#cap hill block party
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Everything Has Changed
Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader
You’re vying for the Avengers to choose you as one of the Shield agents to go on a mission with them. Nat performs her own evaluation and you grow closer
Note: Some soft Nat! It was going to come out yesterday but my nephew was born lol. Enjoy this one!
Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist
“Agents, we will have a very special guest for training today,” Maria Hill’s voice sounds from the entrance of the gym.
You and all of the other agents stand up straighter in her presence. Soon, she’ll be choosing the best agents to go on a mission with some of the Avengers.
You have been working extremely hard to make sure that one of those agents is you.
Agent Hill walks to the center of the room. You keep your attention on her as she instructs everyone to warm up. It’s hard to pretend not to notice when the special guest arrives. Her steps are light, but her presence is undoubtable.
Still, you keep your focus on warming up with the other agents. Some simple stretches and laps to get your blood flowing.
“Okay, focus up,” Maria says, bringing everyone together.
Chatter erupts at the sight of her standing next to Maria. The Black Widow. Natasha Romanoff. You were all expecting the usual special guests, like Steve Rogers or Agent Coulson.
“For training today, I’ve asked Agent Romanoff to join us. As she will be on the upcoming mission, she has some say in what agents will come along,” Maria explains. “Agent Romanoff, is there anything you’d like to share?”
Natasha takes her time before she answers. You wonder what is running through her head as she looks at each and every agent in the room. You swear her eyes linger on you for the longest amount of time.
“I’m not one for speeches,” Natasha finally speaks. “That’s more Cap’s area of expertise, as I’m sure you all have had to deal with.” A few chuckles fill the room. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Agent Hill gives everyone assignments for the next hour of training. She and Natasha walk around and observe. You never hear Natasha say as much as two words as she watches. At the end of the hour, the agents circle up again.
“I will choose a few of you to spar with me,” Natasha explains. She says a few agent’s names before she says yours at the very end. Your heart drops to your stomach.
“The rest of you can be dismissed,” Maria Hill adds. The five agents that were chosen, including you, remain in the room.
Natasha goes in order that she called the names out, so you are the last to spar with her. Everyone else lasts under a few minutes with her.
“You ready?” She asks you, a smirk on her face.
“Yes ma’am,” you reply, trying your best to sound confident.
Nat swings first, not pulling her punches at all. She lands a blow on your ribcage. You respond by taking a lunge at her, but she blocks your attempts at hitting her. You try not to let it rattle you.
“Try again,” she says. “Follow my eyes. Try to see what I’m going to do next.”
You nod and reset your feet. This time you manage to block her first swing, but the second one lands hard on your abdomen. You fall back a bit but regain your balance. This process repeats for a few minutes before Nat calls it.
You sigh and fall back in line. Maria dismisses you all for the day after explaining that the five of you are to attend a Stark event tonight. There is more to the job than just fighting, she says.
The rest of the day is spent with you preparing for the next day and getting ready for the party. Stark events are notoriously good opportunities to network, so you prepare yourself for being socially burnt out by the end of the night.
Once you arrive at the party, you find the other agents and get a drink together. There is a lot of laughing and cutting up. Someone brings up Natasha and things get a little more interesting.
“I’m just saying someone that beautiful cannot be as good as they say she is,” one agent says.
“I don’t know, man. I’ve heard she has more kills than anyone else here combined,” another adds.
“Guys, come on she’s just a pretty face,” someone says.
“No,” you jump in, your voice a little too loud. “She’s a hero. You guys know that. She is not just a pretty face,” you say.
You storm off and don’t notice that Natasha was standing near you. She heard everything. Nat walks by the agents and they all look away sheepishly. The bartender hands her the drinks she asks for and she leaves the room.
Standing on the roof of the building, you look out onto the city. You don’t know why it got under your skin so bad that the other agents were calling Nat’s abilities into question. Maybe you just don’t like bullies.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of heels on the concrete. You turn around to assess the threat.
“Sorry if I startled you,” Natasha says.
“No, that’s okay.”
“Mind if I join you?” Natasha asks, offering you a smile. You nod. She walks your side and holds out a glass to you. “I wasn’t sure what you were drinking.”
“Thank you, Agent Romanoff,” you say, accepting the drink.
“Natasha is fine,” she says. “Or Nat.”
“Y/n,” you offer her your first name.
“I know who you are, y/n,” Nat says.
“Oh.”
Nat takes a breath and rests her arms on the edge of the building. You don’t know what to say, but it doesn’t feel awkward.
“Maria will tell you tomorrow, but you were selected for the mission,” Natasha says.
You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. It’s what you’ve been working for for so long now. You take a sip of your drink and look out at the city again.
“Are you excited?” Natasha asks, taking note of your body language.
“Yeah,” you answer. “Thank you for choosing me.”
“It was a group decision. You’ve earned it, y/n. You went toe to toe with everyone, including me,” Natasha says.
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t go toe to toe with you,” you say with a light comedic tone to hide your frustration.
“You did,” Nat argues. “Well, more than anyone else did. Seems to them I'm just a pretty face."
"You heard that?" You ask her, turning to face her. She nods. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright," Nat says. "I'm used to it. I also heard you defending me."
"Oh, yeah."
"You don't think I'm pretty?" Natasha asks, a hint of teasing in her tone.
You're sure your face cannot hide your reaction to her words. A heat creeps up your neck.
"Oh, no. You're so beautiful, Natasha," you say.
"You're beautiful, too. Very much so," Nat replies.
You smile shyly. Natasha feels herself falling for you. You realize how late it is when your phone dings in your purse.
"I should probably get some sleep so I can be ready for the mission," you say.
"Right," Nat agrees. "Maybe after the mission, we can see each other more often."
"I would love that," you reply.
"Goodnight, y/n."
"Goodnight, Natasha," you reply.
Before you step away from her, she leans close and drops a kiss on your cheek. It's soft, and delicate but perfect.
You can't wait to get to know her better.
#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff#soft natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha romanoff comfort
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Sense there's been beings to give it names this continent has had many. But for the last few milenia its name has been Äterra’Mūteer meaning Land of the Mother in the Old Human tongue.
Many kingdoms and empires have risen and fallen, border lines drafted and redrawn over its long history. But as it proteins to our story however these are just a few of the kingdoms ive drafted so far
Ardellia
Capital: Valoria
Adrellia is known for its vast grassland and soft rolling hills. This lends well to their exquisite wine and cheese industry, both of which are their largest export.
The Aristocracy is the second most relaxed and liberal. The Monarchs both king and queen openley take lovers outside of their marriage.its so normal it's not even mentioned. Arranged marriage is most common here.
While in other kingdoms it's normal to have a ball or celebration on special occasion or even a spur of the moment thing once and a while. Ardellian cities are known for having lavish soirees almost year round.
Its said that if the night is quiet the nobility are just recovering and if its quite during the day the king or queen has passed away.
While it seems to be the most hedonistic kingdom, Ardellia is actually the most pious. While they rarely attend chapel, and they don't abide by anti-adultery scripture, Ardellia has the strictest laws on those who are so-called “mother’s betrayers” elfs and those born with magic.
Elves while in other kingdoms are allowed to work inside the cities. In Ardellia elves are not allowed to step foot near the city's walls.
Its even worse for magi. In other kingdoms practicing magic inside cities may be punished by a quick death.
In Ardellia magi are not killed, no they're captured to be torched, Ardellia turns torturing magi into a performance. Ardellia also has the largest population of mage hunters.
Delmaría
Capital Ciudad de Delmaría
Delmaria is known for being covered in thick forests and rocky unfarmable terrain.
The kingdom is the largest importer of crops from other kingdoms. But that doesn't mean they are unable to grow their own crops. They can just on a smaller scale.
The most common crops that grow in Delmaria are corn and barley, beans, and sugar and an assortment of chili peppers
While they are the smallest exporter of crops they are a large exporter of comfort goods and lumber.
The Aristocracy in Delmaria is on the more pious side and adheres more to scripture than other kingdoms. The monarchs attend scripture more times than not. But while being heavily religious. Delmaria’s treatment of elves is quite good. While elves are not allowed to own property inside cities like in other kingdoms. Elves in dalmaria are allowed in cities after dark, they can bring a lawsuit against a human, among a myriad of other rights. (while they aren't a pillar of elven rights it seems like Delmaria is making progress lol)
The treatment of magi is the standard. Magic is illegal and punished by the quick death
Delmaría wildlands
The Delmaría wildlands are a forest said to be enchanted. The forest is claimed by the kingdom of Delmaría.
The rumor that they're enchanted came about when a large logging party went missing a time ago, the group that was sent to look for them went missing as well, and the group after them and so on 5 times until the king at the time gave up, after rumors began to spread that he was sending sacrifices to a succubus blood witch.
Fenholm
Capital- Wesdene
Fenhom is a rater isolated kingdom, known for its beautiful fjords and large mountain range with snow capped peaks.
While being isolated due to the isthmus that connects them to the larger landmass being blocked by the beautiful but treacherous mountains that aren't easily traversed by a single person let alone a carriage full of ornate glass dolls. Thus travel and exports three Fenholm’s many port cities.
From those many ports most imports and exports are people. But a few non-anamite things are shipped,including glass, iron, copper, and ice. Really the only edible that fenholm exports is the famous fenholm cherries.
In recent years, Little is known about the Aristocracy of fenholm aside from the names of the king and queen and the few nobles that travel to other kingdoms. Those that do, speak little of the politics of their home kingdoms. But a certain few with loose lips, spit such fanciful words its hard to know what's true and untrue.
Starkenholt
Capital: Burcnmere
Starkenholt is known for having a majority of its land covered by fertile farmland. The kingdom is the largest exporter of wheat. Keeping most of the beats, potatoes, onions, strawberries, raspberries, legumes and carrots.
Starkenholt’s has one of the largest hunting guilds of the continent. They're often hired by other kingdoms to hunt for feasts and such.
The aristocracy of Starkenholt is very moderet when it comes to religion. Elves are allowed to work in the cities, the monarchy is the largest employer of elves. Magic is outlawed and punishable by the quick death.
the Harrington dynasty had ruled for 26 generations before Lenceslous Vonstrumhart took power and established the Vonstrumhart dynasty who are Starkenholt.
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OML This took longer than I thought it would lol. I'm real sorry yall I thought this would take like an hour or two, but I'm finishing this at 3:17 AM haha. Anyways, please give me feedback. I love when yall comment. I think my asks are open as well, so please send anything youd like to know or anything youd like me to expand on.
#new author#fantasy map#fantasy world#worldbuilding#fantasy lore#fantasy books#Sentinels & Spellcasters
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No. 2 - G2, The Glacial Rift of the Frost Giant Jarl (July 1978)
Author(s): Gary Gygax
Artist(s): Erol Otus, Dave C. Sutherland III (cover), David A. Trampier
Level range: Average of 9, preferably 5+ players
Theme: Standard Swords and Sorcery
Major re-releases: G1-3 Against the Giants, GDQ1-7 Queen of the Spiders, Against the Giants: The Liberation of Geoff, Dungeon #199, Tales from the Yawning Portal
On the heels of being more impressed with G1 than I expected, will G2 be similarly impressing? Time to find out!
The intro blurb is mostly a repeat of the text of G1, including admonitions that running stock is for villains. Our motivation remains: figure out why the hill giants did that, no matter how fucking dangerous it is. Interestingly, the other main objective of G1 (give 'em a bloody nose) is not relevant here, because that teleport means that the frost giants aren't a threat to the villagers themselves. In fact, the room teleportation schtick kind of means G2 is filler? Like, the big reveal that the G series leads to the D series is not really impacted by the events of G2. So, oops!
Conveniently, the magical chain teleports out outside the rift so you can once again have a secret cave HQ. I feel like you have a responsibility as a GM to have a giant counterattack to at least one of these caves.
