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6thofapril1917 · 3 days

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don't wanna be alone anymore [ken lemmons x oc]

A/N: the first in what will (hopefully) be a series of maggie/ken drabbles and one-shots. this one is pretty stream of consciousness and shifts tense so i apologize if it's incomprehensible. in my defense uni has been kicking my ass lately (one more week of the semester left, thank GOD) ken lemmons x oc. word count: 1.3k. crossposted on ao3.

For Maggie Zielinski, romance is something that she watches other people get to experience. She’s long been resigned to the fact that it isn’t something she’s meant to experience herself.

She doesn’t know what it is about her. She certainly isn’t bad looking, she understands that much. Clear blue eyes, full lips, and an even fuller chest. Still, that had never stopped her from becoming the butt of all the boys’ jokes back in grade school.

And it’s not like she’s never had friends. No, Maggie’s always had loads of friends. She knows how to work a crowd, how to say the right things at the right time to set the whole room laughing. Even before she met Vee, Loretta, Mabel, and the rest of the ground crew, she’d had a whole gaggle of friends back home in Detroit.

Her main circle was a raucous group of six—Ida and Annemarie, Nina, Victoria, Victoria’s brother Paul, and Ida’s cousin Vinny. They’d been friends since the very first day of junior high, maybe more out of the novelty of the experience than anything. For all that Detroit was a metropolis, its neighborhoods could be as insular as any backwater town. In Maggie’s world of newly-arrived immigrants and babcie who watched the streets like hawks, where everyone worked at the same auto plant and everyone knew everyone else’s business, it was nice to see some new faces.

Maggie loved her Detroit friends. She loved their laughs, their smiles, their inside jokes and their secrets. She tried her best to help them out when they needed it, to offer a shoulder to cry on or an ear to talk off. She gave her friends everything she could. It was just a shame that they never did the same for her.

As the years passed, Maggie found herself confronting a terrifying reality—that for all she was devoted to her friends, they would never love her as much as she loved them.

Sure, things were fine when it was just two or three of them alone. Catching a matinee with Victoria, or going out to lunch with Ida and Annemarie—here, Maggie felt comfortable. Victoria would always riff on whatever movie they were seeing, making her dissolve into giggles. Ida and Annemarie would insist on paying for Maggie’s meal, and they’d stay in their booth for hours on end, just chatting the day away.

But when it was the six of them all together, Maggie couldn’t help but feel that something was off. That there were things that the other five were privy too that she wasn’t—and to which she maybe wasn’t meant to be. There’d be some new in-joke that nobody ever bothered to explain, some party that she hadn’t been invited to, some other get-together that they’d forgotten to tell her about.

Well, two could play at that game.

When Maggie enlisted as a technician with the Army Air Force, she didn’t tell any of them what she had done.

Nina and Vinny, newly engaged, spotted her the day before she left for basic training. The image of the couple stopping dead in their tracks, eyes wide as they took in Maggie’s new uniform and fully-packed suitcase, filled with a determination that would carry her thousands of miles away from Poletown, was forever burned into her mind.

Maggie wasn’t sad that she’d be missing the wedding. It wasn’t like she was going to be chosen to be a bridesmaid. Money was still tight, after all. There was only enough in the budget to get dresses made for Annamarie and Victoria. Ida, of course, would be the maid of honor.

(She understands, Maggie says. No, Nina, really. It’s fine. She understands completely.)

(She cries herself to sleep into Agnes’ shoulder that night.)

When she meets the Mavens in basic training, she spends the first few months of their friendship waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It’s not that she’s awkward around them; in fact, it’s exactly the opposite. The four of them get on like a house on fire. Loretta with her witty comebacks and shining black curls, Mabel with her dry wit and hands that always smell of chain grease, and Vee with her earnest modesty and the snapping lens of her Kodak 35. For all her faults, Maggie’s never had a problem charming people. It’s getting them to stay that’s the difficult part.

Is she boring? She doesn’t think she’s boring. Especially not here in the army, where stories of home practically form a currency among the enlisted women and men. Besides, Maggie knows how to spin a yarn, to make even the most mundane story from a life spent in auto plants and dim garages seem like something out of an adventure magazine.

But that’s never enough, is it? It wasn’t enough to keep the people she thought were her friends, the people she loved more than life itself, from leaving her in the dust. It wasn’t enough to keep her from becoming a veritable untouchable among the boys in grade school, the kind of girl you would ask out to the pictures on a dare, only to leave her stranded at the ticket booth. Even the boys who considered her friends were just that—friends. Never anything more. While Ida and Victoria and Nina and Annamarie were busy with first kisses and sneaking out of bedroom windows late at night, Maggie sat in her room and watched them grow up without her.

There’s only so many rejections you can take before you start to think that romance, hell, even reciprocated platonic love, just isn’t something that you’re made for. Only so many missed engagements and plans made behind one’s back until you start to think that maybe there’s something, some reprehensible quality inherent to yourself, that pushed people away.

So, she holds her breath and waits. Waits for the Mavens eventually grow tired of her.

But they don’t.

Because it’s there, isn’t it? The love.

It’s in the filmstrips Vee develops late at night after their shifts, holed up in the makeshift darkroom she’s set up in an abandoned storage closet. It’s in the magazines Loretta always passes to her once she’s finished reading them, telling her to use it for the scrapbook, there’s some great stuff in there. It’s in the way Mabel taught her how to ride a bike way back during basic training, shocked that she had never learned, but oh so willing to help her try. Maggie can never forget the way Mabel had cheered when she finally got the hang of pedaling.

And then, of course, there’s Ken.

When she kisses him that night on the floor of Rosie’s Riveters, she burns with shame and tears, shed and unshed for her siblings and for Cleven and for Ken and for herself. She waits for him to recoil, to glare, to tell her not to do it again. At best, she waits for him to let her down easy. But he doesn’t.

That night he kisses her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters, and it just makes her want to cry harder, because she doesn’t deserve it. Her brother is dead, her sister is missing, Major Cleven is God knows where, and she completely lost it at Rosenthal, so what right does she have to be touched like this, to be held like this? None. None at all.

At the same time, she doesn’t have it in her to fight herself. The floor of the nose is cold, and Ken is so, so warm. The kind of warmth she wishes that she could crawl into and live inside of. East Anglia is chilly this time of year.

She shifts, opening her mouth to his, and for a moment wonders what sins she’s committed to have had this feeling denied to her for twenty-one years. Yet there’s no use wondering, is there?

Ken loves her. That much is clear.

She just has to be ready to accept it. And after two decades of loneliness, that’s easier said than done.

#ken lemmons x oc #ken lemmons #masters of the air x oc #mota x oc #masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #ch: maggie

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st-juliet · 1 year

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Utmost Merit, Part IV

Character: Henry Cavill as Sherlock in Enola Holmes

Summary: Sherlock presents the Reader with a most unconventional proposal.

Content: Absolutely 18+ for very very very filthy language, smut with minimal plot, purposely unprotected sex, breeding kink, spouses-to-lovers, discussions of pregnancy, and some period-typical gender roles, but nothing unkind or insidious.

Notes: It’s finally here. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience. I love this story and I promise there are a few more chapters in store! And now, the usual formalities: I prefer giving a name to the Reader rather than using Y/N, but I hope you will make the appropriate substitutes in your imagination. Your kind comments and reblogs are so, so appreciated…please don’t hesitate to reply or send me a message with your feedback if you enjoy!

Previous Chapters: Part I Part II Part III

Your wedding is exquisite.

Sherlock seems almost giddy throughout the entirety of the proceedings, the frosty exterior melted away to reveal the secret romantic beneath. He makes his vows with solemnity in his tone and a smile in his eyes, and you do the same, and confine yourself to a chaste kiss when all you want is to be instantly at home, alone, abed, with your gorgeous, virile husband buried deep inside you. You hope that your flaming cheeks are presumed to be the result of modesty, rather than insatiable lust for the Great Detective, who looks especially, ravishingly handsome in his wedding attire—especially when he raises your hand to his lips for another innocent show of public affection, but meets your eyes across the sparkling diamond on your finger, blue orbs glittering with a sinful promise of the night to come.

It does not help your wild desires to watch your guests with their children, from the gaggle of racing teenagers who pilfer sweets and play at acting grown-up to the littlest guests fussing in their miniature finery. Particularly enrapturing is your cousin’s newborn: a plump, cheery little creature who summarily steals all attention, including yours. Sherlock traces your gaze to the source of your longing looks, makes his excuses to his brother and sister, and returns to your side to draw you close, pressing a light kiss to your temple.

“Don’t fret, Mrs. Holmes,” he murmurs softly, carefully keeping his expression pleasant, neutral, though his tone could not be more lascivious. “You’ll have one of your own soon enough. Have we managed it already, do you think? You do glow like a proper angel today.”

“I hope so,” you whisper back, smiling at your shared secret and trying to contain a shiver as his fingertips trace circles on the curve of your waist.

“Of course it will be weeks before we know for certain,” he muses, all the while nodding pleasantly at the friends and relations who raise their glasses or smile in your direction. “So don’t think I’ll be the slightest bit satisfied to wait and see. Perish the thought; you’ll be on your back and on your knees and on my lap every chance I get this fortnight. You’ll feel me every step you take, if I let you out of bed at all—”

“You absolutely must stop!” you exclaim, flushing scarlet at his wicked whispers, but you both know that you can hardly wait for him to start making good on each and every promise. He lifts your chin to look into your eyes, as much tenderness as lust glowing in in the deep, heart-stopping blue of his gaze.

“You absolutely must understand: I never thought to know happiness like this. You give me such a gift, Rosamund.”

“I will try,” you avow, a little hesitancy in your voice, for the first time truly considering that nothing in life is guaranteed.

Sherlock of course can practically read your thoughts, and he holds you even tighter, and says quietly, almost shyly, “Even…even if fate determines that we shall have no children, your companionship is itself a bounty of which I can only endeavor to be worthy.”

Then he kisses you fully on the lips, eliciting laughter and cheers from your gathered friends, and soon enough you are in your carriage—passionately kissing every available inch of one another, with Sherlock’s hand working dexterously under your skirts, from the moment the door closes until the driver announces your arrival at your new, shared home. You make yourselves barely presentable in time to greet your servants with gifts and coins and an all-to-earnest plea that they all take the rest of the night off…and then you are alone again.

“Where were we, Mrs. Holmes?” he asks, with feigned innocence and a boyish grin that prove just as seductive as his usual growls and smirks. You leap upon him at once, and he laughs, snatching you up and tossing you onto the bed you will henceforth share, laid out with fresh, sweetly-scented blankets. Urgency fades into comfort and calmness as he strips layer upon layer of wedding finery from your body, stopping to savor the scent of your perfume in the hollow of your throat and worshiping at your waist, pressing his lips along your abdomen with an adoring whisper.

“What a beautiful mother you’ll make,” he muses, addressing the hypothetical promise that well could already be blossoming within you. “I think we must have a girl first, don’t you, darling? An Ivy or Lily to complement my lovely Rose…”

A sentiment more romantic has never been heard, in your opinion, and you tug at his curls to draw him back up for a long, lingering kiss. He presses the whole of his body over yours, hard planes of muscle aligned with your soft figure…and you are most especially gratified at to feel how deliciously his long, thick cock inerrantly slides against where you are softest, rubbing up against your sensitive bud and the slick heat of your petals.

“Do you feel what you do to me?” Sherlock asks, pressing you deeper into the bed and rocking his hips, drawing a soft cry of pleasure from your lips. “I must walk through the world like this, betrayed by my own body at the slightest thought of you—giving yourself to me, surrendering this sweet, perfect cunt all for my pleasure, to bear my child.”

His filthy poetry has you on the bring of orgasm already, and you can hardly wait another moment to feel him fill you. He eagerly acquiesces to the gentle insistence of your hands against his chest, flipping him to lay upon his back, and you settle atop him, straddling his thighs and dragging your slit against his cock so he can feel what he does to you in return.

“Such a—fuck, that’s it—you are such a beautiful woman,” he murmurs, burying his face in your neck, his breathing set ragged as you sink down onto his length. You gasp at the stretch, too, and for a moment, you hold one another as close as you can, your foreheads pressed together and Sherlock’s fingertips gently stroking hips and thighs as you clench around him. “Now, this position may be somewhat antithetical to our designs—” You almost laugh at his attempt to regain his composure, to lecture on The Shared Purpose, and in answer, you raise yourself up and sink down on his cock again, and again, faster and faster, delighted at how flustered and frantic he becomes. “—but how I love to…to watch my wife—my pretty, pretty little wife—take her pleasure like this—“

“Your wife, Sherlock?” you tease, increasing your pace and smirking as this massive, powerful man shudders beneath you, as helpless to the pleasure of your union as you are. “I thought you didn’t want a wife…particularly.”

