#( 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 ; Lydia )

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

pagetreader asked : [AMNESIA] a starter where my muse has lost all of their memories and doesn't remember your muse (Nicholas @ Lydia, except they haven't met prior and she could potentially give away sensitive info if she starts to randomly maybe)

Can't find the meme. / @pagetreader

    𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. She wasn’t as familiar with York City’s streets as she was accustomed to Philadelphia, but New York was the closest resemblance to home when it was compared to the Patriot camp. Much like the Patriot camp, Lydia was thankful for the way she was swept away from the busy streets, given the recent change of scenery at Nicholas’ estate. She wasn’t one to find many things to be thankful for when it came to the British Army, but she appreciated the gesture of being invited into someone’s home for the time being. The long halls and the chance to have a Major by her side, all in the comfort of his home, was a brilliant opportunity for intelligence; it all depended on how much Nicholas was willing to divulge to Mrs. Barnett.

    As a widow, she had a rare opportunity for sympathy. The widow aspect of her act was true and it was always crucial to string along some truth with a lie, but she might’ve played it up a bit in a way to devoid suspicion. She was a widow, traveling through York City to get to her in-laws in Philadelphia in time for her husband’s funeral. A simple lie that would hopefully keep her around long enough to gather some intel, but not too long to cause suspicion. 

        ❝ Thank you for inviting me here, Major. ❞ Lydia looked up at Nicholas beside her, taking in his visage for any reaction she could pick up on. ❝ Your estate is very extravagant. Have you been in New York for long? ❞

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

        𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬. That of vampires, witches, and especially talking wolves, but what she faced right now knocked all disbelief out of the water. She wondered briefly if she was dreaming, but every time she was paralyzed with extreme amounts of anxiety, she would wake up just in time to calm down. If this was a dream, it stretched on for much longer than nightmares usually lasted, which was a scarier thought than it needed to be. 

        Lydia watched as the wolf started to circle her and she couldn’t imagine how it gained the ability to speak. Yet, it felt too real to be a dream. She swore it drew closer and closer with each brave step and its breath burned hotter and hotter on her skin. She managed to keep still against the angry beast and its dragon-like breath, maintaining an even breath in her chest. When it asked her a question, Lydia realized how hoarse her throat had gotten.

        ❝ Is this your woods? ❞ she asked, trying to piece anything together rather than admit the truth. Even if it was a wolf that could rip her to shreds, it managed to talk. With this ability, she reasoned that it couldn’t smell secrets, or look into her mind, but if it could speak, it harbored the intelligence to use her words against her. ❝ Am I intruding into your territory? ❞

❝ You should be. ❞ The creature responded calmly, shifting it's form with a quick display of wicked teeth, head bowed and an ear flicked back, amber-eyes narrow.

The woman's confidence is certainly admirable. Lakota moves to the side as if to circle her, but she stops after a couple small strides, her chest rose and fell with a heavy breath and a deep ticking sounded in her throat. The animal's expression, however, softened.

❝ What brings you out here? ❞

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

( Lydia Barnett ; moved to beta )

        𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧, only optimistic in her perseverance, but Ben’s next words made her pause. Her jaw tightened and she bit her lower lip. Philadelphia? No, no that can’t be possible. Not now.

        ❝ Ben, I can remain here. I don’t require a pass into Philadelphia. ❞ And besides, wouldn’t it be dangerous for her to go there? With the tension on the British side towards Patriot spies? It would seem selfish just go to back to spend time with her family--Laurence’s family--and forsake the cause altogether. 

        Any argument that remained on her tongue stilled as Ben drew her hand over his heart and looked into her eyes, watery as hers may be. For a moment, it silenced her grief and guilt. She couldn’t lie to him. Lydia believed she could never allow herself to deceive him.

        ❝ Yes. I would like to visit them. ❞ Specifically, her mother and her father, but also Laurence’s family. She wondered that if she reunited with them, it could heal her heart over Laurence’s passing, and offer her some solace in this unforgiving war. ❝ We? ❞ she asked aloud, furrowing her brow.

