#like “just as an eldest daughter” = unlucky

[nadiajustbe]

I know people in HMC books speak English so there's not gonna be any kind of miscommunication between the characters, but sometimes I think about how it would be way more funny If there was some language diversity.

Howell Jenkins falls into the portal to an absolutely unknown, magical realm and... everyone speaks English. He was rather happy about it, finding it funny: it's a new, fantasy, fairy-tale based world with dragons and spells and seven-league boots and magic, and yet its habitants English. What are the odds?

However, it does not takes him long to realise (much to his own frustration) that, even though all of the locals native language is, in fact, English, it is pretty different from the English Howell himself is familiar with. He cant understand it quite well at fist, but it sounded like an odd mix of a modern language, specific dialects and an old tongue people was using around Victorian England/Middle Ages. It has so many words and unusual forms (Howell even called them "slang" once in a while), that it takes him a while to fully get every term and subtexts ms. Pentstemmon was referring to.

Their languages were similar just enough to catch the full sense of the sentence, but not enough to undertand all the little details, not cultural nor linguistic. It would even worst If he wasn't a big fun of Shakespeare and old Arthurian Legends growing up, letting alone studying old English (and old Welsh) at the university.

The language also differs from the area. Michael, for example, uses so many words you can hear in Porthaven only, regarding it's unique aspects. Sophie uses a lot of Market Chipping proverbs, and even more old terms connected with hats. The language he heard the King using wheh he got his first chance to met him at the time of his apprenticeship was so long, confusing and vivid, as If it was taken straight out of old English Literature books. And yet, English.

To this day Howell — at this point long-knowing as Howl Pendragon — finds himself confusing new terms, forms of words, proverbs and sayings. Maybe, he thinks, you have to be truly born there to understand all of - although he did better than anyone else would. Sophie seems to catching up just well.

—

Abdullah ends up with a flying carpet and the magical genie, exited to give away his fist wish to find the love of his love... only to not understand a word of what the genie is saying. This is how, instead of searching for Flower-In-The-Night, he now searching through a whole Zanzib for a proper translator from English because, here's the problem, If he can't understand the genie, then genie can't understand him, and If genie can't understand him, it's pointless to even try making a wish. He knows it's English: there's plenty people all around the world visiting the market, and he had even learnt certain words, important for making a trade, but that's not nearly close to a full sentence on unrelated topic.

With a great effort and after hours of searching for a really proffecional master of languages (who charges Abdullah nearly all of his money for one single session), he finally gets to the point. Except, here's another moment. That's where Abdullah finds out the wish has to be spoken from his heart and not through the other person. Here comes another catch — Ingarian English, no matter how simple or structured is, to put is simply, badly different from Rapshutian Arabic. It's not even the same language group!

So, he sits in the small, hot room near the glamorous bottle and tries to pronounce a bunch of difficult, complex words written on a paper, the kind that translator couldn't cut or simplify to ones he's familiar with, for a whole ten (to fifteen) minutes. And, as If trying to make his task as difficult as possible, genie, when he shows up, starts randomly breaking into the language translator can't even recognise, with no talk about understanding. Abdullah assumes it may be a secret genie language only this creatures know and, annoyingly, gets along with it.

After successfully wishing to understand (and use) English, he also finds out he can't wish for anything more language-related, and he shouldn't even bother himself trying to ask for a foolish things like an ability to speak every language in the world. Language is a big part of human's essence and otherwise shouldn't be messing with, just as magic focusing on it is strictly limited.

Using this fact, the genie also finds a loophole - from now on he speaks his secret genie language half of the time, stopping only when it comes to important tasks, because Abdullah "wished to know only one of his languages" and he, apparently, knows more.

This whole puzzle takes new turns, when, while traveling with the carpet, Abdullah meets the solider. Despite claiming being from Strangia, this strange man from the forest starts speaking with them in English in first and then, noticing they're from different country, easily switches to Arabic.

As they wander together, the soliders explains that he is non less confused than they are: he didn't even noticed he could speak English before the passer-byes from Ingary noticed him, and now, being with genie and Abdullah, he also remembered he knows Arabic. He adds that he can't recall anything before his duty in the army, where he definitely used Stangian and nothing else, but it feels like an strong knowledge he has, even If he doesn't remember learning any of this. He decides to wave it off, focusing on the cats and schemes.

The solider becomes a great translator for them along the journey, up to the day the got the inn. He does not understand the secret genie language, though. Especially when from the jinnies and angels they found out there's, in fact, no such a thing as a "genie language"

The story finally clears itself when Midnight and Whippersnapper turn into humans, the Solider turns into a bewitched Prince and the Royal Wizard surprisingly seems to recognize all of the words the genie was — and still is — using.

—

Charmain runs after Sophie with a long, old dictionary she has found in the Great Uncle Norland's Library. The Royals, of course, gave their honored guest the translator, but the things quickly becomes pretty private, with the search for the gold and all this story with lubboks, so Sophie tells them she's gonna manage it by herself.

To say the Dictionary is heavy is to say nothing: it's huge and thick, containing thousands of words from Ingarian English alone, split by topics, marked with tons of colors an additional moments. Even carrying it around is a whole different type of task.

Half of the time Charmain and Sophie communicate with gestures, context clues and even sounds. When they need to say something really long and complex, they write, leaning on the Dictionary, as it's a bit faster than talking. Still, at some moments Charmain has to flip through the massive pages, searching for the right word with her finger, while Sophie has to do the same. Till the end of the day the both learn some basic words from each other's language, which makes it easier.

The poor nanny has even harder times with Twinkle and Morgan, because she has no idea about what they actually want, except they both whining and crying, one louder than another.

Translator does not come in handy that much, as it looks like these children mix languages everytime when speaking to each other. She has to guess things all over the room to finally get what they need, and usually it's the most useless things ever, like striped pants and a bunch of toy horses falling from the sky.

They see Sophie and Twinkle arguing about something, but no one gets the topic of their screaming, let alone the reason why Sophie is so mad at this angelic child. Charmain asks Sophie about it, because she heard an unusual name along the lines of their quarrels, but Sophie looks too annoyed to explain, mumbling something in her native language with some sort of anger.

The only positive side of it all is that, If Chairman can't understand English, then the lubbocks can't either. Wich means that they didn't have to be as cautious when using Dictionary as they would have to If they understood each other perfectly.

Then she has to climb on the roof, where Twinkle is sitting. Charmain tries to dismiss all his attempts to start a dialogue till she's there, huffing and suffocating as she tries to get the Dictionary with her, trying not to fall.

Twinkle seems to be really proud of himself, saying he knows twice more languages that anyone else in this magical House. Charmain flips through the pages, asking either one of is the one she knows (Norlandian, I assume).

Twinkle says no. For a second Charmaine starts to really understand Sophie's feeling, fighting the urge to hit him on the head with this massive book.

Peter does not communicate with this new guest as much and, luckily, he knows the language Charmain speaks, so they don't have to struggle with a language barrier. The way speaks might be a bit different because of the area he grew up and the amount of hiding and spells he encountered, but there's nothing they can't handle. Luckily.

Calcifer knows the Saucepan song, but other than that his linguistic knowledge is far from perfect, certainly not as good as you'd expect from a fire demon. He also cannot use a Dictionary, because it will burn the second he'll come to close to it, and If this happens their main way of communication is basically gone. He makes up for it, talking with Twinkle, Morgan and Sophie, as well as being expressive enough to understand the basics or what he feels and plans. Sometimes someone (aka Sophie) has to translate what he is saying when she's near, wich is a bit longer than Charmain would wish, but still pretty plausible. She got that he desperately needs his logs, after all.

Twinkle could have used some kind of magical bubble to get them finally understand each other fully, but, again, magic connected with languages is pretty difficult and has its important limits, so it wouldn't last long. Little 30 years old boy is enjoying his childhood, running up the stairs and beating these huge bugs, not as much caring about Charmain all this huge book in her hands.

In the end, (as he turnds out to be) the Royal Wizard Howl is right - the only languages lubbocks can understand is punching.

(Many thanks to my rly good friend @your-queen-shuri for being co-author of this concept. A bunch of ideas here are from her!)

[zegrasdrysdale]

dearest gentle reader [ n. hischier ] | part one

next part - coming soon

summary : rumors begin to spread of Lord Nico Hischier arriving in London days before the 1813 season is set to begin, putting the unlucky Jo Sinclair and her family on high alert. meanwhile, Nico arrives in London, but has no idea what's coming when he makes his own society debut with the announcement of his arrival in Lady Whistledown's first edition

warning(s) : none

author’s note : i’m gonna try my best to make this as historically accurate as i possibly can. if you wanna be added to the universe taglist, fill out this form since it's separate from my daily fic taglist (I'll be using my normal fic taglist for this part only). there will also be a handful of crossover characters but there will be no plot crossover (y'all will see what i mean as the series goes on). enjoy the first part of nico and jo’s story <33

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[ JO'S POV ]

The one thing that she's been excited about for the last few weeks is her sister's society debut. The debut is the only thing that Emma has talked about since her 18th birthday back in April. It's really been the only thing that she's been talking about since her oldest sister made her own debut.

Josephine herself did enjoy making her debut four years ago and she can't wait to see her younger sister follow in her footsteps. She enjoys every social season despite being unlucky in the subject of marriage.

They've been to the modiste so many times in the last five or six weeks to get new dresses made for Emma's debut and the balls that the family will attend over the summer. Jo has even gotten a handful of new dresses designed for her despite the fact that it's her fourth year out and she has yet to find a husband.

Yes, she's been unlucky. She has to find a husband this season unless she wants to have her parents set up a marriage for her. Jo has been constantly telling her parents that she wants to marry for love, not advantageously.

Their threats to marry her into a wealthy family to a man she does not know got a lot worse after last season when she couldn't secure a husband. She practically begged them to give her one more season to find a man that will marry her.

Two days before Emma is set to debut in front of the queen, her little sister comes running into the drawing room where Jo, her mother, and eldest brother Theo are doing some of their daily activities. Jo is at the pianoforte playing a classical piece, her mother is sewing, and Theo is doing some work at the desk.

"This has just arrived to the house," she says. "It's almost like a gossip column in the paper, but it's strictly a gossip column."

Their mother, Lady Beatrice Sinclair, looks up from the blanket that she's been working on for the last few months. "What has arrived to the house, dear?" she asks.

"It's called 'Lady Whistledown'," Emma explains. "Whoever she is knows so much about the ton, and there even are rumors of which eligible bachelors are coming into London for the season and which men are looking for wives this season."

Beatrice holds out her hand for the column. Jo continues to play on the pianoforte but her interest is piqued, as is Theo's. Emma walks over and hands the paper over to their mother. Her eyes scan the page, and her eyebrows raise in what looks to be confusion. Her face says she's very interested in the words on the paper that she is reading though.

"Oh," she sighs as she finishes reading. She looks at her three eldest children that sit or stand around the drawing room. "It is to be a very interesting season if this Lady Whistledown continues to write about the ton like this."

"May I read it, mama?" Jo questions. Beatrice's eyes fall to her eldest daughter. She shoots a glare at Jo since she has told her daughter to stop reading so much. "I just want to see which bachelors are and are not available. I want to see what options I have to explore this season before you and papa decide to marry me off to someone I have never met."

Beatrice seems to believe that lie since she hands over the little pamphlet, but Jo is genuinely curious what this Lady Whistledown has written about her.

If she has written anything about her, that is. Odds are that there is something written about the fact that she remains unmarried after four years out in society though.

Her eyes fall to the page and she begins to read the words written in complete silence.

Dearest Gentle Reader, You don't know me quite yet, but you will after what looks to be a very interesting season coming up. Many new and ready debutants will be making her debut in front of Queen Charlotte later this week, where the queen looks to find a new diamond of the season. Will the diamond come from a respected family of the ton such as the Archer family or the Pierce family? Or will the diamond of the family be from the Sinclair family even though former diamond Josephine Sinclair remains an unmarried woman. Rumors are that this will be the last season that the eldest Sinclair daughter will be able to marry for love like she wants.

Speaking of rumors, the Viscount Nico Hischier is coming to the city for the season in search of a wife. The Lord Hischier has not been to London since he was a young boy and I am sure that the esteemed members of the ton will welcome him back with open arms. It is not known why the lord is searching for a wife, but I'm sure that the many debutants, even those who have been out in society for years, will try her best to make a good impression on who is certainly this season's most eligible bachelor.

Josephine lowers the paper to her lap after she reads what is probably the most embarrassing words ever written about her. She lets out a shaky sigh as she tries to read whatever else this Lady Whistledown has written about her.

Though, an eligible man such as the Viscount Hischier coming into the city gives her hope of maybe finding love this season.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

[ NICO'S POV ]

All he's been listening to for the past few days is the sound of the carriage on dirt as he travels from Bern to London for the summer. He is set to arrive in London at any moment and is staying with one of his friends from America. Jack did not need to open his family's home to him, but he would much rather prefer to stay with a friend than in a hotel. His back is grateful.

His mother has been pestering him to find a nice, noble woman to marry and carry on the family name with after his father's death a few years ago.

His older brother Luca decided never to get married and completely disowned the Hischier family and refuses to take the title of Viscount, so that's what Nico did. He took the title of Viscount despite thinking he would never have that title. All that means is marrying someone that will probably only marry him for his title.

Sure, there are lots of women in Switzerland he could marry but why not get away from home for a little bit and find a woman that will marry him? A title means a lot more in England than it does in his home country of Switzerland so there are more willing women to marry him for his title in London.

It's late at night when Nico's carriage pulls up to the Hughes house. He feels bad because he was supposed to arrive during the day but he left a lot later than he intended after his mother fought him again on leaving Bern to go to London.

Nico pulls his trunk out of the back and the doors to the house open. He looks over and sees a very casually dressed Jack Hughes in the doorway. "Ah, Nico," he greets his friend. "Welcome to London."

"Nice to see you again, my friend," Nico replies as he hugs his friend. "I want to thank you again for opening your home to me this summer. It means a lot to me and my back that I don't have to sleep in a hotel for the next few months."

Jack laughs and claps Nico on the shoulder. "My home is your home," he replies. "You're welcome whenever you'd like."

His trunk is brought inside by some of the housekeepers. The boys are quick to follow. "I do apologize for arriving so late today," Nico says as they walk up the steps. "I know I was due to arrive during the day but my mother insisted that I stay in Bern to find a wife again and I couldn't get away from her."

"It's not a problem," Jack replies. "You know I'm a night owl and never sleep so I was happy to stay up and wait for you to get here."

He smiles as the door to his temporary bedroom is opened in front of him. The housekeepers make their way inside and the boys follow them. Nico thanks them and they leave the room. Jack stays behind when they leave.

The room is small, minimalistic yet beautiful. There is a desk pushed up against a window that overlooks the road. A kind sized bed with white covers sits between two windows on the adjacent wall. There's also a grey closet pressed against the wall with the door.

"Very cozy," Nico comments as he opens his trunk that holds all of the belongings that he'll need on this trip. "Thank you again."

Jack sits on the bed next to his trunk and says, "The women have all been talking about your arrival all day. Apparently there's a new columnist or something that talks about the gossip of London and your name was in the first issue. I didn't read it but every lady and their mother is ready to throw themselves at you."

Nico looks at his friend as he pulls out his neatly folded clothes. "Are you serious?" he asks. "Why is my name so popular here? I haven't been in London since I was a boy."

"Since you apparently added 'Viscount' before 'Nico Hischier'," Jack teases. "Sorry to hear about your dad, by the way. Your brother seems to be taking it really hard."

"The hardest out of all of us, I think," he sighs as he hangs up his clothes. "He didn't want our father's title so he refuses to take it and disowned us. He won't marry either. I guess that's up to me now. It's why I'm here."

"Damn, I thought you were here to see one of your closest friends," Jack says. It brings a smile to Nico's lips as he pulls more clothes out of his trunk. "I do wish you luck, Nico. My brother is also going to be looking for a wife this season after having many secret rendezvous and raking his way around London since he was 18 so maybe the two of you can get together and discuss your options."

Nico rolls his eyes and finishes unpacking his things. "Maybe Quinn and I will share a drink or two while we find our wives this season," he comments. "I am very tired so I think I'm going to call it a night. We should go out tomorrow though so I can get reacquainted with London before the social season officially begins and I am not left alone."

"Absolutely," Jack laughs. "Have a good night, Nico. Someone will call you for breakfast in the morning if you'd like to join us. I'm sure Quinn and Luke will be happy to see you again."

He nods and Jack leaves the room. Nico collapses onto the bed with a heavy sigh.

The next few months are going to be rough. Hopefully he can meet and begin officially courting someone early in the season so he's not constantly surrounded by a bunch of women and their insane mothers.

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SERIES MASTERLIST

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[madwomansapologist]

forever in this twilight

Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More TiefHusbands | AO3

synopsis: Peace is nothing but a concept for the unlucky tieflings refugees, a sweet dream they can never quite reach. Don't matter how much they run, fight, try: the world wasn't build for them. But somehow, in all this mess, you are the most steady thing on their lives.

warnings: zevlor, rolan x druid!tav. backgroung (arabella, kagha, alfira, volo, astarion). is it too obvious that one of my favorite books is "what we owe to each other"? that my life philosophy is "it's our duty as human beings to care for others"? my tav is a menace. she isn't even a durge. yes, she licked the dead spider. yes, she did it twice. she's just like that. is it too obvious i am the eldest daughter?

Elturel was left far behind, forever in their memories but never again able to reach their bodies, but its fires anticipated their every movements.

It made foes out of strangers, turned welcoming druids into a threatening force, transmuted safe paths until they were nothing but darkness and fear. The world turned its back against those who only asked for help, as if even the blood running through their veins was cursed.

If they were threatening, they could've understand it. If they were warriors, bandits using brute force to subdue and terrorize others. But that's so far away from the truth. There are kids. Cattle. Aspiring bards, studious wizards, naive lovers.

They have souls, goddsammit. Even when some assume they don't. They look different, are different. Does it matter? From where they are or who's blood started their lineage? Where it matters tieflings are just the same. They feel rage, happiness, pain. Have hunger, desires, needs. When a tiefling bleeds, isn't it just the same as any other being?

They shouldn't see you treating kids as kids, instead of beasts as some seemed to agree, and get impressed. Or be surprised that you would ever decide to help them on the way. Druids are supossed to understand that all living beings are just another facet of nature, yet they can only remind that you're the first in a long time to act like it.

It's maddening that you're one of the few exceptions on their path. They shouldn't feel lucky for you being nice. People are supossed to care for others. They are supossed to be nice just for the sake of it. Kindness was supossed to be a convention, not a surprise.

The world is supossed to be a lot of things, the reality is often disappointing.

It can be tiring, exhausting even, to always fight. Constantly surviving, never enjoying peace. Earning a place to exist, but never the happiness it should've bring. Zevlor won't stop trying, but he won't last forever.

He's tired. How long has it been since he started feeling like that? Gods knows it was way before Elturel fell. Leading his people, the last thing Zevlor could do was to stop. There's no one going to save them, so he better act.

Except, there was you.

Eating from the corners, you made a difference in their lifes. At the gates, protecting Arabella, saving Mirkon. You convinced Rolan to stay at camp, discovered Kagha's plans, inspired Alfira.

Your influence over their plans and fears felt too close to hope. Like that brief moment at dawn, when sunlight warms the world and yet stars keep on shining. That moment before the world start and cacophony become norm.

The way you talked like you knew they would make to Baldur's Gate, like they had no option but suceding. As if you already knew their fate.

