#like no. because in that one they paint Edmund like he’s been in love with Fanny forever and. no???? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

atlabeth · 1 year

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far too young to die - anthony lockwood

summary: three things happen on the day you decide to solve your problem:

your tea-making skills get lauded

you get the biggest history lesson of your life

everything goes wrong.

you should have expected this the moment lockwood & co got involved.

a/n: this got away from me but twas very fun to write and protective lockwood is becoming my lifeblood lol<3 enjoy and remember kids: fuck netflix

wc: 5.7k

warning(s): canon typical stuff, mentions of murder and throat slitting, implied/sort of described domestic abuse, hurt/comfort. reader panics a lot. suspend your disbelief please and thank you. reader also has a last name of holloway just for convenience

Reading the newspaper was impossible this morning.

Your leg wouldn’t stop bouncing up and down, and the envelope on the far side of the table drew your eye every five seconds, and your neighbor did not need to be cutting his lawn at the moment, and all the while that presence was there. It always was, whispering illegible things to you and taunting you through the shadows and making your life a living hell you couldn’t prove.

An unwilling shiver ran down your spine, and you tamped down on it.

After today, it would finally be over.

Hopefully.

The doorbell rang, and you about jumped out of your skin. You took a deep breath, calming your heartbeat as you set your cup of tea back on the table, and went over to the door. When you opened it, you were met by three teenagers about your age, and the lanky, dark-haired boy in front gave you a small smile.

“We’re here for Edmund Holloway,” he said. “Have we got the right address?”

“You do—I’m his daughter,” you said. “You’re the agents?”

The boy nodded. “Anthony Lockwood of Lockwood and Co.” He held out his hand and you shook it, and once you released it he gestured to the other boy and girl standing with him. “These are my colleagues, Lucy Carlyle and George Karim.”

You nodded again, wringing your hands together as you let out a shaky exhale and said your name. “Anthony, Lucy, George— nice to meet you all.”

“Lockwood is just fine,” he said, and you nodded.

“Are you the one who put out the ad?” George asked with a frown. “It doesn’t look like your father is here.”

You shook your head. “My father put out the ad. He’s on a business trip at the moment.”

Anthony frowned. “Why isn’t he here?”

“He doesn’t handle ghosts very well,” you said wryly. “Gives him an awful fright.”

“Most people don’t,” Lucy said. “That’s why we’re around.”

“Forgive my bluntness, but it doesn’t seem very smart of him to leave his daughter in a haunted house,” Lockwood said. “Even if agents are clearing the house.”

“He doesn’t exactly… know I’m still here,” you admitted sheepishly. “My father expected me to stay at a friend’s house until today, give you all the payment, and then make myself scarce until the problem was solved.”

“Why in the world are you here then?” George asked.

“...Because I need to know that this ghost is gone,” you stated. “I need to see with my own eyes that it’s over.”

Lockwood eyed you cautiously, and you cleared your throat as you stepped aside. “Come in, agents. I can explain over tea.”

You closed the door as they filed inside, and you wrought your hands together as you followed them. “I’ve got Earl Grey and chamomile, if anyone’s interested,” you said as you began filling up your kettle.

“Chamomile would be lovely,” Lucy said, her eyes wandering around the interior as she took a seat next to George at your table.

Lockwood, however, stayed standing. He pointed at a painting hanging on the wall and glanced at you. “Starry Night?”

You nodded. “My grandmother painted it when she was younger. She specifically left it in her will for me.”

He smiled. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is, isn’t it?” You pulled a tin of loose tea out of your cabinet and set it on the table. “I’ve never been much of a painter myself, but I’ve always wanted to learn like her.”

“As interesting as this is, you said you would explain your poor choices,” George interrupted. “And your history.”

“Blunt as he is,” Lockwood said dryly, “he’s right.” He took a seat next to Lucy, leaning back in the chair. “Tell us everything you know about this house—anything that could be causing the haunting.” George cleared his throat and his lips twitched. “And why you’re still in the haunted house alone.”

You nodded, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “To answer the question on all of your minds, I have no idea who the ghost could be. My only guess is some fellow from decades ago, back before the house was in our immediate family.”

“You inherited it?” George asked.

“From my grandmother,” you said, “the same one who painted. She died a few decades ago, and she left the house to her son in her will. After my mother died, my father and I moved here to get away from the memories.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lucy said softly, and you managed a smile.

“Thank you.” You folded your arms across your chest. “And before you ask, no—it’s not my mother’s ghost. She died far away from here, and she’d have no reason to stay behind.”

“Do you know when this house was built?” George asked. “A lot of the architecture looks Victorian.”

“Sharp eye,” you said with a slight smile, and you stood up from your spot against the counter as the kettle started to whistle. You poured the water into three mugs and added your handmade tea bags before you looked back at them. “It was built in the 1850s, I believe. I think it’s been in our family since then, but I’ve only been aware of it since my grandmother.”

“Could it be your grandmother’s ghost then?” Lucy asked, and you shook your head.

“She didn’t die here. And she wouldn’t have any reason to stay either,” you said. “Which is why I’ve had no idea who it could be.”

“Strange indeed,” Lockwood agreed, suddenly speaking up. His gaze pierced into you. “You’ve got such a connection to this ghost and yet you don’t even know who it could be.”

Your cheeks burned. George huffed a laugh.

“That’s right,” he said. “You haven’t even told us about why you’re still here.”

“The ghost hasn’t just been haunting our house,” you murmured, staring down at the floorboards. You’d have to clean the dirt between the cracks later. “It’s… it’s been haunting me too.”

Lucy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s always around me,” you said, and even then you could feel the chills all over your body. At this point, though, it might’ve been your own design. “I— I can always feel its presence, I hear it whispering to me constantly, and it feels like every time I touch something old in here I get a damned vision, or voices in my head, and—”

You stopped, realizing your voice had risen without you noticing, and you took a deep breath.

“And I feel like I’m going insane,” you finished, your tone much quieter than before.

“You’ve got Touch,” Lockwood concluded, something different in his eyes. Lucy’s expression had softened, and George just looked even more interested than before when you nodded.

“Talent that strong and you’re not an agent,” he said. “Why?”

“I’ve never wanted it,” you said dryly. “And after dealing with this ghost for the past few months, I’ve got even less desire.”

“You should consider it,” he said. “Maybe then you won’t have a ghost in your backyard.”

“This ghost has been toying with you for months, but it hasn’t even tried to harm you,” Lucy said. “It’s definitely a Type 2 based off your description, so I’ve got no idea why. What’s the point?”

Lockwood shrugged, and he gave a nod of thanks as you placed the mugs of tea in front of them. “Maybe it’s related to you after all. I’ve heard cases of relatives not harming their own, especially in more sentient Type 2s—it’s rare, but it happens.” He looked at you. “If this house has been in your family since the 1800s, surely there’s been at least one violent Holloway death worthy of the Other Side.”

“Is your theorizing always this fun?” you asked as you crossed your arms.

“Usually more,” he said helpfully. Lockwood took a sip of tea and hummed. “We should get chamomile more often.”

“I’m always telling you to,” Lucy said. “George is just insistent on making his own black tea.”

“That’s because it’s far superior!” he exclaimed. “You should be thanking me for it, honestly.”

Lockwood took another sip and looked at them. “She makes a great chamomile. It might just change your mind.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation,” you said, arms still folded as their heads all snapped to you, “but we’ve only got two hours until the sun sets, and this house is still very much haunted.”

“Right. I guess that means we should start preparations.” Lockwood stood up, smiling at you. “Thank you for the tea and your information. We’ll take your keys, vet the place, and hopefully have your ghost vanquished before morning comes.”

“You don’t need my keys,” you said. “I’m staying.

George laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

He looked at you, completely serious, and then at Lockwood, who wasn’t immediately objecting, and his eyes widened. “You can’t be serious!”

“I want to help,” you said plainly. “It’s my house, it’s my ghost. I want it gone, and I want to be there when it happens.”

“You’ve got no training,” he said. “You’ve got Talent, sure, but zero training. You’ll just—” he looked at Lockwood— “she’ll just slow us down.”

“…You do know this place better than anyone,” Lockwood said, eyes still on you. “Right?”

You nodded. “Lived here for the past ten years. I know all its nooks and crannies, and I could guide you through it blindfolded.”

“You’re not an agent,” George said.

“You said it yourself that I’ve got Talent,” you said, “and an obvious connection to this place and whatever’s haunting it, seeing as the ghost won’t leave me alone.”

“Lucy, you can’t seriously be okay with this,” he said, glancing at her.

“…I have some Touch too. I can help her, see if we’re picking up the same things. Besides,” Lucy said with a shrug, “you all took me in on a whim before I was fully certified. It’s just one job, in her house of all places.”

“I won’t impede your work—I promise.” You looked at Lockwood, desperation mixing with resolve in your eyes. “For months, this house has haunted me from within. I want to be with you when you destroy it.”

Lockwood’s lips quirked up in the slightest of smiles as he nodded. “Alright, then.”

You immediately broke into a wide smile of your own as George sighed. “DEPRAC is going to have a field day with us if anything goes wrong. Allowing a completely uncertified girl to help us.”

“If anything goes wrong, I’ll personally take the blame for it,” you said. “I’ll say I forced you into letting me work with you all, and I will pay any fines.”

“Once we got fined 60,000 pounds for burning a house down,” he deadpanned. “Are you alright with that?”

You frowned. “Should I really be hiring you all?”

“Come off it, George,” Lockwood said, and he collapsed his hands together. “Nothing like that will happen today, I assure you.” He smiled wryly. “As long as everything you told us was the truth, that is.”

“It is,” you said. “I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”

Lucy huffed a laugh. “You’d be surprised what some people do.”

“Another reason I don’t want to become an agent,” you supplied.

Lockwood picked up their bags and set them on the table, and he pulled out a bundle of chains then he tossed it to you. You caught it with a slight grunt.

“Do you know how to use those, not-an-agent?” Lockwood asked wryly.

You rolled your eyes, though not without mirth, and nodded. “I read, Mr. Lockwood.”

“Good. Those are for your protection. We’ll protect you, of course,” he gestured at his rapier, “but it’s a last resort.”

“Let’s try not to get there, then,” you said.

“One thing you should know about working with us is that things rarely go to plan,” George said.

“That is not true,” Lockwood rushed, but that only proved that it was most certainly true.

You sighed as you finished the rest of your tea from before, having gone cold. You were certainly getting yourself into something with these agents.

“Right, then,” Lockwood said, clearing his throat. He pulled out his rapier, that small smirk showing itself again as he looked at all of you. “Let’s catch ourselves a ghost.”

You didn’t think your house had ever been as intimidating, as tense, as it did now.

You creeped through its hallways alongside the agents, the chains icy cold in your grip, almost scared to even breathe. Lockwood and Lucy had their rapiers drawn, and George held a net in one hand with one of their bags slung over his shoulder.

