#catherine nodding along politely

[bethanydelleman]

I’m reading Northanger Abbey for the first time and I can’t believe how annoying the Thorpes are omg

Isn't it wonderful that Jane Austen wrote characters so annoyingly relatable that we are still mad at them 200 years later?

Like you could put this sentence in the mouth of some arrogant car guy today and it would be almost exactly the same:

“Curricle-hung, you see; seat, trunk, sword-case, splashing-board, lamps, silver moulding, all you see complete; the iron-work as good as new, or better. He asked fifty guineas; I closed with him directly, threw down the money, and the carriage was mine.”

Genius writing!

[ciceroprofacto]

Castling

Manhattan, February 1774 - Part 1

'Tonight's company' entailed what had to be half of the city's nobility. 

If New York had such a thing as aristocrats, this was them. Alexander recognized a handful of familiar faces from Elizabethtown as the Livingston's frequent visitors. He recognized another handful only as familiar names from the balancing sheets of Beekman and Creuger- who were also apparently in attendance.

Both hands full, he occupied himself with listening, observing, nodding along and politely shaking or kissing hands when offered.

Mulligan stayed by his side through countless introductions, gentlemen and ladies in their finest, dresses and embroidery and perfumes and powders. As a student and a tailor they were not these aristocrats' interest for the night, but they made pleasant conversation with them anyway while everyone waited for their meal to be served. All exceedingly polite, imminently important, somewhat familiar, and entirely forgettable.

Miles Cooper was indeed there, along with James Rivington and his wife Elizabeth, but so were Isaac Sears and his wife Sarah Drake, John Lamb and Catherine Jardine, George Clinton and Cornelia, Alexander McDougall and Hanna Botswick, Phillip Schuyler and Catherine van Rensselaer and his business prodigy William Duer, James Duane of the Manhattan Chancery Court with Mary Livingston, his friend James de Lancey, and Lancey’s rival Lewis Morris, Lewis’s brothers Staats, Richard, and Gouverneur who was the first familiar face Alexander had seen and the only person he knew well enough to linger near.

His smile was starting to ache, so he grabbed Mulligan’s wrist for a reprieve.

Mulligan looked at him and then up to Gouverneur who had been attending to Sarah and Sally while their fiancé and husband talked a few paces away. “I’ve been a negligent host to our young friend.” Mulligan confided to the young lawyer. “He’s without a drink,” he said, “Would you-”

“Of course! Come, Alex- we were just congratulating Sally on her recent triumph over the ton.”

Right…Alexander had heard about John Jay’s proposal just a month ago. He had very little direct contact with the Livingstons since he had decided to enroll at Kings- too Anglican for their association- but Kitty kept him involved. Barely eligible for a year and Sally was to be married to one of the brightest lawyers of their generation. He reached to take her hand. “A triumph indeed,” he said, gently brushing his lips to her lace glove.

“It is so good to see you, Alex,” she said, lowering her voice as if it was a confession.

He supposed it was. Calling him anything but ‘Mister Hamilton’ in their present company was closer to scandalous than his attention deserved and she knew it. But, her familiarity did make this stuck-up place feel more-comfortable.

Sally was a darling girl and a tender friend. Though he hadn’t been able to return the compliment, Alexander wasn’t oblivious to the favor she’d paid him while he boarded with her family. Innocent and aimless as it was. He’d felt her gaze at times, watching from the window while he recited latin speeches and poems to himself in the garden. He knew it had little to do with his private performances and far more to do with the vision of him generally- because he felt those same stares when he was simply sitting and reading. But, he would never pity a girl stationed so far above him for her feelings, and when he had disclosed his suspicions, hoping to warn her against them, she assured him that she wanted nothing more than fraternal love from him.

Which he was delighted to give.

Tonight, Sally was a vision in her bright green dress. It made her youth all the more stark, especially in their current company. It was no wonder that Kitty had been glad for Alex to be in New York, here to assist the scheming on her behalf as a brother should.

In the city, where men “could find all sorts of diversions to keep them from marriage until they’re rotting in their boots”, a preeminent bachelor of thirty was not a bad catch at all for a capable hunter like Sally.

Unfortunately, Livingston women were captives of their ton and the rules of courtship, dependent on fathers and brothers for introductions to suitors. Perhaps Alex had lacked the status to make such introductions, but he was a gallant defender. If not the Sword, at least the Shield, capable of subtly repelling the undesirables on her behalf. If the matter had been left up to Gouverneur alone, Kitty worried her sister might end up with a man four times her age.

Jay moved so slowly, there was a time that Alexander had feared she might. The older suitors were the hardest to deter.

Meanwhile, Gouverneur was so sure he’d orchestrated the grand match completely by himself, “All that I’ve seen of him at the practice, he’s kind and dedicated to the right. A true, honest man,” he was saying. “Which are so rare to find these days.”

“True. Women must make their own more often than not,” Sarah Drake Sears agreed. "Honest men that is."

“If only we were allowed to the bar-" Sally said, smiling tauntingly, "better yet, to sit at the bench. It would take a judge to make Gouverneur honest.”

Jay had stepped in closer at his fiancé’s side, near enough to hear her jab. “My ears were itching a moment ago, but now I’m not sure I want to hear why…” he said.

He'd brought Sears along with him to supervise their wives' ribbing. The gracefully-aging sea-captain-made-merchant wasn’t looking at Alexander, and yet still, being so close to the man that practically owned the city’s fealty, Alex's lungs felt tight.

To his credit, Morris had recovered quickly. “I was telling your darling Miss Livingston just how lucky she is to make your match, but now she's got me questioning the very concept of wives."

The glint in Jay's eyes cast a small warning towards Sally not to drive the knife too deep, but Sears was openly amused.

"A tricky one, I agree. Especially with one so quick-tongued and rudely beautiful." It should have been an insult, and from anyone else it might have, but Sally was pressing down a flustered smile against the King's harmless attentions. Sears turned to Morris to say, "Women age like wine. I would advise you to find a match that's been held in reserve a little longer, though there is something to be said for a crisp bite to the pallet."

"I do prefers sweets myself..." Gouverneur said. "But, if the freshest fruit wants to bite my pallet who am I to complain?"

"Incorrigible," Jay's eyes rolled. "I fear for your future wife."

“We all do," Alex heard his own voice tumbling out before he could stop it. "But, he's so far from marrying, I'm sure his future wife hasn’t even been born yet.”

No one laughed.

The joke sunk in slowly and they all just stared.

There was a line somewhere back there and Alexander would very much like to be back on the other side of it.

Gouverneur's lips had parted, uncharacteristically speechless.

Sally's brow had pinched in a mix of confusion and concern. Alex could see the moment his cruel meaning struck her because her face flushed.

Sarah Drake was shaking her head and her husband was struggling to press down a pinched smirk at Gouverneur's expense.

Jay was entirely unamused.

This wasn't Bill Livingston's parlor. If there was one thing that Alexander had learned from his days there, it was that humor was delicate in this echelon of society. Familiarity was fleeting and grace was a thin mask, easily shed. The Livingstons tolerated his rough-hewn edges because his wit could be good fun in private, but in front of their peers...

He didn't say another word. Turned and strode away as fast as his legs would carry him without running.

Mulligan was in his escape path, carefully holding two crystal wine glasses. His eyes widened, and he spun to fall into step beside him until they reached a secluded corner.

Then immediately, "What happened?"

"This is not my scene," Alex said, facing the wall. He pinched his temple, ran his thumb and finger sidelong over his eyes, then squeezed the bridge of his nose as if that might soothe the lingering urge to flee. "I can't play this part and I need to be recast. Immediately. Look- I thought I saw Marinus Willett here," a classmate that he had spotted, talking to the most unfortunately-shaped British officer that Alex had ever seen. "Give him my notes- he can talk to Sears. Make him your pen."

Mulligan's gaze was lost, confused and worried. "Did someone say something?"

"I did! I..." Alex shook his head. He sighed, took a breath, and reached for the wine glass perched in Mulligan's fingers then emptied it in one wide gulp. "I made an ass of myself. Unwittingly cruel to Gouverneur Morris. Deserved or not, it wasn't well done."

"I see..."

"This is not like drawing rooms and dinner talk," he said. "I could explain the Tea Party there. I can dominate the conversation if it pleases a room of friends, but this is something else altogether. These people are...you should have told me what to expect, I don't..." have anything to say.

For a long moment, Mulligan was quiet, just stared at him and then handed him the second glass and took away the first.

The alcohol helped, and it had to be the most flavorful wine Alexander had ever had. He looked at his glass.

The surprise must have shown on his face because, "Lamb's," Mulligan explained. "He provided the wine for tonight. Indisputable taste in vintage. That's why the import business has made him rich."

Alex finished the glass and handed it over.

He should slow down, shouldn't get drunk here, but Mulligan just gave him a sturdy smile. "Y'know, John Lamb's father was a thief- an indentured servant because of it, shipped with his wife to America for burglary just before John was born. Everyone knows it. He'll even talk about it if you ask."

Alex turned back to the parlor to search the crowd for the man in question. Tall, and broad yet he held himself gracefully as anyone else in the room, with round cheeks and a long smiling face. Another titan in human form.

"If this were England, there'd be no accounting for a man out of that background standing in this room, with these men, providing them with his wine. Any gentleman in this room could secure his wines and trade them- could do it easier with far more-ready access to any vintage they'd like to sample. Their tastes have been refined since they were children given their first sips of the grape. But, he's here, and do you know why?"

Alex was far too used to the tailor's roundabout ways of making his point to let himself be this intrigued by the journey.

"Because he can write." Mulligan reached down and fixed some invisible defect in the way Alexander's collar was laying. "His advertisements were poetry. His descriptions alone could make your mouth water more than a draft of the strongest rum. His words made him rich and his wealth made him powerful."

Turning to face the crowd as well, Mulligan put himself beside Alexander and pointed into another group of conversing gentlemen.

"Do you know who that is?"

He shouldn't. Recognizing faces in this room would imply that Alexander had been watching the streets for his social superiors. Gossiping. The whole point of being at King’s was to finish his education quickly and catch up with his peers. But, with a host like Hercules Mulligan, one couldn’t avoid certain stories and when one knew certain stories, one knew to look for certain faces. "Alexander McDougall."

"Mmn, indeed. The Wilkes of America.”

In this house, on the end of John Street, Alexander was standing in the shadow of Golden Hill. Here, just a few years ago, the Sons of Liberty had put up such a stand that certain names were embedded into the city's collective memory, Isaac Sears, John Lamb, Alexander McDougall. They had become symbols of bravery and resistance. More legends than men.

"To the Betrayed Inhabitants' was him," Mulligan said. "So, the force that pamphlet drew out, the energy and power that it stirred, that was his too. It's words, my boy. We all have them, but if you can get yourself the chance to use them wisely, they turn themselves into power."

Alex knew that well enough. Of course he knew- he'd had a taste of it already, just enough to get him into this party, but, "My words are the problem tonight," he said. "When they come from my hands, I can control them...my mouth is another story."

That earned a sympathetic laugh, "No, I suppose that's true. Oratory is quite a different beast from writing, and we both know where your talents lie. The voice is the rudest publisher- no retractions, no edits..."

"I can just write my piece for Cooper and submit a separate one to publish," Alex said.

"You can, and you certainly will, but not without a pseudonym unless you want to lose your course at Kings," Mulligan pointed out. "The point of bringing you here was precisely this. Showing these men the origin of your thoughts so that, when they make it to print- they have no doubts who wrote them."

"I can't speak those thoughts to them if I can't get into a conversation without putting my foot in my mouth."

"Which is why we are going back." Before Alex could protest, Mulligan had a hand on his shoulder, gently steering him back into the crowd towards where Morris and Sears were now talking. "Maybe you can't take back whatever you said, but...you can always amend it. Give it more fabric until it forms a desirable shape..."

Apologize or lie. That was all he was saying, but as they came back to Gouverneur, Sears and his wife, Alexander searched for Sally as they walked- the one person he truly should apologize to. But, she and Jay had moved on to a new circle.

Still. He knew what fabric to sew and how to let it lay, an admission, a concession, sacrifice, apologies and lies. He came to a stop in front of Gouverneur, and as soon as he had his attention, said- "I'm sorry I was rude to you and vulgar." Then he looked at Isaac and Sarah. "You are my host and I was offensive in your home against my own friend. I stepped away from it because I did not know what to say to make that right."

"It's alright, Alex-"

Before Gouverneur could stop him, Alex held up a hand to let him finish.

The young lawyer stepped back and folded his hands.

"It's not alright. I need to confess, the topic of marriage has vexed me since Sally debuted. You are aware of how her family welcomed me when I came from St Croix. Without intrinsic connections, I was their boarder, but more than that, when I had none of my own, they were my family. So, Mister Morris, you must understand, the duty that you were able to fulfill to Sally as a gentleman is one that I envy."

This was not a secret he ever expected to trade, but this performance was working. His small audience was hooked, waiting to be reeled in with the story and feeling. Sarah in particular was studying him with a certain consideration that had him convinced he was transparent to her. Yet still, she was watching.

So, he laid it on thick, "I have no sisters of my own, but I once did."

They were words Alexander hadn't spoken aloud in half a decade. Yet here he was, offering up this piece of himself for the good graces of powerful strangers. It felt worse than groveling.

"She would be a few years younger than Sally now, and I just think...if she were alive, she would be eligible next year. With me as her brother, so distant and untethered in this place, her prospects would be dismal. Girls are held so helpless in this world, and when Kitty asked you to look out for Sally...I resented being helpless too."

Gouverneur obviously didn't know what to say.

So, "I know this doesn't excuse my rudeness. I just thought, if you knew it was envy, you might more easily forgive-"

"Water under the bridge." Gouverneur pulled Alex under his arm and squeezed him by the shoulders tightly, dragging him into the fold.

Alex got a final glimpse of Mulligan's smirk as he slipped off to talk to Willett and the vulture-like officer he was engrossed with.

The conversation became a whirlwind from there.

Gouveneur and Issac were already speaking of politics. They were unrestrained in his company. With the rest of their guests at a safe distance to speak candidly, it took nearly no effort for Alex to learn why it had been so important to recruit a reporter who had seen the state of Boston Harbor.

The Sons of Liberty had been awaiting a similar shipment of tea from the East India Trading Company in New York Harbor for months. Their shipment had, unfortunately, been delayed in arrival, allowing the Bostonian Sons to act first and take center stage, but Sears and McDougall were feverishly planning their own performance.

With time to prepare their case before taking action, they were looking, not just for writers, but for agents on the ground, capable of spreading information through other means besides print and collecting information from corners of the city which would become increasingly inaccessible to them- Anglican corners.

Arguments would have counterarguments, and counterarguments needed prepared defenses.

The servants had finished setting the tables for dinner, and their hosts excused themselves to oversee their meal's arrangement before the procession into the dining room.

It was a show of grandeur, the lords and ladies marching in to their places at the feast. Music and talking and tasting exotic dishes. Knowing how much control the people at this table held over the rabble outside the doors, how much of their scheming was done in quiet conversations and casual dealings, Alexander tried to hear as much as possible while seeming as unassuming as he could. With Mulligan at his side, bragging about fitting the governor for a new suit, asking about a visiting theater troupe's upcoming playbill, joking about the latest cases at the chancellory court, it was easy to fit in.

As a student in one of the most Anglican universities in America, Alexander was understanding the role Mulligan saw for him, but his time in Sears' eyes had been so short, he felt keenly insecure about it.

Throughout the meal, he smiled and strained, not knowing for sure if his place here was an ephemeral illusion. If he would return to his small room above Mulligan's foyer, shed these fancy clothes, return to his books, and be forgotten to everyone he'd met tonight.

He knew he couldn't impress them when the dancing began. But, there was one sure way to know if he had made an impression on Sears...

After the last course was served, parties began rising from their tables and milling about, resuming previous conversations and drawing one another away from the dinning room to go visit the great hall where strings were beginning to play.

As her guests departed, the lady of the house lingered behind to continue directing the servants. Sarah Drake was a thin brunette with a round face and laughter lines framing her eyes.

Alex lingered long enough for her to notice him before he approached. He'd kissed her hand when he was first introduced, but he did it again now. “I was told I shouldn’t call your husband King tonight, but am I allowed to call you Queen?”

She laughed, a delicate, melodic sound, and leaned in to confide, “I'm sure you know there's little love for monarchs here, but if this were a game of chess, I rightfully would be one.”

Alex smiled because she was indulging him and it was delightful. “I agree. I assumed he had you making his most important moves. The wives so often are."

She gave a small laugh, dodging his eyes, but it was confirmed, if not outright. “There are advantages to your sex’s tendency to underestimate mine," she said. "The Queen can always travel further in directions where the King is limited."

"Quite true, and her placement commands the other pieces just as much as his," Alex agreed. Perhaps her husband would not tell him what role he could play, but, "She determines the strength of their defenses, and the best angles for attack. Since she moves in every way, and guards just by her proximity, when you have her protection, you're free to move at will. There is something to be said for a woman's leadership in war."

That finally earned her gaze, locked onto his. "That's a word that will set people on edge if you're not careful."

"I don't think I need to be careful with you...I feel quite protected."

She held his eyes steadily for another moment before breaking away to direct a slave that was carrying a bowl of pastries towards the kitchen to take it out to the great hall instead.

Alexander waited, clasped his hands behind his back.

She returned to him, leaning lower and dropping her voice. "There's an excellent little bakery on Cherry Street. I recommend you purchase their brioche tressée on Wednesday. If you find yourself with inquiries about it... Miss Lottie knows the recipe."

Alex nodded firmly, sealing the deal more resolutely than any handshake between businessmen.

[mousegard]

Told Colleen about my fanfic, yes? I started it by mentioning the “fanfic I’ve been writing for five years” and she was politely interested. Then I told her about the dream that catalyzed the idea, how I dreamt of Catherine trying to arrest Byleth, Colleen nodding along as she listens…then I hit her with the “and then Optimus Prime appears and stops her”. I kid you not Colleen’s reaction was pretty much that gif of the confused black guy where the question marks appear around his face, lol. But that arguably made her more intrigued and she complimented how I managed to find the ways the two things can mix. =^w^=

I also told her that while I sent Kronya through the usual rigamarole, that I’m still considering finding a way to save Monica and keep her around. Which had, of course, led to Colleen saying how much she loved Monica’s survival in Hopes and getting to play her. It was AWESOME.

oh my god that's so cute, i can't imagine getting a chance to pitch my fic to a voice actor like that

[sparklemotiongalaxy]

Ficlet time!

Based on @erigold13261's Eriverse AU!

Featuring: Peni, Yinu and her mom.

(With mentions of characters from Acoss the Spider-Verse and Jujutsu Kaisen.)

