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im-subtextsexual · 2 days

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I’m glad so many people picked up on the vibes between Eloise and Cressida. Not a ship I ever considered before, but the tension was palpable. I’ve been a Queer Eloise truther since reading the books. Her portrayal on the show only made it more obvious in my mind. I didn’t think the writers would ever go there, but the set up is just so explicit, now I’m not sure. I don’t think they’d actually make Eloise / Cressida canon, but I do think they’re testing the waters for wlw Eloise. And it makes perfect sense.

First off, the character is queer (I’ll hold off from labeling her a lesbian outright, because there’s definitely room for other identities like bi, demi, ace…. etc.) Even in the books. I legitimately think Julia Quinn accidentally wrote a sapphic character and then didn’t know what to do with her. So what we got is “To Sir Phillip, With Love”, widely considered to be one of the worst in the series. Believe me, if there’s any story that could stand to deviate from the books, it’s this one. And the story could so easily be adapted to a wlw romance, it would be a wasted opportunity not to do it. Like… the story would be better if they tweaked it to fit a queer canon. AND it could be done in a historically accurate way to shut up the naysayers that “a lesbian storyline wouldn’t fit in this universe.” How? Allow me to explain.

*SPOILERS FOR BRIDGERTON SERIES BOOK 5*

In the book, Eloise strikes up a correspondence with Sir Phillip Crane. Yes, THAT Phillip, the one currently married to Marina from season 1&2. Marina kills herself because she can’t stand to be married to Phillip and deal with their children in the wake of her lover / his brother’s death. His initial interest in Eloise is to find a mother for his children. She is intrigued by his intelligence and decides she doesn't want to be alone, but isn’t necessarily eager to marry or have a family. Due to romance novel shenanigans, she runs away to Phillip's house and is forced to marry him. Even as they grow to kind of love each other, it's far from some grand romance. It’s the very definition of “settling”. The most interesting part is the narrative structure of their story being told through letters in the beginning. We could keep all that, but make it gay.

*Imagine*

Eloise meets some dapper gentlemen new to the marriage mart. We’ll call him Emmett. Very little is known about Emmett and his family as they keep largely to themselves at their estate in the countryside. The only thing that’s widely known is the family suffered a tragic accident where the man of the house and his oldest daughter died, leaving his son (the other twin) to take on the responsibility of rank and title very early. Emmet is making a rare appearance in London to find a wife (there are rumors of stipulations in his inheritance requiring a match). ALL the debutantes are fawning over him because he’s mysterious and extraordinarily good-looking. One might even say “pretty”… To everyone’s great surprise the season’s most eligible bachelor takes a special interest in Eloise after overhearing her talking about her disdain for the social convention of marriage, and how she would only consider it if it were an in-name-only, marriage of convenience. Emmett strikes up a conversation with Eloise and she is taken by his humor, wit and shockingly deep empathy for the limitations society puts on women. They continue to gravitate to each other through the first few events of the season, but Emmett has to return home suddenly because of a family emergency. Eloise is shocked to find herself disappointed, but they promise to write. Cue the correspondence romance.

Eloise grows more and more smitten with Emmett every letter she receives, but still has the same reservations about marriage especially when she thinks of the intimacy a relationship like that would require. When Emmett hints that he may want more than friendship, Eloise's feelings get the better of her and she goes to visit Emmett unannounced. He is shocked to see her, but let's her stay and she gets to know his mother and two younger sisters. The Bridgertons go looking for Eloise, worried something has happened to her. When she is found to have been staying for days in an unwed man's home without a chaperone, the potential scandal causes Anthony to force Eloise and Emmett to marry. Surprisingly, Emmett actually agrees so Eloise does too (all of this is essentially what happens in the book).

Eloise confesses to Emmett that she's nervous/resistant to physical intimacy, but he assures her they never have to be together that way. In fact, he would prefer the marriage of convenience they always talked about. Eloise is relieved until their kiss at the wedding sparks an attraction she wasn't expecting. They spend the first month or so of their marriage sleeping in separate rooms, enjoying each other's company, and letting the tension build. One night, Eloise's control and curiosity finally snaps and she goes to Emmett's room to initiate a physical relationship. She catches Emmett off guard in his sleeping clothes which makes it VERY clear... Emmett is a woman (cliffhanger of episode 4, and where we deviate from book canon to make it queer).

After the initial shock, Eloise allows her new "husband" to explain. Emmett is really Emma, the daughter believed to have died in a carriage accident with her father so many years ago. It was her twin brother that actually died, but since there were no other male heirs, Emma's family fortune would have gone to a distant uncle who is cruel and abusive. To save them of that fate, Emma's mother conspired with the local coroner to make it look like Emma was the one who died, so "Emmett" could inherit everything. Emma has been living as Emmett ever since, successfully keeping up the deception by keeping a low profile in society. The only reason Emma came to London that year is because her uncle died, and a cousin had come around asking questions hoping to inherit. She thought getting married would help secure her identity as Emmett and the cousin would back off. At first Eloise is outraged. She feels betrayed by Emma's duplicity, and is terrified if any of this ever got out everyone they know would be ruined forever. She agrees to keep the secret to save her family's reputation, but shuns Emma. Eventually, Emma (already aware that she's in love with Eloise) attempts to make amends and Eloise is charmed enough that she relaxes back into the relationship they had before the Big Reveal. The only problem is the attraction is still there, even more so now that Eloise knows the truth. Things come to a head, and they go at it Bridgerton style.

Emma and Eloise live happily in a true marriage for a bit until Cressida and Penelope come for a visit. They both find out about Emma, but are sworn to secrecy. Pen easily swears her loyalty (having already suspected Eloise), but Cressida is sickened. In a rage, she threatens to out them all, and storms back to London. Eloise follows her and begs Cressida to keep the secret, and tries to explain why the "wrong" feelings she has for Emma are very right for her. To Eloise's surprise, Cressida isn't upset about what she's doing with Emma, but who she's doing it with. She didn't know what they're doing was an option; that she was an option. Cressida confesses that if she'd known a life with Eloise was a choice she could make, it's the life she would have chosen. Eloise lets Cressida down easy by explaining they didn't have that choice. Everyone in the ton knows who they are. The only reason her relationship with Emma works is because of the ruse that allows Emma to be Emmett. Cressida takes this in stride, and vows to keep the secret, but her mother overhears and causes the biggest scandal London Society has ever seen.

The Bridgertons and a few friends (like Lady Danbury) are as understanding as possible, but the rest of the ton is rabid. Things escalate to the point where Emma and Eloise have to appear before the Queen. Emma pleads her case about pretending to save her family, and insists that Eloise didn't know until well after they were married so she's innocent. Eloise can't help herself and gets on her soapbox about the way society limits women, and that the Queen should understand their plight. Shockingly, she does. She annuls their "marriage" (because they didn't consummate anything... RIGHT?!) but she agrees to let Emma control her family's estate until one of her sisters produces a male heir. After that, she and Eloise will receive a pension from the Crown so they can live independently (the real Queen Charlotte actually did this for suspected historical sapphic couple The Ladies of Llangollen). Since Emma and Eloise would never be able to find husbands now, they decide that they'll just be two spinsters growing old together in their house in the countryside. You know... just two gal pals. No one believes that shit, but they rarely interact with the ton, so they're largely left alone to live as they please.

Happy ending, close to canon, historically accurate, and super gay. It's not that hard. You're welcome.

#did i really just fanfic a whole season of Bridgerton to prove a point?#of course i did!#GIVE ME WHAT I WANT!!!#bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #cressida cowper #creloise #eloise x cressida

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 day

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Guileless

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, dejection, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Masterlist

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: thanks to those who waited on this one!.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

It should be the happiest time in your life. You should be elated, and yet, as ever it is, every victory precedes a treacherous defeat. A proposal one day, and despair the next. That nipping of doom in your gut, that ever present doubt, is made certain by the passage of time. It has been much too long.

You sit in the pews, throat tight as you keep your chin locked. You breathe slowly, as if too sudden an intake might unleash the tempest brewing inside of you. It is more than nerves, you know it, that sicken you so. You should be happy for your pending nuptials but you are only horrified at the thought.

The bishop reads out the banns before the rows; the first for yourself, the third for your sister. She will be permitted to wed and your mother has presided over much of planning already. You dip your head as your name rings out beside Lord Odinson’s and you swallow back a swell of bile. You’ve been gulping down your own stomach for much of the morning, ever since you caught a whiff of pickled shallots in passing the kitchens.

You push your head up and your hand down to your lap, knowing you will be observed. You must at least look certain of your fate. You must sit proud for the engagement all would put into question. For the time until it shall all dissolve, you must play your part.

You can barely keep from wilting where you are. A prudent woman might bite her tongue. She may commit to the theatre of it all. She might lie and get away with the folly. You glance over at Lord Odinson, just across the aisle, and you know you cannot. It isn’t one lie, it’s a lifetimes’ worth of betrayal.

Yet how should you tell it? It isn’t only him who must know. Your father would need good reason why you’d rather the convent to a proper marriage. You will be ruined but you could not put that stain upon the only person who was ever kind to you. Lord Odinson deserves an honest wife and a child of his own.

Your insides sour and you nearly spasm as you fight the tide of nausea, brought upon by more than your forsaken condition. Your eyes trail away from your betrothed to another man bound in promise. Lord Rogers sits with your sister, as ever, and she leans on him shamelessly, even beneath the Lord’s rafters.

She would deny it. She would laugh in your face should you ever reveal the absolute truth. No, you must confess the sin as your own and that alone. You will not name the culprit for they would they never believe you and he would never admit it himself.

Yet, you know that the Duke Rogers will ever be triumphant in knowing that he has brought the monstrous giant to her knees. You are his Goliath, the vile retched creature he has slain in his valour. He will be hero and you be the villain.

💟

You hand the letter to the carrier just before noon. You don’t expect an audience to be granted until the next morning at earliest. Lord Odinson is a busy man; an ambassador in much demand between the house and society. Even his betrothed must request his presence.

The cart rattles through the gates and you watch it fade off into the grim horizon. The winter bites in the air, adding to the chill in your bones. That coldness that freeze over your heart. You must be strong now, as strong as the valkyrie he misnamed you as.

When you go to Lord Odinson, you will bring the crown to him. You will hand it back and admit your tainted stature to him. You will show him how truly small you are.

At least, that is what you intend. You may prove yourself weak as ever. However it should unfold, this engagement cannot persist.

“A day! A day and I shall call you husband,” Cora’s shrill tone greets you as you come through the front doors. She is in the sitting room with Lord Rogers. Your mother continues to fawn over the last-minute details for their wedding. “Isn’t it very exciting, my lord?”

“And I shall call you wife.”

“And Duchess,” she preens with a trilling laugh, “oh, how elaborate I shall be.”

“My Athena,” Rogers drones back, “my goddess, my beloved.”

“Oh, how darling,” your mother preens over them, “it shall be resplendent. I’ve made certain the cake will be exactly as you like it, dearie. The cook has even procured some citrus for the lemonade.”