They carried themselves differently than any of the teenagers you’d been around, with an air of eerie confidence completely foreign to you. It was admirable in a sense. Scary to think it could have been you.

“No death glows yet,” Lockwood muttered. “Hear anything, Luce?”

“Very faint yelling,” she murmured. “I can tell it’s an argument—there’s two different voices, but that’s all I can make out.”

Lockwood looked at you, but you shook your head. “Not ringing a bell.”

“Where?” George asked. “Arguments are a good sign.”

Lucy edged past Lockwood so she was in the lead, and you moved up the stairs. She paused at the top, her eyes closed and her brow slightly furrowed. “It’s even louder up here. I feel it all over, but it’s stronger around here. It’s a couple, a man and a woman—finances, jealousy, general unhappiness…” Lucy opened her eyes and looked at you. “Did your grandparents argue while they lived here?”

“They argued like any other couple,” you said, “but as far as I know, they were completely happy. They loved each other.” You frowned. “And I don’t know why regular arguments would be so strong around here after so long.”

“Time isn’t the biggest aspect for sounds,” Lucy explained. “They can linger for decades and be as strong as the day it happened.”

“And maybe they weren’t just regular arguments,” George suggested, your stomach sinking at the thought.

“Could it be your grandfather’s ghost?” Lucy asked.

You shook your head. “No. He’s alive, and he doesn’t even live in England anymore.”

“Move around and touch some things then,” George said. “See if you get anything.”

And so you did. You handed the chains to Lockwood and laid your hands on various things around the hallway and some of the rooms while George and Lucy went off on their own—the walls, certain objects, the beds. All you got were memories from your first few years here, and a blur of the decades between your grandparents. It was overwhelming, and you had to pull away after you touched your grandfather’s watch in your dad’s room.

“Do you feel alright?” Lockwood asked. Though George and Lucy had gone off on their own, Lockwood had stayed with you to, one, make sure you were protected as his client, and two, keep track of any information. “You’re stumbling a bit.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I’m… I’m fine. I’m just not used to using my Talent on purpose like this.”

“On purpose,” he repeated wryly.

“I try not to do anything with it,” you said. “I told you, I don’t want to be an agent.”

“There’s a lot of people out there that would kill for a power like yours,” he said. “Kids stuck on night watch, agents with fading Talent, adults who can’t see for shit. Seems strange to just… ignore yours.”

You shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not ignoring it now, am I?”

“No,” Lockwood said, “I suppose you’re not.”

Eventually, you made it to another room, your grandparents’ old bedroom that you’d ended up turning into your father’s office, and when you opened the door Lockwood whistled.

“That’s a bright death glow.”

You grimaced. “So this is where they died.”

He nodded. “By the look of it, it wasn’t pretty.”

“Great,” you muttered, and you walked inside.

“Lucy! George!” Lockwood called as he followed you in, craning his neck to look behind him. “Get over here—we’ve got a lead!”

“What is it?” you heard Lucy asking, her voice getting closer.

Though you started to answer, you didn’t get the chance to finish as the door slammed shut on its own, separating you and Lockwood from the others. Your eyes widened as you whirled around.

“Don’t panic,” Lockwood said immediately. You nodded shakily despite the blood pounding in your ears, and at your confirmation, he yelled out. “Luce? George? Are you alright?”

“We’re fine!” Lucy shouted, and there was the rattling of the doorknob. “Is it locked on your side?”

You moved forward and tried to turn the handle to test it, but a scream was ripped from your throat as you stumbled backwards. Your hands flew to your neck, splaying across the skin as you expected to feel blood, but there was nothing. The cold metal pressed against your skin, the sharp edge of the knife tore across it, but there was nothing. Centuries flashed behind your eyelids but there was nothing.

Lucy and George called out your name, but you couldn’t respond, your eyes wide as dinner plates as your whole body shook.

“God, are you alright?” Lockwood caught your shoulders before you could run into him, and his hands stayed there when he realized how much you were trembling. When you turned to look at him, your hand still pressed against your neck to stop invisible bleeding, his eyes were filled with concern. “What did you see?”

“I… I—” You tried to voice it, but the words stuck in your throat as the tremors continued.

Lucy yelled your name again and there was a bang on the door, and Lockwood looked up. “She’s okay! She felt something when she touched the handle— Lucy, see what you can get on your side!”

“Got it!”

“It’s okay,” Lockwood said softly, his attention turning back to you. His hands on your shoulders grounded you, and he was a surprisingly welcome presence. “Whatever’s here, I won’t let it hurt you. You just have to tell me whatever it is you saw when you touched that doorknob.”

“I didn’t see anything,” you finally managed. “I— I heard them yelling, screaming, threatening to leave each other, and then—” You forced your breathing to still, but it hardly worked.

“And then what?” His voice was still just as soft, and he didn’t move away from you or take his hands back. He just stood there, waiting for you.

“And then he killed her, Lockwood,” you whispered, your hand falling to his wrist. “She threatened to leave him, and he slit her throat.” You still felt the blood dripping down your neck. You wanted to crawl out of your skin.

He was alarmingly good at keeping his emotions in check, the only sign of his shock the slightest pause before he asked again. “Who?”

“I— I don’t know,” you said. “I just— I felt it, and it’s the same presence I’ve been feeling for months.”

“So it’s our ghost,” he said. “Obviously, but we just need to see if Lucy can…”

His words phased through your ears as the air in front of you shimmered, blue light coalescing into the source of your endless tormentor. One image, one woman, one ghost, the face of someone you never thought was an option, and you could do nothing but stare.

“Lockwood,” you croaked, and he turned around. Immediately, his expression hardened, and he said your name as he moved forward and in turn pushed you behind him.

“Don’t make a sound,” he uttered as he slowly drew his rapier, and he handed the chains back to you. You took them as quietly as possible, and with his arm braced in front of you, he moved the two of you back a safe distance. “Do you recognize her?”

You nodded, but you couldn’t speak. All you could do was stare up, wide-eyed at the ghost above you. You’d been expecting a monstrous apparition, a cruel face to put to the presence that had been haunting you all this time, but it wasn’t. It was familiar, and perhaps it was cruel all the same, because the ghost was—

“Now would be a good time to say it,” Lockwood said dryly.

You nodded again, your voice barely a whisper. “I guess I was wrong.” Your throat bobbed. “Because that’s my grandmother.”

“Ah,” Lockwood said placidly. “The ghost really is your grandmother. Lovely.”

“I never knew,” you whispered. “I didn’t know she died here, that she was murdered—”

“You’ve got to stay calm,” Lockwood interrupted. “You’re not going to be any help to me or yourself if you’re not calm.”

You didn’t know how you were supposed to stay calm in the face of your murdered ghost of a grandmother, who looked far younger than she was supposed to because she was murdered—

“Do you hear me?” he asked, his voice more assertive than before. “I need you to stay calm for me.”

Your vocal chords decided to work this time, though just barely. “I— I’ll try my hardest.”

“I’m sure you know this already,” he said wryly, “but don’t let her touch you.”

And then, George’s voice rang out.

“What the hell is going on in there?” he called, and the ghost lunged.

Lockwood pushed you back all the while slashing his rapier at your grandmother, her screams filling your ears and penetrating your body to the bone. It stole the breath out of you, even as her body dissolved from the metal, and Lockwood latched onto your arm as he backed to the edge of the room with you.

“We’ve got a Type 2 in here!” Lockwood yelled, his sword brandished and his arm still protectively in front of you as his eyes darted all over the room, breath held as he waited to see where she would appear next. “George, work on getting that lock open! Lucy, find the source!”

“Do you have any idea what it is, or am I just on a wild goose chase?” Lucy asked frantically.

“The latter,” you responded, and you heard her groan as she ran off.

“I don’t know if a lockpick will even work,” George said, voice muffled through the wood. “Ghost powers don’t respond well to science.”

“At least try,” Lockwood said. “I’d appreciate it knowing you’re on the case.”

“As long as you try not to die,” he grumbled.

“No promises.”

You shook your head as shaky breaths rocked through you. “Your sense of humor is a bit morbid.”

Lockwood winked, somehow smiling even now. “We’ve got to cope somehow.”

You huffed a laugh, only slightly unhinged. “Sorry about this, by the way. I really didn’t know that it was my grandmother. Honest to God, I had no idea she died here.”

“One of the less egregious problems we’ve had,” Lockwood said. His eyes sharpened as he looked across the room, and your grandmother’s ghost suddenly appeared again.

His grip loosened on your arm as he pulled away, handling his rapier with the skill of someone twenty years his elder. You lashed out with your chains whenever she got too close, staying behind Lockwood every time he shifted or twisted or moved around the office, but in such a small space—all the while dealing with her screams and the constant dread just being near her filled you with—you were beginning to grow tired.

“Do you have any idea what her source would be?” he asked. “Or— or where it would be?”

“No!” you exclaimed. “I thought we’d just be dealing with some bloke that was killed a few decades ago, not my grandmother and her vicious murder that I knew nothing about!”

“Try and think, then!” Lockwood thrust forward with his rapier, preventing the ghost from advancing on the two of you for a moment as he continued to move back. “I know that this is shocking, but we’ll have time to deal with that later. Right now, you have to focus! Use your talent!”

Your heart beat like a hammer, the blood pounding in your ears, and you nodded. “Keep her away from me.”

Before Lockwood could question anything, before you could second guess yourself, you lashed out with the chains and darted past your grandmother’s ghost. You latched onto the doorknob again as you screwed your eyes shut, and it hit you all at once.

You weren’t immediately dead, so you assumed Lockwood was doing his job. But centuries of memories flashed before your eyes, and you were living through years simultaneously.

The first time your grandparents toured the house together, your grandfather closing the door behind him as he took a moment for himself. He knew then that was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

When they decided to buy the house and crossed the threshold for the first time, him carrying your grandmother all the way up the stairs and to their bedroom, her falling onto the bed with a delighted squeal.

Your father was born, and your grandfather’s hand slipped off the doorknob as he carried his newborn baby into the room, cooing and rocking him while he walked over and sat on the side of his bed.

He lost his job, closing the door with a hand running down his face as he slammed his fist into the wall. The wallpaper dented beneath his knuckles, but he didn’t even notice.

Your grandmother carefully closing the door behind her, padding over to the desk, opening the drawer and finding letters. Undistilled shock and barely bridled anger, the stench of betrayal.

An awful argument, the worst yet. Screaming so loud it rocked the walls of the room, insults and threats and accusations flying through the air without a second thought. She went to leave, put her hand on the doorknob, but he went mad with rage. He slashed her throat from behind before he can even think, and your grandmother died with her hand still on the handle before she collapsed.

The doorknob, and—

“Her brooch,” you muttered, and your eyes widened as you slammed your hand against the door. “George, the brooch! Tell Lucy to get the brooch!”

“What brooch?” he yelled back.

“My grandmother’s brooch!” you shouted. “My grandfather gave it to her as an anniversary gift. It’s emerald, Georgian cut! You’ll know when you see it— the vanity in the master bedroom on the first floor! You don’t have time to get her, just go!”