I really like the imagery of the descent into the rift here. I mean, I don't think this illustration really does it justice, imagining the deep blue color of light barely passing through the ice and how that gives the area beneath the surface an eerie oceanic glow at all times other than noon -- that's some good vibes. Gary opts for green, which is a fair enough choice. Unfortunately, Gary is more interested in simulating the mounting climbing than vibes, which means that at least one of your party members is going to fall face first into the snow drift below. Gary "generously" caps the damage at 10d6 (avg 35 dmg) -- a level 9 fighter, to be clear, has 9d10 hp (avg 45 hp) and a level 9 magic user has 9d4 hp (avg 23), so that's not ideal. Also recall that you recover 1hp per full day of rest normally, so if you fall and survive you're probably still fucked unless your cleric has a lot of spells left. I'm also pretty sure your cave HQ is above the cliff face, so, risking the descent seems like suicide to me. You're going to lose people and even leaving to heal them back up is simply taking another chance at oblivion. Take the stairs.
If you have the audacity to slow fall down, you will be blown 75ft off course in a random direction. Very cool Gary!
Another interesting detail: monsters in classic DND have a pretty short attention span and will lose you fairly quickly if you flee around a corner. This is particularly amped up here to a breezy 4 in 6 odds of success, due to blizzards blocking chase.
Anyway, we're into the room by room, so let's do some room by room shit.
There is a kind "spiked heads of our enemies at the gates" situation, with corpses mutilated and frozen in transparent ice as a warning to not intrude. Honestly that's badass. What's not badass is if the players have the wherewithal to try and free the corpses (for loot or kindness), most routes lead to the treasure being destroyed and the roof collapsing -- probably instantly killing your squishies.
The hill giants from G1 are lolling about waiting for an audience, so points for continuity. I have to imagine they're freezing their asses off, though.
There are yetis here? Which, going on the graphic and the listed intelligence score in the MonMan, I have to conclude are sentient bipedial apes but like, NOT like the Frost Giants. Actually apparently the average yeti is smarter than the average frost giant, so I guess it's a Diogenes situation where they choose to live in a shitty cave when everyone else has a nice cave?
The 5 hill giants visiting the Jarl have 1k to 6k gold fur cloaks, which like. Imagine a 6,000 gold cloak. Not only is it got to be huge (Hill Giants are 10.5ft tall), for it to be worth 6k to a vendor that's got to be a one-piece fabric cloak off a particularly rare and good condition animal. I guess the players could use it as the world's fanciest comforter?
The official appearance of a Remoraz! These are awful creatures. They swallow you whole and then superheat their insides to cook you. Nasty side effect: its outsides become furnace-hot and destroy nonmagical items and burn people to death. Look at this horrible thing! And of course it's guarding the swankiest loot to date -- a +2 Giantslaying Sword and a 3 Wishes Ring. It's been a weird trend lately that the best loot is, not owned by the leader of the Giants? The best hoard seems to always belong to Some Guy. Naturally this awesome loot "sinks into the ice" if you use a fireball, because this adventure has an addiction to telling the wizard to fuck off. Note that the sword being lost punishes the fighter for the magic users' decision. Note also that the Remoraz going into superheat mode doesn't do the same thing? It sucks. This clause sucks. Cut it. The actual room itself is kind of neat, the implication is that the Remorhaz melted a spherical hole into the ice to make a den, which is awesome.
Another iconic Garyism: ". They have had audience with the Jarl, and after a special wassail to be held on the morrow they will depart for home with a treaty scroll." Translation: They're goin to have a drinking party tomorrow to celebrate a treaty signing.
And like, one room later, we get "leman", which means lover, and "durance vile", which means long imprisonment. The text implies that basically, she's a hot butch storm giantess being held in chains until she agrees to fuck the Jarl. Gary, simply ask a tall woman out. You don't have to be weird about it.
Rather than torches, the feast hall is lit with jarred fire beetles, which is kinda cute
There is a thick iron bar that "transports whosoever is standing on the floor to the entrance of Snurre's Hall [G3]". The iron bar is a lever, obviously, but is this a lever-operated teleporter? An elevator that goes straight down? G3 eliminates the elevator theory, since apparently you can arrive here via pegasus and there are caves one can access overhead. So it's a literal teleporter, and at least how I'm reading it makes it sound more science fiction than magic. Weird.
On the whole, G2 is a massive step down from G1. G2 lacks the factionalism of G1, punishes players for damn near anything attempted, and is broadly less imaginative than G1. It's a pity, really, because it's a far more interesting locale on paper, but the reality is that you could generate a cave like this by scribbling randomly. Meh. Next time we poke G3, and hope hope hope that it's more like G1 than G2.
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Fuuuuck I forgot the Cap Hill block party is this weekend and Bite of Seattle and the Seattle Storm is playing and the Mariners play the Blue Jays all weekend. WHO PLANNED ALL THESE EVENTS FOR THE SAME FUCKING WEEKEND????
#the eras tour#if you can avoid driving to Seattle this weekend please do#take the light rail if possible
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im seeing the offspring and sum 41 and simple plan and rob zombie and alice cooper and semetary and rina sawayama this year not to mention all the artists at cap hill block party this year like YESSSSS living with my parenst after high school paid off #noexpenses
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Rebecca Black is performing at the 2023 Cap Hill Block Party. On Friday, natch.
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Day 135
I’ve been slowly working through Pokemon Violet (because I bought and I’m playing this damn thing), despite not being as obsessive about it as I’ve had with other video games in the past. And I had for the first time, since starting this game, experienced the open world potential this game has.
Which is important, because this game isn’t as ‘open world’ as the marketing for the game suggests. Not because the company was doing false advertising, but rather I think they didn’t take into account how some of the game mechanics might remove a player’s ability to choose where they travel to in a game.
Like I understand that there are locations locked behind soft barriers due to players lacking an ability to get to a location, or even a story plot blocking an area off. As long as those barriers aren’t too restrictive, but because Pokemon kept the game mechanic where you can only train Pokemon up to a certain level before they start disobeying you unless you have certain gym badges, it means players have to choose a particular path or they risk their Pokemon party not listening to them. As a result, the player cannot explore as freely unless they want to switch their entire party out so they won’t run into that level cap.
Which… might be the playstyle that GameFreak intended.
Let me explain.
For the first time in a very long time since getting into this franchise back in 1996, I came up against a challenge I couldn’t overcome with the Pokemon party I currently have. One of the Team Star bases has all poison type Pokemon and I only have one Pokemon with ground type moves and no psychic types. And because there was a lot of poison being thrown around, the rest of my party did not fare well despite being at a high level.
So, I went back into my boxes and switched out my whole party with ground and psychic type Pokemon, but they were all low level. The only logical move was to fly back to an earlier spot in the game and start level grinding to get them stronger. Since I was doing that with a low level team that wasn’t at risk of disobeying me, I also took the time to explore earlier areas more thoroughly. Especially since I happened to have gained the ability to get up to higher areas.
So here I was, exploring and fighting wild Pokemon, when I came across a huge hill that was spiraled. And curious to see if there was anything interesting at the top of the hill I decided to go up. Found a Pokemon that I completely missed earlier, which was great for me, but the interesting part was this:
The thing is described as an “ominous stake in the ground”, and to be fair it’s clearly glowing purple which makes it pretty ominous indeed. I don’t know if the little roaming Gimmieghoul just happened to have spawned there, or if it was purposely coded to be there, but it was interesting it was there. Anyways, I touched this stake and it disappeared!
I hope I didn’t just trigger the end of the world or something in game, because it kind of feels like it.
But now there is a mystery and I wonder if there are more “ominous” stakes around.
#Pokemon Scarlet and Violet#scarlet and violet#scarlet violet#Look what I found?#What did I unleash?
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Nas - Hood2Hood
Yo, yo yo, yeah
Hey Hit that’s some nice new pieces you got
Bracelets, trinkets, and necklaces
Yeah, yo
Real sh*t only, yeah
Super Bowl champs celebrate like me
With Escobar cigars let me say my peace
Money attract money, statewide hustlers
Jewelry sellers exposed by these fake watch busters And they ain’t teach savin’ money to young n*ggas Young warriors I wanna see them all in position Best to have it on you, hope you don’t go down for possession Mom’s puttin’ up the house to bail you out when arrested How did I become number one, I’m one-of-one
Flyin’ down the 101, right under the Cali sun
Junior Mafia out the subs, shorty calling me Son If one clique make a million today it probably be us Probably because my midas touch for vital stuff Rappers wanna shoot up the studio they tired of us We know that controversy sells, so yall good
When I drop they hear me on every block, hood to hood
Red Hook, Fort Greene, Canarsie
Hood to hood
Far Rock, East New York, QB
Hood to hood
Compton, Long Beach, IE
Hood to hood
Southside Chicago, players in the D
Hood to hood
If we all made n*ggas then why is we beefin’
When them Jewish brothers be chillin’ Shabbat Friday evening Even in jail I hear the Latins got eachother back Not us, we jump each other for the phone it comes to blacks Don’t worry about nobody else tryin’ to energy match Sense any cap and that’s when I really attack
I’m OJ with the memorabilia had to steal it back Like the Nas flow we be hearin’ on the tracks
Stop that my guy, you are not that my guy
That feeling to be a king, can’t top that my guy
King’s Disease I’m still poppin’ these young things Got me thinkin’ like Amerie “It’s This One Thing” Floaties in the pool, got drones over the roof
Just like Drakeo The Ruler my n*gga we know the truth I put out dangerous thought
I’m convinced it’s a mixture of Paisley Park
Prince with Supreme Team Prince
Big up to Paisley, shout out to 40, Harlem
Hood to hood
Lincoln Houses, Castle Hill, Bronx sh*t
Soundview Hood to hood
On the West side, in the Jungles, to the 60s
Hood to hood
Out in O-town, to Vallejo, where the pimps be
Hood to hood
DC got big ol’ guns
B’more got big ol’ guns
ATL got big ol’ guns and big ol’ buns and big ol’ funds yeah Miami got lots of sun, yeah
Dade County got big ol’ guns, yeah
Stop messin’ around, put the pistols down
Or we all will soon be done, dead
Hood to hood to mansion to mansion
That’s the new version of hood to hood
Yeah
New excursions, yeah
Block parties, on the block, the new block
Your house and my house, ha ha
Hood to hood
18/11/2022
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going to a block party on cap hill, idk what it’s like but I know I’ve never been more not cishet than I am in this moment! u_u
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To All the Boys I’ve (Kissed) Before pt 4
DR
I never thought I'd be a 'summer fling' kind of person. But after this experience, I feel bad for having judged people who found themselves in these situations.
The context here was simple. It was pride weekend in Seattle. I had just gotten dumped for the second time by JW, and was feeling real low about myself. I went into the weekend with no intentions; just to enjoy being out and join the Cap Hill block party with friends. Completely innocent fun.
My friend had his eyes on another guy that weekend, and my mission was to play wingman. Hype him up, find ways to get other people away from them so they could have quality time together. And at one point, it was successful! But fast forward an hour later, and my friend comes back and out of left field he says that he's had his eyes on me all night.
This wasn't even on the radar. We were always just friends, and truthfully I never really saw him that way. But I think I was just lonely enough, just tipsy enough, and knowing that he was moving across the country in a couple weeks, it was low stakes.
So that night, and the proceeding 3-4 weeks, we had our fling! Went out to baseball games, dinners, happy hours, etc. It was fun. It was light. He was kind, and we could co-exist in our friend group and not be weird about it.
And I thought I would feel some type of way when it was time for him to move across the country. I think we both had this unspoken mutual understanding that once he moved, that would be that. And as quickly as it started, it ended. But I didn't feel sad that it was over, or feel a yearning for something more.
I think the chapter served its purpose and taught me that life doesn't have to be so serious all the time. I'm allowed to be young, dumb, and make choices, and have a little fun.
Isn't that what your twenties are all about?
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Several House Republican members of the Freedom Caucus have vowed to block key legislation from moving to the floor for a vote in protest of Speaker Kevin McCarthy’s deal with the Biden White House on raising the debt ceiling last month.
The conservatives blocked bills from reaching the floor on Tuesday and pledged to continue doing so after a dozen voted with all Democrats to defeat a GOP rule to bring four measures, related to gas stoves and regulatory reform, up for a full vote.
The 220-206 vote marks the first time a House rule has failed to pass since 2002, the New York Post reported.
“Today, we took down the rule because we’re frustrated at the way this place is operating,” Rep. Matt Gaetz (R-Fla.) told reporters after the vote.
