#of course arthur held him in high regard

[adhd-merlin]

okay listen. arlance. arthur x lancelot. the sheer flavour is immaculate. the two bravest and most noble and most dedicated knights... kissing. a prince who pretended to be a commoner/an ordinary knight x a commoner who pretended to be a nobleman. arthur wishes he were as noble and pure of heart as lancelot, and lancelot wishes he were like arthur and of noble blood so he could serve camelot. the once and future king and the most devoted knight, who "wishes only to serve." the man who set out to close the veil and save camelot and the man who actually did it. they want each other as much as they want to be each other. they think the world of each other and the worst of themselves.

their love is courtly and romantic because they're both noble men who adhere to the knights' code. they share looks across the room, exchange pretty words, both too nervous to risk expressing their feelings in certain terms. arthur fears for uther's reaction and failing in his duty to camelot, and lancelot fears for burdening camelot and arthur with his love. they're both so repressed and yet wear their hearts on their sleeves and care so very deeply about those around them. they are kindred spirits and feel a deep rapport due to their similar natures and goals. they can communicate in a way that doesn't require words; just as well, because they so rarely truly express their feelings.

to arthur, lancelot is everything the knights' code stands for. to lancelot, arthur is the perfect man under which to serve. they idolise each other as saintly figures and secretly worship at the altar of the other. they see each other as truly deserving of happiness and will do anything in their power to deliver it to them.

okay to break the waxing of poetic, my favourite canon moments are just every interaction they have in 1x05. lancelot was arthur's bisexual awakening. the homoeroticism of their fights?? the way arthur trails the tip of his stick over lancelot's bare chest while tonguing his cheek when they fight in the streets? bro you're lucky lancelot thinks no one could ever love him COULD YOU BE MORE OBVIOUS??? the admiration arthur clearly has for lancelot after he beats him and becomes a knight, and when he kills the gryffin. arthur would fight his father tooth and nail to keep lancelot around. lancelot so clearly admires arthur and is willing to risk it all for him. i feel like arthur begins by just thirsting over lancelot, but by the time he's knighted, he truly likes him, and lancelot likes him back. not that they'd ever do anything about it. did you SEE arthur's expression when lancelot left? *bart simpson voice* you can actually pinpoint the second when his heart rips in half.

anyway arthur is in love with lancelot and wants to fuck him so bad but is far too guilty to act on any of it, especially the latter part. lancelot loves arthur as his liege and wishes to serve under him, and buries the part of himself that loves him as a person, too. they're a sad repressed duo how could anyone not love them.

tl;dr: arthur and lancelot want to crawl inside each other's skins and become each other and one being.

what a marvellous analysis, I've got nothing to add really

[violetszone]

High-school Sweetheart

Charles x fem!reader

From this request

Summary: You had been dating Charles since high school, and you had just gotten engaged this year. Of course, that's what everyone thought; in fact, it had been four years since you got married.

A/n:No proofread was made. But i loveeeee this theme.

Actually, it had been almost four years since you married Charles. You were 15 and he was 17 when you first met and started dating in high school. You've been dating ever since. Of course, when you turned 20 or 22, both of you thought it was a very good decision to vow not to leave each other and got married in court. You woke up on a Monday, went to court, and got married. Only two people knew about this: Charles' older brother, Lorenzo, and his best friend, Pierre. Since you started living together after high school, no one actually noticed anything.

You were very close to his family, and people regarded your relationship as a real fairy tale. Arthur was even always joking about how he was still surprised that his brother hadn’t lost you.

This year, you were officially engaged to Charles. You were now 24 years old, and Charles was 26 years old. It actually made you very happy to finally be able to wear the ring given to you by your husband of 4 years. As usual, you were sitting and having Sunday breakfast with Charles's family and your friends, having a good time. You were helping Charles's mother, Pascale, in the kitchen with Kika. As you returned to the table with plates in your hands, you walked up to the men to call them from the poolside. Charles stood up, smiling, and placed his arms around you, kissing your cheek.

""How's my beautiful wife?" Forgetting that the others thought you two were engaged, you smiled and hugged Charles back. Arthur spoke as he stood behind you, "Soon-to-be wife. Charles, you immediately got into the mood." He laughed. As Charles looked at you lovingly and brushed your hair out of your face, he raised an eyebrow at Arthur and spoke over his shoulder, "What makes you think she's not my wife?" You narrowed your eyes and gently tapped Charles on the shoulder. Arthur frowned. "The fact that you just got engaged?"

Charles and you looked at each other and laughed. Pierre stood watching the events nervously. "Here we go," he said while rubbing his face. While Pierre was holding Arthur, who looked surprised, by the shoulders and walking him to the table, Arthur objected, "What do you mean, Charles? Wait a second...." Charles held your hands and led you to the table. Pascale got angry at Arthur in French and then turned to Charles. "What did you say to your brother again? Now the boy won't be silent all day."

This time, Pierre hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Oh no," he groaned. You smiled softly at Charles. "Tell them," you shrugged. Charles walked behind you and put his hands on your shoulders. "Y/N and I have actually been married for four years." Everyone looked at the two of you in shock. Arthur fell off his chair. Lorenzo was trying not to look at anyone while stuffing bread into his mouth. Pascale turned to him. "You knew about this!" she exclaimed. As Pierre slowly turned his back to the table, Kika pinched him. Pascale looked at Pierre this time. "You too?!" she asked in disbelief.

"We were the only ones who didn't know!" Of course, though they were shocked at first, they were actually very happy. Both approached Pascale, hugged her, kissed her, and tried to win her heart. Pascale still kept telling you that they were going to have a beautiful wedding, then she smiled at the two of you.

[coco-loco-nut]

High Flyer - Part 3

pairing: charles x reader

summary: life never goes as planned, as evidenced by a phone call mid race

a/n: thank you so much for the request 🫶 its given me an idea for a fourth part too

masterlist requests open

——————————

There is nothing more that a driver looks forward to more than breaks, and you were practically counting down the days until the summer shutdown.

Not that you don’t like racing, you love racing, but you miss your bed and home in Vence, just outside of Nice. You and Charles chose the property due to its proximity to Monaco and the space to grow your family in the future. The garage space also helps with your car collection.

You started searching the property soon after your elopement, and you closed on it quickly. It even was the site where your official wedding ceremony was held, a relatively small and intimate gathering of close family and friends. The backyard made for the perfect backdrop, and it was nice to have a dinner with everyone to celebrate.

“Is that Charles? Can I say hi?” Arthur pops his head into your drivers room as you are on the phone.

“Of course, don’t take too long,” you pass off your phone, watching your brother-in-law’s face light up. Arthur hands back the phone after a couple minutes so you can finish your conversation.

“I don’t have too long left,” Charles sighs, not wanting the call to end.

“I know, deployment and F1 don’t really mesh well. Are you flying soon?” you ask, the hole in your heart growing as the end of the call gets closer.

“It will be over before we know it. I have a flight scheduled soon, training for a mission. What are you doing for break?” Charles asks, trying to get a little more conversation in and a feeble attempt to distract you from his job.

“I’ll travel with Arthur for a week, he is keeping the location a surprise, then I’m hosting the boys for a few days,” you didn’t really plan much.

“That sounds nice. My call time is almost up, I love you,” Charles says sadly.

“We will talk soon, I love you more,” the connection ends and you frown at your phone, already missing him.

“Even if he isn’t here, you have the next best thing right here,” Arthur grins and you can’t fight your smile. The two of you have grown close, you would disown your grid kids for him if necessary.

“Espressos?” you ask, needing a boost of energy.

“This isn’t Haas,” Arthur teases Ollie, who is patiently waiting for a Macchiato.

“Can’t a boy visit his grid mom?” Ollie smiles as you hug him.

“Of course, but no stealing strategies,” you say, happily taking your espresso from the barista.

The three of you chat until Ollie gets called back to Haas. As the self-proclaimed empty nester in the paddock, you enjoy when your boys stop in.

The race weekend drags on, and on, and on, until you finally get to the race. Each lap is one lap closer to your break.

A reporter noticed your eagerness for break before the race and asked you about it.

“Well, I’m no spring chicken anymore. My body and mind is looking forward to a few weeks off to relax and rejuvenate. I’m not as young as my kids are, they could probably race for a few more weeks back-to-back before needing the summer break,” you joke. Seven seasons in is a long time for motorsport, the average career in F1 is around 8 years - not that you plan on retiring any time soon. Ferrari will probably have to drag you out of Maranello when you are old and grey. Legit grey though, not Oscar and Jack joking that you have a grey hair and making you freak out.

Your manager, Nicholas, watches from the garage, standing with Arthur as they watch you closely. On lap 32 your phone begins buzzing with a call, and without really looking at the number he answers is.

“Nicholas Todd speaking for Mrs. Leclerc, how can I help you,” he answers almost robotically.

“This is an urgent message for Mrs. Leclerc regarding her husband, can she be on the phone?” A voice replies, sounding overly formal. Nicholas shifts a little nervously, glancing at the screen.

“Not at the moment,” he replies, Arthur looks at him, curious as to what’s happening. Nicholas catches sight of Arthur and hurriedly adds to his statement. “I can put you on with Mr. Leclerc’s brother,” he says, earning a satisfied response from the caller. Arthur curiously takes the phone, stepping into a quieter spot.

“Arthur Leclerc speaking,” he says a little warily.

“Good Afternoon Mr. Leclerc, your brother, Charles, has been wounded in a training incident and is currently being transported back to France for recovery,” Arthur listens carefully as the necessary details are conveyed.

“I will pass the message along to Charles’ wife, will you be notifying our mother?” Arthur asks, receiving confirmation of the next people that will be notified. As the call ends, Arthur’s mind kicks into crisis mode.

“What was the issue?” Nicholas asks, watching as you have a stellar overtake for P3.

“Charles is wounded, he’s being evacuated for recovery,” Arthur does his best not to panic. He knows that Charles must be okay for it to just be a phone call, but he can’t help but worry. It doesn’t help that you are none the wiser as you drive.

“Shit. Do you think we should pass the information along to her now?” Nicholas also goes into crisis management mode.

“No, she’d want to pull out of the race and it’s almost over. I’ll talk to the team, book the earliest flight back to Nice that you can,” Arthur instructs before searching for the PR team so they can get you out of media duties. Fred is his next stop, catching the team principal as soon as the race ends.

��I can’t get her out of the podium, but I can make sure she gets out of everything else,” Fred promises, sending Arthur on his way to intercept you.

“Great drive,” Arthur smiles as he hugs you.

“Thanks,” you eye him warily. “Something is off, what are you hiding?”

“Something happened, Charles is fine, I will tell you more about the call after the podium,” Arthur says, sending your mind in a spin.

“What happened?” you press, heart rate rising. Arthur walks with you to the cooldown room.

“I don’t know exactly, he’s injured but he’s okay. I promise I will tell you more right after the podium. Nicholas is rebooking our flights now and Fred is getting you out of the post-podium duties,” Arthur tries to soothe you. You feel a little numb as your brain tries to process everything without panicking.

“He’s okay?”

“It wouldn’t have been a phone call if it were serious,” Arthur says, trying to reassure himself too.

It seems to be enough for you to mask your worry with a nod.

“Meet me in my drivers room after the podium,” your voice is a little shaky as you part from Arthur. You feel numb throughout the ceremony, leaving as soon as champagne starts to be sprayed.

“I called Maman and booked a hotel near the base, our flights have been successfully updated,” Arthur says as you get back.

“Thank you,” you pull him into a tight hug.

“What are brothers for?” Arthur says, melting into your hug a little. You’ve never gotten ready to leave the paddock so quickly or packed a hotel room, but you soon find yourself on a plane back to Nice.

Pascale awaits the two of you at the airport, a coffee in her hand for you. You didn’t sleep on the flight at all. Even though that you know Charles is okay, you can’t fight the anxiety and fear the courses through you.

“Hi sweetheart,” Pascale hugs you after handing you the coffee.

“Wow, I thought I was your favorite child?” Arthur jokes, earning an eye roll from Pascale.

“I love all my biological children equally, I just happen to love Y/n more,” Pascale says cheekily, making you chuckle.

“Don’t let Enzo and Charlotte hear that,” you say, happily taking a seat in the car. Arthur sits in the back with you since Lorenzo is in the front seat.

“It’s a party in here,” Arthur smiles, trying to liven up the car.

“Phenomenal drive,” Lorenzo looks back at you.

“Thanks,” your tired smile is enough to end the conversation. The gentle sway of the vehicle as Pascale is enough to make you fall asleep.

As you are asleep, Arthur gets a text from Charles letting him know that he’s back on base. Arthur sends back a picture of you sleeping against the window, cozy in one of Charles’ hoodies, as well as when you will be there to visit. Your phone buzzes with a good night and congratulations text from Charles, but you don’t stir. The exhaustion of the day hit you hard and you couldn’t fight it any longer.

Arthur carries you to your hotel room while Lorenzo and Pascale worry about the luggage.

You wake up to sun peeking through the blinds. Arthur is sprawled out on the queen bed beside yours, lightly snoring into the pillow. You turn and see your phone plugged in on the nightstand. Scrolling through your notifications you see the text from Charles. A smile tugs at your lips as you quickly fire off a reply. An alarm starts going off, making you jump a little.

“No,” Arthur groans, barely conscious while pressing snooze. Silently you get out of bed, finding your suitcase and retrieving everything you need for a shower.

The hour creeps by as you anxiously meet up with the family and go to the base. Following the directions, you make your way to the hotel room Charles is being kept in for the moment. As you reach the door, the sterile environment surrounding you, you feel a wave of nerves consume you. Almost like you are a little kid.

“Go ahead, I need a second,” you whisper to Pascale who gently squeezes your hand and offers an understanding smile.

“It’s scary, we will be inside waiting for you,” Pascale says, entering behind Lorenzo and Arthur. “Y/n will be here in a moment, she had to take a call,” Pascale buys you time. She knows how scary it is seeing the person you love hurt. You let your heart rate settle before stepping into the room, watching Charles’ face light up when he sees you.

“Mon ange,” Charles whispers as you lean in to kiss him.

“You aren’t allowed to scare me like that,” you smile, a tear threatening to escape.

“Now you know how I feel when you drive,” Charles replies, reaching up and pushing back a piece of hair.

“I feel like we are intruding,” Lorenzo jokes. Charles awkwardly shifts to the side of the bed, pulling you down with him. Pascale creates an excuse that involves them stepping out for a moment, giving you and Charles a quiet moment alone.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m alive and well,” Charles grabs your hand, pressing it to his heart.

“I know, it just isn’t what you want to hear first thing after a race,” you feel yourself relax as you rest your head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat reassuring.

“I think I might leave after my commitment,” Charles admits softly, drawing your eyes up to him.

“Next year?”

“I want to be with you, help build our future, maybe even be a stay at home dad one day,” Charles runs a hand through your hair.

“I could always hire you to be my private jet pilot,” you suggest.

“But then I couldn’t be with you mid flight,” Charles winks, making you flush.

“Cheeky,” you lightly nudge him.

“Let’s not worry about what I will do career wise yet,”

“My full time WAG,” you chuckle, letting out a sigh of content when Charles pulls you close.

“When I get discharged today I can go home and recover. I just have to do paperwork remotely and come back for medical appointments,” Charles reveals, drawing your eyes back up to him.

“Really? Is it wrong to say that I’m glad it’s summer break?” you ask, hand moving up to play with the ends of his hair.

“No, it is nice to be home with you,” Charles agrees. He leans down and you tilt your head up so your lips can meet his in a soft kiss. Charles lets out a soft groan of content as his mind wanders to the few weeks ahead of you while he heals.

“We brought food,” Arthur breaks your quiet conversation. The rest of the morning is spent eagerly awaiting discharge. When you do eventually get home, Pascale helps to get Charles settled while Lorenzo cooks dinner. You and Arthur prep the guest rooms so they can stay the night.

“Sorry you had to cancel the trip,” you apologize to Arthur who just shrugs as he puts the pillowcase on a pillow.

“That’s okay, we can go during the next break. I think I’ll go back to Monaco for a bit then come back here when the boys get here,” Arthur says, not fussed about missing the trip.

“I’ll let you settle in,” you leave the room, going to your own so you can change into sweatpants and a hoodie.

Charles beat you to it, you open the door to see him shirtless with sweatpants sitting low on his hips. You catch yourself staring hungrily until you snap out of it.

“Sit back down on the bed, how are you even standing without crutches,” you chastise him, closing the bedroom door behind you before crossing the room.

“Putting my weight on one leg works well enough,” Charles grins, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you towards him.

“Well you shouldn’t be doing that when you just had surgery on the ankle,” you frown, trying not to look at your ridiculously hot husband in front of you. His hands slip under your shirt, traveling up your back. Shivers run down your spine as one hand slides forward.

“Hmm, well maybe I should just lay down then and let you do the work,” Charles murmurs huskily, as you glance at the door.

“We’d have to be quick,” you reply quietly.

“5 months without you, I’m pretty sure I can be quick,” he smiles, letting you take over. His rough hands gliding across your skin as you straddle his waist.

“I guess we should rejoin them before they get suspicious,” Charles sighs, pressing a kiss to your head as you snuggle into his side.

“I guess so, but tomorrow afternoon we will have the whole house to ourselves,” you grin, rolling away to throw comfy clothes back on.

“I can’t wait,” Charles pulls on the hoodie that you tossed to him as well as some shorts.

“Use the crutches,” you narrow your eyes as he stands up, likely planning on just hopping to the kitchen.

“Or I could use you as my support,” Charles takes the crutches from you. You glance down at the cast encompassing his ankle.

“Are your feet cold?” you frown, brows furrowed with worry.

“I’m okay, if something hurts you will be the first to know. I promise,” Charles tries to ease your worry. You nod as there is a knock on the bedroom door.

“Dinner is ready kids,” Pascale says as you open the door.

“Thank you, Maman. We were about to come down,” Charles answers before you can.

“Take it easy,” you stress. The first two weeks are important to recovery and you know he isn’t great at sitting still. Pascale watches you fuss and she feels her heart warm at how careful you are with each other.

“Took you long enough,” Arthur says, mouth half full. Lorenzo fights a laugh as Pascale scolds him.