1153 words, and hastily written because I really wanted this idea out of my brain.

Enjoy!

Peni Parker was in a stump. Apparently, Sayu and mer friends had some important meeting with the merch producers. Remi had just dropped her off in the Natura district, saying that "Catherine said she would come soon! Have fun!"

Yes, Peni Parker, 14 years old, was left in the care of Catherine Spinose for the first time after settling in Vinyl City. Which meant Peni probably had to meet with Yinu Spinose. After the Rock Revolution, it was said that Catherine gave her daughter some much-needed personal space. Often times though, kit always saw the mother-child duo together in the media. Catherine, with warm yet seemingly all seeing eyes. Yinu with a slightly haughty and confident gaze. Kit… didn't know what to make of it. Were they together because they really enjoyed it? Or did they stay together, just like how a lithium-ion battery charged too would often lose more and more of its life without another? They made kit feel strange emotions, a swirl of jealousy and contempt. Maybe nya could have been a better daughter. Would she have not left then? Would kit have been that haughty and confident child by kits mother's side then? Kit sighed.

Peni Parker was not a person to be afraid of strangers. Boy, nya really wanted to stay with someone else with nyan. Neon J and 1010 were busy as always, though. Today he said he had some appointments with some major clients, and Margo was helping him out as an intern. Originally kit was to stay at professor Nova's place. But it seemed professor Nova had way too much in his hands with Satoru, Suguru and Shoko being little shits. Peni just heard that professor Nova had almost all of his Mr. Dodo icepops eaten by them, despite the fact that he hid the freezer. Kit decided to decline the offer when kit heard that. Kit didn't even bother with asking Tatiana. And even Bunk Bed Junction and Eve were helping out Miles and his friends do an art project. Gwen looked ecstatic to meet Zuke.

Fae could have just asked faer friends to bring Peni along. And yet…

Holding SP//dr close to kits, Peni decided to wait in the patio in Natura. SP//dr probably felt Peni tense up, and hugged kits back. "Thanks." It would be an understatement to say SP//dr saved kits. Sure Peni had friends like Noir, Margo, Ham and Hobie at first, with more and more friends at Nueva York. But SP//dr… gave Peni hope. Hope that kits powers were not just destroying. Hope that even after accidentally killing kits dad, kit can make something beautiful with it. SP//dr nuzzled close to Peni. Kit should add a purring function to SP//dr, a collar with a mini speaker or a vibration motor? Maybe when-

"Peni?" Kit jolted. There she was. Catherine Spinose, leader of the Natura District. Renowned EDM artist. Mother of Yinu Spinose. She was as tall as Peni heard, with golden yellow eyes. She gazed down at Peni. "It is wonderful meeting you. Let's go, Yinu is waiting for you." Huh. Yinu was interested in kits.

"Hello, Ms. Spinose." Peni stood up, and bowed. Yu told kits that bowing, no matter to whom, was a good idea to look polite. SP//dr followed suit, while being held by Peni.

Surprisingly, Catherine laughed. Not the jealous type of laugh. A genuine, soft laugh. "Please, call me Catherine. Yinu is waiting for us." Peni just nodded, and opened the blue cat backpack (nicknamed "kit-pack" by Hobie) to prompt SP//dr in it.

The walk to Catherine and Yinu's home was brief. "I like your backpack, dear." "… thank you, Ms. Catherine." Silence. Peni felt Catherine's gaze into nyan and SP//dr. "It is rare for Yinu to be interested in others, much less allow for someone to come over with such short notice." "… is that a good thing?" "… for me as a mother, yes." "Oh." "It is nice that she has other people her age around, especially those who are not affiliated with NSR." "I hope I wouldn't let you down." "… you don't smoke like that child made of glass, do you?" "… no?" Peni did not want to know what Shoko did. "Then you won't."

"Here we are." The house, as nya expected, was massive. The cobblestone felt like it was glowing gold under the sun. It had a winding garden with roses of all colors. Even rainbow colored ones. The vines crept up on the wire gates. Peni gingerly held them to take a closer look. "Plant magic. Yinu has been working on honing them for a while." Catherine was right behind SP//dr. Peni felt SP//dr jump inside nyan's kit-pack. "Oh! I startled you, my apologizes." She looked like she stepped on someone's foot. "It's okay, Ms. Catherine. The roses look amazing." Peni quickly smiled back in reassurance.

"Shall we go in? It would be cooler indoors." Catherine pushed the door taller than her. It was then Peni realized Catherine had shrank in size slightly just for kits. Upon entering the door, kit saw the painting hanged on the wall. It had a younger Yinu on Catherine's lap. And someone with golden yellow hair, wearing a red rose suit. They all looked happy. "Rubato would have loved all of you." "Would". Peni willingly decided not to connect the dots in kits head. Small footsteps. "Mama! Is Peni here?"

There she was. The golden maestro of Vinyl City. The child prodigy. Yinu Spinose was running up to her mother and the stranger in a simple shirt and pajama pants. Her smile seemed to be electric, with hands covered in… crayon? Yinu jumped up to hug her mother. "Wait til we wash our hands, dear." Even with the whole house smelling like roses, the soap seemed somehow sweeter.

Catherine did hug Yinu, and decided to retrieve some snacks for the two of them. Peni and Yinu were left in Yinu's playroom. Yinu waved to Peni. "I'm Yinu Spinose. And you're Peni Parker, right? I heard you like cats, so I thought we could draw some cats together!" There were some paper and crayons that suggested that. There were already some cats on the pages. Cute. Peni was confused. The Golden Child of Vinyl City, wanting to play with kits? Despite all the chaos that has happened to Peni Parker in the past few months, this felt more strange than anything combined.

Then. SP//dr jumped out of the kit-pack, and slipped into Yinu's arms. SP//dr never leaves Peni's side. "He likes me!" Yinu giggled. SP//dr gestured towards Yinu's crayon covered hands, and made a rubbing motion with fluffy paws. "Do you… want me to wash my hands so that I can hug you?" SP//dr nodded. Yinu left the door, with SP//dr trailing behind her.

Maybe… Yinu and Catherine Spinose actually wanted to be friends with kits. Maybe they won't leave Peni behind, and kit could have fun.

[william-t-sickofyourshit]

One thing Henry and Catherine had to admit - Sebastian was very pleasant to talk to. Polite, quite cheerful, simply very nice. They felt it was kind of a contrast from his looks, which was surprising. Unfortunately they both were guilty of judging the book by its cover, which was common among the upper class society. Sebastian answered Henry's question, and he seemed very professional too. So far, they really didn't have any actual reason not to like him, despite his shocking looks.

Then, Sebastian asked if they were at the funfair for long already, and so William chimed in. "Oh no, we actually just came. But before that we had a walk on the beach, and we met Eric jogging with Abby. The kids really loved the dog, so we are hoping to meet Eric again today, right?" William chuckled, directing his question at Lizzie and Archie, who nodded eagerly.

"I don't mind if you tag along, of course. I hope it's fine for you as well?" William asked his family then, and Henry and Catherine agreed.

"And you two are playing a duet together later too, right?" Catherine reminded. "I'm so excited to hear that, can't wait."

Well then, since it was agreed that Sebastian will join their group to walk around the funfair together, he sat down with them for now, as the kids were finishing eating pie. He casually mentioned that Othello has his petting zoo set up, and that he stopped by it earlier. The kids got super hyped right away after hearing this, and demanded to go see the petting zoo next. Heh, clearly they loved all animals, not only cats and dogs. Oh, speaking of cats... William decided to mention to his boyfriend that Lizzie and Archie already befriended some of them.

"Seb, Pawla and Clawdia came by to my garden earlier today. They got A LOT of pets from the kids. Pawla seemed to enjoy being carried around like a baby by Archie." He chuckled.

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes. 

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times. 

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?” 

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them. 

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

[team-pokefriends]

[Sophie] "So, can we meet this Yveltal?"

[Xerneas] "Yveltal doesn't want visitors."

[Sophie, disappointed] "Man. He sounded pretty cool."

[Xerneas looks surprised to hear a Slowking say something like that.]

[Xerneas] "Regardless, I hope your visit here was worth it."

[Catherine] "Wait."

[Xerneas and Sophie turn their attention to Catherine.]

[Xerneas] "Yes?"

[Catherine] "You're… Do you… um. Do you like every Pokémon?"

[Xerneas] "As in everyone in the world, or every kind of Pokémon?"

[Catherine] "Every kind."

[Xerneas] "Ah, well, I don't hold any negative feelings towards any kind of Pokémon."

[Sophie] "Then, why do you have guards snatching Pokémon like her for questioning?"

[Xerneas] "Again, that's democracy. I may have lots of power, but my political days are far behind me."

[Sophie] "I don't wanna hear about politics."

[Xerneas] "Neither do I. Regardless, I am against the notion that any of these so-called 'Dangerous' Pokémon should be ostracized for their existence."

[Sophie] "Then why didn't you do anything about it?"

[Xerneas] "Because, Pokémon can be stubborn, sometimes. Doesn't matter how much you tell them how much in the wrong they are, they may refuse to listen to you and call you an ignorant hippie."

[Sophie] "Wait, we've never been called that."

[Xerneas] "I have, multiple times, in fact… But, let's put an end to this discussion. I'd rather everyone, regardless of species, get along like we all did hundreds of years ago."

[Sophie puts her hands on her hips.]

[Sophie] "Man, times change."

[Xerneas nods.]

[Xerneas] "Any other questions?"

[Catherine and Sophie look at each other. Catherine shakes her head.]

[Sophie] "Nope. All good."

[Xerneas] "Thank you for your visit, Sophie and Cath…"

[As soon as Xerneas speaks Catherine's nickname, they jolt their head back in realization.]

[Xerneas] "Catherine, right?"

[Catherine] "Yes, sir."

[Xerneas] "I thought that sounded familiar. Zamazenta told me about your heroics."

[Catherine] "He did?"

[Sophie] "Wait, that dude's asleep at the Mystifying Boscage… Unless you guys talk telepathically."

[Xerneas nods again.]

[Xerneas] "Regardless, I commend you for your heroic deeds."

[Catherine smiles.]

[Sophie] "I helped, too. She wouldn't have done it alone."

[Catherine] "That's right. I can't take all the credit."

[Xerneas] "Then, let me extend my gratitude to you, as well, Sophie."

[Sophie does a finger-gun pose to Xerneas.]

[Sophie] "No problem."

[Xerneas] "I wish you goodness in your future endeavors."

[Catherine] "Thank you."

[Sophie] "See ya."

[Sophie and Catherine turn around before leaving the tree and making their way out of the city.]

[Sophie] "That was pretty cool."

[emmywrites-blog]

our duty

pairing: prince paul (catherine the great) x fem!reader

word count: 5.2k

genre: angst, fluff, & smut

summary: your brief marriage to Prince Paul of Russia has consisted of minimal interactions between the both of you. you decide that confronting your husband was the only way to come to a conclusion of what your marriage would be.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI. cursing, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f recieving), fingering, dirty talk.

a/n: this is my first time writing smut so PLEASE leave some feedback, it is very much appreciated.

You had spent the past month in preparation for your marriage to Prince Paul of Russia. It wasn’t a marriage you had any say in, not that most women did. Your parents were happy enough to marry you off to a wealthy man, let alone a Prince. It guaranteed them financial stability and a high reigning status. In their opinion, it was a win-win for everyone involved. They no longer worried about their reputation, you fulfilled your duty as a woman, and Paul would eventually receive an heir.

Your interactions with Prince Paul were minuscule and brief, consisting of simple introductions and hello’s. You couldn’t say whether you liked the man or simply tolerated him. Your opinions of him surrounded his seemingly tasteless personality. Paul was quiet, but not in a way that would conclude him as shy, no…it seemed as though he only interacted with those that he deemed ‘worthy’, and you? Well you had no idea where you were placed on that list. Surely not high.

Even on your wedding night, you barely spoke after the ceremony. The longest conversation you had was when Paul decided that you two would be retiring for the night, 

“I believe we both have had enough of these affairs today, we might as well retire for the night.” Paul spoke, his hands clasped behind his back as his eyes scanned the room, landing anywhere except your face. 

You weren’t surprised, he hadn’t even made eye contact with you earlier that day as you both stood in front of the priest. He had caused many thought’s to rush through your brain while the priest's mumbling echoed through the columns of your ears, ‘Was I pretty enough? Did he like my dress? God, my makeup must be horrid’. All the while, Paul kept his eyes on your cheek. 

You nodded at his request and gave a polite smile to the people around you, “Yes, of course.” You responded and let him lead the way to your bed chambers. 

It had been a whole week since the wedding, and the only words you exchanged were in passing. Paul spent most of his time in his office, working with finances or whatever it was a Prince did. You attended the introductions, meeting people of high standing. It was quite boring. At the end of the day you both would retire to your separate bed chambers, the only thing separating you was the large wooden door that connected both of your rooms. 

You were now pacing the hardwood floors of your room, thinking of a way, any way, that you could get Paul to like you. It was clear he didn’t, he couldn’t, not with the amount of time he spent away from you. You slid your hands down the front of your dress, as though it was a fragile piece of linen. 

It was an expensive gown, made of baby blue fabric that had a subtle shine to it. It was nicer than any other dress you ever had at home. Strands of your hair fell along your chest, detached from the bun you had diligently been forced to wear earlier that morning by your dressing maids. 

You took a deep breath and took the few brief steps towards the door that connected yours and Paul's room. You lifted your hand, placing a rhythmic knock along the hard wood with your knuckles. 

“Yes?” You could hear spoken from inside, causing your mind to flood with all the possible annoyances you had already caused Paul. Was he annoyed by the mere sound of your knock? Would he be annoyed by the sound of your voice?

You cleared your throat before speaking, “Can I come in?” You asked through the door, feeling as though it was silly to be acting like this with your husband. You were having a conversation through a door. After not hearing an answer, you snatched the door knob in your palm and turned it, pulling the door wide open. 

Paul was stood by the desk in his chambers, hands fiddling with multiple, seemingly important, papers. He was dressed as he would normally be in his boldly coloured suit, the decorative sword hanging from his hip. He lacked his obnoxious wig though, his soft brown curls on display. 

Paul looked up almost immediately when you opened the door, raising a brow on his pale face, “Is there something I could be of assistance with?” He asked, clearly not feeling the need to have a casual conversation with you. It wasn’t shocking. 

You shook your head and clasped your hands just below your breasts as you took a few steps into his bed chambers, your heels clacking softly, “We just haven’t talked much, or at all, really.” You began, your voice a bit shaky with unsurety, “I wanted to confirm that I hadn’t done anything wrong, to anger you. It’s just- I find it strange…”

Paul placed a hand on his hip and held his papers loosely in one hand, staring at you. You were framed perfectly in the large doorway, causing him to hesitate before speaking, “You find what strange?” He inquired, “I don’t have time for silly games.” 

Your mouth gaped open for a moment, not entirely expecting the attitude that was radiating off of Paul’s figure, “I find it strange that we haven’t spent time together,” You admitted, shaking your head a bit, “And I don’t just mean having dinner together or drinking tea, you haven’t even…we haven’t…” You trailed off, hoping Paul would know what you were getting at. 

He let out a low groan and threw his papers on his desk, both hands on his hips now, “Use your words, woman.” He demanded.

Your face grew red, the embarrassment of what you were going to say rushing through you as though it was in your blood, “We haven’t consummated our wedding.” You stated simply, picking at your fingernails anxiously, “Why?”

Paul tilted his head to the side as he listened to you speak. This was the first time that you actually felt as though he was listening to you, looking at you, and of course it had to be the one time you mentioned sex, “So that’s what you want? To have sex?” He asked you. It almost sounded as though he was teasing you. Amused at your expense.

You shook your hand and breathed deep, causing your breasts to push against the neckline of your dress, “No,” You challenged, shaking your head, “Why did you marry me? Did you even want a wife? It feels as though you see me as nothing more than a stranger.” 

Paul took slow and steady steps towards you, but he kept a fair amount of distance, “Did I want a wife?” He asked, clarifying your question, “It doesn’t matter if I wanted a wife, does it? It is my duty to marry, and you are the one I married.”

You dropped your hands to your side, looking up at Paul's face, “I am nothing more than a duty?” You tested, letting the small amount of anger slip past your lips in a hiss, “That is not how a marriage works, Paul. Not how it should work. My duty is to give you an heir, so why haven’t you touched me? You haven’t even held my hand!”

Paul watched you as though you were a toddler throwing a tantrum, a brow cocked in amusement, “You are a fiery woman.” He stated simply, his eyes examining over your body swiftly, “Our marriage has no need to consist of those things, not until it is necessary.” 

You knitted your brows together, causing a crease to form between them, “Until it is necessary?” You repeated, shaking your head softly, “Without any care, you have subjected both of us to a life without love? Why won’t you try, Paul? Can you not see yourself loving me?”

Paul suddenly stepped closer to you, a gentle grasp making its way around your jaw. It wasn’t aggressive, not like how you would have expected from Paul, it was calm and soft, “Have I said that I do not love you?” He asked, his brown eyes gazing into yours for what felt like the first time. 

You shook your head and felt yourself shudder slightly under Paul’s touch, “You haven’t said that you do…” You whispered, your breath cascading over Paul's hand that held your jaw, “You do not act like you love me. You refused my gaze on our wedding night. You haven’t had a conversation with me that has been anything more than formalities. You sleep in the room right next to mine though you have yet to come visit me. You expect me to believe that you love me?” 

“You want that from me?” Paul inquired, moving his hand so he was cupping your cheek, “You want me to tell you how intimidated I was by your beauty? How I was sure you must have had a love back home, someone you were longing to hold again? How every night I dreamt of the way you looked in that white dress?”

You felt confusion invade your features, spilling itself across your forehead, “You dreamt of me?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You saw the pure expression of admiration on Paul’s face, the way his eyes wandered over your sparse freckles, occasionally splitting down to your collarbone. 

“Everynight.” Paul repeated, nodding, “I believed you wouldn’t want me to touch you, or to even look at you. You were so beautiful at our wedding…Like an angel.” Paul's demeanour had seemed to switch swiftly from that of teasing and mockery, to pure longing. 

You reached up, letting your hand fit perfectly against Paul's jaw, your thumb stroking against his skin, “Why didn’t you just try?” You asked him, noticing the quick splash of fear in his eyes. 

“A forced marriage isn’t exactly a woman’s dream.” Paul joked, letting his hands mould onto the waist of your dress, bringing you closer to his body with a careful tug.

You couldn’t help but smile at his stupidity. He believed you wouldn’t want him? Had he seen himself? You tilted your head to the side, “Are you telling me that you do indeed love me?” You finally coaxed. 

