#again. we are siblings. all three of us. lord

[the-algebra-thing]

the atla cosplay seemed to be a hit so here's another with @lunarstar-fell. I don't really want to compile them into one post because I feel like there will be some that get lost in there but I have like six more solid ones so if they keep going places I'll keep churning them out.

PS DISCLAIMER WE ARE SISTERS . SIBLINGS. I can't imagine this photo inviting it but nonetheless I feel I must say PLEASE don't be weird

[raven-dor]

i see myself in you

in which anthony bridgerton finds himself enamored with the ton's most stubborn debutante...

PAIRING: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader

WARNINGS: given last name (Bennett), boring men, annoying Anthony, protective siblings, a generally healthy family dynamic, angst, fluff, so much pining, miscommunication ig, medling servants, dramatic confession (ala Anthony Bridgerton style)

WORD COUNT: 6.5k

🎶 : reflections - the neighbourhood

AN: 🩵♥️💗 - love this one so so much!! It's not really set in any season, but if it were, I imagine season two Anthony (looks wise) and season three Anthony (vibes wise)!! enjoy pookies!!

You could not bring yourself to care.

You tried, you really did. But this lord, whatever his name was, was the most trying man you’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. Your mother’s close childhood friend had introduced you to him, and from then on, you’d not found a way to be rid of him. It’s not that he was horrible in any way, just extremely dull. And pompous.

He was currently talking about how many homes he had in the countryside. You scratched your brow, the signal you and your mother had devised long ago. A signal that meant it was time to free you from whatever you were taking part in.

Today, it applies to this boring conversation. “How wonderful, my lord-” 

“Darling.” Your mother approached the table, feigning an apologetic look. “We really must be going. Your father has sent for us.” 

“Oh.” The lord, you still didn’t remember his name, frowned. “Then you must leave. I insist.” 

“Really?” You frowned as well. “I would hate to-” 

“I will see you at the Danbury Ball. Do not worry.” He took your hand, kissing the back. “Until then, Miss Bennett.” 

“Until then, my lord.” You hooked your arm through your mother’s, all but running out of the ice cream shop. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, my darling.” She smiled. “May I ask what was wrong with him?” 

“I-” You couldn’t very well tell your mother you hated him, or that you didn’t know his name. That he wasn’t at all what you pictured for yourself, and even though you knew you must marry for duty, you wished you could at least enjoy the man. “He was quite self-centered.” 

“What man isn’t?” 

Your mind drifted for a moment, imagining any number of men you’d read about. One your your newer novels had the dreamiest man, the most perfect man. He was stoic, but loving, reserved, but all encompassing when it came to his love. “I imagine some.” 

“Ever the idealist, my dear.” 

Your sister, Mary, was young, only six and ten years of age. You felt a certain protectiveness over her, to shield her from the way men were. You wished she could remain naive forever. That hope, the one only you knew, locked you into a dutiful marriage. Then your sister, as kind and naive as she was, could marry for love without a care in the world. 

She would never come to know the harsh realities you faced, and that was fine with you. 

But there were moments. 

When you walked in the park, your eyes would drift to the lovers on the benches, giggling and smiling. Your heart would flutter when the man would brush something from his wife’s cheek, or even kiss her longingly. 

Something you had never experienced, and most likely never would. 

“Are you listening?” Mary frowned. “You’ve drifted off again.” 

“I’m sorry.” You sat up in your chair, smiling at the young girl. “What is it you were saying?”

“I was asked to a ball.” 

“A ball?” Mary had yet to debut; who in the world had asked her to a ball? “Who has asked you?” 

“One of the Lady Bridgerton’s daughters. We met at the library, and she was quite witty. We became quick friends.” 

The worry that had built up in your stomach quickly subsided. “I’m sure Mother will be thrilled. The Bridgerton girls are wonderful.” 

“Perhaps you can meet one of their handsome brothers.” Mary wiggled her eyebrows. “I have heard they are quite easy on the eye.” 

“And where exactly are you hearing this?” You scoffed, sitting back in your seat. “You are much too young-” 

“I read about it, if you must know. In Lady Whistledown.” 

“Must I repeat my earlier sentiment?” 

“I am six and ten years of age, sister. I am hardly a child.” 

“In my eyes-” You reminisced fondly. “You will always be a child.” 

 “I wish I were not.” She huffed, folding her arms indignantly. 

“Well, you are.” You teased, opening your book back to where you’d left off. “It is the way of older sisters, Mary. We will always think of you as we first met you.” 

“You first met me when I was a babe.” 

You laughed, not bothering to look up from your book. “Exactly.” 

“Our girls look exquisite, do they not, my lord?” Your mother was ecstatic, brimming with joy, when Mary told her the news. “The very picture of elegance.” 

“I wouldn’t say that.” You scoffed. “I’m dressed as a pirate.” Mary had failed to mention that the ball she’d been invited to was the Bridgerton’s annual Masquerade Ball. You had no use for new gowns, deciding to give your Mother your allowance to make Mary the most exquisite girl at the ball. “Mary, however, looks beautiful.” 

She grinned, spinning in her sparkling white gown. It was in the style of their mother’s youth, with a large, voluptuous skirt and tight corset top. She had wings, large fabric ones, with a beautiful halo. “Thank you, sister.” 

“Shall we make our way?” 

Your father grumbled. “I would very much like to.” 

Your father had always been quiet, reserved in nature. To hear him say he would like to attend a ball was quite shocking, amusing even. You laughed, hooking your arm through his. “You would like to, you say?” 

He nodded, helping you into the carriage. “Perhaps this will be the ball you find a suitable husband, my dear. Where better than the Bridgerton ball?” 

Your cheeks grew red, squeaking in shock. “Father!” 

It had been his turn to laugh at you. “The Bridgertons are a fine bunch. Their eldest-” 

“I will not entertain this any longer.” You hissed. “You and Mary, I swear.” 

“You swear?” Your mother climbed into the carriage, shaking her head. “Do not swear, dear.” 

“Yes, mother. My apologies.” 

Your father hit the roof of the carriage twice, signaling to the driver that he could begin the short drive. Mary was practically bouncing with excitement, staring out the window the entire ride.

When you arrived, their footmen were already waiting, ready to help you out of the carriage. Mary’s cheeks grew red, muttering a quick thanks before she stepped aside, waiting for you. “I feel like a princess.” 

“That is because you are one.” You smiled warmly, taking her hand. “Shall we?” 

She nodded, holding the front of her skirts so she wouldn’t trip. “They have a beautiful home.” 

You nodded. “They do, yes.” They had flowers in every corner of every room, each covered in decadent glitter that practically glowed, thanks to the countless candles, of course. The party goes themselves was just as exquisite, every one of them decked out to the stars. “I do believe this is the most elaborate ball I’ve ever been to.” 

“Benedict?” Anthony called out. “Come here.” 

The younger brother complied, annoyed that Anthony had taken him away from his newest conquest. “Yes, my loving brother?” 

“Who is that?” His finger pointed toward a pair of girls, one dressed as an angel, the other dressed as a pirate. He’d laughed when he first saw her attire - the British Empire had constant problems with pirates, and here she was, dressed as one. It was amusing, to say the least. “I have not yet seen her.” 

“I am shocked.” Benedict scoffed. “Considering your quest to find the perfect woman, one would think you would find Miss Bennett quite becoming.” 

“Miss Bennett, you say?” Anthony raised a brow. “Any relation to Lord Bennett?” 

“His daughters. The pair of them. The younger one is Eloise’s friend, I believe.” 

“Ah.” He nodded. “Thank you, Benedict.” 

“I must warn you, brother, she is quite…” Benedict tilted his head. “Interesting.” 

She looked beautiful, wonderfully witty. Her face radiated confidence, the quiet kind that pulled Anthony in. “I do enjoy a challenge.” 

Benedict laughed. “Then I wish you luck, brother.” 

He approached slowly, smirking as the girls commented on the house. “I do believe this is the most elaborate ball I’ve ever been to.” 

“I’m glad you think so.” A man, you presumed a Bridgerton, grinned from behind his mask. “I shall let my mother know.” 

Mary grinned, waving politely. “Hello.” 

The man waved back, obviously finding humor in her eager nature. “Hello. You must be the young lady Eloise invited.” 

“Yes.” Mary nodded. “Is she here?” 

“She is indeed. Just behind you, actually.” He pointed over Mary’s shoulder. “The one who looks as if she wished she were anywhere else.” 

Mary laughed, looking up at you for permission. “May I?” 

“Go on then.” You ushered her away, watching as she greeted her new friend. “They met only three days ago.” 

“I heard. Eloise talked of a smart girl she met at the library.” The man’s eyes were rather intense, you noticed. They were pulling you in, a look behind them you wished you could decipher. “She did not mention her stunning sister.” Your stomach flipped, caught off guard by his comment. “May I know your name?” 

“I-”

“Viscount Bridgerton.” Your father called out, and you gasped, curtseying quickly. “How good to see you.” 

“Lord Bennett. Welcome.”

“I apologize.” You stood straight, cheeks hot from the mistake. Later, you would look back on the moment you met the most perplexing man you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. “I did not-” 

“And how could you have?” The Viscount shook his head. “Do not apologize.” 

Your mother looked mischievously between the two of you. “Your father and I were just going to grab a glass of punch.” 

“I can join you-” 

“No, no.” Your mother shook her head. “Why don’t you stay and make new friends?” 

“Mother-” She hadn’t even waited for you to reply, and when you turned back to the Viscount, he was still smirking. Obnoxious really. “I apologize for her behavior. She is eager for me to-” Why were you explaining yourself? “If you’ll excuse me-” 

“Would you care to dance, Miss Bennett?” 

 “You wish to dance?” You tilted your head. “With me?” 

“Is there another Miss Bennett beside you?”

“If you insist.” You took his hand, following him to the floor. “How long has your sister enjoyed reading?” 

“Which one?” He raised a brow. 

You fought the intense urge to glare, feeling it was rather obvious. “The one my sister has grown fond of.” 

“Ah. Eloise.” He placed a hand on your waist, and you ignored the way his touch caused your skin to tingle and your heart to flutter. “She has always enjoyed being educated. She particularly loves to correct my brothers and me on every matter we speak of.” 

“She sounds like a spitfire.” You grinned. “I would love to know her.” 

“I am sure you will in the coming months. My sister and yours have been writing to each other, planning their meetings. Penelope Featherington has even joined their little posse.” 

“I enjoy Penelope.” You grew defensive. Men of the ton seemed to pull Penelope into their little jokes. “She is a kind-” 

“Do not assume I find displeasure in Miss Featherington or her company. She is a close family friend.” 

“Ah.” You nodded. “I see.” 

“And what is it you enjoy doing?” 

“I-” Why must he look at you so unwavering, like you are the only person he cares to talk to? It is most unnerving. “I also enjoy reading. I particularly enjoy books regarding history.” 

“History?” He grinned. “Do tell.” 

“Miss Bennett!” 

You turned around, shocked to find yourself disappointed. Why, you had no idea. “My lord.” 

It was the man you had seen earlier that week in the ice cream shop. “I am pleased to see you.” 

“Thank you, my lord.” You still did not know his name. “Are you enjoying this fine day?” 

Your little piece of tranquility had been ruined. You’d found a new book and were determined to at least finish the first chapter in the park. It seemed that the plan would not come to fruition. “I must say, you look beautiful in this light.” 

You tried your hardest not to scoff. “Thank you, my lord.” 

“Would you mind terribly if I sat with you?” 

“I-” 

“Miss Bennett!” 

Your stomach flipped at the sight, almost happy to see the Viscount running toward you. You quickly stood, brushing off your dress. “Viscount Bridgerton.” 

“I thought we agreed to meet at the ice cream shop?” 

You tilted your head, deeply confused. You had not made any plans to meet the man. His eyes quickly darted toward the ever-persistent lord, and all became clear. “My mistake.” 

“Not at all. I am here now.” He smiled, extending his arm. “Shall we?” 

You waved goodbye to the lord, gratefully taking his arm. Anthony smiled politely at the lord. “Beesbury.”

“Bridgerton.”

You waited until you turned the corner to speak. “I could have saved myself.” 

“Oh?” He tilted his head. “It looked to me as if you were trapped.”

“I was. But I had a plan, I assure you.” 

“Please do tell.” 

You scoffed. “I do not have to tell you anything, my lord.” 

“I feel it is only right. Consider it payment for my saving you.” 

“What a gentleman you are. Demanding that a lady pay you back for a good deed.” 

“I never claimed to be a gentleman.” 

You gasped, a shocked smile gracing your lips. “Viscount Bridgerton. What a horrid thing to say.” 

“Why were you with Beesbury anyhow? He is a dreadfully boring man.” 

“He is.” You nodded.

“You agree?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then why would you entertain his company?”  

You thanked the lord for your timely arrival, walking up your home’s steps. “Until next time, Viscount Bridgerton.”  

“You are quite a confusing woman, Miss Bennett.” 

You scoffed, yelling over your shoulder. “I could say the same of you, my lord.” 

The dreaded Danbury Ball.

You loved Lady Danbury, you really did. But the thought of seeing Lord Beesbury was not something you were looking forward to. It was as if he had some magical sense, because as soon as you’d arrived, he had been on you, greeting your family. “Lord Bennett.” 

“Lord Beesbury.” Your father looked less than enthused. “I assume you’ve met my wife and eldest daughter.” 

“Yes, of course.” He took your hand, kissing the back much too intimately. “Miss Bennett, wonderful to see you.” 

“My Lord.” 

“And who is this?” Beesbury smiled. “I do not believe we have had the pleasure of meeting.” 

“This is my youngest daughter. She has yet to be presented into society.” Your mother was making it quite clear that he could not have her. As if there was not another reason for you to despise the man, he was looking a little too longingly at your sister.

“Ah, I see.” He turned back to you. “Shall we dance, my lady?” 

“I-” 

“I believe I was promised the first dance.” 

How was he always there? You quickly curtsied, politely smiling at the Viscount. “Lord Bridgerton.” 

“Miss Bennett.” He turned to Beesbury. “I do apologize.” 

“It is not a problem. I will see you after.” He kissed the back of your hand once more. “My lady.” 

“My lord.” 

“Lord Bridgerton.” Your mother grinned. “How wonderful to see you.” 

“The pleasure is all mine.” He smiled. “Could I steal your daughter for a dance, my lady?” 

“Of course, of course.” 

“Mother.” You hissed. “I have not said yes.” 

“Nonsense. Go on, dear.” 

You took his hand reluctantly. “You must cease this ‘savior’ act. It is quite tiring.” 

“I am sorry.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I am sorry that I saved you from the annoying man that is Lord Beesbury.” 

“Lord Bridgerton!” You gasped. “You must not say such things.” 

“You never told me why you allow him to bore you so.” His hand yet again found its way around your waist, fingers digging into you a little too tightly. And yet, you found yourself not asking him to loosen his grip, for fear of losing his touch entirely. You squirmed, heart pounding from the proximity. “I must know.” 

“Must you?” He was, without a doubt, the most arrogant man you’d ever known. “Just because you are a Viscount does not mean we all answer to you.” 

He was caught off guard by your comment, something you found immense satisfaction in. “You astound me, Miss Bennett.” 

It was his turn to catch you off guard, it would seem. “I allow him to bore me because he is from a fine family. A good man, despite his lack of personality. He would be a fine husband.” 

“I disagree.” 

“Of course, you do.” He spun you around, momentarily stumbling as you fell back into his arms. “Tell me, what exactly do you disagree with?” 

“He is not worthy of you.” 

If Anthony Bridgerton was wholy arrogant, he was wholy swoon-worthy as well, devastatingly so. “I beg your pardon?” 

“We have not known each other long, Miss Bennett. But I must say, I never thought you would be the kind to settle for a man simply because of his status.” 

“You’re right.” You glared, remembering why he angered you so. “You have not known me long, so you do not understand me. Nor will you.” You curtsied, glad the dance had ended. “If you’ll excuse me.” You stalked toward Mary, grabbing her hand and pulling her away from whatever conversation she was having. “We’re leaving.” 

“Why?” Mary whined. “I was-” 

“What is the matter, dear?” Your mother frowned. “Has something happened?” 

“I would like to leave.” You glanced over your shoulder, his eyes still trained on you. “I am tired, Mama.” 

“As you wish.” Your father nodded. “After you, my dears.” 

“You know I must ask you what happened last night.” Your father’s voice cut through your reading. “You left so suddenly.” 

“It was nothing. Like I said, I was tired.” 

“If you plan to continue your tradition of reading in my study, you must be prepared for sudden interrogation, my dear.” You hated it when your father was right. “What did Lord Bridgerton say?” 

“How do you know it was the Viscount?” You scoffed. “It could have been anyone.” 

“True.” He nodded. “But it was the Viscount, wasn’t it?” 

“You’re terribly insightful.” You groaned. “He made an assumption about my character. One that was entirely misplaced.” 

“So he offended you?” 

You nodded. He had, even if he was wrong. And you couldn’t very well tell your father the truth, that the Viscount had assumed you to be some power-hungry debutante, unloving and cold. “In a way, yes.” 

“Would you like me to speak with him?” 

“That won’t be necessary, Father. But thank you.” 

He was quiet for a moment, staring at you as if he were trying to decipher you. “I know what you are doing, my love.” 

“And what is that?” 

“You wish to protect your sister.” 

“I-” You closed your book. “Any good sister would.” 

“Yes. But you are-” He tilted his head, trying to find the right words. “Your mother and I are not destitute.” 

“I know, Father.” 

“Then why have you vowed to marry for duty, rather than love?” He frowned. “You are quite telling. The men you see, do they bring you joy? Laughter?” 

You shook your head, too embarrassed to speak. 

“If you were married for love, your sister would be perfectly content. Her dowry, the same as yours, is more than enough to live comfortably.” 

“Father-” A tear ran down your cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

“I should be the one apologizing, my dear.” He laughed, standing up from his desk. “You take too much upon your shoulders. It is my job to look after your sister and her future, and I have turned a blind eye to your interference. From now on-” He brushed a hair behind your cheek. “Promise me you will only entertain lords who entertain you. No more of the duty nonsense.” 

“I promise, Father.” You wrapped your arms around him, hugging tightly. “I promise.” 

“Good.” He nodded. “I would like a biscuit.” 

You pulled your head away from his chest. “A biscuit?”

He nodded once more. “Would you care to venture to the kitchens with me?” 

“I would.” You grinned, placing your book on the end table. “A biscuit sounds wonderful.” 

“We must stop meeting like this.” 

Anthony Bridgerton was the bane of your existence, it would seem. 

“Viscount. How good to see you.” 

“You must not lie.” He frowned. “Are you enjoying this?” 

“The event?” You looked around the room, taking in the countless paintings that covered the walls. “I do love museums.” 

“As do I.” He smiled, standing beside you, observing the painting before you. “Where is dear Lord Beesbury?” 

“Engaged, thankfully.” You smiled back. “Some poor lady will be miserable till death do they part.” 

“On that, we agree.” 

“I do so love this painting.” You sighed. “It is captivating.” 

“Yes, it is.” 

You looked over, shocked to see his eyes fixed on you. “I must explain my sudden departure to you.” 

“There is no need. I was being callous-” 

“May I? Please?” You felt faint under his gaze. “You said I was settling for Beesbury because of his status.” 

“It was wrong of me-” 

“You were not entirely…wrong.” You began to pick at the skin around your nails, a nervous habit you had picked up around your debut. Your mother hated the habit, as did you. You just couldn’t seem to break it. “I vowed to marry for duty, so that my sister could marry whomever she wanted. She is my pride and joy, you see.” You swallowed, staring at the ground. “I love her so dearly, and I only want the best for her-” 

“We are quite similar, you and I.” 

His voice was tight, tense. Why, you had no idea. You looked up, laughing at his comment. “Perhaps, we are.” 

“Could I accompany you while you remain here?” 

Your cheeks felt hot. “I-” 

“It was a stupid idea.” He laughed. “Excuse me-” 

You shouldn’t have done it. But in that moment, you couldn’t think of any other way to stop him from leaving. You reached out, grabbing his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “I would love that, my lord.” 

“Wonderful.” He smiled, slipping his hand out of your grasp to hook his arm through yours. “Tell me, who is your favorite artist featured today?” 

“I do so love Jean-Antoine Watteau’s work.” You grinned. “It is so detailed, beautifully done.” 

“I agree,” Anthony would later pinpoint this moment as the day he fell in love with you.

“Hello?” You called out, the pale blue halls empty save for a few servants. “Hello?” 

“Do you need help, Miss?” 

You nodded. “I’m here to pick up my sister, Miss Mary Bennett.” 

“Ah.” The maid smiled. “Follow me. I believe they are in the drawing room.” 

“Thank you.” You followed her through the doors. 

“A Miss Bennett, my lord.” 

You curtsied, smiling as Anthony burst to his feet. “My lord.” 

“Miss Bennett.” He began to fix his vest, making you laugh. “I was not expecting you.” 

“I’m simply here to bring my sister home.” You looked around the room, smiling at the others who inhabited the space. “I won’t be long.”

“Please.” He blurted out. “Won’t you stay for tea?” 

