#she's absolutely reading lord of the rings to him

[metalsiren]

❝ i've missed your voice. ❞

❝  hey,  big  guy  ...  ❞  words  spoken  through  a  breath  of  relief  as  she  closes  the  book  she's  been  reading  to  him  the  last  few  hours.  both  hands  take  one  of  his,  encapsulating  and  comforting  as  she  gives  it  a  small  squeeze  and  presses  the  back  of  it  to  her  cheek.  there  are  tears  in  her  eyes,  lips  pulling  into  a  smile  with  the  knowledge  that  he's  awake  and  coherent.  thumbs  brush  over  his  knuckles,  attempting  to  keep  herself  from  showing  any  form  of  weakness.  this  isn't  about  her.  she's  not  the  one  who's  in  the  hospital  bed,  not  the  one  who  found  herself  nearly  losing  her  life  behind  the  wheel. 

swiftly,  she  wipes  at  her  eyes  with  her  sleeve,  hiding  any  attempt  at  making  it  about  anyone  but  thor.  what  he  needs.  what  he's  feeling.  she  rests  her  chin  on  his  hand,  keeping  her  attention  on  his  face,  ❝  you're  awake.  ❞  as  if  saying  the  words  out  loud  would  help  make  it  more  real,  breathing  life  into  the  fact  that  he  hasn't  been  taken  from  this  world.  taken  from  her. 

a  part  of  her  hopes  that  odin  doesn't  notice,  that  he  remains  just  outside  the  room  on  the  phone  handling  what  sawyer  can  only  assume  is  damage  control.  it's  selfish,  to  wish  a  father  not  to  see  his  son  and  have  that  relief  for  himself,  but  she  can't  help  but  indulge  in  the  quiet  between  the  two  of  them;  especially  when  all  odin  has  shown  towards  her  is  animosity  and  disapproval.  it  helps  that  she  knows  this  isn't  the  first  time  thor  has  opened  his  eyes  since  he's  been  admitted.

there's  no  way  to  hide  the  way  she  sniffles,  swallowing  the  rest  of  her  tears  as  she  leans  closer,  ❝  i  brought  you,  uh  —  ❞  she  clears  her  throat,  ❝  i  brought  you  those  lemon  squares  you  like.  made  'em  from  scratch.  i  tried  to  find  those  chips  too  but  they  were  sold  out.  i'd  go  out  and  look  but  i  don't  think  your  dad  would  let  me  back  in  if  i  left.  ❞  she  realizes  she's  rambling  and  stops  herself,  closing  her  eyes  briefly  before  opening  them,  lips  pursing  as  a  sob  threatens  to  escape.  instead,  she  speaks  with  a  voice  clearly  strained  by  trying  to  keep  it  all  together,  ❝  i'm  so  happy  you're  awake.  ❞

@othunderous | 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝('𝐧𝐭) 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 | accepting.

[literaryavenger]

You Were My Sunshine

Summary: Once a year you disappear for a whole day. Nobody knows where you go or what you do, but the team has learned to let you have your privacy. This year though, Bucky's curiosity gets the better of him and he follows you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death. Grief. Some angst. Fluff. No mentions of Y/N.

Word Count: 3K

A/N: I realize this is a little heavy and you absolutely don't need to read it. This one's mostly for me, but I thought why not post it and let Bucky comfort other people, if you need it. As always, my inbox is always open if you want to even just chat. I hope someone likes this. Also, I promise the requests are coming, a little slowly but they're coming. I'm on vacation for two weeks so I'll spend the time writing, probably.

Masterlist

“Have a good day.” Steve calls after you as you pass the kitchen.

You stop in front of the door to smile at Steve and wave at the team as they all have breakfast together before you keep making your way to the elevator that will take you to the parking garage.

“So, we’re really just accepting this?” Bucky asks the team when the elevators close behind you and he’s sure you can’t hear him.

“Yes, Buck.” Steve says firmly.

“But-” Bucky’s protests are cut off by Tony.

“She’s entitled to her privacy.” He says firmly. “Just let it go, Frosty.”

Bucky ignores the nickname and looks around the team, searching for anyone that might have his back, but nobody else seems to be too invested in your day. Bucky gets up with a huff and makes his way to the training room, resigned that he has to let you be.

You’ve always been an open person, you’re always there for everybody that needs you and you’re not afraid to talk about anything with anybody.

Your life is an open book.

Which is precisely why it drives Bucky crazy that, once a year, you disappear for an entire day and nobody knows where you go or what you do.

You disable all your communication devices, the tracking in your car and you don’t use credit cards anywhere. 

It’s like you cease to exist for a day, leaving no trace that you were anywhere.

At least that’s how the team sees it. 

They’ve all tried to figure out where you go, but that’s the only subject that you never talk about and, every time anyone asks you about it, your answer is always the same:

Don’t worry about it.

After so many years, the whole team has decided to listen to you and stopped worrying about it. 

Everyone except Bucky.

It’s not like you’re that close with him, but he considers you his friend and he trusts you, so it irks him that you have this huge secret that nobody knows anything about.

Needless to say, he worries about it a lot.

That’s why right now he finds himself tip toeing down to the garage. He sees you get into your car and drive away and, without even thinking about it, he jumps on his bike and follows you.

He knows this is wrong, he knows he shouldn’t follow you, that you’re allowed to have your secrets. But he can’t help himself when it comes to you. You make him lose control, you make him go insane. 

He just needs you. to know.

So he follows you, as discreetly as only a trained assassin knows how. He follows you into the city and stops a few cars away when you park in front of a secondhand bookstore. Bucky knows that shop all too well, it’s one of his favorite places to visit when he’s in the city.

He waits until you disappear behind a shelf before going in, watching you as you browse the books. It looks to Bucky like you’re looking for a particular book, when you find it, he can see your face lighting up.

You turn the book to look at the back cover and Bucky can read the title very clearly. ‘Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince’, one of your favorite books. Bucky knows that because he’s talked about it with you for hours, along with all the other books of the series and the Lord of the Rings books, Bucky’s favorites.

You chat amicably with the older guy that owns the shop while you pay for your book and then leave, getting back into your car with Bucky still on your tail.

Next you go to a small bakery and buy a coffee and a cupcake. Thankfully for Bucky you’re too distracted by talking with the nice, old lady that owns the place to notice him buying his own coffee.

He follows you again as you cross the street to the park in front of the bakery and walk until you find a secluded spot. You sit down against a tree and continue peacefully reading your book under the summer sun while sipping your iced coffee.

Bucky sits on a bench nearby where he has a visual on you, but you can’t really see him unless you were really looking for him. But you’re so engrossed in reading that Bucky’s sure he could sit next to you and you wouldn’t even realize it.

He knows you get like that when you’re reading something that captures your attention, and the Harry Potter books always do, no matter how many times you’ve read them already.

Bucky always thought you looked so cute while reading. You make no attempt to hide your reactions and it amuses him. So he spends the next few hours just watching you read, watching your beautiful face shining in the sunlight as you frown and snort and laugh and pout as your eyes dart around the pages.

It’s actually relaxing, he thinks to himself. Is this what you do every year? Take a whole day just to read without the chaos of the Compound and nobody to bother you?

But why would you be so secretive about this? Reading for hours with a cup of coffee is something you’d done countless times in your room, on the roof, in the backyard of the Compound or even in the common room, never really bothered by the noise the team makes when you’re so into the words you’re reading.

So why do it in secret?

After a few hours, around lunch time, you finally come out of the book’s trance and gather your things before getting up.

Bucky frowns when you don’t get back into your car and follows you as you walk to a small family owned Italian restaurant that Bucky’s never been to but always wanted to try. He discreetly follows you in and takes a table in the back where you can’t see him.

He watches you interact with the owner, the waiter and even the cook comes out to talk to you. It’s clear that they all know you and it seems to Bucky like you’re pretty close to them even though he’s never even heard you mention this place before. When you’re done eating, Bucky sees you playfully fight with the owner that doesn’t want to let you pay so you leave a generous tip that amounts to more than your check is and the owner chuckles to himself when you wink as you walk out.

After lunch, which Bucky has to admit was pretty good, he follows you to a flower shop a couple of doors down and he’s surprised to see the owner greeting you like old friends. It looks like she was already anticipating your arrival, a bouquet of blue roses already on the counter and ready to go when you arrive. You chat with the older woman for a few minutes before paying and leaving the flower shop to go to your car.

It’s clear to Bucky by now that you obviously have a routine on your secret day, and everyone you see on this day knows it.

So why don’t the Avengers? 

You looked so comfortable with all the people you’ve met today, Bucky can’t help but think that maybe you don’t feel like you belong on the team.

You drive until you arrive at your destination and Bucky is both surprised and confused when you park in the parking lot of a cemetery, get out of your car and enter it.

He subtly follows you in, watching you walk past a few graves and it looks to him like you know your way around by how effortlessly you walk without needing to check the names, stopping at one almost at the end of the row you were in while Bucky keeps his distance, always making sure to stay out of sight.

He sees you take a deep breath before kneeling in front of the grave and putting down the bouquet of flowers in front of it.

“Hi, mom…” You wipe the dirt off the tombstone and tidy the flowers in front of it with what Bucky’s sure it’s a forced smile. “Happy birthday.”

You take out the cupcake you bought that Bucky now realizes you hadn’t eaten yet and he sees you put a small red birthday candle on it and light it, then you just look at it for a few seconds before you sigh and blow it out.

“So…” You say quietly, looking back at the tombstone and Bucky can see a tear falling down your cheek.

A piece of Bucky's heart breaks seeing you so vulnerable and hurting like this, but he stays put no matter how much he wants to be at your side right now.

Bucky stands there in complete silence, hearing everything you say, hanging on to every word. He hears you talk about everything that happened in the past year, he listens to you talk about missions and parties and holidays. He hears you talk about the whole team and his heart flutters a little when you mention his name too.

You talk for a while and, after he assumes you run out of new things to say, he sees you taking out the book you just bought today.

“So, this year we finally got to the half-blood prince.” You say with a small smile. “It’s our favorite, hadn’t read it in a while.”

Bucky sees you open it and go to the page you left the bookmark in.

“It took me longer than I thought to find your favorite quote, I have to admit.” You say with a small chuckle. “It’s like 400 pages in, don’t judge me.” 

Bucky chuckles quietly at your playfulness, even in this situation. He can’t help but find you adorable.

“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” You read the quote before closing the book and looking back at the grave. “That’s what you told me when I was scared of the dark…” You say quietly with a smile.

“And that’s what you told me before you…” You trail off, not being able to finish your sentence as tears start streaming down your cheeks but Bucky has a pretty good idea where you were going.

That's what she told you before she died, so you wouldn't be scared.

He’s more than surprised that he didn’t know your mother died, and he’s pretty sure the rest of the team doesn’t know either.

Admittedly, families are a very touchy subject for the Avengers.

But Bucky’s even more surprised to see you breaking down, something you’ve never done before. You’re cheery, you’re bubbly, you’re everyone’s little ray of sunshine.

And it breaks Bucky’s heart to know you’ve been falling apart when you’re by yourself all these years.

“I’m sorry I only come here once a year, I just…” You start, so quietly that Bucky’s glad he has enhanced hearing otherwise he's sure he wouldn't be able to hear you. “I miss you so much and I can’t… I can’t bear this.”

He sees you running your fingers gently over the tombstone as you take a deep, shaky breath, but you can’t stop crying.

“I’m trying to be the person you loved…” You say after a moment of silence. “Your little ray of sunshine.” You chuckle softly through the tears.

It makes sense to Bucky now why you always try to be there for everyone else. It’s how you’ve always been, apparently. Always making sure no one feels alone because deep down you feel the most alone, and you don’t want anyone else to feel that way.

You are my sunshine

Bucky’s thoughts get interrupted when he hears you quietly starting to sing. 

My only sunshine

Bucky knows this song. It’s a lullaby that he’s heard you sing once before.

Clint’s family visited him at the Compound and you offered to watch his kids so he and his wife could have a date night.

You probably didn’t realize he heard you, you probably thought you were alone and it’s not like he was spying on you. He just happened to pass by when you were in Clint’s room, trying to get the three kids to sleep by singing to them.

You make me happy, when skies are gray 

You take a breath before continuing but your voice wavers a little. 

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Bucky can see you’re having trouble getting the words out, your voice almost breaking.

Please don’t take… My sunshine… Away

Before you can even get the last word out, you break down completely, burying your face in your hands while sobbing.

Bucky feels his heart break as he takes in your pain. He wishes there was some clear and simple solution to making this all better for you, but there's always been so much he doesn't understand about complex emotions like these. 

Right now, as he's watching how broken you are, though, he knows that he doesn't even care about understanding. He just wants to comfort you, to try and make it better...

Bucky comes to rest beside you, he kneels down to your level and places his hand gently on your shoulder. “Hey…” He says quietly.

His presence startles you and you go into defense mode, taking his hand on your shoulder and bending it, then using your grip on his arm to push him face down on the ground.

Bucky didn’t expect you to react so quickly and aggressively which makes it easier for you to catch him off-guard and pin him down.

“Goddammit, Bucky!” You say after you finally recognize him and let him go, getting up and scrambling back to put some distance between you and him while breathing heavily.

For a moment, Bucky is a little stunned. It's rare that anyone is able to get the jump on him like that. But then he snaps back to reality. He lets you make your distance while getting back to his feet and stands a few feet away from you.

“Did you fucking follow me?!” Your sadness is quickly forgotten and replaced with anger.

“I…” Bucky doesn’t know what to say. He knows he’s in the wrong here and he has no defense for himself when he knowingly violated your privacy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?!” You snap at him. “You didn’t understand what the meaning of privacy is?!”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, he’s never seen you this angry at anyone that’s not an enemy and surely never at him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He says quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just curious, I didn’t think this would be it, I thought…”

“You thought what?” You say when he trails off, clearly pissed as you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“I thought maybe you were a supervillain…” He jokes weakly, trying to make you laugh. “Or a stripper.”

His last word gets a surprised laugh out of you as you, fortunately, understand he’s just joking before you actually punch him in the face.

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as he sees you laugh and then takes a tentative step towards you.

“I really am sorry…” He says quietly, reaching out to put his hand on your shoulder. “I know it was wrong of me to follow you, and I didn’t plan on bothering you at all, which doesn’t make what I did better,” He quickly adds when he sees you’re about to say something.

“But when I saw you crying, I just… I couldn’t help myself.” He trails his hand down your arm to your hand and takes it in his. “You’re always there for everybody, I don’t think it’s fair that you don’t let anybody be there for you.”

You look at him for a long moment, processing his words. Of course you know he’s right, you don’t let anybody be there for you, but you also never really believed anyone cared enough to.

But looking at Bucky right now, it feels like he really does want to be there for you...

So you let him.

You look back down at the grave, your hand still in his as you intertwine your fingers together.

“She died when I was 14.” You say quietly. “I only had her, so I was on my own after that…”

Bucky listens quietly, his eyes on your face as he sees the tears starting to gather in your eyeline again.

“A few years later, Natasha and Clint found me during a mission. They saw me knock out a dude that cornered me in an alley and they were impressed…” You have a faint smile at the memory although it’s clear you’re about to cry again. “They offered me a place in the SHIELD Academy and, after that, I don’t know… I wasn’t alone anymore.”

You look back at Bucky to find him looking at you intently, his gaze intent and unwavering. 

“Doll…” He says quietly while cupping your face with his free hand as he sees you holding back tears. “It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of the people you care about. You taught me that.”

His gentle words, the way he softly strokes your cheek and the way he’s looking at you so lovingly, it’s all too much for you and can’t hold back your tears anymore.

With a broken sob, you bury your face in Bucky’s chest and hug him tightly, clinging to him while he wraps his arms around you and hugs you just as tight, kissing the top of your head before nuzzling his face against your hair.

In this moment, while holding you in his arms, Bucky realizes it’s not like you don’t feel like you belong with the Avengers.

This is just something you feel like you have to go through on your own because you’ve always had to.

