#wee doctor au

[ink-blot-thoughts]

Okay just played the Sigewinne quest and hear me out: mildly more evil Sigewinne AU (cause fuck you fight me she is terrifying) where the only doctor willing to teach a melusine was THE Doctor.

Il Dottore gets accosted by the world's cutest psychopath demanding he teaches her and goes "Oh this is gonna be fucking hilarious".

Cue Dottore's dramatic corvid themed ass striding up to commit the horrors tm while a cutie patootie little melusine skips behind him giggling at everything.

People go from "omg did he kidnaps that girl?!?!" To "dear fucking god she's worse" the second she opens her mouth.

The Harbingers have to go through the mortifying ordeal of anytime they mention their terrifying Doctor, people go "Oh Yes I've heard of Dottore", and they sigh and go no... her and take out a picture of a chubby faced girl with bunny ears.

Her world lore is every horrifying experiment of Dottore's has some adorable little sticker attached.

[aoioozora]

Simon.

Part 7

Chapters Masterlist

Character: Simon Riley / Ghost Content: Biker! Ghost x Fem! Reader, strangers to lovers, fluff, civilian au

Note: Reader and Alejandro interactions that make Simon jealous and a wee bit insecure. Tags: @cmbghost @gluttonybiscuits @paintlavillered @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction

____ pulled into the underground parking lot of the apartment complex, sighing. She had just come back from an underwhelming meeting with her editor. 

She had proudly submitted the first few chapters of her manuscript, hoping they would be a hit, but was instead bombarded with the many suggestions of changes that should be made; while the plot itself was alright, the main complaint had to do with the male lead. 

“Frederick is not captivating or interesting enough. He needs more depth and personality… Definitely something different from Elystran,” the voice of the editor echoed in her thoughts as she killed the engine of her car and stepped out of the car. The thought of it once again made her shoulders slump with disappointment. 

Just as she did, out of the elevator across her parking spot came Alejandro. He spotted her and smiled. “Hey,” he greeted, twirling his car keys around his finger. 

“Hey, where you off to? I thought you were at work already.” 

He shrugged, “Took a day off for a doctor's appointment.”

“What happened?” 

“Nasty back pain,” he sighed. Then noticing her dull spirits, he asked if she was okay. 

“Yeah, I just came back from a meeting with the editor and apparently, I have a lot of stuff to change in my manuscript.” 

“Ah,” he nodded solemnly, “I'm sorry to hear that.” 

She shrugged. “It is what it is.” 

Alejandro was silent for a moment, unsure whether to ask whatever he had on his mind. He decided to just go for it. “Do you mind if I read the manuscript? I'd like to see what it's all about. Maybe get a sneak peek into your next book too.” He winked at her. 

“I was actually thinking of asking you just that.” She beamed, happy that he asked. 

Alejandro raised his eyebrows. “Really?” 

“Yeah. Actually, most of the problems in my manuscript are with the male lead, so I think your valuable input as a man would really help me out. And your general opinion as a reader too.” 

The man couldn't help but feel flattered. “Is that so? Then I'd be happy to help you out. Just send me the manuscript and I'll read it soon.” He threw his car keys in the air and caught it in his rugged, tan hand and smiled. 

“Perfect.” Just as she was about to say something else, she got a notification on her phone, which she immediately took out, hoping it was a message from the editor changing his mind about the manuscript. 

But it was Simon. Though a little disappointed, she still smiled, and he noticed.

“Boyfriend?” he asked, raising his eyebrows teasingly at her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, grinning. She kept the phone back in her pocket, deciding to answer him later. 

Alejandro found it a little odd that she wouldn’t reply to Simon immediately, but he figured, “Maybe it’s just me,” and decided to let it be. 

“I’m offended you didn’t tell me you started dating,” he smirked, playfully putting on a tone of feigned offense as he put his hand on his chest. “How’d you two meet?”

She laughed at his dramatics and then briefly related the incident to him. 

“So you two started dating only a month and a half after meeting each other? That's… quick.” Alejandro remarked, raising his eyebrow. He knew people could fall in love at first sight, but that wasn’t the case with everyone. 

“Yeah,” her voice squeaked and her gaze faltered; she cursed herself for it. “We found a lot in common and… hit it off.” 

“Hm…” he exhaled, noticing the vagueness and lack of conviction in her voice and body language, but decided not to comment on it, not wanting to jump into conclusions too soon. “Well, good for you. I’m glad you found someone,” he said with a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He then looked at his watch. “I should get going. Don’t wanna be late for the appointment.” 

“Alright, see you later!” she said with some eagerness, wanting to end the conversation, for she didn't know how else she could cover up. 

“See ya, muñequita.” 

Simon had recently followed ____’s spam/personal account, and saw that the skeleton plushie made a very frequent appearance. It showed up even on her main account to her tons of followers. 

The story on her personal account posted late in the morning showed the skeleton perched against her laptop screen along with the caption, “Serious writer’s block rn. He’s cheering me on!”

The next image, posted three hours later was of Alejandro in front of a laptop that looked like hers, captioned, “@-alevargas is giving me some pointers. He's ruthless 💀”

Simon grunted, feeling a spurt of jealousy. He rolled over on his side on Gaz's sofa, nearly kicking Johnny– who was seated on the floor– on the back of his head. 

He didn't hear his friend's yelp as he was too busy feeling bummed that she didn't ask him, especially after the two shared meaningful conversations over her novel before. 

“It's not like I can control who she chooses to share her work with,” he told himself resignedly, “Besides, we're just friends. I'm not supposed to be feeling jealous like this.” 

Yet he couldn't help it. 

Simon decided to scope out his competition by paying a visit to Alejandro's Instagram page. Upon reaching there, he found that the man was an up-and-coming part time model with a fair amount of followers. Even though Simon saw him in real life and found him to be a handsome man, his modeling photographs rendered him dangerously handsome; he had perfectly tanned skin, thick glossy black waves styled gorgeously to suit his masculine features, straight pearly whites for teeth, a near perfect five o'clock shadow, an athletic and muscular body, and a dazzling smile characteristic of motivational speakers. He was Mexican, to top it off, which meant that he most definitely was an outgoing and energetic guy. 

Simon felt his confidence fade into insignificance. Here was a man perfect in every respect like an expertly cut diamond, and compared to him, Simon felt like an ugly, misshapen rock. His own features contrasted with Alejandro's in his brooding, glaring eyes, his pale skin, thin lips, crooked teeth, his somber and quiet outward personality, and most of all, his marred face and body. 

He immediately exited Instagram and dropped the phone on his chest, sighing. “Yeah, with a bloke like him as competition, there's no way I'm winning,” he thought to himself, now resting his arm over his forehead. 

“Oi, Ghosty,” Johnny nudged Simon's leg with his elbow. 

The familiar nickname irked him all of a sudden, as it felt like a reminder of his flaws. “What?” he asked, trying not to sound snappy. 

“Did ye ask ____ if she wants tae come for our one night camp?”

Simon grunted. “I'll ask later.” 

“No. Yer gonna forget. Also, tell her that Lindsey is coming too.” 

Lindsey. Simon remembered Johnny telling him about her soon after he confessed their stalking. A short, freckled, ginger girl; Johnny spoke about her a lot and with excitement too, even calling her ‘Jolene’ in reference to the Dolly Parton song. Simon wasn't particularly surprised that Johnny was gallivanting with yet another lady; that's what he had always been doing since high school. His wit, charm, smiles, energy, and particularly his Scottish accent recommended him greatly to the opposite sex. He only hoped that Lindsey wouldn't take him too seriously. 

Simon picked his phone back up and sent a quick text to ____  about the camping trip and its general details. No sooner was he about to throw his device aside on the coffee table to pay more attention to Gaz who was playing his electric guitar nearby, her reply came. 

Author Girl: of course I'd love to come! 

Simon Riley: great. I'll let you in on more details later

Simon Riley: Johnny has invited your friend too apparently

Author Girl: Really? She didn't even tell me.

Simon Riley: u better ask her about it then. 

There appeared to be a slight delay in her reply even though she was online, and he wondered what she was up to. Finally, a reply came after two minutes. 

Author Girl: I'll do that :) 

Simon Riley: Are you busy? 

Author Girl: yeah kind of. Alejandro is giving me some suggestions for my story

He felt a twinge of jealousy again. “He's still there? At this point, maybe they make a better pair than she and I,” he thought despairingly. 

Simon Riley: yeah, I saw ur Instagram story. How's it coming along? 

Author Girl: it's coming along great. We're almost done here

Simon Riley: he's at your place? 

Author Girl: yeah, he came over to give me some enchiladas he made and I invited him to come in. 

Another twinge of jealousy, and another skill to add to Alejandro's repertoire. 

Simon was so close to typing, “I wish you invited me instead,” but immediately deleted it. 

Simon Riley: cool. 

Simon Riley: I'll leave you two then, I got other things to do

Author Girl: sure. I'll text u back soon :) 

Simon Riley: alright. Cheers

She noticed how he went offline so quickly and stared at her phone for a moment. “Is it just me or did he seem a little off?” she wondered to herself, hoping she wasn't reading too much into it. She shrugged it off, thinking it had to do with whatever he was busy with. 

“Muñequita?” Alejandro's voice interrupted her reverie.

Her eyes snapped back to the man sitting across her. “Yes?” she smiled, not realising she had been engrossed with Simon. 

He looked at the clock on her wall. “I should get going now. It's gotten late,” he said, now placing her laptop on the coffee table and rising. 

“Oh right, I've kept you here long enough,” she chuckled as she rose too. “Wait here for a moment.” 

Alejandro, confused and curious, stood by the coffee table as he watched her disappear behind her kitchen door. She soon appeared with a can of soda, which she put in his hand. 

“That's for you, as thanks for the enchiladas and helping me out,” she said, grinning at him. 

He chuckled and playfully gave her forehead a gentle knock with the edge of the cold can. “Thanks, muñequita,” he smirked, opening the tab of the can with a single finger and taking a long sip of the soda. “Well,” he began as soon as the sip was drowned, “I'll be off now. Good night.” 

“Good night, Alejandro. Take care,” she said as she walked him to the door. 

“You too, nena,” he gave her a little smile. “Call me if you need any more help, alright? I'll be at your beck and call,” he said only half-jokingly, giving her a wink. 

She rolled her eyes and smiled. “You don't need to do that, but I'll let you know.”

As soon as he left, she breathed a heavy sigh. The conversation with Alejandro was fruitful, but she was exhausted. She decided to decompress and wind down for the night by taking a nice, long shower and a soak in the bathtub. She then had a simple dinner and just before bedtime, she was found on her bed in her satin pajamas and her phone, cuddled with the cushions and plushies; Little Simon, the most preferred and well loved, was tucked under her arm and pressed against her breast. 

Her cute animal video marathon was interrupted by a message from (Bigger) Simon. 

Simon Riley: wyd? Are you busy? 

Author Girl: watching videos. Hbu? 

Simon Riley: [photo] 

Simon Riley: watching a film with the lads. It's boring 

The photo showed a glowing television screen in a dark room, and a little cameo of Johnny's familiar mohawk at the bottom as he was seated on the floor in front of Simon. 

Simon Riley: I'd rather talk to you

She felt her heart skip a beat. 

Simon Riley: I hope I'm not disturbing you btw

Author Girl: no no you're not

Author Girl: tbh I'd rather be talking to you too 😂

It was now Simon's turn to feel his heart skip a beat. 

Simon Riley: good, because I'm in for a conversation 

Author Girl: what do u wanna talk about? 

Simon Riley: hmm

Simon Riley: how did it go with Alejandro? 

Unbeknownst her, Simon had to revise that text several times so as to not make himself sound unnecessarily overprotective, prying, and smothering. He hoped that he sounded casual and carefree enough. 

Author Girl: went well. He gave me a lot of pointers for my male characters. My editor wasn't so happy with my male lead so I had to consult an actual guy to help me out

Simon Riley: you could've asked me

Author Girl: yeah well Alejandro was the first guy I came across so I thought I'd ask him. I was going to ask a bunch of different guys too so I'll be asking you next 😁

Simon Riley: good. I'll be glad to help. 

Simon Riley: btw about the trip

Simon Riley: I need to fill u in w the finer details. Can I call you rn? 

Author Girl: sure

She sat up straight on the bed with bated breath. Though he had a few phone calls with him, she still felt a little bit nervous. She was about to get lost in her thoughts when the blaring of her ringtone made her jump with fright. She scrambled to pick up the call. 

“Hey!” she squeaked in a high pitch, and immediately cleared her throat. 

“Hi darling,” he said, his voice deep and affectionate; she could hear him smiling. “You alright? You seem a little… I don't know, surprised?”

“No,” she said breathlessly, “No, no, I'm fine.” She chuckled. When she heard the faint sound of traffic on his side, she asked, “Are you out already?” 