        His question stunned her. It’s as if he could look through her into her aching heart, seeing as she was torn between what she should and shouldn’t do and what she wanted. The same could be said for their relationship, and if Ben was willing to travel there with her, it meant more than words could say. He was right that the city was crawling with the British Army, she would ensure that all their time spent in Philadelphia wouldn’t be with her family. They still had a duty to uphold. Her mother might not understand that, but she would find a way around it. 

        ❝ I want to go, ❞ she repeated and lowered her head.  ❝ And I want to be with you. ❞

        But her resistance came back, even if it was faltering as Ben continued to speak. His own reserve and hesitant words drew her back from making a decision, worrying that if she agreed she would be giving him grief with Washington. ❝ What if there is a battle soon? Surely that’s more important than attending a banquet. If anything, I can travel there, gather the intelligence, and return. I can go with another to avoid suspicion, I’ll work with what I have. ❞

@honorhearted

[shxrp-teeth-after-dark]

( Lydia Barnett ; continued )

        ❝ No, you are always satisfactory. ❞

        Lydia’s limbs thrummed for rest and hopefully, the dwindled activity of late would allow them a moment of reprieve. More than they usually get. Every time they were swept away into Ben’s tent, once they were both satisfied, before the air would return to their lungs she would have to quickly dress herself if anyone was to grow suspicious over her absence. They were at the mercy of time, but in this small moment of reprieve, it seemed as if they were allowed a moment to breathe.

        Before she would begin to unwind herself from the sheets, Ben strategically placed a knee between her legs and drew closer to her lips. As his lips traced over hers, she could feel the warm breath leave his chuckle. Before she could think of what to say, she felt the soft pad of his thumb grazes her lips, drawing out to the corners, to her cheek. For once at his words, no teasing reply sprung to life, but her body reacted in kind. Between the sheets, she drew up her hand and traced the lines of his muscles. She could remember gripping his hips only moments before. She knew the way it felt to dig her fingers into the soft flesh of his skin. She remembered how his lips drew over her neck and how little space remained between them. 

        A voice echoed in her mind: You got under Laurence’s skin, under his clothes, more than once. 

        She paused in her absentminded tracing over his skin and stilled her touch for a moment. Before that thought could linger any longer, she spoke out loud in hopes of shifting her focus. ❝ I like a man of action, ❞ she couldn’t help but giggle. ❝ I think I also prefer you out of your uniform. ❞ Physically, yes, but also metaphorically. Ben could be a stubborn arse, and so could she, but there was a different side of Ben that shined behind a closed tent.

        Ben pressed her into the bed then and she could feel a surge of excitement race up her spine as their lips met. As he cradled her cheek and leaned towards her, she couldn’t ignore the passion behind his kiss. It was almost as if the two couldn’t last a moment outside of each other’s company, too lovesick to realize it or care. As he drew away, Ben didn’t entirely dismiss the excitement that began to grow inside her as he breathed another chuckle against her skin. His words were as paralyzing as before.

        A blush rose on her cheeks at the call back to her unladylike display of gratitude. ❝ Discipline for you, or for me? ❞ Mischievousness shone in her eyes. ❝ If you get court-martialed and I get drummed out of camp, surely we could still… continue this? If you can withstand my profanities. ❞

@honorhearted

[shxrp-teeth-after-dark]

( Lydia Barnett ; closed starter )

      𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭. The bold specks of ink littering her fingers demonstrated that this work was completed recently and the papers rustled in her hands as she walked up to the headquarters, the wind blowing in her direction in short but heavy bursts. The soldiers stationed in the hallway kept their eyes on her when she entered, though they stood like statues, unmoving besides their gaze as they watched her make her way past them through the hallway. The noise in the place was at a welcome minimum, a rather unusual case for the morning, but it managed to keep Lydia’s focus from drifting as her eyes settled on the ajar door of Ben’s personal room. Usually, she met him by his tent, but when she saw that he was away, her next guess was the place where the aides and Washington conducted their business.

      As she softly pressed on the door, not wishing to be a distraction to anyone in the building if no one was inside, she felt her lips curl into a smile when she spotted the back of Ben’s head. Quill scratching against parchment filled the room as she entered and she closed the door the same way she found it. 

