#And what’s worst is that I know the second I return to the north for good my friends are gonna forget about me

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

DON'T TOUCH WHAT IS MINE. ( HOTD x Reader )

author note: I wanted to do HOTD x Greek Myths cause it's fun. If I get enough like or requests I'l do a HOTD x Greek Myths book on wattpad. pairing: Jealous! Aemond Targaryen x Noble Wife! Reader prompt: Aemond contemplates murder. word count: 1, 000+ words

You were supposed to marry Aegon, a way to secure allies in the North for when Aegon took the Iron Throne. But, when his Mother planned on marrying him to Helaena. Aemond swiftly made his move, knowing that the loss of an ally would upset his Mother. It was supposed to be only for duty. You were supposed to be his duty to his Mother and family. But, of course the Gods were cruel and he fell for you. Hard and fast. He practically fell flat on his face for you, like someone had punched him in the groin with a club named ‘love’. 

You were just so perfect. You were a proper Lady in the Court, weaving your way through politics with a cunning grace. You smiled and happily listened to Helaena as she rambled on about whatever popped in her mind, never judging her. You played with Helaena and Aegon’s children, always so patient with the toddler’s. You were cordial, yet stern, with Aegon⎯keeping him in line for the sake of his family when you could. You understood the want for revenge after the loss of his eye. You were just so perfect and kind. He hated how much he fell in love with you.

Watching you chat with some Lord from the Reach, Aemond grits his teeth, shifting around in place. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about you speaking to that Lord, but he would not tell you nor drag you away. He knew that you had some ambition or plan behind speaking to the Lord, one he did not know yet but knew that you would tell him soon enough. You were smart like that. 

Looking you over for any sign for him to interfere, he inspects your appearance with a subtle look of love. Your gown was more simple in feature, but a similar green to his Mother’s. Your hair is decorated with pearl and gold dragon hair clips. Your fingers decorated in rings, the sapphire one shining a particular bright. A smug smirk spreads on his lips at the sight of the ring.

“Yes, my lord husband, Prince Aemond is everything that I could ask for.” You nod, “I am content, actually I am more than content Lord Wormwood.”

“I am happy to hear that, your grace. But, I am just suggesting that…should you ever find yourself in need of some company whilst visiting the Reach⎯” Lord Wormwood suggests, making his blood boiling. 

“No, now I must return to my husband’s side.” You cut him off, eyes shifting away.

“Just a moment longer⎯” Lord Wormwood tries again, attempting to keep the conversation going.

Watching you straighten up your back and fiddle with your wedding ring, he instantly catches the subtle signal from you. You needed him. Holding his head up a little higher,  Aemond saunters over to you, attempting to hide his slightly faster walking pace than usual. Reaching your side in an instant, he gently places his hand on your hip, tucking you into his side.

“Aemond.” You whispers, a subtle glimmer of appreciation in your eyes. 

“I do believe that my wife and I have other more important matters than you, Lord Wormwood.” Aemond cuts in, his voice cutthroat. 

“I, uh, I well..” Lord Wormwood stutters out, shocked by the sight of Aemond lurking over you like some kind of protective dragon.

“Goodbye, Lord Wormwood.” You nod, dragging him away.

Feeling the tension within the room grow with each second, you softly intertwined your hands with Aemond, to prevent him from reaching for his blade. Tightening your grip on him, you start to drag Aemond away, knowing that he’d make some comment or at worst do something to Lord Wormwood. The last thing you needed and wanted was for a fight to erupt because some stupid old man couldn’t take a hint that you were married. 

“Come, come, Aemond. I am sure Helaena will be happy for us to join her.” You lie, tugging at him a little harder.

“Yes, let us go, my wife.” He nods, his voice sharp.

“Come, Aemond.” You grit your teeth, “Let us go, now.”

“Yes.” Aemond glares down the squirming Lord, like he hoped that he would burst into flames.

Cringing at the tension in the air, you tug him a little harder, struggling as he was practically glued to his spot. Sighing as he refuses to move, you press a kiss onto his cheek, using it as a way to soften him just enough to drag him away. Smirking as he instantly melts like a dragon burning a piece of wood, you drag him forcefully, weaving your way through the sea of Courtiers. 

“You kissed me.” He mumbles, a faint hum of pink on his cheeks.

“I did.” 

“You kissed me, in public.” He repeats, “You have never done that before.”

“Yes, well, I cannot exactly carry you over my shoulder to stop you from killing that man. So a kiss is what it was.” You counters back, a hint of wit in your voice.

Looking over his face in an attempt to see his reaction, he doesn’t really display any emotions, just this flatness which was typical of him. You liked to think he was born with a stone face and that Alicent had mistaken him for a statue instead of a babe. Cocking a brow up at the lack of anything from him, you softly squeeze his hand, attempting to get his attention or something from him. 

“I do not like him.” He grumbles, the disdain clear in his voice.

“Oh, really? I had no clue that you disliked him.” You jest, rolling your eyes playfully. 

“Do not jest. Tis’ not a jesting manner.” He sulks, “He propositioned you to visit his bedchambers.”

“I know, tis’ why I had you infer. I do not intend to share a bed with any other man than you. So do not even think of entertaining any doubt’s, Aemond.” You argue, quickly dismissing any doubt he may have.

He goes quiet for the longest time. It almost looked like he was actually accepting your words without any possible argument or disagreement. Relaxing for a moment, you watch as he licks his bottom lip, his eye narrowing for a moment.

“Let me kill him.” He mumbles, almost like he was begging you to allow it.

“Not in public.” You argue, not taking him seriously.

“That can be arranged.” He smiles, a rare smile tugging at his lips. 

Shaking your head with a gentle scoff, you look over his face for a moment, seeing that he was being serious. The look on your face shifting into one of annoyance. Whilst other men would have lashed out and caused a scene, Aemond was cunning and waited. Like a snake hiding in the tall grass. Smacking his arm softly, he lets out a soft snort, a cheeky little grin spreading on his face. 

“No.”

“Fine.” He mumbles, rushing away from you. “I will not be the one to do it.”

“Aemond Targaryen, don’t you dare.” You scold, chasing after him.

---

@lovelykhaleesiii

@fragileheartbeats

@danytar

@nightvers

@zaldritzosrose

[aspiringhorrorauthor]

I am so fucking done with living down south. Someone get me home

[mrchiipchrome]

Te Amo

W.C. - 2.7 k

a/n: alexia is genuinely so grrr I can't even.

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

A night on the town was all you needed after a long day of flying, packing up your stuff and trying to settle into the city you now had to call home. Moving from North Carolina to Barcelona wasn’t something you were expecting to do, but when the biggest club in the world came calling, you answered.

Seeing as you were one of the best midfield coaches in the world at only 29 years of age, it shouldn’t have been surprising that Barça had come calling, wanting to make their midfield even stronger than it already was.

Paying the taxi man substantially more than you probably should have, you were already a bit buzzed from pregaming, that mixed with your extremely limited knowledge of the Spanish language left you to overpay for the cab and look at the bouncer all confused when he spoke rapidly. 

Finally settling at the bar, you order some drink you’ve never heard of in your life, looking around at the faces of the people closest to you, it doesn’t take long for you to spot the hottest girl you’ve probably ever seen staring at you from across the bar, the woman bringing her hand up to wave at you. Waving back, you get your drink within minutes, leaving you to sip at the strong alcohol and feel the buzz quickly returning to your body, all warm inside from the heat inside the building and from the alcohol coursing through your system.

Looking around the room, you don’t notice the almost familiar woman continuing to study you, looking at your features intensely, the casual smile on your face doing something to her.

The glass in your hand is soon empty and after another one, you’re positively drunk as fuck, so drunk in fact that the hand sticking out for you to take almost goes unnoticed.

The smile on the pretty girl’s face is seductive and you get lost in her gorgeous hazel eyes as soon as you look into them, the flush to her cheeks suggesting she’s as intoxicated as you, if not more. Either way it didn’t matter, looking up at her expectantly as if you’re telling her to actually make a move.

“Vamos.” She nods her head towards the dance floor, ‘what’s the worst that can happen’ you think to yourself as you take her hand and let her pull you along to the dance floor. She was familiar, you just couldn’t place where you’d seen her before, but you knew that you’d seen her before somehow, somewhere.

Her hands land on your waist, pulling your body close to hers, too close for two people who had just met. Spanish women had a lot more confidence than you would have thought, not that you minded for even a second.

The thumping music changes, a sensual song coming on for everyone wanting to grind on someone, the woman’s front pressed tightly to your own as she starts to sway you both around, moving her hips in a way that had you enchanted. Her hands slide up your body, touching every curve and dip hidden beneath the dress shirt, fingers soon finding their way to the back of your neck and the hair at the base of your head.

Now it’s your turn to put your hands on her waist, your bodies moving as one to the song blasting through the speakers, her lips meeting your neck as her head slotted into the space between your neck and shoulder. It’s a bit ticklish but you don’t mind.

Your hands slide a bit lower, landing at the bottom of her back, just above her butt, and she hums loud enough for you to hear over the loud music blasting in the club. Her eyes meet yours just as she pulls her face away from your neck, her plump lips moving to the lyrics of the song and you’re absolutely enticed.

But then, all of a sudden, her lips stray from forming the words of the song, two words escaping that you frankly had no clue about the meaning of.

“Te amo.” Is all you can hear over the music, hands still holding her body close to yours as confusion flashes across your face, once again not knowing a lick of Spanish. As her drunken gaze takes in your expression, she seems to simply think that you couldn’t hear her, not very surprising seeing as you could barely hear your own thoughts. “Te amo.” She repeats, cheering on as the song changes, swaying her hips to the beat leaving you to try to catch up.

Thinking the girl had posed a question, you just respond with the thing you felt was the most appropriate, a simple;

“Nah.” 

Now it’s her turn to look confused, her face inching in closer to yours in order to understand better, at the same time her arms tighten around your neck, trying to keep you close to her. After a second or two she repeats herself for the third time, now just thinking you were a bit stupid or something.

“Baby I can’t understand you, you gon’ have to speak up.” Speaking your native language, the lady in your arms doesn’t seem to understand you, not surprising seeing as you were in Barcelona and not the US. She’s chest to chest with you now, her nimble fingers scratching at your head, her face close enough to your own for you to be able to smell the alcohol and something fruity on her breath.

“Baby, let up a lil’ n’ relax, I ain’t gon’ run away. Like this.” Taking her hands with your own, you slowly pull your bodies apart, pretending you don’t notice the strangled noise escaping her throat. Twirling her around a few times, you can feel the way her body relaxes under your hands, and you pull her body back to yours, dancing in sync with her.

The intense look she was giving you pulled the words you barely even understood from your mouth, your mind completely blank, the only thoughts revolving around the sexiest woman you had ever seen.

“Te amo.” You tell her, southern accent putting a cute twang on the words, a small smile pulling at the corners of her wine red lips leading to a smile of your own being produced, even if you didn’t really know what you had told her. In the back of your intoxicated mind something told you that it means something along the lines of ‘I love you’.

By now, her hands have migrated back to your neck, and in a split second decision you decide to take one of her hands in yours again, leaving her to let her hand slide downwards towards your waist. Fingers leave goosebumps in their wake on skin they don’t touch, a barrier of pent up sexual tension and fabric restrict her fingers from meeting the warm skin under your dress shirt.

Her other hand’s fingers thread with your own, her head now coming down to rest on your collar bones, the soft skin of her cheek meeting the skin of your upper chest area. Electricity courses through your veins at the contact and you almost pass out because of the pure tension between you two.

A second passes and then, out of nowhere, the brunette pulls away from your hold, the space where her hand once was now cold, her hand still in yours.

Dragging you across the dance floor, you allow the beautiful woman to take the lead once more, blindly trusting her as the door to the club comes into your line of vision. By now you’re both running, the door pushed open quickly as feet pound against the ground, and you both laugh, a hearty laugh, a drunken laugh.

No cars drive by, a perfect calm night with all the rowdy teenagers in the clubs with the tired adults looking for a quick hookup, and for once, you feel at peace. The woman holding your hand, not even looking as she crosses the street, is your peace. 

The missing piece in the puzzle that is your life.

The sand beneath your shoes sinks as you try to keep up with the hazel eyed beauty, cool breeze coming from the sea in front of you as she lets go of your hand, pulling her shirt over her head after skidding to a halt, sand flying in all directions.

You watch as more skin gets revealed, unbelievable abs, strong back muscles, muscular thighs and broad shoulders, your gay mind short circuited at the display of the absolute powerhouse of a woman she was.

In your stupor, the only thing you could think of doing was back away, get a reasonable distance before she rid herself of everything. Yet as her warm hand moves to take hold of your own again, everything you’d ever learned disappeared from the confines of your mind, blindly following her every word like she was your messiah.

“Stay, please.” Her accent was a bit wilted and peculiar, but so extremely homely that you barely knew what to do with yourself. “Relax, ey?” She repeats your words from before, nothing but pure confidence in her voice as her fingers start to pull the ends of the shirt out of the top of your pants, feeling her fingertips against the skin of your stomach.

Her hands fiddle with the buttons on your shirt for a few seconds before she decides on just ripping it off, the quicker and much better way to get it off you. Looking on in pure shock, the mystery girl pushes the now destroyed shirt off your strong shoulders with a cheeky smile covering her face, the white material landing in the pile of clothes already forming bedside you both.

Pushing your slacks down your legs, you soon throw them into the clothes pile, barely even noticing the woman moving closer and closer to you until her hands land on your waist, goosebumps now visible to the naked eye. She leans in closer to your face, using her grip on you as leverage to get higher up, her lips less than a centimeter away from your own, moving back ever so slightly as you try to connect your lips.

“Te amo.” Her raspy voice sends shivers down your spine, her lips practically speaking onto yours with how close together they were. “Dilo.” That was something you recognised, one too many summers spent with your aunt in New Orleans to not pick up some french, the Spanish language awfully similar.

“Te amo.” You respond, by now just wanting her full lips against your own, your hands on her cheeks, thumbs stroking against her cheekbones, stomach filling with butterflies full of anticipation. Her giggles fill the air, and as she runs away from you and towards the sea, you can’t help but giggle too, the absolutely absurd situation making you that much more giggly.

It doesn’t take long for your long legs to catch up with her despite her athletic build, her drunk uncoordinated body slowing her down significantly. Almost tackling her to the ground, you pick the girl up and throw her over your shoulder like she weighs nothing, running into the sea as she giggles and tells you to put her down in the limited amount of English she knows. 

“Oh I’ll put ‘cha down alright.” About knee deep in the water you stop, leaning down slightly and almost throwing her into the cold water, diving down just after her so that she couldn’t splash you, feeling the rippling water above your head.

Your head goes up above the surface just after the brunettes, and you’re treated to the sight of her pushing her hair away from her face, biceps flexing in the moonlight. Swimming towards her, she reaches out for you the second you’re close enough for her to touch, her hands not really knowing where to start, flitting all over your body barely taking the time to actually feel your skin under her fingertips.

“A’ight, you gotta keep them hands to yourself there, pretty lady. I bite.” She looks at you all innocently and you’re barely even convinced that she can understand what you’re saying. Laughing at the thought, you soon leave her behind as you start to swim, your hands gliding through the water like that's what they were made for, slowing down ever so slightly to let her play catch up. 

Your feet just barely meet the sandy bottom as she finally catches up to you, her hands threading around your neck, pulling you closer to her like she did in the packed club, only this time she actually kisses you.

Her lips feel like heaven against yours, so divine that you think you’re dreaming, for nothing on earth was so perfect like the girl in your arms was. But as her legs interlock around your waist, you’re sure that your mind couldn’t conjure up something as perfect as her, everything in you screamed yes as her tongue poked at your lips.

Gasping as her thighs squeeze around your hips, the woman practically devouring you takes the chance to slip her tongue into your mouth, exploring the entirety of your mouth with her tongue.

You both moan into the kiss, your hands coming down to rest on the backs of her thighs so that she wouldn’t fall off into the water, not that there would be any risk of that happening, with her legs gripping onto your waist for dear life.

Pulling back, she doesn’t let you go that far before her lips are on yours again, moving in such a way that draws you in even further.

‘Shit, she’s got me hooked’ is the only thing running through your mind when your hands move up her back, undoing the clasp of her bra…

—------------------

Waking up to a raging hangover, half of your new bedroom thrashed and no woman from the night before might be the top 10 most confusing ways to wake up, realizing your alarm has been beeping for the past hour though added a certain little bit of spice to the whole morning.

“Fuck, fuck, shit. I am so late.” Rushing around and putting all your clothes on, you barely notice the dark purple hickies littering your neck, definitely telling a story of how you spent your night.

The last thing you do before you leave your apartment is picking up your satchel with all your so-called ‘homework’, and then absolutely legging it out of the building.

Luckily enough for you, the training grounds were a walking distance away from your apartment building, leaving you to get there in record time.

Panting, you enter the building by flashing your employee ID to the scanner before once again legging it in search of room A221 where the first meeting of the day would be held, the meeting for you to meet all the players you were going to coach.

Bursting into the room, pants almost falling down your legs, some serious bed head, humongous purple splotches on your neck, mismatched socks and a few buttons undone, you officially looked a mess on the one day you weren’t supposed to.

Flattening down your hair subtly, you walk towards the front of the room where the head coach is looking at you funnily.

“I’m so sorry sir, my alarm didn’t go off.” He nods his head, accepting your apology before turning to the women in the room, introducing you to them all as you’re looking for something in your bag.

