#always the proper eldest daughter when her mother is present

[madame-fear]

Okay but like am I the only one that thrives on angst?? Because imagine if Jacaerys and his young wife, who he by the way only married for the support of The Arryns, had marriage problems because there’s always been tension between her and Baela (just an idea, I love my Baela bc she’s my girl!!) as Jacaerys was supposed to be married to her instead..and might I mention that reader was shipped off to Dragonstone by herself to give birth to her son and she’s been alone and scared all the time, until she’s brought back to Kingslanding after her mother in-law, Queen Rhaenyra, finally claimed back the throne with a peace treaty between the Hightowers. His wife is so so shy and alone because she’s only used to being with their baby, and Jacaerys is just absolutely worried for her because he hasn’t visited her at all due to his duties as heir and it just so happens that his wife thinks he hates herr 💔💔 (this was a bit long..but idk)

𐙚 𝐐𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐀 𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

ೀ amira speaks.ᐟ : the so awaited Arryn reader fic is here !! Hope it was what you expected, and overall enjoy it! Thought this was longer than 3.6k words! 😭🤲💗 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : ∿ request above! ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 3.6k

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : angst to fluff. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : Jacaerys Velaryon x Arryn!Wife!Reader.

After many years of a long, nearly never ending war, it had finally subsided— bringing peace for once and for all. It had been the same war that provoked the death of innocent people, and the one responsible for your marriage with Prince Jacaerys, as well.

A rather complex marriage, you’d say it was— though, it was an engagement that could only be expected. Betrothals and marriages had never been done for the sake of genuine love, but only for the sake of allies & tying deeper bonds between the Houses; helplessly falling in forced, unhappy marriages.

There had been little to no time for any of you two to establish some sort of proper relationships between each other. It worked as an engagement with the sole purpose of gaining support from House Arryn amidst the war with the Greens. “A betrothal, in exchange for support”, and it served with it’s purpose as it should in a way, you guessed.

Except, for the looming tension that came along your marriage.

Jace’s previous betrothal to Lady Baela, firstborn daughter of the Rogue Prince, wasn’t unbeknownst to you; a betrothal that had to be broken off when you appeared in the picture, as the support from the Arryns would be placed as number one priority— with Jacaerys marrying you as the one and only condition for yet another ally. It was inconvenient, but very much needed.

The growing tension between you and his previous betrothed notoriously loomed in the air as soon as you both met one another— being presented with little to no words from Baela, and most of the time, all the endless attempts you did in order to establish a good relationship with her, were dismissed; thrown into the wind, as you were given a cold stare, with no words said... Being walked right past, left ignored.

Often times, you could feel her contemptuous stare fixed on you, each time you were sat next to Jacaerys.

Solitude had leisurely grown as a frequent monster lurking in your surroundings. “I can’t do anything about it, I can’t act as an intermediary to your relationship.” was the strict response given to you by your future Lord Husband, when speaking your mind regarding how the Lady Baela gave you a cold shoulder, despite the constant friendliness you had to offer.

Jacaerys didn’t seem to care much at all. You swore that the eldest Velaryon prince was as indifferent towards you, as his previous betrothed was— maybe, he even resented you for breaking off his already arranged betrothal. And you couldn’t say you didnt understand the situation, however.

Years of having known, trusted, each other, growing by each other’s side... Having their betrothal arranged for years— you could even silently observe the way in which they gazed at each other, occasionally. All of that had only been for it to turn into ash & dust when the time to seek support from allies had come.

But what other choice did you have, except none at all? Had you any blame, at all? Were you truly the one at fault? The growing solitude and the hefty weight of guilt was nearly asphyxiating. You felt desperately trapped in an escapeless labyrinth, being fully aware of how you had no one at all to release each one of your thoughts to— with your betrothed often giving you a cold shoulder as well, or simply, being far too engaged in his duties. Each private conversation, managed to quickly be dismissed; you had been forced to be kept to yourself, in a way.

All for a war between kin. All for the sake of allies. And you, right in the middle of it all.

Things hadn’t grown to become any better at all by the time you fell pregnant with your first child— with his child. Much less considering it was all still under the looming tension of war felt in the atmosphere.

Dragonstone had become your temporary home; one you had been sent to all by yourself, still being with child. Taking proper care of yourself throughout your pregnancy had been a difficult task, considering how the general situation provoked a constant state of fright and concern to you. Alone, with no one else to rely on; finding mere solace in talking to yourself... Or, rather, talking quietly to your unborn child.

It wasn’t exactly the healthiest thing for the fragile conditions you were mentally experiencing— it simply deepened that inner void, those bitter feelings of loneliness; poisoning you slowly with every quiet tear you dropped late at night in your chambers, after holding on to the knot that formed on your throat during the day.

The rocky castle had been the same place where you had birthed your child— a healthy boy, much to your fortune. Something that the Gods had finally graced you with. And that grace was, providing an heir for your husband... Though, you had given birth to your babe in the mere company of a few maids, and maesters. Your own mother-in-law couldn’t be there by your side, as much as she deeply desired to. Your own husband, with his duties as Rhaenyra’s heir, couldn’t assist, either— and much less, your own blood.

The Gods have a strange way of treating you, you thought. Blessing you with an heir to your husband, and, simultaneously, remaining to provide you with solitude throughout the entire way.

Not long passed after you gave birth, that war had finally subsided, moving from Dragonstone to King’s Landing with a small babe in your arms. Queen Rhaenyra had made peace treaty with the Greens, allowing her to claim her birthright, the Iron Throne, for once and for all— bringing a wave of relief, tossing aside a hefty weight burdening you.

Of course, just one small bit of a burdening weight had been removed from your life, and you dared to say, it was the most important heaviness lingering on the atmosphere— yet, you still had your own issues to solve. Moving all by yourself with a small baby boy towards the Red Keep wasn’t an easy task either, it simply stirred the occasional anxiety you suffered, along with bitter loneliness.

Those series of events happened in, what you considered, to be such a short time lapse— barely allowing you to process your wedding ceremony, the looming tension between you and his previous betrothed, not being able to have properly bonded with your husband as you married for mere alliances, having very little bonding with your mother-in-law, living in a whole different place from one day to another, having a babe, and moving once again this time with your child after the peace treaty...

... And you could keep naming each, and every single one of the little things that provoked an asphyxiating knot on your throat; one you had to bitterly swallow and keep to yourself. How could you not be overwhelmed with the circumstances?

You had grown used to being alone, with only the company of your little boy to keep your sanity hanging from a fragile, fraying thread. You briefly, and very feebly managed to interact with the rest of the members of House Targaryen— but you never throughoutly engaged in a deeper bond with them, or were often seen walking around the large halls, once the war had finished and you moved to the Red Keep.

The war had passed immediatly after the peace treaty with the Hightowers. No usurper on the Throne, no more dead men and innocent people— and all the burden you carried behind of you now, was that of the lurking solitude haunting you. It was just your small, sweet boy and you to spend time together; the one whom you found some warmth, despite still being practically a babe. Though, you couldn’t occasionally help but long for the company of anyone else from your new family.

At the present moment, you spent time on your private chambers. your little boy rested on your lap, as you quietly sat on the ground. On his hand, was a dragon wooden toy which he played with— making some cooing sounds. He had been your only companion for the moment, managing to spare you from any feelings of loneliness from the moment you had learned you were with child, being the one you often spoke to despite not receiving back an answer.

A faint grin graced your lips, with your hand gently caressing the back of his hair. You craned your head gently, releasing a soft chuckle at the sight of your boy engaged into his own world. You both were almost headed to sleep, but you preferred to spend some more time together— enjoying the quietness of the night, and the peace that came along.

The stillness looming in the atmosphere had been interrupted by a soft knock sounding twice against the wooden doors of your chambers. Raising your sight curiously as your boy remained playing in your lap with the wooden dragon toy. Not often having many visitors at the late hours of the night, you softly muttered “Come in.”

The door was gently swayed, revealing to be your Husband the one who knocked, closing the door behind him— which, it wasn’t a common occurence, for him to visit you in your chambers. The constant duties of the eldest Velaryon prince, on his role of being his mother’s heir to the Throne, were more than time-consuming; occupying the entirety of his attention.

But of course, with you being his wife, mother of his son, having shared little to nothing — plus having married only for alliances — and having some previous marriage problems regarding his broken betrothal, could only burden his thoughts. You had done an important effort to be a proper wife to him, one that couldn’t pass unnoticed.

You married to support what his mother fought for, you managed the notorious tension there was between you and his previous betrothed— you had given him a son, birthing all by yourself, and moved to Dragonstone, and then the Red Keep all by yourself, as well; only for him to spend his days focused on what was asked of him, leaving little time to even pay you and your baby son a short visit.

Guilt was overriding him in a constant, haunting manner. It was only natural for Jacaerys to be consumed by his preoccupied feelings towards you. Perhaps, you didn’t often engage or bond together in a convenient way, and you might’ve had troubles before when it came to discussing about your uneasy relationship with Lady Baela— but that didn’t mean he didn’t love you, much less notice your strenght in every sense.

It was only fair to show his appreciation, and his concern for your wellbeing.

“Hope I’m not troubling both of you with my presence?” Jace said in a lighthearted manner, with a faint grin appearing on his rosy lips, tilting his head briefly. His presence had been quite a surprise for you, and that expressed on the looks in your features, along with some tension in the air— not being used to being visited by Rhaenyra’s heir, your husband. Which, if anything, it deepened the looming guilt on him.

You shook your head gently, looking down at your son timidly, using your index finger to delicately caress him on his cheek. “Not at all, we were spending some time before heading to sleep.” you muttered in response. “Is anything the matter? Has something happened?” you inquired with slight concern, furrowing your eyebrows, lifting your gaze once again, staring into his dark coffee eyes. The innocence on your features were most beloved by him, managing to properly appreciate them as, now, it was just the two of you in the room— no duties in between, no one else to bother you.

Jacaerys shook his head. “Nothing’s the matter, fortunately.” he answered, with a tone of relief. His lips frowned for a split second, thoroughly processing his words before continuing. “I... Simply wished to pay you, and our son, a visit— as I haven’t been able to do so lately with my duties as my mother’s heir.” his eyes lingered on the ground shyly, before returning to stare at your own. “I wanted to know if you were doing alright as well, and if you felt comfortable around, of course.”

The expressions on your face softened leisurely. “Oh,” your lips partly opened in surprise, stuttering for a moment, before closing them rather quickly. You had been momentarily taken aback by his unexpected statement, as you had never shared a private moment like this with him before. It had been a situation you would have never guessed you would ever experience, yet, here you were— and it felt as if the world surrounding you stopped for a second.

You swallowed thickly, looking down over your boy, who stared at his father, and then at you. “Keep playing with your toys, my love. I will be right back.” pressing a smooch on your son’s forehead, you carefully moved him so he would sit on the rug decorating the room beneath both of you. A wide, almost toothless smile graced his features, before continuing to play with his own toys as you stood, and approached Jace.

It was almost admirable how much of a dedicated, loving mother you were, Jace thought to himself, staring at the scene— with a grin helplessly increasing on the corner of his lips. Your hands turned into fists, meekly fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. You almost couldn’t stare at him in the eyes, allowing him to notice as well a growing fluster in your cheeks.

“I-I’m... Doing quite alright.” the words came off whispered, and stuttered, from your lips, “We have been managing together all this time, after the war.” you mentioned, staring at your boy — who was absorbed into his own innocent world — before returning to stare at Jacaerys. “Thank you... For asking.” the eldest Velaryon smiled sweetly at you, noticing how you very faintly stared at him in the eyes.

“I’m quite relieved to hear so.” he replied back, in a low, casual tone, continuing to offer a kind grin to you as his eyes guided themselves towards his baby boy playing in the background. Brief moments of awkward silence passed, with a palpable tension in the atmosphere.

You had been given little time — to not say , none at all — to bond with each other, before your wedding ceremony. You knew nothing about one another, and it could only be expected that you would be awkward in each other’s presence. But now that the war had ended, the possibility of engaging in a proper, sweet manner with each other was now given. You could softly hear Jace take a deep breath, before continuing to talk with you.

“I came to visit you to offer my apologies, as well.” furrowing your eyebrows, your stare darted at his own— which lingered on the ground, noticing a rosy taint beginning to cover his cheeks. “What for?” it was a rather innocent ask, or at least, Jace considered it to be that way. With a lingering guilt that weighed constantly on him, offering his apologies felt very little with everything he actually owed you, after all the things you had done for him.

The heir nibbled on his lower lip for a moment, allowing himself to properly process in words each and every single little thing he had to thank you, and apologise for. “For many things, I dare to say.” he scoffed in a teasing way, provoking a frowny grin to grow upon your lips, as you kept delicately fidgeting with the fabric of your dress in a discreet manner. “One of the things I would like to apologise for the most, is for... Not simply not visiting you, and our baby son due to my duties as heir— but for having given you a cold shoulder all this time, in a way.”

Your expressions began softening, not uttering a single word to allow him to continue. The looks on your face were almost puzzling to him, as it contained several emotions— all mostly ranging from surprise, to a... relieved one. But mostly, a shyly relieved look began expressing itself all across your features. “I never expressed to you my admiration for your strength and courage. Much less, I have given you my gratitude for marrying me and giving me an heir, all in order to gain new allies amidst war.”

“You have done everything by yourself. Moved to Dragonstone alone, birthed alone, and moved to the Red Keep after the peace treaty all by yourself, with our boy. I often scorn myself for not having done the slightest effort of accompanying you.” it was true. All this time, you had grown to be used only to the presence of your little child offering you solace, and company.

Hearing his words shed a light of understanding to the implicances of war when it came to the perspective— after all, being heir to the Throne is not easy at all, much less when your birthright is usurped. But for Jace, being an heir occupied with his duties, before and after war, was no excuse to give offer you a piece of his genuine love and admiration. If anything, he resented himself for not having visited you earlier.

“There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t thought about you, or haven’t grown any more preoccupied. And I’m sorry for not having shown it earlier, when I should have. Your efforts have never passed unnoticed.”

A gentle sigh spurred from you, nibbling shyly on your lower lip, with your gaze meekly darting towards the ground. Hearing such statement coming from him felt almost surreal, considering each moment you spent alone, wondering to yourself if your husband felt mere disdain towards you after breaking off his previous betrothal to Lady Baela. You had to process the moment for several seconds, leaving a few seconds of silence to hang in the air until you gave your response, but you couldn’t deny that a part of you was satisfied to know his true thoughts about you.

“I would’ve thought you... Resented me for breaking off your betrothal, and occupying the place of Lady Baela.” you muttered timidly, maintaining your eyes gazing at the floor. His eyes widened faintly in surprise. Gods, your words didn’t help with the intensely growing guilt-feelings he suffered, almost as if your statement sharply stabbed him in the heart— how could he ever resent you?

You had nothing to do with anything. You simply did your required duties, what was asked of you.

Jace stood silent for a moment, “How could I ever resent you?” he began, a certain desperation, and disbelief, vibrating on his tone upon hearing your statement. It almost shattered him, knowing you thought that— and all because his mind was consumed in war strategies and responsibilities as heir. The tip of his index finger placed itself on your underchin, delicately — yet firmly — lifting your face so you would stare at each other.

His dark coffee eyes stared profoundly into your own, “I could never resent you for something that was not your choice, much less after all the efforts you did.” you swore you could feel a knot beginning to form on your throat, from both the overwhelming sensation of having thought all this time that Jacaerys disdained you, and from content. “The idea of breaking off my betrothal to Lady Baela and become used to your presence for alliances might have been complicated initially, but I could never resent you for it.”

“Quite the contrary, I have grown to love and silently admire you.” both his hands had gone to cup your cheeks affectionately, taking the moments of quietness to admire every inch of your features. That was, before his arms rapidly embraced themselves around you, tightly wrapping you into a hug. One of his hands went to the back of your head, interwining his fingers in between your hair, as his other hand softly moved up and down, caressing your back; nuzzling the tip of his nose against your hair in a discreet manner— finding comfort in your sweet scent.

For a moment, you stood there, being firmly hugged by Jace, as you leisurely processed the — quite abrupt — situation. Your eyes had widened slightly in surprise, only to feel your body relaxing a few seconds after the eldest Velaryon held you in the warmth of his arms, slowly giving into the embrace. Your arms delicately wrapped themselves around his own body, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. A wide range of emotions came afloat at the moment, but all you could feel, was a gleeful sensation of relief.

What you had so longed for, had been finally given in your life— to seek and find comfort in your husband.

“All I can only do, is constantly cherish the lucky fact of your existence, I have never felt a single ounce of resentment, or hatred.” he muttered, continuing to nuzzle his nose against your hair in a loving manner, before firmly pressing his lips against your temple for several seconds. “I hope you can forgive me, and know that I’ll be visiting and spending time with both of you more often— because I adore you, immensely.”

The ghost of a soft, shy grin began growing on the corner of your lips. You knew everything would be alright, from now on— it would all be less dreadful, and less lonely, knowing that your husband would now be accompanying you in a proper manner.

The Gods did have a strange way of treating you, but all for an ultimate good.

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[afriendlygoblin]

because i need to ramble about my MCs' links between Hogwarts Legacy, Mystery and maybe Magic Awakened, here's the lore i've come up with. feel free to ignore, this is mostly me talking to myself.