His footsteps ran off, but you didn’t even get a moment to relax as you felt that awful presence again.

You whirled around and your breath caught in your chest, frozen stiff as you stared back at the face of your grandmother.

It wasn’t that cruel, demented thing you’d seen when she attacked at first. This was just… her. Beautiful and fair-faced, late thirties having no effect on her. The eyes of your father, elegantly braided hair. You recognized the style of her dress, one that had been passed down to you.

She looked like… like you’d imagined yourself in a decade or two.

God, she was so young. Young and in love and betrayed.

The world grew dimmer, your surroundings taking on a crystalline sheen. Everything was cold and your muscles were made of lead. You heard distant shouts, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

You were so tired.

And then it all shattered. You crumpled to your knees, an overwhelming stabbing in your head as your breath came back to you in haggard waves.

Lockwood was over you, his rapier forgotten on the ground, and he shook your shoulders as he said your name over and over.

“…Lockwood?” you managed, your eyes barely open as you looked up at him.

His smile was one of pure relief as he nodded, and though he stopped shaking, his hands still remained on your shoulders. “Yeah. You’re alright.”

“What happened?” you murmured.

“You were ghost-locked,” he said breathlessly. “I tried to fend her off, but she was only focused on you. George must’ve gotten to the source right before she could get you.” He smiled sheepishly, but there was clear-cut fear behind those eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“I nearly died,” you said. The words tasted like plastic on your tongue, unusual and stiff.

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

Lockwood went to say more, but the door busted open suddenly, drawing the attention of both of you.

George and Lucy were both completely out of breath when they barged in. Lucy’s rapier was drawn and George held your grandmother’s brooch in his hand, wrapped ten times over in a metal net.

“Are you all okay?” Lucy asked, her eyes wide as yours. “I could hear her all the way downstairs, and—”

“We’re alright,” you interrupted, and you looked at Lockwood. He got the hint, and he helped you up from the ground. The energy had been completely drained from you after being ghost-locked, so he kept his arm around you.

“Looks like you were right,” George said, holding the brooch up. “Half-right, the ghost being your grandmother and all, but you’re right where it matters.”

“Pretty good time to be right,” you said shakily.

“Last minute save.” Lockwood laughed breathlessly. “You fit right in here.”

Lockwood helped you downstairs, and he insisted on making tea for you while you sat at the table with George and Lucy explaining what had happened.

Your grandparents were happy, you hadn’t been wrong, but one too many things went wrong beneath the surface. They got married young, but he never felt like he was good enough for her despite her reassurances. He lost his job a week before your father was born, and with the stress, the finances, the jealousy— it all built up. Your grandfather snapped, so your grandmother did as well.

“...and he killed her,” you finished quietly. “She found out he was cheating on her, they had this huge argument and she actually meant to follow through on her threats of leaving him.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “It turns out she never got the chance, and my grandfather’s been lying to us and the world ever since.”

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy murmured, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.”

You nodded thankfully, and you smiled up at Lockwood as he placed a fresh cup of tea in front of you. It warmed your bones when you took a sip, and you already felt your strength coming back from the ordeal.

“You all might get some calls from the police,” you said. “I’m going to call my father tonight and tell him everything, and then we’re going straight to the authorities.”

“We’ll back you up if we get any,” Lockwood assured. “We’ll tell them everything you told us.”

Lucy and George nodded. “I got some visions of my own that corroborate your story,” she said, “so don’t worry about proof.”

George held up your grandmother’s brooch, still wrapped in the net. “I’ll hold onto this if they need it for evidence. Soon as it’s done, we’ll take it straight to the furnaces.”

You nodded gratefully, and after another sip of tea, you stood up. Your legs didn’t shake, so you took another step and looked back at them. “Come on. I’ll walk you all out.”

After the three of them gathered their things, you followed them to the door, and your smile was the most genuine it had been since this all started.

“I can’t thank you all enough,” you said. “Lucy, George, Lockwood—you’ve put an end to my misery, you’ve finally put my grandmother to rest, and you’ve helped bring a murderer to justice.” Your shoulders felt a whole lot lighter as you handed the envelope to Lockwood. “I’m forever in your debt.”

“I wouldn’t say forever in our debt,” George said. “You’ve just paid that off.”

You cracked a smile as Lockwood swatted him with the envelope, then he looked back at you with the same charm as always.

“We were happy to help. And we appreciated yours as well.” Lockwood dug into his pocket and pulled something out, pressing it into your hand. He lingered for just a moment too long before he pulled away and cleared his throat.

“Your business card,” you realized as you brought it up closer. “What for?”

“You’re Talented,” Lockwood said, “obviously. Even though you haven’t honed it at all, you’ve still got some pretty impressive raw ability. If you ever find you want to put it to use, learn the ropes of being an agent… give us a call.” He smiled. “Lockwood & Co would be happy to have you.”

You looked over at Lucy, almost as if you wanted her approval. She gave you that faint smile. “You’re good when you’re confident, Holloway. And it would be nice to have another girl.”

George, next. He shrugged.

“You held your own,” he said, “mostly. I wouldn’t be opposed to it if you got some training. We can’t expand our agency for just anyone.”

“And you already know what I think,” Lockwood said with that same smile.

You couldn’t help a slight one of your own, and you looked at the business card again before shoving it into your pocket. “I’ll think about it.”

Lockwood nodded. “35 Portland Row. Remember it.”

“I don’t think I could forget,” you said with a soft laugh.

His lips twitched into a smile. “Good.”

Lockwood nodded at you one last time, something passing between you for just a moment before he turned around and his crew followed him. You watched the three of them get into the taxi and drive off before you closed the door, allowing yourself a deep, deep sigh.

And despite all the chaos that had just occurred, despite the life-changing revelation that was brought forth, despite your near-death experience and the shift to your axis and the tainting of your family tree, as you walked back inside and picked up the phone to dial your father…

You felt more at peace than you had in a long, long time.

You took the business card out of your pocket, staring at it as you waited for the number to connect.

…Maybe, you thought wryly.

Just maybe.

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator @louderfortheback

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood & co #x reader #reader insert #sadie writes

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kate-m-art · 3 months

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Gosh sorry that took me so long but! Dad Link, his little girl, and his Zelda too as a treat (little thing based on Edmund Leighton's painting "The Accolade".)

And for his story, decided to put what I have for now below the cut, it all may be tweaked a bit later but yknow

For Link, I think I mentioned before that he has Sheikah ancestry in a timeline where their people are pretty scattered. The guy still feels a certain loyalty to the crown even though Sheikah looking after and working the for the royals isn't a thing so far down the timeline. Link's fighting style is less "heroic knight" with broadsword and more lightfooted assassin, prefers bow/arrow + knifes over any kind of heavy weaponry and armor. Before meeting his wife and having their daughter, pretty sure he was involved in- don't want to say "shady" work but uh- he has a certain skill set and has been in a few fights.

Had some of the best years of his life, but lost his wife to an illness too soon, making a promise to her that he would take care of their little one and she'd never have to be alone. At the point we'd meet him, its just he and his daughter, Adelyna. They're very close and mean the world to each other.

For Zelda, she's the kingdom's queen at this point in her life. She comes across somewhat cold and stoic, but she's a compassionate person under it all. When she was younger, Zelda loved to travel, seeing both her kingdom and places beyond it, but eventually her hand was forced and she had to step up and take the throne.

My thought was that at the point we meet our heroes, theres deep political unrest in the kingdom, rumors of the cycle recurring soon, and whispers of threats against the queen. After an assasination attempt, the castle is put on lockdown and leaves Zelda feeling like a caged bird. Link catches wind of what's happening and feels a deep obligation to offer his service to her because of his heritage, but with tension so high it's unlikely they'd knowingly let a kid stay in the castle (even though with it on lockdown it's arguably one of the safest places to be.) Guy is pretty torn, he can't bring himself to leave his daughter somewhere where she cant reach him if she needs, she's already lost her mama, but it's also hard to sleep at night knowing the kingdom is being held together by a thread and his skills could make a difference (especially if, debating on it, but if he already has the triforce on his hand and *knows* things won't end well without him.) Since Adelyna already has an affinity for the fairy spell (her name means small winged one on purpose ajdjfk) he makes the decision to ask her to use it so she can come with him without too many questions (hero with a fairy companion is a tale as old as time and woven into many of the legends.)

Link works quickly and quietly, it's not long before he's accepted into the castle and assigned as a sort of personal bodyguard to the queen (think triforce helps with that, although he keeps it quiet as possible and theres few people there who know who he really is.) In a room with the queen, he lacks the intimidation factor of an armored knight and classic hero, but its a bit unsettling how good he is at watching from and moving in the shadows. In his time shadowing the queen, he starts to notice tiny oddities in some interactions she has and begins to piece together an inside plot and like gosh it's scary how good he is at taking people out without anyone knowing.

Then on personal side of his story, Adelyna uses her fairy form anytime she leaves their room, only dropping the spell when she and her dad are alone. It works for a while, but the crisis lasted longer than Link ever planned on. Muffled conversations coming from his room can only be ignored for so long though, but tbh i think what finally gave him away was singing his daughter to sleep quietly. I kind of think that the queen herself was coming to request something of him but paused to listen, the guys voice sounded much different than she'd ever heard it. Whether it was her old spark of curiosity getting the better of her or suspicion, I'm not sure, but she was pretty taken aback walking in to find Link's girl there w him.

He had been pretty quiet about himself, its his nature to not say more that needed, but the lady truly had no idea he had a family at all, much less that he was a widower and single father. Think when she gave him the chance to explain himself, it was the first time he saw the softer side of her, like she had of him not long earlier, and to his surprise she allowed both to stay as long as needed. With the secret out and forced proximity queen and bodyguard have, eventually the two are able to really open up and become close friends.

(I mean, friends at the very least, I haven't decided yet, but they may be more someday- both still have a lot of healing to go through before that someday comes. And ofc, little Adelyna grows on Zelda too. The fact the little reminds the queen of her younger, spunkier self (before Life happened and she was forced to be the pretty closed off person she is now) isn't the only reason, but it definitely doesn't hurt.)

And if you made it this far, a few extra sketches as a treat and a thank you <333

RIP the guys been found out

#link oc #zelda oc #loz oc #dad link #still dont know what to call him Ill figure out something eventually #quick sketch #lore dump #loz au

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selfproclaimedunicorn · 3 months

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Was tagged by @emilykaldwen, @rainwingmarvel7, & @sshireens, thanks! 💕

Favorite Painter: John William Waterhouse, my beloved. Also very into Edmund Blair Leighton & Fracisco Goya. I'm so, so into medieval romanticism, & the pre-Raphaeites, & there's just something about how Waterhouse is just exclusively painting babes with great hair & long noses that especially speaks to me. Like, his paintings are consistently some of my faves. He also leaned into mythology a lot, so that probably has something to do with it too. Similar case with Leighton of just "his consistent painting of pretty princesses speaks to my soul." Goya is a pure goth answer though, because I am allowed to contain multitudes.

