#fuck. I'd marry his sister to be a part of his family

[yikez]

I told the school "psychologist" that I'm not going to kill myself because I promised him, my fp, that I won't kms. And she's like : well but that doesn't mean you'll keep the promise tho 😕

Woman.

If I'm down to kill myself if he asks then I'm also ready to live for him. Do not undermine that.

I'd walk across the fucking globe if he asked me to. I'd kill someone for him. I'd let him abuse me in any way he wanted - physical, mental, sexual - I don't care. I love him, I don't care. I need his attention. I need for him to notice me and care about me. And he is - stay winning girlies 🫰💕

[lina-lovebug]

I'd Fight The Devil

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Background: (Y/N) Morningstar with her partner, Alastor, has decided to put some of the Overlords in their place.

Warning: Alastor being Alastor, mentions of pregnancy but no one's pregnant, and Alastor might have a breeding kink

_ _ _

"(Y/N)! What a surpri-!"

"I believe that's Princess (Y/N) Morningstar, Heir to the throne of Hell, and Duchess of Chaos - to you," Alastor loved doing this. He adored how (Y/N) had decided to start using her true power, and to bring respect back to her name.

The family name, to be exact.

Valentino chuckled nervously as (Y/N) scoped out the place, her horns ever presenting and tail flicking with annoyance.

"What a pleasure to be hosting you, Princess. What would be the reason for this visit?" Valentino asked, offering her a drink.

"I'm fine, thank you," She dismissed it, already smelling the poison inside the cocktail.

"I'm here to discuss Angel Dust, and your contract with him."

"If he's too much trouble for the hotel, I'll happily-"

"You're the one causing the trouble," Alastor cut him off.

Valentino sputtered, "me?!"

"You can feign innocence all you wish, Val, but I've heard that you've called my sister a bimbo, along with many other colorful names," (Y/N) slowly stood up, leaning over his desk as the lights started to go out - one by one.

"Charlie is nice. She's always been the kinder of us Morningstars, but apparently this makes you think that you can go and soil our name. My father could have strung every sinner on a hook for eternity, torturing you all second by second as your screams sung into our great halls," no one had been unfortunate enough to see the form of (Y/N) Morningstar, and Val was one of them.

Her height expanded to nine feet tall, her pretty black nails forming into claws and her eyes ablaze with scarlet serpent pupils.

And wings - oh great black wings that could make even Adam rethink his attack.

When he was still alive, of course.

"And you sully his gift by mocking us."

"Look, Vox did it first! Okay?! He said you'd never-!" Val tripped on a tentacle that came from her beloved Alastor, who dropped a TV by his feet.

But not just any TV.

"Oh God," Val gasped, "Vox. . .?"

"I took care of him earlier," Alastor grinned, still reminiscent on his screams.

"I couldn't have my dear (Y/N) sully her hands with his filth. But whatever the Princess wants, she gets."

Oh to see her come into her power was as chilling as death itself.

"You're so romantic, Alastor," (Y/N) smiled.

That's when Valentino spotted it. On the left hand of (Y/N) Morningstar was a ruby wedding ring, the band pure gold.

Alastor finally did it.

He climbed up the latter, but not through power.

Well yes, through power, but he certified that it would always be his.

By marrying Lucifers daughter.

"We're matching, isn't it adorable?" Alastor showed off his own wedding band, ruby's encrusted inside of it.

"Now, where were we?" She grinned, and as an engagement gift, the screams of Vox and Valentino were broadcasted throughout all of Hell.

And they say chivalry is dead.

_ ☆ _

"They're fucking crazy."

"They're made for each other."

On that, Angel Dust and Husker could agree.

The lovely couple had become the center of Hells attention after their engagement was announced, and even though Alastor thought it would be hilarious for Lucifer to find out through the papers, she told him first.

And he cried.

"Oh my baby is all grown up!" Lucifer sobbed loudly, clinging onto her legs, "look at you! You-you used to be this small!" Lucifer grabbed a duck, "and you were so tiny and so cute!"

"Am I invited?" Lucifer squeaked, staring up into her eyes.

"Yes, dad," She smiled, bringing him up to his feet, "but we want to wait a bit before we plan anything."

"You know she used to bite my finger?!" Lucifer grabbed the baby pictures of little (Y/N), "look at how small she was! Oh, and this one is my favorite!"

Alastor truly didn't mind how touchy Lucifer had become with him, but thankfully, Lucifer also knew when to stop.

"Wait, is that why you're getting married?! Did you impregnate my daughter?!" Lucifer gasped, shoving his hand on her stomach.

"Dad! Dad, no! I'm not pregnant!" She quickly cleared up.

"Unfortunately," Alastor muttered to himself. Oh to see her belly swell with his children - his own spawn, it made his cock twitch at the thought.

He was fond of children but his own? Oh he'd spoil his little prince or princess with all the blood sacrifices the world had to offer.

"Yeah but you know what marriage entails, kiddo!" He pointed at them both with finger guns, "first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby-oh my GOD I'll be a grandpa!"

He started crying again.

She sighed, "at least we know our hypothetical child will be taken care of."

Alastor nodded, "I could not have picked a better father-in-law."

At this point, Lucifer was ugly crying.

Alastor looked at his beloved with a soft gaze as she tried calming her father down. To be honest, Alastor never thought he would ever find solace in Hell. He anticipated every day being a fight for his life, always looking over his shoulder and always striving for more power. And as cheesy as it sounded, he saw (Y/N) as his shining light. She brought out his sad heart, and for the first time in his life, he wished his mother was with him.

To see just what a wonderful woman he managed to catch.

[boiohboii]

The Royal Way

(Leclerc!reader x prince of monaco!OC)

After his older sister marries into the Monaco Royal family, Charles knew he would be treated differently, to his surprise (and his sister's disappointment) his F1 team, ferarri, treated him the same way.... and that did not sit well with the new princess of Monaco

or

in which YN Leclerc uses her new familial connections to fuck up ferarri just like how they fucked up her baby brother's hopes and dreams.

N.B: I AM BACK WITH A DIFFERENT TYPE OF REVENGE SMAU! ALSO, FORGIVE ME IF THE FORMAT IS DIFFERENT I MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN SOME STUFF, I AM WORKING ON PT 2 RN SO HOPEFULLY YOU WON'T HAVE TO WAIT LONG! WARNINGS: not proofread, fuck ferarri (they are the bad guys here), also ferrari is written wrong, I will correct myself in pt2! Hope you like it! Let me know what you think!!

Masterlist

Liked by Charles_leclerc, Fararri, Maxverstappen1 and 12,820,746 others

MonacoUpdates: congratulations to our new princess, YN Leclerc, and our prince, Thierry, on their wedding. The entire nation wishes you a happy life together 💗💗.

username: PRINCESS YN LECLERC!! LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOO

username: NOOOO!! YN BABYY! WHAT ABOUT OUR KIDS

username: YN and Thierry are OUR ROYAL COUPLE

username: anyone remembers their paddock era?

username: the only time ferarri gave my boy a decent strategy

username: don't remind me, since they have been planning their wedding and not going to the paddock ferarri has been so shitty to Charles

Liked by Princess_YN_Leclerc, Pierregasly, landonorris and 1,309,682 others

Charles_leclerc, Arthur_leclerc and lorenzotl shared a post.

We didn't want to let you go, none of us wanted to walk you down the aisle because that meant that you will not always be here, you will have your own family now, your own little ones to look after and not three younger brothers who just annoy you because they can. You always looked out for us, took care of us, walked us to school, took us to our races and cheered us on. You were always there, never leaving us alone; a presence we love and crave because your arms feel like home. Whenever mum would work too much you would help us with our homework, make us dinner and tuck us in. It was the happiest and the saddest day for us, to see you walking away from us in the arms of another man who will cherise you and love you to the end of time. We love you so so much, please don't stay away too long and visit us because we will always be your little ones.

Congratulations to the both of you ♥️♥️♥️

Princess_YN_Leclerc: God you three are making me cry. I love you three so much, I can never live without you. You were always spying on me whenever I'd mention a date, even when it was our country's prince it didn't deter any of you a bit. You will always be my three little musketeers who make me laugh, smile and scream.

username: MY THREE LITTLE MUSKETEERS!! FUCK OFF!!

username: God, this family makes me so sappy, I love it

username: BECAUSE YOUR ARMS FEEL LIKE HOME!!!

username: what my parents wished for when they had me and my brother

username: if they don't fucking post a video of the Leclerc boys walking their sister down the aisle i will scream, CAUSE I KNOW THEY WERE CRYING

landonorris: oh, they were fucking bawling mate

danielricciardo: full on sobs, even max was crying

maxverstappen1: I did no such thing

lewishamilton: I can confirm that max was weeping

maxverstappen1: fuck you man @.lewishamilton

Part 2

[targaryen-dynasty]

alrightie bestie, I find the slutty sleepover a lovely idea!

with this being said, I'd love if possible the gif number eleven with aemond and if possible as kinks: breeding kink and size kink!

(I'd love canon era but I am fine with whatever you come up with)

alrightie I am off and have a spooky time!

KINKTOBER SLEEPOVER.

No. 2 -> GIF.

Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; p in v, breeding kink, breeding, pregnancy kink, size kink, size difference, mentions of reader's appearance

WORDS: 1.5 K

NOTES: My beloved angsty, thank you so, so much for this request! That gif is my favorite. Hope you like this!

Moments like these always made you terribly aware of how much taller, and stronger, your husband was than you, whereas that realization made you incredibly aroused. Where Aemond had you captured between his tall frame and the stone wall before, forcing you to meet his gaze by craning your neck up to look at him, you now were pinned between him and your marital bed. 

But Aemond had not always been like that. There was a time where he was hesitant to take you whenever he desired, whenever he needed you. 

In the early stages of your marriage, it almost seemed as if the young prince was intimidated by you, afraid to touch you, but perhaps he just had been incredibly embarrassed by his lack of hands-on experience with the act of bedding his partner.

He hadn’t told you about the bad experience he had when he turned three-and-ten, his older brother did to make fun of him, and your heart ached for the poor man you had married when you had heard the story. 

So, you made it your duty to show him the true sensuality of fucking, and, surprisingly, it didn’t take too long for him to relax, his confidence growing rather quickly. 

But something at supper with his family must have aroused him to the point of no return, and you partly blamed it on the slowly growing swell of his older sister’s middle.

And boy, never before had he given into his desires so easily. While he had taken you like a man starved a hundred of times before, the man that thrusted into you now came closer to a wildling that lived beyond the wall, than the dutiful second son of King Viserys Targaryen. 

Even before the door to your chambers was closed completely, Aemond‘s lips were on yours, claiming them while he herded you against the wall. His nimble fingers clawed at your gown, and, once it fell to the ground, your smallclothes, a tad too eagerly undoing the laces of your bodice and everything that lay beneath. 

You had to physically stop him from easing into you right then and there, and even when you were allowed to climb onto the bed, Aemond was very adamant to mound you as fast as possible. 

‘On your hands and knees,’ he had ordered, and when you weren’t quick enough to follow his command, he had used his hand to nudge you into the position he desired. Despite the urgency he had held in him, he was gentle, but there just was more determination in him than usual. 

You had done as he told you to, presenting him your slick womanhood while he stripped himself of his breeches and braises, not caring much if the tunic hung still from his shoulder. He had positioned himself behind you, the tip of his cock dragging up and down your slick folds, until it eventually breached your core with a sigh of relief leaving his parted lips. 

‘Tonight is the night I shall put a babe in you,’ he had panted, his voice hoarse despite not really doing anything. The thought of getting pregnant had so often crossed your mind, especially when you had heard the news of Rhaenyra being pregnant with hers and Daemon’s first child, and then the second followed. And when Helaena announced her pregnancy, the longing became more and more apparent. 

And it seemed your husband felt exactly the same. 

The topic had felt too delicate for you to approach it for the longest of time, hence your lack of conversation regarding it, but the threads of your husband’s restraint had obviously snapped, and you knew it was time to give him an heir. 

When the ministrations of Aemond’s hips became too harsh, too rough, your small frame toppled forwards, landing stomach first on the bed. But his thrusts didn’t stop at that, and the dragon behind you merely moved to straddle your thighs, until eventually the weight of his body collapsed on you and hugged you like a mantle, pinning you down beneath him. 

“Gods,” you moaned, shushed by Aemond’s lips on your temple. “I can not wait to see your belly swell with my child,” he rasped into your ear to which you just whimpered. “I want everyone at court to know. I want them to look at you and know who is fucking you every night, to whom you belong.”

Your hands clawed the linen beneath your sweaty frame, and Aemond was quick to bring both of his own to put them over yours, his hand big enough to cover them whole. He interlocked his fingers with yours, grasping them mayhaps even a bit too tightly. 

“Do you like that?” he asked, keeping his lips against your skin, and you could hear his smug grin from miles away, you didn’t even have to look at him. 

The warmth of his body, his weight and scent clouded your every being, and even though his thrusts weren’t as fast as before anymore, they still were determined and harsh enough to render you speechless, your mind and body completely claimed by him. 

You were not exactly frail or petite, but he was so much bigger than you that it didn’t even matter. You felt safe and blessed in his hold, fucked like a wildling, but loved with such intensity you felt like the most desired lady in the realm. 

“Y-Yes,” you whimpered beneath him, releasing one gasp after the other when his cock repeatedly brushed the spot inside of you that had you seeing stars. “I-I want… need you, husband,” you moaned, heat building inside of your belly. As you took in a deep breath, you turned your head slightly to chase his lips for a kiss, which he eagerly granted you. 

Your lips only parted to release breathy groans and whimpers, but your faces stayed close together. “Want a babe so, so much, husband,” you whimpered against his lips, “you will give me one, yes?”

