#Estelle Manor

[disarmluna]

[havithreatendub4]

#Estelle Manor #Malcolm Connelly #William Rassel (Johnny's nephew) #UK #Allen Hughes

What's going on? 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔

[whilstiveputdownthisfic]

out of order a bit sorry .... the video missing from previous post here .. now that it's letting me post videos again

from Nick's IG stories

Sunday, June 9th, 2024; as of 9:02 am edt

[violetandolive]

@estellemanor

[unteriors]

Cumberland Avenue, Estell Manor, New Jersey.

[shalomniscient]

you sigh as you shrug the heavy coat off your shoulders and hang it on the coat rack. even midday is bleak—snezhnayan winters never get any easier, no matter how many years have passed and how many times you visit this snowswept nation. thankfully, your numb hands start to warm as you step further into the house, lit elegantly by wall-mounted candles. it’s an old snezhnayan manor, and with it came these more traditional forms of lighting—despite the fatui having long harnessed electricity. but, arlecchino is a harbinger, and harbingers are paid well, so the extra mora to spend on housekeepers isn’t the largest of concerns.

your footsteps echo on wood-paneled floors stained a deep and rich brown, almost black. the grain reveals itself with a polished shine, contrasting the pale walls, which are mostly bare save for a portrait here and there, or a few art pieces arlecchino recieved as ‘gifts’ from her associates. the portraits are those of the previous owners of the mansion—a part of the building’s history, and you both saw no real reason to take them down. arlecchino herself, and you, by extension, have neither been one to enjoy seeing your own likeness on display, which is why no portraits of yourself grace the walls.

you follow the long corridor down further and further until you reach the heart of the manor. on the way, you noticed it was suspiciously quiet, despite the manor housing a ten year old, a seven year old, and two four year olds. it’s a combination you’d assume is the recipe for quite a lot of commotion, and the lack of it is setting off alarm bells in your head. though, once you cross the threshold from the hallway to the living room, you see why.

there, sprawled on the couch before the hearth and very much fast asleep, is your husband—and huddled up close to her are her four children. estelle and noé are pressed against her sides, arlecchino’s dark arms around their shoulders, while the twins are sprawled on either of their older sibling’s laps, their heads resting on their father’s. it’s a veritable cuddle pile, the children getting as close as they can to their father for her natural warmth. peaceful expressions adorn each face, including arlecchino’s, and you can’t help but smile as you lean against the wall at the sight. something in your chest aches; a reminder of just how far you’ve both come.

none of them stir as you produce a large, woolen blanket from a nearby shelf and gently drape it over them all, nor do they stir when you press a gentle kiss to each of their heads. arlecchino’s brow furrows as your lips meet her temple, but they smooth over as soon as you speak. she’d recognise you anywhere.

“rest well, my loves.”

[the-barnes-girl]

The Delacroix Ceremony

(respond as you please. For mod's sake for this one, will be written fully in prose. If you were invited/are a plus one but I didn't tag you join in -- its a lot of people and I was unfortunately not smart enough to keep some form of a master list/ )

On the day of the Barnes-Delacroix wedding, the weather was perfect. Sunlight streamed in the many large windows of Heartwood's School where the wedding was held, crisp autumn leaves rustling in the breeze and the world filled with orange and red and gold set against a blue sky with harmless, beautiful clouds.

Heartwoods was filled with life, a historic manor house set in the woods, protected in a bend of the Hudson River. Children ran around in clothes for a wedding, setting things up and playing in the gardens, just the kind of place one would've expected Becca Barnes to pick. When they arrived, eager, magical children and teens led them through the large, bright mansion to a library, something out of a fantasy tale. It was tall and light, filled wall to wall with more books than could be imagined, with balconies for a double-height and stained glass.

The large, open reading area in the center had been set up for the wedding, with chairs arranged on either side of a centre aisle, an arch of flowers waiting, with chairs for the wedding parties on either side. As the guest seated themselves, soft music was playing

The ceremony proper started at 2pm as set, new music starting. The processional began.

First came Valeria's wedding party -- it was small, but clearly thought-out. Estelle Rosewood( @darling-of-the-underground), her adoptive sister/daughter, dressed in flowing black, true fae form shining proud with charcoal black skin and white hair the sunlight glinted from, seven feet tall and smiling in her deep red gown. On her arm, her brother, Eliza Castle-Delacroix( @chaotic-castle), Valeria's son, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit in the same red, dark curls wild as always as he grinned deviously, proud as he strode down the aisle, along with a few of Valeria's close friends she'd made over the years and a couple of teens. Right at the tale end were two distinctive figures -- Dominique Emerson and Em Gladstone ( @the-dominique-emerson @just-a-fucking-civilian), Valeria's former mentee and rising Mafia boss, and her girlfriend, Valeria's... no one was actually quite sure, but the girl was certainly important, kept away from the club itself and the mafia. Rumors were wild but all unconfirmed. The former wore a red suit, matched to the latter's, both smiling widely. Peggy Carter( @capt-carter-mostly-official), smiling proudly and dressed in blue, her maid of honor, the friend who had been constant through centuries, came last in Valeria's section.

Next, it was Rebecca's party, dressed in the same rich red. First in her party appeared her child Asta( @asta-barnes-rogers), dressed in a red suit with matching noise-cancelling headphones, a black cat curled in their arms with a red bow on it's collar, and a couple of fidget toys poking out of their pocket. Then Cordelia Wright( @little-miss-delia), Eliza Delacroix's girlfriend, who Becca had taken under her wing, dressed in a soft, flowing red dress, smiling shyly. About four other teens from the club and family members followed, matching, before her maid of honor, Sarah Rogers( @sarahrogers-steviesmum), her adoptive mother.

And at last, the flower girls -- Nadia Aberdeen and Jamie Carter ( @nadia-aberdeen @little-jamie-carter) holding each other's hands as they made their way down the aisle, tossing flower petals. Nadia was dressed as a princess in a pretty blue dress with a twirling tulle, a nice tiara in her hair, Jem in a soft purple dress made of light cottons and muslin that wouldn't irritate her skin, noise-cancelling headphones on her head and Bubba safely in her basket.

Then the music shifted as the first bride appeared. Valeria with her hair in an elegant twist and dressed in a sharp black suit, cane tapping. And smiling, broadly, actually smiling. On the arm of Alice Heartwood( @everyones-aunt-alice), her adoptive older sister, who wore a beautiful red dress, her wing wrapped around her little sister protectively as they made their way down the aisle. When they reached the end, she embraced her, then held Valeria's face as she kissed the younger woman's forehead softly.

Becca came next. Dressed in a flowing white gown with rich brown curls settling over her, she was a sight to see, angelic, like a storybook princess, glowing with love. Her belly was round with a baby just starting to show, one hand resting there happily, clearly proud, not trying to hide it in the least. She was on the arm of Bucky Barnes( @official-buckybarnes @buckybarnesoffical @justawhitewolf @barnes-jamesbuchanan-official @james-barnes-wintersoldier), leaning close to her older brother, her other arm held by her mother, Winnifred( @winnifred-winni-barnes).

Tears glittered in her eyes as she slowly made her way down the aisle, eyes never leaving her wife-to-be. When she reached the alter, she kissed her brother's cheek and let her mothers embrace her, squeezing their hands as all three of them welcomed Valeria.

Then, she took Valeria's hand, and they went to the alter, officiated by Alice. They held hands through the introductions and a single reading, a short speech on the responsibilities of marriage, before Eliza produced the rings and handed them to the brides.

