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Beneath The Boughs | Dare To Dream

↳ Namjoon x f.Reader ⤜ Robinhood Retelling, Strangers to Lovers/Soulmates, Ruined Arranged Marriage AU ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 6,740 ⚠️violence, crass language, mentions of parental illness, melancholy feelings

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

“My Lady,” Ms. Duckett calls from beyond the doors of the balcony terrace. “My Lady, it is time. If we do not leave now, we will not make it through this side of Sherwood before nightfall.”

You sigh with one last look out over the rolling expanse of bleak countryside. You push to your feet and smooth your gloved hands over the back of your gown, brushing away any detritus that might have attached to the fabric from the bench you were seated on. The heavy silk skirts swish over the layers of your thick wool petticoats as you turn to make your way back inside.

The first flurries of winter have begun, and unless you wish to spend the season shivering in the northern reaches of Yorkshire, you best get on with it. The window to return to the city of Nottingham is closing swiftly. It was a fool's move to leave it until the last moment anyway. But you couldn’t bring yourself to rejoin society sooner than absolutely necessary.

“Apologies, Duckie,” you offer her, the childhood nickname you gave her rolling off your tongue with affection despite your surly mood.

Verna Duckett has been your attending maid ever since your mother fell ill some twenty years prior and found herself with more need for a nursemaid than a lady’s maid. Duckie’s age is a mystery to you, but considering the silver knot tucked under her bonnet, you’d guess she was far older than her spry body and fiery attitude suggest.

Thinking of your mother’s continued ailing constitution only sours your demeanor further. After all, it is why you’ve found yourself in the predicament you are currently trying to avoid. So, to keep from dawdling further with those dark thoughts, you focus on gathering the fox-fur-lined cloak you left draped over the end of your bed and securing its thick golden clasp at your throat.

Duckie titters under her breath, reminding you of a flittering songbird as she encourages you from the room. “The sheriff is waiting with the carriages.”

That news pulls you up short at the top of the grand staircase. “The sheriff?”

“Indeed so, My Lady. He has come up from Nottingham to be your escort at the request of Prince Seokjin.”

Bile threatens to rise from the churning pit of your stomach. The Prince. “Must it be so?” you mutter to yourself. “Right,” you try to clear the disappointment from your voice as you begin the descent down the stairs. “Let us not keep him waiting long, then.”

The bite from the snowy northern winds does little to soothe the blazing tempest in your chest as you breeze through the open doors of the home you’ve kept for the summer in Yorkshire. It was once your father’s estate, passed down to you when you came of age. You prefer it to the oppressive halls of the inner city home you keep in Nottingham—the one your parents choose to reside in year-round.

“My Lady.” The sheriff greets you by way of an oily smile and a tip of his chin. “Trying to catch a cold before your big day?”

A snide remark forms on the tip of your tongue but you bite the offending appendage before it can garner you trouble over the next two days of travel. The absolute last thing you wish for right now is to land on Yoongi’s—the sheriff’s—bad side.

It’s possible you might have once considered him a friend. He has all the charm and grace of a pleasant gentleman. But, when he started to bow and scrape, doing the Prince’s bidding in forcing your hand, you lost all respect and good will towards him.

You’re aware that’s not exactly fair, considering Yoongi is merely a sheriff, and the prince is, well, a prince. But it simply is not fair, and you are more than aware of the other dealings the prince and Yoongi have gotten up to in the recent years since King Seokjoong went on his crusades.

Mirth twinkles in Yoongi’s eyes; clearly, he can see the restraint painted all over your face. “Of course not, My Lord—I mean, Sheriff,” you reply, your words dripping with saccharinity. His lips flatten at your intentional misuse of the title.

Yoongi is as much a Lord as you are a pigeon. And you know that rankles him far more than any snide remark you might have bestowed upon him. Being the Sheriff of Nottingham brings Yoongi power, but not nearly enough to satiate his growing greed. That much is evident in how he swindles and ousts any and all meager bits of coinage from the pockets of those he is sworn to protect. No, Yoongi protects only himself…and occasionally you, per the prince’s request.

The ride to Nottingham starts slow and ponderous, the snow turning to sleet with each creeping mile south, causing the dirt under hoof and wheel to quickly form ruts and mud pits that suck and pull, sapping any haste from the procession.

Duckie was being generous in her assessment of time, as by the time the sun drops below the horizon, your caravan escort has barely hit the outskirts of Sherwood. You know it was unwise to have spent so long avoiding the ride; this is your own doing.

It’s not that you mind the forest at night; it’s just that the swaying oil lamps and guttering torches do little to diminish the darkness. Every creak of the carriage and distant animal chitter have you quite literally on the edge of your seat, the velvet cushion firmly crushed under your hands where they fist the lip of the bench.

The sudden, jarring stop of the carriage nearly unseats you. Muffled shouts sound from beyond the drawn curtains. Duckie frowns, absently pulling a handkerchief from her apron pocket and fanning her ample bosom with it.

“Dreadful luck stopping in these cursed woods,” she mutters nervously before flicking back the edge of one of the curtains and peeking out the window. “What in heavens is going on out there?”

She jumps back, her alarmed yelp echoing through the carriage as Yoongi jerks open the door. “My Lady, I apologize for the delay. There is some debris across the roadway. It should only take a moment for it to be moved, and then we shall be on our way once more. I think it best we continue through the night,” he says with a grimace as his focus is pulled somewhere back beyond the carriage.

Without another word, he disappears, shutting you and Duckie in the carriage once more. The silence is only broken by the soft swishing of Duckie’s handkerchief as she goes back to fanning herself.

“Not to worry, dearie. I’m sure the Sheriff will have us back on the move in no time.”

Adrenaline courses through your veins when muffled shouts and screams rend through the air, breaking the tense silence. You catch the faintest bellow from the head of the caravan.

“Brigands! Brigands in the trees! To arms!”

Duckie shrieks, her handkerchief fluttering in the air as she lurches toward you. The air wooshes from your lungs as she drags you bodily into the bottom of the carriage and throws herself on top of you. 

One of her elbows catches you in the chin as you try to turn over, your skirts tangling around your ankles with each struggling movement.

“Duckie!” you croak, sucking in pitiful gasps of air. The corset stays pinching at your ribs, combined with the full weight of your maid laid across your back, are making it hard to gain the breath that was shoved from your lungs when you hit the carriage floor. “I cannot breathe!”

She wails something unintelligible and pushes up onto her knees. You flop over onto your back and suck in a sweet lungful of air. Your exhale is an aching sputter that turns into a fit of coughing. Suddenly, the air inside the carriage is too hot and thick.

“My Lady!” Duckie’s bark of protest follows you out of the carriage. You couldn’t reach your feet fast enough, scrambling up from your knees and shoving open the carriage door, stumbling out several steps. You stand there, plunged into the cacophony around you, trying valiantly to suck in fresh air.

The night is alive with pain and shrieks of madness. Chaos engulfs your small caravan, and there are scattered pockets of struggle everywhere you look. Figures dressed in various shades of dark green and brown are engaged with the bright reds and golds of the Prince’s colors.

As if wanting to bear witness to the violence, the moon has worked its way through the gloomy cloud cover overhead and lends its light to the smoking oil lanterns and torches to illuminate the mud-churned—now striped with blood—road.

A sneering face comes into focus, startling you back a step. “Are you mad, woman!? Get back in the carriage!” Yoongi roars before taking off back into the fray.

He meets the swing of a brigand's sword with his own; the clash of steel against steel rings through the air, further jolting you from your frozen state. Panic harries you as you retreat further, your eyes on a constant swivel for danger.

A gout of flame flares to life near the head of the line of carriages, and the screams of horses pierce the din. “Fire! The horses!” thunders a voice that is soon swallowed by the frenzy of other sounds.

You watch in horror as a carriage engulfed in flame careens off the road, being dragged through the sticky muck by out-of-control horses. Their fear is palpable, the flames devouring the front coach seat and licking so close to their tails.

The painful whickering of the beautiful draft horses draws you like a moth being led directly to the inferno. You’re heedless of the danger around you. One sole focus consumes you; no one is available to free those horses…if you don’t do it, they’ll surely die.

Once again, your feet move before you can do more than register Duckie’s protesting cries from behind you. You fist the billows of your skirt in your hands, hiking up the thick material, making your reckless sprint a little easier, though the churned mud still sucks at the soles of your slippers, which are soon filled with icy water and slimy muck.

“My Lady!” Duckie’s cry follows you, closer than before. “Please, My Lady, no!”

“The horses, Duckie! We have to help them!” you beg, skittering to a stop in the muck, arms windmilling to keep yourself upright.

Whether or not she heard your desperate plea or simply followed you out of an attempt to get you to turn back toward the carriage, she stumbles to a stop beside you as you take in the carnage.

The carriage that caught fire was one of the ones lit with the hanging lanterns. Arrows dot the wooden side, which is now facing the sky. The entire thing has turned over in the muck from the mad dash of the horses combined with the sticky mud. It’s evident an arrow hit one of the lanterns and caused the fire. Whether by accident or intentional, the damage is done, and your time is running out as the flames lick across the carriage and shoot toward the sky.

A massive tangle of leather hitching straps and splintered wood connects the two draft horses to the wreckage. They rear and scream, massive hooves raking the sky as they thrash and pull in vain at their harnesses.

Ignoring the sapping cold of the mud seeping through the skirts of your gown, you throw yourself on the ground where the straps attach to the overturned carriage. Duckie lands in the muck beside you a second later, her hands moving as frantically as your own as you wrestle with the buckles and bolts. The entire wreck shudders every time the horses stomp and attempt to free themselves, but you don’t dare abandon the buckles to try and calm them. You’d likely catch an errant hoof to your person for the efforts.

Heat beats down on you, and the faint stench of burnt hair and singed fabric mixes with the acrid stink of smoke filling the air around you. The flames are growing closer, but you ignore the discomfort, pouring all your focus into freeing the horses.