Known characters (MCs and in game family)

Hogwarts Legacy : Arcas Highridge

The OG, considered the first of the bloodline. He has a mysterious background, though it's certain he's not muggleborn. He has no links with his parents, are they dead? did they kick him out? he never talked about it to anyone so... we don't know. The future generations view him as the founder of their House.

He started the naming tradition of using animals' latin/scientific names. His doesn't entirely fits but he's the first so he's allowed. "Arcas" comes from the greek myth of Callisto who was a hunter of Artemis who was rrrr by Zeus and gave birth to a son (Arcas) before being turned into a bear. Once grown up, the son became a hunter and would have killed his mother if Zeus hadn't turned him into a bear too and placed them both in the sky as constellations. So yeah the notion of animal inspired names is still present with him.

Hogwarts Mystery : Peregrine Highridge

HM's MC's father, whose name comes from Falco Peregrinus, fastest bird on Earth. In the game he's a pretty shitty father (and human being in general). In my lore it's because his line and in general his family has always been composed of witches and wizards with extraordinary abilities and/or accomplishments.

This led him to seek greatness in order to be worthy of his name and heritage, especially as a youngest child. He also had extremely high expectations of his first born, Jacob. Jacob's disappearance made Peregrine feel as if he had to compensate for his son's failure at greatness, thus abandonning his second child who was still very young.

Hogwarts Mystery : Jacob Highridge

Since Jacob didn't fit my naming convention, i decided that he goes by his middle name (inherited from a relative on his mother's side). Peregrine having a narcissistic side, he named his first son after himself in a way. See, Peregrinus is an umbrella taxon, so he just went with one of the subspecies of peregrine falcons. Therefore in my head, Jacob's full name is actually Tundrius Jacob Highridge.

Going by his middle name really pissed off Jacob's father but since the boy always refused to respond when being called by his first name, Peregrine had to yield and use his son's middle name.

Hogwarts Mystery : Rook Highridge

My HM main character's full name is actually Calidus Corvus Highridge. Trying to avoid another Jacob situation, Peregrine had given his second son not one but two latin names. "Calidus" after another Peregrinus subspecies and "Corvus" after his own eldest brother.

Jacob, hating both of these, decided to find a proper name and got inspired by his brother's middle name. After devouring the old encyclopaedia his father had probably used, he finally found it. Corvus Frugilegus was (still is, not extinct) a kind of big crow found between Scandinavia and eastern Siberia, commonly known as "Rook". Unlike Jacob, Rook doesn't mind his birth name as much and tolerates being called Calidus in formal settings or with strangers.

Magic Awakened : Artamus Highridge

Artamus, named after small bird Woodsallow, is Jacob's first child and has a muggleborn mother. His parents met as Jacob took some time away from the magical world to heal from all the trauma he endured because of magic, and his mother was visiting her muggle parents.

I don't have much on him yet since i've only just started Magic Awakened.

More family members i hope will appear future games :

- Antaresia and Aspidites Highridge (for a HL sequel perhaps) : named after python subspecies, twin children of Arcas Highridge. They have a younger brother, Corallus, who is Jacob and Rook's grandfather.

- Luscinia Highridge : named after the common nightingale, daughter of Rook Highridge. I'd love to give her life in a game set in the 2010's.

- anyone from the american branch (see tree).

Random stuff and trivia about the family bc i have too much free time and a lil bit of brainrot :

- i used a random name generator for the family name. i already had ideas for the first names being based on animals but nothing for the last name.

- though there are mentions of "House Highridge" in a few historical records, they are not a Pureblood house as many married half-bloods, muggleborns and even muggles. they are still well respected among the wizarding families since many of them accomplished great things and/or showed great magical abilities.

- they are a very young House with only 5 known generations so far (6 for the american branch) but given how many of its members have had extraordinary destinies and/or abilities, they quickly acquired an excellent status in the wizarding world.

- they are open to half bloods and muggleborns and don't really care about muggles. unlike many Pureblood houses, they don't bother hating muggles and believe that true greatness lies in actions rather than birth.

- they still believe wizardkind to be superior to mugglekind, which is also why they don't hate muggles : there is no need to hate what is far beneath you. they do however forbid marriage with muggles. muggleborn is ok, but not muggle. Morelia Highridge was kicked out and disowned for falling in love with a muggle. Her son earned a spot on the tree after saving the life of his uncle Corvus, then head of the family. His descendence would not be recorded though, since he didn't bear the name Highridge.

- they are extremely attached to their family identity. Even Jacob who hated his latin name followed the naming tradition for his children as a tribute to all the other great people in his family (poor guy really just hated his dad. he rejected the idea of being named after him, not necessarily the tradition itself).

- although the naming tradition theoretically encompasses all animals, all members after Arcas himself were named after birds or snakes.

- i imagine the home dynamic to be similar to House Black's just take out the anti-muggle racism and pureblood obsession. the rest is pretty much the same.

- almost all of them were in Slytherin but a few occasional Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs can be found in the family tree. No Highridge has been to Gryffindor yet.

- the family has only one marriage between cousins. Antaresia's only child Melidora and Corallus' eldest son Corvus were at the root of the American branch of the family (this is purely in case a game about Ilvermorny ever comes out, so i can easily incorporate my character into the lore).

i definitely have too much free time and severe brainrot but i made a family tree

recording of the descendence of women who married out and thus do not bear the name anymore stops after the first generation (so the direct children).

i'll stop here but i'll probably ramble more later about them bc im developping an obsession

[iphisesque]

So like what's the deal with the incest stuff. Is it a bit? Did you actually fuck one or both of your parents? Do you just want to? You don't seem, like, upset about it in a way I'd expect if you'd been abused as a child, but maybe my expectations aren't right. Sorry if this is rude but your posts are confusing me.

it is a bit rude but i do want to answer it in earnest just to like clear things up and whatnot (and tbh i doubt there's any way to ask this question nicely so i don't blame you at all lmao).

[very long ramble under the cut in case you understandably don't care or don't want to hear about this; tw for parental abuse and incest]

i didn't actually have sex with either of my parents, i went through a lot of abuse and neglect on both their parts in ways i am not comfortable just enumerating online and that honestly i am not yet comfortable facing in general; i was also raised in a very weird way, which i don't even mean as a negative thing, but one of the things my family believes in (to varying degrees) is that i am on some level the reincarnation of my late grandfather, whom my mother has an actual proper electra complex about. i don't like to throw around the word "emotional incest", im not an expert or a professional and it's a word that gets thrown around way too much to have any credibility anymore, but i do think there was some of that going on with my mother, simply by virtue of our situation being the way it was — struggling single mom with a chronic illness and her eldest star prodigy daughter, tale as old as time or whatever.

i never liked my father, not since i was a child, and i honestly dreaded spending time with him whenever i had to; i definitely saw my mom as a respite from having to go to my father's place or even interact with him at all, not entirely deservedly, since with some distance i can see that he was trying to do his best and that my mother was almost as abusive as him. regardless, it was very much the least of two evils, and there was a long time when i was a teenager that i absolutely hated my mother nearly as much as i hated my father: part of that is definitely due to our clashing opinions on how i should dress and carry myself, she always wanted me to be more feminine-presenting and "sexual" whereas i wanted to be as masculine and modest as possible (which is definitely how i present now, and i do think with time she's grown to understand that it wasn't a phase). at the same time, i also understood this preoccupation as her just wanting me to be like my peers and not be socially ostracized, whereas my father's homophobia and dislike of my gender presentation i had trouble perceiving as anything but him being disappointed he couldn't control me (again, not entirely deservedly).

there would be a lot to get through here, but essentially: neither of my parents were good to me, my mother was the least bad and we clung to each other like lifeboats, my father i could not bear to be around and me and my sister would try as hard as we could not to go see him or spend time with him, so i adapted to my mother's toxic environment as best as i could. i recognized this situation as bad and unhealthy, and i was itching to leave, literally counting down the days until my graduation when i was 13: leaving home was always my dream, especially since my parents and especially my mother were never able to leave their own, and when it came time to make my decision for university i went to rome in a heartbeat (whenever i complain about this city it is with the utmost understanding that she is my ticket to freedom).

however, i was so excited to sever the umbilical cord around my neck that i underestimated the degree to which i would suffer from it: i obviously did not miss my father, and i missed my sister very much as expected (and she's now all alone in the same hell i was stuck in, so i feel really guilty about leaving her), but i found myself missing home and my mother very intensely, i longed and still long to go back home even though i know for a fact i would be absolutely miserable if i did go back. me and my mother both have been sublimating that same homesickness of each other in a "romantic" way, i guess, missing each other like you would miss a life partner and acting accordingly — i suppose we were life partners, in a way, and i can't help feeling like this even knowing what she put me through, i can't help making excuses for her even though i know the reality of her actions, in a way that doesn't ring true for my father.

basically to answer your question, i feel like this incest thing i have going on is a sublimation or like archetypal rendition of my very complex feelings about my mother and my father: it's not that i want to do anything with them, it's a way my brain has found to cope with their abuse and with my present situation, and while definitely not the healthiest, i don't mind entertaining it for now, since it makes me feel good. i am at a point in my life where i cannot impose restrictions on my mind, so i just let myself feel how i feel and experience the world how i do: i am sure in the future i will think back on this season of my life and cringe, but i hope i will have enough grace towards my past self that i will be able to forgive myself and move on with my life. at the end of the day, i believe everyone is entitled to their feelings and that someone's thoughts are not as important as their actions, so the fact that i feel these things doesn't prevent me from being the person i want to be, especially since i don't go around sharing my thoughts on this in real life and risk actually triggering people. i express my thoughts on the internet because it's the ultimate safeword: if you are an actual victim of incest or someone who's otherwise triggered by incest and my blog understandably makes you upset, you can just close it and block me and never look at it again, just as i do with e.g. eating disorder blogs: this says nothing about us as people, just that we know what we can and cannot bear to see and are able to act accordingly.

i hope this was a somewhat clear explanation and that i answered your question to satisfaction! it goes without saying that my fascination with fictional incest and its horror is somewhat detached from my own incestuous feelings, though there's obviously some overlap insofar as your personal experiences inform the types of art you enjoy: i was as young as 12-14 and fascinated by incest literature, i always understood that fiction and reality were two separate matters (and that fiction can treat horrific topics with the respect and gravity they deserve and that is often absent from real life discussion of those very same topics) — though i am sure my subconscious did pull from those very themes and archetypes i enjoy reading about when it was developing this coping mechanism, that's just how the human mind works.

[shera-dnd]

It's here! The fic where I finally keep my promise and TRANS EVERY LAST SCHNEE!

A little post canon fic where all our wonderful Schnees get together to celebrate their wonderful family

And trans one last gender while they're at it

Hope y'all enjoy some wholesome family fun

Music filled the rooms of the Schnee Household one afternoon, as it had many times. Its single permanent resident sang along as she cleaned the house, two things that little under a decade ago would seem impossible to her.

Back when she lived in a prison in the skies, instead of a house. Married to her own jailer, helplessly watching as her family fell apart bit by lonely bit.

Since then she had lost her son twice, watched her city fall, witnessed the apocalypse, and lived to tell the tale.

All that fear and grief had made her realize just how much of her life she had wasted, and thanks to her children she had managed to take hold of what was left of it.

Now Willow Schnee tried to live a life without regret, one where she treasured each day and spent her time in pursuit of joy instead of numbness.

So yes, she cleaned now, and sang, and cared for her home and her family.

Sure, the manor where she had spent her childhood was now buried under several tons of rubble. But they had a new place now, one that was smaller, cozier, more of a proper home.

Though Willow had to admit she wished she could have saved some of the old family portraits. Her father would have berated her if she even considered saving a portrait of him over saving herself and her children, but she couldn’t help but miss the comfort of that old man watching over her, or her mother’s tender smile.

Well, moving forward was the Schnee way after all. It was always best to create something new, than to wallow on something lost, and today her family would be creating something truly special.

The first proper portrait of their new family, where they all get to look happy as their true genuine selves.

Willow couldn’t help but giggle as she remembered how her children used to be, all so repressed, so miserable. All it took was one of them breaking free from their father’s mold and soon the others followed suit.

Oh and what wonderful people they grew up to be now that they could pursue their happiness. She could almost be jealous if she wasn’t busy being proud of them.

It had been so long since she last had them all together at home like this, and she was certain she would not make it through the day without crying.

Willow had barely finished cleaning for the day when she heard the first knock on the door. 

When she opened it she was greeted by the sight of her eldest daughter and her lovely wife.

“Hey, Miss Schnee,” May Marigold called with a carefree smile, “hope we didn’t arrive too soon. You know how your daughter is with this stuff.”

“Oh come here, dear,” Willow greeted, pulling her into a hug, “don’t you worry about it. You come right in and make yourself comfortable.”

Meanwhile Winter hadn’t said anything, or moved from her spot behind May, awkwardly avoiding eye contact with her mother.

Winter had been the most difficult to understand among her children. 

It all sounded so convoluted and contradictory to her at first, but in the end it was quite simple. Winter still saw herself as a woman, even if she preferred to present as a man. And if it made her daughter happy, who was Willow to judge her identity, or what she did with her looks?

And the woman in front of her looked as handsome as ever in her brand new Happy Huntress outfit - or Happy Huntsman as she had been nicknamed. Her chest had been flattened with a binder, and her suit had been tailored to emphasize her shoulders in a way that fit perfectly with her strong personality.

These had all been things Willow had seen before, but what she hadn’t expected, and what was causing her daughter’s embarrassment, was the buzzcut Winter was now awkwardly scratching.

“Hey, mom,” Winter called as if she was somehow a teenager again.

Willow chuckled, and pulled her daughter into arms, “it looks great on you, sweetie.”

“Thanks…” she answered, putting her arms around her mother stiffly, “...I hope you don’t mind me looking like this for the portrait.”

“If you’re happy with it, then it’s perfect,” Willow assured her, letting her daughter go.

As the two of them walked into the house and made their way into the living room, Willow could hear May mutter, “I told you it would be fine.”

Willow chuckled to herself, her daughters always worried over such silly things.

Speaking of, it wasn’t too long before her youngest arrived.

Whitney was still wearing her office clothes when she arrived. A nice white suit and black pencil skirt all detailed with elaborate snowflake patterns. Her hair was tied in a neat side braid that fell over her shoulder.

“Good evening, mother,” she greeted, leaning down to kiss her mom on the cheek. Whitney had always been tall, but in her heels she was easily taller than everyone else in the family. “Sorry I’m late. I got into another argument with Councilwoman Hill, and you know how she can get.”

Councilwoman. 

Her little girl was so young, and she was already part of the New Mantle council. 

Willow could not be prouder of her.

Now, if only she could go a day without arguing with her sister’s boss.

“There’s still plenty of time,” Willow assured her, “your brother hasn’t even arrived yet.”

“Of course he hasn’t,” Whitney rolled her eyes as she walked in, “I’ll be surprised if he isn’t late for his own wedding.”

“Don’t be so mean to him,” she playfully berated, “he’s a busy man.”

“Busy?” Whitney scoffed, “he saves the world once, and now he thinks we should all do things on his time.”

“Come on, you know he’s not like that,” Willow insisted. 

Besides, it had been his fiancee who had saved the world.

“I know, it’s just that–” whatever thought Whitney had was completely lost as she stepped into the living room and caught sight of her sister, “did you lose a bet?”

May burst out laughing at the comment, but Winter just glared up at her.

“Nice seeing you too, Whitney.”

“Ah, yes. Nice seeing you, sister,” she replied, before turning to May, “did you talk her into this?”

“Nope,” May answered, still chuckling a little, “she did this of her own free will.”

“Really!?” 

“Are you two done mocking me now?” Winter asked, arms crossed as she glared daggers at them.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. You look stunning with that haircut,” Whitney said, raising her hands in a surrender, “it’s just that it’s such a radical change for you. I remember it took us weeks to get you to even try out a binder.”

“And it took her weeks to psych herself up for this,” May clarified, “honestly if it weren’t for this whole portrait thing she would have probably mulled over this for another month.”

This did nothing to help Winter’s mood, who just turned to her mother to say, “that’s why I don’t let those two into the same room anymore.”

“Oh come now,” Willow waved her off, “this is just how they show affection and you know it.”

Winter just huffed in annoyance and looked away.

“And you love them too, don’t pretend” Willow teased.

“Unfortunately,” Winter grumbled.

Also unfortunate was the fact that May had heard her say so, because she casually hooked her arm around Winter and joked, “I mean, you married me, so I sure hope you do.”

This prompted laughter from both Whitney and Willow, much to Winter’s dismay. 

Thankfully there was another knock on the door, and Winter promptly offered to go and get it, if only to buy herself a small reprieve from her family’s nonsense.

There was no question as to who it was at the door, after all there was only one couple left to arrive.

“It looks great on you,” Willow heard her son’s voice in the hallways, “I swear. You look much better than me with short hair.”

“Well, I think you looked really handsome with that buzz cut,” his fiancee argued.

“You think everything looks handsome on me,” he argued with a chuckle.

“And I’m always right,” she countered.

And that’s when Willow saw them. Her sweet little boy and his wife to be.

Weiss and Ruby.

“Listen to your fiancee, dear,” Willow called as he entered the room.

Weiss smiled as he looked at her, “I always do, mom.”

He had grown so much. Not so much in height as his boots would lead one to believe, but he had still grown. Older, wiser, and definitely stronger than the repressed little boy that had left his family home all those years ago.