Favorite Poet/Author: I've never been the biggest poetry girly, & I think that's because my brain just, like, can't pick up on the rhythm & meter. Like it is completely indistinguishable from prose when I read it. This is a thing that makes me very sad, believe me. When I make my every few years attempts, though, I do enjoy Poe.

In terms of actual prose/not just stuff that reads like prose in my mind, my favorites are Poe & Salinger. Tbh, I don't do a lot of following authors & just pick up something if the synopsis slapped, & it's super rare for if I enjoyed a story/novel to color if I'm like "this author fucks & I need to read more specifically by them"

Favorite Singer: Florence Welch, my queen. I mean, I listen to a lot of stuff, but Florence Welch is hitting all the correct parts of my brain with 90% accuracy. Special shout out to my fave funky Finnish guy Käärijä, though: I've only had him for a year & I like his music a normal amount 👍🏻

Favorite Band: This is so hard? I used to have such an easy answer (it was Green Day, btw), but it's gotten so complicated in the last 9 years. I think, probably, my favorites at the moment are Beast In Black, Windrose, & The Amazing Devil. They're all scratching the correct itch in my brain (will always have a special place in my heart for Green Day, though. Very intense special interest back in the day)

Favorite Meal & Drink: Oh man, this is another one I have a hard time picking 😅. I pretty much just drink water, tea, & coffee; I guess my favorite drink is tea? Favorite meal is maybe chicken tikka masala? Or grilled cheese & tomato soup? One of those, maybe (at least right now)

Favorite Outfit/Aesthetic/Style: Man, IDK. Life is short, dress how you want. I will find the aesthetic beauty in almost anything because I love fashion. 60s medieval revival fucks, all the goth substyles fuck, cottage core fucks--it all fucks. All I know is that whatever I'm wearing, I'm not wearing jeans. I have not worn jeans for years & I am not going to start back up now. Skirts/dresses/leggings only. Also dramatic sleeves. I love dramatic sleeves.

Favorite Item You Own: The Sasha Bratz Rock Angelz repro. I waited for her for a good year? Two years? However long it took MGA to finally drop my girl. I got one of the last 4 in the city & my hands were shaking the whole time & its honestly a little silly, but sometimes healing the inner child is buying a doll of your favorite character from your favorite line & displaying her on your desk shelf.

Favorite Perfume: I used to be at least kind of into perfume, but I kind of got out of it. I honestly don't wear it a lot (I forget more often than not). You'd think I'd be more into perfume given how into, like, scented candles I am, but oh well I guess 🤷🏻‍♀️

Tagging (if you want, obvi): @vamprlestat, @cerseiwexler, @jotterjots, @loksthegreat, @mercurygray, @godswood-girl, & @toxicjayhoo

#tag game

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gogandmagog · 8 months

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Jane of Lantern Hill, Chapter 37!

Jane was thinking. It was absolutely necessary for her to get home soon if she were going to have dad's favourite scalloped potatoes for his supper.

First of all… 💀💀💀. Secondly! Nothing at all can come between Jane and her kitchen duties. I really wanted to copy and paste this whole chapter into notes, because it’s so funny and so good, but more than anything — I love how much this lion business demonstrates how confident Jane is/has become. There’s an escape lion lingering about, but Jane is methodical and totally unflinching, and approaches the problem calmly, after logically (??) deducing that that big cat is actually just as tame as a kitten. What’s a little circus lion when you’ve been raised in Grandmother Kennedy’s den, anyway? 🙄

“Jane, it’s the wreck of a fine man that you see before you,” he said hollowly.

“Dad . . . what is the matter?”

“Matter, says she, with not a quiver in her voice. You don’t know…I hope you never will know… what it is like to look casually out of a kitchen window, where you are discussing the shamefully low price of eggs with Mrs Davy Gardiner, and see your daughter…your only daughter …stepping high, wide and handsome through the landscape with a lion.”

Poor Andrew! Someone pour this man a big tall glass of Marilla’s potent currant wine, he likely has 0 un-frayed nerves left. You just know how deeply and truly he felt this, it jumps right off the page! And meanwhile, let me confess that I adore Andrew’s frequent unabashed statements about how much Jane – his only Jane – means to him.

Do these Gardiners have any relation to…

For this chapters bit’o’nonsense bullet, I have to wonder (not for the first time and you’ll see why in a moment) if Maud ever read epic poem ‘the Faerie Queen’ by Edmund Spenser, which inspired a famous painting called ‘Una and the Lion,’ as well as the printing of an ‘Una and the Lion’ coin (for Queen Victoria) in the 1890’s. The poem tells of a girl, Una, trying to free her parents from a dragon. 👀 Along the way she tames a lion. As one does!

#the urge to highlight this WHOLE chapter #JANE #you’re extraordinary!#jane of lantern hill book club

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stabbynunchuckss · 2 years

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PET-TY THEFT

Masterlist

NOTES: This is gonna be my first proper piece of whump writing. Pretty much ever, but certainly on Tumblr. So. We'll see how this goes, I guess? If you have any suggestions for names for my whumpee, please suggest them. Because I don't have a clue.

CONTENT: Accidental caretaker? bad caretaker?, pet whump (not bbu), burglar/criminal caretaker???, dehumanisation, it/its pronouns (not character's preferred pronouns? unsure), begging, muzzles, shock collars, starvation, caretaker calls whumpee "kid" (whumpee is an adult).

If he was being honest, Ivan had only broken in for the money. After all, Edmund James-Fuller was one of the richest men in the county, and, as much as Ivan would like to say that he was, too, he was not. Therefore, the need to steal arose.

So it was a gloomy Thursday night, and Ivan found himself staring through the window of the Fuller Mansion, his eyes widening at the sight within.

But it wasn't the silk curtains which had caught his eye, nor the oil paintings hanging over the fireplace. No, it was the boy in the centre of the room, whimpering and bleeding onto the faux (he hoped) fur rug.

His hands were held behind his back, a collar buckled around his thin neck, a muzzle tight against his face, and he was staring at the ceiling, his eyes unfocused; but, then again, it was hard to tell from here. He seemed to be waiting for something, almost as if-

A man walked through the open door, one hand resting on a silver cane. His shoulders were draped in a black robe, and his dark eyes gleamed with malice. "Hello, Pet," he murmured. His voice was smooth, polished. "I see you've behaved, hm? Good boy."

The boy whimpered, faintly. The man - Edmund, he must be Edmund - smiled, carding his hand through the boy's hair. He must have been used to it, as he didn't flinch away, instead sitting very still until Edmund finished. "There we go."

Ivan was still watching silently through the window. Invisible unless you tilted your head at just the right angle. He just couldn't believe... No. No, he could. Of course he could.

As he watched, Edmund drew back, tutting. "All this blood on my floor... and on my lovely new rug, too... hm. We shall have to do something about that, shan't we?"

"Pl- please, Master, I... I didn't mean... to..." the boy protested.

"That is of no importance. What is done is done. And whoever, or whatever did it... must face the consequences. Understood?"

"Y- yes, Master."

"Very good. That shall make what is to come... a little easier." He pressed his hand harder on his cane, as though for more support, and something clicked. Then came the screaming.

Ivan didn't remember much of what happened next. One minute, he was perched precariously outside the window, the next, he was standing over Edmund's unconscious body, the cane in his right hand, a poker from the fireplace in his left.

The boy was left, shaking and whimpering, at his feet. Ivan knelt to remove his muzzle, lowering the cane to the ground as he did so.

"Sir... please, it... it was being... trying to be... be good..."

He dropped the poker. It clanged loudly against the wooden floorboards, and the boy let out a little yelp. "P- please, sir, please... it isn't... it didn't..."

"You're not staying here," Ivan said shortly. "You're coming home with me."

The boy looked up. "Sir, it can't... chains..."

Ivan crouched beside the boy and unclipped the chains from his wrists - a little rougher than intended, but it didn't matter. He picked up the chains to examine them.

"Could get a lot of money for that..." he muttered. "...silver..."

"Please, sir, don't... don't send it away, don't... don't sell it, please..."

"Not gonna sell you, kid."

"Th- thank you, sir, it doesn't.. doesn't deserve it... and Master would be angry..." The boy shuddered, tucking his arms around his legs in what looked like an attempt to feel safer.

"Right. We're leaving, then," Ivan said firmly. "Come on, get up."

"But... Master...?"

"No. He doesn't matter anymore."

The boy nodded obediently, moving onto his hands and knees, before crawling after Ivan, only a few steps behind.

"Can you... walk?" Ivan asked, eyeing the boy uncomfortably.

Immediately, he scrambled to his feet, tripping over several times in his haste to follow orders.

"Good."

The boy followed Ivan down the stairs and out of the double doors, through the gardens and out onto the road. Parked to one side, a mere shadow against the trees, was his car.

"Get in the back." Ivan opened the door and slid into his seat, then pulled it closed again. He heard the boy's whimper as it slammed, but forced himself to ignore it. He could deal with it when they got home. He could deal with it all when they got home.

SO. That was my first proper piece of whump writing??? I hope it wasn't too shitty. Still need a name for our lovely whumpee. More of this will probably come soon.

EDIT: I HAVE A NAME FOR THIS GUY :D

#whump #writing #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #whumpblr #pet whump #whump writing #whump fic #stabby's OCs #oc whump #oc Ivan #oc Edmund #criminal caretaker #oc cooper

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persephones-journey · 5 months

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#5, #10, #12 and #17 for the cozy prompt, pretty please :3 with Finan and OC of your choice! thank you 🥰😘

Happy Finan Friday! Enjoy!

5 Doing a Jigsaw puzzle

Finan held Ripley in his arms as she sat between his legs. His arms were reaching around her as she leaned back in his chest sipping her wine as he made the jigsaw puzzle.

“I can't believe we are actually doing this,” she muttered as she sipped her wine before placing it back on the coffee table.

Finan shrugged. “Why not? It's not like there is anything else for us to do.”

He looked at Ripley when she turned and looked at him. She poked him in the chest. “You are just saying that because Uhtred commented on how you can never sit in the quiet. That you always have to be on the move.”

He sighed. “All right, so it got to me,” he muttered. He looked at Ripley's moss green eyes. “I just wish to sit in the quiet with ya for a bit. I miss being around ya, Annie.”

He saw her blush and knew that she wouldn't push him anymore. He knew that she wanted to spend time with him as well. He had been gone off taking pictures of war zones and he just needed the quiet with his best friend for a bit.

“Okay,” she answered. She turned and looked at the puzzle. “But for the love of God, Fin, you know you need to find the corners first,” she added.

Finan snorted. “No, ya do the middle and work ya way out.”

Ripley eyed him. “Wow,” she said as she turned to the puzzle and began moving the pieces around to find the corners, “Ireland's education system leaves a lot to be desired.”

