#knighthood ship

[puppetmaster13u]

Another Prompt in Memes?! Yes.

[therealmofamorus]

Worth It! (RWBY/DC)

Jaune: Ren.

Ren: Yeah?

Jaune: You are the leader of Team JNPR during my stay in the hospital.

Ren: I will bring you flowers Jaune.

[madmanwonder]

Hilda’s a Troll (RWBY/Pokémon)

Hilda: *Smirked* I slept with Jaune…!

Pyrrha/Ruby: *Furious* WHAT!?

Yang: *Impressed* Never knew Vomit Boy had it in him to do that before marriage~

Hilda:*Troll Face*…when we were kids~

[dainesanddaffodils]

Thinking about how I’d known Haurchefant died from early on (I wasn’t spoiled-spoiled - I just had a feeling from Reactions I’d gotten when mentioning that my wol loved him) and it was so still much worse than I thought it would be

Because, since I knew it was coming I started looking for signs of the when’s and how’s of it. And the lead up to The Vault was pretty fucking obvious with that in mind.

So I’m listening to Haurchefant make his impassioned speeches after Aymeric is captured. How it’s his Knightly Duty to Aid Those in Need and Rescue a Good Honorable Man like Ser Aymeric etc etc

And I go “oh yeah okay he’s going to have his big Knight Moment and die saving Aymeric gotcha gotcha”

And then. he doesn’t.

He dies saving the Warrior of Light.

And I’m sure it’s a different read if you don’t ship your WoL with him but boy fucking howdy if, like me, you do!!

It’s Haurchefant, who has put so much of his fucking identity into knighthood and serving Ishgard and all that jazz, in the single emotional instant of the Warrior of Light being in peril - throwing all of that away to protect them. because in that instant that is all that matters to him. they are all that matters to him.

it's there in his final words, how he says "forgive me, i could not bear the thought [of you being harmed]"

he loved the Warrior of Light so much that for a second it eclipsed everything else. and thats what killed him.

anyways my WoL is real fucked up about this everyone have a nice night

[intermundia]

in defense of padawan haircuts: do ewan and hayden both have lovely hair that is part of what makes them ever so beautiful? yes. but padawans are monks in training so they're not supposed to be fuckable treats for the eye. they have funky hair that marks them as members of their order!! awkward, uncool, unlovely haircuts that make them look like dork ass home-schooled losers. their silly braids advertise the length of time they've studied as a proxy for their deepening commitment to the order and mastery of the jedi arts!! they have a stubby lil nerf tail because it's traditional and tradition is sometimes awkward (and idk some cultures actually enjoy hair in that style!! they're not supposed to look like usamericans maybe) and like.. the order also maybe doesn't want its baby jedi to be fashionable trend setters with glossy flowing locks for good reason!! look what happened when anakin was too pretty!! he was so fuckable it broke the system and ruined his life and the entire fuckin galaxy, maybe the council should have made his haircut worse. his hair should have been so deeply tragic it distracted padmé from his sharp jaw and pouty lips. obi-wan should have completely nuked his charisma stat from orbit before shipping him away to naboo (his game was already terrible, so he was halfway there!! just make him terrible to look at too!!) sexy hair needs to be earned with knighthood, once they know you're truly committed to the jedi way. curls and mullets are a privilege not a right!! the padawan haircut is like training wheels for non-attachment, like.. leave them alone!! their brains aren't done cooking yet. their hair is so bad it's good, just like the prequels ok. i'm bleeding out on this hill but you. Cannot make me leave

[imaginesfordifferentfandoms]

With Me

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Request - Please do cross with 2 from your prompt list ❤️

Prompt - "I didn't know where else to go."

Things had been bad for a while. 

You’d noticed things within the Order had started turning, noticed the Master’s had started turning a blind eye to things they usually would never have let pass. The war had dragged on for years, everyone was tired, everyone felt older than their age. 

You knew things were bad, knew supplies must have been stretched thin, when you were sent on your own mission. You were still only a Padawan, granted you probably should have transitioned into Knighthood by now but with the war that was the last thing on anybody’s mind, but you were still a Padawan. 

You shouldn’t have been leading a battalion. 

It was bad enough being entrusted with the lives of all these men, each of them looking to you for answers you didn’t have. You couldn’t contact your own Master, he was far away on another planet leading his own men. 

You were on your own. 

The battle was bad. It was a bloodbath. You had barely come out of it with your life, four days fighting non stop only to come out without a victory and with the lives of many men on your shoulders. 

