#neighbouring farmers who are always arguing

[musette22]

@moonykat KAT YOU'RE SO RIGHT 👀

[bestiarium]

The Sottai [French-Belgian folklore]

Few folklore traditions are as common throughout Europe as the supposed existence of a race of tiny, dwarf-like creatures. Usually hidden from human society, these beings are usually not evil or malicious but do tend to be tricksters.

The Sottai, also called Sotê or Sotai, is a species of tiny leprechaun-like creatures living in Vosges and Lorraine, in France, and also near the Amblève river in Wallonia (Belgium). Specifically, in Belgium they are said to inhabit the caverns of Remouchamps.

The Sottais are characterized by their laziness and absolutely detest physical labour, but they are nevertheless helpful and usually willing to help out people in need. Indeed, there are stories about Sottais helping out workers and farmers and only demanding food in return.

It is known that these little creatures greatly enjoy parties and festivities, and they happen to be excellent dancers as well. Though not particularly dangerous or malicious, they are also exceptionally skilled archers. As a local story from the Ardennes goes, emperor Charlemagne of the Carolingian Empire was greeted by a troupe of Sottais when he was travelling through the Ardennes. Impressed by their archery skills, he invited them to become a part of his royal entourage, but the creatures refused and returned to their homes.

The name ‘Sottai’ might have been derived from ‘sot’ (silly or foolish) or ‘les sottes gens’ which means something like ‘the silly people’. This implies they were known as tricksters and jokers.

The Sottais, however, are all gone today, as they have all been killed by soldiers from Luxembourg. The soldiers collected bundles of dry wood and lit them on fire at the entrances of the cave system which the little folk inhabited. After being smoked out of their homes like foxes in a hunt, the Sottais were slaughtered. Those who managed to escape found out that the military men were being aided by the local population, which the Sottais had always helped out. Shocked by this betrayal and the cruelty of humans, the little folk left forever.

One Sottai remained, however: a local legend from Wallonia tells of Glawenn, a young Sottai with curly hair, the only one who stayed behind. He did not leave with his brethren, because he was hopelessly in love with a human girl named Garite. The tiny Sottai had been friends with the girl since they were little, and he would often bring her gifts which he had crafted with great skill. Garite eventually married a farmer named Thomas, and though it pained Glawenn, he accepted his fate and told Garite that ‘everything I do for you, I would gladly do for your husband and children’.

As the story goes, Thomas had sown rye on his field, but he had rotten luck and nothing would grow on his lands, even though the fields of his neighbours were full of life. One day, in a fit of rage and frustration, Thomas yelled ‘the devil may have this field and everything in it!’

Unexpectedly, a strange whispering sound came floating on the wind and it sounded a lot like someone saying ‘thank you’. Thomas was chilled to his very bones when he looked at his fields and realized that Pierre, his 4-year-old son, was playing there. He understood now that he had given his own child to the devil, albeit unintentionally.

Uncertain what to do, he told everything to his wife Garite. Garite, in turn, went to the cave where the last Sottai lived, hoping that her childhood friend could help them out. Meanwhile, the rye was growing very well, and her son Pierre had grown tall and strong as well.

When the time came for Thomas to harvest his crops, a strange man emerged from a nearby shrub. He was ugly, tall and thin, and wore a strange costume that didn’t resemble anything the locals wore. The man stopped Thomas, and told him that the crops rightfully belonged to him, as did his son Pierre. Thomas had, after all, given him his land and everything in it.

But Thomas was brave and argued that the devil did not have the right to take these things based solely on a loose promise made in anger. The devil retorted that Thomas had indeed given him these things, and it was because of the devil that the crops had grown tall. And so the two argued back and forth until the devil came with a proposal. The next morning, they would play a game, and the winner would receive both the land and the boy.

For the first round, both Thomas and the devil had to bring one animal: their opponent had to guess which species it belonged to. In the second round, both players had to come up with a task – something doable and natural – that the other had to complete.

Thomas told the entire story to his wife, who yelled at him for being a complete idiot. She went to see Glawenn again, and the little leprechaun told her “tell Thomas to show up half an hour early, and to do everything I tell him to. I will help him win this contest.”

The next morning, Thomas saw the strangest animal he had ever seen: it was about 60 cm (2 feet) high, had 4 legs, and was covered in colourful feathers. In truth, this was Glawenn, hunched over and covered in feathers. Sure enough, the devil showed up and he could not guess what strange animal Thomas had brought. But he himself had an even weirder creature, the likes of which Thomas had never seen. Luckily, Glawenn saw through the fiendish ruse and understood that it was nothing more than a goat in a fancy disguise. He whispered ‘it is a goat!’ to Thomas and so they had won the first round.

For the second game, Thomas gave the devil some of Glawenn’s unnaturally curly hair, and told him to straighten it. But try as he might, even the devil himself was unable to accomplish this.

Realizing he was defeated, the devil retaliated and told Thomas ‘for your task, you will throw this leprechaun in the Adseux river, and if you refuse, I will have both your son and your land.’

The past few weeks had seen heavy rainfall, and so the Adseux was wild and deep. There was no way Glawenn could possibly survive this. But Glawenn accepted his fate and, with his hand on his heart, proclaimed his love for Garite one final time before jumping to his demise. Mercifully, death came quickly, for the tiny man was smashed against the sharp rocks almost immediately. The river carried his remains to the cavern of Remouchamps, where he was born. Defeated, the devil disappeared.

And so the last Sottai died.  

Sources: La Garde, M., 1865, Le val de l’Amblève. Histoires et scènes ardennaises, 2ième édition, Ve Parent & Fils, 468 pp., p. 237-251. Méchin, C., 2010, Petit dicionnaire des mythes et légendes en Ardenne, édition 2010 revue et augmentée, The Book Edition, 250 pp., p. 227. Institut Archéologique Liégeois, 1852, Bulletin de l’Institut Archéologique Liégeois, Volumes 1-2, Maison Curtius, 568 pp., p. 273-274. (image source 1: Victor Prouvé) (image 2: a 1923 poster advertising the caverns of Remouchamps, where the Sottais supposedly lived. Image taken from ClassicPosterGallery)

[carlos-in-glasses]

It's going to be Tarlos's first wedding anniversary next month! How do you think they'll celebrate?

Ooh thank you for this question, anon! Because it will be the first anniversary of Gabriel's death too, I think they will keep it fairly low-key but also stretch it out and be really clingy and cuddly with each other. I'm thinking about what Ronen said at the Paris con, how his imagined honeymoon for Tarlos was them in their apartment, holding onto each other. I think it's the same for the anniversary.

Carlos will throw himself into making an amazing dinner with organic ingredients from the farmers' market, ready for when TK gets home from work. TK will be swept of his feet. Likewise, TK will surprise Carlos with a couple of gifts of things he knows Carlos had his eye on. He'll give him a beautiful journal because first anniversary gifts are traditionally paper-themed. They'll have a bath. Fizzy bath bomb, rose petals in the water, candles aglow, that kind of thing. They shall make love. It will descend into chaos as it always does. There will be screaming. Neighbours will slip passive aggressive notes under the door!

They will argue over who gets to the be the big spoon, with TK winning. They will wake up in each other's arms all soft and smiley. Later, the Catan Gang arrives and they have a little party - charcuterie board, sparkling cider. The Tarlos juggernaut wins the game.

During their next day off together, they take a drive to their wedding venue and wander around hand in hand, reliving the atmosphere and magic. They talk about getting a dog.

(Suddenly Gabriel's burner phone rings in Carlos' pocket...it's Gutiérrez calling with a fresh lead...will Gabriel's killer be found?!!)

[conradscrime]

The Bath School Disaster, 1927

August 13, 2023

The village of Bath was located just a short distance from the city of Lansing, Michigan. In 1922, the town voted for a school district, which also would lead to an increase in property taxes for the town to be able to afford the new school. The creation of the school was extremely controversial in the town.

When the school had opened there was 236 children that attended, all from grade one to grade twelve.

Andrew Kehoe was born in Tecumseh, Michigan on February 1, 1872. After graduating high school, Andrew studied electrical engineering at Michigan State College and worked as an electrician in Missouri for years.

During his time working as an electrician, Andrew had sustained a head injury from a fall and it was reported that he supposedly had been in a coma for several weeks after. He eventually healed somewhat and moved back to Michigan to live on his father's farm.

After Andrew's mother died his father married a woman who was younger than him, Frances Wilder, and the two had a daughter together.

On September 17, 1911, Frances had tried to light the family's oil stove, when it suddenly exploded and set her on fire. Andrew through a bucket of water on her but the fire being oil-based, it ended up spreading the flames quicker. Frances died the next day due to her injuries. Later on there was a rumour that Andrew had caused the stove explosion purposely.

The following year in 1912, Andrew married a woman named Nellie Price and a few years later they moved to a farm outside of Bath. Andrew was known by his neighbours as always doing favours and volunteering to help others. However, Andrew also had an impatient side, even killing a neighbour's dog who had annoyed him with it's barking. Andrew also beat one of his horses to death when it did not perform what he wanted it to do.

In 1924, Andrew was elected as a trustee on the school board and had even been the treasurer for a year. He argued a lot for lower taxes and was known to be difficult to work with, often voting against the board. He would claim he paid too much in taxes and tried to get the value of his property reduced so he would pay less.

In 1922, the school tax was $12.26 for every $1000 valuation of a property -- in 1923 the school board raised this to $18.80 per $1000, in 1926 it was $19.80.

In 1926, Andrew's tax liability was $198.00 and he found out that the family member who held the mortgage on his property was starting foreclosure proceedings. It was later on said from a local sheriff who had served the notice to Andrew, he had muttered, "If it hadn't been for that $300 school tax I might have paid off this mortgage."

In 1925, Andrew was appointed as temporary town clerk, but was defeated the following year -- this public rejection made him angry.

One of Andrew's neighbours noticed he had stopped working on his farm in 1926 and had believed he was possibly planning to end his own life. Andrew had given this neighbour one of his horses in April 1927, but the neighbour returned it. Andrew had also cut all his wire fences, seemingly preparing to destroy his farm. He also put lumber and materials in a tool shed and later destroyed it with a bomb.

At the time the bombing happened, Nellie, Andrew's wife had symptoms quite similar to tuberculosis. She often was in the hospital, which could have added to the family debt. Andrew had stopped making mortgage and insurance payments months before.

It is believed that Andrew had begun his plan of bombing the school after being defeated as towns clerk in 1926. During that summer he had access to the school building. He had bought pyrotol, an explosive as well as dynamite. Both of these were frequent things farmers used so it did not seem odd he would be purchasing them.

Neighbours even called him "the dynamite farmer" because they would often hear the sounds of explosions on his property. After the bombing occurred police found that dynamite had been stolen from a bridge construction site, Andrew was suspected as having stolen it.

Andrew spent a considerable amount of time buying explosives, going in between his house and the school with them. On May 16, 1927, Nellie was discharged from the hospital and it was in between this day and the day of the bombings, May 18, that her husband Andrew murdered her.

Andrew put her body in a wheelbarrow behind the chicken coop where it was later found very charred. Around the wheelbarrow he had placed silverware and a metal cash box that banknotes could be seen in it. Andrew had wired homemade pyrotol firebombs in his home and the farm's buildings.

Around 8:45 am on May 18, 1927 the bombs exploded in Andrew's house and farm buildings. Neighbours noticed the fire and volunteers rushed over. As people were going over to the property to help, Andrew drove off in his truck, stopping to tell them they better head over to the school.

Classes began at the school at 8:30 am, and Andrew had made sure the bombs would begin going off at 8:45 am. Rescuers heading over to Andrew's farm heard the school explosion and turned back. Many people were killed initially, 38 of them and most were children.

The scene was chaos, with many people rushing to help remove debris to look for wounded children. Many witnessed mother's moving extremely heavy bricks on their own, frantically searching for their babies.

One mother, Mrs. Hart, was sitting on a bank near the school and had two little dead girls on either side of her. She was holding a little boy named Percy, and right then Andrew blew his car up on the street, wounding little Percy, Mrs. Hart's oldest child. He later died in the hospital.

The north wing of the school collapsed, where the roof was on the ground and there was about 5-6 children under the roof in a pile. One man even volunteered to grab some heavy rope to be able to pull the roof off of the children. The man later stated on his way back to his farm for rope he saw Andrew drive by him and he waved and had the biggest grin on his face.

Andrew drove up to the school about 30 minutes after the first explosion. Andrew got out of his truck and detonated the explosives he had stored in there, killing himself, 3 other men and one second grader named Cleo Clayton who had wandered out of the school building in the initial explosion.

The explosion from Andrew's truck spread debris over a big area, and many cars parked in the area had damage, including several roofs catching on fire.

During the search for more survivors and victims, it was found that 500 more pounds of dynamite that had not been detonated was in the south wing of the school. It is believed that the initial explosion caused a short circuit in the second bombs, preventing them from going off.

Police searched Andrew's farm, looking for Nellie and eventually found her charred remains the following day. All of the farm buildings had been destroyed and two of Andrew's horses had been burned to death. Their legs had been tied together with wire, preventing them from being able to escape.

There was a wooden sign wired to the farm's fence that Andrew had stenciled "Criminals are made, not born."

The Red Cross had received many donations that were sent in to pay for medical expenses for the survivors and burial costs of those who did not make it.

Andrew's body was claimed by his sister and was buried in an unmarked grave in the pauper's section of Mount Rest Cemetery in St. Johns, Michigan. Nellie's family buried her in a Landing cemetery under her maiden name.

It was no question that Andrew Kehoe was the perpetrator of the bombings, however at the coroner's inquest the jury needed to determine whether the school board or employees were guilty of criminal negligence. After more than a week, the jury exonerated the school board and employees. This was determined as Andrew had hidden his plan quite well from everyone around him.

It was determined that Andrew murdered superintendent Huyck, as he had asked him to come over by his truck right before it exploded. Andrew had also been determined to have acted alone, and murdered 43 people in total, including his wife Nellie. Andrew's own suicide was considered the 44th causality.

On August 22, 1927, 3 months after the bombing, Beatrice Gibbs, a 4th grader at the time of the bombing died following a hip surgery. Her death was considered the 45th death attributed to the Bath School disaster. This makes it the deadliest attack to ever occur in an American school.

Richard Fritz was injured in the explosion and died almost a year later from myocarditis at 8 years old. His older sister, Marjorie, had died in the explosion. Richard is not listed as one of the victims, however his death is thought to be directly caused by an infection from his injuries.

School resumed on September 5, 1927 and was held in the community hall, town hall and two retail buildings for the year. Many donations were given to help rebuild, and the damaged portion of the school was demolished, with a new wing being built. The new school, James Couzens Agricultural School was dedicated on August 18, 1928.

In 1975, the building was demolished and was then rebuilt as the James Couzens Memorial Park, dedicated to the victims. In 1991, a Michigan State Historical Marker was installed. In 2002, a bronze plaque with the names of those killed was placed near the entrance.

On May 1, 2022, weeks away from the disaster's 95th anniversary, Irene Dunham who was the last Bath School student from the time of the bombing died at the age of 114.

The Bath School disaster is regarded to some as an act of terrorism. Medical experts wrote it was "the largest pediatric terrorist disaster in U.S. history."

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi! Can you do a Morpheus x reader where she’s like his right hand and has been around since the beginning and is the second command and/or hand of the king and Morpheus is down bad and everyone can see he worships the ground she walks on and people who don’t know them are confused who is the ruler and who is actually the right hand because there so attentive to each other.the reader stays In The dreaming when Morpheus is captured and never stops trying to bring him home.and maybe a confession/proposal from dream

"The Right Honourable" - Morpheus x Reader

WORDCOUNT: ~ 3.3k Sandman-inspired playlist

The dispute over Roaring Plains went back to the creation of Dreaming. Barty and Garth claimed that the land belonged to their respective ancestors and that either should be the rightful and exclusive owner of the seven hills. After aeons of arguing and waking up every entity nearby at the crack of dawn with their yelling, Barty and Garth decided to finally take the matter to the King. After all, whose judgement could settle their dispute if not the voice of the Lord of the Realm?

Morpheus had a curious habit of sitting on his throne leaning slightly to the left where you stood as if he was always expecting you to chip in like a temptress whispering sweet words that slowly ruin an empire. Only you were quite the opposite - a temptress that softened the strong hand with which he ruled like a warm sunray brushing against frosty cheeks on a winter morning.

Due to the slightly overwhelming emptiness of the throne room, the rushed footsteps belonging to Barty and Garth resounded throughout the hall in a loud echo. As they marched through the marble corridors, their blurry reflections on the polished marble following them in an equally irate manner, the two farmers made sure to keep their comically large distance between each other.

Barty, being significantly taller than his neighbour Garth, approached the throne much faster and wasted no time in starting a broil. "I have come here to regain my rightful land!"

"Your rightful land?!" Garth asked between his pants. He tried to push Barty but the taller man didn't even flinch - he seemed to be more angry about Garth touching his brand new velvet green vest than attempting to shove him. "Roaring Plains belongs to me, ya dobber!"

The marble corridors as if with newly-found spite managed to make the affront louder and sharper sounding. Hearing the tasteless insult, you wanted to cut the growing tension as soon as possible. It was no way to speak in the presence of a king. "Garth, if you could-"

"Hey!" the farmer interrupted you. A deep wrinkle appeared between his thick, furrowed eyebrows. His angered face was about as maroon as his plaid tam o'shanter. It was worth noting that he took the hat off a little too late considering he had originally entered the throne room of the palace with his head covered. "I'm trying to speak to our merciful lord!"