And he’ll be damned if he lets you go through it alone ever again.

Drabble

[princessofgondor]

the lord of the rings characters + cuddling with them 🩷

Characters Included: Boromir, Faramir, Aragorn, Arwen, Éowyn, Éomer, Legolas, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Merry

I decided I wanted to try doing some LOTR preferences! This is my first time writing for all of these characters besides Boromir so I’m still getting a handle on them. If anyone has any requests for preference posts they’d like to see, please send them my way and I’ll see what I can do!!

Author has only seen the movies, so please forgive any mistakes/inaccuracies!

Boromir is definitely pretty touch-starved, and after cuddling with you for the first time he’s very surprised how much he loves it. It becomes a common occurrence for the two of you, something he looks forward to — especially after a long day of training with his soldiers. He loves being the big spoon, and burying his face in your hair or your neck.

Faramir is a big cuddler for sure. You don’t even need to ask — as soon as you rest your head on his shoulder (when you’re sitting together) or on his chest (when you’re laying down together), he’s got his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. He gives you a lot of forehead kisses when you’re cuddling together.

Aragorn loves the moments where the two of you can just relax together, especially when things are getting stressful. He’s happy for the two of you to simply lay there in silence, holding each other, but if you need to talk about anything he’s always ready to listen.

Arwen has an incredibly calming presence, and cuddling with her can improve your mood no matter how bad you were feeling beforehand. She holds you close, whispering comforting words in your ear and pressing gentle kisses to your face and lips every so often.

Éowyn isn’t used to cuddling, but like Boromir she comes to really enjoy it. You make her feel peaceful and happy in a way that she’s never experienced before, and so she loves to be close to you as often as possible. She has a tendency to play with your hair, and she likes it when you do the same to her.

At first, Éomer tries to look tough and doesn’t admit how much he likes cuddling with you. But each time, it becomes increasingly obvious how much he loves it. Similar to Éowyn, he likes it when you play with his hair.

Legolas finds it adorable how much you love to cuddle with him, especially when you get cold. As an Elf he can’t feel the cold, but he can always tell that the temperature is dropping when you cuddle up to him. He’s perfectly happy to stay bundled up with you for as long as you need him there.

Frodo loves when the two of you cuddle up while reading a book together, though sometimes he gets distracted from the words on the page because he’s looking at you. If this is after the main events of LOTR, I could see your presence/touch being able to help Frodo heal from his traumatic experiences, at least somewhat.

Sam is incredibly affectionate, so he definitely loves cuddling. He’s a bit shy about it at first, getting a bit embarrassed and not knowing what he should be doing — like where should his arms/hands be? He doesn’t want to upset you or make you uncomfortable — but once he’s used to it, it’s his favourite thing in the world.

Pippin absolutely loves cuddling with you and he doesn’t care who knows it. Honestly, if he could spend his entire life cuddled up with you and some snacks then he’d be the happiest Hobbit who ever lived. It doesn’t matter where you are, if you’re near each other he’ll want to either have his arms around you or be resting against you.

I think that like Pippin, Merry loves cuddling, but he’s a little less likely to do it publicly. When it’s just the two of you however he loves nothing more than being close to you. He probably makes little jokes and lightly teases you for being so eager to cuddle with him, but it’s all very light-hearted and you know that he loves it too.

[conundrumoftime]

One of the fun things about shipping Haladriel and about Galadriel's story in Rings of Power, for me, is that we know exactly where this is going to end up. And I wanted to babble for a bit about where that place is because I have seen so many people view it as "she is retired to some woods to be a passive wife-and-mother who can do magic but in a mystical New Age-y way", and: no! No.

So a quick overview of where she will end up by LOTR:

Very much not removed from the war against Sauron.

She is constantly mind-battling against Sauron: One of the lines that inspired McKay and Payne's whole show was her talking about this: "I say to you, Frodo, that even as I speak to you, I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns the Elves. And he gropes ever to see me and my thought." In one of the versions of the Annatar story in Unfinished Tales, Sauron immediately realises she will be his 'chief adversary', and has apparently not changed that assessment 3500 years later.

She co-ordinates joint efforts against Sauron: The White Council that Elrond talks about in LOTR, the combined force of Ring-bearers, wizards and elf-lords that first drives Sauron out of Dol Guldur - she's not just on that, she founded it.

She gets Gandalf back after Moria and the Balrog: Galadriel learns what's happened to Gandalf from the Fellowship when they arrive in Lothlórien. The the Fellowship are sad; the elves of Lothlórien mourn; Celeborn loses it a bit and says Gandalf 'fell into folly'; but Galadriel sends Gwaihir the eagle to get him, returns him to health, updates him on the situation with Boromir, gives him some messages to take to the others, and sends him back on his way.

She is possibly in Lothlórien because of its position of strategic importance: from Unfinished Tales here, she 'saw that Lórien would be a stronghold and point of power to prevent the Shadow from crossing the Anduin in the war that must inevitably come' and that's why she and Celeborn go there. (There are other versions as with almost everything else in Tolkien, but this is one of them.) She's not there to hide away from Events.

2. Calmer than in TROP, but not all-wise and all-sweet and still pretty scary.

She is still tempted by power and world domination: "I do not deny that my heart has greatly desired to ask what you offer [...] In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the morning and the night!"

And, she doesn't just turn down the One Ring because it's abstractly eeeevil. She turns it down because she knows what she, specifically, would do with it. Sam sees a vision of the Shire, and tells her "I wish you'd take his Ring. You'd put things to rights. You'd stop them digging up the Gaffer and turning him adrift. You'd make some folk pay for their dirty work," to which she says that yes, she would: "That is how it would begin. But it would not stop with that, alas! We will not speak more of it."

And saying she wants to rule the world here is not me joking about! This is Tolkien describing that moment in LOTR:

It was not until two long ages more had passed, when at last all that she had desired in her youth came to her hand, the Ring of Power and the dominion of Middle-earth of which she had dreamed, that her wisdom was full-grown and she rejected it

People are scared of her: The only scary moment we directly see is the Ring temptation, but she does other unsettling things. When she meets the Fellowship she tests them by reading their minds and offering something they really want to see if it would make them "turn aside from the road and leave the Quest and the war against Sauron to others." (She offers Sam a garden; the One Ring later on tempts him with the same thing.) Even the hobbits are a bit disturbed by this and Boromir, who's already said he doesn't want to go into Lothlórien because people who do that never leave again, absolutely does not trust her.

Éomer, a few chapters later:

'Then there is a Lady in the Golden Wood, as old tales tell!' he said. 'Few escape her nets, they say. These are strange days! But if you have her favour, then you are also net-weavers and sorcerers, maybe.'

She's scary! She's ancient and powerful and people are scared of her.

3. Married, but not in the character-limiting way the nerdbros want it to be and would have you believe it is.

I am not telling anyone they should ship Galadriel/Celeborn or even find it interesting just because I do, but, the angry nerdbros fancasting Celeborn as Henry Cavill and talking about how he'll come back to tame her and tidy her neatly out of the narrative are writing their own little AU headcanons because that is not what's in the text.

She's the more powerful one. Partly because she's one of the 'High Elves' - she's Noldor and has lived in Valinor seen the light of the Trees - which for various reasons about the way Tolkien's elves work just makes her more powerful, partly because she has a Ring of Power and Celeborn doesn't. It's her Mirror; she's the one reading people's minds; she's the one locked in endless mental battles with Sauron; she's the one the Rohirrim (whose lands border Lothlorien's) tell each other scary stories about. Celeborn at no point ever seems to have an issue with this, and calls her his 'treasure'.

They work together. Even in a big-action-sequences sense: after Sauron's defeat, Celeborn 'led the host of Lorien over Anduin in many boats' to Dol Guldur, where Galadriel 'threw down its walls and laid bare its pits'. But the rest of the time, too: she says of him that 'together through ages of the world we have fought the long defeat'.

You really get the sense that they have been married for a loooooong time. An actual sequence of events in LOTR, somewhat condensed:

The Fellowship reveal there's a Balrog in Moria;

Celeborn goes "!!!!", complains about dwarves waking it up and says he'd never have let Gimli into Lothlorien if he'd known that;

Galadriel smacks Celeborn down for being rude to their guest;

Celeborn apologises to Gimli;

Galadriel tells the Fellowship that Celeborn is accounted the wisest of elves;

Boromir says something about "old wives' tales";

Celeborn, whose wife is one of the oldest beings in Middle-earth, tells Boromir not to be so dismissive because "old wives keep in memory word of things that once were needful for the wise to know";

Galadriel hands Celeborn a drink.

Whatever is going on here is clearly something that works for them, is what I'm saying! And you don't have to find their marriage interesting just because I do, of course; but what it's not is some trad fantasy of domestic subservient-wife anything.

So where her TROP story ends up is ultimately with LOTR Galadriel: powerful, important, tempted to rule the world, a bit calmer than in TROP, a bit happier than in TROP, co-ordinating big strategic efforts in the war, married to someone who's got her back and adores her and they fall out a bit sometimes but generally work pretty well together, and still having Sauron constantly trying to get into her head. I am fine with this! I am more than fine with this.

[sednas]

is this self indulgent? probably. am i ashamed? absolutely not.

NSFW, fem!reader, I tried to write it as a third person point of view to change a bit

thinking about men who love nerdy little girls. thinking about big and intimidating boyfriend and his shy girlfriend always hiding behind his broad shoulders. thinking about confident and cocky men who love girlies with glasses and sweet and awkward girls who never know what to do with their hands and hate eye contact.

he does all the talking while his gf is behind him, he makes phone calls for her and calls a waiter when someone made a mistake with her order. he always has his arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer whenever he feels like it or when he's jealous. he takes the side of the road when they're walking together and he always has his hand resting on her thigh when he's driving.

he loves to make her embarrassed in public, running his hand over her thigh, playing with the hem of her skirt or the loop of her jeans, a wicked smile on his lips when she tries to jerk his hand away, her face visibly flustered.

he loves to distract her when she's reading a book, coming up behind her, his hands slowly grazing her waist, then her chest, his fingers ghosting over her covered nipples while she buries her head in the book she's trying to read. of course, he lets her read quietly... sometimes... just to hear her rant passionately about it once she's done reading it.

he loves watching nerdy movies with her, star wars, lord of the rings, spider-man, dark knight... he smiles every time she explains something he didn't quite understand or when she gives him a fun fact about a scene that just happened. but sometimes these movies are so long tho, and watching her face contorts with pleasure while he's playing with her is so much more entertaining.

"you're almost there princess, just let it happen."

he always chooses the right words to make her lose it, his skilled fingers drawing circles around her bundle of nerves until her body starts quivering from overstimulation and she lets herself fall into his chest. he does the same when she's playing video games, slowly letting himself fall on the floor, forcing her to open her legs while she's looking at him, eyes full of anticipation.

he tells her to keep playing while his warm tongue is already tracing up and down her slit. he stops every time she lets go of the controller to grab his hair, and she ends up like a moaning mess with his head buried between her opened legs, trembling hands trying to keep playing the game as her character keeps dying over the same spot, her boyfriend giving her clit a hard suck every time she tries to focus and play properly.

thinking about big and intimidating bf who is an absolute sucker for your shyness, loving how you always try to look away from his adoring gaze and how pretty you look when you finally give him what he wants and look up at him when he's fucking your mouth.

he never lasts long when you look into his eyes through your lashes.

toji, gojo, sukuna, eren, hanma, ran, dabi, keigo, kuroo, bokuto, your fav <3

masterlists

[inklessletter]

Since I can't draw tonight, here's a steddie prompt for you:

Steve runs away from home once he becomes eighteen because his home environment is absolutely toxic. It's all yelling, and spitting insults, and constantly hearing that he is such a disappointment, so he decides to hit the road and go some city away from everyone he knows and just start over. His trauma response to loud, aggressive spaces leads him to accept a job managing a school library.

And he finds out it is his dream job.

He sees all these teens studying, sharing glances, romances beginning, stress increasing as midterms come closer, annoyed faces, giggling girls gossiping, kids vandalizing his tables... And he feels an observant. A watcher.

And he imagines. He imagines their lives, the tall jock with the widest smile going soft for the sarcastic redhead. The quiet thing blossoming between tose two boys who give longing glances when the other is not looking. The oddest friendship between the meanest eleven year old he's ever met and the most cynical kid to ever set foot in that school. He sees and he imagines, but he's silent.

Because silence is a precious shield that protects his imagination. Silence will never hurt him.

His first real friendship begins in silence. This girl, Robin, passes him a note with a poor drawing of him falling asleep on his desk. It made him laugh. She laughed too. That was enough.

They play this game together in which they both exchanged the craziest theories they could think of about other people's lives.

That one is a Russian spy.

That one runs a secret lab.

That one has mind powers (okay, that was maybe too crazy).

That one is an former cop.

"That one is a rockstar," Robin said pointing an absurdly good looking guy that was checking out a couple of books.

"He does looks like one, though..."

Robin was going to reply when she noticed Steve's rosy cheeks. She just smiled. She noticed the guy looking briefly at them, and then he grinned.

"Metal is more my scene, but close enough," he said.

Shit.

The guy approached them and Robin, the traitor, bolted away. The guy, all dimples and soft hair lent Steve two books and his library card (Munson, Eddie), that he registered and gave back to him.

Steve tried hard not to be an awkward mess, he barely managed to.

"I do actually play in a band, uh, on Tuesdays," Eddie said. Steve looked at him with a twist in his stomach. "And today is Tuesday. So if you want to come, I would gladly buy you a drink."

Steve felt a lump in his throat, and looked down.

"Uh, I—I don't—"

"Oh, sorry, I just—"

"I don't do well with loud noises," Steve said quickly. "I'm sorry."

Eddie nodded.

"Good luck tonight," Steve said, not wanting to leave the conversation in a rejection. He pointed the book. "This one is really good."

"Have you read The Lord of the Rings?"

"Yeah," Steve smiled. "I've got time and silence here."

Eddie looked at him with something hidden in his pupils meant to be discovered by Steve.

Eddie left the library.

There were a few days and a lot of conversations with Robin about that Eddie guy. Steve let himself imagine again, about him. About Eddie. He fantasized a lot, ignoring deliberately the sting in his guts knowing that he blew up his chance.

Two weeks passed and Eddie was there to return the books again, with a small guitar case hanging in his back, and Steve tried his best not to look like a kicked puppy.

"I can do soft noises," Eddie said, out of the blue. It earned him a look from both Robin and Steve. "When do you, uh, have a break?"

"Right now," Robin chimed in, quickly. "He's having a break right now."

A few minutes later they were in the rooftop. They found a comfortable spot with the best views and Eddie took out an old and battered ukulele. Then he looked at Steve.

"I am not a silent person. I exist in noise, and busy environments, and awful high pitched laughs," he said with a smile. "I can't change that, but I can change the noise."

Eddie caressed the tiny guitar strings, and the sound sent goosebumps through all Steve's skin.

"I can change the noise for you," Eddie said, low and soft, and he started playing a song. "If you let me."

His first real love began with music.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Guileless

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, dejection, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Masterlist

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: thanks to those who waited on this one!.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

It should be the happiest time in your life. You should be elated, and yet, as ever it is, every victory precedes a treacherous defeat. A proposal one day, and despair the next. That nipping of doom in your gut, that ever present doubt, is made certain by the passage of time. It has been much too long. 

You sit in the pews, throat tight as you keep your chin locked. You breathe slowly, as if too sudden an intake might unleash the tempest brewing inside of you. It is more than nerves, you know it, that sicken you so. You should be happy for your pending nuptials but you are only horrified at the thought. 

The bishop reads out the banns before the rows; the first for yourself, the third for your sister. She will be permitted to wed and your mother has presided over much of planning already. You dip your head as your name rings out beside Lord Odinson’s and you swallow back a swell of bile. You’ve been gulping down your own stomach for much of the morning, ever since you caught a whiff of pickled shallots in passing the kitchens. 