“Just the balcony,” he answered.” How could you tell?”

“I could hear some traffic.” 

“You're sharp,” he complimented. 

She smiled. “Thanks. Now, what did you want to discuss?” 

“Right, yes,” his voice immediately turned serious. He gave her all the finer details of the trip for a few minutes and at the end of it, he asked, “We're planning on using a car to get there since it's gonna be the five of us and it will save on petrol. Do you think we could use your car?” 

“Well if my car is in good enough condition for you, then I don't mind,” she said, a hint teasingly. 

He chuckled. “If I check it and find anything wrong, I'll give you a bollocking,” he teased back. 

“Oh come on,” she rolled her eyes, smiling, “You gave me enough of a bollocking the other day when my battery died. I'm not going to let you do it again.”

She heard him laugh, and like it always did, her heart melted. 

“You deserved it,” he scoffed. “But anyway, batteries and bollockings aside, you're okay with your car being used?”

“Absolutely.” 

“And you're comfortable driving long distances? Like I said, it will be a three hour drive, which is quite long by European standards.” 

“I'm okay with it. It's been a long time since I've driven that long though.” 

“Don't worry, if you're tired, I'll take your place.” 

“You? But didn't you say you were a bad driver?” she smirked. 

He could hear her smirking and thought he'd try to make her laugh. “If I try really hard, I can avoid hitting a tree.” 

She burst out laughing. “You're banned from the driver's seat!”

He smiled, gratified. “Whatever shall I do,” he said sarcastically, smiling and shaking his head. 

“If you can prove that you won't hit anything within the first five minutes of the drive, then maybe I'll consider letting you drive for longer,” she challenged, shifting in her seat on the bed and running her finger over the contours of Little Simon on her lap. 

“Challenge accepted,” he said with a self-assured snort. 

She smiled at his confidence and willingness. “So where are we all meeting again?” she asked. 

“At my place. I'll send you directions for it after this.”

“Okay,” she exhaled, now thinking of what his place looked like. What sort of decor and aesthetic he preferred, what sort of colors he liked, and if he kept house plants. 

The two continued to converse a little more until their eyes felt heavy and they started yawning. 

“Are your friends still watching the movie?” she asked, by this time half sitting up and half laying down on her bed. 

“I think it's almost over,” Simon, who was still seated in the balcony, looked over his shoulder at Gaz and Johnny who had their eyes still glued to the television set, despite them having melted into the sofa. “You sound sleepy, darling. You should go.” 

“Hmm…” she sighed. “But I don't want to go,” she whined in a soft, sleepy mumble. 

“Why not?” he questioned smilingly, not wanting her to hear how her sleepy whine was making him melt. 

“I like talking to you,” she replied in a tone that was trying to convince him to stay. She rolled over on her side, holding Little Simon close to her chest. 

The man's distant eyes softened as he heard this and he felt a little tickle in his stomach. His voice deepened, quietened, and mellowed as he replied, “Same here, my darling, but we'll talk again soon, alright? You sound like you're gonna fall asleep right now.” 

He heard another little whine, and he chuckled, unable to stop finding her cuteness so endearing and sweet. “Go on now,” he encouraged gently. 

She finally relented. “Good night, Simon,” she said in a half-whisper. 

“Good night, my love.” 

There ended the call, and Simon kept his phone on his thigh, feeling his face turn warm against the cool, damp air of the outdoors. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled. 

“Fuck me…” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. 

This phone call was a huge boost to his earlier insecurity. Their banter, her acting cute, her not wanting to stop talking to him was evidence enough that she preferred him over Alejandro. He could only hope that his hunch was right and that she wasn't doing the same thing with the other man. 

When the sound of her puppy-like whine echoed in his mind again, he groaned, wishing he could punch a wall so he could feel manly again. 

Any more, and she was going to be the death of him. 

The same woman, blissfully unaware of how her unintentional cuteness affected Simon, was now half-asleep on her bed, fingers curled loosely around her phone, and Little Simon nestled under her arm. 

“Elystran, from your first book, was bubbly and energetic. So I think that it would make sense for Frederick to be a little more reserved and aloof, but someone with power and authority, unyielding, and kind to nobody but Adelheid. Maybe if you knew someone with similar traits like these, you could use them as a model.” Alejandro's words from their earlier discussion echoed in her thoughts. 

Like lazily floating clouds on a clear summer's day, her thoughts drifted, trying to think of who would make the perfect model. 

Her thoughts settled on one man: 

“Simon.”

End of Part 7.

Part 8

Thank you all for your love on this series! I enjoy writing this and all your wonderful likes, comments, and reblogs fuel my passion some more. It's sm fun to write fluff; too bad I don't see a lot of it on tumblr lol. But anyway, thank you all once again. Remember, if you enjoyed this and want to be notified for updates, leave a comment so that I can add you to my tag list. x

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: December 27/24

Happy Final Friday of 2025! Check out these fics to close out this year that have been on my radar this week! Enjoy!!

SIGNAL BOOSTING

Fluent in Silence by justin_case (G, 2,829 w. 2 Ch. || T6T Fix It, Angst with Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, Mary is Not Nice, Cooking, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Texting, Domestic Fluff, Doctor John, Friends To Lovers) – Sherlock never put a tracking device in Ajay’s A.G.R.A. memory stick. Mary sedated Sherlock, left John and Rosie, and never came back.

RECENT MFLs

My Heart at Your Door by Calais_Reno (T, 3,055+ w., 1/7 Ch. || WiP || Pre and Post TRF, Alternate First Meeting AU || First Love, Nostalgia, Undercover Missions, POV Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Reunions) – Years ago, Sherlock Holmes loved John Watson, but they were schoolboys, and when it came time to part ways, Sherlock decided it was for the best that they not stay in touch. The only thing certain about his life at that point was that it would surely tear him and John apart. When he meets John again, he’s just faked his death and is ready to leave London.

'Til the Light Shines by anactoria (M, 6,516 w., 1 Ch. || Johnlock & John/OFC || Post-TRF, Angst, Infidelity, Bad Decisions, Non Fix-It) – When Sherlock reveals he's still alive, things aren't all sunshine and roses. John can't forgive him, and can't promise that he ever will.

Military Man by Sirius3e (T, 7,577 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, Therapy, Night Terrors, Slow Romance) – John could concede but not explain how risking his life under the white afghani sun brought him the same enraptured feeling as simply residing under the azure prison of Sherlock’s gaze.

Wee Doctor Series by americanjedi (T, 283,224 w. across 9 works || Time Travel / Adult in Kid Body AU || Grown Up John in 8 Year Old Body, Magical Realism, Conspiracies, Not Kidfic-Kidfic, Paternal Lestrade, Angst, Comfort, Past Abuse) – Dr. John Watson is turned into an eight year old child, dealing with Sherlock who doesn't know him in a world where he was never born. He's a little stressed out, but he's got his priorities straight. Original characters and London as a war zone, and John's accidentally inventing a super genius.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

idea, imagine in the rewind!Au Sinister went full on Freddy Krueger, haunting Mocha/Reader's dreams, and possibly gaining the ability to hurt people in their dreams the more he haunts others-

Also- Reader listening to Dream warriors and Nightmare(specifically by Tuesday knight, there's a lot of songs called nightmare lol)

ooo imagine a scene where Reader runs from Sinister with the song "Running from this Dream Warriors"(by Nancy and the Nightmares, very good song, basically a combination of the other two songs I named) playing over it, since Reader is quite literally, running from their nightmare

Oh dear! Reader is ready to run as fast as they can, whether it's rain or shine, day or night, or if they are super sick or not. Sinister is on their tail, they're screaming, and they toss everything they can at him to trip him, hit him, or be a minor annoyance.

(Watch Reader toss rocks, twigs, bricks, broken bottles, and random junk on the streets and doctor's office at Sinister) (They toss bandages, band-aid boxes, bottles of rubbing alcohol, a whole chair, and random books)

Sinister is even more sinister here, Kevin hates Sinister even more (and the X-Men and villains do, too), and it's a bit darker...

(Wee!)

[brave-and-gentle]

Girl dad!Jean Kirstein - Happy Birthday Edition

In celebration of our man's birthday!

Pairings: Jean x afab! reader

Summary: Modern AU - You find out that you and Jean are unexpectedly going to be parents, and the baby is due on Jean's birthday.

Warnings: None, this is a continuation of super wholesome girl dad Jean

EB's Notes: I wish I could've fully fleshed this out, but alas, I'm working on two fics so a bulleted list is the best I can give rn <3 also I don't know what it's like to be pregnant or give birth so?? I did my best?? Plz enjoy and celebrate our Jean boy!

It's September when you find out that you're pregnant. One missed period isn't a big deal, but two? That plus how your stomach swirls every morning. You can't keep anything down until mid-afternoon. You silently blame the Fourth of July rager Eren threw every year. You and Jean had never been the patriotic type, but you two enjoyed the party (maybe a little too much thanks to Connie handing you drinks all night) and got a little careless after the night's festivities.

One night when Jean comes home from work, you decide to tell him. “Um, Jean?” Lacking words, you hold out the pregnancy test. Your hands shake. You had talked about having kids together, but it was always some distant future, certainly not now. He takes the stick and stares at it for what seems like forever. You wonder if you have to explain to him that it's a pregnancy test – is he really that dense? But then he looks up, hazel eyes glowing in the sunset streaking through the windows, and wraps you in his arms. “It's going to be okay, no matter what we do,” he whispers and kisses the top of your head. “I know it's not great timing and I'm not sure I'll ever really feel ready,” you begin, voice trembling, “but I think I want this. A baby. With you.” Jean leans down to press his forehead to yours. “Then I think we're going to have an adventure,” he grins.

Jean is overjoyed when you two find out that the baby is due in early April. “Do you think they'll be born on my birthday?” He asks, excitement rippling through his six-foot-two frame as he stares at the sonogram. You roll your eyes. “I didn't realize you could tolerate sharing a birthday with anyone.” Jean made a big deal about his birthday every year – mostly because he wanted to see what you would come up with for him. “Anything for our little one,” he affirms and caresses your slight bump.

Jean is the perfect partner to have a baby with – almost too perfect. It's almost irritating how much he dotes on you, but you remind yourself that he's doting on the baby too - “Baby K” or “little one,” he calls them interchangeably. He supplies you with all kinds of ginger snacks for morning sickness, researches all the baby stuff you'll need, asks a million questions at every appointment, gives you a massage every night, and takes over the majority of the household chores. Connie and Sasha tease that they never see him anymore because he's “whipped for two.”

You start to feel contractions on the evening of April 6th. Frantic, Jean calls the doctor, who says to wait until they're closer together. Neither of you fall asleep that night – you simply lie in bed, counting the minutes between contractions together. In the wee hours of April 7th, you decide it's time. Jean carries you to the car, packs the hospital bag, and hyperventilates all the way there. “For god's sake Jean, we're not even there yet!”

For all his hyperventilating in the car, Jean manages to calm down once your contractions and labor pains ramp up. It's pain unlike anything you've ever experienced – like someone is twisting all your organs together and rearranging them. All modesty is out the window. With so much sweat sliding down your body, you throw off the hospital gown and are stark naked in front of Jean and the nurses. Jean holds you hand the entire time and rubs your sweat-slicked back as you contort yourself into any position that will get the baby out as fast as possible. “C'mon baby, you're doing great! Almost there, almost there!” He encourages with confidence, but his face is as pale as the hospital bed sheets. You know Jean well enough to know that on the inside, he's border line having a panic attack.

You let out one final scream, one final push, and ear-piercing cries fill the room. “You have a baby girl!” The nurse announces and places your daughter on your chest. She's covered in all kinds of fluid and is screaming so loud your ears ache, but you don't care. You cradle her in awe that she's this little combination of you and Jean that will someday grow into her own. Jean pulls closer and wraps his arm around you and places his hand on your daughter's back. His entire hand is almost bigger than her. “She's so small,” he whispers. His earthy hazel eyes begin misting.

When Jean holds his daughter for the first time, his misty eyes give way to a rainstorm. “I can't believe we have a daughter – we made an entire human,” he blubbers and snuggles her close. “Don't forget who did most of the work,” you groan and roll over on your side to watch the two loves of your life. Jean lowers your daughter from his chest to gaze down at her. His eyes light up. “Hey babe, look, I think she's got my face!” You laugh because sure enough, she does have a longer face than most babies you've seen.

When the nurse takes your daughter to get cleaned up, Jean nibbles your ear. Heat flushes your face. “So when do you think we can -” You bat him away. “Don't even think about, Kirstein.” “C'mon babe, I'm starved!” He pleads. “NO. You don't even want to see my pussy right now, it's wrecked.” Jean crosses his arms. “I'll have you know that I saw everything, probably more than you did, and I still want your pussy. But alright alright, maybe in a month or so. Maybe we could make another one. . .” He trails off and grins. You widen your eyes. “If she's got your attitude? We stop with her,” you counter. “But,” Jean says, “if she's like you? We should have three more.” You groan and throw a pillow at him.