You were everywhere. When Zevlor sees Umi running around, when Alfira writes another song, when he has time. He saw you in the repentance glowing in Kagha's eyes, on the attacks to the gates getting less usual, on his people.

Crossing Shadowlands, at the very first moment, Zevlor asked himself what you would do in his place. He followed you, even now that you were long gone. Until the moment he started to question if you were everywhere, or just on his eyes.

Were people always talking about you, or did he only paid attention when they did so?

Lost in the dark, your voice came to him. With his eyes closed, Zevlor allowed himself to wonder about the last good moment he had on his journey. His people celebrating, their heroes being salute, good wine on his cup. And you, beside Zevlor, shining on him.

"And did he," Zevlor gazed at Volo. That man didn't look like a doctor. Or someone sane enough to be allowed near sharp objects. "Got the tadpole out of you?"

"Nah. Just my eye." You took a sip from the bad wine. Astarion warned you about it. "It hurted like hell, but I must say that this new one he gave me is way better."

"You let a bard experiment with your eye?" Zevlor was still in shock about this. "A bard?"

You shrughed it off. "I got curious."

He never laughed so hard. His belly ached, his cheeks were about to fall apart, no air made to his lungs. What a wonderful thing you are. How could you made him forget about all the things going on and just laugh? A real, deep laugh.

A beacon surrounded by darkness, that's what you were.

Your presence was a antidote for some, and for others it was worse than poison. It was a reminder of what happened and what could've. A neon sign of their mistakes and regrets. Of what they could've be and what they should've.

Rolan hated that you continued to smile. That you said you were sorry when he treated you like shit. That you didn't fought him back. That you didn't tried to embarrass or humilliate him.

Or maybe he hated how you had hound dogs following you around all the time. The fact people seemed to enjoy your presence. Don't they see you were the reason why they're here? That you were the one trying to change everyone's mind? That his brothers might die and it is all your fault?

And there was also your talent to hate. The fact nature gave in to your commands. That you could control it, even when darkness seemed to want nothing but kill everyone there. That you were taught, properly.

Or how it would be so much easier if you didn't continue trying to look like someone good. If you didn't opposed the Absolute, if you haven't promised to find his siblings, if everyone else around him didn't seem to idolatred you.

Or maybe Rolan just hated that, doesn't matter how much he tried, he couldn't just hate you.

It wasn't really your fault. He knows that. Shadowland was here, and it would've affect his plans of running away faster just as easily.

But damn, he wants to hate you. It would be so much easier if he did. He wants to have something to direct his anger. Someone that he could see hurt. Someone to blame for the rest of his life.

If they die, if that ever happens, what will be of him? The death of parents is expected, a lover can be forgotten or replaced, even a child lost would hurt him less. Who could ever grown him new siblings? Who could ever replace his mirrors and opposites? They are one and the same.

Would he even be able to call himself a brother? Who lost a husband becomes a widow, who lost a parent becomes an orphan, but what do you call someone that lost a sibling?

Rolan acted as if you hadn't just sat beside him at the bar. Maybe that would make you go away. If you're denied of attention, you probably will look for someone willing to lick your boots to prove their gratitude.

Of course he was wrong.

He just didn't expect to you to not say a single thing. You didn't even looked at him. You just stayed there, drinking something that smelled horribly, until the bar closed. When it did it, you headed back to camp.

And you kept on doing this. You sat there with a drink your hands. Rolan kept on being quiet, only moving to get something else to fill his cup. Days passed, and no words were exchanged between you both.

He was the first to break the untold law shared by you. "What are trying to do, oh hero?"

You finished your beer, then looked at him. Sarcarm, wow.

"Why?" He tried again, this time less inquiring. If it was even possible.

"You look lonely," you answered. "And I need silence."

Rolan tried to think of something else to say, but no words made to his mind. "Why?"

It took you another glass to answer him. "I don't think I will make it out of here. This place is... hungry. I feel like being a bug inside a monster's belly. Nothing I do is enough."

Rolan reached for a drink on the higher shelf. Even its bottle looked like it would be enough to kill someone of drunkenness. He filled your empty glass. "Don't be stupid."

Damned be you. Now Rolan needs to find someone else to hate.

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@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[vacantgodling]

as stated, much of these are placeholder names, ideas, and concepts—this is just doing something fun for fun

chapter 1: the march hare runs

As March tore through the woods—she really had to wonder, what was wrong with this picture here?

She was a princess of Nectaria, one of the most prosperous kingdoms in all the land! And here she was, tripping over her own two feet, covered in mud, debris and even some of her own blood, trying to escape the shouting guards that had somehow caught up to her only a few days removed from her flight.

“I thought—” She huffed aloud, nearly missing tripping over an overgrown Glowtree root. “—That I had given myself—” She tripped over a second Glowtree root that had sprung up, deglowed, so nearly invisible in the dark. Face planting in the dirt, she didn’t even bother to finish her sentence, letting out an enraged huff that blew her messy hair out of her eyes. She planted her hands firmly in the ground, mud and clay squelching between her fingers, almost making her want to gag—the sensation was awful, to push herself up into an all-fours position.

“I think she went this way!”

“Get her!”

“Shit!”

March didn’t linger for much longer. She pushed herself back up to her feet, taking off downhill into the deep woods before her, praying that her tracks would be covered by the darkness that was ever lingering here; only ever illuminated by luminescent plants like Glowtrees and lumen flowers. She wasn’t sure how close to the border she was—any border, really. And that would be a problem. All of her papers and identification she left back in the palace, not thinking about it in her haste to just leave. If she was smarter, she would’ve left sooner. But no one thought that Princess March Hare of Nectaria was smart. They thought she was pretty. They thought she was kind. They thought she was a bit ditzy, or airheaded—and apparently that she… smelled good? That’d been the first thing to absolutely weird her out regarding her recently (forcibly, she would add) betrothed future-husband; the Prince of Doffensdu. He had taken a lock of her hair between his fingers, smelled it, and then with the most sickeningly disgustingly lecherous smile that anyone in all the lands could muster, he uttered that she smelled good. Divine, really, that was the word he’d used, but it still made her skin crawl.

Her elder brothers, Jan (short for January) and Feb (short for February—yes, with all 12 of them her parents had been remarkably original) had laughed at her. But they didn’t have to worry about marriages, at least not yet. They had been pathed to their militia and scholastic academies, since the two of them (unless, heaven forbid, something happened to them) were slated to become candidates for the next ruler of Nectaria, and they needed experience before their father stepped down from the crown and retired. But for the daughters and youngest sons? Oh no, it was all about alliances now—and as the third child, and unfortunate, unlucky eldest daughter—since the time she was fourteen, March had been introduced to suitor after suitor. Candidate after candidate. And frankly, if you asked her? They all were awful! Either too old, or far too young. Too boring, too plain, or too stuffy. Or, like the one her father had finally, finally settled on, too… weird! Everyone had their kinks and preferences to be sure; March was no prude, and she had a few of her own—but that’s certainly not how she would lead a conversation with someone she just met, nor one she planned to marry!

Regardless—she knew that her father wanted the best for her. She never doubted her father’s love—and surely in his mind, securing his eldest daughter’s future with a prince of Doffensdu was, on paper, extremely advantageous. Their kingdom was rich in ore and traded goods from the sea; being coastal, while Nectaria was located extremely far inland so it had access and was a hub for all the land trades. Having the two kingdoms combined through marriage meant an opportunity for more strategic and safer roads—things that March learned in her economic scholasticship, since her tutors knew she would be the most likely daughter to secure an advantageous trade marriage. And March had been fine with literally all of those things on paper. She knew her place as a princess, and she knew that just as people paid taxes, she was a bargaining chip for resources for her subjects.

But she just didn’t want to marry someone so… off!

Of course, she thought as she ran through the dim forest, tripping every few feet due to the low visibility, It is selfish of me to kick up such a fuss about this. Because she knew that many others didn’t have, well, the freedom to be spoiled like she knew she was being. And of course, she wasn’t only running away from this betrothal to a, probably decent man, just because he smelled her hair weirdly one time. Sure, he did make her uncomfortable whenever they were in a room together beyond that—though her sister below her, and closest confidant, April, assured her that she was just building him up to be some terrible guy in her head because she had a complex about getting married. Well, maybe she did! What was wrong with that? She knew that once she was wed that she’d be expected to perform…. wifely duties, and as a young maiden of just 23, that didn’t sit right with her!

March wanted to explore the world beyond the palace walls; educate herself in the lands beyond Nectaria’s rolling fields and bustling markets. Each new trinket that she could find from some far off place in one of the tiny corner stalls at the bazaar outside the palace, was another piece of the puzzle of the grand world just outside of her doorstep. But a queen couldn’t travel freely; she would be a kept woman, bound by duty, and state, and children, and more besides… and well. That terrified her! She was not so stupid to admit it! And so, she’d stolen out, just three weeks from her proposed wedding day, and disappeared without a trace.

Or so she thought.

She didn’t know what part of her plan went wrong. Did the note she left on her door dislodge? Or were there sightings of her among those in town? She wasn’t planning on staying away forever… probably. She did have a plan… One that did fall mostly apart after she lost her map in a swamp, was robbed just outside the kingdom’s walled border, and now this—stumbling through the darkness in mud and woods as she tried to put distance between herself and her captors. She needed somewhere to stop, to think…

And then—a stroke of luck.

March’s racing thoughts about all that transpired to land her racing like a little hunted rabbit through the forest, came to a screeching halt when she cleared all the glowing foliage and skidded into a clearing. All around her the trees loomed over the surrounding landscapes; their thick canopies obscuring light of the moon overhead; but the lumen flowers underfoot still bringing a soft shine to the surrounding wilderness. Not a single thing moved in this clearing; there was no wind in the grass or through the trees, no animals overhead or underfoot. Nothing but a chilling, eerie silence.

And in the middle of it all, stood a tower.

March stared, her thoughts quieting for a moment. Then they slowly began to churn, faster and faster as she slowly approached it. It appeared to be made of all manner of materials: wood, stone, brick, clay, terracotta, glass… harder to discern the further she peered up at the structure. The tower was narrow at some points…. but then March wandered around the base of it and it seemed to go around for miles at the same time. It took her nearly 40 paces to get around the length of the tower on one side, but that seemed far too wide for a structure that seemed so thin as it appeared. She couldn’t make out it’s spire, but she almost imagined that it pierced the clouds—if somehow the night swallowed it like it had.

A yell in the distance made her jolt out of her curiosity. Fear makes haste. So she quickly approached the base of the tower again, feeling around until she could try and find some sort of door or opening to hide herself in; at least for a moment. But no such door—one you could push, nor one you could pull, could March feel. In an act of desperation she began to test some of the sides of the walls, seeing if there were any pushed out or loosened stones she could use to grapple onto the side of the building, racing around the structure as fast as the panic in her throat would let her. But to no avail.

Except—she found something better.

Right as she was certain that the guards looking for her would descend upon her (as the noises in the woods as she searched the tower grew closer, and closer), she felt something coiled and sturdy, almost rope-like. What she didn’t see was the trapdoor that the “rope” had fallen down from as she circled away from this side of the tower only a few moments before. March only took a split second to make a decision: she had always been a decent climber. And now it was time to put those skills to the test.

March hiked herself up, wrapping both hands around the rope to begin to scale the wall free tethered. She could absolutely die if she fell the higher she climbed, but in her frenzied mind, it seemed better than getting caught. Until, suddenly, a snap sounded in the silence of the night; louder than any other noise that she heard near or far since she entered the clearing, and even louder than the sounds of the far off soldiers that would surely now come this way.

But it didn’t matter. Because with the sound of the snap, the “rope” unraveled only just, where March’s hands gripped it, ensaring her in its grasp and yanking her up the tower like a sandbag cut loose from a boat, and through the trap door whence it came, slamming shut with a thunderclap behind her, drowning out her startled scream.

[sleep-deprived-luka]

Prsk Wings of Fire au infodump (second try, I say with wet eyes)

Just the basic overview: Names/Tribe/Origin/Extras of the blorbos

L/n

Starrynight (Ichika): An orphan Nightwing who lives with the Tenmas in a Oasis close to the border between the Kingdom of sand and Icekingdom. She was the only one staying with Fennec when the war started.

Fennec (Saki): Sandwing with development issues caused by hatching early. Her wings are unusually small and she's prone to Sickness. Her family controls the Oasis l/n lives at. Fell severely ill right before the war. After recovering Fennec then ran away with Star to find the others.

Bole (Honami): Mudwing who was kicked out of her troop for appearing two-faced. She ended up meeting and befriending l/n. She was the first that left when hostility grew because of the war.

Snowhare (Shiho): Runaway Icewing princess. Finding herself unfit for the higher cycles she fled Icekingdom, passing out in the desert, for heatstroke reasons. Leoneed found the Icewing and swiftly adopted her. In the Tenma oasis Snowhare spends most of the day sleeping in her cave, only being active at night where the temperature is lower. Time she spends stargazing and singing with the others. She was the second one to leave when hostility grew

MMJ

Otter (Minori): unsuccessful Mudwing soldier, whose original troop died. She joined many different groups as an unsib, but got quickly kicked out of most of them. Her affiliation with Penguin is hard to explain. During the time the Mudwings and Seawings were allies, Otters old troop fought alongside the wing Penguin lead, so she frequently saw Penguin on the sidelines. Then the Mudwings switched sides, fights broke out, Otters troop gets mostly eradicated (Not by Penguins wing btw, dear god no I'm not that cruel) and Otter winds up traveling alone.

Penguin (Haruka): Seawing ex-soldier. Penguin grew up at a Seawing village close to Skykingdom, the same Mirage lived in. When the war started she was sent to the deep palace to join the military. Proving herself capable Penguin was allowed to lead a wing and aid the Mudwings against the Skywings. When the Mudwings switched sides it came to multiple battles the last one leading to countless casualties. Penguin blames her herself for the incident and left the military right after. That leads to her meeting Otter.

Finch (Airi): Skywing ex-soldier. Her previous goal was to be a respected and skilled soldier and she did have the skills, but in the end Finch got put into the position of public speaker. She begrudgingly accepted that for a while, since going against the Queens wishes would be a death sentence, but when the great escape happened she like many left the Palace. During her time outside she found Thaw lost and alone.

Thaw (Shizuku): Icewing princess. Being the eldest daughter had the pressure to perform well and be in the highest circle. Thaw being the airhead she is, sge barely manages that, so Snowhare was expected to overtake the throne. But Snowhare ran away because of the added pressure, therefore making Thaw the only real option they have. Yet things didn't seem to go for the better so as a final chance of redemption Thaw was commanded to lead an attack against the Skywings. But on her way there she got separated from the group and ended up lost. Finch found her

VBS

Lizard (Kohane): Sandwing prisoner who got caught when she accidentally stumbled into combat. Despite her inexperience she was able to defeat a Icewing in the arena, impressing Mirage who made her her partner (in crime)

Mirage (An): Sky/Seawing hybrid and prisoner. When the war broke out her skywing father and his Seawing partners disappeared, so Mirage flew to Skykingdom to find them. Unlucky for her there was Chaos in Skykingdom, for RADder pulled of the great escape, freeing dozens of prisoners. She got caught in the crossfire and turned prisoner, but Miriage made it her goal to not only free every prisoner, but to destroy the arena as well.

Smoke (Akito): Fireless Skywing prince. Goalless, he mainly stuck to the sidelines keeping himself away from Chimeras impulsive killings, but nothing more. When the great escape happened though, he saw a way to rebel against Chimeras cruel rule. That inevitably lead to him ending up in a mock trial where he was given the choice of what punishment he should receive. Smoke chose the arena.

Summit (Toya): Icewing prince (Branch family) and prisoner in Chimeras arena. He mostly stuck to himself, but Smoke convinced him to join forces. The Icewing is unsure of the reality of such a dream, but he's willing to indulge it

WxS

Sun (Tsukasa): Boisterous Sandwing and Fennecs brother. Being the oldest and healthiest dragonet, he spent most of his time taking care of the peace and general mood of the oasis, also engaging in the occasional play. When Fennec and Star ran away he immediately went out to try and find them. During his search he first met Emu who was eager to help and then met both Director and Shadowsong. During their travels they got sidetracked and started trying to find an end to the war.

Emu (Emu is just a legit Rainwing name): Energetic Rainwing who left the rainforest to help the other dragons to be happy :D! She was the one who got wxs to consider stopping the war.

Shadowsong (Nene): Timid Nightwing who spent most of her time hiding in Shadows. She didn't like living on the island, but also wasn't that eager to get to the mainland. Director was able to convince her to escape with him, by creating an enchanted statue, she can control, as her guard.

Director (Rui): Nightwing animus who built the tunnel between the volcano and rainforest. He frequently snuck through that tunnel to explore the jungle occasionally meeting up with Charming while at it. After a time he thought of running away from Nightwing island convincing Shadowsong to escape with him

Niigo

Siren (Kanade): Nightwing who hatched during a bloodmoon. Through that she gained, or more was cursed with, the ability to predict the deaths of dragons she encounters. Sadly Siren isn't aware that those are visions of a future about to happen, so she's convinced that her visions are malicious thoughts that bring horrid futures to innocent dragons. To try to avert these faites she sings about them at night, causing her to be known as the Siren by the local Seawing community. Siren lives on the island her deceased parents raised her on, niigo meet up there.

Jellyfish (Mafuyu): Seawing animus, that genuinely should explain most of it lmao. Being used as the royal animus, she felt a part of herself getting lost over time. Are the spells at fault or the incredibly toxic and manipulative situation she's in? Idk. She for some reason found solace in Sirens songs.

Inferno/Kite (Ena): Firescale Skywing who previously was used as Queen Chimeras (it's Teto btw) killing machine. She ran away, when Smoke picked the Arena as a punishment, for obvious "I don't want to kill my brother" reasons. She ended up living on Sirens island.

Charming (Mizuki): Animus Rainwing. They left the rainforest for multiple reasons, the main ones being an outcast for being trans and accidental unethical usage of magic. Charming mostly traveled around until she wound up mostly staying at Sirens island

[themastaralex]

the eldest daughters:

I've been in the works of a rhaenyra x f!reader fic for a while now, and it's omegaverse (cross posted on ao3) (my bad guys, accidentally posted it twice lmaoo)

TW: typical targcest between cousins, violence

Summary: Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, a proud and stubborn alpha, is set to marry her omega cousin, you, Princess Alerys Targaryen, in a manner to keep the blood of the dragon pure. You share the blood of the dragon, as well as the fire of it. In the end, however, all depends on if you can both manage to keep the realm out of war; war between kin, and war between dragons.

Chapter 1: The Heir's Tournament

You’d always known you’d end up with Rhaenyra, that much was obvious. You two had grown up practically attached at the hip after Daemon took you from your mother, Rhea Royce. He didn’t like her; ‘his bronze bitch’, as he called her, but still needed to produce some form of a child between them.

So he tried, once. Once is all he needed to do, because she had fallen pregnant soon after, much to both his luck and unluckiness. He didn’t want to do that again, hell, he didn’t want to do it in the first place.

You ended up taking your mother’s slightly tanned complexion and her dark brown hair, but your father’s eyes and streaks of white hair, luckily, which you normally braid back. A light purple, the only other trademark of Valyrian descent. He hated being reminded of the fact that he had had a child with her , but he had to have at least produced a child, but he loved you, in spite of having came from your mother.

Growing up with Rhaenyra in King’s Landing wasn’t bad, if that’s what was thought. It was the best place for you to grow up, on the contrary. You are a princess, not just some normal high-born lord’s daughter. You’re a princess of the realm, a Targaryen. Even if he wanted to, Daemon wouldn’t leave you with Rhea to grow up with her, to not have the luxuries you should- but did- grow up with.