You push your head up and your hand down to your lap, knowing you will be observed. You must at least look certain of your fate. You must sit proud for the engagement all would put into question. For the time until it shall all dissolve, you must play your part. 

You can barely keep from wilting where you are. A prudent woman might bite her tongue. She may commit to the theatre of it all. She might lie and get away with the folly. You glance over at Lord Odinson, just across the aisle, and you know you cannot. It isn’t one lie, it’s a lifetimes’ worth of betrayal. 

Yet how should you tell it? It isn’t only him who must know. Your father would need good reason why you’d rather the convent to a proper marriage. You will be ruined but you could not put that stain upon the only person who was ever kind to you. Lord Odinson deserves an honest wife and a child of his own. 

Your insides sour and you nearly spasm as you fight the tide of nausea, brought upon by more than your forsaken condition. Your eyes trail away from your betrothed to another man bound in promise. Lord Rogers sits with your sister, as ever, and she leans on him shamelessly, even beneath the Lord’s rafters. 

She would deny it. She would laugh in your face should you ever reveal the absolute truth. No, you must confess the sin as your own and that alone. You will not name the culprit for they would they never believe you and he would never admit it himself. 

Yet, you know that the Duke Rogers will ever be triumphant in knowing that he has brought the monstrous giant to her knees. You are his Goliath, the vile retched creature he has slain in his valour. He will be hero and you be the villain. 

💟

You hand the letter to the carrier just before noon. You don’t expect an audience to be granted until the next morning at earliest. Lord Odinson is a busy man; an ambassador in much demand between the house and society. Even his betrothed must request his presence. 

The cart rattles through the gates and you watch it fade off into the grim horizon. The winter bites in the air, adding to the chill in your bones. That coldness that freeze over your heart. You must be strong now, as strong as the valkyrie he misnamed you as. 

When you go to Lord Odinson, you will bring the crown to him. You will hand it back and admit your tainted stature to him. You will show him how truly small you are.  

At least, that is what you intend. You may prove yourself weak as ever. However it should unfold, this engagement cannot persist. 

“A day! A day and I shall call you husband,” Cora’s shrill tone greets you as you come through the front doors. She is in the sitting room with Lord Rogers. Your mother continues to fawn over the last-minute details for their wedding. “Isn’t it very exciting, my lord?” 

“And I shall call you wife.” 

“And Duchess,” she preens with a trilling laugh, “oh, how elaborate I shall be.” 

“My Athena,” Rogers drones back, “my goddess, my beloved.” 

“Oh, how darling,” your mother preens over them, “it shall be resplendent. I’ve made certain the cake will be exactly as you like it, dearie. The cook has even procured some citrus for the lemonade.” 

The mention of lemonade makes you shrivel. You recall the sunny day when Lord Rogers spoke to you over a weeping beverage. As you fell for that virulent charm. And all that came after. 

You peer at the grim windows and frown. How everything does change so quickly. Happiness is fleeting and yet disappointment comes as a chronic plight. You will never know a day without shame. 

You flit off without notice. Your heart rents at the thought that you will not have the same fervour. You will not sit and plan your own wedding with Lord Odinson. All your fanciful dreams have evaporated. It is one thing to put a mask on, to pretend as virgin, but you could never foist a bastard upon the kind man who has shown you a taste happiness. You will be certain to thank him for all he’s done but you will not spit in his face. 

As you get to the bedroom doors, your stomach churns violently and you burst through, not stopping as you rush to the pot and fall to your knees. You wretch into it as your body contracts painfully. You empty your stomach until you are panting and hollow. 

“Sister,” Alina startles you as she rolls to the edge of the bed, a novel in hand, “is it a winter ague?” 

“I...” you shakily wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, “I believe so.” 

That lie alone singes your tongue like a brand. Your eyes well with tears and you flick them away with your lashes. You sit back on your heels and heave out a pungent breath. 

“Oh, how awful, and just before the wedding,” she sits up and shuts the novel. “Let us pray it passes quickly. You needn’t delay your own nuptials.” 

“Mm, no, that wouldn’t be...” you let the sentence tail off and you stand, taking the pot with you, “I’ll dump it before it can stink.” 

“If you are unwell, call for the maid.” 

“No, it is fine,” you insist, “I didn’t mean to disturb your reading.” 

“You didn’t,” she insists. “What’s the matter, sissie? You hardly seem a lady about to marry.” 

“I...” you croak, “it is the ague, that’s all.” 

“Mm, perhaps Lord Odinson might offer some comfort should it get any worse. He does seem the character,” she offers. 

“Or perhaps he is better to stay away. You as well, should it pass onto anyone else,” you hold the pot to your stomach and turn, carrying it out without another word. Albina huffs and falls back onto the bed, the flutter of pages following shortly after. 

You descend and keep along the wall, passing through the kitchens and beyond the servants’ quarters to the rear of the manse. You come out into the crisp air and overturn the pot well away from the house. A wave of dizziness washes over you, silver spots dotting your vision. Perhaps it is an ague. Oh how you wish it were. 

You set the pot down as you grasp at some stability. You stand and wipe your clammy forehead. Your hand drifts down to your bodice and you let it venture further. You try to feel your stomach through the layers. It is tauter than it once was but no rounder. Not as yet. 

You sit on a low stump, the seat the stabler uses to shoe the horses. You let the frigid air seep through your dress and stare at the grey clouds that blot out the sun. You hold your chin, elbows on your legs, hunched over as you let the stagnancy of that moment swallow you. 

For a moment, you believe that you can make time stand still. That you might stretch on this fantasy a little longer. That a single second might be spent into an eternity. You shake your head and close your eyes as your cheeks tingle with the cold. 

You try to picture the convent. You imagine dark halls and darker mornings. Prayers and repentance filling the days and keeping wakeless the nights. Would the nuns even accept a ruined soul like yours? 

“Miss,” Mary, the broom girl, stands along the path back to the house, “you have a caller.” 

You sit up and blink, a caller? How long have you been there? You shiver and rise, towering over the young servant like the mottled forest creature of wives tales. You nod and stride past her, rubbing your arms to warm yourself as you return to the house. 

It cannot be him. Not already. You’re not prepared. It has been all you can think of and yet you are wholly unready for it. 

You carry on inside and come into the main hall. Lord Odinson waits, your mother chittering at his elbow as Lord Rogers and Cora stand in the archway to the west wing. 

“You will be at the wedding tomorrow? We did not receive your response sir,” your mother pleads as she tugs his sleeve. 

“Ah, yes, did I not give it?” Odinson says coolly, “certainly I will come with some Asgardian ale to christen the blissful newlyweds.” 

“And we thank you for such generosity,” Cora coos. 

“I’m certain refreshments will be plenty,” Lord Rogers deflects. 

“Ah,” Lord Odinson’s attention is drawn by your emergence from behind the staircase, “my valkyrie, you called for me and I am here.” 

“I... you have come so... swiftly,” you remark, your voice teetering. 

“Of course,” he assures as he crosses the polished floor, “as ever I will for my beloved.” He approaches and takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles, “you are like ice,” he feels your hands and covers them with his gloved ones, “are you ill?” 

“No, uh, yes, no,” you stammer, “sir, I only meant... I only thought to speak with you.” 

“I do cherish the tenor of your sweet voice, lady, I would ride so fast as I might to hear it,” he assures. 

“You rode... all this way, my lord?” 

“I do prefer to be in a saddle,” he affirms, “so, shall we converse? Perhaps we might have some tea to warm you, my valkyrie.” 

“Please,” you cringe, wishing he would quit his honeyed words, “I do not require it. Perhaps somewhere private...” 

“With chaperone of course,” your mother insists. You blanch but do your best not to show your unease. “Pollo! Pollo!” She claps, “forgive me I will not be able to do so myself as I have much to attend to for the morrow, but we have a groom here... Pollo!” 

She cries out and the dark-haired man appears. The old groom has a round belly and wine-reddened cheeks. He doesn’t speak more than Italian but he is steadfast in his service. Your mother bids him, pointing at you, then shoos him with a flick of her fingers. 

He shrugs and bows his head, nearing you and the duke. You peer over at your sister and Lord Rogers as they watch. The former stares at your betrothed as he clings still to your hands and the latter narrows his eyes in your direction. Just the sight of him makes you even more sick than before. Of any, he cannot know though you expect should Cora find out, it will not be a secret. 

“The sun room, perhaps,” Odinson suggests. 

“As you wish,” you agree. 

He offers his arms and you accept it. He guides you along, well-acquainted to the halls already, and takes you around to the sun room. The curtains are closed and the space is dim with the shadow of winter. The groom claims the armchair in the corner, making it groan with his weight, as another servant follows to light a lamp and put flint to the fireplace. 

When all is lit, you detach from Odinson and retreat from him. You mash your hands together and sway, spinning back to face him as he watches you intently. He seems unbothered by the spontaneity of it all. 

“You missed me? I have longed to see you again,” he beams. 

“Please,” you show your palms, “please, I... we must speak.” 

“Of? Name anything and it shall be yours. As my wife, you will never want for anything, valkyrie.” 

You wince as if struck. You drop your arms and your head. You stalk over to the bench that looks toward the window and sit, slumped forward as you shake your head. He approaches as he lets out a long exhale. He sits beside you. 

“Something is amiss. Forgive me for making light, I came upon mistaken sentiment,” his voice is grave, “you have something to say and I must listen. As ever, I am the storm but these winds have calmed.” 

You rock and another hot tinge settles behind your eyes. You roll them up and sit straight. You crane to see over your shoulder. Rollo’s eyes are closed as he’s halfway to sleeping. It is propriety alone that has him sat in that chair. 

You look ahead once more, “I cannot marry you.” 

He sucks in air and snorts, “what?” 

“I cannot—it cannot—I'm sorry, Lord Odinson.” 

“Why ever should you change your mind? The banns are read and will be again,” he touches your arm and you shy away. 

“You deserve... better.” 

“I deserve you,” he insists. 

“Please, sir, let me find the words,” you beg touch your temples as you try to rein in your wits. You close your eyes and shudder. 

“You are cold still, perhaps you might move closer to the fire--” 

“It hardly matters,” you lower your hands and clutch them tight.  

You make yourself look at him. You must. He warrants at least the truth told to his face and not the floor. His blue eyes twinkle as his usually bright face is stern. 

“I am...” you take a breath and struggle to let it back out as the words burn the tip of your tongue, “I... am with... child.” 

You choke out the last word and nearly faint. You stare at him, waiting for him to explode. You mightn’t even have a say in who knows should he speak too loudly. His eyes search yours and he blinks. He turns his face down and looks at his lap, gripping his thighs as he nods and hums. 

“That’s wonderful,” he says. 

“Pardon?” 

“Yes, it’s wonderful. We’ll have a child.” 

“Sir, I—we haven’t... it is another man’s,” you feel as if you shouldn’t have to explain this. 

“Why certainly he put it there, yes, but I would claim it,” he faces you again. 

Your eyes round, “why should you do that? That isn’t... proper. I am not proper, sir. I am telling you that I have been... corrupted. I should never have said yes.” 

“But you did.” 

“You needn’t-- it isn’t fair.” 

“Perhaps it isn’t fair that you should have to carry the cad’s seed,” he agrees, “for any many who would lay with a lady and not seek her hand, well, he can be nothing else.” 

You’re quiet as disbelief clouds around you. He can’t possibly mean it. He must be in shock. Certainly, he wouldn’t just accept another’s child. 

“Sir, you shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t do this. I am releasing you.” 

“I don’t want to be released,” he says sullenly. 

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask. 

“I meant all I said to you, from the first breath, my valkyrie,” he proclaims. “And I mean it still.” 

“But, sir, you cannot—I cannot live with myself--” 

“You are honourable. Honest. You have told me this when you did not need to. When you could’ve claimed an early birth, when you could have kept quiet, yet you did not. That says more than a fleeting tryst. For that’s what it was, yes? Or do you lay with this man still?” 

You shake your head and look down at your fingers as you twists them until they hurt, “just once. Only once. It was... unplanned. It wasn’t...” your voice cracks. 

His chest inflates with a sonorous breath, “did you want it?” 

“Pardon?” You murmur. 

“Unplanned... did you... was it... your tryst, was it willing?” 

You put your fist to your mouth and sob. You can’t say it. You won’t. You replay it in your head every night and you think of how you told him to stop and yet you did not stop him. You should have fought more. You should have screamed. 

“I didn’t make him stop,” you eke around your hand. 

“Make him? Did you ask him to begin?” 

“Please, sir, I cannot—please just end this and I will ask my father for the convent once more. I cannot bring this shame on you.” 

“Shame? Shame is the man, if I should call him that, who has done this,” he snarls and reaches for you, taking your hand. “I swore you would be my wife and I will hold to that. As you swore to be my wife. We will see the altar together. As one.” 

“You do not have to--” 

“I want to,” he growls and you look up at his angry face. You’ve never seen such fury in him. “I have never done anything but by my own whim and will not change that now.” 

“You are too nice, sir. Too nice, I cannot ask it--” 

“Who?” He sneers. 

“Sir?” 

“Who has done this to you?” 

“I cannot--” 

“I should know.” 

“No, please, I wouldn’t-- it would be my ruin--” 

“No, it would be his and you protect him still, so tell me.” 

“No, no I will not. That I cannot tell you, sir. To say it would defeat me completely.” 

He sighs into a snarls and lowers his chin. He sounds like a simmering bull, readying for the charge. You tug on your hand but he will not release you. You relent and let him cling to you. 

Silence, suffocating and still.  

“My brother was an orphan. We took him in when he was young. He is a duke, same as me, now,” he declares as he squares his posture. “You wouldn’t know the difference. And I won’t. Not between this child and our next.” 

“Sir, surely--” 

“We are to have a child,” he says, “that is happy news and I thank you for bringing me here to hear it.” He pets your hand and leans his arm against yours. He brings your fingers up to your mouth and kisses them, “one day, I will know who the culprit is and on that, I will surely split his skull. Not for his bastard, for that child has no sin, but for your honour, lady. For my wife’s honour.” 

💟

Cora’s wedding to Lord Rogers culminates in a grand luncheon. The bride is a beautiful mist of tears as she accepts the well wishes of her guests. She basks in the attention as you gladly languish in the shadows. 

Despite Lord Odinson’s unexpected and reassuring reaction, you’re still uncertain. You don’t know if he’s keeping a good face on until he knows how to act, perhaps renegs his grace, or if you might come to pay for your discretion later in your union. You’re prepared to meet your atonement, however it comes. 

As you sit for the meal, the chair beside you is claimed almost at once. Your betrothed has appeared throughout the event but you’ve hardly been at his side. Each time you see him, his eyes skim the crowd as if he can see right through every one of them. Yet, when he looks at you, you feel only warmth. You don’t understand how he can look at you as such. 

“How do you fare, today, my valkyrie?” He asks as he straightens his cravat, “you look well.” 

“Good, I think.” 

“Glad to hear it,” he raises his glass for a servant to fill it with sherry. You opt for lemon water, as much as your tumultuous stomach can handle. 

“I thought we might have our own reception at Nine Pillars,” he suggests. 

“I would like that,” you agree, your eyes drifting beyond him, to your father’s gardens, where... “whatever you may offer, I will be grateful for.” 

“Mighty valkyrie, full of grace,” he praises and reaches for a platter, “ooh, they have some sweet ham here with pineapple.” 

He takes a helping and puts it on your plate. You smell the tangy fruit and the underline savoury waft of the meat. You lurch and grasp the edge of the table. You give a panicked look to Odinson as he peers down at the food. He switches your plates out swiftly. 

“Tell me, what are you in the mind for then?” He leans in so his arm touches yours as you sip from the lemon water to quell your stomach. “Valkyrie, give me your command and I will obey.” 

You give him a coy grin, “you can be so silly.” 

“Silly. Mad. All for love,” he assures you.  

“Is their anything dry?” You ask, “bread, perhaps.” 

“Sourdough,” he reaches to take the basket as others help themselves to the spread. 

“I’ll have some of that.” 

“With marmalade?” He offers.  

“No,” your face pinches at the thought, “no, bread will do.” 