“We were busy,” Charles smirks. You whip your head towards him, smacking his shoulder.

“Charles,” you gasp, voice a mix of scolding and being scandalized.

“What?” he says innocently as you sit at the table.

“Enough, let’s enjoy this meal,” Pascale says, taking in the sight of all her children minus Charlotte.

“Oh, I have the perfect bottle of wine for this, I’ll be right back,” you quickly stand up, going to find the bottle.

“So when am I getting a grandchild?” Pascale looks at her three boys with a raised brow. Arthur chooses that moment to closely study the rug beneath the oak table.

“This decor is quite nice, I like that vase,” Arthur says.

“Charlotte and I aren’t even married yet,” Lorenzo protests, turning the attention to Charles.

“Buying our home was the first step, but we are waiting for Y/n to at least win the championship first,” Charles shrugs.

“Doesn’t she have a good lead right now?” Lorenzo asks, a smile smile playing on Charles face.

“Is she? I had no idea,” he says slyly.

“She could probably drive for the first few months of pregnancy,” Arthur interjects, feeling left out.

“If she has the smoothest pregnancy ever that is,” Pascale adds.

“Alright, let’s not rush it that soon. We will discuss it over winter break,” Charles shuts it down.

“Discuss what over winter break?” you ask, holding a bottle of wine and four glasses in your hands.

“When you and Charles are going to have a kid,” Arthur answers first as you sit down.

“Ah. Yes, no plans of being pregnant mid-season. Not really keen on missing a whole season either,” you say, pouring the wine.

“Where’s mine?” Charles asks as everyone gets a glass but him.

“No wine with your medicine, mon amour,” you tell him.

“We don’t even need to be here, you have his care handled,” Lorenzo chuckles.

“He will be locked down,” you joke.

The night passes quick and soon you and Charles are home alone for the first time in a long time. You take the opportunity to get in a run while Charles takes a nap, but when you get home he is in the kitchen.

“Hey, I’m making us lunch,” Charles greets you as you pull off your headphones.

“Yum. I’m going to take a quick shower then I’ll be back,” you say, eager to clean the sweat off you.

The two of you quickly fall into a routine. Charles for the most part rests, keeping his ankle propped, but he does occasionally join you in the gym to keep active a bit. He also does his best to help you clean and prep the house for the group of guys who are crashing your home.

“All of our privacy, gone so fast,” Charles pouts while you make a bed.

“I know, it’s only for a few days though,” you try and find the bright side. Summer break is passing quickly and a part of you doesn’t want to race again just yet.

“I have a meeting with my commander tomorrow morning,” Charles says. You pause, the white sheet in your hand going taught as your hand grips it tighter.

“What about?”

“I’m not sure, maybe about the medical check yesterday,” Charles plays it cool, but you can hear the concern in his voice.

You shove the sheet under the bed, making it slightly more aggressive than before. “You don’t think-“

“It’s possible. The check went well, I’m making progress healing, but I will still have to go through PT and make other clearances for fly again. I still have three months of recovery and some more physical therapy on top of that,” Charles says.

“But you’d still have time left in your commitment,”

“I know, I just need to be ready for anything they may say,” Charles sighs.

“I’m right by your side, whatever happens,” you take his hand. Charles gives you a small smile, heart swelling at the support.

“Thank you, mon ange. Now, tell me all about how you are going to win this year,” you finish making the bed and sit down on the edge. Charles sits beside you, hand sliding down your palm to interlock your fingers.

“I’m trying not to think about it or really speak on it. I feel like the past few years it’s been like a dangling carrot, just out of reach. I want it so bad but I’m so nervous that I won’t get it,” you admit, feeling like a bit of weight is off your shoulders. It doesn’t help that you haven’t signed a contract yet for the next year and beyond.

“You are the best driver I know. You are persistent and resilient, you have worked so hard to get to this point. If you don’t win your fans will still love you just the same as they will when you do win and I will love you even more regardless of the outcome,” Charles returns your support. You feel the warmth of his free hand brush away a stray tear on your cheek.

“There is no one else that I want to go through life with other than you,” your voice breaks slightly, thick with emotion.

“I feel the same way. I love you more and more every day,” Charles leans closer to you, a feeling from deep within telling him that everything will be okay.

[richmond-rex]

What is the relationship between Elizabeth of York and her father's relatives? She seems to have a good relationship with her mother's relatives

Hello! It's difficult to say because there's little evidence of her relationship with them. Her aunt Margaret left for Burgundy when Elizabeth was only two years old so I doubt any relationship was ever established between them. Elizabeth's other aunt, Anne of York, died when Elizabeth was still young. We don't have evidence of Elizabeth's relationship with the aunt with whom she shared a name either (Elizabeth of York Duchess of Suffolk), though Elizabeth did maintain friendly relations with her daughter, Anne de la Pole the Abbess of Syon — a monastery Elizabeth's father Edward had particularly supported. Elizabeth also maintained cordial relations with Edmund de la Pole, Anne's brother (another paternal cousin), but the extent of her patronage/support of him is much less clear. It's intriguing to wonder what Elizabeth thought of their brother John, though, considering she had been placed under house arrest in the North under his supervision during Richard III's reign (he was, in a way, her gaoler). John would later betray the confidence Elizabeth's husband had placed in him, so it's likely she didn't hold him in high regard by the time he died at Stokefield.

When it comes to the children of her uncle George of Clarence, Elizabeth probably had a friendly relationship with her cousin Margaret. Margaret played a visible role in Arthur's christening and was present at the exclusive box where Henry VII and his mother watched Elizabeth's coronation. Margaret was, of course, Margaret Beaufort's ward and she probably only left the king's mother's household when she married the king's cousin, Sir Richard Pole. Sir Richard was made Prince Arthur's chamberlain and they lived far from court, so it's unlikely Elizabeth and her cousin Margaret ever had much opportunity for a closer relationship. In regards to Margaret's brother Edward of Warwick, we'll never know Elizabeth's feelings for him, but she probably valued her sons and husband more than the cousin she only knew as a child. Elizabeth certainly wasn't opposed to receiving the revenues of some of his Warwick estates during his minority, either.

The most intriguing relationship would be the one Elizabeth had with her paternal grandmother Cecily Neville. They don't seem to have been close from what evidence we have, though both of them were godmothers to Bridget, Elizabeth's youngest sister, and Cecily bequeathed her some important jewels in her last will, which she didn't do to any other grandchild. It's difficult to say if it was simply a matter related to status, though. Cecily certainly was proud enough to call herself 'the queen's grandmother' during Henry VII's reign. Henry, in turn, rewarded Cecily's musicians (which indicates she was present at the court's festivities on the occasion) and safeguarded her income/lands in his first parliament, so that might be why Cecily left him some money and a golden cup in her last will too. It's possible Henry's good treatment of Cecily might have been for Elizabeth's sake or in response to her request but generally, Henry doesn't seem to have been vengeful or harsh when it came to dealing with the Yorkist family (challengers to his rule aside).

Going back to Elizabeth of York and her paternal relatives, she certainly seems to have been friends with her half-brother Arthur Plantagenet, an illegitimate son of Edward IV. She employed him in her household and, after her death, instead of sending him away Henry VII employed him in their son's household, perhaps in respect for the affection Elizabeth felt for him. That might be one of the clearest examples of her affection for her father's relatives, but Elizabeth seems to have been close to all of her siblings in general, so it certainly fits what we know about her (Polydore Vergil said she held extraordinary affection/love for her siblings).

These are all the relatives I can think about now but I'll go back to this question if I remember anyone else 🌹x

[viviskull]

“Technically, I will have to say yes and no.”  By neutral technicality he’s had more near death experiences than he could really count on two hands, but as much as his bad luck wanted him dead, he still had his own pure, silent spite to keep him alive at this point.  His friends did help to protect his butt a lot of the time of course, yet relying on his own flight instinct did him more good when he got doomed to get separated from the group on the frightful occasion, too.  For the moment, he at least had enough of his wits to allow the kid to prod his fleshy arm, Arthur couldn’t run off this time though.  “For being dead, no.  Yet have I gotten to know death more than I should, I’m as alive as they can be if you count the countless near death experiences I got?”  He stresses the countless with some regard, since he really couldn’t remember when he wasn’t in a bad life or death situation some days.

He does try super hard to avoid it on a week to week basis after all.  His memory wasn’t sometimes the best, but having a knee jerk reaction to tense at every little danger had to count for something.  Right?  Maybe it wasn’t a good thing to think about, but who cared about the deeper details though?

“But, eh..”  He pauses momentarily, slowly pulling his wrist from the kid’s grasp; having to shake it a little given they held onto it for a bit too long for his own comfort.  Arthur gives a light, stiff chuckle.  “.. That’d just be another story for another time.  But, uh..?”

His voice trails off for another instance of silence, more of him still feeling a tad shell shocked from this strange, off putting situation he had gotten himself into.  Perhaps he may’ve been correct about this kid being somewhere on the spectrum, since already his mistaken stuttering must’ve accidently been taken at its own face value.  Haba.  His own brain would want to correct him too if he’d happen to mishear himself in this interestingly unstructured conversation too.  People must get it wrong more if he had to guess.  Yet who could blame her, it was a unique name to behold really.  Her parents, or maybe her Dad, probably put some thought into it than he’d really know.

“.. Right.”  He’s slow to add another word to his prolonged string of words.  Better change the topic!  He’s still a bit rusty with being this social with a stranger like this, yet it seems he’s still a bit this slow with talking like he had been back in high school.  Some things just don’t change, but if it isn’t broken don’t fix it.  “Well, uh–,” he places his hands (and tightly grasped wrench) into his lap–, “is there any reason you wandered off from your friend, Haba?  If you’re thirsty, I can probably find you some water from the fridge if you need to wait around for them.”

viviskull​:

Through the lack of a better term, Arthur was kinda at a loss of words.  On a normal everyday basis, it was often always a strange occurrence for him whenever he had a kid walk up to him, let alone one who seemed to just appear out of the blue, for a strange knowhow chat.  This kid didn’t seem like a ghost by normal means, but their light-tone appearance didn’t look entirely human either.  If that strange headache he often got, whenever he happened to be around any mythical creatures, with the bizarre powers his Wife bestowed upon him (which, by the way, always happened involuntarily) meant any indicator of that?  He may as well be glad this young sprout didn’t appear to be a mean spirited vampire.  That or he could only hope his temples were only just aching due to whacking a crack into his skull; and thank Vivi his forehead wasn’t bleeding either.  Yet knowing his luck, he can never trust when life suddenly decided to throw him into the frying pan at random.

Maybe it’s best to play it safe.  At most, this kid’s probably got some autism or something of the sort.  If the familiar sort of literal language didn’t indicate that, maybe his own radar wasn’t too far off from it.  Only the spirits know he and his friends had waited a long time for their own diagnoses.  Any case though, he had at least something he could call upon if he needed to find some common ground with this little lass.

Blinking one more time, the cogs in this mechanic’s head finally start to turn into overdrive.  Many questions are threatening to choke him as he tries to find the words again to form a more concrete sentence.  Alright, still your nerves, Kingsmen.  Focus.  Already moving to sit up to better level his eye contact with the other, the little piece of cardboard he still sits upon gives a soft hiss the moment he pushes himself up with the help of his van to pull himself off the ground.  His vehicle gives a protesting squeak, but sits put up with his quick grip, too.  When man could trust one thing, a good machine always stayed loyal to whoever had its key.

If this was a kid without one of their parents?  Lance would so not let him work a shift alone again if he ignored an odd situation like this.  That or at most lose his music privileges for sure.

Finally, getting his tongue to cooperate with him again, Arthur says, “E-Eh, uh, yeah… only if I was a dead man, maybe.  However, I don’t think I’d be much use to anyone if they found me dead while trying to tighten one of this machine’s bolts.”  Alright, we’re throwing in a joke here that’ll totally fall flat on this child.  He grips the tool he’s holding into two hands now.  It’s a start with his customary icebreakers, but normally his husband was more decent at this sort of stuff.  “But, uh–,” he blanks for a second before their name comes back to him the next–, “Ha-Haba, what’s this about you being an outstanding sneaker?  If you can steal yourself a blanket from them alright, is there any reason Tí.. Tío Graf isn’t with you right now?”

For another second, he pauses for a moment.  His brain’s still trying to catch up with him, but when it’s going a million miles per hour to keep this child’s attention.. Wasn’t it proper manners to teach a kid to return mannerisms?  He still hasn’t returned his name.

In that instant, he offers a late, awkward smile.  It’s more nervous than anything, but instinctively he had to mirror the other’s; even when it wasn’t as sincere.  “Th.. The name’s Arthur by the way, Haba.”  He says.  “Most stick to Artie or Kingsmen if you don’t feel like learning the long tale of it.  You seem more like the explorer type, from the looks of it.”

"You only like being stuck when you are a dead man?," Haba tilts her head in confusion. "How do you know? Have you died before? Why aren't you still dead then? Death is a permanent fixture." 

Haba grabs Arthur's hand again. Arthur is warm like a mammal, a living one. And he has a pulse. Very not dead. 

"Are you undead?" 

Are there warm undead people? Ghosts can be warm... ish... But they are not physical, not like this. Vampires are room temperature. And neither of them has a pulse. Neither does a Wiedergänger, but those are mean and Haba is to avoid them at all cost. There is talk about resurection spells, but those come with hefty fines and the person brought back is not the person who died. Not worth it, everyone says. Haba squints her eyes and cooly takes the fidgety man in. He is nervously craddling an iron tool between his hands. Well, he doesn't look like he came back wrong. But then again, she does not know how he looked before dying. If he died before at all. This man may have made a joke. But it is better to take him seriously!

"Nu-uh, Haba, not Hahaba," Haba corrects matter of factly. "You asked me if I sneaked up on you. I just explained that I did not do so. Your senses are just bad. But I could sneak upon you if I wanted to! I am very good at it! Every snake can sneak! And I am a great one!" 

Haba huffs and crosses her arms: "I did not steal anything! First you say I sneaked upon you and now you tell me I stole! You really must think I am a bad person! It was a gift because I liked it! And why would Tío Graf be here? He's at home, of course, ordering drinks. Hmm... I think maybe drinking them now. It has been a little while since he ordered."

"Good..." Haba hesitates, looks outside to tell the time of day. "Night, Arthur. I am feeling like learning the long tale of it if you are willing to part with that information. I can be an explorer. But what is an explorer without knowledge? A conquistador!" Since Arthur has joked already, maybe his family is full of jokesters? Calling a kingsman Arthur is pretty silly. That would be like taking the name of the pope for a priest. But they do so. Maybe it is not a joke but just something that Haba cannot understand. Better be attentive then! Names and family are very important!

[tommyspeakycap]

Hi :) I was wondering if you’d be open to writing something about Tommy and baby Shelby going to see Alfie. With season 5 Alfie trying to hide his scars because he thinks she’d be scared but she just cuddles into him. I get if this is weird or too specific😅

Protected

“Remember what we talked about eh?” Tommy says to his youngest sibling as he tugs open the door on her side of the car. (y/n) Shelby takes her brothers outstretched hand to help her jump down out of the car that was a little too high up for her to manage to climb out by herself. “Yes Tommy.” She responds, skipping off in front of him to the big heavy front door of the building they were going into. The little girl leans against the door to very little avail as it barely even budges until Tommy reaches the door too and pushes it open with one strong arm.

He steps very firmly in front of (y/n) in the lobby of the building to prevent her running off again, and crouches down to her height with both hands placed firmly on her small upper arms to hold her still. “You stay right next to me okay?” He repeats, “And stay quiet yeah? I’ll try and be as quick as i can.” (y/n) smiles in response, “And then we can go to the sweet shop?”

Tommy nods and gives his little sister a soft smile before he stands up straight and takes her hand tightly in his. His littlest sister is so fearless and unaware of the dangers of the life she was dropped into that it always gives Tommy a sense of relief in some ways. It was almost like a form of escapism. Bouncing between Polly, John, Arthur, Charlie, and Tommy had made her life very different from most, even from Tommy’s young son. It would be incredibly safe to say that it was a shock when Polly Gray had entered into the betting shop in Watery Lane holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. They were all incredibly confused and very soon learned that Arthur Shelby Senior had shown up on the doorstep with another child he wasn’t interested in raising. She was an accidental one who’s mother died in childbirth and the deadbeat father had been gifted with yet another little life to let down.

Of course it became very important for Tommy that the baby girl did not experience the same kind of sheer let down that their father had given to all of them. He named sweet little (y/n) on that evening 6 and a half years ago. He felt like he was completely aimless and useless at that time. He had decided not to go after Grace and that lost love was weird for him after finally having it. Then that beautiful, quiet, warm and sweet little girl was placed into his arms and held tightly onto his finger and suddenly, his world and his love seemed to hold new meaning.

She was his muse, his greatest love and his favourite little sidekick.

“Tommy fuckin’ Shelby.” Alfie rumbles out, his back to the door as he faces out his balcony. “That’s a bad word, Tommy.” (y/n) chides in a whisper as she looks up cautiously at her elder brother. Tommy offers her small hand a gentle squeeze and nods his head, but promptly turns his head back to the man holding a gun at the window. “And you’ve brought your mini protégé, i see.”

Alfie turns half of his face, only his good half, to see the sweet little wave from the youngest Shelby sibling. “Alfie, this is my sister; (y/n).” Tommy introduces, hoping his willingness to divulge his sisters name would move Alfie away from the subject as quickly as possible so that they could talk about what he was really there to talk about and then he could take his sister and go quickly. He didn’t like her having to be involved in these things, he always feared it would bring her into the line of fire. “Mhm,” Alfie grumbles, “Last time i saw you, you was only about this big-” He gestures with his hand only a few feet off the floor, “Couldn’t speak much, either.” The Londoner adds, eyes slightly narrowed. The 6 year old tilts her head to the side.

“I can speak a lot now, Mister Solomons.” She says, somewhat proudly. The burly man laughs, not his usual sinister or mocking way. “I can see that.” He hums in response, eyes moving from the little girl to Tommy when he clears his throat heavily to draw attention back to him. “If we could, Alfie, I’d like to talk business.” Alfie nods his head in response, gesturing with his hand to the couch across the room. Tommy let’s go of his sisters hand to sit down on the couch, the little girl doing her best to climb up beside him with only a little help from her brother. Alfie sits on the chair across from them. Tommy knows there had to be significant damage to the side of the man’s face after the injury he sustained from the bullet fired out of Thomas’s gun. There was almost no way he escaped that unscathed.

