#See Cromwell for inquires ~

[merinsedai]

for the @dreamlingbingo

Square/Prompt: C1- Civil War

Title:

Rating: G

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Warnings: n/a

Additional Tags: enjoyment of period dramas, look Rufus Sewell is a fine looking man and I can't be convinced otherwise.

Hob and Dream are watching The Power and the Passion (lucky them, wish I was)

“I didn’t think they’d do it, y’know?” Hob says, leaning back on the couch and folding his arms across his chest.

Dream, feet tucked up and chin resting upon his bent knees, turns his attention momentarily away from the screen to give Hob an inquiring look. 

“Chop his dad’s head off,” Hob elaborated, nodding at the TV where an episode of an early 2000s miniseries is currently playing. It is about King Charles II- The Power and the Passion- and they’re watching it partly because Dream has displayed an unreasonable interest in and enjoyment of period dramas, but mainly because- well: Rufus Sewell.  “King Charles I, I mean,” Hob adds, as if Dream could not have guessed who he was talking about.

“I don’t believe he thought they would, either,” Dream says, turning his eyes back to the TV where the powerful king Charles seems to be enjoying a moment of passion with his mistress. The series wasn’t particularly edifying (especially to someone who lived through the era) but it was accurately named and quite fun at least. “He was a strong dreamer. I remember him well. Those who have strong convictions in the Waking often carry it over into the Dreaming; and Charles help full conviction in his indisputable right to rule; his diving right.”

“Bloody hell, I bet old Cromwell had a strong Dreaming presence then,” Hob chuckles, thinking of the dour and resolute leader of the Parliamentarians.

Dream considers this, tilting his head slightly in thought. “Yes,” he agrees eventually. “But his dreams were often tortured. Conflicted. His faith her never wavering but his part in executing the king was a source of struggle for him.” Dream paused for a second. “I realise I have never asked: were you a Parliamentarian, Hob?”

“Nah, loyalist through an’ through, me,” Hob says seriously, then grins at Dream’s expressively raised eyebrow. His friend could say a lot with an eyebrow. “Look, His Majesty’s men picked me up first, is all. A warm meal and a place to sleep? Crikey, I would have been anyone’s. Not like I cared much for the machinations of the elite at that time, or the finer points of the divine right of kings  verus parliament wanting its say an’ all that. It was all much of a muchness when you’re starving.” He hums thoughtfully the gestures back to the screen. “That Charlie though, the country was glad to see him back, I think. I saw his coronation procession, y’know? I had fallen into a bit of work at that time, even had a roof over my head! It felt hopeful, even to me. Didn’t last of course,” he says equably, “but for a moment, things looked brighter: I saw a king return and,.. I still believed in kings then.”

“And what was your impression of him?” Dream asks quietly, face still turned to the screen but attention all on Hob. “Of Charles?”

“Well, he was no Rufus Sewell, that’s for sure, but he certainly knew how to have fun.”

[boleynqueenes]

working on the next chapter of NT and just wanted to make a timeline for myself from the archives, don’t mind me:

The Princess is now staying at the same house where the daughter of the King's mistress is residing, and has only three women (mugeres) for her service. The whole establishment is governed by an aunt of Anne (Boleyn); and though at one time the Imperial ambassador (Chapuys) was allowed to send twice a week to inquire about her health, and so forth, that permission has now been withdrawn.

King Francis sent the other day to England, besides the resident ambassador, a relative of the Grand Master (Montmorency), named the Bailli de Troya, who visited Anne's daughter (Elizabeth) as if she were a real princess. [...] the king of England sent the bishop of Excetre, who in former times had endeavoured to be counted among the good ones, and disapproved of the King's conduct, whereas now he is one of the worst.

The cardinals here, to whom His Holiness has committed the English cause, are giving out that they have orders to declare the king of England deprived of his kingdom, and his subjects absolved and relieved of obedience to him, as well as of their oaths of fidelity; but, after all, the draft that has been prepared, and which I have seen with my own eyes, is but a monitory brief

Dr. Ortiz to the Same.  Rome, 22 Nov.

bishop of exeter...john vesey?

Melancthon to Henry VIII.

Thanks the King for his letter and his present. They in Germany are rejoiced at the former. Has written on other matters to the Chief Secretary. Recommends Alex. Alesius. Wittemberg, 1. Dec. 1535.

Assuming “present” was 200 hundred crowns Henry gifted M in return for his dedication to Henry in his work Loci Communes

Sir Clement West to [Cromwell].

Understands that the King has advanced him to the room of principal secretary, at which he is rejoiced. Malta, 1535, Dec. 3.

Count of Cifuentes to Charles V.

Wrote last on the 5th. Hears that the cardinal of Paris and the bishop of Macon, the French ambassador here, said to the Pope that Juan Henart had told the French admiral, on the part of the Emperor, that if the French king would give up his friendship with the king of England, the Emperor would give him the duchy of Milan; and that Francis replied that he would not give up Henry's friendship on any account; that if the Emperor wished to give him Milan he might do it.

They intimated to the Pope the means by which they thought what the Emperor wished could be done, and the French king act in accordance with honor. When the Pope deprived the king of England and excommunicated those who favoured him, the French king could then abandon England. The Pope replied in general terms.

Does not believe that Hannart said this, but believe they said it to the Pope as a pure French invention, to provoke the king of England against the Emperor, and cause injury to the Queen and Princess. * * * The legates to the Emperor were to leave today. Rome, 8 Dec. 1535.

The King and Lords here have shown the Venetian and other ambassadors that the sentence which the Pope wishes to give against the king of England appears strange to them; and that according to the form in the hands of the Cardinals, His Holiness arrogates too much to the See Apostolic. This explains what the King said previously, that the Pope must be careful how he proceeds against the king of England. 

, but there is no talk of a new overture; and again within eight days [Cromwell] proposed to me once more en passant the marriage of the prince of Spain with the King's last daughter.  Having gone two days ago to see Cromwell, both to solicit payment of the Queen's arrears and to learn news, Cromwell told me he had just despatched a man to inform the King of the Queen's illness, who was very sick.

After closing this letter I received one from the Queen, which I send with this. She has asked me besides to write several things which would move a stone to compassion; but as I have already written of them several times, and know that your great prudence sees better than any one else what is necessary in these matters, and that you have them more at heart than the Queen herself, I forbear to weary you with longer writing.

Sends a speech of the bishop of Winchester, which has astonished many people, as he has been hitherto a valiant champion of apostolic authority.

London, 13 Dec. 1535.

Last year the Venetian merchants were forced to compound with the King for 4,000 ducats for some error in the customs. Lately, as the Venetian secretary reports, Cromwell sent for him and the merchants, and told them the King would remit half, and, besides, offered them a licence to export wools which had been refused the year before. The Secretary says the Signory will not care for the licence, expecting some apostolic provision against the English, when the merchants would leave England, as nearly all the other foreign merchants would do. London, 13 Dec. 1535.

= stephen gardiner

Hears that Francis told the Imperial ambassador to let his master know that he did not mean to listen to his words any more, and that he did not intend to have any relation or friendship of any kind with his master,

Charles V. to [M. de la Sa], Queen Katharine's physician. Thanks him for his care of the Queen and Princess. Naples, 13 Dec. 1535.

In the cause of the queen of England, the Consistory has ordered of itself a monitory to be issued, fixing a space of two months for the King to turn from his heresy and schism and public adultery, and then he will not be declared deprived of his kingdom.

The Imperial ambassador writes that he has not leave to visit or send any person to see the Queen and Princess. Those with the Queen are guards and spies, not servants, for they have sworn in favor of Anne, not to call her highness Queen, nor serve her with royal state. So, not to give them cause to sin, the Queen has not left her chamber for two years; and perhaps if she wished to, it would not be allowed, "y que no manda un ducado," nor has she any of her old servants except her confessor, physician, and apothecary. The King always asks those who wish to join him (se quisieren juntar con el) to renounce obedience to the Apostolic See, and he who formerly appealed to a Council now wishes it not to be held.

The dearth has increased twofold in England. The preachers publicly say that it is the fault of those who obey the Apostolic See. Rome, 16 Dec. 1535.

[muppeteyes1001]

As Kitt openly wept, she could feel Alexander gently pull her in and embrace her. She wasn't the type to cry like this in front of anyone .. Especially in front of Alex. After a moment, she would drop her hands away from her face before pressing herself into the dragon lord's chest. She was soo glad to see that he was unharmed and that they were no longer in danger. The warmth that continued to radiate off of him did eventually sooth her .. As well as dull her physical aches.

Mentally, Kitt felt like such an idiot for letting her guard fall so easily ... She was normally good at catching ill intentions from folks .. But her encounter with the trickster proved her wrong. Leading her to becoming outfoxed and trapped in her own home .. Then easily knocked out in the end. Even after trying to fight off Jareth as hard .. and as viciously .. as she possibly could .. It still wasn't enough. She was just no match against a magic user.

When Alex reassured her that none of this was her fault .. Nor that the trickster would ever cause any problems again .. the felinoid sniffled softly before rubbing at her eyes. Seeing the draconian's own eyes become seriously intense in that moment, it didn't alarm Kitt in the slightest .. She immediately picked up that it was his way of telling her that Jareth's been dealt with, permanently. With that, Kitt was a bit stunned to hear that he had been caught, but she responds with a small nod in understanding.

As the king summoned a large handkerchief and explained about Jareth being basically a hired assassin, the felinoid blinked away some tears as she looked up at her beau. Something resurfaced in her memory and she recalled the trickster himself say that exact same thing.

"A..A hit?! .. Wait! .. (sniff) I..I remember now ... When he had me chained down in the dungeon, he told me he was sent by someone ... Never said who though .. All the bastard did was talk tripe before I managed ta nearly bite his hand off" the cat woman's eyes narrowed as she informed with an annoyed huff.

However, it wasn't until Alex told her the last bit of who had truly saved her from falling to her death that the felinoid's peridot eyes widened in surprised. A confused hum slipping from her lips.

"C..Cromwell?!" she gently repeated in disbelief. She then slightly winces from her body immediately perking up at this revelation.

"He .. saved me?" Kitt inquired again as if to clarify that she indeed heard her beau correctly.

Kitt gritted her teeth and softly hissed from the sudden shot of pain in her arms and torso. She hardly noticed the draconian had woken up until she felt his large paw gently on top of her. The warmth that almost immediately began to radiate from it was helping in subsiding the pain into a tolerable, dull ache. It was enough for the felinoid to move and sit up again to face him properly.

"A..Alex!! .. Are you alright?" the cat woman inquired in absolute worry .. And a bit confused as to what had happened. The last thing she remembered was seeing him trapped on the side of the castle rock in his feral form .. And then seeing the crazed face of the trickster ... Before she fell.

Recalling this, her eyes widened for a second before falling shut. Her head lowering .. as did her ears .. in a remorseful manner. When she started to speak, her voice became shaky as if she was trying her best to keep from breaking down in front of Alexander.

"I..I'm so sorry! .. I tried ta fight him .. I truly did! ... But ... He was too strong! .. An' .. I couldn't beat him! ... I .. just couldn't ... I couldn't help you .... I couldn't do .. anything!!"

With that, the felinoid could no longer hold back her tears. Putting her hands to her face, she just let everything out. All the stress and despair and fear she felt from everything she had gone through .. And seeing Alex nearly get killed trying to save her .. It was all just too much for her to bear.

"Th..This was all my fault!" she managed to mutter between choked sobs.

[joachimnapoleon]

Hello ! The other day he was reading the memoirs of the painter Élisabeth Vigée and made an unfavorable comment about Carolina Bonaparte. All people who got to know her: Did they think the same? Thank you.

Vigée Le Brun concludes her negative recollection of her experience painting Caroline with the following:

All the annoyances that Madame Murat subjected me to at last put me so much out of temper that one day, when she was in my studio, I said to Monsieur Denon, loudly enough for her to overhear me, “I have painted real princesses who never worried me, and never made me wait.” The fact is, Madame Murat did not know that “punctuality is the politeness of kings,” as Louis XIV had so aptly said.

Apparently she learned this lesson at some point in the following years, because according to Caroline's daughter Louise:

For the most sought-after elegance, she loved the toilette, and to occupy herself with it, but with a sort of cavalier attitude that I may never have encountered in any other pretty woman! She lost only the essential time, and was always ready at the fixed hour, probably remembering that punctuality is the politeness of royalty.

(I have no idea if Louise was aware of Vigée Le Brun's scathing commentary and meant this as a subtle rebuttal or not, but I just found it amusing.)

But yes, Elisabeth Vigée Le Brun was left with a very bad impression of Caroline; that being said, I doubt there are many historical figures about whom you will find 100% conformity of opinion. There were people who admired Caroline, and people who despised her. I've mentioned on this blog a couple times in the past that I have mixed feelings on Caroline myself. Probably the biggest reason why is that, despite all the digging I've done, I've come across very few positive descriptions on her as a human being by those who knew her. What positive comments there are about her tend to revolve around her intelligence and political acumen; Talleyrand is said to have described her as having "the head of Cromwell on the body of a beautiful woman." Most contemporary descriptions of her inevitably refer to her ambition, including Napoleon's own description of her. Even Catherine Davies, who served as governess to Caroline's children for eleven years, leaves the following description of Caroline:

In character she resembled her brother Napoleon. She possessed a strong mind, had great penetration, and was somewhat fond of maneuvering. When Murat accompanied the emperor on his Russian expedition, she transacted with the ministers the business of the state with great facility. Indefatigable in her attention to the affairs of the kingdom, she was so entirely engrossed by them, that often, for a fortnight together, she neither saw nor inquired for her children.

Louise Murat verifies this in her memoirs:

My Mother also loved us, but she wasn’t effusive… we would sometimes remain for entire days without seeing her!

Contrast that with Davies' description of Murat:

His greatest delight was in the company of his children, spending many hours playing with and amusing them. During the nine-months' absence of the queen he paid them the greatest attention, nor could he scarcely bear them out of his sight.

(Davies’ quotations are from her memoirs, Eleven Years’ Residence in the Family of Murat, King of Naples)

And of course there are the extremely negative recollections of Caroline in the memoirs of Laure Junot and Hortense de Beauharnais--the latter are interesting in particular, because Caroline, for all her jealousy of Hortense, still seems to have made a very sincere effort to maintain the friendship throughout her life, while Hortense seems to have been considerably less enthusiastic about it. I have looked quite a bit for counterbalancing accounts by those who knew Caroline, and can't really say I've had much success so far. That's not to say they aren't out there somewhere, and I'll certainly keep looking, because Caroline's character is still so opaque to me, and I'd really like to unravel it more. I want to believe there's more to her than this sort of cold, severe Machiavellian character she's been painted as. But even when I read her correspondence to Murat, I can't always tell when she's being fully sincere with him and when she's trying to manipulate and/or manage him in various ways.

