#also no none of these bois are canon-compliant in the slightest

[dragonbanexxi]

Soul of Bronze; Blood of Fire

Helaena Targaryen x OC Targaryen Royce

***!!!NOT CANON COMPLIANT!!!***

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

The Heir of Runestone would often joke that he should be referred to as Rhaegar Stone. Seeing as his father (Prince Daemon Targaryen) had no want for him and his mother (Lady Rhea Royce) was long dead. All jokes end when he and Ser Gerold Royce are summoned to the capitol by none other than King Viserys the First of his Name. The King wanting nothing more than to bring his estranged nephew into the fold, Viserys offers Rhaegar his so called Targaryen Right. A betrothal to the Princess Helaena and the chance to claim a dragon. Will Rhaegar be able to claim such a beast? Even if his valyrian skills were lacking? Prince Aemond seems to think so. Though he’s mostly is just thrilled to finally have someone around who’s willing to be his friend. Also the court begins to notice that the Princess Helaena seems to have taken a liking to the new prince. Much to her mothers dismay, who’s fighting tooth and nail to have the girl be given to Aegon. Something neither sibling wanted. To Rhaegar everything was going smoothly until the news of Laena Velaryon death had dampen everything.

Chapter 21: Aemond

Blood still trickles out the Prince’s eye from time to time. Crimson liquid trailing slowly down the Prince’s alabaster cheek. In the most imprudent moment too. It just happens to be supper and the three princes were in the middle of the second course when Aemond’s injury decided to make its presence known.

Aemond was clutching the empty socket with his napkin, hissing in the slightest pain. The Velaryon boy staring in horror. His eyes reflecting something close to quiet guilt.

“Lucerys help your uncle to his quarters” Rhaegar commanded.

Aemond let out a growl in disagreement but it was ignored by his cousin.

“I’ll fetch Maester Hugh”

From Aemond’s good eye he could see his nephew’s hesitation. The brown haired boy seemed to be debating within himself how to approach his bleeding uncle.

“Well come on!” The Green Prince snaps “I’m getting dizzy!”

The small boy shuffles quickly to his uncles side, nimble fingers clutching onto his uncles clothed arm. Guiding him back to his quarters, they walked slowly and awkwardly through the grim stoney halls of Runestone. Thankfully for Aemond the pain had subdued greatly. No longer hurting as much as it did the first moon of hailing his injury.

His mama had wanted him to stay longer in King’s Landing until he was properly healed. The Queen’s only mistake was letting Aemond choose when to leave for Runestone.

He’d been over the moon when he learned of the proposition made for him to squire in the Vale. In Rhaegar’s home, under the tutelage of the seasoned knights. Former Knights of the Vale no less. Injury be damned he thought to himself, determined to leave along side his best friend Rhaegar.

The elation had soon worn out when his decaying father had “coincidentally” remembered that Rhaegar had also made that offer to Lucerys Velaryon. Aemond wanted scream and kick, through the most undignified hissy fit of his life. Yet he didn’t. He couldn’t act childishly anymore. Aemond was a dragon rider now. Not just any dragon but a war dragon. The Prince could no longer go about through court as misfit child. No he had to be a dignified young man. An honorable one. Like his cousin Rhaegar. Who carried the standards of chivalry and honor like tattoos inked deep into his skin.

Aemond wants to be just like him. Even if it meant he’d have to spend time in Runestone alongside his attacker.

Finally making it to Aemond’s chamber door, Lucerys manages to open the large wooden door.

“You can let go now” Aemond says stoically.

Lucerys nods, carefully letting go of his bleeding uncle. His pretty doe eyes filling with worry, his eyebrows scrunching. The boy gulps nervously. Aemond sits upon his comfy bed, and glares at his nephew when he realizes he still hasn’t left the room.

“I think about that night in Driftmark often” Lucerys says quietly and offhandedly.

Aemond still clutching his bleeding eye with his napkin, sneers at his nephew with one lilac eye.

“I don’t care”

“I know…” Lucerys says solemnly. “That night. It all happened so fast-“

“I don’t want to hear it.” Aemond cuts in harshly. “I don’t need to hear it! I was there Lucerys!”

Anger building up in the One Eyed Prince’s veins, threatening to overspill. Their rumble did happen so fast. Like Rhaegar said, words were said, punches were thrown and an eye was cut out. There’s no use in dwelling in yesterdays sorrows. Today is today, and tomorrow is another day. And Aemond would rather be damned in the deepest part of the seven hells than ever apologize for claiming Vhagar. She chose him! He’s proven himself to be just as much a dragon rider as anyone else in his family. Bonding with not just any dragon but with the Queen of all dragons herself. Vhagar had let him. HIM! Rhaena Targaryen would have to learn how accept her loss. Vhagar was never hers to claim. That fate was his and his alone.

“I’m sorry” the little prince whispers.

Leaving Aemond to dumbfounded to speak. He just stupidly sat on his bed with his mouth left slightly opened. Thankfully the conversation moved no further because Maester Hugh let himself in the chamber with Rhaegar right at his heel.

“Lie back my prince” the maester says with his huffy old man voice. ‘Tsk Tsk Tsk’ The old man shakes his head in disapproval.

“Who ever stitched your eyelid together boy did a foul job.” The old man threads his needle with a strand of fine horse hair.

“We’ll have to put a few more.” The old man turns to Rhaegar “My boy could you stitch in the dots I’m about to mark. These old hands aren’t as steady as they once were.”

“Of course Maester Hugh.” The raven haired prince wasted no time in closing the injury.

It was quite difficult to do since Aemond kept moving. Luckily for both of them, Aemond only needed three stitches in total.

“Ahh splendid job my lord!” Maester Hugh compliments his impromptu protogé.

“Have yourself about three goblets of wine Prince Aemond. It’ll help with the pain and bring sleep quicker to you.”

The Maester made his exit, biding the princelings a good night. The eldest of three moved a small table closer to where Aemond laid. Moving the princes books on a nearby chair.

“I’m having our dinner moved in here. I hope you do not mind cousin…”

“Not at all” Aemond chirps back. His anger still not completely soothed.

Lucerys still sitting silently in his seat, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

“I think I’ll head to bed…” he whispers.

“None sense Luke. You barely ate.” Rhaegar says with concern. “They’ll think I’m starving you if you return to Dragonstone all skin and bones.” He jokes lightly with a friendly smile.

“Come. Eat. Besides Ser Gerold invited us to have some ale with him after we’re done eating.”

The two squires miraculously share an eager smile and proceed to gobble their meals like hogs. A swift knock was heard at the door. Ser Gerold let’s himself in. Rhaegar’s uncle bearing a charismatic smile. Aemond felt it contagious and offered one of his own.

“Maester Hugh told me what happened” The seasoned knight says. “So I opted to bring the Ale to you lads.”

The three princes cheer happily.

“Now I’m only allowing you both a single goblet each”

Aemond and Lucerys nod excitedly. The man pours the yellowy liquid into the cups. The strong smell reaching their nostrils. While it wasn’t a bothersome smell, it wasn’t too pleasant either.

“Have you ever seen war Ser Gerold?” Little Lucerys asks the Bronze Man. Ser Gerold passes the goblets to his wards but nods in affirmation.

“Aye, I have little lad.”

The four give a quick cheers and chug their beverages. Aemond trying his best to not make a face ultimately fails, just as Lucerys.

“It gets better with practice.” Rhaegar reassures with an amused chuckle.

“I remember the time I had my first taste of ale. It was nothing like this one.” The older man said “It was a true ale brought from Winterfell.”

Taking a sip he continues with “I was about your age Prince Aemond, at the time the Lord of the Redfort was just a boy too, who happened to be warding with my uncle here at Runestone.”

The three princes paying close attention to Ser Gerold. If there was anything Aemond liked more than reading it was sitting and enjoying a good story.

“Lord Ashton Redfort, but at the time he was just little ash. He and I were like grease and water. Didn’t mesh well at all. Always trying to out spar each other in the courtyard. Trying to out ride each other on our horse. Hell even when it came to girls we had to compete who could out do who.” He laughs heartily.

“One day he dared me into stealing my fathers new bottle of Northern Ale. That foolish childhood rivalry had us in a stupid drinking contest. We finished that damn bottle and ended up so drunk we couldn’t even stand. In result we had left the sheep unattended and they wonder off deep into the forest. My uncle found us laying near the river all shitfaced and roared something ugly at us. Ashton had blamed me for the whole thing. When I tell you my uncle beat me bloody. Gods I couldn’t sit properly for a week straight. From then on I swore that Ashton Redfort would be my enemy for life.”

Aemond and Lucerys glance at each other but look away.

“Back to what you had asked earlier Little Prince. Aye war came to our shores here in the Vale a few weeks shy of my seventeenth nameday. The Ironborn had taken to reaving on our lands. Stealing anything they laid eyes on. Horses, sheep, lumber, even women. Their king, Stewart Greyjoy. Now that was an ugly fellow. Tall and brutish, looked like an ogre. The man had abducted a pretty maiden by the name of Elise Arryn daughter of the warden of the East. That was the last straw. Us Valeman bound together and ready ourselves for battle.”

Rhaegar still picking at his food, looked at his cousins who were listening so intently. Rhaegar had heard this story a million times but was happy they were enjoying it.

“Weren’t you afraid Ser Gerold?” Aemond asked inquisitively.

“I was scared shitless lad.” The older man admits without any shame.

“How can one be so brave but be scared at the same time?” Lucerys adds to the conversation.

“When your scared it’s the only time you can be brave.” Ser Gerold says wisely.

Both princes eyes light up. As if it spoke to both of them in a deep level.

“I remember me and few others jumped in on one of their wretched ships. Cutting down men with our swords as we moved forward, evading swings while at it. But I wasn’t as swift in maneuvering as I thought I was. You see the Ironborn are many things but they lack honor. It’s in their blood to fight dishonorably. One had ambushed me from behind and drove his sword through my side, kicking me when I was already down. I turned on my back to face the Ironborn who was about to kill me but before I could say anything a sword had been shoved through the back of his throat. Another man had saved my life.”

Now at the edge of their seats both boys began to ask excitedly who Ser Gerold’s savior was. The man smiled raising an arched brow.

“It was none other than Lord Ashton Redfort”

The Princelings both gasped like surprised maidens.

“But I thought he hated you?” Lucerys says confused.

“Aye perhaps at one time he did but all that is past us. He’s one of my truest friends now.”

“You were able to forgive each other?” Aemond says glancing at his nephew.

“Aye.” The older man said with a solemn smile. “I’ve come to understand that you learn who your real friends are in the battlefield.”

Aemond sees Ser Gerold stretch his arms with his one good eye. Observing how the Knight looked content with his answer. Oddly it had made his heart skip a painful beat.

“Well I think it’s time for me to call it a night.”

“Thank you for the story my lord” Aemond say graciously.

“Yes thank you!” Lucerys agrees.

“There’s plenty more to come” he says happily. “Plenty more.”

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

My boys are about to begin their healing era! And Ser Gerold is going to be their biggest fan along the way! Lol

Thank you guys for all the support! I appreciate all of you! Comments are always welcomed!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

#daemon targaryen x rhea royce #targaryen royce oc #helaena targaryen x oc #original targaryen character #helaena targaryen #oc!targaryenroyce

[ask-a-cryptid-and-a-normie]

((So... ask away!))

#mod talks #AU mashup event #link #prism #insomniac #echo #ghost #ask a cryptid and a normie #doing this made me realize just how MANY loz aus I have #like PECK #this is only like... half of them #also yeah if you want more Links to ask like #lemme know #I have about five more off the top of my head that I'd be down for adding in #also no none of these bois are canon-compliant in the slightest #they are ALL crack-treated-seriously #:3c

[lydias--stiles]

canon compliant juke | based on this post by @molinashimbos

“Hey, Julie. Who’re you texting?” It slipped out before she wanted to. “My boyfriend.”

Well, fuck. Luke and her haven’t labelled the relationship yet, but she kind of assumed that after a couple of dates and the fact that he kissed her regularly, that they were just that. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Exclusive. Which was also a given, because he was dead and a ghost and didn’t have any ghost girls around. But it felt wrong to tell this random classmate about her status when that status hasn’t properly been discussed. Welp. Too late now.

Valerie gasped and plopped down in the free seat next to her. Luckily, the cafeteria was so packed and loud no one would be able to eavesdrop. Flynn shot her an exasperated look. Yes, Julie wanted to say, I indeed don’t have the braincell today. 

“I knew it! No one smiles at their phone like that and not have it be a significant other!”

Julie had given Luke her old iPhone before they even began dating. Mostly so the boys could catch up on pop culture, but specifically that she and Luke could text during school and not have him randomly poof in and scare the lights out of her. She could only feign getting “hot flashes” so many times before someone got seriously worried about her. 

“Y-yeah!” She stuttered out, a stressed smile pressed on her lips. “It’s... it’s very fresh though. Nothing interesting to tell other people or something!” 

Valerie leaned in, intrigue glimmering her eyes. She was in for the scoop and they all knew it. “It’s that cute guitarist of yours, right? I’ve seen the videos. Isn’t that hard? Long distance? How late is it in Sweden anyway?”

Shit. She really should’ve thought about this beforehand. Gah! Why would she even start thinking of creating a cover story when she's been on cloud nine for weeks?! Luke sweetly kissing her was quite the distraction. 

Her saving grace, Flynn, perked up. “Uh, late! Very late! But Luke’s a night owl, right Julie?”

“Yeah,” she squeaked. “He’s basically running on LA time.”

Valerie cooed. “That’s so sweet... I think. Then long distance is working out too, I guess?” 

Ugh. Long distance was the biggest understatement of the century. The fact that her boyfriend was technically six feet down in some Orange County cemetery rotting away was not something she preferred to linger on. To Julie, Luke was real. Real and alive and warm and with a heart beating for her. But sometimes... 

Sometimes, at night, when she was alone with her thoughts, the knowledge that he wasn’t actually kissing her, hugging her, playing music with her, ached more than she wanted it to. So no, she didn’t like to linger on it. 

She couldn’t say that though. “Yeah. We facetime a lot. It’s- we’re making it work. But maybe not... tell everyone about this? We’re keeping it lowkey.”

“Very lowkey,” added Flynn with a quirked brow. 

Valerie quickly nodded, zipping her mouth shut and throwing away the key. “Don’t worry about me! Just happy for you! Bye, Julie, Flynn!”

When Valerie disappeared from hearing distance, her bestie made a gagging sound. “The biggest tattletale of the school telling you to ‘not worry about her’? Better tell your boyfriend your relationship is public now, Jules.”

Julie’s head dropped on the table with a groan. Fucking perfect. 

Frantically sliding the doors of the studio open and dropping her backpack on the floor, she called out for him. “Luke?!”

He poofed right in front of her. She still had no idea how he heard her when he wasn’t close-by, but she hasn’t had the guts to ask him. Whatever. She had other priorities. 

“Hey,” he grinned, draping his arms around her shoulders. Her expression was clear as day though, the grin quickly dropping to a worried frown. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes squeezed shut. “I did something stupid.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I did.”

“Try me.” His warm gaze caught hers, twinkling with an emotion reserved for her and often leaving her speechless. His nose scrunched, leaning closer to murmur: “What happened, Jules?”

