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epilogue-and-prologue · 1 year

Text

Happiness - Chapter 1

Fandom: LOTR

Ship: Eomer x F!Reader

Trope: Arranged marriage

Note: Reader is Elfhelm's daughter and I invented a lot for what I didn't know so probably A LOT of mistakes.

Word counts: 7 229

Warnings: Dealing with grief, loved one's deaths, depression, SMUT at some point, poverty, war's aftermath, diplomatic relations, pregnancy, blood, miscarriage

Tags: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

The water was hot under your fingertips. Soon, your skin would lose its smooth and you would have to go.

Your home was outside the walls of Edoras. It had always been. Sheltered from the loss and the pain. You had been able to see the planes, deep greens and shy yellows, from your very room.

As a child, your visits to the city had been sparse. Your mother was adamant, your education would not be done on the road, but within your home. The joys of childhood had been gone so soon with her. To her credit, raising daughters was not an easy task. With your brother, Alaric, she had managed to ship him off with his cousins or with your father when he became unbearable. Moira and you, on the other hand… You had been thick as thieves, running away on the bare back of horses, coming back with bruises and cuts, laughing until you could not breathe. She never resented you for it. In return though, she had chastised you both numerous times.

“You should focus more on your books. Finding a good husband asks for a sharp mind.”

Once the bath had gone cold, you pulled yourself out. Soon you would be riding towards that good husband your mother had told you about. It had happened later rather than sooner, but it made your mother happy and gave you a reason to leave. The sorrow in these walls, although familiar, was too much to bear.

Within a few years past, both your siblings had passed away.

Moira had been married less than a year when she died, the common flu taking her. She was buried and long gone, her pretty eyes and generous smile shining for you in your dreams. Alaric, with his luxurious hair and his need to prove himself, had gone on a battle too many and died. Your father had come back home with his body behind him. He had shed so many tears that night.

Yet, here you were, getting dressed and finalizing your definitive departure from your family’s home. Their graves were there, both their bodies resting deep underground. They were at peace, at least.

Your parents were to accompany you on the journey to Edoras. For the hours it took, your silence was met with vain attempts at making you smile. Your mood and heart had turned sour after losing your siblings and even more so at the idea of leaving them behind.

“Brunhilde, I fear she may make him run.

-Don’t say such silly things, husband. You know her. She’ll pull through. With time.”

Their incessant biker was the only reason you were not growing insane. It was a known sound, almost ever-present at the back of your mind. Luckily, your mother knew your grief. She believed it healthy to feel your emotions and never angered herself with you for being distant or depressed.

The last months had been charged with new demands and new protocols to learn. Indeed, despite your family’s misfortune, they still had the advantage of being wealthy. Your father had married into a family of silk traders while himself being the heir to a military family. He had status, military experience. Without mentioning the fact that he had fought alongside the king. Your mother had money as well as a sharp sense of business. That made you one of the perfect candidates for the place the King of Rohan was searching for: a wife. About the man, your father had only said “Once a soldier, always a soldier”. As if it was making sense in any way shape or form.

“Elfhelm, don’t frighten her.

-I’ve known him for years. He never took any interest in anything besides his horse and his duties since I don’t know when. I love the man, but he has a long way to go with women.”

She hit him lightly on the arm, trying not to smile.

“You are talking about the King.

-I am talking about a close friend of mine.”

You looked at him over your shoulder. His lips were in a thin line. You knew what he was thinking about. Eomer had been betrothed to another before you. Enora, originally Theodred’s betrothed. She was a close friend of his. They had grown up together, sharing a deep bond. Just like Moira, she had died. An ill-fated fall broke her neck. Nothing to be done. It was just about three years ago.

The council had expressed concern for the King’s mental health when he pushed away their attempts for a new match to be made. He had not grieved, your father had told you, in confidence.

The King’s choice of bride was not a trivial matter. Your father knew of the council’s demands, as well as Eomer’s resistance to it. That’s why he suggested you. You, whom Eomer had met several times, before becoming Marshall and years away from even considering being King. He was closer in age to Alaric, training with him. After several failed attempts at joining them, you had abandoned the idea of being friendly with him altogether. Over the years, he had grown as you did, becoming a teenager and then an adult. The monthly visits had turned into yearly meetings with your father.

Beggars were growing in numbers and he needed to have new buildings built to receive them. Especially the children. Your mother’s wealth had come in handy then, a nice amount of gold coming with you in this alliance.

Then, the war occurred and he had disappeared altogether, your father being the one to leave for months. To your knowledge, the fact that you were his first in command’s daughter was not a problem. His thoughts were elsewhere entirely. The population of Rohan had lost everything in the fire and destruction of the war. Entire families were completely dependent on one income in the best of cases.

The price to pay for your hand. Even as a child you had wished to go on adventures, live the life you only saw in books, and travel. None of that ever happened. So, you had poured all these wishes into your only chance at ever leaving your home: marriage. You were not even wishing for a happy marriage. Just a good one. One in which you could converse with your husband, maybe, hopefully, have children and find a sense of contentment in your life. The desire for adventures was long gone along with your childhood.

Your horse had been one of the few memories you had been allowed to take with you in your new married life. Lora was her name. She was a feisty beast. Usually quiet and soft, she could put up a fight if you were being rough with her. You had learned the hard way when on a day of quiet anger, you had pushed her a little too far. She all but had you fall from her back in huffs and puffs.

She grew agitated upon entering the city. A hand on her neck steadied her. Curiosity guided your eyes over the wooden houses, the children joyfully running around their parents, and a growing crowd encircling your horse and your parents’ carriage. People erupted into joyful songs and flew Rohan’s banners all around you. A smile played on your lips upon seeing the smaller children weakly waving in their parents’ arms. Their presence was a balm to your heart, always. You waved back.

Three silhouettes could be seen from where you were. A tall and fair woman, her long blond hair in a single braid. Her soft smile and kind eyes were sealed onto you, her hand resting on the arm of the man next to her. He was handsome, a little taller than her, with brown hair in soft curls. He seemed reassuring, and kind. His hand rested upon hers. They were married, you realized, her swollen belly an omen of good things to come.

When you dismounted, a stable boy took hold of Lora’s reins and guided her away.

A few feet away, standing tall was Eomer. The crown on his head and his richly decorated clothes could not be confused with anyone else’s. His armour was shining under the sunlight, his hair moving with the wind. You could not see his eyes. Your heart started beating erratically at the idea that this man was going to be the rest of your life soon. It made you dizzy. Your parents walked ahead of you, climbing up the stairs to the entrance.

Your father saluted him in a brief friendly embrace before bowing to the couple next to him. In a flash of remembrance, you recalled the name of Eowyn and Faramir, Prince and Princess of Ilithien. You had never met her personally but in his younger years, Eomer had mentioned her several times either in fondness or annoyance, as all siblings do. And, of course, her deeds in the battle of Minas Tirith were legendary by now. You envied her bravery.