At your words, you could feel his body tense with desire, his cock twitching at the thought putting a child in you. “Yes,” he panted, “as many children as you wish. Sons and daughters both, I swear.” 

One of his hands released yours to snake beneath your body, aiming for your sensitive pearl. Though the linen beneath had granted you at least a bit of friction, it wasn’t enough to bring you to your peak. His thumb circled over the little bud, coated with your arousal, and the thread in your belly was close to snapping. 

“Let me give you an heir. Put a babe in me, husband.”

It appeared that your words granted him a new-found vigor that had you gasping, the pace of his hips increasing. “My seed, my heart, ‘tis all yours,'' he groaned, “you want it, wife? You want my seed?”

You could only whine at the question, and started to roll your hips against his hand and hips, creating some extra friction that not only fed your own pleasure, but his, too. You came with a cry of his name, and if you wouldn’t be lying on your stomach already, you surely would have toppled over at the force of your peak. 

As you clenched around him like a vice, with your small frame trembling beneath his, Aemond released a strangled moan, his own peak being milked out of him by your convulsing walls. 

Both your bodies moved on their own accords, rutting and rocking in rhythm to make sure that your act bore fruit. Only when Aemond felt as if there was not one drop of his seed left inside of him, he stopped his ministrations, the hand that had circled your pearl coming up to seize your hips, stilling them. 

He pressed his lips to the side of your face, his heavy, erratic breathing fanning over your flushed and sweaty skin. In that moment, you felt whole. His weight pinned you down, keeping you grounded, and the softness of his gestures comforted your tumbled mind. “Are you certain it worked?” you whispered, the matter suddenly seeming far too delicate again. 

Aemond braced himself on his hands, but was careful to stay nestled inside of you, despite his cock slowly becoming flaccid. “Only time will tell, sweet wife,” he replied, “but that does not have to stop us from trying a few more times… just to make sure.” There was a teasing edge in his voice, and when his arms wrapped around your body to take you with him as he sat back on his haunches, you knew that a long night lay ahead of you – but you didn’t mind at all. 

[kadwrites]

different yet the same | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; nothing stays the same, but how can you explain that to the people you love?

warnings ; arranged marriage!trope, soft!tommy, reader has a voice kink? idk, typos probably, reader likes starting shit, REALLY slow burn.

a/n ; let me know what you think<3, also keep in mind that my first language is not english <3

-

you felt like you were overheating, his hand was barely even touching your lower back but you could definitely feel it. he led you back to the office, to grab his coat , where he finally stepped away from you.

"ya didn't 'ave to do that" you needed to cut the tension

"do what?" he was putting on his coat

"fire 'er."

he stopped in his place , looking back at you with a raised brow "you'd rather i keep 'er ?"

you really wouldn't "i mean...." you trail off, trying to find the right words

he steps closer, until he's right before you. a little too close maybe "what do ya mean?" his voice is soft and deep.

it really didn't help you , that his voice had that much of an affect on you. "would ya've fired 'er if she spoke this way to anyone else ?"

"like who?"

"i don't know, anyone else." you repeat your words

"but she didn't say that to anyone else" his gaze was so intense, it felt like you couldn't take your own eyes off his "she said it to you"

he then took a step past you before you spoke again "did ya do it because she offended me or was it because it might've hurt your reputation?"

he stops again and sighs when he closes his eyes , he turns "why are ya fightin' me on this?"

"i'm not!" you chuckle "i'm just wonderin'..."

"well stop wonderin' , we got shit to do. let's go" he motions with his hand and heads for the door, you huff and follow him.

but your questions don't stop there. once you're in the car , you're back at it and with more resilience.

"why 'aven't i met your family yet?" you're in the passenger seat, your arms crossed as he drives

"jesus fucking christ" he mumbles, a cigarette hanging from his mouth "what's gotten into ya today , eh?" he glances at you

"what? i'm just trying to make conversation" you try to sound as innocent as you can.

"ya've met polly, 'ave't ya?" he takes a drag of his cigarette, smoke blowing in the air "there ya go, she's family."

"polly doesn't count , i knew 'er as a child. before i knew ya."

"she's my aunt , how does she not count?" his brows furrow and he laughs

"ya've brothers, and a sister, and sisters in law." you're not giving up, "ya've met my family already , why don't ya want me to meet yours?"

"i barely did" he looks at you , then back at the road "they don't exactly like my company now , do they?"

"they're shy!"

he looks at you with a half smile, as if asking you if you're serious "really?"

"come on tommy, i'm serious. how am i going to marry into a family that i don't know?"

"you're not marrying my family are ya? you're marrying me"

"tommy" you click your tongue

"why do ya want to meet them so badly?"

"i just..... i've always wanted to be close to my husband's family when i'd get married."

he sighs , looking back at the road "it'll take time for them to warm up to ya and they're hardly as polite as your lovely family is" he mumbles with a sarcastic tone

"probably" you nod "but i do want to meet them"

"fine, don't say i 'aven't warned ya." he sighs again, "i'll see what i can do"

"mum says that thomas shelby proposed to ya" sarah and amy are in your room, they're celest's daughters.

"mhm" you're still in bed and they're beside you. your sister's children are rascals, just like their mom they, don't knock when they come in, they lay in your bed with you and wake you up whenever they're bored. you're eyes are still closed when you mumble, not that it would stop them from pestering you. you try to hang on to any crumb of sleep you can get.

"can we see the ring?" amy asks , you can hear the smile in her voice.

you raise your hand, wiggling your ring finger. at her.

you tried to keep this whole thing from them, to not let them know what really happened. they're smarter than you think though. after all , sarah is already 14 and amy is 13. they already have an idea, they just never wanted to bring it up.

"oh my god..." amy's voice is filled with excitement and a little bit of disbelief "is this a real diamond?"

"of course it fucking is." you grumble. you turn, so you're laying on your side but facing them now

"are ya happy?" sarah pulls the covers, getting under them next to you

"why wouldn't i be ?" you chuckle sleepily "i'm gonna be fucking rich" you wiggle your brows

they both chuckle with you, but they are still looking at you with a type of look, and you know what it meant.

"mum says that his house is far , that we wouldn't see ya as often." amy mumbles

"your mum is dramatic. of course ya will." you reassured them, but the thing is you didn't even know how life would be after your wedding. "ya're not getting rid of me that easy."

"are ya nervous?"

"a little bit yeah" you shrugs "but it's normal, your mum was nervous too ya know? she'd cry every time she saw me." you say with a snort "and look at 'er, she still comes over every other day."

"but that's different isn't it?" amy dares to ask

"what is different?" you ask softly

"everything is going to be different" she mutters and you can feel your heart crack at that "this wedding is different, you're marrying ... 'im, and moving away, and it'll be different." her voice cracks, and she looks away

"nothing is going to be different amy..." you get up, and scoot next to them "but even if things change i'll still be me, ya'll still 'ave me"

sarah leans her head on your shoulder "i'll miss ya"

you look at her then at amy, "aww , hey now" you hug her, laughing as you kiss her head "i'm not going anywhere," you speak into her hair

-

taglist ; @tardisloverz , @optimisticsandwichgladiator, @theshelbyslimited , @illuminwtesz , @goldensunflowe-r , @gruffle1 , @warrior-of-justice , @mgdixon , @babayaga67 , @goblinjnr , @justaproudslytherpuff , @budugu , @twlegit , @amberpanda99 , @aesthetic0cherryblossom , @capswife , @lets-turn-and-burn , @affabletimelady , @edencherries , @globetrotter28 , @eg-dr3amer3 , @sadroses98 , @aliceindrugland

[lovelykhaleesiii]

My lovely Hel!!! Please, if you could.

Aemond and Aegon taking turns with reader and face fucking her? All the degradation and praise please? (Daddy kink what) And wonderful aftercare! Any other kinks is up to you!!!

beans your request is my command, this is everything & more….. oh to be face fucked by this duo, lord have mercy.

hope this was everything you dreamt of and more ✨

Exceptions.

PAIRING: Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

WORDS: 2,280.

WARNINGS: NSFW, degradation kink, praise kink, mentions of innocence kink, female receiving (fingering), p in v sexual intercourse, male oral receiving, Daddy kink, slight mentions of breeding / lactation kink.

A/N - OKAY so I attempted to do a contrast between the brothers regarding their treatment towards the reader. hope I did it justice :) NO PLOT JUST S*X !!! Did I put my whole helussy into this? maybe…

How they found you hidden away in the solace of the castle's library, your nose buried in between the ancient pages of a book, you could not say for certain. Although, it was a keen skill of theirs, and you knew those guarding and tending to the castle grounds spoke, especially when questioned by the royal inhabitants, probing for your whereabouts, they'd have the answer in a split second.

Your elder Uncles cherished you since your youth, something about the way you looked at them, spoke to them, touched them, even if it was as innocent as gripping their arm, drove them far beyond the hatred they had for their Strong nephews... Your half-brothers. Having grown into the mature, young woman that you were, Aemond often dotting you as "ethereal", the maesters had highly proclaimed as a true Targaryen beauty. Nonetheless, many noble and highborn lords of the realm sought for your hand, yet you remained indignant in refusing to engage, for your heart was set elsewhere, closer to home.

Aemond and Aegon also made no effort to hide their infatuation with you. Especially Aegon, refusing to engage in small talk or relations with maidens his grandsire would arrange, as means to provoke an heir from him, Aegon was solely fixated on you. The proposition of Aegon marrying Helaena, was shut down immediately by the Prince himself, for he'd rather set himself aflame than take his sister to bed.

Nonetheless, the family grew aware of his deep admiration for you, and felt defeated in retaliating against it any further. Whispers of a betrothal between yourself and your eldest Uncle were in the midst. And although your mother, Princess Rhaenyra, much preferred Aemond as a suitor, as you both were far closer in age and Aemond having less arduous tendencies, she was agreeable to the arrangement if it meant a form of peace-keeping between herself and the Dowager Queen.

Although, from time to time, you'd confide in her how Aegon the First, took two wives... Would it be so terrible for you, to take two husbands in the ancient traditions of your House?

Regardless, amongst the three of you, you had your own little plots and ploys at hand. If Aegon secured this marriage with you, he'd made the promise that his younger brother too, would take part, even if it was concealed in secrecy. You loved them both incomparably, and they had accepted this respectfully. For you, they would travel to the ends of the Earth for, kill for and bleed for... No one else came close.

You were always the exception for them.

****

"Here she is brother. Too preoccupied for us it seems-" Aegon utters. Slowly he strides towards you, plopping himself down by your side on the lounge, as he plants a soft peck at your cheek, before fiddling and flicking the pages of a smaller, overused book at the table side.

Aemond, tediously following behind remains quiet and unfazed, as he too follows his elder brother's gesture: planting a soft, longer-lasting kiss at your other cheek, before seating himself on the arm rest of your chair.

"You two have been in meetings since the mane, I thought I'd keep myself tucked and busy as I waited for you both."

"My sweet thing-" Aegon steadily arises as he plants a tender kiss atop your head.

"Have you missed us?" He utters, plopping himself back down, one hand embracing your from behind, the other free one begins to hike your dress up, high enough for his hand to sneak in between your thighs. Pulling aside your cotton undergarments, his fingers creep inside, now lightly grazing over the bare, sensitive skin of your cunt.

"Hmm, yes."

"How much?" Aemond sternly interjects, subtly biting at his lower lip, as he watches his elder brother teasing you.

"V-Very much."

Aegon's thick fingers slowly began to etch between your thighs, motioning in small circles, as your wetness began to naturally stir.

"How much is 'very much', dear niece? Do not be shy now. Tell your Uncles, exactly what you desire, and we shall see to it that your needs are met," Aemond firmly pressed, kneeling down on the ground, as he lifts your leg, planting a trail of small, tender kisses from the shin working his way up.

"I-I want y-you both... Inside me," Stuttering your words, only just above the volume of a whisper, Aegon's digits now deeply immersed inside your folds, churning in larger, sensual circular motions, as his longer index rubs at your clit. Helpless moans escaping your mouth, as Aegon buries his head against the crook of your neck, his plump, wet lips latched at your soft skin, harshly suckling at it.

Aemond remains below, now feeling the sharpness of his canines faintly biting at the flesh of your inner thighs.

"Hear that brother- Spoiled, little girl wants to be full of us both. Such a pampered babe, wants to be coddled and fucked stupid by her Uncles."

"And we shall-" Aegon utters, momentarily breaking free from your skin, as he responds to his brother's despotic words.

"On the floor now, Y/N," Aegon growls, as he stops his lustful pursuits, hastily removing his eager hand from below, causing your breath to hitch suddenly, as you firmly grip his forearm instinctively. Once you regained your senses, Aemond aided your descent to the carpeted, stony floor. Aegon begins to lay down a few silk, plush pillows from the lounge, behind you, as he too follows your steps.

"On all fours, brat," Aemond spits, as he props himself on his knees, his rough hand entwined in the free, loose strands of your hair, guiding your head towards him. Your face, now, just a few, mere inches apart from his cock, beneath his pants. You could sense Aegon behind, his hands firmly grasping at your waists, as he aligns himself with you. One hand finding its way between your legs, pushing at the sides of your inner thighs, as he urges them to spread.

"Wider baby, you know I need more space- That's it-"

In sync, your Uncles begin to hastily undo their trousers, watching Aemond unbutton his with a smug appearance on his chiselled face, and hearing Aegon groan in relief from behind.

Aemond's lean, stiff cock, sprung before you, the veins and its natural hue evident, as his tip flushed red with colour, glistening with a white, cloudy film oozing from the tip.