“To your right!” a voice calls out over the din of battle a second before something thunks heavily into the ground beside you.

You spare a glance up, and your eyes catch on a hooded figure. Time suspends in a moment of what you can only describe as magick. Something flickers in your chest as your eyes meet the ones staring out from the cowl, like a blossoming flower opening under the warm spring sun for the first time.

It’s captivating, soul-capturing, and utterly unexplainable. Dark, seemingly endless eyes, inky hair, and a face you’re sure you’ve never seen in full before…yet know more intimately than even your own—a man of your dreams. Dreams you’ve had since you were a young teenager of a man with eyes like endless pools of night sky and a heart that beats in kind with your own.

A frantic cry from Duckie breaks the spell, the carriage shifting so violently it rocks you backward onto your bottom. You tear your eyes away from the mysterious man. Focusing back on the task at hand, you grasp the hilt of the forearm-length blade you know he’s responsible for tossing to you. It is embedded point-down in the ground by your side, still vibrating from the force.

Ripping the blade from the mud, you make quick work of slicing through the harness straps. The horses burst free from their restraints and take off at a panicked gallop away from the fire raging behind you.

Quiet sobs are hiccuping from Duckie. She grabs a fistful of the back of your gown and jerks. “Go!” But instead of directing you back toward your carriage, her momentum sends you sprawling in the direction of the closest darkened clutch of trees. “We need to hide! Hurry, to the trees!”

Digging for purchase in the icy muck, you lurch to your feet and stumble until the forest's darkness gobbles you up. Duckie is only a pace or two behind you, her mud-covered bosom heaving as she slumps down behind a knotted and gnarled tree.

Wordlessly, she beckons for you to join her, and you both sit there, peering around the side of the tree and back at the chaos still engulfing your caravan. The fighting has died down. A few green and brown-clad bodies writhe on the ground, making your stomach protest the senseless violence.

Broken crates and boxes lie scattered about, their insides spilled and pilfered through by the brigands—clearly a band of no-good highwaymen. It’s one of the main reasons the Sherwood Forest should be avoided after dark. Bands of rogues and disgraced knights have taken to prowling the thick woods.

As sour as your thoughts are, you can’t help searching the fray for a particular hooded figure. You feel like if you could get one more glimpse of him, you might be able to decipher what happened when your eyes met his. At the moment, you could have sworn he was the man of your dreams, but now, you’re not so sure. There is far too much adrenaline coursing through your system for you to make heads from tails of it.

You watch as one of the brigands uses the pommel of their sword to clock one of your escorts across the temple, crumpling him into a heap of red and gold. Focusing on each pitched cluster of violence, you realize the red and gold figures are the only ones trying to deal lethal blows. You’ve watched enough tournaments of combat to know the basics of battle.

“They’re not trying to kill them,” you mutter under your breath.

“What, My Lady?”

Sparing a glance at Duckie, you nod back toward the road. “The brigands. They’re not using lethal moves. It is as if they are intentionally avoiding critical damage. Like they…” you trail off, catching sight of a familiar hooded figure, glinting eyes shadowed in the cowl latching on yours.

“You cannot possibly be suggesting—”

“Behind you!” you scream, lurching from your hiding spot and sprinting back toward the road where you saw Yoongi creeping up behind the hooded figure as he was distracted, staring at you.

Branches scratch and rip at your gown and the exposed skin of your throat and hands. But the stinging lashes are second to the intense panic slicing through your chest as Yoongi’s bloodied sword arcs through the air.

By the time you spill from the cover of the trees, the cloaked man is springing up from a roll where he must have dodged Yoongi’s blade. You watch as he spins to face Yoongi. He brings a hand up, and an ear-splitting whistle pierces the air.

As if the sound has broken a dam, the dozen remaining hooded figures, including the one with those molten eyes locked on you, disengage and retreat. They dissolve into the surrounding trees like fog baked away by a noonday sun; there one moment and gone the next.

Yoongi barks an order to pursue, and half the remaining gold and red soldiers peel off to follow. They look like a ragtag bunch, their armor speckled with dark mud and blood. But, you know they have received extensive training under the tutelage of Yoongi and the Prince’s court mage and will try to track down as many of the brigands as they can like the good hunting dogs they are.

“Yoongi, please, call them back!” you plead. “The wood is dark. It is not worth it! Please, I beg you, let us hurry—”

The narrowing of Yoongi’s eyes causes your words to catch in your throat. You’ve never seen such a venomous glare. It pierces right through your heart, spearing you in place. You think he is about to lay into you, lashing at you with that curdling tongue. Yet, he just nods, turning away and stalking from you before whistling a sharp cadence that you recognize is used to call the guards back.

“My Lady,” Duckie sniffles. “Oh, your gown. This simply won’t do. Come, come, back to the carriage.”

She ushers you quickly back toward the open door of your carriage, the horses tethered to the front, finally calming their stamping hooves and wild eyes.

“Move out!” Yoongi shouts. The guards who had peeled off to follow the brigands emerge back into the clearing, and in a few short minutes, the caravan moves once again—albeit a few carriages short, the carnage left behind like a pock on the King’s Road.

🍂🍂🍂

Namjoon

There were too many.

Too many uniforms of red and gold and sharpened swords.

It was a bad call.

No amount of coin is worth the bodies that were left behind in the mud. Namjoon knows he shouldn’t have encouraged the men. He should have put his foot down and been firm in his insistence that they hold back.

But, there’s naught to do for it now except lick their wounds and hope the amount of coins and jewels they got off with can fill their larders against the coming winter. The bags seemed heavy enough, but one can never be too sure until they actually begin to count and weigh it out.

The men seem happy enough. Their jovial shouts and laughter carry through the woods, adrenaline adding to the thrill of it as they all easily lope along under the darkening boughs.

The dense foliage overhead absorbs their merriment, and Namjoon doesn’t wish to take it away from them by asking them to quiet down. He realized that the Sheriff called off his dogs shortly after anyway—a surprise for sure and a welcomed one at that.

“How many did we lose?”  Hoseok asks, pitching his voice low so others don’t hear. His long legs trot along, keeping pace with ease beside Namjoon.

Namjoon frowns, huffing a breath as they jog in silence for a few moments. “Five.” He rattles off their names, hating how each one coats his tongue with a bitterness that nothing but the most potent fyre ale will be able to staunch.

“We will honor them and ensure their families are taken care of,” Hoseok offers, his voice hollow but firm. He’s always been a softer guy, something Namjoon has cherished in all their years of friendship. Hoseok has helped to temper Namjoon’s anger and quell his intensity at dire times of need; he is an empath through and through.

Not trusting himself to say more, Namjoon just nods as they continue through the woods until they reach their destination.

It’s a hidden city—a village, really. But everyone likens it to a city, considering it stretches across nearly an entire league of forest, tucked into the upper branches of the trees. It’s a proverbial city of wooden treehouses and rope bridges spanning between platforms. They have nearly everything a city does, even a bakery and a small darning shop.

The only thing not within the hidden city in the tops of the trees is the smithy—too much of a fire hazard, of course. So, Jungkook has his forge and the bellows tucked away into the crumbling remains of an ancient fortress long forgotten in the woods.

As an exiled knight of the crown, Jungkook knows his way around weaponry. It wasn’t that far of a leap to smithing once he got the hang of it. Namjoon can just see the glow of the forge fire as his band approaches, the approaching call having been whistled just a moment before.

It’s safer like that, using mimicry of bird calls as signals. He learned early on that you can never be too careful. The last thing Namjoon wants is for someone to come across his home…his people, the outcasts and the damned.

“I’m going to check in with Jungkook. Be up shortly,” Namjoon tells Hoseok before veering off towards the old ruins.

Hoseok disappears into the foliage, rallying the band up the rope ladders to the hidden homes above, where most of their families wait. Despite how ramshackle and hodgepodge his little city is, there is beauty in it, too. Beauty in the families, the small children that have spent more of their lives living among the leaves of trees than on the ground. But at least they’re safe; that’s what matters most.

That and the food from the coin they managed to loot tonight will garner.

That’s the primary reason he needs to speak with Jungkook. Being an exiled knight, the man not only knows his way around weaponry, but he has a knack for trading and brokering deals as well.

Despite his exile, Jungkook is still respected among many of the Prince’s men. With a well-placed word and an extra coin or two, Jungkook can get just about anything Namjoon needs.

There is a chill in the air, but the forge is blistering hot, the heat reflecting off the stone ruins' few remaining walls. Namjoon thinks this particular nook of rubble was once a stable—the rusted iron hitching posts lining the lower wall leads him to that conclusion.

Jungkook seems to be getting ready to shut the forge down for the night. He’s shirtless and dripping sweat with an assortment of new blades, which are laid out on the makeshift table off to the side.

“Oh! You startled me,” Jungkook huffs, a soot-covered hand slapping over his heart as he turns and spots Namjoon.

Namjoon smiles apologetically. “Sorry, brother. I was just about to announce myself.”

“It’s no matter,” Jungkook says, brushing it off. He swings around further, depositing the leather roll of tools cradled in his other arm on the table beside the new blades.

“What brings you here? I thought surely you’d be up with everyone else, filling your belly with some ale. There are still a few casks left.”

“In due time.” Namjoon shrugs, looking for something to distract from the real reason he’s come to talk to Jungkook. “Do you mind if I have one of these?” he asks, gesturing to the pile of fresh blades.

Jungkook’s eyes sweep over Namjoon, landing on the empty dagger sheath at his hip. “That’s, what, the third blade you’ve managed to lose in as many months?”

Namjoon scrubs a hand through his hair, sighing. “Yeah…there was some trouble on the road.”

Those eyes that were resting on his empty sheath now narrow into a calculating query as they rise to Namjoon’s. “How did it go?”

The tense silence lasts just a spell before Namjoon clears his throat and breaks it. “We came away with a few hefty bags.”

