#blackwood the mourning after | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tma-reader-inserts · 8 months

Text

Gerard Keay x Lonely Avatar! Reader

Tw: suicidal thoughts; mentioned character death

XXX

You missed Michael. You missed him so much you ached. You missed his breezy laugh and fun sweaters and how he always made tea for the two of you every morning. You missed your best friend, and his absence weighed on you like a stone.

You never worked together exactly; but you were an assistant to Elias, and you took the same route home every day and he was just so friendly it was hard not spend time with the sweet and sensitive man.

You didn’t have many friends. Hardly any except for Michael. And by extension, you were on friendly terms with Gerard Keay, who worked closely with Micheal and Miss Robinson on several statement cases. You were… intrigued by Gerard. Michael had encouraged you several times to “go for it”, to suck down your cowardice and just asked the attractive book-burner out for drinks; but you were so, so awkward; even more bumbling than Blackwood.

It felt like a miracle Elias hasn’t fired you yet. You assume it’s because you’ve memorized his coffee order and know exactly where to buy the biscuits he enjoys so much. You really didn’t do much in the was of assisting. You help take names and numbers of potential statement givers, arranged for them to meet an archivist or archivist assistance, fetch coffee and teas, and mostly just sit at the desk in front of Elias’s office and look busy. Whatever papers Elias gives you usually are meant for someone else and all you do is have the building’s mail system bring them to the specific person, so you don’t really do any actual filing.

Well, it’s a living.

A small reprieve from the hum drum of your boring work life was Michael and his fun stories.

Now you don’t even have that.

You wore all black for three weeks in mourning when you realized Michael wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t the first assistant to disappear, but it was the first that affected you. Elias and Gertrude said nothing about the change of your attire and attitude.

You also haven’t seen Gerard in ages. You had seen him once in passing as he exited the building while you were walking up to the stairs, smoking heavily with a dark look on his face. You have to assume he knows of Michael, you couldn’t imagine telling him, and Gerard always seems to know about everything that happens in the Institute. He eyed you briefly, in your dark clothes and somber expression, and he gave you a pitying look before walking in the opposite direction.

Not a word was exchanged, and you had felt so utterly and horribly alone since.

The loneliness creeps into your chest cavity, hollows it out and curls in there like a fog on a pier. Michael was gone, Gerard hasn’t been back in so long, and you were so alone.

Elias briefly checks up on you, asks about your morning walk and compliments your new shoes, wishes you a peaceful weekend and lends you an umbrella when it’s storming. But he’s no friend, and you are under no delusions that you are replaceable to him if needed.

You had no family to turn to. No more friends. Even the stray cat you were feeding regrettably was hit by a car. You felt so desolate and solitary.

You used to cry about it frequently. Every night even, especially after Micheal’s disappearance. But now you can’t even bring yourself to shed tears, they dried long ago; now all you have is the cold knowledge that you have nothing, and that nobody wants you.

When Gerard comes to the Institute again, you don’t even see him at first. You used to jump at the chance to even look upon the handsome man with his badly dyed hair and plethora of tattoos, but now when you hear the other people in the office tittering over his arrival, you just… acknowledge he’s there in the building. You don’t feel excitement or dread or anything. You meant nothing to Gerard, why would he visit you? You don’t even leave your desk to see him.

You felt it again, the loneliness. The heavy fog settling in your brain where you just stare ahead and register nothing going on around you, not processing anything, just barely existing.

Maybe you’ll kill your self today, your thoughts muse in the back of your mind. Death must be nice. To not have to worry about anything; not about friends dying or abandoning you, about poor strays on the street, about perfectly distant bosses and co workers…

It’d be easy; people kill themselves all the time. The Institute was a rather tall building. A drop from there would surely end you; and you know where all the key copies were to get access to the roof.

You had to cross a bridge over a river to get to work; on your way home you could easily crawl over the railing if you wanted.

You were suddenly acutely aware of the sleeping pills in your apartment, ones you bought months ago to aid with your insomnia. It’d be like taking a long rest, like going to bed.

Someone was shaking your shoulders, someone was saying your name with a rising pitch of desperateness. You felt your office chair swivel to face a dark mass and warm warm hands cupped your face.

Rough thumbs wiped away at the hot tears settling on your face. When your vision focused, you saw Gerard. Black lipstick, teased hair, tattoos and dark, wide, worried eyes.

He says your name again and it sound like it aches in his throat to say it.

Several long moments were in silence as the book-burner wiped your face with his finger and smoothed your hair down, eyes darting around your figure as if to search for an injury.

Finally, your voice croaked. “Hi…”

A sigh of relief escapes him, he visibly sags. Hands rest on your shoulders heavily. “Hey. You were crying, did something happen?”

A part of you wants to be enraged. Of course something happened. Micheal is probably dead. The cat that sleeps in your apartment all winter is dead. You want to be dead. You want to carve out your insides so your body reflects how you feel and this whole time he wasn’t there-

But you can’t even feel the anger within you anymore. The burning spite inside you is snuffed out by the chill of your indifference of the situation.

“… I’m fine…” you eventually mutter, looking to your desk. The files on the surface were meant to be sent out ages ago, you should really get on that.

Don’t want to leave your replacement a messy desk after all.

You see Gerard flinch in your peripheral. “Listen- I’ve been meaning to talk to you…”

He smells like cigarettes and sweat, and you briefly realized you will miss that smell when you kill yourself. He flinched again.

“It’s really kind of important, um, can we talk about it over drinks? Right after you get off?”

This stalls your brain. Sure, suicide was a sudden desire, but it felt like the right decision to make. Drinks would just put off the inevitable.

Gerard’s hands came back up to your face again, warm and solid. “Please?”

… you’ve never heard Gerard Keay say please before. At least not earnestly. Usually it was sarcastic and in annoyance. The sincerity of the word casts off whatever dregs of the fog were left, and now you were hyper aware of yourself and your surroundings.

Your cheeks were wet; when did you start to cry? And your hands were balled up into fists so tight your knuckles changed colors. Your mouth was incredibly dry and your jaw aches which how tightly you were clenching your teeth.

Gerard’s presence was warm, comforting. It almost make you choke a sob, and you felt very suddenly the desire to spill every thought about your plans to kill yourself to him, and the only thing that stopped you was social graces and the idea that Elias was right behind the door beside you both and could probably hear you.

“Drinks?” You inquire, blinking away the swell of cold tears in your eyes “um, it’s Tuesday, though-“

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. Just-just say you’ll come. I’ll walk with you after work.”

It sounded more like a plan for himself but you were always so weak willed you didn’t have it in yourself to contest him. So you nodded. Gerard smiles and breathes out a long breath, like he was holding it in. “Good.” He concludes, rising up from his crouching position and removing his hand from your face. “Good. I’ll see you at five.”

He almost turns to leave, before staring hard at Elias’s door. Thick rubber soles squeaked slightly as he steps even closer to you. He looks down at you, eyes wide and searching. One of his black painted finer nails prodded at your fist until it was pulled apart and relaxed by his ministrations.

“Hey…” he sighs, “I’m… I am sorry for not coming back to you sooner.”

A small frown pulls at your mouth. You never meant to make Gerard feel guilty. “It’s fine.” You assure, voice soft.

His eyes alight with sadness. “It’s not. It’s not okay, you need to know that.” He stresses, before finally turning and leaving.

As soon as the door to the hallway close, Elias’s door opens.

He says something about a meeting he has tomorrow with a Board member, a Mr. Lukas, and he asks you to be sure to brew strong coffee for the gentleman when he arrives tomorrow.

You nod, and plan on maybe killing yourself later in the week; to make it easier on everyone.

—

Five pm rolls around at a snails pace, but surely and dutifully, Gerard is there at the door to the exit, waiting for you.

He looks… not stressed, just anxious. Like he’s itching to leave the building as soon as you’re within reach. And that’s exactly what he does. The second he saw you his face erupts into a smile and one of his pale, tattooed hands reached out and gently grabs your elbow, pulling through the front door and down the steps to the road as he sings praises about the bar the two of you were going to; nothing too stuffy but not overtly casual, and he promises that the cocktails are unique and the music they play is a far better selection than most.

You knew from his description he was probably taking you to a goth bar; you didn’t really mind. The idea of strong drinks and black painted walls and sad music almost seemed like a comfort to you.

The hand on your elbow migrates down to your wrist, and finally your hand. His grip was sturdy, and he never let your digits go, squeezing slightly whenever he thought the two of you might get separated.

Gerard was always affectionate with you before. Casually playing with your hair whenever he passed by you in the hallway, placing a hand on your shoulder as you laugh along with Michael over the latest office mishaps, even a few times bringing his lips to your knuckles when you handed him a well appreciated cup of tea whenever he was staying late at the Institute. The touching was not foreign territory, but it felt like forever since you’ve been there, like walking through your childhood house after having been moved out for decades.

When you finally make it to the bar, which was in fact a hole in the wall goth bar, Gerard lead you to the darken back corner, and huddled up next to you comfortably, as if you’ve done this a thousand times before, like it was a regular thing. His arm was heavy and warm around your shoulders and he handed you a cocktail menu.

True to his word, they all had fairly spooky names and sounded tasty. You didn’t even really know which to pick, but Gerry points to one that seems like it’ll suit your taste just fine. You almost titter at how well he knows you, before swallowing down your excitement. You could just be an easy read.

You don’t even order for yourself; as soon as the waitress, decked in black and spiked black hair, came over, Gerard ordered for himself and you, his voice lilting and he seemed utterly uninterested in even looking at the woman, rather eyeing you as he moves some hair out of your face as he spoke.

While the drinks were being made, he fusses over you, asking small conversational questions like, “How is Elias treating you?” and, “You’ve been sleeping well, I hope?”

After weeks of no one even asking after your health you flush under the attention, answering each question softly and as briefly as you can surmise, shy and bashful as Gerard’s dark eyes roam your face and observes your mouth every time you opened your lips to answer. He nods along and occasionally his hand rubs your shoulder.

You feel like he’s avoiding the obvious. Avoiding Michael. Maybe the loss was felt as keenly for him as you felt it. Maybe he was just as wrecked by the blond’s disappearance and is trying to find solace and common ground in you.

When the drinks do come, the goth man removes his arm from your shoulders and sets a napkin in front of you, moving your cocktail onto it without prompt. A tense moment of silence settles now that you’re alone again, and Gerard heaves a heavy sigh.

“I never should have left you alone for so long after he left.” He chokes out, eyes searching your face for your reactions to his words. When not a muscle twitches in your expression, Gerard continues. “I was… hurting. I was angry, and it had nothing to do with you but I was acting ugly and I didn’t want you to see that side of me.”

You nod, ready to let forgiveness slip past your lips when he cuts you off.

“It wasn’t okay of me, it’s not alright. I should have never, ever, let you go through that alone.” He looks so regretful, so sorrowful, it made your heart ache; it was one of the strongest emotions you’ve felt in a while. “I- I don’t even know how to make it up to you, for abandoning you like that.”

The earnestness in his voice makes you stall. You’re not the kind of person people seek forgiveness from. You just got walked over and forgotten and you were used to it. To have anyone, especially someone as high up and composed as Gerard, beseech you for amnesty, seemed to fully pull you from whatever slump you’ve been in these past few weeks.

Your face finally emoted; you frowned and your eyebrows drew together in sympathy, and you shouldered the darkly dressed man. “Drinks is a good start, but I don’t want you beating yourself up over it. You’re here now.” You tried really hard to show that all was forgiven. “Just… try not and leave me again for so long?”

It felt silly to even ask, like a child begging their parent to return safely from a business trip.

Gerard looked at you very seriously, one of his hands coming to yours that were clasped in your lap. “Not as long as I live.”

—

The night was a blur, your drinks were consumed and you’re not entirely sure when you kissed Gerard on the cheek in gratitude or when he kissed your shoulder in fondness but somehow the two you ended up just… kissing in the dark alley next to the bar.

Gerard was all consuming; the way he leaned into you, how his thumb ran over the pulse in your wrist with one hand and his other thumb pressed into your jugular. He smelled like cigarettes and old books up close, he felt warm and heavy against you, how he sighed and moaned when you grabbed onto the lapels of his leather duster to pull him in closer. Every time you opened your eyes all you saw was his dark and brooding set gaze at you from behind heavy lids and the sight was too much for your heart to handle so you close them again, Gerard pulling you closer.

Any closer and you’d become one.

Maybe you wouldn’t be so lonely then.

His head ducks down, nosing your neck and the hand the occupied your throat drops down to your waist. A hot tongue licks your pulse and you gasp, eyes rolling in the back of your head. A black jean clad leg slips between yours, and you’re effectively pinned against the brick wall.

“Missed you…” he moaned, teeth scraping against your skin. “Missed seeing you, being around you, talking to you…” a hand snaked around and pulled you closer by the small of your back. “Fuck me for leaving.”

You gasp and groan, and come to the realisation. That Gerard was a talker, and that you were easily swayed by words. You didn’t even realise that Gerard even liked you this way until about twenty minutes ago. How long has he harboured a crush on you? Had he thought of kissing you often? As often as you thought of kissing him?

He said other things, salacious things, directly in you ear as his hands moved up and down your body, hot breath puffing against the shell of your ear as he occasionally dipped down to kiss you or give you love bites along your neck.

You desperately wanted to do something besides just being there, allowing yourself to be kissed and bitten and wooed. You wanted to move, kiss back, make Gerard as flustered as you were; but the skin to skin contact, the affection, the confirmation of attraction overwhelmed you so much you almost choked up.

In fact you did.

A small sob crashed through your lips as tears welled in your eyes.

The sound causes Gerard to straighten up, and he quickly took in the sight of you crying and stepped away from you, concern of his face.

“Shit- I’m sorry.” He rushes out. “Fuck I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

The separation makes you feel cold and lonely again and your stomach swoops in dread because Gerard, beautiful, wonderful Gerard, is now looking at you like some fragile breakable thing and you just can’t stand the idea that you’ve ruined all the ground you covered in the last hour, and that after this he’ll never want to talk to you again. Boys don’t like people who cry when you kiss them.

Fog begins to seep into the alley, coming off from the street and the dead end a few yards away from you. You don’t try to comprehend how fog just manifested from no where, you just sob again because Gerard was going to shun you out for being too damn weird and unapproachable.

You babbled apologies, heart clenching, trying to verbalise that you were fine, that he didn’t do anything wrong, just that you were fucked up about everything and he should probably just ignore you forever after this.

The fog became thicker and you shiver at the coldness it brings. You sob again, hiding your face in your hands so you can stop looking at the man’s beautiful and worried face.

God, you wished that the wall would swallow you up entirely; you wished you could just disappear and stop being such a nuisance; you should’ve just gone home and killed yourself.

So a brief second, the sound of the air about you had changed. The music leaking through the wall stopped, cars were no longer passing by the mouth of the alley, you didn’t hear the wind shake the plastic lid to the dumpster, you even stopped hearing Gerard’s breath in front of you. The silence was deafening, frightening. For that second, you felt utterly, terribly alone. Like you were the only person in the entire world.

And just as soon as the sounds of the world were gone, they were back. Cars hitting the puddle on the road, early aught goth music seeping through the brick, and Gerard saying your name with desperation.

Warm warm hands clasp your shoulders and you finally peer through your fingers to see the man, lipstick smudged and hair frizzy from the fog. He eyes looked wild, fearful, and he gripped your person so tightly like a life line, like you’d runaway if he let go.

Gerard says your name very lowly. And your sobbing ceased at his tone. Oh god, he was going to yell at you or something, you were certain. He was going to call you a freak and that he never should have even bothered with you in the first place-

“You need to breathe.” He commands. “Look at me, and breathe; be here with me right now, get out of your head.”

Your eyes dart wildly around the alley, not wanting to meet his gaze. God, why couldn’t just be normal for once-

A small pang of pain snapped across your brow, right between your eyes.

You look ludicrously to Gerard, eyes moist from tear and voice shaking from crying. “Did you just flick me?” You warbled.

“Yes.” He admits readily. “Now, calm down.”

His word sounded normal but felt… staticky in your ears. Like tv fuzz was playing just under his voice.

Almost instantly your breathing evened out and you no longer felt the desire to cry; your mind wasn’t filled with self-hateful thought but now just focused on Gerard, who was watching you carefully.

Reaching into the pocket of his duster, he pulls out handkerchief, and wipes at your face, sighing. He looked expressionless, and you feared the worse.

“I’m… I’m not great at this.” He says softly, stowing the cloth back into his coat. “I always go too fast, I’m told, It’s just-“ he screws his lips together as he thinks. “I- I feel like if I left you alone for too long, you’d forget about me, and I just wanted to make sure you didn’t think I’ve lost interest in you, I didn’t even think that I’d, well, overwhelm you like I did.”

You swallow thickly, considering his words.

“I never knew you were interested in me.” Was all you can say.

Gerard sighs. “Yeah, I’m piecing that together now.” He winces. “I had it in my head that this was a long time coming for both of us, I never stop to think that I might be surprising you with my sudden infatuation. I’m sorry.”

Your mouth is already opening to forgive him when he silences you with a cool look.

“I… must’ve freaked you out pretty badly, huh?” He questions, moving closer to you, but refraining from touching you again.

“It’s not that you freaked me out,” you’re quick to answer, “it’s just… yeah, it came out of nowhere to me.” He looks down casted and you wait a moment before speaking again. “I like you so much, Gerry.” You confess, voice creaking with emotion. “I’ve just been so lonely, and it’s hard for me to think that you’d like me too.”

He looks to you, sympathetic. And he nods to himself before extending one hand to yours, gently grasping your fingers.

“How about we do this a little more properly?” He suggests. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

You almost laugh at how hopeful he looks, like you would say no.

The idea of dinner was nice, but the thought of going back to your empty apartment scares you now. Being alone again scares you; the idea of someone not watching you scares you because what if you get lost in your own head again and this time the silence wouldn’t disappear after a second.

“Tonight?” You ask, stomach twisting. It’s wasn’t exactly early evening any more, by all rights he could deny you.

He nods, decisively and eagerly. “My place?” He suggests.

A smile fights its way across your face. “Scary movies too?”

Highly amused, Gerard smiles, and pretends to think for a moment. “Well, if we do that, you might be too scared to go home by yourself.” He reasons.

“Sounds like I’ll need to sleep over, then.”

“Brilliant.”

#gerard keay #gerry keay #Gerard Keay x reader #Gerry Keay x reader #tma #the magnus archives

132 notes · View notes

bohemian-nights · 1 year

Text

Arlī(Anew)-Chapter 6

Word Count: ~10,442

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; minor smut; blood

Description: “I fear I will go mad if I stay here.” Naerys needed to be away from Dragonstone for a little while. Away from all that she herself had lost.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

————————————🐉————————————

120 AC- Driftmark

Death is a strange thing. It’s as natural as living even more so, but one never thinks of it that way. Lurking around every corner. It is the final act of one’s life. An inescapable fate. Sometimes a grand finale. Other times a quiet whimper. It often visits in pairs. Prolonging the suffering of the loved ones left behind. Such was the case in 120 AC.

Death first visited the unlucky halls of Harrenhall. A fire swept through the cursed castle taking Ser Harwin Strong and his father Lord Lyonel Strong to their graves. Naerys had never cared much more either. Ser Harwin, though an admirable father to her cousin's children, and his bastards alike, was a poor husband.

There could be no question that Ser Harwin was undeserving of her cousin. He had a lady of house Velaryon for a wife, a young graceful Valyrian bride, and yet that was not enough for him. He instead spent too much of his time in the company of another. Fathering children with said other when his priorities should have lied closer to home.

Naerys did not know the elder Strong well. Lord Strong was a blank sheet of parchment as far as the princess could tell. He did not have the presence and guile of the previous hand, now reinstalled hand, Ser Otto Hightower. The Strong’s were a noble house yet they lacked the distinction of other riverlands houses like the Blackwood’s or the Bracken’s. They had in truth only held their seat for a generation. The Strongs had thus far failed to make their mark upon Harrenhal and Westeros at large.

Then there was Laena. Sweet Laena. A beautiful, vivacious Velaryon woman. A trueborn daughter of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. The blood of the dragon ran thick through her veins as much as the blood of the seas. A noble lady who might have been queen one day had it not been for their great grandsires stubbornness.

While Naerys had not cared much for the Strongs she did mourn her cousin's death. Laena was the closest thing to a sister that the princess had. She had been the one that Naerys went to when she could not or did not dare to ask her aunt for womanly advice. She had taught her cousin how to claim Silverwing as she had claimed Vhagar. Now the brown silver-haired woman was gone along with a son who never drew breath, but the Stranger was far from finished with adding to his collection.

Death was to visit twice more, but it was Aenys birth and immediate departure that had been the final blow to Naerys. Aenys funeral was a quiet affair. Ser Vaemond had been made to leave Dragonstone that night. Daemon blamed the Valyrian knight for his son's death. Naerys was not due for another week. If she had not been made to go into early labor, if she had not heard the distressing news perhaps their son might have lived.