From behind, Aegon once again, hiked your dress up, folding it on your back, as he ripped apart your undergarments completely with his bare hands. You knew he was desperately eager now. Shuffling himself more forward, shoving himself between your thighs, closer to your frame, you could feel his thick, fat cock rigid against your soft ass cheeks. Taunting you with his girthy size and unyielding posture, his hands gripped firmly at your waist once more, pulling your backside deeper to his dense mass.

"If only you could see brother. Just how avid she is for our cocks. She cannot even bring herself to look me in the eye, though rather my cock."

"Do not jest with her, brother. She has waited long enough, and we too have been kept from her. My poor Princess-"

One hand still gripped on your waist, Aegon sets the other one loose, as it wanders over to your naked ass cheek, kneading at your flesh, before giving it a quick, sharp slap. Positioning his stiff cock to entrance, Aegon spares no second to thrust himself in, earning a moaning plea, as the intense pain of your walls stretching out beyond comfort, desperate to accomodate for his substantial mass.

In doing so, as your mouth shapes blatantly open, Aemond seizes the grand opportunity to shove his into your mouth. His hand remaining tightly entangled in your strands, tugging to pull your face towards him.

Gleaming down towards you with a complacent smirk strewed across his face. His one remaining, good eye, lurks down intently upon you, as he begins to sway himself slowly, backwards and forwards, his eye flutters in conjunction to the unfathomable sensation.

"Th-That's it, my petty, little brat. Show me how well that spoiled mouth of yours can treat me, show me how well you think you deserve my cock."

Hot tears began to swell in your eyes, although from the glorious pain and fulfilment you felt in that precise moment. Aegon's growling grunts, your mouthful gags and Aemond's deep moans, ricocheted across the walls of the ancient library, like an orchestral symphony.

May the Gods be good, that no one dares to venture in your vicinities.

Aemond's lean, long cock, shoved its way deeper, as your soft, wet lips stroked againsts its circumference in rhythmic motions, sensing the urge of the hard tip at the back of your throat. His hot wetness began to pool, coating your insides, as he roughly jammed himself in.

"F-Fuck, that feels so good, Y/N."

Simultaneously, Aegon's thrusts, although not as synchronised and steady as Aemond's, began to grow sloppier and faster, as he plunged himself partially in and out, forcing himself back in. The friction brewing between your inner thighs, lessened as your natural wetness began to ooze from the gaps of your clenching entrance.

"Poor Princess, so needy for my cock. I can just feel you tightening for me, baby. Is that how bad you wanted your Daddies, huh? Needed your Daddy's fat cock inside to comfort you, hmm?" Aegon breathlessly exclaimed: the vulgarity as he confidently spat the term 'Daddy' out, provoking you to quench tighter around his throbbing, hard cock, earning a mindless, low moan from him.

"Fuck Y/N!" Aegon roared, raking another piercing slap against your bare ass. Sensing from the sweat and heat of your flesh that your sensitive skin was marked with a reddening handprint, mimicking that identical of Aegon's palm.

"Insolent, weak Princess. Crying from how full and weak she is, Seven Hells. Aren't you a pathetic, little thing, struggling to take her Daddy's cock front and back, huh?"

Aemond immediately wretched his cock free from your mouth, as he tugged at your head once more, pulling it back before leaning down towards you. Faces an inch apart, his hungry eye lusts over your wet, soiled lips with his pre-cum, inadvertently he licks his own lips, before succumbing to a passionate yet short-lasting kiss.

"Tell me, brat. Can you take much more?"

"Y-Yes, Daddy-" You weakly whimpered and sputtered, gasping from deep, full breaths as you impatiently sought for fuller consciousness.

"What was that, whore? Have we not given you enough yet? You hear that, Aegon? Keep at it. The whore is not yet satisfied."

"I-Is that so? My innocent babe will reap her desires, j-just as she deserves." Aegon menacingly growled, his grip firmer than before on your waist, you felt your skin growing numb beneath.

"Lets finish her-"

As Aemond spoke his final words, taking one final, crisp breath in, he shoved his cock back into your mouth, its lengthy size and rapid thrusts, rewarded with muffled moans echoing from your mouth watering lips.

"That'll shut up the bratty whore."

The aches of your arched, lower back grew sorer, a dull pain brewing as the weight of Aegon's mass leaning over from behind, and having been stationed in that exact position for a solid period of time, began to take its toll. Although, just as your desires had been fulfilled, you felt yourself reaching a climax from below, just as Aegon's cock grew tenser inside, the throbbing sensations of his cock was blinding. Your eyes rapidly flickering shut, all your senses incoherent and stunned beyond awareness.

"I'm gonna cum, baby, I'm gonna cum- Fill you up with my hot seed, you might just take. And then what? Ugh- To see you swell with my babe, for being such a good girl-"

"Do it, brother. May her tits also swell with the Mother's, sweet milk, that she may bless us with her treat."

The grunts and groans your Uncles ravenously exchanged, was once more, a melody to your blessed ears.

"Then we shall see to it. Cease every opportunity to fuck her senseless, until her cunt is drowning in our seed, until she takes. That belly will grow healthily with a royal heir," Aemond breathlessly proclaims, before releasing a deep groan, as his hot load shoots against your uvula. Coating your mouth to the brimful, before slowly pulling his twitching cock out.

In sync to his younger, the rigid and pulsing tensity of Aegon's cock begins to dissipate as he instantly releases his hot cum inside. Pooling all over your delicate walls, some naturally streaming out, as he cautiously removes himself from your tight hold.

"That's it, baby. You did such a good job," Aegon softly coos, as he massages small circles against the lower part of your back, where your hand momentarily was tending to the soreness.

"Lay down, sweetling-" Aemond lowly interrupts, guiding your tiresome, weary body to lay. Your head gently rests on Aegon's clothed thigh, as his hand begins to soothe through your mottled hair, brushing the messy strands away, tending to the mess his brother invoked.

"Now we rest for a short while, Princess. Regain your strength and us, ours, till the next lot of fun and pleasure-" Aemond slyly murmurs, as his fingers softly trace random trails across your back, just as he knows you enjoy.

"Mayhaps we'll move this to the bedroom, dear brother. I shall carry her back, and you can see to it, fetch for the servants to bring up some replenishments. And then, can we resume this deed, once and for all."

general taglist - @evenstaris @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @ilikeitbetterangsty @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @rafesbarbiegirl @elegantsplendour @randomdragonfires @sylas-the-grim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren

Aegon ii taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @amiraisgoingthruit

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

[wackyharpy]

Eventually (Part 1)

Modern! Aemond x Fem! Reader

Summary: Aemond has been in love with Helaena's best friend but hasn't confessed yet. Everything changes when he meets her at Dragonstone.

Part 2

Part 3 (maybe, not sure)

A/N: English isn't my native language. I'd be very glad for your comments and reblogs. Thank you in advance! Enjoy the story :)

For the atmosphere: Agnes Obel — Familiär

Warnings ⚠️

NSFW 18+, m masturbation, mentioning of sex, swearing, in this story Helaena is the youngest, she/her pronouns.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Two years.

Aemond Targaryen has been madly in love for two years. And if it weren't his lifestyle and business, he would confess. His family is another reason why it is so complicated. Although, the main reason is his fucking father and his delusional idea of Aemond's marriage with that Baratheon girl, God only knows her name.

One more issue. Who is she? A girl from a plain family without wealth that the Baratheon, oh Lord how Aemond is fed up with hearing that name, has. That's all. She is just a student. She is just the best friend of Halaena. She just sometimes appears at their mansion for a movie night with his sister. She is just a girl who Aemond has been madly in love with for two years.

***

Ragged breathing. The sound of the turned on shower. He has only half an hour to get to work. But Aemond can't stop. Can't stop thinking about her. Hair, eyes, lips, neck, collarbone, breasts, literally everything. All of her. He wants to devour her. Aemond's hand goes back and forth on his firm shaft. All thoughts swirling in the mind are of her. He shuts his eye tight making movements of the hand faster and harder. He desires it to be not his fingers and palm but her warm mouth or wet pussy. He wants to hear the sounds of their shared juices but not of the shower. Breathes are heavy. It seems as something has stuck in his chest, it wishes to break free, to burst with loud groans.

"Fuck!" he exclaims.

Aemond starts moving his hips roughly thrusting into his hand seeking for the relief. Still it would feel better if it were her hot insides.

"Fuck! Ah!" he moans.

There. It's there. Soon. He is going to come. Finally. He fucking wants her. Desires more than everything.

"Aahh!"

Aemond's cock starts twisting releasing his semen on the floor of the shower. He breathes heavily feeling huge relief. Aemond leans his head back opening his mouth slightly and licks his lips. The last exhalation is deep and long. Somewhat his mind has cleared and cooled being ready for another working day. Though, Aemond knows it won't last long. Sooner or later his only thought is going to be her.

***

"I don't fucking care, Viserys! She's a bitch!" Daemon shouts squeezing a crystal tumbler in his hand.

Aemond is sitting in his father's office at their family's mansion, silently looking at the mahogany desk. He is waiting for the ending of another spectacle that has uncovered after several minutes when Daemon and he have entered the room. Rhea Royce has been a topic of conversations between two brothers recently as the rogue one possesses no wish to be married to her anymore.

Aemond exhales heavily and keeps on sipping his Knappogue Castle Irish Whiskey.

They have come to discuss new reports from the financial department but, as Aemond has noticed, currently Daemon's concern isn't connected with Targaryen's company. Instead of working, he argues with Viserys due to his wish to divorce that Royce bitch and to marry his new passion — Laena Velaryon.

All responsibilities and work at the financial department are on Aemond's shoulders. Again. It happened once several years ago when Daemon suddenly realised he got tired signing papers, sitting at meetings, deciding matters, so he just bought two tickets to Essos and went on a journey with his lover, nobody remembers her name now.

Only Aemond remembers. He remembers everything. He remembers the huge fight that happened within the family right after his uncle's airplane took off. He remembers how he had been working day and night reviewing all transactions, conducting all operations, leading all meetings, everything... When Daemon, the head of the department, was sipping a cocktail lying on the beach, sunbathing in pleasant rays while his lover was making a slobbery blow job. Aemond has always been a scapegoat, especially after that incident when he lost his eye. That was the moment when he realised that his father didn't care about him and his brothers, and sister.

"I said everything! I'll marry Laena and nobody will stop me!"

With these words, Daemon shuts the door leaving Viserys and Aemond alone.

The elder Targaryen exhales heavily:

"He's going to be the death of me," mutters Viserys and turns towards his son.

"How's work?"

Aemond mentally curses his father for this fake caring. In one gulp he drinks the remainings of 12-year-old whiskey and places the glass on the small table next to the armchair.

"Work is fine," dryly answers. He wishes promptly to discuss the matter and leave the office. Aemond can't stand his father at all.

"Then let's see what we have," Viserys sits in his working armchair wrapped in dusty brown leather and takes the folder with the reports.

***

"Aegon!" Aemond knocks at the door of his brother's bedroom. He hears moans and sweet gibberish that Aegon, perhaps, is telling a girl who is now below him. Or on top. Aemond doesn't care.

"Oh, yes! Yes!" exclaims the girl and releases a load groan that, as Aemond considers, the whole mansion has heard.

"Aegon!" Aemond knocks one more time feeling impatient, "we have to go! Open the door! Now!"

"You like it?" He hears his brother's chuckling and moaning — Aegon has always been loud in bed.

"Yeah!" The girl laughs; the bed continues squeaking.

Aemond exasperatedly runs the hand on his face and tsks. He turns on his heels and goes downstairs right to the rooms of the staff. There, he borrows a key that a maid uses to unlock Aegon's bedroom for cleaning.

The moment Aemond enters the room, he sees a red haired girl bouncing on his brother's hips. So... she's on top.

"Oh, hi, brother," Aegon smiles still keeping one hand on the lean leg of his guest and another one on her heavy breast.

"Meet Angelica," the elder goes on completely undeterred by the situation he is caught in.

"I don't care," Aemond dryly answers casting a quick glance at the girl that is grinning at him, "just get your things and come on. We're going to Dragonstone."

"What's it now?" Aegon rolls his eyes.

"We're to meet Corlys there and arrange something. I'm waiting in the car."

"Is the issue arised because our dear uncle wants to divorce that bitch?" Aegon laughs.

"No," Aemond answers coldly turning to the doorway, "five minutes, Aegon. Hurry up!"

At long last, the door of the car is opened, and Aegon gets into sitting next to Aemond. The picture is hilarious, mostly for the elder of two brothers: inside, the car smells of tobacco, citrus, and something woody — Aemond's perfume, which he adores. He is wearing a classy black suit of the English cut with a matching dark grey tie. And Aegon sprawls on the leather seat only in jeans and a T-shirt, luckily, a clean one.

"Always a good little boy?" He snickers examining his brother's outfit. Aemond ignores the insult and keeps on looking in the window. The gloomy expression is on his face.

"I heard Daemon doesn't appear at office, fucks Laena instead of that bitch, so... again all work is on you, little good boy?"

"Will you shut the fuck up?" Aemond hisses turning the head towards his brother.

"What?! Isn't that true?!"

"Maybe you'd better start doing your part of the work as well?"

"I don't give a shit," Aegon puts on a resentful face, "if our father doesn't give a shit about us, why should I care?"

"The matter isn't in..."

"The matter is exactly in this! Rheanyra is CEO, not me, not you. You're not even given a position of the head of the financial department. During all these years, as you've been working hard, not Daemon. But, as I said, they don't give a fuck."

Then, there is long silence between both of them. Aemond is looking in the window at changing landscapes: from King's Landing's houses with red roofs to the views of the calm sea as the car has been driven on the bridge that leads to Dragonstone.