Becca was the first to give her vows, squeezing the other woman's hands. "Valeria, my love," she murmured. "I don't even know where to start, to be honest with you." her voice raised to be heard by the whole room, and she smiled eyes full of love. "So I'll start where I can and tell you what's in my heart. I don't come from an easy place. Neither of us do, and neither of us knew the first thing about this mess. We all know I could talk about this for hours, many of those with us have heard me do so. So let me condense it for everyone's sake. Valeria Delacroix, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. You are my saving grace and the woman who found me when I needed love and someone to lean on, and stood by me. You have always taken care of me, always loved me this way. Your love taught me to be stronger, to learn, to give myself the choice to make decisions for myself instead of others. Your love for me has given me the most amazing life I could dream of -- us, our children with us today, and the little one who is still waiting to come to this side of the world."

She took a deep breath, smiling. "The first gift you ever gave me was a pearl necklace. That first night where we finally took control of our feelings and gave a chance to having an 'us.' Months later when we began to realize how badly we needed to heal and started that journey, I found myself wearing it every day. And as it turns out, that's for an incredibly simple reason. It reminded me of you and that you've got me, til death do us part, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, better or for worse. And I love that. I love you."

Valeria was fighting tears by the time it was her turn, to her the woman she was marrying the only soul in the room as they looked at each other. "Rebecca Barnes, treasure of my heart," she began softly. "I have no words in any language for what you are to me. You are not just my wife or my lover, my best friend or my darling, you are all of those and so much more, sweet Rebecca. You are truly my soulmate, in every way. You cut through my layers so easily, each moment I fall more in love with you. I do not deserve you, nor will I ever, as I have told you a thousand times. But here's what I did not know then, that you have taught me. It's not about something so arbitrary as 'deserving,' but about trying. No more being defeated, but instead striving to be more, to be better, stronger. Something so rare yet so amazing. You once said you wanted me without my armor, at the pace I was comfortable with. Slowly helping me let myself be simply me. Loving me unabashedly, with so much hope it became infectious.

"And you have changed me, entirely for the better. You let me love again, and have not left, so constant I ought to be concerned. But I also know you will never leave. You have made what was once a house into a home. You have brought our children into it, and carry another in this moment. You are truly my guardian angel, my saving grace. I will love you and cherish you until the end of time, spoil you despite objections but within your comfort, and make sure you live out a long, happy, and comfortable life. For richer or poorer, til death do us part, in sickness and in health."

By the time Valeria got through her vows, nearly the whole room was crying. But Alice pushed through, smiling with her tears.

"Rebecca Barnes, do you take this woman, Valeria Delacroix, to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Becca nodded, wiping her tears. "I do." she slid an elegant silver ring onto her wife's finger

"And Valeria Delacroix, do you take Rebecca Barnes as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Valeria answered, French accent thick with emotion, slipping the beautiful golden ring she had chosen onto Becca's finger.

"Then, by the power vested in me by the State of New York, any Gods there may be, and several hundred years of life, I now declare you lawful wives -- you may now each kiss your bride!"

the room broke out in cheers as Valeria caught Becca up in her arms and Becca threw her arms around Valeria's neck, kissing passionately as Becca spun her wife around, kissing her over and over

Finally, after hardships overcome and love, a thousand trials, a million moments, and overwhelming love in general, they were married. And neither could be happier

@chaotic-castle @darling-of-the-underground @that-punk-from-brooklyn @charlibooboo @mini-rogers-sibling @quillwinn @that-punk-from-brooklyn @mutantontheloose @natt-romanoff-barnes-official @proud-owner-of-americas-ass + Anyone who is a plus one, would have been invited, etc! (mod didn't think to make a properly comprehensive list so is pretty certain they're missing folks)

[another2bohemians]

Estelle Manor

[hanahaki-disease]

Damian calls Percy "Baba" it happens completely by accident and unexpectedly. It's just that Percy comes to Wayne Manor for the weekend and cooks breakfast with Alfred in the morning - these are blue pancakes with honey and berries. He puts a plate in front of Damian and bends down to kiss the top of his head, and Damian, sleepy and distracted, purrs in response and says softly, "Thank you Baba." Alfred almost drops the jar of honey, and Percy just smiles gently and says: "Sure, My little Agapi". Since then, Damian calls Percy "Baba" and no one acts like it's something wrong.

One day Damian gets seriously injured, which causes him to be given serious painkillers and Bruce, to his displeasure, cannot be with him, because the Scarecrow gang seriously raged that night. But Percy is there, Percy with warm hands and a gentle voice, Percy who smells soothing of soft jasmine and sea salt, Percy who looks like Talia. Damian, in a haze, is clouded by reason, shrinks and is afraid, behaves like the child he is and calls his parents. Percy is lying next to him, hugging him tightly and lovingly stroking his hair. And Damian snuggles up to him, quietly whimpering "Umi" or "Baba" at different intervals and Percy quietly sings to him "Under the Sea" from The Little Mermaid, with his quiet and soft voice it sounds like a sweet lullaby. And Damian allows himself to relax by falling asleep in his father's arms and listening to his gentle singing.

Percy is called by Greek nicknames - "Agapoula Mou" my little love, "Louloudi Mou" my flower, "Moro mou" My baby. Damian liked Greek and decided to learn it. Percy actually shed tears when Damian began to wear a Greek patronymic derived from the full name of Percy - Perseides, the child of Perseus.

Damian has two sets of parents: his biological parents and his “adoptive” parents, though one technically also counted as biological as well.

With Bruce and Talia, Damian knows he is safe and protected. Never once does he have to worry about being hurt or targeted (and being Robin doesn’t count.) He knows that the two of them would go through hell to make sure he is safe (not that the others wouldn’t either.) With Bruce and Talia, he doesn’t have to worry about money. Doesn’t have to worry about food or clothes or anything else his heart desires for his parents are royalty in their own right.

Damian knows he is safe and protected by his mother and father.

With Percy and Annabeth, Damian knows he is loved. Never once does he have to question the affection they give (and he knows his other parents love him as well.) But there was no need to compete for attention, no sibling to compare to, no legacy to uphold. Damian can be his touch-starved, parental-affection-seeking, slightly selfish, child self.

Damian knows he is loved and wanted by his baba and ummi. Even if they are just barely a decade older than him, even if the scars on their bodies are the same as his own, Damian knows he is loved.

Damian was used to nightmares. He was used to waking up with a fast heart and dry throat. To adrenaline and panic making his eyes shoot open to a dark room and quiet night.

At father’s, he wasn’t the only one who experienced them, but rarely was he aware of the reactions the others had. The others would stay in their own space, silent and wallowing in the memory of what they saw.

At baba’s, it was different.

Maybe it was because he was the only child in the small two bedroom apartment (Estelle spends her days with jidda Sally, but some nights she does sleep over.) Maybe because he can hear Percy and Annabeth have their own nightmares on the other side of the wall, voices muffled by drywall and hushed by the other.

But Damian knows that should he wake up scared and frightened, baba and ummi would never push him away. They’ll welcome him into their bed and tell him stories of their adventures when they were younger. Ummi will rub his back in circles, interjecting to correct the tale, and baba will use his powers over water to make it come alive.

And when sleep takes over, the weight of his eyelids heavy and the warmth that came from being held safe in their arm, Damian doesn’t have to worry about another nightmare.