The princess had to be carried down to the beach by her husband where their son’s cloth-wrapped body had been placed. She was the one who gave the command to light the pyre. She insisted upon it. Her small cry of “dracarys” was carried by the wind into Silverwings ears. Naerys had gone mute for nearly a week after.

By the fourth day of her silence, she refused to eat. Pushing trays of food away whenever one of her maids arrived. They tried tempting her with her favorite treats, but Naerys simply pulled herself further under her covers. This went on for two more days before a weary Daemon who had seated himself on their bed and curled himself around her. “Daenys iksos asking syt zȳhon muñnykeā byka mēre.” Daenys is asking for her mother little one.

Their daughter had been barred from entering their chamber. Naerys could not face the girl. She had left her husband to deal with her alone. Why should she burden the girl when she had failed as a mother? Failed to deliver a healthy son into the world. Who knew what further damage she might cause?

But her daughter cared not. She wanted her mother. Naerys was Daenys mother before she had been Aenys and she would be there long after the babe had gone. She was a living breathing girl. Did she not matter? All she asked for was her mother's company.

It was not fair of Naerys to deprive her living child of her mother. Daenys was used to the loss of her mother's babes, but she would not grow used to her mother's absence. Naerys had to return to the land of the living. The girl was sent for, along with some broth and bread with honey to break her fast.

Daenys sat with her mother as she ate. Climbing into her parent's bed and fixing herself to Naerys side as she prattled on about a toy Helana had sent as well as the bow and arrow set her father had gifted her. The young princess had found the latter gift to be much more agreeable than her long-since discarded training sword.

It was advised by Maester Orlys that attending Laena’s funeral on Driftmark might put a strain on Naerys' fragile condition. Daemon had agreed with the kindly older man. The stress of the journey alone could disrupt her slow recovery. Naerys was a long way from being whole. Her hunger strike had not helped matters. She was just now regaining her strength. Only being able to stand for short periods of time before exhausting herself and having to sit back down.

It would in truth take months before the princess was back to her old self. Naerys needed proper rest. Rest that could be found within Dragonstone’s walls. There was no need to stress herself, but Naerys remained firm on wanting to leave for Driftmark much to her uncle's dismay.

“Ziry istan issa dubāzma kepus.” She was my cousin uncle. It was late in the evening as Naerys and Daenys had curled up in Daemon's lap, The family was seated by the chamber’s fire. The little girl was dozing off when her mother softly spoke the words to her father.

Laena would do the same for her. Nothing would have stopped her from seeing off Naerys. Why should she not pay her the same? Her son was gone. There was nothing left to do, but mourn his loss. That could be done on Driftmark as well as Dragonstone. She could stand idly by with all that had happened. Naerys owed her cousin her dues.

“Nyke zūgagon nyke jāhor jikagon vēdros lo nyke umbagon rȳbagon.” I fear I will go mad if I stay here. Naerys needed to be away from Dragonstone for a little while. Away from all that she herself had lost. Daemon folded to his wife’s request at her declaration. Maester Orlys was to journey with them and they were to leave if Naerys became overwhelmed, but they would go to Driftmark for Laena’s funeral.

Laena’s funeral was held a fortnight after her death. Enough time for family and friends to journey to Driftmark from Dragonstone and Kings Landing. Driftmark had always been a place of levity and sanctuary for Naerys. Her mother had fled to the stony shores of her childhood when she was just shy of her second name day. Her father had been dead not even a week before her mother fled for her brother’s keep.

“There are spies everywhere brother.” That is what her uncle had told Naerys when she had asked him why she had left with such urgency. Even Ser Vaemond did not entirely believe his little sister. He thought that the late Shaera Velaryon was overly paranoid. She had always been so, but it had worsened with age. Seeing danger when there had been none. “Naerys is not safe here.”

Her mother had gone to Jahaerys with her worries, but the old king dismissed her with a flick of his frail wrist. “She is no longer the heir. There is nothing to fear my lady. Naerys is in no danger from those at my court. There is little that they can accomplish by harming a babe girl.” He was old and cared little for the politics of the realm anymore aside from who would rule over the seven kingdoms after him. Now that line of succession was clear he did not see the threat to his great-granddaughter.

In her desperation, Shaera had gone to her late husband's half-brothers. Though they had never been close to their elder brother, Naerys was their blood. Surely they would care for their little niece's safety? Viserys merely echoed his grandsire's words, but it was Daemon to her surprise who did not make light of her fears. He too believed that his grandfather’s court was full of traitors and simpering sycophants.

The Velaryon lady had thought she had found a champion for her daughter until the Targaryen prince added, “It is a pity that my grandmother saw fit to marry me to my bronze bitch. If she had waited some years more I might have had your daughter to call my little bride. Naerys is such a sweet little thing. I would have enjoyed plucking her flower.”

Daemon claimed it was a joke when he recollected the story to his wife a year after their own daughter's birth, but he professed it while his cock was buried inside his niece's warmth. Hovering over her as he thrust in and out of her sopping heat with a dark look Naerys had grown to adore.

The rogue prince reached a hand down between their love-soaked bodies. Naerys grip tightened as her husband made slow circles around her clit to bring his niece to her peak. “I suppose I have my baby bride now.” She had decided that there had been some merit in her mother’s apprehension.

Naerys' first memories were at her uncle's castle, but the white stone walls of her youth were not the ones she remembered when they had arrived at High Tide. The light and splendor had all but vanished. The castle was as quiet as the grave itself though it was bursting at the seams from the number of guests that had invaded its hall. One of her cousins and his lady wife were the ones to greet them. Making apologies for their lord uncle and his princess wife’s absence.

Ser Laenor had locked himself within his chambers. Not even Rhaenyra nor their sons were allowed in. His parents were trying to coax the man out, but with little success. The heads of house Velaryon and their heir were not seen until the next day at their daughter's funeral.

Ser Vaemond was given the honor of delivering Laena’s eulogy. Naerys did not know why her aunt and uncle chose him for this task. Any one of her cousins or uncles would have done. Anyone who would not make the loss of their daughter about himself. Never one to disappoint, the Velaryon knight did not miss an opportunity to take center stage.

Naerys uncle wasted no time in praising the purity of Laena’s Velaryon blood. The dark man did not take his violet eyes off of Rhaenyra and her black-haired sons as he said so. The Targaryen woman shifted uncomfortably, pulling her boys closer to her. Laenor, her husband, stood apart from his wife and “sons.” Naerys would have pitied her had she not earlier looked at her empty belly with a smirk on the way down to the ragged shoreline.

Daemon let out a laugh at Ser Vaemond’s poorly disguised chastisements of the crown princess. The Rogue Prince paid no mind to the looks of displeasure that his inappropriate reaction received. Instead, he craned his neck down to whisper in his wife’s ear. “Perhaps with her strong knight gone she might give the realm proper heirs.”

Naerys could not join her husband in his satisfaction for it was what worried her the most. Rhaenyra’s lilac gaze locked onto their uncle the moment she had seen him. She had only taken her eyes off their uncle when the Velaryon knight began his derision of her sons. You promised. Her cousin's pleas from all those moons ago rattled around in her head. It had never left her. They were both in need of heirs now. Did Rhaenyra intend on collecting the debt she felt she was owed?

Thankfully Daemon’s smirk dropped when he noticed his niece-wife’s growing distress. Her husband's eyes softened as he placed a kiss on her head. “Hae ao emagon teptan issa ñuhon.” As you have given me mine. Daemon pointed his gaze down to the small girl between them who held her father’s hand. Daenys seemed to be more interested in her cousins who stood by their Hightower mother than her great uncle’s speech.

Ser Vaemond was the first to make his way over to where Naerys and her family stood once Laena’s coffin was lowered into the sea. He brought his son, Daeron, and his eldest grandson with him. Daemon’s son was a plump boy of nine who had inherited his mother’s grace, a doltish woman from a minor riverlands house.

The Velaryon knight took care to introduce Daenys to her Velaryon cousin. The boy let out a clumsy bow. Referring to their daughter as cousin Daenys with a bashful stutter. It was an amusing sight to see to all but his grandfather. Ser Vaemond wasted no time in correcting his grandson's lack of manners. “She is a princess and is to be Lady of Dragonstone as well.”

Naerys bristled at her uncle’s words. Perhaps Ser Vaemond had not thought anything of it. It was the truth of the matter, but he could not possibly think that his niece nor his good nephew were over the death of their child.

Naerys would excuse the blunder. It was a simple enough mistake, but her husband would not take so kindly to Vaemond’s prideful arrogance which led to his forgetfulness. They were all grieving and the first thing that he thought of was what he could gain from it.

“I do wonder if your grandson is as insipid as you Ser Vaemond?” It was spoken with a sneer as Daemon stared down the Velaryon knight. Vaemond’s self-assured smile had finally fallen. His son looked as if someone had struck him across the face before he began to make apologies for his father's gaffe. Daeron regained his composure enough to usher his son and fuming father away from the rogue prince's ire.

Once they were gone from their sight Daenys began to tug on her sleeve fathers. “Will I have to marry him?” A little frown of distaste graced her honey face. The last remnants of tension in the air dissipated as her parents laughed at her little worries. Their daughter was an observant girl. She knew of her duties, but she was still a girl. She had nothing to fear. Daemon would never marry her off to just any boy. Her father affectionately petted the top of her silver curls, reassuring her that she would not have to marry the halfwit.

Naerys bit her tongue. The boy was young, but he came from good stock. His father was dull true enough, but he was a good man. His grandsire Ser Vaemond, though proud, was a good husband and father to his lot. She would have to marry. Why not marry Daenys into her grandmother's house? They were of ancient and pure Valyrian blood after all their daughter could do worse.

“He’d bore her in a week. He’s even more useless than his grandfather.” Naerys' husband did not miss the look his wife had tried to conceal. They both knew that proposals had been made for Daenys hand. Dragonstone and the dragons that it posed were a prized offer. As was the little princess in her own right, for she was every inch a Targaryen beauty in the making. However, decisions on their daughter's future could wait for now.

From the corner of her eye, Naerys spotted the king looking their way. The man looked worse for wear, but he gave them a polite smile. Daemon had noticed too, but the man was avoiding his brother's eye line, but that would not do. “Your brother wants to talk to you.”

Daemon hesitated. He would not leave his niece's side. Not while she tired so easily, but Naerys simply smiled and reached up to place a kiss upon his pale cheek. “Go. I have your little shadow with me to guard me.” Daemon looked down at their daughter who gave her father a salute. Satisfied with her response and his wife’s insistence the man left telling Daenys to “Watch your mother, little dragon.”

It was not long before Daenys turned her violet eyes back toward where Alicent’s sons stood crowding around their sister. Her daughter was ever the dutiful princess, but she was still a child. She deserved a moment of respite. Kissing her daughter on the top of her head she sent her to her cousins. Naerys started to make her way over to comfort Rhaenys and her granddaughters, but she felt a hand reach out grasping her arm. Spinning her around she came to face Rhaenyra’s cool inspection.

“You are brave to come here Naerys.” If one did not know any better one would think that Rhaenyra was almost giddy. She did not look as though she were a woman in mourning. All traces of penitence from Ser Vaemond’s reproach were gone. “I confess, if I was in your position I would not be able to bear it.”

Rhaenyra turned her gaze toward where Daemon stood with her father. “Our poor uncle suffers so, as I am sure your daughter does as well.” Rhaenyra took her hand. “Do not worry aunt, all will be well soon enough.” Naerys never got the chance to reply as Rhaenyra left making her way over to Daemon. To give him comfort in his grief. Daemon looked relieved to see her.

It dawned on Naerys then. Rhaenyra could not be stopped. Not by her cousin at least. She had everything yet she wanted more. She had three healthy sons. A husband who though did not love her in the way that a man ought to love his wife cared for her and her children.

The crown princess had a lover who had been willing to risk everything for her consequences be damned. She would one day inherit the Iron Throne. It all meant nothing. Not when the one thing the one man Rhaenyra wanted remained out of reach. All that stopped her was their uncle's insistence that he had no need for another besides his wife.

What would happen if Daemon were to change his mind? He had always wanted Rhaenyra. It was who he had truly desired, but he settled for another Targaryen niece. He claimed otherwise, but Naerys knew. She knew.

Ser Laenor would hardly put up a fight. He had not minded when his wife had taken Ser Harwin for a lover. Their marriage was not a traditional one. No Rhaenyra and her bastards would be allowed to journey back to Dragonstone with them. Both needed heirs. Proper heirs. Daenys was a girl. She was not a proper heir by virtue of her sex. No amount of lessons her father could give her would change that. She had been born with the wrong parts.

What man would not want to see his son rule after him? What man would not want his own seed on the Iron Throne? Of course, Rhaenyra was still married, but that impediment could be resolved. An annulment perhaps?

It was not uncommon for a Targaryen to take on a second bride. Maegor The Cruel had six; his father before him had two. Who would stop them? The king was old and weak; he would not argue against the arrangement either as long as it did not happen in his presence and once the deed was done he would not go against the union. The faith would not dare go against the king's word. They would not risk another uprising.

Daemon would never cast Naerys aside true enough. Her uncle did care for her. He may not love her as he did Rhaenyra, but some part of him did love her. He would be a husband to her as he would be with Rhaenyra. He would visit both of their beds and Naerys would be made to watch with a smile on her face as the crown princess bared him son after son.

People would whisper and gossip of course. Around court, around Dragonstone, just as they had during the last set of her failures, but Naerys would have to get used to it. The princess would be made to endure Rhaenyra as Laena had. The offer of a son and true happiness would be too tempting to pass.

But Naerys was not Laena. She could not endure. She lacked her sweet patience and grace in the face of adversity. She would not be made a pariah at court, in her own home on Dragonstone. To be mocked and pitied as though she were some poor creature. She would not allow it. She would never be queen, but she was a dragon just the same as the rest. Dragons do not share. She had given her husband an heir. There was no need for the future queen in her uncle’s bed.

Naerys was still reeling from being bombarded by Rhaenyra when Ser Otto approached her. The hand of the king started out by making his apologies for Aenys loss. His pale blue eyes shone with solace. If Naerys did not know any better she would have thought it had been made in earnest. She did not want to think the worst of the man. His sympathy could be sincere. The man had not lost children, but he had lost a wife. By all accounts, he loved her as much as a man like himself could.

“Daenys is very fond of her cousin. As her cousins are fond of her.” The hand had turned his gaze toward where her daughter and his grandchildren were. Daenys held a spider in her little hands as she talked with her cousins. A fact that seemed to please the second eldest prince as he sported a small grin on his face. The little princess had gotten over her fear of Helaena’s “friends.” Or at least the girl was willing to bare them to be in the company of her cousins.

“She has her mother’s beauty. She would have made Aegon a good wife.” Naerys shuddered at the thought. The boy was not unkind to Daenys, but her mother had seen the way the prince treated those who he thought less of. He barely spared his own sister and soon-to-be bride common decency.

Naerys could not help but feel deep sadness for Helaena. The girl was a gentle soul. She did not deserve to be married to such a careless boy who had inherited the Targaryen’s gluttonous and none of their glory. If he ever managed to be crowned king it would be in name only. “She would do well at court.” Naerys snapped her head back to look at the presumptuous man.

She had been too hasty in her judgment of Ser Otto. A leopard did not change its spots so easily. The princess would not make that mistake again. She would take a page out of her husband’s book. She was far too tired to deal with niceties. “If you want something Ser, do speak plainly.” He was wasting both of their time otherwise.

“If you are ever in need of assistance, princess.” The man bent down so that they were more on eye level. “My door is always open as is the queen’s.” With a half smile, he picked up her brown hand to kiss the back of it. It was intended as a version of a fatherly kiss. The same kind Ser Vaemond and Lord Corlys bestowed upon her when she was a little girl when they asked her to dance during feasts. “Both you and the little princess are always welcomed at court.”

Ser Otto turned his focus toward the far end of the balcony. Waiting for Naerys to follow his eye line. Daemon and Rhaenyra had vanished from sight. Not one trace of them could be found and the sun was setting.

Of course, Daemon could have gone back to their chambers, and Rhaenyra could have gone off somewhere on her own, but he looked so happy. He had not looked so in weeks. The better part of a year even. Her husband had not looked so cheerful since before she had told him of her Aenys pregnancy and Rhaenyra glowed under their uncle's adornment.

“How exactly would you help me Ser?” Naerys pulled her hand out from the cold man’s grip. She did not wait for the Hightower knight to respond. She would not hear of treasonous talk. She would not be poisoned by it. Dark commands led to dark deeds and those deeds would come with a price. A price that would soak through and last a lifetime.

Even if her life was to take a turn she would not damn herself to the seven hells to avoid it. “If you will excuse me, it is past Daenys’ nap time.” She had enough of today’s procession of woe. Grabbing her daughter, who was reluctant to leave her cousins, but did not protest when she saw the worry on her mother's face. The two hand in hand made way for the solitude of High Tide’s halls.

Naerys was wide awake when Daemon arrived back to their chambers. He had not come alone. Daenys had been put to be long since as she sat by their chambers lit fire in her nightgown. She had been staring into the flames for hours now losing track of time. She would have gone to be herself but her mind was running in circles playing everything back to her that had occurred in the past weeks.

“We had an agreement uncle.” Rhaenyra’s shrill voice could be heard coming through from the hall. Naerys could just make out their shadows under the door in the low light. Corlys and Rhaenys had been kind enough to offer them chambers that were far enough from the rest of the castle's guests otherwise her cousin would have woken nearby inhabitants

“I never promised you anything Rhaenyra.” Daemon hissed at his niece. He probably expected both his daughter and wife to be asleep, but caution never hurt. He would not be so lucky tonight. Naerys would not let slink in and act as if his absence had not been noted.

“What agreement?” Naerys ripped the door open to face her husband and her cousin’s shocked faces. The princess held her head up high. Her eyes were bloodshot and there were tear tracks on her cheeks, but she would not cower. She would not bother hiding herself away like a frightened child. She was a woman grown now. A mother and a wife. Daemon’s wife. She wanted answers. She deserved them.

“Sweetling you should be in bed.” Daemon came to her abandoning Rhaenyra in the hall leaving the door to their chambers open. He made a move to reach out for her, but Naerys backed away from his touch. A look of hurt flashed in his violet eyes, but his wife was not swayed. He had been gone too long to greet her in such a way. To send her to bed as if she were their daughter who had stayed up past her bedtime.

“What agreement husband?” Naerys held firm as she looked up at her husband. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Rhaenyra rushing into their solar closet, closing the oak doors leading into the hall. Her cousin was a neat woman, but the only word that could best describe the princess at the moment was frazzled.

“Sweet cousin, Naerys, Daemon needs heirs.” Rhaenyra twisted her thin mouth in a false smile. She basked in her pride despite her disheveled appearance. Treating as if she were a skittish doe that might run off at any moment. As if she had any concern for her at all. If she did she would not be here.

“There is no point lying uncle. Not anymore.” Rhaenyra turned to their uncle, placing a hand on his arm. Naerys wanted to claw the smug look off her cousin's face, but she wrapped her arms around herself and planted her feet on the stone floor. “My baby cousin will understand.”

“I have an heir Rhaenyra.” It was said with gritted teeth as he shook off his niece’s hand. Daemon tried once more to come to his wife, but the girl backed away holding a hand up to stay him. He listened to her choosing to run a hand through his shoulder-length white hair in frustration instead. “I have no need for more. Unlike your father, I do not let my dreams cloud my judgment. My flesh and blood will inherit Dragonstone after me and her children after her.”

“What agreement?” He still had not answered her. Breathing was becoming harder with each minute that passed. Naerys felt her heart speed up. Yet everything was in slow motion. She could barely hear anything, but the blood rushed in her ears. Trying to push her dread down. She steadied herself with a breath. She wanted the words said out loud. She wanted a real answer. Not more half-truths.

“A son or two. That is all that I ask for dear sister.” How Rhaenyra maintained her conceit was a mystery to her cousin. She was a woman that had never been told no. That had never been made to bend to others' will. “It is what our kepus has promised. There need not be a marriage.” Rhaenyra’s hand flew to her belly. A victorious smile. As if to challenge her. “It is you who holds him back.” Rhaenyra could give him new blood.

“Did you sleep with her?” Naerys could not look at her husband as she asked about her greatest fear. When they first married she had always suspected that he took Rhaenyra to his bed, but that was then. That was in the past. The present is a different story. They have a life together now. It might be broken and torn into small pieces, but it was a life. “All those times she came to our home—tonight—”

“I haven't been in anyone's bed except yours you hellcat.” It was meant to be a tease. To bring much-needed levity into the room, but he had picked the wrong moment for his japes. His eyes softened when he realized his mistake when he saw his wife’s misty eyes. “Not since I first had you little one.”