“I’m going to kill a facist, Alfie. And i need some men.”

The words from Tommy prompt Alfie to rather abruptly turn his head, somewhat shocked by the words, but more shocked by the fact the 6 year old little girl was completely unbothered by the words her brother had spoken. The pre-school aged girl simply continues fiddling with the pocket watch Tommy gave to her. She looks to be dismantling it with a very distinctive focus that reminds Alfie she is a Shelby, and she might fully be aware of how to kill him already.

“A facist ey?” Alfie repeats, his eyebrows raised. “Politics got to you, Thomas?” Tommy rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette. “I need some men.” Tommy adds, making Alfie scoff. “Oh you do, do you? And you want mine?”

Tommy merely nods his head.

In his discussion with the head of the Peaky Blinders, Alfie had not forgotten the presence of the 6 year old on the couch, but it had fallen away from the forefront focus of his mind as he debated the thought of lending men to a Shelby’s cause. In doing so, he turned his head in thought and a little noise of awe left the youngest Shelby. Tommy and Alfie both direct their attention straight to her.

The little girl scoots herself off the couch and Tommy reaches for her arm, but just misses. She trods right up to the huge London gangster and tilts her head. “What happened?” She asks softly. Alfie shifts uncomfortably on the couch he sits on, running his finger absentmindedly over the scarring of his face. “Got shot.” Alfie responds, Tommy clears his throat heavily and almost awkwardly in knowing he was the one who had given Alfie Solomons his facial scarring. (y/n) tilts her little head in awe as she clambers up onto the couch next to him.

“Looks cool.” She mutters in awe.

Most look at him in some kind of shock or horror even. Some with sympathy thinking it had come from the war and some with fear knowing where it had really come from. But few with the kindness and curiosity of the 6 year old standing on his good couch.

“Does it hurt?” She asks quietly. Alfie shrugs.

“Depends.”

That’s when her little hand reaches forward to trace over the scarring with an almost feather light child’s touch as she stands there on the couch, her hands are cold and gentle over the markings that no one has touched since his last hospital appointment.

“Her mother’s daughter.”

Alfie flicks his eyes back over to a now standing Thomas as he reaches forward to lift his sister up into his arms where she sits on his hip with little furrowed eyebrows and a purse on her lips. Alfie’s residual aching cheekbone pain has faded to nearly non-existent for the first time he can soberly remember. He knows that Tommy knows this by the look in his eyes and the way in which he notes his prior statement before he gathered his sister.

“She’s sweet.” Alfie nods, standing to his feet. As softened as both men may be by the child in the room, Alfie does not like sitting as Tommy Shelby towers over him whether the man is an ally or not. “Polly says i get it from Tommy.” (y/n) chimes. Alfie raises his eyebrows with a grin that makes Tommy roll his eyes at the retired gangster. “Oh do you now?” Alfie hums, opening his mouth to speak again when Tommy cuts him off. “You go ahead to the car (y/n), eh? I’ll meet you down there in just a minute okay?”

The six year old nods and runs off the moment her feet hit the ground. Tommy turns to Alfie immediately.

“If you ever-“

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mister Mom.” Alfie rumbles, crossing his arms over his chest with a beaming grin. “Little miss Shelby has you whipped, mate. Tell me, what’s your favourite apron you wear at home eh Thomas?” He chuckles heartily, making Tommy glower in rage at his teasing. “I’m fucking serious, Alfie.” He growls. Alfie straightens up and stops laughing immediately.

His eyes narrow for a split second and he tilts his head, his eyes searching the depth of Tommy’s cerulean blues and immediately noticing the sheer panic and worry that lies deep within them, attempting to hide under brotherly protective instinct and rage at the prospect of harm falling on his little sister. Alfie inhales deeply. He would truly never dream of harming a child. It’s not in his nature, nor does it sit well with him. And though he had been quick to give the head of the Peaky Blinders a reality check in the past regarding the safety of his son, in the end he had no idea Charlie Shelby had been taken and he never would have arranged for that to happen.

Alfie nods his head and leans forward. “She’s special to you, yeah?” Tommy doesn’t know why Alfie asks. He’s sure it’s clearer than he wants it to be, but alas the Londoner asks anyway and Tommy doesn’t know exactly how to answer, so he simply makes a motion something akin to a nod though looks more like a twitch of his chin. “Mhm, I can tell. You can have the men. I’m sure you know the price.” Alfie turns away. Tommy doesn’t know what it was in Alfie’s eyes that reassured him more than words ever could that he wouldn’t lay harm on the 6 year old little girl who treated him with more respect and kindness in the ten minutes she spoke to him that anyone had in years. There was an element of brotherly protectiveness that Alfie felt only after knowing her a short time.

“And Tommy?”

“Yes, Alfie?” The Birmingham MP turns back as he leaves the doorway of Alfie’s sitting room.

“Anything ever happens to the kid, you fuckin’ let me know yeah?”

Tommy nods his head, the ghost of a smile somewhat on his face. His little sister is just about as protected as they come, and there was a distinct feeling of certainty that Alfie Solomons was there, lurking in the shadows of existence with a familial fondness of the little Shelby girl who carries the glow of an angel above her head that would ensure no men, from Birmingham or further afield would have to go through every Solomons and Shelby loyal man up and down the country before a hair on (y/n) Shelby’s head was messed. Tommy holds hope somewhere deep in his heart that his little sister will never have to see violence aimed at her, and that for as long as she lives she knows that she is instantaneously loved, dearly held in every heart and ferociously protected by some of Britain’s most dangerous men.

[ravenclaw-daydreams]

𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰 (𝟏/?)

𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Warnings: mention of mature content, language, college life, creepy boys, a hot professor, fear toxin, mature themes

Summary of Chapter: After the tragic passing of Y/N's former psychology professor, she is introduced to Jonathan Crane, the newest doctor now embarking on a path to education. She also happens to have a frightening encounter with the fearsome Scarecrow.

A/N: I'm so excited for you guys to read and I hope that you enjoy it! Jonathan Crane is one of my favorite characters in the DC universe, I hope this will convince you to like him too!

Finally, at last, Y/N seemingly collapsed in her chair, exhausted from the early morning commute from her apartment to GSU's lecture hall, the morning being hectic anyways because her roommate Maggie decided to do a late-night cleaning session, successfully hiding Y/N's keys and hairbrush, the two demolishing Mag's hard work searching for them.

Not to mention the buzz around the new professor that was going to be teaching your course, your last professor passing tragically in yet another instance of Gotham crime. Mugging gone wrong was the verdict. They had yet to find the person who did it.

But the buzz was rather about who was taking the poor dead professor's place. A man with a doctrine and held in high regard in the ranks of Gotham's political and economic jungle.

Y/N couldn't help but listen in on the two girls behind her, going on about how cute they heard he was. A quick google search was enough to get them going, his pictures being taken for Gotham's most popular news sources for his achievements in this field.

The sudden thunk of a book landing on the table right next to her was enough to make Y/N snap out of it, jolting in her chair out of surprise, her gaze whipping up to the culprit.

"So. What do you think the new professor's going to be like?"

"Well, good morning to you too, Arthur," Y/N tiredly grumbled, pinching the bridge of her nose, her friend's new hobby in book slamming not helping her splitting headache.

"Heard he's a doctor. Spends a lot of time at Arkham Asylum. What is he doing around college students then?" Arthur quipped, sitting down as Y/N took out her laptop.

"Well, if you think about it, us college kids aren't that different from the crazies they got locked up in there," she tried to joke, her motor running low, but for Arthur, she would put in an effort.

"I guess we'll just have to see," he shrugged before setting up his own notes.

The sudden slam of the lecture hall's door brought everyone's attention to the figure now sauntering through it, a briefcase in tow, dressed in a sharp black suit and a dusty blue tie, glasses resting on his nose as he walked up to the front of the lecture hall, immediately looking at the class who had all eyes on him.

"Hello, everyone. I'm your new professor, Dr. Crane," his voice was unbelievably coaxing, a pleasure to listen to, making it easier to listen to rather than a monotone voice other professors tended to use.

Turning on his heels, he made his way to the chalkboard, the whole student body having their eyes glued on him as he picked up a piece of powdery white chalk, scrawling his name in neat cursive letters across the board.

"Now, I assume all of you have received the email sent to you by the school itself, in that you will find a link to my syllabus, but I won't bore you with the details. Just skim over it is all I ask."

Arthur found himself glancing at the girl next to him, and couldn't help but roll his eyes at the concentration her eyes now held. Where was all that focus when he was talking to her just seconds prior?

"So, with that all being said, let's begin."

. . .

At least 45 minutes had gone by since Jonathan Crane turned on the projector and began flipping through slides in his newest unit, 'the psychology of phobias', explaining how the fear transmitters were created through specific chemicals in your brain along with the brains response to triggers of those phobias.

Meanwhile, Y/N was caught up in taking as many notes as she could. Something about his voice was so convincing, so intriguing, he could honestly make anything sound interesting. But he spoke with so much passion behind his voice, she could truly see that he was a man dedicated to his work.

With a flick of his wrist, Dr. Crane took a glance at his watch, his eyebrows raising as he looked back up at the class.

"Alright, I trust you all took notes on what you found to be important, so I would like a paper on this simple outline," he instructed, pointing a clicker up to the screen that changed the side, "According to research, individuals with a social phobia have a distorted view of themselves; discuss arguments for and against this."

Y/N sat up slightly as she read the prompt several times over, processing his request.

"You have two days to write the paper, and I would like to see the paper on my desk before Wednesday evening. You're all excused," he waved off the class, dismissing them as he turns his focus to his desk, sitting down as a silent confirmation he was done with them, other students taking the hint and packing up their things.

He gave dismissive smiles to everyone as they passed his desk to exit, his habit of pushing up with glasses coming into play as they started to slide ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose.

At that moment, Y/N felt like she needed to say something to her new professor, to at least make him feel slightly more welcome, seeing as nobody else did.

She suddenly paused right before his desk, his glance reaching her eyes, his own electric blue ones almost stunning her in the process.

“It was nice meeting you professor,” she managed to spit out, anxiety whisking her away before she could draw out a response, Arthur dragging her away from the new, (now speechless), psychology professor.

“Well, I guess we know why he’s known for working in the asylum. Maybe he’s the nut,” Arthur’s mood was sour as he ranted on about every flaw he saw in the poor Dr. Crane, but Y/N wasn’t listening to a bit of it.

She was too busy thinking about his eyes… those damn eyes…

. . .

Maggie was waiting for Y/N to get home like a dog waiting for it’s owner, and right as she made it through the door, the law student was already on her newest tangent on her classes and stupid things she saw on the train on her way home from commuting to school.

“Umm, hello? Earth to you, are you even listening?” Maggie waved her hand in front of Y/N’s face, snapping her out of trance she didn’t even know she was in.

“What?” She muttered, turning her attention to her roommate.

“Alright. I know that look, spill it,” Maggie pressed, giving her friend a knowing look.

“The new professor,” Y/N admitted, Maggie’s eyes immediately lighting up.

“That was today?? Oh my god, I’ve been so selfish, I should have totally asked you the second you walked through the door!” Maggie scolded herself as Y/N let out a playful scoff, “so what was he like??”

“Well, he-,”

“Wait! We can totally talk about this over dinner! I heard there was a new restaurant around here, I’ve been dying to try! Hold off on telling me, build suspense!” Maggie rushed to get her shoes off and her purse, and Y/N (who never got a chance to take off her shoes in the first place) were whisked out into the night.

. . .

“Oh my god, these breadsticks are heavenly,” Y/N moaned with a stuffed mouthful of the new Italian joint’s bread, Maggie conquering.

“So. What’s going on with you, teacher’s pet?” She jabbed, stuffing her face with her 3rd bread stick.

“Well, he’s just… nice to listen to. He has a nice voice. Easy to listen to, doesn’t make me wanna bash my head into the table. Can’t say that for the last guy.”

She wasn’t lying. The last professor had a monotone voice that could put anyone to sleep, needless to say not many people did to well in his class on account of the whole class period being practically a nap period.

“Ooo, is he hot?” Maggie quipped, taking a sip of her Rosé, leaning in, obviously enthralled at the idea of a teacher/student style romance.

“I would think so,” Y/N sheepishly admitted, “I just can’t stop thinking about his eyes… it’s like he has the most interesting secrets behind them.”

“What a romantic,” Maggie laughed.

Suddenly, the door to the restaurant burst open, men in masks filing in at the rapid pace, all holding guns, scared patrons letting out screams and noises of distress.

“Everyone sit the fuck down!” A tall thug yelled out, small terrified whispers being let out into the otherwise tense air surrounding them.

A new figure walked in, something that stood no taller than 5’7, something that looked like a burlap sack placed over their face, covering and hiding their identity.

Y/N didn’t waist any time, kicking Maggie to get her attention and sink down under the table without the thugs around them noticing, hiding underneath, the table cloth working as a decent covering from the outside world.

A sudden hissing filled the women’s ears, the sound of coughs and screams sounding afterwards. A mist filtered throughout the room, both of the women harbored underneath the table instinctively covering their mouths.

Y/N held a terrified and shaking Maggie in her arms as the haze made its way under the table, the two breathing it in through the fabric covering their mouths.

They suddenly felt as if they were going through a panic attack, their stomachs dropping as if they were going straight down on a roller coaster, whimpering in fear.

Their vision became distorted, vertigo kicking in as they let out panicked screams, hyperventilating. The table cloth was suddenly yanked up as the freakish villain with the sack on his head came into view, much more terrifying than before, his voice distorted.

“There’s nothing to fear,” he spoke, pulling a screaming Maggie out of Y/N’s grasp, “But fear itself.”

A thug grasped onto her terrified roommate, the monster keeping his hold on Y/N as she squirmed, tears spilling out of her eyes as she let out cries of protest.

“Take her back to the lab. I have this one.”

For a split second, the two made eye contact, the holes in the mask seemingly revealing the windows to his soul. A needle was suddenly stuck into the side of her neck, a sedative, their eyes locked in a dangerous starring contest, before she uttered a name before her world swirled in black.

“Dr. Crane?”

[writerfae]

Aunt Annabelle’s garden party proofed to be just as tiring as Will had feared. 

A majority of the time he had spent trying to escape the girl his aunt had set him up with for the evening, a pretty but awfully dull little thing called Adelaide.

His escape had led him straight to the far side of the lake, as far away from his aunt’s party as possible.

To his surprise he didn’t seem to be the only one in search for some peace and quiet.

Arthur sat leaned back in the grass by the water’s edge, smoking a cigarette, his eyes closed. 

He looked so at peace that Will hesitated to approach him. Instead, he just stood and watched.

“Finally escaped your aunt’s grip, eh?” Arthur spoke without turning around. He must’ve noticed Will as he watched him.

The young lord’s cheeks colored in embarrassment. He approached the stable hand. “Yes, finally.”

Will sighed, sitting down next to the other boy, who chuckled, looking at him.

“Careful. Don’t wanna ruin that fancy suit of yours, do ya?”

Arthur was probably right, but Will couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I don’t give a damn about this bloody suit,” he said and was surprised about his own choice of words.

But it was the truth. The times where he would’ve worried about that were long past.

Arthur laughed. “Having a bad influence on you, am I?”

Will shrugged at that, grinning. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just Australia in general. I can’t say that I mind though.”

He frowned, remembering that there were people who surely would mind.

“You don’t tell my aunt I said that just now, though. She’d be indignant.”

Arthur looked at him in amusement, then he took another drag of his cigarette.

“Cause a good lord doesn’t curse, huh? No wonder some of ya are so strutted.”

He froze, realizing what he just said to the other boy.

“I mean. Not you,” he corrected himself sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “Course not. Just-”

Now it was Will who laughed. “It’s alright, Arthur. I do get what you mean. And you’re not wrong.”

If someone knew how stuck-up British high society could be, it was him.

“What do you think why I fled the party.”

Arthur grinned. “Heard you were running from a lady half the time.”

The thought of Adelaide made Will grimace.

“Oh don’t remind me. My aunt thought she’d be good company, but she might as well could’ve introduced me to a vase.”

The stable hand hummed in understanding. Feeling brave, Will added.

“Besides, I prefer your company anyway.”

The look with that Arthur regarded him was an unreadable one and Will held his breath, worried that he said something wrong.

But then Arthur smiled. “Yeah, me too.”

He offered the cigarette to Will, who took it gratefully. He coughed loudly after taking a drag, handing it back to Arthur quickly.

It made the older boy laugh and Will, feeling a rush of happiness, laughed with him.

Arthur’s company, he came to realize as they sat in silence afterwards, was something he would never get tired of.

*

tag list: @deadlycupid @bluehourskyeli @reeseweston @chalcid @thegirlwithnonickname @fictional-ghost @ladywithalamp (if you want to be added or removed from the tag list let me know ^^)

[justsomerandomfanfic]

A Stranger In The Woods - Arranged

Title: A Stranger In The Woods

A Harry Potter Royal AU Series

Additional Characters: Draco Malfoy, Reader's parents, Cedric Diggory (Mentioned), Harry Potter (Mentioned), the Weasley family (Mentioned), and The Stranger

| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 (Option 1) | Part 10 (Option 2) |

WC: 3,356

Warnings: Reader's gender is not specified, arranged marriage, Reader has a mother and father, mention of death, weapons mentioned, and awkward first meetings

Fixing your hair, you placed your crown on your head, before heading out your bedroom door. Walking down the long hallways, you made your way to the throne room, where you mother and father; the king and queen, were waiting for your arrival. Your maid had said that they wanted to speak with you, and you nervously bit your lip as to the reason why. You were just shy of adulthood, and you were worried if this meeting with your parents was regarding marriage.

"Come in," A voice called from the other side of the large doors.

You opened them slowly, stepping into the large throne room. It marveled you still, the high ceilings and marble floors. The chandeliers hanging overhead gave off a warm glow, but it wasn't enough to lighten up all the dark wood furniture that was around. Your mother sat on her throne, your father beside her, sitting on his throne as well. He looked exhausted, but at least he didn't look angry.

