#theresa x harry

[rosesnink]

Life of a Spare

Author’s Notes 

This story was one of my favs to write so far! We know so little of Edmund, and he is certainly unexplored, but it was fun experimenting with him!! Also, warning, this contains SPOILERS FROM THE MAIN SERIES. If you haven’t read the last couple of chapters, YOU WILL BE SPOILED. You’ve been warned. 

English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/grammar mistakes 

I’m making more of these, of characters like Holloway or Briar. Stay tuned for more! If you haven’t read the others, click here or go through my tag the cursed heiress for more content! 

Summary: We hear Edmund’s version of the events. 

Word Count: 5.3k 

Category: Fluff, angst 

Pairing: Edmund Marlcaster x Briar Daly 

Rating: PG-13 

Warnings: Discussion of death and grief, spoilers from The Cursed Heiress 

Book: Desire and Decorum 

June, 1796

Edmund Marlcaster was having his outfit fitted, for today he would be attending his mother’s second wedding. He was but six years-old.

He had never been a truly chatty boy, but seeing this stranger of raven dark hair and kind blue eyes being so… nice and going around like he was his new father irked him. Who the hell did he think he was? He had refused to talk or acknowledge him, and he didn’t even care if he hurt his feelings. What about his feelings?

The door was opened, and his lady mother looked pretty, at least in the boy’s mind: she wore a pale grey satin dress, with a beautiful headdress and a veil, and she knelt before him, kissing his forehead “Now, my boy, I know that you do not like crowds, but you have to be brave for Mama. Can you do that?”

“I—I think so.”

Henrietta sighed “I know how you must be feeling, but your father wanted this.”

He murmured “Why can’t it be just you and me? I can protect you… We don’t need that posh idiot.”

Something in Henrietta’s poised gaze softened “Oh, Neddy, how innocent are you. How I wish you remained that way, but alas…” She kissed his little hand and stroked his cheek “You’ve yet to understand, but women need a man to survive, and I’m afraid that you are too little for this.”

“I’m not!” He protested “I’m tall and strong! I can protect you, Mama!”

Henrietta smiled and kissed his cheek “My sweet boy. When you grow up, you will protect me. For now, I’m afraid we need Vincent. You needn’t treat him like a father, just be nice to him. Please? Do it for your Mama?”

He slumped his shoulders and nodded, hugging her. Henrietta smiled “Good. Now, let me see the beautiful smile the handsomest ringbearer will have!”

May, 1806

“Come along, Harry, or else you’ll miss it!” Edmund cried.

An eight-year-old Harry quickly ran, his chestnut brown curls reminding him of the chocolate his stepfather liked to drink. They both ducked under the fence and observed a seventeen-year-old Ernest Sinclaire give a flower and an apple to a rather pretty girl: long, untamed blonde curls, brown eyes and an easy smile. He looked rather flushed, and started to approach her. Edmund then gave the signal to Harry, who quietly spooked one of the cows, who interrupted the lovers, who were quick to say to the other goodbye.

Harry giggled “And that’s for stealing our apples!”

“Shh! Careful, he has a sharp hearing.”

After he left, they both leaped from the fence and laid on the ground, high-fiving “The border’s now ours!”

Edmund smiled and Harry sighed “Do you think I will ever be engaged to such a pretty girl like you have?”

Edmund frowned “Theresa, you mean? I mean, she is kind of pretty.”

“She’s gorgeous!”

Edmund laughed “Steal her from me then. I won’t complain.”

“Is she terrible?”

“No, she just… talks too much. It’s a bit overwhelming. Especially with gossip. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I am no interested in where does the eldest Holloway sister buy her rogue...”

Harry frowned “What’s a rogue?”

“A thing women buy to make their cheeks and lips look pinker… I think. I wasn’t truly listening.”  

“That’s a bit mean from you. A gentleman never ignores a lady, Ed.”

“Well, it’s not ignoring… I kind of go to my own world.”

Harry traced a hand over the sky “If I ever get betrothed, I will never ignore my future bride! I will always converse with her. We will be the best of friends!”

Edmund chuckled “Convince Mum to marry you to your best friend then.”

December, 1812

The Suttons had come over for Christmastime to celebrate with the Foredales, and Harry had been behaving oddly and like he had something on his mind. Something important and life-changing. Mr. Sinclaire had been his usual gruff self, only talking fully to the earl and avoiding the gossiping Theresa, whom Edmund had begged not to gossip about him on these holidays. It had certainly failed, as usual. She didn’t seem to hear him or make sensible choices.

He went up to his father’s study and saw Harry, sitting by the fire and deep in thought. Edmund cleared his throat and sat beside him “What’s on your mind, brother?”

“I think I’m in love.” He declared.

“Oh! That’s nice.”

“With your fiancé.”

He nearly choked on his own breath “What?! Theresa? Are you—are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath, taking all in as they took their father’s whiskey. He gave it a rather generous gulp and nodded, taking it all in again “So… Theresa.”

“I can’t get her off my mind, brother! She’s everywhere! I always want to talk to her, see her, be near her, listen to her, and I—I dream of her as well. It’s killing me. Because I don’t want to dishonour her or you, and I don’t have the heart to tell Father.”

“You don’t have to worry about me. I don’t love her.”

Now it was Harry’s time to be surprised “Whyever not? She’s smart, she likes to read and has the most beautiful laugh! And her smile, the way she excitedly moves her hands—,”

“Whoa, you’re truly in love, brother!”

He sighed “I do not know what to do, brother. I made my promise to Annie…” Then, he stayed completely silent. He had that scheming face on him, and Edmund wondered what the hell he was plotting. He turned to look at his brother “Are you sure you won��t ever fall for her?”

He frowned “Yes. Brother, what are you plotting?”

“As you know, the two of you are quite older than I. And Annie needs someone who can protect her from much older men.”

“Yes…”

“So, I suggest that you remain engaged to her and I to Annie until I am of age! I will propose immediately to Tess, and you can be free to marry whoever you want!”

Edmund pondered the idea “I mean… it’s not so bad!”

“I have some ground rules though.”

“Sure.”

He pointed at his brother “No kissing her or touching her for long. No one else can know of this. And… you must never set a date. Always postpone it. And whatever tells you about herself in romance regards, you must tell me at once. No other man must become close to her. And she can’t suspect.”

Edmund nodded “Alright. And you must control yourself, Harry! You can get carried over your romanticism…”

Harry flushed and nodded “Alright. We have a deal then.”

Autumn, 1815

Edmund had stormed off the ‘funeral’, and was bidding goodbye to Harry “When will you return?”

Harry sighed “A year and a half should be enough. Do you remember your promise?”

“I will never touch Theresa for too long or set a date, and I will never tell a soul.”

He nodded “Good. When I’m settled, I will send her anonymous poems. Tell her it’s you if she ever tells you or suspects it, alright?”

He nodded “I will.” He hugged his brother “Come home safe, soldier.”

“And you keep my future countess safe, brother-in-arms.”

“I will. You know I will. You have my word.”

They hugged once again before he drifted off into the deep forests, to perhaps return.

Edmund had noticed that Theresa was aware of Harry’s popularity and beauty, but he never complained. He tried his best to be kind to her, but he had been irritable. Now, he had big shoes to step in, and wanted to make Harry proud. He did. Telling his father couldn’t be. It ached him to see him grieve and see how his mother had become a monster, always trying to ‘man him up’ and make of him what Harry could be. If he told her, he’d lose her forever. And he needed her right now. The sweet mother who called him ‘Sweet Neddy’ and always told him the sweetest of things. How he wished he had remained clueless and innocent. Perhaps she’d still love him, like she had loved Harry.

March, 1816

He had been a brilliant heir, being an outstanding student, fighter, socialite and a gentleman that could rival Mr. Sinclaire’s reputation. He had been perfect in every way, and he felt like the waste, the breadcrumbs everyone tended to overlook. He did everything so well, Edmund could return to his shadow and not look back, but he was gone, and he had a duty now to Edgewater. He knew what the Dowager thought. That he was no Foredale and would never be, that his father’s seat belonged to her bloodline, not Henrietta.

And when he heard of Joanna’s existence, his initial reaction was to hate her. It felt like a cheap replacement of Harry, and the fact that she was arrogant and acted like she was better than everybody didn’t help. Sure, the girl had suffered, but so had he! More than anyone in that room. And it didn’t help that Joanna’s eyes were his father’s. Harry’s eyes. Her hair could be as red as the sun, but every time he looked into her eyes, he saw Harry, away, in the corners of France, risking his life for his king and country while this woman took his place like he hadn’t been dead for months. Technically, his body wasn’t even cold enough to name a new heir.

And when, in that garden party, his father named her heir, he was devastated. He had already buried Harry in his mind, now his focus on Joanna and her crass and grumpy behaviour. He suspected she didn’t know of it, and came to apologize, but looking at her just hurt, because he could see Harry in her. It hurt him that they were similar and shared blood. He was jealous of her, even. He had never minded much being Harry’s shadow, but Joanna’s? It was just too much. And that is what he told his mother in a sincerity attack “I just… it feels wrong. Harry’s body is yet to be cold, and now we have a new heir, and it isn’t me like he promised!”

Henrietta then looked at him fiercely “Then fight for it. Do you want that bastard to take your brother’s place?”

“No!”

“Then, you will ensure in your brother’s name that she never sits on that chair.”

He scoffed “How?”

Henrietta smirked “By showing to everybody that is just that. An uncultured bastard with no knowledge or regard for our family name. Do it for your brother.”

“…I will have that woman off my house, so help me God.”

Edmund Marlcaster never thought he’d fall in love, much less with Joanna’s best friend and lady’s maid. But she had been so attentive, kind, witty, and her eyes… despite her brown skin, she had two beautiful pale blue eyes, and my, was she enthralling. He knew that this wasn’t the plan, but the way she talked about Joanna reminded him of he and Harry. They were like sisters, and if he ruined Joanna, he’d ruin her as well. And she wasn’t deserving of that. Perhaps he could find her a job somewhere else?

No. No. She’d follow Joanna into death if it was required, like he would’ve followed Harry into danger if he had asked. It was a dangerous gamble, that he knew, but my, his knees went weak every time she smiled and called him “Edmund”. If Joanna noticed this bond between them, she seemed to mind very little, though sometimes she’d drop hints that he should make up his mind about who his heart was with.

And what was worse, he had started to grow fond of Joanna too. She was nothing like his mother described. She was intelligent, sensible, someone who inspired leadership and light up every room when she came in and someone with the strength of a thousand fires, matching her red, long hair. She was Foredale, through and through. And he was no match for him or his mother. He was fighting a battle that had already cleared out a winner before it began.

She was hiding something. And some behaviours about her were odd. He was no fool. It was like she knew something he didn’t, saw things he didn’t. And he started seeing it when she left Mr. Sinclaire’s dinner party with a face that puzzled him, and not because she had been out and alone with him. A secret dangerous enough to make her leave abruptly of her own debut. She had a face that very few would recognize: the face of betrayal. Of being betrayed to be exact.

And it became clear who the traitor was: her mentor, who was kicked out, blatantly ignoring his supposed loyalty for years. He wondered what his deed had been. A terrible one, for many agreed that Joanna’s loyalty on those who served her was rarely shaken. He had asked Theresa to make some rounds, and she only came back with speculation: that he had taken something from her. Something she had loved dearly. And Joanna loved very few things so dearly “Could’ve been his fiancé? He did die in mysterious circumstances…”

Briar bit her lip. He knew she knew something “It is not my story to tell, but… you’re onto something. There was always something irksome about Elias. I always warned Joanna not to trust him too much. I was in the right, which is much worse than being wrong when it comes to being so vulnerable before someone.”

“I have to say… nobody deserves to be betrayed so by someone who you grew up with and trusted.”

Briar smiled sadly “Joanna would be thankful for your compassion. I know she would.”

He nodded curtly and soon Joanna claimed Briar, who had to go. Joanna was yet to treat Briar like an actual maid. She was her closest confidante, and knew many secrets of her heart. And this was proven when she asked about that boy back at Grovershire. The look on ‘Joanna’s face proved that this wasn’t really the Joanna they knew, despite them being identical. Then, the races became a blur. A set of explosions, screams and many people rushing out. Edmund waited for Briar, uncapable of leaving without knowing whether she was safe or not. And there she was. He smiled at her tightly, not hearing Theresa in the commotion. When he saw Mr. Sinclaire coming out with a wounded Joanna in a charred armour, he knew that she definitely hid something terrible from the rest. Something lethal, capable of killing anything.

When she woke up, she pretended that nothing had happened and she was just fine. She even treated them like madmen for insinuating such a thing. Like they hadn’t seen her rush from up and her scars were gone. She should’ve been bedridden, but here she was, in the table in his card games, mocking the viscount, chatting with Miss Parsons and her aunt and sassing Miss Holloway. He was ashamed that he had to do such a dirty thing to Theresa. He had made an oath to Harry, and felt like wanting to gouge out his eyes. He gave him his word that he wouldn’t hurt Theresa. Joanna had been of course, judgemental, and within her own right. This also affected Briar. But he didn’t have the heart to disobey his mother, despite finding himself disagreeing with her every day more frequently.

Then, the fateful letter came, and Edmund was overwhelmed. He found himself in the room, a bottle of port half-emptied and his mind reeling: Harry, Theresa, Joanna’s face being showered with fear for the first time since they met, Briar’s heartbreak upon seeing him flirting with Miss Holloway and the disapproval of his grandmother. He knew he should’ve rejected the offer and stay in Edgewater, but now the memory felt numb. He gave the port another generous gulp and barked out orders to prepare his carriage for the morning: fuck the plan, he was going to see his father, the only person in the world apart from Briar who saw him as Edmund the man and not Edmund, the pretender to be the new Earl of Edgewater. His mother’s machinations may be damned.

All the ride, he had blackened out. He didn’t hear or feel the rumble of the carriage, or Theresa’s ramblings, or the driver hurrying up the horses, he wasn’t even there. He didn’t even feel real. He felt like his body, mind, story, wasn’t his, like he was just there to observe the events unfold. It sounded silly, dancing close to heresy even, but that’s how he felt.

When he had arrived, the sun was peeking onto the hills, and Edmund ran as fast as his legs allowed him to, his heart beating fast as he told himself “By God, let me be in time so I can tell him that Harry’s alive and fine, please. I beg you, Lord, to let me be in time.” He slammed the door open “Father?!” He looked at a weeping Joanna, holding his body in her arms “Is he…?” He asked, his voice cracking.

She got up, declaring “He is gone.” Then, surprisingly, she hugged him, and he hugged her back. Together, they wept as Bishop Monroe gave him the last rites, and only separated when the sun came out, the birds’ chirping as a reminder the end of an era. Joanna offered to accompany him, but he declined: right now he wanted to be left alone, and cry in his own way. Joanna simply nodded, numb as he was.

Edmund didn’t have enough strength for anything. Yet again, he was not the owner of his actions and own will, but somebody else. He didn’t hear the commotion between his mother and Joanna, or her breaking down in the doors, having a panic attack, fainting in the act. When he heard, he felt terrible for her. She was now orphaned, and with a dead fiancé and no prospects for her hand. How terrible must’ve been for her. Or to be a woman in this world. Indeed, they did not value them as they should.

As he wrote to Harry the news, he found himself crying silently as he finished off the letter with a lifeless flourish and giving it to the bishop, who gave his word that it’d get to him before anyone else. He wondered how he’d react. Poor boy. His position, gone to a woman who didn’t even want it anymore, his father dead and his mother hurting all over again. If he could now rip out his heart and throw it to the ducks in the lake to eat, he would. This was the worst of the times to be a man with feelings like his own.

When he returned to London, he noticed that Joanna did not return. Nor Mr. Sinclaire, or Prince Hamid, or Miss Parsons or Mr. Harper. Briar just said that they were gone within the morning without a word and most certainly told nobody about it.

Many rumoured that Joanna had eloped with either the prince or Mr. Sinclaire and the others were running away from something. He found it nonsensical. And he surprised himself by saying it out loud, and Theresa agreeing with him “Joanna is many things, sure,” she declared “but she is no coward who backs out. She’s a fighter, through and through, and she has her motives not to be here. The only thing I know is that it is important and that she’s got no option.”

“Don’t be silly, girl—,”

“Watch your tone, Your Grace,” Edmund blurted out. He straightened his spine “You have no right to talk to my fiancé that way.”

The duke was shocked, and Theresa smiled at him for the first time in months. Genuinely, no fakeness or pretense within them, just two people who were indeed promised to the other. She squeezed his hand as a ‘thank you’ and he nodded to her.

Joanna came back a week later, according to Briar, but nobody knew where she was, but she was in British soil again. He heard a commotion out there, flashes of unnatural light and yells and cries of war. Some sort of unrest was going on out there, and Joanna had ensured no one gets out of there until she arrived. He and Briar had been in the house, helping out the staff now under her command. “By God,” he thought “she looks so beautiful when she barks out orders.” She knew that something was odd, and that whatever Joanna had been hiding was now out and confronting her.

Edmund was preparing himself for an outing when he heard Briar’s wailings and came out to see what happened. She turned around, her face contorted with tears and horrors “Briar!” He was in a minute beside her “What happened?”

“Joanna… she’s dead. Murdered.”

Horror washed over his face. He held her close, comforting her. Joanna, who had always seemed untouchable, invincible and someone who couldn’t be defeated was now dead by murder… If Joanna could be defeated, there was no hope for them. It was clear that dancing close to power was a gamble that included death in its cards, and Edmund had now something precious that he couldn’t afford to leave behind. Briar needed him. Tomorrow, on his way to Edgewater, he’d renounce his claim and let his cousins fight to the death for it. That night, he and Theresa split up.