It’s a direct quote from his proposal and he knows it; and you can see the very instant his brilliant brain goes feral at your mischief.

“I don’t want a wife,” he growls, clutching at your hips and slamming you down harder, faster, closer, taking back control with animalistic ardor. “I want my wife. Now come for me, Mrs. Holmes, show me what a good wife you are—show me, show me—“

You absolutely shatter, calling out his name, and he takes advantage of your blissful helplessness to regain the upper hand, deftly, easily laying you out on your back and pull your legs about his waist so he can rut into you with abandon.

“Take it,” he encourages. “All you have to do is take it, let me fuck a baby into you, sweet girl—oh, I know, darling, how much you want this, too.”

He holds you so beautifully close as he comes, kissing you gently even as he moans your name. For a long moment you remain entwined, heartbeats slowing in tandem. But he does not allow you a long respite, carefully withdrawing his length from your tender little channel, only to replace it at once with his fingers.

“This is a rule of our household,” he explains, gently tracing your lip with the pad of his thumb as his other hand coaxes another climax out of you. “You will always give me one more, my lovely bride, when I’m finished with you. To direct the seed to your womb, of course…and because it satisfies me to see you made drunk on the pleasure I give you—yes, precisely like that, Mrs. Holmes.”

“One more” turns out to be an understatement.

Seemingly hours later, a new first intimacy is shared: a spent but infinitely smug Sherlock falls asleep in your arms, his head pillowed on your breasts. He is magnificently warm, and has never looked more peaceful or content than he does now, his eyes fluttering in sleep while you stroke his tousled curls, a little smile gracing his lips and one possessive hand placed protectively over your womb, as if this little extra intimacy might coax into being the baby of your shared dreams.

But you are not so content.

For on this wedding day, you have come to a realization, and on this wedding night, your understanding is only made more palpable. This marriage of shared purpose, this convenient, well-planned union, founded on practicality rather than sentiment…is a lie.

“I love you, Sherlock,” you whisper in the dark, as he dreams on, unknowing…

If you enjoyed, please do peruse my Masterlist!

And thank you with all my heart to those who left kind comments on the previous chapter: @dopebanditlightpie @torchbearerkyle @mathle0matle @crazyunsexycool @inlovewithhisblueeyes @ghotifishreads @astheskycries @foxchild-v

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #henry cavill sherlock #henry!sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes x ofc #enola holmes fanfic

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echo-goes-mmm · 2 months

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Moonflower #12

Masterpost

Warnings: none

It wasn’t like a revel. Kit knew it wouldn’t be, especially after Iris’s brief etiquette lesson, but he didn’t really have anything else to compare it to.

He should really stop comparing human customs to his own.

The music was slow and soft, stringed instruments in the background as people milled about.

Servants in smart black suits carried trays of tall narrow glasses, all full of fizzy wine.

Iris delicately plucked a glass off a tray, but she didn’t take a sip.

“The trick is not to drink,” she whispered with a smile, “but to look like you are.”

She handed him the glass and took another.

“Good evening, your majesty,” greeted a woman in a blue-green dress. Her makeup was garish, in Kit’s opinion.

“Hello, Lady Selina. How is your cousin, Mark? Recovering well?”

Lady Selina tossed her blonde hair a bit, and the twitch of Iris’s mouth told him this was both an annoyance and an amusement.

“Our cousin is doing just fine.”

“Wonderful. Have you met Kit yet?” Iris gestured to him, and Selina’s haughty gaze looked him up and down.

“I haven’t. I’ve just heard rumors. Does it speak?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” said Kit, and Iris covered her laugh with a delicate cough.

“How novel,” said Selina to Iris, completely dismissing him. “Speaking of novel, your dress is… interesting. It took me a moment to realize it was meant to be the colors of a sunset. Did your seamstress’s apprentice make it?”

Kit internally bristled. He liked Mira; who was straightforward but not rude with how she ordered him to move and stand. She was kind under her gruffness, and her work was excellent.

Selina was just being difficult.

“Mm, isn’t it lovely? Mira’s work is truly beautiful,” airily replied Iris, deliberately maneuvering around the insults.

“Your dress is so pretty too, ma’am,” said Kit, his voice innocent and his eyes big and dumb. He cocked his head, looking Selina’s outfit up and down. “I didn’t know humans could make faux silk. It surely looks almost like the real thing!”

Selina blinked, bewildered and offended, and Iris smiled with condescension.

Kit was very pleased with himself. He did not say anything untrue (he was unaware if fake silk did exist, but surely it would look real if it did). His words were carefully chosen to clearly appear as an unintentional insult, and Selina fell for it.

“Isn’t he adorable?” Iris playfully ruffled his hair, like he was a particularly cute animal that didn’t know what it was saying. “So sweet.”

“Uh- yes-,” stammered Selina. “So cute. If you’ll excuse me, your grace.”

Selina fled, in as much as slowly walking away could be fleeing, to a group of other nobles. She was flushed, and Kit could hear her whispering to her new companions about the conversation.

“How upset is she?” murmured Iris to him as she waved to a Lord.

“Very,” he whispered back.

Iris smiled, and Kit decided to boldly make fun of Selina.

“Does this look like fake silk to you?” he whined, in a copy of her voice.

Iris glanced over her shoulder, and sure enough, Selina was clutching the fabric of her dress, desperately showing it to another Lady. Her lips moved just out of sync with Kit’s mimicry.

Iris couldn’t help but laugh. “You sound just like her,” she giggled.

Kit smiled. “I can do more, if you like.” As a fae, mimicry came easy to him, and if it made Iris laugh he was happy fool around with it.

“Not here,” she said, still grinning. “But maybe later.”

___________________

Kit was getting used to the rhythm of the party when Mistress sent him over to the dessert table to get her some of the miniature tarts.

Unfortunately for him, a gaggle of young women were interested in chatting.

“Hello,” said one, who looked like she was putting on a brave face. “Are you really a faerie?”

It was an unnecessary question. Anyone who looked at him could see he was not human.

“Yes,” he said, a bit confused.

The girls giggled with each other.

“Can you do magic?” another piped up.

“Uh, yes.” Kit knew what question was coming next, and his mind whirled to list what he could do in his condition that would please them.

The last legs of sunlight still streamed through the nearby windows, amber and glowing.

“Would you like to see?” he offered.

The girls nodded eagerly, and Kit put down the plate he was carrying.

“Just a moment,” he said, watching the beams of light fall.

He shot out a hand to catch a sunbeam, and the girls gasped as the light filled his cupped hands.

Catching a sunbeam was child’s play, but it looked impressive enough to the young women.

They ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the light winding around his hand as he turned the beam over and over in his palm.

“Can I touch it?” asked the brave one, her face in awe.

“It will shatter,” he explained. “They’re delicate. But you can feel how warm it is if you hold your hand above it.”

He held it out to the group, and they took turns feeling the heat and cooing.

“Are you girls having fun?” asked Iris from behind, and the young women turned and curtsied.

“Oh yes,” said one of them, “Kit was showing us magic.”

“Was he?” Iris’s gaze turned on him.

“Um, yes.” Kit let the sunbeam drop and it made a tiny sound like broken glass on the floor as it dispersed.

The girls giggled again, and Kit felt more like the butt of a joke he didn’t understand. An innocent one, probably, but still.

The women walked off together, whispering to each other and laughing, and Iris fondly watched them go.

“I think they were trying to flirt with you,” she said.

“You think so?” He didn’t get that impression, but Kit wasn’t exactly around younger humans often.

Iris shrugged.

Kit handed her the plate of treats he’d picked out for her. “I thought they might be making fun, at the end,” he muttered.

“I doubt it, but maybe.” She took a small bite of a strawberry tart. “I didn’t have many friends when I was a teenager, so I can’t say for sure.” Iris hummed, enjoying the tart. “I'm pretty sure they think you’re cute, though.”

Kit felt weird about a bunch of adolescents finding him attractive. “I’m an adult,” he said. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Of course it is. It’s just a teenager thing, I suppose. Having crushes on grownups. I wouldn’t think anything of it.”

“As you say, Mistress,” he agreed. He picked up a chocolate tart from the table, tasting it. A faint burn of salt lingered on his tongue, but it felt more like a hint of spice than pain. It paired well with the sweetness and faint bitterness of the dessert.

“At least your magic is coming back, Right?”

Kit hesitated. “Catching sunbeams is barely magic,” he mumbled.

“Oh.”

He didn’t feel tired, which was a good sign.

Maybe… maybe after the party he could practice. Try and push his limit.

Kit ate the rest of the tart, joining Iris back into the crowd.

His magic could surely only get better from here. At least, until winter came again.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale

#Iris: teenagers am i right? Kit: whats a teenager #this one took forever to figure out #also i probably need to make a list of all the very minor characters so i can keep them all straight #my writing #whump #slavery whump #moonflower series #fae whumpee #royal caretaker

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thenightfolknetwork · 5 months

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Good afternoon. I hope that you can assist me with a family matter.

I come from a very long line of mischief-makers, extending back for well over twelve generations. And my children all took after the family trade, as did all—well, almost all—of my grandchildren, and while my gaggle of great-grandchildren are too young to be working, they seem to have the knack for it as well.

You may have noted that I said almost all of my grandchildren. This is because of my youngest grandchild. They went to uni, had a strange and unnerving group of friends, got varied grades, graduated, and became… are… decided to become—my youngest grandchild is, you see, well, they’re a… they’re an accountant. A white button-down shirt pressed slacks accounting accountant!

As I’m sure you can imagine, the whole family was a bit shocked. We’re not all strictly mischief-makers; I’m a shenaniganerist myself! Still, none of us have ever strayed that far from the family business.

In retrospect, we really should have anticipated this—they were always a bit less inclined towards tomfoolery than their siblings and cousins. And they are overjoyed with their job, always chattering on about numbers and graphs. Besides, perhaps becoming an accountant when you come from a family that prides itself on chaos is chaotic? Either way, I’m trying to be happy to them, and I am confident that with time, I will be able to succeed.

However, I’m not quite sure what to talk about with them. They’ve always been a bit more distant than my other grandkids, likely because of their interest in… other topics, and this job has just exacerbated that. With the exception of a few reclusive ghosts, I’m the oldest person in my family. And, as head of the family, I’m the figure who people go to when they need help, whether it’s something small, like illusion homework, or big, like setting up an ongoing scheme that’ll run for decades.

I don’t know how I could help with this new profession. Well, I do, but I have a feeling that anything involving dental floss, temporary hair die, and two pounds of mustard seeds isn’t what they would be looking for. I want to show my grandchild that I am here, for whatever they need, and have it be true. How do I do that when I don’t know the right way to support them?

Oh, reader. This sounds like a very delicate situation, and my heart goes out to you. I can certainly empathise with your surprise at your grandchild's chosen profession. But at the same time, I can see how deeply you love them, and want to show that love in a way that supports and validates their identity.

Your grandchild is likely very aware of how different they are from the rest of the family. It's a very good sign that they've felt comfortable enough to share this part of their life with you all, and that they feel able to talk to you about the things they enjoy about it.

I understand that it's important to you to be someone your family can turn to for help and practical support. But that's not all you bring to the relationship. You are valuable and precious to your family beyond the role you play as a help-mate and advisor.

Your grandchild doesn't need you to understand the ins and outs of accounting. They don't need you to work out some way of helping them directly in their career, or to come up with a complicated scheme involving their accountancy skills.

This seems like a very good time to step aside, and let your grandchild take the lead. After all, they're the best possible person to know what will make them feel supported.

I recommend taking them out to spend some one-on-one time together. Don't make complicated plans – this is about spending quality time together, and giving them your attention. Let them know how proud you are of them, and how much you want to support them in their endeavours.

If there is anything specific they need from you, all to the good. You will have opened those lines of communication and let them know you're happy to help. But I strongly suspect that all your grandchild will need is to know that you're there for them, and that you love them. That's quite enough to be going on with.