You blink and shake of another tide of sickness. As you do, your eyes meet another pair further down the table, amid the rabble of voices. Lord Rogers tilts his head as Cora tugs on his sleeve and giggles up at the couple behind them. He hardly seems to notice as he stares you down. 

You go rigid and quickly look away. You touch Odinson’s arm to keep from panicking. He looks at you, then down the table. He doesn’t say anything, merely carves off a chunk of bread for you. 

You pick away at the hard crust and the dry spongey inside. You take small bites, cautious of upsetting your volatile stomach. The afternoon wears on, course after course, and you avoid those dishes which threaten to overthrow your restraint. 

At last, the cake is serves, a tiered sponge with cream and fruit and candied sugar spun in a facsimile fountain atop it. It’s splended and beautiful. The couple are served first as they smiles in delight. The doling out of servings takes some time as guests wait patiently for their turn and the cake is pushed on a cart from chair to chair. 

When it comes your turn, your name rises over the crowd. You sit up and glance over, relieved at least not to watch the layers of custard and cake hit your plate. Lord Rogers has his hand on the back of his wife’s chair. 

“And how do you like the dessert? I believe you’ve been saving space for it all day, eh?” He chirps. 

You angle your head in confusion. You look down then at Odinson who sits a little taller as he leans forward. 

“You’ve hardly indulged, so I hope you might show your support and delight in this delectable dessert,” Rogers taunts. “A wedding is no place for a sour face.” 

Your lips part. You’re stunned. How could he be so bold as to call you out? Among all his guests and he must torment you. Was one night not enough. Your whole life as his violation thrives within your womb. Lord Odinson subtly touches your elbows. 

“I am most happy for you and my sister,” you rebuff, “and you are correct, I’ve been in much anticipation for dessert.” 

You take your fork and scoop up a heaping mouthful. You smile at it even as your insides rage. You make yourself taste it. It’s so sweet and smooth and wonderful, but your stomach mulches as if it is rubbish. Your cheeks tremble and you swallow, nearly gagging. 

“To you, sir, and my sister, Cora, I wish a happy marriage,” you force out as you hide your mouth behind a handkerchief. 

“To the happy couple,” Lord Odinson raises his glass and the table erupts, at once, the attention shifted back to them. 

You brace his arm and squeeze. You fight but you cannot withhold the uproar within. You stand and rush away, frantically searching for somewhere to hide and spew your guts. 

💟

The days overcome your doubts. The weeks come with more affectations; your sickness ebbs and flows and the temperature feels at times hotter then colder, swaying back forth, while some moments you spend with a throbbing head and pulsing feet. The most obvious symptom of your condition is the tightness of your stay. Soon, you will be showing more than you like, but for now, loosened laces can ease your discomfort. 

Your wedding day fast approaches. Time does seem to defy any human whim. You wish it would slow so you could catch your breath. Much like your husband-to-be who has yet to falter in his affections. 

You sit before the mirror with the grown of silver petals in your lap. There is one still bent from Cora’s envy but you will keep it to the back of your head. You will wear it as proudly as that night Lord Odinson gifted it to you. You hope for the day you might both forget all else. 

If it is to be. If he is at the altar waiting still. 

Albina and Hannah take the crown from you and secure it among your styled locks. Albina smiles at your reflection as Hannah jabs you with a pin. You nervously wring your hands as you admire the lavender shade of your gown. You wish you’d had more of it, that you hadn’t needed to trim it in ivory to make up for your height. Still, it is beautiful and the nicest dress you’ve ever worn. 

“Are you nervous?” Albina asks. 

“Suppose,” you admit and lift your chin, “very, truly.” Though not for the reason she might think. 

“Lord Odinson is kind. He should be gentle,” Hannah says. 

Your cheeks tinge at her suggestion, “sister.” 

“Well, it is what we are all thinking, isn’t it?” She shrugs. 

“I hope I do not find a husband so soon,” Albina adds, “I would like to enjoy my books a little longer.” 

“You might take on the spinster’s mantel then,” Hannah snipes. 

“It shouldn’t be so bad,” you murmur. “Every woman must do it. Eventually. It cannot be so horrible.” 

You lower your head again, trying to hide the emotion battling in your chest. It was bad, that first time. Lord Rogers hadn’t been kind at all. Would Lord Odinson be any different? For Rogers seemed kind at first glance only to be cruel upon touch. 

What if you husband did not want to meet his duty? What if he could not knowing you had lain with another? You would not blame him and without consummation, he might still turn you away. 

“Cora said it was more painful than anything she’s ever felt,” Hannah undercuts your dread. “Though she still loves her husband well.” 

“You shouldn’t speak of that,” you gird. 

“Why not? Won’t you tell us how it is so we may be ready?” She challenges. 

“I... I... It’s rather strange to speak of it.” 

“You are strange,” Hannah retorts with a huff. 

“But pretty,” Albina chimes, “look at you, sissie. You truly look like a queen in that crown.” 

You meet the gaze of your reflection. You do look better than you ever have before. You wonder if they notice the new fullness in your cheeks. If they do, they don’t mention it. You take a deep breath. 

“I shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer,” you stand.  

If you wait any longer, you might lose your nerve. 

The bishop waits in the grand hall of Nine Pillars as you emerge from the rooms allotted for your preparations. The crowd stands among the columns and hushes as you appear at the end of the hall. You face the clergy man and for an instant, your heart dangles precariously, ready to plummet.  

Where is Lord Odinson? 

His golden head pops up beside the bishop and he fixes the flower tucked into his lapel. His long blond hair is draw back as a scarlet bow holds it back, its ears peeking out behind his nape. He is smiling as he pauses and his eyes meet yours across the space. 

You can see even from there how his features slacken and for a moment, you are breathless. He looks as stricken. You put one foot down and let your long legs carry you. 

All your doubts float away. The faces around you haze together and the world crumbles to dust. It's only you and that man.  

💟

The ceremony gives way to a soiree, bodies clustered together, partners dancing, and you among them. Your husband, a husband, has your hand in his as he leads you in the steps. This man, this wonderful forgiving man you vowed yourself too nearly sweeps you off your feet, a sensation you've never known before. 

Your cheer blooms from you as his cheeks flush in his excess. He barely pauses to receive kind words from his guest. His elation is contagious. It gives no way to your fears. 

"Do you know what I thought upon the altar, beautiful valkyrie," he purrs, "I nearly fell upon my knees even." 

"What?" You smile, glowing up at him. 

"That the gods did bless me. That you must be sent from them, a gift to me, mere mortal." 

You can't help but pat his chest, "you flatter." 

"You are too modest," he guides you along, "you are a statue come too life, art in the flesh." 

"My husband... you words are too sweet." 

"I know, I know, the wedding night is still ahead of us, I do run too fast," he chuckles, "but how can I help the anticipation? 

Your lashes flick and giggle, "husband." 

"That word has never sounded sweeter," he grins, "but a sweeter noise might be my own name. Say it for me, valkyrie." 

Your cheeks burn hot, "Thor?" 

"Delicious," he growls nearly baring his teeth, "and I shall savour every sound you make. Every moan and mewl. Every breath and laugh. Just as every part of you." 

It's too good to be true. You deign to let yourself feel it all but you must. If even only for tonight. If only for the next moment. You will have a morsel of happiness if it's all you have to chew on for the rest of your life. 

💟

The night wears on and so do you. Your feet ache, as does most of you, and your voice is raw from laughing and talking. It is the first that you ever spent an event not along the wall or hiding in some shadow. It is a night all your own, or so your husband has made it feel. 

Yet, he does not tire. Not as quickly. As he booms and bawls to the amusement of all, you cling to his arm and repress a yawn. You will not spoil his fun, you will persist. 

Still, you cannot ignore all urges of your humanity. You press a hand to his sleeve and excuse yourself, promising to return. Your husband pauses to bid you not be long and you're further abashed at his attention. 

You flit off to find the privy. You've been several times over the day. Your bladder swells no matter how little you drink. As you progress, you find your body is contradictory to your mind. 

You venture down the corridor and sweep into the room. Once relieved, you emerge feeling lighter but no less tired. The silent desolation of the corridor rather makes your exhaustion all the more potent. 

You turn towards the statue of a warrior, you recognise it, it is the means by which you've found your way. Before you can pass it, a figure appears from behind it and you falter in your slippers. 

You gasp and ball your hands, the man before you sending a ripple of horror through you as he smirks at your surprise. Lord Rogers' cheek dimples as he quorks his head like a cynical crow. 

"You are ever a creature of urges," he muses, "fluttering back and forth as a skittish bird." 

"My lord, I... what is the meaning--" 

"I'm afraid we've not had much of a chance to speak, have we? The blushing bride is much a titter," he chortles, "she has the gull to giggle like a maiden, even." 

"Lord Rogers," you utter, appalled. 

"But the sway of her hips do betray her true nature. That which is within her," he sneers, "as does the curdling of her face over any dish that tickles her nose." 

"Sir, I know not what you mean--" 

"I should laugh truly, to know that another will raise my bastard," he taunts, "that it is him, does entertain me more." He takes a step forward and you back, "so you will be certain to lay with him this night so he may believe he has vigour." He grabs your arms before you can elude him, "you will think of me, won't you, Athena, my fallen goddess? Of how I desecrated your--" 

Suddenly, you are staggered. Lord Rogers is swung backward and flung into the statue. There's a roar, tha same noise you would expect of a charging bear, and the flash of scarlet. You watch paralysed as Thor grabs Lord Rogers by his jacket and spins him, throwing him into the other wall. 

The smaller of the men, though they are both built well, slides to one knee, his hand on the plaster. The other is quick, wasting not a second before aims a foot into Rogers' stomach. The duke falls backward and is at once straddled beneath the larger. 

Thor lays blows upon the other man, hailing down on him like the tempest he claims himself. Your fear overflows and you push through the thick waves. You come forward numbly and pull your husband by the back of his collar.  

"Please sir, unhand him." 

"You would defend this animal!" He wails down another fist and growls. 

"No, no, I would not spare him but I would... I would have my husband not take me to my wedding night with bloodied knuckles. Thor," you pet the back of his head, "let this be a happy day. Please." 

He sits back on his heels and puffs out. He looks back at you as you step away. You put your hand to your middle.  

"Husband?" 

He snarls and spits on Lord Rogers, standing with a huff. You reach for his hand and he takes it. He squeezes as he sends one last kick of his toe to the man on the floor. 

"Let me save my strength for you, wife. I certainly would need it." 

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

IS THERE A VERSION OF JOEL MILLER I WOULDN'T FUCK?

[a case study in how thirsty i am for this man.] [aka fic recommendations]

Unfortunately, in my extensive research on this topic, I have found some pretty damning evidence against my sanity.

dad's best friend!joel miller x fem!reader

Your Summer Dream [masterlist] by @swiftispunk It is a scientific fact that if you place Joel Miller on a beach he becomes 100x hotter. I don't make the rules, I just report them.

Creep it Real! by @swiftispunk I am a puddle. I melted and I'm a shallow pathetic puddle. Cowboy and Angel. I just hnnnnnggggg. I need him to ruin me pls dear god.

*I'm realizing if i include all the DBF!JM i read this will get very long, very quickly, and i think i have revealed enough of myself on this blog to highlight my very obvious daddy issues

**speaking of daddy issues...

stepdad!joel miller x fem!reader

Don't Be Cute, Be Nasty by @cockslutpadalecki i'm pretty sure this was the first stepdad!joel miller anything i read and it awoke something in my soul. it's always fun to reach new levels of my daddy issues and BY GOD was this just 🫠

Bad Girl [part i of many] by @seventeenpins he walks in on her while she's watching stepdaddy porn and good lord it gets filthier and filthier in the best kind of way.

boyfriend's dad!joel miller x fem!reader

Lost in the Dark [masterlist] by @iamasaddie i expected to be a slut reading this but then it made me an emotional slut out of nowhere i am obsessed. there is nothing i love more than being drawn in by my thots only to be hit by an emotional bus out of nowhere.

Thigh's Out AU [masterlist] by @toxicanonymity not only is this a boyfriend's dad AU, but said boyfriend's dad is a hot and slutty. just like i like my dilfs.

father-in-law!joel miller x fem!reader

Pink [masterlist] by @netherfeildren holy fuck. that's all. just holy fuck. this altered my genetic makeup.

Help, I'm Stuck! by @nosesitter spoiler alert: he takes her wedding ring off before dicking her down and I-- 👀 send help.

***i didn't think i had a lot of significant other's father!joel miller in my repertoire, but i had to stop myself again from listing them all on this one otherwise we'd be here all day. shit, i'm learning things about myself 🤡

dark therapist!joel miller x fem!reader

Session 1 by @elvinaa i think this only highlights how badly i need an actual therapist (as does this entire list actually).

sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader

Meet Me in the Back (1) & The Night is Dark Enough ... (2) written by @atticrissfinch It does not bode well for me that this version of Joel Miller made me so fucking feral. In no way, shape, nor form should a sleazy gas station clerk make me feel this way AND YET HERE WE ARE.

tattoo artist!joel miller x fem!reader

Honeyed [masterlist] by @softlyspector This one absolutely hits too close to home for me, but that's probably why I'm so obsessed with it. My touch adverse yet touch starved ass ate this up and left no crumbs😌

chiro!joel miller x fem!reader

Say Yes to Heaven by @pascalisbaby i thought the medical side of my brain would cringe at the doctor/patient dynamic but as it turns out my depravity knows no bounds 🥵

frat dad!joel miller x fem!reader

The Old College Try by @proxima-writes i didn't even know this was something i needed in my life until it came into my life. blessings🙏🏼

ceo!joel miller x fem!reader

Sex on Fire [masterlist] by @macfrog i don't think i need to harp on what that sugar daddy vibes do to me🤤

mafia!joel miller x fem!reader

Divine Dynasty by @cavillscurls Remember when I said putting Joel by a body of water makes him 100x hotter? The same applies to a Mafia AU. I can't explain it. I have no sound reasoning to support my claim other than "he hot tho".

pornstar!joel miller x fem!reader

I Know it When I See it [masterlist] by @bageldaddy 🔥🔥🔥 that is all.

maintenance man!joel miller x fem!reader

Maintenance Man [masterlist] by @gracieispunk toolbelt. say less.

slasher!joel miller x fem!reader

Slasher [masterlist] by @toxicanonymity i thought for sure, FOR SURE, this would be blind, pure, detached smut that i could enjoy with no emotional ties whatsoever. and then all of a sudden i'm feeling things??? he just loves his mom so much😭 mama's boy wants to be happy. JAIL. real jail for murderer joel miller. horny jail for me. and audacity jail for toxic b/c how dare you make me feel things for a serial killer😩

as i said previously, the evidence speaks for itself. i have yet to find a version of joel miller i could not immediately fuck. i'm actually planning (i have a lot of plans and no time smh), to go through all these on my recommendation blog w/play by play commentary so everyone can know just how unhinged i am for this guy.

but now!! you guys have a syllabus for my insanity!!

now, excuse me while i go find a therapist (a real one, not a hot/dark joel miller version of one) (although beggars can't be choosers right?👀)

dividers by @saradika

[figscigfigs]

my favorite moments of episode 15 of fantasy high junior year!!:

brennan making his friends write a limerick in 5 minutes

siobhan just immediately recognizing the elven bc she’s read lord of the rings so many times

ROCK HEAVEN BABIES MENTION!!

SHRIMP DRAGON!!!!! (literally such a beautiful mini)

the drivers ed question (i am so nostalgic ahh)

"not the same dice as before, right?" "it's a different die" “want one that's been rolling good for me?" "no cuz i'll ruin it" (literally the most romantic convo ive ever heard)

the rats HAVE to defend their livelihood

the stamps all over siobhan’s arm

PENTACORN!!!!!!

PURPLE WORM!!!!!!!!!

