#there’s just something about the lengths a mother would go for her own child | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

houserautha · 2 months

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These Destined Ends

Part 1

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none for this chapter. Masterlist of warnings overarching the series

A/N: Hello! If you’re here then there’s probably something wrong with you too, so let’s be friends. I haven’t been able to write anything lately until I saw the latest Dune movie and then all of my thoughts became dedicated to Feyd-Rautha. I must get these thoughts out. Help. Me.

“Chin up.”

Your mother brushes your hair back, bronze, like hers, and lifts your chin. Her gaze is critical. You stare back, thinking only of the things that she will find fault in you. An endless amount, you muse. The slightest flicker of expression on Lady Jessica’s face informs you that she suspects what you’re thinking. Your teeth grit.

“Must you do that?” You hiss through your painted lips. The servants have dressed you specially for the occasion. A floor-length black dress and, settled on your shoulders, a red cape clasped together with the House of Atreides insignia.

Jessica withdraws her hand. Your mother radiates femininity and power, a feat you’ve yet reached. Even the cool way in which she regards you drips with regality.

“Do what?” She asks, feigning innocence.

“Don’t make me say it.”

Jessica’s blue eyes harden. “You don’t have to, daughter. It’s plain enough.”

Mother and daughter stare at one another.

She tried to teach you the ways of the Bene Gesserits, but you failed to take to it. You were too expressive, too…volatile. You struggled to detect the slightest change in voice, you could never sit still long enough to study, and your facial features always betrayed you. The only aspect you succeeded in was combat — there was no need to mask your feelings, your thoughts, able to just completely lend yourself to the blade.

But it wasn’t enough.

“You’re fortunate the Reverend Mother has chosen to see through with this arrangement,” Jessica all but snarls. “There’s hope for you still, in form of an heir.”

The Kwisatz Haderach.

The only reason your mother still spoke to you, affords you any attention at all. The fact that you’ve been painstakingly bred to produce him: a Bene Gesserit of male origin, capable of accessing the memories of his ancestors and see through time and space itself.

A terrible mantle for an unborn child.

In the black of night, you sometimes lay your hand on your abdomen and utter apologies to the egg nestled in your ovary; burdened with horrible purpose. If only you could avoid its fate. But you were not even in control of your own.

“I want to stay here,” you plea finally, pitifully.

Jessica steps away from you, brushes off her skirt. “You know that you cannot.”

“I can help Father,” you insist. “You know that he worries about gaining the approval of the Fremen. I can —”

“Enough!” The Voice. It snaps your mouth shut and renders you mute. “This is bigger than both of us.” Jessica snatches your upper arm, pulls you close enough to feel the heat of her anger. “Your father wanted a son. A heir. But it was my duty to produce a daughter. I ignored the pleas of your father because I understand what it is to serve. Don’t make me regret my decision.”

You swallow your disgust, though it lingers like a foul taste on your tongue.

This isn’t the first time that your mother has told you this. Nor did you think it would be the last.

Perhaps making a home among your enemies would be better than staying here among family.

“Fine,” you say. You wrench your arm from her grasp then turn away. It’s futile, you know the heighliner will be here soon to whisk you away, but you can’t stand to be in the presence of your mother any longer. Fortunately she lets you go.

You’re not even aware of where your feet are taking you until the familiar sound of the baliset meets your ears. Gurney rests lazily on the ground in the massive corridor, back against the wall and string instrument in his scarred hands. He doesn’t look at you as you approach nor when you collapse down beside him.

Usually Gurney’s situationally appropriate songs bring you a modicum of comfort, but today it seems more ominous than insightful.

“I won’t miss your singing,” you say.

He stops playing. “You jest.”

Playfully, you crack open one eye and peer at his baffled expression. You try not to laugh. “I don’t.” A sigh escapes your mouth then, and you slump further down, uncaring if you rumple your gown. “I will, however, miss the singer.”

“Don’t bother appealing to an old man like me. It won’t get you anywhere.”

“Hm,” is all you say, lost in thought.

Gurney sets the baliset to the side. His hand finds your knee and he squeezes. “You will be fine, Lady Y/N. I’ve taught you well.”

“Not even what you’ve taught me will suffice for what I’m up against.”

“Nonsense.”

Both eyes open now, you stare pleadingly at the swordsmaster. “Just come with me. Please.”

It’s Gurney’s turn to sigh. With a groan he heaves himself to his feet and offers you a hand. “You know that I can’t,” he murmurs.

His loyalty to your father doesn’t extend to you.

He is Leto Atreides, Duke of Arrakis, after all. And you are just his daughter. A pawn. A womb and nothing more.

You reach out to ghost your fingers over the scar on Gurney’s cheek. “Tell me about them.”

The Harkonnens.

“There’s nothing you don’t already know or haven’t learned from the filmbooks,” Gurney says to you in a terribly soft voice. It’s unfitting of the great soldier. “They are a cruel people. Do not trust them.”

You nod, irrationally devastated that your final plea to Gurney did not work. But his words were not anything new.

Nothing you learned about the Harkonnens has been pleasant — from their oppressive rule and misogynistic society down to their industrialized homeworld. Your chest aches.

First you were forced to leave the lush beauty of Caladan for Arrakis. You had even grown admittedly fond of the desert planet, just to yet again be snatched from another home.

“Thank you, Gurney. For everything.”

He dips his chin in acknowledgment, then holds out his arm for you to take.

Gurney has been like a second father to you over the years. While Leto was out securing political alliances and holding meetings, it was Gurney who kept you company. He aided in your combat training and believed in you when no one else did. To lose him would be to lose a great friend, indeed.

By the time you return to the antechamber where you’d been, Leto has arrived. He looks as cunning and handsome as ever, and the smile he flashes you is enough to cut you to the bone.

If what Jessica said was true about your father wanting a son and being sorrowful he did not get one, you would never know. He has only ever made you feel loved.

“My beautiful daughter,” he greets you. He smells wonderful. The same way he did all of those years ago when he would tell you stories of your grandfather and tuck you into bed, his beard tickling your cheek.

You breathe him in for one of the last times. “Hello, father.”

“You look marvelous,” he says. His smile falters slightly. “Are you ready? I wanted to ensure that you’ve said your goodbyes before we leave.”

Bitterly, you think, Before I leave. Everyone else will return to Arrakis and you will be moored on Giedi Prime, married to a bloodthirsty monster and forced to grow round with his child.

The thought makes your knees tremble.

The Harkonnens controlled the fiefdom of Arrakis before your family and were unbelievably outraged that it, and the flow of spice, had been stolen from them. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what your reception on their planet will be like. It’s any luck if you don’t get slaughtered upon arrival.

Especially since the Baron’s nephew, the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha — your betrothed — was known for his brutal nature. You hoped stupidly that the arrangement of marriage and promise of an heir would be enough to keep you alive.

At least for awhile.

Feyd-Rautha killed his own mother. Who knew what the status of wife meant to him?

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” you answer Leto. He squeezes your hand.

You hug Gurney goodbye then board onto the heighliner after your parents. It’s difficult to suppress the tears threatening to fall as the ship takes off in a flurry of sand and departs.

Normally you’d be completely enraptured with the endless golden dunes, but today you stay rooted to your seat and refrain from crying.

The flight to Giedi Prime happens much too quickly for your liking. Already your heart is in your throat, hammering out your nerves in a steady rhythm.

The view from your seat reveals the strange nature of your new home — a black sun. Never again will you see the stretch of blue sky from Caladan or feel the formidable heat of Arrakis. The entire world outside the ship stood in sharp black and white contrast, all color drained from the surroundings and its people.

You spy hoards of Harkonnens gathering beyond the ship, awaiting the arrival of the na-Baron’s wife and their future Baroness.

Your stomach churns. How could you ever lead such ugly, wicked people?

Jessica’s voice engulfs you. “Chin up,” she says again to your dismay. “You mustn’t show any weakness. Not here.”

You raise your chin the slightest amount. Jessica nods stiffly in approval, and it’s in that moment you understand that your mother’s harshness has been preparing you for this. While you hardly feel the urge to forgive her, an odd sense of calm washes over you.

You are an Atreides. And you always will be.

No one can take that from you.

The boarding ramp disengages and you’re the first one to step onto it. A hush of silence befalls the crowds.

You stride forward with as much confidence as you can muster, focusing not on the leering eyes of the Harkonnens but instead on the Baron’s fortress. A large pathway separates you from it, granting you plenty of time to get your fill. It’s as grand as it is excessively boastful; tall, pointed towers cleverly connected, all sharp lines and edges. It leaves the impression of a finely crafted dagger.

A display of power and wealth.

Behind you your parents emerge and the carefully observant crowd launches into disarray — shouts and yells of anger, of hatred, grate your ears. You know that they take it in stride, however, and their strength fortifies your own.

By the time you’ve crossed the distance from the heighliner to the inner walls of the fortress, your eyes are blurried by the strong contrast outside now given away to darkness. It takes a few moments for you to adjust. When you do, you quickly look over your surroundings.

There’s few decorations or art. It’s cold and impersonal and extremely clinical.

Your slippered feet reverberate off the high ceilings.

Bracing yourself, seemingly, has been for no reason. For it’s not the Baron and his nephew that meet you but rather a line of Harkonnen soldiers. Their faces are stoic.

You bristle. “Where is the Baron? And my betrothed? Do they not wish to receive us?”

The soldiers do not answer.

A man appears then from down the hall, a Mentat by the look of him. He’s pale and bald and clad in black like the other Harkonnens.

“My apologies, Lady Y/N,” the Mentat says. “My name is Piter de Vries. I am here to escort you. The Baron and na-Baron will receive you now in the throne room.”

Leto lays a hand on your arm as if to stifle your response. “Please, Piter, lead the way.”

You can’t help but glance curiously at your father. This entire situation was delicate, you knew, but you wonder at his subservience. It’s an insult not to be immediately greeted by their hosts, especially when your guests happen to be the Duke of Arrakis, his concubine, and their daughter. If Leto agrees with this affront, though, he doesn’t show it.

Leto simply strides after Piter with you and your mother in pursuit.

The fortress boasts sleek walls and floors, polished to perfection. Piter guides you to the throne room a short distance away, the sight of it stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s larger than any room you’ve seen before, outfitted on the far side with steps leading up to a grand dais.

And upon the dais, demanding your attention, is Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. The man is as large as the throne room itself but not nearly as impressive, pale and beastly, his enormous weight supported by suspenders. He makes no movement as you enter.

Your gaze moves quickly, eagerly, away from him.

Standing on either side of the dais are his two nephews. Aware that you can’t stand to face your betrothed yet, you fix your attention on his brother. Rabban, you recall his name.

Rabban is bound with hard muscle and swathed in what you can only describe as thinly veiled anger. At his side, his fists clench and unclench restlessly.

Then, without permission, you look to your future husband.

Feyd-Rautha stands as tall as Rabban but roped instead with lean, attractive muscle. His brow sits above dark eyes and a generous mouth. There’s a frightening intensity to the way he stands, encapsulating both nonchalance and a dangerous arrogance. Clearly this man is used to getting his way and will stop at nothing to do so.

And it’s this man that makes no effort to disguise the way he studies you, starting at the top of your head and trickling languidly downward.

A chill dances down your spine.

When he catches this, catches you watching him — he must’ve known that you were — his lips twitch into the faintest of smirks.

Part 2

#dune part two #dune #feyd x you #feyd x reader #feyd rautha #feyd smut

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azsazz · 5 months

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Little Sneak

Daddy!Azriel x Mommy!Reader [Zuzu Centric]

Summary: Anon Req: What about a part 2 to Sticking Together where all the children are older and Zuzu is upset about not being able to go to the camps like her brothers and cousins. Maybe she ends up sneaking off and gets hurt or something. Some lovely angst would be appreciated. Only if you want to of course, pls and thank you.

Warnings: Angst, suggestions of a child going to be harmed (child is not actually harmed)

Word Count: 2,357

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“Why must all my children defy me?” Azriel questions, pacing the length of the room. You’re almost dizzy with it, how long his strides are and how short the path he’s making is. He’s nearly turning in circles now, wings flared with agitation, growing larger and larger the more he works himself up. When he nearly knocks a lamp burning low with a single faelight over, you slip from the bed.

You halt your mate with a soft hand to his shoulder. His wings tuck in tight, not because you’re going to touch them, because his body automatically moves to give you room. You take it, curling yourself against his chest, hands snaking around his waist and thumbing soothing patterns across the dip of his back.

You can feel his muscles contract as he shifts his wings to cocoon the both of you. Darkness shrouds you, but the light casts red through the membranous skin.

It’s a safe place for the both of you, tucked away from the rest of the world without actually removing yourselves from situations where you’re needed. You and Azriel had found yourselves in this position many times—when you first found out you were pregnant with Wren and Azriel was worried you’d have trouble delivering a babe with wings, when Baz nearly burned his hand on an unattended fire. When you had found out that Knox wasn’t going to be able to speak, and when your eldest sons wanted to be allowed to train in the Illyrian camps.

It’s funny that you find yourself here for the exact same reason. Your daughter, Zuzu, Mother bless her, yearns to join her brothers. Both Wren and Baz have completed a year, along with Nyx and Gideon. The four have formed a group just as their fathers had, not taking anyone’s shit no matter how much larger in size they may be. With the High Lord on their side, the young boys got away with much more than they should, though Rhysand does his best not to stick his nose into matters that should be left to camp leaders.

They’ve found their places as young warriors, and though they often get into trouble, you and Azriel are able to spend more time in Velaris, working on a schedule with both Cassian and Rhys, so that one of them is always staying in the family cabins when the boys are in training.

The beat of Azriel’s steady heart is strong, comforting, even though you know he feels as helpless as you do. Each and every one of your children are as stubborn as their father, even the more stoic of the six, like Jax and the twins. Malos could hold a grudge for ages, even against her own siblings. And poor Azriel refuses to admit that it’s a trait he’s bestowed upon the shadowsinger clan.

You squeeze your mate tighter, breathing in his comforting scent. Night-chilled mist from the long fly he’d had to take when Zuzu had told him the news. He hadn’t wanted to hear any part of it; his firstborn daughter wanted to train with males in the camps that will do nothing to look after her well-being. They won’t care if she’s beaten into the snow until she’s unable to move, if she can train as hard as the males, if she can do aerial maneuvers better than them. All they’ll see is a little girl who should be put in her place by the only means they know how.

The females won’t take kindly to her either. They’ll likely be jealous of the girl who’s wings are in perfect shape, who has the ability to fly and train and doesn’t have to spend back-breaking hours washing or cooking. No one but her brothers and cousins will be nice to her.

But she’s determined and headstrong. She’d confided in you first, and while you’d tried to talk her into joining Valkyrie training, she insisted that if there were young girls here willing to fight and join such a cause, why wouldn’t they extend the opportunity to those in the mountains? Your heart aches for your little girl, who wants to see the best in people, give them the chances they’ve long since needed. If she can encourage a single girl in the camps to join them as warriors, she will be proud.

“She means well,” you sigh against Azriel’s chest, hugging him tighter.

“Does she have to mean this well?” he asks, exasperation lining the frown on his face. He rubs your back in a soothing motion, and you know it’s helping him as much as it helps you. His chin rests on top of your head and a moment of silence stretches on as his shadows crawl from the walls, whispering in his ears, reporting back to him on how all of his children are under one roof, sleeping peacefully in their beds. “In a few years, Asteria will want to follow, and I think Rhys will actually kill me.”

“I won’t let him,” you grumble stubbornly, but it doesn’t carve a smile on Azriel’s face like it normally would. “And neither will Zuz.”

All your mate can do is sigh and hold you closer. “I hate that they’re growing up.”

“Me too,” you answer sadly, rocking in place with Az. He caresses the nape of your neck, tilting your face to meet his sad, hazel gaze. “Why didn’t anyone prepare us for the part where our children start growing up?”

Azriel shakes his head, dipping down to kiss you softly, tenderly. You are always his rock in the storms of his life. Always will be.

“I don’t know,” he pecks you on the mouth again, and there’s a glint in his eyes that has your body growing warm. “I do know that we can have another. Then we’ll have a little babe. It will make me feel like I’m not so old, that our youngest aren’t five-years-old.” He says it with a grimace.

The time is flying by, watching your children grow. Wren is a teenager now. A teenager, Mother help you all. And Baz is only growing rowdier with age. Zuzu wants to join her brothers and cousins in the camps, and Jax is still the stoic little boy you’ve ever seen, focused on working through his powers daily. He still struggles sometimes, needs to cuddle up with his father or you for a moment's peace, and he hasn’t shown any interest in being a warrior like his elder siblings, though if Azriel allows Zuzu to join, you’re sure he won’t be far along after. The twins are as inseparable as ever, stirring up mischief with their pesky little shadows. It’s nice to have them all still so close, but you know it won’t be that way soon.