“But? There’s a but there, I can tell. Go on, tell me, how many did we lose?” Jungkook leans a hip against the table. He pulls out the rough-spun towel tucked into the top of his leather apron and begins to absently brush and wipe the soot and grime from his hands.

As much as Namjoon would rather talk about the trade and bartering that would come from the coin, he knew Jungkook would ask after the loss. After all, it was Jungkook’s suggestion that took Namjoon and his band of men to the edge of the forest tonight. He had heard that the Sheriff would be moving precious cargo. It turns out the precious cargo was in the form of a woman.

A fierce and brilliant woman who came rocketing into Namjoon’s life like a shooting star blazing through the night as she streaked across the impromptu battlefield to free those terrified horses. It was an accident, the errant arrow catching one of the hanging lanterns. He heard the man who loosed the arrow curse and lament over it and they both got caught up defending their backs against the Guards before they could act.

“We lost five,” Namjoon says to pull his mind out of that rabbit hole. The last thing he needs to be thinking about is the odd, visceral connection and pull he felt with that mystery woman.

Jungkook nods, his lips thinning into a straight line. “They’ll be honored by all,” he says, mirroring Hoseok’s words from earlier. “Tell me what else went on? What was so precious Yoongi disregarded all safety guards and ventured into the Wood so late?”

The words get caught in Namjoon’s throat. In part, he doesn’t want to tell Jungkook because he somehow feels possessive of the woman. It’s absurd. Forcing that notion aside, Namjoon forges on, recounting everything that transpired for Jungkook. By the time he’s done, Jungkook nods with a faint look of knowing on his face.

“For some reason, the Sheriff signaled a pullback a few minutes after the order to follow. He’s never done that before.”

“That,” Jungkook says, tucking the now-soiled rag back into the top of his apron, “would be The Fair Maiden of York’s doing.”

“Wait. The who?” Namjoon has heard of The Yorkshire Maiden. She’s renowned throughout the parts, even for someone as hidden and removed from society as Namjoon. In fact, he knows that she’s— “The Prince’s betrothed? You mean to tell me we attacked her caravan?” He mutters your name, the sweet sound of it coating his tongue like honey. “That’s who that was?” Each new line of thinking has Namjoon’s alarm rising.

“I had thought she had already ventured south. It didn’t even cross my mind that the precious cargo could have been her. In truth, I should have considered it. I’m sorry, my friend. I’ll try to get better information next time.”

Namjoon barely registers Jungkook’s words, giving him a jerky nod and a half-muttered excuse of needing to go. Jungkook waves him off, saying he’ll be up shortly.

But he won’t find Namjoon when he does.

No, because Namjoon is now on a different trail, having passed off a curt message to a sentry about returning in a few days' time that he was going to speak to a contact. Which isn’t entirely a lie. He needs answers and fast. There is only one place he can think of that he might be able to find them. A place he hasn’t visited in far too long—months at this point.

The feeling in his chest…the name still echoing in his mind. There is an explanation. But he needs to be sure, confirm it, and see it once again with his own eyes. Because surely it’s impossible… fairytales are just that, fairytales.

It’s not like he didn’t already know your name. But the combination of your name and the feelings that assaulted him…Namjoon’s thoughts trail off as he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping to the shadows.

He cuts around the tree-top encampment, skirting the ruins until he hits a very seldomly trailed path. It spears right into the heart of Sherwood, leading Namjoon directly to the outskirts of Nottingham.

Namjoon has to journey through the night, taking a brief reprieve under the drooping boughs of a pine. Thready light filters through the trees, guiding Namjoon. Despite the infrequent use of this particular trail, he knows it perhaps more intimately than any other. It was the path of his childhood, where he found salvation and freedom.

The spire of the old church comes into view, breaking through the canopy before it gives way entirely to the thick stone wall encasing the city proper. It was the wish of the church to remain outside the city so its doors could remain open to any and all manner of wanderers, even those who may have found themselves on the wrong end of the Kingdom’s sword.

“Friar Gill! Friar Gill, are you within?” Namjoon whisper-yells, peeking over the sill of one of the rear windows of the sprawling sect house that connects to the church proper. It’s early enough in the dim morning hours that daily service and devotionals haven’t happened, but the brother within should be awake to prepare for them.

“Is that you, Namjoon?” comes a familiar voice, though one that does not belong to Friar Gill.

“Jimin? Er, Friar Park, yes, it’s me.”

“What brings you here at this hour?” Jimin asks, his tousled head of dark locks poking out the window a second later. His eyes are bright, the dark irises catching the first glimmers of morning light. A hefty tome is clutched to his robe-covered chest and there is a smudge of ink on the apple of his left cheek.

“Is Friar Gill here?”

“I’m afraid not. He left per request of the King, nearly a month gone now. He’s to bless the front lines and bestow his grace upon the King as he continues his crusade. It seems the Prince’s favored mage has not brought the King any luck,” he adds that last part with a healthy smirk, his cheeks instantly coloring as he clears his throat. “Forgive me for speaking ill of the Prince’s Mage.”

It’s an automatic response, Namjoon knows, for Jimin to feel contrite over his words immediately. Even if he knows Namjoon holds no warmth with the Prince nor his Mage. If anything, Namjoon harbors far more resentment and hatred towards the snake of a magick caster than most.

After all, it was The Mage who saw to Namjoon’s displacement and subsequent outlawish ways. It’s his fault that Namjoon has had to resort to pillaging city-bound caravans to get by.

He reminds Jimin as much, “You know there is no pleasantry lost between Taehyung and myself.”

Jimin nods, a frown pulling down his full mouth. “Yes. Yes, I don’t suppose so.” Straightening up, Jimin gives a quick shake of his head. “Friar Gill may be gone, but perhaps I can help you. What is it that you need?”

“There’s a book…a book that was shown to me when I was just a boy by Friar Gill. It has a green leather cover and gold etching along the edges. The title was something odd, a language I’m not familiar with. Do you know it?”

“‘Prophetia Somniorum’,” Jimin intones softly, his eyes widening with twinkling wonder. “A book about dreams. Prophetic dreams.”

“Yes. That’s the one. I think it has the answers that I seek.”

🍂🍂🍂

“Please, My Lady, come away from the window before you catch a chill. It’s the last thing you’d want on this day.”

You sigh, turning away from the open window of your tower room. The landscape beyond is bleak, the sky streaked through with heavy, grey rain clouds. There’s been a perpetual drizzle ever since you arrived in Nottingham.

Six days. It’s been six whole days since the incident in Sherwood Forest. Six days since you saw him…and you can’t stop thinking about those dark eyes. You’ve dreamed about them several times throughout your life, a few times a year at most. Now, though, it’s become a nightly occurrence.

There was a point in your life, in your early twenties, when you asked your mother about the dreams and whether or not she thought they held any meaning. You’ll never forget the faraway look she got in her eyes and the sad smile that curved her rouged lips.

It was like she was haunted by your question, or rather whatever your question made go through her mind. Memories, perhaps. Though, she never would tell you, no matter how much you asked. She simply told you that you should always dare to dream, whether your eyes are opened or closed.

You wish you could seek her guidance now, to ask her whether or not the man on the road could genuinely be the man you’ve been seeing in your dreams or if that kind of thing only belongs in storybooks.

It’s been months since you’ve seen either her or your father. Ever since your mother took ill and she and your father took up permanent residence in Nottingham, you’ve spent far more time alone in Yorkshire than in either of their companies.

As it is, you’ve not even seen either of them since you came into the city. Their estate is on the far side of Nottingham, in the garden district, and you’re restricted to the Palace. You had received a brief letter from them when you first arrived, a simple check-in via a cursore. You sent a response, but there hasn’t been word since, not a single knock at your chamber door aside from the occasional servant bringing your meals.

You wouldn’t be surprised if it’s still months before you see them again, given your mother’s health and your father’s demanding position within the governing body.

Duckie titters, her hands automatically moving to straighten your gown, even though not a stitch has moved since she trussed you into the stays an hour gone. The sun sits heavy and low on the horizon, its thready rays trying pitifully to eat away the thickness of night and perpetually grey cover.

You woke long before you should have, feeling restless with an itch beneath your skin. The fine hairs along your arms prickle under the long bells of your sleeves. You can’t shake the feeling that’s been gnawing at your gut since your eyes popped open, the dream of your highwayman sluicing away like a rush of icy water down your back.

“My gown is fine, Duckie,” you mutter. It takes every ounce of nerve you have to not jerk away from her prodding and fluffing.

Her wrinkled lips turn down in a frown. “One can never be too lax on a day such as this, My Lady. I just want to make sure you are pristine for Prince Seokjin.”

You might have once smiled at the thought of a prince. Part of the girlish charm of childhood, you’re sure. Pretty dresses, handsome princes, and a single care of naught else in the world. Only, you’re not a girl anymore. Not even close.

“I’m quite alright. Please. If the prince cannot accept me as I am right now, then perhaps he does not befit me after all.” You meant to say that to yourself, a mere utterance under your breath, but your frazzled nerves must be affecting your senses as a whole.

The gasp from Duckie is so dramatic it belongs in the theatre, center stage with an anticipation-gripped crowd holding their breaths to find out what happens next. In this case, it's a twitching of your eye as you suppress an eye roll and plaster on a tense smile instead.

Duckie swallows whatever response is on her tongue when a loud, sharp rapt sounds at the door. She schools her features and turns towards it, giving you a quick glance over her shoulder. You nod, letting her know it’s acceptable to open the door, even if you’d rather tell her to send whoever it could possibly be away. Nothing good can come of a knock on the door today, even if it could be a cursor from your parents.

Just as expected, the door opens, and you’re certain the temperature in the room drops several degrees. If you were facing the window, you’re sure you’d see the sun slink backward in the sky, choosing to hide from the figure on the other side of your threshold instead of continuing its journey to spread its meager warmth.

The prince’s mage sweeps into the room, his upper lip curled in mild disgust as his gaze sweeps over Duckie, quickly dismissing her, until they land on you. Those cold, calculating eyes have always unnerved you. What with their slender vertical pupils that slice through his golden brown irises, he looks every inch the venomous snake you know he is.

