#but the difference between this woman and this book character was that the book character yknow

[akallabeth-joie]

Narrative Voice in LM 1.2.X

I think it's rather interesting how a bunch of Hugo's different approaches and techniques show up back-to-back in the early parts of book 2 here. In 1.2.1, for instance, he's keeping to a third-person-omniscient perspective: he's describing the speech and actions that any observer in the room would have seen, but also peppering in details as-of-yet unknown to the characters (such as that Myriel's great work on duty will never be completed).

We also see Hugo insert himself into the narration, suggesting particular documents or persons were sources of his information, as though Hugo was researching and reconstructing the story from primary sources and testimony: there's Mlle Baptistine's letters cited as the source of 1.2.4 (which also allows Hugo to use her perspective to narrate the dinner); the reference to the prison turnkey as witness of Valjean's chaining in 1.2.6 (to show the lasting emotional impact of the scene on a witnes); in the same chapter, the narrator references "my research" to allow a comparison between Valjean and Claude Gaux. I think this conceit of Hugo-as-historic-researcher reinforces the idea that it's a realistic novel: that the characters and plots are accurate representations of real people the idea that Les Mis is an everyman (/woman/child) story that could be about any unfortunate people and thus is about all of them. Furthering that idea, I find the citation of fake sources lends credence to certain details which Hugo includes in the narrative, which likewise could have been "reconstructed" from later sources, even if not named (the "small papers and large book" detail could have come from Hugo inspecting Myriel's notes and books in an archive, Valjean's escape attempts and subsequent punishments would have been documented somewhere in the prison records). Dropping unsourced 'facts' into the narrative ("four out of five crimes in London* are based on hunger"), also subtly reinforces the idea of the story as some sort of derived historic narrative.

However, we are in the realm of fiction, and Hugo-as-omniscient-narrator also freely includes tiny details of the exact scene itself as experienced by the characters in that moment, which would not be recoverable and are unlikely to be documented: the exact identity of the woman who pointed Valjean to the bishop's house, which was unknown to him and thus not reported to the "witness" for the scenes in the bishop's house; the depiction of Jeanne's young son sleeping on his basket or hugging the cat for warmth while waiting for school (an unlikely detail for Valjean to hear about in prison, which is ostensibly the context for the end of Jeanne's story); really the whole of Valjean's early history is full of these sorts of lost details (Marie-Claude giving the children milk and the girls spilling it in their haste to drink? Who would even have that information for Hugo-the-researcher to discover?)

And then we have 1.2.8: an extended metaphor of drowning as a representation for how poverty and incarceration cut Jean Valjean off from society. Hugo gets a certain amount of (affectionate) flack for interrupting the plot of Les Mis with digressions: seemingly unrelated essays and short interludes of real-person fiction. Hugo-the-author uses them to insert his social/political/historical opinions and develop his theses for the books, as well as setting scenes for later events in the plot, calling for political action by the audience, wrestling with his own past, and boring the censors.

*Also, referencing London make this message both more universal and (I imagine) less biting to contemporary French readers. Sure, other than this one sentence Hugo's only talking about French people and crimes committed in France, but dropping in this statistic about English crime supports his "desperation causes crime" message while also drawing off the criticism of French society/law a little. This tidbit is about those guys (who you-the-reader may be annoyed with re: the whole losing the Napoleonic wars thing) over there, not more woe at home! They do it, too! It's not just you and your society. Or something.

[zaffiri-saffici]

"What I mean by proper is the narrative wrapping around them as lead female characters in the WLW ship and there is epic adventure after epic adventure constantly revolving around these characters and their love story."

I don't know a lot of shows that fit this category, unfortunately, but I'll do my best to offer some context on how I view WLW rep and femslash ships.

There are a few shows and fandoms I am a part of that don't have good WLW rep by my own personal standards but whose ships I have fallen in love with regardless, and those things don't need to be mutually exclusive to me to enjoy them.

How do I define good WLW rep in media? Here are some of the things I reflect on during my watch:

Do the WLW characters have decent arcs and development individually and are not just dependent on each other for said character growth? Are the characters defined by more than just their sexuality? (there are great WLW options out there where the central story revolves around coming out, etc, and these can count too, but shouldn't be the whole focus for me)

Is the story being portrayed one I can connect with? Is it authentic?

If a trope is being used ("tragic lesbian" or "evil queer woman"), is it thoughtfully portrayed with a broader message to take from it, or is it simply a plot device?

Do the WLW characters have significant roles in the narrative, or are they reduced to sidekicks?

With this said, I can place the shows below into three categories: Bar Raising (they've met and exceeded these requirements and are either innovating or setting the bar for other media to follow), Bar Meeting (they've met the bar, but they didn't exceed it), and Bar Lowering (there was a bar and they flat out missed, but I still love it anyway). I'll try to list out the shows and recommendations that weren't already mentioned off the top of my head.

Bar Raising WLW Shows:

Xena Warrior Princess: I think we can all agree on this one and don't need to explain much but its worth mentioning for the sake of this post.

The Haunting of Bly Manor: Gothic love story featuring a central WLW relationship layered with themes of love, loss, and memory.

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power: Animated adventure series. Slow-burn romance between Adora and Catra.

Orange is the New Black: Diverse queer rep exploring the lives and relationships in a woman's prison, including multiple WLW characters like Piper, Alex, and Poussey.

A League of Their Own: Reimagined from the film of the same name. Looks at the personal and professional struggles of women in baseball during the 1940s, with prominent queer storylines.

The Owl House: Animated series, a young girl stumbles into a magic world and forms a WLW relationship with a witch.

Arcane: Animation is just killing it with WLW rep, and this show is just another example of that. The Vi/Caitlyn bond grows organically through the story, balancing action, emotional depth, and mutual trust.

Yellowjackets: The show portrays multiple WLW relationships, particularly between Taissa and Van, both as teenagers and in their adult lives. Treats queerness as a natural part of the characters’ lives without making it their defining trait, focusing instead on their personalities, struggles, and survival dynamics.

Bar Meeting WLW Shows:

Killing Eve: Cat-and-mouse game between an agent and assassin with a complex and evolving relationship between the two WLW leads. They took the ending in a different direction of the books and I consider that an unfortunate creative decision that I disagree with. Still, the story was great.

The Legend of Korra: Follows the next Avatar as she navigates a new political landscape and growing tensions in the various elemental nations. Lots of subtext re: her and the other female character, Asami, but it's not a central theme of the plot.

The Wilds: Follows a group of teenage girls stranded on a deserted island. It's an honest look at young love and identity, but the show's cancellation left the show feeling unfulfilled.

Grey's Anatomy: The pioneering relationship between Callie and Arizona broke ground for WLW rep when it first aired (especially when their wedding happened later in the series), but it wasn't without its problems. The show is messy when it comes to relationships; it is notoriously known for breaking up or killing off its characters. Still, other WLW ships show up throughout, making it a decent experience, including in its most recent season.

Wheel of Time: A fantasy series and saga adaptation, it explores the WLW relationship between Moiraine Damodred and her partner, Siuan Sanche. Continues to influence their motivations through the second season and there is a season three soon to be released.

Warehouse 13: Decent WLW through canon bisexual character, H.G. Wells, though it falls short of explicitly exploring a romantic relationship between her and Myka. The subtext is still delicious, and I appreciate the show's progressive tone and nuanced characters.

Bar Lowering WLW Shows:

Once Upon a Time: The model for queerbait. Regina/Emma, Mulan/Aurora, even the Red/Dorothy one-episode romance we got was terrible. Don't think I need to explain much here, but I am wholly biased in that I still support the Regina/Emma pairing.

Rizzoli & Isles: Missed the bar completely but I love the ship.

The L Word: This one was really for the male gaze. I still enjoy it myself and will gladly rewatch, but it just felt inauthentic 80% of the time.

The 100: Classic "bury your gays". It was unnecessary and exploitative, as it occurred immediately after a moment of happiness.

Glee: WLW ship of Santana and Brittany wasn't central to the plot, but even when it was on screen it often fell into stereotypes and inconsistent writing. I was fairly young when it came out and don't remember much, but I do remember feeling like it was a plot device and not an authentic portrayal.

Supergirl: There were a lot of fans hoping for a Kara/Lena ship, but even with its actual canon WLW ship, the show spent too much time on Alex's coming out, only to dissolve her relationship with Maggie when she left the show.

Now, onto Agatha All Along. I know many Agathario fans will probably be mad at me for this, but even though the show didn't end on a happy note for Agatha and Rio's relationship, I would still put it in the Bar Raising WLW rep category.

The story starts and ends with Agatha and Rio, and there are queer characters beyond just the two mentioned above (see Jen and Alice, and of course, Billy). Rio makes her intentions clear in the very beginning what she is there to do. We know the ending from the moment she's on screen. Agatha Harkness is a murderous witch who has committed atrocities for centuries, and she needs to meet her end. She has a tragic past that makes her feel real and not just like another mustache-twirling villain, but she hasn't demonstrated that she wants to redeem herself, and I don't expect her to. I love her because she was written that way. She's not getting a redemption arc, and she likely won't until she is ready to face her son in the afterlife.

And intertwined with all of that is her relationship with Death, literally, romantically, and metaphorically. Grief is an underlying theme in both WandaVision and Agatha All Along, and this show further explores those themes by also adding commentary on death - that sometimes, it just happens without reason, as such is life. Agatha had to die. She could have met her end a number of ways, but she chose to go by reaffirming her love for Rio (see kiss of death) despite how toxic and messy their relationship got through the centuries.

She's still technically "alive " as a ghost, so maybe at some point, we'll see them revisit her redemption in a future MCU project, but I don't need that to have enjoyed AAA for what it was.

Personally, WLW rep doesn't have to culminate in a happy ending for the leads or the two women involved. I'm more interested in whether the story ends in a fulfilling matter and whether the journey feels fulfilling for the characters involved. AAA fits that bill for me. I can look at it and see that it was a great story with great characters and understand the creative decisions were justified. I would have done the same thing if I were in that writer's room.

I am queer. I am a woman. I want to see my lived experience on screen. I want complex, nuanced, and compelling storytelling--it doesn't need to be happy to be enjoyable. It just needs to feel fulfilling in what it's trying to do.

