#father daughter relationship will be the end of me

[surielstea]

Dancing With Fate

Original request.

Pairing: Nyx Archeron x Tamlin’s Daughter!Reader

Summary: While struggling with her relationship with her father, Reader goes to her first ball and stumbles upon a male she has never met, but feels a distinct connection to.

Warnings: slight angst with a parent, mostly fluff between Reader and Nyx

A.Note: I apologize for how long this took me to get out, I really struggled with how to format her back story but I ended up fairly happy with it, let me know if y’all want more of these two I’d be happy to write a few one shots of their dynamic as well as all the family drama since I’m such a sucker for the forbidden love trope ;)

6.4k word count.

"Can you do that again for me, my sweet?" my mother whispered, her voice trembling as she crouched down to my height. I watched her eyes fill with a glassy shine that I didn't understand. She reached out, her hands shaking as they wrapped around my small wrists. I blinked up at her, wide-eyed and oblivious, only feeling the warmth of her touch and the tremor of her fingers.

I balled my hands into tiny fists, scrunching my face with all the concentration I could muster. I wanted so badly to make her proud, to show her what I could do. I willed the claws beneath my skin to surface, squeezing my fists tighter until, with a soft tearing, they slid out, small and sharp, shining like new silver. Her breath caught, and her eyes went even wider as she stared at the claws that had split through my knuckles. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and I tilted my head, wondering why she was sad. I reached out, my claws joining the action as I moved, but she stumbled back, evading the sharp silver, her hand pressed over her mouth.

"What's wrong, Momma?" I asked, my voice tiny. I tried to reach for her cheek, to wipe the tear away like she'd done for me so many times, but she shook her head, forcing a small, shaky smile.

"Nothing, it's alright, my sweet," she whispered, her voice soft and a little broken. "I just... didn't think you'd be able to do this so soon." Her fingers lingered on my cheek, warm and tender. She looked at me like she was memorizing my face, like every part of me mattered.

I gave her a proud smile, lifting my hands. "Isn't it cool?" I grinned widely, my innocence unbroken. I had no idea what my claws really meant, or the sorrow that darkened her gaze as she watched me slash the air with them, filling the quiet night with soft, sharp swishes. She just sat there, quiet and sad, holding her own hands close to her chest as if they couldn't bear to let me go.

It was a late night, much too late for me to be awake. I clung tightly to my mother's hand as she led me through a garden filled with roses that gleamed under the moonlight. The flowers were tall and beautiful, and I wanted to reach out to touch them, but my mother's grip kept me close. She moved so fast, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, like she was hiding from something.

"Where are we going, Mom?" I asked in a small voice, but she didn't answer, her steps quickening as she pulled me along. The roses seemed to shiver in the breeze, their petals brushing against us as we passed, and the moon above us was high and cold, casting everything in a silver glow.

Ahead of us was a huge mansion, bigger than any house I'd ever seen. It loomed in the night, dark and quiet, like it was waiting for us. My mother slowed as we neared the porch, her breathing heavy as she crouched down in front of me, her face serious in a way that made my heart beat faster.

She pressed a folded piece of paper into my hands, her fingers cold and firm around mine. "We're going to play a game, okay?" she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Her fingers brushed my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I nodded eagerly, happy that she wanted to play. Games with Momma were always fun. She pointed to the paper, her hand gentle but urgent. "Whoever opens that door," she said, her voice steady but quiet, "you give them this paper, okay?" Her gaze held mine, as if she was trying to pour a message into me with her eyes. "And, my sweet," she paused, swallowing hard, "I'm going to hide now. And no matter what they ask you, you can't tell them I was with you. It's a big secret."

I blinked up at her, not fully understanding, but I nodded anyway, like a good girl. She reached out, her fingers lingering on my cheek again, her eyes shimmering with something I couldn't name. "I'll meet you at the window, okay?" Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "It'll be fun, I promise."

I reached up to brush the tear away, but she was already rising. Before I could say anything else, she knocked on the tall doors, and with a last, lingering look, she turned and melted into the shadows. Just like that, she was gone.

Suddenly, the night felt enormous and empty, the shadows stretching out around me, dark and cold. The noises from the forest grew louder, like the trees and animals and everything hidden within the dark were whispering all around me. My heart pounded, and I almost wanted to cry out, to beg for her to come back and take me home. But before I could make a sound, the massive doors creaked open, casting a sliver of light onto the porch.

A man stood in the doorway, tall and fierce, with wild red hair and eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness. One of his eyes gleamed gold, like a piece of metal, and he looked down at me with a frown, his expression stern and sleepy. "Excuse me, Mister," I squeaked, trying to remember my mother's instructions.

His gaze softened just a bit as he took in my tiny figure. "And who might you be?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.

"I'm supposed to give this to you." I held up the paper, my hands trembling as I waited for him to take it. He knelt down, eyeing me carefully as he unfolded the note, his expression unreadable. I gave him a polite smile, remembering my mother's lessons, but his gaze flicked from the note back to me, his eyes narrowing.

"Where's your mother?" he asked, his voice soft but sharp.

I shrugged, fidgeting under his gaze. "I don't know," I whispered, my heart thudding in my chest.

"But she brought you here, didn't she?" he pressed, his gaze steady. I swallowed, unsure of how my mother would want me to answer. After a long, quiet moment, he sighed, opening the door wider. "Come inside. You shouldn't be out here alone."

I followed him into the mansion, the silence thick and heavy as he led me up a grand staircase. My shoes clicked against the cold, polished floor as we climbed up and up, stopping finally at a pair of wooden doors wrapped in ivy. I was too small to open them, so I just waited, feeling very small in the middle of the enormous hallway.

"Wait here a moment," he said, giving me a nod before stepping through the door. I looked around, mesmerized by the golden chandelier hanging above me, its glow casting strange, twisting shadows that moved as the lights flickered.

"I already told you I'm not in the mood to talk, Lucien." A deep, heavy voice sounded from beyond the door, and I jumped, hugging my cloak tighter around me.

"It's not that," Lucien replied, his tone shifting in a way that sounded unsure, even a little nervous. "You have a visitor."

The other voice was silent for a moment, and my stomach knotted up as I realized they were talking about me. "Tell them to leave," the man said finally, his tone cold and final.

Lucien sighed, and I heard the soft rustling of paper. The silence felt like it stretched forever, but then footsteps approached. The door swung open, and I looked up to see a tall man with golden hair, his eyes dark and sharp as they fell on me. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he wasn't used to children, that maybe he didn't know what to do with me.

But he crouched down slowly, his gaze softening just a bit as he held his hands up, like he wanted me to know he wasn't going to hurt me. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I told him, my voice a quiet whisper, but he nodded as if he'd heard every word. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, tilting his head, and I shook my head, looking down at my hands.

"I'm the High Lord of the Spring Court," he said softly, his tone proud but his eyes sad. My eyes widened, a little smile pulling at my lips. I'd heard of a High Lord in my mother's stories, someone powerful and magical.

"But, more importantly," he continued, his gaze searching my face, "I'm your father."

I blinked up at him, the words hanging in the air like they were something heavy, something I didn't yet understand. I wanted to ask him what it all meant, but all I could do was stare up at him, my fingers curling around the edge of my cloak, wishing I was safe in my mother's arms again.

———

Ever since that night, I've been confined to this estate on every special occasion, under the watchful eyes of my father's maids, lest I sneak away the moment I'm alone. Tonight, like many others, I'm left looking out the window of my bedroom—the same spot where I'd waited endlessly as a child, hoping my mother would come back for me.