She sighed. Though he wouldn’t get mad, she’d hate it if he was even the slightest bit peeved. It would mean that they weren’t on the same wavelength and that she was way more into him than he was and then she’d feel miserable and embarrassed and- “I accidentally told someone at school you’re my boyfriend even though we haven’t talked about and I’m sorry!” The ramble left in one breath. 

His eyes widened. “W-what?”

She cringed. “I know. It’s stupid. You were texting me and I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry.”

An incredulous chuckle puffed from his lips, the ones she loved kissing so much stretching into the brightest smile she’s ever seen. His eyes were impossibly green, though the black of his pupils almost swallowed it entirely. Julie’s heart stuttered out of place. He was looking at her like she was the prettiest view he’s ever seen, a rare, shimmering diamond cradled in his hands.

And then she saw it: moisture building in the corners of his eyes. Relief washed away the insecurities as she swiped his skin with a giggle. “Why’re you crying?”

His thumbs pressed into her cheeks, pressing his forehead against hers. Giddiness soared in her chest, that intoxicating feeling of being in his embrace topping any other sensation in the world.

“You called me your boyfriend,” he whispered. 

Her arms found a way around his waist, matching his splitting grin. “Yeah. Can I take a guess and say I was right?”

Luke nodded, dazed. Their noses brushed. “Yeah... cool if I call you my girlfriend?”

God, if she wasn’t so infatuated with him she’d roll her eyes at his casualty. Instead, another eager giggle tumbled out. “Mh-hm. Sounds good.”

“Nice. Cause I’ve already been doing that.”

Chuckling, because her heart might actually explode, she gripped his back tighter. “Great.”

He didn’t wait. “Can I kiss you?”

She replied with her mouth, cherishing the way he responded immediately yet couldn’t keep the grin off his face when he did. Whenever his warm lips moulded against hers, his body buzzing with heat and that hum trembling in his chest (always finding a new tune to define their love), none of the difficulties they’d inevitably have to face mattered.

Right now, all that mattered was his heart promising her the world and her equalling that just as ardently. Right now, she was just going to enjoy kissing her boyfriend Luke Patterson like the lovesick girlfriend she was. 

Like any couple would. 

@blush-and-books @unsaid-emily @sophiphi @alexjulies @bluefirewrites @willexx

#don't listen to *right here right now* from hsm3 but actually do if you wanna feel things #juke #jatp fanfiction #julie and the phantoms #otp: i think we make each other better

[cavalierious-whim]

Whelp (FE3H)

Sylvix | Pre-Game | Canon-Compliant AU | Teen

It’s long been said that a Gautier who graces the battlefield is Death incarnate. But Sylvain's not just a wolf, he's also a boy, and all he wants to do is enjoy his youth.

----

A/N: So let's consider this: Crests aren't a boon, they're a curse. What's it like to live with that? This is the first in a collection of stories called 'Of Crests and Curses'. The storyline is that of the game, which is why I've tagged it Canon-Compliant AU. Read here on AO3 for better quality! And follow mere here on Twitter.

----

It’s long been said that a Gautier who graces the battlefield is Death incarnate.

A boon, gifted to the bloodline by the Goddess. Nearly feral with rage and born to ravage the battlefield as beasts, the Gautier family see themselves as harbingers of death: if you meet one in battle, then you’ve met your end.

Time wears on and views change. The Gautier blessing is now a blessing only to their own. The rest of the world whispers of a curse instead, carefully concealed behind titles and lordship. Those who carry the burden are nothing but beasts, bred to bring death and destruction upon their foes, relishing it.

The Margrave Philippe Alexandre Gautier has a reputation to uphold. He’d done his duty for King Lambert, loping across enemy lines and battlefronts, and then later, he’d held the North against Sreng. He still holds the North against Sreng.

But, Philippe’s reign of terror is regrettably over; his bones ache a little bit more with every shift, and his nose isn’t good for much nowadays.

Miklan is a disaster. He’s got the bloodlust required of a Gautier but no crest to match it. Phillipe frowns at the mere thought. It’s a pity. Gautier men need that bloodlust, they thrive on it, but the beast is also required to temper it. When left alone, it’s more like gunpowder, prone to exploding when you least expect it. A careful balance is required.

There’s a scream from the other room and his head snaps up, fighting the instinctual urge to go be with his mate. Not quite a man and not quite a wolf, but that deep-seated connection thrums through his heart. The midwife won’t let him in and he does his best to maintain hope.

And so, Phillipe waits, pacing the long corridor of the Gautier fortress. Even in the summer months, Gautier can be frigid, the bitter cold seeping deep into the stones of his home.

Eventually, the screaming stops. The midwife opens the door and Philippe slips in quietly. There isn’t any crying, but his wife doesn’t look distressed. She holds a bundle close to her, her face tired and red and sweating.

When Philippe peeks into the folds of the blanket, he sees fur, wet and sticky, a deep auburn red.

“A crest,” says Philippe to his wife. “Our--” He pauses and waits, looking back to her, his tongue-tied.

“Son,” says his wife, her voice raspy from hours of crying out. “Our son has a crest.”

Pride swells within Philippe as he takes the bundle from her breast. Their son is a small thing, his eyes still closed. His maw is wide open, pink, and toothless gums on display. He’s the most beautiful thing that Philippe has ever seen.

But more importantly, he’s the most useful.

“There are big plans for you,” Philippe says, petting the downy fur at the crown of his son’s head. “Big plans indeed, my precious Sylvain.” Philippe pulls the boy closer so his son can learn his scent.

Yes, incredibly useful indeed.

#

If there’s one thing that Sylvain Jose Gautier can’t resist, it’s a good tail wag.

Well, that’s a lie. He also loves a really good smell, the kind that sticks in your nose all day. Or a really good cut of steak, tender and juicy and more on the raw side than not. Okay, so, there’s a lot of things that Sylvain loves and it’s too hard to pick just one, so he’ll try to enjoy them all, he thinks.

Fraldarius Manor isn’t as large as his home, but it’s busier. Servants bustle to and fro, guards stand here and there, and there’s a massive assortment of sights and smells and noises and--

Sylvain knows that he shouldn’t get ahead of himself, but his foot twitches, ready to explore. Small as the manor is when compared to the Gautier Fortress, there’s not a doubt in his mind that it holds more secrets than he could ever sniff out. He’s excited to try.

There’s just one problem.

Before Sylvain can even turn to him, his father reaches out and grabs the back of his neck firmly. He doesn’t have a scruff in his human form, so Sylvain winces. Not painful but it doesn’t feel great, and Sylvain resists the urge to wiggle out of his father’s grasp like a slippery little snake.

“Sylvain,” says his father in a hiss. “Quit your fidgeting.”

Sylvian whines in response, but it only causes his father to grip a little bit harder. He’s not angry, Sylvain thinks. It’s just a warning, Sylvain tells himself. Sylvain doesn’t get very many warnings.

“Duke Fraldarius is meeting us here at the entrance and he’s bringing his sons. Be on your best behavior.”

“I don’t want to meet his sons,” says Sylvain, lips pulling into a terse frown. He wants to sniff out things, to explore, to get stuck in tight little places. He’s got a sense of adventure that itches to be scratched, nearly as bad as that one time he’d gotten fleas as a toddler.

“You will,” says his father, his grip pinching. Sylvain doesn’t whine this time, his mouth snaps shut in a grimace. It’s better to not show pain, to just put on a brave face and bear it. Finally, his father lets go with a sigh. “There’s plenty of time to satisfy your curiosity later on. Until then, behave. We are Gautiers. Act like one.”

Act like one. Sylvain huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Familiar words that he’s tired of hearing. Sometimes, Sylvain feels as though it’s the only thing that his father knows how to say. Gautier, this, Gautier that. Gautier boys are expected to hold the north and strike down their enemies.

Gautier boys are expected to do a lot of things that Sylvain has no interest in.

He doesn’t want to strike down any enemies, he wants to find that delicious grilled meat whose smell is stuck in his nose. Besides, there aren’t any enemies here at Fraldarius Manor. His father has spoken at length about the Duke and his kin. The Fraldarius family has long since been framed as something to both admire and admonish; their loyalty to the crown is unmatched, but also their downfall.

“Watch them carefully and learn,” said his father one night. “Learn from their drive and then their folly, and combine that with our strength. You will be unstoppable, pup.”

Servants of the Fraldarius household watch him and his father warily, skirting around them with a wide breadth. Their guards aren’t nearly so feared, but then again, they aren’t wolves. Sylvain had once asked his father about it.

“They know what we are, and so, they fear us,” said his Father. “As they should.”

Sylvain doesn’t want to be feared but he’s got little control over it, so he makes do. He’s ten and has other things to worry about, like the way that mud squishes between his paws.

Duke Fraldarius takes his time to greet them, but eventually, the double front doors open wide. The duke is a rat-like looking man, with thick and wavy hair, but a thinning goatee. A tall, slightly gangly teenager treks behind him, and their group is rounded out by a boy who looks younger than Sylvain.

They all have wild, wavy dark hair, but the boys have theirs tied back and out of their faces. The older boy looks tired but stands alert, and the youngest hides behind him, grabbing onto his thighs as he sneaks a peek.

“Philippe,” says the Duke with familiarity. He steps forward and they clasp hands, and for the first time in years, Sylvain sees his father smile the slightest bit. They must be actual friends. Amusing. Sylvain has always thought his father had none.

“Rodrigue,” says Sylvain’s father. “Thank you for having us.”

“Nonsense,” says the Duke. “There’s more than enough room and coming here is easier than traveling to the palace.”

Sylvain’s father nods. “When does his Royal Highness arrive?”

The Duke lets out an annoyed huff. “I have no idea. The King does as he wants, which includes showing up late.”

“So he’s late, then?” The Margrave laughs. “And Count Galatea?”

“Nearly here,” says the Duke. “The Count will be bringing Ingrid of course, to spend time with Glenn.”

Sylvain can’t help the face that he makes when he hears that. He’s never met Glenn or Ingrid, but his father has spoken of their betrothal before. Sylvain risks a glance at the older boy that stands before them. This must be Glenn. Sylvain’s not sure what he expected, but the somber-faced and weary teenager that stands there isn’t it.

He looks boring.

“How is the arrangement going?” asks the Margrave.

“Well, I would think.” There’s a pause as the Duke casts a glance in Sylvain’s direction. “I wish you luck in your efforts, of course.”

At his words, it’s as if his father finally remembers that Sylvain is there. He reaches out and presses his hand against Sylvain’s head, ruffling his hair. “I have no doubt,” says his father. “After all, Sylvain possesses a crest and good breeding.”

The Duke’s little smile twitches slightly at that, but then he nods in agreement. “Let’s lead you inside then and get you settled. We’ll talk about such things later. I’m sure you’d prefer some rest.”

“I’d prefer to explore,” says Sylvain before he can stop himself. His father’s smile slips and Sylvain can nearly smell the annoyance that radiates off of him.

The Duke, however, looks genuinely amused by this and before the Margrave can reprimand Sylvain, he says, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

#

Glenn, as it turns out, isn’t boring at all.

The Duke had asked his sons to give Sylvain a proper tour of the place, but the moment that Rodrigue had turned his back, Glenn cocked his head to the side, gave Sylvain a wide smirk. “I bet that’s not what you want to do at all, is it?”

Sylvain likes to explore and Glenn likes to pull pranks and cause mischief. The two of them together are a hellish pair and they’ve barely begun their antics.

“So, what about your little brother?” asks Sylvain. They’re skirting around the eastern edge of the manner, Sylvain walking atop a parapet with Glenn following alongside below him.

“Felix?” asks Glenn. “What about him?”

“He’s not here?”

Glenn lets out a long and deep laugh straight from his belly. “Felix would never,” says Glenn. “Not unless Father made him. He’s too much of a crybaby.”

“A crybaby?” Sylvain then remembers how Felix had hidden behind Glenn’s legs. “How boring.”

“I pray to the Goddess every day that he’ll grow out of it,” says Glenn. “What’s the point of having a little brother if you can’t wreak havoc together?”

Sylvain can’t imagine. Glenn cares for Felix, something that Sylvain’s never seen in Miklan. Miklan only has curses and balled fists for Sylvain, and he’s learned the hard way that it’s easier to run and hide than try to play.

But then, Sylvain’s reminded of his father’s wish to befriend the boys. He opts to smile wide at Glenn and not think of Miklan. “I’m not your little brother, but I am younger than you.”

Glenn shoots him a smile back, but it’s a little more lopsided and a lot more conniving. “Want to go cause some mischief?”

“Not really,” says Sylvain, “I smelled some grilled meat earlier that I have to find.” He pauses, giving Glenn a knowing look. “But you know, if you want to cause some problems on the way there, I won’t say anything.”

Glenn reaches out to nudge his cheek affectionately. “I knew that I liked you the moment I saw you. Come on then; I’ll show you where Meryl’s stall is.”

“Meryl?” asks Sylvain.

“Meryl,” confirms Glenn. “Only the best cook in this entire complex. No doubt it’s her food that you caught a whiff of.”

Glenn leads him along the western side of the grounds. It’s not like the Gautier Fortress which is all cold stone and even colder weather. Fraldarius Manor is warmer and brighter, part stone and part wood, and bustling with activity. It’s like two different worlds, but Sylvain already loves it here because there’s too much to see in just one day.

And Miklan isn’t there, which is a bonus.

“You said that you’d smelled it,” says Glenn. They’re watching the stall from afar, leaning against a column. Trying to look inconspicuous. Glenn succeeds rather well, but Sylvain fails to capture his ease, looking awkward instead. The servants find it cute, giggling softly as they walk by.

“Smelled what?”

“The meat.” Glenn waves to the stand. “We’re not exactly near the entrance gate.”

Sylvain’s mouth parts slightly. “Oh, that.” He shrugs. “It’s part of being a wolf, I guess. I have a really good sense of smell.”

“Wait, the wolf thing is literal?”

“Haven’t you read the histories?” Sylvain frowns. His father’s made him practically memorize entire books; centuries of stories about Gautier men and women leveling the battlefield as Death incarnate.

You know, typical bedtime stories.

Glenn watches him for a moment, hand on his chin, thinking. Then he says, “I’ve always assumed that it was more of a metaphorical thing.”

“What’s metaphorical ?” asks Sylvain. Glenn laughs.

“Don’t worry about it, pup,” says Glenn in jest.

Sylvain makes a face. “Ew, no, don’t call me that. That’s what my father calls me.”

“All right, all right.” Then, Glenn gives him a mischievous grin. “Hey, I know how good your nose is, but how good are your stalking skills? You know, getting down low and sneaking up on prey?”

“As good as any wolf’s,” Sylvain says, sticking out his chest haughtily. It’s a lie. Sylvain hasn’t gotten a lot of practice in, but he wants to impress Glenn.

“I’ll distract Meryl while you sneak up and grab a couple of meat sticks grilling over the coals.”

“Wouldn’t she just give them to you, if you asked?” Glenn is the Duke’s son. There’s no way that the vendor wouldn’t just comply with his request.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

Sylvain shoots Glenn a conspiratorial glance in return. He decides right then and there that he likes Glenn, and wishes he were his big brother instead. Maybe Felix will want to be his brother too.