#answered #the nightfolk network #monstrous agonies

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castleaudios · 9 months

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omg!!! castle!!!! do u have any abby lore/facts she is my little meowmeow and i love her :3 so much :3 ill cry

Anything for the lil meow meow podcaster

She's got a big family! Like several siblings, a gaggle of cousins, second cousins, aunts and uncles, the family reunions are always a rager

She has several flash drives filled with movies and seasons of tv shows so she never has to just rely on the internet to get her fix

She was the kid that would get lost in department stores because she would hide inside the racks of clothes looking for Narnia

She initially wanted to be a writer before getting into Cryptid research

She's amazing with kids, so getting asked to help with the family events for Halloween was the highlight of the holiday!

She used to make extra cash by pet sitting

Without question, she prefers being cold over being hot

#castlereplies #teaseat #castleaudios abigail

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ackerfics · 10 months

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FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter four: first, a dead wife; second, a dead mother (wc: 6.1k) | masterlist

i forgot to mention ... this is going to be slow burn as fuck

116 AC

“Your Grace, the strawberry scones and the lemon tarts are here. Where should I place them?”

A well-groomed finger points to the space right beside the tiered display of glistening honey cakes and small blueberry pies. “If you can place them right there, it would be delightful.” The handmaiden arranges the platters of desserts just the way the person in charge likes them. “Thank you. Oh, that’s lovely.”

The soft hands behind the emerald green gown sleeves adjust the plates until the flowers on the ceramics shine through without being overshadowed by the splatters of colours on the table. Teapots are checked if the right tea flavour is procured and once that is done, the lemon candies are also poured into a bowl. The owner of the non-calloused hand sighs in accomplishment, her brown eyes taking in the assembly of what could have been an array of sweets in a luxurious bakery in the more noble circles of King’s Landing.

Alicent doesn’t know why she is fussing so much.

Afternoon tea is usually spent with all of the children the handmaidens can round up. Aether and Aegon would be the contributors of the most noise inside her solar, with the two boys circling the only girl in their little trio like a gaggle of geese; Helaena would be murmuring things to her little friends (Alicent makes sure that the bugs she brings to the tea sessions are happily crawling inside a jar); Aemond would be reading about the basics of swordsmanship or listening to his female cousin narrate the events in the book she was reading; Daeron and Daemian would be having a contest of their own, which ends up in too many crumbs on the carpets; and Aesira would be the prim little lady that she is, reading books that she managed to take from one of the libraries or simply writing in her journal while the chaos reigns in. Each child has their own little world and the placid chambers fit for the Queen become the royal nursery where they all resided years ago. Alicent never worries about presentations with that many children. Spreads of an assortment of sweets are laid out on her table because little hands always pick what they prefer.

Maybe that is why she is pacing with her head rolling on the ground; Alicent will be alone with one of them and for some reason, everything has to be perfect.

Aesira is a ghost set to ignite Alicent’s heart and mind in bouts of internal battles — a shot in the heart for the young Queen, for the little girl bears the most uncanny resemblance to the late Aemma Targaryen. The only known daughter of the Rogue Prince is a reminder that Alicent remains to be the least of priorities for the King. There is no chance for her and her children if this familiar face roams the halls, being the perfect Valyrian beauty that she is at such a young age — white blonde hair flowing in cascading waves, lilac eyes that glisten like the most expensive jewels, and magic in her veins that puts her in the apex of the chain of beings. Alicent wants to loathe her, she really does, as selfish as it sounds and as ugly as it can get. It is not becoming of her as the most powerful woman in the realm to wear her most private insecurities on her sleeve for everyone to see just because she feels so low compared to this child. It doesn’t help that she receives sympathies from the court Ladies, all with faux smiles and the ambitious intention to climb into her social circle, every time Aesira wears her blue gowns — a statement that she will always be her mother’s daughter and nothing else; as high as honour.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, to set up this tea session with only Aesira and not with the entire brood of Tragaryens in the Keep (minus the newest addition to the family courtesy of Rhaenyra). It comes with an intention in mind. Any move she places on the board is laden with purpose, including this one.

Alicent knows about her duties as the Queen; to stand with her husband through the thickest of thickets and to bear children that will further spread the magic of Old Valyria for generations to come. Yet one stands out the most. It comes from her father’s lips. Place Aegon as Heir. And it haunts her still. At some point, she doesn’t want to place a heavy burden on her son — her closest companion for five years when she felt the most alone in the castle, the babe's scent clinging to his skin giving her comfort above all else while she shed tears away from prying eyes. While Helaena never saw her with her dreamy disposition as a babe, Aegon always placed a tiny palm on her cheek to pat away the sadness staining her face. But this duty of putting him as Heir means survival. Such a pity how desperation shapes humans. So starts putting Aegon to the most subtle lessons in hopes of preparing him for his role in the future. Who was once her closest companion becomes the child who flinches when she merely places a finger on his shoulder.

It stabs her — whatever she touches is doomed to hurt, starting with her eldest son.

She hopes that this impending decision on his future would soothe the wounds she inflicted on his skin, a gift disguised as a political move.

The presence of Aesira as the royal family’s ward is one way of securing Aegon’s claim. The Queen grasps an opportunity when she sees one. What better way to utilise Alicent’s ghost than to thread her fate with her son, probably giving the young boy the good graces of her husband in the process? She is pretty sure the seed planted by Aegon’s affection for Aesira is starting to sprout in her husband’s head, only waiting for the right time to announce it to both children and watch it blossom into a flowering plant that will be a rarity — a marriage primarily borne from the purest and most innocent of loves (from one person, still love nonetheless). Both children are at an age where arrangements are made but Alicent doesn’t want to subject them to the binds of a betrothal yet. Having Aesira as Aegon’s potential bride will be a weapon that brings down Lords to their knees, only solidifying their proximity to the throne when they birth trueborn children, something that Rhaenyra only speaks as one of her many lies. With the current Heir’s erratic behaviour, Alicent promises to herself that she will make this union happen and it will start by enticing the young girl to be closer to her.

“Lady Aesira Targaryen, Your Grace.”

Criston’s voice makes her jump. Alicent turns toward the open doors of her solar but not before hastily tucking stray auburn curls away from her face, an unsteady smile pulling on her lips. She unconsciously runs her hands over the skirts of her emerald gown, erasing the invisible creases from view.

“Thank you, Ser Criston,” Alicent’s voice is clear among the bricks holding her chambers. She looks over her shoulder, to the handmaidens who stand still beside the table with hands intertwined in front of their navels. “You are dismissed.” They bow at her and exit with Criston, leaving her with the little girl by the door. Alicent smiles, tilting her head a little to take in Aesira’s appearance. “Aesira.”

“Your Grace,” Aesira enunciates, lowering herself in a curtsy that seems to be a product of her lessons with the Septa. Clad in a soft lilac gown that is one of the many commissioned to her under the Queen’s orders (none of that eye-catching blue that the court Ladies keep whispering about), Aesira is a vision of the perfect little comely Lady bound to have hearts served for her on a gold platter. As always, her hair is styled with matching ribbons from her dress and is free to bounce with every step she makes. Alicent notices that the girl is starting to carry herself with dignity, her eyes only letting the sliver of emotions shine through — nervousness and anticipation as to why the Queen invited her and only her to her solar. Aesira straightens her posture, hands carefully holding one another in front of her as she adds, “Thank you for honouring me with an invitation. I hope I will be a good enough company for your afternoon.”

Alicent waves her hand, a practised thing that she acquired since she became Queen. “None of that,” she jests. “Your presence in my solar is already the best company I can ask for so far into my day. Come,” she beckons the girl to the table, backing to one of the cushioned chairs, “our refreshments and sweets await.”

A wave of gratitude washes over the young girl’s body. There is a little pep in her step when she makes her way to the table of various colours and waits for Alicent to sit before doing so herself on the adjacent chair. Alicent sometimes forgets that she is the same age as her eldest son with how she’s carrying herself.

The childish glow in Aesira’s eyes never dims while she trails them over the outlines of every whipped cream, filling, and dough shapes all prepared for her. It makes the shackles in the Queen’s heart loosen. Alicent doesn’t recall why she was worrying so much about Aesira’s favourites before she entered her chambers. The girl doesn’t dive straight into the honey cakes she likes so much in their usual tea sessions with the other children, rather, she carefully takes a piece of strawberry scone, the pieces of the fruit peeking through the golden bread permeating in the air. Alicent saw the exact piece of pastry in Daemian’s little hands every time. What she didn’t notice was Aesira eyeing it the same as a curious pup yet she chose to indulge in her regular honey cakes instead of taking her little brother’s share of sweets. Because it was always like that — Aether with his lemon-flavoured choices, Daemian with the hues of strawberries, and honey following Aesira like a perfume’s sillage on a summer day. Now, Alicent understands that the girl doesn’t have only one thing going about with her. It’s refreshing to see in a child of nine name days.

Alicent sips on her blend of flower and citrus tea, a specific kind of blossom the Maesters told was shipped from Yi Ti, content with the still moment for once in her hectic schedule. She lets out a chuckle when she hears a satisfied hum from Aesira, the little lady’s eyes closed to savour a second pastry, this time, a small bite of the blueberry tart.

“This is delicious, Your Grace,” Aesira hums after gulping down another bite of her blueberry tart.

Alicent smiles. “The handmaidens told me they were freshly picked and made into a new batch of sweets. Do you find it to your liking?” Her smile widens at Aesira’s animated nodding. Alicent spends a couple of moments just watching the girl stuff her face as elegantly as she can while being able to relish in the fusion of flavours brought by the treats. The initial intention of bringing Aesira here was to place the idea that she will most likely marry Aegon in the near future, it simply doesn’t exist at this juncture of the afternoon. Aesira finishes her second tart, eyes lingering on her next piece of sweet but never realising that there are residues clinging on the corners of her lips — blue from the tarts and a reminder that she is every bit of the child that she is. Alicent unconsciously picks up the napkin folded into a swan (hoping that it will add to Aesira’s fascination) and leans forward in her seat. She carefully wipes the girl’s mouth, mindful to never hurt her with her cursed fingers. “You really like it that much, little one?”

Wide lilac eyes take her in, reflecting the image of her jutting her lip in a smile while wiping invisible crumbs from Aesira’s cherubic cheeks. It is at that moment that Alicent realises she never touched her children this tenderly for so long. Her beautiful daughter—her beloved little girl—started to flinch every time a single sensation crawled on her skin. Alicent doesn’t even get to embrace Helaena after her dreams because it would make her scream more and the woman can do nothing but watch while her daughter continues pulling hair out from her scalp. It’s reminiscent of when Aether was found terrified and out of his wits that when she moved to take him away from the Kingsguard, the poor boy looked near mortified with how overwhelming everything was. Alicent forgets what it feels like to hold her children, to become the mother they deserve. As the Queen, she is expected to be standoffish but that doesn’t mean she longs to be within the circles of laughter lighting the Keep’s royal wing. With each pattern her thumb creates on Aesira’s cheek, she gains that familiar warmth again. It’s the same warmth she had when she first held Aegon, when Helaena clung to her as a babe, when Aemond smiles every time she appears, or when Daeron giggles at everything he finds funny.

She’s touching Aesira and Aesira is not hurting.

A slow nod answers her question and all thoughts vanish from her head.

Alicent tucks a lock of striking blonde hair from Aesira’s face. Time is suspended as they stare at each other, every drop of care radiating from one’s fingertips, travelling from where they touch down to the apex of a beating heart. The little one’s eyelashes shake with a flutter, the surface of her eyes becoming even more glassy by the second. Alicent purses her slips when she sees a betraying tear appear from one of Aesira’s bottom eyelids, the girl still seeing a glimpse of someone through her. She’s been on the other end of those looks since she married her husband. First, it was a dead wife and now, it’s a dead mother. Yet she keeps tidying Aesira’s hair. For once, it doesn’t squeeze her chest the way it should. She doesn’t feel like ripping her heart from the inside out nor has the urge to shout obscenities to the eye of the beholder. Instead of turning away, Alicent cups both of Aesira’s cheeks, slightly squeezing them in a manner that she herself experienced from her father before he went away to Oldtown.

Without saying a word, Alicent pulls the little girl into an embrace and the moment she does, Aesira starts sobbing.

Upon hearing the gasps for air the little one makes, Alicent looks up at the ceiling with her vision clouding with unshed tears. Her larger hand rubs soothing circles on the girl’s shaking back. When she feels a tear or two slipping from her eye, Alicent closes her eyes and presses a grounding kiss on the crown of Aesira’s head, swaying the two of them in a lullaby she starts humming unconsciously.