Taking her face in his hands he tried to kiss her, but Naerys refused. Turning her cheek so that the kiss landed there rather than its intended target. Rhaenyra was still in the room leering at them and Daemon had not asked her to leave. A wall stood between them and he still would not break it down.

“Did you promise her something?” It was none of her business. Promises were broken every day, but she had to know. She wanted to know. Needed to know. Rhaenyra had been haunting the back of her mind for years. Her uncle's first plaything. Naerys was her replacement. A poor substitute who could not even give him sons. Only a lone little girl to show for. She wanted to be his everything to give him everything, but she had failed and her cousin was all too willing to take up her rightful place beside their uncle.

“You are being childish Naerys.” Her husband scoffed at her. A dark look came over him. Daemon was all too used to getting his way with his niece-wife. Naerys always gave in to him and when she did not he was the one who acted as if she had injured him.

Naerys slapped him then. It had not been hard enough to do any damage. Her husband had barely moved. He stood there and laughed. Lightness returned to his eyes. He actually laughed at her torment. The princess felt her face heating up. She had not expected the reaction. She wanted his fire not to be treated as a joke.

“You married a child!” Naerys felt her fury growing. She would not be humiliated. She had been more humiliated today than many wives were in a lifetime. Everyone knew of her shame. Daemon knew what everyone thought of his relationship with his oldest niece and yet did little to actually reassure his wife. She would not let him talk over her.

“You married me because I was young and naive and you did not think that I knew better. You married me because I would soothe your broken ego. You married me because I was the niece that you were allowed to have.” She had never been wanted and she resented him for toying with her.

“Do you want to know what he did? He begged me to live.” Naerys spun around to face her cousin. Letting her anger guide her as she crowded Rhaenyra. She was enjoying her agitation far too much, but the younger princess did not care if she played the part of the desperate wife. Daemon had his choice, but he had chosen her. She wanted her cousin to know that even if their uncle never told her so. She wanted to haunt Rhaenyra as she had haunted her.

“The maesters told him he had to choose and he begged me to live. He paid for my life with our son‘s.” She hated her husband in part for it, but what was done was done. The past was dead to them. She would not give up her future without a fight. “He can not live without me. I am his wife. I am the mother of his child. Whatever agreement you had is gone, niece.” Rhaenyra’s vanity had faded and been replaced by ire.

“Daemon-” The Rogue Prince held up a hand to Rhaenyra. Silencing the red-faced woman. He did not turn back to face her. Instead, he kept his violet eyes trained on his wife. Bringing her into him pressing his forehead to his wife’s. He brought his hands up to face drawing circles into her temple with the rough pads of his thumb.

“Rhaenyra tell my wife what you said when you prostrated yourself at my door all those moons ago.” He pulled away slightly to hover over her. Naerys wanted to turn her head away, but she could not. Her uncle looked as if he was some avenging old God of Valyria as he gave out a breathless chortle. He had hypnotized her.

“Ao sagon obsessed rūsīr aōha riñnykeā ābrazȳrys kepus. Nyke pendagon skorkydoso bōsa ao kostagon nykeōragon naejot fuck zȳhon gō ao mazverdagon ēdrugī hen zȳhon. Gaomagon ao remember bona Rhaenyra?” You're obsessed with your child bride uncle. I wonder how long you can stand to fuck her before you grow tired of her. Do you remember that Rhaenyra? Daemon did not receive an answer. He had not been truly looking for one. He continued on without a need for one.

“Gaomagon ao remember skoros nyke ivestretan ao? Ziry iksos nykeā pretty byka mirre. Nyke don’t pendagon nyke shall mirre tire hen zȳhon. Nyke’ve found se fountain hen youth rȳ lenton rȳ zȳhon thighs.” Do you remember what I told you? She is a pretty little thing. I don’t think I shall ever tire of her. I’ve found the fountain of youth at home between her thighs. Naerys clamped up briefly when she felt his hand travel between said thighs, but the trance never ceased. Her blood was stoked by its blaze.

Daemon never looked away from his niece-wife as he dipped a finger into her cunt. Gathering enough wetness to bring to her clit. Toying with the little button. His other hand reached up to tug down her gown with one swift motion. Revealing her dark full breasts to the chamber's dim light.

“Sweet little thing. So wet and pliant for me. My baby whore. To do with as I please. I’d share her with you. I offered you that, but you wouldn’t appreciate it wouldn’t you? And I’ve never been fond of sharing my toys.” Naerys was too trapped by her warring emotions clouded by lust to care. She gave into the hazy blanket of salacity her husband offered her.

The man did not pull away. “Issa pretty byka ābrazȳrys. Ziry iksos headstrong isse zȳhon own ñuhoso se jealous gīda though ziry emagon daor drīve naejot sagon. Ivestragī jikagon syt issa dōna riña.” My pretty little wife. She is headstrong in her own way and jealous even though she has no reason to be. Let go for me sweet girl. Daemon sped up his movements. His wife meant to put a stop to his ministrations then.

It was bad enough that he had touched her while in the presence of another. She would not have another see their most intimate moments, but her opposition died on her tongue. Naerys had to clutch onto the man in front of her as she felt herself topple into her peak. “Issa gūrotrir.” My prize.

“Out now.” Rhaenyra looked as if she was in a half-daze. Her pale face was riddled with unabashed disgust. She did not move to exit. “I mean it Rhaenyra.” Daemon’s stern voice tried to break her from her daze, but an urgent knocking sounded at their door. Naerys' husband removed his fingers from her overspent hole placing a light kiss on her temple. Helping to pull the straps up to her nightgown so that she was in a decent enough state of dress.

Rhaenyra had been closest to their chamber's entry, but she remained in a state of crisis. Daemon was the one to open the heavy oak doors. Barking down at the poor soul who was unlucky to be given the task of rousing the Rogue Prince and his wife.

A frightened boy of no more than twelve name days peered up at her husband. Her uncle’s servant stumbled over half his words. “Beg your pardon, your highnesses.” He turned to acknowledge Rhaenyra with a bow.

The boy did not blink at her presence in their chamber. Naerys did not want to think about what went on in her uncle’s halls for him not to do so, “The little princess and princes have been hurt.” Naerys felt her heart stop beating. All the blood left from her body to some indescribable place of dread.

She sensed her arm being grabbed by her husband. He ushered her down toward her uncle's Great Hall. His heavy strides did the work for them both. The princess made note that Daemon had somehow managed to grab his sword as well. Naerys was too in her head to care what he might do with it.

High Tide had descended into chaos. Servants scrambled past them rushing to the source of the mayhem. The shouting grew in volume with each step. Rhaenyra was the last one out of their chambers but she flew past them in search of her sons.

Relief flooded through the princess at the sight of her daughter. Daenys leaned on Helaena who was trying to calm down the wailing child. Upon seeing her parents the young princess ran to her father. The man wasted no time scooping up the girl. Naerys inspected her daughter as she sobbed into her husband’s chest. She sported a bump on her forehead and a small cut on her honey cheek, but she remained otherwise uninjured. She was unlikely to bare any scars from what had unfolded.

Daemon bounced the girl in his arms as he ordered Maester Orlys to be brought down from his chambers. The older man could sleep through a storm. He had more than likely not even heard the commotion going through the castle. The prince placed a kiss atop his daughter’s silver curls as he drew circles into her back. Daenys seemed to calm down once she was in her father's arms. Allowing her parents to comfort her. Daemon’s fury had abated with their daughter's change in mood until he noticed a certain bandaged boy bound to his mother's side who would not meet his uncle’s eyes.

Aemond stood at the heart of bedlam. From the impassioned appeals to the king exchanged between the queen and the crown princess, Naerys gathered that the boy had managed to claim her cousin's dragon. Daenys had snuck out with her cousin when he had taken Vhagar while her mother had been consumed with her dark thoughts.

Baela and Rhaena had seen Aemond riding upon their mother's dragon and altered their bastard half-brothers of it. The Strong girl's mother was not yet cold in her grave and the boy had dared to claim her mount. They had already lost their father and now they had to suffer the loss of their mother and all that she had held dear.

It was a “slight” that they did not let go unpunished judging by the state of their bruised and bloody small faces as well as Aemond’s left eye. Naerys understood their anger, but the fighting had gotten out of hand.

Daemon deposited their daughter into his niece-wife’s arms. Kissing both their heads before turning to face his nephew. His wife was reminded of the Valyrian sword in his possession when the prince unsheathed Dark Sister. Naerys knew it would be impossible to stop him though she did protest. Aemond was a boy. He was hardly vicious enough to attack his little cousin.

“Is this your handiwork boy?” The king made no move to stop his brother. His pallid complexion took over by exasperation at being made to preside over this spat. His younger brother had enough fire for the both of them. He need not make a show of things.

Aemond looked terrified as his uncle closed in on him pointing his sword at him. Alicent pushed her son behind her as her sworn shield unsheathed his own blade in the prince's defense. Naerys wondered if Daemon would take his other eye. She wondered what the king might do as he ordered both Ser Criston and his brother to drop their swords.

“I fell.” Daenys' little voice cried. Her wailing had started once more. She buried herself into her mother's neck at her confession. Naerys did her best to try to console the young princess but she rambled on between sobs. “Cousin Aemond told me to go and I fell. He did not push me.”

“Daemon.” Her husband had not heard their daughter's muffled pleads. It was doubtful the rest of the hall had heard her. Her uncle snapped his pale neck towards them. Her uncle saw red, but his fire could be extinguished when he learned of the truth. He was a man capable of reason despite his hot-blood nature. “She fell. Your nephew did not do this.”

Naerys' husband stormed away from Alicent and her son. He would not believe their daughter's declarations until he saw for him. Looking into a matching set of violet eyes he took their daughter back from his wife’s hand. Shushing her as she babbled out apologies. “I fell kepa. I am sorry.” It was an accident. Daemon saw that. A childish accident.

Maester Orlys had finally arrived. Mindful of his wife's health Daemon directed one of the servants to fetch a chair commanding her to sit. Naerys did not argue. She had been standing for much longer than she should have. The day had exhausted her and drained a great deal of her recovering strength.

Daenys crawled into her lap as the Maester cleaned her wounds. Curling a hand around her mother’s coils the same way she did as a babe. Her poor child. If Naerys had not been so caught up in her own pain, Daenys could have been avoided.

The shouting around them recommenced. Each mother blamed the other and the king remained lackluster in his defense of both. Preferring to take on his version of impartiality. Who was he to choose between his son and his grandsons?

There could be no impartiality when his own son had lost an eye. If someone ever laid a finger on Daenys she would tear them apart limb for limb if Daemon had not gotten to them first. It was the king's blatant refusal to do anything for his son that disturbed Naerys the most.

It did not make it right, but Naerys knew why Aemond had claimed Vhagar. The boy's egg had never hatched. Out of all of Alicents children, he was the one who desperately clung to his Valyrian heritage. Her husband and her young cousin were alike in that regard. He had always scoffed at him for his Andal blood, but Naerys could see the restlessness of a second son in Aemond. He had wanted to prove himself and Vhagar was the way to do it. The largest Dragon in the world, the last living relic from the days of the conquest and she now belonged to a boy of ten name days.

“Daenys was party to this. Perhaps she should be questioned as well.” Rhaenyra turned her sharp gaze to the small girl in her cousin's lap. Daemon's violet eyes narrowed at his niece, but it was Naerys who spoke for their daughter.

She advanced towards Rhaenyra. The woman clutched her sons closer. Her uncle Lord Corlys stood by her side in absence of his son as his wife clung to their granddaughters, the last remnants of her daughter. Naerys would not be intimidated by her cousin's attempts at victimhood. She had gone too far by trying to accuse her daughter, a little girl of four name days, of aiding in alleged treason

“She fell and hit her head, sweet niece.” Naerys turned to face the king. Daenys would not be questioned by her cousin. She would not be brought into a fight that was not theirs. “My daughter can scarcely recall what happened to herself, much less the reason for the disagreement between your son and your grandson’s your grace or why Prince Aemond called them such names.” Naerys did not care if she was impertinent. Her cheek would no doubt be blamed on her recent losses. Better to let them think that she was weak.

The sickly man simply waved her off, going to question his sons. Their mother desperately defended them, but it was a vain endeavor. Viserys would not have the legitimacy of his beloved daughter's heirs questioned even at the expense of his sons or the truth of the matter.

The king demanded for the two factions of his family to kiss one another and apologize for whatever hurt they inflicted upon each other. The fighting must stop as they were a family. Devastation took over the queens. Tears clouded her dark eyes as she stared in disbelief at her husband's verdict. His choice to shield his daughter in favor of his son.

Alicent's inaction did not last longer than a minute. She grabbed her husband's dagger before anyone could stop her. Naerys tried to push herself out of the way from the queen's warpath as she came rushing towards Rhaenyra. The princess found herself caught between the queen and the would-be queen as Alicent demanded justice for her son and her own sacrifices. Her duty. Her stepdaughter laughed at every lawful devotion she held dear. Rhaenyra lorded above them all.

Naerys noticed Daemon scrambling to make his way to her, but he was held back by Ser Criston and two other members of his brother's kings guard. Calls for Alicent to release the dagger and the princess reverberated around the hall, among them was her own father, but the queen would not listen. She wanted blood.

Corlys tried to pull Rhaenyra back to him, but the three women stood locked in each other’s grips as Alicent tried to gain the upper hand, pointing her blade near her rival's eye. The crown princess taunted the queen. “Exhausting, isn’t it? Hiding under the cloak of your own righteousness, but now they see you as you are.” The Hightower woman swung her dagger at the princess forgetting that Naerys stood between them.

She felt the pain before she lowered her eyes to see blood running down her arm bleeding into her cream nightgown. The white bone peaked out from the exposed flesh. Naerys brought her uninjured hand to touch it, letting out a hiss at the sting. She grew dizzy at the sight.

Daemon came rushing to her, finally breaking through from the crowd that had parted in horror. Her husband wasted no time, putting pressure on her wound as he ripped off the left sleeve of her robe in a makeshift bandage. Lifting her before her legs gave out.

Naerys had lost too much blood with her last birth. She was not to exert herself. Not in this way. Her body was healing and who knew how far back this might set her. Alicent attempted to make her apologies. It was an accident. She had not meant to hurt Naerys.

Daemon brushed the woman off, casting a glare that would have killed her on the spot if it possessed the capability to do so. The queen had only escaped the physicality of her good brother's wrath. Her husband had made the wise decision of ordering his Kingsguard to apprehend Dark Sister when Alicent first grabbed

Rhaenyra went to follow them, but Daemon openly glared at his oldest niece. Demanding that she get a hold of herself. “Do you not think you have embarrassed yourself enough for one night?” Rhaenyra sulked back to her boys, avoiding the eyes of judgment that fell upon her. As they made to exit the great hall a teary Daenys began to trail after her parents, reaching up for her mother’s hand. Naerys limply squeezed her daughter’s hand giving her a reassuring smile. She tried not to give into the drowsiness that threatened to overtake her. She would not let it win out.

High Tide’s halls had grown quiet in the early morning. The rest of her uncle's guests had settled back into their chambers. The excitement of the evening had worn them out, but they would be up soon enough. More than likely journeying away from the havoc that had enfolded.

Daenys refused to be put to bed by her nursemaid until she knew that her mother would be out of danger. Curling into her mother's side as Maester Orlys sutured her arm. Naerys was not to strain herself further or lift anything heavier than a cup of tea for a fortnight. There would be a scar. That was unavoidable for the knife had torn through skin fat and tissue to reach the bone underneath, but the wound would heal nicely with proper care.

“Did you promise to give her a son?” The princess was the first to break the silence. Daemon had seated her in his lap on their bed as he stroked her un-injured arm, trying to lull her to sleep. Their maester had ordered her to get some rest. They were to travel home in mere hours. She needed her strength, but the events that occurred over the course of her cousin's funeral were too fresh to forget.

“Yes.” Daemon let out a sigh as he kissed her head, continuing his caresses. They were both too tired to lie or argue with one another. “I did not think that our marriage would be a happy one.” Naerys let out a soft snort, but her husband shushed her. Placing another kiss into her coils. “She had asked me to after she gave birth to Jace. Then again with Luke.”

“Why didn’t you?” He had plenty of opportunities too. In the early days of their marriage, Rhaenyra had been a constant in Dragonstone’s halls. Naerys could barely turn without seeing her cousin in the company of their uncle. Leaving Ser Laenor to entertain her. It would be easy enough to have her slip into his chambers during the night. To give his favorite niece a Valyrian son. His niece-wife would be none the wiser. She could not picture him ever denying the crown princess who he had wanted for so long, but he had.

“You seemed so lonely.” Naerys frowned slightly at her husband’s admission, but the man laughed, pulling her up so that she sat on his lap facing him. He moved his warm hands up to encircle her face. Amethyst eyes met violet.

Loneliness was an expectation of her life. She had grown used to the state with the passage of her own mother. Naerys had her mother’s brothers and her aunt after that, but some days it was hard not to feel like an interloper. They had not put up much resistance when her fathers half brother deigned to take her away to another empty palace. It was her duty. Her cross to bear became not so very unbearable.

“I did not mind it little one.” He beamed at her and it was a sight to see. “You were the first thing I had to myself that never belonged to someone else. I did not lie to my brother when I said that you were made for me.”

“Do you wish for a son?” The one thing that she could not give him. It is you who holds him back. If he ever was to have a son it would not be she who gave birth to him. It was a sacrifice she was willing to make if needs be. If it would make him happy.

“I wish for everything with you.” Daemon continued to stroke down her cheeks. Rubbing soothing circles luring her into a state of contentment. The princess leaned into his touch. “I wish for Daenys to have brothers and sisters, but only with you. Just with you Naerys. I’d rather have you than see Dragonstone’s halls bursting with babes.”

“I love you Naerys. I love you, my sweet girl. No one else. Do you understand sweetling? I don’t want anyone else. I have no need for anyone else. I love you.” Naerys had not realized that she had begun to cry softly until her uncle kissed away the tears that fell upon her cheeks, gently shushing her. “I am sorry that I ever made you feel otherwise, but I am yours as you are mine. You are enough for me. You have always been enough.”

Daemon bent down slightly to capture his wife's lips in a kiss. Their tongues danced. She tasted the salt from her tears and the earth and heat that belonged to her husband. There was no fight for dominance. Naerys let herself be swept away by her husband’s attentions. Enjoying the warmth that spread throughout her worn body.

A knock sounded at their door. Naerys had to push her husband away to stop letting out a breathy giggle at her husband’s annoyance. The man groaned before placing one final kiss, or two, upon her lips.

Grudgingly making his way to the door to find the queen waiting for them. Ser Criston along with a fellow Kingsguard came with her. Though the latter stood watch in the hall, the first joined Alicent in their chambers. The Rogue Prince had not been given back Dark Sister, but any blade in his hand would be lethal. One could not be cautious enough.

Daemon tried to command the queen and her guards to leave. Goading her for her folly. “Have you come to finish the job?” It was Naerys who had to be the voice of reason when scolded her husband's silliness. Asking him to let them in. The man merely grumbled, but he listened to his wife’s bid. It would not do to be angry with Alicent when they knew she had not meant her any harm.

“Words can not express my deep regret princess.” The queen had knelt down on the floor in front of their bed. Taking Naerys brown hand in her pale one as the two men exchanged glares. “Nor my shame.” The Hightower woman’s glassy dark eyes flitted down to the stitches that graced the princess’s forearm.

“There is nothing to forgive sister.” Naerys returned her good sister's grasp. She knew that the blade had not been for her. Alicent had always been kind to her. Her quarrel lay with Rhaenyra and she had been unfortunate enough to be in the way when her anger got the best of her. “How is the prince?”

“The Maester was able to save his eyelid.” Alicent as she started to tear up. Wiping stray tears as they fell upon. She turned her gaze towards the chamber's dying fire. “He will make a full recovery. The king is pleased.” Her voice strained at her last words. Fury flashed in the queen's eyes before fading just as quickly as it came. Clearing her throat she turned back to face her good sister. “Your daughter, how is she?” Worry was evident across the Hightower woman’s face.

“She is fine, no thanks to your son.” Daemon sneered down at the woman. Coming to stand near his wife like a sentry. Ser Criston thankfully made no move to get closer to the queen. Though he did continue to stare down his old rival.” If you want something, spit it out. My wife needs her rest.” Alicent winced, but her focus stayed on Naerys.

“You are welcome at court anytime.” Daemon was about to retort when Alicent peered up at him.“Your brother would like to see more of you as well Prince Daemon.” The prince began to shift upon the balls of his feet. It amazed Naerys how her hot-blooded husband turned into a little boy at the mention of his brother.

“We will try to come to visit more often.” Daemon looked less than pleased with her reply, but Naerys would deal with her husband later. The king would not be around forever. Daemon had always loved Viserys. He would regret it if he was not closer to the king in his final years.