“My Lady,” he says, tilting his unruly head of midnight hair toward you. Even his voice has a hiss-like quality to it, the syllables drawn out just a breath too long.

“Taehyung.” You hope he can hear the apparent disinterest in the flat tone of your voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Though it’s anything but, you mentally note.

“I came to escort you to the arena.”

Of course, he would be the one to come and escort you. You should have figured as much. Despite the threat of rain, today’s festivities are set to commence at high noon. In celebration of your betrothal to the prince, a tournament of varying specialties is being held. There will be horse jousting, stone lifting, archery, and a multitude of other events, along with a giant feast. The event is open to most of the public, one of the only times mere commoners may get the chance to mingle among the upper echelon.

You balked at the idea when it was presented to you by your father. But, he would hear nothing of it, nattering on about how this marriage will benefit not just the Kim crown but your father’s own standing with his home country as well. For lack of a better way to say it, you are simply a means to a political end. No better than a slab of meat being bartered for at market.

“There is no—”

“There have been more reports of attacks on the road, growing ever closer to the city. The prince worries for your safety. You can come with me, or I shall have to call for the sheriff. My Lady, there simply can be no other way.”

It’s tempting to make him call for Yoongi. However, you’re not sure who the lesser of two evils is. As much as you hold disdain for the sheriff, you know if he’s pulled away from his duties to escort you, his wrath will be great. While the prince’s mage unnerves you…best to get this over with.

“Very well.” You incline your head and clench your jaw in preparation for the feel of his skin against yours as you stiffly rest your hand over the top of his when he offers it to you.

Ignoring the foreboding feeling growing in the pit of your stomach, you allow Taehyung to guide you out your door, Duckie shuffling close behind. The soft whisper of your slippers over the cold stones in the corridor might as well be the toll of a bell, telling of your impending doom and the future you want no part of.

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[circusgoth-dotcom]

The Sheriff's Prisoner

Ship: The Sheriff of Nottingham x Gabriel of Blackburn

Word Count: 1186

Summary: After a long day, the Sheriff looks forward to nothing more than interrogating a newly caught prisoner... and is shocked when he finds his favourite face staring back at him in the dungeons. CWs for false imprisonment, implied violence, mentions of injuries, mistrust, corruptness.

Tag List: @canongf @futurewife @myers-meadow

After a frustrating day, the Sheriff of Nottingham was almost looking forward to torturing the newly captured prisoner his men had notified him about. Draped in his usual lavish robes and distinct leather gloves, his appearance was one of complete confidence and superiority as he descended into the dungeons of his vast manor.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Open the door.” He instructed once he reached the two nightguards at the bottom of the spiral staircase. They glanced at each other, increasing the sheriff’s annoyance by a tick, before finally opening the door and letting him pass. “So, think you’re clever, do you--?”

His voice caught in his throat as he realized the scene before him. His closest friend, Gabriel of Blackburn, stood with his back against the wall, his wrists shackled high above his head and his uncovered toes barely scraping the dirty floor beneath them. His left eye was beginning to grow dark and puffy, and the matching side of his neck and exposed shoulder were badly scraped. He shivered where he was bound, wearing nothing but his moth-eaten undergarments. Gabriel did not look up when the sheriff entered the room.

The sheriff turned wildly back to the guards outside of the room. “What is he doing here?”

“Suspected of helping Robin of Locksley and his band of merry men, sir,” one answered hesitantly.

"Suspected?? What evidence do you have against a man I've only ever known as a law-abiding citizen of Nottingham?"

"Well, he is consistently late with his taxes in the records," the other guard began, "it was inevitable we'd have to bring him in at some point, anyway."

Fury boiled in the sheriff. "So you thought you'd teach him a lesson by tacking false treachery onto his sentence as well?!"

"No--! Well--! He was seen thieving, sir! Around the same time Locksley led a raid!"

"Why should I trust what you two have to say when I can get the story straight from the horse's mouth?" With that, the sheriff stepped back into the room, slamming the door behind him. "Idiots!" He then swept toward his friend, frowning over its injuries. “Oh, Gabriel, what did they do to you?”

Gabriel’s trembling became worse as he tried to lift his head, only to fall back into his previous position, staring at the sheriff through his messy hair. “Arrested me… obviously…” He answered in a broken voice.

“Tell me exactly what happened. I refuse to believe those imbeciles outside… don’t… don’t tell me you were with Locksley.”

“Unchain me first.”

The sheriff was momentarily stunned. He had never dealt with internal conflict when it came to justice, and it proved to be a very distracting predicament. He liked Gabriel an awful lot. He wanted Gabriel to be on his side. Still, none of that meant that it was innocent.

“Sheriff?” Gabriel prompted, only to be met with a hard stare.

“I can’t do that, Gabriel.”

A layer of emotional hurt was added to Gabriel’s exhausted and physically pained features. “Yes, I suppose you can’t. After all, I’m just another misbehaving child in the family of Nottingham, and the sheriff father’s going to set me straight… whether he trusts me or not, whether I’m innocent or not.”

“What I do is for the good of King John’s people, you know this. I told you Locksley was a criminal, I warned you that he was dangerous--”

“Then why treat me as if I’ve purposefully crossed you?”

“Just tell me what happened.”

A pressing silence followed as the sheriff remained still, watching the shaking frame of a man he cared far too much about. Gabriel swallowed.

“I was running errands for the bishop when Locksley and his men came through. It was chaos… sheriff, trust me when I say I had no frame of reference for how Locksley looks before today. I thought I was being a good samaritan when someone ran into me and dropped what I presumed was their belongings, and I willingly placed them back into their arms. I took food from an abandoned stall and gave it to equally abandoned children, as well. I was not thieving intentionally…” Gabriel turned a shade paler, “but I suppose I was influenced by Locksley’s philosophy, wasn’t I? But instead of taking from the rich…”

“You took from the poor to feed the poor and you aided wanted criminals in their misdeeds.” The sheriff’s ears burned. He wanted to vomit from the speed at which thoughts and emotions were filtering through his brain.

“Sheriff, I didn’t know. Please, I didn’t know…” Gabriel sobbed dryly. “I know, deep down, you think everything you do is for the right reasons, but do you really think punishing me would be worth it? You know me, sheriff…”

He shifted uncomfortably, finally moving to turn away from his prisoner slightly. “I will consider sparing you. For tonight, you will remain here.” He eventually answered, removing his ring of keys from his belt to unchain Gabriel from the wall. They stumbled against him as their wrists limply slipped from the cuffs, making his breath hitch, almost reconsidering leaving Gabriel in the dungeons the second their bodies connected. Shaking these thoughts off, he gently pried them away from him and guided them into sitting on the floor. They continued to sob into their hands as he left, a coldness spreading in his chest as he let the door close behind him.

Too restless to retire to his chambers, the sheriff sought out his loyal advisor, the witch, Mortiana.

“I sense you are frenzied,” Mortiana’s voice croaked from the shadows.

“Of course I am. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had,” the sheriff answered gruffly, waving away the odd smog that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. “But that’s neither here nor there, what can you tell me about Gabriel of Blackburn?”

The hunched and half-blind woman appeared from seemingly nowhere, briefly startling the sheriff with a hiss and a wicked grin as she grabbed a nearby bowl of olive oil. He watched her as she cast a handful of sewing needles into the oil, then winced as she plucked one of his hairs and added it to the bowl, giving it a hearty swirl and humming to herself as she examined the contents.

“He has the potential to be very useful to you…” The witch mused. “For he is of royal kin, but he does not know it. Born a year before his more popular sister… if you want power, seek it with him.”

The mistakes by Gabriel’s hands completely flushed from his mind, the sheriff’s eyes widened. “Royal kin???”

“There is someone he reminds you of, boy, is that untrue?”

She was right and he knew it. Sometimes, he was sure he caught fleeting glimpses of Lady Marian’s smile on Gabriel’s face, not to mention the similar shades in their hair, the near-identical chins, and the shared fire in their eyes, even with the difference in colour.

“Will we wed, my lady?” The sheriff asked distantly.

“The future is too cloudy to say… it all depends on the boy’s reaction.”

[pd-architecture]

PROJECT UPDATE: HOUSE EXTENSION IN NOTTINGHAM

The grant of planning approval from Nottingham City Council for this house extension project came through earlier in the year, and the work to add both front and rear extensions is now well underway on site.

Designed by Paul DayBSc (Hons) MCIAT of PD Architecture the project will drastically increase the floor area of the property. The proposals provide for a modern open plan living/kitchen to the rear, with separate Living Room, Utility, WC, feature staircase/entrance and Gymnasium on the ground floor. To the first floor there are now 4 bedrooms each with an En-Suite under construction, whilst to the front and rear feature cantilevered balconies are proposed.

Architectural Design: PD Architecture Planning: Nottingham City Council

#Planning #Nottingham #PDArchitecture #Architecture #ArchitecturalDesign #ArchitecturalServices #residential #extension #HouseExtension #HomeExtension #Building #Plans #PlanningPermission #Planning #Approval

Find out more about our Architectural Design services and our House Extension services at www.pd-architecture.co.uk/extensions/

Architectural Design Brief: To provide the architectural designs for a two storey front and rear house extension(s) just outside Nottingham city centre.

Location: Nottingham

Date Spring/Summer 2023

Clients Residential Architecture

Category House Extension in Nottingham

Area Nottingham Architecture

Site Nottingham

Planning Authority Nottingham City Council

PD ARCHITECTURE . . . . #designed4living Architectural Practice in Nottingham

[i-m-ages]

Hopkinsons of Nottingham.

[atlasandacamera]

Bromley House Library, Nottingham, England

[melanoradrood]

EPISODE 7 : Worlds Away

A loss within the Potter family brings everyone together, even while others spread apart. Accusations of lies and betrayal form a rift between the newlyweds. Others, meanwhile, have their secrets finally revealed.

