#i mean isn't it odd that she never has any suitors

[twistedshipper]

Gothic fiction is characterized by an environment of fear, the threat of supernatural events, and the intrusion of the past upon the present. . . . From the castles, dungeons, forests, and hidden passages of the Gothic novel genre emerged female Gothic. . . . Female Gothic narratives focus on such topics as a persecuted heroine fleeing from a villainous father and searching for an absent mother.

When the female Gothic coincides with the explained supernatural the natural cause of terror is not the supernatural, but female disability and societal horrors: rape, incest, and the threatening control of a male antagonist. Female Gothic novels also address women's discontent with patriarchal society, their difficult and unsatisfying maternal position, and their role within that society. Women's fears of entrapment in the domestic, their bodies, marriage, childbirth, or domestic abuse commonly appear in the genre.

After the characteristic Gothic Bildungsroman-like plot sequence, female Gothic allowed readers to grow from "adolescence to maturity" in the face of the realized impossibilities of the supernatural. As protagonists such as Adeline in The Romance of the Forest learn that their superstitious fantasies and terrors are replaced by natural cause and reasonable doubt, the reader may grasp the heroine's true position: "The heroine possesses the romantic temperament that perceives strangeness where others see none. Her sensibility, therefore, prevents her from knowing that her true plight is her condition, the disability of being female."

🌹 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔞𝔫𝔞 & 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔊𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠🥀

[bemusedlybespectacled]

#not sure if this outcome is because of the way people were back then#or that the Bennets and Lucases were just kinda sucky#to the point where their daughters had to make this choice (via @hello7there)

In Charlotte's case, she's not physically attractive (so she's not going to get a man by being pretty) and she has a very small dowry. Her parents aren't poor by any means, but they are poorer than the Bennets: the kids need to help in the kitchen (unlike the Bennets, who keep a cook), Sir William was only elevated to the knighthood after being in trade and wasn't born into the title (Lucas Lodge isn't their ancestral estate or anything), and Mrs. Lucas is "thrifty," which means there's a reason she needs to be. So Charlotte's not getting any suitors for her money, either.

And, fundamentally, Charlotte would have to be supported by her parents and then her brothers if she was a spinster, and never really in charge of anything herself. The "lady of the house" would always be her mom or the wife of one of her brothers. So if she wants to have her own place, she needs to get married, and if she wants to get married, she needs to pull exactly the kind of scheme that she does.

Not a great metaphor, but it's like choosing to move out and live with a roommate rather than your parents. You could end up with a great roommate, or you could end up with a terrible roommate whom you have to avoid all day by staying in your room and going into the common areas as little as possible, but either way at least it's your own place.

For the Bennets... I mean, the problems with the Bennet parents can literally fill a book. But the upshot of their actions is that they have five daughters who weren't taught to do things like cook and clean (because that's a lower-class thing) and a tiny dowry each. But they're attractive, so the likelihood that they can marry up (which is what Mrs. Bennet did) is much higher than Charlotte's.

Lizzie is specifically trying to avoid what her mom did: marrying someone purely for financial reasons and then living in misery with a husband she is constantly at odds with. And she's also trying to avoid what her dad did: getting married without deeply considering the person's character and temperament and whether they match hers.

You know what I realize that people underestimate with Pride & Prejudice is the strategic importance of Jane.

Because like, I recently saw Charlotte and Elizabeth contrasted as the former being pragmatic and the latter holding out for a love match, because she's younger and prettier and thinks she can afford it, and that is very much not what's happening.

The Charlotte take is correct, but the Elizabeth is all wrong. Lizzie doesn't insist on a love match. That's serendipitous and rather unexpected. She wants, exactly as Mr. Bennet says, someone she can respect. Contempt won't do. Mr. Bennet puts it in weirdly sexist terms like he's trying to avoid acknowledging what he did to himself by marrying a self-absorbed idiot, but it's still true. That's what Elizabeth is shooting for: a marriage that won't make her unhappy.

She's grown up watching how miserable her parents make one another; she's not willing to sign up for a lifetime of being bitter and lonely in her own home.

I think she is very aware, in refusing Mr. Collins, that it's reasonably unlikely that anyone she actually respects is going to want her, with her few accomplishments and her lack of property. That she is turning down security and the chance keep the house she grew up in, and all she gets in return may be spinsterhood.

But, crucially, she has absolute faith in Jane.

The bit about teaching Jane's daughters to embroider badly? That's a joke, but it's also a serious potential life plan. Jane is the best creature in the world, and a beauty; there's no chance at all she won't get married to someone worthwhile.

(Bingley mucks this up by breaking Jane's heart, but her prospects remain reasonable if their mother would lay off!)

And if Elizabeth can't replicate that feat, then there's also no doubt in her mind that Jane will let her live in her house as a dependent as long as she likes, and never let it be made shameful or awful to be that impoverished spinster aunt. It will be okay never to be married at all, because she has her sister, whom she trusts absolutely to succeed and to protect her.

And if something eventually happens to Jane's family and they can't keep her anymore, she can throw herself upon the mercy of the Gardeners, who have money and like her very much, and are likewise good people. She has a support network--not a perfect or impregnable one, but it exists. It gives her realistic options.

Spinsterhood was a very dangerous choice; there are reasons you would go to considerable lengths not to risk it.

But Elizabeth has Jane, and her pride, and an understanding of what marrying someone who will make you miserable costs.

That's part of the thesis of the book, I would say! Recurring Austen thought. How important it is not to marry someone who will make you, specifically, unhappy.

She would rather be a dependent of people she likes and trusts than of someone she doesn't, even if the latter is formally considered more secure; she would rather live in a happy, reasonable household as an extra than be the mistress of her own home, but that home is full of Mr. Collins and her mother.

This is a calculation she's making consciously! She's not counting on a better marriage coming along. She just feels the most likely bad outcome from refusing Mr. Collins is still much better than the certain outcome of accepting him. Which is being stuck with Mr. Collins forever.

Elizabeth is also being pragmatic. Austen also endorses her choice, for the person she is and the concerns she has. She's just picking different trade-offs than Charlotte.

Elizabeth's flaw is not in her own priorities; she doesn't make a reckless choice and get lucky. But in being unable to accept that Charlotte's are different, and it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with Charlotte.

Because realistically, when your marriage is your whole family and career forever, and you only get to pick the ones that offer themselves to you, when you are legally bound to the status of dependent, you're always going to be making some trade-offs.

😂 Even the unrealistically ideal dream scenario of wealthy handsome clever ethical Mr. Darcy still asks you to undergo personal growth, accommodate someone else's communication style, and eat a little crow.

[lessthanpure]

A Love Supreme Seems Far Removed Chapter 1

Fandom: Elementary

Relationships: Tommy Gregson/Sherlock Holmes

Tags: female Sherlock Holmes, Western AU

Summary: Thomas Gregson is a man in want of a wife. Sherlock Holmes is a woman in want of getting out. Can they help each other?

Rating: Explicit (not yet, but it will be)

Wordcount: 5360

Notes: Ok so I was stuck on titling this until i found a fantastic generator that spits out hozier song lyrics. Perfect. I might have chosen a basic-ass one, but it seemed to fit. Other possible options were: reasons wretched and divine, Found me just in time, and Only blue or black days. If y'all want to use one of those, OR the generator yourselves! Here it is.

AO3 Link

Sherlock Holmes is a woman of means. So her father expressly forbade her sending the letter to the mail-order bride company. But she had been on a ship to America before he realized she was even gone. 

Sherlock hopes that any man who puts in an order for her is at least kind. She sighs and leans herself on the railing of the ship. She also hopes that America is drier and more free than England, though she’s read many novels and newspapers detailing the culture. 