Percy becomes the dad he wanted to have as a kid to Damian. And it’s not a hard bar to jump over even if the competition is Batman.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

A Court of Fire & Masks

Eris Vanserra x OC

Chapter 5

A Court of Fire and Masks Master List

Summary

Penelope enters the glamorous yet treacherous world of Autumn Court life, where appearances are everything, and even the slightest misstep could ruin her families reputation. As the youngest daughter of a noble family, she's expected to smile, nod, and blend in - just like her older sister. But when Penelope's curiosity about inter-court politics leads to a forbidden mention of unrest, she quickly realizes she may not have the weaponry for the brutal battle of social court, especially when she runs up against heir to the court, Eris Vanserra.

Content Warnings:

Emotional manipulation

Verbal and emotional abuse

Power imbalances

Anxiety and panic

Mentions of sexism & misogyny

Dark themes of cruelty

PHYSICAL ABUSE

Word Count: 6,864

Her father never mentioned what had transpired in the study. Penelope had waited long after Lord Aiden’s departure to return to the manor, slipping through the back gardens in an effort to remain unseen. Even when her sisters called for her from the edge of the orchards, their voices filled with concern, she stayed hidden, the weight of everything pressing down onto her chest like a heavy stone.

Days passed and still her father said nothing. The house moved along with its usual rhythm, the halls filled with the chatter of her sisters, the maids bustling about, and her mother directing the household with her militaristic precision. Whatever had been discussed between her father and Lord Aiden hadn’t shifted her parents’ opinion in the slightest. Her father’s pride in Aiden’s boldness remained unwavering, a smug satisfaction glinting in his eyes whenever the young lord’s name was mentioned. And her mother’s quiet approval hung like a subtle, unspoken command in the air, an expectation that continued to press down on Penelope day in, and day out.

A week later, Penelope found herself sitting in her chambers, wearing only her dressing gown, her fingers fumbling as they attempted to untangle the stubborn knots in her hair. The early morning light had barely begun to creep through the curtains, the sky still painted with the soft hues of dawn, though it felt like an oppressive weight against her eyelids. Sleep had been elusive to her, her mind too full of thoughts and emotions she hadn’t quite been able to sort through.

Today marked the start of the hunting season in the Autumn Court, and as tradition dictated, the High Lord had invited the nobility to attend the first hunt of the season. It was a grand event, steeped in the court’s history and customs, and one that Penelope had always viewed with quiet distaste. There was something barbaric about it, the way they slaughtered innocent animals for sport when the court itself was already drowning in luxury. they had no need for more game, no need for the spectacle of the hunt when their pantries were already stocked with food and delicacies. To her, the whole affair felt primitive and cruel, a show of dominance over nature that seemed unnecessary.

But this year, it was different. This would be her first hunt, the first time she would be expected to attend, to stand among the nobles in the cold morning air, her presence noted and scrutinized by the sharp eyes of the court. To not show up would be seen as an insult, an act of defiance that could not be overlooked.

Penelope yanked at a particularly stubborn knot in her hair, the brush tearing through the tangles, sending a sharp twinge of pain radiating across her scalp as the strands finally loosened. The door to her chambers opened with a soft creak, then clicked shut again, and she glanced in the mirror, expecting to see a maid with her breakfast. But instead, the cold, stoic reflection staring back at her was that of her mother.

Already dressed for the morning, Lady Estelle wore her traditional floor-length gown of deep forest green, the heavy fabric draping elegantly in the chill of early autumn. The high collar, lined with rabbit fur, only emphasized the sharpness of her features, her hair pulled back so tightly into a bun that it seemed to draw her face even tauter.

“Good morning, Mother,” Penelope greeted her, still watching the reflection as she continued to work the brush through another knot in her hair.

Her mother didn’t acknowledge the greeting, not even a flicker of warmth crossing her face. She moved across the room with silent, measured steps, her fingers grazing over the rich fabric of the gown and cloak laid out for Penelope. Lady Estelle rarely came to Penelope’s chambers alone, and as her mother’s presence filled the room, a knot of anxiety settled low in Penelope’s stomach. She gripped the brush tighter but said nothing, knowing from experience that addressing her mother’s unexpected visit before she was ready to speak would only invite her displeasure.

Her mother finished her silent appraisal of Penelope’s outfit and moved toward the vanity, appearing behind her daughter’s reflection like a stern shadow, her gaze sharp yet unreadable. “Here,” Lady Estelle said, extending her hand for the brush. “Let me.”

Penelope hesitated but handed over the brush, feeling a knot of uncertainty tighten in her chest. Her mother rarely showed affection—especially not in the form of something as intimate as brushing her hair. As Lady Estelle ran the bristles through the ends of her daughter’s dark locks, the room fell into a thick, weighted silence. The only sound was the soft whisper of the brush working through the tangles, smooth strokes, deliberate and slow.

Lady Estelle’s gaze remained fixed on her task, never meeting Penelope’s in the mirror, but her voice broke the silence. “How are you feeling about today?”

Penelope blinked, startled. Her mother never asked such personal questions, never showed interest in her emotions beyond the practicalities of court behavior. It was odd enough that she had offered to brush her hair—something Penelope couldn’t remember ever happening—but this inquiry put her even more on edge. She swallowed down the instinct to question it and answered quickly, “Fine.”

Her mother’s hands didn’t falter, but her eyes flicked up, locking with Penelope’s in the reflection. “Are you excited?” she asked, her tone deceptively casual, as though the weight of the question wasn’t pressing heavily between them.

Penelope hesitated, her voice faltering as she replied, “Yes.” It came out more as a question than an answer, and she instantly regretted the uncertainty.

Penelope’s mother let out a low chuckle, the sound almost foreign, almost unsettling as she looked down at her daughter. “I was so nervous before the first hunt I attended,” she mused, her voice softer than usual. “I was terrified they would slaughter the animals right in front of us. I nearly vomited as soon as I stepped into the viewing tent.”

Penelope’s hands swilled in her lap. Shocked didn’t begin to cover it. Lady Estelle never spoke about her feelings — especially not moments of vulnerability like this. The act of brushing her hair was strange enough, but now this revelation felt like an even more jarring intimacy.

“You know, I was first introduced to your father at a hunt,” her mother continued, her tone almost becoming wistful. “He was riding with the High family. When his father approached mine to request my hand on his son’s behalf, I was elated. To finally have a place in court.”

Penelope’s fingers curled slightly around the silk fabric of her dressing gown, her gaze fixed on her mother’s reflection. Her mother’s face seemed distant, as if she were staring into a memory long tucked away.

“And when your father returned from the hunt, all muddy and covered in dirt, smelling of animal and horse,” Lady Estelle’s lips twisted into a small, reluctant smile, “I had to stop myself from turning away in disgust. But that’s how things were then. Courtships were much shorter, more formal. Your generation gets far more time to be with one another before such arrangements are finalized.”

Penelope swallowed hard, her throat tightening as if she were trying to force down the weight of her own apprehension. The way her mother spoke about courtship was so … detached, as though love or desire were never part of the equation — just duty and expectation.

The brush tugged at the stubborn knot, pulling Penelope’s head back slightly, and she hissed softly in pain. Her mother’s eyes flicked up, catching Penelope’s gaze in the mirror with that sharp, discerning look she always wore.

“Lord Aiden is a fine male,” Lady Estelle said, her words pointed, as though testing for a reaction.

“He is,” Penelope replied, her voice tight, the words automatic.

Her mother made a small sound of approval as she continued brushing, smoothing out the tangles. “He would make a fine husband,” she added, her eyes narrowing slightly as they flicked back to Penelope, watching her closely.

