#the soap opera of fics

[atlabeth]

(not so) simple pt 4 - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn’t.

a/n: SO. UM. once again this took fucking forever to come out which is kind of insane when you think about it because i've had 7000 words of this chapter written for like 4 months. truly wild. 2 babies have been born in the time that it's taken me to write this mini series but anyways there’s a lot happening here, shoutout to anthony for finally getting some more pov parts, the fun thing about your mc being out of commission for a while is that you have no choice but to write for the other characters. equality we love to see it. anyways most of it is angst, but it’ll all be wrapped up with a little regency romance bow i promise

wc: 7.6k

warning(s): aftermath of the end of last chapter which is angst. stab wound, talks of death, mentions of edmund's death, quite a bit of crying, anthony bridgerton's inner angst, miss worthing makes poor decisions. not a happy chapter but WHAT CAN YOU DO

“What were you thinking?” Violet demanded.

Anthony could barely hear his mother over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears, the pure terror gripping his heart. He’d no idea how to respond to her. He doubted she would like to hear that he, indeed, was very much not thinking. 

And he was certainly not thinking much now, what with you on the brink of death with their doctor and his apprentice the only thing there to stop you. He could be of no help to you, bent half over in his chair, head in his hands, the image of you collapsing burned into his mind. 

“Anthony Bridgerton, answer me.” Violet stood over him, her face flushed and eyes filled with anger and fear. “What were you thinking, bringing Miss Worthing out into the city?” 

“I cannot deal with your questions right now, Mother!” he snapped, something letting loose inside of him. Anthony would have been ashamed had he any sense. “My future wife is in that room fighting for her life, and it is because I was not able to protect her. I am hardly able to form words at the moment, Mother, so please—” Anthony’s voice broke, and he ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Please just be quiet.” 

It took a bit of nerve to be such an ass in front of his very own mother, but Anthony apparently had plenty of nerve at the moment. After you collapsed, he’d done the only thing he could think of in the moment and brought you back to Bridgerton House—it was closer than your residence, and if their physician had been able to keep his mother alive through eight pregnancies, then surely he could bring you back. 

Now, though, he was not so sure. Every other option seemed to be plaguing his mind, for your blood still stained his hands and his clothing and Anthony didn’t know if he would ever be able to get it off. 

His father died in his arms from something so small as a bee, and yet you had been stabbed. How were you meant to come back from that?

The door suddenly slammed open, and when Anthony glanced up, his insides twisted. 

“Where is she?” Eloise demanded. Her windblown hair matched the wild look in her eyes, and the flush of her cheeks and haggard breathing told him everything. She was meant to be promenading with Penelope Featherington—her speed on foot was admirable. 

“With our physician,” Violet responded. She seemed more subdued now, and though Anthony knew he would apologize profusely later, he could not find it in himself now. He could hardly find anything in himself apart from panic.

“With our physician—” She turned on Anthony, her gloved hands clenched into fists. “What in God’s name happened, Anthony?”

He allowed himself a moment to breathe before he responded. “She was stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” Eloise cried. “She was with you! How could she have been stabbed?”

“I was not with her when it happened—”

She scoffed. “That is a likely fucking story.”

“Eloise,” Violet said, “language.”

“I do not care about my language,” Eloise spat, gesturing wildly with her hands. “My best friend has been stabbed— I will say whatever I please!”

And then, as if to just add fuel to their fire, Benedict rushed in. Anthony held back a slightly unhinged laugh and shook his head. You were dying and they were out here arguing. 

“I’ve made sure this hallway is off limits like you said, Mother.” Benedict looked just as shaken as the rest of them, and in a strange way Anthony was grateful. You’d grown closer to his family than he’d known. “Your lady’s maid is outside the door alongside a footman ensuring privacy, and your driver is on route to the Worthing residence to alert her parents. They’ve all been sworn to secrecy—no one will be disturbed, least of all Miss Worthing.”

“Thank you, Benedict.” Violet sighed, and she collapsed into an armchair. “At least one of us is in order.”

Benedict sat down on the sofa, his words coming out in a mumble. “I am hardly in order.”

The fire seemed to have died down in Eloise, for however temporary a time, and she settled down next to Benedict. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her.

“She’ll be okay,” Eloise whispered, “right?”

No one answered for a moment. At last, Anthony looked up, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Yes,” he rasped, hoping with everything in him that his words would be true. “She will be okay.”

He would not have been able to live with any other outcome, not when it was his fault in the first place that you were in this position. 

Anthony didn’t know what he should have done, but he should have done something. He should have brought you to your senses and suggested a promenade in the park instead. He should have called on you at your estate, safe and sound in your drawing room. He should have been arm in arm with you, his heart steadily melting as you smiled and laughed and made him aware of all things good in the world. 

He could not lose you. Not when he still had so much to tell you, so many words left unsaid. 

Not when you didn’t know he loved you. 

“I’m sorry, Anthony.” He looked up at the sound of Eloise’s voice—though she did not look at him and her arms were still crossed, the sincerity of it was not lost on him. “I know it was not your fault.” 

His chest tightened. It was his fault. 

“You clearly care about her,” she said. “It is not fair to pin this on you.” 

“Sometimes we hurt the people we care about,” he said, his voice hollow. 

“Sometimes,” she agreed. “But not this time.” 

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Eloise had been at odds with him for nearly this entire season because of their ruse. Though she knew of its falsity, she still chastised him for taking up time that could have been spent with her, still rolled her eyes when he announced his leave to go see you, still questioned why he had to go after her best friend. 

But Eloise was driven by her emotions, no matter how red hot or icy cold they may have been. At this moment, her concern for you outweighed anything, and she recognized the same in him. 

So Anthony nodded. Once, twice, hardly moving but a clear acknowledgment. He glanced at his mother and brother, both unfocused with glassy eyes. His mother’s were red-rimmed, and she held a handkerchief tightly in one hand. The guilt hidden from earlier struck. 

He silently thanked their governess for keeping Gregory and Hyacinth occupied, thanked that Francesca was on an outing of her own. The last thing he needed was for his littlest siblings to find out that the woman they believed to soon be their sister was one misstep away from death. And thank God for Colin’s decision to spend the day with Mondrich—one of his younger brothers in the heat of the moment was enough. 

Anthony let out a shuddering sigh, screwing his eyes shut for a moment before he ran a hand through his hair then planted his palms on his knees. He could hardly sit still but he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to get his nervous energy out. 

All he could think of was you. Of how the last word you spoke was his name. Of your dried blood on his hands, staining his clothing where he had held you. Anthony barely kept you from hitting the ground when you collapsed, and he nearly did the same once he reached his residence. 

Yelling at any servant in the proximity to call for the physician, unaware of his mother trying to calm him until she shook him by the shoulders, having to literally be forced out of the room by the physician’s assistant once they arrived because he refused to leave your side.  

It all felt like a blur, and yet he remembered it perfectly. It all played on repeat in his mind no matter how much he tried to block it out. 

The door slammed open this time, and when Anthony looked up, he felt as if he could wither away.

“Where is my daughter?” Cecilia Worthing demanded, her husband trailing after her. She was all out of sorts, with an even wilder look in her eyes and a deathly grip on her skirts. Mr. Worthing’s expression made his heart sink, with his haunted eyes and taut lips. 

“I am so sorry, Cecilia,” Violet rasped, and she crossed the room and enveloped her in her arms. It took a moment for your mother to respond, but she returned the hug as a sob escaped her. 

“Your footman said she had been injured,” your father said levelly, though his voice shook ever so slightly. “How?”

“She was stabbed,” Anthony spoke up, forcing himself to look at your parents. “Some zealot in the city. I brought her here as quick as I could.”

“The city—” your father started.

“Stabbed?” your mother interrupted, halfway into hysterics. “How?”

“We got caught up in the midst of a riot,” he said quietly. “We were separated, and I assume it happened then.”

Mrs. Worthing let out another sob as she pulled her husband into her arms, and though he kept a semblance of solemnity as he whispered to his wife and held her close, Anthony could see the fear in his eyes. 

How could he possibly offer reassurance? It felt different, staring at the desperation of your parents. The horrific realization that they might leave a family of two, might have to bury their only child. 

His stomach twisted and Anthony’s head fell into his hands again. He couldn’t. 

Eventually, Philip helped his wife onto the couch, and she remained curled into his side. No one said a word—how could they?

Apart from whispered reassurances between your parents and even shorter conversations between Benedict and Eloise, their saddened group continued in silence for the better part of an hour. No one spoke louder than a whisper, no one rose and left—they just sat together in their fear, hoping and praying that the inevitable could be denied. 

Until the door creaked open and each of their heads snapped towards the noise. Anthony shot up at the first glimpse of their physician’s assistant. 

“What news?” he asked immediately. The tension in the room had grown to be near palpably thick. 

“The surgery went well,” the assistant said, and all the air dissipated from Anthony’s chest. “Miss Worthing lives. The doctor is ensuring a final few things, but provided our treatment is followed, we believe she will recover fully.”

Anthony fell back against the couch with a breathless laugh, and Mrs. Worthing sank against her husband, wrecked by thankful sobs. Eloise’s smile was enough to brighten the whole room, Benedict’s relief just as obvious. Violet just let out an exhausted sigh, her hand pressed to her heart. 

“Thank you,” your father said. “Can we see her?” 

“Miss Worthing is resting,” he said. “You will not be able to speak to—” 

“We do not care,” your father asserted. “I need to see that my daughter is still alive.” 

The physician’s assistant nodded after a moment, and the tension lessened in his shoulders. He helped your mother up, their hands clasped tightly together, and Mrs. Worthing looked at Anthony. You truly had your mother’s eyes. 

“Will you come with us, my lord?” she asked. 

“Oh, I—” 

“You are family,” she said softly. “You’ve a right to join us.”

Emotion swelled in Anthony’s chest, and it took a moment for words to come to him. 

“Of course,” he finally said, inclining his head. “And it is just Anthony between us. Please.” 

The slightest smile spread across her lips as she nodded, and they all stood up together. Anthony took her offered arm and they started down the hallway together, your father on her other side. 

How strange it was to be arm in arm with your mother. She thought the man beside her would be her future son-in-law, when he was truly nothing but a liar. 

No, he thought, not wholly a liar. Not anymore. Because they believed that Anthony was to be your husband. And if there was anything this had proven to him, it was that he wanted nothing more than for it to be true.

Anthony just had to figure out a way to tell you. How strange that it would be the most difficult part of this ruse. 

Violet’s maid and the footman stepped aside when they arrived and the assistant opened the door. Anthony followed your parents in, and his heart nearly stopped upon seeing you.

Your mother’s eyes filled with tears as she approached your bedside, and, after a nod from the doctor, brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear and laid the back of her hand against your forehead. 

“She’s burning up,” she whispered. 

“It is typical after surgery,” the doctor said. “With any luck, she will sweat it out. I will monitor her throughout.” 

Your mother nodded, a shaky sigh escaping her, and she took your hand. 

“I am so sorry, darling,” she whispered. “I am so sorry I was not there for you.” She brought your intertwined hands up and lightly kissed the back of your hand. “I love you more than anything. Please, come back to us soon.” 

Your father joined her, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I do not know if you can hear us,” he said, voice slightly shaky, “but we are here for you. We will be here when you awaken, and every moment onwards.” 

Mrs. Worthing looked back at Anthony, inclining her head towards you. Anthony swallowed his doubt as he moved forward, but the breath was stolen from him when he could fully see you. 

Your eyes were closed. Your chest rose and fell just so, hardly noticeable, thin linens provided by the doctor rested over you, and sweat beaded on your brow. Alongside the discoloration of your skin, you looked… 

You looked as if you were dead. 

And Anthony knew that you were not—for God’s sake, you were breathing—but all he could think about, all he could see, was his father, all those years ago, dying in front of him while he could not do a single thing to stop it. And he felt that same helplessness with you; just standing there, watching, unable to do anything but hope. 

“We are here for you,” he whispered. “...I am here for you. No matter what, I am here for you. Just know that, if nothing else.” 

Your mother’s watery smile made him look to the doctor for fear of the same emotions eliciting even further in him. 

“When will she wake?” Anthony asked. His voice sounded almost foreign to him. 

“In a few hours, with any luck,” the doctor said. “At the very most, it will be the end of the day.” 

“We will gladly host her until she is able enough,” Anthony said, looking at your parents. “And we have plenty of spare rooms for you to choose from if you wish to remain by her side during those days.” 

“Thank you, Anthony.” Your mother placed her hands on his shoulders, though she had to look up at him, and she smiled. “You make her so happy. It will be my greatest pleasure to officially welcome you into our family.” 

Anthony’s throat bobbed. God above, he hoped that was the truth. 

“Thank you,” he murmured. “She… she means a great deal to me.” 

“You’re a good man, Bridgerton,” your father said. “I’m thankful my daughter will end up with someone like you.” 

“Your approval means the world,” he said, and he found he meant it wholly. 

The doctor cleared his throat. “It would be best for her visitors to be limited as of now. The parents can stay, but…” 

Anthony nodded, smoothing his lapels. “Of course.” 

“We will alert you of anything,” your mother said. Anthony nodded again, and he allowed himself one more moment to look at you before he left. 

You were alright. You would be alright. That was all that mattered. 

Still, when he found himself alone in the hallway, finally able to breathe again, he still had that weight on his shoulders. 

