#mosaic staircase

[cpleblow]

Moraga Street Mosaic Staircase

©cpleblow photography (2012)

(recently discovered in my archives)

[upstairsdownstairsandinbetween]

The historic Milan headquarter of RAI (former EIAR),

Corso Sempione, Milan, Italy,

Designed by Gio Ponti and Nino Bertolaia in 1939. 

[beautifulfrenchhouses]

490,000 €

335 m² / 3606 ft²

Autun, Saône-et-Loire, Bourgogne-Franche-Comté, France.

[moviemosaics]

Subject

directed by Camilla Hall and Jennifer Tiexiera, 2022

[septembergold]

[faithandarisadventures]

Worcester Art Museum October 7, 2023 Worcester, Massachusetts

[playnextdoor]

I adore you puppy

summary: you and caitlyn try a collar and a leash

CW: swearing, drinking, slight intoxication, dom! caitlyn, the reader wears a collar and leash, the reader is referred to as "puppy" but its not petplay, slight slapping (i love it idc), Cait is a little mean (whats new), reader's chest is referred to as 'breasts', fingering (r! receiving), not really proofread despite it sitting in my drafts for the past week

The thought of introducing your kinks to Caitlyn crosses your mind one drunken night. Red wine makes you horny and tired, and you stretch out on the couch, trying to look seductive, but in reality, it looks like you’re struggling not to fall. Caitlyn, practically sober as she watches you, finds it endearing.

“I’ve been thinking,” you say, slurring slightly as you sit up and sip wine from your sleek glass. Caitlyn’s eyes follow how your tongue traces the rim of the glass, lingering on your lips. You’re oblivious to the effect you have on her. She wants to take you to bed, cradle your darling face, and perhaps tease you a little. But her respect for you keeps her patient, she’ll wait until you’re sober.

Caitlyn glances up from her book, the candlelight casting a warm glow over the left side of her face.

“What do ya think..” you hiccup, earning a soft laugh from her, “of me wearing a collar?”You finish the thought as you empty your glass.

Caitlyn blinks in surprise and then shakes her head, chuckling under her breath.

“I’m not opposed,” she says, her body leaning toward yours. Her movement invites a kiss, and you meet her halfway. She plants one kiss on the corner of your mouth, then presses her lips softly to yours, letting it linger. Before she can deepen it, you jab a finger into her chest.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you mumble, your half-lidded eyes locking with hers. Her calm and composed expression only fuels your anticipation. She smiles softly.

“Yes, I think you’d look adorable,” she replies, taking your hand gently from her chest. “But I think you’ll feel better in the morning if you drink some water and lie down.”

Rolling your eyes, you leave her and stumble toward the kitchen. As you giggle, you hear Caitlyn’s quick footsteps behind you. She’s close, ready to catch you if you trip down the long staircase.

Two nights later, you waited for her arrival, just as you did most nights. The moon illuminated her room, highlighting its true size and casting a soft glow over everything. Your eyes lingered on the intricate mosaic paintings adorning the tall ceilings. The sheets on her bed, smooth and luxurious, wrapped around you like a silky sateen ocean.

Her familiar footsteps echoed in the hallway, each heavy boot fall growing closer. She opened the door gently, unaware that you were already awake, and your body turned toward her. You watched her undress like a creep, not that she would mind. Loosening her dark blue, almost black hair from its ponytail, a soft sigh slipping from her lips. Facing away from you, she began to undress. You couldn’t help but muffle your giggles as you notice her struggle, nearly tripping over her feet while shedding the multiple layers of clothing.

“Cait,” you whispered harshly for the third time, startling her. She dropped her eyepatch, the final item she had been removing. Clutching her chest, she spun toward you, her expression shifting into a defeated smile.

“Sorry,” you murmured softly.

She shook her head, silently dismissing your apology, and approached you with something hidden behind her back.

“I have something for you,” she whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. Despite her composed demeanor, she kept her voice low, as if the guards a few halls down might hear. “Take a look.”

You sat up in the tangle of sheets, and Caitlyn steadied herself by placing a knee on the bed.

She pulled out a small black box, just large enough to fit in her slim hand. As she opened it toward herself, she bit her lip.

“You’re gonna kill me,” she muttered.

When she finally turned the box toward you, your breath hitched. Inside lay a beautiful black leather collar, accented with a silver pendant. The shining cursive letters spelling Kirramman’s made your cheeks flush.

“Caitlyn! Have you lost your mind?” you half whispered exclaimed, playfully shoving her shoulder. Her eyes met yours, and her soft smile mirrored your embarrassment. Both of you blushed like awkward teenagers on a first date.

“I only asked one person to make it, and I promise they don’t know its intended use,” she replied, pulling the collar from its box. The protective cotton piece fell away, revealing a silver chain attached to the leather. She tested the leash, letting the metal clink softly as she ran her fingers over it.

“And what exactly is the intended purpose?” you asked, a devious smile creeping across your lips. You already knew the answer; you were the one who’d suggested it, duh.

Caitlyn shrugged, faking innocence. “To remind you of your place. You’ve had trouble listening lately,” she teased, her smug grin now firmly in place. Her gaze locked onto yours, silently seeking permission without pressuring you.

Her words sent heat coursing through you. Caitlyn’s authoritative tone, paired with the quiet, deliberate attention she always gave you, left you squeezing your thighs together.

“You need to tell me, my love,” she said, snapping you out of your thoughts. Her finger tilted your chin upward, forcing you to meet her eyes.

“Uhhhh, yeah,” you stammered, blinking up at her. Her tall figure seemed to grow even more imposing, towering over you as her voice wrapped around you like a command.

“No, no, no,” Caitlyn laughed, and you couldn’t tell if she found your reaction cute or pathetic—probably both. “It’s yes…?” she prompted, her tone expectant.

Her fingers trailed down from your chin to your neck, gripping it gently. The slight pressure made your breath hitch, and you barely suppressed a moan.

“Yes, miss,” you finally whispered.

"Oh, come on now, up," Caitlyn commands.

She sits gracefully, wearing nothing but lacy black panties and a loosely tied silky blue robe, her black eyepatch in place just as it was that morning. The way her legs cross so effortlessly has you shifting uncomfortably in your current position.

You're nearly nude, just your underwear and the collar you'd so desperately wanted to wear. Now, with Caitlyn checking on you every minute to make sure you're okay, the caress of her fingers over your cheek, the weight of it feels all too real.

You perch yourself on the sofa beside her, glancing up. She notices everything-the slight sheen in your eyes, the unsteady rise and fall of your chest, and the way the metal leash gleams as it dangles between you. Her hand remains steady on the handle, a subtle reminder of how she’s in control.

"You've been good, yeah?" she asks softly, her hand lifting to cup your cheek. You can’t help but lean into it. Her thumb brushes gently across your skin, leaving you warm and utterly undone beneath her touch.

You nod, but Caitlyn gives you a light slap across your cheek.

You nod, but Caitlyn lightly slaps your cheek.

“Speak,” she demands, her words sharp. You shrink under her gaze, feeling yourself grow small.

“Yes, miss,” you whisper hoarsely, your hands clasping together as they fidget, bracing for her next move.

“So, does that mean you deserve to be touched?” she presses, her hand gently soothing the heat rising on your cheek.

“Yes, miss,” you answer more firmly this time, earning a satisfied hum from Caitlyn. She pats her lap, her hand swiftly wrapping the metal chain around her wrist as you scramble to comply, nearly toppling over in your rush.

“Well, you have to tell me where you need me,” she teases, tugging the chain gently while you wiggle into place beside her. Her hand glides over your neck, collarbone, the curve of your chest, and down to your stomach.

“Do you want me inside yet?” she asks, her fingers trailing down your body, brushing over your clothed clit. The white, lacy-frilled panties she chose for you stand in sharp contrast to the black leather collar snug around your neck.

You nod eagerly, only to realize too late that you’ve made the same mistake again.

Pulling harsher this time, Caitlyn caused you to topple nearly over her. Her condescending tone makes you want to hide in a corner. “Really?” She asks with disappointment hints in her voice.

“I—” you stammer, scrambling back into position. The word sticks in your throat as the restraint tugs firmly against you. Her warm and intoxicating scent overwhelms your senses, leaving you helplessly melting into her presence. “I want you inside, miss. Please.”

She releases the leash and cups your face gently, guiding your gaze to hers. Her lips meet yours in a soft, healing kiss. As you kiss back timidly, she presses harder against your clit, making you hiss as the friction builds. You grind down instinctively, gasping when her teeth nip at your bottom lip.

“Take them off,” she commands, patting your cunt lightly to urge you. You slide off to the side, removing the damp underwear with shaky hands. Folding them neatly, you place them on the armrest before turning back to her, your eyes wide and glossy with anticipation.

She watches you with an almost possessive pride, savoring the sight of your desperation. Knowing she’s the only one who gets to see you like this—so raw, so eager—feeds her. It’s intoxicating. The two of you are unashamedly perverse, but Caitlyn always takes it further, and you love her for it.

“So noisy today, hmm?” Caitlyn teases, her fingers playing with your folds as your hips rock weakly to meet her touch. Your hands rise to your chest, fiddling with the collar around your neck. The sight sends Caitlyn reeling.

“Maybe I need to gag you, yeah?” she murmurs, her voice strained to match your breathless mewls. You nod eagerly, the movement growing frantic as she presses two fingers firmly against your swollen clit, grinding slowly and deliberately.

“Uh-uh, Cait—” you choke out, grabbing at the cold chain for comfort. The soft clicking of the metal and the mix of your moans fill the room. Forgotten, the leash handle dangles loosely from her hand as Caitlyn watches you lose yourself on her fingers. Leaning closer, she struggles to see clearly past her eyepatch, and you arch instinctively, putting on an even more shameless show for her.

Leaning back onto her hand, you take control, fucking yourself on her fingers. One arm clings to the headboard of the couch for support as you bounce and grind in a rhythmic frenzy. Caitlyn watches, captivated by the soft ‘o’ of your mouth, the slick, obscene strings of arousal dripping down her fingers, the way your free hand grips the leash tightly.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Caitlyn gasps, her voice heavy with desire. Her fingers move with your faltering rhythm, guiding you as exhaustion creeps in. She presses her palm harder against your clit, each contact pushing you closer. Caitlyn knows this move too well; she’s perfected it. Memories flood back of her chest pressed to your back, her fingers curving just right, leaving you trembling for hours afterward.

This time, you nod eagerly, her two fingers sliding deeper as your voice catches. The rough drag of her palm sends sparks shooting through you, pooling heat low in your stomach.

“Y’gonna come?” Caitlyn coos. You nod again, your wide eyes meeting hers, pleading. She visibly restrains herself from yanking your leash to deny you of your release. Sweat gleams on your chest as it rises and falls, your breaths uneven.

“Beg then,” she commands.

You whine first, and she tugs the leash sharply.

“C’mon, you can do it. What happened to my sweet puppy, hmm?” Her teasing strikes a nerve, the word puppy breaking you. Your body gushes in her hand, trembling.

“Please miss —Caitlyn, please need you.” You try speeding your hips up, but she's already steps ahead of you. Her fingers relentlessly speed up, and she can tell how much you like them when she slightly curves them. She watches as you plea and cry, head tilting back as she unashamedly watches the way your tits bounce with every thrust of her fingers.