Paul leaned into the touch of your hand, “Completely.” He whispered before leaning forward, securing your lips in a long awaited kiss. His lips were soft like silk as they moved against yours, his hands tightening themselves on your waist, “I’m sorry I left you waiting.” He apologized through kisses. 

Your stomach fluttered as his sudden display of longing, the way his hands grabbed at you as if you were his life line, “You’re here now.” You replied before slipping your hands to his jacket, pushing it down his shoulders so it hung at his elbows. 

“Eager.” Your husband spoke with a hint of playfulness, causing you to gently push his chest. Paul took off his jacket and let it hit the floor before slipping his hands to the back of your dress, his fingers playing out over the buttons that secured your bodice, “They make these as difficult as possible…” 

You looked up at Paul before turning around so your back was facing him. He lifted his hands to your neck, pushing away the stray strands of hair that had fallen from your bun. He leaned over you, placing a delicate kiss where your collarbone and shoulder meet. Paul worked his fingers down the row of buttons, swiftly getting them undone so he could push your bodice down. 

You blushed at the circumstances, feeling as though this was too much work, it would have been easier in your nightgown, “I should have visited you later tonight.” You whispered softly as another gentle kiss landed on the back of your neck, causing you to let out a content sigh. 

The cold air hit your chest, leaving goosebumps behind in its wake. You helped Paul push your bodice down your body, your skirt following. The material hit the wood floor, leaving you in your undergarment and heels. 

“No, now was the perfect time.” Paul responded, his breath moving across the back of your neck and along your shoulders. He placed his hands on your covered hips, the only thing separating his calloused hands from your soft skin being the thin material of cotton you wore. Paul pressed his chest to your back, pressing his lips to the spot just behind your ear, “You’re so beautiful…”

You turned in Paul's arms, looking up at him with those soft eyes he had fallen for the moment he saw you for the first time. You smiled sheepishly, “All I wanted was to be in your arms. To have you hold me.”

Paul raised a brow and looked down your body curiously, “That’s all?” He teased before taking your hand, leading you closer to his bed. He swiftly pushed your thighs against the edge of his mattress, causing you to fall back onto his bed, “I find it hard to believe that all you wanted was for me to hold you. You came in here raving about sex, surely that has to do with it as well, no?”

A tint of red quickly spread across your face as you rested on your elbows, allowing yourself to look at Paul from where he stood by your legs, “I…I was just confused…” You challenged nervously, shaking your head at the notion that what you wanted from him was sex. You wanted him, all of him. You wanted the longing gazes and the tantalizing touches. You wanted your fingers to be interlocked as you walked the halls of your home. 

Paul’s hands gripped one of your ankles before pulling off the heel that had been torturing your feet all day. His hot breath ran along your calf before he placed a clean kiss to your ankle, “Confused? Or curious?” He asked for clarification, but his tone held an underlying tinge of taunting. 

Your husband moved on to your other leg, taking off your painful shoe before placing a similar kiss to that ankle as well. He took his time to appreciate you, letting his undoubtedly hungry eyes scan your body similarly to the way he scanned boring documents. Paul snaked kisses along your calves, appreciating the silkiness of your skin.

Your eyes gazed at him, taking in his appearance. He looked like a painted portrait, the kind you would see in an age-old palace. The sun shining in from the windows illuminated his skin with a warm glow, his brown hair was effortlessly unstyled, and his bottom lip was pulled gently between his teeth as he focused his chocolatey brown eyes on your body. 

“Paul,” You started, your voice breathy and unsure, “I find it…unfair, that you are completely dressed.” You sucked in a deep breath, almost as though what you said was wrong, not something you were supposed to say. It was incredibly normalised for women to talk about how little they enjoyed their husbands touching them, how they simply let them get off as soon as possible, how they laid in the bed and let their husbands have their way, but you wanted to like it, love it even. 

Your husband didn’t attempt to hide the smirk that formed on his face at your discovery, “Well yes, you’re quite right.” He stated before gently letting your legs drop to the bed, his hands now sliding up the length of his torso. He started at his vest, unbuttoning it with delicate yet efficient fingers, throwing it to the floor once he was done. He was left in his cream undershirt and incredibly obnoxious green pants. Paul's hands slid under the hem of his pants though, pulling out his shirt so it was untucked. 

You craved him, the feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. You were aware of the intricacies of sex, not that you had ever experienced it, but spending your time as a rebellious young socialite had allowed you to hear some things along the way. 

You lifted yourself so you were sitting and moved closer to Paul, now kneeling on the mattress. Your hands lifted to the collar of his undershirt, playing with the frayed strings and loose stitching, “Do you want this?” You then inquired, letting your unsurety get the best of you, clouding your thoughts with unnecessary questions, “Do you want, or desire, to have sex with me?”

Paul’s eyes gaze down at you as though you were insane, his brows knitted across his forehead in a confused expression, “Do I want to? Darling, I’ve dreamt of this.” He admitted, his hand coming up to cup the side of your face. 

You instinctively leaned into his touch, looking at him through your lashes, “Then make your dream come to life…” You whispered, barely loud enough for either of you to hear, but Paul did, he heard you. 

And with that, he pressed his lips to yours in a passionate and hungry kiss, his other hand coming around your body, holding you close to him. The kiss alighted butterflies in your stomach, swirling angrily yet excitedly. Paul’s tongue along your bottom lip only made the feeling heavier, initiating a soft sigh to escape past your lips. Your tongues moved in sync, happily fighting as you tasted each other for the first time. 

Paul lifted your chemise, slowly pushing it up the length of your body, exposing your skin to the temperature of the room. You let him lift it over your head and immediately tucked your bottom lip between your teeth while he leaned back, taking you in. 

His eyes gazed at every inch of you, the whole of your body exposed to his longing eyes. He settled his hands on your hips, his rough fingers squeezing softly at your supple skin, “Even more beautiful than I had imagined…” He revealed, causing your heart to race. 

You moved your hands to Paul’s pants, unbuttoning them swiftly, “Take them off.” You commanded, earning a cheeky smile from your husband. He did as you said and took off his pants, sliding them down his legs before stepping out. His undershirt conveniently covered his groin, stopping at his mid thigh.  

Paul wrapped his arms around you and laid you on the bed, making sure to softly set your head on a pillow. He attached his lips to the column of your throat, leaving sloppy and wet splotches wherever he went. Paul neared your ear, his hot breath causing your body to shiver, “I like when you’re bossy.” He whispered, his words throaty. 

You moaned out as he nipped at your ear lobe, shifting his hips in between your legs. You could feel his growing erection as it pressed against your cunt, the wetness of your arousal spreading onto the length of it, “Paul…” You shuddered, his lips attacking your collarbone. 

He just hummed and moved his lips down your body, coming to your breasts. Paul sucked on the base of your breast before slowly taking your nipple into his mouth. He looked up at you with those beautiful brown eyes while continuing to assault your breast with his tongue. 

You moved a hand to his hair while your other rested on his shoulder, your fingertips digging into his skin, “Ah, fuck…” You moaned out, your eyes fluttering closed as your back arched. Paul swirled his tongue around your nipple, lightly nipping at it occasionally, eliciting gasps from your throat. 

“Open your eyes my love, look at me.” Paul urged, reaching the hand that wasn’t playing with your other breast, setting it on your jaw. He swiped his thumb along your bottom lip before pushing it past your parted lips, “Suck.”

You immediately did as he said, wrapping your lips around his thumb, swirling your tongue along the tip of it while he tended to your other breast. Your moaning was muffled into hums as you watched Paul, his cheeks caving slightly while his lips secured themselves around your nipple. 

Paul placed a kiss in the middle of your chest and placed both of his hands under your knees, pushing your thighs closer to your torso as his plump lips moved closer to your clit. 

You gasped softly as the realization hit you, the realization of what Paul was going to do, “You don’t have to…” Your shaky voice offered. You knew men didn’t attend to their wives needs, just got on with what they wanted and finished quickly. Surely Paul was the same. 

Paul looked into your eyes from where his lips were connected just under your belly button, “Have to?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow before moving lower, his lips just above your clit, “No baby, I want to.” And with that, he placed a small kiss to your clit, a gasp immediately passing your lips. 

You tangled your fingers into his brown curls, “Yes, yes…” You moaned as Paul flicked his tongue out, lapping at your clit hungrily. He was acting as though you were his life source, as though if he didn’t please you as much as he could, he would surely turn to dust. 

Paul sucked on your clit before moving his mouth down, pushing his tongue in between the folds of your pussy, happily cleaning up any of the arousal that was lingering at your entrance. He left one hand on your thigh while the other moved to your pubic bone. Paul flicked his thumb against your clit, causing you to arch your back. 

“You are so pretty,” Paul started, his breath running over the sensitive skin between your legs, “I love hearing you moan.” 

You smiled lazily at his words and connected your eyes with his, “You’re so good.” You praised, earning a smirk from your husband. 

Paul played with your clit slowly before lowering his hand, pressing the tip of his middle finger to your entrance, “I can be better. I wanna hear you moan my name.” His middle finger pushed all of the way into you, his index and ring finger pressed against the lips of your cunt. 

You gasped and threw your head back at the unfamiliar feeling. You had never had anything inside of you, and you had never expected it to feel this good. You looked back down at Paul and moaned at the grin he had on his face, watching you revel in the way he could make you feel, “Paul, please.” You moaned. 

Paul slowly pulled his finger out so only the tip of it was inside you, “Please what?” He asked, the power of making you feel good getting to his head, “You have to tell me what you want me to do.” His request made you whine, feeling embarrassed at the thought of saying what it was you truly wanted. 

“I want you. I want you to make me feel good, please.” You begged, your voice going up an octave to Paul’s delight. He slowly pushed his finger back into your sopping cunt, feeling the way you welcomed him and pulled him in. Paul began his torment, pushing his finger in and out of you at a slow pace, “Faster.”

Paul kept his pace, refusing your request all while pushing in his ring finger. You arched your back and gasped, your breath shuddering at the feeling, “Ask properly. Use your manners.” 

Paul’s attitude made you even more aroused. The way he demanded things from you while he pleased you in a way no other man could. You could just tell, he fucking loved the way he was making you feel, “Please go faster.” You finally breathed out, your breath turning to a moan as Paul quickened his pace. 

A knot started to build in your stomach at the pace of his fingers, the way he curled them inside of you, the way he pressed gentle kisses to your clit. Paul flattened his tongue against your clit, causing you to pull his head closer if that was even possible. His fingers sped up on their own, his lips wrapped around your clit as they sucked harshly. 

“Come on my love,” Paul spoke softly, feeling the way your walls clenched around his fingers. He could tell you were close, just by the way you moved your hips against his hand and whispered his name, “Cum for me.”

You did just as he asked and moaned out loudly while your body shuddered, cumming all over his fingers, “Yes, Paul!” You called out, tugging at his chocolate curls. You panted, your legs shaking as Paul pulled his fingers out of you, slipping them into his mouth, “Fuck.”

Paul smirked and watched your reaction to his actions, slowly crawling up your body until his face was hovering over yours, “Such a filthy mouth.” He teased before leaning down, securing your lips in a short but sweet kiss, “You want me?” Paul asked and pulled the hem of his shirt over his head, throwing the fabric to the floor. 

His body was finally revealed to you, his toned chest and abdomen, the trail of brown hair that led to his erect cock. It was huge, definitely bigger than you had expected. You hadn’t ever seen a man's dick, so you didn’t know what to expect, but this…this was something else.

As if sensing your concern at his size, Paul placed a hand on the side of your face, making you look at him, “We will go slow.” He assured, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of doubt, anything that told him you no longer wanted him, “Tell me to stop and I will.” 

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pulled him in for a kiss, your brows furrowing at the pure admiration you felt, “I want you,” You told him, your tone full of surety, “Don’t you want me to…well…” You trailed off as your face grew hot, turning beet red. 

Paul looked down at you with a confused expression before understanding what you were saying. He smirked at the embarrassment evident on your face, finding it cute, “Do I want you to blow me?” He asked, his assumption being confirmed as you shyly nodded, “No, no. Today is about you.”

You gazed at the man hovering over you, feeling love filling your chest. He just wanted to make you feel good. He didn’t care about receiving anything. You felt as though Paul was truly the most perfect man, fighting all of the judgements you had made about him. He wanted you to be happy, that was the exact reason he had avoided you all along. He never believed he could be the reason for your happiness. 

You kissed him swiftly and cupped his face in your hands, attempting to pour all of the love you felt for him into that one kiss. Paul kissed you back, one hand holding himself up while the other settled on a comfortable spot on your waist. 

“Show me.” You breathed, shifting slightly underneath Paul, making sure that you were comfortable. 

You felt Paul’s confused look on you, “Show you what?”

You smiled and ran your thumbs along his cheeks lovingly, “Show me you love me.” You requested, moving your legs so they were wrapped around Paul’s waist. 

Paul’s expression turned to that of blissful happiness before pressing a kiss to your lips. He reached between the two of you, swiping his thumb along your clit. His mind became cloudy with lust as you moaned into his mouth. 

You looked down as you felt Paul push the head of his cock against your entrance, “Tell me if you need me to stop.” He spoke from above you before swiftly sliding the head of his erection into you. 

You gasped at the feeling, the way your walls immediately tightened around him, leaving you with a burning feeling as he slid deeper into you. You were about to tell him to stop, to give you a moment, until you heard the groan that came from Paul’s throat. It awakened this need inside you, the need to hear it again. 

You slipped your hands around his waist, pulling him closer to you, “Please,” You whispered, turning your gaze up to him, “I want to feel all of you.” 

Paul obliged and pushed himself into you, as far as he could go until his balls were pressed against your ass. He rested his face in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily, “You feel so goddamn good,” He shuddered, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of your neck. 

He gave you a moment to get used to his size as you let out shaky breaths. The pain of him soon turned to pleasure and you pushed at his chest, “I’m okay, please,” You nodded, gulping as you looked down where you two were joined together, “Love me, Paul.”

Paul readjusted how he was sitting. He knelt on his knees and placed his hands on your hips, beginning to slowly move back and forth, taking his time with you. He let out a shaky moan as he sped up a bit, “God, you are so good.” He whispered, looking at your face as he thrusted into you. 

You moaned, reaching out so you could take one of the hands he had on your hips. You interlocked your fingers while your other hand gripped the sheets on his bed, “Paul,” You felt another climax building already, so quickly after your last orgasm.

Your husband started to pound into you, the sound of your bodies connecting echoed throughout the room. He lifted your interlocked hand to the space next to your face, holding your hands there as he gripped your hip with his other hand. The tips of his fingers dug into the skin on your hip, just causing you to moan even louder than you had been before.

Paul threw his head back as his pace sped up, “You’re so beautiful,” He started, his words coming out as a moan, “You feel so good around my cock. Perfect.” 

His words made your body flush and your back arch, your belly knotting once again, “I’m gonna cum, Paul…” You whispered out, embarrassed at how easily he made you feel good. 

“Yeah? You’re gonna cum from my cock?” He asked, moving his eyes to where you connected, a growl escaping his throat, “You look so pretty when you cum.” 

Paul’s words caused you to gasp, gripping his hand tighter as your legs shook, the orgasm taking over your body. Your husband just continued to pound into you, groans filling the air around you. His own orgasm was building quickly, his hips moving inconsistently while thrusting into you. 

“Fuck, yes,” Paul moaned as he pushed all of his length into you, releasing his cum inside of you. White streams flowing inside of you. He leaned down and placed a slow kiss to your lips, both of you breathing heavily, “You were so good, my love.” 

Paul soon pulled out of you and rolled onto his back next to you, lifting an arm to rest behind his head. He turned his gaze to you, taking in your appearance. How strands of your hair stuck to your neck, how your body gleamed with a thin sheet of sweat, how your hands rested on your stomach. 

“Come here,” Paul suggested before slipping his arm around your torso, pulling you to him. You intertwined your legs, his cock pressed softly against your thigh while your arm wrapped around his waist, your head resting on his chest, “Sleep my love, we’ll have an early breakfast tomorrow. Go for a walk around the garden.”

You looked up at him, a content smile spreading across your lips, “Together?”

Paul nodded, placing a kiss on your forehead, “Together.”

[witchywomanrunningupthathill]

Burn the Witch - The King (2019)

Pairing: Hal/Henry V x Female!OC

Word count: 2k

Warnings: None

Blurb: Okay so this one has been spinning around in my head for a while, and now it’s finally on the page! For the sake of creativity, we’re just gonna embellish history a little and replace Catherine of Valois with the reader as queen, Gascoigne as a traitor, and a few other nobility tings. Not quite sure how I feel about this one, but it was more of a rust-buster than anything else.

After Agincourt, Hal took a peculiar liking to the palace gardens. The space itself was tranquil and provided a brief respite from the demands of court, from being King Henry V. He paces steadily through the greenery, past grandiose shrubs and plots of lilies and roses, then rounds a corner as the familiar words of the Hail Mary are uttered by a dulcet-toned voice.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…”

Hal stops and takes in the view of the woman who remains unaware of his presence before her. A demure vision sat in one of the garden’s alcoves. She wears her long hair down, pieces of it falling at the front of her bowed head. Her feet are crossed under her and she clutches a rosary in her hands, constantly running the final bead in between her thumb and index finger. His Queen of England.

“…Now, and at the hour of our death.”

She finishes the prayer with the sign of the cross.

“If I do recall, I am quite certain that I ordered your ladies-in-waiting to follow you around the palace.”

She gasps, eyes snapping open and dropping the hand that was suspended in front of her shoulder just a moment ago.

“Your Majesty—”

She stops fiddling with the rosary in her lap. Hal looks around at the landscape for a moment before he begins pacing around the woman.

“You gave me a fright,” she starts.

“I, too, enjoy walking these gardens,” Hal offers.

“They remind me of my home.”

“Which?”

“Bath.”

“Hm,” he retorts pensively. “You do not miss Agincourt?”

“It served its purposes, but I am afraid I did not form any attachment to it…”

He’s been easy on her. It’s no easy feat to be a spoil of war, a political transaction – to be married off to a stranger, come to a new place, and make a life with a king. At the same time, though, France had been her birthplace and her place of residence for only three years of her life, while England had been her home for twelve years. She knew Somerset like the back of her hand, having grown up living with the Hungerford family. In fact, the young man she thought of as a brother, Sir Walter Hungerford, had fought alongside the man she now calls her king.

“It is a bit strange – not being from here nor there,” Hal posits.

“In some ways, I suppose…” she says. Hal nods and stops once more in front of her. “But I have brought a piece of my life in Bath with me.”

“Your chambermaids?”

“Not only my chambermaids, Your Majesty. My cards – le tarot.” Henry offers a look of both confusion and interest.

“Will you show me?”