The mention of lemonade makes you shrivel. You recall the sunny day when Lord Rogers spoke to you over a weeping beverage. As you fell for that virulent charm. And all that came after.

You peer at the grim windows and frown. How everything does change so quickly. Happiness is fleeting and yet disappointment comes as a chronic plight. You will never know a day without shame.

You flit off without notice. Your heart rents at the thought that you will not have the same fervour. You will not sit and plan your own wedding with Lord Odinson. All your fanciful dreams have evaporated. It is one thing to put a mask on, to pretend as virgin, but you could never foist a bastard upon the kind man who has shown you a taste happiness. You will be certain to thank him for all he’s done but you will not spit in his face.

As you get to the bedroom doors, your stomach churns violently and you burst through, not stopping as you rush to the pot and fall to your knees. You wretch into it as your body contracts painfully. You empty your stomach until you are panting and hollow.

“Sister,” Alina startles you as she rolls to the edge of the bed, a novel in hand, “is it a winter ague?”

“I...” you shakily wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, “I believe so.”

That lie alone singes your tongue like a brand. Your eyes well with tears and you flick them away with your lashes. You sit back on your heels and heave out a pungent breath.

“Oh, how awful, and just before the wedding,” she sits up and shuts the novel. “Let us pray it passes quickly. You needn’t delay your own nuptials.”

“Mm, no, that wouldn’t be...” you let the sentence tail off and you stand, taking the pot with you, “I’ll dump it before it can stink.”

“If you are unwell, call for the maid.”

“No, it is fine,” you insist, “I didn’t mean to disturb your reading.”

“You didn’t,” she insists. “What’s the matter, sissie? You hardly seem a lady about to marry.”

“I...” you croak, “it is the ague, that’s all.”

“Mm, perhaps Lord Odinson might offer some comfort should it get any worse. He does seem the character,” she offers.

“Or perhaps he is better to stay away. You as well, should it pass onto anyone else,” you hold the pot to your stomach and turn, carrying it out without another word. Albina huffs and falls back onto the bed, the flutter of pages following shortly after.

You descend and keep along the wall, passing through the kitchens and beyond the servants’ quarters to the rear of the manse. You come out into the crisp air and overturn the pot well away from the house. A wave of dizziness washes over you, silver spots dotting your vision. Perhaps it is an ague. Oh how you wish it were.

You set the pot down as you grasp at some stability. You stand and wipe your clammy forehead. Your hand drifts down to your bodice and you let it venture further. You try to feel your stomach through the layers. It is tauter than it once was but no rounder. Not as yet.

You sit on a low stump, the seat the stabler uses to shoe the horses. You let the frigid air seep through your dress and stare at the grey clouds that blot out the sun. You hold your chin, elbows on your legs, hunched over as you let the stagnancy of that moment swallow you.

For a moment, you believe that you can make time stand still. That you might stretch on this fantasy a little longer. That a single second might be spent into an eternity. You shake your head and close your eyes as your cheeks tingle with the cold.

You try to picture the convent. You imagine dark halls and darker mornings. Prayers and repentance filling the days and keeping wakeless the nights. Would the nuns even accept a ruined soul like yours?

“Miss,” Mary, the broom girl, stands along the path back to the house, “you have a caller.”

You sit up and blink, a caller? How long have you been there? You shiver and rise, towering over the young servant like the mottled forest creature of wives tales. You nod and stride past her, rubbing your arms to warm yourself as you return to the house.

It cannot be him. Not already. You’re not prepared. It has been all you can think of and yet you are wholly unready for it.

You carry on inside and come into the main hall. Lord Odinson waits, your mother chittering at his elbow as Lord Rogers and Cora stand in the archway to the west wing.

“You will be at the wedding tomorrow? We did not receive your response sir,” your mother pleads as she tugs his sleeve.

“Ah, yes, did I not give it?” Odinson says coolly, “certainly I will come with some Asgardian ale to christen the blissful newlyweds.”

“And we thank you for such generosity,” Cora coos.

“I’m certain refreshments will be plenty,” Lord Rogers deflects.

“Ah,” Lord Odinson’s attention is drawn by your emergence from behind the staircase, “my valkyrie, you called for me and I am here.”

“I... you have come so... swiftly,” you remark, your voice teetering.

“Of course,” he assures as he crosses the polished floor, “as ever I will for my beloved.” He approaches and takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles, “you are like ice,” he feels your hands and covers them with his gloved ones, “are you ill?”

“No, uh, yes, no,” you stammer, “sir, I only meant... I only thought to speak with you.”

“I do cherish the tenor of your sweet voice, lady, I would ride so fast as I might to hear it,” he assures.

“You rode... all this way, my lord?”

“I do prefer to be in a saddle,” he affirms, “so, shall we converse? Perhaps we might have some tea to warm you, my valkyrie.”

“Please,” you cringe, wishing he would quit his honeyed words, “I do not require it. Perhaps somewhere private...”

“With chaperone of course,” your mother insists. You blanch but do your best not to show your unease. “Pollo! Pollo!” She claps, “forgive me I will not be able to do so myself as I have much to attend to for the morrow, but we have a groom here... Pollo!”

She cries out and the dark-haired man appears. The old groom has a round belly and wine-reddened cheeks. He doesn’t speak more than Italian but he is steadfast in his service. Your mother bids him, pointing at you, then shoos him with a flick of her fingers.

He shrugs and bows his head, nearing you and the duke. You peer over at your sister and Lord Rogers as they watch. The former stares at your betrothed as he clings still to your hands and the latter narrows his eyes in your direction. Just the sight of him makes you even more sick than before. Of any, he cannot know though you expect should Cora find out, it will not be a secret.

“The sun room, perhaps,” Odinson suggests.

“As you wish,” you agree.

He offers his arms and you accept it. He guides you along, well-acquainted to the halls already, and takes you around to the sun room. The curtains are closed and the space is dim with the shadow of winter. The groom claims the armchair in the corner, making it groan with his weight, as another servant follows to light a lamp and put flint to the fireplace.

When all is lit, you detach from Odinson and retreat from him. You mash your hands together and sway, spinning back to face him as he watches you intently. He seems unbothered by the spontaneity of it all.

“You missed me? I have longed to see you again,” he beams.

“Please,” you show your palms, “please, I... we must speak.”

“Of? Name anything and it shall be yours. As my wife, you will never want for anything, valkyrie.”

You wince as if struck. You drop your arms and your head. You stalk over to the bench that looks toward the window and sit, slumped forward as you shake your head. He approaches as he lets out a long exhale. He sits beside you.

“Something is amiss. Forgive me for making light, I came upon mistaken sentiment,” his voice is grave, “you have something to say and I must listen. As ever, I am the storm but these winds have calmed.”

You rock and another hot tinge settles behind your eyes. You roll them up and sit straight. You crane to see over your shoulder. Rollo’s eyes are closed as he’s halfway to sleeping. It is propriety alone that has him sat in that chair.

You look ahead once more, “I cannot marry you.”

He sucks in air and snorts, “what?”

“I cannot—it cannot—I'm sorry, Lord Odinson.”

“Why ever should you change your mind? The banns are read and will be again,” he touches your arm and you shy away.

“You deserve... better.”

“I deserve you,” he insists.

“Please, sir, let me find the words,” you beg touch your temples as you try to rein in your wits. You close your eyes and shudder.

“You are cold still, perhaps you might move closer to the fire--”

“It hardly matters,” you lower your hands and clutch them tight.

You make yourself look at him. You must. He warrants at least the truth told to his face and not the floor. His blue eyes twinkle as his usually bright face is stern.

“I am...” you take a breath and struggle to let it back out as the words burn the tip of your tongue, “I... am with... child.”

You choke out the last word and nearly faint. You stare at him, waiting for him to explode. You mightn’t even have a say in who knows should he speak too loudly. His eyes search yours and he blinks. He turns his face down and looks at his lap, gripping his thighs as he nods and hums.

“That’s wonderful,” he says.

“Pardon?”

“Yes, it’s wonderful. We’ll have a child.”

“Sir, I—we haven’t... it is another man’s,” you feel as if you shouldn’t have to explain this.

“Why certainly he put it there, yes, but I would claim it,” he faces you again.

Your eyes round, “why should you do that? That isn’t... proper. I am not proper, sir. I am telling you that I have been... corrupted. I should never have said yes.”

“But you did.”

“You needn’t-- it isn’t fair.”

“Perhaps it isn’t fair that you should have to carry the cad’s seed,” he agrees, “for any many who would lay with a lady and not seek her hand, well, he can be nothing else.”

You’re quiet as disbelief clouds around you. He can’t possibly mean it. He must be in shock. Certainly, he wouldn’t just accept another’s child.

“Sir, you shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t do this. I am releasing you.”

“I don’t want to be released,” he says sullenly.

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask.

“I meant all I said to you, from the first breath, my valkyrie,” he proclaims. “And I mean it still.”

“But, sir, you cannot—I cannot live with myself--”

“You are honourable. Honest. You have told me this when you did not need to. When you could’ve claimed an early birth, when you could have kept quiet, yet you did not. That says more than a fleeting tryst. For that’s what it was, yes? Or do you lay with this man still?”

You shake your head and look down at your fingers as you twists them until they hurt, “just once. Only once. It was... unplanned. It wasn’t...” your voice cracks.

His chest inflates with a sonorous breath, “did you want it?”

“Pardon?” You murmur.

“Unplanned... did you... was it... your tryst, was it willing?”

You put your fist to your mouth and sob. You can’t say it. You won’t. You replay it in your head every night and you think of how you told him to stop and yet you did not stop him. You should have fought more. You should have screamed.

“I didn’t make him stop,” you eke around your hand.

“Make him? Did you ask him to begin?”

“Please, sir, I cannot—please just end this and I will ask my father for the convent once more. I cannot bring this shame on you.”

“Shame? Shame is the man, if I should call him that, who has done this,” he snarls and reaches for you, taking your hand. “I swore you would be my wife and I will hold to that. As you swore to be my wife. We will see the altar together. As one.”

“You do not have to--”

“I want to,” he growls and you look up at his angry face. You’ve never seen such fury in him. “I have never done anything but by my own whim and will not change that now.”

“You are too nice, sir. Too nice, I cannot ask it--”

“Who?” He sneers.

“Sir?”

“Who has done this to you?”

“I cannot--”

“I should know.”

“No, please, I wouldn’t-- it would be my ruin--”

“No, it would be his and you protect him still, so tell me.”

“No, no I will not. That I cannot tell you, sir. To say it would defeat me completely.”

He sighs into a snarls and lowers his chin. He sounds like a simmering bull, readying for the charge. You tug on your hand but he will not release you. You relent and let him cling to you.

Silence, suffocating and still.

“My brother was an orphan. We took him in when he was young. He is a duke, same as me, now,” he declares as he squares his posture. “You wouldn’t know the difference. And I won’t. Not between this child and our next.”