#

Sylvain hasn’t met a lot of girls in his short life, but he’s fairly certain that most aren’t like Ingrid.

He’s read books, both fiction and non-fiction. Girls and women have their place within packs. Sylvain thinks of his mother, lovely and demure, always dressed nice and smelling like flowers. Quiet unless she’s spoken to, with kind eyes and an even kinder smile. The only person that his father genuinely loves, most like.

And then there’s Ingrid, a wild child covered in dirt and dust, smells like sweat, and whose eyes gleam with a challenge. She wears trousers like a boy, she wields a wooden lance, and she curses like a sailor when Glenn knocks it from her grip.

Sylvain’s mouth falls open in surprise. Ingrid’s only a year younger than him and at nine, she shouldn’t say such things. But Glenn doesn’t mind, shooting her a menacing little wink, and Sylvain is certain that he’s figured out who she learned such words from.

It’s not that women in the Gautier family don’t fight, only the wolves do. And there hasn’t been a female crest bearer in the Gautier line for decades. Ingrid isn’t a wolf, therefore seeing her in the training grounds with the rest of them is a bit of an adjustment.

Sylvain learns that he likes things that are a little different, though. His father drones on and on about propriety and the way that things are supposed to be, but Sylvain only finds expectations to be confining. He longs for the freedom to be himself and do what he wants.

He knows he won’t have long to enjoy it.

“What’s he staring at?” asks Ingrid rudely, and Sylvain realizes that she’s talking about him.

“You,” says Glenn, unapologetically. “And all those sticks in your hair.”

Ingrid gasps, running her hands through her blonde locks, but when there are no sticks, she lets out an annoyed shriek, throwing a rock at Glenn. Glenn throws his hands up and runs the length of the training yard, Ingrid chasing after him.

Not for the first time over the last few days, Sylvain wonders what it’d be like to have a brother like Glenn in his life.

And then, Sylvain thinks of Felix. Glenn had told him that Felix was a crybaby and scared of everything. Sylvian’s barely seen the boy-- once or twice, and the moment they lock eyes, Felix hides away again. Behind Glenn’s legs, behind their father, around a corner or even running from the room entirely.

Sylvain frowns. Crybaby indeed.

“Ridiculous, chasing each other around like that.” Sylvain turns to his father who stands beside him. The Duke is on his other side.

“Philippe, it’s harmless,” says the Duke. “They’re children.”

“It’s never too soon to learn manners.” Sylvain’s father gives him a pointed look. “Take Sylvain for instance. Always properly behaved. Always an example.”

Sylvain hides a smile behind a cleverly placed cough. The Duke smiles at him, just a little quirk of his mouth. So, maybe he hadn’t hidden his smile well enough. Rodrigue then gives Sylvain’s father a disappointed tut. “I’ll say it again: they’re children. Let them enjoy themselves. Eventually, they’ll answer the call of duty and they’ll never have time for fun again.”

Sylvain’s father huffs at that. “There’s no room for fun when you’re a lord.”

“There’s a little bit of room for it,” says the Duke, measuring a small gap between his fingers.

“You sound like his Royal Highness.” The Margrave sighs wearily. “That’s not surprising though.”

“His Royal Highness knows how to balance work and family.”

“Speaking of family, where is Felix?” asks the Margrave.

“Ah, Felix,” says the Duke. “Off hiding, no doubt.”

“Hiding--”

“It’s nothing, really,” says Rodrigue. “He’s young yet and he’s shy. It’s as simple as that.”

“Sylvain used to be shy.”

“Used to be?”

“We fixed it.”

Sylvain’s not smiling anymore. Instead, Sylvain’s thinking of kneeling on his knees for hours on end during his father’s meetings, listening to political talk. He’s thinking of reciting lines and missed meals when he’d cowered before another adult. Not really in fear, but overwhelmed by smells and sights and sounds.

He’s not overwhelmed anymore. Sylvain’s learned to tune things like that out.

Sylvain thinks about what his father likes to say.

“It’s not a matter of whether you want to, it’s that you will. Until then, it’s on your knees.”

Sylvain tells himself that his father isn’t cruel, that this is just the way of the wolf, but the older gets the less he believes. Just like Miklan. Sylvain knows that it’s not normal to throw fisticuffs at a boy half your size and age.

But if he tells himself that it is, it’s easier to pretend.

The Duke’s gaze slides from his father to him, and his lips tug downward slightly. Sylvain thinks that Rodrigue is good at reading people, and maybe he sees more of Sylvain than Sylvain wants him to.

“I’ve been thinking,” says the Duke, “What if Sylvain came to stay with us during the summer? He would be exposed to a different part of the court and different advisors. He could spar with Glenn, and perhaps even Dimitri. Spread his legs, as it were. And, it would give you and Amelie a break; I daresay you haven’t had one since your boy was born.”

The Margrave considers this for a moment so long, that the Duke continues.

“It might be good for Felix. He has no one else his age aside from the prince. And I know that you’re all about opportunities.”

“Perhaps Felix can come to the Fortress and spend winter with us, then. We’ll make it an exchange.”

The Duke considers and then nods. “I’m amenable to that.” They shake on it, a strange gesture that Sylvain’s come to learn as a show of good faith.

Except, anything that concerns his father is rarely in good faith.

“Sylvain,” says the Duke, snapping him back to attention. “Why don’t you go off with Glenn and Ingrid? I’m sure that you can learn something.”

Sylvain wrinkles his nose at the mention of Ingrid, mostly because girls are gross and Ingrid is the grossest of them all, but anywhere is better than being here. So, he scampers off.

#

Sometimes, Sylvain forgets how natural it feels to be a wolf. He spends so much time as a boy walking awkwardly on two feet, that he forgets the relief of sinking his paws into the soft earth.

And you know, claws are pretty neat too.

“Sylvain?” hisses Glenn when Sylvian pads around the corner. Glenn had told him to sneak out from his room half-past ten for some late-night fun. He hadn’t been expecting Sylvain to show up like this.

Sylvain runs a circle around Glenn’s legs. He’s the size of a large pup, not fully grown into his paws. Long and lanky legs, massive pads, and a head that’s just a little bit too large for the rest of his frame. He’s got growing left to do. His tongue lolls out the side of his mouth as he beams at Glenn.

“Are you smiling? I think you’re smiling. Oh, that’s a little weird.” Then Glenn pauses, pointing down the corridor. “I’ve already got Ingrid waiting around the corner.”

Ingrid doesn’t like dogs, Sylvain learns, but she’s not afraid of them. It’s just that she prefers horses. Ingrid relaxes a little when Glenn explains that he’s Sylvain, and then her eyes narrow as though she realizes how odd it is that he’s a shape-shifting werewolf.

She keeps a solid three feet between the two of them at all times.

Glenn doesn’t have much of a plan aside from wandering the manor grounds. “Even though it’s been nearly a week, there’s still a lot that I want to show you,” says Glenn as they round a corner.

“Glenn?” The three of them freeze at the sound of Felix’s voice, and Glenn shoots Sylvain a panicked look.

“Change!” hisses Glenn, shaking his hand at Sylvain. “Change back!”

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Felix must be afraid of dogs. Or animals. Or anything, really. And, while his wolf form feels as natural as the moon high above them, he hasn’t quite mastered shifting back.

Sylvain had once asked his father if they were human or if they were a wolf, and his father had only laughed, citing that it was a ridiculous question. They were human, of course, gifted the boon of Death. Sylvain had told him that being a wolf had felt better, and his father had given him a weird look before a feral smile covered his face entirely.

Then, Sylvain’s father had quoted some archaic Gautier family motto and promised him the Lance of Ruin upon adulthood.

Sylvain snaps to attention, trying to pull his human side forward. He imagines standing on two feet, unbalanced and awkward. He thinks of blunted teeth and a shorter tongue, and a dull sense of smell. He blinks, pulling forth those feelings, urging his body to shift back into place. His bones creak and he pants.

It’s not a fun transition and it’s slow going.

“Sylvain,” warns Glenn, which spurs him into action.

Sylvain’s a boy again the moment that Felix rounds the corner. He’s wearing a loose shirt, half-tucked into a pair of trousers. His hair is tousled but his eyes are awake and alert.

“You’re playing without me,” accuses Felix, cheeks pink and eyes narrowed right at Glenn.

“Felix, it’s late,” says Glenn, rubbing at his neck sheepishly. He shoots Sylvain a look that’s half relief and half worry.

“Ingrid’s here. We’re the same age.” Felix pouts and Sylvain finds it adorable. Not that’d he’d ever tell him that; Felix might be a scaredy-cat, but being perceived as one is his biggest fear. He tries to bluff, playing it cool. Especially around Glenn.

“Ingrid is--” But Glenn doesn’t finish, because Ingrid kicks him in the shin.

“If you say that I’m special, I’ll kick you again.”

“But you are--”

Ingrid kicks Glenn again and Glenn lets out a groan of pain. Sylvain winces because he knows that she packs a punch, even with her tiny size. Not that Sylvain’s much bigger. Felix rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“A brute, isn’t she?” asks Sylvain in jest, leaning toward Felix.

Felix moves toward Glenn in response, half hiding behind his leg. Sylvain sighs. Felix knows Ingrid, he’s used to her because of her betrothal to Glenn. Sylvain’s still new to him and Felix is a boy that likes the well-familiar. He doesn’t like change.

Glenn sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “I wasn’t planning on babysitting tonight--”

“You said you wanted to play,” says Sylvain.

“And I do, but three against one? That’s a little unfair.”

“Then we’ll just explore,” says Sylvain. “That’s what I wanted to do anyway.”

Glenn thumbs his chin and then cracks a smile. He ruffles Felix’s hair, and then Sylvain’s, and then he presses a dainty little kiss against Ingrid’s knuckles. She makes a face and mimics vomiting in response.

“Exploring it is then,” says Glenn. Then he leans over slightly, his tone pitching soft. “It’s too late to be out of bed though, so we’ll need to keep quiet, alright?”

Ingrid’s eyes flash at that. “Beyond the gate then?”

Glenn shoots her an impish smile. “Beyond the gate,” he confirms. “Just a bit. Should be fine if we all stick together.”

Felix is the one that looks troubled. “Glenn, we’re not supposed too--”

“That’s the point, little brother.” Glenn gives Felix a steady look, brows raised. “Of course, you’re more than welcome to go back to bed.”

“No!” The three of them shoot Felix a look after his outburst, and Felix fidgets behind Glenn’s leg. “I’ll be fine,” he then says bravely, face held high and pert little nose in the air.

Glenn shuffles them to the front gate, a finger held to his lips. He’s on good terms with the gatekeeper, chatting a few friendly words and then slipping a few gold coins into his palm. Then the gatekeeper winks at the kids before turning a blind eye.

Ingrid and Sylvain bounce on their heels, but Felix walks rigidly beside Glenn.

“There’s nothing out here to be concerned about. We’re close to the manor,” says Glenn, ruffling Felix’s hair once more.

“It’s--”

“Spooky,” cuts in Ingrid, a delightful little grin spreading across her face.

“I was going to say that I wasn’t scared.”

“It’s alright, you know,” says Ingrid, matter-of-factly. “Glenn will protect us.”

Glenn does, not that it’s hard. The three of them are eager to enjoy their outing, so they play by the rules and keep close to his side. They don’t go far, barely dipping into the trees. They chase each other around, digging underneath rocks and even climb low-hanging limbs.

Even with his dulled senses, Sylvain follows the smells of the wild, his heart beating wildly. He’s entirely unused to the freedom of exploring. While his father actively encourages his wolf, he also keeps him on a tight leash. Ingrid inches closer to him, seemingly having forgotten that he’s more wolf than man, asking him what it is that’s caught his attention.

Felix still shies away when Sylvain tries to engage, albeit with a brave and determined face. He even meets Sylvain’s gaze head-on.

“Glenn’s read me the stories, you know,” Felix says. “I know all about your family.”

“Our fathers think we should be friends.” Sylvain nearly laughs at the way that Felix’s nose crinkles in response. “They are friends themselves.”

“Ugh. Who’d want to be friends with my father?”

Sylvain does laugh this time. “Who indeed?” Rodrigue seems nice at a glance, so different than his own. Sylvain can’t imagine the Margrave with a friend; he barely sees him with his mother. Felix doesn’t come closer or say anything else, but he doesn’t go to hide behind Glenn either.

When they slip back through the front gate, the Duke and the Margrave are waiting for them. Rodrigue stands with his hands clasped behind his back, but there’s a soft hint of a smile on his face, amused.

The Margrave isn’t amused. He stands there tall, arms crossed over his chest and his face hardened into a frown. Sylvain winces at the sight; his father had already been in a sour mood and this will only worsen it.

Glenn stands tall and says, “Father--”

Rodrigue holds up a hand. “Out late I see, and with the others in tow. I hope that your little adventure was fun?”

Glenn’s mouth snaps shut and he nods. “Yes.”

“Good. I’ve played my share of games when I was younger,” Rodrigue says, “but never the night before Royalty is due to visit. I usually waited until Lambert was here.” A pause. “Are you trying to get out of your duty tomorrow?”

“Of course not,” says Glenn.

Rodrigue watches him for a long moment and then sighs. “Phillippe,” says the Duke, turning towards Sylvain’s father. “What are we to do? Extra training? Perhaps a proper spar with Dimitri?”

Glenn turns a little pale at the suggestion and Sylvain doesn’t understand the hesitation. Training with the crown prince doesn’t seem like a too-terrible punishment. Sylvain thinks of worse ones, looking to his father.

He’d rather a bout with the prince.

“You can handle your sons,” the Margrave says, leveling Sylvain with a stern gaze. “I’ll handle mine.”

“They were only having fun. Nothing too egregious, surely.”

“Propriety is still expected,” says Sylvain’s father. “There’s much to be expected from the heir of the Gautier line.”

“Phillippe,” says the Duke quietly, “perhaps--”

“I will handle it,” repeats the Margrave.

Rodrigue drops the subject and nods. “Of course. I didn’t mean to impose.” There’s a pause before he continues with, “My boys will extra rounds in the field tomorrow with Dimitri. You should send Sylvain.”

“Rodrigue,” warns Sylvain’s father.

The Duke turns to Glenn. “Boys, off to bed. Ingrid, you too. I’ll speak to your father in the morning.” He turns to take his leave but then stops to give one last look at Sylvain. Hesitating. But, in the end, all he does is big them a good night.

The moment they’re alone, Sylvain’s father lashes out and grabs the back of his neck roughly, like he would his scruff. Then he tugs Sylvain along, back to the rooms where they’re staying.

His father loves him, Sylvain tells himself. He tries to think of those good moments; being taught how to shift. How to sift through scents and recognize a pack. How to track your prey.

The worse memories always weed their way in, though. Punishments that bend the will, but don’t entirely break it. Just enough to crack the slightest bit under pressure. Like Sylvain kneeling against raw grains of rice.

Or throwing him into the ring with Miklan and coming out with bruises instead. Miklan likes to hit and Sylvain isn’t quite fast enough to always avoid him.

Eventually, his father deems the lesson learned and Sylvain rises on tired limbs. He brushes the rice from his knees as his father calls a servant to come to sweep them up. Sylvain goes to bed, legs aching, but not nearly as busted as he feels.