She nods and Henry holds out his hand to help her up from the stone bench.

The queen leads Hal up a large flight of stairs and down a long corridor. At the end of the corridor lies a dark passageway with a narrow, stone spiral staircase, its steps worn from the many footsteps taken over the centuries. At the top of the stairs, she lets Hal pass in front of her through the doorway and into a chamber lit with sunlight. 

Hal looks around. He hasn’t been in here before, not as a child and certainly not while he traipsed around Eastcheap. It’s small, cozy. A large Persian rug sits at the center. There’s an open book laid on top of it. A chair is pushed into one corner, clearly out of commission. There’s a long mahogany table running along the back wall, with quite the assortment of flowers and other, more leafy plants laid atop it. Along with the plants are many candles. Bound books sit along a wall.

“This is where I usually come to do my practice.”

“It is beautiful.”

She steps over to the table, running her fingers along the leaves of a basil plant, before reaching for the deck of tarot cards laying in a neat stack.

“What do you know about divination?”

“Erm…very little. It is magick, is it not?”

“In some ways, yes. It is used to determine the future. I mostly use it to pass the time, but I do believe there is some truth to it.” Hal chuckles, but it comes out more like a puff of air than a true laugh. The queen hands her king the tarot deck. “Hungerford gifted these to me when he returned from one of his trips to Italy,” she adds.

“Well, let us hope its magic is not black and unholy.” He examines the cards, flipping through the first few one-by-one. It’s a set of Visconti Sforza tarot cards, ornately decorated, cryptic, and mysterious.

“I could read for you, Your Majesty. If you would like.”

“You may speak plainly. Call me Henry. Or Hal. Whichever you prefer.” 

Hal moves to sit at the table as the queen does the same. She holds out her hand expectantly. He hands the deck back to her.

“Now that the cards have your essence on them, we may begin. Draw three cards and lay them on the table.” 

Hal follows her instruction. William Gascoigne, chief justice of England and advisor to the king, peeks through the door that was left ajar, eyebrows furrowed. He watches as Hal lays the second card down. The Queen reaches to flip it over. William gets a glimpse of the King of Pentacles card, his eyes widening slightly. He weighs staying and watching the king and queen as they divine or returning to the king’s other advisors. William stays put. Hal draws his final card and the queen turns it over, revealing an emaciated figure, not quite a skeleton and not quite flesh, riding atop a horse and carrying a long staff. William’s eyes go wide. What a cursed image! This cannot be the work of the Lord. No, this woman is cavorting with evil!

“Ah, Death,” the queen remarks. Hal silently sucks in a breath and glances quizzically at the card before shifting his eyes back to his wife. “Do not worry, it is hardly literal, Hal.” The king sighs, relieved. 

William is now seeing red. He storms away from the chamber. His footsteps echo in the staircase vestibule, causing both the king and queen to turn their heads toward the noise coming from the open door.

“Is someone there?” Hal calls out. There’s no response, save the wind whistling through the trees outside the window.

“We may continue later if you have other obligations—”

“No, let us continue,” Hal urges, placing his hand on top of the queen’s.

A group of men sit around the king, all offering their advice and conjecture on what shall be the fate of France. Hal has his arms crossed, displeased with the orders masked as suggestions that his men offer. He looks over to John Falstaff who is also silent. Hal raises his eyebrows at the man. Falstaff returns the king’s look with little more than a smirk. He never liked council meetings anyway. As Hal starts speaking, the councilmen’s voices lull to silence.

“Perhaps we shall adjourn this meeting for the day, gentlemen.” Hal rises and his councilmen follow before exiting the chamber. William stays put, standing not too far from Hal. Falstaff is one of the last out of the door. Almost.

“Sir John,” Hal calls. Falstaff whips around. “I would like if you stayed back a moment.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” John obeys, offering a nod.

Hal turns his attention to William.

“William…Is there something you need?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. There is a matter I would like to bring up with you.” He pauses before moving his eyes over to Falstaff. “In private.”

“Anything you wish to say to me may be said in front of Sir John,” Hal challenges. William exhales loudly, perhaps gathering the courage to continue.

“I am afraid there may be…witches…among us.”

“There may be? That is a serious accusation, William.”

 “And I concur.”

“What makes you say this?”

“Your Majesty…it is…our queen.”

“I would choose your next words wisely.”

“I saw it with my own eyes, Your Majesty. Just the other day, in her bedchamber – I was looking for you and assumed you may be there, but I was mistaken. She was there sitting with her ladies-in-waiting…sliding her hands across their palms.” He recalls the memory, the queen sits at a small round table holding one of the girls’ hands, examining it intently. “Voici ta ligne de coeur…et ici c’est…” she explains to them. “She read cards for the other girl. Telling her about her past, present, and future, ha!” William exclaims. “It must have been those girls who started this and pulled your dear queen into their witchcraft!”

“That is enough.”

“You must do something about this, Your Majesty! With your permission, I could speak to the archbishop on your behalf—”

“That won’t be necessary. I will confer with the archbishop myself. You may leave now.”

“But this is a most urgent matter! Your Majesty, I would not advise seeking…erm…wisdom through these means. Your Highness, this is the work of the devil!”

Falstaff lets out a large yawn, drawing it out comically. He cannot have William outdoing him for dramatics, can he?

“And what would you advise, William? Shall we stroll to the chapel, peruse the Scriptures for a while?” Hal suggests ironically.

“She has gotten to you too—used her sorcery on you. How dare she compromise a king in such a way! Burn the witch!”

“Enough!” Hal shouts as he bangs his fist on the wooden council table. William flinches at the king’s exclamation, but rage and desperation burn behind his eyes. Falstaff stares at Hal. Hal steps away from William and walks over to the fire place before turning to face the men once again. “Who am I, William?”

 “King Henry V...Your Highness,” William answers shakily. 

“And tell me, what does that mean to you?”

“Erm…You are the Sovereign—”

“That is correct,” Hal interrupts. “I lead men. I rule men.” He steps away from the fireplace, closer to William. “I’ve fought a war for men.” William breaks Hal’s gaze, looking at the floor, a brief reprieve from the King’s penetrating stare. “I have trusted your counsel, confided in you.” 

Hal steps even closer to William, only footsteps away from him now. “I once thought of you as my friend…Now you not only question me, but disrespect my queen. I put my life in all of your hands for the sake of this kingdom!” 

Hal raises his hand, pointing his finger into William’s chest. “I AM ENGLAND! And it is I who will decide whose head to have, whose body to burn!” Falstaff looks at the pair of men in front of him, eyebrows raised, clearly impressed by his young friend.

“Your Majesty—”

“I did not give you permission to speak. The queen…she knows this country…this land…this realm. I respect that. She is my true advisor, apart from God, of course. I will not let my participation in a silly divination rite or your allegations that I misjudge which direction to lead this country have any impact on my rule. You are my counsel. But I am king. I have the last word in this council chamber. And God has the last word in all that is. Are you willing to doubt Him? Do you doubt me?”

“Of course not!”

“Well then let us consider this matter settled,” Hal steps away from William and places one hand in his pocket. “The queen is no witch. She is a woman passing her time in one of the few ways that she may.” He runs his hand over the queen’s rosary beads laid inside. “You may leave.”

[mariesdeluluworld]

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

Chapter Two:

(Y/n) never tired of seeing her extensive selection of gowns. She loved to gaze and run her fingers through the fabric, feeling the softness of the lace and silk. In her afternoon lessons with her grandmother, she learned appearance was everything in the art of manipulation.

“My lady, which gown do you wish to wear today?” asked her handmaiden, Lucille, as she finished pinning her hair up. (Y/n) admired her reflection in the looking glass and sighed. “I think the dark amethyst one I received recently from Beth,” Beth was (Y/n)’s personal seamstress, always creating gowns for her and producing the most beautiful gowns and fabric she’d ever seen in the Reach.

“Of course, My Lady,” (Y/n) smiled and checked her appearance. She was a woman now, ten and six name-days, and with her recent moonblood, she was ready to marry if her Father wished. She was ready to bear children and become a Lady of a Castle or Holdfast.

Lucille came back holding the dark amethyst gown, smiling at (Y/n). She laid the gown across her lady’s made bed and helped her into her corset. Once she was done lacing the corset, Lucille helped (Y/n) into the gown, making sure the cloth draped over her body and did not get caught or tangled with her shift. The dress sported a wide neckline that dipped right above the tops of her breasts, with puffy shoulders and a long sleeve that cinched around the wrists. The gown was loose and flowed out under her breasts, creating an illusion that she was floating. A layer of sheer white organza with gold embroidered roses draped over the skirt of the dress.

Once dressed, Lady (Y/n) smiled at her reflection before departing from her room. The slight heel of her slippers echoed against the marble floor with each step she took. The walls were decorated with green and gold accents, with portraits of Garth the Gardener, Catherine the Thorn of Highgarden, and previous Lords of Highgarden. Many of the walls and ceilings were covered in paintings from many artists over the years of Highgarden’s rule of the Reach, and many of those paintings told stories of sorrow, pain, love, lust, and prosperity.

On sleepless nights, (Y/n) would study and look on vigorously at those paintings, trying to piece every puzzle of the story together. Sometimes she’d be accompanied by her twin or younger brother Garlan, other times she was alone with only the paintings to keep her company.

As she walked steadily towards the dining hall, (Y/n) passed many rooms occupied by her cousins and family members that stayed in Highgarden with her family. Along with music rooms, a sewing room — where she and her sister and their female cousins occupied most days with their Septa, as well as an enormous library, and dance rooms (where they practiced their dancing).

Downstairs, she passed a few servants who stopped and greeted her before continuing their duties, along with a cousin or two and an aunt conversing with an uncle, before she happened in the dining hall. At the head of the table was her father, and next to him her grandmother and mother — and next to her mother was her twin, Willas. Garlan was seated next to her empty seat.

“Good morning everyone,” she greeted, a smile adorned on her face. A manservant pulled out her chair, and she gave him a polite nod and smile as she sat down. “Good morning dear, how was your sleep?” asked Alerie, giving her eldest daughter a fond smile. “Very well Mother,”

A maid served (Y/n) and poured her cup of milky tea as she reached for a bowl of fruit and spooned some onto her plate. “What about you? How was your evening?” she asked, her eyes meeting her mother’s. Alerie exchanged a look with her husband. (Y/n) noticed the glance and her mother’s worried eyes. “What is it?” she asked, her brows furrowing quizzically.

Willas watched as his parents exchanged a few more glances before his father signed and laced his meaty hands together.

“(Y/n), darling, as you know you’ve just pasted your sixteenth name day,” Mace hesitated, trying to find the correct words. “And well, you’re at the proper age to meet young lords and have a betrothal.” (Y/n) nodded her head in understanding. She knew this day would come, the day her father and mother would start sending her to balls and banquets and maybe even to court to find a suitable husband.

“And we’ve just received your first invitation to an outing.” Mace glanced at his mother and noticed her glare. “Who was it from?” asked (Y/n) as she placed her fork down. She was curious to know what ball she was attending. “It was from Lord Tywin Lannister, my dear. His son Tyrion is having a ball at Casterly Rock.” Silence filled the dining hall, as all the Tyrell’s eyes were on (Y/n), watching her reaction to the news. A beat or two passed before (Y/n) spoke. “Lord Tyrion?”

“Yes, apparently Lord Tywin has grown tired of begging and pleading the Lords of Westeros to send their daughter’s hand in marriage to his imp of a son,” complained Olenna, rolling her eyes. “Mother!!” Olenna snapped her head towards Mace and glared. “Shut up you oaf,”

“Now, my rose,” Olenna shifted her attention to (Y/n) and gave her a look. “This is your decision. If you wish to attend this ball, you may, but if not, I will personally write to Lord Tywin and express your apologies.” (Y/n) knew her grandmother would not be polite or remember her curtseys whilst writing to Lord Tywin; she would let him have a tongue lashing.

“I-I- I’m not sure. May I think upon this?” she asked, trying to weigh the decision of attending Lord Lannister’s ball for his son. “Of course dearest, take all the time you need,” spoke Alerie softly. (Y/n) nodded her head in thanks before she returned her attention to her food.

Later, after breaking fast, instead of joining her cousin’s in the sewing room, (Y/n) was wandering through the gardens. She walked at a slow pace, her fingers were fiddling anxiously. Usually, she would close her mind and enjoy the peacefulness of the gardens, listen to the sounds of birds, enjoy the wind rustling the roses bushes, and the wind breathing against her skin. But today she found no comfort in the scent of the flowers, nor the wind kissing her skin could tear her away from her head. She was deep in her thoughts, her conscious weighing the advantages and disadvantages of her situation, and her fear of leaving Highgarden.

(Y/n) knew nothing about Lord Tyrion except his dwarfism. She knew not if he was kind or gentle, if he liked to sing or hunt. Was he mean and cruel? Would he take out the frustrations of his stature on her? Would he be angry if she slipped up and said something offensive? Who is Lord Tyrion?

(Y/n) was not the person to judge another by their looks. She was gentle and kind, and treated and judge a person by their character — but she would not lie that meeting Lord Tyrion was making her nervous.

She sighed and sat down at a marble bench beneath a marble statue of a maiden. Her hands wove together as she stared at her fingertips. The wind blew through the garden once more, lightly kissing her skin as she bit on her bottom lip.

If she went and met Lord Tyrion, she would help her family and House. Even if she did not have a betrothal with Lord Tyrion, she was still helping by showing her face. If the Lords of Westeros found out that she was at Lord Tywin’s ball, they most certainly will invite her to other balls and banquets, and outings. Either way, she would have a chance at making a possible marriage alliance.

(Y/n) sighed once more before looking up at the sound of someone sitting down next to her. Her twin sat next to her, his crippled leg stretched outwards and his walking stick leaned against his body as he looked at her. Willas gave (Y/n) his charming smile, making her smile in return.

“Are you alright?” his voice was smooth as silk. “I’m not sure.” (Y/n) replied. Her voice betrayed the emotions she was trying to hide.

“It’s very generous that Lord Lannister extended an invitation to me, and it would be rude to decline him. Besides, it would be beneficial if I went to his son’s name day ball.”

“Sister,” Willas placed his hand on her shoulder, looking her in the eyes. “Do you wish to go? I don’t care what Father or Lord Lannister thinks or wishes, I’m asking you whether or not you wish to go?”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked on at her brother with love. “Oh, Willas,” she threw her arms around her twin and sobbed. She wept for her childhood, for her innocence. She was no longer a child, she was a maiden. She was ready to be led as a pig for slaughter to the lord with the highest bid.

Willas held her in his arms as she mourned her childhood, while he kissed her head and rubbed her back.

Once she calmed down and dried her tears, she inhaled deeply. “I wish to go, brother,”

He nodded his head and held her hand in his. “Let’s deliver the news to father,”

[toast-com]

Culdee Fell's New Engines (Pt. 2)

Godred rolled towards the station, with his coach, Celia. Barrane trundled after him, berating him with questions.

"Is that your coach? What's her name? Will I get my own coach? Will there be a lot of passengers?" Godred gritted his teeth, about to snap at her, but his driver scratched the engine's side, causing him to purr.

"All of the engines have their own coaches," His driver explained, as the passengers climbed into Celia. "Celia is Godred's coach. You'll get your own room, Barrane." The station guard blew his whistle, Godred returned the whistle, and Barrane blew her horn. The trio set off, Celia leading, Godred pushing her, and Barrane taking the rear. Barrane glanced up, and gave a gasp of surprise. On the back of Godred's cab, was a face. His eyes were open, and focused on the track.

"Godred..." Barrane said nervously, and the face on the steam engine's cab glanced at her.

"Hm?" Barrane blinked, and stared at the face.

"There's a face...on your cab..." Godred chuckled, and the young diesel only grew more puzzled.

"Is that normal? Do all of you have faces on your cabs?" Just then, Culdee trundled past the two engines, pushing Catherine uphill. He whistled to Godred, which the older engine returned with his low whistle. Barrane blew her horn, thinking about the steam engines, and the faces on their cabs.

Later that night, in the shed, Barrane was telling her siblings about her day. Gleih, No.11, Barrane's sister, smiled as Barrane rambled.

"He had a face on his cab, Crosh," Barrane told her brother Crosh, No.13, and the youngest. "It's so strange!" Dooiey, No.10, hummed thoughtfully.

"Culdee told me that the reason he and his brothers have faces on their cabs, is to help them see. They push their coaches in front of them, so they can't see the line." Barrane blinked as she pondered this.

"So...who did everyone shadow today?" The other diesels glanced at Kirk, No.12, who had spoke. The shed was suddenly filled with engines all chattering about their days and how they went.

Patrick scowled. From his spot, in the back of the shed, he could hear the new diesel engines chattering, being obnoxiously loud. Along with this, there was a hole, and cold air blew under his undercarriage, causing him discomfort. He grumbled to his brothers.

"Tomorrow I'm going to ask Mr. Richards to patch the hole in the back of the shed." Godred, who's shed spot was beside Patrick's, glanced at the other engine, and sneered.

"What's the matter Patrick?" He teased. "I thought your 'superheat' would keep you warm." The other engines chuckled, and Patrick blushed a deep red. He gave a cross huff, and closed his eyes.

"Shouldn't we all be asleep?!" He hissed, with his eyes still closed. "If I'm not mistaken, we have an important day tomorrow!" Culdee glanced at Patrick, and smiled.

"We do have an important event tomorrow Patrick," Culdee said with a wink. "Tomorrow is Godred's 90th birthday." Now it was Patrick's turn to sneer at Godred, who's face was a deep red.

"You really are an old codger, eh Godred?" Patrick teased. The other engines gave quiet, polite compliments to the old engine. Godred shot Culdee a look.

"Old as I may be," He said loudly, glaring at Patrick as he spoke. "I'm still really useful, and can work as hard as any of you. Now," He sighed, closing his eyes. "Let's all get some sleep."

Early the next morning, Godred was roused from sleep by Mr. Richards, and his fire was lit. The other engines weren't in the shed, they were busy preparing for Godred's party. While waiting for steam, Mr. Richards chattered excitedly about how Godred's day would go.

"You'll be going to the exchange siding, and put on a flatbed. Mr. Richards explained, as the shed doors were opened, and Godred rolled out." Then, you'll be taken to the Steamworks, to get repainted." Godred's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Repainted?" He echoed. "For my birthday Sir?" Mr. Richards nodded, and Godred smiled.

"What color am I getting repainted Sir?" He asked, but Mr. Richards shook his head.

"It's a surprise, wait and see." Was all Mr. Richards said.