Chapter 33 : Mistakes

"You're drunk."

Draco paused at the top step and turned slowly to look towards the Duchess's chambers. Hermione had never inhabited them when they were last in London, seeing as how he had been residing at Nottingham House and they had left after the wedding. He had imagined, time and again, just what she would do with that bedroom.

After all, they were to share his rooms. His rooms were darker in the morning, had the larger softer bed, and he had had no intention of allowing her to be far from him, ever. Her rooms, well, the Duchess's rooms, had such a natural light to them, he had imagined her sitting on a chaise, reading, while he was on his knees devouring her...

Now, he wondered if he would ever see her within those rooms. Now, he wondered if she would ever again be in his bed.

"I am not," he answered slowly, careful to hide any slur to his tone. He could understand why she would assume that he was drunk, given how he must smell like liquor, but—"I have sobered up before returning home."

"Why?" she asked, forcing him to look at her once more.

He had not intended to do so. In fact, every step up the large staircase, he had reminded himself to simply turn right once he reached the landing and enter his own room. He hadn't wanted to look her way and see her door shut. He had been trying to spare himself from his regret and his longing. He had been trying...

Well, it was futile now, and so, he allowed his gaze to pass over her.

He wished it had not.

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[sunflovverharry]

Driving Home for Christmas

a/n: hii! i wanted to make this a super cute dad!h during christmas fic so i hope you enjoy! this fic is a part of @goldenbluesuit ´s christmas song fic challenge which i’m honored to be a part of! It's the first fic challenge I’ve entered and I’ve been nervous to post something along with all these other amazing writers, but I'm excited to post this little piece centered in the dad universe. Happy reading, and remember to read the rest of the entries as well (which I’ve read some these past two weeks and they’re fab!) <3

pairing: dad!h + y/n

warnings: none! just a cute dad!h piece

word count: 3.8k

Harry was loading the trunk of their Audi, putting all their packed suitcases and bags of presents in there. The car was smack full as this year they had another addition to their family, waiting patiently for her mum to feed her before they left the city. It was snowing heavily and Anne made sure they knew they didn’t have to drive up today with the weather making the roads worse than usual. Y/n also told him a hundred times it was his decision as he was the one driving. Harry didn’t budge though, telling his mum they would definitely be there by tonight.

This year's Christmas celebrations were being spent in Cheshire with Harry’s family seeing as they were with her family in Nottingham last year. They’ve found it works best this way rather than splitting it up to go both places every year. After four years together and buying a house at the start of this year, y/n thinks this might be the last Christmas spent out of their own home. They have their two cats (Nellie and Sunny) and having their first child it might be time to start celebrating the holiday at their own house.

«Babe, did you remember to pack the board games?» Harry heard his girlfriend ask from the threshold where they had hung a mistletoe and had Harry not been busy trying to make everything fit, he definitely would’ve turned around, ran up to her and gave her a big smack on the lips. He settled for giving her a thumbs up not swirling around as he was too busy trying to figure out how he could make most of their things fit in the trunk, thinking it was just like a game of tetris. While Harry had been doing the heavy lifting and packing; y/n had put a cute Christmas onesie on the still tiny body of their daughter, definitely small for her age but she was eating like her daddy so where the weight went they had no idea.

Olive was a generally happy, cuddly baby who more often than not reached for her dad over her mum. It didn’t bother y/n that she was a daddy’s girl, knowing how much Harry loves children and now that he has his own he’s all over her. She finds the two cuddled together on the sofa, their bed or the armchair in her nursery at least a couple times a day. Her phone is now overflowing with photos of the two and she’s hoping to put together a photo album for Harry’s birthday filled with them - knowing he’d cherish it forever.

Half an hour later they were pulling out of the driveway. Harry had checked multiple times that all the lights were out, the doors were locked and the alarm system was functioning properly. Olive was smiling as she sat still in her car seat behind y/n. She had wondered if sitting in the back with her daughter would be better, but decided against it. If she got fussy they’d stop at a gas station and she’d move to the back.

The couple was tremendously excited to bring along their little bundle of happiness and get to show her off to all of Harry’s family and friends. Of course, his family have seen her when she was a newborn but living quite far away most of them only get to see them once or twice a year. It’ll change the dynamic of how they celebrate the holidays for sure, but it's a positive change. Anne will spoil her rotten, just like she does to y/n when they visit - making her tea whenever she wants some, washing their dirty laundry (which y/n didn’t care that her mother-in-law saw her underwear cause she didn’t bring anything too scandalous) and heading to the shops when they needed even the smallest thing. Really, y/n thought she was too kind for her own good. At the same time though, y/n always did play a good host when Anne visited them - spoiling her with the comfiest bed sheets, making the food for every meal, not wanting her to lift a finger as if she was the queen.

Olive was eight months - a fairly active one at that - and loves to crawl everywhere, especially to follow her mum or dad around the lower floor of their (way too big) house for only the three (five) of them. Since the pair hadn’t brought Olive with them for such a long drive, the longest being an hour, they were anxious to find out how she’d react to being confined over a longer period of time.

Half an hour in and Olive was babbling away to the teddy bear in her arms (she got it from her nephews when she was born and has been attached to it since) as Harry and y/n talked about how excited they were for their daughter to explore her daddy´s hometown and how his whole family and friends would fall in love with Olive even more. With their little girl just starting to sleep all through the night in her own room, Anne wanted to make sure she got her own room at her nana's too, so apparently she’s cleaned the office and made it into a makeshift nursery for her granddaughter.

Y/n doesn’t know who’s more excited to see all the familiar faces, the family that’s become not only important to her in the last four years, but now also to their baby. The last time they visited Cheshire, y/n was barely two months pregnant and as tough as it was to keep it hidden from Anne for another month, they managed to keep it to the two of them (with just a handful of slip-ups). They were sure Anne knew they were having a baby with the small smirks she gave y/n and harry when she didn’t want the wine - Harry keeping to non-alcoholics in solidarity with her - which was unregular for her, normally jumping on the thought of having a glass or two after a long day.

“You know mum won’t give her up after she gets her hands on her right as we walk through the front door? Might want to hop in the back and get your fix before we get there.” Harry let out a chuckle with y/n joining in knowing just how true his words were. Anne was a godsend of a grandmother, taking Olive in her arms doting over her until she’ll start crying for her daddy. Though everyone gives her all the attention she could wish for, no one could ever do what Harry can. He’s her favorite, no matter how much I wish I could be.

Another half hour later and we were making our first stop at a local gas station in Aylesbury. We were about a third of the way in, but the weather was getting harsher with the snow falling harder and the wind picking up just a little bit. While Harry filled the car up with gas and made sure Olive didn’t start fussing, y/n went inside to get a couple snacky items for the three of them and a filled up cup of coffee for her boyfriend. Coming out of the station she could see Harry in the back with his love bug, bringing her out of the car seat as her cute little wails haltered. She was due for a feed, so they found a secluded space to park so no one would stare at her while breastfeeding their daughter.

Sitting in the front passenger seat with her daughter attached to her nipple with her baby daddy sitting in the driver's seat next to her they spent the next twenty minutes singing along to the Christmas songs playing one after the other on the radio.

Y/n had always loved this time of year - the snow, the songs (which - admittedly - she listened to throughout the entire year), the decorations, the joy and cheer. With y/n and Harry moving in together a month before Christmas, only half a year after they first began dating, they had a mutual understanding for how they would go all out with lights, trees and decorations both on the inside and outside. Though their house was gated with a high fence along the perimeter of their entire land. The trees lining the driveway all the way from the gate to where the gravel road extends into two, one leading to the garage and the other to the front door, were now lit up with strings of light going through them. It was only the beginning to their decorations, but it couldn’t be seen from the gate. More lights were lit along the house, windows were accentuated by red tape creating squares with spray along it, making it seem like snow on the glass. Though there aren’t tons of colourful lights, outside at least, the inside is littered with different colours, shining and sparkling along the staircases, mantels, dressers, counters and tables.

Olive felt like there was something new to look at, touch and be amazed by in every room of their house. As the clock sets seven in the morning, like clockwork, Harry hears Olive’s wails for him to get her out of the crib so she can move around. He kisses y/n’s forehead as he lets her sleep for another half hour to an hour like every morning before pulling on a pair of boxers and some pajama pants if it’s cold to get his daughter from her nursery across the hall.

The two of them were like two giggling girlfriends when they finally saw each other for the first time that day, not being able to keep their smiles from their similar lips. Walking downstairs Olive points at the garland wrapping the staircase and every time she sees it, a small sound of surprise and excitement exit her puckered lips. Harry talks to her about how good her mama is at decorating their house and how good it looks good for Christmas (he only helped her put up decorations, following her direct orders). Y/n had a certain way she liked to decorate and with this being the first Christmas in their house she wanted everything to look perfect.

Coming into the kitchen after turning the dimmed lights on low to have some lighting in the morning dark they had a little shimmy along the floor. Olive babbled along with Harry’s singing and mumbling to her explaining how the buttons on the walls turned on the different lights. She probably didn’t understand or care about the lights, but the two continued singing and talking about nonsense along the way. In the kitchen, Harry made her a bottle she demanded having before getting started on the omelette he makes for him and y/n every morning he’s home without fail.

When they finally got back on the road the snow was coming down heavily and the only thing they could see were the lines of cars in front of them on the M40 pushing the break every few seconds before accelerating again moving only a couple meters before breaking again. Y/n didn’t have a lot of patience in traffic - or in general - and quickly became annoyed making Harry laugh at her telling her to calm down (she wasn’t even the one who had to drive through this horrible weather). This lasted for another forty-five minutes before the snow let up just a little bit and the cars seemed to roll along the road like normal.

“I didn’t think driving home for Christmas would take this long. At least, I hoped it wouldn’t.” They’d been on the road since nine thirty this morning and now, two and a half hours later, they still have at least another two hours left until they’re at Anne’s. It wasn’t unusual for y/n to call Anne’s home, having stayed there for weeks at a time during the almost five years her and Harry have known each other. Harry isn’t unknown to calling y/n’s parents’ house his home either.