A quick cough from your mother snapped you out of your stare, forcing yourself to bow in reverence. The drum against your chest was bound to break something if it did not stop. A long-forgotten feeling fleeted in your stomach: hope, at last. After the unforgiving years you had been through, hope had been diluted to an afterthought. A bittersweet taste in your mouth in the morning you quickly washed away with the more reasonable thoughts you carried now that you were full grown.

When Eomer’s eyes settled on you, your parents leaving way for him, the world stopped spinning. It was as if gravity was not ruling you anymore, but his presence did. He smiled gently, his lips brushing your hand never breaking eye contact.

The Eomer you had met was nothing compared to the man he was now. Even his face had changed. You remembered the chubby-cheeked boy in the outside court, the lanky teenager later on. His eyes were soft on you but weary. The crinkles at the corner of his mouth were more pronounced, his smile forced as if he was in pain. And maybe he was. You frowned slightly, concern slowly making its way onto your face, not being able to refrain from it. His lips felt chaste on your skin, his demeanour perfectly measured and polite.

Where hope had found its way, doubt did too, troubling your heart even more.

The sound of the parade outside dimmed once you stepped inside, alongside him. He let go of your hand then, as your parents reached your side once more.

Eomer exchanged another easy smile with your father. It did not reach his eyes, you noticed.

“I do hope you traveled safely. Although I have no trouble imagining that Elfhelm would have defended you well.” Your father let out a chuckle. “Milady, if you would allow, my sister will accompany you to your chambers.”

Eowyn’s voice cut your contemplation short.

You pulled your hood off, now protected from the unmerciful winds outside. Only then did he meet your eyes. You felt his look more than you saw it. Like a burn, creeping from your neck to your face. His eyebrows were knitted and you could almost see the colour of his eyes from where you stood.

“Brother, you flatter me. I am sure you would be so kind as to show your betrothed her chambers, would you not? You were mentioning earlier how you regretted not knowing her better before the ceremony. This would be the occasion.”

You knew your mother would gasp before she did. Eowyn’s suggestion was inappropriate, to say the least. Two unmarried people alone? Nonsense. Willing the impromptu smile to go away, you had to bite the inside of your cheek. She was bolder than people told. It suited her.

Eomer seemed more annoyed than surprised by his sister’s plea in your favour, as he arched a brow in her direction.

Faramir’s intervention arrived just in time.

“Do not fret. What my wife meant is a simple visit with her as chaperon. I, on the other hand, will gladly escort you to Gera. She is the most dedicated maid chief, as well as the most suited to answer any question you might have. She will lead you to your chambers.”

Your parents were so bewildered they did not dare discuss Faramir’s sayings. After all, he was a man of Gondor, noble and the son of a Steward. That was one thing your parents did not dispute: ranks. They followed him in utter perplexity and silence, your father throwing a warning look to Eomer from afar. He caught your eye and turned around quickly. He knew his wife’s wrath, and yours was very much your mother’s. Still, you were his daughter and he wanted to protect you. More importantly, knowing Eomer as he did, he was afraid of the heartbreak he could cause you. He was not old enough to have missed the look on both your faces. It worried him more than it should have, but he’d have to make do with his actions. Elfhelm was the one who had offered your hand in the first place, after all.

Once they were eclipsed, Eowyn took your hands in hers, fretting over you.

“Let me look at you. Your hands are so cold. You look a little worn off. I am guessing you must have traveled for a long time, how are you feeling?”

You stumbled upon your words, mouth dry with exhaustion and stress.

She turned to smile at him. He pressed his lips together in a semblance of acknowledgment. You could not see that she rolled her eyes at him, irritated by his behaviour. She turned back to you.

“I-I am good, milady. We rode for a few hours, but nothing I could not handle.

-Do you hear that Eomer?”

As she spoke, she lead you inside the place. She asked about your hobbies, what you liked to eat, and what was your life like in your parents’ home. Eomer stayed silent the whole time. He was a ghost behind the two of you. Although, you could not shake the feeling he was listening to every single one of your answers. Once you arrived at your door, she asked one last question.

“Did you bring your horse with you? You could go riding around the planes. It is very beautiful this time of year.”

“Do you have any siblings? Eomer never mentioned any in his letters.”

The silence following that sentence made you queasy, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, bowing your head. The fact that he mentioned you in his letters was flattering but your siblings’ memory brought a renewed sense of grief over you. Eomer’s eyes were on your face, his mouth opening about to say something when you spoke.

“I did, milady. Two. Moira and Alaric. Unfortunately, they passed away. I am the only one left.”

Your smile did not quite reach your eyes. Eowyn turned to Eomer, sharing a silent sadness between them.

“Alaric and I trained when we were children. A tall child, with brown eyes. You knocked him once or twice on his backside.”

A chuckle escaped your lips as Eowyn’s recollection washed over her.

“Yes! I remember. He was always apologizing for hitting me. He did not want to hurt a lady. Even though the lady beat him up pretty badly, several times.

-He used to pretend that Moira and I were damsels in distress and that he had to rescue us from a vicious dragon. More often than not, we ended up wrestling with him in the river, turning ourselves into dragons just to spite him. He was not very fond of that game.”

Eowyn laughed, turning to her brother who was trying to hide away his amusement, as you smiled fondly at the memory. You missed them deeply. When she spoke again, it was in a gentle tone.

“I am sorry for your loss. I do hope you find happiness within these walls as Eomer and I did after the loss of our parents.” She kissed your cheek. “And comfort as well.”

Then, she opened the door to your temporary chambers and let you in your bedroom. The sun was bathing it in a warm light, the fire freshly lit against the cold drafts, a small desk next to a mahogany wardrobe in front of a neatly made bed. All of it looked magnificent. You lost yourself in the decor, looking everywhere you could, hypnotized by the details in the furniture and the beautiful carvings in the stone.

In a surprising turn of events, it was Eomer’s voice you heard, carrying across the room.

He hesitated and stepped in. He was getting closer to you, Eowyn softly closing the door behind him, leaving you two alone. Your heartbeat accelerated when you noticed.

“I do hope it is to your taste.”

“It is, your Highness. Thank you for the thought.”

His fingertips put away a strand of your hair in a delicate gesture. He looked just as surprised as you were by it. A light cough and a step back put him out of your way soon enough. Yet, air had left your lungs completely.

You bowed again. His hand on your elbow stopped you.

“Don’t. You are at home here.”

“I am sorry we have to meet again under these circumstances. I would have hoped for more time…”

He stopped his sentence there.

Eomer’s hands were clasped behind his back now, trying to hide his fidgeting to no avail. Feeling the warmth of the fire now, you took off your cloak, hands in front of the flames to warm them up.