“Your daughter seems fond of my son. As is the prince.” It was said with an innocent enough smile. The woman was partial to Daenys. Inviting her to take tea or join her sewing circles with her and Helaena whenever they visited the Red Keep. The little princess was an easy enough child to get along with and a delight to be around, but Alicent was her father's daughter. Naerys could not forget that.

“That would be the one with the missing eye, correct?” Naerys swatted a hand at her husband in admonishment, but the man only reached for said hand bringing and bestowing a kiss upon the back of it. His violet eyes softened briefly before turning back to Alicent. “Our daughter is four. Your son is far too old for her.” Naerys was thankful for the fact that her uncle left it there. “You should check on him. I’m sure he’s missing his wet nurse.”

Fearing having overstayed her welcome Alicent offered her a small smile, squeezing her hand one last time before departing. Ser Criston trailed after his queen, making his exit with a bow and a ”princess” to Naerys while completely ignoring her stone-faced husband.

The Stranger still clung to Hide Tide. Making one final visit before he too would retreat for a spell. His work was never done. This time it had chosen another Velaryon to call to the Gods. Naerys' cousin Ser Laenor.

Neither Lord Corlys nor Rhaenys had come down to break their fast. A common occurrence during the duration of their short stay. Ser Vaemond saw the king and his party off as they left before noon. Aemond rode off on the back of Vhagar while the rest of the party boarded ships that would take them back to King's Landing. The other visiting funeral guests departed shortly after. High Tide was returning back to some version of normality. Though the absence of Lady Laena’s spirited presence was felt greatly.

It was Rhaenyra who broke the news of her husband’s passing to her uncle and cousin-aunt. The Targaryen couple were standing by the bay ready to return to Dragonstone, by the skies and sea, when the crown princess came rushing down towards them.

“My husband is dead.” With tears streaming down her pale face Rhaenyra launched herself at her uncle. “They murdered him. His friend, Ser Quarl, murdered him.” It had not come as a great surprise. The company that Ser Laenor had kept was less than suitable for a man of his rank. His lovers had never been discreet and had been ill-tempered for the role of the eventual prince consorts paramour.

“Take me with you back to Dragonstone.” Gripping her uncle tight enough for her knuckles to turn white one might think that she was grief-stricken. A part of Rhaenyra might mourn the loss of a husband and a great friend, but Naerys knew her games.

“I can not stay here. Not here with his parents. I can not be alone uncle.” The crown princess switched to their mother tongue for the next of her impassioned pleas. Hoping to hark on some less-than-familial sentiment that the prince once held for his niece. “Konīr iksos daorun bona stands isse īlva ñuhoso sir kepus. Issa kepa would daor deny īlva bisa.” There is nothing that stands in our way now uncle. My father would not deny us this.

Daemon placed an affectionate pat upon the Targaryen woman’s arm.“Comfort your children niece. They will need you.” Giving her a kiss on her cheek he turned to climb upon Caraxes' back. Taking to the skies once Daenys was placed securely in front of him. Maester Orlys ushered Naerys onto their vessel while the crown princess stood a white-faced statue paralyzed by the shock. Watching on until her beloved uncle and his family became distant dots in the sky and sea.

Ao3 Link:

Tags:

@misssilencewritewell @parizparis @thanyatargaryen @i-love-morally-gray-characters @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @bubblebuttwade @beggarsnotchoosey @m-indkiller @pearlstiare @green-lxght @lazypinkpig

#daemon targaryen x targaryen!oc #daemon targaryen x black!oc #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #daemon targaryen x oc #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd spoilers #it’s time for Laena’s funeral #daemon is being a low key creep at parts #the rogue prince #hotd fanfiction #prince daemon targaryen #hotd fic #daemon x reader #daemon x oc #daemon x targaryen!oc #daemon targaryen #bnhotdfic

342 notes · View notes

goodqueenaly · 6 months

Note

Hiya❤️Quick question! How fast can a noble widow/widower remarry after their spouse dies? How long would the mourning period be according to the Faith?

There doesn’t appear to be a specific, legally mandated general timeframe for the remarriage of Westerosi widows or widowers, but there is certainly a sense that both widows and widowers should wait a respectable amount of time before remarrying. Ostensibly, this period should, so far as we can tell, allow the bereaved party to mourn his or her late spouse: Rodrik Cassel gently suggested to Donella Hornwood that “perhaps in time, when your grief is passed, you may find it prudent to wed again”, while Benjicot Blackwood publicly decried Unwin Peake’s attempt to betroth Aegon III to his daughter by “question[ing] the haste of it”, as “Aegon should have been allowed half a year at least to mourn his little queen”. Consequently, marriages arranged too hastily by widowed parties (or at least which are seen as too hasty) can incur scandalized commentary: Viserys I declared that the marriage of Rhaenyra and Daemon was “an insult to [the] memories” of Laenor and Laena Velaryon because “[n]either Daemon’s wife nor Rhaenyra’s husband had been dead even half a year”, while Cersei bitterly observed at Tommen’s wedding to Margaery that “[i]t is too soon. A year, two years, that would have been time enough” (although it should be noted that Cersei was - and is - completely convinced that any daughter-in-law of hers is prophesied to cause her downfall).

Naturally, given the inherently political nature of most aristocratic marriages in Westeros, social expectations on an appropriate period of time prior to remarriage cannot only focus on personal sentiment. Jaime forbid the widowed Jeyne Westerling from marrying for two years explicitly because “[i]f the girl took another husband too soon and had a child by him, inevitably there would come whispers that the Young Wolf was the father”. Likewise, Septon Eustace, commenting on Rhaenyra and Daemon’s marriage, asserted that “Rhaenyra knew her father would never approve of the match, so she wed in haste to make certain he could not prevent the marriage” - probably not an untrue guess, even if I tend to also agree with Mushroom that Rhaenyra had already conceived the future Aegon III and wanted to marry the father. So I would say generally, Westerosi widows and widowers are expected to stay single for at least six months, but probably more like a year or more - enough time to allow the bereaved party to mourn, but more to the point, enough time to allow those parties with a political interest in the remarriage to provide their input, if not outright arrange a suitable match.

#asoiaf meta #laws and customs #marriage in asoiaf

46 notes · View notes

highwaytothedangerzone502 · 2 months

Text

Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 28

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 2642

Warnings: Talk of death

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: I Could Use A Love Song Sad Beautiful Tragic

****

Ghost

The ocean breeze caressed Ghost's tear-stained face while she walked mindlessly to a destination unknown. She should've headed to her apartment, but the last thing she wanted to do was be alone in a place her dad had helped her find, even if it had been remotely. No, Ghost ached to be home, but she'd learned quickly whenever she thought of the place, the road led to Hangman, and she could not go back there. He'd had his chance to explain and had thrown it away for some unexplainable reason. Hangman had been close, so close, to telling her. Ghost had seen the desire in his eyes, but something stopped him, and whatever it was had a stronger hold on him than his love and respect for her, so she had to make the call.

She tried to ignore the ghost of his lips on hers and the phantom hands tracing the trail of where Hangman's had traveled. Ghost attempted to ignore the painful knot in her throat, which threatened to burst at the slightest inconvenience. She had to keep it together until she had peace and quiet, when no one could see her break and mourn the loss of not only her father, but now her best friend for a second time. The last time she'd been this bad off, she'd ended up getting smashed and sleeping with Rooster, but Ghost had no interest in doing anything remotely similar tonight.

She thought of calling Juliette but hated to disturb her friend this late, even though she was probably up. Ghost considered calling Javy but decided against dragging him into the middle of the fallout. He'd been friends with Hangman before her, and as upset with Jake as she was, Ghost was aware enough that he would need a friend to help him through this. She could've reached out to Jackie but figured her sister had bigger fish to fry with her divorce. She could've called her mom but hated to bring up her problems when Charlotte Blackwood grieved over her late husband. Ghost came to the dismal realization that she was on her own tonight.

So she continued walking.

And walking.

Ghost walked even when her feet screamed at her in pain, even when the knot in her throat begged her to release it, even when the rain began splattering onto her bare skin, even when the wind whispered her name and called for her to stop. She ignored it all, continuing her trudge through the cool sand and refusing to stop until her body decided to physically give out.

Someone gently grasped her arm, jarring Ghost out of her melancholy. She yanked back, already planning to go on the attack, but froze when she recognized the person under the umbrella. She blinked, perplexed. How had he found her? "Captain Mitchell?"

His green eyes roamed her face, taking in her bedraggled, distraught appearance. "I didn't mean to startle you. I was calling for you, but you weren't answering. What happened?"

The pure shock of seeing him temporarily erased her sadness. "I-I had a fight with Hangman. What are you doing here?"

Maverick shifted closer so the umbrella covered both of them from the slowly intensifying rain. "Jules and Rooster sent me. They would've come, but Jules is currently hurling her guts out, and Rooster didn't want to leave her, but they also didn't want to leave you. Why don't I take you to them or-"

"Why did they want to come get me?"

"Uh, Hangman texted them, I think."

Why is he trying to take care of me? I don't need him now. Ghost lied to herself. She would always need Hangman, but she couldn't admit it. Not again. Not when it came with the risk that he would let her down again so horrendously. "Oh..."

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go, but let's get you out of the rain."

Ghost debated on protesting against his wishes, but the fatherly concern in his green eyes weakened her resolve. She gave in and followed him to the Jeep. He opened the door for her, and Ghost slid into the warm car, immediately feeling guilty when she realized her clothes were soaking wet and that she sat on the bare leather without any barrier protecting it.

"Do you have a blanket or towel? I don't want ruin your seats," Ghost said, twisting around to scan the backseat for such an item.

"Don't worry about it," Maverick replied as he pulled onto the main road. "Here, take my jacket, though. You're shivering."

He shrugged it off and handed it to her. Ghost gratefully took it, savoring the warmth radiating off of it. "Thank you for giving me a ride, sir."

"I'm just glad I found you. Where were you heading?"

"No idea," Ghost confessed, her fingers curling tightly into his jacket. "I didn't have a car when I left Hangman's, and I didn't want to subject an Uber driver to my emotional state, so I started walking."

"Were you heading to your apartment?"

Ghost shook her head. "No. I don't know where I was headed, but it wasn't there. I don't want to be there right now."

"How come? Is everything okay?"

"It makes me think of my dad... he helped me find the place, even if it wasn't in person, and he was so excited that I got a decent place out here. Hangman offered to let me stay the night at his because I didn't want to be at mine with my dad having passed away a few days ago, but-"

"Your dad just passed away?" Maverick asked in surprise, head swiveling to look at her.

It dawned on Ghost she hadn't told anyone outside of Juliette and Rooster - with the exception of Hangman, of course - about her dad and that Juliette had recognized Ghost's desire for privacy in the first few days of his passing, whether Ghost realized she'd needed it or not. "Yes, sir. A heart attack. Hit him so suddenly that he never had a chance..."

"I'm so sorry, Ghost," Maverick said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. The gesture nearly broke her.

"Thank you, sir. The grief comes in waves." She wiped a stray tear from her cheek and sniffled. "I think my fight with Hangman temporarily distracted me from it."

"What did you and Hangman fight about?" Ghost bit her lip, hesitating to answer. Maverick treated Hangman like a son, and in return, Hangman saw Maverick as a father figure. She had no right to drag the captain into their issues. As if sensing her reluctance, Maverick said, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Why don't I bring you to someone who does, though? I know Juliette's worried about you."

"No, no, I can't do- she and Rooster have enough to worry about as it is with her pregnancy and its complications. I'm not going to burden them with my issues."

"I doubt they would see it that way. You're family to both of them and the way Juliette puts it, you're the sister she never had. She wouldn't mind at all."

"I know, but the last thing she needs is to be dragged further into the shitshow Hangman and I created for ourselves." Ghost swiftly mulled over her options: the Bradshaw's was out of the question. Coyote was a possibility, but Ghost figured he'd want to check on Hangman the moment he found out about their fight, and Ghost wanted Hangman to have someone because, despite their fallout, she had seen the pain in his eyes. Whatever truth he withheld from her, it was anything but pleasant. Ghost considered Phoenix, but the female aviator would demand an explanation, and Ghost couldn't bring herself to even consider the idea of bringing it up with her. She was hardly close enough with the other Daggers to reach out for a helping hand, causing Ghost an epiphany: she was well and truly on her own tonight. She had no choice. She had to stay in her apartment.

"If you're not ready to go home," Maverick began hesitantly, "you're welcome to stay at mine and Penny's. We have a spare room that all the Daggers have used at some point. We have clean clothes that you can use and a healthy amount of midnight snacks in the nightstand drawer. What do you say?"

The offer was tempting, but Ghost hardly knew Maverick outside of dogfight football and the occasional conversation at the Hard Deck. But maybe staying there for a few hours wouldn't hurt...

"As long as I'm not intruding," Ghost said weakly, "and as long as I'm not disturbing y'all."

Maverick shook his head. "Penny's still at the bar and Amelia's spending the night with a friend. Even if they were home, I assure you, they've had much rowdier wakeups due to the Daggers."

A smile tugged on Ghost's lips, but she made no response. Instead, she rested her head on the window and stared out through the rain-streaked window.

Upon arriving at the quaint Benjamin household, the pair hurried inside and out of the now-torrential downpour. Maverick escorted her to a cozy guest room at the end of the hall and showed her where the spare clothes were. Ghost thanked him profusely, unsure of what she'd done to deserve such kindness but grateful for it nonetheless.

"I'm going to let Juliette and Rooster know you're safe. I'll be in the kitchen when you're ready," Maverick told her. Giving her an affectionate pat on the shoulder, he left Ghost to her own devices. She wasted no time stepping into the bathroom and stripping out of her drenched clothes. The warm water soothed her frayed nerves and warmed her body from the bone-deep chill caused by the rain. For those ten minutes, Ghost allowed the shower to wash away all her emotions.

When she stepped out, she towel-dried her hair and threw a pink sweater and a pair of black leggings. Ghost then shuffled to the kitchen, stopping hesitantly in the entryway. Maverick, who stood at the counter waiting for the kettle to boil, must've heard her silent footsteps because he turned around.

"I'm making tea. Figured you could use it. Chai?" He said, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard.

Ghost nodded. "Yes, please. That's my favorite."

"It was your mom's too. At least, it was the last time I saw her."

"It still is. How did you-" Ghost stopped herself, a story she learned back in high school- "Right. You two dated for a bit."

"Twice, although the second time was only for a couple weeks, and-" Maverick handed her cup of tea and sat with her at the table- "we were both going through a rough time. I'd broken up with Penny again, and your mom and dad were taking a break."

"I didn't know she saw you again after the first breakup," Ghost remarked, adding the milk and sugar to her drink.

"It was so brief that it barely counts, but yes, we did. I learned about you from Bradley's mom, who occasionally stayed in touch with Charlie. I reached out to congratulate her, but she didn't pick up. Guess she didn't want to talk to her fling around her husband."

Ghost choked on her tea. "You two had a fling?!"

"Like I said, we were both going through a rough time."

When did they have the fling? How long was I born after it? It was the year before I was born, so there is a slim possibility... I need to talk to Jackie about this. Maybe she could help me look into it. Careful to keep a neutral face, Ghost replied, "It's so weird that I knew of Rooster's mom and kind of knew of him and Juliette but never met them until by chance on my own. Of all the eighty-six legacies, I only knew Wolfie."

"He's just like his dad," Maverick mused, smiling to himself. "It was good to see him after all these years. Same with Sunrise and Diva. Can't remember the last time I saw them. They might've still been wearing diapers."

"Did you have any kids of-"

The door opened, cutting Ghost off. Penny appeared a second later, running a hand through her wavy brown hair. Her green eyes landed on the pair of aviators, confusion flickering in them, but she smiled. "Ghost! What are you doing here?"

"Juliette and Rooster asked Captain Mitchell to check on me. It's... been a rough few days," Ghost admitted shyly, not wanting to dive too deep into her issues. She already felt like an imposition to Maverick; the last thing she wanted to do was burden Penny with her problems, too.

Seeming to sense Ghost's reluctance, Penny simply replied, "Well, you're welcome to stay however long you'd like. Our house is your house."

"What are you doing home so early?" Maverick inquired as Penny came to stand beside Ghost.

"Rooster called to see if I could bring Gatorade to Juliette after work. Since it was a slow night, Tom offered to finish the shift by himself so I could get it to them sooner rather than later."

Ghost stood and finished her tea before setting the empty mug on the table. "How is she feeling?"

"Rough. Worried about you." Penny's face softened. "She told me about your dad. I'm so sorry, Annalise."

Whatever control Ghost had on emotions evaporated, and her head bowed instinctively to hide the tears welling in her eyes. Penny's arms enveloped her immediately, pulling her into a comforting, motherly hug. A firm hand clasped her shoulder while she silently sobbed into Penny's shoulder, the wave of grief she'd been holding off finally breaking past her defenses.

Penny and Maverick dutifully stood there, allowing her to get the tears out until they ran dry. Once Ghost managed to gather her composure, she wiped the remnants of tears off her cheeks and apologized.

"What are you sorry for?" Penny asked gently.

For breaking down on you when you barely know me? For burdening you with my problems when you didn't ask? For imposing my presence when you probably hoped for a quiet night? For throwing a wrench in any plans you had with Maverick tonight? "I don't know."

Penny smiled understandingly. "Come on. Why don't you go dry your hair and then get to bed? I think some rest will do you good."

Ghost silently agreed, and tugging the sleeves over her fists, she said, "Thank you for letting me stay tonight. And thank you for picking me up, Captain Mitchell. I really appreciate all the hospitality."

Maverick nodded. "Like Penny said, our house is your house. And please, call me Maverick. All my kids do."

All my kids do. His words warmed her heart. Even though Ghost knew most others called Captain Mitchell by his callsign, hearing him say "all my kids do" to her, of all people, made it sound like he considered her one of them, one of his so-called kids.

Penny escorted Ghost to her room and, after one more hug, left the pilot to get ready for bed. With a quick blow dry- the job already half done from letting her hair air dry- and a swift brush of the teeth, Ghost crawled into bed. She texted Juliette and Rooster to thank them for sending Maverick and to check how Jules was feeling, if the vomiting had ceased. After setting her alarm, Ghost started to set her phone down, but it buzzed with an incoming text message. Expecting it to be from one of the Bradshaws, she opened it without hesitation, only to discover it had been from someone else entirely. Fresh tears blurred her vision as she read: I'm sorry. Forever and always.

****

Tags: @lgg5989 @shanimallina87 @polikszena @summ3rlotus @icemansgirl1999 @supernaturaldawning @thedarkinmansfield @lyannaforpresident @lapilark @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @simpofthecentury @shadeops21 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @double-j @bradshawsandbridgetons @catsandgeekyandnerd @peachiicherries @multifandomcnova @fandomsstolemylife00 @bookloverhorses @mak-32 @midnightmagpiemama @luckyladycreator2 @ellamae021 @kmc1989

Chapters: Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11 Chp 12 Chp 13 Chp 14 Chp 15 Chp 16 Chp 17 Chp 18 Chp 19 Chp 20 Chp 21 Chp 22 Chp 23 Chp 24 Chp 25 Chp 26 Chp 27 Chp 28

If you're not on the tag list and want to be, just let me know :)

11 notes · View notes

avatarskywalker78 · 1 month

Text

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R.R. Martin

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warning: Major Character Death

Relationships: Lyanna Stark & Original Female Character(s), Ned Stark & Original Female Character(s), Jon Snow & Original Female Character(s), Jaime Lannister & Original Female Character(s), Lyanna Stark & Ned Stark, Howland Reed & Ned Stark

Characters: OC Lissa Blackwood, Lyanna Stark, Jon Snow, Ned Stark, Jaime Lannister (mentioned), Howland Reed, Original Characters, Rhaegar Targaryen (mentioned)

Additional Tags: Canonical Character Death, Heavy Angst, Death in Childbirth, R + L = J ┃ Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen are Jon Snow's Parents, Past Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Guilt, Grief/Mourning, Regret, Rhaegar Targaryen Bashing, Melissa blames Rhaegar for Lyanna's death, (and partly blames herself as well), Survivor Guilt, Jon Snow is not called Aegon, Blood, Implied/Referenced Character Death, (the Targaryens)

Series: Part 1 of the raven, the lion, and the wolf

Summary:

Melissa Blackwood - known as Lissa to her best friends - witnesses Lyanna's death in childbirth, after being kept prisoner in the Tower of Joy, and reels from the loss and the events that led up to it. And though she wants to protect the child, she doesn't know how she can possibly do so, after everything...

Tagging (let me know if you want to be added or removed): @shrinkthisviolet @dream-beyond-the-fantasy

#oc: lissa blackwood #lyanna stark #jon snow #ned stark #jaime lannister (mentioned)#asoiaf #IT'S FINALLY HERE!!!