Tommy Gregson just wants some companionship. After Cheryl…he needs a change. So when his deputies had dropped the small bound pamphlet in front of him, he had read it in curiosity. He had stilled when he realized what exactly the pages detailed. Brides, ready for men to just…marry. He still gives the papers a thorough read, just to get his deputies off his back, but none catch his eye until the very last page three weeks later. Sherlock Holmes. An odd first name, for sure. But he finds himself reading her description. 5’9, tall for a woman. And slight, as well. 28 years old, black hair, blue eyes, fair skin…he can picture her. So he looks through the pages detailing the process for such a thing. There are ways to talk before he decides. Letters. He nods to himself, alone in his room, and writes to the company, asking for her address. 

Sherlock checks the post every day, looking for any letters from possible…’suitors’ isn't the best word…’potential husbands’ is more accurate. But it’s weeks before she gets one. She takes it to her room and opens it eagerly. She examines the handwriting first- neat penmanship, which pleases her. That means the man takes care in everything he does. She reads the letter.

Ms. Holmes, the greeting says, which makes her even more pleased- not overly familiar. The house she’s in, with other mail-order brides, the women had said that the men that write often use the woman's first name or even a nickname like they know each other. There are the rare ones that write something sappy like ‘to my dearest love’ or what have you. She reads the letter.

I am writing to you to see if we would be a good match. My name is Thomas Gregson and I’m the Sheriff in Silver Road, New Mexico. I admit, I’ve never done something like this before. But I’m willing to give this a try because some companionship would be nice. 

Since I have an idea of what you look like, I guess it’s only fair for you to have an idea of what I look like. I’m thirty-two, six feet tall, and going gray. I’ve spent my whole life in Silver Road. The town has a sheriff’s office, a saloon, a jail, a courthouse, and several houses. I live outside of town, in a house with a bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a front porch. 

Let me know if you'd like to correspond,

Thomas Gregson

Sherlock hums, pleased. This Thomas Gregson, he seems both polite and honest. He also didn't force the issue, he asked for her permission for them to write each other. She picks up a pen and paper, and starts to write a reply. She goes through a draft, crossing out words that don’t seem to fit, before she’s happy with the result.

Gregson opens the envelope when he gets home. The penmanship is gorgeous and he raises an eyebrow at it. It almost looks like she comes from money, or at least was schooled like she was. He reads the letter. 

Mr. Gregson.

As you might expect, my name is Sherlock Holmes, and I’m from London England. There’s really so much to explain to a person that just one letter, especially an introductory one, comes nowhere close to touching what they are truly like. 

As far as myself, I am also looking for companionship. It’s the reason I wrote to the company- I was not driven by desperation, like some of the poor women at the home I am currently staying in. There’s no bad past behind me. Just an open future.

I appreciate that you asked for permission for us to write one another- it shows that you’re a good man. Consider this to be a formal invitation for us to continue to correspond. 

Silver Road- and you- sound incredibly interesting, and I look forward to learning more about both.

I look forward to receiving your next letter,

Sherlock Holmes

Gregson hums. It’s a brief letter, and she hadn’t revealed much about herself. But Sherlock is right- one letter isn’t enough. He’s looking forward to more.

There’s several weeks of correspondence between the two before she agrees to come to him. She’s antsy on the train, looking out the windows as the somewhat familiar city disappears in favor of empty land. 

When she arrives in Silver Road, she disembarks the train. Tommy- as he had insisted she called him- had said he would wear his uniform so he’s easily recognizable, and she looks for a star pinned to a brown shirt. 

She soon finds it and looks at him from afar, hidden among the other passengers. Tommy is looking at every female passenger, probably wondering which one she is. He’s a handsome man, prematurely going gray as he described. It’s dashing. He’s tall and well-built, but not overly wide. He has a sinewy strength to him she quite likes. Before she takes a stride towards him, they meet eyes. She walks to him, her luggage in hand. He meets her. “Tommy,” she asks.

He nods. “Sherlock?” He has an accent, of course (everyone does), but it’s light and he uses it gently.

“Yes.”

“Mind if I take those,” he points at her suitcases. 

“They’re light,” she says. He nods and doesn’t push. 

“I didn’t expect the train to be late,” he says. “I apologize for that.”

“You don't control that. It was an interesting wait,” she replies. “Plenty of people to talk to, but most just wanted me to pronounce different things,” she rolls her eyes.

Tommy chuckles. “We don’t get many people from England ‘round here.” 

“So I gathered.” 

“Please, follow me,” he says, standing aside. She does. “Unfortunately, our judge doesn’t marry anyone after three in the afternoon," he starts as he walks beside her. "So you’re welcome to stay with me until the morning when we can be wed.”

“An unmarried woman staying with a man,” she questions.

“I won’t-” he stops himself. “I don’t expect you to have sex with me,” he says. “I just thought it would be nice to have somewhere safe to rest your head.”

“Is there a hotel in town?”

“Not much of one,” he admits. “It’s a few rooms above the saloon.” He snorts. “Most of them are rented by the hour.”

“It pulls double duty as a brothel,” she asks, surprised. He nods. She hums. “Does it have a flat rate for a night?”

“Yes.”

“Then there I shall stay.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

He nods again. “I’ll show you the way.”

Tommy brings her outside the train station and to a carriage. He steps up and offers his hand, and she takes it to let him help her up. He settles into the seat and picks up the reins, urging the horse into movement. “No one would think less of you for staying with me,” he assures her, looking at her. “We are to be married, after all.”

“I doubt that,” Sherlock says, voice dry. 

“The West is not a savage land.”

Sherlock doesn’t reply. The rest of the ride is silent until they pull up to a two-story building. Music is flowing out of the doors, even though they’re shut. After Tommy helps her out, the doors open and two men come flying out. Sherlock quickly side-steps the brawling men. 

“Knock that off,” Tommy demands. He waits for his moment and seizes one of the men, hauling him up with ease. Sherlock feels a shudder run through her at his easy strength. Tommy shoves the man away and gets between the irate men. “Go home, cool off,” he says, and one man grumbles and walks away. Tommy turns when he’s away and looks at the second man. “You too, Horace.”

Horace walks off. 

“Still want to spend the night here,” Tommy asks. 

“Yes.”

Tommy nods. He pushes the doors open and holds one open for her, and she steps inside. The building doesn’t offer much relief from the hot sun. There are several games of cards being played, a bar with plenty of alcohol, and women walking around, putting glasses in front of various men and some even sitting on laps. She follows Tommy to the bar. 

“John,” Tommy calls, and the bartender turns. 

“Sheriff,” John says, approaching him. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a room for the night,” he says. John glances behind him, to Sherlock.

“This your soon-to-be bride?”

“Yes,” Sherlock says. 

“I’ll have Charlie send you up,” John nods. “Charlie!”

A woman soon appears. “Yes, John?”

“This lady needs a room for the night. Give her 4.”

“Sure thing.”

“What’s the cost for the night,” Sherlock asks.

“I’ll pay,” Tommy says.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Sherlock, you’re to be my wife. You don’t have to pay.”

“How much for the night?”

John says the cost. Tommy glares at him. 

Sherlock nods and sets her luggage down, drawing out her purse. 

“Sherlock-”

“I’ll pay, Tommy.”

She hands over the money and John accepts it. 

There’s a crash and Tommy steps to Sherlock, putting his back to her. Protecting her. It warms her.

“Sheriff,” the man in front of a small group of men says, smiling. The men behind him look rough. Every one of them is carrying a pistol. 

“Moriarty,” Tommy greets cooly. 

“I thought you were an ‘honorable man,’” Moriarty mocks the last two words. “Never figured you’d buy a loose woman.”

Sherlock scowls at Tommy’s back. 

“What do you care what I do,” Tommy asks. Moriarty comes closer with two men while the other four go to tables. 