The only reason you had come out alive is because you called so strongly upon the Force you were certain you’d touched the Dark Side. You could still feel it thick in your veins but by the end of four days you were too tired to care. 

You sat on your bunk on the way back to Coruscant, feeling numb. There were no words to make it better, nothing you said could comfort the remaining men on the ship. You’d already been called to the meeting room, expected to fill the Council in once you arrived.

You weren’t exactly thrilled to be going before the Council. You could still feel the dirt on your clothes, the blood on your face, aches spread throughout your whole body and you were pretty sure you needed to see a medic but you were so numb to everything that it didn’t matter. 

Eventually the ship landed, you stayed on your bunk for a long time before you managed to pull your tired body up, somehow forcing one foot in front of the other until you found yourself in the middle of the Council room. 

Master Yoda had been talking for some time, filling the other members in on your mission and informing them that he felt a disturbance in the Force. 

“The Dark Side, did you touch?” Master Yoda finally addressed you. 

It took you a moment longer than it should have to realise the attention was fully on you and you managed to shake yourself back to reality, looking around the room to see the majority of the Master’s looking at you with mistrust and disgust. You couldn’t help the stinging in your eyes when you saw your Master’s seat was empty. 

“Yes.” You forced the word out, too exhausted to care anymore. 

Master Yoda started talking again but you drowned him and the other Master’s out as they began to discuss your fate. You wanted to care what became of you, any other time you’d have fought hard to be heard but the war had drained you, you hadn’t seen your Master in so long, hadn’t trained properly in years, there was no community among the Jedi any more, your friends were scattered across the galaxy and you hardly had anyone to confide in anymore. 

You couldn’t help but smile, a weak, barely there tug of the lip as you thought about the few people you did truly have in the galaxy. 

Clone Force 99. 

They had been brought in on plenty of your Master’s missions and you had been excited to meet them, back before the war had drained everything from you. Wrecker had been the easiest to get along with, especially once he saw your knack for blowing things up. Wrecker was the best to go to when you needed cheering up, when you needed someone to shoulder the weight on your back with you. 

Hunter and you worked well together. It might have taken him a second to warm up to you, to welcome you as one of his but once he had, stars help anyone who tried to hurt you. You gravitated toward Hunter when you needed advice, when you needed to vent, when you needed someone to ground you. Hunter felt like everything your Master used to be, back when you were a child, back before the war became the only thing that mattered. 

Tech had taken the longest to warm up to you. You hadn’t minded though, you understood that their whole lives had been just them, the regs didn’t exactly treat them well. Letting somebody else in for somebody like Tech was a big step. You’d manage to earn his trust though, letting him ramble on about things you didn’t understand, brushing away the others when they told Tech to calm down. You’d let Tech teach you about the ship, about the blasters, about your lightsaber and slowly he let you in, seeking you out on his own and the good thing about Tech was he didn’t expect anything from you. He was content for you to sit and watch him tinker away whilst he filled the silence without needing a reply. 

You loved them, some days they were the only thing that stopped you from going rouge, from leaving the war behind. 

It was Crosshair that kept you going though. Whilst Hunter and Wrecker had warmed up to you easily enough, Crosshair had kept his distance. He’d look at you from across the room with a scowl on his face, he’d grunt at you instead of giving you an actual response and he just about drove you crazy. 

You loved him anyway. 

It had taken you nearly dying for him to admit he didn’t hate you as you’d originally thought, he just hadn’t wanted to like you as much as he did. Crosshair was used to what he had, much like Tech was. He didn’t want to care about somebody else and yet you made it impossible for him not to. 

Once Crosshair finally let himself admit that he liked you it was like something in the galaxy itself shifted. Clone Force 99 was brought onto more and more of your missions and you found yourself staying in the Marauder more than your own quarters. You and Crosshair worked like you’d been working together your whole lives, you didn’t need to talk, able to communicate through looks and work your way through whatever obstacles stood between you and your goal like it was nothing. 

It was only a matter of time before you felt yourself falling from the sniper. 

At first it terrified you, sure you’d looked at people before, could appreciate that they were attractive but you’d never wanted to act on it. Never had to force your eyes away from their lips, fixated on how Crosshair fiddled with the toothpick in his mouth. Never had to snap yourself back into a conversation so much because you were too focused on his hands as he cleaned his weapon. 

Everything about Crosshair was intoxicating, it was consuming. Most days it felt so easy to lay your head on his shoulder, to forget that outside the walls of the Marauder there was a war happening. Most days you could sit at his side, listening to the sound of his voice as you let him lull you to sleep. 

Everything about Crosshair was everything the Jedi Code forbade. 