“I know. Wish it didn’t have to take this long and I’m sure little Ollie is going to get antsy soon. If the weather continues like this and we don’t have to take more than one more break, I think we’ll be there within three hours, but if we run into traffic, we might have to take more stops along the way.” Harry wanted to move along quickly to get to his mum’s before Olive’s nap time around three, if she didn’t end up sleeping in the car. We knew when we decided to drive in the morning that Olive would probably stay up the whole way, too engrossed with the cars and lights along the way to ever be able to fall asleep.

“You know what we should do to keep her happy for another half hour at least?” Y/n turned to look at Harry with a smile grazing her lips. “Play some Christmas music! She loves when we sing and dance around the house.” Playing the memories of hearing Olive’s belly laughter through the house while Harry and her danced in circles around her like another pair of idiots.

Putting on the same Christmas song list they’ve played since making it together all those years ago, the first song coming on shuffle being Santa Claus is Coming to Town. The noise was at a comfortable volume so they could still hear Olive if she started fussing though it’s unlikely and for it to not be too disturbing for Harry’s driving. With Olive seated with her back to them she couldn’t see her mummy dancing in her seat while they sang along to song after song, but she heard her parents’ voices singing out to the songs she’s heard oh so many times before.

“This is accurate, huh?” Harry snickered as Driving Home for Christmas began playing through the speakers.

“You don’t say.” It was one of their favorite songs and it fit the scene they were in, driving home for Christmas, excited to see their family, singing along the slowly getting better traffic. Looking around at the cars next to them, most of them looked to be families also driving home to be with their families for this year's holiday celebrations.

The rest of the drive was filled with more singing, two more stops for Harry to give his baby some cuddles and walking around one of the local Tesco’s they stopped at to get some more drinks and snacks. Olive was waving at everyone walking past us and talking all kinds of gibberish. While y/n grabbed the snacks, Harry had Olive walking along the aisles in between his feet while holding her little hands in his following her around the store.

A quarter to three they finally made it to Anne’s home, reversing into the driveway so they could get their baggage inside easier later in the day. Y/n saw Anne open the front door in the rearview mirror when Harry was pulling in the last meters. There was a bright smile on her face when we got out of the car. The snow had laid thick on the ground up north and the slick ice underneath made it harder to walk without having to make sure every step was carefully thought out.

Just minutes later Olive was already crawling with her little legs all over her grandma’s home, interested in anything and everything she could get her chubby hands on not seeming to be tired at all. They decided to forgo her nap and hope for an early night, which isn’t likely with everything going on around her. Anne was on granny duties right away telling the pair to sit down and relax with the tea she had prepared while she took care of the baby. There was no doubt she loved the attention from the person she might not remember from this summer but quickly became attached to, almost as much as she is to her daddy.

Harry found his place on the sofa, head in y/n’s lap and feet hanging over the armrest demanding her fingers curling through his locks. It wasn’t surprising to her that he was tired from driving the entirety of the way in traffic and tightly packed snow at times. Sure, if needed he could have stayed awake, but with his mum taking care of his little love he didn’t care much, falling asleep to his other love combing her fingers through his hair. It didn’t happen too often that they could have a cuddle in the middle of the day - just the two of them - with Olive needing their attention at all hours of the day so when the opportunity arose he wasn’t going to turn it down. He admits, though this is nice as well, that a naked cuddle in bed would definitely top laying on the sofa with his mum and daughter running around them. Maybe tonight, he thinks, as he finally falls asleep to the sound of Olive’s giggles.

As nighttime inched closer and Olive’s bedtime was passing them in the chatter and laughter, y/n told Harry to get their things from the car while she nurses Olive before getting her ready for bed. While they took care of their daughter, Anne made a nice spread of cheese and crackers for them to indulge tonight while catching up on everything that’s been going on in their lives since the last time she visited them in London.

Harry found Olive’s bag first, choosing a pair of christmassy pajamas from the mountain of clothes they had brought for her. Y/n walked upstairs to the nursery Anne had set up, seeing Harry already unpacking her bags into the cute vintage turquoise chiffonier Anne had bought from a neighbour only a couple weeks ago immediately falling in love with it.

«Would you like to have a cuddle with daddy before bed, Ollie?» Y/n firmly believed her daughter needed the nightly cuddle from Harry, just like she does, to fall asleep. She was already reaching out for him with her nimble hands waiting for him to take her in for a snuggle in his arms. There was no armchair in the makeshift nursery like they had purchased for Olive’s nursery back home where they always sat but Harry made it work. Anything for a cuddle with his baby growing way too quick for his liking.

It was no secret Harry loved babies and that only heightened when he had his own baby. With how good Olive is and how lush it’s been having a baby around and it not be just the two of them, he had thought about what it would be like with another baby around. Another little love for them to have, give Olive a sister or brother to play with. He hadn’t said anything to y/n about the thoughts he’d been having, not knowing if she'd agree with him. It’s been eight months and when they had talked about it before they agreed on a maximum of two years between their children.

Only a couple hours later they headed to bed themselves, ready for a good night's sleep before another long day tomorrow. Harry had been debating with himself whether he was going to mention babies to y/n or not - ultimately ended up with yes, he would mention it. Now they were finally alone with y/n resting her head on Harry’s pillow, her fingers delicately drawing patterns on his chest.

“I have something I’d like to discuss with you.” Harry’s voice wasn’t much louder than a whisper, not wanting to ruin the calmness around them. He wasn’t nervous so to say, but he felt his pulse quicken the tiniest bit at the thought of getting turned down. Y/n turned her head to watch Harry as he pulled her in as close as he could without suffocating her.

“It’s been lovely having Olive, right? Seems like it was meant to be to have a baby and during the holidays it’s been so fun watching her so interested in everything.” Y/n murmured her answer. She had loved having a little one to care for and to fill their days with joy over the last eight months.

“Well, with how well it’s been going with her, I was thinking we could talk about having another little one? Maybe discuss it a bit. What do you say, let's make Ollie a big sister?”

“I think we might be well on the way to making her a sister, bub.” Harry turned his head at lightning speed hearing her words, not knowing if he heard her quite right. His open mouth and big round eyes weren’t something she saw often combined as she wasn’t always the best at surprising him, but this time she was sure her secret had come as a big shock. It wasn’t as if they had been trying for a baby either, only forgetting a condom a handful times when they were too in the moment to care for it.

She found out only a week ago, thinking she could keep it to herself until Christmas day. It wasn’t difficult to hide it from him, not struggling with morning sickness and only craving sweets as if she was on her period. Knowing they had agreed on the number of children they wanted - four - she wasn’t scared of him reacting badly.

“You’re not joking, right?” Harry smashed his lips onto his girlfriends when she shook her head - no, i’m not joking - kissing her slow and long, showing her just how happy he was. They spent the night talking about how thrilled and excited they were to expand their family with more children and how great of a sister Olive would be. Baby names were flying between them, agreeing to never naming one of their babies after a city, but rather continuing naming them something more unique than Chloe or Adam.

The rest of the holiday spent up north with Harry’s family was relaxing and lovely all around. Playing board games, exploring the city with Olive (who was way too fascinated by all the snow), family dinner parties and having fun with friends they didn’t get to see all too often. Olive was wiped out after opening her presents on Christmas morning and spending all her energy on all the toys she got and the paper ripping she played with (more than the toys to be honest).

This year had been special for the family and Christmas was just the same. Olive was lively and it made y/n and Harry exhausted with everything going on, but they wouldn’t change it for the world. After all, Olive was their little girl and soon there would be another little love in their family. Trying to keep the pregnancy from their family and friends was easier this time around as she could blame not drinking alcohol on her breastfeeding and decided they would keep it hidden from everyone until the last possible minute.

[mariacallous]

He sipped at a weak hock and seltzer As he gazed at the London skies Through the Nottingham lace of the curtains Or was it his bees-winged eyes?

To the right and before him Pont Street Did tower in her new built red, As hard as the morning gaslight That shone on his unmade bed,

“I want some more hock in my seltzer, And Robbie, please give me your hand — Is this the end or beginning? How can I understand?

“So you’ve brought me the latest Yellow Book: And Buchan has got in it now: Approval of what is approved of Is as false as a well-kept vow.

“More hock, Robbie — where is the seltzer? Dear boy, pull again at the bell! They are all little better than cretins, Though this is the Cadogan Hotel.

“One astrakhan coat is at Willis’s — Another one’s at the Savoy: Do fetch my morocco portmanteau, And bring them on later, dear boy.”

A thump, and a murmur of voices — (”Oh why must they make such a din?”) As the door of the bedroom swung open And TWO PLAIN CLOTHES POLICEMEN came in:

“Mr. Woilde, we ‘ave come for tew take yew Where felons and criminals dwell: We must ask yew tew leave with us quoietly For this is the Cadogan Hotel.”

He rose, and he put down The Yellow Book. He staggered — and, terrible-eyed, He brushed past the plants on the staircase And was helped to a hansom outside.

“The Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel” by Sir John Betjeman

[patchittjoinery]

Discover Your Go-To Joinery Shop Near Me

Embark on a journey of craftsmanship and creativity with our premier joinery shop near me. Whether you're in need of bespoke furniture or unique woodwork pieces, our shop is your destination for quality craftsmanship and personalized service.