And his first act was leaving behind a letter to the dowager and asking Briar to be his wife no matter what. He was ecstatic when she said yes, and both quickly rushed to Gretna Green. He was surprised to see his mother there, and trying to understand and support him. Despite his doubts, he allowed it. He had lost enough for now. And he wanted to make amends. With his mother. With himself. With life.

And my, what a wonderful way to start this new life than to make of Briar his wife in full. She was, as usual, cheeky and seductive, and he was just simply at her feet. She had looked at him intensely as she took off her nightgown, her black hair falling all the way to behind her knees, a living goddess, putting to shame Nefatari and Cleopatra. Her pale blue eyes looked at him intensely as he allowed her to take over, to make him hers, and make her his in the way. Both slowly falling into bed, no worries or pain, just him and Briar. Just a man and his wife. A man and the most breath-taking woman he had ever seen, who burned as bright as seven suns. She was angelical fire, and he, a mere firework at her side. But by God, would he fight every day to be worthy of being under her sun. Being worthy of her smile, her laugh, of being in her arms, her touch, her kiss, as sweet as any French pastry he might’ve tried. Her sweet lips rivalled every single one of them, surely. And her body, the epitome of beauty, worthy to make a new statue of Aphrodite with her as a muse. Maybe he was no sculptor, but she was the perfect muse. He could watch her for hours, just existing. Talking, laughing, smiling, calling him ‘My Eddie’, never truly getting out of their love nest. No estate, no intrigues, no pain, no grief, just him, his wife, their bodies as bare as their souls and hearts, and nobody else in the world bothering her.

Kissing her temple as she slept, quietly like a kitten after a hearty meal, he closed his eyes, drowning yet again in her intoxicating essence, not caring for what waited them outside the controversial church.

Joanna was back. No. No. He was dreaming. Surely he was dreaming? That boy swore that he watched her die in Mr. Sinclaire’s arms, and yet, she looked very much alive with none but Harry beside her in those gigantic horses. He was quick to rush towards his brother, and for once, life was good.

He watched as the women, save his mother, fussed over Joanna, who told at least most of her journey first to Russia, then France, where she encountered Harry and talked things with him, and then to the Ottoman Empire for official business. That afternoon, she, as well, renounced her claim and gave it to Harry, thus restoring order in Edgewater.

He and Joanna sat by the fire, commenting many things, among them how she and Harry fought before they sat down to talk as they did now. She looked at him and asked “Do you love her?”

“I ran away with her to Gretna Green in the middle of the night right after leaving my long-time fiancée and renouncing my claim. ‘Course I do!” He was pretty offended that she asked. Joanna laughed, lifting her hands.

“Alright, very well, you definitely do!” She conceded.

They both laughed heartily, for the first time, and toasted for a better life. And as soon as everything was in order, she was gone to wherever her mother used to live before meeting their father. In the meantime, he got the best of news.

He was writing some letters to the Suttons when Briar knocked on the door, and hugged him. He smiled, dropping the letter the moment they made contact “Hello, beautiful. You’re cheerful this morning.”

Briar smiled, glowing like never before “That is because I have great news.”

He smiled widely “Oh?”

She took his face into her palms, looking at him directly “I… am with child, my love.”

He stopped for one second. His eyes shot back to her still flat belly, then back to her eyes. He stood in silence as he took it in. Then, he started laughing, and was soon picking up Briar and twirling her around “Edmund!” She cried.

He quickly put her down, covering her with kisses as he cried out of joy “Oh, my dearest, you can’t tell how happy I am right now! Oh, my lord, my heart is going to explode!”

Briar smiled, tears in her face again “I know the feeling.”

He hugged her, both laughing and crying, standing there for a few more moments, nothing else but them and their unbridled joy. Briar excused herself by going to write to Joanna the happy news, and he was quick to run towards Harry, who smiled widely and toasted to them and the happy news: he, too, was expecting to be a father soon.

1817

Edmund watched as Joanna fussed with his baby daughter, Joanna Jr. She babbled happily in her arms, and was delighted to see that Joanna was the baby whisperer, for every baby was calm and happy in her arms. She kissed her head, playing with her and telling her what a beautiful girl she was. Baby Edward slept in his own arms, a rather small but strong baby. He was a father, and an uncle.

Outside, Briar was picking up berries with Countess Theresa, who chatted happily of the ongoing gossip of the neighbourhood. Theresa had dropped her tattletale’s mask, but still liked a little bit of gossip.

“So, dare I ask what’s between you and Mr. Sinclaire?”

Joanna bit her lip “There’s certainly something, but I’ve yet to give it a name.”

He chuckled. He definitely did not miss being in that stage where one wondered what the hell was going on between them and the person who fancied him back. Baby Edward started fussing, and he was quick to start calming him down.

He sighed as Henrietta asked him to hand over her grandson. Taking his daughter back into his arms, kissing her temple, he closed his eyes, relishing in the pure bliss he found himself in, never wanting to wake up from this beautiful reality.

My name is Edmund John Marlcaster, firstborn son of Henrietta Foredale and her first husband, who died when I was but a babe. All my life, I was but a shadow, a hidden ace that no one seemed to remember. But I never felt like that with the earl or my dear brother, Harry.

I was sixteen when I became betrothed to Miss Theresa Sutton. She had this tattletale’s mask I shamefully failed to see, but my brother Harry was never fooled. He was always smarter, more charismatic, the perfect heir to the Edgewater Estate. And I? The spare. But my, did that save my life.

I was four and twenty when my brother was called by his king to secretly spy for him in France, faking his own death and confessing that he was in love with my fiancée in the process. I gave him my word to never touch her or hurt her, and I abided by it… until Joanna Mills came into our lives.

I must confess, I was not thrilled. I was angry, for I thought that she was a cheap replacement for my dear brother, who was away in France, risking his life for king and country. I was even talked into sabotaging her, all for avenging my brother’s memory. But I was outwitted, perhaps from the very beginning.

Again and again, she proved to be smart, cunning, charming, mysterious and intriguing, taking England by storm and shaking it to its core. During that time, I met my sweet, sweet Briar, who was then her lady’s maid and best friend. She caught me by storm and shook me to my very own core, and I was glad she did. She opened my eyes like no other, and I loved her, even when I wasn’t hers to take. I tried to fight it, but one can’t escape true love.

During the mourning for both my father and Joanna, who was like a sister now, I decided to take the reins of my life by renouncing my claim, leaving Theresa and making Briar my lady wife instead, and to this day, I’ve yet to regret it. I don’t think I ever will. I shall never.

A miracle happened on a sad autumn day: Joanna and Harry had come back, and Joanna restored back balance to the estate. She came back to her own life, Mr. Sinclaire following behind. I was clueless at the time of how hopelessly in love he was with her.

During that time, by sweet Briar became pregnant with our dear child, Joanna Jr., and my, was I overcome by joy. We had four more children: Annabel, Rachel, Alexandra and Francis. Joanna had given us by now my chunk of land neighbouring Duchy Karlington back and we soon moved there, living the life my mother had fought tooth and nail for. She was happy to leave behind her bitter and jealous self, devoting herself to our children and the quiet and delightfully uneventful life, away from court.

I am Edmund, a mere spare who was saved by such position. Being always put aside saved me from death, quite literally, and brought me freedom of being myself after many years sacrificing myself to the estate. The moment Harry accepted being the new earl, I knew that everything would be alright.

I am Edmund, and being considered not an option for a position of power was the best thing that ever happened to me. I am Edmund, the shadow that people happily overlook. Not that I mind. There is joy in not having society’s attention. My family’s attention and love is all I need.

My name is Edmund, and by being spared, I dodged the bullets life throws to those who crave for power. I am Edmund, the spare of Edgewater, and this is my life. It’s not magnificent or intriguing, but it belongs to me and my fate sings my tune. I am Edmund, and I have never been gladder of being a spare.

[mariacallous]

A woman without biologicalchildren is running for high political office, and so naturally that quality will at some point be used against her. Kamala Harris has, in the short period since she emerged as the Democratic candidate for US president, been scrutinised over her lack of children. The conservative lawyer Will Chamberlain posted on X that Harris “shouldn’t be president” – apparently, she doesn’t have “skin in the game”. The Republican vice-presidential candidate, JD Vance, called Harris and other Democrats “a bunch of childless cat ladies miserable at their own lives”.

It’s a particularly virulent tendency in the US, with a rightwing movement that is fixated on women’s reproduction. But who can forget (and if you have, I am happy to remind you of a low point that still sticks in my craw) Andrea Leadsom, during the 2016 Conservative party leadership election, saying that Theresa May might have nieces and nephews, but “I have children who are going to have children … who will be a part of what happens next”. “Genuinely,” she added, as if the message were not clear enough, “I feel that being a mum means you have a real stake in the future of our country, a tangible stake.”

It’s an argument about political capability that dresses up a visceral revulsion at the idea that a woman who does not have a child should be vested with any sort of credibility or status. In other comments, Vance said that “so many of the leaders of the left, and I hate to be so personal about this, but they’re people without kids trying to brainwash the minds of our children, that really disorients me and disturbs me”. He appears so fixated on this that it is almost comical: a man whose obsession with childless women verges on a complex.

But his “disorientation and disturbance�� is a political tendency that persists and endures. It constantly asks the question of women who don’t have children, in subtle and explicit ways, especially the higher they rise in the professional sphere: “What’s up with that? What’s the deal?” The public sphere becomes a space for answering that question. Women perform a sort of group plea to be left the hell alone, in their painstaking examinations of how they arrived at the decision not to have kids, or why they in fact celebrate not having kids, or deliberations on ambivalence about having kids.

Behind all this lies some classic old-school inability to conceive of women outside mothering. But one reason this traditionalism persists in ostensibly modern and progressive places is that women withdrawing from mothering in capitalist societies – with their poorly resourced public amenities and parental support – forces questions about our inequitable, unacknowledged economic arrangements. A woman who does not bear children is a woman who will never stay home and provide unremunerated care. She is less likely to be held in the domestic zone and extend her caregiving to elderly relatives or the children of others. She cannot be a resource that undergirds a male partner’s career, frailties, time limitations and social demands.

A mother is an option, a floating worker, the joker in the pack. Not mothering creates a hole for that “free” service, which societies increasingly arranged around nuclear families and poorly subsidised rights depend on. The lack of parental leave, childcare and elderly care would become profoundly visible – “disorienting and disturbing” – if that service were removed.

“Motherhood,” writes the author Helen Charman in her new book Mother State, “is a political state. Nurture, care, the creation of human life – all immediate associations with mothering – have more to do with power, status and the distribution of resources … than we like to admit. For raising children is the foundational work of society, and, from gestation onward, it is unequally shared.”

Motherhood, in other words, becomes an economic input, a public good, something that is talked about as if the women themselves were not in the room. Data on declining birthrates draws comment from Elon Musk (“extremely concerning!!”) . Not having children is reduced to entirely personal motivations – selfishness, beguilement with the false promise of freedom, lack of values and foresight, irresponsibility – rather than external conditions: of the need for affordable childcare, support networks, flexible working arrangements and the risk of financial oblivion that motherhood frequently brings, therefore creating bondage to partners. To put it mildly, these are material considerations to be taken into account upon entering a state from which there is no return. Assuming motherhood happens without such context, Charman tells me, is a “useful fantasy”.

It is a binary public discourse, obscuring the often thin veil between biological and social actualisation. Women who don’t have children do not exist in a state of blissful detachment from their bodies and their relationship with maternity: a number have had pregnancies, miscarriages, abortions and periods. A number have entered liminal stages of motherhood that don’t conform to the single definition from which they are excluded. A number extend mothering to various children in their lives. Some, like Harris herself, have stepchildren (who don’t count, just as May’s nieces and nephews didn’t). A number have become mothers, just not in a way that initiates them into a blissful club. They experience regret, depression and navigate unsettlement that does not conform to the image of uncomplicated validation of your purpose in life.

But the privilege of those truths cannot be bestowed on creatures whose rejection of the maternal bond has become a rejection of a wider unspoken, colossally unfair contract. Women with children are handed social acceptance for their vital investment in “the future”, in exchange for unrewarded, unsupported labour that props up and stabilises the economic and social status quo. All while still suffering sneeriness about the value of their work in comparison with the serious graft of the men who win the bread.

On top of that, women have to navigate all that motherhood – or not – entails, all the deeply personal, bewildering, isolating and unacknowledged realities of both, while being subject to relentless suffocating, infantilising and violating public theories and notions that trespass on their private spaces. With that comes a sense of self-doubt and shame in making the wrong decision, or not being as content with those decisions as they are expected to be. It is a constant, prodding vivisection. That, more than anything clinical observers feel, is the truly disorienting and disturbing experience.

[lieutenantdeputysharkbradshaw]

Dating Justin Russo headcanon

He will always make sure you have everything you could possibly ever need or want, even if it required him to use magic

He brags about you all the time to anyone who will listen. His friends thought you were made up until they met you, and from there your new group of friends was inseparable

Your relationship with Theresa is amazing. She calls you Mijita and you call her Momma Russo. She can’t wait for you and Justin to get married one day

He’s always the responsible one. He makes sure that you’ve eaten today and will whip something up for you if he finds out you haven’t

Be prepared for so many corny jokes and nerdy references that even though you don’t have a clue what he’s talking about, they never fail to make you smile

One of Justin’s favorite things to do is watch the Harry Potter movies and point out all the inaccuracies in the movie series

He’s super clingy, but not in a bad way, he just loves being around you. He invites you everywhere even if he knows you can’t come because he wants you to know he’s always thinking about you.

Justin Russo is an absolute cuddle bug. He loves to lay with you with your head on his chests while he plays with your silky locks of hair. This often seeps out into public places in the form of soft touches. Whether it’s holding your hand or touching the small of your back or sitting close enough that your thighs touch, Justin has to be touching you at all times

He gets jealous sometimes because he fears he’s not enough for you. After Juliet, he was worried that he’d never be good enough for someone to stay around long enough, so every time he sees you and Mason goofing around, he gets a little territorial. You guys have talked about it though and it’s never gone past the point of him doing something he’d regret. It just means you have to cuddle him and reassure him a little extra that day

He’s the most loyal guy you’ll ever meet. He’s been though so much in his life that he would never do anything that would risk you leaving him. Even if you guys are arguing he always tries to be as understanding and accommodating as possible because he hates seeing you upset and wants to quit arguing as soon as possible

Authors note:

I’ve been rewatching wizards lately and I realized how few Justin x reader fics are out there so what do we do on tumblr when we can’t find a fic we’re looking for? Write it ourselves. This is my first time writing on here so, let me know if you like it. Also, feel free to submit requests and I’ll try my best to get to them !

[yall-hate-kids-tourney]

Y'all Hate Teens Tourney Bracket

(Bracket updated through Round 2c)

76 teens who are unfairly treated by the fandom for being teens. Who has it worst?

We tried our best with the matches, but sifting through several unique submissions does get to us... We apologize for any unfavorable matchups.

Please let us know of any name corrections. For Japanese names in particular, we denote long vowels and put given name first.

No guarantees on when the tourney starts, but we'll try to get it started within a week. We'll start by setting up the propaganda posts, which will be separate from the poll posts this time around.

Round 1 and 2 matchups under the cut. Color-coded schedule here; undescribed. Note that the listed order is not the same as the schedule.

Round 1

Alicent Hightower (House of the Dragon) vs. Abigail Hobbs (Hannibal)

Amy "Panacea" Dallon (Parahumans (Worm/Ward)) vs. Orihime Inoue (Bleach)

Lady Kenna (Reign) vs. Lisa "Tattletale" Wilbourn (Parahumans (Worm/Ward))

Kokichi Ouma (Danganronpa V3) vs. Scott McCall (Teen Wolf (MTV))

Daphne Blake (Scooby-Doo) vs. Sophie Foster (Keeper of the Lost Cities)

Breezepaw (Warrior Cats) vs. Winter (Wings of Fire)

Gamzee Makara (Homestuck) vs. Yanqing (Honkai Star Rail)

Vriska Serket (Homestuck) vs. Haru (Beastars)

Dirk Strider (Homestuck) vs. Xander Harris (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Wednesday Addams (Wednesday (Netflix)) vs. Sylvester Ashling (Epithet Erased)

Yukine (Noragami) vs. Sayaka Miki (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Yukio Okumura (Blue Exorcist) vs. Soyo Nagasaki (Bang Dream! Girls Band Party!)

Round 2

Dawn Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) vs *1

Marcy Wu (Amphibia) vs. Fatespeaker (Wings of Fire)

Sansa Stark (Game of Thrones) vs. Charlotte Pudding (One Piece)

Olly (Game of Thrones) vs. Penny Carson (Bojack Horseman)

Azula (Avatar: The Last Airbender) vs. *2

Mai (Avatar: The Last Airbender) vs. Peril (Wings of Fire)

Katara (Avatar: The Last Airbender) vs. *3

Steven Universe (Steven Universe) vs. Gohan (Dragon Ball Z)

Adrien Agreste (Miraculous Ladybug) vs. *4

Marinette Dupain-Cheng (Miraculous Ladybug) vs. Sakura Haruno (Naruto)

Muu Kusunoki (MILGRAM) vs. Misa Amane (Death Note)

Chloé Bourgeois (Miraculous Ladybug) vs. Candace Flynn (Phineas and Ferb)

April O'Neil (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2012)) vs. *5

Gwen Stacy (Spider-Man : Into the Spider-verse) vs. Dovepaw (Warrior Cats)

Damian Wayne (DC) vs. *6

Sasuke Uchiha (Naruto) vs. Kyuusaku Yumeno (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Shinji Ikari (Neon Genesis Evangelion) vs. *7

Shuuji Kayama (Digimon) vs. Gon Freecs (Hunter x Hunter)

Asuka Langley Sohryu (Neon Genesis Evangelion) vs. Youko Nakajima (The Twelve Kingdoms)

Rei Ayanami (Neon Genesis Evangelion) vs. Uzi Doorman (Murder Drones)

Akito Shinonome (Project Sekai) vs. *8

Ena Shinonome (Project Sekai) vs. Mafuyu Asahina (Project Sekai)

Katsuki Bakugou (My Hero Academia) vs. *9

Yuuma Tsukumo (Yu-Gi-Oh) vs. Megumi Fushiguro (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Wesley Crusher (Star Trek: The Next Generation) vs. *10

Ezra Bridger (Star Wars: Rebels) vs. Theresa "Scary" Marlowe (Dungeons and Daddies)

Hope Estheim (Final Fantasy XIII) vs. Tohru Honda (Fruit Basket)

Severa (Fire Emblem) vs. Taimi (Guild Wars 2)

Yukari Takeba (Persona 3) vs. *11

Rise Kujikawa (Persona 4) vs. Kotone Shiomi (Persona 3 Portable)

Goro Akechi (Persona 5) vs. *12

Yuuki Mishima (Persona 5) vs. Makoto Niijima (Persona 5)

Phew, that was a lot.