“He would,” Penelope replied again, trying to keep eye contact with her mother.

Lady Estelle continued brushing her daughter’s hair, her movements measured but the tension radiating from her was palpable. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound in the room the soft rasp of bristles against tangled strands. Penelope could feel her mother watching her in the mirror, her gaze as sharp as the pull of the brush.

“Lord Aiden is a fine male,” her mother repeated, her voice lower this time, laced with expectation.

Penelope’s mouth felt dry. “Yes, he is,” she murmured, her hands continuing to tighten in the fabric of her gown.

Her mother’s lips pursed, the brush gliding down her hair a little harder now, snagging on another knot. Penelope winced as Lady Estelle tugged, the pressure increasing just enough to make her scalp sting.

“You’ve spent enough time with him, haven’t you?” her mother asked lightly, though there was an edge beneath the surface of her words. “Enough to know of his interests and how fortunate this match would be. It’s not everyday a lord with such status and wealth shows genuine interest.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I know,” Penelope replied softly, her eyes fixed on her reflection, though she didn’t recognize the girl staring back at her. “It’s… it’s all a lot to consider.”

The brush froze mid-stroke, and her mother's eyes turned to ice. "Consider?" she hissed, the word dripping with venom. "Penelope, this is not a matter you can ponder over. Lord Aiden has made his intentions clear. This is a rare opportunity that must not be taken lightly."

Penelope's throat tightened as she shifted in her seat, her fingers trembling in her lap. "I understand, but-"

But her mother cut her off with a swift tug on the brush, yanking at a particularly stubborn knot. Penelope bit her lip to stop from crying out as pain shot through her scalp.

"You understand, but what?" Lady Estelle demanded, her voice sharp and controlled. "Do you think opportunities like this come knocking often? Are you so foolish to believe that if you reject this offer, another one will come along for someone like you? Lord Aiden is willing to bring our family respect and security. Your father and I have been waiting for a match like this for years, Penelope. And I have tried to let you handle it yourself, but now I see that you are not taking this seriously or perhaps are just too naïve to understand the consequences of turning it down."

A feeling of suffocation overwhelmed Penelope as her mother's hand moved faster and harsher, the brush tugging at her hair without any regard for her discomfort. Each pull felt like a warning.

"Your father has sacrificed so much for us and we cannot let an opportunity like this slip away," Lady Estelle continued, her voice unwavering but pointed. "Especially with Persimmons' failures to find a husband. It would be unforgivable for our family to decline such an offer. Do you understand?"

The brush caught on another knot and this time, Lady Estelle ripped through it, causing Penelope's head to snap back with a painful jolt. Tears welled in her eyes, not from the physical pain but from the overwhelming pressure in the room.

"I won't stand by and let you make foolish mistakes," her mother added, her voice laced with disappointment. "This is not just about you. It's about our entire family. Your sisters. Your father. We need one of our daughters to secure our future and Lord Aiden is offering it to you. I don't know what has made you so selfish as to not see this opportunity, but I will put a stop to it."

Penelope clenched her jaw, trying to steady her breathing. She felt trapped, as if every word her mother spoke pushed her further into a corner. "I'm not trying to throw it away," she managed, her voice strained. "I just...I don't know if-"

"If what?" Lady Estelle cut in, her hand stilling on the brush once more as she stared at Penelope through the mirror. "If you don't want to marry him?"

The words hung between them like a loaded weapon, ready to strike at any moment.

Penelope hesitated, her throat closing up as she struggled to find the right words. But her mother didn't wait for an answer, her expression turning hard. "Do you think I haven't noticed your behavior at court? Sneaking off into dark corners? Flaunting yourself in front of males with your indecency?" Her voice rose with each accusation. "I have kept quiet, hoping that Lord Aiden's interest would temper some of your wildness, but enough is enough. Your infatuation with male attention is disgusting and eventually, even Lord Aiden will tire of it. He will not be seen chasing after a harlot like you. So either fix yourself and satisfy him now, or your father and I will do it for you."

Penelope's expression twisted in bewilderment as her mother accused her of flirting with other men. She knew she hadn't been intentionally trying to garner attention, but a small part of her wondered if she had been too absorbed in her own thoughts and unaware of how she may have been perceived by others. Could it be possible that she had unwittingly given off the wrong impression? “Mother I-”

Lady Estelle’s grip on the brush tightened, her jaw set as she pulled through another knot with little regard for the sharp wince that flashed across Penelope’s face. “Do you think this is a game?” her mother hissed, her voice sharp and unforgiving. “Do you think you can toy with these males and then turn away when you feel like it? You have no idea the damage you are capable of doing to this family with your recklessness.”

Penelope’s heart pounded against her ribs, her mind whirling in confusion. She turned in her chair to face her mother, “I’m not—” she began, her voice small and strained, but before she could even speak, her mother's hand struck her across the cheek with a ringing slap. The force of it nearly knocked her out of her chair, and she instinctively pressed a hand to her burning skin.

“You are!” Lady Estelle snapped, her eyes narrowing down at her daughter. “I have watched you at court, Penelope. You think you may be clever, hiding behind your smiles and stolen glances, but others are watching too. And they won’t be kind. And you’re a fool if you believe Lord Aiden will tolerate that behavior much longer.”

Tears stung at Penelope’s eyes, her face flushed. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean—” she stammered, struggling to find her footing while also trying to soothe the blinding pain radiating from her cheek.

Lady Estelle merely glared down at her. “You didn’t mean to? That’s no excuse. Intentions don’t matter when your actions speak louder. And now you stand on the edge of ruining everything your father and I have built!”

The cold accusation stung more than her cheek. “Mother, I swear, I haven’t—” she tried to defend herself, her voice trembling, but her mother’s hard stare silenced her.

“You’re lucky Lord Aiden has shown interest in you at all,” her mother continued, her voice lower but no less venomous. “But make no mistake, if you continue down this path — if you continue to act like a foolish, desperate girl — your father and I will have no choice but to take matters into our own hands.”

Penelope’s breath caught in her throat. She stared up at her mother, into those piercing eyes, her chest tightening with panic. “What do you mean?”

Lady Estelle’s eyes flickered with something dark and resolute. “We will betroth you to whomever we see fit,” she said coldly. “You will marry, Penelope. Whether it’s Lord Aiden or another suitable match, you will marry, and you will do it for this family. If you can’t control yourself, we will control it for you.”

The weight of her mother’s words crashed down on her like a tidal way. It wasn’t a threat — it was a promise.

“You have one chance,” Lady Estelle said, her voice quieter now, as though the decision had already been made. “One chance to prove you can do this. To prove you are capable of securing this family’s future without our intervention.”

Penelope felt the burning sting of tears continuing to gather at the corner of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “And if I don’t?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Lady Estelle leaned back, but her face remained hardened. “If you don’t,” she said flatly, “your father and I will choose your future for you.”

Her mother set the brush down on the vanity with a slam of cold finality. “Now,” Lady Estelle said, stepping back, her voice once again cool and composed, “you will attend the hunt today. You will conduct yourself with dignity and grace. And you will secure your future with Lord Aiden. I expect nothing less.”

With that, Lady Estelle turned on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving her daughter alone with the crushing weight of the ultimatum she had been handed. The room seemed too small, the air too thin, and as the door closed behind her mother, the tears Penelope had fought so hard to hold back finally slipped free.