“Girls, this is your new midfield coach, Y/n Y/l/n.” They all nod a little half approvingly, finding the whole situation funny if anything.

“Hello everyone, I know I look a mess but just disregard that for the time being, I just wanted to say that it’ll be a pleasure working with every single one of y’all-” Finally looking up from your hands, you see the girl from last night staring right back at you, a satisfied smirk on her annoyingly pretty face.

Oh so that’s where you knew her from.

How the fuck were you going to be able to not think about recreating your perfect night together everytime you see her? Fucking up before even starting your new job had to be some sort of record. 

[ophelieverse]

if you are still taking requests I have one:Jace returning to Winterfell to reader,who is Cregan younger sister,to make the “song of ice and fire” become true after his mother told him😌please and thank you❤️

✩ ‧₊˚ and his will be the song of ice and fire

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader

-Summary:during his first stay at Winterfell,Jace and Y/n got much closer than they should.Now,after knowing the prophecy about the song of ice and fire from his mother,Jace is determined to make it true with the most beautiful lady he had ever seen.

-Warnings:spoilers of the last episode,reader is a Stark,Jace cheats of Baela(him and reader pull a Rhaegar and Lyanna)smutty time,asoiaf classic warnings.

•-thank you so much for requesting and let me know what you guys think,sending you lots of love

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On that night in early Winter,as a milky moon shines white above the hills,the snow falls soft to whitewash the gentle slopes and the houses in the valley of Winterfell.The air smells of the last breath of smoke blown out of a fireplace,ice,earth and wood.

It's late,and many lights are already off,but the fire of torches along the streets still shine.The tavern lanterns are also still lit,as are some fireplaces or oil lamps in homes.The world is immersed in the peaceful quiet of that cold night,which already brings with it the algid squeeze of winter now closer and closer.

In the secluded area of the cold godswood,in the gardens of the castle of Winterfell,silence envelopes the floral landscape like a lover embrace and Jacaerys worries that the unrequited sound of his beating heart could be heard throughout the whole realm.

The blood-red leaves in the branches of the weirdwood tree danced calmly in the breezy wind,the snow had stopped falling from the black sky leaving only the white stars to shine.The torches lights were too close and too bright,Jace eyes were hurting and his cold hands were trying to warm up in the ones of his future bride.

The young prince is really trying to focus on the soft words,the promises of eternal love and loyalty,of the Septon that works for House Stark.But they sounded so foreign to him,almost as if they were another language.It’s impossible for him to focus on anything else outside the fact that he’s really getting married.

During his life,Jacaerys has never knew well how weddings ceremonies actually worked,but he was pretty sure that this one,his,wasn’t what people would call a normal one.He has a vague memory of his mother second wedding,just the day after the worst night of his life,but he still could remember a loving couple becoming one in the heart and soul.Promising each other,in the house culture,love and devotion,eternal loyalty.

He also remembered the wedding of his uncle and aunt,Aegon and Helaena,in the big and bright Temple in King’s Landing.How two children spouted oaths that they didn’t believed in,framed by perfect swaths of red,green and yellow.Smiling faces of their families,proud to be reunited for such a joyful moment.Then the celebration after in the castle,the people dancing and laughing,the melodious music and singing,the delights of the night.

Meanwhile this wedding,his,was quiet and rushed.Reserved and in the dark shade of the forest.There are no wonderful colors for decorations,no smiling families members or friends,aside from Cregan who was chosen as a witness to the union,and Jacaerys is in the middle of an icy tundra of suffocating silence.

Y/n is standing in front of him,adorned in pure pearly white just like the snow at her feet.She wasn’t just beautiful,she was otherworldly and vaguely threatening.Bright eyes,rosy cheeks and red lips,hair falling in the wind,the smile of and enchanting enchantress and the nature of a young she wolf.Blue winter roses crowned on her head,she looked like a religious icon,someone people sacrificed themselves for.

Jacaerys had spent weeks with her during his stay in the North and he couldn’t forget her for days.He had engraved her name in the palm of his hands,the way she would laugh with him,the way she carried herself and looked at him,forever in his heart.It was impossible to not grow to love her,the beautiful lady was made of magic and stardust.

The logics and sermons,the words and phrases of the Septon weren’t the one to convince him to swear his allegiance and love,the way she held his hands and softly smiled at him driven deeper into his soul.Y/n had wrapped herself into his ribs,crawling right inside his heart,to keep him warm.

He was born for her and she was born for him.The ice and the fire,it was written in the destiny.

His mother words still echoed in his mind as he looked at Y/n.The song of ice and fire would be the product of their love,a son or a daughter that would have ruled and kept the realm together and safe.Someone who would inherit the blood of the old Valyria,the blood of the dragons and gods,fire and warmth from their father.And the blood of the first men,the old gods,the ice of the true north from their mother.

Y/n was his truth,Jacaerys was the dream,she was the ice and he was the fire.

She made him sick with desire,she always did since the moment he was first introduced to her.With the desire to have her,to possess her,to have her around him forever.And now he had the perfect opportunity,the perfect excuse for his betrayal to Baela and his mother who had betrothed them months ago.

Now he could still believe that he was a good person with a purpose,not only because of his own selfish dream to be with Y/n and to marry her just because her figure hunted his memory and his carnal needs.Because he was growing to love her and wanted to grow old with her.It was for the realm,he was repeating to himself over and over to shut down the guilt,and it would be what he would tell his mother and cousin when he and his new wife would go to Dragonstone after their wedding.For the realm,for the world and the Targaryen dynasty.

Jacaerys is dressed in pure black,trembling in his furry cloak,he’s trying to calm down his breathing that relies heavily through his nose in forms of little white clouds.Idly he wonders if this was a funeral ceremony instead of a wedding,but this was the best they could manage in such short time.

The young prince had came to Winterfell,flying on dragon back,with the last lights of the sun and everything was orchestrated in secrecy as fast as they could.The child that would be born from him and Y/n needed to be fully legitimate,he didn’t wanted to risk a bastard just like he was,not when the child wouldn’t have become the protector of the realm,the one from Aegon the Conqueror dream.

Y/n was promised to Lord Jason Lannister eldest son and Jacaerys was promised to his cousin Baela.Everything of this was the highest of treason but the war was already there and they couldn’t go back now.His mind couldn’t help but circling around and back to the empty and oddly depressing atmosphere around them.

Before them a old and solemn man was going through some chants about the gods witnessing the union and behind them a grand total of just two whole guest.Cregan stood there,wrapped around his cloak,still and silent like a statue,Vermax was a few feet away looking at the scene like he could understand what was going on.

«In the sight of the Seven,I hereby see you these two souls,binding them as one for eternity.Look upon one another and say the words.»the Septon words were spoken with decision under the torches fire.

Jacaerys swallows thickly and feels like he’s been choked by the cloak that now is heavier on his shoulders.A beads of sweats drips down on his forehead and make his hair stuck on his neck even in the cold air.He wants nothing more than loose his collar and breathe deeply.All that clothing is far too stiff and uncomfortable and he feels like a stranger in his own body.He has to tell himself,as he close his eyes,that this would be over sooner that he’ll realize.

His mouth feels dry as he wet his lips before speaking his vows«Father.Smith.Warrior.Mother.Maiden. Crone.Stranger.I am hers,and she is mine,from this day,till the end of my days.»his voice was firm as he held her hand tightly.

Y/n smiled at him,she tried to be brave just like he was.Her hands were shaking in his,her nerves had eaten her alive the whole night,from the moment she had put on her mother old dress,to this very moment.Now she couldn’t go back.

She really started to love Jacaerys,how could she not?He was so gentle with his words,so kind with the way he touched and looked at her,perfect in everything that he did.And the fact that him,such a beautiful and loving man,had chosen her as his wife and future mother of his children,was dream coming true.As a child,she often dreamed of becoming a princess and to marry a prince,just like the ones in her fairytales.

But now she would’ve had to be the future Queen in a kingdom divided in two,with a war that was screaming outside their door.Jacaerys seemed to read her mind,squeezing her hands lovingly and nodding his head to reassure her,in a way to tell her that she wasn’t alone and that they would be together in the bad and the good.

«Father.Smith.Warrior.Mother.Maiden.Crone.Stranger.I am his and he is mine,from this day,till the end of my days.»Y/n pronounced every single word softly without taking her eyes off her husband.

Maybe this was really a funeral because,as she spoke,Y/n realized that there was no turning back now,they would not be just a prince and lady anymore.When did everything became so complicated?She started to get melancholic as she started to register how much her life had changed in few seconds,that the best part of her new life was also the hardest.

Just a few weeks ago she was running around the godswood with Jacaerys as she was teaching him about the old gods and the legends in the north and now all of her dreams and ambitions were threatened by her husband family.A family that she was part of now.

They were supposed to change the world by bringing their child into it,but the world was about to change them and it certainly wasn’t a change for the better.The greens usurping the throne,prince Aemond killing prince Lucerys proves that.

Y/n head was hurting as she thought about that.And she couldn’t forget about the part where both her and Jacaerys were promised to other people.They would be viewed as traitors among his family,his uncle Daemon wouldn’t take the news kindly and he certainly wouldn’t congratulate them.Y/n father also didn’t knew about any of this and she still feared his reaction.

Regardless all of that,of having the world against them.Both Jacaerys and Y/n didn’t cared about all the venomous things people will say about them or the things that they would have to go through,because if they were given a second chance they would do it all over again.They were loving each other too much to let the other go.

«With this kiss I pledge my love.»Jacaerys said to her,moving his hand to caress carefully her freezing cheek.

His lips felt soft and surprisingly warm against her cold ones.And just like that they were officially married in the sight of the Seven and law.

There is no time for celebrations,no music and tables filled with joy,decorations and all sort of foods.Instead they found themselves in Y/n chambers,the one she grew up in,the one that saw her going from a little girl that played with her dolls to a married woman.

The sheets were changed clean,some fresh flowers were put to adorn the headboard and right on the small table at the center of the table there was wine and some fruits.Cregan had to be the one organizing the whole thing as a small gift.

Y/n takes off her cloak and picks up a small red berry.Jacaerys does the same,moving around the room quietly,he raised his eyes and caught her attention with a sweet smile,so tender and yet so seductive,his lips shiny and wet with a clear juice that slowly dripped down his chin.

«Let me help my wife.»his voice sounded more confident now that it was just the two of them and no one else.

The word,wife,made Y/n feel hot against her chest and down her legs.Standing behind her,Jacaerys wrapped her in his arms.She shuddered when she felt his lips on her neck and along her shoulder:she closed her eyes and abandoned herself against his chest,sighing.

«Jace,husband.»whispered the beautiful lady,her eyes closed and her head slightly tilted back.

«From our love will come the child that this world needs.»Jacaerys had said between the kisses«And I will take care of both of you.»he continued.

«You promise?»Y/n voice was just breathless whisper.

«Nothing will happen to you,»his hand crawled down her stomach leaving shivers on her clothed skin,only to stop at her lower belly.

«But…your family…your mother and uncle-»she tried,biting her lip when he started to suck gently behind her ear.

«Our family will understand.»he corrected her«My mother knows the truth and she will grow to love you just like I do,especially after we will make her a grandmother.»he reassured her sweetly.

A shiver flashed down her back and inflamed her loins.The young prince lowered her shoulder strap to discover her breasts and squeezed it slowly between his fingers,flaring in turn as he felt the nipple turged against his palm.

Y/n staggered,her heart throbbing,her breath shortness and her legs were already trembling but Jacaerys was quick to support her:he lifted her in his arms and took her to the thalamus,on which he gently laid her,a splendid candid flower that seemed to fill that place of shadow with light and of which it was impossible for him to do without.

«My beautiful princess,my beautiful wife.»he murmured against her lips kneeling above her,her eyes shiny,her face turned on despite the pallor.

Y/n took his head in her hands,dipped her fingers between his long curly black hair like a crow's wing;she felt his whole body quiver himing,his heart beating fiercely,and like every time he made her understand that he wanted her,a glance was enough for her to make sure of his devotion:she beat her eyelashes darkening the beautiful irises for a moment,licking her lips;she barely curved them,aware that that gesture drove him crazy,she slowly pulled a flap of the dress to herself by uncovering one leg and flexed it,letting the toe of her foot slide down his thigh,continuing to look at him intensely.

Below the fabric of his pants,Jacaerys felt the delicacy and sensuality of her touch.The tremor of excitement that attacked him was violent, lightning-fast:he stared at her for a moment and couldn't resist any longer.He impatiently freed her from the gown leaving her naked and just as quickly he undressed himself,the look that ran longingly on every corner of her body,unable to give up admiring her as the first time and like every time.

«I’m yours.»Jacaerys promised her,whispering against her lips«Nothing will ever take me away from you.»he kissed her sweetly.

She whimpered and her heart started to beat faster«I’m yours.»she repeated.

He sank with his nose and mouth between the curves of her chest,grabbed her soft hips,stroked her thighs and bottom.Y/n flared all up as she felt his lips pop greedily on her breasts,squeezing volupously around one of his nipples as he brushed it with his tongue and teased the other with his thumb.Pervaded with chills,she widened her legs and clawed her fingers on the sheets;she lifted her pelvis sighing,longing for it anxiously.

The pleasure exploded when he began to draw with the arabesque index finger in the center of her body:she moaned,her breasts shaken by palpitations,her nipples turgid and sore from the pleasure of kisses and caresses,the groin and lower abdomen on fire.

Jacaerys stretched out on her,wrapped her every horizon in darkness:all her muscles were pulsing, the heartbeat that became gradually more frenetic from the burning need to love her,to get drunk on her.He looked at her again he could never have satiated himself to admire her beautiful face - and as soon as she returned his gaze,sweet and sensual every time more,the voluptuousness clouded his mind.

He sank between her thighs,tearing a lament from her that he suffocated with his lips;he clinged her tightly in his arms and kissed her with trepidation,proud and passionate as he pushed himself into her.Y/n clung to his shoulders pressing against his chest with her breasts and belly,her thighs squeezed to his hips:she felt like screaming again, but her tongue danced unbridled in her mouth,the movement of the hips energetic against her,providing her with each push a pang of intense,deep,absolute enjoyment.

The prince hands ran over her body with ardor,she felt his fingers demanding and sweet at the same time on the flesh,in the throes of estasy,she could do nothing but indulge in passion,following the fast pace with which he was moving inside,shadow inside the light,light wrapped in shadow.

«Jace,oh my gods!»Y/n had breathed closing her eyes and pulling the hair at the nape of his neck.

Going crazy with pleasure to hear his bride enjoy,Jacaerys pushed with greater vigor,eager to increase her enjoyment to a great demour,excited by her moans and delighted by the fervor with which she clenched herself by scratching his back with her nails.

«Y/n,oh my sweet little wife.»he groaned against her her,sweat covering his forehead.

He loved her,impetuously and madly,letting himself be stunned by her sighs,her heartbeats,her scent,similar to a flower that spreads his fragrance moved by the north wind caress.

Y/n quivered below him,the breast prey to his incessant caresses,the mouth half of his insatiable kisses;she felt his love to pierce her with tenacity,the pleasure to become more and more powerful and intoxicating and when she reached her peak she screamed,overwhelmed by the intensity of that embrace:this time Jacaerys did not hold back her scream and in turn could not hold back a moan as he made sure to release inside of her.

Appealing to the last forces Jacaerys had left,he bent down to kiss her and finally overturned at her side,panting.Exhausted,Y/n abandoned herself against the bed,her long hair spread in waves on her pillows.

Jace hurried to cover her with the sheet so that she wouldn't get cold and smiled at her,as soon as he felt her fingers touch his cheek.For a moment he stood to contemplate her eyes,her lips,her smile...she was even more beautiful,after love.

«Y/n,»he whispered as he came back to hold her tenderly to himself«I love you.»

She sought shelter in his arms,fulfilled and satiated with strong emotions but still eager for him.She placed her head on his chest and let his caress her hair«I love you too Jace.»she answered.

He smiled,placing a hand on her warm and sweaty skin of her lower belly where he hope a new life would start to grow soon«I promise you,our child will change the world.»he whispered.

They fell asleep together,ice and fire united.And the next day they would still be like this,in each other's arms,bound by passion,seduced by love.Creating a new life together that would have changed everything.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 11

PREVIOUS

FF could admit that he may not be working with a full tank at the moment.

He had not slept very well the night before.

He had watched a lot of horror movies (a genre that he generally does not consume because his mind is already a scary enough place).

He was not able to go see his Grandma and he was going to miss the traditional(tm) Black Friday extravaganza that he and his Grandma did every Black Friday since he was little and encountered the horrible truth about Santa and she’d let him in on when / where most of his Christmas gifts were obtained. (The answer was not the North Pole under the watchful eye of elves. He had cried himself to sleep at the revelation but Gran always had a way of making the worst moments of his life tolerable.)

He may have eaten just…a bit too much pie?

He definitely ate too much turkey.

His stomach is killing him because he had forgotten to take his pepto when he had slammed that five hour energy.

His heart may actually break out of his rib cage with how hard it’s beating in his chest.

He’s been listening to Andrew and Captain Neil go back and forth for the last hour and a half between discussing Aaron’s recent mess ups, to what they’ll do to one another with a locked door between them and the world, to Andrew complaining that Neil’s hand is sweaty, to Neil saying Yes and Andrew’s hand is no longer in Neil’s and-

He clenches his eyes close.

And Andrew has swerved back into the lane for the third time in the last five minutes while saying something unrepeatable about his plans for Captain Neil and the whipped cream.