"Father... Mother... You wanted to see me." You finally spoke, clasping your hands together in front of you, head held high.

Your mother smiled at you, "Yes dear, we did." She spoke softly, smoothing down her dark emerald gown.

Your father continued to say nothing, staring off into the distance. You frowned slightly, anxiety overwhelming you. But, you waited patiently for your mother to continue.

"As you know, you are of age to marry..." She began and your heart plummeted.

Of course, it was going to happen sooner than later.

"We have found you a perfect suitor. The heir to the Malfoy throne."

Your jaw dropped, eyes wide in surprise and shock. Malfoy. You were marrying a Malfoy. You've heard of Prince Draco Malfoy. Or more specifically, the prince's father. King Malfoy was a rude, violent ruler who didn't care about anyone but himself. And apparently, his son took after him. The Malfoy family was a long line of pure-bloods. They detested you and your family, so why would they agree to this?

"Malfoy? You're marrying me off to a pure-blood family?" You questioned, disbelief clear on your face.

"A Malfoy is better than no one," Your mother stated bluntly, "And I'm sure you will be pleased with your new husband."

Your jaw set, lips pressed tightly together.

"What about the Diggory's or the Potter's? Are they not suitable enough?" You asked and your mother shook her head.

"If you haven't heard, Prince Cedric died in a fencing competition, and Prince Harry is betrothed to Princess Ginerva." Your mother spoke, looking away from you.

"What about the many Princes of the Weasley's?" You asked, knowing King and Queen Arthur and Molly had seven sons.

"They were never considered." Your mother replied, turning her gaze back to you, "Besides, even if they were, your cousin Fleur is betrothed to Prince William."

You shook your head, looking away, "That doesn't make any sense." You muttered, but your mother continued.

"You'll be marrying Prince Draco. The wedding is in a month. Usually, we would send you over there until the wedding, but his father insisted he send his son to us. He'll be here tomorrow morning." Your mother informed you, and you sighed heavily, running your fingers through your hair.

"I understand." You spoke, standing up straight, "Thank you for informing me. I think I'm going to go out riding before dinner." You spoke, keeping a brave face, for your parents.

Your mother nodded a small smile on her face, "I know you don't want this, dear. But, this is for our country. Our kingdom is in your hands." She spoke, as if it would help calm your nerves.

It didn't.

You nodded, once more, bowing and leaving the room quickly. You made your way out to the courtyard where you headed down the dirt path towards the stables where your horse, Xaria stayed. He was your mighty steed, ever since you were young. He brought you happiness when the sun didn't seem to shine as bright. He was a late present from your grandmother, someone you had been close to before her untimely death.

As soon as you stepped in and saw Xaria, you walked over, feeling a deep breath of relief flow from you. You placed your hand on Xaria's nose, closing your eyes as you rested your head on his. He was a calm horse, gentle. Xaria softly nudged you, and you opened your eyes. Reaching out, he brushed his long black hair out of his eyes, and he snorted.

"Sorry." You apologized quickly, rubbing the base of his nose. "I should braid your hair before I go back inside."

Xaria didn't reply, instead he nudged you again, but waited as you unlocked his stable door and led him out the door. You grabbed a brush and started brushing him out, humming along to the music playing within your head. After a good brush, you tossed the brush into a basket on the stable door, before mounting your majestic steed.

He was quite small for a horse, coming up to at least five deet. Xaria had white fur that covered his body, and he had blue eyes. You loved his soft coat, it always felt like silk against your skin. He was gentle and loving, unlike some horses you'd seen and met. He always knew when something was wrong, and he tried to cheer you up.

Making sure you were stable on Xaria, you began to ride off into the forests near your kingdom. They were dense and dark from the canopy of trees, but they were peaceful. The only sounds you could hear were the occasional bird singing their song, and the chirping of insects. Riding through the forest, you made your way towards the river that ran through the middle of your kingdom. You led Xaria to follow the river, coming across a small lake, with a small waterfall. The water sparkled with little fish swimming below the surface. It was so peaceful, you couldn't imagine what the world was like without the beauty of nature.

You stopped Xaria, hopping down to take a closer look at the swimming fish, when you heard a small branch break. Both you and Xaria turned to look at where the noise came from, but saw nothing. You, wary, continued to look at the fish, when you saw a flash and you quickly turned around, catching what you saw was another human hiding behind a tree in the near distance. Furrowing your eyebrows, you placed your hand on the handle of your dagger, hoping that whoever it was was not a bandit or assassin.

"Who goes there?" You called out, but received no answer.

You weren't crazy, you saw someone, "Come out, I won't hurt you unless you give me a reason to." You spoke up again, walking closer to the tree that hid the person.

You stopped just feet from the tree, and your eyes widened as you watched a young man walk out from behind it. He was tall, wearing an all-black outfit and a brown cloak; the end of a scabbard poked out at the back of his cloak. You couldn't see his hair really, but his eyes were dark pools of brown.

You stood there dumbfounded for a moment, watching him, before you finally snapped back to reality, "Who are you?"

The young man shuffled in his spot, looking away from you for a moment, "M... Matthew." He stumbled, looking back up at you.

"Matthew?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow.

The young man named Matthew nodded, before he tilted his head to the side. It was cute, you noted to yourself. He looked like a dog with his big eyes looking at you.

"What's your name?" He asked, and you smiled lightly.

"Y/N."

Immediately, his eyes widened, "From the royal family?" He asked and you sighed, your smile falling.

"Yes, my father and mother are king and queen."

Matthew nodded, before slowly slid off his hood, revealing his face more to you. Your eyes widened slightly as you looked at him. He was very handsome, his short brown hair was wavy, and he had a slight stubble to his face. You gulped, before looking away awkwardly.

"Are you lost?" You questioned, clearing your throat.

Matthew shook his head, "Um... No, I am not. I come here to think." He spoke softly, and you smiled.

"I do too. It's peaceful here." You told him, leaning onto the trunk of the tree.

"Have you lived here your whole life?" Matthew questioned, looking over to you with his brown eyes.

"Yes. My parents are king and queen." You laughed a little, and Matthew blushed, embarrassed.

"Oh, yeah... Right. Sorry, your highness." He spoke, bowing lowly, but you shook your head.

"Oh, you don't have to bow, or apologize. And, just call me Y/N, I hate being called your highness." You laughed and Matthew nodded, straightening and scratching his cheek.

"Yes, your- Y/N." He corrected himself.

"Well, now that we've both introduced ourselves, do you want to join me for a walk before I head home?" You asked and the young man hesitated before nodding.

Together, the two of you walked along the lake, pointing out the fish, or a butterfly, or a bee landing on a flower. It was nice to have someone to talk to that didn't make you feel uncomfortable. It was refreshing to have a conversation and just feel heard.

"So... Uh, Y/N, why did you come to the woods?" He asked and you thought for a moment.

Matthew began to freak out, thinking you were speaking because he overstepped.

"I'm sorry if that was too forward of a question-"

You waved him off, "No worries, you're fine. I was just thinking." You spoke, reassuring him.

Matthew let out a breath, glancing at you every so often for your answer.

"I came here to think, and try and forget about my life." You spoke, looking at a wildflower patch beside you.

Matthew furrowed his eyebrows, "Really? But, you're royal. You live in a lavish kingdom with maids and chefs that wait on your hand and foot."

You nodded with a hum, "Yes, but it gets boring every now and then. It is nice to have some help, but I want to do things on my own. In my perfect world, I wouldn't have servants or anything, I would cook my own food and definitely not be married off to some other royal." You spoke, and Matthew turned to you in shock.

"Really? You're being married off?" He asked and you nodded with a slight frown.

"My mother and father chose a prince of this pure-blood family, and we are going to get married soon. I am terrified to marry a stranger." You explained, looking down at the ground.

Matthew cleared his throat, "I can understand that. I would feel the same if I was in that situation. I want to marry for love." He blushed and you turned to him with a huge smile.

"Yes, finally. That's exactly what I am talking about! I want to marry someone I love, not marry someone who just married me for the crown. I know for sure that if I marry for love, I will finally be happy." You spoke with confidence, and Matthew nodded.

"I'm sorry you're going through this." He spoke and you nodded with a smile, looking down at the dewy grass below you.

"Thank you. I'm sorry I just dumped all that on you." You spoke but Matthew shook his head.

"No, I asked for it. I wanted to ask you why you came here. So, I guess we're even." He chuckled and you laughed a bit, shaking your head.

"You're right. If you don't mind me asking, why are you here? Besides, I came here because it's peaceful." You asked and Matthew shrugged, as the two of you sat down on a large rock.

"Besides it being peaceful, I also come here to think."

You briefly bit your lip, "If you don't mind me asking, what do you think about?" You asked and Matthew sighs, looking up at the light blue sky.

"My parents." He spoke with sadness in his voice, and you took a deep breath. "I come here to think about them, and what it was like before... Nevermind, I'm sorry I made this all... Melancholy."

You shook your head, placing a hand on his arm, he froze slightly before relaxing from your touch. "Don't apologize. I may not fully understand what happened, but I can still support you, if that's what you want."

Matthew nodded, "Thank you. I mean, you don't have to..." He tried but you shook your head again.

"Nonsense. I am here to console you, if you want me to. Family... To anyone, it is important. Your worries and feelings are no burden to me." You told him, and Matthew nodded, taking another deep breath.

"Thank you..." He muttered and you nodded, retrieving your hand with a smile.

For a few moments, the two of you just listened to the world... To nature. Hearing the birds and the wind breeze past you.

"It is strange how you come here, and yet... I haven't bumped into you before." You wondered out loud, and Matthew nodded.

"Me neither." He replied with a half chuckle. You sighed, "Maybe fate brought us together today." You spoke and Matthew shrugged, but you could see a hint of excitement in his eyes.