“Cait— mm gonna,” you can barely get the words out as if this girl’s fingers can’t get any faster. The soft squelching of your arousal as her fingers splatter in little spurts over the sofa. You glance down and nearly come again at the sight of her fingers playing with your folds, your brain turning to mush. 

“Holy shit!” a high-pitched sound cried out as you came, falling onto the back of the sofa. Caitlyn nearly dives onto you, fingers slipping out as she rubs soothing circles on your swollen clit.  And all you can do is take it so far gone that you can't help but jerk every time Cait flicks your bud a certain way.

Your legs clamp together instinctively, trapping her wrist as you slump against the couch. Heart racing, you whimper softly as Caitlyn withdraws her hand, wiping her fingers before leaning in to kiss your cheek. Unhooking the leash from your collar, she steps away, grabbing her robe and the long-forgotten glass of water.

“So… puppy, hmm?” she teases, a smirk tugging at her lips.

You glare at her, cheeks flushing, which only makes her laugh.

“Enough,” you mumble, turning your face into the pillow to hide your embarrassment. Caitlyn trails her hand up your bare

back, her nails scratching lightly, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“It’s cute, no? I know you like it,” she says softly, her voice dripping with confidence as her fingers trace idle patterns across your skin.

You nod into the pillow, fidgeting, too embarrassed to face her. Caitlyn always teases you like this after your moments together, her confidence making it impossible to get back at her. But this time, she lets you be. Brushing back the hair covering your neck, she leans down to kiss the spot where the collar sat, trailing soft kisses down your back.

Her lips trail along your bare skin, soft and gentle, as she whispers, “You know, I love seeing you like this. All mine.”

Your face heats, but you can’t help the muttered response that escapes. “You’re insufferable.” The words are muffled into the pillow, your voice tinged with lingering embarrassment.

Caitlyn laughs softly, the sound low and warm in your ear. “Insufferable, huh?” she repeats, her hand wandering to lightly pinch your thigh, earning a startled squeak from you. “Pretty bold for someone who was just crying on my fingers.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” you mutter, rolling onto your side to glance at her, your lips curving into a small, tired smile.

“Oh, puppy,” she grins, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, “you’re lucky I fucking adore you.”

The words catch you off guard, leaving you warm and speechless. Caitlyn leans in, her lips brushing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss that sends a comforting warmth in your chest.

a/n: i apologize for this unintentional writing hiatus, life has been crazy. this was supposed to be longer but i got lazy and insecure lol, hope you enjoyed it anyway

[tossawary]

I don't have a solid plot attached to this idea, I don't currently really have the desire to drop everything to go write "The Hobbit" fanfiction, but for a while I've had the idea of *gestures vaguely" some post-canon story (probably some form of fix-it) taking place before, during, and after a grand dwarven opera performance in Erebor.

Because I am absolutely certain that the Lonely Mountain had an absolutely stunningly beautiful Royal Opera House (and plenty of other, less grand performance halls) that, at the city's height, was putting at least one show every single day. Orchestral symphonies, operas and operettas, dramatic plays, dance performances... you name it, they had it and more. The various cultures of Middle Earth evidently ADORE music, dwarves absolutely included. The Company all bring instruments to Bag End to play and sing themselves off before their quest!

Also, beyond the music side of things, with how dwarves are named as master crafters? Smiths and toymakers and magicians? No way that they did not have some of the most gorgeous costumes, sets, and effects on the planet. Dwarves would go WILD with their articulated stage puppets, I know it.

One of my biggest issues with the film trilogy is that it failed to deeply explore the Company as people who had lost their home, beauty and culture included. Smaug not only killed countless people, entire families, and leave many of the survivors poor and desperate, the dragon went on to hoard their heirlooms and life's work and leave these priceless gold treasures UNUSED. It is an additional heartbreak to imagine Smaug tearing through Erebor neighborhood by neighborhood, house by house, so that he could tear out every gemstone in, say, mosaic made by someone's grandmother that sat above the breakfast table every morning. To think that Smaug in the aftermath tore magical lanterns off the walls, the sort that might have been decorated with animals or flowers, to make some daycare walkway just a little more cheery for the children, and in his greed left a dead city in the dark.

The live-action movies put both Smaug and the Balrog in these... absolutely enormous chambers that serve somewhat unclear purposes. The king's treasure vault and a former marketplace, I think? (Moria has been raised by goblins, I can forgive the emptiness.) It's a quick visual depiction of Thror's uncontrollable gold lust to give him a Scrooge McDuck room, sure, instead of anything with an actual organizational system (normally, I assume dwarves are big on sorting their vaults if they have one). Super big columns and hallways and staircases do somewhat effectively communicate the "lost glory" of Moria (I am very fond of these movies!!!), even if I also think it's not as interesting as it could have been. And the other obvious purpose of big, open warehouse-like spaces is 1) it's easier to animate the big creatures moving around in them generally and 2) it allows the films to show off the full-bodied visual spectacle of their big creatures.

But I think it would have also kicked ass to put Smaug in Erebor's former Royal Opera House or something, some enormous theatre decorated across generations. That could be big! The ART (statues, fountains, banners, windows, general architecture) that you could put on the exterior, which has had its face ripped open for the dragon to get inside? The ART that you could put INSIDE (mosaics, murals, and more) as Bilbo sneaks inside? Ohhh, you could include so many potential lore references with thematic relevance!

Also, Bilbo could get jump-scared by old articulated stage puppets or something. IT'S THE DRAGON-! Oh, no, it's some old opera prop. (Yes, we're talking more about an actual adaptation of "The Hobbit" rather than fanfiction concepts now.)

Sure, there's raw material treasure and coins hoarded here in this place, but there would also be musical instruments and toys and household tools and cookware and fancy dishes, wedding jewelry and anniversary gifts and family shrines and festival costumes, fountain statues and street lamps and mailboxes and business signs, and other evidence that people really LIVED here. These are all ordinary objects that Bilbo recognizes from the Shire.

We could tie these objects directly back to objects we saw featured in Bilbo's home early in this adaptation, which he was trying to "protect" from the dwarves during their "That's what Bilbo Baggins hates" song. There are half-burned portraits of people's late parents here too. Did he think that there weren't any dwarves who made doilies or handkerchiefs embroidered with flowers? Of course they made things like that too.

It's perfectly symbolic to, say, place Smaug's bed in an area like the king's throne room. The dragon is now the King Under The Mountain. But I think it would be deliciously haunting to have the throne room of Erebor be empty, the throne half-broken, the silver stripped from the walls and moved elsewhere, because Smaug doesn't care about Thror's old audience chamber. What's a dwarf king to a dragon? He burns the same as all the others. The dragon has instead made his bed in a beautiful public place of art and culture that was for the people, by the people, surrounded by the lovingly crafted belongings of the ordinary people he killed. Gold is gold to a dragon whether it's in a coin or a candlestick.

I think if you really want to sell one of the key messages of "The Hobbit", which in my opinion is: "If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world." then you ought to throw yourself behind EREBOR being a place where food and cheer and song had value, not just the Shire. Thorin isn't lost at the end because he's a dwarf and dwarves don't value such things, but because he as a specific person who makes the mistake of weighing pride and gold over people, and he comes to regret that on his deathbed.

So, back to the fanfiction idea, I think that Erebor had music again in it as soon as dwarves started living in it again. It will take decades and decades before the Royal Opera House is half as splendid as it was before, and there is a performance there with beautiful costumes and puppets and sets comparable to those that came before, some traditional historical show that is part of specific seasonal holiday for dwarves. But that very first winter, when the future still looked grim, I think the dwarves cleared out a small stage and cast the roles of this traditional musical retelling of their history among them, based on who knew the parts best, because they aren't just miners and smiths and soldiers, and there was music again in Erebor that winter despite all the damage that the dragon did.

[evan-collins90]

Farallon restaurant - 450 Post Street, San Francisco, CA (opened June 1997 - closed 2020)

"Farallon is named after a fishing island off the Pacific coast.

The underwater fantasy theme drives the $4 million restaurant. The electric atmosphere grabs customers the minute they walk through the glass doors framed by a brushed steel and Lucite canopy, which vaguely looks like a scallop shell. Giant jellyfish chandeliers hang from the high ceiling. The walls are textured with shellfish impressions, and lighted yellow pillars that climb the walls are imprinted with seaweed. And that's just the bar.

The big main dining room is more elegant, but maintains the marine motif. Tiny tiles form mosaics on the ceiling, where two huge light fixtures are formed into seashells. Even the hood over the kitchen carries out the theme: It's covered in copper scales. And suspended over the counter are beautiful blown-glass lights shaped like fish.

A gracefully curving staircase leading to the mezzanine is covered in 50,000 blue-black glass beads that resemble magnified caviar, while the wall sconces replicate stands of coral and barnacles."

Excellent examples of the 'Org-Nouveau' style popular in the 1990's

Designed by Pat Kuleto

Scanned from American Theme Restaurants by I.M. Tao (1999) and the February 1998 issue of Interiors Magazine

[allastoredeer]

Okay, so, I decided to have a little fun and traced one of the collages I made (posted all of them in a different posts) to both relax and practice line thickness, and HOT DAMN do I have more respect for background artists.

Those details CRUSHED me. But also O.O I noticed so many things in the background that I hadn't before. Like the horse mosaic on the wall, the lions jumping through hoops in the background, how the staircase isn't straight, it's curved, and just how many eye shapes there are in the hotel, damn).

I'm probably ALSO going to use this as a reference, because one can never have too many references, and like with my other ones, anyone is free to snatch this one up too if they want. Something about the absence of color and shadow just...help my brain with the shapes, you know?

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Pairing: stalker!mafia!anakin x f!reader

Epilogue

The penthouse was quiet, save for the muted hum of the city outside. ANAKIN'S SKYWALKER'S footsteps echoed faintly down the corridor, his stride purposeful and unhurried. The luxurious space was a testament to his power and wealth, but it held secrets within its walls that no one else knew. He moved with the ease of a man who owned everything in his domain, yet his mind was not on the riches around him—it was on you.

Reaching the end of the hall, he stopped before the door that blended seamlessly into the wall, invisible to anyone who didn’t know it was there. He pressed his hand against the hidden sensor, and with a soft click, the door unlocked, sliding open to reveal a narrow staircase descending into the darkness.

Anakin took a deep breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he descended the steps, each one creaking under his weight. His heart quickened with anticipation, a familiar thrill rushing through him as he approached the sanctuary he had built—a place where he could be alone with his thoughts, his desires, his obsession. His everything

He almost felt like a silly teenager again, all those butterflies flying in his stomach, circling their path. He felt it. And he loved feeling it. It was the thrill of the amazing feeling he could sense whenever his steps were closer to that room. Although, it wasn't just normal feeling. And it weren't normal butterflies. Everything was twisted to its own the most darkest form

Yet, he loved it. He cherished it. Like he would cherish you, if you'd let him.

The room at the bottom of the stairs was small and windowless, illuminated by a single dim light that cast long shadows across the walls. But those walls…they were alive with images. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of photos covered walls to every inch, creating a chaotic mosaic of your face, your smile, your life. Some were taken from afar, capturing moments when you thought you were alone, while others were closer, more intimate, as if someone had been standing right behind you.