His eyes trailed down your newly shown figure and his breath caught in his throat. What he remembered of you had grown fuzzy and as in a fog. Alaric or Elfhelm were the ones he usually came to see. As a child, he remembered your fondness over your older brother. Always trying to get him to take you with him when going on rides. He had a hard time saying no. Later, he had seen less of you. The only memory he had of you as a teenager was one of a child running away from her mother, her braids long in her back, laughing with her sister in confidence. You had payed no mind to him. After that, he had been so busy he never could catch you. Your father was very generous with the stories of your shenanigans. Once his children gone, he grew stingy, trying to keep those memories close to him, in a vain effort not to lose them. How was he supposed to do this?

In the meantime, as Eomer was losing himself in the past, you chose to let your eyes dwell in the dancing light. A thought for your mother passed through your mind. She would have an attack if she knew you two were alone in that room.

“We have to make do with what little control we have. Elfhelm told you about those peculiar circumstances, did he not?”

Surprised in your own thoughts, you nodded, in silence, focusing on getting yourself warm. His presence was disturbing. You wanted him gone and for him to stay at the same time. It was pulling you apart.

“As you know, I have obligations to the people of the Rivermark and obligations to the council of elders.

-My Lord, with all due respect, what are you getting at?”

Eomer recognized your father’s frank talking and wondered for a moment if he would come to hate it or love it, years down the line. For now, it made him laugh interiorly. The apple did not fell far from the tree.

“Call me Eomer. This has no place in this union.”

Your eyes snapped to his upon hearing his words, not quite believing him.

“I-

-Please. We are to be married. I want you to call me by my name. Not my title.

-As you wish, my… Eomer.”

He almost choked upon hearing your mistake. The politeness in your tone, laced with something he could not quite place, caught him off-guard. You were calling him yours. Something which had not happened in years happened in that moment: his resolve wavered. Quickly, he regained his composure. He had to say what he came here to say.

With a hand on his sword’s handle, he took another step towards the fire. He was closing in on you and you did not know how to feel about that. The heat within the room was becoming unbearable, from his proximity or from the fire you did not know.

He smiled weakly, his hair covering partially his face. How much you wanted to push it behind his ear. Face to face with him, a few meters apart, you could see the look in his eyes. Guilt and what you identified as sorrow. His eyes were so expressive, it was hard to miss. Although, you figured he might have been trying to hide them and made no note about it out loud.

“I take it you know about my previous… engagement.”

“I am.

-I have to confide in you with something you should know before the ceremony”

Your heartbeat stopped. What was he meaning to say?

“I do appreciate your dedication and your loyalty to your family. I value that greatly. That is why I am telling you this…”

His eyes darted away from your face, the difficult truth coming out of his mouth in a haste.

“I… The woman I lost… I still feel for her. A deep bond. As I did when she was alive. I do not know whether or not it will be broken or fade. I wanted you to know that.”

Eomer’s eyes were now clouded over. You did not dare come too close, settling for a hand on his arm, squeezing gently his muscle through the cloth.

“I see. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

He clasped his hand over yours, thankful for the gesture of support.

It was as you had thought. This marriage was going to be a loveless one, but one of companionship and trust. To you, it was what mattered the most. Or, at least, you could convince yourself of that in that moment. Convince yourself that his hand on yours did not break your heart in a thousand pieces, making your renewed hope crumble in on itself. Your mother had taught you better than that, you thought and kept your face from wavering.

“Eomer, I have to say, it does not come as a surprise. I figured a long time ago that my dreams, grand and beautiful as they were, were not realistic. Ever since I only wished for a peaceful marriage, children, and understanding. Despite what you may think, I am glad you told me.”

Taken aback, you turned away from him. At this angle, the sun was hitting your hair in such a manner, several hues of red appeared in them, making them look like a riot of autumn leaves. He found himself staring. It took him by surprise, this feeling of helplessness towards newfound beauty. Something resembling tenderness settled in him.

This seemed to quiet the guilt in him, the relief washing over his face. It mad you quiet for a moment, the way his brows relaxed and his posture dropped an inch or two. He looked like a man, not a king anymore. It was different from what you had seen so far, but not unwelcome. His whole demeanour changed, as if walls had come undone. Without a second thought and in a show of good grace, he asked: “What were your dreams? As a child?”

“I wanted to travel the world. See the oceans and visit dragon’s lairs.” Your smile lit up the room. Again, he marveled at it, willing his face to remain neutral. “Fight ogres and monsters, defend the innocent.” Your arms hugged you, a shiver running down your spine. You sighed, a feeble smile on your face.

A soft knock on the door startled you both. Eowyn appeared.

“I am afraid my brother is demanded elsewhere.”

Tongue-tied, caught in the middle of his haze, Eomer merely nodded, his cheeks tainted, saluting you quickly before leaving the room altogether. His manners were different. He seemed out of sorts, embarrassed even.

Before your train of thoughts derailed, Eowyn grabbed your hand and walked you towards the tall window, admiring the outside world.

“For tonight, do you prefer red or grey?”

This afternoon was going to pass quicker than you thought.

After the few hours spent in her company, you yearned for a long bath and a good night of sleep. You could have neither. A dinner had been planned in your honour and you could not skip it, even for all the gold in the world.

It was nothing but elegant and quiet. Your parents sitting in front of you, Eowyn next to you, Faramir had gone for the night. On your other side, at the head of the table Eomer seemed trapped in silence. Even as he ate, no sound came out of him. Something was troubling him, you could see it. Everybody at the table could see it.

Eowyn would have none of it.

“So, you told us how much you wanted to discover the land and the people of the Rivermark. I believe we could arrange for a small visit. There is an open market this time of year, we could go and pick some new things for you. If you would like to, of course.”

It took you by surprise. Baffled, you found yourself speechless for a few seconds.

“I- I would love that, my…Hum. What should I call you?”

Out of the corner of your eyes, your mother’s hard stare told you that had been a wrong move. Your father merely chuckled, deeply enamoured with a piece of plum pie in front of him. What you did not see was the smile he exchanged with Eomer behind your mother’s back.

The princess made no note of it, although pleased by your candid question.

“Well. You could call me “Your Highness” in a more formal setting. We are in family here and soon you will be a part of it in your own right. I believe I would be very fond of having you call me Eowyn. Or sister if you’d like.”

She seemed unsure of herself, her hand coming to rest on top of yours in a reassuring manner. Your eyes filled with unshed tears, you nodded.

“I would love that, Eowyn.”

She sighed discreetly, relieved at your acceptance. She had feared it too triggering for you to accept the familiarity. Elfhelm butted in, suggesting he could call Eomer, “son” from now on too, to which the aforementioned “son” reacted as you would think he would. An unimpressed stare. No harm made, as your father laughed wholeheartedly. Your mother’s barely contained smile and half hearted slap on his shoulder made all of you laugh even more.