"Maybe."

~~~

The next day, you woke up with a smile on your face. You got ready for the day with the help of your two head maids, before you headed down to breakfast. Opening the main doors, your smile dropped. There, standing with your father and mother, was Prince Draco Malfoy.

He was tall, lean, with platinum blonde hair that looked almost white. It was long, like his father's, strands of hair slicked back so it wouldn't cover his eyes. His eyes were a deep gray, like the ocean. And he wore a black tuxedo with an white button-up. His face was clean shaven, and he had a small scar above his left eyebrow. From what, you did not know.

Your mother saw you first, gesturing you over with a wiggle of her finger. You reluctantly did so, standing beside her and your father, who was already sipping on a drink in his large glass. Your mother had a huge smile on her face, and you narrowed your eyes slightly.

"Dear, Prince Draco has arrived." She spoke and Prince Draco gave her a charming smile.

"Please, your highness, call me Draco." He spoke and your mother giggled. making you mentally roll your eyes.

"Aren't you charming?" She laughed, "Call me Elizabeth, please."

You sighed inwardly, your mother seemed more willing to marry Prince Draco than you did. That made you snort, causing Prince Draco to turn to you.

"Y/N, I am glad to finally meet you." He spoke, raising his hand to you, you reluctantly placed your hand in his.

Keeping eye contact, Prince Draco raised your hand to his lips and placed a subtle kiss to your knuckles, which made you blush.

"It's nice to meet you too, Prince Draco." You spoke with a small faux smile.

Prince Draco nodded, dropping your hand, and your mother lightly slapped your arm. "Ow."

"Y/N, enough with the pleasantries, he'll be your husband soon enough." She spoke, and you groaned internally.

"Of course," Your faux smile widened, as you bowed your head slightly, "Forgive me, Draco." You spoke, and he chuckled lightly.

"Oh, don't worry about it. Now, shall we sit and eat?" Prince Draco spoke, and you nodded before walking over to the table and sitting down in your place, Draco sitting beside you. The servants entered with the first meal of the day, chicken, eggs, bacon, pork, and sausage were served to you, your father, mother, and Prince Draco.

You ate quietly, watching your father, who was stuffing his face with everything. Your mother was doing the same, but with more poise than your father, while Prince Draco watched you curiously from across the table.

"What is your favorite thing to do?" He asked and your mother looked up with a smile on her face.

"What a wonderful idea, Draco! Conversation starters. Might as well get to know each other." She spoke, and you rolled your eyes.

"Fine. I enjoy reading books. And horseback riding." You spoke, and Draco smiled his charming smile, which was beginning to irritate you.

"Interesting. I too like to read, when I have the time." He spoke and you nodded, politely.

You felt the awkward tension in the air, simmering between you and Prince Draco. You glanced over at your father, but he was busy talking to your mother, who was laughing at something he said. You sighed, wanting to just leave, but you couldn't find the courage to stand up. Even if you did, your mother would scold you for being rude and leaving early.

But, you wanted to get away, you wanted to ride to the forest and see the river again. Seeing Matthew again. You wondered how he was doing. What he was doing. You knew for sure, you'd rather be with him than with Prince Draco Malfoy. Prince Draco noticed your gaze, and he smirked at you, which caused you to glare back.

"Well, Y/N, I was wondering if you would like to take a stroll through the garden with me, I noticed it when I had arrived. Maybe we can speak of our wedding preparations?" Draco offered and you nodded, standing from your seat as Draco followed.

"You two have fun!" Your mother cried out to you two as you left the room.

The two of you walked to the courtyard and into the garden. You loved the flowers in the garden. It used to be your favorite place to go as a child, but that love dwindled out. It felt like a distant memory. The garden was filled with daisies, roses, tulips, and a variety of other flowers.

"Shall we look at the roses?" Prince Draco suggested with a smile.

You nodded and followed behind him as he led the way to the beautiful rose gardens. Stopping at a bench, you took a seat, and Draco sat next to you. Turning towards you, the prince clasped his hands together in his lap.

"So, about our wedding. It's in a month." He began and you nodded, already knowing that bit of information. "And, I was thinking of having the wedding at your church, mine is not as... Magnificent as your kingdom." Draco spoke and you nodded.

You would never have your wedding in the church. You would like to have yours in the forest next to the lake and its waterfall. There would be lanterns hung in the branches of the trees, a carpet of flower petals that led you to a beautiful flower arch where your partner would stand. Your daydream though came to a sad end when Draco pulled you out of it.

"I would like you to plan your side of the wedding, and I'll stick to mine." He spoke suddenly, surprising you with his statement.

"You don't want to plan everything?" You asked, and Draco shook his head.

"I would rather plan the time and who is invited, along with the food that would be served. The rest is up to you. Why? Do you not want to plan anything?" He asked and you shook your own head.

"No..." Even though your true answer was yes, "I just didn't expect that. My father planned the whole wedding for my mother. From what I heard." You spoke, and Draco nodded, but his eyes fell on the ground.

"That is usually the case. But, for this I want you to have a say in what happens. It's your wedding too."

You smiled lightly, surprised at what you were hearing.

Maybe Draco wasn't as bad as you thought he was.

"Thank you, Draco."

"No problem."

________________________________________________________

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@dancingtillimdeadinmygrave

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[scummy-writes]

Better in The Morning

Rating: Explicit (Minors dni)

Words: 5703

Pairing: Theo/Arthur

Tags: Jealousy, Drinking, Blood Drinking, Anal Sex, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Light Angst, Choking, Idiots to Lovers, Biting, Theocona

Full fic under the cut!

Preview:

The feel of Theo’s tongue against his drew a shudder out. Arthur twisted his fingers into Theo’s shirt, head beginning to spin as Theo’s kisses grew rough, more demanding, making Arthur’s hands shake as he blindly searched for the buttons of Theo’s shirt and clumsily worked them. It was difficult to concentrate or even attempt taking back control when Theo kept stealing his breath, and Arthur was pleased; safe from the burden of thinking past impulses.

Three buttons undone, and Arthur’s palms spread out against Theo’s chest as they finally broke apart, gasping for breath. He watched as Theo surveyed him, taking in the sight of his hair disheveled, his slick and swollen lips. Arthur knew the heat spread across his cheeks was obvious, and when a ghost of a prideful smirk took over Theo’s features, Arthur wrapped his arms around his neck with a strained chuckle.

------

Sex was just a formula in the end: Flirting, enticing, tempting touches. Hushed promises breathed against heated skin, the shuffling of clothes along with the creak of a mattress. Slow, purposeful touches that crept faster, until thinking wasn’t needed as instinct took over.

Or, most of the time it’s how it went.

Arthur hazily looked at the woman laid bare in front of him, sweat shining on her breasts while her hands dug into the sheets. Her eyes were squeezed shut, mouth hung open as her gasps and groans began to rise higher in pitch. With such a pretty little bird beneath him and pleasure making his mind spin, how was it that his thoughts kept flitting elsewhere? Making his breath catch for other reasons; movements falter.

What a disservice to the one calling his name…

Arthur leaned over her, making her shiver with the playful nips he drew along her jaw, trailing further and further below until he could nose her pulse, sighing at the fragrance of perfume mixed with such a lovely drink. He timed his bite with a harsh thrust of his hips, feeling her nails dig into his back as she clenched around him.

It wasn’t as if it was a bore, but the only thirst quenched tonight was that of his throat. He found himself getting dressed rather quickly after discarding the condom, and the woman hazily reached out to him, barely having caught her breath and struggling to keep lucid with the pleasure still trembling through her.

“W-where are you…?”

“Ah, sorry luv,” He feigned a pout, giving a quick kiss to her cheek, “got a rather busy morning tomorrow, can’t quite risk being late.”

Granted, he wasn’t a total ass. Arthur made sure to clean up the mess they made without disturbing her too much as she faded out, but he was still out on the streets faster than usual. Huffing to himself, he stretched as he walked.

When was the last time sex felt so pitiful for him?

Deep down Arthur knew the reasons why, but he was stubborn, if anything. Refusing to give his feelings a name as they steadily bubbled within him, begrudgingly recalling a scene from earlier this afternoon. Where he had finally caught a glimpse of Theo after days on end of elusive misses; the man having been too busy to even linger for breakfast- or rather, linger long enough for Arthur to wake up and join.

He had been so excited too, walking up to try and ask the art dealer for some of his time. Only to stop when a woman seemed to join Theo, watching as her bright laughter brought on a smile he had never seen from Theo before.

It was such a small scene, and truly, shouldn’t he feel happy for his stoic friend? Instead, his throat had felt tight, a wash of bitterness overtaking him as he turned back around, finding himself heading towards visiting his favorite pub.

Now, Arthur kicked a pebble ahead of him as he walked home, unable to properly distract himself as he played the scene out over and over in his mind.

---

Arthur sighed, dropping his pen aside as he took his glasses off. Crumpled papers were littered on his desk, and his current sheet in front of him was just filled with scratched out words and ink blots. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to produce, after being awake for well over a full twenty-four hours now. It wasn’t as if his eighth cup of coffee would magically yield better results than the last.

“Blast…”

It was too late to go out of the mansion at this point, far too late to see if he could even swoon some minx into a distraction- and the appeal of that dwindled down as he remembered the pisspoor attempt from last time…

Standing up, he stretched his back before slumping.

Running from troubles were always temporary, in the end. After a while, they caught up, and Arthur knew when he had to settle in and let them run their course. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t be sour over it, hating the way his anxieties and fears would churn in his stomach, but at least his reluctant acceptance still gave him a vague feeling of agency over his own mind turning against him.

~

The parlor felt like a breath of fresh air in comparison to his stuffy room, and Arthur placed the decanter of whiskey he snatched on the side table, knowing he could be left alone to ruminate over his childish feelings in peace, nursing a glass and hoping to fall asleep. The warm glow the light gave off certainly helped him feel a bit drowsy, even if his wandering thoughts were working against him in that regard.

Arthur settled himself into the chair, pouring himself a drink as he surveyed the cover of a book. Just a harmless collection of poetry, but recalling the way Theo seemed so absorbed reading it in the salon made his stomach stir. Against his better judgement, he opened the book and flipped through the pages, scanning each stanza and wondering.

Was Theo reading this and thinking of that woman? Each flowery bit of prose bringing that same smile she had managed to drudge out as Theo thought about her?

Arthur knew he had no right to be so torn up about this, not when he had a body count that was too high to remember, but…

It still stung regardless. Pooling in the pit of his stomach, making his breaths harder to take in the longer this feeling ruminated inside. He knew that, even if he weren't so cowardly, that he hadn't a hope of pulling those smiles out of Theo. That his refusal to admit his feelings, even to himself, was what had landed him in this mess.

Of course, while he sat there bitterly overlooking poem after poem, the man he had been lamenting about comes into the parlor. At the height of Arthur’s self degradation, nonetheless.

A gruff sigh spilled out of Theo once Arthur wearily met his gaze. He didn’t say anything at first, eyes glancing at the bottle resting beside Arthur, then towards the book he held. If Theo had any strong feelings towards the poetry, he didn’t show it as he walked over, taking the seat beside him.

“Didn’t think you read the stuff.”

Didn’t think you did either. But Arthur shrugged, setting the book aside, “someone left it in here.”

It was quiet. Theo didn’t seem to have any reason to come into the parlor, but he sat patiently beside Arthur regardless, toying with the decanter’s top as time ticked by.

“How long have you been here?”

“Mm. Dunno. Long enough to wonder how long until le Comte updates his library,” he gestured his glass towards the book resting between them, “that book is older than the both of us.”

Arthur could feel Theo’s gaze on him. It wasn’t like the man was attempting to hide it, but he kept silent as Arthur took a slow sip of his whiskey with a sigh.

“Couldn’t find a ‘bird’ to put up with you tonight?”

And deal with another woman with a mothering complex trying to ‘nurse him’ back to whatever his normal was? No. He just shrugged at Theo’s question instead, raking a hand through his hair as he slouched in his seat, shaking his head, “wasn’t in the mood.”

“Mm. Finally gaining a conscience over leaving those women alone in the morning?”

The gentle prod was obvious, but Arthur ignored it as he poured himself another glass. He wasn’t sure what brought forth concern on Theo’s end. Did he look as haggard as he felt? Sleep had never came last night, and he knew that much was obvious, but what else was causing Theo’s eyes to narrow while Arthur stared into the amber liquid?

Downing it in one go, Arthur made the motion towards the decanter but felt Theo’s hand on his.

The warmth of Theo’s hand stole his thoughts away. He was so used to wearing gloves that he found himself unable to recall a moment where they had skin to skin contact before now. Skinship that wasn’t drunken brushes between each other. Arthur swallowed thickly, mind overcome with imaginings of Theo holding that woman’s hand and smiling- smiles Arthur could never evoke from him, feeling his chest clench again.

Drinking suddenly felt like a need, rather than a want.

“Theo?”

Theo blinked, swallowing when his eyes wavered with something Arthur couldn't catch, “we both know you’re a lightweight, slow down on the drinking.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed, shaking Theo’s hand off, “we’re at home, anyway, ‘s not like I’m going to cause trouble.”

“Arthur.”

“Bloody hell, what is it?” Theo recoiled at his tone. He took his time with a response, ruminating on the words for a reason Arthur couldn’t fathom, but the words just made his sudden temper worse.

“Drinking isn’t going to help whatever mood you're in.”

Silence stretched out between them as Arthur held his breath, his glass still resting on the table as they looked at each other. Theo’s concern was evident, and deep down Arthur knew that it was genuine; possibly even what had prompted Theo to come into the room to begin with, but jealousy kept skewing his perception. Arthur clicked his tongue as he finally tore his gaze away.

“It’ll help me sleep tonight,” another pause, then Arthur rubbed his eyes with a huff, annoyed at himself, “I haven’t slept for ages-”

“Drinking will knock you flat on your ass, but you know as well as I do that it’ll make you go through hell when you finally do wake up.”

“Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment-” It certainly felt like it when he couldn’t stop himself from deliberately pushing people away from him, but Theo ignored his depressive tone, yanking the decanter out of his grasp.

“Then, view this as a punishment.”

"For God's sake- you're going to do this all night aren't you?"

It wasn't so much a question, not with how Arthur rolled his eyes, finishing off his glass before Theo could think about grabbing it. "You do know there's more booze in the mansion, don't you?"

Theo shrugged his shoulders, "I know that if you're too lazy to go distract yourself with one of your 'skirts', you're too lazy to scour for more."

Arthur didn't respond, eyes closed as he leaned upon his elbow, propping his head up with a sigh.

"... What do you propose, then?"

~

At Arthur’s first stumble out of the parlor, Theo tsked and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, huffing a reprimand in the process. It was an accident, Arthur really hadn’t drank that much yet, but… He let himself be led towards his room, feeling careless ideas come to mind the longer he let Theo keep his grip.

Each step closer, Arthur considered his options, feeling his emotions battling out his rationale. What proof did he have of Theo really getting with that woman? A quick glance and Theo had no lipstick markings on his cheeks or neck, no scent of perfume… Most people were quick to spend as much time with a new partner in the beginning stages. Given that Theo rarely had any breaks from work and didn’t appear to spend his rare day off with the woman Arthur had saw, it opened two possibilities.

Either they had yet to breach the hurdle of admitting their feelings towards each other, or they had been together for longer than Arthur realized.

The latter stung at the back of his throat as he swallowed the thought down, focusing on the first. Because if they had yet to get together… Well, Arthur could do what he does best.

He smiled bitterly to himself, playing up the role of a drunk as they neared Theo’s room.

~

Excuses. That’s what Arthur needed; something to make his behavior forgettable in the morning. Something to make his shame easier to deal with the next day. He took advantage of Theo’s dazed state after they stumbled into his room, cupping his cheeks mid-scold and stealing a lingering kiss. At first, Theo seemed frozen, unsure of how to react, and Arthur’s fear exacerbated. He nipped at Theo’s bottom lip, feeling his shoulders drop with relief when the man finally kissed him back.

Theo was hesitant, his grip unfocused as Arthur managed to take the lead; distracting him as he slowly backed Theo into his desk chair, straddling him easily. When they broke apart, panting as Theo’s confused look swept over him, the taste of him still lingered on Arthur’s lips as he nervously licked them, “don’t you want a distraction too?”

Theo’s gaze narrowed for a moment. The threat of getting an answer he feared pushed Arthur to act impulsively, crashing their lips together in one fluid movement.

Regardless of how clumsy it was, Arthur was thankful when he felt Theo’s grip focus on his ass, pushing their bodies flush together and dragging out as gasp when his fingers threaded themselves in Arthur’s hair; holding him in place as their rushed kisses deepened. Every heavy breath between them reeked of ethanol, and as Arthur felt Theo slowly get harder, he pushed the thoughts of their crumbling friendship aside.

The feel of Theo’s tongue against his drew a shudder out. Arthur twisted his fingers into Theo’s shirt, head beginning to spin as Theo’s kisses grew rough, more demanding, making Arthur’s hands shake as he blindly searched for the buttons of Theo’s shirt and clumsily worked them. It was difficult to concentrate or even attempt taking back control when Theo kept stealing his breath, and Arthur was pleased; safe from the burden of thinking past impulses.

Three buttons undone, and Arthur’s palms spread out against Theo’s chest as they finally broke apart, gasping for breath. He watched as Theo surveyed him, taking in the sight of his hair disheveled, his slick and swollen lips. Arthur knew the heat spread across his cheeks was obvious, and when a ghost of a prideful smirk took over Theo’s features, Arthur wrapped his arms around his neck with a strained chuckle.

“You’re not going to stop there, are you?”

With a slow blink, Theo finally came back to the present and slid his palms over Arthur’s ass again. A surge of heat rushed through Arthur, making him bite his lip in pleasure.

They weren’t sober by any means, but neither of them were drunk. Yet when Theo suddenly began pressing his lips against Arthur’s neck, he let out a breathless, excited laugh with his groan, Arthur’s head spinning as if he had drank his limit three times over.

A brush of Theo’s fangs against his skin made Arthur thread his fingers through Theo’s locks, shivering with the teasing waves of pleasure it brought. Slowly, the chair they sat on began to creak as Arthur rolled his hips, grinding their clothed erections together with an open moan. It only took a few more desperate pushes to coax Theo into changing positions.

Arthur nearly yelped as Theo abruptly stood up, carrying him over towards his bed with much more ease than expected- only to drop Arthur onto the mattress.

“Bloody hell, Theo, I’m not a toy-” but his flash of annoyance disappeared as Theo straddled him, working his shirt off. Unable to look away, Arthur’s eyes raked over Theo’s chest, a hum of appreciation unabashedly slipping out, “... maybe we should have done this sooner.”

Theo scoffed, beginning to roughly unbutton Arthur’s shirt, looking pleased when Arthur arched into his touch. Excited, Arthur smirked as he slid his hands between them, deftly unbuckling Theo’s belt.

It was rushed, and Arthur liked it that way. Dragging out teasing touches just opened up the chance for his unwanted thoughts to consume him and take him out of the mood. Arthur wanted to speed this up, drive Theo mad enough to shove his face into the mattress and give him the mindless pleasure he craved. So he tugged Theo’s zipper down and cupped his length, a breathless laugh escaping him when Theo briefly thrusted against his palm with a low grunt.

Arthur took Theo’s open pleasure in stride, grinning as he slipped his hand into Theo’s boxers, grasping his cock and giving a few loose strokes. Already, precum was leaking from Theo’s slit, and Arthur couldn’t help the soft groan he let out when he felt it wet his palm, “all because of me, hm?”

“Something like that.”

The unintentional pout he gave made Theo bark out a laugh, which caused his lips to twist into a frown. ‘Something like that’. He’ll make it because of him, regardless of Theo’s pride.

Running his thumb over Theo’s slit, he dragged the precum gathered there in a slow, teasing circle along his glans, loving how Theo’s eyes fluttered shut with a moan, “mm, are you sure?”

Theo’s eyes snapped open in annoyance, and suddenly Arthur’s belt was roughly being undone and tossed aside so Theo could yank his pants down enough to take his cock into his hand, mimicking Arthur’s earlier motions. Giddily, Arthur thrust into Theo’s grip, letting out a content, low sigh, “finally.”

He had to wonder what he looked like to Theo, a man he was unsure of would even find pleasure in any of this before now. A flushed, sultry mess like the minxes Arthur happily devoured, tempting Theo to explore new sinful approaches to their relationship?