Moriarty steps to his right and looks at Sherlock as best as he can. Tommy steps in front of her again, but not enough to completely block her from view. Moriarty drags his eyes down her body. “God damn, Sheriff. This one wasn’t here when I was last,��� he says, cocking his head. “I might just have to buy a few nights with her myself.”

“Moriarty,” Tommy says warningly.

“What? Is she your personal whore,” Moriarty laughs. His eyes light up after a second. “Hold up,” he says. “She’s got suitcases. Did you send off for a bride, Sheriff?”

“Sherlock, go upstairs,” Tommy says without looking at her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Tommy-”

“Go.”

Charlie stands next to Sherlock and she looks at her. The woman looks frightened. Sherlock nods and follows her. 

“Who is Moriarty,” Sherlock asks when they’re in her room for the night.

“A bounty hunter,” the woman replies quietly. “One that always brings his bounties dead rather than alive.” Sherlock nods. “Stay in here tonight, lock the door. Don’t go out until the morning.”

“Alright,” Sherlock says. She knows she can hold her own, but it’s always good to meet people who don’t fight in the first place. Men who don’t turn sour when the bottle runs out or when they lose a hand of cards. "Thank you. Goodnight." Charlie leaves, politely closing the door behind her. Sherlock walks to it and locks it. She gets ready for bed and goes to sleep. 

The next morning, Sherlock wakes early and gets dressed. She packs everything up so she's ready whenever Tommy comes. She walks downstairs and goes to John, who's oddly still tending bar. She thought there would be a fresh bartender. 

"Morning," John says once she's close enough. 

"Good morning."

"The Sheriff hasn't come by yet."

Sherlock nods. "I thought as much."

There are fewer men in the establishment than there had been last night, but still over a dozen. She looks around. Most of them drunks, some of them gamblers, some whoremongers. She can pick out exactly who is who, of course. She turns back to John. "May I stay down here so I can see the Sheriff when he comes?"

"Do whatever you want." Sherlock nods and settles at a table. "Want breakfast," he calls.

"Please." 

A woman with a low cut dress is soon there. "What can I get you," she asks. 

"What do most people get?"

"Grits and eggs."

"That's fine." The woman nods and walks off.

There’s a stampede of footsteps and Sherlock looks up. Moriarty and his men are coming down the stairs. John appears at her table, sitting in the available chair. 

“Look who I found,” Moriarty crows. “The Sheriff’s mail-order bride,” he says. He stops near her table a few paces back. “Are you one of them virgin ones,” he asks. Sherlock glares at him. “Aw, come on sweetheart. I’m just asking a polite question.”

“No, you’re asking an invasive one.”

“Well, well, well. You ain’t from around here.”

“What tipped you off,” she cocks her head. Moriarty glares and takes a step forward. A black man in a brown shirt appears in front of her with his back to her. He has a pistol in his belt.

“Deputy,” Moriarty greets. 

“Moriarty. I believe you’ve been told to leave this lady alone.”

“It’s just a friendly conversation, Deputy.”

A woman comes out and puts a plate in front of Sherlock. She looks at it, seeing eggs and a truly strange pile of…something. These must be the grits. She looks up again, not wanting to look away from Moriarty for very long. He’s a dangerous man. Sherlock can hold her own with her hands, the pistol at her ankle, and the knife in her boot, but she’d rather not risk it. 

“Enjoy your meal, darlin’,” Moriarty says. He has the same accent as Tommy, but his is much harsher. He turns and walks to a nearby table, joined by a few of his men. The deputy doesn’t move. Neither does John. Sherlock eats her breakfast, enjoying the eggs and tolerating the grits. Food is fuel, nothing else, but there’s better fuel available. Perhaps not in Silver Road, though. 

She hasn’t been done two minutes when Tommy appears at her side. “Ready,” he asks. Sherlock nods and stands. “I’ll help you with your things.” He offers his arm and Sherlock takes it, leading him to her room. He grabs her suitcases and brings her downstairs without a word. He keeps himself between her and the room. 

“Have a nice day with your bride, Sheriff,” Moriarty calls loudly. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“Goodbye, Moriarty.”

Tommy brings Sherlock outside and into a carriage. He helps her in like he had before and they go to a building. He helps her down and they walk inside. He relaxes once in, which makes Sherlock relax. 

“The judge will marry us here,” he says.

She nods. The judge soon appears and performs the ceremony.

Sherlock walks out of the courthouse a married woman with her husband beside her. He helps her in. “My deputies insisted they give me the day off today,” Tommy says as they get into the carriage. “So I’ll bring you home.”

“Alright.”

Tommy brings her outside town to a modest house and they go inside, Tommy holding her suitcase. “One is light,” he notes once he opens the door for her. She walks inside. “What did you bring? More specifically, what did you leave behind?”

“Is that important,” she asks. 

“I guess not,” he says. “Follow me.”

She does, and he brings her to his room. He sets the suitcases on the bed. “Get settled in,” he nods. “Did you eat?”

“Yes. Eggs and grits.”

“Ah, I don’t like grits myself.”

“Me neither.” Tommy chuckles and Sherlock likes the sound.

“I’ll be sure not to make you any, then.”

“Make me any,” she repeats.

“I’ve been alone for some time, Sherlock. I do know how to cook.”

“And you don’t expect your wife to do that?”

“If you want to, you can, but no I don’t expect it.”

“You’re a strange man, Tommy.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment.” He smiles gently. “That one’s your dresser,” he points. She nods. He leaves and closes the door behind him. She unpacks her meager belongings and puts them away. She’ll get more here. She can sew well enough with the machine she brought, so fabric will do just fine. She often has to get clothes tailored to fit her tall frame anyway. Sherlock steps out of the room and finds Tommy in the main area, sitting on a couch. He stands when he sees her. “All good,” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He pauses, unsure for the first time. “I gotta be honest. I don’t have many days off, so I’m not sure what I’m gonna do today. Especially with a new wife,” he laughs. Sherlock finds her mind filled with just exactly what Tommy can do with a new wife. She feels her face warm and Tommy must see it. “I’ll wait until you’re ready, Sherlock,” he says, walking to her. “I’m not an impatient man.”

She smiles. “Thank you.”

“Sheriff,” a desperate voice calls outside, and Tommy runs out, Sherlock following him. There’s a man outside, eyes wide with fear. “There’s a fire in town!”

“Where,” Tommy demands.

“Watson’s house!”

“Fuck! Sherlock, stay here,” Tommy demands. 

“I can help!”

“I want you safe! Stay. Here.”

“What if Moriarty comes by,” she challenges.

Tommy glares and grits his teeth. “Do you know how to ride a horse?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me.”

She does, finding two horses hitched to a fence. On the fence are two saddles, one normal and one side. He hefts the side saddle in his arms (again warming her with his strength) and quickly does the buckles. Sherlock steps forward and does the side facing her. Tommy gets his own horse ready with the help of the man, and they all get on their horses. The men turn theirs towards town, and Sherlock follows. Tommy urges his horse quickly, and she races after him. Soon, they’re in town and there are people yelling at each other as they carry buckets. Tommy stops his horse outside a building and gets down, running. Sherlock hops off and follows him, hitching her dress up so she can move quickly. They get to a building engulfed in flames. “Is Watson inside,” Tommy demands of the closest man. 

“No!”

“Good.” He turns. “Sherlock, this is Brad. He’ll show you where the well is. Go.”

Sherlock nods and follows Brad. They both get two buckets and bring them back. Sherlock looks at the house, quickly assessing where exactly she needs to throw the water. She takes her buckets and goes around the side, putting one on the ground. She uses the other and precisely throws it on the source of the fire. It goes out. She brings the second bucket around and uses it at another source. She helps the townsfolk put out the fire and Tommy is soon next to her. He sighs. “Never seen a fire that big. But we put it out fast.”