Weiss’s hair had been shaved on the sides, and tied in a messy ponytail. His face now sported a well kept stubble, and he wore a beautiful blue jacket with white and red accents, perfectly pairing with his fiancee.

For her part Ruby was wearing a corset and long combat skirt in beautiful blacks and reds, but still sporting Weiss’s signature white. Her hair had grown much longer and curlier than when Willow last saw her, with a loose strand brushed over her scarred eye.

Side by side like this they looked like the perfect pair. Like they were meant to be together. And the way they acted around each other they felt like they were too.

“Ms. Willow,” Ruby called, nearly throwing herself into Willow’s arms, “it’s so good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, sweetie,” Willow answered, hugging her back, before turning to her son and extending an arm, “you come here too.”

Weiss did not complain, stepping into his mother’s arms and joining in the group hug.

“I missed you two,” Willow whispered to the two of them.

“I missed you too, mom,” Weiss replied.

Even nowadays, after everything they had done, her boy still spent so much of his life traveling the world and fighting evil. He was a huntsman, after all, it was to be expected. But it still meant she had to go so long without seeing him.

She pulled away from the hug and smiled at the two of them with pride.

“Alright, we can do sappy family stuff later,” Whitney interjected, “let’s get this portrait done while the lighting is still good.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Willow laughed softly, before more pointedly adding to Weiss, “and you button up that shirt, young man. I don’t want my son to be immortalized as a fuckboy.”

Weiss gasped, and Winter groaned.

“We really shouldn’t have let May teach you that word.”

With more than a little embarrassment, Weiss went about following his mom’s request. 

He had always enjoyed showing off his chest since he had figured out who he was, but as much as Willow supported him most of the time, that was simply not the look she wanted decorating their home for generations to come.

Soon the six of them were shuffling around the room, trying to find a good position in front of the camera, so everyone would get to be in frame. 

It was awkward, and there was more than a little elbowing between the siblings, but soon they had found a satisfying pose.

They were just about ready to set up the camera timer when Weiss interjected, “wait! I almost forgot.”

He extended his hand forward and a glyph formed in front of them. From it emerged a familiar frame clad in white armor.

“I know it’s not really him,” Weiss explained, “but I thought we should include grandpa Nicholas.”

Willow looked up at the white knight before her, like she had done so many times as a child.