My current impression of Caroline--which very well may evolve as I continue to study her--is that she was essentially trying to be a female version of Napoleon. Her early obsession with titles--she once threw a tantrum over Pauline being allowed to call herself "Princess" while she and Elisa were not (until Napoleon finally had all his siblings named princes & princesses)--evolved into an obsession with having her own crown (especially after her friend/rival Hortense became Queen of Holland via her marriage to Louis Bonaparte), and once she had that crown, an obsession with exercising power (and maintaining it at all costs). And so far from what I've seen, this seems to be the impression that most people who knew her shared.

I recently picked up what I believe is the most current biography on her, written by Florence de Baudus and published in 2014. Baudus' ancestor was actually governor of Caroline's sons and she uses a lot of previously unreleased documents. I'm a slow reader in French, but I'm going to try to work my way through it and hopefully it will shed some new light on her for me.

Thanks for the ask!

[veryfineday]

Wednesday 6 April 1825

9 1/4

1

L

sat down at my writing desK at 10 40/60 – Reading this morning’s morning Post and did not send the breakfast things away till 12 – went out at 12 3/4 – walKed to the general P.O.[Post Office] Lombard Street – at the ‘returned letter office’ got M-’s[Mariana’s] letter dated ‘yorK Sunday 6 February’ last, not forward because the inland postage not paid – I ought to have taKen one of M-’s[Mariana’s] letters with me to identify the handwriting – this would have saved the man’s opening the letter, and seeing the signature and date (6th of which he had asKed me) before he would give it me –

walKed forward to Gracechurch – there, at 1 3/4, got into the Edmonton stage (2/.[shilling] fare) and, by giving the man an additional bid, he set me down at Bury hall about 3 10/60 – Inquired for Mrs. HancocK – She came to me in the breakfast room – said I understood she was parting with 1 of her servants (thought of Molières Monsieur Porceauguac, and the man who so got all out of him that suited his purpose) – Yes! said she, my housemaid – this lucKily gave me my queue – and my ruse answered so well, and the lady was so communicative on the subject I sat with her near 1/2 hour –

admired the house – she said it was rather a celebrated place – Judge Bradshaw (Oliver Cromwells judge B-[Bradshaw]) had lived there – asKed therefore to see the place – she shewed me the dining and drawing rooms (declined going upstairs) and the garden, and little grounds, and a field that lay behind, opposite to this front of the house, which she said was very convenient – they had ten acres of ground altogether – the gardens ‘Kept 2 men empolyed constant’ –

In size and general appearance mrs. H-[Hancock] is not unliKe mrs. middleton, but more vulgar – bears a strong motherly liKeness to her oldest son, with the exception of having a dusKy greasy complexion – She might have been a busy houseKeeper, just called off from her various employments, tho’ with the difference of shewing all the mistressship of a rich, well-satisfied trademan’s wife – yet she seemed a very good sort of, worthy woman, telling me (‘as I had been so Kind as go over’) not only all about the housemaid, a vulgar girl of 23, but of all her household economy – I said it was unnecessary to speaK to the girl at all – but mrs. H-[Hancock] would have me do so; for it should create jealousy that she had not given her a good character – of course, I said how handsomely her mistress had spoKen of her, but it was unnecessary to asK further questions, since the girl wished to have a place in London – (I was mrs. Fisher from the borders of Durham) –

Having thus been at least 1/2 hour there, and having had time to observe and looK about me leisurely, ‘the footman’ in his linen jacKet, and gray-white apron shewed a near way across the fields (perhaps nearer by about 1/4 mile) to the village of Edmonton (B-[Bury] hall is at lower Edmonton) I hastened to the Bell Inn at the farther extremity of the place, got there at 4 1/4, and in just 5 minutes was off in a very good chaise (exgentlemans carriage) with good horses and driver, desiring the man to go as fast as he could – It was 10 miles they said from there to no.220 Piccadilly – (By the way, in being shewn into the drawing room at B-[Bury] hall, introduced as mrs. Fisher, 2 misses H-[Hancock] and an old lady above 70, said by mrs. H-[Hancock] to be ‘a great friend of the princess Elizabeth’ and an old friend of mrs. H-’s[Hancock’s], were sitting in a line on one side of the room in prim company order – one of the misses H-[Hancock] seemed a very pretty girl) –

[margin: § in the copy of my letter to Mrs B[arlow] of Saturday nine of this month is a long account of this visit at Bury hall – ]

my post-boy drove so well, that I stopt 5 minutes at the Saracen’s head snow hill to inquire about places for Leeds – the RocKingham leaves there everyday at 2, and gets into to Leeds about the same hour the next day – inside places 3 1/2 guineas each – extra luggage above the 20 lbs. allowed charged 2 d.[pence] a lb. – It is the union, that goes every morning at 7, from the Blue boar, Holborn – I stopt also at webbe’s 220 Piccadilly to wash my hands, and after all got out at mrs. macKenzie’s to dinner (31 Sloane Street) at 5 3/4, so that allowing 10 minutes for stoppages, the man had driven me 1 1/4 hour –

Dinner at 6 – talKed over Place Vendome – they did not liKe Mr. FranKs – he abused everybody – people they did not suspect he would – he did not liKe madame Galvani – said she abused everyone – § said Mrs B[arlow] was a nasty woman  had a bad countenance he saw what he did not like in her eye  Mrs MacK[enzie] could not understand him but now I had explained it he must mean the same sort of thing as madame de Boyve for I had said she had told me things affecting Mrs Bs[Barlow’s] character which I should never repeat having given my honour not to do so but I had some reason for thinking Mr Franks knew the same story which I believed to be most unjust and false but every character might be unsafe at madame de Bs[Boyve’s]  Mr F[ranks] had not abused me but said I was clever and agreeable – The mcK-s[MacKenzies] had observed mr. F-[Franks] had no name of the maKer in his hat – they suspected him to be son of FranKs the hatter in London; for he had an estate near CorK –

In the evening mrs. mcK-[MacKenzie] played over the music (by von weber) of ‘Der Freischütz, a romantic opera, in 3 acts, by george Soane, B.A.’ – all the world was talKing of it – I ought to stay to see it at Drury lane – the music beautiful – something quite new in music – quite original – I staid till 10 40/60, then got into a hacKney coach, and got home (upstairs) at 11 – Mrs Collins Mrs MacKs[MacKenzie’s] maid called the coach and I gave her a shilling as she let me out which she took and thanked me but seeming to think the thing only right I dont think her better than she should be at least she did not seem so at Place Vendome –

Read my letter from M-[Mariana] that I got at the general P.O.[Post Office] this morning – 3 pp.[pages] and the ends, and 4 lines of crossing – all at logger heads in Petergate and the minster yard that is the old and young Belcombe parties  π [Mariana] speaks of a slight return of her complaint and asks how I have been treated – Very fine day –

[muppeteyes1001]

As Ben was safely brought back into the castle, the dragon lord set the still rose-slimed bear cub back onto the polished marble floor next to Lucy. Her little beetle friend now sat on her headband. Noticing his odd appearance and floral scent, the fawn girl curiously tilted her head to the side before giving her older friend a little sniff. Pulling back, she raised a brow.

"You smell like soap! .. Did you take a bath?" she asked the bear boy with a really puzzled expression. Of course, she wouldn't know what had really occurred outside.

"No Luc! .. I didn't take a bath ... Just almost became a snack" Ben responded back with an almost tired sigh, fussing with his sticky shirt.

When the king asked why they had both come to his home alone, Ben was just about to answer until Alex promptly called for a 'clean up' right after. The tone felt rather harsh than usual and it made both the kids wince slightly. Within seconds, the drabbit butler would appear into the study. It wasn't their first time meeting Cromwell and though the butler was normally a bit more talkative around them .. Today, felt just a bit .. off. The two kids were no strangers to the feeling of tense atmospheres among adults. Living in an orphanage, they learned it was better just to keep their heads down and not say anything.

As Cromwell made a small wave with his wand in front of Ben, the cub would begin to feel a weird sensation. It almost felt as if there were hundreds of tiny wipes moving through his fur and clothes as the rosy-pink slime began to slip off. Numerous tiny blobs would float off him and would begin to congregate just above the boy's head into a quickly growing slime ball in midair.

Lucy 'ooh'ed in wonder as she watched the pinkish ball form, absolutely mesmerized by it. She began reaching up with her tiny arms to try and touch it, but it was thankfully much too high for her to get to. Surely, the last thing the butler wanted was another child to clean up.

Once the butler had left with the floating slime ball, Ben would look over himself. Letting out a whispered "whoa" as he did so. He felt warm, dry and less heavy now that he was free of the goopy mess. The rosy scent seemed to still stick though, but it wasn't overpowering. He then looked back up at the draconian before finally answering his question.

"Y..Yeah, about that! .. Kitt was gonna come with us to visit you ... But right as we were about to leave, she was ordered to go to the courthouse ... I'm guessin' it's to see that dumb judge again" Ben replied, obviously peeved with the situation as he crosses his arms across his chest. At hearing the judge mentioned, Lucy's demeanor had also quickly changed. Her large, roundish ears lowered and her gaze darted down to the floor. Fidgeting with her hands in a nervous manner.

However, when Alexander brought up the bag and inquired about it, the bear cub managed to ease up a little before explaining.

"Oh right! .. I found a bag that was stuck in the bushes ... It wasn't a big bag and it just looked .. kinda outta place, so .. I wondered what was in it and went for a closer look ... I tried to pull it free, but the thorns just ended up making a hole .. And I saw a few gold coins fall out ... So I tried to tug at it again .. Harder this time, and I got the bag out .... But ... then I saw that .. there was a hand still holding it .. a skeleton hand ... I freaked out and dropped the bag and ... That's when I got grabbed" Ben admitted, now placing his hands sheepishly into his pockets.

As he saw the floral beast's jaws coming ever closer, Ben had his eyes shut tightly .. He was fully expecting to either get crunched like a peanut or just simply swallowed whole. However, None of that would ever come to pass as an angered roar made him snap his eyes back open. From his current upside down position, the cub could see the draconian now by his side. He watched as the king came forward and promptly grab the vine that had him entangled.

Watching Alex tell the plant off, Ben remembered something that Kitt told him once .. That the rose always listened to the king's orders. Afterwards, Sasha no longer put up a fight to keep her 'dinner'. When the dragon lord declared that the cub was a guest, the rosebush settled down without fuss. He was freed rather easily once things had calmed. Alex kept a gentle hold on Ben .. who was now coated in a slightly pink-tinted slime. All the while, the cub stared wide eyed at the plant creature as it seemed to fall back into slumber. Still panting heavily as he sat in Alex's massive clawed paw.

As Alex inquired if he was alright, the bear cub perked and looked up at him. Seeing the worry on his face, Ben blinked before giving a slow nod.

"Ye..Yeah, I think so!" the cub stutters before bringing his arms up half way to look over himself. Strings of slime would show as he did so.

"I .. I'm just covered in ... euggh ... plant snot!" he added with total disgust. His tongue sticking out in a 'yuck' expression.

When the king brought out his handkerchief and tried to clean the boy, Ben muffled a mild protest as his face was wiped with the giant cloth. Well .. giant to Ben, at least. After a brief cleaning, the king would pull the handkerchief away for a moment to give the bear boy some air. Though the aftermath did cause his fur to comically stick out in various places .. Making him look like a glossy hedgehog.

Giving himself a good shake, the cub looks back up at the dragon lord. His fur and clothing still stuck out oddly from the remaining slime. "H..Hey .. Sorry I caused any trouble .. I ..I swear, I didn't even know that that was your guard plant ... Kitt said it was a moving flower, but I never saw it move .. Least not til I tried to get that bag I found stuck in the bush"

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty One, “Timing”

Find all chapters to this story here! 

Check out the character survey from Becky’s POV I did recently! :-)

Warnings: Very brief mention of IVs (needles)

Song Inspo: My My Love by Joshua Radin (Click to listen)

                                    Sneaky Peeeeeeeeeky!

“A spark ignites on my cheek, almost like a tickle. And when I look over, his eyes are glued to me. The tip of his calloused finger brushes a ghost of a touch under my eye. “I neva knew ya hadda scar there,” he murmurs, running the tip of his finger over the oblong light brown shape.

“I-It’s not a scar,” I say quickly, but at the same time, at a loss for words. He’s so close his breath smelling of chamomile tea passes by me within a second. And God, those pouty strawberry lips are so decadent, and tempting. “It’s a birthmark. I usually cover it up with makeup, that’s probably why you’ve never seen it.” Finished, I turn my head back to the telly, his finger dropping from the barely one inch mark.

“Wha’? Why d’ya do that? ‘s lovely.” As much as I try to drown my thoughts in the scene unraveling before my eyes, I can’t. Because his words, and the tingling under my eye consume my thoughts. The devil and angel inside my head bounce up and down in their seats.”

“No. W-what are you doing here?” I stutter, unable to control my words. Or my thoughts. Or my emotions.

At the drop of my words, Harry’s face falls. His eyebrows. The budding smile on his lips. And the brightness in his eyes. But he masks it quickly. And it escapes my mind when he crosses the distance between us. His black slacks, teal geometric-patterned button down, and curls are a blur in the seconds that follow. Suddenly, his arms are around me and pulling me into him. With sleep still clinging to my mind, and unsure of what to do, I freeze. 

“Please don’t tell me you left work to drive 3 hours to come to Madley,” I confess quietly into the damp shoulder of his black peacoat. Shivering, his fingers run trails up and down my back. 

“Shuddup, I ‘ave a case t’morrow nearby in Wolverhampton . . . Jus’ lemme do sumthin’ nice fer ya,” he says, his soft words drifting over the top of my head. 

“I-I’m sorry. I just woke up and you caught me off guard,” I apologize meekly, feeling myself relax. My arms wind around his waist and lace themselves together over his coat. 

“‘s okay,” he hums. His hands pause and I feel them brush my hair away. “I know ya hadda rough night- well couple o’ days,” Harry murmurs, his lips brushing against my hair. My lungs still and I wait, wondering if he’ll kiss my head. But it doesn’t come, and I try to will away the disappointment beginning inside of me. I’ve become so accustomed to it that it doesn’t want to leave this time. Then it’s joined by the happy disbelief appearing wet in my eyes. 

“Couldn’ stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya, an’ figured I had t’ come up ‘ere t’morow mornin’ anyways. Wha’s an extra night hurt?” The first few words do it for me, and there I am spewing tears all over his shoulder. They’re not a waterfall, but the emotions growing inside of me feel that way. And they’re here, because he is. 

He holds me tighter against him, and I feel his cheek rest on my head. Holding on tight to his coat, I let myself and everything I’m feeling melt against him. “You don’t know what it means to me that you’re here,” I confess in a trembling voice interrupted by sniffling. 

“I think I do do, ‘coz you were there fer me tha day o’ tha funeral when I needed a friend. An’ at tha hospital. Ya showed up fer me, Becks, an’ I wanted t’ do tha same fer ya,” Harry reveals softly from above me. My lips bend into a happy smile amongst the tears that come harder at his words. “I brought dinna, ‘cuz I knew ya prolly hadn’t eaten. ‘s luck that I found ya atta vendin’ machine.”