—

The carriage ride from the warmth of Penelope’s home to the edge of the hunting grounds was silent. Her mother sat across from her, peering out the window, not looking at her while her sister sat next to her, sleep still clinging to her heavy eyes. Their father had left before them, eager to get out onto the hunting grounds for an early morning drink with his partners. When they finally arrived, and they stepped out of the carriage, the crisp morning air bit at Penelope’s cheeks. A layer of frost had settled over the grass glistening beneath the early morning light like shards of crystal, while droplets of dew clung to the edges of the leaves, waiting to melt under the sun’s rise. The sky above was a pale blue, streaked with the faint blush of dawn as the first rays began to stretch across the horizon.

Around her, the gathering nobles bustled quietly, their breath visible in the cold as they stood in small clusters on the frost covered field. The males participating in the hunt were outfitted in their finest hunting attire — sturdy leather boots and dark cloaks lined with fur, their tunics embroidered with intricate patterns of autumn leaves, mirroring the fiery colors of the forest around them. Some work high-collared jackets, the buttons gleaming in the faint light while others adorned themselves with feathered caps or leather gloves, marking themselves as seasoned hunters.

The females who were not participating in the hunt stood apart, wrapped in layers of opulent furs and velvet cloaks, their gowns made of thick, richly colored fabrics — deep burgundies, emerald greens, and russets that reflected the turning of the season. Jewels glimmered at their throats and wrists, and their hair was pinned up beneath delicate caps, lined with fur to ward off the morning chill. They spoke in hushed tones, their gloved hands clutching steaming cups of spiced cider or mulled wine as they gathered in the warmth of the viewing tent, which was already buzzing with excitement.

In the distance, the hounds barked and whined eagerly, their tails wagging in anticipation as they were lined up beside their masters. The horses, too, stamped their hooves, their breaths puffing out in clouds of mist as they waited for the signal to begin. The air was thick with the energy of the hunt, the stillness of the morning only broken by the occasional bark of a dog or the clatter of hooves on the frozen ground.

The fur-lined cloak Penelope wore did little to warm the ice creeping up her spine as she approached the viewing tent, her sister just a few steps beside her. Persimmon kept glancing at her, though she said nothing, her earlier attempts at conversation in the carriage having gone ignored. Penelope had kept her responses short, too wary to say much after her mother’s harsh reprimand that morning. Her cheek still stung from the slap, and with the cold biting at her skin, she feared the outline of her mother’s fingers might be visible in red across her face.

Their mother marched ahead, unbothered, her demeanor polished and calm, already being beckoned by the other ladies in the tent. A warm cup was pressed into her hand as she seamlessly blended into the crowd, smiling and laughing as though nothing had happened—no trace of the harsh words or the slap she’d delivered to Penelope just hours before. Penelope couldn’t help but wonder if her mother felt the sting in her hand as keenly as she felt it on her cheek.

As they finally crossed into the tent, its warmth a stark contrast to the icy air outside, Penelope’s thoughts were interrupted by the familiar drawl of Leda’s voice, curling over the chatter of the crowd. “Penelope, Persimmon!”

Persimmon straightened at once, a smooth smile appearing on her face as she adjusted her posture, effortlessly pushing through the sea of richly-dressed ladies with polite remarks about their gowns and cloaks.

Penelope followed quietly, her heart pounding as they wove through small groups of women until they stood face-to-face with Leda, the embodiment of Autumn Court opulence. Her golden hair was pinned back in a braided bun, a striking contrast against the deep velvet green of her cloak, which was lined with luxurious fox fur. The rich red hues of the fur perfectly matched the dark crimson gown she wore beneath, a display of wealth and status that was hard to miss.

Leda’s eyes gleamed as she took them both in, immediately grasping Penelope’s hands in her own. “You two look stunning!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying an air of superiority.

Penelope offered a polite smile, attempting to pull her hands free from Leda's grip, but Leda held on, her hands firm. “Thank the gods you’re here,” Leda continued, her tone laced with relief. “I was beginning to think I’d be the only one of our group here. The boys are all off joining the hunt.”

Our group. Penelope mentally scoffed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Leda, who had once been an intimidating predator upon their first meeting, now acted as though Penelope had become part of her inner circle, a fellow lioness in her pride. Perhaps this was what assimilation into court life truly felt like.

“We would never let you suffer alone,” Persimmon chimed in with a knowing wink.

At last, Leda released Penelope’s hands, laughing as though they shared some private joke. “If I had to hear them prattle on about slaughtering some poor creature one more time, I swear I would’ve slaughtered them myself!”

Persimmon and Leda erupted into peals of laughter, the sound high and fake, designed to please the ears of the nearby ladies. Penelope, however, couldn’t summon the same false lightheartedness. She simply smiled, her eyes drifting to the floor below as her mind wandered elsewhere, seeking an escape from the forced gaiety.

From outside the tent, Penelope could hear the raucous laughter of the males drawing closer, the first few appeared at the entrance, their eyes scanning the crowd for their wives or betrothed. It was clear most had been drinking long before the sun had risen, giggling and stumbling as they navigated the crowd of elegantly dressed ladies, their muddy boots dirtying the trains of gowns. Each of the ladies softly scolded them for their foolish behavior through quiet giggles and smiles. All the males carried a small token, a tradition as old as the Autumn Court itself.

Penelope watched as velvet pouches, silver charms, and other trinkets were offered in turn, each gesture a subtle mark of continued commitment, health, and good fortune in the hunt. She had always been told that, in ancient times, the males bestowed the key to the manor or home upon their wives before the hunt, a symbol of power and responsibility should they fall or be wounded. Now, with the hunt little more than a controlled social event, the tokens had shifted to gifts of jewelry, charms, and other small trinkets, gestures more ornamental than functional.

The unmarried ladies looked on with admiration, yearning for the day their own husbands or mates would present them with such tokens of affection. Penelope and Persimmon stood together, watching as their father drunkenly stumbled toward their mother. Lady Estelle maintained a tight, practiced smile as he handed her a midnight blue velvet bag. Inside was an emerald necklace, which immediately drew the admiration and envious whispers of the other ladies gathered around her.

“Lady Penelope,” a voice called from behind. Penelope, her sister, and Leda all turned to see Lord Aiden, dressed in the traditional hunting attire, a finely tailored tunic of rich russet brown and deep forest green, embroidered with golden accents along the cuffs and collar. The weight of his leather riding boots made his steps deliberate and strong, his movements purposeful even as he navigated the crowd with ease.

His blond hair, slightly tousled from the brisk morning air, was pushed back, revealing a flush in his cheeks from the excitement of the hunt and perhaps the remnants of a pre-hunt drink. His cloudy blue eyes seemed to gleam with warmth as he locked his gaze with Penelope’s.

As he approached, Aiden wore a genuine, almost boyish smile that softened his otherwise rugged appearance. There was a calm confidence in his stride, his attention undivided on her.

Penelope’s heart thudded in her chest as Aiden approached. His expression was soft, almost private, she could feel the weight of eyes on them — the quiet whispers of ladies nearby, the subtle glances of the other nobles, and most pressing of all, the sharp gaze of her mother across the tent.

Aiden reached her, his presence warm and steady, a sharp contrast to the knot of tension twisting inside her stomach. He smiled down at her, his voice low, intimate, seemingly meant only for her ears.

“I wanted to give you this,” he said quietly, holding out a burgundy velvet pouch, his eyes pointed to it as he rubbed the soft fabric in his hand. “A small token of luck… for today.”