Your eyes met Eomer’s as you were both laughing. He sat up, a ghost of a smile on his lips. Too soon you broke eye contact, fearing for your heart if you were to drown in them. A subtle blush settled on his cheeks, Eowyn’s silent eyes teased him about.

For the days after, your father went away with the King. Dinners were taken in the kitchen, with your mother and occasionally Eowyn. Within the week, you became quite close, even going as far as calling her sister on occasions. She shared with you parts of the tale she had lived through and you had told her in return some odd stories about her brother when he was training on your family grounds. She enjoyed those very much. This afternoon, you were both preparing to go to the market she had mentioned. Unfortunately, her pregnancy was not letting her. She had thrown up all morning, not being able to keep down much food - or any at all.

-No. We said we would go together, I am not leaving you here feeling like this.”

“You should go without me.

Her answer was drowned in a new wave of nausea. Soon enough, Faramir arrived, worry written on his face.

“Thank you. I will take care of her now, if you’ll allow me of course.”

Eowyn weakly approved and, as the maids and her husband took over, you ushered yourself out of the room feeling sticky and uneasy yourself. Before you had a chance to walk away, a hand on your shoulder startled you out of your thoughts.

“Milady?”

It was the chief maid, Gera. You had met her several times before as she had taken a fondness for your mother and reciprocally. She was a fresh old lady, strong and broad, witty and smart like only wisdom can allow. Often, they were found in the kitchen gossiping with a cup of tea - or what you thought and hoped was a cup of tea - talking about the weather and their absent husbands.

-You do not look fine.”

“I am fine.

Eomer was planted on your other side. Gera curtsied and went ahead through the door you had just left behind.

“I am merely tired, my…” His brow arched as to defy you of uttering the word and it made you silent.

“Wait here.”

It was an order not a request. He passed by you, checking on his sister for what seemed to extend into a long moment of solitude. You felt dirty and exhausted. Upon seeing the sun high in the sky, you understood why. The care your provided for Eowyn had taken so long, it was the middle of the day already. Drowning in your thoughts you barely noticed Eomer coming out of his sister’s rooms again. Not until he spoke that is.

“You should go get changed.

-What… What for, Eomer?”

Your brows furrowed, you followed him as he all but strode towards your room.

“I believe you are due for a visit today, are you not?”

Mischief was obvious in his eyes. Before you could protest, his hand pushed at the small of your waist and you found yourself silent once more.

“I’ll wait out here all day if I have to.”

He closed the door behind him and left you utterly baffled. You did as he asked, the feeling of his fingertips just as memorized by your skin as if you had been branded in fire.

You recalled the talk you had with him upon your arrival. The hope you felt at that time had somewhat morphed into something more, even after being crushed. Pinpointing what it was turned into a pointless task but it made you feel inexplicably happy to have him with you today. It could not be right. You probably were just happy anyone was with you today so that you could get out of the castle.

He had kept his word. Once out of the room, he was still waiting for you, leaning against the wooden frame of the door.

“Let us get going then.”

The horse-ride was silent for the most part, alongside him. His eyes could not stop coming back to your figure. His sister had insisted he accompanied you. She even told him how much you needed a change of clothes. Even with your hair out of sorts and your dress riddled with crinkles, he had found you beautiful. As a wild flower in a field, needing nothing more but the earth, water and the sun to be.

“Eomer?”

The whisper reached his ear with the wind, making him realized he could have missed it. Your voice was enough to carry above even his deepest thoughts. Not that he would ever admit to it aloud.

“Yes? What is it? Do you need to rest?”

His concern was endearing even if overbearing.

-Because I wanted to.”

“No, I am alright. I was wondering… Why- why are you here?

The answer fell out of his lips without a second thought. Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Eowyn did not put you up to this?

-Well, she did but… I would not be here if I did not want to.

-Oh.”

Certainly he meant it as a favor for her. Not that he wanted to spend time with you. Before the echo of the birds was all you could hear, you interrupted it.

“When I was smaller, I used to be so jealous of Alaric. And you.”

He scoffed indignantly. That could not be right.

-Because. Your life seemed easier than mine in so many ways. Weaving is not all it’s made up to be you know.”

“Why would you be jealous of us?

Despite himself he chuckled at that.

“Believe me, learning how to yield a sword isn’t either.”

His eyes grew sorrowful. The memories were taking over him, the wounded and tired men. The dead ones too.

-Yes. My father mentioned it. Although not too frequently. He is still distraught by it.

“Fighting always seemed like the noble thing to do. The brave thing to do. Once you’ve been on the battlefield, coming back from it is harder than you’d imagine. Life’s chores are made sweeter after that kind of experience.

-As we all are.”

Those were the last words he spoke to you, before reaching the village. They lingered in your mind long after that.

The village was quaint and crowded. You dismounted swiftly, barely waiting for him to join you, securing Lora to a nearby post. He was wearing a hood over his face, anonymity always a better option than being recognized and having to cut this excursion short. So many families were there. Small children were running around, chasing dogs the size of poneys, themselves being chased by parents or older children.

Eomer was standing a good few meters back from where you were looking at trinkets. The wind kept pushing your hood away from your face, while you were looking at the small cutlery in front of you. The smiles you gave the children were undoubtedly genuine. A small girl ran right past you, pursued by what looked like her brothers. She quickly found shelter behind Eomer’s tall stature. He seemed uncomfortable for a minute there. Yet, he crouched to the girls level, still hiding her from her kin.

-Hello, Sir.”

“Hello.

You joined him, crouching next to him, your hand on his shoulder absentmindedly. The feeling of your touch left him dizzy if only for mere seconds.

-Hello, little one. What are you hiding from behind the tall man?”

“Hello, milady.

Her little hand shot out to designate the aforementioned siblings. They were looking distraught themselves, the older one cursing under his breath.

-Yes, milady.

“Oh. I see. Are they your brothers?

-Then why are you hiding from them?”

Eomer’s surprise made you wonder if he had ever been run out of his own room by his sister even once. You had. Several times.

“I took this.”

From one of her small pockets, she pulled out a shiny rock, shaped like a tiny heart it seemed.

-No!”

“You took this from them?

The girl was growing angry.

“It’s mine. I found it in the garden and they saw and now they want to take it and sell it and I don’t want to it’s too pretty and…”

You placed a hand on her arm, Eomer’s silence beside you making you wonder if he was even there at all.

He did not know himself actually. His eyes were locked onto you, the tender gestures and soft words out of you were mesmerizing to say the least. Enora used to be so much more confrontational. She had no patience for loud cries and rueful children. They often laughed about it when mentioning their own possible children. He swallowed that thought deep inside, a sense of guilt nibbing at him.

“It is quite alright, we will solve this out together, is it good with you?”

The child nodded ferociously, not worried one bit as you took her in you arms and walked towards her three brothers.

“Polly, here you are! You scared us to death!”

Two adults joined them, a tall man with slender figure and a smaller woman by his side. She quietly scolded the children behind him. Polly reached for him and you put her in his extended arms. Her mother turned to you.