“I’ve got you, little one,” Alicent whispers on her forehead. “You have me now.”

The cries increase in volume and she tightens her hold around the small body slumping over her. Alicent hears the door open behind her, probably someone who heard the muffled sobs coming from inside her solar and thought it would be best to check for any altercations. True enough, when she slightly turns her head, she sees Criston frantically looking around for any threats, his hand firmly gripping his sword. The two of them make eye contact and instantly, a wave of understanding and sympathy paints Criston’s face. Alicent tries flashing a convincing smile. The Kingsguard glances at Aesira with downturned eyebrows and a rueful smile before bowing his head and disappearing through the door as if he didn’t grace the chambers with his presence.

The music of the fauna residing in the gardens goes on as Aesira tires herself out from crying.

Alicent doesn’t make a move to remove the girl from her side. She gives the little one the only thing she didn’t receive when her own mother died from a sickness that inevitably took her life way too early. Not one person thought that the little girl hugging her brothers while they let out cries of their own would ever need any semblance of comfort all these years. Alicent herself carries this guilt. She may be late but it is better than turning a blind eye and letting the girl cry within the confines of her chambers.

She isn’t a Queen who found the perfect match for her son. For now, she is a mother caring for her child. How wrong she was for thinking that this girl is nothing but a pawn in her Game of Thrones.

“Do you want to see a magic trick?” She asks with a gentle voice.

Aesira peeks from the bodice of her dress, eyes rimmed with red and cheeks too puffy to hide that she just bared her soul in front of the Queen of the realm. “Yes please,” she answers meekly, almost as tiny as the day they first met in the royal nursery.

Never losing the smile, Alicent pours Aesira a cup of the butterfly pea tea she was indulging in not too long ago. “Keep a close eye, alright? Don’t look away from the cup.” Aesira answers with another slow nod. It is all it takes for Alicent to take the secret ingredient from a small container at the side of the table and pour it into the cup. The deep blue colour of the drink gradually becomes a purple shade that is mostly associated with Targaryens. Oh, how Alicent never regrets glancing at Aesira. The girl has come out of her shell to peer at the cup in awe, the stars lighting up her eyes once again. She brushes a hand over the waves of her hair. “Isn’t it lovely? It’s a trick I’ve learned from the Maesters when they introduced this specific plant to make soothing teas with. Why don’t you give it a try, little one?”

Aesira exchanges a smile with her before sipping from the cup in the proper way that a Lady should. Once again, Alicent marvels at how Aesira fully executed what has been taught in her etiquette lessons. Surely the Septa in charge of teaching her girls is basking in pride for producing one of the most comely little ladies in court.

The teacup clinks against the saucer and Aesira faces her with wonder on her face. “What did you add to turn it into purple, Your Grace?”

The title doesn’t sit well with Alicent. Tiny baby steps first and they will get there eventually, nothing of the Your Grace greetings; she wants to hear titles befitting that of family ties attached to her name. Whatever the case, she will start showering unconditional affection to this child. Alicent winks a little, whispering, “A learned person never reveals their secret.” The answer doesn’t satisfy Aesira for she pouts while staring at the ripples on the surface of her tea, the small dried flowers floating and bumping on each other inside the rim. “You must simply visit my solar every other afternoon now to witness the sorcery flowing from my hands. Don’t tell the others about our meetings though. It remains our little solace from the rambunctiousness they always bring.”

Aesira giggles, agreeing with her. “They are quite loud, especially the boys. You have my promise, Your Grace. Though, Hel shouldn’t be left out.”

How adorable. “Then, we shall invite her as well. A tea party is better enjoyed with the people you wish to share priceless memories with after all.”

Now, Alicent comprehends why Aegon is so taken with her. The way she laughs is laced with the purest delicacy that fully captures your attention. One can tell that benevolence and humility oozes from every fibre of her being. It is the kind of beauty that lasts for lifetimes — timeless. While some Ladies fabricate stories to put the child against her, more sensible Ladies step forward to say nothing but amazing things about the little Lady. She is absolutely wonderful; she complimented even the tiniest details of my new gown, even I, myself, didn't know I have embroideries showing a rare species of butterflies. Oh, a divine little thing; no shed of her horrible father in her for the Sevens’ sakes, she is her mother through and through. The second coming of Rhaenys Targaryen, Aegon the Conqueror’s wife, herself. Maybe Alicent should have listened to the better part of the court instead of feeding into the words dipped in flowery lies.

The smiles die down and Aesira utters, “I understand the reason you invited my company this afternoon, Your Grace.” Gone is the easygoing air surrounding the table, replaced by a weighty gust of wind that worries Alicent. Aesira gives her a rueful smile that has her heart clenching. “The Lords and Ladies have been talking, Your Grace. They speak of theories that concern me and Aegon.” The girl doesn’t waver from Alicent’s widening eyes and parted lips. “I’ve always known that my placement in the Keep has meaning. Father told me so. He was already planning on betrothals when I was but a child of two name days, as far as I can remember. Mother was furious,” she gazes at a memory only she can see, “and it was the first time I ever saw it on her face. But the fact never changes that I should face it when the time comes. The court acknowledges me as Aegon’s match, he even does it himself whenever he finds the most opportune moments to say so, and with the timing of your invitation, I placed the pieces of the puzzle together.

“I only ask of this for my peace of mind, Your Grace; am I his betrothed?”

Alicent cradles Aesira’s cheeks in the ridges of her palms. She shakes her head without saying anything at first but with the distress soiling the little one’s features, she quickly brushes her hair away from her forehead. “Fret not for the matters circulating court, especially ones that are clearly passed from mouths whose main aim is to fuel a fire. They don’t know anything, little one, and they never will. The moment the King says any word of your impending marriage, you will be the first to hear about it from me. Understood?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Besides, if you ask me, it’s too early for you to wear any extravagant gown made from white fabrics. Enjoy all the colours before putting on a wedding dress, alright?” Aesira shares a little laugh with her. Sombre blue rains down Alicent. “I would never wish to burden you with something so shackling like a betrothal.” Guilt gnaws the lining of her stomach. It’s a good thing she never ate anything and only watched Aesira enjoy the spread that is baked solely for her. She takes back everything she planned. Her father might have scolded her for her decision but he isn’t here to throw verbal daggers at her. “You are still nine; thinking of betrothals can wait.”

Aesira’s shoulders drop the tension. A radiant smile beams from her face; the sun is put to shame. “Oh, thank you, Your Grace! Now, Aether can rest his pacing.”

“He doesn’t like the spreading rumours of your match with Aegon, I gather then.”

“He keeps threatening to make Aegon pay during their lessons with Ser Criston,” Aesira whispers with a secretive twinkle of mischief in her eyes, seeing the improvement in her brother’s handling of the sword. Aether has the same as well and it makes Alicent laugh. “It’s quite sad to watch from the viewing balcony, to be honest.”

Poor Aegon, the embarrassment he must feel. “Ah, so that’s where Aegon gets his scratches from.”

Nonetheless, Alicent never saw any sign of resignation coming from her eldest son. It is subtle — the influence of the twins in his life. When he started learning the ways of the sword years ago with Aether, he never showed a shred of determination unlike his companion, who hardened through the years and only became ruthless with the sparring partners he had. It is only when Aesira graces the balconies does he fully commit to swinging the practice sword he’s given as if it would make Aesira come down from many flights of stairs to watch the bout in the courtyard. During the times the subject of Aesira’s prospective betrothal is brought up, with Aegon usually within hearing range, Alicent notices the little changes in his behaviour. He starts taking things seriously according to the Maesters and Ser Criston as if he is trying to prove something to everyone and himself. At dinners these days, he’s often seen glaring at Aether rather than settling little desserts on Aesira’s plate while the other boy sneers at the sight of him making unnecessary snarky looks. How fascinating it is to see the hold a girl has over her son.

The little one places a hand over her mouth in realisation. “Please don’t admonish Aether, Your Grace.”

Alicent affectionately pinches her cheek until she whines. “I would never. Boys are bound to gain small scars from their training now and then. It is a given when they learn how to be better fighters. Aegon should know that picking up the sword means having permanent marks etched on his skin.”

Aesira nods, looking down at her whimsical tea while smiling. “Aemond is doing well, I notice. He told me all of the things he learned from his first lesson.”

“Really? Do tell me more, little one.”

As the stories revolving around her younger children (ones she never even heard of) encircled Alicent and Aesira, the high afternoon sun dipped down the crests of the mountain ranges in the distance, sunburst igniting the heavens to flare a magnificent view — and it washed everything golden.

Hearts are opened that day and there is no sign of them closing.

Days have passed and Alicent is walking through the hallways of the Keep with a destination in mind, her skirts swishing along with the resolution coating her actions. Lord and Ladies turn their heads as she passes by, never forgetting to pay their respects by greeting and bowing even though she only wishes to see one thing in front of her as she navigates the intricate architecture of the castle — those double doors barring the inhabitants away from the harsh whispers of the halls. The clanging from behind indicates that Criston is doing his best in keeping with her pace yet she pays him no mind, slippered feet padding on the stairs leading to the castle wing dedicated to her newest children. She finally reached the level where her destination resides and immediately, the guard placed by the doors bows at her presence, his face pursing in concern. Criston doesn’t have time to announce her arrival as she opens the doors.

Three pairs of varying shades of purple from the chaise lounge look up. Just like she predicted, the three children are all gathered inside Aesira’s solar after hearing about the message Viserys received from Daemon across The Narrow Seas. Without saying a word, Alicent gathers them in her arms and offers them the unconditional warmth of someone holding their comfort dear to heart. She kneels in front of the children as their arms clutch her torso and neck. Alicent’s heart breaks when one of them starts crying, the sound alerting Criston to shut the doors and give the four the privacy they all need.

“Does Father not love us anymore?” Daemian wails on Alicent’s chest, still a toddler in his four name days to fully understand that their father left them for good.

“He is nothing but a fool,” Alicent says to the three of them. “Some men simply don't deserve to become a parent for the abomination that they are.”

The older siblings don’t speak a word but it is clear on their faces how they feel about the situation. Aether wears rage like a second skin, eyebrows furrowed and mouth set in a deep scowl. His chin is lowered a little, giving the illusion of shadows brushing against the top of his eye and his fists are clenching on the sides of his pants, creasing the fabric between his fingers. While Aether is a master of having his heart on his sleeve, Aesira’s silence sends Alicent a spine-chilling sensation from the crown of her head down to the tips of her limbs. The little one is glaring at nothing and something at the same time; one would think her mind is vacant with how still she is. Her brothers are shaking from anger and misery yet she remains unmoving at their side, her head not even touching the shoulder of the woman rubbing their backs. Alicent hopes that in her lifetime, she will never be placed on the other end of Aesira’s stare.

“I despise him,” Aether spits the word with so much emotion that a single tear runs down his cheek. “If I see him again, I might actually kill him.”

Alicent pulls the boy closer to her. “Do not speak of such terms,” she murmurs on his hair. “We do not dabble in kinslaying. We are above that.”

Aether makes a sharp gasp, a result of holding back his incoming sob. “I am just so angry, Your Grace. How could he do this and not feel any shred of remorse?”

It’s Aesira who says the words. “Because he thinks of no one but himself.” Her eyelids are rapidly blinking to prevent the tears from flowing. There is a tremble in her bottom lip, but no sign of a frown pulling down her mouth. Alicent instantly gets an image of Helaena’s dolls.

“But Father is—”

“He is not our father, Daemian!” She glares at the whimpering boy. Alicent doesn’t even have the room to interject when Aesira adds with as much distaste in her voice as she can muster, “And he will never be. He chose to leave us in a place we do not know. He nearly took Aether from us and left him somewhere in the Keep for three days until he was found terrified to the bone.” She gulps down, breath hitching, and shoulders taut with tension. “He doesn’t care about us. If he did, he would have landed his blasted dragon in the Dragonpit and raised us himself instead of siring children with his new wife. He doesn’t love us, not even when Mother is swollen with carrying us. How can he when we’re not born from love—”

“Sira!” Aether shouts, hugging a distraught Daemian closer to him. “You’re scaring Damy!”

At that moment, Alicent sees Aesira cry for the third time.