“There were multiple spots of origin.”

“How do you know that,” he asks, looking at her. 

“Someone set that fire.”

“But why?”

“Haven’t the foggiest idea. Who’s Watson,” Sherlock asks, turning to face him. He has soot on his cheek so she takes out her handkerchief and wipes it away. He stills. She cleans him up and folds the cloth again. 

“My right hand deputy,” Tommy replies. He offers his arm and she accepts. They walk together and Tommy brings her to the jail. They walk inside and Sherlock sees a Chinese woman inside, fingers steepled in front of her face. There are a few men around, silent. 

“Watson,” Tommy says, walking to the woman. Sherlock is surprised and follows him. 

“Sheriff,” she stands. “You were supposed to have a day off.”

“Fuck that, your house was on fire.”

“I wasn’t inside,” Watson says. She looks at Sherlock. “This your new wife,” she asks, a smile playing at her lips. 

“Yes. Meet Sherlock,” he introduces. “Sherlock, this is Joan Watson.”

“Pleasure,” Sherlock says. “I’m sorry about your home.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gregson.” Sherlock startles- of course, her name is different now. 

“Just Sherlock, please.” 

Joan looks at Tommy, who nods. “Sherlock says that the fire was started in multiple places.”

“How do you know,” she asks Sherlock.

“I read a lot,” she shrugs. 

“Where was the fire started,” Joan asks.

“The east side of your home, right in the middle of the base of the wall, the west side the same, the north side on either side of the door and in the center of your house,” she replies. 

“Five,” Tommy demands. She nods. “How do you know, Sherlock?”

“Simple deduction, really,” she says. Tommy listens to Sherlock explain. She’s smart, and he doesn’t know how she saw what she did. 

“Impressive,” he nods. She smiles a little. She doesn’t get told that enough, Gregson realizes. I’ll tell her that every day. “Did you see anything else? Something that would tell us who set it, maybe?”

Sherlock shakes her head. “No, the fire and water must have burned and washed away everything I could have used.”

“Sheriff,” Watson says, and he looks at her. “I think we all know who probably set it.”

“Moriarty,” Tommy says. “But you know we can’t just arrest him, even though Lord knows I want to. He has too many friends in high places.” Tommy sighs and Sherlock moves immediately, dropping his arm and gently rubbing his upper back. He relaxes under her fingers. 

Sherlock sees his deputies looking at her, but she ignores them for now. Right now, Tommy needs some reassurance. “You’ll get him,” she says. “From what I’ve seen so far, I know you will.” Tommy looks at her and smiles a little. He huffs a laugh. He straightens and Sherlock stills her hand and slowly removes it even though she doesn’t really want to. His back is muscled and she wants to keep touching him. She warms and looks away from him. She still puts her hand in his offered arm.

“Alright,” Tommy says, and his deputies look at him. “Keep an eye on Moriarty, and keep your wits about you. We don’t know what he might do next. Watson, you can stay with me,” he says. 

“No thanks, Sheriff. Bell already offered his guest room,” Watson says. 

“Thanks, Bell,” Tommy says as he looks at a short black man. He was the one guarding her at the saloon that morning. Bell nods. “Sherlock, do you mind if I work today,” he asks.

“Sheriff,” Watson complains. “We have this covered. Spend time with your wife.”

“Watson, someone destroyed your home. I’m not taking a day off until Moriarty is taken care of.”

“Sheriff-”

“Watson,” Tommy cuts her off. “Sherlock and I have time,” he says. “I want him either in cuffs or out of town. I won’t rest until one happens.”

Watson looks at Sherlock briefly. “It’s alright, Deputy,” Sherlock assures her. “Like Tommy said, we have time,” she smiles gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Tommy smiles in her periphery and touches her hand. 

“Thanks, Sheriff,” Watson says. 

“Good. Now I want to go ask Moriarty some hard questions. Bell, with me. Watson, if you would stay here and make sure Sherlock’s alright.”

“You’re making me sit out,” Watson asks, incredulous.

“You need time to process,” Tommy says gently. “I promise, when the time comes you get to put the cuffs on him.” Watson pauses and nods. “Good. O’Malley, go see if you can round up the men Moriarty brought. Take Grell with you. Fulton, Hobbs, Wells. Once they’re found, separate them. Let me be clear- no one goes alone. Twos and threes. Got it?”

“Yes, Sheriff,” Watson nods. 

“And Ripley,” he says, looking at a woman with no badge. “Stay with Watson and Sherlock.”

“Yes, Sheriff.”

“Alright.” Tommy looks at Sherlock. 

“Be safe,” Sherlock says, taking her hand out of his arm. He catches it and presses a kiss to the back of her fingers. 

“I will.”

He walks out with most of his deputies, leaving Sherlock and the other two women alone. Sherlock looks at them. “Nice to meet you,” Watson extends her hand. 

“You as well. Do you prefer I call you Joan or Watson,” she asks as she shakes it.

“Joan,” she nods.

“Then Joan it shall be.” She turns to the other woman. “And is Ripley your given or surname,” she asks.

“My first,” Ripley replies. "So you can call me Ripley." Sherlock nods and smiles. 

"Please, call me Sherlock."

"Odd, isn't it," Ripley asks. Sherlock furrows her eyebrows. "Being called by a different last name," she clarifies. 

"I'll get used to it," Sherlock says. And she does hope she does. 

"You do," Ripley smiles. 

"So what do you do here, Ripley," Sherlock asks. 

"I work the front desk," she explains. "But don't you worry, I can handle a shotgun as well as any deputy."

"I'm not worried," Sherlock replies. She isn't, surprisingly. She trusts Tommy to protect her. 

"Where are you from," Joan asks. 

"London, England." 

"You're a long way from home."

"I haven't considered London home in quite some time," Sherlock admits. 

"Why not," Ripley asks. 

"Ever since my mother passed thirteen years ago, my father has been quite distant."

"How long were they together," Joan asks.

“Forty years,” Sherlock says. The women nod and look sympathetic. 

“I’m sorry,” Joan says.

“It isn't your fault,” Sherlock smiles. “But thank you.” She looks out the door. “Should we get my horse,” she asks. “Unburden it?”

“I’ll come with you,” Joan says and stands. Sherlock nods, knowing that they won’t accept any of her protests. The women walk out and Sherlock takes the reins of her horse. The horse nickers and pushes her nose into her cheek. Sherlock smiles and strokes down her forehead. She leads the horse to the hitching post in front of the jail and ties her to it. She unbuckles the saddle and Joan helps her put it on the rail. Sherlock pats the animal fondly and walks inside with Joan. Joan stands behind a chair and gestures at it, offering it to Sherlock. 

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

“So what made you choose the Sheriff,” Ripley asks. 

“Truthfully, he was the first one to write to me. But as we wrote more to each other,” Sherlock trails off. “I’m not sure, it felt like…we understood each other.” She smiles and looks at her boots. “That must not make much sense. We’re strangers.”

“There are some people you just bond with,” Joan says. Sherlock looks up and smiles softly when there’s no judgment in her voice. “And it feels like you’ve known each other for years.”

“Exactly.” Sherlock wants to ask, but Ripley and Joan are hardly impartial.

“What is it, Sherlock,” Joan asks.

“Nothing.”

“Sherlock.”

She pauses. “The Sheriff…is he a good man?”

“The best,” Joan nods. “He’s the only Sheriff for miles who’s an honest man and keeps women and black men on his staff.”

“And behind closed doors?”

“He’s never done anything untoward,” Ripley promises her. “Not towards me, Joan, or any other woman in town.”

“Then,” Sherlock starts. She holds her tongue. 