But tonight was going to be different. I'd make sure of it.

I storm out of my room, my heels clicking with determined steps as I march down the hall. I swing open the doors to my father's study without knocking. He looks up from his papers, brow creased, clearly taken aback by my abrupt entrance.

"I'm going to the Dawn Court tonight," I say, my tone leaving no room for discussion.

"Absolutely not," he replies, shaking his head and dipping his quill back in the ink, dismissing me with the kind of finality he's used to exerting over me.

"All the courts are invited," I argue, stepping forward. "I'm obligated to go."

"No," he says again, his tone colder. "It's a high-profile ball. You're not ready."

I draw in a sharp breath, struggling to keep my temper in check. "Not ready? Father, I'm nineteen. If not now, then when?" This age had been difficult for him for some reason, I don't know why but ever since my birthday he's been acting strangely, started keeping me shut out and less involved—I may as well have just been imagining it or it was a coincidence it started happening after I turned nineteen, but once I got the thought in my head it was hard to get it out.

His expression hardens, his voice annoyingly calm. "Just, not now."

A chill spreads through my hands, and I have to resist the urge to bear the claws that hide beneath my skin. "I'm so tired of having every decision made for me," I say, pressing my palms to my temples as frustration wells up. "Of being treated like a prisoner in this house."

He stands, his temper fraying. "And I'm sick of you thinking you know best," His voice rises, echoing in the silence of the study. "You don't understand half of what's at stake."

"No, maybe I don't. But neither do you, apparently," I snap back. "Or maybe it's just that you're afraid to lose the only company you have left in this house. Is that it, Father?"

His hands ball into fists, metal-like claws gleaming from his knuckles. Mine slid out as well, a metallic gleam in the dim light.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he snarls, eyes darkening.

"Maybe I do," I bite back. "I hate this house." It came out as more of a confession than a retort, but his face falters, pain flickering through his eyes before he regains his composure.

"You don't mean that."

"I do," I insist, voice shaking with anger. "I hate this house, and I wish my mother never abandoned me here." The words are barely out of my mouth before I turn on my heel and stride out, slamming the door behind me so hard the walls shudder, my claws snagging on the wood of the door and scraping the paint off, revealing the bare, slightly rotted wood beneath. It felt like a metaphor, in a strange way.

I make my way to the garden, desperate for air. The night breeze is cool as I step out onto the deck, and I close the glass doors behind me a little more gently this time. Taking a few deep breaths, I walk along the garden path, letting the silence and cold soothe my frayed nerves. Winter's grip is finally loosening, and the garden is starting to come alive with buds and leaves. My favorite time of year.

I reach for one of the rosebuds, my claws retracting ever so slowly, my skin morphing over the hideous metal that gleamed in the moonlight. I forget the feeling of the power my father gifted me and remember the feeling and comforting warmth of my mother's power flickering beneath my fingertips. The flower blooms in my palm, reaching out toward me, and I smile faintly as I coax the other buds open along the path. Flower by flower my frustrating emotions ebb, and by the time I've reached the stone bench, my anger has cooled, replaced by something heavier, more complicated.

I sit, feeling the familiar weight of regret settle over me. I don't hate this house, not really. I hate the way I'm trapped in it.

The glass door opens, and I know without looking that it's him. My father takes a seat beside me on the bench, and I shift away, making it clear I'm not ready to forgive him just yet. We sit in silence, watching the newly-bloomed flowers sway in the night breeze. Finally, he sighs.

"You can go to the Dawn Court tonight," he says quietly.

I turn to him, my eyes wide with surprise.

He hesitates, looking down at his hands. "I'm..." He struggles around the word. "Sorry that you feel like you can't make your own choices," he mutters, his voice filled with a vulnerability I haven't heard ever before. "I'm trying to do better. And, you're right. I am afraid."

My heart softens, and the walls I've built up slowly crumble. "Afraid of what?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Of losing you, in turn losing everything." He looks up, his eyes—a shade of green I've always found comfort in—filled with an emotion that makes my heart ache.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, and he pulls me close, his hand gently stroking my back. "I'm sorry, too," I murmur into his shoulder.

He shakes his head. "Don't be. You're my daughter. You're allowed to be angry with me." He pulls back to look at me. "Just promise me one thing," he says. "Promise you won't run away tonight."

I give him a small smile, the request so obscene that u couldn't help it. "I'll be perfect. Thank you, Father." I reassure.

He nods, satisfied, and rises from the bench. "We leave in an hour. You'd better start getting ready."

———

My dress is a soft lavender that hugs my waist and fans out into a beautiful, flowing skirt, the slit running up my thigh edged in delicate embroidered flowers. The open back crisscrosses with delicate ties, and the neckline is just low enough to be elegant without being too revealing. One of the maids has styled my hair in a half-up, half-down look, a few braided strands framing my face. For once, I feel exactly how I want to feel—elegant, feminine, and free.

I leave my bedroom and make my way down the hall to the marble staircase, where my father waits at the base. As I descend, his eyes widen, his mouth opening slightly as he takes in my appearance.

"Well?" I do a small spin, laughing at his awestruck expression.

He swallows, a proud smile slowly spreading across his face. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, pulling me into a hug.

I hug him back, letting him hold me close, and in that moment, it feels as if all the tension of our earlier argument melts away. We're just father and daughter again.

———

The Dawn Court ballroom is bathed in golden light, warm and inviting. I've barely stepped inside when a tall, dark-skinned man in white robes approaches, a halo of gold atop his head.

"And who is this lovely lady?" he asks, his voice rich with curiosity.

"My daughter," my father answers gruffly, his protective tone unmistakable.

The man blinks in surprise before offering a sheepish smile. "Ah, well then." He turns and makes a quick exit.

"Who was that?" I ask, amused by his reaction.

"High Lord of Day," my father mutters, a hint of irritation in his voice. "He has a reputation."

I raise an eyebrow, smiling as I unlink my arm from his. "Are all High Lords so... pretty?"

"Careful," he growls in warning.

A cheeky smile appears on my lips as I unhook my arm from his. "Only observations." I shrug. "I'm going to get a drink." I take a step away and he takes it with me. "Father, I'm only going to the refreshments table, not war. I'll be fine." I promise and he solicits a sigh.

"No wine." He demands and I shake my head in disbelief.

"Yes sir." I mock salute before spinning on my heel and walking across the ballroom, I make my way to the refreshment table and pour myself a glass from the fountain of cider, admiring the way the bubbles shimmer in the golden light. My father had said no wine but mentioned nothing about spiked cider. I take a long sip and begin to explore the ballroom, watching dancers swirl in gowns of blue and pink that mirror the sunset outside.

Lost in thought, I wander past an indoor garden filled with gardenias and evergreens. I couldn't help myself but slip inside, a few guests were inside, admiring the flowers just as I wished to do, so I deemed I was allowed to. I approached an arch of budded flowers, standing beneath the green vines that soon would be sprouted in color. I reached out, gently brushing a bud with my fingertips, watching as it blooms in reply.

"Your touch has improved since the last time I saw you," a familiar voice murmurs from behind me.

I turn, eyes lighting up as they land on a tan-skinned male with striking red hair. "Lucien!" I throw my arms around him, grinning.

He chuckles, pulling me into a warm hug. "You look stunning, little Fawn," he says, holding me at arm's length to take in my dress. "How did you manage to get out of the house?"

I smirk with a casual shrug. "Whipped out the claws."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Like father, like daughter." He mused and I chuckled, looking down at the flowers reaching towards me, asking for my attention again.