"let's kill all the monsters and then if we feel like we're gonna fail we'll kill each other" *arguing* “i'll cut off my head" “i'm just saying i call fabian"

gorgug’s absolutely endless supply of crits

“sit down you’re fricking rocking the boat my guy”

mephit bombs!!!!

emily and her characters constantly making out with the people they’re about to kill

“the fighting’s over it’s all love now”

NOT WHEN KIPPERCUNT CHEATED?!??!??!? HOW’S THAT FAIR BITCH WHAT?!?!?!

the pull up bar (cinematic parallels to the ribbon)

aguefort’s lil video recording (i miss him so so much AND I MISS AYDA MORE BRING BACK AYDA , YOU COWARD)

“so we didn’t have to study at all, we could’ve just done this”

gavin’s very kind and trusting conversation to the bad kids after the exam

fig getting rid of her phone AGAIN

[heavyhitterheaux]

Meet Me At the Atlar Part 2

AN: The time has finally come!

Synopsis: You have to deal with the aftermath of learning that your fiancé has cheated on you with your older sister and has apparently gotten her pregnant

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Read Part 1 first

Joe Burrow Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

You felt as if you were in the Twilight Zone with what you had just heard Marlene say when there was a collective gasp that filled the room.

All you did was turn around to look at her to see her staring right back at you and not backing down. Both of your parents looked at the two of you in confusion.

"You are literally nothing but a two faced bitch and I hope that nothing good comes to you for the rest of your life." You softly said while shaking your head in disbelief.

"Well it's not my fault he wanted me!" She shrugged and you could tell that she didn't really care about your feelings. She got what she wanted and that was to your surprise your fiancé and a baby.

"You're an adult and you are just as responsible for your actions as he is. So do me a favor, never speak to me again in your life. And as for you…" You started to say as you turned around to face Joe and simply shook your head in disbelief as all of the guests had their eyes on the two of you but not for the reason that you wanted.

You slipped off your engagement ring and played with it in your hands.

"I'm just going to pawn this seeing as there will be absolutely no reason for me to wear it again. Consider this over."

"Y/N, wait a minute! I can explain!" Joe exclaimed while trying to grab your hand, but you quickly snatched it away from him.

"God forgive me. I am in the lord's house about to curse again but HOW CAN YOU EXPLAIN FUCKING MY OLDER SISTER AND GETTING HER PREGNANT AT THE SAME TIME AS ME? HOW?! HOW DOES THAT WORK? PLEASE EXPLAIN THAT TO ME SO THAT I UNDERSTAND."

"I-...."

"Exactly."

All you did was shake your head as you picked up your dress to make a run for it back down the aisle as Camille, Alex, and Raina ran behind you leaving everyone else standing there.

You could hear Joe yelling for you as well as both of your parents, but you just couldn't bring yourself to speak to any of them.

Once you were outside, you were trying to catch your breath in between the tears that began to roll down your face. Camille along with Alex and Raina stood there comforting you as all three of them brought you into a hug.

"I know, let it out." Alex said as she soothingly rubbed your back as you let out a hiccup.

"But come on, I don't want anyone to see you like this." Raina suggested as she already knew that Joe was more than likely making his way outside to find you.

All three of them led you to the limo that was supposed to take you and Joe to the reception and simply told the driver to take all of you back to the hotel. Camille crawled in behind you but before she did, she threw your bouquet on the ground seeing as you didn't need it anymore.

All of you simply rode around in silence before anyone said anything.

"What do you need us to do? What are you thinking right now?" Raina asked as she played with the hem of her dress.

"That I need to get the fuck out of here." You answered as you started to massage your temples.

"Well where do you want to go?"

"A place where I can lay low for the rest of my pregnancy because I want nothing to do with him and nothing to do with her either."

"Oh, I have an idea. My parents vacation house in Denver. No one will look for you there." Camille piped up and said.

"Will they be okay with me staying there?"

"Girl, considering the circumstances without a doubt. They love you and will probably want to kill him when they find out about this because you already know people can't keep their mouths shut."

"I need to go to the hotel and get out of this dress and grab clothes."

"And then we're going to the airport."

"But…"

"We need to at least make sure you get there safely. We'll stay with you for a few weeks and then come back home. There is no way in hell we are letting you out of our sight in the emotional state that you're in. When we get there we'll find an OB/GYN that takes your insurance and get you set up with everything that you need. Your kid is going to be just fine because they have you for a mother. And I will make sure he doesn't find you, so we'll start by getting you a new phone when we get there. And I'm blocking him because I know for a fact he's going to ask me where you are."

"I just… Marlene. I looked up to her and wanted to be just like her all for her to go behind my back when I get a little bit of happiness. I always supported her through every single break up, when she dropped out of college, totaling our father's car, and that's not even half of it. As far as I'm concerned, I don't have a sister anymore."

"Yes you do have a sister. You have us. And we're going to support you through this. You don't need him and truth be told you never did. You've always been amazing in your own right."

Once back at the hotel, you got up to your room and slipped off your dress with the tears still cascading down your face. The clothes that you packed were not appropriate for Denver's weather, but all that could be resolved once you got there and you simply slipped on a Bengals hoodie with one of your black shirts underneath along with some sweatpants before sliding on your shoes.

When you were finished packing up all of your things, your wedding dress was still laid out on the bed and you simply stared at it.

The two of you were supposed to be having your first dance as a married couple at the reception right now, but instead you were about to disappear and pray and hope that he didn't find you.

You took one last look at it before deciding to leave it there on the bed.

You walked to Camille's room and knocked on the door and she answered it having all of her bags in tow too.

"You ready? Where's your dress?"

"I'm ready and I left it on the bed. I want nothing to do with him and besides he's the one who paid for it."

Camille stifled a laugh as she reached over to take your hand and tightly squeezed it.

"Come on, let's go. Hopefully there's a direct flight and we won't have to worry about layovers."

Luck was on your side because as soon as you got to the airport, there were a few direct flights to Denver that would be taking off in two hours or less.

Once settled with your tickets and going through TSA, all of you decided to find a Starbucks since you had been craving a caramel ribbon crunch with extra caramel. This entire time your phone had been going off and not once did you look at it knowing that it was probably Joe along with your parents and the rest of your family. You doubted that Marlene was one of them and you were praying and hoping that she wasn't.

When all of you got to your gate and were waiting to board, you pulled out your phone to find a string of messages and calls and most of them being from Joe which you weren't surprised by. However, there was one from Marlene and you quickly opened it.

Mar- I would tell you that I'm sorry, but the bottom line is that I'm not. He should be with me and not you. So go run along and cry in a corner like you always do when you don't get your way. That's all it seems like you're good for anyway. Can't wait to start my family with Joe and I'll send you pictures of the baby.

"That stupid ass bitch has some absolute nerve." You muttered and Camille quickly took your phone to see what you had been talking about.

"No the fuck she didn't." She said as she grabbed your phone and also showed Raina and Alex.

"Karma is a bitch and I can't wait until it comes for her. How dare she hurt her little sister like that? And you would do absolutely anything for her. I don't know how many times you've bent over backwards for her." Alex piped up and said while sipping on her chai latte.

"I'm just so happy and thankful that I have you three. I just…. I really thought he was the one."

"Well he didn't give you any reason not to think that he was! We were rooting for him! Insert Tyra Banks meme. Like you two are or were perfect for each other. Ever since he kept making eye contact with you at the game we all went to, I knew it was a done deal. We all knew it was just a matter of time before the two of you walked down the aisle. I'm so sorry that he didn't realize what he had in front of him."

"And he's never going to be able to get me back. I don't care what he does, my answer is always going to be no." You quietly said while trying not to cry. You were still so in shock about what just happened, and you did cry earlier but you had a feeling that tonight would be ten times worse and it would hit you like a ton of bricks.

After you had taken off back down the aisle with your bridesmaids following you, all eyes were then on Joe and Marlene.

Both of Joe's older brothers looked at him confused, but your mom was the first to speak.

"I…. Marlene…. How? How in the world did you think that this was okay? And Joseph, don't even get me started on you."

Your father was giving Joe the death glare and had to be held back by your uncles as he was heading straight towards Joe.

"You broke my youngest daughter's heart by going for my oldest? You asked for my permission to marry her and go and pull this shit? And Marlene, why am I not surprised? You can't see anyone be happy except for yourself."

"I…." Joe started to say but was immediately cut off by your dad.

"No explanation is about to save you because there is literally no excuse for this."

"I'm not apologizing because he wanted me instead. It was only a matter of time before he left her for me anyway."

"I was NEVER going to leave her for you and I don't know how many times I have to tell you that. Besides, I don't even know if that kid is mine! I know that Y/N's is!" Joe piped up while running a hand through his hair.

"I mean does it even matter at this point?" Jamie asked while looking at his younger brother.

"But…"

"I mean on the plus side Marlene is pregnant." Your Aunt Diandra said and your mother immediately rolled her eyes.

"You cannot be serious."

"I'm happy for her in that regard!"

"Do me a favor." Your father said as he approached Joe who could admit to himself how intimidated he was at the moment since your father was an ex-NFL player himself.

"Stay away from Y/N and you better consider yourself lucky if I even let you near my grandchild that she's carrying. And as for you Marlene, I taught you better and since you decided to break up what would have been a happy marriage, you can get out of my house until you can learn to show respect to your sister."

You had been in Denver for about three weeks and was settling in as best as you could. It didn't take long for you to find your own place, but it wouldn't be ready until the end of the month so you were still staying at Camille's parents house.

Your daughter was growing at a normal rate and you couldn't have been more excited for her to get here. However, there was one major problem.

Her father.

Headlines broke the next day about what happened between you and Joe and you had gone ghost. You had gotten a new phone and you only had a few numbers. Since you changed your number also, the only people that had your number were your parents, Camille, Alex, Raina, and both of Joe's brothers. You figured that you would at least give them updates to let them know that you were okay, but Joe didn't deserve that.

You were at the point where you didn't want him in the delivery room and quite frankly you didn't want him near you for the rest of your pregnancy. The last thing you needed was for her to sense that something was wrong with her mother and be under stress. You wanted for him to stay far away from you and her for that matter. However, you wanted your daughter to have a good relationship with him, despite what he had done to you.

She deserved to know him and have him in her life even if you didn't want him in yours. When it got closer to your due date, you had to make a decision if you actually wanted him there with you. If course one side of you is saying fuck him, while the other still has a soft spot and want to share that important moment with him.

Camille had just gotten back to Ohio the day before after making sure that you were okay even though she knew you weren't. Her heart broke every time the two of you talked and she could see it in your eyes how much of a struggle this was for you and for good reason.

She had been waiting for her Chinese take out order when she suddenly heard her doorbell ring. She quickly got up to answer it and immediately rolled her eyes when she saw who it was.

"You aren't my Chinese take out." She said while staring blankly at Joe.

"I…. Camille. I need to talk to her."

"Hmm, talk to who? Your fiancé that you betrayed? Do I have that right? What makes you think that you deserve to be anywhere near her?"

"Come on Camille, I know you know where she is."

"What makes you think that Burrow?"

"Because you're one of her best friends! Just… I need to talk to her! She's pregnant!"

"What you need to do is leave her the fuck alone. You weren’t concerned that she was pregnant when you were going around sticking your dick in places that it doesn't belong. You and Marlene can go fuck yourselves. I know exactly where she is and I'm not fucking telling you so get the hell off my doorstep."

"Just… is she safe?"

"What is it to you? She's good. That's all you need to know and as of right now you aren't allowed in the delivery room. Have a good night." Camille finished speaking as she slammed her front door in his face.

Once the door was closed, she immediately sent you a text.

Cami- Your baby daddy is looking for you

You- 🖕🏽🖕🏽🖕🏽

Cami- Lmaoooo he showed up on my doorstep and I promptly told him to fuck off

You- And that's why we're best friends. I love you for this so thank you.

Cami- You absolutely never have to thank me for protecting you. I got you for life, you know this 💕

You- Look at Baby Burrow's Godmother coming through!

Cami- Are you still giving her his last name? 👀

You- I'm on the fence about it to be honest

Cami- Well whatever you decide I'll support you 100%

You- 🥹

After another month and a half and a whole lot of delays, you were finally settled into your condo and currently folding up clothes in the nursery. Just the week before, your parents along with your best friends threw you a baby shower and loaded you up with anything and everything that you might need for her first year of life.

However, you also felt some type of way when you looked on instagram to see that your extended family threw Marlene a baby shower as well despite what she did to you. From the time that you could remember, you were always in her shadow and you never quite felt that you were good enough. They put Marlene on a pedestal no matter how many times that she might mess up while they acted as if you didn't exist. But Marlene used to never let that slide until she decided to be a backstabbing bitch.

But you knew that she was going to get hers in due time, and you couldn’t wait to see it unfold right before your eyes. If you had done your math right, you knew that her due date was coming up soon and wanted nothing to do with her or the baby.

Almost a week later, Marlene was trying to do anything and everything to get into contact with you as tears were streaming down her face as her newborn son cried hysterically in the background.

She messed up and she messed up big time.

She hurt the one person in the world that she knew would have her back through anything and had a feeling that you would never forgive her for the rest of both of your lives and for good reason.

She kept calling your new number that she had gotten from your mother's phone and it was steadily going to voice-mail.

It was the sixth time when she decided to finally leave you a message hoping that you would answer her.

"Y/N, baby girl. I am so so sorry. Please call me back so we can talk. I know I hurt you and I feel terrible about it. I hurt the one person that has always been there for me. I… I'm calling because I got the DNA results. Joe wouldn't take no for an answer to getting them and….. I get it as to why. Um, I said all that to say that the baby isn't his."

Taglist:

@hoodharlow

@nattinatalia

@a-moment-captured

@wickedfun9

@keiva1000

@dandelionwrites8

[iouinotes]

match made in heaven | Alex Walter

pairing: Alex Walter x female!reader

show: My life with the Walter boys

warnings: just kissing word count: 2,2k

summary: At your birthday party you get dared to spend 7 minutes in heaven with none other than your best friend Alex.

a/n: A modified review of "Beautiful boy" Thank you @rogueanschel-reads for the woderful idea!

"Come on, even a stranger can sense your attraction for each other, the hidden love that lays beneath your friendship."

Maybe it wasnt the best idea to play truth or dare.

Well, firstly I want to say that I love my friendgroup. Grace, Skylar, his boyfriend Nathan, Kiley and of course, my best friend Alex.

Really, I love these guys. But sometimes they make me want to jump off a cliff, no regretting or turning back.

In moments like this, where I want to spent a good time partying with my friends, because its my 16th birthday, they need to remind me of the he-who-must-not-be-named-topic. That means for outstanders, my non-existent, strictly friendly feelings for my best friend Alex.

The guy, who has absolutely no idea, he's being compared to Voldemort. But for the matter of fact, Harry Potter are my all-time favorite movies and early Voldemort was actually quiet handsome. So, it kinda makes sense. Why? Because Alex has put a spell on me with his smile and his pretty face.

But back to my party.

We are currently in the living room, our knees are touching the legs of the person next to us and someone (Grace) encouraged us to smuggle a few bottles of alcohol to the party, even though we didnt plan to drink.

Now, Skylar had the great idea to embarrass everyone by playing truth or dare, but with a twist. He likes to call it "match made in heaven" or what it actually means, making out in a closet. Something like that, I've never participated in any of these games.

Until now.

As I am the birthday girl, I started the game by choosing truth. But I could really have just voluntarily confessed my feelings for Alex. Because Grace winked at me and I knew at that moment, that the next few minutes meant trouble.

"So, y/n. Describe us your magical boy, that you dream of being able to call your own." I knew it. She could have just asked me what college I wanted to attend or something less embarrassing, but no. She needed to ask me about my type in boys, which obviously is my handsome, brown haired best friend next to me.

As I'm about to hide my head in my hands, I hear the encouraging shouts of the people I call my friends.

"Okay, okay. Let me think for a moment." I couldnt make it that obvious, I liked him. But still, it was worth a try.