Give me queer villains who meet justifiable ends. Give me messy, nuanced characters. Give me soft, delicate women trying to find their way in the world. Give me all of it and everything in between, so long as it's telling a fulfilling story I can relate to.

Anyways, I will stop rambling on now. Hope this helps!

Watched all of ‘Agatha All Along’. The story was certainly interesting but the reason why I wanted to watch it wasn’t really given much focus. I mean aside from what they did to each other, it was pretty bland.

Oh well. Here’s to the next one.

To be honest - short-form just doesn’t really satisfy me.

It’s my own fault really. That’s more the problem than anything else. I keep expecting something really significant and I never get it. I need to lower them.

[mollyeep]

Yeaaa... im not finishing bluestar's prophecy LMFAO all of you fucking suck except goosefeather everyone dissed on him except featherwhisker weedwhisker... weedwhisker.........................literally who is that.

Ok actually im erin hunter and they said theyre rewriting bluestar's prophecy so the entirety of it is Goosefeather and that guy smoking a fucking blunt and then greening out outside of dirtplace and theyre absolutely fried and goosefeather lights bluestar and the whole entire camp on fire and everyone dies the end goosefeather goes to a special hell for himself called the goosatory

[upside-down-uni]

i onow its good if a book makes me mad, that means when i write about it ill have something to say. but i really do dislike the slow cooker of anger it puts me in where i just stew and stew until i can put words in order... this time its even more infuriating cause on a fundamental level i wont be able to write about it since my paper is about the translation and not the content! yelling screaming biting into wood etc

[ceasarslegion]

Oh, boy! @general-luce @justfortalkingtofriends @onwardsandfourwords

So i should underline that I don't know exactly where this started, but I have a few personal theories based on what I've read of his and his online presence.

For those who don't know, years and years ago, when Twitter was still Twitter, SK had made a public statement regarding the then-new wave of book banning in the US where he said that if your school bans a book, to go to the nearest public library or book store and find out exactly what it is they don't want you to see and make your own conclusions. In this he included a graph of all the usual suspects of alt right Christian eye lasers: the hunger games, to kill a mockingbird, 1984, Harry potter, etc. JKR responded to this by saying that SK was one of her allies and said something to the effect of "im so glad that someone in our circles still has common sense" because she had equated his statement about how banning books is always bad regardless of what that book is to mean he was supporting her personal views. SK responded with a short and sweet "trans women are women" and then posted a screenshot showing she had blocked him. Objectively funny interaction

My personal theory is that this is where it all started. Because you don't exactly see the whole interaction if you follow someone and they never reply to the last thing someone said to them. If radfems had only seen the one sided view of SKs words through JKR, then they would naturally assume he was on their side.

But ever since then, there's been a weird... spike of radfems in the tags for SK works. Most notably, I've seen them hanging around the tags for The Shining, Carrie, and most often, Misery.

For those who don't know the book plots of these works, The Shining and Carrie focus a lot more on the systemic misogyny aspect of the abuse that Wendy and Carrie White face than their film adaptations do. Wendy is lulled into learned helplessness by being totally financially dependent on Jack after he saved her from an abusive family life, essentially meaning that she traded one abusive situation for another. In Carrie White's case, she's described explicitly as fat and unconventionally attractive for a young woman, which is portrayed as the main reason that she is abused by the other girls in school, and why pig's blood specifically was chosen to dunk her with at the prom. And a HUGE difference between book and movie in these ones is that in the books, SK's women have a lot more personal agency over their actions and are a lot less passive than they seem in their movies. Wendy is way more gung-ho about self-defense against Jack and Carrie White owns her psychic powers more; they drive their own story and actions rather than being people those actions happen to.

In the case of Misery, you can take that and multiply it by 100. A brief plot summary for those who don't know is that Paul Sheldon is an internationally famous author who made millions off of his victorian period romance/drama novels featuring the character Misery Chastain. He kills her off in his recent book because he's tired of being defined by what he terms as trashy romance books and wants to be a Serious Author. He gets in a car wreck and breaks both his legs, and a former nurse named Annie Wilkes drags him out and nurses him back to health. She claims to be his biggest fan and worships the ground he walks on, until the last Misery book releases and she reads her death. She keeps him locked up and tortures him into writing one last Misery novel just for her where she gets resurrected and they all live happily ever after. That's a very basic version of it, but just know that at one point she chops his foot off with a rusty axe for trying to escape and runs a rookie cop's head over with a lawn mower for trying to rescue him, and the only reason she doesnt shoot Paul in between the eyes and then herself is because he hasnt finished her book yet.

Annie Wilkes is also not described as the most attractive person in the world. This is not for any physical features beyond what you would expect from a book written in 1987, this is a combination of how Paul is a bit of misogynist with mommy issues that he ascribes to women as a group himself (heavily implied that his mother used to emasculate and beat him as a child), and how Annie doesn't take care of herself. She's described as gross more than ugly, like she doesn't bother to shower and leaves greasy dishes behind for weeks to grow mold and rot and Paul can smell it on her breath, or hear the rats scuttling in the basement. She was once also on trial for murder in Denver after a strange amount of NICU infants died under her care as a nurse, but was let off for lack of evidence. She's also very religious but in the way racist republicans are religious, so she essentially kills people and thinks it's justified because they were wicked and deserving of damnation. Many things can be read into there with the earlier things I mentioned.

Anyway, Annie has been... I don't know if "reclaimed" is the best word to use? She's been somethinged by radfems. I think most of us with basic reading comprehension can grasp why Paul's character would not exactly describe Annie in the most respectful or best of lights, considering she kidnapped and tortured him, kept him drugged up, killed a bunch of babies, forced him to write a book for her, chopped off his foot, locked him in a cellar with rats, and horrifically murdered the man who tried to rescue him. The TERFs do not grasp this very well. A common theme you'll see among them in the SK book fandom is that Annie Wilkes did nothing wrong and Paul deserved his torture and should've been murdered at the end of the book for his pretty run of the mill milquetoast 1980s misogyny. And that the way King describes Annie is in itself misogynist for describing a kidnapper and torturer in a negative light. There's many who have voiced that they actually felt bad for Annie by the end of the book and described King as "verbally battering" her. As if a few mean words towards again, a kidnapper and torturer as described from the POV of the guy she is kidnapping and torturing, are worse than the kidnapping and torturing.

There's also a few slurs within the book. I want to heavily underline here that these were dropped within the context of showing the flaws of the characters who said them in a horror novel, they weren't just thrown around for the sake of it. For example, Paul introduces a new black character in the book he writes for Annie because his characters go to Africa looking for an experimental cure for Misery's condition and most people tend to not be white in Africa. Annie actually likes this character a lot, and still very casually and without hesitation refers to him as the N word, which in the context of an otherwise relatively relaxed scene, is meant to make the reader flinch and feel uncomfortable, which draws attention to how Annie's poisonous worldviews infect the way she thinks of even the people she likes, reducing them down to inherently inferior even when they hold positive positions in her head. Also, someone like her is not exactly going to realistically use PC language. The discomfort is the point and it's additive to the novel at large. This is of course taken as though King himself approves of the use of these terms despite being vocally anti-racist and portraying racism as an element of HORROR, ie, something to be HORRIFIED by.

So here's some examples I found after 5 minutes of scrolling the Misery tags to prove I'm not fucking with you:

Why are the Stephen King tags so full of terfs when the man himself has been vocally pro trans and told JKR to fuck off

[britneyshakespeare]

I can't believe the Younger Brother (1689) by Aphra Behn has the only one bed trope

[blackberryjambaby]

it's a testiment to paullina simons writing that i absolutely despise the main character of this book & yet i can hardly put it down

[sskk-manifesto]

Watched episode 5 :)

[chongoblog]

THINGS THAT HAPPEN IN THE WAYSIDE SCHOOL BOOKS WITH NO CONTEXT

The blueprints were sideways, so now the school is 30 stories tall

They forgot to add the 19th floor, where Miss Zarves teaches.

Elevators are installed to deal with the long climb. They are only used once and can never be used again.

A dead rat tries to sneak into class by wearing multiple raincoats

School's closed due to cows

World's number one ice cream lover devastated that she can't taste ice cream named after herself.

The third book is called "Wayside School Gets A Little Stranger". They don't appear until the end.

The author's self insert eats a woman alive. He would then go on to write "Holes" 20 years later.

One of the stories is called "What?". It's written backwards.

There are three Erics. To remember which is which, they each have nicknames that reflect the polar opposite of their actual selves.

A boy and a girl trade names, which inspires the rest of the class to do the same, leading to an incredibly confusing reading experience.

Benjamin Nushmutt accidentally is called a completely different name, and Ben is too shy to correct anyone about it

After long deliberation between all of the classmates, Calvin decides that he wants a tattoo of a potato on his ankle

One character falls into the Wayside equivalent of the backrooms for three chapters

Two students accidentally resurrect their old teacher with potato salad

One student is so unpleasant that the lunch lady finds out a substitute teacher is stealing the children's voices because he says "Have a nice day" in her voice.

One of these is directly referenced in Deltarune

Pickle hypnosis

[sl-ut]

princess of the north

in case i dont end up posting again over the holidays, i just wanna say i hope everyone has a great holiday season and a very very happy new year!!!!

pairing: cregan stark x fem!targtower!pregnant!reader

description: cregan has grown older and happier throughout his years as warden of the north with his beautiful new wife at his side. however, when he married into the royal family, he had not considered how frequently he would need to interact with his in-laws. 

warnings: NO DANCE AU!!! (rhaenyra ascends the throne peacefully), weird blend of book and show timeline, slight description of character (silver hair, purple eyes, that’s it!!!), smut, reader gets pregnant like halfway through, pregnancy sex, oral, piv, SEX IN FRONT OF A FIREPLACE ON A BEARSKIN RUGGGG oml

words: 9.7K

date posted: 10/12/24

The winter had been very forgiving, thank the gods. It had been remarkably short, just under eight years in total, meaning that it had come to a close with plenty of food still in storage and northerners who were more than willing and able to transition into the oncoming summer with ease. 