“Then why hasn’t he found a wife,” Joan asks, smiling. Sherlock nods. “He’s committed to his work. He hasn’t had the time. But everyone needs companionship. So a few deputies kept dropping catalogs on his desk,” she laughs. “He would read them, but quickly. Until he saw your name.” Sherlock’s cheeks warm. “I think he thinks you understand him, too,” Joan continues. “He’s been nervous since you told him you’d come.” She warms further, and Joan smiles reassuringly. “You’ll see,” she promises. Sherlock nods. 

The day draws on and Sherlock gets to know the women. When the sun has almost set, Tommy walks in with a few men. Sherlock looks up, concerned. “No luck,” he says. “Sherlock, let’s go home." She nods and stands.

“It was nice meeting and getting to know you both,” Sherlock says. “You too, Sherlock,” Joan says, and Ripley nods, smiling. Sherlock goes to Tommy and takes his offered arm. He leads her outside and her horse is ready. She gets on and he gets on his own horse. Two men escort them home, and then Tommy sends them off once they’ve arrived. 

Sherlock and Tommy look at each other for a moment. “Do you want a bath,” Tommy offers. “I can draw you one.”

Sherlock pauses. “A bath sounds lovely, thank you.”

Tommy nods and walks. Sherlock pauses and then goes to his- their- room, picking out some sleeping clothes. She drapes them over her arm and goes towards the sound of Tommy preparing a bath for her. He’s sitting on the edge of the tub, pouring hot water in. He looks up at her approach. “Check the temperature,” Tommy says, standing. “Make sure it’s alright.”

Sherlock nods and puts her clothes on a stool, going to him. She checks the water and nods. “Perfect, Tommy. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He leaves the room, closing the door behind himself. Sherlock undresses and gets in the bath, washing up. It’s nice having time to do this, instead of on the train when she could only freshen up. She can get clean, wash away the grime of travel. She washes every part of her and her hair, and then dries herself and gets dressed. She braids her hair, walking to their room. She pauses outside the door and finishes the braid before tying it and knocking on the door. “Come in.”

Sherlock opens the door and Tommy is still dressed. “I could draw you another bath,” she offers. “The hot water will help you relax.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Tommy. You’ve done so much for me, just let me help.”

“Sherlock, you don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“Alright.” Tommy helps her empty the tub and Sherlock draws a fresh one for him, standing aside to let him check the temperature. “Perfect, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sherlock pauses, unsure, but leaves the room, closing the door behind herself. 

Tommy undresses, thinking. He has a wife now. A beautiful one, too. He had read her description, but it didn’t come close to actually describing her. He gets in the tub, sighing. He closes his eyes and puts his head back. Sherlock’s right- the hot water helps. Fucking Moriarty. He causes nothing but trouble, but he’s never done something like this. Assaults, yes. Harassing, yes. But never setting fires, and certainly nothing to any deputy. He scrubs himself clean and then dries off, belatedly realizing he didn’t bring any clothes with him. I’m a fucking idiot. He wraps the towel around his hips and walks to the bedroom door, knocking.

“Come in.”

Tommy does, and Sherlock is already lying in bed. Her eyes dart down his chest to the towel, and then she looks away from him completely. “You don’t have to knock,” she says.

“You did.”

“Force of habit.”

He nods and goes to his dresser, pulling on pants. He puts the towel in the laundry and goes back, emptying the tub. He steels himself outside for a moment before he heads back in. He opens the bedroom door without knocking and Sherlock looks up. “Tomorrow we can get you whatever you need,” he promises as he stands beside the bed. He pauses and Sherlock flicks the blanket back. He gets in. 

“That sounds nice,” she replies. “I can sew well enough, so just fabric is fine. I always had to alter my clothes anyway,” she continues as Tommy settles in. She looks at him. “Do you want to sleep right now?”

“Don’t go to sleep on my account.”

“No, I’m tired.” Sherlock reaches and turns off her lamp. Tommy turns and does the same. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock.”

[dreamwritesimagines]

I feel like, if they all grew up together, and Anthony and Cherie had that soft childhood acquaintances to friends to lovers, not only would they have not had that fight, Anthony would also be extremely gentle with her.

But also... when it's time for her to begin her season? Game on.

This man is ruthless, you mean he's been pining for her for years but all of the sudden he has as much chance as any lord who will ask her to dance? Not fair.

Remember how he scared all of Daphne's suitors away? That was just practice.

Pierre? Oh wow, he's been called back to France. Such a shame. No, Simon, I had nothing to do with it. Yes, I did write to his Captain in France citing his gambling problems. Yeah, I know he doesn't gamble. No, I don't think it's odd that I went through such lengths-

Sinclair? Anthony pays two of the finest courtesans to inconspicuously run into him and become his newfound muses, only to have them greet him loudly and indecently somewhere Lady Whistledown will report on and write him off as a Rake. Yes, he did have the courtesans memorize some of his awful poetry to quote at him during their first meeting, Simon, they had to sell it!

The rest are even easier, he clocks the ones he knows she might like, encourages Elias into inviting them into a male only activity and absolutely wrecks their ego, reputation, etc. All in the sneakiest way possible.

It's easy as breathing, he's Violet Bridgerton's son.

Then Hugh happens. Lord Trenlove with his stupid hair and his stupid urge to always chaperone his sister everywhere, the same sister who both Cherie and Elias adore. He is always there. Anthony sees her laugh at one of his jokes and his heart drops to his stomach.

Hugh isn't like the rest of them. He's charming but careful, he's respectful but unafraid of him. He has no flaws, Anthony is stumped. But he will not quit. He's thinking what to do about him as he wanders the hall of Avon House. He opens the wrong door in his distraction and BAM, there he is, Hugh kissing Cherie's cousin. Anthony isn't ashamed, apologetic, or even disgusted (this man has been to enough brothels to have witnessed everything). No no, as Hugh pushes the man away and tries to explain, Anthony is elated. He has never been this happy, this is the best day of his life. He assures both men he saw nothing with the most maniacal grin on his face and walks away.

He is engaged two months later.

OH MY GOD-

OOOOH MY GOD I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS ABOUT THIS!? 😱

Darling first of all, I absolutely love this! 😍 Like, I need to hear more about it, you're absolutely genius! ❤ Cherie and Anthony as childhood acquaintances to friends to lovers? IT'S SUCH A GOOD CONCEPT?! 😍

This man is ruthless, you mean he's been pining for her for years but all of the sudden he has as much chance as any lord who will ask her to dance? Not fair. THIS! THIS IS SO TRUE?!

Like, the minute she debuts, even a couple of months ago, Anthony would be so focused on it, and he would be so tortured about it 😂

Remember how he scared all of Daphne's suitors away? That was just practice. I am already grinning, I hope you know that 😂

The fact that Simon would NOT believe any of his bs, like he could come up with so many reasons and Simon would like, see right through him😂

He would totally get rid of Pierre first, before Pierre could even propose 😈 And for Sinclair omg that's such a good and evil idea! He would actually put so much thought into that plan and Simon would be like, facepalming in the background like "Just tell the girl you love her already!" 😂

Elias would be so oblivious by the way! Like, Anthony is basically using him for his own plans, meanwhile Elias is probably distracted by Cecily 😏

It's easy as breathing, he's Violet Bridgerton's son. Awww he got it from his mama🥰❤

HUGH! HUGH MY BELOVED-

You're right, I think Hugh would be the person that actually makes him in a way insecure about his plans? Because he's amazing and he's handsome and he's very respectful, and Cherie adores him ❤ And the fact that he's Cecily's brother, so they spend a lot of time together...

Awww considering the whole era and how it was back then, Anthony being all normal and accepting about it❤❤❤

He is engaged two months later. I AM LOVING THIS!

