#I love her but good lord you would think she's never stepped outside ever.

[heinau]

Going to restaurants with my mother is a valid form of torture. She is allergic to asking the server questions so she'll ask me instead like I fucking work there. "Can I get this well done?" Most likely. "What does this taste like?" Dunno, never had it. "Why does this cost more than this?" Because the owner hates you personally omfg shut up.

[wholoveseggs]

I’m so upset with the lack of Daemon requests so I wanted to give you a challenge.

Reader x Daemon on a dragon. That is all :)

Ride the Sky

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Hightower!Reader} As the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower, your own life feels completely out of your control. But a chance encounter with Prince Daemon gives you the opportunity to step out of your cage and touch the sky.

♡♡ ahhhh I love you @elijahstwink, this was such a fun idea & I 100% believe Daemon would do this... ♡♡

4.8k words - Warnings: smut, hightower!reader, fingering, sex on dragon back, daemon being a flirt & hating Otto, kinda mentions of marital rape? tyland lannister {ew} && caraxes being the best noodle boi...

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

{Daemon Targaryen Tag-List}

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer @cheneyq @fallout-girl219

The tower of the hand was always such a foreboding place for you. It never meant good news when you were summoned and this time was no different. You stood there, shifting from foot to foot, and finally, the man you were supposed to call father, turned around from the window. He had been watching the city below, and now his gaze was on you.

"I've heard rumors," he said and you flinched. This wasn't the first time he had accused you of doing something inappropriate. In his mind, a lady was a lady, and she should act accordingly. But it seemed no matter how hard you tried to please him, nothing you ever did was good enough.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he waved you away. "I don't want to hear your excu-”

"I wish to know what I've been accused of, then," you snapped back, your own temper getting the better of you. You knew you would pay for that later, but right now, you wanted to hear what it was.

"That you've been imbibing in too much wine and games, not focusing on your duties as a lady of the court," he said sharply, looking back down at his papers. He began writing and you stood there, seething.

"So?" you finally asked, and he looked back up at you.

"It's unbecoming," he replied, his tone laced with condescension, "Especially when you are here at court, looking for a husband. Any potential suitors do not wish to have a drunken wife. It will not look good for him."

You sighed. It was always about men, what would please them, what would make them happy. Never you. And the way Otto looked at you, the disdain in his eyes, you knew what was coming. He had been making the same noises for a while, that he needed to find a match for you, and it seemed as if he had finally found one.

"Lord Lannister is a powerful ally," he began, and you immediately felt your temper rise again. You bit back the urge to yell at him.

"And you think I'll be a perfect wife for him? A boring drunkard whose bed I'll have to warm?" you asked, and you could feel the tears welling up.

Otto's expression was hard. "I would think him being a drunkard would be something you have in common," he replied.

He could see the distress on your face and his voice softened just a little. "We must look to the future of House Hightower, and Lord Tyland would make a fine match for you."

You shook your head, tears spilling over. "I don't want him-”

"And what is it that you want?" Otto snapped.

You stared at him. You wanted so much, and none of it was the life he would choose for you. You couldn't stand it anymore, and you spun on your heel, heading for the door.

He didn't try to stop you, and you didn't care.

You didn't want to go back to your chambers, because Alicent would be there, and you couldn't face her either. So, instead, you went outside to the garden, trying to find a quiet spot where you could cry and hopefully not be found.

You found a stone bench, tucked away in a quiet corner and sat down. The tears flowed freely, and you cried and cried, wondering what would happen now, what would become of your life.

You felt as if it had been planned out without any input from you, and now you were going to have to marry a man who was full and passionless. All because it was what was good for the family, and what was best for House Hightower.

It wasn't fair.

You let out a sob and stood up, looking for something to throw, to break, just to let out the anger and frustration that was coursing through you.

Your eyes fell on a statue.

It was one of the Kings, long dead, but you couldn't remember which one. You glared at it and then, without a second thought, gave it a shove.

It didn't fall over, but it teetered a little, and then settled back.

"Is that how we honor our kings now, by toppling their statues?" "A voice said, and you whirled around. Prince Daemon was standing there, looking at the statue, and then you, a small smirk on his face.

"I-I didn't mean," you stammered, wiping your tears, but he held up his hand.

He didn't say a word, just walked over to the bench. He motioned for you to sit, and you did. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, and you tried to control your tears.

Your father loathed the prince, and therefore you were expected to avoid him. You had seen him only once or twice, and the first time you had seen him, you were a girl of ten, and he had just turned seventeen.

You remembered seeing him, and being amazed by the beauty of him. He was the most handsome man you had ever seen, and the fact that he was a prince just made him all the more alluring.

You remembered asking your father if you could marry the prince. Your father had laughed, and told you no, he was not suited for you.

Of course, that hadn't stopped you from having the occasional daydream about the two of you, and here he was, sitting next to you, while you were crying over the thought of your father giving you to an old man.

"What is it like," you asked him, sniffling slightly, "To have the freedom to do what you wish?"

He gave a slight chuckle. "Freedom is an illusion," he replied, his voice quiet, "We are all prisoners in one way or another, even kings,"

"Then I wish for my prison to have a dragon," you muttered bitterly, immediately regretting the words. It wasn't proper to speak to him like that, but he only laughed.

"Perhaps one day," he said, his gaze settling on your face. You could feel his eyes on you, and you blushed, ducking your head.

"Why do you ask about freedom, Lady Hightower," he said in an almost teasing tone, "Is your life not everything a lady could want?"

You didn't meet his gaze, and he observed you thoughtfully, you were a mystery to him as much as he was to you.

"Or perhaps, it is not," he said, his eyes narrowing, "Perhaps you want more than what your father will allow,"

There was a bitterness in his tone when he mentioned your father, the disdain they had for each other was no secret. You didn't wish to add to it, but you couldn't stop the words from spilling out.

"My father is marrying me off to Tyland Lannister," you said, and his lips curved into a small smile.

"And I assume that is why you're here, hiding in the garden," he replied, and you nodded.

He was still watching you, and his gaze made you feel uncomfortable, but in a good way. "I don't want some dull drunkard in my bed, I want..."

You trailed off. It was an improper thing to say, he was the prince, your better. You shouldn't be speaking this way.

"Say it," he said, his voice soft, yet commanding.

"I want my husband to be able to bring me pleasure," you said, the words falling from your lips.

He chuckled, a deep rumble that came from within his chest. You felt even more ashamed by his response, here was the prince laughing at you, thinking you foolish and stupid.

You stood, trying to hide the fresh tears threatening to spill. "I should return to the keep," you said, "Thank you for the company, your grace,"

You took a step, and then suddenly his hand was around your wrist. His touch made your skin feel hot and a strange sensation spread between your legs. You gasped softly, and he stood up, stepping closer.

He towered over you, his blonde hair gleaming in the sun, and his violet eyes were dark and intense, his lips were still curved in a smile, and he was close enough for you to smell him, the scent of smoke, leather and musk.

"Would you like a taste of freedom?" he asked, his voice low. "Before your cage closes,"

"I-I-Yes," you stammered.

He pulled you with him, and you followed.

He led you down the paths and out the gate, along the long stone road to the dragon pit. The guards bowed, and let him pass, and then, to your amazement, he led you into the pit itself.

"My Prince-” you gasped, but he held up his hand again, silencing you.

In the dark of the cave, you could hear them stirring, the great beasts of his house. There was a deep rumble, a sound that felt ancient and primal, and a shadow fell over the both of you.

You stepped back, fear making your heart race. He turned, and you saw the amusement in his face. "Don't worry," he said, "He won't hurt you, unless I tell him to,"

You heard the sounds of his dragon moving forward, and a large snout appeared from the darkness.

"Lady Hightower, meet Caraxes," Daemon said, gesturing to the beast with a wide smile on his face.

You could only stare as the dragon came forward. His body was covered in red scales, and the wings were enormous, his claws scraped against the stone floor, his neck long like that of a snake, and he had a crown of horns on his head.

You have never seen one up close before, only ever far away and up high in the sky. But now, here, in front of you, he was a sight to behold.

Daemon reached out his hand and the dragon nuzzled it, his large, golden eyes fixing on you. He whispered something to the beast, in the language of Valyria, and then turned to you, beckoning you closer.

You hesitated, and he smiled. "It's alright," he said, holding out his hand.

Tentatively, you reached out and touched his palm, letting him take your hand in his. It was soft and warm, and his long fingers curled around yours. He raised it, and pressed it to the dragon's snout.

His scales were smooth and hot to the touch, and the dragon exhaled a deep breath, the sound like a purr. You could feel his breath on your face, and it smelled of sulfur and heat, and underneath that, the metallic scent of blood.

He nuzzled you, his eyes half closing. Daemon smiled and let go of your hand, and you stroked the dragon, amazed.

"He's beautiful," you said softly, admiring the red of his scales and the gold of his eyes.

"Yes," Daemon replied, his gaze fixed on you.

Caraxes pulled away and then, to your astonishment, the dragon lay down on the ground. You looked at Daemon, not understanding, and his smile grew.

"I promised you a taste of freedom, didn't I," he said, and suddenly you realized what he meant.

You watched, amazed as he climbed onto the dragon's back, and held out his hand to you. "Come," he said.

You stared up at him. His hand outstretched, waiting for you to take it. You didn't know what to do. Your father would be furious if he found out. But this was an opportunity you might not get again.

Without hesitation, you put your hand in his, and let him pull you up, settling you in front of him. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly. Your skirts were in the way, and you struggled to find a comfortable position. You were suddenly very aware of the heat of his body behind you.

"Here," he said softly, his hands moving up your thighs, and then, you felt his hands bunching up your skirt, until the material was up around your hips.

The dragon raised his head, and stretched his wings, a deafening screech filling the air. You could feel him move, the muscles in his shoulders shifting, his body flexing.

With one last scream, he began to move forward, at a speed faster than anything you had ever seen, and suddenly, with a running leap, his body was rising. Daemon had his arms wrapped around you, holding on to the reins as Caraxes' wings beat against the air.

He rose, higher and higher, and suddenly the ground was falling away below you, and the sky opened up before you. You could feel the dragon's strength as he climbed, the power in his body, and the heat and the wind and the roar of his wings.

The sky was a beautiful mix of reds, oranges and pinks as the sun began to set. You could see the Red Keep and the city below, the winding streets and the river and the ocean beyond. It was a breathtaking sight.

Daemon said something in Valyrian, and the dragon gave a cry and suddenly he was moving forward, gliding along the air, his wings spread.

The horizon was endless, the clouds were around you, and the world seemed small and insignificant, all your problems forgotten, at least for a moment.

"Does it feel like freedom, lady Hightower," he murmured, his lips against your ear.

You flushed at his closeness, the warmth of his body and his voice. "Yes," you whispered.

He took your hands, placing them on the reins. You held tight, feeling the dragon move beneath you, the muscles and tendons rippling, the scales smooth and hot.

"Hold them tightly, and pull on them, to turn him," he said.

You did as he instructed, and Caraxes changed course, heading north. The dragon rumbled and roared, a loud squeaking sound that made you laugh.

You felt Daemon smile against your neck, his hands winded around your waist, one hand pressing into your stomach, and the other resting on your thigh, his long fingers curling around the hem of your skirt, the fabric flapping in the wind.

He held you like that, his grip strong and steady. You didn't want it to end, this freedom, the feeling of his arms around you and the dragon flying beneath you.

The hand that was pressed against your stomach moved lower, his fingertips brushing the inside of your thigh. You wanted him to continue, but you also wanted him to stop. It was not appropriate, and you were unsure of what to do.

"My Prince," you said softly, a hot flush coming over you. He was touching you in a way no one ever had, and the feeling was overwhelming.

"You are far too beautiful to marry some dull Lannister cunt," he said, his voice low, his lips grazing your neck. His hand slid up your thigh, pushing the hem of your dress with it. Your breath hitched as his fingers moved underneath the linen shift you wore, brushing the soft, wet flesh between your legs.

"This isn't proper, my Prince," you said, trying to focus on the reins and not the way his hand was making you feel.

"And who is here to see? Or to hear?" he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, "Only my dragon, and I don't think he'll care,"

He pressed a kiss to the spot where your neck met your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin, and you inhaled sharply, your body arching into his. He smiled, his fingers finding the small nub of pleasure between your legs, brushing over it softly. Your hips jerked and you gasped, your head falling back against his chest.

"A woman like you should be in control of who she gives her maidenhead to," he whispered, sucking little marks onto the delicate skin of your neck, "Who gives you that pleasure you crave."

The wind was cool on your skin, but inside you burned. He was igniting a fire deep within you and you were powerless to stop it.

His fingers moved faster, circling the little bud and then stroking it. He knew exactly how to touch you, and you were helpless under his hands.

You knew that you were being indecent, letting him fuck you with his hand, your skirts shoved up, the dragon soaring through the sky. Your father would kill you if he knew. But the thought of it made you only wetter, and you began to push harder against his hand.

"That's it, chase the feeling," he breathed, his fingers moving faster, his other hand gripping your waist, pulling you back against him. You could feel the hardness of his cock, pressing against your back, and the knowledge that he was aroused by you, only made the sensation stronger.

Your hands let go of the reins and Daemon quickly grabbed them with his free hand, keeping the dragon steady. You clutched his arm, your body shaking, the pressure building inside you, your legs trembling.

You let out a cry, and then stars were exploding behind your eyes and he was whispering to you, soft and low, encouraging you as you felt yourself fall apart, coming undone.

You slumped against him, the tension leaving your body, and he was there, holding you. You felt his chest rumble with a laugh and you managed to get yourself upright.

You looked at him, his violet eyes, the smirk on his face. You reached out and touched his cheek, and then pulled him towards you, kissing him.

His lips were soft and warm, and he kissed you back, his tongue parting your lips and entering your mouth. It was a deep, passionate kiss, and when he finally pulled away, you were breathing hard.

He smiled, his eyes darting from your lips down your chest. "Perhaps we should return to the keep, my Lady," he said, his tone amused, "before we get carried away,"

You looked down, and saw the sprawling countryside, a sea of green dotted with little villages and the faint outlines of crops and farmland.

"Where are we?" you asked.

"Near Duskendale," he said, his eyes boring into you. He gave you a smile, and in that moment, you lost yourself completely, mesmerized by him and everything that had just happened.

Daemon pulled on the reins, yelling something in Valyrian. The dragon gave a loud screech, and began to descend. He guided Caraxes lower, heading for a field near a small village.

The dragon landed gracefully, his wings folding against his body. The trees and grass bent in the wind from his wings, and the few animals nearby scattered. You could feel the rumble as his belly hit the ground, and then he was still, his breathing deep and steady.

Daemon hopped off the dragon and held his arms out to you. You let him help you down, his hands sliding around your waist. As your feet touched the ground you stumbled, your legs were weak and shaky, and you had to cling to his arm to keep from falling.

His eyes met yours and he leaned in and kissed you. His lips were soft and firm, and you melted into the kiss, your fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair. He pressed you into Caraxes side, the dragon curled around the two of you protectively, his tail flicking lazily.

The beast was warm against your back, you could feel its chest expand with each deep breath, a gentle rattling sound coming from it.

Daemon broke the kiss, nuzzling into your neck. Your whole body was on fire, and you could feel the heat of him pressed against you.

"Would you like me to make you come again, lady Hightower," he whispered, his teeth grazing your skin.

"My Prince... I've never...," you managed to get out, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Better me than a Lannister, yes?" he said, a smirk on his face.

You blushed furiously, unable to respond. He was right. You didn't want to give your maidenhead to some Lannister bore. You wanted it to be him.

Caraxes curled tighter around the two of you, warm and surprisingly still, his long neck and head outstretched, surveying the area around you. His eyes were lazy, and he was making a strange rumbling sound, almost content, like a big cat.

Daemon looked up at him, smiling at the beast, then back to you, his hands moving up to cradle your face. He leaned in and captured your lips in a hot, searing kiss that had you clinging to him.

His hands dropped to your hips, pulling you closer. You could feel the hard length of him against your belly, and a hot ache settled between your legs. You had never felt like this before, so hungry, so desperate.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck. His hands moved down, pushing the skirt of your dress up and bunching the fabric around your waist. He lifted your thigh, hooking it around his hip.

With his other hand he unlaced his trousers, freeing his hard cock. You had never seen a man's cock before, and the sight of his had you blushing even deeper. It was thick and long, the tip pink and leaking a clear fluid.

He smiled, seeing the look on your face, "go on, touch it," he said, his voice low.

Tentatively, you reached out, your hand wrapping around his shaft. He was hot and hard in your palm, the skin smooth and velvety. You moved your hand up and down, marveling at the way he grew harder and thicker.

Your eyes flickered back up to his face. He had a satisfied smile on his lips, his violet eyes dark and intense.

"Like this," he said, placing his hand over yours and guiding you. He showed you how to stroke him, the pressure and speed. When he let go, you continued, enjoying the way his eyes closed and his head tilted back, his lips parting as he breathed heavily.

You watched him, entranced by the sight of him, his pleasure growing. He placed his hand back over yours, stilling you.

He took your other thigh and hoisted you up. You clung to him, your arms wrapping around his neck. His hard cock rubbed against the soft flesh of your cunt, and you moaned softly, the ache inside you growing.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and he thrust against you. You gasped at the feeling of his hard cock sliding against your clit, the head bumping against your entrance.

You looked up at him, pleading. He was looking down at you, his eyes dark, his hair falling across his forehead. He was so handsome, so strong.

"Please, my prince," you breathed, desperate.

He smirked, his eyes flashing, and then he was guiding himself inside you, the tip of his cock parting the soft, wet flesh.

He pushed slowly into you, and you felt a sharp pain as his cock tore through your maidenhead. You cried out, and he kissed you, swallowing your gasp.

He hummed against your lips, a soothing, comforting sound. His hands squeezed your bottom, holding you steady. He moved slowly, rocking his hips, pulling you into him with each thrust.