“We took a stand in January to end the era of the imperial speakership. We’re concerned that the fundamental commitments that allowed Kevin McCarthy to assume the speakership have been violated as a consequence of the debt limit deal,” he added.
The Post reported that lawmakers who joined Gaetz included Reps. Andy Biggs (R-Ariz.), Dan Bishop (R-N.C.), Lauren Boebert (R-Colo.), Ken Buck (R-Colo.), Tim Burchett (R-Tenn.), Eli Crane (R-Ariz.), Bob Good (R-Va.), Ralph Norman (R-S.C.), Matt Rosendale (R-Mont.), and Chip Roy (R-Texas).
“We warned them not to cut that deal without coming down and sit down and talk to us. So this is all about restoring a process that will fundamentally change things back to what was working,” Roy, a member of the House Freedom Caucus, said Tuesday.
A member of the Rules Committee, Roy voted on Monday to advance it to the full House.
The Post noted that at the last moment, House Majority Leader Steve Scalise (R-La.) voted “no” on the rule so he could be in a position to bring it up again for a future vote.
The Post added:
Two of the stalled bills would limit the ability of the federal government to regulate or ban gas stoves. A third seeks to authorize federal courts that review agency actions to decide all relevant questions of law without deferring to previous legal determinations by the agency. And the fourth bill would subject major agency actions to congressional approval.
On Saturday, Biden signed legislation that raises the national debt ceiling by another $4 trillion two days before the government was predicted to run out of cash to pay its bills.
The bill signing capped weeks of high-stakes drama on Capitol Hill as negotiators for McCarthy and the White House furiously wrestled with ways to raise the nation’s borrowing limit and cut spending while satisfying members of both parties.
All told, however, McCarthy’s future as Speaker may be in jeopardy.
“I think he should be concerned” about a motion to vacate the chair, Rep. Kin Buck told CNN’s Jim Sciutto last week.
“I’m not suggesting the votes are there to remove the speaker, but the speaker promised that we would operate at 2022 appropriations levels when he got the support to be the speaker. He’s now changed that to 2023 levels plus one percent,” Buck added, according to The Daily Caller.
According to The American Conservative, “Some representatives have gone so far as to float the idea of using the vacate motion to try and remove McCarthy as speaker if this deal manages to go through. GOP sources told TAC that if someone were to move forward with a motion to vacate the chair, there would likely be enough votes to reignite the fight over Speaker of the House.”
Roy and Dan Bishop (R-N.C.) have floated the idea of removing McCarthy as well, in addition to Rep. Lauren Boebert (R-Colo.). During an appearance on the “War Room” podcast a week ago, she accused McCarthy of a “violation” of his promise to allow amendments in the House Rules Committee.
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..."The debt limit bill announced by Speaker Kevin McCarthy (R-Calif.) on Wednesday includes a long list of proposals, including:
budget caps
work requirements for programs like Medicaid and food stamps
an end to popular Biden administration actions on student loans
measures to roll back parts of Democrats’ signature economic bill
At the very end of the bill, Republicans outline a plan to raise the debt limit by $1.5 trillion or through the end of March 2024, whichever comes first.
The proposals face long odds of getting past the Democratic-led Senate, but they serve as a legislative marker for where Republicans stand as they try to push President Biden to the negotiating table.
Democrats are already assailing the proposal.
“This reckless bill does not give that assurance. It either puts defense or Veterans funding on the chopping block or cuts other critical government programs by more than 22 percent—a cut far lower than the 2022 level,” Rep. Rosa DeLauro (D-Conn.) said in a statement. “As hard as they might try, Republicans cannot have it both ways.”
“This proposal is not about fiscal responsibility or protecting the full faith and credit of the United States — it’s a legislative Frankenstein of dangerous MAGA demands meant to help the Speaker placate his most extreme members,” House Budget Committee Ranking Member Brendan Boyle (R-Pa.) said.
Republicans are expected to tee up a vote on the measure later next week in what is likely to be one of the party’s greatest tests of unity in the current Congress.
In the hours since its release, House Republicans have praised the measure, but some have also held their opinions as they pore through the legislation. Still, there is optimism in the conference it will fetch the necessary support for passage next week.
Rep. Dusty Johnson (R-S.D.), chair of the Main Street Caucus, told The Hill on Wednesday that he has “every confidence Kevin McCarthy is gonna get 218 votes by next week.”
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ladies i’m seeing mitski and lizzo in the same weekend this is not a drill!!!!
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All about the Dullahan
Thomas Croften Croker’s Fairy legends and traditions of the south of Ireland (1825-1834) seems to be the main – if not only – written source of full folktales about the Dullahan. It contains a section titled “The Dullahan” which consists of four folktales, one ballad, and some research notes that refer to further stories.
Not all these stories actually even use the name Dullahan, but Croker seems to have gathered them together on the basis of them being headless. Explaining: “Headless people are not peculiar to Ireland, although there alone they seem to have a peculiar name” (1928, p. 98). So which Dullahan does Mr Croker have on offer? The answer is: a set of very different creatures which he all calls Dullahan, but which are not always referred to as Dullahan and who are, from story to story, revenants, fae, death omens, and a restless spirit.
I will sum up their characteristics for every story and give a verdict on their supernatural nature under the cut (this got very long):
The Good Woman (1928, p. 85-98):
Type 1:
A short woman in a large cloak that conceals her completely who is:
Headless, and isn’t carrying her head
Shows up in twilight, seen only by a man riding home alone
Very quick and nimble, can leap onto a horse and over a wall, seem to glide rather than run
Does not speak, does not make a sound when jumping on the ground
Is corporeal, as she can be touched
Is described as a “merry wench”
She allows a man to give her a ride before jumping off his horse and running away from him, clearly making a game of letting him chase her
She runs into the ruins of an old church near a pool to meet with:
Type 2:
A crowd of “well dressed ladies and gentlemen, and soldiers and sailors, and priests and publicans, and jockeys and Jennys, but all without their heads”
These Dullahan are having a party, where they dance around a torture wheel set with skulls (unclear if these are their own heads) amidst the ruins of the church, to the music of ringing bells and rattling bones
Accompanying them, but not dancing, are:
Type 3:
Skeletons with loose heads that they bowl and throw around as a game
They have bleached bones covered by moth-eaten shrouds
These Dullahan speak, but only in unison “as with one voice, that quavered like a shake on the bagpipes”
One of them carries his head under his left arm while he offers the human protagonist a drink
All three types are referred to as Dullahan
They all leave in “a great hurry scurry with the noise of carriages and the cracking of whips,” presumably making off with the protagonist’s horse as well, who accuses them of being “the horse stealing robbers of the world, that have no fear of the gallows”.
VERDICT: Revenant. Having wild parties, tricking people, and stealing from them is definitely fae behaviour, but apart from that these Dullahan seem to be playful and rather powerful undead, that once were human.
Hanlon’s Mill (p. 103-109):
A great high black coach drawn by six headless black horses, with long black tails reaching almost down to the ground, and a headless coachman dressed all in black sitting up on the box
Possibly heralded by strange sounds during twilight: “such blowing of horns and hallooing, and the cry of all the hounds in the world and “the golloping of the horses, and the voice of the whipper-in”
They appear near a pool of water, bringing darkness with them that blocks out the moon
Neither whip, nor hooves, nor wheels make any sound
The day after a hitherto healthy man has fallen ill and dies
Not called Dullahan by name
Verdict: Omen. Specifically the ghostly coach-a-bower, the death coach. The image of a black coach (or hearse) riding by to foretell someone’s death is quite a common occurrence in folklore.
“Another legend of the same district (as Hanlon’s Mill)” (p. 109):
A black coach, drawn by headless horses, drives to and fro every night, both through the countryside and through a town
It stops at the doors of different houses, but anyone who opens the door to it gets a basin of blood thrown in their face
Not called Dullahan by name, but the story is not told in full
VERDICT: ??? Supernatural prankster? No mention is made of this coach foretelling death, so this seems to be mischief for mischief’s sake. Throwing blood at people is also not very spectral, nudging them a step towards fae in my book.
A legend from Dublin (p. 110-111):
A coach, sometimes driven by a coachman without a head, sometimes drawn by horses without heads, drives furiously past a castle where a clergyman hung himself, possibly with supernatural aid
Not called Dullahan by name, but the story is not told in full
Verdict: Omen. The coach-a-bower again, but this time not to foretell a death but to announce that an (unnatural) death has taken place.
The Harvest Dinner (p. 112-128):
A great old family coach, drawn by six headless horses, driven by a headless coachman
There are headless passengers inside and four fine footmen standing behind the coach, also headless
They emerge from a moat with a great rumbling noise and go towards an old church
They are driving at the rate of a hunt and make sparks fly out of the stones of the road (which implies their horses were horseshoes!)
Even with the whole coach they are faster than a man on horseback
A gate opens for the coach as by magic
Not called Dullahan, but referred to as “fairies”
Ahead of them in this procession are other fairies: “the prettiest little fellows you ever laid your eyes upon. They were all dressed in green hunting frocks, with nice little red caps on their heads, and they were mounted on pretty little long-tailed white ponies, not so big as young kids"
All are seen by the light of the (full) moon, by a man going home alone at night, but he is not afraid of the headless fairies after he notices they have no eyes to see him with
VERDICT: Fae. They are clearly taking part in a fairy procession and are minding their own business, possibly going to have a party at the old church.
The Death Coach, a ballad (p. 134-136):
A coach decorated with a shroud, with headless horses, headless driver and headless passengers
The wheel spokes are thigh bones, the pole a spine and the lamps sculls
They drive at great speed and the coachman cracks a whip
They stop at a churchyard where they speak with the dead in the ground, arguing with them to let them rest there for the night
They plan to go on tomorrow: “for having no heads of our own, We seek the Old Head of Kinsale" (this is a place in Ireland, the whole ballad is full of puns like this)
VERDICT: More rowdy revenants. They have a very gaudy death coach, but do not foretell death, and are clearly accustomed to sleeping in graves.
An anecdote from Cork (p. 136):
Dullahans “drive particularly hard wherever a death is going to take place”
They come in a great crowd, with a large procession
The coachman has a long whip “with which he can whip the eyes out of any one, at any distance, that dares to look at him”
VERDICT: Omen?? Fae that are into death for the goth of it??
The Headless Horseman (p. 138-150)
A headless rider who carries his head under his right arm or in the pocket of his coat, on a headless white horse, who has its head floating in front of it
The head is gaunt and ashy pale, with “depressed features” that look “like a large cream cheese hung round with black puddings” and has two large, fiery eyes, matted black hair, and a mouth that reaches from ear to ear
He wears a scarlet single-breasted hunting frock with “a waist of a very old fashioned cut reaching to the saddle, with two huge shining buttons at about a yard distance behind”
He appears to a man on horseback, at night, in the rain
The head speaks in a hoarse voice, but only sparingly, most questions only get a “Humph”
The horseman rides without use of whip, spur or stirrups
The ground shakes under the weight of the hooves, which make a fearful clattering noise and stir the water of nearby pools into waves
Gladly enters into a race with the protagonist and he even promises the man that his horse will be safe
He is never called a Dullahan but just “the headless horseman” and even refers to himself in this way
After the race the headless horseman reveals that ever since he and his horse broke their necks at the bottom of a hill he has been trying to find a man brave enough to ride with him, he gives the man his blessing, promising him that he will never desert him nor the old mare he is riding (and supposedly helping him to win horseraces)
VERDICT: Restless spirit. To me this fellow has very little in common with the other stories. This is very much a doomed rider type of figure, although the curt conversation has a striking resemblance to a similar headless rider in the story A Queen’s County Witch (Yeats, 188, p. 151-154), where the figure is a witch in disguise.