His precious laugh greets my ears as his fingers tickle up my back. The bunches of fabric leave my hands, and I step away to search for those green eyes. After a few seconds, I find them staring down at me. They’re blurry behind the tears, but soon his smiling face sharpens. 

“No mo’ tears, ‘kay? Le’s go eat some dinna an’ find  sumthin’ good on tha telly,” Harry whispers, running the pad of his thumb along my cheeks. Nodding, his hand envelopes mine and we go to find a sitting area.

The halls are deserted besides a few nurses checking in on patients. Familiar medical-sounding beeps sound throughout the hallway. After guiding the way for Harry as I wipe my cheeks, we soon find our dining table. Or rather a sofa with a little table. 

“I hope fish an’ chips ‘s alright,” he says, doubt filling his words. 

“Of course they are. Did you get them from Maggie’s over on Fifth?”

“Yeah, I think so. Li’l shop with photos coverin’ tha walls?” he questions as he unpacks the brown paper bag. 

“Yep, that’s the one. They make the best fish and chips I’ve had. And I would know, because I grew up eating these ones my entire life.”

“Well I guess ya would know then,” Harry relents, shrugging his shoulders with a toothy smile. 

Whispered ‘thank yous’ float between us as we pass each other food and napkins. With two cups of water from the cooler a few steps away, we dig in. 

“No kiddin’, these are good. ‘s always tha family owned shops that make tha best ones, innit?” Harry mumbles with a mouth full of food. I reply with an ‘mmmhmm’, trying not to laugh at the crumbs speckling his chin. 

The crispy, buttery cod melts on my tongue. With my free hand, I grab hold of the gray remote sitting on the table beside me. 

“Hey, ‘s my turn t’ pick what we watch,” Harry whines, stealing the remote from me. 

“Rude!” I retort, but any words I had left to say collapse into laughter. Licking his thumb, he peeks over at me. A sly grin stuck to his lips. 

Shaking my head, I look away and pick up a chip from the paper tray in my hand. When my eyes return to him, a ketchup-covered chip sits in his hand. Meanwhile, his face is screwed up in concentration at the telly. I smile, and then notice his reflection in the dark window on the other side of him. Kicking his foot with my right, he turns to the left to look at me in confusion. 

“Just pick something!” I tell him, my palm turning up to help me talk. His dark curls dance atop his head as it goes from side to side. 

“Oh hush, you. Cantcha letta man think?” he quips before feeding the chip past his cherry lips. 

“No, not when it takes you an hour to pick what to watch,” I reply, yanking it from his hands. 

“Heeeey! I was jus’ gonna pick that episode o’ Friends!” 

“Wait, you like Friends?!” I nearly yell, my head snapping to look at him. 

“O’course! Who doesn’t? I grew up watchin’ that show with me mum an’ sista,” he answers. With those words, my heart does a somersault in my chest. Oh my fuck, I’m falling again. “Wha’? Do ya not like it?”

“No, I-I love it. I grew up watching it, too. It’s like my comfort show - I watch it when I’m happy, sad, mad, excited- you name it,” I reply slowly, engrossed in gathering ketchup onto my chip. When I hear his murmured ‘me too’ from a mouth full of food, the devil and angel inside of me go crazy. For once, they seem to root for the same team. 

“Favourite characta?” his words greet the air effortlessly. He licks the salt and grease from his thumb, and I suddenly regret looking up. The things you do to me, Styles. 

“On the count of 3?” I ask, and his chestnut ringlets bounce with a nod. 

“1 . . . 2 . . . 3.”

“Phoebe!” we both say in unison, sending us into fits of giggles. 

“There’s nuthin’ betta than her on dat show. She’s hilarious, plays guitar, ‘s a surrogate fer her bloody brotha, an’ ‘s gorgeous,” Harry explains, and I’m following with every word. And with each one, I feel the butterflies in my tummy flutter again. For possibly the tenth time already tonight. 

“All of the great jokes and catchphrases from the show are from her: Regina Phalange, Smelly Cat, Princess Consuela Banana Hammock, ‘I don’t even have a pla’, Gladys the framed doll, and that stupid taxi. She’s blunt and so funny, but she’s so sweet and would do anything for her friends,” I continue, watching him nod emphatically as he picks up another chip. 

“Couldn’ ‘ave said it betta meself. Oh I love dis episode where they’re stuck at tha beach house. Poor Phoebs findin’ out tha truth ‘bout her mum dat way, tho’,” Harry comments, his mouth falling into a delighted and then sad O. My eyes follow his to the screen of the telly where our attention is held for the next twenty minutes. 

My shoes only stop squeaking when I stop in front of the garbage bin. After tossing the greasy paper bag, I rub a pump of hand sanitizer into my hands. I wince at the awful sounds my shoes make as I try to walk quietly down the tiled hallway. The snoring greets my ears before I see him, but when I do, I smile. With careful steps, I pluck my backpack from the couch before leaving the room. 

“He still sleepin’?” Harry asks, looking up from the Friends marathon from the telly. We scored! 

“Yep,” I answer, plopping down onto the sofa beside him. 

“Good,” he answers, slumping down further into the gray cushions. My backpack drops with a thud to the floor after I got what I needed. “What’re ya doin’? ‘s eleven-thirty, love. Tha’s no time t’ be doin’ homework.”

“I know, but I need to submit an assignment before I forget. It’s due at midnight,” I answer, seeing his nod out of the corner of my eye. 

My laptop wakes with its usual jingle, and I watch my browser load. The audience laughter fills my ears at a humorous line from Chandler. Surprise, surprise. The maroon and navy blue colors of my uni’s website appear in front of me. Within a few moments, I’m on the web page for my course. 

“Wha’s tha assignment?” Harry inquires, his eyes never leaving the telly. A laugh creases his cheeks, making me smile. But I’m not very sad I missed what’s so funny, because he makes up for it. 

“Um, it’s an essay about Thomas Cromwell and his theories and stuff,” I reply, opening the page for assignments. 

“Ah, I see they ‘aven’t changed coursework much from my day. Cromwell ‘s bloody obvious when ya start talkin’ ‘bout British law.”

“I know, it’s like the professor didn’t even try when drafting this assignment,” I comment with a small titter. Relief washes over me when I get a message saying my submission was successful. And something else too from being able to talk to him about law so easily. Something akin to how a hot chocolate makes you feel on a winter’s day.

I glance up and find Harry losing it with laughter. There’s a fleeting temptation to ask him to clue me in. But a laugh tingles on my lips when I find what he’s laughing at. Monica’s crying as she holds onto Chandler’s arm, an ocean scene in the background. 

“Can’ believe Joey actually peed on Monica.” The words leave Harry’s mouth in between chuckles rather sloppily. 

“He was just trying to help!” I comment, unable to stop laughing either. 

“But it doesn’t even help! They say it makes it worse even,” he laughs, rubbing his forehead.  

Shaking my head, my eyes fall to my laptop screen. After a few clicks, lines of text cloud my eyes. My eyes roll into the back of my head at their appearance. I find it nearly impossible to hold back a groan. 

“What’re you gripin’ ‘bout ova here?” Harry questions with teasing in his tone.

“I have to read the entire case of Haughton v. Smith for a test, and it’s so confusing. I mean, working with you brushed me up on a lot of legal mumbo jumbo. But still, a lot of it doesn’t make sense to me,” I huff, my chin falling into the palm of my hand.  

“Alright, lemme see what part yer at,” he says in a quiet voice. I try to ignore the regret budding inside of me at what I said about working at his firm. And how it makes me feel, and probably him, too. I don’t know why I ever bring it up, because sometimes it feels like when somebody else brings up the ex-boyfriend, or something. The sofa cushion dips as he closes the space between us. The angel and demon inside of me erupt into synonymous cheers when his arm goes around me. 

“God, did you forget your glasses or something, Grandpa?” my question sputters from my lips in a cackle, watching him squint at the screen.

“Oh shuddup, an’ I mean it,” Harry quips, looking away for a moment. When I see the reason why, instead of a laugh consuming my thoughts, something else does. For some fucking reason, my heart warms at the sight of him unfolding a pair of mottled brown Pantos glasses. He tucks the brown case into the inside of his blazer, his peacoat on a chair. “Ya ya, laugh all ya want at me an’ me readin’ glasses.” 

But when he looks down at me with them settled on his nose, I don’t laugh. “Why aren’t ya laughin’ anymo’, hmm?” he questions. 

“I think they look really nice on you. They make you look handsome and sophisticated,” I tell him slowly, and it’s undeniable the pink that pinches his cheeks. 

“Well ‘s ‘bout time fer dat t’ happen, only took me twenty-nine years,” he jokes, bringing a smile to my lips. My head goes from side to side as I close my eyes, my cheeks bunching from happiness painting my lips. Yeah, it’s about time for a lot of things right about now. “Alrigh’, lemme look what part yer at fer real now.”

I nod, trying to get comfortable on the sofa. Pitching my head back, I feel it bump into his arm. Nevermind my fucked neck, I return my eyes to the screen to try and forget that his arm is around me. But they immediately refuse and slowly trail to Harry, his face mere inches away from mine. 

Okay, no, stop thinking about his lips and what they could do, I tell the demon inside of my head. 

Becky, you could. You so know you could do it. 

Shut up! He’s just helping me with my homework, that’s all this is. 

Oh yeah? And when are you going to let yourself think about the real reason he’s here, huh?

I can’t do that right now. 

Yes, you can! Maybe if you think about it, you’ll realize how good of an idea it would be to let yourself kiss him. I’m sure he’s thinking about it too.

Just stop!

His thumb and forefinger knead his bottom lip. It bunches together in little waves as his eyes flit across the screen. Whiskers the shade of his curls are scattered across his face. They’re dense atop his upper lip and around his chin. And God, I can’t stop thinking about them. Wanting to touch them. Feel them on my face- okay stop it, Becky. 

“Well yer mostly at tha end, so wha’ doesn’t make sense t’ ya?” Harry finally says, turning his head ever so slightly to look at me. 

“I know, but I feel like I don’t know what I just read. And the verdict is contradicting to me,” I answer with a shrug of my shoulders. 

“Well maybe it’d make more sense t’ ya if ya weren’t lookin’ at it at almos’ midnigh’, love.”

“Yeah, well it’s kind of the only time I have lately with everything. I’m afraid to email my prof again saying I need an extension when it’s due tomorrow. I’ve needed a lot of them lately. I just wanna get it done,” I respond quietly, looking to the telly awkwardly. It’s always hard when the truth comes out, and the emotions that hang on to it. 

A spark ignites on my cheek, almost like a tickle. And when I look over, his eyes are glued to me. The tip of his calloused finger brushes a ghost of a touch under my left eye. “I neva knew ya hadda scar there,” he murmurs, running the tip of his finger over the oblong light brown shape. 

“I-It’s not a scar,” I say quickly, but at the same time, at a loss for words. He’s so close his breath smelling of chamomile tea passes by me within a second. And God, those pouty strawberry lips are so decadent, and tempting. “It’s a birthmark. I usually cover it up with makeup, that’s probably why you’ve never seen it.” Finished, I turn my head back to the telly, his finger dropping from the barely one-inch mark. 

“Wha’? Why d’ya do that? ‘s lovely.” As much as I try to drown my thoughts in the scene unraveling before my eyes, I can’t. Because his words, and the tingling under my eye consume my thoughts. The devil and angel inside my head bounce up and down in their seats. 

“Kids used to make fun of it when I was little. They’d call it a worm under my eye, because of its shape. It used to be more pronounced and bigger when I was little, but it’s still pretty noticeable,” I answer, adding in an eye roll that he laughs at. 

“Aww, poor Becks. But if it counts, I don’ think it looks like a worm. ‘s cute on you,” he adds seriously, pinching my cheek. That makes me look over at him, and I already know that I’m blushing. 

A small ‘thanks’ leaves my lips before my eyes dip to my laptop. Close to a minute of silence grows between us before he breaks it. “‘Kay, so Haughton vs. Smith found that ya can’t commit tha crime o’ handlin’ stolen goods, if tha goods they’re talkin’ ‘bout weren’t actually stolen. ‘s an important case t’ know, cuz it was ‘ventually ovaturned by tha Criminal Attempts Act o’ ‘81. Ya’ll neva be able t’ forget tha connection between tha two, issa given. Ya don’ need t’ worry ‘bout that law now tho’, they basically mean tha same thing.” 

“Thanks for explaining it, I hope it’s enough to help me pass the test on it,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest stubbornly. 

“Open tha test, an’ ‘ll help ya with it.”

The second my eyes land on Joey’s body covered in sand on the telly, they whip back to Harry. “Really, you’d help me?”

“‘Course I would. Tha’s what ‘m here fer. An’ it wouldn’t hurt t’ see if I still got it.”

“You’ve been a lawyer for years, and this is pre-law, so of course you do. And not to mention, ranked as one of the best in London,” I reply smiling, clicking open a new tab. I suspect how my words will make him feel, because they fill me with the same emotions. Pride. Happiness. Astonishment. And more pride. 

“Well, I do me best,” Harry titters proudly. A cocky hum leaves his lips as he brushes off his chest. A laugh sputters from my lips that I can’t contain. “Heeeey, don’ be laughin’ at me.”

“Sorry, I just can’t control myself when you start dropping dad jokes,” I respond nonchalantly, clicking on the tab labeled ‘Assessments.’

“Just pull tha bloody test up an’ le’s get it ova with,” he huffs, amusement still lacing through his words. 

“Awww, is it past your bedtime already?” I pout, turning my eyes to him. His lips smush together and I hear the smallest of squeaks get past them. “You know you like my grandpa jokes, don’t lie.”

“Shuddup, li’l one, an’ open tha goddamn test already,” he huffs. If anybody else heard him, they’d think he was mad at me. But even as my eyes cast over the column of tests from this course, I know different. I can hear it in his voice - the joking, the molasses, the affectionate teasing, and the friendship. 

Wow, nice choice of words there, Ms. Denial. 

Shut up, devil. 

“I am not little!” I retort in a high voice, making my two tabs appear as two windows on my screen. Side by side. Cheating time!

“Becks, yer like 5’5, if that.”

“No, I’m not! I’m 5’6, you liar!”

“Ya, cuz that one lousy inch really does a whole lot, doesn’t it?” Harry counters, his voice melting into a goofy one. I respond to it with a hearty laugh that is soon accompanied by his. “Yer still a li’l one t’ me, love.” 

“Fine, Grandpa Harry.”

+

The annoying sound of a laugh track pricks at my ears. Blinking hard, the room around me is blurry. But after a groggy minute of blinking, it begins to sharpen. I don’t remember the lights getting turned off, but the telly screen burns my eyes. Rubbing them, I moan from tiredness. Dropping my arm, I feel it hit something. Looking down, I’m confused. When I lift my head from whatever it was resting on, I find what I was laying on. And well, what was also laying on me. Still is. Her face scrunches adorably before relaxing, nuzzling her head against my shoulder once more. 

Becks. 