A revelation such as the one he’d had should have been a blessing, a relief. A man in love was meant to be a happy one. But a man in love did not usually find his feelings in the midst of season-long ruse whilst his beloved fought on her deathbed.  

Anthony blew out a loose sigh, shaking his head as he continued through the halls. Being on his own, he found, was worse than sitting in silence with his family. He was trying to think of something to say, trying to gather his emotions and push them aside so he could be the man of the house as he was meant to be, but when he reached the room from before he was only met with Eloise. 

She looked up from the floor, and he noticed the puffiness of her eyes, her slightly blotchy skin. His heart sank yet again. 

“Benedict helped Mother to bed,” she explained, her throat bobbing. “All of this exhausted her. I’ve no idea where he is now.” 

Anthony nodded, his mind still wandering. “Ah.” 

“How is she?” Eloise asked, her brows knit in concern. 

“As well as she can be.” Anthony sighed. “She has a fever, but she’s resting. Her parents are with her and the doctor is watching over her. He said she should awaken before the end of the day.” 

The furrow softened as she smiled. It was good to see her smile. “Good. That— that’s good. I’m glad.” 

“And how are you, Eloise?” Anthony asked, folding his arms. 

“As well as I can be,” she responded wryly. Anthony’s lips twitched in a momentary smile, but she leaned against the couch and let out a sigh of her own. “This all certainly ended in the best way it could have.” 

“The best way would have been for it to have never happened,” he said. “I should have prevented it—I was meant to keep her safe.” 

“Brother,” she said wearily, “I already told you that you cannot blame yourself.” 

“And I’ve never been one for listening to you,” he said dryly, “have I?” 

Eloise huffed a laugh and shook her head. “I am not a fool, Anthony. I know what is happening between you two.” 

Anthony frowned. “Eloise—”

“You love her,” she said bluntly. “Do you not?” 

He tried to say something, but no words would follow. He could only stare at his sister and her nerve, resulting in a small smile from her. 

“You are not that talented an actor, brother,” she said. “It is easier for me to believe the two of you are truly in love than that you could actually trick me in such a way.” 

He blinked. “You believe she loves me?” 

Eloise laughed, turning her head slightly. “I do,” she said. “And seeing as you are not denying it, I believe that means you love her.” 

Anthony bit the inside of his cheek. So the two of you could fool the entirety of the ton for over half the season, but apparently not Eloise. How typical. 

He walked over and took a seat on the couch next to his sister, leaving a bit of space between them. He took a deep breath before he spoke. 

“I do.” He glanced at her. “I love her.” 

Saying it aloud—admitting the truth of feelings he’d been fighting for so long—brought him an unexpected lightness. One other person knew both truths: that they had been lying about their love, and that Anthony had been lying about his lies. 

It would have been laughable had he not been so unsure of everything else. 

It took Eloise a moment to say anything back. For a while, she merely looked at him, unreadable depths in her eyes. He didn’t think he would ever be able to fully decipher his sister. 

“I know my blessing means very little in the scheme of things,” she finally said. “But know that if this does come into fruition… I will support you two. Every step of the way.” 

The smile that spread across Anthony’s lips was brighter than anything he’d experienced today, and he inclined his head. “Truly?” 

“Yes, truly,” Eloise said, a smile of her own growing though she tried to hide it as she glanced away. “It is not a big deal. Do not make it out to be one. There are far worse men that she could end up with.” 

“Alright,” he said, unabashed in his joy. For such a solemn day, Eloise had turned his mood around. 

“And I will also keep your secret,” she said breezily, “again, so do not worry about that.” 

“You say it does not mean much,” Anthony said, “but you are wrong. Your support means more to me than you know.” 

She shifted, seemingly bolstered ever so slightly by his praise. “...I’m glad.” 

He smiled as he stood back up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his outfit. Anthony grimaced as his hands came into view. He was in dire need of a bath and some new clothes. He could not deal with your blood on him for much longer. 

“I must be going,” Anthony said. “I need to clean up. And,” he sighed, “ensure that none of this has spread to the rest of the ton.” 

Eloise hummed, and Anthony was nearly at the door when she spoke up again. 

“...Thank you. For being here for me.” 

His expression softened as he glanced back at her. “I will always be here for you.” 

Her lips curved just so. Anthony had never been so thankful to no longer be at odds with one of his siblings. 

-

Your head hurt. 

That was the first thing you could truly understand as your eyes slowly cracked open, squinting while you came to. You blinked a multitude of times, trying to regain your bearings and relieve the dryness of your eyes. 

It took another moment for them to adjust to the darkness—the curtains were closed, but no light filtered through. How long had you been asleep? 

You grimaced as you shifted ever so slightly, a dull but constant ache in your chest leaving you stiff, but there was a weight of a hand in yours. You glanced over and recognized your mother, asleep but still grasping your hand. 

You smiled. She came for you after all. 

But as you tried to shift further in the bed, you groaned, a sharp column of pain shooting through you. Your mother’s eyes shot open, her body starting from instinct, but it took a moment for her to truly realize it all. 

“Nice of you to wake up,” you said wryly. 

“You—” tears sprung in her eyes, and her lips spread in a grateful grin— “You must be alright if your first words are to antagonize your mother.” 

“I am still here,” you said. You didn’t want to tell her you didn’t think you would make it. That you thought your fate was sealed when you pulled your hand away to nothing but blood. 

“That you are,” she said breathily. “Are you alright, though? How do you feel? Does it hurt?” 

“I believe I am alright,” you responded, “I feel… tired. And my chest aches.” 

“The doctor said that would be expected,” she murmured. “What do you remember?” 

“...That depends,” you said. “What do you know?” 

Your mother gave you a look as she said your full name. “This is not the time for games.” 

Your cheeks heated and you averted your eyes. “I was in the city with Anthony. I was stabbed after a riot broke out. That is all I remember.” 

“Lord Bridgerton is the reason you are alive,” your mother said. “He brought you back to Bridgerton House, and their doctor saved your life.” 

Somehow it was possible for your face to burn even more. You dragged Anthony out to that meeting, and you repaid him by making him drag your near lifeless body all the way back to his estate. 

You were the worst fake fiancee a man could have. 

You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears and you rapidly blinked them away. 

“Where is he?” you asked quietly. “Where is Anth— Lord Bridgerton?” 

Your mother gave you a knowing look. “It is alright to call him by his name, darling. It is quite clear how much he cares for you.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. You could not do this. “Where is he?” 

“He is with his family,” she said. “You caused everyone quite a fright.” 

“I can imagine,” you said hollowly. 

“Would you like to see him?” she asked. “Because I am sure he—” 

“No.” The haste with which you sat up drew out another wince. “No— I…” 

You closed your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip. You could not do this. 

Your mother said your name softly. “What is it?” 

You opened your eyes, ignoring the wetness around them as you looked at her. “Anthony and I cannot marry.” 

She blinked. It looked as if it took a moment for your words to sink in. “What?” 

“We cannot marry,” you repeated. “We— we never could marry. Our courtship is a ruse.” 

Your mother blinked again, this time wholly taken aback. “What?” 

“It is a ruse,” you repeated, more forcefully. “I wanted to escape the baron, and Anthony wanted to escape a thousand desperate debutantes. I proposed a mock courtship between us, and he accepted.” 

Her brows furrowed deeper than ever before, as if she still couldn’t fully believe it. “You lied to me.” 

“To everyone,” you said. You hadn’t a clue what had gotten into you, tearing apart a story carefully crafted throughout nearly the entire season, but something burned inside of you. You couldn’t keep going with this—you couldn’t keep stringing Anthony along, not when your feelings were far more real than they had any right to be. 

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would you do such a thing?” 

“Because I did not want to marry,” you repeated. “The baron is nothing more than a lecher, and the thought of any sort of marriage to him disgusted me, but you and Father refused to listen to me. The only way to get out of it was for you to believe I had caught the affections of someone better. Anthony Bridgerton’s word was certainly better than mine in the eyes of the ton.” 

Your mother stared at the floor for much longer than you anticipated, and you could not tear your eyes away from her. 

“Mother,” you said quietly, “say something. Please.” 

“I do not quite know what to say.” She finally looked at you, and your throat bobbed. “All of our plans have hinged on this marriage for the entirety of the season. What am I to tell your father?” 

“Do not tell him,” you begged. “Please. It is enough that you know— I could not handle the shame if he were to as well.” 

“I do not keep secrets as well as you,” your mother snapped. “Marrying into the Bridgerton family would have saved us, both in riches and name. Even your dowry would have gone to use for something of your choosing.” She shook her head, clasping her hands together.  “And now you have almost died and we will have to control this and I just—” 

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you interrupted. 

That ceased her arguments quite quickly. “What?” 

“I will marry Lord Cardew,” you repeated. “He has both riches and name.” 

Your mother frowned as she gripped your hands tighter. “You despise him. You got yourself into this entire mess in order to avoid him—you’ve said so yourself.” 

“What choice do I have?” you asked desperately. “His name is enough to weather the scandal I’ve created. His money will secure a life for you and Father, and he has a fine pedigree. It is the only way to save the Worthing name.” 

“Have you not considered the very man who has been courting you this season?” Your mother gestured with her hand. “Look where you are, darling! Lord Bridgerton has offered up his estate to us so we can be near you as you heal. Your courtship may have started as a ruse, but the man clearly feels something for you!” 

“We have become very good friends over the course of the season,” you said, “and I am thankful for it. But I cannot taint the Bridgerton name further.” 

“Dearest—”

“It is necessary,” you interrupted, but your quick movement brought on a sharp thread of pain in your chest and you winced. 

“Do not push yourself,” your mother whispered, and you nodded. 

“It is necessary,” you repeated, though slower. “My rebellion was just… naivete. I will not be the reason for our family’s ruin borne from my own stubbornness. I will secure our legacy, I will secure my future—I will marry Lord Cardew, and… and I will finally stop trying to resist my fate.” 

Your mother stared at you, and you stared back. “You said it yourself—our family’s well being hinges on my marrying into wealth. What sane man would consider me after what I’ve done?” 

She continued to look at you long and hard, her expression one of unreadable depths. “You are sure?” 

No, you wanted to say. You had never been less sure of anything in your life. But you could see no other choice. So you nodded. 

Your mother glanced away from you with a sigh, eyes searching the room for a moment before she nodded as well. “...Alright. If that is what you wish, your father and I will contact him once you are recovered.” 

“Mother—” 

“That is non-negotiable,” she said, and she smiled at you. “You may be blossoming into a true lady, but you are still my daughter. And I will not allow my daughter to do anything until she is fully healed.” 

You nodded. “Alright.” 

“I am sure that it goes without saying that you are never going to be allowed out of our sight until you are married and settled?” your mother said, and though it caused a sharp pain in your chest, you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I assumed just as much, Mother.” 

-

Dearest Reader,

It is a fact well known throughout Mayfair that the social season requires the full attention of every single person, frantic mamas and bored bachelors alike. It is a game of wits unlike any other, and this season has proven no different. The middle of our merriment marks many of the most eligible debutantes as engaged — this author pays special attention to the season’s diamond, Lady Adelaida Kennington, who has found her happy ending with the young Earl Pembroke.

Though congratulations may be due to another lady of the ton, one of the simple yet highly discussed Worthing family — as it seems, Miss Worthing has tossed aside the much desired Viscount Bridgerton for the hand of the Baron Jonathan Cardew. One can only be left to wonder what Lord Bridgerton must have done to go from an obviously incoming proposal back to his rakish ways in little more than a night, but it most certainly has to do with Miss Worthing’s recent disappearance from society. Word has passed around of her frequent visits to the lesser parts of London, engaging in activity that can only be described as scandalous. Perhaps it was not the fault of the viscount indeed—Miss Worthing may have finally pushed Lord Bridgerton to his limits. 

No matter the reason for the ending of the courtship, this author must extend her thanks to the pairing for providing such material for my pen. It is not every day a nobody in the ton manages to bring down two families at once. Perhaps Miss Worthing deserves congratulations for conducting this fantastical feat all on her own. If it was outrage she was searching for, she has certainly earned it. 

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown 

You huffed a sigh and threw the leaflet across the room, letting your head fall back against the wooden headboard. It was one thing for Lady Whistledown to criticize you, it was another thing entirely for her to bring your family and the Bridgertons into it. You deserved everything that came towards you for what you had done, but your parents, the Bridgertons, Anthony— they were not a part of any of it. 

Especially when all your father had done was visit the Cardew estate to have a conversation with the man, see if he was open to the possibility of a marriage with you. Nothing was at all set in stone, but the way Whistledown told it, you were already steps from the chapel with a ring on your finger. 

So now, as if it weren’t enough that you were bed bound until your physician deemed you recovered for regular activity, as if it weren’t enough that you were likely set to be married by the end of the season, as if it weren’t enough that you were constantly denying Anthony’s requests to visit you, every single one of your idiotic mistakes was revealed to the ton through a woman too cowardly to write without a pseudonym. 

If you ever found Lady Whistledown, you thought bitterly, you would strangle her. 

The silence in your room was broken by the door opening, and when you looked up you were greeted with Julia’s face. The usual smile she bore when around you was not there, but before you could ask she answered your unspoken question. 

“I apologise for the interruption, my lady, but you have a visitor. He insisted on seeing you.” 