“Dismissed you are, from the Jedi Order.” Master Yoda’s voice had you flinching out of your thoughts, mouth falling open to protest the sentence only to snap back shut again. 

Did you care enough to fight the punishment? 

What would you do? 

You didn’t argue, didn’t say a word. Some of the Jedi looked sympathetic as you bowed your head before turning from the room, leaving silently. 

You made your way through the Temple, no real destination in mind as you stared ahead. You felt more than realised you were outside when the fresh air hit your face, it was dark out now, you’d been standing before the Council for hours. 

What would you do? 

You didn’t know. You let your feet carry you, not sure where you were heading but knowing you had to get away from the Temple. 

You couldn’t say how long you’d been walking aimlessly for, only that at some point the rain had come flooding down and your feet ached.

Eventually you came to a stop, not even really realising you had for a moment until you blinked back to reality and felt a choked sob escape you at the sight before you, surprised you hadn’t ended up here earlier. You couldn’t blame yourself though, your thoughts weren’t there clearest right now. 

Apparently seeing a familiar sight was enough to send you over the edge, bringing the floodgates down and sending tears down your face. You let yourself stand there, letting your tears mix with the rain still falling heavily from the dark clouds above, just staring at the Marauder and feeling a sense of relief, a sense of finally being home. 

Eventually you forced your fist to knock at the door. 

Crosshair frowned at the sound of a knock, barely audible over the sound of the rain coming down. The others were asleep by now, readying themselves for an early start on yet another mission. 

He waited a moment but curiosity got the better of him and he forced himself up. When the door opened his heart ached at the sight of you, soaked through your clothes and silent sobs wracking your body. 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” You choked out before Crosshair had the chance to ask what had happened. 

He didn’t waste any time stepping out into the rain and wrapping his arm around you, pulling you into the warmth and safety of the Marauder. More sobs escaped you as you entered, being encompassed by the only home you had left. 

“I’ll be back, wait there darling.” Crosshair instructed as he sat you down and you could only nod, watching as he busied himself with making a hot pot of caff before leaving the room.  

Crosshair made his way over to Tech’s things, you were more his size than Crosshair’s but he did stop to grab his own blanket before making his way back to you, snatching a towel from Hunter’s things as he passed. 

“Let’s get you dry.” He murmured, kneeling down next to you and helping you out of your soaked clothes. 

Any other time he would have savoured the feeling of peeling your clothes off but now he was only methodical, trying them to the side and drying your body with the towel before he helped you into Tech’s blacks and wrapped the blanket around you. 

Crosshair stood up, ready to make you a hot cup of caff when he was stopped by your hand gripping his. He looked down at you, hating the lost look on your face.

“What happened?” Crosshair asked, his voice low as he knelt back down in between your knees, taking your other hand in his and looking into your eyes. The question of who did he have to hurt was heard clearly, even if it wasn’t said out loud. 

“They kicked me out of the Order.” You told him quietly, playing with his long fingers as you spoke. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not even upset about it.”

Crosshair gave you a doubtful look and you couldn’t help but laugh, though it sounded more like a sob.  

“I know it doesn’t look that way but…the Order, it’s all I’ve ever known. I don’t know what I am without it. That’s the scary part. I don’t know where I belong.” You confessed, looking away from Crosshair and down at your joined hands. 

“With me.” Crosshair said before he could stop himself but even when the words registered he didn’t take them back. “You belong here. You belong with me.”

///

Crosshair Taglist /

@ughhhhfoff , @bobaprint, @starstruckfluff,

[avelera]

So this is a bit random but:

Dream as the hero in a Greek tragedy and Hob as an Arthurian knight.

Thoughts?

(You obviously don’t have to answer if this is stupid or you don't want to)

If I may riff a bit on this, since I don't exactly have a pre-made answer (it's not a line of inquiry I've really considered), I'd say this:

Dream is absolutely a Greek tragedy protagonist. He thinks of himself that way, he's written that way. A major, indeed central, characteristic of Greek tragic heroes is that their virtues in some situations become their ultimate downfall. No one is dying in a Greek tragedy because they're inherently bad or failed people. It is the essence of that Picard line, "It's possible to do everything right and still lose. That's not failure, that's life."

Dream's dedication to his duty is an incredibly familiar virtue for a Greek tragic figure. It is also the virtue that will lead to his eventual end (in this incarnation). At least, in the comic. We'll see in the show if that's the case, and I have my suspicions based on the story's structure that we'll be seeing some deviation or, at the very least, a more optimistic spin on Dream's end.