“Yes, I think we should.”

~~~

Properly taking the portrait had resulted in a deluge of tears, mostly from Willow, though some from Whitney as well. 

But for once they were all happy tears. A feeling of accomplishment washing over the two Schnee women as they realized their dreams had finally come to pass.

Once the tears seemed to stop, and they had all settled down, came time for dinner. 

Though all five of them had offered to help her in the kitchen, Willow was more than happy to cook alone, just actually playing the role of mother for once while she listened to her family chatter about.

“I can’t believe you two managed to be so gay you looped back around to looking straight again,” Whitney joked as she looked over the portrait.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Weiss demanded.

“I’m saying that if someone who didn’t know us saw this picture they’d assume I had two straight brothers with two straight wives,” Whitney insisted.

“I take offense to that!” Ruby shouted.

“Don’t listen to her,” May interjected, “she’s just mad she’s the only Schneebling without a partner in the picture.”

Whitney scoffed, “I’ll have you know I’m quite happy being single,” there was a beat of silence before she added, “besides the last cute boy I tried to make things work with happened to share his body with the soul of an ancient wizard, and I’m not dealing with any of that.”

They all laughed together at this little bit of absurdity. 

All except Winter, who seemed deep in thought.

“Is it weird…” she eventually said, “that I kinda like the idea of being mistaken for a man even if I don’t like the idea of being a man?”

“Not in this family it’s not,” May argued, “we’re all different flavors of gender fucked weirdos.”

That had something Willow kept catching herself thinking about.

How none of her children turned out to be quite the way she expected.

It had all started with Weiss back when he had first been allowed to explore just who he was. Then it began to spread through the family, each of them stopping to think about what that meant for all of them. If they too were just playing a role, and if maybe there was something else they could be.

One by one they broke free from their father’s shackles, and grew up to be the wonderful people they are now.

It made Willow proud, but there was still another feeling it caused in her.

“I’ve always been jealous of you three,” Willow admitted apropos of nothing.

It was as if a record had been scratched. 

All in the room turned to look at Willow in surprise at what she had just said.

“Oh, you know, getting to explore your identity and all that,” Willow tried to justify herself, “Nicholas had always been a kind, accepting man, but… well it’s not like I even knew there were options back then.”

“Uh, Miss Willow,” Ruby called, “you do know there’s no age limit on that stuff, right?”

“Oh I know, dear,” Willow assured her, “I just thought it would have been nicer to have a chance to do it back when I was younger.”

Ruby and Weiss shared a look, before Weiss added, “mom, have you been questioning that stuff lately?”

“Only the normal amount after watching all my children go through the same process,” she insisted, though that only prompted more stares, “what? Did I say something wrong?”

“The normal amount?” Whitney asked, one eyebrow raised.

“I mean, it’s only natural after seeing all three of you come out as some flavor of trans,” she argued.

“I guess you’re right,” Whitney surrendered, though her eyes were still narrowed, “...did you find anything out?”

Honestly Willow did not understand why they were treating this like some kind of interrogation all of a sudden, but it’s not like she had any reason not to answer.

“At first I even considered I might be similar to your brother, but I don’t think I ever felt as strongly about my gender as he did,” she admitted, thinking back to her childhood,  “I’ve had my moments growing up of fancying a nice suit, or wishing people would call me sir, but they had always been fleeting things. One week I’d be jealous of my father’s beard, and the next just thinking of beards made me itchy and uncomfortable.”

Willow laughed at that one, she remembered asking Nicholas when she’d grow a big beard like his. 

What a silly child she was…

“Still, that’s hardly enough to justify any drastic rethinking of my identity, right?” Willow shrugged, “I guess everyone has these little flights of fancy.”

Once again there was silence in the room. 

The five of them looked between each other as if waiting for one of them to take the initiative.

“Uh, ma’am,” May was the first to break the silence, “have you considered you might be gender fluid?”

“If this is an alcohol joke, it’s in very poor taste,” she shot back.

“No, I mean…” May opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to find the right words, “like maybe your gender changes over time?”

Willow blinked a few times.

Like her gender changes over time?

That was… odd. 

She was pretty sure one’s gender was one of those things that was set in stone. 

That’s how it had been explained to her at least. 

Weiss hadn’t become a boy, he had always been one. That had always been his gender, they just hadn’t known about it until then.

“That’s… not how that works, right?” Willow asked, not fully sure she was understanding this correctly.

There were some non-committal noises coming from May before Winter interrupted.

“Gender is a lot more complicated than you think, mom,” she spoke with the tired tone of someone who learned that from experience.

That was… something to think about. 

For now all she managed to say was, “Huh.”

That got a giggle out of Whitney, who just blurted out the words, “I can’t believe there’s not a single cis person in this family.”

[ladyeloisee]

So, a lot happened and is happening. Was thinking about what to put up. And here you go to the next episode of Kahani Suno!

Yesterday, an incident happened, which literally broke me. it's obvious how useless I am to my parents. Of course, not bringing my sisters into this as they have a soft corner towards them always. The eldest is the cursed one. Both my parents never encourage me or my doings. Right from my childhood, they had taught me trained me to be like other kids and not to be me. learn from Chinnu, look at Keerthi, be like her, change your handwriting like Madhu��s, love your sisters like Pappu, love your mother like Ganesh, do this like her, that like her, be like her, … I am tired. I am so much tired of hearing it. I started feeling very low of me and my life, existence. They never appreciated me, rather they found faults in it.

So lately I had to participate in a paper presentation and with all my courage, I went first and presented it to my level best. But there were people who did much better than me. when I said all this and when I shared the video with my mother, first thing she busted out was not “good job child” or “you did your best”, instead she blamed me for going first. For stammering. For not taking proper steps before getting into the thing. All I could do was cry and fake smile. I am already a loser in front of them and I don’t think so any hard work or smart work I do is not going to impress them at any cost.

Last night’s incident was that my sister cooked a nice egg roast. Well, she did kind of appreciate it. But then, there they are. “Sumathi’s daughters does everything well.” “other kids have better relationship with outside world.” “you guys are always inside a room.” What not? I held my frustration and anger and my damn tears. But couldn’t after certain point. Its running around me still. I am going to burn it out one fine day. And they are going to feel bad for everything they have been doing so far.

I am not blaming my parents for the way they grew us. I say them to think before they utter words out. it's not about the kali kalam that we are talking back. We are talking for ourselves which they never did. It's so much that I'll have to say. And…

[everythingheard]

beautifulnigtmare​:

jacquetta was not some shrinking flower. she had been the eldest daughter, and the 4th born child in a family of 9. she had always had to make her voice known. she did not like lord rutledge, she knew she had to be polite to him, as she had to be to most of the gentleman. she hated that. they were mostly boring, condescending or both. it was truly unfair. 

still this lord bridgerton was presumptuous, and it bothered her. he was from a very popular and wealthy family, and it did not hurt he was very handsome, but he knew it. acting like he was some dashing hero saving a damsel in distress. he had been nice enough to give her a reason to leave the man behind, but the fact he acted like she needed him, and she should be grateful, was just annoying and put her in a bad mood. 

❝you are right❞ she grited her teeth ❝thank you lord bridgerton.❞ she knew if she was seen as rude, or even impolite, word would spread and it would relfect badly on her son. so while she’d love to tear into the arrogant man, she decided not to. 

Ah — Anthony had made Lady Covington angry. Or perhaps irritated, at the very least. Although she was far from blatant with her vexation ( she withheld her emotions when handling Rutledge earlier just as well ), he had four sisters, and had grown well-versed on discerning when such tensions hung in the air. The question that persisted in his mind was why.

Anthony was nearly tempted to ask, yet he forced back the query. Aside from the fact that she had disguised her feelings on purpose, he would present himself as a proper ass if it turned out that he had misread the situation and was wrong. Before he could muse over the encounter further, he caught sight of his mother across the room, speaking to a young woman she had mentioned to him prior to their arrival and gesturing in his direction. Fantastic.

“Lady Covington, may I have this next dance?” Turning his back on the eyes watching him, he nodded his head to where couples were beginning to gather in preparation for the next song. “I would be honored.”

[hiatuswhore]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝓎 𝒪𝓃𝑒 — 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓉𝑜𝓃

♕ A/N: One shot? More parts? Feedback please!!!!

♕ SUMMARY: Oh, the most scandalous season of the year has come to pass. After quite the successful year for the Bridgerton’s the eldest son plans to throw his hat in the ring. Concurrently the Sharma sisters do just the same. One a spinster, the other hopeful romantic, and the middle daughter? What can be said about such a force that is not said when she enters the room. Good luck to all who pursue her.

♕ WORD COUNT: 2.7K

♕ WARNING: None

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YOU LIGHTLY TWIST IN YOUR DRESS RELISHING IN THE GENTLE SWAY THAT OCCURS AS IT CATCHES AIR. Standing between Kate and Edwina you struggle to fight the grin off your lips. Lady Danbury introduces the three of you to the Queen who stands before you with a pensive stare. You care little to impress her or anyone in attendance really, only to make the most of your travels while your younger sister secures a love match.

“And may I present her daughters, Miss Sharma, Miss (Y/n) Sharma, and Edwina Sharma. My two personal special guests for the season.” Lady Danbury says, though you curtsy the grin does not leave your lips as the Queen meets your gaze. She narrows her eyes at the sight which fuels your amusement as Kate offers a proper smile and Edwina appears in awe.

“A high honor, indeed. I hear you have made quite a journey to join us again after all these years, Lady Mary. If only you had extended the courtesy of offering your Queen a final farewell before you left,” The Queen’s passive aggressive nature makes your smile widen before your lips move faster than your mind can consider.

“If I may? Why should one bother with dreadful goodbyes when we can relish in shocking hellos,” You cut in earning patronizing looks from both your siblings, mother, and Lady Danbury.

“Miss (Y/n) Sharma is it? Some must call you brazen,” The Queen says, tilting your head you chuckle at her false compliment. It does little to stifle the fire that drives your family near insane.

“Some say a mad woman but who am I to correct the Queen?” You tease as your mother rushes to apologize for your incorrigible manners. The Queen raises her hand, halting your mother.

“No apology needed,” The Queen says, a light chuckle leaving her lips as she eyes you. “Maybe there is hope for the Sharma’s yet. Good day Miss (Y/n).”

You curtsy to the Queen as she makes her exit before all eyes fall on you. Lady Danbury announces her love of a challenge before your mother begins her fruitless lecturing.

“Fret not Lady Mary. I believe your mouthy daughter has managed to charm the Queen,” Lady Danbury says and you shrug your shoulders, looking at your mother with a matter-of-fact expression. You immediately excuse yourself from your family before they can stop you. The music’s quaint and you giggle at the sight of a man struggling with the influx of women who surround him. You do not realize how long you watch the circus in front of you until the man meets your eye. His eyebrows furrow as you chuckle and continue on but Lady Danbury catches your elbow.

“You are quite the mercurial creature aren’t you?” Lady Danbury says as she brings you between herself and your mother.

“Oh do I love the influx of compliments here,” Your sardonic smirk earns a soft chuckle from Danbury. Before silence can ensue, Kate points to the man in the sea of women with familiarity.

“The Viscount? I do not believe I have yet made an introduction?” Lady Danbury states but your eyes stay on the women who crowd him.

“Are London ladies always this subtle?” You ask but your mother nudges your side, muttering about your poor manners.

“I believe you Miss (Y/n) will make this year’s social season rather interesting,” She says and you mock a half curtsy as you tell her you aim to please. Before any of you can utter another word a man joins your side. He stands slightly taller than you and his hair hangs slightly below his ears in loose curls. You cannot deny how handsome he appears in his suit with the piercing stare of his light eyes.

“Duke of Wales, I see you join us this evening. Please meet my honored guests. Lady Mary and her daughters. Miss Kate Sharma, Miss Edwina Sharma, and Miss (Y/n) Sharma. Are you entering this season in hope for a match, Lord Beauregard?” Lady Danbury wastes no time and you once again find yourself curtsying. He offers a kind smile before locking eyes with you.

“Duke of Wales until one of my many cousins conceives an heir of course. It is wonderful to meet you all. William Beauregard. I do indeed hope to seek a match. Miss Sharma, may I?” He asks, holding out his hand you grab much like you grab your sisters. In reality you have no real choice, with no tie or public courting to another so no real power to reject him. Neither of you say a word as you walk to the dance floor to join the others. When you both reach an open spot he places his hands on the appropriate spot of your upper hip and in your opposite hand, “You look lovely tonight.”

“And thus worthy of this dance?” You ask as you carefully count your steps in your head. All of your practicing with Kate comes to fruition as you manage to not step on his feet as much as you do with your elder sister.

“Of course not. I just wish to compliment you. I hope I did not offend,” He says, spinning you around when you turn back facing him your usual grin sits on your face. Your family and Lady Danbury watch the two of you and mutter amongst themselves. “You jest?”

“Rather challenge. Any man who considers me a prospect for marriage has to be capable of many things,” You state, your mocking tone’s nothing short of confusing but still William appears with intrigue.

“Then I must inquire what some of those capabilities are,” He asks, tilting your head back a short audible laugh leaves your lips. You doubt him, rightfully so as most men run for the hills after just mere minutes of conversation with you.

“First and most certaintly my capricious nature. No one can quite figure me out even I am confused on the matter,” You state but as he insists you continue, it brings you pause, the songs nearing an end but the Duke’s eyes stay on you. “I have no idea what I want with this life. I have no intention to marry or seek love, at least not now and I only entertain this drivel to appease my mama.”

“Why not stay back in India?” He asks as the song stops, you both curtsy. Backing up you chuckle once more, your mocking nature staying at the forefront of your tongue, “And miss this opportunity to travel? Thank you for this lovely dance my Lord but I do insist your pursuits of marriage with me will be fruitless.”

“Good day Miss—Sharma,” He trails off as you already journey back to find Edwina on her way to the dance floor. Lady Danbury and your mother trail off leaving you and Kate to linger about. Kate wastes no time in asking you about your experience with the Duke.

“I can assure you if he still has interest in me after that the Duke is without a mind,” You joke, taking Kate’s arm she lectures you no differently from Mama. She drones on about the importance of finding a man to wed you. You roll your eyes and follow her lead around the room. “For Edwina yes a love filled marriage but sister why can’t I be like you. You seem happy, are you not?”

“Besides the point sister—“ She says but stops mid-sentence as her eyes stick to the dance floor. You follow her gaze to the Viscount seemingly struggling with the young lady on the dance floor. It resembles your many practices with Kate which you would find every excuse under the sun to not partake in.

“How did you meet the Viscount? He seems rather high strung. If I may be so lucky maybe I will be able to vex him before the seasons end,” You say as two of you watch him, before she can scold you the two of you watch him exit the room. Kate says nothing before exiting the exact same doors as the Viscount, you consider following her before finding yourself a glass of wine. You wander the emptier corridors to escape the lion’s den, the art and vases take your eye but you find the feeling of them beneath your fingertips most pleasurable.

“Oh my apologies I was not aware anyone was in here,” You flinch as you whip around to find William in the doorframe of the unoccupied room. He speaks fast as he says he will go before muttering another apology. The stir in your chest makes your eyes roll as you call out his name.

“Mister Beauregard. You can stay if you like. It’s not my home so who am I to dictate who goes about where,” Shrugging your shoulders you turn back to the portrait in front of you. The frame beneath your fingers reveals intricate patterns with meticulous detail.

“I am not Mister Beauregard, only William,” He says, holding out his hand as he wears an inviting smile which you accept.

“And I, (Y/n).” You say, smiling back before silence consumes the room. The candles light the room but it still remains dim. You know if someone was to discover the two of you unchaperoned there could be a large scandal. “Shouldn’t you be attending to many eligible ladies bringing desperate horror to your night of search. The way they flock to the Viscount I can only imagine the line at your door.”

“As dreadfully true as your words are in actuality it is the mothers that bring the true horror. Constantly listing off all the reasons why I should consider their daughters,” He says but as a laugh leaves your lips he questions what you find funny in his words.

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Oh no I am the Duke, a man free to do what I please, constantly at the whim of no one?” You ask, taking his glass from his hand you walk over to the couch taking a seat.

“I was not trying to feign hardship, rather partake in your uh—banter. I fear I am uncertain how to speak with you,” He says, taking a seat on the arm of the opposite end of the couch. Finishing his glass you tilt your head back on the back of the couch to take in the high ceiling.

“Fear not, I already warned you of my nature as well as my intentions. I take little serious and enjoy moments of serenity just as much as I relish in chaos. This Lady Whistledown character of London. Rather a sneaky minx, I love that,” You explain, turning your head on the side you enjoy the view of the ceiling with William silently observing you in the corner of your eye. At first he says nothing and the pause between the two of you stills the room as you watch the ceiling and he watches you.

“You are an enigma Miss (Y/n). It’s rather refreshing,” Breaking the silence he watches as you move your gaze from the ceiling to his smiling face. Though he looks at you, you note the far off look in his eyes. You consider asking where his mind travels off but instead leaves him on his mental voyage. You shrug your shoulders telling him to tell your mother that. “I suppose your mother does not share my sentiment.”

“To my mother I am a mannerless wild child. I am fortunate she is not cruel but I know she does not understand me nay she does not try to,” You say, bring your elbow up onto the couch you support your head with your hand. Your fingers drum against your cheek as you are certain you will soon have to rejoin the party.

“Well then if not in your presence to court you may I be in your presence as your friend?” He rises to his feet holding out his hand to you once more. Your eyebrows furrow as you find yourself once again charming an individual of a station far above your own.

“This will not aid you in your search for a wife,” You point out glancing between his easy going expression and his waiting hand.

“You are not the only one who has been put in this season without a choice,” He says but still you do not move from the couch. The glint that flashes across his eyes you know all too well before he mimics your troublemaking tone, “Also you assume yourself to have ever been an option for yours truly.”

Your jaw drops as you fail to fight the large smile that overtakes your features, slapping his hand away you rise to your feet. You cross your arms over your chest before sizing him up, he places his hands in his pockets smirking at your expression, “Color me impressed the oh so wonderful Duke of Wales.”

The rest of the party you and the Duke find yourself in proximity around the party. Between every dance that pulls you both away from each other you find yourselves laughing at whatever nonsense the other concocts.

“William! You have no idea the joy it brings me to know another man of English nobility is here to weather the dreadful storm of women hoping to secure an advantageous marriage,” You say nothing as the Viscount greets William. It only takes mere seconds before you learn the close relationship between the two families.

“Anthony meet Miss (Y/n) Sharma. Miss Sharma this is Viscount Anthony Bridgerton,” William says, curtsying you make no attempt to speak as he stares at you. He narrows his eyes before realization strikes his features.

“Miss Sharma, you were laughing at me earlier. May I ask what was funny?” The question makes both you and William chuckle. Anthony’s gaze bounces between the two of you, “Fast friends I see.”

“Well my lord, the question tis not what was funny but merely what was not funny. First you manage to find a woman who dances worse than I but your best act was your stammering as you tried to maintain multiple conversations with a crowd of women. How can one not laugh at the wondrous show you put on tonight? Bravo!” Your kind smile and clapping hands does not falter despite the verbal lashing you give out without reason. William bites the inside of his cheek as he eyes his old friend closely. Though he does not say it, your humbling words may come of benefit to the ever arrogant Bridgerton.

“You speak with such hostility. Do we have some history I am forgetting?” He asks, shaking your head you scan the room for your sisters.

“Not at all, Mister Bridgerton. As I have warned your dear friend, my erratic nature can be off putting to many. I ride the border of blunt and rude. Like balancing on a verbal tightrope, heaven knows which way I’ll lean each conversation. Good day to the both of you. It has been a rather wonderful night, might I say,” You do a final curtsy before leaving Anthony in utter confusion. He watches you walk off before turning to William who speaks up first.