Suddenly, Morpheus clenched his hand in a fist and moved ever so slightly out of the throne, sitting now on its very edge - ready to jump off it at any moment, a poked lion ready to pounce. "You will address the Right Honourable with proper respect," he began in a bizarrely calm, wavering voice like all of his energy was directed at not lashing out at the very moment, "or you can leave my palace and hope I have too many duties to tend to on this day."

Garth almost opened a dispute but managed to bite himself in the tongue. Barty tried to discreetly slap his neighbour on the shoulder as though to bring him to his senses.

"Garth and I came to you, my merciful lord, due to an old dispute about the land, Roaring Plains. After generations of disagreeing, we decided to leave the judgement to you, the highest and most rightful instance in this beautiful realm."

You looked at Morpheus when Barty regurgitated sleazy brown-nosing you had heard many times before. Despite the general lack of expression on his face, you could quickly tell he was growing tired and angrier: it was visible in the way he sat, the way his foot tapped against the floor and even the way he occasionally inhaled in a strangely sharp way as if he closed his ears to all the sweet-talking and consciously focused on breathing calmly to not lose his grip on emotions. It was something you appreciated about him as a king as well as a man - Morpheus was pragmatic. He yearned for honesty and straightforwardness, which wasn't exactly common in the royalty of any kind.

"I've heard enough." Morpheus interrupted the respective ramblings of Barty and Garth, each of them telling tall tales as irrefutable proof of being the exclusive, rightful owners of the disputed land. Given the severity of the conflict, it was pretty surprising that both farmers stopped talking the moment Dream asked them to. Neither of them was willing to go back home defeated.

It was such a normal thing for you to lean down and whisper. Only occasionally did Morpheus not expect for you to chip in and on such rare instances he made it very clear - he leaned as far away from you as he could while remaining seated. "My lord, Roaring Plains is too much land for one man to farm, no matter how driven. They could share it, bring prosperity in place of envy."

Another normal thing regarding your council was the way Morpheus would look at you. His bright eyes stared into yours with a certain reflection, always making you wonder what in the world he was pondering while admiring your face merely inches apart. Sometimes his blue eyes seemed strangely vacant as if the moment you appeared before them all coherent thoughts left his mind and there was only you in the entire universe. But it was only a nice thought about a nice man - you never quite believe there was even a grain of truth in that little observation.

Visibly reluctantly, Morpheus finally looked away from you and at the two farmers who nervously waited for the king's judgement. Barty kept picking at the hem of his velvet vest, picking off invisible dust and lost strings, while Garth crumpled his hat in his clammy, stained hands.

"So it shall be," Morpheus announced garnering the attention of the farmers. Both of them raised their eyebrows in surprise, clearly not knowing what their merciful lord meant through his words. "Roaring Plains shall be shared by you and your families from this day forward. Dismissed."

Barty and Garth looked at each other unsure. The taller of them forced a smile on his face and reluctantly extended his hand to the other man. Garth looked at the hand, then at the man's face and slowly shook Garth's hand. Barty quietly said something to his neighbour only to put his arm around his shoulder afterwards and lead him out of the palace. The ancient dispute seemed to have disappeared in a matter of minutes.

"King Morpheus unites and not divides," you said in an exaggerated official tone when the two of you were alone again. "Sounds rather lovely, doesn't it?"

He stared at you with a shadow of a smile dancing across his face. Everyone knew about Dream's affection towards you, perhaps except for the King himself. Should he be asked about it, he'd deny any favouritism and simply state that he follows your advice because it's good advice. "I owe such praise to my Right Honourable."

Some, however, began to consider a certain shift of power having witnessed their lord's curious affection towards you. In a colourful analogy, one might compare the arrangement to a magician and his assistant: everyone knows that it's the assistant who does the real magic. While the audience is captivated by the showman pulling another bunny from a hat, the true prestidigitator has a chance to fool the onlookers right in front of their faces. Such nonsense would have been already disputed officially in the King's court but firm believers of that conspiracy remained too anxious of their lord to ever bring their suspicions to light.

If someone from the Waking World was to visit Dreaming, one of the first things they'd notice would be the strangely unchangeable weather and a suspicious lack of wind. The latter, however, was a much more complex issue as there were only two places in all of Dreaming where air moved: Fiddler's Green, with its gentle spring breeze and the terrace garden of the King's palace where an equally gentle zephyr brushed against vines, trees and flowers.

The case of said terrace gardens was interesting in itself as it wasn't as old as the rest of the palace. In fact, there were villages in Dreaming that were older than the flowery addition, although the thickness and sprawl of the red ivy could suggest otherwise. Aside from ivy, the garden had beautiful flowerbeds of white roses, buttercups, carnations and lilies. Morpheus always thought they bloomed so nicely only because they were envious of your own charm.

"Right Honourable?" The familiar voice distracted you from the thick book you had in your hands. Morpheus was strolling towards you, clearly not in a rush to get on with any duties left for the day. "Lucienne doesn't take lightly the books leaving her library."

The sun was behind your back, creating an angelic halo of bright light and blooming flowers that filled the terrace garden. If you were to be gone the next morning, that was the way Morpheus would have wanted to remember you: happy, with nature cradling around you to admire your beauty with him. Thankfully, you were going to be in the Dreaming the next day. And the day after that as well as many more centuries to come. You were sitting on a marble bench with carved decorative birds and for a moment, Morpheus considered whether you needed a blanket or a set of cushions. Surely a seat of stone could not be a comfortable reading place.

"I am sorry to inform you, my lord but I'm afraid I'm the only exception to that rule. Lucienne has told me that I might be the only person who actually returns them on time."

"What is it you're reading?" he said as he sat down beside you. It was a rare occasion that both of you could do something else besides tending to the kingdom. Quite curiously, even during those scarce moments of downtime, you still decided to spend it with each other.

"The Goldfinch, my lord." Keeping your finger inside it, you closed the book to show the minimalistic and yet very meaningful cover. "It's about a boy who steals his late mother's favourite painting from a gallery and runs across the world with it. He ends up in Holland..." your voice trailed away and Morpheus silently waited for the questions you were inevitably going to ask. "Do you think Holland's nice?" you said as you looked at him.

"Waking World is no place for us." He spared no time in repeating obvious rules you were more than familiar with - you were there when they were written.

"I know, my lord," you answered in a slightly sadder tone. Sometimes you wished he didn't remind you of the fate bestowed on you. "Yet the stories from there always make me wonder. Like the titular goldfinch: it's this small yellow bird with black wings and a black forehead. Must be beautiful with its noble look." Your free hand longingly traced the bird on the cover as you spoke. "I'd love to see one someday, even in someone's dream."

The next few hours Morpheus and you had spent in silence as you were reading the book and he seemed to be thinking about something. It was a comfortable silence: one that falls between people who know each other a little too well to always be talking about something; after aeons spent together, there was hardly anything new you could tell each other but it wasn't awkward or upsetting in any way. No, it was a very comforting feeling that one may know someone too well to flood them with their stories and thoughts. After all, to be known is to be loved. Your next day began with an unfamiliar chirping outside the palace walls.

And one day he simply did not come back. He made promises and assurances and for the first time since the dawn of times, the word of the Dream Lord was not kept.

The palace was... silent. But not in the sense of a lack of sounds, no. It was silent of life, as though the moment the Lord of Dreaming had left his realm, all of his creation began slowly dying. You could only hope their fatal condition was not unanimous to Dream's. It was as if in creating his realm, Morpheus placed a part of himself in each particle present in that world. With him gone, that easy-to-overlook and yet entirely essential element had disappeared too. The genius loci of Dreaming didn't simply change in the absence of its master, no, it was completely gone as if vacancy could be a wraith that haunts.

"You have done all you could, Right Honourable," Lucienne assured you. The echo of her voice made the marble halls feel even more empty and abandoned than when they were drowning in dreaded silence. "We can only await our lord's immediate return." In her mind, he was always on his way back, about to reappear the very next moment, despite long decades of his absence.

"'All I could' seems to not be enough, Lucienne."

"We all miss him. You're not alone."

"It's quite the contrary, my dear," you answered without looking at her at first. With Dream's prolonged absence, she was adamant about keeping you company. "Morpheus was someone else to each and every one of us. I can not understand your loneliness and you can not understand mine. We are both lonely in our loneliness, how sad is that?"

Lucienne didn't answer your question but truthfully, you weren't exactly looking for one.

Dream's throne wasn't comfortable to sit on but he wasn't a man chasing comfort. The seat was rigid, prickly and made one overly conscious of their body and how it was contorted. Maybe there was some timeless wisdom in the king's throne being uncomfortable to sit or perhaps Morpheus was a bit of a masochist. Funnily enough, both options seemed equally probable.

"He always hated when I-..." you hung your voice. A heavy sigh left your lips before you corrected yourself. "He hates when I sit here. He tries his best not to show it and pretends he doesn't see but I can tell. And now, when I have to, I dread it. Do you think he feels the same way when he sits on the throne? That he has to watch his breath or else the whole kingdom turns to ashes."

"Our lord Morpheus is a noble ruler. We must have faith in him, Right Honourable."

"That we do," you said quietly under your breath as you sighed. You remained seated on his throne, staring mercilessly at the palace door as if you could will his return into existence.

And one day, a long overdue day, he simply showed up - tired, confused, angry, barely dressed. He refused to talk at first, storming through the palace halls, filled with rage that would put gods of war to shame. Something dark got a hold of him and you couldn't imagine what that meant for Dreaming and you.

After a hundred years of staring at the entrance of the palace, the king had finally returned but not exactly the same as the day he left. There was a strange coldness in his attitude, something he never quite showed towards you or Lucienne. Not wanting to anger him further, you quietly sneaked out of the palace to wait out his labile mood in the gardens. Ever since he disappeared, you watched them only through the windows, never daring to leave the throne room in case Morpheus suddenly returned or a calamity fell on the realm and you were responsible for mending it.

What once had been a terrace garden, now was nothing but a sad remnant of happier days, a monument of longing and heartache. Ivy was completely dry, its red leaves were nowhere to be seen. Brown vines barely engulfed the walls of the palace, threatening to break off and fall with a mere gust of wind. The flowers, too, had forgotten their former glory; shrubbery that had died so long ago that even soil forgot what they once were. The palace haven was once filled with excited chirping, while now none could be heard. Out of the goldfinches Morpheus had made, only one of them was left: an exhausted, emaciated bird that occasionally let out a quiet, sad chirp as if he was still trying to call out to his long-gone brothers.

The sound of heels tapping against the tiled floor made you turn around and finally look away from the ruins that you once called a garden. He seemed to not look at you but rather at the shrubbery behind you - at the dry ivy, dead flowers and the golden bird that refused to fly farther than a meter or two. For a moment you felt invisible as Morpheus walked towards the railing to get a better look at the gardens below. Judging by the slight raise of his eyebrows, you knew it was the first time he was seeing them after his return: he didn't know what ruin awaited in place of flowers and birds.

"What happened to you?" you asked quietly after a moment of silence. You weren't sure yourself whether you meant his sudden coldness or the entire century he was gone. Both had left you worried and unnerved.

"I was imprisoned by an amateur witch," he answered quietly. His voice was filled with contempt. "He managed to steal my tools as well."

Quite unsurprisingly, you didn't know what to tell him. A simple 'I'm sorry' wouldn't cut it when a case of being held captive for a hundred years was considered. "Morpheus, I-" you stuttered.

"While in captivity, I have had a lot of time to think," he continued without letting you interrupt.

"About what?"

"Various matters," he said in a dismissive manner. "Things passed as well as those that are yet to happen. Perhaps even things I wish would become true." You couldn't know it as you were looking at the dead plants but Dream bore his eyes into you as he spoke of his potential wishes.

"Such as?" you coaxed him.

"Although your council has always been wise and dear to me, there was another reason why I followed your advice. To make you happy."

Why in the name of all things holy would the king of Dreaming be concerned with that? You furrowed your eyebrows and quickly turned your head to look at Morpheus who was already staring at you. There was an intimidating intensity in his eyes like he was about to bestow a deeply hidden secret upon you.

"Like this garden." He looked away from you for a moment. Staring at his profile, you saw him slightly push his lips tighter together. "Its only purpose was to cure your unhappiness that tore my heart. It failed its purpose as did I. And this little bird, which occupied your mind as much as... I'd like to."

His confession seemed strange, to say the least. Morpheus wasn't one to talk about his feelings and so whatever knowledge he just shared with you it was of utmost importance as well secrecy.

"Morpheus, I'm afraid I don't entirely understand what you're trying to say." To be exact, you had a burning suspicion as to what he was suggesting but you wanted him to say it out loud - just to make sure it wasn't your yearning imagination bending the edges of reality.

In a gentle manner, he took your hand into his and looked into your eyes. The intensity you had seen in them before had only gotten deeper, rawer. "I had miss you greatly, my Right Honourable. I'm asking you to become my queen if you're willing to have me as your king."

"My king?" you repeated. "It nearly sounds obscene if you put it like that."

The corner of his mouth slightly pulled up. For the first time in a hundred years, the lonely goldfinch chirped happily. Perhaps, its loneliness, just like yours, was about to end.

[thequibblah]

pwp anon here and im always down to hear your thoughts about arranged marriages in the the regency time period

sure, i pontificated abt this in the DMs of no less than two people so we may as well air it out for everyone's reading pleasure/displeasure, no?

i am by no means a historian, i am simply a reader of things, and regrettably many of the things centre around english/british history. i also recently read a truly fascinating account of marriage through the ages recommended by bestie @clare-with-no-i, called marriage, a history by stephanie coontz, and i will hopefully not absolutely fuck up what i have just learned from there.

but the concept of arranged marriage with jily specifically seems to me like a misunderstanding both of what an arranged marriage means (x1000 for the regency) AND of jily's dynamic — which i've come to realise i have quite strong and dare i say particular, sticklery, text-faithful views about which i know not everyone really cares about.

so with that out of the way,

i've said this a lot of times ik. but part of the thing with AUs for me is that i feel like i have to keep some elements of jily's canonical backgrounds/dynamic. otherwise i'm not really adapting these characters to another setting, am i? and to me one of the fairly significant things is james's privilege.

in AUs i want him to either be directly confronting it (if it's that kind of story) or suggest that he has already begun to confront it, or will have to confront it eventually. this is of course not because i, like, get off on putting them on an unequal social footing — on the contrary, one of my favourite things as a jily shipper is exploring how both characters grow out of immaturity, learn not to misunderstand each other, and come to love each other.

truthfully i don't like not making james rich to preemptively smooth over any discomfort in their relationship. for one it feels tied to his ignorance and his generosity, his confidence and his insensitivity; for another discomfort is part of life and part of love. feels disingenuous to write that out tbh

you could argue that this stuff really shouldn't matter for fluff that's meant to be escapist and easy reading, to which i say yeah, fair enough, to each their own. it's not like i close out of any modern uni au fic i come across where james isn't immediately established as baby warbucks, shouting "this isn't canon-aligned!"