Neil certainly wrote Dream to be a figure from a Greek Tragedy too, ironic considering he's also the "deus ex machina" in other situations, being literally a creature of godlike (or superior) power.

As for Hob as an Arthurian figure.... I'm less convinced. And I have a lot of reasons why because I think a lot about Hob's relationship, or lack thereof, with the tropes of knighthood as explored in both canon and fanon.

Let me quickly say that for fanon, sure, absolutely. I've seen incredible, complex, lovely takes on Hob as a Questing Knight or suffering the throes of textbook courtly love (more on that in a second, because I do find that part at least plausible) or otherwise being a gallant and heroic figure.

However, this is fanon. Canon Hob is certainly made more romantic, and I mean much more romantic by the show with the whole missed 1989 meeting and Ferdie's inherent and overwhelming charm. But comic Hob is... hmm, let's say he also has his charm but he's deliberately quite rough, quite crass, more than a bit dim at times, and the furthest thing from protagonist let alone romantic hero material. I think comic Hob would laugh, perhaps a bit wistfully, at the very idea of being an Arthurian figure. Certainly the Hob of "Sunday Mournings" (the Ren Faire comic issue) would be outright derisive of the notion of himself as a romantic figure or a questing knight.

Hob bought his knighthood. I think it's something that bears remembering: he bought it.

(Let me very briefly aside say, as a grubby Yankee myself, I actually find his audacity and sort of "Ha! I got away with it!" humor in that moment incredibly charming. Fuck yeah, stick it to the nobility! Fuck aristocracy, fuck nobility, and fuck aristocratic mythology like Arthuriana that reinforces those power structures. Good for Hob being a peasant who bought his knighthood, something that would be all but unthinkable in the grand sweep of Arthuriana, which for all its romanticism is still pretty definitive about everyone belonging in their social place.)

Anyway, Hob bought his knighthood with money he made getting into early English shipping and with money made from being on the right side of Henry VIII dissolving the monasteries (which were corrupt but were also one of the only forms of social services available to common people at the time, it's an incredibly complex issue) and Hob is as unbothered by the moral quandaries of this as he was the moral quandaries of being a soldier or a bandit. Hob is the furthest thing from being a Galahad. I'm not sure he could even aspire to Lancelot at his lowest on Hob's very best of days. He's just not built like that that we see.

At least, until 1989.

Now, as I've noted elsewhere, Hob's story is fundamentally altered by this ever so minor change in the show of making him still in England in 2022, still presumably waiting for Dream about a block away from the White Horse! Now, this is some courtly love shit right there! My jaw dropped when I began to map out the implications, not just of his waiting but of his becoming a history teacher.

Comic Hob never became a history teacher. Comic Hob seems all but allergic to romanticism and nostalgia. Comic Hob's highest moment of romanticism is wondering what exists in the depths of the ocean and thinking that maybe reincarnation possibly exists.

1989 changes everything. Actually, we even have evidence that in the comic timeline, Hob wasn't even in England by, what, 1992 when Dream passes away? He's in America with Gwen and they've been dating for a bit when she takes him to the Ren Faire, which is the day after Dream died. This implies that Hob doesn't usually stick around England like he does in the show timeline. If that wasn't already clear from the fact that most of his professions throughout the glimpses we see seem to involve maritime trade (sometimes of the very worst sort). The guy is constantly on the move but he stayed in England for Dream for over 30 years.

So there, at least, I think we have the first tendrils of something for fandom to grip onto that Hob does have the potential within him to go on a 30 year quest for his lost love, which is very Arthurian. I think even Hob would be perhaps shocked at himself for this, perhaps alongside becoming a history professor, finally coming to grips perhaps with the history he's seen, learning to care about it, learning that there's more to himself than he thought.

Because Hob is a weird immortal. He doesn't do the things we expect immortals to do, like learn from his mistakes and become some sort of avenging superhero, or even accumulate enough money to not need to have a day job any more, to just utterly detached from normal human life. Instead, he seems to stay grounded in a normal middle class life for whatever era he's in (barring disaster or windfall) and just happen to stick at it longer than anyone else by virtue of his immortality. It's so bizarre in the most fascinating way, it's why I'm obsessed with him, because he stays so grounded in his time period and not in any sort of special superhero way.

But 1989 really brings into sharp relief that there is an element of courtly love to how he interacts with Dream, the Beatrice to his Dante, this figure who inspires him, whom he waits for, whom he changes for (even when Dream himself perhaps doesn't believe himself capable of change?).

There I think there's something to the notion of Hob as, perhaps, a budding figure of courtly love, if not full Arthuriana knighthood.