“Oh, little one,” Alicent says the words like a caress. She hears broken sentences on her shoulder, all with a combination of sorry and I didn’t mean it. “I know, I know,” she answers every single phrase she can pick up. Alicent manages to catch Aether’s teary eyes, beckoning the young boy to bring himself and his brother back to her embrace. They go back to huddling close to Alicent as if they are meant to be there and not anywhere else. “That man is an imbecile for leaving behind three beautiful children. I may not know if he truly felt that deeply for the family he created with your mother but I know you three can make one of your own here. We might not be of blood but I can care for you like I am made by the Seven to do so. Now, little one,” she strokes Aesira’s hair from her face, “apologise to your younger brother.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you, Damy,” Aesira’s voice wobbles. “Your big sister is just angry at him.”

Daemian lets go of Alicent and buries himself into Aesira. “Don’t do that again,” he pouts.

She kisses his temple. “I won’t.” Aesira picks him up, letting out a small huff at the added weight, remarking, “You’re getting bigger, Damy. Please don’t get any bigger on me now. I won’t be able to carry you like this if you keep on getting taller than me.” All she gets in reply is a lovely giggle. She wordlessly asks Alicent for permission and the woman nods her head. “Damy, what have you been eating?” She grumbles away to the table where the jar of blueberry and lemon sweets Alicent gave lay resting, her brother clinging onto her like one of those creatures Aether drew during one boring tutoring lesson with Aegon’s name attached to it.

“What will happen, Your Grace?” Aether asks Alicent, who turns back to him. “Will the King send out dragon eggs just like Daemon asked for?”

“The King will make a decision that he thinks is right,” the woman is now fully sitting on the carpeted floor to accommodate the boy of name days in a more comfortable position against her, “ and whatever will happen, we have no part in it. Nothing will change if my husband decides to send out dragon eggs to Essos just because The Rogue Prince demands them. Life will not stop its course — you will keep on growing and you will have futures to play into. My husband’s younger brother is not the end of your world, Aether.” She gazes at the pair of children picking up variations of sweets from the jar, recognizing the piece of expensive ceramic as part of her personal collection. Alicent sent her little one stocks of the candies her brothers and she loves chewing on on a regular basis, the contents of the jar coming from one conversation they shared about what her brothers preferred. Aesira is fussing over her baby brother while the boy continues smearing the cream of the blueberry sweets on his mouth. “Daemian stops his crying easily now.”

Aether follows her eyes to where his siblings are. He snorts at the moustache above Daemian’s lip. “It’s mostly because of Aesira,” slowly, he adds with a growing smile, “which is funny because she made him cry in the first place.” He catches Alicent’s frown and mutters, “Sorry.”

What is with oldest brothers and jesting about younger siblings? Gwayne did it to her growing up. Aegon does it with Helaena and Aemond each time they breathe the same air as him (never Daeron because the boy follows him around like a little duckling). Aether constantly teases the Seven Hells out of his little sister and brother. She supposes it is simply in their nature to be their kin’s greatest bully. Though that doesn’t mean Aegon gets away with pushing his brother into a bush to catch Aesira’s attention or comment on Helaena’s weird insects out of the blue. (Aemond cried to Alicent that Aegon pushed him simply because he was mean about everything but when Aether smacked Aegon at the back of his head for snatching Aesira away after pushing the younger boy, Alicent instantly understood.)

“But really, I’m glad Sira is here. I don’t need other siblings when I already have her and Daemian. They are enough for me as is. Besides, the kids Lady Laena gave birth to are nothing to me; they just happen to share the same father as me, Aesira, and Daemian.” Then, he stops leaning on Alicent. “Is that one of my lemon candies?” He scrambles to stand up from his comfortable position, scurrying to where Daemian is on the verge of gobbling one of his prized lemon candies, the sugar coating glinting against the sun’s rays. “You already have your blueberry candies, Damy! Don’t eat it! Sira,” he whines, pouting away as fixes his sister with a purposeful rendition of a puppy asking for treats, “he’s eating my sweets!”

Alicent picks herself up from the floor and stares at the children for a few moments, what Aether said ringing in her mind. Does Rhaenyra share the same feeling? Does her anger spread to Alicent’s own blood that she doesn’t have the heart to acknowledge that they are her siblings despite not sharing a mother? Again, her father’s words add to the headache. Rhaenyra will not stop until there are no threats to her throne. Alicent will have to cleave for her mercy to not have a single strand of hair on her family be harmed. She doesn’t realise she has been pulling apart pieces of thin skin from her fingers, the sharp sting of newly-healed wounds opening again.

She will indulge in this domestic bliss for now; but when the moment comes for her to wear the crown fitted on her head, her first move will be putting forth the greatest union known among the realms — a marriage.

this is already on my ao3 so if you want more chapters, click on this link

if you want to be added to the taglist, send an ask or reply <;33

taglist: @winxschester @darylandbethfanforever9 @averyyreads

#— rory's passages 🌼#— family line | hotd ☀️#aegon ii x oc #aegon x oc #hotd x oc #hotd x reader #aegon targaryen x oc #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen

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elvisabutler · 11 months

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I just wanted to start by saying I love your writing! I've read your BDE series, Dove series, and Queen of Graceland series, and I have had feelings I'm not sure I should enjoy while reading all three, even though I am almost 30. 😂🫣 Since your requests are currently open, I was wondering if you would ever be interested in writing something specifically for '60s-era movie Elvis? This is his husband era, and I love it so much. He is a clean, well-dressed, progressive man who is also a girl dad, and you know that he leaves the laundry in the hamper, makes the bed, and wears a tiara at his daughter's tea parties. 😂 If you have the time and inspiration, I would absolutely love your take on some domestic fluff with him, maybe taking care of a pregnant partner or helping set up a new baby's room? Thank you for being so awesome and sweet, and I hope you have a great weekend/week!

we plan a big family

summary: elvis doesn't always get time off to spend with you and his gaggle of children, but when he does he likes to make the most of it. fandom: elvis presley | elvis ( 2022 ) rating: t. pairing: elvis presley x female reader ( nicknamed belle ) word count: 1888 warnings: pregnancy. babies. a bit of innuendo involving oral at the end. kids being kids. minorly gross eating. honestly y'all this is fluffy as all hell. 60s elvis. author’s note: anon!!! my darling, this was originally going to be an entirely different fic but i figured you liked queen of graceland and this slotted weirdly well into it that i went okay we're gonna write it as a queen of graceland verse thing. but you're speaking my language on 60s movie elvis. that is my man just as much as big daddy if not more. my ken doll looking butthead. i'm delighted you enjoy my fics and that they've made you feel things you don't know if you should enjoy lol. also- listen you should know the feelings my 31 year old has felt reading some stuff on here. lawd have mercy. for those of you who don't know this takes place in my queen of graceland verse and can be read as either austin elvis or elvis and happy father's day to those who celebrate and happy sunday to those who don't! also. i live to see the excitement/comments that come from this fic and any fic i write endlessly and will always soak them up like a sponge. i'm also open to requests from this verse.

Elvis figures there's something about the fact that he grew up without a single living sibling that fueled this strange desire he had to have at least three children. Back with June and back with Anita he had known— he had pictured that little Elvis—the first little Elvis Presley running around with his siblings, laughing and having every bit of fun he's had to enjoy with cousins and neighborhood kids. He's always pictured his girl being a carbon copy of their mother except with his eyes that he can't resist when she pouts. Figures his wife would call him a pushover and that'd be that.

Then he met you and lord almighty and above, he can't help but figure the Lord gifted him the perfect woman to give him all of this. Sure, first set of kids had been conceived and born under less than ideal circumstances with everyone following practically one right after the other but he had made a joke one time when you were pregnant yet again after Jesse that you and him had always planned a big family and he'd be damned if the two of you didn't have it.

Hollywood finds it a little weird, and he knows this, knows that his costars find you to be an absolute delight when you bring the kids on set, a set of ducklings walking behind their waddling mother. Knows that his work schedule isn't always the best but he does try and make time for you and the kids. Truth be told any second he has a break it's spent with you and the kids. It aggravates the Colonel to no end but he remembers what it's like to not have his daddy around and he'd be damned if he did that to his kids.

"Mama!" His ears and mind register the shrill cries of his eldest daughters in the morning as he hears to groan beside him, attempting to move your head to burrow it into the pillow. The latest set of twins inside you had kept you up for far longer than was advised in your state and it showed in the bags under your eyes and the way you blink blearily at Elvis. After a moment you start to try and get out of bed, struggling to shift your weight before Elvis puts his arm across you and pulls you back closer to him.

"Oh no ya don't. I got'em lil mama," he murmurs against your neck earning a shiver from you before he pulls away. "You just rest here with those little hellions."

Your mouth opens in protest before you hear the squeak of the bed springs signaling that Elvis has already stood up. If he's up and it's a rare day off he has from filming or recording you can stay put. A relieved sigh leaves your lips as you sink back into the bed, your hand rubbing your stomach, willing the twins to stay asleep. Elvis leans over to give you a short peck of a kiss before brushing a bit of your hair out of your face.

"I'll tell the cook what to make for breakfast. Should manage a couple hours for ya. Rest up, Mama."

"'member, we gotta put the other crib up. Jus' in case they come early." A yawn overpowers the last few words you try to speak even as Elvis nods.

"That's an after lunch thing, darlin'. Relax and rest or I'll let 'em inside," Elvis threatens playfully as he walks to the door. The second he's outside, he's greeted by his eldest daughters tackling him in a hug.

"Swear y'all are gettin' stronger by the day. Damn near broke my back."

Elvis isn't necessarily big on routines when it comes to his kids, something about him preferring to be the one who spoils the kids with everything he couldn't have as a child. It's why despite Elizabeth and Loretta being awake, three out of the other four are still asleep, with Rebecca occupying a comfy spot in her father's arms.

What he is big on his making sure they keep their rooms organized and clean for your sake. Loretta and Elizabeth look so much like you that he has to take a moment to not fall for the matching puppy dog looks they give him in an attempt to weasel out of making their bed. After all, hadn't those eyes of yours gotten the pair of you in trouble in the first place?

"Ya know the rules I got for ya. Ain't askin' much, just a made bed and your pjs in the basket. Wanna tell me ya ain't doin' this for ya mama when 'm on set?" Elvis asks, shifting Rebecca on his shoulder. "'Cause ya know the punishment for that."

"No!!! No Daddy. No, we do it. We promise! We just don't wanna— not right now," Elizabeth whines ever the more talkative one out of the two of them. "Can't we make tea first?"

Elvis eyes the table in their room that has not one, but two pillows on it before turning back to look Elizabeth dead in the eye. "And jus' where did ya plan on givin' it to me. Got pillows on the table. Can't make tea without a table, yittle."

Loretta looks up at her daddy and realizes far before Elizabeth that they have lost this battle and moves to grab her pillow from the table, "he's right, Lizzy. Come on— if we hurry we can have the party 'fore pancakes."

Those prove to be the magic words as in a flash Elvis finds himself dragged to a little tiny chair he barely fits in while his oldest daughters rush through getting new clothes on and their beds made— in some kind of way. Once they were done they sat right down in front of him and placed a tiara on his head. "Princess Daddy, would you like some tea?"

He grins and shifts their younger sister yet again as he grabs a cup. "Why yes Princesses Loretta and Elizabeth. I'd love some."

The smell of bacon is what finally wakes you up, your body stretching as best as it can as you try and figure out just how far away the scent is before realizing it's in the same room as you. Your eyes blink slowly as they focus on your husband and your kids dressed and holding plates filled with food.

"What— What's this?" You ask with a yawn. "Shouldn't you be downstairs?"

Elvis laughs before setting Rebecca down next to you and motioning for the others to join her all while trying to not drop their plates. Without missing a beat you grab Anthony and Aaron's plates as the clamber up and only give them the plates back when they plop themselves down on the bed. "Maybe. But they wanted to eat wit' ya. So did I. Figured ya were still tired so we brought breakfast to ya."

"Ya gonna get crumbs ev'rywhere," you try and argue before Aaron takes that moment to shove a piece of his bacon in your mouth to silence you. "Guess I ain't gotta choice. Pass my plate, daddy."

At your playful tone he lets out another laugh and hands you plate as he climbs onto the bed, scooting in next to you. "Hope it's to ya likin', mama."

"Bacon could be a lil' softer, but it'll do fine." Your answer is clearly a joke as you shove the bacon in your mouth with a speed that startles Elvis. A question comes tumbling out of your mouth with a few bacon crumbs as you chew. "What time isit?"