A quick laugh left (who you could only assume) was his brother’s lips before Anthony glared at him, promptly shutting him up. “I wouldn’t want to intrude-” 

“You wouldn’t be.” 

His mother watched with utter fascination, quiet as a church mouse. 

“I am sorry, Lord Bridgerton, but my mother wishes us home for dinner.” You looked behind you, tapping your foot impatiently. “Where is she?” 

“Come with me.” Anthony set his book down, grabbing your hand in his. You gasped, as did his mother and (you assumed yet again) his older sister. “I have an inclination as to where they are.” 

“Very well.” You gave in, wishing he could hold your hand forever. “After you.” 

The halls of the Bridgerton estate were beautiful, even without the dazzling decorations. The paintings that lined the walls were perfection, the furniture antique and well-kept. “I must say, my lord, your home is-”

It couldn’t be. You slowed, pulling Anthony to a stop as well. “Is that the-” The painting. The very one you both had stared at for minutes while you confessed your reasoning behind leaving. He bought the painting.

He nodded, swallowing thickly. “I acquired it after you left.” 

“I see.” Your voice was small, smaller than you’d wanted it to be. “But why?”

“I-” He searched your face desperately. “I believe you know why.” 

“My lord-” 

“Please.” He shook his head. “Call me Anthony, I beg of you.” 

“That is most inappropriate, my lord.” You hissed, although it had no bite. Your insides were mush, his attention causing you to short-circuit. 

“I apologize.” He did not look the least bit sorry. “I’m sorry, but I must tell you something. You-you have captured my-” 

“Anthony.” The lord groaned, his arm falling from yours as he turned around. 

“Yes, brother?” 

“Mother is calling for you.” It was not Benedict, but rather Colin, who called from the end of the hall. 

“Tell her I will be there in a moment.” He turned back around, disappointment etched on his face. “Will you wait for me?” 

You nodded, cheeks still burning from his words. “Of course.” 

“I will be back, I promise you.” 

“Go.” You ushered him away, staring at the painting in fascination. He had bought this because of you. He had bought this because you told him you loved it. It was- 

“Poor girl. She has no idea.” You whipped around, a servant's voice echoing through the hall. “He’s going to eat her alive, he is.” 

“You mustn’t say things like that.” Another whispered, before laughing. “Even if it is true.” 

“Lord Bridgerton has gone through more ladies than I’ve gone through households.” The first servant whispered. If this were not about you, you would tell the servant her whispering needed improvement, but you were curious. 

Curiosity killed your love. If you could have even called it that. 

“He will not truly love her. He is a rake, through in through.” The second spoke. “What man isn’t?” 

Your eyes welled. You were stupid, so stupid to believe in his attention. Forget Mary and her naivety, that was you. It had been you all along. You were easily tricked, but no longer. You stalked around the corner, ignoring the gasps the servants let out at your appearance. “My lady.” 

You paid them no mind, tears streaming down your cheeks as you found Mary waiting for you in the foyer, Anthony and Eloise standing dutifully beside her. “Sister!” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Is something the matter?” 

“We’re leaving.” You kept your eyes to the ground, grabbing her hand as you pulled her toward the door. “Say goodbye to Miss Eloise.” 

“Bye!” Mary waved quickly. “Why are you walking so fast?” 

The Bridgerton siblings stood there in confusion, staring at the girls until they left their view. “What was that about, do you think?” 

Anthony shrugged, heart clenching at the thought of your upset face. “I haven’t the faintest clue, Eloise.” 

“What has happened?” Mary pestered. “Sister?” 

“You are not to go to the Bridgertons again.” You muttered, stalking past your footmen and up the stairs toward your room. “I don’t want you around that family ever again.” 

“You must tell me what is going on!” Mary yelped. “And stop pulling me!” 

“I-” You looked behind you, face paling at the sight. Your grasp on your sister’s wrist was tight, too tight to be comfortable. “I’m sorry, Mary.” 

“I will be fine.” She smiled, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Please, do not shut me out.” 

“Come along then.” You huffed, ushering her into your room. You explained as you removed your coat. “I was foolish, so very foolish.” “Is this to do with a certain Viscount?” Mary wiggled her eyebrows. 

“He is a rake. And he-” You sobbed, slapping a hand over your mouth. “I thought he was an honorable man, but he is not. He has fooled me.” 

“What did he do?” Mary looked positively frightened. “Has he-” 

“No!” You shook your head quickly. “I believed that he- I don’t know why.” You crumbled to the floor. “I thought he- he loved me.” 

“Oh, sister.” Mary sat beside you, pulling you into her hold. “I am so sorry. So very sorry.” 

“Will I ever know what has happened with you, my dear?” Your mother frowned, worriedly watching as you simply read your novel. “You’ve been rather distant.” 

 “I do not know what you mean. I am simply tired.” 

“You have been tired for nearly two weeks.” 

“It must be my cycle, Mother.” It was nowhere near your cycle, but your mother was nothing if not persistent. 

She nodded, like that explained everything. “Ah, I see.” 

You hid a laugh behind your hand as your sister rolled her eyes. 

“My lady.” Your mother’s housekeeper, Mrs. Gilligan, interrupted. “There is a gentleman in the foyer.”

“Did you catch his name, Mrs. Gilligan?” 

“No, my lady.” 

“No matter, I will go see what the man wants.” 

You groaned, sitting up and making yourself presentable. Mary laughed, shaking her head. “Do you think it’s him again?” 

You glared. “I hope not. Besides, he wouldn’t dare-” 

“He’s here.” Your mother poked her head through the drawing room door. “Shall I let him in?” 

Mary shook her head. “I think it would be best to tell him that she is ill.” She looked back at you, smiling comfortingly. “Do you agree?” 

“Yes.” You nodded. “Please, Mother.” 

She sighed. “Very well. But you cannot avoid him forever, my dear.” 

You waited till she had left the room to scoff. “I beg to differ.” 

“She’s right, you know.” 

“Traitor.” You stuck your tongue out playfully. “I do not wish to see him.” 

“And I understand, truly, I do.” She placed her hand over yours. “But he can never defend himself if you do not give him the chance.”

“There is nothing for him to defend himself over. We were never courting, there is nothing to say.” 

“You and I both know that is not true in the slightest.” She raised a brow, waiting for you to disagree with her. “He is devastated by your disappearance.” 

“And how would you know?” 

“Eloise writes to me now that you have banned me from going over. He has confined himself to his room, and when he is not in his room, he is a shell of himself.” 

“I do not see the issue.” 

Mary shook her head, deciding to drop the subject. “The Featherington ball is coming up.” 

“So I’ve heard.” 

“Will you at least go to that?” Mary pleaded. “For my sake?” She jutted out her bottom lip, and you caved most easily. 

“Fine, fine.” You glared. “Now let me read my novel, please.” 

The Featherington ball, much like its matriarch, was over the top, its halls covered in dramatic florals that overwhelmed the senses. It was beautiful, but even beautiful things could cause you pain. Or at the very least, exhaustion. “Must I go in?” 

“Do not be such a bore, sister.” Mary hooked her arm through yours, dragging you toward the stairs. “It will only take a moment.” 

“I know. That does not mean-” 

“Too late.” Mary wiggled her eyebrows, descending the steps. “Come along then.” 

Your eyes scanned the room, stomach fluttering as you met the Viscount’s gaze. He was gloomy and terribly handsome in his dark ensemble. The very picture of a leading man in some novel, perhaps one of those newer novels by that woman, Jane Austen. Your breath caught in your throat, Anthony had this horrible trait of turning you into a right mess. “I need some fresh air.” 

Your sister groaned, tired of your antics. “But we’ve only just arrived.” 

“I’ll only be a moment, I swear.” 

Your mother escorted her further into the ballroom, introducing her to the many other young ladies who would most likely be making their debuts the following year. She was certainly ready, of that you were certain. “Miss Bennett.” 

Your heart clenched, eyes shutting as if that would stop him from speaking further. “My lord.” 

“You are recovered.” 

You tilted your head. “I'm sorry?” 

“From your sickness.” Anthony stepped closer, his voice lowered. “I called on you.” 

“Did you?” You shrugged, feigning ignorance. “That is a shame, Viscount Bridgerton. I would have loved to see you.” 

“That I find hard to believe.” He looked positively miserable. “Has something happened?” 

“I do not know what you mean. If you’ll excuse me-” You stalked away from him, toward where you had no idea. Anywhere where he was not would be idealistic. 

“You cannot avoid me forever, Miss Bennett.” 

“I believe I can, my lord.” 

“Enough!” He hadn’t yelled, but his tone was enough to halt your steps. “I must know what I’ve done.” 

“I-” You were at a loss for words. “You-” 

“Correct me if I am wrong, Miss Bennett, but I believed us to be growing close. I believed-” His swallowed, hand twitching as if he itched to hold you. “I thought-” 

“You are wrong.” It pained you to say it, but you had to. “Whatever you believe, or believed, you are wrong. We were nothing, not close, no growing to be. We are acquaintances, that is all.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Out with it then. Tell me what I have done to make you hate me so.” 

“I have heard the talk, the gossip. The Ton is relentless in their information, especially when it comes to you, my lord. Tell me, how many other women have you bought paintings for? How many other ladies have you pulled into a false sense of hope, of companionship?" Your voice grew tight, your eyes watery. “Of love?” 

“Miss Bennett-” 

“I cannot bear to look at you.” You practically hissed at the man, shocked that he had not stopped you. “I am disgusted by you, by your behavior.” You whipped around, walking further into the house and further away from the party. 

“You drive me mad!” He hissed back, following after you. “My thoughts are consumed by you, you and you alone. You haunt me in my sleep, your wit, your beauty-” He groaned, looking as if he truly was going mad. “I am enamored by you!”

Your tears were falling freely, and Anthony frowned at the sight. You walked forward, shoving his chest firmly. “Do not come near me again.” You sobbed, shoving him once more. “Swear it.”  

“I cannot.” 

“Why not?” You sobbed again, his hands wrapping around your wrists before you tried to shove him once more. “Why not?” You shook against his hold, your resolve breaking by the second. 

“Because I am in love with you. You have bewitched me, and I cannot stay away from you.” He brought your hand up to his heart, pressing your palm to his chest. “My heart yearns for you.” 

You shook your head, tears subsiding. “You do not mean it.” 

“But I do.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. “I mean every word.” 

“Anthony…” Your eyes darted to his lips. “We will tear each other apart-” 

“We will not.” He smiled, his breath intertwining with yours. “We will not because I love you, and I believe you love me.” 

“Love you?” You scoffed. “Whatever are you talking about?” 

“You heard our maids talking, did you not? About my past? That is why you were upset, why you left so suddenly.” His hand found its way to your cheek, wiping away your tears. “Why would you be so upset if not for love?” 

“You have no idea of my feelings.” You could feel your self-restraint weakening by the second. “No idea at all.” 

His eyes fell to your lips. “I look forward to a life of finding out, my lady.” 

“If that is your idea of a proposal, my dear Viscount, you have misinterpreted this situation.” 

He laughed. “Have I?” 

“No.” You shook your head, arms wrapping around his neck. “You have not.” 

“You are quite the contradiction, Miss Bennett.” His lips brushed against yours, your knees buckling. “Quite the contradiction indeed.” 

bonus part: the moment anthony bridgerton proved, yet again, to be the man of your wildest dreams

The autumn air did not deter either of you from your daily promenade; if anything, it prompted you to take your time, to enjoy the changing leaves and crisp breeze. You took advantage of the cool weather, grasping Anthony’s arm as if he were your only source of warmth. 

Anthony did not mind in the slightest, and if he had, he did not show it. He revelled in your touch, in his wife’s affection. He took pride in it, in the fact that you loved him so dearly, that you cherished him so publicly. 

“Should we sit?” He whispered, nuzzling his nose against your ear. You giggled from the touch, shoving his arm playfully. “You must be tired.” 

“I am hardly tired, but you are awfully sweet for thinking of me.” 

“I always think of you.” He kissed your cheek. “You occupy my every thought.” 

“That is no good.” You frowned. “What of our babe? Do you not think of him?” 

“Or her.” Anthony’s hand gently caressed your bump. “Of course, I think of the babe. Which is why I must ask you to rest, my love.”  

“Fine, fine.” You glared, plopping onto the bench. “If you insist.” 

“I do.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. “Are you cold?” 

“With you by my side, how could I be?” You traced shapes on his chest haphazardly. “You are warm enough for the both of us.” 

“You tease, yet you cling to me.” He reached out, carefully pulling a leaf from your hair. “You are quite the contradiction.” 

“Is that not why you love me?” 

“One of the many reasons, yes.” His eyes fluttered to your fingers, pulling them from his chest, examining them. "You have stopped, yes?"

You nodded, cheeks growing hot. "I have not picked at my hands in quite some time, Anthony."

"Ah." He smiled, kissing each one delicately, still as giddy as the day he first saw you. “You continue to amaze me, Lady Bridgerton.” 

“Stop it.” You glared. “You forget we are in public, my lord.” 

“You forget I do not care.” He whispered, finding pleasure in the laugh that left your lips. “I am finding it very difficult not to kiss you.” 

“You must control yourself.” You said it so firmly, but he knew you did not mean it. You enjoyed his attention. You even confessed to him, one night when neither of you could sleep, what you once dreamt of, what you found yourself daydreaming of during your time as a young debutante. He never forgot, always striving to fufill each and every dream. 

Little did he know, he fulfilled your every dream by simply being your husband. 

He loved the way your nose crinkled when he dove down to kiss your cheeks, the way you visibly became flustered by his love. “Please, my darling? Just one kiss?” 

“Oh, alright then.” You could never say no to him, nor did you want to. And as he dove down, kissing you much too deeply for you to be in public, you couldn’t help but think back to when you wished this were you. When you wished to be so loved, so unconditionally and perfectly loved.  

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tragically earthbounded 001

Lord Morpheus x Fem!OC (Ophelia) 001: wings -> CHAPTER INDEX

not my gift, credits to the owner.

English is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes but be nice about it!

Summary: Finding yourself in this new human form, you start wondering what's your new place in the Dreaming.

Warnings: not really.

Word count: 1.8K

previous: prologue

next: 002

The throne room wasn’t any more inspiring of a sight than the rest of the Castle.

Morpheus was there, sitting on the lower steps of the stairs to his High Chair as you walked around the debris, calibrating your new legs and feet. Finding your new balance in your new found but old form.

“Feet are exhausting” you declare plainly, arms wagging as you take one foot off of a fallen column and try to take another step forward.

“And it appears decorum is lacking” Lucienne looks at you pointy.

“I do this all the time” you defend yourself, not even spearing a look to your dearest friend.

“When you had wings,” and when you almost misstep, more urgent “You’ll—”

“Ophelia” Morpheus calls, and you straighten up suddenly. Your name sounds tired and drained of any amusement in his tongue.

You huff out as you jump off the column you were testing your footing on, and turn to him with a tentative smile and a tilt of your head. Cheeky. Walking towards his sitting figure, “I will behave” you try, reaching to sit down on the step his own feet were resting.

Resting from his attempt to use his magic.

Not what I used to be his voice resounds in your head, and you feel the need to sigh as your chin falls on the heels of your new hands and his coat spreads around your own feet. Warm and vibrating, all enclosing you. Engulfing you in his warmth as if he was the one surrounding you.

He’s weak, downhearted and betrayed— his tools stripped from him by the pretender Rodrick Burgess, and later by his descendant.

“They are exhausting” you defend yourself after a while.

You hear him sigh in impatience behind you.

That took less time than you expected.

Another silence lingers, asphyxiating and utterly helpless. Lucienne looks at her Lord with worry as he thinks over and over.

Just minutes ago, Morpheus almost passes out by the enormous effort of trying to use his powers… and almost lashes out at you both when suggested rest. You knew your master, his incredibly hard but cool head. 

Even in desperation, he remained stoic and unbending.

Which was almost terrifying when you remember how you found him back in that basement.

“There’s only one sure way for me to find my tools” his voice comes out hard and firm “I must summon the Three-in-one”

You almost feel a chill run down your spine, and Lucienne protests “Surely it hasn’t come to that”

“The fates see past, present and future” Morpheus reminds her “and they know all”

“Riddlers” you remind him too “And bad ones at that,” you turn to look at him “do you remember the last time we saw them? They tried to buy me off of you” you purse your lips, offended.

There’s a wicked grin in Morpheus’ face at the reminder.

“Perhaps,” Lucienne calls back at both of you “just this once—”

His eyes, still on you, lose any sign of amusement “I won’t call on my siblings” he stands up, taking a few steps up the stairs. 

“Destiny would most certainly know where your tools are—” Lucienne objects.

And you continue, twisting at the waist to look up at him “And Desire most likely will know which direction to point to” you almost scoff, sarcasm in your voice which makes Lucienne give you a warning look.

“My siblings have their own realms to tend to, as I have mine—” if Morpheus was offended by your comment, he didn't show “we do not interfere in each other’s affairs”

You need to stop yourself from scoffing again.

“Watch yourself” Lucienne warns you lightly, walking closer to the stair as she directs her eyes to Morpheus again “Perhaps if they hear what’s come to happen to you, My Lord—”

“I’m quite sure they know what happened to me” he turns to you both again, and you need to look away from the anguish in his eyes “And yet, none of them came to my aid”

It’s raw, and exasperating. And you need a second for it to stop pulling at your heartstrings. The vulnerability in him was simply and utterly uncharacteristic, and it makes you a bit dizzy when you try to focus on it.

Such a pillar. Such a splendid example of self-sufficient anthropomorphous entity reduced to a defiled man behind glass in need of aid. 

It broke your heart all over again. 

Another silence, and then— “The Fates cost a bloody fortune” Lucienne relents. 

“A cost I won’t be able to pay, as if I’m even able to summon them” Morpheus sighs.

“Perhaps they’ll want me still,” you turn to him, a small amused smile as you jest. 

And his eyes land on you. 

And there’s certainty in them.

“I was merely jesting, Lord King” you let out, fast and alarmed at the possibility of him trying to sell you off to the Fates.

He looks at Lucienne now, “Is there anything of mine that remains in The Dreaming?” he asks, your comment sparking a plan within him, as he walks down the steps and you crane your neck back to look at him.

The librarian’s eyes land on you.

“Something that I created” Morpheus clarifies.

“You created all of this,” she points out, you need to stop craning your head back— deciding necks were exhausting too. Not flexible at all.

“No” he shakes his head “Something that remains intact.”

Wings rings in your head, a bit dizzy still from looking back at him.

And it’s almost as if Lucienne heard you when she turns to you once again, hesitancy in her eyes.

If you could’ve flown to him, you would’ve done it— you would’ve reached for him faster.

And you would’ve spent more time with him. 

Borrowed time, but more time at last.

Gregory was playing with his ball when you find him after leaving Morpheus and Lucienne talking Cain and Abel through their plan.

Horrendous plan.

Heartbreaking plan.

He looks helplessly distracted, rather entertained when left alone— which makes your hart ache even more.

Morpheus' creation, the king's nightmare and yet it was your wings the ones that inspired his.

“Hello, friend” you croak out, taking another step closer “Does my new face seem friendly enough?” you chuckle softly, eyes watery.

It only takes him a few seconds, looking at you with low ears in alert and weariness.

And then a fuzzy bubble grows into your mind when he lets you know that yes, in fact, he saw his friend in your face.

Chuckling, you step closer to him still, hands on his nose and up to his ear “Oh, Gregory” you lament, cold stone under your touch “They’ve cut my wings”

And yet, he lets you know what he thinks of your new form.

Dazzling.

The gargoyle was your friend in more ways that you could count, always soaring through the sky with you in such a majestic flight— his words of amazement and encouragement ringing in your head. Sweetness poured out of him, and fear not anymore.

Worthy of being Morpheus'. The both of you.

You give him another sad smile, “He’s gonna ask for something, my friend” you almost cry out, whispering “If we go now, if we fly away from this garden gray—”

“Ophelia” you freeze at the calling of Morpheus behind you.

And Gregory grows quiet.

“He’s not nightmare anymore,” you let out, without turning to see him “he’s my friend”

“It is not your decision” 

Your forehead falls against the hard stone that was Gregory’s neck.

And only when the gargoyle nudges your cheek with his peak, you step away.

“My Lord, please” Cain walks up.

“He’s one of us now” Abel steps besides his brother.

“It's not fair” 

“No” Morpheus rasps out “It is not”

You turn away towards the trees when you feel the King relent, Cain stomping away. 

Abel, on the other hand, is far more softer than his brother. 

“You’ve been a very good boy” you hear him whisper. 

And then, it’s Gregory who steps closer to Morpheus.

Lucienne’s hands are on yours, and you need to look away.

For Gregory becomes sand in a matter of seconds.

“Come,” he rasps to both of you, not being able to meet neither of your set of eyes “we’ve got work to do”

Below the dock, the waters are dark and unforgiving. Dreams and nightmares all the same navigate them, and so did Morpheus. Power was electrifying, and if you looked too close you were sure you were gonna dive in— for the dreaming waters were too inviting.

And often, uncharted.

He went out to seek what he needed for the fates in them, as you were left behind with Lucienne and your grief.