Penelope felt the heat of the attention surrounding them, the curious eyes watching their every move as she forced her lips into a bright beaming smile. “Oh, Lord Aiden,” she said, her voice carrying a delicate, lilting tone that felt foreign to her even as it left her mouth, “How thoughtful of you.”

She took the pouch from his hand, her fingers brushing against his, and she made a deliberate show of untwisting the ribbon and peering inside. Her breath caught for a moment, not because of what was inside, but because of the tightness building in her chest. She pulled out a finely crafted silver bracelet, simple but elegant, with an intricate design of leaves and vines weaving around the band.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, letting her voice sound soft with gratitude, though a strange detachment lingered behind her words. Her fingers traced the cool metal as she lifted her eyes to meet his. “Thank you, truly. This is more than I deserve.”

Aiden smiled back, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I had noticed you only wore silver jewelry so I hope this is the right color to match what you already have.”

Penelope’s heart clenched at his sincerity, the warmth in his voice, and the ease in which he spoke to her. He had known enough of her to ensure he gave her something he knew she would like, something that would match the pieces she already had. She wished she could feel something other than the heavy obligation and burden that clung to her. Lord Aiden deserved a lady who would swoon over such a small yet measured gesture. But instead, she glanced subtly towards her mother, who stood a few paces away, watching them with hawk-like precision. Penelope knew she had no choice. She had to make it believable.

She glanced up at him, under thick lashes. “It’s perfect, Lord Aiden. Thank you, thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Aiden replied, his eyes warm. “I wanted you to have something to remember today,” he murmured. “To remind you that no matter when I am during the hunt, my thoughts are always with you.”

With practiced grace, she allowed herself to lean into the moment. “I’ll treasure it,” she said, her voice laced with what she hoped sounded like earnestness. “I couldn’t ask for a more thoughtful gift.” She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, turning it slightly as though admiring it, and then let her eyes return to Aiden’s face, her own lighting up with what looked like girlish glee.

She reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. Bringing it up between them. “I feel so lucky to have you,” she said, her voice louder than necessary, just enough to make sure those within earshot, especially her mother, heard every word. “Thank you, Aiden.”

The smile on Aiden’s face widened, his gaze softening at her words. He squeezed her hand in return, bringing it to his lips as he pressed a long kiss into the cold skin. “It’s my honor,” he replied quietly, before leaning in slightly, his voice dropping even lower. “And I mean it, Penelope. You’re never far from my thoughts.”

Penelope’s stomach twisted, though she kept a smile fixed in place, letting out a light, almost musical laugh, as though his words had filled her with warmth. “You’re much too kind,” she replied.

A chilled breeze made its way through the tent, pushing a strand of Penelope’s hair across her face. Aiden reached a hand up to brush it back behind her ear, his touch almost making her recoil. But as he did, a loud horn blast echoed across the grounds. The deep sound rippled through the tent signaling the start of the hunt. Almost immediately, the males began to gather, their easy laughter and drunken joviality now transforming into something more focused and determined.

Aiden, still holding Penelope’s hand, gave her one last lingering look, his smile softening. “Wish me luck,” he said with a teasing gleam in his eye.

“Good luck,” Penelope replied, her voice measured, though the warmth of her earlier smile had already faded. She watched the other males, who crossed the field and began mounting their horses or exchanging brief words of encouragement with each other.

Aiden crossed out of the tent, and Penelope watched as her father clapped his hand on his shoulder and led him to their mounts, standing beside one another. Like father and son. The sight made Penelope’s stomach turn.

Before she even had time to collect herself, Leda and Persimmon descended on her.

Leda’s eyes widened as she reached for Penelope’s wrist, her fingers tracing over the delicate craftsmanship of the bracelet Aiden had just bestowed upon her. The morning sunlight streaming through the tent caught in the intricate details, the silver so polished it shone light diamonds.

“Penelope,” Leda breathed, her voice dripping with awe. “This is absolutely stunning!” She turned Penelope’s wrist to admire it from every angle, her lips curving into a smile. “The detail, the design — it must have been made for you personally, it even has your initials engraved on it. The cost of something like this… I can’t even imagine.”

Penelope offered a polite smile, but the weight of Leda’s admiration only weighed her down heavier.

Leda tilted her head, still grazing the bracelet as if reluctant to let it go. “I mean, I’ve seen gifts from the hunt before, but this?” She laughed, though there was a sharp edge to the sound. “This is in a league of its own, isn’t it? This isn’t just a luck charm — it’s a statement. The metal work alone… you’re a very lucky girl, Penelope.”

Leda sighed dramatically, finally releasing Penelope’s wrist with a wistful look in her eye. “I only wish I could get something this beautiful.” She glanced down at her own bracelet, a delicate silver piece that now seemed dull and insignificant next to Penelope’s. “Not that I’m jealous.” She turned her nose up slightly. “I’m sure come next season I’ll be sporting my own charm. But it is rare to see something this fine. It suits you.”

The compliment felt hollow, a sharp contrast to the way Leda’s gaze lingered on the carvings on the bracelet, her jealousy barely concealed behind her sweet words.

“I supposed it’s what you deserve,” Leda added, her smile tight. “To have something so perfect made just for you. If only the rest of us could be so fortunate.” She winked, but Penelope could feel the unspoken envy behind each syllable. "You’re truly set the standard for us all,” she said. Then, she turned towards Persimmon.

“Tell me, Sim,” Leda continued, linking arms with her, “did you see Lady Alandra’s cloak? It’s practically drowning her — no shape, no style. She looks like she’s being eaten alive by fur!”

Persimmon laughed, shaking her head as they shifted into their own conversation, their voices lowering into whispers, the topics quickly turning to trivial matters. The pair seemed to lose themselves in their own little world of courtly critiques, Leda’s fingers constantly twirling a strand of her golden hair that framed her face as Persimmon nodded along, her laughter bright and fake.

Penelope, now distanced from their conversation and more than glad to no longer be the center of attention, let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She stole a glance around the tent, trying to ground herself in the moment, the weight of the bracelet still pressing cold against her wrist.

She caught onto the gaze of her mother, her breath instinctively catching and the burn in her cheek quickly returning. Lady Estelle’s expression was unreadable for a long beat, her face a mask of stoic authority. But then, ever so subtly, her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile — a gesture of approval.

Penelope’s heart stuttered in her chest. The knot of tension that had been twisting inside of her seemed to loosen ever so slightly. Her mother’s silent approval was something she had always sought, even though she hated it still held such power over her. For a brief moment, she felt reassured, as if all the careful choices she had made in public — the smiles, the polite gestures, the girly show of affection towards Aiden — had been the right ones.

But with that approval came something heavier. Her heart sank as the realization hit her with full force: this moment, this approval, had sealed her fate.

Her mother’s eyes lingered on her for a second longer, satisfied, and then Lady Estelle turned back to her conversation, leaving her daughter standing there in a crowded tent, feeling both reassured and trapped all at once.

As Penelope lowered her gaze from her mother, a subtle shift at the edge of the tent caught her attention. Her heart stuttered slightly again as she spotted Lord Eris, standing off to the side, separated from the clusters of laughing nobles. He stood tall, his russet cloak draped over his broad shoulders, the intricate gold embroidery catching the faint light from the fires burning in the tent.

He wasn’t mingling. He wasn’t engaging in the rowdy camaraderie of the other males who were preparing for the hunt. Instead, his sharp amber eyes were locked on her.