A small part of you knew who it was even before she stepped aside, but when Anthony Bridgerton walked into your room your breath still hitched the tiniest bit. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked immediately, holding back a grimace as you pushed yourself into a sitting position. 

“I had to see you,” Anthony said. 

“And you chose to do so by invading my privacy.” 

“I have not heard a single word directly from you nor your pen since the accident,” he said, his voice not without a slight barb. But underneath it all, an uncommon hurt festered inside of him. You could not see it, exactly, but you could sense it. “Forgive me for wanting to confirm with my own eyes that you were still alive.” 

���I will remain here as a chaperone,” Julia said, closing the door behind her. “You may talk as freely as you please — I will not repeat a single word.” Anthony nodded and pulled the stool away from the vanity so he could be closer to you, then sat down. 

Despite Julia’s reassurance, neither of you spoke a word. The silence began to weigh heavily, the tension growing so thick it could be cut with a knife. For so long you had been rejecting Anthony’s requested meetings, not wanting to see him after what you had done. You feared for how he would react, both to your complete ignorance of him after your nearly fatal injury and your acceptance of Lord Cardew’s courtship. 

You left Bridgerton House without a word mere hours after your ill-fated decision despite the protests of your parents—you could not stay there for another moment under Anthony’s good graces, not when you had doomed any possible future with him. You did not deserve a single millimeter of Bridgerton good will. 

You stared down at the covers you laid under, fidgeting with your hands in your lap as you focused on everything except your visitor. You could not bring yourself to meet Anthony’s gaze, though you’d felt his own on you for the past five minutes. 

“Is it true?” 

You finally looked up at his sudden question, meeting the intensity of those dark brown eyes you’d lost yourself in so many times. “Is what true?” 

“Your marriage to Jonathan Cardew,” he said stiffly. “Is it true?” 

Just as quickly, you glanced away. It was near impossible to even be in the same room as the viscount since you had made the decision, even more so to think of the reason why it was that way. So instead, you just nodded. 

“Yes. If all works out, we are to be wed at the end of the season.” 

“Why?” Anthony leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees as his hands clenched into loose fists. “You openly despise the man—you asked me to court you to avoid him. Why in the name of all things rational would you willingly enter a marriage with him?” 

“He will provide for me,” you said. “He has money, he has land, and he is a respectable member of society. He has already been content with the possibility of marriage once, and his name is enough to weather the scandal I have created. It is the smartest choice available.”

“And what of us?” He had an almost wild look in his eyes, and the worst desire took root in you to root your fingers in his hair and ease the troubles you’d caused him. “We have spent the near entirety of the season becoming closer, and you are willing to just throw it all away for a man like Cardew?” 

“I could not trap you in a marriage you do not want,” you insisted. “You deserve more than a woman you share no love for, Anthony, and to be married to the woman who made a fool of your entire family. Lord Cardew is the only option.”

“Even if all of that is true, that does not mean it is a smart choice!” he exclaimed. “He is not a safe man to be around! If he has been pursuing you so strongly and only backed off because of my influence, what do you think will happen when you are his legal wife with no sort of protection?” 

You swallowed thickly at his words. “He is not that sort of man, Anthony. He may be… horrid, and a complete egoist, but it will be a life of comfort. And that is the life that I need.” 

Anthony laughed breathlessly, completely devoid of mirth as he frowned. “You cannot be serious. I have been by your side for an entire season of feminist rants and marriage complaints, half of which revolved around Cardew himself, and now you are telling me that you are just— just alright with this sort of compliance?” 

“Nearly dying because of my own idiotic choices has forced me to reexamine my life,” you said plainly. “If I had been even the slightest bit unlucky, I would have perished on those streets, and what would I have had to show for myself? A rebellion that I was only able to take part in because of the privilege I so often fought against?” 

“You have made a difference,” Anthony insisted. “You provided for women that no one has the gall to look out for. You’ve spoken out for your own rights, you’ve stood up for your own interests rather than sit around and take what you have been given.”

“I have been fighting against a life that so many less fortunate than myself would kill for,” you said. “I believed death to be a better fate than being forced to marry a man I did not love, but when I was on death’s door, I realized how foolish I was— how utterly selfish.” 

“You are not selfish,” Anthony said, but you shook your head. 

“I am. Unbelievably so.” You huffed a mirthless laugh as you looked at him. “My parents did not love each other when they married, but they were friends. They could tolerate the other’s presence, and neither of them were fortunate enough to be able to care about anything else. They have grown to love each other in their own way, of course, and they are in a better situation now, but they could not have known it would turn out that way. They did what they had to for the sake of their families and themselves, and it is time I do the same.” 

“Love matches are rare,” you murmured. “And even if I were granted the opportunity… I would not deserve it.”

Anthony shook his head. “Do not say that.” 

“It is the truth,” you said, letting out yet another humorless laugh. “I have been horrible to my mother when all she has ever wanted is a better life for me than she had. I have fought her for every step of the way for no other reason than my hubris and the dim belief that I deserved different than everyone else simply because I wanted it, no matter what the greater good was. How can that not be selfish, Anthony?” 

“You do not have to do this,” he insisted. “You said you dreamed of unmarried life! You told me your fantasies of escaping from society, of living on your own and depending on no one but yourself. You are willing to give all of that up, just like that?”

“I was a fool for ever doing so!” you exclaimed. “Anthony, this world is hard enough on its own for married women — what do you think will become of my family if I do not marry? What do you think will become of me?”

“But you are strong.” Anthony leaned forward, his brow knit in determination. “You are strong, and intelligent, and fully capable of managing on your own. Spinster brand be damned, if it is what you wish, you will flourish completely!”

“Will I?” you questioned, and you gestured at yourself. “I am bound to this room of my own doing because I refused to see the truth of the world around me. I was young and naive to believe I could achieve anything of the sort I dreamed of without consequences, and I will be naive no longer.”

“If you insist on marrying, at least find somebody else,” Anthony begged. “You will be miserable for the rest of your life if you marry Jonathan Cardew.” 

“I cannot afford to marry for love, my lord,” you said simply, “and even if I could find a man who loved me, I could never love them back. I would not force anyone into a marriage they did not want, not when…” You trailed off, the words catching in your throat.

You shook your head, choking them down. “It is not important.”

“Please do not marry him,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, “I beg of you.” 

“Then who should I marry?” you asked, almost brazenly. “Who should I marry, if not him? I am certainly not one for options.”

You did not know what you wanted Anthony to say. To marry him? That he felt the same for you as you did for him? That, while you were indeed a fool for falling for him, he was one as well. That he would not leave you, not now, nor ever. 

But instead he just stared at you with those dark brown eyes that even now could make you melt, a million emotions brewing inside of them yet none of them being given an outlet. 

“I do not know,” he murmured, and your heart sank. “But I beg of you, do not let it be him.”

“It is not your decision to make,” you said quietly. “Soon I will be engaged to Lord Cardew, and I will be out of your life.”

There was an underlying desperation in Anthony’s eyes as he looked at you now, that storm of emotions thundering inside of him begging to be expressed. “I do not want you out of my life.”

The words felt like poison leaving your lips. “You do not have a choice.” 

Before Anthony could protest any further, you stood up and looked over at your lady’s maid. “Please escort Lord Bridgerton outside. I wish to be alone.” 

“My lady, are you—” 

“Julia,” you said, your voice strained, “please.” 

She nodded and she gestured for Anthony towards the door, but he did not move a centimeter.

Anthony said your name with such pain that you could not even stand to look at him, the inside of your lip drawn so tightly between your teeth that you could taste blood all in the effort to prevent tears from emerging.

“Do not make this harder than it has to be,” you whispered. “I beg of you, Anthony.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” Julia said quietly, “please obey my lady’s wishes.”

He stared at you with desperation before he finally nodded and walked out the door, Julia closing it behind him. 

You screwed your eyes shut as you dug the heels of your palms into your forehead, letting out a frustrated sob as your hands dropped back down. The pinpricks of tears were already starting, and while you were thankful you were alone, you already longed for Anthony’s presence. 

You wished, more than ever, that things could be how they used to be. You wished you’d never even made this ridiculous deal with him—then you would not be in such pain, yearning for a man you could never have while the reputation of you and your family was destroyed and your life fell to pieces around you. You could not do a single thing about it, and you could not blame a single soul for it other than yourself. 

You’d never felt so useless.

-

taglist, only bc this series has been going on since i still had a taglist lmao. pls dont ask to be added because i do not do tag lists anymore!! follow me or rb the masterlist or something idk @ifilwtmfc @readers-post @fangirling-galore @funkydinosaurs @baby-i-am-fireproof @mess-is-my-aesthetic @likeballet @mdkfh @brezzybfan @magical-spit @lafy-taffy @miss-celestial-being @mercurysrhapsody @evilsailorsenshi @mainstreambitchlife @aangsupremacy @chloepluto1306 @lostaudfound @panhoeofmanyfandoms @blhemmings @my-acrylic-heart @seninjakitey @vlodi @arianagrandes-things @preciousbabypeter @youraliendaddo @stupidlittlebei @illuminwtesz @eringaitskill @otheliesstuff @users09 @chloepluto1306 @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @m-rae23 @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp @diemdurantia @theyoungestchild0w0 @mschievousx @alwaysreading1019 @ibelieveindragons141 @pretzywetzy

[essektheylyss]

coming out as a cliffhanger apologist. I feel like cliffhangers are a thing that have gotten a bad rep, and I won't stand for it any longer. in fact I think cliffhangers are good for you and they should happen more often. all the time even. I think the most foundational use of storytelling is for learning to cope with uncertainty and cliffhangers are an absolutely crucial element of that. a well-executed cliffhanger is worth its weight in fucking gold. we lost sight of this because cliffhangers started becoming cheap fodder without soul, but that's because so much mass media has lacked soul lately. the soul of the cliffhanger is the combination of genuine heartwrenching emotion and panache.

[morganbritton132]

The process in which I take an idea and make it so complicated that its now unusable:

Had the idea that Wayne used to have a son and he was kidnapped. It devastated his relationship, ruined his life. The only thing that truly saved him was his brother showing up at his door with a toddler, and saying his knocked up a one night stand.

Around the same time, The Harringtons arrive back in town with their brand new bundle of joy. This is not even a blip on Wayne’s radar.

Good premise. Interesting idea. A slow reveal that Steve is Wayne’s long lost son and lots of angst.

But because Steve and Eddie are always somewhat/somehow Steddie in my brain, I didn’t want them to be cousins so I made it complicated.

So for Eddie to not be biologically a Munson, he can’t be Al Munson’s kid. So maybe, it’s an exchange.

The Harrington’s want a baby so they pay Al to get them a baby. He only knows one baby and the money is really that good, so bye-bye nephew.

But then the Harringtons track him down a couple weeks after they make their big show of baby revivals because one of Richard Harrington’s affair partners got knocked up a couple years ago and the money they’re paying to keep it quiet isn’t enough anymore.

They need that lady and her baby gone.

So Al handles the lady (scares her off/kills her/whatever) and now has a toddler on his hands. He does what he’s always done and lets his big brother take care of it.

Then blah blah blah. Plot happens. Everything builds to a conclusion where everything is out on the table. All the cards are overturned and Steve has one final earth-shattering question, “Am I going to go bald too?”

[blackynsupremacy]

HIS BIGGEST FAN

pairing: nicholas a. chavez x black!fem!reader

summary: for as long as you’ve known her, your grandmother has always enjoyed watching daytime soap operas, such as general hospital. she’s even more delighted when gets to have a “date” with you and your boyfriend, who happens to portray her favorite character, spencer cassadine.

contains: established relationship, romance, cavity inducing fluff, cuddling, kissing, reassurance, nicholas being the best boyfriend ever, kind words, grandma loves her some nicholas.

taglist: @supaprettyg @xoxoglittergossip @sabrinasopposite @hnch33rios @jkr820 @simply-the-best23 @elitesanjisimp @ellethespaceunicorn @stereotypicalbarbie @rosiestalez @camiesully @tryingtograspctrl @gxuxhdjdu

“and voila! you look so amazing, baby.”

you chime after perfectly adjusting the black bow tie that rested on the collar of his pristine white button up shirt. you both get a glimpse of his final look in the full sized mirror of the luxury suite you guys secured for your visit in your hometown. your boyfriend of two years, nicholas chavez, was indeed what your uncles would call it “clean” as he donned a noir tuxedo and bow tie. you couldn’t help, but to inwardly swoon at the sight of the obvious outline of his toned build within the suit. the sweet, musky scent of his cologne put your senses in a hypnotic daze and his plush, chocolate tresses were shiny and brushed smoothly to the side with a couple of loose curls cascading along his forehead. nicholas looked good.

one would assume that this was a normal get dolled up date between you and nicholas, but this outing was more special. you were back in your hometown because nicholas has met most of your immediate family such as your parents, but not any of your grandparents yet, specifically your maternal grandmother. you loved your grandma to pieces and would protect her just as she has done for you in your childhood and adolescence. anyone could see that you were her favorite. she’d spoil you with the best of her homemade meals, the best gifts for special occasions, and you never forgot when she would discreetly slip a twenty in your palm while she gave fives to your cousins. you would never forget that she basically raised you from kindergarten to fifth grade while your parents worked long hours during the week and they’d pick you up on weekends. one thing that you knew very well about your grandma was that she was invested in her “stories”. they were just daytime soap operas and her favorite of all time was general hospital. ever since day one in ‘sixty-three, your grandmother hasn’t missed a single episode. it’s amazing that her memory was starting to get faded as she was getting older, but rest assured, she could recall an entire episode from ‘seventy-four if she wanted to! word for word and bar for bar. as a kid, you would catch a confused glimpse of the tv-programming while you were at her house. you had no clue what was happening, but grandma was invested, so you might as well be. now, as an adult, you don’t have the time to regularly catch up on the show on your own, but you made it your duty to record the episodes for your grandmother to make sure her streak wasn’t broken.

one year prior to meeting nicholas, you visited your grandma to just cook her lunch and kick it with her stories. as you both sat and watched, you realized that so much has changed with the show over the years, both the plot line and the characters. your grandmother enthusiastically nudges you when her favorite couple by the names of “trina” and “spencer” appear on the screen. they were a beautiful interracial couple of people who looked to be right in your age range. the woman was stunning. she was african american with gorgeous, dark brown skin and long straight black hair. the man was a brunette caucasian that was tall, muscular, and definitely handsome. you assumed that your grandmother caught your lingering gaze on the man and she teased you saying that he would exactly be your type, you just laughed her off and continued watching the episode because this man was a whole celebrity, so the chances of you and him crossing paths were very slim.

but never zero.

fast forward to a year later, you were flown out by your friend in l.a. that was interning for the costume design team on the set for a netflix docudrama series based on the case of the menendez brothers. the premiere was quickly approaching and she was allowed to bring a plus one, which would be you. as you guys were getting ready, she gave you the details about the designer fashion used in the show and you chuckled as she couldn’t stop talking about how fine the actors playing the brothers were.