"Someone who has an angelic smile, where you just stare at his face and can´t stop looking at him. I-I like brown hair and I dont know, what it is, but hazel eyes, they somehow make my heart beat faster. I mean- he´s attractive, because he is a gentleman. Caring and supportive, someone who listens to my wants and needs, but still continues to be his true self. I can read books with him or we watch movies together and talk about it after. He makes me feel seen, safe. I love him, because he is everything I could ever dream of and more."

When I finish speaking, Grace grins innocent and looks at me with her long eyelashes. "I wonder, who that could be."

My eyes secretly dart to Alex, trying to figure out, if he knows, that I am very obviously describing him. But he just watches the floor, his eyebrows are drawn together and I almost think, he looks annoyed.

"Someone is jealous" I hear Skylar´s voice in my ear.

As the game went on, his behavior kept being slightly off, even though he never said anything about it and continued to smile at me, when we looked at each other.

And then, Alex was asked about his favorite memory, whether it was about being in school, with family or with friends.

Well, he told them about the first time, he introduced me to his favorite book saga, the Lord of the Rings. I never knew, that day was so special for him, but as he described my hilarious reactions and facial features, how he saw my eyes widen with disbelief as he read out the first chapters, I remembered.

When I look back, it really was a wonderful night. We did a sleepover at his house and were talking about watching Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings. Somehow, we also talked about the books and that I read the seven books about the famous wizard and he the books about the elves and other creatures (don´t judge me for this description). We discussed almost every aspect, but he still convinced me to give his favorite books a try. So we spent the night spread out on his bed, eating sweets and reading the first book. Well, he mostly read it out loud to me, because his pronunciation was definitely much better than mine. It was fun, also because I got to watch him being in his element, so it really was a heartwarming evening.

I smile at the memory, a warm feeling blooms in my chest and when he finishes talking about it, he looks at me fondly. I had to keep myself from wanting to giggle like a little girl, but my inner 13-year old, most definitely did giggle.

Back to the original topic. Next, Grace was dared to wear one of my clothes, Kiley told us about her celebrity crush (Timothee Chalamet, but you didnt hear it from me) and when Alex was asked who he would trust with his secret, if he was spiderman, he mentioned me again. It was sweet and I had planned to tell him, that I would love to be the girl in the chair.

But, as the game went on, my name constantly fell from his lips. He was dared to show one of the most terrible photos of him and revealed to the group, a snapshot from us, wearing unrecognizable Halloween costumes. Funny, but my idea to go as ghosts wasnt that bad.

Nevertheless, he talked about the best gift he had ever received, a pair of cowboy boots, I got him two years ago (Nathan was playfully annoyed that one of his presents werent the best one) and as the game continued, the question, that I tried my best to avoid, was eventually asked.

"You two are always around each other and I've barely seen you apart, like ever. Are you sure, there is nothing going on between you? It seems like it."

Alex and I looked at each other, but then quickly laughed it off. It was what we always did, when someone asked us about our close friendship. None of us really answered and that meant for me, that he neither confirmed or declined having feelings for me. Very confusing and bad for my hoping heart.

So, when our friends are looking at each other now, grinning like they planned something really wicked, I know, that my personal hell is waiting for me. Or in my situation, a modified version of heaven.

"Y/n, I dare you to play seven minutes in heaven with just your best friend Alex." Grace is smiling in front of me and when I want to debate about it, she cuts me off.

"But I havent said I would take dare-" my words are going silent and I only hear my pounding heart.

"You always choose truth, that´s boring. You get the dare now, so stand up and cuddle with your wizard!"

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Alex holds his hands out for me, so he can help me stand up. He silently looks at me and I try to assure him by smiling, but I think I´m failing at it. Because he looks as unnerved as I feel right now.

When we walk out of the room and into the small storage room, we hear Skylar´s distance shouting.

"No lights and close the door! That are the rules, we set the timer!"

Why was I friends with them again?

When we approach the room, unlocking the door and stepping inside, we are suddenly surrounded by darkness. And when he closes my only way to escape, its quiet for a moment. Then, I hear is curious voice.

"What did Grace mean about your wizard?"

I relax and gently laugh. Nothing has to happen, everything is fine.

"That you are as bad at keeping secrets than Draco. Harry really found out on the first day in 6th grade, that something was clearly up with him."

Alex groans. "Please no more talking about your Drarry shipping. I get it, it could have been an enemies-to-lovers romance."

I smack his arm, taking a step closer to him.

"Okay, what would you like to talk about instead?"

I can make out the outlines of his face in the darkness, seeing how he also takes a step closer. I feel myself breathing heavily and my hands nervously shaking.

"I think, that I should keep you warm, because I literally see your hands shaking." When he takes another step in my direction, I hold my breath and in the same second, I feel his arms wrap around me.

His hands find their way to my back, embracing me in his warmth until I feel him breathing on my neck. I need to stop myself from shivering at this feeling.

"I can work with that." I whisper, snuggling into his chest and closing my eyes. I hear his racing heart and immediately need to smile.

"Your heart is beating very fast." His chin rests on my head, I feel him holding me closer.

"It´s the darkness." Of course, it is.

When I also close my arms around his waist, I feel for the first time a kind of inner peace, that I read about in books.

When a character feels safe in the embrace of their beloved.

Silence surrounds us for a minute and I begin to thank Grace for her dare, because him holding me in his arms und me, hugging him, is much more than wonderful.

"When you call me a wizard, do I get to call you a witch?" I burst out a laughter at his question.

"Only if you won´t compare me to Umbridge." He nods quietly.

"You are as far away from being like Umbridge as the earth is away from the moon. So, you don´t have to worry."

"Good." We are silent again.

"So, have you ever thought about what you would do, if you would get to spent time with a person, when you have seven minutes in heaven?" I think for a few seconds, before I answer him.

"I always imaged this game as a way to confess feelings or solving a fight. Maybe a hidden chance to make out too, I guess."

I hear him taking a deep breath, not expecting much. Until-

"Can I kiss you?" My knees almost give out.

"You what-?" I turn to look at him. Noticing his widen pupils.

"I mean, would you, um, want to kiss. Like, me. Now. Not that you need to, but you sounded like you would want that experience, so-" he tries to hold a stable voice, but I can sense, that he's slowly freaking out.

"Alex. You just asked me, if we should kiss."

I can´t believe it.

"...yes?" He sounds so sincere.

"Why?" I ask, while continue to look at him, feeling every centimeter that divides our lips from touching.

"Like I said, I don´t want you to miss out on anything."

Silence.

"Okay and maybe I just wanted an excuse to kiss you, before that dream boy of yours does."

I lean forward, watching as his eyes keep looking at my lips, even though he tries to hold the eye contact.

I slowly raise my hand and place it on the back of his neck, caressing the dark hair and twirling a few strands.

"Are you jealous, pretty boy?" I feel his cheeks getting warm, seeing the effect my words have on him.

His hands hold me tighter and a startled expression is shown on his face.

"What? Me, jealous? No." I raise my eyebrows at him.

He signs. "Maybe. I dont like the thought of someone else with you." His thumb brushes over my lips.

"Kissing you, touching you. It just doesnt feel right, that someone else would do that."

"You mean, someone who isnt you?" I look at his lips and he hums quietly. His hand slowly wanders to my chin and directs my head closer to him, I can feel his breath on my skin.

"We don´t have to do it-" I begin to talk, but then again, when he speaks up, his voice sounds out of breath, like he's holding himself back.

"No, it´s just one...little...kiss" his voice becomes quieter, the less distance there is between our faces.

And with one, last look, he catches my lips in a slow kiss. Keeping me close to him, by holding onto my waist. His hands find their way to my cheeks, caressing them with his fingers and I feel my heart pounding as prominent against my chest as feel him kissing me.

I don't notice, that he's directing me back until I gently hit the wall, while his hands slowly explore my sides. My hands tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, so I can feel everything of him.

And in that moment, I understand the name of the game. Because this truly feels like heaven.

When I notice, that I can´t breath anymore (but who needs oxygen when you can have Alex Walter), we gently break apart. Still holding onto each other.

And as soon as we catch our breath, both of us are smiling at each other and we share our feelings without a word.

"That was-" he doesnt get to finish his sentence, because in a blink of an eye, the door opens and brightness consumes us.

We quickly break apart, but apparently too late, because Grace´s voice is the first one to tease us.

"Right, you are just friends."

You can imagine, what the entire evening after that was like...

[nopecho]

LI Book Headcanons

I've had this thought in my mind all day and NEED to get it out there.

(content warning: mentions of JK Rowling. Not to worry, it's bad mouthing her.)

Eden: his favourite damn series is Lord of the Rings. My man started with The Hobbit, then dived into Lotr. He's read EVERY. SINGLE. Elf song that the book has to offer. He's a fantasy nerd. However I would also see him read Pride and Prejudice. Perhaps some Terry Pratchett, too.

Avery: she grew up reading her parent's notes and bank account details. HOWEVER she's also read 50 Shades of Gray, and gave her the idea in mind that if she has enough money, she can acquire any lover she wants. REFUSES to acknowledge that it's Twilight fanfiction.

Kylar: speaking of Twilight, he is a FANATIC. adores the idea of being the misterious vampire, that attracts Bella in his unusual charm. He's read every book. And I mean every book, he's read the genderbent version, the Edward POV, anything written by Meyer he's read. He was neither team Jacob or Edward, he was team Kylar. Drew his self insert vampire oc with Bella NUMEROUS times.

Robin: he used to be a Potterhead. He was SO into it. Identified as a Hufflepuff, did the patronus and wand quizzes, his favourite book is the first one. He was in SHACKLES when JK Rowling came out as a gross terf. The level of betrayal he felt is indescribable. He woved to never touch the books again.

Sydney: do you know those books Christian oarents give to kids to let them know about Jesus early? Yeah, Sidney's read them. However, when she got freedom to grab her own books, she discovered that she DIGS Greek Mythology. She has a whole collection of Rick Riordan's books on the shelf, has attempted to draw her favourite characters. The movies don't exist to her and whenever anyone brings them up, she death stares them.

Alex: you know the Grimm fairy tales? Those are his favourites. Just the dark forest themes, the magic, the horror aspect of it... It just works for him. He's lived his whole life in the countryside, so he can fantasize about getting lost in the woods and finding a gingerbread house.

Whitney. I saved the best for last. So in hus childhood, in my headcanon he could never really afford to buy books, let alone his parents giving them to him. He read a bit of Dr Seuss but that was it. NOW that he can actually afford some stuff, he discovered the duality of man. Comics.

On one hand, he absolutely LOVES thise cute, kid friendly comics. Peanuts, Garfield, the Disney Mickey Mouse comics. On the other, he absolutely digs the over-the-top action manga shit. I'm talking Chainsaw Man, DevilMan by Go Nagai, Hells Angels by Shinichi Hiromoto. He doesn't have enough attention span to read a whole book, but he absolutely LOVES comics.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk!

[xoxoladyaz]

AU-gust, Day 5: Pet Sitting

“Nope, no way. Absolutely not.”

Six sets of puppy-dog eyes stared back at her. Lucas, the ham, even pretended to start whimpering.

“Stevie, please,” Dustin whined, “Eddie needs a safe place to stay.”

She stared at Dustin for a few seconds before glancing down at the shoebox in Dustin’s hands. Inside the shoebox surrounded by a few of Claudia’s oldest and fuzziest kitchen towels stood a bat, a small black bat with big black eyes that looked almost just as pathetic as the rest of the kids.

(Almost.)

“I’ve done this song and dance with you before, Henderson, and I told you when you got rid of the alien lizard - ”

“D’artagnan was a cryptid, Stevie!”

“ – alien lizard that I wasn’t going to help you keep playing monster vet. I still haven’t recovered from seeing Mews’ corpse!”

“Mews was my cat and I’m fine! Besides, Eddie’s just a normal bat!”

“Dustin, he has a full head of hair!”

Stevie and Dustin stared at each other before looking back down at the bat (Eddie). Who was running his little claws through his hair and preening. (Stevie could have sworn that he winked at her, but she wasn’t crazy; it was definitely just a trick of the light.)

Dustin’s face started to flush like he was going to argue with her but El (sweet, precious El) cut him off before he could really get going. “Stevie’s right. He is not normal,” El said, stepping forward to run her fingers against Eddie’s head. Eddie rubbed up against her fingers and chirped. 

“See, I knew it - ”

“But he is a friend,” El said and fuck, the full force of El-most-likely-a-changeling-Hopper’s big brown eyes was something Stevie would probably never learn to resist. “And he needs someone to care for him while he gets better.”

“Better? What do you mean, better?”

“Bad man,” El replied matter-of-factly and, well, shit. She didn’t need to say much more than that.

Stevie sighed and turned her attention back towards the “bat” in question. “How long?”

/////

Just a few weeks, maybe a month or two, Dustin had said. “I would have kept him myself but Mom was worried that he’d eat Tews – ”

(“Oh, and you don’t care if I get eaten?” Stevie had replied. Dustin had just rolled his eyes and ignored her.) 

So yeah, two months tops, just until Eddie was “healed” or what not. (He didn’t have any visible injuries that Stevie could see but then again, she was just a cosmetologist, what the fuck did she know about bat anatomy?) Until then, Stevie was going to have a tiny flying roommate who apparently “only likes to listen to metal music, so I’ve brought a few tapes and oh! He loves fantasy so you’ll have to read him this as a bedtime story,” at which point Dustin handed her The Lord of the Rings, “and he gets lonely at night so don’t lock him out, he likes to cuddle, and he should be able to fit in your jacket pocket when you go to work during the day - ”

“No, nope, no way, none of that is happening,” Stevie argued and she really had been planning on sticking to that – no metal music, no bedtime stories, no cuddles, and definitely no work trips, no way, no how.

(She’d folded by hour two of Eddie’s stay at Casa de Harrington.)

/////

“You get this is weird, right?”

“Hmm?” Stevie was cutting apart some strawberries to blend with whatever “protein drink” Dustin kept dropping off at her house. “What’s weird?” She turned to look at Robin, who was watching Eddie shimmy up and down the dining room table to “Rock Me Like a Hurricane.”

“Stevie. This is not normal bat behavior.”

“So? It’s normal Eddie behavior,” Stevie shrugged. She tossed the berries into the blender and, once it was a fine red concoction, put it in a little cup with a little straw and walked over the table. Eddie slid his way across the polished wood and wiggled when he saw her, chittering happily before going to town on his fruit smoothie.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t also normal Stevie behavior!” Robin threw her hands up in the air. “You’re letting a wild animal sleep with you in your bed!”

(She’d tried to encourage Eddie to stay in the guest room that first night all those weeks ago but she’d barely laid in bed for all of two minutes before a dark shape flew through the dark and landed on her chest. She’d screamed and leapt out of the bed but Eddie had somehow managed to grip his claws into her shirt and no amount of arguing with him was able to get him to let go. 

“Fine,” she’d finally growled, “but if I roll over and squish you, it’s not my fault.” 

When she’d finally woken up the next morning, she was still lying on her back and Eddie was still nestled onto her chest. They’d been going to sleep every night that way ever since.)

“Hey,” Stevie replied defensively, “he’s not a wild animal, he’s totally tame.”

“Uh huh,” Robin replied queasily, watching as Eddie happily slurped up his smoothie. “Just because you play dress-up with him doesn’t mean he’s tame, Stevie.”

The tiny vest was from El and Will, something about how Eddie looked “wrong” without it (whatever that meant. Stevie had to admit it did look really cute on him.)

“He looks adorable, Robin!”

“He’s totally taken over your life,” Robin shot back dramatically. “He goes shopping with you, you take him to work – Stevie, he sits with you when you take bubble baths, for Pete’s sake!”

(Hey, Eddie was a gentleman, he always waited until she was covered by bubbles until coming in and sitting on the little nest of towels she’d made for him on the set of drawers by the bathtub and okay, maybe Robin had a point here.)

“And that’s not to mention that I’ve been trying to get you to read a book for literal years now and this bat shows up and suddenly you’re reading Tolkien to him every night?”

“It’s actually a good book, Robin,” Stevie said defensively.

“I know that, Stevie, I just can’t believe that you’re not seeing this! Like, there are so many red flags! He’s literally drinking blood right now!”