“Sir, surely--”

“We are to have a child,” he says, “that is happy news and I thank you for bringing me here to hear it.” He pets your hand and leans his arm against yours. He brings your fingers up to your mouth and kisses them, “one day, I will know who the culprit is and on that, I will surely split his skull. Not for his bastard, for that child has no sin, but for your honour, lady. For my wife’s honour.”

💟

Cora’s wedding to Lord Rogers culminates in a grand luncheon. The bride is a beautiful mist of tears as she accepts the well wishes of her guests. She basks in the attention as you gladly languish in the shadows.

Despite Lord Odinson’s unexpected and reassuring reaction, you’re still uncertain. You don’t know if he’s keeping a good face on until he knows how to act, perhaps renegs his grace, or if you might come to pay for your discretion later in your union. You’re prepared to meet your atonement, however it comes.

As you sit for the meal, the chair beside you is claimed almost at once. Your betrothed has appeared throughout the event but you’ve hardly been at his side. Each time you see him, his eyes skim the crowd as if he can see right through every one of them. Yet, when he looks at you, you feel only warmth. You don’t understand how he can look at you as such.

“How do you fare, today, my valkyrie?” He asks as he straightens his cravat, “you look well.”

“Good, I think.”

“Glad to hear it,” he raises his glass for a servant to fill it with sherry. You opt for lemon water, as much as your tumultuous stomach can handle.

“I thought we might have our own reception at Nine Pillars,” he suggests.

“I would like that,” you agree, your eyes drifting beyond him, to your father’s gardens, where... “whatever you may offer, I will be grateful for.”

“Mighty valkyrie, full of grace,” he praises and reaches for a platter, “ooh, they have some sweet ham here with pineapple.”

He takes a helping and puts it on your plate. You smell the tangy fruit and the underline savoury waft of the meat. You lurch and grasp the edge of the table. You give a panicked look to Odinson as he peers down at the food. He switches your plates out swiftly.

“Tell me, what are you in the mind for then?” He leans in so his arm touches yours as you sip from the lemon water to quell your stomach. “Valkyrie, give me your command and I will obey.”

You give him a coy grin, “you can be so silly.”

“Silly. Mad. All for love,” he assures you.

“Is their anything dry?” You ask, “bread, perhaps.”

“Sourdough,” he reaches to take the basket as others help themselves to the spread.

“I’ll have some of that.”

“With marmalade?” He offers.

“No,” your face pinches at the thought, “no, bread will do.”

You blink and shake of another tide of sickness. As you do, your eyes meet another pair further down the table, amid the rabble of voices. Lord Rogers tilts his head as Cora tugs on his sleeve and giggles up at the couple behind them. He hardly seems to notice as he stares you down.

You go rigid and quickly look away. You touch Odinson’s arm to keep from panicking. He looks at you, then down the table. He doesn’t say anything, merely carves off a chunk of bread for you.

You pick away at the hard crust and the dry spongey inside. You take small bites, cautious of upsetting your volatile stomach. The afternoon wears on, course after course, and you avoid those dishes which threaten to overthrow your restraint.

At last, the cake is serves, a tiered sponge with cream and fruit and candied sugar spun in a facsimile fountain atop it. It’s splended and beautiful. The couple are served first as they smiles in delight. The doling out of servings takes some time as guests wait patiently for their turn and the cake is pushed on a cart from chair to chair.

When it comes your turn, your name rises over the crowd. You sit up and glance over, relieved at least not to watch the layers of custard and cake hit your plate. Lord Rogers has his hand on the back of his wife’s chair.

“And how do you like the dessert? I believe you’ve been saving space for it all day, eh?” He chirps.

You angle your head in confusion. You look down then at Odinson who sits a little taller as he leans forward.

“You’ve hardly indulged, so I hope you might show your support and delight in this delectable dessert,” Rogers taunts. “A wedding is no place for a sour face.”

Your lips part. You’re stunned. How could he be so bold as to call you out? Among all his guests and he must torment you. Was one night not enough. Your whole life as his violation thrives within your womb. Lord Odinson subtly touches your elbows.

“I am most happy for you and my sister,” you rebuff, “and you are correct, I’ve been in much anticipation for dessert.”

You take your fork and scoop up a heaping mouthful. You smile at it even as your insides rage. You make yourself taste it. It’s so sweet and smooth and wonderful, but your stomach mulches as if it is rubbish. Your cheeks tremble and you swallow, nearly gagging.

“To you, sir, and my sister, Cora, I wish a happy marriage,” you force out as you hide your mouth behind a handkerchief.

“To the happy couple,” Lord Odinson raises his glass and the table erupts, at once, the attention shifted back to them.

You brace his arm and squeeze. You fight but you cannot withhold the uproar within. You stand and rush away, frantically searching for somewhere to hide and spew your guts.

💟

The days overcome your doubts. The weeks come with more affectations; your sickness ebbs and flows and the temperature feels at times hotter then colder, swaying back forth, while some moments you spend with a throbbing head and pulsing feet. The most obvious symptom of your condition is the tightness of your stay. Soon, you will be showing more than you like, but for now, loosened laces can ease your discomfort.

Your wedding day fast approaches. Time does seem to defy any human whim. You wish it would slow so you could catch your breath. Much like your husband-to-be who has yet to falter in his affections.

You sit before the mirror with the grown of silver petals in your lap. There is one still bent from Cora’s envy but you will keep it to the back of your head. You will wear it as proudly as that night Lord Odinson gifted it to you. You hope for the day you might both forget all else.

If it is to be. If he is at the altar waiting still.

Albina and Hannah take the crown from you and secure it among your styled locks. Albina smiles at your reflection as Hannah jabs you with a pin. You nervously wring your hands as you admire the lavender shade of your gown. You wish you’d had more of it, that you hadn’t needed to trim it in ivory to make up for your height. Still, it is beautiful and the nicest dress you’ve ever worn.

“Are you nervous?” Albina asks.

“Suppose,” you admit and lift your chin, “very, truly.” Though not for the reason she might think.

“Lord Odinson is kind. He should be gentle,” Hannah says.

Your cheeks tinge at her suggestion, “sister.”

“Well, it is what we are all thinking, isn’t it?” She shrugs.

“I hope I do not find a husband so soon,” Albina adds, “I would like to enjoy my books a little longer.”

“You might take on the spinster’s mantel then,” Hannah snipes.

“It shouldn’t be so bad,” you murmur. “Every woman must do it. Eventually. It cannot be so horrible.”

You lower your head again, trying to hide the emotion battling in your chest. It was bad, that first time. Lord Rogers hadn’t been kind at all. Would Lord Odinson be any different? For Rogers seemed kind at first glance only to be cruel upon touch.

What if you husband did not want to meet his duty? What if he could not knowing you had lain with another? You would not blame him and without consummation, he might still turn you away.

“Cora said it was more painful than anything she’s ever felt,” Hannah undercuts your dread. “Though she still loves her husband well.”

“You shouldn’t speak of that,” you gird.

“Why not? Won’t you tell us how it is so we may be ready?” She challenges.

“I... I... It’s rather strange to speak of it.”

“You are strange,” Hannah retorts with a huff.

“But pretty,” Albina chimes, “look at you, sissie. You truly look like a queen in that crown.”

You meet the gaze of your reflection. You do look better than you ever have before. You wonder if they notice the new fullness in your cheeks. If they do, they don’t mention it. You take a deep breath.

“I shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer,” you stand.

If you wait any longer, you might lose your nerve.

The bishop waits in the grand hall of Nine Pillars as you emerge from the rooms allotted for your preparations. The crowd stands among the columns and hushes as you appear at the end of the hall. You face the clergy man and for an instant, your heart dangles precariously, ready to plummet.

Where is Lord Odinson?

His golden head pops up beside the bishop and he fixes the flower tucked into his lapel. His long blond hair is draw back as a scarlet bow holds it back, its ears peeking out behind his nape. He is smiling as he pauses and his eyes meet yours across the space.

You can see even from there how his features slacken and for a moment, you are breathless. He looks as stricken. You put one foot down and let your long legs carry you.

All your doubts float away. The faces around you haze together and the world crumbles to dust. It's only you and that man.

💟

The ceremony gives way to a soiree, bodies clustered together, partners dancing, and you among them. Your husband, a husband, has your hand in his as he leads you in the steps. This man, this wonderful forgiving man you vowed yourself too nearly sweeps you off your feet, a sensation you've never known before.

Your cheer blooms from you as his cheeks flush in his excess. He barely pauses to receive kind words from his guest. His elation is contagious. It gives no way to your fears.

"Do you know what I thought upon the altar, beautiful valkyrie," he purrs, "I nearly fell upon my knees even."

"What?" You smile, glowing up at him.

"That the gods did bless me. That you must be sent from them, a gift to me, mere mortal."

You can't help but pat his chest, "you flatter."

"You are too modest," he guides you along, "you are a statue come too life, art in the flesh."

"My husband... you words are too sweet."

"I know, I know, the wedding night is still ahead of us, I do run too fast," he chuckles, "but how can I help the anticipation?

Your lashes flick and giggle, "husband."

"That word has never sounded sweeter," he grins, "but a sweeter noise might be my own name. Say it for me, valkyrie."

Your cheeks burn hot, "Thor?"

"Delicious," he growls nearly baring his teeth, "and I shall savour every sound you make. Every moan and mewl. Every breath and laugh. Just as every part of you."

It's too good to be true. You deign to let yourself feel it all but you must. If even only for tonight. If only for the next moment. You will have a morsel of happiness if it's all you have to chew on for the rest of your life.

💟

The night wears on and so do you. Your feet ache, as does most of you, and your voice is raw from laughing and talking. It is the first that you ever spent an event not along the wall or hiding in some shadow. It is a night all your own, or so your husband has made it feel.

Yet, he does not tire. Not as quickly. As he booms and bawls to the amusement of all, you cling to his arm and repress a yawn. You will not spoil his fun, you will persist.

Still, you cannot ignore all urges of your humanity. You press a hand to his sleeve and excuse yourself, promising to return. Your husband pauses to bid you not be long and you're further abashed at his attention.

You flit off to find the privy. You've been several times over the day. Your bladder swells no matter how little you drink. As you progress, you find your body is contradictory to your mind.

You venture down the corridor and sweep into the room. Once relieved, you emerge feeling lighter but no less tired. The silent desolation of the corridor rather makes your exhaustion all the more potent.

You turn towards the statue of a warrior, you recognise it, it is the means by which you've found your way. Before you can pass it, a figure appears from behind it and you falter in your slippers.

You gasp and ball your hands, the man before you sending a ripple of horror through you as he smirks at your surprise. Lord Rogers' cheek dimples as he quorks his head like a cynical crow.

"You are ever a creature of urges," he muses, "fluttering back and forth as a skittish bird."

"My lord, I... what is the meaning--"

"I'm afraid we've not had much of a chance to speak, have we? The blushing bride is much a titter," he chortles, "she has the gull to giggle like a maiden, even."

"Lord Rogers," you utter, appalled.

"But the sway of her hips do betray her true nature. That which is within her," he sneers, "as does the curdling of her face over any dish that tickles her nose."