5 notes · View notes

ao3feed-jonmartin · 4 months

Text

But We Have To Try

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/HcMiReK by SpaceDustMantis The first thing Martin knows after the world ends for the second time, is that he's no longer in that hellscape he called home for who knows how long. The second thing Martin knows after the world ends for the second time, with a finality that knocks the breath out of his lungs, is that he is indubitably, undeniably, utterly alone. At that thought he scoffs. Not like that's anything new. --- After driving a knife into the heart of the love of his life, Martin Blackwood finds himself in the Archives, years before the world ended. Or, mum said it's my turn with the time travel fix it fic. It's been done a thousand times before, but if it ain't broke why fix it? Words: 2999, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, he's mentioned, Original Characters, so far we have one and he's only mentioned on the side Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker Additional Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Hurt Martin Blackwood, Grief/Mourning, Vomiting, Blood and Violence, only in his memories tho, tim stoker is a good friend, set in early s1 and also post mag200, Post-Canon, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Oh almost forgot, Temporary Character Death, KIND OF I GUESS, spoiler warning jon isn't actually dead read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/HcMiReK

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #tma #jonmartin #jmart #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin fanfic

7 notes · View notes

eyeopeningarchivist · 8 months

Text

Statement of Phoebe Morris

Concerning: The disappearance of her wedding planner.

Statement Taken: August 20th, 2013

Statement Recorded by Martin Blackwood, archival assistant at the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement Begins:

This happened just a little over a week ago and I'm... still struggling to comprehend it. Michelle and I had wanted to get married for quite some time. We just couldn't decide on when and where. She wanted to go somewhere expensive, extravagant, and grandiose but I wanted something more low-key. Something intimate and quiet. The only thing we could agree on was that we wanted to do it in another country. It was her idea to find a wedding planner and that led us to Philo Newcomb.

I... had mixed feelings about Newcomb from the beginning, honestly. He always seemed... I dunno, preppy? Eager? Overly friendly somehow. And I just wasn't quite sure he knew what he was talking about. I wasn't sure how you could make beige look garish and loud but his suit managed it and the ideas he had for how our wedding should look didn't sound much better but Michelle seemed to like him and he at least seemed friendly. It helped that the location he was trying to sell us seemed gorgeous. It was a massive estate in Mendoza, Argentina with a beautiful sunset view over the balcony. It was apparently owned by some local big shot lawyer in the area or something and Newcomb had been nice enough to pay for our tickets himself. So, I was split.

But then... he showed up. Philo was leading us down to the vineyard when a man in a security uniform stopped me. He was a rather large, bald man with a stoic expression on his face. His whole head seemed completely clean-shaven, not even a spec of stubble anywhere. And I remember his badge said "Tobias Rieper." He said "I think you should look at this" in an even tone and shoved a scrapbook into my hands. It contained... locks of hair... and pictures of corpses and... newspaper clippings of mourning brides and grooms over the course of decades. And on the very last page was a picture of Michelle and I on a date, with Philo's face crudely taped over mine. By the time I looked up, Tobias Rieper had already left.

I got Michelle out of there as fast as I could. I made some excuse about getting the flight bookings wrong and all but dragged her out of there. I-I didn't even explain anything until we got back to the hotel. I didn't even think to call anyone at first. Not until a few hours after we got back to our rooms. When I did pick up the phone, Michelle turned my attention to the tv. Philo Newcomb had been found dead at the estate. Having fallen over the railing from the top floor. With no suspects, police ruled his death an accident.

Michelle and I haven't discussed getting married since. We... need time. But, I thought that was it. That this was just a horrifying situation that we just barely got out of thanks to some help from a stranger. I didn't think there was anything supernatural about it. Until I tried to thank Tobias Rieper for his help.

From what I could find, there is no record of anyone by the name of "Tobias Rieper" working at that estate. Not as security, as wait staff, nothing. So I looked him up online. I got a ton of results online. A corporate liquidator from New York. An all star chef from France. But nothing about our mysterious security guard. But as I kept digging, I saw a pattern. There were never any photographs of him, but sometimes there were... stories attached. Stories about people meeting a mysterious stone faced, completely bald man named Tobias Rieper on the same day as a mysterious disappearance and never finding him again. Meeting a talented rock drummer the same day a famous rock star gets shot. Meeting a stone faced mechanic the same day as the grand prix accident. The name and face is always the same. The only thing that changes is the clothes. Like a mannequin trying on a new suit.

Statement ends.

Notes:

We tried to look up this Tobias Rieper as well and, well, we found just as much as is mentioned in the statement. Tim did, however, manage to dig up the lowest possible quality photograph of someone who matches the description of Mr. Rieper, only this man is labeled as “Lutte Faucheur,” an ex accountant from around the Bordeaux region who was let go from his firm after claiming to have “Visions From God...” Something about his eyes in the photo... He looks tired...

As for the mentioned events, we looked into them just to make sure they all lined up and they do, the only detail missing being that Philo Newcomb’s death was ruled by the Argentinian... Argentine? Er, the police in Argentina said they figured he was drunk when he fell. No autopsy report was filed but given the nature of his death and the fact that it happened where it did, well, I guess they just put two and two together...

For what it’s worth, both "Lutte" and "Faucheur" are words in french... Lutte meaning "Struggle” and Faucheur meaning "Reaper..."

End recording.

#the magnus archives #martin blackwood #@autisticsupervillain

9 notes · View notes

dowagersqueen · 4 months

Note

https://www.reddit.com/r/HouseOfTheDragon/comments/18tuzyc/how_will_this_affect_rhaenyras_psyche/

"I think it will be a Catelyn Stark -like scene. Arryk will plan to kill one of the boys, Rhaenyra will enter, throw herself at him with a scream and hinder him for a few seconds (grab his sword arm). Then Erryk will arrive and fight him."

I can totally see the writers doing this. In the book it was unclear who was the target and Arryk never reached the rooms anyway. Can you imagine the fans reactions and comparisons with B&C? In ep1 B&C happens after Rhaenyra mourns Luke, the Greens will probably have their usual crumbs of screentime and no proper build up, we'll be lucky if we'll see Helaena with her children twice before B&C. Then in ep2 the Greens have a funeral (and I'm worried if Aegon and Aemond even will be there), Aegon executes the ratcatchers (also this episode will have a lot of other stuff like Blackwoods vs Brackens and Daemon in Harrenhal, Addam appears for the first time, Cregan and Jace will have scenes, etc), and then we see an attack on Rhaenyra and her youngest children... I was hoping the Cargyll duel would be in ep3, but ofc these writers wouldn't let the Greens have the audience compassion even for one episode. It's not allowed in this show, it's like they quickly turned the attention from Aemond's eye to Rhaenyra's arm (and made Alicent feel guilty for it for the next 6 years) because god forbid the Greens would have a sympathetic moment.

i don't have much of an opinion on this because regardless of that scene, i believe the narrative we've seen in s1 will continue in s2 and people are deluding themselves whenever they act like it won't be. more screen time doesn't mean narrative will change. anyway, what i actually wanted to say is that you missed one detail... the execution of the ratcatchers will likely be also from a perspective of evil. remember how they casted ratcatcher lady no. 1. yeah... lol

like i'm not saying that it's okay for random innocent ratcatchers to die to begin with, no no, but the casting of random lady ratcatcher took me out lmao

#asks #hotd discourse

3 notes · View notes

derpinathebrave · 1 year

Text

Goin' To The Chapel Part 2 - IceMav

READ ON AO3

So, uh, @pollyna gave me brainworms like 2 weeks ago. And I wrote And We'll Never Be Lonely Anymore. And then @topgunruinedme suggested a Maverick and Goose perspective and I could not pass up the opportunity for the chaos that is Pete Maverick Mitchell. And then I wrote 15500 words. I regret nothing.

I've split this into 2 parts because I feel 15k is a little much.

SUMMARY: Mav and Goose decide they need a Vegas weekend between saving Cougar, sighting a MiG and now being sent to Top Gun. So when Mav wakes up with a wedding ring and not many memories of who exactly he married… well, it's probably fine, right?

TAGS: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell, Charlotte "Charlie" Blackwood, Nick "Goose" Bradshaw, Carole Bradshaw, Rick "Hollywood" Neven, Leonard "Wolfman" Wolfe, Sam "Merlin" Wells, Waking Up Married in Vegas, Las Vegas Wedding, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, drunk wedding, we got 99 problems but homophobia aint one, Angst with a Happy Ending, pete maverick mitchell is lonely, Toxic Relationship, brief charlie and mav toxicity, Dead Nick "Goose" Bradshaw, Grief/Mourning, Mentions of Sexual Acts, No DADT, No Homophobia, no beta we die like goose

WORDS: 15,575

PART1 - PART2

-------------

As far as making a mess of his life, Pete Mitchell would rate himself at four out of five stars. He stared up at the ceiling of Charlie’s room, mind rolling slowly through the fucked up choices he had made in the last twenty four hours alone.

Fucked up choice number one: leaving Hollywood to go after Viper. He had known it was a dick-move. He had known it wasn’t what he was supposed to do. But he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t help the small whispering voice in his mind that told him “it’s fine, no one would ever stand by you, why should you stand by them”. He had lived his entire career as Duke Mitchell’s kid and all of the bullshit that had come with it. Including constantly being ostracised by other aviators. Not even Goose could talk him out of that one, as hard as his RIO had tried.

Fucked up choice number two: letting Tom “Iceman” Kazansky talk to him like that. It would have been so much easier to just fist-fight him in the locker room than listen to the patient but exasperated way Iceman spoke to him. It would have been better to walk away and not listen to him at all. Because in that moment Maverick had made an awful connection in his mind. The calm, patient tone was eerily familiar to him. It almost sounded like a voice from his dreams. It was comforting and chastising in one. It made his hair stand on end and his stomach drop a little. Maverick couldn’t bare to look at Ice, because he knew in that moment he had a strange flare of attraction and he absolutely, under no circumstances, was allowed to feel anything other than irritation and dislike of perfect Tom Kazansky. And then he’d watched Ice walk away in nothing but a towel and the attraction hit him hard anyway.

Fucked up choice number three: taking the first two fucked up choices and using them to justify sleeping with Charlie again. He had sought her out this time. Following her home on his bike knowing exactly where they’d both end up. It had calmed his crazed thoughts for a while, sure, but now he was in Charlie’s bed again.

He was laying staring at the ceiling thinking about Tom Kazansky’s tanned skin dripping from the shower. He was thinking about the ultimate trust he had seen in Goose’s eyes as he promised to be better for the hundredth time. He was thinking about Jester telling him to “never, ever leave your wingman”. He was thinking about his father, whether Duke Mitchell ever left his wingman. He was laying with a naked woman asleep on his chest and she didn’t even rate a passing thought.

“What are you thinking?” Charlie muttered against his skin, clearly not as asleep as he thought.

“That I need to get back to base,” Mav lied.

“Mm,” she rolled away and frowned at him. “Are you ever going to stay the night?”

Maverick frowned right back. “You know I can’t,” he said, irritation leaking into his tone.

“Uh-huh,” she rolled her eyes at him. “Because you’re always so concerned about the rules.”

He might have shaken it off if he wasn’t already wound tight enough to snap. Instead he climbed out of the bed and began pulling on his clothes.

“Come on, Charlie,” he snapped. “You know I can’t spend a night off-base. And you already said you’re not supposed to date me, anyway.”

She sat up, covering herself with the sheet. “Jeeze, Mav, you really know how to make a woman feel wanted.” Her eyes were cold, even in the dim light.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Internally Maverick stomped down on the part of him that watched on with disgust.

“Not for very much longer, apparently.” Charlie pointed at the door. “Go on, get out.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, stomping out the back door and letting it slam in the quiet night. He paused at his bike and dragged his boots on, having walked out with them in hand. With that done, he revved the engine and took off into the darkness. Maverick revelled in the icy wind against his cheeks and the way it seemed to strip all thoughts from his head.

===

Things fell into a pattern from there. For the first time since he’d joined the Navy and had to endure training, Maverick bent himself to the task of curbing his impulses. He worked hard at refuting the small, nasty voice telling him to only look out for himself.

Instead, embarrassingly, Iceman’s calm voice asking him “Who’s side are you really on?” would echo back against it. That calm question of where his loyalty should lie worked wonders. His body still itched to do stupid things, but there was “stupid leaving your teammates to die” and there was “stupid ballsy stunt flying”. Maverick felt more than a little pleased with himself that he was finally able to draw the line between the two.

Their points racked up, shooting him and Goose to second place and snapping at Ice and Slider’s heels.

The other pilots seemed to forgive him for his boneheaded stunts easily enough as well. Maverick had always been charismatic enough to get away with murder, and he found he enjoyed the attention more when it wasn’t paired with glares and muttered curses. Even Iceman himself seemed to soften off a little, a little frost melting away.

The only part of the pattern that Mav couldn’t get a handle on was Charlie. Charlotte Blackwood always got what she wanted. For some reason, she wanted Maverick. They had made up the day after he stormed out in the night, Charlie smiling and bringing him a coffee after lunch to chat.

Two days later they had argued again, this time Charlie stalking away with her heels clicking sharply. Maverick had watched her go a strange mix of relief and anger. Possessed by some weird sense of fairness, Maverick had made an effort to reconcile.

And around and around they went.

===

“Hey, Mav?” Goose said as they wandered back to the hangar after another hop.

“Yes, Goose?” Maverick’s mind was on the last manoeuvre he had watched Viper pull, wondering if he could achieve it in his bulky F14.

“Does Charlie know you’re married?” Goose’s words slapped him dead in the face, leaving Maverick stuttering to a stop on the tarmac.

“What?” He said, whipping his head around to make sure the other aviators were well out of earshot, not hard with the never-ending roar of engines.

“I mean, is that why she’s always so torqued with you?” Goose shrugged one shoulder, the picture of reluctant curiosity.

Mav sighed, tipping his head back and watching an F5 scream by. When he looked back, Goose was still waiting for an answer, sympathy in his eyes.

“No, she doesn’t know,” Mav said. They carried on toward the hangar. “I haven’t told her. I kind of keep meaning to, but…”

He left the word hanging, unsure how to admit it without sounding like a dick.

“But there’s always something else to argue about first?” Goose asked, voice now laced with sympathy.

Maverick gave a short nod. He gripped the helmet in his hand so tight he thought it might crack. He knew this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but something in the way Charlie laid on the attention and affection always got to him. He would promise himself it was the last time and then she would be back with her smiles and bedroom eyes and… He would fall right back in with her.

“You know—“ Goose began but a shout from the hangar caught their attention and Jester waved them over impatiently.

They both picked up their pace, double-timing to the debrief they were clearly late for. Whatever Goose thought he should know would have to wait.

===

“You have no idea what it’s like!” Maverick shouted. Charlie was the only person in the whole universe that made him shout this much.

“Oh! Right!” She shouted right back, face twisting with anger. “Because I don’t have a damn joystick between my legs, I don’t get an opinion!”

Maverick growled with frustration, shoving his hands into his hair. “You know that’s not what this is about! This is about piloting, not about being a woman!”

“I’ve been doing this job eighteen months now, Mav,” she spat his name like a curse, “I think I have an idea of exactly what you meant.”

He closed his eyes, praying for patience and presence of mind. It worked for a brief second and he realised that arguing wasn’t the answer. Maverick turned on a heel and pushed out Charlie’s door into the rain.

“Where are you going!?” She yelled after him.

He didn’t bother with a reply, merely climbing onto the wet seat of his wet bike and shooting away from the curb.

He was saturated in moments, the rain falling heavy and fast. Only his glasses kept it out of his eyes enough to see where he was going. The drops pelted his face, freezing and stinging his skin until he couldn’t feel anything else. As he rode, the anger rose in waves of fire before being drowned in the rain once more as he twisted the throttle and pushed faster into the freezing water.

Maverick knew he couldn’t keep it up. He couldn’t walk the same circle around the flames with Charlie. One day soon they were going to fall into the fire and neither would come out unharmed. He had to stop. It had to stop.

The thought was terrifying. The idea of pushing back against that intoxicating attention was almost unthinkable. Pete had spent his life chasing it and now he had it he wanted to give it up?

The small Goose that lived rent-free in his head sighed and folded its arms. Pete turned his attention to the sprite, ready for anything that could help.

“This isn’t it,” was all the Goose said.

Pete knew it. He knew this wasn’t it. He had known from that first date at Charlie’s house that this wasn’t it.

But he was so desperately lonely. Some days he feared his body would split open with the aching of it. He felt that his chest would cave if a single person truly touched him because it was brittle veneer over a gaping abyss of loneliness.

With a long, slow sigh, Pete pulled over and stopped. His body was shaking with chills, his hands struggling to open from their grip on the handlebars. He sat back and let the rain fall on his face for a while.

Loneliness was not a good enough reason to hurt like this. Enough was enough.

With a nod to himself, resolve settling into his gut at last, Pete gripped his bike once more. He tossed his head to check for oncoming traffic but found himself stuck in place. No longer frozen by the rain, but held in place by the comical sight in the lot across the street. The one and only Iceman was leaning on the opened hood of his vehicle.

Maverick toyed with the idea of leaving him there. It passed quickly. That same old voice of Iceman asking who’s side he was on making him turn his bike and dart across the road to the parking lot of a diner. He parked up a few spaces away.

By the time he got to Iceman, he was reconnecting the battery.

“Need some help there, Iceman?” Maverick revelled just a little in the situation.

“Mav-rick,” Iceman said, spitting out the last syllable in a similar way to Charlie. “What, no Charlie date today?”

It should have pissed him off. It should have ground salt into his freshly opened wound. Except Maverick was too damn excited to see Iceman upset by something. The ever-serene Tom Kazansky was pissed off enough to make a shitty comment to him.

Maverick grinned broadly and flipped his dripping hair off his forehead.

“Seemed like a nice day for a ride,” Mav said.

Another thrill of delight shot through him as Ice’s face fell into open shock.

“You’re genuinely insane,” Ice said, shaking his head.

Mav wasn’t sure he was that far off the truth. He shrugged. “And you appear to be genuinely broken down. Do you actually need help?”

He waited, watching with fascination as emotion passed over Iceman like clouds. Now he was up close and not seething in a fit of rage at every word, Maverick could see the work in Iceman’s eyes as he attempted to reign everything in.

Mav rolled his eyes, too impatient to wait on the other man’s ego, he stepped around Ice and climbed into the Jeep. He turned the key, listening to the tell-tale clicking of a dead starter solenoid.

“Sounds like your starter,” he announced, returning to the front of the car to find Ice hadn’t moved a muscle.

Careful off the slippery paint, Maverick climbed onto the front of the Jeep. He cursed his short legs as his jacket rode up and cold drips trickled down his bare back. He checked to make sure the solenoid was attached properly and not just loose. Satisfied it was truly broken, he fixed the year and model number into his brain.

“How badly do you need this running?” Mav turned back to see Iceman staring off into the middle-distance.

Ice swung back to face him, a flicker of shock hitting his eyes before it was gone.

“Uh, I mean, I need it to get back on base at least,” Ice said robotically.

“Well, I could get you back on base.” Maverick slapped the Jeep affectionately. “But your Jeep isn’t going anywhere without a new starter solenoid. I can fix it, but not in the rain.”

“You’d fix it?” Ice sneered.

Mav scoffed and looked away. He had been wondering how long Tom Kazansky could stand being decent before his urge to be the biggest dick around reared it’s head again. He turned back to Iceman, his own sneer in place.

“I mean if you want to walk back to base in the rain, Ice, you go right ahead,” Mav said. “If you want to pay a mechanic to fix it and have your car in the shop for the next week while they piss around on an easy job, you do that. I’ll see ya around.”

Maverick turned on his heel and marched off, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket as he went. He couldn’t figure out what made him even stop to help in the first place. Maybe he had felt like he owed Iceman for all the times he had inadvertently stopped Maverick doing something batshit crazy in the air the last few hops. Maybe he just wanted to do a good deed.

“Mitchell! Wait!” Ice’s voice cut through his internal ponderings.

Pete paused, sighing at his own idiocy as he waited.

“Look—” Ice appeared in front of him, hands spread out by his sides, “— I’m not having the best day here. If you can help, I’d appreciate it.”

He looked so open and defenceless for once that Pete couldn't help but be a little startled by it. The cold detachment was nowhere to be seen. He felt he was actually seeing Tom. Not Iceman, not Lieutenant Kazansky, just Tom, honestly asking for help.

Maverick was still Maverick though, he raised his eyebrows, waiting for the apology he deserved. And also just to see if he could push Tom’s buttons as much as he could push Iceman’s.

“I’m sorry for being a dick,” Tom sighed.

“Good.” Mav laughed, pleased with himself. “Go grab what you need, lock it up and we’ll head back to the base. I’ll bring my bike over.”

Ice gave him a nod and walked off. Maverick watched him for a moment, an odd sense of affection fluttering in his chest. He shook it off and went to get his bike.