[lupinepublishers]

Lupine Publishers | Functional and Morphological Changes in Diabetic Macular Oedema: Baseline Correlations, and Changes with Pharmacological Treatments

Trends in Ophthalmology Open Access Journal (TOOAJ)

Introduction

Several pharmacologic agents are now available for the treatment of DMO including anti-VEGF agents [1-6] and corticosteroids [1-11]. The introduction and frequency of these treatments has coincided with the introduction of less invasive investigating and monitoring systems including OCT [12-17] and fundus related perimetry, also known as microperimetry (MP) [18, 23]. OCT is now well established in the evaluation of DMO, especially with the recent advances with spectral domain models [1-27]. It has contributed significantly to our understanding of the anatomical changes of DMO and the intra-retinal damage and provides a valuable tool for the follow-up of macular oedema [14]. Carpineto, et al. [22] studied the role of MP in evaluating fixation patterns and retinal sensitivity in patients who had clinically significant macular oedema with a diffuse pattern and type 2 diabetes mellitus. Furthermore, Okada, et al. [21] demonstrated a significant correlation between retinal sensitivity as measured by MP, visual acuity and foveal thickness as measured by OCT in eyes with DMO. Previous studies have also investigated the role of MP and fundus autofluorescence (FAF) in evaluating outcomes in DMO treated with laser photocoagulation and micro pulse laser photocoagulation [18]. More recently, Comyn, et al. [28] reported functional and morphologic changes in eyes treated with ranibizumab or laser photocoagulation in the LUCIDATE Study. Similarly, Reznicek, et al. [29] and Kim, et al. [30] have reported functional outcomes of DMO eyes treated with anti-VEGF therapies. These available MP studies on DMO, however, used the first generation of MP technology (MP-1, Nidek Co; Japan) [18,22] where the analysis of fixation stability was not studied as a main outcome of visual function affected by DMO. A more recent study by Kim, et al. [30] used the spectral OCT/SLO system (Optos OCT SLO, Optos, Scotland).

MP allows for the exact topographic correlation between fundus abnormalities and corresponding functional alterations by integration, with different methods, of differential light threshold (more commonly known as retinal sensitivity) and fundus imaging. The Nidek MP-1 is a mesopic test that requires pupil dilation or a 5–10 min dark light adaptation before starting the examination. The Optos system relied on pupil dilatation and 15-minute dark adaptation used a fixation target in the shape of a cross of 1° size and the MP was performed with Goldmann III size dot stimuli utilising 13 stimulus points and a four to two staircase strategy [31]. More recently, Centervue (Padova, Italy) developed a 3rd generation of MP systems, the Macular Integrity Assessment (MAIA). The greatest advantage of the MAIA is the ease of the operation since it does not require mydriasis; the much lower cost compared to other instruments is an added advantage. It utilizes the Scanning Laser Ophthalmoscope (SLO) technology to image the retina with higher resolution (of 1024 x 1024 pixels) and a more effective eye tracker to monitor the eye movement at 25 times per second improving reliability and usability for operators and patients [18-31]. In addition, the MAIA is the only instrument that offers automatic estimates on PRL characteristics during early and late fixation [31]. This study aims to evaluate the ability of MAIA MP in detecting early changes in retinal function not only with the analysis of retinal sensitivity, but also with the analysis of fixation behaviour in eyes with DMO and investigate their correlation with central macular thickness measured with OCT and visual acuity (LogMAR) at baseline and in 3 months from commencing treatment intravitreal anti-VEGF therapies.

Methods

In a prospective, observational case series study, 23 consecutive patients with clinically significant DMO (Table 1A, 1B) presenting to the practice of WMA in the University Hospital, Queen’s Medical Centre, Nottingham, were recruited into this study from August 2013 to July 2014. This study was approved by the institutional review body (National Research Ethics Service Committee ref: 12/EM/0116; R&D ref 12OY004). Full ophthalmological assessment was done. Informed consent was obtained from all the participants. Subjects received intravitreal injections of ranibizumab (Novartis UK, Frimley Park) 0.5mg in 0.5ml at 4 weekly intervals times 3, and then pro re nata as per NICE TA 237. By implication, all eyes had DMO with foveal thickness of 400 microns or more. Logarithm of the minimum angle of resolution (LogMAR) best-corrected visual acuity (BCVA) was evaluated by means of an Early Treatment of Diabetic Retinopathy Study chart (ETDRS). Foveal thickness was measured with the Topcon 2000 OCT (Topcon, Tokyo, Japan). Age, duration of diabetes, haemoglobin A1c (HbA1c) levels, duration of symptoms, history of previous laser photocoagulation, or vitrectomy were recorded. OCT examinations were analysed for vitreomacular adhesion/traction, and cystoid macular changes were quantified. All the participants were assessed for visual function with the Macular Integrity Assessment MP (MAIA MP) instrument (CentreVue, Padua, Italy). Retina sensitivity (RS) and Fixation stability were assessed with MAIA MP over the central retina (10 degrees) projecting 37 light stimuli points with a, “4-2” projection strategy. The examinations were performed at baseline and months 3 after treatment. Main outcome measures were fixation characteristics and mean retinal sensitivities. The MAIA MP images were exported into the Topcon OCT system through the Topcon import-reference-image software for the manual morphological-functional correlation analysis. As the selected MP grid map measures light sensitivity in the central 3mm of the retina, only the standard internal retinal subfields (central, inner superior, inner nasal, inner inferior, inner temporal) as defined in the Age-Related Eye Disease Study (AREDS) [31] were investigated. The outer OCT subfields were ignored in the current analysis. The statistical analysis was performed with linear regression, Pearson’s product-moment correlation coefficient and two-tailed paired t test, without correcting for multiple comparisons, using GraphPad Prism 6. A p value less than 0.05 was considered statistically significant.

Results

Forty-two (42) eyes of 23 patients with mean age of 65 yearsold (min = 25, max = 91) were recruited into this study. Patient characteristics including age, type and duration of diabetes, haemoglobin A1c (HbA1c) levels, duration of DMO symptoms, and history of previous laser photocoagulation, or vitrectomy are summarised in Table 3 and Table 4. The duration of DMO symptoms/ presence varied from 14 to 60 (average of 30.09 months). LogMAR VAs and OCTs were performed at similar visits. At baseline, MP parameters of mean retinal threshold sensitivity (TS) (Figure 7.1) and fixation stability (FS) (Figure 7.2) demonstrated a wide range of values (TS: mean = 19.27dB, min = 0dB, max = 29.4dB) (FS: mean = 72.4%, min = 11%, max = 100%) at baseline. At baseline, the LogMAR VAs ranged from 0.0 to 0.98. The central macular thickness measured with OCT (central subfield) ranged from 244 to 841 microns at baseline. VA measurements showed higher correlation with functional MP values of TS (r = 0.617) and FS (r = 0.725), than those found with central macular thickness measured with OCT (r = 0.221). These correlations between VA and the MP parameters are presented in Figure 7.3, Figure 7.4, Figure 7.5. The correlation between TS and FS was moderate (r = 0.442), whilst correlation with DMO duration was low as shown in Table 5.

The morphological changes of macular thickness, intraretinal cysts or subretinal fluid (SRF) on OCT decreased in all internal subfields at 3 months with treatment compared to baseline values. In particular the central subfield showed a statistically significant thickness reduction from 445.3 ± 129.9 μ at baseline to 337.4 ± 107.4 μ (p = 0.01). The other OCT internal subfields changes represented in Figure 7.6, also showed statistically significant reductions in thickness (p < 0.05). Changes in intraretinal cysts and SRF also showed significant reduction at 3 months compared to baseline (p<0.05). The LogMAR VA measurements demonstrated an overall improvement over the time (Figure 7.7); however, the changes were not statistically significant (p = 0.12). The TS and FS demonstrated only slight improvements in the minimum and maximum limits as shown in Figure 7.8 and Figure 7.9 respectively the with time, which were not statistically significant (p values of 0.71 and 0.82 respectively). Table summarized the morphological and functional changes 3 months after treatment initiation. The Pearson’s product-moment correlation coefficient at 3 months after treatment commencement showed a higher, although moderate correlation between logMAR VA with both parametric parameters of TS (r = 0.42) and FS (r = 0.58), than the correlation shown with OCT values (r < 0.25), as demonstrated in Table 6.

Discussion

The morphological changes and VA data in our cohort confirm the clinical efficacy of treatments of DMO with intravitreal injections of ranibizumab. Okada, et al (2006) reported that eyes with DMO had reduced sensitivity as measured with the Nidek MP1 compared to eyes with normal macula. Vujosevic, [19] showed a correlation between VA and MP sensitivity in eyes with DMO. [32] reported significant correlations between CRT; the functional parameters of BCVA (in letters) and MP, at baseline and after 3 injections of ranibizumab. In the study by [30], there was no correlation between the retinal sensitivity measurements (MP and contrast sensitivity) with macular thickness measurements on OCT in eyes with DMO, although the equipment and examination strategies used were different. The integrity of the IS/OS junction (ellipsoid zone), and the outer retinal appearance on the OCT may provide adequate information. This may allow us to distinguish between thin macula, which is scarred, and which is due to resolution of oedema.

Retinal sensitivity on the Nidek MP1 improved at 12 weeks in eyes with DMO treated with ranibizumab or laser, and the improvement continued till week 48. No correlations with OCT measurements were, however, reported in that study. Our analysis at baseline demonstrates that LogMAR VA may be more correlated to functional macular parameters of threshold sensitivity and fixation stability as measured with MP than morphological changes measured with OCT. Similarly, there was better correlation between VA and macular sensitivity (TS and FS) at 3 months after treatment commencement. Macular oedema associated with retinal vascular conditions may affect central vision such that significant reduction leads to the development of eccentric fixation. Generally, ophthalmologic examinations including OCT and MP are based on patient’s ability to observe a fixation target, and adequately maintain that fixation during the examination process. If foveal function is affected, such examinations may not be accurate as fixation may not be optimally located over the foveal area, and therefore the central values reported by OCT, may represent eccentric values. The absence of significant change in functional measures of VA, and TS and FS at 3 months compared to baseline may imply that the functional loss in DMO especially of long duration may not be reversible in the short-term, as the neural disorganisation may not be reversible. This suggestion supports that of Vujosevic, et al. [19], that MP may be useful in predicting functional outcomes in eyes DMO. The DMO in our patients had been present for long duration and will support the suggested neural disruption. A larger cohort with recent onset of DMO would demonstrate better restoration of retinal sensitivity with treatment. Although the present analysis suggests a stronger correlation between the MP functional parameters with LogMAR VA, a longer follow-up with a larger sample test is needed to confirm these findings. The findings from this study demonstrate that patients with good visual acuity show highly stable fixation (P1 > 90%) due to the intact integrity of cone photoreceptors which describes good foveal vision. Okada [21] have postulated that mean retinal sensitivities measured with MP are significantly correlated to visual acuity and foveal thickness. However, the results from this analysis suggest that fixation stability may be a new important parameter to describe functional macular function. The lack of strong correlation between all the measured values, however, indicates that measurement of visual function with MP may be considered as an important tool to better diagnose retinal pathologies as part of multimodality imaging, responding to the need to combine morpho-functional information, and combining different images from different measurement technologies. Further studies are, however, needed to better understand the relationship between macular morphology and the different parameters of macular function. The main limitations of this study are the small number of patients, chronicity of DMO, and short follow-up. A larger number of patients with recent onset of DMO, followed up for a longer period will provide further valuable information on the role of MP in evaluating outcomes in the treatment of diabetic macular oedema.