A few hours later, Connie, Sasha, and Marco come parading in with chocolate cupcakes. “When I asked Nicolo to make cupcakes for your birthday, I didn't realize there would be two birthdays,” Sasha laughs and hands a cupcake to Jean, who wolfs it down in one hand while cradling your daughter in the other. “More importantly,” Marco says and hands you a cupcake, “congratulations. I'm glad everything went well.” You grin and take the cupcake. “Thanks Marco.” Jean grabs another cupcake and holds it in the air. “To you,” he says your name, “for giving me the best birthday present I could've ever asked for.” Tears shimmer in his eyes again. Your heart blossoms at the sight of your best friends all here for you. “Who knew Jean boy was such a cry baby,” Connie mutters and munches on his cupcake. “Ouch!” He cries as Sasha hits him on the head. “Happy birthday Jean,” you laugh and roll your eyes because you know for the rest of your life, he's going to be insufferable about how great it is to share a birthday with his daughter. “You're never getting one like this again.”

[nostalgia-tblr]

My Next Attempt At Long Fic (by which I mean more than 10000 words and it has chapters) Should Be...

Poll and the (actually quite long) gist of each option below le cut:

The Sylki Con Artists AU

This one I have a wee bit written of already but I go back and forth on this one because it's Alternative Universe - Modern Setting and I feel like there's already a lot of those (which I also complain about a lot), and I have to justify it to myself as an experiment in whether I can do a Sylki Modern AU that doesn't just end up as "two people called Loki and Sylvie do normal stuff together". That's why they are con artists in this! Because 1) MISCHIEF (or crime, or whatever) and 2) if they have the same 'job' for similar reasons and I go on about them being similar a lot then that's maybe as close as reality can get to selfcest. (The selfcest is not just a feature of sylki, I feel it is THE feature and to admit to being Bad At Shipping (again) I'm just not that interested in it if they're different people who aren't even aliens. The same alien.) (You can tell me they are gods all you want but I've seen enough Doctor Who to know that must be A LIE so I reject it as such.)

The plot is that they meet in a bar one night and shag (obviously!) and then the reader discovers that Loki is trying to buy a painting from an old woman (planning on ripping off both her and his own buyer) and Sylvie is an artist who is selling a forged painting to some posh twat on the internet who she knows is trying to rip off her fake old lady persona on the deal but she's selling him a fake painting anyway so at least he deserves to be conned. They meet up a few times before finally realising that they are in fact conning each other under fake names on the internet, and then I have to try and fix it when they inevitably get mad at each other because of it. Also, Thor works in a shop because the brodinsons are Downwardly Mobile (dad spent all their inheritance, oh no!) Plotwise Loki is going to actually need Sylvie's painting for reasons I have not yet entirely worked out so one way or another they will have to eventually forgive each other for being con artists as they themselves are and for having attempted to con each other.

Ideally I will be able to make this one funny in some way, as I think the concept can get absurd enough to make a rom-com out of it.

2. The Jotun Heat Fic (also sylki)

I was into this one for about a day and now I have second thoughts because I am not sure I care enough about Frost Giant Biology to have to write an entire fic about it. It would continue my tradition (I did it once, that's enough for it to be a tradition) of turning a tiny ficlet into a much longer thing. This one: The Opposite of Heat, in which Loki and Sylvie go into whatever the Jotun equivalent of the fandom fave 'mating cycles/in heat' trope is, having never done so before because (see if you can guess...) they've never previously spent enough time around another Jotun for the hormones to kick in properly. They have no idea this can happen, and what starts out as Fun Porno-Fic Times soon gets a bit worrying and then I suppose they have to Investigate and that's the bit I fear might end up boring me.

This is set in an AU where S2!Loki did not instantly demand that Sylvie help him with his cop friends' problems and instead just went to live in Oklahoma with her, so the other/'real' plot is them getting used to living together and the weird-but-sexy medical issue bringing them into conflict because of course the first place Loki wants to go for help is the TVA (this not unreasonable of him, as they have a lot of info in their archives and he has no other friends anyway), which Sylvie is not keen on as she would rather just avoid them for the rest of forever. Gosh, I hope nobody goes to the TVA for help behind anyone else's back!

I need a way to make this one stay interesting once it gets to the Find Out What Is Happening part and also it needs to not just immediately end with a sensible solution like just going to Jotunheim and asking someone there for a talk about the frost-birds and the frost-bees.

Also I think they should fuck in that McDonalds. Just because.

3. Jotunheim Rejects The Guy Who Cannot Possibly Be Its Rightful King, Because I'm Annoying Like That AU (not thorki)

Speaking of going to Jotunheim, you know all those fics where Loki goes to be the Rightful King Of Frostland, as Odin apparently planned all along? That but it doesn't work, because I am not at all convinced he can have been Laufey's heir (who the fuck infanticides their only male heir?!) and even if he was well it'd just look awful, wouldn't it? Crusty Old Odin, worst friend to Jotunheim for several years running, sends back your kingdom's heir having raised him as one of his own family. (I hope at least one of you is thinking "US-Backed Puppet Ruler Who Will Do Whatever The CIA Tells Them To" because I did too! Ooh, geopolitical barely-subtext!)

The problem with this one for me is it requires a fairly large cast of Original Jotun Characters, and I still fear writing OCs because of the constant 'Mary-Sue' complaints in my fannish youth. Also I would Controversially (LOL not really) make some of them women, including Angrboda the ambitious would-be consort and Laufey's tragically spurned lover who on finding out that her long-dead son is not dead makes the most of it by insisting everyone call her 'My Lady, the King's Mother' (yes, I stole that from History but I do that sort of thing now, for the LOLs). So I have a bit of an idea what happens in this one, though I'd need to think of more political type plot stuff and also I just finished writing a multichapter fic that involved the Jotun succession so maybe I'd be overdoing it if I did this one now as well.

The other problem is Jotuns are too fucking tall. I mean really. This doesn't seem to bother anyone else but they are Too Fucking Tall to interact with the shorter characters, to the point that it just seems accidentally comedic to me. Just imagine the totally-not-a-puppet king of Jotunheim sitting on a massive throne, swinging his wee legs in the air. And I don't know how to work around that other than just saying "they are Less Fucking Tall in this fic" and I don't know if that would just annoy people. Also it does feel a bit incendiary to go against the general fandom insistence that Loki Is Totally The Rightful King Of Jotunheim. Though I suppose in this he is, it's just that he attempts to become so in the sort of circumstances that make everyone start saying things like "are we really that keen on our monarchy?" or at least "surely there's a cousin or an uncle we could give the crown to instead? yeah, even a woman would do. no, she doesn't have to be alive if there are only dead ones available."

(It was a mistake to let me read books about the Wars of the Roses, wasn't it?)

Oh and this isn't a thorki fic, but Thor is going to go to Jotunheim with his bro to help him settle in and also he will be going back to rescue him from it at the end. Bros before snows!!!!

[hand-picked-star]

The 13th Anniversary Arshi Fiesta

Moodboard :Historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 16

I am not very good at writing ffs. I even read ffs very selectively. But it was an attempt of me to participate in the 13th-anniversary arshi fiesta.

I might be wrong about certain aspects of that age and era, but it's a fantasy, so why not? I don't own Arnav and Khushi and the story is purely fictional and has no relation to any living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

WARNING: 18+, MATURE CONTENT

Chapter 16

Dear Arnav,

I am writing with the last hope of reaching out to you with my words. I know you don't want to talk to me, and that is completely justified. This is my last attempt to contact you. I will not disturb you again.

First of all, I just wanted to say sorry for hurting you and your family unknowingly. I didn't know your father was married. As a sixteen-year-old girl with eyes full of rosy dreams, I couldn't resist the charm of my handsome neighbour. I was living with my old mother as my father died in the war when I was very young. Your father did marry me under my mother's persistence. And these are no justification for how I hurt your mother. I am truly sorry for what happened because of me. I didn't know any of that until your father shot himself.

Shortly after your father's death, I discovered I was pregnant. My mother refused to take any responsibility for me, so I moved to the other side of the city to start a new life with my baby. But perhaps God is punishing me for my misdeeds. I am dying. My liver is completely destroyed. The doctors say I only have a few months to live.

I had completely lost all hope, but one day I saw you at the farmer's market. You looked so much like your father, and upon asking, I learned your name. I knew in my heart that you were his son. I know it's extremely selfish of me to ask for your help, but you are the last hope of this dying mother. Please take care of my daughter after I die. She is only eleven. After I pass away, her only options will be either an orphanage or the street. I don't have any relatives left. Please, Arnav, take care of your sister. You are her last hope.

And if possible, please forgive me. I am leaving my address on the back. If you can, please visit us, your sister would like to meet you too. Even if you don't want to fulfil my request, I would still like the chance to apologize to you face-to-face.

Natalia Singh Raizada

As Khushi read the letter she found on the coat rack, which must have fallen from Arnav's coat, she felt her world flip upside down. Her mind went back to their fight last night, and Khushi remembered all the horrible things she had said to him. In every way she could hurt him, she hurt him where it hurt the most.

Last night, Arnav came back after a few hours and then locked himself in the study. Khushi spent the night on the living room sofa as she couldn't go back to the bed they shared and fell asleep in the wee hours of dawn. Arnav went to work before she woke up. Now, Khushi sat at the dining table with the letter, looking at the cold toast and omelette he had made for her. The food made her cry, not because it was cold but because the person who had made them. She had hurt him terribly. Still he was considerate enough to make breakfast for her. She polished off the plate like it was the most delicious meal she ever had.

Khushi knew she had to apologize to him. She would bear all his anger and do whatever it took for his forgiveness. An overwhelming sense of failure as a wife, as a best friend, as a lover gripped her heart in a vise-like grip. She had known him her whole life. He had always taken care of her. He had defied his conscience, risked facing scrutiny from the society and her babuji's wrath to marry her, always providing her with the best of his world. All she needed to do was love him and trust him. And she had failed at that.

She had reached a conclusion without verifying the facts, believing him to be a liar, all because she felt insecure. She had believed someone's words who clearly wanted to drive a wedge between them, instead of believing her husband.

As time seemed to crawl by, each minute feeling like an eternity until Arnav returned, Khushi found herself unable to sit still. In an effort to occupy her mind and pass the agonizing wait, she began meticulously cleaning the house, hoping the physical activity would distract her from the tumultuous thoughts swirling in her mind.

Arnav returned very late at night, entering the house silently. Khushi had been waiting for him in the living room. When she saw him, she stood up, and they stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

"Did you have dinner?" Khushi broke the silence, her hands wringing continuously.

Arnav nodded silently, looking at the floor, and turned towards the study, likely intending to spend the night there. However, he stopped midway when she called his name.

"Arnav... I'm sorry," her voice caught, but she managed to get the words out. Khushi was so ridden with guilt that she couldn't say anything more.

Arnav nodded silently. "It's okay," he said, still looking at the floor. When Khushi didn't say anything further, he spun on his heel to go to the study, locking the door behind him. Khushi walked up to the door and tried to knock, but instead, she placed her hand flat against the wood and pressed her cheek against it, desperate to feel his presence through the door.

(end of flashback)

That was seven days ago when Khushi apologized to Arnav. Although Arnav said it was okay, things were not the same anymore. He didn't sleep in the study anymore, but he didn't hold her in bed either. He didn't reject her touch though. But one time when Khushi draped her hand across his chest, he stiffened. Khushi withdrew her hand silently as her whole body burned with hurt. She never thought her touch would hurt him someday. He hadn't touched her at all, and it was the longest they had gone without being intimate with each other. He only replied when asked a direct question and couldn't even look at her. His nonchalance had made Khushi so emotional that she couldn't initiate a heart-to-heart conversation with him. All her words had jumbled into a giant mess. Khushi feared whether she had killed the part of him that loved her. She was terrified he wouldn't be able to forgive her for how she had hurt him. That was the one past he had tried to escape his whole life, and her behaviour, her accusations, brought him back to square one. Khushi could feel he was hurting but didn't know how to make things right.

All these thoughts swirled around her head as she sat on the bench. She usually sat there every afternoon, feeding the swans that gathered in their front yard. Some of the swans had become friendly and let her pet them. One such swan came to her, seeking attention. Overcome with emotion, Khushi hugged the swan and let go of the tears she had been holding back. She missed Amma so much. Amma would know what to do in this situation, how to talk to the love of her life, and how to break down the wall he had built around himself. As Khushi calmed down, she thought she knew what Amma would say. Amma would say that Khushi just had to apologize sincerely. She had to make things right between them, and for that, she needed to talk to him and bare her heart and soul.