[saintmeghanmarkle]

📋 𝐌𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐌 𝐯𝐢𝐚 𝐀𝐑𝐎, 𝐀𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝟒𝟎𝐱𝟒𝟎 📋

📌 ARO jam recipients (as of May 27th, 2024)

Tracy Robbins (designer, wife of Paramount Pictures CEO Brian Robbins) *

Delfina Balquier (Argentine socialite, wife of Nacho Figueras) * and Nacho Figueras (professional polo player) *

Kelly Mckee Zajfen (friend, Alliance of Moms founder) *

Mindy Kaling (actress and comedian) *

Tracee Ellis Ross (actress, daughter of Diana Ross)

Abigail Spencer (friend, Suits co-star) *

Chrissy Teigen (television personality, wife of John Legend)

Kris Jenner ('Momager') *

Garcelle Beauvais (actress, Real Housewives of Beverly Hills) *

Heather Dorak (friend, yoga instructor) *

📌 Archetypes podcast guests

Serena Williams 🏆

Mariah Carey 👑

Mindy Kaling (actress and comedian) *

Margaret Cho (comedian and actress)

Lisa Ling (journalist and tv personality)

Deepika Padukone (Indian actress)

Jenny Slate (actress and comedian)

Constance Wu (actress)

Paris Hilton (entrepreneur, socialite, activist)

Iliza Shlesinger (comedian and actress)

Issa Rae (actress and writer)

Ziwe (comedian and writer)

Sophie Grégoire Trudeau (former wife of Canadian PM Trudeau)

Pamela Adlon (actress)

Sam Jay (comedian and writer)

Mellody Hobson (President and co-CEO of $14.9B Ariel Investments, Chairwoman of Starbucks Corporation, wife of George Lucas)

Victoria Jackson (entrepreneur, wife of Bill Guthy: founder of Guthy-Renker, leading direct marketing company)

Jameela Jamil (actress, television host)

Shohreh Aghdashloo (Iranian and American actress)

Michaela Jaé Rodriguez (actress and singer)

Candace Bushnell (Sex and The City writer)

Trevor Noah (South African comedian)

Andy Cohen (talk show host)

Judd Apatow (director, producer, screenwriter)

source

📌 40x40 participants

Adele 🌟

Amanda Gorman (poet and activist)

Amanda Nguyen (activist)

Ayesha Curry (actress, cooking television personality)

Ciara (singer and actress)

Deepak Chopra (author and alternative medicine advocate)

Dr. Nadine Burke Harris (former Surgeon General of California)

Elaine Welteroth (former Editor-in-Chief of Teen Vogue)

Dr. Ibram X Kendi (professor and anti-racism activist)

Fernando Garcia (creative director of Oscar de la Renta)

Gabrielle Union (actress)

Gloria Steinem (feminist journalist and social-political activist)

Hillary Clinton (politician, wife of former US President Bill Clinton)

Katie Couric (journalist) *

Kerry Washington (actress)

Chef José Andrés (founder of World Central Kitchen)

Melissa McCarthy (actress)

Princess Eugenie (member of British Royal Family)

Priyanka Chopra (actress)

Sarah Paulson (actress)

Sofia Carson (actress)

Sophie Grégoire Trudeau (former wife of Canadian PM)

Stella McCartney (fashion designer, daughter of Paul McCartney)

Dr. Theresa "Tessy" Ojo - CBE, FRSA (Diana Award CEO)

Tracee Ellis Ross (actress, daughter of Diana Ross)

Unconfirmed - Edward Enninful (former Editor-in-Chief of British Vogue)

Unconfirmed - Daniel Martin (makeup artist) *

An official list of all "40x40" participants was never disclosed

source 1 // source 2 // source 3

📌 Notes:

Names with an asterisk (*) indicate that they follow ARO on Instagram

Notably missing from these lists: Netflix CEO Ted Sarandos and wife Nicole Avant, Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sanchez, Beyoncé, Tina Knowles, Tyler Perry, Oprah Winfrey, Gayle King, Kevin Costner, Ellen DeGeneres, Portia Rossi *, Brooke Shields, John Travolta, Kelly Rowland, Holly Robinson Peete, Misan Harriman *, Michael Bublé

Wedding guests missing from these lists: Jessica Mulroney, George and Amal Clooney, David and Victoria Beckham, Idris Elba and Sabria Dhowre, James Blunt and Sofia Wellesley, Janina Gavankar, Elton John and David Furnish, James Corden and Julia Carey, Patrick J. Adams and the rest of the cast of Suits, Joss Stone, Tom Hardy and Charlotte Riley, Carey Mulligan and Marcus Mumford [Source]

Sunshine Sachs must've called in a LOT of favors to get so many famous names on board the Archetypes Podcast and the 40x40 project. Vanity projects that went... nowhere.

Without Sunshine Sachs, IMO it's highly unlikely that M will ever be able to reach the same level of celebrity access on her own.

If there are any names missing from these lists, please comment below 👇

Post link

author: SeptièmeSens

submitted: May 27, 2024 at 06:44PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

[missameliep]

Second Chances - Chapter Twenty Five: It starts with a kiss

Book: Desire and Decorum – Modern AU 

Pairings: Prince Hamid x Elizabeth (OC); Briar Daly x Edmund Marlcaster

Characters: Elizabeth Foredale (OC); Prince Hamid; Briar Daly; Edmund Marlcaster.

Rating: M (see trigger warnings in the notes bellow)

Word count: ~8k

Summary: After the drinking games at Edgewater, before sunrise, someone will reveal their feelings; and fortunately those suffering with a hungover, won't need to deal with it alone.

A/N: 

All characters belong to Pixelberry, except OC. Turkish words are translated in the notes in the end.

Trigger warnings: mentions of past drinking and drug consumption. Reader discretion advised.

This is my submission to @choicesprompts ' Flufftober 2024 Choices - prompts 1 (First Kiss)

September, 2018 – London – Friday night – six weeks before the weekend at Edgewater 

Slumped onto one of the large armchairs settled in the middle of the game room, Edmund used one controller to adjust the lights, a softer blueish hue surrounded them, and the other to select an option, starting the gameplay and its characteristic music blasted. 

Elizabeth sighed and asked, “Are you sure you’re not going? It’ll be fun.” 

“I avoided Theresa’s boring soirée at the Holloways and am finally free to enjoy a quiet night leading an assassin through Ancient Egypt, so unless a raging fire erupts, I’m not leaving this house.” 

“It's Friday night, Ed! I can’t believe you’d rather play video games instead of going out with us… Didn’t you say you and Annabelle were friends?” 

“I’ve said she was Harry’s friend, and we share a few common interests, but pubs crawl or whatever you folks will be doing is not one of them. Could you please move a bit to the left? You’re blocking the screen...” 

Crossing her arms, she huffed and stepped aside.  

“You complained you’re a twenty-four-year-old that lives a seventy-year-old man’s life and yet I’m inviting you to a night out with fun people and you’d rather stay home…” she shook her head slowly at him. 

“Not tonight, Eliza! Maybe next week I can go out and pretend to be young. But give me a few days’ notice to prepare myself...” 

A light tap on the doorframe and Elizabeth’s face darted to the brunette standing with a wide smile framed by flamming red lips.  

“Lizzy, I hope I’m not interrupting… but Annabelle and Luke texted they’re already there.” 

“I was just saying goodbye to my stepbrother. I don’t think you’ve met, have you?” 

The man sighed, before pausing the game. His gaze slowly moved from the screen and when he turned around to face the friend by the door his jaw almost dropped to the floor. The sight of the woman in black skinny trousers and a burgundy blouse waving at him with the most beautiful smile he has ever seen stole his breath away. 

“Hi, Edmund!”  

“Hi. Hello. You... Ah... Hi,” he mumbled, unable to control the increasing racing of his heart. Is this what a heart attack feels like? he wondered, while brushing his clammy hands against his trousers. 

Conscious of the impact she caused, Briar huffed a quiet laugh and shifted to address her friend. 

“Nice to meet you, Edmund,” she said while shaking his hand. “I hope we meet again.” 

“I am going with you!” he blurted out. 

“You are?” Elizabeth’s head whipped in his direction, and she stared in disbelief as he turned off the game and put the controller down at the coffee table. 

“I just need to go to my room,” he said rising from the armchair and brushing past them, “Five minutes. I’ll meet you by the door.” 

Briar’s eyes followed the man almost running down the hallway, and she giggled. 

“Does it run in the family?” 

With a puzzled look, Elizabeth’s eyes darted to the same direction Briar was staring and she caught a glimpse of Edmund sprinting down the hall, “What does?”  

“Being cute and a dork?”  

October 28th, 2018 – Edgewater – Sometime after the drinking game 

It’s hard to tell when Edmund realized it was not the best idea for an engaged man to go knock on the door of a woman who is not his fiancée. It's even worse to do so in the middle of the night while slightly drunk.

He should’ve taken a cold shower to get rid of the idea that wormed its way into his mind, overshadowing every other thought concocted by his brain.

But he didn’t.

Anyways, he hates cold showers.

Staggering out of his room didn’t clear his mind or brought the realization of how bad that idea was. Crossing the few meters that separated his room from Briar’s door didn’t do it for him either. Not even when he tapped lightly with his knuckles, praying she was already sleeping and wouldn’t hear it - however, even then, his heart was clutching at the hope she would. So that was not that enlightenment moment either.

When the door slightly cracked open to allow visual confirmation of the night visitor, Edmund took a deep steadying breath, but it did little to stop his hands from shaking.

A moment later, Briar leaned against the doorframe smiling at him with such warmth that it was impossible not to think she cherished him. Maybe the only woman who ever did. And that was the moment he realised it was either the most brilliant move or his worst idea ever. Still, he once more was torn between the options. 

Playing with a long lock of her hair, her gaze lingered on his face, and she asked with a smile, “Trouble sleeping?” 

“I need to talk. To get this out of my chest. Can I come in?” 

Masking her surprise with another smile, she nodded and moved to the side, no questions asked. 

That was their thing, wasn’t it? Heart to heart conversations in the middle of the night... Only this time, he would also see her face while talking... and maybe he would find the answers he wishes. 

The man zigzagged until his knee bumped in the bed, and he slumped on the mattress. Giggling, she closed the door.

“You’re sloshed, Eddie!” her giggles fanned his face when she sat on the bed beside him and helped him sit up.   

“I’m certainly not. How dare you imply – No, I’m utterly sloshed. I can’t even pretend I’m not.” He let out a heartfelt laughter, and she used a hand to cover his mouth and shush him.  

His clear blue eyes crinkled with a smile. The gentle touch of her hand and the proximity of their bodies made his heart race. It was a shame this blurriness prevented him from seeing her eyes more clearly and the natural form of her lips without any lipstick. But he could tell he loved them nonetheless.

“Quiet or you’ll wake everyone up,” she hissed, but there was no edge on her voice, while her hand slowly retreated. “What do you want to talk about?” 

“You’re beautiful,” he sighed, and a tentative hand reached out to rest on Briar’s cheek, who didn’t flinch. “The most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Even more, when I’m sober, because I can really see you... You’re a bit blurred now... and I can’t see your eyes... and I adore your eyes… they are so… so… intense… and warm... and kind... But my mind already knows you’re beautiful. Inside too. Not your insides... insides... like your guts... but your mind and your heart –” He stopped talking when she failed to stifle her giggles.  

“You’re laughing at me!” he mumbled, and pulled his hand away. 

Trying to stifle her giggles, she tried to remedy the situation, placing her hand on his bouncing knee when his uneasiness drove him to the edge of the mattress. She wasn’t certain if she wanted him to stay, but she didn’t want him to leave yet.

“Was that the urgent matter you needed to ‘get out of your chest’?” she questioned with a soft voice, matching the proximity shared. His attention immediately returned to her, and a timid smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. 

“No, but your beauty is too distracting…” There was a lilt of laughter in his tone, and his fingers combed his ash blonde hair back and rested at the nape of his neck.  

“I won’t apologise for that,” she huffed a laugh, and her cheeks were noticeable darker from blushing because of his words, and this alone almost sobered him up.  

Edmund leaned forward, closing the gap between them, and his breath carried the scent of mint flavoured toothpaste mixed with a hint of liquor – more than a hint, actually.  

She suspected the liquor fuelled this unexpected audacity, considering how shy and restrained he was during their ride this afternoon; however, if asked, he would say this was all about her, her presence was intoxicating, and his self-control reached its limit tonight. 

Her breath hitched when his hand touched her cheek this time. Closing her eyes, she revelled on the feather light touch of his thumb caressing her velvety skin, following a path towards her mouth. When he traced the curves of her lips, it quietened everything else but her thunderous heartbeats. 

Her tongue was emptied, no flirty or funny words ready to fly away... In fact, every brain cell was screaming for her to shut up and kiss him; and his were probably doing the same, considering the way his hooded eyes fixed on her mouth when he leaned even closer. Without any warning, he bowed until his lips were a hair’s breadth away from hers. Their gazes locked for a second that lasted an eternity, a silent dialogue between their yearnings.  

The pull of her luscious lips became so irresistible.  

Waiting for permission, his lips ghosted hers and they were so close he could almost taste her exhales. 

Briar said nothing, licked her lips and closed the gap.

At first, his lips touched hers delicately, then more insistently when his hand slid to the back of her neck and brought their faces closer. It was awkward for a few seconds, too much tension, noses bumping and eyes wide open staring at the other; until her hands cradled his cheeks and gently tilted his head to adjust his position.  

This was enough to make it more and more enjoyable. Her lips glided over his, and when she captured his lower lip between hers, he let out a barely audible gasp. And she made a mental note about his reaction.  

More confident, one of his hands caressed her knee while the fingers on the one nestled on the nape of her neck delved into her hair, eliciting goosebumps and she let out a sigh.

The moment he parted his lips, allowing their tongues to meet for the first time, it felt as if the sole purposes of their lips and tongues were to kiss one another.  

When she pulled away to try and catch her breath, his lips followed hers, and she smiled to herself satisfied, both hands cradling his face.  

Meanwhile, Edmund’s entire body tingled, and there was a pleasant warmth enveloping him, as if being swaddled by a duvet someone else warmed just for you.

Looking at her, his brain buzzed with a swarm of thoughts. Did he drink too much or was there really something different about kissing Briar? A spark. An energy. A connection. 

“Did you feel it too? Tell me I’m not bloody crazy…” he asked, leaning his forehead to touch hers. 

“I’m not a psychiatrist, Eddie… but I think you lost your mind. I definitely did, too.” 

With a huff, his head tilted back, and before another loud laughter escaped his mouth, she covered it with her hand. This time, he grabbed it and kissed her palm gently, and her eyes fluttered close. 

“We’re both too sloshed for this...” 

“I can’t… I can’t think of anything else. Only you, Briar.” 

Hearing those words was bittersweet. It was exactly what she hoped for, but not like this. Not a drunk confession. And especially not after spending time with Theresa and knowing she’s oblivious to their flirting and growing affection. And now they’re kissing while she sleeps! 

“You shouldn’t say things like that...” she chided, “Your fiancée is asleep somewhere... over there...” Her free hand pointed randomly at the wall beside them, and he grimaced.  

“This has nothing to do with her… let’s pretend for a moment I’m not engaged.”  

Frowning, she pulled her hand from his grasp.  

“What a nasty thing to say!”  

“Briar,” Edmund called her name, his voice softer and more slurred, but she didn’t look back at him and pushed his chest. “I told you, Theresa and I… that is not real… she doesn’t love me either… she loves… loved… somebody else… not me… but you and I… I –”  

“Is she aware of how you feel? Because the engagement seems pretty real to her! She showed me pictures of bloody wedding dresses!” 

Edmund’s hand rubbed his face, and he exhaled loudly.  

“If you’re here for a one nightstand, just... own it! Don’t sweet talk me...” 

“Briar, I think – not think, I know… I fell for you.” 

Slack jawed, she gaped, and it took her a few breaths to find the words again. “Eddie… You shouldn’t say that either. You do have a fiancée and you’re sloshed… I know you’ll regret everything tomorrow... and leave me heartbroken.” 

“Never. You got me head over heels… I’m yours.” 

Briar’s face tilted upwards, and she stared at the ceiling for a long moment and let out a loud frustrated exhale. If cupid was a real thing, she would murder hers slowly and painfully. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” she muttered under her breath. 

“Is it Woods?” 

“Arthur?” Her head whipped to look at him. “What does Arthur have to do with this mess?” 

“Do you love him?” 

“I-” she paused and pressed her lips together. “I could... eventually... but not when... because of this..." Her finger pointed back and forward at them. 

There was too much satisfaction in hearing those words, and he let out a relieved sigh. 