FF does not handle swerving cars very well.

He hears Andrew say something that sounds like it could lead to a very uncomfortable yeast infection for Captain Neil didn’t properly rinse off afterwards.

The car swerves over the rumble strip.

A fear far stronger than his fear of what Andrew could do to him overtakes him.

“I don’t like swerving cars. So, I’m going to ask that you focus on the road and keep your hands on the steering wheel.” FF says so panicked that he sounds calm and he watches as both Neil and Andrew stiffen at the sound of his voice. “If you can’t, then I’m going to ask that you pull over and let me out.” He offers a second option and a part of him is just amazed that his voice doesn’t crack even once. “I’m fine with either option.” He says.

He says both are fine but…

Honestly he hopes Andrew chooses the first option as he looks at the dark and lonely highway.

He looks back up at the front seat and both Neil and Andrew are looking straight forward. Andrew’s hands are on the steering wheel.

“Thanks.” He says and returns his attention to back over Aaron’s head.

The rest of the ride to Columbia is blessedly quiet. Aaron and Nicky wake up when they get off of the interstate and Nicky has the good grace to try and wipe the drool out of FF’s hair while Aaron seems unbothered by the wet spot he left of FF’s shoulder.

They get out of the car and they each grab their own bag in exhausted silence. Nicky is barely managing to put one foot in front of the other and before FF can do or say anything Nicky is in his room and has locked his door.

The room that FF had been planning on sleeping on the floor of because Nicky had told him he could so that FF would not drink 20 5-hour energies over the course of the weekend.

But Nicky had looked really tired.

So he is given a general tour by a very quiet Captain Neil and FF forces himself not to think about the cooler that Andrew had brought to, what he assumes is, Andrew’s bedroom before it was brought to the kitchen. He gets shown where the blankets and pillows that Kevin uses are and FF nods in quiet acceptance even knowing that he is going to spend the night going over Katakana flashcards and maybe up his literacy on Kanji to a second grader’s level.

Captain Neil wishes him a good night while Andrew gives him a nod and it is the last time he sees Captain Neil that night.

It is not the last time he sees Andrew.

***

Andrew comes out of his room to go get two glasses of water nearly 2 and a half hours later. The house is silent and dark. He is pretty sure him and Neil are the only two up.

He is wrong.

He comes out into the living room on his way to the kitchen and finds FF going through flashcards at a rapid pace. He walks a little closer to see what it is but the flashcards aren’t even right side up half of the time.

He thinks about the car ride.

‘I don’t like swerving cars.’

FF had said it so matter of factly. He was uncomfortable with the swerving.

Andrew had told FF recently about the words he didn’t like.

It felt like FF was offering at least something of himself back to Andrew for the first time.

Andrew thinks about how once his hands had gone back to the steering wheel FF had leaned back into his seat and stared out the window.

Andrew has at various points tried to look up what FF’s circumstances were but searching news sites for someone named ‘Smith’ with no first name to work off of was an exercise in futility.

Neil has lamented many times to Andrew about his bizarre jealousy over how unknowable Smith is. “He’s learning new languages, keeping a low profile, and playing Exy. It’s everything that I wanted in my freshman year and couldn’t manage because Riko pissed me off so much! It’s just kind of hard to see someone living my dream.” He says.

Andrew had punched him in the arm for that one.

“My old dream!” Neil had said and Andrew almost punched him again for the smile he flashed but had ended up kissing his stupid pretty face instead.

Where was he?

Right.

FF didn’t like swerving cars.

It didn’t necessarily have to be the trauma that lead to that aversion. Andrew certainly hadn’t had anything scare him on a plane but he still hated flying.

Still.

“The flash card is upside down.” He says and watches as FF pauses in his shuffling before righting that card and flipping to the next one which was turned to the side as far as Andrew could tell.

FF should be asleep.

FF is not asleep.

It might be Andrew’s fault that his friend can’t sleep.

“It won’t happen again.” He says and FF turns and stares at him blankly for a few seconds before he nods his acceptance.

It’s nice having a friend who understands what he means without needing to explain every little thing.

***

FF thinks he might have double-dosed on the 5-hour energy.

He also thinks he might currently be able to see through time.

His flashcards are making so much sense right now.

Then Andrew had come up and it truly was a miracle that he did not shit himself considering the sheer amount of apple pie still making its way through his system. That’s a lot of fiber for one body and he’s sure the 2-3 Five Hour energies he has taken are not helping his plight in that regard.

“It won’t happen again.” Is what Andrew says and in an instant FF feels his stomach drop to his feet. He nods blankly and watches as Andrew nods back before the man went to the kitchen and left with two tall glasses of water.

‘It won’t happen again’

FF has asked Andrew for TWO favors today.

TWO WHOLE FAVORS.

WHAT WAS HE THINKING?

The answer was that he WASN’T.

Even if FF had paid back one of those favors with the sheer power of his granny’s pie there was the case of the secondary favor he’d asked for in the car.

‘It won’t happen again’

There won’t be anymore favors for FF. He’d used up any mercy his grandma’s pie had bought him.

He considers the time pulls out his phone and goes through some saved text files on his phone.

It’s time for guns even bigger than his grandma’s apple pie.

He takes another five hour energy and knows that he won’t be sleeping a wink. He looks up groceries stores that are open this early on Black Friday, he grabs his wallet and with immense fear in his heart grabs the keys Aaron had dropped into a bowl by the front entrance.

He needs the ingredients for his great-grandma’s brownies.

Do your civic duty and: CAST YOUR VOTE TODAY ABOUT MEMES

NEXT

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As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

[thatguythatdrawsalot]

Yang - Atlas Design Critique.

Sorry I took so long I just wanted to catch up on some shows I’ve been missing out on and prepare for college next month- but I got to work on Yang! Who honestly was SO HARD TO MAKE A REDESIGN! And even HARDER, make a CRITIQUE for.

RWBY Archives

Reading her archives she’s reminiscent of a pilot and that’s a pretty odd choice, her design should’ve been at least a skier or a party girl but whatever. She’s never hinted at wanting to learn how to fly an airship, she just drives around a crappy motorbike in Mantle at best. It’s misleading but again, whatever. Jaune dresses as a knight and I don’t expect him to protect anyone, Weiss dresses as a princess but isn’t ruling a kingdom, Yang dresses like a pilot and I don’t expect her to fly an airship when she can just leave it up to Maria and Pietro. But other than the odd aesthetic for Yang, the outfit does look moderately warm with a cool bomber jacket, an orange scarf… and an exposed thigh. Accompanied by a white tube top that just wouldn’t be practical to have in the Great North. I get it, they said aura can keep the characters warm but is Yang really wasting her life-saving aura to be fashionably exposed rather than just, wearing warmer clothes? This outfit can work if she is solely stuck in Mantle but she’s a huntress taking missions out in the tundras! 

There’s not a lot of heat generators out there to depend on!

Hair

No, I’m not going to critique the model, her model is fine. I just wanna talk about her hair. Yang has her hair unchanged which is in character for her, she’s pretty strict about her hair being left untouched. I just really think the hair gets in the way of putting Yang in yellow. Trust me, it is. Yellow is very bright and Yang has such large yellow hair with weapons that are two large yellow chunks. I can see why they barely put Yang in yellow anymore. Here’s the thing, they’ve made Yang’s hair no longer yellow but instead an average blonde, the same tactic they did for Blake so they could put her in pure black except they didn’t. To me, Yang isn’t defined by her large yellow hair, she’s defined by her hair shining bright like fire. If they need to cut her hair or just have her hair in a ponytail to put yellow in her yellow, please do so! 

Primary Color - Yellow?

I love how her bomber jacket is auburn-red for Ruby, I adore the white tufts on the jacket for Weiss, and I certainly love that more black in on the look for Blake. When she stands next to Blake it looks like they should be a pair… just wished Blake wore yellow/gold in return- but with her teammate's colors on her, I still think Yang has too many colors. She reads to me as muddy and unfocused with the different shades of brown all around! And worst of all they rely on dirty gold-brown and orange to compensate for yellow. Yang IS NOT wearing yellow, at all. Remember when I said I liked her auburn-red jacket? I bet you didn’t know it was supposed to be auburn-red, cause in the show, it’s brown. This is something I’ve been wanting to say for years. In the concept art, they show Yang’s gold matching her hair to be more in line with yellow. Even in the 3D model sheet, the colors follow the concept art with actual auburn-red, tan skin, and a brighter yellow for her weapons. In the show, the colors are just muted or completely changed. Yang’s weapons are now an ugly shade of yellow; Highlighter Yellow. Her jacket is legit brown. The pretty tan is now ugly beige. I don’t understand… her model follows the correct colors but in the show it’s different! Is it the lighting? Was the model tweaked and I’m just using a faulty image? What is going on??? They can put her in the prettiest colors that flatter the gold but it all gets washed out! They need to put Yang in colors that flatter yellow cause this engine or lighting isn’t working.

Negatives?

Yang’s look isn’t great or awful, she’s a neutral positive. Yang does have the second-best look on her team even with silly exposed leg and chest, and lack of yellow. In the end, I think the biggest issue with Yang’s Atlas design is the coloring I mentioned above. They keep making Yang wear anything other than the color yellow and when she does have yellow on her the animation engine turns her yellows into the ugliest shades of it! Highlighter Yellow, Brown, Dirt Gold, Sandy Beige, and Dull Yellow. Whatever is going on with the lighting or model, It seriously needs some tweaks or adjustments, I hope in Vacuo where it’s super sunny and bright, her yellows can pop rather than be muted.

Redesign

I understand that yellow is super hard to work with for Yang so here’s the trick, put her in minimum yellow than NO YELLOW AT ALL. I took inspiration from Emerald Sustrai’s Atlas look since she wore limited green but still stunning, and from Mami Tomoe from Madoka Magica where she has limited yellows because of her hair. The least amount of different colors on Yang, the better. Her aesthetic is a motorbike fun girl which I might’ve flopped on, her sleeves are rolled up on her jacket, she has a large purple scarf with an Ursa pattern on the end to help her allusion of being Goldilocks and the three bears, and since she’s the mom/big sister of the team I thought it’d be nice for her to have some of her teammate's emblems on her as patches for her pouch. To top it off I loved Yang’s socks in the concept art that I wanted them to poke out of her boots. It’s not perfect but a good blueprint for me if I ever want to return to this redesign and make a few changes.

Conclusion

Yang’s Atlas outfit is again, a neutral positive for me, despite the odd aesthetic of being a pilot to the bizarre colors on her, she’s fine. I just expect Yang to wear yellow, and I also expect her to look like she belongs with Team RWBY since none of her teammates wear yellow in return. They rely too much on Yang wearing browns and oranges rather than yellow, the presumed teaser image for Volume 10 seems to have Yang in yellow by putting her hair in a ponytail. That way the large yellow hair doesn’t act like a cape, comparable to Ruby’s large red cloak. I always think Yang’s design could work if she just had tweaks of colors if anything else, don’t be afraid to put her in yellow, and don’t be afraid to ditch a color of hers even if it’s a staple to her design. Yang doesn’t need to wear brown, and she doesn’t need to wear orange or lilac. The less colors, the better. I’m tired of Yang always coming out, wearing brown, and reminding me of potato sacks.

But of course it’s just my opinion. If you love this design or hate the design, please share your opinion. I’d love to hear it! :D

[thelordofgifs]

Obscure Tolkien Blorbo: Semifinal

Eldacar of Gondor vs One (1) Rivendell elf who sings tra-la-la-lally

Eldacar of Gondor:

The twenty-first King of Gondor, also known as Vinitharya. During his reign the conflict known as the Kin-strife occurred and he was forced from his throne for ten years.

The blorbo of all time actually. He’s the protagonist of one of the most interesting stories in the LoTR appendices, the Kin-strife, and everything about his life story is so fascinating! His father was the crown prince of Gondor and his mother was the princess of Rhovanion so not a Númenorean. As a result all the racist nobles of Gondor made noises about how Eldacar was of “lesser race” and wouldn’t live as long as a “true Dúnadan”. One of the most fascinating examples of fantasy racism in Tolkien’s works imo – the bigotry is awful but the bigots have a shield to hide behind! Obviously their concerns are actually valid because they just don’t want their king to die young! (Their concerns aren’t valid. But I think the worldbuilding here is great.) Anyway Eldacar was born in Rhovanion and given the birth-name Vinitharya, but when he returned to Gondor aged five he was obliged to take up the Quenya name Eldacar, presumably to pacify all the racists in Gondor. He’s the EMBODIMENT of mixed-race/immigrant child trauma my beloved. Eventually his father died and he ascended to the throne of Gondor, but then his shitty second cousin Castamir (all my homies hate Castamir he’s the worst) started the civil war known as the Kin-strife and usurped Eldacar’s throne. Eldacar was forced to flee north to Rhovanion but Castamir captured his eldest son Ornendil and had him cruelly put to death which is SO SAD. But Eldacar, being brave and resourceful and clever and extremely cool, put together an alliance with his mother’s kinsfolk in Rhovanion and after ten years reclaimed his throne, which turned out to be slightly easier than expected because Castamir was The Worst and all his subjects hated him. And Eldacar PERSONALLY fought and killed Castamir HIMSELF and AVENGED HIS SON which is extremely important when you consider all the cringefail elves in the legendarium whose quests for revenge didn’t really go anywhere at all. Then he lived to be 235 proving that all the idiot racists who were worried about his lifespan didn’t have any idea what they were talking about, as is par for the course with racists. Also the Kin-strife itself has such far-reaching consequences for the history of Gondor! The Corsairs of Umbar, Gondor’s long-standing enemies, are actually followers of the descendants of Castamir. And during the Usurpation of Castamir Osgiliath was sacked and burned, leading to the beginning of its decline as Gondor’s greatest city. Even though Eldacar’s story is, to me, ultimately hopeful, it’s also such a fascinating turning point in the history of Gondor. Also ALSO he’s explicitly surrounded by textual ghosts which is really fascinating. His father Valacar has “children” plural – so Eldacar had siblings!! What were they like? How did they react to it all? And his son Aldamir is described as Eldacar’s second son and third child, meaning that he had a daughter too. Who was she?? What happened to her? He’s such a blorbo and there’s so much interesting stuff to dig into around him and he has to win this entire tournament please please please❤️

One (1) Rivendell elf who sings tra-la-la-lally:

One of the Elves of Rivendell who sing tra-la-la-lally in The Hobbit.

This one specific elf sings tra la la lally with the rest but he is slightly off key and the other elves bully him for it

they’re SILLY!!! We need NEED more silly elves!! Like who are these weirdos just hanging out in the trees of Rivendell? Did they know the dwarves were coming and gather their friends to specifically climb those trees to sing nonsense at them? Do they just normally sit there and sing about every little thing they see? Is this a traditional Rivendell thing or are those elves just really strange? I’m obsessed with them they’re everything to me. Elves are oft portrayed as being Too Serious in this fandom and silly elves need rights too! Silly elf rights!!!!

Semifinals masterpost

[lanitalay]

Before I Say Goodnight Chapter 18

a/n: 2 chapters in two days. I couldn't stop writing I love where this is going!!!!!!

Warnings: angst

Word count: 2.8k

Other Chapters

Eight days. 

It had been eight days since his brother had left. Nine since they last saw each other. Rhysand was ashamed of his treatment of Azriel and regretted sending him ever since. He knew it was unnecessary. That they had enough information to strategize a sound plan. But without the protection of the Spymaster it would be easier to ensnare y/n. It would be easier to catch her off guard and see her true colors. It would be easier to put a stop to her and whatever it was that she was planning. He hadn’t told Feyre. He was ashamed of that too. But she was too enthralled by the girl from another realm to think clearly. She wouldn’t understand the threat living within their wards, in his townhouse, with his brother. His brother had it the worst. He had fallen for her charms, always trying to be the savior for any damsel that fell on his path. She was no different, or maybe she was, and that’s what made her dangerous. He just needed proof that she had powers, that she was a danger. Then he could lock her in the House of Wind. Perhaps contain her in the library. 

But Azriel had not returned yet. He had not sent word. Rhysand could not reach him mind to mind. He was surely caught up in something that slowed him down, he’d be back soon. In the meantime, Cassian was redying the troops for battle. “It's better to keep them on your side,” Amren said, whirling liquor in her glass. “Who’s them?” She sipped “the Shadowsinger and the so-called Queen of Chaos”. 

“What makes you think Azriel would not be on my side?” 

“You sent him into the lion's den for no real reason”. 

“He was following orders”.

“He’s been gone too long”. 

“I didn’t know you cared so much about him”. A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. 

The week had gone by too fast. The seven day mark felt like it was hurling towards you, knocking the wind from your lungs in a crushing blow. You had to leave. North. He had told you to head North. You silently thanked Jolly for making you go to the docks as frequently as she did because you had become friendly with a few sailors. North. No map that you had seen had land North of Prythian. It was a shot in the dark. But you trusted Azriel with your life and he said North. Oh god. It felt wrong. It felt so incredibly wrong to leave them all behind and not even try to help Azriel, knowing he was in trouble. You could feel it in your bones that he was not okay, that he needs help. You couldn't do anything about it. At least, not by yourself. So you swallow hard, take a breath and knock three times on the High Lord’s door. 