“Can you imagine another one?” You ask, amused at the thought. More chaos, and you’re not entirely sure how your six children would react. You already have so many, what would they think?

“Yes,” Azriel answers, tone heated. He presses his hips more firmly against your own and you can feel the hardness of his cock in his pants. It makes your thighs go molten, especially when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’s going to both devour and worship you all night long. “Let’s put this conversation on hold.”

You can’t disagree with that.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

His shadows wake him up.

Azriel has gotten used to their presence, but his body is accustomed to them, awakening at the slightest sort of unease from them. Like right now.

He bolts from the bed, awakening you in the process. He almost feels bad at the hammering of your heart he can feel echoing in his chest, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been alerted that one of his children is currently missing from his home, and she hasn’t been located in the darkness of the camp yet.

“What’s going on?” You’re alert now. There’s something seriously wrong, by the look on Azriel’s face. The way that it’s set in stone yet his brows are furrowed with worry. Not the kind of worry where something is amiss in Velaris, but it looks like he had when Knox had been taken from you, the horror riddling his hazel gaze makes your stomach plummet.

“Zuzu isn’t in her bed,” Azriel answers, and he’s already dressed and heading out into the cold. You don’t expect him to wait for you, the both of you have a way of attacking these things as a team now, and you’re safer here with the rest of the children, anyway, and he curses himself once again for allowing his children to train at the Illyrian camps.

He doesn’t know how she’s managed to evade his shadows this time. His children are sneaky, quickly learning and testing how to keep from his radar, but Azriel is 500 years old and prides himself on his alertness.

Up until now.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. His mind is a mess with ‘what if’s’ and he can’t allow himself to begin pulling at that thread or he might very well decimate this entire camp.

He very well might, anyway.

Azriel’s already reaching out to Rhysand, waking him from his deep slumber and alerting the Inner Circle. He knows the High Lord will be here within minutes on a plume of black that no one wants to see. Zuzu has been Rhysand’s favorite from the moment she decided to toddle behind him into the longest meeting he’s ever had the displeasure of attending. But Zuzu had made it bearable, sitting in his lap and cuddling up in his arms like he wasn’t discussing convicts in the Prison nor how his armies might be able to help Springs.

A soft yelp is carried on a wisp of darkness from his shadows, his head whipping to where they’re alerting him. It’s Zuzu, and she’s whimpering a little as sharp nails dig into her coat, despite the thick jacket she’s pulled haphazardly around her shoulders. Her boots are untied, and the powdery snow is downtrodden with her footprints.

Azriel moves as quick as the night. He’s known for being undetectable, a whisper of a chilled breeze chasing through the trees. Tonight, though, he doesn’t mask the crunch of his boots in the snow, doesn’t smother the bright blue beaming from the seven stones adorning his armor. His knives are unsheathed at his side, steel singing for the promise of blood.

There’s a soft sound, like his daughter's cry has been muffled, and it fuels his anger, letting his body fill with black ink. It spills off of Azriel in waves, a death god come to seek his vengeance.

The clearing is a circlet of trees and fresh snow. The moon drips down into the open field, where Zuzu scratches at her captor. The female trying to pin his little girl to the ground hisses as her skin breaks beneath Zuzu’s nails. Azriel’s heart swells with pride as his daughter fights back, but this moment alone has made him realize that she does need proper training, and if she wants to join the ranks with her brothers and show all of these Illyrian swill what she’s made of, she will get that.

Azriel doesn’t recognize the female as he rips her away from his daughter by a fistful of hair. The female yelps in surprise, then screams in fear as she topples backwards, the avenging shadowsinger towering over her.

As if she thought she could get away with attempting to harm one of his children.

He feels the night air shifting behind him as he makes sure that his daughter is okay. Rhysand and Cassian appear before the female can gain her footing and take off, Cassian planting a foot in the middle of her back to keep her pinned to the frozen ground while Azriel consoles his daughter. Zuzu’s sniveling, fat tears rolling down her red cheeks as they escape. She doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want to show her father that she’s scared, but they fall without her permission anyway.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

Azriel’s heart cracks a little, molten lava of anger filling the cracks. This female won’t last the fucking night. And if she does, it’s because he’s going to make her death last as long as possible for even thinking of touching his daughter. For making her cry.

He hushes her, a soft noise that makes her clutch onto his shoulders tighter. Azriel’s not wearing a coat, but he’s used to the temperatures, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins helps quell the bitter chill. He sends a reassuring feeling down the bond to you and your relief flushes his body tenfold, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“Are you okay, my love?” Azriel asks her, wiping the tears from Zuzu’s eyes. He swings her up into his arms, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead as he pins the female to her spot in the snow with furious golden eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Zuzu shakes her head and his knees nearly give out with relief. He sways them back and forth, whispering reassurances into Zuzu’s ears until she’s calmed down, before passing her off to Rhys who holds her just as tightly.

“Uncle Rhys is going to take you back to mommy, okay, Zuz? I’ll be back in a little bit.”

She agrees, blinking up at him with her big eyes. Azriel watches her try to look over her uncle's shoulder to see the female spitting vitriol at Cassian. Rhys doesn’t allow her gaze to see what’s going on over there, instead drawing her attention to him, shifting her so she can’t see, and disappearing into the night to bring Zuzu home.

Cassian crouches down to the female, grinding her face into the snow to stop the comments spewing from her lips. He whispers something so low that makes her entire body freeze, then thrash as if she actually has a chance of escaping.

Azriel steps up to her, a murderous look in his eyes, and he lets his blades do the talking.

#azriel x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel/reader #daddy!azriel #azsazz zuzu

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rogueshadow1124 · 30 days

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THE NEWS

[BATFAMILY IMAGINE SERIES]

Summary: Bruce and his wife Y/N have something to share with the boys but how would they take it?...

Word count: 1420

Warnings: none?

Bruce Wayne, eccentric billionaire of Gotham city had four sons, three of which were adopted. Y/N Wayne has been his beloved wife for six years now, she had been as good as a mother could be for the boys though they were not her own kin, she did everything for them and didnt hesitate to protect them when needed. Her life revolved around them and all four of them knew that, they adored her just as much as she adored them.

Dick moved out a couple of years ago, Y/N at first was sad since he was the one she had known the longest and he was her first 'son', she understood that he was a grown man now and he needed his own space. Jason switched between the manor and an apartment he owned, sometimes he got homesick which made him feel distressed but he always had the comfort of his 'mother' waiting for him whenever he needed.

Tim had only really just turned seventeen, he was still a child and therefore still in Bruce and Y/N's custody, he has been working hard lately due to him being in college and he's pushing through the darkness of reality to have a successful life. Then there was Damian, he was the baby of the family at the age of fourteen, though he liked to act way older than he really is, being quite mature for his age, he can also be a little broody at times but you know what some say, like father like son, right?

At this point they had all become a big family, perfect but dysfunctional.

"How are we supposed to tell them Bruce? What if they dont take it very well?" Y/N rushed, looking up at her husband who chuckled at her anxious ness.

"Your over thinking it again darling, everything will be perfectly fine. I promise." Bruce slathered an arm around her waist and pulled into his bigger form, rubbing up and down the length of her arm with his other hand.

"Are you sure. Oh what about Damian, I'm sure he wont like this-" Her tone became more distressed as she went on, her hand coming up to rest on her heavy eyes as she let out a shaky breath.

"Dont worry about it Y/N, I'm sure the boys will be delighted. In their own ways." He stated, whispering the last part of the sentence which didnt go unheard by his wife who whined out and hit his chest several times, sending him a glare. "Hey. Everything will be fine."

The woman took a seat on the couch, groaning when she heard the loud thudding sequence of steps that were emitting for the hall. Her elbows came to rest on her knees, body slouching over while her hands held her head up, Bruce sighed lightly and sat beside her, placing and arm around her shoulder in a form of comfort.

"So what'dya wanna talk about Ma'." Jason's voice called out as he entered the room, being followed by the other three boys behind him.

"I-i just..." She wiped her hands down her jeans, looking up at the boys that were watching her nervous movements, Bruce took both of her hands in his and sent her reassuring smile when she glanced his way and nodded slightly. "Well- y-your going to be big brothers."

"W-what?" Dick and Tim squeaked, eyes widening in shock as there mouths fell a gape. They looked at each other and then to the others before facing the adults again, Y/N smiled sheepishly and Bruce arched a brow at them motioning towards the woman who shook in anxious ness.

"Y-your pregnant?" Jason heaved out, a small smile coming to his lips when he looked towards his mother figure.

"Yeah..." Y/N stood up from her place on the couch, along with Bruce who was still trying to comfort her as she was still a little shaky from the nervousness. Her eyes trailed over the boys and fell on Damian who had a neutral look on his face, no emotion present. "D-dami?"

The boy looked at her for split second with squinted eyes before spinning on his heel and rushing out of the room. A hard clutter of footsteps could behead thumping up the stairs, a few seconds later the sound of a door slamming shout could be heard.

"Mum are you-" Tim stepped forwards, looking at the woman with worry in his eyes as he saw the tears start to gather in her own. She shook her head, smiling at him with a sniffle.

She whispered a 'yes' looking back at Bruce momentarily the proceeded to walk away from him, passing the boys to exit the lounge area. Her eyes peered up to the landing, a heavy breath passing her lips when she started to make her way up the stairs.

She hopped up them quickly, strolling down the landing to the end where Damians room was. Her hand rose to the dark oak, hesitation hitting her but she pushed aside the sad feeling that she had felt and knocked on the door three times, hearing shuffling before the door swung open to reveal the small ravenette. Damian held eye contact with the woman intensely, tilting his head to the side. He sighed, rolling his eyes and walked backwards into his room, leaving the door open which was a silent way fo telling her she could enter if she wanted to.

"Dami, i-i never meant to upset you-"

"I'm not upset." He cut her off, turning around to look at her. His blue orbs widened when he saw tears returning to her eyes, a feeling of guilt seeping through the barrier he held. "Al'umu?"

"I'm sorry Damian, really I am." She muttered, wiping her eyes and attempted to send a smile his way but failed immensely when her bottom lip began to tremble, a burn setting in the back of her throat as she tried to hold back the tears.

"Theres nothing to be sorry for Al'umu, I just appear to- to feel jealous." Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion, Damian looked down in shame, falling back to sit on the edge of his bed as he grumbled a few curses under his breath.

"I dont understand." She walked over to his bed and crouched down infront of him, raising a hand to push the pieces of hair away so they disnt block his face. She brushed a finger of his cheek, lifting up his chin so he looked at her. "I need you to know, you can never be replaced Dami. I wont allow that to happen, you'll still always be important just as much as the others and this baby."

"But-"

"No Damian, sure at first the baby will need alot of attention but I wont allow any of you boys to feel left out. Besides, you'll always my baby Wayne, Dame." Y/N stood up, pulling the boy with her, bringing him into het embrace which he accepted right away. She placed a kiss at the top of his head and brought him in closer, chuckling when he snuggled closer.

"Aw- who'da thought Demon was soft." Jason's voice echoed through the room making the two look towards the archway, spotting Jason along with Bruce and the other two boys whi smiled at the sight before them.

"Shut it Todd. Fuck you, I'm not soft." Damian went to pull away from Y/N but was pulled back into the hug, much to his dismay as he didnt want anyone to see him in this 'state'.

"You want a hug too Jay?" She tilted her head with a smirk, letting Damian free from her grasp. Her eyes squinted at the second oldest who frowned and looked at her but ended up nodding walking towards her and encasing her in his arms.

"Group hug!" Dick called out, grabbing Tim's arm and rushed to join the hug. Y/N chuckled reaching an arm out to the side, pulling the two boys in. Damian was now stuck at her side since Dick and Tim were blocking his exit.

"C'mon Bruce." The man scoffed, rolling his eyes playfully before making his way towards the crowding hug. He walked around to the back so his chest was against Y/N's back and he wrapped his arms around the boys, smiling at the moment they are having together at this time.

#batfamily x reader #batfamily #batmom #batboys #gotham #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #x reader #tim drake #bruce wayne #wholesome

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mamsieur · 7 months

Text

Used to it | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Summary : Being Pete Mitchell's daughter has never been easy. But maybe one mission could bring you back together ?

TW : angst and fluff, angst with a happy ending, mention of alcohol, panic attack, canonical character death, age gap (reader is 27 and Bradley is 35)

Length : 7156 words

AN : I'm sorry for making Pete seem like a bad father but that man is not stable enough to handle a child in my opinion.

posted on AO3 July 12, 2023

You were 7 when your mother left your father, Pete Mitchell.

You didn't have many early memories of him. There were only the arguments with your mother, his departures on missions that left you in tears, the missed birthdays and Christmases. It’s all you’ve ever known so you were used to it and being a child, you found it normal.

You were 7 when your mother decided to move out, leaving your whole life behind. You remember crying your eyes out in protest. As your mom tried desperately to get you out of the house, you clung with all your might to Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw was 15 and your regular babysitter, though your mother thought of him as a son, Carole and her were really close. They liked to remind you that when you were 4, you proudly announced that you were going to marry him. Bradley was almost always around, and Pete was his godfather, and they had a bond you envied. Despite the eight-year age difference, you remember being very close to your "Bradbrad" . He never pushed you away, was always ready to play Lego or other board games with you. He even took you to the park or with him when he went to the theater with his friends - when the movies were kids friendly -.

You were 7 , and your whole world shattered. No more Bradley, no more hanging to the naval base to have a glimpse of your dad and his incredible plane, no more aunty Carole and her sweet singing. You had hated your mom for years before understanding you left for the best. She was finally happy ; not completely, she missed her friends and sometimes your father, but you could feel that she was happier away from the hustle and bustle of the navy, of your dad. You were not used to the strange calmness of the city, but your grandparents made it easy to adapt. Soon enough, you got used to the loving cocoon your mother succeeded to create around you.

You were 16, at your mother's funeral, when you had to accept the fact that you had to go back to live with Pete. When the two of you finally found each other in the crowd, he didn't say much, just gave you a few brief updates. You asked him about Bradley, a bit sad to not have seen him here, and he didn't have much to say. Only that the two of them were no longer as close as they had been.

The silence between you was uncomfortable.

Of course, Pete had kept in touch over the years, calling on your birthdays, sending a little something. You spent some Christmas with him when he wasn't working and a few days during the summer break ; but Pete Mitchell loved his work too much to focus on you. As long as you lived with your mother, Pete's absence from your life wasn't something you suffered from, at least not really.

You were used to it. Used to the absence, used to the missed calls, used to the Christmases with the attention of other aviators and their families but the ignorance of your dad, used to the unanswered phone calls. Used to his silence.

But now your mum was dead... and you were dreading having to join your father in California.

You were 16 and you didn't want to live with him, you already knew what would happen ; he'd go flying, on a mission or for his own pleasure, leaving you alone at home - if you could call it home. The hangar where he lived now was something you'd always hated . It had no place for anything or anyone other than his passion for the sky, for planes and speed. You didn't want to leave your new life, even though you loved California. Your school, your friends, your family, your routine. But you didn't really have much of a choice. You were 16. He was now your legal guardian and you didn't want to drag your grandparents into a custody battle. Even though part of you told yourself that your dad would probably agree to let you stay with them, you didn't want to take that chance. And you hoped he'd be more present, that you'd finally have the father you'd dreamed of, that your other friends had. If other military parents could be there for their children, why couldn't Pete?

Perhaps because Pete loved flying more than anything else in the world. The sky was his one true love.

Even though you knew it, you held out the faintest hope that he would finally take his responsibilities as a father. Unfortunately, Pete was still Pete. He wasn't cut out to be a father. A fun uncle, maybe. A parent, no. The fact that Bradley no longer spoke to him proved that.

You were 18 when you packed your bags and headed off to the naval school in Maryland. You wanted to be a pilot too. And you wanted to get away from that bloody hangar, so empty, so alone.

Pete wasn't there when you left. Not even a message or a note. Nothing at all.

You weren't even surprised.

It was Tom Kazansky - Uncle Tom - who had taken you to the airport. He had been more present in your life than your own father, even though you rarely saw him. You knew your relationship with Pete was a sensitive subject, and you knew when Tom gave him a hard time. Pete was suddenly more present - too present . He'd pop into your life for a few days, trying to be the cool or bossy dad, but it always ended in a fight.

You hated it when he did that. You hated the way he would act like your friend, or like a strict parent, talking about curfew and how no boys were allowed in his 'home'. You hated the way he would try to be the father that he had never been in your whole life. You hated the way he tried to convince you that he was trying to change, that he'd be there for you.

But you couldn't blame Uncle Tom for trying to shake your father. He had children too, but despite his love of the air, he had been a present parent to them.