BUT! when we're talking period marriage, or especially "arranged" marriage, it's pretty clear that discomfort is part of the premise. like, the point is watching them get comfortable with each other over time, and it feels a bit like cheating to me to minimise the uphill battle to begin with. pretty sure everyone here is here for the lizzie-darcy, not the lily-of-means à la emma woodhouse who could really have her pick of gentlemen!

now, on to "arranged" marriage. i put this in scare quotes because really, it seems like a weird qualifier to make for certain periods of history and certain social situations, and i sometimes wonder if people know what they mean when they say arranged!

like, i'm indian. an arranged marriage doesn't mean you're trussed up in a wedding outfit and shown to your future spouse on the day of the event (...though it can, unfortunately) — that is not the chief characteristic here. what it means is your families know one another, the match is advantageous for whatever reason (you share a community, a religious subdivision, said families really get along, they think you two are suited) so the families are like "let's make this happen." love is not necessarily a factor, but then for the vast majority of human history, to our knowledge, it really hasn't been, for most marriages across rungs of society. like, my guy the farmer's son might have been fond of his neighbour's daughter, but he's still thinking about how she'll help on the farm, if she can support his trade, what she brings to this economic partnership.

because that's what it was. an economic partnership.

our notion of arranged marriage is a closer analogue for royal marriages, i think pretty much across cultures and time periods. so you are a prince and you're set up with this princess because you need her uncle's support, or her father's money, or some such.

e.g. you are henry fitzempress and you want to keep england and normandy and anjou, and to do so you have to watch out for louis, king of france. so you very smoothly marry his ex-wife, eleanor of aquitaine, because aquitaine is an immensely powerful territory and eleanor brings you that in her dowry as well as every other sort of support you might need against louis — men, arms, money, the works. done deal!

or, let's look for an example with less ~choice~: you are the future henry viii (shocking beginning given "less choice", i know) and your brother's just died, but your lowkey cheapskate dad henry vii is not keen on giving back catherine of aragon's dowry, and like, he's taken all this trouble to bring her here and make an alliance with her parents, what the fuck's the point if she's now free to go marry someone else???? and possibly build a different alliance that weakens england??? no! henry my son you will marry her now.

but notice that both people are bringing immense value to matches like this. it's the perks, not the person. it is ruinously stupid to try and arrange a match with someone (a woman, really, this goes one way) who doesn't bring you a valuable dowry, whether that's actual income, income via land (see aquitaine), or at the very least nice noble connections (see gregory cromwell, son of thomas cromwell of advisor to henry viii fame, marrying bess seymour, the sister of then-queen jane seymour. for the cromwells, a family of commoners, to connect themselves with the old aristocratic seymours and become the king's in-laws was a nice little arrangement, and of course it's good for the seymours to solidify an alliance with the up-and-up cromwells too).

a dowry, for those unfamiliar, is an inheritance kept aside for a woman that becomes an attractive incentive for her future husband, as he will eventually get that inheritance when he marries her. a dowry is not a bride price — it goes from the woman (from her father or another male relative, usually), to her husband upon marriage.

talk of dowries is all over pride and prejudice. the Big One is georgiana's dowry, which wickham has his eye on when he tries to seduce her. but note that even mrs bennet, who if i'm not wrong is the daughter of a tradesman (i.e. not gentry/nobility), has a dowry of her own settled upon her by her father at the time of her marriage, which can only be inherited by her daughters after her death. if i recall right lydia's (nonexistent) dowry is handled by darcy. this is bog-standard stuff — leaving aside implied misogyny women-are-a-burden things, the idea is that a bachelor's household is of course going to grow when he gains a wife and a family, so he's gonna need some means to settle down

or let me pick a whole 'nother example — in downton abbey, mary, the eldest daughter, basically knows she's going to marry the man who inherits her father's estate, because it's a nice way to keep it in the family (rather like the bennets wanting one of their daughters to marry mr collins). they have, in a word, an "understanding." i don't think i need to explain here, though, why mary, an heiress in her own right even if she can't inherit her father's actual property, is hardly a cinderella in need of a prince

and i think you can already see where i'm going with this + the jily socioeconomic dynamic — i just don't see a world in which james's (presumably better off) parents are like, yeah, this is the girl for you, we've set it all up, not to worry, enjoy the wedding night. put crudely, what the hell kind of leverage does lily's family have over them?

like okay, i am hard-pressed to call this "arranged" because he asked her, and she consented (given ofc the caveat that she didn't have a great deal of choice), but mr collins and charlotte is a decent example where he's kind of (cringes) "doing her a favour" by marrying her, because she's really not very eligible — her parents are gentry but not well-off, and she's a spinster. but he needs a wife and doesn't really mind those things because he has a decent income and doesn't need (and, really, couldn't get) an heiress. and even then is it really arranged? it's arranged by mr collins, which to me is just "man decides who he'll marry"

so it seems to me that when people say "arranged marriage" what they really mean is reluctant/forced, which, again, i'm not sure i see that happening between people of different stations (one condition applies and i'll get to that) unless james is royalty, and even then lily had better be something, or james is about to piss off eeeeeeveryone at his court.

to be regency-specific, i think too people underestimate the amount of free choice the average gentleman would have had in making his own marriage. no matter how overbearing his parents, he could probably get away even with not honouring an "informal agreement" arranged by them when he and his intended were younger. and that's not even touching upon the fact that this is james specifically, and these are his parents specifically. fleamont and euphemia are canonically indulgent, and i can't fathom a world in which they insist on marrying james off against his will, to a girl equally reluctant.

(and this may be controversial, but nor can i see james consenting to such a match, even if he already has feelings for lily. it icks me out to think of him roping her into marrying him for like a billion reasons, but especially because this is something jily antis say all the time about canon, that he somehow compelled her to marry him. given a time period where a man of means probably could get away with that, it strikes me as skeezy to have the romantic lead — and, again, james specifically!!! — do it. imagine, basically, james as the mr collins to her lizzie — not exactly arranged either, but her mother sees the benefit of the match and encourages it, and it's a hard thing to say no to. it is shocking enough that lizzie says no to mr collins, and he even points out that she probably won't receive another offer. i find this not very romantic idk about you lol)

finally, courtship in the regency was a ritual. your parents don't just sit down with her parents and decide for you (and again, certainly not indulgent parents like james's). you'd still want to dance with her, formally express interest in her, ask her guardian's permission, and ask for her hand — and hopefully you're doing something in all that time that constitutes getting to know her, or at least seeing if you'd like to be married to each other. if you rushed into a marriage (i'm trying to spitball scenarios in which jily wouldn't know each other and therefore wouldn't be in love yet at the time of their marriage), people would talk — and the #1 thing they'd say is probably that she accidentally got pregnant somewhere along the way so the families are trying to save face rq.

in fact this is the one exception i could see with this whole arranged marriage shtick. if they were somehow caught in a compromising position, they would have to go on and get married asap, and you could argue that this might turn out to be reluctant depending on the circumstances. for instance in the bed-sharing fic i just wrote, two's a crowd, they are certainly not courting or in love, and lily's well aware that if word of this behaviour gets out it won't look good for her — and james knows too what he'd be honour-bound to do.

but honestly i find this to be such a depressing premise! it's sad and awful and reminds me uncomfortably of lydia bennet, who's really stuck in a shit situation to any modern reader imo. even lydia fancies herself in love with wickham before they elope, and needless to say he's probably not exactly in it because he has tender, poetic feelings for her.

that's not to say that love couldn't come out of something like this, but it's not a premise i feel like tackling in the regency era specifically, when you can get the yearning and the drama and all that without curtailing choice in such a specific, embarrassing way. (like, to have to write that social shame... eurgh. my own stomach would turn going on about women ruined and whatnot. there is a julia quinn book that features this and i won't say which one, but frankly i found the way it was executed downright ridiculous and very much un-james anyway)

i just think that a premise more realistic to the characters would be where they like what little they know of each other and then learn to love each other once they're married — less dramatic, i know, but also less contrived. sometimes romance is in the smaller things.

as an aside, my royal au, which is set several centuries before the regency, is probably the only fic i'll write with an arranged marriage, though it's more of a marriage of convenience — which is really a more apt, specific descriptor, i think, for those kinds of marriages. like, both parties are getting something out of this, and neither is under illusions as to whether or not they are in love. they wouldn't really expect to be.

[sebbysheepie]

Reading your arguments with certain vegans (and in my own experience) it almost has a similar feel to trying to argue politics with some of my religious relatives. Like they just can’t accept that people might fundamentally disagree with the way they see the world. I DON’T think it’s unethical or cruel in any way to kill animals for food, as long as proper care is taken. I’m not looking at it as a necessary evil I’m not disciplined enough to give up, I’m looking at it as someone who views humans as part of a food chain. And I feel like people arguing it never seem to get that others can disagree with their basic assertion that consuming animals is Bad?

I like that. Political, I always liken this to religion myself.

Ill speak from my own point only. While I myself have never known hunger I was raised in a family that did know it. The great potato famine. The home children. Slavery. This was a topic we grew up on. Food is life. Food is the most important thing. Food means living another day. My great grandparents had known so much hunger. They knew abuse. They had been treated as slaves and lived in the barn where animals had been treated better then they where because the animals where worth more. Could always get another home child. Couldn’t get another chicken or cow as easily. So you treated those animals well.

Growing up this meant that you ensured the best of health for your animals and they never knew pain or suffering. But when it was time for the to be part of the food chain they where eaten. A big farm means you can provide for more people. As we all had big families. That means alot of food needed. Your neighbour had a bad year? You could give him food to see him threw. When the depression hit. Food was given out in droves by the farm because we had it. And there was no hoarding because hungry people lose empathy and values when the belly aches or your children cry. If you knew you would get food from them you wouldn’t be as inclined to steal. Nor did my family want that. I’m more flustered these days with all the rules and regulations on giving food away. It feels the government would rather people starve over getting uninspected meat. We are not saying the butcher didn’t do the work and check it over. No. We just can’t give it out because the government inspector is too busy to come to such a rural area over for one load of donated beef. That’s better to just go to the garbage. It makes me so mad. I don’t believe in waste. I don’t believe in a wasted life. The animal gave its life to feed people and I work very hard to ensure nothing goes to waste from that.

Again this is me. You are going to find farmers that do it because that’s how it’s done. Not that they are bad people. They just don’t have a connection to animals other then food. There’s no harm or abuse, just no extras. You’ll find those that go above and belong what I do. And that’s fine too! If you want to find homes for all older animals. Or give to a sanctuary then by all means go for it! I sell animals and use that money to return back to the farm and give back to the animal there. The sale of an older cow may pay for the vet bill of the calves with health issues giving them years more life. Some pass away on the farm and are buried there, some chickens I eat. And some just go in their sleep. You never know how your going to go, I just want to make sure that my body is of some use to ensure someone else’s survival.

[oumaheroes]

Character Study P.2

Summary:

A character study of the softer moments between England and France. Part 2: France is followed home by an overworked England.     

Word Count: 4589

Characters: France, England, (FrUK)

Previous part can be found here.

.......

Despite the busy crowds and how tired he was, it did not take France long to realise that he was being followed home.

It was early evening. He had just left the hotel they were using as a location (battleground) for the latest UN meetings and was hoping to catch his favourite farmers’ market before they packed up and closed for the day. There were some things he’d been eyeing up for dinner that, now he’d set his mind on it, he knew he would be loath to change and if there was something France would never compromise on, it was ingredients. So, as soon as the last meeting of the day had ended, he packed up his things, bade his assistant and president a tired farewell, and hurried out of the door before anyone could grab him and ask him for something.

The meetings themselves were nothing fancy, just long national security and trade talks with government officials and other such persons, but which were thankfully being hosted in Paris. France did not like travelling about much these days, he’d done quite enough of that in previous centuries and he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was happy to enjoy a more relaxed lifestyle at a polite distance from politics. England might call it lazy, but France knew that his northern neighbour was just as old and content to stay at home in his own lands, left to his own devices and away from the angry, irritating buzz of politicians.

‘It’s not the same!’ England had lamented to him once only a decade ago, too drunk on good wine that was wasted on him for how quickly he drank it, ‘We don’t even really get to give our opinion anymore; we just sit there and then help do all the bloody admin whilst they argue about this that and the other. What’s the point? If they don’t want to listen to our advice or let us make decisions, leave us the fuck out of it.’

France had sighed at him and shook his head; not because he disagreed, but because when England felt like he was being patronised he’d puff up in a ruffled indignation that France found too funny not to risk his person provoking. England had sworn at him, as France knew he would, and the evening had ended up with them sprawled on top of each other at the bottom of France’s vineyards.

Thinking with a bitter happiness that there was only one more day of this tedium to go, France made great strides in removing himself from the premise, ducking and weaving his way through the pedestrian traffic and losing himself in the flow and thrum of his people as they made their way across town.

He hadn’t got very far, only managed to cross a road and turn down a right-hand street, when he noticed that he had acquired a shadow.

Many centuries of existence had given him a sixth sense for this sort of thing- a keen awareness of people who followed for too long, a feeling for eyes watching the back of his head. Even in peacetime his mind was sharp, alert for tiny movements that could indicate a potential threat and hooking his attention to make him zero in on certain behaviours, regardless of whether he wanted this additional mental fatigue or not. Such things were second nature to their kind. He hadn’t survived for this long by relaxing and blindly trusting those around him, after all. Nations could be brutal things, humans just as much, and the complacent among them never remained for long.

But this presence was familiar, a known gait and step that France had learnt to recognise the fastest, out of necessity as much as from repeated encounters.

France smiled to himself and slowed his pace.

England wasn’t trying to hide himself; Lord knew that when the man wanted to, he could simply disappear into a crowd and never been seen again. If England wanted to follow someone without them knowing, they simply wouldn’t know about it. MI6 didn’t have the reputation it did for nothing and England enjoyed, with a smug superiority that France often couldn’t stand, putting whatever talents and skills he’d worked out with them to use when the mood took him; presence undetected, footsteps light and soft, manner and bearing disguised and changed as quickly as if he were shedding clothes.

No, England wasn’t hiding himself or trying to remain unseen, but that didn’t mean that he would appreciate France drawing attention to the fact that he’d noticed him so soon. Let him think France was frequently oblivious, it always made for fun later.

Besides, France didn’t think now was the best time to push him.

He’d noticed that England had grown quieter the last few days, withdrawing more and more into tense silence as the week went on. There was something happening at home, he’d heard through his own ministers, something brewing that kept England working later and later, pushing himself more and more. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to England about it himself, hadn’t had the chance to talk to Arthur at all, but France had seen him grow steadily more stressed and taut, like a tightly wound string.

An impatient man anyway, England grew snappy when stressed, biting and prickly and quick to shout and vent his temper at whatever poor unsuspecting victim fumbled the small task he’d given them. After this though, if nothing changed, England would turn into a muted white noise, all tension wrapped and bound and condensed until you could feel it pulsating from him in palpable waves. All of his energy would go towards surviving what was happening and finishing whatever it was, and he’d go and go and go until either the source of the stress went away, or he’d collapse somewhere- a boneless puppet with cut strings.

The way things had been going, France wouldn’t be surprised if he were nearing the latter of the two and he’d been expecting England to seek him out eventually, for one reason or another.

France stopped at a crossing just as the light for pedestrians turned red, and he felt, rather than saw, England close the distance and approach him from behind. ‘You’ve left earlier than I expected.’ He said to him over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the cars. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d be out for another few hours at least, the way you’ve been working these last couple of days.’

England grunted but said nothing further, shuffling to stand closer to France to avoid an old lady and her grandchildren when they stepped too near to him.

France turned to look at him and, up this close, noticed the slight flush to his cheeks and the paleness to his face, eyes tired and drawn as they regardless the traffic. The day was not a terribly cold one, but England had burrowed himself deep into his coat, collar turned up high to cover his neck and hands tucked into his pockets.

France hmm’d and hooked an arm through England’s, pulling him closer. He didn’t shrug it off. ‘I’m going to the market before I go home.’ France informed him, because he knew that that was what England was planning on doing- follow France home and expect to be fed. (He would be, he always was).

He felt England shrug, a slight upward twitch to his shoulder. ‘That’s fine.’

The lights changed and the crowd around them moved forward, taking France and England with it. They followed the rush along for a while before France tugged them down an alleyway to break onto another street, smaller with cars parked on the pavements and less people around. They stuck to the side streets from then on, winding their way through the back alleys of Paris in a comfortable silence with France leading the way.

The market itself, when they eventually arrived, was a small one, tucked in a small cluster on the cobbles of a square, but the produce was fantastic and it was a local secret. France, as a local to all in his lands, adored it. ‘I was thinking of cassoulet for dinner’ he told England as he slipped his arm free to approach a stall for vegetables and other farm produce, eyeing up the selection of carrots. ‘You like that, yes?’ There was no answer, and France turned around to find him staring vacantly off at the next display. ‘Arthur.’

England blinked, coming back to himself, and turned to him. ‘What? Sorry…’ he frowned, ‘did you ask me something?’

France tutted at him. ‘Yes, but no matter, you weren’t going to get a choice anyway.’

England said nothing but turned away to stare at the table display again, a selection of cheeses France could tell he wasn’t really paying any attention to. France pursed his lips but let him go, purchasing the necessary onions, carrots, and tomatoes that he needed before hurrying England off to the next vendor, handing him the bag of vegetables to carry which he accepted without complaint.

After the butchers for sausages and mutton, France handed England the purchases and taking out his notebook from his pocket, checking that there was nothing else he needed whilst he was here. ‘Do you need anything?’ He asked, turning to England.

England shook his head and shivered, rearranging the bags on his arm. ‘No, thank you.’

France reached to take one from him, freeing up an arm, and drifted his hand down England’s coat to hold England’s own, buried in his pocket. He was displeased at how cold he found it and squeezed it tightly, pressing the pad of his thumb over England’s knuckles. There was a slight squeeze back, the smallest increase in pressure, but there was something, at least, and France let it go.

‘Come on then, before you lose one of my bags somewhere.’

.......

Back at home, France unlocked the door and pushed England inside first, closing the door behind them. ‘Go and take a shower, I’ll start dinner.’

England frowned at him, confused. ‘I don’t need a shower.’ He turned to make his way to the kitchen, bags in hand, but France caught him by the elbow and took them from him before stepping forwards and pressing a kiss to his temple. His skin there was just a touch too warm, but the rest of him felt chilled. ‘Go, you’re cold and it’ll help you relax.’

‘I don’t need to relax.’

France looked at him, unimpressed. ‘You need to relax; you’ve overworked yourself stupid again.’ He nudged him with his elbow. ‘I’ll not start cooking until you do.’

England managed a weak scowl at him but didn’t protest and shrugged off his coat before hanging it by the door. ‘Fine. If it makes you feel better.’

‘It will.’ France slipped his shoes off and rolled his eyes when England nudged them with his foot so that they sat straighter against the wall. ‘Go.’

After England had safely moved away in the direction of the bathroom and France could hear the comforting sound of his shower in use, he walked through his flat to the kitchen and set about getting things ready for dinner, collecting his knives (always the best quality, always sharp) and washing the vegetables before chopping them as needed. Before too long, he heard the hot water turn off and the bathroom door open, the one to his bedroom closing shortly after that. A while later, England emerged in the kitchen, slightly damp and dressed in some of France’s old clothes: baggy, large things that France couldn’t bear to throw away, even though he hardly ever wore them. Kept for times like this, maybe. For either one of them when they were needed.

Evidently, the shower had revived enough of England’s energy to allow him to dig about in the depths France’s wardrobe and drawers; he’d pulled on an old woollen jumper that he’d left behind the last time he’d visited France’s Paris flat, a frumpy looking thing with bobbled thread and stretched sleeves that fell past his hands to graze his fingertips.