“Every question you may have I promise you seeking out answers only arises more questions,” William bites his bottom lip as amusement takes his features. Anthony wastes no time in asking about your place in the social season. “That is the plight our dear quandary voices no interest in marriage or even love. She plays this game for her dear mother with no intention to win. She does come with two sisters.”

“That makes her my perfect bride,” Anthony says, watching as you join your mother, his shoulders fall at the sight of the arm you hang onto. Kate catches his gaze on you, she mutters something to you to which you follow her gaze. Anthony makes no attempt to look away as you look up, mischief sits in your eyes before you raise your head high and turn back to your sister who glares daggers toward the Viscount. Kate’s not the only one to notice the watchful eyes, Lady Danbury and your mother stand together just a few feet away.

“Well Lady Mary it seems the mouthy one has gained the attention of not only the Queen but both the Duke of Wales and the Viscount. As I said, she will make this an interesting season indeed.”

[infernalrevenge]

Hello, hello! I was wondering if I could possibly request your take on Reader and each of the Dimitrescu Daughters with how they show affection? Nuzzles, kisses, hugs/snuggles, terms of endearment, gifts, nsfw, etc. One big fluff-ball. Just bury me in the warm fuzzy. Thank you!

This is excellent timing, anon friendo because I had been thinking of making a Love Languages Headcanon List for some time now, so this is a great way to start on that! I hope this satisfies your mushy fluffy warm fuzzball desires (that I kept relatively PG) :P

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Bela Dimitrescu

Bela felt that she had a reputation to uphold as the eldest daughter of the Dimitrescu family, ever so meticulous yet also eager to please. But she does know her boundaries.

More often than not, she finds herself busy with her mother in helping run the business, hoping to one day become a proper heir. I mention all this so you know her situation -- she's a working gal and you gotta respect that.

However, she is not one to leave her loved ones hanging. The best way she shows her love is by spending quality time with you, doing things that you might enjoy. It gives her a chance to better get to know her love.

Of course she would have her way as well, doing activities she liked such as art, music, and more. You two might even try something new to the both of you, just for some added thrill.

It doesn't always have to be "something" to do though, she's more than happy to just simply be in the same space as you while you do your own thing. That counts as "doing something together", right?

You could be reading a book on one corner of the room and she could be reviewing some important notes on the bed, but you two are just so comfortable in the quiet space you've made for yourselves that it feels like you two are side-by-side.

She just likes to know you're there, your presence alone is a great source of comfort to her. She loves to see you happy and content, especially knowing it's because she's around. Once you get into it, there is no such thing as an awkward silence between the two of you.

I imagine she's not that big on initiating physical affection, but she would be hard pressed to deny you anything. From something as simple as holding her hand, to spooning and cuddling, to a full-on make out session -- all you have to do is ask. She's more than happy to deliver.

Her favorite position is being the big spoon in bed, finding a lot of comfort in knowing that you are in her grasp, safe and sound. She also enjoys planting a few kisses on your shoulder and neck in an attempt to rouse you from slumber.

While she was still courting you (because I like to imagine she's a bit of an old-fashioned romantic, but she would have courted you regardless of your gender), she would often bring you gifts. They weren't extravagant, but they were definitely meaningful, and often related to things you two had talked about in the past.

She didn't use pet names very often but she will call you "love" on occasion, especially if there was a chance you would call her that in return. She may not openly admit it but she just melts every time you call her that -- made it feel like having a crush on you all over again.

Even though she may seem distant on the outside, Bela is truly a woman who makes the most of her time with people she cares about. You are no exception to that, and she wants that to be known to you as much and as often as possible.

Cassandra Dimitrescu

Cassandra, much like her older sister, believes she too has a reputation to uphold within the family. Can't have her be seen going soft for just anyone.

But uh, plot twist: Girl just wants to be loved, and she doesn't even know it.

In private, she really really loves physical affection. She shows her love by clinging onto you as tightly as possible, melding so closely to you that it becomes hard to tell where her body ended and yours began.

She loves pressing her cheek and ear against your chest to hear the calming beat of your heart, the warmth of your skin just under her fingertips, and her head tucked right under your chin while you two lay in bed together.

Truthfully, she started doing this when you first got together because she enjoyed how flustered you seemed when she basically had herself wrapped around you. But over time, the both of you realized just how much she liked being this close to you too. You teased her for it once and she shut you out of your own room for a while. (She only let you back in because she suddenly missed cuddling you.)

This was a trait that kind of carried over from her hunting instincts, but she was very observant of others -- their tics, habits, routines, and all the like. She took notice of a lot of things other people did, didn't do, and couldn't do. It made her very attentive to her loved ones.

This manifested in the form of performing acts of service. Toward you, it ranged from simple things like keeping objects that were usually out of your reach to a more manageable height (either by her own action or an order to a servant) to helping you relax after a long and tiring day, to even performing your chores for you if she knew you were having a hard time with them.

Anything that she could help with to make herself useful, she would do. She wanted her loved ones to move around comfortably and without much worry, and she would take on that burden if that was what it took.

Granted it didn't necessarily mean she did well in these endeavors, but the effort did not go unnoticed. And you would never see the girl try to half-ass anything -- once she started on a task, you bet your sweet ass she was going to get it done too.

Her terms of "endearment" were very teasing and, out of context, could be downright insulting. You would never hear anything so generic as "baby" or "sweetie" (unless she was being condescending.) "Little shit" (affectionate) was more her speed.

If you also called her nicknames with a similar amount of creativity, she would return it with the same enthusiasm. She didn't take those things to heart anyway. If insults were a love language, this would be one of hers.

Cassandra is a little rough around the edges when it comes to love and intimacy, but she loves so fiercely. It's like a fire, raging on the more you feed its maw -- the only difference is that this fire would never die out.

Daniela Dimitrescu

Daniela is the most affectionate and most likely to be a hopeless romantic in the family. She always daydreamed of having a "knight in shining armor" of her own, but honestly she'll take anyone who would love her for herself.

Definitely the type to show off her wonderful significant other, either "subtly" through a bit of PDA, or more overtly through a lot of PDA and more grand gestures of love. Just let her do this, she has so much love to give and she needs that energy to go somewhere.

Even in private spaces, she would never let go of your hand if she had her way. Trying to separate from her when she wasn't in the mood would get you the "kicked puppy dog" treatment from her. It's not her fault you were so warm and nice to be around.

She loves being the little spoon in bed. There's just something reassuring about having a warm presence right behind her, your arms wrapped around her middle. You could even kick a leg on top of her waist -- all she wants is to get as close to you as she possibly can.

When you're working on a desk and sitting on a chair, she will inevitably sit on your lap and snuggle up against you while you try to do whatever it is you're doing. No matter how many times she promises that "you won't even know she's there", it's kind of hard to ignore the way she just buries her face into your neck and the little snores coming out of her if she falls asleep like this.

Calls you very cheesy and almost strange pet names like "honey pie" and "sweetie baby boo". You're never sure if she actually meant them or was messing with you because of her tone, but you can tell she was always amused by your reaction to them, which was part of the reason she kept saying them.

She did also have an inner poet though, so she may suddenly pull lines like "the moon to my night" that would make you stumble and wonder what had possessed your girlfriend. And then you would remember how much she enjoyed reading romance novels, so it made more sense.

Sometimes she'll pull them out early in the morning right as you two were just waking up, limbs entangled with the other's. Then you'd hear her call you "light of my life" in her deep sleepy voice, and you just have to hide the big goofy smile on your face behind a pillow or something.

She also loves to give you gifts, mostly because she liked how your face would light up whenever you received one. Oftentimes, they are little trinkets that remind her of you that she spotted one day and thought to give to you. Kind of like a cat presenting a dead mouse or bird to its owner, but not as gross.

She says "I love you" and any similar declarations pretty often, but the words never lose their meaning. Just know that she always says them with her whole heart, regardless of the tone she takes on when she does.

She also enjoys doing random acts of affection because she likes seeing how you react to them, whether you get all blushy and a little embarrassed, or you return them in kind. Either way, she is very happy and it gives her the warm fuzzies when you play along.

Like I said, Daniela just has so much love to give, and she would be so happy to see that energy enthusiastically returned. Just give her a chance and you'll never have to doubt her feelings for you.

[dragonsbone]

I think you know the drill, tell me everything about josana

hehehehehe your wish is my command <3

josana lannister is the second child and only daughter of jafford lannister and laissa lannister ( née bellard ). she has an older brother, marcellus, and a younger brother, tryton. her mother died while she was rather young of the pox and her father died a few years prior to start of the story. she and her brothers reside in casterly rock under their uncle, tywin’s, protection. 

ever since josana was a young girl, it was clear tywin had favored her greatly. she was a cunning little thing with the ferocious heart of a lion and a strong mind to match. yet, there was a gentleness to her that remained hidden from most, except her family. although, she was a woman and had brothers, who were more “suited” for tywin’s attention and affection ( ya know, bc they’re male ), it never stopped him from specifically catering to his beloved niece. in a way, she reminded him a bit of his late wife, but he would never admit that to anyone. 

they have a very important dynamic, which is extremely pivotal to the story and how it complicates everything. josana loved tywin as if he were a second father and would do almost anything for him. and tywin took advantage of that devotion. when news of jon arryn’s passing, the lord of casterly rock seized a remarkable opportunity. he concocted a plan and presented it to king robert ( with the “help” of cersei ) by raven. the plan was to marry josana off to ned stark’s eldest son and she would attend the king and his family on their journey to winterfell. josana would perform her duty as lady of winterfell, provide heirs and raise them as proper lannisters. my lioness, understandably, is not thrilled at all by this situation. she is a true woman of the south and does not wish to leave her home. but, tywin always gets what he wants in the end. after much “convincing”, she accepted tywin’s command, rode to king’s landing to be with her cousins, and traveled together to the north.

now,,, the fun part,,, the lioness and the wolf. they － and i cannot stress this enough － do not get along. at first, they remain cordial with each other as they know they’d be wed to each other eventually. unfortunately, josana is having the absolute worst™️ time. she misses the warmer weather, the water reaching the shores of casterly rock, and the brightness of the sun shining through her windows in the early morning. in winterfell, she has no friends, no allies, and is truly and completely alone. with the start of the war, the tragedy of ned stark, and the stark sisters captive in the capitol, the familiar cold shoulder and passive aggressive remarks she’d grown used to receiving turned into vicious slander and hostility. the lioness found herself trapped in a den full of wolves with no way to escape and be free. and, of course, the civilness between her and robb became outright hatred and clear disdain.

when robb was presented with the terms and conditions of access to walder frey’s bridge, it was his lifeline and his destruction. he happily agreed to those demands, but josana was truly now a captive of the starks without the protection of a betrothal. yet, fate works in mysterious ways. after all that was deemed broken beyond repair, things began to change between josana and robb. they begin to understand one another and actually hold conversations where they weren’t throwing vile words within every other sentence. 

however, no matter robb’s change of heart or how he made her his wife at the end, the north would never accept a lannister as their queen. 

[faerykingdom]

HOME ━ PLATONIC!C. FRASER

SYNOPSIS → in which you find a home at frasers ridge

WORD COUNT → 1,752 words

WARNINGS → injury, broken leg

A/N → i don't really like this, but i gave it my best shot. i don't know why things like this is so hard to write!

This backfired quickly. It was meant to be a quick trip; visit your mother (at her vehement request), say hello, stay a couple nights, and go back home.  

But of course, that plan was thrown out almost immediately. You had made it to your mothers, all the way up in North Carolina. Your mother had tried to convince you to move back with her and your father, as always, and your father treated you with the cold indifference he does now. Ever since you moved away (single too, how scandalous), he had treated you with the utmost indifference. To him, you were a disappointment. He had been trying to marry you off for almost three years, to which you had refuted by discouraging your suitors.  

Each and every boy – or the occasionally two decades older man – had been discouraged. There was a Mr. Thomas Whittle – a young blonde who aspired to the next Shakespeare, you hadn’t found him to be awful, per say, just . . . immature –, a Mr. Will William (a truly awful name) - an older man who had wanted to find a younger wife who could mother his teenaged son from his former marriage, and another woman to have more children with -, a Mr. Christopher Mungo – a middle-aged man who simply wanted a woman to warm his bed -, and many, many more. The most memorable one had been Mr. Lloyd Jackson – a man your age – who had been truly awful. The man had been the most disgusting and cruel of all men. No matter how much you had tried to discourage him, he had been adamant to marry you, declaring that he would be the one to teach you manners, and how to be a proper lady of society.  

He was the reason you left home. You couldn’t marry him; you wouldn’t allow yourself to be shoved under a man’s – especially a man like him – thumb. You know that a woman is meant to marry a respectable man, have children left, right, and center. You know, but that is not what you want. You want to travel the world, have a life of your own before you get married and have children. You didn’t want what everyone else wanted for you.  

You’re living that life now. You haven’t seen the world yet, but you’ve made a life for yourself. You’re a seamstress in New York, working until your able to get passage to travel to Ireland. You have a great aunt there, that you haven’t seen since you were a little girl, and you’ve missed her.  

Anyway, back to how your plan completely, and truly backfired.  

First, your mother had convinced you to stay another two days, saying that she “doesn’t see her eldest daughter, whom she loves so very much, enough.” Then, your younger sister, Amy, had wanted to spend a full day with you, and only you without your parents. So, you spent an extra three days in North Carolina, when you were supposed to be well on your way back to New York.  

Then, when you finally were able to leave, you were almost a day into the journey, when you had tripped over a tree root. A tree. Root.  

Honestly, you’re kind of astonished by yourself.  

And that brings you back to the present from your recollection of the week from hell. You’re sitting up against a tree, your leg clearly broken – for the second time in your life, mind you –, exhausted and in agonizing pain. You had forgotten how much breaking your leg can hurt. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here; you really should have borrowed a horse from your parents, like your mother had tried to convince you to. Bad idea on your part. Really. 

You mess with a couple of leaves that lay beside you. You’re really tired, now that you think about it. What time is it? It can’t be that late, the sun is beating down on you. 

But you’re so tired. A little nap won’t hurt anything.  

Claire Fraser and Brianna Randall were collecting herbs for the first time in a while. The sun was shining, and they were having fun. They just reaching the area where the needed herbs were when they saw a young woman passed out against a tree truck. Her leg was bent to a side that it wasn’t meant to be; obviously broken.  

The mother-daughter duo rushed over to her; Claire immediately dropped to her knees beside the young woman, and pressed her hand to the young woman’s head. She had a fever, and was shaking. Bree sat next to her mother, concern flooding her as she looked at the young woman who was her own age.  

“What do you need?” Bree asks. 

“We need to get back to the house, I have what we’ll need there.” 

When you woke up, pain laced every inch of your body. You felt like you were on fire, everything hurt – and that was putting it mildly.  

You wince as you lean up, or well try to. Before you can even get your chest up, you collapsing back in agony. Your head smashes against the wall, instantly causing a pounding. You groan, immediately bringing your hands up to your head. 

Dear God, what in the ever-loving hell? 

You just can’t catch a blasted break. All you had to do was visit your family briefly – briefly, not for almost an entire month! - and go home. This entire blasted affair, was not meant happen. You were meant to be home, catching up on a few jobs.  

Instead, you’re - you’re . . . where exactly are you? You’re not in the woods, where you fell asleep. You’re certainly not in New York, and you’re not with your mother.  

So, where are you? 

“Oh, good,” a woman said, startling you from your thoughts, “you’re awake!” 

You can only stare at the woman, shocked, and slightly scared. “Who are you?” you ask, warily. 

“I’m Claire Fraser,” the woman responds, a gentle smile on her face “My daughter and I found you unconscious in the woods. Your legs definitely broken, and you developed a small cold from sleeping there.” You stare at her, shocked. Any other person would have just left you; they wouldn’t have brought you back to their home. “You’re at Fraser Ridge.” 

“Oh, like,” you swallow harshly, “Mr. Jamie Fraser?” 

“You know my husband?” Mrs. Fraser asked, arching an eyebrow at you. She walked closer to you, fiddling with something in her hands.  

“I know of him. My father is F/N L/N,” 

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.” 

You nod slowly, dread filling every part of you. Your father and Jamie Fraser had known each other when they were kids and during Culloden. Long story short, they didn’t like each other. And that was saying it lightly.  

“Well,” Mrs. Fraser says, sitting down beside you on the bed, “that doesn’t matter right now. How is your leg feeling?” 

It’s been almost two months, and you’ve been staying with the Fraser’s since. Your leg has gotten better, but, according to Claire, is not yet ready for strenuous actions, like walking back to New York.  

Your stay hasn’t been awful, in fact, it’s been quite enjoyable. Jamie Fraser had been wary of you when you first arrived, but had grown accustomed to you. Brianna, Jamie and Claire’s daughter, has become a good friend of yours, although her and her mother seem to have knowledge that no else knows or understands.  

The Fraser family were a kind and lovely family, and you had grown to enjoy the time you’ve spent with them. You’re not looking forward to when it’s time for you to leave.  

You’ve been at Frasers Ridge for five months, and your finally able to make the journey back home.  

You’ve been dreading this day for the last two weeks, ever since you had started to make plans for the journey. It had started with a simple question at the dinner table; “Have you been thinking about going home,” Ian had asked almost two weeks ago.  

It had been a simple question, yet one that you had had no answer for. After that, you had felt that you needed to make plans. So, you had, you’ve been preparing to take your leave.  

The thought of leaving caused a weight to lay on your chest, it felt like you were being crushed by a horse. You felt sort of numb as you packed away the few belongings that you had.  

Claire had given you a bag to pack your belongings, and a food. All you felt was dread as you finished packing; you were going back home, to a life where you worked your hands raw, rarely speaking with anyone other than the other women you worked with, and being completely and utterly alone.  

The last few months that you’ve lived with the Frasers were the best months you’ve had in years. You didn’t feel alone here. You felt accepted, and cared for – and sometimes, even loved. You haven’t felt loved in years.  

A know on the corner of the door brought you out of your thoughts, causing you to bring your eyes up to the woman leaning against the doorway.  

“Hi,” Claire says, a gentle smile on her face, “I thought we should talk before you left.” 

You scoot down the bed, giving the woman room to sit next you. She sat down, and turned to face you. The two of you stared at each other in silence before Claire spoke again, “What are you going to do when you get back to New York?” 

“What I did before I came here, work as a seamstress?” You were confused, Claire knew what you did already, in fact she had loved your designs so much that you sewed a new dress for her.  

“No,” Claire gently grabs your hand, “I mean, what will you do for company? You can’t only work every day.” 

“Oh, I don’t mind. It gives me something to do.” 

Claire sighs, “I don’t think you should leave. We love having you here, and – and I’ll miss you.”  

You look at the woman who has treated you more like a daughter than your own mother has. She has made you feel more at home than your family, and certainly more than New York ever has. You didn’t want to leave.  

You wanted to stay at Frasers Ridge. You wanted to stay home. 

“I’ll stay.” 

[blackberrywars]

🧠 for your fem!Lambert and Aiden ofc :))))

Alright, I saved this one for last because these ladies are my babies and I will love them until Ao3 gives in and makes fem!aiden a proper tag. The headcanons will be many, and vary from tragic to silly to smutty.

Headcanons for my fem!Lambert and fem!Aiden

Lambert: If there ever was a poster child for bodily autonomy issues and resentment for how your body determines your life/status in society, she is it, baby! It’s part of why I felt compelled to write fem!Laiden in the first place because I wanted to explore how being female would affect her self-perception, feelings, and motivations