There were candid shots of you at work, in the café, laughing with friends, walking down the street, oblivious to the camera’s gaze. There were even images from inside your apartment—photos of you sleeping, eating, reading, crying, sitting in dull silence. Your entire life mapped out in obsessive detail, each picture telling a story that only he could understand.

Anakin’s fingers brushed over one of the photographs, a close-up of your face, serene in sleep. He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, his eyes dark with an intensity that bordered on madness. His breathing deepened, the room seeming to shrink around him as he was consumed by the overwhelming need that had driven him to this point.

He imagined himself touching you, but not in sexual way - more in a gentle, loving way a real partner would do. He wanted to feel the heat of your face, to feel the light skin against his fingertips. He wanted to make you feel like a goddess. Because that's what you were for him

Yet in among everything, it wasn’t just about wanting you that way. It had more of a darker meaning, even when he didn't want to admit it. It was about possessing you, consuming you, making sure that no one else could ever touch what was his. You had become his world, the axis around which everything else revolved, and the thought of losing you—of you slipping through his fingers—was unbearable.

He walked to the center of the room, where a small table stood, cluttered with more mementos of you—a strand of hair, a piece of jewelry you had lost, a napkin with your lipstick stain. He picked up a ring, one he had bought but hadn’t given to you yet. It wasn’t time. Not yet. But soon.

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as if he could breathe in your essence from these objects. The sweet, fruity fragrance he swore followed him everywhere.

The room, this shrine to his obsession, was both his refuge and his prison. It was here where he allowed himself to indulge in the darkness that he kept hidden from you, the side of him that even you, in your love and trust, could never fully know.

At least for now.

His eyes snapped open, and he looked around the room with a newfound determination. This was a game, after all—a game of strategy and patience. Every move he made was calculated, every little action of his was for the sake to make you fall right into his arms. He was playing a dangerous game, but he was the master of it. And now, with each passing day, you were beginning to play it too, though you didn’t even realize it.

Anakin turned toward the door, the ring still clutched in his hand burned a hole in his palm. As he began to climb the stairs, he glanced back at the room one last time, a dark smile playing on his lips.

“Would you be able to play this game?” he murmured to the shadows, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or is it already too late?"

The door slid shut behind him, the room becoming dark once again. Just like his owner's heart

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(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[lostfunzones]

Glass mosaic by Phillip Suffolk on the staircase of Powell & Moya's Mayfield School, Putney (1955).

[upstairsdownstairsandinbetween]

Casa de los Milagros (House of Miracles), Xalapa, Veracruz, Mexico,

Courtesy: Danilo Veras Godoy

[sweet-pea-channie]

Shadows of the Exile - Part 2

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: Y/N arrives in Velaris, stepping into the House of Wind with uncertainty but intrigue. Rhysand welcomes her as the Inner Circle’s new healer, introducing her to the House’s magic and the responsibilities ahead. As she adjusts, Mor, Cassian, and Azriel show her the warmth and chaos of their family, while she navigates lingering feelings about her exile from Prythian.

Warnings: trauma, mentions of wings cutting, fluff (cute little Nyx), lighthearted adult humor

Word Count: 7.1k

A/N: bear with me, because English is my third language. so if you find any mistakes, remember this :)

series masterlist

The wind was the first thing Y/N felt.

It swept over the stone balconies, played with her hair, carrying the scent of old books and cool mountain air. The sky above her was an endless sea of blue, mixing with the golden rays of the sun that touched the mountain peaks in the distance.

And below her...

Y/N stepped cautiously to the edge of the terrace. Her gaze fell downward – far below her lay Velaris, the City of Starlight, shimmering in the afternoon sun like a mosaic of colorful glass. The silver rooftops, the cobbled streets, the gentle glitter of the Sidra River… everything was so far away.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

Y/N tore her eyes from the city and turned to Rhysand, who stood relaxed beside her.

"Impressive is an understatement." She brushed a strand of hair from her face. "How do you live up here without feeling like you're about to be swept away by the wind?"

Rhys chuckled softly. "It's a matter of getting used to it." He nodded toward the massive wings moving in the distance.

"So, what do you think?" Rhys gestured to the imposing structure behind them.

Y/N slowly turned around and let her gaze wander over the tall, arched doors and the intricately carved stonework. The entire building exuded an ancient but vibrant magic. The columns were adorned with fine, barely visible runes – protective spells, old blessings, perhaps even memories of a time when this house was not just a retreat but a fortress.

"It's... more than I expected."

Y/N slowly turned around on her axis, absorbing everything. The intricate mosaics on the walls, the starry constellations decorating the ceilings, the statues depicting ancient heroes of the Illyrians... every detail whispered stories from the past.

Then her gaze caught a massive staircase that seemed to lead into nothing. "Those aren't...?"

"The 10,000 steps?" Rhys followed her gaze. "Yes. Want to try them?" Y/N regarded him skeptically. "Let me guess – Cassian forces his recruits to run them?"

"And Azriel."

Y/N leaned her forearms on the stone railing and let her eyes wander over Velaris. The city below her was bathed in soft light – no harsh torches or intrusive lanterns, but warm, flickering light streaming from windows and streetlamps, as though Velaris itself were breathing.

It was quiet up here. No voices, no unrest. Just the distant sound of the Sidra River and the gentle breeze sweeping through the mountains.

So different from home.

In the Dawn Court, it was never this quiet. Her homeland was a place of light, of colors – sunrises that bathed the sky in gold, pink, and violet, as the first light of the day reflected on the marble streets. The temples of Cesere shimmered in the early dawn, and even at night, the city hummed quietly with life. The sky there had an eternal warmth, even in the deepest dark of night.

But here... here, the darkness was not threatening. It was soothing. The night in Velaris was like a blanket, gently wrapping the city rather than swallowing it.

Y/N placed a hand on the railing, letting the cool, rough surface glide under her fingers. Dawn and Night. Sunrise and starlight. Two worlds so different from each other. And yet somehow, she now belonged to both.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

The calm voice hardly made her flinch. She had heard Rhysand before he stepped onto the balcony.

He leaned his elbows on the railing beside her and let his gaze wander over Velaris.

Y/N stayed silent for a moment, then spoke softly, "I never thought I could feel at home anywhere but the Dawn Court."

Rhysand glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "And now?"

She took her time with her answer. "I don't know. Dawn will always be my home... but here, it doesn't feel wrong."

Rhys grinned slightly. "A good sign. Velaris is patient. It won't rush you, but eventually, it will feel familiar."

Y/N sighed softly. "I hope so."

For a moment, they just stood there side by side, in comfortable silence. Then Rhysand straightened up and lightly tapped her shoulder. "Come. Let's plan for the future."

Y/N took one last look over Velaris, absorbing the image of the calm, shimmering city – then she turned and followed Rhysand back inside the House of Wind.

As they walked through the imposing halls, Rhys sent a mental command to Cassian and Azriel.

"I’m taking Y/N to the meeting room. Cassian, bring Madja here – she should get a sense of her and brief her before she starts with the clinic."

Y/N noticed the shift in the atmosphere. The casual conversation on the balcony had felt light, like a moment of pause. But now, as they moved forward, she felt the weight of the decisions still ahead of her. She hadn't even begun her first official day in Velaris, and already, she was realizing that she had become part of something much larger. Just as they reached the corridor leading to the meeting room, a figure suddenly appeared out of nowhere and let out a loud scream.

"AAAAAHHHH!"

Y/N instinctively flinched, took a quick step to the side, and turned toward the direction the scream had come from. Her magic gathered at her fingertips, ready to defend – but before she could react, she was embraced by a warm, familiar presence.

"Y/N! GODS! YOU'RE REALLY HERE!"

The voice was bright, full of joy and unrestrained euphoria. Y/N needed a second to orient herself – then she felt herself being squeezed tightly by strong arms against a soft, familiar figure.

"Mor?"

The woman who had embraced her like a whirlwind laughed loudly. "I can't believe you're back! I didn’t think it would be that easy to get you out of exile. But now that Ianthe is no longer among the living, no one should be able to banish you anymore!"

Y/N pulled back slightly and looked at Mor with a furrowed brow.

"Ianthe is dead?" She shot Rhysand a questioning glance.

Rhys nodded briefly. "I'll tell you everything later."

Y/N didn’t know how to feel about it. For years, she had lived in exile, banished with no way of returning. Ianthe had been the reason for it – the cause of her exile, the nightmare that had sent her to another part of the world.

And now she was dead.

The information felt strangely unreal.

But before Y/N could think too long about it, Mor had already moved on to her next question.

"Are you going to stay here, Y/N? Here in the House of Wind?" Mor asked breathlessly, not pausing, as if she had been holding all those words back for the last few minutes.

Rhysand rolled his eyes in the meantime.

"I wouldn't recommend living here." Mor waved dramatically. "Cassian and Nesta live here, and if he's not snoring, those two are doing other things – and not just in their bedroom. If you want peace, I recommend the Town House. Azriel and I are there – well, I’m only there if I'm really in Velaris. And Azriel is rarely home anyway, so you’ll really have peace and—"

"Mor."

Mor ignored Rhys.

"And in the House of Wind, it’s really cold at night. I mean, I love it here, but if you want a peaceful sleep, you should—"

"Mor." Rhysand rubbed his temples. "That's enough. We don't want to chase Y/N away right away."

Y/N laughed softly. She had missed Mor, the young fae that’d visited her from time to time.

Rhys straightened up, opened the door to the meeting room, and motioned inside. "She can look around in peace and form her own opinion. Y/N has never really been here in Velaris and has rarely been outside of the Dawn Court. I’m sure she’ll need a while to adjust to everything here, right?"

Y/N smiled. "Very wise, High Lord."

With one last grin toward Mor, she entered the room – ready for the next big decision of her life.

The doors closed silently behind them as they entered the vast room. A massive table made of dark wood dominated the centre, surrounded by heavy chairs with carved armrests. Large windows let the light of the afternoon sun pour in, bathing the room in a golden glow.

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with documents, maps, and records from centuries past.

It was a room where battles were planned, alliances forged, and fates decided.

And now she sat here, a healer with a past full of banishment and exile.

Rhys sat at the head of the table while Y/N slowly sank into the chair opposite him.

Y/N sat nervously on the comfortable chair, her eyes resting on Rhysand, who sat across from her at the heavy wooden table. The air in the room was pleasantly cool, with a light breeze drifting through the open windows, offering a view of the wide, majestic mountain peaks. It was her first visit to the House of Wind, and although she had tried to remain calm, she couldn’t shake the faint nervousness she felt.

Rhysand smiled at her, his presence still both impressive and calming. “There’s a little tradition here, Y/N,” he said, a hint of humor in his voice. “When someone enters the House of Wind, especially someone new to our circle like you, we make sure they feel welcome.” Before Y/N could respond, something strange happened. The table, which had been empty just moments before, suddenly began to fill. First, a selection of sweet and savory snacks appeared—small, perfectly prepared bites from various Fae kitchens, fragrant and inviting. Then several glasses appeared, filled with a sparkling, deep red Fae wine, and a pitcher of clear, refreshing drink that reminded her of a light summer rain.

Y/N couldn’t help but blink in surprise. Her hand hovered for a moment over one of the glasses, feeling the perfect balance between caution and curiosity. “I… I didn’t know things worked like this here,” she finally said, her voice half-amused, half-amazed.