“Yes?” You hear from the other side and you slowly open the door. For a fraction of a second Rhysand and Amren seem surprised to see you but they put on their masks of indifference quickly. “Hello” you try to sound strong but these two beings scare the life out of you and you have to focus on keeping your cool. No matter how this goes you cannot falter in your composure. “I don’t believe we had a meeting, y/n”. He really doesn’t like me. “I apologize High Lord, but I’m worried about Azriel” you take extra care to look down. The picture of docility. “He is on an assignment” you nod and look up through your lashes. “He is but before he left he said he would be back in a week and it’s been eight days” he also told me to flee but you didn’t tell them that last bit. “He said that?” Again you nod “yes, I think something happened to him. He has never come home late”. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. You raise your head and see him with his head in his hands, his eyes on his desk. You look at Amren but her gaze is focused on the window. 

Had they heard you? Did they not care? 

“He is highly skilled. I’m sure he is on his way home as we speak” you shake your head and insist “I think he’s in trouble and needs help”. He stands from where he is seated and you will yourself to not cower before him “you are new here, y/n. Sometimes missions take longer than expected. There is no need to worry”. The spite in his voice felt like a dagger to your spine. The constant pulse of energy suddenly thrumming. Before you could stop you hear yourself say “don’t you care that you sent your brother into your enemy’s territory and he hasn’t returned?” He growls at you. North, Azriel had said North and that he’d find you. If Rhysand snapped your neck right now Azriel would come back to an empty house and a sad pile of ash. “Remember you are a guest and guests don’t have the right to question my decisions. If they know what’s good for them”.

“I understand” you manage to say before turning around and leaving his study. 

When you reach the townhouse you run up the stairs and grab your already packed bag. It only had a change of clothes, some food, water, first aid equipment and your phone. Even if you had not thought of your family or Mathew or your world since Azriel had gone away. There was a boat headed North that left in an hour. You are about to head down the stairs but enter Azriel’s bedroom instead. Shuffling through several drawers until you find a blade small enough to fit in your boot and another one to sheath on your thigh. With that you go down the stairs, put on a nondescript cloak and step into the misty afternoon. 

The smell of the docks had grown to be familiar to you. The fishy, sulfury scent made you gag the first few times but now felt like a breath of fresh air. The vastness of the Northern Sea dwarfed you. It was never ending and deadly by the fishermen’s accounts and it would have to be your safe haven. You spot who you were looking for walking down the ramp to a bridge. Lower your hood and hasten your pace to reach them. “Riley” you half whisper half yell. He stops his stride and turns to face you “y/n?” You widen your eyes and put a finger on your lips and “shh!! Be discrete” he looks around and then asks “what are you doing here?” You look at his shoes so less people know you’re here “I need to get on the boat heading North, can you help me? It’s important” he shifts his weight from one foot to the other “the boat that’s going on the exploring expedition?” You nod. He’s uncomfortable. It is a lot to ask of someone you’ve only bought fish skeletons from, you suppose. But desperate times. “Please” you add a pleading undertone trying to persuade him. He sighs loudly and says “follow me”. He weaves through carts of fish and people carrying ropes and bags of provisions until reaching a shiny new boat called The Rare Beast. “This is it, here” he hands you a bag from an abandoned cart “pretend you are helping load and stay hidden until you are too far to turn around”. You pick up the heavy bag and give Riley a few coins for his help. He leaves with a tip of his hat. 

You walk through the ship and try to find a spot to hide. Down below there are a number of bedrooms. Each one has bags strewn on the floor, claiming them. You return to the main deck and decide that one of the lifeboats will have to do. Scan your surroundings and certify that the coast is clear, rip the cover back and throw in your alibi bag and then jump in, quickly putting the cover back on. Your heart is racing. But you remind yourself that you made it, you're getting away and in a few weeks Azriel will come to find you.

It’s been well over twelve hours.

The ship is in deep, dark open water. The night sky is crystal clear and through a small corner you manage to stare in awe. The Night Court truly came alive in the absence of the sun. Infinite stars glittered above and the New Moon allowed them to dominate the horizon. It had been hours of drifting in and out of sleep. Gusts of wind would rattle the boat and wake you up. Every sound had you on edge of getting caught. The longer you stayed undiscovered the more difficult it would be to return to the docks and kick you off. You did not want to consider the possibility of being thrown overboard. 

Daylight slipped through the cover of the little boat and onto your face. Almost groan but remember that stealth is key. You pull out something from your bag to munch on for breakfast. That day passed the same as the first. Drifting in and out of sleep and thinking about Azriel.

About how Rhysand was so careless towards his so-called brother. About how Rhysand did not look well.

You know you should not dwell on that fact. It was pointless now. 

The skies were clear until clouds began rolling in from the North. You heard commotion from the sailors. Batting down hatches and taking cover for what was to be the first of many storms. You groan audibly this time and stretch your limbs and crack your bones, thunder covering up any sounds you made. The last thing you want is to get wet and have to spend however long in soggy clothes. If you were still human you’d certainly contract pneumonia. So you practice your breathing techniques. This is as good of a time as any. Rain, thunder and lightning getting closer every second. You’d need to learn to manage your powers under uncomfortable circumstances. Breathe in. Breathe out. You hear the rain before you feel the first drops on your forehead. This is going to be hell. Breathe in. Breathe out. 

It was strange. The murmur had been there all along and you assumed that lightning was within you, remnants of being struck and turned at the same time. But in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by a storm you felt the energy within you replenish and overflow. It was a sensation akin to open floodgates or fuel to a fire. It overwhelmed you. You did not know what to do with the surge of pure, undiluted power bursting, wanting to explode. Your body a mere vessel. It wasn’t just the lightning. It was the rain, the thunder, the static, the wind. You couldn't see, eyes misty.  In that moment you are not in your body but in the clouds. You were every single drop of rain. Every bolt of lightning. You were the wind, the waves and the current.

All of it was you.

Breathe. You felt your vessel take a breath. If you let yourself go, you could very easily drift into the storm. Ebbing and flowing for all of eternity amongst the breeze. You could forget yourself, your world, your life, Rhysand, the portal, Koschei, all of your trauma if you stayed in this state. Nothing would tie you down. Nothing would chain or bind or capture you. You’d be as free as the wind, as explosive as lightning. Unpredictable like a tornado.

It would all be you. Yours. 

Life has been so scary in your body. A fragile thing. Meat and bones and endless ways to suffer. This was better than any high, than any dream you’d ever had. It was eternal. It was light, weightless. Immune to the laws of physics. Neither here nor there. You were at the bottom of the ocean and at the top of a mountain. You were everything in between. 

Azriel. A voice, your voice reminded you. Azriel needs help. Like the snap of an elastic you were back in your body. Eyes foggy. Breathe. Now the rain soaked through every layer of clothing. Breathe. You understand that you are the storm and the clear skies and the wind that controls it all. One more breath in. Breathe out through your mouth. Your breath becomes a feral gust, an impenetrable wall of wind that redirects the storm in the opposite direction. The stars appear again. Glittering as they have always been. 

You had been discovered 32 hours into the voyage as two sailors tried to find some privacy in the lifeboats for a romantic rendezvous. They immediately took you to the captain. A stern female sat on a desk across from you. You were trying to justify your action without giving away precious information. You showed her the food and water you had brought and argued that you haven't stolen anything. “I needed to leave Prythian for my safety” you try your best to evoke pity. As you were in no position to demand anything. “Please, I’ll earn my keep”. She doesn't budge. “You’ll be escorted off at the next port” your heart sinks “where is that?” She stopped looking at you, now focused on her maps.

 “Vallahan”

Eris was in his bedroom. Sitting on his desk. This was the one he used for matters unrelated to his role as High Lord. These days he rarely uses it. But he received a letter from her. He had not expected to hear from her so soon. He did not expect her script to be so sloppy. She had terrible penmanship or was in a hurry when she wrote it.

 He wished she had not written at all. 

In one page she dismantled everything. 

She had told him to gather troops, evacuate the coastal and border villages. 

She had told him to prepare for war. 

She had told him that by the time he read the letter she would be gone. 

He read and reread it. 

Again and again. 

When he winnowed to the Manor of Exiles it was past midnight. He knocked on the door and nearly knocked it down before his brother opened it.  “What is it?” Eris did not have the patience for pleasantries “did you know that Koschei is planning an invasion?” 

“What are you talking about?”

“Koschei is planning an invasion, is Rhysand doing something about it?” 

His brother’s skin paled. His stillness an answer. “No, I don’t know anything about that”.

Eris curses loudly and shoves an envelope in Lucien’s hands.  He reads it and says “you have to burn this”.  Eris pinches the bridge of his nose “I’ll burn it now but Lucien, she’s gone. Rhysand abandoned his Spymaster. He knows a war is looming and he has not told any of the High Lords”. 

“It’s not good,” Lucien’s mechanical eye whirls. He’s thinking. He’s trying to contextualize the information. He had seen y/n three days ago. She was flighty but that was not unusual considering that she had been running around Velaris trying to gather ingredients for the apothecary. Azriel was away on a mission and she missed him. But she had not said anything about an invasion, about a war. And now she’s gone? The letter did not say where. She had specifically asked that they don’t look for her. With war preparations they wouldn’t be able to anyways. What was Rhysand thinking? Why did he send Azriel to the Continent if they already had the information? Why did y/n need to disappear? 

He snaps out of his thoughts as Eris lights the envelope and its contents in flames. 

Vallahan was in the Continent. The very Continent where Azriel was being held. He would hate if you risked your life for his… but what if this was a sign? Rhysand gave no indication that he cared to get him out and, from what you know, if Koschei got him it would be impossible for him to escape on his own. Vallahan… Mor was emissary there. She had been away most of the time visiting the Court there to persuade them to sign the peace treaty. If she was there now you could stand a chance. A real chance of getting him out. You couldn’t do much about the war… only hope that Eris did what Rhysand wouldn’t. 

But you would get Azriel out or go down trying. 

taglist: @luvmoo @leeknows-wife@nocasdatsgay@mybestfriendmademe

[saintsenara]

I’m obsessed with your Percy/Rodolphus fic, so I just wanted to get some more of your thoughts on who you think the Lestrange brothers are/what they’re like. They’re often overlooked in this fandom but I personally love them. (PS your answer to my Frank/Rabastan question was amazing. Thank you!)

thank you so much, anon! this is a lovely ask and i'm so thrilled you've enjoyed subluxation.

i've been joking quite a lot while writing it that it’s tricked me into finding rodolphus and rabastan lestrange fascinating, having never cared about them before. but this is - it’s time to come clean - not strictly true... obviously, as a bellamort shipper, poor cuckolded roddy has had to take up some space in my brain, but also the family appears in quite a lot of my other writing and i have quite a lot of headcanon lore i appear to have ascribed to them…

most of this - unsurprisingly - surrounds the family’s relationship with voldemort. while the evidence of canon is that the malfoys are voldemort’s favourite accomplices - at least until lucius falls from grace after failing to retrieve the prophecy - i am much fonder of the idea that the lestranges are the dark lord’s most important death eaters and that the family has been in voldemort’s orbit since the second he arrived at hogwarts.

i do not - however - think that the lestrange originally ensnared is either rodolphus or rabastan. i know many people choose to interpret the mention in half-blood prince of a lestrange in the slug club alongside tom riddle as referring to rodolphus - and i do see the interesting things which can be done both with the idea of him as voldemort’s oldest friend [and, therefore, fully aware of his real name, appearance, and background, while his wife is not] and the idea of him as much older than bellatrix. but i much prefer the idea of voldemort having an impact which is distinct across three separate generations: you have the knights of walpurgis, who become the first death eaters, who know the proto-voldemort of the 1940s and 1950s, with all his messy human characteristics; then you have these men’s sons, who know the unassailable paramilitary kingpin of the 1970s, who seems to be a force of pure magic; then you have these men’s sons, who know the paranoid, monstrous voldemort of the 1990s and his single-minded obsession with harry potter. or, in other words, you have abraxas malfoy - then lucius malfoy - then draco malfoy, each trying to square the voldemort that’s in front of them with the voldemort they once knew.

hence my favourite original character: rodolphus and rabastan’s father, romulus augustulus lestrange. named for the last - and worst - roman emperor.

i am - as any good tomarry shipper - obsessed with the parallels between harry and voldemort, and i originally came up with romulus in order to provide voldemort with his very own ron weasley. the two meet on the hogwarts express when romulus sits in tom’s compartment, it’s romulus who acts as the insider to the magical world who helps tom adjust to his new life in the castle, and it’s romulus who convinces tom while they’re heading north that the only house worth being in is slytherin. i like him then remaining tom’s ride-or-die even through his teen edgelord days, his depressed retail-worker days, and his long sojourn on the continent.

[although readers of my tomarry wip one year in every ten will be aware that his relationship with the young voldemort is not entirely a happy one…]

i write rodolphus and rabastan as being born in 1949 and 1953 respectively and as having some sort of acquaintance with voldemort as children - indeed, one headcanon i use, if the story fits it, is that voldemort is both brothers’ godfather. this means that, when voldemort returns from albania in 1966, both are in their teens and - rodolphus especially - are all too susceptible to the revolutionary miracle voldemort is promising. i imagine that rodolphus - in conjunction with lucius malfoy - is the dark lord’s best recruiter of young pureblood men in the later 1960s and early 1970s, and that these men are much more interested in open violence than their fathers, who support voldemort as a political leader within the wizarding world’s established framework, rather than as a terrorist.

which means, of course, that i think that rodolphus is the person who recruits bellatrix.

while i like the potential of bellatrix and rodolphus’ canon vibe being caused by the gulf of a large age gap, i really like them as a clear illustration of the way in which pureblood society’s rigid gender roles stifle potential - and, therefore, think that they marry the second bellatrix finishes school, in an arranged marriage they both go through with because it’s what they think they ought to do [and i think that voldemort’s affair with her starts almost simultaneously - i think it’s important, when thinking about bellatrix’s radicalisation, that all the evidence of canon is that she’s groomed to be a terrorist when she’s barely out of her teens by a man old enough to be her father, and voldemort - who, when she’s 19, is 44 - being her only proper experience of a romantic or sexual relationship is quite a key part of that]. i am wedded to the idea that the marriage is profoundly unhappy - but not abusive or toxic - because neither bellatrix nor rodolphus really like each other - they get along cordially enough, but there’s no real passion or affection between them.

the only exception to this is their passion for voldemort and his terrorist organisation. the implication of canon is that bellatrix is the more zealous of the two - and that she is the ringleader of their attack on the longbottoms, while rodolphus and rabastan are just doing as they’re told - but i don’t buy it. i think rodolphus is a hardcore death eater, that he is entrusted with high-level missions throughout the 1970s, and that voldemort values him incredibly highly prior to 1996, when our evidence is that he’s also sent to azkaban having been caught in the department of mysteries alongside lucius malfoy.

[and one high-level thing i think he’s entrusted with is the knowledge of what - exactly - is in his vault…]

which means, i think, that he is probably slightly more disillusioned than bellatrix once he’s broken out of prison for a second time in july 1997. i am now convinced that the role he plays in subluxation - essentially pius thicknesse’s childminder - is one he agrees to because he thinks it’ll keep him safer than being at voldemort’s side as he grows more and more volatile - and i am also convinced [because, i hate to say, i’m a delphini truther] that he flees the battle of hogwarts the second harry springs out of hagrid’s arms and goes on the run with his dead wife and dead master’s lovechild.

rabastan - on the other hand - gets given up by lucius malfoy as part of his plea deal and shuffled off for life in azkaban.

indeed, i really like rabastan as… a bit of a flop. whereas i think rodolphus has a genuine capacity for sadism, i prefer rabastan in what we might call the draco malfoy vein - someone who is profoundly unpleasant and who believes wholeheartedly in blood-supremacy, but who doesn’t have the stomach to actually follow this through with violence. i like the idea of him as someone voldemort finds quite unimpressive, and i also like the idea that rodolphus - since awful people are never wholly awful, nor good ones wholly good - puts himself in considerable danger to protect his younger brother from the dark lord’s anger by fixing his mistakes and covering for his fuck-ups.

and i am now really, really into the concept of rabastan and frank longbottom!

the only other headcanons that i am absolutely set on when it comes to the lestranges are that their ancestral home is in brancaster, in norfolk [a very beautiful, but not not desolate place], and that romulus has a great love of flying horses which is passed down to both of his sons.

[holybatgirlz]

but only far from home | Accidents, 1836 (Part I)

read here on ao3

Words: 6.3

Note: it should be noted this is a part of my benophie babies one-shot collection fic I have on Ao3. This took forever to complete, and I kept going back and forth about putting this idea with this fic collection or putting it as a new work.

----

“Charles, it’s going to be alright.”

“Miles, if you say that one more time I will strike you,” Charles grounded out at his cousin while the carriage they sat in jostled and jerked about on the uneven country road.

But Miles took no offense. He only sighed. “I’m just trying to help.”

The knot of guilt in Charles’ stomach only tightened. 

“I know,” he replied, wincing at how his tone was harsher than he wanted. He tried to take a deep breath, to calm his nerves. Relax. 

How could he relax? When the worst that could happen was about to befall him and his family. Could already have while he was traveling. 

Gritting his teeth. “I just–”

I have to get home. Before it’s too late. 

The words stuttered in his throat, clawing at his vocal cords in an effort to silence him. His breathing hitched, choking him. His throat was swelling up. His heart started racing as he began to panic over all that had been left unsaid. Every little mistake he’d made before leaving for Cambridge. It was all too much.

“Just breathe, alright?” Miles told him gently. “We’ll be there soon.”

Charles took another deep breath. They would. Thank God. 