"I've got you," he said, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin.

The pain slowly subsided, replaced by a delicious, aching pleasure. You clung to him, your eyes closing, lost in the sensation of him filling you.

You could hear the sound of the wind, and the rustle of the trees. The deep gentle sounds of Caraxes' breathing. And the sound of your heart pounding, and Daemon's labored breaths.

He slowed his thrusts, drawing it out, pushing hard and deep, slamming your body back against the beast with each motion. You clutched at his shirt, nails digging into the soft material, gasps and sighs and half-formed moans fell from your lips. He picked up the pace, faster now, and you both lost yourselves in it, your pleasure was all that mattered.

His face was a picture, pleasure and devotion and tension and complete and total ecstasy. Your name was on his lips, a litany of beautiful profanities fell from them, a mix of Valerian and common that made the redness in your face grow deeper. You began to grind your hips against him, rolling them as he moved with you, his movements becoming erratic. His hand came down to cup the back of your neck, holding you steady as he leaned in and captured your lips in a messy kiss.

He stilled, letting out a low groan as he pressed himself deep, holding your hips in place as he filled you with his seed. Your body shuddered and twitched and you whimpered against his mouth, clenching down on him. It was too much, and you followed him over the edge, a bright burst of light going off behind your eyes as you succumbed to the feeling.

He rested his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath, his eyes closed and a look of pure bliss on his face. You giggled, running your hands through his hair, and he managed a lazy smile.

"Think of me when Tyland is trying to stick his cock in you on your wedding night," he said, his words warm and breathy against your lips.

You chuckled, then turned sad, remembering that your wedding would take place soon, and you would never see Daemon again.

He seemed to sense your sadness, his hands cupping your face, his eyes full of promises he could not keep. He said nothing, just kissed you again and held you, pressing you back against the dragon.

Caraxes purred, you could hear a faint rattling, like old armor, and the dragon's chest expanded and deflated slowly, the rhythm soothing.

You stayed there for what seemed like an eternity, Daemon wrapped around you, his hand tracing gentle circles on the exposed skin of your thigh.

You sighed, content and warm and happy, but knowing that the spell was soon to be broken, and you would have to return to the reality of the life that had been laid out before you.

"We should be getting back," you said, frowning. You didn't want the moment to end, but you had been gone for far too long, and your maids would be wondering where you were.

Daemon nodded, reluctantly pulling away. He laced up his pants and then helped you straighten your dress. You tried to flatten the wrinkles with your hands, but there was no helping it. You had been flying, and then you had been fucked, thoroughly, by the heir to the throne, and there was no hiding that.

He grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, his eyes full of promise and heat. You blushed, and he grinned, pulling you back to the dragon.

The ride back was slower, the dragon gliding gently through the sky, and you had the urge to cry. You wanted this feeling, of freedom and warmth and safety, to last forever.

You sat back against Daemon's chest, his arms tight around you, the wind whipping through your hair.

Caraxes flew lazily through the sky, and you could see the Red Keep getting closer, the massive walls looming large. The dragon descended, the air rushing around you, and then the beast landed in the center of the courtyard near the dragon pit, his wings beating wildly, sending clouds of dust and dirt swirling around him.

He roared, a great and terrible sound, his long neck twisting and his wings stretching. The beast was restless, and he seemed unhappy to be back in the confines of the castle.

Daemon leapt off the dragon, landing gracefully, and then turned and helped you down, his hands lingering on your waist. He gave you a wicked smile, and you blushed, unable to meet his eyes.

"I swear," he said, lifting your hand and pressing another kiss to your knuckles, "I'll burn down Casterly Rock just to get a taste of you again."

You chuckled, a blush coloring your cheeks, then you looked him in the eyes.

"And I will gladly watch it burn," you said, grinning.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek, and then he was gone, climbing back onto Caraxes and taking to the sky. You watched them disappear, the great, crimson beast disappearing into the clouds.

You stood there, alone in the courtyard, watching the sky long after he had disappeared. Your heart was heavy, despite his promises, you knew that you would never see him again.

You turned and walked back to the keep, your mind filled with memories of your time together. It was a small moment, a stolen moment, but you knew you would hold on to it…

And be reminded of it every time you looked to the sky.

[voxslays]

Hi i loved your Hazbin Men as Dads Writing! Maybe you could write the same for the Hazbin Woman x reader as parents if the Idea intrests you ;-) ?

OMG OFC!!! I was thinking of doing a sequel lol but I wasn’t sure if I should. Now I definitely will though! <3

HAZBIN WOMEN AS MOTHERS

Featuring >>> Charlie, Carmilla, Rosie, Sera, Velvette, & Vaggie x Reader as mothers!

Rosie:

Let’s be honest, your child is going to be a cannibal. Assuming the three of you live in cannibal town together as a family, (which is very likely), this may happen sooner…like before your baby turns a year old…BUT ANYWAYS-!

Your child will grow up surrounded by Rosie’s loyal subjects. Nobody in cannibal town would dare lay a hand on your precious child, but for the few outsiders who try…let’s just say they pasta way. Their ashes may or may not end up in Rosie’s spice cabinet, and then on your dinner plate…but rosie is such a good cook!

Rosie would be such a good mom. Sure, she is a very busy woman, but she would always make time for her little (demonic) spawn! Overall, 10/10 parenting.

Carmilla:

Carmilla is already a mother, she has lots of experience. Having two or three daughters, (I can’t remember how many she has in the show lol), she has seen it all. She knows all the tricks. She is strict…but loving!!!

She is shown being protective and willing to anything to save her daughters, so it would be the same for your child, if not more. She would not let the poor kid out of her sight for the first few months. She knows hell is a dangerous place, and will teach your child how to defend themselves from a young age.

Like I mentioned with Valentino in my other post, Carmilla would likely have your child learning Spanish young. It is very important your child is well educated both in language (and fighting). But then again, she’s already portrayed to be a good mother in the show, so what did you expect?

Velvette:

Oh lord. With her there is no way your child isn’t a mistake. Velvette would be ‘way too busy’ to deal with a child. She is one of the Vees and the top designer in pride! What did you expect!? She doesn’t have time for some random child!

Velvette is literally an adult screenager, so like Valentino I don’t think she would be very responsible with your baby. Velvette would leave your child unsupervised, or under the supervision of one of her models who wasn’t busy at the moment, while she does fittings and preps her models for the next big fashion show.

While in public she puts up a front of being too busy, in private I think she would genuinely feel guilty. Overtime I think she would grow to care for the child, teaching them all about fashion and social media. She is totally the type of mom to show your child off on social media or just create an account from scratch. Its safe to say your child is already a star.

Charlie:

BEST MOM EVER??? I mean first of all, she is the princess of hell, and with her personality, that basically means your child is going to be spoiled rotten! Your child has all the (mostly duck themed toys, brought to you by Lucifer) they could ever dream of. This child is royalty, and will be treated as such.

She would NEVER yell at your child, god forbid the poor kid cries…she might start crying too! Charlie is also always up for playing with your child. Whether it’s arts and crafts, dress up, dollies, etc. she will drop whatever she’s doing—or finish it up quickly—and play.

Grandpa Luci is also around very frequently. He has just reconciled with his daughter after all, and his daughter has a daughter??? If Charlie wasn’t spoiling your child enough, Lucifer is doing ten times more. Every time he visits he brings your child a trinket, like one of his ducks, a duck themed onesie, or just a sugary treat.

Vaggie:

Literally a carbon copy of Carmilla but like ten times more protective. I mean how could she not be? Her precious child is living under the same roof as the radio demon! (Let’s just say that if Alastor steps within even ten feet of your baby he is getting threatened with a spear to the neck.

I feel like she would be a boy mom. Not in the tiktok boy mom sense, but I just generally feel like she would get along better with a son than a daughter. No matter which one you have though, she will love them unconditionally.

Supportive of her children’s dreams in the same way she supports Charlie’s. She is always very supportive, but can sometimes be a little doubtful. However, to balance that out, she always brings good advice to the table. I can also see her keeping secrets, like the fact she was an exterminator from her child until they get older.

Sera:

She’s like Carmilla but more angelic. Sera is very strict and by the book, and would expect her child(ren) to be the same. She can be hard on others, especially her children, but in reality she just wants the best for them.

If the two of you had a child, I feel they would be a mix of Emily and Lucifer. Kind, energetic, and a dreamer. This worries Sera a lot. She lived with Lucifer in heaven, she saw his dreams. Sera watched him fall for the dreams he tried to make a reality. Therefore, she would try to stop your child from turning into a dreamer.

Overtime, I think she would realize that your child’s dreams are nothing like Lucifer’s, and would become more supportive. Overall, Sera is very overprotective, strict, and hard on others, but she is truly looking out for their well-being.

[danikamariewrites]

If you're willing to do a more platonic/familial request, could you do some headcanons on being Rhysand's youngest sister?? And then I had an additional idea of being his sister + Azris' mate... but I'll let you decide which aspects you'd like to write about :) (if you want to write about it at all, of course!)

Princess of the Night Court

IC x reader (platonic)

Notes: I went with reader just being the sister I hope you don’t mind, I wanted to explore this dynamic before hopping outside the night court

Warnings: some angst

Being the second born of the former NC High Lord meant you had the freedoms to do some things your brother couldn’t

However much you pushed your brother’s buttons when he became High Lord you still loved each other. And you really stepped up to help him with his royal duties

You were a bit nervous and relieved when your father died. You knew what he expected of you but you were unsure how the power and position would change Rhys

The biggest blessing Rhys gave you was the freedom to marry whoever and whenever. There was no pressure and he would not dare use you as a bargaining tool, ever

Being princess came with the never ending princess treatment

Your people adored you and you them

You frequented shops in Velaris and always made sure to talk with everyone and hear their troubles

It also meant that Azriel and Cassian were your forever body guards

And how fun is it to ditch them?! It’s even more fun when they finally track you down. Their faces all scrunched in anger and that vein popping in Cassian’s forehead that you just want to poke

The two were your brothers, there was no denying Az and Cass treated you like the sister they never had

They were just as protective (maybe more at times) than Rhys is of you and you loved them for it

When you had your first heartbreak one of the first people you went to for comfort was Azriel. He was always your shoulder to cry on and he’s a good listener

The three of them would be up anyone that hurt you

To try and have some semblance of a normal life while Rhys was gone you tried to date. It did not go well. The male you went to dinner with had said some nasty things about your family and came home bawling your eyes out. When you told Cass, Az, and Mor, Cassian was the most angry. He left and came home with bloody knuckles. That night he sat next to your bed reading you stories like when you were little

After Rhys came home from under the mountain you gave him his space and were more serious than usual

Something you hadn’t had in a long time with your brother was a sleepover. You used to crawl into his bed at night when you had nightmares and Rhys would reassure you that everything would be ok

Just as you were planning to go to Rhys for a sleepover to make him feel normal a knock sounded at your door. Opening it you found your brother looking disheveled and on the verge of tears. You pulled him in and you got into your bed. You laid there in silence for a very long time, both wide awake. “I know you can’t and don’t want to talk about everything yet. But we’re all here for you Rhys. I’m here for you big brother. And I won’t think any differently of you for any of it.” Rhys just pulled you into a bone crushing hug and cried and cried until he fell asleep. You hadn’t seen him cry like that since your mother died

Out of everyone of the Inner Circle you were the most overjoyed to have Rhys home

You did everything in your power to make sure he was comfortable and welcome

The sacrifices he made for the court were ones you would never forget

Watching Rhys fall in love with Feyre made your heart swell. You saw a light burn in him that hadn’t been there since he was younger

Becoming friends with Feyre was a journey

She didn’t like you at first since she only knew the stories that Tamlin and Lucien had told her

Fun lil bit of history Tamlin left out was that you and him hooked up but he was kinda mad it was only ever that and not more

But when you and Mor broke through and Feyre trusted you enough her friendship was a beautiful thing

And you had a new buddy to pick on Cassian with

Learning Feyre was pregnant after the war you were so excited to be an aunt! You were going to spoil the shit out of this baby boy

[draczrys]

I know Criston Cole is not who you usually write for and I know he’s not a fan favorite but could you write a Drabble or one shot of Criston Cole x Reader? I love Fabian Frankel and just wish to read something with one of his characters. Much love! 💕

brb just added him to my muse list bc mr fabian is yum & early s1 criston is bearable. and this trope!! my fave medieval theme ever. like wdym i’m not supposed to love a boy w big brown eyes

COURTLY LOVE. ❨ criston cole x reader ❩

the standing of a riverland lord's youngest daughter was nothing of note to the realm. little to inherit, a pitiful dowry, barely a suitor at the door. so, the seven must have blessed you the day queen aemma requested your presence at court. the princess was of age now, and in need of ladies in waiting of noble birth.

suddenly, the world was a different place. thrown into the deep end of the red keep, you had all the dresses you wished for and every suitor at court vying for your hand in marriage. no longer just an unknown lady, but a lady of the crown. still, there wasn't a single lord or son that caught your eye. not since you saw him.

"... ser criston cole!"

your breath had caught in your throat as the young knight shed his helmet and blinked up to the royal box, respects paid to the king before he looks to you.

"i would like to ask for your lady's favour, if she would be so kind," he spoke, voice smooth, eyes never leaving your own. if it weren't for rhaenyra's elbow in your side, you're sure you would have stared all day.

"best of luck, ser," comes your wishes, leaning over the wooden rail to drop your favour over his joust. you had spent a whole day on it, the princess on her's too, weaving daisies and lavender into a pretty ring. "i hope that you win."

"as do i," criston muses, smirking. "if it means speaking with you again, my lady."

a blush burns at your cheeks, hurrying to sit back down. you ignore rhaenyra's teasing and watch the knight mount his horse, readying himself for the competition. he knocks down lord after lord, knight after knight, even defeating prince daemon. the heat in your chest has your heart beating quicker, head somewhat hazy as you watch on in delight.

the chaos of a tourney day sweeps you up from your daydreaming, ushered behind the princess to dress her for the feast. though she speaks to you as you braid her hair, it's barely audible past the heavy thoughts of the knight in your ears. eventually, when rhaenyra is summoned to her mother, you find the time to catch your breath in an empty hallway. leaning against the cold stone, your eyes squeeze shut to urge any romantic ideas from your mind.

"my good luck charm."

the sudden voice startles you, turning quickly to ready yourself in defence. but there, only a few steps away, is your knight. for a moment, you think he's talking about you. noting your furrowed brows and slightly cocked head, he raises the favour you had gifted into view.

"ah," you breathe out, a smile growing on your lips. "i'm glad it was of use."

criston mirrors your smile, steps closing the space between you, his armour clinking as it still rests on his bones. his arm reaches out, offering the flowered ring back to you. "it is custom the knight returns the favour to the lady, if they have survived."

glancing at the branches and petals your hands had tirelessly woven, then back to the warm eyes that watch you so carefully, that strange feeling creeps back into your chest. you shake your head.

"keep it," you urge, cheeks rounding. "perhaps it will bring you luck again."

cole's brows raise, interest obviously piqued at your suggestion. his smile turns crooked, eyes sparkling with a life you'd only seen outside of the walls of the keep.

"and will you be present, again? in case it is you, and not the favour, that has blessed me." his tongue is playful and teasing, but his eyes hold a sincerity you daren't question.

"i cannot promise my presence to be so virtuous." you giggle breathily, eyes darting to the ground for a moment to spare yourself the dizziness that comes from his gaze. "and i should--"

"a kiss then."

the blunt but hopeful proposition snaps your eyes back to him, unsure of whether to be more shocked, offended or delighted. criston smirks, obviously enjoying your surprise. "as a precaution, of course."

stomach jumping with nerves, heart dancing with excitement, you watch his eyes carefully in an attempt to gauge whether he was taunting you or not. but no, still only genuine.

shuffling forward, close enough now, you slowly stretch upwards onto your tiptoes. eyes locked, your lips journeying closer to his cheek - slightly stubbled, but littered with freckles. they barely brush his skin before he turns his head, quicker than you can notice, replacing his cheek with his lips.

the surprise that overtakes you is quickly subdued by the sweet taste of his kiss. his lips soft, just relishing in yours. not desperate or rough as you had seen with older lords and ladies, but delicate and kind. he only parts when he feels you swoon a little in his arms, smiling against the aftertaste of the kiss. breathless, you look at each other, caught up in the warmth between you.

"my lady," criston murmurs, stepping back from your space when he hears the distant patter of feet. bowing at the waist, his eyes still linger on your own. "until next time."

[ashblooddragons]

Little Viper

this request was made by a Anon hence not being @.

Word count: 1348

Summary: a match was made between the Hightowers and the Martells soon after the prince Aegon's birth. And Neither party is happy with the match.

Warnings: Otto being Otto, People being racist to the Martells, tell me if i missed anything

Amaras pov

I stare at myself in the mirror, taking in my loose black waves, olive skin, full lips, but most of all my vibrant purple eyes. The only thing that shows I am not completely Martell, the only way to show who my Mother is.

The Princess Saera Targaryen, everyone says I look like her. I have her seductive beauty, though I have yet to see a portrait to see it for myself. 

“You'll make all the other ladies Jealous Princess. And all the Lords will be livid they didn't take you before your betrothed claimed you.” My Lady in waiting, Lady Alarra Wyl says. 

I only smile and nod, for how else am I to respond to such kind words when all I feel is bitterness? 

I could have any man I want, and yet I am going to be the second wife to a second son? I am to inherit Dorne, and yet I am matched so the crown can feel better about themselves. 

“I hope I look even half as beautiful as you do on my wedding day.” My other Lady in waiting, Lady Elia Santagar. 

“I'm sure you will.” I say to the dark skinned lady. 

And truly she is pretty, just not beautiful. She has plain features that all together are pleasing but nothing special. I'd say the only thing special about her is those wild black coils of hers. 

They rub some animal fat along my skin keeping them soft and smooth. The scent of rosemary wafts through the air with each swipe along my skin. 