"Ten AM. Didn't let ya sleep the whole day away," he murmurs with bacon in his own mouth. Watching as the gears turn inside your head as you look at your six children and raise an eyebrow. "Don't ya be sayin' it. They got clothes on. All the pjs are in the hampers. Beds look kinda made, but we ain't running an army base in this house."

A snort leaves your mouth before you have a chance to stop it. "Kinda made, huh? Guess that's the best I can ask for wit' daddy not helpin' the yittle hands."

Your youngest daughter pats Elvis's arm almost in a bit of a slapping motion and you have to bite your lip to try and not giggle even as he picks her up and scrunches up his face. "Now what's yittle Becky Wecky doin' hittin' daddy? Hm? Punishin' me for mama? Gonna make me hope one of yer new siblin' is a girl I can have on m''side. Yittle traitor."

Her answer to him is a simple raspberry filled with spit in his face and you finally start to lose it, accidentally spraying bacon crumbs on the bed and in one of your children's hair.

"Ew!!! Mama!"

It's another two hours before you manage to get out of bed and the children are off running amuck in the house as you sneak into the nursery. It's Rebecca's room for right now, but when the twins arrive she's going to be in her own room with her older sisters. You're pretty sure these are going to be your last children, if only because if you have many more you're not sure even Elvis's income can take care of them. The thoughts swirl around in your head and distract you to the point where you don't realize Elvis is behind you until you feel his arms wrap around you and feel his chin on your shoulder.

"What's goin' on in that pretty head of yourn?" The question's simple enough but you hum and wave your hand in a sign for him to ignore it.

"Nothin', Elvis. Jus' thinkin' you said this was an after lunch plan— you putting the other crib in here. Figure I can make it an after breakfast one.

Against your shoulder you feel the muscle in his jaw tense before feeling his exhale against your neck. "Drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Presley. What's in it for me? Do I get a reward for doin' it early?"

You turn to face him and shrug, "your wife's love and appreciation. What more could you want?"

You're quite certain Elvis can see the mirth in your eyes and the way you lift up your eyebrows in what you imagine is a questioning and yet innocent look. Thankfully that same mirth is reflected back at you with a trace hint of arousal as he looks you up and down.

"A bit of dessert 'fore my lunch. I'm a grown man, darlin'. I oughta eat so I keep these handles ya like so much," he whispers, leaning in a little closer and lifting your chin up to look directly in your eyes. "I drag it in here, we head to the bedroom when everyone's nappin'?"

"And you get t'eat the sweetest thing this side of the Mississippi, Mr. Presley?" The joke falls from your lips without a second thought as Elvis starts to laugh a full bellied laugh, tears erupting from his eyes the more he laughs.

"Like ya read my damn mind, Mrs. Presley. We gotta a deal? Can we shake on it?"

"Only if ya get that ice cream I like afterward."

taglist: @ab4eva, @blurredcolour, @butlersxbirdy, @precious-little-scoundrel, @eliseinmemphis, @prompted-wordsmith, @missmaywemeetagain, @lookingforrainbows, @araxw, @thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @austinbutlersgirl67, @heartbrake-hotel, @ccab, @18lkpeters, @slutforsomegoodlettuce, @dkayfixates, @kendralavon7, @chasingwildflowers, @notstefaniepresley, @wanderingelvis, @kxnnxy, @powerofelvis, @stylespresleyhearted y'all know the drill with the taglist by now.

#elvis presley #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley fluff #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fic #austin elvis #austin butler elvis #austin butler elvis presley #austin elvis presley #austin elvis fic #austin elvis fluff #queen of graceland verse #ally writes

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loving-family-poll · 3 months

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Using this as my confessional because I respect you (the Incest Priestess) more than I respect any man with endless faith and a gaggle of choir boys chasing at their ankles

I swear to god my entire family is like an incest Hunger Games and I'm Ratpiss Neverclean or whatever her name is because both my father and my mother raised me to be like the polycule wifesband mediator. A bunch of times when I'd have nightmares I'd crawl into their bed and they'd have sex with me right there in the middle but that's neither here nor there. Anyway yeah it wasn't just emotional incest it was the real deal Borgias style Flowers In The Attic type shit.

Ok so my sibling's like a whole generation older than me - was a teen when I was born - and they'd go between hating me and beating the shit out of me to kissing me and saying we'd get married when I was older plus other shit like y'know. Willem DaFoe handjob from the Antichrist type shit. I learned everything I know about sex from them and my parents really and they all get real pissy whenever I have a relationship or literally anything of a sexual nature it's kinda funny

But then they left me with my parents so fuck them I guess. I won't even get into the shit with my uncles and cousins or my grandparents LOL but yeah shit happened there too kinda crazy but it's one big happy family orgy I guess. Hell's pretty temperate this time of year I hear Anyway now I can't have a sexual or romantic relationship without my partner knowingly playing into the role of a sibling and parental figure. Thanks for listening. My life is a true crime documentary

1. I love Incest Priestess thank you 2.

3. Sorry about all that

#asks #not a poll #incest confessions

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readychilledwine · 7 months

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Omg I am in love with the dynamic with Nyx and Adriana. Definitely would love to see the gaggle of kids in their younger years getting into mischief

Oh, geez. I could probably do several filler things. I could honestly create dynamics for all of the kids and their siblings, but here's a little head cannon for you

Nyx honestly was not thrilled when Gwyn and Azriel announced they were pregnant with Ezra. He was three and didn't understand why everyone was so excited about a new baby when HE was baby

He was excited when he held his little cousin for the first time, though. He figured Ezra was kind of cute. Maybe.

That quickly went out the window when he was sat down by his mom and dad soon after Ezra's birth and was informed he'd be a big brother

That really pissed the little heir off. He simply said, "Well, that's dumb." And walked away from his shocked mother.

Then he blinked and Cassian had gotten y/n pregnant, but theyd be hiding it so Azriel and Gwyn would have their moment, but SURPRISE Auntie y/n went into labor, and they have twins. Who even has twins?

Nyx, Ezra, Asher and Flynn watched in insult as baby after baby was born almost yearly.

Soon solstice was filled with way too wings, ensuring it always had to be at the spacious town house, and 13 young Illyrian males all home from camp.

They liked this. They liked the pranks they'd all pull on each other, the rough housing as their fathers drank and watched.

They'd group up by age. The oldest 4 coaching and screaming at their younger siblings as they wrestled for supremacy. Unfortunately, always losing to Cassian's boys in the end.

Everything was calm. They were all in their adulthood, serving the court and having adult relationships. Then Cassian said he had a weird announcement one solstice

Y/n was pregnant. Asher and Flynn had gone silent, Nyx groaned loudly, Ezra hid deep into his shadows.

Then, the words the boys had never heard left his mouth. "It's a girl."

Asher and Flynn had just taken over windhaven. They couldn't just leave the camp after working tirelessly to overthrow it and rebuilt. They cornered Ezra and Nyx, forcing them into a bargain to protect their mom and their baby sister.

The second she was born, that bargain wasn't even needed. Adriana was everyone's world. Nyx would find her in a basset in his dad's office, in Azriel's office curled in his arms as he sang to her, his mom's studio as the subject of her newest painting. She was never left alone, never allowed to cry for too long.

When she became a toddler, Ezra really began to enjoy her company. Addy was a curious kiddo. She asked big questions about the world, about fae, about humanity.

Taking her to Windhaven was an experience Nyx will never forget, nor forgive. They hardly slept while she was there. Yes, windhaven was safe now, but she was THE Cassian's daughter. Other camps would still see her as a target.

So Nyx and Ezra never left. They stayed with her in that crowed cabin.

That's when they discovered her intelligence was a weapon, and her mouth was a sword.

If someone insulted her, none of the boys had to raise a hand to defend her. She was too quick on her toes and too fork tongued when she needed to be for the less educated males to try to deal with.

She also could plan pranks that Never get them caught.

She finally told Nyx one night she had no interest in being a warrior, and the male immediately relayed the message to Cassian.

Cassian must have learned to winnow over night because he was there instantly, panting with his hands on his knees with tears in his eyes over bringing his baby home.

Adriana was sent to the Day Court, then Dawn, and each seasonal court afterwards, spending a year or two there learning under their scholars.

The boys all hated it. All 13 of them would constantly bug her parents and Rhys for updates. Rhysand, sick of being bothered multiple times a day for the same reason, made it a family night/Sunday dinner thing. He and Cassian would give the latest news on Addy, silencing the boys with stern looks when they wanted to argue for more information.

She came home at 50, dressed in flowing and exposing Day Court attire, and when she looked at Nyx, the bond snapped instantly.

Asher and Flynn beat the shit out of him. Then Ezra. Then every single brother afterwards.

"I pissed off someone at the camp. Don't worry about it, dad." He was covered in bruises for a couple days.

Ezra was the first to push them together. Abandoning them at a coffee shop after claiming a male had caught his eye

That's how poor Micha Vanserra was brought it. Because he had caught Ezra's eye, and the 4 of them were the perfect scapegoats for each other.

The hoard of siblings found out quickly, though. They all knew each other too well, were all too close in age. Ezra's brothers all celebrated his love life, supporting him fully in his joy.

Nyx's brothers already loved Adriana with every fiber of their being. "Bound to happen," one of them had finally said. "Just makes too much sense."

The twins took longer. Asking Adriana to see other people, which Nyx quickly allowed, and encouraging her to look beyond the Night Court. She ended up being courted by Kal and Viv's son, much to Nyx's ire.

Wrestling contests were different that year. Asher and Nyx had actually hurt each other, causing their father's to pull them apart while Ezra and Flynn fought on the other side.

Adriana watched in silence the whole time. Refusing to let her father even get a wiff of the bond that was screaming for her to go and take care of her mate.

Her brothers found her that night, sitting down beside her on the roof. "You love him," Flynn said plainly

"You're in love with him," Asher echoed. She only nodded.

"Then be with him." They said together. "Be with him and be happy, Adriana."

Nyx and Adriana only looked back at that point to ensure the pranks they set up worked.

#acotar #nyx acotar #girldad!cassian

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anxiousotters · 11 days

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5 things I like to write about

All my love to @cookiemonsterv3 for the tag!!

1. Redemption - I really like looking at villains or just antagonistic characters and asking “Why did you do it?” and “If things were different, would you have made different choices?”. Obviously I don’t think bad decisions should be excused, but far too often I see villains/ antagonists either A) sacrifice themselves to absolve them of the consequences of their actions or B) apologize for their actions but never do anything further. I love writing villains/ antagonists who make the choice to apologize, take accountability for their actions and own them, and try to reconcile and do better for their communities. I like when characters choose to do the hard work of acknowledging their faults and becoming better people, proving it’s possible to come back (can you tell I really want Pride and Prejudice from Mr. Darcy’s POV?)

2. Religion/ Culture - I love exploring religion or religion-equivalents, how they function, and how characters interact with their religion, or religious around them that they’re not members of. In a similar vein, I love writing about culture and when a fictional culture isn’t completely fleshed out or has room for additions, I love adding little bits of my own culture to it (eg. detailing mandalorian formal tunics with Celtic embroidery). I also love writing cultural clashes, like what happens when two opposing cultures are forced to share space with each other. I just like it when characters learn that the other culture is full of different (but still important) things, and both sides learn to appreciate the other

3. Banter - who doesn’t love a good bit of banter? Honestly I don’t think writing banter is my strongest suit, but I love it anyways, especially sibling banter. As one of four kids with an additional gaggle of 30+ cousins, I really write how I think me and my siblings/ cousins would interact (or have interacted in the past) when I write banter. It always makes me giggle, and I love giving my characters siblings/ friends who are as close as siblings for this reason. I also love the tension and excitement that comes with writing romantic banter, especially if the characters aren’t together yet. Delicious stuff

4. Forged Family - you’ve seen found family, this is the same dish but with a hint of forced proximity and trauma. I like writing about found family where the family bonds form because the characters have suffered so much together and still choose to protect and love each other like family. The sentiment is very “I’m stuck with you, but I’d also choose to love you in every lifetime”

5. Rivals to Lovers - in same vein as banter, but different. I like a good conflict, I like the tension, I like the slow build/ melting of ice that comes with rivals to lovers. Specifically I like it best when the conflict comes from external/ cultural reasons and not miscommunication. I just think it’s juicer when the rivals actually have to learn to get along because they’re different in ways that cause friction, rather than they’re not having an important conversation that could solve everything. Almost all of my favourite ships are rivals to lovers, and I like to put the ones that aren’t into situations where they are (oops)

No pressure tags: @thenookspace, @firefly-fez, @maraliga, @ferretrade and anyone else who wants to play!!