"There's going to be Halaena and her," Aemond hears how his brother's mood changes abruptly. Only several seconds ago, he was upset because of the family issues, and now he's grinning looking at Aemond pointedly. He doesn't condemn Aegon for quick mood alterations, in some way, it's his method of hiding the resentment and living among crazy relatives. Still, at times, Aemond finds this Aegon's feature to be very annoying.

"Her?" Aemond raises one brow.

The Cheshire cat's grin becomes bigger on his brother's face.

"Oh, come on, don't pretend like you're an idiot! Her, Aemond. You know who I'm talking about."

"Halaena's best friend," Aemond responds feeling as if something is swirling uncomfortably in his stomach when mentioning her.

"Yes," a satisfied expression appears on Aegon's face, "Daeron texted me. Their summer holidays started at university and they decided to come to Dragonstone, like for a week, I guess. You know, to have parties, to sunbathe in bikinis, to swim."

Aemond gulps nervously. His pupils have dilated. He feels hot.

"If you could only see yourself!" Aegon bursts out laughing unable to control himself, "I know you wanna fuck her!"

"I don't!" Aemond cuts off immediately indignantly looking at his brother's face possessing a sole desire to smack him hard.

"Yes, you do! I notice how you look at her. Do you love her?"

One more time, the loud laughing can be heard in the car — Aegon isn't able to stop. Aemond just exhales heavily and turns his face away from his idiot brother towards the window.

He is exhausted. Because of everything. Aegon, Daemon, his father, all this abnormality the Targaryen family possesses, probably, for decades. He wishes to rest, at least, a little. Isolate himself from others and just sit in his room alone for several days like a mad man. However, there's no going back; his life is predestined, and he has been working in the family business for so long. Somehow, Aemond has got used to this lifestyle. Though, the only silver lining of his life remains to be Halaena's best friend. The girl who he has been madly in love with. The girl who he is going to meet again in an hour.

[therealvinelle]

From what I can tell, in the actual books there's just one line from Sirius saying Alphard left him some gold, and not much other canon mention of him. How did Alphard become such a big character in your fics/Tom Riddle's love interest?

You know, that's a very good question.

The true and full story behind how Alphard Black became an important character in our fics is laden with a lot of spoilers and back-and-forth, though I will say it wouldn't have happened at all if @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin hadn't already used him in When Harry Met Tom. When we later then needed to add a character for The Man Who Would Be King, Alphard's name lent itself easily and on discussion we found he was the only that really fit the role we needed a character to play. He went on to become a surprisingly large part of secret fic, now we've imprinted on him like baby ducks and he's in everything.

So, what makes Alphard Black so fitting for what we need him to be?

We have little to go on from canon, but compared to some of the other characters fandom has decided on characterisation for, we at least have something to go on when we make stuff up. Oh, we have to conjecture, fabricate, and headcanon away, and for every possible Alphard Black we draft up someone could have used those same clues to create a different Alphard, but we would both be following certain constraints.

By contrast, characters like Alice Longbottom or Abraxas Malfoy have very strong fanon characterizations, a lot read into them, but I'd argue we have just as much, if not slightly more, to go on with Alphard Black.

With that said, here is the information we have on Alphard and how Muffin and I used every bit of it to make up as much as we could.

Teen pregnancy 1.0: Pollux edition

Alphard's sister was born when their father Pollux Black was twelve, and his father married her mother. Going by his young age, I assume this was so Walburga wouldn't be a bastard. Walburga, by her painting's ravings, appears to have spent all her life in 13 Grimmauld Place, she feels a connection to "the house of my fathers" and always had a strong sense of Black identity she tried to pass on to her sons: I think it's a very fair assumption that the Blacks raised the baby, and not her mother's family (as her mother would have been in Hogwarts as well or else a statutory rapist, either case spells a grim homelife for Walburga).

Now, Alphard's birthdate is unknown since he's struck off the family tree, but it was sometime between 1925 and 1938.

Muffin and I have decided that he was born the next year, since this gives Tom a dorm mate, and more importantly it gives Alphard a teen father, one who learned nothing from last year and assumed no responsibility. Tom now has a fucked up dorm mate, and we didn't have to (completely) invent a character.

You now have two kids raised by family members not their parents since their father is a literal thirteen-year-old, and the generational age gap is so narrow that when Walburga starts school her paternal aunt Dorea is canonically a fifth year. They want for nothing materially and the family does step up, but the complete parental absence in their life has an impact.

For the sake of funny, we thought Arcturus Black, who is already raising Lucretia and Orion, is our candidate for raising his cousin's spawn. Now Walburga's marriage to her second cousin is to someone who was raised alongside her, which is funny and so awful. Another feasible candidate is Cygnus Black, Pollux's father and currently raising four kids, but... not as funny.

Teen pregnancy 2.0: Cygnus edition

Cut to 1951. Alphard is a happy bachelor, his father has stopped having kids (legitimate ones anyhow), Walburga's happily married to their cousin, and then... their brother Cygnus does a booboo.

Bellatrix is born, Cygnus is thirteen. Andromeda's birthdate is unknown, but must have been while he was in Hogwarts because Narcissa is born in 1955, while he is still seventeen.

The same problem as with Pollux arises with Bellatrix: who wants baby? And, as with Walburga, I think a fair argument could be made that the Blacks took her in, not the Rosiers.

There are many options here (and can't rule out the Rosiers), but I think it's fair to assume Bellatrix went to live with close family.

Per the Black family, this gives us three options that I find feasible: Walburga, Alphard, and Pollux.

I don't think it was Walburga, I think that would inevitably have come up in canon, either as Walburga lost her shit when Andromeda eloped, handled her grief differently after Regulus died if she had surrogate daughters, or Sirius had a different dynamic with Bellatrix. The Orion-Walburga-Sirius-Regulus family unit doesn't come across at all as having had three nieces raised alongside the boys, so Walburga's a no.

Which leaves us with Alphard, Pollux, someone in the Rosier family, or extended Black family raising Bellatrix.

Pollux, per his wild youth, might not be topping the lists. One could posit that Pollux wants a second shot at parenting and would take in his granddaughter based on this, but he already has Cygnus if he wanted a second shot at parenting. Still, he's a candidate.

So is Alphard, however, who is living alone and has no wife to worry about, no children of his own, and a pile of gold. Per his choice to give Sirius gold after he ran away, one can also assume he's one to come through for family, which fits with taking in his much younger brother's daughter.

TL;DR: we can't prove Alphard Black didn't raise the Black sisters, or at least care for them in their early years, but someone must have and it might as well have been him.

Let there be no pregnancies and no marriages

We then enter the bit that had Muffin go "oh, gay. I will use him in my fic" long before any of the detective nonsense to come up with the above, which is that Alphard did not marry. Now, that could mean anything, perfectly straight people don't marry and gay people do marry.

However, from 1938 through 1960, no Black heirs are born. Which isn't necessarily a long time, on the contrary, Cygnus has been supplying the family with children for years now, luck just had it so they're all daughters who can't pass on the family name.

Still, taking a step back, Orion, Walburga, Alphard, and Lucretia (who married a Prewett) are all adults who are just not having any children. The Orion and Walburga are perhaps not even married, we don't know when they married, and it could be they married specifically because neither of them had found anyone else to marry and there were no sons. Alternatively, they married earlier but then did not have children until they were in their mid-thirties. Considering Lucretia's childless marriage, it might be some Blacks struggled with infertility.

A bit of nerding about why I think Walburga waiting so long to have children is odd

The tldr for Western European demographics is that if you can afford to have children and provide for your family, you will marry and have children early. The upper classes have historically married and had children much younger than the lower classes because of this. The mother's education will also impact when she has children - higher education means having children later.

I think we see this reflected in the wizarding world, in that education is both low (arguably nonexistent, considering the curriculum at Hogwarts) and in magic making material considerations Muggles must make obsolete. And we do see a lot of young parents - Lily and James are both 20 when they have Harry, Andromeda is maximum 24 when she has Nymphadora Tonks, Molly Weasley is 20 when she has Bill, Narcissa is 25 when she has Draco, Fleur would have been 23-25 when she had Victoire, Harry and Ginny are 26 and 25 when they have James Sirius, Hermione and Ron are 26-27 when they have Rose...

Young is the norm.

And with the Blacks, who were lineage obsessed, and where Walburga is never reported to have had a career keeping her busy, I find it very interesting that Walburga doesn't have children until she's 35.

There are three possible explanations I can see:

Walburga and Orion didn't want to have children, and waited for Alphard or Cygnus to get on with it, only for Cygnus to only have daughters and Alphard to have no children at all (bit unlikely since they had two sons, a couple who pointedly did not want children would have called it quits after the first)

They had fertility issues

Walburga and Orion did not instantly marry, but waited for years until it became clear Orion wasn't going to find anybody else, Alphard apparently not either, and Cygnus said "fuck you all, I've contributed three kids already", at which point Walburga and Orion were both single, both cared about the lineage, and went for it.

We've gone for option 2 since it's just funnier to have a pair of cousins all over each other at Hogwarts, "Aren't they-" "Yes and they're very happy together :)", but I think option 3 is pretty feasible too.

Either way, you can read into Walburga and Orion from the late births of their children and you also get free Alphard characterisation, because his choice not to marry starts to look rather pointed.

Back to Alphard

While the Blacks were not dying out at the time, they also weren't swimming in children. Only Cygnus was passing on the family name, and that was exclusively to daughters, and he went on to have no more (legitimate) children after leaving school. Pollux wasn't having any more (legitimate) children, and while there are and grandfathers uncles on the family tree who could do the deed they were quite old, many unmarried, and most importantly they canonically had no children.

We're down to Alphard, Orion, and Cygnus having to pass on the family name, with Orion and Walburga a decade into their marriage with no sons to show for it. Sure, Cygnus could have sons, but that would be placing all their dragon eggs in one dragon basket (and indeed, he had no sons).

Why doesn't Alphard marry?

The family must have brought it up, if not pressured him. Alphard not marrying in a world where arranging a match would have been the easiest thing in the world looks to me like a deliberate refusal.

The giving of the money to the Sirius

This all brings us to the one thing we know for sure that Alphard did in his life: he willed money to Sirius after he'd been disowned.

We know Alphard was not a blood traitor prior to this, or he'd have been burned off earlier.

I frankly take this to mean Alphard most likely subscribed to pureblood supremacy, or at least he did not mind it enough to do anything else to cross his family. Giving money to Sirius isn't a political act, it's an uncle providing for a family member who has suddenly lost everything.

(And, if we assume Alphard himself is gay: it's an uncle who sees his nephew run away from home to be with his best friend, and perhaps drawing a few conclusions of his own about the strength of Sirius's friendship to James. There are many ways to interpret his choice to support Sirius financially, is what I'm saying.)

It also seems a distinct overreaction to me that Walburga would burn him off the family tapestry for something like this, and... it seems very much like one angry, mourning, woman's way of hurting a brother she can no longer confront. If she had been hoping Sirius wouldn't make it out in the wild and be forced to return, then Alphard giving him money would be a betrayal of the highest order.

Walburga putting a cigarette to her wallpaper isn't the same as the entire Black family disowning Alphard posthumously, it's an act of grief and anger.

Where we make things up wholesale

I'll go ahead and assume Alphard was gay, had a good and stable but slightly fucked up family life, and got overly attached to his dorm mate Tom Riddle as a stranger to all of this who perhaps seemed above it all. I also vote he raised Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Andromeda, because it's a more interesting option than Pollux. (In case you didn't notice, Muffin and I subscribe to the Black family being as fucked up as we can reasonably make them.)

Vinelle, what was the point of this?

My point is that we may not have any canon appearances to go on with Alphard Black, but we do have dates, biographical facts, what he did with his will, a few statements from Walburga's insane painting and other characters, and a whole lot of imagination. And an obsessive tendency.

And a willingness to say "Mm, no. Can't read. Sorry, that fact's just wrong." when we don't like things (more specifically, Sirius's phrasing making it sound like Alphard died not too long after Sirius ran away from home, which would make him dead for The Man Who Would Be King, a fic that takes place in 1982. We will assume Sirius meant "gave", not "left".)

Wee.

[gothicknightz]

bloodline | ethan landry

notes: THIS IS A PREQUAL TO FAMILY TIES, IF YOU HAVE NOT READ IT, HERE IS PART TWO AND ONE. SPOILERS PRESENT FOR SCREAM 6 UNDER THE CUT

The two of them were laying on the couch, doing reruns of classic horror movies, with the current movie playing Beetlejuice.

"I don't get why they just move," Ethan muttered, wrapping an arm around her, "I mean, if some pervert with ugly green hair showed up in my house, I'd be the fuck out of there."

She started to laugh, "It's not that simple, Ethan." Sitting up, (y/n)'s eyes lined up with her boyfriend's, before going on about the reason why Beetlejuice was in their house, to begin with. "Besides," She smiled, "I think that green hair is sexy."

Ethan nearly choked on his own spit, before attempting to clear his throat as he sat up. "No way," His eyes widened in awe, "Please tell me you don't mean that because I am not dying my hair green."

"Aw," She pouted, before breaking into a fit of giggles, "Why not? It'll make your curls stand out."

"Hell. No."

"What are you two lovebirds arguing about now?" A voice had asked, coming over to the living room to talk to the pair, sitting down on a chair across from them.

"Richie," (y/n) paused, "Please tell your brother he'd look good with green hair."

Richie chuckled, "He would," He paused, "But that's not the point." Richie reached into his pocket and pulled out a magazine cut-out of a dark blue formal suit, "Would you really want Ethan to show up at his own wedding with neon green hair?"

(y/n) sat and thought for a moment before groaning, knowing that Richie had a fair point.

"I hate how you're right."