Your father loves you, he thinks. Your father cares. This is how he teaches.

The older he gets though, the emptier the words feel.

#

Dimitri is a short little thing with blonde hair styled into the world’s worst square-cut bob. He stands there in the training grounds, feet shuffling awkwardly as he holds a wooden training lance in his hands. Glenn reaches out to ruffle his hair.

Sylvain shoots the crown prince a smile and a wave, and Dimitri returns the gesture, a small smile on his lips. He’s the same age as Felix and a few years younger than Sylvain, but unlike the youngest Fraldarius boy, Dimitri isn’t terrified of everything.

He’s just reticent about sparring.

“Glenn,” says the Prince, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“I agree,” says Glenn bluntly. “The last time we sparred with each other, you broke my rib. I’d prefer the dummies just as much as you.”

Sylvain gapes at the idea that Dimitri could have landed such a hit on Glenn. Dimiri is smaller and slim when compared to the wiry muscle of Glenn. And it’s not that the elder Fraldarius boy is that much older or larger, but he’s more honed in his ability.

Not to mention it’s Glenn’s job to protect Dimitri, not the other way around.

Felix watches the lot of them, standing closer than usual. He and the prince seem to get along well. Ingrid, on the other hand, watches Dimitri through narrowly slitted eyes, arms crossed over her chest.

“You’re holding it wrong,” says Ingrid, pointing to the lance.

“Oh,” breathes Dimitri, changing his grip on the practice weapon, fingers tightening just the slightest bit. There’s a sudden crack as the wood splits between his palms, and Dimitri’s left holding to splintered pieces of teakwood in each hand.

Sylvain’s mouth drops open in surprise, but everyone else seems to have expected it.

Glenn sighs. “Well, better the lance than me this time around, right?”

“This is why I prefer the dummies,” says Dimitri, resigned. He motions for a new lance.

“Glenn, put him in the ground,” says Ingrid none-too-lightly. She’s always rooting for Glenn and Sylvain suspects that she doesn’t find their betrothal as gross as she likes to pretend.

“He’s the prince,” hisses Felix, leveling her with a disgusted look.

Ingrid sniffs. “Put him in the ground, please,” she amends. Then she rolls her eyes. “It’s your job to follow him loyally. I’ll talk about him however I like.”

“Ingrid,” says Glenn, hiding a smirk behind his hand.

“Your highness--” starts Sylvain.

“Dimitri, please,” says the prince. Then he looks at Glenn. “Glenn, do we have to?”

Glenn winces, looking off to the side where his father sits in the shadows. Sylvain’s father is there too, sharing a pot of tea, his dark gaze penetrating as he watches on. Waiting. Expecting. Sylvain swallows thickly.

“It’s a punishment,” sighs Glenn. He rubs at the back of his neck. “We snuck out last night.”

Dimitri looks a little put-out. “You couldn’t wait until I arrived?”

“Well, the plan was to sneak out again, but I think that’s been speared in the foot.” Glenn pauses, eyeing the new lance in Dimitri’s hands warily. “Just keep it below the neck and above the belt, okay?”

Sylvain snorts out a laugh, Felix turns bright red in the face, and Ingrid looks between them utterly confused. Girls, Sylvain thinks.

Sylvain and Felix stand off to the side, watching Glenn and Dimitri stand opposite each other in the center of the field. Glenn isn’t afraid, but he’s hesitant, and once the match is started Sylvain sees why.

Dimitri hits hard without meaning to, seemingly unable to hold back his strength. Sylvain’s watched Glenn spar with others over the last few days, but never quite like this. Glenn usually charges into the fight, blade raised and mind focused, calculating several moves ahead.

With the prince, however, he’s on the defensive, dodging to the side and trying to avoid a glancing blow. You broke my rib, Glenn had said earlier. There’s power behind Dimitri’s sloppy swings and now Sylvain can see just how he’d managed it the last time he and Glenn sparred.

Ingrid looks annoyed that Glenn is only blocking hits instead of giving them, her mouth tugged into a disapproving frown. Felix watches, enraptured. Sylvain knows that he wants to be a knight just like his father and brother. And, just like Felix who’s read about the Gautier family, Sylvain’s read about his in turn.

The Fraldarius’ are born and bred to protect the crown. Felix is no exception.

Finally, Glenn sees an opening and lashes out. Dimitri skids to the side, barely avoiding a glancing blow. He retaliates, sweeping his lance to the side in an arc-- and entirely misjudges his move.

Dimitri trips over his own feet, stumbling slightly. His lance swings wide, flinging towards Sylvain and Felix. He doesn’t see the two of them, preoccupied with finding his footing and narrowly avoiding Glenn.

Sylvain doesn’t think as he feels his bones shift and change, as instinctive as the rough howl he lets loose. One moment he’s a boy and the next he’s a wolf, his coarse fur ruddy under the midmorning sun. He darts forward and grabs Felix by the hem of his shirt and yanks him back with his teeth.

Felix tumbles overtop Sylvain. Everyone in the training yard freezes: Glenn’s eyes are glued to Sylvain. Dimitri stumbles in the opposite direction upon the sight of Sylvain as a wolf. Ingrid stands before Glenn, high-alert like she’s the one who’s going to protect him instead.

And then there’s Rodrigue and Sylvain’s father, the Duke pulled to the edge of his seat, mouth parted as his gaze flashes to Felix, worried. Because he knows that above all, Felix is a crybaby and scared of everything. A ticking bomb, really.

Sylvain’s father doesn’t seem angry, he seems proud, smug even, like the speed of Sylvain’s shift had pleased him. It’d been second nature, Sylvain acting entirely out of instinct.

He sits back on his haunches, heaving heavy breaths. Waiting for Felix’s inevitable yowling. But it never comes. Felix sits up and regards Sylvain with bright eyes and pinking cheeks. He looks at him with a strange mixture of awe and wonder.

Glenn is the first to seem confused.

Then, Felix stands and ambles over to Sylvain. Sylvain barks, tongue lolling out of his mouth, pleased that he’s at least prevented a terrible head wound. Or a fatal one, considering Dimitri’s apparent strength.

Felix rushes forward and wraps his arms around Sylvain’s neck. “Puppy,” he breathes, incredulously. “You’re a puppy.”

Sylvain wants to take offense to that, but he doesn’t. It’s the closest that Felix has gotten to him over the week and all it’d taken was for him to just be himself. Felix’s hands tighten in his fur, scritching over his skin and Sylvain just can’t help the way that his leg kicks at the touch.

Rodrigue looks utterly baffled. Sylvain’s father looks like he’s eaten a lemon and Sylvain can already hear the monotonous speech about how wolves are proud creatures, not pets. But, at that moment, Sylvain rather likes being like a pet, his lineage be damned. His father talks a lot about his future and legacy, but this is the first time that he’s felt like he means something.

“I’ve never been able to have a dog,” says Felix into his fur. “But I guess a wolf as a friend is even better.”

Sylvain licks the side of his face and instead of cringing, Felix laughs, a soft sound like a calm breeze on a warm summer morning.

That’s when Sylvain falls in love, even if he doesn’t yet realize it.

#felix x sylvain #sylvain/felix #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fanfiction #fe3h

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Okay, so imagine this

Kaer Morhen is a place that little boys go to die, if they’re lucky, or they become witchers. 

(In some ways, Strangers Like Me is what fucking ran thru my head literally all night last night. I wrote nothing, I could not sleep, and my brain SPIRALED all over this)

And somehow, despite the world beating him down and beating him down and beating him down and shelling him out over and over, he runs into an idiot bard who has no fear of him. Who slowly goes from thinking he’s a simpleton to realizing there is a man in there, a boiling seething lake of feelings and anger overtopped by a thick layer of ice. And the bard makes it his life’s mission to help him learn that he is human. (the whole fic idea is more Geraskier, but it has to START the development elsewhere)

he also bumps sorceress who teaches him love and anger and all sorts of other things -fancy table manners, philosophy etc. He has access to things with her he’d never have had in the keep. She teaches him how to eat chicken on the bone with a fork and knife (book canon), and all the other fancy utensils because he’s a person dammit and he should know that his napkin goes in his lap. He devours her books, and since she can read minds she can draw out the conversations from him. She teaches him how to have those conversations and those debates. 

TWs for all the canon compliant fucking misery that is Geralt’s life. Child abuse, neglect, assault, etc. 

Geralt is incapable of believing good about himself, or expressing himself normally or knowing what to do in social situations. He mimics, he copies, he attempts to replicate, but if the situation changes he isn’t sure what to do. 

Trauma gives us 4 options. Fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. He knows how to fight, but sometimes it leads him to battles he’ll never win. Flight is usually safest. Freeze can also work well, but he doesn’t know how to fawn, no one’s praised him enough or taught him how to give praise or fake affection in turn. Usually, he chooses to freeze until he can assess better. If there’s no blades drawn, it is time to freeze. 

( I am looking at this purely from a child abuse perspective) 

He has no idea what to make of Yennefer. She is rage, and greed, and feelings, and luxury. She teaches him to fight back. She teaches him you can be angry and people will not always leave you. Some children/adults will do anything to please someone in hopes of affection until they feel safe, and they begin to test boundaries. And with Yennefer, he’s allowed. Neither one of them knows how to process emotions in a healthy way, not really. But if she wants to throw a jam jar at the wall -not at him, never at him. She doesn’t want to hurt him. She’s just angry and has to break something. Better the jar than herself. Or him. He learns to stomp and yell right back, to knock things off the dresser or desk. Maybe it’s not a good lesson, but it’s something. 

She teaches him choice in bed. He’s never had choice in bed, he’s never made love. He has had sex. Voluntary, involuntary. Me for her, let the girl go, use me instead. He heals. He always heals. He can kill them if he wants to, but that raises more problems than it solves. Kaer Morhen has no women. He learns very little about making love there, either, feelings are forbidden. However, he learns to keep himself silent and still as his cock is stroked, he learns to not let the bed so much as creak the slightest bit, not the softest change in his breathing. He learns how to use precum as lubricant because there is nothing else, and while he doesn’t learn how to kiss, or fuck, he learns how to touch. There’s no kind of education like that. It’s control, management of pain, seeking approval from people who rarely give it. 

Yennefer gives him approval. She gives him choice, and she teaches him to move his hips. She teaches him it’s alright to breathe through it, to beg for it, to twitch, it’s okay to want something for himself. He can’t reconcile it, can’t adapt well to it. But in bed, with her, he allows himself to be freer. It doesn’t translate for him, into other situations. His learning is contextual. He has trouble applying the lessons she tries to teach him to other social situations. He can fight back with her because she likes him. He can argue with her about books because she starts the conversation for him because he doesn’t know how. He is heinously smart, he can read, write, and speak at least three languages, he can synthesize information so quickly it stuns her. If he’d been chosen as a mage, if he could access the Source, he would set the world on fire. 

She teaches him to say ‘no.’ It’s not something he knew he could do. Not outside of negotiating a contract. Most of his world is lived inside of his own head because he isn’t allowed to offer opinions unless someone asks. Other than contracts. There is a script, there are rules, he can say ‘I won’t kill that’ or ‘that’s not enough coin’ or ‘no.’ Those situations he can talk freely and articulately. 

They experiment in bed, to a point. She can tell when he’s getting cagey and stops. She never makes him say ‘no’, never lets it get that far, because she knows he’ll freeze. When he’s vaguely curious about light bondage she simply tells him to see if he can even stand to put his palms on the headboard and not touch her. He can’t. He can’t stand it if she won’t touch him, either, when she offers to return the favor and see if he likes that edge of control. He doesn’t. She’s had other lovers, but none like him. None as broken and angry as she is. (The book says, it flat out says, they did not know HOW to be kind, but they wanted to be, and so they were, when it describes how they make love.) They try other things, some things he more tolerates than enjoys -the unicorn. But he doesn’t hate it, he just doesn’t prefer it. 

He can’t admit to feelings, he can’t admit to loving her, and so she can’t tell him because he isn’t ready to hear it. He can’t believe any of it, and so she can’t say a word. Telling him would chase him out of her life forever. When he tries to share things with her, when he tries to push himself to describe any part of himself, she listens. She uses many of his failings against him when they fight, but never what he tells her in confidence and struggle and broken words. When he tells her ‘they botched it’ meaning they botched him, he’s worthless, not made right, and horrible, she tells him perhaps she is the same. 

Eventually the fighting is too much, the frustration at themselves is too much. They can’t heal each other. What they need doesn’t line up yet. 

They break apart and he travels again, happy to reunite with Jaskier. Not that he understands that feeling. But something feels ...easier, with the bard around. He tries on occasion to engage in conversations, just sharing a random fact or quote with the bard and Jaskier doesn’t realize what Geralt is doing for weeks until Geralt stops and he finally asks him what his quote of the day is. Geralt visibly perks and Jaskier finally understands what Geralt has been trying to tell him. He finally asks the right question and Geralt talks to him for hours, long after the sun sets, as animated as his training allows him to be, describing how he’s connected this human myth to an elvish historical event that is corroborated by the dwarves, he had to read it in Elvish, and also Dwarfish, but he can’t find a written version of the myth he’s only heard it spoken or sung. 

Jaskier takes him to Oxenfurt and leads him in and out of guest lectures. They sit in the back so Geralt can hide, because that’s what he does. Don’t look people in the eye unless they tell you to. Don’t look up, don’t be big, don’t exist if you can help it. And he hides and scrunches in on himself, but he listens, and the bard lets him pore over libraries and scares off anyone who would complain at a mutant witcher touching precious tomes. Geralt is gentle, and careful, and sweet, and he deserves to read what he wants, he deserves answers to questions about the world he could never find in Kaer Morhen where his only training was how to survive as a witcher. 

Jaskier teaches him how to answer the question asked, not just say what he thinks people want to hear. That’s not what I asked you. I asked what your preference was. He learns that Geralt was very much raised to believe children should be seen and not heard, in terms of himself. He doesn’t speak up, doesn’t offer anything unless asked. Not unless it’s about witchering, then he is allowed. And so he makes sure to ask. Are you hungry? Would you like to stop for the night, too? Does that hurt, it looks like it hurts. And Geralt learns to listen to the words, and he learns if asked, he is allowed to speak for himself. He doesn’t have to do what he thinks Jaskier wants. Unless prompted, around people, he rarely speaks, rarely converses, and just tries not to be terrifying. Keeps his head down, hood up, he doesn’t want to be hurt. He’s sick of being hurt. He’s sick of going hungry, he is sick of being miserable. And he has found if he is invisible, people leave him alone. He doesn’t get stoned, he doesn’t get beaten, he doesn’t get chased out for just wanting a bed to sleep in and a warm meal. If he doesn’t take up space, he can exist. Jaskier speaks for him, people think perhaps he’s a simpleton who the bard travels with, they don’t know the quick mind behind the eyes focused firmly on the ground. 

It constantly breaks Jaskier’s heart. He has never seen Geralt smile. He has never heard him laugh. He has heard him talk with intonation on occasion, and usually only when reciting what he’s been told. He is an incredible mimic for tone and pitch and it astounds the bard. When he asks Were you even listening to me at all?  and Geralt begins reciting everything he had said, with perfect inflection, since Geralt’s last one word response, perfect tone, perfect everything other than he doesn’t change his voice, his gravelly voice will never soar into tenor heights. 