‘What state have you left my bedroom in?’ France asked. He uncovered the white beans that he had left soaking the day before and regarded them seriously. They looked ready.

England moved past him to sit at the table, slow and sluggish, before leaning forward to bury his head in his arms, cheek cradled in the crook of his elbow. He sighed and shut his eyes. ‘It’s fine.’

‘I’m sure it is not, I tried to bury that hideous thing at the very bottom so it couldn’t be seen; every time I opened my wardrobe it quite ruined the overall look when I caught sight of it.’

England didn’t answer him. France filled the kettle up with water and flicked it on before grabbing a mug- a bulbous, large bottomed monstrosity that England had got him a few years ago to spite him for something or other. It was incredibly tacky but France found that it was growing on him most annoyingly.

He didn’t need to ask if England wanted tea, this would have been a pointless, silly question, and nor did he ask if England wanted the honey instead of sugar that he put in it. His voice had sounded ever so slightly hoarse, maybe from talking all week for hours on end, maybe not. Either way, England would not ask for anything that hinted or implied that he had some sort of physical weakness and France had learnt, over many frustrating years, that the best way to handle England like this was to simply not say anything and give him what he needed anyway. Asking whether he was feeling well would imply that you had noticed signs he was not, and would, for reasons France still did not even try to understand, make him more stubborn in pretending that there was nothing wrong at all.

Roundabout methods for a roundabout man.

‘I don’t know how you can possibly believe you have the right to insult Wales on his clothes when you own something like that; you’re lucky I didn’t mistake it for rags and throw it away.’

England made a sound that could have been a laugh. ‘This one is Scotland’s, actually.’ (1)

‘Well, all the more reason to be lucky, then. You should be grateful that I didn’t throw you to his ire.’

‘Yes, I do plenty enough of that myself without your assistance.’

England sounded almost fond and France allowed a smile, keeping his head turned away to focus on cubing the mutton. England’s relationship with his brothers has always been much like his own with England: stormy, rough, and quick to change but long lasting and durable, nonetheless. Some bonds do not need frequent, pretty words and kind acts to keep them strong. Sometimes, seeing someone fester at their ugly worst and choosing to keep them your life anyway was a greater sign of affection than anything else. What are sweet words and acts, to ones who live as long as they? Fleeting things, whispers that fade quickly into the long yawn of time. Years do not remember the small niceties; after centuries and millennia, you remembered who stayed, who came back, who didn’t take the shot that would have hurt the most. The ones who did take it, and then helped put you back together.

Sometimes, that was enough.

The kettle clicked itself off and France put the knife down, washing and drying his hands quickly before pouring the water in the mug and leaving the tea to steep. He glanced at the table. England was still hunched over, a curl of bent elbows and downturned eyes, and was wearing a slight frown as he squinted into his forearm. France couldn’t tell whether he was falling asleep or not, but he was very aware that England would not appreciate staying there if he was.

‘Your hair is still wet.’ He told him, pointedly.

England made an unhappy noise.

‘I won’t be looking after you, if you make yourself worse.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘I’m sure you think so.’ France stirred the tea, squeezing the tea bag against the side of the mug with a spoon before removing it. Adding the milk, he stirred it again and took it to the table, setting it down in front of England who looked up, finally. ‘But like I said, I’ll be leaving you here to die of the consequences regardless.’

‘Leave it.’ England’s voice was firm but his eyes were soft; a foolish contradiction.

He sat up and reached out to cup the terrible mug in both hands, letting the warmth bleed into them. He took a sip and, very briefly, his face opened to show small, innocent pleasure. France always loved to catch the fleeting instances England let softer emotions shine through- a bark of laughter when a joke caught him off guard, the times he looked at his younger family members when they were turned the other way, the mornings he sang to himself when he thought no one could hear.

England was often pointy lines and sharp smiles, hard looks and careful study; cold emotions cut into him with intentional strokes and built there as a wall to hide whatever was bubbling underneath. There were few occasions, few people, that could peel him away so completely that nationhood and age would melt away and that for a second, just one second, he could be anyone at all.

France tucked this moment away carefully in his mind, committing it to memory, and clicked on the stove.

.....

Dinner was mostly a one-sided affair. France watched England pick at the food, pushing bits of it around his plate and taking small, tentative bites.

France kept up the conversation the whole time, happy to fill the noise. Regardless of what he said to contrary, England enjoyed the sounds of something happening, of life continuing, just as much as he enjoyed silence and solitude. France had always felt that, when England was in less-than-ideal moods, maybe noise and distraction allowed his mind to finally switch off and tune out, to fade away in the buzz.

Maybe the silence prompted him to think too much.

After they’d finished eating, (or, France had finished eating and it became apparent that England had given up), France permitted England to pack up the leftovers into Tupperware before prodding him to the living room, where he pushed him down on the sofa and ignored his protests about how the dishes needed soaking.

‘Leave it for tonight, they’ll be fine.’

‘But-‘

France sat on one end of the sofa against the armrest and reached out to grab England around the waist, causing him to stop speaking in surprise. France pulled and twisted him close to sit flush against his chest, head coming to rest by France’s collarbone. ‘You are being a very bad guest, my dear, to not listen to the wishes of your host.’

England muttered something about France being a terrible host who didn’t deserve to be listened to in the first place, but stopped struggling to escape and leant against him, heavy. If anything, this quick concession to something France wanted him to do, especially when that something involved leaving a job half finished, was more alarming than comforting, and France reached up to bring a hand to feel his forehead, pushing back his fringe.

‘Look what you’ve done to yourself.’ He chided him, feeling stronger heat than before. Pushing England upright again, France felt under his sofa for the blanket he had thrown there the other day and grabbed it, before straightening back up to lay it across England and pull him down again. One he was settled, France tucked it up around his neck, making sure that he was fully covered, and burrowed his arms underneath to join him.

England rearranged himself slightly to fit more comfortably, slightly on his side with his head turned to rest on a cheek and nudging one of France’s knees to fit better against him, and let out a deep breath through his nose, slipping his eyes shut. Under the blanket, France felt him begin to run a cold hand over one of France’s arms that was resting on his middle, fingers brushing gently over his skin. ‘Thank you for dinner.’

France hmm’d, burying his nose in England’s now dry hair. He could smell his own shampoo that England had stolen but, underneath that, the familiar smell of England himself- an unnameable mix of things that could belong to no one else. ‘How strange to hear gratitude from your lips.’

England stopped stroking his arm to pinch it and France chuckled into his hair. ‘And now abuse of the host; my, how terrible.’ England huffed at him but resumed the less violent ministrations to his arm. France extracted the one currently at liberty to bring up to England’s head and card his fingers through his hair, tugging gently at the roots.

‘So, what has caused all of this?’

‘Caused all of what?’

‘You know full well what I’m talking about.’ The long hours, the bags under his eyes, the compressed strain that radiated from him in the way he held himself.

England was silent for a moment and France wondered, briefly, whether he shouldn’t have asked. But there were few things England was shy to talk about and few instances when talking about something didn’t help him, whether he was consciously aware of it or not.

England opened his eyes. ‘Nothing too disastrous, initially. Fraudulent claims have recently been made against a standing MP, but he’s involved in a lot of charity organisations and political campaigns.’ He shuffled to rest himself higher against France, tucking his forehead to lay more into the hollow of his neck. ‘The other day it all came to light at once and now things are quickly unravelling; everyone’s digging about to see how deep it all goes and how big the fall out is going to be.’

France made a sympathetic noise. ‘The joys of damage control.’

England hmm’d and brought out a hand to rub at his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. ‘Of course, I know the most about all of them, so I’m being hounded from all sides for information: contact names, dates, expense amounts, sources of income. Who else was involved, what else he’d been involved in, how many sectors are affected…’ He trailed off, weary, and France felt him shake his head. ‘And slap bang in the middle of UN talks about national security.’

‘You do have impeccable timing, as always.’

England tutted and fell silent. France avoided thinking about the specifics of what he’d said too much and instead forced himself to keep quiet. It was all too easy for his ears to prick up at that sort of thing and apply it to himself with cold, analytical detachment. How will this affect my economy? Was this man involved in anything that could influence French interests and policies? Will this fallout affect me? It was all too easy to demand a name from England and begin research into this himself. The urge to sift through French banking and trade agreements, international policies and French government ministers was strong- very strong. The numbers were right there behind his eyes, words caught on the tip of his tongue whilst national agreements bubbled in his chest. But he swallowed them back.

France liked to think of himself as very capable of detaching that part of himself, choosing to think of it as a job he could turn off and on, a choice he could make. He was always France, would always be France first and foremost, regardless of anything else. But also wanted to be Francis, just Francis, sometimes.

England ducked his head down to stifle a sneeze into his elbow.

France blessed him. ‘I cannot let you go to work tomorrow, you know, now that you’ve got to this point.’

England lifted his head up and put it once more against France, who resumed playing with his hair. ‘I’ve got to worse points.’

‘Just because you’re previously done something foolish, does not mean that you need to continue to do so.’ France countered.

‘There is only one day left.’

‘Ah yes, but it is the worst one. Russia is speaking, and you know full well how that’ll go.’

England, presumably thinking of how America would no doubt behave, groaned and twisted to lay more on his front. France rearranged the blanket around him. ‘I can’t leave my Prime Minister there to deal with it all, they need me to be there.’

‘They’re all grown-ups, they can handle themselves. Come on,’ France cajoled, lifting a hand to pick at a particularly large loose thread on Scotland’s missing jumper, upturned against England’s neck, ‘you’ve skipped meetings before. If I remember correctly, in the 1600’s you didn’t turn up to a single one that you were supposed to have with me.’

‘I was at sea.’ England replied, a smile in his voice.

‘You were, and if I remember more correctly, you were requested to return many times.’

England snorted and lifted his head up a little before letting it fall back on France’s chest with a soft thud. ‘That’s different.’

France continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘You missed so many meetings with me and my Kings that it was very hard to convince them that it wasn’t an intentional slight against them.’

‘It wasn’t, it was a slight against you.’

‘Well then,’ France bent forwards to kiss his forehead, ‘as you have already demonstrated that you have no qualms about missing meetings with me, that means you are quite capable of missing a meeting that I am hosting.’

England frowned, caught by his own logic. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Who says so? I, who is the host, might I remind you, is actively encouraging your bad behaviour.’

England lifted his head to better look at him, shifting his weight onto a pointy elbow that was thankfully not pressing into France’s sternum. ‘So, you admit that it’s bad behaviour?’

‘Do you think it’s good behaviour to go to a meeting feverish?’ France countered easily.

‘I am hardly feverish.’

France reached out to press the back of his free hand against England’s too warm cheek and made only an unconvinced noise in response.

England moved his head and brought an arm out from under the blanket to bat France’s away from him. ‘I am hardly bedridden.’ He corrected, sounding somewhat petulant.

‘Is bedridden your standard for when to finally look after yourself?’

England ducked his head again and stifled another sneeze in reply.

‘Arthur.’

‘No, Francis.’

France pursed his lips. ‘Very well. I cannot stop you from making a stupid decision. As host, however, I am duty bound to inform the other attendees of your condition to ensure that they remain healthy.’

England sat up properly and turned to scowl at him, worst nightmare being threatened. People knowing. ‘You wouldn’t.’

France merely raised an eyebrow and gave a sly smile. They looked at each other for a moment, England searching for a bluff. Finding none, he shook his head and lay down again, arms coming to wind around and behind France’s back. ‘I’ll decide in the morning.’ He said, muffled against France’s chest.

France, extremely content that he’d won, tightened his arms around him. ‘Of course.’

....

AN:

I feel like I’m gonna be a busy bee for a while, so have something I wrote a while ago to tide me over whilst I potter about doing real life things.

The first part is a mirror to this second part, so to get the full effect I recommend going to read part one!

You all know I like my FrUK bitter and snarky and full of domestic banter, but I also really adore moments like this when they’re soft and let themselves show how they truly feel about each other. Theirs is a relationship that often needs no words and I love exploring about showing that quiet, consistent side to them, something hidden and tucked away behind a pat on the back or the brush of a hand.

I could go on and on and ON about my love for this pairing and these characters, but for now I shall leave it as this, my sappy ode to them both.

(1) I have the personal headcanon that England has quite an impressive collection of large jumpers that are not actually his. He has one of France’s too, an ugly thing that he bought in the 60’s and thought he threw away. It’s bright yellow.

Thanks for reading!

[simonfarnabyslegs]

please tell us about your ghosts ocs!!

!!!!! so i have a uquiz i made a few weeks back that includes some of them, but the summaries at the end aren't completely detailed. i may update it to include the others.

i thought i had ten, but i actually only have 9 in all. they are:

marcus

period: roman

age: 40s

occupation: military guard

cause of death: stabbed by an intruder

summary: he's basically an ancient roman himbo. he's not very smart and was way too nice for his job. at button house, he spends most of his time outside or on one of the lower floors, but sometimes ventures upstairs to spend time with the other ghosts. the captain may or may not have a crush on him, kitty definitely has a crush on him, and mary Does Not Understand why, and makes sure to voice this opinion often.

outfit/appearance: dressed in a roman soldier's uniform with a stab wound at his neck near his collarbone.

face claim: either simon or jim. i keep flipflopping back and forth for various comedic reasons.

ingrid

period: viking age

age: 30s

occupation: farmer, previously a warrior

cause of death: poisoned by a neighbour over a land dispute

summary: ingrid is fairly intimidating as a result of her tall stature and slightly grumpy personality. her husband arne haunted button house alongside her for a while but moved on sometime during kitty's childhood. since then, she has been somewhat reclusive, keeping to herself and only leaving her room to venture out into the woods near the house on certain nights (mary suspects it's for some witchy ritual or other, but really she's just going to visit the places where she and her husband and children were buried). despite her reclusiveness, she is good friends with humphrey and she likes to play games and sing songs with jemima sometimes. julian once tried to flirt with her and she gave him such a look that he's still terrified of her to this day.

outfit/appearance: ingrid wears a long, brown dress with a golden yellow pattern embroidered down the front and at the hem of her sleeves. she wears black eye makeup and her hair is long and hangs loose, with a few small braids throughout, tied off at the ends with little glass and metal beads. she wears several bracelets and rings. she shows no outward signs of her death except for a bloody splatter on the inside of her left elbow.

face claim: ragga ragnars

arne

period: viking age

age: 30s

occupation: farmer

cause of death: poisoned by a neighbour over a land dispute

summary: ingrid's husband who died at the same time as her and who haunted button house for a few hundred years before moving on some time during kitty's childhood. none of the later ghosts know much about him other than that robin thought he was funny and his moving on is what caused ingrid to separate herself from the rest of the ghosts.

appearance: i haven't really decided yet since in the stuff i'm writing, he's only ever mentioned briefly by robin and mary and has never actually made an appearance. maybe some blood in his beard or on his shirt, like with ingrid.

face claim: again, haven't decided.

virginia, or "ginny"

period: early stuart

age: 40s

occupation: noblewoman

cause of death: smothered in her sleep with a pillow

summary: ginny is humphrey's niece who inherited the house after his death. she never knew him in life and thought poorly of him because of the supposed circumstances of his death. when she met him shortly after her death, she still didn't like him, but eventually decided he wasn't as bad as she thought he would be and is friends with him now. she likes listening to his stories while they sit or go for walks in the garden. fanny suspects ginny's husband was the one who killed her, but robin, who was downstairs when it happened, says he saw one of the maids going upstairs after everyone else had gone to bed and then coming back down a short while later.

appearance: she died while she was asleep, so she wears a long, white smock or nightgown and her hair hangs loose and is not styled.

face claim: alice lowe

peter

period: late victorian

age: 40s

occupation: groom and horse trainer

cause of death: dragged and trampled by a spooked horse

summary: peter worked at the house during george's youth and the early years of his marriage to fanny. he was killed sometime in the 1890s when one of the stable boys purposefully spooked a horse he was exercising. he and fanny knew each other distantly in life as they had several years in common at the house, but they were never really close in life as she was the wife of his employer. peter is irish and working class, so he and fanny don't really have very much in common at all, but they do get along fairly well as ghosts (though not as well as fanny and the captain).

appearance/outfit: a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, a black waistcoat, and black-and-grey plaid pants, dirty from being dragged through the horses' exercise track.

face claim: andrew scott

lizzie

period: 1920s

age: 20s

occupation: maid

cause of death: tripped going down the stairs to the basement

summary: lizzie was a maid who worked at the house in the 1920s. one evening, near the end of her shift, she was going down to the basement to retrieve some clean sheets from the laundry room when she tripped and fell, hitting her head. the plague ghosts were the first to welcome her, and while she was frightened at first and they backed off, a couple of them decided to stay with her and try to help her understand what had happened. she still didn't believe it, even when another maid came downstairs and discovered her body and she watched as it was taken away. she only ventured upstairs a few times over the next couple of decades while the people she knew and worked with were still in the house because it made her sad to see them, but eventually made her way upstairs to stay. she was friends with mary and annie (until annie got sucked off).

appearance/outfit: medium height, straight reddish hair tied back in a bun, black maid's dress.

face claim: saoirse ronan

ron

period: 1930s

age: 30s

occupation: musician

cause of death: electrocution

summary: ron was the cousin of the wife of the lord who owned the house. he was also a musician and was invited to provide entertainment at a party hosted at the house. however, he was electrocuted while helping set up some of the sound equipment (which may or may not be robin's fault). thomas does not like him and views him as a threat, but ron couldn't care less because most of thomas's concerns are unwarranted. ron still writes songs sometimes and tries to teach them to alison for her to write down for him and/or sell them to make money for the house, and he's very good, but due to her lack of musical ability and understanding, it never seems to work. alison downloaded some music composing software onto her laptop for julian to work with him on it, but julian is even worse at music, and because julian can only work slowly, it takes ages and they end up arguing a lot.

appearance/oufit: tall and thin with dark hair that was once neatly combed but now, due to his electrocution, has a habit of standing up no matter how much he tries to smooth it down. he wears a maroon sweater vest over a white button down and black slacks.

face claim: dev patel

johnny

period: late 1960s

age: 50s

occupation: unemployed writer and amateur musician

cause of death: drugged and beaten by some men at a party

summary: johnny is very friendly and laid-back. his main fault is that he is much too trusting and hardly ever suspects anyone of doing anything wrong, which he comes to realise is what probably got him killed. the other ghosts don't always keep him in the loop about what's going on in the house, so he often gets left out of activities and spends a lot of time alone or with humphrey (if he can manage to stumble upon him). he's scared of the plague ghosts because they were the first thing he saw when he "woke up," and much like alison, he thought they were zombies or a drug-induced hallucination. sometimes gets up to Shenanigans(tm) with robin and/or julian.

appearance/outfit: he is a shorter, heavy-set man with dark greying hair. he wears a multicolour striped cardigan over a white shirt and jeans, and his clothes are somewhat dirty from the altercation which led to his death.

face claim: michael sheen

jessica

period: 2000s

age: 17

occupation: none

cause of death: undetermined

summary: jessica is a teenager who died in 2004 at a sleepover. she loves music and dancing, so of course she and kitty are great friends. she has a small crush on thomas. i haven't really thought much about her cause of death; i just think it would be interesting to see a ghost from the 2000s because you never really hear about that sort of thing.

appearance/outfit: bright pink pajamas with purple polka dots, blue fuzzy slippers, and messy looking bun pigtails.

face claim: saoirse-monica jackson

[gaemkyuu]

Of Kings & Queens (Part One)

Warnings: none!  A/N: Here’s the first part! This is mostly context to the story, with a sneak peak of Prince Charlie! I’ll upload a little more tomorrow! AU!Prince Charlie Gillespie x Fictional Character Disclaimer: This is a FICITONAL writing piece! In no way do I claim characters in this piece act this way in real life.