"Sir, I know not what you mean--"

"I should laugh truly, to know that another will raise my bastard," he taunts, "that it is him, does entertain me more." He takes a step forward and you back, "so you will be certain to lay with him this night so he may believe he has vigour." He grabs your arms before you can elude him, "you will think of me, won't you, Athena, my fallen goddess? Of how I desecrated your--"

Suddenly, you are staggered. Lord Rogers is swung backward and flung into the statue. There's a roar, tha same noise you would expect of a charging bear, and the flash of scarlet. You watch paralysed as Thor grabs Lord Rogers by his jacket and spins him, throwing him into the other wall.

The smaller of the men, though they are both built well, slides to one knee, his hand on the plaster. The other is quick, wasting not a second before aims a foot into Rogers' stomach. The duke falls backward and is at once straddled beneath the larger.

Thor lays blows upon the other man, hailing down on him like the tempest he claims himself. Your fear overflows and you push through the thick waves. You come forward numbly and pull your husband by the back of his collar.

"Please sir, unhand him."

"You would defend this animal!" He wails down another fist and growls.

"No, no, I would not spare him but I would... I would have my husband not take me to my wedding night with bloodied knuckles. Thor," you pet the back of his head, "let this be a happy day. Please."

He sits back on his heels and puffs out. He looks back at you as you step away. You put your hand to your middle.

"Husband?"

He snarls and spits on Lord Rogers, standing with a huff. You reach for his hand and he takes it. He squeezes as he sends one last kick of his toe to the man on the floor.

"Let me save my strength for you, wife. I certainly would need it."

#thor #steve rogers #thor x reader #dark steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #guileless #mcu #marvel #avengers #captain america #au #regency au

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flowerandblood · 2 days

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (32)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, assassination attempt, misunderstanding, physical violence, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

It seemed to him that it was only when he saw her that he awoke from some kind of half-sleep – as she threw herself into his arms, rejoicing, he remembered with affection how often she had done so when they were children.

He, his mother and his siblings, at the invitation of his uncle, Ormund Hightower, had travelled to the Old Town to visit their relatives and, certainly in his grandfather's eyes, to demonstrate to the Black party the extensive support his elder brother had offered them.

Daeron, his youngest brother, was to stay there under his protection.

He regretted it deeply, for although he was much younger than him, Daeron was a quiet and curious child, just like him; he liked to read to him before sleep about the great dragons and the conquests of their ancestors, sharing his knowledge with him.

However, his mother and father decided that he would receive his education in the Citadel and that he would stay there for many years until he reached the age of maturity.

He did not think it was a good idea to separate him from his family, but he did not dare to oppose his parents' wishes.

Even then he lived in the belief that they were infallible.

He shyly suggested that his betrothed could accompany him, knowing how much she wanted to see the legendary city, and in fact, he felt that her presence by his side would be something he would cherish.

However, his Queen responded to his proposal coldly, saying that Rhaenyra would surely be concerned about her and that she would not be separating the little girl from her mother.

His niece received this news with sadness, however, she beamed at his words that he would bring her some sort of memento from the Old Town.

Indeed, the Hightower family stronghold and the great white tower dominating the entire city made a gigantic impression on him. History beat from the buildings and tenements built of white stone, hundreds of years that had passed since Aegon the Conqueror had set foot there, walking the exact same streets as he had.

He thought sadly that he regretted not having his Rhaenys with him, for she would surely have delighted in everything around him, sharing with him this common joy, giving him the feeling that he was experiencing it all with someone rather than his older brother − he was yawning, bored, looking around only for a place to sit and drink wine after supper.

He might have found the time he spent there enjoyable had it not been for the fact that he felt lonely − despite spending time with his family and finally not having to watch Jace and Luke, he felt neither satisfaction nor contentment as a result.

He thought helplessly, lying alone in bed, that although he had a solitary nature, he had become used to her presence, the warmth she emanated, to the tender, soft embrace of her arms, the sound of her heartbeat under his cheek as he fell asleep.

He realised then, for the first time in his life, that he did not desire to marry her simply because of his father's will.

That he would have wanted to do so even if he had changed his mind.

The door to his chamber opened shortly after he had returned to the Red Keep − she ran through it with a smile wide and sincere, filled with laughter, her eyes shining like rays of sunshine as she was by his side a moment later, enclosing his waist in a tight, tender embrace of her little arms.

He smiled involuntarily under his breath, feeling satisfaction at the thought that she had immediately come to welcome him, which meant that she had missed him as dearly as he had missed her.

Taking advantage of the fact that they were alone, he enveloped her in his arms and cuddled her into him, pressing his face against her vanilla-scented hair.

"− I've missed you so much, uncle −" She muttered, squeezing him tightly, as if trying to melt into one with him.

"− there, there − your husband is by your side now −" He hummed, feeling proud, loved, wanted.

A thought flashed through the back of his mind that he had felt exactly the same then, when she had thrown herself into his arms in Harrenhal, when his hands had lifted her in a gesture of euphoria, when her legs had crossed over his back and their lips had found each other in a deep, lustful kiss from which his cock had swollen all over, slapping impatiently against her abdomen.

He felt like throwing her to the ground, pulling off her breeches and fucking her like a whore.

As it turned out, she shared this desire with him, for as soon as the door of his chamber closed behind them they behaved like animals − he took her as she stood, pressing her against the wall, pounding into her from behind with greedy, deep, impatient thrusts of his hips, her little, tight cunt barely able to fit him in, intensifying his sensation.

He knew he wouldn't last long, his cock was so hard it almost caused him pain.

"− why is it − so big − o-oh, gods −" She mumbled, clearly feeling herself exactly what he did. He licked his lips, watching as he opened her wide again and again with thrusts of his fat erection, her folds glistening in the sunlight from their shared sticky wetness, slick and warm, welcoming him home.

"− and what do you think − fuck, Rhaenys, I'm not going to pull it out of you tonight −" He exhaled, ashamed of his own desperation and what was happening to him, his own helpless groans, the violent, desperate stabs of his hips with which he thrust again and again into the delicate flesh of his beloved wife.

Her scent, her closeness, her sounds were driving him mad.

"− let me, Rhaenys − let me, let me, let me −" He breathed out pleadingly, feeling how wonderfully close his fulfilment was, which after a moment shook his whole body.

He leaned his head forward and parted his lips wide, making indefinable sounds of pleasure and relief as he felt his wife's little cunt clamp down on his cock, sucking his warm seed deep inside her.

He embraced her at the waist, sinking his face into her neck, into her hair, trying to calm the rapid pounding of his heart and his anxious, ragged breathing.

"− Rhaenys −" He whispered, in his tone of voice something like a question and a request at the same time.

"− hm? −"

"− stay wtih me −"

He heard her sigh softly and for a moment he was terrified that she would refuse him, that she would reject him again.

"− I will, my love −" She hummed, and he breathed a sigh of relief, kissing the skin of her neck with tenderness and devotion with his lips swollen with fulfilment.

"− what did you want to convey to me? − your mother has another condition? −" He asked reluctantly, at the same time wanting to focus only on her and wanting to know what the situation was like, whether anything had changed in his absence.

"− I'm carrying your child −"

He felt his heart stop, his healthy eye open wide in shock.

"− what? −" He mumbled.

He felt her take his hand in hers, placing it gently on her lower abdomen.

"− you're going to be a father, uncle −"

He tried to remain composed, but was unable to − a laugh of disbelief and joy left his throat, one he hadn't heard come from his lips in a long time. When her face turned to his he immediately shut her mouth with his, with a caress of his thirsty, wet lips showing her what he felt.

"− Rheanys − oh gods − this must be a dream −"

He became so euphoric that he took her twice more, the third time bringing her to such a state that the bedding had to be changed for fresh ones − he decided he would give the order after they had both rested, not wanting to rouse her from her slumber.

Bare, tired after the journey and the exertion he had forced her to make, filled to the brim with his spend and with his heir in her womb, she fell asleep peacefully in his arms, covered by him with thick furs to keep her from growing cold.

He thought that never before in his life had he loved her as dearly as he did now, although even then it seemed to him that his heart could not house such deep affection.

The thought that he could love her even more terrified him.

As soon as she was awake he ordered that a bath be prepared for them − they were both all sticky with sweat and he thought they could benefit from a moment of relaxation together.

After his servants had done their job and left his chamber they stood up, completely nude and shameless, sinking into the wonderfully warm, fragrant water. He pulled her in behind him and seated her between his thighs, a quiet murmur escaping his throat as her cheek pressed against his chest.

He was content.

He was satisfied.

He was fulfilled.

"− the gods are gracious to us − they support our cause −" He whispered, looking ahead with blank gaze, combing his fingers through her soft hair.

"− I wish to spend the day with you − I will order whatever you desire to be prepared for the supper −" He muttered, taking an unruly strand of her hair from her face, wanting everything to be perfect that day, his proof of how much he cared for her welfare and happiness.

His wife looked at him, her gaze clear and calm, without a shadow of regret.

"− I wish Baela would dine with us −" She murmured, raising her hand to his cheek. He closed his eyelid and pressed his lips together, reminding himself with frustration, though he tried to forget it, that his niece had not arrived in Harrenhal alone.

"− why? −"

"− if it wasn't for her, my mother wouldn't have allowed me to come here − she protected me and our child in the sky −"

He swallowed hard, letting the air out loud, feeling both discomfort and understanding at her words. Now that he knew his wife was with child, he actually appreciated that their cousin had not allowed her to travel alone and that, if only for that, he should show her hospitality.

"− so be it −" He muttered, wanting to end the topic.

"− where is Alys? −" She asked uncertainly, and he felt his heart leap up into his throat, his stomach squeezed into a knot. He ran his hand over his face, trying not to show his nervousness.

"− she is locked in her chamber −"

"− I wish to see her − perhaps tomorrow, when I…−"

No fucking way.

"− no − I spared her because you asked me to, but only for this reason − in return I demand that you do not go near her − she is a dangerous woman −" He said impatiently, all tense, feeling his heart pounding like mad, afraid of what else this hag might tell her.

What else she might lie about.

His wife seemed surprised by his reaction.

"− she helped me − she tried to protect me −" She mumbled out, and he felt something inside him snap.

In her eyes, this whore was flawless, and he was the cause of all their misery.

Was this part of her plan too?

"− she told you that she tried to seduce me behind your back by saying that she would carry my bastard child? − hm? − that prediction she didn't share with you? −" He hissed furiously, however he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth.

He swallowed hard when he saw his niece shake her head as if she didn't understand what he had said, pale, her lower lip beginning to tremble, her eyes wide.

Fuck.

"− it's a lie − she was hoping I'd betray you, that I'd hurt you − I'm convinced this was part of Strong's plan − to distract me, to leave you alone and broken-hearted − the affection I have for you is a hindrance to him −" He explained quickly, raising his hand to her face, stroking her cheek tenderly, all warm with emotion, wanting somehow to soften his words, to make it clear that he had nothing to do with this vision.