Stevie huffed and leaned over the table, like she was physically covering Eddie from Robin’s criticism. “It’s rude to judge somebody else’s eating habits, Robin. Or did you forget our conversation last month when you tried to go vegetarian?”

“That’s different and you know it!” Robin exclaimed. 

Eddie, because he was a little drama king, took the last sip of his smoothie while making eye contact with Robin before letting out an exaggeratedly content sigh. 

“See?!”

Stevie rolled her eyes and set her hand down. Eddie scurried onto her palm, letting out a series of happy chirps. She lifted him up and set him on her shoulder where he waddled to her cheek and pressed his little face against it, like he was giving her a little kiss. “You’re being overdramatic, Robin.”

“Fine, whatever, just don’t come crying to me when he makes you his eternal vampire bride or whatever,” Robin huffed before getting up and stalking out of the kitchen.

“He’s just a bat!” Stevie called after her. Robin responded by slamming the front door after he on the way out. 

Sighing, Stevie turned to look at Eddie, who was currently making a home for himself in her curls. “You are just a bat, right?”

Eddie turned and shot her a wink before wrapping his little body in one of her ringlets.

“Yeah, that’s probably fine.”

/////

One of the best parts of having Eddie around actually was nighttime. She hadn’t gotten so many nights of uninterrupted sleep in years. He was like some sort of nightmare repellent or something; in fact, the only dreams she’d had recently were of a shrouded figure with long dark hair and a sexy laugh and teasing cool hands and other things – 

And when she woke up a month and a half into Eddie’s residency in her home, she probably should have been more shocked at the fact that her bat had turned into a very pale, very sexy and very naked man with long dark hair and cool skin and – 

“God, Robin’s never going to let me live this down,” Stevie murmured as the man stirred above her. He opened his eyes and yep, yeah, those were her bat’s eyes. 

Eddie’s grin grew sharp as he pressed her further into her bed. “I’m sure I can find some way to make up for it,” he said as he drew close enough to kiss her. 

“How do you feel about a Halloween wedding?”

[neyafromfrance95]

we said that the finale would inspire many great mind-palace fics, and these excellent one-shots are proving us right!

absolutely adore the detail about sauron wanting to cook for galadriel bc omg it makes so much sense that he would wish to do that for her like the evil malewife he is!

love the way he treats her as a much younger creature - with condescension, amusement and patience.

love how u can see the contradictory nature of his coveting - he wishes to worship her, and he wishes to possess her.

he both is a service dom and displays masochism.

very in-character for galadriel to try to slay him even when she knows it's futile! ofc our feral brat chooses violence <3

love that her untamable willpower and pride is clashed with the wound/bond craving his touch!

i love how her hate for sauron is as passionate as her love for halbrand.

a great example of psychosexual + fantastical bdsm.

please give this fic some love 💙

the other fic i want to recommend is simply so great that i'm afraid it left me short for words to properly articulate how excellent the writing itself is! just read and see for yourself:

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XXIX

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds / @lady-of-tearshed

Elain straightened her skirts, smoothing out the fabric with gentle fingers. The golden rings she was wearing glimmered when she moved, attracting her attention. Rubies and pearls adorned each band, riches on full display as was traditionally expected of an Autumn Court bride. She breathed in, feeling Lucien’s presence down the bond. She could practically feel each beat of his heart matching the rhythm of her own, a familiar comfort while she waited by the edge of the woods. 

Cora had just left to tell Lucien that Elain was ready, disappearing in an effortless winnow and leaving her to wait for Eris to arrive. She absently patted the crown of her head, ensuring no curl was out of place. The comb Eris had gifted her pinned the strands away from her face, revealing the pale column of her neck. She bit her lip nervously, wondering if Lucien would find her lovely. 

My mate. 

Elain whispered the words, grounding herself in the moment. 

My husband. 

She supposed she might have to get used to referring to Lucien as such, even if they had both decided to take things slow once they returned to Velaris. There were countless little details Elain still wanted to know about the man she had risked everything for, and considering she was immortal, they would have all the time in the world. She could imagine it all so clearly, experiencing the small and everyday joys with someone she had undoubtedly fallen for. 

Elain smiled, her lips pulled upwards involuntarily as memories from the night before flashed in her mind. Lucien had known exactly what she had needed, and she had managed to surprise even herself at the shameless way she had expressed her every desire. It had been absolutely perfect, he had been absolutely perfect.

At the quiet sound of low voices, Elain was dragged out of her thoughts. She got onto the tips of her toes, peering through the foliage until her eyes landed on a familiar figure. She spotted Eris, his hair a near match to the maple leaves that gently danced around her. Gripping her skirts, she began to walk towards him, but she stopped in her tracks when she noticed that his father was at his side.

Eris looked handsome in a flawlessly tailored waistcoat, the brocade pattern shimmering to look like roses against the dark brown fabric. There was not a single wrinkle on his neatly pressed shirtsleeves, and his long leather boots appeared to be brand new. He barely resembled his father, and the stark contrast in their outfits highlighted each difference. 

The High Lord was wearing an elegant jacket made of velvet in a deep shade of crimson. The cut was simple yet flattering, golden details stitched along the collar created a beautiful pattern, standing out brightly against the material. He looked devastatingly regal and completely in his element. 

A warning shiver ran up Elain’s spine, the feeling making her uneasy. It felt like a warning, a bird’s call before a raging thunderstorm. A voice seemed to linger in the large open space, urging her to wait.  

Instead of continuing forward, Elain hid herself from view, trying her best to use her surroundings as a shield. Drawing on her very limited knowledge of stealth, she focused her energy on staying as quiet as she could. Her palm touched the rough bark of the tree next to her, and she leaned onto the thick trunk slightly for support, the pure white train of her dress dragging along wavy roots. She strained her ears, listening to the steady rise of the High Lord’s voice as the two men approached, coming closer and not knowing that they were being watched. 

“When the girl arrived in our court, I wasn’t pleased,” Beron said, his footsteps silent along the forest floor despite the twigs and leaves in his path. For a moment, Elain was reminded of a vicious predator, feline in nature, ready to pounce. 

Eris hummed, the soft response carrying on a gentle wind. “And now?” 

Beron shrugged, his broad shoulders shifting upwards. “She’s grown on me.” 

Elain realised belatedly that they were speaking about her. She felt as her brows pinched  together. Curiosity had her inching forward in an attempt to hear better, eager to know what else they might say. The feeling of dread still lingered in her gut, and she worried if Eris might share her secret with his father. Anger gripped her readily, and she knew a frustrated blush was staining her pale cheeks. 

Elain gasped when a rough hand grabbed her wrist, and although she was able to stop herself from crying out in surprise, terror slowed her reactions. Slim fingers cold as ice held onto her tightly, feeling like claws. Once her emotions settled, she whipped her head around to see who it was, prepared to scream for help. 

“What are you doing?” Lethe hissed, the question falling between clenched teeth. She was clearly not very pleased with having caught someone eavesdropping on a private conversation between her friend and his father. 

Elain kept her voice low, barely a whisper as she made her demand. “Let go.” 

The other woman did not, but Elain was secretly very proud of herself for maintaining her composure. Lethe tugged her arm forcefully. “You’re being rude,” she admonished, judgement leaking into her tone despite how quiet the words were. 

Elain rolled her eyes, biting back a bitter accusation as she once again turned her attention to the High Lord. He had a hand on his son’s shoulder, the gesture surprisingly sweet and fatherly. “I suppose I should thank you, Eris.” 

At the words, even Lethe joined in listening, standing closer. She ignored the pointed look Elain shot in her direction, aggressively knocking into her shoulder. It was almost friendly, playful in nature, easing some of her nerves. 

Elain saw as Eris frowned, a wary edge falling over his features. “For what?” He asked, tilting his head like a confused hound. Beron’s grasp tightened, the tips of his fingers leaving small imprints where they touched. 

The world spun around Elain, making her lose every sense of direction. It was like the ground had disappeared beneath her feet, there and then gone. The feeling of Lethe’s fingers still on her wrist kept her from falling, and she struggled to connect what she saw in front of her with reality.  

Darkness lingered at the edges of her vision, and her mouth was open although no sound fell from her tongue. She felt like she was floating, lingering like a fog that clung to the forest.   

Beron had moved swiftly, like a snake rushing towards its prey. He held the hilt of a knife between his fingers, the only part visible as the blade dug deep through skin and bone. There was a flare of magic, flames dancing for a moment before extinguishing completely. Heat carried in waves, and Eris’s lips parted in silent shock. His amber eyes were wide, their golden depths fading, the strange colour leaking with every passing moment. 

Beron shifted, his hand moving gently from where he had been gripping his son’s shoulder. He placed his palm against the crook of his neck, cupping Eris’s jaw, before he responded to the unanswered question. “For bringing me something Made.” 

Elain would have made a sound, agony ripped through her chest, almost as if she had been the one stabbed. In response to the tension taking over her body, Lethe pulled her close so that Elain fell against her. The moan she made was muffled as the other woman pressed a hand so tightly to her mouth that she could scarcely breathe. 

“Oh gods,” Lethe murmured, terror clinging to the prayer. She tried to pull them both away, but Elain dug her heels into the ground, keeping them in place.   

Eris glanced at the dagger, his hand grabbing onto the High Lord’s fist. He took an uneasy step back. “Father—”

Beron followed, cutting short whatever his son had meant to say. “You lie like your mother,” he interrupted, poisonous resentment in the accusation. He moved his arm a second time, a flash of starlight as the weapon reflected the moon’s glow for the briefest of moments. Beron plunged the dagger forward with no hesitation, jerking the blade upwards violently. 

Eris grunted, blood dripping from his mouth as he leaned into Beron’s grip. It was strange, Elain thought, that it almost looked affectionate. “You play the game of lords well, and I’ve grown to admire you for it, my boy.” 

Eris clung to his father’s jacket, scarlet on his fingers. It was the exact shade of a rose petal, deep and lovely. It left no stain on the crimson velvet. He shook his head, eyes dark.

Beron continued, supporting his son’s weight. “But you’re weak in all the ways that matter, and for that, I have only myself to blame.” 

Eris fell against his father, eyes fluttering shut, as he made a pained sound. Lethe groaned similarly as she watched, clinging to Elain desperately. Beron ran a hand over the back of his son’s head, pressing their foreheads together gingerly, lovingly. “I’m sorry, Eris,” he offered into the stretch of silence, sincerity dripping from his tone.

Eris did not respond. He only grunted one final time when Beron removed the dagger, the tip of the golden blade dull and strange. His knees gave out attempting to hold his own weight, and while a hand searched absently for the wound, the other lingered on his father’s boot. He coughed, blood staining his collar, scarlet ruining his waistcoat. Elain watched, frozen and horrified as Eris collapsed inelegantly, the action so at odds with the self control he usually possessed. 

When he remained unmoving, Lethe sprung into action. She held onto Elain tightly, dragging her away. There were tears on both their cheeks, and Elain choked on a sob when Lethe finally removed the hand she had kept on her mouth.  

Lucien. 

Elain needed her mate. 

“We have to find Callum,” Lethe mumbled, pulling Elain deeper into the woods, leading them towards the sounds of an assembled crowd. 

Wedding guests.  

Elain realised just as Lethe did that the usual rhythms of the forest had fallen silent. It was unnerving and unnatural, a warning just as striking as the toll of a bell. Lethe tensed before she shoved Elain forward, pushing her until she lost her balance. “Run,” she ordered, frightened eyes wide.

Elain could do nothing but obey. She began to sprint, kicking off her shoes so she could gain more purchase in the loose dirt. She did not even bother looking back to see if Lethe was following her, desperate in her attempts to reach Lucien. She tugged on the golden thread connecting them, hoping he would hurry. 

Elain collided with branches as she continued towards the growing sound of laughter and conversation, sobbing in her relief. She was aware of a presence behind her, looming and ancient, the magic freezing the blood in her veins. Twigs cut at the skin of her cheeks, feeling like sharp nails. 

A wolf howled beside her, haunting. 

Elain nearly fell when she tripped on the uneven land, golden skirts getting in the way. She grabbed at the fabric, holding it near her waist.

The forest was a maze, and she was grateful for her faerie strength and stamina as she ran, trying to reach Lucien. She had to tell him about Eris, needed him to know about what his father had done. 

Darkness appeared suddenly, like a cloud had floated across the sky and blocked the moon. Elain continued to run, slipping in her desperation, a sob ripped from deep within her throat. 

There was no light, and she felt sick. The trees spun around her, overwhelming her senses as she tripped, scraping her legs. The copper scent of her own blood lingered in the air, dizzying. Elain fell to her knees as Eris had, but at least the ground was soft, she thought, the dirt smooth beneath her fingers.

Elain glanced up, craning her neck as the stars winked out of existence. She briefly saw the moon, shining through a gap in the dense canopy of leaves. It was framed prettily by the night sky, hope rising briefly but despair taking root as the moon was swallowed entirely by the dark.

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 9.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

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so sorry for the long wait. ):

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, decapitation, death

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The sound of paper furling and unfurling were the only ones heard. Then the slam of a fist on a wooden desk. Then a sigh. 

“This is ridiculous,” Rhaenyra hissed, reading over the missive stamped with the Velaryon sigil for the near hundredth time. “Absolutely ridiculous— borderline treasonous.” 

The letter spelled out, in so many words, that Vaemond Velaryon was contesting Lucerys’ inheritance claim to Driftmark. Lord Corlys had apparently fallen ill in the Stepstones— damn that accursed place— which brought up the question of succession. There had been whispers over the years of Rhaenyra’s first three sons’ true parentage belied in the seed of a certain late Commander of the City’s watch. Such accusations have been unfounded and swatted away like flies if the argument was ever brought up in the small council chamber or throne room. 

Upon looking at them, the three Velaryon boys were only such in name– that much was obvious. Their brown eyes and curled brown hair struck a decided resemblance to someone that was not Ser Laenor Velaryon. 

Even if the rumors, as they may be, were plain as day truths, such things couldn’t be acted upon, much less said about the heir to the iron throne, could they? 

“How can Alicent even entertain this… this mummer’s farce?” she continued to seethe, resorting to pacing now, twisting the rings on her fingers. Her throat felt a bit dry at the situation. Her and Alicent had struck a comfortable balance since returning. This felt… it felt akin to a slap in the face.

“‘Tis not just Alicent entertaining it,” Daemon muttered, swirling wine in his cup. He was lazed in the chaise, one leg over the other. He seemed particularly laissez-faire about the situation at hand, as if it were nothing more than a mere annoyance to him, like a leg cramp or an annoying bug. “That snake of a father she has has his fangs in every pot. Whatever suits him— and this would seem to be one of those things.” he glanced to his wife, wanting to say more about the queen, but thought better of it. Daemon Targaryen was, in all accounts, a man who spoke his mind– but he didn’t wish to ruffle his pregnant wife’s feathers by calling her ‘girlhood friend’ a cunt like her father. 

“Otto Hightower is a conniving man, that much is true. What could he hope to gain by currying favor with Vaemond?” 

“The Velaryon fleet. The Velaryon coin. The Velaryon connections. The well of opportunities for conniving cunts like Otto are endless.” he punctuated each point with a wave of his glass.

Rhaenyra’s mouth snapped shut. She was silent for a long while before finally speaking again. “Well, Lord Corlys is not dead yet. This will be fought and we will be heard.”

—

The morning after the gala was… eventful, to say the least. She hardly remembered going back to her room, it all felt like a hazy, dizzy dream. 

Aemond had escorted her back to her chambers in (comfortable) silence, giving her another goodnight kiss before leaving her for the night. She had been reeling from it all, the adrenaline of their interaction.

She could feel his lips on hers and a delightful buzz on her face and… another unfamiliar sensation deep in her body, nestled behind her navel. It felt like a pulling sensation, like a thread connecting her and Aemond. Just the slightest tug on the string had her feeling warm and fuzzy— she wanted him. The implication of wanting him could mean a myriad of things. She was fond of him, of course, she always had been. His possessive declaration, to any normal person, could be deduced into one thing. But in Shera’s mind, there were many interpretations of such an action, it couldn’t be assumed to mean one thing! 