Children, ones who don’t know what he is, love him. Parents who don’t know, don’t see the swords strapped to Roach, they don’t mind the bard’s pet simpleton playing pat-a-cake with their children, they don’t mind them teaching him to make flower crowns. Or watching them draw in the dirt. The children never think he’s stupid, they like him all the more for knowing they aren’t, either. He lets them pet his horse, and boosts them into the saddle. He helps them reach fruit on tree branches, and pulls down prickly berry vines full of blackberries so they can gorge on the sweet fruit. Jaskier loves watching him with children, because he’s less guarded. He starts out small, makes himself so small, so nonthreatening, and when the children realize he’s happy to play with them, he relaxes. The tension leaves him and the villagers ignore him. Any adult stupid enough to want to play with children, to humor them, and listen to their stories can’t be right in the head. The bard’s assurances he won’t touch them or hurt them goes a long way. 

He used to freeze and flinch and shudder whenever Jaskier touched him, because he could not understand. He still doesn’t. Emotions make no sense, touching for affection that isn’t between lovers makes no sense. Jaskier stays with him, so they must be friends. He’d admit it openly if asked. He doesn’t understand he loves the other man. He wouldn’t know that’s what he was feeling even if he was told. He feels nothing, it’s a scooped out shell, there is nothing inside of him other than sometimes anger. That’s why he had to leave Yennefer. She was the sun and he just reflected her warmth, he had nothing of his own to give back. 

Patently untrue, but there’s nothing that would convince him otherwise and Jaskier doesn’t try. Geralt is ridiculously capable and educated, and wonderful and the bard does what he can to praise him when he can because he knows Geralt needs to hear it. No one praised him or loved him as a child. Hugs are still foreign and after years of them his first instinct is still to flinch. He will sleep comfortably draped across the bard, or with the bard curled into him. He doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t have the same personal boundaries other people do. If he’s cold, and Jaskier is there, he sees no reason not to share heat. 

It had given the bard heart failure when they’d been sitting around the fire after eating and Geralt had just started pleasuring himself without understanding why that might not be socially acceptable. He’d offered to help the bard first. Not wanting to give Geralt another reason to be ashamed, or small, or scared, he had declined, and wondered in what world could a boy grow up afraid of being held, but feel perfectly comfortable jerking himself off in the company of others. What had been even odder was the witcher had continued their conversation as though this was normal. Hadn’t lost focus, his breathing had never changed, he hadn’t seemed to take much pleasure from his actions, and Jaskier couldn’t understand why he was doing it. 

It had made his heart hurt in new ways. It’s a perfunctory action, meant to relieve an itch, not something for pleasure’s sake alone. Everything he does has function and reason and logic. 

When they run into people Jaskier knows, and they want to talk to the white wolf, or see him, or bother him, Jaskier tells them to leave him be. He won’t talk to them. His poor witcher gains a bit of a reputation as being a tame monster, trailing his bard on a leash and killing monsters as directed. 

When they’re low on grain for the horses, he goes to busk and see if he can drum up coin. When he comes back to pay the stablemaster, the last thing he expects is for Geralt to be paying with his body, a blank expression on his face as he braces himself against the door of an empty stall. He looks at Jaskier without any kind of shame, any understanding of what’s happening to him because he needs feed for Roach, and she needs a warm place to sleep out of the muck during the rainy seasons. Her hooves need to be dried out, he needs to borrow tools to clean the frogs and check her shoes. He might need the services of a ferrier. He’ll get a bit of coin for this and then some extra. If it isn’t sex with a lover, it’s just a transaction, what should he care? The bard escapes when he realizes only Geralt saw, and pukes his guts up into the gutters. He’d have tried to stop it, but the stablemaster was bigger than he was and he couldn’t take the risk the man would hurt Geralt. 

The horses taken care of, Jaskier uses the coin he’d earned to have a bath drawn up and helps Geralt bathe until all trace of stable is washed away. He tries to ask, and when Geralt openly tells him it’s just better that way, he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds rather than reply or push the issue. He has coin, they’re fine, Geralt won’t need to do that again while they’re together. 

He notices how the witcher gets thinner after, stress and shame eating his insides even if he won’t admit it. He’d been the heaviest Jaskier had ever seen him after living with Yennefer for a few years. Healthy. Shiny hair, bright eyes, enough meat over his bones to hide them. Slowly his spine creeps through his skin and the bard can count the vertebrae. It will pass, and he realizes he’s seen this pattern. This has happened before he just hadn’t seen. It passes, Geralt finds lucrative contracts, and his body fills back out. 

They continue to work on what feelings are. Geralt remains baffled by the fact the bard will not bed him in any capacity, and doesn’t understand why they can’t share a little pleasure. Jaskier knows if he gives in, Geralt will never let it progress beyond more than just skin on skin. He’ll never understand it could be more. He has to wait, he has to keep pushing for the witcher to understand there is more. 

They happen upon a town, and a small girl, perhaps three or four years old, picks flowers by the side of the road. There’s a house visible in the distance, but it’s awfully far for a small child to have wandered. Geralt immediately looks around for a dead body, half expecting to find the child’s mother dead in a ditch. Nothing. When she notices his hair peeking out from under his cloak as he crouches down to talk to her, she pushes the fabric off his head to twirl her fingers into his hair. He barely breathes as he asks her where her ma and pa are. She points at the house and said she wanted the orange flowers. He looks over and sees that while there are what seems like thousands of wildflowers much closer, none are the color she’s currently collecting. The child will be missed soon enough, he supposes as he offers her a seat on his shoulder. Before she accepts, she splays small fingers under his eye and he freezes, waiting for her to scream or reject him. She simply says ‘pretty.’ When he lifts her up, she tangles a hand back into his hair to help her hold on and keep her balance. She stuffs the flowers into her small apron -probably made more to humor her than for any practical purpose, and occasionally pats Geralt’s head and tells him again, his hair is pretty and he’s nice to take her home. 

When screaming reaches his ears, he knows the little girl’s name is Ivana, and he tells Jaskier, “Make noise, her mother is in the fields looking for her.” The bard’s trained lungs will project far better than his will. His lungs are trained to breathe evenly and slowly in all things. He will endure if he keeps his heart slow and his breathing calm. 

“Over here! We’ve found her!” Jaskier calls, his voice ringing stridently over the fields. He’s not sure how she could hear him from so far that only Geralt can hear her frantic calls, but all the same he sees how Geralt tilts his head and nods to himself. 

They speed up, Geralt’s stride long and even as the woman comes pelting across the grass, crushing flowers, and her skirts hiked up over her knees to keep them out of her way. She gasps slightly when she sees Geralt and the brightly dressed bard, not sure what they will do to her or her daughter. She can see the swords on the roan mare. “I haven’t coin, please don’t hurt her,” she says. 

Jaskier feels Geralt shrivel. “We just saw her picking flowers and knew she’d be missing,” he explains. “We don’t want coin. Not for returning a toddler to her mother,” he protests. When she reaches out for her child, and Geralt obliges by leaning to hand her off, the girl shrieks in displeasure. 

Geralt freezes, one arm half coming up to ward the mother off, but unsure. Why wouldn’t she want to go back? It’s Jaskier who saves the situation by laughing. “I see she’s gotten quite attached,” he tells the anxious mother. “Here, Ivana, come down, he’s very tired and he’s not a pony. You brought flowers for your ma, didn’t you? You can’t show her very well from up there,” and holds out his arms. The girl allows Geralt to pass her over, and he swiftly deposits her on the ground where her mother relaxes immediately. She shows the flowers, and offers Geralt one. 

“Are you a witcher?” she asks. 

“Yes,” Geralt says, careful not to open his mouth too much. His teeth are a bit too white, and his canines a bit too sharp. Not fangs, but some people choose to see them that way. They’d grown in sharper when he’d lost his baby teeth, he’d seen plenty of other humans with teeth like his, but against his pale skin and yellow eyes, the effect was more noticeable. More monstrous. 

“There’s a wyvern, my man, when he gets back from ploughing, he can show you. I see Ivana has taken to you. If you’ll watch her while I bundle herbs, I’ll feed you both lunch.” She isn’t afraid of witchers. “We don’t have much coin, but there’s a bounty on the beast, you can turn it in, if you travel up the road a bit. In the mean time, I can offer you a place to sleep, some feed for your horse, and a meal in a few hours once I’ve finished my tasks.” 

Jaskier knows Geralt is well pleased with the idea just from the shift of his shoulders. “Geralt’s a wonderful babysitter,” he smiles. “I can help you with the chores, I’m sure. Just put me to work. My name is Jaskier, that is Geralt, and you are?” 

“Oh gods above, I’m so sorry, I’m Melina.” She reaches out to shake Jaskier’s hand and the bard accepts warmly, but when she tries to do the same for Geralt the bard gives her a look and she drops her hand. Odd. “Ivana, you mind Master Geralt, or I’ll give you such a hiding you won’t sit for weeks, do you hear me?” 

“Yes, Mama,” she promises. “I will show him where to put the horse,” she says proudly and Geralt makes a ‘lead the way’ gesture at her with a little bow that makes her giggle. He takes Roach’s reins from Jaskier and follows the girl child to the barn. 

“He won’t hurt her?” 

“No, he’d die in her defense in a heartbeat.” 

“But he can’t shake hands?” 

“He wouldn’t know that’s what you wanted,” Jaskier tells her. Not sure if that makes it worse or puts her more at ease. “You don’t seem much afraid of him, considering how we started.” 

“Witchers help people,” she smiles faintly. “My pa would have died long before he met my ma if not for a witcher who saved him on the road. Took a bad rake across his face, though, the witcher. My Pa taught us, even if we don’t know much reading or writing, history turns. People used to trust witchers. Then they tried to kill them all. And they’ll trust them again. Any man willing to risk dying to save others can’t be all bad.” 

“That is what I’ve been saying.” He glances up to see the black-clad witcher come back into view with Ivana swinging his hand happily. He can’t hear her, but he knows she is chattering nonstop. 

“Is he... simple?” she asks softly, watching as her daughter teaches Geralt a new clapping game he hasn’t seen before. He seems to be devoting all his energy to the game. 

“No,” Jaskier breathes. “No, he’s brilliant,” his heart aches. “Will they be alright out here, your man won’t come home and try and beat him with a stick?” 

“No, Roddy would never. He’ll come from the back fields as is. My Roderick is a good man. How could he hit your Geralt for playing with our daughter?” 

“People have done worse for far less,” Jaskier says bitterly. He has no idea why he’s sharing with her. Perhaps months on the road of people being truly horrible to Geralt have made him desperate to talk to someone who isn’t. Someone who is kind. 

“I see.” She shows Jaskier the herbs she’s drying, some to sell, some for home remedies. Vegetables to jar and pickle, and hundreds of other small tasks made near impossible by having a small child to mind. “My boys help their father in the fields, so that he can work on other tasks once they can manage the rest.” As the bard gets the knack for how to tie the herbs, she watches him a few seconds. “So what’s wrong with him?” 

“Nothing,” Jaskier protests. “Nothing at all,” he aches for Geralt. “People, people are the ones who are wrong. He does everything he can to not draw attention. The less he talks, the less he moves, the less people notice and the less likely they are to-” His head snaps up when he hears a husky chuckle from outside. “Your man early?” 

“No, he doesn’t laugh like that,” she says. 

“Who the fuck is that then?” he demands, peering from the small window. Ivana is pointing at something dramatically and stamping a foot and he realizes the laugh is Geralt. His heart squeezes and he blinks rapidly. He hadn’t known Geralt could laugh. Not in all the years they’d been travelling together. “Oh,” he gasps, the wind knocked out of him. 

“Let them be, if she starts to have a true tantrum I’ll rescue him. It’s about time for her to nap, she’ll be fussy soon enough.” 

“Eh, he’ll be fine,” Jaskier tells her, rubbing at his eyes with a knuckle. “He’s faced worse than a grumpy toddler before.” 

“Perhaps, Master Jaskier. But he cannot swing his sword to stop her from inconveniencing him.” 

“He would never. Although, he might turn tail and run in here, seeking rescue,” he tries to turn the conversation somewhere else. 

#geraskier #gerlion #yenneralt #eventual geraskefer #yenralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher

[overobsessivewhumper]

Prompt: Loss of a Pet

I probably should state that I’m using my oc Ryker, which I have vaguely introduced before. I should probably also state that he has a three-legged Newfoundland puppy called Steve who’s life he saved. This is not canon compliant to the thing I am writing using Ryker.

It’s not like I’ve known Steve for long. Yet, as soon as I took him in, I felt… bonded to him. Yeah, yeah, it sounds crazy, I know. But it’s just like that. He makes me feel better, and seems to somehow know when I need him.

That’s why panic grippes me even more then otherwise when I noticed that I’m being shot at whilst going on a walk with him.

I have been shot before. Yes, it hurts like hell, especially when you consider my mutation, but I’d gladly get shot if it meant I could protect this precious, joy-filled creature.

I scoop Steve up as fast as I could and sprint into the cover of the trees. I’m never a fan of fighting, and especially not when I’m currently carrying my young companion in my arms.

Thirty seconds into my sprint two men wearing full-body-camouflage suits intercept my path. The first one barely has time to fire a bullet in my direction before I’ve taken Steve under my arm and disarmed him. Steve lets out a yelp. The second man slams the hilt of his rifle into the back of my head, almost causing me to fall over. In a rush of adrenalin I slam my shoulder into his broad chest and keep running. Not the most graceful maneuver, but it works.

In this moment, I don’t actually care who they are and what they want. I just keep running until I feel that it’s far enough.

When I stop, I drop to my knees and pant for air, sounding like an out of breath dog. I place Steve down and notice that my hands are slick, slick with blood.

Shit. When did I get shot? How didn’t I notice that?

A whine from Steve’s direction shakes me out of my thoughts. As I turn to him I notice something. His fur, it looks wet.

Shit. No, come on. Please not…

I reach my hand out, trying to keep it steady, and bring it down into his black fur. A sticky and warm sensation spreads on the palm of my hand, my breath catches in my throat.

No… No… This can’t be happening!

I pull my shirt off hastily, not caring that it’s one of my favorite ones, and wrap it around the Newfoundland’s midsection. Steve lets out a whine.

“Shit…”

I take him into my arms and try to apply pressure to the wound desperately, holding him to my chest tightly. His head lolls to the side and I try to support it with my arm.

“Come on… Come on boy… Stay with me. It’s going to be fine. Please… Come on… I need you Steve…”

I’m not one to cry outside of closed rooms often, but now, dignity and pride be damned, I didn’t care in the slightest. Warm tears started to spill freely across my cheeks. I start to gently stroke Steve’s head whilst trying to stop the increasing flow of blood coming from the smaller creature.

“Please… Come on… Please stay with me. Please. Please don’t go… Steve… No… Please… It’s going to be okay. Please hang in there.”

Steve’s eyes focus on me and even though my vision is blurry I could swear I see trust in his eyes. I start sobbing loudly and messily. He shouldn’t trust me! I couldn’t even protect him from a few soldiers sporting guns! He shouldn’t put his trust in me damn it!