After combing my hair off of my forehead, the lock screen of my phone wakes me up a little more. Especially when I see that it reads 1:18 am. Fuck, I need to get to my hotel and go to bed. I have my case tomorrow. But when I hear a noise and find the culprit, all of those thoughts wash away. An incoherent sound runs off of her lips, ones that are so close to me. Fuck, again. But when my eyes scan the rest of my body, I realize that she’s all over me. Well, almost. Her right hand rests on my chest as she leans against the back of the sofa. But her pretty little head of dark hair is laying on my shoulder. My arm is around her, holding her close to me. I can feel her other arm tickling my side. 

Memories float to the surface, and suddenly I’m back at the hospital in London. In December. A phone call woke me from my slumber beside her on the sofa. The both of us curled up on opposite sides. Sleep clinging to my eyes and begging to me to return to it. Her shoulders rising with every soft snore, but it was the most daintiest one I’d ever heard. It felt like my heart was being squeezed tighter with every move I made to leave her. When I draped the second blanket over her. And how much it hurt to move the hair off of her face. To press a kiss to her unknowing head. But nothing compared to the anguish I felt grow with every step I put between us. 

Blinking hard, the dark room materializes around me again. Her precious snores welcome my return to the moment. A smile brings my lips upwards as I watch a crease grow between her eyebrows. She’s too goddamn adorable. And that’s why I came, isn’t it? Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t resist her. I can’t say no to Becky. When she called me crying and a mess worrying about her dad, I didn’t know what I was doing until I was putting the town of Madley into my GPS. I guess The Beatles were right with that one song, and plenty of others. She’s really got a hold on me. And before I could begin to stop myself, her skin is like velvet under my thumb. I rub the crease away with the pad of it, and suddenly my head dips. My lips barely brush her hair when she groans below me. 

“Harry?” she murmurs, lifting her head from my shoulder. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.”

She yawns, moving away to look around sleepily. But soon she returns back to my arms, cozying up to me once more. And I couldn’t be more thankful, or conflicted. The latter word drills into my mind as I rub a hand down her back, sleep trying to coax me back in, too. 

“We fell asleep,” she mumbles, her honey voice coated in that very word. Fuck, does it make me feel things. Things that I’d much rather not. 

“Yeah, ‘s one in tha mornin’.”

“Shitttt,” she sighs, sitting up fast. Her growing locks pour over her shoulders covered by a crewneck jumper. Faded pictures of balls from different sports are scattered across the heather gray fabric. Like something my dad wore when I was a tot. “You have your case tomorrow.”

“‘m fine, I already dropped me stuff off at tha hotel an’ got me key,” I tell her, missing the warmth of her against me. And I miss the fact in those words alone of what I’m missing. Her in my arms. “But ya should prolly get sum sleep, too. Seems like ya’ve been missin’ it lately.”

“I’m okay, just lots of homework,” Becky says, running her long fingers through her wavy hair. 

“‘d offa me hotel room, but ‘s half an hour ‘way in Wolverhampton. An’ there’s only tha one bed,” I tell her, unsure of why. I blame it on the sleepy brain. 

“Thanks, but I’m okay. I’ll just sleep on the couch in his room. It’s not too bad once you get used to it,” she assures me. Her arms crack as she stretches them toward the ceiling. I can’t help myself when the baggy jumper rides up, exposing the slightest of her milky white tummy. Fuck. But just like that, it’s gone in a flash. If only my feelings worked that way. 

It’s like she has some sixth sense that I’m thinking about her, because her eyes cast over to me. It’s hard to make out their ocean blue in this dark, but I know they’re there. I can picture them if I need to, because I do it all the time - trying to make myself remember what they look like. The exact shade. The speckles of darker blue amongst the color. 

“Yer welcome,” I return. The tired smile I get in return melts my insides like butter. But that’s how I feel when I’m around her, and that’s how much of a hold she’s got on me. 

Shocks of electricity dance across the back of my hand. I don’t need to look down to know her hand is on top of mine. And how it’s making me go crazy. She’s only a few inches away. I could do it. Before I stop myself, I begin to lean in, and she watches me do it. But with only a few seconds left, we jump apart at the sound of a ringtone. 

Embarrassment covers me like a dark cloud, among other nasty emotions. My head falls, hiding the heat rising to my cheeks. Pulling out my phone to distract myself, it doesn’t do that great of a job as I hear her talk to somebody on the phone. Dammit, I was so close. With a hand in my hair, I scroll through emails. Deleting some and saving others. 

“Sorry, that was Robbie. Just checking in, since I forgot to update him, I guess,” Becky tells me, lifting my head with her voice. 

My head only goes up and down, avoiding eye contact. Because I can’t muster it after what just happened, or what didn’t. 

“‘s late, ya should get sum rest,” I announce, getting to my feet. Picking up my coat, I slip it on before I dare to look at her.

She smiles shyly at me, sleep hanging around her eyes. Even rubbing her nose with the sleeve of her jumper is precious. And her legs jittering in her faded blue jeans. Vans the shade of her favorite color donning her feet. 

“Yeah, you too,” is all she has to say.

Suddenly, I don’t know what to do. For a mere second, I entertain the thought of trying again. But fuck it, she’s so far away right now, figuratively and literally. I can catch a hint of her scent sticking to me, and it makes me sad to realize. 

“Go get sum sleep, ‘kay?” Are the only words I can think of as I walk up to her and pat her arm. 

“Yeah, you too, Harry. Careful driving.”

“Thanks, Becks, I will. Sweet dreams, love,” I mutter, looking at her over my shoulder. 

And I keep walking, and leave her behind. Regrets coursing through my ears, and emotions tugging at my seams. The tiredness coating my every thought and action, only make it all the worse. I’m not sure if I want to wake up more for the car drive to the hotel, because then it will all feel even more real. And discouraging. 

“Harry?” stopping in my tracks, I hear her call my name. Spinning around, I feel her before I see her. Her arms surround around my waist and her head comes to lay against my chest. All within seconds. “Thank you . . . for coming.”

A pain sounds in my chest when I hear the emotion in her voice. And it takes all of me to not echo it, because I know I could. And that I would. Instead I say, “Yer welcome, Becks,” and I do at least one thing I wanted to do tonight. Dipping my head, I smooth down her hair and press my lips to her hair for more than a few seconds. 

The sweet smell of orange blossom greets me, and my smile is havoced by pain. Her warm breaths tickle the skin at my neck as my hands lace together at the small of her back. Her arms squeeze me around the middle before releasing, and she lets go of me. I think about trying again, but the thought is fleeting when she begins to walk away from me. 

And I let her do it. Once again. 

+

The burbling of the running water fills my ears. Well, besides the sound of the football match. Surprise, surprise. And the next sound. His cheering. It makes me smile as I wipe my hands with a paper towel. 

“What’s the score now?” I ask, walking back into the room. His eyes don’t go to me at the question, instead they remain on the screen. 

“Six-two. It doesn’t look too good for ‘em,” my dad replies snarkily, a devilish glint in his eyes. But it’s there, and that’s all that matters. It’s what makes the smile stick to my face. 

“Don’t let your food get cold,” I say, bending over to dig into my backpack. 

“I’m done eating. You can have the rest, Ree,” he replies just as I feel the smooth handle I’m searching for.

“I’m okay, thanks. I was probably going to check out the special in the cafe.”

“Oh so only I have to eat the hospital food?” my dad whines, pouting at me when I look at him. 

With a laugh, I remark, “I’m eating their food in the cafe too, you dork.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry, chemo brain,” he replies, tapping a finger against his head. A striped green hat keeping it warm. His arm returns to the white blanket pulled up to his waist. Light shines in his eyes and his arms lift into the air when they make yet another goal. 

Whoops and hollers leave his chapped lips. But this morning, they’re pinker. And so is his skin. If only in the slightest, I notice them. Running the brush through my knotted hair, I yawn as I watch him. A patterned hospital gown covers his upper half, with the sleeves just coming to above the IVs in his left arm. Fluids and meds. The antibiotics. Yippee. 

But the thoughts are mulled over when I look to his plate sitting on the moveable tray beside him. It was scrambled eggs, toast, applesauce, and milk this morning. And he ate nearly half of it, even if it took about half an hour. But I want to blame part of that on the football match his eyes are stuck to. 

“I’m going to see if I can find your doctor. I had a question,” I tell him, dropping my hairbrush back into my backpack. 

“Ree, don’t worry about it. He’ll come by later,” my dad insists, but I stand from my chair regardless of his answer. 

“It’s fine. I need to stretch my legs anyways.” 

He hums a reply I can’t decode, but I hear his teasing about blocking the telly when I walk by. Over my shoulder, he flashes me a small smile before returning to yelling lazily at the referees. Nurses and doctors pass me, going to and from rooms to the nearby nurse’s station. Tucking a strand of wet hair behind my ear, I search for the shock of white hair of my dad’s doctor. 

But no such luck. 

As I approach the nurse’s station, sounds of beeping, call lights, and murmuring voices fill the air. But another sound stands out from the rest. And I hear my name, or well my last name. It takes me a second to locate where it’s coming from, but when I do there’s a flutter in my chest. And I know I’m in trouble, or maybe that I’m just realizing it now after all of this time. 

But I don’t save him right away, and instead I observe. Confusion sews his eyebrows together over those misty green eyes. One lone curl tickles his forehead, breaking free from his damp hair. His black peacoat is draped over his arm clad in a warm violet blazer. A dusty rose button down peeks out from its collar, and I smile. I don’t even know why. But as the seconds tick by watching him talk to the nurse, I think I know why. 

“Looking for me, Styles?” I pipe up, stepping forward with my hands hidden away in my hoodie.

Harry’s eyes fall from the nurse and pan over to me. A lazy smile works its way onto his face quickly, only interrupted to thank the nurse. 

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, turning to walk towards me. 

“What are you doing here? You have your case today, you said,” I respond, playing with the sleeve of my black hoodie. The cracked decal of Robbie’s old band covers the front. 

“Came t’ bring ya out t’ brekky. Me case doesn’t start ‘til tha aftanoon, bug,” he responds with half of a smile, pinching my arm affectionately. And there’s that nickname, again, I think as my insides turn to mush. “Well jus’ down t’ tha cafe if tha’s alright. I saw sumthin’ ‘bout biscuits ‘n gravy, an’ sumthin’ smelled mighty delicious when I came in.”

“That sounds great,” I say, a smile inching its way up my lips. The wet ends of my hair knock against each other, and my chin. “I’ll just let my dad know,” I tell him, turning around to walk away. 

But after only a few steps, a sudden thought brings me to halt. It wills my feet to turn around and look at Harry. “Would you like to meet him?” I ask tentatively in a meek voice. “He’s doing a little better this morning, but I think that’s thanks to the Arsenal match on the telly.”

With what appears to be a shaky smile, he replies, “‘d love t’. Hope ‘s not me Manchester United boys playin’ ‘gainst ‘em.”

Waving a hand towards me, he closes the distance between us. His leather boots squeak from the last bits of melting April snow. It’s only a few moments before I peek my head into his room, and low and behold, he’s still transfixed by the match. 

Rapping my knuckle against the door, I get his attention before saying, “Hey, can I steal you away from your precious game for a few? There’s a friend of mine I’d like you to meet.”

“Yeah, sure,” he responds, adjusting his blankets before the telly’s volume falls. Over my shoulder, I shoot Harry an encouraging smile. He returns it, but I can see the nerves showing through. 

Pushing open the door fully, I walk in and he follows from behind. 

“Dad, this is Harry Styles. My uh, former boss I’ve told you about,” I fumble for words, giving a magician-like wave to him. Well, the right words. “He stopped by last night and brought me dinner. He has a case today in Wolverhampton, and we’re going to get breakfast downstairs before.”

A weary smile curls at the corners of my dad’s lips. Nodding, his dusty pink lips part, “Ah, so this is the fella you were with until all hours last night,” he jests, pulling nervous laughter into the air. “Yes, it’s about time we met. I’ve heard a lot about you, son. Thanks for everything you’ve done for Becky, and for your well wishes. It’s meant a whole damn lot to me, and I know for her too.” 

Okay, dad, let’s not board the emotional bus yet. Or maybe, ever.  

Happy laughs float around the room as Harry steps forward, rubbing hand sanitizer into his hands. “‘s a pleasure t’ meet ya as well, sir,” he rasps, reaching out to shake my dad’s hand firmly. 

“Call me Chuck, Harry. I’m not that old yet, although sometimes it feels that way,” my dad jokes, widening the smiles on all of our faces.

“Yes, ‘course, Chuck. I’ve also heard loads ‘bout ya, all good things, so no worries. Ya’ve been in me prayers an’ thoughts ova tha last 7 months. Sure raised a great daughter, ya should know.” 

A permanent smile warms my cheeks as I shyly look over to Harry. He meets my eyes and smiles back at me. Winking, he shove his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Thank you, son. That’s mighty good to hear, although I’m not too sure about that son of mine sometimes,” he laughs, soon getting a scoff from me. 

“Oh I mean Robbie, too. I’ve only met tha bloke once or twice, but I was impressed. Certainly since I was surprised t’ find out Becky hadda twin,” Harry comments, his eyes burning a hole into my cheek. 

“Yes, I think I’ve heard that story. Their mother and I were pretty surprised to find there was two, also,” he chuckles. “But Ree likes to do that sometimes.”

Shaking my head, I look away and to the Spring sunshine. It seeps in through the cracks in between the window shades. Their soft laughs fill my ears before Harry’s voice does again. 

“Yeah she’s a spitfire, alright,” he comments, and finally I meet his smirking eyes before they return to my dad. “But ‘m glad t’ hear yer doin’ a bit betta. Hopefully they can get a good handle on dis soon, an’ you lot can go home.”

“Thank you. We hope so too,” my dad nods, running his thumb along the buttons of the tv remote. “I truly appreciate you taking the time to be here with Becky . . I know it means more than words to her.” 

Looking away to the floor, his words find the chink in my armor. I feel the lump rise in my throat along with memories of last night. Luckily, the tears stay away and I get away with it. 

“‘Course, ‘m glad I was able t’ come an’ be with her. Dunno if she told ya, but she was there fer me when my grandad was in tha hospital befo’ he passed. An’ well, I know how much it means t’ ‘ave sumbody there,” Harry murmurs, almost giving a reason for the tears to make an appearance. But they don’t, and I’m repeating ‘thank yous’ inside of my head. 

“I’m pretty proud of my little Rebecca Ann, and it only grows more every day,” my dad comments, flitting his eyes over to me. His words make my cheeks tingle with a new blush and because I know another pair are on me, too. 

“Yeah, she makes it ratha easy,” Harry agrees softly, pulling my attention to him. The gentlest smile sits atop his lips, and a sad sweetness twinkles in his eyes. 

“Well, we’ll let you get back to your match. We’re going to grab breakfast before everybody else gets the same idea,” I pipe in, unsure of when and how to sever the moment. But the look in Harry’s eyes does something to me, and I don’t know what to do with it. 