But more intriguing and, if I may presume, what I think you're perhaps getting at with all of this is: could Hob's Questing Knight perhaps in some way disrupt Dream's Greek Tragic fate?

Well, it's not really possible in either of those genres played straight but, in the original canon, Hob didn't wait 33 years for Dream to come home to him.

So really, in the most optimistic way I'd say, anything is possible.

[sophsicle]

can we talk about how accurate your story is ?? I got my lil pirate obsession when I was 8 (visited St malo harbour and all). There is something NO Book or movie ever talk about it is the existence of corsaires (don t no the english name) that were pirates but legal ! They did the same job that pirates but had a royal autorisation ;) so James being able to stay in the royal castle is way more logical than we think 🤓

Yeah!

I was thinking of him as like a Sir Francis Drake sort of character, aka the Privateer who had a thing with Elizabeth I, basically what happened is he went off and robbed Spanish ships and coastal towns and then showed up at the english court like "I did it all for you babe" and she's like "dope, here's a knighthood and my number"

[puppetmaster13u]

"Wait."

"What do you want, old man?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ This is for my Dies Iraes au slash prompt lol

[oblivionsdream]

Hi i have a lot of questions and will probably ask more about your silly guys soon but:

Does the jester and knight have any siblings?

how did the knight get his job?

In some ceremonies, parties, or gatherings, the knight is out of his helmet, but the jester doesn't know or wouldn't recognize him, right? but wouldnt people say, "hello sir augustine!" to the guy with greyish-black hair? And wouldn't the jester notice? or is everyone so invested in this ship that they don't call augustine by his real name when he doesn't have his armor on so the jester won't notice?

You can don't have to answer all 3 of them if you dont want to, and take your time answering them too! I hope u have a wonderful day :DD

Hey there!

1. Jester is an only child but Augustine has a half brother who he loathes and who loathes him

2. Speaking of family, Augustine is the bastard son of a Duke and at the age of seven he was sent off to become a page (mostly just to get him out of sight) and from there he began to train for knighthood. He and the current king became friends while he was a squire which cemented him a good place at court (along with being very skilled)

3. So there are multiple factors at play here- one being that Augustine is very prickly and seen as intimidating so mostly people just kind of leave him alone and wouldn’t greet him so casually (unless you’re an annoying jingly menace or the king), two, there are a lot of bets going on in the castle involving how things will play out between them and no one is willing to risk/ruin it by outing him (there is money on the line + this is the most entertaining thing to happen in a while outside of the most recent scandals so everyone is waiting with bated breath to see what happens)

[madmanwonder]

Hilda: *Smiling* Jaune…

Jaune: *Took a sip of water* Yeah Hilda?

Hilda: *Leaned Closer to Jaune* Are you interested in a threesome with me and Rosa~?

Jaune:

Rosa who just entered the room gawked at her friend with a appalled look.

[rwac96]

The Lasso of Hestia (AKA, Lasso of Truth)

Jaune: Huh. *stares at Diana's lasso*

Diana: *blinks, noticing Jaune's stare* Curious about my lasso?

Jaune: Well, yeah. *nods* It looks neat, even if it's rather tamed to bullet-deflecting bracelets and a tiara that can pierce a Grimm's skin.

Diana: *removes the lariat from her belt* My people, the Amazons, call it the Lasso of Hestia, while others simply call it the 'Lasso of Truth'. Aside from the obvious, forcing anyone bound to it to obey the user's command and tell the truth.

Jaune: *stares in awe* Cool.

Diana: It also tethers hearts and minds together, strengthening understanding, developing telepathic rapport, helping understand other languages, and even assisting with memories.

Jaune: *geeking* Holy crap, that's awesome! Can I hold it? *he impulsively holds his hands out*

Diana: *eyes widen* Um, Jaune, that's not a good idea.

Jaune: C'mon... *he touches the lasso* What's the worse that can happen?

*the lariat glows brightly due to both Diana & Jaune holding it*

Jaune: *eyes widen, feeling the magic take effect* I used fake transcripts to get into Beacon Academy. *shakes his head* Oh, crap!

Diana: I warned you-- *eyes widen* Guh, I'm addicted to ice cream! *she gulps, grimacing* Yeah, the Lasso can be a double-edged sword.

Jaune: *shudders, the magic taking effect again* Amazons turn me on!

Diana: *eyebrows raised* Jaune...

Jaune: *groans, affected by the power* Dom me, Mommy! *quickly lets go of the lariat, blushing* Oh, Gods! That was embarrassing!