“girl, i can’t wait for you to meet the crew tonight! on my soul the one who plays lyle would definitely be your type.” she hypes once you guys pull up to the venue. the hollywood life was like a dream. camera’s flashing from every corner, people wanting your autograph, giving exclusive interviews, and just the general buzzing of excitement in the air as you both entered on the red carpet. just only a few minutes before the screening started, your friend had to go talk with a team member, leaving the next few empty seats beside you open. your eyes dart around the room as you nervously wait for your friend’s return until you hear a male voice.

“uh, hey, is this seat taken?” he politely asked. you didn’t really get a look at him because the house lights of the theater were cut off, but you could see that he was really tall and muscular based off of his silhouette. with a shake of your head, you gesture towards the seat next to you in which he graciously sat, giving you a soft spoken “thank you”. you gulp a bit now that you were even more nervous than before, out of habit your knee nervously bounced up and down the more your impatience was growing. out of the corner of his eye, he noticed your fidgeting.

“hey, i hate to bother you again, but are you alright? you seem a bit nervous.” he alluded to your still bouncing knee. you take a deep breath to promptly regulate, stopping your movements and turning your head to the stranger.

“my bad, i’m just waiting for my friend to get back. she’s like the only i person i know here— it’s a little embarrassing.” you whispered with a nervous chuckle.

“well, in that case, my name’s nicholas. what’s yours?”

“y/n.”

“nice to meet you. that’s a pretty name for a what i assume is a pretty girl. it’s kind of hard to see in here.”

you both quietly chuckle. you thank him for the compliment before he speaks one final time and the screening officially starts.

“now, you shouldn’t be so nervous because you know two people here.”

the smile that was etched on your face didn’t disappear after you two got to see each other in the well-lit room of the after-party. god, this man was more good-looking than you pictured him to be and by the way he was throwing game, he found you to be a sight for sore eyes also. for some odd reason, it felt like you’ve seen him somewhere before, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. you forgot that your friend was even your ride until you realized that she was ready to turn in for the night. you and nicholas didn’t want to leave without at least exchanging numbers and that’s how those texts turned to late night talks to continuous dates. after a few months of dating, you two were officially an item and you decided to move to l.a. to be closer.

on about the third date, you told nicholas that you had that feeling that you’ve seen him before, but you don’t know where from. you knew it definitely wasn’t in person, so it had to be on television. it all came together when he told you that was also working on none other than general hospital as, you guessed it, spencer cassadine. with a palm to your face, you erupt with giggles. nicholas inquires you on the joke, you tell him about your grandmother’s love for the soap opera and how she gushes about his character. he blushes when you say she’s basically his biggest fan! you don’t forget how she told you that he would be your type of man and that your friend at the premiere said the exact same thing. it’s funny how fate works that way. the dream of your sweet, soap opera loving grandmother getting the chance to meet her favorite star of her favorite soap and the love of your life, would now become a reality tonight at one of the fanciest restaurants in town.

“thank you, sweetheart, but not half as amazing as you.” he responds with a lopsided smile and plants a soft kiss on your full, glossed lips.

“easy now, boo. save that charm for our special guest tonight, hm?”

you bashfully quip with a smirk as the heat rises on the cheeks of your melanated face. you then peer down at your wrist watch to check the time. you knew it was time to set the plan in motion. your palms smooth down the dress you chose for the evening and you retrieve your purse before you turn to nicholas to go over the plan one last time.

“okay, remember, i’ll go to pick her up and tell them our reservation. luckily, they still seat you if one person is a bit late. then, you’ll walk in with your fine self holding the bouquet of roses, are we clear?” you stated shifting your eyes from nicholas to the flowers that lay on the mini table of the hotel room.

“crystal.” nicholas affirms with a nod. his large hand softly catches your wrist before you try to scurry out to the elevator. being in a bit of a rush, you thought it could wait, but who were you to deny such a man like him? you gave in.

“what’s up, love?” you attentively urge. he pulls you closer to place his hands on your hips while yours find their way to his forearms.

“you know that you’re literally the best, right? this what you’re doing for her has shown me how big your heart is for those you love. i won’t lie—that makes me so proud to call you mine.” his spoke with soft sincerity as he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours, the loose dangling curls tickle across your skin. that familiar heat returns and the tempo of your pounding heart increases. his words rendered you speechless. even though nicholas worked as an actor, he could make a killing at being a poet because he always knew what to say. he took your moment of silence as an opportunity to speak one last time. the warm, coffee gaze of his eyes never dared to pull away from yours.

“you’re just beautiful—from the inside.”

the words halt from his pink lips. he draws them closer to fill the gap between you two, pulling you in for a brief, yet passionate kiss which you eagerly reciprocate for a few seconds before he pulls away to resume speaking,

“and definitely from the outside. i love you so much, y/n.” he concludes with one of his hands cupping along your jawline, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek.

“and i love you so much, nicholas. thank you. i just want to give back to her what she’s given to me all of these years. i literally couldn’t have done this without you.” you respond with the same soft tone and return a chaste peck to his lips.

“now, i gotta go and get her before this whole thing falls through. i’ll see you in a little bit and don’t forget the flowers, okay?” with a light squeeze to his arms, you free yourself from his grip with your belongings in tow and give him one last smile before exiting your room and taking the elevator down to the lobby. after your uber arrives, you call your grandmother’s in-home caretaker that you would be arriving promptly to pick her up. once you pull in the driveway, you walk up to the door of the house that has brought you several fond childhood memories, you take the key that was made for you and unlock the door to see your grandmother all dolled up in her modest red velvet dress. her natural gray curls were styled beautifully on her head and her lips were painted to match her dress. with a child-like enthusiasm, you greet her in a warm embrace and a kiss to her forehead, not forgetting to tell the eighty one year old how radiant she looked. her scent was always the signature of elizabeth taylor’s white diamond perfume. the caretaker helps you get her into the car safely and you embark on the way to the restaurant. during the ride, you catch her up on life things and you inquire if she’s been eating, taking her meds, and watching her stories. you smile as the driver makes the turn into the parking lot and you find a good spot near the entrance.

“okay, grandma, we’re here! i have someone special i really want you to meet tonight and they’re really excited to meet you too.” you say, unbuckling both of your seatbelts.

“oh, really? who is it, baby?” she inquires with a piqued gaze in her eye while she watches you get out the car to help her out of her seat.

“as excited as i am to let you know, it’s a surprise!”

she playfully groans and you laugh as you hold on tightly to her hand to guide her to the entrance and confirm your reservation with the hostess who then immediately guides you to the secluded table in the vip section. your grandmother stares in awe at where you two were seated.

“baby, are we meeting the president or something? this looks a bit expensive.”

you giggle knowing that she was serious, she still looked impressed nonetheless.

“no, grandma, it’s the not the president. we’re just meeting my boyfriend and he wanted us to be treated well tonight.”

her eyes widen with wonder and she pulls you in for a hug.

“aw, my baby is in love! i’m so happy for you. does he make you happy?”

you pull back with a simper and eagerly nod at the mere thought of him.

“yes, he really does, grandma. i love him so much.”

“well, ain’t that a blessing? i knew there was a little glow on you, but i didn’t want to be wrong.”

you tell her that it was no worries and your gaze shifts to the entrance to see the familiar tall figure you’ve come to know and love. he’s finally here. you tell your grandmother to sit tight for a moment while you go to fetch nicholas. he was casually standing handsome and tall with the bouquet of roses in one hand and the other, in his pocket. once you made your way to the hostess station, you inform that nicholas is in the party of your reservation and he intertwines the hand that was in his pocket with yours before you both stride across the room to the vip table. your grandmother was reading over the menu and you call out her name causing her gaze up at you both. you and him were getting excited as you observed her facial expression when she laid her eyes upon your boyfriend. realization paints her face when she makes the connection,

“spencer. i-is that you?” she quizzes with a star struck tone. with a blushing grin, nicholas deliberately approaches and takes a seat next to her. her stare doesn’t break from the man. he takes the moment to introduce himself.

“you may know me as spencer from the show, but i’m also your lovely granddaughter’s boyfriend, nicholas. it’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. may i?” nicholas holds out his hand and when he grants your grandmother’s consent, he lifts her hand to his lips to place a delicate kiss on it. you take out your phone to capture photos of this moment. your grandmother couldn’t stop her giggling of excitement when she graciously took the flowers from nicholas.

“look at the camera, you two!” nicholas gently puts his arm around her shoulders and she naturally leans into his touch for the first photo. for the second, she places a kiss upon his cheek, making nicholas grin so hard that his face probably hurt. by the way he blushed from that kiss, you’d thought that your grandmother was going to take your man for sure. it didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that your grandmother adored nicholas and nicholas, her. you assumed that their chemistry was so off the chain, that if you left them, they wouldn’t even notice your absence. you put away your phone and take the seat on the other side of your grandmother, placing her in the center.

“ooh, y/n! he’s just as sweet as he can be. he’s more handsome than he looks on my stories. you better keep him, girl.” she chimes as she gets an eyeful of nicholas’ dashing features to which his cheeks never stop their glow of red while continually thanking her. you couldn’t pay him a million dollars to be arrogant if you tried and that’s one of the many things you loved so much about him. nicholas adds in the conversation,

“if it’s any consolation, i don’t plan on letting go of y/n anytime soon. that’s if she’ll have me.” those pretty brown eyes peer into yours. the glint of sincerity shoots you right through the heart. you smile returning the same expression,

“i couldn’t get rid of you if i wanted to, so of course.”

“awww! you’re more romantic than spencer and trina!” your grandmother emotionally chimes in and you calm her down to make sure her excitement doesn’t affect her health.

when everyone has ordered, your grandmother continues to ask nicholas about himself, especially on the show. she was a bit bummed out that he couldn’t reveal the details of the new episode coming in january, but he was going to give her a special gift for the holidays to make up for it. as you’re all eating dinner, you groan in playful embarrassment when she recalled your childhood memories to him. like the time you were at the park, and you wanted the merry-go-round to spin super fast, she warned you to shut that down. did you listen? nope. you spun that thing so fast, you threw up on another kid’s shoes. nicholas doubled over in laughter while the elder shook her head at you with a grin.

“grandmaaaa! why’d you expose me like that?” you pout at her with a glare towards nicholas.

“because you’re hard-headed, but i still love you.”she retorts.

“i’m working on it, trust! and—i love you too!”

nicholas sat and observed your interactions between you two, it was so refreshing to see you both at ease and talk like the best of friends despite the fifty-six year age gap between you two. when you all are full, nicholas picks up the tab for dinner, in which you two thank him with a kiss on each side of his face and you order the uber for you all to share to bring you home. you let her take a bathroom break and you get the notification that your uber has arrived. with nicholas walking out in front in of you both, you take your grandma by the hand as you two follow his lead. once he confirms that the uber is legit, he opens the door for you both to climb in. with your grandma in the center again, you sit back as the third wheel as they continue their animated discussion about general hospital and your relationship during the entire ride back to her house. you text the caretaker that you have pulled up, but to open the door because you and nicholas were going to help her to the door.

“thank you so much for dinner, you two! i had such a great time. it was such a pleasure meeting you, spen—i mean, nicholas! lord, have mercy you’re both so charming, i can’t tell the difference.” she bade sending him a wave.

you all filled the air with laughter as you three strolled towards the porch.

“you’re very welcome! the pleasure is definitely all mine, ma’am. i can see where y/n gets—well, everything from! heh.” he says with the notable twinkle in his eye.

you both coo at his charm.