[miracleonice87]

For the evermore prompt list can you do number seven with nathan mackinnon, please 💞💞💞💞

from the evermore prompt list

“And you asked me to dance / But I said, ‘Dancin' is a dangerous game’” - cowboy like me

When you’d pictured yourself at Sidney’s wedding, you always imagined you’d be happily tucked under Nate’s arm, celebrating right along with the bridal party as his date, dreaming of the day when the two of you would be at the center of such excitement.

And why wouldn’t you picture it that way? Years ago, you and Nate had met in California where you grew up and where he trained, and you’d started dating shortly before he got drafted. You’d been together ever since.

That is, until about six months ago.

So now, here you were, dateless, in Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia, wearing a pretty pink dress, watching the happy couple while desperately trying to remind yourself to just keep breathing. No matter how much it ached.

Every summer since Nate entered the league, you and Sid’s girlfriend — later fiancée, and now wife — had spent the long, hot days together in Cole Harbour, bouncing between the boys’ houses when the two of you weren’t traveling for your own respective careers. You cherished the years’ worth of memories you’d made painting the town red with her, shopping and swimming to your hearts’ delight while the boys trained during the day, then getting ready and heading out for date night, all four together more often than each couple separately.

Every summer for the past six was spent in much the same way.

Every summer but this one.

After you broke up with Nate and left Denver, both Sid and his fiancée had called you individually, assuring that the change in your relationship status should not keep you from celebrating their wedding. Of course, being the angels they were, they both repeated over and over that they also completely understood if it was something you felt unprepared to do. But in their voices, you heard the deep sincerity as they each told you what it would mean to them if you did choose to come.

They had both done so much for you, acting as the older siblings you never had, both while you were with Nate and ever since. You eventually came to the conclusion that you couldn’t not go, despite the anxiety that riddled you for weeks leading up to this date.

Despite Nate being Sid’s best man.

Despite the agony you felt as you maneuvered the ceremony, cocktail hour, and reception alone.

Despite the entire ordeal looking nothing like you thought it would.

You were happy to have been seated with the Penguins contingent, though you didn’t know most of them all that well. But, they provided a welcome distraction, one that you were grateful for. Sid’s teammates and their significant others were warm and welcoming and, though they well knew your connection to Nate, didn’t try to pry. Of anyone, they understood the delicate balance, and the oft inevitable failure, of relationships involving hockey players.

So, they all simply chatted and laughed and shared stories of Sid and his now-wife and their adventures with the team through the years — European vacations and charity events and Stanley Cup celebrations. Instead of sharing similar memories of your own, vignettes left behind in your former life, you were content to listen politely and laugh along as you sipped at your chardonnay, all the while fully cognizant of Nate’s eyes practically burning a hole through the side of your face from the head table.

His gaze had hardly left you all day, and you kept pouring drinks down your own throat in an attempt to distract yourself from the sadness in his stare.

But the only thing that that had really done successfully was make your head fuzzy.

After the meal, the DJ asked if the best man and maid of honor would make their way to the microphone for their speeches.

At that moment, you noticed several sets of eyes flash your way from around the table, a few concerned, but most just sympathetic. You offered a small smile — really all the more you could muster — and reached for your glass, breathing a sigh of relief that you had just requested a fresh refill. As you brought it to your lips hastily, Kelsey Rust, whose husband Bryan was also one of Sid’s groomsmen, squeezed your knee reassuringly from the seat beside yours. Though you weren’t close with her, you instinctively held onto her hand to ground yourself, and she gave you a kind, understanding nod.

From all the way across the dancefloor, Nate noticed the desperate way you reached for Kelsey, and his throat tightened. He longed for the time in the not so distant past, when he was the one you reached for. The one you leaned on. The one you turned to instinctively, without giving it another thought.

As he stepped to the mic, he tried his damnedest to push those thoughts aside and focus on giving Sid and his bride the tribute they both deserved.

It had taken him weeks to write this damn speech. For all the memories he wanted to share with the guests about Sid and his fiancée, there were still dozens more that he wanted to speak to, but they were tinged with you. He couldn’t possibly get up in front of Sid’s and his fiancée’s families and friends and wax poetic about the ex-girlfriend who they all knew had left him behind after he’d pushed her away.

So, instead, he started with a simple introduction and the expected niceties about the couple and the evening, followed up with a few funny stories about his own relationship with Sid — their competitiveness and their parallel paths — before wrapping it up with what he hoped would be the bow on top.

“I’ve learned a lot from Sid,” Nate spoke. “More than I’ve probably admitted to him. Not just hockey stuff — everybody knows I grew up obsessively watching him play and copying his every move. I mean, hell, I even went to Shattuck just because he did, for Christ’s sake.”

At his dry delivery, the crowd laughed, especially Sid, whose eyes crinkled at the corners as he lit up the room with his grin. Then, Nate cleared his throat and continued as the room quieted. Try as you might, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from him through the entirety of the speech, even when it wrecked you.

“But, uh, no, Sid’s taught me so much,” he said. “About life, and about love. About how to treat the people around you. About never taking anything for granted because you never know when something is going to end.”

With that, you knew Nate was looking at you once again, and your soul ached with regret. You couldn’t bear to look at him again, instead sitting motionless in your chair, barely even breathing. If you could have slipped under the table and out the door without being noticed, you would have, but leaving now would only draw attention to you, and you couldn’t do that to Sid and his wife. So, you sat there in it, praying for Nate’s speech to end soon.

And then, it must have, because people around you were suddenly raising their champagne flutes and clapping as Sid and his bride embraced Nate in the front of the room.

You took that opportunity, with everyone focused on the joy of the moment, to make your escape, sending Kelsey an apologetic glance which she acknowledged with a whispered, “it’s okay.” You didn’t allow yourself to look at the other faces at the table, Kris’s and Catherine’s and Jake’s and Natalie’s and Brian’s and Kayla’s and more. But you knew that they were offering caring looks — you could feel it. You just... you couldn’t handle it right now. Couldn’t handle any of it.

So, you left the grand ballroom of the elegant lodge and found yourself pushing open the nearest doorway, one that led to a balcony overlooking the golf course. The rolling hills and the sweeping fairways, now overtaken by nightfall, allowed you the space and silence you needed to collect your thoughts.

But before you could begin that futile process, you heard a familiar voice behind you — the most familiar one.

“It was you, you know.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. It had been months since you’d heard him speak without the inhibitions of cell phones and hundreds of miles.

Slowly, you turned to face him, your back pressed against the cool, cement railing behind you as you tried to put as much distance between your bodies as possible, for fear that getting too close might just obliterate any semblance of the strength you’d been trying to hold onto all day.

“What was me?” you asked coolly, feigning composure when in reality, the way he looked in the smart grey suit he wore made you dizzy — well, that, combined with your generous consumption of alcohol throughout the day.

Nate noted your hesitance to come close to him, so he left several yards between him and you as he walked forward and leaned his elbows on the railing. He cleared his throat.

“It was you I was talking about when I said Sid taught me never to take anything for granted. People probably thought I was just talking about hockey, maybe. But I wasn’t,” he spoke, and you felt your hands start to tremble. Nate sighed, standing up straight, and looked you square in the eye for the first time since that day when you kissed him goodbye in his living room in Denver. “I took you for granted,” he continued, his voice strained. “I know I did. I just... I never thought you would actually leave. Looking back I realize how stupid that was. You had every right to go.”

You felt a drop of water on your chest and realized that at some point you must have started crying. You dabbed at your skin, trying to dry the tears, but a sob bubbled through your lips as you admitted, “Well, I’ve been fucking miserable ever since.”

Nate blinked, taken aback.

“Have you really?” he asked softly.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, still trying to control your crying.

“Yes, Nate,” you confirmed. “I know I was the one who left in the end. But that didn’t mean I wanted to. Leaving was the exact opposite of what I wanted.”

Nate ran a hand through his hair and gave it a tug, pacing around the balcony.

“It was the exact opposite of what I wanted,” Nate concurred. “But I know I pushed you to it.”

You gave a half-shrug, preparing to reply.

But just then, you heard the strains of a song you knew well flood the ballroom, spilling out the doors to the balcony.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that Sid and his fiancée chose “In Case You Didn’t Know” as their first dance song. But damn it if you hadn’t all four gone to Brett Young’s concert together a few summers back, when you danced with Nate in your suite to this very song, knowing full well how cheesy it was and not caring a bit.

You knew Nate’s mind had gone back to that night, too, as he stopped in his tracks and looked at you wide-eyed. Neither of you said a word for a few lines of the song.

Finally, Nate stretched out a hand.

“Dance with me?” he requested.

You cocked your head at him, though your feet were already moving toward him, betraying your display of faux indecision.

“Dancing is a dangerous game,” you warned.

Nate gave a sad smile.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t—“

You answered him by snaking one arm around his waist, grasping one of his hands in yours, and resting your head against the lapel of his jacket. It was quick and abrupt and it shouldn’t have felt so goddamn right but it did and you felt whole again, if only for this moment.

You felt Nate tentatively wrap his other arm around you, pulling you in close, his lips resting fixed atop your hairline. Both of you hardly moved your feet as the song played on, content and heartbroken all at once to be intertwined together like this again.

“Maybe you did push me,” you suddenly thought aloud. Nate glanced down at you as you pulled your head from his chest to look up at him. “But maybe I didn’t have to leave. Maybe I should’ve just stayed. Maybe we could’ve worked harder on us.”

Nate’s lips parted in surprise, and you thought he may speak up, but he didn’t, so you pressed on.

“Or maybe that’s just the emotions of the wedding talking,” you suggested, leaning further into him — deeper, deeper, as close as you could get. You’d so missed the way he stood so tall above you — this gentle giant of a man constantly making you feel safe, protected, unafraid, by just his form alone, not even to mention his steadfast nature.

“Is it?” Nate inquired somberly, his hand rising up from your hip to brush your cheek before winding its way into the thick hair behind your ear.

You swallowed, lost again in his gleaming blue eyes — blue like his backyard pool that he used to throw you into mercilessly with a belly laugh, blue like the ocean you walked along together on nights both here and in California, blue like the only hue that came to mind when someone asked your favorite color.

“No,” you whispered, and instead of wanting to take it back in the next instant like you feared you might, you wanted to repeat it again and again and again. Scream it from this balcony overlooking his hometown and from the dock behind his house and from center ice at Ball Arena.

No, Nathan. No, it’s not just because of the wedding. No, it’s not just from the alcohol. No, it’s not temporary or fake or fleeting.

“You mean it?” Nate whispered back pleadingly.

You nodded furiously, your chest flush against his as your fingers gripped the dress shirt beneath his jacket.

“I mean it,” you replied. “I miss you. I need you.”

A gleeful, tearful, incredulous chuckle escaped Nate, and he cupped your cheeks in his large hands, bringing his face nearer to yours.

“I miss you so much,” he breathed before his lips found yours. “I never stopped needing you.”

[mxpseudonym]

Just Good Business

Pairing: Tommy x Reader 

Reader Gender Expression: She/Her pronouns, feminine clothing descriptions

Summary: You are forced to marry Tommy Shelby, but that doesn’t mean you have to make things easy for him. 

Length: 1671 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Mentions of forced marriage. Otherwise Bad bitch, chaotic energy and some justified (non violent) rage. 

A/N: This was very fun to write! 

Also there’s going to be a NSFW part II because the tension? The sheer sexual tension?? Yeah, it needs to happen. 

Part II

--

Being a bit impossible to pin down is what you're known for, and you liked that. It was your grandmother who taught you how to be difficult. 

When they try to smooth your edges, rip the sandpaper. 

You didn't have a natural place in polite society, your family knew this. But your father wasn't going to let you into the family business, either. So he took your brother, your imbecile of a brother, and let him lead instead. Two years later, you're sitting at a dinner table in a fancy restaurant with your parents, your brother who can't look you in the eye, and two gangsters from Birmingham. You could tell they were gangsters because they smelled like new money, and had guns under their blazers. One was an older woman Polly Shelby, and the other was her nephew, Thomas Shelby. 

You thought it was any other business meeting, but your brother was fidgeting the way he did when you were younger, and he stole your necklace and broke it but didn't want to tell you. He was hiding something big. Luckily for him and unluckily for you, it quickly became abundantly clear. 

"Let's get right to it, we'll settle the debt, put in an accountant who will manage to unfuck you, and take 45% of the resulting profit," Tommy Shelby laid the cards on the table. Your face contorted in confusion. What debt? 

"Alright, it's done," your father said, a quiver in his voice along with relief. 

"What? That's a terrible bargain," you scoffed. The way your mother turned away, her eyes tearing up, and your brother practically quivering beside you. You met the eyes of Polly Shelby, and something about them told you to brace yourself. 

"Is your daughter still upholding the marriage to our dear Thomas?" Polly asked. For a moment, you thought you blacked out. For a moment, you thought you'd forgotten you had a sister. For a moment, you assumed it wasn't the 1920's but the 17-fucking-40's where you may have come with some livestock as well. 

"So this is it, huh? This is why you let me go to Paris with my friends last week, Mum? And why Dad said he'd buy me a car? And why Graham won't stop fucking fidgeting?" You asked, looking to your brother who just grimaced at you. There was no out, and you knew it. 

"Don't make a scene, y/n," your father told you, tired already as if he'd put up some great fight. 

"Well? Are we on?" Polly got us back on track. "I'll need to hear it from her." You looked down at your handbag until you saw the emerald color and not a blinding red.

"You'll take 10% of the resulting profits," you finally said. If you were getting given away, it was going to be at least a good deal. 

"40," the deep, Brummie voice of Thomas Shelby came to the party. Your eyes flicked up to meet his icy blue ones. 

"12."

"35."

"15."

"33%, and you can go to Paris as much as you'd like," he said his final offer with a smirk. If you weren't so fueled by anger, you'd appreciate it.

"18%, I go to Paris as much as I want, and I won't make your life a living hell. Maybe I'll even kiss you goodbye in the morning, my love," you said in the most charming voice you could muster, which wasn't very. He'd never tell you that's when he knew he liked you, but he didn't have to. You landed on an even 25%. You could go to Paris, he'd get his morning goodbye kiss and some peace from time to time, and you'd get a car that was better than anything your father had planned. You shook on it yourself. 

"Welcome to the Shelby's," Polly said when she grasped your hand. You grabbed your bag and turned to Tommy.

"If the car's not a Hispano-Suiza, 2% of that profit comes directly to me," you warned him before walking away.

You should've fucking known that it would be at least partially an adventure. At first, you were mad. You allowed yourself to be easily swayed in the wedding planning, saying yes to the most frivolous things.

"500 bloody pounds for a dress you'll wear once?!" Tommy all but shouted and threw down the receipt on the desk of his office. You sat unnerved in the seat in front of him.

"Once, on the most important day of my life," you said, giving a brief pout and nothing else. Tommy rubbed his chin as he went to refill his glass of whiskey.

"Stubborn, reckless, outlandish even. Sure, you're all of those things. But spoiled? That's a surprise," he said, almost disappointed. You rolled your eyes at his little act. 

"Come off it, Shelby. I have very little in this world, least of all a family I can trust. Everything I do have is about to belong to you because I'm a woman with nothing but familial debt. So don't stand there and lecture me about the rights and wrongs of acting out, Thomas. You and my father only listen to money." You stood and were halfway to the door when Tommy blocked your way. 

"You've threatened to run away if you had to live with your parents, so we've put you in a grand apartment in London. You have your parties there with all your friends. You spend all the money you'd like and more. When will it end?" He asked. You wondered if he actually cared about the stability of your coping mechanisms, or about you. His hand came up to brush your waist. It was all you needed to come back to your senses.  You took a breath and looked up at him.

"Until I'm satisfied," You decided. 

Polly was something between annoyed and amused at you. You were loud, as subtle as a cannon, and possibly more stubborn than her nephew. There wasn't a week that went by where Tommy wasn't talking about something you'd done. 

"Tommy, have you tried going along with something she says?" Polly suggested one day when you'd called not finding a proper wedding venue an "emergency." Tommy leaned back in thought, then picked up the phone. Perhaps his aunt was right... like usual.

"If this is kidnap, it's very ironic," you said as you stumbled along the gravel. Your ridiculous fiancé had taken you to an undisclosed location. Now, the only thing guiding you was Tommy, whose hand was over your eyes. 

"It's not a kidnapping. On the contrary, I've come to take you home," Tommy said before his hand lifted. You blinked the blur away to see a large house. Well, let's call a spade a spade. It was a mansion if you'd ever seen one. 

"Holy hell," you breathed.

"This is Arrow House, Ms. y/l/n. It's got everything you could need and hopefully what you want. Here's a map." He pulled a thick piece of paper from his coat pocket. "Let me know if I've missed anything."

Crying wasn't in your repertoire. Even the events of the past few months hadn't done you in. But, you made an exception and allowed a few to leak while you looked around. You could feel your betrothed’s eyes watching you take it all in, but it didn't matter when the home was breathtaking. When you came back to the foyer, you couldn't help but tweak an eyebrow at Tommy. 

"Have you got a crush on me, Shelby?" You asked, or accused rather. He just chuckled and grabbed your hand, leading you towards the door.

"Let's go see the stables."

The wedding was grander than was even sensible. Tommy didn't know how you forged the guest list or who most of these people were, but you told him if he helped you hang drapes, you'd explain your itemized list. Now that was a sight to see. You could only stand it for a bit and did what you usually did at parties. You found quiet place on a balcony overlooking the wedding reception turned memorable party that spilled into the large venue's gardens. 

"Well, we've done it, Mrs. Shelby," Tommy said, walking up from behind you with two champagne glasses. You took one with a broad smile. 

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby. I'd have to agree."

"Are you having a good time?"

"Sure, are you? This is your wedding gift," you said, motioning to the crowds.

"And how is that?" He looked over the railing with you. You started pointing people out.

"Over there is the Commissioner and his wife's sister. London police chief over there with his mistress. Lady Catherine Wilcox, one of the most influential socialites in the country, is by the fountain. She's been eyeing Arthur all night too. And so on." You nodded triumphantly. "At those parties I was having in London, I only said good things about you, which is annoying to admit but here we are. Thomas Shelby, your wedding is your introduction to the upper echelon society." He turned and leaned against the railing, and you followed his lead. 

"I guess I owe you a thank you," he said. 

"I’d say so. You’re on several guest lists and incredibly important customer lists now.” You cupped your ear and leaned closer. “Let's hear it.”

"Thank you, y/n." He rolled his eyes, then looked at you with a sigh. "Are you happy, then?" He asked.

"Better, I'm satisfied."

With a clink of your glasses, your relationship could begin. And when Tommy leaned in to kiss you, you didn't pull away. 

"This seems like a crush," were your first words when you parted.

"You're the one who made us late to the ceremony," he pointed out.

"No one even noticed."

"I think they did," he begged to differ. 