Croker collected his stories in the typical 19th century folklorists’ style, through correspondence, interviews, and borrowing from other authors. He also rewrote the stories quite extensively, and has been criticised on his attitude towards “the Irish peasantry” as he did so. Yeats was one of these critics, (while he did still consider Croker an expert), and as he is the only other 19th-century source on Dullahan I thought his short notes are worth quoting too. He refers to the Dullahan (or Dallahan) both as “headless phantoms” and one of the “solitary fairies” (p. 81), and mentions them in the section “The Banshee”:
“An omen that sometimes accompanies the banshee is the coach-a-bower [cóiste-bodhar]—an immense black coach, mounted by a coffin, and drawn by headless horses driven by a Dullahan. It will go rumbling to your door, and if you open it, according to Croker, a basin of blood will be thrown in your face. These headless phantoms are found elsewhere than in Ireland.” (Yeats, 1888, p. 108).
CONCLUSION: If it’s Irish and headless and walking or riding around ominously, it’s a Dullahan. Which may be a fae, a ghostly omen, or a revenant, just as they please. There clearly is no one coherent definition to be found.
I still insist on putting the cursed headless horseman in another category though. Dullahan clearly have some shared preferences, like a love for twilight and moonlight, horses and coaches, ruined churches and pool. And, interestingly, they seem to always show up either with a coach or a whole company. So I feel justified in saying that the spectre of a solitary person who remembers his own death and knows his reason for still roaming the earth, does not embody the Dullahan sprit.
#well#that was a lot of reading#and I shall now put this delightfully obscure piece of folklore to bed#irish folklore#dullahan#revenant#ghosts#fae#laura babbles#I will blame Azura for all this at least in part to justify myself
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Hey @vancityfire13 have the bestest of days. Thanks for always being so kind; I feel very lucky to know you. Anyway. May the year ahead be magic.
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“As long as she thinks like a man, no one objects to a women’s way of thinking.” Virginia Woolf. (Warnings for misogyny)
Five times Natasha looked across the room at Maria and had a silent understanding about things the others wouldn't understand (and the one time she didn’t) (kind of)
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1/ text me when you’re home
Clint opens the door and puts his wallet and keys in the bowl. He know if they don’t go in there, they’ll be lost forever. He undoes his bow tie and his pants before looking across to Natasha who is standing at the door, typing something on her phone.
“What are you doing?” He asks, thinking she’s like nothing more to unzip her dress, step out of her heels and get into the comfy clothing.
“Just..” she stops, finishing typing and then putting her bag next to the bowl and throwing her phone onto the table. As it lands, it vibrates twice consecutively.
“Who are you messaging?” He asks curiously.
“Maria.”
Clint is confused.
“Do you message her often?”
Natasha sits on the couch, undoing her shoes that have clearly been cutting into her feet all night. Not that he ever would have realised.
“She said to message when I got home.” She pauses.
“I don’t think she knew you’d be with me on the mission.”
Clint blinks slowly.
“Why would she need to know when you’re home? Was it part of the mission parameters that you had to be home at a certain time?”
Natasha cocks her head.
“No?”
He grabs a water from the fridge.
“I don’t get it.” He tells her bluntly, passing it over.
“She wanted to make sure I was home safe.”
Clint thinks he understands.
“So like an early warning thing.” He questions.
Frowning, she takes a swig of water and passes it back to him.
“More like.. safety. If you don’t message by a certain time, she’ll know something’s gone wrong.”
Clint nods.
“She’s never done that with me before.”
The note is met with a laugh.
“You’re not a woman.”
Clint’s lost again.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
She smiles, he doesn’t get why she’s giving him her sad smile.
“It’s ok. It’s just one less thing you have to worry about. Now; unzip me.”
Clint complies, thinking on why women need to text each other when they get home.
.
It’s not until the next next mission where Natasha doesn’t get home on time, that he realises that the world isn’t always kind or accommodating to women as it is to men. He makes a note to himself to get Natasha to message him as well, liking that it’s an extra layer of protection for her.
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2/ getting ready
“Why do you do that?” Steve asks tentatively, walking into the bathroom, to see where the two women are.
“What?” They say, simultaneously.
“Go to the bathroom together, get ready together?” He looks genuinely confused.
Making eye contact in the mirror, Natasha and Maria laugh.
“Steve.” Maria turns and looks at him. “As you got ready for Stark’s party this afternoon, what did you do? Shower? Get changed? Ready to go?”
Steve looks down at his clothing, and runs a hand through his hair.
“Yeah, why?”
Natasha turns back the mirror and continues to apply her mascara.
“To get ready, we need to shower, wash and style our hair, make sure our clothing matches, find shoes..”
“Make up.” Maria add in.
“Make up,” Natasha confirms. “It’s a process.”
Steve rolls his eyes.
“It’s too much,” he mumbles, “why is there all these expectations on women?”
Maria and Natasha shrug in unison.
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3/ expectation of knowing how to handle children
Maria is happy for Cho, the newborn is so small in her arms, his tiny hands reaching up and curling back.
“Do you want to hold him?” Cho’s partner picks the baby up and prompts Maria, holding the baby towards her.
“Oh. No, thank you.” Maria smiles and tries not to look at the disappointment in their face as she takes a step back.
Natasha however, is cornered, sitting on the couch as she’s handed the baby.
Maria laughs at her as they make eye contact, and Natasha holds the baby under his armpits. Natasha shakes her head, and looks uncomfortable as Clint comes to her rescue, taking the baby and cooing as he makes baby noises.
Cho comes over and greets Maria, asking how she is.
Maria smiles. “How are you?” She asks, as Cho watches Clint move around with the baby. Maria can’t decipher the look on his face as he looks towards Natasha.
“Going well, all things considered. Sleep deprived, but we expected that.”
Maria laughs, “anything you didn’t expect?” She probes.
Cho thinks for a minute, “after birth pains. Croup. Cradle cap. Do you know babies can get blocked tear ducts? Cause I didn’t.”
Maria laughs again and shakes her head.
“You seem to be doing well though?” She asks tentatively as Clint hands over the grizzling baby.
“Why do people always assume that women just know what to do with a baby? Like that we just naturally know and like them?”
Maria pauses and Natasha approaches, handing her a blue cupcake.
“Uhhhh.” Maria isn’t sure what to say to Cho’s rant, whether she should be worried.
Cho acknowledges Natasha and continues. “They say it’s rewarding, and it is, but what they don’t tell you is, how much of a change it is, how you second guess everything and how much is just assumed because you are a woman.” She looks sadly at her son.
“I love him, but I miss my work too, I know how to do that.”
Maria looks over to Natasha, who she knows can’t have children, and then thinks of herself who isn’t sure she wants them, then across to Cho who has them and wonders on the expectations and judgments they’ve all had when talking of children; especially being in the work they are. Anger stirs as she knows it’s not a decision that’s not everyone gets asked of them.
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4/ showing emotions
“Romanoff. Calm down.”
Natasha bristles.
“Excuse me?”
Fury looks at her and then looks over to Maria, who is also staring him down.
The women look at each other and Fury adjusts his position.
“You know how much we can do here. There’s no point in getting angry about it. We will have to wait and see.”
“With all due respect… sir, there is something we can do about it, and I’m proposing a way to get them out; if you’d just..”
Fury cuts her off by standing,
“Not at the expense of this agency, and yourself. This conversation is over, go home, calm down, and wait to hear from me. We will do something when the time is right.”
Natasha stands with him, face blank as she stalks out of the room.
“Sir. Wait.” Maria calls him back.
Fury stops and turns towards Maria.
“Not you too, Hill.”
“You didn’t even listen to her proposal. Did you even realise that she showed emotion in the debrief, stood up to you? Do you even know how much of a big deal that is for her?” Maria pauses, throws Natasha’s mission parameters on the table toward him. “Read it. I know you’re not one to back track on your word, but you know she’s going to do it anyway. Perhaps release the jet and weapons.”
Maria makes her way to the door.
“If it was Rumlow, or Bryce, or Barton, you wouldn’t have told them to calm down, you would have been as indignant as they are.”
She leaves hoping he mulls on her parting shot.
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Natasha isn’t emotional in debriefs again for a very long time. Maria is though, playing devils advocate for missions she believes in. She hopes Natasha knows it’s ok, that emotions are powerful, and not just permitted for men.
5/ compliments
Natasha isn’t a stranger to compliments being thrown at her. Cat calls, whistles, back handed compliments, she’s probably heard them all. Clint even teases her, whistling when she’s dressed up, calling her beautiful and sexy. From him, it feels comfortable, fun and playful- there’s no expectation attached; when it’s others it feels heavy.
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She’s returning from a honey pot mission, still dressed in high leather boots, short dress and hair piled up on her head.
She needs to find Clint or place to decompress, feeling on edge and knowing in herself that her window of tolerance is low.
Rounding the corner, there’s a wolf whistle. She sucks in a breath as she sees who it is and rolls her eyes.
“Fuck off, Bennett.” She says, irritation in her words.
“There’s no one better than you at those missions, huh? You look just right.” He raises his eyebrows and bites on his lip as Natasha feels her stomach drop at the uncomfortableness of his statement.
She’s heads into Maria’s office, hoping she’s not there, but it seems her bad luck is carrying through as she’s met with Maria staring at her.
“Romanoff?” The question is implicit.
“Bennett.” She pulls out.
Maria looks Natasha up and down, and motions for her to sit. Standing and moving away from her chair, she opens the cupboard on the left, and pulls out a hoodie and sweat pants.
“They’re clean, I swear,” she clarifies.
Natasha is already undressing as Maria moves to the door, locking it. She then pulls out cookies and sets them on her desk, an offering of sorts.
“Sorry he’s a dick.”
Natasha sits. “You don’t need to apologise for him.”
Maria nods.
Fatigue washes over Natasha. “Sometimes I feel like they just don’t get it. The difference in being a male spy vs a female one.” She sighs and grabs a cookie. It’s the first thing she’s eaten all night.
“I think they get it, I don’t think they care.” Maria scoffs.
“Maybe so.” Natasha concedes, and then thinks of Clint. “Some do, perhaps.”
Maria is silent.
“Does it ever feel like we are just typecast into roles? Like the expectations for us are so different to them?” Natasha asks, copying Maria and putting her feet up on the desk, now her shoes are off and feet are bare.
“Honestly? Yes.” Maria looks lost in thought, and Natasha has never considered the amount of hazing and sexism she’s had to endure to get to the positions she’s in.
They’re silent for while, neither wanting to break the quiet thoughts both are clearly having.
“I don’t think I want to do these types of missions anymore,” Natasha says softly, almost to herself.
Maria knows what courage is behind that statement.
“I’ll let Fury know.” She says, almost as softly.
Natasha nods and smiles, ”He won’t care. He thinks I’m ok with everything.” She’s almost despondent in her response.
Maria is adamant to make sure the request doesn’t go unheard. No matter what.
“That was then. This is now. It’s ok to have preferences. The fact that you know that; I think, is important.” She doesn’t add that she thinks Natasha is the brave for even saying so.
Maria hands Natasha her phone.
“Here.”
Natasha takes it lightly.
“I know you probably want to get home and shower. Clint should have his on him, I think he got released from medical about an hour ago, so should be around somewhere.”
Natasha nods, sending a message and then handing the phone back to its owner.
“I’ll get on the paperwork.” Maria promises.
.
+1
Maria is looking at Natasha, wanting to know exactly what she is thinking, but she doesn’t make eye contact. Natasha’s eyes don’t move from a spot near the screen where the last ten minutes of her last mission is played out, recorded by Redwing.
Maria cringes as Natasha’s hair is grabbed and she’s thrown against the garage door, keeps her face stoic as the man laughs at her and calls her a bitch.
She hates that her friend is so often subjected to this brutality and name calling, and tries to catch her eye in solidarity.
Maria looks over to Clint, asking him silently if she’s ok.
Clint’s almost imperceptible shrug makes her worry more, what happened before Maria and Sam found her, fighting in the hanger.
The debrief is over within the hour and Natasha is out of there before Maria is even standing.
“Clint.” She calls, grabbing his arm for him to wait.
“I know.”
“Tell her if she needs to talk.” She knows Clint will be her first port of call, but she wants Natasha to know the option is there.
“Thanks.”
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Maria gets home after finishing the paperwork for the last scoping mission, and feels her phone vibrate in her pocket.
“Clint told me.” It reads. “I’m home safe.”
Maria smiles, thankful she’s making contact.