“I am so sorry for the disturbance my children have put you through. Tell us if you need anything from us for your time.

-Oh no, it was quite alright. Polly is a sweetheart.”

The little girl hid her face in her dad’s neck, visibly embarrassed but also very pleased by the compliment. One of the boys behind stepped forward, his mother pushing him.

“Milady, we are so very sorry for…”

You cut him short.

“I understand you wanted to sell the rock your sister found is that right?”

Ashamed, his head bowed, he nodded.

“Why would you do such a thing? What if someone was to sell your clothes without your accord what would you do?

-I am sorry, Ma’am.

-I know you are. Here. Instead of selling it, I will give you five coins for your sister to keep it as long as she likes. How does that sound?”

The boy could not believe his ears. He accepted the money - although it was not much - and thanked you profusely. Then, they left, Polly waving at you from her father’s shoulders. You waved back, a smile on your face. Eomer’s presence was still there. His voice was faint, for he was bewildered by you.

“You have a talent with children.

-Thank you.”

Bowing your head, fulled by the heartfelt compliment, your bravery took over your tongue.

“I’ve always wanted to have children. It is one of my biggest wishes.”

Eomer’s hand grasped your chin, until he was met with your heated eyes. Those were new. The look on your face was indescribable. Tenderly, almost in shyness, he kissed your forehead.

“I do hope it is something we can remedy soon enough. Make it a reality.”

You broke away all too soon. His breath suspended to your movement, in that instant he would have followed you anywhere, eyes closed. The rest of the afternoon was spent in quiet appreciation, and quick laughter. Eomer’s gestures were looser, his eyes never leaving your frame. On the other hand, he could have done this out of protection for what was his own? Your doubts still plagued you, day and night after that outing. Especially considering that a whole week passed without seeing him.

The warmth spreading in your cheeks was felt in his very fingertips.

The kitchen became a sanctuary, joining Gera and your mother around that cup of tea, which definitely was not tea.

Soon the engagement party arrived.

A maid had come in, a little younger than you, maybe by a year or two. She seemed excited to be the one to prepare you before the feast. She told you her name was Sofia. You remembered her. She was Gera’s daughter. She had made quick work of the corset and braided your hair in intricate patterns you would not have been able to do on your own.

“Thank you. It is a work of art.

-It’s nothing milady. My work here is done. I do hope you spend a beautiful evening.

-And I wish the same to you.”

She had left the room in nothing but a hurry. You wondered why until Eomer entered. His usual attire had been replaced with soft clothes, seemingly more comfortable yet more elegant in a rich burgundy fabric. His hair had been combed through, his eyes clear and fixed on you. Strangely, he appeared smaller, quieter… humbled. Your throat closed, incapable of looking away from him.

“Milady.” He leaned down, his golden hair catching the light of the fire. “You look magnificent.”

The dress you were given was a soft pastel green, showing your shoulders and neck more than you had dared to before, the fluid silk running down your waist like a river, stopped by a stiff new corset.

Your body was ablaze with his roaming eyes. You did not know what to feel or how to react to his looks. You feared it a trick of your mind.

It wasn’t. Eomer had not meant for it to happen. His irises were blown, he could feel it, his heartbeat like horses in gallop, taking in the way the fabric enlightened your figure, letting him see without looking parts of you still forbidden to him. His desire left no place for thought. Only his habits kept him from reaching out to you, as he wanted to. He had not desired anyone like that in a long time.

A faint thought brought Enora to the forefront of his mind, quickly erased by the very real revealed skin glintering in the fire’s light. He convinced himself it was just that: flesh desires and nothing more. Against himself, he still felt his heart clench once arrived, when you left his arm and greeted the guests and family.

The engagement party was a success. You danced together, every movement from him enticing you to bring him closer, leaving you breathless. Basking in the feeling, you chose to ignore the doubts plaguing your mind.

While taking a short break from all festivities, Faramir looked upon Eomer with amusement.

“Can you believe you only met a few weeks ago?”

Eomer’s eyes found yours in a heartbeat, across the room.

Your dress was swiping the floor gracefully as you were dancing with an elven emissary, taken aback by your laugh and energy. You did not know where it came from. Now, you just wanted to enjoy yourself. It was the only thing you were willing to focus on, your laugh a little too loud, your feet hurting, ale poured in your cup one too many times.

The king smiled fondly. His feelings came clear to him, as clear as he was looking at you right now.

Although she was long gone now, her presence in his thoughts was there even if thinning, his heart ached for her but not with the same intensity it had before. Realization dawned on him like a curse. It had found a new face to worship and love. You.

The tightness he had felt in his chest when you dismounted your horse that first day. The pure awe of you upon seeing your face after all these years. Soft glances exchanged across the dance floor right now, making him feel as if he had drunk too much. Your presence was making him forget. He was forgetting her when you were around. Against himself, against his best efforts to keep her close, keep her memories alive… Your very presence put that in jeopardy.

Fear washed over him. He wanted you. As he had wanted her.

He was lost.

Following that night Eomer, then, managed to keep you away as much as he could. Your presence was a danger to himself, or so he thought. He would come to learn that the very thing he thought was poisoning him, was also the very thing he needed to heal.

Next Part

#happiness series #eomer x reader #eomer x f!reader #arranged marriage #lotr fanfiction #lotr imagine #tw grief

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goodqueenaly · 4 months

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I saw that House of the Dragon in their podcast named Alicent's mother as Alerie Florent. Any thoughts on that? The Florents do seem to have bad luck in wars.

I’m still not talking about HotD, but it’s funny you mention this because I meant to make a post about it (and then completely forgot). You can find the interview here and the clip here specifically mentioning the name.

Anyway, the reason I wanted to mention it is not to praise this show but rather to bemoan the fact that a non-canon (to the books) TV show seems more interested in the identity of a female character, no matter how relatively minor, than GRRM himself has with various female characters of ASOIAF. I’m not saying I necessarily expected F&B to identify Alicent Hightower’s mother (although it’s not like I wouldn’t have liked it to), and in the vast annals of awfulness representing F&B’s treatment of female characters, Alicent Hightower’s mother’s lack of presence or even name may seem relatively low on the scale of offensiveness. Yet what bothers me deeply is the startling disregard GRRM has shown more than once in failing to identify female characters, or indeed failing to treat some female characters as more than walking wombs. The reigning yet unnamed Princess of Dorne is an infamous example; “Lady Stark, she died” - that is, Lyarra Stark, the wife of Rickard - is another. (Need I remind anyone that he sarcastically and yet totally inaccurately compared her to Aragorn’s actually named mother?) Quellon Greyjoy gets a detailed biography, but his wives don’t even get first names; Hoster Tully’s wife Minisa and Jon Arryn’s wives Rowena and Jeyne are only identifiable by their dynasties and the manners of their deaths. Nor did F&B go any real way toward solving this problem: Alaric Stark gets plenty of backstory and screentime, but his supposedly beloved Mormont wife doesn’t even have a first name; Rogar Baratheon’s first wife is only mentioned as an anonymous corpse already in the ground; Rodrik Arryn’s nameless first wife dies early enough for creep Rodrik to prey on Daella; Unwin Peake’s nameless adolescent daughter only exists to be raped and die in childbirth.