"You want to dance?" His hand comes to my shoulder and I shake my head.

"You go ahead, I think I'll need a few more glasses before I step foot on the dance floor." I scoff and he shakes his head.

"Nonsense, you're a terrific dancer." He bumps my shoulder.

"I'm okay uncle, really," I reassured and he clamped his lips shut.

"Okay, find me if you need me." He presses a kiss to my temple and I nod.

He saunters away towards a group of friends I didn't recognize and I continue exploring, sipping my champagne as I wander through the crowd.

My gaze is caught by a group of strangers dressed in dark clothing. There's a woman in deep maroon, a honey brunette who smiles at me softly, and beside her, a tall man wearing a black-jeweled crown. I study them curiously, trying to place who they might be.

Distracted, I accidentally walk straight into someone's chest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I stammer, stumbling back. I trip over my heels, but a pair of strong hands catches me, steadying me before I fall.

"You alright?" an unfamiliar voice asks, deep and soothing.

I look up—and up—and up—at a broad-shouldered man with rugged features and half of his shoulder-length hair tied back. He has a friendly, easy-going smile that immediately puts me at ease.

"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, flushing slightly.

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "No need to apologize. I should have been watching where I was going. You'd think five centuries would be enough time to figure that out." He snorts, red siphons gleaming on his chest and hands.

I blink in surprise. "Five centuries?"

He grins, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, no need to make me sound ancient."

I laugh, feeling unexpectedly comfortable around him. "Right. Apologies again." I clamp my lips shut, embarrassed.

"Who's the lucky person that brought you here tonight?" He asks, sensing my embarrassment and switching the topic, shifting to face towards the crowd.

"Couldn't I have come on my own?" I counter, crossing my arms.

He laughs again. "Touché. But I'll bet that doesn't mean you'll be lacking for dance partners." He gestures to the dance floor.

"Maybe," I say with a smile, "but that depends on who asks."

"Well, I would, but my mate would probably have my head if I danced with anyone else," he says, feigning a solemn look.

"Pity," I replied playfully. "But it's alright—you don't seem all that familiar with your feet anyway."

He gasps, feigning insult. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm a world-class dancer!"

"Oh, really?" I raise an eyebrow. "Shame, then. You missed your chance."

He chuckles, backing away. "Well, it was nice talking to you—mystery lady."

"Likewise," I call after him with a smile, watching as he disappears into the crowd.

The music is lively, filling the ballroom with a vibrant energy as dancers swirl and laugh under the golden chandeliers. I sip the last of my cider, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through me. For the first time in ages, I feel, free. Maybe my father had been right to keep me close all these years; maybe I wasn't ready for this world of strangers and their sharp eyes. But as I watch the colors and movement around me, I know I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.

Lost in my thoughts, I wander past the terrace doors and step outside, onto a balcony that overlooks a sprawling garden filled with glistening fountains and delicate white flowers. I take a deep breath, savoring the crisp night air, and let my fingers trace the cool stone railing wrapped in ivy.

Then I hear it—a quiet, amused hum from just behind me. I turn, startled, and my gaze falls on a young man leaning casually against the doorway, watching me with a slight, crooked smile.

He's tall, with jet-black hair that falls in tousled waves, and eyes that are strikingly, disarmingly blue. He wears a dark, impeccably tailored suit, with a midnight-blue shirt beneath, the top buttons undone enough to reveal tan skin beneath. There's an effortless elegance to him, a quiet confidence, like he belongs in every corner of this glittering world.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he says, stepping forward with a charming half-smile. "But I had to wonder what you were doing all by yourself out here. Parties like these are hardly tolerable alone."

I raise an eyebrow, feeling my cheeks warm under his gaze. "And yet here you are, all by yourself."

He chuckles, eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "Fair, though technically, I'm not alone anymore, am I?"

I laugh, feeling my earlier irritation with my father melt away as I look at him. "I suppose not. Though I doubt you're here to keep me company."

He raises a hand in mock innocence. "You wound me. I've been nothing but kind since we met."

"Have we met?" I ask, tilting my head. "I think I would've remembered," I say with an angled head and something flickers in his sapphire gaze that I can't quite place.

He seems to consider this, tilting his head thoughtfully. "No, we haven't officially met," he concedes. "Which feels like a shame, honestly."

The corners of my mouth lift in a smile. "So, are you going to introduce yourself, or are we just going to continue being strangers?"

His eyes sparkle with something like amusement as he extends a hand. "Strangers sounds nice," I say flippantly, looking out at the Dawn Courts skyline, a sliver of the sun barely visible. This party was supposed to last until dawn, until the sun returned and the entire court could watch the outmatched sunrise of this court.

I wasn't ready to commit to making any friends, I had just gained my freedom, I wished to revel in it for a few moments longer, nameless was my way of doing it.

He laughs, a rich, genuine sound that makes my heart skip. "Alright, stranger," he says, leaning casually against the railing beside me. "What brings you out to the edge of the ballroom?"

"Some air," I reply with a shrug, looking out over the garden. "I hadn't expected to feel so claustrophobic."

He nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Parties can be exhausting. All the faces, all the names. It's nice to step away."

I glance at him. "You sound like you've been to one too many of these."

"Oh, you have no idea," he says with a grin. "I think I've been to so many I could navigate them in my sleep."

"And here I thought you looked like you were having fun," I tease.

"Maybe I'm a good actor," he says, his tone playful. "Or maybe I just needed a reason to enjoy it."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "Does that line actually work for you?"

"More often than you'd think," he says, laughing. "But since you're clearly immune to charm, let me try a different approach." He holds out a hand, bowing slightly. "Would you do me the honor of a dance, stranger?"

I hesitate, glancing back at the ballroom, but something about his easy smile, the spark of humor in his eyes, makes me want to take his hand. I place mine in his, letting him lead me closer.

The music inside changes as his lithe fingers make contact with my waist, shifting to a slower, softer melody. He adjusts my stance, guiding me with a gentleness that surprises me. There's a warmth in his gaze that makes my heart pound just a little faster as I look up at him.

"So, princess," he murmurs as we begin to move, his voice barely audible over the music echoing from inside. "Are you here with family? Or did you sneak away to attend the most boring ball of the season?"

I laugh, looking up at him with feigned offense. "Boring? I'll have you know I'm having a wonderful time."

"Are you?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"Maybe a little of both," I admit, a smile tugging at my lips. "And you? Do you always call balls like these boring?"

"Only when my mother's not here to overhear," he replies, grinning. "But tell me, how did you get here?"

I hesitate, wondering how much to tell him, but there's something about his gaze that makes it feel safe, to be honest. "My father brought me," I say, keeping it vague. "He doesn't let me out much."

"Really?" The stranger's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I would've pegged you for someone who went wherever they pleased."

"I'd like to think so," I reply, laughing. "But apparently, my father has other ideas."

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity in his eyes. "What does he think you'll do? Start a rebellion?"

"Maybe," I say with a shrug, a playful glint in my eyes. "He's probably right."

His laughter is warm, and he holds me a little closer as we spin across the marbled balcony floor. "Well, if you ever need a partner in crime, let me know. I'm an excellent accomplice."

I arch an eyebrow, smirking. "How do I know you're any good at sneaking out?"

He grins, leaning down until his voice is a soft murmur in my ear. "Trust me, princess. You don't survive my family without learning how to slip away now and then."

I glance up, meeting his gaze, intrigued by the way his words hold a hidden depth, a story he's not telling. "Your family sounds, interesting."