===

Iceman was not so cool and collected on the back of a Kawasaki going 35 miles per hour in the rain. Maverick couldn’t help but laugh as the bigger pilot clung to him for dear life. He was like a wall of body heat and muscle behind Mav. It was a little unsettling to feel someone so large on his bike with him. He rode slow, slower than usual at the very least, negotiating turns carefully as Ice wasn’t used to leaning with the bike.

When they pulled into a park on the base, Iceman swung himself off immediately. Mav laughed a little at the fierce scowl Tom wore. Maverick tossed his fringe off his face, unable to feel his cheeks again from the short ride.

“Christ, you enjoy this?” Iceman asked as they started toward the quarters.

“Not such a fan of the cold, Iceman?” Mav teased with an easy smile.

“Not really. Or the damp,” Ice said.

They walked in silence for a few metres.

“Sometimes you just need to shock your system, y’know?” Maverick said, voice quiet. “Really just do something that resets everything. Clean slate.”

Maverick wasn’t sure why he had said it. The words had slipped out before he could stop them. Now he was back at the base, the afternoon was catching up to him a little. He cleared his throat and carried on through the awkwardness.

“Anyway, I’ll grab the part we need for your Jeep and we can head down tomorrow after end-of-day to fix it. It won’t take too long, just too slippery and miserable to do in this.” Maverick gestured to the sky.

“Uh, sure,” Ice said. “Thanks, Maverick. Really.”

“Don’t mention it, Ice,” Mav gave him one last friendly grin. He turned away and went in search of Goose. He desperately needed to talk to his RIO about Charlie, and maybe even about Tom Kazansky for that matter.

===

“Hey, Mav,” Goose called, pushing into Pete’s room without waiting for a reply. “Oh good you’re already dressed. Bradley wants you to come play ball with us, so we’ll see you down at the beach in twenty.”

“Man, I can’t,” Mav said, voice apologetic. He hated letting Bradley down but he did tell Ice they’d fix his Jeep.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Goose’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me Charlie—”

“What? No.” Maverick shook his head violently. “No. I just… yesterday I ran into Iceman, his car was broken down and I said I’d help him fix it.”

There was a protracted silence, Goose’s eyebrows were yet to come down. He stared at Maverick, mouth hanging open a little.

“I’m just doing a good deed, OK?” Mav said.

“For Ice?” Goose clarified. His jaw finally closing and eyes turning shrewd.

“What can I say, I’m a good person.” Maverick shrugged, trying not to squirm beneath Goose’s stare.

“Well, OK, Mav,” he said in his long-suffering tone. “At least make it to dinner, will you?”

“I’ll be there,” Mav agreed, willing the heat in his neck to recede before it reached his cheeks. He clapped Goose on the shoulder and moved past him into the hall. A small, Goose-sounding voice in his head accused him of running away and Maverick ignored it as well.

===

It shouldn’t have been shocking that Iceman had more than two emotions (pissed off or disinterested) but Maverick found it startling just the same. They cruised along on his bike. Ice was clinging less in the sunny weather, and actually gave a huff of laughter as Maverick took a corner a little quicker than he needed to.

When they climbed off beside the lonely Jeep Maverick found the other man actually smiling. He couldn’t help but smile back, a bubbling feeling of victory in his stomach at the sight.

“See, it’s fun right?” Mav said.

“Sure, Mitchell, it’s fun,” Ice rolled his eyes but there was a smile still tugging on the corners of his lips.

“You should try it at a hundred miles per hour,” Mav winked, “there’s nothing like it except flying.”

“With the way you fly? No way.” And then The Iceman actually laughed.

Maverick laughed along with him, a weird sensation building in the back of his neck. Something about that laugh tickled at his brain. He turned away to retrieve the tools from under his bike seat, mind working furiously.

“I’m an excellent pilot, Ice,” Mav argued just to be contrary. “It’s not my fault the US Navy can’t keep up.”

Ice laughed again, this time far more sardonically, but the same familiar feeling hit Maverick once more. This time a memory rode along with it.

Club lights were swirling, synthesizer music pulsing against his chest, the man he had pressed up against the wall was laughing into his ear.

Maverick’s blood went cold. Then hot.

This couldn’t be real. That had to be some quirk of his fried brain. There was no way they were the same laugh.

He picked up his tools and the spare solenoid. No, he refused to believe it.

And yet as he turned to look at Iceman, that thrill of familiarity he had felt so many weeks ago hit him once more.

Maverick pasted a blank smile on his face and climbed onto the engine of the Jeep. He definitely wasn’t going to think about that right now. He was going to get this job done fast and get the hell out of here.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Ice asked, coming around to lean on the Jeep and watching Maverick with his too-blue eyes.

Mav wished he wouldn’t look at him. He could feel Ice’s eyes roaming his body and more fuzzy memories rolled into his brain; memories of being felt up in a club bathroom.

“My second foster home,” Mav said, too distracted to lie. He kept his eyes focused down on the engine. “They were decent enough. Owned a mechanic shop. I helped out after school and on the weekend.”

They were some of the best memories he had. His foster dad, Gerald, had taught him the ins and outs of motors. They would always have the radio tuned to the rock and roll station. It was where Mav learned all his cuss words and what exactly a pin-up looked like.

He was so lost in the reminiscence that he forgot Ice was there until a short “Oh,” brought him back to the present. He could hear the strain of someone that didn’t know quite what to say in that “oh”. He had heard it many times over his lifetime. Maverick extracted the solenoid and tossed it at Ice, breaking the other man’s awkward stance.

“Don’t worry about it, Kazansky,” Maverick said, giving him a smile. “You know my dad was KIA, my mum died not too long after. So there wasn’t anywhere else for me to go.” He gave a shrug, preparing for the typical responses he got.

“I’m sorry,” Ice’s voice was so earnest that Mav found it slipped under his guard and hit his chest harder than usual.

He hadn’t thought he would ever hear Ice say something that honest and sincere to him, let alone an apology.

“I said don’t worry about it,” Pete said, ignoring the rushing of blood through his heart that threatened to overwhelm him. “Pass me that new solenoid, would you?”

He needed to get this finished. Fast. He couldn’t stand another moment with this weird, kind, compassionate Tomas Kazansky. It was doing strange things to his brain and body.

“I was with them for three years,” Pete said when Ice didn’t change the subject. “It was shit when I had to go. But they had another bio-kid and the State wouldn’t let them keep me.”

There was no reaction. Iceman didn’t move an inch.

“I went to a new place, they were horrible.” Flickers of memories threatened but Maverick pushed on, focused on the work he was doing with his hands more than the story. “Ran away for a while. Had about a week on the streets.” Pete peeked to watch Iceman’s face flicker with shock and dismay before the mask returned. “State put me back with a new family. They were bearable.” And they had been. Easy enough to finish off his high-school with them. “Stayed there until I could enlist. And now I’m here, about to win that Top Gun trophy and be the best.” He tacked the last part on in an effort to break Ice’s stiff posture. The other man was frozen with his arms crossed and jaw clenched as he listened to the story.

Later, Maverick would wonder why he had said it all. He didn’t really like to offer up his life story to just anyone. Heck, Charlie didn’t know half of the stuff he’d just forced Ice to listen to. The moment had just felt right. The fact that Pete was suspecting Ice was his mystery husband, the way that Ice had let himself open up with Pete that afternoon, even just a little.

Maybe he just wanted Tom Kazansky to stop thinking he was just an irresponsible child; that Pete Mitchell had a life and a story and there was more to him than being “dangerous, unsafe and everyone’s problem”.

“Keep dreaming, Mitchell,” Ice said the snark in his tone softer than usual. Pete glanced over to see that Ice’s eyes were shining with mirth. With his arms loose across his chest now and the last of the sunset colouring his blond hair golden. Ice was drop-dead gorgeous.

Maverick laughed. If they were married, he was going to have to insist on consummating it before he gave Ice a divorce.

As though he could hear Mav’s thoughts, Ice shook his head with mock exasperation.

“So.” Mav leapt back down to the pavement. “I think that’s good to go. Try turning it over.”

He shoved his tools into his back pocket, waiting to hear the engine turn over. It fired and hummed, sounding perfectly healthy once more.

Maverick felt his blood rise again as Ice shot him a genuine smile from the drivers seat. He looked down at his grubby hands and began wiping them with a rag. He could not have Tom look at him like that again, it was doing awful things to his emotions.

“Thanks, Mav,” Ice said, holding his hand out to shake.

Maverick took it, feeling the callouses and surprised at how large Ice’s hands were.

“No problem, Ice,” he said, realising this was probably the first time Tom had used his nickname.

“You want some cheese fries?” Ice said, his eyes flickering with panic before they shuttered back to neutral.

Pete’s heart exploded. He had a vague realisation that Charlie never made him feel like this. How did Tom have such easy access to his nervous system? The memory of laughter shifted in Mav’s brain.

“Well, I would,” he chuckled through the pain of how honest he was being, “but I got a better offer. I gotta go meet Goose and Carole for dinner.”

Iceman merely nodded. Maverick could see Tom receding back behind his persona again.

“See ya ‘round, Iceman,” Pete said, mostly to needle at him and see the flashes of genuine emotion he could now recognise.

“Sure, sure,” Ice drawled, a smile leaking through in his voice.

Maverick turned and wandered away, tossing the busted solenoid into the air and catching it with ease. How much damage one little broken solenoid had caused to his life. He tossed it into the cavity beneath his seat with a smile.

===

The first hour he had clutched Nick to his chest and begged for him to open his eyes.

The second hour he had begged the sky to take him instead, give his brother back and take him instead.

The third hour he had listened to the idle talk of doctors and officers without hearing anything.

The fourth hour he realised he was laying in a bed, staring at a ceiling he didn’t recognise.

The fifth hour he cried.

It didn’t stop. He sobbed and sobbed, the abyss in his chest busted open and dragging him into it. His throat was raw, his body shaking in silent sobs and eyes stinging but no tears were left to fall.

He couldn’t have said how long Carole had been holding him, her own tears slipping through his hair as they rocked together on his hospital bed. Maverick came back to himself and found them like that. He found Bradley curled up asleep on a trundle bed in the room, hand clutching his toy plane tight even in sleep. The same way Maverick had clutched Goose in that frigid ocean.

He clung to Carole, fresh tears falling. He was astounded he had any left.

Around midnight they both sat still and silent. The noise of the hospital moved on around them but Carole and Pete sat together on his bed, clinging like children in the dark.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice was a grated sound.

“No.” Hers was no better. “No, Pete, don’t.”

“I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t hold the words back.

“I know.” Carole pressed a kiss to his temple. “I know.”

“What are we gonna do without him?” Pete asked, voice cracking.

“I don’t know,” she gave a small sob.

Pete clung harder. The yawning abyss swallowed him whole.

===

He was discharged in the morning. “No outstanding injuries” the doctor had told him. Pete disagreed, the tearing pain in his entire soul definitely felt like an outstanding injury. Instead he simply nodded and headed back to quarters.

As he passed by a window he noticed his stubble had grown in and his hair was a mess. The routine of showering and shaving settled him infinitesimally, bringing some sense of normal back. Then he cried all over again because clearly life went on even without Goose and the pain of that thought was fresh and sharp.

Viper found him there, leaning on the sink, staring at his whiskers and trying to breathe again.

He said things about the pain of losing someone. That he would get used to it. That he would get over it.

“You have to let him go.”

Maverick’s vision went blurry and he realised he was holding his breath. He only let it go as Viper patted his shoulder and left once more.

How did you let go of someone that was one half of you? Pete stared at his red eyes in the mirror, the pain flaring once more. He had let Goose go, the jagged wound inside him was proof enough of that.

===

He moved like a zombie. Charlie came and went, saying words as she always did. Carole came and collected Goose’s things, pressing the dogtags into Maverick’s palm before she left to organise a funeral. Maverick sat on the floor of the lounge with Bradley in his lap.

The pair of them stared vacantly at the cartoons on the TV. Bradley’s head was heavy against Mav’s collarbone. He still clutched his toy plane in one hand, the other holding on to Pete tightly. He smelt so familiar, the weight and warmth of him soothing the empty pain in Mav’s chest a little.

“Where’s dad?” Bradley said, voice quiet.

“He’s gone,” Pete whispered, fresh tears already brewing. “He’s gone, buddy.”

“Will he come back?”

“No, Bradley.” Pete took a shuddering breath. “He can’t come back this time.”

“Will you go too, Uncle Mav?” Bradley turned to look up at him, his eyes confused and searching Pete’s face for comfort. “You and daddy go everywhere together.”

The tears spilled over, Pete clutching Bradley to his chest tight and rocking a little.

“No, Gosling,” Pete gasped through the pain. “I can’t go with him this time. I’ll stay here with you.”

There was a beat before Bradley spoke again. “I don’t want daddy to be lonely. But I’m glad you’re staying.”

Pete clung to the little boy, feeling the words settle into his chest. They soothed and stabbed at him simultaneously.

===

The memorial was a blur. The grim faces, condolences and heavy grief washed over him relentlessly. He ached to leave but knew he had to stay. He held Bradley close and kissed Carole’s cheek in farewell as they left.

Maverick seemed to come back to himself alone in his room. He was truly alone. No more doctors, no more Carole, no more Bradley. Just Pete Mitchell and his loneliness.

He stared around at the room. Nothing but his bed, his desk and the small wireless radio Goose had given him two weeks into their stay. Mav crossed to the wireless and flicked it on, searching channels until he settled on an oldies station. It was late enough that there was little talking from the DJ and mostly just endless music.

Standing at the desk, letting the soulful sounds of Etta James crash against him, Maverick pulled the desk drawer open. The silver wedding band was right where he had left it. He scooped it out of the drawer and slid it onto his finger.

He hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell Goose about his revelation in the parking lot. They had gone to dinner and talked about Charlie, they had sung Great Balls of Fire and then Carole had demanded time with Nick.

Maverick folded himself onto the floor. He pulled the ring off and stared at it. There were so many things he needed to say to Goose. So much that had happened and would happen, things Maverick wanted to share with him and never could again.

Things that Maverick was now destined to live alone with.

The music changed, the first few notes of Otis Redding poking at Pete’s tender heart. He looked at the radio, contemplating smashing it it pieces. And then the lyrics started and for the first time in his life, Pete Mitchell understood his mother.

He laid his head back on the bed behind him and felt the words pour into his chest.

The song ended, the DJ coming back on to talk about something inane. Maverick opened his hands to find he had been crushing the ring into his palm.

Amazed at how his brain worked, Pete suddenly realised that if Iceman was his husband, he couldn’t possibly know it. He realised that if anyone had the papers from the marriage it must be Pete himself.

Aware that he was merely distracting himself from the grief, Pete dragged his bag out from beneath the bed. He dug around the bottom with one hand, moving discarded socks out of the way until his fingers found paper. He pulled the page out, still folded in eighths but also twisted and crushed from the travel.

He untwisted it, opening it slowly as his heart thumped. It was flowery and ornamental.

Certificate of Marriage This is to certify that Peter Maverick Mitchell and Tomas Iceman Kazansky were united in marriage.

Maverick stared. Slowly, he noticed there was a wet spot on the page and brushed it away. It took another moment for him to realise it was a tear.

There was his scrawling writing for his name and his callsign. And the bold, slanting letters of Iceman’s hand for his.

“Fucking hell,” he said to the empty room. “Fucking hell, Goose, it’s really him.” He gave a weak, wet laugh. “I hope wherever you are you can see this. I hope you’re laughing your ass off.”

And then clear as a bell, Mav heard Goose’s voice again. “See, Mav, you still have family.”

Maverick sniffed and closed his eyes. Listening for more but the voice was gone, the memory fading already. Calm settled over him as he waited to hear Goose again.

Holding the certificate in one hand, the ring in the other, Maverick slipped into a deep sleep on the floor.

===

10.

When he woke that morning the calm was replaced by a deep ache in his back. He was too old and too sober to sleep on the floor. The day descended into hell from there.

Carole was gone. He was cleared of any guilt and sent back out to fly that day’s hops.

His hands shook. His lungs weren’t working. It was all he could do to keep his mask on and not throw up. Sundown was yelling something from the backseat but all Pete could hear was the crunching sound of Goose hitting the canopy.

He stared at the wall of the bathroom without seeing anything except Goose’s bloody face and green dye in the ocean.

The next hop was worse. He began to go hypoxic within minutes and had to land before he blacked out. Wolfman had been up with him, filling in for the hop as his RIO now that Maverick didn’t have one. He stayed quiet, only speaking to tell Mav to bring it back down steady.

Maverick knew Wolf followed him to his quarters but the RIO stayed silent, watching him pack. Beyond that, Maverick lost track. He hustled to the locker room to grab the last of his things. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t stand to listen to the roar of jets or be surrounded by the memories of how he used to fly as easy as breathing. Now he couldn’t even breathe while he flew.

It was just his luck that as he was emptying his locker, Iceman found him.

“Mitchell,” Ice said.

Pete froze. The reality of their relationship crushing down on him.

“I’m sorry about Goose.”

Maverick couldn’t move. He knew if he turned around he would throw himself at Ice and beg him not to leave.

“Everybody liked him.”

Silently, eyes closed against the room, Pete Mitchell begged Tom to say it. To admit he knew they were married. To offer to be what he had lost. To say he’d stay even if they hated each other.

“I’m sorry.”

Silence stretched.

Pete grabbed his bag and walked out, letting his heart rip out his back as he did. What was one more lost piece now?

===

Maverick wasn’t sure where he was going anymore. He pushed his Kawasaki down a long empty road, letting the noise of the wind drown out Charlie’s nasty words.

He knew what she was doing. She was trying, in a fucked up way, to motivate him back into flying. He growled along with the engine of his bike. She needed therapy.

The thought made him laugh, a ragged harsh noise. He needed therapy too.

He was a husk clinging to the world. There was nothing left of him that made up Maverick. He had lost Goose. He had lost his ability to fly. He lost the Navy. He was nothing anymore. He was no one.

As he pushed the bike faster approaching 100 miles per hour, a memory hit him.

He was suddenly in that parking lot teasing Iceman about going 100 miles per hour. He had said it felt like flying.

And it did. He realised with a shock that the adrenaline rushing through him was familiar. His lungs were working hard but only with the force of the wind against him. He was still breathing.

He was still alive.

Maverick lifted off the throttle. He let the bike slow back to a reasonable 90.

If he was still alive then he could still fly. He knew that deep in his tattered soul. With the realisation a piece of him seemed to settle back into place. He had promised Bradley he would stay. Carole had told him to keep flying.

Maverick cursed and rolled the bike to a stop on the side of the road. He turned around, knowing where he was going for the first time in a week.

===

The day was too bright. The sun making their dress whites shine with glare. He hadn’t known where his hat was, he didn’t particularly care. He was late and he didn’t particularly care about that either. He was here. He was alive. That was enough.

Steeling himself, Maverick shuffled through the press of people to where Iceman and Slider were grinning like fools at their win. It sent a weird sense of happiness and bitterness through Mav. It could have been him, it should have been him, but he found he didn’t really care anymore.

He held his hand out, ignoring the way Ice searched his face.

“Congratulations,” Pete said, and meant it.

“Thank you.” Iceman looked like he wanted to say something else but after a second it disappeared and Pete pulled back into the crush of bodies.

He moved through to where Hollywood and Wolf were standing, drinking already.

“Wolfman,” Pete said, raising a hand in greeting. “I just wanted to say thanks.” He held his hand out once more.

Wolf gave him a smile, smacked the hand aside and drew Maverick into a crushing hug.

“Don’t mention it, Mav,” Wolf said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s get you a drink.”

He began to protest but found his voice had gone hoarse, throat constricting with emotion.

“Glad you’re here, Mav,” Chipper slapped his back as he went by.

All Maverick could do was nod in acknowledgement.

“Hey, Mav!” Sundown cried and made a beeline for them through the crowds. “Was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

Maverick gave a weak laugh and nodded. “I almost didn’t. No fucking idea where my hat is,” he said, making the others laugh.

“Surprised they found one that fits that big head of yours,” Hollywood teased.

And just like that, he was home again. The grief burned deep in his gut but Mav found another piece he thought he had lost falling back into place.

===

The orders were short and sharp. They were to ship out to the Enterprise within the hour. Maverick ground his teeth together. Life just wouldn’t give him a break.

Two steps forward and one step back. He found he wanted to stay and then life shoved him straight into the deep end once again. With a groan, Maverick knew he still had one more thing to do. He collected the ring and certificate from his bag and walked the short hall to Tom’s room.

His heart was in his throat as he knocked. He couldn’t feel his fingers. His lips appeared to be tingling in the way they did when Stinger was on a tear at him for some bullshit he’d pulled.

The door opened. Iceman’s face dropped into surprise and stayed there.

“Mitchell,” Ice said.

“I need to talk to you, Kazansky,” Pete was proud of how steady his voice sounded over the loud hammer of his heart.