But some days were not as bad as others. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood, Pete would take you flying. And even though it was hard to admit, you were a bit of a flier yourself. The feeling of freedom, of being alone in a comforting way. It was mesmerizing.

So, without him knowing, you decided to join the navy after graduation. You took your mother's name, Evans , so that you would not attract attention. Only Tom knew, so your dad wouldn't and couldn't pull your papers like he did with Bradley.

You found out that he had done this when you saw Bradley one day in the summer before you made your choice. At first you did not recognize him. He was 26 now. He was taller, more muscular and had a 80s mustache that suited him well - puberty had treated him really good. He was the spitting image of his father, whom you'd only seen in photographs and heard about when Tom and Pete reminisced over drinks about the past.

But Bradley had the same look in his eyes as his mother, Carole.

As a child, you adored Carole. She was always there to comfort you when your parents were at odds, picking you up from kindergarten when your father was on a mission and your mother was at work… She was kind of a second mom. You went to her funeral with your mother eight years ago, you never cried so much.

The summer of your reunion with Bradley had been the summer of his return from the Naval Academy, which he had graduated from with honors. He was a very good pilot and would soon be going on a mission. The day before he left, you snuck out of the hangar to meet him at a nearby bar. He had celebrated his departure with you and a handful of friends, promising to keep in touch as often as possible. As he left, you realized how much you'd missed your Bradbrad.

You were 18, and you remembered how quiet the ride to the airport had been. Part of you wanted to stay. You loved California. It was close to the ocean, the people were friendly, and at the Navy base everyone knew you.

You'd even earned a nickname, the call sign you hoped to use soon : Tempest . It was a bittersweet memory of a stormy night when Pete "forgot" to pick you up from baseball practice. You had landed on the base, mad as hell, soaked to the bone. You'd yelled at your father as hard as the storm had raged. It had been a huge fight. And of course, everyone had heard. Surprisingly, many had defended you rather than your father. You were relieved then. And to cheer you up while your dad was embarrassed, Tom took you to your favorite fast food and laughed with you about the scene. "You walked in there like a damn storm, a tempest ! Heck, that should be your call sign when you join the ranks !" You smiled as you remembered his raspy laugh and all the stories he told you about his days at Topgun .

It was through those stories that you learned a little bit more about your father, The Maverick . His accomplishments, his reckless attitude in the air, his urge to always define what’s possible and pushing the limits. Your desire, your need , to join the Navy to become a pilot only grew, digging a hole of longing for the sky deep inside you. You wanted your father to see you, to acknowledge you. You wanted to be more like him.

You were 27 years old when you were called to the NAS North Island for a "top secret" mission that required "the best of the best". To your surprise, you were one of the youngest and one of the only women. But you'd missed California too much to worry about such details. Like many pilots, you had joined the Hard Deck for a drink the day before training began. You soon met Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Two strong personalities. Then came Javy “Coyote” Machado and Robert "Bob" Floyd. He was discreet, a bit shy. And before you could introduce yourself to the others, someone entered the bar and caught Jake's eye.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

"Hangman. You look... good." His voice was behind you and you didn't dare turn around to see him.

"Well, I am good. I'm very good Rooster ."

You let the two men talk, then Bradley greeted Natasha and the others. At last, his gaze landed on you. You couldn't help but smile stupidly. He looked so surprised and happy. "Y/N Tempest Evans?!"

"Hey Bradbrad ..." you smiled and happily accepted his embrace. He squeezed you against him and asked you all about your journey, which you happily did, while in the distance the bell rang, indicating that a customer couldn't pay his bill and had to be kicked out. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you recognized your father, but Jake and Javy had already grabbed him by the arms and dragged him outside. You didn’t have the time to really think about it, Bradley taking you by the hand to sing with him at the piano. You laughed and followed him with the others in his Great balls of fire ’s reprise. It had been a great night.

The next day, at the first meeting, you thought your heart stopped when you saw that your instructor was actually Pete... and from the look on his face, he wasn't happy to see you there. Before the meeting was over, you heard his voice call your name ; it had a barely disguised note of anger. "Lieutenant Evans. You’ll stay after training, we'll have a word."

Bradley looked at you, concerned. He knew that you had never told Pete about the Navy, but he didn't know that even after nine years, your father was still unaware of your career. The others were confused and you could feel questioning gazes on you. Great way to begin this thing , you thought.

You were 27 and a very good pilot. An excellent one. One of the best. That's why you were here after all, wasn’t it ? You walked in your father’s footsteps, perhaps as talented as him at that age. But you were also as reckless as him, living up to your callsign. A tempest was never soft or delicate, neither were you. You had risked your life so many times in your five years of service. Tom often told you that you were just like your father and that it scared him. You didn’t think, you just did , you wanted to go faster, higher and further. Acting like the storm that you were, leaving your enemies confused by what had just happened. The adrenaline, the speed, the immensity of the sky, the feeling of freedom... you finally understood why Pete loved being in his plane so much. You felt a little closer to him in those moments.

And yet, in nine years of absence, he had never once contacted you. You had disappeared one day and he hadn't even looked for you. Your uncle had promised not to say anything about your career, but Pete hadn't even been interested in why or where you were going.

Seeing him angry made you furious . How could he have the nerve to be mad at you?

After the training and the 200 pushups you had to do because - of course - you didn't beat your old man, you stayed on deck and waited for the others to leave. Bradley gave you a little squeeze on the shoulder, as if to give you strength, and reluctantly left. You heard Hondo telling Pete to calm himself before saying things he might regret out of anger.

Once again, the silence between you and your father was heavy.

You couldn't take your eyes off him, waiting for him to finally speak. You could see that he was trying to stay calm. But you already felt like exploding . You could feel the reproaches, the so-called concern. You could feel that he wanted to push you away .

"Y/N... how did you... you went to the Academy behind my back?!"

"Iceman," you replied simply, your eyes and voice cold. "And you never asked where I was either."

"You-?! I should have known, you lied to me."

“It’s not lying if you’re not asked.” you mutter, “You taught me that.”

“Now’s not the time to play that game Y/N,” he snapped, "you can't be here."

"With all due respect, Captain, that's not your call."

You really tried to remain calm, knowing that the others must have been listening nearby - especially Jake. You didn't want to draw any more attention, but you felt your blood boiling under your skin.

"I will talk to Vice Admiral Simpson about this. I don't suppose anyone's made the connection between us. But now there's clearly a conflict of interest-"

"You have no right to take this mission away from me. It's not fair," you gasped, eyes wide.

"I am your father ! I can and will do it."

"What ?! No ! No, you can't ! 9 years of nothing but silence and now you're acting like a worried father ?!" you snapped, moving towards him and pointing an accusing finger. A nervous laugh escaped you and you sighed, pursing your lips. "Why do you always have to act like this ? You've never acted like a father to me, except to get in my way !"

"Get in your way ? No ! I care about you-"

"Really ?!" you cut him off, raising your voice, "Then where have you been for 9 years ?! What did Tom have to say to you that you weren't even lookin' for me ? Where was all this care when I left and you were not here ? Where were you huh ?! Where was all that concern ?!"

Pete's eyes widened and he searched for words. He should have known that he could not argue with your point so he just huffed then scolded. "I'm your captain, Lieutenant Evans ! Keep your voice down !"

"Oh, now it's not my father talking ?!" you couldn't hold back a nervous, fake laugh. "You see how you are ?! Always twisting things your way ?! Why are you avoiding that conversation ? Why are you running away again ?!" you’re almost screaming, inches close to him, eyes locked in his.

"Lieutenant Evans !" he growled. You grumbled and let out a heavy sight, calming yourself. You stepped back and clenched your fists along your body.

"Will that be all, Captain Mitchell ?"

You clenched your fists even harder, your knuckles turning white. You wanted to physically shake him to finally have answers. But you couldn’t, at least not here, not now.

"Y/N..." he huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Will that be all, Captain ?" you repeated, your voice slightly trembling. Tears of rage threatened to fall. You held them back, too proud to cry in front of him. Pete looked at you and sighed quietly.

"You're dismissed Lieutenant Evans..."

You left the deck with a quick stride. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a mixture of anger, frustration and sadness. Of course, the rest of the squadron was there, already clean and changed. Seeing the anger in your eyes, no one said a word, not even Hangman. He just stared at you, confused, as you slammed the door of the changing room.

Later that evening, as the squadron relaxed at the bar, Jake couldn't help but bring up the earlier scene.

"So our dear Tempest's dad is the famous Maverick?"

" He's not my father ," you muttered, finishing another beer. "My genitor maybe. But he's not my father."

"Why Evans if Mitchell's your old man?" Jake insisted.

You could hear Bradley and Natasha telling him to drop it, but he kept coming back. You could feel your anger rising again. You downed another beer and slammed the empty bottle down on the table.

"Tell me, Bagman , weren’t you taught to keep your mouth shut about things that don't concern you? I'm sure your mama taught you some manners, didn't she? Now shut up before I put my fist through your face," you growled, half drunk, half angry. Jake scoffed and held his hands up in defense while Bob stopped you from approaching him. Seeing your father enter the bar only made you feel worse. And it took all your patience not to slit Jake's throat on the spot as he continued his overly curious and unpleasant comments with his snide attitude.

Bradley went with you to get some fresh air as he wasn't too keen on seeing Pete either. When you arrived at the beach, a wave of sadness washed over you. You knew that your father would do everything in his power to get you out of this mission, but what was worse was that he didn't even try to talk to you, to reconnect. Your shoulders shook and you couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Only a sobbing hiccup betrayed you and Bradley rushed to take you in his arms. You felt the strength leave your legs and the two of you ended up sitting in the sand, crying your eyes out and clinging to Bradley. "I've got you... Let it all out..." he murmured between two kisses on the top of your head. His big hands gently stroked your back, letting go of all your pain. "It's okay, baby girl... it's okay..."

Bradley and you practically lived together now. You’ve inherited your mom’s old house by the ocean and it’s confier than being on base. So those kinds of pet names were almost common now. But this time you didn’t blush at it, your emotions a mess.

You cried against him for a long time, as you hadn't done for many years. Rooster held you until you calmed down. "It's not fair..." you whispered, sniffling. "He's going to take me off the mission..."

"He won't be able to... Ice recommended you... there's nothing he can do about it..."

You shrugged, not really sure if Tom could help you. He was very ill and you didn't want to tire him out with your disagreements with your father.

“He’s just an old dickhead, don’t worry…” Bradley tried to cheer you up but you’re too distraught to play along. After a little less than an hour later, you find the force to get up and you head home with him. You fall asleep in the car and wake up the next morning in your bed.

There wasn't much time left before the mission. Training sessions were coming up and so were your fights with Pete. Cyclone hadn't pulled you out of the mission, but you weren't sure if it was to spite your father or because he felt you were capable of succeeding, just like your comrades.

Days passed at an alarming pace. The team slowly bonded through group exercises and moments of relaxation, especially with the game your father had invented: dogfight football.

You couldn't lie, it felt good to have such moments. But your father still didn't talk to you and you were still angry. You remained professional, but you couldn't stand his fatherly attitude towards you.

All your hopes of renewing real ties disappeared when you learned of Tom's death. You had seen him the day before and he had made you promise to try to take care of Pete. His funeral was one of the hardest moments of your life.

And because bad news never comes alone, the mission was moved up by a week. Pete was temporarily relieved of his duties, as Admiral Simpson still believed his plan of attack was doomed to failure. Of course, your father, in his legendary arrogance and cockiness, proved him wrong with an unauthorized flight. Hope rose in the team but it was still a very risky plan.

Cyclone decided to make Pete team leader, and not surprisingly, he didn't choose you as his wingman. Part of you was angry because you felt you could do it, and another part of you was mortified when he announced that his choice would be Bradley. This mission was suicide, and you couldn't afford to lose them both. You couldn't afford to lose anyone in the squadron, but these two, it was just too much.

You didn't catch up with Pete as much as you wanted to, there were still so many questions left unanswered, so much time to make up for… You hadn't been able to make things right with your dad, you hadn't been able to tell him that you had this passion for aviation because of him. You hadn't been able to tell him that you regretted not telling him about the academy, that you regretted the 9 years of distance between you...

And you didn't spend enough time with Bradley.

Sure, you were always glued to each other in your free time, taking walks on the beach, talking and singing together at the Hard Deck piano, having movie nights... but you didn't want it to stop. Not after you'd half confessed how you felt about him after a few too many drinks, telling him that your 4-year-old declaration still stood. He laughed and told you that he hadn't forgotten either.

On the day of the mission, you barely managed to find your way to your father. "Captain?" your voice was louder than you had expected.

"Lieutenant Evans?"

"I... Before you go, I'd like to talk-"

"We'll talk when I get back."

"... Promise me you'll come back."

For a moment, you were that five-year-old girl again, watching her father leave. Pete must have seen it in your eyes and climbed down from the cockpit to take you in his arms. "I promise I'll come back in one piece, kiddo..." You hugged him tightly and nodded in agreement. After a few seconds, you let go and let him settle down. You ran to Bradley and made him promise you the same. He smiled confidently, even though you knew he was stressed. "Don't worry, we've got a Star Wars marathon to watch," he smiled before gently and discreetly kissing your forehead. You blushed and nodded, a worried little smile on your face.

Reluctantly, you left the track and joined Jake. You were glued to your radios, following the progress of the mission. Everything was going well until two enemy fighters spotted them.

You stopped breathing.

First they had Bradley in sight and locked on.

The enemy fired.

But your father took the brunt of the missiles and saved Rooster.

Your brain didn't know how to process all this information and shut down when you heard Bradley's decision to go after Pete before getting shot down too.

You don't remember much else. All you knew is that Jake had to leave in a hurry to find and rescue them. When they landed with that really out beat up F-14, you rushed out on deck to greet them, swallowing all your worry and anger at their unconscious behavior for the moment.

Once ashore, the entire crew decided to celebrate their success at Penny's Bar, dragging Pete with them. You stayed close to Bradley, as if afraid that it was all a dream and that he wasn't really there. He wouldn't let go of you either, his arm tight around you. You felt like a schoolgirl, it was stupidly comfortable. You looked at Pete, who was happily chatting with Penny and other members of the team. You didn't want to spoil the evening with a discussion that was out of your control…

Around one o'clock you went out for some fresh air, leaving Bradley to play with those who hadn't returned home yet ; Reuben, Natasha, Mickey and Javy.

As a cold shiver ran through you, you felt a heavy jacket on your shoulders. You immediately recognized the peculiar smell ; old whiskey mixed with motor oil and a hint of cologne.

" Dad ? "

"I thought you wanted to talk ?" he asked quietly, moving toward the beach. You nodded and took his pinky with yours like a child, searching for your words.

"I'm sorry..." you breathed, holding back your tears. "For going to the Academy behind your back and not telling you… not talking to you for almost ten years... I know that giving news is supposed to go both ways and all, but... but you weren't even there when I left... and I guess... I guess I resented you as much as I wanted you to be there, you know ?" you sniffed before continuing your monologue. "I just wanted you to see me . ‘Cause… it’s because of you I wanted to go down this road, you gave me this love for flight, for speed, for the sky. I... I just wanted you to be happy that we finally had something in common, but... but you had already pulled Bradley's papers, so I didn't think and I just did what seemed most logical and easiest. Take Mom's name, ask Ice not to tell you. I know it was stupid… but I also know it would have hurt too much if you had stopped me. And... And then no news for nine years... It hurt even more. The Academy and my first years of service weren't what I thought they would be... it was rough and sometimes I just… I just wanted to call you to come and pick me from there… but… but I wouldn't change that for the world. Because I’m still a Mitchell and Mitchells never quit right ?” You took a few seconds, your gaze meeting his, to see if he wanted to intervene but he didn’t. He just looked at you, taking all the information you gave him. You let out a shaky breath, playing with the sleeves of his jacket nervously. “And I know you must and may resent me for the rest of my life, but… but I just wanted you to be proud of me and... and for us to finally be a family." You bit your lip, trying to calm the flow of emotions that came through.

The sky began to rumble and your father remained silent after your speech. A few tears rolled down your cheeks as he couldn't find the words.

"Please, Dad, say something..." you sighed, your voice breaking.

The rain began to fall slowly and Pete's silence was too much for your heart to take. He couldn't even look at you anymore. You thought you could take it ; you were used to his silenced treatment, used to the fact that he couldn’t express his feelings. But right now, you needed him to speak, to ease your worries, to confront you.

"Dad... please... I'm begging you... talk to me…" you repeated desperately.

You broke down again and cried like a little girl in front of your mute father. You hated that he couldn't open up to you and you hated that he saw you so frail, so fragile. Your sobs mingled with the rain, which grew heavier, the wind and waves making the silence deafening. You bit your lip and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, in vain.