"That's one way to put it," he says with a chuckle, eyes flickering with a momentary shadow. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his easy charm. "Let's just say they have certain expectations."

"Well, then maybe we have more in common than I thought," I say, softening.

"Seems that way," he murmurs, his voice softening too. There's a gentleness in his gaze now, and I feel his hands hold me just a little more securely as if he's anchoring me.

We dance like this, quietly, for a few moments, simply enjoying the music and each other's company. He spins me once, drawing a soft laugh from me, and when he pulls me back, I'm closer than I realized, his breath warm on my cheek.

"Do you think we'd have met otherwise?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I blink, a little caught off guard by the question. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Fate has a funny way of working, doesn't it?" He's still holding me close, his gaze warm and thoughtful, and I feel the world fade away a little as we look at each other.

"It does," I reply, almost breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes glimmering with something I couldn't place. "I hope—I hope fate lets us meet again."

For a moment, I forget about the ballroom, about my father's rules, about everything except him. I don't know who he is, or why he's here, but something about him feels achingly familiar, like we're old friends, like I've known him in some other life.

When the music fades, he slowly lets me go, and I feel the loss of his warmth, his presence. He steps back, bowing with a playful, courtly gesture.

I scoff a laugh and give my best attempt at a curtsy. "You're a natural," He muses as the music dies down and I sidle closer to the balcony, eager to look out at the world beyond that I had never witnessed before.

The balcony feels almost timeless as we stand there, his presence beside me grounding in a way I hadn't expected. We talk as if there are no constraints, just the night around us, a quiet space carved out in the world. His words flow easily, a mix of humor and teasing, sometimes dipping into moments of gentleness that make my chest tighten.

I can't help but keep stealing glances at him, trying to memorize the sharp line of his jaw and the warm, playful gleam in his eyes. And every time I meet that gaze, I feel the strange, unshakable familiarity tugging at me—a whisper in the back of my mind that insists I know him, that maybe I've known him far longer than this one night. But I can't let myself get swept away in that feeling. Not yet.

We talk for hours about anything and everything, I tell him about the flowers below us, and what they symbolize, and in return, he tells me of the stars in the sky, the constellations, and each of their names.

We talked about things that I never voiced before, but there was a steady comfort in his presence that made me feel like I could confess even my deepest mistakes and he'd nod with understanding in his eyes, not a flicker of judgment.

We didn't go into the ballroom the entire night, had taken up the small seating area that curved around the side of the building I hadn't noticed before.

"So, princess," he says, smirking as he leans his back into his chair, arms folded in a lazy, practiced ease, "if you weren't here, what kind of trouble would you be getting yourself into?"

I think for a moment, letting my fingers graze the ivy-covered stone. "Trouble? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I'm sure you don't." He smirks, an amused glint in his eyes. "I pegged you for the rebellious type the moment I set eyes on you." He goes on.

I shrug, glancing out over the shadowed garden below. "Well, clearly you don't know me very well," I reply in a snarky tone, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Perhaps I'm a perfectly obedient daughter who follows all the rules."

His laugh is low and rich, sending a pleasant shiver through me. "Now, I find that hard to believe," he murmurs, tilting his head to meet my gaze. "A wildflower like you, growing in a gilded cage? No, I think you're meant to be out there—" he gestures to the dark mountains beyond the garden, "—living on your own terms."

My cheeks warm under his gaze, but I lift my chin. "And you? What about you, oh wise stranger? Surely you're not the type to follow anyone's rules but your own."

"Oh, I'd follow them," he says, his voice dropping to a playful murmur, "if you were the one making them."

I feel my face flush at his words, but I can't resist matching his grin. "Be careful what you wish for. I'd hate to ruin that roguish charm with a few boundaries."

"Boundaries?" He raises an eyebrow, laughing. "I don't believe you’re the kind of girl to put them in place, life's far more interesting without them, don't you think?" He cocks his head in an all too demeaning fashion, as if he knows me better than to even suggest such a thing. I can’t help but smile at the familiarity, of being truly seen and known, it was foreign, but welcomed. “More than you know,” I reply, a softer atmosphere taking over with the tenderness in my voice.

"So, what does someone like you dream of seeing?"

It's a simple enough question, but I find myself hesitating, surprised by how much I want to answer, how easy it feels to open up to him. "I want to see everything," I admit, my voice almost a whisper. "Every corner of the world. The mountains, the seas. I want to taste the air in different places and feel the ground under my feet where no one else has walked. I want to be free."

It's more than I've ever shared with anyone, especially someone who doesn't even know my name. I swallow, feeling suddenly vulnerable, but when I glance at him, his gaze is warm, and understanding. As if he knows exactly what I mean.

"I think freedom suits you," he says softly like he's revealing a secret. "It's in your eyes—the way they look past this place, like you're already somewhere else entirely."

His words send a shiver through me, and for a moment, I can't find any words at all. So instead, I look away, watching as the sky shifts from deep indigo to a paler shade, hinting at the dawn. "Maybe one day I'll get to see it all," I say, more to myself than to him.

"I have a feeling you will." His voice is quiet, almost wistful, and I glance back to find him watching me with that same, unsettling familiarity, as if he, too, feels this strange pull between us.

We fall into an easy silence after that, leaning against the railing side by side as the stars start to fade. Occasionally, he says something that makes me laugh, and I find myself telling him things I'd never tell anyone else—about the books I love, the dreams I've buried, the way I crave a life that's different from the one set out for me.

He listens, really listens, his attention never wavering. And in return, he shares pieces of himself, though I sense he's careful, holding back just as much as I am. He speaks of a family that has expectations, a life lived beneath a weight that isn't always visible. I don't pry, but I nod, letting him know I understand.

The sky lightens, a faint glow spreading over the horizon, and I can't help but feel a pang of regret as the world around us starts to wake.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice low, "I think this might be one of the best conversations I've ever had."

I laugh softly, though my heart aches a little at the thought of this night ending. "You don't get many opportunities to talk with strangers on balconies?"

"Not like this," he says, glancing down at me, his expression unreadable. "Not with someone like you."

There's something so earnest in his gaze that I feel my resolve waver. I want to tell him who I am, to share every piece of myself, but a part of me resists, clinging to this fleeting anonymity.

"Thank you," I say softly, and I mean it more than he could ever know.

"For what?" he asks, his tone warm.

"For reminding me that people can be kind. That they can listen." I smile up at him, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and hope. "I think I needed that."

The first light of dawn glimmers on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the garden. Slowly, he reaches out, taking my hand in his, his touch warm and steady. I feel his thumb brush gently over my knuckles, and it sends a wave of warmth through me, a silent promise in his touch.

"Maybe one day," he says softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll meet again. Maybe fate will give us that."

I can't bring myself to say anything, so I simply nod, letting myself savor the feel of his hand in mine for just a moment longer.

As the first rays of sunlight touch the garden below, he releases my hand, stepping back with a soft smile. He gives me one last, lingering look before turning, disappearing through the terrace doors and back into the world from which he came.

I stay there, watching as the light fills the sky, feeling like I've lost something precious and found something rare all at once.

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[fortunapre]

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ♫ Lando Norris x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ♫ You Lando can’t stay away from each other, no matter how bad you should be running for the hills.

This is heavily inspired by the song “Run for the Hills” by Tate McRae

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 16+, use of Y/n, 3rd Person POV

♪ 𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 ♪ 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ♪ 𝐋𝐍𝟒 ♪ 𝟐.𝟓𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

Did this idea also come from the possibility that Lando (or his car) might be featured in Tate’s new music video? yes. Yes, it did.