That he felt as horrified and disgusted by her words as she did.

A shiver run along his spine as her hand stroked his bare, wet chest.

"− did you speak with her? − after you conquered Harrenhal? −" She mumbled, as if she was in complete shock.

He grunted, twisting in his seat with a quiet splash of water, unsure how to explain this to her without deepening her possible suspicions.

"− yes − I wanted to draw out of her why she did it −" He said.

"− you didn't tell me about her words − you hid it from me −" She said resentfully, her brow furrowed in exactly the same way as when he had told her about what was about to happen in the Eyrie.

He felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck at the thought, his breath stuck in his throat.

"− because that's what she wanted − to plant uncertainty in my heart and yours −"

"− how am I supposed to trust you if every day I find out that there is still something I don't know about? −" She muttered in pain, wanting to lift herself out of the water. He grabbed her waist in a gesture of horror and surprise, forcing her to fall between his thighs again, looking at her in disbelief.

"− if it wasn't for your request, she would already be dead −"

"− only dead will she give you the confidence that you will not do what she prophesied? −"

He let out a loud breath at her words, angry and hurt, feeling the accusation in her question, though when she was not by his side after he had locked Alys in her chamber, he did not devote his thoughts or his fantasies to this woman.

In truth, the fact that she was near, at his fingertips, and he felt no need to see her confirmed his belief that everything she had said was a lie.

Daemon was right.

Just because he perceived her as a fine-looking, perhaps even tempting woman didn't mean he needed or wanted to put his cock inside her.

He wasn't desperate, he wasn't broken because he knew that his wife, his lover, his childhood friend, though furious at him and hurt, though far away from him, had not abandoned him.

This realisation brought him relief because it made him understand that he was not an animal with no control over his instincts, but a thinking man with a will of his own, filled with warm, tender affection for the woman who was now looking at him in pain.

How was he to explain to her that he had been faithful to her not only with his body but also with his heart?

That what he really feared was that he might lose her again, this time forever?

"− do you want to argue over the words of that treacherous whore whose life you yourself asked me to spare? −" He asked at last, heartbroken that she was slipping out of his hands again, that he was losing her again despite the fact that only a moment ago they had been making love, unable to tear themselves away from each other.

Her lips tightened into a thin line out of helplessness.

"− I didn't know −"

"− so you fucking know now −" He growled, losing his temper, filled with rage and regret because she didn't believe him, because she couldn't see how deep his feeling was, even though he tried so hard.

After a while, however, something happened that he did not expect.

His niece burst out crying before his eyes, like a small child hiding her face in her hands.

This sight cooled his anger, bringing him back to earth.

"− shhh − come here −" He whispered, pulling her head towards him, cuddling her face into his chest, locking her into the tight, secure embrace of his arms, and she did not push him away.

They stayed like that for a long moment, not moving, his lips placing a tender, warm kiss on her head once in a while, taking in her scent.

He couldn't be mad at her, his sweet little wife, the mother of his child.

She had given him everything he had ever wanted.

"− no more secrets, Rheanys −" He whispered.

"− you know everything now − I am bare before you, not just with my body − you see me as I am −" He added, staring dully ahead, playing with the wet strands of her hair, contemplating how exposed he was to her, with what ease she could hurt him if she wanted to.

"− when you were not by my side, I had nightmares − I dreamt that you were dying, each time through my fault − I dreamt it because it is what I dread the most − in the years that you have been in Dragonstone a cold, black emptiness has burned in me − I have felt nothing − I have experienced nothing − my mother placed the daughters of the lords under my nose, and all I could think of when I looked at them was that they were not similar enough to you − they couldn't or didn't want to understand my true nature − they didn't see me −"

He muttered, feeling that his words were not coming from his mind, but more from his subconscious, from what lurked in the depths of his heart.

It was everything he had wanted to write to her in response to her letters over the years, but couldn't − every time he wrote those words down on parchment he felt pathetic, weak, small and tore the result of his work to shreds, throwing them into the fire where they burned just like his heavy heart, filled with darkness and pain.

"− I am tired, Rhaenys − I am exhausted − since that night, when I tamed Vhagar, I have had no peace, no rest − only with you, then, in that chamber beneath the Red Keep, when I fell asleep by your side − I −" He sighed, pressing his forehead against hers, unable to properly explain what he wanted to say, what an agony the eight years he had spent separated from her had been for him.

Some part of him believed it would get better, while the other part screamed with rage, regret and disappointment.

He tried to reconcile these two halves with each other, but he couldn't, because they simply didn't fit together.

One of them wanted to kill her, the other wanted to abduct her and take her as his wife.

When she arrived years later in the Red Keep, he was on the verge of madness.

"− I'll speak with her − alone −" She whispered after a moment, and he froze, looking at her in disbelief as she stood up slowly with a splash of water and stepped out of the bath.

He felt the pain of humiliation and regret that now that he had really opened up to her, she seemed not to be listening to him.

An unpleasant shudder of rejection shook his body as he ran his hand over his face, bitter.

"− my words mean nothing to you? −"

"− it's not about you, uncle − I have to do it for myself −"

His words accomplished nothing − his niece demanded that his guards lead her to the chamber of the Witch of Harrenhal, and he agreed, leading her figure away with sad, empty gaze.

He waited for her in a gloomy mood, not even wanting to imagine what this whore might have put into her head.

He covered his face with his hand, swallowing hard at the thought that she could have told her anything − suggested that he had taken her into his bed when he conquered Harrenhal, that he had tried to take her by force, that he had courted her, anything her imagination could bring that would make his wife push him further away.

He thought with rage that he should have killed her when he had the chance.

He shuddered as his wife stepped into his chamber after a period of time that seemed to him to last for hours. He rose from his chair, horrified to see that she had not bestowed a single glance on him, her face expressing nothing.

He watched as she sat behind his desk without a word, feeling his heart pound like mad at the sight of her hands reaching for parchment and quill.

"− what did she tell you? −" He asked coldly.

His wife did not lift her gaze to him, bent over her letter, dipping the tip of her quill in ink.

"The truth. I am writing a letter to my cousin in the Eyrie to accept Alys into his fortress as a medic." She replied calmly, without a trace of regret or anger.

He swallowed loudly, concerned, not knowing what had happened there, what was meant by that enigmatic expression on her face that told him absolutely nothing.

He could not, however, hide his relief at the thought that his wife had regained her reason and wanted to send that treacherous whore away.

"Good." He replied dispassionately.

He paced around the room, looking at her, begging in his mind for her to look at him, to tell him that this woman had confirmed his words, and that she didn't resent him for anything.

His niece, however, as soon as she had placed her letter in the hands of the servant, lay down in his bed saying that she was very tired and wished to rest before supper.

He approached her uncertainly and sat down beside her on the bedding, his hand rising to her shoulder and stroking it in a gentle, affectionate gesture.

"− shouldn't you have a meal now? − surely you are hungry and thirsty after such a long journey −" He asked, feeling that now more than ever he had to look out for her and her well-being, wanting to make sure she was provided with everything she needed.

"− there is no need, uncle − I will wait until evening −" She whispered and closed her eyes, letting him know that she had ended the subject.

He sighed heavily and stood up, sitting down behind his desk, bending over the correspondence he had exchanged with his brother, together trying to find out where Lord Strong had hidden and whether their grandfather had put his hand to his disappearance.

His wife, true to her word, only got up when the servants began to prepare the table for supper; he watched her without saying a word, thinking she looked charming as she did now, sleepy, with her hair in a slight disarray, rubbing her tired eyelids with her hands before asking one of the women to help her get herself in order.

It was a sight meant only for him − her husband.

They waited with the main courses for Baela. When his cousin stepped into his chamber she emanated with joy, a smile of satisfaction on her face that made his stomach twist. He looked away at this sight, frustrated, and sighed heavily.

"Dear cousin. My congratulations. You are going to become a father." She said softly and he only nodded, wanting her to end this feigned courtesy as soon as possible, fill her stomach with food and wine and leave them alone.

Baela took a seat on his left and his wife sat opposite her, on his right. His niece nodded at the servant to begin serving the table − the door to his chamber opened and several young men and women entered with jugs of wine and trays full of food. One of them approached his wife and leaned over her − she nodded, wishing the man would pour her some wine.

The servant filled her cup halfway, as was good custom, she, however, shook her head.

"More." She demanded, leaving him and her cousin in consternation.

"Is that wise? In your condition…" He muttered, wondering if it would be good for their child, but her stern gaze made him close his mouth, recognising that he didn't want to add to both of their frustrations that evening.

As soon as the servant had done his duty his niece raised her cup as if she wanted to make a toast. He assumed she wanted to drink to the health of their yet-to-be-born child and reached for his goblet, however, she pointed her chalice towards the man standing next to her, who looked at her questioningly.

"Drink." She commanded.

The servant smiled shyly at her, as if he did not understand what she expected of him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Drink. To the bottom."

A long, awkward silence fell − he felt his heart stop in his throat, a cold, unpleasant shiver run along his spine.

What?

The boy laughed, shaking his head, clearly nervous and terrified.

"I am not worthy, Your Grace. I would not dare."

"I order you to drink it all to the last drop." She hissed in a voice that did not bear opposition.

The wine was poisoned.

"I can't, Your Grace, I…"

"FUCKING DRINK IT." He growled with rage as he stood up abruptly from the table, looking at him with wide-open eye thinking that if he didn't, he would pour the contents of that cup down his throat himself.

The man shook his head and he pressed his lips into a thin line, moving towards him like an enraged animal.

"Hold him." He threw to his guards, who immediately grabbed the boy by the shoulders, refusing to let him break free despite his terror and cries.

"N-no, Your Grace. I can't drink wine. It affects me badly. I might die." He whined, tears in his eyes, his face pale as if death itself stood before him.

He wanted to poison his wife.

How many other people here were acting on Lord Strong's orders?

He was sure he'd gotten rid of all the rats by recruiting new people to work in the fortress, but as he could see, new ones were appearing anyway.

He should have killed them all.

He smiled at his words in a way at which the boy wept aloud, clearly knowing what awaited him. He took the cup from his niece's hand, who looked at him with parted lips.

The dragon's blood now pulsed through his veins.

Dragons knew no forgiveness.

"I'd love to see this." He sneered, gripping his cheeks in his palm, squeezing his jaw as hard as if he wanted to break it.

The boy cried out loudly as he tilted his head back with a brutal jerk, digging his fingers into the skin of his face forcing him to open his mouth. He grinned as he pressed the cup to his lips, forcibly pouring its entire contents down his throat.

The man began to choke, trickles of wine running from the corners of his mouth down his cheeks. When he thought it was over, he reached for the jug and filled the cup again, repeating the same process. He pressed his lips together when he saw his eyes fill with blood, his skin begin to turn purple, his body shaken by convulsions.

The servant collapsed to the ground, blood and foam beginning to drip from his mouth as if he were some kind of butchered animal, and the only thing he could think of, looking at him wide-eyed, was that this was what his wife could look like, the woman who was carrying his child inside her.