Penelope froze, the weight of his gaze settling uncomfortably against her skin. His expression, usually so carefully composed into a mask of superiority or wry amusement, was unreadable now — perhaps tinged with something that felt uncomfortably like disapproval. His eyes flicked down to the bracelet she hadn’t realized she was twirling on her wrist for a brief moment before returning to meet her gaze once more.

For a heartbeat, the air between them seemed to thicken. There was something in the way he looked at her — something that made her feel so exposed, as if he could always see through the polished performance she put on for everyone else. It was as though he had seen through her facade.

Her pulse quickened under the weight of that stare, a gnawing unease settling deep within her chest. Did he know how hollow her display had been? Was he silently judging her for how she had given in, had bent to the expectations of her family, her court?

Before she could gather her thoughts or even begin to understand, Eris broke the moment. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and he gave her one last unreadable look, something fleeting and elusive passing over his features. Then, without a word, he turned sharply on his heel, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strode toward the group of males preparing for the hunt.

Penelope watched him go, her heart still pounding in her chest. She wasn’t sure how much of that brief exchange had been real or imagined, but the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach lingered long after he disappeared from her sight.

Why did it matter so much what he thought? She barely knew him and she certainly didn’t like him. And yet, the weight of his gaze, the unspoken judgment in his eyes, gnawed at her.

She shook her head slightly, trying to dispel the growing storm inside her. Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court, had no bearing on her life. She should view him as another male of court, one who enjoyed his games and provocations. She had no reason to think about this strange, creeping sense of shame that had lodged itself beneath her ribs.

She had played the part of a dutiful daughter and potential wife. She had worked and molded herself to fit into this world. And yet, all it had taken was a single glance from Eris to unravel the carefully constructed mask she had put on. The mask she was supposed to wear for her family, for Aiden, for herself.

Why does it matter what he thinks?

Penelope clenched her jaw, frustration mixing with the uncomfortable vulnerability. Eris’s silent disapproval — whether real or imagined — cut deeper than it should have. And the worst part was, she couldn’t understand why. What did it matter if he thought she was a willing participant in the world of court politics? What did it matter if he saw her as just another female bowing to duty?

But somewhere deep inside, it did matter. More than she wanted to admit.

The sharp blast of a hunting horn again echoed through the crisp morning air, signaling the beginning of the hunt. The sound rippled through the tent, drawing everyone’s attention as the final moments of conversation and laughter hushed in anticipation.

Around her, the ladies began to move, some toward the edge of the viewing tent where they would watch the riders take off into the frost-covered forest, others settled themselves near the fires for warmth. Persimmon and Leda were still absorbed in their discussion, their voices soft with excitement as they speculated about who would return with the finest kill.

Penelope still felt the weight of her mother's approving glance from across the tent. A glance that reassured her but also solidified the sinking feeling in her stomach, a subtle but undeniable confirmation of her sealed fate. She forced a tight smile in return, though her heart was far from calm.

Outside, the hunting party gathered—males laughing and adjusting their saddles, preparing to ride into the forest with the promise of triumph or sport. Penelope’s eyes drifted, scanning the crowd as her gaze once again fell on Eris, standing at the edge of the group. His horse pawed the ground beneath him, steam rising from its flared nostrils as if sensing the tension in the air. Eris sat tall in the saddle, his amber eyes briefly locking with hers from across the field.

That same unreadable expression. Disapproving? Disappointed? She couldn’t tell.

For a fleeting moment, neither of them moved—Eris’s gaze lingering just long enough to stir something in her chest, something she didn’t have the time or the courage to acknowledge. Then, without a word, he broke the connection, turning his attention forward and spurring his horse toward the forest, disappearing into the misty morning as the hunting party charged ahead.

The tent buzzed with renewed energy as the ladies gathered to watch the riders, the thrill of the hunt palpable in the air. But Penelope remained rooted to the spot, torn between the world she had chosen and the one that felt like it was slipping away from her.

A Court of Fire and Masks Master List

Tagged: @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @ambivalence-is-me @rcarbo1 @aaliyahmorielle

[aquarii-if]

How would the ROs react to a sick MC 👀

Assuming this is just a case of the common cold or something small. Under the cut cause it got kind of long.

Liviana- Deals with it in a calm and collected manor. She asks the castle staff to get MC some food and water, along with adjusting the AC or giving them more blankets and pillows. She can’t sit by them all day, but she’ll come by every so often and check on them. She wouldn’t be very controlling over what MC does, if they want to get up and move, she won’t give them flak about it, as long as they aren’t pushing themselves too much. She just asks that they take things easy and MC can feel free to request anything they need from the castle staff for the time being.

Amare- I don’t think he’d be freaking out, but I definitely don’t think Amare would be as calm as Liviana would be. He’d be hovering over MC the entire time they’re sick, making sure they’re comfortable and giving them anything and everything that will help relieve some of their symptoms. I don’t want to say he’d be against MC getting up and moving, but if he sees MC up and about he’d definitely ask questions, insisting that if they need something specific he can get it for them while leading them back to bed.

Estelle- While Estelle’s usual reaction to herself or someone else catching a cold is “Suck it up”, I’d imagine during a relationship with MC she’d soften up and would have stopped being so hard on everyone. That being said, she’s not the best at comforting or taking care of people, even if she’s trying. While she would happily go out and get medicine or stay near MC until they get better, if MC wants something specific from her, they’ll have to ask directly. Similarly to Liviana, Estelle wouldn’t be controlling over MC moving around or continuing their daily routine despite their sickness, so long as they take it easy. She’s just going with whatever MC thinks is best for themself.

Ellery- Well, he is a doctor, so he’ll probably just have MC stay in his office until they get better. He’ll warm up some soup and encourage them to drink water and get some rest. He’d also encourage MC to get some exercise. They should at least take a short walk around the castle or the gardens, fresh air and a very light amount of exercise can help to clear sinuses, however he won’t push if MC wants to take it easy. Overall, he’d just ask MC what they need and would be at their beck and call until they get better.

Vega- They’re freaking out. Running around Izar’s palace and demanding that everyone drop everything and tend to MC. They’re not sure how humans react to sickness, so Vega honestly believes MC is two seconds away from dying. Will sit by MC the entire time while yelling at every person they see to get more pillows, or get MC some food and water, or whatever MC might be needing at that moment. MC’s not allowed to move, and if they do Vega’s going to be right at their heels. They’ll keep a thermometer on hand and if MC’s temperature starts going up Vega’s splashing them with a bucket of water.

[irisopranta]

The Iris and The Edelweiss

“An edelweiss? Quite an usual flower to have there.” Iris mentioned it to the young Haillenarte in front of her. Iris wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. Haurchefant had inform her that he was quite a gentle one for one that had great standing the Ishgardian High Houses. It was at his insistence that he wanted Iris to get to know Lord Francel.

Luckily, he was receiving a parcel at the camp. She just so happened to catch him as her was looking over the contents. The edelweiss was in already in his hand. He was quite confused as to why a stranger would strike up a conversation with him. He nodded to her, “Mayhaps, However it is a gift from my mother. She always loved edelweiss.” He looked at the woman before him. “I assumed you needed to speak to me?”

Iris nodded. “Lord Haurchfant thought it would be a good idea for me to meet you.” She held out her hand “I’m Iris, a pleasure to meet you.” The young lord took her hand to shake. As he did she couldn’t help herself to her glances to the edelweiss. “You know, if she is sending you something like that, she must be telling you to be strong for whats ahead.”

“You feeling alright there dear?��� the graceful elezen before her showed a bit of concern on her face “Would you like to lay down instead of playing me in another match?”