You and Rhaenyra were mischievous kids, to say the least. Truthfully, they called you the ‘twin terrors’. But make no mistake, that didn’t stop you two. While you were indeed a princess of the realm, that didn’t stop you from wanting to pursue sword fighting. Not just because it’s interesting, but because it’d be the one thing you could have that could make your father proud of you.

You had natural skill, quite a prodigy, but not a prodigy in the eyes of every man in that training yard, purely because of their bias and overall thinking. But that’s normal.

By the time Rhaenyra presented as an alpha, most people of the court were surprised. They expected her to be an omega- to be submissive to her alpha, which they assumed would have been you, with your tall and slightly well built physique and your more masculine tendencies. And when you presented as an omega shortly after her, it caused nearly double the surprise that Rhaenyra’s presentation did.

And now, with all the commotion of Aemma and Viserys’ coming child- one that Viserys hopes is a boy, it’s as if the pair of you two have been left to your own devices. Along with Alicent as well, of course. She followed you and Rhaenyra in presenting shortly after yourself- at around 14 as an omega as well.

Regardless of the now stark differences between you and Rhaenyra, it was mostly all still the same since your presentations. Only thing was that guards were set at your doors when either of you went into your heats or ruts, because Rhaenyra is absolutely impulsive, reckless, and would gladly have taken that chance to have you early ahead of your coming wedding. And you would have let her have you.

But oh, yes, your wedding.

Rhaenyra presented at 14 and you a few moons shortly after her, so Viserys thought it would be best to betroth you two, to keep the blood of the dragon pure and what not.

It was the smartest idea to come out of him since him having made and named Rhaenyra.

The Heir’s Tournament is grand, as befit for the coming birth of Viserys’ new child, whom he very much hopes is a boy, and who he and Aemma (mostly Viserys though) have named Baelon in advance of the child’s birth. Although, Rhaenyra claims she wants a sister, and claims she’ll be a girl, even as while she and you were very close as kids, you weren’t sisters neither thought of each other as such, luckily.

By the time Rhaenyra finally arrives at the royal box, Alicent and mostly everyone else has already been seated, and it looks as if she was the last one there, excluding yourself because she’s sure you’re down there getting ready to compete. Despite everything, despite yourself having presented as an omega, Rhaenyra hadn’t witnessed her father or your father say anything to you about quitting and stopping your ‘nonsensical bullshit’ of training and fighting.

She supposes that’s what happens when you’re skilled, regardless of secondary gender, she thinks to herself, as she sits down next to Alicent on her right. The seat on Rhaenyra’s right is empty as well, being the one you’d usually sit in next to her when watching tournaments.

Viserys glances at her, and after recognizing that his daughter is there and accounted for, he stands and speaks, his voice oddly booming for once, “Queen Aemma has begun her labors!” He announces, much to the joy of the crowds and the people in the royal box as they clap and smile at him for a few moments before he sits back down and prepares for the first joust; between a knight of House Tarly and an unnamed knight.

Hooves of horses sound like thunder as the first men collide in a joust, with the unhorsing of the Tarly knight occurring with a sharp crack of the unnamed knight’s lance against his shield, or perhaps against his breastplate- although it’s hard to tell from Rhaenyra’s sightline. The unnamed knight seems to have no real way of differentiating him from a sword on the ground due to his bland and mis-matched armor with no house sigil.

Rhaenyra looks at him with slight interest, seeing as the man managed to unhorse a Tarly squire in one fell thrust of his lance.

“A mystery knight?” She inquires, with Alicent responding next to her, “No. A Cole, of the Stormlands.”

“I’ve never heard of House Cole.” Alicent would slightly shrug at Rhaenyra’s words, as they looked at the other knights, who with their decorated armor and resplendent jewels look every bit the part of wealthy noblemen who have never seen an inch of battle or war.

They spot one in specific, and Rhaenyra has a bit of gossip to share regarding him, so she tilts her body toward Alicent just enough to whisper to her without the possibility of prying ears, “Lord Stokeworth’s daughter is promised to that young squire.”

“Lord Massey’s daughter?” Alicent asks, as Rhaenyra nods and continues, “They’re to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.” Alicent almost scoffs in amusement, but finishes their little gossip session with an added soft chuckle, “He’d best get on with it. I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.”

Rhaenyra almost bursts out laughing at the news, but manages to control it into a small giggle as she leans back into her seat, watching Lord Boremund Baratheon ride over to the royal box, with his house sigil, a proud black and gold stag, etched onto his armor, and banners on his horse. He lifts his lance up toward Rhaenys, prompting her to stand and walk over to him as everyone watches him ask for her favor.

“I would humbly ask for the favor of ‘The Queen Who Never Was’.”

Rhaenys nods her head and indulges him, grabbing a favor and placing it on his lance as she offers him good fortune in the coming joust, even as he almost disregards her comment, “I would gladly take it- if I thought I needed it.”

That comment just rubs Rhaenyra the wrong way, as Otto grumbled something about Viserys possibly having Boremund’s tongue out for that. It rubs Rhaenyra the wrong way personally because despite her father being the king, she felt as if the crown should have been Rhaenys’. She was Aemon’s only living child, and she was still passed over for the crown twice. Once for Baelon, and another time for Viserys.

Over the set of the next few minutes, they just speak amongst each other until the Master of Revels introduces who is one of the main competitors of the event.

“Ser Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!”

Daemon, Rhaenyra’s uncle, and soon-to-be father-in-law as well.

The smallfolk in the stands cheer loudly for him as he rides out on his steed, as Daemon is wearing black-scaled armor, with the helm looking like a dragon’s head. The other knights from the lists are lined up- once again minus yourself.

While Daemon trots his horse down the line, scrutinizing and choosing his opponent, Rhaenyra’s thoughts obviously wander to you. You wouldn’t miss a single chance to embarrass your father, especially if it’s in a joust, or even if you get embarrassed yourself, because you’d get to fight Daemon regardless.

“Where is she?” Rhaenyra would mutter to herself, one of her arms moving to rest on the arm rest as one of her thumbs played with the ring on her middle finger. Alicent notices Rhaenyra’s small mutter and her fidgeting with her rings- not that she’s much better because she picks at her nails.

But she notices regardless, and decides to distract her a bit by speaking of who he might choose, “Daemon will surely choose to face one of the great houses. Though he probably doesn’t want to tilt against someone he’s never faced.” She notes, getting Rhaenyra to sit back up a bit as Daemon chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s older brother and Otto’s eldest son, with aiming his lance toward him.

This makes Alicent slightly frown, as Rhaenyra looks on in contemplation. The one person she wants to see compete in this bloody tournament isn’t even here yet, and it’s maddening, because she knows you’re a damn good warrior. Otto doesn’t even flinch at Daemon’s choosing of opponent, he expected it, if anything.

Daemon and Gwayne line up in their lanes, and charge toward one another. Daemon’s tactic of forcing the other man’s lance to drive into the dirt and throw him off the horse works, and Gwayne lands face first into the ground under him and his steed. Once Daemon wins, he takes a victory lap around, and then rides up to the royal box as he takes off his helm and wows the crowd with his obvious good looks.

Rhaenyra, Alicent, and truthfully, most- if not all- the ladies in the royal box immediately swoon, as Alicent and Rhaenyra go up and walk to him, as they both smile, Rhaenyra’s smile being just a touch more polite than anything else, as is Alicent’s.

“Nicely done, uncle.” Rhaenyra notes with a hint of praise, as Daemon gives her a small nod, acknowledging her words, “Thank you, Princess.” Then Daemon turned his eyes toward Alicent, tilting his lance up toward her, and then asking in an almost smug tone, “I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it.”

At that, Alicent is almost taken aback, even with the blush on her face from the question. But she does as he requests, grabbing a favor and placing it on the lance, as it slides to the base, with Rhaenyra going back to sit down as Alicent offers some final words. “Good luck, my prince.”

Rhaenyra looks almost amused, but she doesn’t want to give away that this genuinely makes her laugh, as Otto glares down at Daemon. Beating his son, then asking his daughter for a favor, as if he’s someone he should cross?

All in all, the hostility between his younger brother and his Hand amuses Viserys to no end.

The tournament rages on, and finally, you make an appearance. You’re up against a member of House Tyrell, a knight of no real consequence. Even his movements on his horse seem sloppy, if anything.

The moment Rhaenyra spots your recognizable dragon armor- the same colors as Daemon’s armor, black and red, as it should be for most Targaryens- the helm, mostly, since it’s reminiscent of your dragon, Aeryx and her horn shape, she grins, finally able to relax and know you’re about to wipe the floor with that Tyrell man. Or maybe a boy, more like it.

“And now, for her first match of the day, Ser Alerys of House Targaryen, daughter of the Prince of the City, is tilting against Ser Heron of House Tyrell!” The smallfolk all cheer and clap at the mention and sight of their prince’s daughter, as the nobles in the royal box clap for both competitors.

Viserys both visibly smiles and looks worried. Not for you, but for Heron Tyrell. If you’re anything like Daemon– and you are, after all, he’s known you since you were a babe– you’re definitely going to either bend the rules a bit, or say ‘fuck all’ and just beat the man half to death. With the way Daemon handled Gwayne in his own match, he doesn’t doubt you were most definitely watching him and are taking pointers from him and his own actions.

Regardless, the smallfolk calm down a bit as you and Heron trot into your respective lanes after your introductions from the Master of Revels, as you watch Rhaenyra and Alicent stand up and walk to the guard-rails of the royal box to watch this joust. They’re your closest friends, and your cousin is set to marry you in a year or so, so it would only make sense for them to want to closely watch you embarrass a Tyrell.

You look up at Rhaenyra and Alicent, giving them a small nod and smile through your helm, with only your eyes and the middle of your lips visible through the small vertical open area of your black iron helm. They smile back at you, with Alicent’s smile being more friendly than Rhaenyra’s small smirk. The girl lives for both hearing drama and causing it.

Once you look back at Heron, it’s as if you can tell he’s nervous from beneath the visor of his helm, because his hand is slightly shaking as he holds his lance and shield. Now, for the lance, it might just be that it’s heavy, so you won’t blame him for that if that’s the case.

After a few more moments of a wait, you both charge toward the other, having a narrow field to aim your lance and hope it strikes true on either his shield or on his breastplate to push him off. Once you both get close, you meet the edge of his shield, but the tip of the lance slides to the side to strike his armored shoulder as he’s pushed almost off his saddle as you both ride down the line to the end to turn back around and go for a second charge if he can sit up. His own lance had missed- sliding off the iron edge of your own shield, which didn’t help him stay on his saddle, as he fell the moment the horse turned to the other side, falling into the mud of the tiltyard and losing the joust.

The crowd loudly applauds at their princess’s win, having all expected her to easily best the Tyrell knight, as Rhaenyra and Alicent stood at the rails the entire time, witnessing the usage of strategy that you used (you just aimed at his shield), and how you made the best of missing his shield.

You ride up to the royal box, removing your helm and holding it in your lap as you look up at them, as if a knight in shining armor.

“Princess Rhaenyra. Lady Alicent.” You greet, giving each one a small nod as a smile rose on your face regardless of who you were looking at– even if it rose mainly due to Rhaenyra. She looks beautiful in that dress, with the red and golds contrasting perfectly with herself. You don’t even have to address them with honorifics, you just want to. Besides, if you want to play as a knight right now, you have to be as courteous as one would be.

“I wouldn’t suppose that I could have your favor for the coming fights, could I, Princess?” 

‘Only you would be so bold as to ask for my favor over such a minor joust, Alerys..’ Rhaenyra thinks to herself, slightly tilting her head and having a small smile on her lips. She keeps eye contact with you, before giving her oral answer, dancing around it a bit before really answering.

“Hmm, I would suppose so, my gallant knight.” She walked over to where the favors are, and grabbed one as her father looked at her with a small neutral look for a moment before letting a small smile come on his lips and give a slight nod to her as if to say, ‘Go ahead.’

It's not like Viserys doesn't want Rhaenyra and you to not have fun neither not show that you are both steadily ready for your coming marriage, and giving you her favor would only reinforce the thoughts of most nobles; loyalty.

Otto side eyes Viserys for a moment, watching as the king gives the go-ahead to Rhaenyra to place the favor of a wreath of red roses on your lance, watching it slide down to the base.

Of course, Otto, being the King's Hand and a.. a friend , agreed with him the moment he suggested Rhaenyra and you be betrothed.

Though, his ambitions are large, large enough to take heavy steps to the crown if need be. Truthfully, he should have pushed to possibly have betrothed Alicent and Rhaenyra. It's not like Alicent isn't pleasant looking and Rhaenyra doesn't have affection for her– she does. But he's not sure as to how he might have taken it, especially since this was likely one of the few things that Viserys and Daemon had agreed on doing for their daughters in a while now.

But he's sure that with a bit of persuasion , or perhaps seduction of sorts from Alicent’s way toward Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra might voice her opinion to want to marry someone other than the obvious choice of her cousin with Targaryen blood..

But Otto quickly gets himself out of his own head and plans, watching as you and Rhaenyra conversed for another few moments, with you claiming brave words of victory.

“When I win this entire tourney, I’ll come up and name you my Queen of Love and Beauty, cousin.” Your words came with a cocky grin, looking up at Rhaenyra, as she just quickly snorted, out of humor if nothing else. Just the name of ‘cousin’ toward one another makes her laugh, as she humored you.

“We’ll see when you win then, won’t we?” Rhaenyra smiled, slightly tilting her head for a moment as she kept eye contact with you for a bit more before you placed your helm back on and rode back toward the boy acting as your squire.

Alicent- who was witnessing the entire flirting session between the two of you, side-eyes Rhaenyra, having a look of something similar to saying, ‘Well, I’m sorry I was here to witness this..’, as they sit back down.

Over the course of the rest of the day, Lord Boremund Baratheon is humbled and promptly knocked off his horse by the previously unnamed knight, the Cole of the Stormlands, who they announce as, ‘Ser Criston Cole’. Now with a complete name to the man, Rhaenyra is partially curious about him, so she waves over for Ser Harrold Westerling, her Kingsguard knight, to ask him about the man.

“What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?” She asked, as he seemed to think about it for a moment, responding back to his princess to the best of what he was told. “I have been asking the same thing, Princess. I’m told Ser Criston is common-born, the son of Lord Blackhaven’s steward. Other than that, and the fact that he has unhorsed both of the Baratheon lads, I could not say.”

They watch as Ser Criston lines back up in the lane as he awaits his next opponent.

The Master of Revels calls out the next opponent, “Ser Criston Cole will now tilt against Ser Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City!”

That catches Rhaenyra’s attention again, seeing as her uncle is about to tilt against this Ser Criston. She thinks Daemon will make quick work of him, and then after that, he would probably joust against you, his own daughter. However, he might have the slightest bit more pity for you, and not be as harsh as he would normally be with any other opponent.

Both Alicent and Rhaenyra’s interest peaked at this match, as they stay seated but watch with careful eyes, as Ser Harrold stood and walked back to his post.

The joust is a quick one, with both of them charging toward one another, as Daemon hits Criston’s breastplate dead on, breaking his lance. Unfortunately, Daemon is the one who is dismounted, with the amount of force he placed into the attack, he’s forced back, falling off his horse and onto his back.

Though, he quickly scrambles back up and signals to his squires to bring him Dark Sister, offering it to him hilt first, as he quickly draws said sword– the Valyrian steel rippling in the light of the afternoon sun.

“Prince Daemon wishes to continue in a melee!” The Master of Revels proclaims, as the crowd cheers and hollers, with Ser Criston dismounting his horse and continuing this match in a melee. While Daemon had a squire to hand him Dark Sister, Criston has no such man, so he runs to grab a morningstar from one of the posts set up with weapons on one side of the tiltyard. But Daemon doesn’t wait, he quickly and angrily slashes at him with Dark Sister, with Criston evading with the speed of a much smaller and agile man.

With his evasion, he turns around and snares Dark Sister with the chain, gripping the blade and quickly pulling it away from Daemon’s grip and into the mud. Daemon is disarmed now, as Criston throws him into the ground, hitting him on the back with his morningstar once, to stun him, as he says, “Yield.”

But in true Daemon fashion, he tries– and fails– to reach for Dark Sister, with Criston kicking away the sword to somewhere else, now standing over Daemon as he holds his morningstar above his head, ready to strike again if he does not yield. The crowds are going absolutely wild, at both Daemon being bested, and Daemon being bested by a relatively unknown knight.

Viserys stands and claps and laughs loudly, as Otto politely claps, but both are appreciating that Daemon has been humbled and bested for once. Criston helps Daemon up out of the mud, as Daemon spits some blood on the ground, angrily.

“Well fought, my prince.” “It was. By one of us.”

After his snarky answer back, Daemon walks away, picking up Dark Sister as he leaves the tiltyard, and perhaps the tourney grounds in total.

Ser Criston remounts his horse and rides to the royal box, looking up at Alicent and Rhaenyra, and due to having already witnessed the earlier match of you versus the Tyrell boy, decides against asking Rhaenyra for her favor, lest he wins and gains your wrath against him. He removes his helm as Alicent and Rhaenyra come up to the rails, watching him for a moment; witnessing his dark hair, dark eyes, and olive-colored skin.

“Gods, he’s Dornish.” Alicent said, almost falling for him right then and there. Of course, Rhaenyra doesn’t exactly feel the same thing. He’s attractive, sure, but he’s not you.

As they witness Criston’s looks for the first time, a maester comes into the royal box and speaks quietly to Otto, who quickly wears a somewhat distressed face, as he whispers to Viserys, who after receiving the news, quickly but quietly makes his way out of the royal box and into the Red Keep with Otto and the maester, where his wife, Queen Aemma, is having birthing problems.

Criston asks for Alicent’s favor, even as she had earlier given one to Daemon, but her eyes do partially light up as she does, because he chose her and not Rhaenyra to ask for a favor.

Afterwards, the tourney takes a more brutal turn, with bones breaking, blood being spilled every which way, and death being something the slightest bit more common right now, as a Corbray knight walks over to the Tarly knight who unhorsed him, and begins to beat him. Their pages and squires rush to pull them off each other, to no avail.

In the next match after getting them out, it’s Ser Criston versus you, still having the favor that Rhaenyra gave you that was on the base of your lance, which is now on the junction of your left arm, of your inner elbow.

“And now, Ser Criston Cole versus Ser Alerys Targaryen!”

You both charge with loud yells, striking true on each other’s shields, shattering one another’s lances, as well as a part of your shield. You rush to throw your broken lance down, grabbing another from your temporary squire’s hand, being careful to grip the inside as Rhaenyra eagerly watches you race down the lane a second time, hoping you knock Criston on his ass, purely because Daemon lost, so you need to win it. For House Targaryen, for your own pride, and for Rhaenyra.

It’s almost a make or break moment, the moment that you aim in and have a set point as to where the tip of the lance will strike. No, not almost , it is a make or break moment.

Even with the sweat rushing down your forehead and almost into your eyes because of the heat and your heavy black armor, you manage a breath before you collide.

It’s over in merely a second as you feel the lance hit him, but you also feel his lance against you– pushing you down as both of you hit each other’s breastplates with all the speed of the racing horses, and your own strength.

And you are both knocked to the ground at the same time, off your horses- disoriented because of the force- as you barely shuffle up onto your feet, regaining your eyesight as you motion your squire to grab your sword, and he quickly hands you your sword, a well-crafted iron sword, whom you dubbed, Stinger. You couldn’t really think of anything better because you were a child when Daemon gave you it.

“And they decide to continue into the melee!”