I think she resents the mutations less than male Lambert. She’d have been a feral, vicious creature even if she had stayed human, but witcher strength means she’ll never be treated the way her mother was, and it helped her go kill her father. It was one of the deciding factors in her Choice

Has complicated feelings about the forced sterilization. On the one hand, she’d never really considered having kids, but on the other, she sees it as yet another violation the witchers committed against her autonomy (and she does like kids --Lambert and Ciri are the bestest of bros)

She still learned how to make contraceptive and abortifacient potions though, and (I have no idea who started the “Lambert is amazing at alchemy” hc but bless them) has improved the recipes to make them incredibly effective. She sells them in towns/temples to make extra money

Will eat fucking anything. But her favorite food is quail eggs, and she can fit approximately 27 of them in her mouth at a time

Loves spankings almost as much as she hates asking for them

Annoyingly sensitive nipples. She tried to pierce them in hopes to reduce them, which backfired spectacularly because they got even more sensitive. Aiden is delighted, but still buys her soft, silky tunics so she doesn’t chafe

Gnaws on whatever part of Aiden is closest to show her affection. Just find a spot and chomps until Aiden kisses her forehead

Refused to teach Aiden to brew her improved potions for a reaaaaally long time because 1) she wants to show affection 2) she likes caring for Aiden and 3) she still feels she needs to be useful to be loved

Aiden: disaster bisexual who is persistent above all. Most of what we know about Aiden comes from the fact that she somehow managed to befriend Lambert on a deep enough level to be violently avenged, so we’re sticking with that theme

Has some issues with privacy and boundaries. For all that I think the Cat Caravan under Guxart would have been a healthier place to grow up, emotionally, they’re probably more than a little enmeshed. Aiden doesn’t always understand when Lambert needs to be left alone

This is partly inspired by @round--robin‘s lovely fic, Brothers First, but I definitely think Aiden was parentified by the older Cats --having to take care of younger kits, even when she was still a child. I imagine this to be partly just Caravan communal-raising culture, amplified by how busy the older Cats would have been re-establishing Dyn Marv. Very eldest-daughter situation.

This made her incredibly self-sufficient and vicious (will defend her little siblings to the death), but she’s also very secretly nurturing in a way that Lambert is baffled by. This woman will sing babies to sleep and say it’s no big deal while Lambert stands there in total shock

Also very into acts of service as a love language, giving and receiving. The first time Lambert hands her a bowl of cut fruit, she cries.

Presents herself as laid-back, but Is Not. She very much needs to be in control of the situation and will not stop until she has whatever it is she wants. It’s part of why I usually make her such a dom in my smut fics

Has incredibly ticklish inner thighs. Lambert abuses this whenever she feels like being a brat (read: getting a spanking)

Was overjoyed at having Lambert meet her family but also obsessively scented her and left visible hickeys wherever possible. She’s possessive

Thank you so much for this ask!!! I will talk about these characters until I die

[svnflowervol666]

Ma Petite Chérie: Christmas Now (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Read more from this little universe, Ma Petite Chérie, in my masterlist!

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Their first Christmas as a family of four. Underwhelming gifts, naughty kitchen counter shenanigans, being suspicious of Santa Claus, baby kissies, oat milk. 

Author’s Note: Baby bub is here! I’ve been so excited to finally be able to write about them, and I’m even more excited that you all get to read about them! This is the second part of my Christmas bits for this year. Unlike the last one, this one is obnoxiously adorable and no where near as upsetting (I really hurt my own feelings with that one). Reblogs, likes, tags, and feedback of any kind is always greatly appreciated! If you don’t see me before the year is up, I want to wish you a Happy New Year! Enjoy, take care, and tpwk.

“Two.”

“No. One.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Four.”

“Now that’s just bein’ greedy,” Harry spoke in a wounded tone with his brows furrowed together as if he were genuinely offended.

“But if Santa’s coming tonight and bringing more presents, why can’t I open these ones right now?”

Tallulah was on her knees in front of the sofa, fingers laced together with her chin resting on top of them. She was quite literally begging her father, who sat above her with one leg crossed over the other and an arm slung around his wife, to allow her to open the gifts that were prematurely nestled underneath the festive fir tree in their living room. Well, they weren’t married yet, but Harry couldn’t help that he preferred how the word felt rolling off of his tongue than “fiance.”

“Because they’re Christmas presents,” he stressed.

“Makes no sense t’ open them the day before.”

His freshly six-year-old daughter clearly didn’t like that answer - the pouty jut on her lip and subsequent huff told Harry all he needed to know.

“I already told ya, sweet pea. You can open one tonight. That’s it. The rest are for tomorrow.”

“Fiiiiiine,” the small girl said, although it was implied in her tone that it very much was not.

Tallulah hobbled over to the tree whilst still on her knees, and began riffling through the small litter of perfectly wrapped boxes to inspect which one would elicit the most satisfaction on her end. She seemed keen on a rather large one, decorated with tartan print and a red gift tag that read, “To: Lulah, From: Daddy & Mummy.” What she hadn’t realized, though, was that Harry had already made the selection for her. 

“Not tha’ one,” Harry reprimanded over the steaming mug of coffee in the hand that wasn’t rubbing circles on Y/N’s shoulder.

He typically strayed away from caffeine this late in the evening, but he knew he was in for a long night of waiting up until Tallulah was fast asleep so he could take on the role of Santa and deliver all of the gifts he had promised her for being good enough to make an appearance on the Nice List. Knowing how much shit he had packed in his office that stayed locked this time of year, he really wasn’t sure how he was going to do it successfully.

Another exasperated sigh left his eldest child’s lips, to which she replied, “But this one’s the biggest.”

“But it’s not the one we want yeh t’ open, Lulah. ‘S the one with polar bears on it,” Harry stated, though not with full confidence.

“It is the one with polar bears on it, right?” he whispered to Y/N.

This earned a laugh from Y/N, who muttered a quiet, “Yes,” in return. She laid her head in the crook of Harry’s neck, basking in the warmth that radiated from his body. He smelled like cinnamon and the nutmeg-flavored coffee beans he’d ground up just a few minutes before, and maybe a hint like baby barf.

Tallulah scavenged the space under the tree like a predator hunting its prey - all on the lookout for the present fitting the description Harry had given her. Harry and Y/N found themselves thoroughly entertained by watching her overturn almost every gift, and shared a similar giggle when she narrowed in on the box in question before letting out a victorious, “Aha!” into the room only lit by a firelog in the chimney.

“Grab the one for Olive too, please. Don’t want her feelin’ left out,” Harry called out to Talulah. 

“Okay, daddy!”

Her small arms stretched to the limit, trying to grab both packages without toppling over onto the others. Tallulah noted that they both felt the exact same underneath the wrapping paper, only her baby sister’s was much smaller than the one addressed to her.

“They feel like clothes,” Tallulah stated matter-of-factly as she took back her place on the floor with both presents in hand.

Harry sighed, leaning down to rest his mug near his feet against the sofa.

“Good grief. Just open it, will yeh?”

She needed no further instruction. Her fingers dug into the paper, piercing it with her nails and ruining the pastel blue parchment that was covered in dozens of cartoon polar bears partaking in various yoga poses. When Tallulah was able to tear the gift away from its wrapping, her hands grasped something soft.

“It’s....pajamas.”

Her tone was flat and unamused. Harry sensed her disappointment, though in his heart he certainly felt like he’d done a great job concocting his plan to have her open this particular gift on Christmas Eve.

“Yeah, but they’re Christmas pajamas. Don’t yeh want t’ look nice when Santa comes to visit tonight?”

This seemed to...disturb Tallulah. That was really the only way to describe how she looked at her dad - with her eyebrows scrunched up and her normally-plush lips pressed together in a thin line.

“...He’s gonna come in my room when I’m sleeping?”

Y/N hadn’t meant to, but a loud cackle erupted from her chest, which jostled the four-month-old baby girl that had the beginnings of sleepiness settling into her body. In contrast to the laugh from Y/N, Olive let out the tiniest of shrills, obviously upset that her mother had interupted the peacefulness she’d felt whilst being curled up against her chest.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, bubby,” Y/N cooed quitely, quickly moving to pat her daughter’s bum and comfort her.

“Mummy didn’t mean to wake you up.” 

Y/N pressed a quick kiss to the sparse tufts of hair atop Olive’s head before returning her attention back to Tallulah.

“Lulah, I promise you that Santa will not come in your room while you’re sleeping. What your dad means,” she snuck a glance in Harry’s direction in which he smirked back at her, “Is that you want to look nice on Christmas morning, don’t you? You know Nana’s gonna take a thousand pictures of you and Olive tomorrow, so now you don’t have to change when she gets here, yeah?”

Tallulah nodded, though it didn’t do much to lift her spirits. She fumbled the cream-colored thermal set adorned with gold stars between her fingers, the motion she was always somehow doing whether it be to her dad’s t-shirt while she laid next to him during a movie, Y/N’s lotus pendant when she was smaller and could fit on her chest, or otherwise.

“Plus,” Y/N added, a hint of irony in her voice, “I’d imagine the presents Santa’s going to bring you are much less boring than this.”

They shared a knowing smile, Tallulah’s cheeks growing rosey and her eyes twinkling at the mention of the magical, bearded man.

“I’m offended,” Harry scoffed.

“Really thought those pajamas were proper cute.”

“They are cute, daddy!” Tallulah chimed in, “I like them a lot. Thank you.”

It appeared that the young girl had realized her moping about not receiving the nail polish kit she’d asked for didn’t do her any good. And whether Harry was joking about being upset or not, she’d never want to hurt her dad’s feelings. He’d raised her too kindly to do otherwise.

“You’re welcome, bug,” Harry smiled at her.

“Let’s help Olive open hers, yeah?”

“I bet it’s pajamas,” Tallulah mumbled under her breath.

That earned her a light tug on one of her two braided plaits on her head from Harry. The two of them chuckled at each other, their faces almost looking like identical portraits of each other.

“Humor me for a second then, Lulah. ‘S your sister’s first Christmas.”

Tallulah scoots over on the floor to stand on her knees, this time by Y/N’s legs as she turned Olive around to sit up straight in her lap. Olive, who was once determined to fall asleep right there on the couch beside her mum and dad, was now awake and had taken an interest in the crinkling sound of the wrapping paper on the gift her big sister placed on top of her chunky thighs.

“Here, Livvy,” Tallulah cooed, “You tear it like this.”

She tried to show Olive how to tear away the present by ripping it halfway open, but her effort proved to be unsuccessful the second Olive managed to get her fingers around a scrap of paper and immediately placed it in her mouth. It appeared that Olive was much more interested in the gift wrap than she was her early Christmas present.

“Well, there goes that,” Harry said as he fetched the then soggy parchment from his infant daughter’s lips, making somewhat of a disgusted face as he wiped the excess drool on the leg of his pants.

Tallulah takes the honor of opening Olive’s present for her, and is unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes when her eyes meet a set of thermal pajamas like the ones she’d just received herself, only Olive’s were green with tiny, silver stars. She’d parted her lips to make an undoubtedly flippant comment, but Harry cut her off before she even had the chance to mutter the first syllable.

“Don’t do it, stink head,” Harry quipped, reaching for the discarded paper that was scattered on the rug beneath him so he could put it in the bin later.

“How about you go put on your lovely new pajamas so we can get everything set up f’ Santa to come, alright?”

“Okayyyyyy,” the small girl grumbled before snatching the thermal set from the floor and darting off to her room.

“That didn’t really go the way I hoped,” Harry mumbled as he reached over to take Olive from Y/N.

“It’s Christmas, baby,” Y/N reminded him.

“Kids want toys, not pajamas.”

“Yeah but,” Harry focused his attention at worming the tight-fitting pajamas up his baby girl’s abnormally chubby legs.

“’S what mum used t’ do for us when we were little. Always got pajamas on Christmas Eve. Figured it’d be nice t’ do it for the girls, too.”

“It is sweet, Harry. Just wouldn’t expect a six-year-old to be that enthused about it,” Y/N snickered.

Harry hummed in agreement, his tongue poked out as he fed Olive’s arm into the tight sleeve of her top, struggling a bit to get her balled up fist through the other side.

“Ahh, there we go. Thank god ya only have t’ wear these tomorrow, Chunk. They’ll be too snug by next week.”

“Leave my fat baby alone,” Y/N scolded.

“There’s nothing wrong with being well fed,” she added, leaning over to lightly pinch on her daughter’s round tummy in an attempt to get her to smile at her.

A gummy grin took over Olive’s features at the sight of her mother, a true mummy’s girl at heart. She was much like Tallulah in many ways, but so different at the same time. Olive was still nearly bald, whereas Tallulah’s hair grew like a sprout when she was Olive’s age. Tallulah had always been teeny tiny, no doubt due to her premature birth, and Olive clearly made up in weight for what Tallulah lacked when she was a baby. They both loved cuddles with Harry and listening to the sound of his voice as they fell asleep, but it always puzzled him when Olive didn’t respond to some of his antics in the way that Tallulah had. 

“‘M not bein’ mean. I’d jump on the chance to suck on your tits all day if I could, too.”

“Har-” Y/N began to reprimand him about how she can’t say that because there are little ears in the room, but was stopped short.

“I’m back! Can we set out the cookies now?”

Tallulah breathed heavily as if she just sprinted a marathon into the living room. 

“Sure can,” Harry responded.

“Come tell Livvy good night first, though. Mummy’s gotta feed her and put her t’ bed.”

She smiled at the mention of her little sister, whom she was always keeping at an arm’s reach. If Tallulah was awake, she was in the same room as Olive. It made Harry’s heart ache in the best way to watch the two of them interact with each other. The feeling he felt when he first saw Olive in Tallulah’s arms at the hospital never subsided. He was absolutely besotted for his girls.

“Bonne nuit, ma petite soeur,” Tallulah whispered to Olive, reaching down to hug her sister and kiss the crown of her head, which she happily accepted in the form of weaving her pudgy fingers into Tallulah’s braids and pulling them rather harshly.

Before he handed her off to Y/N to be fed and put down for the night, he gave Olive a kiss of his own.

“Bonne nuit, ma petite chérie.”

//

“‘How do you know Santa likes oat milk? Did he tell you that? Luna at school told me he likes chocolate almond milk.’ What kinda shit is that?!” Harry exclaimed with a mouth full of sugar cookie and in the quietest voice he could muster.

He’d just spent the last hour with Y/N, silently digging Tallulah’s gifts from Santa out of his office and placing them underneath the tree. Thankfully, he hadn’t tripped over his own feet and woken her up or else he would have cried right there on the spot.

All Y/N could do was giggle back at him from where she sat on top of the counter, bare legs swinging as she had a mouthful of the very same oat milk in question swishing in her mouth.

“She’s asking too many questions n’ I don’t like it one bit.”

“Think she’s just growing up, babe. The magic doesn’t last forever. She’s about at that age. Probably only have one or two more Christmases before she figures it out.”

Harry stared at the remaining half of the frosted cookie Tallulah left for Santa in his palm, eyes quiet and sullen.

“Don’t like that one bit, either,” he muttered.

“I know you don’t, bubby,” Y/N cooed, pulling Harry into her so he stood between her parted legs on the countertop.

“But you’ve still got Olive.”

He seemed to perk up at that, looking up at her through thick lashes with a smirk.

“Just Olive? We stoppin’ there?”

“I mean,” Y/N pursed her lips.

“Wouldn’t mind trying for a boy.”

Harry placed his hands on either side of her thighs, stroking her skin with his thumbs.

“Might not happen on the first go, though,” he tisked.

“Could take havin’ a few more for that t’ happen. Yeh alright with that?”

“As long as you’re not tired of me by then, then sure,” Y/N jested.

“’M never gonna be tired of you.”

He leaned in close to her, touching his forehead to hers. He was a split second away from kissing her, but then Y/N spoke up again.

“Harry,” she called out.

“Hmm,” Harry’s voice oozed with desire and darkness beginning to turn his eyes a deep shade of juniper.

“Can I please have a bite of your cookie?”

He softly bumped his forehead against hers as they both broke out into a fit of chuckles.

“Allumeuse,” Harry uttered, raising the sickeningly sweet cookie to her lips.

She chewed the baked good tantilizingly slow, making a scene of rolling her eyes back and moaning as if the taste was euphoric.

“Tu aimes ça,” she snided.

“Je fais.”

The two sat in silence after that, finishing up what was left of the small plate of sweets Tallulah had left by the chimney. It wasn’t often that the house was this quiet. Normally, there was a crying Olive to attend to or a needy Tallulah begging for one of them to get more paper out of Harry’s office printer so she could draw pictures of the plants in their garden out back. It would have been eerie, had the multi-colored lights from their Christmas tree not illuminated the majority of their open living space. The twinkling bulbs brought a sense of peacefulness about them. Maybe it was the season, or maybe it was because they’d been feeling so grateful for their small family as of late.

“Honey,” Harry broke the silence.

“What?” she looked up from where she’d been fussing with the hem of her shorts decorated with tiny snowflakes.

“Yeh got a little,” he gestured to her mouth before bringing his thumb to the corner of Y/N’s mouth.

Harry swiped a rogue dollop of blue frosting that rested there and pressed it onto her tongue. She wrapped her lips around his digit, sucking lightly to remove the sticky icing from his skin. Her eyes met his, not once straying as he applied just the slightest bit more of pressure with his thumb. He noted the way her breathing slowed and how she gently shuddered when he tightened the grip of her jaw with the rest of his fingers.

“So pretty,” he purred, marveling at the sight in front of him.

God, how Harry wished it weren’t just his finger resting on the soft, welcoming warmth of her tongue.

Y/N slid off his thumb with a calculated pop of her lips, licking them to ensure she’d rid herself completely of any stray crumbs.

“Kissy?” she posed, smirking.

“I’d be pretty rotten if I said no,” Harry replied before pressing his mouth against hers.

She wrapped her arms around him, forcing him to stand flush against the counter and even closer to her body. He teased her with this tongue, gliding it along the plush skin of the inside of her lip. Y/N welcomed him and parted her lips enough for Harry to get through. Both of them taste the saccharine remnants of the cookies they’d shared, and soon all that’s heard in the house are the suckling noises and heavy pants coming from Harry and Y/N. It’s not loud enough to be a disturbance, but it’s just enough to have them both yearning for more.

“Talk t’ me, lapine,” Harry broke away from her for long enough to mumble one sentence, still pressed against her lips.

“Tell me what yeh want.”

“Want you,” Y/N said in a shaky exhale, chasing Harry’s mouth to reconnect with her own.

“Yeah?” he taunted.

“Want me right here in the kitchen?”

“Ideally, no. But I wouldn’t stop you.”

She parted her legs even wider, attempting to rut against the thick fabric of Harry’s fleece sweatpants. Her center met something stiff and Harry pulled her even closer by the flesh of both bum cheeks, massaging them with his massive palms in a manner that he knew drove her mad.

“That’d be pretty naughty of us, wouldn’t it? Not sure if Santa would approve of that one.”

Before she’s given a chance to respond, Harry snuck his hand between their thighs and began softly petting Y/N over her shorts. Her head fell back in pleasure, temporarily detaching her lips from Harry’s. She knows she can’t make a single sound or else she’ll wake up the entire house so she just sits there with her brows furrowed, silently gasping and letting these sweet, broken moans spill from her throat that spur Harry on even further.

“Can feel you even through your fuckin’ shorts, Y/N,” he grunted, slowing grinding against his own palm that was the only thing separating him from her heat.

This time, it’s Y/N that reached between them, feeling for the stifness that lies between his legs. She wraps her fingers around him through his sweatpants, leisurely tugging at his cock. Harry’s all but forced to begin sucking on the sensitive skin of her neck to keep himself from crying out at the contact, working at blossoming deep lilac and mulberry colored bruises there.

“Bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you?” he muffles into her collarbone.

Y/N hummed, crossing her legs around Harry’s back as he began to focus his attention to rubbing her clit over the material of her shorts.

“Bet you could too,” she whined.

“’S that what you want, hm? Want me t’ make you cum without even touchin’ you right?”

“‘M not gonna have a choice if you don’t do something else pretty soon.”

She sped up the work she’s doing near Harry’s crotch, paying mind to what she can make of his tip between his boxers. With her thumb, she rubbed expert circles around him, massaging him in the way that he’s doing to her. Both of them could feel it, the slow build up of pressure deep in their abdomen - a coil winding tighter and tight with the threat of snapping.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N.”

He was biting her neck now, completely consumed by the feeling of both the damp patch seeping through Y/N’s shorts and onto his fingers and the precum dripping onto her more delicate ones through his sweatpants.

In an attempt to not embarass himself like a horny teenager, Harry withdrew his hand from in between her thighs and places it around her bum all in the same breath. Y/N sighed defeatedly at the loss of friction against the place she needed it most, dropping her head into Harry’s shoulder and whining rather noisily. Before she even has the chance to curse him for stopping, he scooped her off the counter with all of his strength and began walking both of them to their bedroom so he could fuck her properly.

Their lips detach when Harry drops her onto the bed and a woosh of air leaves the down comforter, causing the hem of Y/N’s top to fly up and expose her tummy. She still wore the deep, almost-metallic stretch marks she’d acquired when she was pregnant with Olive, but it wasn’t with shame. Her and Harry had a talk not that long ago about how much he loved them because it reminded him of how much he cherished watching his baby girl grow before she made her grand, earthside appearance. She’d not mentioned the slightest bit of disdain for them after that.