Darliiiiing, you are amazing! 🥰😍 Omg I'm gonna re-read this, I love this idea and headcanon, you're so talented! ❤ Thank you so much!❤ ❤❤

[lareinenoir]

•Lovely Treasure•

Pt: 2/2

⚠ WARNING : ANGST, RATED MA (suggestive language)

Summary: "You fell in love with her didn't you?"

A/N: Re blog this ☺

****

For the past couple weeks, Y/N and Loki still never said a word. Loki always gave her that same look when she came in, still trying to read her eyes. His treasure was avoiding him and Y/N knew it.

Until last week, Y/N couldn't take it anymore. She delivered another book for Loki that morning, the Odyssey, courtesy of his mother who thought it'd be a good idea he learned about Greek Gods, Y/N left something in the books cover.

Loki was just now seeing it.

Every day when she went to deliver breakfast, lunch or dinner, Y/N expected to get one in return. But when she looked inside the covers of the books, under the tray, or folded in the napkin, Y/N saw nothing.

Loki wasn't doing it on purpose he just didn't know what to write back. Writing words about how he was feeling would need more than one sheet of paper. The fact that Y/N, his treasure, wrote anything at all made him smile.

So, when Y/N came back to deliver dinner, Loki had a letter for her. Maybe this time she'd look. Hopefully she would forgive him.

***

Y/N had just finished reading it and was grinning like a madman. "God given face." She sighed flopping on the bed with a heavy sigh. "Damn you Loki." She chuckles

"Lady Y/N?" A knock on the door made her shove the letter in her pocket. "May I come in?"

"Enter." She said standing tall and presenting herself with a smile.

"His majesty, would like to see you." Said the servant.

Y/N was never summoned by Odin. Never. Was something wrong? She was always carful.

So here she was. Right in front of the king with her head bowed. "You're my wife's Lady aren't you? Lady Y/N?"

"Yes, your majesty." She answers

"Rise my child." Said Odin which was still very odd to hear, then again, I'm not an asgardian. "How have you been liking your suitors? Do they treat you well? Have you taken a liking to them?"

"They are very noble and kind your majesty. I do like them-"

"Then why haven't you chosen one to marry? They certainly can't be that good. Tell me Lady Y/N, what is it that they lack."

They aren't Loki. They lack mystery and mischief. They lack the element of surprise that Loki still manages to offer. He was your first everything, first kiss, first hand held, first person she spent the night with full of passion and love making, first 'I love you'.

"Y/N?"

"Your majesty, I don't know. Asking me to pick a man to spend the rest of my life with...it's all a bit much. I'm 19- I mean 1,235. Loki isn't even my age and he's not married."

"Is this a complaint or an observation?"

He sounded a bit angry. "I'm sorry your majesty. I didn't mean any disrespect towards you or your parenting skills. Not that you are a bad parent...I just...I am grateful." You manage to get out without sounding like a complete idiot. "I am very grateful for everything, but until I find 'the one' I don't think I will be marrying anytime soon."

"You must have your eye on someone else because I don't believe you to be cruel enough to waste my Queen's time." Odin laughs "Just tell me who and maybe we could arrange a meeting."

"My eyes..."

Are for Loki. It will always be on him.

"I'm sorry to inform you that they are for no one. The suitors simply haven't impressed me enough to consider marriage." Her voice began fo crack. "Excuse me."

She bowed her head and ran off. Her eyes spilled tears and ran down her face. Y/N felt like she was betraying her love to Loki. Even though she hadn't picked a suitor necessarily, but the idea that Odin may force her too, loomed in her head. Reaching in her pocket for the letter, Y/N gasped.

It was gone. "SHIT!" Y/N began to scrumage around the room second guessing if she ever put it in her pocket to begin with. "DAMNIT! Where is it? Come on...where is it."

"Looking for something?" Asks Odin

In his hand was the letter. His eyes scanning over it as he began to read it out loud. He read it as if it was a joke and she could only stand there. Doing absolutely nothing.

"Such sweet words." He awes touching her face lightly. "My son has a heart."

"There is no sense of hiding it." She says with a straight face. "Release Loki."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because I'll do whatever you want. Just let him go."

"And why would I do a thing like that?" He whispers, a hand came down on her face, making her fall to the ground. "GUARDS!"

****

"Come to gloat, brother?" Asks Loki looking up "Torture me some more?"

"No. I came on our mother's behalf. It is about her Lady in waiting, Y/N." Thor answers "She is to be married and I was asked to bring you in. You fell in love with her didn't you?"

"Take me there, now!" And not five minutes later, Loki Odinson was forced on his knee as Odin had the guards shove a bruised and bloody nosed Y/N beside him. Shocked and in complete loss for words, Loki tries to contain his emotions. Frigga and Thor were by the King's side, feeling every bit of pain Loki was.

"What is the meaning of this?" He asks trying to contain the tears pushing at his eyes.

"Loki, he knows." She speaks hoarsely "He found the letters."

Loki couldn't glare because he reached out his arms to grab hold of Y/N and she cried into his shoulder. In his soothing voice, Loki tries to calm her. "Shh, my treasure. I'm here now. Dry your tears, my love." He lifted her head and scanned her bruised face as pain hit his stomach. His fingers brushed gingerly across her cheek. "I didn't keep my promise...I am so sorry I didn't keep my promise."

"It is a shame, really. You promised to protect her?" Odin chuckles

"How dare you hurt her!"

"You are a fool, boy! Bringing a Midgardian here and thinking you and her had a chance!"

"She is innocent in all this! Do you lothe me that much to hurt an innocent!"

"Get a good look at her because you will watch her marry a suitor I chose for her." Odin announced

"Please!" Y/N shouts "I can't. Please don't-"

"SILENCE!" Shouted Odin "Váli! Come." He orders making him stand before him and with a snap of a finger, Y/N was dragged to meet him face to face. Váli wasn't going to protest, but seeing his soon to be new bride weep as Odin read the vows made him silent.

As for Loki, every angry vein in his body popped out as Odin tried to force her into saying I do. Y/N kept her mouth shut, the fact that she was crying so much that the words never found their way out. Loki felt his fathers gaze sharpen in his direction as the guards began to beat him. Frigga along with Thor begged silently with their actions for Odin to stop, but he didn't. He seemed to enjoy it.

"I do! I do! I do! Please stop! Please!" Y/N cries out, as Loki is thrown to the ground. It was strange seeing an Asgardian in pain. It was more the emotional torture that was getting to him, but it was hardly over yet. Odin wasn't finished torturing his son.

****

As Loki was escorted down the hall with his father beside him he realized what his father was doing. He wasn't just torturing him for the deaths on Midgard, but for everything before. All his hate was showing in this moment. All his disgust for caring for a frost giant.

In the hall was a long line of people. Mixed with Servants and guards, maids, other ladies in waiting. All outside a room and as Loki and Odin walked through the line, did he come to stop. "Do you wish me dead?" Asks Loki, looking to Odin who didn't even acknowledge what he spoke. "If you don't, then don't make me go in there."

Behind that brown door was love. The making of love. Lady's had a line of people to witness her 'deflowering' and when she and her husband exit the room, a swarm of gifts awaited for them and a little party. Asgardians loved to celebrate, any excuse to drink and be merry.

Before Loki's eyes were a sight. A sight he had yearned to see himself, just not under these circumstances. The sight of his lovely treasure on her back, stripped of her clothes crying out in pleasure. Just between her legs was Váli. The sucking, the nibbling...the taste of her folds covering his tongue. Someone that wasn't him was giving pleasure to his love. Someone that wasn't him was tasting her folds, someone that wasn't him was seeing her body. All of her body.

Frozen. Just as Frozen.