Winterfell was left in a generally stable state, aside from the fact that there was a greater need for livestock now that they not only had an additional mouth to feed, but also a fully grown dragon who resided in a make-shift dragonpit only a few minutes ride beyond the walls of the castle–a wedding gift that the Lord of Winterfell had prepared in anticipation of his new wife’s arrival. Otherwise, the North seemed to be in greater shape upon the dawn of this new summer than it had in all of Cregan’s years. 

The greatest of Cregan’s accomplishments, of course, was his new wife. At the beginning of the winter, he had not expected that he would be married by the end of it, but with the arrival of Prince Jaeaerys on his official tour of the realm also came his proposal of marriage between Lord Cregan and his own aunt, the youngest daughter of the late King Viserys I and his second wife, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower. He had been hesitant to consider this offer–he’d never met the woman, which was not uncommon for marriages of such high status, but he’d been fortunate enough to have been able to form some sort of friendship with his late wife prior to their union. Jace had brought along with him the terms offered by his mother, in her own hand, of course, as well as a portrait of the woman in question. 

Cregan was not above admitting how taken he’d been with the sight of the princess, even if it were only a recreation of her beauty on canvas. He’d heard of her beauty before, it was rumoured around the realm, but seeing it was entirely different, a sort of beauty he could not have imagined on his own.

“Tell me, my prince,” Cregan asked him, hardly drawing his crystal blue gaze away from the portrait, “you are her blood and have grown up with the princess, is this painting to her likeness?”

Jacaerys smirked, “Of course, Lord Stark. My aunt is known to be one of the most beautiful women ever to live.”

Cregan pursed his lips. He was aware of the strange customs of the Targaryens, having married brother to sister and uncle to niece for generations. Jacaerys could be speaking the truth, for he himself could hold some sort of affection for his aunt, but Cregan did not suspect as such. Intead, his greater question was whether Jacaerys could be lying to him out of political gain; as his mother’s envoy, it would do him no good to suggest that the artist had not accurately painted her. Her looks were of no concern to him, but he valued honour and truth over all else. If they were attempting to attract him to the deal by portraying the princess as such a beauty over anything else, he would be personally insulted to discover that he’d been lied to, a snub from the royal family would not be taken kindly by House Stark. 

“What say you?” Cregan turned to the group of men standing just to the left of the prince, all who seemed alarmed at Lord Stark’s attention being turned to them, “How do each of you vouch for the princess?”

The men, one at a time, attested to the princess’s beauty until he stood before the smallest and visibly youngest of the men.

“And you, lad?” 

“I’m afraid the portrait fails to depict the princess, milord,” The boy grew rosy in the cheeks as he imagined the princess in his mind, eyes drawing towards the portrait, “That is her, yes, but only as close as the Master Holbein could have made it, for I do not think it possible to recreate such beauty. She is gifted by the gods, surely, milord, both in beauty and manner. She is kind, brings food and toys to orphans in Flea Bottom and ev’rything, milord.”

Cregan, taken aback by the answer from the youngest boy, turned back to Prince Jacaerys, who seemed equally as surprised as he did pleased with the answers of his men.

“This is true, milord,” Jace said, “the princess is known among the people for her generosity, among her other talents and traits. It cannot be denied that her mother, the Queen Dowager, was not fond of my family, nor us of her, but the princess was raised better than any of us, I would say. Take the night to think on it, I would hope to send word to the queen before I leave Winterfell at noon.”

Cregan did as instructed, thinking on it long and hard. Her beauty had been their main selling point, something that could not be denied from the portrait sent of her. Lord Stark had half a mind to hang it upon the mantle in his bedchambers whether he takes her to wife or not, but it was not her beauty that had truly swayed his decision. Instead, he thought over the young lad’s words; a southern lady scarcely thrives in the North, a nation nearly as large on its own as all of the remaining six kingdoms put together. The weather was harsh, and the people were harsher, something he could not imagine a Targaryen princess handling well. However, he’d heard of Alicent Hightower’s assertiveness and ability to lead while her husband was incapable and Rhaenyra was in Dragonstone. If what Jacaerys had told him was true, the princess would be dutiful and loyal, and according to the prince’s men, kind beyond words. Beauty may have factored into his decision on a personal level, but he also met the prince the next morning with his acceptance mostly on the basis that he believed that the princess would be wholly capable of helping him rule the North.

He wrote to her a week after Jacaerys departed from Winterfell, certain that the news would have already arrived in the capitol and she would already be aware of their arrangement. He would have little time between her arrival in the north and their wedding to meet with her in private, so this was his best hope. He was pleased to receive a raven in return only three days later, neat handwriting befitting a princess scrawled across the parchment. It was not much, but Cregan was able to learn some things about her through the letters, making it seem like he was less-so marrying a stranger and more as if she were a distant friend. 

The month following, the princess would depart from King’s Landing in a procession he was told seemed a mile long. He waited with anticipation, Winterfell in a flurry of servants and guards to prepare the castle to house the royal family and their household, as well as for the wedding itself, and only one more month would pass before his bride had arrived within the walls of Winterfell.

Cregan had bowed respectfully to the Queen Dowager as she stepped out of her wheelhouse, then to the two silver-haired princes who arrived on their steeds. His eyes scanned the growing crowd for any sight of his betrothed, finally catching sight of her as she took the hand of a Dornish white cloak to balance herself as she exited the wheelhouse, a pretty white fur-lined cloak wrapped around her shoulders, almost blending into the pale blonde of her hair. She was, indeed, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had traditional Valyrian looks, but also held an aura of softness. 

She was nervous as she curtsied before her, but seemed happy enough with his appearance and manners as he greeted her with a kiss to her leather-gloved knuckle. The moment was broken apart by her mother’s level tone, requesting to be brought to her chambers for some rest before supper. That evening Cregan found the portrait of the princess that he’d received months earlier and personally hung it above the mantle in his bedchambers. He thought it was safe to say he was smitten.

The princess appeared bashful in his presence, though he was partially certain that her discomfort was brought on by her ever-present family, each looming nearby as if waiting to intercept his attempts of conversation with his betrothed. He could not decide who he had grown to loathe the most; Aegon had already drank a generous portion of Winterfell’s wine cellars even before the wedding, and often joined the conversation with the goal to tease his sister and see her shrink in embarrassment; Aemond was constantly looking to best anyone in his path, and seemed almost possessive over his sister’s attention; her mother had hardly allowed them a moment alone, constantly insisting on supervising any time that he would invite her for any sort of activity, or set one of her brothers after them instead. Alicent had a habit of speaking for her daughter, meaning that Cregan had no opportunity to truly know her while her mother was present, while her brothers made it impossible to even speak to one another at all. 

He was finally glad on their wedding night, when he’d arranged the head table to be broken into three, leaving the happy couple to sit above the rest and finally receive some alone time. She had been radiant in her gown of white furs and fleeces, meeting him beneath the weirwood tree with her eldest brother at her side to give her away. He’d been glad to tear away the cloak of red and black, intricately interwoven into a field of green and gold at the bottom–it would be unlike Alicent Hightower to allow her children to wear the Rhaenyra’s colours without her own as well. It would be hard to tell whether she looked prettier in the harsh colours of her maiden cloak or in the dull ones of his own, but he couldn’t help but note how greys and blues suited her better than he could have imagined. 

He could tell her family was less than pleased with this arrangement, making an effort to step in for every miniscule matter that caught their attention. Cregan watched her from the corner of her eye as she shakily took a long drink from her cup. He finally found time to chat with his wife, slowly watching in awe as her walls slowly began to come down as she found herself giggling along with him and whispering into his ear. 

“What of the leftovers?” She’d asked, breaking their previous conversation topic.

“Leftovers?” Cregan repeated.

She nodded, staring at him with wide eyes expectantly, “The food. There will be plenty of leftovers–they should be brought to the nearest towns.”

“Is that a command, princess?” 

She appeared bashful at his response, walls slowly building back up around her, “I-I- My apologies, Lord Stark, I–”

He grinned at her playfully, his large palm cupping her cheek affectionately, “If you wish it, you shall have it. I intend to make you very happy, my love.”

She smiled, her beauty shining through even stronger as she became more and more comfortable around him, “Thank you, husband.”

Cregan pushed himself to stand, the sound of his chair pushing back cutting through the chatter and music and laughter filling his hall, all eyes turning to him expectantly. 

“My lady wife has made her first official command as Lady of Winterfell,” his voice carried through the hall with stern ease, and the attention of the crows quickly turned to her, “Lady Stark has decided that all leftovers from our wedding feast will be donated to the people of Winterstown.”

The crowd had been quick to applaud, deafening cheers throughout the great hall, northerners seemingly pleased with her decision or, at the very least, just excited to have another reason to be celebrating. He caught the glance she sent to her mother, and the happy grin that covered her face as the Dowager Queen sent her a sign of approval. His lady wife was kind, and sweet, and he was certain that, once she gained her footing in the North, would serve as a strong and dutiful Lady of Winterfell, all of which he muttered into her ear as he had her for the very first time that night. 

Three years would pass, he’d been right to assume such things of his wife. He’d quickly discovered that she was able to thrive without the looming shadow of her mother and brothers. She had been slow to find her footing in the beginning, some of his bannermen even questioning his choice in wife, but she was determined to prove them wrong, and in doing so, warmed Cregan’s heart even more. 

They’d discussed children in the past, and both had decided that they were happy enough with Cregan’s son from his previous marriage for the time being. They were not trying, but they were also not not trying, which is how she found herself swelling with her first child just as winter came to an end. Her husband had been insatiable in their first year of marriage, but once he knew that she carried his child in her belly, there was scarcely anything that could stop him from having her each and every night. 

Summer brought a homier feeling to Winterfell. People were not quite so afraid or negative as the desolate conditions faded away. Summer in the North was nothing compared to the many summers she had spent in King’s Landing, where she had once enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her skin, exposed beneath her more revealing gowns than those she was able to wear in the North; the lords of the North had criticised her choice in dresses early on in her marriage, and she had no doubt that their wives spoke harshly about her in her absence. She was by far the youngest of them, and was also the only one who could afford to wear such fine silks layered over her thick fleece and fur underdresses. Cregan knew better than to try and argue against his wife’s will–Lady Stark or not, she was a Targaryen princess through and through, and now that he had helped her build up her confidence, there was no way he was about to take that away from her (especially when she looked so so beautiful). She was thankful that she was able to cut down on the layers she needed now that the weather had transitioned from inhospitable to frigid, though she knew it was coming time to transition her wardrobe as well now that her breasts and belly were beginning to swell. 