"I know I'm not... I know you didn't plan… you didn’t want to have me with mom-"

"No, it's true... I never planned to be a father... The very idea of having children terrified me and still does," Pete interrupted you, "but... you're one of the most beautiful things, if not the most, that has ever happened to me. And I'm petrified of anything happening to you, I'm helpless on so many levels... and I... I didn't know how to be there when you needed me... I know I must have let you down a lot..." He sighed, catching his breath and holding back his own tears. "I thought... it would be best for both of us to let you have your freedom... but the weeks, months and years went by and I didn't have the guts to try to contact you. I was too ashamed... but Y/N, I never stopped loving you... you're my daughter... and even if you have my damn temper and your mom’s stubbornness," you couldn't hold back a little laugh and a slight smile despite your tears, which your father tenderly chased away with his thumb, "you'll always be my little girl, too eager to get on our little plane for a ride, passionate and fierce… I don’t resent you… I think I would have done it your way if my old man put me in this situation…" He allowed himself to cry as well as the two of you finally hugged each other, relieved of an enormous weight.

"I love you too, Dad... sorry for everything..." you mumbled against his shoulder.

"No, no… I’m sorry… It's my turn to apologize, sweetheart..."

The two of you lay embracing in the rain for a while, making up for years of distance in a few minutes. You were the first to let go. You once again took his hand like a child.

"We better get back before Hangman starts gossiping..."

"Or before Bradley starts worrying," Pete teased. You blushed and looked at him with wide eyes. "What? Like I haven't noticed the way you two look at each other. I'm not that blind kid!" He laughed “Ah… your mom and Carole would have been thrilled !”

You returned to the bar, soaking wet, chatting about anything and everything. Seeing you, Bradley's expression changed from worried to relieved, then back to worried as he noticed you were shivering a little from the cold. He politely left his conversation with Mickey to join you.

"Are you okay? Do you want to go home and change?"

"That would be a good idea..." you smiled at him. You had to admit you were exhausted from this rollercoaster of emotions. You said goodbye to the others from a distance, then to your father in a final hug, and followed Bradley back to his old blue Bronco. The two of you made your way to your small house.

Bradley was a good roommate. You each had your own room, but you often fell asleep together in front of the TV or on one of your beds after long late-night discussions. You liked the routine you created. And you hoped with all your might that nothing would change. But your feelings for him were becoming more and more obvious in your mind and heart. You wondered how much longer you could hide it.

Seeing you so silent, Bradley placed his hand on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Are you all right, lil’ Tempest?"

His eyes never left the road as his thumb traced small circles on your jeans. A shiver ran through your entire body and you wished this contact would never end.

"Everything's fine Roo... don't worry..."

"Okay..."

He squeezed your knee again and left his hand on your thigh. The warmth of his palm made you shiver and you placed your hand on top of his shyly. Once again, you felt like a teenager. It was stupid.

The ride home was rather quiet, in a comforting way, Bradley driving carefully in the pouring rain and humming the song that passed on the radio. When he parked, you stayed in the car for a moment. You sensed that he had something he wanted to say to you, and he sensed the same thing on your side. After a few minutes of silence and shy glances, he smiled at you, got out of the car, and you followed. He ran to unlock the door and waited for you under the porch.

You wanted to run as well, but your legs felt heavy. That's when your anxiety decided to take over. The stress and worry of the past few days were finally catching up to you. As you saw Bradley step out into the rain with a worried expression, the conversation on the radio played in your head. Your father's F-18 had exploded, and Bradley was on his way to pick him up. And now it was his turn to go down. A huge pressure on your chest stopped you from breathing and new tears rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't move, pinned to the pavement. Silent sobs shook you as your vision blurred. You couldn't see or hear Bradley any more. You felt so alone, so cold. Your panic attack froze you under the heavy rain and you couldn't get out of it. You couldn't hear anything except the intense ringing in your ear. You wanted to throw up. The world spun around you as your mind screamed what the communications officer had said earlier, "Maverick's down ! Rooster's down !"

They were dead.

For the long forty minutes or so that followed, they were dead . And you were stuck in that loop. One minute everything was fine, the mission was a complete success. The next, the last two most important people in your life were dead. The ground began to feel strangely unstable as you fought harder to breathe. Eventually your legs gave out and you felt yourself fall, but you didn't hit the ground. You felt two arms around you, holding you securely but not too tightly, then lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. The buzzing in your ears slowly faded away and you didn't feel the rain on your skin anymore. You gasped for air when you finally heard Breadley call your name, concern in his voice. As you raised your eyes to look at him, a sudden relief washed over you and you couldn't help but sob again.

He was home. You were home. With him.

"What's going on, Y/N? Hey... Breathe... breathe and talk to me..." he said quietly.

"I thought... I thought you and Dad... you... you were dead..." you managed to say between sobbing hiccups. You clung to his shirt, afraid he would fade away. He smiled a little and kissed the top of your head as he cupped your cheeks with his calloused hands. Then he took your hands and laid them flat on his heart. You could feel it beating at a regular pace.

"I'm here. I’m okay. You're okay. I'm very much alive, Mav is too, and you're stuck with me, with us, little Tempest..."

"Yeah ? Promise ?" you sniffed, your lower lip still trembling.

"Yeah... Promise." he smiled at you again then hugged you tightly.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, the bristles of his mustache tickling you a little. One of your hands reached up to his neck, your fingers brushing his little hair. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, absorbing each other's presence. You felt so relaxed in his arms, as if you belonged there. Your heart fluttered as you heard him hum one of your favorite songs and then felt him beginning to slow dance with you, taking you peacefully to the bathroom. You were too exhausted and shaken from your panic attack to even ask him what he was doing. You just obliged and listened to him, hypnotized. He declared that you needed a long relaxing bath and in the meantime he would order pizza. He helped you take off your shoes and socks, then your hoodie. He kissed your forehead and let you finish undressing, leaving the bathroom to give you some privacy.

You couldn’t stay too long in the bath, your mind being too loud. You knew you would break down again if you weren’t close to him . Bradley made you feel safe, secure, grounded. That was what you needed to relax. You were so used to being alone before, used to the silence, the empty rooms. But since he decided to kind of move in with you, you couldn’t bear the loneliness. The house was so warm now, so welcoming and comfy.

As you crossed his room after you’ve washed, you noticed that old hoodie you bought him one Christmas when you were in naval school. It’s a silly one, the hood designed to look like a rooster. An amused sigh escaped you and you took it to wear. It was still as soft and comfy as the day you bought it.

“Stealing my clothes I see ?” he chuckled when you joined him in the kitchen.

“Stealing my beers I see ?” you teased him back, pointing at the bottle in his hand, “I thought cranberry beers were for chicks ?”

“Mama Carole didn’t raise me to be picky” He scoffed in défense, with a smirk.

“Oh I know she didn’t. And my mama didn’t raise me to steal, I’m just borrowing that hoodie.” you smiled, putting the hood on. “Look, we’re twins now, Rooster !”

The both of you laughed at that stupid joke. He then smiled at you and put a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Feeling better sweets ?”

“Yeah… sorry about that I… I think these past days were a bit too much for my brain…”

“Don’t be sorry… it’s normal to break sometimes… everyone does.”

You hummed and nodded, but before you could talk, the doorbell rang. “Must be the pizzas ! Get yourself comfortable on the couch and choose a movie Y/N, I’ll be right back !” He kissed your cheek, close to your lips - too close - and ran to the door. You stood there for a moment, cheeks and heart warming up, before doing what he asked you. Once again, you felt like a schoolgirl at her first sleepover with her crush. You couldn’t help but feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your face turning a bit red.

You should tell him. But you risked losing that friendship you had. And at the same time, you wanted more than that. You wanted to feel his arms around you, his lips - oh those lips - on you, to wake up next to him each and every morning in your bed… You fantasized about a life with him for a minute, not noticing him getting back with the food. You jumped slightly when he waved his hand in front of your eyes to snap you out of your reverie. Your gaze locked with his as he asked if everything was all right.

"Yes, yes... I was just lost in thought..." you smiled shyly, your cheeks flushed, letting him settle in beside you. He took the plaid to cover both of you, then put his arm around your shoulders.

"And what were you thinking about? Or who?" He teased.

"About us, actually..."

"Us?" He said, a little surprised.

Your cheeks were crimson. You'd said too much already. You couldn't run anymore. You just nodded, not daring to meet his gaze. You felt him come closer and turn a little towards you after a few seconds of silence.

"Me too, I have to admit..."

"Really?" you almost whispered, looking up at him. He smiled and nodded.

"Yeah... to tell you the truth, I like it here, but... I don't want to be just another roommate anymore. We're pretty similar in a lot of things, Phoenix even says we look like an old married couple that's always jammed together." You chuckled a little but couldn't help but agree. Bradley smiled a little before continuing, a little nervously. "And... the crash, almost getting killed... It made me realize a lot of things... like the fact that I didn't want to lose you. And that... maybe... the fact that I felt so comfortable with you meant... meant more than friendship..."

Your heart raced in your chest. Was he going to confess what you were thinking? You bit the inside of your cheek to prove to yourself that you weren't dreaming, and before he could continue, you pulled him by his collar and crushed your lips against his. The kiss was desperate, as if you needed it to keep on living. Bradley didn't waste a second in responding, one of his hands sliding up your cheek and the other down your back to press you against him. You would have liked that moment to last forever, but the lack of air forced you to pull away a little. He pressed his forehead against yours and let out a small laugh. "I guess it's mutual, then?"

"You're a little genius aren’t you ?" You couldn't help but tease him before kissing him again.

You felt so good against him, kiss after kiss. You felt complete, soothed.

And you could easily get used to it .

#top gun maverick #top gun imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #dad pete mitchell #reader is pete daughter #jake seresin #bob floyd #penny benjamin #tom iceman kazansky #carole bradshaw #angst with a happy ending #pov second person

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peachesofteal · 11 months

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The dead disco break up Pregnancy au got me in my feels all day. Literally all day.

And all I can think about is when the guys get home? Find her not at the apartment and they’re both like, “can’t blame her, I get it” and are over come with guilt. Their own relationship getting a little rocky. Maybe Johnny gets frustrated more easily with Simon. Simon withdrawals a little more into himself bc that’s how he handles pain and grief. But they make it through. They always do. Until they find out about darling and the baby. However that happens, be it in a grocery store or whatever. But Simon comes from a very traumatized childhood. He sees the baby and just knows. That’s their kid. And is overcome with so much grief bc now he’s no worse that his dad is he? What’s worse than someone that’s there and beats you? Someone that’s not there at all. Not knowing. And he has always promised himself he’d never be like his father, but than this is just too close to comfort.

I imagine he surprises not only himself but Johnny and darling the most when he ends up doing something drastic. There were no words he had to defend himself or Johnny. He’d be mature. Whatever it takes, whatever darling needed just let him be in his child’s life, let him be in your life, let him do better. Don’t LET HIM HAVE THIS WEIGHT ON HIS SHOULDERS.

Darling would have more whiplash than Johnny but even Johnny is taken back by the lengths Simon would go? (Getting out the military? Domestic security and law enforcement jobs so he can be home? Idk?) but Simon just comes out of no where, with “I’m here. I’m not going no where. I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right.” Bc he does love darling and he does love Johnny, but that kid? He’d move heaven and hell for that kid. It was Ryan Reynolds who was like “I love my wife, love her more than anything. Then we had our baby girls and realized I would use my wife as a human shield to protect my kids” As a joke of course but it’s to that extent. Simons 2 priority’s become taking care of that child and mending the relationship between the three of them, not bc he loves them (he totally does, and his devotion to his partners is infallible) BUT BECAUSE that kid needs to know what healthy relationships are based out of love and communication not grief and missed social cues and resentment.

Simon takes fatherhood seriously. Most serious job there is. And he’s not going to let darling’s (low key selfish) feelings of betrayal and self deprecation keep him from taking care of his child and said mother of that child.

———

Johnny however? He’s the one that’s hesitant surprisingly. He’s hurt. Beyond hurt that you wouldn’t tell them something like this. It’s the adult thing to at least say something right? Even if they did leave. This is more than them now. And he goes along with Simons initiative to fix all of this but Johnny needs some serious reassurance and maybe an outlet for all this anger and hurt he has. And there’s so much going on that it’s easy for Simon and darling to kinda miss that a little bit,

Until Johnny doesn’t want to hold the baby. Says he’s scared he’d drop it. But Simon knows better.

Johnny feels lost.

Darling feels lost.

Simon is their beacon of light in the darkness.

It comes down to the sexiest night known to human existence, and a lot of crying and confessions while fucking all those emotions out. Simon has always known how to get these two to let down their walls. Breakfast is for figuring out detail’s schedules ect. But that night? That was them fixing it. Letting go and moving forward. In the sexiest. Way. Possible.

^look what you’ve done to me. I’m serving alcohol at a bar thinking about these characters, THE DISTRACTION IS REAL AND I NEED MORE.

You’re fantastic. I hate you for doing this to my brain. Love ya!

Um… hi? Hello? Come back. Let’s talk about this more, let’s break it down. I am obsessed with this. I love this. 🩵🩵

Simon goes into protective overdrive the second he see’s you. Not sure how or when or where it happens, but Bee is not even two months old, and he doesn’t even need to ask you. She’s so little, cocooned in a linen wrap, cradled to your chest, and he already knows. How could that baby be anyone’s but their own?

He does exactly as you’ve described, drops everything and retires early. Price and Johnny always thought he’d make captain soon, but none of that matters now. His military aspirations have meant less and less every year since he met Johnny, and meeting you only sped his career’s ultimate demise along.

He’s not going to let the cycle repeat. He’s not going to let his child grow up and feel like they’ve been abandoned by him. He’s not going to let Bee grow up without him being there. Loving her. Supporting her. He won’t be his father. He refuses.

You agree to let them see her, and agree to let them take her for nights or days if they’d like. But you won’t let them in. Won’t do much more than co parent with them, won’t engage in anything real with them, won’t give them a single inch. You stonewall them, block them out, give them excuses and refusals at every turn. Sure, they can be in their daughter’s life… but they can’t be in yours.

While Bee is important, you are too. He wouldn’t use you as a shield to save her, he’d save you both. There’s no option. No choice. You’re the love of their lives, the now mother of his child. He’d lay down and die for you.

But none of that matters. You won’t let them in.

It drives Simon insane. He’s understanding, and mature about it, and patient (compared to Johnny, who’s running hot over it… frustrated, agitated, consistently visibly upset, holding onto his anger and resentment over the fact you never came forward and even told them about Bee. Johnny can’t get over that you went through everything alone… can’t understand why you wouldn’t tell them, give them a chance to be there for you.. and it stings. It hurts him, so fucking much, and that hurt melds into anger, it burns into his heart and twists his feelings until they’re a jumbled mess.) but he can’t seem to make you understand that they love you, that they thought about you everyday when they were gone, that they mourned the end of the relationship. It’s not just about the baby, they were coming back for you no matter what. They knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that they weren’t meant to live their lives without you. They made a mistake.

But… they fucking abandoned you. And now they come back, and see that you have a baby and just decide they want to be back in your life? No. Absolutely not. They didn’t want you anymore, before Bee… nothing has changed. You won’t let yourself fall back into their grasp, and you’re so adamant about that that you fight them nearly at every turn. Can they take Bee? Sure. But “family trips” to the store? “Family trips” to the park? Not happening. You pack her diaper bag and kiss her goodbye, while Simon watches you with an intense scrutiny, eyes tracking your every step while he holds little Bee is his giant hand. He doesn’t miss a single thing, doesn’t miss the way your hands shake when you press a sweet kiss against her cheek, doesn’t miss the way your body moves sluggishly, like you’re exhausted, even after the nights they’ve had Bee, which means you should have gotten plenty of rest. Johnny just stands in the corner and stares at the floor, hands in his pockets during these exchanges, practically unwilling to engage with you in any way because he’s just so… upset with you, still. He’s better with Bee, loves her dearly, but can’t get past what he’s holding inside of himself, can’t get past how he feels so betrayed you, even though a part of him thinks he has no right to those feelings.

I love your last little bit - about the night Simon breaks you and Johnny apart and then puts you back together. There is something very similar/along those lines in the actual fic outline.

BUT ALSO… let’s imagine: They try to fix it. They try to get you to let them back in, to open up to them, to let them be there for you. As time goes on, Johnny changes, the red hot fire of anger that burns inside of him eventually goes out, lovingly smothered by Simon, and his resentment and feelings of betrayal all melt away. How could he ever have felt those things, when you were the one who was left all alone? Pregnant, with no way to contact them? He lets it all go, fully embracing parenting with you and Simon, trying to get back into your life, trying to love and support you from afar, any way they can. They start to notice a change in you… you seem a little happier, a little lighter on your feet, a little more relaxed and they think it might be working… that you finally might be growing more amenable about letting them in, about building back the relationship.