“You feel it too?” he asked, and his voice was barely above a whisper. 

“What if I do? Does it change anything?” 

Edmund tentatively touched her face and guided her eyes to look back at him. “It changes all!”

“How?” she asked, but immediately changed her mind and waved her hands. “Please, don’t tell me... or... I’ll believe you.” 

“Believe me.” 

He pulled her in for another kiss, and all the fight left her when his tongue swirled with hers. He was already leaning to push her down on the mattress, but she pushed him back.

“No more kissing.” Out of breath, Briar placed a hand on his chest to put some distance between them and held her head high. “Talk. Tell me what you’ll do. I won’t be anyone's playtoy.”

Edmund obediently complied. It felt invigorating to make plans for his own future without consulting with his mother first, and especially plans that included Briar. They talked some more and kissed one last time before sleep claimed their eyes sometime before dawn.

Briar's face was the last thing he saw before his eyes fluttered close, and he thought that was heavenly.

A persistent buzzing noise invaded Elizabeth’s dreamless sleep, almost like the sounds of cicadas in scorching summer nights demanding the world’s attention to their performance. Answering the compelling call, her eyes fluttered open, but it was the same as if they didn’t. Surrounded by darkness, the coldness kissing her feet that escaped from underneath the duvet reminded her it wasn’t summer. She immediately pulled it, rubbing the cold feet against the mattress.  

While her body reluctantly woke up and her brain regained consciousness, she was confronted by confusion and immense discomfort all at once, reminders of the insane amount of alcohol she ingested last night.  

Her head ached as if samba percussionists were beating repeatedly their instruments out of cadence to punish her. The parchedness in her mouth seemed like she had wandered the desert for days. Trying to alleviate it, her lips parted, but her mouth had dried out and it was difficult to swallow and get rid of the disgusting taste sitting on her tongue.  

The buzzing sound echoed again, attacking her ears, and she realized it was probably the mobile vibrating with incoming messages over the nightstand. Even though she wondered what time it was, the identity of the caller or texter and their reasons to be trying to reach her in what she assumed was the middle of the night didn’t pique her interest at all, if anything it riled her up for disturbing her rest. Mustering the strength to reach the nightstand to turn off the phone, she tried to roll over, but something blocked her path and restrained her motion. Not something, but someone. 

In the dark she couldn’t rely on her sight, but her other senses worked perfectly, collecting information of quiet sounds of breathing behind her, the light pressure of a body against her back, and the arm she finally noticed dangling over her waist underneath the covers. And lastly, the fragrance that reached her nostrils was unmistakable. 

“Hamid?” her voice sounded hoarse in the quiet room, almost unrecognisable.  

The body stirred, and he hummed his response. His warm breath fanned her neck, and if she wasn’t so overwhelmed, she would have enjoyed it. 

Why are you in my bed, dude? The question died in her tongue, but not the surprise stirred by his presence. 

“Do you need to go to the toilette again?” his sleepy voice reached her ears.  

Again? When did I even go to the toilet?  

Her mind raced, trying to cling to any memory that could explain Hamid sleeping on her bed. But she found none. Maybe she should take the hint, get up, go to the toilet, wash her face, and drink some water. And definitely get some aspirins before her head explodes, and something for the burning stomach and nausea too. And maybe if she feels better, she will remember. 

“I’m thirsty,” she said fighting the dryness of her mouth. 

His arm retreated, and his hand lightly brushed the skin of her abdomen, and soon was gone, but not the goosebumps on its wakening.   

“The glass is empty, but if you give me a minute, I’ll get you some more…”  

“Don’t worry. I’ll get up…” she said without moving to get off the bed right away.  

His weight shifted in the mattress. Hamid rubbed his eyes and stretched his arm aimlessly until his fingers reached the switch in the wall. The room was flooded by bright light.  

“Turn it off, please!” she squealed scrunching her eyelids. Her hands flew to her eyes, mostly because of the bright lights, and only partially because of the brief sight of his bare torso. “Why are you shirtless? Are you naked?” 

“Don’t you remember?”  

“I-I don’t…” 

“Allah Allah, I thought that was memorable...” 

The pacing of the tiny percussionists inside her brain grew even faster and stronger, and her heart joined the rhythm.  

“What are you talking about?” she dared ask with a strangled voice. 

“The re-enactment of the projectile vomit scene from the Exorcist,” he said very slowly, and realization dawned on her. 

“Oh, my god! I puked? On you?”  

“Fortunately, you had asked me to take you to the toilette, and my t-shirt was the target and not my face.” 

“I puked on you?” she repeated, shocked by the idea. 

What the flying fudge cracker! That's a whole new level of stupidity, isn’t it? Why did I drink this much? 

“I’m so sorry!” she mumbled, hiding her face in her hands. “That’s so gross… I-I… Sorry.”  

She wanted to run away and hide forever, but her body was so tensed it froze. 

“Hey,” he said softly, but she didn’t uncover her eyes. After calling her name, his hand reached one of hers, which she reluctantly let him grab – she couldn’t understand why on earth he was anywhere near her.

“It’s okay, Liz. You did nothing wrong.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s untrue... I’m mortified... What else do I have to apologise for?” 

“Don’t worry, aside from the vomiting and being horny and handsy, drunk Liz makes delightful company...”

The joke did little to lessen her embarrassment. How can he be so chill about it? 

“What do you mean by ‘handsy’?” 

“You tried to kiss me and grab my butt.” 

“What? I would never!” she protested, knowing well enough that she prefers his sculpted torso and arms to his bottom, even though it has a nice round shape... And she's clearly still a bit horny. 

“You also took ‘no’ for an answer, which was remarkably respectful.” 

She let an exasperated huff through her mouth and pressed her hands against her face. “I can’t have this conversation now...” 

“We can revisit it some other time, I’ll gladly share the details.” 

“How about never?” 

Smiling, he sat straighter and lighted the lamp on the nightstand. His eyes, cleared of sleep, stared directly at hers, “Drinking like that is unusual to you, I understand. And you don’t have to feel embarrassed about what happened.” 

“That’s impossible...” she sighed and looked at him, wondering what else she has said and done. “Just to clarify, you’re not naked…” 

“No, I’m not. And I’d never cross that line. You were drunk and asked me to stay, and I did. To keep you company. That’s all.” 

Relief washed over her, and she smiled. “Thanks. For not… you know… and for sticking around.”  

“Don’t mention it. Someone had to hold your hair up, prevent you from dancing and falling on your magnificent bottoms, and bumping your head on the furniture.”  

“Oh, God! It did happen then!” Hamid nodded. “Is that why my head hurts?” Her fingers raked her hair, searching for any sign of a bump.  

“I’m pretty sure that’s the alcohol.” 

“What time is it?” 

He picked his mobile in the nightstand. “7:45.” Stealing a sideway glance at her worried face, his finger caressed the back of her hand, and he asked softly, “Are you sure you don’t want me to get you something to drink? Annabelle brought a bottle of isotonic drink. And I can get you something to eat…”  

“I – No, I’m fine now. Even thinking about food makes me sick… I’ll go to the... you know… and you... go back to sleep. Excuse me.” 

Hamid let go of her hand, and Elizabeth rolled to the opposite side of the bed, moving away from him, and not looking back even when she felt his stare. She swung her legs touching the carpet and noticed both her socks were gone. Her feet were heavy, just like the rest of her body, and she dragged them on her way to the en-suite. The touch of the frigid floor against the soles of her feet, caused her to shiver, and she mentally cursed not putting on the slippers. 

Closing the door, she barely had the time to turn on the light before her legs started giving away underneath her. Pressing her hands against the cool marble of the sink to support her weight, she avoided stumbling or collapsing to the floor. Performing every little task took too much energy, and she almost gave up on washing her face, but the invigorating cold water gave her the necessary boost to continue. By the time she took the toothbrush to her mouth, she needed to sit down. Flopping down into the wooden bench near the bathtub, she noticed Hamid’s white t-shirt soaked-wet dangling over the rim of the tub, and two pairs of socks hanging on the faucet.  

Suddenly, a panicked Hamid kneeling on the floor in front of her, begging her to keep her eyes open flashed before her eyes; was it a memory or her imagination? 

Her hand barely moved to brush her teeth, and her heavy eyelids were impossible to keep open with all the light around her. She would close them for one second, maybe two.  

The sound of the toothbrush falling and hitting the floor didn’t wake her up, but she couldn’t ignore the soft but persistent rapping on the door. 

“Liz,” Hamid asked softly, “are you alright?” 

Her hand rubbed the foam from her lips and chin, and she picked up the toothbrush from the floor. “I’m fine,” she replied getting up, and the movement made her dizzy. Slowly moving back to the sink, she heard him speaking again.  

“You’ve been in there for a very long time…” 

“I’m brushing my teeth.” 

She washed her mouth, took another gulp of tap water, and tied her hair in a high bun.

When she opened the door, Hamid was standing there, leaning against the doorframe with a worried look. It surprised her that he didn’t go back to sleep or to his own room. 

“How are you, really?” he asked, carefully speaking in a low tone that wouldn’t be uncomfortable considering the aftereffects of the alcohol.  

“I brushed my teeth, but my mouth still tastes like a smelly old brolly –” 

Hamid chuckled and it eased the frown of his brows. “That’s very specific. How do you even know what it tastes like?” 

“My mind does,” she sighed. “My head hurts. My stomach is on fire, and I could drink a bucket of water. And mostly I’m feeling incredibly dumb for drinking this much again...” And puking on you. 

“For now, we can take care of the head and stomach.” 

Walking past her, Hamid crouched and opened a door of the cabinet under the sink. With familiarity, he produced a white box with a red cross painted at the top from the first shelf and took a bottle of antacids and another of aspirins, both were placed on the sink in front of her.  

With a grimace she drank the liquid as instructed and the pill sat bitterly on her tongue while she waited for him to come back with the bottle of Gatorade.

Watching her swig half of the content of the bottle without stopping to breath, an amused smile parted his lips. 

“And for the dumbness –” 

“You’ll keep mocking me endlessly and not let me forget it...” her tongue was quicker and sharper than his ever would, and she huffed in frustration, letting her shoulders slump. 

“Why would I do that?” he asked softly, brows knitted together while trying to meet her gaze. 

She pursed her lips and said nothing in return. Shame taking over, her eyes focused on anything else but his face.  

“A word from you and I’ll never speak about tonight. A joke is not worth it, if it causes you pain. You can expect nothing but understanding from me. Like I said before, I truly believe you deserve kindness, hayatım[1], and not more criticism.”  

Her eyes flicked from her folded hands to his eyes, his expression changing from one of concern to a more relaxed one while he reminisced about the night before.  

“Last night, you have laughed, joked and been the most open around a group of people since I met you. You looked happy, truly happy. Relaxed. And that wasn’t just the alcohol. You were in a safe place and let your guard down. I agree drinking this much isn’t good for you... But why shaming yourself? Why not learning from it instead? You can’t change anything that happened, but you can make different choices in the future, if you desire, no? And if you don’t, I’ll hold your hair up again.” 

There was so much empathy in his tone that if she wasn’t so dehydrated, her eyes would be watering. She mouthed a soundless thank you and he inched closer. 

Standing behind her, he gently squeezed her shoulders, and they looked at each other’s reflections in the mirror.  

Instead of the pink plaid PJs, she was sporting a long sleeved green one with no buttons, and she wondered if Hamid was the one who changed it.  

As if reading her mind, he said softly, “Annabelle changed your clothes, after we cleaned you up.” 

“I must thank her later.” 

That was the first time she truly looked at herself.  

The reflection looking back at her was pale, her usual tan had completely vanished these past months; smudged eyeliner and dark stains of mascara accentuated the dark circles under her reddened eyes, which seemed smaller due to the puffy eyelids. She looked spent. The entangled hair had been pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head, and a few shorter curls had escaped the imposed restraint, sticking out close to her ears and neck. All in all, she was a complete mess while Hamid looked unfairly handsome with slightly flattened bed hair, the shadow of a beard and a big smile that caused the corners of his eyes to wrinkle; somehow, despite the vomiting, and deprivation of sleep she imposed him, there was so much adoration in his eyes that even in her current state was impossible to miss. 

“Hamid, can I ask you a question?” 

“Of course.” 

“Why are you here?” 

“Why are we all here, Liz? Isn’t that the fundamental Philosophical question?” 

“Silly,” she chided, and his chuckle was so very close to her ear when he leaned forward that raised all the hair in her body and fogged her brain for a while.

“You know what I mean! You could be sleeping tight in your bed right now... instead, you spent the night taking care of my dumb drunk arse... when you had no obligation to.” 

“I like your cute dumb drunk arse...” He winked, and she rolled her eyes. 

“I’m serious.” 

“So am I! I’m a fan.”

Chuckling, Hamid hugged her from behind, his arms wrapped around her waist, and he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Someone needed to hold your hair, and let’s say I know what it feels to be so utterly sloshed and not having anyone to look after me.” 

“You do?”  

He hummed. His breath fanned the bare skin of her neck.  

“But I won’t bother you with such an inane story. Let’s get you to bed.” 

“I wouldn’t mind listening to it...”  

His lips twitched, possibly surprised by the request, and he looked at her reflection in the mirror for a long moment, the way she hid a yawn against a palm, but still tried to keep her eyes focused on him. 

“Maybe some other time...” he replied while gently turning her around, but keeping her in the circle of his embrace, “You look about ready to fall asleep in my arms... not that I’d ever complain about that….” He winked at her, very flirty, in that Hamid-like fashion that makes her knees weak, and even though it wasn't far from the truth, she recognized the diversion right there in his words.

“I like a good bedtime story...” she said softly, tilting her face up to meet his gaze over her shoulder, “And your voice...” She might’ve learned a thing or two about charming someone with him.

“Then how could I not humour you?”

Smiling, Hamid helped her sit on the bed and pulled the covers over her legs, and she remained sitting, looking expectantly.

In the dimly lit room, Hamid sat in front of her, legs crossed, took a deep breath and broke the silence.

“I only got really sloshed a handful of times... My sisters took care of me, helped me hide it from my parents... But one time, it happened during a trip with friends... We went to Amsterdam for the weekend to celebrate my 19th birthday. Most of my memories are fogged... You must have seen what happens to six lads with loads of cash partying at Amsterdam...” 

“I actually never been there...” 

“Haven’t you? I must take you there. It's lovely in the spring.” 

His fingers reached her hand, and his thumb was very distractingly caressing the back of her hand, following the paths of green veins till her wrist and back. Another distraction, she realized. Caressing the back of his hand with her free hand in return, she asked, “What happened to you?” 

He hummed, and she suspected he was carefully choosing the words to continue. 

“Everything went brilliant until the night before our flight... We went clubbing and met these girls, very friendly, seniors at uni, gorgeous… and had us wrapped around their fingers.” He chuckled. “We followed them like puppies to another club and to another... By the time we got to the third one, I was so wasted, I could barely stand on my own, but I didn’t want to admit it and go back to the hotel... So, my friend Lewis stayed with me, but while he was away hitting on one of the girls or whatever… I don’t know… I guess I accepted a pill that was definitely not aspirin…” 

“Someone drugged you?” her voice shrieked, piercing her own brain, and she looked at his face over her shoulder, and he clicked his tongue. 

“Nobody was sober at that point, and I probably said I was cool with it...” Hamid paused at her concerned expression and tried to explain, “The day before, I tried space cake and smoked a little hashishe... anyway... It was a harmless experience. We laughed for hours sitting at the grass...” 

“But you were already drunk! You couldn’t consent!” Elizabeth snapped, head racing with all the legal issues this story poses. This was the sort of thing she worried about whenever going our to clubs and parties and one of the reasons she was vigilant with her and her friends’ drinks, and to hear something like that happened to Hamid not in theory made her chest tight, even though he sounded so nonchalant about it.

Hamid’s shoulders raised almost to his ears, and he let out a deep breath; the smile faltered a little and his expression transformed entirely.

Was he regretting telling me?

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “I’m doing it again...” 

“It’s alright.” He intertwined his fingers with hers. “Maybe I should stop, so you can sleep.” 

She shook her head, widening her eyes to fight the sleep.

“I woke up at the hospital. Someone had found me lying on a bench at Oosterpark and called emergency. I had no documents, no coat, and no shoes... It was winter. My clothes were drenched from the rain…” 

“Wow... that's... you could have died...” Elizabeth pointed out the obvious, and instantly regretted it.

“Trust me, I know. The doctor gave me a long and detailed speech about hypothermia. And drugs. And unprotected sex, even though I don’t remember even kissing anybody… They poked me with needles, ran tests and gave me some pills just in case…”  

“Dude…” Elizabeth muttered but stopped before any of the concerns bubbling in her brain escaped again.  

He looked expectantly, but she didn’t know what to say. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to shut down that voice in her mind whispering judgmental and useless advice about something that happenend to him years ago, and listened to her heart. Pushing the covers aside, she moved on the bed and sat on the balls of her feet right in front of him.

“I – I’m sorry this happened to you,” she said softly and genuinely, and his expression eased when no chiding came out of her mouth.  

“I’m not,” he said, and the smile was back on his face. “Almost dying in such a stupid way had positive outcomes.” 

She gaped. “How can you see a bright side in this story, Hamid?” 

“There is always a silver lining,” he said with a familiar cheerful tone, but still soft enough not to bring her discomfort. “First, I realized I didn’t like drinking that much or getting hungover… I dance better, and my jokes are funnier when I’m sober. And from that day on, I’m an advocate of remembering the things I do and not losing my passport. So, I decided not to drink. Unless it is raki with babam and dedem[2]. Second, I don’t know if I’ll live a short or long life; but I can choose how to live my best life, with no regrets, appreciating the beauties, welcoming the joys... and obviously, adrenaline rushing through my veins fuels me!” He looked pointedly at her, and she remembered the incident with the horse. 