We exchange short goodbyes before I’m following Harry out of the room. The rising volume of the football announcers voices send us on our way. 

“Rebecca Ann, huh?” Harry smiles beside me, the nurse’s station in our rearview mirrors. 

“Go ahead and make jokes about it. It doesn’t even sound like my name, I don’t know. I’ve only ever went by that for forms, when I got in trouble, or like on the first day of school and graduation. And the Ann is just my middle name, I don’t have a two parter,” I explain hurriedly, surprising myself when I don’t hear one of his delightful giggles. Tearing my eyes away from the poster at the end of the hallway, I look to him. And he isn’t laughing, which confuses me. 

“There’s no jokes t’ be had. I think ‘s pretty, yer name. Figured ya were a Rebecca, but wasn’t sure. Nor did I know yer middle was Ann. Tha’s my mum’s name, ‘ve always loved it,” he tells me, coming to a stop in front of the gunmetal colored doors of the lift. The sickeningly sweet look on his face sends the butterflies in my tummy to flight. Again.

“Oh thanks,” I almost blurt, pressing the button to go down. But then as we step into the welcoming lift, more come to me. “It was my grandmother’s name. It always made me feel closer to her, like I always had a piece of her with me.”

“Tha’s nice. ‘ve always liked it when parents carry on family names like dat. It makes me think ‘d like t’ do tha same with me own kids one day,” Harry continues as I watch the doors shut, cutting us off from the rest of the world. If only for a few minutes. But still. 

“Me too.”

“So nobody ever calls ya Becca?” Harry inquires, catching my attention. 

“Eh, not really. Maybe Skye sometimes, and my grandma Ann did, but not much anymore.”

“Hmm maybe ‘ll hafta use it then,” he quips, but then he wears a confused smile he pulled out of thin air. “Eh I dunno, actually. Ya’ll always be me Becks,” he finishes, making my heart do a dance. And fueling the angel and demon having a party inside of my head. 

“Yeah, I agree. Anything else would sound weird.”

“Ya look like ‘im, ya know. Tha eyes, tha hair, and tha shape o’ yer face - bloody spitting image ya are. ‘Specially Robbie,” Harry acknowledges.

“We get that a lot, but thanks, I like to hear it. Sometimes I can’t see it, though,” I recall. “Which parent do you look like?”

“Um, dunno. I get comments ‘bout lookin’ like both o’ me parents. I guess I mostly ‘ave people say I look like me dad with sum o’ my mum’s features. Which sounds wild.”

“Yeah, I can relate with people saying I look like my dad. It’s like, oh thanks for saying I look like a boy,” I laugh. Turning to look at him on my left, a small one sputters from his smiling cherry lips. 

“I know, ‘s weird.”

“I can see it, though. How people think you look like him,” I tell him. When I watch his lips settle into a silent, straight line, I feel instant regret. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, ‘s okay. Jus’ hard hearin’ people say ya look like sumbody ya don’ like.”

A small ‘oh’ passes over my lips before I can stop it. My eyes leave him and go to the changing red number above my head. Words bubble up inside of me, and I tell them to stop. But then I can’t. 

“I think I know how you feel,” I murmur, daring to look over at him, her face flashing in my mind. His far away eyes lift from the floor and pan over to me. 

I try not to lose myself in their infinity of green, but it’s worthless. And soon I am, and thoughts of last night leak from my memories. 

I know it’s at the back of his mind too. That almost kiss. The one he tried to initiate, and the one I want so bad. Five months ago, I don’t know if I would’ve. But now in this moment and in this elevator, all alone with him, I couldn’t want something more. 

Or somebody. 

[cartascartascartas]

Carta 2: rey Enrique VIII, 1526

¡Hola a todes! El día de hoy analizaremos una carta escrita por el rey Enrique VIII a su segunda esposa, Anne Boleyn.  

Antes de investigar sobre su relación, todo lo que sabía es que el rey decidió separarse de la iglesia romano-católica para poder volverse a casar con ella y que él la mandó a matar por no poder tener hijos varones. Muchos describen a Anne Boleyn como una mujer seductora, dedicada a usurpar poder. Diversos historiadores describen como Anne sedujo al rey. Él cayó por sus encantos. Pero en 1536, después de 3 años de estar casados, Enrique la mandó a ser ejecutada, por traición.

Después de mucha investigación, me encontré este artículo de la revista TIME, hablando sobre la imagen que se le ha dado a Anne a través de los años. Según la historiadora Hayley Nolan, la manera en la que se ha descrito a Anne es completamente errónea. El rey empezó a mostrar interés en darle fin a su matrimonio años antes de conocer a Anne. Cuando la conoció, fue muy insistente en sus esfuerzos por conocerla. Tanto, que en el verano de 1526 ella decidió pasar un año fuera de la corte real, para evitar tener contacto con él. Fue ahí donde empezaron las cartas. Todas eran escritas por un ayudante del rey, para que nadie lo pudiera acusar de infidelidad. De estas cartas, solo han sobrevivido las de Enrique, por lo que no se sabe con seguridad si Anne le escribía de vuelta. Después del regreso de Anne a la corte, comenzaron su relación y se casaron en 1533. 3 años después, el rey la acusó de infidelidad con 5 diferentes hombres, uno de ellos siendo su hermano.

Aquí es donde Nolan está en desacuerdo con otros historiadores.

“Los historiadores que reconocen esto dicen que fue una táctica calculada y un chantaje sexual, el ejemplo definitivo de 'cuando una niña dice que no, realmente quiere decir que sí' ”, dice la historiadora. “Hay historiadores que llaman cartas de amor al acoso de Enrique y afirman que condenó a muerte a la reina que amaba. Lo siento, pero la forma en que un hombre mata a una mujer no prueba su amor por ella. Si puede terminar en decapitación, nunca fue amor.”

Para ese mismo año, el rey se encontraba enamorado de Jane Semyour, con quien se casó 1 día después de la ejecución de Anne. Seguramente se preguntarán, ¿Qué hacía Anne mientras el rey se enamoraba de alguien más? ¿Sucedía lo mismo con ella que con Joséphine? La respuesta es no.  Ella se dedicaba a su rol de reina con mucha seriedad. 2 meses antes de ser ejecutada, ayudó a pasar la ‘Ley de los Pobres’, para poder ayudar a su reino. Esta era una directa oposición a las leyes fabricadas por el consejero del rey, Thomas Cromwell.

No podemos saber con seguridad si Anne le fue infiel. Pero, considerando que tan dedicada era a su religión, Nolan no lo cree. Es muy interesante ver que otros factores pudieron haber llevado a la ejecución. Como, su intento en mejorar el país en oposición al consejo del rey y estar casada con el rey, un hecho que se oponía a los deseos cambiantes del rey, incluyendo el deseo de tener un heredero varón. Ahora, conociendo esto sobre su relación, les presento la carta, escrita en 1526.

ALTHOUGH, my Mistress, it has not pleased you to remem- ber the promise you made me when I was last with you — that is, to hear good news from you, and to have an answer to my last letter;

Conociendo la historia de su relación, ahora sabemos que puede estar haciendo referencia a como ella intentaba rechazarlo. Puede que ella no le haya prometido nada.

yet it seems to me that it belongs to a true servant (seeing that otherwise he can know nothing) to inquire the health of his mistress, and to acquit myself of the duty of a true servant, I send you this letter, beseeching you to apprise me of your welfare, which I pray to God may continue as long as I desire mine own.

Aquí le insiste que él está ahí para poder servirle. Quiere saber si se encuentra bien. Desea que siempre se encuentre saludable. Puede hacer referencia a su salud relacionada con poder tener hijos, ya que él también necesitaba un heredero al trono.

And to cause you yet oftener to remember me, I send you, by the bearer of this, a buck killed late last night by my own hand, hoping that when you eat of it you may think of the hunter; and thus, for want of room, I must end my letter, written by the hand of your servant, who very often wishes for you instead of your brother. H. R.

Él rey era fan de la cacería. Le mandaba sus presas como un regalo especial. Como lo mencioné anteriormente, él nunca escribía las cartas. Se las dictaba a un ayudante, quien se las entregaba al hermano de Anne para que él se las diera.

Yo sé que están pensando, ¿No te molesta saber cómo la historia de Anne ha sido transformada en algo completamente diferente a lo que era? Mi respuesta: sí. Demasiado. Esta carta llamó mi atención por como el rey se escribe cómo un sirviente del amor. Pero, al investigar más sobre ellos, (otra vez) me llené de impotencia. ¿Por qué existe esta tendencia tan tóxica de pintar a las mujeres poderosas en la historia como villanas? ¿De romantizar el abuso / crímenes / injusticias que fueron cometidos hacia ellas?

Si yo no supieron nada sobre la relación de Anne y Enrique, yo pensaría que esta carta está muy bonita. Corta, pero romántica. Pero al tener ese conocimiento cambia completamente la perspectiva con la que leo la carta. Les voy a ser honesta, no esperaba encontrarme con esta información. Me la encontré de pura casualidad, porque me fui muy abajo en los resultados de Google. Es en serio estoy completamente sorprendida por cómo la historia de Anne ha sido contada. Al aprender sobre ella en la escuela no tenía idea de que esto había sucedido.

Lo peor de todo es que después de ella tuvo otras 4 esposas . También mandó a ejecutar a la quinta, Catherine Howard, por la misma razón (infidelidad, está vez con su primo). La verdad es que entre más escribo sobre el rey Enrique, más me enojo. Ya no sé que más escribirles, entonces me despediré con la siguiente cita, del mismo artículo:

“Su historia es más relevante ahora que nunca, porque fue una política que fue derribada”, dice Nolan. "Esto todavía está sucediendo (hablando de la manipulación de su historia), y es por eso que necesitamos saber qué sucedió realmente para asegurarnos de que la historia nunca se repita nunca más".

[the-fiction-witch]

Scandal

TV SHOW: WOLF HALL COUPLE: RAFE (TBS) X READER RATING: SMUTTY SUGGESTIVE + ADORABLE

I sat up in my bed watching the light outside my door slowly dim as candles go out across the house. The little noises of people climbing into the creaky beds and getting wrapped up warm to sleep for the night. I smiled as I was counting down the candles with each dim of the light of the corridor, and out went the last plunging our beautiful house into the bleak mid-winter darkness. I stood from my bed trying my best not to make the bed creak as I did, fixing my hair and face in the mirror best I could with the little light I had in here, I blew out my candle leaving the room to the darkness of the rest of the house. I slowly and quietly took off my shoes making sure I could make the least noise possible waiting a few moments until I could start to hear people sleeping, opening my door slowly and silently and going out into the house. I crept through the shallow skinny halls as quiet as a mouse hopping over the creaky floorboards and tiptoeing past the bedroom of my lord and master. Until at last, I reached the little wooden door with carved flowers pushing the door open and sneaking inside.

"Who is it?" her little voice whispered

"It's me" I answered trying to be as quiet as I could

"Rafe, At last, I've been waiting forever" she whispered just as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness of her room, her wooden floors covered with rugs and blankets, her bed sat perfectly in her room close to the fire even if it was not much more then embers now she sat in bed in her little white nightie however the straps slipped down to hang off her shoulders.

"Sorry I had to make sure everyone was asleep before I came over, what would happen if someone saw me sneaking out y/n," I told her

"The scandal Of being found in bed with your master's daughter" she laughed "Father would likely cut off your head,"

"I know he would darling, thats why we have to be quiet" I smiled I smirked a little as I noticed where her nightie was slipped down I could see down her nightie between her breasts she noticed me looking and smirked

"Come on Rafe" she smiled pulling back her covers so I quickly and quietly climbed into bed with her, wrapping my arms around her waist and kissing her perfect lips wasting no time to get on top of her ...

I yawned a little reading through paperwork, I would likely have to be up all night to get this work finished the house dark and quiet as everyone was fast asleep or so I thought. as I quiet gentle tap on my door came I froze confused if I even heard it right but another tap came from the door

"who is it?" I asked a little worried who could be creeping around this time of night?

"It's me?" her little voice answered and I smiled

"Come in y/n" I whispered and she quickly and quietly sneaked in in her little nightie "what are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep" she answered playing with her fingers a little pink blush dusting her cheeks

"Alright" I smiled pulling my covers "Come on"

and she giggled rushing over and climbing in bed with me I smiled putting my arm around her tightly as I worked she happily nuzzled her head into my shirt resting on my chest but close to my shoulder I happily let her rest there as she seemed cosy and happy while I read through my work often she tried to read along my work with me having to use her finger to follow the words on the pages

"You can't read it can you?" I ask

"No," she smiled "Though the letters look pretty" she smiled

"Ohh the scandal" I chuckled "Cromwell's daughter can't read"

"Not everyone needs to read in this world rafe, I have gotten along just fine without needing to read," she says

"I suppose so darling" I laughed giving her head a kiss "if you liked, I could teach you?"

"I'll be alright for now" she shrugs "Maybe someday, once we're married"

"Once we're married Y/n" I smiled giving her lips a sweet kiss I couldn't stop looking at her beautiful face losing myself in her eyes, I smiled fixing some hair from her face

"what is it?" she asks

"would you marry me? If I asked?" I inquire

"Of course I would rafe" she smiled "But You'd have to ask my father first"

"I'm sure he'd allow me to marry you, I mean it's not like he doesn't know me," I laughed "he knows everything already, and he knows I'd take care of his daughter"

"I still think He'll cut your head off he finds out about us" she smiled

"Then we'll keep it a secret, a little longer," I tell her giving her another kiss "Now you get some rest darling, Don't want you all sleepy tomorrow" ...