Diana: Oh... *blinks* Well~. *she spins the lariat around*

Jaune: *raises his brows in alarm* W-Wonder Woman?!

*Jaune found himself ensnared by the Lasso, which began to glow again*

Jaune: *looks at her with bedroom eyes* Oh, beautiful~.

[smilingformoney]

The Eternal Summer

BONUS CHAPTER: In Another Life

Summary: You're surviving but not living since your husband was murdered by Sweeney Todd. Now, his cousin arrives to administer the estate, but nothing goes as either of you expected.

AN: Do you remember when I asked whether Turpin should survive Sweeney's attack and the overwhelming response was yes? What if no? 🙂

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

Eight months had passed since the death of your husband, Lord Turpin, and your life had been in limbo ever since. Not expecting to die so soon, he hadn’t drawn up a new will to include you, and so his estate in its entirety was to be passed to some cousin you’d never heard of.

Said cousin was living in Australia, and though a letter had been sent to him on your husband’s death, the months it took for ships to travel to the far-off land meant that the cousin that now owned the house you lived in was nowhere to be seen: until today.

You had found yourself a simple kind of routine living on your own as a widow. You weren’t allowed access to your husband’s money, so you were forced to make your own. You sold some dresses you’d made, and with the proceeds you bought more fabrics to make more dresses, and eventually you managed to establish a steady income for yourself.

You were in Johanna’s old room, which had become a de facto workshop, when you heard a knock on the door.

You peered out of the window to see a man at the door, face obscured by the hat on his head, waiting for your response with a suitcase at his feet.

Curious - and unable to send a servant, since you could only afford a cook or a maid and had opted for the former - you made your way downstairs and opened the door to greet the man.

For a brief moment, you thought you saw a ghost. The man looked strikingly familiar to your dead husband, if he had been a decade or so younger and sported a moustache and goatee. He was also very handsome.

“May I help you, sir?”

“Good afternoon. May I speak with the lady of the house?”

“You’re speaking to her.”

The man smiled and tipped his hat to you. “Ah, Lady Turpin, I presume. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Elliott Marston. I believe I own your house.”

Of course - a suitcase from a two-month journey at sea, a resemblance to your husband. This must be the cousin.

“I believe you do, sir,” you said with a small curtsy. If this man owned your house, he could kick you out at any moment - you had to stay in his good books, no matter what. “Won’t you come in?”

You stepped aside to open the door fully to him, and Elliott carried his suitcase into the hall, looking around at the house he owned but didn’t know.

“Would you like some tea, sir?”

“I’d love some, thank you.”

You showed him into the parlour room, then busied yourself in the kitchen making a pot of tea. When you returned with a tray in hand, Elliott was stood at the bookshelf, looking curiously at one of the books. He looked up as you entered, then placed the book back on the shelf and sat in one of the seats by the fireplace. You placed the tray on the small table between the two seats and poured a cup for each of you.

“Have you just docked from Australia, sir?”

“No, the boat docked in Liverpool, so I’ve just travelled from there. And enough with this ‘sir’ business, I don’t recall her Majesty granting me a knighthood and we are family, after all. Just Elliott will do.”

That took you by surprise; it was frowned upon to call anyone you weren’t familiar with by their first name. Even your own husband you frequently addressed formally, only calling him by his first name in intimate moments. Then again, this man was from Australia - perhaps they did things differently there.

“Well, in that case, I suppose you can call me [Y/n].”

You poured your own cup of tea and sat opposite Elliott. You were unused to hosting; whenever your husband had visitors, you were always to either stay out of sight or to be seen but silent. Making small talk with the gentry wasn’t something you had particular practice with.

“Did your journey take you very long? I hear Australia is months away by even the fastest boat.”

“Yes, it was two months at sea, but I’m used to travelling long distances. I own a lot of land in Australia, it takes days to traverse it. At least on the boat I had shelter from the heat.” Elliott sipped his tea and nodded his approval at your tea-making skills. “This is excellent. Did you make it yourself?”

“Yes, I - I have no maid,” you admitted in shame. “But I have a cook, so if you’d like to stay for dinner, I’m sure he’ll make enough for two.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you. [Y/n], I must admit, I can’t stand formalities and pleasantries. May I talk straight with you?”

“Oh - er - yes, of course.”