“Not with disregard to my safety,” he let out the words with a chuckle, holding her hands in his. “And, when my time comes, hopefully it won’t be blacked out drunk in a park bench...”

She held his hands tighter, as if possible to shield him from such a fate with sheer will. 

“I hope your learning process included finding a better group of friends,” she mumbled, and he chuckled.  

“Don’t be so hard, güzelim[3]. They are good people. At the time, we were too young and sheltered… mortality was not part of our vocabulary.”  

How incredible it must be to be so careless and not have this sort of concern!  

That was never the case for her.  

Death and sickness have been her companions in life for so long that her identity is linked to those grim subjects. In the past five years, no decision in her life has been made without considering either of them. Letting out a long and loud sigh, she pondered how different they were in so many more ways than she first assumed.  

“Gosh, if it were me… I’d…” she trailed off, and he jumped in to complete her sentence, “You wouldn’t leave me alone.” 

Lowering her gaze, but unable to control the blush that bloomed in her cheeks, she admitted he was right and that she wouldn’t leave him alone. 

“However,” she added, “I was going to say that if I were you, I’d never want to see those people again! How could they leave you like that? What sort of friend does that?” Her indignation transpired in her tone and disgusted face. 

“I don’t blame them. It wasn’t their responsibility to take care of me... I’m responsible for my choices, good or bad.”  

Meeting his eyes, there was no shame in them, on the contrary, Hamid’s countenance expressed relief. Noticing the attentive gaze studying him, he smiled. 

“I never spoke about any of this; not even to my sisters.” 

“Why not?” 

“They would gang up on me, obviously… and everything turned out alright. My friend Burak found my coat at the club, my passport and mobile were in the pocket... A happy ending.” 

She watched his face and the wide and bright smile directed at her. 

“You didn’t need to tell me either, so, why did you?” 

“There’s a simple explanation for that,” he said, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “In case you haven’t noticed, you are very special to me, Elizabeth Foredale, and I want you to know me. The real me. Isn’t this what people do? To get to know each other?” 

Even in the low light, his eyes were shining. His gaze could be described with many words, none of which was a synonym for friendly.

Touched by his words and without giving herself time to change her mind, Elizabeth’s hand cradled his jaw, and her lips touched his dimpled cheek in a gentle but lingering kiss.

After a fraction of a second to overcome the surprise, Hamid revelled on it, letting his eyes flutter closed to fully appreciate the gentleness of her touch, and his lips stretched into a wide grin.

It was nothing like the fleeting air kisses they often share. 

Before she considered ending the kiss, his hand covered hers, keeping it in place.

The alchool had drained her body, but right now every nerve was suddenly alight by his presence, by the warm touch of his hand on top of hers.

His eyes fluttered open to meet hers in a sidelong glance. They knew. They had crossed the line. They were no longer in friends’ territory. And, for the first time, she let herself want more, ignoring the boundary she herself tried to place between them.

She got greedy. 

When her lips slowly but steadily glided over the roughness of the slight growth of beard of his unshaved face to the turned corner of his smile, Hamid let out a soft exhale through his nose. The warmth of the air travelled over the skin of her hand and wrist inflaming her entirely, and her heartbeats sped up.

Taking a deep breath, her lungs were filled with Hamid's fancy perfume. It was intoxicating in an unexpected way: it quietened the entire world. Actually it quietened her mind. For once, her brain was entirely focused on this moment and all the overwhelming feelings Hamid stirred on her.

Any hesitancy slipped away at the sight of his tongue moistening his lips. And that was the last thing her eyes registered. Her brain could no longer focus on anything that was not Hamid's lips smoothly moving over hers.

His lips were very soft, incredibly so against her own. They brushed against hers for a brief quiet moment, but it was enough to irradiate a heat, an electricity throughtout her body. It was like a dam breaking, and she was flooded with so much want. The second time her lips brushed against his, she was certain this wasn't like any kiss she had before.

She pulled away enough to gaze into his eyes, the corners crinkled by an adoringly smile; even such a diminute distance seemed unbearable to Hamid, and his hand cupped her cheek to close the distance between their mouths almost entirely.

The tip of his long curved nose brushed against the tip of hers, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he said her name in awe, even with her eyes closed. His thumb brushed her lips, and butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

In her mind, Elizabeth envisioned more than once where and when their first kiss could happen. It always envolved a perfect romantic scenario, careful planning, fancy dinners and Hamid probably literally sweeping her off her feet. However, the reality was unplanned, and her brain might have short-circuited at some point... There's not even a carefully selected soundtrack playing in the background, just the sounds of their breathing and the pitter-patter of rain.

Yet, nothing could be more perfect than the way his lips welcomed hers. Her fantasies couldn’t compete with the reality of the tenderness of every gesture of his, the pressure of his lips, the light touch of his tongue over her lower lip, or the hand cupping her cheek so very gently.

When Elizabeth pulled back, his nose nuzzled her jaw and down her neck, and she gasped. The sound pleased Hamid, who hummed against her jaw and captured her lips one last time.

Her eyes met his briefly, but she quickly lowered her face, overcame by embarrassment and doubts of what to do or say.

The backs of his fingers caressed her cheek, and he whispered, “I could kiss you forever, Liz.”  

When her eyes raised to meet his, Hamid was already staring at her. His gaze could be described with many words, none amongst them was a synonym for friendly, and she rolled her lips inside her mouth.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

She shook her head, and took a deep calming breath.

“You make me feel many things,” -- happy, giddy, confused, excited... and several other she'd be mortified to admit even to herself... -- “’Uncomfortable’ is not one of them.” 

His lips split into the widest grin she’s ever seen, before he swallowed and asked in a low and husky voice, “Care to tell me how I make you feel now?”  

“Right now?” Her lips rolled inside her mouth, and she focused on the feeling of being in his arms earlier. Except for her dear father, she can’t remember feeling safer around a man nor willing to spend a lifetime in an embrace. “Happy. Safe.” 

“I am glad you do. I want you to trust me.” 

She met his stare again, and he was flashing a broad unabashed smile. They didn’t move an inch, staring into each other's eyes. Was she even breathing? She couldn’t be certain she was. 

“Aren’t you curious about how you make me feel?”  

His question startled her. Of course, she wanted to know that, but how could she speak over the thunderous beating of her heart and risking dozens of butterflies flying away if she opened her mouth, like in the Brazilian soap operas with magical realism she used to watch with her mother as a kid. She pursed her lips and nodded, which was enough for him to carry on. 

“You also make me feel many emotions, Liz. The most frequent is happiness. A complete, perfect and unwavering bliss whenever I am around you. And even when we’re not together… My days are more vibrant since you are in my life…” 

“Even after tonight?”  

“Why would tonight change anything?” 

“Aren’t you even a little upset? Tired?” 

“Tired?” He clicked his tongue. Leaning impossibly closer, he whispered into her ear, “Inşallah[4], someday you’ll see how long I can keep going without any sleep...” When Elizabeth shivered, the pleased smirk in his lips indicated that was the intended effect, and he rubbed his hands against her arms. “However, you, my dear, seriously need to rest.” 

“Actually, father wanted to have breakfast with me and after brunch I promised to go with Annabelle and Briar to this spa at Moorfield and –” 

“As much as I believe you to be an overachiever, you need to rest, Liz,” he cut off the flood of words. “Besides, the last Annabelle checked on you was around 4am... So, trust me on this, go back to bed, we won’t see any of them before lunch. And message your father, tell him you have a minor headache and will be staying in your room until you feel better…”  

Elizabeth listened to his reasoning and bit one thumbnail. Judging by the way she looked, no amount of coffee would keep her functional long enough to perform any social activity. Finally, she gave in to the irresistible call of the bed.  

Hamid went to the en-suite, while she typed the message to her father, ignoring the stinging feeling in her stomach, that could be guilty from skipping breakfast with him or due to the hole the alcohol probably burnt there. But Hamid was right, it was past the time to prioritize her needs, even if it meant disappointing others. 

After texting her friends, she was about to go through the several notifications in the screen, when the en-suite door opened and closed. Hamid’s silhouette strolling toward the soft light of the bedroom was all broad shoulders and strong arms. Over the screen of the mobile, her gaze fixed at him, admiring his confident swagger towards her.  

The blue light from the screen denounced her attempt of appreciating the sight inconspicuously, and Hamid grinned at the attention but for once chose to say nothing about it. 

When he turned around to settle the medicines and a glass of water over the nightstand, Elizabeth admired his taut muscles, and noticed the dimples on his lower back right above the waist band of his jeans. Her fingers craved to map every inch of his uncovered skin, and the thought alone sent a flow of heat all over her body. She forced her eyes back to the screen and turned the airplane mode on before putting the mobile away.  

Leaning forward, he touched the side of her face gently and kissed the top of her head. 

“I think you’re all set,” he whispered against her hair, “I’ll let you sleep now.” 

“You’re leaving?” her tone didn’t conceal the surprise and disappointment. 

“Don’t you want me to go?” 

“I-I wouldn’t mind… If you wanted to... stay... it’s a big bed…” She fidgeted with the hem of the shirt, without raising her gaze to meet his, and couldn't find the right words to speak, and stuttered the ones she found, even if they didn't make sense, “It doesn’t... mean that we... anything... I guess... but you don’t have to go. If you don’t want to.” 

“I understand," he said, smiling to himself. "If I stay, do we get to cuddle like before?” 

She swallowed and couldn’t prevent the smile from curling her lips whem she nodded.  

Without another word, he sat on the bed.

She moved aside to give him space, and went under the covers, lying on her back. The fragrance of his perfume on the pillows was inebriating.

When the mattress shifted with his weight, she took a deep breath. The lights were dimmed to their softest glow and a moment later, Hamid was lying beside her on his back, stirring the flutter of thousands of butterflies in her stomach. 

He stretched one arm, adjusted the pillow over it, and, with a nod of his head, invited her to rest her head.

Elizabeth obliged, moving closer and let her head rest in the pillow. Hamid's arm encircled her waist, he kissed her temple and whispered in her ear, “Sleep tight, Liz!”

Her answer was an almost inaudible “You too, Hamid.”

In Hamid's embrace, Morpheus visited Elizabeth unsurprisingly fast, not giving her any time for second guessing her decisions.  

A familiar melody invaded his dreamless sleep and Edmund stirred in the bed, failing to recognize his whereabouts.  

The mattress shifted when the woman sleeping beside him turned around, facing the other way. Flashes from their conversation and kisses invaded his mind, but were soon chased away by the persistent melody getting louder.

His hand patted his pants first, and then the space between them until he found the mobile that slipped from his pocket.  

It was dark and he could barely open his sleepy eyes, but he would recognize the caller’s picture anywhere.  

His gaze flicked to the black hair sprawled over the duvet, and he jumped out of the bed, instinctively shying away from the incriminating scene. Moving closer to the wall, he coughed twice, clearing his throat, before accepting the call, and prayed for silence. 

“Hello, mother,” he spoke in the lowest but clearest tone possible trying not to wake the woman in bed. 

“Let me talk to Theresa,” the woman barked the order, forgetting any rule of politeness – not that she reserved that kind of curtesy to her eldest son, especially not after he became the only one. 

“She’s currently not...” Edmund stuttered and considered what to answer. “We’re not together... at the moment. I was sleeping.” 

“She’s not with you!” The woman muttered something under her breath he could only assume were not compliments about his fiancée’s competence to follow orders. “Find her. And have her call me. Immediately.” 

“Alright, mother. I’ll let her know you –” 

Before he could finish the sentence, the call ended.  

The conscience of where he was standing and with whom and the possibility of a scandal was enough to force out of his body any sleep. A last longingly gaze focused on the woman sleeping before he cautiously sneaked out of the bedroom. This was just the beginning.

Notes:

[1] Hayatım – Turkish – term of endearment that means “my life” or “my dear or darling” in this context. 

[2] Babam and dedem – Turkish – father and grandfather. 

[3] Güzelim – Turkish – mean “my beautiful”. 

[4] Inşallah – In Turkish, the word inşallah or inşaallah means "If God wishes and grants" 

[womenincomicsminibang]

2024 Bang Masterlist

white knight | black knight by @havendance (AO3 | CFAA | Superlove) with art by @franollie

When breaking into the clock tower, Helena uncovers information that prompts her to view Barbara Gordon in a new light and leads to a new partnership between them. Officially a member of the Birds of Prey, the reality of Helena's role is something... messier. This may be a fresh start, but things have never been easy between Helena and Barbara and the weight of the secrets they keep threaten to tear things apart. - Helena Bertinelli, Barbara Gordon, Dinah Lance

Holy, Ghostly by @loisinherlane (AO3) with art (1 and 2) by @je-suis-un-pamplemousse

When Gwen opens her eyes, she doesn’t know who she expects to see. Her first thought is Uncle Arthur, though she knows she left London to return home to New York, to Peter. Then she thinks of Peter himself (and the guilt floods for not having thought of him first). Then she thinks of Spider-Man, the last person reaching for her—but not Spider-Man, Peter, always Peter—// Gwen Stacy is resurrected—and revealed to be a mutant, amongst the X-Men. She comes to terms with her death and her friends’ reactions, while growing closer to another outsider. - Gwen Stacy, Kurt Wagner, Sean Cassidy, Theresa Cassidy, Peter Parker, Mary Jane Watson, Harry Osborn

You watch me Bleed until I can't breath by @jokewishes (AO3) with art by @nolanfa (AO3)

You are my god-given solace. - Helena Bertinelli, Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Kara Zor-El

until we rust by @mamawasatesttube (AO3) with art by @vivictory-draws

She rushes back over to Kara, standing a few paces behind her with a confused little smile, and holds out the rose. Kara’s eyes widen. “Wait. For me?” “Yeah, duh, who else? You think I got it for that pigeon over there?” Nat is so grateful her skin is dark enough Kara probably can’t tell how hard she’s blushing. As is, Kara can definitely hear her heart pounding, but there’s not much she can do about that. Besides, Kara’s blushing now, too, her cheeks going pink as she takes the rose from Nat. Their fingers brush as she takes it in both hands, cradling the stem delicately in her fingers. She caresses a velvety petal, then leans down to inhale the scent. When she lifts her head, Nat swears she can see stars in her eyes. “It’s beautiful,” Kara says, her voice soft and delighted. “Thank you, Nat.”

Roses are red. Kara's eyes are blue. Natasha is a lesbian. What's a girl to do? - Natasha Irons, Kara Zor-El, Kon-El

Lois Lane’s To-Do List for the End of the World (Dead Fiancé Edition) by @suzukiblu (AO3) with art by @ravendraculina

Clark’s dead. So is Superman, but that’s different. Either way, Lois isn’t enjoying the experience. - Lois Lane, Matrix/Mae Kent, Jimmy Olsen, Clark Kent, John Henry Irons, The Eradicator, Hank Henshaw

"Suffering Sappho" by @cer-rata (AO3) with art by @breakingthespacetimewall and art by @strawberrysoop

Sure, having a goddess of love harass her over the state of her personal life wasn't the worst thing she'd had to deal with. But that didn't mean Cassie wasn't desperate for it to be over. - Cassandra Sandsmark, Cissie King-Jones, Rose Wilson, Kon-El, Diana of Themyscira, Ishtar

a child of the waves by @jesamnelovelace (AO3) with art by @val-el

From the doorway, Menalippe once again spoke up as she dipped into a curtsy. “I am honored to be the first one to greet you, Princess Donna of Themyscira.” When a child arrives on the shore of Themyscira and the ceremony to return her back to where she came from goes wrong, Hippolyta finds herself raising a new daughter. - Donna Troy, Hippolyta of Themyscira, Diana of Themyscira, Phillipus

thawed out my freezerburnt feelings by @theriveroflight (AO3) with art by @hyperglqvcovs

Rose has left the Titans, and Cass has left the Bats. For the first time, they meet unburdened by anyone else. - Rose Wilson, Cassandra Cain

Scenes From the First Life and Death of Jean Grey by @caelumsthelimit (AO3) with art (1 and 2) by @ffverr and art by @roguesrevenge

"all you have is your fire, and the place you need to reach" - Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier - Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Charles Xavier

Catwoman: Footfalls by @raan-miir-tah (AO3) with art by @the-dracologist and art by @loisinherlane

Tell me if you've heard this joke before; a jewel thief walks into a jewelry store, bored out of her mind. — Selina gets more than what she bargained for. - Selina Kyle, Zatanna Zatara, Bruce Wayne

Left Behind, or Something About Relationships by @roguesrevenge (AO3) with art by @telepathlover

Jean-Paul has left to join the X-men. Mac has reformed Alpha Flight with other people. Jeanne-Marie is left to herself. At least, until she gets a call from Heather promising a mission. (Otherwise known as. Heather has marital problems and lies to her friends. Jeanne-Marie and Aurora yell at. everyone actually) - Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, Wanda Langkowski, Heather MacNeil-Hudson, Jean-Paul Beaubier, Paige Guthrie, Bobby Drake

You're Ripe For The Picking (You're So Awful) by @bellabaxtrrr (AO3) with art by @mysteriousbeetle

“Did you buy me breakfast just to grill me about my crushes at school?” Lian picks at her food. “No, that’d be stupid.” Mia waves her hand dismissively. “I just wanted to spend some time with my favorite niece.” “I’m your only niece.” “And my favorite.”

On a regular night out on patrol, Mia gets a lead in her case.

[celticcrossanon]

Theresa Longo Fans posted on May 22 on twitter/x that "Can confirm. The king is said to be "angrier than anyone has ever seen him" over H&Ms disas-tour because it looked a little too similar to an official royal tour. BRF imagined these two “would try to pull a fast one," and that this excursion “confirmed their worst fears." I don't care if Charles is angry at this point. Charles needs to do something about Harry and so far, he hasn't.