They then help me dress in my dress. It's a white dress with rich orange sleeves and a plunging neckline and back. The sleeves reach the floor making me look tall and regal. 

They put a gold chain crown on my head, gold bangle bracelets on my wrists and ankles. I then chose golden earrings with white quartz dangling from my ears, they were carved to look like my house sigil. And finally I add a golden necklace with diamonds encrusted in every inch. 

I look in the mirror taking in everything, it's all gorgeous but I know it will scandalize those Andals. 

Good. I think with a smirk before leaving my chambers to find my father waiting outside the Spet.

With each step I take in the infamous Red Keep. Though it is lovely, the stench of the city below ruins it with each step in this vipers den. 

A smirk comes to my lips at that thought. 

They call us vipers in the sand, while they are the true vipers. 

“There you are, you look like the sun in the flesh. Radiant and bright.” Father says when he sees me from down that hall.

I smile a blush coming to my cheeks. He always called me his ‘little sun’ so I should be used to the compliments but I don't think I ever will. 

“Well you are the one who picked it all.” I tease moving forward to stand next to him as we stare at the Septs doors. 

“I never said it was the dress.” He responds with a sad smile.

I take his hands in mine, squeezing them knowing he hoped this day would never come. 

“How did the time pass so quickly? I swear you were a babe in my arms only a moment ago. And yet you are marrying more than likely having children of your own.” 

I feel tears come to my eyes and I shake my head fighting them off. “Don't, you will make me cry and ruin all the work my ladies did.” I demand which makes him chuckle before he kisses my cheek.

“Sorry, little sun, can't have Elia upset, that girl is scary when she's mad.” He says and we both laugh joyously.

But just as soon as the joy fills us does it become dread. 

“We need to do this. This will help us.” He says putting my hand in the crook of his arm. 

I know that he doesn't mean to be cold so suddenly, it is only the way he copes. But even though I may know this does not mean it doesn't hurt any less. 

The doors open once he nods to the guards. I know many say they felt like their life was beginning the moment they saw their husband to be. But I didn't, I refuse to, for this isn't my life, no this Hightower demanded me and now I will make him regret ever looking my way.

It all flies by a blur, me being handed to this man who though is handsome I refuse to admit it. Our hands being bonded by that blasted ribbon, oaths spoken with cold calculating tones. And then his lips are on mine, and for a moment I realize mayhaps this won't be so bad. But that thought is quickly destroyed when he glares down at me again as if I am the one shackling him against his will.

He guides me out of the Sept with a scowl as the court claps and cheers for the Hand of the King. 

“Well now that, that is done, all we need to do is make face at the feast and do our duty. Then we can act as if the other does not exist unless need be.” 

I can't help but scoff before a chuckle leaves me. “Well it's lovely to meet you as well, Ser Otto Hightower. I'm so sorry I forced you into a marriage.” 

And with that I walk off letting him try and keep up with me. We don't say a word when we enter nor as we eat. 

I feel his gaze on me as I eat. When I turn to meet his gaze with a questioning raise of my brow I find him eyeing my outfit with a disgusted scowl.  

“Is there something else you wish to speak of? Or will you give me reprieve from that foul attitude of yours?”  

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Did you have to show your body to the whole of the court the day of our wedding?” 

I grip my wine chalice feeling the glass stem dig into the soft skin of my palm. 

“I would have you know, this is much more modest than the one I originally wished to wear. Be happy I came in white like you all demanded.” 

But instead of showing any remorse only grumbles under his breath about how us Dornish wish to dress as whores. 

That is the final straw, I had taken every cruel look from the court, every whisper of whore behind mine and my ladies backs. But for my now husband to call me a whore when I am the heir to Dorne? Now that is just unacceptable. 

So I lean over to whisper in his ear, for the court I look like an excited wife wanting to know the ways of the marital bed. But he knows that is not the case as my nails dig into his arm until he flinches.

“I hope you don't mean those words, husband. I would hate to have all of court know how you are the one who ruined their reputation. Or perhaps how you sent your daughter to the King, alone in his chambers.” I hiss in his ear before looking him in the eyes again.

“I will do my duty, and you will do yours. But so we're clear, you asked for my hand in marriage. Not the other way around.” I say before standing and waving my ladies so I can prepare for the rest of this miserable marriage. 

Before I leave I turn and look up at him again from across the throne room. He seems shocked, but also impressed. But most of all, if the way his eyes down my frame is anything to go by, he wants me. He desires me. 

Mayhaps this marriage will be worth my while after all. I think before leaving him to his thoughts and desires with his courtier friends. 

@sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @mmogurl @sachaa-ff @themoonlitquill @athzhowakar @thelastemzy

[zot3-flopped]

So i recently listenend to ttpd due to me always listening to all of the people that are at the grammys for this year (i just like checking out people or songs i otherwise wouldn‘t try out)

Here are my thoughts on ttpd:

In one of the songs she calls her fans vipers that called her out for dating matty. And frankly that is a big point i want to touch on. She always talked in interviews that she finds it ok to make sure people know who songs are about cause these men should feel shame. She always makes sure to be obvious so her fans can send hate towards these people. Sometimes she even makes easter eggs to hint at who it is about. Like yes the joke that ts only ever writes about exes is overdone, but she clearly always benefited from it, making this parasocial relationship even deeper. And she does this in a way that i have not seen other artists usually do. Thinking of lana, theweeknd or bruno mars- they write about their exes but you don‘t see them being this obvious and exploiting their relationship.

What i want to say is that while i am a big fan of her songs that have been personal, i don‘t take it lightly that she now suddenly dislikes fans calling her out. Either don‘t allow the fans to come close at all, or accept that you let them in and they now act like your friends who have a say in who you date. She is the victim of the own sphere she made. I don‘t feel sorry for this

I can do it with a broken heart sounds like a midnight made song and with a bit too much ego, which can lead into a place that is iffy because it feels like taylor knows she is too big to not sell well

I also don‘t take lightly that taylor had to mention kim again, which ok fine it has been years but i guess you can still be cut up about it. What i do not let slide is how she uses kim‘s child as a pawn in her play. Bringing children into your beef has always been weird, but bringing the child of your own declared „enemy“ into this to benefit from it, is not of taste. Especially because she knows her fanbase, she knows her fans will dig out said child and send hate. I mean this is like leaving a piece of sugar ourside and then acting like a victim when ants eat it. 

A lot of lyrics or idea of songs do not stick the landing. The lyrics are sometimes like a rambling. Like a person talking to their therapist or their friend. There aren‘t even proper catchy beats behind it. It is like it lacks character and the autonomy that a pop song has to make it memorable and to make it stand out. Like do i go into a ts record thinking it would be groundbreaking? No, ts always played it safe. She never gave me a more ballsy production like lana, lord or billie while also having good lyrics. But i expected at least a core to it, something to remember it by. It is sad because at her height, she can allow herself to be artistically standout ish, she can allow herself to take a step outside of this safe space, takikg an artistic risk, as i have said, because even she knows she is too big to not sell

The writing is crammed and doesn‘t have good hooks or melodies within the lyrics. And i know taylor is capable of delivering on that front usually. Folklore and everymore were lyrically well thought out, you were able to remember the lyrics and melody based only on how she sang the songs. Ttpd suffers under it‘s crammed lyrics and lack of melody even while singing the songs.

Ttpd doesn‘t have the catchy beats 1989 had, nor the buzz red had. Not even the deep cuts from lover can be compared to ttpd because ttpd feels washed out and as i said: 

just like a friend rambling to a friend about how angry she is over one guy making her wait and how he has depression and wouldn‘t commit. And how another guy love bombed her but also couldn‘t commit and she is oh soo angry about this. 

If this is all i can take away from an album with over 30 songs then there is something wrong with it

As i said i usually listen to all of grammy music for several years now, but i have always taken something from it: vocal wise, lyric wise or beat wise

This album sadly didn‘t give me anything and i would be saddened to see it awarded. If all i can take away from a music record is: she was mad as hell

Then what benefit do i get from listening to it? Nothing!!!! 

Ttpd is nothing to me

Ttpd is nothing, it is emptiness but the emptiness isn‘t impressive, isn‘t memorable

Ttpd equals nothing

Very interesting! I don't think for a minute that Poets will get an AOTY award. The reviews all criticised the lack of memorable instrumentation/melodies/production.

[twojamie-o-clock]

(this is going off of the s6b route in my head that goes from “save yourself” to “world game” (which I think is a pretty common path) but!!)

Do you ever think about how the first s6b companion DIES & how that sets the tone for the whole ‘season’……..like how Jamie is chosen maybe practically because he is allegedly “good at handling the rough stuff” or also somewhat selfishly because the Doctor knows it’s going to be so much more dangerous now……

and how that would explain why Zoe never crops up in s6b eu much until bigfinish steps in??? Like not just that she is so much safer than Jamie atp (on the wheel vs you know. a plantation or other consequences) but also bc s6b will lead to so much more danger and the Doctor knows this.

They actively know what they are roping Jamie into, and how that could go to show this sort of. “I love you enough to be WILLING to put you in danger” and this insane trust between them & the guilt the Doctor probably feels over all of it - but also the way they’re literally saving each other? Because Jamie was going to be unsafe either way, and in this the Doctor can, you know, be with him while experiencing different dangers. Working for the Time Lords of course won’t just be the odd visit here or there to save a planet but truly disgusting work that they care enough about to interfere with but are just ashamed enough to use the Doctor for it.

And all of this strikes you in the face and leaves you stinging because Serena died. Just like the Daleks’ Master Plan - which, like, outside of the show of course was the chaos of Doctor Who itself changing - starts off a very dark streak of companion deaths and chilling narratives through eu & tv canon until Steven’s eventual departure.

I wasn’t awfully attached to Serena, but it really shows Two how far the Time Lords will go & how little they care. The mysterious Players are never expanded upon but they don’t really need to be. This is a mission - approached as the Doctor’s first, I’m assuming was Terrance Dicks’ intention - where the Doctor’s assigned companion is another Time Lord. And yet she dies.

But it’s not just kicking off this era with a death that hits, it’s everything she represented - the narrow minded typical Time Lord who meets the Doctor & is so changed and enchanted by them that they begin to understand and unlearn their own programming. The hope that the Doctor might feel when they begin working for Gallifrey - maybe it will be alright after all, maybe they can make a difference, maybe being home doesn’t have to be so different from, say, their past family of Jamie & Zoe, because they too unlearned their own programming by traveling in the TARDIS. And then Serena dies. And while it isn’t entirely gloomy or haunting -

The way this ends is so….of course it’s intended to lead into the Two Doctors but it really says something to draw a reference to the dead companion who represented so much of the shape of s6b right next to Jamie….not to mention how quickly the Doctor uses her death to bargain for Jamie….god I really can’t say anything coherent about this. I just think Serena should get more of a highlight not just as a Time Lord “swayed” by the Doctor’s,,,eccentricities but as someone who affected them so much and their ensuing, new-ish relationship with Jamie. Again I think this can also sort of explain the general lack of Zoe in s6b even though it feels like wasted potential (I’m working on a Zoe s6b fic and,,it’s rough. I love her post-TWG eu so it’s a Time…) - not just because the Doctor is only allowed one companion, but because of this darker tone, for the plot and season as a whole as well as the Doctor and the foundations their reunion with Jamie is built on.

I’m not saying this is like my main headcanon for s6b of course, but it’s an interesting thing to entertain imo

[damnaation]

Ambrosia

There are things older than even the gods, and sometimes those things take issue with the treatment of mortals.

This is the non-vore version of this story. I'm still working on the vore version, but I wanted to get at least this out before the end of the year :)

WARNING: There is a scenario very reminiscent of domestic abuse present in this story, though it is not intentional on the parts of any principal character in the situation. Still, it may be distressing for some readers, so take care. Includes a few brief instances of strangulation and choking.

Gods often did not make sense to mortals. She knew this—a constant, a fact she'd known as long as her short memory lasted. They did not make sense to mortals. 

And they did not love mortals. Feel affection, perhaps, think them cute like a charming pet, but loving would require them to see mortals as an equal. And everyone knows they were not. 

The godly realm itself was confusing—could be dangerous for an unaccompanied mortal. Things followed dream logic here, changing and shifting to match its inhabitants’ needs. Her own room—with a bed alone bigger than the room she'd lived in before, the chamber itself easily the size of an inn’s common room, a closet full of more clothes than she could have ever imagined, and a washroom fit for a palace—stayed the same at least, and she could always find her way back to it when she wanted. Helpful when some days the door opened to a parlor, some days a grand hall, some days a courtyard, and on increasingly common occasions her Lord’s own chambers. 

…They still weren't certain how to refer to him. He wasn't a god they had followed, his domain the one of performance and lies, and they had always tried to be honest. But they were his—a gift, an offering, traded to obtain his favor. Not that their life was all too pleasant beforehand—a permanent outsider with no family or memories, stuck doing whatever small tasks they could around the inn they had ended up in to pay room and board. At least he didn't require anything of them but their presence. 

Today upon leaving her chambers she found herself standing on a table and near the size of a child's doll compared to her surroundings. The change in perspective made her dizzy for a moment, wobbling in place before she managed to get her balance. 

… His chambers again. The bed looked like a massive sprawling landscape of dunes, big enough to lose themself in, and the floor was so far below as to be unreachable. But luckily they weren't stranded for long, as they could hear footsteps approaching before the door opened to reveal Lord Juniper. His gaze scanned the room, locking onto her with a slight smile as he approached.

“Good morning, my little flower.” He purred, brushing their cheek with the back of a curled finger before carefully scooping them up in his arms. They were only about as tall as his forearm was long—not the largest he'd been in comparison to them, but still more than capable of being easily lifted and carried around. 

She relaxed and let him take her wherever he was planning—he'd never hurt her, and usually respected if she asked to be put down to walk on her own. Even if she felt a bit like a fancy dog when he carried her around.

“Are you hungry, my dear?”

Always with the nicknames, though they supposed it was only fair—using their name would imply they were equals on some level. And at least they were nicer than some of the names they'd been called before, clearly terms of endearment in some form or another. 

“Yes.” He would know if she lied, and she was actually hungry. With a little hum he brushed hair away from her face, turning to leave his chambers with her tucked securely in his elbow. 

This time he stepped directly into the main hall, a large table running down the center with a single place set—a simple bowl and plate that seemed out of place compared to its grandiose surroundings. A soft white bread roll sat on the plate, and the bowl was full of porridge with raisins. Familiar enough, but still far nicer than what she had been used to before.

They still weren't quite sure where the food came from—they'd never seen Juniper eat, and had yet to find anything resembling a kitchen anywhere. Though they supposed gods wouldn't have to eat. 

Her brain went a bit fuzzy when he sat her down—the chair was the right size, as well as the table and dishes, but he hadn't changed anything as far as she could tell. Now, though, he appeared to be at the same scale, or similar enough. 

“Go ahead and eat, darling. I have a few brief things to attend to that would likely bore you to tears.” A hand rested on their shoulder and squeezed gently, and then he was gone. They tried not to be upset—it probably would have been boring, and certainly gone over their head, but…

She'd been here for what felt like ages with hardly anything to do but lie around in indolence. She was bored, with little way of resolving it other than trying to explore the palatial estate, but nothing stayed where it was.