"You weren't supposed to come to find me before the wedding. It's bad luck," you tsked Tommy, taking another sip of the bubbling drink, which did nothing to help the heat creeping up your neck. 

"Just had to make sure you didn't run off." He shrugged but moved closer to whisper in your ear. "And I believe, Mrs. Shelby, the dress wasn't even on yet."

"Don't get your hopes up, it meant nothing." You waved it away, not convinced or convincing. Tommy nodded then kissed you again. 

"Right, right. It's just good business." 

--

Tommy Tag List: @soleil-dor

[ikevamp-shrine]

Thank you @yanderepuck​ for giving me the courage to post this😊❤

Please ignore the crappy drawing of her, but that's kinda what she appears like in my mind. I will be writing with her character in future posts.

Name: Elizabeth Tudor

Vampire Type: Lesser Vampire

Height: 5’4

Birthday: September 7th

Occupation: Former Queen of England

Appearance: 

Long, curly (and extremely thick) strawberry blonde hair, fair skin, red lips, and intense icy blue eyes. Her stance is strong, regale, and respectable. Her skin is littered with smallpox scars (only a few, very unnoticeable ones residing on her face, neck, and hands). Her expression is usually blank and unreadable. Her movements are controlled and polite. Her brows thick and stomach soft. Legs long and fingers thin and graceful. There are patches of freckles on her shoulders that mix with her scars causing a unique blend of color. Thick thighs and pale, maintained feet. Smaller breasts.

Childhood:

When her brother, Edward, was born from her father and his new wife, Catherine, her line to the throne was pushed back even further (she was declared third in line). Thankfully she was not neglected instead her father, known for his cruelty, treated all his children with affection and love. She became very close with her half brother and was said to be inseparable. She was also very close with and benefited from the love her step mother, Catherine, showed her.

When her brother, Edward, was born from her father and his new wife, Catherine, her line to the throne was pushed back even further (she was declared third in line). Thankfully she was not neglected instead her father, known for his cruelty, treated all his children with affection and love. She became very close with her half brother and was said to be inseparable. She was also very close with and benefited from the love her step mother, Catherine, showed her.

She was taught a rigorous education normally only given to male heirs and was applauded for her perseverance and memory. She became fluent in French and Italian which profited when conducting diplomacy years later. Her involvement with the Reformation shaped the course of the nation, but she held no interest in religion.

With her father’s death, her step mother married the lord high admiral, Thomas, which resulted in his decapitation due to his intent to rape and impregnate Elizabeth forcing her to marry him in order for him to rule the kingdom. He was said to be overly flirtatious and acting inappropriately familiar with the young girl when around her (which one of the reasons she doesn’t like Arthur, his flirtatious nature reminds her of her past).

She was raised around sexism and taught that women were likely to act on impulsion and passion making them unfit to rule. Men were taught the arts of war and told they are the ones who dominate women while women were urged to keep their head down, mouth shut, and attend their needlework. She had remained unmarried, her want to remain single overshadowing any thoughts of seeking out relations with a man. She was rumored to have burst out in tears when Queen Mary, her older sister, had proposed to marry Elizabeth to a duke. This became a national concern when Elizabeth became queen and refused to take a husband, going against the belief that a woman’s place was a wife. It also raised worries that she would die childless, ending her bloodline, and giving Elizabeth’s title to Mary, Queen of Scots, a catholic posing a threat to the Protestants of England.

Dislikes: 

her privacy being intruded on, loud talking, 3am, those who play weak and stupid or whine to get what they want, people who are lazy but still expect to reach their goals, women who chase men and believe they need a man to be successful in life, messy rooms, fake personalities and cheaters (in both games and relationships)

Likes: 

walks in the garden at midnight, the sound of the birds singing their life’s song as the warmth of the day’s first rays of sun trace her skin, reading, learning new things, burning candles, smiling faces, happy children, the smell of freshly baked bread, warm blankets, animals, the laughter of children, hunting, dancing, and horseback (bareback more often than naught)

Personality: 

She appears cold at first because of her bluntness and blank (almost annoyed) expression. Unreasonably serious with a strong sense of duty, responsibility, and morals. She is a firm believer in working harder than everyone else to achieve greatness. A highly intelligent woman that believe women are equal to their male counterpart. Extremely stubborn in a non-disrespectful way. She is adaptable, disciplined, dignified, and confident with a wit and tongue as sharp as, if not sharper, than any of the residents. She is blunt, doesn’t sugarcoat the truth, and is always honest. Focused, logical, and exceedingly loyal to those she decides to put her trust in. She is protective and straightforward but rather quiet. She tends to keep to herself. She is paranoid and distrustful when meeting new people but will not show it. She tries to work on it, but she can be very vengeful when it comes to people betraying her or hurting those she loves.

Preferred company: 

Theo, Leonardo, Isaac, Jean, Vincent

Relationships (platonic, romantic, etc.):  

Jean- platonic with a chance of something more

Has a deep understanding with Jean. They don’t really talk about each other to each other; their conversations mainly consist of stiff, dead toned jokes that you wouldn’t be able to tell they were jokes until specified. She is one of the few people that has actually seen a sober Jean smile. He is extremely protective of her and will stand behind her just so he has the peace of mind that her back is guarded. If she asked, he would show her what is under his eye patch, no matter what lingering emotions he has on the ‘ugliness under the fabric’. His blade is always ready, his mind perfectly clear, when it comes to the safety and well being of the woman he had found himself connecting to in ways no one had before. Often, they go horse back riding together, Napoleon will sometimes accompany but its only when her and the former solider are alone does she throw her head back, her laughs unrestrained while the wind rips through her hair and clothing. Jean will race her and chuckle at how free she looks, but of course she doesn’t hear. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Napoleon  

Mozart- platonic

Sometimes Mozart look for her and demand Elizabeth to listen to his new piece until she raises an eyebrow, daring him not to correct his wording. He’ll swallow thickly and glance off to the side, a scoff on his lips as he apologizes. She’ll nod and follow him to music room. Mozart will stare at her impatiently until she gives her honest (and extremely blunt) opinion. He values her words and while alone the pianist will replay the slight quirk of her lips as she praised his efforts. He has a small obsession with her and it drives him insane

Vincent- brotherly platonic and Theo- they horny for each other but don’t want to cross that line of friendship so they dance around their feelings while making out every once in a while

Has a soft spot for Theo and Vincent because their relationship makes her think of her brother. She only sees Vincent as a brother and will only allow him to do her makeup when he asks to, but with Theo its completely different. She sees Theo as a partner, a man she shares many values and goals with. She respects him and their shared opinions on responsibility and productivity. They understand each other intuitively and can conversate with just fleeting touches and quick glances of their eyes. There is a thick sexual tension that builds between them overtime resulting in hurried, frantic, sloppy kisses in hallways where the couple battle for dominance by pushing each other against walls and gripping roughly at the other’s clothing

Napoleon- just housemates (not friends or lovers)

She can and usually feels uncomfortable when around Napoleon. She has chalked it down to the fact they are both the leader ‘alpha’ types that ruled enemy lands. Truly, they just don’t have much in common and find it hard to build a meaningful relationship. Spares with and helps better the woman’s defenses and attacks along with Jean

Arthur- just housemates

Can sometimes get too snippy with Arthur. While she does find enjoyment in his jokes at times, she despises the sexual aspects of the author. Finds his skirt chasing habits understandable but disgusting. Admires his intelligence but can’t stand how he is able to tell you where have been just by the dust on your hand (she likes her privacy). Will play chess and pool with him even though she knows she will lose just because she enjoys playing. Will sometimes have deep conversations with Arthur in front of the fire place, both nursing a glass of alcohol, their eyes never leaving the fire as to not break the imaginary protective barrier around the two that eye contact will shatter. Smirks at his quirks and jokes sometimes and it literally makes Arthur’s heart leap because ‘damn a queen just found amusement in my joke.’ He internally freaked out the first time he met her mainly because the mansion now had two previous rulers instead of one and the newest one scared the living daylights out of him.

Comte- there is nothing between them

Doesn’t trust Comte as far as she can throw him. She can see the darkness in his heart and his past behind his eyes. She can see the death he’s caused- the pain, and while she knows that she, herself, has caused the death of many, she still has a deeply rooted gut feeling telling her to stay away from the pureblood. He wants her trust but soon realizes her opinion on him is similar to Jean’s. She will not take any gifts other than what is necessary from him (ex. Dresses for parties)

Dazai- just housemates

Dazai tries avoiding her. He feels suffocated when around and the victim of her stare. He feels as if her eyes and actions pick him apart and leave his in his barest, rawest form, and it scares him to no end. She does find his window habit hilarious though and will give him a hand up when he falls

Shakespeare- they don’t get involved with each other

She can tell Shakespeare’s mind is being manipulated, by what is the question she has yet to reveal though. She can tell he is dangerous. One who’s actions are watched and controlled by another always are. His unpredictable nature and mysterious, secret filled smile is what causes her to feel uneasy around him. She doesn’t ignore him, but she doesn’t want to be involved with the playwright and his actions so she tends to just quietly leave the room when he enters. He is polite to her and compliments her when they do talk but his fancy wording sometimes annoys Elizabeth, especially when she just wants to get away from him. She believes he is a good man at heart lead astray by forces more powerful than him, but still finds his company rather unnecessary. 

Sebastian- they respect one another, are not friends but have decent conversations

Has an interesting relationship with Sebastian. She wouldn’t call him a friend, she has very few of those so it is understandable, but she does respect him for his work ethic just as he respects her for her accomplishments and standing in history. She let him interview him once and nearly laughed out loud from how excited he got. They always have a cup of coffee or tea in the morning together, Elizabeth not quite woken up yet so they sip in comforting silence. Sebastian usually asks how she slept and she responds by telling him about her dreams if she had one. She’ll end up helping him cook breakfast.

Leonardo- friends with a chance of something more

Elizabeth appreciates Leonardo’s straightforwardness and honesty, so they have a decent trusting relationship, but his matureness makes her feel like a little girl again and it bothers her. Her thoughts tend to be: she was a queen; she ruled a country with a strength that rivaled even the greatest men, she should not look at this chain-smoking man with admiration in her eyes like a giddy school girl, flustered over a boy telling her she is cute, while around the Italian. The start of their relationship was rocky, due to Elizabeth’s personal feelings on the man- Leonardo could have cared less, but soon enough they started to appreciate each other’s qualities. Leonardo is mainly the only one she allows to touch her hair. They often speak Italian together on the balcony as Leonardo smoke a cigarillo and Elizabeth reads.

Isaac- they have the chance of being more than friends but their relationship is mainly just comforting one another through their presence and (when needed) touch- they also trust each other whole heartedly

Adores Isaac and will purposely sought him out just so she can listen to his calming ramblings while he tinkers away, a book in her hand and two cooling cups of coffee on the surface closest to the pair. He gets so red around her; at times he turns snow white from the intensity in her gaze and how her eyes never stray from her company. They share an endless loyalty to each other. Neither knows when the bond form, it just happened on its own (and very suddenly). Isaac has lost control and bit her but instead of reacting in anger she accepted it and pulled him closer, shuddering with each frenzied suck against her neck, her nails gently scratching the scalp of a whimpering Isaac. When Isaac finally came to his senses, he tried pulling away, his voice thick with unshed tears as his panicked words rang through the air until Elizabeth grabbed him and held him close, shushing Isaac as he trembled with regret and guilt in her arms. They had held each other for hours until they feel asleep in each other embraces. Isaac will link pinkies with Elizabeth when he is being picked on without realizing it for support and something to ground him so his thoughts don’t run too wild. Elizabeth will just glare and clear her throat and Arthur will shut his mouth while looking at the former queen as if he was a kicked puppy. She has a habit of fixing his clothing or hair after he nervously pulls, picks, or twists at it- Isaac doesn’t even notice it after a while. His face does burn intensely though when she places a hand on his overactive, bouncing knee when he is anxious.

Fun facts:

Due to her makeup being poisoned by her undetermined enemy, which resulted in her death, she refuses to wear any cosmetics other than what Vincent personally makes (learned how to from Leonardo) and puts on her skin himself when going to events if he asks to.

She tends to wear clothing that covers all skin other than her neck and face when leaving the mansion due to children being scared by her smallpox scars.

She usually never strays from wine unless her emotions become a little too overwhelming for her to just push the feelings down, only then will she drink something stronger.

Elizabeth is a quiet, peaceful drunk that tends to curl up on the couch, her shoes discarded on the floor, her hair loose and flowing over the decorative pillow she’ll grab and hug tightly to her chest.

She died a virgin and has remained one ever since her resurrection.

The former queen is hesitant to allow others to touch her hair from her past concerning the loss of said strands (a result of surviving smallpox), but if she trusts someone enough and knows they’ll be gentle she’ll let them style the curls, even if she is tense the entire time.

Prefers to braid her hair herself and wrap in into a bun due to the protective nature of the style.

Loves sleeping in but is often unable to due to insomnia.

She is highly particular when it comes to cleaning and organization. She has told Sebastian not to worry about cleaning her things or doing her laundry, instead she does it herself with up most focus and determination.

When she does open up or is around the boys long enough, they realize her heart is truly kind and nurturing instead of what she appears when first met (a cold-hearted woman with a resolve like steel). This is especially apparent when around animals.

She is very sarcastic and doesn’t mean any harm but usually her joking words sound hateful due to her dead tone and blank face.

Her voice is deeper and soothing, most times holding no emotion which creeps Dazai and Arthur out

Lives by “no pain no gain”

Doesn’t waste her breath on hate- if she doesn’t like someone or feels as if she can’t trust them then they just don’t exist to her. She won’t hesitate to cut someone off without warning.

Has a bad habit of bottling her emotions which causes her to explode when pushed over the edge resulting in one of the very rare moments where her anger creates an electric static in the room that demands the attention of anyone present. She doesn’t shout or scream but her words are sharper than a blade, her eyes burn with a fiery rage while she takes control of the room, overwhelming anyone (even Napoleon) and making them feel as if they are an ant beneath her boot.

Her eyes freak many people out- they feel as if the ice like orbs are staring straight into their soul, picking apart their insides, leaving nothing but shredded organs and an empty husk of what used to be a strong mind.

Can always tell when someone is lying. It’s a gut feeling, and her gut is always right.

She still wears her coronation ring on her wedding finger as a sign of her symbolic marriage to her people and country

[ragingbookdragon]

The Moment They Met

An AC3/AC:R Headcanon/Fic?

Word Count: 2,265 Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: So this is the first moment where the reader meets Shay and Haytham, but they’re set in different times? Like after the beginning events of AC3 and after Shay joins the Templars? So technically AC:R time period. Enjoy! -Thorne

Shay:

           She growled as she looked through the closed window, the sound of revelry still coming from the dock across the street. Her sister frowned as she watched her from her bed, murmuring, “Come now, (Y/N). They’re not worth it.”

           (Y/N) turned her glare towards her sister, throwing the blankets from her body. “I don’t care.” She rolled out of the bed, griping, “This is the fifth night in a row they’ve thrown a drunken ramble. I’m absolutely sick of it.”

           Her sister stared as she walked to the closet, pulling on her overcoat. “Where are you going?”

           “I—” she started, hoping on a foot as she pulled on a pair of simple flats. “am going over there to give them a piece of my mind.”

           “I…I don’t think that’s a good idea, sister.” The other worried, pulling the covers to her chest. “Who knows what they might do?”

           (Y/N) stood straight and tied the overcoat around her waist. “Well I think sleep is a good idea and they’re disturbing it.” She crossed to the door and opened it. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

***

           As she neared the ship, the party grew in noise, and so did her anger. Thousands of words crossed over her tongue and as she walked up the gangway, someone drunkenly stumbled over to her. “Hey—” they began but she held up a palm, effectively silencing him as she stepped onto the deck.

           “Excuse me!” she called, but no one seemed to hear her. “Excuse! Me!” Again no one paid mind and in a flash of indignation, (Y/N) yanked a bottle of alcohol from a sailor, who certainly hear her then. She threw it to the deck, and it shattered, much like the stupor everyone was in as they turned to look at her. “All of you shut up!” The sailors stared in surprise at the young woman in her nightgown and overcoat. “Which one of you is the captain?”

           A man in a simple tunic and leather pants raised a hand, walking to meet her. “That’d be me.” He stuck out his hand. “Captain Shay Cormac. And you are?”

           (Y/N) slapped his hand away. “Who I am is none of your business.” Ignoring his shock, she thrust a finger to his chest and admonished, “You and your crew have been in port for almost a week and every night since you got here, you’ve been throwing a party until midnight. It stops now.”

           He raised an eyebrow, an amused smile crossing his lips as he quipped, “Oh?”

           She narrowed her eyes, hissing, “Yes. It does.” (Y/N) gestured to herself. “Some of us in New York actually have real jobs they have to attend to in the morning and your drunken debauchery is keeping us from our rest!” With each word, her voice had risen and thinking she possibly looked like a raving madwoman, she took a deep breath and slapped a pleasant expression on her face, politely requesting, “So…if you would, please wrap this carouse up and go to bed, so that the rest of Greenwich can go to bed as well.”

           The captain stared into her eyes, but (Y/N) was no coward and met his stare head on, sending a withering one back. After a moment, he huffed and raised a hand, motioning to the crew. “You heard the lady, lads. Party’s over.” Her jaw dropped in surprise, but she quickly snapped it shut as groans began to surround her. Shay looked to them with a glare. “Oi! Shut your mouths and do as I say.”

           A chorus of ‘aye captain’ and ‘aye sir’ echoed from them and (Y/N) cleared her throat, hiding her embarrassment by curling her arms across her chest as she remarked, “Well, I’m glad we’ve straightened this out.”

           He tipped his head in acknowledgement. “On behalf of the Morrigan and her crew, I apologize for our ‘drunken debauchery’.” Shay let out a chuckle at her expression and she turned away, starting towards the plank.

           “Apology accepted. Goodnight, Captain Cormac.”

           Before she could get far, he appeared in her peripheral. “Hold a moment, lass.” She halted and waited. “I can hardly let a young lady such as yourself walk home alone.”

           (Y/N) cocked an eyebrow and countered, “I am more than capable of protecting myself Captain. If you think I need a man’s protection, you are sorely mista—”

           “It’s not a matter of needing a man’s protection.” He interrupted. “It’s about doing what’s proper, and what’s not proper is allowing a young woman to walk home in the dead of night by herself.” Shay pressed a hand to his chest, asking, “Please, allow me to accompany you at least to your street so I can see you home safely.”

           She regarded him a moment with suspicion, then muttered, “If you try anything, I will kill you.”

           Shay snorted. “Duly noted.” They started down the walkway and after a few minutes, they arrived at (Y/N)’s street.

           “This is me.” She said.