****

THE END

@ashshadows @kpopgirlbtssvt @hookedinto-fictionalworlds @blackreaders-assemble @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @grahoundart @nayr9e @kybaeza @multifacetedscorpio @naega-ooooooolf @schizonephilim @thatweirdwalangpake @grahoundart @kybaeza @nayrae @multifacetedscorpio @naega-ooooooolf @nirvanaslovechild @hisparadox @naughtybaroness30 @empressoftheundergroundsun @inlovewith3 @smartiedork @gerli49 @spookytyphoonbouquetsblog @angelicvixenn @wtfcantfindusernam

[jdarm]

Chris Jackson - October 28 2013

[x]

'Miss McGrath isn't here at the moment I'm afraid," says the man behind the desk at the Covent Garden Hotel, mispronouncing it "grath" as in "wrath", as so many Englishmen tend to do.

He directs me toward the avocado-coloured bar where I wait upon a comfy floral print chair as rich olive-skinned guests sip on cocktails and beer at a marble-topped bar, backed by a large fanlight mirror, which seduces shameless stares of vanity from a few.

The wait is short as Katie strides in, searching the tables for me, smiling at strangers, until she finds me. She greets me with a hug and before I have a chance to say anything she's ordered tea, soda and a small bowl of macadamia nuts, which she then devours in not too short order. She's not one to stand on ceremony.

Katie's in London promoting the latest television adaptation of one of fiction's most popular characters, Dracula. From the producers of Downton Abbey, Dracula is a major British and American co-production, primed to capture audiences across the world.

She leans back against the wall pulling her left knee into her body, as if at home on her couch, rather than in the bar of a five-star London hotel. She speaks in a low voice with the soft and steady cadence of a person of some cultivation, save for the odd swear, which only serves for emphasis. I ask her about her Dracula.

"With this Dracula they've taken the story and they've flipped it. They've made it more modern. There's a modern comic-book element to the story.

"The Dracula of this story is playing a role, that of an American industrialist, to exact revenge on those who wronged him."

It is, like others, a departure from Bram Stoker's original, although, as Katie points out, the Dubliner may have warmed to an adaptation where Dracula and two other main characters are played by Irish actors – Jonathan Rhys Meyers and Victoria Smurfit are the other two. (Katie, like Stoker, is an alumni of Trinity). She plays Lucy Westenra.

The Lucy Westenra of Bram Stoker's original was the embodiment of youthful innocence, the counterpoint to Dracula. I ask her what we can expect from her Lucy.

"My Lucy is a complete departure. In Stoker's Dracula she is a paragon of virtue. She is the idealised Victorian woman. She's sweet, kind, soft and gentle. She's the archetype of goodness," she says, stopping shortly before each sentence with a pregnant pause. She is polished in her speech.

"My Lucy, however, well, she's more of a high society 'It' girl. She seems vapid and vacuous at first. Then you see she has problems of her own, problems which will completely change your outlook on her. She's not the sweet girl of Bram Stoker's novel."

Katie is keen to point out that the departure doesn't stop there and that her Lucy is, like herself, an independent woman.

"She doesn't take sh*t from no one. She's the one in control, blonde strumpet that she is," she says.

Stoker's Lucy is a woman pursued by multiple suitors, but Katie is reticent on the subject of her own suiters.

She betrays the discomfort of someone who is not used to attention, someone who is still coming to terms with their success. It's understandable, she never saw such a future for herself when she was younger.

Katie McGrath was not a typical teenager. She had pink hair, listened to Green Day, and worked in a Tattoo Parlour. She was someone who you could imagine in a Kevin Smith or Richard Linklater film – a Goth, an Emo, a Rocker, an outlier. She no longer sees herself in such terms.

"I don't see myself as alternative anymore. You get to a point in life where you're comfortable with who you are and exist in your own world. I'm just me, walking around and trying to do a job without failing, although I do miss the pink hair."

Her path to stardom was unforeseen and unusual. An average student at Trinity (she studied history), she, like so many, did not know what she wanted to do with her life post-graduation. She played with the idea of a career in fashion and worked for Image magazine to achieve her left-field dream of being Vogue magazine's China editor. She then swung a job as a seamstress, though she couldn't sew, on the set of The Tudors, which was filmed near her home in Wicklow.

As she says "they needed a busty wench" for a love scene with Jonathan Rhys Meyers and she was happy to oblige them. Within a year she was cast as Morgana in BBC's Merlin, acting before millions of viewers in more than 150 countries.

The young woman whose life was without clear direction before was now on a path to great fame and fortune. It's little wonder she refers to herself as "having won the lottery".

As Morgana, Katie became a favourite of fantasy fanboys (the polite term for nerds), who can be quite obsessive. Often some of them live their lives vicariously through shows and their characters. She's experienced it first-hand, receiving, among other things, penned stories, pictures and dolls of herself as Morgana. She came face-to- face with many of them at San Diego's annual Comic-Con, a Mecca for fans of fantasy, sci-fi, and comic books, one of whom was Katie herself.

"It was amazing, it was like a place of joy, it was like a giant air-filled hangar of joy" she says with a broad smile, in between eating more macadamias. "They're all pretending to be someone, be it Princess Leah or Green Arrow, but at the same time that is who they are.”

"It's both bizarre and wonderful to see all these people pretend to be others and be so comfortable doing it."

Not all the parts she's played have been as successful. Take Madonna's directorial debut, W.E., in which Katie was cast. W.E. was panned by critics and was barely seen by anyone, taking less than $900,000 at the box office (The King's Speech, a similarly themed film, took more than $400m the year before).

"I think W.E. was a good film. I think critics were always going to be tough on it because it was Madonna's film. If it had been any other first time director I think they'd have been far more supportive of it" she says sincerely.

In spite of the failure of W.E. Katie's career has kicked-on, and last year she was cast in Channel 4's Labyrinth, an adaptation of Kate Mosse's best-selling novel of the same name, in which she was again required to wear a corset, a requirement made of her again in her latest ole, which, in one way, sees her career come full circle.

"I started as crew with Johnny, when I first met him I worked in wardrobe, now I'm starring opposite him. Sometimes I stop and think 'sh*t, I won the lottery'."

Her friendship with him means much to her, both personally and professionally, particularly given his extra experience.

"It was great having him there. This show is a big deal, with big money and big networks behind it. When you walk into a room with 20 high-powered producers it's great to know you're walking in with a friend, one who's got your back."

It's understandable that she seeks such support. Her acting apprenticeship was served in front of an audience of millions and it wasn't until she started to shoot Dracula that she felt confident in what she was doing.

And yet, in spite of the depths with which she has been cast, she has emerged. Katie is not one for the future anymore, she is one for the present, although there is some downside.

"People have great difficulty pronouncing my name. I've given up correcting people" she says. I say nothing of the man behind the desk.

[alj4890]

Chapter 3 Cordonia Bound

TRR fan fiction (Liam x MC) (Maxwell x OC *Amanda) (Drake × Olivia) (Hana × Rashad)

These characters are from the amazing writers of Choices The Royal Romance and Red Carpet Diaries. The only character of my own is Amanda Bridgerton of House St Orella.

Masterlist The Other Friend TRR

Chapter 3 summary: Amanda lands in New York and awaits her friends to fly home to Cordonia. Was Maxwell successful in convincing the waitress to come along? Will feelings finally be expressed?

Chapter 3

Amanda is awakened by the jostle of the plane touching down at La Guardia airport in New York. She stretches and quickly rushes to the bathroom to fix herself up. She desperately wants to look great when the guys see her, especially Maxwell. After a quick change of clothes, makeup, and hair fixed; Amanda makes her way into the airport. She anxiously awaits a glimpse of her friends.

Suddenly, she sees Liam walk toward one of the gates where another private jet sits. She calls out to him. Liam turns and gives a puzzeled look. Recognition finally dawns.

"Amanda!" He runs and sweeps her into his arms. "You have been greatly missed my lady and what did you do to your hair? You look wonderful!"