Masterlist *now taking requests ;)

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6

Four Kingdoms stood strong.  North, East, South and West.  Four Royal Families would unite the land. The Blood of Gillespie would rule the cold North, bountiful with forestry and game. The Blood of Shada would rule the Eastern coast and land, mastering the stormy seas and its’ treasures. The Blood of Joyners would rule the hot Southern lands, gathering the resources for petrol that kept the Kingdoms running. The Blood of Lee would rule the golden coast of the Western lands, providing crops and livestock to feed the people. In each Kingdom, a Ruler to bring prosperity and peace to all its’ people.

Dawn was breaking and people were already moving busily about the Western Kingdom. As more people woke, the excitement in the air increased, for today was a special day. Festivities would start early in the day and go late into the night as the Western Kingdom celebrated the coming of age the Princess. Not only was it the Princess’ birthday, it also signified that the Princess was now officially on the Royal Market, searching for a partner to become King of the Western Kingdom. Tonight’s celebration at the castle would bring people from all over the nation, including the royal families from the Eastern, Southern, and Northern kingdoms. Farmers harvested and packed their crops and livestock, Bakers made fresh delights by the dozens, Florists put out their best and brightest flowers and the Merchants polished their wares. This special occasion would bring people from all over the Four Kingdoms to their stores in celebration and vacation. All the work that was being put into the celebration brought the citizens together and united them on this special day. 

Well... At least the citizens were excited...

The Princess was awoken by her best friend and handmaiden, much to her displeasure. She groaned and pulled the covers over her head as the curtains in her room were parted, trying to ignore the hustle and bustle going around her. She knew what day it was, and this made her want to stay in bed for much longer. She even debated not getting up at all. As her handmaiden made herself busy and gave directions to other servants that had entered her room, the princess pulled a pillow over her head, trying to make it clear that she had no intention of getting up. With a heavy sigh, her confidant gave the other servants orders and ushered them out before shutting the door softly behind them.

“Liv. I love you and you know how I feel about today, but I would really appreciate it if you would cooperate so we don’t have the queen on our butts this early” the princess groaned and her best friend pulled the covers off her body. She flinched at the bright sunlight streaming into her room.

“I’m not getting up today Sav. It’s not happening” Savannah shook her head and rolled her eyes at her friend. She knew that Olivia could be quite the drama queen, but today she needed her to cooperate so that she wouldn’t fall behind schedule. Savannah glanced at the clock, already knowing that the extra 15 minutes she allotted was now gone. 

“Liv, unless you want to bathe in a cold bath, you will get up or so help me I will dump ice water on you myself!” Olivia groaned and finally sat up looking at her best friend with disdain. “Listen, I know you don’t want to do Today. I get it. But you don’t need another reason to get on the nerves of the King and Queen today” Savannah’s voice sounded slightly distressed and Olivia felt a little guilty at her dramatization this morning.

Olivia and Savannah were best friends ever since she could remember. Savannah was the only friend she had growing up in the palace and was the only friend her parents let her have that wasn’t Royalty. Sure, there were the Duchesses and Countesses of the smaller lands in the Western Kingdom, but Olivia always found them snooty or rude. Savannah’s family had been helping the royal family for generations and they were integral parts of the inner workings of the palace. Naturally, when Savannah’s parents were busy at work Savannah would wander the halls until she found Olivia. The two were like sisters and the King and Queen appreciated the hard work her family put in to serving the Royal family. 

And while the Royal family paid them handsomely while providing them lodging, Olivia couldn’t help but feel a little guilty at times when the difference in their status showed. Olivia rarely wore the same dress twice, while Savannah had a very modest and small wardrobe. Olivia had a private instructor, while Savannah went to the school with other children. But Savannah never really cared and that’s what Olivia loved about her. She was a true and honest friend who Olivia felt safe confiding in.

“Sorry Sav. I didn’t mean to make this any harder on you than it already has been” Olivia offered her friend a smile, patting the spot beside her on the bed. “Think you can spend a few minutes off your feet? Debrief me on the day if you will?” Savannah greatly accepted the spot, giving her a knowing look and a big sigh.

“Well Princess-” Olivia glared at Savannah at the title. “You need to get into the baths and get clean so I can do your hair and make up before the lady the Queen hired arrives. There is no way I’m letting you face the neighbouring nations’ heirs with makeup and hair that I don’t approve of.” Olivia laughed at Savannah’s possessiveness.

“Do we know if the royal families are coming or just their heirs?” Olivia gave a stretch, preparing herself to start the day.

“To my knowledge, just the heirs... But I hear that Prince Charles is quite handsome!” Olivia rolled her eyes as Savannah winked at her. “What? I can’t help it! You hear the chitter chatter in the palace halls. They arrived yesterday and some of the other servants have already been gushing about him. He’s apparently really charming and great husband material” Savannah saw the look of defeat briefly cross her friend’s eyes, before covering it up with an annoyed sigh. “But enough of that. Let’s get you cleaned and dressed and ready to greet our guests.”

***

“Alright Liv, take a deep breath and hold it, I’m pulling up the zipper!” Olivia did as she was told, while Savannah pulled up the zipper to her dress. She was already dreading the fact that she would have to wear the elaborate garb for several hours. Although the light blue gown was absolutely stunning and represented her fashion sense too, she didn’t expect it to come in several pieces. After putting on two layers of skirt, she had a separate top that needed to be zipped up and a cape draped over her shoulders. She could already feel the weight of the material weighing her down a bit and she sighed at the fact that they hadn’t put on her jewelry yet. Savannah and her helpers busied themselves about putting on a bracelet here and a necklace there. Another girl was putting on her earrings while the other made small hems to her dress. Olivia felt like the dolls that her and Savannah played with as little girls.

“Voila! I’ve outdone myself!” Savannah exclaimed, admiring her bestfriend’s transformation, stepping away from her so that she could see herself in the mirror. As much as Olivia didn’t want to like this moment, she couldn’t stop the smile that graced her face. Her best friend had listened to her every request about her dress. Her mother insisted that her first dress be floor length, modest and a Queen Ann neckline. She requested that the dress be midnight blue with the lace accents to be gold. Her mother criticized her colour choice, saying that dark colours were for the evening, not the morning. Olivia argued that if she had no say in the dress at all, she would go naked, a response in which her mother glared angrily at her. However, as she looked at herself in the mirror, she realized that Savannah had taken her mother’s requests and her requests and blended them together. She had a high waisted, A-line skirt that held the princess look her mother wanted, but it wasn’t so big that Olivia felt like a pastry. The Queen Ann neckline was a dark blue mesh with gold lace accents that extended into long sleeves for her arms. Her bodice held very little decoration as the bottom of her dress held all the royal ornate details. The velvet floor length cape was held together by a golden broach.

As per tradition, Olivia wore her family jewels. The gold diamond festoon necklace sat proudly upon her collar and the gold and sapphire earrings were prominent but not over done. A small dainty gold bracelet sat on her wrist and her family ring decorated her right hand. Her hair was neatly pulled back into a loosened braided low bun with the occasional curl framing her face.

“You’ve done a fine job Savannah” the girls jumped at the voice of the Queen. Quickly turning around, Savannah curtsied to her majesty and Olivia followed with a smaller curtsy. “Savannah, could you please grab the tiara out of the case?”

“Yes, your majesty” Savannah hurried over to the velvet case on the vanity and presented it to the Queen. The small but simple gold tiara sparkled in the light of the room. As the Queen gently picked the tiara up, Olivia bowed, lowering her head, a gesture she was all too familiar with. Her mother placed her tiara upon her head and held her face in her hands. She kissed her daughter on the head, careful not to get any lipstick on her.

“The gods have been great to bless me with a daughter as beautiful as you.” Olivia smiled at her mom, not expecting the sudden emotional tenderness she displayed. “Happy Birthday my dearest. Promise me you’ll try to behave yourself today?” Olivia scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I’ll try” her mother chuckled softly.

“Just like your father... All I ask is that you give today a chance to be great. You might be surprised at the unexpected events that may present themselves to you” Olivia could never see herself being as polished as her mother. She knew her mother had her best interest at heart, but Olivia couldn’t help but feel like her mother was forcing her to fit into traditional roles of the Kingdom. “If you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way to the throne room. I shall see you shortly Olivia. Savannah, please ensure that the Princess does not stall. I would hate to have her tardy for her grand entrance.”

“Yes your highness!” Savannah curtsied as her mother and the remaining servants exited, leaving the two of them in the room. “Ready to go my lady?”

“Savannah, you know you can drop the formalities around me.” Olivia stepped off the round fitting platform, Savannah catching her arm as Olivia stumbled for a moment, not used to wearing heels. “It makes me feel weird!”

“I know, but we are going to be around tons of people today and most of them would probably have my head if I called you by name in front of them. I’ll be at your side the entire time, but when others are around, you have to remember I’m your attendant” Olivia sighed in slight disappointment, but she knew her friend was right.

“How is it that you’re not the Princess and I am? You’d be way better at this than I am” Savannah giggled at her remarks and dusted her dress off before they opened the door. They knew that her royal guards were right behind it and that as soon as they exited the room, their dynamic had to change.

“Please, I can’t hide my feelings as easily as you. When I think someone is an idiot, it’s clear all over my face and I don’t even notice it!” they shared a laugh as they opened the door and officially started the day. 

But they didn’t expect to see a brown haired man zoom by them in hysterical laughter as a taller blonde man chased after him. 

“Charlie! Get back here with my crown!” and the two disappeared around the corner. Olivia blinked in shocked, trying to process whether the scene in front of her happened or not. As her and Savannah shared a look and shrugged their shoulders, they realized that today was going to indeed be very eventful.

tag list:  @ifilwtmfc

[shinobis-of-ninjago-au]

Shinobis of Ninjago

Episode 1: Rise of the Snakes

Prologue Pilot 1 Pilot 2 (Episode 1, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3), Next Episode

((Tw: Violence))

Months later, the world of Ninjago seemed more at peace. Not many knew of the Dark Lady's existence or the fact that she had left the realm, but it was a strange coincidence that everything seemed to calm down. The hectic elections had ended, domestic disputes seemed less, and gang violence was low, even Skylor seemed more relaxed. This also meant that the four shinobis were very, very bored.

Skylor and Jay had moved into the Monastery, leaving the weapons-smith shop to be maintained by the neighbours and farmers. They had been renting it out to people, making a steady income every month.

Jay had healed up well, his bandages were gone and he was now able to leave the monastery by himself (Skylor had made sure he was always in her sight). He now wore bracers on his forearms, something that their mother would often do. Before he had moved, he spoke little Ninjargon, but he had improved quickly, speaking only occasionally in broken sentences. The only change Skylor noticed in him is he was tired most of the time and would spend the days in his room sleeping or reading.

It was now early Winter, meaning the heat-lamp in the dragons' stall had been set up and there were candles lit around the monastery to keep it warm. The fireplaces were alive with burning wood and crackling with the approaching holiday season. The ninja were also excited to have their new winter yorois, or what they called a 'dragon riding suit'. It was almost the same as a regular ninja-yoroi, but it was water and wind resistant and the ninjas wore thermal clothing underneath.

Today was a warmer day, as it was still early in the season. There was the faintest amount of snow on the ground at the base of the mountain, but lots piled on top of the monastery. The ninjas sat together playing video games, Jay was nestled in his room reading, and Mystake sat in front of her incense sticks, meditating.

Soon, the shouts from the kunoichis reached her ears, disrupting her meditation. It continued for a few more minutes until Mystake stood up, having had enough of the shouts coming from the game room. She wandered the halls of the Monastery, looking at the sparse decorations Seliel had put up for one of her countries' holidays.

Mystake stopped outside of the game room, the shouts from before now louder and more clear. Sighing, she pushed them open and was greeted by a bright blue light from the television. Pop bottles, candy wrappers, and pizza boxes lay around the room, the ninjas seated comfortably in beanbag chairs and the overstuffed couch.

"Fantastic! I'm outta lives." Nya complained, hitting more buttons on her controller to get back in the game.

"But the lesson lives on." Pixal said, holding her controller at an awkward angle. "And I am getting the hang of it!" Though she had spent months with the others, she still wasn't very good at video games, unlike Skylor who had picked it up right away.

Mystake moved through the room unnoticed, surveying what they did in their free time and frowning. Suddenly, the lights turned on and the screen went black. The kunoichis looked around in confusion before spotting Mystake with the remote in her hands.

"It took us three hours to get there!" Seliel exclaimed, throwing down her controller and sinking into her beanbag chair.

"Why would ya do that? Why!?" Nya demanded.

Mystake put down the remote on the wrapper-strewn coffee table. "Just because a Lady Misako escaped through a vortex, doesn't mean she won't return one day for the Golden Weapons." She lectured.

"But Master Mystake, ever since she has been gone Ninjago has had nothing but peace." Pixal stated.

"Yeah. Peace is borin'. There's no one ta' save, nothin' ta' do." The scout added, stretching back and putting her hands behind her head.

"Yeah, we can train tomorrow." Seliel said, reaching for another slice of pizza.

Mystake kicked the box away, ignoring Seliel's gasp of betrayal. "Never put off till tomorrow what can be done today."

"Well, I was going to call that cute boy I met last week." Seliel said, reaching for her phone. "If that's the case—"

"No dates for you." Mystake said, plucking the phone from the girl's hands. "You four will spend the rest of the day in the indoor training room until supper, and then meditation until lights out."

"Uh, remember when we did a little thing called the 'Tornado of Creation'? I thought that was pretty cool." Skylor reminded her.

Mystake sighed, looking around at her students. "You four have merely scratched the surface of your full potential. There are still so many secrets you have yet to unlock. You haven't even begun to tap into what powers your weapons hold."

"Ya wanna talk secret powers?" Nya asked. "Check this out. Pix, do the thing." Pixal nodded and picked up her Golden Weapon. Extending her whip, she flicked it against the TV. The black screen flickered to life and the four picked up their controllers, re-starting the game.

"Don't get your robes in a bunch," Skylor assured her, "we'll be ready when she decides to show her face."

Jay appeared in the doorway, a piece of paper in his hands. "You need to stop jinxing self." He turned to the rest of the girls. "Lady Misako spotted approaching Jamanikai Village." As soon as he said the words his eyes widened and he looked down at the paper in his hands in disbelief.

The four girls blanked. Then the room erupted into chaos. There was swearing, grunts of pain, and shouts as they scrambled to find the tops of their yorois, weapons, and hoods.

Once everything had been located, they rushed out of the room, stumbling down the halls until they reached the staircase along the western wall. Their footfalls echoed through the narrow staircase as they raced down to the Dragon Stalls. Soon, they were hit with a new wave of heat from the lamp nestled in the top of the cavern.

The Dragon Stalls had been carved into the mountain, long before Mystake recruited the ninja. There were eight red doors, each one painted with the symbol of the element represented by a weapon. The doors of Fire, Time, Sound, and Earth remained vacant.

The dragons were sprawled about, but once they heard their masters coming down the stairs, they got up and went to stand in front of their respective doors.