Just as Harry tugged his jumper over his head and threw it off somewhere that he’d worry about in the morning, his eyes caught the digital clock that rested on the wooden night stand on his side of the bed.

“’S past midnight,” he said with a lopsided grin, climbing on top of the girl he vowed to spend his last dying breath beside.

“Yeah?” Y/N asked, for the life of her unable to understand why that was relevant when just minutes ago, he was rutting into her hands and aching for release.

“Yeah,” Harry smiled against her lips.

He pulled up once more to add, “Happy Christmas.”

She had half the mind to smack him, but all she did was shake her head and smile.

“Happy Christmas, Harry. Will you please fuck me now?”

“Think I can manage that.”

It was the first of many Christmas presents for Y/N.

[ayuuria]

Yashahime Translation: Prince Animage May 2021 Issue (Part 1)

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

Due to the amount of content in the magazine, I have decided to the split the translation into three parts as follows

Part 1: Elder Son’s Resolve! Interview with Director Satou Teruo

Part 2: We Won’t Give Up On the Future! Father-Daughter Round-Table Talk with Narita Ken, Matsumoto Sara, and Komatsu Mikako

Part 3: The Strength to Overcome Destiny. Interview with Director Satou Teruo

Please note that there are two interview articles with Director Satou in this magazine.

The Strength and Pride of a Beast King

The Beast King of the West’s (The Dog General) eldest son, Sesshōmaru. He is far from the stereotypical image of an eldest son being “A reliable elder brother who protects his younger brother” or “A filial pious male heir”.

He once clashed with his half-demon half-brother, Inuyasha, many times. Also, instead of ruling over the western lands in place of his late father, he continues a wandering journey. However, his outstanding ability and noble mindedness that can overwhelm others is that of a beast king’s eldest son. Always treading the path he believes in, he is an aloof existence who never sucks up to anyone, no matter how backed into a corner he gets. That is the way of life for Sesshōmaru, the one who inherits the blood of a beast king.

That stance does not change, even with his own daughters, Towa and Setsuna. He does not spoil them because they are his daughters. On the contrary, he is sending them on a difficult path. Even when his second daughter, Setsuna, lost her life as result, he never grieved.

At a glance, Sesshōmaru’s actions appear collected, but behind that he must surely be hiding his own conviction. Though we cannot yet see the full picture of what Sesshōmaru is thinking, let us wait for the second chapter (season) while believing in the strength and pride of the eldest son!

Sesshōmaru The Eldest Son of the Beast King of the West. A proud demon with greater demon parents. Though he is not on good terms with his younger brother, Inuyasha, when Kirinmaru tried to fell Inuyasha, Sesshōmaru sent Inuyasha inside the black pearl.

Family

Parents: The Dog General and his wife

Siblings: Younger half-brother, Inuyasha (different mothers)

How He’s Addressed: “Sesshōmaru”

When One Says Eldest Son, (one thinks) “Stubborn” Looks Like He Will not Show Affection for A While?

In episode 18, Sesshōmaru gallantly appeared before Towa and the others as they fell into a tight spot battling Kirinmaru. Even though he fended off Kirinmaru and saved his daughters, he left the scene without a word. There is a glimpse of Sesshōmaru’s obstinate heart when Jaken asks him “What about the two of them?” and he answers, “Don’t say anything”.

When One Says Eldest Son, (one thinks) “Pride” One Who Inherits the Blood of the General of the West

The pride he has for the beast king blood he got from his father is an aspect you can’t leave off when talking about Sesshōmaru. During the time of “Inuyasha”, it was that pride that made Sesshōmaru dislike and look down upon humans and half-demons. However, because of his meeting with the young girl, Rin, and moving with her, a kind heart slowly started to bud within him.

When One Says Eldest Son, (one thinks) “Harshness” Spartan Training for Even His Daughters

Though it was to hide them from Zero and Kirinmaru, to take his daughters away from their mother immediately after birth and imposing a “rite of courage and cowardice”? Even with Setsuna’s death before him, he entrusts Towa with Tenseiga, (a sword) that can resurrect a dead person only once, but the blade is broken… His harsh trial for his daughters will continue in the second chapter (season)?!

Pay Attention to These Eldest Sons Too!

Kohaku Eldest son of the demon slayer clan. During his youth, he had a somewhat unreliable side to him compared to his elder sister, Sango. However now, he has matured splendidly, both mentally and physically. Taking over from his late father, he became the head of the demon slayers.

Hisui Miroku and Sango’s eldest son. He has two older twin sisters, Kin’u and Gyokuto, who do things at their own pace. For a long time, whether it was just from the rebelliousness of an eldest son , he misunderstood his father as a greedy and cowardly person. However, in episode 13, he changed his perception.

Sōta The eldest son of the Higurashi family and Kagome’s younger brother. Towa’s adoptive father. He saw Kagome fighting demons during his childhood, so he more or less does not get phased easily. Even when Towa returned to the feudal era, he gave her a gentle push.

Kirinmaru It is not known if he has other siblings aside from his older sister, Zero, but one can sense the personality of an eldest son from his imposing appearance. Whether it is towards his elder sister, the severity in his roar might even get through to Sesshōmaru.

Eldest Son’s Resolve!

Formerly, there was special regard for the eldest son as the “heir to the clan”. However now, there is a diversity in worth. If there are neets, then there are also vagrant sons and there are even families that are not blood related! Various eldest sons who are each fighting in their own fields, gather around~!

Good Brothers, Good Rivals Director Satō Teruo

— Where do you think Sesshōmaru’s charm as an eldest son lies?

Satō: Even if you say elder brother, Sesshōmaru’s relationship with Inuyasha is that of a half-brother. You may not really get a sense of an eldest son or elder brother but… I think he’s fundamentally a nice person. For the sake of his goals, he’s willing to move (others) in a way that’s convenient for him, whether it be his younger brother or children. However, in truth, it’s also for their sake and it’s like despite everything, he won’t treat everyone badly.

— That’s a little elder brother like.

Satō: He clashed with Inuyasha for a long time but over time, he took action in a way that would become proper support. Although, I don’t know just how far Sesshōmaru planned things. He has a “Whether they live or die is up to them” kind of thinking. It’s possible that the actions Inuyasha chose to take just happened to turn out well.

— In “Hanyō no Yashahime”, there was a phrase that came up for the daughters’ trial = “Rite of Courage and Cowardice”. Could that harshness also be eldest son like?

Satō: Even during the “Inuyasha” era, Sesshōmaru would always back Inuyasha into a corner but Inuyasha overcame and crawled his way up. Not only do I think that Inuyasha was able to grow because he had that high wall known as Sesshōmaru, but if Sesshōmaru hadn’t been there, it’s possible that Inuyasha wouldn’t have been able to battle Naraku. I feel that the two of them are good brothers and good rivals. In that term, I think Sesshomaru has some amount of faith in Inuyasha.

— By the way, are you an eldest son yourself, director Satō?

Satō: I’m the same as Sōta, Kohaku, and Hisui in that I’m the “eldest son who’s also the youngest child”. For some reason, there are many eldest sons who are the youngest child in this work so somehow, I felt close to them. Being the eldest son while also being the youngest child is completely different from being the eldest son and child. Everything is based on the elder sisters’ mood! (laughs) My two older sisters would mimic Pink Lady (translator’s note: A pop duo from the late 1970s) and I would applause as I watched. There’s an image that that’s how eldest sons who are also the youngest child are thoroughly trained on “how to read the mood” (laughs).

— Sōta certainly is able to read the mood. He was completely unphased when Setsuna, Moroha, and the demon came from the feudal era.

Satō: Sōta has nerves of steel doesn’t he. Thanks to seeing Kagome and Inuyasha go back and forth to the feudal era right before his eyes, even when Setsuna, Moroha, and the demon appeared, he just took a philosophic view like “Ahahaha… See, I always told you. There are demons”. Being able to adapt to their surroundings like “that’s just how it is” I think is a trait of eldest sons who are also the youngest child (laughs).

— What about Kohaku’s aspects of being an eldest son?

Satō: Kohaku at present is splendidly carrying on the family work as the head of the demon slayers, though it’s not a large family like in the past. I think while carrying the pride he inherited from both his father and elder sister, he’s trying to protect the work of demon slaying. When thinking of Sango as an elder sister, she seems kind of scary (laughs).

— Hisui also inherited the family work.

Satō: You’re right, inheriting Hiraikotsu from Sango. With uncle Kohaku’s existence, it’s possible that Hisui felt “he wanted to do the same thing” during his childhood days, like how children from kabuki families do so to speak.

— If we’re talking eldest son with an older sister, it’s Kirinmaru.

Satō: That is the case. Kirinmaru was a beast king who ruled over the east and stood alongside the Dog General so he’s already a feudal lord/head of the house. There was the phrase “Don’t get carried away” that he said to Zero. As the head, he was admonishing his sister who lacked a sense of justice. I think that dislike for half-demons comes from their position. In the second chapter (season), a new key person will appear in the story. Kirinmaru’s family relationship will become more complex again going forward so please pay attention to how that relationship in regards with Sesshōmaru’s family will turn out.

[grxmincvdescxnce]

( shin seyoung, she/her, cursed blood ) to RHEYLA RYU, the whole world looks like an open page. with a leap of faith, their ability of OBJECTIVE PRECOGNITION grows a little stronger. they are a MARTEN PINE FOX shade aligned to HOUSE of BELTRAN. for TWENTY-NINE years, they have survived a world of magic with both their PRAGMATISM and IMPUDENCE. they work as a FREELANCE JOURNALIST AND PARANORMAL INVESTIGATOR, but if they could change their fate, they’d want to BRUSH ASIDE UNNECESSARY INFLUENCE AND LIVE HER HEART’S TRUTH.

inspo includes the likes of the following: tendou akane of ranma 1/2, kotobuki ran of super gals, karen page of daredevil series, kuwabara shizuru of yu yu hakusho, tsukiyono ruli of digimon ghost game, ella of frell of ella enchanted, lois lane of dc comics, hino rei of sailor moon, alice cullen of twilight, eliza maza of gargoyles.

&. ⸻ BASICS

name — gadriel. rheyla ryu, legally changed

aliases — rei

birthdate — march 23

zodiac — aries

birthplace — selphia

sexuality — biromantic pansexual 

alignment — chaotic good

temperament — choleric

element — fire

primary vice — wrath

primary virtue — diligence

house — beltran

occupation — freelance journalist and paranormal investigator

markings — curse mark on her inner thigh

&. ⸻ HEADCANONS

the birth daughter of lady silk, she is the youngest of three. her sister is seraphim, head of fraser, and her eldest brother is ulysses lebeau or gabriel, though this isn’t readily known. seraphim is the only sibling she is aware of at this time. their relationship is strained at best.

rei would have her name legally changed in an effort to distance herself from her mother and her practices. the surname would stem from her father, an action of further petty spitefulness. 

speaking of her father, rei is also a cousin of gabriella ryu and naksu, with her father serving as a direct relative of the ryu clan. he remains her only living parental figure at this stage, though he has been jailed in relation to the ryu crime organization, which he would never truly disclose. rei has only recently come to know of the family deeds, in part, and she is still mostly in the dark. her father would lead her to believe he acted separately from family wishes, protecting them further. 

she would spend time with her father’s side of the family quite often in her efforts to keep her mother’s influence at bay and stray from any ongoing abuse in her youth. a consequence of this time spent would have her watching over the ryu family brood, serving as gabriella’s keeper in particular. in time, her ‘nanny’ status would become something of an official title, though it’s become less of a necessity in the passing years given the ages of all involved.

having lady silk as a mother, one would imagine similar tendencies present in rei as her sister and one would be correct in this assessment in most ways. particularly in the level of stress endured, which has never quite left rei entirely. in fact, she seems to thrive in it, given the nature of her work. rei was wise enough to abandon her family ‘legacy’ when of proper age to know the difference between genuine love and what her mother spouted. and while she would prefer her sister wise up as well, rei has never directly spoken to sif on this concern in great depth.

for all her mother has done, however, rei is still conflicted enough on her relations to maintain cordialness with her stepmother especially, and occasionally, her sister.     

as a child, she was absolutely someone who snuck around the house to read comics and enjoyed wrestling in secret during her usual ‘sick’ days, her take-charge nature easily falling in line with aspirations to be heroes of their caliber. in her own right, at least. and while more disillusioned these days, that hero tendency still thrives heavily in her bones.

she is just as athletic as she’s always been, heavily involved in sports of all kinds without her mother’s immediate knowledge. these days, her boundless energy is expelled by running around town at all hours of the day, chasing leads or the ryu brood.

her investigative work is carried in tandem with tivan savio’s firm and while little more than a glorified secretary some days, she finds value and freedom in what she does. the stray dog strut investigative offices serve as a second home, with a majority of her day spent in service to others on mostly her own terms. 

naturally drawn to such phenomena, supernatural fiction is her favorite genre, followed by a good old fashioned thriller. 

she tends to follow plenty of outlets that specialize in paranormal work, especially, and blogs on similar subjects in her free time.

she owns an enchanted lighter that, once clicked, has the ability to transform her into literal smoke and travel freely in this form. it resembles a zippo, but thinner, rounder, and marble green in color.

enchantments aside, she is also a regular enough smoker.

her status as a cursed blood is recent, just shy of two weeks. she has absolutely no recollection of the incident in question, having blocked out the trauma of it all entirely.

&. ⸻ DREAMSHADE FORMS

pine marten fox ( base ) — essentially, an american pine marten weasel with a fox tail and fox ears. it is, frankly speaking, something of a go-to form despite the brief amount of time she’s come to be a cursed blood. — for reference: here

nine-tailed fox ( hollow ) — her ultimate form and one she has absolutely no clue about. — for reference: here

&. ⸻ ABILITY

objective precognition — the ability to perceive future events based on others intentions. even before her transformation, rei has always been attuned to the divine and spiritually inclined, her talents of perception incredibly keen. she’s found her ability dramatically enhanced since, resulting in her capacity for more diligent future sight.

&. ⸻ CURSE

ella enchanted — lady silk would go a step further in ensuring the life of rei was more to her standards by cursing the poor girl to absolute obedience and an inability to refuse her. how this was accomplished has never been known by rei directly. this curse, perhaps without silk’s knowledge, also extends to any command given by another. rei has done her best to hide this from anyone, so even sif is unaware. still, because of what it entails, rei is prone to being found doing plenty of odd favors even when she wishes she could refuse.

[rubysunnday]

Dear Mother,

A/N: Inspired by the post about what Mrs Shelby’s name is. It’s also inspired by my first ever fic on here, The Letters, since it’s almost been a year since I posted it. 

Her name had become a taboo. No one dared to mention the same of Mrs Shelby - the woman who’d thrown herself into the Cut because she went out of her mind. It was always “Mrs Shelby” or “the Shelby’s mother”. 

Her name had died with her. She didn’t even have her name on the grave. Just mother. 

Y/N Shelby didn’t even know her mother’s name. It was nowhere to be seen within the walls of the house and there was no record of it in any photo album or bundle of letters. 

She was a ghost - a nameless whisper on the wind. 

Y/N never asked about her mother’s name. Her brothers had told her she’d died from an illness - slowly wasted away before their eyes until she was no more. It was the truth, in a way. Her mind had give up and her body had followed not long after. 

She’d thrown herself into the Cut and had sunk to the bottom - like Ophelia when her lover had murdered her father. Left behind was an already broken and bruised family who’s eldest members were about to go to war. 

Y/N didn’t remember her mother. She didn’t remember the screaming, the crying, Tommy trying to shield her, Finn and Ada from their mother as she went out of her mind. 

Committing suicide was no way to go. A mother committing suicide was another thing entirely. How could she be so selfish and abandon her children? 

That was were the fear and suspicion of the Shelby’s had begun. All because of their mother. And they used it to their advantage, quickly becoming the most feared and respected family in Birmingham.

But no child should have had to grow up hearing whispered secrets about their mother and how it wouldn’t be long before the children followed her into the cold, icy depths of the Cut.

Y/N Shelby had no mother. Polly tried her best but she was never a maternal person - the loss of her children had damaged her beyond repair - and Y/N missed the nurturing nature mother’s apparently had. 

She didn’t remember her mother. There were pictures of her in Tommy’s house - of her with John, Arthur, Tommy and Ada. She looked beautiful - like a Hollywood movie superstar. She was picture perfect, smiling at the camera with a loving hand on John’s shoulder and her arm around Arthur’s waist. 

It was a snapshot of a forgotten time - before the demons invaded her mind and ripped her soul from her mind. And it wasn’t a true snapshot, not really. She’d suffered with the demons for years before that image, but it only got worse.

But Y/N took that image of her mother - looking perfect and like a porcelain doll. And she wrote her a letter. She introduced herself, told her what she looked liked and what her favourite things were and put it in her desk draw.

For the next twelve months, Y/N wrote a letter to her mother every day. She poured her heart and soul out to this invisible woman who’s name no longer existed and who’s image was frozen in a dusty photo on her brother’s desk.

8th April, 1923

Dear Mother,

I turned nineteen today, Nothing spectacular happened - I had a nice meal out with Ada and went riding with John and Arthur. Tommy vanished off to London - again - and I didn’t see him all day. Not quite sure what I’ve done to piss him off but, alas. 

Polly gave me your necklace today The string of pearls you bought with the first bit of money Arthur made. I’m wearing them, and your engagement ring, as I write this. I look like a proper lady with my new dress on...

It’s been sixteen years since I last saw you. I’m doing alright without you but it’s hard. I see Ada with Karl and Polly with Michael and my heart aches for that. But i know I can never have it and will never have it. 

I hope you’re alright, wherever you are, mother.

All my love,

Your ever loving daughter, Y/N x

As the days and the weeks went by, the bundle of letters got bigger and more tattered. She told no one about her little ritual - she knew they wouldn’t approve. Her family never dared mention their mother for fear of bringing about a curse.

Y/N was never that superstitious. No curses existed - it was just poor luck and death threats. 

1st August, 1923

Dear Mother,

I feel like I’ve almost caught you up on the past sixteen years. The Great War, Tommy’s wedding, both of John’s weddings and his gaggle of small humans he calls children. There’s almost nothing else to say to you.

Not that you’re actually here, that is. I doubt you were ever really here.

I wrote my brothers letter when they were in France. That was different, though, because they wrote back and sent me little things. I still have the violet John sent me from the Somme. 

I have all your things. No one else wanted them - they say they’re cursed or some shit like that. I was never that superstitious, it’s just life attempting to play God. No one has a say on who gets to be a survivor and who gets to be a martyr. 

I like to think of you as Ophelia. She sang to herself as she drowned, oblivious to her death. I hope you were like that, finally at peace with yourself as you floated down the Cut with the fallen flowers and leaves around you like a halo. 

There’s me trying to romanticise your death. No one even mentions you by name so forgive me for trying to make you seem more alive than apparently you are.

Well, you’re not alive are you. You’re dead. 

You have a grave. It’s up on the hill by the old tree that was used for hangings back in the day. Near Tom’s house. It’s an alright spot, I suppose. Nothing special. No one ever visits you, however. Your name isn’t even on the pebble someone put there as a marker.

We couldn’t afford a headstone. We can now but Tommy would murder me if he knew I did that. He hates talking about you.

No one ever tells me about you. All I have are a few photos that are practically falling apart and your clothes and jewellery. 

Anyway, I need to go. Family meeting and all that shit.

Your ever loving daughter,

Y/N x

By the time Christmas came, Y/N’s desk drawer was full of letters to her non-existent mother. Each letter was bundled together by month with colour coordinated ribbons for each month. February was purple, September orange and so on. 

She’d told her mother everything she’d ever wanted to. Her first kiss, her first love, her first break up, the time she got shot, the numerous times she almost died. 

She had no need to tell her anything anymore. Her mother felt so much more real to her now than she ever had before. 

She made her decision on Christmas Day evening. Everyone else was inside Arrow House watching the children open their last few presents and drink the remaining of the wine and whiskey. 

Y/N slipped outside, grabbed her horse, and rode up to the hill were the old hanging tree had once been. Her mother’s grave sat to the left of the tree - a tiny mound of earth with a pebble as its only marker. Y/N dismounted from her horse and approached the grave, clenching the letters tightly.

Twelve bundles. Almost 365 letters. 

Y/N found some twigs and branches and made a small fire at the foot of the grave. A moment later it roared into life and crackled away, casting an orange glow over her face.

She spread Tommy’s coat out on the ground and sat down, cross-legged, in front of the fire, clutching the letters. For once, she wasn’t wearing a dress belonging to her mother. Instead it was a mismatch of her brother’s old trousers, shirts and waistcoats. 

She started with the first of January. 

Y/N untied the ribbon and pulled out the first letter, the date neatly scrawled on the top left of the envelope. She read it through once, flipped it over to look at the address and then put it on the fire.

The paper curled as it burnt away, the writing fading into nothing but ash and sparks. 

The second of January followed suit before the first of January had even finished burning. 