[blogalaskacreditrepair]

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Credit Repair East Tallassee, Credit Repair Eastaboga, Credit Repair Echola, Credit Repair Eclectic,eclectic/Credit Repair Eight Mile, Credit Repair Elba, Credit Repair Elberta, Credit Repair Eldridge, Credit Repair Elkmont, Credit Repair Elmore, Credit Repair Elrod, Credit Repair Emelle, Credit Repair Empire, Credit Repair Enterprise, Credit Repair Epes, Credit Repair Equality, Credit Repair Estillfork, Credit Repair Ethelsville, Credit Repair Eufaula,Credit Repair Eutaw, Credit Repair Eva, Credit Repair Evergreen, Credit Repair Excel

F

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G

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H

Credit Repair Hackleburg, Credit Repair Haleyville, Credit Repair Hamilton, Credit Repair Hanceville, Credit Repair Hardaway, Credit Repair Harpersville, Credit Repair Hartford, Credit Repair Hartselle, Credit Repair Harvest, Credit Repair Hatchechubbee, Credit Repair Hayden, Credit Repair Hayneville, Credit Repair Hazel Green, Credit Repair Headland, Credit Repair Heflin, Credit Repair Helena, Credit Repair Henagar, Credit Repair Higdon,Credit Repair Highland Home, Credit Repair Hillsboro, Credit Repair Hodges, Credit Repair Hollins, Credit Repair Holly Pond, Credit Repair Hollytree, Credit Repair Hollywood, Credit Repair Holy Trinity, Credit Repair Honoraville, Credit Repair Hoover, Credit Repair Hope Hull, Credit Repair Horton, Credit Repair Houston, Credit Repair Huntsville, Credit Repair Hurtsboro, Credit Repair Huxford

I

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J

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K

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L

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M

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N

Credit Repair Nanafalia, Credit Repair Natural Bridge, Credit Repair Nauvoo, Credit Repair Needham, Credit Repair New Brockton, Credit Repair New Castle, Credit Repair New Hope, Credit Repair New Market, Credit Repair Newbern, Credit Repair Newell, Credit Repair Newton, Credit Repair Newville, Credit Repair Normal, Credit Repair Northport, Credit Repair Notasulga,

O

Credit Repair Oak Hill, Credit Repair Oakman, Credit Repair Odenville, Credit Repair Ohatchee, Credit Repair Oneonta, Credit Repair Opelika, Credit Repair Opp, Credit Repair Orange Beach, Credit Repair Orrville, Credit Repair Owens Cross Roads, Credit Repair Ozark

P

Credit Repair Paint Rock, Credit Repair Palmerdale, Credit Repair Panola, Credit Repair Pansey, Credit Repair Parrish, Credit Repair Pelham, Credit Repair Pell City, Credit Repair Pennington, Credit Repair Perdido, Credit Repair Credit Repair York

[the-firebird69]

We hv 2200 ppl inquiring what they are talking about. Are idiots and speak plainly about Thier plan regardless if they are all dead or not. And it's derogatory steamy lane as hell and meaningful. We issue the warnings now

PS these two are out as soon as they exit.

We use it too.

UK is under severe attack. Draws in morlock these go they admit we mk sure lol. And Max's assault them see what it means yes. Are stinking yard ai boys lol.

100MNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN EACH SIDE ENTER AN HOUR

Are out by the next hardware and all

Tons of demons are out. We release ours here and hold. Need them now Nuada Arrianna do so now

550KNNNNNNNNNNNNN EACH SIDE EACH HIUR at each ship and spaceship site

560MNNNNNNNNNNNN AT each wall each and every hour

The titanic will be up shortly blew this am. Will load with ghwb wife Arnie abd wife dee

Add in Schwarzkopf no not out yet nor is Kat von d a auntie. Aunt mina and husband bill Cromwell out Tonight

Thor Freya

[beanie-beebo-writes]

It follows

Series Summary: Reader is running from financial problems and his/her studies, will they catch up with him/her? Charlie's close friends (none other than Sam and Dean) go to check up on the reader due to Charlie becoming worried for him/her. Trouble pursues, as the reader wants to keep silent about his/her struggles.

Warnings: Brief description of vomit

Masterlist

Chapter 10

"You were talking to him on the phone while I was in the shower, weren't you?" Sam asked.

"Maybe.." You replied with a slight grimace.

Sam's well known puppy-dog look almost drew you in.

"You didn't have to lie to me (Y/n), it's alright."

You shrugged, not really wanting to get into detail about your doubts.

Thankfully, no one seemed to press on, so you all ate in silence. It wasn't awkward, yet there was still some tension felt in the air. Maybe they were too worn out from the drive to insist anything too greatly. You didn't really know, but you accepted it with open arms.

It was only a few moments later that you completely licked your entire foam plate clean. You hadn't had a decent meal like this in what seemed like forever, and you couldn't have been more grateful. You looked up to the boys' mirroring surprise.

"You gonna eat the plate too?" Dean chuckled.

You quickly pulled your tongue back in and turned a deep shade of red. "No.."

"We can get you something else if you're really that hungry, do you want anything?" Sam asked.

You were about to say no when your stomach grumbled in protest; as if you didn't feel like a burden enough.

"That just means I'm digesting, I'm good." You lied, again.

Sam looked at you in disbelief. "Are you sure, (Y/N)?"

You nodded before you had a chance to change your mind. "Yeah. Hey, are we doing more research on the case? Or are we going to check out the vics first?"

The brothers luckily took the bait. "We'll check them out first, just to give us some more concrete evidence on what we're dealing with. Gotta be thorough." Dean replied with a wink; his mouth stuffed with the last of a burger.

That was odd, Dean always seemed to jump to conclusions... At least from what you read. Maybe the books were different after all.

"I'll call the coroner to see if they'll take us earlier." Sam said, whipping out his phone.

"And if we can't get ahold of them," Dean made his way over to his duffle bag. "we'll head to the victims' loved ones, since we're headed there eventually."

Out of the large aged duffle came a suit neatly folded in plastic, which Dean seemed to be a little too cautious with (at least compared to his own clothes). He also pulled out a long navy tie for himself, along with a snazzy pair of shoes; which were still in a cardboard box. It then clicked that he and Sam rented their suits, and did not possess enough money to own one. Then it dawned you, that neither did you.

How had you not thought of attire for the case? Oh yeah, flashbacks. You shook your head to clear the memories that threatened to take control once again, and pondered deeply for a solution. There had to be something in your suitcase, right?

You instantly bolted to your luggage and dug for anything remotely businessesque. You were disappointed to remember that you left a lot of your clothes back at the dorm, figuring that traveling light would be best. But you didn't think you were going hunting with the Winchesters, so you didn't think to pack hunting essentials almost a year ago. After digging for a few minutes, you came across one of your dress shirts and a decent pair of slacks.

"Dean?" You asked a little timidly.

"Yeah?"

"Would this pass for an FBI agent?" You asked, holding up your outfit.

He paused from laying his suit out on the bed and gave your outfit a quick once-over.

"I think we could pass you as an agent-in-training at least." He remarked.

Sam walked over between you and Dean, explaining that the coroner would take you all within the next hour. Surprisingly, you weren't as far as you thought, as the three of you were situated on the outskirts of the city where the incidents all occurred; Kokomo, Indiana. With an acceptable amount of traffic on the road, it would take around forty minutes to an hour to get to the coroner's office.

"We better head out in a few then, if we want to get there in time." Dean replied.

Sam nodded. "You have something to wear (Y/N)?"

You held up the outfit Dean approved of, causing Sam to bite the inside of his cheek.

"We can always say she is an agent in training." Dean reassured.

"True.." Sam looked at the outfit once more and nodded. "Yeah, we can make it work. Alright, let's get going."

It wasn't until you got in the car that you knew it would be a long day. Your stomach began to rumble noisily again, but it was luckily unheard by everyone but yourself. You just hoped you could hold off at least until supper that evening.

You used water to tide off your hunger curb on the fifty minute drive to the Howard County Coroner Office, figuring that the sight of corpses would only decrease your appetite anyway.

"You ready?" Sam asked as you stepped out of the back seat.

You nodded with a gulp, knowing there certainly would be no turning back after seeing those haunted mangled bodies. Dean gave you a wary look, but you pushed him off mentally with an assuring nod. Although, you couldn't help but look back from the office steps at the world as you knew it.

"Agents, glad you could come earlier!" A stocky balding man beamed, in front of a small receptionist's desk.

"I'm glad you allowed us to, Mr. Seele." Sam replied.

"Is (he/she) a friend of yours?" Mr. Seele inquired.

"Oh, yeah. This is (Mr/Ms) Blaise, (he/she)'s our newest agent in training." Dean said.

Mr. Seele smiled warmly. "Well welcome to you too (Mr/Ms) Blaise!"

"Thank you." You replied as professionally as you possibly could.

He nodded in response. "Well boys, let's get right to it; I have a couple other clients to attend to this afternoon."

"No problem sir, it shouldn't take long." Sam commented.

The three of you were led down a slightly musty corridor. The room you were about to enter was a couple doors down on the right hand side, considering that this was the sole room to have extremely bright fluorescent lights. The boys looked at you one last time before they stepped into the room first. As another reassurance to yourself and to them, you curtly nodded.

The strong smell of chemicals watered your eyes as soon as you stepped foot into the room; the faint smell of multiple different bodily fluids and decomposition only made your stomach turn worse. How could someone even work in a place like this on a daily basis? You tried to focus on some more pleasant situations as the Head Coroner and the brothers discussed the bodies.

"I would definitely call this an animal attack, a weird one if that." Mr. Seele inferred, "You'll see what I mean once I show you the bodies."

Here we go. You tried to prepare yourself for the worst as he slid out seven bodies from their storage compartments; you weren't nearly as prepared. Bile burned the back of your throat as you slowly inched closer to the boys and the stiff shells of life that lay before you. They would have looked as if they were asleep if it were not for the large gaping holes in their chests.

"Do you have their reports on file, doctor?" Sam asked.

"We certainly do." He replied, pulling the coordinating files from multiple clipboards on a long table.

The names of the victims were Brayden Cole, Theodore Cromwell, Zachary Gort, James Page, Wanton Meers, Thomas Gartner, and Kelly Marx; as if that mattered anymore. They were lives of the past, that were currently who knows where. The only thing they all seemed to have in common thus far was the garish chest wound on each of their bodies. They weren't all the same gender nor same race, but of course, that wouldn't matter to a werewolf.

"I would have to agree with you doc, on the animal attack, but we'll still dig deeper anyway. We'll take it from here." Dean said.

"Alright. Just be sure close the door behind you!" The coroner responded.

"I would definitely say a wolf is what we're dealing with, the victims seem to have no relation to one another." Sam concluded as he flipped through the various reports.

You swallowed audibly. "It does look messy enough." You added.

"Now we just gotta find the culprit." Dean said, striding out the door to the morgue.

You were hasty to follow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You greeted the fresh air as if you would've never been outside from that moment on, at least for the rest of the day. It made you wonder if this lifestyle was really for you.

"How are you, kiddo?" Dean asked once you all were outside of the building.

"Um... I mean, I'm hanging in there for now, if that's what you're asking." You falsified.

"Good, because we still have a couple more people to interview, if you're up to it."

You sighed in relief for the distraction. "As long as I don't see more bodies f-"

It was literal word vomit. Contents likely from this afternoon spewed from your mouth onto the concrete steps and you choked. Your head spun, causing you to cling to the railing desperately. Several hands were placed on your back, but your head swam too much to tell who they specifically belonged to.

"Easy, easy!" Dean exclaimed.

Shivers traveled through your body as you finally finished emptying your stomach. You were sure that you would have lost it in the morgue, not around ten minutes later. You suddenly felt better but worse at the same time. So much for playing it cool.

"What the hell." You mumbled.

"(Y/N), hey, you okay?" Sam asked with a frown.

You cleared your throat and spit the remaining bile out from your mouth. "I think so." You answered truthfully.

Sam and Dean sat you down away from the vomit and comforted you for a moment more.

"Do you have any reason that my body decided to wait to freak out over a dead body?" You asked.

"Shock maybe?" Dean replied.

You lightly nodded, considering that they had their fair share of dead bodies to observe and deal with over the years.

"You good to go back to the car? Or are you going to spill your guts all over my leather seats?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I'm good." You knew the remaining nausea had to be from the lack of food in your system.

[muppeteyes1001]

Kitt watched as the tall, rabbit butler casually stood up from his seat and walked over to the large bookcase. She listened as he spoke of how he was a powerful mage and second in command of the castle. These things, of course, the felinoid was very much aware of. She had seen him do plenty of magic over the months ... And honestly, she was quite amazed that he had never attempted to use any of it on her ... At least, none that she was aware of.

When he casually shot back with an inquiry of how useful she was to Alexander, the cat woman narrowed her eyes towards him before looking away slightly. It was true! .. Compared to many of the other folks who either live or visit Xandora, she had no real powers nor magic to speak of. It secretly caused her to see herself as weak on many occasions.

As Cromwell promptly corrected her that he indeed have a heart, but only for Alexander ... It wasn't until he revealed that the room he sought in the king's heart had been stolen by her that the felinoid's green eyes widened in disbelief. 'W..Wait! .. Was all this hatred stemmed from .. jealousy?' .. Kitt thought to herself. Seeing the butler's eyes nearly glow with absolute contempt was quite jarring. She had never seen this type of hostility radiate off of him.

After she had aggressively stood up to him and stated that she and Alex's feelings were mutual and how she trusted him with her life, the felinoid watched as Cromwell's demeanor began to unhinge. Hearing his voice dip down to a venomous level, the felinoid's guard went back up again. She couldn't help but feel the inkling of an impending fight and she mentally prepped for one.

However, those thoughts were quickly dashed when the butler began to instead spew out a nonstop string of hatred. Hatred towards her, her kind, ..... But then he began to ramble about his .. mother? .. That sudden curve ball took Kitt for a loop. She was completely puzzled by this and tried to inquire what the heck he was talking about. That attempt was doused when Cromwell angrily punched the table and unintentionally broke the glass skull.

When he was done ranting and fuming, the cat woman could only look at him with a completely stunned expression. The tears now freely falling from Cromwell's eyes had also caught her totally off guard. In all these months that she had known him, she had never seen any type of emotion come from him other than stoic and snotty.

As he was about to leave, it was finally then that Kitt was able to actually say anything. Quickly slipping off the chair, she called out to the butler. Her tone was firm and slightly demanding.

"H..Hey! .. Hold on just a minute there! ... You go an' shout out a ragin' heap of random information at me just now .. And expect me to just ... understand all that?" she responds, trying to reason with him. She was annoyed, for sure .. But at the same time, that type of outburst told her that there was something deeper going on with all this. A show like that can not be faked, and she can understand the feeling of being emotionally overwhelmed. With that in mind, Kitt placed a gloved hand to her temple and took a deep breath to collect her thoughts.

"Look! .. You've .. rather aggressively ... said a whole lot of things to me that I've yet to process ... So ... please ... Can ya maybe explain all that again? .. Slowly an' more concise, perhaps? ... An' without the attitude, yes?" she continued, folding her arms across her chest. Her voice and tone a bit more laxed than before.

When the felinoid heard his footsteps approaching, her brows furrowed. Kitt had hoped that he would just ignore her and leave her be. But, it looks not to be the case. She couldn't help but feel a small knot forming in her stomach. It seems Cromwell was feeling a bit more bold and talkative than usual today ... And it was starting to concern her. The way he came over to the table and began to let his claw gently graze it's top surface made her ears slightly lower before taking a quick look up at the taller creature.

As the butler comfortably seated himself in front of her, Kitt still kept her attention on her book. Not that she was able to read it anymore anyway. Now that he was so close, the tension was thick enough to cut through like butter. She would only glance up at Cromwell when he picked up the glass skull off the table and began toying with it.

At his 'warning' that it wasn't safe for her here, she simply quirked a brow towards him. "Oh! .. An' why's that, pray tell?" she mildly played along. Despite how tense things were beginning to feel, the sarcasm had managed to mend itself into her words.

When Cromwell began to prattle on again, the cat woman blinked in mild surprise. This was the first time he had ever actually called her by name. However, that little revelation was fleeting as it quickly became overshadowed by the butler stating how she was only being toyed with by the king and will eventually become his supper. The felinoid narrowed her eyes. This was a topic that he just loved to bring up constantly .. He was sounding a lot like the grey faces that would pester her and so many others every now and then.