"You're the one marrying him, (y/n)."

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

6 MONTHS LATER

Her head rested on his chest, the two of them laying in his bed together after a long night of proving their love to each other.

"I love you, Ethan." She muttered in response to his similar statement.

Not long after, Ethan's phone started ringing, and he groaned, wrapping an arm around (y/n) as he leaned over to his nightstand to pick it up and answer it.

"Hello?" He muttered, not knowing who called him, as he just picked it up without checking.

"Ethan?"

"Dad?" He pushed himself upwards, with (y/n) sitting beside him. "What's up? I got you on speaker, (y/n)'s with."

"Good. She should hear this." Ethan's dad voice sounded on edge, as if he was about to break down into tears.

"Dad. You're worrying us, what's going on?" Ethan glanced at (y/n) with a worried look on his face, her reaction returning the favor.

"It's Richie and Amber." He paused, taking a breath in, "They're dead."

Both Ethan and (y/n)'s eyes widened, as they heard the deaths of both of their siblings; of course, they knew that they would carry out the Ghostface killings and make it into a requel, but they didn't know they would end up dead.

(y/n) and Ethan both tightened their grip on each other, the news hitting them hard, "What?"

"It was that vixen, Samantha Carpenter. She killed Richie, and her sister, Tara, killed Amber."

(y/n) shifted in where she sat beside Ethan, "Does Quinn know?"

"I called her already, she knows." Ethan's dad sighed, "It was brutal, both of their deaths. You guys are going to have to call off the wedding for now."

But it wasn't the wedding that both (y/n) and Ethan cared about now, they just lost their siblings to a pair of sisters, and right now, they were going to grieve.

"Okay," Ethan muttered, the grip on his phone tightening, "Thanks for letting us know."

Soon after Ethan hung up, (y/n) let out all of the sobs she was keeping inside out, the tears running down her face rapidly as her breaths were shaky and inconsistent.

"Ethan," She cried, burying her head into his chest, "She's gone. She's really gone."

"I know..." He sighed, running his hand through her hair as he held her close, the thoughts of him losing his brother, one he idolized, consuming his thoughts, even the dark corners.

As (y/n) continued to cry into Ethan's chest, he stared blankly at his closet door while tears formed in his eyes, a dark glare overlapping them.

He wanted them back.

He wanted his brother back.

And he was going to find a plan.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

3 MONTHS LATER

(y/n) had found herself sitting in Richie's room, which had been untouched since the day he left to go to Woodsboro with Sam, scrolling through the text messages she had sent to her sister.

She also had found herself looking through pictures of her and Amber; the times when they had horror movie marathons, the pictures they had taken in their old house before moving, and the dark red dress she had tried on in a test run for bridesmaid dresses.

(y/n) had kept a picture of her sister's senior picture in her wallet, knowing that she would've gone somewhere had she not been killed by Tara and her sister, Sam.

She didn't even realize that she was crying until the tears started falling onto the wallet, a hand flying to her mouth instantly as she tried to keep herself quiet, not wanting Quinn or Ethan to walk in on her pity party.

"Ooooh, who's Ethan?" Amber teased as she grabbed her sister's phone out of her hand, asking the most random of questions.

"Amber." She had warned, attempting to snatch her phone back as she chased her sister around the house.

"So, have you two had sex yet?"

"Amber!" Her sister yelled as she grabbed the phone back, with Amber laughing in the background.

"Sorry about my sister, Ethan. She likes to invade my love life sometimes." (y/n) sighed, smiling as she sat atop a kitchen counter.

"She sounds interesting." Ethan chuckled over the phone before his brother walked into his room and threw a shirt at him.

"Hey, loverboy, stop obsessing over your girlfriend for five minutes and help me with my movie."

Ethan groaned and got up, "Okay, okay. I'll be there in like five minutes."

"Was that Richie?"

"Yeah. I have to go, gotta help him with his movie. I love you."

(y/n) didn't have time to respond before Amber snatched her phone again and made obnoxious kissing noises before hanging up.

"Amber Freeman!"

She was so caught in her own thoughts, that (y/n) didn't realize Ethan walked into the room and noticed her shaking and crying while clutching a picture of her sister in her wallet.

A frown was evident on his face as he knew the exact same pain she was going through, and he hated seeing her sad. While the loss dug deep into the skin, he needed to be strong for her and his brother. He wouldn't have wanted him to spend hours crying over his death. He would've wanted them to carry out the wedding without him.

"Ethan," She choked on her own tears as she looked up at him, with a sad and shocked look on her face, attempting to wipe the tears away, despite them continuing to fall.

"I can't take this anymore." She shook her head, still trying to wipe the tears away as Ethan sat beside her and held her close, "I can't take it anymore."

"It's going to be alright." He tried to comfort her before she cut him off, in a sad, desperate rage.

"No! I can't take it anymore! I can't stand the fact that Sam and Tara get to live as good girls while Richie and Amber are painted as villains!" She took a deep breath in before continuing her rant, "That they get to live normal lives while we're grieving!"

"That doesn't sound fair, doesn't it?" Another voice had spoken, causing the two of them to look up and see Ethan's dad.

"I want Sam and Tara dead." (y/n) muttered bitterly in between tears, wiping them away as she talked.

"I think I have a plan."

[dangermousie]

Finished Blossoms in Adversity.

It was a pretty flawed drama, and Hu Yitian remains the second least watchable leading man in cdramas for me but it really was consistently the airing drama I'd watch FIRST - it really was an addicting watch despite its flaws.

The best thing? I don't know how they managed to get it past the censors, but they actually had the emperor as the Big Bad.

He was the one who exiled FL's family men unjustly, he was the one who punished and messed with her because he didn't like his nephew caring for anyone outside of him, and as the above scene indicates, even his gaslit/brainwashed/enmeshed in abused fashion nephew finally had enough. Every positive character who had an opinion hated him (FL literally called him out at one point!) and all the negative ones did too. He was not shown to do any of his petty, cruel, arbitrary things for the greater good but because he was a paranoid, self-absorbed man.

The best part? No last minute, death bed redemption of any kind. You think there would be one, as he lies dying from poison (inflicted by his own son! with the help of a foreign agent who is portrayed as justified and sympathetic!) but nope. Gu Yanxi, who realistically still loves his abusive as fuck father figure (because that's how it goes in rl), is all "I am sorry for stuff I did/said, I still love you, I will remain security head blah blah") and I expected the emperor to say he loved him and no pls go live your best life, find your happiness, I am sorry for being a bastard daddy etc etc but NOPE. Emperor just says "Yanxi" and croaks. (And same with his one remaining child, the sixth prince. He does not repent for how he treated his small son who saved his life, he does not appoint him heir etc. It's the dowager who trots the kid out.)

It's pretty telling that everyone gets a happy ending but only after the old monster croaks. The kid emperor pardons the Hua men who come back, Yanxi gives up his awful job and gets married and he and Hua Zhi peace the hell out of politics and business and just travel the world all over with no responsibilities etc etc.

I also liked how realistically tailored to various people the ending was in terms of happiness. Youngest uncle and aunt and their daughter go traveling, and I loved that - they were my faves except for sister and her OTP. Sister and her boo are in court, SML (who really wasn't - he never really pined and barely showed up) is a royal tutor, various younger married ladies have their own happiness (and I love that for one of them, it's a very realistic happiness of ruling her not attractive husband's concubines, business and household and getting his respect and buy in. She was neither looking for nor getting true love and that was fine with her) and the older generation of women also finding their calling that isn't just about the husbands (business, charity work etc etc.)

[seasonsbloom]

all the love (under a mistletoe) . benedict bridgerton

pairing ; benedict bridgerton x female!reader

synopsis ; modern!au. you have been in love with your best friend's older brother for years. on Christmas eve, things finally come to a head.

wc ; 6k

warnings ; explicit lanugage, some allusions to reader having a shitty family, christmas angst, pining, one mention of margaret thatcher

note: i'm not british (english isn't even my first language) so pls excuse any inaccuracies in any slang etc etc... also this was supposed to be a smutty thing and no instead it's exclusively tooth-rotting fluff so I'd like to apologize.... merry Christmas??? if anybody does want a steamy part two... well, hit me up I guess!

i stole the title from britney spears' my only wish (this year)!

You never thought something like Christmas at Aubrey Hall could exist outside the hour-and-a-half runtime of Hallmark movies. They've got it all - the stockings above the merrily crackling fireplace, the Christmas crackers twinkling on a long table, the boughs of holly climbing up doorways. It's like a Selfridges on the 21st of December just vomited all over the place.

"Seriously," you say, blinking in a mixture of awe and fear, "how big is this thing?"

Eloise, much more accustomed to her family's display of wealth and Bridgerton harmony, shrugs without looking away from her phone screen. "No idea. Benedict is like 6 feet, and that thing is twice his size, so, like… 12 feet? I don't know, it's Christmas. You do the math."

She turns away, still glued to an Instagram page plastered with pink graphics informing about various social issues in carefully-designed typography, and leaves you standing alone in the entrance hall. If you didn't like the Bridgertons so much, you'd be the first to say their Christmas tree is obnoxious. It's a ridiculous thing, wide enough to commandeer half the room. It's covered top to bottom in tinsel, dark blue ornaments dangling from every branch and reflecting the light until the thing looks less than a tree and more like a hallucination one might have two hours into an LSD trip.

The London townhouse you've crashed at more than once after a night on the town gone to shambles is impressive enough, but the Brdigerton's ancestral home in the countryside is a whole other beast. From the sprawling gardens to the sheer endless rooms, from the stucco ceilings to the servant stairs, from the life-size portraits of nineteenth-century family members to the white marble busts, you half expect a tourist group to round the corner at any moment. You're pretty sure you saw a hedge maze on your way in.

Sure, you've known your college best friend Eloise Bridgerton was loaded, but you didn't expect this. Then again, her sister is married to a Duke and shows up on the Sun's front page semi-regularly, so maybe this one was on you.

"So what do we think? Sufficiently Christmas-y or too much?"

You sink your teeth into the tail-end of a scream, letting out a strangled sound instead. Benedict Bridgerton really is six foot tall, and fuck him for that. Couldn't he at least have been some sensible height? Five reasonable feet and seven nice inches? Has he got to be perfect? Has he got to be the six feet you've been dreaming about for the past four years in increasingly more frenzied fashions? 

He stands with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, with his hair tousled and his face relaxed into the same friendly, good-natured smile he always gives you.

"Uh… What?" Immediately, you curse your lack of eloquence. And earlier on the ride over, you'd sworn to yourself that, for once, you wouldn't act like an actual idiot in front of him.

Benedict, grinning, points forward. "The tree."

"Oh." You crane your neck back to look at the star mounted to the top, floating somewhere above the marble railing hugging the walkway to the second floor. "Well. It's very… big."

Benedict chuckles. "Yeah, I agree. I did tell Mom it was excessive, but she insisted. I'm pretty sure Hyacinth would mutiny if she ordered anything under ten feet."

You hum, faintly wondering what it must feel like to get a tree, let alone one big enough to get put up in front of the Rockefeller center. "Hyacinth can be pretty persuasive," you acquiesce, thinking with a shudder of the time the prepubescent girl stared you down until you gave her your brand-new Charlotte Tillbury lipstick. Sort of like being bullied out of your lunch money.

"You can say that again." 

Benedict falls silent, and for a moment, you just stand there, side by side, staring up at the tree. Dean Martin drifts over from the dining room. Your stomach is on the most terrifying rollercoaster ride of its life. 

Then, out of nowhere, Benedict says, "You're wet, by the way."

"I…" You splutter. "What?"

He nods down toward the floor. "Your shoes, I mean. You're soaking the rug."

You follow the line of his eyes down to your boots, still caked in the snow and sludge you drudged up on the way up the ten-mile-long driveway. A grey puddle has accumulated around you.

"Bugger," you mutter. "Eloise did say I could leave the shoes on…."

A conspiratorial grin crosses Benedict's face. He says, "Remember when you and El caught me smoking that joint in the study? I won't tell if you won't."

This is the thing: Worse than Benedict's six feet, worse than his messy hair and blue eyes and dimples, worse than all of that, is that he's actually nice. A genuinely good guy who talks to you like you're more than just his little sister's best friend, more than the annoying girl that gets invited to family holidays because her home life isn't the best, who moons over him at every turn. That's the thing that keeps you hoping, stubbornly, stupidly.

"Maybe you should go change for dinner," he suggests. "I'll take your suitcase up for you."

"You don't have to!" you protest, even as he's already bending over to retrieve it, even as you're secretly glad you won't have to try and lug that thing up all those stairs yourself.

"It's fine." Benedict waves you away, then tests the weight of the suitcase. "Jesus. I thought you were only staying for three days. What the hell did you pack in here?"

The sight of your bedroom floor at home, every inch covered with discarded clothes and toiletries and last-minute Christmas present purchases, overcomes you like a war flashback. "Uh… Books," you say, falling into step beside him as you climb the stairs together. "I brought a lot of books."

If Benedict knows you're one of the worst liars in England, he doesn't let it on. Instead, he hums Wham! 's greatest hit while ascending the stairs two steps at a time. You try your best not to stare at his butt when he overtakes you and focus instead on the plush velvet carpet and the actual footsteps you leave on it, cringing.

You follow him down a long corridor, past decorative Chinese-style vases filled with out-of-season greenhouse flowers. "This is your room," Benedict says, pushing the door at the end of the hall, somewhat separate from the others, open with his hip. "Eloise is just down the hall."