The change in season also brought a wave of new duties. Winter was undoubtedly the most difficult and busy season for the lord and lady of Winterfell, but the transition to summer also brought the beginning of the agricultural season. Farmers and fishermen alike flocked to Winterfell to speak their needs and wants to their liege lord and lady, and Cregan found himself busy with attending to the replenishment of all of the North’s resources for Winterfell, all of his bannermen, the Wall, and all of the towns in the North. He’d made his wife agree to take a lesser load of duties now that she was expecting, dealing with issues within their own household so he could instead focus on bearing the burdens of the North all on his own, though this meant there was less and less time that they were able to spend together. 

Each morning, Lady Stark was awake and on the move early enough to meet with the maester and stewards and advisors, sharing no more than a few sweet words and touches with her husband as he watched her dress before she was out the door. They would see each other in passing throughout the day, sharing loving glances across the courtyard as they attended their duties and occasionally catching each other in the corridors, and she was normally in a deep slumber by the time he came to her chambers every night. Both of them were growing restless in their time apart, especially with her ladyship’s heightened emotions and hormones. 

She had just finished speaking with the mistress of the orphanage in Winterstown when the maester came to her, a neatly folded piece of parchment in hand that bore her mother’s seal. She smiled to herself as she brushed her thumb over the thick spot of green wax, glad to have a response for her most recent letter to her mother to deliver the news of her pregnancy, along with a request for some new silks to be sent in order to accommodate her changing body. Breaking the seal, she scanned over the letter with her eyes, a small gasp leaving her mouth as she read over her mother’s words.

“My lady?” Maester Elryn asked, concern evident on his wrinkled features, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” she smiled tightly at him, “My apologies for my reaction. Could you ask Lord Stark to come to me when he is free?”

“Of course, my lady. Anything else?”

“That is all, thank you, Maester Elryn.”

Cregan came to her two hours later, finding her seated at the small desk in the corner of her chambers. He paused to drink in the way she looked, having scarcely seen his wife for more than a moment all day. Her body was changing in the most glorious ways possible, and the bodices of her gowns were growing even tighter than before, her breasts threatening to spill over the neckline with every breath, and her belly growing firmer and rounder to accommodate his child. His smile widened as she turned to glance over her shoulder, her eyes softening as she finally took note of her husband’s figure in the doorway.

“You called, wife?”

“My love,” she greeted, pushing herself to stand with a gentle hand cradling her barely-there bump, “It seems it has been forever.”

His heart thumped against his ribcage at her action, chest growing warm at the sight of her maternal instincts already kicking in before she had even passed through her first few months 

He closed the door behind him, crossing the room to meet her before she was able to move too far. His palm cupped her cheek, the other finding its place over her own against her belly, “Longer than forever to me.”

She grinned, leaning up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips, giggling to herself as he chased after her and grunted as she pulled away. He pressed small kisses to her cheeks, across the curve of her jaw, and down the column of her neck, leaving small nips in his wake. His wife pushed at his chest helplessly as she continued to laugh, the soft growth of hair along his own jaw tickling her with every brush of his lips on her skin. 

“I called you up here because I needed to speak with you,” she whispered to him, body slowly relaxing against him as she sank into his embrace.

“Speak, then,” he ordered, thick fingers tugging at the laces of her dress.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at his antics, “I wrote to my mother a few nights ago, I need silk for new dresses. I’m sure you’ve noticed that my own are growing rather…tight.”

His mouth dropped to nip at the bulging flesh of her breast peeking over the neckline of her gown, “I certainly have.”

Her head tilted back, letting both a laugh and a breathy moan at her husband’s attack on her chest as he quickly laid her back on the bed, “She has written back to me. She says I shall have as much silk in as many colours as I wish.”

Cregan hummed in response, quickly peeling the layers of her gown away until she was left in only her thin white shift, her words going ignored as he tugged and pulled at her clothing until she was bare before him. He stared down at her, running his hand over his jaw as his eyes trailed over her breasts, heaving and swelling with milk, then down over her small bump, and finally to the place where her thighs clenched together. 

She pushed herself up to sit before him, her own hands reaching out to tug at his clothing. He was quick to help her, shucking off his layers and boots until he stood before her in only his heavy leather breeches. His wife grinned up at him, pressing a gentle kiss against his own belly, a layer of soft flesh over his firm, almost inconspicuous muscle. 

He pushed at her shoulder, chuckling as the mattress bounced beneath her as she was laid back again. He crawled over her, returning to mouthing over her neck, over her shoulders, and finally coming across her breasts.

“She says she will deliver them personally,” she uttered, whining in protest as he paused, pulling back to focus directly at her face. 

“Personally,” He repeated, more for his own sake than a question of clarification, “your mother intends to come to Winterfell.”

She pouted at him, fingers carding through his long hair as she attempted to soften him to the news, “She wishes to be here for the birth. I know she can be…difficult, but it would bring me comfort to have her with me as I bring our firstborn into the world.”

He sighed, his head falling into her shoulder, “If this is what you wish, then this is what you shall have. 

She smiled, remembering when he spoke the same words to her on their wedding night. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, winding her legs around his hips and hugging her tightly to her chest. 

“Thank you,” she smiled at him as he finally pushed himself up to gaze down at her once again, “my mother can be difficult, as I said, but I wish for her to know her grandchildren, as she does my niece and nephews. I promise you, she will be on her best behaviour.”

“I believe you,” He pressed a kiss to her lips, mumbling against her, “but I must ask that we do not speak any more of your mother at the present. I do not think she would appreciate what I plan to do to you.”

Cregan did not allow her another moment of peace before his kisses grew in intensity, tongue intertwining with her own while his meaty palms pulled her legs further apart and began to rock his hips into hers. He smirked at the whine that escaped her throat, pressing himself further into her.

“Cregan–” 

“I have missed you, my love,” he moaned against her lips, “you cannot possibly believe how much I have been longing for you.”

She chuckled, “I think I can. The maester told me pregnancy can bring on many side effects; discomfort, fatigue, desire…”

Cregan pulled back for a moment, “Should I be concerned about these conversations you have been having with Maester Elryn?”

She scoffed, “You are far too jealous for your own good, my love.”

“You might be too, if you were married to the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms–nay, the world.”

“Flatterer.”

“Can it be called flattery if it is the truth?” Cregan pushed himself to kneel between her legs, palms continuing to push her thighs upward to bare her completely to him. He let out a desperate groan as his eyes settled on her core, barely hidden beneath a neat patch of silver hair, “gods, have you ever been this wet?”

She snorted, raising her leg to press her foot flat to his chest, “It is the pregnancy, as I said.”

His long fingers wrapped around her foot, tugging it up to press his lips against the slope of her ankle, “Then perhaps I should keep you like this, eh? Would you like for your lord husband to fill you with his child, again and again?”

“I am already with child, my love,” she smiled at him, drawing a deep breath from his throat, “I’m afraid you will have to wait a few moons longer.”

“And I will spend every second I have with you perfecting the craft then.”

She sighed in relief as he finally reached between her thighs, fingers catching against her slick hole.

“Cregan, please,” she whimpered, “do something, anything.”

“Anything?” He asked, breathlessly, his own chest heaving in anticipation as she nodded excitedly. 

A loud gasp tore from her lips as he finally sunk his fingers into her, her wetness audible to them both as he began moving with slow but purposeful thrusts. His thumb settled on her sensitive bud, making slow, tight circles over the swollen bud, his free hand gliding up from her thigh to tug at her breasts. Her hips rocked in sync with his every movement of his thick fingers, stilling as another one easily slipped inside.

“My love,” she panted, “e-enough, I need you.”

He quirked one of his thick brows at her words, “Should I not prepare you, my heart?”

“I am pregnant with your child, and as we can both tell, I am more than prepared.”

Cregan snorted out a laugh, withdrawing his fingers with a small whine from his wife, “How should you have me then, wife?”

Lady Stark smirked to herself, legs wrapping around his back and forcing him to fold over her, “Take me as you did on our wedding night, only you do not need to be so gentle with me.”

He slipped inside of her easily, a strained hiss sliding between his teeth while her own teeth sunk into his shoulder. Cregan did indeed take her like he had on their wedding night, but against her wishes, was almost as gentle as he had been, out of respect for his child’s personal space, as he had muttered to her. In truth, he simply wanted to take his time with her as he pulled her apart bit by bit, not wanting to rush their first time lying together in the few weeks since summer had come. 

When they were finished, he remained inside of her for as long as he could, but the warmth of her and the air around them was far too much. His wife, despite the progress she’d made in the years of their marriage, was a southern woman and despised how frigid the castle could be, earning herself the warmest room in Winterfell and a required constant upkeep of her hearth. Cregan did not mind coming to his wife’s chamber when she needed him throughout the day or early evening, but there was a reason that they’d made a habit of sleeping in his personal chambers each night, where the air was cooler but he was able to keep her warm at night. He carefully pulled away, meeting her for a final kiss before he peeled himself off of the bed, slowly strutting across the room to haul the window open and feel the cool summer air against his burning flesh. 

She watched him through hooded eyes, gaze raking down his muscular back, over his plump ass, and down his thick legs. She pursed her lips, pulling one of the heavy furs around her shoulders as she padded across the stone floor to wrap herself around him from behind, fingers hooking together around his belly as her bare chest pressed to his back. After a moment, one of his hands came over to cover her own as she pressed her lips to his shoulder blade. 

“My mother wrote that she expects to be here in two moons,” she murmured against his warm skin, “I should begin preparations for them on the morrow.”

Cregan hummed, eyes scanning over the horizon for a moment before he comprehended her words, “Them. How many attendants does she plan to bring with her?”

He felt his wife tense behind him, “About that…”

Two moons later Cregan found himself standing tall in his own courtyard, jaw set as a procession of horses and wheelhouses began to file through the front gate of his ancestral home. He’d been a touch angry with his wife when she had finally revealed to him that it was not only her mother coming, but rather the entire royal family; the queen, her king consort, and all of their children; the dowager queen, the remaining four of her children, as well as Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena’s three children. Winterfell was about to be overrun with heads of silver hair, something Cregan had hoped would only happen as a result of his wife’s genes overcoming his own among their children. 