Never gonna ever be more than just something that’s fucking me up,

Should run for the hills, should run for the hills

Should be running for the hills the way you touch me.

This dilemma you’re in, is nothing new. Partners with benefits? Friends with benefits? Sure, but it's a bit more complicated than Mila Kunis and Justin Timberlake. 

If anyone, meaning anyone, found out about your relationship (if you could even call it that), you’d both be fired. Ended. Then in your case, probably disowned. 

Across from the table, your secret sits a few seats away, chatting with another member of the team. Occasionally, you make eye contact and its never casual glances because his eyes hold a type of want that makes your skin burn. Each time your eyes meet, it’s like a secret signal. His hazel eyes hold promises that you swear could end wars. Or start them. Whatever he wanted, probably. 

No matter how much tension and stolen glances passed between you two, nothing could ever come of it tonight. He, Lando Norris, is a McLaren Formula One racing driver, and you are untouchable to him. Because you are the daughter of a rich man, a rich man who happens to be the leading sponsor of the McLaren Racing team. Your father’s business is so large, that if any reporter, coworker, friend, or teammate caught wind of an interpersonal relationship between you and Lando, he’d be ruined. Nothing stops the media from taking lies and twisting them for any audience that’ll listen. 

It’s been about six months of team dinners and other events since your family became a McLaren business partner. Six months where you’ve gotten way too close to Lando. Originally, you listened to your father’s warnings about dating anyone McLaren-related, but with Lando, you couldn’t help yourself.

The flirting became more than playful, and the careful touches became purposeful. Up until last night, the most you two had ever physically interacted is small brushes of your hands in crowded rooms, or that one time you swear he grazed your leg while sitting in a conference. Then last night, at the hotel your family and him were conveniently sharing, you let your needs win. You went to his room because you couldn’t sleep and wanted company at first, but then he invited you to his room's patio hot tub. 

Hotels, late nights, hands through my hair,

Long talks, red eyes, clothes everywhere…

You talked a bit, kissed a bit, kissed more, explored each other, but never did anything serious. Eventually, you both shared the realization that your family might come looking for you, so you stopped. However, ever since you left him last night, you’ve only been able to think about his hands and his lips. Little did you know, he was stuck on the same thing.

You both wanted it, and were willing to throw everything out of the window just to be in each other's reach. So, what was stopping you?

That was the same question that was running through both you and Lando’s mind tonight.

‘What’s stopping us?’ Your eyes tried to communicate to him, while tilting your head a bit. 

He let a smirk slip at first, but then immediately hid it, hoping no one caught him. If anyone followed his eyesight, they’d easily catch you two looking at each other with more fire than the hibachi stove next to you. 

You ate silently and talked to other business moguls around the table, trying your hardest to ignore how Lando was practically undressing you with his eyes. 

“So, Y/N, how’s life treating you?” A man who is two seats away from you changed the subject from baseball and directed it to you. He was wearing a classic pinstripe 3-piece suit that looked like it was going to pop open any second. He had an air that absolutely radiated money, or perhaps that was just the cologne that’s been burning your nose all night. 

You twitched your nose at the smell, then plastered a fake smile when looking at the man. “As good as it can get, I guess.” You answered him and took a look around the table, seeing how everybody has stopped to listen to your conversation. 

There were some people that you recognized, and some that you didn’t. (And one person that you wished you knew everything about.) Some people wore nice clothing, and others were dressed in casual or orange. 

“Good, good,” the man added while stabbing a piece of steak, swirling it in brown sauce on his plate. He shoveled the food into his mouth and continued nodding like he was still going to speak. He waved his fork in your direction, as he chewed. At first, he looked like he would never swallow the food. Finally, with what looked like a painful gulp, he cleared his throat and spoke again. “You, uh, getting into the family business anytime soon?”

“Sorry?” I asked, slightly confused with his wording. I was already in the family business, and I was sure he already knew that.

“Excuse me,” he began again. “I only meant to ask if you had put any thought into properly naming yourself an owner of your family’s company.” 

You were at an age where most business owners started inheriting the business, but your father was as healthy as ever, so there was no need to think about that. Maybe the man was looking for an opening to join your family’s company? 

“Oh, um, I’ve already prepared myself to inherit the business when the time comes, if that’s what you're referring to, but my place as a business representative is serving me well enough at the moment.”

The man nodded again, shoveled more meat into his mouth, nodded more, then gulped. “Ahhh, I see.” 

His words shouldn’t have meant anything rash, but his tone was so sour that I almost flinched. Anyone that wasn’t in the industry wouldn’t think twice about his wording, but when you’ve been surrounded by people like him all of your life, you catch the real meanings. In high class motorsport business, people rarely ever say what they actually mean, so you have to learn to understand their underlying cues. 

For example, someone could say “your business has been running pretty consistently recently,” when they really mean “I know you're going into debt nana nana boo boo.”

This man said “Ahhh… I see,” in a way that sounded very impolite.

“Sorry, but it almost sounded like you were doubting my daughter’s future.” Your father spoke up, cutting off the man who was speaking to you. Your father must have also caught on to the man’s tone. The man shook his head quickly and looked around the table, trying to explain. Everyone’s attention was still on our conversation. 

Even Lando’s. Especially Lando’s.

Lando looked like he wasn’t enjoying the man’s accusations, eyes almost predatory. 

You looked away from him, and back to the blubbering man. “No, no, no, no, no, sir. You must understand. I was only curious whether your daughter’s recent affairs had affected the re-”

“Affairs?” My father spoke louder. He didn’t look at me for clarification, he just looked angrier at the man. 

“Well, I mean, everybody’s noticed her and the McLaren racer becoming uncomfortable close for a business relationship.” The man looked both nervous, yet proud of his words. 

Your eyes widened. You were not expecting this man to know anything about this. You were mortified, safe to say. He had just outed you and Lando to a table full of people you were keeping your relationship the most secret from. 

“Get out.” Your dad stood from his chair quickly, asserting dominance, and showing his power. Two people from your father’s side ushered the man out quickly.

You were thankful for your father’s actions, but also terrified of how he might react to this new drama floating around the table currently.

Whispers clouded the table: “Y/N and Lando? No… maybe Oscar?” “You've seen them, right?” “No way!”

You looked at your father, as he sat back down. You wanted to explain, but he spoke first. 

“Honey, I know he was just trying to get under your skin. I never liked him anyways.” Your father spoke, trying to comfort you. “Plus, I know you are smart, and you and that Mclaren boy’s relationship is nothing but friendly business.”

Instead of fighting him, you let him believe that lie. “Yes. Yes, just friendly business, Father.”

He smiled with agreement and went back to the dinner. 

Your mind was still reeling with the events. Hopefully everyone else believes the same thing as your father. Hopefully no one knew the truth: that your's and Lando’s relationship was anything but professional or business-like.

The dinner had reached its end very soon after that altercation. Now, you and your family were pulling up to the hotel. As soon as you stepped out of the limo, you caught sight of a familiar body standing near you.

“Sorry.” you heard Lando speak up, facing your father. “I was wondering if I could speak to Y/n.” Lando asked very confidently, like he his request was nothing out of the ordinary. Meanwhile, your father looked at Lando with one of the most intimidating frowns you’ve ever seen. 

You touched your father’s arm lightly, signaling that he could trust you. So, your father let you go, reluctantly, but he trusted you. Maybe he shouldn’t. 

Lando waited until you were out of sight from your family, around a corridor, when he grabbed your hand and dragged you into a nearby room. You can’t say you didn’t expect this.