Like everything else in Aubrey Hall, the room is so tasteful you're scared to touch anything. Held exclusively in shades of pastels, in the softest blues, pinks, and creams, a huge four-poster bed is pushed to one wall, flanked on both sides by nightstands. The opposite side of the room is covered in floor-to-ceiling French windows that offer a spectacular view of the grounds, powdered with snow. Somebody lit a fire in here too, and above the mantle…

"Oh, God," you squeak, staring at a huge oil painting depicting perhaps the most miserable-looking man you have ever seen. Margaret Thatcher and her iron lady posturings have nothing on this bloke.

"Right, that's Uncle Barnaby." Benedict deposits your suitcase on a stuffed armchair. "Us kids just call him Uncle Fester."

"Yeah," you say slowly. "That checks out."

Benedict laughs. "Sorry, you got stuck in this one. All the other guest rooms are in the West wing, and Mom figured you'd be more comfortable not being that far away from everybody else."

The West wing. You get the sudden, spectacular image of yourself in an ankle-length lace nightgown wandering down stone hallways with nothing to light the way but a single, flickering candle. If you can fantasize about Gothic romances set in your own home, you decide, you should start thinking about downsizing.

"Right." Benedict runs a hand through his hair, and you track the movement, watching the muscles rippling in his forearm. He's wearing a grey cashmere sweater, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sight could make a stronger woman swoon. "I'll let you get settled in."

You don't want him to leave. All your time spent with Benedict is stolen, clipped, bookended by family dinners, or movie nights with his sister. The closest you've ever gotten to him was when you all crowded into the back of a cab on your way to a club, his thigh pressed against your own and his arm awkwardly angled somewhere behind your neck. Just half an inch of space between you, but your ribcage cracked open like somebody wedged a crowbar in there.

"Where are you sleeping?" It's a desperate attempt to prolong the moment, to keep him in this room alone with you for just a little longer, and you regret the question the moment it's out. Either he now thinks you're a stalker or, even worse, that you're secretly trying to draw up a layout plan of the estate to prepare for your inevitable heist. You wouldn't be surprised if there were several million pounds in cash stashed in a vault somewhere in Aubrey Hall, and rent in London has reached astronomic heights. Who could blame you for indulging?

But Benedict doesn't look concerned. Instead, he pauses just a step or two from you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours, and answers, "I'm right next door. Just knock if you need help with anything."

For a split second, Benedict's hand finds the curve of your spine, fingertips pressing through the thick knit sweater and painting a shiver down your back. It goes through you like a bolt of lightning.

Then he draws back as if nothing happened, gives you a crooked, curling smile, and leaves, pulling the door shut behind him.

You drop down onto the mattress with a groan, bury your face in the 400-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, and pretend you're not actively trying to strangle yourself. 

"Well," you mumble, voice muffled by the pillowcase, "Happy Christmas to me."

+

Christmas dinner with the Bridgertons is a bizarre experience. Everybody talks over each other, Hyacinth and Gregory chuck spoonfuls of peas at each other, Colin spills a whole ladle of gravy across the tablecloth, Anthony and his wife Kate spend half the meal whispering to each other and the other half stealing kisses, Eloise starts debating politics with Simon (who isn't half as stuffy as you expected a duke to be) at the top of her lungs, and Benedict drinks at least five glasses of sparkling wine before his mother takes the bottle from him.

You watch the whole thing with a feeling in your stomach like a bullet wound.

After a dessert of indefinable mush Hyacinth swore up and down was her homemade plum pudding, you move to a large sitting room. There is a second tree in here, this one a little less obnoxious and covered in homemade ornaments, the exploits of eight children and countless pre-Christmas arts and crafts sessions. The crackling fire paints flushes into the family's cheeks and gives the whole room a homey, rustic atmosphere that seems at odds with the overall elegance of the house.

Everybody is allowed to open one present. You think you see the instantaneous regret on Violet Bridgerton's face when her youngest son unpacks his new portable speakers with a whoop of joy loud enough to bust several eardrums. Watching the pandemonium unfold before you, you sit squished into a corner of the sofa beside Eloise, your hands trapped under your thighs, and try not to feel out of place.

Maybe this was a mistake, you think to yourself. Maybe you shouldn't have intruded on a family holiday as you are, regardless of Eloise's invitation. It must have been a pity thing anyway, what with you saying you were just going to stay in London for Christmas, in your shitty flat with the broken radiator and the leaking pipes. You pretty much guilt-tripped her into that by mentioning the frozen curry you were planning to get from the Tesco frozen section, now that you think about it, and God, you were definitely forcing yourself on them, weren't you, and they were all just way too nice to mention it and…

"Here," Violet's voice tears you from the downward rollercoaster ride about to plunge neck-deep into the pond of anxiety. "Merry Christmas."

She places a flat present in your lap, wrapped in deer-print paper. 

"Oh," you say softly, and your chest feels tight like somebody is pulling a cord taut around it, "you didn't have to…."

"It's just a little thing." Violet has the kind of smile so warm you suspect it could melt ice cubes within seconds. "We're so happy to have you for Christmas."

You feel self-conscious as you unwrap the present, aware of all eyes on you. The paper reveals a picture frame, simple yet tasteful dark wood that feels smooth and supple against your skin. Behind the glass is a watercolor painting, a study of a tulip. The pink petals seem almost life-like in their detail as if a drop of dew should drip off the edge and roll down the picture any moment. You can practically feel it, wet and cold against your fingertip.

"Eloise said you're very fond of flowers. I thought you might find a place for it in your room."

For a head-spinning, gut-wrenching moment, you think you're going to cry. "I… thank you," you choke out. "It's… lovely."

Violet smiles and pats your hand. "It wouldn't be Christmas without a present. You didn't think we'd forget you, did you?"

They move on to Colin, who tears at his wrapping paper with such eagerness he gets a papercut, but you feel stuck. There is a lump in your throat, and you clutch the picture too tightly. Somehow, you realize, you did think they'd forget you. Only that's not really right. To forget you, they'd have to think about you first, and you can't imagine any of the Bridgertons wasting a single thought on you, apart maybe from Eloise. Sure, you spend more time at their house than in your own flat, but that doesn't mean anything, does it? It's not like your own family misses you much this Christmas. You've gotten more than used to being invisible.

"I want this one," Benedict says and, to your horror, lifts one of the presents you left there earlier. "I like the sustainable vibe."

Feeling obliged to get presents for everyone, you'd spent yesterday running through a department store for at least three hours. Mostly it's boxes of chocolates and a book for Eloise, stuff that diminished your already meager savings more acutely than you'd planned for. And then it had come time to choose something for Benedict, and you'd spent an embarrassing amount of time agonizing over possible presents. By the time you'd made it home, only to realize you'd forgotten to get wrapping paper, all the stores were closed. So you'd wrapped everything in the newspaper the ancient couple living next door hadn't picked up off their welcome mat yet. They're in Cardiff visiting her sister for the holiday, and you're supposed to be watering their plants while they're gone. Which is a task that might be a bit hard to accomplish, seeing as you're currently several hours outside of London. 

"Oh, that's… that's mine," you pipe up, then immediately clear your throat. You've somehow managed to sound like a cartoon mouse. An especially squeaky, pathetic cartoon mouse.

Benedict glances at you, gives you a smile he most certainly inherited from his mother, and says, "Perfect."

Whatever that's supposed to mean.

He has a similar approach to unwrapping presents as his younger brother, but at least he doesn't injure himself in the process. As you watch him, your heart beats somewhere in your throat. Suddenly you're right back where Violet picked you up, on the verge of anxiety about to perform one of history's most spectacular dives.

It might be dramatic to say that your whole life depends on whether your best friend's older brother likes the gift you picked out for him, but apparently, that's where you are now. In the most pathetic turn of events of all time, you're pretty sure the trajectory of your future hinges on this moment.

The improvised wrapping paper floats to the carpet like that plastic bag Katy Perry immortalized in her magnum opus Firework. For a moment, Benedict says nothing, staring at the gift in his hand.

"I can… If you don't like it, I can just return it," you say, even as you start frantically searching your memory for where in the world you put that receipt. Your heart is pumping blood through your veins at a pace that makes you dizzy. "It's not a big deal. It's fine, it was…."

Benedict holds the box of watercolours in front of his chest like some sacred artefact. He opens the lid and peers inside, examining the different shades wordlessly. Then he closes it, looks up, and right at you. A beat passes with him just looking at you, with your heart fluttering its feathery wings against the cage of your teeth, with you squirming in the spot. And then Benedict smiles, wide and bright and honest. "I love it," he says, "thank you. It's fantastic."

Your chest caves in.

"Oh," you whisper, half deaf over the rushing of blood in your ears. "Okay. Cool."

For a second, it looks like Benedict will say something else, like there are words forming on the tip of his tongue, and you feel like you're clinging to a cliff's edge by the tips of your nails. But then Hyacinth pulls the box from his hands to look at the paint, to run her fingers over the shades, and the moment passes.

If somebody asked you later, you wouldn't be able to tell them how the rest of the unwrapping goes. It's all a blur, a mirage of different exclamation and laughter and more or less well-thought-out presents that passes in front of you like a supercut, all of it accompanied by a playlist consisting mainly of Mariah Carey and Michael Bublé. You stay in your spot on the couch, still sitting on your hands, trying not to think about the way Benedict looked at you. Trying not to dream.

When the younger kids rope Colin and Anthony into a game of charades that requires an exorbitant amount of physical movement, you help the others clean up the abandoned shambles of the dinner table. Benedict is doing the dishes in the kitchen when you enter carrying a pale of plates so high you see nothing but the dried gravy Jackson Pollock sprinkled all across the edges.

"Careful." Benedict's fingers brush yours as he takes the plates from you and places them gingerly on the countertop.

"Thanks," you mutter, then spend just one second staring at the broad expanse of his back, holding your hands uselessly in front of you, before turning back toward the dining room, intent on finding something else to occupy yourself with.

Benedict's voice stops you. "Do you want to help me?"

You whirl on your heel embarrassingly fast, clearing your throat when you find him smiling at you. "Uhm. Sure."

He nods toward a dish towel on a rack and asks, "I wash, you dry?"

"Yeah. Sounds amazing." For a second, you genuinely consider slamming your head into one of the kitchen cabinets. Since when has drying dishes ever sounded amazing?

Benedict gives no indication that he thinks you might be the weirdest girl he's ever met, though, so you take that as consolation. He's rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue button-down again, his arms elbow-deep in the sudsy water of the sink, and you pretend not to notice the droplets running down his skin. Outside the window, snow falls in thick ribbons, covering more of the grounds. The faint sound of the Bridgertons enjoying themselves drifts into the kitchen's silence.

You accept the pan he was washing and start running your towel over it. A wet stain soaks into your dress where you press the Teflon-coated edge to your stomach.

"We can put the plates in the dishwasher later," Benedict says, filling the silence gaping like a canyon. "But I think the big stuff we should do by hand. Pots and pans and all that."

Unsure how to answer, you nod. Your mind is whirling, reeling, somersaulting. For so long, you've wanted to be alone with Benedict, have imagined it, dreamed it, conjured it up in your mind. And now here you are, and you can't seem to open your mouth. And it's not even like you have nothing to say, quite the opposite. You have so much to say you don't know where to start.

Like: You look great in that shirt. I hope you like my present. I think you're a great artist. If the Torys keep passing that PM cap around instead of letting us vote, I'm going to scream. I think capybaras are criminally underrated, and I'm glad they're having their moment on social media. How do you feel about turnips? I might have been half in love with you since the first time I met you.

Benedict, putting an end to your spiral, says, "It can be a lot, right?"

"Sorry?"

"The whole thing." He jerks his head in the direction of the dining room, an indulgent smile on his face that tells you all you need to know about Benedict's feelings for his family. "The whole Bridgerton Christmas chaos."

You shrug, lowering your head so he can't see your face, can't see whatever emotion might betray you. "I like it."

"Even Hyacinth's plum pudding? I think that could pass for a murder weapon."

"Yeah," you say, and find that your voice is much too sincere. "Even that. It's not… I've never had this." You cut yourself off immediately, not even sure why you said it in the first place. It's much too easy to be honest with Benedict, and it scares you in ways you can't describe.

"What do you mean?"

It feels like an impossible task to look at him, so you don't. You're too afraid of what you'll find - pity, maybe, or incomprehension. How could someone like Benedict possibly ever understand?

If you turn on a TV around Christmas time and watch a commercial or a movie, if you walk down a shopping street and look at the advertisements playing on screens or smiling from posters, if you pick up a holiday-themed novel, there is a certain feeling being sold to you: of warmth and joy and community. Of smiling grandparents and colorful sweaters. Of presents heaping like molehills beneath gleaming trees. Of roasts and mashed potatoes and peas and carrots and Christmas puddings and beaming families devouring them in perfect harmony. It's the same feeling you encountered right here in this house, in the perfect rooms populated with perfect Bridgertons. In those images, people are always happy.

Christmas, to you, has always been terrifying.

"It's not…." You hesitate. "In my family," you say finally, and hope your voice sounds steadier than it feels, "it's never been good. It was just a lot of yelling, and… I've never had this. The laughing together and enjoying each other's company and all that stuff. The love. And I… I look at it, and I can tell, you see? That it's just so normal to you guys, I think maybe you don't even notice it. But I do. And it just… it doesn't really seem fair."

You don't wait for an answer, instead turning away from him in a way you hope makes it clear that this is not an avenue of conversation you want to pursue. It's like you've just stripped yourself bare in front of him, exposed yourself to his ridicule and his gaze under the unforgiving kitchen lights. It's like you have handed him a map to the innermost parts of yourself. All those ugly, pathetic parts you've spent your life hiding.

Benedict seems to understand because the next thing he says is, "Thank you again for the present."

For a beat, you close your eyes. There, you think. You've got what you wanted. He's ignoring it. He's looking away.