For now, at least, she had breakfast to eat. And maybe when she was done she would see about finding her way to the courtyard.

~~~

Outdoors wasn't much different. No wind, no rain, just a perfectly pleasant warm sunny day. Always the same, with artificial regularity. But there were a few trees and a pond in the courtyard, with a pale stone path to wander and a few benches to sit on. Marginally better than lying around inside waiting for him to return—but only barely. 

They wanted to stand outside in a thunderstorm again, feel the wind and the rain lashing their skin, the deep rumbles of thunder resonating in their chest like a drum. Even the bitter bite of winter frost, as dangerous and unpleasant as it was, would be something different.

The leaves rustled in a mint-scented breeze, startling her out of her thoughts—the first bit of wind she'd felt all day. Sitting up where she'd been lying on one of the benches—trying to decide whether the sky visible in the gaps between the leaves was real or just another, much higher ceiling—, she watched as Juniper coalesced out of nothing, one moment an empty space and the next inhabited by his familiar figure.

… He almost seemed to stumble for a moment, and didn't quite look the same as he did normally. Dark feathers sprouted from his shoulders, glistening in the light with an odd green shimmer, and his hands had become more like scaled talons ending in sharp-looking claws. 

A shiver ran down their spine. They couldn't explain it, but they suddenly felt like they were stuck in a room with a wild animal—a feeling they had never had around him, even when they had been left bound and gagged in his shrine. Something was wrong.

But before she could even try to slip away, his gaze settled on her, a deep pit of dread opening in her stomach. His eyes were slitted like a snake’s, and the grin that spread across his face had none of the warmth in it that she was used to. 

“There you are, pet.” He leered, a forked tongue briefly flicking the air as he prowled towards her with a serpentine grace.

“Wh- what? What are you-” Their words were abruptly cut off by a hand grabbing their throat, tight enough to cut off any air despite their desperate, instinctive clawing at the scaled talon. 

“I don't believe I gave you permission to speak, mortal.” The words came out in a low, furious hiss, the hand around their neck growing larger until his fingers could wrap entirely around it with ease. Their bare feet kicked helplessly as they were lifted off the ground with no more effort than picking up a discarded toy, his cold slit-pupiled gaze flicking from their face to their hands weakly grabbing at his wrist with a sneer of disgust. 

Just as everything started to go black the suffocating grip around her throat vanished with a sickening moment of weightlessness before she fell, hitting the ground with a muffled yelp as pain burst through her leg. A desperate gasp for air led into a coughing fit, curling in on herself in fear as she tried to relieve the burning in her lungs-

“I trust you will remember your place in the future.” They were pinned on their back with a massive hand, putting enough pressure on their battered frame to make them bite back a cry of pain as a sharp claw pressed against their cheek. “Else I may have to cut out your tongue.”

I'm sorry- whatever I did to upset you, I didn't mean it.

She wanted to crawl into her room and hide—better yet, go back to her tiny room at the inn, but there was no way to get back on her own. Not to mention trying to flee might make him even more angry. But she needed to get away-

The ground gave out beneath her, and she was falling once again, though this time she had a much softer landing—staring up at the ceiling of her chamber, watching a single large black feather drift down alongside her. No sign of how she had gotten there, but the developing aches and a burning line of pain on her cheek were enough to know it hadn't been a nightmare. 

They needed to hide. Whatever had pulled them out of his reach had given them time, but if they thought he was angry before this would no doubt leave him furious at their escape. 

He could kill them for it, if not worse. It was never wise to anger a god, even unintentionally. 

With a choked off sob, she began to move, hardly thinking about what she was doing as she pulled the covers from her bed and crawled beneath it, wrapping herself in blankets and curling up in the dark. Everything ached, though her leg and neck bore the worst of it. Squeezing her tear-filled eyes shut with a sniffle, she grimaced at a sudden burning sensation in her cheek, and slowly raised a hand to touch it. 

Their face was wet, and in the dim light that reached into their hiding place they could see red on their fingertips as they pulled them away. He'd scratched them, deep enough to bleed. Now that they were aware of it they could feel a stinging line of pain, but they didn't have any way to properly treat it.

… The skirt of her nightdress had a few rips in it now, and it was simple enough to tear a strip from the bottom hem to wad up and press against the cut, keeping pressure on it in hopes it was minor enough to heal on its own. 

Curled up in the dark, battered and bruised but most of all terrified, she finally let herself cry. He had been kind to her until now, so careful to not harm her even at his largest size. She wasn't even sure what she'd done wrong, it had been a normal day up until he left, but he was clearly furious at her. 

I don't believe I gave you permission to speak. 

I trust you will remember your place in the future.

With a pathetic, raspy whine—their throat burned, and it didn't take much to imagine a bruise in the shape of his hand wrapped around it—they pulled their blankets close, trying to make themself as comfortable as possible even as their ankle throbbed with any movement. If they stayed quiet and obedient, he wouldn't hurt them again, right? That was their only option. He would find them eventually, the building itself responded to his wishes. But they only hoped for a little longer before that point, enough time to compose themself—if speaking out of turn got them this amount of punishment, crying would certainly be worse. 

She wasn't sure how long she lay there, but eventually the tears dried up, leaving an empty hollow feeling interrupted only by the pain of her injuries and a heavy exhaustion. He hadn't come for her, and she couldn't hear anything beyond her chambers. Shuffling to peek out from under the bed, she let out a soft gasp at what she saw—the door to the rest of the palace was gone. The one that always opened to her washroom was still in place, but it was the only interruption in the smooth stone walls.

They'd been locked in their room like a dog in a cage. For some reason that was the final straw, and with a sniffle they pulled a blanket over their head and allowed themself to drift into unconsciousness. If they were asleep at least they wouldn't hurt, and it was unlikely he would drag them out of their hiding spot if he'd really locked them in their room. 

When she awoke it was with a pounding in her temples and a horrible thirst. For a moment she was confused as to why she was lying on the floor, but the jolt of pain that ran through her when she moved quickly reminded her what had happened. Dragging herself out from under her bed, she had to lean against the wall to get to the washroom door, as her ankle hurt whenever she put weight on it—hopefully it wasn't broken, but it was certainly swollen and warm to the touch. 

There was still a pitcher of clean water in their washroom—a habit they kept, even with the magical wash basin and bath that filled from strange keg-taps in the wall. Their reflection hardly looked recognizable—puffy, red-rimmed eyes from crying, the dark purple of bruising around their neck, patchy bits of red like an uneven sunburn on their face and chest, and the cut on their cheek that had started to scab over while they slept. Their hair fell messily around their face, and their gaze seemed sunken and hollow. 

Dropping her head and turning away from the polished mirror, she carefully poured some water from the pitcher into her cupped palm, barely managing to swallow more than a sip without pain. But she was unbearably thirsty, and forced herself to push through the stinging ache until she had her fill.

… A warm bath sounded nice, and would likely ease some of their aches, but the thought of being caught even more helpless than they already were sent a chill down their spine. No, even if he was leaving them to their own devices for now they weren't going to risk it. 

Shuffling back to their bed, they froze at the sight of the black feather still lying on top of it. 

She'd never seen him like that, feathered and scaled with sharp talons. He wasn't human, of course, but he'd always appeared as such, aside from the changes in size. It was just another reminder of how unfathomable he truly was, and how powerless she was against him. 

Another rolling wave of exhaustion overcame them, and once more they shuffled underneath their bed—the longer it went, the more likely he would come looking, and not being immediately visible would give them a bit of warning, at least. 

Of course, who's to say he didn't forget about me? Or that he didn't lock me in here on purpose as punishment—I'll need to eat eventually, and I can't get out if there's no door.

Those thoughts weren't very reassuring, but there wasn't much they could do to change the situation. At least they had water. They could figure out food if it came to that. 

With a heavy, wet sigh she pulled her covers around herself once again and let exhaustion take her. Sleeping on the floor had made her stiff, but it was a small price to pay for some meager amount of safety. 

The next time she awoke was to a growling stomach. This time, at least, she remembered where she was and why—though whether that was a good thing or not was debatable. Her ankle felt stiff, even more so than the rest of her, and her throat still ached. She should probably get up, start trying to figure out how to get food, but couldn't muster up the energy to move. 

Why now? Why wait so long to punish me for overstepping? Why not make it clear from the beginning?

The thoughts wouldn't leave them alone, whirling in their head like a maelstrom to the point they almost missed the sound of a door opening. 

“Little one?”

She froze, a hand clamping over her mouth and hardly daring to breathe lest he hear it, terrified tears starting to well in her eyes. He'd already come looking for her, and while he didn't sound mad she couldn't trust that—the god of lies and performance was no doubt a skilled actor.

“Are you still sleeping? It's quite late-” His words cut off suddenly, and they could both hear and see him step into their room, walking towards their bed. 

The feather. 

“Where did you come from?” He murmured softly, the slightest brush of skin against fabric hinting that he'd picked the feather off their bed. They could see him standing on the other side, only from mid-calf down, but clearly present nonetheless. 

Please just go. Whatever game you're playing, I don't want to be part of it anymore. I want to go home.

Silent tears filled her eyes as she lay there trembling, but he didn't leave. 

“Are you hiding? I only wanted to check on you, I've been worried.”

That didn't make any sense. He'd half strangled them, locked them in their room, and now he was worried about them? Why couldn't he just leave them alone?

All of a sudden their traitorous stomach growled plaintively. All it cared about was that she hadn't eaten since before everything had happened, however long ago that had been. Their eyes widened in terror, and for a brief moment they hoped he hadn't heard, but their hopes were dashed as they saw him pause, stepping back from the bed slightly before shifting as if to kneel down and look.

“Little flower? What are you-”

With a frightened, raspy whine she shoved herself back and away, backing up blindly until she hit the wall and pulling her blankets tighter around herself as if they could shield her from the wrath of a god. She could hear what sounded like a catch in his breath, but surely it was just her own frantic, terrified breathing echoing in her ears. 

Why is he doing this? What's the point of toying with me like this? 

They could hear his footsteps rounding the bed and recoiled, curling in on themself as much as they could with their bruises and stiff muscles.

“Darling, what's-” 

A sudden, crushing silence fell. They could feel his gaze on them, even as they kept their eyes fixed on the floor, head bowed—as close to prostrating themself before him as they could manage at the moment, all but frozen in their fear.

“What happened to you?” His voice was quiet and tense with barely-restrained fury, and she dared not speak for fear of being punished again.

If she even could, as bruised as her throat was. It wouldn't be surprising if she'd lost her voice from the damage, and she had little desire to try. 

A quiet sniffle escaped them as they tried to keep the tears in their eyes from falling, but the sound of him stepping towards them jolted them out of their paralysis. They jerked their head up—it hurt, but being caught unaware was worse—, wide, terrified eyes focusing on his outstretched hand as they pressed themself as far back against the wall as was possible. He gasped, pulling their attention to his face for a brief moment—his gaze moving from their face to their neck, eyes widening slightly—before they remembered what he'd said and dropped their head. 

He'd had feathers again. Just like before.

“I'm sorry- please don't-” She barely managed a hoarse, cracked whisper of a plea before her voice broke, leaving her coughing and whimpering from pain.

A breeze ruffled her hair, and when she hesitantly lifted her gaze from the floor again he was gone, a black feather drifting to the floor again where he once stood.

Seeing it again was the final crack in their composure. With a pathetic sniffle they started to sob, face in their hands as tears streamed down their cheeks. He hadn't hurt them again, at least, but they didn't understand why he was acting like he didn't know what had happened. It was burned into their brain—the terrifying, crushing strength of his hand around their throat, the sickening feeling of weightlessness as they fell, the sharp jolt of impact through their ankle, the pressure pinning them to the ground as he threatened to cut out their tongue the next time they spoke out of turn-

Wrapping her arms around herself, she slumped into a pathetic, sniveling wreck, desperate, heaving breaths wracking her shoulders and making her throat burn as she gasped for air through her tears. 

I want to go home.

By the time they'd cried out all the water they'd managed to drink earlier they felt as if someone had taken a ladle and scooped everything from inside them in the same way one would scrape out a pot. Still the same shape, but completely empty inside aside from a bone-deep exhaustion—and of course the ever present ache of their injuries. They'd managed to crack the scab on their cheek from their sobbing, a small amount of blood beading on their skin that they wiped away with their tears.

… She should get something to drink, but the thought of shuffling to her washroom and back on her ankle—by this point she was fairly certain it was sprained, if not broken—seemed an insurmountable obstacle. Even trying to crawl back into her hiding place under her bed felt like a heavy task, and it wasn't like it would be any more comfortable, so she simply pulled her blankets around her and lay down where she sat, back pressed against the wall with the now returned door in view.

~~~

The chain around their throat was heavy as they knelt on the cold stone floor, trying not to shiver in their thin shift. Their legs were going numb, but they dared not move without permission—they were on a short enough lead already, a fact that distressed them as Juniper reached down to hook a finger around the chain and tug slightly. The loop around their neck tightened, pulling them off balance and causing them to pitch forwards, arms outstretched to keep themself from face planting. 

“I don't believe I told you to move, pet.” His voice was falsely light-hearted, not even trying to hide the vitriol beneath as he twisted the chain around his hand before lifting her off the ground by it. She struggled, hands trying to slip between the links and her skin to get enough room to breathe, but every second that passed left her feeling weaker. Her vision went dark around the edges, lungs burning but unable to relieve it as her desperate writhing slowly died out from lack of air. 

Jolting upright, they sucked in a greedy gasp, hands flying to their neck—no chain, but it still hurt, a dull ache as their breathing slowly started to return to normal. Allowing one hand to drop from their neck, they balled their fist in the sheets beneath them-

Wait. 

She hadn't fallen asleep in her bed.

“I'm sorry.” 

The unexpected voice made her flinch, attention snapping towards the source only for her to freeze in place like a mouse hoping the cat doesn't see it. 

Juniper sat against the wall, as if he'd been keeping watch over her while she'd slept. There was a strange tension in his frame, looking as if he wanted to approach but was restraining himself. Why, she didn't know, but at least this time he appeared entirely human, no feathers or scales and on the same level as her. 

“What?” They whispered, voice still raspy but less painful than trying to speak aloud.

“I promised to look after you and care for you, and you were grievously harmed. In my domain, no less.” As if it should be obvious. As if he wasn't the one who'd done it. 

Directing their stare at the bedcovers, they balled their fists in the blankets. It was unwise to show anger towards him, he could decide to finish what he'd started at the drop of a pin. 

“What happened, little one?”

Her shoulders trembled, but she remained silent, wrapping her arms around herself and keeping her gaze fixed on her blankets. Whatever he was trying to goad her into, she wasn't going to fall for it.

A light touch brushed their hand and they flinched, pulling away on instinct with a frightened gasp. He'd moved without them noticing, now kneeling alongside their bed with a hand hovering in midair for a moment before dropping to his lap. 

“Please, Red.” Her name—one of them, at least—being spoken in that soft, pleading tone made her sniffle, even though she had cried all of the tears she had to spare. 

“Don't know.” She whispered, shifting uncomfortably. Her voice was still rough, and it hurt to speak, but…

He used to make them feel safe. Had promised they were his, that he would care for them. They just wanted to feel safe around him again. They didn't know why he was doing this, but they were loathe to disobey him now.

“Just do your best.”

Worrying her blanket between her hands, she bit her lip for a moment as she tried to put her thoughts in order.

“Yesterday-” was it yesterday? “-went to do something. Came back mad. 

“... said- shouldn't speak without permission.” Her voice broke, and she lifted a hand to touch her aching throat.

Why did he want her to tell him what had happened? Didn't he remember almost killing her? 

Without turning their head they flicked their gaze towards him—he was looking at his own hand, a quiet horror in his voice. “I did this?” 

That made them freeze—was that a trick question? They had been the one to disobey, to overstep, if they blamed him for their shortcomings he would be furious.

“My fault-” They blurted in a panic before breaking into a horrible coughing fit. It felt like their throat was full of nettles, scraping the delicate flesh raw every time they breathed, let alone spoke, and the coughing just made it worse.

“No.” He sounded angry even at the thought, putting a hand on her knee—she stiffened, but didn't pull away as he continued. “Nothing you could do would make you deserve this. I don't… I don't remember anything from yesterday, but it's clear enough I failed in my duty to keep you safe. And for that I am sorry.”

What? 

“God of lies.” She whispered without thinking—but he looked more distressed than angry.

“Not to you. Never to you.” Heaving a sigh, he pulled his hand back—leaving her almost missing the small point of contact, a bit of stability in her confusion. “I wouldn't expect you to forgive me for this- wouldn't want you to. But I will do everything in my power to ensure it doesn't happen again.”

… It would be frightening, they realized, to find out that not only had you lost an entire day, you'd harmed your pet in the course of it. Or however he thought of them. 

“I will go see if any of the others might know what could have caused this. You should eat, little one.” A bowl was gently pressed into their hands, full of warm broth, though they hadn't seen it before now. Regardless, their stomach growled at the sight of it—they were starving. 

“I'll let you rest now, but if you need anything all you have to do is ask.” There was a sad look on his face as he stood, a hand briefly twitching at his side as if he wanted to touch her, but his gaze drifted to the bruise circling her neck again before he disappeared in a cool breeze.

The door was still there—if they wanted to they could leave, but crawling through the ever-changing rooms beyond with an ankle that wouldn't bear their weight sounded nightmarish. So with a little sigh they started to eat, careful and slow at first before hunger overtook them.

The broth was warm and seemed to soothe the ache in her throat some, making it a bit easier to swallow. Perhaps it was hunger from going more than a day without eating, but it might have been the best thing she'd ever tasted, and by the time she finished she was pleasantly full and once again fighting exhaustion. Setting the bowl on the floor next to her bed, she pulled the blankets up and laid down again to rest. 

He hadn't wanted to hurt them. They were still afraid, of course—whatever had made him do so could happen again, and there was still nothing they could do about it, but at least they had some small amount of relief. Letting out a yawn, they closed their eyes, hoping this time they would be able to sleep without interruption.

No dreams disturbed her slumber, just the deep, dark tunnel of exhausted sleep. 

Awareness came slowly, by degrees. She was warm and comfortable, enough she could have easily slipped back into unconsciousness had the waking world not continued to tug at her. A hand gently running through her hair was the next thing she registered, light enough it hadn't woken her but noticeable now as she started to stir.

Blearily cracking an eye open, their gaze slowly focused on Juniper sitting in a chair next to their bed reading a book while brushing his other hand through their hair. Glancing towards them, he paused when he saw they were awake before pulling his hand back. 

“Good morning, darling. How are you feeling?” He murmured, book vanishing as he closed it with a soft clap.

That was a good question. She wasn't as stiff as she'd been before she'd gone to sleep, and her injuries weren't bothering her as much, but she could still feel them. 

Poking her hand out from under the covers, she wiggled it in a so-so fashion.

“Do you need anything, or would you rather I leave you alone?” Well, if he was asking…

Trying—and failing—to suppress a yawn, they sat up and pointed at the door to the washroom, rubbing at their eyes with their other hand. Even though their throat was feeling a bit better, they didn't want to try speaking if they didn't have to.

He chuckled softly as he stood—the chair he'd been using disappearing as he did so. “As you wish.”

She let out a soft, startled noise as he picked her up bridal style—pausing at the sound, but she wasn't scared, or at least not overly scared. Just nervous. After a moment without any protest he started to walk, carrying her into the washroom before setting her down where she could lean on the counter for support. 

“I'll be right outside if you need anything, little flower.” And with that he pulled the door closed, leaving them alone in the room. 

They shuffled their way through their morning ablutions, before pausing to look at the bath. A warm soak would be nice, but would require them to ask for clean clothes—not to mention getting in the tub might be difficult with their ankle. And it would mean leaving Juniper to wait outside until they were done. 

… Maybe just a quick bath. Between all the crying and sleeping on the floor she felt a bit gross, and would rather put as much of it behind her as she could. And this nightdress would probably have to be disposed of, ripped up and dirty as it was. She didn't have the supplies to fix it, and didn't much want to, either.

Looking at themself in the mirror after they disrobed was… uncomfortable. The bruising around their neck was an ugly dark purple, and there were several more bruises scattered across their body that had been hidden from view. A particularly nasty one on their side caught their eye, as they could see the hard line of where one of the stones in the courtyard had pressed into them. 

Blinking away sudden tears, she hopped over to the tub, sitting on the edge and opening the magic tap to allow it to fill with water. A handful of pleasant-smelling herbs and flowers dropped into the water provided a distraction, and once the tub was full enough she closed the tap and slipped into the warm water, sinking down in the oversized tub until the water was halfway up her neck. 