“jesus, if i were just fifty years younger—“

“grandma! chill!” you playfully chide the elder and nicholas chortles as you all go up the steps, meeting the caretaker at the front door. after all was said and done, you and nicholas bid her a final goodnight with a hug and kiss to the cheek before she disappears into the house to retire for the night. the uber then drops you and nicholas off at your hotel. once you get to the room, you both share a shower together, change into something comfortable, and cuddle within the king sized bed. you’re both still pretty wired from the evening, so you just talked about the plans of spending time with her tomorrow because your flight doesn’t leave until the day afterwards.

“babe, your grandmother is one of the cutest women i’ve ever met—besides you of course.”

“mm-hmmm. i better and thank you! she really likes you too, you know. like i said, she’s your biggest fan. i bet you she’s gonna call up her friend, miss edna, and tell her all about it in the morning.” you both chuckle and there’s a beat of silence and it was your turn to break it,

“nick, can i confess something?”

“yeah, what’s on your mind, doll?”

“you know how grandma said that we were more romantic than spencer and trina? can i say that i really appreciated her saying that? i won’t lie when i’ve seen some of those scenes, i thought you and tabyana were a thing.— i even get just a little jealous sometimes. i know it’s your job and—”

“hey, hey, hey. c’mere.” with arms already around you he shifts you from his side and positions you on top of him.

“like i told your grandma, i’m not going anywhere anytime with anyone. you’re the one for me. i may get some attention here and there from the rest of the world, but look at who’s with me right now. i’m your biggest fan and if i have to reassure that when you need, i got you like you got me, are we clear?”

you hold his gaze now with relief washing over you, a smile grows on your face and you nod to affirm his question.

“crystal.” you utter before bringing your lips to his for a kiss. nicholas doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate as you place your hands on each side of his sharp jawline and his hands rest themselves on your hips. you both indulge in each other for about a minute or two before you give each other one final “i love you” before letting a well-deserved slumber take over your exhausted bodies.

[rika-mmendmethings]

Js woke up from my mid-afternoon nap and had a spontaneous realization. Sylus can't die until MC kills him, right? So Sylus is able to cheat death countless times.

Enter reader (you) who is the goddess of death, kinda the female version of Thanatos. You're getting that one disappointed look from Hades after he's finished reading the list of how many times Sylus Qin has escaped death.

The king of the underworld makes it a clear point that if within six months Sylus isn't in the realm, you'll have a successor.

So now you're chasing said man with your two minions in tow (kinda like Pain and Panic from Hercules 1997)

Your plan is simple: get MC to kill Sylus which would be a pain in the butt considering they share half the soul or whatever.

Sylus' plan is quite simple, too: evoke empathy, sincerity, and love inside you for him and dispose of you when he's sure you're too crestfallen to even think about him. How do you make an immortal goddess fall in love with you again?

Your plan isn't going well because MC is unwilling to co-operate because she believes that people can change and Sylus would too (Pre-meeting Sylus) And Sylus' plan isn't going well either because apparently you're head over heels for your boss, the God of the Dead.

Luke and Kieran are happy that they've stuck around long enough to find out who could actually end their boss-man's life and your minions are happy that they'll finally be able to see you less angry when Sylus is gone.

Mephisto and Cerberus just don't get along.

Add in some extra characters like Kore (Persephone before she became queen), Rafayel (there are two gods now and he demands a face-off), The Fates (because duh who'd do the prophecy shit otherwise) and etc. Pure magic.

An unjust but inevitable death, a fall from the ranks and an enmity that gives way to reluctant infatuation.

Marvelous. I'll start writing this now.

[pizzaqueen]

A snippet from a future fic I'll probably never write, where Steve is a widower with two teenage kids, and he and Eddie randomly meet up, rekindling their old flame. This is when they've been together a while:

“Thank you,” Steve says, coming up behind Eddie at the bathroom sink.

Eddie pauses, catching Steve's eye in the mirror. “What for?” he asks, mouth foamy with toothpaste.

Steve slips his hands along Eddie's hips, hooks his chin over Eddie's shoulder. “For loving my kids.”

“You don't—” Toothpaste dribbles down Eddie's chin and he stoops to spit what's left in his mouth into the sink, gathering his hair to one side. He rinses his mouth out, wipes his face with a towel, then turns to Steve. “You don't have to thank me for that. Of course I love them.”

“Not everyone I've dated has.”

“They're idiots.” Eddie grabs the hem of Steve's shirt, pulling him close. “I mean, first of all, they're part of you, and I don't think I could love you and not love them. But...” He trails off, a small smile tilting his lips. “They're amazing kids.”

Pride swells in Steve's chest; he slides his arms around Eddie's waist and says, “They are.”

“And I'm pretty damn honored I get to be part of their lives,” Eddie says, “so thank you,” and he butts his head gently against Steve's.

Steve huffs and slides his hands up Eddie's back, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I love you.” He presses a kiss to Eddie's neck.

“I love you too.”

“And they both love you as well.”

Eddie lets out a shuddering breath. Steve knows how nervous Eddie was, when they started dating, that he wouldn't be welcomed, but it's almost like he's always been part of their family now. “Good to know,"”Eddie says.

Steve holds Eddie a little tighter. All those years ago, back in Hawkins, when they ended things, Steve thought he'd never see Eddie again. But here they are, together—a family—and Steve's never letting him go this time.

[puppetwoman17]

The Batson family: *audible screaming, cursing, vomiting, slandering, and all around illegal activity*

The JL: wtf—

[stealingyourbones]

recently watched a handful of episodes of Supernatural and im kinda impressed with Dean's steadfast belief that all monsters are monsters and can't be redeemed.

With that in mind... there could be some VERY angsty Danny Phantom crossovers with that as the main premise

[padawansuggest]

Obi-Wan in his natural habitat in the temple sleeps in a loft bed (it was supposed to be storage he said cat instinct and turned it into a loft bed they’re shockingly common with Jedi tbh tho) and under 17 fluffy blankets with a pregnancy pillow (he’s not pregnant he just can’t sleep off his stomach if he don’t got one and sometimes autism requires squishing to keep it all down) and three more fluffy blankets on top of him. He has an optional Padawan or pet (not really a pet, just whomever followed him how from the gardens today) in bed with him also. And he’s got a projector on the wall and has a night stand with water and gaming devices so he can survive up there forever.

The clones, who have learned to sleep with full kute coverings and usually without blankets or pillows cause they just pass out on each other, most of whom identified with their Jedi for having similar sleeping types if they weren’t human, realize they are quite horrified by his Stewjoni nesting instinct. And he’s offended and refuses to sleep with any of them till they apologize to his favorite stuffed animal for insulting his HOUSE. Fuck you bitches he and Master Sparkle Bantha deserve better.

Cody is groveling while Alpha is still trying to negotiate a less intense number of blankets and Anakin is just shaking his head like ‘it’s not worth it Bro’ and Alpha is like ‘shut up ur an omega too you brat’ and that’s the last straw, you called them omegas now Cody is asking what an omega is and Alpha is trying to figure out how to keep his AO3 account hidden from his vod’e and nvm he’ll sleep in the barracks forever-

Obi-Wan holds this info over his head like a guillotine and convinced him to get in the damn nest right this second and cuddle him better.

If you don’t sleep with at least two comforters and a queen sized fuzzy blanket then I don’t trust you. Yes I refuse to trust my sister and wife okay. Everything in the world has a downside and that’s theirs. My bed is half dragon hoard of yarn and squishmallows. I’m not changing for anyone.

Anakin’s bed is 90% pillow and squishmallow and 10% blanket. Padme uses a thin cotton blanket and lets him burrito wrap himself and uses him like a body pillow while he’s captive in the blankies.

[thedevillionaire]

Above and Beyond

A “day in the life of” sort of thing - with a few complications, of course. Always and all ways, thank you SO much for reading. 💝

---

And it’s raining.

Again. 

Or, perhaps more accurately, still, Cerberus thinks bitterly, wiping his nose with a tissue barely up to the task. First the Ice chambers and now this absolute nonsense. He hasn’t visited the mortal plane for some time, too long ago to recall precisely when, but he does remember one thing clearly – it was raining then too. Heavier, not this…endlessly drizzling drip-torture affair, but raining.

Again. Still. 

“This damnable weather,” he mutters, more to himself than either of the two awestruck, hapless Demon novices looking up at him. And he can’t for the life of him work out what led to this situation in the first place. Sheer incompetence, apparently. How is it even possible for a basic possession to go so far awry? Just vacate the damn vessel, it’s not complicated, it’s a mortal. Honestly. Ridiculous pastime, possession, anyway. He’s never understood the appeal.

It's all frankly well beneath his station, and ludicrous that he’s here. Why the hell did he agree to this? He's not been thinking clearly all day. And it’s freezing. He’s freezing. The biting windchill whips through the steady, relentless damp, embellishing it, driving it bone-deep. Of all times for both Therion and Suspiria to be away. Who schedules these things? Nobody checks anything properly, he doesn’t…even… Damn it, he is not going to sneeze again. He presses the back of his hand against his nose with significant force in an attempt to quash the rising urge. And…who the hell is this now? He sniffles.

The unexpected and unrecognised arrival doesn’t waste time introducing himself as he starts to deliver his message. “Lord DeVille. I apologise for the intrusion, but if you cou…” 

A swiftly raised index finger halts his sentence.

“Ah-HEHTSHhuu!”

“Gesundheit, my lord.”

Upon receiving an irritated, perfunctory thank you, excuse me and an impatient signal to continue, the emissary nods once in acknowledgement, and does so.

“If you could attend the Healing wards as soon as practicable. I’m afraid there’s been an incident involving Kia.”

A moment of stunned silence as the world and everything in it falls away, irrelevant, meaningless, replaced by a purity of focus vehement and singular. Cerberus, eyes newly incandescent with every bit of that infamous green fire, flicks some stray damp hair back from his face, and wastes no further time.

“Anyone attempting to contact me will burn,” he says, and in a flash of flame is gone. 

---

His arrival at Healing is of course expected, and Riviera's well prepared for it. Less prepared, perhaps, for the usually imposingly stylish Demon king looking…well, more than a little sodden, really. Verging on bedraggled, she thinks, though she’d never say it. But with the look in his eyes as fiercely intent as she's ever seen, that is clearly of no priority right now, and she needs to hurry up and get down to business.

"Okay, well, the first thing you should know is that nobody hurt her, she did this to herself," she begins, adding a hasty, "Not on purpose!" at the expression that received. "No, she attempted a Media skill but unfortunately she was a bit out of her depth, and..."

Cerberus partially hears Riviera's words, taking them in as a wash of information—

...sort of like a concussion, shaken up, disoriented...

partially loses himself to trying to make sense of how things could have come to this—

Kia’s independence, her always pushing through her fears, her trust in herself, and more than that, her trust in him, he's never doubted her but she's...it's gone wrong and gods it stings that she didn’t come to him for help but he knows of course she wants to prove herself, prove she can do this on her own, that any successes would be truly hers and not due to the privilege of his assistance, but...but...

—and partially tries to resist any further surrender to...this damn...

hh-HH...

He recognises when the cause is lost quickly enough, though, turning away to cover an unstoppable, urgent couplet of sneezes in tightly crooked elbow, desperate need recurring.

“Hh-TSCHH-uu! Ah-TSSCHHhuu!"

"..thought she'd be able to manage," continues Riviera. "So we're just keeping her overnight for..."

"Huh-AHSSCHuu! *SNF!*"

"..observation," she concludes, offering him a casual blessing as he curses sotto voce, excuses himself and gathers several tissues from the box on the countertop. “You sound worse than she does, you know. Need anything for the cold?”

"I am cold, I don’t have one," Cerberus says, exasperation bringing a touch of sharpness to his tone even as encroaching congestion rips away the clarity of his consonants. It's beside the point, anyway. He blows his nose and incinerates the tissues. "Pardon me." A quick, soft sniffle. "I'm fine."

He still, for the most part, believes it. Though it would certainly be nice to be less...damp.

"So, no?" Riviera shrugs amicably. "Hm, okay." She’s not about to press him on the matter, despite the ambient temperature in Healing being notably and comfortably warm. “Anyway, um, Kia’s in – just a moment, let me check – yeah, chamber 3," she confirms, pointing down the relevant corridor. “She’s on some meds, so she might be a bit loopy, if she’s even awake.”

Cerberus acknowledges this, sniffling again, and takes another tissue from the countertop box to once more wipe his recalcitrant nose.

“You know, you’re in the right place if you change your mind about…” Riviera gives a little nod towards the tissue box. "Just saying."

“As I said, I'm fine. Thank you.”

He claims a couple more tissues as he leaves, all the same.

---

His beautiful bonded looks disconcertingly fragile, impossibly delicate, in these clinical surrounds - like she's some sort of precisely crafted porcelain imitation of herself, her mass of rich chestnut waves arrayed over the pillow, framing her in a dark halo stark against the too-bright white bedlinens. She's an illusion, a transience.

She doesn't belong here. She's far too vibrant, too irrepressible for this.

Or just irrepressible enough.

Cerberus sighs and ignores the chair provided, sitting instead beside Kia on the bed, and softly caresses her face.

“I understand why you’d have wanted to try this without me, but…” His voice tender, heartfelt. Confident that whatever the problem had been, he’d have been able to fix it. “Oh, love. I wish you hadn’t.”

Kia stirs, slightly waking to his touch, or sensing his presence on some deeper than conscious level, perhaps, and with a small mm of hazy recognition, reaches out to take his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers as she does so.