Until… they show up for Bee’s first birthday party, and there’s a man with his hand splayed on the small of you back in the backyard, holding you, tugging your body into his, while Bee shrieks and giggles on the blanket in the grass. There’s another man, watching their daughter, holding their darling girl close, while they stand in the doorway, shell shocked.

#peaches asks #disco baby au #ghost x soap x reader

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rain0tes · 3 months

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I'm thinking about Hazbin Hotel with a Suguru Geto like reader.

Entering the hotel with two teenagers in tow, panic etched across your face, you plead with Charlie to allow your daughters to stay, at the very least, to provide them with a safe space to hide during the extermination.

You knew you could handle yourself; after all, you'd survived in Hell for a few years now and always navigated the yearly purge with ease. However, upon discovering that your two adoptive daughters were spawned in Hell just before an extermination, you were desperate to find shelter for them, willing to go to any lengths to ensure their safety.

Bless her soul, Charlie took you and your daughters into the hotel, where you've been staying ever since, grateful for the refuge and safety it provided amidst the chaos of Hell.

With a constant smile on your face, you exude genuine warmth and kindness, easily making you one of the kindest souls in the hotel, second only to Charlie. Unlike Alastor, your demeanour feels sincere, radiating a sense of genuine care and compassion.

You naturally take on a fatherly role over the other residents, offering guidance, support, and understanding to those who need it most.

When Charlie would ask what you could have possibly done to deserve a spot in Hell, given your genuinely kind nature, you would simply smile in response, choosing not to delve into the details of your past.

The downward spiral, the lives you've taken with your own hands, the very same lives you once promised to save— it all still haunts you, a constant reminder of your past mistakes. Yet, you strive to push through it all, clinging to the hope of redemption that Charlie keeps preaching about.

You don't really believe you deserve forgiveness, feeling as though you've delved too far down to ever swim back to the surface again. In your eyes, Nanako and Mimiko have a better chance at redemption; they deserve another chance. So, you strive to keep it together, if only to support them and ensure they have the opportunity to find the redemption you feel is beyond your reach.

Nanako's accidental slip of calling Charlie "sister" once has since become a cherished term of endearment, one that has stuck and been embraced by everyone in the hotel. Mimiko, ever accepting and adaptable, casually accepts the addition of a third sister into their familial dynamic without hesitation.

Gradually, you also begin to see Charlie as a third child, influenced by your adoptive daughters' insistence on referring to her as their sister.

The rest of the hotel residents hold you in high regard; it's difficult not to like you.

Angel Dust holds a special appreciation for you. You offer him a safe space to rant and confide in, providing the much-needed comfort and support he craves. Your non-judgmental attitude and genuine concern help him navigate the challenges he faces, allowing him to feel understood and accepted in a way he rarely experiences elsewhere.

He often describes it as you "fathering so hard you start mothering."

Vaggie finds that she can truly relax when you're around, feeling a sense of ease and comfort in your presence. As the only other voice of reason, she trusts your judgment implicitly and relies on your calm demeanour to navigate through challenging situations. Your steady presence serves as a source of stability and reassurance for Vaggie, allowing her to let her guard down and find moments of respite.

Pentious finds you a bit intimidating, not because of any unkindness, but because of the confidence you exude. In his opinion, you're just as kind as Charlie, but you possess a certain assurance and composure that comes with experience, something he feels Charlie lacks. Your presence commands respect, and while he admires your kindness, he also can't help but feel a bit in awe of your self-assuredness.

Nifty's fondness for you was evident from the start, as she frequently left out little gifts for you to find, even if they were admittedly a bit peculiar, reminiscent of a cat bringing their owner a dead mouse. Despite their unusual nature, you graciously thanked her for each and every one, appreciating the gesture and the sentiment behind it. However, you discreetly disposed of the gifts without her ever knowing, understanding that some things are better left unseen.

Alastor views you as competition to a degree. While you maintain friendly terms and often engage in pleasant conversation over drinks, he senses that you're hiding a lot of things, particularly the extent of your power. Despite the amicable facade, he can't shake the feeling that there's more to you than meets the eye, and he's wary of the potential threat you may pose.

Husk is the only one who truly sees how burned out you are, recognizing the exhaustion weighing on you emotionally. Initially, you resisted opening up, even when he made efforts to encourage you to do so. The irony of being the therapist of the hotel in need of therapy yourself wasn't lost on you.

However, over time, you began to slowly share what was bothering you with Husk. While you didn't reveal too much, simply being able to express some of your feelings was a relief. Knowing that someone understood and cared enough to listen provided a small measure of comfort amidst the turmoil of your own emotions.

When Lucifer comes to visit the hotel, he's immediately passive-aggressive toward you, seeing in you exactly what he wants to be with Charlie: a father figure who's there for his daughter. Despite his initial animosity, he can't hold onto his resentment for too long, especially as you both naturally fall into a co-parent-like relationship.

You catch him up on what Charlie has been up to over the years, serving as a key component in patching up their fractured father-daughter relationship. Over time, Lucifer begins to appreciate your genuine care and concern for Charlie, and despite his pride, he acknowledges the positive impact you've had on their relationship.

The first time anyone in the hotel witnessed you engage in combat happened during Lucifer's visit, while he and Charlie were engaged in conversation. Suddenly, you felt your surroundings shake, signalling the onset of a confrontation.

A flurry of emotions overwhelmed you at first, but one thing became clear: your daughters and friends were in danger, and you would not let it slide.

By the time everyone emerged outside, you were already in the midst of the carnage, your clothes and face stained with blood. Despite attempting to wipe the liquid off with your thumb, it only served to smudge further into your skin. Turning to face the group, a grim determination etched across your features.

Maybe there was a good reason you were in Hell after all.

Note: I love hacker!reader but I wanted to do something else for once. This was more so because I wanted to give the hh cast a "mom friend," and the first person that always comes to mind is Suguru for some reason? Idk. I hope you enjoyed!

(Masterlist)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #male reader #hazbin reader insert #🌧Rain0tes

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dotster001 · 22 days

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I love the idea that Sirena doesn’t really like any of her kids, she wanted a perfect doll vs a child. Reminds me of Riddle’s mom. After each kid started to show their true personality vs a babbling baby, she would start talking about another baby, not cause she wanted another but because this last one was « defective » I bet Floyd has huge screaming matches with her over if they should punish the kids for a bad grade, or « looking bad » in public.

Picture Sirena learning about poor reader, and now you have a beautiful woman holding a knife to your neck while Floyd barters for your life! Maybe to mess with Floyd she hires you as a gardener! They’re being super toxic towards eachother while trying to get you to fall for the other! Kids need a mother/father figure in their lives after all! If something were to happen they hope you would be willing to step up!

Warning: toxic Sirena, also this turned into a ramble,

Yeah. She and Floyd hate each other, but if she wants to ever be head of the Leech family, (after Papa Leech dies, and after she finishes her plan to kill Floyd) she needs an heir. Otherwise the position will go to Jade. As it is, she is very nervous that Papa Leech is leaning towards co ownership between the twins, and she can't have that.

Unfortunately, thanks to Floyd's influence, these kids all have a stupid flaw, free will. It's ridiculous really. Don't they know their whole purpose is to be her pawn?

She knows the Leech family reputation, and while Floyd has yet to go to the lengths she has to get rid of her, she knows there's a possibility that one day he'll finally snap and take her down. In fact she's a little surprised it has taken this long, considering the way she's seen Jade and Azul seriously quietly talking to Floyd, and throwing glances her way from time to time. Every time they have those "chats" Floyd always just sighs and rolls his eyes. It tells her all she needs to know. She's safe right now. Though she had, in her youth, hoped to be engaged to Jade, she knows now that she's lucky, and begrudgingly owes Floyd one, because Jade would have killed her by now if it wasn't for Floyd's protection.

And she knows where that protection comes from. Her family has it's own connections, so she learned, just as the twins did, how to play people like a chessboard. Floyd is lonely. Floyd hopes that one day, no matter how much they hate each other, they will one day fall in love and be a normal family. Also, Floyd spent his whole life dreaming of a big family. And she needs lots of children so that she doesn't lose her position to Jade when the time comes. So, she doesn't mind letting him have his big family, hell, it may be the reason she is still breathing. Until she realizes how strong Leech genetics are. None of these kids are worthy. None are good enough. And Floyd doesn't help by refusing to betrothe them to people who are worthy. (These are the largest screaming battles. Floyd refuses to let his children be miserable like he is)

It's after the birth of the youngest that she starts to formulate an idea of how to get rid of him, then send the brats to a school where manners and decorum will be pounded into them.

....

As to beautiful woman holding a knife to my throat, ehehehehehhe that's definitely a thought. When I was making her picrew, I had an "Oh no, she's hot" moment, so tbh, if she held a knife to my throat I would be so distracted 😂 like, TWO pretty people are putting attention on me? Wowie wow wow!

She's so petty, she totally would hire you to work in her house, and not tell Floyd. Then she'd sit smugly as he freaks out when he finds you cleaning a toilet or something. I have ideas in place for you looking for a new job because "the economy", and you don't tell Floyd you're quitting, cause why would you, he's just a customer. Then he gets furious, because this must mean you hate him, how dare you, yadda yadda

But what if, when you are starting to think about quitting, this gorgeous woman comes in and just happens to be looking for a new housekeeper. You don't tell Floyd, cause why would you he's just a customer etc etc, he still gets crazy angry (as do the kids).

Sirena may be a terrible person, and someone who shouldn't be a mother, but she is an excellent lady of the house. She knows everyone's day to day schedule so that she can successfully keep you away from literally anyone but her until the absolutely perfect moment. You could be working in that house for months before you ever see a soul besides her.

She's a horrible person, and yells at you all the time for literally no reason, but the pay is ridiculously good, so leaving doesn't feel like an option. Besides, she says this is only her winter and spring home, and that they are a family of mers, and would totally be willing to take you with them when they return to their ocean home for summer and fall. And you've always wanted to visit the ocean, but never had the funds yourself, so you really can't pass up the opportunity. You can deal with some emotional distress for the opportunity of a lifetime.

It's probably Jade (Jr.) that finds you first. He's the youngest, and therefore hardest to predict, so it's hard for Sirena to keep him in check. But because he's the youngest, no one believes him when he says that he saw mom/dad cleaning his room. Pearl sees you next when she's ditching a social function, and from there the whole house knows.

Except papa.

Papa is still trying to track you down like a blood hound. He doesn't realize you are literally living in his home... because he himself is rarely home.

But the showdown is coming.

And you, who still is blissfully unaware of the trap you are in, are not ready for what's coming.

#dilf floyd leech #twisted wonderland #sirena leech #should prolly give her a tag now 😂#oooh a route where she tries to seduce you....#(it would work on me I'm weak)

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dimepdf · 1 year

Text

★ 𝐌𝐀𝐉𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑. + 𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. Eren fucking hates babies, which is why he feels so confused sat the feeling he gets in his stomach seeing you with one.

─── ☆ notes. i blame tiktok for giving me the worst baby fever while also making me so digusted with them as well, i saw a tiktok where this mother was like "oh yeah i suck the snot out of my toddlers nose!" ??? . | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 1.1k (10 min read) .

Eren hates being around kids, especially the ones that scream and cry with their snotty noses and run around throwing tantrums just because they could get their way, type of toddlers, mostly just to be even more clear.

He excuses the hatred with him growing up an only child, coming from a small, close-knit family where he was the only baby raised around older relatives that had refused to plant their own roots so he wasn't left with many cousins around his age to interact with.

Eren's parents were the only ones to really expand their family tree when having him, which was why he was just so spoiled rotten with attention and gifts, and if there was one thing that Eren loved more than you, it was attention.

"Woah, when did you multiply?" was the second thing you heard, followed by the sound of your shared apartment door swinging open and the rustling of bags.

His arms were occupied with a huddle of grocery bags, all carried on his forearms. That last thing that your boyfriend expected to come home was the sight of you and your uninvited guest, your young niece, lounging together on the couch.

Eren didn't want to scoff and complain about how she was practically neglecting the 40-inch flat screen instead of cursing the screen with some cartoon with a blue fucking dog with an accent, using his surround system setup that he was plotting on coming home and ending his day by playing GTA on.

"Oh my bad baby, I forgot to text you." Taking your eyes off the show for only a quick minute to give him a small greeting smile from your comfortable looking spot on the couch.

Right next to the beaded haired little girl giggling and clapping her hands at whatever nonsense was playing out on the screen, "My sister had something to do today, so she just dropped the baby off for a bit."

Eren hummed in acknowledgement of your response while dropping the bags on the counter. Not really knowing what to say, he tried his best to hide the fleeting glances he would give from the kitchen every once in a while as he put away the food.

Eren was convinced he was fighting some sort of demon after seeing you being all motherly with someone else's child.

His thoughts spiraled about his lovely future with you, conflicting with the stupid smile he tried oh-so-hard to repress while opening cabinets at the thought of him coming back home to you and his own child one day.

Obsessed with how it would feel to swing open the front door and be greeted by his future loving wife while holding a little human who would call him dad.

Eren had been so caught up in his own fantasy world that he hadn't even noticed you walking up to him, standing right beside him with a questionable glance. Having called out his name so many times, you were down to using his full government, yet not even that would break him from his trance.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his middle, hugging against his back, to finally catch his attention. "You okay, baby?" you chuckle, feeling his muscles tense for a split second before flinching back to reality with a drawn-out sigh.

"Yeah, you know, just thinking about shit—stuff," he mutters, caressing the arm you had slung around his torso with the brush of his thumb, as he tried to figure out just what was going on in his mind. "Just seeing you around babies and stuff, it kinda just fucks with me a bit, I guess."

It was as if the child could feel eyes on her, taking a break from sucking on her finger to turn and stare bug-eyed at you two all snuggled up in the kitchen. Watching her struggle a little to slide off the couch and waddle over to him was just another heart throbbing scene.

He almost clenched his imaginary pearls too. "I think she wants you to pick her up." you laugh, both glancing down at the toddler that just stood there looking up with her arms reached up as if she were stuck in place.

"Oh," Eren hesitated for a moment, his glance shifting from you to her almost as if he were second guessing whether it was really okay to pick her up.

He first wiped his sweaty hands against his jeans, then reached down and lifted her up by her sides as gently as if she were some glass doll.

Eren had first handled her outstretched in his hold, as if he were presenting the child to someone in front of him. "Uh hello…" He muttered, almost melting at the smile that spreads across the little girl's face as she shyly tucked herself into his chest, muttering something close to a greeting reply.

"Not you charming the entire family tree." You teased him from beside, smiling at the adorable exchange.

The day continues on without much issue, you were able to actually get some rest with the little girl actually attached to Eren’s side for the entirety of the night.

The little girl even convinced him into watching some more toddler cartoons alongside her, having Eren wrapped around her small little finger as he nodded his head at whatever nonsense baby blabber would come from her mouth.

Spending the time together drained whatever childlike energy the kid had left in her. Once you had given her a bath and given Eren a much-needed lesson on how diapers work, the little girl was out like a light the moment her head hit the pillow.

Leaving you and Eren with a bit of a cautious peace period alone in the living room, you two were able to finally enjoy each other's silent company.

"You're not as bad with kids as I thought you’d be," you said in a quiet, gentle tone while snuggling by Eren’s side, not wanting to make much noise despite being a whole room and hallway away from the sleeping baby.

Eren’s face scrunched slightly in a slight teasing appearance of offense, but he quickly glanced off in the direction of the baby in a trance of his thoughts.

"I would be cool with a lot more of them if they didn't shit and cry all the damn time." He shrugs honestly, not wanting it to show that his baby fever alarms were blaring at full volume as his hands traced over the exposed part of your stomach that peeked from your shirt.

"Would you... like to have kids?" He was finally done tiptoeing over the big question, the hitch in his breath telling you all you need to know about how nervous he was about even suggesting getting you pregnant.

"I mean, yeah," you answered a little too simply, "babies are cute." And then quickly followed the look—the dark puppy pouty eyes staring back at you were all too telling as to what his true motivation behind the question was.

"Eren."

"We could always practice too!"

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 5 months

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Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x OFC

Part 1

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x OFC

Characters: Wolffe, Plo Koon, Cara (child OFC)

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, OFC is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 816

Author's Note: I came up with this sad short fic while I was on my social media hiatus. If I have to suffer, then y'all are going to suffer with me. It's sad. It's really sad. I might make this into a full-length fic at some point, where Wolffe hires a nanny for his daughter and they fall in love, or something sappy like that. As always, please enjoy 💚

Part 1 || Next

Wolffe stood frozen in the med-center hallway, staring down an endless sterile corridor with a small hand wrapped tightly around his finger. A pulmonary embolism, they said. A blood clot in the lungs, they said. She was so young, they said. Could've happened to anyone, they said. But it didn't happen to anyone. It happened to his wife. Within moments, and by no choice of his own, Wolffe became a single father in a galaxy torn by war. The light of his life, snuffed out like a candle.