Arthur almost scoffed at himself, but he still played his part; tugging Theo down by his arm, demanding another flurry of biting kisses as their cocks brushed against each other. He took delight in the strained moan Theo choked on when Arthur reached between them, grasping their throbbing cocks in his hand. There wasn’t any need for words. Theo quickly began to slip his tongue back into Arthur’s mouth, thrusting in time with Arthur’s strokes, swallowing their muffled moans.

But then Theo’s fingers pried Arthur’s grip open, threading their hands together and instead forced Arthur to stroke them like that- as if they were holding hands. It shouldn’t have tripped Arthur up, not when the move made it easier for them to chase after their release, but he found his thoughts slipping back towards a different type of neediness.

It took a lot to break apart from Theo, who quickly busied himself nipping at Arthur’s neck while he caught his breath long enough to speak, “H-hey, surely you don’t want it to- ahn, end like this?”

“Mm, think you can handle otherwise?”

Arthur just chuckled, running a hand through his sweaty bangs, “don't make me beg, Theo, I'm not sure either of us could take it.”

The cocky tone earned him a harsh nip to his pulse, making Arthur let out a choked noise when Theo paired it with a squeeze to the tip of their cocks. Theo finally let go after a moment and carefully got off of him, reaching into his nightstand to pull out a jar of lube.

"I can't believe you jerk off more than sleep around, ' Arthur mused and removed his undergarments as Theo rolled his eyes, '...what does the stubborn Theodorus Van Gogh get off to, hm?"

His question seemingly went ignored as Theo came back to him, fingers slick with lube. Gently he rested his knees on the bed, nudging Arthur to spread his legs before he spread lube around his hole.

Arthur hated this. He hated the careful way Theo pushed a finger inside of him, watching as Arthur held his breath. It’s not as if it hurt- god only knows how often Arthur’s been more adventurous- but the process takes time. And asking patience from a man who was struggling as much as he was torture.

“Better tell me if it hurts, klootzak.”

He nodded, knowing Theo would stop otherwise. After a few careful pumps, Theo pressed another finger inside, drawing a content sigh of his name from Arthur. By the time the third one was in, Arthur slowly began to stroke himself, shooting a smile Theo’s way when he watched intently, “enjoying the show?”

“Wondering how you manage to keep from being a quick shot.”

"Believe it or not, I do have some self control."

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he scoffed.

The way Theo smirked as the tip of his cock started to push into him made Arthur’s arousal flare, and… Well, it didn't feel bad, but Arthur winced as Theo inched deeper, his length thicker than Arthur had initially believed.

With that slip in confidence, Theo stopped abruptly, making Arthur grumble impatiently.

"Come now, you're not going to tease me this badly, are you?"

"You're already wincing-"

"Well, I didn't realize your thick-headedness extended that far down, Theo."

Regardless, Theo carefully pulled out of Arthur, evidently ready to settle on a different method of getting off.

“If you’re that worried then,” Arthur sat up, stealing another kiss before muttering against Theo’s mouth, “lay down.”

The look Theo gave was skeptical, but he backed off. Laying down he eyed Arthur, his caution ebbing away as Arthur threw a leg over his waist, straddling him with a grin. He kept one hand on Theo's chest as he reached behind him, giving Theo’s thick length a few good strokes before steering the tip of his cock to his entrance. The anticipation that had built up in Arthur’s abdomen dissolved into a fiery heat once he gingerly lowered himself onto Theo’s cock, his quiet gasps making Theo grab onto his thighs in a flash of worry.

“Hey, don’t push yourse-,” but Arthur’s hips sank down in one fluid movement before Theo could finish, taking Theo’s cock in as deep as he could manage.

“F-fuck, Theo, I-” a shudder overcame Arthur as his own cock throbbed with need.

“Yeah? Thought you said you could take it?”

He shot Theo a bleary-eyed glare, one that barely lingered, his expression morphing into one of pleasure as he tested a roll of his hips, loving the way Theo’s length pushed back into him impatiently.

Arthur spread his hands out on Theo's chest, doing his best to ignore how fast Theo's heart was beating as he used the leverage to start an unsteady pace.

It was difficult to quip about Theo's flushed features, not when his head was already spinning from finally getting Theo tangled up with him like this. Each bounce on Theo's cock slowly made Arthur's composure slip, his speed faltering when he managed to plunge Theo's cock in deeper on some thrusts more than others.

Admittedly, it drove Arthur nearly mad; getting Theo just where he wanted him, only for Arthur to clumsily take his cock like this. Whereas Theo… Arthur hesitated, shivering from the excitement buzzing throughout him, Theo still wore a confident smirk with his skin just as flushed as Arthur’s.

"I thought you've done this before?"

"I have- y-you're just so bloody thick-" Theo's rough hands grabbed ahold of his hips, interrupting Arthur as Theo pulled him down just as he thrusted upwards, drawing out a strangled cry from the writer, "Theo!"

“Does it hurt?”

“No-”

“Then,” Theo tightened his grip, keeping up the pace and covering the speed Arthur was lacking, “stop complaining.”

And maybe Arthur really had too much to drink; he couldn’t focus on anything but chasing the pleasure of this secretly harbored fantasy coming to life. He was unable to care about the noises spilling out as Theo roughly guided Arthur’s hips to meet each thrust he gave.

The throbbing arousal coursing through him reached a dangerous peak not too long after, and Arthur’s nails dug into Theo’s chest as he attempted to regain some clarity and control himself better. But Theo slowed and stopped moving, causing Arthur to pant out a curse.

"Y-You're such a devil-!"

"Mm, doesn't seem to stop you from mewling."

Arthur’s head spun as Theo pulled out, drawing an embarrassing whine out until he was pushed onto his back. Theo's palms slid along the underside of Arthur's thighs, ass, until he grabbed his sides, pushing in deep with a lazy roll of his hips.

"Uhn- ah! Theo-" Arthur’s voice was already strained, but another groan bubbled up when Theo picked up the pace. It was obvious Theo was getting close, his jaw clenched tight as his thrusts delved deeper, harsh enough to make the bed creak in tandem.

Fumbling, Arthur tugged on Theo’s locks to crash their lips together again. Nails dug into his hips for a moment, and then Theo broke them apart, eyes narrowed at Arthur’s chuckle.

Finding a hand at his throat, Arthur lightly gasped as Theo’s barely-there grip focused on the sides of his throat. It was enough to give Arthur a chance to rasp out any type of rejection to the idea, but instead the writer dug his heels into Theo’s ass, urging him to keep going.

At first, Theo kept his hold as it was, but as he began to get closer to his release, he tightened it just enough for Arthur’s knees to press against his waist, Arthur’s eyes going hazy at the new pleasure.

And then he let go, permitting Arthur to take in a deep breath, “fuck…”

“Tell me if I need to stop,” Theo warned, but Arthur just chuckled.

“Don’t stop until you cum. You’re, ahn, just as close as I am, h-huh?” Arthur gave him a smug look despite the flush on his cheeks, despite the way his bangs were ruffled and damp with sweat; Theo gripped him tight as he leaned over, nipping and sucking a mark onto his neck, right where his collar couldn’t reach. Arthur’s cock throbbed at the sensation, feeling as though he was being claimed.

“Then- Tell me where you want it.”

"I-inside! Oh hell, Theo, I want to feel it-"

Arthur's back arched as Theo's grip tightened again, feeling Arthur clench around his cock.

"Feel what?"

Release, Arthur sucking in air as he spoke all at once.

"Want to feel your cock throb- a-as you cum, mmph. Make me feel- ghk-!"

Another tightened grip, and Arthur's eyes welled as Theo slammed into him, heavily panting as Arthur shook with each thrust. The lack of air nearly became unbearable, but just before it was too much, Theo let go. Instead he pushed on Arthur’s thighs, nearly folding him in half as he thrusted once, twice, and then spilled inside with a rasp.

The faint smell of ethanol lingered between them, mixed into the way Arthur desperately tugged Theo close, smashing their lips together in clumsy kisses. He threaded his fingers through Theo's hair, keeping him in place for just a moment, to meet his gaze when they broke apart.

"Theo."

His name is muttered as a lovelorn sigh, Arthur's eyes searching his for something, but Theo dipped his head against Arthur's neck, avoiding the unspoken confession as his fangs broke skin.

“Ah-Ah! Oh gods-” Arthur’s nails dig deep into Theo’s back and scalp, his noises turning into choked rasps as Theo reached between them, jerking Arthur off to the timing of his slowing thrusts.

Arthur lasted just long enough for Theo to pull his fangs out, to let out a string of curses as he tensed and spilled over Theo’s hand, and then Theo pulled out with shuddering breaths, forehead planted against Arthur’s shoulder.

~

It took what felt like ages for the two of them to catch their breath. As soon as the afterglow fades and a slow ache replaces it, Arthur found his thoughts immediately settling onto his current issue: Theo. Who was refusing to look at him, head still pressed against his shoulder.

Embarrassment started to creep in the longer they refused to speak.

What did you do, Arthur?

"Well, that was a nice bit of fun," he swallowed thickly, hoping Theo can't feel the hammering in his chest, "perhaps we should do this again sometime…"

Theo groaned, frustration clear, "is sex the only thing that's ever on your mind?"

"You weren't complaining before-"

But Theo finally got up, sitting back on his knees, "can you get up?"

"What, kicking me out so soon? No wonder you can only get with your hand."

"Bath, Arthur. Trying to see if you can make it to the le therme."

Oh…

~

Shame struck Arthur once they both sink into the water, the heat drawing attention to all the parts of him that ache. He was lucky his job wasn't anything like Theo's, and that he could get away with sitting on his ass all day.

Getting here wasn't as easy as he thought. All his bravado fizzled away when it became apparent just how hard they had gone at it, and Arthur's stumble when getting up prompted Theo to…

Well, he's just thankful no one saw how pathetic he looked getting here.

Arthur sank a little deeper into the water as the silence between them stretched out, glad the heat was helping his lower back. But the longer they were quiet, the more Arthur’s thoughts rushed; had anyone else heard them? What was Theo thinking right now?

Had Arthur just ruined whatever was built up between them, or were those feelings completely one-sided?

An annoyed tsk caused him to glance at Theo, who was rubbing his neck.

“Did you have to leave a mark so high up? How am I going to explain this…”

Ah… now that he was looking at Theo in the light, he noticed his desperation all over him. Lovebites along his neck and collar, Theo’s hair still mussed and scratches along his shoulder… At the thought of others catching a glimpse, Arthur felt his jealousy simmer.

“I think it looks good,” looked like he’s taken, at least.

"I feel sorry for all those women you sleep with if they wake up like this. Tch, I look like a fool."

Arthur wasn't sure what to feel. Proud? Sated? There was a sliver of joy humming inside of him; he finally got a taste of what he'd been craving for so long. But guilt and fear were quickly taking ahold of him, unable to keep himself from wondering just how bad he screwed things up.

"What does this mean now?" The question slipped out as soon as he thought it, and Arthur felt his ears burn as Theo shrugged.

"You said you wanted a distraction, and you got it."

Ouch. But he did deserve that, he supposed.

"So… We just go along like this never happened?" Theo gave him a noncommittal grunt, and Arthur kept on, "Theo, just humor me, will you?"

There was a sigh, Theo rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't know what answer you want, Arthur. For fucks sake, neither of us were thinking."

"Doesn't this have higher stakes for you? What about that pretty bird you keep taking strolls along the Seine with?"

Theo froze, giving Arthur an incredulous look, "you mean Mr. Garnier’s wife?"

Arthur went quiet, feeling heat in his cheeks as he processed Theo's words, and the accompanying embarrassment. Weakly, he stammered, "i-is that the only woman you've… you've been seeing?"

And Theo, the bastard, burst in laughter as a response. Not quietly either; loud enough to make Arthur's ears ring as the foolishness of this situation sunk in.

"Theo, for gods sake-"

"Is that what this was all about? Is that why you were in such a mood earlier?"

Arthur covered his face, his pride washing away, "my god man, do shut up."

His laughter continued until it faded off into a chuckle. Seeing Arthur still unable to look his way, Theo finally relaxed, wrapping an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and tugging him close.

“Come ‘ere.” Arthur still doesn’t speak, but Theo slowly continues, choosing his words carefully, “is this really why you’ve been moody lately?”

“At this point, does it really matter if I give an answer?”

Reviewing tonight’s events should have been enough of an answer, but with the reluctant confirmation, Theo just gives Arthur a half-hearted squeeze. It made Arthur finally relax his shoulders, no longer hiding his face.

“I’m… Not good with these things, Arthur,” No, he wasn’t. It was another reason Arthur had been so surprised to see him happily with another woman. But now, knowing all of that jealousy was pointless, to an extent, well… Arthur kept quiet as Theo continued, “even before arriving here, when I didn’t have so much weighing me down, I wasn’t good at this. But…”

Theo trailed off before taking another deep breath, “if this is genuine... then I’m willing to give it a try. With you.”

Surprised, Arthur looked over to meet Theo’s gaze- only to see the man was turned away, the tips of his ears reddened.

“‘I’m not good at these things’, he says…”

Theo turned to shoot him a glare, only frowning when he realized it let Arthur see just how badly he was blushing.

“I’m trying.”

Chuckling, Arthur felt his anxieties start to ebb away, “you really want to do this? With a mess like me? If this thing goes south, well…”

“I’d be handling this ‘mess’ in one way or another, regardless.”

“Very romantic, Theo. Thanks.”

The quip eases them both with the laugh it brings, and this time the quiet that stretched out was comfortable.

“We’ll need to talk about this more, in the morning, but for now,” Theo slipped his arm around Arthur’s waist, relaxing, “don’t work yourself up. We’re fine.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“You’re not the only one good at reading others, you know.”

Arthur merely hummed in response, letting that comfortable silence come back.

It felt odd, to say the least, to even consider getting into a serious relationship. Years of waving off most chances at happiness caused an almost knee-jerk reaction to do the same here; to chase Theo off with showcasing the worst of him. But Theo had already seen all of that.

There was still the chance of this not working out, or working out in the way they planned, but Arthur finally let himself rest against Theo, choosing to ignore those obnoxious worries at least for tonight.

------

I've discovered a friend can innocently send me a song saying it makes them think of a shared favored ship, only for me to dumbly open a word doc to scramble in a fic inspired by it.

I've wanted to write a longer Theocona fic for a while now, I didn't think it'd be like this, especially given how it's. Rusty. But if you read through it all: Thank you!

While I love these fools, I'm not too sure when the next time I'll write another fic for them. Theo's really hard to write, and I have so many older wips I need to finish... Maybe sooner than later I'll have another, but an established relationship themed one...

Thank you again for reading!

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[mayihavethisdanse]

“What is this, the Dark Ages?”

Or, Arthurian themes and allusions in the Brotherhood of Steel mythos as seen in Fallout 4. (But that’s a lot of words.)

Yep. We're doing this. 

First, some obligatory caveats: there is no single Arthurian canon, just 1500 years of assorted fanfic based on the whims of whoever was writing at the time. For this extremely highbrow Tumblr meta, I have ignored most of it and drawn on my favorites. Also Wikipedia.

Also, I am not an expert in Arthurian literature (or Fallout lore, come to that), and I preemptively beg the pardon of anyone who is.

Finally, in no way am I claiming that all these parallels and thematic echoes are deliberate or even significant. In fact, I'd break it down into:

Clearly deliberate allusions, whether in or out of universe;

Probably coincidence, but could be someone deliberately capitalizing on a coincidental similarity;

Almost certainly coincidence, but fun to speculate about; annnnd

Blatant Monty Python references. (Because of course there are.)

I'll start with the big one.

Arthur Maxson, boy king and unifier

(source)

So across all the retellings and variations of King Arthur’s life story, there are a few consistent elements, particularly in his early life and rise to power. Some of these threads are echoed in the Fallout universe, specifically (and unsurprisingly) in the person of Arthur Maxson.

Both the legendary King Arthur and Arthur Maxson were born with a claim to power lying in their ancestry, both were fostered away from their families, and both proved themselves in combat at a young age. 

King Arthur united the warring kingdoms of Britain into a single entity, making them stronger against outsiders and receiving general admiration and acclaim. Arthur Maxson united the divided factions of the BoS after the events of Fallout 3 and is held in similarly high regard by his men.

The name Prydwen is a reference to the ship of the original King Arthur. Presumably, Arthur Maxson (or someone in the BoS who anticipated his promotion) christened the airship in a deliberate homage to the Arthurian myth.

King Arthur is associated with his legendary sword. I think it’s notable that Maxson’s legend is associated with a bladed weapon, too. ("He killed a DEATHCLAW with a COMBAT KNIFE!”)

Probably coincidence, but fun: the historical emperor Magnus Maximus, who pops up a lot in early Arthurian legend, was known in Welsh as... Macsen. (⌐■_■)

Round Table, but make it dieselpunk

(Continued under the cut.)

Moving away from obvious allusions and into some looser parallels:

Like the Round Table, the Brotherhood is an exclusive knightly order with its leader being the one able to open it up to his chosen few.

Like the Round Table, the BoS sees itself as defending human civilization against forces of chaos. (I’ll touch on their tech-hoarding tendencies when I get to the Grail stuff.) This idea of civilization in the face of chaos goes back to the BoS’s founding, even though the level of isolationism we see in most of the Fallout franchise is not exactly what founder Roger Maxson had in mind: “Notably, Maxson's ultimate intention was to establish the Brotherhood as an organization that works closely with people outside of the Brotherhood, as guardians of civilizations, not its gatekeepers.” (source) In a lot of ways, Arthur Maxson represents a return to his ancestor’s original ideals.

Renegade knights? Internal politics? Traitors within? We gotchu.

In both the medieval legends and in all chapters of the BoS we’ve seen, there’s a big focus on bloodlines (ew). Ironically, it’s probably Arthur Maxson’s unquestionable ancestry that allows him to be more progressive than either of his East Coast predecessors when it comes to boosting Brotherhood numbers by recruitment (even though you can still see a clear division between “born Brotherhood” and recruited soldiers, but that’s a topic for another day). Maxson sees himself as an Elder who "cares for the people"—however misguided and patronizing that attitude might be—and whatever else you might say about the guy, you can't say he doesn't believe he has a duty. Which brings us to…

Know Your Enemy: Danse as Gawain

Before I start this section, an acknowledgement of authorial bias:

Gawain, as portrayed in the Middle English poem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, is my very favorite of King Arthur’s knights. (Other stories aren't always as flattering, but like I said at the outset: I'm sticking to the ones I like.)

That poem is my very favorite piece of medieval Arthurian literature. In this section, I'll refer to the modern English translation by Simon Armitage.

...that’s it, I have no other biases to disclose. 

What? 👀

(Art: Clive Hicks-Jenkins)

All right. So in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, you’ve got this himbo loyal knight of Arthur’s who finds himself caught up in... you know what, let me just paste in the Wikipedia summary. (The Toast, RIP, also did a pretty entertaining and more-or-less accurate recap.)

It describes how Sir Gawain, a knight of King Arthur's Round Table, accepts a challenge from a mysterious "Green Knight" who dares any knight to strike him with his axe if he will take a return blow in a year and a day. Gawain accepts and beheads him with his blow, at which the Green Knight stands up, picks up his head and reminds Gawain of the appointed time. In his struggles to keep his bargain, Gawain demonstrates chivalry and loyalty until his honour is called into question by a test involving the lord and the lady of the castle where he is a guest.

Don’t worry too much about the plot details, though; for this post, I’m more interested in the thematic parallels. The Green Knight story is full of contrasts: order vs. chaos, civilization vs. wilderness, mortal man vs. Other... but let’s start with Gawain himself. 

Some stuff to know about Gawain:

He was "as good as the purest gold, devoid of vices but virtuous and loyal". Gawain took his principles more seriously even than the rest of Arthur’s knights, not out of pride but out of humility: "I would rather drop dead than default from duty," he says. 

He’s faithful and honorable and never even tempted to betray an oath, even when offered every variety of seduction and riches, except for a single moment of weakness in a desperate desire not to be executed for random shit by powerful forces for reasons he doesn't understand.  

Even though he doesn’t really understand why he needs to die, he sticks to his oath. Gawain's one weakness is a moment of desperate, private, human desire for survival. He'll submit to the headsman’s axe if he has to, but he'd still rather live. 

Above all, Gawain is the ideal of a human man: he might be the bravest and loyal man there is, but he’s still fundamentally human.

You can probably see where I'm going with this.

A few more fun facts about Gawain that resonate with Paladin Danse’s story:

He’s got a bunch of really shitty brothers. (No comment.)

Gawain (SPOILERS!) doesn't actually end up beheaded, but he does willingly kneel for his execution and gets a cut on the throat as a reminder of his sin. And, uh, Danse can also get his throat cut! It doesn’t end as nicely but it’s, you know, a thing that can happen.

Gawain might be a really good guy, and he tries really hard to be one, but in the end he’s nothing more than that: there’s nothing supernatural about him, he has no special powers beyond his own principles and devotion. He’s just a dude doing his Best. 