“Sometimes, the others don’t understand. Message me if you want.” She adds in two pictures she’s changed into gifs, the first one of the street in Suzhou where they had the best dumplings and reminisced on all the food they’d like to try but didn’t have the courage.
The second of the snow covered town in Switzerland, where Natasha had bought a cake to celebrate, when Maria asked her what for, Natasha had just laughed and said to pick something.
Maria, unsure of Natasha’s stances on birthdays, had gone out and bought candles and then they’d watched as they’d burnt down in the low light.
The phone vibrates again.
“Cake tomorrow?”
Maria smiles.
“Sounds like a plan.”
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#hbd friend#natasha romanoff#Maria hill#nat & maria#maria hill & natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff fic#Maria Hill fic#my fic#clintasha#clint barton#black widow#hawkeye#Steve Rogers#tw misogyny#5+1 fic
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Hill Manor - Part I
Summary: Your life has never been easy, despite being from one of the most wealthy British Families. Between your neglectful parents and a cures you’ve been saddled with since you were a young child, your life gets harder, before it gets easier.
Pairing: Henry Cavill/You
Word Count: 10,205
Rating: PG-13 - Neglectful Parents, Mention of quick Animal abuse, Abuse, Drinking, Some Victorian Era Insults
Inspiration: I’ve been wanting to do a Fic like this for some time.
Author’s Note: Tell me what you think!
Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @agniavateira, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernaturalhero, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx, @henrythickcavill, @tinabean37, @hnryycvll, @msblkfire84, @romangenesius, @emelinelovesjc, @strangerliaa, @lovieebby, @pinksdaydream, @fanfictionaddiction99, @seb-owns-these-tatas, @oh-for-fic-sake, @henrycavill-yes
Ulysses Dante McFayden was vengeful in all things and parts of his life, from his multi-million dollar company to his family. His wife, Matilda was the near female copy of her husband, though she was capable of being warm and affectionate, when she wanted something, or thought it would benefit her and husband's financial situation. The McFayden's had been part of the British Upper Class Crust for centuries and only kept climbing that social ladder, higher and higher. They were always the talk of Woman's Tea Rooms and Gentleman's Clubs all across Britain, for some new successful business venture or setting a new fashion trend. But, the one place they never felt successful was in their only child, a disappointment for Ulysses for not being a boy and to Matilda, for not being more like her. Y/n McFayden was the spitting image of her gorgeous mother and had the strong willpower of her father, but that's where all the similarities of her parents ended.
You were sweet and attentive, deeply concerned with the welfare and happiness of those around you, human or animal alike. You once took a near dreadful beating from your father, when he caught you nursing a wounded baby duck in the overgrown garden greenhouse at the edge of the estate. You cried for a week, when you found your father had killed the poor thing. From the age of two, your parents relinquished their parental rights to a host of nannies and tutors, some as cold and feeling-less as themselves. One of your nannies, Grace, was the greatest and sweetest out of all of them, she was a much needed breath of fresh air and sunshine in the dark and oppressive expanse of McFayden Manor. Grace was the only one that cared about you, that loved you and gave you any kind of parental guidance, that understood.
Grace was also the only one that you trusted your darkest secret too. When you were seven, not long after she started as your nanny and living in the family house, you had what your parents and previous caretakers called your, hysterical terrors. You woke just after one am, a bolt of sweaty terror washing over your body, as you sat up in your bed. Despite the still warm fire in the grate of your spacious bedroom, you could see each puff of your breath, white like a wintry mist. Your heart starting to pound, goosebumps forming as you trembled, the bumps coming down the long hallway leading to your room, other than your room and Grace's room on the very other side of the hall, the rest of the floor was empty, or to everyone else, it was empty.
There was a thud just outside your door, then the sound of nails running down it. You squeezed your eyes shut and hoped to wake up before it came through the door and stood at the foot of your bed, like it always did. But, it wasn't to be. The cold of the room grew, frosting the window panes of your room as the apparition melded through the thick arched Mahogany door, making you shiver.
“Child.” It rasped, like nails on a chalkboard.
“Let me be.” You whimpered, drawing your legs up inside your nightie and pressed your palms to your ears, desperate to block it out. “You aren't real!”
“Realest anything in this manor.” It gripped back, floating several meters off the black cherry wood floor, at the foot of your bed; flowing, black and mostly translucent. “Other than you, my sweet.” It hissed, moving closer.
“What do you want?” You whined, looking up at it and squeezed your eyes shut again.
“You.” It moaned, hovering above you, a transplant and skeletal finger following the curve of your cheek, freezing your skin like ice. “Lily Hill Manor. That is where you belong, where your curse will be its strongest and most fruitful.” It rumbled so close to your ear, its wispy hair caressing your face. “Only you can protect it from its fate. From his legacy.”
A terrible clicking and knocking sound came from it, its bony hand grazing your neck. A jolt of electricity raced through your spine, a scream ripped from your vocal cords, springing up and bounded for the door, yanking it open and rushed down the hallway for Grace's room. The spirit watched and dissolved away, just as Grace's door flew open at your frantic banging.
“Y/n, what is it?” Grace frowned, tying her robes closed and looking down at your wet and terrified face.
“There's a spirit in-in my room.” You panted, pointing behind you to your room.
Grace looked to your room, open and empty, then back down at you. “It's all right.” She said softly, resting her hands on your shoulders and hugging you against her.
“It was there, I swear.” You sobbed into her robe.
“I believe you.” Grace replied, patting you on the back, she'd never known you to lie and you were vastly too upset not to be believed, perhaps it was just a dream.
Either way, Grace believed you, when you told her about seeing it, and every one after that night. It broke your heart, when you were twelve years old and Grace fell in love with a local doctor and married him, ending her occupation as your nanny. Even though she moved away, Grace made sure to come and visit you as much as she could, knowing how lonely you were in the house, with cold parents.
At age sixteen, you no longer had nannies or tutors, you were the unwilling, for both yourself and your parents, added piece to the social gatherings and dinner parties your parents regularly threw at the manor. Your father's strict threats of never opening your mouth, unless expressly and specifically addressed, with your mother's cold and unblinking glares across the room or the table, to enforce your father's words, like they were law. In essence, they were law, with the amount of money and power he had behind his words and actions. Your life felt so lonesome, imprisoned in McFayden Manor day in and day out, the only breath of fresh air for you was the daily walks you took around the magnificent gardens on the grounds, you spent as much time out in the garden as you could, unable to endure the dark and suffocating house, all five floors, basement and attic. The estate and manor had been in your father's family for the last six generations, built by your seven times great-grandfather, after his first major and successful business venture. Your father was conceived, born and raised in the house, he never lived anywhere else, until he had the country home built, in Suffolk; which you had only been to once or twice, your parents leaving you at the Manor, on your own, with the butler and cook. Not that you cared, the place seemed cheerier without them, darkening the hallways and rooms.
“I swear, y/n.” Your mother hissed, looking you over as you gripped the post of your bed, your lady's maid tightening the laces of your corset. “If you ruin this night for your father and I, you will truly regret being born.”
“Like, you do.” You mumbled to yourself, groaning as the whale bone ribs of your corset cut into your skin.
“What was that?” Matilda snapped, looking down her nose at you.
“Nothing, Mother.” You chimed back with a forced smile.
“I thought not.” She hissed, lifting a sculpted brow at you. “This is a very important night for your father. He has several of his business partners, investors and prospective partners coming to this dinner tonight. It could turn out to be an expensive gain, or loss, depending on how it goes.” She pinched your chin between her thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at her. “Don't ruin it.” She growled at you, sternly.
“Of course not, Mother.” You told her, meekly, staring into her moss-green eyes. “I will be on my utmost behavior, I assure you and Father.”
“Good.” Matilda huffed, letting your chin go, roughly. “Though, you couldn't disappoint us more than you already have.” She commented over her shoulder, leaving your bedroom.
You closed your eyes softly, listening to the click of her heels fade down your hall. Collecting yourself, you allowed your Lady's Maid to finish helping you dress for the party, then patiently waited for your mother to return to your room, knowing better than to go down on your own, even though from the window seat of your room, you could see the carriages coming and going along the lane leading up to the front of the manor, people of only the best stations, families and companies were given the coveted and expensive invitations your father sent out to the wealthy elite. You had seen all of their faces before, the only time a face disappeared or changed was, if someone died and their heir took their place, or they fell from the Upper Class Crust and were no longer deemed worthy of the honor to attend a Ulysses and Matilda McFayden party. You flicked through the pages of a book, Dracula, and continued to wait, stifling a yawn against the back of your hand, then heard the tell-tale taps of her heels and put the book aside, stood and smoothed down the skirt of your dress; heaven's forbid you had a wrinkle in the expensive fabric.
“Come along, girl.” Matilda called from your door, mouth pinched into a fine line as she regarded you.
“Coming, Mother.” You replied, following along after her and mounting the stairs down to the formal dinning room on the main floor.
The front hall, foyer, formal dinner room, study and library were brimming with people. You followed your mother to the library, taking your place beside her as she entertained the people in that room. You scanned the room, seeing if there were any changes to the attendees from the last party your parents had two weeks before. There was the Christopher's, the Gladstone's, and the Morris's, though Mrs. Morris looked worse then she had at the garden party. Movement at the door to the library caught your attention and you glanced in that direction, blinking several times seeing someone standing there, the butler taking their coat. They were new to the Manor, you had never seen this man before, and judging by the almost lost expression on his handsome face, he had never been to the Manor before either. He was incredibly tall and broad shouldered, looking immaculate in his finely tailored suit, his chocolate brown curls shining in the candle lit hallway. He felt your eyes on him, turning his baby blues towards you and smiled, revealing straight and pearly whites, raising a warm flush to your cheeks and you glanced away from him.
“Is that him?” You heard a low voice whisper to your mother, Ms. Whitlock.
“Yes.” Your mother nodded, covertly glancing at him, as he entered the room. “Mr. Henry Cavill.” She confirmed, watching Henry greet one of the men he knew. “He owns Cavill Enterprises. His father started the company, when he was just a lad. Rumor has it, his grandfather was a poor farmer.” She explained, turning her attention to Ms. Whitlock.
“How did he amass a company for so much money, if he's the grandson of a farmer?” Ms. Whitlock frowned at Matilda.
“I heard from Mrs. Grahams, his father worked his way up through the stations of a local shipping company, until he was the owner of it, then used his shares to start and invest in his own company, passing the shipping company off to his oldest son, Piers, then turned over Cavill Enterprises to his second youngest son, Henry; when he retired. His other sons, Nik, Simon and the youngest, Charlie, all work for one of the two companies.”
“Well, if his brothers are single, and as handsome, as he is.” Ms. Whitlock giggled, blushing at Henry's back. “Then, sign me up.”
“Oh, hush.” Matilda giggled back, playfully smacking her on the arm.
You repressed your frown at her, feeling that spot of jealousy in your stomach, wishing you had the relationship with your mother, like Leah Whitlock did. There was the high and clear sound of a bell and the Head Butler, Carlo, stepped into the room, announcing dinner. The guests funneled into the dining room and took their assigned places at the table. The room was a murmur with talk, the clink and ring of silverware and fine china, compliments on the food and wine, the amazing hosting and splendid night. After dinner and dessert, the ladies and men separated, men going into the study and the ladies going into the sitting room; talking about business and the upcoming fashion and ball season, before the guests retired and went back home.
Henry nervously paced outside Mr. McFayden's office adjusting his collar and tie as he waited for Mr. McFayden to be done with his meeting and his clerk, Mr. Sims, to show him into the tycoon's office.
“Mr. Cavill.” Mr. Sims called, appearing in the doorway. “Mr. McFayden is available to see you now.” He told Henry, with a polite smile.
“Thank you.” Henry smiled back, stepping into the office and gratefully took the chair he offered.
“Mr. McFayden will be in, in a moment.” Sims told him and stepped out of the room, back to his desk.
Henry glanced around the expensively furnished and decorated office, a painting of all Ulysses's ancestors that headed the company decorated the walls, there was a photograph of Matilda on the left side of his desk and a photo of you, as a small girl, on the right side of his desk. Henry leaned forward and picked up your photo and smirked at it, the classic ringlet curls in your hair as you smiled, bright and beautiful, at the camera; a contrast to the tight-lipped photo of your mother and paintings of grandfathers, that surrounded him.
