’d seen enough fights between Ada and John to know that women would hit where ever they could to get the upper hand in combat, and he didn’t blame her. 

“I promise ‘ya, Tom,” Harry had continued talking. “You can trust her. Whatever business you want to do with me, Y/N could only make it better.” 

“Give me a week to make my own assessment,” Tommy replied. They ironed out the stipulations of how Tommy could make such an assessment and agreed to keep it secret. He could sense Harry’s hesitation, and he wondered if it was out of protectiveness or something else. 

But eventually, a handshake sealed the agreement and Tommy promised to have the deal finalized and ready by the time he finished.

A little more than a week later, and Tommy came to three absolute conclusions about you. 

First: you had a secret. He could tell predominately by the way you talked to people and by the way you carried yourself when you thought people were looking. It wasn’t obvious — in fact, it’s subtlety was one of the more glaring identifiers to someone who was looking as closely as Tommy was. 

Second: you weren’t a threat. At least, not to his family or their operation. Aside from the Garrison, your lodgings, the local grocer, and the bath house that he knew Ada frequented, you didn’t have any odd routes that previous coppers narcs had taken in the past. Y/N hardly had a life outside of the pub, Tommy realized, and found it strange. You didn’t go out with any men or friends, the way other women your age did. Hell, even Ada managed to leave the house at least twice a week to go out with her friends. But not you. 

You were especially less threatening when he caught you on the first night you were closing up the pub since he began his investigation. Everything was going as expected, until about an hour into the clean up when you began to sing. From his spot (which he’d managed to obtain permission from Harry to watch from with the promise that he wouldn’t do anything unsavory or harmful) he could see and watch as you sang some foreign song and danced around frivolously with your broomstick. 

It was hard to imagine you as some nefarious mastermind after watching you slip on a spot of tobacco spit on the floor while extending your arm in front of you and clasping your hand together, then jumping in the air as you shook your fist while singing some repetitive salutations to an invisible audience. 

That had actually caused him to laugh, something he hadn’t done genuinely and wholeheartedly since returning to Birmingham. 

The last conclusion Tommy made while watching you was the oddest, he thought. 

You didn’t smoke. At all. 

He didn’t know anyone who didn’t smoke. Hell, even Finn had been caught smoking a handful of times since the brothers returned. And he was ten years old. 

Tommy chalked the last observation up to the air of posh-ness he sensed you possessed. He felt strangely drawn to it, and after your odd drinking game after he finally approached you did it only increase. 

He still couldn’t quite get a read on you. There was an innocence he could see about you, especially when it came to your understanding of who he was and his place in this world. On the other hand, your eyes held a heavy weight to them that warned him not to underestimate you. That there was wisdom mixed with the innocence that he couldn’t quite detangle. 

He’d gauged your reaction to his reveal that he’d dreamed about you. You’d been genuinely surprised, though that hadn’t brought him much reassurance. If anything, it made him more frustrated by the series of events, especially when he had to use every ounce of resistance not to kiss you.

You'd given him all the signs — hell, he probably could have bed you that night if he’d asked to walk you to your bedroom. But you weren’t just some random woman or a prostitute. He’d asked you to officially work again for their company, for their family. He couldn’t be flippant with his more primitive instincts with you.

Plus, if there was something more going on here, something deeper, he wanted to make sure he had all the answers before he made himself too vulnerable. He had not only himself, but his family to think about.

After he left you at Mrs. Tully’s, he began his search for Johnny Dogs, determined that some kind of explanation had to be found in the Delphi camp. 

But now, you and him were here. And Tommy felt just as confused and frustrated as he had when they first met. 

Just get through the night, Tommy told himself as he led a freaked out you toward the jovial crowd of gypsies dancing around the bon fire. The time for secrets must end. 

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

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