She gathered herself up and went inside the house. She changed her saree and tried to present herself a little better. But Devyani ji came and whisked her away to a nearby tea party. It was already dark when she returned, and she knew Arnav was home by his shoes at the door. But he was not in the bedroom, and the study door was closed. It was no surprise that he was there. Khushi sighed sadly, realizing her opportunity of talking to him for that day was gone. She went to their bedroom to change for bed. One of his shirts was lying there on the back of a chair. She took it in her hand and brought it to her nose, pressing her face in it. Tears gathered in her eyes. She took the shirt and wore it over her pyjama bottoms. Instantly, his scent engulfed her in a tight embrace, making her miss him even more.

Not being able to get into the bed without him, she went across the living room to the study door. She knew it was locked but still gave it a try to twist the doorknob. Surprisingly, it was open. She went inside silently and spotted him lying on the sofa, sleeping soundly, still in his work clothes. There were dark circles under his eyes. She wondered if it was more peaceful for him to sleep here than with her. Khushi missed his touch so much. She sat on the floor near his hip and softly, without trying to disturb him, placed her head on the side of his thigh and closed her eyes. This little touch would have to do for now, she thought to herself.

But Arnav's eyes flew open, and he got up with a start, surprised to see Khushi on the floor.

"What are you doing down there? Come here," Arnav said, grabbing her by the shoulders and making her sit on the sofa, face-to-face with him.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. I just couldn't sleep, so I came here and found you on the sofa," she prattled on, clutching her night clothes.

The Arnav looking at her was the Arnav she knew and loved throughout her life, not the one who couldn't even look at her. And Khushi's dam broke. She continued looking at him as her tears became uncontrollable, and she started talking rapidly, hardly making any sense.

"Arnav... I am so sorry... what I did was wrong... I shouldn't have done that... I am so sorry... please, forgive me," she let out with great difficulty amidst her hiccups.

"Shhh... Khushi, it's ok....stop crying," He took her face in his hands, wiping her tears urgently with his thumb. Khushi placed both of her hands over his on her face.

"No, it's not ok. What I did was completely wrong. I should have talked to you, I should have believed you."

"Why didn't you?"

"I...I felt so.... I don't know why she made me feel that way, Arnav.....She, I mean, Ms. Kashyap... " She took a deep breath and continued, "When I found out about her last summer, I thought you would marry her. And I loved you, and I assumed you didn't love me back.... that you loved her. My mind kept forming scenarios with you and her. It was.....it was horrible." She paused for a bit and then whispered, ".....But it isn't an excuse for what I did, or what I said. It was wrong."

Arnav looked at her with an unreadable expression, grasped both of her hands in his and raised them to his lips. He placed a kiss on her knuckles as he got lost in his thoughts. But Khushi wasn't finished.

"And then I saw you coming out of that lady's house." Arnav's eyes snapped to meet hers.

"Which lady?"

"Who came to our house the other day."

Realization dawned on Arnav as she continued talking. "And the lady has a 'Raizada' in her name. I should have been smarter. I judged too quickly. I thought of the worst..." Khushi lowered her eyes and continued, "I read the letter she sent you. It might have fallen from your coat jacket... "

As Arnav absorbed all the facts and contempleted about what she had actually thought, his face became horrified.

"Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry," Arnav said, engulfing her in his arms. Khushi clutched the back of his shirt tightly with both hands, hiding her face in his neck. Arnav held her close by her waist, gently rubbing her back to soothe her. "Shhh... I should have told you about her sooner, but I was caught off guard. I wasn't ready to deal with her yet."

"You don't get to say sorry today," Her voice muffled in his neck, tears soaking his shirt. "I am sorry. I should have believed in you." She let go of his shirt and peppered kisses all over his face.

"Shhhh... calm down," he said, taking her in his arms again. As she calmed down, their heartbeats synchronized against each other. Her limbs felt heavy.

Arnav brought her face to meet his and cupped her cheeks to wipe the remnants of tears. Her hands wrapped around his wrists instantly. She was starving for his touch and his thumb tracing her cheeks gently made her believe that everything was right in her world again. He tilted her head slightly to look in her eyes.

"And I am sorry about Lavanya too," he said softly. When Khushi was about to protest, he silenced her with a shake of his head. "There was nothing between her and me, Khushi. And I am saying this for the last time," he whispered, touching their noses together, their breaths intermingling.

And, then he rested his forehead against hers and whispered, "I've loved you for the last two years, Khushi and I love you now..... and I'll love you even when you have some of your front teeth missing." This made both of them laugh and their laughter dissipated some of the sadness around them. As their skin continued to touch, the air filled with a different kind of electricity.

"We probably should talk some more," Arnav murmered in the space between them.

"We can always talk tomorrow."

Their lips met with a fierceness that surprised both of them. All the hurt, guilt, longing, and anxiety blended together, transforming into this fiery exchange. Arnav pulled her onto his lap, clutching her waist in a bruising grip, while she clutched his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair, holding on desperately.

Soon, Their kiss calmed down, transforming into a more languid and relaxed pace, the frantic energy calming into something more smooth- a contained burn rather than a wildfire. His fingers traced a tender path along her jawlines, her hair and settled into the curve of her neck. She responded by pulling him closer as a silent plea for more. Their bodies moved in sync, drawing closer until there was no space left between them. Her hair cascaded around them like a curtain, cocooning them from the outside world.

His hands, full of desire, began to wander across her body, moving slowly but purposefully toward her chest. With a gentle squeeze, he caressed her soft curves over the shirt she was wearing, eliciting a shiver from her as she felt his body responding accordingly underneath hers. Breaking the kiss Arnav looked at her deeply, both of them breathing heavily. His hands continued to explore, tenderly tracing the contours of her form. He undid the first two buttons of the shirt and placed a kiss on the centre of her chest. He continued unbuttoning and kissing the newly exposed skin as he went, gradually revealing her body inch by inch.

A soft whimper escaped her lips, when his fingertips came in contact with her naked skin, their roughness grazing her soft and sensitive flesh, causing goosebumps to erupt all over her body. He wrapped his lips around one of her hardened peaks and sucked it softly.

Cradling his head in both of her hands, She placed a soft kiss on the crown of his head, then on his forhead, his eyebrows and kept planting tiny kisses in between soft gasps wherever her lips could reach as he showered her chest with attention. His lips and tongue explored each inch of her with tender care. His kisses travelled to her collarbone and neck as he asked against her skin, "And why are you wearing my shirt?"

"Because it smells like you, and I was missing you," she whispered into his ear, placing a soft kiss before sinking her teeth into his earlobe.

"Did you just bite me?" A smirk threatened to form on his lips as he looked at her sternly.

"I might have." Khushi bit her lower lip to control her giggle.

"You know I can bite you back, don't you?"

"You will bit me back anyways."

"Tell me to stop biting you and I will. I am an obedient husband after all." They grinned at each other, eyes twinkling with mirth. "And stop biting your lips, that's my job."

Arnav pressed his lips to hers and as promised nibbled on her lower lip. They began undressing each other. When Khushi tried to take off the shirt, he stopped her and said in between kisses, "Keep it on. It looks good on you."

He carefully positioned her in his lap again by holding her by her bottoms and they both hissed at the contact. Khushi steadied herself by gripping his shoulders as he slowly guided her down onto him, inch by inch. She whimpered in his neck as he sheathed himself into her to the hilt. Without delay, he began to move her in a steady rhythm, repeatedly filling her as her nails dug into his skin. His each deliberate and measured move sent waves of pleasure through both of them. Her soft gasps near his ear, as his length pressed deeply into her, causing shivers to run down his spine. His hands glided along her back, her sides, her bottom, her thigh, everywhere he could reach. And she melted into him. Her breathing quickened and she pressed her lips fervently against his as she surrendered herself to the sensation.

Khushi alternated between kissing him and gazing at his eyes, as she moved over him. She explored every inch of his skin available to her with soft, lingering kisses. From his neck to his jaw, his shoulders to his nose, as if she worshipped him with her lips. Her hardened peaks brushed against his chest as his hands gently controlled her movement. Their rhythm was unhurried, akin to a slow dance. In between deep strokes, he held her tightly for a bit and simply breathed her in with his forehead resting on her collarbone, his breath tickling her skin, while her fingers combed through his hair.

As Khushi savoured every moment of their togetherness, she realized she liked gazing into his eyes up close like this. She was captivated by the emotions swirling in his caramel-brown gaze. There was an intensity in his touch, in his kiss, his gaze tonight, that unsettled Khushi. And she hated it. It wasn't the kisses or the touch she disliked, but rather the fact that she made him feel like he needed to reassure her of his love. He didn't need to. Not anymore. She knew he loved her and she promised herself to always trust in his love. Now, she needed him to have the same faith in her as well.

"I love you," she said, cupping his face and gazing deeply into his eyes, feeling a slow, intense fire threatening to consume her.

"I know," he whispered as he closed the distance between their lips. As he deepened the kiss, one of his hands joined her body where they were joined. With time, they both welcomed the fire that ran through their veins as the sensation wrapped them in its warm embrace.

"I love you more than you know,'' she breathlessly murmured against his lips.

<previous> | <next>

@arshifiesta @featheredclover @phuljari

[icarusredwings]

Hot take-

Spoilers.

More memes below, Plus, Im yappin... AGAIN

The doctor is definitely not Monogamous. No, duh, we know that already.

BUT

Depending on the AU and your imagination, he could infact express his feelings for those he loves in all ways. We have:

Sax x 14 aka

#Retired Time Lords aka #saxten

They literally share a bed in Donna's attic...

And are married but are on the brink of divorce 24/7 .So what if they do nothing but argue? They cuddle sometimes.... while arguing..

But they're in counciling as we speak so not to worry.

(If I had a nickle...)

River x 14

I'm not sure what their any doctor ship name is, but I like to call this #RetiredSong.

He visits her in the computer all the time, and she teases him about remarrying, but he always wears her ring when visiting. They're still married. 14 already cried and asked if she wanted a divorce since he was unfaithful. She laughed at his face and then kissed him. He felt like a fool afterward for even asking.

Melanie x 14 aka

#DoctorDonut seems to fit this well. Or #CarrotDoctor im yet to decide.

They go on casual dates often (but aren't "together together" since the Doc has decided to stop dating humans) especially on holidays, in which Mel doesn't have many people to spend them with. You bet your ass he's showing up at UNIT with flowers on Valentine's Day, and the WHOLE office talks about it. It's THE TEA for daaayyzz. Rosie gets a bit embaressed when ever her uncle shows up to her job just to flirt with her coworker.

Yaz x 14

#Foryaz or #Yazteen

Same with Yaz. He's already apologized to her profusely about everything that's happened and told her that if she ever wants to go out "as a gender non disclosed partnership," he'd be in Donna's backyard. He takes out her for ice cream after break-ups. This time in a car, not in space, though it's still difficult for Yaz to see this wrinkly old married man as the young spunky woman she once knew and was head over heels for. "You tell me if you ever become a woman again, and no secrets this time, yeh?" "Deal."

Rose x 14

#RetiredRoses or just #Timepetals.

While he can't talk to her anymore directly, he dreams of her often and gets almost memory like snipets of himself holding a baby or seeing her cooking in the kitchen. Simple, domestic things. He thinks they're just dreams, but in reality, they're shared dreams between them. Nothing ever, too crazy happens. And they're usually no more than 6-10 seconds of connection. He'll look around, look at the baby in his arms that shares her nose, look up to Rose, and smile. "She's gorgeous." She smiles back. That's it. Short. Tiny. Teasing snipets of what he could have had. These dreams are barely remembered, but when he does, he goes to her fake grave and tells her about them. Leaves Roses and praises her for how much of a good mum she's grown to be.

Meanwhile, Rose revisits Bad Wolf Bay and talks to the ocean, tells her gorgeous baby girl stories. The story of the big bad wolf she once met with two hearts and a big howling blue box. One that saved a piggy instead of killing it. "And then he said wee wee wee all the way home to his mummy and daddy. Speaking of daddy's, where's yours wondered off too this time? Come on. Best go find him, huh?"

Clara x 14

#Osteen or if you really wanna angst, #RetiredRaven

Just the same as Rose, He visits her grave too. Mainly when he needs advice and can't trust to tell anyone else. He comes to the graveyard often to visit various people, but this one is the one he sits at, puts his forehead on, and cries to himself. This is where he goes to vent. If you stand there long enough, you'll hear him beg for her to tell him what to do. "I can't run anymore, Clara! I-.. I just can't.. but.. you told me to - you told me to run, but everyone else is telling me to stay put. Now what!? ... please.. just tell me what to do.." and usually, he will get an epiphany. He thinks it's because she "told him," but in reality, getting all of this out of his system just clears his head enough to think. He still glares at ravens whenever he sees them in the grave yard. Cursing at them. "Haven't you taken enough from me?" It's not the same one, but none the less it infuriates him that the universe rubs it in his face like so.