“She was four, in that photo.” Ulysses's voice called, as he pushed open a pair of double pocket doors and entered his office from a board room. “She was so easy to deal with then.” He commented, taking the photo from Henry and stared at it for a moment, before setting it back in its place on his desk.
“I'm..sure.” Henry replied, slowly, unsure how else to answer him.
“What is it, that I can help you with, Mr. Cavill.” Ulysses asked, seating himself behind his desk.
“I would like to discuss that business venture, we started to talk about it at your party last week.” Henry answered, getting right to the point of the matter.
“The mining venture.” Ulysses nodded, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and tented his fingers together.
“Yes, in Chester.” Henry nodded, smiling, glad that he remembered.
“Tell me about it again.”
“Um,” He cleared his throat, fiddling with the chain to his pocket watch. “My grandfather owned a farm that also sat on top of a mine, but wasn't able to do anything with the mine. My father wanted to make something of it as well, but got held up with running Cavill Enterprises and the Munro Shipping Company. My youngest brother, Charlie, has actually checked the mining site out and found it held a very large deposit of stone. I want to try and tap into that resource.”
“Why are you coming to me with this prospect?” Ulysses asked, brows drawing together. “I know you own and run Cavill Enterprises, as well as having stocks in the Munro Shipping Company and are on the board for it. So, you have a considerable sum of money.”
“I do.” Henry smirked, chuckling softly. “But, I have zero understanding and knowledge on mining and everything it entails. I know, one of your biggest businesses is in mining, that you have the knowledge and understanding of it.”
“You should also know, that knowledge like that has a price on it.”
“Of course.” Henry nodded and shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter. “I would, of course, pay for your assistance and guidance, entering into a partnership with you in the endeavor.”
“What sum are you considering?” Ulysses inquired, lifting a brow at the younger man.
“Well,” Henry cleared his throat, his collar feeling tight. “Until, we find out the success and quantity of the load the mine holds, I would be ready to pay you whatever fee you would like, then once it was found to be fruitful and a business could be made of it, I would be comfortable with going into a fifty/fifty partnership with you on it.”
Ulysses leaned back in his high backed and leather chair, regarding Henry with an experienced and meditative expression, drumming his fingers together. “Do you have a sample of the stone the prospective mine contains?” He asked, tapping his index fingers against his thin lips.
“Yes.” Henry nodded, reaching down to the briefcase he carried with him, flipping open the flap and plunged his hand inside, fishing a large stone out of it and setting it in the middle of Ulysses's desk. “It's Quartz.”
Nodding, Ulysses picked up the chunk and examined it, blindly pulling open a side drawer of his desk and pulled out a magnified eye piece to inspect it closer. “Hmm.” He hummed, turning the stone around and around. “It's clear mineral Quartz.” Ulysses told Henry, putting his eye piece back in its drawer. “In this form alone, this piece of Quartz can go for three pound sterling.”
“Really?” Henry squeaked, eyes huge with shock.
“Yes.” Ulysses nodded, setting the rock down within Henry's reach. “So, if the mine is full of rich Quartz like that,” he motioned to the sample. “then, it should be more than profitable.”
“The mine, rumored mind you, my grandfather investigated it not long after buying the land, but I and my brothers haven't had the time to confirm it, to contain Limestone as well.” Henry continued to explain to him.
“That's very profitable as well.” Ulysses pressed his lips together, contemplating the prospects, affordability, profitability and future possibility in the enterprise. “I would like to see the mine, myself.” He said, finally.
“Yes, of course. That's completely understandable.” Henry nodded, licking his lips and rubbed his sweaty palms on the knees of his pants, feeling like the meeting was going really well. “I would appreciate that, really.”
Ulysses shuffled through a calendar on his desk, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he considered dates and events in his near future. “I have an open weekend in a month, I can make the trip up to Chester, then. If you would like.”
“That is absolutely perfect.” Henry beamed, moving to the edge of his seat with excitement. “I can have everything you want and need arranged by then.”
“Fantastic.” Ulysses smiled tightly back, standing up from his chair and extended his hand to Henry.
Henry stood, his smile not even faltering as he took the older man's cold hand in his warm one, squeezing and shaking it, brimming with pride and enthusiasm. “Thank you! Thank you so much, Mr. McFayden.” He thanked him, picking up his bag and putting the Quartz back inside of it. “I really look forward to working with you, and hope our future business is lucrative.”
“Same for me, Mr. Cavill.” He smiled back, nodding his head slowly. “I'll have Mr. Sims contact you ahead of my arrival and anything that comes up between now and then.” He assured him.
“I'll leave my card with him.” Henry replied and showed himself out, pulling a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Sims at his desk, before practically skipping out of the building.
Henry was invited to dinner at the McFayden's home a week later, to discuss the mine a bit more and he was excited about getting the venture started with him. He walked up the front steps of the Manor and checked his clothing, brushing off the arms and shoulders of his blazer, then rang the door bell, patiently waiting for the butler to answer.
“I'm Mr. Cavill, and I am expected for dinner with Mr. McFayden.” He explained, when the butler opened the door and lifted a brow at him.
“Of course, sir.” the Butler nodded, stepping aside and motioning for Henry to enter. “Would you like a drink, while I inform Mr. McFayden of your arrival?” He asked, pointing to the glass decanters at the small bar in the study.
“Yes, please.” Henry nodded, biting his lip. “Brandy.” He added as the Butler moved to the bar and pulled out a glass, pouring Henry his drink, then excused himself to go upstairs to Ulysses's personal study. “Oh, hello, Ms. McFayden.” Henry grinned, seeing you passing by the open doorway.
You looked up from your book, catching sight of Henry standing in the study, clutching his untouched glass. Startled for a moment, before you smiled back; politely curtsying to him and then continued on your way. Henry half frowned as the rustle of your skirts faded away down the hall, he had hoped you would stop and speak to him, or at least say something to him. When he was last there, and the first time, he had sat across from you at the table, but never heard you utter a single word the whole three hours at the dinner, you sat quietly and ate each course and dessert in perfect and polite silence, hardly even making eye contact with anyone, other than your mother, who narrowed her eyes at you a lot.
“Hm.” Henry grunted softly, pressing his lips together and resolutely deciding to get you to say something before he left for the evening. “So, how are you liking the food, Ms. McFayden?” Henry asked later, at dinner, smiling at you across the table and took a bite of his steak.
You gulped down your sip of wine and looked across at Henry, caught off-guard that he was addressing you, then looked to your mother for what to do; she lifted a brow at you slightly. “It's very delicious. Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” You replied in a quiet voice, meeting his eye again, nervously.
“Good.” He smiled at you, happy to finally get to hear your voice, but found it odd that you looked to your mother before answering. “You're very quiet.” Henry commented later, finding you alone on the back terrace, enjoying the cool night air.
“Um.” You blinked up at him, eyes shooting to the open double doors, the curtains billowing inside the house, but the pair of you were alone. “Yes, I am.” You gulped, looking back up at him, even in heels you barely reached Henry's shoulders.
“I'm sorry.” Henry frowned, blinking down at you as something struck him. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” He asked, afraid that he did.
“No.” You squeaked out, shaking your head at him, startled at the prospect that he thought such a thing. “Not at all, Mr. Cavill. I'm just not used to people addressing me, is all.” You explained to him, trying to put his concern at ease.
“Well, that's a comfort.” Henry replied, relieved, feeling a pressure in his chest loosen. “Are you an only child?” He asked, stepping closer to the railing, and you.
“I am.” You nodded, biting your lip and rubbing the edge of your sleeve, nervously.
“It must be lonely in this big house, by yourself.” He commented, looking over the expansive backyard. “I have four brothers, three older and one younger.” He explained, turning to face you and leaned his hip against the railing.
“I've always wanted a sibling.” You answered, frowning down at your covered feet. “But, even without one, I don't feel completely alone here.” You sighed and relaxed, as alone as you did feel, the ghosts that haunted your family home always kept you company, as tormenting as they were. You tensed again, hearing your mother's approaching steps and became panicked, knowing she would lose her temper if she saw you alone with their guest. “I must go, have a pleasant night, Mr. Cavill.” You bowed to him and rushed off, vanishing around the corner of the terrace.
Henry opened his mouth to bid you good night, but you were already gone. “Mrs. McFayden.” He smiled and nodded his head, as Matilda appeared in the open terrace doorway.
“Have you seen my daughter?” She asked, eyes narrowed and looking around for any sign of you.
“No, I have not.” Henry replied, lying for you.
“Hm.” Matilda huffed, pressing her lips together, then turned on her feels and went back inside.
– A Year Later –
The business venture for the Mine in Chester went off with a booming success, making Henry and Ulysses even richer. Henry spent a lot of time with your family, becoming a big part of it, your father spoke highly of him, treating him like the son he had always wanted. But, your father's attention to Henry came at the cost and jealousy from others, those that had done everything they had and could to be in the position they held in Ulysses's eyes, life and businesses. They felt the audacity of young Henry Cavill achieving such a highly coveted placement, especially with how fresh his entrance into their society was. But, Henry didn't let that bother him, he was assured of himself, he had fought hard to be where he was at, so had his father, and no one would ever discredit it.
“I don't think you deserve the distinction.” Elias Wells growled at Henry, as they stood in the McFayden library. “Some first generation Gentleman, encroaching on the position of someone with older and wealthier blood, should inherit.”
You could hear the conversation from where you sat, by the fireplace. You looked at Henry's face, but he was smiling brightly, genuinely, at the other man, his body language was relaxed and unbothered. You could tell Elias was trying hard to ruffle Henry's feathers, to heat up his blood and fight him. It was normal Elias behavior, you had known Elias since you were ten and he was fourteen, he enjoyed using his position and money to upset those he deemed the 'lesser class'. Even people wealthier than the Wells' family, got placed into the category by Elias, learned from his stiff lipped and nose-in-the-air father, who died six years before, leaving Elias as the 'man of the house' and their textile factories. But, Elias was all hot blood, he'd gotten into numerous fist-fights and duels, always highly public, he wasn't afraid to announce it, whether he won them or not. It was what he was trying to do now with Henry, he wanted Henry to lose his temper and either get into a fight with him or a duel; knowing that such public scrutiny would upset your father. Your father took his image extremely seriously, and would probably disown Henry and close their business plans together, if Henry got into a tiff with Elias, or anyone for that matter. You knew, if your father did that, then Henry would be ruined, not just because your father would end the profitable mining investment they were in together, costing Henry that money; which in itself wasn't a huge blow to Henry's financial situation and wealth, being that he owned and ran Cavill Enterprises, that was larger than the mining operation itself, and was also a board member and CEO of the Munro Shipping Company.
But, if something was to happen between your father and Henry, that would cause him to pull his wealth, name and influence with anything to do with Henry, then all of Henry's businesses would suffer. Depending on the enormity and publicity, People would stop giving Henry's businesses work, people would no longer seek the shipping company to be carried across the pond to the Americas for anything from personal items, like furniture, to official business, such as government contracts. Cavill Enterprises would suffer as well, dealing with trade and commerce. Henry could find himself in a worse situation than his poor farmer of a grandfather.
“The purity and age of a man's blood, doesn't always show his worth.” Henry replied to Elias, taking a sip of his claret.
You watched Elias's face turn the color of his Pinot Noir, his brown eyes taking on an angry sheen as he glared death holes into Henry. As hard as Elias tried to use Henry's past and bloodline against him, the more relaxed Henry became, which only heightened Elias's anger. Thinking quickly, before a full brawl broke out, you set your glass down and stood up, gliding over to the two men, a small crowd had formed as Elias became more heated, slipping between the men and rested your hand on Henry's arm, smiling up at him, sweetly.
“I do believe, Mr. Cavill, you promised me a dance at the next song.” You said, lifting a brow at him, a hint in your eyes.