He rubs his nose and sniffles again, as quietly as he’s able, and frowns slightly at the very unwelcome thought that maybe he is coming down with something after all. Can't be. It’s just too much time spent being practically refrigerated, and for no good reason. Nevertheless, surely this...overreactive ridiculousness should have settled down by now, despite everything. Does his throat hurt? He's not sure. Possibly.

His breath catches softsharply, urgently – once, twice and twice again – and with no time to extricate his hand from Kia’s, he turns as best he can to smother a rapid, desperate triplicate of sneezes, each more insistent than the last, against his shoulder. “HUHschuu! Hhh-TSSCH-uu! Hhh...hh-HH… hhAHTSSCHUU!”

Kia fully awakens to that.

“Bless you,” she purrdrawls, her voice still thick with sleep and the Healing concoctions she’d taken earlier. She gazes up at him through a mix of delight, relief, devotion, gratitude, and desire, her lucidity mutable, unpredictably shifting.

“Gods, sorry, love. Excuse me,” Cerberus says from behind the tissues he’d grabbed earlier. “Not quite the greeting I’d intended.” He sniffles, and pushes some still-damp, disarrayed hair from his eyes. “Spent almost an entire day in the Ice chambers and then an utterly senseless trip to the mortal plane in all its – *snf!* – frigid delights, and now I… *SNFF!* Well, this. If you’ll – *snf!* – pardon me a moment…” He turns aside to blow his nose.

Kia props herself up against the bedhead a little. "Not a great day for the DeVilles, huh," she says with a gently wry smile, one which Cerberus mirrors, adding a hm of accordance as he immolates the spent tissues.

"Soooo, um...you know what happened here, right?" she checks.

He confirms it with a brief nod.

"You probably think I’m crazy."

"I think you’re wonderful." The sincerity in his voice is absolute, souldeep.  “You’re so brave, darkling.”

Kia smirks. “Incredibly brave,” she quips with a flourish, recalling a very earliest time between them, and a question he’d posed that they playfully revisit every now and then.

The two complete the quote together: “Or incredibly foolish.” They both laugh about it, as they’ve done many times before.

“Yeah.” With a smile verging on wistful, Kia gently strokes Cerberus along his forearm, her expression becoming more serious. “Babe, I know you’ll always go above and beyond for me, but sometimes it’s… It’s just… I mean… You can’t always help me. You can’t just give me everything.”

“I want to.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I know.” Kia presses a loving kiss to the back of her bonded’s hand. “And I’m sorry I scared you. But I’m okay, really, I…I very am, really very really, and I’ve had lots of…” She waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the treatments on the bedside table. “..the things, and I’m not in any pain or anything so you don’t need to be here and I…I guess you should probably go home.”

A wickedsoft chuckle of refutation. “No, I’m afraid I’m going to make rather a nuisance of myself, darkling.”

Kia laughs. "Good." She grins, a little woozily. "I didn't mean it, anyway. Hmm…" She takes a section of his shirt sleeve between her fingers, briefly rubbing. "You're more wet than usual," she asserts, peering at him as if she's cracked some secret code. “Wait, did we talk about this alrea…”

She breaks off as her beloved's breath sharpcatches staccato anew; without intent she inhales deeply alongside him, her fascinated focus almost as captive as his.

“HXXTchu! Ugh…” He groans, lightly coughing convulsively from the effort of stifling. And it was doomed to fail – he knows it, and he inhales again, deep and immediate, and doesn’t bother trying it a second time. “Huh-TSSCHH-uu!” Or…or apparently a third, and after a knife-edge pause and an escalated hitching of breath, he surrenders entirely and sneezes again – powerful, ferocious. “Hhh… hh-TSSCHH-uu!” With a fierce sniffle, he presses the back of his hand against his nose with a determination verging on brutal, but the insistent itch still unsated has his breath catching again. Brow creased, he gives over, capitulating altogether to the demanding need. “AAHHTSSCHHUU! Gods, fuck.”  

Kia loses herself to assorted altered states for a moment. "Bless you, you’re so gorgeous, oh my god,” she effuses, rush-of-energy lustlaced, and sends Cerberus a Mindsent doubled-up :Bless you bless you I love you: as he excuses himself, apologises and takes a very necessary moment of recovery.

A realisation occurs to Kia, watching him now, and she voices it: a soft but matter-of-fact you’re getting a cold.

Cerberus almost manages to begin some sort of unconvincing rebuttal, but Kia holds up her hand in a gentle interruption. “It's alright, you're very sexy so you’re allowed to be a bit dumb about some stuff," she says.

She gives a light giggle at his raised eyebrow and wry shake of his head, smiling, in response. Gazing at him both sweetly and covetously for just a little longer, the spike of energy rapidly fading, the state she’s in, she mumbles you work too hard, you know as she passes him the bedside tissue box with a kiss, before closing her eyes and curling up against his chest with a soft sound of contentment.

Cerberus strokes her hair, kisses the top of her head as he embraces her.  “When you’re well, we can go through the Media process of your choosing together, if you’d like,” he murmurs.

“Nuh-uh.” She taps his arm twice in drowsy correction. “When you’re well, we can.”

A knowing, indulgent smile curves her lips, and she curls up closer still.

---

[eat-your-milk]

I have no idea how but it has occurred to me that I have written 20k words this week.

Please send help.

Anyways, new chapter of my longfic! Its a big one! (Literally. Its 10k words lmao) I hope you guys enjoy!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61258318/chapters/167718619

[serymn]

headcanon: Aegon and Helaena totally bullied each other as newlyweds as they adjust to their new relationship as husband and wife. Endless teasing, arguing about the room arrangement (Helaena just has to have a space for her insect collections), but end up in the same bed horny for each other lol

Until Helaena gets pregnant and began showing! and Aegon just dotes on her, treats her like a delicate thing, stops the teasing to just wanting things to be comfortable for her. He gets deathly scared when there seems to be problems or if Helaena is in pain or has morning sickness. Almost fainted when he learned they were going to have twins, but happy about it but then more worried for Helaena's comfort/health. He was a nervous mess when the twins were born but seeing them was the happiest day of his life. 🥹

[fulgrims-big-naturals]

Necrontyr Soap Opera Type Shit

Summary: It's Nemesor Khatep's wedding day, and his Vargard, Senset, has feelings about it. (She's so down bad)

Warnings: Really uncomfortable sex happening whatever the writing equivalent of off screen is. Arranged marriage. Immense yearning.

————————————————————

“So, today is the big day” Khatep declares adjusting his collar, “the grand union” he makes a grandiose gesture with his bejeweled hands and begins striding down the hallway. Senset follows close behind.

“Oh don’t be so glum, there’ll be pheasants. You love pheasants”

His Vargard nods in agreement.

“Now, I don’t know where you’d sit at the banquet though. On one hand, you are my Vargard, on the other my wife would be expecting to sit at my side,” Khatep muses. “Would my left be appropriate for her?”

Senset stays stone faced and quiet as usual.

“Well it would make sense, you are my right hand after all” Khatep continues

Senset nods again.

The two continue walking across the marble hall. The pillars are decorated with beads and buntings in celebration of the Nemesor’s wedding day. The dead are always given more thought than the living, but Khatep had insisted on pomp and a party, and if those were his wishes they would be granted.

The pair reached the hall where the ceremony and subsequent feast would be held. Little lights cascaded from the tall ceiling like stars.

“I do hope my bride is nice” Khatep muses, “she seemed nice, a bit shy but I’m sure she’ll warm up”

Senset walks with him around the long table, running a hand across the top. Though the table was a dark marble, and the benches were made to match, Senset had insisted her lord’s chair at the head be swapped for one with a lighter material. If there was an attack, he needed to be able to get up swiftly and push it away.

“What do you think she likes to read? Ah- and what was her name?” Khatep snaps his fingers trying to find the memory “Heteptah that’s it! She’d like reading wouldn’t she Senset? What kind of person doesn’t like to read?”

“I don’t know my lord” Senset replies, her voice barely a whisper. She counts the windows in her head. They were tall and unfortunately just wide enough for someone to fit through. Senset wishes she could be in a hundred bodies at once to stand guard at each one, but instead had to settle for hand picking the force.

“I guess now is my supposed last moment of freedom before I am wrapped up in my husbandly duties” Khatep muses, “you know, consummate this, unite the dynasties that. Not that I’d have any problems of course, I have it all under control.” He puffs his chest out proudly, reminding himself of his own stature and talents.

Senset nods agreeably. Being sure of her lord’s abilities, she is more concerned double checking the buttresses were still smooth and hadn’t suddenly sprouted ledges for potential assassins to perch in.

“Oh I could show her my war chariot. I’m sure she’d love it, it has turrets”

The Nemesor drifts off into silence. Occasionally punctuated by their footsteps and the clack of Senset’s spear on the stone floor.

“What if I make a fool of myself?” Khatep’s tone turns serious all of a sudden.

“In what way my lord?” Senset drops her inspecting to give her lord her full attention.

“You know, on the wedding night. What if I make a fool of myself in front of both families?”

“My lord you could do no such thing,”

“Her in-laws will be watching, what if she feels awkward and doesn’t make much noise? It will look like I cannot please her!”

Senset noticing her lord’s distress drops the mask of discipline and softens her expression. “My lord Khatep, your beauty rivals the stars’, and your strength and wit are beyond compare. Your bride could not find a better husband than you. The fools are the ones who doubt you.”

The Vargard’s golden eyes are filled with genuine admiration and devotion. Senset does not doubt a word she says and curses herself for not being able to think of more to say.

"Thank you, Senset" Khatep visibly relaxes as he settles back into his self assuredness, "I imagine you would want to stay outside for that yes?" Khatep asks.

"Of course my lord" Senset replies a bit too hastily. The thought of having to watch the consummation makes her insides twist. She doesn't want to think about it

————————————————————

The wedding went off without a hitch. Senset had stayed by her lord’s side whilst guests poured into the hall, nodding at each of them as Khatep greeted them all with the appropriate charm and custom. She watched him put on his best smile and weave his fingers in with the bride as their union was blessed.

Khatep had flitted between guests. Receiving gifts and making compliments. His gaze kept snagging on Senset. The thousands of lights caught on her armour, dancing and twinkling when she moved in contrast to her impassive expression. Khatep thought she looked serene in a way, so focused on her duty. It was duty he thought of when he spoke his vows.

———————————————————— Senset stares at the tiled floor in front of Khatep's bedroom. She grips her spear harder, as if it will somehow block the sounds coming from the other room.

Aside from Khatep and Heteptah, there were another 5 people in the room. One was an oracle that would supposedly be able to tell the sex of the heir. The point for the witnesses was to make sure an heir could be conceived, and to testify against any cases made for an annulment.

"no don't look at them, here, look at me"

That's Khatep's voice, he's speaking softly with a slight rumble picking up in his chest, but Senset can tell he is nervous. She can always tell.

Senset hears a yelp next, followed by the ruffling of sheets and some groaning. She grips her spear even tighter, her jaw is clenched and her shoulders are tense and she is trying so hard to focus on anything else. Anything but Heteptah's nails leaving marks on her lord's back. Anything but how his hair would tickle her face when he leans in close. Anything but his hands gripping the sheets above her shoulders, his breath in her ear, his legs between hers.

"Are you done yet?" Hetepta's voice rings out past the door.

"i'm trying" Khatep huffs his reply.

Senet feel sick. How could this woman scorn her lord? She is blessed to be his wife, Khatep is stronger, smarter, and more handsome than any other suitor she could've possibly had, and she scorns him? Senset would never do such a thing, she would never treat her lord with anything but reverence.

Her throat feels tight hearing the grunting coming from the other room, and then finally a smatter of applause. It's done. Senset steadies her breathing and nods to the guests as they leave.

————————————————————

Pt. 2

[da-janela-lateral]

Soap Opera AU - Chapter 001, minute 35:42

Debts increase. Shigeo takes his decision.

[poisonedace]

How to Lose a Kingdom in Ten Screams

5001 words | Teen | One-Shot AO3: Poisoned Ace Story Link: How to Lose a Kingdom in Ten Screams

Lucifer expected a prophecy. Instead, he found royal incompetence, stolen thrones, and a peacock with delusions of grandeur. Determined to restore order, he reinstates Stolas’s power—and lets him handle his traitorous relatives however he sees fit. Cue one eldritch horror, two screaming nobles, and a chase scene so humiliating it makes the headliner for 666 News. Meanwhile, Blitzo mouths off to the King of Hell, Loona gets in a final roast, and Stella and Andrealphus learn the hard way why you don’t mess with Stolas. Royalty has never been more dramatic… or more embarrassing.

😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈

How to Lose a Kingdom in Ten Screams

😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈🔥😈

Lucifer paced the length of his suite at the Hazbin Hotel, irritation flickering across his sharp features. The dim glow of the infernal city outside cast jagged, shifting shadows as he moved. Frustration gnawed at his patience, consuming his thoughts so much so that he barely noticed when his foot struck something small and rubbery—

A loud quack echoed through the room as a cherished rubber duck shot across the floor, hitting the wall with an indignant bounce.

Lucifer exhaled slowly through his nose, pinching the bridge of his nose. Today was already testing him.