“Uh, sure.” Ice stepped back, letting him into the room. “Don’t you need to pack?”

Maverick noticed that Ice’s bag was open on the bed, things stacked neatly in it.

“Never unpacked,” he said, willing himself to stay calm and keep breathing.

“Right.” The word hung between them.

Ice moved past him and started packing again.

Mav took a steady breath. He stepped over to the desk and dropped the certificate and ring onto it, letting the metal clatter against the wood.

Tom went still, hands frozen in his bag. Then he straightened, shoulders pulling back.

“I, uh, found that in my bag,” Pete said when it became apparent that Ice wasn’t going to respond.

Slowly, movement clipped, Ice turned to face him. His mouth opened but for once nothing came out and he closed it again. Pete would have laughed if anything other than sick anxiety could make it past his swollen heart.

With a short sigh, Iceman turned back to his bag and produced his own piece of paper and a ring. He set them both on the bedside table. Maverick’s stomach dropped through the floor.

“How long have you known?” His voice was rough.

“The wake.” Ice’s eyes were locked onto him now. Those glacial blue eyes searching him once more. “The night of the memorial.”

It hurt. A new type of pain sliced at Maverick and he was momentarily stunned that there was pain he hadn’t felt before. Ice had known that day in the locker room.

“You and Slider went to Vegas the night before Top Gun,” Mav said, fighting down the rage and sadness and giddy sensation that all fought for dominance within him.

“We did,” Ice said and seemed to sink a little further into himself. “You and Bradshaw did too. Obviously.”

“My idea,” Pete said, smiling a little as the giddiness seemed to rise anyway. “A blowout before we got here to work.”

Before the memory of Goose could seize him, Mav moved on.

“Do you… remember any of it?” He said.

Ice gave a smile, an edge of bitterness to it as the corners pulled out rather than up.

“A little. Bits and pieces.” Ice sighed and rubbed his face with a hand. “I remember a dance club, being incredibly drunk. And laughter.”

“Lots of laughter,” Pete whispered, nodding and hearing Ice’s intoxicating laugh in his mind once more.

“I think…” Tom began and paused.

Pete watched him; eyes drinking in the way his jaw tightened and then let go, words rushing out.

“I think I remember kissing you.”

The giddiness spiked, Pete felt his stomach flip right over. He opened his mouth to tell Ice he was fairly sure they’d done a bit more than just kissing in that bathroom, if his memories were accurate at all. A sharp knock on the door cut him off.

“Lets get the lead out, Kazansky!” It was Slider’s voice through the door.

Maverick jolted back to Earth. He realised where he was and what he was doing. And worse, what they were both about to go and do. With a short nod, he grabbed the certificate and ring and fled. His shoulder banged hard against Slider but he didn’t look back for fear the other man might see the panic on his face.

Astoundingly, Maverick found another piece of himself had repaired in the short conversation. His insides still looked like a half-finished mosaic, but it was better than the gaping abyss it had been for days.

===

11.

The Enterprise was like torture.

Maverick knew if he hadn’t managed to sew at least a few bits of his heart back together before he had come aboard, he would have thrown himself into the ocean by now. The kind words, the pitying looks, the deafening silence of Merlin; it grated against him.

Goose was everywhere and nowhere. Memories plagued him until he felt like he was seeing ghosts.

With a pounding headache he retreated to his bed and refused to move until he fell asleep.

===

He was Alert-5. He was only being sent up if something went wrong.

Maverick stopped by his bunk, grabbing Goose’s dogtags. He paused at the end of the hall and turned back. Quickly, knowing he was cutting it close, he grabbed the silver wedding ring and looped it onto the tags.

Merlin met him at the door.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked, glancing up at the rumble of the catapult overhead.

“I needed something,” Mav said. “Let’s go.”

“You good, Mav?” Sam asked, voice pitched low as they hustled through the carrier.

“Yeah.” He nodded, not feeling fine at all. “Yeah.” He knew he was trying to reassure himself more than Merlin.

The taller man’s face was pinched, tension framing his eyes. Mav tried for his signature cocky smile. Merlin rolled his eyes.

“What Ice said…” Merlin started as they began a preflight.

“Don’t worry about it,” Pete said, waving him down.

Sure, the words had hurt. Burned hot against Pete’s fragile nerves for a moment before the burning turned to righteous anger. He wasn’t sure if that was Iceman’s plan all along, but he definitely felt motivated to prove his stupid husband wrong again.

“We’ll just have to show him, huh?” Pete tried for another grin, this one apparently stuck because Merlin grinned back.

===

“Five! I repeat five! I’m in deep shit!”

Maverick held his breath as they launched, his heart pounding as they took to the air and raced for Ice and Slider.

===

“Get in there, Mav!” Merlin sounded borderline hysterical but Maverick couldn’t hear anything except his own ragged breathing.

===

“Talk to me, Goose,” he prayed.

“Mav, you still have family,” Goose said from the backseat, his voice affectionately exasperated. “Do some of that pilot shit.”

Time stopped. Pete Mitchell drew the deepest breath he’d had for days. Blood rushed to his brain. Time started again.

Everything was in focus. Sharp and clear. He yanked on the stick, making Merlin yelp.

===

12.

It was the moment Pete “Maverick” Mitchell had been waiting for his entire life. He had laid in bed as an ensign picturing this moment. He had seen this moment on the back of his eyelids every time he had walked away from a fight over being Duke Mitchell’s kid. He had been waiting, chafing, for this moment to come.

Yet now it was here, all he wanted to do was find a dark, quiet corner and rest.

His need for attention was saturated. He felt soggy and like his bones carried too much weight. His mouth tasted like ash from cigars and his throat hurt from talking.

It took a long moment for him to realise Iceman had disappeared at some stage. Maverick took it as all the permission he needed. He waved the chattering group down, claiming he needed the bathroom.

As soon as he was out of sight he turned into a hall and then climbed. The paraloft would be empty, the entire crew down in the mess instead. He pushed into the small room and paused. There were legs and boots sticking out from the back corner.

Maverick smiled a little to himself, surprised that he knew those boots and legs. He walked over and folded himself down beside Ice. He tucked himself close enough to feel the warmth of the other man against his upper arm. He felt the shake of Ice as a silent sob hit him.

Without a word, Mav leaned into him and let the soggy feeling rush out. A few tears leaked down his cheeks and he couldn’t stop sniffling, but he didn’t care. He let Ice cry quietly beside him. He would never breathe a word of it.

Eventually the shaking sobs beside him lessened and stopped. Maverick resisted the urge to rest his head on Ice’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Ice croaked.

“You too, Ice,” Mav whispered, unsure just what he was thanking him for. For the warmth of another human, for letting him be there while he cried, for knowing exactly how this felt.

“I guess we need to get a divorce?” Tom said, eyes rolling to Mav.

He went cold. His body tensing and mind stuttering a bare second. Mav tried to get a grip on himself.

“I thought you said I could be your wingman any time,” Pete tried his hardest to grin, forcing the joke out.

Tom laughed. It rushed warmth back through Mav’s veins and the shaky fear faded away again. That laugh was like music to him. It was like rain after a long drought.

Ice opened his hand, letting Maverick see the silver ring looped onto his dogtags. Mav opened his own hand to reveal Goose’s with his own ring.

They laughed together. Pete knocking the toes of his boot’s against Tom and squirming when the other man elbowed him back.

The sound of their laughter together slotted another piece of him back into the mosaic. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

No, he didn’t want a divorce. He had been right all those weeks ago. Drunk Pete Mitchell had known that the man he’d married was special, had been the one he was searching for.

He turned, catching Ice’s jaw with his free hand and pressing a kiss to his lips. They were as soft as they looked, even when laughing. He leaned back to find an adorably shocked look on Tom’s face. He kissed him again, for good measure.

“What about Charlie?”

The words dented his joy and Pete leaned away once more. “There was no laughter,” he said softly. “All I remember of our wedding is laughter. I remember feeling happier than I had in years.”

He wanted to tell Tom that it was his laugh that made him remember. That when he heard that sweet sound it had saved Maverick in more ways than one.

“You make me…” Ice was speaking, interrupting his thoughts. “You piss me off, Mitchell. You and your goddamn rebel spirit.”

“Gee, thanks,” Pete muttered. It was good to know he was still Ice.

“I’ve always had a thing for bad boys,” Ice’s voice was sly. “Just ask Slider.”

Maverick barked out a laugh and bumped his shoulder into Ice. The other pilot tangled their fingers together, holding tight.

It seemed the best he was going to get out of the stoic Iceman, the closest he was going to get to a real confession. Pete glanced up at him, wanting to see Tom’s eyes because they never really lied to him.

Soft lips pressed to his once more and Maverick’s brain went blank. This was far more of a kiss than the two he had stolen before. He could taste the sweat and tears. He could smell Tom’s scent and a hint of hair gel. Then Tom was leaning into him, over him, and Pete stopped thinking all together.

Pete clutched at him, securing them together before Tom could wise-up and leave. It only brought them closer still. Heat burned through Maverick and senses he thought long-dead roared to life. He felt like he was flying again. Tom made a small noise of want, pushing it straight into Pete’s mouth, and then released him.

He heaved in air, revelling in this new feeling of breathlessness. Ice was watching him, eyes overbright and still tracing Mav’s lips every few moments. Mav leaned up and stole another kiss, still holding tight to Ice’s flight suit.

“I guess you can be my husband,” he muttered, unable to draw away for long before he needed another kiss.

“Bullshit.” Ice chuckled. “You can be mine.”

“That’s not funny, Kazansky,” Mav said, no real heat to his tone.

“It’s pretty funny,” Ice mumbled, too busy kissing at Maverick’s jaw.

Whatever Maverick was about to say died in his chest as Tom latched on to the sensitive skin beneath his ear and gave a gentle suck. Mav made a strange mewling noise before cursing. Ice laughed softly, evilly, right into Mav’s ear.

With another muttered curse, Pete turned and threw a leg over Ice’s hips, straddling him right there on the floor of the paraloft. He was rewarded with a shocked expression before Tom leaned up eagerly and kissed at his lips once more. Mav delved his hands into Ice’s hair and gripped one shoulder, it was broad and strong. Another fuzzy drunk memory surfaced but he was too busy living the real thing to pay much attention.

“Ice,” Pete said through kisses after a while.

“Tom,” the other man corrected.

“Tom,” Pete pulled back but kept his hands linked behind Tom’s neck, one in the hair at the nape of his neck. “I was being serious. About being your husband.”

An amused glint flashed through Tom’s eyes as he looked up at Pete. His hands were planted on one of Mav’s hips, the other on his ass.

“Why on Earth would you want to be married to me?” Tom asked, frowning a little. Pete kissed at the small wrinkle without thinking.

“You…” Pete sighed and sat back a little more. “You make me a better person. And you really do make me laugh. Now that I can read you.”

Tom’s face went slack, all hint of persona and facade long gone. He gave a sad smile and a sigh.

“I’m a cold-hearted bastard, Mitchell,” he said quietly. “I don’t tolerate anything less that perfect, especially not in myself.”

Pete quirked his eyebrows, already well aware of these traits.

“I don’t get drunk married,” Ice said, frowning harder now.

Maverick opened his mouth to point out that they literally had done just that, but Ice wasn’t finished.

“But I married you. I remember how light it made me feel. Ok, so it might have been all the vodka,” Ice smirked and Pete laughed. “But again, today, when we buzzed the tower… It feels easier around you.”

The fluttering embarrassment and glee in Mav’s stomach threatened to overwhelm him. He clutched onto Ice’s shoulders harder, trying to remind himself it was real.

“Good,” Pete said, leaning in and kissing Tom slowly, gently this time. “You deserve to feel easier. And you aren’t cold-hearted.”

Tom snorted. His arms wrapped Pete’s body and held him tight.

“Let’s try?” Pete whispered. “I vow to always make you laugh, Tom Kazansky.”

Tom snorted again and looked up into Pete’s eyes once more. “Was that your vow?”

“Mm-hmm,” Pete grinned, not even a little ashamed. “Your turn.”

“I vow to keep you from killing yourself or anyone else with your unsafe flying,” Tom said, eyes dancing.

Pete threw his head back and laughed. After a beat Tom joined in. He smacked Tom’s shoulder but kept laughing anyway. The shaking joy was enough to make him feel whole and complete for the first time since Goose left him. Or earlier still.

“Unacceptable,” Pete said though the last of his giggles. “No, I don’t accept. Try again.”

Tom chuckled, pulling Pete close once more until he could whisper.

“I vow to always be here, Pete Mitchell,” he whispered, cheeks flaring pink. “I wont leave unless you tell me to go.”

The last piece of his fractured heart slipped back into place. Pete gave a shuddery breath and pressed their foreheads together.

“Good,” he whispered back. “I do.”

Tom ruined the moment with another snort of laughter before pressing a slow kiss to Pete’s lips.

“I do too.”

#top gun #top gun 1986 #icemav #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #nick goose bradshaw #carole bradshaw #charlie blackwood #fanfic

29 notes · View notes

briannabrackens · 8 months

Text

who: @benblackwood where: riverrun, following the riverlands court return home from the reach. this is in the aftermath of the lyseni attack on the river market. prompt: stuck in a room after brianna breaks the handle.

it had been three years since the dragons finished their dance, and those three years had been filled with times of sorrow and happiness for the realm of rivers. years had been spent in nurturing their fertile fields, nurturing their villages, nurturing the smallfolk that had survived the fire and the ashes and would forever remain ruined by it. three years of healing, from the king and crown to those who worked tirelessly to ensure the crops were yielded year after year; trying to make the most of land that had been turned black.

being a green in the aftermath of the dance of dragons in the riverlands was something that weighed heavily upon the children of stone hedge, for all in the riverlands held a sense of resentment and fury toward aemond and jaehaerys for their torching of the fields.

she remembered the conversation her brother had with her the night before they departed to riverrun, goblets of whiskey in their hands as they sat within the room their mother had once sat within. how they needed to be more careful than ever, for they had chosen the wrong side; and it would be remembered that the brackens had fought for the side of the green dragons. the people that had mocked them as they burned their fields, their people; even if stone hedge yielded and was forced to become black, it would always be remembered.

it were the reason why he wished for her to leave the riverlands, to find someone to marry that shared that same side; for at least that thing would never be able to be used against her.

and so, as the realm of rivers mourned for the loss of lord qorban mooton's daughters and sisters, mourned for the loss of their goodfolk who had perished in the flames, they remained in shock. growing numbness that would soon turn to anger and demands for justice and revenge, something in the river king and his council must no doubt be working out. she found herself within the keep of riverrun for it were believed to be the safest place in the entire realm, where her brother was currently stationed.

it were loud, increasingly loud as people spoke; she heard discussions of fire, of revenge, of lyseni pirates and it seemed as though the talk of fire and burning suddenly made her remember a time where the air was hazy, and when she only could smell burning.

and the feeling of the earth beneath her feet shaking as a beast landed. she would never forget the way the furniture shook, or the screech that made her feel as though it would be enough to cause tears to well up. she knew the feeling welling up within her chest well enough, and knew what was best to deal with it: deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling, counting to ten. she raised herself from her seat at the feast table, moving toward a side chamber where she knew she could do her breathing exercises.

she saw a lord leaving as she approached, thinking that meant it were vacant; and as she pushed open the door, she were looking at the floor as she heard it swing behind her, rather violently for she did not close it gently. and as she looked up, she saw the hand of the king; the blackwood lord. the sight was enough to almost make her groan; seven knew he was the last person she needed to see right now. he who had cost them ships by opening his smart mouth and wished to make a scandal of a married woman.

"bloody hells, i dun' even have it in me today for the likes of yee." she spoke, turning on her heel to open the door again; only for the handle to completely fall as her hand went to yank it open.

she stared at the handle on the floor in disbelief. almost as though she waited for this to be some sort of joke. she stood in the way of it, not letting the hand of the king see the fact she had broken the door. she had broken the door, and she were stuck inside with benadict blackwood. the hand of the king. as the rest of the court feasted outside. "aye, it be broken. i can fix it." she knelt down to pick up the handle, attempting to simply put it back in place; only, it were impossible. she fiddled and fiddled with it, remembering the last time she had spoken to the man. in the village, three years ago. she fiddled with it more violently, almost shaking it. trying to force it back in place. "come fix it then! yer a man, m'lord hand! fix it!"

#not us swamping the dash #and now that's all of brianna's stuff done woo amir now #c: benadict #benadict 002

4 notes · View notes

ameriebanefort · 5 months

Text

♛ → THE WESTERLANDS present(s) AMERIE BANEFORT, the RULING LADY of BANEFORT. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought the GREENS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-SEVEN year old FEMALE who was STUDIOUS & CREATIVE before they saw the first of the flames, is now RESENTFUL & COMPLACENT after seeing the last. they’re often associated with the shimmering trill of a harps chord, the soft whinny of a honey colored mare, and the ripples of rose petals in crystal clear bathwater. ( grace van patten )

“she should have been a boy.” a common phrase used by disappointed lords upon learning of the birth of a firstborn daughter. it might have been amongst the young lady's first words had she not been ushered away into the arms of the nearest wet nurse. her lord father blames some sort of indiscretions from his past, whatever he can find to justify the mistake the gods made. it is not his own wrongdoings, but those of his wife years prior. the honor of first son from lady sybellas bloodline belonged to a bastard of four residing with his father in raventree hall. it was the affair with samwell blackwood that brought a feminine curse upon the baneforts, and amerie would find herself on the receiving end of their resentments above her subsequent sisters.

a strange upbringing was endured by the banefort lady well into adolescence. she might have believed herself transparent, if not for the unseen tether her mother had wrapped around her neck during her growth. an heir by birthright, yet she'd received little training by the time the dance began. all of her fathers knowledge was being passed down to the miracle he'd prayed day and night for after the birth of three daughters; his coveted son. after he came along, it felt as if amerie were to dissipate where she should, the only to mourn her existence would be the instrument that stood proudly in her chambers. she'd been drawn to the angelic vibrations that radiated off of the first harp she ever plucked and it became the one escape the lady had from her ghostly existence.

the dance brought on more internal hardship than the lady thought she might be subject to. her mother lay a weeping mess in her chambers over the departure of her father and with matters to attend to, amerie used what little knowledge she had to keep banefort above water. all was done with an eager boy of five on her heels, with whom she has a bittersweet relationship. all of her fathers love and devotion manifested in a child with an undeniably big heart and bright blue eyes to match. he may have been the prodigal son, but amerie would assure that he grew to be more than her callous father could ever dream of being.

the news of alfrids death sent shockwaves through the banefort hold. everyone mourned the death of their fearless leader, except amerie. strong relief took the place of grief and she had to take to her quarters for a solemn celebration. it was short-lived though. her fathers wishes were coming to fruition following his funeral, robbing amerie of the title she longed to have now that she'd been given the chance to experience it. she would only continue to act as ruling lady for a short 6 years until jerrad could take her place at 18.

she has plans to locate lucius, using her power as ruling lady to do so before its too late for her to have the resources. if it weren't for her own curiosity, she might have left it as ramblings of a dying woman, but she also wants to see if he knows of his lineage and whether or not he'll cause problems for her family. it's one of the few loose ends she plans to tie up before she steps down to navigate an unsure path despite jerrads wishes to keep her at banefort to council him.

#╰ * see ive already waited to long; and all my hope is gone : about ⧽#GHOSTGIRL ACTIVATE

2 notes · View notes

ask-the-mirror-da · 2 years

Text

Pls pls pls I know it’s been forever but my brain is on hyperactive mode just let me talk.

There’s this amazing beautiful musical that has changed my life for the better I think. It’s called Ride the Cyclone and the characters made me think of this and now I can’t stop thinking about this and I’m freakin out man!!!

Let’s start with my personal favorite character, Jane Doe.

Jane Doe is a character who has lost her entire identity because the coroners were never able to find her head. She wears a little too porcelain doll head and carries around a beheaded doll. Her story is traumatic and her song is all about mourning her lost, unknown life.

Who am I gonna relate this character to? The DA obviously. The DA who was murdered, put in a mirror, came out of the mirror and didn’t remember their past life. If you listen to the song it has recalling of her life and the desperation to just know a little bit about her old self. It’s also very old timey, having a Ballad/Opera feel to it. Makes sense right? YEAH!!

My second Fav Character, Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg. A girl who has always had the thirst for success and pushes others down to get her way until the end of the show. Watch it to find out what I mean. A girl whose entire song is about how her life means more and obviously she should be the one at the chance of life because she has so much to do!

Actor Mark. Duh. The thirst for success. The putting others down. The thought that he’s the hero and everyone else’s life means less than his!!!! UGH.

Constance Blackwood is “The Nicest Girl In Town” whose entire song is about how nothing good ever happened to her accept for in the town she lived in with all her friends. At first she hated her small town but then everything changed when she died. She sings about how lovely her life is and how much she loved being alive and will never let go of that.