           He nodded and held his hands behind him. “Aye then. I’ll watch you from here and then return to the Morrigan.”

           (Y/N) met his gaze. “Goodnight Captain Cormac.” He smiled warmly at her.

           “Goodnight lass.”

           As she walked off, she stopped and turned. “Captain?” His expression turned curious as he waited and she murmured, “My name is (Y/N).”

           Shay’s smile grew and he tipped his head. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss (Y/N).”

Haytham:

           Haytham was tempted to tell her. Oh so tempted to tell her that the man she was giggling at would do nothing but sleep with her and leave her in the morning. Tempted as he was, he figured experience was the best teacher, and the next morning, she would learn better than to let her guard down so carelessly. He let out an inaudible sigh, thumb lightly tracing the handle of the mug he held. Somewhere downstairs, the door opened and closed and soon, footsteps followed, rapidly flying up the stairs. He felt some form of guard enter his system, but a woman, a few years younger than he, came around the corner.

           “(S/N) (L/N)!” The young girl on the man’s lap jumped and cast a wide-eyed glance to her.

           She scrambled out of the man’s grip and stood, hands wringing in front of her. “(Y/N)! Y-you’re here!”

           The woman stomped over and snatched her by her ear, ignoring the yelp of pain. “You’re damn right I’m here! What do you think you’re doing in a place like this?!”

           The girl had now raised to her tiptoes, voice twinged with pain as she replied, “I was just having a conversation!”

           “That is not what it looked like to me!”

           “I’m sorry!”

           The woman let her go and shoved her towards the stairs. “You get outside right this instance. Do you understand me?”

           The girl nodded rapidly and hurried down the stairs. “Yes! I understand!”

           When she was gone, (Y/N) turned to the man her sister had been sitting with. “You are a sick bastard.” She thrust a finger in the direction her sister had gone. “That girl is barely older than nineteen.” She pointed at him. “If I ever see you around her again, I will cut your cock off and shove it down your throat. Do I make myself clear?”

           The man’s mouth opened but an answer seemed to fail him and Haytham cut in, “Thomas understands.” He turned his steely gaze to the man. “Don’t you, Thomas?” The man nodded mutely.

           (Y/N) turned her attention to him. “Are you this man’s boss?” Haytham nodded. “It is not your place to do so, but I ask that if you see my sister coming around here, you send her straight home.”

           Seeming to have found his voice again, Thomas argued, “Why are you so protective? She’s grown.”

           She glowered at him and hissed, “I am all that girl has left and I made a promise to our parents on their deathbeds to watch after her.” She pointed at him. “I am not about to let her have her innocent heart trampled over by a man-whore like you.” Thomas’s jaw dropped, not expecting the face-slapping truth. “I know who you are. I know all about you and your gallivanting ways. You would use her and leave her and she…she is worth so much more than that.” (Y/N) felt herself become emotional, the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as she finalized, “There is someone out there who will love her and take care of her and I am not going to let herself be fooled into believing that that someone is you.” She inhaled deeply and set her shoulders, warning, “You stay the hell away from her or else.” (Y/N) turned away without another word, silently descending the stairs.

***

           She stepped outside, immediately seeing the young girl in tears. Her heart hurt and in that moment she felt so regretful of her anger and reaction. Wordlessly, she handed her sister a handkerchief, watching her wipe her eyes. “Thank you, sissy.”

           (Y/N) gazed at her a moment, then took her into her arms, feeling (S/N) wrap her arms around her middle; she buried her face in (Y/N)’s shoulder and sniffled. “There, there, (S/N).” She pulled away and wiped the girl’s cheeks. “Come now, no more tears. It’s over, it’s done. Let’s go home.” She took her sister’s hand, gently tugging her along.

           They walked in silence a few minutes, then her sister said, “I was dropping off a letter to Miss Catherine and she asked me to go give the beer to them.”

           (Y/N) sighed at that. “She shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t your job to serve them.” She glanced at the younger girl. “Next time, just politely decline and leave.” Her sister nodded and she squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you like that. I…didn’t mean to react like so.”

           “No…I understand why.” Her sister stopped and looked at her with a clarity. “You’ve sacrificed so much for me and here I am acting like a fool.”

           (Y/N) frowned and cupped her cheeks. “…(S/N)…”

           “Mummy and daddy would be so disappointed in me.” She lamented.

           She felt her heart drop. “No. No, don’t say that.” (Y/N) made her look at her. “Mother and father would never be disappointed in you. You were their everything. They loved you so much.” Tears welled in her sister’s eyes. “I’ve been working so much, and you’re left alone all the time.” (Y/N) let go of her face and took her hands, squeezing them. “I’ll ask Mister Lenoir for a night shift rather than the day, so I’ll be around you during the morning and afternoons.”

           (S/N) looked at her. “You will?”

           (Y/N) nodded. “Yes. And I’ll start looking for a better job where we can both go and work together so neither of us will have to worry.”

           Her sister frowned “But there aren’t many job openings for us. How will you find one let alone two?”

           Before she could respond, a rather eloquent voice sounded from behind. “Your sister has an excellent point.”

           (Y/N) jerked, moving (S/N) behind her back as she turned to face the owner of the English accent. It was the man from before, Thomas’s boss. “Can I help you?”

           “While you were putting Thomas in his place, I wasn’t able to introduce myself. Allow me to do so properly.” He held his hand out to her. “Haytham Kenway.”

           (Y/N) regarded him suspiciously but reached for his hand. “(Y/N) (L/N).”

           Haytham took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, causing her cheeks to warm despite her reservation. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss (Y/N).”

           She pulled her hand away and stared at him. “Is there something you need, Mister Kenway?”

           “There is.” He looked at the two of them. “You’re looking for a job that will allow you to stay around one another, yes?”

           “And what is it to you?”

           Haytham cleared his throat and placed his hands behind his back. “The mansion I had contracted to build is now complete and while I’ve recently moved into it, I’m still looking for a staff to keep it in order. I’d be more than happy to offer you both jobs.”

           (Y/N)’s demeanor shifted instantly, turning from suspicion to straight awareness. “To what end?”

           He cocked an eyebrow, a bemused look crossing his face. “I don’t understand.”

           She tipped her chin up. “Birds of a feather flock together.”

           Haytham seemed to understand then, because he huffed a laugh and added, “Until the cat comes, Miss (Y/N).” His face turned solemn and he stated, “Don’t confuse me with Thomas. He and I are nothing alike. Never will be.”

           (Y/N) looked away, going silent for a moment, seeming to consider the situation, then she inquired, “Say that I—that we accept…” he nodded. “You won’t pull any tricks? You won’t bring that—that brute around?”

           Haytham placed a hand to his heart. “You have my word. Thomas won’t step foot on the property and no tricks will be pulled on either of you.” He looked them both over. “I’m in the business of bringing change to the world. It starts with the everyday people.”

           She scoffed. “I’m sure empires don’t form from two maids, but I’ll take your word for it.” (Y/N) stuck out her hand. “Shake on it.”

           “Like a man?” he amused but took her hand in his larger one.

           (Y/N) gripped it tight and pulled them closer, until they were nose to nose and countered, “Like a woman.”

[aikrus]

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Pairing: T. Iida x Reader Rating: 15+ Words: 4k289 Warnings: Reference of Alcohol, and angst  Requested by: No one, but requests are open! Summary: The story of Iida’s summer before UA, and how love isn’t always a good thing.

      QUIRK: Soul Beam

   The summer before high school was a fever dream that Y/n never wanted to wake up from. The sweat sticking to her skin was only ever washed away from the storms that passed through her life- note: even the pools she submerged herself in never removed the glistening water from her body because sometimes water needs a little force behind it in order to cleanse you. 

The gold and purple sunsets are passing memories that she wants to desperately hold on to. No taste will be quiet like the pancakes she had eaten, and no smell will ever replace that of the sweater she stole (despite overheating every time she wore it).

Scars are a painful reminder of what she went through, and it takes a little to see them as a badge of honor, but the help she received only made it re-open in the long run. 

Tire swings will never be the same, and that stupid song is still on the radio- as if it wasn’t playing enough in her head. Y/n used to think she was strong, but now that’s barely believable. Ice cream cones and train rides have a hidden meaning that will only ever be known by her and it hurts to know that no one can help her mourn a love that never happened.

--------------

The first question was asked when the summer started. It was next to a moving van that was a beacon calling out to everyone on the street it was parked on. The well-off neighborhood was full of upstanding citizens who wanted nothing more than to welcome the newest member with open arms. 

It was that beacon that called the Iida family over to the driveway. But as Tenya walked with his brother and parents, he wondered if the bright beacon that drew him in was the moving truck of the bright smile of the teen girl, happily grabbing boxes of things to bring inside. 

“Hello! We’re the Iida family, this is my husband, and these are my two son’s, Tensei and Tenya. Welcome to the neighborhood!” The wife smiled kindly at the mother.

“Thank’s for coming out! This is my husband, Y/d/n, and my daughter Y/n. We’re really looking forward to joining the neighborhood,”  to the untrained eye this looked like any normal greeting, but Y/n knew better. She could see the subtle glances her mom threw at her. She was trying to say how cute the younger boy was. It received a light chuckle and an eye-roll from her daughter.

“Tenya,” The Iida’s father said, clasping him on the shoulder, “Why don’t you go help Y/n with her boxes?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, walking over to the moving truck.

“You can just grab that one if it’s not too heavy,” she pointed at a medium side box labeled ‘Knickknacks’. He hummed in agreement and followed her up into her room, noting the aesthetic that she surrounded herself in.  

---------------------

A knock echoed through the newly-decorated house, alerting the present family members of a visitor. 

“Not it,” Y/n’s dad said, pressing his finger to his noes; her mother follows suit.

“You guys are literal children,” Y/n groaned, forcing herself off the couch she had grown ever so attached to.  Grumpily, she made her way to the door.

“Oh hey! Iida, right?” Y/n said, recognizing the boy that had already been in her room.

“Yes! That’s me. I uh,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously, “I was heading down to the boardwalk, and I wanted to know if you would like to come with me?” 

Truth be told this wasn’t his idea. His mother had been pressuring him for days in hopes to grow closer to the new family. It wouldn’t be long until they realized the Iida’s are a line of hero’s, and she wanted to get close to them before they found out.

“Oh,” Y/n replied, suddenly thinking of the clothes she was currently wearing. While her tie-dye shorts and loose t-shirt weren't anything to be ashamed of, they were not ‘paint the town red’ clothes. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to!” Tenya said, suddenly embarrassed that he randomly invited a girl his age to hang out with him. 

“No! I’ll gladly go, just give me a few minutes to get changed. Come inside,” Y/n had said, opening the door wider for him before racing upstairs. 

--------------------

       Iida walked slightly behind the girl he was supposed to show around. It was a cliché, but she was mesmerizing. Her hair bounced with every step, and she walked like she had a purpose, and the end goal was in mind and she would stop at nothing to get there. 

She looked like she was made of honey and sugar and a taste would give him a cavity. The beams of the sun projected from her eyes like the cosmos and it made him want to fall in- knowing full well that drifting through the endless space would never cease to amaze him.

“Do you think they sell corn-dogs here?” 

“Huh? oh!” He blushed, before pointing ahead, “Yeah, there’s one right by the docks.”

“Well then what are we waiting for?” She smiled and leaned closer to Iida. “Let's hurry!” There was a burst of light laughter in her voice, as she grabbed his hand and ran off. What was he doing here?

--

When they reached the end of the docks- corn dogs in hand- they say on the bench which over-looked the sea. Night had fallen while they were out, Y/n becoming absorbed in learning as much as she can about where she moved to.

As she looked out to the wine-light sky, she wondered if she could swim to it. The horizon looked so close, like just reaching out a little further would put it in her grasp. It wasn’t until Tenya’s hand grabbed her shoulder that she realized she really was leaning forward.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, eyebrows pulled together.

“Yeah!” She smiled, snapped out of her thoughts,. “Just day-dreaming,”

“We should get you back home,” He said, before looking back to the water. 

She saw his glasses, they reflected the golden hue of the sunset, and the beautiful purple that fought underneath it. She saw all the beauty in the world in his eyes, all that was good and right- was all in front of her. He was the sunset, he was the horizon she so desperately wanted to get to.  

“Hey, Iida?” Y/n asked, swinging her legs back and forth under the bench. 

“What is it?” He said, looking over to her face- which didn’t turn to see him.

“Stupid question- but an icebreaker; if you could have anyone in the world- living or dead- over to yours for dinner, who would it be?” she blushed a little, but kept a calm face.

He knew the answer as soon as she finished the sentence, but there was no need to tell someone he just met the name of the girl he had been in love with for years- so all he said was, “Probably Catherin The Great, she had a few political opinions I’d like to hear about first hand,”

“Hmm, I can see you two bonding over tea,” She smirked, standing up from her seat, “Let’s get home.”

Tenya nodded, walking beside Y/n- thinking about her.

----------------------------------------------------------------

        A month had passed, and the little interactions the two families had resulted in the Iida’s inviting them over for breakfast. Y/n had woken up early to get dressed. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, harshly shaking it so the baby hairs would fall out. She threw on a form-fitting sweater and yoga-pants. Despite wanting to look like it’s a casual mornings- she did apply some casual makeup to make herself look a little more awake. 

It was stupid- she knows- but Y/n really just wanted to look a tiny bit better when he sees her again. Looking in the mirror, she wonders if he’s putting a little extra effort in his appearance as well. She could only hope.

Walking down the stairs, she saw her mother- also wearing casual makeup- and her father in a black polo and slacks. They were both standing by the door, waiting for their daughter to come out from her cave. 

“Why are you guys already done?” She asked, turning on the phone and checking the time.

“Wanted to make a good impression,” Her dad smiled, putting his own phone away. 

“Alright,” Her mom smiled, putting on her wedges, “Let’s get going. Y/n can you grab the scones and smoothie?”

“Yeah mah, I’ll be right back,”

“Thanks love,” she smiled, grabbing the house keys off the hook. 

They were kinda heavy, but it was nothing she couldn’t carry. That didn’t stop her dad from taking it from her with a smile. She could have done it, but she’s not necessarily upset about it.

---

Sitting at the dining room table was only awkward in the beginning of the meal. The Iida’s seemed to be pretty profesional people, but the Y/l/n’s were introverts with an acquired sense of humor. Joking about everything from people at work, eachother, and random facts they had learned, the Iida’s quickly became much less tense during the meal. 

The mother and father- whom’s names Y/n never seemed to learn, were last few to smile or laugh along side the rest, beaten by Tenya by only a second, but Tensai had been the first to crack a joke, almost beating Y/n herself to break the ice. 

The loud laughter slowly split into multiple side conversations; Y/n- who sat across from Tenya- tried to strike up a conversation. “Do you want to be famous one day?” 

“Hmm?” He asked, looking up from the lone strawberry cut on his plate, “Yes, I plan on being a Hero.”

A few seconds longer than a moment had passed, end Tensai asked Y/n in return, “What about you? You wanna live the life of fame, or are you more of a low-key kinda gal,” he smiled at her, and for a second Y/n though he had noticed the embarrassment worn on her face after being rejected and forced into silence.

“I dunno really, my quirk is pretty multipurpose. I originally wanted to be a counselor or therapist, but it’s changed from a vet to doctor, to a hundreds of other things. My parents think I should be a hero- I wouldn’t mind I don’t think, but the constant attention could get pretty annoying. A like being busy with people and events, but I do value my privacy,” 

He smiled at her, nodding in acceptance at her answer. The Iida parents had been listening into her words while she spoke, but they still conversed with Y/n’s parents as well. 

Y/n saw a smile on Iida’s face. That mirrored on her own, and suddenly her pancakes tasted a whole lot better. She missed the far off look in his eyes, if only she saw the worried look that was on Tensai’s face. If she had, maybe that small warning could have protected her heart.

---------------------------------------------

         Y/n had found an abandoned tire swing in their large backyard, three acres of cleared land and two of forest. The swing was in a small clearing- it looked like a party or two had been thrown while it was vacant- shown by the few nips thrown about the ground. She swung back and forth- listening to music playing in her head. 

Because of how caught up in her head she was, she never heard the footsteps approaching her. “Hey, Y/L/N!” Tenya greated. 

“Jesus Christ!” She shouted, falling from the swing. Thankfully, with the use of his quirk, Iida was able to catch her just in time.

“You should really be more careful,”

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” she rolled her eyes. 

He smiled, helping her back up to the swing. He slowly began to push her back and forth, spinning her as fast as he could listening to her laughter. Getting more and more dizzy, she closed her eyes to stay level headed. 

With a heavy sigh of contentment, Y/n lied on the grass with Iida, staring up at the beautiful blue sky. “Hey, Tenya?” She asked, still looking up.

“Yeah?” He turned on his side to see her better- only to notice her eyes were closed. 

“What’s your perfect day?”

“Hmm...” he thought for a second, trying to think of a good answer. “Probably waking up early, and seeing the girl I love as soon as I open my eyes. Then I’d like to eat breakfast with my family- followed by patrol with my brother. Then I’d like to go home and make a cup of tea and sit down with a book I like. Yeah, that sounds pretty good,” he smiled himself, closing his eyes to really picture what he was saying. 

“That sounds really nice Iida,” she whispered, wondering if she could be the one he loves.

---------------------------------

           Summer only had a month left, but Y/n wanted to make the most of the fleeting free-time she had left. Wanting to explore more of Japan before her freedom was stripped from her, she invited Iida to go on a roadtrip with her. 

It wasn’t hard at all to convince her parents to let her go, with her quirk she really didn’t need to worry about being attacked. Even then, she’s physically strong if she can’t use her quirk to defend herself. With the rise of heroes to protect everyone, Japan quickly became one of the safest places. Y/n was also very closely trained with America’s top hero, Reflector. She taught Y/n everything she knew and fully plans on giving Y/n her hero agency as her predecessor. 

Iida’s parents were a little harder to convince, but Y/n’s parents were very persuasive. They would be gone for a week, and they would check in every morning when they woke up and every night before they went to sleep. If they didn’t call during one of the time’s then they had until the next call to respond.

They had made a list of regions and cities in them to visit in them, with the days they would be arriving and leaving. If they skipped a stop of stayed longer, then they had to text their parents with the nex information. Solid rules, and both the teens agreed to them, as well as their parents. 

The bus ride to the train station was relatively short, but it was in complete silence. It was a little awkward, but they just had to get through that one part. 

The train ride itself was much more enjoyable. With their suitcases in hand, they sat close yet comfortably. “Hey, Tenya?” 

“What’s up?” He asked, looking up from his phone to see her eyes staring back at him- a smile tugging at his lips. 

“For what in your life do you feel most grateful?” She questioned, smiling into his eyes.