“Lando- what?” You tried to reason that your family could be waiting but Lando cut you off fast. 

His lips met yours with force and determination. You let whatever you were going to say die into a small moan against his mouth. 

Your mind was running again with scary thoughts of your father catching you two, or maybe even Lando’s boss. However, those thoughts instantly fizzled away when Lando slipped his arm around your waist, bringing your bodies close.

You were flush against each other, sharing body heat. Lando being so close was the exact remedy to any and all anxiety-inducing thoughts. You were this close before, sure, but this time felt so much more intimate.

It’s almost like the tension had built up from the dinner, and this small feeling of body-near-body made that dam break. Now tension and lust were washing over the two of you in a tidal wave. 

However strong your feelings for Lando were building, his are easily doubled.

Lando has been waiting to touch again ever since last night. The insatiable need to be near you, feel your body, hear those whispering noises you make when you kiss, was incredible. If it wasn’t irrational, he could have pulled you away during the dinner. Recently, that line between rational and irrational has been blurring more and more every time he’s near you.

He, of course, got the same warning as you about workplace relationships. Actually, he was basically threatened and scolded, because Zak couldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him when it comes to romantic relationships. Or keeping anything professional. 

He knows how worried you are about your business, and what bad publicity could do to it’s reputation. So, despite how bad he wants to ignore the warnings, he goes along with it to keep you safe.

In general, the entire relationship is just a god-awful idea. You should have stopped as soon as it started, but after last night…

Maybe the danger’s covered by the thrill,

‘Cause I know I should be running for the hills.

The way you touch me…

You tilted your head up slightly, deepening the kiss. He felt your submission and licked a stripe across your bottom lip.

Anytime you two have been intimate, kissing has been a key part. At first you were disappointed when Lando kept teasing your lips instead of your body, but the longer you kissed him, the more you never wanted to stop. Lando was a phenomenal kisser, and he knew that. 

The kiss moved from soft to hot and frenzied. You felt his tongue trace along the seam of your lips, begging for entry. You let him in and he quickly dominated your mouth. Anything Lando did with the kiss was insanely sexy, like he knew he could do no wrong.

You broke away, hoping to only catch your breath and go back to his lips, but he pulled away.

“Wait, Y/n. Listen, I’m sorry. I know how us being seen together could create a whole lot of shit…” He was silent for a bit. His words brought back the anxiety pounding in your mind.

You were worried he was rejecting you, but his next words were unexpected. 

“But, god, Y/N. I need you. I couldn’t fucking care less about your father’s rules or the media. I know we should stop. Trust me, I’ve tried mentally slapping myself anytime I think about you.” He started moving back to kiss you. “But no matter how hard I try to stay away, you keep pulling me back in.” He said the last part against your lips. 

All you could do was breathe harder. Of course you agreed with him, but no words were coming out of your mouth. You wanted to spill all of your feelings just as he did, but your thoughts were just fog at the moment. Perhaps, if you’d actually even said anything, it wouldn’t be comprehensive at all.

So instead you settled by pulling him closer by his tie and smiling. He must have gotten the hint because he dove back into the kiss. 

After you both finally express your feelings, nothing should come between your relationship anymore right? 

Except, like it was described at the beginning, this is much more complicated. 

Days later, you still weren’t dating. Actually, you didn’t know if you would ever date Lando. 

Either way, again and again, you still meet up in dark corridors and hotel rooms. 

“I need you, Y/N.” Lando told you after you tried to end it out of worry that you’d be caught.

“Lando…” However hard you tried to stop seeing him, your body fought against you. “Alright, but we need to be especially quiet. Please…”

Don’t tease me, and keep me around like it’s easy,

When you know deep down that it’s

Never gonna ever be us.

You were like magnets that could never be apart for too long. No, you were never going to be able to publicly date, and this secret partners-with-benefits ordeal was insanely risky. But, like a hobby that turns into an obsession, or a flame that turns into a bonfire: A little taste was never enough. 

I get obsessive with you.

All that I want is attention from you

Break into my life and break all my rules, it's true…

Fortunapre Taglist:

BTW IF YOU WANT TO BE INCLUDED, TELL ME!! :))

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[whateverisbeautiful]

Do you have any fav moments with Rick/Carl, Michonne/Carl and/or Michonne/Judith from the show? (I don't mention RJ since he didn't get a lot of screentime)

Yes! I wrote them out below. It was particularly hard to narrow down my favorite Michonne and Carl moments since I love so many of their exchanges but after some thought, I think I was able to solidify my fav Rick/Carl, Michonne/Carl, and Michonne/Judith moments. I wish RJ would have had more screen time and one-on-one moments with Michonne in TWD. If ever we see the Grimes family again, I’d love to see some Rick/RJ and Michonne/RJ moments to add to this list. 

Favorite Rick/Carl Moments

1) When Rick first gives Carl the sheriff hat after he’s been shot in season 2. That storyline with Rick quite literally trying to give everything he could of himself to keep Carl alive was always really moving. And I also love this season 2 scene when Rick has a very honest and transparent conversation with Carl.

2) When Rick and Carl are gunning down those walkers during that chaotic night at the prison in season 4. It showed how this father and son are cut from the same cloth and the layered look Rick gives Carl as he sees how much his son has adapted to this world is so memorable to me.

3) When Rick and Carl have that conversation toward the end of 4.09 and Rick tells Carl about how he’s a man now and Carl tells him about how he ate all that pudding. After all their tension and conflict in that episode, I love the way they started to repair their connection at that moment. 

Favorite Michonne/Judith Moments

1) When Michonne holds Judith for the first time at the prison. That is one of the most beautiful and touching scenes of TWD to me. It’s such a powerful moment watching Michonne go from barely wanting to hold the baby to fully embracing her and letting out a lot of the emotion she’s kept inside about Andre. Danai did an incredible job depicting the moment Michonne goes from distant to mother. And the way she and the baby look at each other before the embrace is so special, especially knowing those two will truly be mother and daughter.

2) When Michonne and Judith have that conversation in 9.14 and Judith says “You’re my mom. You chose to be. Because you love me and I love you.” I loved hearing that. I also always love the way Michonne uses her shirt to patch Judith up and just seeing them get to open up more as a mom and daughter. In 9.14, I also was really glad to hear the younger Judith call Michonne “mommy,” since I’d been wanting to hear that for a while. I don’t like the excessive brutality and trauma they put Michonne through in 9.14 and that they tried to land on the message that Michonne should actually take care of all these communities more, even when they don’t extend nearly the same care for her. But what I do like about the episode is Danai and Cailey’s great performances and that Michonne and Judith got multiple scenes to depict and strengthen their relationship.

3) I feel like I’m forgetting some other Michonne/Judith scenes that might’ve made the list, but from what I can remember, I always really love that quick scene in season 8 when Michonne says goodbye to Judith and says she’ll be back soon with her daddy. So so so cute and I love that the first time we hear Judith speak it’s with her mom Michonne. 

Favorite Michonne/Carl Moments

1) When Michonne gets the family photo for Carl in Clear. I love that their bond was cemented in that moment. And it’ll always be so meaningful that Michonne hands Carl a photo of his mom while also going on to become his mom herself. I also really appreciate when she reveals she went in to grab the rainbow cat as well. I think it was a great choice to have her grab the cat sculpture for her rather than it being like a toy for Carl or something, because she was also offering up a bit about herself through it. Beforehand she probably seemed more stoic and had more of this black cat energy but in grabbing this rainbow cat it showed Carl that there’s a playfulness and bright vibrancy to her too and it was sweet seeing the way that moment endeared her to him.