Damien. He was probably the nicest kid in town in his day and was the mayor who cares deeply about people. He probably hated something deep down but in the end I think he really loved his life.

Noel Gruber is the most romantic boy in town who had a fantasy that he was a hooker in post-war France. He dreams of a life he can be himself and be accepted for what he wanted to be. He’s eccentric, funny, and knows how to get what he wants in his life……. He also calls Ocean a horrible succubus…

William. He’s eccentric and wants a life where he can be himself and no one else. Also… him calling Actor Mark a horrible succubus…….

Mischa Bachinski was the angriest boy in town that masked all of his love for this girl named Talia with anger and his uh…. Rapping career or something… he was truly hiding his secret online relationship with a girl named Talia that he fell in love with when he was still in Ukraine and they had planned to get married before he moved away.

Abe. Abe had somebody, actually many people he truly loved and now that they were all gone he covered that part of him up with anger and hate for something that in the long run doesn’t matter.

Ricky Potts is the most imaginative boy in town who, after an accident, was left mute and on crutches. He dreamed of a better life for himself which is one of the most awkward songs on the album so I’ll just say uh… space cats. But he’s very in-touch with everyone else in the choir especially Jane Doe and seems to have a huge heart that just wants to have fun and not be in the same place forever.

Celine. Celine truly seemed like a good person to people that she loved and cared about (like Ricky with Jane Doe) and like Ricky she wanted to escape to a better place for herself.

Karnak is the talking fortune telling machine that has orchestrated all of this. He wants to give the kids a chance at being alive again. He wants them to have a better life. But he can only bring one of them back. He’s also sassy and sometimes mean to the “contestants” lmao.

The house entity. While not as kind-hearted as Karnak it orchestrated everything that happened in the house and brought them all together like Karnak did.

I AM GOING INSANE HELP

#wkm y/n #wkm district attorney #y/n #wkm Damien #wkm #wkm actor mark #wkm detective #wkm colonel #wkm william #wkm celine #who killed markiplier #the district attorney #rtc #ride the cyclone #Markiplier egos #Jane doe

40 notes · View notes

void-heroes · 2 years

Text

𝙁𝘼𝙈𝙄𝙇𝙔 𝙏𝙄𝙀𝙎

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡: 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥𝗦

Top Gun: Maverick | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Fem!OC

Also published on my Wattpad (-voidheroes)!

The curtains of Emerson's open bedroom window swayed in the cool night breeze while their sheerness enabled the moonlight to seep through. Only one-half of the pair was comfortable, however. Bradley's body was pressed firmly against Emerson's, his arm draped around her waist providing comfort and security. He fell asleep to the sweet smell of her rose shampoo. Yet, after the emotional evening Emerson experienced, she had a restless sleep haunted by memories and nightmares.

— — —

The new naval aviators had advanced to the stage of their training where the Navy finally allowed them to fly mission simulations in real fighter jets. It had been Emerson's biggest dream since studying aviators at her mother's work. And now, she was finally living that dream. The Naval Academy placed the aviators into squadrons and had them fly several times a day. The academy appointed Bradley Bradshaw as Emerson Blackwood's wingman.

The two had been practicing for a few weeks now, and Bradshaw was an intolerable wingman. Emerson honestly thought the Navy had paired them together for comedic purposes; their flying styles were completely opposite. Emerson was headstrong; she followed her own rules, and she wasn't afraid of seeing a little action. Bradley Bradshaw, on the other hand, was timid, almost as if he was unsure of his training.

After landing back on base, Emerson climbed out of her plane, dropping to the ground with an annoyed huff. She was grateful that was the last training exercise of the day; she needed a drink after flying with Bradshaw.

"You're reckless! You must not have anyone to mourn you when you come burning in!" Bradshaw snapped at Emerson.

Emerson whipped around to face the pilot, "And you sit on your perch like a rooster, waiting for the right time that never comes! You must have a lot of people counting on your return!"

Bradshaw's chest rose and fell quickly, his jaw clenched. "I don't have anyone. The one person who I thought was in my corner didn't believe in me," he admitted.

"So that's what it is, huh? You're second-guessing yourself. You think up there, and you're dead, Bradshaw!"

Despite Emerson's harsh words, she couldn't help but feel empathy for the pilot. She understood him; she didn't have anyone in her corner either. They were the same person; they just chose to handle it differently.

"Come have a drink with me, Bradshaw."

His expression changed to bewilderment, "What?"

"I said, 'Come have a drink with me, Bradshaw.' I think we could both use it."

That night at the bar changed the dynamic between Bradley Bradshaw and Emerson Blackwood. Instead of fighting their past, they learned to accept and understand that it's what made them who they are. It was the first time, in a long time, that the two had someone else to rely on.

— — —

Upon the acceptance of their Top Gun invitations, best friends Bradley Bradshaw and Emerson Blackwood made a bet that whoever graduated Top Gun with a rank lower than the other, then that loser would buy the winner dinner.

After graduating from Top Gun, Emerson was ranked higher in the class than Bradley; he was the loser who was forced to buy dinner. Although, it didn't upset Bradley that he lost the bet; he had other plans. He was going to take this opportunity to finally ask Emerson out. Since the Naval Academy, there had always been some 'unspoken thing' between the two. Though the best friends had shared many sober and drunken nights together, Bradley wanted to make whatever it was, official. To do it, Bradley decided he would cook dinner for Emerson. His mother, Carole, had been a phenomenal cook throughout his childhood and taught him many of her secrets before she passed.

Bradley had spent all day in the kitchen of his apartment. He wanted tonight to be perfect; a night that Emerson would always remember. He set their two plates down on the table and lit the candles. Knowing Emerson wasn't much of a wine drinker, he popped off the caps of two beer bottles. There was a knock on his door. Checking his hair in the reflection of his kitchen microwave, Bradley headed toward the door.

There she stood, but not in his favorite little black dress that showed off her every curve. No, instead, she wore the official, white Navy uniform. Emerson wasn't there for a bet or a date. She was there to say goodbye.

"Orders just came in," she spoke with watery eyes.

Bradley swallowed hard, "When do you leave?"

"Ship leaves in thirty," she said blinking back tears. Emerson couldn't even stay for dinner.

Bradley pulled his best friend into a hug. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his head nestled in the crook of her neck. Reaching him on the tips of her toes, Emerson's arms clung around his neck. He kissed the side of her head. Leaving Bradley had always been the toughest goodbye.

The two pulled apart. "Try not to miss me too much, Emmie Raye."

She wiped away a tear, "You're always in my heart, Bradley Bradshaw."

— — —

Maverick entered the room that the two naval officers escorted Emerson into. She was called in for reasons they wouldn't share over the phone.

She looked to Maverick. His face was red and puffy like he had just finished crying. "Dad, what's going on?"

"He's dead, Emerson."

"No—no—don't—he can't—" She waved her arms desperately.

Maverick gripped her arms to calm her, but she fought against him. He pulled her into a hug, clutching her body against his. "Bradley's dead."

She stood in front of his casket. Tears fell down like a stream, but she didn't bother to stop them. She couldn't believe this was her reality. How was she supposed to live in a world without Bradley Bradshaw?

The trumpets sounded, and Emerson stamped the brass pin into Bradley's casket. "You're always in my heart, Bradley Bradshaw," she whispered as the fighter jets soared above her.

— — —

Emerson woke in a terrified sweat. She sat up in bed, running her fingers through her damp hair. She was trembling. It was just a nightmare, but it felt so real. Probably because soon, it could actually be her reality.

Bradley woke up beside her. He sat behind her, his chest against her back. He rubbed his hands up and down on her arms comfortingly. "Em, it's okay. I'm right here."

She turned, scanning his face to make sure he was real. She placed her hand on his cheek, bringing their foreheads together, "I can't lose you, Bradley. I can't."

He cupped her face, "Emmie Raye, I am forever yours. You can't lose me."

Tag List: @littlewhiterose @starkleila @alexayoonlee @lclove2012-blog @autumnleaves1991-reads @raefoxiegirl @jonginvlog

29 notes · View notes

radioactivechoirboy · 2 years

Text

Where Have You Been? Ch 6

There was something about living in such a small town that made Mikhailo itch.

It wasn’t like it was the first time either.

Shortly before he was born, in his last life, he had died on a rollercoaster in the same small town.

He swore up and down that it was purely luck that brought him back to the same town, right around the same age, to go to the same school he went to.

He didn't know much, but he did know there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d join the choir again.

He did his best to find some of his old friends, but he knew that some people were going to be dead ends. Talia and Jane- no, Penny, were going to be so much older than him now, so it was no use trying to reach out there.

He did look though.

Talia appeared to drop off the face of the planet shortly after his own death.

Penny’s accounts were all private, but she had plenty of posts, so he had to assume the best.

He was able to find the rest of the choir easy enough, each of them seeming to have been brought back to where they started. He was just glad to see that all of them seemed to be doing well.

They all seemed happy.

And he was content to not get involved, to let each of his old friends live their new lives to the fullest, without having to be reminded of the lives they each had to let go of.

He couldn’t stop running into Clove though.

The week he had moved in with his cousin Inessa and found himself back in Uranium City, he was put in Poetry, the only empty elective class, and placed next to them.

They’d write about their hopes and dreams, their pain and the secrets that weighed on their souls.

The basic idea was all too familiar to Mikhailo; he quickly found that the thin line between rap and poetry was a good beat.

Clove sat next to him, passing their works to him for editing or general approval, which Mikhailo gave without hesitation.

They hadn’t spoken since they left high school, and he didn’t try to force the bond farther than Grade 11 poetry,

Which is why it was almost funny to see a message notification pop up on his Grindr, for someone with the name Clove.

Their profile said they were 19 and that was about the only detail given.

He figured he’d humor the message, see what they wanted.

“I just moved into a new apartment, want to help me christen it”

Mikhailo snorted at the message, thinking back to the tragic romantic he had once known.

“Want to get lunch first,” his fingers hovered over the keys, trying to decide if it would even be a good idea.

He hit send.

It took nearly two minutes before he got a response.

“I’m still unpacking, but if you want to bring dinner with you tonight, we could do that”

“Sounds like a plan, any request?”

“Bring whatever you like”

Mikhailo sat his phone down and thought about what going through with this would mean.

For starters, it meant he’d lose his virginity to his closest friend, well, someone who was at one point his closest friend.

He began to reminisce on their last life. The pizza nights where they sat a little too close to each other, the movie nights where Noel would steal his seat, only to be met with a 185 pound Ukrainian playing the part of a lap dog. How he tried to grab Noel’s hand when the rollercoaster went off its track.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, swiping tears away before they could fall.

Mikhailo didn’t often mourn the life he once had, but it stung from time to time.

He decided to lay on his bed for a few minutes and watch tiktoks, a valid distraction from his own brain. It wasn’t until his phone vibrated with another notification from Grindr, that he finally checked the time.

It was nearly five in the afternoon.

“Just finished unpacking, I’ll send my address here in a few,” read the first message, followed quickly by, “If you haven’t already picked somewhere, can you get me something from Blackwood’s”

Mikhailo smiled at the screen.

He then went to the website and placed an order for pickup since it was on the way. What better way to set the mood than vegan sandwiches and gluten-free brownies.

#where have you been?#ride the cyclone #ride the cyclone musical #ride the cyclone fanfiction #musicals #fanfic #noel gruber #musical theatre #clove #mischa bachinski #mikhailo

10 notes · View notes

highwaytothedangerzone502 · 5 months

Text

Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 25

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 1859

Warnings: Talk of death

Or so he thought.

Also sorry for the delay in posting this. I've been trying to update other stories, and I'm in the middle of moving, so updates might be spotty for a bit :(

Chapter Songs: 'Tis the Damn Season Speakers Bleachers & Preachers

****

Hangman

Charlotte Blackwood had aged gracefully, but the fine lines of her wrinkles did not detract from her beauty, nor did she act like she'd gotten older. Despite her grief, Charlie greeted Hangman with a big smile and an even bigger hug.

"It's so nice to see you," she said, pulling away. "I wish I was getting to see you under happier circumstances."

"Me too, ma'am," Jake replied. "Whatever y'all need from me, I'm here."

Charlie glanced over her shoulder at her daughters, who were still hugging each other. "You supporting Ghost is all I need. Thank you for coming with her."

"Of course. I wanted to be for you, too. You and Nathan treated me more like a son than my own dad ever did, especially after my mom died." Hangman rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed. "I'll, uh, I'll get Ghost's suitcase to her room, and then I'll let y'all be."

Charlie's brow furrowed. "Where are you going?"

"I need to find a hotel and-"

"Aren't you staying with us?"

"I didn't want to assume-"

Charlie shook her head. "No, no, you're not staying at a hotel. Your room is all ready for you."

Hangman thought back to the guest room he'd crashed in for the last few weeks he'd had in Texas before heading to the Naval boot camp with Ghost. He'd made that place his temporary home after his mom's death and his father's harsh words and instruction not to return home for the rest of the year. It was the same room that Hangman used when he returned for Christmas and summer "break," both that year and the subsequent years. The Blackwoods had all but adopted him, and those had been some of the happiest years of his life.

"Thank you, ma'am," he managed to say, surprisingly overcome with nostalgia. Grabbing his and Ghost's suitcases, he lugged them inside and upstairs to their respective rooms. Hangman chose to stay in his and unpack to allow the Blackwood women to catch up and privately mourn over the loss of Nathan. He turned on some quiet country music and slowly started taking things from his suitcase and putting them into the dresser drawers. To his surprise, some of his old clothes remained in there. They would hardly fit him now, but the sight of it still warmed his heart. Charlie had held onto them even after all this time...

Once he finished unpacking, he lay on top of the bed covers and scrolled through his contacts, hovering over his oldest brother's number. Did he dare call him and let Matt know he was in Texas? Hardly five minutes away? That he'd willingly come for a girl who hadn't spoken to him in years but hadn't had the guts to visit his brother despite Matt's obvious attempts to repair their fractured relationship? What about his niece, Sophie? An innocent caught in the crossfire of Jake's complicated feelings about his family?

"There you are," Ghost said softly from his doorway. "You okay?"

Hangman sat up. "Yeah, I'm good," he lied, figuring Ghost had enough on her mind. She didn't need to hear his problems. "How are you holding up?"

"I don't know. Part of me is fully aware he's not coming back, but the other part, it's like the reality hasn't set in. I walked past his office earlier and expected to see him sitting there working, but it was empty."

"It takes a while to come to terms with it," Hangman said empathetically, standing up and shoving his phone and hands into his jeans pockets. "You always saw him working in his office whenever you were home, so that habitual motion of looking into his office is still there even if he's not, so you're still going to react to it."

"Did you-"

"Do the same? Yeah. I remember texting my mom a few times out of habit with some nonsense thing that I thought was a big accomplishment. I'd only realize she wouldn't respond after I hit send."

"When did you stop?"

"It took a couple of months. Matt used to do the same, apparently."

"Speaking of Matt, did you tell him you're here?"

Either Ghost realized that's what Hangman had been contemplating in bed when she walked in, or she had uncanny timing with her question. Regardless, his answer was the same. "No. I'm here to support you, not navigate my own family drama."

"Don't stop yourself from seeing him on my account if you want to. If you do choose to see Matt, I'll support you, too."

"But you're grieving-"

"You came here for me. Let me be there for you when you need it. That's what friends do, Jake, no matter the circumstances."

The corner of his lip tugged upward. "Forever?"

"And always," Ghost responded without skipping a beat. "I'll even go with you to see him if you want."

"No, no, that's too much."

"As much as buying my plane ticket to come down here?"

Shit. Sheepishly, he asked, "How long have you known?"

"Figured it out right before I came up to find you for dinner. I checked my account balance to see what damage the flight had done to it and saw nothing," Ghost said as she closed the distance between them. She reached up and hugged him tightly, and Hangman could've sworn she melted into him when his arms snaked around her waist. With tears in her voice, she whispered, "Thank you, Jake. That was too much but very, very much appreciated."

"You had enough going on; I thought I could take something off your shoulders by paying for it. After all-" Hangman pulled away just enough to look at her, but kept his hands on her waist- "burdens aren't meant to be carried alone."

Ghost chuckled softly. "Throwing my saying back in my face, I see."

"You're good at coming up with catchy ones." They smiled at each other, and he watched Ghost's eyes flick briefly down to his lips. She opened her mouth and-

"Annalise? Where are you?" Jackie's nearby voice caused them to jump apart hastily lest they be caught in a questionable embrace. Ghost strode into the hallway with Hangman on her heels. Jackie spotted them when she exited her sister's room. "What do you two want for dinner?"

"Why don't I pick something up?" Hangman offered, moving toward the stairway. The girls followed. "That way, none of you have to cook."

"You've had a long day of traveling. We can order in and-" The ringing doorbell cut Jackie off. The group shared bewildered looks, wondering who would be here since none of them had been expecting company. Hangman gathered his wits first and moved forward, answering the door. A familiar man and little girl stood with a casserole dish in hand. The two men blinked in shock at each other. With no small amount of disbelief, Hangman managed to say, "Matt?"

"Jake?" his brother responded in equal confusion.

The little girl in Matt's arms gasped and excitedly asked, "Jake? Like Uncle Jake?!"

"And you must be Sophie," Ghost said, coming to stand beside Hangman with a gentle smile on her face, saving both men from the awkward silence settling between them. She knelt in front of the girl and added, "Your Uncle Jake has told me so much about you!"

Sophie's eyes lit up, causing Hangman's heart to sink. He had told Ghost nothing about his niece except her name, but the idea of him- a man she had never met- talking about her to other people clearly meant the world to Sophie. "Really? Like what?"

"Well, let's see, he said you like horses and that you've just started learning how to ride. You also really love music and are trying to learn the guitar."

"Yeah! I'm not good at the guitar, though. I'm better at the horse riding," Sophie admitted bashfully while Hangman stared at Ghost in a stupor, wondering how the hell she'd known more about Sophie than he did.

"If you're anything like your uncle, you'll get there in no time."

"I hope so!" Sophie tilted her head. "Who are you? Are you Uncle Jake's girlfriend?"

"I'm Annalise. I'm a pilot like your uncle." Ghost straightened and turned her attention to Matt. "How are you doing?"

"Uh, good, good," he replied, regaining his composure. "When did y'all get in?"

"About an hour and a half ago. It was a last-minute trip due to the circumstances."

"I see, I see. Well, uh, we heard about your dad and wanted to bring you a casserole for dinner. We're so sorry for your loss. Melissa sends her condolences as well. She has a cold; otherwise, she would be here, too."

Jackie stepped forward and took the dish from him. "Thank you, that's very kind of you. You truly had impeccable timing with this. We were just trying to figure out what we were going to do for dinner. And we hope Melissa feels better!"

Matt offered her a small smile, but his gaze continued to revert to Hangman. "Thank you. I'm glad we could be of help. If y'all need anything else, please let us know. Annalise, Jackie, good to see you. Jake, we'll talk soon?"

Hangman nodded, unable to find his voice. He was mortified his brother found out about him being here like this.

"Daddy, I don't want to leave yet!" Sophie protested, grabbing her dad's hand. "Can we please stay?"

Matt picked her up and said, "Not tonight, sweetheart. The Blackwoods and your Uncle Jake are going through a tough time right now because they lost someone very important to them. Another time, okay?"

Hangman opened his mouth to invite them in, but then he remembered this wasn't his house, and the decision ultimately lay with Ghost and her family. He looked down at Annalise, and a mutual understanding passed between them.

"Actually, we would love to have the company," Ghost said kindly. "It'll be a nice distraction, and I don't think any of us can say no to Sophie's plea to hang out with her uncle. Y'all are more than welcome to have dinner with us."

"Please, Daddy?" Sophie begged, clasping her hands in prayer in front of his face. "Please, please, please?"

Matt sighed in defeat. "All right. I'll call Mommy and let her know we'll be late coming home."

Sophie cheered and reached out eagerly for Hangman. He hesitated only a fraction of a second before taking her out of her dad's arms and holding her himself. Grinning at her, Hangman said, "It's an honor to finally meet you, Sophie."

She threw her tiny arms around his neck. "I'm so happy to meet you!"

"I'll be in shortly. Just going to call Melissa and let her know we'll be home late," Matt informed, taking out his cell phone. Hangman nodded but said nothing, choosing to enter the kitchen with Sophie to get away from his older brother because they would be talking tonight, whether Hangman wanted to or not, and the more he looked at Matt, the more the reality settled in, and it terrified him.

****

Chapters: Chp 1 Chp 2 Chp 3 Chp 4 Chp 5 Chp 6 Chp 7 Chp 8 Chp 9 Chp 10 Chp 11 Chp 12 Chp 13 Chp 14 Chp 15 Chp 16 Chp 17 Chp 18 Chp 19 Chp 20 Chp 21 Chp 22 Chp 23 Chp 24 Chp 25

If you're not on the tag list and want to be, just let me know :)

15 notes · View notes