Hi Nonny,

I agree. This has gone too far and gone on for far too long. Something has to be done. Hopefully, the energy of the reading below still holds, and The King will realise that the only way to stop this happening in the future is to stop protecting Harry and Meghan and release their secrets to the general public (and take them off the website). After that, if anyone wants anything to do with the pair, it is on their head.

We have seen that releasing statements that Harry and Meghan do not represent The King does not work. They still go ahead and do a faux-royal looking tour anyway. Something else has to be done to make it clear to the world that they are not royal in any way, shape, or form.

Last Reading on this

[sapphoschoices]

Penny for the Guy

Book: Desire & Decorum

Characters: Bridgette Lawrence-Foredale (D&D MC), Annabelle Parsons, Briar Daly, Edmund Marlcaster, Theresa Sutton, Harry Fordale

Relationship: D&D MC x Annabelle Parsons (minor) Briar Daly x Edmund Marlcaster, Theresa Sutton x Harry Fordale

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 840

Summary: Bridgette and her family share a bonfire night in her hometown

“Penny for the Guy!” Little John O’Malley called out across the Grovershire town square. He and Lydia were working together to push around the wheelbarrow carrying the rather crude looking Guy Fawkes effigy.

“That was us once upon a time.” Briar sighed wistfully beside Bridgette. “Simpler times."

Bridgette rolled her eyes with a smile and bumped her shoulder against Briar. “That was you. I found the whole thing silly.”

“You liar, you.” Scoffed Briar. “I distinctly remember you begging your mama to help you finish sewing our Guy when we were ten years old. Even after the late Mrs O’Malley had closed the shop.”

“Ah, but I never humiliated myself by strolling around town begging for pennies.”

“No, you just recited your favourite Shakespeare passages for the entire county to hear.” Briar retorted, just as Annabelle, Edmund, Harry and Theresa rounded the corner together.

“I'm sure that was the largest bonfire I've ever seen.” Viscountess Theresa squealed, gripping onto Harry's arm as the pair walked perfectly in step together.

“As fun as the festivities are, I do believe that little Bridgette may find that effigy rather disturbing.” Edmund shifted towards his wife, pointing at their young daughter across the village square, being watched by a Mrs Daly and jumping to peer through any window she could find, showing no signs of discomfort, much less fear.

“I wonder if our little one will be quite so curious.” Harry leant against his cane and looked lovingly at Theresa. Bridgette found it rather endearing just how much married life had clouded her younger brother's judgement, somehow managing to see the mischievous nosiness of their niece, as innocent curiosity.

“My daughter is not curious, she is nosy.” Briar corrected, shaking her head, and leaving to fetch the little girl.

“Oh yes, I do wonder where she got that from.” Bridgette rolled her eyes with fondness. “The fireworks won't be long now. Edmund, I would take Briar and your daughter to the far hill, the loud noises may disturb little Bridgette, but you should still get a good view.”

Briar returned then with her daughter in her arms. Bridgette was a small child, like her namesake, the Countess, had been. She also shared a similar wildness to the one the Countess had in her own youth.

“Where will you be going, Countess Bridgette?” Viscountess Theresa

“I have set up a surprise for my dearest.”

“Oh, I had no idea Mr Chambers was here!” She bounced on her feet excitedly, and shook Harry's arm. “Did you know, Harry?”

“Perhaps we too should join the crowd to see the fireworks?” Like an angel, Bridgette thought, Harry tactfully redirected his wife's question and took her to join the other happy people in the fields in preparation.

The Marlcasters also departed, heading for the hill Bridgette had recommended to them, on the far side of the village to avoid little Bridgette being spooked by the loud noises of the fireworks.

“What is your surprise which you have kept so secret, then?” Annabelle nudged Bridgette, finally left alone.

“You mean my surprise for my dear husband?” Bridgette joked, linking arms with Annabelle and leading her down the path towards a familiar place. “You will just have to wait and see, come along.”

It was only a short walk to the quaint little barn where the couple had spent a short evening together. It was a sweet memory the two shared during a time of horrible uncertainty.

“Oh, the barn. I fondly remember the time we spent here.” Annabelle admitted the moment that old barn entered her field of vision.

“Well, your surprise is not finished yet though. I have a treat waiting for you up in the hayloft.” Bridgette led Annabelle up the rickety ladder for the second time,

Annabelle gasped sweetly as she popped her head over the top of the hayloft. “Oh it's a beautiful little feast!”

Bridgette had laid a wide spread of various foods. There was toffee, fruits, biscuits and a pair of steaming mugs. “The toffee is from Yorkshire,” Bridgette enthusiastically explained. “And this is hot chocolate. I have never had it before, myself, though I'm sure you have. I wanted to give you some strawberries, too, but they are no longer in season.”

“It is perfect, my dear.” Annabelle pulled Bridgette to lean against her, pressing their heads together.

“Oh!” Bridgette jumped away from Annabelle. “We should even have a beautiful view of the fireworks, from here.” She jumped up, grabbing Annabelle's hand in the process, dragging her to her feet and towards a rotted gap in the barn's wooden walls.

Through the hole was a beautifully unobstructed view of the endless starry night sky. After a few minutes of waiting, and a few sneaky kisses, the pair of lovers were startled by the sudden banging noise of the first few fireworks.

After a brief moment of shock and giggles, the two settled back into each other's comfortable company, leaning against one another, watching the bright fireworks steadily littering the open sky long into the evening.

Tags: @choicesficwriterscreations @rosesnink

[coochiequeens]

Men continue to having trouble grasping it's not kids most women object to, it's having kids with men who want the benefits of having a family but leave the downside to the mothers

By Nesrine Malik Mon 2 Sep 2024

JD Vance’s comments on Kamala Harris reflect a stubborn debate in supposedly progressive societies

A woman without biological children is running for high political office, and so naturally that quality will at some point be used against her. Kamala Harris has, in the short period since she emerged as the Democratic candidate for US president, been scrutinised over her lack of children. The conservative lawyer Will Chamberlain posted on X that Harris “shouldn’t be president” – apparently, she doesn’t have “skin in the game”. The Republican vice-presidential candidate, JD Vance, called Harris and other Democrats “a bunch of childless cat ladies miserable at their own lives”.

It’s a particularly virulent tendency in the US, with a rightwing movement that is fixated on women’s reproduction. But who can forget (and if you have, I am happy to remind you of a low point that still sticks in my craw) Andrea Leadsom, during the 2016 Conservative party leadership election, saying that Theresa May might have nieces and nephews, but “I have children who are going to have children … who will be a part of what happens next”. “Genuinely,” she added, as if the message were not clear enough, “I feel that being a mum means you have a real stake in the future of our country, a tangible stake.”

It’s an argument about political capability that dresses up a visceral revulsion at the idea that a woman who does not have a child should be vested with any sort of credibility or status. In other comments, Vance said that “so many of the leaders of the left, and I hate to be so personal about this, but they’re people without kids trying to brainwash the minds of our children, that really disorients me and disturbs me”. He appears so fixated on this that it is almost comical: a man whose obsession with childless women verges on a complex.

But his “disorientation and disturbance” is a political tendency that persists and endures. It constantly asks the question of women who don’t have children, in subtle and explicit ways, especially the higher they rise in the professional sphere: “What’s up with that? What’s the deal?” The public sphere becomes a space for answering that question. Women perform a sort of group plea to be left the hell alone, in their painstaking examinations of how they arrived at the decision not to have kids, or why they in fact celebrate not having kids, or deliberations on ambivalence about having kids.

Behind all this lies some classic old-school inability to conceive of women outside mothering. But one reason this traditionalism persists in ostensibly modern and progressive places is that women withdrawing from mothering in capitalist societies – with their poorly resourced public amenities and parental support – forces questions about our inequitable, unacknowledged economic arrangements. A woman who does not bear children is a woman who will never stay home and provide unremunerated care. She is less likely to be held in the domestic zone and extend her caregiving to elderly relatives or the children of others. She cannot be a resource that undergirds a male partner’s career, frailties, time limitations and social demands.

2:29Oprah Winfrey takes a swipe at JD Vance during surprise Democratic convention speech – video

“Motherhood,” writes the author Helen Charman in her new book Mother State, “is a political state. Nurture, care, the creation of human life – all immediate associations with mothering – have more to do with power, status and the distribution of resources … than we like to admit. For raising children is the foundational work of society, and, from gestation onward, it is unequally shared.”

Motherhood, in other words, becomes an economic input, a public good, something that is talked about as if the women themselves were not in the room. Data on declining birthrates draws comment from Elon Musk (“extremely concerning!!”) . Not having children is reduced to entirely personal motivations – selfishness, beguilement with the false promise of freedom, lack of values and foresight, irresponsibility – rather than external conditions: of the need for affordable childcare, support networks, flexible working arrangements and the risk of financial oblivion that motherhood frequently brings, therefore creating bondage to partners. To put it mildly, these are material considerations to be taken into account upon entering a state from which there is no return. Assuming motherhood happens without such context, Charman tells me, is a “useful fantasy”.

It is a binary public discourse, obscuring the often thin veil between biological and social actualisation. Women who don’t have children do not exist in a state of blissful detachment from their bodies and their relationship with maternity: a number have had pregnancies, miscarriages, abortions and periods. A number have entered liminal stages of motherhood that don’t conform to the single definition from which they are excluded. A number extend mothering to various children in their lives. Some, like Harris herself, have stepchildren (who don’t count, just as May’s nieces and nephews didn’t). A number have become mothers, just not in a way that initiates them into a blissful club. They experience regret, depression and navigate unsettlement that does not conform to the image of uncomplicated validation of your purpose in life.

But the privilege of those truths cannot be bestowed on creatures whose rejection of the maternal bond has become a rejection of a wider unspoken, colossally unfair contract. Women with children are handed social acceptance for their vital investment in “the future”, in exchange for unrewarded, unsupported labour that props up and stabilises the economic and social status quo. All while still suffering sneeriness about the value of their work in comparison with the serious graft of the men who win the bread.

On top of that, women have to navigate all that motherhood – or not – entails, all the deeply personal, bewildering, isolating and unacknowledged realities of both, while being subject to relentless suffocating, infantilising and violating public theories and notions that trespass on their private spaces. With that comes a sense of self-doubt and shame in making the wrong decision, or not being as content with those decisions as they are expected to be. It is a constant, prodding vivisection. That, more than anything clinical observers feel, is the truly disorienting and disturbing experience.

Nesrine Malik is a Guardian columnist

[rosesnink]

The Tattletale’s Mask

Author’s Notes: 

This story was certainly hard to work with, since we do not know much of Theresa, but I hope that I had made her justice and let people see where she comes from. This is dedicated to all those girls who are told that they talk too much or that they can’t do something: they’re wrong and you’re amazing. There is somebody who wants to hear what you say and who sees you and loves you for what you are. Never give up on yourself and know that you’re loved. 

English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos/grammar mistakes 

I’m making more of these with other characters like Harry, Edmund, and even Holloway. If you want to read the backstories of other characters like our Lady Grandmother or Roselyn Sinclaire, click here! 

Summary: We see how Miss Sutton lived the events that entailed in the series 

Word Count: 5.1k 

Category: Fluff, angst and everything in between 

Pairing: Theresa Sutton x Harry Foredale, Theresa Sutton & Edmund Marlcaster 

Rating: PG-13 

Warnings: Discussion of death and grief, misogyny of the era and spoilers from the main series The Cursed Heiress. Read under your own discretion. 

Book: Desire and Decorum 

December, 1801

“And remember, Little Tess, don’t talk until you’re required to, and remember to breathe when you do!” Her mother advised her.

“And to be a good woman of God,” her father added.

Theresa Sutton nodded, wanting nothing more than to please her parents. Despite them being different themselves: her father being of white skin and a minor priest from Moorfield and her mother being brown-skinned and the daughter of a former slave, she wouldn’t notice such differences until she started blossoming into a woman. Tonight, she’d be introduced to the Earl of Edgewater, the son of the scary old man. He seemed kinder and actually interested into the ongoings of their modest house. Or at least he was good at pretending.

With him, his son who was her age and the eldest, of blonde hair and pretty blue eyes, greeted one another and sat in the dinner table as the younglings were in a different table, commenting the meal “I hope you like the potatoes! They aren’t the best, but our cook made it with love!”

The eldest, Edmund, overwhelmed by so much chatter, simply nodded as Harry assured her, they were just fine. She liked Harry. He was funny and seemed to like her enough. She was aware that she was but seven years-old, but she always dreamt of finding a good man and marrying him. Not like her mother, who seemed always so quiet and unhappy in her marriage.

She liked talking. It helped her pour out her heart and made her feel like this house wasn’t much of a prison. And everyone looked so gloomy, and the outside felt so colourful! Soon, as they seemed to start talking politics, dismissed the children to their assigned room, where Edmund brooded as she and Harry played Truth or Dare.

“Alright, my turn! Truth or dare, Theresa?”

“Truth!”

He smiled “Can I call you Tessa?”

“Oh!” She replied. Her mother and father called her Tess, and her eldest brother called her Sissie, but no-one called her Tessa “I mean, why not!”

“Alright, Tessa, I dare you to…” he whispered in her ear and she looked at him “What? It’ll help!”

“Alright,” she shrugged and went over Edmund. Since he was rather tall, she tapped on his leg “I think that your hair looks well, and nobody here thinks that you’re a dumb trollop, whatever that means.”

His eyebrows shoot up “Oh!” He looked over his brother and smiled “Thank you. That was... very kind.”

She shyly went back to Harry’s side and she whispered “Is your mother so mean to him? He seems nice!”

“I’m afraid so. I think she means well, but does it the wrong way. Boys like to be complimented as well; you know.”

“You’re very wise, and you’re younger than I am!”

May, 1810

Theresa Sutton was rendered speechless from the first time in a while. She gaped at her mother for what it felt like centuries “Cat finally got your tongue, girl?” Her father rushed.

“No, no! I’m just… he’s so… much older.”

Her father waved his hand “Four years is nothing. I’m twelve years older than your mother and we get along just fine, don’t we, Jocasta?”

Her mother faked a smile “Indeed, dear. My point is, he is handsome, wealthy, his mother’s titled and he will be kind to you. Not everyone has that privilege, dear.”

“Besides, a tattletale like you can’t do better. He doesn’t like speaking and you do. The two of you will reach an agreement, that’s for sure.”

“But… I’m in love with Viscount Harry!”

“He is betrothed to his neighbour, Annabelle Parsons. For a few months now. I’m afraid that asking the earl to switch brides would be highly improper, and a viscount is too much for you, anyways. It’s either Mr. Marlcaster or maidenhood.”

Theresa balled her fists and sobbed “I hate you! You’re a vile man, father!”

“Ungrateful brat—,” He got up, ready to smack her.

Her mother was quicker and shushed him “It’s but a tantrum! She’ll see your way, leave her to me, Jerry!”

“Hmm. She better. No other man in his right mind will come knock for her hand again.”

As she rushed upstairs, sobbing uncontrollably, she tried not to slam the door as she threw herself into bed and continued the sobbing and despair into sadness.

She didn’t notice her mother coming in and caressing her back, a sympathetic look in her face, and observing her with empathetic eyes. When she looked up, between sobs and irregular breathing and buggers of crying, she asked “Why, Mama? Why are you agreeing on this?”

“When one is a woman, and is not of white colour, we have little saying in what we are. But times are changing, my dear. At least none of us practically belong to your father as property. I will tell you something, little dove: sometimes, the only power we withhold is the one over men. What you did there was a mistake: never tempt a white man’s rage. Instead, lure him with daughterly affection. Men mellow quickly with hugs, kisses and puppy eyes. They are weaker than any man! Simple, and sometimes quite naïve about us.”

“What would you have me do?” She asked, her voice hoarse.

“Men like their women innocent and clueless. In their eyes, be that, but the moment the door close… play your cards carefully.”

“Like Papa and James when they play poker?”

Her mother smiled, pinching her nose “Exactly, my dear. The world is our poker, and we are cards. Depending on the situation, we change alliances to survive. Sometimes you’ll be ace, sometimes you’ll be spades. Besides, Harry is even younger, and so is Annabelle. I know the girl. In normal circumstances, she wouldn’t even bat an eye even if Harry was bare before her.”

“Mother!”

“It’s true, my love. Annie is quite indifferent to men, and prefers to be among us. Let us visit her and discuss your respective engagements.”

“Do you… want me to find out why she accepted the betrothal?”

Jocasta smiled and kissed her head “My smart girl. Now, prepare yourself and give me your best puppy pout. You will get on your knees and beg for his forgiveness.”

“And then?”

“…You’ll plot your revenge by scoring your beloved viscount. Rome wasn’t conquered in one day. But if you’re smart and know which card become, soon he’ll be giving you over to the heir to an earldom.”

As she got downstairs, her father was reading the newspaper, muttering to himself. When he noticed his daughter’s presence, he frowned “What do you want, Tess?”

She got on her knees with a guilty look and grabbed his pantaloons “Father… forgive me. I have disrespected you and was a very, very ungrateful daughter. I should’ve known my place, and I’d be pleased to become Mrs. Marlcaster.”

Her father raised an eyebrow and she rested her head on his lap “It won’t happen again. You shall find me your best, most ardently devoted and loving daughter. Please, Papa…” She looked at him like she was a puppy and he just kicked her. His demeanour mellowed.

“Very well. I forgive you. You are young and naïve, but later you’ll thank me.”

She smiled at him and kissed his hand, and he beckoned her to go back to her room. Now that she crossed her father off her to-do list, there was something else to do: talk to Miss Annabelle Parsons. Her next stop tomorrow would be Hazelvale Manor.

“Miss Sutton! Be welcome!” Annabelle smiled.