A smirk twitched up at the corner of Henry's mouth as he looked down at you, getting the hint and gratefully taking the offered excuse to escape the childish conversation. “I did, did I not.” He chuckled, sitting his glass on the mantelpiece beside him, and tucked your hand in the crook of his arm. “Excuse me,” He looked pointedly at Elias. “Gentlemen. I would hate to break a promise to this lovely lady.” He grinned, turning you gracefully towards the door and escorted you out to the spacious ball room as the band your parents had hired, struck up a fresh song. “I appreciate the aid.” Henry told you, bending his head down slightly, so he could speak quietly into your ear.
“Well, it was either this, or sit by and watch Elias rage at you, like a bull in a china shop.” You giggled, turning to face him, resting one hand on his high shoulder, feeling the muscles beneath his coat flex as he hugged his arm around your corseted waist, broad palm pressed to the small of your back.
“He was turning rather red, wasn't he?” Henry laughed, his head throwing back slightly as you both held out your linked hands and started turning and gliding across the dance floor to the flow of music.
“As a beet.” You smiled and sighed, you always felt so relaxed in Henry's presence.
During one of the turns, you saw Elias glowering in the doorway of the ballroom, his hands clasped into fists with a look of utter disgust and jealousy on his still beet red face. Stomping his foot, Elias spun around and stormed out of the house, muttering things under his breath as he stormed down the gravel driveway. You and Henry danced several more times before breaking off for a breather.
“What were you doing?” Matilda's voice hissed behind you, as you poured yourself a glass of punch.
“What?” You replied, sheepish, your punch glass trembling slightly.
“You could have made a scene.”
You licked your lips slowly, stomach twisting in knots. “Was I too just let them get into a screaming match, and possibly a fist fight?” You asked her, a hot brick in your throat. “Wouldn't have that caused a scene and reflected badly on Papa?”
“You should have come to get me.” Matilda jeered at you, quietly, making sure to keep her face fixed into its usual neutral expression, not wanting the guests to see how furious she was at you. “You stupid girl.” Her hand flexing at her side, like she wanted to slap you; and you knew she wanted too.
“Mrs. McFayden, such a lovely party you've organized tonight.” Henry's voice said, cheerily, behind you both, both of your freezing solid.
“Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” Matilda replied, her face lighting up with its masterful art of hiding what she was really thinking and feeling. “I am so glad you are enjoying yourself, on this splendid night.”
Henry rested his hand on his chest and bowed, politely at her. “Would it be all right with you, if I stole Ms. McFayden, for another dance?” He asked, smiling sweetly at you.
Matilda looked at you, you could see her still seething, you had known your mother long enough to know what signs to look for, to see beyond the armored wall she erected in her mind. You took a deep drink of your punch and set the cup down on the punch table, and turned to Henry, curtsying to him.
“I appreciate your request, Mr. Cavill.” You smiled at him, trying to hold yourself together. “But, it is late and I am tired, I think I will just retire for the night. I beg your pardon.”
“Of course, it is rather late.” He nodded, his expression soft as he looked at you. “I wish you a good night.” He said, bowing to you. “As well as you, Mrs. McFayden.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” Your mother smiled at him, then glanced at you.
Nodding your head, you excused yourself again and left the ballroom. You were meant to go back upstairs to your bedroom, but it was hot, your corset felt the tightest it possibly could be and you weren't actually tired. So, you detoured, using the servant hallways to reach the back of the house and stepped out into the garden. Groaning, you yanked off your shoes and walked barefoot through the dewy grass, it felt great to your sore and aching toes and arches. You knelt down at the edge of the pond, watching the ducks paddling in content circles together.
“Enjoying your night, y/n.”
You sighed, setting your shoes down and rubbed the side of your face. “Very well, and yours, Elias?” You replied, suddenly feeling the exhaustion you had feigned in front of Henry and your mother.
“Bet, you think, you are so cute in front of the ill-bred runt?” He hissed, still steaming with anger towards Henry.
“No, Elias.” You sighed again, wiggling your toes into the grass. “I was only trying to prevent the two of you from getting into a fight.” You told him. “It would have made my father look bad, and you know how he feels about people that make a scene in his home; importantly, in front of his distinguished guests.” You looked at him with a cold look, that would have made your mother unfailingly proud.
Elias snapped forward, grabbing you by the elbows and yanked you up to your feet, shaking you roughly, several times, gnashing his teeth at you as his anger bubbled over. “You will learn your place, just like that runt will.” He hissed at you and shoved you backwards, almost sending you staggering into the pond.
“What does that mean?” You hissed back at him.
“You'll see.” He growled and stormed back into the house.
“Mr. McFayden.” Elias called, squashing down his white hot anger, as he knocked on Ulysses's private study door.
“Come in!” Ulysses called from inside, shuffling around some papers on his desk.
Taking a deep breath, Elias entered the study, closing the door behind him, for some extra privacy. “Mr. McFayden, there's something I'd love to discuss with you.” He started, leading straight into what he had been considering for a very long time.
“Of course, Elias. By all means, speak your mind.” Ulysses replied, giving him his attention.
“I have been a very good acquaintance of yours, and your family's, since I was a small boy. In some respects, I consider you a father.” Elias said, clearing his throat and shuffling his feet. “With that being said, I would like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage.” He just came out with it.
Ulysses stared at Elias for quite some time, regarding him, and making Elias feel like he could see his very insides. Licking his lips and looking down at the stack of papers on his desk for a moment, Ulysses looked back up at Elias. “I will consider your proposal of marrying y/n, and give you my answer in a fortnight. Should you not hear from me on the matter, in that allotted time, take it as a no and do not pursue it any farther. Am I understood?” He told him, in a cold and business-like voice.
“Clearly, Sir.” Elias nodded, feeling his anger quiver in the pit of his stomach, he was expecting an immediate yes to his marriage proposal to you.
“Perfect.” Ulysses replied, planting his hands on his hips and glancing around his study. “If you will leave me, I have pressing matters to consider and deal with.” He said, sitting down and pushing his chair closer to his desk.
Elias stood in the hallway after stepping out of Ulysses's study, trying his best to cool and control his temper. He had wanted you as his wife for several years, he had known as a fifteen year old that he wanted to marry you, and it wasn't necessarily a love reason. His own parents hadn't married for love, their marriage had been arranged for the social status and choice blood for children. While he felt something for you, he didn't know if it was just love, or a sense of entitlement and ownership towards you. Didn't matter, your father would tell him yes, and there would be a beautiful, and very public, wedding in the fall. It would be incredibly perfect, especially when your father died and he would inherit his businesses through you.
“She'll be mine, by the end of the year.” He smirked to himself, going down the grand staircase. “Come hell or high water.”
You sat at the breakfast table the next morning, your father turned to you and announced that Elias had asked for your hand. You nearly choked on your breakfast as he said it. “When?” You squeaked, quietly.
“He asked last night.” Ulysses answered, breaking open his hard-boiled egg.
“What did you tell him, dear?” Matilda asked, nonchalant.
“I told him, I would give him my answer in a fortnight.” He replied, both of them as cool as butter about the subject, while you sat there, wide-eyed and panicked at the thought of marrying him.
“Are you going to approve?” Matilda asked, glancing at him.
“I am unsure, my love.” Ulysses replied, taking a sip of his coffee. “He comes from good breeding, his family is quite wealthy and he's quite refined.” He said, frowning down at his toast.
You gulped at his words, remembering the way his was rough with you in the garden, and how easily he was angered, even when he felt the smallest thing slighted him. It terrified you to think your father would approve of Elias. It was something you had known to expect, he was your father and he would vet any suitors trying for your hand in marriage, and being almost twenty-one, the time for him to marry you off, whether or not you liked the man he picked, was closing in on you; which only made you more anxious over the matter. You didn't love Elias, you hardly liked him, but that wouldn't matter, how you felt, it wouldn't matter to your parents, it never has. A crippling fear of being trapped in an abusive and loveless marriage, like you were trapped in the care and home of your parents was nauseating to you. You always fantasized a knight in shining armour would come and rescue you, but that was just the silly fancy of a cursed girl.
“It would be an excellent match.” Your mother commented, staring at you across the table and raised an eyebrow at you, seeing your panic. “Pull yourself together, you silly girl.” She huffed at you, rolling her eyes. “You would be lucky to marry a man like Mr. Wells.”
“Yes, Mother.” You whispered and stared down at your plate, knowing better to comment any farther.
Those two weeks were the longest days in your life, you were always on edge, when your father came home or entered the room, expecting him to tell you he had accepted Elias's proposal and you would be married the next day. But, it never came, the two weeks went by, then three and four, five and six; not a word about the proposal, as if it had never happened. You slowly relaxed over the matter, figuring your father had told Elias no, for whatever reason, and whatever that reason was, you were more than thankful for it. But, one morning, after breakfast, you were sitting on the balcony, reading a new book, when your father appeared in the doorway.
“Papa?” You addressed him, looking at him with wide and expecting eyes, waiting for him to say what he had come to tell you.
“I accepted a proposal for your hand in marriage.” He told you, plainly.
Your eyes grew large with horror and shock, book dropping from your hand, feeling faint. “Who?” You whimpered, hiccuping at the lump in your throat.
“I will tell you, when I return from my work trip tomorrow night.” He told you, then left you in stunned silence.
Twenty-four hours of waiting to find out about the marriage proposal your father had accepted, you prayed so hard that your father hadn't changed his mind about Elias's proposal and accepted it after all. But, tomorrow night would never come, you were woken up by the echoing wails coming from downstairs, for a moment, you thought your ghost was coming back to torment you, but your mind quickly identified the noises as your mother's. You pulled on a robe and flew down the stairs, it was dreadfully unlike your mother to lose her composure over anything, so when you found her on the chaise in a swoon, you were floored.
“Mama, what's the matter?” You gasped, dropping to your knees at her side and took up her hand. “What's happened?” You demanded of the butler, your mother's Lady's maid and a man you knew as your father's business partner.
“Perhaps, you should sit down as well, child.” Ulysses's business partner, Thaddeus, suggested and motioned to a chair beside your mother; which you took up. “There has been an incident.” He told you, taking your hand between his, patting it in a reassuring way.
“What type of incident?” You frowned, glancing around the room, looking for someone to explain to you what was going on.
“Your father has..” Thaddeus cleared his throat and opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by the ringing of the door bell.
The butler shuttled off and answered it, a rush of steps came towards the study and Henry appeared in the doorway, eyes frantic until he saw you and relaxed.
“I came as soon as I heard.” He told you, sitting down beside you and taking your hand from Thaddeus's.
“Do you know what's happened?” You asked him, squeezing his hand for support.
“No, all I heard was there was an incident at the McFayden residence, and rushed right over to make sure you all were all right.” He explained, squeezing your hand back and rubbing your wrist with his thumb. “What's happened, Thad?” Henry asked, looking up at the older man, still hovering over you.
“Mr. McFayden was discovered in his hotel suite,” Thaddeus gulped, looking between you and your recovering mother. “dead.”
You gasped, pressing your knuckles to your lips and turned your body into Henry's, laying your forehead against his shoulder as silent tears overwhelmed you. Dead, your father was dead. Ulysses Dante McFayden was no more, he was never coming home, you would never see him ever again. The darkness of the Manor seemed to grow even more as you clung onto Henry, who pressed his cheek to your hair and rubbed your back, shushing you softly and offering all the comfort he could.
“How?” Henry asked, looking up at Thaddeus, rocking you gently.
“I don't think, it's appropriate to discuss that in front of the ladies.” Thaddeus replied, looking at you and your mother again, sheepishly.
You looked up at Thaddeus, setting your expression. “How?” You asked, firmly.
“He was..” Thaddeus gulped, wringing his hands. “He was stabbed, repeatedly.”
Matilda whined on the chaise, blanching. “My poor sweet Ollie.” She whimpered in a broken voice. “My poor poor Ollie.”
“By whom was he attacked?” Henry asked, gobsmacked.
“It is unsure.” Thaddeus replied, deeply uncomfortable. “He had a client meeting in his rooms, but it is unsure if that's who attacked him, or if that person even arrived for their appointment.”
“Do they know who this client is?” You asked him. “To question him? To make sure, he isn't the scoundrel that did this.”
“The authorities are checking into him, I assure you. We are doing everything that needs to be done to bring this monster to justice and close the matter as quickly and quietly as possible.”
“Thank you.” You whispered and got a hold of yourself, gratefully taking the handkerchief Henry offered you.