"Well if I recall correctly, didn't you once tell me that you yourself were almost eaten at one time? .. An' yet here ya are ... talkin' my bloody ears off" she quipped. But then, what the butler mentioned next made her composure break completely.

"Excuse me! .. My kind?!" Kitt exclaimed, shutting her book immediately and sitting straight up. Did she hear him right? ... She couldn't believe it .. Cromwell just admitted with such nonchalance that his sheer dislike for her was genuine. None of this disdain towards her stemmed from any type of simple misunderstanding or stubborn grudge between them in the past .. The butler was simply prejudiced towards those like her. Feline-like folk. This understandably ticked her off.

"The goodness in you?! .. Oh that's a riot! ... Usually that entails that you have a heart of some sort, which ya clearly don't if the only reason you've treated me as such is because of your narrow-mindedness to folks who look like me!" Kitt proclaimed indignantly. Her teeth beginning to bare.

When Cromwell placed the skull back onto the table towards her and told her once more to go home .... This time with a more threatening tone ... Kitt's initial nerves melted away into steeled resolve .. And after hearing this disclosed bit of information from him, the felinoid decided that she was no longer going to be passive and bullied anymore ... Especially now after seeing the type of person the butler truly was. She could only counter that threat of his in the best way she could.

"I won't! .. Alexander and I trust an' love each other very much! .. I honestly don't understand how you'd fail ta see that ... Especially since you've taken it upon yourself to spy on us many times ... An' I know that he would never try to kill me ... Not when he's being his true self .. An honorable an' caring man! ... An' as for the eating part .. I'm afraid you're a bit too late there .. He's already done that .. In a certain kinda way, that is" she simply snapped back with a small smirk.

[wasalwaysagreatpickle]

Wednesday 6 April 1825

9 1/4

1

Sat down at my writing desk at 10 40/60 – Reading this morning’s morning post and did not send the breakfast things away till 12 – went out at 12 3/4 – walked to the general post office Lombard street at the ‘returned letter office’ got M- [Mariana’s] letter dated ‘York Sunday 6 February’ last, not forwarded because the included postage not paid – I ought to have taken one of M- [Mariana’s] letters with me to identify the handwriting – this would have saved the man’s opening the letter, and seeing the signature and date (6th of which he had asked me) before he would give it me – walked forward to grace church – there at 1 3/4, got into the Edmonton Stage (2 shilling fare) and, by giving the man an additional 6 pence, he let me down at Bury hall about 3 10/60 – 

I inquired for Mrs Hancock – she came to me in the breakfast room – said I understood she was parting with 1 of her servants (thought of Molières M. Porceaugnac, and the man who some got all out of him that suited his people) – yes! said she, my housemaid – this luckily gave me my queue – and my ruse answered so well, and the lady was so communicative on the subject. I sat with her near 1/2 hour – admired the house – she said it was rather a celebrated place – judge Bradshaw, Oliver Cromwell, judge B- [Bradshaw], had lived there – asked therefore to see the place – she shewed me the dining and drawing rooms (declined going upstairs) and the garden, and little grounds, and a field that lay behind, opposite to this front of the house, which she said was very convenient - they had ten acres of ground altogether – the gardens ‘kept 2 men employed constantly’ – In size and general appearance Mrs H- [Hancock] is not unlike Mrs Middleton, but more vulgar – bears a strong motherly likeness to her oldest son, with the exception of having a dusky greasy complexion – she might have been a busy housekeeper, just called off from her various employments though with the difference of shewing all the mistresship of a rich well-satisfied tradesman’s wife – yet she seemed a very good sort of, worthy woman, telling me (‘as I had been so kind as going over’) not only all about the housemaid, a vulgar girl of 23, but of all her household economy – I said it was unnecessary to speak to the girl at all – but Mrs H- [Hancock] would have me do so; for it should create jealously that she had not given her a good character – of course, I said how handsomely her mistress had spoken of her but it was unnecessary to ask further questions since the girl wish[e]d to have a place in London – (I was Mrs Fisher from the borders of Durham) – Having thus been at least 1/2 hour there, and having had time to observe and look about most leisurely – ‘the footman’ in his linen jacket and gray-white apron shew[e]d a n[ea]r way across the fields (perhaps nearer by about 1/4 mile) to the village of Edmonton (B- [Bury] hall is at lower Edmonton) I hastened to the Bell Inn at the farther extremity of the place, got there at 4 1/4, and in just 5 minutes was off in a very good chaise ([ex-gentlemans] carriage) with good horses and driver, desiring the man to go as fast as he could – 

It was 10 miles they said from there to no. 220 Piccadilly – (by the way, in being shewn into the drawing room at B- [Bury] hall, introduced as Mrs Fisher, 2 Misses H- [Hancock] and an old lady above 70, said by Mrs H- [Hancock] to be a ‘great friend of the princess Elizabeth’s’ and an old friend of Mrs H- [Hancock’s], were sitting in a line on one side of the room in prime company order – one of the Misses H- [Hancock] seemed a very pretty girl) – 

My post-boy drove so well, that I stopt 5 minutes at the Saracen’s head snow hill and inquired about places for Leeds – the Rockingham leaves there every day at 2, and gets into [to] Leeds about the same hour the next day – inside places 3 1/2 guineas each – extra luggage above the 20 lbs allowed charged 2 pence a lb – It is the union, that goes every morning at 7, from the Blue boar, Holborn – I stopt also at Webbe’s 220 Piccadilly to wash my hands, and after all got out at Mrs MacKenzie’s to dinner (31 Sloane Street) at 5 3/4, so that allowing 10 minutes for stoppages, the man had driven me 1 1/4 hour – Dinner at 6 – talked over Place Vendome – they did not like Mr Franks – he abused everybody – people they did not suspect he would – he did not like Madame Galvani – said she abused everyone – 

Said Mrs B- [Barlow] was a nasty woman had a bad countenance he saw what he did not like in her eye Mrs Mack [Mackenzie] could not understand him but now I had explained it he must mean the same sort of thing as madame de boyve for I had said she had told me things affecting Mrs B [Barlow]s character which I should never repeat having given my honour not to do so but I had some reason for thinking Mr Franks knew the same story which I believed to be most unjust and false but every character might be unsafe at madame de B [Boyve]s

[narnianroyalties]

A Rising King; A Dying Queen

A knock rapped at the High King’s door.   

“Come in,” he called, not turning away from the vanity in which he was fixing his appearance. Susan slipped into the room, letting the door fall shut.

“I really hope you know what you are doing.”

“As do I,” said Peter, pulling at his collar. “It is my marriage.”

“To a queen who is notorious for turning away suitors. Truthfully, it is a mystery that she has accepted your proposal at all.” Susan was already dressed, ready to welcome their guests.

“Loving the confidence in my judgment and abilities, Sue.”

Susan huffed. “You know what I mean. This woman, queen or not, has had multiple engagements over the course of the last six months, let alone her entire reign. Why are you taking this so seriously when it is realistic that you are just another name on a list?”

“Because, sister dear,” Peter said sarcastically. “Cromwell as a kingdom is an asset. Marriage is the easiest and most binding contract I could come up with in terms of an alliance, though if you have other ideas, I am open to suggestions.”

She studied her brother for a moment. “You are afraid.”

“Of what, exactly?”

“The finality of it all. You really don’t like having all of this pressure on you, no matter what you exude to the public.” Susan came to stand behind Peter, looking at him in the mirror. “Peter, you are only seventeen,” she argued.

“And she only sixteen,” he said, turning around to face Susan. “Look, for the foreseeable future, no intimate relations of any kind will take place. Sure, we’ll sign the contract and say the vows, but knowing her reputation, she will likely only accept my presence in meetings and negotiations.” Peter stood, grabbing his crown from its stand and dawning it before opening the door.

“It sounds more like a business partnership than a marriage,” Susan said, going under the arm Peter was holding the door open with. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, Sue.” Peter offered her his arm and began to lead them through Cair Paravel to the courtyard. “As I’ll ever be.” The Kings and Queens of Narnia stood together in front of the palace, awaiting the arrival of Queen Y/N of Cromwell, some of her supervisors and her ladies. A messenger had been sent ahead, informing the siblings that her majesty’s arrival would be delayed, due to an unexpected stop in a nearby village. The messenger wouldn’t divulge exactly why they had stopped, only that someone in the party had an illness and needed to recuperate before standing before the court at Cair Paravel.

“I hope it isn’t the Queen,” Edmund joked. “We don’t need her giving Peter any sort of maldy.”

“I don’t believe she would willingly be close enough to anyone to so much as cough on them,” Susan said. “She seems to be somewhat of an introvert, despite her numerous-”

“If her majesty is unwell,” Peter interjected, “we will provide all of the comforts available to aide in her recovery.” 

 “Assuming she stays long enough to take a peek at her rooms.”

Peter was about to jab his brother in the ribs when the sound of hooves and wheels became clear above the sea salted wind. From around the palace came a parade of carriages and men on horses, presumably pages and the like. The first carriage was visibly Queen Y/N’s, decorated in the royal colors of a light blue and gold. Peter recognized that her crest was painted on the carriage, having seen it on her seal multiple times. The thin curtains were drawn, concealing the Queen and her ladies from the prying eyes of men. It drew to a stop on the road a ways down the courtyard, enabling some grand entrance or other.

“Welcome to, presumably, the rest of your life,” Edmund said.

A man stepped out of one of the carriages and made his way to Queen Y/N’s. Opening the half door, another man putting a step down in front of it, he helped the ladies in waiting before holding out his hand for the Queen.A delicate hand laid itself gently in his and her majesty stepped out of the carriage. She wore a light blue dress with a velvet colored cloak, which complimented her S/C complexion surprisingly well. The Queen steadied herself on the gravel before beginning to make her way towards her future husband and his siblings.     Up on a turret somewhere, a man shouted out, “Her majesty, Queen Y/N of Cromwell.”    When she stopped in front of them, Peter held out his hand for her to take, which she did.

“Your majesty,” he addressed her as he bent to kiss her hand. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”   

“The pleasure is all mine, sire, I can assure you,” she responded, bringing hand back to clasp it with the other, which Peter could see clutched a handkerchief. “I am delighted to finally meet you,” she said, “truly.”    Peter smiled in a manner which he thought would be forced and fake, but was surprisingly genuine. Her majesty was coming off as quite pleasant. 

 “Allow me to introduce you. My sisters, Queen Susan and Queen Lucy, and my brother King Edmund.” Peter waited while the women exchanged smiles and nods and for Edmund to kiss the Queen’s hand. Afterwards, Peter offered his arm. “Shall we?”   

“We shall.” Queen Y/N smiled brightly, but the skin under her eyes was bruised with purples and blues. Peter began to wonder if she was the ill one after all.             

The tour of the castle ended no later than an hour later, and by then it was time for dinner. Queen Y/N requested her meal be brought to her rooms, and subsequently her court retired as well.    

The Pevensies ate dinner together, preferring each other's company as opposed to solitude. “Did any of you find out who was sick?” Peter inquired, taking a stab at his vegetables.

“I spoke to some of her majesty's ladies,” Lucy said. “One of them said that Queen Y/N became quite ill a few days ago, but made the journey here nonetheless. They stopped in a village that had a healer, one who has apparently performed great miracles. The Queen visited him for an hour or so and then they began the final leg here.”

“She did look quite tired,” Peter said.

“Aslan knows you were paying attention,” Edmund quipped, earning a kick under the table from Susan.

“You might want to ask her about it,” Susan said. “If she went out of her way to see some magical healer, it might be something serious.” Peter nodded.

“Does anyone else miss antibiotics?” Edmund asked, raising his hand as if to say ‘I’. The days that followed were filled with events and celebrations, hosted and planned by Susan. Queen Y/N was the guest of honor, though she didn’t take part in many of the activities, preferring to stand or sit off to the side. To be courteous, Peter usually stayed with her. He noticed that she kept a handkerchief in her grasp, and would violently cough into it every so often. Peter could have sworn he saw blood once. Queen Y/N had been at Cair Paravel for nearly two weeks when Peter’s door swung open at half til midnight, followed by Lucy shaking him awake.

“Peter!” she said. “Peter, it’s Y/N! She fell unconscious while taking a bath. She is in the infirmary!”Peter jumped out of bed, leaving Lucy to trail behind as he ran down the hall, bounding up the steps to where the infirmary was. When he arrived, Susan, Edmund and Y/N’s ladies were already there, all in their night clothes. Susan clutched a shawl around herself.

“The physician is still with her,” Susan said. Peter nodded, sitting down on one of the couches. He ran his hands over his face.

“What happened, exactly?” he asked. He wanted answers. He’d gone long enough without them.

“During her bath, she began to cough up blood,” one of Y/N’s ladies said. Sera, he thought was her name. “I suspect you noticed the handkerchief she carries?” Peter nodded. Sera pursed her lips. “There was more blood than usual. I was with her. I ran to the door and called for the guards, and while I wasn’t there she fell unconscious and slipped under the water. I pulled her up, and a maid that the guards had called helped me put her in a robe. The guards took her away on a stretcher and no one has seen her since.”

He knew that something was wrong. Peter had never approached the situation with Y/N, feeling that it was too personal and obviously something she had worked to keep hidden. He should have pressed her, should have made her tell him if it was this big of a deal.

“Could it be fatal?” Peter asked Sera. She shook her head.

“Sire, I am afraid I have already said more than I am at liberty to. Should my queen not live to tell you herself, I will explain, but if she is able, she should be the one to help you understand.” A few hours passed. Most everyone fell asleep, but Peter kept watch, waiting for the door to swing open. He couldn’t help but be curious as to why Y/N was here. Sure, she was supposed to be here to discuss their marriage and the alliances of their kingdoms, but so far she had seemed rather uninterested in that sort of stuff. Peter knew she had been observing him, and Cair Paravel as well. She seemed less interested in how they were going to run things, and more on how he was going to run things. And if her illness was fatal- well that made everything all the more confusing for Peter. Why would she be here, away from her own comforts and castle? Why isn’t she delegating her duties, picking a successor, enjoying the last days of her life in peace?

When the physician finally did enter the land of the living, he paused, seeing that Peter had fallen asleep as well, shocked to see that he had four sovereigns and five noblewoman sleeping outside of his infirmary. He choose to wake Peter first, since he was first in command. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he whispered, “Sire.”Peter blinked awake after a few attempts.

“What is it?”

“Queen Y/N is awake, sire,” said the physician. “She has been asking for you.”

Peter stood up. “May I see her?” The physician bowed.

“Of course.” The Queen looked horrible, to put it lightly. With her labored breathing, the blood stained nightgown she wore heaved up, which seemed to take substantial effort. The bags under her eyes were pronounced. A towel had been placed under her head so that her wet hair wouldn’t ruin the pillow beneath it. Veins had burst in her cheeks, making them red and blotchy.

“Your grace,” Peter said as he sat in a chair next to her bed. He couldn’t remember there being a bed in the infirmary, only cots. He imagined it had been moved here specially for her.