Theresa started a long ramble about what a pretty decoration she owned and how Felicity’s house looked similar, hoping that she’d get bored easily. Annabelle was certainly good at pretending to listen, but she could read boredom well enough. She talked more of the gossip she had heard, until Annabelle finally snapped, in her own polite way.

“I’d like to congratulate you on your betrothal to Eddie.”

“Ooh, thank you!” She made sure to squeal and conspirationally whisper “And soon you’ll score the youngest for yourself! Exciting, isn’t it?!” She batted her eyes, and Annabelle looked uncomfortable. Disgusted by the idea, even. But that mask was off for a few seconds.

“I look forward… to unite our houses.”

“Great! We shall be sisters, you and I!” She took her hands and squeezed them as hard as she could.

If Mama is right, it shouldn’t be difficult to rip my Harry from you.

Annabelle smiled “Wouldn’t that be simply wonderful?”

Theresa couldn’t help a giggle, and thank God that, in her eyes, she was just being childish about it. But deep inside, she was hiding her machinations to take Harry from her.

A beautiful maid of rich blonde hair came in, serving the tea, and Annabelle gave her a pair of curious eyes “Whoa! That’s such a pretty hair!”

She smiled wistfully “I know.”

Theresa looked at her, her mask falling off just for a few nanoseconds. She looked at her like she wanted Harry to look at her. Like no one else in the world mattered, but he just left or blushed and avoided her ever since the engagement. Boys were so simple, yet so complicated when it came to express one’s feelings! It was exasperating.

“So, how do you imagine your wedding? Given that one day he’ll be heir, it should be a grand thing!” She wanted to strangle her so bad in that moment.

Why her? Why not me?

Supposedly, she should be thrilled of one day becoming a viscountess. She could tell by her eyes and mannerisms that she felt like a pig readying itself for slaughter. And she and Harry were closer than she’d like. She was aware that she didn’t have a right to be possessive, but the feeling was there and she couldn’t just ignore it. She wanted to shake her and scream at her, and demand why she accepted the proposal when it was obvious that it was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. She had at first thought she was just averse to touch in general, but it only seemed to be the case when a woman was around. She was hands-on and smiley, meanwhile with a man she was stern and mysterious.

She had heard many myths. That once upon a time, there had been a time where several women lived in the isle of Lesbos and engaged in romantic and emotional relationships among them, among them the infamous poet Sappho, whose book was deemed immoral and forbidden and burned down. She had also seen drawing of it in another countries, and some made her blush. And when they had been in the museums watching statues of Aphrodite, she had been wide-eyed and red. Could it be? That she felt that way with women the way she should feel about men?

Poor girl, she thought, unable to talk to someone or relate to it.

How lonely it must be, in such a poorly communicated world where one is trapped in a certain society full of rules, especially when one was a coloured woman. As her mother had told her, if women didn’t support one another, who would?

Theresa placed her hand on hers “If you ever need venting, I’m here.”

Annabelle blinked for a few seconds before nodding.

“I’m quite fine, honestly. I suppose the thrill will come the nearer the wedding is.”

They both knew she was lying. She would never find joy in it. Not as long as Harry was a man.

What a beautiful world would be, one with less rules on who to love, tasting the freedom of it, unbound and unapologetically, and shamelessly.

December, 1814

The rain had been pouring out like Heaven itself was falling, and Theresa needed some comfort, unable to sleep due to Henrietta’s hurtful remarks on how she chose to dress. Surely cream tulle was a sensible choice?

She quickly ducked into the library and started exploring where would she travel tonight, wondering whether Keats or Machiavelli would be good choices before drifting to sleep. She chose Keats and found herself engrossed in his work, deliciously scandalous with the right amount of salacious and fascinating tales. She couldn’t help herself with a snort, and when she looked up, she nearly screamed, were it not for her visitor’s quick hand covering her mouth. Such gesture made her cheeks redden.

“Forgive me,” Harry whispered, retracting his hand “but I heard a noise and thought we had an unwanted guest.” He observed her choice of reading and his eyebrows shoot up in amusement “I didn’t know you were interested in Keats.”

“I—I like the… gossip.”

Harry chuckled and took a dangerous step closer “You needn’t don your mask before me, Tess. I shall not tell a soul that you are smarter than you pretend to be.”

“I—I—that is—,” She sighed, chuckling “have you been spying on me, my lord?”

“Merely observing with attention.”

Her breath got caught “You ought to do that with Miss Parsons, not me.”

He took yet another step, and Theresa caught herself against one shelf, her eyes on Harry’s beautiful blue eyes, the same shade as the Edgewater colours “Why pretend that you are an airhead when you’re far more enthralling like that?” He asked, his voice musky.

“I don’t think you’d understand.”

He tucked one strand of hair in her ear and she noticed how unproperly dressed she was, in nothing but a nightgown and her hair down and unbound for rolling into the satin sheets. Their chests were inches close, and he too was in state on undress, only his shirtsleeves and pantaloons “Try me. I like to think that I am insightful.” His voice was a beautiful baritone whisper, a dangerous invitation. His fingertips now traced her neckline, as if checking her pulse, which was beating incredibly fast, and she looked away. His fingers caught her chin and made him look at him “Don’t. Don’t deprive me of your eyes. It’d be like depraving a lost man in a desert of water.” He whispered, so low she shouldn’t have to hear it in regular circumstances.

“Harry,” she breathed, her eyes on those beautiful lips she dreamt about in the high hours of the night.

“Tess,”

She had been so caught in the moment that she didn’t notice her book dropping slowly from her grasp, and its firm thud made her come to her senses and quickly ran away before he could even come to his own senses. She reached her bedroom and placed her hand on her chest, trying to get a hold of her heartbeats, that were as fast as a hummingbird. She swallowed hard and felt like she had run from Glasgow all the way here.

Locking the door for everybody’s sakes, she drifted to sleep, not before praying to God not to dream of Harry’s lips on her yet again.

April, 1815

Theresa had been comforting a crying Edmund, who silently dropped tears in her lap. It was a strange thing. Throughout their engagement, he had refused to even try to mellow her or try to win her heart. But he had proposed, and had wanted to make it look convincing. She had also noticed how Harry sent her gifts, shamelessly trying to win her to his side. She had always used his brother as excuse of returning the gifts. She wanted him badly, but she had grown up in a house close to God, always beseeching her to be a good and faithful woman even before marriage. If Edmund noticed, he didn’t care, for he was much more interested in hunting.

She had tried to even kiss him, even if it was chastely, but he always turned her away. The argument that followed was quite nasty “Am I not handsome enough for you?” She demanded.

“It’s not that.” He responded flatly.

“I am to be your wife. In these years, you have even refused to take my hand! As if we were committing incest of some sorts!”

He mumbled “What nonsense, Theresa!”

“Then what is it?! Is there another wench which I am unaware of?”

He looked at her horrified “Of course not! I am not a monster, Theresa!”

“THEN WHY WON’T YOU TOUCH ME?!” She cried out, exasperated. She took a deep breath “Sooner or later, we shall be man and wife. Everyone hopes that we start behaving like that. What is holding you back?!” At his silence, she quickly whispered “Do you… perhaps have issues… down there…?”

“My body functions just fine, Miss Sutton!” He declared, like she had just insulted him. Perhaps she had.

She bit her lip “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to insult you. I just… I want to understand why won’t you behave like my future husband! You proposed! You convinced my parents to marry us! Whatever had changed? Do you think I am a tattletale like the rest?”

“You’re not at fault here, Theresa. I… I made a promise.”

“I don’t follow. Do you want to remain celibate until marriage?”

There was a drowning silence, in which the country wind and their breaths were the only sound in the room “I do not… have talent in the amorous path.”

Theresa softened and placed her hand on his shoulder, and as usual, he flinched “I understand if you wish to remain innocent until our wedding night. I find it quite brave of you.”

He only nodded. Theresa was lucky that he didn’t flaunt himself in brothels and hoarded the maids’ bedrooms whenever he had needs. He was restraint and seemed to respect his promise to her. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to understand. She truly did.

“Now, let us go to get some tea.”

He gestured towards the door “Ladies first.”

Things had mellowed due to Harry’s death. She still donned her mask of a tattletale, despite the fact that he wouldn’t like it. This was the thing: men didn’t like women with minds of their own, with deep thoughts and ambition of their own. If she pretended long enough to be air-headed and only caring for gossip and a handsome, wealthy man and a good roof under her head, her life would be solved.

But neither Edmund or Harry were common men. They were men of cultures of their own. They were the sun and the moon, light and dark, Hades and Apollo. Harry was a promise of light, youthful beauty and arts and music flowing the room, as bright as the sun itself, meanwhile Edmund was peace, quiet nights where the lonely and unwanted souls could be free. They both completed one another, and now Edgewater had lost its sun the moment that dreadful boar had struck him down, like the comets had altered the universe with one strike.

There were colour with Harry, vibrant and inspiring people, lightening the way and the walls of the estate, and now he wasn’t here, and the world had fallen into darkness and wails of the ones who had found their purpose under Harry’s comforting light. She would no longer bathe into his sun, or feel his cologne, or see the ruffles of his beautiful hair, the chestnut that reminded her of the autumn paintings she loved.

Now, he just lived in her memory and the few portraits that had been made of him. Humanity was yet to find a way to immortalise somebody. Aged just seventeen, he had taken his holy light from them to perhaps never return.

March, 1816

Theresa had imagined Joanna in many ways before she arrived. Perhaps a female Harry, with his bright blue eyes and his chestnut hair. Instead, she had found a fiery, aloof and fierce young woman, with hair as red as fire itself, and with too many opinions for a world where one wasn’t allowed to have a voice. She admired her bravery and passion, that very much needed fire inside the now shadows of the estate. Light had returned to Edgewater, but with a terrible price.

She knew that Joanna didn’t like her, thinking of her a tattletale with no regard for anything save gossip. Perhaps it was for the best. But one thing was certain: she was a Foredale to the bone, and not even Henrietta’s schemes would take that away. She certainly knew how to get her way, and seemed more experienced in several things than the rest.

She was not a woman of her century, but rather advanced, perhaps too advanced for her own good. She didn’t demand attention with a well-practised nasal voice or to show off, she demanded it the moment she entered the room, without saying a single word, and it had nothing to do with her scandalous backstory, but rather her presence: commanding, alluring, poised, elegant and with a beauty that made men bow before her ethereal beauty, red, blue and white made a woman.

She had hopes that she’d finish what Harry had started. She truly did.

Late April, 1816

Theresa was aware that death always surrounded her, but she was not aware that it’d haunt whoever came too close to the vacancy of the head of Edgewater. It seemed like a curse; whoever dared to declare itself the heir, they’d have a horrible death.

Yellow fever. Boar attack. Murder.

No Foredale in power had any mercy in their last hours. The Earl had died with a terrible illness, Harry had been struck by a deadly boar, and now the duke had murdered Joanna, in her own prime, only for rejecting his affections, if they were even affections per se. They probably didn’t get past carnal possession. He was infamous for the death of any woman who had come close to him. Like yet another terrible curse that went back to the times of Henry VIII.

She had grown to love the woman, a mistake she had committed, and now she watched her be buried six feet deep, childless and without any clear prospect, her suitors devastated to watch her go before fulfilling promises made in hidden places and whispers. If someone deserved a happy ending, that was Joanna. And she herself had lost so much before yielding to death herself: her fiancé, her mother, her father and now herself. Those who had mattered to her, all dead in her arms. How terrible, to have death hovering over your shadow every time you opened up your heart and placed it before someone in your fist, hoping that they’d take care of it. They, unintentionally, had grabbed it and tore it apart before her eyes.

Poor girl, she thought. Poor child. So beautiful, witty, full of life, dreams and ambitions, now lying in the cold ground next to her loved ones, leaving other behind her, with their own hearts destroyed by her before them, even if she didn’t mean it either.

Theresa supposed that was what it meant to love and be loved: burn as bright as the sun and pray not to get burned, but not caring either when you’re into deep, lost in the flames of passion and longing.

She had burned not one, but four hearts, and one hadn’t bore the fire and left it to burn on its own. She’d certainly miss Annabelle, but didn’t blame her for fleeing before getting hurt again. Now the halls of Edgewater held too many memories of Harry’s laughter, Joanna’s bright smile and Vincent’s kind eyes. All of them gone before their time.

That night, after everyone went to sleep, Edmund had summoned her to the drawing room and beckoned her to take a seat “I know that it is perhaps not a good time, but Joanna would’ve wanted me, us, to be happy. I—,”

“You want to end this, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“…Thank God.” She breathed.

He frowned “What—,”

“Oh, don’t make of me a fool, Edmund. We were never meant to marry. I never loved you that way, and neither did you. You were bound by a promise, and my heart belonged to Harry all along. It’d be foolish of us to pretend this is going somewhere. And, perhaps, if we had been sincere with ourselves and one another, this wouldn’t have to be nasty.”

Edmund chuckled bitterly and asked “When did you become so wise?”

“I always have been. You were too focused on my tattletale role.”

Edmund closed the distance and kissed her cheek “You outplayed us all. You will have no trouble outliving this family, dear.”

She placed her hand on his cheek “I’d hate to see you die, though. I mean it. You have been a friend all along. You still matter to me.”

He kissed the inside of her cheek “As do you. I hope that you find a man who is worthy of you, Tessa.”

“As I do, Neddy. And if you have, tell her she has my blessing.”

December, 1816

So much had changed. She had changed. Everyone and everything had.

Joanna had come back from the dead, and Harry as well. Edmund had married Joanna’s lady’s maid, and she was to marry Harry. All because of a last-minute miracle that Joanna did. She had always been a curious thing. The moment they both had dismounted such big mares, Edgewater’s balance had been restored, and its pretenders were gone within the week.

And she was now expecting her first child, and would soon become Countess of Edgewater. If the Theresa from ten years ago heard of it, she’d call her a fool. Edmund was to be a father as well, as if both brothers had coordinated to have a child at the same time. It was certainly a curious thing both expectants had commented over tea.

Her life was as she dreamt once, and with a husband who saw her for who she was all along, she had been happy to drop her mask, leaving everyone dumbfounded when they saw how intelligent she was. This war with society was officially over, and she had won the fight.

My name is Theresa Marie Foredale, formerly Sutton, and I was born on a spring of 1794. My father is a reverend, and my mother is the daughter of a slave woman who could birth her in freedom.

Since infancy, I grew up and fell in love with Harrison Foredale, the heir of Edgewater Estate, but was betrothed in 1810 to Edmund Marlcaster, son of Henrietta Foredale of her first, tragic marriage.

From a young age, I realised that my talent for talking and having opinions was not an option if I wanted to survive, so I decided to don a mask of a chatterbox that only cared for gossip and status, but without letting go of my romantic nature. Why let go of it in the pinnacle of Romanticism? What a sin that would’ve been.

I chose my friends wisely, and played the game as well as I could. In 1815, my Harry died of a supposed boar attack, and I was now seemingly forced to make my engagement work, though we all knew it was a farce.

On the autumn of 1816, Joanna Foredale, who had been supposedly murdered by the Duke of Karlington stormed the doors with Viscount Harry by her side, everything changed. He claimed his spot as earl back, and he claimed me as his countess, and my, have I never been happier.

During a quiet night where we poured down our hearts, we gave to our burning passion in his bedroom, and that night, our future son was conceived. I still remember how painfully beautiful he looked under the moonlight and the last surviving candle, and how little we needed its flame, for we burned as bright as a comet in each other’s arms, the most beautiful and passionate of loves made into kisses and caresses. How he held me, looked at me and never let go of my hand in the whole night, calling me the most tender and loving names, calling me Tess, his Tess, like he had all his life.

We also had another seven beautiful children: Victoire, Vincent II, Dominique II, Charles, Anne, Lionel and Isobel Foredale.

Many speak of Joanna and her incredible deeds and passion that matches her fiery red head, but they will rarely speak my name: the countess and wife of Harry, who waited for him patiently and hopefully, as well as agonizingly for six years, and got him by a miracle that no one is yet to explain to me.

I am Theresa, the woman who fooled London’s Ton by playing a gossiping and nosy chatterbox, hiding underneath a woman of opinions, aspirations and sensible dreams behind that mask. But that was never a secret to my Harry.

They thought that a woman like myself, of brown skin and chatty and plain as day could ever aspire to countess, and I outwitted them all with patience and being observant. The fickle game of marriage within our high society was not easy, but in the end, I won it with sweat and tears, with rarely having the privileges my peers enjoyed. I am the first coloured Countess of Edgewater to grace its role, and I have done well by my name and status, giving it plenty of heirs and keeping alive its light.

It is my blood that resides in the current earl, yet all they talk about is her, her red hair and outwardly deeds. But I do not mind it. I know who I am, and that I was as relevant. We were sisters, allies and best of friends. She was remembered more often, but I have not fallen into oblivion just yet.

I am Theresa Foredale, the woman who outplayed all the rich, white ladies of Edgewater and got a prestigious status while the other sank. The moment I tied the knot with the earl was the last time I was underestimated.

My name is Theresa, the tattletale who won the game of marriages in London’s Season of 1816, loved by the people, Grandmother of Mayfair and who earned the love of an earl, and this is my story of going from an overlooked and underestimated reverend’s daughter to the Countess of Edgewater and lady of the House of Foredale, and I tell you this; to the little girl, brown of skin and told by the world to know its limits: there is nothing you cannot achieve if you wait patiently and believe in yourself and what you can achieve. If I, in 1816, could become a countess, I assure you, nothing can’t stop you of getting your way.

I may not be the most popular Foredale, but I am most certainly not irrelevant, for without me, a long line would’ve died. My name is Theresa, and it is up to you that you don’t make my years-worth work be done for nothing.