The woman he loved could have died that evening in his arms.

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mattslolita · 2 days

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𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑻𝑶 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻 ( 𝒏. 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒓𝒃! )

✮ ⋆ ˚｡💌 ⋆｡°✮✮ ⋆ ˚｡💌 ⋆｡°✮✮ ⋆ ˚｡💌 ⋆｡°✮✮ ⋆ ˚｡💌 ⋆｡°✮✮ ⋆ ˚｡💌 ⋆｡°✮

since the beginning of his senior year, nick has been receiving love letters in his locker.

he was shocked by it, to say the least — the first one he was gifted was on the second day of school. the untidy scrawl of the handwriting was printed on lined paper, wrapped in a pretty red bow and white envelope. when he first opened his locker, the letter sat on the bottom shelf, pretty as a picture.

his first thought was that it was some kind of prank someone had pulled on him, mostly because of his coming out and the scare that people were making fun of him.

but as the days progressed, the letters didn't stop — and nick had kept every single one of them, cherishing the sweet words written on the lines. after the fourth letter, nick eventually told his brothers about them; they teased him playfully about it at first, but soon they had also become curious as to who was leaving nick the letters.

it was the third semester of senior year now, and the letters hadn't ceased. they were always left in his locker on fridays right before the weekend, which nick found sweet since he'd be thinking about it through the weekend nonstop.

this friday was no exception — nick had forgotten a textbook he needed to study for a quiz over the weekend, which caused him to be walking towards his locker as he groans about the subject.

the dreadhead boy who had been looking out for nick peeks his head around the corner, seeing the sturniolo boy approaching his locker. he watches him put in his combination, the boy biting down on this thumbnail as nick unlocks his locker.

a prettily wrapped letter falls to the floor, and nick steps back and bends down to pick it up, a smile gracing his features as he rubs his thumb along it.

he had always been to shy to properly tell nick that he was the mystery guy, afraid that nick would reject him — he doubted nick even remembered who he was, even though they shared a few classes and even exchanged glances sometimes.

nick's smile grew wider as he read the letter, and a sudden confidence struck the dreadhead boy as he looked over at nick.

if he didn't make his move soon, someone else might.

so he shyly comes out from where he's hiding, beginning to walk towards nick. the sturniolo boy's back is faced towards him, so he doesn't see the brown skinned boy approach him nervously.

as he draws nearer, he catches a whiff of nick's cologne which fills his senses. he delivers a tap to nick's shoulder, causing the blue eyed boy's eyes to widen as he turns around.

"uh...hi?" nick questions, causing the boy to cough awkwardly as he looks at nick, "can i help you?"

"I'm uh, i'm y/n," he introduces himself, bouncing on the heels of his feet, feeling his nerves going crazy. "we share like four classes, i sit towards the front mostly but you sit in the back..."

"yeah, i remember you," nick tells him, causing his eyes to snap up towards nick's in pure shock.

"you...do?" he asks again, and nick nods slowly, a small smile creeping onto his face.

"you're the only one in our econ class who wears glasses," nick says, his cheeks tinging pink as he admits what he noticed about him.

"so you do notice me..." the dreadhead boy says, his eyes twinkling as he smiles, "well that's good to know, since i'm the one who's been writing you those letters."

nick's eyes are now wide with shock as he stares at the boy, his cheeks burning a scarlet hue. "it's you, you write these?"

the boy chuckles and scratches the back of his neck, fixing his glasses on his nose. "yeah. i was always too scared to talk to you face to face."

"so what made you brave enough to now?" nick teases, tilting his head slightly.

"i was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime," he asks nick, his eyes glimmering hopefully, "it's cool if you don't want to, i under-"

"i'd love that," nick interrupts him, his smile widening at the flustered boy in front of him.

"actually?" he asks nick again, causing nick to chuckle and nod his head as he runs a hand through his hair. "can i have your number?"

"definitely," nick says shyly, taking his phone out of his pocket, handing it to y/n.

his hands are shaking slightly as he realizes he's getting the number of the boy of his dreams — after putting his number into his phone, he hands it back to him with a grin, their hands brushing slightly which causes the both of them to smile shyly.

"so um, i'll see you sometime this weekend?" he asks, and nods at this.

"it's a date."

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milqueandsugar · 2 days

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🌼☕` Nicknames `☕🌼

Gen / Fluff, highkey suggestive but nothing explicit

Includes / Alastor , Lucifer , Husk , Vox , Charlie , Vaggie

| ALASTOR |

Darling, Dear and Dearest are his go to, the only names of endearment he uses in public period, even in the hotel its your name and this. On early morning or when he's feeling particularly soft in the sheets it's honey, or my heart. 'My heart' especially after fights, uses alot of possessive language 'My usually coming before any name.

| LUCIFER |

He usually goes for some sort of pun, especially if it's just like a regular day and you guys aren't doing anything. Things like 'whats cooking good lookin' ' or 'what's up, Buttercup?' Very cute and very silly. Besides that he usually defaults to Hun/Hon, or Honey, something just as sweet as you!

| HUSK |

So sad to tell you it's usually just a shorted version of your name, UNLESS he's drinking. He has to he pretty drunk but a few drinks in and he'll pull out Darlin' which is simple, but far far to effective in his sultry voice. Sometimes he uses it when your intimate as a little treat, he knows you go nuts for it, he doesn't get it personally but he does love the little blush you get when he pulls it out.

| VOX |

Also just a shortened name kind of guy, the closer you are the shorter your knick name gets until it's just the first letter of your name. In private however he's a little more vocally affectionate and likes to call you babe/baby and when he's gassing you up it's 'his star'.

| CHARLIE |

Like he dad she flips through a bunch, usually for comedic means or too relate to whatever your doing in that moment. Cooking? Hot stuff. Baking? Sweetie pie. Gardening? Flower. Doesn't use possessive nick names, or names that involve 'My.' It just, feels off to her? If you prefer names like those she will use them but by default it's just not language she uses.

| VAGGIE |

Unless you say anything she just uses your name or a shortened version of it, your her first partner alright she's not exactly use to the domestic lovey dovey stuff but she's willing to learn! Tell her you like a particular nick name and she's happy to use it. STRICTLY uses your name when you're intimate however, it feels more personal and romantic that way she feels.

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neolxzr · 2 days

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student au ivantill would be such peak "fell first fell harder" do you get me. the whole main cast has all known each other since they were kids and ivan's been nurturing his onesided crush ever since they were like. very tiny.

mizisua are best friends but grow up to realize their feelings for one another in like late middle school/early high school idk theyre around 14-15 and till has his crush on mizi crushed but mizi is the sweetest angel ever and he cant be mad at her for it. he only knows sua through mizi really and cant be too good a judge of character but he knows mizi loves her and wants to be supportive but hes a little sad. he starts spending a bit less time with her to give mizisua their space but also cause hes trying to get over his feelings.

enter: ivan. ivan has sworn off confessing to till outright for years cause he knew he liked mizi and the two of them have always butted heads so he figured he had no real chance and settled for being his kind of friend who lightly bullies him sometimes for attention. he grows out of this mostly as they age but he still makes it a point to spend as much time as he can with him because he's down horrendously. post-mizisua confession is the first time till is the one to initiate spending time together, and ivan is absolutely thrilled. till learns that he actually doesnt mind being around him and they become closer than they ever had been before.

they stay in this stage of being closer-than-before friends for like. most of high school and then they become seniors and talks about moving away to go to different schools start and WHAM. oh moment realization hits till like a truck. he doesn't want ivan to leave. he likes him. oh god. this is horrible. this is the worst thing that ever could have happened. there's no way ivan feels the same. dramatic irony

he agonizes over this for a long while. he tells mizi who tells sua who both are naturally already aware that ivan has been horribly hopelessly in love with till for nearly the entirety of his life and they want to laugh at him. but they dont. they consider just telling him but they dont and mizi encourages him to tell ivan how he feels.

time is running out. they're receiving college acceptance letters. ivan is accepted into some crazy prestigious university thats all the way across the country. he tells everyone together. till is happy for him. he's crying. ivan is confused. he tells him he doesn't want him to leave. "i love you." he feels awful about it. it's a selfish request. he shouldn't have said anything.

ivan is speechless. till is stammering out an apology. ivan drops the letter and steps closer. he's kissing him. "i love you too. i always have."

the end and everyone clapped happily ever after etc. anyway do you get me

#cryn rambles #alien stage #ivantill #sorry i dont know what demons took over me for this one im gonna be honest #i think i blacked out halfway through #no one look at me #the characters..... ouuguhfgh god the CHARACTERS. dies

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letters-to-lgbt-kids · 3 days

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Again, I don't know if you'll see it. But I'm so sorry!

I'm the one who send a text about how hard is to be alone, in school or such, who made a (i think) p.s: not good in English.

I dunno if you'll recognize me, but I wanted to apologize, because I realized and read your "Welcome to my blog!" I saw you weren't comfortable with it. Again, sorry, I didn't read that.

And that's okay, you don't need to feel bad or anything, you don't even need to answer!

It's just a lack of my attention.

Anyway, thank you and I hope you're having a good day, byeeeee

My dear lgbt+ kid,

You are correct in that I do not feel comfortable offering one-on-one conversations. I keep my inbox open for general topic suggestions or questions but I do not answer messages individually - but every once in a blue moon, a specific message will catch my eye or touch my heart and I will make an exception, and this one did!

I think it’s extraordinarily sweet of you that you take the time to come back to my inbox, just to show respect for my boundaries. I deeply appreciate your kindness!

Of course there’s no apology needed, I do not expect everyone to read the “Welcome to my blog” post and I do not feel offended by receiving personal messages despite it. I just treat them as general topic suggestions as well. I do feel some guilt about that sometimes (which is why your message touches me, it’s so sweet of you to reassure me that no reply is necessary when I’m not comfortable with it!) but I know that ultimately the kindest thing I can do is to honor my own boundaries and mental health, so I can continue to write letters for you rather than burn myself out trying to answer everyone individually.

In that spirit, I want to tell you that I looked through my inbox and I think I found your original message, and I’ll take “feeling alone” as a topic suggestion and work on a letter for you! It may take a few days but I hope to have it up soon.

With all my love,

Your Tumblr Dad

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pfhwrittes · 1 day

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Heeeeyyyyy p. I am an awkward soul with an awkward question, but how does ao3 work? I noticed a lot of writers are speaking of migrating there and doing things that I don’t quite understand LMAO. I tried looking into the website but honestly, it seems so daunting and I am a terrified chicken who would rather recede into the pits of hell than do something “wrong” on that website.

I dunno if you are the right person to request of this, but you are always so kind when answering questions so i figured who else is better than to scream into the void at?

Pls disregard if you aren’t interested in answering/don’t feel like it!