You chance a glance at his side profile, at the furrow between his brows as he scrubs at a particularly stubborn bit of charred carrot sticking to the pot. "You're welcome," you answer. "I'm glad you didn't think it was shitty."

"Why would I think that? It's perfect." When you chuckle, shrug, when the self-deprecating note sneaks into the sound, Benedict ceases his scrubbing to look at you. "I mean it. It's really special."

"It's not even…." You hesitate, wondering if maybe you're fishing for compliments here. Whatever, the validation feels nice, and Benedict seems willing to give it to you, even if he probably finds you annoying. "It's not even a very creative gift. All things considered, you know?"

Everybody knows Benedict likes painting, even though there was some botched stint with the Academy a few years back. He eventually dropped out, but you don't think his aspirations changed.

He shrugs and turns back to the pot. "It is to me. My family all seem to think I'm not serious about the whole art thing, so it's nice to be acknowledged. It doesn't happen that often."

You pause to glance at him. Thrown into relief by the golden spill of the light, bracketed on one side by the winter night, for a moment, he's so pretty you feel your stomach clench. 

"But you're so…" You break off, swallowing. Your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks to the roof. "Everybody sees you."

"What do you mean?" Benedict looks at you with real confusion scrunching up his face, and you feel almost stupid.

Helplessly, you shrug, dry the last drops of water off the pan, and put it down on the counter. "Just… People always notice you, you know? When you enter a room or when you go somewhere. I just thought… I thought you must feel really acknowledged. Like all of the time. I don't know."

Your heart is beating so furiously that you wonder if he can hear it. Embarrassment leaves a bitter taste on your tongue as the words escape you. Now he really should file a restraining order, you think. It would be perfectly justified, with you exposing just how much attention you've been paying to everything he does. God, you're a freak, aren't you?

When he smiles at you, there's something sad to the expression. "I've noticed," he says, forming the words carefully, "that what most people acknowledge about me is my family. But that's not the same as acknowledging me. That's not the same as seeing me."

For a moment, you imagine what it must be like. There was such warmth in that room earlier, such joy and love, but there were so many people, too. All of them loud and charming and lovely. All of them wonderful. All of them captivating in their own way. How easy must it be to get swallowed up by the sheer force of all of them? How easy must it be to feel passed over as the second of eight children, always surpassed by somebody else? Always somebody cleverer or funnier or more lovable? Sometimes, you think, it must be a lonely thing to never be alone. Sometimes, you think, he must feel invisible.

"I do," you say, and your face feels hot, your voice sounds far away, your palms are sweaty. "I see you."

Something in Benedict's gaze changes, something transforms, and then he whispers your name, holds it in his mouth like something precious. "I think you…." He swallows, and his eyes rake over your face as if he's searching for something, as if he's hoping for something, and finally, he pushes on, his voice as uncertain as you feel, "I think there's so much more here than you realize. Because I do, too. I see you. And I know you're lonely, and I know you're scared, maybe even as scared as I am, but I think... I think maybe you don't have to be."

It's like being on a frozen lake, right in the middle, side by side, moving step by step, nothing solid in the world but his hand in yours.

He takes a step closer to you at the same time that you move forward, his hip bumping yours, his gaze on your mouth, his knuckles knocking against yours, your breaths hitched, your hands shaking, your head spinning…

"I've got more dishes," Kate chirps, stepping into the kitchen. Immediately, you and Benedict jump apart. You busy yourself with drying the pot furiously as he accepts the new pile of tableware, eyes on anything but you. Then, completely ignoring her brother-in-law, Kate wraps an arm around your shoulder and leads you away. "I'm supposed to tell you guests don't have to do dishes. And that's coming from the hostess herself."

If Kate noticed anything off between you two, she doesn't comment. But you could swear you see her casting a long, searching look at you when she deposits you on the couch.

You spend a little longer enjoying the overall Christmas charm of the night. You and Eloise pull apart a cracker together, put the paper crowns on each other's heads, and sit on the rug by the fireplace for hours, chatting, ignoring the general mess around you. When Violet starts making people sing Christmas songs whether they want to or not, you excuse yourself. You've been hiding yawns in the crook of your elbow for the past half hour anyway.

On his way back in from the bathroom, Benedict almost bumps into you in the doorway.

"Oh," he says, steadying you with a hand on your shoulder, and then you both say sorry simultaneously. By now, the eggnog and the absolute shame of whatever passed between you in the kitchen have caught up to you and you giggle like a school girl, staring at the bit of skin exposed where his shirt is unbuttoned.

"Off to bed?" Benedict asks. His voice is gentle enough that, for a moment, the yearning resonates somewhere in your bones.

You nod. "I'm tired."

"Okay." It might be wishful thinking, but he sounds almost disappointed to your ears. "Sleep well, yeah?"

It's definitely wishful thinking. Right?

"Hey, Ben!" You glance over your shoulder to find Hyacinth grinning at the two of you with something in her eyes you can only describe as the glint of the devil. A dawning sense of horror sends a shiver down your spine. "You're, like, right under the mistletoe, you realize that, yeah?"

Following the line pointed out by her finger with your eyes, you feel the dread pooling in your stomach. And lo and behold, above your eyes, fixed to the doorway, is an unassuming twig of mistletoe.

Have you mentioned that you feel like you're in a Hallmark movie? One with an exceptionally uncreative screenwriter?

When you finally tear your wide eyes away from the mistletoe, feeling helpless, you find Benedict already looking at you. "Ignore her," he says, smiling the smile of the long-suffering. "Hyacinth just wants to stir up trouble. It's fine, nobody's going to make us…."

"Well." From her perch on the arm of Anthony's chair, a saint-like expression on her face, Kate looks once from you to Benedict. "It is tradition."

And then, to your horror, she winks at you. Your stomach plummets down to your feet.

Benedict stares at Kate like she just told him she thinks the moon landing was faked. "I… I don't think…."

Anthony, after exchanging some private glance probably only decipherable to spouses, shrugs and leans back in his chair. "I agree," he says. "It is tradition."

"And a very nice tradition, too," Daphne affirms, crossing her legs and taking a dainty sip from her wine glass. No wonder not even the gossip columns ever have anything bad to say about her. She's perfect. "It would be a shame to let that opportunity go to waste."

With a look on his face you can describe only as aghast, Benedict turns to you. “I… uhm… Is it… okay?"

If you lived in the nineteenth century, you'd be asking a servant to bring you your smelling salts by now. Slowly, you nod, even though you're so dizzy, you're not sure you don't completely mess up the movement. "It… it's fine, yeah," you agree.

Benedict's hand finds the side of your face. You're so aware of all the eyes on you that, for a moment, you think you might be sick all over Benedict's shoes. He's so close you can feel his breath on your face and smell his cologne. Your toes are going numb.

"You sure?" he mumbles, leaning even closer, only an inch separating you. He has very kind eyes. If you said no now, you know he wouldn't even be mad.

Beyond words, beyond any thought past oh god I can't believe this is really happening oh dear god he's about to kiss me, you just nod. 

"Oh, for god's sake!" That's Simon. "Just kiss the girl and be done with it, Benedict."

So he does. It's little more than a quick press of dry mouth to dry mouth, but your heart almost beats out of your chest. You feel his fingers tighten against the side of your face, feel his slightly-chapped lips, taste the eggnog and the chocolate and the wine. Then, when he pulls away, just for a beat, he lingers, his exhale a gasp, and for that instant, it's like you're the last two people on the planet, like he's the only thing that matters, like nothing existed before you and nothing will after you're gone. Suspended in time.

"Great!" Eloise calls, throwing her hands into the air. "First, Colin starts going out with Penelope, and now Benedict is snogging you. Will you people ever leave my friends alone?"

A collective burst of laughter travels through the room, and then the chattering returns, the paused music resumes, and you stand there, unsure what to do with yourself, unsure how to continue on when it feels like the whole world just shifted an inch to the left and nothing is where it's supposed to be anymore.

Benedict's hand is solid against the small of your back. "Will you… will you stay a little longer?" he asks, his voice hesitant.

It doesn't sound like he just means tonight. You don't think he just means tonight.

You swallow, exhale a shaky breath. And then you say, keeping your eyes on nothing but him, "Yeah. I'll stay."

Benedict beams. It's a sight that lights up his whole face, rivaling that ridiculous Christmas tree out in the Bridgerton's entrance hall. "Lovely," he says. For a beat, his eyes flicker back to your mouth, but then he just grins. "Merry Christmas."

You can't help it - you laugh. There's relief in the sound, the kind you haven't felt in a long, long time. Here, with the fire crackling and Gregory and Francesca delivering what could perhaps be the worst rendition of All I Want for Christmas Is You the world has ever known, it feels a little like maybe, just maybe, being seen isn't half as scary as you thought it was.

"Yeah," you agree and slide your fingers into the spaces between his. "Merry Christmas, Benedict."

You never thought something like Christmas at Aubrey Hall could exist outside the hour-and-a-half runtime of Hallmark movies. But, God, are you happy you were wrong.

[loving-family-poll]

Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 4

Propaganda under the cut:

Cersei/Jaime:

they're literally womb-to-tomb lovers. they feel that the rest of the world is beneath them and they're the only ones that matter. the fact that they're twins is fundamental to their attraction to each other

they’re blonde they’re evil they crossdress they’re fucked-up mirrors of one another they serve cunt they’re both bisexual probably and they’re TWINS who FUCK. who said that.

"if I were a woman, I'd be Cersei."

"I'll kill [...] the whole bloody lot of them until you and I are the only people left in this world."

"I am sick of being careful. The Targaryens wed brother to sister, why shouldn't we do the same? Marry me, Cersei. Stand up before the realm and say it's me you want."

"'Do you have a little wife, ser?'" No, I have a sister."

Lucille/Thomas:

i'm So insane about their dynamic how about you take a dyke in victorian england unable to come to terms with her own sexuality and forced by the negligence and abuse of her family to protect her baby brother at all costs and she falls in love with him. and him with her. and they spend their time scheming and fucking in their crumbling house like the gothic icons they are. i would let them wife me up. are you kidding.

IT'S A MONSTROUS LOVE AND IT MAKES MONSTERS OF US ALL

"You're not his sister." "That's the best part! I am."

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Unexpectedly Yours: Part 3

Fandom: Ted Lasso (Regency AU)

Pairing: Roy Kent x F!Reader

Summary: Lord Roy Kent still has yet to marry. He hates the notion that marriage is a way to ensure your status in society. You have delayed your debut to society for years because of the same idea. So what happens when two people who hate the idea of marriage are constantly drawn to each other?

Part 1 | Part 2

"Miss Y/N, you have a caller," your ladies maid, Jane, announces as you, your mother, and Cece in the drawing room doing your own respective activities.

"Who is it, Jane? your mother asks.

"Lady O'Sullivan, ma'am."

Your mother perked up, "Lord Kent's sister?!" She turns to you, "What do you think she'd like to speak about?"

"I'm not sure, but I'll see to her right now," you stand from your chair and place your book onto the seat.

You follow Jane to the front room. You smile when you see Clara. You give her a curtsey, "Lady O'Sullivan, it's a pleasure to see you."

She shakes her head, "Please, just Clara will do."

"Would you like some tea? I can have Jane-"

"Oh no. That's not necessary. This is a quick visit. I'd just like to personally invite you and your family to dinner in three days, if you're available."

"Oh! We'd love to attend. Cece has been asking when she can see Phoebe again."

Clara softly laughs, "Phoebe as well."

"I will inform my mother. She'll be very excited."

Clara then smirks, "Yes, my brother will be very pleased to hear you'll be attending."

You clear your throat, "Right, yes, Lord Kent. He's...interesting."

Clara scoffs, "It's alright. You can say he's a pain in the ass."

You burst out laughing, Clara joining you.

"I-I wouldn't say that. He can be pleasant, when he wants to be, I assume."

"Hmmm. Indeed."

"Very well. I will see you in a few days. I look forward to our dinner, Y/N," Clara gives you a bow and sees herself out.

You let out a deep breath before sharing the news with your mother.

_____________________

"YOU DID WHAT?!" Roy looks at his sister in disbelief.

Clara glares at his brother, "Lower your tone," Roy rolls his eyes and Clara continues, "It's clear to me you harbor some feelings for Y/N. This is just another opportunity to talk with her, maybe, propose a courtship?"

Roy pinches the bridge of nose and groans, "Clara, she despises me."

She shakes her head, "See, you say that, but I'm sure that's not true," she walks over to her brother's couch and sits on it while he continues to look at her with disbelief from his desk, "Roy, just because things didn't work out with Georgina doesn't mean it won't work out for the next woman."

"Why can't you just let me live my life alone?"

"Because no one should ever be alone. Roy, you're a good man. I know you could make any woman happy if you just open yourself up to the possibility."

Roy lets out a deep breath and shakes his head, "Maybe we should move somewhere else."

"Roy!"

"Maybe the countryside where we don't have to deal with fucking society anymore."

Clara rolls her eyes and stands, "Complain all you want, but we're having Y/N and her family over."

_______________________________

Your father had arrived from his travels abroad, which excited you. He'd always bring back books for you to read.

"How are you, my dear?" he asks you while he escorts you around the gardens.

"I'm alright," you reply, giving him a shrug.

"Just alright?" he looks at you with concern.

"Well, you missed my debut ball. It would've been a lot more tolerable if you were there."

"I suppose it's good that I didn't. Wouldn't want to let down all of those young men asking for your hand."

"Father!"

Your father laughs and kisses your head, "But no one has sparked your interest?"

"Not really."

"Not even a little bit?" he gives you a look and you smile shyly at him.

"Well maybe, but he doesn't seem like he's fond of me...or fond of anyone really."