"Daddy?" his daughter said while tugging on his hand.

Wolffe snapped out of his daze and looked down at her. "Yeah, baby?"

"Where's mommy?" she asked.

"Mommy…" Wolffe paused, biting his lip as he looked anywhere but her face. "Mommy had to go."

"Go where?" she asked.

"Far away," he said.

"But why?" she asked. "I love mommy."

"I love mommy too, baby," he said, barely able to keep his emotions at bay.

"Then why'd she leave?" she whined.

"Listen to me, Cara," he knelt down onto the ground in front of her. "Sometimes… Sometimes people have to leave and there's nothing we can do about it."

"When's she coming back?" she asked.

"She's not," he choked.

"I want mommy!" she yelled.

Wolffe picked up his crying child and held her against his chest, letting his own tears fall silently out of her view. "I know, baby. I know. I want her too."

"I'm not leaving without mommy!" she wailed.

"Please, baby," he soothed as she cried, inconsolable.

"Hush little one," a soft voice came from behind Wolffe.

Wolffe turned around and sighed in relief. "General."

"I came as soon as I heard," Plo said. He placed a gentle hand on Wolffe's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Wolffe said while bouncing his daughter to try and calm her down.

"Come here little one," Plo said as he stretched out his arms to take Cara from Wolffe.

Wolffe peeled his distraught daughter off of his chest and handed her to Plo, then collapsed down onto the bench against the wall. He hung his head in his hands and sobbed quietly. His first real moment to fully process the loss of his wife.

Plo stepped away from Wolffe to give him some privacy and continued to bounce Cara to soothe her.

The little girl's crying echoed throughout the hallway, sending sharp pains through Wolffe's already broken heart. He wanted her to stop crying so he could stop crying. She was just a child, and she didn't understand what was happening, which made the situation all the more difficult. How could he console her when he could barely hold it together himself? The last time he felt this helpless was the Malevolence incident, and even then he held it together better than right now.

He didn't know how to be a mother. He was a soldier, a commander. How was he going to fight in the War and raise a child? It was practically impossible. He couldn't just quit the War either. No clone could. His wife was a saint. She took care of everything while he was away on campaigns. The only thing he needed to do when he came home was hug his little baby girl and dote on her until he had to leave again. He gave his family everything he had, and everything he didn't have.

He always knew he was going to be an absent father because of the War, but he didn't in his wildest imagination think that his wife would die before him. They had contingency plans for if he died, but they didn't make any plans for if she died. That entire scenario came out of left-field and blindsided him. They were eating dinner like they always did when he came home for shore leave. How in the universe did they go from eating dinner to her being dead? He'd never understand it.

"General," Wolffe said through his tears. "What do I do now?"

Plo studied the devastated commander and softened his eyes. "You take each moment as it comes."

"But what do I do?" Wolffe pleaded with a hitch in his throat. "The funeral, my kid, my troops, my–"

"Arrangements are being made as we speak," Plo interrupted. "You are not alone in this despair, Wolffe."

Wolffe looked up at his general and a menial, barely noticeable smile formed at the corner of his mouth, but it was betrayed by the streaks of tears that lined his flushed cheeks. He said nothing in response, afraid that if he uttered even one more syllable, he'd lose the last bit of composure he'd maintained. However, the words of his general rang true. He was not alone. He had never been alone. He had his general and an entire battalion of brothers to lean on. His family was here for him.

Part 1 || Next

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welshoot · 9 months

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Talent and Overblots: An Interesting Relationship

So I read an analysis about Leona and his overblot and it has gotten me to thinking and, only just realizing that talent is a bit of a theme for Twisted Wonderland. Or rather, talent in a more negative lighting than it is often portrayed in.

Simply put, everyone who has overblotted is also talented and said talents (+ the side effects of being talented) really seem to be a large part of their trauma, stress, and varying issues that culminate in their overblot. I’m going to put the rest of the analysis under the cut for fear of any spoilers and due to length (and it is long), but this is something that is incredibly fascinating to me since this portrayal of talent is so wildly different from what is typically seen.

Starting with Overblot #1, Riddle is obviously talented. He became a housewarden in his first year, has an incredibly powerful signature spell, knows all the rules of Heartslabyul, and is a top student in a school filled to the brim with geniuses. We know from his overblot backstory that his mom held him to strict rules and pushed him too far, always demanding he be better than the best. Talented wasn’t enough. He had to be perfect. And that is, quite simply, what led to his overblot. He was holding others to that same horrifying strict regime. Talent isn’t enough, you must be perfect. But Riddle’s talent(s) is what made this drive for perfection truly frightening. That talent of his is what helped to lead to the pedestal that he (and others) placed himself on. And then his view was an incredibly simplistic, and even relatable one. If I can do it, so can they. But that viewpoint is what led to him pushing too far and breaking down when he realized exactly what he’d done. Ace quite possibly put it best when he informed Riddle that he was, “An extension of her”. Her, being Riddle’s mother. Realizing that he’d become that same tyrant, constantly pushing that talent wasn’t enough and you had to be perfect, was a big part of Riddle’s overblot. Because what is worse than becoming the very thing you’ve feared and toiled under since you were a child?

Leona is obviously talented. He is one of NRC’s geniuses, implied to be a very physically strong beastman, possesses an incredibly powerful signature spell, and has the cleverness to think his way out of any situation on top of the fact that he can power his way out of most problems due to his incredible persistence. But those talents were little more than weights around his neck when nothing he did mattered. He would never be king no matter what he did. But how much of Leona’s overblot was ever really being about king, when the crown that just the image that stuck with him? After all, the crown was the first thing that he was probably told he could never have no matter how talented he was. So kingship became a symbol of all he can never succeed in, despite his many talents. In the Savannaclaw chapter, story vignettes, and even in events people are constantly telling Leona that if he just tried he could do it. He is talented after all. And how much must that sting? You’re talented, and you have tried, but no matter what anyone tells you, it doesn’t seem to matter. The words of encouragement others give him are just like a slap in the face because failure keeps rearing its head. Thoughts like that can easily lead to or worsen depression and self-loathing. Especially when he gets his hope up once more that maybe he can do something, he keeps getting dragged back down, either by life’s machinations or his own occasionally self-destructive behavior. As a culmination of this, we find Leona exactly where he was in the Savannaclaw chapter. Failing once more and finally breaking apart as it occurs in front of those who have placed him as their head, the leader of their Pride. Not only has he failed himself, he has failed those who place their faith in him. To Leona, it no doubt looked like his greatest fears were true. Even with all of those talents, Leona feels worthless because he can’t succeed even once.

Azul is talented even if he himself doesn’t see it. Not many can say they have a successful restaurant business, and have hoodooed both the headmage and a good number of one’s fellow students at his age. Azul’s talent isn’t the one he wants though. He wants something more flashy and easily seen. Something that will make others not bother him. He never wants to be a silly little octotwerp who gets made fun of again. And, at this point, Azul can’t seem to see his knack for business for what it is. A talent. Being surrounded by so many obvious talents at NRC is bound to crush him, because everywhere he looks there is someone better than him in some way. So Azul gets greedy. He won’t let them make fun of him and look down on him like his previous classmates did. He can’t take that again. But then all of his carefully calculated actions come crashing down around him. Leona destroys his contracts and asserts, no less, that Azul has been beaten by a magicless prefect. And that is when Azul truly starts to crumble to pieces. He can’t even beat someone that he no doubt viewed, at that point, as a nobody. His actions turn desperate as he fears that Jade and Floyd, the two who’d actually taken a look at young Azul and saw talent there, are abandoning him because he’s been beaten at his own game. In Azul’s eyes, he has no talents, so why would they stay? All those feelings come racing back and Azul really does feel like a nobody. Just a silly little octotwerp even despite all his efforts. And so he overblots. Because obviously if you aren’t talented, then no one wants you and it doesn’t matter.

Jamil is talented in numerous ways and, unlike Azul, he knows it. But Jamil’s talents consistently get ignored or downplayed by everyone, even his own family. And it’s all because of the fact he works under another family so in the eyes of those around him, Jamil can’t and shouldn’t be better than Kalim. So he blames Kalim, even though he knows it isn’t Kalim’s fault that they were born in the positions they are in. Even though Kalim is someone who has always lavished praise on Jamil’s talents and never downplayed them. Even though Kalim is his friend. It’s too much. Because each time Kalim, the source of Jamil’s woe (at least in his eyes), praises him, it’s like a slap in the face. A reminder that even though you’re talented, you aren’t allowed to reach the full height of your abilities. All because of this fellow, who is your friend and greatest supporter. When Jamil’s grand scheme is foiled, it breaks him. It’s a hard hit to his ego and probably feels like yet another reminder that he can’t outdo Kalim. And, to top it all off, there’s the guilt. Because like it or not, Jamil knows it’s not Kalim’s fault because Kalim, for all that he doesn’t understand or realize about their situation, would never put Jamil in the situation that he has found himself in. And so Jamil overblots. His talents don’t matter because he isn’t allowed to show them. He’s restrained, and all of that frustration is suddenly coming out.

Next is Vil, whose troubles are so curiously (and perhaps amusingly) similar to Leona’s. Because for all of Vil’s talent as an actor, he can’t get the role he so desperately longs for. To be the hero, standing on stage till the very end where people will notice him. But it is Vil’s talent (and beauty) that weighs him down and makes people speak of how special he is. And isn’t special so similar to being unrelatable? So talented is he, so special is he, so unrelatable is he, that he must be the villain. Because no one wants a hero that seems so otherworldly, perfectly beautiful and talented. No, they want a hero they understand. A more relatable type of attractiveness, a more mundane level of skill. A villain is, as Vil’s dad asserts in the overblot flashback, a hard role to play. But Vil knows that it’s also the role everyone hates. No one wants to be the bad guy. And how often do people actually pay attention to the villain? Everyone’s eyes are on the star of the show, the good guy. Getting typecast because of his talents is a big part of what leads to Vil’s overblot. He is so weighed down by how inescapable the role of villain seems that he quite literally becomes a villain. And, mirroring Riddle, the realization that he has become that thing he so loathes and maybe even fears is what causes his overblot. The golden child that he was has finally fallen and become mired in the hideous filth that remains when one’s talent becomes a set of shackles that makes you ‘special.’

Idia is, like the others, talented. But interestingly he seems to loathe his talent just as much as he loathes a crowd. Despite his amazing technological achievements, Idia doesn’t want the recognition of fame that comes from his talents. In many ways, he almost behaves like he wants to be free of his talents. As if that talent is a chain. And perhaps it is, that talent makes him well-suited to the position he was born into is yet another chain that binds him to the Island of Woe. His wishes don’t matter. Idia is doomed to his position by both his family name and his talents. The stress of such a truth paired his past with Ortho’s death, and the constant reminder that he is at fault for it (or so he constantly tells himself) is what causes his overblot. Because at least this way, maybe Idia can use his talents once more to do something he wants. To save his brother, and atone for what he has done.

Finally, there is Malleus. Another individual with undeniable talent. Someone who is already listed amongst the most powerful of magicians and who comes from a long line of talented people. But Malleus’s talent, skill, and power for magic is what causes others to fear him, worship him, and avoid him. No one wishes to approach someone so fearsome and talented, because how could they? He is a royal who seems so far beyond them, they cannot comprehend such talent and power. Surely he is beyond them. And when they can’t understand him, perhaps it is better to fear him. It’s only natural to fear that which we can’t understand, so that is what happens to Malleus and his incomprehensible power. The isolation that stems from other’s fear and misunderstandings leads Malleus to do what is only natural. To cling to those few people that remain near him. Those who don’t fear him and instead accept him. And that isolation, paired with the need to cling onto those precious few while all others continue to stare at him in awed horror, is what contributes so greatly to his overblot. Because if those few leave him, what does he have left in his ivory tower of talent?

Anyway, I just find it fascinating that Twisted Wonderland has portrayed the darker side of talent and how it can lead to so many issues for those that hold it. Talent is a blessing in many ways, but there are two sides to every coin and it appears that talent can just as easily be a curse in the wrong situation.

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whinlatter · 4 months

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something tells me you don't really like tonks, just a hunch xD

For the relationship ask if you're still doing it: harry and remus, molly and remus, teddy and adromeda. I would love to see what do you think <3

noooo i love tonks! i had a ball writing her and think that @evesaintyves’ rendering of her is one of fandom’s greatest gifts 😭 i just find it very funny that harry thinks she should low key get a grip. and as a clumsy young woman who should myself get a grip, i say: get off her case, hjp.

ok the remus + tonks/black extended family universe... hyped for this one. delicious choices, thank you anon. (i have a few more in the inbox i'm going to take a stab at but am trying to avoid spoilery ones or ones where i risk boring you all again by repeating old talking points, so if i don't get to one pls forgive me...)

right — to business. we begin with everybody looking at remus lupin waiting for him to put his crippling self loathing aside to write (1) singular letter to his dead friend's son:

i jest (to an extent). but i do think the entirety of harry and remus' dynamic is best encapsulated in one singular scene in PoA:

“When they get near me — ” Harry stared at Lupin’s desk, his throat tight. “I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.” Lupin made a sudden motion with his arm as though to grip Harry’s shoulder, but thought better of it.

i know there's a very understandable move in AUs to imagine what would have happened if remus had raised harry - or, more often, if remus had been 'allowed' to raise harry by dumbledore. but looking past the whole plot-requiring-harry-to-be-at-the-dursleys thing, the truth is, canon remus lupin would never have put himself forward to raise harry, because of his own (not unfounded!) concerns about the precarity of his existence and the dangerousness of his condition. remus' sense of self - more specifically his fear of himself, and his very low self worth - consistently lead him to hold harry at arm's length from the moment he's introduced in the series until its bitter end. i don't think remus at all approves of the way harry is treated at the dursleys. but i can very much imagine that remus thinks it would still be better than the life he could have given harry if he ever had been called upon to serve as his primary caregiver. one of the most interesting implicit dynamics in the series is that harry notices this and does, to some extent, resent it (obviously the fact that he only ever calls him 'lupin' in his narration, though uses remus to his face, and also: 'Harry had received no mail since the start of term; his only regular correspondent was now dead and although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far been disappointed.') while the harry & remus fight in DH is about harry's view of what remus ought to do re tonks and the baby, it’s also harry coming as close as saying to remus: you're letting your own child down like you let me down. ('I’m pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren’t sticking with your own kid, actually... He had it coming to him,” said Harry. Broken images were racing each other through his mind: Sirius falling through the veil; Dumbledore suspended, broken, in midair; a flash of green light and his mother’s voice, begging for mercy… ‘Parents,’ said Harry, 'shouldn’t leave their kids unless—unless they’ve got to.')

molly and remus: i think this is a very, very underrated relationship! i know there’s a lot of molly-bashing around these days, especially if you’re a marauders and/or sirius and/or wolfstar stan. but i think it is very very overlooked that the person who looks after adult remus the most from 1995 onwards, and who shows him some of the deepest trust and roots for his happiness, is molly. for a man who has plainly known a huge amount of financial/food/housing insecurity, and who is so villainised in wider wizarding society, it is no small gesture for molly to not only provide for remus materially but also to trust him in a house with all of her children and encourage him in a romantic relationship he struggles to feel entitled to and worthy of. (i love sirius, but he is in no fit state to ‘look after’ remus in the last year of his life, and fandom’s continued unwillingness to recognise the importance of domestic/caregiving labour as a vital contribution to the resistance will never not be problematic af). remus clearly values and admires molly in return - the only time he actually ever entertains a parent/guardianship role is when molly is weeping over her boggart, crying onto remus’ shoulder (‘what must you think of me?’) and he assures her that if anything were to happen to her and arthur, he would be a part of the team making sure her children are taken date of (‘what do you think we’d do, let them starve?’) remus’ relationship with molly is often the more mild-mannered translator of her viewpoint to others (especially others with hot tempers), and mediator trying to find middle ground between molly’s protective instincts and the battle/ready instincts of others. (more grist to my sirius & ginny parallels mill — in DH, when a fuming ginny is desperately trying to sneak off to fight in the battle, it’s remus who appeals to molly and ginny to find the compromise of ginny staying in the room of requirement to know what’s going on but not actively fight, a mirror image of his role mediating the dispute between sirius and molly over harry’s right to know what’s going on at grimmauld in ootp…) molly accepts this compromise, a sign that she trusts remus implicitly (she never frets that a werewolf is living among her children in ootp onwards, and invites him to christmas readily even after months undercover with the pack) and also feels able to call him out (‘i’ve always said you’re taking a ridiculous line on this, remus’.) this is too long but basically — justice for molly and remus, unlikely buds!

teddy and andromeda: i weirdly think a lot about teddy lupin these days. i tend to imagine teddy as a very mild-mannered, affable, calm child, like who remus might have been had he not been bitten, with tonks' heart and sociability but also with something of remus' more philosophical disposition. i think he'd slip very naturally into a big brother role because, in part, he does see himself as having a responsibility to take care of people, and i think this would shine through in his relationship with andromeda. we know teddy was raised by his gran, and i imagine she feels enormously protective of him, perhaps bordering on strict in her desire to keep him safe from the harm that came to all the rest of her family. but i like to imagine teddy didn't act out against this too much, in part because he understands where it comes from and in turn feels very protective of andromeda. growing up in the aftermath of the war would make teddy as a child particularly aware of the grief and pain and the silences among the adults around him, and i think teddy would take any compensatory protective strictness on andromeda's part with good grace, and humour her for it. i like to think teenage/young adult teddy serves as the translator for any of his gran's more prickly edges, and that they have a very close relationship that both of them really treasure.