The ninja burst into the cavern, and Nya, having the dragon closest to the wall, ran over and pulled on four separate levers. Saddles dropped from the ceiling, supported by chains. They were lowered onto the dragons' backs and the ninja unhooked them and began strapping the girth under their bellies.

Pixal's dragon, Byte, let out a roar as she pulled it too tight. Seliel swung her leg over the saddle. Hearing the clang of metal, she looked down, seeing her staff on the ground.

Jay walked up to Skylor, who was fastening a bag to her dragon's saddle. "Can I help?" He asked hopefully.

"Sorry, Jay Bird. Where we go danger abounds. I don't want you getting hurt, especially not by her hand." Jay let out a sigh of disappointment, even though he knew his sister was only trying to protect him from what happened last time. Skylor threw her leg over the dragon's back, only to pause. "Uh, a little help?" She asked, bending down and making grabby-hands at the reins.

Jay bit his lip and handed the reins to his sister. Pixal turned to Mystake and nodded. Mystake, who was standing by the levers, pulled the biggest one and the doors fell forward. The kunoichis cheered and took off, leaving Jay and Mystake to watch them fly off.

"Will they ever reach full potential?" Jay asked.

"In time," Mystake replied. "Maybe long time, but in time."

—————————————————-

"Just like old times, eh, Misty?" Seliel said, patting her dragon on the side of the neck. They hadn't been out riding their dragons in days, leaving the beasts to become very restless.

"You guys believe what Sensei said about our full potential?" Skylor asked a few minutes later. "I mean, we have the weapons, the skills, what else could there be?"

"We've never had ta' use the weapons, besides for our own personal gain. I wonder wha' they do." Nya said.

"I for one, look forward to the future." The kanchō said. "If there is more for us to accomplish, let it be."

"I don't know about you ladies, but is anyone else a little excited about facing Lady Misako? I've been looking forward to trying out some new spinjitzu moves." Seliel exclaimed. "'Could be the perfect opportunity."

"Ha ha, race ya'll there?" Nya challenged as she surged forward. She heard shouts behind her as her teammates struggled to catch up. They soared above the clouds and kept an eye out for Jamanikai Village, not wanting to fly past another village like they have in the past.

Jamanikai Village was located close to the Monastery, not more than a fifteen minute flight. Nestled in the South-Eastern Mountain Range, it was a quiet village, maybe only two hundred people. But it was a popular tourist spot in the summer, especially for those who lived in cities.

Soon enough they spotted the village through the clouds. Pulling their dragons into a dive, they raced forward, crashing into a deep snowbank just outside of a small cluster of shops and houses. Climbing out of the snow, the four brushed the snow from their yorois and began digging out their dragons. They then sent them on their way to fly around the village until called upon, a way of keeping them warm.

Skylor watched her dragon, Amber, take off before turning to her teammates, throwing a fist up in the air. "Yo fui la primera!" ('I was first!')

Nya whipped towards her. "No, no one was faster than me."

"Nuh-uh! My feet were down before yours."

"You are all disillusioned, it was clearly me." Pixal argued.

They were reminded of their reason for being there once they heard a scream from within the village. Putting their argument on the figurative back-burner, they got out their weapons and made their way into the village.

All the doors were closed tightly and curtains were drawn. The village almost seemed like a ghost town, empty except for the occasional face that would appear in a window. The ninja knocked on a door, hoping to get any direction to where Misako would be. A brave man pointed to the next mountain over before wishing them good luck and closing the door.

The ninja set out through the village until they reached the bridge that connected the to the next mountain. The next part of the village was even quieter than the last, if that was possible. The ninja slowly made their way down the cobblestone streets, keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity. They stopped in the heart of the village where a fountain was located.

They paused when they heard a little girl's giggles. Immediately getting into a fighting stance, they turned, facing the fountain. A small figure emerged from behind, dancing along the fountain's outer ring and singing softly.

"...Don't wake up or else you'll find a spider in your mouth." The figure paused, looking up at the four kunoichis. She stood up straight and smiled. "Finally, another human." She threw her hands up in the air. "I demand all the candy in town!"

Skylor dropped her stance, sliding her sai into their scabbards and placing her hands on her hips. "Uh, who's that?"

"Harumi Garmadon, Misako's daughter." Seliel groaned. "Looks like she escaped Darkley's again."

The doors around the small village began to open up, faces peeking out curiously. Harumi smiled at the bigger audience. "Give me candy or else I'll release the Serpentine on you!" She pulled out a can and after struggling to get the lid off, held it out to the street before her. A few rubber snakes jumped out, landing weakly on the ground.

"She's going to have to do a lot better than using an old bedtime story to scare people." Skylor said as she picked up one of the snakes. She let it drop as Seliel stepped forward to go get the young girl.

"The Serpentine are real, Skylor, and they are not something to joke about." Pixal informed her.

"¿Serpentina, real?" Skylor scoffed. "We're talking about the ancient race of snake-people who once ruled Ninjago and were supposedly locked underground."

"Sealed in five different tombs to separate the warrin' tribes, and insure they don't unify to exact their revenge on those who put them there." The teisatsu babbled.

"It's an old wives tale to teach kids not to poke their noses where they don't belong." Skylor said, waving her hand. "Don't you think it's a little suspicious no one's ever found one of their tombs?"

"That's because you'd be a fool to look for one." Seliel said as she walked back to her teammates, a screaming girl thrown over her shoulder. "If there was anything I hated more than dragons, it was snakes. Rubber or not."

"Bow down to me, or suffer my wrath!" Harumi threatened, pounding her fists on Seliel's back. "I'll give you the count of three! One! Two!"

"What are we supposed to do with her?" Skylor asked.

"Two and half--"

—————————————————-

Harumi screamed, struggling against the cloth that bound her to a chair inside a grocery store. "You've just made me your nemesis! Mark my words!" She glared at the ninja who were picking up groceries for their own home.

"Relax, young one." Said the one in purple. "Your boarding school is sending someone to come pick you up. You can wait here until then."

Harumi huffed, turning away. The ninja paid and left, but the orange one remained, walking over towards the girl. She pulled something out of one of her pockets, holding it out to Harumi. Harumi turned to her, looking down at the lollipop that was being held out towards her. The orange kunoichi removed the wrapper and gave the girl the piece of candy.

"Crime doesn't pay, niña. Next time try paying for your candy."

And with that, she was gone.

[simsadventures]

Duties: Chapter 1: The Naughty Prince

Summary: Thor is the oldest son of Odin, king of Asgard. He should be coronated a king, as his father is losing his powers, but Thor seems to care about one thing only: all the women in the court and outside of it. He needs to realise what being king means and that he has some duties he must fulfil.

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics, Medieval AU, implied smut, Thor is a piece of shit here, basically, historically inaccurate language (can’t seem to get a hang of it), no reader in this one, we will have to wait for that

Word Count: 1754

A/N: It’s finally here! So excited to share this story with you guys, even though I know that Thor does not have as much love here as Bucky. Hopefully you’ll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is just an introductory chapter, more action coming in future parts. If you’d like to see something happen in the future parts, let me know and I’ll see what I can do :) REBLOGS and COMMENTS are always welcomed :) xx

Series Masterlist __ Masterlist

The sound of laughter could be heard from Thor’s room. Loki, his brother, stood listening behind the closed door, trying to determine how many were in his brother’s room this time. So far he could count 3 women and Thor, although he could not be too sure about the number of women. Loki remembered all too clearly the last time he had to fetch his brother he thought it was only Thor and one woman, but when he entered his chambers, there were actually 4 beautiful girls laying spread on the furs, Thor in the middle of them.

Loki sighed heavily and knocked loudly, but no response came from behind the doors. He braced himself and knocked again, this time with more power so that his brother could hear him from the maze of laughter and whispers coming from the chambers. Still nothing. Loki regretted the day he was born, and with that thought, he opened the door. The sight in front of him disgusted him severely, and he was sure he would never get the image out of his brain.

His brother, the mighty Thor, the person who was likened to the God of Thunder, for his famous battles won with his worthy hammer, was now surrounded by tangled limbs of multiple women. Thor was on his back, and his body was sticky with some liquid- Loki presumed it was honey, and the women (Loki counted 5, that was a record) were sucking on his skin and laughing and giggling. Loki almost gagged at sight and turned around swiftly, wanting to do nothing more than to run away and never to return. But he had to deliver his father’s message, just like always.

“Loki, brother! I am delighted to see you! Have you come to join us this beautiful evening?” Thor was smirking, the Omegas around him still latched onto his skin.

“Firstly, it is already morning, my dearest brother. And secondly, I would rather cut off my own hand than to join you in bed. Anyway, I came here for our father sent me. He wishes to speak with you.”

“Ha! And he sent you to tell me? Don’t we have thralls anymore? Or guards? Does he have to send the prince to tell me that he would like to have a heart-to-heart with me? This is getting ridiculous, seriously.”

Loki rolled his eyes but refrained from comments. He knew it would be useless to say anything to his obviously drunk brother. Loki did not give his brother another look and walked out of his chambers. He was not too sure if Thor would follow, but Loki was sure of one thing. He was not returning to his rooms. Hopefully, ever again.

—-

It took another three hours for Thor to finally appear in front of his father’s office. He knew Odin would be there, he always was. He would think of all the great battle plans there, and when necessary, he would even hide there from the wrath of his wife, Queen Frigga. Odin loved his wife, but there were certain moments in marriage when he knew it would be better if he cleared away from her sight for some hours.

Thor had a smug smirk splayed on his handsome face as he knocked on his father’s private chambers. When he heard the silent “enter”, he threw open the door and waltzed in. Odin was sitting on his mahogany chair, facing away from Thor, scribbling something down.

“You wanted to see me, father?” Thor asked as he sat down on the nearest chair. But Odin did not answer. He kept to himself, which only made the ever impatient Alpha grunt.

“I think I shall come later, you are too busy, oh mighty Odin,” Thor said, picking on his nails, kicking his boots on his father’s desk. If only Thor cared a little more about his surroundings, he would feel that the atmosphere was growing thicker by the second. Odin, Alpha himself, might have been old, but he was still the king of his kingdom, and nobody, not even his son, would disrespect him.

The low growl that left Odin’s throat, however, did nothing to Thor, who still acted oblivious. It was when he dared to kick off the dirt from his boots on his father’s papers that Odin lost it. He abruptly stood up and grabbed the collar of Thor’s linen shirt in his fist, bringing Thor to his level. Odin’s eyes were glowing angrily, and for the first time in a long time, he did not have any funny comebacks to offer.

“Who do you think you are? Last time I checked, I am still the king of Asgard, and you’re still nothing more than a prince. How dare you disrespect me so? How dare you disrespect your whole family so?”

Thor wanted to roll his eyes at his father’s overdramatic behaviour, but he felt that it would not end well for him. “Does our family care for a little dirt on your table, father?”

Smack. The slap Odin delivered on his son’s cheek could be probably heard even outside of the chambers. “Quit speaking, you brat! What I mean is your constant orgies, or what should I call your encounters with multiple Betas and Omegas. The whole country knows of your activities, and it keeps putting a bad light on the whole family and the whole kingdom. It needs to stop immediately.”

“Father, you cannot be serious, I-“

“SILENCE! I have had enough of your constant replies. You’re the heir to the thrown, and still, you act as a farmer’s son. You have duties, Thor, which you obviously still do not realise, but they are here, lurking, and you can no longer ignore them. I solely wished to punish you by sending you to negotiation with Midgard, but that would be insufficient. If you wish to be the king, you will have to find a suitable Omega and marry her. Otherwise, I still have the power to pass the thrown to you brother, who, might I assure you, looks and acts more like a king than you ever have!”

This was an unexpected turn of events. Thor believed his father only wished to pester him for his behaviour, a thing he did quite often lately, but this seemed to be much more serious. And the image of marriage scared Thor more than any battlefield he ever had to fight on.

“But father, I thought you insisted on us finding our true mates? And I’m doing so by eliminating women from our kingdom. And I do it thoroughly,” Thor said with a smirk, remembering all the times he laid with women from his country, enjoying all they had to offer.

“Oh, I’m aware of your thoroughness, do not worry about that. My order stands, do not argue with me. You can go around the country, hell, I will speak to all our neighbouring kingdoms to ensure you could travel through them and maybe your mate resides somewhere behind our borders. I do not care. But true mate or not, you have 3 months to come back with the future queen on your arm. Do you understand?”

And Thor could do nothing more than to nod and walk out of the chambers with his head hanging between his shoulders. This had to be the worst day of his whole existence. He was sure of it.

—-

Thor was sitting in his chambers, thinking of his life’s decisions. He was suddenly very aware of every time his father called him to remind him of his duties, but he never (well, until now) took him seriously. He always felt like he was his father’s favourite and, therefore, could get away with much more than his brother. And it seemed to have been the case for a long time.

When the two brothers used to play, breaking something in the process, it was always Loki was punished more. And for the longest time, Loki was pulling tricks on everyone around him, trying to get at least some attention of his father. But that changed when he met his true mate, an Omega called Sif. She was a fierce worrier, despite her presentation and the moment Loki saw her, he was smitten. It took his lady a little longer, but now, after 2 years of being mated, they were inseparable.

They still did not produce any offsprings, enjoying their alone time, as they used to say. Thor would not admit this to anyone, especially not his brother, but he was sometimes jealous of what Loki found in Sif. Their love blossomed, they could count on each other, both in life and on the battlefield, and Thor had to admit that were they to become the King and the Queen, Asgard would thrive.

Thor sighed heavily and looked out of the window. He could see multiple Omegas in the gardens, and he recognised them as the women who were caught in his chambers earlier that morning. They were all looking his way, and they waved at him, smiling. But Thor could not reciprocate their smiles. His heart suddenly too heavy.

Growing up, he always thought he’d be the good son, the one his father could be proud of. But lately, he lost his way, and he was not sure whether, or how to turn his act around. He knew that he would have to do so, eventually, but the idea of marriage set a weird dread in his bones. He has slept with so many women during the last few months that he could not imagine being faithful to just one. And maybe if he didn’t marry his true mate, binding him to her, he wouldn’t have to be faithful.

An idea sparked in his mind, but as fast as it got there, Thor knew he should get rid of it. He thought of marrying the first girl that would stumble his way, letting go of the idea of true mates, the forever love, and all of that. But something deep inside him made him uneasy. He did not know where his mate was, or even if his mate existed, but the idea of some Omega, waiting for him to claim her and the disappointment coursing her veins when she would realise that he already claimed somebody else made him let go of this dream.

He would have to do as his father said, even if he hated the very thought of it with his whole being.

/Next Chapter >

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[bestiarium]

The Witte Wieven [Dutch folklore]

Dutch folklore speaks of the Witte Wieven, which means ‘white women’ in an old Dutch dialect (though some argue that ‘wit’ in this instance comes from the old Dutch word for ‘wise’). These ghostly women are, as the name suggests, always dressed in white. They make their homes in funeral hills. In Zwiep, Achterhoek, is a deep hole in the ground where the Wieven supposedly show themselves at night. There is also such a hole somewhere in Koerbelt, where three Witte Wieven supposedly live. During the day, they take the form of sand and hide in the sandy underground of the hole. At night, they take the form of women and come out to haunt the area. One folklore tale tells of Johanna, the daughter of a rich family, who fell in love with a poor farmer’s son named Herbert. Herbert comes too close to the hole at night and gets noticed by the ghosts, but the oldest of the Wieven lets him escape on the condition that he bakes her a driekoningenkoek, which is a kind of pie. Herbert does as he is told.

Johanna’s mother, however, wants her daughter to marry Albert, the son of another rich family. She challenges both boys to travel to the hole at night and throw a haarspit (a small portable anvil thingy) in it. Herbert travels from the west, while Albert comes from the east.  Alberts courage quickly fails him and he turns around and flees, but Herbert comes through and enters the hole. The Witte Wieven notice him but, remembering the pie he made them, don’t give chase as he escapes.

There are a lot of different stories about the Witte Wieven, sometimes they are creatures of pure evil, while sometimes they show respect and kindness towards the living. One tale tells of a woman who got kidnapped by the Wieven and was forced to dance for them, but her husband followed her and surprised the ghosts. He chased them away by shooting at them with a gun (which is apparently effective against the Wieven) and rescued his wife. But the ghosts tell him that they cursed the woman, and if she ever hears the specific words “go away, you pig” (“ga weg, zwijn”) then she will return to the Wieven to dance for her. The couple tell all their neighbours to never speak those words, but one day their own servant accidentally says it to one of their pigs, and the woman disappears to dance for the Wieven, never to be seen again.

(image source 1: Pieter Holsteyn II, 1660) (image source 2: a statue in Norg by Wikipedia user Gouwenaar) (image source 3: a Witte Wief as it appears in the 1991 Suske & Wiske comic book “Het Witte Wief” by Willy Vandersteen)

[bktynes-writes]

I Wish For This

Sometimes I think about what I want from the end of Supernatural and I just...well, this happens...