I don’t mention all this to say GRRM is a terrible writer, or hates female characters. Far from it! It’s precisely because I think GRRM is an extremely good writer, including with respect to female characters, that I find myself so disappointed when he shows such lack of regard in this area. In the 10+ years since GRRM began focusing in-depth on the Dance of the Dragons, there have been two novellas about this civil war, a world book describing in part this civil war, and an entire “related work” history of (the first roughly century and a half of) House Targaryen, with multiple chapters about this civil war expanding upon those novellas - yet it took the showrunner of a TV show adapting the F&B narrative of the Dance to care enough about Alicent’s mother to name her. I don’t know that this show is going so far as to give any personality or character to the dead figure of “Alerie Florent” (and again, I really don’t care about anything this show does), but even the showrunner mentioning that Alicent wants to remember her mother in prayers is more than we readers can say about, for example, Ned Stark’s relationship with his mother, or Catelyn’s with hers. GRRM’s lack of attention to or indeed interest in the identity of yet another female character, over the course of tens of thousands of words he’s written about the Dance era, stands in sharp and frankly unflattering contrast compared to even the passing mention of this figure allowed by the showrunner of a TV series which, by its nature, might have every incentive to be more streamlined about such details.

(Once again, I’m not posting about HotD and I’m not inviting anyone to use this post to talk about HotD, because those conversations are getting blocked by me. This is me using a news story related to HotD to comment on GRRM’s writing.)

#GRRM

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scuttling · 1 year

Text

Devil You Know

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries Pairings: Damon Salvatore/female reader (future) Word Count: 2,107 Tags: Just canon typical violence/blood so far, Episode related 2x14 Crying Wolf Summary: Damon's in love with Elena, would do anything to keep her safe—including forming an alliance with a mysterious newcomer who just might change everything. A/N: I consider this a teaser I guess, as plan to write the rest of season 2's storyline! I hope you like it :)

Keep reading below!

Damon goes to the historical society tea party because he needs to confront Elijah.

It’s absolutely the last thing he wants to do, after blowing off Jenna’s friend Andie, who will almost certainly be in attendance; the last thing he wants to do, knowing that Elena and Stefan are on some romantic getaway to her family’s cabin by the lake. But he needs to protect her, which means finding out more about Elijah and the deal he’s made with her, which means he gets dressed and goes to the party, puts on a smile, charms the pants off everyone like he always does.

It’s not easy, but someone’s gotta do it.

Damon is just walking away from Alaric, heading into the study on Elijah’s heels, when a pretty young woman grabs him by the elbow of his jacket. She fits in at the tea party, in a white sweater, long, tan skirt, and heels, but he can’t remember ever seeing her around town.

“Whatever you’re about to do, don’t,” she says in a low voice. A human wouldn’t have heard it, her lips barely move, but he can and she must know that.

“And who are you?” he asks, cocking a brow. He doesn’t take advice from people he does know, and definitely not from people he doesn’t; all the same, something about her intrigues him, though he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Someone who’s not about to let you make the biggest mistake of your life — or afterlife, whatever you call it.” She lets go of the fabric of his jacket, then smooths it out where she’s wrinkled it. “Trying to kill an Original is suicide, so don’t.”

She says it with an air of finality, almost authoritative, then turns away from him like she’s going to leave.

He can’t let this girl leave, but he can’t let Elijah go either. He’s torn, feels two warring senses of urgency, looks briefly toward the study and then back to her retreating frame.

“Wait—who are you? How do you know–what you know?” She turns back, hair falling over her shoulder, and shakes her head like she’s frustrated that he’s even bothering to ask.

“I know, and that’s all that matters right now. Look, I have to go; I shouldn't have come as it is.”

Damon grabs her arm to stop her from turning again, to stop her from leaving, but she frees herself with one firm, no nonsense tug and walks out the door without ever looking back.

A mystery for another time. Elijah’s in the study, and Damon’s going to do what he came for in the first place.

He gets stabbed in the neck by Elijah because of course he does; he never claimed to be rational or sensible, to think things through or weigh the consequences like his brother. He acts on instinct, with more emotion than most people probably imagine him capable of, and then deals with the aftermath as it comes.

The aftermath of this situation is a very sore throat, and a growing headache, as he mulls over what little they know, over and over and over in his mind.

“Today was a bust,” he punctuates with a sip of bourbon. He says it to himself, to the room at large, but Ric answers anyway.

“Yeah, that Elijah’s one scary dude. I’d think twice before I trust that dagger and some ashes to do the job. You’re gonna need more info.” Damon frowns.

“But I’m out of sources.” Ric stands to pour another drink, grabs Damon’s glass and does the same. When he hands it back, Damon has a flash of memory from earlier in the day—the tea party, the mystery girl who knew more than she should—and he smiles a little to himself, pleased. “Actually, you know what. There might be one person who can help us out.”

“I’ll take anything we can get,” Ric says, drinking down the remainder of his bourbon in one sip. Damon stands and does the same, grabs his jacket from the back of his chair.

As they head for the front door he starts brainstorming, deciding where they are most likely to find her. Strangers always seem to gravitate toward the Grill, so they should probably start there, ask around, find out if anyone who’d been at the event remembered her.

Those plans are cut short by werewolves. Goddamn werewolves.

“You know what the great thing about buckshot is? It scatters through the body. Maximum damage,” the one he knows to be Jules says, the one he hates with every fiber of his being.

They’ve got him chained to a chair—an antique that’s going to be a bitch to restore after this—with some kind of inverted spike collar on him, and he is leaking blood from a hole in his neck for the second time today. It’s a new method of torture for him, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little terrified of the potential outcome.

This is how he knows he loves Elena, really, truly loves her, he thinks. For anyone else, he’d have given up a long, long time ago, out of both boredom and self-preservation. Damon would kill for almost anyone—he kills mainly for himself, anyway—but she’s the only one he’d die for now that Katherine has fucked them all for the last time.

“Where is the moonstone?” Jules yells, pulling him out of his thoughts with a cock of her gun. One of the wolves pulls on the collar, which hurts like hell, but Damon just shrugs, smarmy as shit. Jules rolls her eyes. “Vampires.”

“At least vampires have the decency not to enter someone’s home without permission,” someone calls from the foyer. Damon can see that it’s his mystery guest, still dressed for the party, as she strolls casually down the hallway and into the parlor, toward the werewolves. Jules takes a good look at the girl, brows tight, as if she’s trying to place her, but the other wolves growl—actually growl—at her, nostrils flaring. It’s clear they know who she is… and that they actually fear her. “If I were you, I’d go. Now. Before another one of you gets hurt.”