“Good. The truth is, I’m happy with my life in Australia and I have no use for a house and its contents in London. When I read the solicitor’s letter, my first thought was to write back asking him to sell it all and put the money towards something good, a school or something. But then I read on, and he mentioned that my cousin had left behind a widow who had no family to support her. Again, I thought about writing and asking everything to be given to you, but the way the solicitor spoke about you in his letter was frankly disturbing. He seemed to imply that he believed you married William only for his money and I worried that if I left it in his hands he’d leave you out on the street, so I decided to come here myself to execute the estate and do whatever I need to do to keep you in your home.”

Your hands were shaking, and you had to put your cup down lest Elliott notice.

“You… travelled here from Australia to ensure I wouldn’t be homeless?”

“Well, of course,” Elliott said with a casual shrug. “We’re family, aren’t we?”

“I… I don’t know what to say.” You’d been so scared of him showing up to claim the house and leave you out on the streets, and yet here he was arriving to make sure that didn’t happen. “You are - you are most generous, sir.”

“Nonsense. I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I knew there was a lady out on the streets for the sake of my owning a house I don’t need. A good thing too, because a beautiful woman such as yourself would catch the eye of many an untoward lech. I’ll stay a while, if you won’t mind - it’ll take a while to sort out all the administration, and it’s been such a long journey, I’d like to make the most of London before I set foot on a boat for another two months.”

“Of course! You can stay in the master bedroom, I’ll make another room up for myself.”

“Nonsense, this is your home, I shouldn’t take your bedroom from you.”

“No, I must insist. You said yourself you’ve just been on a boat for two months. The best bed for comfort while you’re here is the least I can do.”

“Well, if the lady of the house insists, who am I to argue? Now, I’m going to get myself to the solicitor’s office before it closes for the day - what time does your cook normally serve dinner?”

“Six o’clock.”

“Perfect! I’ll be back by then. Thank you again for the tea, [Y/n], and for your generous hospitality.”

You stood to escort him to the door and gave him directions to the solicitor’s office. Your heart skipped a beat when he kissed your hand before heading off, and you realised only when he turned a corner and disappeared from view that you were even watching him go.

---

You were actually quite eager to have Elliott for dinner, even though you’d spent the last few months dreading his arrival. But now that he was here, and he’d assured you he wasn’t going to put you back on the streets, you were glad for some company and you found yourself buzzing around before dinner, making sure you and the house looked presentable, and by the time he arrived at a quarter to six, you were already ravenous.

“I forgot how cold this country is,” Elliott said with a shiver as he stepped inside, his hair damp from the rain. “I’m here one day and the Heavens open on me.”

“Is Australia much warmer, then?” you asked as you helped Elliott out of his coat.

“Oh, very much. Even in winter it’s hotter than a London summer. I’m used to the Australian weather, but I suppose to you it’d feel like an eternal summer.”

You led Elliott down the hallway towards the dining room.

“That sounds wonderful! I love summer, when everything’s so bright and warm - except for today, of course. But I assure you it’s usually much nicer than this.”

Elliott chuckled. “I’m sure it is. What’s for dinner?”

“Salmon filet and vegetables. I do hope you like fish, if I’d known you were coming I’d have asked chef for more choice —”

“Nonsense, salmon sounds lovely. I live very far from the sea, I don’t get much opportunity to eat fish.”

In the dining room, Elliott sat down at the table in what used to be William’s usual seat, and you busied yourself with making a fresh pot of tea.

“Have you always lived in Australia?” you asked.

“Ever since I was a child and my parents moved over as settlers. That’s why I was so surprised William left me his estate, to be honest. The last time I saw him, I was a child and he was at university.”

“Well, you’re the only family he had,” you explained. You brought the tray of tea over and poured each of you a cup. “He had no siblings and no children. You were all he had left.”

“He had you.”

You glanced at Elliott and blushed.

“Well… we weren’t married very long. He might have changed his will if he’d had time.”

“Mmm, the solicitor said William’s death was foul play. What happened?”

You told Elliott the story of Sweeney Todd and his plan for revenge on your husband, and you surprised yourself at how easy it was to talk to him. Even though you were talking about something awful, and though you did falter in your storytelling when you came to describe the way your husband had been killed, there was something about Elliott that made the story bearable to tell.

By the time you finished the story, the chef was bringing out your dinner.

“[Y/n]… I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” Elliott said gently. “A sweet lady such as yourself shouldn’t have to witness something so awful.”

The image of your husband bleeding out in the barber’s chair flashed before your eyes, and you shivered.

“Yes, it was… quite horrible,” you said in a quiet voice.

“And you’ve been on your own ever since?”

You nodded and picked up your knife and fork, not even noticing that your hands were shaking. Elliott noticed, though, because he reached over to take your cutlery from your hands and cut your food up for you, making no comment on your reaction.