       ❝ Mr. Tallmadge, ❞ she started out formally, but his first name desperately wanted to leave her lips as it had when they were alone in his tent. The name ghosted on her tongue, threatening to spill out if she wasn’t careful enough. As noticed earlier, she knew they were not alone, and while the soldiers were likely tighter with their lips as they were stationed here for the sake of their position, she couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t tap into their curiosity and listen in on them. ❝ I have intelligence for you, if you want it that is. ❞ She couldn’t help herself but sneak some mischief into her words. She stuck to formalities, but she felt as if outwardly, she looked well acquainted with the man that many wouldn’t bat an eye at her words.

@honorhearted​

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

        ❝ There are some dances where there’s hardly any physical contact. With the music, you are farther away more times than close to your dancing partner. ❞ Country dancing, tavern dancing, barn dancing--whatever someone wished to call it--contrasted against formal dances. Country dances were faster and less structured as formal dances, but it depended upon the dance on how close one would be. Formal dances and country dances both had their share of close contact, but there were also dances in both categories that utilized distance between two dancing partners. ❝ What always mattered to me was my dancing partner. Dancing with a loved one… ❞ her voice softened as her thoughts drifted to that of Laurence, her past husband. He never liked formal dancing, preferring country dances more than anything else, but he took part in it for Lydia’s enjoyment. That’s all that mattered to him and Lydia couldn't have cherished it more. ❝ It’s an indescribable experience altogether. ❞

        As blurry images of Laurence on the dance floor flashed through her mind, it took Lydia a few moments to tear away from her memory and instead focus on the present. Her eyes flickered away from the horizon on the edge of the Patriot camp and instead, she turned her gaze over to Adelaide. 

        ❝ I would be willing to teach you in my tent. Learning it outdoors would draw too much attention to us. ❞ Besides, Lydia wasn’t looking to provide the other camp followers more to scrutinize her with. It was easier to partake in dance when there was music involved, but Lydia was trained enough t do it by memory, music or not. For a beginner, it may pose a challenge to imagine what it would look like in combination with the music, but she believed she could teach Adelaide the basics. Enough to get her by and garner the attention of a soldier, a lawyer, or perhaps someone in the middle class.  ❝ Unless you would prefer the outdoors? ❞ She raised a brow as she looked upon Adelaide.

Was it from experience? Ada wanted to hit the wall with her head at the idea that her father may have partaken in... anything even remotely suggestive. "I think... it has to do with the fact that I would be spinning around the room with men who are close enough to touch me, perhaps who would even dare to touch my hands. Hence, far too much contact for my father. He expected me to be capable of... seducing men across the room. After all, he felt the same about pretty much everything else..." Seduce them with her magic, that absolute insane man. God, she hoped he was rotting in prison. But Lydia was talking about dancing some more and that was far more interesting, so Ada returned to the present. "I hope..." she trailed off, but then decided to say it enough, "I'll get to dance some day. Perhaps you'll be there too, you'll show me the steps." It didn't seem like they were going to part ways any time soon, thankfully. "I wager I would be clumsy, as I am with most things, but from what I have read it seems so... lively."

[shxrp-teeth-after-dark]

honorhearted asked : “I mean…KIND OF” (@ Lydia, lmao...and thankfully not your other muses -- though he'd never admit if he did for Astrid.)

Put “I mean…” in my inbox if your muse has m.asturbated thinking about my muse. / @honorhearted -- accepting

        Embarrassment was an understatement for the way a blush crawled onto her cheeks and burned her skin, rooting her in place as Ben fumbled through his admittance of… what was it? Thinking of her in his private matters?

        As the idea entered her mind, all she could imagine was the way his voice would tighten with want and urgency in the dim candlelight. She imagined him at his desk, the glow shining onto his desk as a reminder of how late and how wrong it was for him to remain at his office after hours. She could imagine her name leaving his lips in an excited release of breath, through gritted teeth, through strain and enjoyment. Through the motivation of getting to his release, he had thought of her. More than once. And if Lydia was to be honest? she didn’t know whether to feel a sense of pride or embarrassment at the blatant admittance. It was better than him thinking of someone else, right?

        Embarrassed coiled deeper in her stomach for what she planned to say next.