I want Jody, Donna, and the girls to be happy. I want Claire and Kaia to be the sweetest little couple. I want Claire to go back to school and Kaia to get a job in a machine shop or a garage. And Claire works part time in the evenings bartending, and they save up enough money to get a little apartment near Jody's house. Alex meets a sweet young male nurse and they get together and start their own lil family. And I want Patience to become a lawyer (of course she goes to Stanford. Sam helps her with her application letter, and maaaaybe he breaks into their computer system to "move some things around" to help her get in. Not that she needs it, but he's so proud he can't help it). And they all get together on weekends for dinners. Sometimes the Winchesters (ALL OF THEM! Sam, Eileen, their kid, Dean, Cas, and Jack) join them and they laugh about hunting, because there are no monsters anymore. Jody grills burgers in the back yard and Dean tries to help, but she fondly slaps his hands away with the tongs when he tries to touch her food, so he instead resigns himself to bringing her cold beers and "supervising" from the corner. Cas plays with Eileen and Sam's little one in the grass, holding their little hands above their head as they giggle and toddle across the grass, sometimes looking up to catch Dean's eye. He sees the longing there and knows there will be a discussion about children in their future, but he looks forward to the possibility. Having Jack has been a blessing and has taught them so much, but Cas knows Dean wants a little one or two, and Jack is going to want to go off on his own sooner than later. Jack, Patience, Claire, and Kaia stand together in the corner of the yard discussing whatever it is young people talk about - memes, music, politics, whatever else. Jack is happy to have his family all together in one place. Dean takes a break from pestering Jody about flipping the burgers too often to set up some knife throwing, and there are bets placed on who is going to win. Surprisingly, Patience beats them all. She later asserts that it is "just physics", which drives Dean and Claire into a frenzy because, no, it's skill, and she must have cheated somehow. Alex's boyfriend doesn't really understand their weird little family dynamic at first, but he gets used to it pretty quick. The first night the boys come to visit for dinner is the night they decide they have to tell him about monsters. Initially he is understandably horrified, but he loves Alex with his whole heart and after a shot or two if whiskey, he comes around. He listens to their stories in absolute awe. When Alex describes her past to him, he looks at her with a little bit of fear because, holy shit this gorgeous girl was a vampire food factory, could kill him if she wanted to, but is also so kind and sweet and he loves her so much. And after dinner, when Sam and Eileen are putting their kid to bed, and Patience has gone off to study, and Claire, Jody, and Donna are arguing in the sitting room over the good whiskey about the most effective methods of beheading, Dean claps the young man on the shoulder and he and Cas take him out into the yard, and explain very carefully to him that if he hurts Alex, they will hurt him. But he knew that because honestly, these Winchesters are psychopaths and he is not about to piss this family off.

I just want everyone to live happily ever after and be together and not have to worry about the end of the world, or monsters or heaven or hell or anything. I want them all to have houses where they can raise children and be happy. I want Eileen to go to PTA meetings and bake cookies, and I want Sam to argue that the neighbour's hydrangeas are 2ft taller than the HOA guidelines allow. I want Dean to take a part time job at a Jiffy Lube and be WAY over qualified, and turn down promotion after promotion because he doesn't actually NEED the job, he just wants something to do with his time. I want Cas to cultivate fruit trees in their backyard and bake pies to sell at the farmers markets and no one ever knows how he gets his crust so perfect, but it's only because Dean eats all his failures and tells them they're amazing anyways. I want Jack to go to the local community college and take religious studies and ace every test because, hey, his family tree is pretty closely linked to biblical history. I want them to have two dogs named Crowley and Zepplin. I want them to adopt a little girl and name her Joanna. I want car pools. I want play dates. I want Dean to coach the only girls little league team in the area because there wasn't one before and Jo wanted to play baseball, and Dean'll be damned if his little girl doesn't get to play just because some coach doesn't want a girl on his team, so they make their own (and they kick all the boy's butts in their first year. Because Dean is a hardass. Not like John, NEVER like John, but he knows how to get the best out of *his* kids). All the little girls love him, and so do their moms (and some dads), and as they grow up, Cas and Dean's house becomes the "cool" place to be, because Jo is a badass little girl with her cool auntie Claire and her two awesome dads, but it's also always SAFE. The first time one of the girls boyfriends puts hands on them, they run to Jo and her dads in tears and, well, lets just say that boy gets a midnight house call from a very angry and very scary looking Winchester couple with graphic threats of bodily harm. That boy never lays hands on another girl again, and while Jo pretends to be pissed that now no one wants to ask her to the winter dance at school, she is secretly so proud that her dads are so awesome. I want summer barbecues and pool parties and beach vacations. I want camping trips and endless anniversaries and Christmases.

I want them all to grow old and grey together, and see their grandchildren and each other live the lives they deserve. I want them to retire. I want them to be HAPPY...

[paynesqueen]

Fall into Midnight: Chapter Three

A Liam Fanfic, K Rating (suitable for most ages)

Sometimes to move on, you need to go back in the past to get some perspective for your future.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 |

+NOTES+

I have no idea how many chapters there will be in it. I’ll see how it goes.

I started this a while ago and it got re-written so many times so I hope it still makes some sense.

This fic will mostly have romance and a bit of drama and some smut at some point.

I’m always open to suggestions or comments so feel free to leave some.

There will always be a lot of grammatical errors. I apologize for those.

Chapter Three

She stood in front of him silent. He didn’t know what she was thinking right then. Did she not expect him to ask the question knowing damn well that he had been one of these guys? Did she think he had forgotten about it?

Back then, he had never imagined he would get to hook up with a girl like her, but he was just in-between girlfriends and she was single, there was a party and he took his chance and she let him. The next day, they both acted like it was nothing. He never bragged about it to his friend though he often wanted to when they teased him about being inexperienced. To this day, no one knows the truth; that she was his first time.

“I never thought you were a possibility Liam.” She finally answered. “I mean, it’s not like I slept with tons of guys beside Adam, but you were the first one of them, so it felt like the timeline didn’t work for the baby to be yours.”

“Are you saying that so you don’t feel guilty for not telling me or any of these guys?” He asked her. “I mean, let’s be honest here, I don’t know how I would have reacted back then if you had hit me with that news, but I would have wanted to know.”

“No, I’m telling you what I thought back then and I still believe today. Look, aside from Adam, you were the only decent guy I ever hooked up with at that time. If I would have thought for a second there was a possibility that Grace was yours, I would have told you.” She exclaimed.

And he could see it in her eyes how she believed her own words, but the problem was that even if she believed them to be true; they might not have been the reality. He might have fathered a daughter back then and he needed to know. Whether or not he was the father, he just wanted to be sure.

“Rosalie, if I asked you right now to let me take a paternity test to know once in for all, would you let me do it?”

“If it’s what you need, yes.” She sighed. “But you won’t find the answer you think you’ll find. I stand by what I tell you.”

“Unfortunately, your words mean nothing at this point.” He stated.

She didn’t add anything and perhaps it was best. She quickly left after that and he still stood in the middle of the living room feeling like his evening had been nothing like he expected it to be. He began to think that if he had asked the question earlier like he had wanted to, the night would have been cut off much earlier. A part of him was happy that he didn’t because besides that major news, he had enjoyed her company and their random talk.

The only problem now was going to be to get at the bottom of their problem; he needed to know for sure. He still didn’t know what would happen after if the test was to say that he was indeed the father. Because it wasn’t only the question of was he going to get involved or not; the situation itself was complicated since Grace didn’t know any other father than Adam. How can you explain to a child that?

These questions weren’t going to be answered tonight and he needed to clear his head so he headed to bed. Tomorrow he would need to talk to Rosalie even if she ended not wanting to; they needed to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.

+++

The next morning, he headed to his neighbour’s house as he promised he would. She was opening up her door when she noticed him, a big smile on her face. Mrs. Parker either didn’t know about what went down the previous night with her granddaughter or she had a great poker face.

“Good morning, Liam! I’m happy to see you are looking a bit better than yesterday.” She told him and it surprised him.

He actually felt crappier because last night kept replaying on his mind and he couldn’t stop thinking about Rosalie which made it harder for him to fall asleep. He even checked online how these paternity tests worked hoping to find a way to do it without Grace being told why she was being tested. It was nearly 5am when he finally fell asleep. He had forced himself out of bed because of his promise to her grandma to help with the garden and he always tried to keep his promise, but his bed was still calling him.

“Thanks. What do need from me this morning?” He asked her.

“Well, Rose has been up early this morning and she’s nearly done with the garden.” She answered him. “Unless you would like to come with us to the Farmer’s market, we could always use a strong man.”

He didn’t really like the idea of being in a crowded place at the moment, but he saw the hopeful look in her eyes so he agreed to go with them.

“That’s wonderful. I’ll just grab my purse. Can you go and tell Rose that we’re going to be leaving soon?” She exclaimed and he nodded.

As she went back inside to grab her purse, he walked towards the backyard where he could now see Rosalie working on the garden. He didn’t know much about gardening so he couldn’t tell whether or not she was close to be done.

“How are you feeling this morning?” He asked her as he arrived next to her.

“Not at my best.” She sighed getting up. “You?”

“Kind of numb.” He answered honestly. “Your grandma sent me to get you so we can go to the Farmer’s market.”

“You really don’t have to come with us you know.” She quickly said getting up. “I mean, I can handle all the carrying and y-”

He grabbed her hand and cut her mid-sentence; “Don’t do this. Don’t avoid me because of what happened last night.”

“Li-... I haven’t wrapped my head around what we said last night.” She exclaimed. “I’m still trying to deal with a lot of stuff right now and as much as I understand your demand, I just can’t deal with this too right this moment.”

He then grabbed both of her hands in his. He wanted to tell her that he wished the night ended differently. He meant every word he said, but he came to the conclusion that she had done what any seventeen years old pregnant girl would do and that would be to take the easiest path. He understood it, but that didn’t mean he was no longer angry with her not even telling him or any of the other guys about it.

“I can understand that, but can we for a few hours just be two friends helping out your grandmother picking up whatever she intends to get there? If I succeeded to enjoy the randomness of our conversation last night when all I wanted was to go back to the subject that shall-not-be-named, I think we can handle a few hours in each other’s presence without making it too awkward.” He told her.

She offered him her first smile and nodded. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he wanted to believe that they could still be friends while dealing with the situation.

“I-I’m just going to clean up.” She finally spoke and he let go of her hands.

He watched her go inside and he took a deep breath. Yesterday he was only thinking about his cancelled wedding and now all he could think about was the possibility that he might have a child. He exchanged a problem for another problem it seemed.

“I didn’t mean that kind of distraction when I asked for one.” He said to himself.

“Ahhh but you asked for one.” He heard from besides him.

He jumped slightly as Mrs. Parker appeared to his side. She linked her arm to his and went on.

“I don’t know what is going on between you and Rose. That stubborn granddaughter of mine won’t speak of it, but I can tell that it pretty much shook her up.” She said to him. “Just promise me you’ll be careful with her.”

“Nothing is going on between me and Rosalie.” He assured her. “We are friends.”

At least, it’s the closest that he can describe their relationship for now.

“Perhaps, but I can tell that something happened. Even if it was not of the romantic kind, it was enough to shake her up. Last time I saw her like this was when her wretch of ex-husband decided to leave her and the kids.” She argued. “So I’m begging you to be careful with her. She’d hate me for babying her, but I know she’s trying to look strong, but she’s starting to break inside.”

He felt like he had just been hit in the stomach at her words. He knew of course that this divorce was hard on her, but hearing this just reminded him just how much their problem was probably the last item on the list of things she will handle or be willing to handle.

“I promise I’ll be careful with her, Mrs. Parker.” He promised the old lady who gave small pats on his hand.

“Now, let’s go to this farmer’s market.”

Rosalie joined them not long after and they all got into her car ready to head to the market. When they arrived, there was already a huge crowd of people and he suddenly felt uneasy knowing he might get recognized.

“Liam, why don’t you keep my grams company?” Rosalie said as she parked the car. “You don’t need to be seen with a girl days after your wedding has been cancelled. Like this, if you do get recognized, they’ll think you’re just being a nice guy.”

“Or think that he’s into much older women now.” Mrs. Parker laughed. “You know he’s just as charming as your grandpa was.”

“Well, don’t flirt too much with Liam.” Rosalie chuckled. “You’d be taking advantage of him in his state.”

“I’m still here you know.” He reminded them as they both laugh even more.

“Okay, let’s go then.”

The three of them exited the car and Liam offered his assistance to eldest of the Parker’s and while Rosalie took off to left; he followed his neighbour to the right. She seemed to know everyone and stopped at every stand to talk. He simply stood next to her and held whatever she handed him while she spoke about anything and everything. He figured that it was actually the reason why Rosalie insisted that he accompanied her.  He didn’t really mind thought because it was a nice change to not have the attention on him. If people recognized him, no one said a word.

They were there for about two hours when Mrs. Parker finally felt tired and wished to return home. They walked slowly back to the car where Rosalie was already waiting for them. After helping the older woman to sit, he turned to Rosalie with a knowing smile.

“You knew what she did when she came here. You set me up.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She smirked before getting into the car at her turn.

He chuckled to himself and got in. The ride back was pretty much Mrs. Parker telling Rosalie all the new gossip she learned. Once they got back to their house, he helped them get everything inside and Mrs. Parker insisted that he stayed for lunch.

“Now you two go in the living room or outside while I cook.” She ordered. “And no, I don’t need help Rose. I’m quite capable of cooking on my own.”

Rosalie hadn’t said a word, but her grandma knew her well enough it seemed to know she would argue. He followed her outside and watched as she sat on one of the patio chairs. For a while, both of them were quiet just staring in front of them as if there was something fascinating to watch.

“It’s hard to find a subject to talk about, right?” She finally spoke.

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He replied honestly. “I know you asked for some time, but I also think that getting it out of the way would also improve our friendship you know.”

“Not here. My grams doesn’t know and I do not need her to butt in and tell me what she believes I should do.”

“Because she would agree with me?” He asked her.

“She probably would and Liam, I know your demand is legit, but it’s hard to do such a demand when your kid is at an age to understand what’s happening.” She answered.

“Okay, how about this. You come have dinner with me at my place and we can talk about it? Like this, we are out of earshot from your grandma and we could try to come up with a solution to this problem. I don’t want to make things awkward with your daughter too. I’m sure there are some solutions we can do that wouldn’t clue her in.”

She didn’t say anything, but finally nodded. He could tell that it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation to have, but they needed to have it even if she wasn’t ready to do the testing in the following weeks. They needed to check out their options about this.

+++

Liam was just done with the cooking when he heard the knock. He quickly wiped his hands and went to open the door. Rosalie held a bottle of wine in her hands and handed it to him before Watson attacked her demanding attention and cuddles.

“You’re cooking. I thought that I would at least bring the wine.”

“Thanks. Come on in. I hope fettuccini alfredo is good with you because honestly, I didn’t really know what to do.” He told her as he gave her space to enter the house bringing his dog back inside.

“Sounds good.” She smiled. “It actually smells really good too.”

He went into the kitchen and opened the bottle she brought before pouring them each a glass.

“Anything I can do to help?” She offered.

“No, just sit. I’ll just get the bread out of the oven and everything will be ready.”

As she sat down, he could feel her eyes on him as he got the garlic bread out and put it on a plate. He cut it in pieces before putting it on the table. He quickly served them and finally sat down in front of her. It was still awkward trying to do a casual conversation when they both knew the reason why she was really there, but he didn’t want to rush it either; mostly because he felt that the evening would be cut short once they got on the subject and it was something he didn’t want.

After an hour or so of stuffing themselves, they migrated to the living room with their drinks and sat in the exact same positions they had the previous night. There were no more delays; the time had come to talk about it. He knew he should be the one starting it since he was the one pushing for this, but he was trying to select his words carefully. He didn’t want to bring her defenses up.

“Look, I’ve looked online since I couldn’t really sleep last night. We don’t even have to go to a doctor for it. You can do it from home and you send the swabs afterwards. I mean, we could tell her it’s for a project. We could even get Cora to do it so it doesn’t look too strange or something.” He told her. “I think it would probably make Grace less suspicious about why we are doing it.

“I guess we can do that.” She agreed, but he could tell that she wasn’t a 100% convinced about it.

“I know you don’t think there is a chance that I am the father, but I really need to know for sure. And as I said before and will keep telling you until you believe me, I know you don’t want it to mess with your daughter’s head and that’s why I did some research and thought this was the best way to do it and not raise unnecessary questions.”

“I’m sorry, Liam.” She sighed taking a sip of her drink. “I know you’re being really sweet about the whole situation and I sound like a bitch, but you see how my divorce is fucking me up? It’s worse with Grace. And I saw the light die in her eyes the moment she realized she wouldn’t see her father anymore and if by any chance I’m wrong and you are her father and there comes a time where...”

She didn’t need to finish that sentence and he felt stupid for not realizing what actually concerned her the most. She feared that he would leave too. Yes, there was a big chance that he was not her father if he was to believe Rosalie, but the chances that he was, he wouldn’t do what her ex did. He might not have asked for it, but he would be there.

He took the drink out of her hand and then grabbed both of her hands in his; “I’m not him, Rose. If I am the father, I will be there. Even if you don’t want to tell her right away who I am, I will still be there. I don’t promise that I will be the perfect dad, but I will do my best to be the one they deserve.”

Saying that, he felt that even if Cora was Adam’s, he wouldn’t be able to just ignore the little one who was abandoned by her father as well. He would be there for the both of them in whatever capacity Rosalie needed him to be there.

This thought was quite new to him though; accepting that he might have a child and be willing to take his responsibilities was one thing, but adding another child that wasn’t his was not something he thought about before right now, but it felt right.

“I do believe you mean those words, Liam. I really do, but it’s easier said than done. You might feel entirely different once you know for sure and then you have your career and you’ll want to have a family of your own with the girl you love some day and no matter your willingness to make it work, I fear that she will be cut off.” She stated. “Not intentionally of course, but maybe it will be too much for you to try to make time for all of it and you will slowly push away.”