Whether she’s referring to Mason or someone else he doesn’t know about, it doesn’t make a difference; the male wolves run out of the house in a blur, and Jules must trust her pack enough to know to follow, because she speeds past the girl and out the front door with the rest of them.

Damon is impressed. Very impressed.

A minute later, when the house is quiet and the girl seems satisfied the wolves are gone, she steps toward Damon; her heels click across the wood floor, and in that delicate skirt, that pristine white sweater, she yanks at the chains that have him bound to the wooden chair. They nearly crumble in her hands, breaking apart and freeing him from captivity.

Now he’s kind of terrified again. Terrified, and a little turned on, and really fucking confused.

“Should have let them kill you,” she mutters as she unlocks the collar, her hands slick with his blood but no less precise. She pulls each wooden stake carefully away from his neck, and he sighs his relief when the device is completely off, discarded on the ground. “Do you always have such a knack for getting yourself into dangerous situations, or have I stumbled upon a no good, very bad day?”

“Hey. They broke into my house,” he reminds her, standing, and what’s left of the chains join the collar in a heap on the floor. The girl lets out a long sigh and puts up her bloody hands in a gesture of irritation.

“Because you’re fucking with, quite literally, the most powerful, ancient beings, things you know next to nothing about, even though I told you not to.”

“No offense, but I have no idea who you are, what you are… Those guys obviously did, and I’m getting now that you’re kind of a big deal, but it takes a lot more than a mysterious girl leaving a cryptic message at a town event to get me to change my mind.”

With another sigh, she sticks out one of her hands, and after a pause he gets what she’s after, reaches out to complete the handshake.

“Hi, I’m the new resident vampire slayer. Happy to make your acquaintance.” He tries not to show that his mind is a little blown at this, that the prim and proper, frankly beautiful girl in front of him is a killer of anything.

“Vampire slayer? Is ‘hunter’ not cool enough this year?” She drops his hand, then wipes the blood from hers against the fabric of his black henley; it’s not enough to clean them fully, but now they’re merely stained red and no longer dripping with the evidence of his prior torture.

“Hunters are usually guys with personal vendettas, who spend too much time shopping at the army surplus store,” she says with a completely unsubtle look at Ric, who remains dead on the Persian rug. Either she doesn’t care, or she’s spotted the Gilbert ring, knows what it means. “Slayers are different; we’re born with innate power, similar to what you develop when you transition—though I guess it’s all the same when you’re on the wrong end of a wooden stake.”

She takes a step back as he takes a step toward her—toward Ric, really. She watches as Damon lifts him up and drops him onto the sofa, so he can wake up with a little more dignity, at least. “So, vampire slayer. Are you from around here?” he asks as he turns back. He grabs their glasses from earlier, and a third, and fills them all with bourbon. He offers her the drink, which she accepts, sips.

“I get around,” she says lightly, carefully avoiding his question. She walks around the room, exploring, as he cleans up, rolls up the soiled rug so he can dump it later on. “This is my first time in Mystic Falls, though I know all about its… rich history.” She takes another drink, this one deeper, like she’s tired after such a long day. He knows he is, so he can understand the feeling. “I’m drawn to where I’m needed, and I wasn’t needed here until the moonstone came into play. Now you've got doppelgängers, werewolves… I’m just fortunate you dealt with the vampires in the tomb on your own, or we’d be in a hell of a lot more trouble.”

“Hey, I’ve changed since then; I was an idiot in love,” he explains, then he fully realizes that’s bullshit; he’s still an idiot, and still in love—or, more appropriately, in love again.

He throws her a playful smirk, but she’s not laughing when she comes closer and locks eyes with him. It’s the first time he’s looked at her and seen what must be her darker, more dangerous side.

“Love is not an acceptable excuse for your actions, and if you ever give me reason to, I’ll put you down without hesitation. It’s important that you know that.” Her eyes flick over his, as if ensuring that he’s gotten the message, that he understands her loud and clear. “Even when I help you—if I help you—my loyalties are to the slayers who fought before me, who fight alongside me. No one else. If any of you harm an innocent person with intent, I will kill you.”

Damon contemplates that for a moment, he really does; there’s no shortage of people who want him dead, so adding one more to the list isn’t really as impactful as she may believe. He can’t help thinking, though, that if she’s on their side—if she’s willing to fight with them instead of against them—they might actually have a chance against the werewolves, the Originals. They might actually have a shot at eliminating the threat instead of outrunning it, at protecting Elena once and for all.

It means giving up human blood, which isn’t his favorite thing to do, but he’s done it before, can do it again. Will do it for Elena, if that’s what it takes.

“You have my word, slayer,” he says, peering down seriously into her eyes. For once, he means it. “You help us keep Elena safe, and we’ll all be on our best behavior, or you get to wipe out every creature of the night that lives in Mystic Falls.”

She nods, after a moment, then drains her glass of bourbon with an exaggerated, satisfied smack of her lips.

“Alright then. First things first: who’s Elena?”

#the vampire diaries #vampire diaries #tvd #vampire diaries fanfic #tvd fanfic #the vampire diaries fanfic #damon salvatore #damon salvatore fanfic #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore x female reader

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iamyouknow-yours · 11 months

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Marcel is a Mikaelson. He does not have to call himself a Mikaelson as he is fully within his rights to denounce the very toxic family but he is one.

I hate the way the show treated him, I hate the way the characters treated him, and I hate that he is involved with Rebekah. I hate the way he and Hope are only kinda sorta siblings.

1. The show:

So we know Julie Plec is very much a white liberal. We know this. We know she has sexism issues, we know she has racism issues (black women will save us all, really Julie????). I don't know which of her multitude of biases made her (and the rest of the writers) think that the way they wrote Marcel and the Mikaelson's relationships with him, was normal (or like normal in the context of the show). But boy howdy.

The plantation house. We're just going to have the Mikaelsons move into the house where Marcel was owned as a slave????? That's what we're gonna do?????? And where his abusive biological father lived and y'know, abused him. Fucking what the fuck?? I feel like this just epitomises the way the show treats Marcel.

2. The characters:

The family never treats him as part of the family unless they want something from him.

They did not raise him as a son and it is weird and terrible and he was a child!!!!! Why did you adopt him if you didn't want a child???

Why is Klaus so scared of having Hope if he's already had a child?

Why does Klaus treat Marcel the exact same way Mikael treated him just because they're not blood related?? (if they actually explored this it could have been interesting but no they just only half treat Marcel as a Mikaelson).

YOU'RE TELLING ME THEY DIDN'T CHECK?? THEY DIDN'T CHECK HE WAS DEAD????? Not once in the 80+ years did Klaus or Elijah go back to New Orleans or even send someone to fucking check that his SON was really dead??? Didn't think to do that???? No???