Letting out a pleased little sigh, they tipped their head back and closed their eyes. The warmth soothed the lingering stiffness as well as some of the aches from their bruises, and the nice smell helped them relax as they soaked. 

It was a struggle not to doze off, but as the water started to cool she roused herself and sat up again. Pulling the stopper started the tub draining, and with a tight grip on the side she carefully stood, sat on the rim of the tub to shift her legs out, and shuffled until she could reach the cabinet with towels in it. Wrapping one of them around herself, she leaned on the wall until she got to the door again. 

Clutching their towel to be sure it stayed in place, they opened the door just enough to poke their head out. 

“Need clothes.” It didn't hurt as much, but still left their throat feeling a bit rough and raw. Juniper looked up at them, gaze fixing on a newly visible bruise on their arm for a brief moment. 

“Of course, my dear.” His voice was soft and gentle, giving her a brief nod as he stood and headed to the closet. He was being very accommodating—not that he hadn't before, but it was still strange to her to have a god waiting on her hand and foot. Though she supposed it made sense, if he felt guilty for hurting her. Even if it hadn't been intentional… he still hadn't said if he'd learned anything from speaking with the others. 

Distracted by their thoughts, they were startled when he held a bundle of cloth out to them. They hadn't realized he was back, and taking it required a bit of fiddling—leaning their shoulder against the wall to keep their balance while they held their towel up with one hand and took the clothes with the other. “Thank you.”

“You don't need to speak if it hurts.” Juniper murmured, pausing with his hand still in the air for a moment before dropping it and sitting back down in a chair that appeared out of nowhere. “But go ahead and get dressed.”

It was only polite to say thank you, she thought, closing the door and sitting down to hopefully make it easier. He'd grabbed another nightdress, the fabric soft and comfortable in her hands as she set it down to put on her underthings—and tried not to think too much about that. Once she was dressed she shuffled to get her good leg under her and stood, opening the door once again—he was already standing on the other side offering her an arm for balance, which she gladly accepted.

“Feeling better?” They nodded, most of their attention focused on the awkward hops that would be needed to get back to their bed—until they felt his arm move and they were suddenly swept off their feet, grabbing at him and letting out a startled yelp that came out as more of a broken squeak. 

He froze at the sound, giving her a look that she would almost describe as panicked if she didn't know better. “Did I hurt you?”

She could practically hear the unspoken addition floating in the air as she shook her head. “Startled.”

Their heart was still racing as they tried to force away the jolt of fear that had spiked through their veins—they weren't hurt, he was just picking them up. So they didn't have to worry about their ankle. 

“Alright.” With a final, searching look, he carried her back to her bed, setting her down as delicately as if she was made of glass before kneeling down alongside the bed. “Are you hungry?”

After a moment of thought she nodded—yes, but she also wanted to talk, and maybe get answers as to what had happened.

Once again, he produced a bowl of food from nowhere—this time some kind of oatmeal. It smelled good, and was still warm as he set it in their lap.

“What happened?” They whispered, tilting their head as they took a bite. He sighed, almost seeming to deflate as he looked away from them for a moment. 

“... There are things much older than the gods, little one. And sometimes, they can… worm their way through the cracks. Most of us are able to shake off their influence without much trouble, but…”

Falling silent for a moment, his gaze once again drifted to her, and he reached out for a moment before dropping his hand again and leaning back on his heels.

“I was mortal once, did you know that? It would have been several centuries ago—an actor who caught the attention of a god.” That made her pause, spoon in her mouth as she gave him a baffled look. Humans could become gods?

Her expression made him chuckle, a brief smile crossing his face before he continued, voice growing somber as he went. “A few centuries is nothing—I'm quite young compared to most of the others. And… I was vulnerable. The old things, the ones that hide in the dark—they are older than you could imagine, and they feel the only place for humans is subservience. I suppose they thought I had been too permissive with you, and chose to make a point. And for that, I will never be able to forgive myself. I failed in my duty to keep you safe.”

… She wasn't very hungry anymore. Setting her spoon down, she wrapped her arms around herself in an anxious embrace—it could happen again. Whatever old thing had a grudge against her might decide to hurt her again, and there was little she could do about it. 

“Would you want me to return you to your place in the mortal world?”

Their head snapped towards him in shock, words spilling from them without even thinking. “No! There's nothi-”

Breaking off into a pained coughing fit, they wheezed for breath as they hunched over, a hand clutching at their burning throat. The mattress dipped beside them, and after a moment hands gently settled on their back and shoulder. 

And then, with a warm sensation the pain faded. Not gone, not entirely, but manageable—rounded over rather than sharp, jagged edges. Enough she could catch her breath again, blinking tears out of her eyes as she tried to settle her breathing.

“I'm not much of a healer, I'm afraid. It's not my particular sphere of influence.” Juniper murmured—he was tense where he sat next to her, as if he expected her to pull away from him at any moment. But whatever he was doing made her injuries feel better, so with a soft sigh she leaned against him and let her eyes close—and after a few seconds he put his arm around her shoulder to hold her close.

A comfortable silence fell for a few moments before he spoke again.

“I won't force you to leave if you wish to stay.” That sent a wave of relief rushing through them—they had little to go back to. Surely their place at the inn had been filled ages ago, and they didn't know if they would be able to find somewhere else to stay. “I simply wanted to give you the choice, if you… if you no longer felt safe with me.”

Their heart squeezed in their chest at his words, faltering and unsure, as if he expected to be rejected at any moment—as if he wasn't a god, with powers beyond their wildest imagination. They shook their head, curling against his side with a quiet whisper. 

“I want to stay.” 

She could feel tension drain from him after she spoke—it must get lonely without anyone around, and she doubted human offerings in his name were very common—, his free hand brushing a lock of hair back behind her ear and hovering for a moment over the healing cut on her cheek. “Of course, my dear. Whatever you ask.”

His hand was warm as he took theirs, brushing his thumb over the back of their palm in silence before speaking again. 

“There are… options to heal your injuries. I could ask one of the others who oversees that domain, or I could simply continue to do what I can myself—you'll recover faster than normal, but I can't heal them immediately. Or…”

He paused, squeezing her hand slightly as he gave her a searching look before turning away, brows furrowed in thought.

“... I could give you ambrosia—food of the gods. It would heal you, but you would no longer be entirely mortal. And… that is not a choice I would ask you to make lightly.”

He was human once. Was it a choice he'd made himself, or one forced upon him? Did he miss it?

The thought of being around another god frightened them—he was permissive of their irreverent behavior, but they were well aware now that wasn't a sentiment universally shared. They didn't want to draw any more ire and risk a worse fate; bruises and scrapes would heal. And the thought of losing their humanity…

He was giving her a choice, at least. But the idea of it was beyond her imagination—would she be unaging, or simply immortal? What other effects might it have on her?

Would she forget what it was like to be human? That thought above all else terrified her—she had so few memories already, to lose what little she had might as well be the end of her. 

Gaze settling on their intertwined hands in her lap, she squeezed his hand slightly before whispering, “Just you.”

He paused for a moment, but acquiesced with a soft sigh. “If that's what you wish.”

Of course, they knew he would have to leave them at some point to attend to… whatever duties gods had. But that had been when things had gone bad last time. He'd come back not himself.

“Something on your mind, little one?” He'd slowly been pulling them closer until they were practically sitting in his lap, his hand gently stroking their back—light enough not to bother any of their healing bruises, but still enough to feel. The question made them pause, trying to think of how to respond in as few words as possible. 

“Been here- don't people need you?”

Pressing his face to the top of her head—a kiss? it felt like it, but surely not—, Juniper hummed softly before letting go of her hand to cup her cheek. “At the moment, there's a frustrated London playwright struggling with his next scene, but that's far less pressing than my acolyte being injured. He will find inspiration in time, and his works will be better for it. You, however, are in no state to be left alone.”

She opened her mouth to protest, though wasn't sure what she would say—he was right, she was injured and in a rough state—, but he pressed a finger to her lips before continuing—voice soft, with an edge of tension in it, almost like guilt.

“Darling, you can't walk. It’s my duty to care for you.” His touch was gentle as he stroked their cheek with his fingers, pausing for a moment at their jaw—no doubt looking at the bruise circling their throat like a collar. 

The lightest brush against their neck made them jolt, recoiling and grabbing at their throat with a harsh wheeze—clawed fingers wrapped tight, cutting off their breath and lifting them from the ground as they struggled helplessly-

Gasping desperately for breath she curled into herself at the sudden flash of memory, but as the panic slowly faded and her breathing leveled out, her mind began to clear. Reality slowly slipped back in around the edges.

The faint smell of mint lingered around them, but they were no longer wrapped in a gentle embrace—raising their head, eyes wide, they expected to find he'd left them once again-

But her gaze quickly settled on his form sitting against the wall, eyes fixed on his hands—one curled into a loose fist and the other wrapped around his wrist. For a brief moment his fingers glimmered with a dark iridescence, but it was gone after a blink. 

“I'm sorry.” His voice was quiet, soft with the kind of meticulous even tone that hinted to a great deal of emotion being forcibly restrained, dark gaze finally flicking up to look at them. “Are you alright?”

Well, they weren't hurt any worse than they had been. A little shaken by their episode, perhaps, but mostly alright. They nodded, a knot of guilt tightening in their chest—he had been trying to help, and they couldn't even manage to keep themself together. Surely he would get tired of it eventually, walking on eggshells to keep from frightening them. They were hardly of much use now, or even good company. And he had plenty of followers, even if few of them truly knew it. He had no real need to keep them around.

“M’sorry.” She rasped out, wrapping her arms around herself in a weak attempt at comfort.

“Oh, my dear. It's not your fault, I shouldn't have pushed so soon.” His reassurance didn't make her feel much better, not with the withdrawn expression on his face. She'd just messed up again. 

Seems like the only thing they were capable of as of late. 

Juniper stood, giving them a sad glance—these past few days were the most they'd been alone since coming here, and it seemed that they weren't the only one affected—before stepping towards the door.

“I should leave you to your meal.”

Right—the half eaten bowl of oatmeal was still in her lap, still lukewarm. She wasn't particularly hungry anymore, but she'd never been one to refuse food when it was offered.

But she didn't want to be alone, either. Being around him still left part of her nervous, flighty, expecting to be punished, but at least she would know if something happened again. Wouldn't be caught unaware.

“Please stay?”

He paused, hand on the door as he turned back to them with a searching look. Whatever he was looking for he seemed to find, since he dropped his hand and turned to face them.

“If that's what you want, little one.” They nodded, spoon in their mouth after another bite of their oatmeal. That put a soft smile on his face, making his way back to the side of the bed and kneeling down to gaze up at them before holding his hand out.

“Could I see your ankle?” He asked gently, head slightly tilted to the side in a way that reminded her of a curious dog. She hummed under her breath, carefully turning to the side so she could sit on the edge of the bed. 

She hadn't actually looked at her ankle since she'd been injured. It was clearly swollen compared to her other one, stiff and painful if she jostled it too much, with an inflamed red discoloration. Juniper drew in a sharp breath at the sight, sitting idle for a moment before reaching out to wrap his hand around the joint. 

“How did this happen?” They were pretty sure they knew what he was really asking.

“Fell.” It wasn't technically a lie—they did fall. After they were dropped, but that's still falling.

He sighed, bringing his other hand up to cup their ankle and resting his forehead on their knee. “I know that's not all of it. Omission is still a lie, little one.”

Setting her now-empty bowl to the side, she wrapped her arms around herself, worrying her lip between her teeth for a moment in thought. Her throat was starting to ache again, even with what he'd been able to do to help. Her ankle was feeling better now though, an odd tingling warmth suffusing it and loosening the tight pain knotted in the joint.

“...Dropped.”

He stilled, freezing so completely they couldn't even see him breathe—did he need to?—before looking up at them with a distressed look on his face. 

“I'm sorry. None of this would have happened if I hadn't taken you from the mortal world.” That made them fall still, averting their gaze from his to the disheveled blankets at their side. 

It wasn't like she'd had any other option. If he hadn't, the band of thieves who'd offered her to him may very well have just killed her instead. No witness left behind to identify them, and the blood spilt in his shrine would technically be a sacrifice. 

“Would've died otherwise.” She mumbled, swallowing uncomfortably—the rasping feeling had returned, a dull ache in her throat that made it ever more apparent she'd pushed too hard.

His hands tightened around their leg, enough to send small prickles of pain through the already injured joint. 

“I would never allow such a thing.” They flinched at the raised volume, curling into themself like a woodlouse but unable to pull free of the grip on their ankle. Dark feathers and sharp claws swirled at the edges of their vision, and they were so very small in the face of an angry god.

Thunder rumbled in the distance—the first change in the perfectly temperate weather since she'd been here—, but she was frozen in place, barely able to hear it over the echoing of her racing heart in her ears. Her chest ached, a suffocating tightness squeezing around her lungs as she trembled in place.

They were nothing but an insect in a maelstrom, an insignificantly tiny thing that could be batted away and crushed without even a thought. Hardly worth bothering with, let alone caring about. 

Breathe. 

She gasped, sucking in a lungful of air as the single word filled her mind and shoved everything to the wayside. The ache in her chest was steadily diminishing, and after a moment she realized there was a hand pressed flat to her breastbone.

“I'm sorry. You weren't breathing- I don't like doing that.” Juniper murmured, clear reticence in his voice. As their heart slowed to a more steady pace he pulled his hand away, redirecting his attention while they settled themself—another episode. Twice within an hour, now. 

“What?” He'd done something to get them out of it, the command having overwhelmed the panic they'd been caught in. Was that something he was capable of? He'd never done it before. 

“I can be… very persuasive if I choose to be. Especially to you.” He sighed, finally glancing up at her—still kneeling alongside her bed, as if she was the goddess and he a humble supplicant. “You were offered to me. Mine to do with as I wished. But I never wanted to force you into anything—whatever you did, I wanted it to be your choice.”

Chewing her lip, she mulled over what he'd said—and hadn't said. It was enough of an answer anyways, he didn't need to spell it out.

“Can make me not scared?”

That made him pause, brow furrowing in thought. “I'm… not sure. I wouldn't want to do anything I couldn't reverse. And if there was another incident…”

They didn't need him to elaborate. Some part of them knew he was being reasonable, but they were so tired of being scared—the creeping boredom from before was far more preferable than the constant fits and lingering dread in the back of their mind.

“Please.” Their voice cracked, and they knew they must've been a pathetic sight, battered and bruised with unwashed, unbrushed hair and tear stains on their face, throat aching from how much they'd spoken in the hoarse whisper they were restricted to.

And he rarely denied her anything she actually asked for.

“Oh, darling-” Juniper straightened up on his knees, reaching out with a moment of hesitation before gently cradling her face. “I'll do what I can, little one.”

Pulling her head down slightly, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before murmuring something against her skin. She couldn't hear what he'd said, but that didn't matter. 

The effect was immediate, tension leaching from their body as they unconsciously leaned into his hands. Still awake and aware, but for the first time in days not carrying their fear and anxiety like a rock on their back. 

“Better?”

Blinking her eyes open—she hadn't realized she'd closed them in the first place—she glanced towards Juniper before giving a small nod.

“Excellent.” Smiling gently at them, he brushed his thumbs over their cheeks before continuing. “If you're willing, I've also thought of something that could help your injuries as well.”

Tilting their head, they let out a soft, curious noise—easier than speaking, and it got the point across.

“Well- if you were small enough for me to hold, it would be simpler for me to help with everything at once.” He paused, gaze flicking to her neck again before glancing away as he dropped his hands to rest on her knee. “But… I can tell- those bruises aren't from hands your size.”

He was right, of course. She couldn't deny that. But what he was saying made sense—and the thought didn't scare her as much as she expected. A little apprehensive, yes, but the blind panic she'd experienced twice today was absent. Whatever he'd done to calm her was working.

And the promise of not hurting anymore was a tempting one. With a rough hum they put their hand over his, squeezing slightly to get his attention and giving him a small smile when he looked up at them. 

“Alright, my dear. If you're certain.” He was quick to get to his feet, squeezing their hand in return before letting go to pick them up—though he paused before actually doing so. “It would be… easier in my chambers, is that alright?”

Another nod—only seeing her own room for the past several days had begun to grow tiring, even if it seemed like a sanctuary at the time. Or perhaps a prison—she still wasn't entirely sure why her door had vanished. If it had been the other, or something else.

“Door was gone.” She mumbled as he lifted her from her bed. “Thought- was bein’ punished.”

His hold tightened for the briefest of moments in response before he spoke. “The realm responds to the wishes of its inhabitants. I was unable to find an entrance until the first time I saw you, despite my attempts, and you are the only other one here.”

… Oh. 

How long had they been able to affect things, they wondered. Was that how they'd gotten back to their room in the first place? 

Juniper paused in front of her door, looking down at her with a steely expression. “I don't want to command you, but I need your word that you will tell me if you are uncomfortable or distressed. Understood?”

The firm tone in his voice was unusual, but they nodded, a shiver running down their back as they did so. He studied them for a few seconds longer before seeming satisfied, giving them a small nod in return as he opened the door. 

A familiar wave of vertigo overcame her and she squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on breathing through the dizziness until it passed. It wasn't the worst she'd experienced, and faded fairly quickly as she shook her head slightly before blinking her eyes open. 

Their breath hitched briefly, one hand clutching at their chest for a moment at catching a glimpse of the floor far below. If they fell-

With a quick, full-body shake she leaned back, closing her eyes again to try to calm herself. She hadn't even looked at him, just the height alone had been too much. But she wasn't insensate with fear, just a bit unnerved.

“Little flower?” There was a slight note of reproach in his tone—he'd told them to tell him if they were uncomfortable.

“M'okay. Just- high.” It wasn't a lie, they were more afraid of the drop than anything else. Keeping their eyes closed for the time being was probably a good idea.