Your friend, such a dear good friend, at the moment craning the best way to approach the subject.

The best way to hold you safely in the warm palm of her hand.

Dear Lucienne.

“He’ll certainly be missed” the librarian tried, and you look towards the stars.

“We should’ve insisted on calling upon Destiny” you sigh, still downhearted.

“Gregory made his choice,” Lucienne nods “as you did yours” she reminds you.

It gives you a moment of pause, then— “We never spoke a word. Never needed to” you whisper, looking back at her.

And as you’re wallowing in these words, a white hand comes out of the water and grabs your knee. 

Yelping, you recognize Morpheus coming out of the water. 

Lucienne and you help him upwards.

“I’ve got what I was looking for”

He’s sitting beside you, panting and exhausted. Soaking wet, he looks up at you for a second, holding up an egg the size of his hand.

“You didn’t give it to them?” you ask, curious, sliding closer on your knees to his figure as you accept what he's handing you— a bit surprised the fates didn't take it from him.

“It was not meant for them” he rasps out. As you examine the egg, his eyes linger in your face now that's closeness allows him to— face softening before he can catch himself. And when you look up, “I’ve got a job for you, little bird” he nods, standing up.

Looking down at it, you understood.

“This one’ll begin as a dream” he declares, walking away to the end of the dock.

Cain and Abel would have a new friend.

“May I ask where you’re off to, sire?” You hear Lucienne ask, and you look up from the egg towards Morpheus.

“London” he rasps.

“Did you not just spend the last one hundred years there?” And before Lucienne could correct herself, Morpheus turns around with a warning look “Sorry”she puts her hands up in surrender, “Why London?”

“My sand was sold there” Morpheus reveals, eyes landing on you as you stand up hugging the warmth of the egg “Once I’ve got them, I’ll seek my helm—” then, he turns to the waters “in hell”

“Lovely” you let out, walking towards them until you were standing right besides Lucienne.

“Oh, dear” she sighs, then she looks at you for a moment, and you shrug softly as you wander away once again “Would you at least grant me a favor, before you go?” Lucienne asks Morpheus “Take a raven with you”

Oh, lovely you hear in your head, crouching down to leave the egg on the edge of the dock and look into the water.

Trying to ignore the feeling of dread creeping inside of you, giving your back to both of them.

“I do not need a minder” Morpheus declares “I’m Dream of the Endless—”

“And Dream of the Endless always has a raven with him”

“I’ve got a raven” he interrupts, harsh and unbending, making you feel a bit desperate under his defense “She’ll remain here”

You hug your legs and sigh helplessly, caressing the egg with one finger.

Morpheus too, walks to the end of the dock. And you find yourself staring hard at the waters, just to not look at him.

And then, they part right in front of your eyes— a stairway to London bursting through.

Before stepping on it, Morpheus crouches down besides you which makes this all the worse.

“No more ravens” he whispers to you, reassuring a soft and needy part within yourself. As if he knew, as if he meant it. Leaving you feeling shameful and weak “You are the last” and when you turn to him, you notice he's got a piece of your hair between his fingers.

Later, when Morpheus’ gone off to get his sand and you’re walking away from Abel’s graveyard after hiding the egg in the dirt you ask yourself the one question you’ve been trying to ignore.

“What am I made for?”

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next: 002

[potatipejr]

I Would Ruin The Bit

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Summary: You and Spencer go on Courtney’s new podcast URL separately, but you might just end up together…

Word count:  4.1k words

A/N: I’m officially back. First official request!! Hope you enjoy it xx

————————————————————————

Spencer’s episode aired on Tuesday.

You weren’t supposed to watch it right away. You’d told yourself you’d wait— just catch the highlights later, maybe skim it while doing the dishes or folding the laundry. But three minutes in, you were curled up on your couch with your knees to your chest, fully invested, drink going cold beside you.

Courtney had that effect on you. Warm and nosy in the best way, like your favorite older sibling who never let you off the hook when you tried to hide behind sarcasm.

“So,” she said, leaning forward with a knowing look, “tell me about your movie night traditions. I've heard you’re a nightmare seatmate during Lord of the Rings.”

Spencer huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I make one comment about how Boromir deserves better, and suddenly I’m the problem.”

“Oh, just one?”

“Okay, maybe five. Tops.”

Courtney grinned, eyes glinting with mischievous excitement. “And are you usually alone when you do these dramatic monologues?”

His smile faltered for just a second, then softened. “No. I'm usually with… a friend. Equally annoying. Maybe even worse, honestly.”

“Name names,” Courtney sang, like she already knew the answer.

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, and then he said your name.

You paused the video.

Your heart did that soft and traitorous thing, like it was trying to climb out of your chest and run straight to him. 

You knew you and Spencer were close— everyone did. It was obvious. You’d been orbiting each other for months, best friends with just enough chemistry to keep people guessing. But hearing him say your name like that? All soft and a little shy? That did things to your heart you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge.

You pressed play again.

“She— uh,” he said, trying to sound casual, “she does this thing during movies where she rewrites the entire script in real time. Like, full-on voice impressions and everything. During Pride and Prejudice, she gave Mr. Darcy a Bronx accent.”

He laughed, a little helpless. “I haven’t been the same since.”

Courtney leaned into the camera with the most theatrical eyebrow raise imaginable, delighted and devious. “That sounds suspiciously like the behavior of a man in love.”

Spencer choked on air.

“She’s just funny!” he sputtered, instantly red-faced, waving a hand as if that could clear the smoke of implication now thick in the room. “It’s not like— I mean, we’re not— friends can be funny. You’re funny, and uh, you’re married so…”

Courtney was practically vibrating with glee. “Uh-huh,” she said slowly, dragging the syllables out like sticky taffy. “Just funny. Right.”

He squirmed in his seat, looking anywhere but the camera. “We’ve just… known each other a long time. We’re comfortable.”

Courtney turned to the camera again, voice dropping into mock seriousness. “You hear that, people? He said comfortable. That’s practically a proposal in Spencer lingo.” 

The audience (and by “audience” we mean the off-camera crew who were clearly in on the bit) let out a wave of “oooohs” and “aaahs”. Spencer buried his face in his hands, groaning. The camera shaking, indicating Brennan being very amused by the man’s squirming.

“Can we go back to talking about Sonic the Hedgehog or whatever nerdy game I used to obsess about?”

“Nope,” Courtney said brightly, “because our lovely team over there,” she gestured off-camera with a Cheshire grin “may or may not have fallen down a rabbit hole last night. And may or may not have found some excellent fan compilations of the two of you.”

Spencer looked up sharply. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” she said, and with a dramatic flourish, whipped around a tablet.

The screen lit up.

And there it was: the edit. One of those edits.

First clip: a Smosh sketch— Spencer catching you mid-fall, arms around your waist, your surprised laugh echoing as you looked up at him. His face in the clip was so stupidly fond.

Then: a behind-the-scenes tiktok: grainy footage of you stealing fries from his plate while he tried to look annoyed, but ended up just smiling at you like you had given him the moon. The music in the background was the type of lo-fi beat that was tragically romantic. Text in sparkly font floated across the screen: “they’re the blueprint”. 

Spencer groaned again. 

“You’ve doomed me.”

“Oh come on,” Courtney grinned. “You’re the internet’s slow burn king. The people are rooting for you two like it’s the season finale of their favorite show. You can’t fake that kind of chemistry.”

He peeked out from between his fingers, still pink. “She’s going to kill me.”

Courtney leaned back, smug. “Or thank you.”

She paused for a second.

Then, more gently, she asked, “Be honest, though. As your friend… have you really never considered it?”

That was when it happened.

That tiny, barely perceptible pause.

The crack in his usual rhythm.

Spencer reached for his bottle, fingers tapping nervously against the metal. Then he gave a shrug that tried to be casual but wasn’t. “…Maybe.”

Courtney’s jaw dropped.

“I think about them more than I probably should,” he admitted, quieter now. “It’s stupid. Every time I say something dumb, I wonder if they hear it. And every time they laugh at something I say, I feel like I just won the lifetime achievement award for funniest man alive.”

The room quieted slightly. Just enough to make the moment feel real.

“And I don’t know,” Spencer continued, rubbing the back of his neck. “The thing is, I’ve built this whole bit, right? Like, the funny guy. And it works. People like it. I like it.”

He paused.

You could see his leg bouncing now.

“But if it ever came down to it,” he said, finally meeting the camera’s gaze — and unknowingly, yours — “I’d ruin the whole bit if it meant I got to call them mine.”

Silence. For a full beat.

Then Courtney said, “Jesus Christ, that was actually romantic.”

Spencer flushed scarlet. “Shut up, dude.”

x

He said it with that same melodic lilt he used when cracking a joke like he was still playing the part, still keeping it all within the bit. But there was something in his eyes when he said it… something that didn’t quite match the act. “I’d ruin the whole bit if it meant I got to call them mine.”

And you felt it. Not like a flutter. Not like butterflies. It was like a landslide.

Because suddenly you couldn’t breathe properly. Couldn’t think properly. Because you knew. You knew he meant you. You knew it down to your bones. 

And the worst part was, you wanted it. Wanted him. You wanted to be his.

And that was the part that really sent you spiraling.

Because what did it mean, to be Spencer’s? He wasn’t just some guy making a joke on a podcast. He was Spencer. The person who always knew how to make you laugh so hard your ribs ached, then stayed up with you on the phone when the laughter gave way to silence and doubt. The one who always stood a little too close, like his gravity pulled toward yours and neither of you knew how to stop it anymore.

You couldn’t stop replaying it in your head. 

I’d ruin the whole bit.

He would break the thing that kept him safe, the version of himself the world loved, just to be honest. For you.

You’d tried not to hope. You’d been careful, cautious, convinced this was just something unspoken that lived in the spaces between jokes and glances. But now? Now he’d dragged it into the light.

And your heart hadn’t stopped racing since.

You didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or climb through your phone screen and grab him by the collar and say, “Say it again. Say it to my face. I dare you.” Instead, you just sat there, head in your hands, heart doing backflips, while the rest of the world kept spinning like it didn’t even notice your entire universe had shifted one inch to the left: towards him.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until that one word left his mouth.

Maybe.

It wasn’t much. Just one word. Quiet. Barely there.

But it wrecked you.

Because you knew that voice. That exact tone. You’d heard it before— when he was walking the tightrope between what he felt and what he dared to show. That wasn’t a joke, or a bit, or even a placeholder answer. That was the first crack in the dam.

You were frozen on your couch, hand halfway to your mouth,

You had watched him spin a thousand stories out of thin air, turn silence into punchlines and chaos into comfort. But this wasn’t that. This wasn't a performance.

This was Spencer… unraveling.

You waited for the denial, the backpedaling, the casual joke to brush it all off. It never came.

The rest of the world fell away— the cold tea sweating beside you on the table, the stupid blanket balled uselessly in your lap as the video played. None of it mattered.

You felt something twist and settle in your chest. Heavy and warm and terrifying all at once.

Because maybe had always been the unspoken thing between you. The long looks. The almosts. The what-ifs.

And now, it wasn’t unspoken anymore.

Now, it was right there— broadcasted, undeniable.

Now, it was real.

You watched the whole episode again.

Because frankly, the whole thing irritated you and itched at the base of your skull like a mosquito bite you couldn’t quite scratch. There’d been moments, so many moments, where it would’ve been easy to say something. To have a real conversation with him about the ‘unspoken.’ But easy didn’t mean safe. Not when the whole internet was already writing your love story for you.

But maybe the finale was coming sooner than anyone thought.

x

Your episode was filmed exactly one week after Spencer’s.

The producers emailed you the invite with many smiley faces for comfort, calling it a “highly requested guest slot” in bold pink font like you hadn’t already seen the way Twitter lost its mind after Spencer’s. 

You weren’t stupid. You knew what this was. The entire internet had gone full tinfoil-hat detective over his episode. Comment sections flooded with timestamps and overanalyzed glances. TikTok was wall-to-wall fan edits and “They’re definitely in love” breakdowns.

Still… you said yes.

Partly because you genuinely liked Courtney. She was fun, quick-witted, and asked the kind of questions that felt like peeling back a sticker slowly, layer by layer, until the truth stuck. But more than that, you agreed because if Spencer could sit there with that shy smile and those brave confessions then maybe it was your turn to show up too.

Besides, there had been some truths under your skin for months now— itching, pressing, begging to be let out. You hadn’t stopped to untangle the knot in your stomach, or to second-guess the impulse rushing through you like spring water.

The set was warm and casual, the URL couch familiar from every episode you’d binged before. You sipped on the fancy sparkling water someone handed you and tried not to fidget while they adjusted your mic.

Courtney sat down across from you, cross-legged, grinning like a cat with a secret.

“So,” she started, dragging out the word, “before we begin… do you know how many people tagged us in posts demanding your episode after Spencer’s aired?”

You laughed, maybe a little too nervously. “I’m terrified to know the number.”

“Let’s just say your ship name is trending.”

Your stomach flipped. You smiled it off.

The interview began innocently enough— standard questions, playful jabs, a lot of mutual giggling. But around the thirty-minute mark, things shifted. Courtney had a way of pulling people in like gravity. You didn’t even realize you’d started spiraling until the words were already pouring out of you.

“He’s just… comfortable,” you said, trying to explain the impossible-to-name thing that Spencer was. Your hands gestured helplessly, like they could catch the right phrase out of the air. “He has this way of making people feel seen. Not in a performative way. Just safe. Like you can breathe deeper when he’s around.”

Courtney leaned forward slightly, her tone softening. “You talk like you know him really well.”

You smiled. The kind of smile you made when you were holding something close to your chest and maybe, just maybe, thinking about letting it go. “I do.”

““And is he…” Courtney tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Just your coworker?”

Your heart skipped, just once.

You’d been bracing for it—of course she’d ask. The internet had been dissecting every glance and laugh between you two since his episode aired. Still, something about hearing it out loud made your breath catch. It felt… more real.

You looked down, thumb brushing absently along the edge of your sleeve.

Then, carefully:

“He is my favorite person to see across a room.”

Courtney made a wounded sound, clutching her chest like she’d been struck. “Oh my God. If that man doesn’t kiss you by next week, I swear—”

You laughed softly, like the words on your tongue were fragile things you didn’t want to mishandle. “He’s already said more than enough.”

The tension in your shoulders had just started to ease— until the screen across from you flickered to life.

Your eyes widened. “No. No, what are you doing?”

Across the table, the producer was already handing Courtney the now-infamous Fan Edit Tablet of Doom.

Courtney’s grin was wicked. “Oh, come on. You had to know this was coming.”

You let out a groan, sinking slightly in your seat. “God, I was really hoping it wouldn’t.”

She tapped play.

Cue soft lighting. Slow-motion clips of Spencer brushing a hair from your face during a shoot. Him laughing at something you said off-camera, eyes crinkled, body leaning subtly toward yours. One edit showed you falling asleep during a travel vlog shoot, your head tilted to the side and Spencer draping his hoodie over you like it was second nature.

The music was embarrassingly romantic—some indie acoustic track with lyrics like “I didn’t mean to fall for you” playing just loud enough to be mortifying.

The final clip was a zoom-in of Spencer’s face during one of those chaotic group sketches. You were in the background, talking to someone else. He was in the foreground, not even the focus of the shot. But he was looking at you. Soft, focused, like the whole world had blurred except for you.

Your hands flew up to your face.

“Oh my God, I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Courtney snorted. “It’s worse.”

You peeked at her through your fingers, face burning. “How long has everyone been seeing this except for us?”

She leaned toward you, teasing but sincere. “You two are basically a rom-com waiting to happen. The slow burn? The banter? The pining? Come on. We all have eyes.”

You let out a weak laugh.

The last clip was the killer: Spencer, blurry in the background of a group sketch, not even the focus. But he was just looking at you and the camera had caught it. The kind of look that didn’t lie.

When the video ended, you were quiet for a beat too long.

Courtney didn’t push. She just waited.

Finally, you said, “I didn’t watch his episode all the way through at first.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised.

“I told myself I’d just catch the highlights. But three minutes in, I was curled up on the couch, drink untouched, just… watching him.”

She smiled. Soft this time. “And?”

You shrugged a little. “He said some things I didn’t expect to hear out loud. Things I wasn’t sure he’d ever actually say.”

“Did it change anything?”

A pause, quiet with something sacred

“Not really,” you said. “I think it just… confirmed things I already knew. Things I’d been ignoring because it was easier.”

Courtney tilted her head, curious. “And now?”

You met her eyes. Your voice was steady.

“Now I think maybe we owe it to ourselves to stop pretending it’s not real.”

The words hung there, delicate and heavy all at once..

“Maybe I’m not ready to say it loud yet,” you admitted. “But I’m ready to say it… gently. Like leaving the door open and hoping he walks through it.”

Courtney placed a hand to her chest, mock-swooning with real feeling beneath it. “Girl. That’s not gentle. That’s poetry.”

You shrugged, but the smile stayed, full of something that had waited long enough to be spoken.

Courtney didn’t say anything for a second— just nodded, slow and proud, like she was witnessing something shifting.

Then she grinned, sharp again. “So when’s the wedding?”

You burst out laughing, covering your face. “Courtney, oh my God.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, giggling. “We’ll save that for your next visit.”

x

The clips made the rounds.

Actually, “made the rounds” didn’t quite cover it. They detonated.

Within hours of your URL episode going live, the internet did what it did best: spiraled. Screenshots were everywhere. Fans paired your smile with his softest glances, your flustered laugh with his shy confessions. A five-second snippet of you adjusting Spencer’s mic got over a million views, captioned “spouse behavior.”

Twitter exploded.

They weren’t subtle about it. The fan edits got louder, more dramatic; montages set to love songs, slow-motion glances, captions like “soulmates in denial.” Someone even made a spreadsheet tracking every “charged moment,” complete with timestamps and emotional intensity ratings.

It stopped being commentary and started feeling like a countdown. People weren’t just watching you two anymore: they were rooting for you.

So by the time you both returned to set for another sketch shoot, it wasn’t just awkward—it was loudly awkward.

Chaos was probably the right word.

Someone had plastered screenshots of fan tweets all over the table. One of them read, “If they don’t kiss by the next sketch, I’m throwing my phone in the ocean.” It was right next to the fruit tray. You considered throwing that instead.

Alex handed you a sticker that said “Spencer’s Favorite Person” in Comic Sans, his expression mournful, like he was delivering a medal of valour in a war you didn’t sign up for.

“Wear it with pride,” he said solemnly.

And Ian? Ian had taken to walking past you humming the wedding march anytime you and Spencer were in the same room. No words. No eye contact. Just the tune. Loud, deliberate and frequently. It was totally unhinged behaviour… which, unfortunately, tracked perfectly for your boss.

You laughed it off, of course. So did Spencer.

Every time someone teased him, he’d give that sheepish smile, the one that tugged at the corner of his mouth like he couldn’t decide between amused and flustered. You’d meet each other’s gaze across the green room and grin like idiots, pretending it didn’t mean anything.

But eventually, you caught him in the kitchen. Everyone else had gone off to review footage. It was just the two of you, and your heart knew it. 

“So,” you said, aiming for nonchalant and missing slightly. “I watched your episode.”

He turned quickly, already flushing. “Yeah?”

You nodded, biting back a smile. “Twice. Maybe thrice..”

That got a small, nervous, breathy laugh out of him. “Wow. Planning revenge?”

You shook your head, stepping just close enough that your shoulders brushed as he leaned against the counter.

“Just wondering,” you said, quieter now, “if you meant what you said.”

The shift in energy was immediate. His posture stiffened slightly, cup halfway to his lips. When he looked at you this time, it wasn’t with teasing eyes. That boyish glint in his eyes had disappeared in an instant and was instead replaced with something you could only describe as soft adoration.

He didn’t smile.

Just nodded, earnest and unflinching.

“I did.”

You could feel the pulse in your throat. Your brain scrambled for something clever, something casual— but all you could do was watch him. His expression. The nervous set of his jaw. The hope wasn't even pretending to hide now.

Your tongue felt too heavy, your breath caught somewhere in your chest. Spencer was just standing there. He wasn't moving or filling the silence with some deflecting joke, just waiting.

Waiting for you.

He’d said yes.

No hesitation. No backpedaling. No joke to soften the edges.

He meant it.

You blinked once, then said, quieter than you intended, “You know that kind of ruined me, right?”

He tilted his head. “The episode?”

“The things you said.”

Your voice was steadier now, but barely. “I don’t think you realize how much of me you just… put out there. Without even knowing it.”

Spencer swallowed. “I didn’t do it to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t.”

You stepped forward again, enough that he had to straighten up, enough that you could feel the warmth coming off him like sunlight through a window. “It just caught me off guard. Hearing it. Watching you say it.”

His eyes searched yours. “What part?”

You paused. 

“The part where you said you think about me more than you should,” you said, breath hitching. “And the part where you said-”

You hesitated.

His eyes held no defenses now, and somehow, that quiet openness was enough to steady you.

“The part where you said you’d ruin your whole ‘bit’ if it meant you’d get to have me.”

His lips parted, like he wanted to speak, but nothing came out.

So you stepped in closer. 

The room felt impossibly still.

You whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I wanted to,” he said. “But it always felt like if I said it out loud, I’d ruin it.”

“It’s already ruined,” you said, almost laughing, eyes stinging a little. “You did say it. On camera. In front of the entire internet.”

He gave a breathless smile. “Yeah. I didn’t really think that part through.”

You stared at him, lips parted, throat tight with a thousand unsaid things.

Because that wasn’t a crush. That wasn’t flirtation.

That was Spencer.

Choosing you, out loud. Without blinking.

You didn’t speak. Not yet.

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He had to take his chance.

The air between you was charged, crackling with everything unspoken, everything denied. He took a deliberate step forward, and before you could speak his name, his hand was at the back of your head, fingers touching your hair with a startling and forceful certainty.

You gasped softly, your hands flying to his chest, not to push him away— but to pull him closer. Your body arching toward his as the kiss deepened— urgent, consuming.

His other hand found your waist, anchoring you to him as if he was afraid you'd disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough. There was nothing practiced or perfect about it. It was messy and desperate. But it was real.

Then came the shift; a gentle unraveling of urgency. His lips slowed, moving with purpose, as if he were learning you by heart. Every sigh you gave, every tremble beneath his hands, felt like something he didn’t want to forget. As if this moment, right here, was something sacred; something he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.

When he finally pulled back, Spencer exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for weeks. He didn’t say anything at first. 

The silence between you stretched.

He spoke again. It was soft, low, and trembling with something that sounded too much like devotion.

“I want you to be mine. Not just in edits. Not just in jokes. Mine.”

You froze, heart rattling against your ribs.

“I’d ruin myself for you,” he continued, voice thick now, almost hoarse. “Ruin the bit. The version of me that’s easy to laugh at. I’d set it all on fire if it meant I got to call you mine.”

There was no teasing left in him. No armour to hide behind.

He took a deep breath. “And don’t think for one second I don’t understand what that means. What you mean. You’re not just a crush. You’re not just funny or talented or smart– you’re you.” 

He let out a desperate laugh.

“And God I have been wanting achingly to kiss you.”

You stared at him, lips parted, throat tight with a thousand unsaid things. His kiss had undone something inside you, something fragile and long-held— but his words, low and overly possessive, hit you deeper than anything else ever had.

Spencer gave a half-smile, eyes still locked on yours.

“So,” he said, voice lightening just enough to make room for hope, “you wanna go ahead and make some fan edits true?”

Your laugh came out soft, stunned. “Are you asking me out?”

“Depends,” he said, still holding the back of your head. “Are you saying yes?”

You nodded.

“Yeah. I’m saying yes.”

He leaned forward, forehead brushing yours. “Been waiting to hear you say that.”

“Yeah,” you whispered back, smiling. “Me too.”

And somewhere, in another part of the building, Ian’s wedding march started up again.

[zaltynn]

TWISTER

just some brotherly bonding :D

a03 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65693113

fandom: ava: alan becker's animation vs animator

characters: the chosen one, the dark lord, the second coming, and victim

summary: the brothers play twister :D

tags: fluff, comfort no hurt, hollowhead siblings

read below:

When Vic got home from work, he found the living room had been completely rearranged. The couch was pushed in at an angle and the tables had all been stacked into one corner to make way for a horribly wrinkled and faded mat of Twister. Second and Dark were entangled in the middle of a game, shouting at each other while Chosen was sprawled across the couch with the spinner resting in his lap. Suspiciously, Chosen’s phone was out with a timer running, currently ticking past the seven minute mark. 

"What's all this?" Vic asked as he approached Chosen, loosening his tie and throwing his jacket across the back of the couch.

"Twister," Chosen announced, helpfully. 

During a lull of the shouting from the two youngest sticks, Chosen flicked the pin of the selection wheel. "Dark, left foot green," he announced. 

"FUCK!" 

Second cackled, and the arguing began anew as Dark adjusted to his new assigned position. 

"Where'd we get it?" Vic asked, as he hadn’t even known they owned the game. 

"Sec got it at some garage sale down the street," Chosen explained, "We've been at it all afternoon."

Vic sat on the arm of the couch Chosen was propped up against, rolling up his sleeves and removing his watch to tuck it into a pocket at random. "And what's with the timer?" he glanced down at the phone as it ticked over to the eighth minute on the stopwatch. 

"Ah," Chosen grabbed the phone and switched apps to a notepad. "We're trying to see who can last the longest per game," he explained, showing the phone to his older brother. 

There were three paragraphs spaced out, one labeled for each of them. Vic could see that they hadn't used their own names, with ‘hungry-hungry bastard' in third, 'artsy bitch' in second, and 'his royal ass-ness' in first. Chosen had five lines of timestamps, where Second and Dark had more than fifteen each. They really had been at this for a while. 

"I'm surprised you're not winning," Vic said, knowing Chosen’s strong competitive tendencies. Dark and Second were just louder about theirs and twice as likely to cheat. 

Chosen hummed, waving vaguely to his legs, "Not for a lack of trying." 

It was then that Vic realized there were ice packs cradling Chosen's knee and ankle. It was just such a familiar sight to Vic that hadn't really clocked it in when he first saw it. 

"Are you alright?" Vic worried, in disbelief that he had forgotten about Chosen's bad leg.

"Cho! My turn!" Second yelled over. 

Chosen grunted dismissively, righting the wheel on his lap before spinning it again. "It was already a rough morning, I asked for it," he said to Vic, and to Second he announced, "Right hand blue." 

The two on the mat started squabbling again as Second tried to reach across Dark to the colour he needed. 

Vic sighed, "I take it I'll be in charge of dinner then?" It was supposed to have been Chosen’s turn tonight, following a scheduled rotation that was made forever ago, but Vic wasn’t going to force his little brother into working on his feet if he was in pain. They all had things that upset the schedule from time to time, and they’ve long ago gotten used to making whatever adjustments were necessary. Any time, any reason. 

"We could always get pizza," Chosen offered, “Cooking after working sucks." 

"Pizza!" Second cheered, snapping his attention over to the couch in excitement. He wavered, and his face morphed into shock as his limbs slid out from beneath him, collapsing onto the mat with a grunt. 

Dark lurched to his feet, untangling himself from Second effortlessly, he pointed aggressively over to Chosen, yelling, "TIME! TIME! I win again!" 

Chosen obeyed, switching apps on his phone again to pause the timer. Vic watched as Chosen returned to the notepad and added a new line to ‘his royal ass-ness’. That put Dark in the lead by three timestamps now. 

Second groaned loudly, flailing on the ground. “Stop winning-” he whined. 

Dark scoffed, resting his hands on his hips proudly, “Fat chance.” He glanced down at the youngest of them, and gave him a smug look, “Just admit I’m better than you.”

Sitting up sharply, Second gaped at Dark, “I’m not gonna do that!” 

“That’s a shame,” Dark meandered over to Chosen, nabbing the phone straight from his brother’s hands. “Guess I’ll have to spit in your pizza-” he threatened, navigating Chosen’s phone with ease and opening their local pizza shop’s app. 

“NO! You can’t!” Second launched himself at Dark, clinging onto his legs.

“Dark,” Vic scolded.

He was ignored, as Dark fiddled with the delivery app. Probably just pulling up one of their ‘past orders’ options. “One boring-ass pizza for Vic, one large affront to pizzas everywhere for Cho, the only right choice for me, and a tiny ass one for the pipsqueak!” he summarized. 

“Dark, I want a medium!” Second yanked on Dark’s shirt, trying to grab for the phone as Dark held it aloft, using their height difference to his advantage. 

“Oop- too late, already ordered it,” Dark pushed the smaller stick aside, throwing the phone back to Chosen, who caught it easily. 

“He got you medium,” Chosen reassured, reading the receipt, and noticing Dark had prepaid with Chosen’s own card. Of course he had it memorized. 

Dark laughed, completely unfazed as he was hit repeatedly by Second, getting called as many bad names as the child could come up with. 

Vic sighed again, this time in a ‘what am I to do with you?’ kind of way. 

“Well,” Dark reached down and grabbed Second, tossing him over a shoulder and holding him there. The younger one didn't flail too badly, used to this maneuver. Dark did it probably thrice a week at this point. He just liked rubbing it in that Second was the smallest of them all. “A few more rounds?” Dark asked, “We got time before pizza’s here.”

“Yeah! Hey, Vic, did you want to join us?” Second asked, looking upside-down towards the grey stickfigure. 

Vic considered it, glancing down to Chosen briefly, who shrugged. “Oh, why not?” he conceded, making both Second and Dark cheer. 

“What d’you think we should put on the scoreboard for him?” Dark bounced Second, getting the other to giggle. 

“Uhm, how about…” Second put a hand to his chin, thinking hard. 

“Stingy motherfucker,” Chosen deadpanned, already typing it into the notepad.

Dark cackled in agreement. 

“Look-” Vic started, “Just because I’m a businessman-”

Second started giggling. 

Vic sighed, and pleaded, “Just start the game…”

Chosen smiled, and flicked the spinner.

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐫𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ENTJ

Gryffindor

Neutral Good

Capricorn Sun, Virgo Moon, Aquarius Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・Your main concern, out of this situation, was how Vermithor would react to not only the colder weather but having to stay there.

・It is known that dragons do not like to travel far (without a rider) and love heat. So how would he stay with you?

・Your second concern was being away from your family... you had never been apart from them. Ever since being born, you were close to your siblings - but your mother cherished you in a different way...

・As her only girl, she hated having to send you away. But she knew House Stark would keep you safe. And you had Vermithor... Surely you would be okay?

・The first time you met Cregan was when you were both infants. Viserys had thrown you the largest nameday and the Lord of Winterfell came, along with his son.

・Being a few years older than you, Cregan can recount the memory. Especially the time you had grabbed his nose so tight that he thought you were going to tear it right off.

・The second time was only a few weeks ago, when you had flown with Daemon after Luke's funeral. (Rhaenyra wanted to go herself, but Daemon had become a father figure when Harwin died and she remarried.)

・You were used to Daemon. House Stark was not.

・And it was the Stark's maester who had interrupted a few times to keep both Cregan and Daemon in check.

・But Daemon was only testing the Stark - he wanted to know you would be protected.

・When the day came to leave, everyone came to see you off.

・Your brothers were teary-eyed, especially Joffrey who had clutched onto Jace. Your eyes matched his own - full of tears, puffy and red. You had been crying all night.

"I'm going to miss you all so much," you said to your brothers who had hugged you tightly. The white haired ones didn't understand what was going on, but they babbled to you anyway.

・Jace put on a brave face; he knew Cregan would keep you safe.

"I wish I could stay," you mumbled into Jace's chest, but he just kissed the top of your head and held your cheek.

"You are doing more than you know," damn him for being so wise, you had thought.

・You hugged Baela and Rhaena, all three of you had become so close that it physically hurt to know you wouldn't see them everyday.

"We'll see each other again," Rhaena cooed, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"And when we do, you have to tell us all about marriage..." Baela said, a twinkle in her eye.

You bumped her shoulder, "Baela! Of course you know I will!" All three of you laughed and hugged once more.

・Your mother was the last to give you farewell.

・She leaned her forehead against your own, tears spilling down her cheeks. Rhaenyra was full of inner-conflict. A large part of her didn't want to send you away to get married. But that's what royals had to do - especially in times of war. She wanted you safe; but wasn't safe with her?

・No. Rhaenyra had decided that being at home, at Dragonstone wasn't safe for you.

・But she knew Vermithor would stay with you - you were his first rider since Jahaerys, and that bond would protect you like no other.

・However, Vermithor's brute personality made this change in scenary difficult.

・It wasn't the first time in his life that he'd been to Winterfell. But having to relocate there was a challenge.

・Until Cregan had shown you the new cave/dragon pit they had made for him. It was incredibly warm, and large enough for him to stalk off into.

・Saying thank you to Cregan didn't feel enough. So you kissed him on the cheek and ran after Vermithor to see it for yourself

・The first time Vermithor and Cregan met, it nearly had you in stitches.

・Cregan didn't think it was funny for a long time. But after a few weeks, whenever you told the story - he let a smile appear on his face

・You had settled into Winterfell easier than you thought you would. You asked Cregan why that was - how Winterfell was just as warm of a castle as any other.

"Centuries ago, Bran the Builder had built Winterfell around an ancient godswood and over natural hot springs. The water is piped through walls and chambers to heat them. This is why Winterfell is far superior than any castle," he winked as he said it and you snorted in response, for it would be an insult to any other royal.

・But Cregan did have a great point - the system that Bran used when making Winterfell made it far more comfortable than other castles during the harsh northern winters.

・Every room had a fireplace that was kept lit all day, everyday. It was absolutely brilliant!

・One of your favourite places to go is the Godswood; the Weirwood tree seemed to hum; or so you thought.

・If Cregan cannot find you, he knows that's the one place in the castle to look first.

・Your relationship with Cregan became infinitely easier when you let your walls down.

・Opening up bit by bit, made him realise just how much you worry.

・And in turn, he too would tell you things no other were to hear.

・It strengthened your marriage.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Strong Feelings (Thinking It's Hate - WRONG It's Love)

The Gomez & Morticia Adams (absolutely obsessed with his wife)

"Think they'll try us?" x "Fuck I hope so."

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Bickering and Banter

Mutual Growth and Empowerment

Soulmates/Bonded Pair

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Wolves by Bruno Coulais

The Lone Wolf by Sagason

For the Dancing and the Dreaming by Erutan

[royaltysuite]

Sweet Taste... (w/ Karl Heisenberg)

Summary: Right after the meeting with Mother Miranda and the rest of the lords, Heisenberg seems to need his favorite vice in the form of you shivering and whimpering beneath before he faces off with Ethan Winters. You seem to have the same thought to surprise him when he returns home... As the saying goes, great minds think alike.

Warnings: Dom!Heisenberg, Sub!Reader, unprotected p-i-v, Heisenberg fucks you in his work room, fingering, oral (m/f receiving), degradation

Author's Note: Here it is folks, my very first Kinktober 2024 post. The one will fall under the Domination/Submission category. This does not mean it can't be requested again. Each category is open to be requested with different characters. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it! Stay Classy~~~

Wanna Buy Me A Coffee?

When Karl was called away to an audience with Mother Miranda, I had already begun to suspect that he would return home highly upset. It was no secret that he hated being in her presence. After all, what she did to him was something he never wanted.

But, that didn't necessarily mean it didn't give him new gifts.

While Heisenberg was away, I began to prepare for his return. I made my way towards his main workshop which was connected to our bed chambers. The journey there was silent despite the sound of machinery clanging together.

It didn't take long for me to reach my destination and enter the room. Once inside, I quickly shut the door behind me and got to work clearing up some space. It didn't take long for me to get the area somewhat cleaned before I began to get myself ready.

Luckily, his workshop had a built-in shower room so I didn't have to walk too far to quickly shower and get dressed. Though, I did have to enter our shared room to grab my gift for Karl. It was a nice lingerie set that Alcina had gifted me despite Karl's protests.

Honestly those two argue like their true siblings. Besides the point...

I set the box aside on the bathroom counter before hopping underneath the stream of hot, steaming water. I stood under there for a good minute before actually scrubbing myself down with a jasmine infused oil, knowing it would be a welcome scent from the typical blood and grime he was used to.

I scrubbed for a good ten minutes before shutting off the water and drying off. Once dried, I then took the lingerie set and quickly got dressed. As I was in the middle ready, the phone in Karl's workshop began to rang. The loud ring startled me out of my skin and my hand went to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.

The phone then rang three more times after the first. A sequence that only him and I knew in case we needed to contact one another. Once the ring finished, I immediately answered and was greeted by the gruff tone of my husband.

"Doll, you there?" His question pierced in my ear. "Yes, my love. I'm here. How did your audience go with Miranda?" I responded to him. "Not something I want to discuss over the phone. I'll be home soon, so be a good girl and wait for me alright?" The message was clear as day to me.

I knew exactly what he meant and it set the start to the fire in my stomach. Each second was agonizing to me when all I wanted was to feel his rough touch upon my body. But, I knew that if I started without him, I would be in for punishment instead of the pleasure I craved.

Five minutes had passed by in a blink of an eye and the doorknob to the workshop began to wiggle. 'He's here...' I thought, scrambling to make myself look presentable for him. My eyes never left from the door as it creaked open.

They soon landed on my husband's figure as he crossed the threshold into the room. He then saw my form spread out across his desk and he sucked in a sharp breath. "What's all this?" He questioned, his deep brown eyes darkening with lust as they roamed my plush, lingerie-clad figure.

"Just wanted to be a little...stress relief for you. After all, I know how much you hate being near that woman. So, why don't you come here and take what's yours?" That seemed to change something in him because as soon as I finished speaking, his lips immediately met with mine.

The kiss was heated and sloppy. It was like he was trying to devour me whole at that moment. My hands began to aimlessly wander, trying to reach his waistband. Though that didn't sit well with him. "Don't start acting like a brat. You'll get what you want soon enough..." He growled, taking my bottom lip in between his teeth and causing it to draw blood.

I winced softly but let out a whine, wanting nothing more but for him to hurry up and ravage me. Karl then pulled away and flipped me over, my stomach coming in contact with the cold feeling on the desk beneath me. His hands then began to move around my body, lingering along my waistband.

"Wearing such clothing...you must've been wanting to be treated like nothing. Is that what you want, Princess?" "Please, treat me like nothing but a dirty slut..." I moaned, trying to rub my ass against him in an attempt for him to get the hint.

Luckily, he did because as soon as I did, he delivered a swift smack against my right cheek and followed up with another. The sudden strike left me shocked and I gasped out a moan. Heisenberg then took the chance to finally rip off my panties, effectively tearing them to shreds. Well, there goes that pair...

Once the fabric was out of the way, he pulled my legs apart and the sight of my quivering pussy made him grunt as he took in my scent. I could feel his shaking breaths inching closer and closer before his lips attached themselves to my cunt.

Just like when he kissed me, that same passion and desire to devour me came back tenfold. Each flick of his tongue hitting my clit sent tiny sparks to my core. I tried my best to hold back my moans but was met with another strike to my ass. A silent way of him telling me 'Let me hear you...'

Though, I was never the best at keeping quiet when it came to sleeping with my beast of a husband.

Karl kept a solid, steady pace of eating me out - soon bringing me closer and closer to the edge of my first of many orgasms. "Close...i'm so close~" I whined, trying to pull him closer so that I could cum.

But my efforts proved futile as he pulled away, causing me to whine loudly due to my orgasm being ripped away from me. Though that of course didn't bother my husband. He then flipped me onto my back before working to remove his belt and pants.

The sight of his hands running down his body and palming himself through his boxers was one that I loved. Not wanting to lose my orgasm, I tried to finger myself but my hand was caught in his tight grip.

"Didn't I say to be a good little slut?" "P-please, I need-" "Shh, I know what you need, but you'll be digging yourself deeper into a hole if you continue to act up. Now, you wanna be my perfect little slut or a brat that gets nothing?" He questioned, his tone deep and sultry.

As much as I wanted to act out, the need to be fucked-out was much stronger. "I'll be good, I promise~~ Please fuck me!" I cried out, my cries soon turning into moans at the feeling of his length pushing past my entrance.

He fed me inch by inch until the entirety of his cock was nestled deep inside of me. Even without him moving, I could still feel him reach spots that I could never reach with any toy that I had. Not even with my fingers.

Karl, after giving me a few seconds to adjust, began thrusting at a steady pace. The slow drag of his cock against my walls was a feeling that could instantly send me into a euphoric bliss. No longer able to hold back, my moans echoed loudly in the room and if someone were to walk past, they'd know exactly what was happening behind these closed doors.

Pleased by my unspoken choice, Karl smirked and started to increase the pace. He pushed my legs closer to my head and began pounding away without any abandon. It caught me by surprise, but that was washed away completely and was replaced by pure and immense pleasure.

The lewd sound of his hips making contact with my ass. The smell of sweat, sex and ashes. And when he reached in between our bodies to start playing with my clit. It was like my senses went into overdrive and I came right then and there alongside my husband. Though really, I squirted all over his lower body.

This caught Karl by surprise and he chuckled under his breath. "Oh my...baby, how come you never told me you could do that?" "I-i didn't know I could even do that...this is so embarrassing." I stuttered in response, trying yet failing to shield my heated face from his gaze.

He then pulled my hands away from my face and planted a cheek on my cheek before whispering in my ear. "I hope you're ready for more because for the rest of the night, I'm making you do that over and over."

And with those words, he hoisted my naked form into an upright position. The sudden movement caused my legs to lock behind his back and my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, afraid that I would lose my grip and fall.

My husband let out a boisterous laugh before he made his way to the connecting room. Oh how long this night will be...