“Probably my family,” He responded as soon as she finished- having grown accustomed to Y/n’s random questioning, “They’ve done so much for me, and I only hope I can pay them back for all that they’ve supported me through.”

Y/n nodded at his answer, acknowledging how very much like him it is. The loud bustle of train and constant shaking led them to listening to music together, sharing earbuds and squeezing close together. It was a cheesy, new, pop song- one that will probably inspire a sub-culture of girls to bind together. It was weirdly comforting.

---------------------------------

        The last night they spent through their travel of Japan was by far the most enjoyable. There was a small frost in the air that traveled with the two, following them in their own little bubble. 

The streets were lightly illuminated, and it seemed like they were the only two in the world. Y/n had grabbed him by the hand, dragging him to an ice cream vendor. Seeing her in front of him, Tenya was thrown back to the first time they spent time together- everything's so different now. Yet, her beautiful eyes stay constant. Her kindness in unwavering. She’s still a girl made of honey and sugar.

After traveling together for so long, the two stopped correcting people who referred to them as a couple- they simply accepted it as an inside joke. This was why they laughed when the man behind the counter said “And these two for the cute couple,” with a wink at the end of his sentence. 

Walking linked by the elbows, the two passed through the park. Shivering from the wind and the chill of her ice cream, Iida stopped the pair. He took off his sweater, revealing the long-sleeve shirt he wore underneath, and he handed it to her. 

“Ten! You’ll freeze to death,” she said, refusing the offering.

“C’mon Y/n/n, I can heat myself up through my engines, and I wasn’t asking. You’re gonna wear the sweater or you’ll get sick. Put it on,” he said, taking the ice-cream from her hand and raising her arms like she was a child. 

Y/n was very pleased the cold hid the blush on her face- last thing she needed was for him to discover her feelings on the last day of this amazing trip. She slipped into his large sweater, and grabbed her ice cream back from him.

“Hey Iida, I’ve got another question,” she said, walking with him through the trees bordering the street. 

“I’m ready,” he asked, looking forward to make sur they didn’t walk into anything in the dark. 

“What’s a personal problem you could use some advise for?” She asked, actually curious as to what he could possibly need help with. 

He sighed, not making eye-contact. “I guess since we’re close enough- even on nickname basis- I should be comfortable telling you this. I’m in love with this girl, I’ve never stopped thinking about her since the moment I met her,” a dopey smile came onto his face, “I have no idea how to tell her. And now we’re going into highschool, and she’s going to meet so many other people- people I’m sure are more fun than me. I want to confess to her before the summer ends, but I have no idea how to. So,” he sucked in a deep breath and looked at Y/n, “What do you think?”

Y/n smiled, she was so sure he was being cheesy and talking about her. She fully believes that he’s gonna confess tonight. It has to happen- that’s the only way what he just said makes sense. 

“I think,” she closed her eyes, “You should look her in the eyes, and compliment them. Whether she accepts your compliment or refuses it, tell her you want her to know how perfect she is- and then tell her how you feel. Tell her how just seeing her makes your day, how you want her to be the first thing you see in the morning, and the last voice you hear at night. Tell her you want to spoil her, want to tell her everyday how perfect she is. Confess to her that she’s amazing, and that you love her. Let her know how you feel, and then respect her reply. But, there’s no way she’ll turn you down. Be confident, you’re amazing and I’m sure she feels the same,”

Tenya thanked her for her advise, and they fell back into a comfy silence. It was then she remembered the night they decided to go by first names, the night she realized how hard she fell for him.

----

Y/n was sitting on her rooftop, Iida beside her. They were looking up at the stars- sitting in silence. Like always, she started the conversation- “Hey, Iida, If you died this evening without being able to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? And Why haven’t you told them yet?”

“Huh,” he murmured, thinking hard. “I’d regret not thanking my brother more. He risks his life to save people, and he practically raised me. He’s why I want to be a hero, to live up to his expectations. I guess I haven’t told him yet because I want to prove that I’ve done something with myself. I want him to know he doesn’t have to raise me anymore- that I succeed,”

Y/n thought for a moment, before answering a question for the first and only time they have known eachother- but he didn’t ask it. She just felt a need to finally speak.

“I had an ex-boyfriend,” she sighed, clenching her eyes shut; “We’d been dating for five years- since we were children. We were so close as kids, but when our quirks manifested he broke up with me. He said my quirk was too dangerous for him, that he didn’t want to be part of the backstory of a villians history. It fucking ruined me. I was an idiot for actually thinking we could have lasted. About a month after we broke up, a villian attacked the agency I was working at. The only reason I was there was because I know the hero in charge, and he knew that. He had come to the building during my break- I don’t know why he was there, but I was the only person he knew there. The villain attacked, but his quirk wasn’t very strong. All he could do was change the color of an item for a few seconds. He was killed that day- slaughtered by the villain who’s only reason was boredom. I wish I could talk to him one last time, tell him I loved him one last time.”

Iida scooted closer to her, pulling her head onto his chest, letting her use him as a crutch. “It’s okay, Y/n. It’ll be okay,”

----------------------------------------------------------

When highschool started, and Tenya hadn’t confessed his love to him, Y/n came to the painful realization that she wasn’t the one he loved. However, it was the first day of school that hit the nail on the head. 

She had entered the classroom of 1-A, after her family convinced her to at least try out the hero course, and was terrified that she would know no one. And then, she heard a voice that reminded her of someone very similar.

At the far end of the room, she saw the back of a blue-haired boy scolding a blond with his feet on the desk. A smile spread across her mouth when she realized who this up-tight teen was. Practically running to cover the distance of the class, Y/n launched herself onto Iida, latching onto her. 

“Ten!” She smiled, shifting to wear he could comfortably hold her up.

“Y-Y/n?” He asked, momentarily stunned by her sudden appearance. He smiled and spun her around for a second before putting her down. “You’re here? You’re parents convinced you to pursue being a hero?” he was reasonably confused, but he wasn’t upset she was there- if anything he was glad to have a second familiar face around.

“Yeah, I’m just trying it out,” Y/n laughed, scratching the back of her neck. 

“So heartwarming, now get outta my line of sight four-eyes,” the blond snapped, glaring at the pair.

“You’re annoying, you know that?” Y/n said, rolling her eyes at his comments. 

Meanwhile, Iida laughed at Y/n being called his girlfriend. Y/n, who used to laugh with him, could only do her best to not cry. 

“C/mon Ten, let’s go to your seat,” Y/n said, tugging his hand towards the spot with his name on it- stopping when her arm was tugged, caused by him not moving with her. 

“Sorry Y/n/n,” he said, releasing her hand. “I would, but I promised Momo I’d meet her by the gate and guide her to the classroom. You know about Momo, right?” He looked into her eyes hoping she would put it together herself. After realizing she wouldn’t, he reminded her, “We talked about her on our last day of the tour.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling suddenly really cold. 

“Yeah,” He smiled, “Wish me luck!” He gave her a thumbs up and walked out the room- leaving her stunned and so very cold. 

A scoff echoed from behind her, causing her to look back and see the blond once again. 

“That guy’s an idiot- glasses or not. It’s so obvious how you feel about him, and you’re way to attractive to pine after someone like him. You’re smart too, since you got into this school- he’s really missing out,” he rolled his eyes, but he also knew what just happened- even though no one else in the room picked up on it. 

He assumed they were dating, but when Iida laughed, Bakugo had no clue if he was laughing at them dating or the girl’s reaction. He quickly figured out which of the two was the truth, and he also realized that he had no clue that she was in love with him. 

Y/n didn’t react to his words, just stuck in the weird state she was in. She wasn’t sad, or angry. There was no tears or screams or breakdown, just a silent wave of shock. An ocean of doubt consumed her, filling her with a sense of... nothing. 

She should have known. She should have realized. It’s entirely her fault. Who could love her. Who would want to love her. Who wants to date a freak. Who wants to date someone with a villainous quirk like hers. That’s why he was shocked when she showed up- he thought they’d reject a future villain like her.

No wonder everyone hates her; if she was someone else she’d hate herself too.

[kiarcheo]

Cousin Trap

Can read on Ao3 here

Anne Boleyn and Catalina Aragon have a lot of things in common. Among those, they are both smart, accomplished women, they both dated the same man, Henry Tudor, and they absolutely loathe each other. These are all things they are both aware of. But there is another matter that connects them and that they don’t know anything about: they both love to death their younger cousins....and said cousins are dating.

For months Katherine Howard and Catherine Parr had been unaware of the fact themselves.

How was Cathy supposed to even start to suspect that the Annie her girlfriend always talked about with nothing but pure love was ‘that Boleyn girl’ - and yes, she hears it in her mind in the same tone Catalina usually spits it out?

How was Kat supposed to connect Cathy’s Lina, the cousin who used to teach her Spanish swearwords when she was a kid and is now almost a maternal figure to her, with ‘Catherine, that massive *insert chosen insult of the day*’ Anne still complains about, even if it has been years since they have last seen each other?

‘And you know, it’s funny. Because her surname is literally Aragon and she is from there.’

Kat abruptly stops laughing along with Cathy. ‘Aragon? Your...Lina is Catherine Aragon?’

‘Catalina.’ Cathy corrects her. ‘It annoys her when people use the English version. That’s not her name.’ She stops. She heard it so many times that she could repeat Lina’s spiel word by word, but that’s probably not the point. ‘But yes? Why?’

‘Annie. My cousin,’ Cathy nods to show she is following. Of course she knows who Annie is. She met her. Scarily smart and scarily funny, once you get over her being scarily protective of Kat. Not that Cathy faults her for it. ‘Anne Boleyn.’

‘What?’

‘My cousin is Anne Boleyn.’ Kat repeats, much to Cathy’s horror, who had been hoping she had misunderstood.

---

‘So, let me see if I got it right.’ Anna looks at her two friends. ‘Your cousins, the ones who are basically your big sisters slash mother figures and would totally kill for you, hate each other.’

Cathy and Kat nod.

‘And they don’t know you are dating? Even if you have been together for…what is it? Four years?’

‘Yes.’

‘How is that even possible?’ That’s the part Anna is most confused about.

‘Well, they never met.’

‘Yes, but they met you!’ Anna gestures to them. She remembers Kat stressing out about meeting Cathy’s Lina for the first time, worrying that she would not make a good impression on someone who was so important for her girlfriend. And she also remembers Cathy telling her about her meeting with Anne and the shovel talk she got. Hell, Anna has met Anne herself!

‘Yes. And they know about Annie and Lina.’

‘Not about that Boleyn girl and Catherine Aragon.’ Cathy picks up Kat's explanation.

‘What about photos?’ Just from her armchair Anna can see at least four pictures on the shelves with Anne and Kat, Cathy and Catalina, and even one of both her friends with Anne.

‘We hide them.’ That had not been a problem until they had moved in together, but once they took that step and they had their first visit...that’s what they did.

‘And you don’t plan to tell them?’

‘Nope.’

‘How is this even going to work? Won't they meet at a certain point?’

‘We alternate for the holidays and stuff. One time at Lina’s, one at Anne’s. Or with them, anyway. No reason for them to meet.’

‘So what? You’re going to wait until your wedding day and have them see each other there?’

‘We discussed it and we feel no need to get married, so...’

Anna shakes her head. Unbelievable.

---

‘You!’ A twin exclamation. Had their hands not been loaded with bags, they would have totally pointed the finger at each other.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘What are you doing here?

‘I asked first.’

If Anne wants to do this in the middle of the street, Catalina will not back down. ‘Visiting family, not that you’d know anything about that.’

Anne ignores the low blow. Her fraught relationship with her family has always been a sore spot, and Catalina knows it very well.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Catalina stops her from ringing the bell, covering it with her hand.

‘Old age getting to you?’ Anne hits back, Catalina’s age – specifically her being older than Henry and consequently also than Anne – being one of the excuses he had used to dump her for Anne. ‘What do you think?’ before adding, ‘Hoping to be saved from having to breath the same air as you for much longer.’

‘You got the wrong house.’

‘And how do you know that?’

‘This is where I’m going.’

‘Impossible. This is where I am going.’

’My cousin lives here.’

‘My cousin lives here.’

They glare at each other.

‘Let’s settle it.’ Anne rings the doorbell.

‘Eager to be proven wrong, aren’t you?’ Catalina scoffs. ‘Let's hear it.  What would your cousin’s name be?’

‘What’s yours?’

They stare at each other silently as if challenging the other to speak first. Tension builds as the standoff continues.

‘Catherine.’

‘Katherine.’

They say at the same time, then stiffen. Is it all a big joke for the other? Is she taking the mick? They look ready to attack when they have a light-bulb moment. Realisation dawns.

‘No!’

‘Sorry, it took me so long, I’m not feeling my best-’ the door opens fully, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Oh querida,’ Catalina breaths out. Cathy looks...rough. ‘Let me in, don’t stand there in the cold.’ She gently pushes her way in, ignoring how Anne follows her and focusing on Cathy. ‘Have you been to the doctor? Have you been eating? Let me whip up something for you.’ She doesn’t really wait for a reply, moving towards the living room, Cathy trailing behind her wordlessly, shocked and exhausted. ‘How is Kat?’

Right then a scratchy voice calls out. ‘Cathy?’

That seems to jolt Anne out of whatever trance she was in. In three quick steps she is by Catalina’s side and trying to enter the room first.

‘Who was at the door?’ The question is barely finished when the coughing starts, the cocoon on the couch from where the voice came from convulsing. Then a pale face with flushed cheeks from the effort emerges.

‘Katie!’ Anne is immediately by her side.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘That seems to be the question of the hour.’ Catalina mutters while watching, almost captivated, Anne taking Kat’s face in her hands, tilting it up, and resting her cheek on her forehead. ‘Still got a fever. Have you been throwing up? Have you taken anything? Do you want me to run to the pharmacy? Cathy, you need anything?’

‘Annie.’ Kat blinks up at her. ‘Slow down.’

‘Right. Sorry.’ Anne sits back on her haunches.

Cathy joins Kat on the couch, Kat wordlessly lifting the blanket and wrapping Cathy in.

‘That would look adorable if you both didn’t look so terrible.’

‘I haven’t looked at a mirror in forever, but if I look half as bad as I feel...I have no doubts.’ Kat comments.

‘Why are you here?’ Cathy is too tired and sick to care about politeness. Besides, that’s the good thing about close family, isn’t it? No need to sugar-coat and maintain a polite façade when you feel like crap.

‘You call, telling me that you’re both violently sick and you expect what? For me to just stay home knowing there is no one to help you here because all your friends left for the break and you’re in no state to help each other?’

‘As much as I hate to agree with her,’ Anne reaches up to brush some hair away from Kat’s clammy face. ‘You know I’d drop anything if you needed me. And in this case, I already had the days off anyway...’

‘You’re going to get sick too.’

Anne smiles at her cousin’s thoughtfulness. ‘That’s a risk I’m willing to run.’

Catalina clearly agrees, as she puts on the kettle and puts together some light sandwiches after Cathy mentions it’s time for them to take their medicines.

As they are all sitting down having tea, Anne broaches the subject. ‘When were you thinking of telling me about...her?’ She sends a dirty look towards Catalina, who doesn’t hesitate to return it.

Still, they don’t miss the look Cathy and Kat exchange. And the silence is telling enough.

‘So, what? What was the plan? Wait until your wedding day for me to see her showing up at the reception?’

‘I will totally walk Kat down the aisle or whatever they decide to do.’

‘Marriage is not really in the plans, so...not really?’ Cathy says at the same time.

Anne turns to her, hard look in her eyes. ‘Why not? Kat not good enough for you?’

‘Because we talked about it and marriage is not a thing we see in our future.’ Kat stops her before she can get riled up on her behalf…absolutely unnecessarily.

Anne gives a begrudging nod. Overprotectiveness aside, it's not completely surprising considering their family’s history. Still, they will be revisiting the topic, once Kat is better.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Cathy hesitantly starts after they had been sitting for a while, ‘I’m not kicking you out or anything. You can stay as long as you want. Both of you. But before we get too dozy from the medicine...where are you staying?’ They have learned the hard way that what they are taking hit them both quite strongly. They found stuff in weird places they didn’t remember having put them in. Which is way better that waking up on the bathroom floor, presumably after one of them threw up but without remembering who was the one who got sick, bodies hurting even more from sleeping in a weird position on a cold, hard floor.

‘Here?’ Anne and Catalina look at each other as they say the same thing at the same time. They narrow their eyes in challenge.

‘You know we’re always happy to have you here,’ both had stayed over before, ‘but do you remember that there is just one guest room, right?’

‘She can sleep on the couch.’ Anne beats Catalina to the punch.

‘You can sleep on the couch!’ Catalina rebuts.

‘Why? Your old back can’t take it?’ Anne snipes. ‘If you admit so, I might be generous enough to leave you the bed.’

Kat’s coughing fit, albeit involuntarily, comes at the perfect moment.

‘Actually,’ Cathy takes advantage of the interruption as she rubs Kat's back, ‘you can’t use the couch, I’m afraid.’ She grimaces, whether it is because of what she is saying or because her girlfriend is currently trying to hack up a lung not clear. ‘If one of us is up at night, to avoid waking the other, we move out here. But if one of you is sleeping here...’

‘Of course.’ ‘You don’t have to apologise.’ Both women reassure her.

‘So either one of you stays and the other stays at a hotel-’

‘Her.’

‘Not me.’

They glare at each other.

‘Or you can share the room. It’s a queen size bed, as you know.’

---

‘Cathy?’

They had retired to their room, medicine having its predicted effect, leaving the older women to settle down in the guest room. And probably take over the house and everything else, if their bickering about groceries and cleaning is any indication.

‘We don’t really use the couch.’ Kat points out. They are out cold at night, the power of drugs. So far they have only woke up for coughing fits or to throw up… which tends to wake the other, and they would not have it any other way. And at that point they prefer to stay together, cuddling in bed and waiting for sleep to come...they are both sick anyway, not like it can get any worse.

‘I know.’

‘Then why?’ Kat looks adorably confused in her drowsiness.

‘So they’ll be forced to get along.’

‘Or kill each other.’

‘But that would make us sad, and they know it, so they won’t.’

Kat nods. That sounds reasonable. Then she squints at Cathy. ‘Are you...cousin trapping them? You know, like The Parent Trap movie but with cousin because they are our cousins?’

Cathy smiles dopily at the over explanation. Kat tends to ramble when she is tired.

‘Or trope-ing them.’

‘What?’

‘You know, there was only one bed. Or,’ Kat’s scrunched up face lets her know she is not following her, so Cathy continues, ‘and they were roommates.’

The response is automatic, no need to even engage the brain. ‘Oh my God! They were roommates!’