        ❝ Can you show me how you touch yourself to the thought of me? ❞

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

honorhearted asked : 😍 for Lydia (apologies in advance, haha)

Send me 😍 if your muse finds mine attractive. / @honorhearted​ -- accepting

       ❝ Your compliments are well appreciated, the feeling is mutual, and don’t disagree with me on this. You are very handsome. ❞

[shxrp-teeth-after-dark]

retrograderesemblance asked : morning after starters 15. for our muses to wake with no recollection of the night before // from simcoe to lydia

Morning after starters. / @retrograderesemblance​​​ -- accepting

       𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐚𝐰𝐨𝐤𝐞, the sun peeked perfectly through the holes in the shoddy cabin to keep her from falling asleep again, poking through the closed-off windows (if you could call them windows). Luckily for Lydia, she didn’t need to sleep upon the hard surface of the earth for another night and get any more dirt into her hair, but that didn’t mean the bed she now resided in was preferable to home. The blankets were as restricting as her sleeping bag was, there was at least one area of the bed where there was an extreme dip with a lack of straw and filler. This wasn’t the cozy, comforting multiple blanket bed she had back in her home in Philadelphia where she had more pillows than she knew what to do with.

       It was still early and the air was still and quiet, no bird song reached her ears, and Lydia twisted in her blanket to free herself of this contraption. She kicked and turned and slowly the blanket loosened, but there was still a strong hold on her middle. Thinking it was just the blanket she wrapped snugly in just under her shoulders that was giving the extra weight, she hardly opened her eyes as she attempted to loosen that as well. Only instead of the soft threadbare fabric, her finger didn’t get caught on any of the split fabric, but instead her index finger ran across a soft, slightly hairy surface.

       She opened her eyes and looked down at the new feeling, her body stiffening when she realized that it was not the wrapping of the blanket that restricted her but an arm. The pale of John’s arm, precisely.

       She looked over her shoulder to spot the sleeping Queen’s Ranger, breath slow and steady as no attention was drawn to their new predicament. He always kept to his own bed, the two usually arguing about who would get a chance to sleep in the bed that night. But no argument came to mind. Nothing came to mind of what occurred last night. Did he sneak into her bed during the night? Surely, he would’ve brought his own blanket than shared hers, if only to keep hers intact.

       There was no sleep in her eyes as she allowed his arm to rest along her middle, sinking back into her pillow. The fact she couldn’t remember anything that led to this unsettled her. Part of her job as a codebreaker was remembering: remembering patterns and techniques. Her eyes wandered over the cabin, looking in all of the areas the sun shone on, and recognized the white pants strewn on the floor. The legs bent in odd directions as if it was tossed carelessly aside, the sun brightening the white as if to give her small hints of what occurred in her blurred recollection. Maybe he dressed down to sleep in her bed? But even that idea was strange if he was the gentleman he claimed to be.

       Lydia gained a new curiosity and soon put together the green jacket right by the fireplace, her skirt laid in a puddle with her stays right next to the chair. If only her surprise couldn’t get wider, she found that she and John were naked; which was practically laughable on how she never caught onto this when she woke, being so used to dressing in some manner to sleep with John as her companion. 

       Her gaze is cast down on the arm again, retreating from the way she wanted to sink into the feeling of how it pulled on her heart strings. It felt comforting, didn’t it? Maybe because she sought the touch of another with Laurence’s absence, it had to be that reason. She and John were on their own for what stretched on to a month; it was only normal for her to seek some affection she was ultimately used to before the sudden disappearance. Her body stiffened again and she jumped slightly in her place when she noticed her fingers trailing over his forearm.

       She shut her eyes and moved her hands to rest under her head, trying to will some sleep she knew was not going to come after this discovery.

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

        𝐀 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. Lydia had no doubt that Richard's loyalty was to the rebel cause, Tallmadge would ensure that he was loyal if he was drawn into the spy ring, but it was interesting. A clergyman sent by the redcoats turned to their cause in the end. She could see why he may doubt his bravery and why he would need to be paranoid. As he mentioned the invisible eyes on him, Lydia’s gaze drifted from his face to the numerous women around camp. All of the women seemed busy with their work, and Lydia wasn’t paranoid, just cautious over any lingering eyes on them. She kept her voice low when they spoke of this, fearing that if she invited him to her tent and closed the flaps, she would be in the crosshairs of more suspicion. 