Steve lets out a pained whine that is too quiet to mean anything good. My sobbing becomes even uglier.

“Please Steve… please…”

My voice cracks in a very unflattering way as I start to notice Steve’s movement getting slower and slower.

“Shit, shit, shit! Steve! Please! Please just hold on! Please…”

Steve’s body goes limp, and a strangled noise of panic, fear and pain tares from my throat. I frantically look for any sign of life in him, but find none.

“Please… Steve… Please don’t leave me…”

My words get muffled by the tears and by Steve’s fur. I stay there, on my knees, sobbing into Steve’s fur until my body is stiff and the rain, that started a while back, has soaked fully into my trousers and shoes. Eventually I slowly make my way back to where I know the others to be. Tears would still spill across my cheeks if I still had any left to shed. But I don’t.

When I make it to the others, I can hear James laughing from afar. I stumble into the little camp we set up earlier, swaying in my step. I can just about hear Nova ask me if something’s wrong before I fall to the ground again, still clutching Steve’s lifeless body to my chest. The worried faces of my teammates are the last things I see before I black out.

#emotional whump #whump #my ocs #ryker #mention of other of my ocs #loss of a pet #this is a bit crap and seems forced #not enough emotion in this... #bad things happen bingo

[bakudekuficlibrary]

hi there!! I love the blog, it’s so helpful when I’m in a fanfic mood. I was wondering if you had any bkdk royalty au’s? preferably completed! thank you so much! :)

Hello! Here are some Royalty AU’s 😊 I’ll separate the ones that are complete and the ones that aren’t! 

-Ellie

24 Works.

Completed

the last dragon-blood king by claimedbydaryl ( E | 107,009 | 13/13 )

Katsuki Bakugou was the alpha heir to a forgotten throne, reigning lord and warden of the Fyre Isles, a famed warrior of vicious repute in the Western Seas, and he would be wed to Izuku Midoriya by the day’s end.

Ignite Me by Kreativekilljoy ( M | 2,249 | 1/1 )

The flames steadied and warmed them both.

An Oasis for You and Me by SecretKiwi ( E | 5,309 | 1/1 )

A prince and his retainer form a bond and grow closer than expected.

Don’t Threaten Him with a Good Time by Philander_Jack ( M | 7,031 | 1/1 )

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.

The thought crossed his mind at a million miles a second as the Berserker Prince Bakugou looked down on him, in the most literal sense. He was just supposed to deliver a message to the prince but if the prince kept on glaring down upon him like a rat under his boot he was sure that he’d meet his doom soon. What happened to the saying “DON’T kill the messenger”?

Well, he’d learn from the prince himself that the he does have the decency to take heed of the saying, but there’s no saying stating you shouldn’t or couldn’t fuck the fiery messenger boy with green hair and eyes.

SeriesPart 1 of Caught by a Red String

I Like You Deku, damn it by AjhayLee ( T | 8,364 | 1/1 )

Bakugou Katsuki dreams about his past self as a prince and liking his attendant childhood friend. The thing is, he couldn’t confess his feelings and he wasn’t able to tell him. Upon realizing that he also like the present Midoriya in the process, he does what his past self couldn’t do the fourth time he woke up from the dream.

[Major Character Death]

silk by holdingoutforahero ( G | 669 | 1/1 )

Katsuki is anxious, Izuku can recognize that even from the slightest signs. He is going to snap any second and this time Izuku has to let it slide instead of letting out a weary sigh and a sharp “Kacchan”. Katsuki’s hand is slightly trembling as he ties the obi of his inner underrobe. Izuku steps closer to him and pulls the narrow belt out of his hands.

“Here, let me.“

Katsuki-hime(dere) by TouchofFever (UntappedChaos) ( M | 661 | 1/1 )

Prince Izuku is a total deredere and it’s why all the kingdom of Yuuei adores him.

Grand General Katsuki is a total himedere, and they’re still working on that.

SeriesPart 2 of AU Tropes: BNHA

WIP/On Hiatus/Abandoned

[On Hiatus] And He Was Magnificent by Skaii, SugarbabyIzuku( E | 4,134+ | 1/? )

Midoriya Izuku is an omega slave, born into a life of subservience. He’s trapped, never to reach his dreams of something more; until he’s thrust headfirst into the world of Bakugou Katsuki, the crown prince of Incendium Kingdom. Now, Izuku must adjust to a new life as Katsuki’s slave—while a war that threatens to shake the land looms on the horizon.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Remember Me by Blue_Writer ( M | 59,287+ | 22/? )

It had been years since Bakugou was exiled from his home and became the savage dragon king, but one good thing finally came to his life when he met Izuku again. The only issue, is that he doesn’t remember him.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Eyes on Fire by glamour_weeb ( E | 11,020+ | 3/? )

Izuku is the ruler of a peaceful city, a city that stands no chance against the Dread King Katsuki and his barbarian horde. In order to save his people, Izuku hatches a dangerous plan to seduce the King. What he does not know is that he is exactly what the Dread King Katsuki has been searching for this whole time.

The Rarity by bittybitt39 ( E | 29,111+ | 8/? )

Midoriya Izuku had been promised at the age of four to his once dear friend, Bakugou Katsuki. Their mothers thought it smart to betroth the two in the hopes that Izuku would be protected and taught in the safety of the guards Mitsuki could provide until the day he was old enough to come to the south kingdom. After all, it was not everyday that the rarity of a male omega was born within these times.

Izuku grows up knowing he is promised, and has vague memories of his alpha from his younger days. He is also gifted, in more ways than one when his teacher Toshinori confronts his mother with Izuku being named as his successor. But a war breaks out between the kingdoms of the north and east, and the betrothed are separated far longer than the royal family would have hoped. But the war raging keeps them separated besides a few letters that are received from those that were brave enough to run through the war lands.

For the Sake of Peace by MochiUs ( T | 38,922+ | 9/? )

Some marry for love. Some marry because it was arranged for them. And some marry for the sake of peace.

Forsaken by FeatheredKit ( E | 28,393+ | 4/14 )

While on a journey in the forest to find a magical herb, Izuku becomes entangled in a less-than-ideal situation and is forced to accept help from none other than his old flame — the warrior king.

Needless to say, today isn’t going as well as Izuku had hoped.

Selected by Currently_Underrated ( E | 3,229+ | 1/? )

The day that the letter came was the day that Izuku’s life changed forever. Prince Bakugou Katsuki was finally of age to take a mate and a queen, but this Selection would be different because the rare male Omega’s could finally participate in the selection process.

But what if Izuku didn’t want to be a royalty?

SeriesPart 1 of BNHA BakuDeku Selection Ft. Omegaverse

Death of a Berserker by Philander_Jack ( M | 26,033+ | 3/? )

It had been three days, three days since he had met the berserker prince, three days since he lost his virgin status to said prince.

He was pissed yes but he’ll find out soon enough that he has bigger things to worry about when the might of the Black Alliance rises like a black shadow across the Dragon Liege’s land of Sagevsal. He’s going to have to fight his hardest alongside the desert people with the help of his comrades and All Might himself to fight off this calamity.

Toss in some mention of the fact that he’s also found out to be the soulmate of the Berserker Prince Katsuki Bakugou and yeah, life from now on is going to be one hell of a ride for him.

SeriesPart 2 of Caught by a Red String

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

[Abandoned] Uneasy Lies the Head by Valainistima ( T | 2,808 | 2/? )

They say a crown bears the weight of the people. Wearing it alone is a challenge itself, but two heads are better than one, right?

Papa said to knock you out by kewltie ( G | 7,270+ | 1/? )

Midoriya Kasumi may be only eight and a quarter year old but here are what she already know: one, she’s the prettiest and most charming little girl in the world; two, her Papa is the best and deserves only the best so that’s why the gods blessed him with Kasumi in the first place; and three, the constantly scowling man that often appear on their TV screen is her other father.

SeriesPart 8 of Gravitation

[On Hiatus] drabbles and drabbles by Agent_Fluff ( Not Rated | 4,977+ | 9/? )

A collection of writing prompts sent to me on my tumblr! Typically gonna be BakuDeku prompts, but other pairings may pop up as well. Not all will be canon compliant either!

[Underage]

Tearstained Petals by FeatheredKit ( E | 10,370+ | 2/? )

Upon returning home for the first time in years, Izuku expects things to be the same as when he’d left, but they aren’t. Not only has the village he once knew so well become an economic wasteland, but now the entire kingdom is under the rule of his childhood best friend—who no longer seems to give a damn about him.

Handful of Courage by ChestnutPatronus14 ( M | 5,035+ | 2/? )

Izuku Midoriya is one of the rare few who cannot use magic, but he had always wanted to travel. Ever since he was little he was always exploring, and when he is finally able to travel to the capital city, he is beyond excited. His plans are thrown away when he meets the prince of the Dragon Lands, Katsuki Bakugo, laying injured by the side of the road.

Izuku makes him a promise, that he would get him home no matter what, but Bakugo is having a hard time trusting an outsider. What neither of them expects, is what happens once they return to the Dragon Lands.

SeriesPart 2 of Into the Dragon Lands

His Kingdom by ElopeToTheSea ( M | 6,038+ | 2/15 )

"The kingdom or him?” Ochako asked. Her voice was low, full of disdain. “What will you chose?”

Izuku smiled, there was no fear in him. There was nothing he could ever regret in that second.

“My answer hasn’t changed, princess,” he responded. “And it never will.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Pitiful.”

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

The Dragon King’s mate by twilightwings ( E | 16,765+ | 5/? )

Izuku decides to go after a rare flower that only grows, on a mountain in the Dragon King’s territory. She discovers someone from her past living with the dragon, she is plunged into his world where she fell in love with him all over again. however there a noble knight who wants her hand in marriage. But However, there something sinister in the wake, when is a threaten force from the past is threating to return.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

[Abandoned] flame of love by howitzerimpact ( T | 2,854 | 4/? )

The Dragon Kingdom has braved through decades, centuries even: reigning as formidable yet compassionate above all else.

But when the wars start, everything becomes a ticking time bomb - the kingdom, its peace and its young heir’s need to take action. Heavy is the head that wears the crown but the prince is not alone. What will he learn of his companion, and will he regain his world once lost to chaos?

Will Bakugou Katsuki and his army be able to withstand the race against time? Or will his kingdom fall with all efforts futile?

Ever Ever After by Agent_Fluff ( T | 1,265+ | 1/10 )

Izuku is from the enchanted land of Yuuei, where he spends his days chasing the happily ever after he saw in his dreams. After being rescued from a troll by a handsome prince, Izuku decides that maybe this could be it. However, King Endeavor is not yet ready to lose his crown, so he banishes Izuku to a place where there are no happy endings: New York City.

SeriesPart 1 of Enchanted AU

#BakuDeku #KatsuDeku #BNHA #bkdkfl ask #w:violence #w:mcd #w:underage #t:none #g:au #au:royalty #curator ellie

[glambitions-a]

couldn't take you home to mother in a skirt that short.

uma x original female character fanfiction | post descendants three | canon compliant | part one of ? | rating : teen | warnings : swearing | word count : 2389 | masterlist

prompt : none! i made this post a while ago and finally i have made true on my promise!!! moodboards for this fic can be found here and here.

tags (open): @cherry-bxtch​, @cosmosstarstudio​

    when uma gets to auradon, she is quick to learn that not everybody is as happy to meet pirates as they were when the barrier was first opened.  none of the royalty and heroes she danced with weeks ago will even look her in the eye, it’s like it just dawned on them that she’s uma triskelion, cotillion ruiner. so when she walks into her dorm room for the first time and nobodies there to greet her, she’s not even fucking surprised.

   it’s lived in, barely, but she’s sure she has a roommate at least.  evie apologizes and apologizes through the phone because she was so sure the other girl would be there, but uma can’t even blame her missing roommate, if she was a prissy princess, she wouldn’t want to meet her either.

   it’s bad enough that uma can’t be with her friends, the school had done a fantastic fucking job of making sure she couldn’t be with harry or gil, or any person from her crew from that matter.  the teachers had told her it was because they had to keep the boys and girls separate, but they wouldn't let her stay with desiree or bonnie or harriet for god’s sake, which even though they had thoroughly proven to have different crews, uma was allowed no familiar face.

   harry was going fucking mental, he pretty much threatened fairy godmother when she told them that gil and her couldn’t be in the same dorm as him.  at first, harry and gil had been put in the same room together, because uma was the real villain, they didn’t ruin cotillion, she did. but then it came to their attention that the two of them had broken out of the barrier when audrey had control of the scepter, so that had made them separate as well.

   and at first, they wanted to put audrey with uma, but since they were both villains now, they had to be separated as well.  it was a shame, they both had something in common at least.

   but no, instead she was living in this suffocatingly neat room, and everything on the occupied surfaces on the other side of the room seemed so delicate and soft that if the sea witch looked at it for too long she might break it.  

   the whole room had white french inspired furniture and the walls were a pale blue so light it was almost not there. after the barrier was opened, the castle decorator came back from her long break in italy.  she had left as soon as the barrier was put up, wanting no part of a world like that.  but within her travels she had met a man, and apparently she had a baby girl. uma didn’t really care, but she respected the woman, as diva as she was, she still fought for the villain kids over and over.

   so now, she had redecorated the dorms to match the personalities of the inhabitants.  uma’s side had seashells and little pirate-y decorations.  uma had already unloaded her things in the room, her clothes dumped on the bed, she had little knickknacks her boys had given her scattered on the crisp white desk.

    the floor had two pairs kicked off shoes, since those were all that she had on the isle.  the jewelry that she had was stashed underneath her mattress in a ratty cloth.  she didn’t have very many ‘beauty’ products, and those that she did have were from audrey and evie, but those that she did have were haphazardly strewn in a desk drawer.  

    in comparison to her roommate's side, uma’s seemed messier than the isle of the lost.  the other girl’s side was pristine and the surfaces were devoid of anything considered dirty.  the white furniture had gold detailing on both sides, but with what the other girl had decorating the surfaces, the gold seemed to shine brighter.  a fresh vase of flowers seemed to laugh at uma, who had never seen flowers before coming to auradon.  the blue and white bedding looked straight out of a magazine with the layers and several pillows adorning the bed.

    the first time uma saw it, she sneered.  it looked like a dollhouse, nothing was out of place, whereas uma’s side looked bare. (and now it looked out of place against the pastel dream, every time she went over there it felt like she was being suffocated in sugary sweet frosting.)

   now, she was sitting on her bed, having just thrown her things wherever she damn pleased (that’ll show them what she thinks of their prissy princess ruffles). her side is actually quite plain, save for the sea shells and a painting of the sea hung above the wired frame of her bed.  neither of them have canopies, but her roommate has an angel painting above her bed instead.  it’s quite pretty, if she thinks about it. (but she doesn’t because she doesn’t care at all about what some princess has on her side of the room)

    it sort of feels like the girl is never going to come, which makes uma think that the girl is scared of her. (which she fucking should be, i mean, she’s a pirate captain and a sea witch)  nobody else seems to like them that much, and that makes harry glow, and gil pout a little (which makes harry threaten to kiss him if he doesn’t stop, and that makes uma laugh because she knows gil really wouldn’t mind being kissed by the older boy.)