[byte-your-tongue]

What I'm Willing To Write

Content:

x reader romantic

x reader platonic (default unless you specify)

x reader familial

x reader queerplatonic

fluff

canon x canon ships

i'm bad with angst sometimes but i can try

gore/horror

specific reader traits(to a certain extent)

poly ships

queer reader

gender neutral reader(default unless you specify)

female reader

transfem reader

trandmasc reader

nonhuman reader

if something isn't listed feel free to ask!

Fandoms/Characters:

Splatoon (Marie, Callie, Shiver, Frye, Big Man, Marina, Pearl, Harmony, the agents(IF ROMANTIC I WILL ASSUME THEY ARE ADULTS. OTHERWISE SPECIFY AGE), Acht, Finn, Spyke, Sheldon, Mr.Grizz, Tartar, Octavio, Warabi, Yoko, Tao Blu, Kiki)

Overwatch (Pretty much any of the playable characters but i have a better grasp on some of their characters than others, Maximilien)

Rick and Morty (Rick, Beth, Rick Prime, Summer, Morty, Unity)

Honkai Impact 3rd (Kiana, Mei, Bronya, Otto, Welt, Void Archives, all Flame Chasers, Klein(human and ELF), Dr.MEI, Senti, Fu Hua, Roza and Lili, Sushang, Theresa, Coralie, Songque, Sera, Thelema, Helia, Senadina, Lantern, Himeko, Ai-Chan, Durandal, Rita, Susanah, Kallen, Sakura, Siegfried, Tesla, Einstein, Seele, Seele(other), Sin Mal, Cocolia, Gray Serpent, Raven, Sirin, Any Captainsverse Characters) APHO VERSIONS OF MEI AND BRONYA ARE AVAILABLE FOR ROMANCE, BUT NOT THEIR TEEN COUNTERPARTS.)

Honkai Star Rail(Welt.... again..., Himeko, Dan Heng, Trailblazer, March 7th, Bronya, Seele, Sampo, Sushang, Herta, Natasha.) As i play more i'll add more characters to this list

Dungeon Meshi (All of the Touden Party, Mithrun, Thistle, Kabru)

Mario Games (Peach, Daisy, Luigi)

Soul Eater(Maka, Kid, Soul, Black*Star, Liz, Patty, Tsubaki, Crona, Ragnarok, Meme, Anya, Tsugumi, Kilik, Ox, Ragnarok, Kim, Jackie, Stein, Spirit, Medusa, Azusa, Sid, Naigus, Blair, Eruka, Giriko, Arachne, Mifune, Marie)

Pokemon(Akari, Rei, Volo, Adaman, Irida, Ingo, Emmet, Elesa, Guzma, Hilda, Selene, Arven, Nemona, Penny, Leon, Raihan, Melony, Allister, Cilan(anime), Iris, Korrina, Skyla, Nessa, Kabu, Cynthia, Kukui, Gloria, Jessie(anime), James(anime), Meowth(anime), Lana, Kiawe, Sophocles, Mallow, Lillie, Faba, N) You can Specify Anime or Game Counterpart For Some Characters, Feel Free To Ask :)

Wakfu(show)(Yugo, Amalia, Dally, Rubilax, Remington and Grany, Eva, Ruel, Qilby, Nox)

My Little Pony G4(Mane Six, Discord, CMC, Luna, Celestia)

Obey Me!(Mammon, Lucifer, Satan, Leviathan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Luke, Diavolo, Barbatos)

Undertale(Pretty much anyone)

Roblox: Pressure( Painter and Sebastian)

What I'm NOT Willing To Write

Content:

NSFW content (im aro ace and just not comfortable with it)

Pedophilia/Lolicon/Shotacon/Underage

Zoophilia

Incest (including stepcest)

Reader character being seriously mean to a character. (it makes me sad to think about anyone being seriously rude to a character... enemies to lovers/friendly teasing/rivalries/etc are all allowed, just no serious rudeness to characters.)

Pokephilia

amab male reader. (i am afab genderfluid and just don't have any perspective on this. sorry!)

Fandoms/Characters:

Harry Potter (self explanatory)

Jerry Smith (just don't like him)

Belphegor (i don't take pleasure from writing him....)

[choicesficwriterscreations]

CFWC FotW - March 19 - 25, 2023

18+ = Adult/Mature Content 🔥 = Explicit Material/NSFW

BLADES OF LIGHT AND SHADOW

Buried Memories | Tyril Starfury x f!elf!mc - @starlight-starfury 18+

DESIRE AND DECORUM

Life of a Spare | Edmund Marlcaster x Briar Daly - @noesapphic

The Tatletale's Mask | Theresa Sutton x Harry Foredale - @noesapphic

LAWS OF ATTRACTION

When Love Lasts Part 1 | Gabe Ricci x f!mc - @eadanga 

OPEN HEART

THE ROYAL ROMANCE

WAKE THE DEAD

A Capy Ending | Eli Sipes x F!MC, Troy Hassan - @jerzwriter

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

Black Femme Character Dependency Dark Skin Directory || Entertainers Pt.2 (O-Z)

O

Octavia Spencer | Ola Ray |  Olunike Adeliyi |  Olivia Sang |  Omono Okojie |  Oprah Winfrey |  Oyin Oladejo |  Ozioma Akagha  

P

Patina Miller | Philomena Kwao |  Phina Oruche | Phylicia Benn |  Phylicia Rashad |  Pippa Bennett Warner |  Precious Adams | Precious Mustapha |  Pretty Tye  

Q

Queen Quet |  Quiana Welch |  Quinta Brunson |  Quvenzhane Wallis  

R

Raigan Harris |  Rashida Renée | Reagan Gomez |  Regina King |  Regina Van Helvert |  Renee Elise Goldsberry |  Retta |  Riele Downs |  Ronke Adekoluejo |  Rose Jackson | Ruth (IAmBabeRuth/BabeRuthTV) |  Rutina Wesley |  Ryan Destiny

S

Saidah Arrika Ekulona |  Samantha Liana Cole |  Samantha Marie Ware | Sandra Dede (sandramabelle) | Saniyya Sidney |  Sara Martins |  Sasha Lambon |  Sasheer Zamata |  Sese Madaki Ali | Shahadi Wright Joseph |  Shanice Williams |  Shannon Thornton |  Sharon Duncan Brewster |  Sharon Ferguson |   Sharon Pierre-Louis |  Shea Couleé | Sherri Shepherd | Sheryl Lee Ralph | Shyko Amos |  Sibongile Mlambo |  Sierra McClain |  Simbi Khali |  Simona Brown |  Simone Biles |  Simone Missick |  Sindi-Dlathu |  Skai Jackson |  Skye P. Marshall |  Sokhna Cisse |  Sokhna Niane | Sonya Eddy | Sophia Walker | Stefanee Martin |  Stella Okech |  Subah Koj |  Sufe Bradshaw |  Susan Wokoma |  Symphony Sanders  

T

T’Nia Miller |  Tamara Dobson | Tamara Lawrance |  Tamera Mclaughlin (ayethatsmera) Dwarfism Community | Tanerélle |  Tanedra Howard |   Tanisha Scott |  Tanya Moodie |  Tanyell Waivers |  Taral Hicks |  Tarana Burke |  Tempestt Bledsoe |   Tenika Davis | Teresa Graves |  Terri J. Vaughn |  Teshi Thomas |  Teyonah Parris | Theresa Fractale | Thishiwe Ziqubu |  Tichina Arnold | Tiffany Mann | Tonya Pinkens |  Tracey Ifeachor |  Tricia Akello | Trina McGee |  Trina Parks |  Tyra Ferrell |

U-V

Vanessa Bell Calloway |  Vanessa Lee Chester |  Vanessa Gyimah | Vanessa Nakat |   Vanesu Samunyai (Kyo Ra) | Vanessa Estelle Williams |  Vaneza Oliveira |  Veronica S. Taylor |  Viola Davis |  Vivica Ifeoma  

W

Wakeema Hollis |  Whitney Houston |  Whoopi Goldberg |  Wunmi Mosaku  

X

Xosha Roquemore  

Y

Yaani King | Yacine Diop | Yandeh Sallah | YanjuSoFine (Yanju Stephens/Adeyanju Adeleleke) | Yanna McIntosh |  Yaya Dacosta |  Yaz |  Yetide Badaki |    Yolonda Ross    |  Yusra Warsama |  Yvonne Okoro | Yvonne Orji

Z

Zainab Johnson |  Zelda Harris |  Zenobia |  Zethu Dlomo |  Zhariah Hubbard | Ziwe Fumudoh |  Zola Williams |   Zozibini Tunzi

#to add to darkskin directory  

[englishindubellay]

ecg 2

Let's get Brexit done ! (Boris Johnson)

Brexit means Brexit (Theresa May)

Is it time for Bregret ?

L'ancien Premier ministre Lord David Cameron a essuyé des critiques pour avoir décidé le référendum de 2016.

Jeremy Corbyn, l'ancien chef du parti travailliste, a refusé de prendre position. Savais-tu que Liz Truss était naguère (was once) contre le Brexit (to be a remainer) et qu'elle est maintenant pour (to be a brexite(e)r ? Rishi Sunak, quant à lui, a toujours été pour le Brexit. Sir Starmer a promis de ne pas rouvrir le débat.

Il se trouve que la Première ministre Margaret Thatcher dans son discours de Bruges de 1988 critiquait déjà l’Union européenne.

4. C’est un Français, Robert Schuman, qui a posé les bases et préparé le terrain de ce qui s’appelle aujourd’hui l’Union européenne grâce à la Communauté Européenne du Charbon et de l’Acier en 1952.

5. Certains disent que le Brexit a eu et a toujours des conséquences d’une grande portée sur l’économie du Royaume-Uni dont une pénurie de main-d'oeuvre (labour). Il faut noter que le pays était l’an passé au bord (to be on the verge of) d'une récession, et que la crise inflationniste (cost of living crisis) n’a fait qu'empirer les choses. 6. En fait, davantage de Britanniques vivront sous le seuil de pauvreté d'après les détracteurs (critics). La crise énergétique rend la situation encore plus critique. Alors pourquoi réduire la Winter Fuel allowance pour les personnes âgées ? 7. Toutefois, verrons-nous l’arrivée d’un merveilleux accord commercial entre l’oncle Sam et John Bull comme l’avait promis Donald Trump . Quand il est arrivé au pouvoir, Joe Biden s'est montré moins enthousiaste. (to prove). Kamala Harris reste silencieuse sur le sujet. Par conséquent, les défis (déficit, Service de santé) qui attendent Sir Starmer sont immenses. L'heure du regret concernant le Brexit a-t-elle sonné ?

Brexit turns out to be an X-ray of the UK today. Explain in 50 words

Let's get Brexit done ! (Boris Johnson)

Brexit means Brexit (Theresa May)

Is it time for Bregret ?

L'ancien Premier ministre David Cameron a essuyé des critiques pour avoir décidé le référendum de 2016. Former Prime minister David Cameron came under fire for deciding (having decided) the 2016 referendum.

Jeremy Corbyn, l'ancien chef du parti travailliste, a refusé de prendre position. Savais-tu que Liz Truss était naguère (was once) contre le Brexit (a remainer) et qu'elle est maintenant pour (a brexite(e)r) ? Rishi Sunak, quant à lui, a toujours été pour le Brexit. Sir Starmer a promis de ne pas rouvrir le débat. Jeremy Corbyn, the former labour leader, refused to take a stance. Did you know that Liz Truss was once a remainer and that she is now a brexiteer ? Rishi Sunak, as for him, has always been a brexiteer. Sir Keir Starmer has pledged not to reopen the debate.

Il se trouve que la Première ministre Margaret Thatcher dans son discours de Bruges de 1988 critiquait déjà l’Union européenne. It turns out that Prime minister Margaret Thatcher in her 1988 Bruges speech was already criticising the EU.

4. C’est un Français, Robert Schuman, qui a posé les bases et préparé le terrain de ce qui s’appelle aujourd’hui l’Union européenne grâce à la Communauté Européenne du Charbon et de l’Acier en 1952.

A French man, Robert Schuman, paved (it was R. S. who) the way for what is today called the EU thanks to the European Community of Coal and Steel in 1952.

5. Certains disent que le Brexit a des conséquences d’une grande portée sur l’économie du Royaume-Uni dont une pénurie de main d'oeuvre (labour). Il faut noter que le pays est au bord (on the verge of) d'une récession, et que l'inflation n’a fait qu'empirer les choses. Some say Brexit has far reaching consequences on the UK's economy including a labour shortage. It should be noted that the country is on the verge of a recession and that the cost of living crisis only made matters worse. 6. En fait, davantage de Britanniques vivront sous le seuil de pauvreté d'après les détracteurs (critics). La crise énergétique rend la situation encore plus critique. Alors pourquoi réduire la Winter Fuel allowance pour les personnes âgées ? As a matter of fact, more Britons will live under the poverty line according to critics. The energy crisis makes the situation even more critical. So, why reduce the Winter Fuel allowance for the elderly ? 7. Toutefois, verrons-nous l’arrivée d’un merveilleux accord commercial entre l’oncle Sam et John Bull comme l’avait promis Donald Trump ? Quand il est arrivé au pouvoir, Joe Biden s'est montré moins enthousiaste. Kamala Harris reste silencieuse sur le sujet. Par conséquent, les défis (déficit, Service de santé) qui attendent Sir Starmer sont immenses. L'heure du regret concernant le Brexit a-t-elle sonné ? Howewever, will we see the advent of a wonderful trade deal between Uncle Sam and John Bull as Donald Trump had pledged. When he came into office, Joe Biden proved less enthusiastic. Kamala Harris remains silent on the subject. As a result the challenges (budget deficit, the NHS) avaiting Sir Keir Starmer are colossal. Has the time come for Bregret ?

Brexit turns out to be an X-ray of the UK today. Explain.

Brexit has proven to be an X-ray of the United Kingdom, revealing underlying fractures and complexities within its society and political landscape. The decision to leave the European Union in 2016 exposed deep divisions that had long simmered beneath the surface. Voter demographics illustrated stark contrasts: age, education, and geographic location played pivotal roles in shaping opinions. Younger, urban voters tended to favor remaining, while older, rural populations leaned towards leaving. This divide highlighted not only differing priorities but also a generational conflict that continues to shape the national discourse.

The economic implications of Brexit have further laid bare the vulnerabilities of the UK. As trade relations shifted, industries that relied heavily on EU markets faced uncertainty, resulting in job losses and disrupted supply chains. Regions that had previously thrived under EU support felt the brunt of these changes, exacerbating regional inequalities. This economic fallout revealed the fragility of the UK’s post-industrial economy, prompting questions about the sustainability of its global position.

Moreover, Brexit has intensified debates around national identity and sovereignty. The referendum stirred discussions about what it means to be British in a multicultural society. While some celebrated the return of control, others lamented the potential for isolationism and xenophobia. The rise of nationalist sentiments has raised concerns about unity within the UK, especially with Scotland and Northern Ireland reconsidering their relationships with the rest of the country.

In essence, Brexit has acted as a magnifying glass, illuminating the UK's social, economic, and political realities. It has revealed the complexities and contradictions of a nation grappling with its identity and future. The ongoing repercussions of this historic decision continue to shape the trajectory of the UK, urging a reflection on its values, aspirations, and cohesion in a rapidly changing world.

[earth-18104]

Earth-18104 - List of Characters

Characters that were born in 1970 and 1980, basically the first generation of heroes. Not all of these characters have birthdays, and not all of these dates are Canon, some I chose myself based on their first apparitions and such.

This list also includes my marvel OCs. Main list!

1970 –

• Frankie Raye, daughter of inventor Phineas Horton, the heroine Photon. 

• Kevin Brashear, Adam Brashear's first son. 

1971 -

• Vanisher.

• February 11 - Wade Winston Wilson, the mercenary Deadpool.

1972 –

• April 21 – Shiro Yoshida, Sunfire.

• August 6 - Jonathan Storm, member of The Fantastic Four, the Human Torch.

1973 -

• Max Brashear, second son of Blue Marvel.

1974 –

• July 2 - Dr. Henry Philip McCoy, the X-Men Beast. 

• September 17 - Birdy, Sabretooth's assistant.

1975 -

• April 25 - Lorna Dane, Polaris.

• Dr. Adrienne Brashear, daughter of Adam Brashear.

• September 3 - Jean Gray, Marvel Girl, host of the Phoenix. 

• Calvin Rankin, known as Mimic. 

• November 5 - Warren Worthington III, descendant of Clan Akkaba, the Archangel. 

1976 -

• Julia Grey, Jean Grey's younger sister. 

• March 3 - Scott Summers, known as Cyclops, leader of the X-Men.

• August 31st - Monica Rambeu, the superhero Spectrum. 

• Jefferson Davis. 

1977 -. 

• Theresa Cassidy, daughter of Banshee, known as Siryn. 

• May 5 - Robert "Bobby" Drake, the superhero Iceman.

1978 -

• January 9 - Alexander “Alex” Summers, Havok. 

• Aaron Davis, the criminal called Prowler. 

• Eugene "Flash" Thompson, Anti-Venom.

1979 -

• James Arthur Madrox, student of Moira MacTaggert, known as Multiple Man.

• Gwendolyne Stacy, daughter of NYPD Captain George Stacy.

• Catarina Oliveira, teacher and X-Men called Coral OC. 

• August 12 - David Haller, son of Charles Xavier and Gabrielle Haller.

1980 –

• Harold "Harry" Osborn, son of Norman Osborn. 

• Mary Jane Watson. 

• June 05 - Peter Parker, the first Spider-Man 

• Valeria Toomes, Vulture’s daughter.

1982 -

• August 07 - Gabriel Summers, the mutant known as Vulcan.

1984 -

• June 12 - Kyle Gibney, Wild Child.