#meta #wow really got the soapbox out for this one #and depressed myself in the process #me screaming into the void forever that remus is canonically crap and that's why he's so interesting #remus lupin #andromeda tonks #teddy lupin #molly weasley

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nicksalchemy1 · 2 months

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Mientras Respiro, Espero - Part 1

Pairing: Firefighter AU Dean Winchester x Nurse!Plus-Size!Mexican!Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, a firefighter with a reputation for casual flings, finds himself longing for something more meaningful in his life. Meanwhile, you, a stubborn surgical intern, are trying to escape your past in California. When Dean loses a bet and is tasked with cleaning the trucks, your paths cross unexpectedly. Little do both of you know meeting each other would cause some problems.

A/N: “Mientras Respiro, Espero”: Spanish for “while I breathe, I wait.”

Here’s the first part of my little story. I really like writing in this universe and if part goes well, then I’ll continue posting. (I’m gonna post it anyways 🧐) Credits for inspiration again go to @zepskies !!

🚒 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2,167

Warnings: Toxic parental situation, mentions of fat-shaming, childhood trauma, and a quick old-fashioned meet cute.

Part 1 - Who’s Afraid Of Little Old Me?

Avalon, California, was a gilded cage with ocean views, where the houses were as polished as the facades people wore. It was in one such manicured home where your story paused.

“Mija, you’re wasting your life with these... these dreams of yours! ¡No seas tan estúpida!” Your mother’s voice was a razor wrapped in velvet, cutting into you as you packed the last of your belongings into an old, battered suitcase.

The room was a mausoleum of your former life, with its pristine walls adorned with academic accolades and a full-length mirror that once reflected a girl desperate to please. Now, it only mirrored your resolve.

“I’m saving it, not wasting it,” you shot back, the words tumbling from your lips like brave soldiers in battle. You tucked a framed photo of your childhood self – the one with the broadest, most hopeful eyes – into the suitcase's side.

Your mother’s silhouette filled the doorway, her arms crossed in the silent indictment. “And what about the family reputation? Our standing in the community?”

You zipped up the suitcase, and the sound of a definitive line drawn. “What about my happiness, Mamí? What about living a life that’s actually mine? With someone who won’t pick on me like I’m still a child?”

She scoffed dismissively, a sound that stung like salt in an open wound. “Esos gringos no saben nada. Happiness is a luxury for those who can afford to be foolish.”

You locked eyes with her in the mirror, your own gaze hardened like forged steel. “Then consider me a fool.”

The house seemed to hold its breath as you shouldered past her, suitcase in hand. Your father stood in the hallway, a silent sentinel. His eyes, a mirror of your own, flickered with something that might have been pride or sorrow – or both.

“Daddy,” you whispered, pausing for a moment.

He cleared his throat, a rumble from deep within. “You always were the stubborn one,” he murmured, his voice barely above a soft-spoken whisper. “Be careful. Call me anytime you need me.”

A nod was all you could muster before you descended the staircase, each step a drumbeat to your newfound freedom. The door closed behind you with a finality that echoed through your bones. The California sun dipped low, as if bowing to your courage.

The suitcase wheels rumbled against the cobblestone path, a small but sure declaration of your departure. Behind you, the house – a beautiful prison of expectation and familial duty – faded into just another part of the landscape.

You didn't look back.

Considering it was your first time flying in an airplane, first class at that, you were anxious. Not about actually being in the plane around people or the way the lady in the seat across from your aisle coffee smelled like someone took a fancy shit, but because you were moving in with a couple that you trusted yet, hardly knew.

Mary and John Winchester were rough around the edges, but they meant well. They knew what happened in your household, how toxic it was, and invited you to stay with them in Lawerence. Plus, you would be able to keep your job. Mary was head of Neurosurgery and earned you a spot as a surgical intern. Working hard or hardly working, am I right? You thought to yourself, smiling to yourself.

And boy, were these ‘gringos’ rich. Not only did they offer you that extra guest room in their house, but they also bought you your first-class seat, in which your butt was in right now.

You knew John was a respected detective, and with his income mixed with Mary’s, they made bank.

You also knew they had two sons. John and Mary mentioned their names, but you knew the youngest worked for the ADA, and the oldest worked as a firefighter.

Cool. Wonder what that's like, you tilt your head in thought.

A stable work life, home life, and family. But not all ‘picture-perfect’ families meant they were truly picture perfect.

And that was for you to figure out.

The airplane descended through the cotton candy clouds, and the world below began to take shape—a patchwork of fields and roads that would soon become your new reality. Your heart danced a nervous tango with the seatbelt across your lap, anticipation tightening with every drop in altitude.

The captain's voice crackled through the cabin, announcing the imminent landing in Lawrence. You straightened up, smoothing the fabric of your jeans as if to iron out the last creases of your past life.

When the wheels kissed the tarmac, you felt a jolt, not unlike the one that had propelled you out of your family’s house. You collected your single suitcase from the overhead bin—a symbol of your fresh start—and made your way through the aisle with a resolve that echoed the click-clack of your boots on the aircraft's floor.

The airport was small but buzzing with life, a hive of reunions and farewells. You stood for a moment at the arrival gate, scanning the crowd until you saw them.

Mary's presence was undeniable. She stood with a grace that spoke of her surgical precision, her eyes warm and welcoming. John, equally imposing in his own right, had the stance of a man who had weathered storms and could chart a course through any adversity.

They spotted you almost immediately, and Mary’s smile widened as she opened her arms. “There she is! Welcome to Kansas!”

You stepped into her embrace, the scent of antiseptic mingling with a soft perfume—a stark contrast to the oppressive aroma of your mother's overwhelming floral scents. “Thank you, Mary,” you smiled, grateful for the genuine warmth.

John extended his hand, which you shook firmly, finding in his grip the silent support of a seasoned detective. “Good to have you here. We’ve got the guest room all set up for you,” he said, his voice a deep timbre of reassurance.

You nodded, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t thank you both enough for this opportunity.”

As you walked through the airport, with Mary’s hand lightly on your back and John carrying your suitcase, you felt the weight of your old life lifting. The conversation was light, peppered with Mary’s questions about your flight and John’s quips about Kansas being the true heart of America.

Once in the car, the grilling starts. “So, how are you doing, hun?” Mary asks curiously, mainly because she’s concerned and trying to make sure you’re comfortable.

“Oh, you know, as good as you can be while moving state from state.” You remark as politely as possible, trying not to seep tension into the car ride.

“I hope you feel better. When we get to the house, you’re welcome to rest. I don’t cook very well,” She clears her throat, shrugging, “But I can give you some money to order something in?”

“I couldn’t do that, but thank you. It’s late, anyways. I’ll wait till tommorow morning.”

“Okay. Just as along as you’re comfortable.” Mary winks, a soft, motherly smile on her face.

You nod, meeting her smile with the same.

John pulls the Volkswagen van into the driveway and puts it in park, shutting the engine off. “Home sweet home.”

You sigh and step out of the car, staring at the home. The house is a two-story structure with a prominent green exterior. It features white trim around the windows and roof edges, contrasting nicely with the green. The front door is wooden with a rich, warm tone. There are two windows on the upper floor and one window on either side of the front door on the ground floor. A chimney extends from the left side of the roof, indicating a fireplace inside.

A well-maintained lawn adorned with various small plants and flowers. A concrete pathway leads to three steps up to a small porch area before reaching the wooden front door.

Mary leads you up to where your room is at and it seemed to be one of her boy’s old nurseries, but now the wall was decorated with two old band posters, The Beatles and a Zeppelin poster. Huh. The bed had a floral blanket and a navy sheet under it. There were two pillows in a white silk covers and a lamp on the beside table.

“John and I are gonna hit the hay, so, goodnight, love.” Mary waves from the doorframe, giving you one last glance before heading off.

“Goodnight,” You reply, setting your suitcase down beside your bed and lay back on your bed.

In the locker room, you changed into your scrubs, the fabric feeling foreign yet exciting against your skin. You tucked your hair under a surgical cap and checked yourself in the mirror. Ready.

The hospital corridors were a maze of activity, doctors and nurses moving with a sense of urgency that was almost palpable. You found your way to the intern's lounge, where a group of young doctors was gathered, pouring over patient charts and sipping on coffee as if it were a lifeline.

That's when you met her — Charlie Bradbury. With her vibrant red hair and a stack of comic books under her arm, she was a splash of color in the sterile environment. She noticed you immediately, her green eyes lighting up with an impish sparkle.

"Hey, you must be the new kid! I'm Charlie, your friendly neighborhood genius slash intern. Welcome to the chaos!" she greeted you with an outstretched hand, adorned with quirky rings.

"Thanks, I'm..." you began.

"Don't tell me," she interrupted playfully, "You're the one who just flew in from Cali, right? Mary's been raving about you."

You chuckled, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "Guilty as charged."

Charlie showed you around, her chatter filling the spaces between the bustle of the hospital. She introduced you to the other interns, the nurses, and even the grumpy guy who ran the coffee cart. Throughout the day, you shadowed her as she confidently navigated patient care, inserting IV lines with precision and calming anxious patients with her quirky humor.

Despite the exhaustion that came with the endless rounds and the mountain of new information, you felt a sense of accomplishment. You were doing this, really doing it — and you were not alone.

In the afternoon, Mary tasked you with delivering first aid kits to the local fire department as part of a community outreach program. You welcomed the break from the hospital walls and made your way to the fire station with a box of supplies in tow.

As you approached, you noticed a firefighter washing a large, red truck — his sleeves rolled up, revealing muscular arms, and his focus never wavering from the task at hand. You hesitated for a moment before approaching.

"Excuse me," you called out, "I have a delivery from Lawrence General?"

He turned around, and you were met with striking green eyes and a smudge of soap on his cheek. He was ruggedly handsome, with a stubble that spoke of long hours and a jaw set with determination.

"Oh, hey," he replied, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Thanks for the-"

Before he could finish, another firefighter called out to him, "Dean, we need you!"

"Sorry, duty calls," he said with a charming, apologetic grin. "Just leave the kits by the door, and thanks again."

"No problem," you replied, feeling a pang of disappointment as the moment ended too quickly. You placed the box down and watched as he jogged back to his colleagues, ready to respond to the next emergency.

The rest of your shift passed in a blur, and before you knew it, Mary was driving you back to the Winchester home. As the car hummed along the road, she glanced at you with a knowing smile.

"I hope your first day wasn't too overwhelming. You did great," she said encouragingly.

"It was definitely a day to remember," you admitted with a tired smile.

Mary's expression turned warm and excited as she announced, "Well, get ready for a family dinner tonight. John and I want you to meet our sons properly. They're excited to have you."

The thought of the evening ahead sparked a mix of nerves and curiosity within you.

"Oh, uh, okay." you replied slightly indifferent by the unexpected dinner, but the prospect of a meal with a family that wouldn’t make measure how many calories your plate has won’t be bad just because you had to meet your “landlord’s” sons. “Sounds nice.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

And there’s that! Next time. 😉

Character Introduction For This Series

Dean Winchester Masterlist

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #latina!reader #plus size!reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x reader #spn #firefighter au #supernatural #fanfic #reader insert #mexican!reader #spotify

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matt0044 · 2 months

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Why does Indie Animation lend itself to such intense discourse?

If I had to speculate from my own observations (feel free to call me out on an overgeneralizations), it would be that the harsh turn against any given indie project would be akin to a mother scolding a child with, "I expected this from your sibling but you?!"

See also the "We were rooting for you" gif often tossed around.

Indie Animation be it from a small studio or crowdfunded is seen as bypassing the hoops and hurdles of getting your foot in the door of the highly corporatized entertainment industry. With the likes of Disney or Nick or any given streaming service, creator driven projects are subject to the whims of the company who holds the IP.

And those whims are often to said IP's detriment. It'll more often than not be willfully neglected at best or treated as just something to fill a time slot or shove onto a streaming platform as "content." Enough may be allowed to flourish but their either uncerimoniously cut short at best or being dragged out as a franchise at worst.

To keep from going on about the whole Legend of Korra vs. Spongebob thing (I was there people, there was an LoK fandom believe it or not), indie animation has often been seen as small scale but also within the creator's general control since they control how long it goes or how it's written.

Many cartoons like Gravity Falls, Owl House and Amphibia have talked about trying to get their vision across while contending with a lot of Standards and Practices. Their story which had a "kids and adults alike" target audience would have the top brass insist on something more just for the former category.

While they find work arounds, often to stick their tongue out at the FCC, this can be a hard reminder of who has the final say despite it being what you want. Indie animation is seen as an answer to "What if Alex Hirsch didn't have to comprimise elements of Gravity Falls for the FCC?" or "What if Dana Terrence could just blaze her own trail with The Owl House with little to no notes?"

Especially when it comes to animation with queer characters. Animation made to be "fit for kids" have it tough enough even today but adult animation has to "play it for laughs" since comedies have been the defacto standard for that type of cartoon.

However... a show being creator driven or creative team driven comes as a double edged sword for the fandoms they form. Not all stories that play out across multiple episodes of varying lengths are going in the direction YOU might want to.

Creators might tire of a certain direction or formula and mix things up with things that come to mind almost on the spot. Even with a solid plan, the status quo will get a shake up that can and will alienate those who fell in love from episode one.

Indie Pilots spark the imagination something fierce. There's theories as to what any little detail could mean going forward and speculation on what a character's arc could be. These go wild because Fandom is all about the hypothetical, the unknown, the what could've/should've/would've been. Whole phenomenon would be dead in the water otherwise.

Thing is that not all theories will be proven right if any at all. The creators aren't mind readers and even if it isn't a legality like in corporate, they don't read fanfics if only because they don't want their vision to be totally compromised. Any good creator knows not to just give fans what they want. However... trampling over all these fanfics and theories makes it feel like any given fan had their "child" dragged into the streets to be shot.

A harsh phrasing but that's how a lot of fans act when continuing episode bump up against initial impression of this character or that storyline. It was their creation but new lore, new backstory or what have you is liable to override them. It's been an occupational hazard of being a member of fandom for ages yet it's become the center of a lot of discourse now more than ever. Say thank you to social media for creating such a combative environment everybody.

It's this... feeling of ownership that has existed in fandoms of other shows owned by corporations but amplied by the smaller scale of it, how creators seem more... approachable. And THIS is how the YouTube "critic" scene comes in to capitalize.

So... yeah.

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yelling-space · 2 months

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CELESTE APPRECIATION post

I raerly see anyone mention her but i love her sm yes this is mostly like 98% hc shes only got like 5 lines in hole game what more do u want from me

anyways, my sweet sweet barely domesticated celeste :

-"Why did my husband come back with a child ,a dog ,a living skeleton, a man who can throw him around like he weights nothing and a knight(derogatory)" -Cahara's so wiped 4 her and honesty i would to if that was my wife, she def pegs him 2 btw i mean just look at him, my point exactly.

-gets along with Enki the most 2 everyone's surprise, there paper wight besties. & share a worrie for Cahara they will never verbalise as well a dislike for D'arc- i mean knights.

-celeste is d'arces first (and only) female friend, much to clestes own dismay.

-d'arce thought she was a gold digger at first, as you can tell they had a grate first impression of each other

-only trusts people about as far as she can throw them (rip rag , he can still man handle the group whore with ease tho so good for him)

-can not hold a convo with a child 2 save her life , the length of her mertanl intents extend to bringing the child 2 Cahara .