#tag game #writing

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luintheworld · 4 months

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No editing or fancy designs here, just a little something I worked on as I was very bored at a NYE party. Some soft Frankie to start off your year right!! :)

Frankie x reader New Year’s Eve party

We aren’t the kind of people to go to parties.

Lest the party of the friend of a friend 40 minutes away, one which required hiring a nanny and braving the New Year’s traffic on the highway.

Yet, here I was in a long blue-and-white striped dress and a full face of makeup, holding a glass of wine and making small talk with people I barely knew.

Pope had convinced Frankie to go to his fiancée’s cousin’s New Year’s Eve party, (of course he did, Pope is the only person whose words mattered as much as mine), but seeing as my husband’s best friend usually only spends two months in the US each year, I agreed.

Granted, the penthouse was stunning. I didn’t know Pope’s fiancée very well, but from what her tía had shared in the hour we’ve been standing in the corner, he was some sort of big real estate guy. The apartment was one of those multi-million, ultra-modern Miami Beach developments with panoramic views of the ocean.

I was promised a fun night to decompress from our hectic year with unlimited top-quality liquor and the usual Pope and Frankie banter.

Instead I was posted on the corner, keeping watch of the drunk tías and screaming children.

At least the wine was good.

Frankie had long since been whisked away by Pope and his gaggle of soon to be in-laws, caught up in their boisterous, beer-stained conversation. I couldn’t even be mad, just looking at him across the room.

The yellow light hit his face just right, illuminating the smile lines and soft wrinkles I so love. It was a different kind of joy on his face when he’s with Pope- boyish and carefree, stupid in the best way. They’ve gone through so much together… it’s a bond I wouldn’t dare interfere with, especially since their meetings are getting rarer.

So I mingled with some other wallflowers and ate three servings of flan, letting Frankie be Frankie. The flip side is that once he starts drinking with Pope, they won’t stop.

Since settling down after his official unofficial retirement and dedicating himself to being a dad, Frankie’s rarely drank and never used. But I know how it goes with Pope, and that’s alright, he deserved that night off more than anyone.

And that means that I was the designated driver. Someone had to get us home safe and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Frankie. So is the nature of marriage… We've learned the hard way after 9 years.

I put down my glass, but instead of sitting through another hour of Tía Elena and her friend’s many surgeries, I decided to step outside onto the balcony.

The ocean air hit my face in a gentle breeze, carrying with it the salty smell of the sea below. I breathed it all in and there I stood, my arms draped on the glass railing, the loud chatters and upbeat music muffled behind me.

It was peaceful and beautiful, with the city lights below. After everything Frankie and I have been through, I was beyond thankful for that moment of grace. We are fully, completely happy.

We have a house and three kids and a dog. We have each other.

In the darkest moments I was sure I would never see him smile again, yet here I stood at the precipice of a new year with joy on all sides.

“Diez… Nueve…”

The crowd inside started chanting when the music stopped.

“Ocho…”

I turned around to see Frankie, two glasses of Prosecco in hand.

“Siete…”

Tía Elena opened the sliding door for him.

“Seis… Cinco…”

He counts down with a smile on his face, handing me the glass.

“Cuatro…”

I take it and he holds me by the waist with his free hand.

“Tres… Dos…”

We say together in excited anticipation.

“Uno… Happy New Year!”

Screams and whistles erupt from the street and the apartment alike. Neither of us have too much attention to the sparkling wine or the fireworks, instead our lips met through our smiling mouths and let out sweet whispered “I love you”s.

“I’m sorry, amor. This isn’t what I promised,” he said, still holding me with his gruff hands and my gaze in his mahogany eyes.

“Frankie, it’s okay. You have to enjoy Pope while he’s here.”

“I don’t deserve you,”

He sounded surprisingly serious (despite the stench of beer on his breath) as his puppy dog eyes shimmered against the golden fireworks.

“I’m so lucky to have you, Frankie. Happy new year, my love.” I gave him a peck on the cheek.

It was going to be a good year, I thought as my head rested on his chest and we watched the multicolored fireworks color the night.

It was going to be a good year.

#pedro pascal #frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie x reader #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal fanfiction

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babytarttdoodoo · 10 months

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colin for the character ask!

I am SO glad you asked, thank you!

Give me a character and I will give you my thoughts on

one aspect about them i love

Colin is just incredibly earnest? It's maybe not immediately obvious because he's also on the defensive for most of the series (for obvious reasons). But moments of honesty and vulnerability are delivered with 100% commitment. There's no guile or shying away.

one aspect i wish more people understood about them

Colin would have a LOT of bad behaviours to unlearn. He clearly leaned into certain 'macho' perceptions to protect himself. (See: what he says about nudes, his willingness to bully Nate, getting in Roy's face.) It's easy to forget when we have Jamie's more dramatic redemption arc happening in tandem but Colin needs to be accountable too.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have about this character

He is the baby of his family. I see him with at least two older siblings and a full gaggle of cousins. They all swarm him anytime he visits home.

as well as

one character i love seeing them interact with

Trent, obviously.

one character i wish they would interact with/interact with more

Colin and Moe could discuss conspiracies about the British government for HOURS.

one (or more) headcanon(s) i have that involve them and one other character

Colin had a crush on Jamie in S1. I'm sorry, it's true. And they played a big part in bringing out the worst in each other.

#colin hughes

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moonchildreads · 1 year

Text

small town

Chapter 4 - Manic Monday

IN THIS CHAPTER: The worst counselling session ever, a talk about hair products, and Eddie explains what's in a (nick)name [4.1k]

WARNINGS: brief mention of a deceased parent (more nostalgic than angsty, i promise)

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

And if I had an aeroplane, I still couldn't make it on time 'Cause it takes me so long to figure out what I'm gonna wear

Monday, April 7th - 1986

“You look pretty today,” James said, looking over the top of his newspaper at his daughter who was currently rummaging around the fridge, his mug of coffee halfway to his mouth.

“Thank you!” she beamed. “I have a presentation today.”

“About?”

“Former presidents. I got Benjamin Harrison.”

“I don’t remember that one.”

“Don’t think anyone does.”

“Ouch.”

Dottie sat at the kitchen with her dad, poured milk over her cereal and read her notes while she ate. Occasionally she scribbled on the margins with a pencil and practiced a sentence in her head while gesticulating to no one with her spoon. The radio was turned on in the background, the morning news blending into the kitchen’s comfortable silence. James and Dorothy Burke had no one else in the world but each other, and because of that they had developed a simple but effective routine that included being in each other’s space consistently. Dottie’s mother had passed away before she’d even had her first birthday and Dorothy had been raised by a young single father that had to actively refuse to be consumed by grief whenever his little girl looked at him like the sun shone out of his ass. It certainly helped that all his college friends inserted themselves into their lives, acting as aunts and uncles, babysitters and bad influences, mentors and teachers.

There was Auntie Rachel, who had taken her to the mall to buy her first bra, and Uncle Johnny, who signed her up for free swimming lessons at the community center when she was eight. Uncles Robert and Joseph who let her do her homework on their desks when they had just opened their law firm, her feet never reaching the floor; Aunt Mary Elizabeth - not Mary, not Elizabeth, Mary Elizabeth - who chose her as her flower girl for her wedding day, Uncky Paul who had moved down to Texas for work but still called every Christmas morning at exactly 10:30 am. Dottie had not had a mother, but she had had a loving and dedicated father, a gaggle of extremely cool aunts and uncles that provided her with a myriad of younger cousins to babysit, kind Grandparents in Florida and Pennsylvania that she loved to visit during the summer, and the knowledge that she had been deeply, truly loved her entire life.

Growing up surrounded by young adults who considered her part of their families was, perhaps, the reason Dottie had had so much trouble fitting in at school as a kid. It wasn’t that she had been a complete loner in New York, but it seemed that it was easier to be relegated to the background when your modest birthday parties were always full of then 30 year olds that insisted on wearing colorful party hats and most of your free time on the weekends was spent being a babysitter for your nephews and nieces.

“Aunt Barbara called while you were getting dressed,” James mentioned.

“What did she want?”

“She says that you should call her back when you get home from school and that she is very proud you want to follow in her footsteps and shape the minds of the future.”

“Did you tell her what I really want is to finger paint all day?”

“I thought it’d be better if she heard it from you,” he said, standing up and putting his mug in the sink. “Come on, get your stuff, gotta go to the post office before work today.”

Dottie hurried to brush her teeth and grab her bag from where it was resting at the foot of her bed. She patted the outer pocket to make sure Donny’s borrowed mixtape was there and briefly glanced at her college acceptance letter pinned to her cork board above her desk. Congratulations, said UMich. Thank you, said Dottie, and ran down the stairs.

James was enjoying this new part of their morning routine where he could drive his daughter to the same high school he had graduated from so many years ago. Moving back to Hawkins had been, perhaps, a sudden decision that was born from a call from a desperate ex classmate who knew James had experience working in urban development, but he couldn’t deny that it hadn’t been a favorable experience for both of them. He got extra time with his baby before she spread her wings and left for college, and she seemed to finally be finding her place in the quiet, small town. As they pulled away from their driveway, he put on the tape Dottie had spent almost all Sunday working on and listened to her recite her presentation to him, almost amazed that this young woman in front of him had once been the little kid that had cried so hard she vomited on his shoes after a particularly scary roller coaster ride.

Shit I’m late I’m late I’m late I’m late I’m late was the only thing going through Dottie’s mind as she hurried through the hallways heading to the school counselor’s office. Ms. Kelly was always very understanding when students’ classes ran a little bit late and Dottie had been so anxious while giving her presentation that when the bell rang, she had taken a few extra minutes to unwind and get her breathing back to normal in the privacy of a bathroom stall. She was in such a hurry that she didn’t even register that she had run through the basketball team’s huddle until she heard someone calling out to her.

“Hey, look where you’re going!” one of them had said, a tall brown haired boy standing next to the guy she recognized as their captain.

“Sorry!” she said, head turned towards them as she sprinted before she felt herself collide with a solid but soft mass in front of her.

“You okay there?” she quickly registered the new voice as Gareth’s as she had sat with him during her Political Science class, and realized she had bumped into Jeff’s back in her manic dash.

“Hey!” she beamed at them, frankly happy to see friendly faces. “Sorry, I’m super late, can’t stay to talk, but this is yours,” she stammered at a hundred miles per second, reaching into her bag pocket and pulling Donny’s cassette tape out. “I rewinded it for you and everything so it’s ready to go.”

“Wow, thanks. Did you like it?” he asked nervously. There was such a vulnerable feeling whenever he showed someone his mixtapes, like they were gonna judge him for listening to Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath but also side-eye him because his mixtapes weren’t only comprised of metal songs.

“It was great, we played it in the car all weekend. I hope you don’t mind but I kinda stole some of your songs for a tape I made for my Dad.”

“What songs?”

“Uh, Ace of Spades was one, we both loved that one. The Helter Skelter cover and the Bruce Springsteen song that’s at the end.”

“My Dad loves that one too,” Donny affirmed, knowingly. “Glory Days.”

“That’s the one. Again, thank you, it was a lot of fun.”

“Any time!”

“See you guys around, ‘kay?” she started to power walk away from them when Gareth called out to her, making her turn around again.

“Hey, you’re sitting with us for lunch, right?” a few people turned to see who he was yelling at.

“Uh, sure! Save me a sea-” Dottie managed to get out before she bumped into someone else.

“Woah, where are you running to, princess?”

“Eddie!” she grinned up at him. Now that they were standing practically inches away from each other, he noticed how much shorter she was than him and quickly stored that information in the part of his brain that had been replaying her laughter like elevator music for the past two days. “Gotta go, I’m so late! See you at lunch? Gareth just invited me so you can’t kick me out!”

And with those final words, Eddie Munson stood in the hallway watching her go, feeling as dazed as he had been since he’d formally met her. That girl is gonna be the death of me someday, he thought dramatically before joining his friends, noticing that at the end of the row of lockers, a certain Lucas Sinclair was staring at them with confusion written all over his face.