Rhysand grinned. “Well, the House of Wind isn’t just about power or strategy. We believe well-being and fellowship are just as important. The table fills whenever we come together to talk—it reflects the goodwill and joy we share.”

He picked up a glass of Fae wine, letting his eyes rest on the golden rim of the glass. “It’s a small gesture of hospitality and community. Everyone who comes here should know they are welcome and that they are not just in a place of power, but in a home that radiates warmth and friendship.”

Y/N cautiously took a glass and took a sip. The wine was delicious, rich yet refreshing. “This is... incredible. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

“It’s a ritual we uphold here at the House of Wind,” Rhysand continued. “Because we understand how important it is to support and strengthen each other. No one should feel lost or alone here, especially in such an environment. When food and drinks appear, it means we meet each other on equal terms. It’s not just about political alliances or webs of obligations. It’s about fellowship.”

Y/N nodded thoughtfully, taking in the atmosphere of the room. “I like how you handle things here. It feels... different, but in the best way.”

“That’s the plan,” Rhysand said with a smile. “Being a little different opens many doors.”

Y/N still sat amazed, the glass of Fae wine in her hand, when Rhysand continued. “The House of Wind is not just a building of stone and magic. It has a special connection to us—it can sense when someone needs something. And it never hesitates to respond.”

Y/N gave him a curious glance. “Senses? What do you mean?”

Rhysand leaned back and let his gaze wander over the table as if acclimating to the House’s vibrant presence. “The House of Wind has its own kind of consciousness. It feels the needs of those who are here—their emotions, their desires, their worries. It has a way of reading the air, the atmosphere, the energies in a room. When someone arrives, and there’s a need—whether physical or emotional—the House knows what to do.”

He took another sip of wine and continued. “There’s no long delay. The House of Wind acts quickly. So, if you’re hungry, you won’t have to wait long for food. If you’re thirsty, the drink will be there before you can even speak it. It makes sure you feel comfortable and safe.” Y/N watched in fascination as the table continued to fill with more delicacies and drinks, as if the House had heard her thoughts.

“That’s... impressive. It almost feels like the house understands us.”

“Exactly,” Rhysand said with a light smile. “The house knows what you need, often before you even know it yourself. And there’s never too much—just the right amount, at the right moment.”

Y/N took another sip of wine and let the words sink in. It was a strange but incredibly comforting feeling to know that the place around her connected with her in such a way. “I think this is the first place where I truly feel welcome and cared for,” she finally said, her voice soft but sincere.

Rhysand nodded approvingly as he looked at her. “That’s the point of the House of Wind—it’s meant to be a home for everyone who comes here. No hesitation, no uncertainty. Only warmth, support, and a place where you can let go.”

“So, let’s leave the formalities behind,” Rhys placed his hands loosely on the table. “I know I’ve overwhelmed you, and the idea of being our healer is probably a huge challenge. You’re aware of that, aren’t you?”

Y/N nodded. “I know what I’m getting into. When I worked as a healer in the Dawn Court, not for Thesan or his family, but in a small clinic, there was always plenty to do. The Dawn Court may be known for having many healers, which certainly doesn’t make the work easier. I’ve never worked for just one family, but I’ll always strive to grow and be there for you. However, I do hope for the same from you.”

Rhysand had a slight grin on his face. He knew that Y/N was much younger than Madja and might have different expectations than Madja. Y/N was once known for being wild and fierce. But only when it mattered. She had never truly tapped into her full magic, and Rhysand was sure he wanted to help her unlock it.

“Madja will assist you during the first weeks, maybe even months. As long as you need, until you feel comfortable here. If one day you say you don’t want to continue, I will respect your decision. You must know that we don’t just work closely here; we also live closely together. So, if something ever weighs on you, you can always come to me or the others. I don’t want you to feel like an employee. You will be part of our Inner Circle and our family,” Rhysand assured her.

“And of course, about where you’ll live. That’s entirely up to you. You can stay here at the House of Wind. It’s where our clinic is. You’d be close to your workplace. However, I also know how much you enjoy working with herbs. There’s no opportunity to plant your herbs here. As you’ve seen, the House of Wind is very high up in the mountains of Velaris. The Town House has a garden and is probably quieter, I agree with Mor on that. You must know, I’ve handed over the House of Wind to Cassian and Nesta, and even she’s right when she says that the two mates sometimes use the house a little differently,” Rhysand cleared his throat. He normally left that information alone; Mor and the others had spoken enough about it.

Y/N sat forward in her chair, placing her hands on her knees and glanced around the room. She hadn’t seen much of the House of Wind yet, but she knew the House had a lot to offer. Just the thought that the House could cater to her needs convinced her of the place. However, she had the feeling that she was isolated from the rest. Y/N preferred to be around other Fae, the city life. If the Town House was located in the heart of Velaris, it might be the better place for her.

“Of course, we can also find you a house or an apartment, should you prefer to enjoy being alone.”

Y/N leaned back and studied him thoughtfully. “It still feels strange… that you’re doing so much for me. After everything that’s happened.”

Rhysand looked at her for a moment before saying, “I should have brought you here sooner.”

Y/N blinked in surprise.

“I knew about your banishment, but I was too caught up in my own struggles. Too focused on the war. I failed—and I want to make it right.”

Y/N swallowed hard. She didn’t know if she was ready to delve into this topic now. So, she simply said, “Then let’s not waste this fresh start.”

A small smile tugged at Rhysand’s lips. “No, we won’t.”

He stood, handing her a scroll. “Here—these are the final details for the clinic. And for the House of Wind.”

Y/N took the parchment, furrowing her brow. “What’s with the House of Wind?”

Rhys shrugged. “I changed the spell. You can now winnow if you want.”

She blinked. “Really? I thought you wanted to keep me here so I could get lost in Cassian’s chaos?”

Rhys grinned. “There’s a small condition.”

Y/N snorted. “Of course there is.”

“You can only winnow if you’re alone. No other people. And no magic on you—no potions, no artifacts.”

Y/N frowned. “Why?”

"Security measure."

Y/N exhaled loudly through her nose, loud enough for Rhysand to hear. He could see that Y/N hesitated, not fully committing to the task at hand. Something was holding her back, and Rhysand wasn't sure what. Despite being banished for so long and not being in her own body, she had managed to strengthen her mental walls. He had no chance of seeing through them.

"What troubles you, Y/N?"

"I want to go to the Dawn Court," Y/N answered without hesitation. Rhys studied her silently, giving her space to organize her thoughts. "I don't know if my mother or my brother are still alive. I was torn from their lives without the chance to say goodbye. Before I begin here, before I build this clinic, I need to know... if they're still there."

Rhysand nodded slowly. "I understand."

"It will only be for a week. I'll come back."

"I have no doubt about that." His gaze was soft but filled with that sharp, knowing gleam that made him so dangerous. "And if they're no longer there?"

Y/N sucked in a sharp breath and glanced away for a moment. "Then I'll mourn them. And then I'll return to Velaris."

A faint hum of magic filled the air as Rhysand leaned back. "I could send someone with you."

"No." She shook her head. "This is something I have to do alone."

"Then I will make sure you travel safely."

Y/N nodded gratefully before rubbing her hands together. "But before I go... I assume I can't avoid an official 'Welcome to the Family' dinner?"

Rhys grinned. "Not if you want to avoid Mor dragging you out of bed tomorrow morning."

The conversation between Y/N and Rhys continued for a few more minutes after they shared their impressions of the House of Wind. The meeting room was quiet, the high ceiling seemed to absorb the words they spoke, and the soft sound of the wind outside was the only thing filling the silence between sentences.

"So, what are your thoughts?" Rhys asked, sitting across from her at the large wooden table, his arms resting on the table. It was the first time he had directly asked her how she really felt. "You've spent some time here now, Y/N. And I want to make sure you don't just feel welcome here as a healer, but as part of the Inner Circle."

Y/N paused for a moment, thoughtfully. "It's... different from anything I've experienced so far," she finally admitted, her fingers lightly grazing the edge of her glass. "It feels somehow big, but not overwhelming. And the table – this table that always brings exactly what you need – is an interesting idea. It's almost as if the house knows what you need before you do."

Rhysand nodded, a soft smile on his lips. "Exactly. The House of Wind is not just a place of protection and power. It understands us, our needs, our desires, and it adapts. That's why it's not just a building. It becomes a home, if you let it."

Before Y/N could respond, the door suddenly opened, and another figure entered the room. Madja, the experienced healer, stepped in, her movements elegant and calm, her aura filled with knowledge and experience.

"Sorry for the interruption," she said with a gentle smile as she approached. "But I wanted to make sure Y/N has everything she needs, especially when it comes to healing – the specifics of the House of Wind shouldn't be underestimated."

Rhys nodded in understanding. "Of course, Madja. That's exactly why you're here, isn't it?" He stood up and gestured to Y/N. "You have an important role in this house, and it's crucial that you familiarize yourself with all the details and resources."

Madja turned to Y/N and began explaining some of the special healing methods and techniques used at the House of Wind. It wasn't just herbalism or magic, but also trusting the house to assist in healing, and the various rituals needed to heal Fae. Y/N listened attentively, feeling the weight of the information and knowing she had a lot to learn here.

"The house will guide you, if you let it," Madja explained in a soft voice. "Trust that you're not alone in your work."

After a few more minutes of conversation, when they had discussed some aspects of healing in the House of Wind, Rhys nodded. "Good, Madja. I think Y/N now has an initial idea of what to expect. But before we move to dinner, I want you to go to the Town House. See what awaits you there and let her get to know the house a little better. It will help you feel even more at home here."

Y/N nodded, a little surprised by Rhysand's suggestion. "Oh, you mean... really? To the Town House?"

"Yes," Rhys said with a grin, "The Town House is also part of this place, of this community. It's important that you understand how all the areas are connected. And you'll see that things are a bit different there too. You'll feel just as welcome there as here."

Madja also stood. "That's a good idea. It will help you understand the full dimension of this place."

Y/N nodded as Azriel, who had been standing by the door until then, entered the room. "I'll take her, Rhys," he said in his deep, calm voice. "We'll check out the Town House. I'll make sure she feels comfortable."

Rhys nodded approvingly. "Good. And if you need anything, Y/N, you know where to find us."

With those words, Y/N left the meeting room at Azriel's side, their steps calm and steady as they walked down the corridors of the House of Wind, while the conversation about the Town House already buzzed in their minds.

Y/N and Azriel left the House of Wind and stepped onto the vast terrace, which offered a breathtaking view of the surrounding hills. The sky above them was bathed in soft twilight, and the first stars began to appear on the horizon.

She knew it was time to see the Town House, and although she was excited, she also felt a slight nervousness. It was another step toward integrating into this world, and she didn't want to give the impression that she was intruding or imposing. But Azriel, calm and composed at her side, seemed to have no doubts.

"There aren't many ways to leave from here. Is it okay if we fly?" Azriel asked, casting a brief glance at her. His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a hint of curiosity.

Y/N’s gaze flickered to the sky for a moment, and she felt her heart beat a little faster. It was a memory she preferred to hide, and the thought of floating high above the ground had always made her uneasy. A fleeting pain shot through her, but she quickly masked it with a smile.