2) When Michonne and Carl go on that run in 4.11 and open up about Michonne’s past. (Also honorable mention to their soy milk conversation in this episode). I love how eager Carl was to get to know her more and how Michonne found such a good balance between treating Carl like an equal and a kid. It was great seeing Carl want Michonne to feel assured that everything she was sharing was safe with him and it never fails to move me when he tries to offer them both some comfort by saying maybe Andre and Judith are together somewhere.

3) When Michonne and Carl have that heart-to-heart in the woods after the Claimer situation. That scene really showed the way in which they trust each other and can confide in each other about even the deepest darkest things. Michonne fully became Carl’s parent in season 4 and that was evident in so many scenes, including when Carl rests in her lap. I always really love their talk in the woods because Carl clearly feels super safe with Michonne and Michonne feels safe with him to share the hardest details from the day she lost her family. It’s so meaningful to hear Michonne say that Carl and Rick brought her back and to assure Carl that he doesn’t have to be afraid of her or his dad. And the fact that Carl felt like he was just another monster too is so sad but it makes it extra important that he had someone like Michonne in his life to admit that to and feel less alone with.

4) When Carl and Michonne have that conversation on the porch in season 6, just before Rick and Michonne officially become Richonne. I love that in explaining why he didn’t just put Deanna down himself, Carl basically confirms that he views Michonne as a mom. And you can see in Michonne’s expression that she knows Carl saying “I’d do it for you’ is him saying that she’s a mother to him. I love that Judith is included in the scene too (and that it truly sounds like she says ‘Michonne’ when Michonne approaches.) It’s also sweet how the scene starts with Carl telling Judith about the North Star and then Michonne arrives, as she’s truly like the Grimes family’s North Star. I love that this scene between Michonne, Carl, and Judith was included just before Michonne and Rick had their romantic moment because it affirmed that these four were already family in every way that's important.

[goodqueenaly]

Revisiting Catelyn's chapter, and I've been finding the way that she reflects on her childhood in Riverrun (and while *at* Riverrun, watching over her dying father) rather interesting, in particular her relationship with Brandon. When Jaime speaks to her about his death, and she begins to tell him of how Brandon was on his way to Riverrun when he heard about Lyanna, she notes that "telling it still made her throat grow tight, after all these years." And later, after Jeyne comes to her for advice, we have this passage -- “Tell me what I should do. Catelyn might have asked the same, if her father had been well enough to ask. But Lord Hoster was gone, or near enough. Her Ned as well. Bran and Rickon too, and Mother, and Brandon so long ago. Only Robb remained to her, Robb and the fading hope of her daughters” -- where she counts Brandon as one of the people lost to her, along her mother, and children, and Ned.

What level of depth of feeling, of emotion do you think there was between Brandon and Catelyn during their betrothal (speaking from Catelyn's end of things)? I find these passages a bit curious and they seem to hint to me love, though her POVs also don't quite give us glimpses of any sort of emotional or physical intimacy between them (by physical I mean even something at the level of the kissing games she played with Lysa and Petyr)?

Thank you for taking the time to share your insights with us!

Catelyn was betrothed to Brandon for around five or six years during a significant portion of her young life. As the dutiful daughter of a House whose devotion to duty is literally reflected in its dynastic motto, Catelyn was raised even at 12 to “[thank] him [i.e. her father Hoster] for making her such a splendid match” when this betrothal occurred. While I doubt Catelyn and Brandon met very frequently during their betrothal period, his apparent companionship with Jeffory Mallister may suggest that Brandon traveled in the Riverlands in the years before his death, and consequently spent some time with his fiancée during this time; I doubt Brandon and Catelyn would have been left unchaperoned or allowed to engage in any remotely indecorous conduct, to be sure but these may have been opportunities for the two of them to exchange some courtly pleasantries. Brandon was also personally good-looking, wild in both rage and mirth in a way the young Catelyn clearly found attractive. 

Given all that, I’m not surprised that Catelyn would have developed some level of romantic feelings toward Brandon, and would have held onto those feelings for the rest of her life. Brandon had been her politico-dynastic destiny from the age of 12 until roughly about the age of 17 or 18, a man she had been encouraged to love as her future lord husband. Moreover, to Catelyn, Brandon may have seemed quite the catch - the handsome, dashing young knight or de facto knight, heir to a great castle and title, who dueled in her name for the honor of her hand. With Brandon dying young and tragically from Aerys II’s tyranny, Catelyn never had the chance to become disillusioned with Brandon’s infidelity (and almost certainly never knew of his sexual relationship with Barbrey or his potential bastards), or to have to manage his emotionality day to day; Brandon could remain idealized in Catelyn's mind as her first fiancé and love. 

Which is not to say, of course, that Catelyn never loved Ned. If neither Catelyn nor Ned had been raised to anticipate marrying the other, both understood the politico-military necessity of doing so during Robert’s Rebellion; more importantly, each also came to understand, appreciate, and ultimately love the other on a deeply personal level. Catelyn might have always remembered Brandon, but Ned was "her Ned", her husband, "the man I loved, the father of my children".

[astraearinehart]

──holding her daughter’s gaze, she cleared her throat at the question. “my father was very angry at me,” she admitted, “it was my brother who brought me back to Australia and convinced him to let me stay at home.” her first year back had been comfortable financially, but had not been good to her otherwise. her father was very mad at her and disappointed in her and he made sure to remind her at any given opportunity; as well made it his mission to find her a husband so she would marry to someone he approved of and wouldn’t get any more ideas like she had when she left with Claude. part of her always believed that he also did it because he was concerned that she would change her mind or that Claude would go looking for her.

“he picked my husband at the end of my first year being back.” she told her daughter; she had never liked the man, but they came in sort of an agreement soon into their marriage to lead separate lives as long as they wouldn’t ridicule the other publicly. in truth, aside from Claude, all her relationships after that were ephemeral, had no purpose other than a good time, no feelings, to prospect —but Stella wouldn’t complain, she could adopt as long as she never had to struggle. “and I worked at my family’s business; metals and mines…” she offered after a short pause.

accepting the frame, she looked at the twins, her grandchildren ( how odd it sounded in her head to call them that ); they were beautiful though, she couldn’t argue with that. “you showed me all the other night,” she confessed in a teasing tone, a lilt in her voice, as she looked at the photo of her daughter with her man. “you are a beautiful couple,” she smiled, looking at the two photos; they made a cute family, she thought to herself. the following statement made her snap her attention back to her, a little surprised. “you were?” the surprise was evident in her tone, she did not try to mask it. “and…what happened?”

⸻ Elizabeth did what she did because she needed it. It was a faster way to get money than some of her odd jobs and a nice quantity. Not because she likes her job, but in this work, she learned to embrace a bit more femininity and started to like a bit herself, and she loved to dance. It was no secret on it. This is what she enjoyed in her work. Upon hearing what her mother said, she automatically thought of her boyfriend, a hitman. Only if she knew how she's affording all of it now that Alex is taking care of her financially… It wasn't something she'd share with her mother.

She is working in modeling, but part of her wants to back on track in performing, acting, or singing. She always had been more artsy, except she cannot draw but her other talents make up for her lack of drawing. ❛ So, what happened when you back to Australia? What did you do? ❜ There was a curiosity hinted in her tone. She had a feeling her mother knew more about her than she ever knew about her own mother. And she wiped her own tears, trying to avoid the tears.