   uma falls back on the bed with a sigh, eyes boring into the ceiling, the bed was super fucking comfortable, like holy shit.  she could feel herself sinking in, but she would not let her eyes close.  she was tired, but she was always tired.  she had always convinced herself that really she wasn’t really tired (harry had always sat next to her in bed until she fell asleep, and if she didn’t he’d wake gil up so he could hold her, and the three of them fell asleep like that.)  she and the boys at stayed in evie’s castle for the first few days, but now school had started and they needed to move into the dorms.

    next to her, the phone carlos had given her buzzed with a call notification.  it didn’t startle her, but she groaned and flipped over, grabbing a pillow and whining into it.  she really didn’t want to text anyone, she had only been here for a week and already evie had blown up her phone about a million times.

   she remembers when evie came to uma and telling her that they put her in a room with this other girl because they were both new to auradon.  and originally this had caused uma to think this girl was from the isle (which made her think all hope is not fucking lost, get your shit together uma, you’re in for a long ride but at least it’ll be someone you know), but the blue-haired girl had told her her roommate wasn’t from there. (fuck)

   her phone eventually died down, before a shorter buzz emitted from where she had tried to muffle it.  she knew this one too, it sounded like a text, she groaned and crawled over to where it lay buried underneath the pillows from where she tossed it away.  unlocking it with her fingerprint (something she didn’t quite understand yet) she saw a missed call from (you guessed it) evie and a text also from her saying, ‘mark my words, i’m going to track down your roomie, i’m so sorry she ditched, ugh.’

    uma carefully typed back, ‘okay’ before powering it off, tossing it back to it’s pillow buried state.  she didn’t even want a roommate, she really didn’t. uma could go without a stuffy girl who watches her with caution.  it would be better if she was all alone to worry about gil and harry and their respective nightmares.  (she was their anchor, after all.)  harry’s scared him more, but gil’s were longer, so that was almost worse.  her stomach knots at the thought of them being alone, which she will never ever admit to them. (even though they already know)

     her phone buzzes again, and this time it confuses her.  furrowing her eyebrows she sits on her knees to pick it up.  and, in fact, it’s not evie. from what she can tell, it’s an unknown number with a message that is misspelled in so many ways, that she knows it just has to be from gil.  it says something about ‘haz’ which is a name that only gil is allowed to call harry, and it includes many of those stupid smiley faces carlos showed her.  but basically, the message tells her that harry and gil are coming over tonight.

      her mood is lifted as she imagines that everything will be almost normal, the three of them will be together, just in a more comfortable bed.  but, someone else will be there, unless maybe she’ll be able to scare off this roommate of hers.  it should be pretty simple, since she couldn’t even come and meet her in the first place.

      she could always send harry to find her, which is so dramatic and totally unnecessary it makes her laugh a little.  but she didn’t want to kill her experience here, and terrorizing her roommate without being here for even a day (or even meeting said roommate) will probably ruin her dutiful and redeemed first impression.  (not that it could get any worse, she turned into a giant octopus and almost killed them all, and she kidnapped the king to hold him hostage.  so really scaring her roommate is probably considered tame compared to everything else.)

     and now, everybody’s safe and healthy, away from their parents.  harry’s going to learn how to count and gil will learn how to read.  and even as much as she wants to stay with them tonight, she’s not going to risk them getting themselves kicked out.  she retrieves her phone and opens the message, mentally telling herself to ask carlos how to make a contact. (whatever the hell that was)  she types back, ‘you can’t, i have a roommate remember?’

     closing her eyes, her phone is dropped on her stomach as she lays back, its quiet, which unnerves her in a way she hadn’t thought about yet.  even the breathing of someone else would calm her nerves in the slightest.  she thinks about this ‘roommate’.  maybe she’s home schooled and has never even been to school before.  it’s likely she just went to a different school before this, uma’s not stupid, she’s sort of even the most logical person out of her crew. (which makes sense because she’s the fucking captain)

    her phone buzzes within ten seconds of her laying down, she carefully takes it in her hands like she’d scared it would fucking shatter.  ‘but i wanna come see you :( i miss you.’ a smile worms it’s way onto her face as she looks at the message.  it surprises her as it buzzes again, the little chat bubble pops up saying, ‘harry says he misses you too :)’

     her brow furrows, ‘harry’s with you?’  the teachers had seemed hellbent on keeping them apart (not that it would work) but harry always found his way around things.  he climbed through uma’s window when ursula used to keep her locked up in her (very bare) room, he dragged gil to the ship when his dad was being especially dumb.  he cares about all of the crew even if he doesn’t show it.

    ‘yeah, he climbed through the window and locked jay out :)’  she laughs, that sounds like a the kind of thing harry would do.  they haven’t even been in these dorms for two hours and yet he’s already found a way out of the ‘punishment’. she hadn’t imagined him taking a long time though, they were family.

    ‘i miss you too, both of you. but i’m not going to risk getting kicked out of here on our first night.’  she sets down her phone and gets up, stretching.  ‘tell harry to bring you to the commons, he knows where it is.  they can’t punish us for socializing.’ she figures that if they act like they’re at least trying to fit in, they’ll stop trying to separate them.

    ‘okay uma :)’ the message buzzes in the pocket of her jeans, a newly acquired item audrey had thrown at her this morning when she went over to evie’s to get the trio awake.  she had told them that after this week of school, she’s taking them to the mall to find, her words, ‘less spikey’ clothes.

     uma points her gaze at her phone briefly before leaving the sugary sweet looking room, tucking her phone back in her pocket and shutting the door.  evie had given her a key to the dorm, and so she attempted to lock back up again.  a satisfying click was heard before she put the key away, finding her way to the commons.

      she pretended not to notice the stares and whispers, but she expected them so it was hard to ignore it.  things were so much easier on the isle, if people had something to say, they would say it to your face instead of being bitches about it.  the more uma stayed, the more she could tell that auradon was just a bigger prison, like a refinement center or some shit like that.

      she neared the chatter of students and comfy sofas, eyes caught onto her with a fearful twinge, and then the whispers started again.  she only heard ‘that’s the girl that turned into her mother and tried to kill us.’  her heart clenches with the anger rising in her chest.  she was not her mother, she almost succeeded where her mother failed miserably.  she had fooled everyone, and she knows it’s wrong to still be so angry at mal, but that girl terrorized her, basically her entire life.  it’s hard to forget that shit.

     “uma!” she barely even turned around before she felt strong arms encircling her waist and a smile pressed into her shoulder.  she ignores the way her heart warms and reminds herself that she doesn’t have to hide here, they can be happy.

ʚĭɞ | if you want to be on my taglist, all you have to do is like this post.  i hope you enjoyed the lil bits of sea three fluff i threw in here :)  this chapter is sponsored by jupi because she puts up w my random descendants related ramblings ♡♡ requests are open so please feel free to shoot me an ask! please don’t let this flop!  evangeline will be introduced in the next chapter, so consider this a prologue almost. - rory

#only angel series #tw ; swearing #uma fanfiction #uma descendants #gil x uma x harry #sea three #disney descendants #descendants fanfiction #post descendants three #fanfiction #my writing #uma x ofc #uma x original female character #uma centric #uma daughter of ursula #uma triskelion #uma 'everywhere i go rich white men disappoint me' triskelion #harry hook #harry descendants #gil descendants #gil legume #descendants three #canon compliant

[vampykitty-kun]

Should Learn To Just Stay Home

Rating: M

Characters/Pairing: Bruce/Jason (can be taken one-sided or as mutual), Bruce/Selina, Tim/Kon. Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Harleen Quinzel, Lucius Fox, Vicki Vale.

Word Count: 2343

Notes: Pre-New 52, canon compliant. Nothing graphic relationship wise. Implied daddy kink. Jason's mostly being a little shit trying to get a rouse out of Bruce in public while he's trying to be "Brucey" for the gala fundraiser. Destruction of a loved vehicle. -x-x-x-x-x-x-

He should have stayed home.

Or better yet, he should have been out on patrol.

The past week had been a terror he never wished to repeat under any circumstances, and he was still wondering deep down whether the entire city had been plotting his demise together, or if he truly was just that unfortunate in his luck by all natural means.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Despite popular belief in Gotham, Bruce- Batman, was in fact only human. Though he was adamant about his refusal to admit so, sometimes after a particularly grueling week of leading a double life he found himself utmostly exhausted, and asking himself the timeless question of “what is my life?”. Alfred and he had strong disagreements over what qualified as overexertion and stretching oneself too thin, but really, who would understand his personal daily limits better than himself? Certainly not Alfred's judgmental eyebrows...

But at the present Bruce was truly willing to admit defeat.

The past week had been a terror he never wished to repeat under any circumstances, and he was still wondering deep down whether the entire city had been plotting his demise together, or if he truly was just that unfortunate in his luck by all natural means.

Not only had it managed to snow in September, causing a city wide panic in which everyone flocked to the stores to fight over groceries, and countless vehicular accidents- most notably Dick's. His eldest's flying Batmobile of choice had dramatically skidded off the rooftop Damian and he had landed on, sliding on the black ice neither boy had been able to see, and ultimately the car had been a total loss. Their cars were sturdy, but not fifteen story drop sturdy. Batman and Robin had ejected their seats and had landed on the slick safety of the roof, surviving to watch the metal crumple in on itself as it hit the pavement with a sickening screech. He had arrived to retrieve them only to find Dick in an utter state of shock still gaping down at his baby's remains in the street below and Damian awkwardly offering a consoling palm on his mentor's shoulder as he mourned the loss.

Never mind that they could fabricate a second one... Dick had always been especially sentimental...

Then of course Victor had to come out of the wood work to celebrate the abnormally early winter wonderland- oddly enough not caused by him, nor the other cold based rogues the League dealt with (he had so been hoping to place the blame on something other than nature), and that had been a catastrophe to contain. A word he used loosely when faced with over seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in property damage downtown...

Of course such events only managed to get the other local rogues fired up and in a festive mood, and not two days after several buildings became ice sculptures, a riot broke out within Arkham, and several escapes somehow managed to occur. One of these days Bruce was going to revolt and uproot the entire staff, before hand-picking his own employees for payroll, while letting Lucius and Tim work out a security system that was true to the word overkill. He was getting awfully tired of various levels of workers taking bribes, being controlled via drugs, poison and/or pollen, and shapeshifters managing to fool other guards. He and Gordon had bonded over this very topic just a month prior over rooftop coffee, glares, and exasperated sighs. Jim truly needed a vacation.

The escapees this go around? The Riddler, Penguin, and Ivy were the only heavy hitters, accompanied by several less worrisome inmates. He was relieved that none of the more volatile rogues had managed to make a get away.

Was it wrong to be happy that he was unable to find any trace of the three? Perhaps. But quiet rogues enjoying their freedom in hiding was far better than three rogues having escaped to wreak premeditated havoc on the city. In time they would each come out of hiding on their own and he would inevitably pick them up then. Instead, he managed to recover ninety percent of the other various inmates that had escaped along side them within seventy-two hours, even with other things keeping him preoccupied.

Other things like Harleen leaving Damian strung up like a piñata with a pair of cat ears and a tail added to his ensemble while he pursued Selina four blocks over. Somehow he shouldn't have been surprised when they looped back around and the blonde was gone. Even more so when Selina snapped a few photos of his son with her phone, cooed, then licked her way into his mouth, arms draped around his neck. He certainly should have anticipated the small dagger that ended up lodged in the meat of his shoulder while she gracefully leapt away- with his dignity, and he wrenched the blade back through the torn kevlar. If he took photos of Damian discreetly before cutting him down he rationalized that his son was better off none the wiser.

Alfred promptly framed one.

Damian began the 'silent treatment' with both of them for the betrayal...

Then came the security hack at Wayne tower. Nothing of any value had been accessed, mostly due to Tim's alarms and quick maneuvering, but the fact that anyone had had the audacity to attempt a break through had Tim snarling as his agitated strokes abused his poor keyboards, and Bruce had left the young man's office shaking his head, not wanting to touch that with a ten foot pole. Barbara had informed him hours later that Tim had found the source of the intrusion, and several cups of coffee later he had not only fixed the systems so it could never be re-attempted, but that Tim had decimated the party's systems beyond recovery in a fit of tech. vengeance that had left him smiling contently- but with a tick to a brow. Bruce had not wanted to see the feed from Oracle's conversation with him, but of course Barbara was cruel, and he was certain the shudder that had gone through his body seeing the teen's face was going to repeat and haunt him for weeks.

No one ever touched Tim or Barbara's system's twice.

On the sixth night of the week he was subjected to the gala fundraiser from hell. Mandatory- or so Alfred and Lucius insisted, Bruce was certain at this point that they merely enjoyed to see him suffer humanity. He perhaps could have tolerated it, he had countless times before, if the boys had managed to maintain proper human civilian behavior throughout the night instead of bringing chaos- or if they had merely stayed at their respective homes.

He should have stayed home.

Or better yet, he should have been out on patrol.

Three hours in he had begun to pray for catastrophe to end the event.

Dick was tipsy, and had already demonstrated a back-flip for a small cluster of awed wealthy teens and was moving on to more elaborate acrobatics by the time he had managed to make his way over to the group and scruff his eldest, dragging him away from a chorus of boos. After planting him at a table where he would hopefully settle down Bruce had returned to reluctant mingling.

He was half way through his fourth tumbler of seltzer, playing the boozed playboy, when suddenly an arm far from feminine had skirted around his waist, joined by a chin resting on his shoulder. Before he could turn to face who he had wrongly assumed was a newly mobile clingy Dick, the arm around his waist shifted until a firm hand slid to his thigh and squeezed sensually. One of the ladies in from of him squeaked at the sight and he froze.

“That suit makes you look delicious... I should come to these more often, Daddy.” Jason- whom Bruce hadn't the slightest idea how he had managed to get in to the event, purred behind him.

Unfortunately not quiet enough for it to go undetected by the gaggle of ladies around him. Ladies who were now in various states of shock, amusement, arousal, and disgust.

With the week he had been having he should have known better than to be comforted by an utter lack of Red Hood and/or Scarlet. Really, why had he taken that as a good sign? Why had he been praying for catastrophe?

Pure idiocy, that's why.

“Broooose, I haven't seen you in weeks!” he had pouted, scraping stubble across his cheek as he nuzzled Bruce despite the look of mortification on his face. “I've missed our play-dates so much, don't you love me anymore, Sir?” Jason had huffed, corners of his mouth twitching.

He could smell the whiskey on the man's breath but he also knew well enough that Jason was far from plastered. This was intentional and thought out.

Of all the things that could have happened it was quite honestly the last way he had thought that this night would have gone. He could only imagine the thoughts going through the ladies' heads at such a display. Making matters worse he managed to look in the right direction at the right time just fast enough to catch Vicki Vale's very interested approach and he pried himself out of Jason's grasp none too gently.

“Now now Jay, I think you have had more than enough to drink...” He chuckled, hoping the grin not reaching his eyes was passable enough for their audience. “We'll discuss this thoroughly at a time in which you can be properly embarrassed by your behavior...” He snipped, and the Hood only rolled his eyes with a smirk.

“I look forward to it... gonna punish me, B?”

Bruce was sure he was going to have an aneurysm. The migraine was already forming.

Much to his relief Alfred appeared just as he was reaching a fetching shade of purple.