You witness Ser Criston having stood back up as well, grabbing a morningstar, no doubt about to try the same tactics he used on Daemon, considering he knows who he’s facing; his daughter.

You don’t slash as angrily as Daemon did, more so just gauging your chances and taking shorter slashes, since he has the advantage of wielding a weapon that could easily dent your breastplate if you’re not careful and if he’s harsh with his strikes.

You both go back and forth for a bit trying to know the other’s striking pattern, as you get a bit too eager once you see an opening, going for it as he notices and uses the morningstar to hit your shoulder, denting your armor and forcing you down, almost letting go of your sword, but not quite.

He quickly tries to disarm you by kicking your hand, but you grab some dry dirt from a patch, and throw it in his eyes, in classic Daemon fashion, barely getting up and hitting the morningstar out of his hand as he almost wipes at his eyes, forcing them open, growling angrily. This is when he starts going for hand to hand combat, knowing his morningstar is too far to reach now, and he’s partly blinded.

The crowd gasps, seeing as you pulled a ‘dirty trick’. It’s something that- again- Daemon would do, so they’re not too surprised. 

Both you and Ser Criston continue, with you pushing him back a bit with your sword, trying to kick him down and make him yield, but he stays up. It’s frustrating, and almost makes you irritated, but while your frustration and irritation hits you, your distraction gives him an opening, so he shoves your sword aside with his armguard, and makes sure to hit your helm guard with the metal covering his knuckles, forcing it to hit your nose. And with the strength of his punch, it makes you bleed a bit, as you stagger backwards; disoriented again as your vision failed you and eyes started watering.

He grabbed your collar of your neck armor, and threw you down onto the ground as if you were nothing but a sack of flour, in which you groaned as you hit the mud. He places one foot on your hand wielding your sword, and the other on your breastplate, on top of the Targaryen sigil in the middle.

“Yield.” He said, knowing you’d have to. You literally can’t move with his feet on you.

“I-I.. I yield.” You reluctantly say, and he takes off his feet from you and your body, and moves to give you a hand. He’s a strong fighter, you’ll give him that. But then again, you’re only a 14 year old girl, and you lasted that long and almost bested him. Good try.

You take his hand up, giving him a small nod of thanks, even as the blood rushes down your nose and lips, then down your chin and onto the ground and probably your breastplate.

“Good fight, Ser.” You manage out, as he gives a small nod back, “I say the same to you, my princess.”

The entire fight did rub him the wrong way for a bit, seeing as he was fighting a princess, not a girl specifically. But to be acknowledged by a princess, one that worked to hone her skills to participate in a tourney, is good nonetheless.

You both walk away, to get treated for your wounds, and because Criston pretty much won the entire damn thing already.

And then, not even half an hour later, during a different melee, you join Rhaenyra and Alicent up in the royal box, rubbing at your nose as you sit down in some clean clothes, in a black tunic with red accents and embroidered silver dragons on top of where each breast is.

Rhaenyra looks at you, and feels a bit bad, until she realizes you lost, and totally wasted her favor. “You wasted my favor, oh, gallant knight.” She sarcastically says, and she doesn’t really care about the favor much.

You look at her for a moment, slightly embarrassed and frowning, “Sorry. He got my nose, and my eyes started watering.” You grumble, holding it as you witness the new violence down in the tiltyard, whereas Alicent looks away and Rhaenyra- like you- continues to look.

As the violence reaches a standstill, as in the bodies being dragged away after everything, Otto finally returns, and shares the new news to the small council.

“The Queen lives, but the boy is dead.” He quietly shares, earning a small gasp from some of them. It’s enough to draw attention, from all three girls down in the first row, as well as from possibly Laena and Laenor.

The Queen lives, but the boy is dead.

Aemma survived off of nothing short of a miracle. They sacrificed Baelon’s life for Aemma’s, but she is narrowly surviving.

Viserys chose her, in a rare twist of fate.

[ginevrastilinski-ocs]

Everyone meet My New Bridgerton Babies! (Some of them at least lol)

Everyone meet the Fontaine family and their friends! Aka why should I start with a much simple story idea with just one oc when I can start with a whole universe full of people?

Vivica Fontaine - The Eldest Daughter Syndrome walking; basically the mom of the family, especially bc Malcolm's health problems ngl; Anthony Bridgerton ship FC: Dakota Johnson

Erwin Fontaine - Elinora's twin brother; Adventurous Boy; is not the oldest but he will inherit everything and he lowkey hates it bc he knows Vivica is way smarter and more suitable than him for the leading role in the family; Kate Sharma Ship FC: Jonah Hauer King

Elinora Fontaine - Erwin's twin sister; the definition of "I want to be great or nothing"; little perfectionist baby; ship TBD FC: Kaya Scodelario

Malcolm Fontaine - Baby Boy; very low immune defenses (basically none) so he's always sick; grew up basically locked in his house and has social anxiety for this so... yeah, the most unlucky boy in town; the only person he often talked with growing up outside of his family was Amelia bc they're neighbors; Amelia Sayre ship FC: Timothée Chalamet

Hestia Fontaine - youngest Fontaine sibling; she and Francesca are friends and debut the same year; the talkative and loud half of Francesca's quiet side lol; ship TBD FC: Josie Totah

Amelia Sayre - the Spirited Young Lady of the group lol; she gets along well with Eloise for this; actually a secret hopeless romantic ngl; already knows that she will marry her childhood best friend and she loves it; Malcolm Fontaine ship FC: Mia Wasikowska

Philomena Declair - Elinora's best friend; little lesbian and we love her for that; fashion lover (she's always at the modiste not only bc she likes her lmao); Genevieve Delacroix ship FC: Rosamund Pike

[separatist-apologist]

The Great War

I vowed I would always be yours

Summary: Feyre Archeron's kingdom has been warring with King Rhysand for longer than she can recall. When, on an unlucky stroke, he stumbles upon her and her sisters locked in a tower, Feyre will do whatever it takes to keep him from finding them.

Even marrying him.

Happy @feysandmonth (but really LB appreciation month!) My only multi-chaptered offering.

Read more on AO3

“Someone’s on the horizon.”

Feyre Archeron looked up from her chair at the far end of the tower she lived in. Her sister, Elain, sat on the open window ledge, head resting against the slate gray stone. Her lips were tinged blue from the cold, not that Elain seemed to care. She merely tugged the threadbare blanket tighter around her shoulders, brown eyes never leaving the horizon. 

Nesta leaned up from the fire she was keeping alive, her eyes pinched at the corners. They had been out of everything for months and it showed. Feyre could see her eldest sister's collar bone jutting from beneath a dress that had once fit her like a glove—it now hung like a sack over her too-thin frame. 

Endless war had convinced their father to hide them away, terrified his enemy to the east would one day try and steal one of his daughters. It was supposed to be temporary—he’d promised six months or less. Feyre’s eyes slid towards the wall where Nesta kept count. Eighteen months had passed without a word and their supplies had run out well before then. 

“Who is it?” Nesta asked, running her tongue over chapped, broken lips. Elain shrugged fragile shoulders. She, too, was suffering from starvation. All three of them were. “Is it father?”

“I can’t tell,” Elain admitted, squinting against the glow of sunset. “Who else would know where we are?”

Feyre and Nesta’s eyes met. He hadn’t come in so long they’d just assumed he’d forgotten—or worse. Sometimes at night, Feyre wondered if he hadn’t left them here to die. It was no secret that General Graysen Nolan was his preferred heir and that one of them would be married to him eventually. It would only ever make Graysen king consort, which irked the male-centric court of the north. Men had ruled in an unbroken line for centuries.

And then Nesta had been born. 

Followed by Elain.

And then Feyre.

There might have been more–more daughters for their father to ignore, to abandon in the too-small tower, had their mother not died. Even a new wife couldn’t usurp Nesta as heir to the throne, and so laws were squabbled over, abandoned when King Rhysand of Velaris attacked their border, drawing her father's attention to the military.

They’d all been spared political marriages, ones that would surely grind them all into dust. None more so than beautiful, docile Elain. Feyre suspected she’d be given to Graysen and Nesta wholly disinherited. She’d overheard her father's council of advisors suggesting Nesta be sent to a temple far in the mountains where she would remain unmarried, a devotee to the gods. And Elain, who was easier to control, who was sweet and lovely and uninterested in ruling, could take Nesta’s place and Graysen rule through her.

Until she birthed him a son.

After all, women died in childbirth all the time. It was such a strange thing, to hear these men hope that her sister might die bringing a male child into the world, so they wouldn’t be forced to serve beneath a lowly woman. Feyre knew Nesta would be far kinder to their people than Graysen ever would be—and Elain would do as she was told.

“Is it father?” Elain’s voice cut through Feyre’s guilty thoughts. She didn’t equate to any of his plans. His forgotten youngest child, she knew he’d offer her up to some noble in exchange for riches or military might. 

All at once, the three of them scrambled upwards. They were supposed to be locked in, unable to get out. Once they’d realized he wasn’t coming back, the three had set to work. Elain, sitting at the highest point of that massive tower, had made nice with a local fisherman’s son. He sent up fishing line and hooks when she told him she needed it for mending, along with the occasional fish and bread. 

That hook and string had helped them get the latch to the bottom door opened. Nesta collected firewood and Feyre hunted small game for them to eat. It was never enough, especially now that they were in the brutal season of winter. The fishermen were gone and so were most of the creatures Feyre meticulously hunted. They hadn’t eaten in days and Feyre was starting to get desperate.

Starting to think they should steal one of the boats left behind and take their chances in the frigid water. 

They hid everything they shouldn’t have, rearranging the tower so it looked exactly as it had when they’d first been locked inside. Elain straightened the navy rug on the floor while Nesta remade the bed and Feyre hid her little weapons behind a stack of lumpy pillows.

Elain slammed the shutters of the tower closed and grabbed her knitting needles. Nesta picked up a book and Feyre…Feyre merely stood there. She’d run out of paint long ago, just as Elain had run out of yarn and Nesta had read the book many times over.

It didn’t matter. They heard the grunting of whatever soldiers were yanking open that heavy iron door, followed by the sound of clanking chainmail and heavy boots on the winding stairs. None of them dared to look at each other, jumping when a pounding fist banged against the trap door.

“Girls?”

It was their father, just as Elain had said. Feyre came forward, her body heavy with exhaustion. She pulled back the rug Nesta had just arranged, yanking the iron ring with her limited strength.

Their father's head, adorned with a heavy iron circlet, appeared next. Hatred burned in Feyre’s gut at the sight of his full cheeks, of his glowing health. He certainly hadn’t suffered that last year and half. He climbed the rest of the way up, drinking the sight of them.

“There you are,” he murmured with relief. As if there was any doubt that they’d still be here. He looked from her to Nesta before his eyes fell fully on Elain. Feyre’s stomach knotted, nervous though she couldn’t explain why.

“Have you come to bring us home?” Nesta asked hopefully. Feyre, too, wanted to leave. The tower was perpetually freezing and they were hungry and exhausted. The fortress they’d grown up in wasn’t much better and yet they were at least well fed and warm bottles were placed beneath their bedding to keep them warm at night. 

“Soon,” he murmured, not looking at Nesta at all. His eyes were still fixed on Elain, a frown ghosting his features. They looked so similar, though, on their father, those rich, brown eyes seemed soulless whereas on Elain, they were filled with warmth. Starvation couldn’t dim Elain’s beauty, though her once bouncy curls hung limp down her back and her heart-shaped face was thin and drawn. Elain, too, could have used some sleep.

“I will return for the three of you in a week's time. We are so close to beating the east back into those empty mountains.”

As if any of them cared. Nesta’s eyes sharpened. “We are out of food.”

Their father didn’t flinch. “You have enough for one last week.”

“And then what?” Feyre asked, cutting Nesta off before she angered him. 

“Nesta will go to the priestess's temple at Sangravah and Elain will marry Graysen—”

Elain rose to her feet. “What?”

“Feyre will stay with me for the time being,” he added, ignoring Elain entirely.

“A priestesses temple?” Nesta demanded. It was all as Feyre had once heard. He’d decided it, then. Decided to sideline Nesta and hope Elain would be the easier-controlled ruler. Or worse, that she would die before him, giving Ellesmere the son he’d denied them. Elain didn’t respond at all, though her face was so pale it might have been bone. Graysen was not known for being kind or gentle. He would use Elain until she was nothing but a corpse, and her sister knew it.

“It’s been decided,” their father snapped. 

“By who?” Feyre dared to ask. She could have reached for her bone knife beneath the pillow and tried to bury it in his neck…but he was her father. 

And he had a broad sword hanging from his hips. 

“By me,” he told them. Nesta scoffed while Elain said nothing, her eyes glazed over as she imagined this new future. “And you will do as I tell you or you will suffer my wrath.”

“We are already suffering,” Nesta informed him, her hatred burning in her eyes. Of the three of them, she looked the most like mother. Perhaps that was why he disliked her the most—he couldn’t look at Nesta’s silvery blue eyes and her golden brown hair braided atop her head like a crown and not see his once beautiful wife staring back at him.

Banishing her to a temple was like exorcizing a ghost. 

“What’s a little more, then?” he all but whispered. Daring her to disobey him. Nesta couldn’t pick this fight. Not when her skin all but clung to her bones and not when he could have driven his blade through her chest with no repercussions at all. Feyre dropped into a chair, more exhausted than she’d ever been and Nesta followed suit.

To their father, who didn’t imagine they had any thoughts he did not permit them to have, it was an act of submission. 

“It was good to see the three of you in good health,” he said, walking to Elain and brushing his fingers over her cheeks. Elain closed her eyes, clearly trying to keep herself from bursting into tears. 

Feyre scoffed but said nothing else. 

“Just a week, and then it's over,” he told them. As if it would ever be over. A new hell was waiting just over the horizon and Feyre had no intention of meeting it. She wouldn’t be separated from her sisters, either. She wouldn’t leave Nesta to die in a temple and Elain to perish in a marriage bed. 

They waited until their father descended back down the stairs and that iron door slammed shut so hard it rattled the stones around them. They held silent and still, listening to the gallop of hooves and the accompanying silence as the sun finally set.

Elain broke first, drawing her knees up to her face with a soft sob. Nesta rose to her feet, pacing the floor, her hands outstretched before the fire.

“We’ll take the boat,” Feyre whispered. “We’ll take the boat and go south. They say their king grants asylum to those that make it to his shore. We can hide there for a time and make our way across the ocean.”

“We won’t survive,” Nesta said, her voice devoid of its usual emotion.

“I can spend the next two days hunting,” Feyre insisted. “We can scavenge for anything the fishermen left behind.” 

Nesta shook her head but Elain looked up, wiping her eyes on her sleeves. “What does it matter, Nesta? We either die at sea or we die at his hands. Either way…” her voice broke with a sob. “I don’t want to be married to him.”

“It would be a terrible way to die,” Nesta said, though Feyre wasn’t sure if she meant death by their father's design or death at sea. Feyre was willing to take her chances, though. They could bundle, they could take water and food, and any other supplies in the covered ship that had been left behind. They’d be as protected from the elements within it as they were in the tower, and could fish if they ran low on supplies. 

“It’s better than doing nothing,” Feyre replied.

Elain and Feyre waited. Nesta was always allowed the final say, their deference out of respect for the sister they’d always hoped would one day be queen. Those dreams were dead—they would live in exile or they wouldn’t live at all. 

Two days—that was all Feyre was willing to risk. While she hunted, Nesta and Elain gathered supplies for the boat. Elain cleaned it during the day and Nesta organized until the three fell into bed each night bone weary and exhausted. They barely ate, trying so hard to preserve their rations for when they were out at sea and would have no other recourse. 

Feyre went to bed that night feeling the smallest flames of hope. Hope that they’d make it to the southern border before their father realized what they’d done. That Helion, the king of that realm, didn’t decide to ransom them back. And most importantly, they managed to make it over the sea where they might live free lives for the first time since they were born. Unshackled by the chains of their father, or the monarchy, of the unfair expectations placed on women. Elain could choose her own husband and Nesta and Feyre their own fates. 

The sound of someone pounding on the iron door of the tower dragged the three of them from a drowsy sleep. Their father had a key and the girls their own makeshift one—whoever was below was an interloper. 

Elain flew from the bed, pushing open the shutters to blink into the dark.

“The east,” she whispered. “Rhysand.”

“How–”

“He followed father,” Nesta hissed. “He led them right to us.”

Feyre blinked as Elain wrapped a cloak around her shoulders and tossed the rope down the side. “We go now,” she hissed. “Before he makes it up here and slaughters us all.”

Feyre nodded, though in her heart, she knew she wasn’t going with them. Everyone was on their boat and ready to go. All Nesta and Elain had to do was pull the anchor and set out. Rhysand would follow them—would merely drag them back where they’d be imprisoned or worse. Someone had to slow him down. 

Had to distract him. 

“Go,” Feyre whispered, reaching for her own cloak and her bone knife. She pressed the knife into Nesta’s hand, pretending she was getting her quiver of arrows as Elain propelled down the side. “I’m right behind you.”

The door wrenched open just beneath. 

“Hurry up,” Nesta hissed. Feyre knew if either of her sisters had any inclination of her split-second decision, they would have stayed, too. The point was to go together or not at all. Rhysand was cruel—evil and terrible. He’d lock them in a frigid dungeon, would ransom them back for land and coins and whatever soldiers their father had taken prisoner. There were rumors he stole women from the bordering villages and passed them out to his own men to use as they liked. Nesta and Elain didn’t deserve that.

She thought, perhaps foolishly, that she could withstand it.

Heavy boots on the stairs drew her attention to the trap door. Nesta was gone, halfway down the tower even as the trapdoor beneath the rug rattled. She wasn’t going to help him open it. Fingers clenched to fists, Feyre pressed her back against the wall and waited for what would happen next. 

The wood trap door exploded violently, splintering over the once carefully kept room. Feyre pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. The man who appeared was nothing like Feyre imagined Rhysand to be. She’d always pictured someone her father's age, someone who would look like the nightmare she’d been made to be afraid of.

Rhysand was young—early thirties at best. His dark hair seemed to gobble up the little light emanating from the fireplace as his violet-blue eyes swept over the room. They landed on her, crinkling at the edges when he realized it was just her. He looked like a warrior in his dark leather, a massive sword strapped against his spine. She tried to make herself smaller as he took a step towards her.

“Where are the other two?”

“Dead,” she lied as another man appeared. They could have been brothers—they shared the same warm brown skin, the same inky black hair. This man was perhaps lovelier in a classical sort of way, and far colder, if the stone cut of his face was any indication. 

“Cassian!” Rhysand, betrayed by the silver crown of stars around his head, bellowed down the stairs. His eyes were on the rope hanging from the window. “Bring me the other two!”

“RUN!” Feyre screamed out that window. Rhysand lunged for her, strong arms wrapping over her too-thin frame. She didn’t have the strength to fight him though the gods knew she tried. Feyre thrashed as his broad hand clapped over her mouth.

“So much for dead, huh?” Rhysand whispered against her neck. Feyre twisted, her foot kicking hard between his legs. He grunted but didn’t release her. “You look close to it already.”

He and the other man dragged her kicking and silently screaming down those stairs. Feyre endeavored to make it as difficult as possible, if only to buy Elain and Nesta more time.

It worked. By the time she was beneath that violet sky of stars, a third man was striding towards them. He was the biggest by far, tall and broad and terrifyingly imposing. A crisscross of swords over his shoulders made him seem more lethal than the other two men, though when he stepped into a beam of moonlight, she thought he had the friendliest face.

“They took a ship,” he said, amusement lacing his words. 