“Oh, I’m quite fine Lady Estelle. I was just thinking back on something in my past.” She looked at the chess board before her. It seemed that Estelle took the liberty to set it back for a new match. No matter how much Iris play against her, she can never win against her lady. She can’t even think she ever saw anyone win a match against. Stephanivien might have gotten close but Iris isn’t all that surprise. After all, She probably taught her son a trick or two through out the years.

Iris has come to known Lady Estelle de Haillenarte these last few moons. Every since she got engaged to her son she seemed interested to learning more about her new daughter. Before then, she had only caught glimpse of the lady of the house every now and then. She always seemed to have a face of grief whenever she was about the manor.

“Well if you are quite fine then let’s proceed. I still have to teach you a thing about strategy if you are to become the next Countess Haillenarte.” A smirk crossed Estelle’s face. The countess seemed amused by this all. Rather if it’s because she was showing off to Iris her skills or she just was enjoying the time the two were having. Iris didn’t mind.

“Though I have to ask, why edelweiss? It’s an unusual flower to like?”

“Now wouldn’t you like to know.”

[whilstiveputdownthisfic]

part 3/3

pics (bc it's not letting me post videos) of bits from Nick's IG stories

Sunday, June 9th, 2024; as of 9:02 am edt

[dark-elf-writes]

Learning the gods fear them isn't new.

Learning that Apollo and Posideon went on bended knee to beg for their lives did. Even Athena was in favour of wiping them out. Hades disagreed, but also feared Percy. It got worse when Sally and Paul died, died and Estelle taken from Percy for foster care.

They feared the group. And took steps.

Learning that they were thrust here as a favour for other gods was… harsh. This mercy feels like shit, and they make it known. They want peace.

They won't get it, for some events are set in stone even with major players disinterested in starting them. They will still be dragged in.

Until then, they can rest though. Safe with Solas who steps into shoes he did not want. Safe with Varric who opens up Blondie’s old clinic for ‘Sunny’ (Will). Safe with Cassandra who stands with them. Safe with Dorian and Bull.

They are safe for now, the mercy of the gods cruel.

No one will forget.

It rains for days after they found out.

It rains when Percy disbands the Inquisition. It rains when Varric reminds the kids of the titles he granted all of them in Kirkwall. It rains when Sera reminds them whenever they wanted to have fun or cause trouble she will be there. It rains when Cullen steps over the growing patch of dead earth around Nico’s feet and rest hands on his shaking shoulders without fear. It rains when Bull pulls each one of them into a hug. It rains when Vivienne pressed her lips together as she cupped each of their cheeks. It rains as Cassandra stands at their backs. It rains as Thom kneels before them and swears them his sword no matter what the future brings. It rains when Dorian cups Nico’s cheeks and swears to him he will build something better. It rains when Josie presses kisses tot heir heads, even is she has to pull Percy and Grover down to her height. It rains when Leliana comes to them in her full Divine robes and promises she will work with them where she can.

It rains as Solas leads them through the Eluvians to Kirkwall.

It rains and rains and rains.

None of this feels like mercy. None of this feels like kindness.

It’s Will of all people who hits anger first, days into the longest storm Kirkwall has ever seen. Slamming his fist into the wall so hard his bones crack and screaming until his voice breaks too. Cole leads him back to Nico with gentle hands and gentler words. It doesn’t help. Nor does Solas healing his shattered bones and taking away the pain that kept him centered.

Annabeth hurls her carved owl so hard it shatters a window. Varric has it replaced. A new carving waits for her days later along with Thom’s grim face. A dragon. A sign of her victory rather than the last holding her down. She doesn’t smile at him but she does lean against his side for several long moments before drifting back to Percy’s side.

On the second week of the storm lightning joins the rain as Thalia realizes she was abandoned twice over. Lightning that chars her curler as she throws it as hard as she can with a scream. Even here she had worked for her lady not knowing she had been abandoned. It hurts more than her father turning his back on her. Hurts and hurts and hurts until she can’t breathe. What’s worse? She’s still immortal here with no way to get rid of it even if she breaks her vows. There’s no goddess to release her. She will remain as her friends grow old and fade. She will endure.

Grover sits, blank faced and staring, as he realizes he may never see Juniper again. No music fills the manor. No lilting sound of pipes. It’s all Cole can do to coax food into him and even then it’s little bits. Mere scraps to keep him going. Keep him staring.

The dead greet them not long later. Dozens and dozens of them flooding the streets of Kirkwall and just… standing. Waiting. It causes more than a little panic but Varric soothes it soon enough. Nico stays at Will’s side and tastes nothing but ash in his mouth as he realizes he was abandoned by his only family all over again.

Then after weeks of rain and storms and the fucking walking dead, the storm breaks.

Percy stands from the plush chair he had collapsed on hours or days ago and swears loud enough that it makes everyone jump.

“Fuck this!”

The sunlight burns after weeks of clouds and drown curtains but Percy shoves the windows open anyway. With one arm. He has yet to touch the prosthetic gifted to him. No one can blame him.

He turns on their group, eyes red with tears and tinged with bruises from exhaustion.

“Fuck them! They’re scared? Fucking good.”

Life doesn’t come back to them as easily as the sunlight does. There are still days of rain and silence. Days of lightning storms and shattered windows. Days where the ground shakes and the dead rise. But that is the day they all decide to keep on fighting.

[viiioca]

day 16 - loss

from a copy of the Last Will and Testament of Perette de Laussienne, (date of death: 4th of the 2nd Umbral Moon, 4 7U.E.): … I give to my daughter Estelle the total share of House Laussienne and its Titles and Legacy, to become its exécutrice. And I also give to my said daughter during her natural life, my right to the manor house, and my right to two houses and lots in the Pillars; and after her death, I give the same houses to the first heir produced by my trueborn son, Verain de Laussienne. I give to my trueborn son, Verain de Laussienne, my right to pasture ground west of Whitebrim, with the improvements that may be thereon at the time of my death, to him and his heirs forever. Peronelle -- Verain is not allowed to take anything from the estate until I am present. Please let the rest of the staff know. If Verain aggrieves you at all, inform him that matters of Ishgardian estate law are to be taken up with a magistrate. Thank you. -- Estelle

[roevember 2023 prompt by wintertitania]

[ilexdiapason]

Question about the fake dating AU: Do the other Bad Kids know that they're doing this?

Also, does this take place after junior year?

this takes place after college! riz is now employed full-time at the solesian foreign intelligence bureau, basically doing the same thing as his dad but on the material plane. he's so good at his job that when he makes dumb mistakes like accidentally claiming a non-colleague is his boyfriend while undercover, his boss estelle lets him roll with it instead of assigning someone new to the case. and yes, he did get unreasonably hot in the middle of his college career, just like his father promised.

fabian, in comparison, is doing very little with his life right now. hallariel and gilear came back to seacaster manor for the duration of her pregnancy, but once The Baby was born they elected to move back to fallinel and raise it there, with cathilda and telemine in tow. now he's once again alone in the house and having kind of a quarter-life crisis (as much as a half-elf's life can be a quarter over at 25) as he realises that dance fighting really doesn't offer a lot of future prospects and just sitting on his investments forever is going to get boring fast.

so when riz tells him to come over, of course he's about to be 100% down with literally whatever comes out of the ball's mouth no matter what it is. right?

(the other bad kids are unlikely to appear on screen in this fic. fabian might call ragh for advice at some point or something? it's kind of framed as a oneshot campaign like the one with the bad boys which i haven't watched, with fewer cast members present)