For more Information  Trends in Ophthalmology 

https://lupinepublishers.com/ophthalmology-journal/index.php

please click here: https://lupinepublishers.com/ophthalmology-journal/archive.php

[thesehauntedhills]

GHOST OF WHITE LADY CAUGHT AT ANNESLEY HALL | NOTTINGHAM?

By Charlene lowe Kemp / January 1, 2021

We have investigated the Old Annesley Church Ruin nearby Annesley Hall in Nottingham, quite a few times over the years now.

One specific investigation of interest was back in 2019 when we had what seemed as a lady coming through on the ITC devices we were using. Many watching informed us that at one point it looked as if a lady was stood in the old hall, which over the years has been set on fire with the upper floors of the building being completely inaccessible, so nobody was there and the only way to truly investigate it now is to stand by it via standing in the Old Church ruin now days.

I have investigated and looked at this area many times since this capture was caught and personally I cant see anything in that particular spot that could have caused it to appear as if a lady was stood there myself. From what I can see is a side view of a lady, maybe with a hat on walking through.

Who Could the Lady be?

Over the years many have reported seeing Mary Chaworth, who lived at the Hall, She has been sighting in this particular area walking in and out her own bedroom as well as walking through walls.

A ghostly figure is sometimes seen peering out of one of the windows in the mews. This apparition is thought to be the spirit of a young servant girl who hanged herself off the staircase in the laundry centuries ago after suffering from the hands of a man, it is believed that she appears at the windows looking if her abuser will return.

Do you see her?

[bigweirdfanfictionlibrary]

firstprince - fluff

Say Yes by Writinginstardust 

summary:Henry is spending Christmas with Alex at the White House and even though they agreed no gifts, Henry has a small surprise for his boyfriend

tags: Marriage Proposal, non-explicit morning sex, Christmas Presents, Lots of kissing

words: 1727

chapters: 1/1

published: 07/12/2019

Girl Time by great_turkey_calamity 

summary:

When Queen Mary hosts a meeting with her grandchildren, Alex is left to hang out with Martha. It doesn’t go nearly as bad as he thought it would.

tags:  This one will NOT make you cry, Literally this is just something I wrote at 2:30AM and you can tell, i love Martha and made her and Alex bffs, why?? Because I c a n, she paints his nails, and they talk, she tells him she’s pregnant, he’s all like :0!!, and then they spiral into a laugh attack, fluff I think??we’ll go with that, Fluff, i use too much italics it’s a problemo, It’s 3AM someone take my phone

words:1853

chapters: 1/1 

published: 24/04/2020

All I Want Is You by alec_rhee 

summary:

Henry, your package has been delivered.

He’s been waiting weeks for this notification. Realistically, he knows it’s only been a week or so since he made this order, but he’s been waiting so impatiently for it to arrive and it seemed to take forever to get here.

He runs up the spiral staircase of their brownstone home, he knows Alex will be home any minute from class, but he just has to look at how it turned out. He sits on the chaise in the bedroom and tears the plastic sleeve and there it is: a bandana for his beagle, David. The material is super soft and is a combination of colors: red, white, and blue. The words on the bandana is in a classic cursive font. The words displayed on the piece of cloth make him feel giddy: Will you marry my daddy?

tags: Fluff, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Boys In Love, Engagement, hint of smut

words: 1629

chapters: 1/1

published:24/04/2020 

five times henry’s competency turned alex on and the one time it turned him into a pile of romantic goo by helenblqckthorn

summary:

Alex has a fucking thing for competency. A competency kink, if he wants to be crude. And it just so happens that his boyfriend is one of the most competent men in England.

Well, Alex, he thinks. You sure know how to pick ‘em. - what it says in the title!

tags: Crack Treated Seriously, Competency Kink, alex the disaster bi,henry is Good at Everything, University Challenge, Croquet, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Social Media, lil bit, Idiots in Love

words: 4333 

chapters: 1/1

published: 18/07/2019

Thirteen Days by alec_rhee 

summary

It's been thirteen days since Henry had to fly back to London on a last minute trip. Without Alex. It's been nearly two weeks and Alex doesn't know how he's going to survive the next six days Henry has left on his trip. Luckily for him, Henry has a surprise for him.

x

“Fucker,” Alex replies, smiling broadly as he throws his phone onto the floor. He’s here. He’s here. He’s here.

“I missed you, too,” Henry replies a little sarcastically against the inside of his thigh, leaving a bite there and soothing it with his tongue. “My love.”

tags: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, It was supposed to be just pure fluff and then it turned into smut, Future Fic

words: 1695

chapters: 1/1

published: 21/04/2020

Guess I’ll Never Know by abstract_love

summary: 

In which Henry is a reluctant (but capable) barista, and Alex is a regular who quickly becomes Henry’s favorite part of the job.

tags:

coffee shop AU, alex is a college student,henry is studying abroad, pez is the most persistent wingman, bea is there for moral support, everything works out in the end, and in the middle, and in the beginning really, just pure fluff, rated T for occasional swearing and references to sex

words:7454

chapters: 4/4

completed: 30/05/2020

Like Hope by studiojude

summary:

Set as a continuation of the final scene of the book. Alex shows Henry his childhood home and tells him about his college plans; sex and emotions follow.

tags:

Fluff and Smut, The boys are being cute and in love and I can't deal, Canon Compliant

words: 1656 

chapters:1/1 

published: 08/07/2020

Es Por Amor by Kririto_Potter

summary:

Coming to the lakehouse, Alex decides, was a very good decision.

tags:

Fluff, Trans Male Character, Trans Character, Coming Out, Scrapbooks, Family Feels, Family Fluff

words: 1916

chapters: 1/1 

published: 13/07/2020 

The Royal Wedding by DracoWillHearAboutThis 

summary:

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE HENRY OF WALES AND MR ALEXANDER CLAREMONT-DIAZ ARE ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED

HM Queen Mary is delighted to announce the engagement of Prince Henry to Mr Alexander Claremont-Diaz.The wedding will take place in the Spring or Summer of 2025, in London. Further details about the wedding date will be announced in due course. 

Prince Henry and Mr Claremont-Diaz became engaged earlier this week during a private holiday in Paris. Prince Henry has informed The Queen and other close members of his family. Prince Henry has sought and received the blessings of Mr Claremont-Diaz's parents.

The couple will live in Nottingham Cottage at Kensington Palace.

tags: Marriage Proposal, Wedding, Wedding Planning, Established Relationship, Fluff, Crack, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Wedding Night, Paris (City), Life at Kensington Palace, Homophobia, Racism

words: 51577 

chapters: 12/12

completed: 15/07/2020

notes from me: one of my fave fics ever, this is incredible and reccomend all fans of firstprince to read unless the following may trigger you trigger warning: for racism and homophobia

The Dewey Decimal System, and Other Love Languages by HMS_Chill

summary:

Alternate title: Love in the Time of Midterms

A few weeks into his new job at the library, a handsome patron asks Henry where to find "gay books", kicking off half a semester of pining.

tags:

alex's competency kink, Library AU, College, Alternate Universe - College/University, Mutual Pining, au where they're normal, aka not famous, henry is so smart, alex is very into it

words: 3098

chapters: 1/1

published: 28/09/2020

[scavengedluxury]

Staircase 12. Horizon Building, Nottingham. July 2019.

[lahilden]

Wollaton Hall

Wollaton Hall is located in Wollaton Park in Nottingham, England. The Elizabethan country house was built in 1588 for Sir Francis Willoughby. The mansion consists of a central block with three-story square pavilions at each corner and a roof walkway. The castle sits on 500 acres that include grasslands, wetlands, and woodlands. There is a deer park on the property with 90 red deer and 120 fallow deer. The interior boasts a Tudor kitchen and the Admiral’s Bath (a cave system) in the basement, while the upper floor has the grand Prospect Room, which is accessed by a narrow, 67-step circular staircase. In 1642, the mansion suffered though fire and sat vacant until 1687, when remodeling began. In 1702, the Duchess of Chandos had statuary and the gondola mooring rings brought in from Italy. In 1801, further remodeling was done which carried on into the 1830s. By 1881, the Willoughby family still owned the mansion, but due to its proximity to the busy and smoky manufacturing town, the 8thand 9thBarons of Middleton decided to lease the house and property; by 1881 the house was vacant. In 1925, the hall was purchased by the Nottingham City Council, and by 1926, Wollaton Hall became the city’s Natural History Museum. The museum has over 750,000 objects that include fossils, plants, invertebrates, taxidermy, and more. The property also houses the Nottingham Industrial Museum in the outer buildings, and the Camellia House, which is the oldest cast-iron glasshouse in Europe. Wollaton Hall is open to the public. The property has two cafes, a shop, and kids play area. Wollaton Hall was used in the filming of the Batman movie The Dark Knight Rises.