It had been too long since he had received a prophecy—far too long. He had tolerated incompetence from the Goetia bloodline before Stolas, dismissing their supposed gifts as laughable at best. But Stolas was different. Stolas had true celestial sight. He had foreseen Alastor’s fate only a year after the boy had been born. And while Lucifer hadn’t been able to prevent the inevitable, that vision had given him a chance—a rare opportunity to try and save Alastor’s soul. No other had done as much since his own descent into Hell.

And yet now, now, the owl dared to neglect his duty.

Lucifer’s fingers twitched, the air around him crackling with suppressed power. He would not stand for this level of irresponsibility. If Stolas would not come to him with new visions, then Lucifer would go to him.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, a portal tore open before him, its edges lined with crackling, fiery light. Without hesitation, he stepped through, prepared to remind the Goetia prince exactly where his priorities should lie.

When Lucifer emerged into the grand halls of the Goetia palace, his gaze immediately narrowed at the sight before him. He stood outside what was once Stolas’s lavish office. What had been a thing of beauty filled with celestial texts and personal portraits was utterly transformed. Gaudy, self-indulgent decorations now overshadowed the regal blues and silvers that once adorned the space. Every single portrait of Stolas, even those with his daughter, had been removed—replaced instead with portraits of Andrealphus, well, the same portrait of him over and over again.

Lucifer’s gaze swept over the room, his irritation cooling into something sharper, more dangerous.

Seated comfortably in the spot that once held Stolas’s desk were Stella and Andrealphus, lounging as if they owned the place. Stella smirked at Lucifer’s arrival, clearly relishing in whatever power she believed she now wielded.

Lucifer’s voice cut through the silence, sharp as a blade. “I demand to see Prince Stolas. Immediately.”

Stella let out a delighted, mocking laugh while Andrealphus merely smirked, idly flicking open his fan. “Oh, dear King,” Stella purred, her tone dripping with false sympathy. “That won’t be possible.”

Lucifer’s expression did not change, but the air in the room grew heavier. “And why, exactly, is that?”

Andrealphus, ever the smug fool, leaned forward. “By royal decree, Stolas’s powers have been transferred to me until Octavia comes of age. It seems my dear ex-brother-in-law made the foolish mistake of giving his grimoire to a lowly imp.”

Lucifer let the words settle like dust, his gaze dragging over Andrealphus as if assessing something spoiled beyond redemption. Then, raising a single brow, he asked in a voice full of unimpressed boredom, “Do you even know how to read prophecies?”

Before Andrealphus could sputter out a response, a voice from the hallway scoffed.

“I know more about reading prophecies than he does,” Octavia muttered as she walked into the room, arms crossed. She barely spared the gathered group a glance before continuing in a deadpan voice, “And I only started really learning about a year or two ago.”

Lucifer turned to her, intrigued. “And?”

Octavia sighed, taking out her headphones. “And they aren’t very accurate. Sometimes, they’re vague or completely off the mark. The ones that actually wind up being true? Maybe an hour into the future. If we’re really, really lucky."

Lucifer exhaled sharply through his nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. He turned back to Andrealphus, his unimpressed expression deepening. “Utterly worthless,” he muttered under his breath before fixing the peacock with a pointed stare. “I’ve seen lesser imps with more capability.”

Andrealphus bristled. “Now, see here—”

Lucifer cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Enough. You’ve wasted more than enough of my time already.” His crimson eyes flicked back to Octavia. “Where is your father?”

Octavia hesitated for only a moment before sighing. “He’s in Imp City. Living with his boyfriend and his daughter.”

Lucifer’s brow lifted slightly. “His boyfriend?”

Octavia nodded, crossing her arms tighter.

Lucifer studied her for a moment before pressing further. “What happened?”

Octavia sighed heavily, as though she’d had to repeat the story too many times. “Blitz was put on trial to be executed because they,” she made a gesture towards her mother and uncle. “claimed he stole Dad’s grimoire, but Dad got there and stopped the execution, telling them it was him who was at fault. As a result, he lost custody of me, and the council stripped his powers and royal status for 100 years.”

Lucifer’s gaze darkened, the weight of his displeasure pressing down on the room like a physical force. “They accused an imp of stealing what was freely given?” His tone was unreadable, but something was simmering beneath the surface. Yes, Stolas shouldn’t have given the grimoire for use to lower hell-born beings; that was a given, but Lucifer had a feeling it was a petty move by Satan that really was the cause behind this more than anything else. He could never let a chance go to get one over on Lucifer, and he knew how much Lucifer had come to rely on Stolas. 

Octavia nodded as she gestured around the office, her lip curling. “And this is what they replaced him with.”

Lucifer muttered to himself, shaking his head. “I really need to start keeping abreast of what is happening in the court system and royal circles…” He exhaled sharply before waving a hand dismissively at Andrealphus. “Get dressed and meet me back here.”

Andrealphus blinked in surprise but, after a glance at Stella, left the room in a huff. Lucifer took a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as he steeled himself for the inevitable headache to come. He did not enjoy handling incompetence, and the fact that it had infected the court to such a degree was maddening. He tapped his fingers against his arm, waiting impatiently as the minutes dragged on.

When Andrealphus returned, dressed in something more presentable but no less ostentatious, Lucifer didn’t bother hiding his impatience. He gestured at the grimoire with a flick of his fingers. “Let’s see if you’re as incompetent, sorry, as competent as Satan seemed to think you were.” 

Andrealphus hesitated before flipping open the book, his fingers twitching as he mumbled incantations under his breath. The process was slow and clumsy. He fumbled through the words. His voice lacked any conviction. With each failed attempt, Lucifer’s expression darkened. The portal remained stubbornly closed.

Lucifer’s patience wore thin. His lip curled, and with an exasperated sigh, he finally snapped, “Completely inept.”

Andrealphus’s feathers bristled, and he straightened indignantly. “This is—”

“A complete waste of time. I agree.” Lucifer cut him off, his voice colder than before. He turned toward the grimoire, eyes flickering with frustration. “If you were even remotely competent, a portal would have been open ten minutes ago.” He pinched the bridge of his nose before stepping away from the desk. His gaze flicked to Octavia. “You try.”

Octavia stepped forward, taking a steadying breath before focusing on the book. Unlike Andrealphus, her motions were careful and deliberate. Within moments, the portal flared to life, shimmering with celestial energy.

Lucifer tilted his head slightly, observing her work. “Acceptable,” he murmured, though there was the faintest trace of approval in his voice. He glanced at Andrealphus once more, unimpressed. “Perhaps you should take notes.”

Andrealphus scowled but said nothing, his feathers ruffling in agitation. Lucifer, however, had already lost interest in him. His gaze returned to the portal where Octavia was stepping through, following her. She led them to the location Stolas had instructed her to go to read prophecies. However, as she gazed at the space before them, confusion crept across her features. 

“I… I don’t understand what I’m seeing.”

Lucifer took in the sight, silent for a long moment. Though gentler with her than he had been with Andrealphus, he finally admitted, “You have potential. But you still have much to learn.” His gaze flicked over to the stars and planets above them, calculating. “This will not suit my needs.”

He rubbed his temple as though he’d been dealing with an endless headache. The weight of incompetence and betrayal pressed down on him, and he was quickly growing weary of it. He exhaled sharply before straightening his posture, his imposing presence filling the space.

“Take me to your father. We will be fixing this immediately.” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge of authority that left no room for argument.

Octavia nodded without hesitation, stepping back through determinedly and putting the grimoire back on its stand with a sense of finality. The weight of the book settled heavily, as though acknowledging that its rightful owner would soon return. 

She lifted her hands, channeling energy as she began to open a portal to the I.M.P offices, the swirling magic crackling in the air. But before it could fully solidify—

A sharp, indignant voice pierced the chamber.

“You can’t just—” Andrealphus began, pushing himself forward, his feathers puffed up in false bravado. His fan trembled in his grip, the delicate fabric crumbling with agitation. But the moment Lucifer’s crimson gaze landed on him, the peacock demon faltered.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the very air pressing in like an invisible weight. Lucifer hadn’t spoken a word, and yet his very presence radiated an unspoken command—one of absolute, unchallenged dominance.

Andrealphus’s voice died in his throat, a pathetic strangled sound escaping as he instinctively took a step back, almost tripping over the lounge chair he had put in place of Stolas’s desk.

But Stella was not so easily silenced.

“She is not to see or have contact with her father! This is completely unacceptable!” Stella hissed, her heels clacking furiously against the polished marble floor as she lunged for Octavia. Her talons closed around Octavia’s wrist, gripping tightly as she attempted to yank her away from the portal.

Octavia hissed and tried to pull her wrist from her mother’s grasp, but before she could wrench herself free—

Lucifer moved. Faster than a shadow. With a mere flick of his wrist, an invisible force seized Stella’s arm mid-motion, freezing her in place.

A heavy silence fell over the chamber, suffocating in its intensity. The very walls seemed to tremble as though Hell itself was holding its breath.

Lucifer turned slowly, his gaze now fixed solely on Stella.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… His eyes burned. Red, deep, and unrelenting—like an inferno trapped behind glass, waiting to be unleashed.

The force pinning Stella in place wasn’t painful, not yet, but it carried an unmistakable message: One more step, and she would regret it.

Stella’s breath hitched. For the first time in her wretched existence, she hesitated.

Lucifer hadn’t laid a single hand on her, yet it felt as though a blade was pressed against her throat.

“Release. Her.”

The words were not shouted. 

They were not a request.

They were law.

A slow, strangled growl escaped Stella’s lips, but she had no choice. The invisible force constraining her limbs tightened ever so slightly, a subtle but unmistakable warning.

With a furious sneer, she let go.

Octavia immediately stepped back, rubbing her wrist as she shook off her mother’s touch. Her feathers bristled, but her expression remained composed. If anything, there was something like satisfaction in her sharp violet eyes.

Lucifer exhaled slowly. The oppressive energy in the room eased just enough for Stella to stumble backward. The moment she was free, she clutched her arm as if Lucifer’s mere presence had burned her.

She dared to glare at him.

Lucifer simply smiled. A slow, knowing, thoroughly unimpressed smile.

“You think you’re untouchable,” Stella sneered, rubbing her wrist. “Enjoy your little victory, King Lucifer. Because when you least expect it, I’ll be there to take it back.”

Lucifer gave her an amused glance. “Oh, Stella,” he sighed, so very bored, “I already had enemies. You, however, are becoming less relevant by the second.”

Stella’s feathers bristled, her talons curling into fists, but no further words came. Andrealphus, still lingering near the chair, seemed to shrink under the weight of it all, eyes darting between his sister and the King of Hell.

Lucifer adjusted his cufflinks as though nothing had happened and casually glanced in their direction. “Don’t get comfortable,” He finally said, his voice smooth yet foreboding. The quiet power behind it sent an involuntary shudder through the room. “You two won’t be here for much longer.”

Andrealphus swallowed hard, his feathers ruffling in pure, unfiltered anxiety. He had seen many nobles fall from grace over the years, but never had he felt that same fate creeping toward him.

Stella clenched her jaw, but the fire in her eyes had dulled—she knew she had lost.

The portal flared brighter, the arcane energy solidifying as it showed the I.M.P reception desk on the other side. Octavia, not sparing her mother another glance, stepped through without hesitation.

Lucifer followed right behind her.

~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

The reception, usually buzzing with activity, fell into stunned silence at the sight of their unexpected guests.

Loona, who had been lazily scrolling on her phone, nearly dropped it, her eyes widening in alarm. Moxxie and Millie froze mid-conversation, exchanging wary glances.

Blitzo, who had been rifling through a stack of papers by the filing cabinets, tensed immediately, his tail flicking behind him in sharp, agitated sways. His crimson eyes darted between Octavia and Lucifer, his entire stance shifting into something defensive before he even registered what he was doing.

Without thinking, his hand instinctively reached out, fingers grazing Octavia’s sleeve—a protective gesture, an unspoken stay behind me.

Octavia’s eyes wandered down to him, freezing on his tail. She had been around him and other imps enough to recognize the movement for what it was—not just agitation but unease. The sharp, restless flicks were the telltale sign of someone ready to lash out or bolt.

She moved past his hand, stepping lightly toward Loona. The hellhound barely spared her a glance, but the flick of Loona’s ear was all the acknowledgment needed.

Now positioned just behind him, Octavia looked around and frowned when she noticed her father wasn’t in the room.

Blitzo, reassured by her movement, squared his shoulders and planted himself firmly between Lucifer and the others. His arms crossed over his chest, his stance widening ever so slightly—not backing down, not bowing.

“Well, this is new,” Blitzo muttered, his voice dripping with snark, though there was an undercurrent of tension beneath it. “What’s the King of Hell doing slumming it in Imp City?”

Lucifer barely acknowledged the imp’s hostility, his gaze sweeping the office before landing back on Blitzo. “I’m here to speak with Prince Stolas.”

Blitzo quirked a brow, unimpressed. “Well, he’s not here.”

Lucifer’s gaze narrowed slightly. “When will he be back?”

Blitzo gave a dramatic shrug, feigning ignorance. “Dunno, he—”

The sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention, and Blitzo’s expression changed in an instant. “STOLAS!” he called in an exaggerated tone, dragging out the name.

Stolas, who had just walked in holding five cups, paused mid-step, his expression puzzled. Before he could react, Blitzo quickly snatched the drinks from his hands and ushered him behind the reception desk, keeping himself firmly between the owl and Lucifer.