“You and your mother will have to finalize your father's estate and businesses.” Thaddeus said, reluctant to bring the matter up so soon, but it needed to be done.
“Of course.” You nodded, your mind reeling even more.
“Don't worry.” Henry smiled at you, squeezing your hand. “I'll be with you, every way I can.” He promised, thumbing away a tear on your cheek.
“Thank you.” You sniffled, throwing your arms around his neck.
Henry was true to his word, he was there for you and your mother in the aftermath of your father's murder. That was still hard to come to terms with, your father was murdered, by someone and you couldn't understand why anyone could be such a monster to kill someone else. Henry went with you, to identify your father's body, being your mother was bedridden in her grief. You clutched Henry's strong arm as the undertaker pulled back the sheet from your father's face, his face a chalky white and flaccid. You reached out and touched his temple, trying to make sure it was all real and not some surreal dream you were having. But, the ice cold skin beneath your fingertips was all too real, shocking your system even more.
“That's him.” You whispered, your voice distant and foreign to your own ears.
“Is that all you need of her?” Henry asked, hugging his arm around you, tucking you into the warmth of his side and body, pushing out the eerie cold of the morgue.
“It is.” The Undertaker nodded, covering your father up again.
“Your mother has asked me to arrange the funeral.” Luis, your family lawyer, said as he stood beside the undertaker, a pile of papers in his hands.
“That's fine.” You nodded, not really paying attention.
Wishing you could be away from this place, squeezing your eyes shut as the throb of a headache pressed in on your temples, you could feel them, the lingering spirits, hanging closely to their now empty flesh; angry, confused and lost on what to do now, that life had left them. You could feel one close to your shoulder, the chill of it reddened your earlobe and a shiver quaked down your spine. Henry felt it and held you closer to him, supporting you against his strong and tall body. You dared to glance at the spirit floating over your shoulder, praying it wasn't your father, thankfully it was not. It was a young-ish woman, eyes white and blank, with half a caved in skull; you jerked at the sight of her, whimpering and squeezing your eyes tight against the sight, willing your mind not to etch it into a permanent place in your brain.
“Let's leave.” Henry said softly, looking down at you, concerned for your well-being. “We can sign the papers at the house.” He suggested, already turning away with you, your solid and living form brushing through the spirit of the young lady, displacing her like a plume of smoke, before her form righted itself. “Are you all right?” He whispered to you as you blinked at the bright sunlight, feeling it warm away the chill of death.
“I'm fine.” You whispered back, taking a deep breath and pushing it all away from your mind.
Henry cupped your face, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, a crease of deep concern on his brow as he looked into your eyes. “You can confide in me.” He told you, sincerely.
“Mr..”
“Henry.” He interrupted you, gently, smiling at you, hopeful. “Please, please, call me Henry.”
You blinked at him, and felt a flutter in your stomach. “Henry.” You whispered his name for the first time. “Y/n.” You mumbled back, shyly.
Henry grinned, brimming with joy. “Y/n.” He whispered your name back to you, his chest light. “Let's get you home.” He said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms as you shivered, the cold London wind whipping around you both.
“Okay, Henry.” You nodded, it felt nice to say his given name.
“Okay, y/n.” He nodded back, folding your hand into his arm and walked to the carriage with you, opening the door and helping you inside, before following you in and tucking a blanket around your lap, for added warmth.
“Would you..stay?” You asked, walking into the foyer of the Manor and looking up at Henry, so tired and depressed.
“Here?” Henry squeaked, blinking down at you. “With you?”
“You see how big this place is?” You said, waving a hand around. “A person can, and has, gotten lost in this house. It takes a week to go from one side of the house to the other.” You laughed, trying to lighten your and Henry's moods.
“If it would make you feel more comfortable.” He said, biting his lip, really hoping he wasn't overstepping.
“It really would.” You told him, softly. “My mother has my aunt, Bella. So, she won't notice in the slightest.”
It was a week later that you attended your father's funeral. Your mother sobbing on her sister, Bella's shoulder. Your aunt had come down from Yorkshire to be with your mother in her time of need. Thankfully in that time, you had Henry to be your strong arm and shoulder, your borrowed ear as you stood at the graveside in your black dress. Henry's hand rested on the small of your back, while holding the umbrella with his other, the wet snow fell all around you and the large procession, over four hundred people came to your father's funeral.
You laid in bed, staring up at your ceiling, that night, drained in so many ways, but sleep wouldn't take you. You shivered and pulled your blanket over yourself more, and groaned seeing your frosty breath in a mist above your face. A pounding vibrated through the house, shaking your bed, it happened repeatedly in a rhythmic kind of way, it was nothing like any of the ghosts in the house had acted before. Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you got up and grabbed the candle stick beside your bed, lighting it and went to your bedroom door, pressing your ear to it. You slowly opened your door and started, seeing the spirit that tormented you the most.
“What's the fuss?” You hissed at her, tired of dealing with the dead.
The spirit extended its arm and pointed down the hall to the stairs. Narrowing your eyes, you took the hint and made your way down the stairs to the landing, leading down to the second floor of the Manor, where you could look down over the railing to the foyer and front floor below. Your mouth slowly dropped open, seeing a spirit floating in the space in front of you.
“Papa.” You gulped, biting back tears as you saw him.
“Y/n.” Ulysses groaned back at you, glancing around the house like he didn't know where he was or why he was there.
“Oh, Papa. No.” You whined, heartbroken, setting your candlestick on a nearby table. “Why are you here? Go, in peace. Please, Papa.” You cried, gripping the banister. “You don't belong here anymore.” You tried to convince him to cross over, you looked over your shoulder to the other spirit. “Helena, help him. Please!”
“Lily Hill Manor.” She rasped back, crooking a bony finger at you.
“I don't care about the stupid Manor.” You roared, tears dripping from your face. “Help him cross over! I beg of you.”
“Say, yes.” Your father echoed, like the hiss of steam being released. “Tell him, yes.”
“Lily Hill Manor is where you belong.” Helena moaned back. “He needs you, his legacy.”
“Ah!” You screamed, frustrated and at your wit's end. “Papa, take my hand.” You begged him, leaning over the banister and stretching your arm out to him. “Take my hand, Papa. I'll help you, just touch my hand.”
Henry had been woken up by your cries and got out of bed, wrapping a robe around himself, he had stayed in the Manor at your request, concerned for you, since your mother and aunt only seemed concerned with each other. He went upstairs to your floor, found your bedroom door open, but empty and icy cold.
“Papa, please!” Your voice echoed up to him.
Turning he started to the ground floor, and found you teetering over the banister, arm extended to your max reach over the far distance to the ground, toes barely touching the floor. Henry's heart started at the sight of you, the look of sheer terror and panic on your face, tears flowing. He shivered, unaware that he was standing right behind Helena.
“Papa, crossover! You can't allow yourself to be stuck here. Not like the rest of them, please!” You begged him, desperate.
Helena turned to Henry, making her clicking and popping sounds as she brought her contorted mouth to his ear. “Save her.” She hissed to him, making his thick body shake with cold, then ran the sharp tip of her finger up his spine, and with a flicker and shake of his head, Henry could see the white, contorted and transparent floating apparition of your father.
“Dear, God.” He gasped, mouth falling to the floor.
Ulysses locked eyes with Henry, his pure white eye sockets burned holes into Henry's very being. “Tell her. Make her, say yes. Protect her.” He rasped and moaned at him.
You looked back and finally noticed Henry standing there. “Henry!” You called out, surprised to see him.
“Y/n!” Henry yelled back, starting forward as you started to slip and lose your balance, just managing to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back from falling, potentially, to your death. “Y/n.” He repeated your name, in a scared pant, hugging you back against him.
“You saw him.” You panted back, in shock.
“Yeah.” Henry let out in a startled rush, glancing back, but didn't see your father anymore. “Is he gone?” He asked, looking back to you.
You looked back and saw nothing either, but still felt the chill of Helena. “No.” You shook your head. “I think,” You gulped, pressing your hand to your forehead. “I think he's crossed over.” You said, softly.
“Well, that-that's good.” Henry sighed, running a hand through his disheveled curls. “Y/n, I know this isn't the best time to tell you this.” He said, gulping and licking his lips as you turned to look up at him. “But, two weeks before your father died, I asked him for your hand.” Henry confessed to you. “He gave me his answer, the day before he left for his trip.”
“You?” You squeaked up at him, stunned at the revelation. “My father agreed to allow you to marry me?” You asked, shaking your head.
Henry looked at you, hot knots twisting up in his stomach, fearing your reaction. “Yes.” He nodded. “He said, he would tell you after his trip and that our courtship would start there after.” He explained to you, chewing on his lip and cheek.
“It was you.” You said softly, feeling incredibly relieved. “Oh, thank the heavens.” You let out a relieved breath, relaxing and slumping against the wall behind you.
“You're not upset, or opposed to it?” Henry asked, shocked that you seemed joyous about it.
“No.” You grinned and laughed, a sense of freedom washing over you. “No, not at all. He told me, the morning he left, that someone had asked, but wouldn't tell me who, until after he returned home.”
“But, you were afraid to find out who it was.” He said, it was plain to see.
“Yes.” You admitted, honestly. “I feared that my father had reconsidered Elias's proposal and told him yes.”
“Elias asked your father?” Henry asked, eyes wide with shock, and anger.
“The night of the ball, where he was trying to provoke you.” You explained to him, and rolled your eyes. “Probably his attempt to 'put me in my place'.” You huffed, shaking your head at the memory.
Henry growled at the thought of Elias trying to encroach on you. “Well, I know, it's not conventional or the best timing, but, would you like to marry me?” He asked, shyly.
You smiled up at Henry, resting your hand on his forearm. “I would love to marry you, Henry.” You told him, out of your wildest fantasies about being rescued from your life, Henry was the closet and most perfect depiction of that knight. “Does anyone else know about this?” You asked, narrowing your eyes, knowing that if you both were to go public with your courtship, Elias might dispute the claim, and now your marital status was in the feeble hands of your mother.
“Yes, Thaddeus was in the room, when I asked and when your father gave me his consent.” Henry assured you, cupping your hands in his, following your train of thought.
“That's good.” You sighed, relieved.
Henry smiled at you, and couldn't help himself, he cupped your cheek in his hand and kissed you, delicately on the lips. You smiled and giggled, your first kiss, and kissed him back. “I should get you back to bed.” Henry whispered, breaking the kiss, but still very close to you. “It's late and been a trying day.”
“It has.” You agreed, feeling the exhaustion and soreness in your body. “I'll tell my mother in the morning.” You said, as you walked back up to your room with him.
“I think that's a good idea.” Henry agreed, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom. “Is it all right, if I stay in one of the rooms up here?” He asked, turning his body towards the other closed doorways on your floor, he wanted to be closer to you, in cause you needed him again, but still respectful and proper, at least until you were truly his wife.
“Of course.” You nodded, getting into bed. “There's one at the end of the hall you'll find more comfortable. The others haven't been used in, at least, my lifetime.” Henry bowed his head at you, resting his hand on the knob of your door. “Don't.” You gasped, as he started to close it.
Henry looked at you, a small crease on his brow, but smiled gently at you, nodding his head. “Of course.” He assured you, letting it go. “Good night, y/n.” He bid you, softly.
“Good night, Henry.” You replied, laying down on your side.
You watched Henry go down the hall to Grace's old room, opening the door and stepping inside. He glanced around the room that had been shut up for several years, but you still occasionally went into the room, to sleep, when your hysterical terrors became too much for you. Her room had become a safe haven for you. Henry pulled back the quilts on the bed and laid down, both of you could see each other through the open doorways, and you fell asleep with the calming assurance that Henry was there, watching over you.
-- Part II --
#Henry Cavill#HenryCavill#Hill Manor *Fic*#Viking-Raider Fics#Henry Cavill/Reader#Henry Cavill/You#Henry Cavill x You#Henry Cavill x Reader#Victorian Era#Victorian Era!Henry Cavill#British Wealth#Wealth#Upper Class#Rich Elite#Victoria England#Victoria London#neglectful parents#Ghosts#Spirits#Curses#Charles Brandon#Mining
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