My Cottage. They were on route back to Wiltshire, as quickly as they could. Charles returned from morning classes to find Mr. Crabtree, the closest person he had to a grandfather, standing outside his lodgings. The older man had a concerned and serious look, which was not normal for the usually jovial groundskeeper, that had put Charles immediately on edge. Something was wrong. Something had happened. 

There was an accident. Your father. They don’t know how bad it is–

He’d come to take him home, it was faster than sending another letter, like the ones sent to London and Scotland. To his Uncle Anthony, who could get Alexander and William from school, and to his grandmother who was visiting his aunt up north. But it would still take them a day or two before they arrived, his grandmother longer. Being at Cambridge, Charles had been the closest to home and Miles, who was in his second to last year at the university, had come with him when he’d found him panicking outside the dorms, Mr. Crabtree desperately trying to keep him from driving the carriage home himself. 

His knee bounced up and down as the carriage continued its path into Wiltshire. A nervous habit he’d picked up from his father that he did whenever he was stressed. The ‘what ifs’ had taken over, controlling every thought he had. What if they were too late? What if he never got to apologize? What if he hadn’t been so stupid before he left? What if he’d just apologized? He couldn’t focus on anything except the guilt chewing on his insides. 

You’re an arrogant ass who thinks he knows what's best for me. I hate you.

What the hell was wrong with him? The last conversation they’d had was an argument. The last thing he’d said to his father was to bugger off out of his life. That he was a grown man now and he didn’t need his father coming to his rescue. Didn’t need his father making decisions for him. 

That he wished he would just die.

And over a girl. He had a vitriol fight with his father over a stupid girl the old man hadn’t approved of. A girl who Charles now knew didn’t even love him. Had never loved him. Had only been using him for her own selfish purposes. Something his father had warned him about, had been trying to warn him about when their fight had started. 

Why had he been so stupid? 

Passing by a field of apple trees, Charles recognized where they were. Realizing that they were close to home only increased his desperation to get there quicker.

He practically flew out of the carriage when it pulled up in front of the door. Miles hadn’t even had the chance to move from his seat. Mr. Crabtree was still climbing down from the driver’s box as Charles barreled into the foyer of his family home, running over the pebbled path and to the front door as fast as he could.

And straight into chaos.

He found the home filled with family members, the Cranes and Woodsons had already arrived due to proximity. His Uncle Hugh and Uncle Philip were down the hall in front of him, whispering to another man Charles recognized as the local physician, Dr. Wilkes. What they were saying, he couldn’t hear over the chatter going on around him. Too many voices were speaking at once. 

Mrs. Crabtree was who he spotted next. He caught her moving around upstairs with one of the maids, carrying white sheet Charles saw had red stains on them as she ordered the servants about. 

He quickly swallowed the bile he felt coming up his throat. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

Glancing around the doorways of the rooms, he finally spotted someone from his immediate family. 

Violet, his baby sister, was sitting quietly on the settee in the front parlor, clutching her old, stuffed, rabbit teddy on her lap and sniffling, eyes rimmed red and dried up streaks of tears on her cheeks. Their older cousin Amanda had an arm wrapped around her, rubbing her shoulder and whispering to her, while his fourteen-year-old cousin Sophia clutched her small wrist, trying to assist in comforting his sister even though he could see she was shaking. Georgiana and little Penelope were sitting on the opposite settee, watching in quiet discomfort what was transpiring in front of them, his usually chatty cousins suddenly at a loss for words. And Georgette and John were sitting on the floor, keeping the toddlers Fredrick and Minty distracted. His younger cousins seemed unaware of the chaos going on around them as they quietly played. 

“Charles?” he looked over and saw his Aunt Eloise come towards him. 

“Auntie El,” he replied, quickly being embraced by his aunt in a hug. 

His aunt gave him a tight desperate squeeze. “How are you?”

“I-I’m alright,” Charles answered hastily. “I-Where’s father? What happened?” 

“There was an accident,” Eloise explained, shakily, beginning to tell him more than what Mr. Crabtree had although she seemed to look conflicted. “Your father was tending to one of the oak trees out back when one of the branches collapsed. He must have hit his head on the way down. The physician says his leg was crushed. Violet was with him and–”

“Violet saw it? I…What the hell was he even doing up there?” Charles asked in disbelief.

His question only set something off in Violet, who immediately burst into tears behind him, leaning forward and covering her face with her hands as she began wailing again. Amanda gently shushed her, pulling her closer and rubbing her hand up and down Violet’s arm, whispering to her that she was alright. That everything was alright. And Sophia began rubbing her back, whispering similar words as she tried to help Amanda calm his sister down. 

Eloise put her hand on his arm, gently leading him out of the room. 

“One of the kittens got up there,” she whispered. “Lettie said it had gotten stuck and your father went up to rescue it.”

Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, understanding immediately what had happened. Why it had happened. 

Their barn cat, that lived out in the stables and had been nicknamed Beezelbub or Bee by Charles and his brothers (due to the cat's petulance for violence) had gotten pregnant by a local stray and given birth to five little kittens before he’d left for Cambridge. Kittens his sister had immediately fallen in love with and had decided to assist Bee in raising, much to the cat’s begrudging acceptance. Charles knew his sister would have been distressed if something had happened to one of them.

But his father shouldn’t have gone up to handle it, and not without help. If he was right about the tree his aunt was speaking about, the old twisted oak that barely got any leaves during the spring, his father should have never even dared go near it. 

“That tree was old. Uncle Philip said the damn thing was rotted inside,” Charles told her, his nails digging into his palms. “He was supposed to have it cut down-”

“I know. I know,” Eloise gently cut him off. “But there is nothing we can do about it now.” 

“Where’s mother?” he asked, realizing he had yet to spot her in the crowd of relatives. He had to find her. Had to find out if she was alright.

“She’s upstairs with your father,” his aunt answered. 

With that knowledge, Charles immediately moved towards the stairs but Eloise grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, stopping him. 

“Before you go up there, Charles. I want you to know, your father told me what happened between you two. Before you left.” 

He swallowed, tensing, preparing for the judgment. He knew his father and aunt had always had a close relationship, and he expected her to side with her brother, to scold him for arguing with him, disobeying him, for saying what he said.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is,” his aunt said instead, giving his arm a squeeze. “We all say stupid things when we’re upset. No matter how this ends – and I pray this does not end horribly – don’t let yourself be haunted by it, alright?” 

Charles dug his nails deeper into his palms, with enough force he was certain he’d break skin, but it was the only thing stopping him from breakdown right then and there. The words got lost in his throat again. All he could do was nod shakily to his Aunt Eloise, before fleeing upstairs to find his mother. 

But he slowed down the closer he got to his parents room. The door was opened, light shining out into the hallway as Charles crept closer and closer towards it. He needed to check on his mother, but part of him did not want to go into that room. His father was in there as well and Charles couldn’t deny the fear that came over him, of seeing his father, in whatever state he was in.

His mother was the first one he saw, as he stopped in the doorway. Her back was turned to him, and she was sitting next to the bed in a chair leaning forward, her hand clutching one of her father’s and a handkerchief held tightly in the other. She was rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. 

And his father was a sight. Paler than he remembered his mother being after she had Violet, when he snuck into his parents’ room one night to check on her while everyone slept. She’d looked like she was disappearing, fading away from sight. Her skin had taken a gray hue, beads of sweat rolling down as she’d fought off a fever that had almost taken her, while her honey golden curls were dull and flat. Her breaths coming out in short, pained puffs as if her lungs refused to take air. It had terrified Charles as a child, seeing his mother like that. Watching her groan in pain, with death itself hovering over her form. 

But his father somehow looked worse. 

The blankets weren’t covering one of his legs. He saw the exposed leg was wrapped tightly in bandages and pieces of cloth; wooden sticks placed around to keep the limb straight so it could heal properly. More bandages covered his head, a thick folded square of cloth against the area he assumed was where his father struck his head.

He looked halfway into a grave. Unmoving and eyes closed, he might as well have been laying in a coffin. Looking like his mother had all those years ago. The image of her had haunted him at times when he’d been growing and now he could only add this sight to it. 

Charles suddenly felt like he was seven again. A terrified little boy who wanted his mother. 

“Mama?” he asked quietly as he gripped the wood doorframe, trying to keep himself standing.

He didn’t think she’d hear him, his voice had barely been over a whisper, but his mother whipped around almost immediately, spotting him standing in the doorway. She blinked in surprise. 

“Charles, hi,” she said softly, voice tired and horse. She got up quickly, moving slowly towards him. 

He stepped towards her, seeking to give comfort but to also receive it, wrapping his arms around her as she did the same to him, smelling the lavender and vanilla soap his mother always used. The smell of home and comfort, of safety, as his mother clutched him tightly. 

She was almost a foot shorter than him now, Charles had shot up like a beanstalk right before he finished at Westminster, as tall as his father now, and now he could rest his chin on her head, keeping her tucked against him protectively.  

“Are you alright, darling?” she asked as she pulled away, giving him a once over. 

“I’m fine,” he quickly assured her. “How’s father?” 

His mother turned to look at their father, still laying on the bed, unconscious. “The doctor says we won’t know how bad it is until he wakes,” she told him with a disheartened sigh. 

“How are you?” he asked next, noticing the blonde strands that had come loose from her pinned bun and the redness around her eyes. 

“Oh, I’m alright,” she lied, forcing a smile as she patted his arm. “No need to worry about me.” 

She stepped away from him, drifting slowly back to his father’s side and took her seat again, taking his father’s limp hand in hers once more, clutching it tightly. But his father remained undisturbed. His chest continued rising and falling. The only sign Charles had that the man was still alive. 

“Alexander and William should be here soon,” he told her, not knowing what else to say. His mother hummed in understanding back to him, but her eyes never left his father. “Amanda and Sophia are keeping an eye on Lettie right now.” 

She sighed. “Oh, Lettie,” she practically whispered as she moved to stand again. “I need to go speak with your sister. I need to check on her.”

Charles blocked her quickly, gently grasping her arms as he moved her back into the chair. “I’ll take care of that. Do you need anything? Food? Water? I can have Mrs. Crabtree prepare some tea? Do you want me to grab your shawl? You're knitting?” 

His mother moved a hand to grasp his arms, giving it a squeeze. “You’re far too good to me,” she teased lovingly. 

“Because you deserve only the best,” he told her. 

She gave him another sad smile. Her eyes were shining with tears. 

Then she sighed. “Charles, darling, we need to–”

Charles stepped away from her, before he could even tell himself not to. She looked like she wanted to have that conversation with him. The conversation he’d never thought he’d have, but he knew his mother well enough that even in her state she needed to talk about what would come next now. Needed to prepare him – prepare herself – for what might come.

For what she thought was coming. 

But Charles didn’t want to have that conversation. He couldn’t. 

“I’ll be right back,” he told her quickly.

“Charles, wait. We need to–” she started.

“Won’t be a minute,” he lied, before fleeing the room. His heart beating a panicked rhythm into his sternum. 

He’d walked out of this house months ago, days after his blow up with his father, thinking he was a man. Believing himself ready for the world and all it had to offer, that he didn’t need to rely on his parents anymore. Didn’t need their guidance and aid. That he could take care of himself. But his father was right. He was still too green. Too arrogant. Cambridge had already told him that but now–

You think you can run a house? Take care of a family and manage income? You’re a boy. You’re not a man. Never had any hardship thrown at you the way your mother and I have. We both made sure you never would! 

Benedict, please. Stop. Both of you, just stop!

What the fuck would you even know anyway!? You weren’t the heir father, just the second born with nothing to prove and nothing to do. Dropping out of the Royal Academy must have been so easy when you’ve got no expectations hanging over your head! No need to make a name for yourself when your family already did it for you.

Charles!

You think my life wasn’t impacted when my father died? You think things didn’t change for me because I wasn’t first in line like your uncle? That I didn’t have to grow up and cast aside my own dreams and desires for the sake of my family? You have no idea what that was like for me. No idea!

Gripping the banister, Charles took a deep breath, trying to shake the memory.

You’re an arrogant ass who thinks he knows what’s best for me. I hate you.

I hate you.

I hate you.

I hate–

“Charles? Is everything alright?” his Aunt Posy called up, snapping him out of his spiral. She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him from where he was at the banister. Her hazel eyes wide with sympathy and concern. 

No. No, he was not alright. 

But he couldn’t break. Not now. Not ever.

It took him a moment to respond, swallowing down his fears before he could shakily answer back. “I’m fine, Aunt Posy. I…I’ll be down in a moment.” 

—

It still took him a few minutes to compose himself before Charles forced himself back downstairs, taking each step one at a time. And the moment he was at the bottom, he was ushered into the kitchen by Mrs. Crabtree, forced to sit at the table and eat some of the stew she’d prepared. The old housekeeper fussed over him, talking about how he needed to keep his strength up and not be running around on an empty stomach. Wouldn’t do anyone any good if he got himself ill. 

But Charles’ stomach was nothing but a tight knot of guilt. His appetite nonexistent as he sat at the table, pushing a spoon around the bowl. He’d been able to swallow a few spoonful’s before the nausea became too much for him to continue eating.  

“Where’s Lettie?” he asked, as he rose from the table.

“She went outside to get some air,” his Aunt Posy told him gently as she helped Mrs. Crabtree with cleaning the dishes.  

Without another word, Charles stepped out of the room and headed out towards the back door. It was open and he could see Violet a short distance away, sitting on one of the two swings their father had tied to the large oak trees close to the house. A matching set to the aged pair at the family home in London, of which one of the ropes had finally snapped and his uncle had yet to replace, leaving just the one hanging there now (much to his father’s and aunt’s annoyance). 

Violet sat quietly, with the tips of her shoes pressing into the grass as she pushed herself sadly back and forth, head hanging forward as clutched the ropes and she stared quietly at the ground in front of her. 

“Hey, cabbage,” he said gently as he stepped closer to the swing. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m alright,” Violet whispered, not looking up at him.

The rotted tree was ahead of them, right at the edge of the property, where it had always been, leading away from the small lake behind their house and to the wooded area that fenced the property. The tree had practically splintered apart from the collapse, as if it had been struck by lightning. The trunk brutally ripped open and exposed. The large branch his father must have been on when it collapsed was still ominously laying where it had landed on the ground. Mocking him.

And all he wanted to go was over and kick the damn thing until it was nothing but splinters, but he knew his sister was more important. 

Even though he didn’t know what to say to her. 

He slowly sat on the available swing. “Alexander and William should hopefully be here in the morning,” he said, absently. “I doubt Uncle Anthony and Aunt Kate will make any stops. They’ll probably try to come here straight away.” 

Violet only hummed back her response, continuing her slow swings back and forth.

“Are you alright, Lettie?” he asked, hesitantly. “You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to but–”

“Why did you tell Papa you hated him?” Violet snapped at him suddenly. 

Charles froze in surprise. “What?”

The arrow between his sister’s brows deepened as she glowered at him. She was furious at him, but her eyes were red rimmed and beginning to build with water once more. 

“You said you hated him,” she repeated, voice cracking as she spoke. “Before you left. You said you hated him and wanted him dead. Why would you say that to him?” 

You’re a fucking bastard of a father. I wish you would just die. 

Charles was taken aback by his sister’s sudden anger, the furious accusatory tone she shot towards him. He’d thought it had only been him and his parents in the house that day. Violet had been an hour away at Romney Hall with William, since his parents had wanted to approach the subject with him privately.

But Alexander had been home that day, outside sketching where he’d stayed as the argument escalated. And given the row Charles had had with his father had turned into a shouting match, his brother had most likely heard all of it. Meaning his siblings had found in the aftermath, either directly from Alexander or from something as simple as overhearing their parents. 

“I-I-” Charles stuttered, unsure what to say. 

She was on him suddenly. Having left from the swing at his hesitation, Violet jumped up and gave him a harsh shove. She might have been half his size and only twelve, barely moving him, just enough for him to swing a few centimeters, but the force of the shove told him she was furious. 

“Why would you say that?” she shouted in frustration, pushing at him again. Then again. 

“Violet–” he started, reaching to stop her.

This time she whacked him, smacking her open palm against his shoulder. Charles was taken aback by her action, as was Violet, who had never gotten violent towards him before. She seemed surprised momentarily by what she’d done but had also realized it made her feel better. 

So, she whacked him on the shoulder again. 

“Why?” she was crying now. “Why would you be so cruel?”

He grabbed her wrists, and she grew even angrier, fighting against his grip as she yelled at him. But Charles held on, knowing he had to help his sister regardless of how painful her words were. Like little daggers into his already bleeding heart, but she was in just as much pain as he was, and he wouldn’t allow that to stop him from comforting her. 

“Come here,” he told her, dragging her closer. 

“No!” Violet shouted back, still struggling.

But Charles had no difficulty pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her small frame and holding her close. Violet struggled against him, wriggling aggressively in his grasp, but slowly, very slowly, she began to relax and stop fighting him.

Keeping her tightly held in his grip, hugging her, Charles let her cry into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Lettie.”

“Why would you?” she cried, voice muffled and weak. “I don’t want him to die. I don’t want Papa to die.”

“I know, shh,” he told her, rubbing her back. “I’m sorry, Lettie. I'm sorry.”

She wasn’t fighting him anymore. Instead, clutching his jacket as she stood between his legs, leaning against while he held her tightly. Every cry, every weak, shaky breath, only sent a ripple of agony through him, that he only continued to suppress. 

This was a nightmare. A nightmare he was praying he could just wake from. 

—

There had been the briefest moment of hope that evening, after they’d all gone to sleep, that the nightmare would end. Without tragedy.