Wait, why not Danselot?

Oh, that guy? Here’s the thing.

Lancelot personifies the continental ideals of courtly love that became popular in the High Middle Ages. Central to his story is the prioritization of personal relationships and romantic feelings in a way that you don’t really see in Gawain's, at least in the Green Knight tale. (Later stories hook Gawain up with an extremely delightful lady, but even that is a different flavor of romance than Lancelot's and has more to do with Gawain honoring his word and his egalitarian treatment of women (hell yeah). In the poem, Gawain is impressed by Bertilak's wife but resists her temptation; in fact, the biggest risk is not that he'll yield to her advances but that he'll be discourteous to her, i.e., violate his principles and cause dishonor to his king and his host.)

Lancelot is driven by passions over principles in a way that Gawain never really is (at least in the stories I’m talking about; later writers have committed character assassination to various degrees). Yes, you could argue that both Gawain and Lancelot betray their oaths, but Lancelot’s betrayal is never, um, blind. He knows what he’s doing and makes a deliberate choice to prioritize his love for the queen over his love for the king. It doesn’t make him a bad guy—he too is an ideal knight with one fatal flaw—but his character isn’t as comparable to Paladin Danse. 

Yeah, Gawain is (in most stories) a prince and a kinsman of Arthur’s, but he’s ultimately a native boy who doesn’t break the mold of a Knight of the Round Table. Likewise, Danse is portrayed as competent and valuable to the BoS, but not exceptional or breaking the mold of what a BoS soldier should be: he simply represents the ideal. Meanwhile, Lancelot is a foreign prince who was marked from childhood as special and fancy, and his storyline goes alllll over the place. (Much like this post.)

For example, Lancelot goes to absolutely absurd extremes to prove his devotion for no other reason than to prove it. (“I’ll do any useless humiliating thing you want. I’ll betray every oath except the one I made to you. That’s what love is!”) Gawain would never. Danse would never.

Ultimately, Gawain's tests are of his character and not of his love. And like Gawain, Danse’s devotion is to service and his principles, not to another person—even Arthur Maxson.

All that said, there are some similarities: both are beloved by Arthur, both are held up as the ideal of what a knight should be. And even if their fatal flaws are different, both make the point that no matter how good and brave and loyal they might be, no human being can be perfect. 

(Except Galahad. Who is, as a result, very boring.) 

I’ll conclude this section with a quote from someone else’s take on the Greek Knight poem:

I like Gawain. He’s not perfect, but he’s trying his best which is all any of us can do. He’s not like the other knights in the Arthurian legends who occasionally ‘accidentally’ kill women on their little adventures and then feel hard done by when they have to deal with the consequences of that. Gawain holds himself to a high standard – higher, it seems, than Arthur and his knights hold him to considering how hard they laugh when Gawain tells them how bad he feels about the whole thing.

I think Gawain is very relatable in this story. We all want to be better than we actually are.

And that, more than anything else, is Danse.

The Grail myth

What’s that? Lost relics of power? Better send some large armed men after ‘em!

The parallels to the BoS’s tech-hoarding ways are obvious enough that the games themselves lampshade them (albeit by way of Monty Python). But it also ties into the larger themes of “purity” versus “corruption” and the BoS’s self-image as a bastion between civilization and chaos. (See Maxson's line in response to the Sole Survivor’s quip about the Dark Ages: “Judging from the state of the world, it wouldn't be a stretch to say we're living in that era again.”)

But the ultimate futility of the Grail mission is also worthy of note. The BoS might want the power of prewar tech on their side, but they’re no more to be trusted with it than any other group of human beings. No matter how they try, the “corruption” of humanity can’t be overcome as long as they’re striving to harness power for their own ends. You can only achieve power by surrendering control of it.

The death of Arthur

The nature of gameplay being what it is, it's not guaranteed that the Arthur figure will be fatally betrayed, bringing Camelot down with him—but it's not unlikely, either.

Awkward.

Some final spitballing:

Outside the Brotherhood, there are some fun parallels of the Arthur myth with the rest of Fallout 4. Betrayal by one’s own son, for example.

The key difference between the BoS and the legendary Round Table: King Arthur’s knights, for all their flaws and human weaknesses, are usually presented as unambiguous Good Guys. The BoS is... a little more ambiguous...

...but damn if they don’t think they're the good guys. 

A-ad victoriam, fellas!

[oumaheroes]

Old Age

Word Count: 1772

Characters: Canada, England, and France

---

There were some days where Canada truly felt his age.

Most of the time how old he was didn’t really hit him. He happily pottered around work or home as easily as he imagined most humans his physical age did: running for a train he was almost certainly going to miss, tripping down the last few steps on a flight of stairs because he was staring at his phone and wasn’t watching his feet, or spilling coffee on himself when he missed his mouth taking a sip.

His colleagues, despite knowing who he was, spoke to him as an equal and Canada could happily pass weeks, or sometimes even months, without consciously being aware of how old he was- or even really what he was.

It was easy to forget, surrounded by humans every day, that he was not one. His ministers and co-workers spoke to him without questioning his position that high in government- that was admittedly unusual for a face as young as his. Occasionally, he’d bump into a young intern or graduate who didn’t know him and he’d have a nice, genuine interaction before a look of shock crossed their face when someone high up greeted him respectfully. It was a helpful, yet stark, reminder.

But overall, when you were surrounded by people who did know it never really hit him that his presence or job was something he took for granted and the passing of time was something he didn’t really take notice of. It was normal. He was there, he was called Matthew, sometimes, or Canada, but both were his name and the potency of what he was, was surprisingly quite forgettable.

Of course, what he was was never something he could completely avoid. Someone would mention a time, or a date, or a thing that had happened and Canada would immediately feel the distance widen between them all as it was made obvious that, to everyone else, what they were discussing was history. It was something passed, something that had happened to other people too long ago to properly connect with on an emotional level. An old battle, an old political bill; something that someone long long dead had said or written that now remained only as faint ink on curling, dusty paper.

But to Canada it was there in his head, the words clear and as easy to recall as if they were spoken to him yesterday. A benefit of nationhood, he supposed, to be fully aware of things that had political consequence, to be able to trace the makings of himself back through time and see how they spiralled and grew.

History wasn’t just words, to him, or mere events. Such things made up the foundations of himself, the building blocks of his life and he felt them thrum through him like a song, twisting and moulding him into being.

Becoming aware of his age and the difference between himself and humans were when Canada really felt the weight of the years he carried. Over three hundred of them made themselves known, hanging off his shoulders and settling down to his legs to hold him up. It was easy to briefly forget how old he was, but that knowledge was impossible to rid himself of entirely- Canada was made up of history, of the bones of time and they cracked together as he moved through his life to remind him of who he was with every step.

He had burned, he had bled, he had died. He had seen.

That was the point of him. To watch to passage of time and remember it, to hold the memory of his people within him and use their voices and experiences to push for the continuation of the future. Their future.

Canada was his people, was made by his people for his people and as he sat amongst them, discussing old old moments long gone with humans who could only read and dream of them, the distinction of what he was would hit him like a thunderbolt.

It was heavy, to be so old. To have seen so many things, to have lived through so much. To be what he was.

He had just had one of those instances. He and his cabinet had spent the entire morning discussing the founding of their nation and its independence in order to plan for the yearly celebrations and Canada had suffered through the whole time feeling every second of his age press against him.

When talks finally drew to a close and he could escape, Canada dragged his ancient body towards the centre of town. England and France were visiting, along with the rest of the UN, and he’d promised to meet them both for lunch before they too were pulled into an afternoon of far more internationally inclined meetings.

If he were honest with himself, what Canada really wanted to do was go home and watch TV; switch his brain off so that he could numb himself with bad reality shows. It was a good pastime that he enjoyed with guilty abandon and one that he would much rather have preferred doing. However, he’d made a promise and Canada was nothing if not a nation of his word.

Sadly.

England and France were already there when he arrived, tucked away in a corner table. France glanced up as the door jingled with his entrance, waving him over with a smile. Canada nodded at the waiter who motioned him through and settled himself down in a chair at their table between them.

‘Good afternoon,’ France greeted him with his usual cheek kisses, hair tickling Canada’s nose as he leant in close, ‘you arrived just on time, I was about to throw Arthur out of the window.’

‘You wish,’ England looked up from his phone and shot him a quick, but warm smile, ‘Hello Matthew.’

Canada’s heart sank. He really wasn’t in the mood to play mediator today, ‘Dare I ask why?’ he said, turning to France.

France gave an effortless shrug and settled back in his seat, ‘Do I really need a reason?’

‘Yes.’

Both England and Canada spoke at once and France gave a sly grin, ‘I won’t darling, you don’t deserve the trouble,’ he patted Canada’s knee soothingly and politely ignored England’s muttered “as if you could” from across the table, ‘but the idiot seems to think he’s correct about something which he very much is not.’

‘Oh, of course,’ England retorted immediately, ‘you can’t remember properly but I’m the one who’s wrong.’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘What is it?’ Canada interjected quickly. The waiter who had greeted him at the door was shooting their table looks of alarm out of the corner of his eye and Canada smiled at him apologetically, ‘Maybe I could help.’

To his surprise, England and France shared a look, something unspoken passing between them, ‘You weren’t about yet,’ offered France, sounding apologetic.

‘When was it?’

‘Oh, not too long ago,’ England waved a hand airily, ‘only six hundred years or so.’

Canada blinked, ‘Six hundred?’

‘Or there abouts,’ England frowned again, ‘I’m not sure when exactly, but I know France is wrong.’

France scoffed, ‘You can’t remember when it is, but you know I’m wrong?’

‘Obviously. I know it was about fifty years after Agincourt, I’m not sure of exactly when but-‘

‘Well, there you go! You’ve muddled it up with something else.’

‘I haven’t! You held that ball, the one with the fucking shit tonne of flowers everywhere, and were displaying those golden goblet things you were so damn proud of and I gave you that stupid painting-‘

‘No!’ France interjected angrily, ‘You took that painting and then were made to give it back.’

‘I didn’t! It was my bloody painting- Jesus fucking Christ,’ England held his head in his hands, ‘that’s not the point, I’m using that as a reference-‘

‘Yes well, pick a reference that has a grain of reality in it, would you?’

England opened his mouth to argue back again but Canada didn’t hear him, by now long tuned out of the conversation.

Only. Only six hundred years ago. Canada couldn’t even imagine that amount of time, couldn’t imagine having lived so long that six hundred years was considered to be a mere drop in the ocean.

But to these two, it was. England and France had both been alive for millennia, had known each other for that long and had been alive without each other for even longer before that.

Sitting next to them, his own existence suddenly felt like nothing, felt insignificant in the history of mankind. What had Canada seen, that these two had not? He couldn’t even begin to imagine. Three hundred years felt more than enough.

It hit him, then, how long most of their kind had lived. He’d realised this before, of course, but still the comprehension about the difference in age between him and most of the world left him dumbstruck anew. Fuck, what about China; Lord only knew how old he really was. There wasn’t a point in history that it didn’t seem as though China hadn’t been around to experience, even from across the world. Whole empires and civilisations had risen and fallen and most of the nations Canada knew had personally been involved in them somehow. It was astounding to consider all the people who had lived throughout the centuries that, to Canada, felt like nothing more than characters in a story.

What on earth was three hundred years to age like that? To history that felt so ancient to him, so disconnected that it didn’t really even feel real, but that was as normal to most nations as his own history was.

How many years would Canada have to live until three hundred was something he would describe as ‘only’?

‘Are you alright, lad?’ Canada was jolted out of his spiral to find England looking at him with concern, a hand on his arm.

‘Yeah, sorry,’ he shook his head, ‘it’s just- you’re both so old.’

England coloured and France laughed, ‘We’re not old,’ England jabbed a thumb in France’s direction, ‘Well, he is.’

‘It is more about how you feel and act, dear, that’s more important and in that regard, you are far older than I.’ France yelped suddenly as England kicked him under the table, ‘Does the truth sting, Arthur? Is that why you felt the need to vent your frustrations on me?’

‘As if I need more of a reason-‘

They began again, in earnest, but Canada let them continue uninterrupted, silently and guiltily enjoying the feeling of being a child once more.

---

AN:

I must admit that not much thought or plot went into this. I wanted to write something short and somewhat silly as a treat for spending most of yesterday editing. Ideally, one day I want to take this concept and explore it more with greater care and detail because I think it’s something a newer nation like Canada would really struggle with.

300 years is a long time, and I’m sure it must be hard for him to feel that age and then go and speak to anyone from the Old World and be met with the reality of how truly old their kind can be. Canada is a baby, despite the centuries he has collected for himself, and I feel like there would always be that conflict within him about how old he feels around humans comapred to how old he is next to other nations. Maybe this idea is best explored as a headcannon rather than a fic, but I had a fun time writing it.

Anyway, that is my tuppence worth- thank you for reading!

[ikeromantic]

Hide and Seek

A le Comte de Saint Germain story. Spicy fluff at approx. 1600 words. This was inspired by a comment @raymiazaki made on my Ikemektober prompt fic Rose

The trees were tall with broad trunks and high branches. Part of an ancient forest that stretched into the hills behind the mansion. Le Comte often enjoyed peaceful walks here, away from the hum of activity in the mansion. Today his trip was less reflective, but infinitely more amusing. 

“Ma cherie, aren’t you old to be skipping?” 

She was a little way ahead of him on the path, gleefully kicking piles of fallen leaves. “You’re never too old to skip,” she giggled. 

“I’m afraid I might be.” 

“Is that so?” She stopped and waited for him to catch up. When he did, she looped her arm through his. 

Comte could tell by her mischievous grin that she was planning to do something. He wasn’t at all surprised when she tried to hop into motion, which would have tugged him forward. Would have if he were a human. 

She held nothing back in her attempt to pull him into skipping, but his arm was like an iron bar. After a moment, she gave up. Her lips curved down into an adorable pout. 

“I will have to do something about that face you’re making.” Comte was struck again by how childlike she could be at times, and how that appealed to him. She was by no means a child - she was a writer, a professional in her world. But in moments like this, there was a naivete to her that was magnetic for him.

“I hope you don’t plan on spanking me. I heard you threaten Arthur . . .” Her mouth was still bowed but her eyes sparkled. 

Comte laughed. “For you, I have better medicine.” Then he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up, level with his face. 

“What? Comte, put me down!”

“I think not.” He pulled her close and kissed her. He intended it to be a light kiss. Just enough to make her smile. But he’d barely pressed his mouth to hers when she threw her arms around his neck. Her playful tongue darted between his lips, teasing. Of course, he couldn’t let it end there. 

Several minutes later, with both breathless, they leaned back, regarding each other.

“I see you’re smiling now, ma cherie.”

“Am I? Hmmm. You have good medicine, monsieur.”

He laughed and set her down. “Come, my dear. We are almost there. I’d hate to let Sebastian’s efforts go to waste.” He took her hand and led them on.

Sebas set a picnic for them in one of the high meadows. It was a rare spot where the soil was no good for the deep roots of trees. Instead, light, sweet smelling grass grew here, and wildflowers. A perfect place to take a lady for a picnic, if a bit of a walk.

“It’s funny. I know I should but I don’t really feel hungry.” She smiled up at him. “At least, not for food.”

Me neither, thought Comte. But he didn’t say it aloud. Ma cherie was still new to the idea of vampires and startled easily. Like a doe or a wild rabbit. Something of his thoughts must have shown in his expression though, because she swallowed and looked down.

“Do I frighten you,” he asked.

She shook her head. “N-no. Not exactly. It’s not fear.” 

Comte waited for her to continue. He could tell her heartbeat was racing through the press of her wrist where their hands met. If this wasn’t fear, then what?

“I - you have to promise not to laugh.”

He nodded, schooling his expression to solemnity.

“It is kind of exciting. To be around you.”

Comte’s eyes widened. “Exciting? I will have to remember that.” He stroked the inside of her wrist with his fingertip, enjoying the flush of her cheeks in response. 

“I can tell you’re laughing at me on the inside,” she sighed. 

“Am I going to have to kiss you again?”

She looked up at him, her expression chagrined. “That’s not much of a threat. Might as well say, stop sulking or else I’ll give you what you want.”

Which was more or less true, Comte thought. But if she wanted a threat - he smiled at her, letting his sharp canines show. It was a young vampire’s trick. Something those new to the power and thirst did to enjoy the shiver it brought to their victims. A primal fear. For a man of his years, it felt silly, but had the desired effect. 

Her eyes went wide and she stopped moving. There was a slight tremble in her legs. 

“Something wrong?”

She licked her lips. Swallowed. “N-no. Just, when you look at me like that, you look so . . . hungry.” 

“And if I am?” Comte smiled wider. He could hear the shudder in her breath. Smell the tang of fear beneath her perfume. Fear and desire.

“I’m not scared.”

He took a step closer to her. “No?” 

She flashed him a grin, defiant despite her natural apprehension. Then she ran. It was not what he expected her to do. He stood there on the path, listening to the crunch of fallen leaves under her feet. After a few breaths, the sound faded. 

“Come back, ma cherie! I was only teasing,” he called. 

“No!” Her voice echoed in the empty space between the trees. Muffled by the leaves and obscured by the wind. 

“If you don’t come back, I’ll have to come find you!”

“If you can!” Her laughter was wild and carefree.

This reminded Comte of his younger days. Stalking his prey through forests or back alleys. Toying with them. Only, with her, the ending would be so much sweeter. He started in the direction she’d run. 

She was a silly girl. Surely she knew by now that his senses were more acute than a human. Surely she didn’t expect to stay hidden for long. Even had he not been looking for her, the alluring smell of her clean skin with that delicious frisson of fright and lust would have pulled him to her.

Comte walked silently across the forest floor, instinctively stepping around dry leaves and fallen branches. He knew he was getting closer. There was a rocky outcropping with a large fallen tree - she was probably on the other side. Her scent was so strong that he had no doubt he was right. And she was holding her breath. Clever.

“Got you!” He leapt the tree trunk, expecting to surprise her. Instead, he surprised a pair of silk stockings. They hung from the tree branches, swaying with the breeze. 

Her laughter hovered just at the edge of his hearing. Comte picked up the stockings and stuffed them in his pocket. “Ah ma cherie, that was almost too clever. But I will find you. And when I do . . .” He felt a thirst for her that was almost overpowering.

This time, he stood still and silent. Listening. It was hard to pick out the sounds of her movement from the ambient forest. Creaking branches, scurrying squirrels. Birdsong. There - a footfall,and another atop fallen leaves. Comte grinned. 

Moving at unnatural speed, he dashed toward the sound. She would not escape him this time. But he could see no one as he got close. He checked behind each tree, tense with excitement of the hunt. In a leaf pile nearby, he finally found ‘her.’ Or rather, he found her shoes. 

His darling was proving to be difficult prey. Comte’s eyes took on a bright, golden shine. This little game of hers was more fun than he expected. 

Comte went slowly now. He knew his quarry had to be close. She would have tossed her shoes to make the sound, so how far could she throw? He scanned the shadowed spaces under low-hanging branches, circling the spot where he’d found her shoes. 

“Ma cherie? I know I am close. I can hear your breath, each - little - frightened - gasp.” He chuckled. In truth, Comte only heard one slight exhale, but it was enough to assure him he was on the right track.

There was a rustle of cloth to his left. He stopped, eyes narrowed. Thick brush grew in tangles beneath an old tree. The branches were low and thick with gold and red leaves, colors muted in the shadow of the canopy above. And there - the edge of her red dress. So adorably cunning to try to hide behind the bright foliage.

Cautious and silent, he closed in on her. Comte’s own breath was a bit ragged, and his heart raced. Driven by anticipation of finding his darling. Pulling her close. He could already taste his victory, the sweetness of blood and kisses, her moans his song of triumph.