Have a great day/night/evening/tea time 😽

hi anon! don't feel bad for reaching out, one of my favourite things in the world is showing people how to do things (you know that chill coworker who goes "okay, so i do it like this..." when they show you things? that's who i want to be in the world). if my handy guide doesn't make sense to you, please please please feel free to come back and ask clarifying questions and i'll wrack my brain on how best to help you!

i'd be remiss if i didn't point you in the direction of AO3's guide on how to search and browse the archive first of all. it's a bit wordy so if that isn't to your liking i've made a little video below the cut on how to use ao3 on a laptop below the cut:

Warnings for potential flickering, scrolling motions and flashing.

[ID: A 3 minute video with no audio showing a basic guide on how to use AO3. /END ID]

so that's a pretty bare bones way of using ao3 as non-member!

step 1: search for the fandom you want to explore.

step 2: use the drop down menu to tailor your fanwork selection to something you might want to read by using the filters on the right hand side.

tags are the ingredient list of what you can expect to find in a fic, you can also search by using the tags if there's something in particular you've taken a fancy to (or you can use the "exclude" button to avoid seeing it - just like i excluded konig from my selections).

the rating system is used to filter out mature content, if you click on something rated M, E or Not Rated you should get a little warning at the top advising you that the work you're about to view may include adult content and you agree that you wish to see that content.

step 3: check the tags and summary to see what piques your interest (in my case i chose @boolger 's "a love letter to gaz" because i thought it was fitting).

step 4: click on your desired fic or fanwork and enjoy!

step 5: leave a kudos AND a comment (it doesn't have to be lengthy, it can be a little note to say "i loved this! thank you for writing it!) when you're done.

i recommend asking for an invite to join ao3 so you can see all the lovely archive locked fanworks (fanworks that are hidden from non-members) like mine! it doesn't take long to get an invitation and you can still browse the archive as a non-member in the meantime.

anyway, i hope this helped just a little bit for you anon.

#pfh answers #tw flashing #tw flashing lights #tw scrolling #tw motion sickness

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slyandthefamilybook · 3 days

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Noah's Spring Jewish Book Review

this isn't gonna become a regular thing, don't worry. I just need to gush some about these books. I'm gonna keep the reviews short too because who's got that kind of time!

So far I've read 4 Jewish novels this spring and I'm working on a fifth. We'll go in chronological order

1. Thistlefoot by GennaRose Nethercott

~ Two estranged siblings, Isaac and Bellatine Yaga—the grandchildren of the famous Baba Yaga—inherit their ancestor's chicken-footed house. They travel the country putting on puppet shows and exploring their own mysterious abilities, all the while trying to escape from a threatening figure known only as the Longshadow Man, as well as their own pasts. History relives itself in a book filled with magic and mystery ~

This book was so damn good. Every other sentence is tattoo-worthy and hits you like a sack of bricks. The characters feel so real and raw while also managing to fill out their respective roles with a sense of poetry. The book has a supporting cast of memorable characters and a sense of real danger throughout. Every so often the house will interject in a way that reminds me so much of my bubbe (עליה השלום). I've read reviews that said it dragged on a bit in the second act but I was enraptured the entire way through. It's also pretty gay, which I always appreciate. 10/10

2. When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb

~ An angle and a demon—best friends for 200 years—set out from their tiny Pale shtetl to America in search of a girl who hasn't been heard from. They're accompanied by Rosie, a spunky and fire-spirited girl from their shtetl desperate to get away and have an adventure in the far-off West ~

No book has made me feel quite so seen as this one. As someone who grew up Orthodox there's virtually no representation for people like me. The majority of Orthodox characters in media are trying to get away. None of them love it quite so much as I do, as much as the characters in this book do. From Little Ash tucking his peyot behind his ears like my older brothers used to to the angel waking up to daven shacharit. Sacha Lamb takes the brave stance of "what if Jewish theology is real, actually" and it shines on every page. The writing effortlessly intertwines spirituality and reverence with a classic Yiddish folktale. It's also pretty gay. 10/10

3. From Dust, a Flame by Rebecca Podos

Hannah, the descendant of the famed Rabbi Yehuda Loew, wakes up one morning to find herself transformed, her eyes turning to yellow slits. Her mother seems to blame herself without explaining why, and soon after disappears. After receiving a mysterious letter, Hannah and her adopted brother Gabe travel to upstate New York to meet their mother's family, to learn the secrets of her past, and of their own lineage ~

I'll start off by saying I'm not sure if I was the target audience for this book. It was good, don't get me wrong, but the writing wasn't to my taste. It was a little... blatant, where I prefer prose to be a bit more subtle. Again, nothing wrong with it, just not my particular thing. I definitely relate to Hannah and Gabe a lot, each in their own way. A lot of the book felt very comforting and familiar to me. The book is equal parts supernatural action and intriguing mystery, and keeps you engrossed til the end. It's also Extremely Gay 7/10

4. The Way Out by Gavriel Savit

~ Yehuda Leib and Bluma set out from their tiny Pale shtetl, each on a mission of the utmost importance. Yehuda Leib is looking for his lost father, and Bluma is running from Death. Navigating the Far Country full of demons, goblins, and angels, the pair fight their way through history and mystery alike, and prepare to make war on Death himself ~

This book. Oh boy this book. Where do I start? This book made me cry several times, which hasn't happened in over 15 years. This book said everything about death I've been feeling since my bubbe passed away (עליה השלום). This book genuinely made me re-think how I view G-d? All that and more in less than 400 pages. This book harmonized with my soul. This book changed who I am as a person. This book made me crumble to dust and then built me back up from scratch. 10/10

#atlas entry #jew #jewish #judaism #jumblr #book review

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welcometomyoasis · 2 days

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Give your moots tropes they suits

hi anon! thanks for sending this i love moot games <3 i feel like i've done something similar before but i'll do it again :))

@brownsugarbaybee - rivals to lovers. flirty rival singers who have a lot of sexual tension between them. they probably confess out of frustration one day (kind of like kiss and make up by blackpink??)

@wonijinjin - my darling is so meet cute and friends to lovers coded so let's make it both. they have such a cute meeting one day (maybe at a coffee shop) and then they become friends and it develops from there.

@heavenfilm - 2 oblivious, curious cats who get to know each other one random day and can't get enough of each other. everyone watching is just like :/ are they dating yet?

@haecien - long distance relationship but make it set in a time before handphones and email. we've already established cien likes writing letters, so this is perfect. and then when they finally meet, make it super romantic like running from far away and leaping into each others' arms.

@wheeboo - for rania, because of her recent wonwoo fic, i'm thinking of the "you see the best in me and you teach me to love myself" trope. like someone who has been hurt before but he helps to heal her and rebuild her heart.

@slytherinshua - hyper golden retriever x black cat. zanna is really hyper and she has so much energy. i see the s/o being more calm, and just standing to the side watching her endearingly while she rambles about something she loves.

@weird-bookworm - okay. for some reason. i am thinking of barbie island princess for sky. what trope is that? lost princess who has a pure heart x prince who just falls in love with her for who she is (plus the fact she can basically talk to animals)

@babyleostuff - idk if this is a trope, but like poetry/ literature lovers who have a meet cute at a quaint, lovely little book shop. they reach for the same book and giggle when their fingers touch.

@addicsvt - okay hear me out, but i'm thinking of 2 people who have little siblings, and they meet while taking bringing their siblings to the park. and their little siblings practically set them up by saying things like "can we play house? we'll be the babies and you can be the mommy and daddy"

@justsomekpopstuff - soulmates. they meet and instantly just fall in love with each other. then they become that horribly loving, disgustingly in love couple

@starshuas - sweetheart x sweetheart couple. they are just the cutest and sweetest couple ever. they go on cute dates to the gardens, sob over sad movies together. they are very wholesome :)

@planetkiimchi - secret romance. on the surface, they are rivals in 2 different dance groups. behind the scenes, they are the most adorable couple ever

@nonononranghaee - arranged marriage. they each go into it not really believing in love but then through their marriage they find themselves learning to love.

#letters for shu ✏༝༚༝༚#shu's moots ᰔᩚ

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ninyard · 22 hours

Note

Came here from your in universe tweets posts and have just realised you're also Irish.

What are your thoughts on Kevin Day seeming so American through and through? I personally wish Nora had given him an accent or something seeing as he was raised by his Irish single mam. Like I kinda wish there had been some cultural differences there even if it was done badly.

However I think Nora was very on point with the fact that if somebody was going to make a very violent stickball sport it would be an Irish person.

I don't know anybody IRL who's read aftg and I would love to hear somebody else's thoughts on Kevin's Irish heritage lol

I wrote these silly little hcs about Kevin’s childhood in Ireland but a lot of that is kind of dependent on Kevin having had more of a childhood in Ireland (which I don’t think happened but I haven’t got a clue what the timeline of Kayleigh being in Ireland to Kevin being born is tbh)

Personally I wish Kev was a little more Irish and I also think the Irish mammy thing would’ve had a HUGE influence on him (again depending how old he was when she died). She would’ve been his best friend if he’d grown up with her. Also the internalising of his problems is VERY typical of an Irish man but I’d like to imagine Kayleigh tried to break the cycle of that mentality in sons/first born sons and it was destroyed by the Moriyama’s.

Things I would maybe like Kevin to have/do:

- just a little bit of an accent. On certain words, or if he’s drunk or tired, or if he’s speaking with an Irish person, his accent QUADRUPLES in intensity.

- burns in the sun SO EASILY but also wears shorts when it’s barely even hot at all

- he drinks tea when it’s cold because it’s comforting and it reminds him of his mam. It’s the one indulgence he allows himself because she took her tea sweet so he heaps two teaspoons in when he feels like he needs a hug

- I’ve mentioned it before somewhere but I believe that Kayleigh was from the west, from a gaeltacht area and spoke fluent Irish, and raised Kevin to be bilingual until she passed, and he never continued and honestly probably forgot it. He remembers little words here and there but really not much at all.

- right after he graduates he spends an entire summer in Ireland before he starts with his pro team. It’s a silly decision for his exy career really because he could use all of the professional practice he can get, but he needs it. He goes back to Ireland and visits all of these places he doesn’t remember, the places where Kayleigh grew up and took kev when he was a baby. Maybe his grandparents are still alive, and his grandfather plays hurling with him, and they speak to him in Irish, and he spends the summer learning and just relaxing and reconnecting with his roots. Maybe his grandmother has a box of Kayleigh’s old things and for the first time in his life he holds something belonging to his mam other than his letter. Her jersey with her original IRE National Court number on it from the Olympics just a few years before she died, and some photos he’d never seen before. I’d really love for him to just be able to know his mam better somehow. I feel like he deserves it!!!

(He comes back with the most obnoxious Irish American accent after that summer and he gets ROASTED for it. But he doesn’t care, because he feels so much closer to his mam having spent that much time at home)

I am CERTAIN that Kayleigh was inspired to create Exy by watching hurling. There’s no way she wasn’t. Exy is the bastard sport of lacrosse, hockey AND hurling.