And so many more. Bassically, if they're still alive and on decent terms, they've been on at least ONE date, if not? He talks to their grave. Hell, he's even let Jack take him to the pub. Just once. (Even though they ended up crying over River, and somehow Jack ended up buttnaked on a table. Let's just say they're not allowed there anymore...)

This is what's in MY head, idc that much if you disagree. Civily debate me, you cowards, he has enough attention and love for everyone, and two hearts is a lot to fill, oh and ofc the TARDIS is a part of this. In a weird.. sentiant.. machine.. kinda way.. It's complicated..

And before anyone comes at me with the ridiculous notion of "Well that's cheating"

THEY ALL KNOW.

So no, it's not. Consensual non monagamy has been a thing since before the beginning of time. The worst thing that happens is Sax gets jealous and tries to kill someone when, in reality, he just wants more attention/to come along too. He may make a shit ton of "gasssp you cheated on me!?" Jokes, but he knows. He's fully aware. Not of every tiny detail, but yes, he does indeed know that his husband is out having lunch with another woman right now, Linda. "How about you stalk your own husband ya nosey bitty before I fuck him myself." - the Master, Probably.

The only thing he really whines about is if 14 is A. Late coming home, B. Doesn't bring him back a treat or C. He doesn't invite him to come along. 70% of the time, the Master says no. It's just the principle of the matter.

And yes, They have rules. Just like any other relationship. Communication is definitely key for everything. Obviously, the Master isn't allowed to come to UNIT, and very rarely does he wish to come with his husband to watch him have a meltdown in a grave yard.

He has, however, came with him a few times to the library and now has a wee crush on her, too. (Who wouldn't?) But 14 doesn't exactly enjoy that the whole time they're bassically gossiping about him, in front of his face.

I call this #Retired Time Lords³

Sax: And then this one time in school-

Doc: Oh god not the academy-

River: YES the academy!

Sax: He slipped and hit his head and- *wheeze* HE WOULDN'T STOP CRYING BECAUSE HE THOUGHT HE WAS GOING TO REGENERATE

River: *falls over* 💀

Doc: -_-

As always. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[n0-n1c]

hi! i'm nicolas (nic for short), a self-taught artist from czechia 🇨🇿

my likes vary but art remains:

art goals for 2025

draw a short comic (at least a full page)

take part in three zines or similar projects

learn to combine ink and watercolor effectively

speed up digital drawing process

stretch goals (as in "it's a stretch")

record art timelapses

increase blog followers by order of magnitude

copy of my tag system page under cut (if you can't find it under the main header)

/tags

tired of endless scrolling? looking for a thing but the search function would deny its own mother? worry no more!

by technique

traditional art – typically touched up a bit digitally, most pictures taken with iphone

digital art – before you ask, i use photoshop cc 2015 & xp-pen tablet (star 03 i think, 10 inch)

mixed media – mostly older pictures, major digital coloring & editing

by fandom

tolkien – the lord of the rings, the hobbit, the silmarillion, whatever by jrrt. older pictures, the obsession subsided. temporarily. much fëanorian content

naruto – yeah. send asks to my main if you want a rant.

death note – symbolism

neon genesis evangelion – actually don’t talk to me about this one before you read my short fics (ao3 link)

attack on titan – huge design potential

doctor who – doo wee doo

good omens – older art

steven universe – only mcu crossover ocs (gemheart au)

gravity falls – unashamedly an old man fan

the witcher – hundreds of hours on the witcher game. yes, the first one. i spam igni, exploit the meteorite loophole to get swords without losing material, and follow the elf route because i always forget i can’t romance yaevinn.

fullmetal alchemist – (chimerahood au)

misc

gift art – pictures i intend to frame and throw at family members as gifts

nic art [main blog, opens in new link] – reblogs from here + messy stuff

[thairishslag]

Octonauts human au part:4

Peso

Peso:he is 29 and is a doctor/medic (I looked it up There can be a difference but it depends on the context)He is in a relationship with Kwazii and he is from chile (chilean Antarctica )(I looked it up people live there in small towns)(apparently) (although I’m not the biggest fan of the us dub i do love chilean peso) He has a good relationship with all his siblings and is very protective of his little brother pinto and fells responsible for him as there dad left when pinto was a baby which led there mother to fall into a depression (also a wee bit of postpartum), pesos older siblings we’re both away at university so peso had to help his mum a lot with pinto .Peso loves his extended family but only really gets to see them all at once at weddings and funerals as there is so many of them (The struggle is real i can relate) peso studied medicine outside his home town but still in chile and never really traveled outside of chile at all until he joined the Octonauts when he was 28. He met Kwazii at a bar on a bar crawl with friends from uni to celebrate them passing their exams when he was 27,Kwazii offered him a position on the octopod and a date. peso agreed to go out with him but didn’t agree to join the Octonauts until the following year.Peso is a talented pianist and often used to play in bars and restaurants for some extra money when he was a student and still plays for the Octonauts entertainment occasionally.Peso doesn’t talk to his dad that often because he saw firsthand the effect him leaving did to him and the rest of his family and he still doesn’t fully forgive him for it but he has good communication with his mum and the rest of his family.Peso is very close with pretty much everyone on the octopod there a pretty tight net  group.He injoys jigsaw puzzles and often does big jigsaws with Shellington who also loves them he uses he/him pronouns and is gay.

Big thanks to @jibanyans-chocobar who unintentionally helped me a lot with we’re peso is from by their post I really hadn’t a notion before im remarkable shit at geography and i would have definitely fucked it up otherwise

[borrowedtimeandspace]