Rhysand pushed Feyre into the colder man so he could bind her wrists.

“Track them down. I can’t risk Archeron finding them first.”

Feyre kept her mouth shut. Her sisters had escaped Rhysand—they’d escape their father, too. Cassian—that’s what Rhysand had called him—looked her over, offered a smile that didn’t seem too threatening, and then turned to vanish back into the gloom.

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked him, her wrists bound in front of her body. Rhysand turned back to her, eyes sliding up and down her body. It wasn’t predatory or appreciative. In fact, he seemed almost disturbed by what he saw.

“How long have you been here?”

silver-edgedFeyre lifted her chin defiantly. She didn’t have to answer that. He didn’t care, either. Rhysand dragged her over the barren, frozen ground towards a midnight black stallion and hoisted her into a silver edged saddle with ease. He swung up just behind her.

“Would you like me to help Cassian?” the other man asked softly, his voice as dark as the night around them. 

“I’ll need you,” Rhysand disagreed. “Cassian can handle two unarmed women.”

He nodded. Absolute obedience, just like Graysen ordered their father. Rhysand lowered his head until she could feel his breath on the back of her neck again. “Cassian will find them.”

“And then what? You’ll kill us as a family?” she asked him, twisting back so he could see she wasn’t afraid of him. It was a lie, of course. Feyre was terrified. 

He didn’t need to know that.

Rhysand’s smile was cold—cruel. “Your father has something of mine. Now I have something of his.”

“Good luck getting it back,” Feyre retorted. 

Rhysand only laughed. 

 

It was a miserable night of riding. Feyre, half-starved and exhausted well before she was ever put in that saddle. By the time dawn broke, Feyre was miserably sore and hungrier than she’d ever been in her life. Her ribs ached, her thighs burned, and her head pounded. She was too focused on keeping herself upright to even think of her sisters, out on the icy sea all alone while a terrifying warrior tracked them down. 

All she could think about was the constant twisting of her gut. As snow-capped mountains loomed, Feyre felt her vision slipping sideways. She blinked, trying to right the world, but once her lids clamped shut, there was no opening them. She heard a soft swear and realized she had tipped out of the saddle and Rhysand had been forced to catch her or potentially let her die.

She almost wished he had. Surely death on a mountain road was better than whatever he had in store for her. Still, Feyre was too exhausted to fight him when his thighs tightened around her and his arm became a steel lock around her middle. She didn’t stop herself from leaning into his solid strength, nor did she care when her neck inclined at a near awkward angle, bouncing off his shoulder each time the horse jolted.

She slipped in and out of sleep, roused when he’d grab her with a surprising amount of gentleness just beneath her jaw and demand she take a drink. At some point, she thought a blanket was draped over her body, though when she managed to pry open an eye, she realized he’d merely covered them both in his cloak. 

“Will you walk? Or am I going to have to carry you into my palace?” Rhysand asked her, pulling Feyre from a rather strange, brightly colored dream. 

“Go to hell,” she whispered, forgetting almost immediately what he’d even asked. It seemed like an appropriate response to anything and everything he might ask. 

“I think she’s half dead,” another man’s voice murmured and Feyre swore he said those words with pure amusement. “Archeron beat you to it.”

“Shut up,” Rhysand grumbled. Feyre didn’t stay awake to hear the rest. For an unknown period of time, Feyre was lost to pure nothingness. Just bliss—utter, dreamless bliss. She could have died happy and, if she was honest, almost wished she had. 

Coming back was hell. Feyre twisted against the tethers that kept her trapped in darkness, desperate to resurface. She needed to know where she was—what had happened to her sisters. And when Feyre managed to pry an eye open, she expected to find herself lying on the hard, stone floor of a damp, cold dungeon. 

She was in a bed. In a room at least twice as big as the one she had at home. Bigger than the whole tower. Feyre was propped against a mountain of pillows and tucked beneath a sea of black and silver blankets. Curtains were tied from tall, wooden bed posts which made her feel, strangely, like a princess.

“You are a princess,” she whispered to no one in particular. In name only. Her filthy hair hanging in strings around her face and itching scalp told a wholly different story. Feyre pushed from the bed, strangely embarrassed to be in it at all. Her bare feet touched a plush, cream carpet that stretched the length of the bed against dark wood floors. 

A fire crackled merrily in a large hearth across the room, keeping Feyre warm even after she left her blankets. She padded for the jutting, rounded windows that were curtained in more glittering silver. Pulling them aside, Feyre clapped a hand over her mouth. An ocean of icy snow blanketed the world around her, broken only by the rising mountainside she was currently trapped in. 

That would make escape trickery, though not impossible. Feyre was used to the cold, the dark. If he thought to disorient her with the nice, furnished room, he didn’t know her at all.

Ignoring the bathroom, with a tub big enough to be a pool and a wall of glass that let her stare out into the snowy expanse, Feyre marched the curved, double doors gilded in more silver. He clearly had a color scheme, if nothing else. He also hadn’t locked her in. Feyre stepped into an empty hall, painted a soft lavender and trimmed in cream. No servants, no guards. Like she was no threat to him at all. 

That infuriated Feyre. She marched down the hall, forgetting she hadn’t eaten in days—months, even, given the sparseness of what was available to them. She hadn’t passed out from fear, but from exhaustion and hunger. Her anger quickly evaporated into fear as blinding white spots bloomed behind her vision. Feyre reached for the wall, holding herself steady while her knees trembled violently. 

“No, no, no,” Feyre moaned, her legs giving way beneath her. She clutched for the wall, looking for any purchase to keep her steady, but there was none. Only the tilting world and the brief flash of pain when her head bounced off the floor.

And then darkness again. 

She came back the second time fighting. Feyre shot upwards, the heavy blanket of her bed pooling in her lap as she gasped for air. A tray of food was set on her night table and Rhysand himself sat in a chair by the window. He seemed irritated if the set of his jaw was any indication. She supposed he had better things to do than babysit her. 

When she woke, he turned his head until those violet eyes were firmly on her. He cocked his head, causing a lock of his inky black hair to flop against the middle of his forehead. He was the picture of casual elegance. Bored, yet graceful, nobility. They didn’t have his type in Ellesmere–slick, polished, and arrogant. 

“Good evening,” he offered, his voice rough. Feyre didn’t respond, though she did pull her knees to her chest. He watched the whole thing, no hint of his thoughts betrayed in his expression.

“You should eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He didn’t smile. “Sure. I suppose you like it when I carry you down the halls like an underfed corpse?”

Feyre felt embarrassment rise through her chest. “Who asked for your help?”

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on powerful thighs. Feyre very much doubted he had ever missed a meal. She swallowed, hiding her hands beneath the blanket so he wouldn’t see how they trembled. 

“Maybe you should ask it, darling. If this is how your own father treats you, maybe whatever I have in store would be a kinder fate.”

She all but spat at him. Hatred bloomed in her chest knowing whatever fate he had planned likely involved her eventual death. The deaths of her sisters, her home, and everything she’d ever cared about. 

“How long do you plan to keep me captive?” she asked instead, pointedly ignoring what he’d told her.

Rhysand leaned backward, shrugging his broad shoulders. Clad in a tunic of black and silver that cut just beneath his jaw, he seemed strangely casual to her. No cape, no rings, no crown. Not even a circlet graced his forehead. 

“You’re hardly captive. More like my guest.”

“If I’m your guest, that means I can leave–”

“Feyre,” he interrupted patiently, “darling. You can barely walk down the hall. Where do you imagine you’re going?”

“Away from you,” she hissed, well aware she sounded like a petulant child. The curved smirk gracing his face told her he agreed with her silent assessment.

“Well,” he murmured, rising to his feet. She’d forgotten how imposing he was. Even without the leathered armor and the sword, he cut an imposing figure. “Maybe you should eat some dinner, first. It’s no fun to best you on a technicality.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded, certain he was making fun of her. Warily, Feyre waited for Rhysand to respond. To mock her, as the courtiers back home always had. 

“Are you not the Huntress of the North?”

She hated him for his use of that nickname. It had only ever been sneered at her, her bow and arrows the endless source of amusement for the men in her father's palace. A princess who wielded a weapon was practically sacrilege. That she was any good? Well, they found ways to keep her in place.”

Feyre jutted her chin, determined he would not make her feel any smaller. “Yes. That is exactly what I am.”

There was no hint of mockery in his gaze. “Then eat.”

He strode from the room without looking back to see if she obeyed him. It was only after he left that she realized night had fallen, hidden as it was behind the semi-sheer curtains. How long had he sat there, waiting? It made her uneasy, to be so helpless in front of him.

And the thought of passing out, at being left at his mercy and hoping he’d be kind was enough to motivate Feyre into eating. She swallowed her guilt, hoping her sisters were safe and, if nothing else, not starving too terribly before she pulled apart a roll of bread. Steam curled around her face and Feyre nearly moaned at the sight. It had been a long time since she’d had anything hot. She tried so hard to go slow, so she wouldn’t be sick, but the vegetables were seasoned with spices she’d never tasted, and the meat and potatoes covered in a rich gravy that had her all but licking the plate. 

She could have kept going. She was tempted, even, to climb out of bed, find the kitchen, and ask for more. Instead, Feyre climbed out of bed, legs still shaky, and made her way to the bathtub.

Bastard as he was, Rhysand was right about one thing.

She’d never escape him in her current condition. 

Feyre very much intended to escape.

Just as soon as she killed him.

-

Feyre spent a whole week minding her own business. The decision had been more practical than anything–every time she stepped into the hall, a wave of dizziness sent her practically running back for the bedroom. She would be damned if Rhysand put his filthy hands on her again. Feyre’s pride wouldn’t let her be caught in a compromising position by her enemy, which in turn ensured she ate every meal that was brought to her. The first few days had seen her all but living in the bathroom while she adjusted, gulping water from the tap when she felt feverish. She slept, she ate, she bathed, and did little else.

She felt like a traitor. Her dreams were consumed by her sisters—were they safe?

Were they alive?

She had no doubt if Rhysand had managed to find them, he would have paraded them about like his trophies like he’d no doubt done with her. The thought offered the faintest amount of relief. Only she was here. 

Whoever left the trays just outside her door didn’t seem to know who, exactly she was. Or maybe they didn’t view her as a threat. Either way, she’d been provided a steak knife each night, and Feyre had begun to collect them. The silver alone would be enough to fund part of her journey, and the sharpened point sliced easily over her pointer finger. It would do well enough against anyone who put the fleshy parts of their skin too close to her body.

Feyre woke to an actual servant the dawning of that second week. 

“The king requests you dine with him,” an elderly, no nonsense woman declared. As if that were the end of things. Feyre knew, from growing up around her own father, that the king's word was law. She didn’t obey him, though. He wasn’t her master.

“And if I say no?” Feyre asked in her brattiest tone.

An arched brow was the only expression she got. “I hear a palette of straw is far less comfortable than a bed made of goose down.”

She hated that woman, with her severe gray bun and her unsmiling eyes. Still, Feyre begrudgingly got into the tub and submitted to her all the same. She allowed herself to be dressed in an, admittedly, a pretty amethyst gown made of gossamer silk. She said nothing while her hair was curled and pushed off her face with a pearl-lined headband, or when thin, silver earrings were looped into her ears so it looked as if delicate trails of starlight clung to her skin. Her eyes were coated and lined until they looked bigger—more pronounced. Her lips were made softer and painted the most delicate shade of pink.

It all irritated her. Like she was a doll for dress up, like her too-thin, sharp appearance was solely for his pleasure. “Is this what your king likes?”

“Hardly,” that servant snapped. Speaking to her like that in her own home would have gotten someone killed–not that Feyre would have tattled. Still, the sharpness took her aback. 

“Then why–”

“You have a problem looking nice?” 

Truthfully, Feyre had no problem looking nice. Her problem was the way she felt as if she were little more than a pretty object. She didn’t want to look nice in Rhysand’s kingdom, at a breakfast he almost certainly would also be attending.  He’d see her and approve of her, which was the opposite of what she wanted.

Feyre marched down the halls, and for the first time since she’d arrived, there was no danger she’d fall flat on her face. The hall led into a larger atrium, with a winding staircase that led both upwards and back down into the palace. Feyre tried to memorize her path, but the steps leading down only directed her into another branching hall of the same cream and lavender and arching doors lined in silver pulled tightly shut.

She’d expected a large dining hall filled with people. That’s how Feyre had always eaten. A dozen eyes were always on her, listening for any morsel of gossip they could run to her father with. When the doors were opened for it, Feyre found an intimate scene. A table for five people, perhaps, but no more. Round, with only two chairs decently separated and covered in a selection of food she could directly spoon onto a silver plate herself.

Rhysand, too, waited with his usual boredom. He was framed by a line of windows frosted over from the cold. Same black tunic and pants, to the point Feyre wondered if he owned any variations to that outfit. He had taken no food, and stood when she entered. He nodded to the servant just behind, which apparently signaled to close the doors. Feyre was trapped in the chamber with him.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing towards her chair. Feyre hesitated, her slippered feet sliding against the wood just beneath. It was the wafting scent of chocolate that sent Feyre to her seat. She hadn’t had anything sweet in so long, a terrible curse for someone who liked sweets as much as she did. 

“Eat,” he ordered once she was in her chair. Feyre tried her best to ignore him, scooping eggs and fruit, and cheese onto a plate. She took sausage and bread before she realized the scent of chocolate was coming from a silver pot. Hot chocolate. 

His mouth twitched, watching her pour it into her porcelain cup. Feyre took a sip, trying to suppress the moan that rose in her chest. She didn't succeed and in response, his eyes widened ever so slightly. 

“Are you always so adaptable?” he asked, only serving himself when she was finished. Feyre didn’t offer him a response, too busy shoveling food in her mouth. It was, as it always was, perfect. His manners were more refined, reminding her that the time she’d spent in that tower had made her wilder than before. 

The silence stretched between them. It seemed unbearable for him, because Rhysand set his fork back to the table, eyes pinned on her. “Why were you in that tower?”

“Who were you expecting to find?” she sneered. Rhysand raised those dark, immaculately groomed brows and she realized belatedly he’d never meant to run into her. Who had he been looking for, then? Clearly, when the opportunity presented itself he hadn’t been able to resist and still…Feyre wanted to know. 

“Answer my question.”

“We were there because of you,” she whispered, gripping the knife just beside her plate so tightly the whites of her knuckles were exposed. 

If he felt guilt, he didn’t betray it. “How fortunate, then.”

She was going to stab him. If she stood, Feyre could bury the blade in his neck before he could react. “Fortunate? Did you find my sisters?”

Another casual shrug. “Cassian hasn’t returned.”

“Maybe he’s dead,” she hissed. Rhysand smiled. 

“Maybe,” he agreed, his tone suggesting he did not agree. “Can I ask, darling, why I was the cause of such a slow, terrible death for you? Why not behead his daughters and be done with it?” Feyre’s heart pounded in her throat as she rose, her plate half untouched. He was fixated on her face, unaware she still had the handle of that knife fisted in her fingers.

“Our suffering amuses you?”

“Confuses me. If your father sent you to that tower to die–”

“To protect us!” Feyre interrupted, certain he couldn’t be that stupid. “To keep you from harming us!”

He reclined in his chair as she moved towards him, her knife hidden in the flouncy material of her skirt. 

“You believe that?”

“Who were you looking for? What did he take of yours?” she asked sharply, halting just in front of him. Part of her was desperate for any information, even if it came from his lips. She had never once been granted any she hadn’t stolen, and even then Feyre couldn’t be certain it was true or not. 

He assessed her. “Why would I tell someone hoping to kill me anything?”

“You’re stupid?” she guessed, inching closer. 

“I’ll trade you, darling. I’ll answer any question you have if you give me the knife in your hand.”

Feyre hesitated. “Do you swear?”

Rhysand nodded, that lock of dark hair falling against his forehead again. Pressing a golden hand to his heart, he said, “I swear it.”

Quick as a viper, Feyre lunged. Rhysand shouted, unprepared to have the blade of her knife buried in the back of his hand. She’d stabbed with all her pent up fury, all but pinning him to the table by the point of the serrated blade. 

His face was altogether too close when she turned to look at him, those violet eyes blazing with some unreadable emotion. “You never said how I had to return it.”

Blood dripped onto the wood as Rhysand used his other, unwounded hand to pull the knife out of his hand. She waited for him to go back on his promise, to call her names or punish her—all of which she deserved. Feyre straightened. 

Bracing herself. 

“I want Nolan,” Rhysand gritted out, unfolding a napkin to press against his hand. “Finding you was merely good luck. I can trade you for the General. As for what he has that belongs to me, well...” he raised his hand, as if to show her why he wouldn't be divulging that bit of information. 

Feyre laughed. “You could trade Elain for Graysen. Maybe. But me? You might as well kill me right here, right now.”

“I won’t be doing that,” he hissed, holding the napkin against his wounded hand. He didn’t move from his chair, though she expected him to. He merely sat there, his napkin blooming the same red that was still puddled just beside his plate. 

“Then what–”

“You will live here until you die,” he interrupted snappishly. Their gazes held and for a moment, Feyre felt as though his eyes had tied a string between them, immobilizing her entirely. She’d forgotten, for a moment, a bloodstained knife had punctured his hand and that she’d been the one who’d done it. Standing over him was wild–intoxicating.

He blinked and the spell was shattered.

“Let me go,” she breathed, swallowing hard. He crossed his ankle over his knee, one foot bouncing anxiously. “I’ll tell you anything–”

“You know nothing,” he dismissed, eyes cutting towards the door. “Another of your foolish bargains.”

“You can’t keep me here,” she insisted, turning her back to him. Feyre made a show of lifting her skirts, of stepping around the droplets of blood, all the while Rhysand watched. 

“You would be surprised at what I could do. What I might do, if provoked.”

She looked over her shoulder to his wounded hand, bound in that napkin and held for her perusal. There was a darkness to his gaze that should have unsettled her. Feyre thought she could have counted the constellation of stars within it—a dangerous thought, given who he was. It struck her only then that he was handsome. Too handsome.

Beautiful. Certainly, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her entire life. She’d been so consumed with hating him, with survival, to pay him any attention before. Now, though, as her adrenaline ebbed into fear, she saw him for what he was. Just for a moment—lovely. 

She stamped that thought deep, deep down. 

“Hardly a punishment, keeping me in finery,” she taunted, swishing her pretty dress around her to emphasize her point. It was then that he stood, and Feyre so badly wished he hadn’t. She stopped her teasing, her body flooded with cold at the sight of him. 

“No. You’re rather pretty, dressed in my things,” he began, holding his hand against his chest as he surveyed her. “I wonder how much prettier you’d be in my bed chamber–”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed, her heart thudding in her throat.

“How even lovelier still, in my lap, on my throne—” “Stop it,” she half pleaded, half ordered. He raised a brow.

“Oh? Commanding me, are you? There’s only one person allowed to make such demands of me,” he said, stepping closer and closer until her back was pressed against the wall. Rhysand didn’t back down, his thigh sliding between her legs to pin her between them. Feyre couldn’t control her rapid breathing, hating how close he was.

How good he smelled.

“Ask me who,” he said. She shook her head no, unable to look away.

“I’ll tell you,” he continued, his tone far too heavy. “The only person who can give me a command is my wife–”

She slapped him, sending him stumbling back a step. He needed to learn what would happen if he invaded her space. “Under no circumstances would I marry you,” she hissed, slipping around him for the door. She’d just pulled it open, had all but begun running down the hall, when he called after her.

“Not to save your home? To end this war? To keep your sisters from being traded back to your father so I can hang one man?”