He pinched her side and she laughed. He moved his arms around her putting the pieces together. She found the corners and began putting together the sides.

They fell silent as they worked. Finan would never admit out loud how much he loved the feeling of having Ripley so close to him. He had been away from her for close to a year. He hadn't been able to talk to her much over that time and had mailed her some letters but it was not the same.

There was nothing compared to having her close to him, her back pressed against his chest. He would lean in and he could smell her shampoo and her body wash. He rested his chin on her shoulder and rested his arms around her waist as she began connecting the smaller parts he had put together with the sides she had done. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax.

He hadn't truly relaxed or let himself breathe. In the war zone, he could never sleep soundly, waking every couple of hours worrying he heard gunshots and screams. And then there were the nightmares. They echoed in his mind and always got worse when he was in the middle of a war zone taking pictures.

With Ripley was the only time they were quiet and left him alone.

There in her living room, with her in his arms, he healed from his experience. He was able to push it away into the dark parts of his mind and not think of it again. She was his lighthouse. She was the one who always guided him home.

He ached to tell her all that but he feared losing her.

So, he stayed silent.

“There,” she said softly. “Finished.”

Finan opened his eyes and looked at the puzzle. It was one he had picked up because he had thought of Ripley as he looked at. It was a painting, The Accolade by Edmund Blair Leighton. It was one of Ripley's favourite paintings. She had a replica hanging in that very room, above the television.

“I like it because it reminds me of history. Ladies and knights, courtly love. Things my father taught me a bit about,” she had told him when he had helped her hang it.

“Ya were right,” he whispered to her. “I should have did the corners first.”

She laughed. She leaned back into him and he held her. “I missed having you here,” she answered.

He kissed her temple. “I missed being here.”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her close. She didn't pull away or push him away. He glanced at her and saw that she had closed her eyes, relaxing into him. He leaned back against the couch and let himself relax as well.

He promised himself not to leave her for that long ever again.

10 Listening to Podcasts

Aisling walked into the loft and slammed the door. She leaned against it and closed her eyes. She took slow, deep breaths. Her students that day had definitely tried her patience more than ever before. She opened her eyes when she heard Finan in the kitchen.

“Okay, listen,” he said speaking to their large orange tabby cat, Duke, “Mom is going to be home soon. Can ya please not cry bloody murder at her like I haven't fed ya? Cause we both know that I have fed ya. I fed ya twice.”

She smiled. She pulled off her toque and pulled off her messenger bag. She dropped it on the floor smiling as she heard Duke immediately meow the moment he had heard it and Finan curse.

“We talked about this,” Finan groaned.

Aisling placed her toque on the shelf by the door and reached down to pull off her boots. She dropped those on the rack and smiled as Duke walked towards her, his tail up in the air meowing the whole way. She pulled off her jacket and hung it beside Finan's on the hook.

“Hi baby boy,” she said as she picked Duke up and held him in her arms as a baby. She kissed his little head. “How was your day?” she asked.

“He got fed twice and still refused to listen to me,” Finan answered as he walked out of the kitchen with a glass of wine for her.

Aisling smiled as Finan stepped closer to her. She accepted the kiss he pressed to her lips as she took the glass of wine. She pulled away and walked over to the couch.

“You know Duke is a Momma's Boy,” she answered smirking.

Finan snorted. “Of course he is,” he eyed her. “Bad day?”

She sat on the couch and let go of Duke, smiling when he climbed up and laid down on her chest and stomach. She nodded.

“Yes. Too many students bought into the Ricardian propaganda,” she said. She sighed and closed her eyes. “One even suggested, with a straight face, that maybe Perkin and Lambert were actually Edward and Richard.”

Finan snorted. “Are they still alive?” he asked.

She looked at him. “Sadly, yes,” she muttered as she sipped her wine.

He laughed. “I'm going to go and make dinner and-.”

“Babe,” she said softly. “Can we order in?” she asked as she looked at him.

His brown eyes looked at her. He smiled. “Order in and listen to your favourite true crime podcast?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

Finan nodded. “I'll go order us some Chinese right now.”

Aisling smiled. “I love you.”

He smiled back. “I love ya as well.”

She patted Duke, scratching his chin and cheeks as she heard Finan walk back into the kitchen and order the food. She sipped her wine and listened to Duke's purring. It soothed her and she began to relax. She looked up when Finan walked into the living room again, carrying the bottle of wine and another glass. He set both on the coffee table before walking over and dimming the lights. She watched as he walked over to the bookshelves and grabbed the wireless speaker that was there. He set that on the corner of the coffee table as well.

“Ya want to go change into your pjs?” he asked her.

She smiled. “You are perfect,” she whispered as he walked over and leaned over her.

He smirked. “Oh aye, I know,” he answered as he winked.

She laughed and Duke jumped down off her chest. Finan leaned in and kissed her lips. She kissed him back. She sighed when he took her wine glass.

“Have a nice hot shower as well,” he answered softly. “The food should be here when ya are done.”

She smiled against his lips. “That sounds perfect.”

He took her wineglass and she let him. He pulled away and set it on the coffee table and she got up. She hugged him and he hugged her close as well. She felt him kiss her temple and he slapped her ass playfully.

“Go,” he said.

She pulled away and nodded. She left Finan in the living room as she walked down the short hall, ready to wash the day off of her.

Close to an hour and a half later, she walked back down the short hall, wearing one of Finan's old t-shirts her damp hair curling around her shoulders. She smiled as she found Finan setting out the take out containers while eyeing Duke, who was sniffing around the coffee table.

“Ya are not getting any,” he told Duke. Duke meowed at him. “I don't think so. I did not order any shrimp.”

“Jokes on you,” Aisling said. “You know that Julia adores him and would have given a container with shrimp and chicken for him anyway,” she added speaking of the daughter of the Chinese restaurant owners. Duke was fond of going for walks and since the Chinese restaurant was only a street over, they had walked him over there often. Since meeting him, Julia, whenever she was working and they ordered, made sure Duke got his own little container with shrimp and chicken in it for him. Sometimes even pork belly.

She sat beside Finan on the couch. She watched as he tapped a contained with his finger. She looked at it and laughed. Written on the side was 'Duke' with a little heart beside it.

“I swear, that cat gets more love than I do,” Finan muttered.

Aisling leaned in and kissed his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered.

He huffed but said nothing.

She took the container and got up. She walked towards the kitchen. Duke followed her, his little feet thumping softly on the old wood floors. She took his dish and grabbed a fork. She put about half of the container in the dish. She smiled when she saw shrimp and pork belly, all cooked without seasonings.

“Here you go, baby,” she said as she set his dish down. “You can have the rest tomorrow night.”

“She gave him enough for two meals?” Finan called.

Aisling didn't say anything. She closed the container and put it in the fridge right away. She walked back to the living room and sat down beside Finan again. She saw that he had her phone, the podcast ready to go. He looked at her as he handed her chop sticks. She nodded and he pressed play. She smiled as the soothing voice filled the room.

And so they ate dinner listening to the Aussie voice talk about an Australia murder that Aisling hardly knew anything about. Truthfully, she didn't care much about it. It was the voice, the accent that she liked. His soothing Aussie accent helped her relax.

She finished eating and sat back into the couch as Finan picked up the left over and some empty containers. She refilled her glass of wine, noticing the bottle was almost empty. She sipped her wine and closed her eyes.

Several moments later, she heard another bottle being placed on the coffee table. She opened her eyes and smiled as Finan sat beside her and pulled her into his arms. She snuggled close to him. He took her wine glass and had a sip. She smiled as he sighed and placed the glass on the coffee table. He kissed her head.

“How are ya feeling now?” he asked softly.

She snuggled closer to him. “Happy and relaxed,” she answered. She pressed her hand on his chest. “Kinda wishing you had an Australian accent though.”

Finan pinched her and she laughed. She reached out for her wine glass and sipped some more. She heard Duke walk back into the room. A moment later, he had jumped on the couch and was laying across Finan and her legs. She placed the wine glass on the coffee table again and looked at Finan. He smiled and stroked her cheek.

“Just a cozy night with ya two favourite boys was all ya needed,” he answered.

She smirked. “Duke and Ryan, podcast guy?” she asked.

He growled and pinched her ass cheek. “Not funny.”

She leaned in and placed a soft peck against his lips to soften the blow. He held her close and she snuggled down, her face pressed into his neck.

Yes, all she needed was a cozy night with her favourite boys to recharge.

12 Going Ice Skating

“I cannot believe ya talking me into this,” Finan muttered as he sat on the bench.

“Oh hush,” Carwyn said from her place kneeling on the ground in front of him. She was tying his skates. “You will do fine,” she told him.

“Have ya ever seen an Irishman on ice?” he demanded. “No, ya haven't. There is a reason we don't skate.”

“Too busy river dancing?” she asked glancing up at him.

He scoffed and met her hazel eyes. He saw the laughter in them. He found himself smiling. “Aye, too busy river dancing.”

She finished tying his skates and stood. He looked at the skates on her feet. She held out her hands. “Come on, Finan,” she said smiling. “I've got you.”

He sighed but he stood, holding her hands tightly in his. She smiled and took a step back. He took a step forward. And another. He found that it wasn't that hard to walk. He looked up and saw the ice rink come up behind Carwyn. She stopped at the side, at the door and stood beside him. She held his hand tightly.

“You can do this,” she told him as she turned and looked at him. “I mean, you are a big bad Irishman.”

He snorted. “Who had the stupid idea to come to Canada to have a real white Christmas,” he said.

Carwyn laughed and she leaned in and kissed him on the corner of the mouth. “I'll make a Canadian out of you yet,” she said.

Finan doubted that was possible but didn't say anything. Instead, he held Carwyn's hand and arm and stepped onto the ice after she had. He was grateful when she reached out with her other hand and grabbed his as he slipped. She skated close to him and smiled at him.

“There is nothing to this,” she said softly.

He raised an eyebrow. “This is a lot to this,” he said as he moved both of feet at once. She pressed a hand to his chest. “A lot going on that if I don't do right, I end up on my ass.”

Carwyn laughed and, to prove she was a show off, skated backwards as she tugged him along. “I fell a lot when I first started skating.”

Finan eyed her. “Why did ya keep getting back up?”

“Determination,” she answered. She pulled him closer and he wrapped his arms around her. She smiled up at him. “And the hot chocolate I was promised after if I finally managed to skate a straight line.”

Finan smirked. “Ya were bribed.”

She continued to skate backwards pulling him along. “Oh, I was,” she leaned in closer. “Would you like me to bribe you?”

Finan nodded. “I would. I am hurt ya didn't even try first.”

She sighed. “If you stay upright and can skate a straight line, I'll get you a hot chocolate.”

Finan gripped her waist tight and pulled her closer. “I want more than just a hot chocolate.”

Carwyn blushed and shook her head. “Hot chocolate is what you get, buster,” she went to skate backwards more, “now all you have to-.”