"Not really, no," she answered softly. "But if there’s no other way, I’ll go along with it."

Azriel nodded, as if understanding her without asking for further details. He knew there were things that weren't immediately discussed, and that trust took time to build.

"No problem," he said finally, his voice calm and almost apologetic. "Then we'll take the other way."

With a soft whisper of his dark magic, Azriel stretched out his arms, and a dense shadow enveloped him and Y/N. Y/N’s breath caught for a moment as she felt the familiar sensation of the darkness surrounding her. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling—in fact, it was as if the shadow was leading her into another world—a world where she felt safe and secure.

"I’ll make sure you get to the Town House safely," Azriel said, his voice like a comforting promise.

The shadow swirled around them, cool and intense. Without looking back at the landscape, they began to travel. The world around them distorted as space stretched and contracted. It felt like they were gliding through the darkness that connected the ground and the sky, moving faster than the normal way ever could allow.

Y/N felt the familiar sensation of the shadows wrapping around them, and although it still evoked a certain unease in her, she simultaneously felt secure. Azriel was by her side, and she knew he was guiding them through the shadows with such precision and control that nothing could stop them.

In a matter of moments, which felt more like seconds, the shadow paused, and Y/N could feel the coolness of the air again. The transition was abrupt as the darkness gave way to the clear night air and the expansive view of the Town House.

"There we are," Azriel said softly as they now stood in front of the imposing building.

The Town House rose before them, with its grand architecture and windows reflecting the soft light of the coming twilight. It had the same inviting warmth as the House of Wind, but at the same time, it exuded a certain determination, a strength that could be felt in its walls.

Y/N looked at the building now standing in front of them, and a sense of curiosity mixed with a certain relief. "It looks... very different from the House of Wind."

Azriel smiled faintly as he stood beside her. "Yes, it's a place of life."

Y/N nodded, her thoughts momentarily drifting to the many new impressions she had gathered today. She knew her journey was far from over, but perhaps—just perhaps—she was beginning to feel a little more at home in this new world.

"Come," Azriel said, and in his gaze was an unspoken promise. "Let’s explore the house a bit. There’s still much to see before dinner starts."

Y/N followed him, and together they entered the Town House, ready for the next stage of their journey in this strange, fascinating world. Y/N followed Azriel through the narrow hallways of the Town House, the dark, mysterious shadow always one step ahead, as if he knew every corner of the house like the back of his hand. The house was large, much larger than she had expected, and each room seemed to speak with a quiet elegance that matched the serious nature of the house.

"This way," Azriel said in a calm voice, pointing to a narrow door that almost disappeared into the wall. "This is the library. You’ll find that there's quite a good collection of texts here. Many of them are ancient manuscripts you've probably never seen before."

Y/N nodded, interested, but couldn’t help feeling a bit lost. Azriel, in his way of explaining things, was so matter-of-fact and distant. No smiles, no unnecessary words—just pragmatism. It was as if he were guiding her through a house he liked, but didn’t necessarily find inviting.

"Rhys asked me to bring you here to show you what you can expect, in case you decide to live here," Azriel explained as he walked down another corridor. "There are some empty rooms. You can choose whichever one you like best."

Y/N sensed a slight tension in the air as he said this. It was clear he wasn't particularly interested in giving a friendly tour—he was doing what he was told, and that was all. Still, Y/N tried to hide her nervousness. After all, it was her decision whether to stay or not.

"And what about that room?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation going as she followed him.

Azriel stopped in front of a door that led to one of the larger rooms. "This one would be one of the quieter rooms. It’s at the end of the hall, far away from the more frequently used areas if you’re looking for privacy. The view isn’t bad, and it’s bright if you like a lot of daylight."

He opened the door with a slight motion and stepped aside so she could take a look inside. It was a simple, elegant room with high ceilings and large windows that offered a wide view of the city. The room was empty except for a few pieces of furniture—a bed, a desk, and a chair. It was quiet, almost meditative in its simplicity.

"It’s not the biggest room, but it’s sufficient, it’s connecting to a smaller room that you can use as an office. If you choose this room, you can furnish it as you wish," Azriel explained, his voice remained factual and cool, but he seemed to regard the room with a slight approving glance as he added, "It will fit in once you have your own things here."

Y/N slowly stepped in and let her gaze wander around the room. It wasn’t lavish, but it had a certain calmness that appealed to her. It didn’t feel like just a guest room, but more like a place waiting to become something personal.

"I like it," she said after a moment of consideration. "It’s simple, but that suits me."

Azriel nodded, as if he didn’t really need a reaction. "Good. If you decide to stay here, it will be your space. You can make changes whenever you like."

As he turned to leave the room, he added, "If you need anything, the House of Wind isn’t far. And as Rhys surely told you, you’re welcome here whenever you want."

Y/N stayed for a moment longer, letting the silence of the room sink in. It was strange to feel welcome in a place that wasn’t quite her home, yet also not entirely foreign. Something within her sensed that this might be a place of change for her – a place that would give her the freedom to unfold.

"Thank you, Azriel," she said finally, as he was already on his way to the door.

"No problem," he replied briefly and then disappeared, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts, while the room around her remained quiet and inviting.

She had explored the rooms, the corridors, and the various areas that had been unfamiliar to her until now. But the longer she looked around, the more she felt that something remained unspoken between her and Azriel. The air between them was tenser than she had expected, and that made her increasingly uneasy.

When she stepped into the house's kitchen, she saw Azriel standing at the counter, a glass of water in his hand, staring almost thoughtfully at the countertops. A heavy scent of fresh herbs and baked goods filled the air. It was quiet, and for a moment, it seemed like he was alone with his thoughts.

Y/N hesitated for just a moment, then approached him, her gaze directed at the floor before she finally decided to start a conversation.

"Azriel," she began, her voice a little uncertain. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

He looked up when he heard her step, and his expression was neutral, perhaps a little surprised that she had spoken to him. "Of course, Y/N. What’s up?"

She took a deep breath before continuing. "I didn’t want to disturb you unnecessarily, but… I feel like things between us are somehow tense. And that’s the last thing I want. I really don’t want to make your life harder with my presence, especially if you’re uncomfortable."

Azriel set the glass of water down and leaned against the counter, his eyes fixed on her, his posture calm, but there was a hint of scepticism in his expression. "You’re not making my life harder, Y/N. That’s not what it’s about."

Y/N took a step closer, the uncertainty in her eyes hard to completely hide. "It’s not just about what you’re saying," she continued. "I sense that maybe you’re not quite used to having someone like me here. A new healer, someone who might need more space, someone who might change your space – and Rhys’s space – in some way. If that’s the case, I totally understand. I don’t want to intrude or make you feel like I don’t belong here."

Azriel snorted quietly and took a step closer, his dark eyes fixed firmly on her as he considered what to say. "It’s not what you think," he finally said, his voice calmer than she had expected. "It’s not that I have a problem with your presence or with what you’re doing here. It’s just…"

He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment as if searching for the right words. "It’s not easy having someone new around Rhys. Especially in such a personal role as yours. But that’s not a problem you caused, Y/N. It’s my problem."

Y/N furrowed her brow and took another step closer. "Azriel, I don’t understand. What do you mean by that?"

Azriel sighed and let himself sink back against the counter, his arms crossed. "You need to know that the Night Court is a lot about power and responsibility. Rhys carries a lot on his shoulders. And when we trust someone or let them into this space, it’s not easy. It’s not just about trusting the other person, it’s also about knowing that the people here can handle this responsibility."

He finally looked at her, and it was the first time she had received a look from him that wasn’t surrounded by a wall of fear or doubt. "I’m worried that you might feel overwhelmed by everything that’s going on here. You’re a healer. Your job is to help, to heal. And I don’t want you to feel like you’re being dragged into a fight that isn’t yours."

Y/N took a moment to absorb that. She felt a soft smile creeping onto her lips as she looked at him. "Thank you for saying that, Azriel. But you don’t have to worry. I know why I’m here. And I won’t get caught up in something I can’t control. But if you ever feel like I’m crossing my boundaries or that my presence is becoming a problem, just let me know. I want to make sure we can all work in peace."

Azriel studied her for a moment and finally nodded, his shoulders visibly more relaxed. "Good. And you’re right. It’s not always easy having someone new here, but that doesn’t mean I’m rejecting you. It just means that sometimes… it can be difficult to find the space you expect."

Y/N nodded and felt a part of the tension that had been with her the whole time slowly ease. "Thank you, Azriel. I appreciate your honesty."

The House of Wind was filled with laughter, conversations, and the spicy scent of freshly roasted meat and baked bread. Y/N stood at the edge of the dining room, her hands wrapped around a wine glass, watching as Mor and Cassian fought over the last baked potatoes.

"Mor, you’ve already had three!" Cassian huffed, keeping his plate out of reach.

"So what? My stomach’s a bottomless pit, Cassian!" Mor stretched across the table while Azriel sat silently beside them, drinking his wine, obviously not willing to get involved in this battle.

Y/N chuckled quietly to herself. Just a few hours ago, she had been trapped in another life that wasn’t really hers, and now she was here – in the midst of the Inner Circle, surrounded by warriors, spies, a High Lady, and the most powerful High Lord of Prythian. And yet, it almost felt… normal.

Feyre, holding Nyx down on his chair, handed Y/N a bowl of bread. "Sorry about the chaos – or rather: get used to it."

"Oh, no worries." Y/N took a piece. "I’ve seen wilder things."

"Wilder than Cassian when he’s hungry?" Nesta raised an eyebrow challengingly.

"Hey!" Cassian placed a hand on his heart. "I’m a gentleman."

Azriel, without looking up from his plate, muttered dryly, "That potato didn’t survive."

Rhysand leaned back casually, a smile on his lips as he swirled his glass. "So, Y/N – how do you feel after a few hours in Velaris? Ready to throw us all into chaos?"

Y/N shrugged and took a sip of wine. "I think you all manage the chaos just fine without me."

"She’s figured it out!" Mor pointed at Y/N with her fork.

Feyre giggled as she handed Nyx another piece of bread. The boy, now about five years old, sat on a chair with a book in front of him, but his attention kept wandering back to Y/N. Eventually, he set the picture book aside and took a step closer.

"I like you. Don't you want to play with me?"

Y/N smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Play with you, huh? What do you have in mind, Nyx?"

"I could show you how to hunt dragons!" Nyx beamed, making a motion with his hands as if he were catching a giant dragon.

"Dragons, huh? Sounds exciting," Y/N laughed, leaning down toward him. "And how do you catch a dragon?"

"Easy!" Nyx leaned in closer and whispered conspiratorially, "You have to cut off its wings." He grinned widely at her before looking over at Feyre. "Mom says it's not good, but I still think it's a great idea."

In that moment, Rhysand froze. A sharp look passed over his face, and his voice immediately became cutting and authoritative as he turned to Nyx.

"Nyx," he said calmly, but with a clear warning in his tone. "We don’t cut off wings. And you shouldn’t say things like that so casually."

Nyx, who had been impressed by Rhys’s serious tone, pouted and nodded, but he remained curious.

Feyre and Cassian exchanged a quick glance, but neither said anything. Everyone knew that Rhysand knew more about the meaning of wings than he was willing to reveal.

Y/N felt the sudden shift in mood and tried to ease the tension. She winked at Nyx and said with a smile, "See, the problem with dragon hunting is that dragons are way too fast. Maybe we should get some equipment first."