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Author's Note: And there we have it guys, the first ever post for Kinktober 2024! It honestly took a lot longer than I wanted but that's only because I kept getting distracted by other Kinktober fics. On another note, as stated previously, if there's a topic you'd like to use in any requests/commissions, please let me know. The topics won't be removed so you can ask for any topic with a character you'd like to see written for it. Anyways, that's all and I hope you guys do enjoy reading this! Stay Classy~~

[azsazz]

A Snowy Starfall

Daddy!Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Batbabies waging their OWN snowball fight imitating their dad & uncles. Some take it too seriously, others don't take it seriously at all, it's pure chaos that ends in cocoa.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2,003

Notes: Happy Holidays my loves 💙

_________________________________________

“Come on, you three,” you tut towards your mate and his friends. They’re standing before the large glass windows overlooking your backyard. The sun casts deep oranges and reds across the snow-ridden land, your children shrieking as they play in the snow. A valiant snowball fight is running its course, and Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand stand, faces pressed to the windows as they watch, quietly cheering their children on. “They’re going to notice you staring.”

“Maybe they already have,” Feyre adds from her spot at your kitchen counter. She’s concentrating intently on decorating a cookie, adding swirls of black icing to the gingerbread woman’s hand, creeping up her extended arm. The cookie’s dress is provocative, bare dough legs showing between slats of laced icing. She hardly glances up as she continues, “They’re probably imitating them as we speak.”

Curious, you peek out the window, too. Indeed, Wren and Baz have built a fortress in the snow to protect themselves from the onslaught of snowballs being thrown their way. Gideon and Nyx have joined forces against the two brothers, the latter packing the fluffy snow into tight, white balls, while Gideon launches their ammo towards your sons.

Your eldest daughter, Zuzu, and Nyx’s younger sister, Asteria, had joined the competition early on. They’d been a formidable team too, but grew bored of their brothers and cousin who were taking the snowball fight a little too seriously. Now, they are in the snow with little Castor, who had cried until she’d been let outside by her protective father, bundled up in so many clothes her wings nearly disappeared into the fabric. The girls are making snow angels, though Castor’s looks very much like a circle on the lawn.

Dark streaks dart behind the wall your sons have built and you frown, watching as Baz’s shadows help roll clumps of snow closer, creating perfectly circular snowballs. From what you’d heard from your husband’s friends, using shadows was against any and all snowball fight rules.

You cut Azriel a glance but he’s conveniently occupied, watching the game outside.

“Well, at least they’re both on the same team,” you comment to your mate, who refuses to let his gaze stray from the little boys. Good, he can watch them while he does the dishes then, since there’s a window above the sink. You pat him on the ass, nodding towards the mess of dishes in the sink. He nods in response, loping quickly over to peer out the window again. “So they’ll either both lose or both win.”

“They’ll both win,” Az responds immediately, a quick but pointed look your way. “They do take after me.”

Cassian scoffs behind you and you turn to see a scowling Nesta shooting him a look as he tries to steal a cookie. Jax giggles in her lap at his uncle's antics, but when Cassian hands him part of the cookie and its head falls off, Jax’s smile wobbles. He’s not outside due to the nature of his powers. As an empath, sensing the competitive nature of his siblings and the sting of a snowball to the face, it had been in his best interest to be inside around the luscious scents of cookies and warmth, instead of out in the bitter snow.

Nesta coos, bouncing him, and Cassian is thankful for the distraction, slipping further down the counter to where the High Lord sits, trying—and failing—to gain his mate's attention. The commander slips an arm around Rhys’ shoulders and glares at the back of Azriel’s head, continuing his complaining. “The only reason you’ve won so many is because of those damn shadows, Az.”

Azriel throws over his shoulder, wincing as Baz takes a snowball to the face, his face going red with fury. “How was I supposed to know they were unaffected by the magic restrictions?” he claims, sending said shadows out into the yard once he sees Baz’s slipping through the snow, headed for the icicles hanging off the railings of the porch. His intercept his sons in a display of authority, spearing them into blackened mist. Baz glances up to the window, locking eyes with his father, who wears a look of warning on his face, brow raised. Azriel watches his son visibly huff and take his anger out on the snow, building a ball and launching it across the playing field in frustration.

His gaze cuts across the yard, narrowing his eyes. Gideon and Nyx are crouched low behind their own pile of snow, looking like they’re scheming. He wants to trail his shadows in their direction, listen in on their conversation, but he’s alerted to Malos’ whines from the other room. If one of his youngest is awake, they either both are, or will be soon.

“Malos is up,” Az tells you softly, shutting off the water to the sink. He wipes his hands on a towel and kisses you gently on the cheek. You’re mixing color into icing for the cookies, getting ready for when it’s too dark out for the children to play. They’ll get all cleaned up and have some hot chocolate to warm their bellies, and you, Feyre, and Nesta have baked cookies for all of the children to decorate. “I’ll get them.”

“I’ll join,” Cassian answers, stealing another cookie off of a platter. He dunks it into your icing to the neck, the cookie dripping with sugary goodness as he lifts it to his mouth, shoving it inside. He ducks under your glare. “Gotta go get my baby.”

Cassian and Nesta’s youngest daughter, Sif, had been put down for a nap with both Knox and Malos. She’s still a little too young to be outside without supervision, and the eldest children of the Inner Circle demanded time outside without their parents, probably because they knew their fathers would try and take over their snowball fight had they been outside. They didn’t want any tips or tricks, not even your children, even with Azriel’s hundred of wins beneath his belt.

Jax climbs from Nesta’s lap over Rhys who lets out a harsh exhale when his knee lands a little too close to his private area, and then over to Feyre, who finally sets her cookie down to scoop your middle son in her arms.

“Pretty,” Jax comments, pointing at her decorative cookie. It looks just like her, and there’s one next to it that looks a little like Rhysand. Purple dots for eyes stare up at him. “Uncle Rhysie?”

“Good job, Jax,” Feyre coos, pressing kisses to his cheeks. They pink with a blush and he settles into her arms, looking utterly at bliss. He revels in the warmth of her emotions, the pride surging through her. It feels like warm bubbles in his chest, and he noses at her collar.

“Look who’s ready to party,” Azriel announces, entering the room, arms full with your two youngest children, Malos and Knox. Knox still looks a little sleepy, head resting against Azriel’s shoulder, cuddling into his warmth. His tiny wings are droopy with sleep, and his twin sister, Malos, is already reaching for the cookies. 

Nesta is quick to scoop her away from Azriel. She claims not to have a favorite niece, but Malos and her have an understanding. You see more of Nesta in Malos’ personality than any of the children of the Inner Circle, and you’re extremely happy that they have such a close connection. 

“Hi baby,” you greet Knox, who is signing mommy to you. You ease him out of Azriel’s arms, who promptly returns to his position in front of the window, pressing exaggerated kisses to his chubby cheeks. It makes him smile wide, flaring those wings that he hasn’t quite figured out how to control. “Are you ready for some yummy cookies?”

His dark eyes light with excitement. Of course your children are ready for sweets, they always are. They picked that up from Azriel, who has the biggest sweet tooth you’ve ever seen.

Cassian reenters the room with his daughter in his arms and Rhys pouts. Almost everyone in the room is preoccupied with a child in their arms, except for him. Maybe he can convince Feyre to have one more. The youngest children in the family are two now and he misses having a tiny babe around.

By the heated look in her eyes, his mate seems to be considering the same, sneaking past those shadowy walls in his mind to catch a glimpse of his thoughts. The High Lord smirks. He sends her over some imagery to go with his thoughts, and her cheeks go red. That hot look turns into one of warning, and she’s speaking out loud now, “Why don’t you call the children inside so they can get warmed up and decorate some cookies?”

“Of course, darling,” Rhys sweeps from his seat in a wisp of darkness. 

Breaking a cookie in half, you give part of it to Knox, who signs thank you, munching on the sweet. The other half is passed to Malos as you head towards where your mate is finishing up the dishes, leaning against him for a moment, reveling in all of your family happily together.

“I love you,” Azriel murmurs into your hair, leaning over to sneak a bite of Knox’s cookie. Your son stares up at his father with wide eyes, and like this, he looks just like Az. It makes your heart warm, and Jax squeals in happiness in response, your happiness radiating to him. It makes your grin wider, peeking over your shoulder to see him so content in his aunt's arms. 

“I love you too, Az,” you whisper back to him, resting your forehead against his. 

It’s a nice moment, until the children from outside are wrangled through the door by Rhys. The boys are arguing about who has won their snowball fight, while the girls are peeling away their winter gear, excited to decorate cookies with icing and sprinkles and the edible petals Elain had given you before her trip to the Summer Court with Lucien. 

“Now, now, boys,” Rhys starts, but the diplomatic tone he’s using does nothing to deter the cousins from arguing. “I’m sure we can come to a consensus without yelling and acquiescing.”

“But Baz used his shadows,” Nyx complains, wringing his gloves between his hands in frustration. “We all saw it.”

“Nyxie, don’t be mean to Baz,” Wren counters, brows furrowed. He doesn’t like it when his family argues, especially over trivial things. His heart is so kind. “You can win the snowball fight if you want, but Baz and I are gonna win the cookie decorating contest, right Bazzy?”

“No,” Baz says flatly, dropping his gear onto the floor. You give him a look but he almost seems un-bothered by it, done with the debate his cousins are currently having. “We won the snowball fight and we’re going to win the cookie decorating contest.” 

You share a look with your mate, watching the scene unfold. Baz is quite the Stubborn Suriel, no matter what it comes to.

“Dad,” Nyx groans, “Can’t you do something?”

Cassian is the one who comes to the rescue, Castor reaching up at him for her sister. He helps the little one down and the older one with her undressing, peeling her thermals off layer by layer. “It’s not about who won, right boys? It’s about spending time and having fun with the ones you love.”

Feyre, Nesta, and yourself awe at his words, but Azriel and Rhysand are rolling their eyes and muttering under their breath at Cassian’s cheesy words. 

“What a kiss ass.”

“Smug fucker.”

“Azriel,” you hiss, turning your body away from him, like that will hide Knox from his vulgar words. “Language.” 

He winces, “Sorry love.” 

It’s your turn to roll your eyes now, bouncing Knox in your arms a little as you turn fully from your mate. You poke Knox’s belly playfully before addressing the rest of the room. “How about those cookies, then? They won’t decorate themselves!”

[freakbabyy]

soft universe - Eris Vanserra x Princess!Reader Chapter Three

< chapter two | chapter three | chapter four >

3.004k words

warnings: drama, smitten!eris again, mating bonds

thank you thank you thank YOU for all of the love this has received, the comments, reblogs, and likes <333 i love you guys as much as lucien loves his hair

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Story preview: Y/N Erling - youngest descendent to the King of Vallahan, not special, youngest of seven girls and four boys, and certainly not next in line to the throne. A kind soul, free-natured, always does what's asked. Content with spending the rest of her fae life taking care of her nieces and nephews while her elder siblings dealt with court dealings. That was until they drew up an agreement - her hand in exchange for their agreement to the treaty with Prythian. Enter Eris Vanserra - new high lord who did not want a wife, nor a mate. Can they work it out together - under pressure from a blood rite, a language barrier, a culture barrier, and Eris' unfortunate attempts at flirting.

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chapter three - the seed

Third POV 

Eris Vanserra the entire next day spent his free time with his dagger and a thick piece of wood. Even during meetings, he would take the two items out – nicking his fingers only a few times, yet continued with what he was doing. Anytime someone questioned what he was doing, he either ignored the question or changed the subject. However, after half a day it finally began to take shape and he couldn’t hide it from prying eyes all day – he had to finish after all. 

“Is that a flower?” His eldest and most trusted brother, Garreth, questioned. “Is it for your betrothed?” 

“Shut up.” Eris responded, working on a petal of it, using his flames to catch the end of it on fire before putting it out – giving it a tinted colour. “Yes.” 

“I never knew you were a romantic, dear brother.” His other brother, Marcus, spoke that time – nodding in approval. “If you use the dull side of the knife, you can add details to it.” 

“I didn’t ask for your advice, you two.” As he spoke, he took his brothers advice anyway, adding small details to the stem. 

“No, because knowing how stubborn you are you’d refuse to ask, even if you needed it desperately.”  

“Sometimes I really hate you two.” 

“Love you too, brother.” Marcus stood, leaving the room to attend to duties he had most likely, leaving the other two siblings. 

“When do you see her again?” Garreth wondered, admiring his brother's newfound hobby. 

“Tomorrow, after the meeting. I’m taking her for a walk through the forest, here.”  

“Seeing her again so soon? Smitten are we, brother?” Eris didn’t respond right away, and his brothers teasing smile widened. “It’s about time, you deserve to be happy.” 

“Agree to disagree.” Was his only response, as he stood up, “We have a meeting with some new advisors in a bit. We’d better get going.” 

He left before his brother could say anything more. He let out a sigh, 

“Stubborn lovestruck fool.” 

----- 

“He what?!” Nesta dropped the book she was holding onto, letting it fall to her lap – page forgotten. 

“Did you not hear me?” Y/N cocked her head to the side, getting used to Prythian sayings still. 

“No, no I heard you; it just startled me – I didn’t expect it.” Nesta picked her book back up, cursing as she looked for her page, sticking her bookmark in randomly. “When did you-?” 

“I was looking out Nyx’s window, overlooking the river, and a figure caught my attention – he appeared out of nowhere before standing in front of the door. He stood for a while I feared he was a criminal.” Y/N laughed a bit, “But then I thought, what criminal shows up in the light? Until Cassian took him inside. Then it clicked when I saw his face turn.” 

“Do you think it clicked for him too?”  

“I don’t know. He was quiet.”  

“That’s out of character for him, actually.” Nesta sipped her tea, settling her book down just as Morrigan strolled in. 

“What’re we talking about?” She plopped onto the couch beside Y/N, tucking her feet underneath her. “Boys?” 

“Ah, yes!”  

“Eris is Y/N’s mate.” Nesta spoke the same time as Y/N, blunt in stating the facts. 

“WHAT?” Morrigan sat up straight, her feet falling to the floor, “Since when?!” 

“Two days ago.” Y/N answered this time, fidgeting with the edge of her shirt – it was a pale green, a sharp contrast to her dark pants curtesy of Morrigan. She had been supplying Y/N with clothing more common in Prythian, rather than just dresses in Vallahan. “I just spoke it, I’m nervous today.” 

“To spend time with him today?”  

“Yes. I gift him two carvings last time.” 

“I’m sure he likes them, is that what you’re worried about?” 

“I don’t know, a feeling.” The girls’ conversation was cut short, a knock happening at the door. “Ah, him?”  

Nesta opened the door, settling aside as it was indeed the Autumn high lord. He was dressed casually, a stark difference to his usual attire. A white buttoned shirt with green trousers.  

“Good morning,” Eris greeted the room, which was coincidentally full of women he feared. He spoke next just to Y/N. “Are you ready, then?” 

“Yes,” She nodded, walking towards him, following him outside the door to go past the townhouse’s wards. 

“Ah, don’t be out too late, children!” A voice shouted from the second-floor window, 

“Fuck off, Cassian!” Was Eris’ reply before he turned his back to the window, holding out a hand. “Have you winnowed before?” 

“Yes, from Vallahan with Morrigan. It is a funny feeling.” Y/N confirmed, taking his large warm hand in her own, ignoring the feeling of electricity going up her arm raising the hair in its wake. 

“Oh before we go,” Eris let go to dig in his pocket, producing a beautifully carved wooden lily, “I wanted to follow your custom, to the best of my ability – I’m afraid I don’t know how to carve stone.” 

“How did you colour it?” Y/N wondered aloud, inspecting its darkened petals, and even darker stem. It wasn’t paint, or charcoal. 

“I carefully burned it,” He demonstrated by holding up his hand, which produced light blue flames, which faded into orange ones, before flickering out. “The hotter the flame the darker the colour, it just takes control to be able to not disintegrate the entire thing... Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” Her smile was so wide it looked as if her cheeks hurt, she carefully put it into her pocket on her breast, patting it for safe keeping. “I can’t wait to display on my bed table. Thank you.”  

“You’re very welcome,” He stuck his hand out again, as she grasped it – finally winnowing to the middle of the forest, a path he often took his hounds on. “Morrigan said you enjoyed flowers, there are a bunch a bit up the trail.” 

Eris took in Y/N, who was taking in the scenery around her. She just now looked up, from bending over at the knees after winnowing. Her face lit up; she twirled slowly looking at everything around her. The different types of trees and leaves, at their many colours, even to the different insects buzzing around. 

“What are that?” Y/N wondered aloud, bending down to look at a tiny thing at the base of a tree, nearly covered by the foliage. She carefully poked at it – recoiling at the texture. Eris held in a small laugh, 

“That’s a mushroom,” He pulled one out of the ground, and showed her the underneath – which had her touching it, feeling the odd textures. “Do they not have mushrooms where you hail?” 

“On plates for eating, not like this.” She turned her head, instead inspecting something on a fallen tree trunk, “What this?” 

“That would be an ant,” He watched her in wonder, what else did she not know of? “Do they have any forests where you’re from?” 

“No,” She started walking, he sped to catch up to her, “We only have mountains, so high up that not many things grow. I saw grass for the first time when I came here. It feels nice.” 

Eris wasn’t sure what to say to that, in truth he felt a little pity – she never climbed trees as a child? She never ran barefoot through a meadow, chased by her siblings as they played a game? Too lost in thought he hadn’t realized she disappeared. 

“Y/N?” He spoke, a bit alarmed at where she could have gone and thought the worst. His resolve relaxed when he heard a giggle from above and looked up – she was in the tree. Hanging upside down, her hair hanging below her. “What by the mother are you doing?” 

“Hanging around,” She smiled, as he came closer, “It like climbing rocks at home.” 

“Be careful, I don’t need you dying on our first date, please.” Eris joked, as she dismounted with ease, landing on her feet – when did she take her shoes off? 

“I won’t,” Y/N confirmed, running off to look at something else new, and the more Eris thought she reminded him of his hounds, always so curious to look at something new. “Eris?” 

He could get used to hearing his name on her lips. 

“Yes?” As he approached, she turned around, and he was appalled. “Where in Prythian did you get that? How did you even pick it up?” 

“It was in bushes, friendly like a cat.” In her hands, was an entire fox. It was currently sniffing her hair yet not being hostile. 

“Are you a fox-whisperer?” Eris questioned, cautiously walking forward to take a look at it. It didn’t seem injured, rather relaxed if anything. He reached out to lightly pet it, and it didn’t bite him. 

“Animals like me,” Y/N smiled, giving it a hug before releasing it back into its bush, waving goodbye. 

“Whatever you say, mother-fox.” He held up his hands, watching once more as Y/N returned to the trail before wandering off to the side to look at something, a comfortable silence taking over before the light ahead got closer – the meadow. 

“Ah,” Y/N ran forward, hitting the meadow at full speed – her calves being tickled by the wildflowers and tall grass, “It feels funny!” 

Eris sat on a raised rock, where he often sat when he needed alone time, enjoying watching Y/N run circles around him, almost dancing in the meadow. When she spotted a new flower she stopped abruptly, bending to look at it, sniffing it, and moving on. It must have been about ten minutes before she finally collapsed beside him, lying flat on her back out of breath. 

“Have fun?” 

“Yes. Though, it remind me of a word I do not know in your tongue.” She sat up, leaning on her elbows. 

“Try to describe it, maybe I know it?”  

“I can’t, it’s too...” She seemed to have gotten an idea, she pointed to the bottom of her foot, “Here.” 

Eris stayed silent, unknowing what she could mean, until she grasped his foot that was on the rock, crossed on his knee. She began untying his boot, pulling it off with force that almost knocked her over, and then pulled his sock off, 

“What by the mother are you doing?” 

“Trust!” Was all she said, before pushing his foot off, and as it touched the grass and wildflowers though, he pulled it back up, holding in a laugh – his knee jerk reaction being what she pointed at, “That!” 

“My reaction?” She nodded, “It tickled, are you ticklish?” 

“Ah! Tick-Lish!” Y/N confirmed, “The meadow is tick-lish.” 

“There’s a new word for you, today.” Eris smirked as he pulled his sock and shoe back on, not choosing to go barefoot like she had. 

“Well technically my word of day was ‘radish’, but I like tick-lish better.” Eris’ nose scrunched, 

“Why radish?” 

“I bit into it thinking it was baby apple, not apple. I did not like.” 

“I don’t blame you, I don’t either.” 

“Tell me more, about you.” Y/N spoke, sitting cross legged across from him, he copied how she was sitting to look at her fully. “What colour do you like?” 

“My favourite colour?” He confirmed, she nodded, “I like green. A deep green – almost like moss. What about you? What’s yours?” 

“I like... (You can insert your own favourite colour, and what it reminds you of : ) mines light green, like a diluted sage green.)” She thought for a moment, “Do you have siblings?” 

“I do; I had six brothers.” 

“No sisters? Your poor mother!” Eris laughed at that, his mother had said the exact thing to herself at one point, “I have you beat, though.” 

“By the cauldron, how many siblings do you have?” 

“Ten,” His eyes widened, 

“Your poor mother,” Y/N laughed at that, “Are there any twins or triplets?” 

“Ah, three sets of twins. Do you?” 

“None, just single babies. I know you’re the youngest, too. I’m the oldest.” 

“We are the opposites!” 

“We are, though I hear we did the same thing, take care of babies.” Y/N smiled at this, 

“Ah, I love babies, they are so cute! Like... Well, I can’t think of anything really cute right now, but it would be really cute!” 