Her skate hit a bump and she fell backwards. And since Finan was holding her so close and so tight, he went down as well. He landed on top of her on the ice. He quickly pressed his hands, in mittens, to the ice and leaned over Carwyn.

“Ya didn't hit your head, did ya?” he asked concerned.

She laughed and shook her head. “No, the only thing that took a hit here was my ego.”

Finan laughed. He leaned in and kissed her deeply. “No hot chocolate for you,” he told her in between kisses.

She laughed again and punched his side. He laughed more.

Maybe ice skating was a good idea after all.

17 Taking a Long Nap

Tate sighed and groaned when she felt Finan's arms pull away from her. She opened her eyes and watched as he got up. She reached for him.

“Where are you going?” she asked softly.

He turned back and took her hand. “To put another log on the fire. It's getting a tad chilly in here,” he answered.

She sighed. She squeezed his hand. “Bring back chips,” she said.

“Ya are not eating chips in bed,” he answered.

She groaned and pulled her hand away. She sat up and cursed. “Then we will continue this in the living room,” she muttered as she climbed out of bed.

She grabbed the two thickest blankets from the bed and wrapped them around herself before she walked out of the bedroom. She heard Finan chuckle behind her but he followed her. She walked into the open front room of the tiny wood cabin and plopped herself down on the couch. She cocooned herself in the blankets and watched as Finan walked over to the large fireplace. She looked out the window and saw the snow still falling.

Finan had rented them a cabin for the week as a nice staycation. It was up in the mountains about a three hour drive from the city but the view was spectacular.

When it wasn't snowing all day.

They had gotten there the day before and about two hours after they had arrived, it had started snowing and hadn't stopped.

“All right, do ya have a preference for chips?” Finan asked as he placed a couple more logs on the fire and looked at her.

She shook her head. She stopped. “Actually, those Doritos we brought,” she said.

He nodded. “All right,” he turned and walked towards the kitchen.

She eyed his shirtless torso with his grey sweatpants worn low on his hips. She leaned back on the couch and smirked. She hugged the blankets around her and watched as Finan grabbed the bag of Doritos and went to walk back into the living room. He stopped and turned around. She leaned towards the side, pressing her face against the back of the couch. She smiled as she heard him open the cupboard and it close a moment later.

“Red, all right?” he asked.

“Did I drink all the pink moscato?” she asked.

She heard bottles moving around the counter. And after the door of the fridge opening. “Looks like it, love,” he answered.

She sighed. “I knew I should have bought a whole case.”

Finan chuckled. “There is the white moscato left.”

Tate sighed dramatically. “Fine, I will drink my second favourite wine then,” she muttered.

Finan laughed more but didn't say anything else. She kept watch and saw him walk back out of the kitchen, Doritos, bottle of wine, and one glass. She moved towards the middle of the couch. She pulled the blankets from around her. She smiled as Finan handed her the bag of Doritos and sat behind her on the couch. She opened the bag and began munching as he poured a generous glass of wine for her.

She leaned back against him smiling as he wrapped an arm around her waist. She took the glass of wine from him and he pulled the blankets around the both of them. She took a sip and sighed.

“Not as good as the pink,” she sighed, “but good enough.”

Finan chuckled. He took the bag then and grabbed a couple of Doritos. “So, what should we do until the snow stops?”

Tate sipped her wine some more before handing the glass to Finan. He took another large sip before he set it aside on the coffee table. She nibbled more on the Doritos before handing him the bag. He took another handful and set the bag beside the glass.

“Probably what we have been doing since we got here,” she answered as she turned and looked at him. “Napping.”

She opened her mouth and Finan placed a small chip in it. He finished his chips and she snuggled close to him, her back against his chest. She felt him kiss her neck and his hands running up the racer back tank top she had worn to bed that matched her cute bootie shorts.

“Sounds like a plan,” he answered, nuzzling his nose in her neck. “We can shovel tomorrow.”

Tate snorted and closed her eyes as she rested her cheek on Finan's bare shoulder. “You can shovel. I'll sit here by the fire keeping it burning until you come in.”

Finan pinched her sides and she squirmed in his arms until he wrapped them around her again and held her close. She sighed and felt his hands rubbing her back arms and stomach. She felt herself already beginning to drift off to sleep.

“Sounds like a plan,” he whispered as his fingers traced symbols in her skin. “I love napping with ya,” he added with a soft kiss to her temple.

She smiled. She turned and pressed a kiss to his bare skin. She let her fingers dance along his skin. “I love napping with you too,” she whispered.

She felt Finan rest his chin on her head as he held her closer. She pulled the blankets around them more and snuggled more into him. His warmth surrounded her along with that of the blankets.

She drifted off to sleep again in the arms of the man she loved, feeling loved and warm.

#my writing #Finan Friday #prompts

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sophieswundergarten · 10 months

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One of my (Many) favourite conversations from Dawn Treader makes me very happy because it highlights that these characters are still children, and they should be allowed to act that way. And also because it's got Eustace and I love him (Even though he's an idiot at this point) Loosely paraphrased:

Eustace, after interjecting himself into a private conversation between Edmund and Lucy that he's been eavesdropping on: Do you like that weird painting that we've stuck in a back room because my whole family hates it but we can't actually get rid of it because it'd be rude?

Edmund, being the only one who's got some sense here: Oh for goodness sake, don't let him get started about art and everything. He just wants to complain and show off

Lucy, who is extremely honest all the time and maybe a little bit too optimistic at this point: Yes! I really love it. I think it's beautiful

Eustace, who was waiting for this moment: Hmm, okay. Good, good. Well, I think it's ugly. Truly terrible. Horrible thing

Edmund, who is truly the king of sarcasm and has already gotten sick and tired of his cousin's antics: You know, you wouldn't have to look at the painting if you left the room and let us alone. Just a suggestion :)

#So many feelings about these kids #not mbs #narnia

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andthebubbles · 5 months

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2023 Fic Year in Review

thank you for tagging me @smooth-boob 🥺

(So I assume all the questions refer to fics completed in 2023?)

List of Fics Completed this Year

Through Life and Death (and In Between) (simi)

The Ghost in These Halls (anthony angst, some a&b)

Benedict's Apothecary (a&b and some c)

Breathe (a&b)

A Is for Annoying (a&b)

Benedict with sideburns (a&b)

Benedict teaching Anthony how to paint, and Anthony teaching him how to do household accounts (a&b)

Missing scene from 1x04 (anthony and violet)

A fic where Colin argues with Anthony about going on a Grand Tour rather than going to Oxford (a and c)

A oneshot from the cfs!Anthony fic universe... (a and c)

That nd!anthony fic which i posted and had up for a few hours and then put on private

(Er... then I found more fics...)

(stff245) suicidal Anthony at Christmas (damn I should've posted this at xmas lol, it's just where Violet is drunk and yells at him and says she wishes it had been Anthony who had died rather than Edmund)

(stff246) more suicidal Anthony

(Um... I could post those last two actually maybe (though it would be fun to post the xmas one at xmas)... also they made me realise that my more recent a&b short fics are shit lmfao (hopefully that doesn't also apply to a/b fic........ i mean, maybe that one's safe because it's also anthony angst, although of a different sort (i should write more anthony (+ family) angst... (or I should stop posting shitty fics))))

Number of Words Written

This is for non-WIPs I presume and only for the fics I completed in 2023. 17260 unless I miscalculated.

Your Most Popular Fic

The Ghost in These Halls

Your Personal Fave

The Ghost in These Halls

Your Fave Scene

...I don't think I have one. Not from the fics that were completed in 2023 anyway.

A Fic or Scene that Challenged You

The first section of The Ghost in These Halls, I rewrote that so many times (the bit where Violet starts laying into him). Also, the second section with Benedict... towards the end of it when they're berating each other, that took a while to get out (I kept leaving it for later and coming back to it when I was inspired, and just slowly kept chipping away at it)

A Line of Writing You’re Proud Of

I have more in the WIPs/abandoned fics lmao. ffs. (like, the time loop fic where anthony attempts suicide again and benedict walks in on him/watches him die... and the cfs fic where anthony comforts daphne (and colin and benedict are there too)... and that one line from the madhouse fic about the vase of water shattering a rainbow on the wall... OH and how could i forget that paragraph from the ~benedict the artist -fic)

But uh. Actually I found one, from a fic I haven't posted (yet?); I just saw it again tonight so it feels fresh (he = Anthony, ofc):

The sunlit meadows of his childhood turn to ash, the treehouse is rotting and crumbling beneath his feet, his father sighs and looks down at him in disappointment, his mother levels him with an accusing stare. And he’s only fifteen, six, ten, four; these are his first memories and this is how it’s always been; his brothers and sisters have always hated him, he’s always been a tyrant, he’s always made them unhappy, he’s never really belonged.

A Comment that Touched You

All the lovely comments I got in 2023 on sebis fic! Holy shit. Every time I get a new nice one, it just makes my day, Which, for me, means I am happy for at most an hour, because I'm generally a miserable person, unfortunately.

Also, the nice comments on The Ghost in These Halls were lovely too. Except for that one iffy did-you-actually-like-the-fic-or-not comment

Something that Inspired Your Writing

Anthonyyyy. Anthony + angst (Anthony and Violet, Anthony and family...). Anthony and Benedictttttt

Your proudest accomplishment (that one scene; finally finishing that one fic; posting your first fic; etc):

Probably the Ghost in These Halls. It's the only fic (so far?) where I wrote the sections out of order. Also, I guess getting my head around Anthony is a nice accomplishment, because it let me write the Ghost in These Halls.

For the uh WIP fics, proudest accomplishment would be writing so much goddamn smut and actually being told that it's hot?????? eyyyy. good achievement for someone who's either (panromantic) ace or a lesbian

Do You Have Any Writing Goals for Next Year?

Yeah. Keep writing a/b fic :3 And fucking get back to the ~benedict the artist -fic.

As for... improving my writing... I feel like I can get rambly. Or make things very long, somehow. Like a/b fic. But that's also just pure indulgence on my part... I don't want that fic to end 🥺 (When else am I gonna have such a good setup where I can have my cake AND eat it? (aka have anthony/benedict as a normal couple with class differences to overcome and then them finding out that they're brothers and then i get to explore the incest side of it LMAO))

Uh also... I want to learn/remember that 1. when you're tired, you should stop pointlessly poking at the fic and you may think everything is bad/wrong when it's not, and 2. I feel like I need to learn the difference between what I want to see in an upcoming section vs what I want to cover in an upcoming section in a plot-relevant way. Because... I did a checklist of things I needed to cover for sebis fic, and it worked so well, so I've sorta been doing that for other fics, but now I'm starting to think that maybe the checklist only works if you have some plot points to cover (like sebis fic did), whereas e.g. if you want a certain thing to happen at this point in the story (e.g. something specific you want in a smut scene, or ... you want benedict to give anthony one of his poetry notebooks ~right now in the upcoming scene for example)... then maybe it isn't so good because you're trying to force the characters to do something that they're not ready to do instead of listening to what they want to do. Idk. I'm still sorting this out in my head.