“If you would follow me, Sir, I will deposit you at your home. Ladies, I do home you forgive this young man. I assure you that he will be most embarrassed come morning about being so handsy. Sweet lad did an apprenticeship with Master Bruce a few years ago...” he trailed off, and Bruce watched as the majority seemed to accept the butler's explanation for the scene.

Jason however looked put out over the end of his fun, and reluctantly allowed Alfred to herd him towards the main entrance to the hall.

Bruce gave a nervous laugh once they were out of sight, and glanced over at Vale to see a look of fury on her face, before turning back to his ring of guests.

“Now ladies sorry for that awkward interruption- he really is a sweet boy, just in a rough patch... friends with my boys these days, seems he's harbored a crush...” He cleared his throat, straightening his suit jacket.

And that was that.

Only he should have most definitely called it a night after Alfred's departure.

As though Jason's surprise groping tipsy appearance had not been shocking enough, it certainly hadn't turned out to be the most awkward event of the night.

No, Vicki had managed to miss out on quite the story of groping, and had been out for blood.

His sons were far too careless outside their suits and clearly wanted him grey and wrinkled.

Because before he could even be aware of the situation, Vicki was on top of Tim- or to be more accurate, Conner Kent was on top of Tim, and the teen was very unaware of the audience they held while the half Kryptonian pressed his back into the hall's wall and kept his mouth distracted.

Bruce himself only stumbled upon it by chance- taking a breather from the crowd, and was too late to prevent Vale's hovering and most importantly of all, his son being macked on by Clark's.

When this had developed he wasn't sure, but he was quickly beginning to regret letting Tim spend so much time alone with the buff teen for so many years.

Alfred truly was the better parent. He deserved all the awards. Bruce himself was hopeless.

Although too late, he cleared his throat pointedly and Kent promptly put several feet of distance between the two of them, leaving Tim panting against the wall- where he managed to focus long enough to look up at the woman in horror.

He knew his fate was sealed. That was punishment enough. Bruce remembered fondly the Tamara Fox situation. The boy knew he was screwed.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“I'm heading home to bed... we'll discuss this development after I've gotten a good amount of rest. Be home before midnight.” And with that he had left Tim to handle the situation by himself.

He only managed half undressing before he was asleep face first in his sheets.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Bruce woke with a groan and flaming death in his retinas. He shifted, jamming his face beneath his pillow as Alfred tsked.

“I thought perhaps you would like a morning update of the boys...” The elder man chuckled fondly.

Bruce only whined and burrowed deeper into the Tempur-Pedic mattress.

“Before sundown they're your sons...” he muttered, muffled by the down pillow.

“While I must congratulate Master Dick and his Disney movies for that reference, I recommend taking a look at this morning's newspaper. That Vale woman is simply just ghastly...” he huffed, smacking Bruce's hip with the rolled newsprint.

The man stiffened and poked his head out reluctantly.

“She had hours, just hours to get things into print and managed it...” He groaned, turning over as he unfolded the mess that was sure to be his life.

And it was.

Front and center on page one was Tim pinned to the tacky wallpapered wall with a tongue down his throat, giant bold print offering explanations for Tim and Tam's called off engagement, affairs, Tim's supposed shame over his sexuality, and much to Bruce's horror, mentions that the apple might not have fallen too far from the tree given the much younger man seen in Bruce's company last night that had been awfully bold in his affections.

He could just die.

Bruce moaned as he returned to smothering himself with the pillow.

Alfred only laughed as he pulled the curtains closed once more and exited the room.

What was his life?

#brujay #timkon #Vampy's Fics

[dragonbanexxi]

Soul of Bronze; Blood of Fire

Helaena Targaryen x OC Targaryen Royce

Not Canon Compliant!!!!

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

The Heir of Runestone would often joke that he should be referred to as Rhaegar Stone. Seeing as his father (Prince Daemon Targaryen) had no want for him and his mother (Lady Rhea Royce) was long dead. All jokes end when he and Ser Gerold Royce are summoned to the capitol by none other than King Viserys the First of his Name. The King wanting nothing more than to bring his estranged nephew into the fold, Viserys offers Rhaegar his so called Targaryen Right. A betrothal to the Princess Helaena and the chance to claim a dragon. Will Rhaegar be able to claim such a beast? Even if his valyrian skills were lacking? Prince Aemond seems to think so. Though he’s mostly is just thrilled to finally have someone around who’s willing to be his friend. Also the court begins to notice that the Princess Helaena seems to have taken a liking to the new prince. Much to her mothers dismay, who’s fighting tooth and nail to have the girl be given to Aegon. Something neither sibling wanted. To Rhaegar everything was going smoothly until the news of Laena Velaryon death had dampen everything.

Chapter 7: Rhaegar

“Cousin” The Crowned Heir to the Iron Throne says to the newcomer.

Rhaegar turns to face her and bows respectfully to the princess. “Princess.”

Their eyes lock. Rhaegar sees a look of unsureness flash in her shiny amethyst eyes. She’s a tall woman; Rhaegar notices, who carries her height with grace.

“Walk with me to the gardens cousin. We can talk over tea.” Giving the boy a gentle smile. Not in any position to refuse the future queen of the realm, Rhaegar obliges offering his arm. She accepts it graciously.

The walk in silence. The lords make way for the Realm’s Delight and her cousin. Bowing, muttering ‘Princesss’ and ‘Your Grace’ as they near to them. That was one thing he noticed about the capital, the people here are massive boot lickers. Since Rhaegar set foot upon the stinky city, unknown lords rushed to make their presence known to him. Wanting to get Rhaegar’s favor because no doubt Rhaegar held the king’s favor. Being his graces only nephew and all.

Ser Gerold had warned him about this before they left Runestone. ‘In King’s Landing one has to learn who is friend and who is a foe” Uncle Gerold said sternly “Learning the difference can save your life.’

The boy knows the advice is solid, and he’s so grateful Ser Gerold came with him to the capital. Though apart of him felt like a pansy for still relying on his uncle like an orphaned puppy. Rhaegar was almost in his majority, shouldn’t he know these things by now?

“How are you liking King’s Landing cousin?” Rhaenyra’s voice breaking his thoughts.

Had she asked him a week and a half ago; Rhaegar would have said ‘not much’, but he was enjoying the company. Aemond was probably who he was closest too. Bonding over books they’ve read. Debating different philosophies. They are practically attached to the hip. Aegon was also fun to talk to. He was hilarious and didn’t take himself so seriously. The Velaryon boys were kind to him too. They were great at playing cyvasse. His favorite however was Helaena. Not that they’d spoken to each other. The Queen had her precious daughter by her side at all times. Helaena and Rhaegar could only communicate through secretive notes that Aemond help transfer.

“I’m enjoying my stay your grace.”

The woman smirking in amusement says “I’m glad you’re enjoying your stay, however that’s not what I asked.”

She pours his cup first. A waft of mint hits his nose. Mint was Rhaegar’s favorite tea, along with a spritz of lemon.

“Go ahead speak honestly about my city, my feeling won’t be hurt in the slightest.”

Her city, interesting.

Rhaegar watched as the Heir of the Iron Throne squeezes some lemon into his cup. How did she know?

“Well if I must… I’d say the capital is beautiful, the only downside is the smell.” He politely says thank you as he accepts his cup of tea.

She smiles charmingly.

“I cannot argue with you there, the city does reek disgustingly.” Rhaenyra adds a little sugar to her tea twirling the spoon in her cup to dissolve the sugar.

“Forgive me but how is my Uncle Daemon?”

Catching her little cousin off guard, Rhaegar almost chokes on his tea. Annoyance was beginning to pump through his veins. Rhaegar had managed thus far to avoid any talks about his father. Excluding the brief conversation he shared with King Viserys of course.

Daemon Targaryen was a sensitive topic for the Heir of Runestone. His father who was adamant in denying his raven haired son, until he saw Rhaegar’s eyes. Eyes that are undeniably Valyrian. His father who when his mother was murdered attempted to steal his sons birthright. His father who in all four and ten years of Rhaegar’s life had only laid eyes upon him twice. Daemon could burn in the deepest part of the Seventh Hell if the Seven are just.

At this point Rhaegar couldn’t hide his disdain and he knew his cousin saw it too.

“I wouldn’t know princess.” Rhaegar slightly growls.

The woman’s face turning slightly pale in embarrassment.

“Forgive me, I thought…” she didn’t know how to continue.

“I’m afraid that the Prince Daemon you know is a different Prince Daemon that I know.” He sets his cup of tea down on the wooden table. Cherrywood he notes.

“I must confess we never communicate, not once in ten and four years.”

The news must have been surprising to her. Her eyes growing wide into an owlet expression.

“I’m sorry, if I had known I wouldn’t have said anything.” There was a conflicting worry in appearing on her visage. Rhaegar wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“There’s nothing to forgive princess.” Sighing dejectedly “You didn’t know. Besides I don’t care for him anymore.”

Rhaenyra raises a poised brow. “You can’t mean that cousin…” her voice so soft.

Her tone motherly, making his chest ache for his. Even at this age of four and ten Rhaegar would cry in sleep for Rhea Royce. The huntswoman had been his entire world. To him, his lady mother was the most beautiful, extraordinary and lively woman to ever exist. No other could compare.

“I do mean it. Prince Daemon means nothing to me.” He feels his eyes getting glossy. He clenched his jaw. Rhaegar refuses to cry, the Rogue Prince doesn’t deserve his tears.

Taking his boyish hands in her grasp, Rhaenyra caresses the back of hands with her thumb. “I won’t mention him again cousin. Not unless I have too.”

He nods in response. Still not letting go of his hands Rhaenyra changes the subject.

“My father told me of your request to legally change your surname.” Her face turning into a diplomatic expression. Similar to the one she uses when Queen Alicent is present.

“His grace wants you to attempt to claim a dragon before we continue talks of granting you that change.” The Princess let’s go of his hands. Gingerly caressing one of his raven curls, she smiles once more.

“Whether you think yourself a Targaryen or not; cousin, the blood of the dragon courses through your veins.”

She tucks the curl behind his ear. “Tis your right to soar in the sky with your family.”

Taking in his cousin’s mischievous smile, something in Rhaegar’s gut tells him he should have stayed in Runestone.

#daemon targaryen x rhea royce #helaena targaryen x oc #targaryen royce oc #helaena targaryen #original targaryen character

[lilyandherboys]

Fic Rec

I have officially hit 300 followers, which means this fic rec will finally be coming out of the depths of my phone’s notes app! I tried to give a lot of information on the fics, more for my sanity than anything else, but it should give a pretty good overview of what’s up in them. I’m pretty sure there’s a good mix of shorter and longer fics and most of these are Lily-centric and pretty fluffy with a good sprinkle of angst. Some of these you’ve probably already read, but they are some of my absolute favorites so they might be worth a reread or a first read if you haven’t already! I do have a bunch of Percabeth fics that I think I’m saving for another milestone or smthn jsyk. Thank you all so much for 300 followers and I hope to continue posting my own fics soon! <3

sunshine in my eyes -

Author’s Summary - Mr. and Mrs. Evans are killed when Lily's only a girl, and she's supposed to go to a home with her sister. Instead, a relative they didn't know they had comes to collect them, and introduces Lily to manners, magic, and a life that's just the slightest bit different from the life she was supposed to live.

Or, an AU in which Minerva McGonagall raises Lily.

My opinions - This is so cute? It has baby Lily and James and also a lot of Petunia and Lily interaction which is v cute. Also McGonagall which I think might be part of what inspired my McGonagall post. Also Lily tying her hair up with ivy which is my Aesthetic. It gets more and more angsty the more to the end it gets, because it follows them out of school and everything but the tone of it is always cute. Like idk how else to describe it but cute. Cute and angsty. Not canon compliant, but in the best way.

Quality Quote  - “You are not a ship to be battered in a storm, or a sailor at dock, watching it rage, and waiting for it to pass.” Her eyes were bright, blazing. “You are the storm, my dear.”

the bakes of wrath -

Author’s Summary - Lily Evans and James Potter are contestants on the 2015 Great British Bake Off. Lily is determined to beat James. James is determined to win. And to make good cakes. Rivalries and Twitter wars ensue.

My opinions - Another cute one, except this one has basically zero angst. Like none. Also Twitter wars, which is a trope I can always get behind. Snape’s Twitter handle is @torturedgenius which is hilarious tbh. There’s a tiny, tiny bit of Wolfstar, and also Sirius has a cat. Overall v good and v fluffy and not one to read while you’re hungry.

Quality Quote  - “You fancy her.” Sirius said, pointing an accusing finger at his friend. “That’s your fancying a girl look. You fancy her!”

the road to 100 -

Author’s Summary - Lily Evans is stressed. Her sister has a fiancé, she's overwhelmed by her Head Girl work, and James Potter won't leave her alone. Although that last one may not be such a problem…

My Opinions - This is the most canon compliant fic on the list. Normally I hate the whole “Lily starts out hating James” thing but on this one the author pulled it off the best I think I’ve ever seen. It’s also pretty good about keeping you interested - a good mix of normal school life and then conflict. It’s got Lily being friends with all the boys, which I love, and also mom Lily, which is gr8. Oh! Also Lily that can handle pranks without internally combusting and has a couple of her own tricks up her sleeve. I think this might be the only one on this list that isn’t completed though, just as a warning.

Quality Quote - “Oh, I’m just joking.” Lily held aside a tapestry that hid a secret corridor. She only knew about it from following James Potter and Peter Pettigrew after one of their midnight jaunts to the kitchens. It was an educational stalk, she had reasoned. Learning the location of the kitchens could definitely come in handy later.

just stay here tonight -

Author Summary - AU. Lily Evans isn't a witch.

My Opinions - basically Lily isn’t a witch but Petunia is. It’s pretty similar to Sunshine In My Eyes but much shorter and it pretty much dives straight into the angst. Also in Lily’s view, which I actually think all these fics are at least partly in. Also includes an Aunty Petunia. And a pretty good amount of sister interaction. And Lily the mom, which is always adorable. And the classic Harry in a reindeer costume trope that I will always get hyped for. Great characterization and a great AU and overall a good fic to read when you’re at the “one more before bed” stage.

Quality Quote - She laughs, and he asks her what her opinion on deer is. “Specifically, stags.”

in fields of poppies -

Author Summary - Her grandfather's war and her father's war were fought with metal and manpower. Hers was done with magic.

My opinions - This fic is the most Lily centric I think, but I kinda appreciate it. Also she smokes in this, which normally I hate (i have a lot of cancer and asthma and general deaths due to smoking in my family), but the way it’s presented and used as kind of a plot device is really interesting. This fic generally is very well written and has really good imagery and other such nice things. It’s not really AU per say but the way it’s written and the discussion of Lily’s family is original and very well thought out. Another fic where Lily knows Exactly what she’s doing and I love it. A good kinda short read with a lot of character insight and non forced Jily interaction.

Quality Quote - She fought because this was a war entirely to do with her: her rights, her status, her entire life. Doing nothing had never been an option; her integrity would not allow it. It was always her war to win.

#jily fic recs #jily #jily fanfiction #james potter #lily evans #harry potter and the cursed child #sirius black #peter pettigrew #remus lupin #marauders #hp