At his side, his wife nervously chewed her bottom lip–a nasty habit he’d grown to detest after she’d drawn blood one night. He knew exactly how her family could be from their short stay during their wedding festivities, and the way that her mother and two older brothers alone were able to affect her, let alone the entire living Targaryen dynasty. 

On her other side stood young Rickon, gripping her hand tightly as he struggled to compose himself. The boy was only six years old, but he already seemed to understand the importance of his role as the heir to Winterfell. He’d taken to his stepmother rather quickly, having been an infant when the fever took his own mother. He’d been in need of a maternal figure in his life, and her presence in Winterfell had done nothing but draw father and son closer together with every family supper and breakfast she had insisted on over the years. Seeing her welcome his son into her heart so openly only further pressed Cregan’s instincts to bring their own children into the world, wishing for nothing more than to give his boy dozens of siblings for him to play with. 

The procession finally came to a halt just as two large, intricately carved wheelhouses entered the gates, flanked by the king consort and all of the elder princes on their horses. Lady Stark’s nerves only heightened at the sight of the silver-haired men, particularly her elder brothers who almost immediately turned their gaze her way. The queen soon climbed out of her wheelhouse, followed by her own litter of children, Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya. The second wheelhouse opened, producing Dowager Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena and her own children Jahaera, Jahaerys, and Maegor. 

The queen came before them, regal as ever in her red cloak lined with black fur. She watched stoically as the three bowed before her. 

“The North is yours, Your Grace,” Cregan spoke loud and true, “my family and I are honoured to host you and your family in Winterfell.”

“Many thanks, Lord Stark. I commend you on leading the North through yet another winter,” a smirk tugged at her lips as her eyes turned to his wife, who lowered into another curtsy under her stare, “I hear that Lady Stark has taken to her role quite well. I believe motherhood suits you, sister.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lady Stark nodded in thanks. 

The next line of Targaryens filtered through the short lineup of Starks, first Daemon, who scarcely offered any of them a second glance (aside from his niece, who he stared at for a moment too long in Cregan’s opinion). Prince Jacaerys greeted Cregan like an old friend, clapping him on the shoulder heartily while he offered his aunt a polite hug, his younger brothers following, though with less familiarity. 

Then came her mother, who hardly offered Lord Stark a moment of her time before she began fawning over her daughter, hugging her tightly before pulling away and pawing at her swollen belly through her layers of fur. A tear escaped the red-haired woman’s eye as she pressed a sweet kiss to Lady Stark’s cheek, then offered a greeting to sweet Rickon, who had shuffled closer to his stepmother in his nervousness. Aegon skipped over Lord Stark altogether, though he certainly was not complaining as he could smell the stench of wine radiating from the eldest prince even before noon, throwing himself onto his sister. She’d stumbled in her attempt to catch him, sending her husband a warning glance as he moved to rip him away from her. Aemond, at least, was more courteous, offering Cregan a polite greeting and kissing his sister gently on the forehead. Helaena was soon to follow, her greeting to Cregan leaving him with a puzzled look as she moved on to place her palm to her sister’s cheek.

“I am so happy to see you, sister,” Lady Stark’s eyes welled with tears. Cregan had been aware of how disappointed his wife had been when her sister had not been able to travel with her for their wedding, but she had not blamed her for choosing to stay behind while she was in her sixth moon of pregnancy, not to mention the poor state of her mind.

Daeron was the most reserved of his good-siblings, showing both Lord and Lady Stark his respect, though he had no personal relation with either. He’d spent most of his childhood in Oldtown under the care of his grandsire’s brother, the Lord of Oldtown, and his own uncle Gwayne. He’d been rather hesitant to even return to King’s Landing after being away for so long; his own mother was a mere stranger, and his siblings had gone on to marry and produce their own children without even a second thought of their youngest brother. 

Winterfell’s hall was overflowing with Targaryens and those who served them. Cregan could hardly recognize any of the faces at the tables nearest to his own, his men being pushed farther back into the hall to accommodate the royal family. He, himself, had even been pushed one seat to the right to offer the queen the highest seat in the hall. He was not pleased to be doing this, far too used to southerners coming to the North with such entitlement, but he would take the treatment silently for the sake of his dear wife, who had been so excited for the arrival of her family and had been overtaken by anxiety of ensuring the visit went well. 

She sat next to him, dressed in a fine silk gown (new, a design brought by her mother), a deep emerald with golden stitching across the bodice and around the cuffs. Cregan hissed through his teeth when his wife entered the hall, a happy grin on her lips as she cradled her round belly over the dress of her mother’s house rather than her own, though he was eager to greet her and accept her gleeful kiss on the cheek, and he was glad enough to see that her hair had been braided among the stems of various flowers, all of which being indigenous only to the North. Her mother could try with all of her might to try and hold tight to her daughter’s familial tether to the South, but Cregan knew his wife had transformed into a woman of the North–she was no longer simply a Targaryen princess, a dragonrider, she was also his wife, Lady of Winterfell, and mother of his children. 

It never escaped Cregan’s watchful stare everytime the Dowager Queen gripped her daughter’s arm when her attention was not focused solely on her, or how she forced a smile each time he joined their conversation at all. If the woman had not been his wife’s mother, he would have gladly warded her away from his wife’s personal space. He understood well enough that his wife was bound to miss her family, especially her mother and sister, but he was afraid to see her begin to slip back into her shell, which had taken him a considerable amount of effort and care to bring her out from in the first place. 

He was quickly tiring from the responsibility of hosting an entire flock of Targaryen princes, all of whom considered themselves above the northerners and their laws, customs, and expectations. They most often gathered in the training yards, each more eager to prove themselves over the northerners and each other than the last, except for Aegon, of course, who would rather spend the mornings in his chambers before he would disappear into Wintertown, most likely gone to spend the rest of the afternoon in the only brothel within twenty miles of Winterfell. 

Throughout the two weeks to follow, they had barely found a moment to themselves that was not in the early hours of the morn or when the castle is alight with only the light emitted from torches and the moon itself, where Lady Stark was usually so worn out that she had barely enough energy to cuddle into her husband’s side and share a handful of words before her snoring would reach his ears. He made an effort to seek her out when he was granted a brief moment away from his duties, but there was hardly a moment when she could be found without at least one member of her kin at her side; in the nursery with her mother and sister, discussing her duties with the queen, reading with Aemond in the library, or comforting Aegon amidst another bout of alcohol-induced sickness. 

The one moment he did find her alone in her personal study, not wasting a single moment before he was hoisting her into his arms and kissing her breathless. He’d been pleased to find that she had no fight in her, easily melting into his embrace and winding her arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss as small mewls of pleasure vibrated against his mouth. He’d almost forgotten that the door to the study had been left ajar, making his good-mother’s entrance even more silent, though he likely wouldn’t have noticed even if she had knocked, fully taken with his wife’s affection. 

“Ehem.”

“Mother,” Lady Stark pushed away from her husband, face still with shock and, quite evidently, embarrassment, “I, we did not hear you come in.”

“Yes, as I could see.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Cregan nodded to the woman, though his tone was laced with his annoyance, “I’m afraid you’ve been subjected to a moment of weakness.”

“Nonsense,” Alicent’s lips tightened into a strained smile, a touch of tenderness on her face, “it comforts me to know that my daughter is cherished and loved, even so far away. We are not all so lucky to find love in these circumstances.”

His wife rounded the desk, meeting her mother with a tight embrace. For a moment, he felt a pang of sympathy for the red haired woman–it was true, most marriages of such caliber did not afford the couple any form of affection, and he was more than aware of the fortune that had fallen into his lap that day that Prince Jacaerys landed at his gate. The moment came to a crashing end all-too-soon as his good-mother once again dragged his wife away from him, not to be seen again until she was deep asleep in their shared bed.

He’d arranged for a hunt during the visit of the royal family, where he was forced to play the peacekeeper between the queen’s sons and their uncles, all while keeping his eyes peeled for the prize he’d been hoping for; his wife had mentioned more than once that she wanted to find the perfect blanket to gift to their first child, one that can be used again and again with each babe they brought into the world, so it seemed only fitting to him that he be the one to bring her the pelt. 

It would be weeks before the warmth in his chest subsided after witnessing her grin and laughter as he presented it to her, two rabbits of a similar white and brown pattern, drawing her away from the large elk that had been brought in for their supper that night. It was a brief moment of privacy amongst the crowd, where she curled her fingers beneath the neckline of his leather doublet and dragged him down to her height, pushing a soft kiss to his wind-bitten cheek, though he was thankful for every moment of it. Her mother stepped in a moment later, grasping her daughter’s hand and willing her to join her in the nursery, where she could continue to preach her wisdom and advice for the soon-to-be mother, though Cregan hoped his wife was smart enough to take it with a grain of salt. 

He’d spent the rest of the day both tending to his duties, which have seemingly doubled since the arrival of his wife’s kin, and also offering a hand in preparing the elk when he had a chance; his cooks could do wonders with elk meat, but the kitchen maids often made a fuss when such large animals were brought to whole or at least without being skinned first. He had barely even spared a moment to clean himself and change clothes before supper.

When he arrived in the dining hall, a smaller yet more formal area where he hoped he, his wife, and their many children would all dine together whenever they could. He was, however, miffed to discover the dining hall filled with princes and princesses and queens alike, only two seats left empty–his own, and his wife’s. 

His immediate thought was that perhaps she was still readying herself, perhaps she had gotten carried away in the nursery with her mother, and she would be there soon enough. Then, his eyes fell upon the red-haired woman a few seats from his own. 

He cleared his throat, drawing silence across his hall, “My apologies, I expect Lady Stark in only a moment.”

Alicent furrowed her brow, directing her words to the rest of the royal family rather than to Lord Stark, “I’m afraid she will not be joining us tonight.”

Cregan raised his own brow, “Why not?”

Alicent’s gaze flickered to his own, “She was unwell this evening–a pain many women know while carrying their children, all she needs is rest.”