He’d woken, Charles’ father, for the briefest of moments. His uncle Phillip had been tending to him while the others slept, remaining by his vigil, when his father had suddenly jolted back to consciousness, confused and delirious, mumbling and moaning as he tried to move from the bed. He had no idea where he was or what had happened and while Phillip had tried to assist him, trying to get him to calm down so he could get Charles’ mother, his father had slipped back into unconsciousness in a matter of seconds.

There was nothing by the next morning. His father was still laying silently in the bed, eyes closed, body unmoving. They’d tried to rouse him but with no success.

And Dr. Wilkes had made it clear if he did not wake soon, to eat and drink, there would not be much any of them could do. 

A dark cloud lingered over My Cottage, the mood somber and cold. No one knew what to say or do. No one spoke. And a literal dark cloud passed over outside too, as it had rained most of the day. Charles had spent most of the morning looking out over the fields behind their home as the rain pelted the windows. He confined himself to the library or his room, trying to stay away from his mother. Trying to avoid having that conversation.

And Lettie no longer seemed to be blaming him. She had yet to apologize for it though. Instead, she’d remained by his side, as if stuck to his hip. Her arms wrapped around him like she’d been glued to him, but Charles didn't mind. They kept each other company, even if they barely said anything. 

His uncle Anthony and aunt Kate arrived with his younger cousins and brothers after lunch. And upon his arrival, his uncle immediately entered his mother’s study, with Philip, without saying a word of greeting to the rest of them. A severe expression on his face as he disappeared into the office. Both began pouring over the ledgers, rental agreements, and accounts, checking over the copy of the will kept in the house. 

Preparing for the worst. 

That evening, Anthony had taken him into the office. His mother was still upstairs, Eloise and Posy had been taking turns checking on her. With Kate now here helping as well, the three rotated from being by his mother’s side to watching the children and back again to his mother. But Hugh was taking his cousins back home, planning to return the next morning, and Amanda had taken her siblings back to Romney Hall, with Phillip planning to follow later that night.

“I know your mother has been keeping you up to date on all these matters,” Anthony told him as they sat in the office. Alexander was present as well, sitting in a chair next to Charles as their uncle stood before them in front of the desk, tense and terrified as he continued. “Frankly, she’s done a better job with handling all of these accounts than I ever had with my own.”

Charles couldn't help the slight smile that formed over the pride he felt towards his mother, but it dropped away quickly with what his uncle said next. 

“There is nothing I can say that will make this easier, but if — and I say if — the worst befalls us in the next few days, I do not believe your mother will be in a position to handle these accounts for some time,” Anthony told him directly, swallowing down his own anxieties and fears as he spoke. “Your father and mother both stipulate in the will that if anything was to happen to them, I would handle My Cottage’s finances for the next few years. Something I’ve discussed with them before. And if something happens to your father I will handle these matters for the time being, with your mother, until you finish at Cambridge.”

Charles nodded. 

Then, his uncle sighed. “Alexander, do you mind stepping out? I need to speak with your brother about something. Privately.”

Alexander nodded, looking rather unsure of it though, but saying nothing as he rose from his chair and left the room. Their uncle waited for him to close the door, taking a few additional seconds before he spoke. 

“I’ve heard you and your father fought recently?” he finally remarked, a stern edge in his tone. His dark eyes bearing down on him. 

Charles sighed. “Yes. We did.”

His uncle hummed. “About a woman?”

“Grace Beauchamp. She’s Baron Beauchamp’s daughter. She and I…” Charles took a deep breath. “We had a short courtship before I left. I…I planned to ask her to marry me, but my parents talked me out of it.”

“Alexander informed me your father did not approve of her,” Anthony commented, and Charles nodded. “He also said some curt words were exchanged between you two before you left.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened as Charles clenched his teeth together. 

You don’t know a damn thing about the world, you immature, little git. 

And you’re a fucking bastard of a father. I wish you would just die. 

“Yes,” he replied, through gritted teeth. 

“And this Miss Beauchamp? I take it she has since moved on? Quite quickly from what I’ve heard,” Anthony returned.

Married to a lord’s son. From what Lettie had told him in the letter she’d sent a month after he’d left for Cambridge. It was when Charles finally realized he’d been played. That she’d been stringing him along as a backup if her courtship with Gordon Hammershine didn’t work out. Not just as a backup, but to make Hammershine jealous too. 

After he’d asked her to wait it out while he'd figure something out. While he got his parents to accept the match. He hadn’t even been gone long before the engagement was announced. The banns had been read and Grace was long gone now. Off on her honeymoon in Bath apparently before she and her new husband moved to London. 

He should have known it would fail. If he’d asked her to marry him the last time he saw her, she would have said no. 

And the signs had been there. The entire time. 

Lettie had been the first to make her concerns known, telling him she thought Grace was cruel and insincere, that she did not like her. Her reasoning for her dislike being that she'd once seen Grace whack one of Farmer Joseph’s dogs after it had excitedly run into her path, but Charles dismissed it as his sister over exaggerating what she’d seen and heard. 

While unsure at first about Charles’ relationship with Grace, Alexander hadn’t kept his feelings to himself after a local picnic they’d attended at the start of the summer, before Grace had left for the social season in London. He wouldn’t tell Charles what had been said, but he’d been upset about remarks Grace had apparently made about their mother to some of her friends. If he hadn’t been so lovestruck, Charles probably would have ended it there and then, but his brother could be a mummy’s boy at times. Fiercely protective of their mother, especially after both he and Charles had been made aware of the truth regarding their maternal grandparents, their true identities. Alexander disliked anyone who did not treat their mother with the respect he believed she deserved, and he could make assumptions too quickly about others because of it. 

But when Charles looked back on it, Grace had made remarks about his mother to him as well. Pointed ones. Ones that had always irked him a way, made him feel like he was constantly defending his mother, no matter how many times Grace said she was only joking or that he’d taken her words out of turn. 

She was once a maid? Well, she must have been incredibly lucky your father noticed her then. 

Charles, I know your mother and father are happy. Your mother’s looks and charm play quite a role in that, I’m sure. 

She’s quite the parvenu. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I meant it as a compliment. It’s quite impressive her jump up in society. Don’t you think?

Even William hadn’t liked her. And if the fourteen-year-old, laid back, devil-may-care William Bridgerton did not like someone, that was a sign something was wrong. 

And Charles was certain Alexander had been the reason his father had gone against the match in the end. But his father had not liked the Beauchamps to begin with.

With four out of five of his relatives being against the match, his mother had done quite a good job at staying neutral for the majority of his courtship with Grace, trying to be supportive and telling him she would stand by him regardless of the decision he made. But after the fight with his father, she’d finally made her true opinion. The night before he left. 

I know you love her, darling, but I do not believe she loves you the way you do her. Nor do I think you are your true self when you’re with her. A relationship built with love also needs honesty and trust, and while change always occurs with time, you should be changing for the better. Not because you have to appease someone.

She’d been the ones to sow the seeds of doubt in him. And Lettie’s letter had been the final nail in the coffin. Not that Grace had done anything to convince him to stay. She never wrote to him and had told him not to write to her lest they be caught. Said she’d wait for him as long as she could (which had been a week from what Lettie’s letter implied).  

Charles had been heartbroken, but also ashamed. He felt like a fool and the realization that he had been wrong, that his father had been right, was tough to swallow. 

“Yes. She did,” Charles admitted, tensely. 

His uncle said nothing, only watched him with his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the desk. While his face remained neutral and impassive, Charles knew his uncle was disappointed. 

In him.

“There is no benefit in kicking a man when he’s already down,” his uncle told him. “I will assume you have since realized your errors.”

Charles nodded; jaw clenched tightly. 

“I have,” he replied, keeping his eyes trained down.  

Anthony looked as though he wanted to say something else, but no words came out. There was a sadness in his eyes now as he put his hand on Charles’ shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before telling them he had to go help Phillip with another matter, leaving Charles alone in the room.

It wasn’t for long though. Alexander slipped into the room after his uncle departed, taking a seat next to him. 

“What do we do?” he hesitantly asked after a few moments. Charles looked towards him. “What are we supposed to do if father dies?”

“He’s not going to die,” Charles told him. 

“It’s been two days now, Charlie,” Alexander retorted, his face serious but his eyes revealing his panic. “You just started at Cambridge. I still have two years left at Westminster and William’s got six more. Mother and Lettie shouldn’t be out here on their own if-”

“He’s not. Going. To die,” Charles repeated, harsher this time. 

Alexander watched him, quietly, but Charles couldn’t look him in the eye right now, not without seeing their father’s eyes staring back at him. 

“You don’t know that,” his brother whispered. 

Charles stared up at the wedding portrait hanging behind the desk. The one his father’s friends had done for his parents after they married. Unknown to most, his mother had been pregnant with him at the time, his parents having convinced him quite quickly after their marriage, but the painter had hidden the growing bump. She sat with her hands on her lap in the portrait, wearing a pale sage green gown with daisies pinned in her hair, as their father stood directly behind her, his left hand rested on her shoulder, proudly showing off the wedding band on his ring finger. Both were smiling. Almost twenty years younger than they were now. Happy and content with no idea where their life would go after the painting was done. 

No idea it might end this week. 

God, she was so happy. His mother. After everything she’d endured in her life, she was finally happy. His father too. 

And now she might become a widow.

And his father might lose his life. 

And the rest of them, fatherless. 

Why the fuck had he said all those things to his father? 

He sighed, leaning back in his chair forlornly as he continued staring at the portrait. Defeated by this point. 

“No,” he admitted softly with despair. “No, I don’t.”

[totowlff]

extra — bliss

➝ toto is grinning like a goofball. and it didn't go unnoticed.

➝ word count: 4,6k

➝ warnings: none

➝ author’s notes: this is, probably, my favorite chapter to date. you will know why.

The image on Toto's cell phone screen looked straight out of a dream. At the edges of the shot, his fingers were holding up a small glossy rectangle with an image printed in black and white. It wasn’t high-quality or high-definition, but it was probably Toto’s favorite picture on earth.

The subject featured a slightly elongated white blob, resting at the bottom of a dark oval. On the bottom of the picture, there were a series of lines in consistent peaks and valleys, depicting a heartbeat. It was the absolute proof that he wasn’t just imagining things.He was going to have a child.

“A child with her”, Toto thought, as he thought about the way Cassie smiled at him as she told him the news a few Sunday evenings prior. The memory of it made something feel warm in his chest.

While Toto was in Barcelona for the Spanish Grand Prix, he’d called Cassie to find out how her appointment went at the fertility clinic. She’d been scheduled for a blood draw and an exam that day ahead of their second try at IVF conception after a first attempt failed. While they were on the phone, Toto could hear a certain hesitation — maybe fear — in the tone of Cassie’s voice. His first thought was that something was wrong, but Cassie didn’t say.

It made the entire weekend drag on for what felt like an eternity. Despite his efforts to keep focused on his duties with the team that weekend, he felt internally consumed by anguish and anxiety. During debriefs, he found his mind wandering to what would happen when he would go to Cassie’s flat upon arriving back in Oxford. He feared the worst — that whatever caused their first attempt to fail was a bigger problem than expected and would prevent any future attempts at conception, putting an end to their shared dream.

He also couldn’t bear the possibility of seeing Cassie in the state he’d found her in when he returned home from Bahrain. She had been devastated by the failure of their first try, in tears, talking about how big of a failure she was. Her sadness that night was like a knife in Toto’s chest, so profound was the heartache he felt for her, and for himself. He hoped he wouldn’t ever have to see her that sad again, he was sure of that.

He tormented himself by imagining every possible scenario for the entire flight back to the UK, and for the entire drive into her neighborhood in the north of Oxford. He steeled himself, fully prepared to see Cassie just as she was on that terrible night in April.

When she answered the door, though, all appeared fine. It eased his heart a bit. 

— Good evening, Cassie — he said.

— Good evening — she replied, a peaceful expression on her face — Come in.

He stepped into the flat and took his shoes off by the door, glancing around the living room to see if it was like last time, with discarded tissues, empty wine bottles, and various forgotten messes. He was relieved to see that it looked neatly organized like it usually was, just a white box on the coffee table and an episode of some television series he wasn’t familiar with paused on the screen.

Toto heard Cassie’s footsteps behind him, and turned to face her. 

— Well, I was going to stop by today anyway, but you said you needed to talk to me, so I decided to stop by before I went home.

— Yes, I needed… I need to.

— Well, I'm here.

His chest tightened at the awkward silence.

— Cassie, is there something wrong? Did something show up on your blood test?

— I think you'd better sit down — she replied, her voice thin. 

Nobody ever said that unless they had bad news. Toto’s stomach lurched. “This is it. It’s all over”, he thought.

— Cassie, I'm not going to do anything until you tell me what’s wrong. Please, tell me.

Then, it got worse. Cassie's eyes filled with tears and her bottom lip started to tremble. Without a second thought, Toto took two steps forward and placed his hands on her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.

It was painful to see her crying, but seeing her crying and not knowing why was even worse. After urging her to explain, Cassie took a deep breath, laying her hands on his wrists.

— There was… A change in the hormone levels on my blood test.

— What kind of change?

— The level of a hormone called ‘hCG’ is… Elevated — she whispered.

Toto had read a lot about the IVF process. He'd been with Cassie for almost every appointment since he'd cast his lot into this endeavor and had done his own research so he’d know exactly what Cassie was dealing with. He’d read more about hormones and the human reproductive system than he’d ever cared to and he knew she wasn't taking any medication or receiving any hormone injections for her body to reset itself before a new IVF cycle. He couldn’t ever remember seeing anything or hearing anything mentioned about a hormone called hCG, which made things even more frightening. 

— Is that serious?

— Well, it depends.

— Depends on… What?

— How serious is a child for you?

Toto's heart leapt in his chest. Was she implying what Toto thought she was implying? He couldn’t have heard that right. She couldn’t have just said something about a child.

— What? — he managed to stammer.

— I'm pregnant — Cassie said, as more tears streamed down her face. There was no sadness in her eyes, quite the opposite. She had a wide smile on her face — We're having a baby.

Toto took a few seconds to process her words, his eyes fixed on hers, searching for any indication that she was kidding. After so much pain, so much fear, so many doubts, the last thing Toto wanted was for this to be a joke.

But Cassie had been to the doctor, had the tests done, talked to the clinic staff. She wouldn't say that if it wasn't true. She wouldn't joke about this. “It's real, my God, it's real”, he thought, as the smile grew on his face, his anguish metamorphosing into pure joy.

 He took his hands off of her face and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off her feet, twirling Cassie into the middle of the room. He laughed aloud, the certainty that this was the happiest a man could be in his life growing inside his chest.

His dream had come true.

He was going to be a father.

Since then, everything in the world seemed a little more alive, more vibrant, more beautiful. All he could think about was Cassie and the way she smiled and laughed as he twirled her around her living room, happiness etched on her face. Any problems or unforeseen events at the factory did little to affect his mood, and apparently, his happiness was quite visible. 

— Toto?

Casting a sidelong glance across his desk, he realized he was rambling about something while Ola Källenius was sitting in front of him, one eyebrow raised over her rectangular glasses.

— Yes?

— Is everything okay?

— Everything's great, why?

— It's just that you seem distracted today — the executive said, taking a sip of the coffee that was still left in his cardboard cup. 

Toto flushed a bit in embarrassment.

— I'm sorry, Ola — he quickly responded, running a hand through his hair — It's just… I got some news yesterday and I'm still processing it.

The man's expression softened.

— Well, I hope it’s a good thing, you seem very happy.

— Yeah, it's really good. I think it's the best news I've ever received in my life.

— The best news, huh? Has Lewis decided to sign a lifetime contract?

— I'm going to be a father, Ola — Toto answered, without hesitation, before realizing what he had done. He and Cassie had agreed not to tell anything to anyone until a few months in, until after the risk for miscarriage or other had passed. However, Toto’s excitement had gotten the better of him. Ola grinned widely at him. 

— This is fantastic, congratulations, Toto! — he said, reaching out to give his shoulder a friendly squeeze — Do you know the sex yet? Is it a boy or a girl?

— No, we don’t know yet, we haven't done any imaging or anything...

— Oh, so is recent?

— Yeah — he said, doing some quick mental math, trying to ignore the image of Cassie writhing in pleasure that filled his mind — A month, maybe a bit more.

The man smiled beside him.

— You were lucky to find out early, then. But, do you have a preference as far as the sex goes?

— Well, no. But, I think if I could choose, I’d like to have a little girl.

— I thought you'd like a boy to accompany you on paddock adventures.

— There’s nothing that stops a little girl from liking racing, right?

— Indeed — Ola replied, laughing.

The two talked a little more about parenting, with the executive sharing some anecdotes and stories about the children he had with his partner, Sabine. Hearing Ola talk about his children made a strange anxiety settle in his chest.

It wasn’t just the anticipation of finding out if they were having a boy or girl, it was wondering what the little person growing inside of Cassie would be like, in general. It was the anticipation of meeting someone that he didn’t know, but already loved so deeply. Would the baby be serious and driven like Toto, or would they be a free spirit like Cassie? Would they be more athletic, or more artistic? 

There was one thing Toto was sure about, however.

“You’re going to be as beautiful as your mother”, he thought, smiling at the phone's screen, where the ultrasound image continued to glow, foreshadowing the entire life Toto and his child would have together.