He said she belonged to him— that didn’t necessarily mean he… loved her, he just wanted her near him. The kiss… she had started it, of course! It was merely… something of comfort between them, like a soft blanket or a favorite smell, right? Nothing so deep as… as one might assume.

 But it was also… melding into one another with ease, like their lips coming together had been second nature, their feelings inevitable. 

She kicked her legs in bed, spooking Moongeist slightly. Burying her face in her pillow, she gave an uncharacteristically loud squeal— to personify her current feelings. This was girlish and so very silly! Her face was red, she knew, feeling the heat radiating off of it.

No, no— ‘twas not love. It… Aemond didn’t love her, he couldn’t, it was a passing fancy. Yes, he was possessive and had mentioned marrying her twice. But that didn’t… mean… 

She glanced over at the dozens of drawings and sketches they’d done over the past few weeks on her side table. Her eye immediately caught on the portrait she did of him in blue and purple pastels, fingers wrought over the etching as she thought back to when she presented it to him. 

“I do not look like this, Shera,” he scoffed as he rolled his eye at her depiction of him. “You made me look like a child getting their portrait done for the first time. I look like I am being held at swordpoint.” 

Her mouth opened, brows flying to her hairline. “What do you mean? This is what you look like to me,” she snatched the paper from his hand and put it up next to his face to compare. “And you wouldn’t sit still, you basically were a child. I thought you had more discipline than that– Ser Criston would be disappointed.” she tutted.

Of course, it was a stylized portrait– mayhaps overly stylized. It was lines and angles and he did look quite pointy in it. But it felt like him, harsh around the edges but there was a glint in his eye that was soft, something few people could catch in Aemond Targaryen. He had been agitated when she made him stand still and it was surprising that she didn’t capture that overbearing emotion– rather, she caught the softness reserved only for her that hung in the back light of his eye.

“You are blind.” Aemond huffed, turning away.

“Yes, we have established that,” she pushed his shoulder playfully.

Love. Love? Love!

She screamed herself hoarse again into her pillow until Moongeist tugged it away from her. 

She loved him. She was in love with Aemond Targaryen and had been for a very, very long time. 

She was still giddy about it, getting out of bed with a spring in her step, as if she were some sort of sprightly hare. She peppered Moongeist’s face in kisses, to which he returned sleepy chuffs and whines, cooing soft noises to him in lieu of words— her throat hurt from her girlish squealing.

She had almost forgotten about the incident. The warging. She wasn’t even sure it had been real, if not for the bruises where Aemond held her so tightly to stop her from falling to the floor, she thought it would’ve been a dream. 

Shera knew of warging– every Stark did, every Northman did. It was a seemingly supernatural phenomenon told by stewardesses to children. It was a thing of wonder and utter horror. She remembers her own stewardess, the very fleeting memories she had before King’s Landing of Winterfell, keeping her afraid with the threat that if a skinchanger died while inhabiting another being, they would be trapped in said being’s skin forever. 

“Some skinchangers are more beast than man, Shera,” the older woman said, wagging a finger in the little girl’s face, who was no more than four at the time. “If you keep up your antics, don’t be surprised if you wake up as a beast, you little hellion.”

Shera promptly bit the offending wagging finger.

Unfurling the paper left with her breakfast, a hearty plate of hot eggs and bangers (which looked ravenously appetizing), she skimmed it. The message was clear in its intent: the move back to Dragonstone was delayed. Biting into the sausage, she threw Moongeist some eggs.

One more thing to be delighted about– she felt like everything between her and… those who resided in King’s Landing was on borrowed time. 

‘Twas a pity about the hearing for Lucerys’ inheritance. She didn’t care much for Lucerys– but she didn’t really know him. She wonders if he even remembers taking Aemond’s eye, and Shera subsequently shoving him into a wall where he hit his head.

She ponders it more over breakfast, even asking for a second helping of sausage before reporting to the throne hall. The maids that dressed her had brought a separate garment, one unfamiliar and most certainly not something she brought with her.

“Princess Rhaenyra wishes for you to wear this at the hearing,” one of them murmured. 

Shera eyed the dress– it was deep, blood red with black and gold trim. There were embellishments of dragons and wolves across the chest and a sash belt that looked like it had wolf claws embedded into it. It was… nice in its own way, except for the ghastly color. The maids were relentless in the cinching of her waist and she shifted uneasily from foot to foot as she regretted her second helping of breakfast. The women didn’t say anything to her, really, but exchanged looks that said more than words. 

As she slips into the throne room, she feels a whoosh of air beside her. “You look garish in that color,” a familiar voice sneered. Aegon blocked her way, brows raised. “Some little birdie told me that you prefer blue.”

“... mayhaps I do,” she murmured. “And how exactly do you know that?” 

“Again, my little birdie. But also, I was at the gala and saw you and my brother eye-fucking each other. You two are seriously shameless, debaucherous almost.”

“That is truly rich coming from you, Aegon,” Shera cracked a small smile. 

Continuing her walk, Jacaerys sweeps her up into his arm and leads them over to… their side. Rhaenyra, Daemon, Lucerys and Rhaena are waiting. Across the opposite side of the room are Aemond, Aegon, Helaena, Alicent and Otto. In the center, stands Vaemond, swaying ever so slightly to the Queen’s side. The room is so clearly divided that it's almost sickening. Just the previous night, they had been making merry without all of this division. She sees Aemond, who gives her dress a onceover– his expression is reserved and she can’t tell what he is thinking. He looks at her for half a second, nostrils flared, before looking away from her. 

While the proceedings are happening, she swims within her own mind. She stands near Jace, who has his arm looped in hers in a protective manner. Scattered words of Vaemond come through her muddled thoughts, ‘Velaryon’, ‘Blood’, ‘Survival’, ‘House’. Her eyes were glazed over as she counted the cracks in the stones of the floor.

One, two, three… four… 

She doesn’t really pay attention to what’s going on until the heavy doors of the throne room open with almost silencing impunity, quiet chatter and shocked whispers pulling her from her reverie.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” the Kingsguard announced as His Grace, who still looked all the part of a royal corpse, hobbled into the room. He declined any assistance to walk and take his seat.

She gets a sinking feeling in her gut– something telling her that everything is about to explode. 

“I must… admit… my confusion,” he wheezes, winded by the small walk. Shera feels a small twinge of sympathy at that, understanding the feeling. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

“You are of sound mind in that, father,” Rhaenyra bowed her head, unfurling another paper, walking to the King to present it. “This is a whit and declaration of betrothal between my son, Lucerys Velaryon, and Lord Corlys’ granddaughter, Rhaena Targaryen. It is signed and stamped by Lady Rhaenys, who upholds her husband’s declaration that Laenor’s son shall inherit Driftmark. This betrothal shall only strengthen his claim.” 

Viserys gave a small smile. “Thank you, my daughter,” he skimmed the paper, obviously with some struggle. “The matter… is settled, Ser Vaemond. It has been and it will… stay affirmed… that Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon is heir to Driftmark… the Driftwood Throne… and the next Lord of the Tides… and the children… of him and Lady Rhaena… will inherit it after him.” 

She feels the intensity in the air, it’s almost palpable. She feels sick as the voices raise, the blood in the room rises. 

Vaemond looks like he is about to burst, his body shaking in clear anger. “You break law… and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me… who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon,” he pauses for a moment as if to consider his next words, “No.I will not allow it.”

“‘Allow it’? Do not forget yourself, Vaemond,” Viserys struggled to sit up, returning Vaemond’s vitriol with his own– as labored and unthreatening as it was.

“That,” Vaemond pointed to Lucerys, with a look that could raze an army. “is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.” 

“You… may run your house as you see fit… but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this…” Vaemond looked back to Lucerys and Jacaerys. The rage in his eyes were palpable as a humid day, the anger emanating from him sticking in the room like cloying smoke.

“Say it.” Daemon whispered, eyes trained on the second son of Driftmark. The rogue prince was disarmingly calm, his voice like Caraxes’ hiss. 

“Her children… are bastards!” Vaemond boomed, stomping his foot and pointing again at Rhaenyra’s sons. 

Shera’s breath left her lungs. She remembered what happened the last time someone called them bastards. She glanced to Aemond, who was looking right back at her. 

“And she…” Ser Vaemond turned his damning finger to Rhaenyra, “is… a… whore.” 

The swing of a sword was all she heard. 

It is silent, save for the hushed and shocked breathing of everyone watching. One would think that people would scream, would gasp. But no, it was quiet as a mouse, quiet as Vaemond’s head was removed from his body and the gentle seep of blood staining the stone floor. 

Shera had never seen anyone die before– not like this. She can see into the passages of his skull, his eyes still open. Shocked, she looks at Daemon, who is wiping his blade against his doublet. Her eyes were glued to the ground, to the cracks she was counting before. They were soaked in his blood, the divots and fissures of the stone opening way for the blood to fall into, branching out into jagged rivers.

One, two, three… f-four…

This is what is he capable of, isn’t it? No one came to truly seize him, to arrest him for killing a man in broad daylight, in front of the King, in front of the Hand, in front of courtiers, in front of the Kingsguard. 

Alicent’s mouth was opened, her eyes wide. Even Otto was shocked, his fist clenched. It was as much emotion as Shera had ever seen the Hand express.

Her saliva feels cloying in her mouth as she glances across the room. Helaena has her ears covered and Shera wishes she had done the same. Aegon was staring off into space, pupils dilated. The scuffle of blades and minds beginning to come to a sense of what just really happened.

Aemond’s face finally held some emotion: enamorment. For the power that Daemon held, the prowess, the act of brutality itself– Shera couldn’t parse which. All she knew is that it scared her. That darkness lying just beneath the surface that she’d tried so hard to ignore–

Her extremities feel numb, the sharp sting of icy needles crawling up her arms and legs. She began to sway, unknowingly clasping onto Jacaerys. The room was spinning and shaking, the intense smell of copper— Vaemond’s blood— tainting her senses. 

A high pitched ringing overwhelmed her hearing as she slipped from consciousness into darkness. 

—

Alicent held Rhaenyra’s arm, hand over the length of the scar she gave her so many years ago. It seemed like a fever dream; that night. Her thumb traced the raised skin as the two women shared a moment in silence.

“I— I will return, Alicent,” the princess murmured, her hand over her belly. “I will take the children home and return for Shera. We… we have overstayed our welcome.” her throat bobbed as they spoke softly in the corner of the maester’s room. 

The queen’s eyes roved over Shera’s sleeping form. Her chest rose and fell softly and she seemed… troubled in her unconsciousness, soft whines emitting from her every so often. Her wolf stayed at the foot of the bed, standing at attention. Amber eyes vigilant, guarding. 

“How… how shall you transport her? She hasn’t woken up yet, Nyra,” Alicent asked, tilting her head. “The maesters say she is fragile.” 

“Syrax is a smooth flier— a makeshift cot is being constructed on her saddle as we speak. The flight wouldn’t be long and it would be much less taxing than a wheelhouse or horse.” 

Alicent nibbled on her lip anxiously. She had never been fond of dragons, despite most of those closest to her connected to one in some way. 

Targaryens and their queer customs. 

“Is… is that wise?” she pressed, brow knitting. “They do not even know if she will wake.” 

“I made an oath to her brother that I would keep her under my care, Alicent— we must go back to Dragonstone, our affairs cannot be put off any longer. I do not wish to birth my babe here, nor do I wish for Jacaerys to marry here.” 

But I wish for you to stay. I wish for you to leave that ingrate of a husband. She punctuated her unheard thought with a meaningful squeeze to Rhaenyra’s arm. A silent plea— it was the first time in years that something had felt right. 

But it wasn’t her place to say anything about it, the words were better left unsaid. “If you think that is wise, Rhaenyra,” the queen responded, her hand dropping from her skin as if it burned her. Mayhaps it did. “At least let our maesters monitor her for a few days— then you may take her.” 

Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched as she recused both hands to her belly as if to defend herself. “Very well, my queen.” 

They were so close, yet so far. 

—

It was hazy. Hazy and dreary— silent but all too loud. Her steps were calm and measured as her heart thumped in her chest. Shera felt light in her steps without any inhibition or reproach. Feeling no pain or vertigo, she flew down the staircase, skipping two or three at a time, giggling. This had to be a dream, didn’t it?

Descending, down… down… 

She was in the Red Keep, she knew. But it felt different, somehow. Younger in its stones, in the bones of its foundation, there was still some give. 

And yet, despite the airiness of the walls, there was a shadow looming

Two somewhat familiar figures were conversing near the skull of Balerion. She recognized them from portraits– young Rhaenyra and a much healthier, much more alive version of Viserys. 

She had always been fascinated by him, Balerion. Despite her heritage being very non-dragonesque, she always felt a childlike wonder whenever someone would speak of Balerion. It was hardly fathomable to her to imagine a dragon that would blot out the sun– one that even rivaled Vhagar’s gargantuan size. 

Viserys spoke softly but firmly to Rhaenyra, who was so young. She had just lost her mother and brother— the claim to the Iron Throne and named heir were up in the air. 

“Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds. And whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living. When this Great Winter comes, Rhaenyra… all of Westeros must stand against it,” Viserys urged softly as the candlelight flickered against his features, fingers skimming atop the flames

“And if the world of men is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne. A king,” he paused, looking at Rhaenyra once more, “or queen, strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. Aegon called his dream ‘The Song of Ice and Fire.’ This secret… it’s been passed from king to heir since Aegon’s time. Now you must promise to carry it… and protect it. Promise me this, Rhaenyra,” the king looked directly to where Shera was standing, looking right into her eyes, as if he could see her, see into her. “Promise me.”

The metal of the Catspaw blade heated up atop the coals to a bright and almost fluorescent orange. Goosebumps prickled on Shera’s skin in tandem with the rising heat of the room. It was so warm, no, it was hot, scorching. The air vacated her lungs, replaced by flames licking at her insides, burning, consuming.

Young Rhaenyra had left the room, leaving Viserys to look at the skull of Balerion. He picked up a single candle, peering into the flame like it held the secrets of the world. 

He spoke again, but his voice wasn’t that of the era of King that Shera was looking upon. It was old, weezing– just like in the throne room from earlier in the day. The form of Viserys slumped, hair falling out and skin graying as he held the candle like a lifeline. He fell to his knees and the sound of his bones shattering could be heard, breaking and splintering into nothing but dust. 

But the candle was still lit. His hand, now nothing but bone and sinew, was fused to the wax. 

“No… more,” he coughed and sputtered, blood leaking from his lips onto the stone. Wax dripped, mingling with the blood. Finally, he focused on the flame of the candle. “My… love.” 

He blew out the candle with his last breath. With that, all of the candles in the room blew out.

Shera was left alone in the darkness and swirling smoke. 

It was cold.

–

She awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. But she was still cold, shivering. The smell of smoke was still lingering. 

Her chest was heaving as she sat up and tried to walk, wanting that same flighty weightlessness she felt before. Her body failed her and she crumbled to the floor, a broken doll once again. Arms wrapped around her and helped her up. The familiarity of sandalwood lulled her frantic nerves as she wholeheartedly buried her face into Aemond’s chest. She knew it was him. His arms laced behind her as he lifted her up easily as if not to taint her with having to stand on the ground. His nose buried into her hair, holding onto her as if he was afraid she would slip away.

There was the sound of a throat clearing near the corner of the room. The two of them were not alone– but she didn’t care. She clung to Aemond like her life depended on it, peering behind him slowly. 

Aegon was sitting behind them, knee bobbing nervously. He looked… disheveled, more than usual. Even more so, he was wearing… the crown of the conqueror. He was wearing the crown of his namesake. “You’ve missed a lot, Shera,” he muttered, eyes dark.

“Aegon?” she croaked, voice sounding hoarse and broken from disuse.

“‘Tis ‘your grace’ now.” Aegon said bitterly.