Nyx, still a little thoughtful, nodded. "You're right! I'll learn a dragon-catching spell that's way better."

Cassian couldn’t help but grin and called out, "Oh, looks like Nyx has got a little crush on Y/N!"

Azriel, who had been quiet and absent up until that point, shot Cassian a sharp look, but a nearly imperceptible smile crept onto his face. Feyre rolled her eyes as she took a sip of tea.

"Cassian, you're impossible," she said with a teasing smile.

"Me? It’s obvious! Nyx has Y/N wrapped around his finger. The little charmer!" Cassian laughed out loud.

Nyx, not disturbed by his flirtatious mood, nodded seriously. "Yeah, I like Y/N. She's nice, and she knows how to catch dragons. That makes her cool." He grinned even wider as he smiled at Y/N.

"Oh, really?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, pretending to be surprised. "I thought catching dragons was only for adventurers."

"I'm an adventurer," Nyx replied with an innocent cheeky grin that was almost too much for a five-year-old. "And you're a bit of an adventurer too if you go dragon hunting with me."

Cassian nudged Y/N with a grin. "See? He knows what he wants."

At that moment, as Rhysand watched the conversation, he noticed something that had caught his attention before—Azriel had subtly leaned closer to the table and was watching Y/N intently. It wasn’t the usual reserved look Azriel often had, but rather an attentive, almost thoughtful expression that did not escape Rhysand’s notice.

A small, knowing smile curled on Rhys’s lips. He knew Azriel had his own ways of processing things, and he often preferred not to be in the spotlight. But in this moment, it was clear that Azriel was paying close attention not only to Y/N’s words but also to her proximity with special interest.

Perhaps Azriel wasn’t even aware of it—but Rhysand saw it.

Rhysand had expected Azriel to keep some level of scepticism toward Y/N. Instead? He was... open.

"Seems like the little guy here is pretty good at flirting," Rhysand remarked dryly, raising his glass to Cassian.

"Oh, I know! And it’s almost scary how quickly he wrapped Y/N around his finger," Cassian replied, laughing.

Y/N laughed again as she gently lifted Nyx and swung him into the air. "Alright, little adventurer, let’s go dragon hunting."

"Sure! You’ll love it," Nyx said, clapping his hands in joy.

"You said you’re going to the Dawn Court for a week?" Feyre asked before Y/N could take Nyx around the dining hall.

Y/N nodded, positioning Nyx on her back so that she was carrying him piggyback-style. "Yeah. I need to know if my family is still alive."

Silence fell over the table for a moment before Nesta—pragmatic as always—said, "So, you’ll come back after and start here with us?"

"Yes."

Mor grinned. "So, we have just tonight to get you used to our madness?"

Cassian slapped the table. "Challenge accepted."

Y/N laughed, a genuine, warm laugh.

For her first evening in Velaris, things could have gone worse.

-

Taglist: @princesssunderworld @tele86 @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @rose-girls-world

Want to be added? Let me know!

[simp-ly-writes]

The Titanic

─────── · · For All Time: The Series (pt.4)

─ · · PAIRING: 10th Doctor x F!Time Lord!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: One year, twenty-one days, and nine hours since you had last seen a Time Lord (not including yourself in the mirror), and you were ready to made that twenty-three days while voyaging on the Titanic... if only the Doctor didn't have similar plans...

─ · · TAGS: jealous!Doctor 👀, female pronouns used, second person perspective, canon divergence, soulmate au, emotional angst, ✨ tension ✨, coarse language, eventual happy ending (but not yet), not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,169 | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE

─ · · A/N: I. am. so. invested in these two I swear-

─────── · · 

One year, twenty-one days, and nine hours since you had last seen a Time Lord, not including yourself of course while preparing your century-conscious appearance in the mirror this morning. It was the early 20th century- just ahead of world war one and part way through the second industrial revolution. 

City streets were covered in a layer of smog, cars were humming loudly past you and various city dwellers could be heard shouting in the early morning streets. Even with the ability to time travel you still found yourself late, pushing yourself through the mass of people at the port all there to catch a glimpse of the “Wonder Ship.” 

You listen as the horns blare, cheer erupt from the crowd you apologize and step around before finally making your way in life to board. Psychic paper in one hand, your TARDIS luggage in the other. And to think some don’t think to carry their’s with them, you smile to yourself, flashing the blank paper at one of the staff members. 

“Welcome aboard the RMS Titanic, Miss. (last/name). We hope you have a pleasant trip,” the young man greets you with a slight bow, “may we take your luggage to your room for you?” He offers, extending his hand to yours yet you pull back just in time. 

“I should be fine with this old thing, I think the gentlelady behind me might need some help though,” you tilt your head back signalling to the refined woman behind you and the array of suitcases her various staff carry behind her. 

“I will do just that, Miss. Smith,” he smiles at you and you mirror the same before making your way up the step onboard. You pause just in front of the staircase, luggage being supported by both your hands as you spin around in a circle to watch as the stained glass dome above reflects against the mosaic tiles and marble staircase. The carved wood beams and panelled walls are nothing short of stunning not to mention all the crystal fixtures. Humans… never cease to amaze me with their pure determination…

Looking down at your watch, the undocking ceremony would be happening in just under an hour and with that in mind, you made your way towards your room. Yet just before you could turn down the last hall a male voice called out to you, “Madame! Mademoiselle! Miss! Ah- Lady? Duchess?... Princess? Excuse me!” footsteps rushed in your direction before pausing just in front of you. 

“At some point I have been all of the above but its Miss (last/name) now,” you clarify while observing the man before you; watching as their shirt expanded and flexed with every breath, the man smiles apologetically at you, cheeks slightly flushed from running as a white-gloved hand presents a key hanging from a silk bow to you, “well then, Miss. All of the above, you dropped this in the lobby,” he explains. 

“Oh… thank you,” you take the key gently from his possession and tuck it into your pocket before continuing down the hall- pausing after a few steps hearing as he does not turn back, “Is everything alright?” you question. 

“Yes, quite. I was just wondering… do you drink?” You hum to yourself in contemplation. 

“Depends on what's being served,” you counter, playing with the stitching on your gown. 

“We’re on the Titanic, they’ve got it all,” he does his best to entice you with a dazzling wink. 

“If that's the case then… How could I refuse, Mister…?” you linger your words for an answer. It feels good being wanted, you think to yourself standing up that bit taller feeling as his gaze lingers on your warming cheeks. 

“Mr. Hartley, Wallace Hartley-” he begins to answer before your own excitement cuts him off, “the musician!- violinist and band lead if I am correct?”

“Most certainly so, It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he bends down, pressing a kiss to the back of your gloved hand, touch lingering as he stares up at you before letting go. You feel one of your hearts skip a beat as you shift your weight from foot to foot. “...Can I expect to see you at the Lounge at seven?” he asks. 

“Till then, Mr. Hartley,” you give him one last look over before entering your room and falling against the closed door. Maybe I allow myself this one night to forget who I am… just the one…

─────── · ·

“Doctor! I have nothing to wear, we’re going on the bloody titanic of all things and I can’t waltz up on the deck wearing M&S!” Donna yells from her room, various articles of clothing thrown out into the hall as the Doctor emerges from the wardrobe in a full black tailored suit with a silk bow-tie to match. “Well don’t you clean up nicely, making me feel real good here spaceman,” Donna grumbles before throwing a shoe by his foot that he kicks aside. 

“You do know that the TARDIS has a full costume room… right?” the Doctor dips his head, whispering the information in an effort to lower his companions tone. 

“And you didn’t think to, oh- I don’t know, tell me that sooner before I emptied my whole closet?!” Donna stands with a frustrated sigh before walking past the Doctor and across the hall to open the suddenly-appeared door. She lets out a long low whistle at the multi-leveled room, each article organized and tagged by planet and era. “Why do you have so many feminine articles?” She picks out a Rococo gown, mesmerized by every pearl detail that glimmers underneath the warm lighting, “I mean this is just… it really takes your breath away, just look! Someone made this!”

The Doctor pauses, a frown noticeably forming on his face as Donna picks up one of your old dresses. He remembers ordering that very gown for you whilst visiting the Queen of France for the first time. He watched you spin and twirl underneath the candlelight, held you in his arms as you smiled brightly up at him. He could still feel your painted lips underneath his shirt before you buttoned it up with a teasing smirk that made him feel hot and bothered all night long- “Doctor?”

The Time Lords blinks repeatedly, “Sorry, what?” He clears his throat, standing up straight- refusing to look Donna in the eyes. 

“Is everything alright?” she asks, placing the gown back on the rack, concerned for her best-friend. 

“It's nothing,” the Doctor shrugs it off, starting to humm to himself while making his way ‘further in time’ towards the earlier twentieth century in search of something for his companion to wear. “I think we have a few options over here and shoes are just underneath. I’ll grab you a coat for the deck.” 

Donna silently watches as the Doctor flinches while touching certain articles of clothing as if they burned him, his eyes blinking away the smoke and ash before casting her a bright smile, coat and shoes in arms. “I think this is everything, I’ll be in the console room when you’re ready-”

“Doctor?” Donna calls out once more, heart pained seeing as the Doctor forcibly tries to stifle a pain burning from within. 

“Yes?” the Doctor pauses at the door, turning back around while staring down at his shoes. Donna pauses, eyes casting over the lanky man’s frame with a saddened sigh, “can I ask you something?”

“You just did-” he quips.

“Oi! Don’t you get all smart on me now,” Donna hisses like a disappointed mother watches as the Doctor's shoulders only deflate more. “Who wore these clothes?”

The Doctor stills, breathing and hearts stopped as the oxygen in the room becomes heavy in his lungs causing him to cough up an excuse. Donna instantly regrets asking the question having never seen the Doctor appear so… weak and small. “You don’t have to answer that!” She quickly rushes out yet the Doctor concedes. 

“They were- they are everything to me, the stars, the void, and time itself…” The Doctor opens his mouth, hesitating before killing the thought as it sparks, “we really must get going now or else I’m afraid we’ll miss the band playing,” the Doctor proceeds to storm out of the wardrobe, hand clenched into a fist that he forces himself to ease. 

─────── · ·

The Lounge is packed by the time you arrive. The undocking ceremony was… uneventful and took quite some time to move such a ship from the port that you left part ways. Wallace was already performing on stage, casting you a wink as you moved towards the front of the stage to take a seat at one of the lower tables. A crystal glass sat in your hands, a small plate of finger-food on the table for you to pick at as you watched the ice melt whilst tapping your foot to the beat, head swinging side to side- following the rhythm. 

You can hear the small conversations happening around you, the clinking of glasses and polite laughs but amongst all the noise a small gasp has you turning around in your seat, attention peaked to find a tall, slender, and very handsome man with brown eyes already staring back at you and your bond snaps back into place. Your hearts stop, you feel yourself sink more into your chair, rooted in place as the song begins to pick up with the shakes in your hand as if you're conducting it. 

With parted lips you whisper a name you promised yourself to forget yet never seemed able to, hands squeezing and threatening to shatter the crystal in your hand. Doctor… and the man responds to the title with darkened eyes and long strides over to you before being stopped by the ginger woman on his arm. You shake your head at the scene, of course! You laugh at yourself before forcing your eyes back towards the stage seeing as Wallce is already looking concerned at you. Want to leave? He mouths, eyes pointed towards the backstage door. 