❛ Just one thing, I get to decide when you can meet my twins. You have to earn it. ❜ Because what if she just met them, got to used to them, and suddenly vanished? Stella did it once, and nothing would stop her from doing it twice, in Liz's point of view. She stood up and picked a recent picture of the twins, and handed it to her mother. ❛ This was taken last month. They're two peas in a pod. ❜ She wiped her tears. And she also picked up another photo of Alex and her together at a dinner in Paris. ❛ That is my boyfriend, Alexander. The twins' father. ❜ The younger blonde doesn't really remember everything she said on the drunk night of Halloween.

❛ Y'know… I was married too. I'm not all good girl. ❜ She shared a bit of information, about her past.

[luvrloki]

father daughter duos that will make me cry uncontrollably and be the only thing i think about for the rest of my life? sign me up!!!!

[lunarharp]

being attached to that moment qifrey held a baby one time and my ideas for the future :)

[camellia-thea]

one thing the show didn't really touch on is why armand is so against claudia in the books. this is definitely linked to casting and backstory changes, especially related to age, but i think it's really important and still rings through in the show.

armand in the books was turned at seventeen. his ambivalence to claudia's death, his dislike of her, are both completely intertwined with his perception of himself. in the books claudia was turned at five years old. he saw his inability to age, his permanent youth in her, and saw his sire within louis. a benevolent savior turned captor, lover, father. he resents her because she was turned too young, like he was turned too young, but displaces the blame onto lestat and claudia, rather than louis.

louis, who dragged a dying claudia to lestat for her to be turned. compared to amadeo, dying of sickness (or poison) and being turned so a father does not lose a child, a lover does not lose his beloved.

i think it makes his jump to maître with louis even more complicated, especially when you consider that armand was bought by marius from a brothel, and was frequently "donated" to marius' venetian contemporaries, and louis' status as a former pimp.

this comparison between marius and louis becomes more complex when you look at claudia's desire to leave and how armand was taken away from marius by the roman coven. i think armand in some sense overlays his own traumatic separation onto claudia and louis. this could make bruce's presence a comparison to the children of darkness(/satan) and the torture armand received at the hands of the roman coven. if you leave, you get hurt. i think he resents claudia wanting to leave louis, wanting to join the coven, wanting, wanting, wanting. armand is so stuck in himself and his history, his need to have purpose that the idea that claudia wants to and is trying to create herself a space away from louis is practically unthinkable.

"without the burden of her" weighs a lot heavier, i think, when you also consider that marius lived through the fire, immediately made a new fledgling, and did not follow armand. and it's unclear of how much armand knows about marius post-fire in the show, but armand has been left behind so many times, by marius, by the roman coven, by lestat.

i think he is caught up in both his idea that a maker and fledgling will, no matter what, hate and ruin one another, and his longing for someone to step into that role for him again. but he also so desperately wants control over his situation in a way that claudia mirrors. both lacking agency for reasons outside their control, with dependence on external figures who are a significant part of their lack of agency. he hates her, i think, because she has the courage to do what he does not.

another thing to note about armand is his certainty that claudia will cast herself into the fire. his conversation with madeleine was as much a conversation about himself as it was about claudia. armand has spent almost the entirety of his vampire life at the very least passively suicidal. he cannot commit the act himself because he desperately wants to live and connect with the world, but if something were to harm him, it is unclear whether he would try to stop it. madeleine's certainty that she would be enough to stop claudia from feeling the same way was, i think, extremely confronting to armand, as his desperate attempts to attach himself to people have all been attempts to live again. except; they've all left him in the end.

it's easier for her to die, in the end. to assure himself that louis will want him forever without the barrier, to assure himself that he can live where she doesn't, to prove to himself that he is right about everything, than it is to consider that her circumstances -- the want to leave and love and live -- could've been his.

[skoulsons]

I’m so normal about fathers and daughters 🤣🤣

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

i have to think about chilchuck and laios forever

[giddlygoat]

watching ‘days of blunder’ of darkwing and look. the way launchpad obliterated that guy in the ring in order to save darkwing without even breaking a sweat, just sitting all fruity like on the giant’s back in a pinkie hold? iconic. and that scene where LP and gosalyn walk into the room with quackerjack and quackerjack pulls the gun on them so LP gets in front of gosalyn and gets all tough guy in order to protect her... launchpad is such an amazing person and also an incredible dad and he REALLY never gets enough credit

[katierosefun]

the line about logan roy not being able to fit a whole woman in his head being said from his own daughter is so. something about daughters and their fathers something about daughters who are their father’s child something about daughters who are daddy’s little favorite daddy’s little girl but the second they start having opinions and the second they start talking back, the father holds their daughter out with open hostility and suspicion, something about how only years later will the father occasionally go, do you remember? do you remember when we used to have good days, when you used to come to me with all your wonders and your worries, do you remember when we were stuck together like glue, what happened to that and the daughter just has to give her father a rueful smile as though she hasn’t been wondering why her father built up that wall in the first place as though she hadn’t been wondering since when did her father only ever said good morning to her brothers as though she hadn’t been wondering since when did her father only ever ask her brothers to accompany him to work and something about shiv roy saying my father couldn’t fit a whole woman in his head and something about shiv roy still crying the most when she learned that her father was dead something about how shiv roy called her father the world and yet something about how shiv roy still asks her father’s closest male confidants if he was really that bad, was my father still an okay guy when they all know the truth, they all know he wasn’t a good person, but shiv roy still remembers playing outside her father’s office just to get him to come out and shiv roy still remembers her father telling her to remember, slant of light and ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh fathers and their daughters daughters and their fathers or whatever

[reefprince]

Similarities are few and surface level what little there is is enough to depress me

[dreamcast-official]

huh.

[bo0zey]

being the oldest daughter raised by a narcissistic emotionally abusive father is just…👩‍🍳👌💋

[sadbitchenjoysanime]

Manga Recs Week 2

This week's recommendation is The Rising of the Shield Hero

If you liked That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime, Dead Mount Death Play, or Tsukimichi: Moonlit Fantasy you'll probably like this!

Full rec under cut

TW: SA allegations, Moderate Gore, and Torture READ WITH CAUTION

Anime: Yes; 2 seasons, 38 episodes total

Author: Aneko Yusagi

Rated: 7/10

Genre(s): Action, Adventure, Dark Fantasy, Isekai

Status: Ongoing; There are currently 23 vol. as of this post

Summary: Naofumi Iwatani, your average 20 year old Otaku, gets magically summoned to the Kingdom of Melromarc as one of their Four Cardinal Heroes to fight against the "Waves of Catastrophe". Dubbed the "Shield Hero" and thus the weakest of the Four Naofumi has the odds stacked against him even before he's robbed blind and accused of rape by the one person he thought was on his side. How can Naofumi gain back his trust in humanity after this betrayal? Will he fight with the other Heroes? What are the "Waves of Catastrophe"? The true journey and the path to answers begins with a demi-human slave girl named Raphtalia.

A breath of freash air from the dark fantasy genre! I usually can't stomach most of them due to their tendency to get revenge fetish-y and/or being softcore hentais but Rising has the perfect balance between revenge and growth. Plus our MC isn't a weird pervert! Might be a grumpy money-grubber but treats all of his female companions well along with none of the child like characters being sexualized! In fact many of the stronger characters we come across are female! Double win for this genre!! Found family troupe also comes into play here(which is my personal favorite) and it doesnit seem like there's going to be any romance between the main charaters! All in all one of the few genuinely enjoyable dark fantasy isekais out there! Season 3 of the anime is rumored to be in the October line up this year so please go watch it if reading manga isn't your thing!