Ms. Kelly’s office was cozy and inviting, but for the first time since she’d met her, Dottie wasn’t entirely too interested in spending her lunch period hiding away in it. The counselor began the meeting by reviewing her grades as she often did, praising her for her GPA and her glowing reports from her teachers. Dorothy Burke was not exactly a teacher’s pet, but she was a quiet student that kept to herself and worked hard in every class, and the faculty at Hawkins High School was all too happy to provide her with the resources she needed to succeed in her very near future. Not all of them knew she had already been accepted into a great college, but those who did were infinitely proud that someone that had gone through their class was on course for a great career regardless of her future choices.

“You look happier today. Any updates about Michigan?” Ms. Kelly took a guess.

“No, not really. Although my Aunt Barbara wants to talk to me about my major.”

“Have you decided already?”

“I think I’m down to only a couple of options. I like their Elementary Teacher Education program, and my aunt teaches Economics in Vegas so I thought she could answer some of my questions to help me decide.”

“That’s very sensible of you,” Ms. Kelly smiled. “What happened to the English program you mentioned last week?”

“I still like it! I just don’t see myself, I don’t know, being an author?”

“Well, that’s not the only thing an English degree is for. You could be an English teacher if you really like working with children, or you could be an editor for a newspaper. You could even be a reporter if you wanted to.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it. I don’t think I have to choose the first year I’m there so… I’ll keep thinking about it and take a bunch of classes I like and see where that goes.”

“Okay,” the counselor said, writing down something in her file. “So if it isn’t college news, then what’s going on in your life?”

Dottie wondered how much she should be sharing with Ms. Kelly right now; not because she was worried about being in trouble, but because she was well aware of the optics of her Friday outing. There was a reason Dustin had mentioned the presence of “other girls” when he had invited her to join their club, even if that had turned out to only mean Erica and her relentless sass. She chewed on her lower lip to stop the smile that threatened to break out when she thought of her lunch plans. Ms. Kelly waited patiently for an answer.

“Um. I-I think I made new friends?” she settled on saying.

“Really? That’s wonderful news, Dorothy. Would you like to share more?”

“Do you know Dustin Henderson?”

“He’s a freshman, isn’t he?” Ms. Kelly’s brow raised as she wondered where this story was going.

“Yes, I think so. He… he was really nice and invited me to join his board game club last Friday. It was cool.”

“He invited you to that hell club?” she seemed concerned.

“Hellfire. Hellfire Club,” Dottie sat on her hands and leaned back a little bit. “It’s just the name of the group, it’s not… dangerous or anything. I think they took the name from a comic book? We use dice to battle against monsters and solve mysteries that Eddie writes for us, it’s a lot of fun.”

“Eddie,” she muttered, searching for a face to attach the name to. “Edward Munson?”

“I think he’d be upset if he heard you calling him Edward,” she chuckled.

“Dorothy, I don’t think you shou-”

“I know. I know how this sounds like. But honestly, all the boys were really nice. They didn’t make me feel uncomfortable or anything like that. Eddie is a good leader, he takes care of everyone. And I’m not the only girl there. I promise you it’s really safe. It’s just board games. My Dad knows and he’s okay with it, I told him everything.”

She didn’t understand why she was getting so defensive over a group of people she had only known for a few days but if she was being honest, they weren’t the worst kind of people she had encountered in her life. She used to go to a big city school in New York filled with all kinds of students from all walks of life, and she was certain that a few lockers down her own, there had been a kid that kept a knife hidden behind his balled up gym sweatshirt. Yeah, maybe The Hellfire Club had a reputation. She had heard the news about what the country thought Dungeons and Dragons was, and her dad had laughed and laughed so hard he had choked on his own spit when he heard the words “Satanic cult” attached to what he knew were a bunch of nerds pretending to have magic powers. They were just a group of misfits making up fantasy worlds. Who gave a shit about dumb, ignorant rumors?

“I understand that making new friends is very important to you right now,” Ms. Kelly began, noticing that a door that had been wide open for months had been closed in front of her in a matter of seconds.

“I’m not going to tell you what you should do with your life, you are going to turn 18 soon, and if your father trusts your choices, then what I say really holds no weight for you.”

“They really aren’t bad people,” Dottie said, her voice just loud enough to not be considered a whisper. “They invited me to join them for lunch. No one has done that since my first week here.”

“And that sounds really lovely. All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t be so trusting of people you’ve only just met. You’re headed to a great college with a scholarship that a lot of Hawkins kids would love to have. I would just hate to see you get lost right at the finish line.”

She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about, Dottie ground her teeth as she walked down the hallway to the cafeteria. They are good people. Who cares if they smoke a little weed sometimes? Dad did it in college and still graduated with honors. I’m like 95% sure Uncky Paul was high when he walked up the stage to get his diploma. She hadn’t noticed she was sulking until she walked into the cafeteria and spotted Dustin and Gareth waving at her enthusiastically. The corners of her mouth lifted and she hurried to them, the paper bag containing her lunch (a cheese and tomato sandwich with mayo on white bread, perfectly boring and made with a lot of love by her dad) swinging wildly from her hand.

Dottie sat down between them, instantly tuning into the discussion Mike and Donny were having about a comic book she hadn’t read and knew nothing about. She picked up the tab from Dustin’s soda can that was discarded on the table and fiddled with it while she listened to them. At some point, Jeff burped and the entire group erupted in protests. She felt… cozy. Included. She felt less lonely, less awkward, less invisible. Like she finally belonged somewhere.

“You read comic books?” asked Gareth, who was sitting to her right.

“No, not really. I prefer books.”

“What do you read?”

“Anything, really. Whatever I can get my hands on. I get my books from the library mostly,” she dropped her tone to resemble a stage whisper. “Sometimes, if I’m feeling adventurous, I pick a book only if the cover looks cool.”

“No way,” he gasped dramatically, matching her tone. “What happened to not judging a book by its cover?”

“What can I say, I’m a rebel,” they both giggled, knowing that out of the two of them, Gareth was the closest thing to a bad boy and yet he was still miles away from a regular Danny Zuko. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Sure,” the boy said, intrigued.

“Do you do something with your hair before you come to school?”

“I shower?”

“That’s it?”

“Is there something wrong with my hair?” he lifted his hand to touch his head, worried about what he could find.

“No, that’s why I ask,” she laughed, reaching to touch his hair too. “Your curls look great. I can’t get mine to be this defined in this weather.”

Gareth’s body began trembling with laughter, his head bumping into her raised hand as he rocked back and forth completely taken aback by her question. Certainly hair care was not in his list of topics to talk about during lunch, or at any point in his life, really. He just used the shampoo his mom bought and called it a day. Dottie laughed with him too, realizing that she was asking a metalhead about curl definition.

“What are we laughing about?” Dustin asked, curiously.

“Hair products. Any recommendations for curly hair?” Dottie said, sending Gareth into another fit of laughter.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” the younger boy said mysteriously. Steve would never trust him again if he knew he had shared his sacred routine with others.

The cafeteria began clearing out soon enough as everyone got ready for class again. First Dustin and Mike, then Jeff, Donny and finally Gareth until the only ones left at the table were Eddie and Dottie. She waved goodbye to the boys as they left, noticing that her being at the specific table she was sitting at seemed to be some sort of must-see sight for other seniors. Dottie was all too aware of the way the two preppy girls that sat to her left in Psych were gossiping into each others’ ears while taking peeks at her on their way to the door. When she turned to the only other person left seated at the table, she found Eddie analyzing her with big brown eyes. He resembled a lost puppy when he tilted his head to the side.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice softer than she’d ever heard coming from him before.

“Yeah. Just, y’know,” she shuffled closer to him so they could chat without the whole table separating them. “The staring. I thought I’d stopped being news around the third week of January.”

“They aren’t staring because you are new,” Eddie crossed his arms. “They stare because you are sitting at the freaks’ table. And forgive me for saying this, darling, but you don’t exactly look like a freak.”

“You don’t know what I look like under the makeup,” she argued.

“You aren’t wearing any.”

“Are you a makeup expert now?”

“I’m an expert in many things,” he leaned forward. The cafeteria was almost empty. “You have English Lit now, right?”

“How’d you know?” she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Because I am pretty sure you’ve been sitting like three seats away from me since you got here.”

“Oh.”

Dottie felt her ears grow hot. She’d said a lot of stupid poetic shit in that class without knowing he was there too. She hoped he didn’t remember any of it. Actually, she hoped none of her classmates remembered anything she had said in English Lit for the past three months. All her assignments had been particularly depressing and dramatic lately; one could only be thankful that the teacher didn’t make them read their work out loud.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late and I’m really trying to graduate this time around.”

“This time?” she asked as they walked to their shared class.

“I, uh,” Eddie scratched his ear. “I got held back. Twice.”

“Oh. So you’re 20?”

“19. I turn 20 in May.”

“Well, you know what they say, third time’s a charm.”

“I really hope you’re right, princess. Hawkins High is my own personal circle of Hell at this point.”

Eddie noticed that she was chewing on the inside of her cheek as they got seated for class. He also noticed that she had sat at the table right next to his instead of the one she had been using for most of the semester. No one would bother her, the entire back row tended to remain empty, especially whatever seat was next to his. But still, it was a welcome change, if an unexpected one. Some of their classmates looked at them with mild confusion, but he was positively certain that by the time class started, they’d have forgotten about the new seating arrangement. There was loud chatter as the bell rang and everyone tried to squeeze in their last bits of gossip before the teacher arrived.

“Eddie?” she asked, pulling him out of his trance. “What’s with the nicknames?”

“Huh?”

“The nicknames. You kept calling me princess and darling on Friday, and that was okay, but you’re doing it now too and… you don’t call the guys anything special out of the game. I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not.”

“Does it bother you?”

“That you’re making fun of me?”

“I’m not making fun of you,” he said, suddenly serious.

“Oh. Okay then.”

“Do the names bother you?”

“No. Not if you’re not making fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

“Then they don’t bother me,” she was strangely quiet and detached when she said that, not even sparing a glance in his direction.

Mrs. O’Donnell walking in and greeting everyone dislodged her from her stillness and she busied herself with finding the book report the old lady was requesting would be passed to the front. Eddie noted that his looked significantly shorter than hers, at least by a full page. He lowered his voice so it would be masked by the soft chitchat and leaned towards her seat.

“I like alliteration,” he confessed. “Jeff the Just, Gareth the Great, Dottie the Darling,” she blinked at him, her report still in her hand. “I already used daring and deadly for Dustin and Donny, it was either darling or destroyer for you, so, take your pick.”

“And princess? Because Erica gets to be a Lady?”

“No, I just like seeing you get all flustered,” he admitted, a playful smile on his lips.

She rolled her eyes at him, he chuckled, and all the nervous tension between them dissipated. Neither had noticed that all the reports were being counted by the teacher while they were talking.

“I’m missing two, who didn’t do their homework? Munson?” Mrs. O’Donnell asked, not an ounce of patience in her voice.

Both misbehaving students sprang to attention, sitting very upright and avoiding each others’ eyes. The boy was about to say something to defend his honor when Dottie stood up, snatched his paper from his desk and delivered it to the teacher along with her own. The woman looked at her curiously, noticing that she wasn’t seated at her usual spot; a different boy was occupying that chair today. She directed her gaze towards Eddie who was trying very hard to look nonchalant by staring at his own crossed arms resting on the table.

“Miss Burke, do you want to sit closer to the front?” she asked, her voice low to add privacy to the conversation but the classroom was so quiet a pin falling to the floor could have been heard.

“No, ma’am, I’m okay with my seat,” Dottie smiled confidently, and walked back to her chair. As soon as the teacher had recovered and turned around to start writing on the blackboard, she leaned over to Eddie for one final time. “I like the nicknames, Eddie the Endearing,” he was suddenly thankful his wild hair was covering his red ears, but she noticed his reaction anyways. “Or maybe you’d prefer to be called Master. You seemed to enjoy that one on Friday.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he managed to get out, a mischevious grin spreading on his face. She held back a chuckle and sat back straight in her seat, picking up her pen and starting to copy the names on the blackboard onto her notebook. Eddie stared at her for a few seconds, the gears in his brain spinning at double time, before he too grabbed a pen and began taking notes to force himself to stop looking at her profile like a creep. This is gonna get very interesting, was the last thing he thought before getting distracted by threats of pop quizzes and overinterpretations of what authors had really meant in their prose.

#bunny writes #small town fic #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #hellfire club #stranger things 4 #dustin henderson #gareth stranger things #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #baby's first fic

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