Feyre whipped back around, terrified of the intensity on his face. “I can’t trust you.” “I would shield them,” he all but whispered. He looked crazy, his shirt bloodied, his hand wounded. His face, was slightly ashen from how she’d hurt him and still decisive. “And you.” “How can you protect me when my greatest enemy stands four feet from me?!” she shrieked. He arched a brow, as if to call her statement into question.

“None of this would have happened had you not intervened!”

“There are things you don’t understand,” he protested, but Feyre took a step through the doorway, out into the hall.

“I won’t.”

“You will,” he replied, holding her again until his gaze tied a ribbon around her very soul. She shook her head, just to prove she could still move her body independent of him.

“I’ll kill you first.”

He laughed, then. 

“You may do whatever you like to me, darling.”

Everything they’d ever said about him was true. Feyre thought that as she turned her back to him, her body far warmer than she’d ever admit. Feyre knew two things with absolute certainty.

One, if she didn’t manage to escape and soon, she’d never be free of him.

And two—Rhysand wasn’t going to let her go. Not to her father. Not to the world.

Maybe not ever. 

[chvsire]

tbh I don’t know how us as viewers are suppose to sympathize with any of the casts’ parents, ESPECIALLY aaron’s dad. specifically in mystreet’s case we literally witness them experiment on their own children and then derek takes it a step forward by literally locking his son in a metaphorical cage his entire childhood and young adult life? he can’t leave the house, can’t live on his own without supervision, literally hires people to stalk him while he’s at school, and in general is just a major asshole to him while playing the “im doing this to keep you and everyone safe!” card. like dude if you were scared about what your son was going to become bc of your own family curse MAYBE you shouldn’t have had kids in the first place. or stopped after you had your eldest daughter bc the curse only affects men in the family??? I don’t like aaron, but man, the guy really got unlucky in the family department.

I think what annoys me the most is agent r knowing everything that derek did to aaron, still telling derek that he was the best father aaron could have when he was a better father figure then him.

[carletes]

You cant just leave us hanging hibs, allegra’s wife interactions with the siblings and in laws 😭

[I don't have time for the whole story, but here's a little preamble]

Allegra has always been incredibly unlucky in love. Unlike Charlie who literally married his childhood girlfriend at 20 (which was also a whole thing, in fairness), Allegra has had her heart broken in so many different ways. She's also broken a fair few hearts herself. And especially when she's an F1 driver, that is fairly common knowledge.

"Well, you definitely aren't as private as we were," Lando says. Carlos glares at Lando.

"As private as I was," Carlos mutters, and Lando glares back. Allegra rolls her eyes as their glares melt into fond looks and lovestruck, gushy smiles.

"Yeah, well, we don't have to be closeted anymore," Allegra muttered. "And anyway, not all of us find our soulmates that easy. I might not even have one."

"What's wrong with that?" Landon pipes up, and Allegra tosses a pillow at them. Landon yelps and dodges out of the way, only for the pillow to upset a vase on the corner table. Aurelia sighs and stabilizes the vase.

"Ay, don't take it out on my furniture," Carlos warns, even as he pulls his husband into his lap. None of the kids blink at that; they're used to their parents' egregious PDA. "That costs more than you did."

"From Uncle Lewis?"

"Yes. For our fifteen years."

After an appropriate amount of time spent admiring the incredibly fragile vase, Allegra launches back into her tirade.

"I'm never going to find love. I'm just going to be a rich spinster. The only love in my life is going to come from my siblings' kids and passionate one-night stands in daring locales," Allegra sighs.

Landon looks at Allegra and says, "Define locales right now."

"Fuck off."

"Allegra!"

"Daddy, can you define locales?"

Lando thinks about it, and by way of answer, says, "...fuck off."

"Lando!"

After Carlos lectures them all on swearing at family - everyone takes this immense hypocrisy with generous patience - they return, again, to the topic at hand.

"You're not even thirty," Aurelia pipes up wisely. "And you're on the road most of the year. Of course it's taking you a while to settle down."

"Yeah, but-"

"Do you even want to settle down?" Lan asks, and at that, Allegra goes quiet. She is silent for a long time, long enough that Lan sighs and says, "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"I know," Allegra says, smiling softly. "I'm just...jealous. Of Charlie. Of you two," she adds, gesturing to her fathers, who tut softly. "Even Lia has a girlfriend, and she's literally half my age. When do I get to be in a good relationship?"

"Ay, hija," Carlos says, and he takes his eldest daughter's hand and kisses it. "Pequeñita. You will find what you need. I promise."

"Sometimes you just need to stop looking," Lando adds, and he snorts at Allegra's skeptical look. "I know it sounds stupid. But I also know you. You've never turned that part of your brain off in your life."

"It's not my fault," Allegra exclaims. "It's impossible to be your kid and not be a fucking hopeless romantic."

Allegra looks at her siblings for support, and, gratifyingly, they're both nodding vehemently. Neither Carlos nor Lando look abashed.

"Sorry we got lucky," Lando says, and Carlos smirks and reciprocates his husband's fistbump. Neither of them seem sorry. Allegra can't blame them.

Still, she somehow manages to internalize her daddy's advice. What if she didn't look? What if she stopped flirting, stopped flirting back, stopped wondering if the glances people shot her were admiring? For all her skepticism, she finds herself working longer hours, working harder, finding time for hobbies she hadn't gotten a chance to indulge in, not really, since she starting racing in F1. She spends more time with Charlie, his babies, with her siblings, with her parents - and it's wonderful. It feels good.

And Allegra realizes she doesn't remember the last time she felt this relaxed or happy.

[renee-writer]

The Heart Don't Lie Chapter 71

AO3

Better done all together, she thinks. With Mama Claire ‘s arm tight around her, she faces her family.

 

“What is it child? You look so serious.” Auntie Jenny asks.

 

“Are you ill lass?” Her daddy looks from her to his wife, “Claire, is she…?”

 

Claire squeezes her arm. Right. It is time, God help her.

 

“No daddy,” he just has time to breath out in relief before she adds, “nothing that nine months won’t fix.”

 

Her cousin, Maggie, gets it first. “Holy crap, you are pregnant!”

 

The room stirs, picking up the energy that Maggie’s  proclamation caused.

 

Rose moves first coming up to her sister and wrapping her in a hug. “Whatever you need.” She whispers in her ear.

 

“Is it true, leannen?”

 

Rose holds her other side as she  faces him.

 

“Aye daddy.” She explains all the details as her family reacts to the news.

 

“The first time. How unlucky you are cousin.” Her eldest, Ian Jr says.

 

“Hush, she doesn’t need our judgement right now but our support.” Big Ian tells his son.

 

“I will kill him,” his eyes are thunderous, “Where can I find him?”

 

“Jamie, that is enough!” Claire stills the conversations happening around the room, “They made a mistake, something that you know well. Right now, we have to prevent it from escalating. You going after the bloke would do that.”

 

He lets his breath out, forcing his temper down. “Aye,” another deep breath as the room seems to hold its own. Ian comes up and touches his shoulder. More than a brother-in-law, he is his best mate and the one always by his side, whatever is happening, “aye. Willa Brianna, my love, whatever you need, whatever decision you make, I am here for you.”

 

Claire and Rose let go of her and she falls into her daddy’s arms. The sobs she has been holding in are freely let out. He holds her close, murmuring the same nonsensical words he used to utter when he soothed her as an infant.

 

Claire and Jamie, Jenny and Ian, Willa and Rose, sit together in the great room. The cousins are seeing to the twins and Rory.

 

“What do you wish to do lass?” Jenny asks.

 

“Auntie Jenny, I can’t abort it. I simply can’t. What is easiest, if it isn’t right, I just…”

 

“Hush my child, I agree.”

 

“So do I.” Jamie would keep his word, whatever she wants to do. He is relieved that, that wasn’t it.

 

“Leaves adoption or parenting.” Ian was shocked at his niece’s news. In truth, he worried more about one of his own daughters announcing such more then Willa.

 

“Aye,” her hands twist in her lap, “I ah, am thinking adoption. I just don’t know if I can do this alone.”

 

“The father, he won’t …” Rose was furious at this bloke who stole her sister’s innocence and left her in trouble. Like her daddy, she would love to confront him but Mama Claire is right. Now Willa is important.

 

 

She meets her daddy’s eyes and sees the same barely held contempt for the man.

 

“I need to tell him. I mean, he has a right to know.”

 

“Right,” Jamie mumbles under his breath, “right to be neutered.” Claire hears and frowns at him.

 

“Yes Willa, he does. If you choose adoption, he will have to agree.” She says.

 

“Right. Right. Man, how did things get so messed up! I barely recall this conception. Now I have to tell the father. What if he acts like a jerk?”

 

“Then he will meet your father,” Jamie growls out, “in an unpleasant way.”

 

“You will invite him here so you won’t be alone,” Rose adds, “were he to act that way, you will have support.”

 

“You will have support no matter what. If you decide to keep the baby, you won’t be alone. No matter what he does.” Auntie Jenny adds.

 

“Aye, you will.”

[creative-bananas]

THE FAMILY RITUAL

It’s the 5th day of the 5th month. The sun shone dimly and the chilly wind blew, making the people shiver in cold while waiting for the ritual to begin. The loud and scary strong ocean waves crashing against the shore can be heard below. The sky is so dark like it feels the tragedy that is about to happen. 

Earlier that day, everyone was celebrating. It is the 5th month of Sarah Patterson, the new female baby addition to the Patterson family. Sally looks at her baby sister with tenderness. She is very happy to finally have a female family member to play with. Almost all of her cousins are boys so she always hoped for a sister. Dorothy, her mother looked at his daughters lovingly but the panic growing in her eyes can be seen. Peter felt it and held her hand tightly. He knows that something like this will happen sooner or later but he can not prevent an important family ritual that has been going on since their ancestors built this family. The guests are starting to come. Uncle Arthur’s family came first. Finn and Ned, his twin sons, greeted the family aloofly. Dorothy just forced a smile but her hands are starting to sweat. Peter greeted his brother but Arthur just looked at him and started to gaze at Sally. Sally looked at his uncle with confused eyes, wondering why his favorite uncle before is now staring at him with mad eyes. After the greetings of Uncle Arthur, Uncle Kenneth’s family arrived. He looked at Peter and greeted him happily, contrasting Uncle Arthur’s greetings. Aunt Martha congratulated Dorothy for her successful birth and cooed Sarah. Ethel, their eldest daughter that is a little bit plain-spoken, called them about the unluckiness they brought in the family. Dorothy is shaken because of the young lady’s words and can’t help herself to tear a bit. Peter took her wife and excused themselves to their room. Aunt Martha stared at her daughter madly and said, “What are you doing? Stop it before something happens to you and your brazen mouth”. Uncle Kenneth just laughed at her daughter and told her wife that it is just the truth. Their 10-year old son Herbert goes to Sally and asks her if she wants to play. Sally gladly accepts the offer and the two go to Sally’s backyard. 

Dorothy and Peter finally left the room but the swelling in Dorothy’s eyes is still visible. The couple headed to the living room and greeted more of the guests. Close friends of the Patterson family arrived and congratulated them for their newborn baby. After a while, Uncle Kenneth’s family arrived. Dorothy greeted them with a smile and the family responded positively. Uncle Kenneth looked at his baby niece and kinda grimaced a little bit. Peter notices it but he chooses to ignore it to avoid conflicts on the special day. “Ain’t this child looks peaceful amongst the storm eh?” Uncle Kenneth’s older son Warren said. Everyone laughed at his joke except for Uncle Arthur’s family. The twins looked at the people around them with hatred. Warren notices it and feels a little bit guilty of what he said. Uncle Kenneth's other sons, Frederick, Herman, and Chester go to the backyard to escape from their chatty and gossipy aunts. Herman and Chester found Sally and Herbert playing so both of them asked if they could join and the two gladly welcomed them. Frederick saw Ethel smoking and asked if he could join her. Ethel is shocked to see his cousin but still hands him a cigarette. “Another bruise in the eye? That’s the 5th this week.” Ethel remarked. Frederick just looked at her with disdain and said, “Do not say another word.” Ethel just chuckled and rolled her eyes and said “Then stop being such a damn fairy.” Frederick ignored her and walked away. He gazed at the strong waves in the ocean below and felt a heavy feeling. Seeing his 2 aunts fall down there left a heavy feeling in his heart. He stared at the sky and decided to go inside the house. 

Grandmother Claire and Grandfather Joe arrived next. Everyone paid their respects and Grandmother Claire eagerly looked at her granddaughter and pinched her small cheeks. Uncle Wallace, nicknamed as “Mad Wallace” arrived lastly. Everyone became silent after seeing him and they all looked at Ethel. Ethel noticed the stares around her and felt a little bit uncomfortable. Uncle Wallace looked at her niece and went straight to the corner. Grandfather Joe descended from the stairs, brought out his basket and asked the family members to put their items. “I will call your names and you will put the items you have chosen in the basket. As usual, the family who gave birth are not included in this.” He said, saying the same directions just like before.

“Arthur”

Uncle Arthur places his hat inside the basket.

“Finn” 

Finn looked at his twin brother and asked for his watch. After getting his watch, he dropped it in the box. 

“Ned” 

After hearing his name, he loosen his bowtie and place it inside the box. 

“Kenneth”

He took his glasses away and said “Damn I should just bring my gun. I can not see at all.” His wife sighed and said “You are such a stubborn man. Do not ask me to assist you. I have told you many times that glasses are not a good idea”. Uncle Kenneth just laughed at his wife’s remarks and went forward to drop his item in the basket. 

“Martha” 

She unclasped the necklace on her neck and dropped it inside the box. 

“Ethel” 

“I forgot to bring my item, mother.” Ethel said. “Then go and drop your cigarette holder there. I know that you brought those nasty things here.” Aunt Martha replied with a stern voice. Ethel just shrugged at her and placed her cigarette holder inside of the box. 

“Herbert” Little Herbert nervously put his marbles inside of the basket. He saw the look in his mother’s eyes. It was full of emotion. 

“Billy” 

Uncle Billy put his dark cane in the box. Frederick winced at the sight because he remembered how those cane often touched his face. 

“Lorraine”

Aunt Lorraine, who is very timid unlike his husband, took her earrings off and dropped them inside the basket. She almost fainted before coming back to her seat if his older son didn’t catch her immediately.

“Warren” 

Warren opened the container holding his cigars. He took one of them and dropped it inside. 

“Frederick”

After hearing his name, he remembered the terrible memories of his aunts again and shakingly loosening his necktie. Uncle Billy noticed it and said, “You wimp! Take that necktie off quickly or I will use that one to ch9ke you”. Frederick looked at his father flintly and took off his necktie and shove it on the basket. 

“Herman” 

The boy fetched his ball that rolled in front and placed it in the basket. 

“Chester” 

Chester put his hands in his pocket and handed the wooden doll to him in the basket.

“Wallace” 

Uncle Wallace put out his cigarette and shoved the bible inside the basket. Everyone became silent, especially Ethel and Martha. “Isn’t that the bible of Jane? The thing that she placed in that basket before being picked?” Dorothy asked her husband. Peter nodded and looked at his younger brother's solemn face. Uncle Wallace goes back to his seat and lit another cigarette.

“My wife Claire” 

Grandmother Claire said “Oh I am really getting old. All this sitting is making this old woman sore.” She dropped her fan inside the basket and slowly went back to her seat.

“And lastly, my item.” Grandfather Joe said. He dropped his ring inside the basket. After dropping all the items, Grandfather Joe asked for Wallace’s assistance to put the basket in the living room so they could start the feast first.

The feast started very lively. Uncle Kenneth talking about his successful investment. Everyone in the room is eager to learn more about his success and how they can do it too. They also started talking about the situation of the harvest season. “Those pests destroyed almost everything.” Uncle Billy angrily muttered. Dorothy heard it and looked down, ashamed. Peter glared at his brother to stop and thankfully, Uncle Billy followed. All was going well until Grandmother Claire brought up finding a new wife for Uncle Wallace. “Don’t you have plans to find a wife and settle down again? When are you going to have children? I know that Mildred does not want you to be like this.” Grandmother Claire told him. The table became silent because they know exactly what will happen whenever Uncle Wallace’s wife is brought up in the topic. “I do not have plans to replace my wife. Don’t act like you know Mildred. I know that all she wants is to have a family and take care of our children. But all of that turned into dust because of that damned tradition.” Uncle Wallace shouted. Everyone became silent. No one can talk because of the dark aura surrounding the dinner table. Until Grandmother Claire stood up and slapped Uncle Wallace’s face. 

Everyone is flabbergasted. Peter stood up to interfere but Uncle Kenneth stopped him. “As long as I am alive, no one is allowed to slander our family’s precious tradition. This ritual is important to us. You know since when you are a kid that without this tradition, you or your brothers will be standing here, having a feast with your own families.” Grandmother Claire said loudly. Uncle Wallace just glared at her at storms outside the dinner room. To ease the sour mood in the room, Peter called the maids to bring the strawberry cake that is prepared by one of the famous bakeries in their town. The mood is starting to lighten and after their lunch, Grandfather Joe announced that the ritual will start in a while. 

It is exactly 3:00 in the afternoon but the sky became overcast and the clouds scudded by, like huge smoky cotton balls. It looks like that any time soon, heavy roars of thunder will be heard. The family starts to gather in the backyard. The anxiety in the mood can be felt. Warren gulped so hard that you can see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. “We are now starting. Peter, prepare Sarah. Billy and Kenneth, get some smooth rocks. The rest of you, compose yourselves.” Grandfather Joe said sternly. Everyone became more nervous. Peter came back in the group, carrying Sarah. Warren settled the basket. Peter carried Sarah towards the basket and demonstrated to her what she was going to do. The men in the family started placing rocks in a big circle formation. After the construction. Each member of the family got together inside the circle and joined hands together. “Mama, I am so nervous. I want to pee”, Chester whispered to Aunt Lorraine. Uncle Billy heard him and shushed him. The boy cannot do anything but endure until the ritual ends. 

Grandmother Claire started the chant and everyone started to chime in. “Do it now Peter,” Grandfather Joe commanded. Peter brought his daughter to the basket and demonstrated what she would do. Sarah innocently put her small and chubby hands inside of the basket to get an item. Time seems to go slowly for them as they stare at the helpless infant, selecting who will live or die. After a long time of shuffling, Sarah finally caught an item and slowly showed it to the family. 

Everyone’s breath suddenly stopped when they saw a long and black cigarette holder. Uncle Kenneth and Aunt Martha looked at their oldest daughter helplessly. Herbert stared at his sister and the tears in her eyes were starting to drop. Uncle Wallace’s bellowing laugh can be heard as it echoes around them. The rest of the family can’t help but feel pity for their young niece who hasn't even experienced the harsh reality of the world. Ethel just stared at her cigarette holder, her breath hitching. “No! That can’t be true! There must be some mistake! Are you sure that cigarette holder is even mine? No! Father, Mother! Help me! Do something, please! Frederick! Hey! Do not just look at me! Wait- What are you doing? Unhand me Uncle Billy! Do not touch me! No! Stop! Stop! Please do not push me! I am begging all of you!” Ethel screamed with all her might but it just fell on deaf ears. The younger members of the family were terrified by her screams and started crying too. Uncle Billy and Uncle Wallace dragged her to the cliff where you can see the pointed rocks and rogue waves below. 

“Please stop! Have mercy on me! I do not want to die! PLEASE HELP M-” Ethel’s voice suddenly stopped and her body crushing below can be heard. All of the members eventually turned around and went back to the house while Frederick remained outside, stared below and lit his cigarette. 