Each letter curled and burned in the fire, the words and the sentiments becoming nothing more than ash. 

Fifteenth of February quickly followed the fourteenth. 

Twenty-eighth of April was followed by the twenty-ninth. 

Each and every letter was add to the fire until she was only left with one. 

25th December, 1923

Dear Mother,

I’ve told you everything. 

There’s nothing left to say, now. I’ve spilled my darkest secrets and untold stories to you. 

I’ve moved on, now. I still wish I had you around but I’m coping with it. I wish you were more than just words and pictures and jewellery. But nothing is fair. 

I’ve burnt all the letters and I hope the words reach you. I hope their spirit and their meaning reach you and reassure you that your daughter is doing fine. 

You used to be mine but now you belong to the world.

I only wish I’d learnt your name.

All my love

Your ever grateful and loving daughter,

Y/N Miriam Shelby

[vidalinav]

Princesses out of Daughters

Summary: Papa Archeron reflects on the strangeness of his three little girls. 

Masterlist

Snippet: The Prince of Merchants could not say his wife had made princesses out of daughters. He found his daughters had always been a little odd. He wondered if that did not spell neglect. His presence so absent that his daughters once seeds had turned wild like weeds when they should have been flowers.

~

The eldest Archeron sister looked to the doorway, her eyes already filled with enough frankness to unsettle her father. At twelve, she was already gifted in disturbing the peace, the quiet somber home turning into battle cries of woeful wills and ire... except for these nights when she’d become as gracious as her mother.  

She didn’t smile or wave at him as he neared. Merely turned back to present company, a couple that nodded curtly as one would do to the owner of the house. Nesta didn’t seem to care about his presence, dismissing him as if he were no more than some footman bringing her a glass of champagne, she was still too young to drink. She smiled easily at the pair. Her face lighting up like the moon and his daughter dressed like it too, wearing a gown of silver, pearls woven around her neck. A present from his last trip to the continent. 

She didn’t bother looking at him as he rested his hand on her arm, the only form of contact she’d allow. But Nesta, catching the eye of a passing servant, moved to take a glass. Water he’d assumed, because he would not let her have wine. An argument he was firm to uphold.  

Nesta didn’t take a sip, though he understood why, frowned at his daughter who’d successfully shrugged him off. He was not ashamed to admit the act disturbed him. The lack of affection, the keen stares even as she smiled once more, the twist of her lips foreign and unnatural—the ease at which she could be so unbothered. She was an adult in a child’s body, he remarked. A child who didn’t care for such childish antics. Any form of love beneath her, perhaps.  

She’d not been made like her other sisters and try as he might to have made a home that was filled with all sorts of dreams and... fanciful things a child could want; porcelain dolls, intricate games, dresses woven in rubies and gold, dangling ornaments for her hair, his daughter had not cared for such things. Nesta did not care for anything but staring at doorways, out windows, at clocks—as if time would stand still if she’d watched them for long enough.  

Even now, he could feel her eyes shift to the arch of the entryway, to the wooden doors enlaced in stained glass.

He’d asked her once, why she stared at the clock as if it might tell her future or at the doors when no guests were scheduled to visit, but she’d merely replied that she was waiting.  

“Waiting for what?” He’d implored.

She huffed, her chin raised as her mother had taught her, high enough that she might see over the tallest of them all. Over mountains and the egos of small-minded men. “You would not understand.”

He’d left her alone after that, muttering to himself that he ought to ask her mother when the proper time to move her out to the continent was, broaden her mind beyond this house and these people.  

But here she was again, her lips raised into something serpentine, looking to the door. Always watching as if something might come through.  

Nesta had done well enough with his friends. None of them commenting on the strangeness of his eldest when she’d been born so beautiful. There was an easy grace about her, trailing her as she walked, as she breathed. Her mother had said she walked like a queen. He thought she acted like she was bored. The act of conversing little more than watching paint dry.  

Perhaps, he’d take her on one of his trips. Introduce her to the fascinating world of trade, instead of having her flittering about. She was tough, he knew. On many occasions, he’d watch her argue with men twice her size—how women were better writers because they understood the true world, and men only thought they were better writers because no one had ever told them otherwise.

He apologized of course, for his daughter’s rampant tongue, but his friends never seemed to mind, a special sort of gleam in their eyes, as if they too saw what she might become with a little guidance—with a helping hand.  

He did not enjoy watching them look at his daughter as if they meant to cut her open—discover a golden heart and diamond encrusted lungs. Worth something more if they stuck around for long enough, his daughter only appreciating in value. But Nesta never shied away, and she did not do so now. Her mother looked approvingly from the other side of the room, and the man, a friend of his if he’d like to call him that, who owned land in the south resulting in a lucrative lumber yard, began shuffling his feet. Nesta noticed of course, doing her best to hide her smirk, politely nodding her head as he told her she would grow into one beautiful lady.  

She was only twelve, he wanted to remind him. But his wife had warned against ruining his daughter’s prospects no matter how far in the future they might be. The couple had a son. He would inherit his parent’s wealth if not their luck in business, and if his parents were in fact good in business, their son would also win an Archeron, too.  

“She looks too grown,” he’d admitted the night before. His wife unpinning her hair, the drops of pearls set lightly on the vanity as if the mere act was a routine of seduction. His wife had not seduced him since his youngest had been born.  

“Yes, and soon she’ll be blooming. A beautiful lady sweeping some gentlemen away.” She laughed pleased, the sound filled with enough gaiety he wondered if it didn’t sound maleficent. “My little queen married before even I.”

The pride in her mother’s voice had shook him. Plainly. Irrevocably. How could she pride herself on sanctioning the pursuit of his child, introducing her to wealthy people, going to balls that looked more like the auctions he’d witnessed in Nava? Was his daughter to be the next cow? A bell hanging from her neck.  

As he watched his daughter flutter about, his wife coming to grasp her by the shoulder to lure her to another man, never women alone, he thought the continent might be a good idea indeed. Even if it might be hard to get her there, to keep her safe.  

He was lucky at least that Elain had not yet been set out on the butcher block.  

Elain, nearly eleven, had only just started being taught the proper ways of a lady. Her mother did not feel the need before or after Elain had started filling out her form. She had not been born… conventionally pretty. When she laid in his arms as a babe, she’d looked like a mangy thing. Her head a bit too large for the rest of her body. She’d not grown out of her awkward limbs until she was seven and by then his wife had deemed it a lost cause. If she turns out beautiful enough, she’d said, I might teach her a thing or two to secure her fortune, but I won’t waste by breath when she looks like one of those science experiments gone wrong.  

The idea that his daughter would be deemed a science experiment goaded at him. His sweet Elain. Quiet perhaps, withdrawn at the best of times, but kind. A bit sensitive, he’d admit but there was no mean-spirited bone in her body. 

He once joked that her heart had been made of glass. Don’t fall or you might shatter, he’d laughed. Elain had cried. Nesta had comforted, patting her back as she gave him a look so harsh, he’d visibly shuttered. Yes... Elain was the sweet one, growing into her beauty every day. Maybe even to outshine his eldest in due time.  

As he stepped away from that galivanting group, with their smoke and perfume, the room too bright and too loud, he half expected to hear Elain’s cries coming from the above floors. His little girl having a penchant for night terrors. But as the chatter became a distant thing behind him, he heard nothing. Not a peep.  

He aimed to check on the two sleeping children, stepping towards the stairs, but he could feel a gaze on his back. Shivers ran down his spine and even though he knew it was stupid to fear his own daughter, he turned to face her, her eyes piercing his.  

Her stare might as well have been an arrow shot straight through his heart.  

Nesta blinked at him slowly, no malice on her face, but no joy either. Devoid of any and all emotion. Such a pretty porcelain doll, he thought. One that might wake one day with a mind of its own and a terrible tiredness of being set up on a shelf and stared at all day long. He could almost hear the sound of her music box, the twinkling notes as the dancer spun on its golden hinge.  

He had given it to her on her sixth birthday, after promising he would not miss it like her fifth. He’d been two weeks late, but the music box had made up for it, he found. For she’d played it nonstop. Again, and again. 

So many hours and days had passed with that sound lightly playing from her room. In the halls. Before and after her lessons. Her mother had hated it, claiming headaches and thus a weakened disposition. She’d taken it way, taking out the small mechanism which left the box devoid of any music.  

Nesta hadn’t showed any emotion then, either.  

He waved a hand awkwardly at his child non-child, trying to smile even though it came out as a grimace. Nesta only turned away. 

He sighed and supposed he could not win all battles.  

He began his trek to his daughters’ rooms. He walked up the stairs, the carpet dark against the wood. Luxuriant as his wife preferred. The creak in each step made him want to hire a contractor to see what might deaden the floors. He was surprised his wife hadn’t complained about it yet.  

The foyer was dark. Quiet in a way that might have meant his two youngest were sleeping or playing a very good game of hide and seek, which he caught on more than one occasion when it came to his youngest.  

Indeed, a small figure stood in the middle of the hallway as he turned the corner. Her hair was messy and unbound, covering her face. When she saw him, she stopped. A preternatural sort of stillness arching through her small figure. He held his breath, but the little girl moved swiftly, running and alive with giggles.  

“Feyre!” He yelled in a hush, clenching a hand to the wall to steady himself. “You scared me half to death. What are you doing up?”

He knew the answer, of course. 

Feyre could never sleep. Always awake and wandering. Always a little lost in the woods of her mind. He’d called her Little Red, for the first few years of her life for as soon as she started walking, they could never seem to find her. He’d almost had a heart attack when she’d gone missing one day only to be found hours later, asleep in a cabinet. Her head sweetly resting on a pillow of bread.  

“It’s past your bedtime. I shouldn’t have to remind you of that,” he warned, his voice faintly disciplinary. It sounded odd even to him and Feyre only titled her head as if waiting for him to drop the act. She crossed her arms in the way he knew meant she would fight him as she so often did. It seemed at least two of his girls did not see him as the authority.  

“Nesta gets to stay up,” she countered.  

“Nesta is older than you,” he sighed, having heard the argument many, many times.  

“Only by three and a half years,” Feyre huffed, her brows furrowing.  

“Almost four years.”

“Then what about Elain? Elain’s only one year younger and she has to go to bed.”  

That was always her argument…  

And it was a good argument. One that he couldn’t always refute, because in his mind Elain should have been with Nesta... or should he say, Nesta shouldn’t have been there at all. But he couldn’t very well explain the favoritism to his youngest, when he didn’t wholly understand it himself.  

“Elain doesn’t like parties,” he lied.  

“What? That’s not true!” Her voice rose, her feet moving to the room at the far right. “Elain you like parties, don’t you?” She yelled.  

“Oh no,” he said, scooping her up. She was still small, smaller than most kids her age, and so skinny. He’d overheard some of the cooks talk about her size. If fae came to this part of town, they’d sooner take a starving servant than one of the Archeron sisters, especially that bouncing brat.  

He had told his wife what the cook had said that day and she’d leaned back in her chair, the mistress of the manor, her lips curling in distaste. You let them say those things about your daughters? He could still hear her voice, the creaks of the floorboards as she abounded down the stairs. He’d never seen his wife in the kitchens, but the cook had cowered in fear.  

She was dismissed without severance.  

“Elain is sleeping,” he said, distracting himself from the thought.  

“No, she’s not. I was just in her room. She woke me up, screaming,” she said derisively, huffing out in annoyance. “She had a nightmare again.”  

“What was it about?” 

For the life of him, he could never find out. Elain refused to tell him, but perhaps she’d confided in her younger sister. She had not confided in her older sister, because when he’d asked Nesta if she knew, she’d only remarked that Elain’s dreams were nonsense.  

“The same thing she always dreams about,” she said. Feyre didn’t let out a lick more before pushing on the door of his sweet girl’s room.  

It was a princess’s paradise.  

He only sought out the best for his daughters, but Elain’s he’d made sure to dress up in all manners of pinks and golds. The walls were painted with large flowers. The four-poster bed was large enough for Elain to feel as if she were floating on a cloud. Trinkets hung from the ceiling. Golden birds swept high above that cloud-like bed and disappeared into the large windows dusted in blush.  

The moon shined from the window and he could see the outline of branches through the curtains. He wondered if that had not stirred these incessant dreams. Perhaps, the shadows scared her. Images of monsters drawn on the walls.  

“My little dove, you had a nightmare again?” He asked, seating himself to the side of her, the bed dipping. Elain nodded, reaching for her blankets to pull up to her chin. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

Elain didn’t answer. But Feyre did.  

“She’s worried that the fae will come.”  

Elain smacked her hand on the bed.  

“Be quiet,” she hissed, the first derisive thing he’d ever heard from his sweet, glass-made girl. He wondered if perhaps she’d been spending too much time with Nesta.  

But Feyre did not seem to find the act surprising, and she did not quiet, only leaned against the dresser, picking up a hand-painted unicorn figure he’d gotten Elain from one of his trips to Scythia. “She’s worried that the fae are going to come in the middle of the night and take us.”  

Elain lowered her head, her mouth frowning into a pout. “Nesta said the good folk take human children and replace them with their own.”  

“The good folk? I thought they were called the fair folk.” Feyre asked, frowning as if she couldn't fathom knowing the incorrect term. The notion of being taken not bothersome at all.

His brows rose to shocking heights.  

“Your sister tells you stories about the fae?”

Elain nodded, her voice croaking, “She says she’s waiting for them to come and I... I keep having dreams about them... They always take us away.”  

“That’s impossible,” he spoke, disdain in his voice.  

“They wander in our house you know; I keep trying to look for them,” Feyre said. She jumped from her seat, lifting the skirts of the bed to peer below. “But every time I think I caught them they disappear.”  

His youngest seemed perturbed by that. As if her wandering days should have resulted in something to show. A hunter in the midst of wolves. He wanted to tell them to stop searching for those things—stop calling out for beings that were never meant to exist. Never meant to be known by these three little girls who didn’t know what they were talking about. Childish fantasies and games.  

“You are not to follow anything that you see floating about,” he answered harshly. Maybe it was the tone of his voice that had them straightening. Something they’d never heard from him.  

But Feyre… always Feyre… began to smile. Mischievous and unruly. She hummed, “What if they offer me cakes? Or sweets? Or... paints? I’m sure they’ve got all sorts of colors. Nesta says they like to play games. Do you think they’ll let me join if I ask?”  

He sighed, his nostrils flaring in impatience. He couldn’t expect them to take the matter seriously, as young as they were. Fine. Then he’d have a stern talking to with Nesta about what she was allowed to say to her sisters--   

But then he remembered she was… still only twelve and he supposed that meant having a talk with his wife about what Nesta was allowed to hear and he doubted he would win that battle.  

He grimaced, trying to grin even as he felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. He swallowed down his apprehension. “There’s no such thing as fae, fair folk, good folk, or any other folk outside this house or in this world.”  

Both Elain and Feyre looked to each other and back to him.  

“Yes, there is,” they voiced together.

“No, there isn’t,” he enforced. “Your sister's stories are not real. In fact, if this happens one more time, I’m going to talk with Nesta about what stories she’s allowed to tell you, since you all seem so intent on believing in make-believe.”  

Elain looked to Feyre, frowning. Feyre looked to him, anger painted between her brows. She squinted at him, a glare he’d seen on Nesta plenty, and he wondered how much their sister had taught them. And it was that precise look, an arrow straight through his heart, that made him wonder if now might be the best time for Nesta to receive a good and proper education. Away from grown-ups and their talk of grown-up things that Nesta was too young to listen to.    

“I want you girls to get to bed now. No more talk of the fae or any other nonsense.”  

Feyre opened her mouth to argue, but he pointed to the door.  

“Enough! Go to bed.” He stood, his figure tall. “You don’t want me to get your mother, do you?”

At the mention of his wife, Feyre rushed to the door, twisting the knob as if she might appear in the hall if she did not enter her room quick enough. He watched by the door as Feyre shut hers behind her like a little ghost floating through the walls.  

He gripped the knob on Elain’s door, ready to forget this conversation… to pretend it never happened at all.  

“Papa?” 

He paused as he twisted to Elain who snuggled into her sheets, blinking her eyes sleepily. Even so, her voice wavered. 

“The fae aren’t going to come… are they?”  

His voice softened on its own accord as if he’d not been the least perturbed only moments ago. “No, little dove. Fae don’t exist remember. They’re only made of dreams.”  

“I’m too old for fairytales,” she said, and he didn’t know if that meant she agreed or that she knew his words were a lie. She yawned before he could ask, her eyes drifting close. “Good night, papa.”

He echoed a soft reply before shutting her door. 

After it clicked shut, he leaned his head against it, running a hand down his face. When he began to breathe normally, he stood up straight. Looking to the other side of the hall, all the way to the end. The door quietly stared at him. Mocked him, for he did not know what lied beyond it—hadn’t been in there for years. 

It was the room his wife had chosen, and the farthest from them all. The farthest even from her sister’s room that were right across from each other.  

The door was curved at the top, made to look like a fantasy with the vines that were etched in its wood. It was brown and hearty with a large ‘N’ nailed at the center. The color of a robin’s egg.  

For his sweet baby bird… who’d been born with the strongest lungs and the eyes the color of a midday sky.  

He didn’t know what happened to the music box after his wife had taken out its song. It might have lied beyond that door. It might have been in some trash bin somewhere—in someone else’s house, that person wondering what tune it might have sung if it had all of its parts.  

And, he couldn’t fathom sending Nesta away. His heart ached at the thought. His wife’s little doll who smiled when she was told to, danced when she was asked. A good girl. An obedient girl.  

He walked away from his sleeping children, with a little dancing figure playing in his mind, ceasing to spin because it could not find its music.

But Nesta was not a doll, and the Prince of Merchants could not say his wife had made princesses out of daughters. He found his daughters had always been a little odd. He wondered if that did not spell neglect. His presence so absent that his daughters once seeds had turned wild like weeds when they should have been flowers.  

Perhaps, they all could do with a trip outside of these grounds. To the sea. Elain would like that... He could imagine Feyre chasing after seagulls. Nesta might have sulked on the shore, but he was sure he could convince her to dip her feet in the water. For curiosity’s sake, he’d say.  

He grinned as he saw it all. No more talks of fae or wildlings. Fair folk and good folk behind them. Yes, he supposed they’d all appreciate the time. 

He began planning, the lists forming in his mind. He could hear the laughter, the chatter, as he walked down the creaking stairs. Commotion in all its fine form.

His office, thankfully, was on the opposite side of the parlor, remaining relatively untouched from his time away. His bookshelves had a thin layer of dust and he suspected his wife hadn’t bothered to tell the maid to clean in here.  

Perhaps that said enough.  

He’d chosen this room for an office because of its large window at the center. From there he could watch his daughters play outside, running through the mud as a governess or two demanded that they act like civilized creatures. He never bothered to tell them that children should never be civilized.  

But his daughters had rarely ever been outside... or at least not when he had a chance to see them.  

The chair squealed as he sat, the window lighting the room in a soft glow, and he looked out into the wide abyss, framed and lined in mahogany. What lied outside made no difference, because it didn’t get past the wall. It surrounded their house, trees standing guard. Dutiful soldiers in the dark. Fraxinus and Oak. Both of which made good arrows.

Nesta, Elain, and Feyre would keep to their imagination for a while yet. He’d let them dream their strange dreams. Let them sleep without a care in the world. Tell their stories as if they were real and true. As fanciful and naïve as they were. 

For the world was not as caring as him.  

He stood from his desk, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor.  

No, the world was not as loving as him, and it would not make princesses out of odd little girls, just as it did not make heroes out of wolves...

It was that thought that had his gaze scanning the brush of trees, the shadows whispering between space, shifting in and out. He looked closer at the shadowy figures, so closely that his lips hit the glass and his mouth made a spot of fog.  

He squinted harder even still. As Nesta had done looking to the windows... the clocks... the doors...

But there was nothing there but ash and for that he let out a breath.  

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Tagged List:  @my-fan-side, @sophilightwood, @nestaarcher0n, @duskandstarlight, @soitsgorgeous, @arinbelle  @ekaterinakostrova @swankii-art-teacher, @lordof-bloodshed

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This fic is a product of listening to creepy music box music for several hours. Also, I love writing the Archeron sisters as weird little girls. It gives me life.