“Back so soon?” Blitzo asked, flashing Stolas an overly cheerful grin.

Stolas blinked in confusion, looking around until his gaze landed on Octavia and Lucifer. His expression immediately softened, and he moved past Blitzo without hesitation toward his daughter.

“Sire? Starfire?” Stolas’s voice was laced with concern. “What are you doing here?”

He barely gave Lucifer a second glance before pulling Octavia into a tight embrace. He pressed a firm kiss to her forehead before he began to look over. “Are you okay?” he murmured, holding her close once finished.

Lucifer, however, was not one to waste time. He cleared his throat, drawing Stolas’s attention back to him before Octavia could answer. “I tracked you down because I noticed you’ve been neglecting your duties,” he said plainly. “I need some things looked into.”

Blitzo scoffed loudly, his tail flicking. “How the fuck do you expect him to do that when he lost his powers?” he snapped. “He’s about as strong as a run-of-the-mill imp now.”

Stolas sighed, casting Blitzo a side glance. “Thank you, Blitzo,” he muttered before turning back to Lucifer. “He isn’t wrong, however, Sire. I can no longer perform my duties. That responsibility has been passed to Andrealphus—for the time being.”

“Yes, and I’ve deemed that completely unacceptable.”

Octavia snorted beside him. “He couldn’t even get the portal open.”

Stolas hooted, clearly amused by that turn of events. “Well, as sorry as I am, Sire. There’s, unfortunately, nothing I can do. I can perhaps try to read the stars, but without my powers, I can’t promise their validity.”

Lucifer folded his hands behind his back, his crimson gaze locked onto Stolas. His voice was smooth and measured yet carried the weight of absolute authority. “I am willing to overturn the ruling and restore your powers and status.” The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. 

Stolas gave a wary glance downward at Blitzo, his feathers ruffling in mild agitation. He knew Lucifer well enough to understand that nothing came without a cost. His talons flexed slightly against the floor.

“At the cost of his life?” Stolas asked, his voice firm. “Absolutely not.”

Lucifer let out a small, amused breath through his nose, his expression unreadable. “No. All I ask is that you continue to read prophecies for me, although I’ll be happy to see how Octavia progresses. She’s not quite there yet, but she will be soon enough under your tutelage.”

Stolas’s talons tapped lightly against his arm, considering.

“Sire, respectfully,” he began carefully, “if this is about Alastor or Lilith, I haven’t seen much since her disappearance.”

“That is part of it,” Lucifer admitted, inclining his head. “But I also wanted to check in on the sinners in Charlie’s hotel.”

At that, Stolas visibly stiffened. His grip on Octavia’s shoulders tightened, and his usually composed expression faltered for just a second.

Charlie’s Hotel. The rehabilitation project.

He was no fool—he knew what Lucifer really meant. He wasn’t just checking in. He was assessing a threat.

Blitzo, sharp enough to catch the shift in Stolas’s demeanor, narrowed his eyes and stepped forward.

"Alright, alright, enough with the cryptic power-trip talk," Blitzo muttered, stepping directly between Lucifer and Stolas, his arms crossed. "Listen, Your Shiny-ness, Stolas has been through enough without you piling on.”

Lucifer raised a single, curious brow at the imp’s audacity. He glanced at Stolas as if waiting for him to correct this blatant disrespect.

Stolas didn’t.

Lucifer’s smirk deepened slightly, entertained by the boldness.

“You may have the prince wrapped around your finger, but don’t think for a second you’re untouchable.”

Blitzo rolled his eyes. “You’re not the first royal to tell me that, and you won’t be the last.”

Lucifer exhaled, not annoyed—more amused than anything else. He honestly did not know what Stolas saw in this crude little imp, but he had to admit: he had nerve.

“What do you think, Blitz?”

Blitzo, seemingly unbothered by the literal King of Hell, casually took a sip from his coffee and muttered, “Well, if this means fewer royal messes for me to clean up, then whatever. Just don’t let him boss you around too much.”

Stolas smiled at Blitzo, a genuine, fond expression crossing his face. “I’ll do my best, my love.”

Lucifer, watching the interaction, tilted his head ever so slightly. His smirk faded just for a second.

Not out of anger.

Not out of disapproval.

But because he saw something he hadn’t expected. Something that shouldn’t exist in Hell between two Hellborns.

Or so he thought. 

Lucifer’s gaze flickered back to Stolas, studying him for a long, contemplative moment. The old Stolas would have never spoken to him this way.

He smiled to himself as he adjusted his cuffs. Then, at last, he inclined his head. “As safe as he can be in Hell,” he finally said.

Blitzo scoffed, dismissing the statement. Stolas, however, understood the weight of that statement. Lucifer wouldn’t step in if they found themselves in trouble again.

With a dramatic gesture, Lucifer summoned a burst of infernal energy, restoring Stolas to his full glory. Stolas was lifted into the air. His body was engulfed in a swirling maelstrom of dark and celestial energy. His feathers shimmered with renewed vibrancy as the power surged through him, his form momentarily glowing with an ethereal light. Magic crackled outward, sending tremors through the room before retracting back into him in a final, controlled pulse. His aura intensified, commanding and formidable, visibly intimidating everyone in the room—except Blitzo, who merely raised an eyebrow.

Stolas landed gracefully, rolling his shoulders as he tested the power coursing through him. He had forgotten how it truly felt—magic thrumming through his veins, his body humming with restored strength. For the first time in months, he felt whole. 

“It’s good to be back,” he murmured, glancing toward Lucifer with a smile. “What would you like me to look into, Sire?”

“That can wait,” Lucifer said smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. “First, let’s get your palace back.”

~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~o0o~

Later, in the Goetia palace, Stolas, now in his full eldritch form, cackled as he chased Stella and Andrealphus through the halls. The two screeched in terror, fleeing in nothing but their robes as Stolas’s glowing eyes and writhing shadows sent them sprinting through the corridors of his reclaimed palace.

The once-pristine marble floors were now scuffed with clawed footprints, the tall gothic windows rattled with the sheer force of his booming laughter and the once-mighty noble heirs of the Goetia line? Reduced to shrieking buffoons in half-tied robes.

Andrealphus, feathers ruffled in a complete mess, shrieked as his talons slapped against the cold marble. He was moving at a speed that would have been impressive—if it weren’t for the fact that he kept tripping over his own absurdly long robe.

Behind him, Stella clutched at her disheveled silk garment, her feathers bouncing wildly as she shoved Andrealphus forward. “MOVE, YOU IMBECILE!” she screeched, eyes darting wildly behind her. “HE’S RIGHT BEHIND US—OH SATAN’S SAGGY LEFT—HE’S GAINING!”

“You think I DON’T KNOW THAT?!” Andrealphus wailed, scrambling forward like a frightened peacock trying to take flight.

But it was no use.

Stolas, in his full eldritch form, wasn’t even running.

He stalked after them at a leisurely, predatory pace, his talons clicking against the floor like a ticking clock counting down their doom. His massive wings cast dark shadows against the walls, shifting and writhing like living creatures. From those shadows, phantom-like tendrils slithered out, curling around doorframes and reaching toward his fleeing prey, just enough to make them scream louder.

His glowing, violet eyes gleamed with mischief, not malice. This? This was FUN.

“Oh,” Stolas cooed mockingly, his many eyes blinking at different intervals. “Why so frightened? I simply wish to have a little chat about—oh, I don’t know—THE WAY YOU TRIED TO RUIN MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE?”

Andrealphus let out a high-pitched yelp, his voice cracking. “IT WASN’T PERSONAL, STOLAS—JUST POLITICS!”

Stella, in a rare moment of honesty, shrieked, “IT WAS EXTREMELY PERSONAL!”

“Ah, good,” Stolas chirped, his shadows darting forward, snapping at their ankles like mischievous puppies. “Then I hope you’ll take this personally.”

With a graceful leap, Stolas landed directly behind them, his massive wings whooshing as they spread wide.

Andrealphus, in sheer panic, threw his fan at him.

Stolas caught it midair between two of his talons. Then, with a dramatic snap, he broke it in half. The cracking sound echoed through the palace like the final nail in Andrealphus’s coffin.

Andrealphus gasped as if he had just witnessed a murder.

“MY FAN!” he wailed, devastated. “That was handcrafted and imported from Earth!”

“I know,” Stolas smirked. “I gifted it to you. How ungrateful of you to use it against me.”

Andrealphus let out a strangled sob.

Stella rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. “GET OVER IT AND KEEP RUNNING, YOU PRANCING MORON—”

She never finished her sentence.

Because at that exact moment, the floor suddenly gave way beneath them.

Or rather—Stolas made it give way.

The shadows lurched beneath their feet, sending both Stella and Andrealphus into a cartoonishly clumsy tumble as they tumbled ass-over-teakettle down a grand staircase.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Stella screeched. Andrealphus squawked. Their robes tangled around them as they tumbled downward, limbs flailing, looking less like regal nobility and more like a pair of drunk aristocrats rolling out of a carriage.

By the time they reached the bottom, Stella landed with her robe half over her face, her long feathers broken and misplaced, and Andrealphus?

Flat on his back. Staring at the ceiling. Wheezing.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then—Stella groaned, untangling herself from her robe as she staggered to her feet.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake, Stolas! Can’t you just be a loser in silence?!"

Andrealphus, still sprawled out, wheezed, "I think I’ve broken my spine…"

Stolas, still hovering above the crumpled nobles, let out a soft tsk, shaking his head as if genuinely disappointed.

"Now, now, Stella," he crooned, descending slowly, his massive wings unfurling just enough to cast a looming shadow over her. "You should know by now—" his talons clicked against the marble as he landed, his many glowing eyes narrowing with amusement— "I never suffer in silence. I prefer an audience."

He gestured grandly to the shattered remains of Andrealphus’s dignity. "And this?" His smirk sharpened, his voice practically dripping with mock concern. "This was a show worth putting on."

Stella let out a frustrated huff, glaring daggers at him, but Stolas only grinned wider.

“Oh, but dear Andrealphus,” he continued smoothly, tilting his head with mock sympathy. “You wanted me to disappear so badly, didn’t you? And yet—” he gestured at the grand, towering palace around them, the very home he had reclaimed. “Here I am. And here you are. At my feet.”

Stolas let the silence hang for a moment, his smirk widening as Andrealphus swallowed hard.

“A shame, really,” he sighed, casting an almost pitying glance at Andrealphus. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one…” His wings flexed slightly, shadows creeping closer as Andrealphus let out a strangled squawk.

Stella’s face twisted with rage, but before she could snap back, Stolas’s smug expression turned to her.

"So tell me, Stella…" His voice dropped to a dangerous purr, his many eyes glowing brighter. "How does it feel to lose?"

A tense silence followed. Andrealphus, wisely deciding to preserve what little pride he had left, turned his head away and let out a defeated groan.

Lucifer, who had been watching the entire thing from a distance, finally chuckled. “Now that,” he mused, slowly applauding, “was thoroughly entertaining.”

Stolas turned to him with a flourish. “I did restrain myself, Sire.”

Lucifer smirked. “You did. But I’ll do you one better.”

With a snap of his fingers, a thick, glowing red seal appeared midair—an infernal decree written in elegant, deadly final script.

Lucifer read it aloud, his voice calm yet absolute.

“By my authority as King of Hell, Stella Goetia, and Marquis Andrealphus are hereby stripped of all royal privileges and exiled from the Goetia. Effective immediately. Should they return, they will be fed to the Hellhounds.”

Stella’s mouth fell open in outrage. “YOU CAN’T DO THIS—”

“Oh, I can,” Lucifer said with a charming yet thoroughly evil smile. “And I just did.”

Andrealphus, sensing the very last shreds of his dignity evaporating, groaned, “Can’t we at least stay the night?”

Lucifer gestured dramatically toward the enormous doors. “OUT.”

With a final, defeated huff, Stella and Andrealphus dragged themselves to their feet, robes disheveled and pride shattered.

Andrealphus glanced at Stella, gulped—then, dignity be damned, bolted for the exit.

Stella scowled after him, but with Lucifer still watching, she had no choice but to follow. At least she walked out with some dignity.

As she caught up to her brother, the two muttered bitter insults under their breath until they reached the palace entrance. There, Loona stood waiting beside Octavia, lazily leaning against the doorframe with a smug grin.

“Well, well,” she snorted. “Looks like you two just got your asses handed to you.”

Stella scowled. “Ugh. A filthy Hellhound—just what I needed to see today.”

Loona tilted her head. “I can escort you out personally if you’d like.” She cracked her knuckles.

Andrealphus paled. “No, no! That won’t be necessary!”

Stella and Andrealphus all but ran through the palace doors, disappearing into the night.

Lucifer turned to Stolas with a smirk. “Well. That was cathartic.”

Stolas, adjusting his feathers elegantly, smirked back. “Quite.”

He turned to Octavia, who had been watching the entire thing with a look of mild amusement.

“Shall we get this place back in order, Starfire?”

Octavia sighed, crossing her arms. “Yeah, yeah. Just try not to make it even weirder than it already was.”

And with that, order was restored—and Hell’s most entertaining shitshow had finally reached its curtain call.

[darkcrowprincess]

My two modes of favorite batman/batfamily fics:

I either like found family with hurt comfort with fluff or just pure soap opera drama with a happy ending.