“Alright.” Silence reigned for a moment, before his hands shifted around her. She bit back a startled noise, managing to quell her reaction to simply tensing as his hold changed to cradle her securely. Not crushing, but enough to keep her from feeling like she was going to fall, a solid surface at her back as he carefully stroked her shoulder with his thumb. “Better?”

They nodded, leaning into his touch with a quiet hum. Warm and—as long as they didn't see how far they were from the ground—comfortable, the now-recognizable soft tingling sensation of magic—?—soothing their aches. 

The swaying rhythm of his steps made them perk up slightly, but he didn't go far before falling still once more. 

“Hold on for a moment, little one.” His hold changed, pressing her gently against the solid surface at her back as gravity shifted until she was lying down rather than sitting. “You should be able to look again.”

Blinking her eyes open curiously, she peeked out past his hands—now cupped over her like a cave—to find Juniper laid on the bed in his chambers, with her placed squarely on his chest. The floor was now thoroughly obscured by the expanse of sheets, but the difference in elevation between them and where she was perched was small enough to not unnerve her. 

“It was more comfortable than standing, and not as high for you.” They could feel his voice rumble through his chest as he spoke like a distant roll of thunder. With a little hum they sat down, leaning into his hand and peering up towards his face. 

Still looked human, despite his size. The incident was the first time he hadn't, at least that she was aware of. She'd been blindfolded when she was offered to him, however long ago that had been.

“Had feathers. N’claws.” They murmured, gaze dropping to their hands as they wrung the hem of their nightdress. Their voice was still rough, but it didn't hurt as much to speak at least. 

He was silent at first, a dark look briefly flashing across his face but his touch was gentle as he brushed his thumb over the healing cut on their cheek. “I can, if I so chose. Ravens and snakes are my sacred animals.”

That made sense, they supposed. As much sense as anything else here did—it wasn't as if he was human anymore, and ancient gods were sometimes shown with animal traits.

“... I do want to know what exactly happened.” She snapped her attention back towards him, a hand drifting to her throat subconsciously. Of course he did, he would want to prevent any further harm to his pet. 

“Not immediately. It can wait until you've recovered.” He carefully pushed her arm down with a finger before cupping his hand around her back, stroking her shoulder lightly with his thumb. “Right now you need rest.”

With a quiet hum they lifted their hand to touch his thumb—he went still as they touched him, but didn't pull back. They didn't push him away, just wanted to ground themself a bit. 

A yawn interrupted her thought process, and they felt him chuckle under his breath. The multiple nights of poor sleep seemed to be catching up with her, as a sudden weight seemed to settle across her entire body. She rubbed at her eye with the heel of her palm, pausing for a moment as he ruffled her hair with a finger. 

“You look tired, little bird.” The hand draped around them felt heavier, encouraging them into lying down and curling up on his chest. Some still faintly nervous part of them wondered if he wasn't making them feel so tired, but even if he was they no doubt needed the sleep anyway.

She yawned, letting her eyes close and beginning to drift along with the up-and-down motion of his breathing and rhythmic sounds of his heartbeat as he stroked her back. It was nice to feel relaxed and comfortable again, not hiding away and terrified of making a misstep.

… He breathed? 

Cracking an eye open, they shifted to look up at him, quirking their eyebrow and patting his chest in a silent question.

“Yes?” He looked confused for a moment, and they put their hand against their own chest and took an exaggerated breath. His face lit up in understanding, before looking almost embarrassed. “Ah- I thought something a bit more human might help you be more at ease. I can stop if you want.”

Oh. That was thoughtful. 

Shaking her head with a little smile, she snuggled back down under his hand, letting out a content sigh and closing her eyes again. A nap sounded nice, especially now with the aches from her bruises and scrapes softened and distanced by his magic. And once she stopped holding on to consciousness, she was quick to slip under into a warm, comfortable, dreamless haze of sleep.

[acourtofthought]

The number of times I see people defend Cass and Az siding with Rhys with "he's their friend and High Lord" vs the number of times Lucien gets shit for "not standing up to Tamlin" (even though he did do that) is wild.

I think people forget to take a step back and look at all the information presented to us when reading these books.

Of course the author is telling Feyre's story and it's easy to get caught up on what she feels and wanting to side with her but from a logical perspective, if you really want to immerse yourself in this entire world with all these characters (and not just have blind loyalty to Feyre considering Sarah chose to continue writing characters outside of Feyre), you have to consider why they did what they did and whether there is some understanding to be found.

When you look at Feyre and Lucien's relationship, she murdered his friend. MURDERED.

How many of us are going to be fond of someone who killed someone we cared for? It had to be done for the curse of course but he had to see her in his home knowing that she hated his kind and that's why she met Amarantha's requirement.

The fact that he was willing to even become her friend after that is a testament to Lucien's ability to forgive because he could have easily acknowledged the sacrifice Andras made to save them while still choosing to never give the female who murdered someone in cold blood a second thought.

He grew to care for Feyre despite that, risked his life for Feyre, but again she was a 19 year old human he'd known for a few months compared to the person who helped save his life, compared to the person who he spent centuries with, compared to the person he called a friend. Why should he have MORE loyalty to Feyre? What had Feyre ever done for him to earn that loyalty?

Regardless of what Tamlin did after UTM, Lucien had years upon years upon years of building a life in the Spring Court, feeling safe in the Spring Court, being Tamlin's friend in the Spring Court.

If you had a friend you'd known for 20 years then suddenly they spiraled due to trauma and began behaving badly, wouldn't you have faith that they could pull free from it? To find their way again? Would you just cut them off because they were behaving in a way you didn't agree with?

It's funny how people argue how awful Feyre and Elain were for not standing by Nesta's side during her depression (though Nesta forced them away) but hate Lucien for standing by Tamlin and trying to help him through his.

Was Tamlin abusive to women for the last 2 or 3 centuries? It seems the answer is no therefore his behavior in ACOMAF seemed a product of his downward spiral after UTM and having fallen in love. That means Lucien was a good person for trying to bring him back, to help him remember who he had been before. That means Lucien hoped the friend he'd always known could break free from whatever had recently happened to him.

Compare that to Rhys who let others believe he was evil for centuries. In all the time Tamlin saved Lucien, that Tamlin gave Lucien a job and they became friends, Rhys allowed everyone to believe he was a monster.

"Lucien wanted to take Feyre back to her abuser!"

No, Lucien wanted to take Feyre away from who he thought the real abuser was, the guy who was once ready to shatter his mind and who he thought worked with Amarantha (the one who cursed them all and brutally scarred him) for 50 years and was promised by his friend of centuries that he was better, that he knew he was in the wrong and wouldn't make the same mistakes again. Tamlin lost control of his temper and Feyre was injured as a result but Lucien had seen Rhys choose to hurt people so I do understand why he thought Tamlin was capable of change, why he believed he could do better and get help.

On a personal note, my father was abusive to my mother. At 5 years old I witnessed him throw her to the ground and break her collarbone.

Domestic violence is a tricky thing. Should I have written my father off never to talk to him again? Was he not deserving of a second chance even though I hated what he did? My parents did end up divorcing shortly after and he remarried and I absolutely adore my stepmother. I know for a fact that he did change and they are still happily married to this day so I see why in some instances you hope for the best, why you'd like to believe someone can overcome their struggles and it's not for someone else to judge how someone should deal with an abuser because even that is complicated.

But that's real life which is a whole lot trickier than a fantasy world where somehow it's ok for Feyre to murder a fae with hate in her heart yet a friend hoping his friend can overcome his depression and anger issues is made out to be a villain.

Lucien had actual reason to believe Tamlin was capable of change considering the Tamlin of ACOMAF was different Tamlin than the one he had known, the one who saved him.

He was a victim of Tamlin's too so him having hope that "that was the last time" is a normal response to victims of domestic violence. Of course he believed Tamlin could change. Why wouldn't he since he'd known Tamlin as a good guy longer than Tamlin as a bad guy? Of course he'd have hope that his entire life as he'd known it wasn't falling apart so spectacularly.

People forget the events of ACOTAR / ACOMAF didn't just happen to Feyre, Lucien's life was falling apart too. Not to mention for Lucien it wasn't just about Feyre, it was about the people of an entire court. He literally said to her, "don't make me risk the stability of this court." He was worried about the people of Spring finding their way back after the horrors they'd witnessed over 50 years and Feyre was worried about the events of the last three months. That's not to say her trauma was not enormous but was it worse than what others went through? Was her depression more important than the depression of everyone in that land?

EVERYBODY in Spring was struggling, not just Feyre and I think that's what people forget.

Nobody should have had to push their depression aside, the needs of an entire court aside, to prioritize Feyre. And I like Feyre, I knew the Spring Court was not right for her and Tamlin was never going to be the right person for her once ACOMAF began. It's clear they should have never been talking marriage when they were both a mess themselves.

But I don't fault Lucien for not being able to pull Feyre from her depression when he had about a million and one other things on his plate. When he too was dealing with the horrors from UTM (remember how he was almost killed twice there?), when he was stressing over the safety of the court and the mental health of all it's people.

Thinking Lucien was there just to serve Feyre is actually really silly when you think about it because Lucien had some major stuff he was dealing with. Did Feyre set aside her trauma to help Lucien deal with his? Did she even bother thinking about his trauma or did she simply turn a blind eye (especially when she kept walking after knowing Tamlin used his power against Lucien).

Feyre wasn't any better a friend to Lucien after UTM than some claim he was to her but I don't fault her for that because I realize that at certain times you can put your own needs over that of another but Lucien should be extended the same courtesy when he was thinking about everyone's needs. Wanting his HL to heal so that the court didn't suffer doesn't make him an asshole, it actually makes him worthy of becoming a HL himself.

The IC? They might have been worried about their High Lord but they and the people of Velaris lived in relative comfort for 50 years. They did not experience the same horrors that everyone else was dealing with. So when Feyre came to them it was much easier for their focus to be on Feyre, on making her a priority, on her healing and she could then focus on Rhys's healing too.

Sarah is very different from many other authors, where the main character is not guiltless, where other characters are just as developed and just as independent, where they're not written just to be a plot tool to serve the FMC. She does a wonderful job of making side characters extremely layered with their own demons and desires and so I think it's important to treat them with the same individuality that we would a main character.

Being mad at a side character for acting independent of the main character is literally saying "I don't want anyone in this series to want anything other than what is best for the FMC" and that makes for a one dimensional story.

And forgetting that the males also had PTSD, that they don't necessarily deserve to be written off by everyone because of their bad choices but to have someone try to help is an important lesson to remember too. PTSD is not something to overlook just because it's a male suffering from it and I'd hope a friend wouldn't turn their back on a friend because of it, I'd hope they'd try to get their friend the help they need if they're in a position to do so.

Should Feyre have helped Tamlin? Hell no. But Lucien helping Tamlin? If that's what he wants because he probably understands what PTSD looks like, he saw what was happening to Spring and it's people because of Tamlin's state and caring is not something he should be faulted for, not when it affected an entire court. As I said above, Lucien was thinking about more than just Feyre or just Tamlin which means there was no way to meet just one person's needs.

[1-800-local-slut]

All I Want (2/3)

Dean has a crush. Nothing strange, Dean's fallen for tons of women. Only problem is it’s on his brother’s girlfriend. She’s a sweet girl, who makes Sammy happy. And that makes Dean happy. Only problem is he wants some of that happiness, and he doesn’t want it from anyone else.

Dean Winchester x Black! Fem! Reader (One-sided)

Sam Winchester x Black! Fem! Reader

Warnings: one sided love, pining, Dean is thinks badly about himself, mentions of alcohol, Dean wants reader bad but she's in love with Sam, Dean's really scared and really guilty, reader wears jewelry, most (if not all) of the female characters have a lot of accessories (lipgloss, nails, lashes, mascara, jewelry) because a lot of my works are self-indulgent and I'm a girly-girl ngl so i like being dressed up and having a lot of accessories on so if its not for you just ignore it

Part 2 of 3! Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I'm so grateful I was able to start this blog because I've really found myself through it. I'm grateful to all of you as well, thank you so much for reading my works. Ily all, and I hope you had a wonderful day!

Please let me know if you guys enjoy!

Check out part three if you enjoyed!

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Over the past year and a half, Dean's gotten used to jealousy. The feeling of jealousy that he tries to fight off constantly. He'll sit and think 'it's your brother, be happy for him' yet he can't. Not to say he isn't overjoyed with Sam's happiness. Yet, he feels it so often it's nearly impossible to ignore.

When doing research, she comes in with two cups of coffee and gives Sam a soft kiss on the cheek, he feels it. When they're at a diner and she'll tenderly spoon feed him some of her food. When he's giving her a soft back rub and she's dozing off underneath him, and falls asleep with soft snores.

It's not like Dean's never wanted a relationship. Sometimes, all he'll want is someone to be with and hold him. This was not the same. This was a specific desire, a desire for her.

Believe him, he's tried. He's tried dating others, maybe girls who look just slightly like her or girls who have some trace of her personality. Nothing ever worked, he would lay in bed beside them trying not to wish it was her. Trying not to wish her soft hands were the ones holding his.

The guilt is what really kills him. The guilt that his brother finally gets a girl and he's basically drooling over her. The worst part is, he can't tell if Sam knows or not. He can't tell if Sam's dissected the longing looks he sends her way, the way he melts under her hugs, the way his gaze softens when he looks at her.

When they visit a bar, while Dean is at the bar getting more drinks or talking to some girl and she's sitting in Sam's lap talking about something. Sam's big hands rubbing her thighs tenderly, the way Dean wants to. Does Sam see how he's trying not to stare?

No, it can't be. It can't happen. Sam can't know or find out. If Sam did, he would be crushed. Dean already knew he couldn't hurt his brother so much. Lord knows Sam's never had the best luck with ladies. Each one he gets, is taken from him with vigor. Dean can't do anything about the constant guilt he feels knowing that deep down he wants to take her away from Sam for himself.

The betrayal of knowing that your own brother wants to be the one holding your girlfriend at night, the one holding her hands, would destroy any pair of brothers.

Now he was sitting with his head in his hands outside the convenience store. Of course, Sam and his lady needed to go get condoms and Plan-B. Why wouldn't they, after last week's scare? They came terrifyingly close to becoming parents and in usual Sam fashion he took the steps to ensure it wouldn't happen again.

They'd be good parents, Dean thinks. Sam could certainly do it. Sam was the one who could talk his feelings out instead of drinking them away. He was the one who could give life advice, not a stupid pun that probably wouldn't do much to help. Sam was just Sam.

The door next to him opened and in slid the object of his desires. In her hands, a bag and her purse. Plopping it down at her feet, Sam crawled into the back.

"You two crazy kids get what you need?" Dean chuckled, trying to mask the slight pang he felt when he noticed the condoms peeking out of the bag. Dean can't remember the last time he needed to buy condoms.

She nodded, flipping down the mirror and painting on some lip gloss. Dean wanted to kiss it all off her, and feel her nails running through his hair as he held her.

"All stocked up, right baby?" She asked a sleepy Sam, who was dozing off for a nap.

"Yeah." Sam responded, rolling over onto his side. She passed a hair tie to him, without him even asking and Sam uttered a soft thank you and pinned his hair out of his face for an impromptu nap. They were on their way back from a hunt in Daytona Beach, a simple salt and burn really.

Sam did most of the fighting actually, and now as a result of fighting off ghost for the past four days was snoring softly in the back with his sweater wrapped around him.

Starting the engine, Dean reversed from the parking lot. Only six hours until home and he could put some distance between himself and the stunner next to him.

Dean hoped he could just suffer quietly through the ride but his wishes weren't granted.

"That was a weird hunt, that lady cried all over me and got snot on my jacket." She commented, pulling out the new pack of press-ons she had picked up from the store and holding them up next to her arm to see how they'd look against her skin.

"Yeah, that was a family of criers." Dean chuckled, his palms sweating. Now he had to converse and wallow in his heart ache? It was too much.

She plopped the nails in her purse before she turned on her side, now looking at Dean. She tenderly pressed her fingers to a bruise on his face. He'd gotten it when he got slapped with a branch running through the woods. It made a deep, ugly scar that Dean didn't want to admit hurt as much as it did. The blood had dried, but he didn't have time to properly clean it.

Considering their hunt ended with immediately jumping in the car and speeding away from that weird ass town, a shower wasn't his top priority. She complained the entire 15 hours so far that Dean and Sam smelt like sweat, and Dean made a show of capturing her in a big hug when they stopped for gas. Seriously, that town was weird, even the showers felt weird.

"I have to bandage this up." The soft words made Dean suck in a breath, trying to hide the shiver that shot through him.

"If you want." Dean remarked, shrugging his shoulders and trying to keep his eyes on the winding road in front of him. It just seemed to go on forever.

"Well we can't let it get infected. Who knows what we'd do without you?" She giggled and sat up right, twisting her body around to fish around for a first aid kit. He couldn't help but smile, the insinuation that she needed him made his heart flutter around.

Dean tried to keep his eyes focused on the road but it was worthless to try. He glanced down at her waist, her everything while she was looking for the small bag. He wanted to be the one wrapping his hands around her and hoisting her into the air for a deep kiss.

"Got it! Here, pull over, let's get this done now." Pointing to the side of the road, down raised a brow.

"What's the hurry?" No seriously, what's the hurry? Dean needed time to prepare himself for her close proximity. His heart might jump out of his chest the way it was hammering around in his rib cage already.

"I'm tired, come on." She urged, pushing his shoulder.

"The way you're so eager to help makes me think this is a ploy to shank me." He chuckled, pulling over onto the side of the road. Her eyes playfully rolled and she shook her head in a smile. The Sun bounced off her and Dean watched her slowly open the bag and set aside some antibiotics and bandaids.

"It's deeper than I thought. Go sit on the hood, I'll be right out." The order was firm but it made Dean grumble. His legs were sore, the underside of his thighs were sore. He wished he was fast asleep in the back, snoring his heart out like Sam.