Anyway.

Tagging @lucktofate @suspendingtime @wolfsbanesbite @effervescentdragon @4xmulti21champion and anyone else who wants to do it~!

#i cut it bc it got long #anyway!#smooth-boob #ask game #fic talk

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shameonmeeguiltypleasure · 1 year

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This has been itching in my brain for a while but I kind of just assumed that Colin and Eloise were the exceptions with having darker personalities based on what Anthony said in an earlier chapter and never thought much of it until I read the latest update with Colin's inner monologue concerning his sisters' wrath. Add in the fact that neither of the brothers were surprised at Colin's violent outburst (although this could be just because they are both used to it). And now I'm wondering if Anthony is just an unreliable narrator or is the entire family dark as well?

And speaking of dark, I know you said Pen is an unreliable narrator when it comes to family but does that only concern their love for her or is she also unaware of her family's darker aspects?

BTW, i love SMB. Like literally the chokehold that your fanfic has on me is unholy.

I love you Anon, thank you so much for asking!!

So when I shared Anthony's pov in that earlier chapter, I was still hemming and hawing about the way I wanted to portray Polin's siblings. It isn't till recently I decided to fully commit to the dark side and give shades of grey & black to the characters. Your ask definitely reminded me that I need to update the tags with 'Unreliable narrator' as depending on the sibling and the perspective, the character will read differently.

This was also due to how Colin and Eloise's talk went. Their relationship is extremely complicated (if you haven't noticed lol). She'll give you her experience growing up with Colin when I get to work on her book. The Bridgerton Siblings aren't dark per se… they just had to adapt to Colin who was an incredibly unrelenting force as a child. After Edmund died, Violet fell into depression and Anthony was drowning with responsibility with Benedict & Daphne doing their best to help him stay afloat, Colin was sort of left alone. Eloise wasn't talking. Franny, Greg & Hyacinth were definitely more minded than Colin and Eloise.

And the assumption was that COLIN was looking after Eloise, helping her through the trauma and grief. That he was doing fine because he was smiling and charming visitors away from the door when they wanted to ask after Violet (He was in a way… but he's a kid in grief too). Eloise is the only one who pushes Colin because she knows the literal worst of him. They clash because they were essentially the forgotten middle children.

Also, in Colin's mind, a part of him thinks, if he's capable of the things he's done his siblings must be the same they just hide it better from him and the public. (So yeah, he's unreliable and biased). And Funnily enough, Ant&Ben think the same of Colin. (They all severely underestimate each other's impulse controls tbh)

Pen is an extremely unreliable narrator when it comes to her family. There is LITERALLY so much she didn't notice (Y'all get more insight in Ch12). As SMB Phillipa will be quoted saying:

"Penelope is the best liar of them all. Only Master Liars could sink themselves so deeply into believing a lie of their own making they'd forgotten the truth. Phillipa Admired her for it, it's what kept her safe throughout the years. It's why she could forgive her for the many years she'd spent missing her sweet little Penny…."

Depending on the Polin sibling you interview, you're gonna have them describing a very different kind of Polin.

Example:

Anthony: Colin's got a temper and is greedy, but he's harmless. He's a Gentleman! He was raised well, of course. (duh!)

Benedict: Mmmh, not exactly harmless, but he knows where to draw the line. Maybe don't tempt him to cross it?

Daphne: Colin wouldn't hurt a fly! He's far too kind for that!! Oh, what? No, he just asked if I could help him bury some bones a dog dug up in his backyard on Saturday. Mmh? This red stuff? Oh, my daughter's learning how to paint.

Eloise: Colin will skin you from your toes to your hair follicles, boil you in a cauldron and feed you to the poor for dinner as a soup with bread as a side dish. You laugh, but I'm not joking. Ask him what happened to Susan who called me a bitch last week. Do you really think it was a coincidence he volunteered to feed the poor as charity work recently? Did you not wonder where he got the meat so quickly?

Franny: Of course, I trust my brother. Was that a serious question? Colin doesn't lose his temper unless it's over something truly bad. What's his definition of Bad? I don't know, I guess if someone made one of us cry, then yeah…

Greg&Hyacinth: Colin doesn't do anything wrong. He's actually pretty boring. All he ever does is eat and moon over Penelope Featherington.

Featherington Sisters:

Prudence: Touch my sister and die. I refuse to say another word. A threat? Oh no sir, that was a promise.

Phillipa: Penny's adorable!! I miss her sometimes. Hmm? Oh no she's still living with Mama, I just miss when she used to stab tables and threaten cousin Alfie to hold his tongue or she'll stuff him full with stones and toss him in the lake. Alfie's afraid of water you see, but she was offering to teach him how to swim, he didn't need to cry about it. Isn't she sweet?

Felicity: Touch my sister and die. Don't even breathe next to her. What? Prudence did? Well… *loads shot gun*… I guess I'll save her the trouble. *BANG*

#answered #bridgerton #polin #seducing mr bridgerton #smb

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bethanydelleman · 2 years

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The Problem with Virginity and Jane Austen

Long post and discussions of sex, non-graphic mention of sexual assault

There was a really thought provoking post by @anghraine which has me thinking about the male heroes and sex in Jane Austen’s novels.

From a modern perspective, I think it can be nicer to imagine that all of the Austen hero men, Darcy, Knightley, Brandon, Wentworth, Tilney, Bingley, Edward, and Edmund, are virgins. After all, they live in a pre-birth control era and syphilis is running rampant. None of us want to imagine Elizabeth’s nose falling off twenty years down the road or Catherine bumping into a very familiar looking child in Woodston village. (and yes, I’m well aware they had some forms of birth control but nothing like today, women were desperate for what we have today, it’s a modern miracle)

I am no sociologist, but I have observed a lot of human behaviour from the present and a lot of sex is had, and unsafe sex too. Teenagers are wild. I also know from church records in the period that many people “anticipated their vows” because there are a miraculous number of babies born within a few months of their parents marrying who live to tell the tale. I also know that London was full of prostitutes and many high and wealthy men had mistresses, sometimes very publically. The navy had problems with homosexual sex (which may have been a social acceptance problem or a rape problem *ahem* modern military) and with a lot of prostitution occuring on shore (source: Brian Southam who wrote a wonderful book called Jane Austen and the Navy) It was a work hard, party hard sort of lifestyle, as we can see below in this Thomas Rowlandson painting:

So the least likely to be a virgin in my mind is Wentworth, with his eight years of success at sea, followed by Brandon, who was stationed abroad in the military, also trying to get over a lost love, and Knightley, based on age alone (he is the oldest at 38).

Now on to the big issue, are we readers wishing virginity on the Jane Austen men for the right reasons? Syphilis and natural children aside, I grew up in a church that pushed the purity gospel and it is not good. It messes people up. They are now writing books about what it did to people. So I don’t want to force puritanical ideals on Jane Austen’s heroes just because I was taught some very harmful rhetoric.

I personally know men who waited for marriage, but they also tended to marry early (22-25). In most churches who teach this message, both men and women marry because they want to have sex (even though we aren’t supposed to do that, I know, it’s very shocking s/). So I can see Edmund and Edward being virgins on their wedding nights because they are both religious and both quite young (plus a secret engagement formed when Edward was 19). Even Bingley might be, though he seems much more out in the world. But the older these men get and still seem indifferent to marrying, I think they are getting something elsewhere. (they may also have low libido, this is very possible and not discussed enough but I can only say so much in one post)

I listened to a lecture once about if Darcy is a virgin which ended with the professor saying, “Of course not, he went to university” and he then explained that a lot of drinking and sex was happening at these places. Now we know Darcy looked down on what Wickham was doing at Cambridge, but was this because Darcy was going about it “the right way” while Wickham was seducing tradesmen’s daughters and servants? Possible too.

It is also possible that some of these Hero Austen men might have a mistress down the road. If you want to have sex, there is always a possibility of having a baby. Lady Bertram, with her perfect four child family, might well have told Sir Thomas to start looking elsewhere. I have read a letter from a woman in this century who sent her husband away because she had five babies in five years and she was done. It’s just a whole different concept than today. There was no “trying” for a baby, you had sex and babies came. But add to that half a family being swept away in sudden illness, you were relying on those extra children to make it to adulthood. Women faced being pregnant constantly for 15-20 years!

So yes, I would like the Austen men to be virgins (and I really think basically all the unmarried women we meet are), but I think it’s a desire heavily influenced by my own upbringing and the Victorian era. Henry Crawford, who is morally dubious but still, completely separates love and sex in his mind. That is something that seems crazy to us today, but the aristocracy at the time seem to share this view. You have a wife, you treat her “right” and you have a mistress on the side. Somehow, in this era, that was accepted as okay.

I agree that Jane Austen probably wasn’t on board with a lot of this, but she also wasn’t privy to those conversations that we would also need to hear to have a full view of the era. Were the men bragging about sexual conquests when the women left after dinner? Was a good husband one who kept a mistress and didn’t let anyone know? Or one who didn’t get the servants pregnant? Or was it good enough not to mess with your own class? (Darcy did not decide to warn the lower class people of Meryton about Wickham, are those women below his notice?) Everyone is horrified by the treatment of Eliza Williams, but if Willoughby had provided a hundred a year for the baby would he be okay? Emma seems to approve of what Harriet’s father has done in her maintenance.

I just don’t know.

#jane austen #virginity is a tricky concept #I was so brainwashed I wouldn't dye my hair because it was virgin and that word basically meant good to me #jane austen heroes #wentworth #darcy #knightley #henry tilney #edmund bertram #edward ferrars #charles bingley #colonel brandon

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wafflesandkruge · 1 year

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lover, please stay (kathony)

Daphne gestures exasperatedly at him. “You taught me yourself, brother. I am not mistaken. Love is when your eyes meet and your heart begins to beat faster–”

“My heart,” Anthony snarls, “beats faster because she is aggravating!”

aka the very self-indulgent and niche bridgerton grishaverse au

a/n: HAPPY VALENTINES DAY @rietveldbrothers MY BELOVED MY PARTNER IN CRIME MY KATHONY ENABLER. i hope you like this incredibly niche au that probably only the two of us will enjoy lmao. anyway all you need to know is that anthony is a heartrender, kate is an inferni, and daphne is a heartrender.

ao3

The Bridgerton manor is quiet to all but Anthony this time of night. Exhaustion weighs heavy on his bones as he treads silently through the darkened halls. Call it superstition, or perhaps paranoia, but he’s never gone to bed without completing his nightly ritual.

Benedict’s room is first at the end of the hall. Anthony pauses for a second and slows his breathing. Beyond the brightly painted door, he can sense Benedict’s heartbeat. It’s erratic from what was probably another late cup of coffee, but strong. Beside him, Eloise’s pulse thrummed at a slightly slower rate. So the two were up late, again. Anthony had once caught them still up at dawn synthesizing a new compound for Benedict’s paintings, dark smudges beneath their eyes and matching grins splitting their faces before they registered Anthony’s presence. Anthony smiles at the memory. They are lucky he isn’t in the mood to spoil their fun today.