"Who is it?"

"The Viscount Lord Roy Kent. He, his sister, and niece moved here from Chelsea after his sister's husband died. We've interacted a few times here and there. He's somewhat pleasant to talk to, a bit blunt sometimes. But he seems sweet. He cares a lot about his sister and niece."

"Well, I hear we have dinner with him in a few days. So I look forward to meeting him."

_______________________

Roy is pacing back and forth while Clara and Phoebe watch him amusedly.

"You seem nervous, Uncle Roy," Phoebe states with a grin.

Roy shoots a look to Phoebe and she snickers. Clara pats her daughter's arm in comfort, "Ignore your Uncle Roy, darling. He's definitely nervous because Y/N is coming."

Roy stops, placing a hand on his stomach, "I don't feel well."

"You're fine."

"I think I forgot to write letters to-"

"Roy," Clara stands and approaches her brother and cups his face in her hands, "It'll be fine. What you really need to worry about is her father, who just arrived back from his travels."

"Her father is coming?! Oh fuuuuu-"

"Roy!" Clara slaps her brother's arm.

"Ma'am, your guests are here."

"Wonderful!" Clara gestures for Phoebe to follow her and she does. The two head out of the sitting room and then turn to Roy who looked like he was in internal battle with himself.

__________________

You, your parents, and Cece sit with Roy, Clara, and Phoebe in the sitting room while dinner continued to be prepared. Phoebe and Clara were on the floor playing with dolls. You sit on the piano bench, slightly more distant from the rest of the group.

Roy looks uneasy, as if he would rather be anywhere but here. The thought made you feel a bit insecure. You were sure he didn't like you too much but the fact that it physically seems that way hurts you. You begin to fidget with your gloves, rubbing the satin fabric in a way to appease your growing anxiety.

"Y/N?" you look up to see your father looking at you with soft eyes.

"Yes?"

"Will you play us a song?"

"O-Oh. Um, any requests?"

"Whatever you choose should be fine," Clara responds with a smile.

You glance towards Roy and meet his eyes for a second before he looks away. You clear your throat and turn around to face the piano. You mentally go through the songs you know how to play and pick one. It's a slow, soft tune. It starts of light but then turns melancholic with it's lower notes.

You focus on the keys before you rather than the conversation at hand.

"So, Lord Kent-"

"Roy, Lord L/N, please."

"Roy, how are you finding Richmond so far?"

"It's alright," Roy rasps out.

Clara rolls her eyes, "He's more used to the city life. Phoebe and I love it here. We were unsure about the move, but after some time, we've grown to love Richmond."

Your father nods with a polite smile, "I hope Richmond continues to treat you well."

"Thank you, sir."

"I'm curious, how do the men and women here compare to those in London?"

Your mother scolds your father and he shrugs, "I'm just curious!"

Clara chuckles, "I wouldn't know to be quite honest. My concern isn't on them, rather on Phoebe. My brother, however, is very open to finding himself a wife." That piques your interest.

"Clara," Roy practically growls in warning.

His sister rolls her eyes, "My brother believes he doesn't deserve to be happy with someone."

"That's nonsense, my boy! Everyone deserves to have someone they hold dear to their heart!"

Roy looks at your father in surprise, "Many people your age don't hold that same sentiment, sir."

Your father waves him off, "That's all nonsense. These people believe that wealth and status is the most important thing world. They sacrifice their happiness for it."

"Were you two a love match?" Phoebe asks, now growing bored of playing dolls and finding the adults' conversation much more fascinating. You, too, tried to listen in on the conversation while you continued to play.

"Not at first, no. I believe she hated me when we first met."

Your mother rolls her eyes, "He kept talking about himself, not once asking me any questions or letting me speak for even a second."

"I was nervous! She was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and, to be quite frank, I've never been very good at talking with ladies. So, yes, I did talk about myself too much. But luckily, she gave me a chance at the next ball to apologize. I spent the entire dance listening to her share things about herself. When the dance was over, I didn't want it to end."

"What happened next, uncle?" Cece asks.

"He asked for a courtship the next day," your mother replies.

Your father laughs, "Oh, I was smitten. We courted for a month before I proposed!"

"Then you got married?!" Cece asks.

"Oh heavens, no. She rejected me and said she wanted to spend more time courting. I asked her again after the second month. Got rejected again. The third month was when she finally said yes."

"Really?!" Cece looks at your parents in disbelief.

Your mother chuckles, "My mother was so upset with me for denying him twice, but he ensured her that he wouldn't give up on me. It just took me a bit more time to warm up to him."

"Ma'am, dinner is ready."

"Finally!" Phoebe groans, causing all of the adults to chuckle.

Everyone stands, following the servant to the dining room. You and Roy are the last ones to leave.

You curtsey to him, "Lord Kent."

"You play beautifully," he says, offering his arm to you.

"Thank you, sir," you place your hand in the crook of his arm and you both follow the group.

You feel your cheeks heat up as your father looks over his shoulder to see you with Roy. He gives you a wink before looking forward.

[medievildead]

Freyr's story in God of War hurts me. Like immensely. The Lost Pages of Norse Myth (2018) as well as the retelling by Mimir and Freya just reveal the most upsetting story I've heard about him.

I'll never be over the Aesir trying to burn him alive, just for seeking to aide them in achieving a bountiful harvest. Freyr's burn scars are still so visible on his fucking arms bro. Which means he was still sporting those when he attended Freyas wedding into the very family that tried to kill him.

Freyr was a GUEST in Asgard. He, out KINDNESS, attempted to show them the Vanir magic of the Harvest, to help their crops flourish. No record of him even wanting shit in return. He was just being the naturally kind serenity god that he is.

And then, because the Aesir couldn't get the hang of it, and, being who they are, accused Freyr of bad witchcraft, and claimed he was tricking them.

So what do they do to punish him for and assumed attempt at fooling them? They ripped up out of the ground all the crops Freyr had just generously enchanted, threw them down as kindle and lit them, and Freyr, ablaze. They left him in the flames of his own gifts. Fully intending for him to burn alive and die.

Like of fucking course he didnt want Freya to marry Odin. Of fucking course he thought Freya was dead. He knows what the Aesir are capable of. His permanently marked skin is a grim reminder.

Its just. Freyr is so fucking kind. And sweet and silly and generous. There isn't any story in GoW canon (Or even really in myth) of him being horrible. He's genuinley the serenity god for a reason. He is such a sweetheart.

And the Aesir tried to burn him alive.

I understand Freya's perspective though. What she tried to do was noble and- to be fair, she had to be convinced into that choice my Mimir. She wanted to keep Vanaheim safe, and if Marriage to Odin was the only choice she had, I was stuck in position I'd be going with the easy way out too.

But Freyr of all people would fully believe that the Aesir, under Odin's rule, have no understanding of peace. The man is the patron of that stuff. United the elves for fucks sake. He tried to teach the Aesir something to help their realm flourish and they spit on him when they can't understand it, because they can't comprehend being unable to do something So Simple that a Vanir Could Do It so Clearly He Must Be Tricking Us. Then they proceed to burn him alive. If I were Freyr, I'd certainly believe whatever promises made by the Aesir were complete bullshit.

We never get told the words Freyr said to Freya at her wedding, but.. it probably had a lot to do with the fact Freyr couldn't stand to see Freya make such a choice. Like, "Freya I love you. But I can't in sound mind be part of this union no matter what. Look at me. LOOK AT ME. What they've done to me, to us, to our people. Is this truly what you want? For us? For Vanaheim? Is this the legacy you want to be remembered for?? I won't- I CAN'T stop you from making your own choice. But I'll warn you now that that choice decides wether or not you see me again"

And she made her choice. And he kept his word. And sure enough, as he likely predicted, the peace was not kept, and he assumed his sister was lost forever, thinking that the last words he had ever said to his beloved sister were basically "I never want to see you again".

This. Fucking. Guy... ):

[lacilou]

I'll start out by saying that I'm a 45 year old woman. I'd like to think I've learned a few things in my journey. My entire life does not revolve around every minute detail of the SPNverse and/or the actors associated with the show. I love the show. I love the characters. And I absolutely adore Jared & Jensen. Now I could just let this go and ignore it, buuuut I can't. What in the hell is wrong with people?! The pernicious, monomaniacal, fatal attraction-like zealots who have crossed a line by pushing their narrative onto the ACTORS and not the fictional characters. These actors are people, just like us. They have families, jobs, stress, kids, and car payments. They are fellow human beings. One, you do not personally know these people. Their personal lives are theirs and theirs alone. Two, your malicious desires for J2 to have a relationship that YOU want them to is terrifying. You cannot put YOUR narrative onto other people just because YOU want it to be true. These men have spent 15 years working together, starting in their younger, formative years. They grew up together. They've been through all the ups and downs we all have. Just because they act doesn't mean it's an easy job. Fifteen years of the entire scope of emotions. They started young and by the time the show ended, they had fell in love with their spouses. They had children. Their families are extremely close. As best friends, brothers who went through the trenches together for 15 years, their love language is physical.

These men love each other. And yes, I think they're soulmates. But what some of you don't seem to understand is that there are many different forms of love and diverse kinds of soulmates. This does NOT mean they are romantically linked. In my 45 years, I have found three soulmates: my husband, my best friend of 40 years, and my mother. My BFF and I absolutely love each other. We hug. We hold hands. We act just like Jared & Jensen do. We're not romantically linked. We are absolutely in love; a sister-from-another-mister kind of love.

Some of you are so vicious and mean that that it affects not just J2, but their families. You treat them like circus monkeys, making them do whatever it is you want. They give their time, their blood, sweat and tears for all of us and some of you take it for granted. There will come a time when they have both had enough of the drama, the hate, the lies, the ungratefulness that the toxic part of this Fandom spews. And then we'll all miss out. And knowing how some of you are, you'll just turn around and hate on them for doing that. Leave these memories alone. Sure, be fans. Love them, support them, take comfort in them, but don't put YOUR narrative onto them. It's disrespectful, it's dangerous and it could ruin lives. Oh, one more thing - one of you mentioned Jared & Gen's "couples vacations"...well, when you're married and in love with said spouse (and you have the money to take these extravagant trips), you take VACATIONS TOGETHER. Maybe once you find your person, and you travel with them, you'll understand why Jared & Gen take so many vacations together. Also, he works so fucking hard and is away from his family going from convention to convention that he NEEDS these trips to rekindle their love. I'm just sick and tired, and beyond baffles, with some of this Fandom. Do better. Be better people. Massive eye roll on this childish post.

Lesson to learn: Their lives are none of our fucking business. They give us so much of themselves already. To us. And what do some of us give them in return? Lies. Your narratives. Insults thrown at their wives and families. All this on a public forum!! That's cyberbullying. And it's cowardly, childish & leads to nothing but trouble.

J2 are brothers for life. I said what I said.

[atopvisenyashill]

sort of tangential to what you've been posting, but idt rhaenyra/jace or anya waynwood/her sons are special cases. arys oakheart's mother is a ruling lady and the wiki makes clear he's her youngest son, so surely his bros, esp the heir, have the oakheart name too. we also see this in the hornwood crisis, where one of the tallharts is married to the late lord's sister and offers to have one of his sons take the hornwood name to inherit his hornwood mother's old home. and there's harry the heir, with the arryn sigil in his personal arms and being called "the young falcon", i'd say there's a clear intention for him to take his grandmother's maiden name to inherit the arryn lands and titles if sweetrobin dies. that's the only way these old houses can survive with the same name for thousands of years, even when a lady isn't put in charge, a female-line male heir must use the name going with the titles he's taking. (see also, king joffrey lannister, who was not born a lannister but took his wife's name when she was her father's last surviving child. or the bael the bard story where a wildling's bastard inherited through his mother and took the stark name.)

definitely a fair point. part of my fixation is more

first names - because these are typically the "man's domain" even when the woman is an heiress (like Rhaenyra's boys for example) and i think it's wildly fascinating to analyze that aspect.

a sort of forced, idk, feminization i guess? of these fathers - when we have an heiress, we get characters who only think of their mothers (doran, arys) in a way that ned only thinks of his father and i find this pattern really fascinating in what it says about How The Family Operates

i mean...the thing is that "Andal Law" is really only like "Andal Tradition" and even then, "Andal Tradition" is more like a guide line than a strict rule and I think its interesting what cultures treat it more like a rule and what cultures treat it as a guide line. I think it's interesting how the North gets really fucking touchy about how they swore a vow to Rhaenyra, and then cause a massive succession issue with a string of unworthy heirs usurping their likely much more worthy and much more prepared aunts and cousins, because partaking in some borderline incest is lichrally better than a woman being in charge (god forbid). But then you have the Vale, which for some reason regularly has female line heirs with absolutely no issues or usurptions and I think it's really fascinating to think about why especially with the North having so many female line heirs in the "current" era (because all the men are dead). It's similar but different to the aftermath of the Dance - whereas the Dance had a rule by widows, the North will simply be ruled by heiress' taking up their father's seats after their brother's and cousins have died.

Also (imo) different when it comes to Valyrian husbands marrying heiresses because of the Valyrian supremacy thing as well as Jacaerys walking a very fine line here between claiming and overclaiming the Velaryons when he has no actual blood relation to them. As you say, there's probably plenty of second born sons or lower born husbands who are happy to take their wives' names if it means they get access to more privilege (I know Genna takes Emmon's name, obviously, as do their kids, but we see Emmon is more than willing to take a backseat to Genna's politicking if it will benefit him. I mean, that's the point of marriage, is to gain access to more stability or privilege, after all! Pride only lasts so long in the face of jealousy or even hunger!) but Daemon isn't exactly a normal second son and then there's the added issue of Rhaenyra being crown princess.