"Why do I have to get out?" Dean groaned. His ass was sore enough. After sitting for the drive, and landing on his ass after getting slapped with the tree branch, he'd be surprised if his backside wasn't bruised like a peach falling from a tree.

"There isn't enough space in here for me to clean it properly, I'd have to like, sit on you." While she was slipping her shoes on, Dean swallowed thickly.

He was picturing her soft thighs on his, chest pushed into his while she held his face in her hands. She'd take her time, cleaning the cut before wiping away the dried blood and putting the bandaid on. He'd stare into her brown eyes, showing her everything he felt and the world would disappear around them. The car, the Sun, the sky, everything. It would be the two of them, the way Dean really wanted.

He would hold her face gently, taking her full lips in for a soft kiss, and she would kiss him back with eagerness. Big hands would leave her face to hold her in place on his lap, and he could nearly feel the ghost of her nails raking over his scalp.

He knew she was a hair puller, because he heard a one off conversation of her apologizing for nearly tearing some of Sam's hair out. And because he walked in on them making out, and quickly slid out the room before he could be spotted. Her hands were yanking on Sam's long hair, while he (rather aggressively) held her face and was attempting to tear her shirt off her. He doesn't like to think of that day.

Clambering out of the car, Dean wished his muscles would stop aching and pushed his body down into a stretch before he plopped onto the hood of Baby.

The door shut and she came out, fluffing out the part of her hair she'd been laying on.

"Open your legs."

"What?" That startled Dean more than anything he'd ever seen or dealt with.

"So I can stand? What's the matter with you?" Her eyebrow raised and hands on her hips.

"Sorry. Just tired." Dean chuckled, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He pushed his legs open the best she could and she shimmed her way in. Her hips were too wide for the small gap he provided and he hissed at the pain of his legs being forced apart.

"Oh hush. If you take a warm shower when you get home it'll help. She got onto the tips of her toes, pushing his head back. The Sun gleamed in his eyes and he shut them. Everything just seemed to hurt today.

The sting of the alcohol patch rubbed his skin, and she cleared off the dried blood. Her soft hands rubbed cooling ointment onto the skin, while she held him in place by his neck. Closing his eyes, Dean embraced the moment, as wrong as it was.

It warmed him, down to his toes. That ugly feeling in his stomach grew, as he remembered Sam was sleeping in the back. Later on, she would be giving Sam a neck rub, since he would certainly wake up with an aching neck after he was put in a chokehold and was now awkwardly slouched over in the back. Dean would be alone, nursing his own sore muscles.

Before he knew it, the moment was over. She placed the bandaid on his face and smiled gently at him.

"There, all better." She turned, bouncing back to the car and sitting comfortably in the passengers seat, leaving Dean to his spinning thoughts. Maybe the cut on his face wasn't throbbing anymore, but his heart certainly was.

[estella2707]

Impossible Standards

Chapter 3

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

The next night, the moon was shining brightly in the night sky as the Bridgerton's family carriage pulled up outside of the Queen's palace along with many others around them. Families gathered around as they headed inside the ballroom, debutantes eyeing the suitors as everyone waited for the Queen's arrival. Anthony and his family entered as they all split up among the crowd, Eloise walking over to Penelope Featherington as they started to chat as Violet then headed over to Lady Danbury and so on.

The Queen entered shortly after with you by her side, she then walked to the center of the room as she cleared her throat and spoke up to make an announcement. "Ladies and Gentlemen as you all may have heard over the last few days that we have a special guest joining us for the season, I would love to introduce you all to the Princess of Spain, Y/N L/N!" You curtsied as everyone around you clapped. You are dressed in the most gorgeous purple silk gown adorned with beautiful sparkling jewels, your hair and makeup done flawlessly.

Anthony stared at you from afar in awe of your beauty. You were so infuriating...yet so damn attractive it was merely impossible not to stare at you. The Queen sat on her throne as you stood by her, multiple suitors coming up to you and eagerly introducing themselves asking if they could have a dance. You smiled as you politely declined them, excusing yourself as you walked over to the refreshments as you grabbed and chugged down a glass of champagne. Anthony chuckled as he walked over to you and whispered in your ear.

"You seem to have a slight alcohol problem princess" He whispered harshly as he chuckled. You scoffed as you looked up at him, maintaining eye contact. "Oh my gosh, your that cabrón from a few days back" You chuckled softly. "You come over here to try to kiss my ass?" You say while smirking. Anthony scowls at you. "Must you always insult me?" "I made one mistake and now I won't ever live it down" He sighs. "I would have never bickered with you if..." You scoff. "If what? If you had known I was a princess?" You laugh. "Does your family know about our little quarrel?" "Shall I tell them about your behavior my lord?" You say smugly. "You wouldn't dare, besides I'm sure a princess of your status has no reason to stoop to something so beneath her such as unnecessary gossip" He says annoyed as you laugh. "Ok, ok your right I wouldn't only because I'm not some little tattle tale...Besides I quite enjoy our little banter we got going on" You smirk as you set down your glass. "I missed that spunk of yours my lord" He chuckles. "I must admit I do rather enjoy how much you challenge me Princess you know exactly how to push my buttons" He says while smirking. I smile as I look back at my glass and sigh. "Gosh I need a real drink...." You mutter under your breath as you look around, then quietly sneaking away from the ball as you look back over at Anthony. "You coming my lord?" You ask in a mischievous whisper as you disappear into the dark halls of the palace. Follow her? Anthony thinks to himself. How intriguing, he could not lie to himself that you had his full attention now. He could either remain a gentleman and stay and watch the dances at the ball or engage in whatever mysterious fun you had in store for him. Anthony sighs as he reluctantly follows after you.

You giggle as you grab his hand and run with him down the dark hallways of the palace, you look around to make sure no one's around as you both sneak into the kitchen and close the door behind you. "You are a mischievous woman Princess, what sort of fun do you have in store for us?" He asked curiously but also a bit nervous. "Well the first step for any good party is to bring out the good shit!" You giggled as you reached into one of the taller cabinets and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He chuckles as he observes her. "Well then I must say the Princess of Spain sure knows how to have a good party" He smiled as he watched her and he was quite surprised to see her reach for the liquor in the kitchen. His brothers would have died from the shock if they ever saw something similar with a lady. As she popped the cork on the bottle of whiskey his eyes were glued to her.

I pour ourselves both some into glasses as I then run over and grab some cinnamon rolls from the counter. "I had the servants secretly make these for me, I was planning on eating them alone but all is better with company" I place them down as I sit up on the counter and kick off my shoes. "That’s much better, those heels were killing me!

The fact that, of all the people the Princess of Spain would share her secret stash of cinnamon rolls and whiskey made Anthony feel quite special. He had never seen this informal and confident side to a woman before. She was a unique woman, she had caught his attraction in every manner. Even the tiny bit of her neck showing above the low cut dress was enough to cause his heart to beat just a little faster.

Anthony takes a sip of whiskey as you bite into your cinnamon roll, sitting silently in each other's company. "So...how's the hunt for a suitor going?" Anthony asks trying to make conversation. You laugh. "It's been alright I guess...to be completely honest...I don't even really wanna find a husband" You say softly as you down your small glass of whiskey. "So then why come all the way out here?" "Your the Princess of Spain for christ sake you could get any man...was there another reason for coming out all this way?" "Or do you just not want the responsibility of being in a relationship?" He asks curiously. "I just...I didn't want to be in Spain anymore" You say sadly. Anthony takes a moment to study your face, he clearly knows there's more that your not sharing but he doesn't want to pry.

"Besides I don't have to explain myself to you" You say coldly as you hop off the counter. "You wanna talk about responsibilities yet you make excuses to avoid everything because your just a coward" You say coldly. "Why must you be so cold?" "It's like every time we take a step forward we go three steps back!" He says annoyed as you scoff. "Why would you even care my lord? You don't even know me, I mean nothing to you so why don't we just keep it that way" You say coldly as you stare into his eyes. He sighs as he takes a step towards you.

"Whatever it is you may be going through...at least know you have someone here who's willing to listen" He says softly as he heads for the door. "Thank you for the drink y/n and if you ever need any company...just come find me" He exits as you stand there now left alone in the kitchen as you look back over at the bottle of whiskey, you grab it as you walk over to the sink and pour it's liquid down the drain and angrily smash the bottle on the floor. You sigh as you quickly maintain your composure, you put back on your heels and fix yourself up as you put on a brave face and head back down the halls and inside the ballroom.

Why did being alone now feel even more lonely? Who knows...maybe if you get bored enough you'll take him up on that offer.

[theladyofdeath]

Lady Death's Lover {V}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: This chapter is slightly NSFW. No one under the age of 18 should be reading this story. Thank you to everyone who reads, comments, likes, and/or reblogs! I'm glad you're enjoying the story and hope you continue to do so! x

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Dear Emerie,

I hope you’re enjoying your time away. Just know that we miss you here in the city, but I hope your travels are everything you want them to be. I cannot wait for you to return and tell Gwyn and I all about your thrilling endeavors. She is convinced that you have found someone in which your soul cannot live without, but I have assured her that it is nothing more than a foreign fling.

I cannot wait to see who is right!

To answer your very thoughtful questions, I am doing just fine. You know how Tomas is, but he is busy with his business and I find peace in the distance that brings between us. I have found myself wondering one thing — what is it like to attend a ball as an unmarried lady? We used to have little get-togethers in my village, of course, but nothing as grand as the balls in Velaris. I used to love to dance and each time I attend one of these gatherings I cannot help but daydream of dancing once again. Of course, it is not common for a married lady to dance, and Tomas would never. It is a lovely thought though, isn’t it? I know you are content with your life as a spinster (which I admire), but even you love a good turn about the dancefloor. 

Perhaps one day I will be privileged enough to just get a tease of what it is like.

Write back soon. Be safe. We miss you!

With Love,

Nesta 

Nesta

I hate luncheons. Especially women-only luncheons. The only perk is that I don’t have to attend them with Tomas, but that is by far the only perk. All of these women think they’re better than me and each other. Every one of them has something shoved so far up their asses that I’m surprised they can still walk. 

They’re all talking about their husbands, how amazing they are, how perfect their lives are, but I can’t seem to contribute to the conversation. I may be forced to be here by my husband but I’m not about to praise his name. 

As I sip my lemonade, I let my mind drift back to where it’s been, repeatedly, constantly, for the past week. Ever since he left my home, ever since I ran into him outside just after midnight, the image of him has been branded into my mind. It doesn’t matter if I’m awake or asleep, I can see his face, his smile, the intense look in his eyes as he looks at me. I can hear him saying my name, voice low and rough, like no man has ever said it before. 

I’ve dreamt of him, fell asleep every night to these fantasies that I can’t control. 

They started off seemingly innocent, the two of us dancing, touching tentatively, doing nothing more than following the same steps that everyone knows, getting lost in the music as we stare into one another’s eyes. That innocence didn’t last long; it quickly escalated. 

Last night had me writhing in my bed, needing friction, needing release, needing something far greater than what my fingers could offer. I worked myself roughly, imagining my fingers were his, imagining his cock was hard and inside me, pounding into me again and again, recklessly. 

I was no virgin when I married Tomas, and although he would claim otherwise, my husband in full denial, that means I know what I like. Laying with Tomas is a chore, one that I have never enjoyed, one that never lasts long or gives me any sort of satisfaction. I know what I like in bed, what I like from a man, and I have no doubt that a man like Lord Cassian can give me just that.

Not that it would ever happen.

Of course. I am a lady, the wife of a renowned lord, and a woman of high society would never act so immorally. 

I can dream, though. I can let those unholy thoughts fill my mind, imagine a man like Lord Cassian exploring every inch of my bare body while I fall into a state of utter ecstasy. 

“Lady Nesta?”

My eyes snap up and meet the Lady Cresseida’s from across from me. Her smile is sly and I’m tempted to match it with one of my own, but I don’t.

“Are you well? You look a little flush,” she continues, mockingly. 

“I am feeling a little under the weather,” I confess. A complete lie, but if they’re asking, I may as well take advantage of it. “Perhaps I’ll take my leave.” 

They all nod in farewell, but I know that none of them care. I, however, am overjoyed at the excuse to leave. I make haste, wasting no time as I rise to my feet and stride out of the home in which the luncheon is being held. 

The second I’m in my carriage, I call for my driver to take me home.

The long way.

But, it’s always the long way. I stopped asking a long time ago. Now, they just take me home the long way when I’m by myself. They just think I enjoy the scenery, find peace in a ride by myself in the quiet. Or, perhaps they know the truth, that I loathe my husband and hate being in his presence, in his home, our home, and they just keep quiet about it.

I wonder what the help talks about when they’re alone, when they’re in their own quarters, far away from us. I wonder if they truly hate me, if they hate Tomas. I wonder what they think of our marriage, if they know it’s as awful as it truly is.

I’ll never know. I’ll never ask. Either way, I’m grateful that they drive me the long way home.

As soon as the wheels begin wobbling down the cobblestone, I lean back against the bench and close my eyes. The velvet lined seats are soft enough to relax on, and the moment I’m comfortable, I let my mind wander. 

Back to him.

His hands.

His cock.

I know I’m pitiful, know that these fantasies mean absolutely nothing and the reality of my life, my marriage, is still in shambles. But they’re a small reprieve, because if I cannot control my reality, at least I can control my thoughts to a certain extent. 

Those thoughts drift to Lord Cassian.

We don’t know each other and we surely never will. Perhaps that’s what makes him the perfect candidate for these fantasies, for these wandering thoughts. He’s a stranger, one that I’ve gotten a feel for, certainly, but still a stranger. 

I wonder what he looks like nude. I’ve tried to imagine it many times, have pictured what I thought, but I imagine it doesn’t compare to the reality of his body. He’s muscular, of that I have no doubt, and the part that matters most is long, thick, and wielded like a weapon. 

I don’t even realize that I’m inching up my skirts until my hand has made its way into my undergarment and the tip of my finger grazes my throbbing clit. I circle it slowly, biting my lip to keep myself silent. I’ve touched myself more in the last week than I have in the last decade but I have no shame. 

It’s hard to feel shame when your senses are alive and thriving. 

Sex is not bad. It is not a sin to feel desire, although my husband would claim otherwise. In fact, he claims that women should find no pleasure whatsoever when it comes to sex, which seems to be the reason why the focus is never on me when he visits my room. No, he does what he likes until he gets off, having no idea how to truly please a woman.

Lord Cassian — the man I have made up in my mind this last week?

He knows how to please a woman.

He knows how to leave her gasping, screaming, how to make the eyes roll back in her head. He knows how to make her back arch, how to make her toes curl, how to make her cry out for the gods, the Mother, the Cauldron. He knows how to make that little feeling, wild and unruly, go mad in the pit of a woman’s stomach until she can no longer contain herself, until her heart is bursting out of her chest and she’s seeing stars. 

He knows how to make a woman find release and he doesn’t stop until she’s found it. 

I grip the plush velvet seat cushion as I squeeze my legs together, trapping my hand within. We hit a bump in the road and I jolt, but it only adds to the madness that I’m currently drowning myself in. 

My other hand joins my first and I pump two fingers deep inside of me, working in tandem with the one still making joyous circles over that sensitive bundle of nerves. A long string of words falls from my mouth in a devout whisper, words that would bring shame to my husband and his name, words that no lady should voice but I cannot help it.

His face is in my mind, his smile unfurling behind my closed lids. His body is bare and his hands are roaming my body, every stripped inch of me. I call out his name and he urges me on, thriving on my indecent vocalization. 

Within the confines of my coach, I throw a hand over my mouth to muffle what I cannot control while I find my release with those loyal, fervent fingers of mine. I keep moving until my body grows limp, that intensity that makes me feel alive fading into nothingness yet again. I smooth out my skirts and lean back against the bench, fighting to catch my breath. 

I wonder if my driver suspects anything but find that I don’t care. No one would ever dare tell Tomas, would not dare anger the Lord Mandray. 

No one would be that idiotic. It would be a death sentence, the messenger every bit at fault as I.

I can’t help myself. I laugh.

I break into such a fit of laughter that I fear I’m going insane, but oh, it feels so good to laugh! 

I laugh until tears are rolling down my cheeks and my sides begin to hurt, and it’s only when I collect myself that I realize it was the first time I had laughed in a long, long while. It feels good to laugh, as mad as I may seem. There is something utterly triumphant about feeling pure, demented joy. 

Staring out the window, I watch Velaris pass by as we make our way back to House Mandray. By the time we arrive, all of my wonderful, demented joy has faded.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Cassian

“What do you mean you’re not going?”

We’re sitting around Azriel’s dining room table, feasting on roasted chicken, when my brothers decide to insert themselves into my personal business, yet again.

“I’ve been to two balls this season.” I sigh, stabbing a carrot. “I don’t need to attend another.”

Azriel and Rhys look at one another, concern written plainly on their faces, but I pretend I don’t see it.

“Besides,” I continue, “none of the ladies have caught my eye this season. It is a waste of time.”

“But you love to dance,” Azriel says, the same time Rhys says, “but you love to drink.” 

It’s true. I adore both of those things, but I know where the next ball is being held, and even I am not courageous enough to step foot into the Mandray’s house again.

Nothing untoward happened with Nesta and I in the garden, but it was inappropriate, nonetheless. I was a little tipsy after my closed door meeting with Tomas, but I still had my wits about me. I know that I should not have been alone with Nesta, but I couldn’t stop myself.

From the moment I saw her under the starlight, I was gone. 

“I thought your meeting with Tomas went well,” Rhys pushes, buttering his roll. The same roll that he’d already been buttering for over a minute.

“It did,” I say, and leave it at that.

They, however, will not leave it at that.

“Then this has to do with the wife,” Azriel says, mouth full of potatoes.

It’s only the three of us.

Manners be damned.

Across from him, Rhys’ eyes light up and swivel back in my direction. “Ah, the wife. Lady Mandray. Did you come on to her again?”