— What are you looking at that has you smiling like that? — a man said, bringing Toto out of his thoughts. Looking up, Toto found Niki Lauda staring at him from the other side of the plane’s seat. His blue eyes shone with curiosity. They were on a plane, flying to the Azerbaijan Grand Prix in Baku. He usually did his best to avoid keeping his attention glued to his phone while he was on flights to and from races, to give himself time to decompress and let his mind wander, but all he could think about was Cassie and the baby she was carrying.

Since he had joined the Mercedes operation, the former driver was usually at his side, during races, debriefs, and flights to and from races. Toto had always admired him both on and off the track. His vision and courage never ceased to amaze him. Despite Niki saying he didn't have any friends, Toto was proud to be the exception.

As Niki’s friend, Niki knew quite a bit about Toto’s life.

He was one of the few people who knew about the entire history of Toto’s love life. There had been a few times that Niki had teased him about still being single, and good-naturedly offered to introduce him to one of Birgit’s friends, but Toto had refused. He was fairly certain that a blind date set-up wouldn’t be the way he would find the right person, and had expressed that to Niki, telling him that he wanted someone who was looking to start a relationship with, not just a casual date or hookup.

One thing Toto appreciated about Niki was how understanding he was. However, he wished he had been a little more than usual when he told his friend about his plans to have a baby with Cassie. He had already mentioned her to Niki on enough occasions for the man to suggest that Toto should ask her out on a date if he was in such a mood to “dip his pen in the company ink”. However, when Toto told him about their plans to pursue IVF conception, Niki immediately shot the idea down, telling Toto that he thought it was a stupid idea.

“Is it so stupid to want to fulfill a dream?”, he remembered asking himself.

— I'm looking at a picture — Toto replied, containing his smile a little.

— A pretty picture, by the looks of it.

— The prettiest I've ever taken, I think.

— Care to show me? — Niki asked, smirking.

Toto turned his phone towards his friend, mentally preparing himself for his reaction, which could be anything between joy and absolute bewilderment.

The former driver leaned back in his seat, narrowing his eyes as he studied the image. The following silence was longer than Toto would have expected, causing anxiety to tie knots in his stomach.

— Is that a baby?

— Well, technically it's a six-week old embryo, but you could say that it’s a baby.

Niki looked up at him.

— It's yours? — he asked. Toto just nodded, which made a small smile appear on his friend's face — So you went ahead with your plan with that girl, what's her name again? Alexandra?

— It's Cassandra, Niki. And yes, we went ahead with our plan and had our first round of IVF…

— And you got a positive at the first time? — Niki said, cutting him off. He looked impressed — If I can say one thing, you guys were lucky. When Birgit and I decided to have children, we had to go through three rounds before we got the twins, and it only worked once she changed one of the medications she was taking.

Toto pursed his lips hesitantly.

— But, I remember that the feeling of seeing the two lines on the pregnancy test was incredible. I started to cry when I saw the result, even after so long. I realized that day that I hadn't lost my enchantment with the world...

— The first attempt didn't work out, Niki.

Niki looked at him, confused.

— Oh, so, it was the second, then…

— We, uh… Didn’t get the chance to go ahead with the second round…

A few seconds later, his expression lit up as he connected the dots.

— Did you fuck?

— Niki! — exclaimed Toto, exasperated. He felt his face heat with embarrassment. He didn't like talking about his sex life openly, not even with people who knew him intimately.

— Toto, you just told me that you went ahead with your stupid plan and it didn't work, but there's a picture of an ultrasound on your phone and you've been smiling like a goofball since you boarded this jet, so I can only assume that you two fucked or this Sandra...

— Cassandra — Toto said, correcting him quietly.

— Cassandra, whatever, is the new Virgin Mary, and this baby of yours will be the second coming of Christ.

Toto sighed, defeated.

— We slept together...

— I knew it — the ex-driver said, chuckling in satisfaction.

— But it was only once, at her flat, when I got back from Bahrain. I hadn’t heard from her during the entire flyaway, so I went over to check on her. Cassie was devastated that it didn't work out and I felt awful that I hadn't been there for her, that I hadn’t given her the support that I’d promised I’d give her in the beginning…

— So, you decided to give her your support in bed?

— No — Toto replied quickly, as he realized that was exactly what had happened. Cassie had said she needed him and he hadn't had the heart to say no to her — Well, not exactly. She started saying that the things her parents said about her were right, that she was useless, that she couldn’t even do the basic things expected of her, that…

Suddenly, it felt as if all of the emotions that Toto had dammed up had found a way out, and he couldn’t stop himself from telling Niki everything.

— I told Cassie that she wasn't useless, but an admirable, courageous woman, capable of anything she set her mind to. And I told her not to feel bad, that we could try again. I promised that I would give her a child. And after all of that, she just… Kissed me.

— And you kissed her back, I imagine.

— I — he hesitated for a few seconds — Well, I didn’t really mean it to happen that way. I didn't want to take advantage of a moment as delicate as that. She was sad, and frustrated, she hadn’t slept well in days. But she said she needed me, that she wanted me. I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

— So, you dipped your pen in the company ink.

— Niki — Toto muttered, in a scolding tone.

— You know I think that’s a bad idea, right?

— That’s funny, considering that you met Birgit when she was a flight attendant for Lauda Air, right?

— It was NIKI, but that’s beside the point.

— That’s exactly the point! You’d been dating less than a year before she gave you one of her kidneys, because she loved you and you needed one.

— No, the point here is that you had sex with Addie…

— For fuck’s sake, Niki, it's Cassie! — Toto grumbled. He was starting to get frustrated. Her name was so simple to remember, he couldn't understand why Niki was having so much trouble getting it right. It wasn’t as if Cassie was a stranger to Niki, that he’d never met her before. 

— Okay, you fucked Cassie and got her pregnant on the first try. That’s pretty remarkable.

— Why do you think that’s remarkable?

— Because, I was with Marlene for almost ten years before we managed to have Lukas, and Birgit and I only had the twins after we had IVF ourselves. Three rounds, like I said.

— What about Christoph? — he asked. Christoph was Niki's third son, with whom he had no contact. The boy’s mother, who Niki had an extramarital affair with in the 1980’s, requested that Niki not be involved in his life. The affair eventually culminated in Niki and Marlene’s divorce. 

— Well, that took a few tries, too, not that I was trying to get her pregnant. But, given that, I can assure you that… How do I say this… Hitting a bullseye with your first shot is impressive. 

— Thanks, I guess — Toto mumbled. There was something strange about talking about it like he and Cassie ended up having a casual fuck at her apartment that resulted in an unexpected pregnancy.

The fact that they had sex was unexpected, but there was nothing casual about it, that was one thing Toto was sure of. He’d had brief flings with a few women that resulted in some no-strings-attached sex, but this didn’t feel like that. There was something different in the air, in the way Cassie looked at him, the way she touched him, the way she kissed him. It wasn’t just a casual fling. It was something Toto could neither define nor explain, but it was definitely unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life.

— So, does that mean you two are together? — Niki asked

— No, no. We are still friends, not...

Niki chuckled.

— So, you’ve convinced yourself that you’re still just friends with her?

— Yes, because we are friends, Niki…

— Toto, you clearly like her.

— Of course I do, otherwise I wouldn't be building a family with her.

— Then it's more serious than I thought — he muttered, crossing his legs to left his right ankle on his left knee. 

— More serious? What are you talking about?

— Toto, you love this woman.

The word knocked the breath out of his lungs, a shiver running down his spine.

Love was a strong word for Toto. It wasn’t like he didn’t feel love, or was shy about expressing it. He loved his mother, sister and nephews. He loved the friends he had known at different times in his life. He loved his team, his job, and motorsport. But Niki was referring to a different kind of love.

It was a kind of love he hadn't felt in a long time, not since… Julia. 

Her name was Julia Hirsch, and she was the first and last woman that Toto loved. She had a degree in economics and had been working at the Vienna Stock Exchange for a few years when they met in 2005 through mutual friends. Toto was enchanted with her from the moment they met. She had dark blonde hair, a soft, kind face, and light blue eyes. They started dating, and it didn’t take long for them to fall in love, and for them to start talking about marriage and children. 

A few years before that time, though, a friend of his asked him if he was interested in getting back into racing as a hobby, mostly rallying, but some GT and endurance racing as well. He found a way to make it all work together, and Julia was supportive, but eventually, he started taking racing more seriously, and found himself spending more time away from home. A distance grew between him and Julia, and Toto only realized how serious the situation was after his accident on the Nordschleife, in 2009. 

He was attempting to break a lap record there for GT cars. When he regained consciousness at the hospital in Adenau, he was a little surprised to not see her at his bedside. Nobody had told Julia of the accident. The racing team he was with that weekend didn’t know that he was in a relationship. It was as if she didn’t exist in that part of his life.

He knew something had to change. After all, he knew he wouldn’t be able to play with race cars forever, and the experience of riding in an ambulance and trying to figure out if he could feel his legs or not hastened his decision to hang up his helmet for a bit. 

He was transferred to a hospital in Vienna, and Julia did come visit him, furious and worried. It was then that he realized how close he was to losing her, and that his life needed a change.

They talked for a few long hours in his hospital room, both of them resolving to repair their relationship, but neither of them really knew how. Toto gave up racing, and Julia cut her work schedule back, and stayed in his penthouse to help him with his recovery. She never returned to her own condo. Six months later, after he was given a clean bill of health, Toto proposed. She accepted, and they started planning their wedding.

In time, Toto realized that he couldn’t stay away from racing altogether. He didn’t get back in a car again, but he had made a successful career out of investing and finance, so he married his interests and invested in a racing outfit called HWA, which managed Mercedes’ entries in the Deutsche Tourenwagen Masters Championship in Germany.

Then, an opportunity to invest in a Formula 1 team called Williams Racing came about, which eventually turned into a seat on the team’s executive board. He resumed his routine of traveling and spending a lot of time away from Vienna. Julia wasn’t exactly happy about it, but at least he still came home to Vienna, and to her.

The last straw was when he received the offer to buy a one-third share of the Mercedes F1 team, and for him to become the CEO and team principal of the F1 team. He would have to move to England, because that’s where their base was. It would also mean long hours of travel on race weekends, sometimes back-to-back.

Julia said that she couldn’t stomach the idea of starting a family with someone who was away so much, but asked Toto for a few days so she could think about whether she wanted to move to the UK with him. Toto, of course, told her to take all the time she needed. A month before the move, he returned to his penthouse to see Julia’s things gone, and her engagement ring in its box on his kitchen counter. That was her answer.

Julia had slipped through his fingers, without even saying goodbye.

That had been the last woman he had loved in his life. As he sat in his half-empty apartment with all of his things boxed up for the move, Toto realized that his plans had gone down the drain. He couldn’t blame her, he supposed, but he still loved her.

Julia was the one he was going to marry, to have children with, to spend the rest of his life with. There was no more Julia, but there was Cassie, and she made Toto feel something achingly familiar, an emotion that he hadn’t felt in a while, but was too afraid to put a name to. 

He hung on to the ring for a year while he grieved, but after the team won its first championship under his ownership, he decided that he needed to move on. He sold the ring to a jeweler in London that gave him a decent price for it. He went on a few dates after that, none of them resulting in much. Eventually, he just decided to focus on work, because that made him happy, and that was enough for the time being. 

— Niki, I think you’re imagining things.

— I'm not imagining anything, I'm just stating facts as I see them. You love this woman.

— I don't — Toto paused for a few moments. He couldn’t gather the courage to even utter those words — Look, I like Cassie. I like her a lot. She's my friend and, soon, she's going to be the mother of my child. We're going to have a family together, so...

— That, right there. That’s how I know you love her, Toto.

He blinked.

— What do you mean?

— The fact that you say that you’re going to have a family with her.

— But that’s what it is. We’re having a child together, that’s having a family.

Niki shook his head.

— If there's anything I've learned, it’s that having a child with someone is the easy part. Fuck some woman without protection at the right time of the month, and nine months later, you’ll have someone that calls you daddy and asks you to play peek-a-boo with them, but having a family is so much more than that.

Toto glanced out the jet’s window, thoughtfully. He wasn’t sure if he followed.

— Trust me, I’ve done both. I've had children with three different women in this life, but I’ve only had a family with Marlene and Birgit. It’s about more than just having a bit of fun, or even making a baby together. I was only able to have that with them because I felt a deep love for them. I still do, actually, and I'm sure they feel the same way about me. That's the big difference, Toto.

— Love?

— Exactly. Which is why, the moment you tell me you're going to have a family with Callie — Niki paused for a second while Toto opened his mouth to correct him — Cassie, I mean. It means you love her enough to face this challenge together with her and not separately, like me and Christoph’s mother did.

Something in those words carried Toto back to the day Cassie told him about her plan to have a baby on her own. Knowing more about the terrible relationship she had with her own family, he concluded that he had been right to offer to participate in the process. But Toto knew he had a deeper reason, one that didn't involve his own desires or the things that happened to him and his sister during their childhood. 

He wanted to make Cassie happy. He wanted Cassie to fulfill all of her dreams. He wanted Cassie to see herself the way he saw her. He wanted Cassie to love herself as much as he loved her. 

— You're wrong, Niki — Toto said abruptly, turning in his seat away from the older man — I like Cassie, we're friends, and that’s all it is. End of discussion.

[whenthegoldrays]

You mentioned you think about scripting Mansfield Park or North and South, and it made me remember an idea I concocted one for how to open/structure a MP movie or series. The concepts are probably trite and demodé at this point, but I think they have potential in this case.

It would open with a young Maria, Julia, and Fanny at their school room for a lesson, Fanny failing to answer correctly on something she never was taught about, and being humiliated by her cousins.

Then it would transition to Fanny at the room she shares with Susan in Portsmouth later in the novel. She might, for example, be looking at the window and have a book Edmund gave her open on her lap, at his handwritten dedication (a quote about strength would be apropos). Susan comes in for another study session (bonus points if it is the same topic as the first scene, but presented in more depth or with more accuracy), but then she asks about Fanny's life at Mansfield, and that would be the closing of the opening of the adaptation.

I know narration is a bad word these days, but I think it could work really well here, because Fanny would tell Susan of an event in one way, but we'd see how in reality it was in a different, harsher way -Fanny is trying to protect/be grateful to her relations. It reveals character, and it can also create funny contrasts like Fanny mentioning the quiet kind intimacy of her evenings spent with Mrs. Bertram, and what we see is Mrs. Bertram snoring on the couch with pug on her lap as Fanny does her worsted work for her.

I thought of both opening and narration as ways to show front and center Fanny's growth and her at her moment of, paradoxically, the most agency and authority, in her relationship with Susan, and then preventing her from sinking into the background -fitting for the "I was quiet, but I was not blind" character. I think it also highlights the theme of education, that is so important to the novel, and would give more urgency to the events later on Fanny's Portsmouth visit and afterwards, which are A) the most thrilling B) those where the family begins to realize Fanny's importance and value to them. I mean that we'd be experiencing them with Fanny rather than through Fanny as before. Oh, it would also make Henry's Portsmouth visit more shocking, as Fanny is not privy to the scene where Henry discusses all her excellencies with Mary.

So, hmm, that's my idea, IDK what you think, but I had to share XD

wow I love this idea! it’s kind of giving me the mental image of Goob’s “they all hated me” as the flashback shows that everyone thinks he’s cool, but with Fanny it’d be the inverse. you get the sense of Fanny kind of wincing when she gets to a particularly painful point in the story and trying to gloss over it or soften it while the reality is much worse.

(this as an antidote to Fanny trash talking the Bertrams to Susie in 1999 my beloathed)

and you’re right, the narration also works best because so much of Fanny’s character relies on her inner thoughts. it’d be a bit of a challenge to find the right balance of Unreliable Narrator Fanny and Most Observant Person in the Room Fanny, as well as the right balance of stuff she leaves out of her tale but is still shown vs. what isn’t shown at all (such as Henry’s perspective of falling in love with her), but with some good brainstorming and trial and error, I think it would be very good!

your idea also somewhat reminds me of (sorry!) Little Women 2019, with the flashbacks to their childhood being interspersed with the second half of the story until after Laurie’s proposal, at which point we return to the present and experience the rest of the story in “real time.” so it’d be a similar thing here. oh, we’d also have to decide how much (if at all) Susan might interrupt the narration to give her own comments on it, possibly expressing skepticism or concern about the more dubious parts of the story.

honestly, this gives me so much to think about and I love it!! thanks so much for sharing it with me!

[unabashegirl]

Lycan 1 (HS) — preview

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is forced to return to the town where she was born for extraordinary reasons. Her father is extremely sick and on the verge of passing away. Alsfield has changed and is far from what she remembers and even though she lived in town until her high school graduation she barely recognizes it. The town hides a big secret from a few individuals that live in it including Y/N. The man who maintains the town's secret and protects it is no other than Harry Styles. Things take a sudden twist when they meet. Numerous things will impede Y/N from returning to San Francisco to her somewhat ordinary life, will she be able to abandon the town that she had successfully escaped the first time? What is the big secret that the townspeople are hiding, and what is Y/N's role in it? Who is Harry? Where does he come from? Had she met him before? And what does he want from her?

Author's note: This is a new series that I have been working on. For now, I only have the first chapter done! My Patreon subscribers will be able to read it before I post the second chapter. I have decided to offer everyone a 7-DAY FREE TRIAL on this tier. So, if you want to continue reading, just click below and join for the next 7 days FOR FREE!

Y/N had never liked the town where she had been born at. So, as soon as she had graduated from high school, she hopped on the bus and got the hell out of the place. Unfortunately for her, things had taken a turn for the worst, and she was back on a similar bus heading to the small town.