        Honestly, Lydia wouldn’t have figured Richard was a spy. He appeared too innocent, fresh-faced, and almost too naive-sounding (in a charming way) to think of espionage. This was likely what propelled Ben to choose him. He didn’t look threatening. Who would suspect a clergyman to be a spy? Surely, Lydia fell into that trap before she began to know him. 

        ❝ As I said before, circumstantial or not, the Major believed you were capable and I have no reason to doubt his judgment. ❞ His story was certainly more interesting than hers. ❝ You were in Scotland? Have you ever traveled to Britain then? ❞ Her details on Scotland were meager at best, but she understood that Britain had some hold on it as it did on the colonies. Maybe he was also used to a pool of redcoats at his home.

        Lydia couldn’t conceal the smile that poked on her lips as she thought of home and what led her to this moment. She realized Richard had an easy way to make her smile, for whatever reason. Maybe it's because he showed more interest in her than most. He had an interesting way of piecing his words together. ❝ I was raised in Philadelphia. I came from a patriot family. ❞ Maybe her mother was a tad too extreme in her views, but these values were instilled in Lydia from birth, regardless of her place of residence. She intertwined her fingers together at her stomach. ❝ My husband, Laurence, was a Continental soldier, returning back home after an injury in battle. Once… once he passed, I couldn't stay in Philadelphia a moment longer. I met the Major when I joined as a camp follower. We had found out there was a spy in the camp when I was doing laundry duty. ❞ It’s a silly story upon reflection, one that brightened her spirits after her voice dipped into a slow, quiet intonation when she mentioned Laurence. ❝ It's a very… simple story, more lackluster than yours. I help him decode the intelligence that comes through, from our ring or outside of it. ❞

"Am I?" inquired Richard, through a shivered breath. "I certainly don't feel brave. In fact, more often than not I feel outta' my depth, Miss Lydia. A fraud amongst professionals." After all, what could a clergyman from the highlands of Scotland know about such under-the-table dealings. How long would it go on for, he wondered. "Nevertheless, I think ye' for yer' kind words," remarked the Scotsman, this time offering the woman a sincere flicker of a smile. "I truly appreciate it, even if I may not feel it most of the time."

At the mention of Major Tallmadge, Richard couldn't help but arch a curious brow at her. "Ah. It seems Mr. Tallmadge didn't tell ye'," he hummed thoughtfully. "Technically, I was only recruited by him due to circumstance, not skill. I was initially sent from Sco'land as a clergyman for the Red Coats." Not that the young clergyman believed in their cause or was sent out of loyalty to the crown. Far from it. But that was a story for another time. "There was this huge ba'le, and at some point, I ended up captured by Tallmadge and the rest of the rebels. It was then tha' he struck up a deal with me. My life for a career in espionage, specifically playin' the life as a double agent. So, technically, no, Tallmadge didn't recruit me in the traditional sense. Frankly, a part of me believes me merely picked me out of necessity." "As for suspicions, I don't believe there's any suspicion on my back... Well... At least not out righ'," he shrugged. "Although, I have to admit slinkin' away from the Loyalist Camp is provin' to be rather tricky. Like I said, I haven't caugh' anybody followin' me, per se, but I just-... I dunno'... I feel as if They have Their invisible eyes on me. Watchin' my every move." Richard couldn't help but wonder whether his days were numbered. So much for trying to make a fresh start here in the Colonies. "Wha' 'bout ye', Miss Lydia? How do ye' manage to hold yer'self amidst such a tryin' postin'?-- In fact, how did a young woman such as yer'self come to be part of this ring, if ye' don't mind me askin'?" Richard asked innocently, blue eyes beaming with curiosity now.

( II @sharp-teeth-and-wide-grins )

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

anoseforrottenapples asked : “?”--for Lydia from either Mary or Troy (I'll decide when we get there if that works for you XD)

Send me “?” and i’ll write a starter for you that includes one of the following sentences. / @anoseforrottenapples -- accepting

        ❝ Where are we? ❞ (72)

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

honorhearted asked : 😘 for Lydia, if you'd like!