“They are, aren’t they?” Eris smiled, thinking of baby Lucien, the last baby he had taken care of. “Want to hear a secret?” 

Y/N nodded frantically, scooching closer as if they weren’t alone in the clearing, 

“The last baby I took care of, my youngest brother Lucien,” 

“Ah! Eyeball!” 

“Yes, him, you know how the autumn court is known for its fire powers, yes?” 

“Yes, orange leaves like fire, is how I remember.” 

“Indeed. Lucien, when he first laughed – let out a glow of light, so bright as if he swallowed faelight. I couldn’t explain it, neither could the one maid I had asked, worried I had messed him up,” 

“What was it?” 

“Well, come to find out, dearest Lucien and I have different fathers. My mother, had met her mate, and had conceived Lucien as a result.” 

“Who is her mate?” 

“Oh, no one, just... The High Lord of Day.” The way Y/N’s eyes widened looked painful, as she clasped her mouth with her hands, “That reaction was how I felt when I found out, trust me. My poor mother had to explain it to a fifteen-year-old me, mortified.” 

“The lady of autumn... Married to high lord of autumn, but mated to the high lord of day! What happened? Where is she now?” 

“Oh, she lives in day with him now, she is now high lady of day. She never really loved my father; their arrangement was purely political. She wasn’t too torn up when he died. Delighted, actually.” 

“I would be sad,” Eris looked up, meeting Y/N’s eyes, wide. “If you died, I mean.” 

“Oh, I hadn’t meant to bring up... You know. Our political arrangement, not in that light anyway, I really don’t want it in that light anyway – I don’t want to be my father, nor you my mother-” His rambling got cut short, a delicate hand grasping his own, 

“I know, Eris.” Y/N smiled encouragingly, “I met your father, once. I was young, apparently, I didn’t like him.”  

“When was this?” Eris questioned, completely unaware that this had taken place, 

“I was a babe, he made the trip to secure us with Hybern, my older sister, Vidia, told me that at one point he came to say hello to me and my siblings, to show his good-ness to my parents.” She laughed hard at remembering, “Apparently, when he held me, I had not only spit up all over him but also blew-out my diaper. It had gone everywhere, and the more he moved, the more it got worse-” 

She couldn’t talk anymore, full on cackling at this point – and Eris had joined her, delighted at the idea of his father covered in not only vomit, but also shit. Literally. When their laughter died down, Eris grasped her hand back, a genuine smile on his face. 

“Oh, I think the mother had known what she had done, putting us together.” Y/N looked up from their hands, quickly to his face, 

“Put us together?” He paled, 

“Oh, I didn’t- shit.” He pulled his hand away, “Cauldron, I had a whole speech planned to tell you, and a picnic, and I wanted to wait awhile until I sprung that on you, but I was too caught up in the moment-” 

He was interrupted by Y/N launching herself into him, nearly knocking him off of the rock, securing her hands around his shoulders,  

“I knew you felt it too! Though I do like picnics, if that is an option, still.” 

“I- you knew too? When?” Eris was at a loss for words, 

“I saw you outside Nyx’s window, you were stood at the door – for a while.” 

“You saw that!? That’s humiliating! I was so scared to meet you!” Eris groaned, rubbing his hand down his face, as Y/N laughed a bit.  

“When did you know?” 

“When I saw you singing to Nyx, it was lovely. I was completely entranced by your singing. You’re so caring to Nyx, too.” 

“Oh, that is better than standing at a doorway for ten minutes.” Eris groaned again, “Kidding!” 

“You aren’t upset? About the bond?” 

“Ah, no. I grew up hearing stories of it, how wonderful it is. Even now, with everyone at home with a mate. It is beautiful. What about you? You are high lord; you have a lot to do right now...” 

“I am, and I’m ecstatic. Ah, that means very happy. I do have a lot right now, and it might take a while for me to fully be able to devote my time to you, but in the meantime... I’m more than happy to spend my free time with you, my free days wherever you want, here or there.” 

“We can go slow; we have all the time.” Y/N concluded, as Eris agreed, pressing a light kiss to the back of her hand, 

“Though, we shouldn’t announce it yet, to anyone other than who needs to know. I have a lot of enemies at the moment, especially in autumn. I do not wish for them to harm you.” 

“I might have told Nesta. And Morrigan.” 

“That’s fine, I trust them. They’re good at holding secrets. Plus, I told my brothers last night, they practically pestered me until I told them what I was hiding.” 

“Okay, then only Nesta, Morrigan and your brothers?” 

“Works for me,” Eris nodded, standing, “It’s been three hours, I should probably get you home, before they come to strangle me. Nesta scares me.” 

“Ah, good idea. I promised to put Nyx down for his afternoon nap.” 

“I’ll see you next week? For our next afternoon together? Same time?” 

“Yes,” Y/N smiled, and Eris smiled back. 

Both of them excited for what the future holds, for the first time in forever. 

-----

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[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 6: Unveiled Shadows - The Burden of Power and Promise

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: reader's death, language

Genre: Isekai, Romance, Fantasy

Synopsis: Your life takes a tragic turn as you perish in a car crash, only to awaken in a whimsical world of fantasy with none other than Jujustu Kaisen characters as its main protagonists. But as if that wasn't enough, you're about to marry the prince version of Gojo Satoru. How will you navigate through this world of history and fantasy? Does your life take the same sudden twist of fate as that of your favorite characters?

<- Previous Chapter l Next Chapter ->

You can’t calm down. Not with all those voices around you, the curious looks that haunt you down the ballroom while you make your way to your shitty brother. Is this here for real?

You just met Toji.

He straight up threatened your new-found life.

None other than the prince version of Gojo Satoru is about to propose to you any given moment.

Your old life, your parents, your siblings – all vanished into thin air. All that’s left is you. You in that way too tight dress, you with your mind racing so rapidly that you feel like fainting any given moment. How are you supposed to survive all of this?

“Where the hell have you been?”, Naoya hisses through gritted teeth.

To the untrained eye, he must look like the perfect brother who is oh so worried about his little sister, gently holding her arm in order to steady her.

Truth is, his stinging touch will definitely leave another mark on your sensitive skin, covered by your gloves.

That fucker.

“I was with the Prince. We had to discuss when it’s time for the official engagement. I thought this is just what you wanted, brother”, you bite back.

“Watch how you speak to me, (y/n). Without me you have no value as a woman-“

“You may have forgotten, brother. But after this night, I will be the future queen of this land and therefore so much more powerful that you’ll ever be”, you spit into his face.

Fuck, you’re having enough of this. Enough of getting talked down constantly, enough of being a part of this shitty family. This is your second and maybe final chance for life. There’s no way in hell you’ll let that slide. Even though your life is nothing but a mess since you woke up in that body, you will not give in.

With a swift motion, you straighten your back and pull yourself out of Naoya’s grasp. You need to focus on your mission, focus on what’s in front of you.

The engagement. Gojo Satoru proposing to you. You’ll be safe after this, right? This engagement is your ticket to freedom.

Three shrill blows against a glass, Gojo who’s standing at the top of the sky-high stairs while smiling down at the mesmerised people to his feet.

“Lords and ladies, honored guests,” he shouts through the halls, his voice carrying both command and charm, “pray lend me your attention, for I stand before you tonight to declare a matter most dear to my heart. Though many have gathered for the pleasures of music and dance, I confess it is neither melody nor movement that have bound me to this evening. Rather, it is a heart that beats beyond mine, one which I have sought to entwine with my own.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd, as he pauses, his gaze fixed on you with such devotion that you feel a flutter in your chest. You feel like throwing up all over again, your body twisting and turning underneath his merciless blue eyes and oh so smitten words that sound like straight out of Bridgeton. He continues, his voice so soft and touched that they leave no room for thinking about him as a something apart from a man who is deeply in love.

“There is a lady among us,” he continues, casting a brilliant smile in your direction, “whose wit, whose grace, whose very essence has enchanted me as surely as the sun commands the morning sky. It is she who has restored to my life a joy once dimmed, and it is for her that I would brave any storm, weather any tempest.”

He extends his hand to you, palm open, an invitation as much as a vow.

Time stands still when all eyes are suddenly set on you. Never in your life you were willed to stand in the spotlight, always well-hidden in the shadows and comfort of loneliness. But this? This is another level of spotlight, way worse than every presentation you’ve ever had at school. Curious, jealous, even annoyed looks shoot towards you like daggers and pierce right through your confidence. You, the fiancé of Gojo Satoru? It has to look like a joke.

“To the lady of my heart, I give my future, with all the honor and constancy of my rank and soul. With this assembly as our witness, let it be known that I, your prince, am fully, irreversibly hers.”

As he bows his head to you, the crowd breaks into applause, a shimmering wave of approval, and yet, in his eyes, it is only you who seems matter. Smiling, you take his hand, feeling the thrill of his touch, the promise in his gaze, and the whispered promise of your deal as a bond.

If he wouldn’t hold onto you so tightly, you might stumble and fall. All of this feels surreal, like a cruel joke, like a dream you’ll wake up from any given minute.

“There is no need to be so tense, Lady (y/n). I’m right by your side”, he mutters for only you to hear.

“I…I just don’t want to do this. I just don’t know if I can do this.”

Finally those words leave your mouth. Finally you’re able to express your hidden feelings. What if you fail? What if you get killed despite all those efforts? What if you’ll never be free? Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest all over again, your vision becoming blurry.

“Hey.”

Gently, he lifts up your chin with his warm fingers, his eyes being the only thing you’re able to see.

“Didn’t I promise that everything will turn out alright? What happened to your cheeky mouth and bad temper?”, he teases you.

You try to chuckle, but it gets caught somewhere in your throat, suffocating and dry. His touch is gentle, too gentle for a man with eyes like storms and hands that can kill. You hate how safe it makes you feel, how much relief you’ve felt when he rescued you from Toji earlier.

“I’m serious,” you whisper.

“I know.”

He leans a little closer, his breath brushing your cheek oh so gently.

“That’s why I’m here. Because for once in this messed up kingdom, someone actually sees what you’re hiding. You aren’t just the youngest sibling within the Zenin household, aren’t you?”

You blink up at him, heart skipping and leaving your boy at the same time. No, he can’t know that you don’t belong in this world. You simply refuse to believe that he caught the stinging fact that you just barged into this strange life. They never caught this in the isekai stories you’ve read, they always realize stuff like this way too late.  

“And what’s that, Your Highness?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand slides down from your chin, grazing your shoulder before settling lightly at your waist. Possessive. Reassuring. Dangerous.

“A woman who refuses to break. Even when she thinks she already has.”

You have no clue how to respond to that. The words settle into your chest like a glowing coal, warm and unbearable. The music swells around you, the room spinning in applause and champagne and golden gowns. Yet somehow, in this moment, it’s just the two of you. Just the two of you and that unsettling feeling in your guts.

Your fingers twitch in his grasp. A shiver runs through your spine, not from nerves this time, but something else. A buzz beneath your skin. Like static. Like magic. Like… power.

You glance down at your hand.

It’s glowing. Faintly, almost imperceptibly. Like the shimmer of starlight caught on skin. A little like Edward from Twilight.

You yank your hand away from Gojo’s instinctively, holding it close, hoping no one saw. But Gojo did. His eyes narrow for a split second. A moment of calculating silence passes between you.

No, no, no.

Your fingertips didn’t glow. Out of all the people in this ballroom, you’re probably the last who has any powers, who possesses cursed energy. No, you don’t even belong here, you are just an average kid in a pompous dress. Gojo probably didn’t even notice, maybe it was even his powers that showed-

“I felt that,” he comments, low enough that only you can hear.

“Back then too. At the room earlier. You’re not just some girl from a noble house, are you?”

Panic surges through your body, thick chaos starts to spread like a virus. You feel like throwing up any given minute. No, this can’t be true. This can’t be happening. Not now, not when you are this close to freedom. Not when you threatened Gojo Satoru himself with revealing his powers if he doesn’t cooperate.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gojo doesn’t press. Not yet. Instead, he smiles again - easy, princely, fake. But his hand finds yours again and laces your fingers with his.

“Careful, Lady (y/n),” he murmurs as he turns back to the crowd, raising your joined hands in victory.

“You keep shining like that and someone else might notice too. Someone a lot less charming than me. Someone you didn’t threaten well enough to keep your little secrets.”

The cheers swell louder. You barely register the nobles clapping, the nobles whispering, the nobles dancing. You spot Suguru in the distance, his smile polite, eyes unreadable. Naoya stands frozen in place, lips thin with rage.

And at the far edge of the ballroom, right where the golden light fades into shadow, a tall man watches you like a beast waiting to strike.

Toji.

You shudder again.

How are you supposed to make this?

Your chest tightens as your breath comes quicker, harsher, like the walls are closing in around you. You try to pull your hand from Gojo’s grasp, but your fingers tremble too violently.

A sudden wave of dizziness sweeps over you like a wave, your vision blurs, and the voices around you distort into an unbearable disharmony. The chandelier lights seem to swirl, twisting into smears of gold and white.

They won’t stop until you’re gone, until you’re dead. Even though you didn’t even get the chance to really live in the world, even though you did absolutely nothing in life to deserve death. You see their cold eyes, their violent grins and Toji’s satisfied face from afar. And Gojo? Who know if he’ll turn his back on you after tonight as well.

Your heart is pounding so loud, it feels like it might burst through your ribs.

In this world, you have no one to trust, no one to lean into. It’s only you and those powers, you and your will to live.

You clutch your chest, trying to steady yourself, but the panic swells mercilessly, like a storm breaking loose inside your lungs.

Your knees buckle.

Gojo’s grip tightens instantly, steadying you before you hit the floor, his voice cutting sharply through the chaos.

“(Y/n), stay with me. Breathe. Breathe with me.”

You simply can’t. You’re drowning in your own panic, drowning in everything you’ve tried to keep under control - the terrifying discovery of your power, the looming threat of Toji, the overwhelming reality of this engagement.

Tears blur your vision as you desperately try to calm the rising chaos, but your body betrays you.

You slide down until you’re sitting on the polished marble floor, shaking uncontrollably.

The room’s spinning, the walls closing in. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps. Truth is, you really don’t know if you can do this, if you’ll be able to keep up.

Gojo lowers himself to your level, his expression intense but gentle.

“You’re not alone. I’m right here.”

Oh, how much you want to believe him, how easy it would be to simply lean onto him and forget about the dangers of this world, but the fear growls louder inside you than his sweet words ever could.

Your hands glow faintly again, barely controlled, flickering like a candle in the wind. No, no, no. You need to gain control again, need to make this stop, need to-

Suddenly, your vision blacks out.

You collapse fully, unconscious.

Gojo catches you effortlessly, pulling you close, his sharp gaze sweeping the room - alert, protective, furious.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

Tags: @m0k0k0 @lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @risuola @fire-loving-siren

@sunshine7queen @gatitam @kentocalls @hellkaiserinphoenix @skylarlyn823

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@arehzhera @ttysmfwna @miizuzu @erensfavve @rubyninja1

@luvsymai

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii there!

I wanted to request an oscar tully x targaryen reader maybe rhaenyras daughter please.. tbh i dont even know what it should be about i just wanted it to ba a oscar and targ reader .. thanks ☺️☺️

The river and the flame

Oscar Tully x princess!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, kissing, holding hands, no use of Y/n

Summary : A sacrifice, the only daughter of the Queen of the Black had to be married and the best match was the new young Lord of the House of Tully who promised to give his strength to the Queen. An engagement and marriage consummated, the fire finds itself in waters where both young nobles must hold each other to make it together and not burn and drown each other.

info : thank you dear anon for this request it was a lot of fun to write it have fun reading and have a nice day everyone

masterlist

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

With fire and strength she could have been born, but when the gods were merciful and gave her first husband something in a night of listlessness through wine and potions, the Queen of the Black conceived her fourth child from a marriage that could never have been consummated.

The queen's first and own princess was born, the little child with the image of her parents bright hair thicker than her mother's silken hair and violet eyes like gems that captured everyone. Behind her were the symbols of the dragon and so she was the only one of her siblings to keep her mother's family name, a decision that complicated things and put her three brothers in an even worse light.

But sacrifices had to be made for the princess, sacrifices in the form of "assassinations", new marriages and the retreat to Dragonstone where the faction of the blacks gathered and rebuilt over the course of weeks and months.

The legacy of the Black Dragon Queen was laid on her true daughter and two small toddlers, even though Jacaerys Velaryon was her eldest son and a young man willing to prove himself to inherit his mother's legacy, he knew he had strength in his blood, a blood that his two brothers had but not his half-siblings.

So the Targaryen family, the black party faced with serious problems Daemond in Harenhall had been trying to gather support for some time, Aegon and Viserys sent away with Rhaena but what now?

An alliance had to be forged because even if honor still prevailed houses no longer chose Viserys' side, it was about the future of families, of royalty and children, it was a decision that could mean death or life, ,,Without news from Daemon we cannot rely on the support of the Riverlands…if you allow the proposal of marriage to be made" the Master began again, who returned without his raven's message.

But she didn't even have to look up from the map to hear her mother's reply, ,,Out of the question" before Rhaenyra tried to find answers in the documents and maps, she had no one to marry but her daughter, but what mother wanted to lose her child in an area she could never get to herself.

It could mean her death but when violet eyes met there was something like hope in the princess's eyes, ,,If my queen allows me to marry the new Lord Tully I would be protected by the Prince Regent and the lords of the surrounding houses who have sworn allegiance to Oscar Tully" she gave her explanation and clasped the small metal statue of the fish they had all heard the aftermath of the death and resurrection of the head of the house and it was the only solution.

It ended in a few arguments, tears and loving gestures but now just a few days later here she was under the banner of the fish with her husband Osacr Tully, despite the fact that they were both young so appreciative of each other he had welcomed her without vourtiele was sincere and loving…and perhaps her heart had beaten faster than she thought when he had placed a kiss on her palm.

He held her hand as he showed her Riverrun, introduced her to the household, the hall and the vassals who had also proclaimed themselves for his wife, he treated her as in the songs and stories of yesteryear about noble knights, ,,My reign would not be possible without you, you are the first flame in the river and my heart rejoices more and more every day in your company my beloved," he said to her as he helped her onto one of the boats and they sailed across the river together.

She smiled back at him and gratefully held his hand, holding this little,,,nushell" quite insecurely in contrast to her grandfather's boats, but with every little jerk he held her tightly to him, his dark eyes like the river assuring her of her safety.

,,You are safe I promise" he murmured to her as he held her and she dipped her hand in the river, the wetness and coolness was pleasant instead of the everlasting heat and warmth, ,,I will follow you my lord husband" she replied after the words her mother and grandmother had taught her.

Before she felt his hand gently on her cheek it was just the two of them and the still river as they came closer and kissed again, ,,Oscar please my love" she whispered and she leaned her forehead against his for a moment as the two barely grown nobles lay in each other's arms enjoying the river ride while a joyful scream could be heard above them from time to time between the clouds and she followed Oscar's interested gaze closely.

The water, the fish, the river was her new home, which she quickly took to her heart. Her clothes, although now more of a bluish red and bronze, she kept the symbols of the dragon with her hair, brooches and Seasmoke herself.

Until she met her great-uncle again who had watched this marriage with a disdainful look and even if he didn't admit it, it offended him that his great-niece had managed the union in what he couldn't do in weeks, ,,Impressive isn't it what a princess can do with such looks and devotion, isn't it Lady Tully?" he had asked her at dinner as he sat next to her and looked into tired, almost haggard eyes that resembled her own in color.

She knew Oscar must have heard, she knew her great-uncle and her husband hated each other, didn't like the prospect of sharing power, ,,Her sacrifice to her family and the Queen towards my Targaryen wife is truly impressive she is not only in my house she is the Guardian of the Riverlands Prince Regent" Oscar said with pride in his voice as he raised his goblet and took her hand saying a good luck to Rhaenyra and his wife and she welcomed the restraint of her great uncle who would have otherwise only made things worse.

But all could not always go well only one moon later at the weirwood tree in the garden of the ruined castle Harenhall the houses of the Riverlands found themselves together with Oscar as their new lord and Daemon, a confrontation the princess attended with Seasmoke watching over the whole thing with an interested eye.

A confrontation that ended in blood as Daemond cut off Ser Willem's head ordered by Oscar whose eyes reflected fear for a moment as he looked into hers she clasped his hand the highborn couple watched this execution for all to see she felt the brief squeeze of her hand as Oscar truly saw this bloodshed for the first time.

,,You did the right thing Oscar they will follow you now and so will my great uncle…I won't let any words come back to haunt you I will stand for it" she told him as soon as everyone else had left the ruined garden and the young lord sat down by the tree still somewhat affected by the murder she felt herself almost reflexively wiping the blood away with a handkerchief before helping Oscar wipe his away.

She returned his silent thanks with a gentle kiss and the two sat there in silence until an idea came to her and she called her dragon who was struggling for space in the garden, ,,You have shown me the beauty of the water of your river let me show you the beauty of the sky" she said and climbed onto Seasmoke's back who seemed happy to be flying again.

She saw how it confused him for a moment, the boy rose and placed his hand carefully on the bright waremn scales and Seasmoke nudged him, mocking Ocsar who had been feeding the dragon fish with the help of his wife.