“And why was I not made aware of this at once?” Lord Stark felt his blood beginning to boil.

She looked somewhat taken aback, “These pains are normal, they are expected for how far along she is. My daughter–”

Cregan’s heavy palm landed flat on the wooden tabletop, “My wife is my main concern. Any news concerning her or my children should and will be brought to me at once.” 

Alicent pursed her lips, appearing to have a few words of choice for her daughter’s husband, though he turned his attention to the queen opposite him on the other end of the long table and looked equally as surprised and amused at the altercation as she sipped her wine.

“Excuse me, Your Grace,” he pushed himself up to his full height, “forgive my absence this evening, but if my wife is unwell I would prefer to be at her side.”

Rhaenyra smirked at him, nodding her head at him, “But of course, Lord Stark. I am honoured that you take such care of my sister. After all, family is everything, is it not?”

He ignored the way that her words seemed to have been aimed at the red-haired woman, who had slouched back into her own seat as a soft pink tinged at the apples of her cheeks, instead nodding at the queen and fleeing the room at once, his hurried and heavy footfalls carrying him through the castle and up to his wife’s personal chambers. He was disgruntled to find that they were empty, save for a servant girl who had been tending to the hearth and directed him to his own chambers.

The hinges creaked as he pushed his way inside, finding two handmaidens hovering worriedly over his wife as she hunched over on her hands and knees atop the plush bear-skin rug, back arched upwards like he’d only seen done by a cat. The two servants froze at the sight of the broad figure crossing the threshold.

“Lord Stark,” one of them rushed to him, “Lady Stark, she is alright, but–”

“Alright?” He scoffed, “She is on the floor in pain, she does not look alright.”

“Cregan,” Lady Stark glared up at him, voice strained with discomfort, “do not speak to my ladies like that.”

He let out a deep sigh, offering the servant a quiet but genuine apology, “Now please, just tell me what is wrong with her, and what I can do to help. Should I call a maester?”

The servant fought a soft smile, touched at the lord’s concern for his wife and child, “Lady Stark is experiencing little more than body aches. Normal for women carrying a child, especially their first. I’m afraid all the maester could do is offer milk of the poppy for discomfort, which could potentially do more harm to the child than good to the mother,” Cregan swallowed at the thought, “We’ve allowed the princess to soak in warm water, and the stretching helps while we prepare a hot pack over the fire.”

His gaze flickered to the small grate across the embers of the fireplace, holding three large black stones over them. He nodded, turning back to his wife, who had turned her face back into the rug while the other servant girl carefully massaged gentle circles into her lower back.

“What can I do?”

“The hot pack should help with the aches, but I’m afraid the best thing may be to keep Lady Stark as comfortable as possible, anything to keep her mind away from the pains.”

He nodded, “Leave us, I should care for my wife on my own.”

The door closed behind the two women as they hesitantly left their mistress’s side, loyal to the very end. Cregan wasted little time in removing his leather doublet and abandoning it on the plush bed, leaving him in only his breeches and thin linen shirt. He crossed the room, kneeling beside his wife and carefully laying his palm flat to her lower back, a small smirk appearing on his lips as she sighed from the relief brought by his large, warm hand. 

“If you were not so obviously in pain, I would guess that you were enjoying this, my love,” he chuckled as his hand copied the same circular pattern that the servant girl had applied.

“Shut up,” she turned her head to the side so she could glance up at him, “this is your fault.”

“My fault?” He scoffed, “As I recall, your current condition is the result of your uncontrollable desires.”

She pushed herself up onto her hands, “My what? It was you who was gone to the Wall for more than a moon!”

“And it was you who kept me from my duties until midday on the day after I returned.”

She pursed her lips, “Alright, next time I will allow you to go about your duties without a word. Then we will see which one of us is so insatiable.”

“Be that the case, I’m afraid you may be with child for the next decade or more, my love.”

“Just get the hot pack,” Lady Stark rolled her eyes, lowering her head back down to the plush rug, muttering to herself with a small grin, “a decade or more…”

He obliged, wrapping the stones in a thick woolen cloth before pressing them against the small of her back, a dusting of pink coating his cheeks at the sound she released, back curving inwards as relief overtook her body. 

They remained there for a long while, one of his hands holding the hot pack while the other smoothed over her silver hair, braided and still damp from her bath. The stones began to cool against his palm until they were no warmer than her own body heat, finally being tossed to the side.

“How do you feel?” He asked her, hands cradling her head and hip as he helped her roll onto her side.

“Better. Still plagued with discomfort, but better nonetheless,” She smiled softly at him, “I only wish someone may have warned me of the unpleasantness of pregnancy before I agreed to it.”

He barked out a laugh, remembering the many times she had pointed out the many ways pregnancy could ruin any romance in their marriage before it even began, hence their decision to wait before finally trying to conceive. 

“If only, eh?” He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

A twinkle appeared in her eye, “Well Maryssa did say that you should be doing anything to keep me comfortable…”

Lord Stark raised his brow at her words, “And what was it you only just said about me being insatiable? How have you gone from crippling pain to reaching for my breeches in such a hurry?”

She gasped, faux offense in her eyes, “I am not reaching for you breeches! What do you take me for?”

He quickly manoeuvred her onto her back, leaning down to press a slow yet meaningful kiss to her lips, “My very pregnant, very beautiful, and very impatient wife.”

She whined against his mouth, “I think impatience is quite appropriate given the circumstances. Your child has brought me the greatest joy and greatest pain of my life, and yet I constantly yearn for you, my love.”

“Constant?” He laughed.

“The maester warned me of it,” she kissed him again, “all a part of my hysteria, he called it.”

He hummed, “Which brings me to wonder why I was not made aware of this. I could have…relieved you of this suffering.”

She snorted a laugh, a sound he knew he could never grow tired of, “Cregan, if you do not take my clothes off now I would like to go to bed.”

“And what was it I said about your impatience?”

She pushed at his shoulder playfully, gasping as he grasped her wrist in his large hand and pulled her to sit up, moving to lift her and carry her to the bed when she pushed at his shoulder, shaking her head with a sly grin. 

“Here,” she insisted, “it is so warm, and this fur is so soft.”

He shook his head at her, rolling his eyes. Only his wife would be demanding enough as to where he had his way with her and choose anywhere except their marital bed. Only he would be so foolishly in love as to oblige her every whim and allow her to make such demands. 

Growing impatient, she began tugging at her own shift, struggling to lift her hips just enough to slide it over her hips and off completely, leaving her bare before her husband while the firelight flickered off of her soft, freshly oiled skin. His eyes fell from her own to her breasts, which had seemingly doubled in size through her pregnancy, then to her rounded belly; only a few moons would pass before she brought their first child into the world, and he could not be any more in love with her. He knew how excited she’d been over the last few weeks as her body developed with their growing child, spending much of her time with little Rickon, who was just as excited to become an older brother as she was to become a mother. 

“I am not simply here for decoration,” she growled, reaching up to begin tearing the linen shirt from her husband’s body, ignoring his laughter as she struggling to pull the fabric over his wide shoulders and causing his head to get stuck for a moment, “As I said, fuck me or let me sleep.”

His booming laugh echoed through the chamber, scarcely hearing his wife, a Targaryen princess and Lady of Winterfell, use such coarse language. It was the northerner growing within her, he decided as he obliged, kissing her with every ounce of desire he’d been forced to swallow throughout the duration of her family’s stay, pressing her back to lay flat against the dark brown fur. 

Cregan made quick work of kissing down her body, taking a few moments to kiss and suckle and squeeze at her swollen breasts, encouraged by her response to his touch on her sensitive skin as he continued further down. He pressed several playful kisses over her belly, whispering to their child to go to sleep so he could take care of his wife guilt-free. She giggled at this, causing a flood of heat to spread across his chest as he finally crested over the underside of her belly, coming face-to-face with the silver curls safeguarding her womanhood. 

Her legs fell apart easily, and he found no resistance as he eagerly began to feast upon her most intimate place. Her fingers curled into the fur beneath her as her whines and whimpers filled the room, unable to reach for his long dark hair with her belly in the way. He was pleasantly surprised to discover how much of her arousal had pooled between her thighs, two of his thick fingers easily slipping into her heat with practiced precision while his tongue massaged her sensitive pearl. 

Her body seemed more responsive than ever, thighs quivering against his shoulders as her peak crashed over her once, and then moments later, once more. 

He pulled away, noting how her hips had begun to pull away from him, her womanhood more sensitive than ever. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, watching through lustful eyes as his wife grabbed hold of his other wrist, taking the fingers that had brought her to bliss twice only moments before between her lips and sucking them clean. She stared up at him through her lashes, leaning up on her elbow to reach down and paw at the tent that had formed in his breeches, tugging at the laces until they fell open and allowed her to reach inside.

He let out a low growl at the sensation of her hand taking hold of his member, head falling back in relief. Cregan was quick to pull her hand away, shedding his trousers and boots as efficiently as possible so he could lay her flat on her back once more and finally press himself inside of her. 

They both let out long, breathy sounds at the stretch; no matter how many times they would lay together, she never quit got used to the intrusion of his thick cock inside of her, He remained still for a moment, regaining his wits as he willed himself not to finish far too early, though he could not guarantee that he would be able to fight his peak for very long after weeks without his wife’s intimate touch. 

“Cregan, please,” she whimpered, nails scratching down his arm as she planted his fist next to her head, bracing himself as he began to work slow, deep thrusts into her warmth, his own grunts and gasps of pleasure falling from his lips while her lips fell open to allow wails of her enjoyment fall from them with every punch of his tip against her most sensitive place deep within her. 

“My love,” he panted, “For-forgive me…I do not think–”

“Give yourself to me, my love,” she whined, “I need to feel you.”

He nodded, eyes tightening shut as he quickened his pace, chasing his release with grunts and growls and groans until his hips began to stutter, his release pumping deep inside of her until he was shaking. His release triggered her own, pleasure crashing over her for the third time that evening, soaking his length in both of their releases as she clung to his broad frame for dear life. 