You raise a brow, Leave, now? But you’re performing… you mouth back, setting your glass on the table and readjusting your gloves. 

Wallace only shrugs before whispering something into the pianist's ear and the song slowly dies out. You stand quickly, clapping with the rest of the crowd as Wallace hands his violin off to one of his band members and jumps down from the stage, sauntering over to you and presses a kiss to the back of your hand.

You jolt at the touch, your skin coming alive with a thousand sparks trying to reach the surface and taking on the appearance of goosebumps hidden beneath your gloves and sleeves. Wallace places a hand against your back that slowly dips down seeing as the Doctor nears and for a moment you doubt your ability to see properly as the moment feels too surreal. 

Whatever rush you originally felt was met with an overwhelming sense of calm, as if you were simply resting underwater and being hugged by all angles, protected under his gaze. “Hello sweetheart,” he speaks softly, hand raising slowly to hover just below your chin yet refusing to touch. 

He watches you, waiting for you to reply, to pull him in or push him back like the tide. You press more weight into Wallace’s side as the Doctor studies you, Wallace’s head drops in order to whisper in your ear- asking if you’re alright. The Doctor’s hand twitches at the sight, the millisecond of a touch has you taking in a shaky breath and you suddenly feel too hot, cheeks flushed and throat dry as your body wants nothing more than to be near the Doctor, to try and reform your bond. 

You catch the fiery-haired woman's gaze as she looks between you and the Doctor in nothing short of purse shock and maybe a bit of terror. The Doctor’s hand lingers, slowly cupping your cheek, pulling your face gently closer, “you’re… so you,” his words broken and strained by on-coming tears, “so incredibly, eternally beautiful,” he whispers too quietly for human ears.  

Your throat is dry as you lick your lips, unsure of how to respond- you pull away from his touch, instantly regretting your actions by the wince in his eyes and the sharp pain you feel in your hearts. You force your gaze away and towards Wallace, “Mr. Hartley, meet my ex-husband, John Smith. Mr. Smith, this is Mr. Heartley.”

The Doctor reaches out and grabs the other man's hand in a firm handshake with dead eyes and to your shock, Wallace levels the Doctor's look, looping his arm around your waist with a stiff smile, “A pleasure, Mr. Smith.”

“Wish I could say the same, Mr. Heartley and now darling, ex-husband? Can we at least discuss something’s-” the Doctor begins to ramble, taking a step closer before Donna grips the back of his suit, “Mr. Smith! What on Earth do you think you’re doing?”

Yet you both don’t pay attention to the human, your reminiscent gaze now hardened by the Doctor's apparent nonchalance, “You would still be my husband if you didn’t try and kill me, darling, or did you forget already? Seems that's an easy thing for you to do,” you spit out the pet name with enough venom to have the fellow Time Lord stumbling back in shock and hurt before becoming overwhelmed in rage. 

“Forget?” the Doctor wiggles Donna's grasp off himself as he storms back up to you, pointing a finger between your two hearts, “I forgot nothing. Not their screams, the death and murders. Not our wedding and our travels and especially not the way you make me feel. How could I ever forget about the best thing in my life?”

You laugh, cackle even as you stand straight and walk out of Wallace’s hold, the Doctor's finger now pressed against your heaving chest as you shake with anger. “If this is how you treat the best thing in your life, I really must not know who you are anymore, John-”

“I’m not John to you, not now, not ever,” the Doctor’s tone is low as he glares down at you causing you to suddenly notice just how tall this regeneration is as he looms over you, enveloping you in his shadow. 

“You lost any titles the moment you kissed another, you lost me once you began dreaming of her, and you lost any chance to be together again when you broke me so irreversibly that the Master had to come and help me out of all creatures! You. are. a. monster,” you grip the lapels of his suit jacket firmly between your fingers knowing that you’ll leave more than just creases by the time you were done with him and everything he did to you.

“And what? The Master is some saint?! He killed millions without cause and you call me the monster?” The Doctor's jaw is slack, disbelief echoing in the shakes of his head. You can feel his hearts racing and watch as a few strands of hair fall against his forehead. We’re awfully close holding each other like this, you think to yourself feeling as his warm breath fans your cheek and the gentle yet firm way he holds your hips. 

You swallow deeply, the Doctor's gaze immediately locking on to your throat, lingering on a section he remembers kissing the sweetest sounds out of. A thumb now circles your side causing you to bite your lip before responding, “You’ve killed millions too and most certainly more,” you grumble, feeling yourself slowly starting to lose your anger by every circle he traces. I hate the effect you have on me.

The Doctor hums, eyes flicking down to your lips and back up again with a wink, “and I would burn down the whole galaxy again if you simply asked me to.” 

Again? You question yet are too caught up on winning the argument to care. “I hate you,” you mumble, adjusting his crooked tie. 

“No, you don’t,” the Doctor whispers into your ear while casting Wallace a smirk as he presses you against his chest, “You’ll always love me and I’ll always love you, for better or for worse.” 

“What makes you so sure of that?” words becoming slightly muffled as you press your face into his chest, soaking up the pure bliss and protection you feel in the Doctor's arms- like all the pain and suffering I’ve faced just fades away, you swallow deeply knowing this just to be your bond speaking to you but a small part within begs it all to be real, but it can’t, not after everything he’s done, I just wouldn't be right or fair to all the suffering I’ve faced. 

The Doctor closes his eyes, grip tightening around you as he places his chin atop your head, “Because we both fear the same thing… the darkness being all that's left and waiting for us at the end.” You let his words linger in the air just like his touch you try and absorb before peeling yourself away, every step like a shot to your chest. 

Don’t go, the Doctor's eyes speak, his touch featherlight whilst holding your hand, gaze utterly pained seeing your broken smile that wavers on a frown and you let go, apologizing to Wallace on your way out before making your way to your room without looking back. You could feel the Doctor’s gaze lingering on you until you were out of sight and even then the ghost of his touch still haunted you all the way back to your TARDIS. 

─────── · ·

Donna was struggling to keep up to the Doctor's long and determined strides as he blindsighted the various ornate details of the ship on a mission towards the lounge. “Doctor! Doctor,” Donna panted, stumbling into his back in her heels as the Time Lord stopped suddenly. “What’s got you in such a rush? This thing is sinking anyways so I don’t think any of your enemies would be aboard-”

“I just feel something, can’t place my finger on just what it is,” the Doctor cuts his companion off, taking a moment to allow Donna to catch her breath before she loops her arm around his in an effort to pace his strides. 

“Well whatever it is it better not be a heart attack since I don’t know the first thing on resuscitating two hearts,” Donna quips while staring at the frosted glass doors before the Doctor bows, inviting her into the room with a teasing smile. 

“I’ll show you how to after…” his sentence dies on his lips after losing the fight to a sharp in-take of air when he hears a rather irregular but all too familiar heartbeat in the crowd. A well dressed woman somehow hears his shock from across the room and turns in their seat to meet his gaze. It was like two stars colliding, an explosion of feeling that expands his chest when he hears his title addressed by your very lips and a chill runs down his spine. 

He wished he had a way to record this moment, to remember it as vividly as he was feeling it, but that would just be a waste of tape, he thinks to himself seeing as you turn back around without a second glance in his direction. Your rejection stings, acting as if he was just another face in the crowd and to make matters worse jealousy fires through his veins in watching some musician eye you up from the stage. And with a burning passion to have you look at him again, his shoes take action, body twisting and turning through the crowd with polite apologies that too die on his lips seeing as the musician's arm works its way around your waist, a position he remembered fondly taking. 

The Doctor almost smirks as your body reacts before your head, turning subconsciously to focus on him and he drinks in your flushed cheeks and wide eyes greedily. “Hello sweetheart,” his hearts sing with utter joy as you are just within reach, his hand lifting to caress your face gently as if you were made of glass. 

Another jolt of pain seeing as you lean into the musician has him drawing in want, lean into me, my love, he internally begs and uses a soft tone to try and hide some of his desperation from painting himself to be a pathetic picture in your eyes. “You’re… so you,” he fails to hide his emotions as tears force themselves forwards, “so incredibly, eternally beautiful….” and you pull yourself away again and again from him, each time more painful than the last. 

And with every word that takes the form of a sharpened stick staked into his chest, he can only stand still and wounded as you walk away and return to being just another memory that he would hold on tightly to until he forgot how it felt originally. 

Feeling as if he is standing alone in a room filled with people, the Time Lords' only stream of conscious thought is on you, how you thought yourself to be forgettable and just how wrong you were. He scouted various dimensions and galaxies, practically ripping time itself apart in an effort to find you after he was done fighting off the remaining Daleks. 

A shiver runs down his spine at the memory of standing in his TARDIS empty handed and alone as it too remained silent, the pure agony he felt before the rage that followed when not even the screams of his most wicked enemies could calm his soul. He was vengeful for so long, 700 years of healing to only form a scab as he searched for parts of you in others. The Doctor shakes his head at these thoughts, too painful to bear in the company of others. 

“You know Donna… I’ve always had the worst luck in a black suit,” the Doctor tries to joke and distract himself yet receives no reply as Donna’s mind is sent reeling with all the new information she just bore witness to, the dresses, the stars, everything, she thinks to herself whilst peering up at the Doctor. Who are you? Who are you, truly, to have such an impact on such a man… the Lord of Time himself… Yet just before she can ask any further questions, a sliver of the vengeful doctor slips out. 

Wallace shuffles on his feet awkwardly, feeling a bit embarrassed by the situation as the over six-foot alien glares down at him, “I’ve killed more people then there are current stars in your galaxy and even if you did manage to get to her… you wouldn’t stand a chance for very long… you wouldn’t even feel it happen.” 

“DOCTOR!” Donna breaks their disguise, pure unabashed shock and horror evident in her reaction to the Time Lords threat. 

“It's true,” the Doctor adjusts his suit with a shrug, drinking in the horrified human's face with satisfaction before swiftly turning on his feet and returning back to the TARDIS with Donna in tow. 

“I can’t believe you would say such a terrible thing to that poor man, Doctor. That really was not right,” Donna tisks disapprovingly while starting to take off her jewelry and gloves into a pile. 

The Time Lord rips off his suit jacket as if it burned him, tie following suit as he unbuttons the top of his shirt with a sigh of relief. “You know what’s not right, Donna?” the Doctor rhetorically asks, hands starting to float across the console like he had done a thousand times before. 

“Is that without her, I would gladly watch this universe and every other universe burn and take myself away with it but… I don’t… So call me greedy, a bad man, pathetic, a villain, what have you, I simply don’t care anymore!- and that should scare everyone,” the Doctor smiles yet it does not quite reach his hollow eyes, that childlike enthusiasm seemingly lost. Donna knows that look all too well, she’s seen it across her own face and in the faces of others but on the Doctors… it just didn’t look quite right. 

Donna turns, grabbing her pile of belongings and heads to her room without another word. The Doctor cracks his neck before leaning down and tinkering underneath the console in order to distract his mind. Donna takes note of the small tremors in his hand before closing her door to the hall and leans against the door. I’ll find you, whoever you are, Donna commands the space in front of her with determined eyes as if she could will you to be in front of her, I’ll find you… and then shove you both in a closet together, she laughs to herself at the thought… Now just how do I find a Time Lord?