WRITTEN BY: XIAN YUN

[rhyueienwrites]

Your other half in the Kamisato Clan.

Ayaka x GN Reader ~

No proofreads! :">

KAMISATO AYAKA

(Name) a childhood friend of the Kamisato siblings and serves under the Kamisato clan. They became great friends with Thoma who both become the moral and support of the clan besides doing housework and other things related to the Yashiro Commission.

(Name) cherished everyone in the clan, however, developed feelings to the eldest daughter, Ayaka. Little that they know, Ayaka also held this feelings for (Name) as well.

One night, Ayaka was alone with (Name) whom both enjoys their free time together. Both of them were chatting what they did these past few days.

"Oh, I wish I could go to Ritou and enjoy Irodori festival. I've heard they were selling limited stocks of a statue of Her Exellency."

(Name) sighed. Ayaka, on the other hand, watches them cry out since (Name) was quite unlucky when it came to purchasing stuff like that, as they only arrived at the shop to be met by the item being sold out.

(Name) heard Ayaka's soft laugh and blushes at the statement they just said.

"Ah! I apologize, please just ignore that..."

"Say, (Name), would you like to go with me? You're working hard and I think you deserve a day off."

"With you?"

(Name)'s face started to hear up, just the thought of them alone with Ayaka.

"You don't like it?"

Ayaka sounded a little disappointed but soon her face lights up with a smile at (Name).

"No- I would love to! It's been a while since we've gone out together, just the two of us!"

Both of them agreed and let the others now they'll be out for a while.

While walking together, (Name) talks about their experiences and how unlucky they were when it comes to the statues of the Electro Archon. Meanwhile, Ayaka were listening but she was gaze were focus on (Name)'s hands and unconsciously reached them.

"Ayaka? What's the matter?"

"Ah! Um.."

When Ayaka tries to come up with an excuse, she was about to let go of (Name)'s hands but caught off guard when (Name) held them back.

"(Name)...?"

"There's no need to be embarrassed! We're doing this since we're young right?"

(Name) said, but deep inside, they were conscious that they were holding their crush's hand.

Ayaka could only nod, as she held (Name)'s hand back.

They both reddened and walked silently. Thank goodness, (Name) broke the ice by reminiscing about their childhood days, and Ayaka smiled along with them.

...

Ayato: Thoma, did you get one of the statue of Her Exellency?

Thoma: Yes, my lord.

Ayato: Good, If ever they returned empty handed, this should do the trick Now, where are we? Ah, I want you to try this Thoma.

*Hands over a strange looking dish*

Thoma: Y-yes... ( Ayaka... (Name)... Please come home soon.)

...

Both Ayaka and (Name): *sneezes*

...

End ~

[fandom-imagination-ss]

Imagine: Meeting the second eldest Bridgerton Son. And instantly LOATHING HIM! Him likewise until he realizes he’s Loathing is actually Love

Author note: i just finished reading Bridgerton book 3 “An gentlemens offer” and i couldn’t help myself from writing a imagine. Like Many of my pieces of work i didn’t proof read. Sorry. / not sorry lol Enjoy!

Warnings: None

Characters: the bridgertons, Y/N

Your father was once convinced he was the luckiest man alive, when he was a boy, and a young man he Didn’t care what sort of child had, he didn’t care about their personality, all he cared about was A Son. So his tile would go to a son keeping the tile in the family. And he’s Wife (whom he wasn’t in love with. She was a Nice women, Smart enough. The only thing he didn’t like about her was that she was a inch taller. But he soon forgot about that. And insited No heels! Due too the fact her mother birthed 9 sons and one daughter he liked those odd) and as if he willed it, he got he’s wish Not only 1 Son but 3.

All Now young man he was content and happy. Even when he’s wife died he iddn’t give it much thought. They both came too a understanding long ago. They weren’t in love. They were in this as a business. She got a title, unlimited funds, and whatever she wanted and he declared he only wanted a Son.

After he’s wife died. Is when everyone in London started calling him the “Most unlucky Earl in the country”

he’s three Sons went traveling before they got married and settled, he’s oldest was promised too a. Well respectful wealthy family and when he returned they would get engaged. leaving the preparations too the. bride. But the ship they were on, heading back from Greece. A horrible storm approached and the ship somehow went under. Leaving the Once Earl of three Sons. Childless.

the Earl’s Second wife since he realized he needed too be hasty in Getting a new hire too his Title, wasn’t picky picking a second wife he was Old. And again. It wasn’t a love match but the Earl assured the new bride that he would be Died in less then ten years and she would live without him and do whatever she wished. The new bride agreed.

Now the odds of having a Son first try was. 50/50 every knew that. No amount of home remedies or praying would change that. It was 50/50 and when they had their first daughter. The Earl was heartbroken.

it was looking at your face that he realized what he lost.. three healthy, happy young men and he realized no child could Ever replace his Sons. He figured he would get over this heavy guilt when a Son would appear the next time. But at that moment your mother. Passed. And the Earl declared heartbroken that he’s young bride he was so similar too him and he felt he could of loved her. Unlike he’s first wife. That he decided too Stop. It was a Sign, he wasn’t meant too Keep the title in the family. And he looked at his new daughter knowing.. he resented the fact this perfect babe wasn’t a boy. So he passed her off too a nurse and named her. And said he was going for a drink.

within three years he lost two wives, and three Sons and was a father of a daughter. He wasn’t a cruel man. But he left you far too much with tutors, and the staff for the first few years he was around and he tried too love you like he loved his sons but he was resentful and he decided before he hurt you. He would Leave for his country estate leaving you too his trusted friend Lady Dunbury. Who called him a wicked man. But your father didn’t care. He would visit with you three times a year, at Christmas, your birthday and the day he’s Sons passed. Guilt was a weapon. Those you didn’t realize it was how you got whatever you wanted. You just thought your father was generous and was just happy too see you happy.

you never asked for anything too extreme, you had no point too, but then it was time for you too come out too society and you realized.. you weren’t ready. So you convinced your father another year. Give you one more year then you would go out.Then the next year came and you wanted too go too a summer program in France too learn too water color. He agreed. The third season he came too the house with Lady Dunbury and declared you would Maryr this season and you were Not too refuse any offer. That Love was a silly notion. Lady Dunbury would be a advisor and help you find the perfect match too a wealthy man. And that there was No getting out of it.

the moment he put his foot down he saw your mothers eyes and he remembered his greed too get a son.. destroyed her young life and he said he would get you into a London art school for the season. Which made you smile. He would still force you too marry whoever offers first but you would deserved a bit more of freedom before you would probably be like his late wife. Used just for a hire and then forgotten and betrayed on.

he went back too the country and Lady Dunbury spent time with you. You werne’t out in society you were a kept young women. Not by design but your father didn’t stick around too introduce you too anyone and you were allowed to Shop you didn’t have a limi you could buy anything you wanted. But you were always with a memeber of staff and people weren’t talkative even when you went too the park. Or did anything people tend too leave you be. You were “plain” looking apparently. Those you never truly cared. You had the staff as your friends. And at times they were more family then your father. Who now older realized he didn’t really want you. Having too accept the first offer made it clear.

the first ball you attended due too knowing No one. You stayed beside Lady Dunbury who wished her Dear Simon wasn’t married. But she approved and was happy with the match he made. It would of been so much easier too assure a good match if he was still available. But at last he wasn’t and he was expecting a second child. The Bridgerton crossed her mind a well respected family, wealthy. They would be a fine match. But with every Mama eyes on a Bridgerton and your Lack of bravery Lady Dunbury realized you weren’t going too attract a Bridgerton.

but she still introduced you too them. First Colin who was charming and you realized he’s popularity everyone was glancing at him. Especially a girl in a yellow dress not far off. Then Anthony who again if wasn’t married Lady Dunbury realized he would be the Bridgerton for you. Then it came too the second oldest Bridgerton you knew them from them Miss Whistdown papers. Benedict Bridgerton was the tallest of them. Charming and equally pleasant as his other brother Colin. But once meeting you. He seemed rather bored.

it was then that both he’s mother and your chaperone declared you danced with both Colin and Benedict. Colin was funny and you talked while you danced. About Something that passed by. It was Rather enjoyable but the more you talked too Colin you realized he would be a great match for someone but he wasn’t your match but still pleasant.

You Loathed your dance with Benedict he was stiff and not talking and he looked like he was losing all his blood just dancing with you . He loathed this. He didn’t want too dance with oyu. And it was clear. With how he’s face looked you stepped on his first by accident just because he was making you feel incredibly insulted he was treating you like you were infected and he was being held at gunpoint. So when the song ended you didn’t stick around too bow. Or too clap at the band. You walked off. As you walked back too Lady Dunbury saying if that was best of society. The Society was clearly lacking.

you weren’t expecting too Read your words in Whistle down the next morning, thankfully she agreed that Benedict was acting like he was looking like touching the young Miss was physically painful too him. You didn’t give much thought too Benedict after that. You had your first day of classes. Of course it was a “male only “ school So you were instructed too dress like a man, the teachers knew you were infact a lady but were too treat you like a male and you were too Never to be alone with any student or staff. The staff spent most of the morning bandaging you up. Too press your chest to you. Too try too cover your breasts and you were giving A hat too stuff your hair in, and you were giving a dirty face so no one would look close too you. Especially since if the students knew you were there they wouldn’t pay attention. You didn’t mind. You were there too educate yourself.

School was heavenly until Benedict Bridgerton appeared. He was far too full of himself too notice you. And you were thankful he didn’t care.

for weeks you would go too every party and talk too any man. Those Lady Dunbury pushed the conversations after a young man talked to you however they were curious. And your lesions went form every day too 4 times a week. Due too being far too busy with visits and matches. None were a Bridgerton thankfully.

Benedict was frustrated to No end that a New Dirty faced. Boy in his classes were Far more talented in his classes. He looked at him for a good chunk of his last class. It was the most he ever stared at a man and he realized the boy was probably sixteen. He couldn’t even grow facial hair yet. Which only drove him into a worst mood he was being outshined by a boy.

Who never stuck around too chat with the students he was a mysterious chap he would come for class and right after disappear. And never came for Live models sessions. Which made every joke he was probably too scared too see a naked women. He wasn’t practically popular in class. He gave insit and it was clear too everyone he’s voice hasn’t dropped and he was covering his voice. Trying too sound like it had. They were insightful and when it came too judging he’s art today.he called it ‘Fine.” Fine! Benedict spent hours working on that piece of art that was just ‘Fine” it was then the teacher agreed he’s done better. And with that he’s mood was awful has been for hours. So when he noticed the young charge in Lady Danbury care who was blissfully happy. She annoyed him also. The lecture he received from he’s mother when her words came out too Miss Whistledown, it humiliated Him more then his own mother but. Y/n came too the house and Apologized for your words too he’s mother. Not caring enough oo give Him a proper Apology. Which only drove him mad anytime you appeared in line of sight.

Especially seeing Sir Philip Cevesure Getting close too you, as you talked about something. It made you smile. Which only drove him into more into a bitter mood.

“what is your problem?”

Benedict didn’t bother looking he knew that voice it was he’s sister Eloise. She hated parties and balls. But she was forced she was on the market. “Nothing.’ He said bitterly but she realized he was looking at you. And you. Colin was now talking too you as he offered a dance. Over the weeks more and more men realized what Benedict realized the first moment he saw you. That you were breathtakingly beautiful. It was why he was so annoyed the first time seeing you, he wasnt’ looking too get married this season but you appeared and he realized he’s plans were ruined.. then that blasted paper appeared and he realized he made a complete ass of himself but he refused too apologize especially after you came too the house and asked for forgive too his mother.. just his mother. After that. Everything you did urked him. He realized that you were the last person too ever become a bridgerton by marriage. Not by him and he had too keep reminding his brother Colin that he could do far better then her. Which Colin didn’t listen.

“She’s studied in Paris you know.. water Color’s, I’ve seen her work she is breathtakingly effortlessly perfect in water Color’s. She said she was expanding her skills too Charcoal.”

Eloisa said casually trying too show her brother what every other Bridgerton realized. He enchanted by her. And was fighting it. It was why Colin was dancing with her whenever he could. Just too annoy his brother enough too make him realize she was perfect for him. But Benedict was stubborn and after hearing she was a artist. Only drove him more annoyed and he excused himself and went home.

The next day you were in class. Working on a piece you were exhausted. And the art wasn’t-coming easily. You couldn’t figure out what too start with first. It was then that your teacher suggested a walk around the room. Everyone realized he treated you differently then the other. And your father realized both art classes and securing a match was a Horrible idea and t his was your last day. At first you thought you would be upset about it. That you would protest and complain that you loved the art more. But truefully the more you were here. And being called a. “Young expert’ or worst. “A artiest too look out for in a museum you realized. Yes it was technology possible that you could. One day do it. Under your Brothers Name..well his first name. Your last name in class was “Beckett” it was Miss Becketts name you took. She was a maid in your house who didn’t mind you taking it. So you could do this. But your name? Unthinkable. The moment they realized you were a women they would Never look at your art again. And Honestly- you were running on fumes. Between parties. And dances, meeting with expected suitors. Your once full week , turned 4 days a week turned 2 days a week. The seasons was almost over but you were thankful too be leaving.

Benedict sour behaviour in everything alos helped make you listen too your father, he was polite, charming and purely a decent almost unimaginable perfect man.. too Everyone but her.. Even pretending too be a man he hated you.. at first you thought you would see his true Colours if you were a man. Thinking it was just a one off that he was a sour puss. But - then he hated you. And you realized. Something about you ticked him off. Whatever that was you had No idea. It didn’t help that Miss Whistledown mentioned it multiple times thru out the season the strange friction between te town. No one ever seen Benedict un gentlemen like but you- you both have had a few spats at parties.whenever you were forced too talk. It amazed and fascinated the writer.

but that was all in the past. After today the building tension would die down. Your bitterness towards him would go too a lull because you wouldn’t be spending Hours on end with him anymore. You would focus on a match, Anyone but a Bridgerton.. was your vow.

“Beckett. Take a walk around the room too be inspired.”

You got up for that shuffling too your feet as you took a turn looking at everyones’ painting it was suppose too be a dream. Whatever you dreamt last night.. a lot of naked bodies. Then you arrived to Benedict expecting too see the same.

to be stunned too see the lilac dress you wore. Last night at the Featherinton ball. The curls of your hair. The same color. It made you stop in your track why on earth would your mortal enemy dream of you?

“ What Beckett?”

Benedict groaned as you blinked stunned as you spoke, “ugh.. nothing just- surprised.”

“what is so surprising?’ He looked at you giving you a side eye. He expected a smart reply a comment that would send him to want too hit you. But you spoke, “Who is she?”

that wasn’t what he expected as he spoke, “the most frustrating women in the world.”

you were surprised he answered. It was the most he has talked too you all season. You looked at yourself. The way he saw you.. Not one thing was different. Well.. Not entirely he's detail on your dress. Was slightly different. He decided not too show your gloves.. you were bare handed in his painting. Something you NEVER did. You kept your gloves on. Always. It would be a scandal too not have your gloves on.

“why you think she annoys you so much?’

“God I’ve been asking myself that since i first met her.”

hearing a knock everyone turned too see the door seeing your father. You stepped away from Bridgerton as the Earl walked in. Holding his cane as he spoke “Alright.. pack your things..” You nodded your head fast walking over packing up as the teacher spoke, “I hope my debt is paid.”

“Yes man.. how did it go?”

“annoyingly well… you will Not return!”

Benedict was stunned hearing that. Beckett was his star purplish what the hell did he do too cause such hate now? He nodded his head getting a clean cloth too whip their face. As Benedict was horrified. Seeing what he did. He recognized that cheek.. that clean cheek.. it was- it couldn’t be. You turned before ou could confirm what he thought. You collected your art supplies as you spoke, “Sir- I would not expect too return.”

no more horse like voice it was feminine and determined as she pulled her cap off letting her Y/H/C fall out tangled as Benedict dropped his paintbrush seeing you. You turned too Bridgerton as you Curtisy at him “Lord Bridgerton.” Benedict was speechless as you walked off.

Everyone was speechless as the teacher tired too get everyone back on track but Benedict Ran off too Chase after you but you were gone.

the next day he went too visit you. Wanting a experlation for everything but too his surprise he wasn’t the only one coming for a visit you had seven other men there wanting a private audience with you. It was Only then that he realized he screwed up. Seeing you now in the drawing room seeing how brilliant and kind yo are. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear whenever you heard something interested. And how you took a sip whenever you had too take a second to change the subject from lOve too anything. One topic was dogs.. which once hearing the. Man wasn’t a dog person you gave up ohh im and went too the new man next too him. When it was finally his time too get too talk she spoke, “lord bridgerton why you here?”

she didn’t even hide behind flattery or politeness, straight too the point. “I want you.”

Benedict said as her eyes grew large, “i beg your Pardon!” He realized his mistake rubbing his face as a few of the men chuckled as he spoke, “too forgive my earlier behaviour.. this entire season.. i was a Ass i am forever sorry.”

“why should I? You have been a bear towards me since I first met you. And Now Now you change your mind why?”

“I wasn’t expecting you- when you first arrived.It thru me off guard.’

“A Strange caused that much hatred.”

“I never hated you.”

you rolled your eyes at that as you quickly said “you could fool me.”

It was with that that Lady Dunbury decided too end the visits. As they got up and you thanked each man p again for the the perfumes, the chocolates, the flowers. When it came too Benedict you asked if he gave her anything as he said no as she said perfect and bowed and walked out. The men chuckled walking out as Benedict just stared at the door you left in.

“problems Lord Bridgerton?”

“I love her.”

She chuckled patting he’s back, “its about time you realized that, unfortunately for you. She doesn’t feel like that. She will need changing of mind. But I would hurry.”

Benedict looked at the old women asking why as she spoke, “Miss Y/n” cannot refuse the first offer that is giving too her.. those if you did it. In the state things are in. She might just kill you. And i have under confirm insight that Lord Philip is going too ask.. so i fi were you. I would hurry.”

“thank you Lady Dunbury.”

you knew a posposal was coming you could feel it on your fingertips and it would be Philip he was the only one who interested from the beginning. He was decent- slightly boring.. no passion for art, poetry, well that wasn’t true he was a facinating with slugs.. why? You had No idea. But he was passionate about that. You tried too picture being his wife. He was kind enough. You coudl do worst. Those you realized it wouldn’t be a love match .you didn’t love him. And he only liked you due to your Beauty which will fade and what would you have in common? Nothing!

ti was a a ball that you saw Benedic again. He was scanning the room searching for something when he caught eyes on you he instantly started walking towards you. You also noticed Philip was heading towards you and you had No interest in going towards him just incase he was going too ask for your hand. So you let fate decided which one would get you too first. A man who drove you crazy or the man who could easily make you fall asleep with just by talking.

Benedict won, he bowed as he offered his hand, “Dance with me Please..” he’s pleases sounded so desperate and even those you vowed too never dance with im again. You accepted. Before Lady Dunbury could hit you with her cane. The Walts you weren't a expert at dancing. However you were well enough. When it ended you clapped too the band this time as Benedict stayed still as he spoke, “I ahve something for you.. as a way too apologize.” You were stunned as he pulled out a small book from his chest pocket. He offered it and you were almost declined not too accept it but you did.

you should of moved from the dance floor but you stayed as Benedict grabbed your hand as you both started again as you asked, “what is it?”

“my poetry i wrote. About you.”