She whined when he pulled out of her, sensitive from her three climaxes. He took a moment to stare down at her, stormy gaze trailing from her cunt, where their mix juices had begun seeping from her warmth, to her belly, where their child grew. His eyes then moved to her breasts, which heaved with every deep breath the escaped her parted lips, and finally to her face, which shone with a layer of perspiration as she pulled him down to lay next to her on the fur, turning to press her back against his chest and settling into his embrace as he trailed sweet kisses over her cheek, jaw, and neck. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, sleep threatening to overtake her at any moment. 

“Thank you,” Cregan responded. “I love you.”

“I love you too, husband.”

Silence overtook the room for a moment, only the sound of their slowing breaths and the crackling fire in the hearth could be heard before he finally shared his final thoughts of the night.

“I cannot bear to not have you all to myself for even a moment ever again,” he mumbled into her flesh, “we are never hosting your family again.”

A small chuckle vibrated through her chest.

“I could not agree more.”

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Controversial opinion among Dune book fans maybe, but I loved the changes they made to Chani's character. Making her a fedaykin who is already an experienced fighter before Paul arrives was a brilliant choice. Dune Part Two is a war movie, and this puts her at the center of the action, side by side with Paul, and gives her a much more active role than she has in the book.

We got a hint of where things were going in the beginning of Dune Part One. The first thing we ever know about movie Chani is that she's a fighter. She serves as a voice for the Fremen, telling us the story of their struggle from her point of view. I wrote here about the difference this change makes compared to other adaptations of Dune, what a perspective shift it is to have the world of Arrakis introduced not by an outsider, describing it as a dangerous but valuable colonial prize, but by one of its native inhabitants, who tells us before all else that it's beautiful, her home that she's fighting to liberate. I am so, so glad that the second movie followed up on this characterization.

I never found Chani and Paul's love story in the book particularly convincing, because why would this woman, who already has a prominent and respected place in Fremen society, even give the time of day to her deposed would-be colonizer, let alone fall in love and have children with him? Without a compelling reason for Chani to love Paul, she ends up feeling like a prize to be won, and "indigenous culture personified as a woman to be wooed (or conquered) by the colonizing man" is a trope we've seen and don't need to repeat.

But as soon as you tell me it's a barricade romance I get it. Cool cool cool, I know exactly what this relationship is now and it makes sense. Movie Chani doesn't respect or even particularly like Paul when she first meets him, and she doesn't think he's the fulfillment of any prophecy. She comes to respect him, and eventually love him, through his actions. He's brave--sometimes recklessly so. He fights well. He's willing to stick his neck out on the front lines with the other Fremen fighters. He can (after a little help) hack surviving in the harsh desert environment. He's not too proud to learn from others. He seems to genuinely want to be her equal in a common political struggle. All these qualities make sense as things she values.

Fighting side by side as equals is just about the only way I can see movie Chani falling for Paul. And it fits perfectly with the film's pattern of reversals that Paul's capacity for violence would initially be one of the things Chani likes about him, only for her to be repelled later when she sees what he becomes.

And as for Paul, well, he's had people deferring to him his entire life. Someone who doesn't take any shit from him is probably refreshing. He seems to like people (Duncan, Gurney) who challenge him and engage in a little friendly teasing--and aren't afraid to go a few rounds in the sparring ring.

It's easy to speedrun a romance when you're spending all your time together in mortal danger fighting for a shared political cause. Especially if you then start winning in a war your people have been fighting for decades. Are you kidding me? That is the perfect environment for intense battle camaraderie to turn into romantic love, and lust.

It makes sense that this version of Chani never believes Paul is any kind of messiah. Of course a character like movie Chani wouldn't believe in or trust some outside savior to liberate them. She's been working to liberate her own people for years. The more Paul invokes the messianic myth, the more he starts sounding once again like someone who plans to rule over them, and the more uncomfortable Chani becomes. In this way she becomes a foil to Jessica, the two of them representing the choices Paul is pulled between. It's a great way of externalizing the political and philosophical debates that often happen within characters' heads in the book.

And of course this version of Chani would leave Paul at the end of the film. It's not just the personal, emotional betrayal--although that stings. What common cause does she have with someone who just declared himself emperor and is sending her own people off in a war of conquest against others? Given the important role she plays in Dune Messiah, I am super curious to see how they get her back into the story, but girl was so valid for being willing to just gtfo. Given that she has the last shot of the whole movie, I'm sure she'll be back somehow, and I can't wait to see what they do with her character in any future installments.

[angelltheninth]

Minotaur Chases and Breeds You in the Maze

Pairing: Male!Minotaur x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, slight cnc, primal play, chase, size difference, rough sex, being manhandled, fear play, creampie, breeding kink

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters

A/N: Writing this because my next book also has a minotaur in it and I feel inspired.

The game of chase you play isn't malicious in any way, you're not his sacrifice, you're his girlfriend, his lover

Still you give it your all to try to get away from him and out of the ever changing maze

Only he knows the real way out of there and he almost never chases you towards it all the time

It makes the game last longer

Deliberately waits for you behind corners and pulls you into a rough kiss every time, making your legs just a bit weaker, making you just a bit slower and a lot wetter

"I think you enjoy this chase, little human. That isn't just fear I see on your face, it's not fear that has your legs shaking like that. Keep running, that's right. While you still can."

Occasionally his big, rough fingers will run under your clothes and give your clit a little flick

Gets a little difficult for him to chase you with his cock raging hard between his loincloth

When he's finally had enough pins you to the ground, enjoying the way you buckle and trash under his grip and his body, as if you, a human woman, could ever fight him off

It's fun that you try

But nothing will stop him from pulling your dress of your body with one hand while holding you down with the other

"What's with that scream huh? It's not like anyone can hear you in my maze, other than me. I like it that way. Every sound you make is just for me, because of me. What other sounds can I get from you I wonder?"

Two of his fingers are too much for you at once so he starts you off with just one, thick and rough and like three of your own but still not as thick as his cock

Has to throw your legs over his shoulders so that him slicing his cock in isn't too painful for you

Forces your mouth open when you try to rob him of hearing you moan every time he gives a rough, heavy, deep thrust into your pussy

Constantly keeps one hand on your hip, softly caressing you

Grins as he sees your puffy pussy gripping his cock harder every time he pulls back

"See, I knew your body couldn't lie to me, no matter if your mouth tries to. I know your kind well by now. You're all the same type of whore. Don't be shy, don't be shy, let it all out for me. Or I'll make you. I'll make you come over and over until you learn to let go and give yourself to me like you were meant to."

Tilts your hips upwards so that when he comes his seed flows down your stomach, not just drips down from your already full pussy

Keeps you on his cock as you come, he wants to feel every ripple, every flutter, every little spasm your inner walls give as your whole body shakes against his

Puts his hand against your stomach and gives it a gentle pat as he puffs and squares his shoulders in pure pride and adoration that you managed to handle all of that

Waits for your eyes to clear up and for you to smile up at him before he leans down to kiss you

Holds you against him as he carries you, exhausted and spent, back to the big bed he made just for you

"You did so good for me tonight, my beloved, my wife. I enjoyed myself with you every much. Lets not put any more strain on you tonight, we need to wait and see if my seed will take. If not we can always do this again."

[medusas-daughter]

"Michael fell first Fran loved John they ruined the books waaa" and????????

Daphne was never the diamond of the season, she was on her second saison and had zero prospect and was perpetually friend zoned which is why she even made that deal with the Duke in the first place

Anthony never proposed to Edwina, he and Kate were caught in a compromising position and got married, the whole wedding drama Edwina figuring out their love during her own wedding thing wasn't in the book

Penelope was 28, officially a spinster, had made money and quite a reputation for so many years as Lady Whistledown, she was so much more mature by the time she and Colin fell in love and got married

Benedict was a fucking asshole, seriously I had to dnf the book he was so awful, Benedict in the show is a sweetheart, he's a little shit and has a wicked sense of humor, but he's a sweetheart. Book Benedict can fall off a cliff and die

All of these details fundamentally changed the dynamics between the characters yet no one was complaining then. The minute we get sapphic rep suddenly everyone is a book purist. Franny fell first, for a gorgeous black woman named Michaela, and we're going to see their whole love story unfold, and it's going to be different from the book, and it's going to be beautiful. Choke on it.

Happy pride fellow sapphic nerds 🌈

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Things I think the fandom needs to remember sometimes

-Ponyboy is not a loner or unpopular. He admits to having a lot of friends at school, and a few of them even visit him when he gets out of the hospital, though he notes it makes him uncomfortable that his middle class friends get to see where he lives. Which brings me to my next point;

-The gang does not spend all their time together, or even most of it. Yes they’re all friends, very CLOSE friends- yes, even Steve and Ponyboy- but they have lives outside of the gang. Pony has school friends, Darry has work or old school friends he skis with, Soda and Steve are inseparable to a degree that their outside lives overlap and their identities within the gang are also interwoven, but they all very much have lives outside the gang. Two bit has his mom and little sister and a revolving door of girls. Dallas only shows up when he feels like it and  he lives at bucks and jockeys in the races. Johnny couch surfs at the curtis’ and Two’s place, but he also regularly camps out in the lot and presumably crashes at Dally’s place sometimes too. Yeah, he’s Ponyboy’s best friend, but they’re not inseparable the way Steve and Soda are. It’s a different dynamic. The whole group has lives outside of the gang and I think it’s important to remember this. 

-The term ‘greaser’ is a derogatory term and originated in the 1800s as a slur against Mexican immigrants. It coloquial meaning changed when readopted by the greaser subculture in the 1950s and 60s (according to wikipedia), to primarily refer to lower working class individuals of mexican or italian ancestry, and becoming more ethnically ambiguous, but it still wasn’t widely used outside the subculture itself. Ponyboy is white, but he probably has some Italian ancestry which is characteristic of the greaser subculture, and he identifies with the word- but it’s still a more loaded term than the fandom sometimes pretends, and it still has racial undertones, regardless of how it’s portrayed in the novel and how it moved away from it's historically primarily racialised usage when adopted by the greaser subculture. Ponyboy makes a point of saying in the book that it’s okay for himself and the gang and others of their social group to use it, but when people outside the group call him it it ‘doesn’t make him feel so hot’. I think this helps illustrate that yeah, it’s an offensive term. ‘Greaser’ carries weight and I think it’s important for the fandom to recognise that.