Colin’s room is empty as he is still on his Grand Tour, so Anthony keeps moving. Daphne’s room is next. His favorite sister is quietly asleep, her heartbeat slow and steady. Something in his blood calls to her, her powers briefly brushing his own. Even in her sleep, she is a formidable Heartrender, second only to him. Anthony lingers for a second longer. He wouldn’t be able to check in on her like this for much longer, given her impending marriage to Simon.

He pulls himself away with a soft sigh and moves on. Francesca is away as well, but Hyacinth and Gregory are sleeping peacefully in their shared room, tired out by the picnic they’d had by the lake earlier. They’d driven their nanny almost to insanity with their combined energy. Anthony listens for another moment, then continues on to the last bedroom.

Violet Bridgerton sleeps alone, as she has for the last fifteen years. Anthony’s powers weren’t developed enough before his father had died, so her solitary heartbeat is the only one he has ever known. He wonders how it could still be this strong when in the days after Edmund’s death, it was so quiet he thought his powers were broken. He could never do that to someone else, to leave them behind a shell of themself. His hands clench involuntarily.

Violet is strong. She’ll manage. He sends her good dreams, then forces himself to leave.

Edwina’s pretty face breaks into a smile as she is ushered to the front of the room. Her dark hair had been pulled into an artful updo and silk flowers had been haphazardly pinned to the spill of curls. She wore a pale dress covered with sparkling beads that clicked together with every movement. There is a certain girlish charm to her that Anthony supposes is appealing, but he is hardly enraptured like half the men in the room.

At some unknown cue, the lights in the room are extinguished. A hush falls over the shadowed crowd.

Then, there is light.

Spidery sunlight pools in Edwina’s palms and catches on the beads of her dress, scattering light across the room. Her face is alight with joy as she spreads her arms wider and the light grows.

The crowd oohs and aahs at the display of power, but Anthony’s attention is elsewhere. Half-hidden in Edwina’s shadow is another woman, closer to his age than Edwina. She has the same eyes and nose as Edwina, and the light manages to catch her regal profile and render her a study in shadows. But the thing that catches his attention is that even in a room full of people, her heart seems to beat the loudest. He takes a step towards her.

Their eyes meet.

“What are you doing here?” Anthony demands, his traitorous heart leaping at seeing Kate. She’s wearing a smart blue dress today, matching silk gloves covering her arms from the bright sun. Mud-stained riding boots peek out from beneath the hem. Clearly, she intends to spend a day with the horses, which is why Anthony is so bewildered by her presence at the training grounds.

Kate surveys the area with a critical eye, her head tilted at that aggravating angle that made it look like she was looking down at him despite the several inches he had on her. Anthony’s blood boils as she opens her mouth. “I wanted to see what the big fuss was about.”

“It’s dangerous for you here,” Anthony growls. It would only take a second of distraction from any of the Grisha dotting the course, and Kate could be hurt. The thought causes his skin to itch. “If you want to observe, do it from the house.”

“Oh please,” Kate says dismissively. “How can you expect me to be frightened when I saw Mr. Levington there fall off his horse last week because she spooked at a rabbit?”

Anthony looks at where Kate’s gaze is directed, and sure enough, Levington is trying to levitate water out of the lake with little success. The front of his shirt is already soaked, and wet hair is plastered to his forehead. What an imbecile.

When he turns back to Kate, she’s still staring at Levington, a small smirk playing on her lips. Anthony scowls and steps in front of her to block her view. “Leave,” he ordered.

Kate tilts her head to the side. “Do you always expect people to jump at every order you give?”

“Yes.”

The two stare at each other, having reached a clear impasse. Anthony can’t help noticing the way the sun turns her eyes into warm honey, dark lashes blinking slowly as she glowered at him. Her heartbeat thumps steady in his ears, both a reassurance and an annoyance.

“Watch out!” a voice cries from the distance.

Anthony sees it a split second after the warning. A stream of bright fire hurtles toward them from behind Kate, too fast to be avoided. His pulse roars as he grabs her shoulders and shoves her roughly to the ground, his shoulders curved around her body. The air is unbearably hot. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits.

One breath.

Kate’s heartbeat slowing until it was silent.

Two.

Kate’s last breath leaving her body in a final gasp.

“My lord.”

Kate’s body still in his arms–

“Anthony!”

His eyes fly open. Blood rushes in his ears, everything is tinted red. Kate peers up at him from the ground, her brows furrowed in concern. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright.

“Breathe,” she says as if calming a spooked animal. “Breathe.”

“You are unharmed?” he chokes out. His hands fumble at her shoulders, her arms. He cannot breathe. “Kate, are you–”

“I am fine.” Kate grabs his hand and holds it to the bare skin over her heart. Her skin is burning to the touch. “Breathe, my lord. Listen.”

Anthony forces a breath through his lungs and the fog dissipates just enough that he can remember how to use his power. Kate’s heart races, her lungs fill with air. Alive. He clings to the rhythm of her breaths like a lifeline.

“I am unharmed,” Kate repeats, more softly this time. Her other hand presses his free hand to his own heart so he can feel his own heartbeat. Warmth seeps through the thin silk of her glove.

He focuses on the brown of her eyes and slows his breaths. This close, he can count her eyelashes, each one ebony black and perfectly curved. Her heart beats on.

One.

Two.

He leans in closer. She smells like lilies, the sharp scent of char cutting through. Her breath fans across his lips as her head tilts toward him and–

“Are you both alright?”

They spring apart. Anthony scrubs the back of his hand against the lower half of his face as Kate jumps to her feet. Her dress is hopelessly stained and wrinkled, but he can’t see any other damage. She still stares at him, her eyes wide.

“I must– I will go,” Kate says firmly before turning on her heel and striding purposefully back towards the house. Anthony watches her go, still a little dazed.

“Bridgerton!” Lord Lumley panted as he finally reached Anthony’s side. His jacket was charred at the cuffs and soot was smeared across his face. “Are you alright? I lost control of the fire for a second there.”

Anthony stares uncomprehendingly at the ground. The manicured grass is singed and blackened in a perfect circle around where the both of them had been laying on the ground. Had there been a squaller around who saw and aided them?

“Bridgerton?”

“I’m fine,” he responds curtly. “Stay off the training grounds if you’re not experienced enough.”

“Of course, my lord,” he says with a low bow. “My apologies, again.”

Anthony stares at the grass and wonders.

“You’ve been lying to everyone.”

Kate laughs, throwing her head back and letting her curls tumble down her back. Anthony doesn’t think it’s a laughing matter, but he stares all the same.

“I’ve never lied, my lord. People see what they want to, and I’m under no obligation to correct them.” Her heart beats steady and strong, a sure sign she was telling the truth. But Anthony has no idea how he’s been so blind, how he couldn’t have seen what now is so obvious. Kate Sharma is flame and ash, burning everything in her path. Fire burns beneath her skin and in the curve of her smile and he suddenly wants nothing more than to touch her, to feel the heat of her skin against his.

His heart is racing and there’s nothing he can do to slow it despite his powers. He takes a step closer, relishing the warmth radiating from her. His fingers brush the side of her face. “Show me,” he says, his voice almost a whisper.

“You and your orders.” But still, she cups her hands together and a small flame appears, white hot and blinding in the dark. Anthony stares until the shape of it is imprinted into his retinas. It twines around her fingers like a ribbon before she clasps her hands together and it snuffs out. The library is plunged into darkness, but Anthony doesn’t need light to hear the thrumming of her pulse, the air in her lungs. Even with the hundreds of souls currently under the Bridgerton roof, all he can feel is Kate.

He lets his hand cup the side of her jaw, keeps it there as he matches her breathing and stares. Kate traps her hand there with her own, her palms calloused and feverishly hot. Her dark eyes are alight with the small use of her power, splinters of moonlight reflecting in their depths. He feels as if he’s drowning.

“How long has it been since you told someone?” At this point, he knows he’s only grasping at straws to keep his sanity in check. He desperately tries to focus on the rhythm of her heartbeat and not her full lips as she parts them to answer him.

“Years. Longer since someone has asked.”

Daphne gestures exasperatedly at him. “You taught me yourself, brother. I am not mistaken. Love is when your eyes meet and your heart begins to beat faster–”

“My heart,” Anthony snarls, “beats faster because she is aggravating!”

Daphne’s features shift between expressions for a moment before they settle on displeased. “Deny it all you want. But feelings like these have a way of surfacing, sooner or later.”

Anthony poured himself another generous drink. He could feel an oncoming headache. “If I wanted your advice, I would have asked. Don’t you have a wedding to plan?”

Daphne scowls and Anthony’s chest suddenly feels like it is being squeezed by a giant.

“Don’t be childish,” he rebukes, slightly out of breath. Her scowl deepens, but the pressure on his chest disappears. He sucks in a deep breath.

“I only want for you to be happy. And if that is a future with Miss Sharma, then so be it.”

Anthony slams the decanter back onto the table with a little more force than necessary. His heartbeat is deafening.

“There is no future with Miss Sharma, Daphne. Do not bring it up again.”

If he thought she looked angry before, she is downright furious now. Her brows slant downwards and her hands clench into fists. He is just beginning to seriously worry for his life when she finally nods.

“Fine. As you wish, brother.”

“It is my fault,” Anthony mumbles as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Starbursts of light erupt across his vision. “It is all my fault.”

He can feel his mother’s hand on his arm, but he feels detached from his body as if he might float away at any moment. Everything is too loud. The pounding of rain on the window pane. The creaking of floorboards from the story above. His own heartbeat, two for every one of Violet’s.

“Oh, Anthony,” Violet sighs. Her hand pats his shoulder and he slumps into her side like he is still a child. This far from the Danbury residence, he can no longer hear Kate’s heartbeat, but the slow rhythm of it is ingrained in his mind like the ticking of a clock. He wants to cry, to scream, but all he feels is a dull ache in his chest and a lightness in his head that makes it difficult to focus on anything at all.

“Cure me,” he implores. Violet had healed all his scrapes and bruises as a child, magicked it away with a warm hand and a kiss to his forehead. What is this if not another gaping wound? He puts a hand to his chest. “Cut away the part that hurts.”

“My sweet boy,” Violet says gently. She hugs him to her side. “There is no cure for love.”

Anthony Bridgerton is an early riser, but that is something he is willing to sacrifice for the sake of his wife. He runs a hand through Kate’s curls as she dozes on his chest, her skin warm against his. There’s a furrow in her brow that does not disappear even in sleep and he can’t help pressing a kiss to it.

She shifts and mumbles something unintelligible, but soon settles back against him. Anthony has never felt so content.

Their hearts beat in synchronization, strong and steady and true.

#kathony s3 when #i am so unwell for them #bridgerton #kathony #tgt #the grisha trilogy #grishaverse #my writing #nonestly no idea what to tag this one #eldest sibling trauma?

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