Amanda smiles and hugs him tightly. "I've missed you so much. You have no idea how much I needed you, Drake, and Maxwell for sanity. Hollywood is one unusual place."

Liam smiles and sits down in one of the waiting area chairs. He motions for her to sit with him. Amanda smiles mischievously, "So. How was the bachelor party last night?"

Liam chuckles. "Filled with whiskey and all that bachelor parties are meant to be I suppose. Though, an extradionary thing happened. The waitress at a bar we went to agreed to be our guide. She took us to an amazing beach. Drake built a fire. Maxwell tried to convince everyone to skinny dip. Riley, the waitress, somehow knew I was more than I let on. She didn't care that I was a Prince and she even noticed that I wasn't entirely happy. When I said that I really wanted to see the Statue of Liberty, she made it come true. I've never known anyone like her." Liam trails off as he gazes out the window. He sighs and looks at Amanda.

"Did you get her number," Amanda asks.

Liam shakes his head. "Why should I? I have to be the ruler Cordonia needs. I have to pick the lady who the people and the court love. Not who I necessarily have feelings for." Liam looks at Amanda. "I'm so grateful that you are returning home. We have all missed you. Maxwell especially. But, I hope I don't sound too selfish. I'm going to need all my best friends during this social season. I think it will be more difficult than I first anticipated."

Amanda takes his hand and squeezes it affectionately. "Liam, you are one of my best friends. I will always be there for you. Never doubt that. You have been there for me in every single trial I have faced. I will be whatever you need. A sounding board, one to chase annoying suitors away, even an escape planner."

Liam gently kisses her hand and smiles. "Thank you my lady. Now I must get on that plane. Tariq decided to leave with me earlier. Something needs his attention on his estate. Drake and Maxwell should be arriving soon." Liam hugs Amanda one more time. " See you soon!" With a smile and a wave Liam leaves to board. Amanda smiles and decides to wait on the plane for Maxwell and Drake.

Maxwell leads Drake and Riley to the gate. "This is going to be awesome!" He says excitedly. "You are going to have a blast in Cordonia. The balls and parties are going to knock your socks off. Just wait until Liam sees you. He is going to be so surprised. In a good way, like Christmas morning surprised."

Riley smiles at him. "I can't wait! I'm nervous, but more excited nervous."

Drake shakes his head. "It's like leading a lamb to the slaughter. The nobles will eat you alive if you remain this naive."

Riley shoots Drake a questioning look. "I'm not afraid of anything. I know there will be tough moments. Yet, I feel like I'm about to go on a life-changing journey. I'm going to be excited. I can't help it."

Maxwell smiles. "That's the spirit! Now let's board this thing and get home." Maxwell steps though the plane's door. "Just wait until you meet Amanda. She is the absolute best! I know she will hel...."

Maxwell stands in shock. He looks at the very woman he was talking about and can hardly believe his eyes. How in the world did she get even more beautiful than when he last saw her? Amanda smiles at him.

It fades as he continues to stand there not saying anything. Amanda looks down at the floor. "It's my hair isn't it? You don't care for it." Suddenly she is enveloped in a hug. She wraps her arms around Maxwell, realizing how much she has missed his touch. He gently smooths a lock of hair from her face and smiles. "If you get any prettier, I will have to break into the Beaumont armory and find something to beat the guys off with." He stares deeply into her eyes smiling as they turn from gray to dark green with flecks of golden brown.

Amanda beams at him and gives into the temptation of kissing his cheek. He moves slightly and her kiss lands at the corner of his lips. He smiles even more so as she blushes. "I've crazy near depths of despair missed you," he whispers. Amanda's eyes tear up. She whispers back, "Good. I don't want to be the only one feeling like that."

They continue to stare into each other's eyes when Drake clears his throat. They look over at him and Riley. Both are sporting goofy grins. "Not to interrupt, but I'm a best friend too you know. And I'm sure Brooks here would like an introduction." Maxwell reluctantly lets go of Amanda. She hugs Drake and smiles at Riley.

"I'm so happy to meet you. I hope all that you wish for comes true in Cordonia. Liam is one of my best friends and I want him to find the one who brings him nothing but happiness. I know he will move Heaven and earth to do the same for her."

Riley smiles back at Amanda. "Thank you. I have high hopes. Not because he is a prince. It is because I have never felt a connection like this with anyone. Ever. I think the closest thing to compare it to is how you and Maxwell are."

Maxwell and Amanda both stare at her in shock. They both try to speak but mutterings and noise are all that come out. Drake chuckles. Riley looks alarmed. "Did I say something wrong?" she asks Drake. "No Brooks, you finally said what needed to be said a long time ago."

The captain comes over the intercom alerting them to prepare for takeoff. Everyone sits down and buckles up. Maxwell looks over at Amanda. She meets his eyes with a vulnerability he has never seen. He takes her hand and she laces her fingers through his. He gently raises her hand to his lips placing a tender kiss on it, never once breaking eye contact. She gasps softly at the intensity of the look he gives her. "Maxwell..." "Amanda I..."

Drake groans. "Look Amanda. Maxwell has been in love you for a long time. Maxwell, Amanda has been in love with you for a long time too. Now stop all this damn mooning over each other. I'm going to go to sleep. Wake me when we are close to home." With that, Drake reclines his seat, closes his eyes, and let's out a beleaguered sigh.

Riley shakes her head. She smiles sheepishly at Maxwell and Amanda. "I think I will get some sleep too. Pulling an all nighter and getting up early wipes me out." And with that, she too reclines and closes her eyes.

Maxwell unbuckles his seatbelt and Amanda's. He stands up, takes her hand, and leads her to some seats in the back away from Drake and Riley. He sits down and pulls Amanda into his lap. She giggles and let's out an, "Oh!" Maxwell cups her cheek with one hand and asks, "Is it true? Were they right? I mean. I mean they were right about me. Were they right about you?" Amanda blushes and looks at his handsome face. "Yes. They were right about my feelings for you. I've felt like this for such a long time. I just never felt like I would be someone you would want. I hoped, but, you could get a model who's charming and all. Not..."

Maxwell silences her the only way he can. He captures her lips in a searing kiss. He pours all his feelings into every facet of the kiss. Amanda responds with her own passion making him grateful he is sitting down. After many pleasureable moments, they break apart to catch their breath. Maxwell looks into her eyes and says with conviction, "You are the only woman I have ever thought of spending my life with. You outshine everyone, blinding me to only you. You are gorgeous both inside and out. I want to be with you." Amanda smiles and kisses him again. "Good."

Just as their lips meet again, they hear Drake say, "About damn time."

A few hours later while everyone enjoys a snack and drinks, Maxwell's and Drake's phones vibrate with a message. They both look at it. "Huh. That's strange. Your uncle's attorney wants to meet with me as soon as we land." Drake says to Amanda. "I got the same message," Maxwell exclaims. Amanda glances as her phone and sees a message from Liam. "Liam got the same one. That is so odd." Amanda says softly. "Maybe your uncle left them something in his will," offers Riley.

Amanda nods. "That is probably what it is. He was crazy about you three. I can see him leaving you each something to remember him by. Drake and Maxwell are still looking at their phones. Their expressions giving way to shock.

"What is it! You two can't look like that and not say what it is," Amanda exclaims. Drake shakes his head. "Amanda. Your uncle chose us to be a possible husband for you." Amanda starts to laugh but stops when Maxwell nods. "It seems that Liam and me and Drake are your potential suitors. The meeting with the lawyer will give more details and tell us what is going on. It also seems you signed it so it is legal. You will end up with a husband before the season is over."

Amanda shakes her head. "No. NO. The only thing I did was sign as a witness to some documents that Uncle Nicky said would help in my future...oh no." She looks at Drake, Maxwell, and Riley. "Oh my."

The plane begins to slowly descend into Cordonia.