,,Can we fly through clouds? " Oscar asked as she saw courage and joy return to his gaze and he placed himself behind her, his grip on her stomach tightened and she heard his cry as Seasmoke took off with a scream and seemed to disappear into the smoke of his fire in the air.

She put one hand on Oscar's while with the other she gently guided Seasmoke, knowing that Oscar didn't understand her she would one day teach him, ,,I'll fly through anything you want look at this peace and quiet" she said louder over the sound of the loud flapping of wings and Seasmoke's hissing she heard Oscar slowly relax and hug her, laughing happily as he too saw this special something she could see every day.

Up here there didn't seem to be any problems it was quiet not too hot or too cold and peaceful, ,,It's incredibly beautiful" he mumbled continuing to hold on to her fetus as she headed for the clouds and he hesitantly held out a hand and gasped as his fingers got wet and showed her like a little child enjoying a wooden swing but she did the same and they joined hands and flew through the clouds for hours.

She heard his thanks and praise every now and then, a kiss on her cheek and both their hearts beat together in peace as they found beauty in each other's homes, together in love that would go beyond war.

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

[ilidaeandquill]

All Is Fair in Death and War - Character Analysis/Notes

Narinder - Anger

For the sake of my sanity, we’re going to pretend this gif primarily focuses on Narinder.

Quick fun fact: On my Goat/Extra Hard save file, Narinder got the Jerk trait (which I refuse to correct for obvious reason). I'm going to make any and all interactions with him as a jerk canon in AIFiDaW.

So anyway here's him bullying Goatfrey for their crush on Shamura before he steals their money (I know my cult is ugly I'm redecorating it).

(Keep reading for character breakdown) First Chapter: All Is Fair in Death and War - Chapter 1 - IlidaeAndQuill - Cult of the Lamb (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own] (THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 1,000 HITS FLMGKDSNG - If you read it, I hope you enjoy!!)

Primary Motivation: Narinder has two opposing character motivations: to reclaim a semblance of divinity without the Red Crown, and to assure the safety of his traveling disciples Baal and Aym. These two motivations directly contrast each other, and with the additional plotline created from rescuing the Bishops, he struggles to decide which one to prioritize. Lots of internal conflict with this one.

Character Traits: Prudish af. Concise with his 'work' (killing, he's literally just killing people) but sees no reason to assist others without probable payment. The sting of his betrayal, both from the Lamb and his siblings, runs too deep.

Theme Songs (Lyrical): "Death" - Matthew K Heafy, Sean Long & Mike Malyan, "you should see me in a crown" - Billie Eilish, "Gladiator" - Jann Theme Songs (Instrumental): "Sins of Hyrule" - ROZEN, "Aurora in Faerieland" - James Newton Howard Additional Narilamb song from his p.o.v. because the devs did it and I want to too: "LET THE WORLD BURN" - Chris Grey

Voice Claim: Cobra Bubbles - Lilo and Stitch Dialogue Pattern: He speaks formally when he's focused but gets sloppy with his dialogue as he loses himself to anger/irritation.

Outfit Inspiration: Regal and stealthy - a true assassin's garb. Most of his clothes are stolen, as he refuses to wear the cultist uniform given by Castor. He does prefer heavy robes but sticks to lighter garments for crusades/daily activity.

Narinder is a strong supporting character (and if we want to get technical, he's Castor's love interest, but I hate assigning that title to characters - I don't want a character's romantic plotline to determine their importance in a story) and the primary representation of the Anger stage of grief. This is seen through his personality traits/reactions to story events, but also through his pyromancy. His fire, representing his anger, literally burns him alive every time he uses it. He must learn/develop a way to safely use it, or risk losing himself to his rage.

Additionally: his anger is represented through the fact that he is angry at the world/fate. With my own grief, I often get angry, thinking it "wasn't fair" that my dog, of all creatures, got heart disease and died young. I portray this same anger through Narinder. His imprisonment wasn't fair. His loss of godhood wasn't fair. And, the unconscious, yet most important thing, is what happened to Baal and Aym was not fair.

"Ratau turned to watch the sparing brothers again. His fingers curled around his hands, nails digging far into his flesh. “Yes, but… This is inhumane. My lord, they know how to fight! We both see that! Be fair with them, please.”

“If the world was fair, none of us would be here.” The One Who Waits flicked his hand, and Ratau disappeared to his mortal realm." - That whole segment comes from his anger - it's not fucking fair what happened to the three of them. And oooohhhh writing that anger for him is soooooo satisfying.

Random Trivia/Facts: - Despite his regal tastes, Narinder's favorite food is plain baked salmon (with some spices ofc I'm not a monster). - Narinder was the first character I was able to give a distinct motivation. His internal conflict between reclaiming godhood and setting his disciples free was way too intriguing; I had to develop that first. - That said, the only way for him to add to the theme/move towards acceptance is if he goes against his initial desire of reclaiming divinity to help the ones he cares for. This is to say that I, the author, am trying to balance his development like a fucking tightrope walker. - KLEPTOMANIAC (If only for petty reasons). - He might be a pyromaniac too idk. - In "Yngya's Repose," Narinder fell in love with the Lamb shortly before their destined duel over the crown. In AIFiDaW, Narinder is still (somewhat) in love with the Lamb, he is just too angry to let himself feel anything other than the hurt of betrayal. - To add to that: In the scene where Narinder falls for the Lamb (Year 3: Autumn) - he specifically falls in love with Castor because they were kind to Baal and Aym. There were a few other factors outside that, but seeing Castor treat his disciples as their own was the final push he needed to fully fall in love. - And then he had to fight them to the death isn't that fun? :) - Narinder's parenting teaching style with Baal and Aym is largely inspired by Moro and San (Princess Mononoke) and Maleficent and Aurora (Maleficent).

Thank you for reading! Narinder is a super complex character; my only hope is that I give him the writing he deserves. He is, of course, featured in "All Is Fair in Death and War," but his primary appearance is in the short prequel to that: "Yngya's Repose." I hope to make a podfic of that story soon so people who don't have the time/ability to sit down and read it can still enjoy the story :)

Theme

The Goat/Goatfrey - Narinder - The Lamb/Lambert - The Curse

Leshy - Heket - Kallamar - Shamura

Jalala - Rinor - Fena - Aym & Baal - The Mystic Seller

[pearl-nouveau]

A Woman's Purpose - Cregan Stark x Reader [chapter two]

summary: After your grandsire's death, you fly to Winterfell with Jacaerys and find yourself nervous to treat with Cregan years after your heated moment together.

warnings: none i think

a/n: short chapter, just felt like a good stopping point. anyone want part three,,,?🤗

The actions of Alicent and her eldest son did not shock me, but they deeply wounded a sense of hope that I hadn't realized was still deep within my soul. I would always remember Cregan praising my kind heart, but sometimes it felt like a curse. I had believed at my core that our family could find it within themselves to forgive, to come together, to support my grandsire's wishes and put a woman on the Iron Throne... I had believed that Alicent had a spine, that Aemond had humility, that Aegon had a heart. And Heleana, my poor, dear aunt whom I considered a close friend - it pained me to think of her caught in the center of such a mess. I longed to see her and I longed to see my mother on her throne. 

I thought back to the dinner we had before leaving for Dragonstone again. We had been merry, since Jaecerys and Lucerys were newly engaged. I was happy for Jace especially since we had talked so often of hoping for happy marriages, and Baela was a wonderful girl who he already adored. It pleased me that there was a possibility for love between the two of them. 

Aegon had drunkenly wandered to my seat and leaned towards my ear. 

"Poor niece... Your only purpose to be married off and still yet to be engaged. You'll be running out of options soon." 

His amusement sickened me and I continued to pick at my food, trying to ignore him, but he continued. 

"If you don't pick you'll end up with some elderly lord with a thumb for a pecker. Best swallow your pride and pick someone to claim you. Can't be your own woman forever, girl." His breath reeked of alcohol. 

Jacaerys had noticed his advances and stood to intervene, only for Aegon to direct his attention towards Baela, which began a whole other mess leading to the night quickly unraveling. 

It had made you think about marriage, not only as a duty, but as a tool. It had always been an important fixture in politics, but after everything that has happened with the throne, I knew that it would be even more urgent for me to take a husband. I lay in my bed at Dragonstone, resting my eyes, considering the current predicament of betrothal.

When it came down to it, there was no one I wanted to imagine myself marrying except for the Northern man who had captured my heart so many years ago. I feared, however, that it was too late. I had already refused him, in a way, one time. In addition, I had humiliated myself with his advances and then fled. He very well may hate me; find me to be a tease, a whore. I shuddered to think about it. 

At that moment, Jacaerys barged into my room. 

"Sister," breathlessly he addressed me, "mother has requested us to go to Winterfell and treat with Cregan Stark." 

There was a hint of a smile on his face, although we both knew the task was serious. I had no immediate response to him, so he elaborated.

"I suggested that you come. I believe you should see him. Besides, it is the perfect excuse to go."

I turned away, suddenly emotional. I wiped at my face. "Perhaps he has already taken a new wife," I shook my head. "We only need one representative of the crown."

"You're coming," He said finally. I realized it was no longer a request, but an order.

"Does mother know?"

He shook his head. "This is for you to figure out. No interferences." I raised an eyebrow at him. "Except for mine, right now. I would hope that if we are to enter the Hell of war we can find at least some happiness within the chaos."

His words made me want to weep, realizing how much he has grown and how much more he will have to in the coming years. How much all my siblings would grow. I feared for the lives of my loved ones. Instinctively, I reached for my brother and pulled him to me. He hugged me back tightly. 

"It'll all be okay, little dragon," his old nickname for me made me chuckle into his shoulder, "tomorrow, we ride for Winterfell."

That night, I dreamt of Cregan. Brief, hazy glimpses of moments we shared in the past. Moments that made me fall in love with him. 

I saw him poised in front of Vermithor, no fear in those stormy eyes, his hand outstretched to stroke my beautiful dragon's scaled face. He had respected the authority of my beast, and Vemithor in turn had leaned into the Lord's touch. That moment had brought heat to my stomach and tugged at my insides. The Bronze Fury was not easy to befriend. 

I saw him across the altar in the sept where I took him on a tour, his head bent in prayer, dark hair framing his face. He had caught my eye and held it, unblinking, keeping it until I looked away.

I saw in the golden hour in the training yard, his gaze finding me between every attack. He moved like ice against his sparring partners: cold, calculated, hardened. No one bested him. When we walked to dinner together afterward, he walked behind me, and I had suddenly felt a tug at my hair. He gently pulled the ribbon holding my braid together - a braid commanded by my mother - letting my hair fall down my back. I like it down like this, he told me, wild and free, like you. 

Morning was unwelcome because it ripped me from the warmth of my dreams with him, but the realization that I was soon to be headed for Winterfell thrilled me. I quickly dressed and packed with my handmaidens before finding Jacaerys in the hallway. He said nothing, grasping my hand and nodding solemnly. We moved to the dragon pit together and prepared Vermax and Vermithor. When we exited the cave, I saw my mother and younger siblings watching on from above. 

"We should say our goodbyes," I told Jacaerys, "the Gods only know when the next time we will all be together is."

Jace nodded, and we joined with the rest of our family. I kissed each of the little ones on the forehead, pinched their cheeks, sniffed their baby skin, making every attempt to remember them as they were in case I was struck from the back of my dragon. Lucerys stood tall when I came to him, like the proud little fighter he was, and I gave him a tight hug and a squeeze of luck for his own journey. I worried for him dearly, but Lucerys was perhaps the most smart and capable of us Valeryen children, even at his young age.

"Good luck, raqiarzy," I spoke into his hair. He was nearly as tall as me at that point. "I shall see you soon."

My mother gazed at me with that look she always wore as I moved to stand in front of her. So diplomatic, so very regal. Sometimes I wished she would soften and just be my mother for a moment. But now, finally involved in diplomacy, who was I to her? Still her daughter, or some cancerous growth jeopardizing her claim?

I felt her arms around me. "Be safe," she whispered into my ear, "I love you, my daughter."

Tears filled my eyes and I hugged her back. I thought about all of our fights about my marriage. Who was I truly fighting? We were both shackled by tradition, still, I realized. Her claim had been an abstract future and now it had all come crashing down. She was still fighting the same battles against men that she believed to have won as a girl my own age. None of our past disagreements mattered now. Happiness and freedom were no longer mine to take for myself; they may be ripped from us all at any moment. 

My mother and I separated and she placed a kiss to my brow. Her stoic demeanor had faded and I could see wetness in her eyes. Jace offered me his arm and I reluctantly took it, turning away from my family and trying not to think about our uncertain future. 

The journey to Winterfell was long and cold, as many journeys on dragonback are, but I was comforted by the presence of Vermax and Jacaerys gliding back and forth below me. Our dragons, very different in size, flew quite differently. Vermax was nimble and slight, disappearing between clouds and darting in and out of sight easily. A formidable stealth opponent. Vermithor, on the other hand, was enormous and flew with simple, powerful strokes of his golden wings. He was fearsome, and I found him to be the most beautiful creature in the world. As terrifying as he was, our bond was strong. He never raised a tone at me; he grumbled and purred in my presence only, and awaited orders with undying loyalty. He had been my dragon since the time I was ten and four, and our relationship only strengthened by the day. 

The sky greyed as we flew further North and the air began to chill. I shivered not only from the cold but the impending reunion I was to have with Cregan. I had no idea what to expect. I had considered opening his letter but it was still too frightening to me. It left me even more unprepared for a conversation with him. 

When we reached Winterfell, Jacaerys and I circled Vermax and Vermithor a few times to signal our landing. We made no sudden moves towards the castle and its surrounding fortress, and landed in an isolated field. The wind whipped my long hair out from the veil I had tied around my head. It floated around my head like a halo as I squinted in the heatless sunlight. 

"Someone rides this way," Jacaerys called from the back of Vermax. He began to disembark and I glanced over to where he looked. A rider on a black horse, eighteen hands tall, came galloping towards our dragons. Vermithor let out a roar of distaste. He didn't like people coming near him - or me. I calmed him with coos in High Valerian and began to slide down his wing. The rider had stopped next to Jace and gotten off the horse.

As I crept closer, I knew it was Cregan. His stature was unmistakable. Tall and dominating against the bleak horizon in his furs. Gods, I had never seen him in his heavy Northern furs. It made me want to crawl within them, to feel the heat of his body around me. Coming closer, I saw him clap Jace on the shoulder with familiarity, and then turn his gaze to me. With no hesitation, he came towards me. I saw behind him Jace getting onto his horse, the ghost of a brotherly smirk on his face, and kicking the horse forward towards Winterfell. 

"What-" I began to question as Cregan came within arm's length of me, unable to finish as he pulled me to his chest in a tight hug. The furs were just as warm as they looked, and I melted into his arms. It had been so long since I smelled him. Like sap and smoke and ale and somehow roses. My arms snaked under the cloak and I could feel the hardened muscle of his body through his shirt. And then I realized - he was hugging me, as if he missed me, as if...

"I've missed you, my princess." He spoke into my hair. 

"You aren't angry with me?" I breathed into his cloak. He pulled back and took my chin in his calloused fingers, his face laced with confusion.

"How could I ever, my girl? You didn't read my letter?"

I flushed. "I was embarrassed. I thought you would have wanted me to keep quiet after I... lost control like that." He barked out a laugh, which would have made her feel ashamed had he not paired it with a gentle kiss to her cheekbone.

"I'll show you what losing control really is, someday," he kissed her cheek again and hummed. "Darling, I wrote you that letter and apologized for leaving so quickly... had it been up to me I would have stayed until you chose to see me again and asked for your hand right there. I had to get home to my son and my duties here but you have never left my head." Now it was his turn to flush as he recounted the contents of his letter. "I... I had begged you to someday consider me to be your husband if you ever found that marriage was something you wanted. None of my advisors could convince me to take another wife until I knew that there was no chance. I have held out hope for years, I have taken no other lover, and I beg you to end my agony and provide an answer," he dropped to his knee as if his body were giving out on him. "Is there a chance? Someday, that you would allow me to love you as I already do?"

It all became clear to me that my world was soon to fall apart, and standing in front of me was a man who was promising to stand by my side in the worst of times. As my family is torn apart and our power in the realm shattered. A smile crossed my face.

"You mean to tell me that the most eligible Northern Lord has been withholding his services from the ladies of the North, all because a faraway dragon rider was stuck in his dreams?" 

My teasing lilt was enough for him to look up at me and grin, standing to his full height towering over me. He grasped at my waist with one hand and cupped my face with the other. 

"They've been left wanting, I suppose." My Lord Stark said contemplatively. 

"As have ladies in the South." I told him, surprised by my own boldness and pleased by the delivery. 

He wasted no more time in capturing my lips, kissing me as if he were starved. He kept taking breaths to stare at me before continuing. His lips moved lovingly across my neck, my jaw, my throat, hungry to taste every inch of skin. After a while, I pressed against his chest and examined his face. It was even more beautiful up close than I remembered. His face an oval with hardened edges. Strong brows and thick pink lips that I was free to kiss. His hair pulled back haphazardly to keep from blowing in the wind. He kissed me one more time, this one softer than baby's breath, and held my head in one of his strong hands before nodding towards Winterfell in the distance.

"I let Jacaerys take my steed so we might walk together." He gestured back to the dragons. "Whatever they eat I will have brought to them."

"They'll eat anything. Even you," I poked his chest. 

"You just tell me if Vermithor ever starts feeling jealous. I shall begin to steer clear." 

We walked together, slowly, catching up after the last couple of years. I asked of his son and he told me that Rickon was nearly three years old. He stopped me for a moment. "I've already an heir. If we wed, I shall not force you to bear my children. You will never be just the mother of my children. You will be my wife." 

I smiled at that, saying nothing. Children hadn't crossed my mind. I supposed I was not ready to think about it. The way he spoke so definitely about our marriage gave me pause. 

"Cregan, I-" my words faltered, but I persisted. "I think you ought to know that I didn't come here just to see you." 

He chuckled. "I figured as such when you brought your brother and two dragons."

I blushed. "We need you and your army to stand by my mother. My uncle has taken her throne. My grandsire's crown was scarcely off his head before Aegon took it. My mother raises an army to stand against him. I am not a bargaining tool, I will not marry you for an army-"

"-I would never presume to trade you like an animal. The North will see your mother, the rightful queen, on her throne, you have my word. I want to marry you because I fell in love with you in King's Landing those years ago, and I wish for you to be free as you want to be. If marrying me is not how you will find your freedom, I will accept your answer." The concept seemed to pain him. 

Would marriage truly shackle me? Being with Cregan felt like being on dragonback for the first time. It felt like gliding over a lake of glass water, your arms outstretched. I had fought and fought for so many years to be free, but free from what? I now saw in front of me a new kind of freedom, away from the clawing hands that surrounded the crown always. I saw a man who chose me and respected my happiness. I looked around at the rolling hills and distant mountains. The cool wind on my face. Bustling people entering and exiting the gates of Winterfell. Perhaps I imagined it, but I heard laughter. Children. I closed my eyes for a moment and felt peace.

I opened them again to see the hopeful face of Cregan Stark awaiting my words. If what he said was true, would he remain here in front of me for the rest of my life, always waiting to grant my next wish?

I smiled. Reached out to him. Snaked my hands around his neck, brought his face close to mine. 

"I choose me," I told him quietly. "So, I choose you."

We sealed the betrothal with a kiss. 

[yourlittlebunnyy]

a court of shadows and darkness

main masterlist - azriel masterlist - previous

chapter seven

summary: Selaene, Rhysand's sister, Azriel's mate runs away after the High Lord of Spring tries to kill her.

warnings: none

enjoy!🫶

Sobs escape the lips of the three siblings before they can even stop them. Cassian is quick to react: he gets up and hugs Selaene, his face wet with silver from happiness. She feels her heart burst as she holds one of her brothers in her arms. She had not realized how much she missed him before. They remain embraced for what seems like hours to her, but at the same time, not enough time. She hears whispers in the background, a female voice asks a certain Feyre who Selaene is, what she is doing attached to her male. The other female shushes her.

She feels someone touch her shoulder, and when she lifts her head from Cassian's chest she meets Rhysand's eyes. The man smiles at her through tears, and she does the same. Cassian pulls away slightly to give her brother space, but he remains beside her, his eyes fixed on her as if he cannot believe that his sister is here, she is alive, she is safe.

Rhysand and Selaene hug each other tightly, almost knocking the breath out of each other. Cassian takes time to analyze his sister's figure, check that she is not hurt. She is the same as before, the same as four hundred and sixty-three years ago. As if it were yesterday. She is wearing a torn nightgown and a coat that looks like it came from the Winter Court. No, he is sure it came from there. He smells of cinnamon and ashes. But under the smell of the heavy coat he can now smell her own smell, the familiar smell of his sister. That too has remained unchanged: cream and strawberries. Strange, he thinks. He and his brother have remained the same, of course, but their appearance and smell in four copious centuries has clearly changed. They have grown, matured, and their smell with them. Before they smelled like little boys, now like men. And it should be the same for Selaene, should have sharpened her features, should look like a female of almost five hundred years, smell like one. But she has remained the little nineteen-year-old she once was. She does not seem to be hurt, he notices with pleasure.