#maybe he joins a local hurling team for a couple of months #idk! Irish person thoughts! that will probably not translate to a wider audience #but I’m so passionate about kevs roots #also I can’t believe there’s another Irish person alive who’s read AFTG #where have you been

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eerna · 1 day

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eerna what's going on in s3 bridgerton your posts and answers making me scared to watch on my life lmao

pls don't hate me, Colin lovers, but I was told by a friend who read the series that he's more fun and chill in the books and also i just....find Polin from even s1 is kinda uhhhhh?awkward?? cuz he's kind of unnecessarily serious and so not chill in the previous seasons?? maybe i don't see his appeal because I'm no Penny but i do not see his appeal in the show

so rn i haven't even watched it and seeing your posts is making me moreeeeeee 😶‍🌫️ it's okay give us the cringey details

Nsbysbbsb NO WORRIES!!! I have a weirdly big amount to say about this show bc I am no longer suffering as much as I did in s1 and 2. Prepare for an essay on my feelings on Polin and thank you for enabling me.

Ok so Colin. Not saying your friend is wrong bc I didn't read the book, but p much everyone I saw talking about it said Colin was very angry and aggressive in it, and for NO REASON since he's supposed to be the "calm brother". I'm glad that the show let him get upset, but never the way he was in the books/Anthony was in s2, where I legit worried about Kate's safety sometimes. Colin was my fav Bridgerton brother bc he was totally different from all the other men on the show, calm and silly and romantic.

Thar being said!!! I never ever thought of him as a GOOD love interest, and s3 only made it worse. First off, yeah, s1 and 2 do NOT show him and Pen as friends nearly enough to warrant the speed of their connection in s3. I blocked s2 from my memory bc I hated it So Damn Much so I can't 100% stand behind my words, but I don't really remember many friendly scenes with the two of them that didn't feel like he was just entertaining his sister's bestie? I remember he once danced with her, and he sent her letters from his travels, and that's it. Then in s3 we are supposed to believe Pen knows him soooo well, she sees through his tricks when no one else does, he can't stand losing her friendship when she stops talking to him. How, when the impression I got from their relationship was "oh she is clearly silly in love and he doesn't care about her enough to notice"!!!

And s3... Oh boy. Colin gets his "glowup" and becomes a rake bc Bridgerton writers would probably spontaneously combust if they wrote a virgin male lead. We see him flirt and smash other women and it is always so so so awkward. I've seen people trying to rationalize it as "Oh he is supposed to be pretending, oh we are supposed to find it cringe" but NO, he is objectified the exact same way Simon and Anthony were, and we as the audience are supposes to think it is sexy. To be fair, Pen finds it concerning but I think that has more to do with the amount of silly, vapid women constantly swarming around him. So now we are even FURTHER away from seeing any reasons why the two of them would be friends. And then we get hit with the "Colin teaches Pen how to find a husband" plot, and oh my god it is so bad, IT IS SO BAD, they have like 2 lessons across 1 episode before they are busted and stop and he literally taught her NOTHING she IGNORED HIS ADVICE AND FIGURED IT OUT BY HERSELF but everyone treats him like a war hero for taking one for the team and teaching the poor unlikeable social reject how to act. We also have the stupid scene where she is criyng begging him to kiss her because she is convinced otherwise she would die without being kissed, and he is trying to elegantly avoid it, and oh my god, I hated this, it is framed as cute and romantic but it is so uncomfortable and bad. AAAAAAAA. Anyway. Then there is this hilariously horrible incident where he saves her from a feral balloon, and if you are wondering wtf am I talking about, its because it is really bad and written like a Scary Movie slasher scene. There are exactly 3 moments that I liked, and ALL of them were bc Colin seemed very lost and desperate. First was when Pen told him they should stay away from each other after the scandal of them hanging out came out (which I liked bc if it were any other girl, some unhinged character would force them to marry, but since it was Pen they were like "Well obviously it's true there was nothing untowards happening it is just cringe haha loserrr"), and he looked like he stopped comprehending English. The second was when he was confessing his feelings, he got on his knees and looked like he was about to cry and I thought that was sweet! Well, he did mention torture which is a very ugly word to use in such a speech, but whatever. The third was after the Infamous Carriage Scene when he says something silly and the two giggle together and I was like PLEASE WHERE WAS THIS ENERGY IN S1 AND 2!!

And may I just say!! The actual Bridgerton Glowup one was PEN and NOT COLIN. In s1 and 2 you could tell she was pretty, but in s3 they made her so damn beautiful that my friends and I would go "Oh wow" several times per episode. And it's not only the clothes, they would put her in rooms where she pops out and sparkles and frame her in shots just perfectly. Idk why they only gave her 1 alternate love interest and then shot her Like That, there should have been at LEAST one more guy following in Debling's trail. Now she's the hot one in the relationship so I can't buy her desperation for Colin's approval or society's perception of Colin as a charity in any way.

With all that said. I think this is the best season of Bridgerton proper. It still isn't something I'd enjoy unironically, but at least it is neither a horrible age gap dynamic feat. SA nor a horrible disgusting juggling of sisters feat. murderer vibes. The only thing I'd say is worse than it used to be is the clothes, which are slowly creeping towards The Reign level of ahistorical and bad.

#eernask #petratherrock #eernask talk bridgerton #bridgerton spoilers

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immoralimmortals · 3 days

Text

Akatsuki members as perfumes i own

I couldn't sleep last night because I am haunted by visions that are so very specific to me and my needs. These are all indie company perfumes currently available for purchase or seasonally available. I am a creature of my senses, and therefore I am not bound only with the curse of associating music with characters, but also scents.

Pain: The People You Love Become Ghosts Inside You from Death & Floral

Description: Heavenly musk, lingering funeral flowers, cold scent of vanilla in an empty corridor, handprints on a foggy window

This is a scent known by its fans to invoke deep emotion. It has funeral lillies to a T. The title is the main reason for my choice, though I can imagine him smelling like this. It's the definition of cold and formal, like the corpses he drags to do his bidding.

🥀

Konan: Mnemophilia from Nui Cobalt Designs

Description: Stately gardenia, antique sandalwood, Florentine iris, pearl musk, jasmine absolute, neroli, and liquidambar.

This is a scent which contains notes I have not experienced anywhere else. It is like...you took the idea of a mirror and gave it a smell? It is pristine, classy, and oh so very melancholy. It makes me thoughtful, it reminds me of glass or crystal. Another "cold" scent, similar to Pain's but more of a sister than an imitation of it. Less about death and more about memory, as the name entails.

I also considered Billet Doux from Possets, which is meant to evoke a perfume-stained love letter. Also very clean and classy, but actually brings the impression of paper and ink. Also noticeably a lot sweeter than Mnemophilia! Perhaps more for her when she was young and in love.

📷

Obito: The Emperor of Ice Cream from The Strange South

Description: Limp flowers on a windowsill, strawberry ice cream, tobacco leaves, tonka, and a dribble of young blood.

Saccharine with something to hide. The blood note on its own (i was able to try it) is actually very fruity, like strawberry. I think the visualization of dripping blood and strawberry syrup being the same is wonderful. The tobacco comes through as the scent fades, becoming more mature over time.

👑

Zetsu: A Roll in the Hay from Alkemia

Description: dried hay, fresh green grass, early summer wildflower honey, vanilla grass, vanilla leaf, and wild poppy.

This one really just smells authentically like true to life hay. I can't wear it all the time but it's so, so distinct when I do. It's a scent for when I want to imagine I'm all alone, deep in a field of tall, dried grass. The only thing is that it is probably far too innocent for him. He would not *want* to smell like this.

But I do. Because it's great.

...Okay he'd actually smell like Esprit de la Terre from Alkemia which smells like pine trees, but I don't like pine trees! I'm going to make him suffer and smell like vanilla.

🌾

Hidan: Damned Nightfall from Death & Floral

This scent is fucking purple lmao. The violets are a little powdery, like the visage of something pure, and the rest is DARK. It clings to my skin with those deep resins first and foremost like incense being burned. Despite all the food notes, not one lick of sweetness, frankly not a bit of edibility. This is a badass vibe like a jaguar hunting in the dark. It bites if I put too much on.

Description: the deepest and darkest amber blended with violets, black labdanum, vanilla absolute, espresso absolute, fresh cocoa beans, and honey

There are scents that exist that mean to invoke the smell of blood, but none of them are real enough to suit him. However, the metallic nature of Scythe from Possets is very impressive and real with a suitable name for the Jashinist.

🌒

Kakuzu: JFK and Jackie from Possets

First and foremost, this scent is old school. The leather reminds me of what Kakuzu's skin may be like; I read a fic way back describing his earth grudge causing it to have that kind of texture. Perhaps this is what he'd smell like if you somehow convinced him to give you a hug. You know. Somehow.

Description: A snap of the finest leather, a bit of oakmoss, combined with tabac blonde essence, a whiff of tea, and the warmth of silk.

There are scents that smell like money, but I do not actually like the scent of money. I'm sorry Kakuzu.

☕

Deidara: Morton Salt Girl from Death & Floral

I know salt doesn't smell. I know it doesn't. But this is what salt smells like. If you ever get opportunity to try this, do it. It's so unique. I think this would be a wonderful scent to imagine for his clay; it is so distinctly earthy, and the salty aspect reminds me of smelling playdoh as a kid (and putting it into my mouth).

Description: yellow musk, salt, and rain on concrete.

🧂

Sasori: Forbidden Library from Nui Cobalt

This is what his puppets smell like. It's what they smell like! I do not make the rules! It is deep, it is softly masculine, it is beautifully woody. This is the phantom that haunts the abandoned castle library, who crawls out of the ancient tome in your fingers.

Description: The vanillic scent of aging paper infused with ceremonial incense, venerable bookshelves of black oak and sweet himalayan cedarwood, a hint of mossy stone, and an undercurrent of faded suede.

Bonus points: this is one of the few perfumes I reach for on the weekly. It's so, so pleasant.

📜

Kisame: Two Cups of Tea, a Monsoon, Me and You from Death & Floral

Description: rain on cracked soil, wet creosote, a swelling monsoon, desert cedar, black tea.

I am one of the only people that seem to take this as floral. The storm is there, it is humid and sticky and moist like rain in the summer, but I distinctly get flowers behind it all. I think it suits him. (And it is one of few aquatic scents that don't smell like laundry to me nor like cut grass).

☔

Itachi: Ghostfire from Alkemia

Has the distinct impression of paleness against a night sky, like a star or a will-o-wisp. It's a strange but haunting combo of melting candle wax and melon. There is a sugared and floral version of this scent called Foxfire, which perhaps encapsulates him before everything went downhill.

Description: A luminous attraction of ethereal white ambers. Hauntingly beautiful.

Another Alkemia scent is Burning Roses, which is exactly what it says on the tin but with the unfortunate addition of labdanum, which this iteration of hates my skin chemistry with a passion. Oh, what could have been...

🎇

#i also drew sketches for each of these because im insane and havent had the will to draw for years so i am latching onto any and all inspo #akatsuki #pain naruto #konan #hidan #kakuzu #zetsu #obito #sasori #deidara #kisame #itachi #tak talks #if you read my fic the scent i associate with reader/takara is Time Marches On #Cotton candy rain and ivy

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