To All a Good Night

AU: The Donna Trilogy | If I Could Turn Back Time

Note: Merry Christmas! Oh, too early? Um, Happy Mother's Day! ...Still too early? Welp.

~~~

London, 1851

Christmas dinner was pleasant.

The Doctor hadn't been to one, a proper one, since the Powell Estate. Since the Tylers. Since Rose…

It really did hit the spot, though. Particularly after yet another valiant effort to save the human race and London in particular in the wee hours of Christmas morning.

With that in mind, the Doctor wasn't sure if this could technically be called ‘dinner’, but it was something warm on the belly, and well deserved. Not just for the Doctor, but for Rosita and Jackson Lake and his small son, Frederic.

Once the boy had proper food in him after not being fed well in so long, he grew incredibly sleepy. Rosita offered to take him to bed, leaving the Doctor and Jackson alone at the table.

“You know, Doctor” Jackson spoke up gently. “Of all the fantastical things I saw in your life, there was something that has rather puzzled me.”

The Doctor arched an eyebrow quizzically at Jackson. Like he said, in over nine hundred years of the Time Lord traveling through time and space, it was interesting that a nineteenth-century man force-fed knowledge of the highlights of such a life would fixate on only one thing. “What’s that?”

Jackson gave a sheepish chuckle and turned his attention to the half-full cup of wine he still had left. “As you know, sir, I would dream about your life, the things you'd seen and the people you'd met. Oftentimes I would witness the horrors that you had, but once in a while, a blessed few of the lovely things you've seen and people you've known would shine through.” He glanced toward the Doctor, who could tell there was more but Jackson almost seemed embarrassed to bring it up.

“Lately, I'd begun to catch glimpses of something, or I think someone quite peculiar. Looked very much like any human woman might, only she seemed to stand about this high.” Jackson lifted one hand to hold horizontally above the table surface at just over four inches. 

Under the table, one of the Doctor’s hands clenched into a fist, but he let Jackson continue. 

“Now, I'd seen and understood that otherworldly creatures exist, things far more bizarre than this young lady. There was something about her, however, that gave me the impression that she was of this world.” Again, that bashful smile. “But that's quite silly, isn't it?”

“So silly,” the Doctor was quick to agree. “Impossible, even, at least on Earth. Maybe out there in the stars, but not here. Not on evolution's watch.”

Though the Time Lord forced an amused grin, he was in desperate deflection mode. He knew exactly who Jackson saw, and it was somebody he'd lost very recently. He tried to close out the pain and move forward but…

Out of anyone here, he knew Jackson might understand. He'd lived as the Doctor for a short while, and acted very bravely and selflessly in doing so. And right then, with all those fresh and painful feelings bubbling up at the reminder of who he'd lost, the Doctor wanted nothing more than to tell him the truth. To talk about one of the strongest people he knew, even if she might also be the smallest.

For all she'd been through, the emotional and physical torment she'd endured in her longer than average life, Zepheera wanted nothing more than to help others. She had more setbacks to deal with besides her four and a half inches in height by the time the Doctor met her. They became friends, and worked through it all with Donna’s help. Zepheera more than held her own when push came to shove. Even became a commanding yet comforting presence in friendly company, size be damned.

Now she and Donna were both gone. Donna forgot all about the Doctor after he wiped her mind, and Zepheera…

Earlier in the night, Jackson had inquired about his current lack of companionship. The Doctor had answered honestly, as much as he could with someone he'd just met and might not see again. He'd had Zepheera in mind when he vaguely mentioned, “Some of them, I've lost…”

That was as much as he dared talk about her, though, especially with this particular line of questioning from Jackson. Because it wasn't just about Zepheera at that point.

She was a borrower. A member of a species of humanoid beings that existed in miniature, most living under five inches in height. They survived by living in secret from the much larger human beings, hiding amongst them and surviving on what little they could scavenge. Most often, this came in the form of sneaking into human dwellings through the walls and under the floors and nicking small things that they found useful, stealing tiny amounts of food and supplies to get by. Things that wouldn't be missed or were easily replaced.

Only they evidently decided that ‘stealing’ was a rather harsh word, and so dubbed the practice as borrowing.

Remaining a secret from humanity was vital to their survival. If humans were to catch on, some might see the smaller folk as a nuisance or vermin leeching off of them, treat them as oddities to be studied or kept on display, or even as pets. The Doctor was unfortunately aware that this would eventually be the case centuries from now, as Zepheera had lived through some of those worst case scenarios. He'd be damned if he potentially brought that about even earlier by talking openly about borrowers, even just to gush about the one he knew and loved as a friend.

Even to someone he trusted, like Jackson.

The Doctor gave a shrug to try and wave the whole thing off as politely as he was capable of doing. “Best guess, your fugue state worked with your subconscious to make up something fantastical. Maybe to balance out the bad dreams, give you something whimsical to think about when you woke up.”

“...Yes. That must be right,” said Jackson at length after studying the Doctor for a moment. He shook his head and took up his cup of wine, holding it up between himself and the Doctor. “A toast, then,” he offered, “to those we've loved and lost.”

The Doctor blinked at him, but recovered by holding his own barely touched cup in a similar manner. It was an odd feeling, probably brought on by the way Jackson had been so convinced that he and the Doctor were one and the same, but he had a way of seeing through the Time Lord’s attempt to deflect from the topic. And he accepted it anyway, because he knew there was a reason.

“In their memory,” added the Doctor.

Jackson nodded, letting his cup clink against the Doctor's. “May they live on in our hearts.”

They toasted solemnly, both ending up with a small smile as they set down their drinks.

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was Christmas. Maybe it was the simple bond the two men felt as they pondered their respective losses. 

Jackson's wife, Caroline, killed by the Cybermen… Zepheera, lost to time… Though they couldn't be recovered, the two men were of one mind about one thing.

Somehow, the worst was the furthest from their minds in that moment, and all they could think about were the good times. Laughter and thrill and joy and honesty. Gratitude that, though it was now over, all that time was theirs to keep close and hold tight.

The memories brought Jackson and the Doctor a good deal of comfort as their feast came to an end, and for a long while after their ways parted.

[popironrye]

It's the ❤️ BLORBO BINGO ❤️

Dude Addition

Oh, this got pretty nostalgic. Ngl. Made me think back to when I was a wee lass, getting attached to the fictional characters on my screen before I even know what that even meant yet.

And look at me now! My tastes are surely something. So why not psychoanalyze me, do YOU see a pattern anywhere here? 😉

Even with so many slots, I could have added a bunch more, but I opted to keep the choices to one character per media, otherwise you should have also expected Teddy Lobo (Renfield), Thorn (Scooby Doo), Alucard (Hellsing) and David/Marko/Paul (The Lost Boys). And to why I added 2 x-men characters and 2 overwatch characters, well since one is live action vs one animated and one is canonical lore vs au special event I decided they count. Full character list and Blank Template down below! 👇

Got a good collection of live action and cartoon hotties!

Captain Jack Sparrow (Pirates of the Caribbean) Ardeth Bay (The Mummy 1999) The Creature (Lisa Frankenstein) Victor Creed (X-Men Origins: Wolverine) Dracula (Renfield) Loki Laufeyson (MCU, but my favorites are Thor: The Dark World and Ragnarok) Aragorn (The Lord of the Rings) Dwayne (The Lost Boys) Velkan Valerious (Van Helsing) Warren Peace (Sky High) Doctor Otto Octavius (Spider-Man 2) Crowley (Good Omens) Smytus (My Life as a Teenage Robot) Ben Ravencroft (Scooby Doo! and the Witch's Ghost) Pietro Maximoff (X-Men Evolution) Galactic Emperor Sigma (Overwatch 2 Starwatch) Stanley Pines (Gravity Falls) Cassim (Aladdin and the King of Theives) Karl Heisenberg (Resident Evil Villiage) The Captain (Hellsing) Robin Hood (Disney's Robin Hood) Johnny 13 (Danny Phantom) Judge Claude Frollo (Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame) Gabriel Reyes (Overwatch)

Tell me if you got a bingo or two from mine, and make your own! I'd love to see it. 😊

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph!!

Sorry to pop into your inbox out of nowhere - but I absolutely had to message you! I've been desperately searching for kid!John fics for the past six months and accidentally stumbled onto the Wee Doctor Series and OH MY GOSH, I LOVE IT SO MUCH! I would quite literally give a kidney to experience reading it for the first time again. I also finished the Intentions Series last week by your recommendation, and both of these stories made me ridiculously happy.

I was wondering if you might know any other novel-length fics (30,000+ words) that feature John as a child while Sherlock remains an adult? I'm open to ANY premise – whether it's de-aging, alternate universe, or Sherlock's-kid scenarios!

Thank you so much for your time and for sharing such wonderful fic recs!! Lots of love <33

Hey Lovely!

First, the two series you recommended:

Intentions Series by KeelieThompson1 (M, 214,673+ w. across 4 Fics || WiP || Father-Son AU || Father-Son Relationship, Kid John, Unusual Childhood, Mentions of Child Abuse, Crime, Teen Pregnancy, Sherlock is John’s Father, Fluff, Humour) – Sherlock Holmes discovers he's the father of ten year old John Watson; the product of an experimental night with a girl he would tenuously call a friend when he'd been sixteen.

Wee Doctor Series by americanjedi (T, 283,224 w. across 9 works || Time Travel / Adult in Kid Body AU || Grown Up John in 8 Year Old Body, Magical Realism, Conspiracies, Not Kidfic-Kidfic, Paternal Lestrade, Angst, Comfort, Past Abuse) – Dr. John Watson is turned into an eight year old child, dealing with Sherlock who doesn't know him in a world where he was never born. He's a little stressed out, but he's got his priorities straight. Original characters and London as a war zone, and John's accidentally inventing a super genius.

=====

Secondly, I don't really enjoy kid fics so they're not the first thing I go looking for, hahahha. SADLY I don't have any personal recs, and a quick search on my MFL list doesn't seem to meet the criteria you're looking for :(

Perhaps one of my Lovelies and Lurkers™ will have a few suggestions for us??

Thank you for your kind words! I'm happy my blog has brought you joy! 💜🖤

[monikafilefan]

20 Questions for Fanfic Writers

Tagged by @slippinmickeys <3

1. How many works do you have on A03?

75 (maybe one day I’ll reach 100?)

2. What’s your total A03 word count?

589,435

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Basically just txf fandom but I have dabbled in GoT, The Fall, and Sex Ed.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Five Years and a Lifetime

Only One Choice

All Eyes Lead to the Truth co-written

Together

Language of Love: Prompts of Angst and Romance

5. Do you respond to comments?

I absolutely do, just not every one of them. Unfortunately A03 counts author responses as comments and that bugs me, but I wholly appreciate any and all feedback!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh damn. Probably a chapter in my prompts collection called That Night in 2014 when Scully left, and one called Bone Deep set post Tithonus are angsty enough. I love writing angst, but prefer to leave my fic on less of a dreary note.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Ha it turns out I write a lot of fic with happier endings, but I guess Brother Bill ended very happily considering it was during the cancer arc. There’s plenty more I could’ve chosen though.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not that I know of.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what?

Yes, I mix it up. Lots of soft, sensual sex, but also some downright dirty smut too. Depends on the tone of the story.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I wrote one where Mulder and Scully go see Jean Milburn from Sex Education and have a therapy session. Coming Undone. It’s ridiculous and funny and was way too fun to write haha!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of but I hope not.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes but I can’t remember which one 🫣

13. Have you ever co-written before?

YES many times and I love it. I’ve written with several amazing writers @cultureisdarkbeer @admiralty-xfd @fridaysat9 @gaycrouton @slippinmickeys one several different fics.

14. What’s your all time fave ship?

MSR ofc! I do also love Jamie/Claire and Stella/Reed.

15. What WIP you want to finish?

I have this Unruhe fic that isn’t even that long but I cannot seem to fucking finish it for the life of me. I will eventually though.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Details? Creating a scene and capturing the characters as close to THEM as I possibly can comes easier to me than other things.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Probably dialogue and writing longer novel length fics.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I want to dive into the Outlander fandom very badly but I’m too scared to try Gaelic/accents and be happy with the outcome. Maybe one day.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

X-Files! I was just a wee 15yr old on my dialup desktop trying to write a post FTF fic on the original XF storyboards. I never did finish it past the second chapter.

20. Fave fics you’ve written?

I have a few I really love, but I am kind of hard on myself as a writer. I enjoy writing but can’t seem to reread my own stuff and come away beaming about it. The ones off the top of my head I’m proud and have not mentioned above of are A Life to Remember - an AU were Mulder and Scully are doctors and meet under interesting circumstances. Lots of UST, angst and family fluff as they flashback to their past on how they met.The Things They Say in the Dark is another one I love. It has angst, lots of hurt/comfort (not to mention Scully washing Mulder’s hair post Amor Fati) and serious yearning! Honestly love these two so feel free to check them out if you haven’t, I’d be blessed if you loved them too!

Tagging @today-in-fic and anyone else who wants to join in. This was fun!

[swag696942069]

Late night clean up

A/N: This is the last thing I'm writing for this years Jegulus week. I know that I didn't mention it in my last two posts but those where both also written for Jegulus week. This is my second year celebrating, but first year actually posting something.

It's a The Amazing Spiderman based Jegulus AU one shot/drabble(don't really know what it's classified as) it's based off that on scene from TASM where Peter goes to Gwen's room and her dad comes and asks if she wants some cocoa.

Tw(s): Mentions of injury, description of injury, a wee bit of angst. I think that's all. Please tell me if it's not so I can add anything that I missed.

Special thanks to @transdorcasmeadows for being my beta for this(and anything else I write)

Now without further ado, I present "Late night clean up"

James had been hit bad. He had a huge gash acrossed his stomach and was bleeding out. Or at least, he thought. He wasn't quite sure, he was a little loopy from blood loss.

The villain had got away, but at the moment, James couldn't really care, he was in too much pain to focus on much else beside finding a way to stop the pain.

He thought about going to the hospital, but quickly realized that he was still in his suit and therefore would definitely be in some deep shit if he showed up at the hospital and had to strip out of his suit for the doctor's to be able to fix him.

So instead, here he sat, outside his best friend's little brother's window.

James wasn't sure what exactly he was doing here. James and Regulus weren't friends, but they had known each other for years. Since James was twelve, actually.

He also happened to be the only person who actually knew James was Spiderman.

So, gently, James knocked on Regulus's window, waiting patiently for Regulus to open it.

Regulus pulled back the curtain and jumped back slightly upon seeing James, who was still in his Spiderman suit.

"What the fuck?" He cursed, quickly opening up the window.

"Hey." James winced, the pain from speaking almost too much to handle.

Without thinking Regulus pulled Spiderman in the rest of the way. "Jesus, what the fuck happened to you?" He was looking down at his stomach, concern clear on his face as he saw the blood. He squatted down next to James on the floor.

"You should see the other guy." James grunted, attempting to sit up.

"God, James, how many times do I have to tell you to be careful? You could've gotten yourself killed." Regulus pulled off James' mask and began to help him pull off his suit, trying to be as gentle as he could as to not hurt James worse.

Once his stomach was free of his suit, Regulus gasped and fell back at the sight of James mangled stomach.

"Holy- oh my- James you have to go to the hospital!"

"I can't."

"Why not?!"

"How am I supposed to explain how I got this?!" James pointed down at his stomach, a purple, bruised, swollen open gash running acrossed his entire lower half.

Regulus was silent for a moment before he got up and walked into his bathroom for a moment, coming back out with a first aid kit and a blood stained towel. This wasn't the first time James had come to Regulus with an injury, it just so happened to be the worst.