─────── · · 

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE

─ · · A/N: God its gonna be so hot when they kiss... wait.. who said that?

─ · · FOR ALL TIME TAGLIST: @posionapple24 @azriel64290 @smallerontheoutside @soniiyi @spirit-of-the-hollow @f0x33 @blackoutdays13 @dlljdhsh @staygoldsquatchling02

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 1 - Sous le ciel de Paris

MASTERPOST | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Welcome to the start of my new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please note that while I do have a plotted outline, I will be posting chapters as I write them, and I expect that process to take quite a few months. Please bear with me! This first chapter sets up the story - reader moving to Paris in the summer of 1939 and bonding with her new flatmate, Eloise Bridgerton. Please note that Benedict won't be turning up for a couple of chapters yet. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

August 1939

Emerging from the underground Trocadero metro stop, you round the corner of the recently completed, gleaming Palais de Chaillot and stop dead in your tracks. There before you is the most iconic landmark of Paris. Perhaps all of France.

La Tour Eiffel. 

Breathtaking in its metallic magnificence, glowing in the setting sun. A sight that buoys your travel-weary soul seven days after you left New York: boats and trains finally bringing you to this wondrous spot. A light breeze even dances over your neck in greeting, a balm from the cloying subterranean heat of the metro. 

It's a light elbow check to your arm that pulls you back from a state of reverie. 

“A beautiful sight, but one you’ll get used to,” your uncle Robert chuckles, shaking your heavy leather case to indicate it's time to move along. “In fact, I've been told you will be able to see it from your appartement…” 

He has accompanied you to Paris and will see you settled into your new adventures before continuing on to visit friends in England. He spent the roaring 20s living right here in the 16th arrondissement himself and, indeed, has arranged for you to share living quarters with a young British lady, a relative of his English friends. It's a comfort to know you’ll have at least one English speaker to chat with as you dive headfirst into learning proper French as you go.

Robert leads you away from the amazing sight and into the bustling streets, alive with cars, trams, bicycles and pedestrians buzzing in all directions. It's all at once like New York City, but yet so different as well, cafe terraces filling the wide pavements with all manner of people gathered to sip robust cafe au lait and refreshing limonade. 

Within minutes, you are on a quieter side street and stopping outside a handsome honey-coloured stone facade with wrought iron window balconies and window guards, teaming with colourful, fragrant flowering pots. The number 14 gleaming white on a traditional navy blue tile. Your uncle pushes the enormous wooden door open, beckoning you into a cool whitewash wall corridor with mosaic floor tiles.

“Ahhh, Robert!!” a sophisticated middle-aged lady bustles from a nearby doorway and greets your uncle warmly, kissing both cheeks. It would appear they are friends of old.

“Y/n, this is Madam DuLac, your landlady,” he explains as you offer a handshake, admiring her boucle jacket and chic bun.

“Qu’est-ce?” she signals with a good-natured frown, obviously finding your polite greeting lacking, pulling you into a hug and two-cheeked kiss. She smells like Chanel perfume, cigarettes and baked goods. “You are in Paris now, ma chérie; this is how we greet one another,” she counsels in heavily accented but perfect English.

“You speak English?” you sigh, relieved, your French decidedly lacking.

“Bien sûr,” she smiles. “And please call me Solène,” she adds with a friendly smile.

“Eloise should be home from the library maintenant; the perfect time for you to meet,” she gestures towards an elevator cage surrounded by a sweeping grey marble staircase.

“I think I would prefer to take the stairs,” you admit, nerves flaring at the idea of such a contraption.

Your uncle laughs. “Well, I am taking it; I am not hefting this case of yours up five flights of stairs,” he adds dryly as you gaze up the swirling stairwell.

“Five storeys?” you squeak.

“The view is the best from the top,” Solène advises as she rattles back the cage entry and steps in, looking at you expectantly. 

Reluctantly, you follow, all three of you and your luggage crammed into the metal cage as it jerks to life and begins its ascent.

“You will get used to it,” Solène smiles as she reads the apprehension on your face, your vice-like grip on your small vanity case and handbag.

Luckily, the lift reaches your destination safely. One shudder before it stops, and the door concertinas back in Solène’s hand to reveal a sweeping hallway with doors left and right. 

“Ici,” she signals, the last door on the right-hand side.

But before you can knock, the door peels open, and a pretty, petite brunette jumps in surprise, dropping the book she is holding.

“Pardon,” she offers in perfect accented French, and you wonder for a split second if it is the correct apartment.

“Eloise, this is y/n,” Solène gestures.

“Ohhh, hello,” she grins, and the whiplash back to a plummy British accent is momentarily confusing. “I was about to go read in the courtyard, thought you might not be turning up today. Anyway… come in, come in!”

You shake her proffered hand as she ushers you into the apartment. Instantly, you feel a warmth spreading in your belly, like you have come home. It's light and airy, with large windows looking out across the Parisian rooftops, and yes, to the left is indeed the Eiffel Tower, still gleaming in the fading evening light. But the place also feels homely, that sort of messy that is lived in, comfortable. A large velvet sofa with tumbling stacks of books around it, a little kitchenette awash with colourful enamel cookware, and a jumble of art deco posters and random paintings adorning the walls. 

“Solène, I don't suppose you've baked any more of those rather delicious madeleines, have you? To welcome my new housemate?” Eloise pipes up with a chipper, conspiratorial wink your way. 

You already like her.

“Effronte!” Solène exclaims with fond exasperation before pausing. “There may be some…”

“I remember those!” your uncle adds with a tinge of nostalgia as he drops your suitcase. “You are in for such a treat, y/n.”

“Well, while our landlady decides if she’s willing to share the treats she has obviously baked but is being coy about…”Eloise raises a pointed eyebrow at the woman before returning to you. “...let me show you your room, then maybe a drink? I'm sure it's been a long journey.”

You nod and, with an exchange of grins, follow her down a corridor. She sweeps open the door to a lovely room, a large double bed with matching bedside tables and a dresser. But best of all, french doors onto a Juliet balcony overlooking a quiet courtyard filled with a riot of birch trees, their leaves gently rustling in the evening breeze.

“Mostly, it’s pesky pigeons down there, but you do get the occasional blackbird singing in the morning,” Eloise smiles as if intuiting your thoughts.

You spend some moments wandering the room and checking out the various fixtures, running idle hands over the furniture, already feeling remarkably at home with your new housemate and, indeed, your new home for the next twelve months.

“I'm just next door,” Eloise reveals, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. 

Your uncle appears in the doorway to announce that he and Solène are off to catch up as you unpack and suggests you all reunite for dinner later at a local bistro. It all sounds so very Parisian chic; you cannot wait.

“So tell me about yourself,” Eloise flops onto your bed, already wonderfully casual in your presence, as you open your case and the wardrobe to unpack.

“I’m y/n. I'm from a little town on Long Island called Patchogue, about fifty miles outside New York City. I'm 22…”

“Me too!” she interjects, then signals for you to proceed.

“I wanted to see the world before I settled down. And I’ve dreamed of living in Paris since I was a little girl...” You feel your eyes misting at the fact it's now finally coming true as you continue. “So my parents agreed to pay for me to come to Paris for a year. Under the strict agreement, I get married when I return…” 

“You have a fiancé?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. Stanley. We practically grew up together, and we’ve been going steady since we were eighteen.”

“Going steady? That's so American,” Eloise chuckles.

You nod with a giggle, then continue. “He hasn't proposed formally yet, says he is saving up for a ‘real nice’ ring, but it will happen. He is the son of my dad’s business partner. They run a construction company. So, while I'm here, they are building a home for us to live in when I return. We will get married next summer and move right in.” 

“You don't mind?” Eloise frowns.

“Don’t mind what?” you query as you hang up your favourite dress.

“That your future is so… plotted out. I couldn't bear the idea. It's why I think my mother let me move to Paris. She was so fed up with me refusing to settle down.” Eloise laughs, idly flicking through the magazine you were reading on your journey.

“I suppose I've never really expected anything else,” you shrug, pausing as you put away your hosiery, but her words make you contemplative. “You don't have a boyfriend back home?”

“God, no. Too many pretty Frenchmen to entertain me here,” she winks. “I’ll introduce you to some, just in case you change your mind,” she breezes, climbing off your bed and drifting to the door. “Wine?”

“Oh… well, why not? When in France, etc,” you agree and close the drawer on the pile of cardigans you have just safely stacked.

“That's the spirit!” she effuses over her shoulder as you follow her back into the living room, the Eiffel Tower still glittering in the dusk.

“This place is so lovely,” you sigh, transfixed by the view as she wanders over and hands you a glass.

“It is a pretty magical view,” she agrees, staring at the skyline with you, watching as each window seems to illuminate in soft yellow with the dying light.

“And the decor, too; I see you love books as much as me,” you smile, tilting your head to the piles before taking a sip of red wine. It's the perfect balance of refreshing, mellow fruitiness and tart tannin coating your tongue, so much better than any wine back home.

“Oh god, yes! I work in the library. I can bring home as many as I want,” she enthuses.

“So, are there actually any left on the shelves?” you jest, lightly, savouring your drink and wandering to take a closer look at a smaller painting that catches your eye. It's very different to all of the others.

“My god, this is beautiful,” you breathe, hugging your wineglass to your chest as you stare transfixed at the art. It appears to be a large country house, probably British, bathed in the warm pinkish light of dawn.

“That's home. Aubrey Hall in Kent. I think the family made me bring it in the hopes it would make me homesick,” Eloise deadpans.

“It’s a wonderful piece,” you breathe, fingers reaching out to lightly trace over the heavily oiled brushstrokes. Something about it is so captivating and intimate.

“I'll be sure to let the artist know,” she smirks. “Although I'm reticent to give him any more praise, seeing as, unfortunately, he is my brother.”

“Your brother painted this?” taken aback by the revelation, assuming it an heirloom.

She nods and comes to stand next to you. “Yup. Benedict. Second eldest. I'm fifth of eight, by the way. Hence ‘E’ for Eloise. It's a thing,” she rolls her eyes.

“Wow. Big family. I just have one brother...” 

“Lucky you. Although, as much as he is irritating, if I could only keep one sibling, it probably would be him,” she admits, taking a swig of wine.

“I love art,” you sigh, finally tearing your gaze from the canvas but already knowing it is something you will return to again and again. A pull you can’t quite understand.

“Oh, then I know the perfect job for you! There’s a gallery around the corner from the library, and I saw a sign saying they wanted an English speaker to assist international visitors! You would be perfect!”

“I would love that!” you extol, even as a tiny part of your brain lingers on the idea that it would be too good to be true if it all worked out, that fleeting sense of foreboding in paradise.

“Excellent!” Eloise’s enthusiasm pulls you back to the immediate. “So let’s get your glad rags on! It's time to hit the town for your first night in Paris!”

And thus, you find yourself being bundled back into your room to refresh and change for your first night in the city of your dreams. Indeed, as you find yourself being led by Eloise, arm looped in yours, through the bustling evening streets to a little bistro, your uncle and Solène already waiting at a table with smiling faces and drinks in hand, you can't help but feel this really is the only place in the world you could ever want to be…

Your adventure is just beginning.

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