Rhysand finally pulls away allowing the two to breathe. He seems to study her just as his brother already did. He seems to have the same questions.

“Selaene...” It seems surreal to him to have her there, calling her name and not in front of her grave. He is afraid to wake up. He seems to swallow a knot in his throat before asking her, “We were just about to have dinner, why don't you join us?” The question sounds so distant to everyone, though.

Selaene nods, still a little dazed, and finally seems to take in the rest of the room. There is Mor, of course. Four other females and one male. She sniffs the air, the scent of the two brothers imprinted on the skin of two females. The third simply smells of herself.

While the other two Fae seem to be together. Rhysand snaps his fingers and an extra chair and cutlery appears for her. She sits between her brothers, and suddenly feels shy of all the curious looks. Except for one. The female with Cassian's scent on her seems to be killing her with his gaze and seems to want to incinerate her. Selaene does not make herself look smaller, she keeps her chin up and her eyes resting on her with a calmness that seems to reassure her.

It is Rhysand who speaks first again and introduces everyone to her. “This is Feyre, my mate. I don't know- I don't know where you've been, but chances are you've heard of her.” Selaene looks at her brother and later at his mate. She obviously has no idea who she is, but she seems like a nice person. The girl smiles sweetly at her, and Selaene can only reciprocate with equal warmth. She is happy that her brother has found his happiness, but their bond makes the young woman think of Azriel. She can smell him, but it is very faint, and she would not be able to smell him were it not for the bond, which is still dead. A panic creeps under her skin, and her brother looks worried. He lays a hand on hers before asking her if she was all right.

”Uhm... where, where is Azriel?” Rhysand and Feyre smile at her. Does she know her? Has Azriel told her about her? However, it is Mor who answers. “I contacted him as soon as I saw you. He was on a mission, but now he is on his way. He is well, he has... he waited for you, Selaene.” The young woman wants to cry at the blonde's words. She nods gratefully. This time it is Cassian who speaks, introducing her mate. The sister can do nothing but smile, even more than before, unconcerned that the female has given her a glare of lightning. She seems to realize, slowly, who she really is. The gaze alternates between her and Rhysand, and finally, she smiles kindly at her as well. She offers her hand, and Selaene grasps it.

“I am Nesta.” Her grip is firm and her hands are soft but calloused. A warrior, she thinks. Just like Cassian.

“I'm Selaene, Rhysand's sister.” Nesta nods. Amren is introduced to her. She is slightly surprised, and her face hides a slight smile. She is very beautiful, Selaene thinks. Next to her is her male, Varian. And finally Elain, a sweet rosy-cheeked fawn that Selaene finds adorable.

“So you... you and Azriel?” She asks her as food is served from the House. Just like it used to be. The smell fills her nostrils and she smiles. She missed Velaris. She missed everything.

“Azriel and I are mates.” She answers simply, a tone that hides some possessiveness that makes Feyre chuckle. She pretends not to notice the fawn's slightly disappointed expression, but anger mounts inside her.

“Why?” She asks more coldly. Amren seems to care about the turn the conversation is taking, because she straightens up and hides the feline smile that appears on her face with a glass of red wine. Elain blushes.

“No, of course nothing. It was just to- just to know.” Selaene clenches her jaw, the brothers' faces pure amusement. They remember how she was always jealous. Gods, she was jealous even if one of them got too close.

“And you,” the tone is accusatory, ”do you have one? A mate?” She nods quickly.

“And where is he?”

“Far away. We didn't... We didn't get to know each other properly before.” Selaene smiles at her, a double-faced smile.

“But have you had enough time to get to know my brothers and my mate?” At those words Feyre decides to interrupt Rhys's sister's little jealousy tantrum.

“Don't worry, Selaene. Azriel, although he thought you were dead, has always had eyes only for you.” The Fae seems satisfied with her words, and rests her back on the backrest, her posture rigid now relaxed. She even giggles when she hears Nesta say, “ Possessive Illyrian.”

She looks at the three females and realizes something, too: they are three sisters. She certainly cannot blame poor Elain. The Cauldron was cruel in creating three sisters and three brothers and leaving one alone. But there was Selaene before her. And there will always be Selaene.

“We have missed you very much, Selae.” Says Cassian serving himself.

“You have changed a lot.” She responds by savoring some baked potatoes again. She almost groans when she swallows a bite. The taste long forgotten.

“Are you all right?” Feyre asks her, “Is something wrong?” She is worried.

“Yes, everything is great. It's just that I haven't eaten for a long time...”

Cassian laughingly comments, “Hell, Selaene. But where have you been?” The joke, however, does not make anyone laugh.

“I've been stuck in the UnderWorld.”

The table seems to stop breathing at those words. No one has ever returned from there.

It is Amren who speaks first, her voice charged with distrust: “No one has ever come back from there, girl.”

Selaene, proud as any Illyrian is, has no trouble keeping her accusatory gaze. Did she expect that in front of that Fae she would react the way Elain had reacted to her before? Because she is wrong in case she does.

“I did.” She says with a shrug. “It took almost five centuries, but I did it.”

“How did you keep from going crazy? Alone, in the dark, all that time?” Feyre asks while sipping wine. Everyone is incredibly surprised.

“I wasn't alone....” A motion of sadness, remorse, passes through her eyes. “Rhysand. I would like your help. We need to find my friend, Vanessa. She stayed there.” Her brother hesitates, but he can't bring himself to say no.

Cassian opens his mouth for the first time after hearing the news, “Is that why you haven't grown up?” She simply nods.

“It's also how I haven't starved all this time. I'm still wearing -- I'm still wearing the pajamas I had on that day.” Rhysand and Cassian are saddened, however, it is Nesta who asks for an explanation of what happened that day. Selaene dismisses the matter with a wave of her hand, explaining that she does not want to ruin dinner over something that happened so long ago.

“Someday I will tell you all about it. No, in fact, I'll show you, Rhys. But I don't want to think about it for at least a week. I'd like to at least see Azriel first.” He nods. Then he pours blueberry juice into her goblet. Selaene smiles; he is his usual self. He raises the glass to the air.

“Let's toast to Selaene, then."

Dinner proceeds smoothly. Feyre and Selaene seem to have established a great understanding, and her brother could not be happier: his two most important women getting along. Mor and Nesta also seem to adore her, and the latter in particular seems to love hearing all the embarrassing stories from her brothers. Elain, on the other hand, always seems a little down in the dumps when Selaene mentions her beloved mate.

“I swear to you! He came flying past my house with flowers for our mother in his hand, only there was a blizzard, and the porch was frozen, so he slipped and fainted! He stayed in bed a whole week, and all the flowers went on the floor.” The females laugh so heartily at Selaene's gossip, while the two brothers look embarrassed. Rhysand smiles mockingly before pointing out how Azriel had also fallen. And how he had cried out of worry.

“Yes, but unlike you, Rhysie, he didn't hit his head and faint because he has remarkable reflexes. I was worried about his wing.” Cassian snorts a laugh, getting a friendly pat from his brother on the bicep. Nesta would like to ask her to tell more, but footsteps echo in the air. And Selaene knows those footsteps all too well.

next chapter

[queen-of-gotham]

I love how you wrote Kankuro!!

If you have the time and inspiration, I’d love to read another… 👀

Maybe Kankuro and reader from the Leaf having a long distance relationship. One of the rare occasions he can visit (maybe because his brother has a meeting)

Getting to see how excited he is on his way there, his siblings finding him annoying… and a cute reunion that goes however you please <3

Sorry, this took so long anon!! I left this soft and fluffy but if you need a smutty part two you let me know! It’s so funny you requested this though bc this was really what my OC I made way back in like 05-06 was going through. A whole ass long distance relationship with this dude. So… reader is kinda based off of her and what I used to write way back in the quizilla days so this was a fun place to go back too. I hope you like it!

💘 Reunited 💘

(Kankuro x F!Reader)

Word count: 1,172

Synopsis: you and kankuro reunite after some time apart due to your long distance relationship.

Notes from the batcave: reader is implied to be Shikamaru’s sister but it’s never directly addressed. 😅 reader is based off my OC’s storyline so ya know. Hope y’all like it.

Temari had seriously had just about enough. The sand siblings were heading to Konoha for the Kage summit, the first one since the war ended a few months prior. Three days of Kankuro yammering on nonstop about you.

She isn’t even sure how long he’d been seeing you. You were part of Leaf’s ANBU black ops, often being sent to the sand on diplomatic missions. Then you were placed in his platoon during the war as a strategist. Temari would assume it happened somewhere in all that mess.

“- and she’s smart, like, wicked smart. And she’s got these eyes that just-“

“Enough!” Temari finally snaps, looking at her little brother. “We get it. You’re in love with her.

Can you just *shut up* about it?”

Temari’s hand drags down her face in frustration, and Kankuro lets out an embarrassed chuckle. “Sorry, I guess I have been rambling about her this whole trip, huh?”

He rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushed just a bit as he thinks about what his sister just said. Was he in love with you? Maybe. You did tend to take up most of his thoughts in the day.

He mindfully manages to only bring you up in conversation a handful more times before they make it to the village gates.

Kankuro is a bit disappointed to see it’s not you waiting to escort them to the Hokage’s office. It’s Shikamaru. Kankuro is pretty sure you both come from the same clan, since you both share a last name and similar jutsu power.

“Lord Kazekage.” He greets, bowing a bit before leading the way.

Kankuro’s on pins and needles to get to see you again. He hadn’t seen you in a few months, since you both went your separate ways after the war, just getting the occasional letter from you. Even your handwriting was pretty.

-

Two of the other Kage were going to be late, and as a result, they had a free day and a half to wander and explore the village. That was still being rebuilt, but was mostly back together, being escorted around by Shikamaru.

“Is there anything particular you want to see while you’re here?” Shikamaru asks, looking at the siblings.

“I would like to visit with Naruto, if possible.” Gaara says, and Temari pipes in to tease Kankuro.

“Kankuro wants to see his girlfriend.” She grins, and the shadow user quirks an eyebrow.

“You’re dating a girl in the leaf?”

“Uh, yeah, you might know her actually. She’s from your clan.” Kankuro says, stumbling over his words a bit as he looks away.

Shikamaru pauses, looking a bit confused by the claim, “born into the Nara clan?”

“Uh, yeah. She is. She talks about the deer and the forest your clan has, and she uses those shadow jutsu that you do.” Kankuro lists out, and Shikamaru sighs.

“What a drag.” He mutters before saying your name, questioningly.

“Yeah, that’s her!” Kankuro states, and Shikamaru huffs, stopping on the path through the village street.

“She should be in the woods right about now.” He motions back towards some wooded area that could be seen across town. “Do you-“

“Thanks!” Kankuro yells before booking it in that direction, not waiting for any other direction or questioning.

It didn’t take him super long to find you, coming across a meadow where the sunlight peeked through the trees. Your back was to him, caught up in petting a small fawn, talking to it gently like it was human.

He waits a bit, just observing you in an element he’s only heard you talk about. His gaze focuses on the way you care for the other deer, loving on them, and taking the time to run focus extra on one who’s pregnant. You look beautiful like this, Kankuro thinks. He steps forward to announce himself, and a twig snaps, grabbing your attention. Looking angry at first, but upon realization, that beautiful smile crosses your lips.

“Ya know, I was gonna fuss about how only Nara are supposed to be out here, but this is a nice surprise.” You say, walking up to him and throwing your arms around his neck. His arms wrap around your waist as your face buries into his neck, and he pulls you flush against himself. “Missed you, ‘Kuro.”

“I missed you too. Couldn’t wait to get here and get my hands on you.” He teases, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek, pulling you back enough to gaze at you for a second. “My sister got fed up with how much I was talking about you.”

You smile, leaning into the warmth of his hands, your eyes settled on his. “You talk about me that much, huh?”

“Of course I do. You’re the prettiest thing this side of nations, Angel.” He says back a bit softer, his thumb gently grazing across the supple skin of your cheek. “Don’t you talk about me?” He asks and you giggle, shrugging a bit teasingly.

“Not really.”

“Not even to your mom?”

“Nope. Or my brother.”

“Your brother!?” He questions aghast, hand over his chest because how dare you’ve not reveled this little fact every time he’s complained about his own siblings. You giggle a bit, shrugging, Kankuro continuing on, “what’s next, you got a sister too you’ve been hiding? A husband, maybe? Kids?”

He’s being dramatic and it’s making you smile and laugh and that’s his favorite sound in the whole world. Your laugh makes his chest fill warm, his heart fluttering like you’re the sunshine embodied, and he’s somehow lucky enough to get to hold it in his arms.

“Oh yeah. I’ve actually been married for 20 years and my kids are going to be the next hokage.” You say back sarcastically, leaning up to steal a soft kiss off his lips and he grins.

“That’s wild. All that time together and I never knew.” Kankuro responds, gently shifting the two of you so you’re pressed back against a tree.

“I’m kidding.” You say softly and he hums knowingly, leaning down to kiss your lips, soft and slow.

“I know.” He murmurs against your lips, kissing you again, tender and reverent. Not rushed and desperate, but in a way that tries to convey everything they can’t write into letters. A kiss that carries the ache of how bad he misses you when you’re separated, and the relief he has in his soul now that you’re in his arms again.

You melt into him, your hands moving up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing over his war-painted cheeks, and he kisses you like he’s afraid to pull away. Like if he breaks, the moment the most precious thing in his life may slip through his fingers once more.

You’re both only human though, so eventually you part for air. Kankuro resting his forehead against yours, the both of you breathless.

“I’m so glad you’re really here.” You murmur softly, and he shifts, brushing his lips against your forehead.

“Me too, doll.”

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[morganas-pendragons]

from the depths | celebrimbor

this is the first fic of the list of those I've written for Celebrimbor so far. I wasn't initially going to write this, and then @pentaghasm said: ''please write this I need to know more''

So here it is! :D this will give you MASSIVE hints as to who the true identity is of this reader... and who you know that she's related to!

afab!reader

enjoy!

prompt: you remember falling. an endless sea of grey that ended with the blues of a river that you fall beneath the surface of. you're injured. you don't know who you are.. or how to swim... but the soldiers who guard Eregion's perimeter do.

They come to their Lord with a single question.

tag: @celebrimbormylove - @pentaghasm

***

You remember falling. The sky is endless, stretching into a vastness you cannot even begin to comprehend as you plummet toward the ocean. You did not have a choice.

You have a prophecy to keep from being fulfilled.

There are whispers of images that flash behind your eyes as you close them in surrender to your fate. You are certain you are going to die. If colliding with the ocean or drowning in it is how you will go, then you are going to try to remember what little remains inside your mind.

Where did it all go?

Gentle, kind eyes. Silver light and whispered words of Sindarin and Quenya. The very trees bowing to his will. The dirt trembling beneath his fingers. The sound of his voice, warm and encouraging, as you master your healing craft with your three other siblings nearby. They wanted nothing to do with you.

He always did.

You believe that you've collided with the surface of an ocean when the waters swell up to overwhelm you, dragging you beneath the surface and forcing you down into its depths. That is certainly how it feels. You cannot discern much. Only the darkness.

Everything is shrouded in grey.

Eregion's soldiers are more caught off guard by the sudden impact in their river then you are colliding with it.

"Get the boats!"

"Where did she come from?!"

Six of them dressed in gold armor row out to where you've landed, and one of them - their Captain, by the looks of it - navigates pulling you out from where you have sunk and surging upward again to lay your prone form within the boat. There is little on your person that can help them to identify you: You are only wearing a long grey robe and a bronze circlet with what appears to be holly leaves engraved into the metal that envelops your head.

The younger ellon, a new recruit by the look of him, shakily removes the circlet from your head before parting your hair to reveal your head wound. Where did that even come from?

"She's injured, sir. We need to address this with Lord Celebrimbor. This... arrival is most unusual."

Captain Malendol pursed his lips and peered down at you. They had all seen you fall from the Heavens. You looked like an Elf, but there was no way to tell if you were friend or foe, much less who you actually were.

He nodded.

"When we make land, inform Lord Celebrimbor. We will let him decide what to do with her."

***

Celebrimbor paced the length of the healer's chambers as he watched them work on you from the corner of his eye. When Captain Malendol had sent word that an injured woman had fallen from the skies and into Eregion's river, he hadn't quite believed him. Not until he'd seen you in the boat and the circlet bestowed upon your head before the healers had removed it.

A rare metal upon a nameless woman. One who had a head injury even his best healers were confused by, and that unnerved him.

Celebrimbor paused as his gaze settled upon you again. Why was your circlet the same colors as Eregion's holly leaves, the deep greens and golds he so often wore?

"Leave us." He commanded. "I will tend to our friend until they awake."

The healers bowed deeply before leaving the room. Celebrimbor approached the cot where you lay and pressed his fingers against the side of the cot as he looked at you.

You were beautiful.

"I do not know who you are or why you are here," He whispered. "But you will be alright, in the end. You will remain safe here. I promise."

Celebrimbor is many things: A kind, honest Elf who has endured centuries of scrutiny as a descendant of the House of Fëanor, atoning for the sins of his ancestors by vowing to be better than them and their Oath.

He wanted to do right by the people they'd wronged. Eregion was a haven for creators and craftsman alike, built by Celebrimbor and those who abided within as a place to embrace and expand your passions. A place where its inhabitants could live and be safe.

Ignoring his better judgment, Celebrimbor came closer to your prone form and paused.

The moment Celebrimbor laid his hand upon your shoulder, you shot awake faster than he expected and defensively crossed your arms over and around your head as if anticipating an attack. He removed his hand immediately and settled it back at his side as he moved into your line of sight.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to scare you." Celebrimbor began, frowning as you lowered your arms to meet his eyes. "My name is Celebrimbor. You are in Eregion. Can you tell me what happened? Who are you?"

***

The first thing you notice about him is his eyes. They're so kind. They're those eyes that draw your attention because they're so different from anyone else in this existence, and you lower your arms to be able to see his face more clearly.

He's Elvish. He's Elvish, with soft blonde, loose curls framed back against the shape of his face that fall gently against his forehead. He's beautiful.

"N-" You frown. "Name?"

That doesn't make sense. You don't recall a name. You don't recall... anything but those few flashes you'd seen when you fell. Grey eyes. Grey robes. Soft laughter. Silver light. Whispered words of Quenya and Sindarin, a tongue you should not know, but you do. You know it as if it is the very breath in your lungs.

"The birth name given to you," He explained. "Mine is Telperinquar in the Quenya tongue. In Sindarin, it is Celebrimbor."

A kind name for a kind man. He seemed to have a soft heart.

You focused on the question you wanted to ask as you slowly spoke, "Why me?" and frowned deeper as he smiled at you. You wanted to feel uncomfortable under the intensity of his touch. He's a stranger. You don't even know him.

"I saw someone in trouble. Someone injured, wearing a circlet of holly leaves, and I wanted to help." He explained. "You looked like someone who needed help."

Falling. I'm falling. Falling to the water, I do not know how to swim-

"They pulled me from the water. I-" You swallowed the knot in your throat and shivered. Lifting your hand, you cupped the side of your aching head and allowed your eyes to slip closed. "It was dark. I could not move. It hurt."

Celebrimbor opened his mouth to reply but found himself transfixed by the glowing silver light emitting from your palm. You did not seem shocked by it, much less fearful, as he watched the wound against your temple slowly close and disappear after the bandage had fallen off.

The Elven Smith softened as he clasped his hands against his stomach. He had not taken his eyes off of you once. So attentive.

"Does it hurt now?" He asked quietly.

When you open your eyes, his breath catches. Celebrimbor has lived centuries by now. Many Elves of Sindar and Noldor origin alike have lived within the city walls. What he'd never seen, however, was one with eyes like yours.

Silver. Pure silver, just as if pure starlight was embodied within your gaze.

"No," Your voice was earnest as you looked at him again, scooting closer to the edge of the cot and kicking your legs off the side. "Safe. With you."

You didn't understand why his cheeks darkened at that, but Celebrimbor smiled anyway.

"You can consider that a promise. We will work on the name later. Are you feeling well enough to take a walk with me?"

You took his hand and slowly removed yourself from the table. Celebrimbor watched intently as you looked around the room in search of what he assumed were meager belongings you'd had in your possession when they'd found you.

Gentle fingers wound around your circlet and moved across the room to lay it against your brow. Celebrimbor pressed his lips together as he stared at the jewel in the center. It was the same color as your eyes.

"Clothes," You said. Words were hard. Hearing him talk made words come easier. "Better clothes. Can't wear that robe. Too wet."

Bright laughter echoed in the healing chambers as Celebrimbor sent for one of his servants just outside of the door. She returned a moment later with a fresh set of deep green robes and boots.

He waited until you emerged from the room to extend his arm to you. You nervously looked at his household staff venturing the halls and wrapped your arm through his own, clinging to his side as Celebrimbor began to lead you out and into Eregion.

"Come enjoy my city, nin tinu," Celebrimbor remarked as he gestured with an idle hand to the citizens in the square and the statue of Fëanor. "Let me tell you the history of our great city."