Silently, Regulus began to attempt to stop James' bleeding. Which wasn't going so good considering how large the injury was, and how every time Regulus thought he had stopped the bleeding, it would just start back up again before he had the chance to do anything else.

After about five minutes, however, the bleeding finally stopped, and Regulus let out a breath of relief, then began cleaning the wound.

"Thank you." James spoke, breaking the silence between them.

Regulus looked up at him for half a second before looking back down at where he was still cleaning up James' injury. "Sure."

James knew Regulus was mad at him, he just couldn't understand why.

Regulus was always mad at him, but this time it felt different. It felt off.

Regulus continued to clean his wounds in silence until he was all done, then began to bandage him up.

After about a minute Regulus finished up and scooted back a bit to examine his handiwork.

"How does that feel?" Regulus asked, speaking for the first time since their argument earlier.

"G-" James cleared his throat, "Good. Really good. Thank you, Reg."

Regulus opened his mouth to speak, but before he got the chance to, a knock was heard coming from his bedroom door.

"Hey, Reg want some cocoa? Moony's makin' some cocoa." It was his older brother, Sirius.

"Shit." Regulus whisper-shouted before standing up and speed walking to his door.

James jumped up, his injury completely forgotten about, to worried about potentially being found alone in his best friend's little brother's room. Not to mention him being shirtless, his suit still draped down his legs.

James quickly ran to hide behind the love seat in the middle of Regulus' room.

Regulus opened the door with his usual frown on his face. "No, Sirius, I do not want cocoa! Honestly, I'm 16 years old!" He went to shut his door.

"Okay, I just thought I remembered someone saying last week that his fantasy was to live in a chocolate house." Sirius said with a knowing smirk.

"Well that's impractical!" He shut his door. And then opened it right back up to add, "And fattening!" Before slamming his door shut again and locking it before slowly turning back to James.

James peeked his head over the side of the love seat with a smile on his face. "A chocolate house?"

"Shut up." Regulus grabbed a pillow off his bed and threw it at James. Who, even though could've easily caught it, let hit him in the face.

[bohemian-nights]

Lady Danbury Chapter 4

Word Count: ~6,353

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury

Description: The new Lady Agatha Danbury was decidedly not happy. Neither was Lord Ledger. Perhaps they might find a bit of happiness in each other.

AN: This is a Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury AU fic. Some plot lines from Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story have been axed🪓

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3,

Death is not always a great tragedy. Befalling on those not deserving to be taken away so soon. It is not always a burden. A misfortune to those closest to them. It is a fact of life as simple, as involuntary, as breathing. Depending on one’s definition it can be a release of said burden. Bringing about long-awaited freedom, but it is not quite the freedom one hopes for those left behind. Especially the freedom which is bestowed upon young widows.                           

Freedom is a most curious and strange thing. Agatha had learned that over the years. The definition of the word she had looked up many a time. Liberation from restraint or the power of another. That is the definition she liked best. The one she lacked.                      

She had felt as if she were a bird. Trapped in a pretty gilded cage made to do tricks, chirp out niceties, and sing songs for all those who visited her. For those who owned her. She had no recollection of life outside of that cage. Of sun on her, the wind fanning her with a gentle breeze. She had been put there before she had learned the world around her.  

That gate was now open. She could venture out any time she wished to. To come and go as she pleased or never step foot in it again. She was free. Freed from her capturer. Freed by death. In name she was free, but name is different than practice.

Death is simple. It is the easy part of it all, Agatha decided. Freedom is not. For it is living and living is never so simple. It was living that followed after it all, after being trapped in that cage for so long that she found the hardest.   

Coral found her wandering the halls alone in the wee hours of the morning after Lord Danbury's funeral. Drinking a glass of port. There was a whole case of it left without its owner. “His favorite,” Agatha told her. Not hers. Never hers.   

It had been a long day and an exceedingly tiresome fortnight. The doctors had come and gone the morning Lord Danbury was carted away for one final time at the Danbury residence. The hermit had come out of his shell. Arriving at first light, word had been sent to him by one of her late husband's men, from his country house where he spent his widowerhood in seclusion with a daughter off married, but she was no longer married. 

She had joined him in widowhood. Agatha supposed she gave her father a renewed purpose. He had presided over the whole business. The first order of which had been her womb. Ordering his doctors which he had brought with him to inspect her person. 

“One has to be sure of these things, Agatha. We must know.” They would not take her word for it. They had to be sure that she did not carry the Danbury heir inside her. The new Lord Danbury. The pronouncement was the same as all the times before. She was not with child. Her belly remained empty. 

With the last of the doctors dismissed, the funeral was the next line. To that, too her father took command of. Agatha had not left her bed for a week. She did not grieve for her husband’s passing.  She had not the grief for grieving. She honestly did not know what she felt then, but she did not wish to deal with it all. To fake her sadness which she did not have. 

She wished to run and never stop, but would not be allowed to be out and about, to go on, and she did not wish to deal with the army of those who wanted to pay their respects to her. So she feigned fatigue. Melancholy. Despondency. Whatever she could, she said. Whatever act she had to perform, she did. 

She burst into tears when Lady Kent and Lady Smythe-Smith had come up to visit and would not take no for an answer. When her sister-in-law had come down from Bath she had fainted at tea. Having to be carried back up to her room by a footman as Coral took to fanning her. “Give my lady some room to breathe.” 

Agatha had tried the same with her father when he had called her to Lord Danbury’s study on some opinion on the service, having set up camp there among her dead husband's things, but he saw through her act.  “My dear it is just us. There is no need for theatrics.”  He would not bother her as long as she kept appearances. “You will need to save it for his funeral.”

She did. Lord Danbury’s funeral was a procession.  It seemed a silly thing to dress up so fine for one in mourning.  Her act of pretend languishing around her room seemed more real than having her stays laced so tight that she could barely breathe. To be stuffed into an ostentatiously black embroidered gown like a bird for show. A lace veil fastened to her curls to hide her tears that would never come, but yet that is how one mourns. 

Lord Ledger was there.  His wife was nowhere in sight as he stood a lone figure draped in black like and unlike the others. A shock to her eyes for he was one of the few from the old Ton, along with Lady Allen who winked at her from where she stood with an ever-present ill-contained grin, who had come, well Agatha could not name why she had come other than to imagine herself in her place and Lord Allen in Lord Danbury’s. 

Agatha wished to speak to the lord. He was the only person among the parade of falsity she wished to speak to, but she was whisked away to greet and thank the murmurers who wanted to give their vain condolences. Apart from Lady Allen who had paid her respects with a kiss. Not so quietly imparting to her with glee that caused a stir from the other mourners, “Now the fun begins my dear.” 

Lord Ledger had disappeared when she gazed back at the spot where she saw him last when she had managed to pull her attention away from the jackals. Agatha half wondered if she dreamt his person for she found nowhere in sight once Lord Danbury had been lowered into the ground. She put the lord out of her mind for a time. Everything that morning had passed by in a blur.  

Soon enough she had found herself in the entryway of her home. Standing in the morning she thought was still night. Drinking a glass of port. Finally giving words to that feeling which she could not name. Emptiness. 

She felt empty. Lord Danbury took up so much space in their marriage that he left no room for her. Agatha was a foreign creature. She caught glimpses of her in her reflection some days, but Lady Agatha Danbury was his creation. She was molded for and now he was gone. 

Lady Agatha Danbury drank port because that is what he drank. She suffered through blood lettings, stale food, lecherous doctors, and foul tonics because she had to bear him a son. She wore gold far too often for her taste because that was his favorite color. She did not dance at parties, becoming a sentient who stood on the edge of the dance floor gazing on because he could not or would not do so. 

Lady Agatha Danbury wore gowns of black because her husband was dead. She wore a veil over her face because she must mourn a man who had taken away her girlhood. She had to cry, to faint, to languish around, or say her thanks to those who pitied her loss all to show her grief over his death. 

That girl who wished to drink what she may, wear shades of violet, and be twirled around the dance floor with laughter was stifled under Lady Danbury.  Agatha could not exist. Her existence was a thing that continued to be ignored. Lady Danbury may be free for she could no longer exist as she was, but Agatha was not.  

The funeral had not put an end to the mourning business nor had it given her the freedom and independence of a widow. Her freedom had in fact become a  complicated matter. Agatha was a widow, yes, but a childless widow. A young childless widow who had yet to reach the age of thirty.

“You are not me Agatha,” Her father warned her when he had called her to Lord Danbury's study that morning after.  A room that she wanted to lock up and never step foot in again, but it was slowly turning into her father’s place. Joseph Robinson had become a permanent fixture at the Danbury residence. “You are too young for widowhood. The Danbury line is lost to us, but our line must continue on.” His dark eyes had grown uncharacteristically soft, but his words told another story.  

There were girls, respectable girls from the best families in the country who had never married at her age. The Danbury’s, the Robinsons, and families of the like were the new blood of the Ton. They could not afford to make mistakes. They could not afford to do as the others did. Especially when so much of their futures remained uncertain. 

Agatha was not free. This widowhood was a temporary thing. A thing that would be remedied once her mourning period ended. She was young. Well bred. A pretty thing that men wished to gawk over. More than like fertile with a more virile match.

Agatha of course made her protests. Tried to argue. She had her duties. She was the queen's lady-in-waiting. She had married once. She had tried to give birth to her husband's big-headed babe. She had done that duty, perhaps in time she might find some worthy man to, but her father held firm. She could not stay a widow for there was one area in which she lacked. An area that prevented her freedom. Income.  

He treated her like a child because of it. Ordering her about. Keep watch over her. Telling the servants to keep an eye on her when she ventured from her room. It was fine when he had first come down, a relief in fact when he helped her with Lord Danbury’s funeral arrangements, but Mr. Joseph Robinson had begun to overstay his welcome at his daughter's home. 

Though he had not been entirely wrong about her predicament, he, much like Princess Augusta, would not help her solve her circumstances. Not when it benefited him to do nothing. 

The Dowager Countess Lady Agatha Danbury was not a wealthy woman. She had found that out when her husband’s solicitor had been called for. It was he, and a host of others who Agatha herself procured replaced the doctors who frequented the Danbury residence. 

Under normal circumstances, her late husband's title and estate would pass on to their eldest son, but they had no children let alone a son which to pass his earldom and all that was entailed upon him to. His title would die with him. His estate would wither.  A fact which caused the other lords and ladies, of the new ton, much distress 

“Lord Danbury was the first of us to pass on.” Lord Smthye-Smith had said when the lot of them came over requesting an audience with her. “What is to become of us?” 

That was their woe. Their titles and estates. What would become of them when they too followed Lord Danbury to the grave? What would become of their children? Their heirs. What would become of the next generation after them? 

Would their sons inherit what had become their birthright? Their titles, their land, and their place in society. Will their daughters be seen as the sweet genteel young ladies of good breeding they were? Would their children be seen as worthy matches for the sons and daughters of their fellow lords and ladies? Would they be accepted and seen as true equals in mind and title?  Or would this progress be gone in a generation? 

The crown was no help with providing no answers to these dire queries. “It is up to the king to decide whether or not this experiment will continue on past this generation.” ‘Twas Princess Augustas reply at the palace. The king, that is how she skirted around the issues. How she loved to remind Agatha that she was the king's mother, not the king himself. She did not have the authority to act. She, like the others, was but a humble servant. Serving at his majesty’s pleasure. 

“How is our queen?” Information. That was her price. Her face was marble as she sipped upon her infernal tea. Lord Butte sat a sour-faced statue at her side though he looked pleased with the Princess's steadfastness. The other lord’s in attendance were not worth noting. They simply did nothing. 

The representatives' crown and the government would never act to secure their interests. Princess Augusta would not advocate for them unless she saw some manner of gain or benefit in it for said crown. They would watch on and see how things played out as if they were an orchestra merely there for their entertainment. 

Mayhaps the king might have been more sympathetic to their needs and endeavored to resolve their precarious state, but the king was nowhere to be found. His queen was too busy worrying over her distant king on top of her carrying the next.  Agatha would not add to her stress nor would she be the case of. So they were set adrift.  Their circumstances were left to run their course unaided. Oh, how they ran. 

Under normal circumstances, Agatha would be a wealthy woman. By the laws that governed their country the bulk, which amounted to two-thirds of her husband's fortune prior to his lordship, was to be inherited by Dominic Danbury, her husband's nephew. The boy was his closest living male relative and his chosen heir in the absence of a natural-born legitimate son. 

The remaining third, a mini fortune that could sustain her independence, as well as her dowry, which was rather a meager sum of five thousand pounds, was entitled to Agatha as his surviving widow. However, Lord Danbury’s estate had been left in near ruin.

“These are unprecedented dealings. Of course, we know that Dominic can not inherit your late husband's title or estate. The crown would never bestow the lordship and its holding upon anyone who was not Lord Danbury’s direct male descendant.” The solicitor had begun when he had answered her summons. 

Riffling through her late husband's papers in that study of his. Their meeting place after she had forced her father to vacate Lord Danbury’s chambers. Agatha was still the lady of the house and her father a guest. He could not nor would he keep her from conducting her affairs.  

The solicitor was an older fellow. Agatha reckoned that he had attended Eton with Lord Danbury. He was not patronizing. He did not treat her as a simpering widow or speak to her as if she lacked sense. Quite the opposite for he did not mince his meaning. 

“Your husband spent a great deal trying to appear as one befitting of his new station that  he failed to take into account the limitations of his income.” The man let out a sigh as he peered up at her. “His personal holdings not tied to the earldom are few and far between.” Agatha felt as if she dunked in ice water at his words. 

“My husband was one of the richest men in the country.” She wondered if perhaps she might be dreaming. Retracing her steps that day and her surroundings to see if anything was amiss. Surely what she heard had to be a lie. A figment of an overactive imagination from sitting inside this cursed house most days with her only outlet being teas where she was made to simper and conciliate. 

The late newly titled Lord Danbury was the son of a king. One of the wealthiest kings in Africa. He held one of the greatest fortunes on the continent. That kind of wealth could not be spent in a lifetime. “My husband's fortune could rival even the wealthiest of dukedoms. How can it be gone?” 

Gone it was. Lord Herman Danbury was a spendthrift who was prone to bending the truth. On so many accounts it seemed. He had spent his money on well-bred horses and fine carriages. New staff, lavish furniture which to decorate their new estate, tailors who made their suits and dresses, and club fees. “The fortune I'm afraid was not so great as your late husband led you to believe.”

Her dowry along her husband's fortune, a mere fourth of the sum he boasted of holding, was near depleted. Spent to assuage the man’s avarice. The money that was not spent for mere vanities sake was put into the estate. Out of reach to Agatha and her nephew. 