Two nights ago, her father had been hospitalized. She had gotten a call from her aunt letting her know that her father wasn't going to make it through the night. Therefore, Y/N made all the necessary arrangements to travel up north to Oregon.

Y/N never had a close relationship with her father. Her father was difficult and had a behavior that Y/N had never been able to understand or figure out.

Her mother had been the reason for her sanity throughout all the craziness that her father daily generated. Y/N’s mother passed away two days before Christmas when she was a sophomore in high school.  It was all a blur for her. She could still remember being told that she had died, but everything that had happened after it was still a big blur to her. Her brain safety mechanism had been to block, all the painful memories after that day.

Life after the death of Y/N’s mother had been miserable. Her father had always been an alcoholic, but his drinking got worst after it.

Alsfield hadn’t changed one bit since she had left. It rained most of the year and the town was always covered with a permanent fog that always caused drivers to crash on the curves by the cliffs. Most of the townspeople kept to themselves and even though the town was small there was lots of privacy. It wasn’t like other towns in America where the housewives would gossip most of the day. Alsfield was a quiet place where nothing much happened.

“Visiting someone?” The man that sat beside Y/N asked. He had brown hair and blue eyes. He seemed to be roughly around her age. He had been quiet most of the ride, aside from when he pulled his snacks out of his bag.

“Sort of” She paused her music and took one of her earbuds off. “You? Are you from here?”.

“Sort of” he smiled, “I moved after high school”. Y/N frowned a bit but tried to contain herself. She didn’t want to come off as rude. She just couldn’t come up with a reason as to why someone would move into Alsfield after graduating. Most of them were trying to get out not move in. “For a job opportunity,” he added after a few minutes. “Who are you visiting?”.

“My father” Y/N wasn’t proud of it. Her father was probably going to be disappointed by seeing her. However, even though he had made her childhood a living hell, she wasn’t going to have any sort of regrets or guilty conscience if he passed away.

“By the way, I am Niall” He stretched out his hand for her to take.

“Y/N” she smiled as she shook his hand. “Nice to meet you”.

“Likewise,” He responded.

The bus finally came to a full stop by the first gas station in town. As Y/N had predicted, it was drizzling and very dark. She threw her bag over her shoulder and waited until Niall got off the bus to get out. By the time she had gotten off, most people had already caught a ride into town. She pulled her suitcase to the sidewalk and pulled her phone out.

Y/N just wished she could find a cab or an Uber. She wouldn’t have access to a car until she arrived home. And her house was a bit secluded from town, so she needed a way to get up there before it got later and darker.

As she searched through her browser in hopes of finding a cab service a honk interrupted her.

“Would you like a ride?” It was Niall on a pickup truck. “Free of charge of course”.

“Why?” She laughed as he pulled over.

“I am just being a friendly neighbor”....

Click below and join the FREE 7-DAY TRIAL and get access to the rest of the chapter and get notified and early access this week when the brand-new chapter is uploaded!

[littleladymab]

Still Waiting Duology (a wip intro for @moon-and-seraph's WORDS INTO POTIONS March event)

Genre: Fantasy (low fantasy, magic and second world, but only humans) Summary: After graduating from the country's most prestigious magical academy with no real interest in signing up for a tour of "border patrol", Cateryn drags her best friend and duel partner Jigar to tour the country with her -- hoping that maybe her restlessness will finally settle. She has no home to return to, and no idea of what a future is supposed to look like. When one year threatens to become two, they finally stumble upon three people whose struggles resonate with Cateryn's: Raif, who lost their father, their wife, and their future to one torrential storm and decided to leave home to save their mother the trouble of an heir who couldn't uphold the family name; Kira, a seer whose powers resulted in xir becoming a political prisoner when xir home was invaded; and Arris, Kira's husband who was helpless to save his employer and suffered at the hands of the occupying force before he could get himself and his spouse to freedom.

For the first time in a long time, Cateryn finds herself wanting to stay in one place and to open up to the people around her, even though Jigar thinks they should keep moving on. Because the two of them are destined for great things, he likes to say, but she knows what is best, and he's content to stay with her. Except for the past has a way of catching up with everyone, and they all find themselves dragged into political responsibilities as the neighboring country is getting agitated with an increasing number of border disputes, and rumors of something more than the usual bandits roaming the south.

And when Cateryn's past involvements with her father's spirit magic come back to haunt her, she has to decide if she wants to accept that part of her, or reject it and everything that comes with it before its too late. Etc: writing tag || pin board

My goal this month is to finish the outline for at least book 1 if not both books, and to GIVE IT A PROPER TITLE. And, between this and SD, hopefully write 4 chapters/about 10k.

Main Cast

Cateryn Caddis-Dowell (she/her); between 24/28; skilled at offensive/battle magic || playlist

Raif Van to Yuen-ha (they/he); between 28/32; dishonored heir to the Yuen-ha family; mediocre alchemist || playlist

Jigar Soru (he/him); between 26/30; skilled at defensive magic; "self-taught" spirit mage || playlist

Kira Dittmar (xe/xir); between 23/27; diviner/seer who would like to be retired || playlist

Arris Dittmar (he/him); between 29/33; sword for hire, just happy to be here! (he doesn't have a playlist yet I'm sorry)

Snippet

Raif didn’t even bother trying not to look miserable. If their mother wanted to make a spectacle out of their humiliation, then she’d have to do it with a sulking heir.

“Which part of this is the worst?” Cateryn asks, startling them out of their reverie.

“Pardon?” they ask in return, straightening their posture just a bit now that they’re the center of someone’s attention.

She gestures to the ballroom. “It’s the taffeta, personally. I am sweating like it isn’t the dead of winter in the north, and everyone can hear me from a mile away.” She says it low, conspiratorially, and they can’t help but laugh. “Ah, there it is.”

“The key to the taffeta’s undoing?” they whisper back, reaching out to ruffle her skirt. It whish whish whishes loudly beneath their touch.

“No, your smile.”

They snort into their wine glass. “Please, Cateryn, you don’t need to skulk about with me because you feel sorry for me.” It’s hard to keep the bitterness from their voice as they mirror her gesture towards the room. “My mother isn’t trying to humiliate you.”

They don’t mention how they noticed the way Aiden had been doting on her all evening despite this being a party for him.

“Is it wrong of me to want to keep you company?” she asks innocently. “You know, better yet, want to get out of here?”

Raif pauses with the wine glass against their lips. Leave the party early? Without saying hello, yes, I’m well thank you, yes I miss Linna and my father terribly but I’m sure Aiden will do a splendid job where I’ve failed as a child, but at least I don’t have to be my mother’s son anymore — Aiden can do that, to every one of Uyen’s friends?

The thought sends a frisson of rebellious delight through them, and they pass their half-finished glass to a nearby server. “More than anything,” they say, and Cateryn answers with a grin.

She takes their hand — in front of their mother, the family gods, and everyone — and tugs them towards the exit on the far side of the ballroom.

Uyen doesn’t call after them, but Raif can feel her disdain follow them into the hall.

[osric-giroux-ffxiv]

Dusk Vigil Pt 1

The biting chill of the Western Coerthan Highlands - it was never ending, never abating, though on this particular morning it seemed particularly brisk, perhaps warning of the weather to come, if the clouds on the horizon were any indication. 

Osric scowled, adjusting the heavy coat around his shoulders before shifting to the edge of one of the many buildings around the edge of Falcon’s Nest, making the long jump down to the middle of the settlement where three of his men waited patiently - one speaking with one of the area’s regulars, the Skywatcher, the four looking up as the ex-dragoon approached.

“One day I’ll get used to that…” Colson Arkwright had been a traveling mercenary for several years before being hired by House Cress. He’d seen plenty of fighters, with varying skills. Apparently, seeing a man jump and land comfortably without shattering his legs and ankles was something that he considered to be incredibly impressive - despite having been in Ishgard for some few months at this point.

Osric tilted his head, offering an easy shrug. “Perhaps - I imagine you’ll see it a few more times before all is said and done. Now, what does our friend here have to say about the weather we’re likely to encounter?”

The man in question sighed, flipping through several papers before looking up at the clouds. “Nothing good, my lord. Especially if you’ve intent to head north. Surely you felt the breeze while you were atop the tower? It’s bound to start snowing before days end, and I’d expect horrid conditions for the remainder of the week. We’ve already cautioned the merchants and casual travelers.”

“A good thing we’re neither of those.” Osric smiled gently. “Your warning is duly noted, good man, and we’ll take the necessary precautions.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of gil and passing it over.

The Skywatcher remained cautious, and appeared concerned, but eventually nodded. “As you say, Lord Cress. I wish you safe and speedy travels. May you return before the worst of it finds its way here.” With another small nod he turned back to his instruments, leaving the four armed men to themselves.

“A good thing we all know the area then…” A second of his men, this one an Elezen - Silvaire Dailemont had been part of the Temple Knights for years before leaving of his own accord, and the man’s knowledge of the highlands rivaled his own.

“Indeed…” Osric hummed thoughtfully, glancing out over the wall, across the snowy plains for a long moment. “You all have warming potions and supplies, correct? Starters for fires and things of that nature. There’s nothing we need to purchase before we’re on our way.”

A short chorus of ‘ayes’ and ‘yes sirs’ greeted him and he exhaled with a quick nod. 

These three had been selected for their knowledge of the area - having been station at Falcon’s Nest before, or spent some time in the highlands, all three men were adept at handling the cold, but the weather did not bode well for what was supposed to be a simple clean out of an already ‘empty’ fort…an easy favor for an overly jumpy temple knight…

One week prior - Cress Barracks (former Slater Estate)

The sounds of metal against metal, raised voices, and of general activity surrounded him, and yet he heard almost none of it, focused in on the movements, steps, corrections - the rest of it was just noise. 

Osric moved between groups, taking notes on progress, what needed to be adjusted, what seemed to be working well, handing the notes off to the various groups instructors as he moved from group to groups - two wolf pups trotting along beside him, seemingly unaffected by the noises, but intrigued by the action. 

He’d pause, quickly jotting notes, changes to be made when a voice from the main building reached his ears - a rare occurrence for this time of day, as the building was almost entirely empty. 

“Lord Cress!”

Týr and Frejya at his feet turned and growled for a moment before he clicked his tongue to quiet them, recognizing the voice and then the face as he turned his head to look for the source of the voice. 

“Master Thierremont. Something I can assist you with this morning?”

Gaspard Thierremont had been, and seemingly still was, a Temple Knight - one whom Osric had had his fair share of encounters with while he’d been a Dragoon. 

While not a bad individual, per se, his presence did not inspire confidence or good feelings - only caution and wariness, feelings that Osric was becoming more and more accustomed to having as his…default. 

“Yes…well, perhaps. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?” 

“Of course.” Osric nodded to the nearby trainer, handing off his notes before clicking his tongue for Frejya and Týr to follow. “Right this way.” 

He led the armored Elezen through the newly renovated Barracks, to the room that had been serving as his office on the days he worked in the building, motioning for him to have a seat. “Coffee? Tea? It’s quite chilly out this morning.” The two pups moved to lay down near the edge of the desk, a pillow already laid out for them. 

“Ah…tea, would be lovely, thank you.”

A quick nod and he went about making the requested beverage, as he made his own drink - and after a few minutes, once both had their beverage and Osric was seated on the opposite side of the desk, he motioned for Gaspard to speak. “Alright, now…what can I do for you?”

“Well…not for me…for the Temple Knights.”

Leveraging the name this early…never a good sign..

Osric quirked an eyebrow as he took a sip of his coffee before motioning for Gaspard to continue. 

“You remember the Dusk Vigil…yes?”

“The Fort? Yes. Froze solid after the Calamity, everyone stationed there died, was my understanding. Some claimed it was haunted for a time. What of it?”

Gaspard swallowed roughly, turning his cup between his hands, “That last bit - the haunted bit - people have been incredibly slow to let that one go… There have been increasing reports of activity around the Vigil in recent days. To the point where we can no longer ignore it. Normally it’s so far out of the way that it’s just dismissed as an irritation, the reports are set aside, and it’s not given a second thought…”

“But…?”

“But, it’s gotten to the point where even traders who are making their way to Tailfeather are complaining about whatever is happening there.”

Osric frowned, setting his cup down on the desk. “The path to Tailfeather goes nowhere near the Vigil.”

The Elezen sighed and set his cup down before running his hands over his face. “Exactly - which is why this is becoming an issue. Whatever, or whoever has made it’s home up there is impacting things far enough south where it’s interfering with trade. And when trade is impacted…”

“People start to notice. So what has stopped the Convictors or the Temple Knights from intervening?”

“We haven’t the people - we’re still rebuilding, and the Convictors are useless unless their foe has wings and scales…even though we’ve had the discussion with them that dragons are no longer the enemy.”

“To clarify - what you are requesting is that I send a small force of my men into the Dusk Vigil to clear out whatever happens to be occupying the space so that business as usual may resume for the traders of Tailfeather and others outside of Ishgard proper, is that correct?”

Gaspard nodded, lifting his cup to his lips and taking a small sip. “Aye…that’s exactly what I’m asking for.”

Osric stood, turning to look out the window of the office, his hands clasped behind his back loosely. “It’s quite the ask you’re making, Master Thierremont.”

“I’m not expecting this to be pro bono work, Lord Cress. I may not be the Lord Commander, but I do hold no small measure of authority and the Temple Knights would most certainly be in the debt of House Cress should your men succeed in this endeavor.” 

Gaspard stood, setting his cup down and moving over to lean against the edge of the desk. “We need this handled, quietly. The renown your fighting force would receive for seeing this done, in addition to the Temple Knights being in your House’s debt ...surely it’s worth considering.”

There was a long pause before Osric turned back around to face Gaspard across the table. “Let’s get the details of this arrangement in writing, and allow me to see what reports you have regarding the Vigil. I believe we can see this issue handled for you, Master Thierremont.” 

Present day - Falcon’s Nest

“Lord Cress?”

Osric’s thoughts were quickly brought back to the present moment by a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced up towards one of the men with him - Silvaire.

“The Skywatcher seemed to imply that we’d have a few hours of clear travel if we were to leave now, my lord…you know as well as I do how imperative that will be.”

“Indeed. If we’ve all the supplies to keep us from freezing then let’s be on our way. Once we pass the bridge to the north, we’re essentially on our own. Colson, Geoffrey…”

Both men, Midlanders in their early thirties with a history of mercenary work, gave curt nods, the shorter of the two, Colson, pulling his jacket tighter around his form. “Let’s get going…more we move the sooner this is all done or at best, least we get around a fire. Colder than a witch’s titty in a brass bra it is…” 

“You ain’t never seen a pair of titties…, much less gotten to ask about a pair in a brass bra.” 

Silvaire glanced over at Osric who shrugged easily with a chuckle. “Let’s be off, gentlemen. It won’t get warmer while we stand here.” 

The four moved away from the center of Falcon’s Nest, down the ramp and out onto the snowy plains, the settlement growing smaller and smaller behind them as the wind steadily began to pick up.

It would indeed be slow going, and it seemed there would be a storm waiting for them. 

The question that seemed to settle in the back of Osric’s mind with each forward step…was just what kind of storm.

[bloodandstonex]

if you’re hearing THE UNFORGIVEN BY METALLICA playing, you have to know ABE COLBURN (HE/HIM, MALE) is near by! the THIRTY FIVE year old BOUNCER AT CLUB 360 has been in town for, like, FIVE YEARS. they’re known to be quite WOUND TIGHT, but being HELPFUL seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble REGE JEAN PAGE. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those GYM RAT, WELL DRESSED, QUIET NIGHTS IN vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around DOWNTOWN long enough!

Name: Abraham Colburn Nicknames: Abe or his last name Age: 35 Birthday: April 27th Zodiac: Taurus Height: 5'11 Occupation: Retired army veteran, bouncer at Club 360 Alignment: Neutral Hometown: Raleigh, North Carolina Sexuality: Unsure Face Claim: Rege Jean Page

-Abe was born and raised in Raleigh, North Carolina. He's a country boy through and through. -He was born into a large family. His mother had two kids before Abe and remarried before he was born to a man who also had two children. Abe was the fifth and final child. -His grandfather was an army veteran and he was Abe's hero. He wanted to follow in his footsteps and serve his country just like him. -After he graduated from high school, he enlisted into the army and he was quickly shipped out overseas. -Abe felt like he had prepared his whole life for army and when he got there, he quickly realized that the war and the turmoil was not something he could handle. -After completing a tour of duty and returning second, Abe went AWOL after a week and deserted his position and base with the intention of going back home. -When he was trying to do so, a tank rolled over a landmine and Abe was in the blast radius. He had managed to avoid the worst of it but he was still badly injured. -The army found out that Abe had went AWOL, thus causing him to be injured. The decided to dishonorable discharge him from service, sending him back home. -After the explosion, Abe was left with 80% blindness in his left eye and a plethora of new scars but was generally okay. Well, as okay as someone who got blown up could be. -For a while, Abe went back home to Raleigh and lived with his parents while he worked on getting back on feet. Unfortunately for Abe, however, his parents, and even worse, his grandfather were disappointed in him. They didn't understand why he did what he did, and to be honest, Abe barely understood it. He just knew how he felt and that he couldn't be there anymore. -When he was thirty years old, he decided that he needed to leave his family behind and live somewhere new. That was when he discovered the small town of Hemlock Springs. Abe packed up his things and moved. -Since moving there, Abe had done A LOT of therapy, working through the trauma of what happened while at war. Therapy had definitely morphed him into the man he was today and he couldn't be happier about it.