He reached into the dense leaves, his fingers brushing the soft fabric. “Now I really do have you, ma cherie,” he growled.

But there was nothing beneath the dress to grab. Only fabric, left hanging in the branches. Comte pulled the dress out. It was still warm from her skin. 

A scarlet leaf drifted down from the tree, brushing his shoulder. 

Comte looked up.

“Does this mean I win?” She sat in the crook of a branch, wearing nothing but her corset and panties. Light and shadow danced across her bare skin. Her smile was wicked. 

He held his arms open and she dropped confidently into them. “Mmmm, ma cherie, I’m afraid you’ve lost. I found you. And now I plan to claim my prize.” He pulled her close, his fingers already working loose the corset lacing. 

She shivered. “I’m pretty sure that means I won.” Then she was kissing him, as hungry for his touch as he was for hers.

[isadomna]

Katherine of Aragon and Erasmus of Rotterdam

The famous Dutch humanist Desiderus Erasmus held an important place in ensuring humanism became a driving force in England. He visited England at the end of the 1400s where he forged important relationships with English scholars such as Thomas More, John Colet and his former pupil, William Blount, Lord Mountjoy. It was then that he met an eight-year old Prince Henry. He went on to live in England between 1511 and 1514 and lectured at Cambridge University. He advised Henry that to be a great king it was important not just to win wars but also to be educated and show the world that the English court was a court of intellectuals. 

Erasmus was so well respected by the king and queen that Katherine wanted him to be her Latin tutor; however, he could not be lured back to England. “The Queen has tried to get me to be her preceptor; and everyone knows that if I cared to live even a few months at Court, I might heap as many benefices as I likes. But I allow nothing to interfere with my leisure and studious labours.”  However, Erasmus was fascinated by Henry’s studious wife: “As for the Queen, not only is she prodigiously learned for one of her sex, but no less respected for her piety than for her knowledge … The Queen loves literature, which she has studied with good result since her childhood.” 

For Erasmus and others, indeed, the fact that Katherine and women like Sir Thomas More’s clever daughters joined in debates ‘afore the king’s grace’ was truly remarkable. This they put down, in part, to Katherine’s own education under her mother Isabel. ‘Who would not wish,’ asked Erasmus, ‘to live in such a court as hers?. Erasmus called Queen Katherine ‘a unique example in our age … who, with a distaste for the things of no account that women love, devotes a good part of her day to holy reading’. Serious, pious Katherine was a contrast to those women who ‘waste the greatest part of their time in painting their faces or in games of chance and similar amusements’, Erasmus said approvingly.

Although he chose not to return to England, he still held the English court in high regard as a place of intellectuals. He described Henry as “the wisest of contemporary princes and a great lover of literature.” Erasmus believed that the English court had become a place of high learning, writing that “your court is a model of Christian instruction, frequented by persons of the very highest erudition, so that there is no university that could not be jealous of it.” Of course this may be mere flattery of a scholar to his potential patron. But Erasmus also extolled the virtues of the English court in correspondence to other people in Europe. He wrote to Bombasius: “You know how adverse I have always been from the courts of princes; it is a life which I can only regard as gilded in misery under a mask of splendour; but I would gladly give move to a court like that, if only I could grow young again … The men who have the most influence [with Henry and Katherine] are those who excel in the humanities and in integrity as wisdom”.

Both Henry and Katherine continued to be active supporters of the humanist scholars and often both commented on books presented to them. One example is a book written by Erasmus, which Vives presented to the king and queen in 1524. In a letter to Erasmus, Vives explained how the book was received: “[Your] book De Libero Arbitrio was yesterday given to the King, who read a few pages, seemed pleased, and said he should read it through. He pointed out to [me] a passage … which he said delighted him much. The Queen also is much pleased. She desired [me] to salute [you] for her, and says that she thanks him for having treated the subject with so much moderation.” This is a fascinating example which shows that both the king and the queen took a personal interest in the works of the great Erasmus as well as other humanist scholars.

In 1526, Erasmus wrote a lengthy book on marriage entitiled Christiani Matrimonii Institutio (The Institution of Christian Matrimony). Queen Katherine, through her chamberlain Lord William Mountjoy, had commissioned Eramus to write this book. With unforeseeable irony Erasmus refers to her ʹmost sacred and fortunate marriageʹ as exemplary. The book itself explained the essential importance of chastity in women within a Christian marriage and less about female education before marriage. It shows that Katherine was asking various humanist scholars in her acquaintance to write books that may have helped with the moral education of her daughter. The book took Erasmus two years to write and was a bulky 300 pages long. A year later William, Lord Mountjoy wrote to Erasmus explaining that the queen was pleased with the book. “But be well assured that our glorious queen is favourably impressed with your Institution of Christian Marriage. She is most grateful to you for this devoted act of yours, and you will learn amply of her good will towards you from the servant to whom I myself have made it known in some detail.”

However, Erasmus, still bitterly regretting his involvement in the Lutheran controversy, had no intention of becoming entangled in Henry’s matrimonial problems. At the same time, Erasmus refused to be drawn in on the queen’s side. Vives asked him at least twice for an opinion on the marriage, but in a letter of September 1528 Erasmus merely reiterated his suggestion that it would be better for Jove to take two Junos than to put one away. Allen, the editor of Erasmus’s letters, conjectured that a mysterious letter enclosed in one addressed to More was an apology to Katherine for his indiscreet references to divorce in Christiani Matrimonii Institutio. Certainly, Erasmus had previously told More of his fear that she had taken offence, though a letter from Mountjoy had reassured him about her attitude. Is however, his only services to the queen were a letter of cautious consolation sent in March 1528 and a recommendation to Mountjoy that she should read his Vidua Christiana: scarcely a tactful suggestion, in view of Katherine’s defence of her status as Henry’s wife rather than Arthur’s widow. 

Moreover, Erasmus emphasized his neutrality by accepting comissions from Thomas Boleyn, fully aware, as he told Sadoleto, that this was precisely the Boleyns’ object, since his book on marriage for Katherine had given arguments for the indissolubility of the marriage bond. It is a telling comment on the characters of the king and queen that while Henry ignored Erasmus after his refusal to come to England, Katherine continued to read his works and sent him two gifts of money in 1528 and 1529. In 1529 in his treatise De Vidua Christiana (On the Christian Widow), dedicated to Mary of Hungary (niece of Katherine of Aragon) Erasmus mentions the English queen’s masculine gendering of herself: “Catherine, the queen of England -a woman of such learning, piety, prudence, and constancy that you would find nothing in her that is like a woman, nothing indeed that is not masculine, except her gender and her body”

Sources:

María Dowling,  Humanist Support for Katherine of Aragon

Leanne Croon Hickman, Katherine of Aragon : a "pioneer of women's education"? : humanism and women's education in early sixteenth century England

Giles Tremlett, Catherine of Aragon: Henry’s Spanish Queen

Allyna E. Ward, Women and Tudor Tragedy: Feminizing Counsel and Representing Gender

[kitaychan]

We need to talk

Summary: After a breakup, Ivan realizes his life was not as fullfilling as he had thought. Reaching out to old friends might prove to be a slow task with interesting outcomes.

Chapter preview: As he saw the man smiling, Ivan wanted to disappear, even after all these years he still managed to make a fool of himself. Feeling his face burning, he stepped closer to the door, “I’m sorry, let me clean this up- ”

The man chuckled. “I’ll make sure that Alfred bugs you about this, or was it his idea?”

The russian fidgeted with his hands, he was sure that Alfred would make fun of him for this, how clumsy could he be? “I’m sorry-”

Yao entered and retrieved an empty flower pot. “Should I leave him alone, Katya? your brother is flustered.”

Yekaterina snickered. “I’ll get a broom.”

Chapter 8: Fresh air

“We have to talk about a lot of things.”

Katya was smiling brightly, trying to focus on the road, stopping by to show him a new park.

Ivan smiled at the sight.

It was strange how a simple ride through the small city filled him with joy, visiting old places that had changed so much over the years, he opened the window to get a better look of the new surroundings, the breeze caressing his face while the sweet voice of Katya accompanied him, it was surely an experience he enjoyed.

An experience filled with a peacefulness he didn’t have in the big city, where he’d be stuck in traffic for hours, and the stress from work would chase him.

Ivan's joyfulness dropped dramatically when they stopped in front of his old high school. Katya turned to him smiling. “I have to retrieve some exams, you can come if you want”

Ivan nodded, even though he had planned on coming here, the abruptness of this encounter displeased him.

Sometimes, Ivan thought that his cat could read his mind, because as soon as he stepped outside the car, Boris started to protest loudly.

Looking at the tall and grey building made him feel nervous. After all these years, it looked the same. He could see himself walking down the corridors, chatting with Alfred. The polished floor still made that screech noise as people stepped on it.

Katya ushered him to take a look inside, they were received by a woman called Elizabeth, Ivan suspected that the woman mistook him, because she kept on addressing Katya while giving her a thumbs up and winking at him, she didn't ask too many questions after Yekaterina told her they were siblings.

In the main  corridor he saw a trophy holder alongside the teams' pictures.

There was a picture of the mathemathletes, and there were the reasons Ivan had made up for fearing closeness, Lien, Yao, Carlos,  and himself,  they all were smiling cheerfully in the picture.

He could say that he had fallen apart with all of them. Losing Carlos' number, not seeing Lien for her birthday as he was busy working, and Yao, well, they'd stopped talking after a dreadful attempt at asking the chinese out.

He averted his gaze, recognizing himself in another picture, posing with Alfred and Matthew by his side.

He recognized Mr. Kirkland's debate club, as well as the literates, among them was Alfred.

There were a lot of pictures, some he had seen before, others were new. He couldn't help but notice that Yao still appeared in some of them, with other students Ivan didn't know.

Of course he would, time didn't wait for anyone and Yao would probably keep on going with his life. Just as his sister, Yao had become a teacher.

It was almost insulting to discover such things because of Alfred’s or Katya’s words instead of knowing it from his once closest friend.  To say that it didn’t bother him would be a lie, Ivan had tried to move forward. It's not like he was obsessed with the oriental man,

He had made new friends, or at least, one new friend, but some nights he found himself wondering, if he even had a chance to befriend Yao again, what would have happened if he had reached out to him as Alfred suggested? If he hadn't been so stupid as to avoid him? Did Yao still remember him? Did he cross the man's mind?

His sister’s cheerful voice took him out of his thoughts. “Ivan, come here, take a look at the garden!”

Ivan frowned, he didn’t remember any garden, he did remember the poorly done attempt at preserving one they had made, forgetting about it after the year was finished, but even then, they could only manage to plant a few flowers that died quickly.

As he peered into what used to be a storage room, a wall painted with soft blue greeted him, a checklist of activities regarding gardening was written on a chalkboard.

Several rows of hand painted flower pots were arranged neatly in line, he could see some red tulips blooming. He could tell it was made by children as there were messy handprints and stickers alongside names in each of them.

Ivan stepped inside as his sister smiled. The small room gave a heartwarming sight, He saw an empty flower pot, painted with boats and a small sailor, standing by the window.

He reached to touch it, noticing that it wasn’t empty, the plant on it was small.

Approaching footsteps were audible, his sister was chatting amiably while Ivan inspected the small plant.

“Oh, Yao, Do you remember my brother? you used to tutor him on math-” His sister’s words stopped, the flower pot had slipped from his hands and shattered as it reached the floor.

Ivan glanced around with dread, the sharp noise was loud enough for them to notice, right?

Small chuckles came from the door, he saw Yao and Yekaterina trying not to laugh at him as he stuttered a string of apologies.

The brunette crossed his arms as he approached, examining the mess Ivan had made. Ivan remembered Alfred's conspiracies, and was tempted to believe them, Yao looked as if he had been frozen on time, his face still held the same kind but prideful air. The chinaman shook his head and sighed. “Peter is going to be dissapointed.”

As he saw the man smiling, Ivan wanted to disappear, even after all these years he still managed to make a fool of himself. Feeling his face burning, he stepped closer to the door, “I’m sorry, let me clean this up- ”

The asian chuckled. “I’ll make sure that Alfred bugs you about this, or was it his idea?”

The russian fidgeted with his hands, he was sure that Alfred would make fun of him for this, how clumsy could he be? “I’m sorry-”

Yao entered and retrieved an empty flower pot. “Should I leave him alone, Katya? your brother is flustered.”

Yekaterina snickered. “I’ll get a broom.”

Ivan watched her leave with dread, his heart sped up as he realized he was alone with him. What should he say? Should he bring up their last conversation? Should he apologize for his foolishness back then?

The incident had gained sense as the time passed, of course Yao would reject him, he was two years older than him and about to graduate when his stupid teenaged self declared to love him in front of his friends. The chinese had only stared at him dumbfounded, and he had skipped away from the classroom, avoiding Yao until he graduated.

Ivan sighed, there was no use in brooding about the past, he looked down at the plant. “It is not dead, is it?”

Yao reached for the broken pieces of the pot, putting them away, gently taking the small sprout. “I don’t think so, Peter won’t notice because you’ll paint another one, am I right?”

Ivan nodded. What else could he do? tell a kid that he messed his project?

The brunette smiled, pointing at a cabinet. “Ivan, why don’t you get another pot, they are over there.”

The russian nodded, promptly doing as he was told. Yao instructed him into planting a rose stem while he observed over his shoulder.

His nervousness decreased as he acknowledged the familiar tone the asian was using.  “Peter’s plant has not bloomed because Arthur killed it after watering it too much.” he explained,  “We had to replace it.”

Seeing Yao interact with him like that, made Ivan realize just how disconnected he had been from this place, he no longer knew where the grocery store was, and he was clueless as how to conversate with him. Somehow, he managed to improvise an awkward small talk about gardening and Arthur's bad luck.

When the task was finished and the dirt cleaned up, Katya waited by the door, watching him with a smile. “It is so nice seeing you two talk. It reminds me of my school days.”

Once they reached the car, Boris was meowing loudly. Sniffing his hand as Ivan reached to pet him.

Katya chuckled, pointing at the flower pot in his lap. "I can't believe you managed to exit school with homework."

Ivan laughed with her, at least now he had something to do besides tagging along in her errands, but a small part of him knew that he had an excuse to talk with Yao again.

[undignifiend]

AU alliance between Morgana and Gunmar (short scene)

Years ago, Morgana fled to the Wildwood; a tactical retreat from a broken and fearful society, and a near-blind rush into uncertainty. But it was hard to fear uncertainty over the false peace of Camelot.

Arthur had little patience for theory and risk, but he could yet be shown a better way. He would understand it, he would want it, if only it could be proven possible.

It would take many sacrifices, of course, but if she could make it real, she had to.

So she went to build that better way with her own two hands.

+++++

Einarr held Morgana tightly as he raced to the treeline, her blood soaking the front of his jerkin. She clutched the severed end of her left arm in an instinctive attempt to stem the bleeding, feeling as if she was watching it all from a distance. Behind them, she could hear Faldron and Dezoka screaming in fury and hatred as they fought to buy time for their Queen to escape.

Somewhere behind her, Arthur called her name. She could hardly recall his expression before Einarr had swept her up and Tessa whirled in on a storm of darkness and deflective shards, doubled in magnitude by Lunn’s symbiotic augmentation magic. There was a crackling flash as Dezoka changed into her troll form, taking advantage of the temporary shade.

Morgana jolted under a surge of agony that seemed to barrel through the air like a tide, and for a moment, she wondered if the trees had all splintered under the force of it. Impossibly, they did not even shake. Einarr gasped, falling to one knee and gritting his teeth as his eyes watered.

The air pressed down on them, sharp and heavy like a row of teeth, radiating from a source too enraged to stop or alter course. Morgana felt him thundering toward them now, trampling the underbrush, the pounding of his hearts echoing in her own chest.

“It’s Gunmar!” Merlin shouted. “My King! Run!”

There was no time to get out of range. Einarr shuddered and grew into his trollish form, curling around Morgana and cradling the back of her head in a hand the size of a water-pail. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, frantic, offering the only protection he could. The ground quaked. “I’m sor - ”

All of existence plunged into a caustic roil of terror and wrath. Beneath that, was something like watching the surface of the ocean above grow darker with an anchor welded to her bones. And almost worse, an inexhaustible strength and hunger, a pitiless obsession, to never stop reaching anyway. Far below, something impossibly vast and unfaceable writhed.

Gunmar roared past, carrying his monstrous ocean with him.

“To the horses!”

“Hold, Tessa, he’s not after you!” Dezoka snarled, holding her side and leaning on her spear. “Keep your shadows on the Underlord! Give him a path!”

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep it up!” Tessa called back.

“They have the Dark Prince, hold as long as you can!” an unfamiliar troll shouted. Gunmar’s entourage caught up, cloaked and armored trolls swarming past Einaar’s huddled form and onto the shaded battlefield.

Dezoka spat a curse in Trollish as she launched off her forward foot and joined the chase. “Lunn, give Tessa everything you’ve got!”

Morgana touched Einarr’s jaw. “Let me up.”

Einarr rallied himself and obeyed, drawing his axe as he helped her stand, and hovering close, keeping three wary eyes on the Gumm-Gumms.

Morgana trudged back out of the treeline, glimpsing her brother, his soldiers, and her former mentor riding into the distance. Too far for even Gunmar to catch, and shielded from psychic harm. Tessa’s reach could only extend so far without growing unstable, so she chose caution, leaving the Underlord pacing at the very edge of the shadows. His howl reverberated off the forest edge and the cliffs, sounding more like an open gateway to Hell than a troll.

Morgana took a deep breath of the cool dark, and extended her own, overlapping Tessa’s shadows to shelter the trolls. “I have it, Tessa. You can let go.” Both her apprentices sank to their knees as they obeyed, winded and leaning on each other. Morgana rested her remaining, bloodied hand on Tessa’s shoulder, and Tessa covered it with a shaky hand of her own.

Lunn wobbled to her feet. “Master, please, let me.”

Morgana nodded and rested the bleeding stump of her forearm across Lunn’s hands. Veins and arteries began to re-route and seal, but Lunn was still an apprentice, and it would take much longer to close more flesh than that.

The Gumm-Gumms moved, and when Morgana looked, it was like watching a wave recede. Gunmar towered among them as he stormed back toward the trees, silently ordering his soldiers to regroup in the forest. Morgana only knew because the order brushed her mind, too; a broadcast made imprecise by barely contained rage, every bit as sharp and swift as Excalibur had been.

As if drawn by pain, Gunmar regarded her with his lone, cold eye, and strode toward her. Dezoka, who had been trailing him in helpless awe on her way back to her Queen, balked before continuing. Einarr stepped forward to shield Morgana, even as he trembled.

The air around Gunmar no longer hurt when he tread close, looming above them, but Morgana sensed that he had only reined that horrific mantle in tight around himself. If he was at all winded after charging like that, it did not show. He might as well have been a statue freshly brought to life for all the unnatural control in his movements, and the way his eye followed things as if watching through some other, hidden layer of reality. All hands of his primary and vestigial arms clenched, and the cruel scythe-like limbs emerging from his back seemed to float above his horns, high and tense. Faced with him, Morgana felt a little absurd, possessing only one hand now.

Gunmar’s eye flicked to the bloodied stump. “Camelot has until nightfall,” he growled.

Morgana had known from the beginning that her project, now grown into the hidden fortress-community of Annwn, would require sacrifice. All of which would be worth it to save lives on both sides, and hopefully, Arthur from himself.

But as the years passed, Arthur kept charging into the woods to kill trolls and destroy their villages, to hunt her apprentices as witches, and threaten everyone - trolls, half-trolls, changelings, and humans alike - that she had sworn to protect. She could no longer pretend that there was any getting through to him. Maiming her, she could resent on her own time, and possibly forgive one day in the distant future. But if Arthur truly had captured the son of her most dangerous and unpredictable ally, her silence would be unforgivable. If she did nothing, she would fail the very ideals she had founded Annwn upon, and Gunmar would raze both false castles to rubble and ashes in his son’s name.

Knowing that Arthur wanted her dead would not make placing him on the altar any easier. Morgana’s throat tightened, but she refused to shut her eyes. “They don’t even have that long.”