“Okay, I get your fears, but can we take a step back. I’m not in any way close to be ready to date again let alone get married or start a whole new family. I’m not saying it will be easy to always be there with my career, but even from afar, I’m sure we could work things out.” He argued. “So instead of seeing too far into my future and trying to make predictions of what you believe will happen, can we focus on now and find the answer? After that, we could have a deeper talk about how we will work things out if I am the father.”

She finally looked at him and slowly nodded. He wanted her to believe in him, but he knew that her trust had been broken before and because of it, she was even more scared of the unknown of this situation. He looked at their joined hands and wondered if he should let go, but at the same time, he felt like shouldn’t.

This was a messed up situation, but on the other hand he barely thought about his other problem which was both good and bad; good because the guilt of what he had done wasn’t a constant companion to his thoughts, but bad because he had no idea yet of where he was going from there. Sure, a positive paternity test would probably be a big decision maker for his future, but if not; he would have to decide what he wanted.

“Why do I feel like your thoughts have wandered somewhere else?” She told him taking him out of his thoughts.

“Because they have. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for that, Liam. You had your own problems before our problem. I mean, isn’t it why you came here to hide from the world?” She asked him.

“Yes and no. I mean, I couldn’t stay in the same house as my ex-girlfriend and I didn’t want to be a burden for anyone else. Staying in London meant that if I went out, I risked bumping into a paparazzi and I’m not sure I would be handling it well. So yes, I’m hiding from the famous side of my life, but I’m not severing any contact with my family and friends.”

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t think you would have more complications coming here though.” She laughed softly.

“I will admit that I thought that I would probably stay inside for like a week before doing anything useful like writing music or you know do some work around the house and maybe get drunk most nights that I wouldn’t feel any guilt, but instead I met your grandma and reconnected with you and you know, I’m pretty happy about that. I think getting wasted wouldn’t have been productive to my problem that isn’t a problem really when you think about it.”

“What do you mean?” She frowned.

“I mean, my career isn’t going anywhere because I cancelled my wedding. My fans won’t all turn on me because I broke Amber’s heart. I mean, my career would only go downhill if suddenly I had no more fans or nothing left to say in my lyrics, but that has nothing to do with whether I got married or not you know. I guess it’s mostly how I’m going to deal with my personal life from now on. I don’t want to be linked to every girl I’m going to talk to because stories will be made and even if it comes with the lifestyle, I’m not really feeling like dealing with those. God knows how easily I can put my foot in my mouth at the worse possible moments so I could and probably would make these situations worse. I guess what I’m saying is that I need to find a way to keep my personal life out of the spotlight and it’s not always an easy task.”

“That is a long explanation, but I guess I understand what you mean.” She exclaimed just as her phone started to ring. “That’s my mom. I have to take it before she calls grams.”

“Would it be so bad if she talked to your grandma?” He chuckled.

“Haven’t you learn how my grandma like to gossip. I do not need her to tell her about what is happening right now.” She sighed a small smile on her face. “Hi mom! What’s up?”

As she listened to what was said on the phone, her whole demeanor changed making him wonder what was going on. He looked up at her face and noticed that the smile he had succeeded to put there was now gone.

“No, I will come and pick them up. It’s no worries, mom. I’ll be there in 30 minutes.” She said before hanging up.

“Trouble?”

“Grace had a nightmare and she wants me.” She answered him as she got up quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to end out evening so quickly.”

“Never apologize for that. You want me to come with you?” He offered.

She seemed stopped moving as she stared at him; obviously not expecting that. He could see the wheels turning in her head wondering if it was a good idea or not.

“I don’t want to...”

He cut her right there; “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to. Come on, let’s go get your girls.”

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 85

Chapter Summary -  Danielle and Tom wake up after finally being able to sleep properly again, but the day is anything but easy.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @damalseer​ @hiddlesbitch1​ @winterisakiller​ @fairlightswiftly​ @salempoe​​ @wolfsmom1​​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Tom woke after sleeping soundly for the first time in over a week. Danielle was curled up against him, her fingers gripping his t-shirt as she seemed adamant to keep him next to her.

They had enjoyed their meal in the pub, it was as delicious as she had said it would be, their conversation, since they had discussed the serious matters in the car, was light-hearted and pleasant; Tom telling her about Milan and some of the clothes he had seen and Danielle telling him of what occurred in Ireland during her time there.

He shifted slightly and Danielle groaned, her head getting tucked in more next to his shoulder. "That is not an overly comfortable place to be." He smiled.

"I beg to differ, it's a great place to be."

"How long are you awake?" Tom questioned, noticing her sleep was neither slurred nor half incoherent as it tended to be immediately after she woke.

"A few minutes."

"You said nothing."

"I didn't want to, I just wanted to relax like this."

"I can relate." Tom looked around the room, it was dated, but in an antique manner. "So this is your grandparents' house?"

"Yep, my dad was born in this room."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm, my aunts and uncle too."

"Wow, what about the hospital?"

"Tom, the nearest hospital is over an hour away in Galway, my grandparents didn't have a car, my dad would have been starting school by the time she'd have walked there." Tom chuckled next to her. "It was the done thing, you had them at home with a neighbour helping."

"You said your grandparents were farmers?"

"Yeah, the farm sheds are mostly gone, but there are a few outhouses left. The fields were sold by Nan so she'd be able to keep the house after granddad died, hence why this little acre is going to be worth a pittance." She stretched. "I better get ready for the auctioneers actually." she made to move but Tom stopped her, his cerulean blue eyes filled with lust. "Tom, we can't," she warned; her voice a whisper. The night before they had been tired on their return from the airport and their stop for dinner meant they were late getting back, so they stripped to their underwear and had fallen asleep quickly.

"I know," He acknowledged, Danielle had warned him that the walls were thin at best and her cousin was in the next room and she knew her aunt would be there soon. It was one thing to be in a bed together, something she knew Bernadette would be angered by anyway, but if they were heard doing anything, that would only cause issues. "But you know what we have not done in a week?" Danielle's brows furrowed. "I have not kissed you." he leant over her, looking for permission to kiss her silently.

"If we do, will you control yourself?" She asked quietly.

"I have little choice." leaning up, she pressed her lips to his, a sensual moan escaping her as she did so. "Okay, enough; I can't, not if you are making noises like that, if you are going kiss me like that, I will…" Tom pulled back.

"Yes, I can feel that." She grinned, implying she could feel a very hard and eager appendage on her thigh.

"You can hardly blame me, I have you back." He smiled, looking down at her before his face went solemn. "I am so sorry about…"

"It's done." Tom's brow furrowed. "Though next time we have an argument, don't try and use sex as a Band-Aid."

"I wasn't trying to, I just wanted to show you how much I love you." He explained. "I hope there isn't a 'next time'."

"We will argue Tom," She scoffed, he toyed with his hair, "We just need to deal with it better."

"I like how you say 'we'." He smiled. "So many people, myself included, can be unable to look at their actions."

"No one is perfect Tom."

"I come fairly close though, right?" He joked.

"Maybe to some of your crazier fans, but I know you better." Danielle kissed him again. "I better get up for the auctioneer."

"This room is cosy," Tom commented, watching as Danielle got some clothes out of her suitcase.

"This whole house is really, wait until you see everything. We came in in darkness, you have not seen it properly yet." she grinned.

Curiosity got the better of him and Tom got out of bed too. "I know this might seem vain, but your cousin…"

"Yes, she was staring at your ass yesterday," Danielle laughed.

"You aren't…"

Danielle tied the button of her jeans and zipped them up before coming over and cupping one of Tom's ass cheeks. "Well, it just happens I am with the man that won 'rear of the year', I have to accept that that can mean girls are going to be staring at your ass from time to time. I am also aware that a considerable amount of people are somewhat interested in the this," She snaked her hand to his crotch, "And you, in general."

"Out of curiosity, is it a dislike of doing anything in your grandmother's house in general or when others are here."

"The former," Tom swore. "You sound like someone who is going to suffer 'blue balls'," she scoffed.

"I may just, I have my sexy girlfriend and a desperate want to show her in a very thorough manner, just how much I care for her in every way." He said in a sexy voice.

Danielle was about to say something else when raised voice caught their attention. "The hell?" Tom finished putting on his pants and she opened the door, as soon as she listened to the no longer muffled voices, she groaned. "Bernadette is back."

"Your aunt?" Danielle nodded. "Was she supposed to be gone?"

"Herself and her husband Kevin were supposed to come back this morning after dropping Laura and Richard to Galway," Danielle told him. "Jesus, this is going to be fifty shades of bullshit now, she is going to be an absolute bitch." More arguing began, causing Danielle to listen to the words being spoken. "Oh?"

"Elle?"

"You know what, I think we better go down." Tom looked at her in confusion, "Laura needs saving."

"I thought you didn't really like her."

"I don’t have anything in common with her and we are not close, but I don't dislike her and right now, she needs someone to take some attention off her," Danielle explained. Unsure why Danielle was being so kind as to allow herself be a scapegoat, Tom tied his shoes and walked out the door behind her, on hearing what an older woman was effectively shouting at her daughter, he immediately agreed with Danielle's choice to go downstairs.

"And where is he in all of this, or is there even a he?" Bernadette demanded of her oldest daughter.

"There probably is a he, otherwise we've got the second coming happening in Galway, fuck Mayo and their beloved sighting of our Lady in Knock." Danielle scoffed walking into the sitting room. "And could you keep it down, there are people on Croagh Patrick that can probably hear you."

"You keep out of this," Bernadette warned.

"I would believe me, only as someone with a background in a medical field, I know the damage to the health of a pregnant woman that stress can cause, but you are being so loud it is involving me and you are making a holy show of yourself, which is utterly embarrassing for me."

"What embarrassment to you, this is nothing to do with you?" Bernadette dismissed. A moment later, Tom entered the room, doing his best to seem unphased by the horrible atmosphere and demeanour. "Who is he? Some hitchhiker you found on the side of the road last night I suppose."

"Yeah, I thought it wise to bring a random stranger home with me," Danielle stated sarcastically. "This is my boyfriend, his name is Tom and I can say here and now that though his family has never been anything but lovely to me, you have, in thirty seconds, embarrassed yourself in front of him, from your manner or lack thereof to your daughter, me and indeed him, so cheers for that anyway Bernie, and if you have nothing better to say or do, I would ask that you talk and not yell as we are all in the one house, which, though you seem to think is the size of Kilkenny Castle is actually a small farm cottage, so you know, we can hear you." Danielle walked into the kitchen, not saying any more to her family as her aunt stared at her in anger, her uncle looked at Tom as if wondering how he had not noticed the other man in the time they had been at the cottage, while Laura, who had been upset, stared at him as she tried to recognise how she knew him.

Tom, who felt incredibly awkward, gave a small nod of his head and walked into the kitchen after her. "She's as lovely as you described," Danielle said nothing. "Elle?"

"I'm sorry," She gave him a smile that was more of a grimace. "I literally look like I come from absolute mud."

Tom put his arms around her, "No, you warned me about your aunt and I met Siobhan and spoke to Richard who are both normal, well, Siobhan is a tad mental, but she is a nice person, so I know that you come from a normal family, but every family has that one person, they are not always a snob, but there is something about them that makes them less than pleasant," he kissed her head. "Though she's a special case on many levels."

"You have no idea." Danielle groaned.

"This house is gorgeous." Tom looked around. "Exactly everything I imagined a small farming homestead to be."

"Look out the window." Danielle pulled the curtain back. The design of the house meant Tom had to stoop down, the way he inhaled confirmed Danielle's idea of how he would take it. "That's why I love it here."

"Now I understand why you moved to Suffolk."

"It is a lot like here."

"Did you live nearby?"

"Not too far, a few kilometres away, a bit closer the water."

"Will you bring me there?"

"If you want, today is fairly full-on, but we will have to get a few bits, so we can pass it on the way to the shops." Danielle smiled before sensing someone in the doorway, looking around, she saw Laura. "You okay?"

"Thank you."

"Where's your Mam?"

"Gone to the car to call Uncle Richard that you have some 'dirty Brit' staying in Nan's room with you."

"Well then, at least you're not the only slut for the laundry." Danielle winked.

"Were those things actually real?" Tom asked, horrified.

"Yes, they were," Danielle informed him, causing Tom to shiver. "Tom, this is Siobhan's sister Laura, Laura, this is my boyfriend, Tom." Danielle introduced them to one another. Laura waved from the doorway. "How far along…?"

"Ten weeks, I thought I wasn't suffering too badly so I could come, but she went snooping my bag and found my folic acid and my appointment card," Laura explained.

"Bitch," Danielle growled. "What's your plan now?"

"I rang Julia, she's coming to collect me, Evan is going to meet me in Galway."

"Good, look after yourself, forget your Mam, you've someone else more important that needs you." Danielle smiled.

"Are you okay, mum is going for you in this thing."

Danielle winked at her, "I can handle Bernie, I have my dad's stubbornness and my mam's bitchiness."

"She always hated your mum."

"The feeling, I can assure you, was mutual."

Laura gave another small wave. "I am going to flee while she is on the phone having a conniption." She turned to see someone behind her. "Hey."

"Ready, I have the kids in the car?"

"Yeah, thanks, Julie."

"No problem, who is…?"

"Danielle and her boyfriend."

"Danielle has a...?" As another one of Danielle's cousin's poked her head in the door, her face turned to one of shock. "TOM HIDDLESTON!"

"Who?" Laura looked at Tom again.

"You…but…Danielle…Him…"

"Yes, he is Tom Hiddleston," Danielle confirmed.

"You are going out with Tom Hiddleston, you, Danielle, my cousin?"

"Yes." Danielle nodded.

"How?"

"I lived next door to his mother, we know each other a few years."

"You never said anything," Julia stated indignantly.

"In all fairness, who'd have believed me?" Danielle laughed. Julia continued to stare. "You're married with kids." Danielle reminded her. That did not stop Julia from staring. "Go, before your Mam is off the phone." Danielle encouraged.

"Wait, so he is famous, my mind isn't messing with me?" Laura asked.

Danielle sighed. "You literally asked Siobhan two days ago if she would see the new Kong movie with you."

"Wait, he's THAT actor…how did you…?"

Danielle shook her head. "As you can see," She turned slightly, Tom still had his hand on her waist, "my extended family thinks so much of me."

"But you're normal," Laura said, as though it was some type of defence.

"Well, I feel special." Danielle scoffed. "Thank you both, you are so good for the old confidence."

"But, he was with Taylor Swift…"

"Yes, was, now I have upgraded, substantially." Tom smiled politely, bringing Danielle closer to him.

"You have all the luck," Julia growled.

"Yes, I do." Danielle grinned. "Now, we are coming again soon so if you want a proper conversation, we'll meet then, as for now, you need to leave."

She's right, come on." Julia insisted, ushering Laura to the door. "You alright to handle Bernie?"

"I'm Mattie Hughes's daughter."

"Uncle Mattie always kept her in her box."

"Now it's my turn." Julia went outside, a cold comment to Bernadette as she did.

"She'll be in in a second," Danielle sighed.

Tom kissed her head, "You're able for her." Danielle gave a non-committal noise, "Will they say anything?"

"Does it really matter?" She heard Bernadette coming in. "Here we go." She inhaled deeply.

"In my mother's room." She began in disgust.

"Well, you want to sell the house so if me having my boyfriend in her room is a desecration to her, your going against her command to not sell this house will have her turning in her grave."

"Your father would be sickened."

Danielle felt her pulse race, "Yes he would, that his sister would think she can decide for the whole family what is to happen because she wants more money, a woman that doesn't know a days work getting up her own arse and for what, to keep up with people that wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire." She spat. "My dad would only care that I am happy and three seconds in Tom's company and I know he and Mam would be delighted. You hated dad, though that means nothing, you hate everyone, and now your daughter is having a baby that will have to realise that you are a twisted bitch too, so just go and get a loan like the rest of us and leave nan's alone."

"I will do no such thing you little tramp," Bernadette hissed, "And it's going to happen, so you better get out of the way."

"I can't actually, I have a realtor on his way." Bernadette's eyes bulged. "Oh, didn't Uncle Richard tell you? I am getting the house looked at, so it can get a proper assessment. I know you had your friend's son give a price, which I know it is fifty thousand over market value for anything in the area, so I am having a guy from McCarthy's in Galway take a look at it to make sure anything that any assessment given is a proper one." Bernadette looked at her in disgust. "So, you can stay or go, but I am staying, and I am getting it priced honestly. Then we will get back to you about it."

Bernadette looked to Tom, "What are you even bothering with her for?"

"Well personally, I find Elle to be a beautiful, intelligent and wonderful person to be around, my family adore her and in truth, I find her strength and independence to be exceptionally alluring."

"Too many big words for her there," Danielle warned. "Tea?"

"Please, darling." He smiled back. "Is there any porridge?" the pair began readying their breakfast as Bernadette became more enraged at their lack of attention to her and stormed off. "Luke will have heart failure with you yet."

"I know, I am worried for him."

"Are you serious you want too…?"

"Yes," She confirmed. Tom smiled at her lovingly. "You're all clear." At that, he frowned.

A moment later, Siobhan snuck out of the back room that held the washing machine. "Phew, so what are we having for breakfast?" She asked walking over, before turning to Tom "Ooh, is Chris single?"

"He's married, remember." Danielle reminded her.

"This is Marvel, there are about thirty guys called Chris." She retorted.