The old estate where she had spent the majority of her marriage was gone as well. a considerable number of linens was placed upon the property in exchange for lines of credit. Her late husband's greed knew no bounds.  

Agatha needed to remarry. She could not stay a widow. She lacked. Her freedom would be sacrificed and she would become some other lord's wife. His plaything. With haste. Or attempt to secure Dominic’s position. Secure a lordship for the boy. Attempt to secure her position as a woman in her own right by way of his guardianship, she could be free from the will of a cruel master twice over. 

She had taken a page from Princess Augusta’s playbook. Inviting her sister-in-law to join her for afternoon tea in the sunroom. The woman had not left for her home, but Agatha could see that she, unlike her father, grew weary of her continued stay at the Danbury residence. 

“I trust you find your stay with us pleasant under the circumstances dear sister.” Even to Agatha’s ear, her words dripped of false pleasantries. The woman sat before her had never been dear to her nor a sisterly, however, appealing to one’s better nature, establishing a more familial connection never harmed. Especially when one was trying to keep her son for her own benefit. 

“I have never been one for society or these people. Not as you or Hermain.” Her sister-in-law's characteristic air of disdain was absent. She looked hesitant as she sat her tea down. Drawing nearer to Agatha to occupy the seat next to her. 

“I leave for Bath on the morrow. I have already told your papa.” The two got along well. Agatha imagined that her papa would prefer a daughter like Mrs. Danbury to herself. A daughter who did her duty without complaint. Who had secured the family line .“I do appreciate what you are trying to  do for Dominic, but your father is right about your widowhood.” She placed a pat on the back of her hand. If it had been meant to comfort Agatha it only served to distress the lady further. Hoping that her leave would trigger her father to make his own preparations for his leave of her.

True to her word Mrs. Danbury departed for Bath that morning. Leaving her son in Agatha’s care. However, her father showed no signs of preparing for his departure. Mr. Robinson seemed content to stay right where he was. 

He was content watching Agatha scramble for independence. Content to see her make her way back from teas at the palace dejected. Or coming home from visits with the queen at Buckingham House with a headache. Quite content to see her under his thumb once more. Floundering and clawing trying to reach the surface. Drowning and he would not save her. Even to toss her a line so that she may save herself. Sinking deeper. Suffocating.

It came to a head when she had come back from tea at Buckingham house, reassuring the queen over her own woes, to find a man in her sitting room. Seated in her husband's favorite chair. A gaudy thing which, as with most of their furnishings in this tomb of a house, cost thrice than what it was worth. 

Richard Stokeworth. Dickey, he wanted her to call him. “Your papa tells me that you are fond of art. Montague House is to open a new exhibit this weekend with some pieces from Macedonia.  It would be my honor if you would oblige me with your company, my lady.” A smile stretched across his face as he leaned back awaiting her answer. 

 He was tall. A head taller than Agatha. Handsome with a straight white smile that stood out against his dark skin. Young. Not a blemish to cloud his complexion.  He couldn’t have been older than six and twenty. Richard Stokeworthwas a statue carved from onyx yet she felt nothing, but a creeping pit of dread when she gazed upon him.  

She stuttered for a moment before sprouting up from her chair with a start. Words caught in her throat. She couldn't speak. She did not wish to speak. Fearing what words that might slip out. I’m sure you are perfectly lovely. You might be lovely for someone else, but I would rather fall into a nest of thrones than be your wife. With one last stammer. her eyes flitting to her father's ashen face, Agatha ran from the room as if she were a child. 

She needed out. To be out of the house. To be out of the race. Out from the demands of the queen, crown, and the Ton alike. Out from under him. That man who sought to tempt her back into imprisonment. It was a prettier cage than the last, but a cage nonetheless. She’d lose herself all the same. She'd lose her mind if she did nothing. 

Sitting there staring at the walls in her room. Attending endless teas where most of the ladies in the room wanted her gone, or to use her be it for information or to soothe themselves Finding strange men in her parlor while her father held a self-satisfied countenance standing lurking in some shadowy corner of the room. A puppet master who had grabbed ahold of her strings and would not release them until a new master was procured. This time one who would get the job done. 

Coral had offered to come with her when she had seen her darting out from the parlor into the entryway. Forgetting her cloak along with proper shoes as she grabbed ahold of her veiled hat. Her maid and her father rarely got on, but both acted as mother hens watching her every move, albeit her reasons were much more benevolent than that man. 

Agatha waved away her maids' concerns. “I shall be fine Coral.” She needed solitude. Required it. A break. A breath. That is what she needed. Setting out on her into the wilderness of her estate, well her estate for as long as the crown did not recall it.   

She could not recollect the last time she had felt the sun kiss her face. A sable face covered by black lace, for she was supposed to be in mourning despite the pulling of forces that would not let her be and her own lack of feelings besides resentment towards her late husband, nonetheless she could still feel its warmth on her cheeks. The breath she held in, released.  Carried off into the air. 

Her run had turned into a walk once she had made it to the edge of her garden. The green manicured lawn turned to wild brown grass. It would have reached her shoulders had she not walked along the narrow trail cut between the blades. A well-worn path. Blanketed by sunbaked grass with its rays beating down on it. As if someone had wandered upon it without a destination a thousand times before as Agatha did now.

She happened upon a small house. A shack really. Mayhaps it once had been a gamekeeper's cottage, but its occupiers had long since deserted the desolate place. A carriage wheel and an assortment of broken ends and odds were placed in a half shed next to the cottage.

An old, but sturdy in appearance, bench sat in front of the structure's entrance under the cover of shade. A lucky find for her feet, which were still in her heeled black pumps, an entirely impractical shoe for her wandering was starting to hurt. The leather of her shoes pinched at the skin. 

Setting herself on that dusty bench, whose appearance did not lie of its durability, she hiked up her layer of skirts to slip off her shoes. Freeing her aching feet from their confines. Focusing on trying to draw circulation back into her lower limbs she was utterly oblivious to the sound of steady footsteps nearing until a voice spoke. 

“I would not think those were quite the best shoes for the fields.” She had not seen him in weeks, but there Lord Ledger stood before her. Cloaked in green with a walking stick at his side and a hint of a smile. Bowing, not forgetting his manners as  Agatha scrambled to put back on her blasted heels. 

The lord's presence was not entirely alarming though a bit startling. For she had not expected him. “What are you doing out here?” On her estate in the middle of this little valley. Only it was not her estate nor her valley. It was in fact his. 

“There is your estate.” He pointed a finger over to where she had come from. “And here is mine.” His stick planted itself softly into the ground “We abut, my lady.” She was the trespasser though he did not seem to mind her presence in his fields. Promising to not set the hounds upon her with a smirk holding no menace. It was teasing yet kind.

“I cannot fault you for taking a ramble.” Rambles that is what he called them. To assuage Lady Ledger. One could not have a mad husband. Or the appearance of a mad husband. Agatha imagined that appearances meant more to someone like her than personal satisfaction and happiness. To all of that side of the Ton. 

A ramble was merely a break from all the chaos. Not a break of one’s mind. Insanity is the key difference between an aimless walk and a ramble. Though Agatha felt as if she were on the edge of it. Her father would not care if she were on that edge. If she walked off that ledge just as long as she did her duty he would not question. The dowager princess would not waste and queen might spare a two 

“I do not believe I am rambling. I am sure it is just a walk. For I feel mad.” A walk nowhere. A walk perhaps into insanity. Marching to a slow doom set out to consume her. “Or that I will go mad.” She felt like screaming at the wind. If Lord Ledger had not come upon she would have. If that was not madness she did not know what was.

Concern was written across his lined face. His amber eyes softened as he apologized for her loss. Agatha had to bite her lip to keep from saying that she was not very sorry. Angrier at the fact that Lord Danbury’s death had not freed her from want. That it had brought on a new set of complications. “Walking or rambling, it will make you feel better.” 

He straightened as another smile overtook his face, wiping away some of her weight that held her down. “I expect you to wear riding boots tomorrow.” He pointed to her shoes with his stick.  “We shall ramble together at the same time tomorrow.” He took his leave of her with a bow. Leaving no room for argument nor did Agatha wish to. Curiosity seeped through her bones overtaking the melancholy she had felt from inaction and invisibility. 

True to his word, Lord Danbury was there. At that same gamekeeper's cottage. That same time when the sun's light was at a high. The corner of her eyes crinkled up when he caught sight of her. It increased the lines upon his face, but she thought it suited him. He greeted Agatha with a My Lady and she with a Lord Ledger. She felt her cheeks heat when their eyes met. Thankful that her chestnut skin hid her blush. 

They talked for hours. Of nothing, and nothing was a great distraction. Her worries and fears faded away as she focused on what was there. They talked about nothing as well. The plants they came across. The trees. The birds. Games. Wordplay. Riddles. Poetry. He recited to her poetry. His eyes held a warmth in them when he spoke.  A warmth that traveled throughout her. No topic was too small or too great for the other ear. Sometimes they did not talk at all and yet that pause did not need filling. 

They walked for hours. Her legs burned from the exertion. Her curls frizzed from the intricate style Coral had carefully crafted, but In those hours spent in his company that blush did not leave her. Nor that fluttering when he spoke or when he simply turned his gaze towards her. A  Fluttering of life. She felt alive. She knew that now. She had not been alive. Not truly. She had been existing, occupying space on this plane,  but existence is not life,  and this was just a taste of it. 

A ramble turned into a dozen. Turned to two dozen. Meeting at that little cottage. They would walk side by side along that narrow brown path where they were undisturbed apart from the rumblings of nature. It never lost its appeal. 

It was easy enough. Finding an excuse to get out of that suffocating house. I am going for a walk, father.” Just a walk. “I shall be back before dinner.” It was the truth in a way. Agatha had found that a partial truth was always easier than a lie.  

Mr. Robinson did not mind. He did not ask to accompany her. Even when her dinner sat cold Why would he when she was just wandering around the estate's empty land? She never took a carriage. Her dress was not askew upon arriving. Her makeup was untouched and her hair was kinked by the wind. 

No strange men lurked about in shadows or letters from unworthy admirers were delivered at the Danbury residence. She was just in need of a clear mind. 

He knew of her frustrations. Her will for independence, but she in turn knew how things went. A walk was the extent of the relief from those frustrations. She could gain. After all her father thought it better to have a contented daughter if he were to auction her off like cattle once more. Give her some measure of freedom, some measure of control, leave that door open and she shall not complain of her cage too much when it is shut. She will always want to come back through that door. 

While her father remained oblivious to Lord Ledger's presence with her in what was supposed to be a solitary exercise out from her cage, Agataha suspected that her maid knew. Coral was, if ever, a busybody. A gossip who could rival the likes of Lady Kent or Lady Allen. but she would not tell her father or another soul of whose company she kept on her walks. She was good for keeping her secrets.

“Do not forget your hat, my lady.” Gifting her a sly smile that made the corners of her mouth upturn in a feline way while she helped her pin her veil and hand her an umbrella.

Off she went and yet when she came back she was reminded of just how dreary her reality was. The queen who was a mere girl beyond her depth that their very place within society depended upon. Princess Augusta and her displeasure with her absence of information. The line of suitors her father had procured that looked at her as if she was a piece of meat or a trinket to be possessed beneath their pleasantries. 

She had lived for a few hours in Lord Ledger’s company with the wild surrounding them and when she arrived back through that door her cage was there to greet her. Agatha had lost and she had gained so much yet she was still in that gilded cage. 

And so those talks of nothing turned to something. Sitting upon that old bench under the cottage's awning with Lord Ledger at her side. Squinting as the day's dying light sought to impair his view. The Lord was a more than willing audience as she unburdened herself to him. 

“What is there?” His gaze was upon the grassy landscape before them. His voice a gentle timber. Apart from Coral, it seemed as if he could sense her moods better than anyone.

“My maid Coral.” Her friend. Her only friend. She was Lady Agatha Danbury the widow of an Earl who was the son of a king and the only true friend she had which she could depend on and who wanted her complete happiness was her small maid. 

“What is not there?” She let out a sigh at that question. Pursing her lips as she ruminated. The absences. The wants. There were too many to name. 

Her title. Her estate that could be recalled by the crown at any moment. The men who vied for her hand who viewed her only as a vessel for their own ambitions. To further their line. Her father among them. Her supposed access to the crown. They wanted it all.

Everything. It seemed the appropriate answer, but at the same time, it failed to convey the extent of her troubles. It was far too simple an answer for that. “A future in which I do not dread waking up in the morning.” The truth. She did not wish to go back to the life she lived. 

“Lord Danbury?” She turned to face him. His eyes remained glued to the landscape, but his tone was hopeful. He wanted an answer. A real answer. He would not judge her for telling the truth. 

“I would not say he is something that I lack.” She missed him least of all. Agatha did resent him for the mess he left her to deal with but did not miss or want for his presence. “ I might be a monster for thinking so.” She teased the lord before her with a smile. It was the unchristian thing to say. Not a sentiment that any good respectable wife, a grieving widow, should voice. 

“You are no more monstrous than I.” He finally turned to her. His eyes held a sadness as he continued on. Freedom. He called her free. She had to hold back a laugh. If this was freedom. If this was the extent of her freedom then she was truly doomed. 

“My father wishes to see me marry again.” She did not dare glance over at him. Her smile was gone as she joined him in his watch of the setting horizon. “I’m a girl to him. He is my keeper.” Lord Ledger was trapped in a loveless marriage, but he was a man. He could do as he pleased even in the confines of his dreary marriage. 

 “Next week is my birthday.” Another year gone. “And I have nothing to look forward to.”  Another year was wasted. Another year to come that would not be her own. 

Perhaps with a babe on the way. That is what her dear papa would want. What her new husband, who she will doubtlessly be married off to by the end of the year when Agatha could no longer use the excuse that she was in mourning, would want.

That was what awaited her. Nothing apart from life as someone's pet once more. Someone’s doll, an incubator, a spy, a servant who was to perform and act as they all wished with no account of her own wants and desires. Happiness and joy were not hers to have. She was a reed bending in the wind at other's whims. 

Agatha supposed she had one final option. The life of a nun. No one would stop her. No one could stop her from saying those vows no matter how much it inconveniences them, but that was not a life either. That was not a life for her. Not a full life. 

She had the allusion of freedom for a few moments. For a ramble every evening beside Lord Ledger, but that was the extent of her freedom and that freedom too would be gone like the others all too soon. Trapping her forever in darkness. 

“Rambles are there.” It was as if he had lit a candle in her darkness as he spoke to her. The lord turned to face her. A quiet conviction in his voice. With hope in his eyes. A hope that reached past her woe gripping her. Commanding her to wake from the abyss that surrounded her. Guiding her out of it. Into something unknown yet it made her feel riant. “I am there.” Agatha felt her breath catch.  “Are you?” He beckoned her to him and she followed. Eagerly. Heading towards that light. It was like a spell as they leaned into one another. An internal magnet drawing them together. Lord Ledger's breath, which smelled of mint and spice, fanned her warm face as he hesitated for the span of it before they plunged into each other’s depths. His lips landed upon hers and Lady Agatha Danbury was gone.

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