3. Rebekah:

Oh my god what do I even say about Rebekah?

They could have at least made her be daggered for the time when he was a child and only meet him when he was already an adult and a vampire because that way she's only technically his aunt and not a full fucking adult who saw him grow up!!!!!!!!

Hope:

Idk man, they were siblings. Let them be siblings. The whole thing in Legacies where the Mikaelsons just kind of left Hope alone? Weird. Bonkers. Batshit. I know it's because they couldn't get the actors but maybe think about that before writing your fucking show my guy.

Or in TO where Hope was just left alone and Klaus was not there as a dad for like 5(?) years.

Hayley was the only good parent on The Originals or Legacies canon, fight me.

(side note, you're telling me Caroline would leave Alaric, Alaric, an alcoholic, vampire-hating, weirdo (Caroline and Alaric being romantically involved briefly WAS WEIRD GUYS, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK HE USED TO BE HER FUCKING TEACHER) in charge of the school for supernatural children??

You're telling me she left him in charge of parenting Lizzie and Josie?? Yeah okay sure.

And look how well that turned out. Locking teenagers in goddamn prison worlds, excellent headmastering there Alaric well done. And just swell parenting of the twins. Favouring Hope over them at all times and letting them bully each other weirdly for years and allowing your mentally ill children to just get more mentally ill from your parenting. Great moves. Very good.

Okay Legacies rant over)

Yeah okay my whole rant is over I think.

TL;DR: Marcel deserved better.

(and so did the kids on Legacies.)

Also PSA, the only reason I have so many feelings about this is because I like the freaking shows okay? I like the characters (except Alaric and Damon and the ones we're supposed to dislike like Mikael and Esther).

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katz-rambles · 3 months

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Rules + Masterlist

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊

Rules:

I do/will write nsfw works!

Minors are allowed to interact with my page and my works, I just ask, not my nsfw works. But I don't control what you read on the internet, I just ask that minors not read those ones. Everything else is okay!

I don't commonly write m/m or male reader in general because I am not a male, but I can attempt (and hopefully do good) on a masc reader!

Anonymous asks are welcomed!

I don't write for character/character, (but I may in terms of gangbangs + threesomes 🤭.)

Please be specific on what gender, character, type, ect!

I will not write anything related to r@pe, 1ncest (this includes st3p-cest), p3d0, non-con drugged s3x, and cheating.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊

What I'll write for:

• The sandman

• Ghost (the characters, not the people behind the mask.)

• The vampire diaries

• Arcane (the show)

- I will add more as I get into more fandoms!

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊

A little about me:

• I'm a Scorpio.

• I'm currently obsessed with Ghost (again).

• My favorite colour is pink!

• I love annotating and analyzing absolutely anything.

• I'm learning French right now!

• I'm from Canada.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊

Masterlist:

• ❤️ = Smut/nsfw

• 🩷 = Fluff

• 💙 = Angst

• 💛 = Crack

• 💜 = Comfort

• 🌸 = Fem reader

• 🪽 = Gn reader

• 💌 = Drabble

• 💟 = Headcannons

• 🎀 = Ficlet

• 💋 = Full fic

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚˚₊‧꒰

Morpheus (dream)

Nothing here yet

Desire

Nothing here yet

Lucifer

Nothing here yet

Death

Nothing here yet

Hob galding

Nothing here yet

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

Papa Nihil (young and old)

slow mornings 🩷🪽💌 (old Nihil)

Papa Emeritus I (Primo)

Nothing here yet

Papa Emeritus II (Secondo)

Nothing here yet

Papa Emeritus III (Terzo)

Nothing here yet

Papa Emeritus IV (Copia)

shower sex ❤️🌸💌

parental worries 🩷🌸💌

Dewdrop/Sodo

Baking shenanigans 🩷💛🪽💌

Height troubles 🩷🌸🎀

Cold evenings 🩷🪽💌

Rut headcannons ❤️🌸🪽💟

wet dreams ❤️🌸💌

comfort headcannons 🩷💜🪽💟

if you're sick 🩷🪽💟

comfort after a long day 🩷🌸🎀

Rain

Soft dom and needy Rain ❤️🌸💌

stormy cuddles 🩷🪽🎀

caught you ❤️🌸💋

Rut headcannons ❤️🌸🪽💟

comfort headcannons 🩷💜🪽💟

praise kink ❤️🌸💋

if you're sick 🩷🪽💟

pregnant ghoulette headcannons 🩷🌸💟

you're a mermaid 🩷🪽💟

Phantom

personal problems ❤️🌸💋

Rut headcannons ❤️🌸🪽💟

forbidden romance 🩷🌸💋

if you're sick 🩷🪽💟

pregnant ghoulette headcannons 🩷🌸💟

nb phantom coming out 🩷🪽💌

Mountain

possessive mountain pt 1(?) ❤️🌸💋

Rut headcannons ❤️ 🌸 🪽 💟

comfort headcannons 🩷💜🪽 💟

vampire troubles ❤️🌸💋

if you're sick 🩷 🪽 💟

Swiss

horny Swiss thoughts ❤️🌸💌

plus sized reader ❤️🌸💋

Rut headcannons ❤️ 🌸 🪽 💟

if you're sick 🩷 🪽 💟

you're a mermaid 🩷🪽💟

Cirrus

Rut headcannons ❤️ 🌸 🪽 💟

if you're sick 🩷 🪽 💟

Cumulus

Cumulus' punishment ❤️🪽💌

Rut headcannons ❤️ 🌸 🪽 💟

comfort headcannons 🩷💜🪽 💟

if you're sick 🩷 🪽 💟

you're a mermaid 🩷 🪽 💟

Aurora

Rut headcannons ❤️ 🌸 🪽 💟

if you're sick 🩷 🪽 💟

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Damon Salvatore

dating headcannons 🩷🪽💟

blood drinking ❤️🪽💌

Stefan Salvatore

Nothing here yet

Elena Gilbert

Nothing here yet

Jeremy Gilbert

Nothing here yet

Jenna Sommers

Nothing here yet

Bonnie Bennett

Nothing here yet

Caroline Forbes

Nothing here yet

Elijah Mikaelson

Nothing here yet

Niklaus Mikaelson

Nothing here yet

Rebekah Mikaelson

Nothing here yet

Kol Mikaelson

Nothing here yet

Finn Mikaelson

Nothing here yet

Alaric Saltzman

Nothing here yet

Katerina Petrova / Kathrine Pierce

Isobel Flemming

Nothing here yet

Nadia Petrova

Nothing here yet

(I'm sorry if I don't have all the characters. I'm only on season five. 😅)

Nothing here yet

Wes Maxfield

Nothing here yet

Aaron Whitmore

Nothing here yet

Lorenzo "Enzo" St. John

Nothing here yet

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