I drop my knife and fork with a clatter and rub my temples. “No, I did not flirt with Nesta.”

“Nesta?” They both repeat in unison, and I instantly realize my mistake.

“Lady Mandray,” I correct myself using her formal title, “and I simply do not see what she has to do with my absence.”

“You have always been a terrible liar,” Rhys quips, clearing his plate. “But, if you wish to live in a state of deception, so be it.” 

“I’m not—” I take a deep breath before I can let my frustration take control. I’ve always been prone to anger, as much as I loathe the fact. “I’m not lying. I simply do not wish to attend a party when I can be home, working.”

Drinking in solitude is more like it, but that’s beside the point. 

“Work is all well and good but you must allow yourself to have fun every now and again,” Azriel says, his tone as skeptical as Rhysand’s. “Besides, haven’t we established that it’s about time you marry?”

“If it’s time I marry, it’s time we all marry,” I grumble. 

Azriel suddenly looks horrified while Rhys chokes on his wine. I know that neither of them are ready to be a husband, although we are all quickly approaching our third decade of life. Rhys sometimes pretends that he is, but when it comes down to it, I cannot even imagine him with any of the women of the ton. 

No young lady could handle Rhysand.

Azriel is different. I cannot tell if he’ll ever marry. It’s not that he has never been in a relationship or that he is incapable of love. He loves stronger than perhaps anyone I have ever known. I’ve always felt that is the very reason why he keeps himself so guarded. The only people he’s ever truly let get to know him are me, Rhys, Mor, and Amren. There was a time when he pined after Mor, but that was so long ago. 

“I am perfectly content as I am,” I go on, trying to convince them or myself I am not certain. I pick up my silverware yet again and make another attempt at finishing my supper. My carrots have gone cold. I hate cold carrots. 

“Back to the ball,” Rhys says, sitting back in his chair and stretching out his legs. “You’re going.”

“I am not going.”

“If you’re not going, then we do not go. If we do not go, we will be sad.”

“Your sadness is none of my concern.”

“Now you’re just being mean.” Rhys pours himself another glass of wine while Azriel’s eyes swivel between us. “If this is about Lady—”

“Lady Mandray is none of my concern.” Perhaps I should have waited for his sentence to end before mine began, but I have never been good at holding my tongue. 

“If she is none of your concern, then you will join us,” he says, smoothly, and he knows he’s already won before I even begin to resign. “We will drink their champagne and dance across their perfectly polished floors until sunrise while we are still young enough to do so.” 

Azriel finally finishes his third plate of food and sits back with a groan as I sigh. “You’re intolerable.” 

“He takes that as a compliment, you know,” Azriel murmurs, and I’m afraid he’s correct. There’s always been a darkness to Rhysand. Not an evilness, never evil, but a certain…edge. A certain slyness, a manipulation of sorts. In another life, I’m convinced he ruled his own kingdom. 

Kingdoms.

“I will join you,” I say, at last, and Rhys grins as he dwells in his victory.

I, however, feel nothing but unease. The thought of seeing Lady Nesta again so soon both excites and revolts me. I haven’t been able to get her face out of my mind, haven’t been able to shake that feeling that I had when I spoke to her.

Even though I was lost and she surely thinks me a fool.

No matter. She can think me a fool as long as she’s thinking of me.

The Mother knows I’ve been thinking about her. 

[missjoolee]

if you could only see

*read tags for fun facts. mostly written while half asleep. not edited.

"Oh," she says, the corners of her mouth drooping into that familiar frown that accompanied the majority of his high school career. She sets her mug down on the coffee table.

Oh? A similar frown is quick to replace the elated grin his face had adorned when he arrived. "'Oh' is what people say when they get socks on their birthday, Mom. Not when their son tells them that he's engaged!"

"It's just..." she hesitates, as if looking for the correct words. "...you're still so young."

"I'm almost 22. I--"

"Exactly! Only 22!" Emily interrupts. "How can you be sure?!"

"What?! Mom! This is Julie we are talking about!" Luke can't sit still and stands up from the couch. Resentment builds within him. Why can't she ever be supportive from the get go?

"Well.. You've only ever had the one relationship. You can't know what you want really, never having experienced other relationships."

His mouth drops open in disbelief. She cant honestly be suggesting what he thinks she might be.

"I thought you liked Julie!" His hand flies up with the statement, emphasizing his frustrations.

Emily stands, no longer able to remain seated as the conversations heats up.

"Luke, Julie is lovely. And lord knows she's done you a world of good, but you could really benefit from dating around a little!"

Oh, so she is saying what he thought she was saying.

He let's out a humorless huff of a laugh. "Are you insane? You think I should give up the best thing in my life, a sure thing, on the chance I might find someone that can make me just as happy somewhere down the line? Yeah, that math doesn't check out."

She is getting visibly agitated now as she takes a step closer to him.

"Julie will always be your teenage girlfriend. Your relationship will never be more than that of children!"

"God. Do you hear yourself?! Julie's not in her teens anymore. Our relationship has grown with us. We have supported each other through personal growth, and continue to challenge each other to be the best we can be! We've already been there through hardship together." Luke leans into Emily's  personal space, not wanting to back down. It's a familiar dance at this point, these arguments with his mom.  That thought gives him pause but he never drops eye contact.

His mom claims that Julie would prevent him from flourishing as an adult, but in this moment,  with Emily, he feels the most like he's a kid again in the worst way possible. Suddenly, he feels very tired. He takes a step back with a sigh.

"You're unbelievable." His normal volume voice sounds quiet after the heightened pitches from a moment before. He turns and heads for the front door. There is no point in staying.

"Luke? Luke! Get back here!" Emily follows after him. "Most marriages at your age end in divorce! I'm just trying to help you not make a mistake that will ruin your future!"

Luke's at the door but he spins suddenly to face Emily one last time. "It's not a mistake, mom! If you could just see all the ways she loves me, maybe you would understand why I feel this way. How I know this is the right thing to do."

"But Luke--"

This time he interrupts her, not caring to hear anymore of what she's likely to say. "I mean, if you could see how bright her eyes get when she says she loves me. I just.. " Julie's smile, eyes full of mirth flashes in his mind, replacing a lot of the angerfilled responses he wants to shout at his mom. "There's no way being with her could ever be a mistake."

He opens the door and steps outside. "If you can't be happy for us, don't bother joining in on the celebrations."

He closes the door behind him. His mom might have tried to say more but he honestly couldn't care less anymore. It's time to head home. Back to the welcoming arms of the woman he loves and can't wait to marry. She makes him a better writer, and a better man. She supports him and his dreams more than his mom ever has. This exchange has proven that all his mom will ever be good for is giving him great song ideas. But the one starting to ruminate in his brain this time promises to be a lot happier than Unsaid Emily.

[specialagentlokitty]

Thomas Barrow x reader - I’ll help you, you help me

You need more Thomas Barrow Ideas? Well could we have one where Reader becomes pregnant (and the father bailed out on her once she told him) and Thomas proposed to her and tells her this will help them both out (since she knew he was gay and this will keep people's tongues from wagging) - Anon💜

You had no clue what to do with yourself now, as soon as Lord Grantham caught wind, or anyone from the family in fact caught wind of what happened and what was going on you would no doubt be out of job and home.

You had made the mistake of thinking someone had loved you, and in your love drunk state of mind, you allowed things to go further, and now you found out you were pregnant.

And you were alone.

The farmhand you had been seeing wanted nothing to do with you or the baby, he didn’t want to be known as someone who had relations outside of marriage.

So he left without, telling you never to speak a word of this.

And of course you wouldn’t, because you didn’t want to bring any attention to the Crowley family, you didn’t want people to know their housemaid was pregnant.

It wouldn’t be right.

You had seen the looks some other woman received, and you couldn’t bare for people to look at you like that.

Thankfully it was your day off, and that’s why you went to see the doctor, and now you were hidden away outside, sitting on some steps around the side of the building as you cried into your hands.

You wanted to be happy, you always thought being pregnant, having a child would be a happy occasion, but it turns out for you, right now, it wasn’t.

“Do you have nothing else to do with your day off but sit there and cry?”

You quickly looked up, wiping your tears as you looked at the footman in the entrance way to the little alley.

“I’m in no mood for your attitude Thomas, if you are going to be rude then just leave me, please.”

Thomas turned around to look at you, blowing some smoke from his cigarette.

“What’s troubling you?” He asked.

“I can’t tell you…”

“And why ever not?”

You sighed, shaking your head as you looked down at your hands.

Thomas sighed, walking over he sat next to you, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Because you’ll tell Mrs Hughes… or Mr Carson… they’ll have me thrown out…” you sobbed quietly.

“Do you really think so lowly of me (Y/N)? If I remember correctly you found out about me you swore you would keep my secret and you have. Let me keep yours.”

Thomas looked at you.

“Tell me what’s bothering you, surely if you do not tell me someone else will ask, and you will have to tell them.”

You looked at him.

“I’m pregnant….” You sobbed.

He dropped his cigarette in shock and fully turned to look at you.

“Have you told the father? I assume the farm boy you were telling me about?”

You nodded your head and sniffled.

“He wants nothing to do with me or the baby… he knows what people think about this… he wants to save his reputation..”

“And what about yours?!” Thomas snapped.

You shook your head, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands.

“I.. I will work until I start showing them I will hand in my resignation and go… so no one will ever know..”

“Where will you go?”

You sniffled again, shrugging your shoulders a little bit.

“I’m not sure yet… but I’ll figure it out…”

Thomas stood up and you looked up at him.

“I’ll teach him a lesson.”

You quickly rushed up and grabbed Thomas’ arm, making him stop.

“Please don’t, I don’t this to reflect badly on the family. I will leave quietly, no one need to know.”

“That’s not a plan, how will you live? How will you raise a baby on your own and work?” He asked.

You shook your head, letting go of his arm.

“I.. I don’t know yet..”

Thomas turned around, and he looked at you.

You had always been so good to him, you patched him up after he got into fights, fixed his clothes for him, covered for him when he was doing things he knew he shouldn’t be doing.

He wanted to help you.

“Marry me.” He said.

You snapped your head up in shock.

“What?”

“Marry me, we.. we’ll get married as soon as possible! We’ll figure out where to live, and then you won’t have to work, you won’t have to worry about anyone’s reputation.”

“Thomas I cannot marry you, you do not love women. Won’t this make you uncomfortable?”

“No, no it won’t. In fact it will help us both.”

Thomas reached out and took your arms on his hands.

“You can tell people you are pregnant with my child, and it will stop people from talking about me and speculating and spreading rumours. I know it is only a matter of time until this gets out, about both of us. This will save us both the hassle, don’t you agree?”

You looked at him.

You knew he was right, it would help you both out immensely.

“You would really marry me just to do this for the both of us?”

“Yes, would you? It would not just be helping you, but it would be helping me, I dread to think what people will do if it ever gets out about me. If they see I am married, they won’t question it, and they would not question you being with child either.”

Thomas looked at you and took a small breath.

“That is.. as long as you do not mind I am different.. I know you kept my secret but you never told me how you felt about it.”

You smiled at him.

“Thomas I am perfectly okay with it, I do not think there is anything wrong with it. In fact, I think it is more normal than people like the believe.”

Thomas smiled.

“So you’ll marry me?”

You laughed, throwing your arms around him.

“Yes! Thank you!”

“I should be thanking you.” He laughed.

He hugged you tightly and you both sat down.

“What will we do about a place to live?”

“I.. I have my parents inheritance, I sold their house last year. Perhaps we can talk to Lord Grantham about purchasing a house here, you can still work as a footman, stay at Downton if needed and come stay on days off.”

“Yes that would work perfect. When should we tell people?” He asked.

You looked up at him.

“Today. I do not know how long I can hide I’m pregnant.”

“Right, right. Of course.”

He stood up and he looked at you, holding his hand out and you took it, letting him pull you into his side.

You both looked at one another and nodded your heads, making your way inside where people immediately stopped and began to whisper and stare.

And after a long day of explain to everyone possible the story of how you and Thomas were lovers and were going to marry you both finally made your way back outside.

He sat next to you, lighting a cigarette after draping his jacket over your shoulders.

“Are you sure you are okay with this? You do not think of me as disgusting or twisted?”

“Of course not Thomas, okay? Stop thinking that because you’re not. And I mean it when I say Thank you so much, really. I hope one day you can live as who you really are, but as of now, we will both hide one another’s secrets together, okay?”

Thomas nodded his head.

“Yeah, together.”

Thomas looked down at you.

“You better not fall in love with me.”

You laughed, playfully slapping his arm and he grinned down at you.

“Trust me it won’t be that hard. You’re a real piece of work you know that?”

“Oh is that how you are going to speak to your husband to be is it?”

“Get used to it.”

He chuckled, smiling softly.

You looked up at him, and you smiled gently, reaching out you took his free hand in yours.

“Thomas, I hope one day you can find your peace. You can find a man who will make you happy, and who loves you and will cherish you.”

Thomas squeezed your hand.

“Thank you, and I hope the same for you. When the time comes to it, when you find this man all you should need to do is ask for a divorce, I will give you it with no trouble.”

“Thank you Thomas. You are a good man, despite what everyone else may think.”

“I could care less about what they think, their opinions do not matter to me.”

You nodded your head.

“What about with the war coming? Will you have to leave?”

Thomas nodded his head.

“Most likely yes.”

“You will be safe, right? You’re my friend Thomas, and it would pain me to know I’ve lost you.”

“Let’s not think about that for now. Let’s just focused on the wedding, and finding a nice home for us okay?”

You smiled and nodded your head.

It wasn’t an ideal situation for either of you, but at the same time it was the best one. You were friends, you got along. So all you had to do was play husband and wife in front of people, and you knew this would be the best for you both.

Thomas entrusted you with his secret about being gay, and you had entrusted him with yours about being pregnant.

It was a harsh world that you would both be judged without question if people found out, so now you were here to cover one another and make sure neither of your secrets got out

[unhappycylinder]

Hellfire's Newest Member (Eddie x fem!Reader) Pt. 1

Quick note: i got impatient and posted this lol. This has been on my wattpad for months and I wanted to post it here lol. This is just part 1, I've got like 16 more chapters I'll be posting soon! Lmk what y'all think

Warnings/summary: some family trauma, nothing too spicy yet, this is just backstory (and Dustin) so we can get into the good stuff next time

Masterlist

---

You stepped into your new room in Hawkins, Indiana, a town which seemed to have just about as much personality as the bottom of a shoe. Glancing around the empty, but spacious room, you thought about how many rooms just like this you had lived in before. With your dad working some secret government job, you moved around the country a lot and hardly ever had time to really settle into a space or get to know the people around you.

It felt like just when you started to get used to a routine somewhere new - finally started decorating your room and hanging out with people outside of school - your dad would be relocated and you'd have to go with him. Your mom wasn't in the picture anymore, she had been gone since you were 13, and the only explanation your dad every gave you was that "she didn't want to live this type of life anymore, and we weren't enough to keep her around," the last bit always stung when you thought about it.

Dad was quiet after mom left, and he didn't really seem to care what you did with your time as long as your grades came back fine and you weren't gone for an unreasonable amount of time. Plus, working most nights meant he hardly had the schedule to keep tabs on where you were.

Nevertheless, a fresh start in Hawkins felt necessary. The last place you had been was LA, which was waaaay too big and waaay to noisy for your taste. That was another thing that set you apart from people your age: you weren't really into parties and shopping and sports like most high school seniors were. How could you be? You were never anywhere long enough to play anything or get invited anywhere. You kept yourself busy with books, movies, music, and most of all Dungeons and Dragons.

The game which was being shunned as a satanic cult was your escape from reality and the only constant thing in your life. Yes, it was hard to find a group to play an entire campaign with, but you managed, plus your favorite part was creating characters and imagining fantastic new worlds you'd love to explore. In fact, a good amount of the boxes you brought with you, which contained everything you owned, were full of binders, manuals, books, and figurines you had collected in your years of playing.

You started unpacking, throwing your childhood stuffed animals on your queen sized bed in the corner of your room, and stacking your plentiful collection of books and movies on the floor and on your desk. You were about to pull out your favorite books - The Lord of the Rings trilogy - when your dad knocked on your door

"Hey y/n, sorry to interrupt...uh I just got called into work so I'm gonna head out, but I'll leave some money on the counter for you"

"Oh okay, thanks. Do you know when you'll be ba-"

Before you could finish, he was out the door. You shook your head and returned to your packing, hearing your dad's car drive away outside.

-----

By the time you finished packing it was already dark outside and you could hear faint talking outside your window. You walked over, pulling your curtains aside, and looked to your neighbors house to see two young boys, probably around 14-15, standing in between your house and the next. One of them was wearing a hat that said "thinking cap" on it, which you thought was funny, and the other was taller and had wavy black hair. They seemed to be arguing about something

"No Dustin, Lucas said he has his championship game tomorrow and there's no way he's gonna make it to Hellfire"

"Eddie is gonna KILL us man!"

They we're talking pretty loud, and you were pretty tired and didn't want to hear their bickering while you tried to fall asleep, so you opened your window

"Hey, idiots!"

The boys shut up instantly and looked over to you

"Listen, I really don't mean to interrupt, but I don't know who you are or who this Eddie guy is, but your bickering over him is really getting in the way of my sleep and I have had a very, very, long day of unpacking"

They looked at you, wide-eyed, before the shorter boy in the hat moved closer to your window

"Oh um, sorry, our bad. And I'm Dustin by the way, I live just there," he gestured to the house next to yours, "and this is my friend Mike"

"Pleasure, I'm y/n," you didn't want to be mean to them, so you figured you'd go ahead and introduce yourself, "well I'm gonna go get that sleep I mentioned, and please just keep your voices down."

"Aye aye, captain," Dustin said with a salute before he and Mike walked away from your window towards his house.

You closed your window, took off your sweaty clothes, turned off your light, and crawled into your new bed, nervous for your first day at school tomorrow.

----

Part 2