“Peter,” she said, addressing him using his first name for the first time. “Didn’t think you would get here this quickly.”

“We’ve been waiting outside for most of the night,” he said. “I didn’t have to go very far.” Y/N didn’t ask who ‘we’ was.

“I am sick,” she said, swallowing thickly. Peter nodded.

“I know.”

“Then I expect that you know I will not live longer than a year.”

He lowered his gaze. Looking at dead people walking wasn’t something he was fond of. Leaves a weird taste in your mouth.“I did not know that, no.”

Furrowing her brow, Y/N watched him with concern. He hadn’t seemed like the type to become attached easily.    

“I know what you must think of me,” she said. “I really did not think that it would be this hard to find someone to take my place. Without any heirs or family, my court suggested that I marry, but, truthfully, finding someone capable enough was proving difficult.”

“You’re looking for someone to give someone your kingdom to?” Peter asked, though it came out as more of a statement.

Y/N nodded. “I regret not corresponding with you sooner. Had I done so the moment I found out, we might have produced an heir before I became too weak.” Peter’s eyes widened.

“You are thinking very far ahead in this plan.”

“I have to,” she said. “I am the sole ruler of a great kingdom, and I fear I will not live long enough to see it into safe hands.”

The two sovereigns sat in silence for a time, lost in their own thoughts. Truthfully, Peter should have understood what she was asking him to do, without her having to ask. In his defence, he was slightly thrown off by how brash she had been when speaking about an heir.

“You are at peace with it,” Peter finally said, “aren’t you?”

Y/N shrugged. “I suppose I have not given it much thought. I cannot do anything to change it. All I have to worry about is what happens before it…” she couldn’t seem to find a word for it, “happens.”

“That is an interesting way of thinking.”

“So far, it has worked for me.” Y/N took a breath. “I want you to rule Cromwell when I am gone.”

“Why?” Peter asked. “You’ve known me the better part of two weeks!”

“And in those two weeks I have learned more about you and your reign than I have every other suitor thrown in front of me,” she snapped. “From everything that I have heard and observed, my kingdom could not be in more capable hands.” She bit her lip. “I trust you.” Peter began to nervously wring his hands.

“Correct me if I am wrong, but you cannot just,” he made a wild gesture, “give me your kingdom.”

“You are not wrong.” Y/N’s head fell back onto her towel covered pillow. “Unless I wanted to go through copious amounts of paperwork, meetings and arguments trying to prove you should take the throne rather than one of my obnoxious noblemen, which I am not sure I will feel up to doing again, marriage seems like the easiest way to give you the throne.” Y/N seemed to see the cogs wiring in Peter’s brain, for she grabbed his hand to stop it worrying his other.  “I am sorry to spring this on you,” she said.

“No,” Peter gulped, “don’t apologize. I am just having some trouble processing everything.”

“It is alright if you do not want-”

“Please,” Peter said, squeezing her hand, “stop. If you want me to do this, if you feel that this is the best option, then I will do it. I have my siblings, I have support in my advisors-” he cut himself short, gathering his thoughts. “I promise you, after you pass, Cromwell will not fall from the greatness you have put to its name.”

[narniasummerexchange]

A Rising King; A Dying Queen

for @penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories

A knock rapped at the High King’s door.

“Come in,” he called, not turning away from the vanity in which he was fixing his appearance.

Susan slipped into the room, letting the door fall shut. “I really hope you know what you are doing.”

“As do I,” said Peter, pulling at his collar. “It is my marriage.”

“To a queen who is notorious for turning away suitors. Truthfully, it is a mystery that she has accepted your proposal at all.” Susan was already dressed, ready to welcome their guests.

“Loving the confidence in my judgment and abilities, Sue.”

Susan huffed. “You know what I mean. This woman, queen or not, has had multiple engagements over the course of the last six months, let alone her entire reign. Why are you taking this so seriously when it is realistic that you are just another name on a list?”

“Because, sister dear,” Peter said sarcastically. “Cromwell as a kingdom is an asset. Marriage is the easiest and most binding contract I could come up with in terms of an alliance, though if you have other ideas, I am open to suggestions.”

She studied her brother for a moment. “You are afraid.”

“Of what, exactly?”

“The finality of it all. You really don’t like having all of this pressure on you, no matter what you exude to the public.” Susan came to stand behind Peter, looking at him in the mirror. “Peter, you are only seventeen,” she argued.

“And she only sixteen,” he said, turning around to face Susan. “Look, for the foreseeable future, no intimate relations of any kind will take place. Sure, we’ll sign the contract and say the vows, but knowing her reputation, she will likely only accept my presence in meetings and negotiations.” Peter stood, grabbing his crown from its stand and dawning it before opening the door.

“It sounds more like a business partnership than a marriage,” Susan said, going under the arm Peter was holding the door open with. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be, Sue.” Peter offered her his arm and began to lead them through Cair Paravel to the courtyard. “As I’ll ever be.”

The Kings and Queens of Narnia stood together in front of the palace, awaiting the arrival of Queen Y/N of Cromwell, some of her supervisors and her ladies. A messenger had been sent ahead, informing the siblings that her majesty’s arrival would be delayed, due to an unexpected stop in a nearby village. The messenger wouldn’t divulge exactly why they had stopped, only that someone in the party had an illness and needed to recuperate before standing before the court at Cair Paravel.

“I hope it isn’t the Queen,” Edmund joked. “We don’t need her giving Peter any sort of maldy.”

“I don’t believe she would willingly be close enough to anyone to so much as cough on them,” Susan said. “She seems to be somewhat of an introvert, despite her numerous-”

“If her majesty is unwell,” Peter interjected, “we will provide all of the comforts available to aide in her recovery.”  

“Assuming she stays long enough to take a peek at her rooms.”

Peter was about to jab his brother in the ribs when the sound of hooves and wheels became clear above the sea salted wind. From around the palace came a parade of carriages and men on horses, presumably pages and the like.

The first carriage was visibly Queen Y/N’s, decorated in the royal colors of a light blue and gold. Peter recognized that her crest was painted on the carriage, having seen it on her seal multiple times. The thin curtains were drawn, concealing the Queen and her ladies from the prying eyes of men. It drew to a stop on the road a ways down the courtyard, enabling some grand entrance or other.

“Welcome to, presumably, the rest of your life,” Edmund said.

A man stepped out of one of the carriages and made his way to Queen Y/N’s. Opening the half door, another man putting a step down in front of it, he helped the ladies in waiting before holding out his hand for the Queen.

A delicate hand laid itself gently in his and her majesty stepped out of the carriage. She wore a light blue dress with a velvet colored cloak, which complimented her S/C complexion surprisingly well. The Queen steadied herself on the gravel before beginning to make her way towards her future husband and his siblings.

    Up on a turret somewhere, a man shouted out, “Her majesty, Queen Y/N of Cromwell.”

    When she stopped in front of them, Peter held out his hand for her to take, which she did. “Your majesty,” he addressed her as he bent to kiss her hand. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

    “The pleasure is all mine, sire, I can assure you,” she responded, bringing hand back to clasp it with the other, which Peter could see clutched a handkerchief. “I am delighted to finally meet you,” she said, “truly.”

    Peter smiled in a manner which he thought would be forced and fake, but was surprisingly genuine. Her majesty was coming off as quite pleasant.  “Allow me to introduce you. My sisters, Queen Susan and Queen Lucy, and my brother King Edmund.” Peter waited while the women exchanged smiles and nods and for Edmund to kiss the Queen’s hand. Afterwards, Peter offered his arm. “Shall we?”

    “We shall.” Queen Y/N smiled brightly, but the skin under her eyes was bruised with purples and blues. Peter began to wonder if she was the ill one after all.

        The tour of the castle ended no later than an hour later, and by then it was time for dinner. Queen Y/N requested her meal be brought to her rooms, and subsequently her court retired as well.

    The Pevensies ate dinner together, preferring each other’s company as opposed to solitude.

“Did any of you find out who was sick?” Peter inquired, taking a stab at his vegetables.

“I spoke to some of her majesty’s ladies,” Lucy said. “One of them said that Queen Y/N became quite ill a few days ago, but made the journey here nonetheless. They stopped in a village that had a healer, one who has apparently performed great miracles. The Queen visited him for an hour or so and then they began the final leg here.”

“She did look quite tired,” Peter said.

“Aslan knows you were paying attention,” Edmund quipped, earning a kick under the table from Susan.

“You might want to ask her about it,” Susan said. “If she went out of her way to see some magical healer, it might be something serious.” Peter nodded.

“Does anyone else miss antibiotics?” Edmund asked, raising his hand as if to say ‘I’.

The days that followed were filled with events and celebrations, hosted and planned by Susan. Queen Y/N was the guest of honor, though she didn’t take part in many of the activities, preferring to stand or sit off to the side. To be courteous, Peter usually stayed with her. He noticed that she kept a handkerchief in her grasp, and would violently cough into it every so often. Peter could have sworn he saw blood once.

Queen Y/N had been at Cair Paravel for nearly two weeks when Peter’s door swung open at half til midnight, followed by Lucy shaking him awake.

“Peter!” she said. “Peter, it’s Y/N! She fell unconscious while taking a bath. She is in the infirmary!”

Peter jumped out of bed, leaving Lucy to trail behind as he ran down the hall, bounding up the steps to where the infirmary was.

When he arrived, Susan, Edmund and Y/N’s ladies were already there, all in their night clothes. Susan clutched a shawl around herself.

“The physician is still with her,” Susan said.

Peter nodded, sitting down on one of the couches. He ran his hands over his face. “What happened, exactly?” he asked. He wanted answers. He’d gone long enough without them.

“During her bath, she began to cough up blood,” one of Y/N’s ladies said. Sera, he thought was her name. “I suspect you noticed the handkerchief she carries?”

Peter nodded.

Sera pursed her lips. “There was more blood than usual. I was with her. I ran to the door and called for the guards, and while I wasn’t there she fell unconscious and slipped under the water. I pulled her up, and a maid that the guards had called helped me put her in a robe. The guards took her away on a stretcher and no one has seen her since.”

He knew that something was wrong. Peter had never approached the situation with Y/N, feeling that it was too personal and obviously something she had worked to keep hidden. He should have pressed her, should have made her tell him if it was this big of a deal.

“Could it be fatal?” Peter asked Sera. She shook her head.

“Sire, I am afraid I have already said more than I am at liberty to. Should my queen not live to tell you herself, I will explain, but if she is able, she should be the one to help you understand.”

A few hours passed. Most everyone fell asleep, but Peter kept watch, waiting for the door to swing open.

He couldn’t help but be curious as to why Y/N was here. Sure, she was supposed to be here to discuss their marriage and the alliances of their kingdoms, but so far she had seemed rather uninterested in that sort of stuff. Peter knew she had been observing him, and Cair Paravel as well. She seemed less interested in how they were going to run things, and more on how he was going to run things.

And if her illness was fatal- well that made everything all the more confusing for Peter. Why would she be here, away from her own comforts and castle? Why isn’t she delegating her duties, picking a successor, enjoying the last days of her life in peace?

When the physician finally did enter the land of the living, he paused, seeing that Peter had fallen asleep as well, shocked to see that he had four sovereigns and five noblewoman sleeping outside of his infirmary.

He choose to wake Peter first, since he was first in command. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he whispered, “Sire.”

Peter blinked awake after a few attempts. “What is it?”

“Queen Y/N is awake, sire,” said the physician. “She has been asking for you.”

Peter stood up. “May I see her?”

The physician bowed. “Of course.”

The Queen looked horrible, to put it lightly.

With her labored breathing, the blood stained nightgown she wore heaved up, which seemed to take substantial effort. The bags under her eyes were pronounced. A towel had been placed under her head so that her wet hair wouldn’t ruin the pillow beneath it. Veins had burst in her cheeks, making them red and blotchy.

“Your grace,” Peter said as he sat in a chair next to her bed. He couldn’t remember there being a bed in the infirmary, only cots. He imagined it had been moved here specially for her.

“Peter,” she said, addressing him using his first name for the first time. “Didn’t think you would get here this quickly.”

“We’ve been waiting outside for most of the night,” he said. “I didn’t have to go very far.”

Y/N didn’t ask who ‘we’ was. “I am sick,” she said, swallowing thickly.

Peter nodded. “I know.”

“Then I expect that you know I will not live longer than a year.”

He lowered his gaze. Looking at dead people walking wasn’t something he was fond of. Leaves a weird taste in your mouth. “I did not know that, no.”

Furrowing her brow, Y/N watched him with concern. He hadn’t seemed like the type to become attached easily.

    “I know what you must think of me,” she said. “I really did not think that it would be this hard to find someone to take my place. Without any heirs or family, my court suggested that I marry, but, truthfully, finding someone capable enough was proving difficult.”

“You’re looking for someone to give someone your kingdom to?” Peter asked, though it came out as more of a statement. Y/N nodded.

“I regret not corresponding with you sooner. Had I done so the moment I found out, we might have produced an heir before I became too weak.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “You are thinking very far ahead in this plan.”

“I have to,” she said. “I am the sole ruler of a great kingdom, and I fear I will not live long enough to see it into safe hands.”

The two sovereigns sat in silence for a time, lost in their own thoughts.

Truthfully, Peter should have understood what she was asking him to do, without her having to ask. In his defence, he was slightly thrown off by how brash she had been when speaking about an heir.

“You are at peace with it,” Peter finally said, “aren’t you?”

Y/N shrugged. “I suppose I have not given it much thought. I cannot do anything to change it. All I have to worry about is what happens before it…” she couldn’t seem to find a word for it, “happens.”

“That is an interesting way of thinking.”

“So far, it has worked for me.” Y/N took a breath. “I want you to rule Cromwell when I am gone.”

“Why?” Peter asked. “You’ve known me the better part of two weeks!”

“And in those two weeks I have learned more about you and your reign than I have every other suitor thrown in front of me,” she snapped. “From everything that I have heard and observed, my kingdom could not be in more capable hands.” She bit her lip. “I trust you.”

Peter began to nervously wring his hands. “Correct me if I am wrong, but you cannot just,” he made a wild gesture, “give me your kingdom.”

“You are not wrong.” Y/N’s head fell back onto her towel covered pillow. “Unless I wanted to go through copious amounts of paperwork, meetings and arguments trying to prove you should take the throne rather than one of my obnoxious noblemen, which I am not sure I will feel up to doing again, marriage seems like the easiest way to give you the throne.”

Y/N seemed to see the cogs wiring in Peter’s brain, for she grabbed his hand to stop it worrying his other.  

“I am sorry to spring this on you,” she said.

“No,” Peter gulped, “don’t apologize. I am just having some trouble processing everything.”

“It is alright if you do not want-”

“Please,” Peter said, squeezing her hand, “stop. If you want me to do this, if you feel that this is the best option, then I will do it. I have my siblings, I have support in my advisors-” he cut himself short, gathering his thoughts. “I promise you, after you pass, Cromwell will not fall from the greatness you have put to its name.”