“you joke.” You aasked stunned as you opened the book mid dance as he chuckled stopping as you looked seeing it was filled from the first page too the last as he spoke, ‘with a full doodles.. i thought about when I thought about you.. not all are - well. Respectful but i figured since you were a artist yo would enjoy it.”

it was the first time he ever called you what you wished. A Artist. You looked up at him speechless as you shook your head, “you- your bold too assume i wouldn’t be insulted.”

he grinned as he spoke, “I figured you would like the images. You can even correct me. And mock my skills. I know you love doing that.”

he grab your shoulders softly pushing both you and him off the dance floor so you wouldn’t get hurt.

“but- why?’

looking up at him you spoke, “you hate me.”

“you drive me incredibly insane. Too my Witt’s end. You do everything I do and your better at it.”

‘I don't write poetry.” You added quickly, “or dance as well as you do.”

“trivial.. please.. give me a chance too redeem myself and too marry you.”

Benedict knew exactly what he was doing. With a promise of proposing too you , your father would allow you more time. Too turn down Philip and too one day accept him. Because he was a Bridgerton and any father would rather have a daughter marry a Bridgerton then just a random lord.”

“you are Madd.”

“i will ask you too marry me when you want me.. when you want me, when you love me even a fraction of how much I love you. “

“I could very well Never Love you.. your cockiness is misplaced.”

he grinned weakly as he spoke, “Or I know that we are destined too be, and you are the soul I’ve been searching for since birth.”

“or I will be your greatest heartbreak.”

He chuckled nodding his head, “or that.”

you bowed quickly walking off. As he followed you like a lost pup. He followed you too. A bench as he sat down as you looked at him. Half expected a respectful gentlemen would of allowed you too make a dramatic exit.. but Not Benedict. You rolled your eyes as he just smiled as you opened the small leather bond book and started reading. You expected it would be full of talking about how your beauty was un like any others. And there was Only One about your beauty. The rest was like a journal of too his heart about how at first he loathed you and how you haunted his dreams and heart. One about how you tap your thumb over your others when you were bored or impatient. When it got too the poems about what he dreamt about what he wanted too do to you with imagines too help iwth the poem you instantly closed it. You were Not reading that! In a packed room. You were already being rude reading but when you turned too Benedict who was already smiling seeing your reactions realizing you got too that part. “Your a fast reader i will have too add that too my new booklet.” He pulled out a second one as you spoke, “your poems.. you didn’t write about my beauty much.”

hes brow lifted looking at you, “I figured you wouldn’t care about that”

You shook your head “No- it’s- it’s they’re lovely Benedict - Mr. Bridgerton.” The mistake was made and he never realized how hearing his name uttered from your lips would make him want too lose all control and have you on the table next too you . He smiled brightly as he spoke “I like you calling me by my name.”

“I slipped up.”

“did my poems make you see me in a different light?”

You smiled weakly shaking your head. You would Not give him the satisfaction of giving him hope. Espically since he spent weeks tormenting your dreams and annoying you. “I’m not finished yet..”

he smiled at that as he spoke, “well don't mind me. Im enjoying watching you read.”

“It’s rude too read at a ball.”

“I dont mind.”

you rolled your eyes as you spoke, “your impossible.”

“I know- you will learn too love that about me.”

You laughed at that as you looked at him, “your delusional!”

“What can i say. I’m crazy for you.”

it wasn’t Long after that you retired for the night. You expected Philip in the morning but Whistledown must of overheard your conversation with Benedict and it was the entire column. She was stunned too see the scene unfold nad she basically put Philip down gracefully for you.

Philip didn’t show up. But Benedict did. You were re reading his poems for a fifth time. You were touched, and it was horrible. He’s words were making you rethink your decision about him. Maybe he wasn’t a Ass.

this time Benedict didn’t arrive Empty handed he came with flowers, and a painting. You recorginzed it- he painted it at school it was a scenery of the ocean. It was the Only painting he did that you couldn’t find fault in.You we’re speechless as he sat down just staring a casual conversation with you. Which was hard, you were far too swept up with his soul.. h’s writing and painting.. that was Far more meaningful gifts then the flowers you received or the perfumes. He looked at you curiously as you spoke, “you- ugh..” you hit his shoulder as he chuckled stunned as you stood up getting away from him, “you can’t just- confuse me.”

‘I’m not confusing you.” He added quickly as you spoke, “you are with your gifts.. they are far more personal- espically that poem!”

the poem wher he wished too worships every inch of your body from your lips too your neither regions too the curve of your back. Too your shoulder blades. It was very detailed. And the longest poem which read more as a wish. Then a poem. Especially with the diagrams. He doodled.

‘you- those poems.- your debility trying too confuse me.”

‘I’m trying too show you how much i love you. Ow i fought with myself before i accepted. the truth.”

“Well- its confusing! You loathed me all season and you HATED Beckett”

Lady Dunbury was in the room letting you spat with him. She rather enjoyed it.

“You far superior artist then me. I was jealous that you! A pip seak boy.. because assumed you were at most 16. Were excelling at everything. And it drove me insane.”

you looked at him unconvinced but you felt your heart beating fast. As you spoke, “you- i still dont love you.”

“I got all the time in the world.”

It was at a ball at a bridgerton ball that you were wearing a pail yellow dress as you were talking too Penelope Featherinton and Eloise Bridgerton when Benedict commented ow beauitful all of you looked as you looked at him, “what shall i do for you Benedict?”

you didn’t even cover your mistake as he smiled brightly, “well you know what I want.”

you rolled your eyes fighting the smile on your face, “ A dance?” You added quickly as he grinned, “too start.” You smiled as he lifted his hand as you reached up grabbing it as he lead you too the dance floor as you looked at him. It’s been weeks weeks of seeing him almost every day and whne he didn’t show up you missed him as you spoke. “Childern?”

he looked at you as he spoke “excuse me?’

‘I assume you want children all boys? Im also assuming.”

“Actually i wouldn’t mind all girls. With my luck the boys would be too much like me and i know i almost sent my mother too a early grave with my antics.” That wasn’t the answer you were expecting as you spoke, “My father- all he ever wanted were sons.. he got three but they- they died.. would you want a big family?”

“as many as we are blessed with. I would want them too be close with my siblings children. “

“A already a small army” he chuckled at your joke as he spoke, “we need new blood in the army if we are too take over London.”That made you laugh as he smiled as you held his hand tighter as you spoke, “do you truly love me.. or is it lust?”

that made him stop in his tracts as he spoke, “It’s love i know the difference. I never felt liek this with another. If you wish too marry me and neve have me touch you. I can accept that.’

That made a few dancers pause hearing that. Statement. It even stunned you espically since reading his Poem of lust for you. You never expected that from him.

“you would marry me and NEver touch me?”

“if you wish it. If you wished me too sleep in the mud every night i would do it.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you spoke, “your ridiculous- you would ruin far too many cloths and probably die early.”

“Well then you would have the title and you could work on a new mater piece in peace.” That made your jaw drop. You never expected he would allow you too continue too paint- espically since you were better then him. ‘

“You would allow me too keep painting?”

“why the bloody hell wouldn’t I? Your gift shouldn’t be locked up.”

It was at that moment you realized.. you were a second from telling him too ask you too marry him. But that made you scared. Realizing you were in love.. it was something you never expected too have. And your father has always told you. Since you were little that you would Never love. That love was a allusion too make the poor feel special.

but there you stood.. looking at Benedict completely in love with him. “Oh.”

“Oh?” He asked curiously as you spoke, “Oh…” you excused yourself dashing off as he followed you.

Getting too the teariest. You grabbed the railing breathing deeply gripping onto it as he spoke “what’s the matter?”

“Oh…” you turned seeing him as he spoke, “stop saying “Oh’ what did i say?’

“You will never let this down..”

“what?” He asked curiously as you looked up at him. “You were right. And as glade i am that you were.. it still irks me that you were right.” He smiled brightly as he spoke, ‘Oh and what am i right about.”

you sighed heavily rolling your eyes, “I lov-“

You didn’t even get it fully out of your mouth before he was on his knee holding a jewelry box. As you stopped talking a he spoke, “I’ve been carrying this since I declared m love.. abotu damn time Y/N. you caught up.”

“oyu cocky bastard.” You said quickly as he grinned hearing you cuss at him as he spoke, “i know. I knew i was right. And im rarely wrong.. Y/N. marry me.”

You smiled brightly saying yes as he smiled reaching up cupping your face as he kissed you.

“about Damn time”

[cookiekitten91]

I got over 2.5k words of just planning, outlines, and ideas for my BelaDonna soulmate au fic. I have song lyrics picked out for chapter titles. I have illustrations planned. I have the document smack dab in the middle of my desktop, and it taunts me every time I’m on the computer.

This is the au where you have the name of the person you’ll fall in love with written on your body somewhere. The name scars over if your soulmate dies. I’ll give you guys a teaser, here’s my tentative fic summary:

In a lonely house by the waterfall, twin girls are welcomed into the world. The older is born with the name of her soulmate on her wrist, the younger with a faded scar of a name beneath her right eye. “How unfortunate, how unlucky, how cursed,” the villagers cry. “To be born with her soulmate already deceased, what a tragic thing. At least she’s the spare, not the heir.”

Meanwhile, the eldest daughter of House Dimitrescu jolts awake with a tingling heat upon her skin. When she turns in the mirror to see inky black letters forming the name ‘Donna’ on the back of her neck, Bela ponders how strange it is that a long-dead woman like herself might still find love in her second chance at life.

(Or: Donna has Bela’s original name scarred onto one side of her face, and that person Bela used to be has been dead for a long time)

[forzalando]

The Perfect Arrangement | George Weasley | Pt. 1

Pairing: George Weasley x F!Reader AU: Bridgerton!AU Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: Bridgerton spoilers, mentions of alcohol

Summary: As a woman in the early 19th century, you’ve been told all your life that marriage should be your ultimate goal, however, you do not share that sentiment. When the insufferable George Weasley devises a plan that may solve your problems, how can you say no?

A/N: hi friends! this will be a multipart (probably 3-4 parts) George fic inspired by Bridgerton. i’m so excited for it and i hope you all are too :) thank you for reading!

The start of the social season had been, as you had expected, the topic of conversation around the ton for the past few weeks. It was impossible to go anywhere without hearing whispers of who would snag an engagement in the next few months.

Particularly, people had been interested in who the Queen would declare the “diamond of the season”. Your mother was positively convinced it would be you, but you had other plans in mind for your life other than parties and dresses and loveless marriage. However, when the Queen took one look upon your face, she quickly declared you incomparable, as she had done the same for Daphne Bridgerton, now the Duchess, a few years prior, and your fate was sealed.

As a member of the distinguished and esteemed Y/L/N family, and as the eldest daughter, you had a trivial, yet necessary and important role to play, even if you longed to free yourself from it. Your mother and father, as wonderful as they might be, had high expectations for you, and you would not and could not let them down.

Your mother fluffed your hair and primped your dress in preparation of the Danbury Ball, admiring you fondly and gushing about how beautiful you looked.

“Maybe your luck will be as wonderful as the Duchess, her love match was indeed unprecedented but oh so joyous. Do you think your fortune might align with hers, dear?”

“Mama,” you sighed. “I have no interest in a life like the Duchess’s. All the parties, teas, and properness. Besides, there isn’t another Duke for me to marry.”

“I did not mean that you would have to marry a Duke to share her fate; only that you may marry for love.”

You huffed as you turned away from the mirror. In truth, you had no interest in marrying for love, or marrying at all for that matter, but the duty of an eldest daughter was set in stone.

All too soon, you arrived at the Lady Danbury’s spectacular first ball of the season; the sea of gowns and tailored coats causing a queasy feeling to settle in your stomach, and you wished with all your might that anything at all would ruin the festivities.

A glass of champagne was placed in your grasp and you let your eyes wander around the room; Lady Eloise Bridgerton, a close friend of yours, donned a similar look on her face though her mother enthusiastically tried to get her to waltz across the dance floor.

Glancing to your left, you noticed Lord Farley, a rather grotesque older man, eyeing you up and down; his beady eyes causing the queasy feeling to return and for your feet to take off in what could almost be considered a sprint.

When he was no longer in your line of sight, you began to slow down your gait, but a shoulder roughly bumped into yours and an unattractive yelp escaped your lips.

The unmistakable chuckle that followed your outburst made you groan due to your detestation of the man you knew you had bumped into.

Lord George Weasley; a man, nay, a boy, with hair of fire and a wit to match. You had known him for years as you were the same age and his sister Ginevra was the best of friends with your younger sister.

“I want to believe, Miss Y/L/N, that you would not take such drastic measures to capture my attention, but I must say I am flattered nonetheless,” George teased, his hand reaching out to steady you as you recovered from the collision.

“Mr. Weasley, I believe you to know me better than that,” you spoke with gritted teeth as you swatted his hand away. “Besides, there are plenty of young women here that would kiss the ground you walk on. Might you bother them instead?”

“Ah, but where is the fun in that? I’ve noticed that you still have room on your dance card?”

“I always have room left on my dance card.”

You tried to step around George and escape his company, but his impossible height made it so easy for him to evade your attempts.

“Is that by choice or because you’re just so pleasant to spend time with?” he inquired with a smirk.

“Suppose a bit of both. Now, if you would be so kind, I’m quite parched and would love another glass of champagne.”

“Perfect, I shall accompany you.”

George Weasley, you surmised very early on, was nothing but a flirt. You wouldn’t go so far as to call him a rake, because as far as you knew he was an honorable man, but he was also most intolerable with his boyish charm, sense of humor, beautiful eyes…

Yes, you were quite sure that he was entirely intolerable.

“Have you told your mother you have no interest in procuring a husband, yet?” he mused, breaking you out of your trance as he carefully handed you a glass of champagne.

“Don’t call it procuring as if it’s a transaction. And no, I haven’t. Do you think I’d be standing here alive if I had?”

“Good point,” George hummed as his eyes surveyed the room, no doubt searching for the next woman so unlucky enough to be graced with his presence.

“How is your family?” you asked as you sipped on your flute of bubbling liquid.

“They’re doing well, thank you for asking. Work has been a bit hard on Dad but – ”

Before George could finish, a man approached you and bowed; taking the hand not holding the champagne flute and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Miss Y/L/N, would you like to join me for a dance?”

You noticed George looking on angrily at the sight before him, probably because his ego couldn’t take the interruption.

“I’m flattered, Lord Rainier? I believe?” When you received no objections, you continued. “As I was saying, I’m flattered by your offer but I simply must decline. I am feeling a bit ill and all that spinning might make me sick.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Miss Y/L/N. Perhaps another time?”

You gave him a small, soft smile and let out a sigh of relief when he walked away. Turning back to George, you urged him to continue. While you held him in contempt, or so you told yourself, you did enjoy his family as they were all simply lovely.

“You were saying, George?”

“Right, work has been a bit hard on Dad, after his accident a few months ago. He’s been doing better but Charlie had to take a break from his travels to come home and help out since he’s the eldest. Fred and Angelina are expecting again, if you haven’t heard. They’re hoping for a girl this time.”

“Maybe if you were more like your brother you’d be married and having children by now,” you teased.

He gasped and clutched his hand over his heart, drawing the attention of anyone near.

“You wound me, Y/N.”

Much to your dismay, you laughed at his actions, devastated that you gave him the satisfaction of knowing he was entertaining you. However, the moment was short lived as another man interrupted your conversation.

“Miss Y/N, I must say you are looking exquisite this evening. It would be a shame for your dress not to take a twirl on the dance floor. Might I accompany you?”

You tried not to groan when you noticed a line forming behind the man currently asking for a dance.

“Actually, Lord Beverly, I’m feeling a bit warm. I was just about to go outside for some fresh air.”

“I shall accompany you, then.”

“Without a chaperone? Goodness, no, please find another young lady to dance with. There are certainly many that would be delighted at the chance.”

You looked around Lord Beverly to see at least four other men waiting for their chance to ask you for a dance, and the thought of making up more excuses made your head spin. You graciously bid Lord Beverly a good evening, and turned on your heel towards the nearest exit.

In your haste, you did not notice George following you into the gardens.

“Well, you sure like to let them down easy,” he joked.

“George!” you cried. “We can’t be seen alone, are you daft? Trying to ruin me and my family?”

“Calm yourself, my Mother is just right there.”

You looked a bit to George’s left and saw his wonderful mother keeping a careful eye on the two of you, graciously leaving the attention of her husband to ensure that none would suspect foolery between you and George.

“As I was saying, it’s awfully obvious that you do not want any man to court you. Your mother will realize well and soon enough of your…aversion to marriage.”

“The only reason you know that is because you eavesdropped on a conversation I had with Eloise. But yes, I have no desire to marry, and I’m quite certain I never will. I’ll have to fight off suitors and think of a million excuses until I’m considered a spinster and men no longer want me.”

Silence enveloped you both as a tear slid down your cheek. You hastily wiped it away, hoping that George hadn’t seen, but of course, you were not so lucky.

“Is the idea of marriage really that upsetting to you, Y/N?”

“All those men, all they want is a woman to wear on their arm and to give them children. That’s what a woman’s life is in marriage. A husband doesn’t care about his wife’s passions, desires, intellect, among other things, and I can’t bring myself to entertain the idea of a life that has no room for my happiness.”

George was quiet; pondering your response and your feelings, when he was suddenly struck with the most brilliant of ideas.

You see, Mr. George Weasley was in love with Miss Y/N Y/L/N, has been for several years in fact. He couldn’t tell you exactly when or why, but he knew that the fluttering in his chest and the way his whole world became brighter when she entered a room meant that Y/N was more than just someone to engage in friendly banter with.

“I’ve thought of an idea,” George muttered, piquing your interest.

“Whatever might it be, Mr. Weasley?”

“Your…situation, can only go away if men were to believe you were taken, correct?”

“Yes, I suppose, only I can’t fool them into thinking that. It would become quite suspicious when I’m seen alone everywhere. And, there’s no way I could ever fool my parents.”

“Except you wouldn’t be alone, you’d have me!”

“I don’t believe I’m following your idea, George.”

“Marry me.”

You choked and sputtered on your own spit, unable to take a breath through your coughs and gasps. George’s hands flew to your shoulders to steady you, helping you to breathe easier and calm yourself down.

“George, you must be joking,” you said quietly.

“I am as deadly serious as I could ever be. Not a real marriage, of course. Real in every sense of the word in terms of legality, but not real as in, well, us together. I’ll spend this social season courting you, and at the end of the season I’ll propose. We’ll get married in a few months’ time, and then we can travel the world, doing whatever our hearts desire.”

“Why on earth would you want to marry me?”

“It’s quite simple. You need to get the eligible bachelors of the ton to leave you alone and you never want to marry because your husband would restrict your freedoms. I, as your husband, wouldn’t dare. You’re not entirely awful, I suppose there are far worse people to spend my life with, even if you utterly despise me, and marriage, real marriage, isn’t something I want either.”

You looked at him quizzically, searching for signs that he’d had far too much champagne or had gone completely mad in the head, but he looked right as rain, and your mind was spinning.

“I find it hard to believe you do not want to marry, after all the times you’ve said you cannot wait to marry the woman you love.”

“Honestly, the woman I love is….unattainable, I’ll put it that way. I won’t ever love anyone but her. I’m also waiting for an answer, it’s not every day you have to have a discussion after a proposal.”

“You’re sure this will work, Mr. Weasley?”

“How hard can it be to pretend to be in love with a woman as beautiful as you?”

“I always knew you were a flirt, but God, do you lay it on thick.”

George looked at you expectantly, almost a glimmer of hope is his eye, but as quickly as you thought you’d noticed it, he looked away.

“My answer is yes, George. Let’s fool the ton, our families, court, get married, and then travel the world platonically.”

“That sounds like the perfect arrangement, darling.”

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