It’s international kissing day. / @honorhearted​​ -- selectively accepting

      𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐌𝐫. 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲, she thought it was another one of his jokes on his best friend being in a relationship. Caleb wasn’t supposed to know about Lydia and Ben’s secret relationship and Lydia was vaguely aware of how Caleb liked to tease before she really knew him, but when he stumbled into Ben’s tent after a night Lydia sneaked into his tent, he spotted the pair and quickly connected the dots when he saw them too close for friends on his cot. Ever since that day, he always had some quip to make about his friend’s relationship, as secret as it was.

       ❝ I’m serious! Ask the ladies in camp, they’ll know what I’m talking about. I know more than just sailing and trading, y’see. I learn things. ❞ When a smile started to curl on Caleb’s face, Lydia immediately started to doubt his claim of an international kissing day. How he would even come to learn about the day was lost to her.

       ❝ You learn things? ❞ she humored him with a smile of her own in return, which only earned her an eye roll and another reply from Caleb himself.

       ❝ Now that’s just cruel. ❞

      Upon learning of the two’s relationship, Caleb seemed to have more of a reason to be around Lydia than just spy business. It mostly consisted of jokes and teasings from the bearded man than any intellectual conversations, but Lydia started to grow a fondness for Caleb and wasn’t stuck in an acquaintanceship with him.

      As she settled in Ben’s lap later that day, her conversation with Caleb was recalled in her mind as she ran a hand through his hair, loosening the tie of his ribbon to allow a few strands to fall next to his face, shaping his face in the process. She wasn’t sure what time of the night it was, whether it was still the sixth of July or the day after, but it hardly mattered when Ben’s hands held onto her waist and their faces were inches away from one another.

       ❝ Ben, ❞ she started in a soft tone, lifting his chin with her fingers as a smirk crossed her lips. ❝ It’s international kissing day, just to let you know. ❞ It sounded childish for her to announce such a thing. She didn’t need any reason to kiss him, and Ben knew that, but as she tilted her head and Ben’s face drew closer to hers, the soft familiar sensation of his lips on hers made all of the embarrassment drift away from her thoughts. She removed her hand on his chin, instead wrapping her arms behind his neck to press into the kiss more. The kiss lasted longer than it needed to, but it made her heart thrum in her chest all the same as if it was the first, and she pressed a much shorter kiss to his lips once they pulled away.

      She chuckled, a hand running down his arm. ❝ Caleb told me about it and I hardly believed him at the time, but if it is true, I didn’t want the day to go to waste. ❞

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

( Lydia Barnett ; continued )

       𝐀𝐬 𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞), the memories from before flooded her mind to give her an idea why he sought to tie her up in the first place. She looked through his things, his letters specifically, she punished him, and her eyes couldn’t help but glare whenever she saw him around. She always kept a close eye on him, even if he was feet away or busy speaking with another. Surprisingly, assholes and bastards aren't hard to find, but Bradford wasn’t only that. There was something more to him than just his disagreeable ways. 

       Her eyes lowered to the apple in his hands, slicing off bits and pieces as he spoke, and she couldn’t help but picture the eerie image of Bradford slicing her with that knife if she angered him again. He already was fried up and usually she wouldn’t think he would go this far, but the throbbing of her head and the ropes that rubbed her skin raw reminded her he wasn’t all that he looked to be. 

       As his hand extended with an apple slice between his fingers, Lydia recoiled away as much as she could, pressing her head closer to the tent’s curtain. She couldn’t stand his voice either, and by now, she assumed any food he would give her would be poisoned. She gritted her teeth, hating that she was going to agree with him. ❝ Mr. Tallmadge may manipulate people, but he’s more of a man than you are. His intentions are never cruel. ❞ But hers might be if she gets out of these bindings.

@curseconsumed​

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

anonymous asked : Lydia: Courageous, kind, even-tempered (for the most part), and an invaluable member to the ring.