-Darry is trying, but he isn’t a good guardian, and if he was then his character would not be redeemable after The Slap. The reason Darry Curtis as a character is so sympathetic is because he is twenty years old and trying his best, and his best is never good enough. If Darry was a well equipped guardian who was able to parent Pony AND Soda AND the gang (to an extent) the way his parents did, then him slapping Ponyboy would be unforgivable. It would be the action of a brute instead of the action of an overwhelmed older brother forgetting his new role as guardian. The reason Darry is forgivable and so beloved is because he is not perfect, or even good, at his role but he keeps trying and choosing to be present for his brothers over and over. (Remember, he had to fight very hard for custody, probably harder than Ponyboy realizes.)

-The portrayal of every female character is biased by Ponyboy’s narration- and Ponyboy has a lot of internalized misogyny and classism. It makes sense that he holds these ideas, considering the time period and the male dominated environment he grew up in where (presumably) the only woman he ever had any sort of close relationship with was his mother, but it doesn’t make it any less true. However, the women themselves are few and far between but incredibly important characters. I’ve spoken about it before but I think Sandy’s character and her unplanned teenage pregnancy sheds a small amount of light on how poverty affects women as opposed to men, something the book largely lacks due to the only main(ish) female character being upper class;  whereas Sylvia serves as a foil to Dally, and is essentially written to be the offscreen ‘female version’ of him, basically a representation of the ‘worst’ sort of greaser girl while Dally is the ‘worst’ kind of greaser. The only reason these women receive so much hate is because of misogyny- don’t pretend it’s just about the cheating, because it’s not- and if you want to hear further takes on them you can read my thoughts on the misogyny in the fandom here, and my thoughts on Sandy here.  Even Cherry, whom Ponyboy views positively, is viewed that way because of Ponyboy's biased ideas of what makes a girl 'good' and worthy of respect.

-Ponyboy has a fairly negative view of alcohol and alcoholism, but has a very addictive personality. Ponyboy has tried alcohol but didn’t like the way it made him feel. However, his view of Two-bit, while positive, seems to find him less brave than the rest of the gang as he drinks before the rumble, and Ponyboy ‘would hate to see the day he had to get his nerve from a can’. Soda’s reluctance to drink or smoke also adds to Ponyboy’s worship of him, despite the fact that Ponyboy is addicted to nicotine and caffeine respectively and it has the potential to be his undoing more than anything else in the east side.

-The entire story is built on grief. Johnny and Dally are doomed from the start, and Ponyboy mentions his parents' deaths from the first few pages. But loss of a loved one is not the sole type of grief the novel covers. Darry mourns the life he could have had, Soda mourns his imagined future with Sandy, and by the end of the novel Ponyboy is mourning his childhood and loss of innocence. I could go on, but I think the effect of grief is sometimes missing from analysis or canon compliant fanworks, when it is quite literally the driving force behind the story.

[gold-onthe-inside]

wrong person...

who? spencer reid x blake!reader content warnings: reference to an open wound (as a metaphor), kissing, implied sex based on: req. @imagining-in-the-margins wrong recipient prompt (nsfw) - Character sends their friend a detailed review of their recent sexual encounter… and accidentally sends it to the person they’re reviewing - can be xOC word count: 1.5k a/n: it broke my heart having to make penelope the bad gal in this fic, but tbf, my girl can cross boundaries, even with the best intentions. reader is a psychologist and alex's goddaughter, set in s8 (maeve does not exist), after the fifth date. also, slightly tweaked the prompt so it's not necessarily a play-by-play review, but enough to sting. spencer's not the kind that kisses and tells in my book, and i don't feel comfortable writing reader!characters that do.

So, maybe it wasn't an entirely awful idea to let your godmother set you up with her colleague. He's definitely smarter than all your own colleagues combined, and easy to wind up too. In the beginning, it had all been to get Alex off your back, and then you hadn't been able to stop thinking about him all week. You had rules to navigate this stuff, you had refused to get attached until he texted or called you first, and there was a 5th date minimum to invite him in like this. Most days, your heart still felt like an open wound, too many men using you like a plaything, a stepping stone to someone else, but Spencer was different.

You leant on your elbow, always an early riser, the sun barely peeking through your curtains, as you took in his features - the slope of his nose, his perfect peach coloured lips that had been reverent to you all night, cleverly placed love bites behind his ear and chest. At 30, you were too old to be careless. He had freckles too, if you looked close enough, lightly dotting his nose. He's gorgeous and it felt ridiculous that he didn't know it with the way his jawline was sculpted by Michelangelo himself. You'd learnt a long time ago not to trust boys as pretty as he was, but Spencer was all heart, no matter what Alex said about his brain capacity. He was earnest in a way that modern men weren't, you could see why Alex was begging you to see him.

Slowly but surely, he started to stir, hazel eyes blinking up at you. "Hi, beautiful," he murmured, all hoarse from sleep and you couldn't help a smile.

"Morning, sunshine," you replied, and he's already leaning up to kiss you, his hand sliding into your hair, and you sink into his warmth, letting it dissolve you all over again, until his phone started to ring, and he had the decency to give you a sense of closure before pulling away entirely.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, slowly opening his golden green eyes.

"It's your job, don't apologise," you said, your voice mellow like honey, and he kissed your nose before shifting to take the call. You'd rather he kiss you like that and leave for work, than the guys who left before you could wake up - or worse, while you were in the shower. You sat up in bed, watching as he pinned his phone between his ear and shoulder, scrabbling to put on clothes and hopping into a pair of trousers, trying not to laugh - he was easily embarrassed, not that you minded. You liked reassuring him afterwards that you really did like him.

He doesn't blame you for speaking up before he hangs up, you were only trying to help, calling out his name to toss him his watch, which he caught in both hands (he's getting better at that), but it means Penelope hears her voice. And from there on, all hell breaks loose.

Penelope's relentless with this stuff, really the only thing that bothers him about her. He loved her with all his heart, but sometimes, she just didn't know where to draw the line. It's not the first time in history that an FBI agent had done something like this. Alex was kind enough not to say anything, which everyone took as a woman of her age being demure and respectful. But the rest of them…

It was his fault entirely, he should have had better control of his temper. But texting had always been a pet peeve of his, and every time his phone went off that day, it had been Penelope probing about the girl she'd heard over the phone. He'd done everything he could think of, even begged Morgan to call Penelope off the hunt, told him he'd do everyone's paperwork for the rest of the month, but even Morgan knew when a cause was lost. Penelope had tracked his card, found the restaurant the two of you had gone to (some niche Korean place he knew you'd like), and had gone to the extent of tracking you down and ID'ing you, and doing a full background check, and was updating him so often that he'd lost track of the case he was actually supposed to be working. Not being able to narrow the profile any further and the next phone vibration being the last straw, he'd texted back in a blind rage, not even reading the message that had actually been sent.

Spencer: stop texting me at work! i'm probably never gonna see her again anyway, so just STOP!

In his defence, not that he actually thought he had one after his mistake, Penelope had actually stopped texting him after the message had sent. He'd thought it was his text, but it had actually been because she'd tracked down their unsub. It wasn't until he called you with the intention of telling you that he was flying back that night (and was craving Thai food and her company) that he realised something was wrong, because you wouldn't answer. You always answered your cell. Not because of him personally, or so he was flattered to think until Alex corrected that, but because the virtue of your profession. Any call could be an emergency call so you always always picked up. You'd interrupted dates to answer calls - not that he minded, not with how his job sent him all over the country at a moment's notice. So, why wouldn't you answer his?

And then he realised. He had fucked up. Massively, massively fucked up. You had texted him around noon, wishing him luck with the case, that you had taken a lunch break in case he wanted to talk, and asking whether he'd eaten. To which he'd replied with a complete overreaction and now he was sorely tempted to jump out of the jet without a parachute.

He closed down any kind of small talk, sidelining Penelope's attempt to probe deeper, but even then, it was, what, an hour between Quantico and DC?

You were watching Roman Holiday on your couch, practically swallowed in blankets as you watched your comfort movie when the bell rang. Repeatedly. You didn't pause the movie - you had it memorised - as you left your cocoon to answer the door, looking through the peephole first. Spencer was panting, out of breath, almost bent over as you opened the door, mostly to make sure he didn't pass out. "What, were you chased by a hyena or something?"

"I'm… so… sorry," he panted, looking up at her. "I… I can explain all of it, I didn't mean it."

"I'm surprised you even came here, I thought you were never gonna see me again," you said dryly, knowing it was a low blow - he deserved a chance to explain - but you had been miserable for hours. He could live with a little of your sarcasm.

"I didn't mean to send it to you," he said and you tilted your head.

"I know that, you're too smart to mix up pronouns," you said.

"Penelope… heard your voice this morning… she was like a dog…. With a bone all day, just… constantly texting me and asking about you and I couldn't focus at work, I just texted it to her to shut her up for a bit, I didn't… actually mean in… Can I sit down?" he asked, pleading at you, and you really can't resist those eyes, so you stepped aside, letting him into your apartment.

He's too good at his job not to see how that one text had ruined your day - with your favourite movie and everything but the mattress from your bedroom hauled out to the couch, and he crashed into an armchair, his gaze on you as you poured him a glass of water and walked over, kneeling beside him to make him drink it. He let the cool liquid wash down his throat, then set the glass aside, leaning over and closer to you. "I really really didn't mean any of that. I mean, I did mean the stop texting part, and I meant it for Penelope, but not for you, I always want to hear from you, I mean, if I could, I'd shrink you down to Tinkerbell size and take you with me everywhere, but miniaturisation technology is too far away, we're barely getting 3D printing to work reliably--"

"I believe you," you said softly, pressing your hand to his wrist, feeling his thumping pulse.

"You do?" he asked, looking at you with those beautiful eyes.

"I do," you said. "To be fair, it did feel very uncharacteristic of you to say that to me, let alone get angry at me."

"It's just been a really long day," he said, tiredly, and you nod.

"I have the perfect cure for that," you said, smiling up at him.

"Yeah?"

"Roman Holiday and takeout," you replied and he smiled back down at you.

"Sounds perfect to me."

[cultivating-wildflowers]

found this in the reviews of a personal favorite and I'm so offended right now

can we please stop?

I try not to judge a book by its audience but sometimes

sometimes it’s hard