-she is not mother material but for some reason they're trying to keep a baby with a high infant mortality rate its funny

i think celeste probably didn't have great parents or a good role model, deadbeat drunkard parents that kicked her out and kind of left her to fend for herself & close of to the world and that's why she has such a disillusioned take on parenthood + where her own approach to children comes from but uh oh !! cahara wormed his way into her heart ! and who's to say his clear and utter devotion to this little girl cant win her over either i dont think either her or Cahara were going out of their way to get pregnant - it's like an unfortunate by-product of the nature of Celeste's career, and Cahara's love for her being what led to him being so willing to step up. i don't think either of them ever really thought about having kids, or at least didn't think they'd be good parents, but celeste getting pregnant or cahara bringing back a child is just the way life ended up going. it's the renaissance era, abortion methods are on par with childbirth in terms of deadliness anyway. she's just not going to have to keep risking her life via pregnancy if cahara goes out, gets enough coin to support them both, she's not going to be like every other peasant woman who's forced to become a broodmare because every 1 in 2 children fucking die before they turn 5. clesest being pregnant is just what ended up happening. the love in that is to do with their RELATIONSHIP, not their love for some idealistic family life. i think cahara wanting to give it a try is something celeste would think is really sweet and admirable, but she'd probly keep a lot of her more cynical thoughts to herself on the matter.

saying that i think they both have a lot of cynical thoughts about it really, but i cahara goes so quickly into "this is my wife, this is our future baby" because otherwise what's the point in taking on such a risky mission in the first place ? but if he's got a noble cause, then it might seem worth it, right ? it's that extra push of encouragement for him, even if it comes with a lot of scary things like the responsibility, being a parent, maybe settling down witch is a scary thought for someone whos always so used 2 being on the move

as for celeste ; she doesn't even know if she's going to make it through the pregnancy, or if the baby will. it's just another mouth to feed at the end of the day. she doesn't care about carrying on a legacy, or raising a child into greatness like so many others beg and plead of god to bestow upon their children. she knows she'd be a shit mom and she's hardly a loyal partner at the moment. but she loves cahara, and seeing that fear in his eyes when she told him, but also that spark of light, that little bit of joy, made it at least worth holding on for.

celeste: it's probably not going to make it anyway, i either risk death in childbirth or death in abortion methods, so. celeste: its getting me enough bank rn to keep myself healthy so we'll just see what happens i guess celeste watching cahara bring home an entire child:

okay cringe time over. i wont go into 2much detail about her relationship with the others though i think its a very slow process of her learning to tolerate get along with the creatures friends cahara brought back -as soon as celeste meets d'arce her mild suspicion and distaste for ragnvaldr will be replaced with her disgust for d'arce -think celeste would be pissed she wouldn't be able 2 pull cahara out of ragnvaldrs grip unless she stabbed him or something, witch shes both angry about it but also relieved since it probably kept cahara out of trouble in the dungeon (because lord knows her husband is a magnet for trouble) inside me there are 2 wolfs ; one is mmm hot stong wife carry cahara like a sack of pataos , the other is screaming at me that this is the 1600 and she would be starving and poor. so to compromise with myself im going 2 say : - physical speaking celsest is probly stronger then most women in her profession and could probly drag an unconscious cahara around then againg i also think cahras way ligher then someone of his build&carear should be shes stronger then enki (then againg who isnt) but cant match d'arces physical strength. saying that modern au Celeste would beat d'arce in an arm wrestle.

in-refence 2 my last post; celest is a child darkness, she has a barbie killer husband,there for. she deserves to be as much hater as she likes d'arce: you two are the healthiest couple i know who still have an avid sex life cahara: ASSUMPTIONS ! celeste: we're the only couple you know.

acholic wise i think celeste could out drink d'arce (and at least keep up with ragnvaldr for a little bit)

celeste: d'arce is a pain in the ass cahara: :confustion: :stress_smile: she means well babe cmon celeste: im gonna beat her with a stick cahara: ,, babe,,

cleseste is not payed enough 2 be d'arces therpist or help d'arce figure out she likes women (shes not payed at all actuly,she is simply trying 2 tolrate her husbands new freinds becuse she loves him but also only has so meny braincells she can lose in a day and conversing with d'arce seems 2 kill all of them)

celeste hears d'arce talk about jeanne once and instantly starts going "wow you loved a girl wow that girl who was like you in every way wow that girl who like. shared your morals. or something. wow tell me more about that girl" (stab stab stab metaphorically stab stab stab)

(about cahara getting arrsed and taken by the police) rag: you lack of concern,,, concerns me. are you not worried ? celeste: dogs always find their way back home.

- d'arce and cahara make the same enamoured and light-blush expression whenever celeste rages btw - celeste :handshake: enki taking the piss out of knights + a generally more cynical outlook on life & being cold bitches that secretly care about cahara a lot

(first time they all stayed the night) enki learning hes the favorite for once and he thinks its just the most hilarious thing to fucking happen local woman-lover put out by being rejected by hot scary wife, local berserker intimidated by what scary wife might do if she finds out what he did to her precious boytoy local shadow wizard ? on the floor ugly laughing because scary wife reluctantly asked if he wanted the guest bedroom.

celeste: YOURE NOT STAYING HERE PERMANENTLY. but youre allowed to stay overnight. enki: is this (gags) kindness ? oh my god. revolting. celeste: is that a yes or not you fucking worm enki: yesplease

#celeste fear and hunger #fear and hunger #celeste ily #take a shot everytime i spelt her name wrong #cahara #enki #ragnvaldr #d'arce #i love pitting 2 bad bitchs against each other when its not over a man and 1s obluous 2 the fact the other fucking hates her #didnt mention it ealer but cleste bi queen btw #i dont Rembert if i mentioned it in my post but clests dislike of d'arce stems from her being a knight #this isnt d'arce slander btw i love her i just like bullying her even more #celeste when shes a little hater and i love her for that #enki expences being someone's fav for the first time #rag when hes both terrified by but slightly curious about his little freinds wife #the girl fear and hunger

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gay-dorito-dust · 2 years

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Hello ! I would like to request a half angst half fluff fic for Daemon x Stark!Reader.

Reader is quite a tenacious woman and good with her words, the only daughter of her father. She managed to get her father to let her learn how to fight and she's a great warrior. She even commanded part of his army and was successful in the battle. She is very respected in Winterfell. Even warriors look up to her. She's a fiery spirit and very loyal. She was promised by her father that she could marry whomever she wanted but she actually had no interest in marriage.

But her father will get a very interesting proposal to marry her to Daemon, something that Viserys arranged. Of course Daemon is pissed too. He doesn't want to get married to an unknown woman.

Her whole family will travel to the palace but nothing was yet said to her about the plans being made. Her family will break it to her after arriving just before she will be thrown in a room with Daemon for them to know each other. She and Daemon hate each other at first glance. And I was imaging Daemon calling her wife and she would yell at him something along the lines "I will not be your palace bitch, you manwhore." . Still they get married but they don't actually consumate their marriage that night.

They will spend time apart, not even staying in the same room for a while until Daemon catch her one day at the dragonpit. She will be there interacting with Caraxes. Or maybe him trying to but her not knowing how to approach him properly. Daemon could help her and that's when they begin to grow on each other. they start training together and slowly fall in love and they confess it to one another a while later.

Thank you !

A/n: I might make this into a two parter. 🦦

As the only daughter of your Lord father, Sylvain Stark, your upbringing was primarily done by the men in your life; Which meant being frequently roughhoused by your brothers, sneaking away from your etiquette classes to watch the knights train under your fathers ruthless but fair tutelage within the courtyard. Your mother, much to your surprise, encouraged this behaviour of yours by dressing you in your brothers out grown clothing, disgusting you as a boy and setting you on your way to train with your brothers; Who refused to go easy on you based on the pretence that you were a girl and their sister. Though that didn’t meant that they weren’t protective over you because they were and so much more.

So whenever a boy failed to respect your request to be left alone or impose his thoughts on how girls like you weren’t meant to pick up a sword, irritating them in the process but before any of your brothers could life a finger, you had gifted the boy with a bloodied nose and a cut running across his cheek from your nails. You were punished but it didn’t felt like one, considering the fact that your father had been spent most of it lecturing you on how to throw a proper punch and praising you for developing a backbone. It wasn’t until then that you expressed to him your interest in swordsmanship to which he had laughed off but once he saw the fires being stoked within your eyes, reminding him of himself at your age, demanding his own father to teach him how to fight after being scuffed up in a fight with a boy twice his height.

“You truly are my child, aren’t you.” He says, ruffling your hair, eyes flickering in amusement as you shoved his hand away with a pout and mused hair. “Tomorrow we start your training.” You remember cheering that day, hugging your Lord father by the waist only to be confused when he held at arms length, “I’m warning you now y/n, becoming a knight is not something that should be taken lightly. I’ll be putting you through your paces. Within this room your are my daughter but out there,” your father gestures to the courtyard where two knights were sparing with wooden swords, “you are one of them. No special treatment shall be given during this time, am I understood?” “Understood fa-Lord Stark.” Sylvain smiled at your with pride as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, finally bringing you in for a hug. “Get some sleep dear child for I’ll need you to be up and early for training tomorrow. So no sneaking off to the kitchen for late night snacks.” You groaned at the thought of sacrificing your favourite activity to get what you wished but in the end it was a fair trade.

It didn’t take long for you to prove your worth as one of the best swordsman to have ever picked up a sword in Westeros. Your father’s vigorous training have shaped and melded you into the knight you were known as today. Your body held it’s fair share of scars, providing more then enough evidence to even the most sceptic of sceptics that you weren’t one to be taken lightly without reaping the repercussions. Even though you quickly became a household name within your home of Winterfell, it hadn’t become well known enough to the other houses of Westeros only until it was in conjunction with some of your earliest escapades as commander of one of your father’s men; Which included some of your brothers in attendance.

There were some knights within your squadron who believed you to be too weak for such a position, some even went as far as to petition themselves as commander instead but your father would only scoff and say, “A real man wouldn’t feel the need to take opportunities away from others, unless they were scared. So tell me lads, if you believe yourself to be as tough as you say, why don’t you let my daughter test that theory out herself?” Needless to say those knights became dutifully compliant to your every command after having the lesson vigorously beaten into them by your own hand. Those who were unsure or uncertain of your leadership held their tongues within your presence, soon enough their views on you changed after being lead to countless victories under your command against all those that opposed House Stark.

So much so that you have heard yourself and your squadron being referred to as ‘The Iron Wolf’ and ‘The Wolf pack’ in passing when you and your squadron road through the courtyard, armours soaked in the blood of your most recent conquest, the excess staining the snow in an unsettling shade of crimson whilst the disembodied head of the lousy Lord who dared to pick a fight dangled from your hip like a spoil of war. Men, women and children gathered to greet you back with their deafening cheers that filled the air. So much to the point that you could barely hear the voice of the servant, who came to stand by your side as you handed the reigns of your horse over to the stable boy. “Your father would like a word with you in the grand hall, Princess.” You could tell from the tone of his voice that it was immediate that your presence was needed and with a curt thanks you rushed through the castle, helmet in hand, until you were in the grand hall where your father was sat at the head of the table.

“You called for me father.”

“I did indeed child, I take it that the battle was a successes?” Sylvain questioned as his eyes looked at the bleeding head at your hip with pride. You smirked, reaching to unclip the head from your belt before presenting it on the table before him. “You said that you wished for his head, so his head I have brought you.” You replied. Sylvain only chuckled as he lifted himself from his chair, moving to bring you into his arms, uncaring of the blood getting on his clothes; He was just happy to have his child back home safe and sound like any parent. “Is there a reason for my presence here today?” You asked when you pulled away from his embrace, your smile fading from your lips when you saw the somber look upon his face. “Dad?” Your father sighs heavily, “I received a raven this morning, from King Viserys. He wishes for my presence at KingsLanding at once.”

You instinctively reached out to grasp at your father’s arms like a lost child, gripping them tightly as your displeasure with being departed from your father became all the more evident. “Whatever for? We do our duties here in Winterfell and he and his family does theirs in KingsLanding? Why the sudden urgency? It’s not out of the realm of possibility to suspect something has arisen.” Your father didn’t have the heart to tell you the truth, so instead he choose to lie but had he tell you the truth, he knew you’d outright refuse. Ever since you grew to a certain age where marriage was put into question, Sylvain decided that instead of forcefully searching you a suitor, he would let you yourself choose on your own accord. However your disposition to get married had placed him into a corner he felt he couldn’t get out of before your eligibility comes to pass.

So when he received word that King Viserys was offering up his brother, Daemon, for your hand in marriage; It felt as though the gods had decided to spare him the fate of an impending headache that would surely come from the small council’s demands of your arrangement. “Give your mind a rest dear daughter,” Sylvain chuckled, his hands cusping your elbows reassuringly, “I wouldn’t want you to take up arms and storm KingsLanding on the pretence of a misunderstanding. I’m certain it’s primarily down to boring political business.” You snorted at your fathers disinterest for political disputes despite his position as Warden of the North, causing a smile to spread across his lips. “The upside to this however is that I’m granted the due diligence of bringing along my beloved family.” You smiled softly at your fathers words, resting your head comfortably against his chest like you did as a child. “Oh and your invited too.”

“Oi!” you exclaimed, pulling yourself away in order to slap him on the arm for his cheeky comment that only made your father laugh at your reaction. “You think yourself so fucking funny for that, don’t you?” You rhetorically asked him as he made a face as though he were in genuine thought, “I’m believed to be quite hilarious, according to some people.” Your father responded in kind. Though before you could make another jest, your worried mother -who had heard joyous news of your return but had yet to see you with her own eyes- walked into the hall upon hearing her husband and your laughter echo off the stone walls from just outside. Her eyes widened upon seeing you, picking up her skirts in her hands as she rushed to your side before letting them drop so she could cusp your face in her hands. Your eyes closed upon instinct at the touch of your mother, sighing deeply at the one thing you’ve missed the most since your time away from Winterfell. A strong warrior you maybe but even the strongest of warriors fall on their knees at the gentle touch of a mother.

“Hello mother.” You said wistfully, bringing your own hands away from your father to support your mothers arms. Practically purring in content when her thumbs brushed across freshly healed scars that ran across your cheeks like jagged bolts of lighting. “My sweet brave child, you had me worried sick when you didn’t visit me upon return!” Your mother exclaims but calms down when she saw that other then the occasional scar, you were without major injured. “Then again I shouldn’t be surprised that it is your father who gets to see you first.” You knew deep down your mother wished she was more hands on with your growth, after all you were the only daughter she bore out of a cluster of boys. Your mother thought that due to being the only women in the family, you’d be as thick as thieves; Unfortunately for her, you had more of an affiliation with anything that constitutes to boys. She tried her best to have common ground with you though it never lasted long, especially when your vigorous training sessions with your father left your tired and unable to withhold conversations.

You didn’t blame her, you couldn’t blame her for wanting something that was just for you and her. She was your biggest supporter in whatever it is you did, the pride in her eyes was the soul reason why you kept fighting the tougher fights, just so you could come home to her appraisals and motherly comfort. “I apologise, the adrenaline of our victory must’ve carried me away from you. I’ll be sure to make up for it in the meantime.” Your words must’ve brought her some comfort as she smiled at you before pressing a kiss to your forehand. “You best do child, now I’m certain your father has told you of the contents in the King’s letter, why don’t you run along to your chambers to pack your things before we are due to set off.” She says as she ushers you out of the hall before looking back at her husband who’s attention was brought back to the letter. “You haven’t told her have you?” She asks, walking up to his side. “No,” he said, “she’d refuse before i could even make it to the proposal.” Your mother sighs, picking up the parchment, being mindful of the bleeding head she knew of to be your work, reading and re-reading the inked words scratched into the letter.

“She’s held this off for far too long. Brandon, Richard, Edward and Sylvester would’ve already been married to their betrothals by the time she chooses a suitor.” Your mother commented as your father slumps back into his chair, his face covered by his hands as he ran them down his face. “Which is why I took the liberty to accept on her behalf.” Your mother looked at him with wide but confused eyes, “but you said-“ “that she could choose? Yes I did but you know as well as I that girl detests marriage, never less political ones.” Your father cut her off, knowing very well how her mind works in certain situations. “Y/n would rather lop off her own arm if it meant getting out of an arrangement. She must one day understand that I made this decision for her.” Your mother knew how much your father loved you, she knew that he didn’t wish for you to be a lone wolf for the rest of your life. He merely wishes for you to be happy and he could only pray to the Seven that this marriage would do just that even if it takes forever.

“I wish her to be happy too Slyvain,” your mother replied, holding his hand in hers, “but we mustn’t act the victims when she soon learns that we’ve been withholding the truth.” She advised before taking her departure from the grand hall, leaving your father to mull over recent events and question himself before an audience of a dead man’s severed head. “Did I do the right thing?”

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