Send your muse’s thoughts about mine on anon. -- accepting

        𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬, it took a few moments for her to blink the blurriness out of her vision to focus back on the parchment before her. As sleep fatigued as she was, she managed to get through a decoding report this morning, even if she managed to trudge through it at a slower pace than usual. The war never sleeps, and holding true to the expectations that fell over her and the other camp followers, she thought that she was going to spend the rest of her day doing laundry with the promise of supporting the army. With the hard labor, it would have guaranteed her some rest tonight and if she was persistent, it wouldn’t be long until the sun would lower to night time. Then in the cold blanket of nightfall, she could rest her weary form.

        Until the flap of the tent opened and in a rushed tone, a woman had passed along a parchment folded in the resemblance of a bird. A swan, it seemed.

        ❝ Don’t know who wrote this, but I was told it needed to be brought to you immediately. ❞

        The tiredness that had clogged her brain had momentarily dispersed as the daylight punctured through the opening of her tent and a chill ran along her form with the urgency of this letter. However someone managed to fold this into this shape, Lydia wasn’t certain she could figure out how to remake it, so she slowly went through the motions of unfolding it. With its bent edges, she tried to remember the manner it was folded in, but that remembrance was lost on her as her eyes looked over the words. No author and certainly there was no urgency about it. The message was more wholesome than she expected it to be.

        Depending on who you asked, Lydia might fit this description or not at all. Abraham Woodhull might not say these traits are the most notable of Mrs. Barnett, but he would disagree with the idea that she was even-tempered. Her mother, with all of her love and adoration influencing her intense protectiveness of her daughter, would find the claim that Lydia being even-tempered as a contrast to how Lydia was as a child. But Lydia found it to be true, for the most part. She had surely grown more patience and had a better sense of when to hold her tongue than when she was younger. Still, the words felt almost too kind. She didn’t feel as if she  didn’t deserve them, but they felt… out of place. What did she do to owe such a compliment? And why was it seen as an urgency for her to look over it?

        She had a few people in mind: that one woman's chores she took care of when she was sick, Anna, maybe, but Ben seemed the most prominent culprit. Though, she would think he would be less lenient when it came to judging her temper. But in the last few months, there hadn’t been any arguments between them, so perhaps Ben had changed his tune regarding her.  Maybe.

        Regardless, even as she couldn’t figure out how to fold it back to its original shape, she stored it away under her inkwell. She had neatly folded it, even as creases ran across its surface, memorializing its original formation.

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

( Lydia Barnett ; continued )

      𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭. They both knew of the other’s lingering ghost. Lydia might’ve been an only child, but she can find a similarity between her grief and Ben’s. Being so surrounded by death, even if they were in the comfort of camp rather than directly on an active battlefield, it wasn’t easy for them to ignore their own brush with death. Soldiers died every day in their beds, men and women died in the medical tents, camp followers lost husbands and soldiers lost wives, soldiers away from home poured over the message of their family member’s passing through letters. Death was such a close companion in war that Lydia wasn’t sure what she thought of it. Does she welcome it? Hold animosity towards it? Or does she accept this new presence?

      Ben’s concern of losing the sound of Samuel’s voice was not an unrealistic fear. In what stretched on a year from Laurence’s passing, she could only hear fragments of what Laurence’s voice was like. It was cut to either a few words or only a laugh, and when replayed in her mind, it would be repeated until it sounded inhuman and unrecognizable. His laugh was always airy, charming, and short. Too short, she now realized. Laurence was usually a man of few words, but those words often held a witty retort or some intelligent reflection. He wielded his words wisely and didn’t see the use in extending his statement to make his point.

      He would know what to say to Ben.

       ❝ I only remember a few things, ❞ she finally answered his question. Unlike Laurence, Lydia felt as if she had to speak more, explain in further detail to show that she did feel similarly to Ben. But this was not her time, it was Ben’s, and she took upon one of Laurence’s traits for this.

      Ben’s hands were strong in her grip, always warm to the touch, and even if he found some flaws with the texture of his skin: too worn from battle, not as tanned as he’d like, boring, bland, whatever was the case, they were his. The hands were his and it felt like a blessing to press a kiss upon them. How Ben was still alive was a blessing in itself. 

      Annoyance and grief over that annoyance pinched at her on the inside. Ben was always selfless in his plight, focusing inward on himself rather than wanting another to comfort him, she knew all about this, but what she couldn’t understand was how to get past that. If Lydia was his partner, and if they were married by a vocal vow with the ribbon tied around her wrist to conclude that vow, why couldn’t he let her take some of the burden? Lydia was familiar with marriage, Ben was not, and her many responsibilities as a wife was making a comfortable home and to be by his side through his struggles. Why couldn’t he see that? Or, why couldn’t Ben accept this?

      Not wanting to speak this aloud, she pulled back the sleeve that concealed the ribbon. She pushed down the fabric on her arm and stopped it right under the contrasting color secured around her wrist.

       ❝ And just leave you behind like that? ❞

@honorhearted​​

[sharp-teeth-and-archived]

        𝐋𝐲𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. It was looked on with awe then to have their own little corner of the woodlands, to spot whatever cute furry friend of the wild was eating the leftovers they sprinkled onto the grasses the night before. She hadn’t grasped entirely how large the colonies truly were until she traveled out towards the nearby rebel encampment after Laurence’s departure. A world without Laurence in it seemed too large, yet suffocating at the same time and now she looked at every male dressed in red, every darkened shadow of the woodlands, with a hardened look within her eyes. It was frightening in a way for one to conceal their intentions within their mind, encapsulated and nested inside until eventually it was pried out of them. Lydia’s sudden plunge into the dirty work of spycraft made this frightening fact more apparent.

        As she scanned the treelines for any bandits sitting in waiting in the shadowy depths, the man she only knew as Troy spoke about how they were lost. She had figured out that they were lost minutes ago, but clutched onto the hope that the man with the map had a better frame of reference for where they were. When the silence began to stretch in between his words, she had to air the doubt of her companion’s knowledge. Lydia had only known that she was headed towards Maryland after she crossed through familiar territory of Philadelphia, where she hoped to reunite with her family there before continuing on her spying duties. 

        Of course, if this man was from Philadelphia, Lydia could only assume his allegiance was to the loyalist cause -- even as a woman from that same area. 

        She bit back the comment: If we were in Philadelphia, there would be more redcoats, and instead, offered a more simple take on their surroundings. ❝ You would imagine I would recognize my birthplace. ❞ She chewed on her bottom lip as her eyes scanned over the treelines once again. Even with her own grudge against the redcoats and the danger she could be in if her true intentions were found out, there was a sense of safety with them in large numbers. It was the type of safety Lydia pushed to the back of her mind, but when it came to being stranded in the woodlands, they were left vulnerable to any ill-willed bandits. They may align with her cause, but that didn’t mean they would give her any mercy (or a crumb of it). 

        As he began to talk once again, she turned her head to catch his eye. He now was looking away from his map at her as he posed his question. 

        ❝ Maryland, ❞ she supplied, short and simple. ❝ It shouldn’t be far from Philadelphia. ❞ Or at least, that’s what she assumed. She hasn't remembered how long they have been walking. ❝ Are you traveling there or farther out? ❞ Maybe if they both were going the same way, even if he was a loyalist and she was not, both of them could be comforted with the fact they weren’t alone.

Troy glanced at the young woman with a healthy amount of trepidation, trying to think of the best way to word his observations. Somehow, he suspected that announcing he had no idea where the bloody hell they were would not do much to gain the young woman’s confidence. While he was not a complete stranger to the wilds, the bulk of his life had been spent in Philadelphia. He had lived there since he was six, took on the Watchman role when he was barely sixteen, and had already become a paid Constable in his early twenties. He knew every cobblestone of his city… but the world beyond it… well… he had not seen as much of it as some men he knew. Only that meant when he did have to journey out of his regular area… well… sometimes he got lost. It seemed this young woman was in the same boat, however, if she was inquiring of him for their location. Eager to buy himself a few minutes, he fished around in his bag for the map one of his friends gave him before he set out. “Well… um… we’re still in Pennsylvania.” He offered unhelpfully, assuming that the woman already knew that much. “And we’re not in Philadelphia.”  

Finally pulling his map out, he squinted at it. York City should not have been that far away… but he had gotten himself tangled up somewhere and turned about. Glancing up at the woman, he tilted his head. “Where are you trying to get too?” He tried to turn the conversation toward her, and away from his own rather unorthodox reason for traveling to the current seat of the Continental Congress.