“I’ve been on my own… waiting for you,” you admitted in a quiet voice. “I thought you’d come here and send me into the streets. That you’re willing to let me stay… it means a lot to me, Elliott. Thank you.”

Elliott’s eyes flickered up to you and he smiled. He put your cutlery back down, then placed his hand over yours, and your heart skipped a beat.

“I won’t be responsible for your suffering,” he promised. “Now - let’s see if the salmon in London matches up to the salmon in Melbourne.”

You hadn’t enjoyed dinner so much in a long time, if ever. You’d had good conversation and laughter with your brother Tommy, but never good food. You’d had good food with William, but dinners were always a reserved affair. But with Elliott, you had the best of both worlds - the salmon was delicious, and you had to excuse yourself several times for bursting into laughter with food in your mouth, to the point where you wondered if Elliott was doing it on purpose.

“I refuse to believe there are truly creatures like that in the world!” you exclaimed with a laugh when you heard Elliott’s description of kangaroos.

“There are! I swear on my life. And they’re vicious things as well, I wouldn’t want to get near them. One of my men died from a single kangaroo kick.”

“I’m still not sure I believe you. If only I could go to Australia and see them for myself.”

“Well, maybe you can,” Elliott said casually. He took a swig of his wine, then said, “You could always come back with me.”

“Come… with you? To Australia?” You shook your head. “No, no, I couldn’t…”

“Why not? You say you’re alone here.”

“Well, yes, but…” You glanced around the room. “This is my home. This house - London - it’s all I know. I can’t just… leave.”

Elliott raised a hand soothingly.

“I understand. If you change your mind, the offer’s open.”

After dessert, you stayed in the dining room long after you were finished, talking and laughing, listening to every story he had to tell you about Australia. At some point you moved to the parlour room and rummaged in the cupboards until you found the pack of cards William kept for the nights he played poker with his lawyer friends.

Elliott showed you how to play piquet, and to both of your surprises you picked up the game quite quickly and even began to beat him after a while.

“Are you sure you’ve never played this before?” Elliott said with disbelief as you won your second game in a row.

“No, never! William never let me touch his playing cards.”

“A shame, because if you’re as good at poker as you are at piquet, you might have been his secret weapon. One more round before bed?”

“Alright.”

You won that game too, and you were pleasantly surprised that Elliott wasn’t angry that you’d beaten him, but rather impressed that you’d picked the game up so quickly. After a quick nightcap, you showed him to the master bedroom, then retired to Johanna’s old room, your workshop, to get ready for bed.

Elliott wasn’t used to sleeping in a nightshirt. It was so hot in Australia, he rarely needed to, but in London it was so cold that he had to wrap himself up a bit more. The bed you’d put him in was soft and comfortable, so even though the outside air was cold, he felt quite cozy as he placed his gun on the nightstand and climbed under the covers. It had been a long day - a long two months - and he was ready to drift off as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He was very nearly asleep when he heard a tentative knock on the door.

“…Yeah?” Elliott mumbled, sitting up in the bed.

The door creaked open and you appeared in the doorway, peering around the edge of the door as if frightened to impose - as if he wasn’t the one imposing on you.

“Sorry to disturb you, Elliott. It’s freezing in my room. Do you mind if I take the blankets from under the bed?”

“No, of course not. This is your bedroom, after all.”

“Well, actually it’s yours,” you joked as you slipped into the room and made your way to the other side of the bed.

“Hey, come on, it’s yours,” Elliott insisted. “My house, maybe, but your home.”

You sighed as you looked under the bed.

“Oh, drat, I forgot. I used the blankets to make some coats. Well, never mind.” You stood up. “Sorry to have disturbed you, Elliott.”

“Well, hold on,” Elliott said quickly as you went to leave. “You just said your room’s freezing. It’s warm in here and there’s plenty of room in the bed. Why don’t you sleep here?”

Your cheeks flushed red, and you gaped at him for a moment before collecting yourself.

“I - Elliott - wouldn’t that be… inappropriate?”

Elliott put his hands up in a show of innocence. “I won’t do anything untoward. I just don’t want you to freeze for my sake. Come on.”

He tugged the covers back on your side of the bed and patted the mattress.

”If you don’t get in, I’ll get out and sleep in the cold room, and what sort of hostess would that make you?”

“Well… alright, I suppose.”

You climbed into the bed, feeling warmer and more comfortable the moment you pulled the duvet over you and fell into your usual sleeping position.

“Goodnight, Elliott.”

“…Goodnight, [Y/n].”

When you woke the next morning, you were the warmest and most comfortable you’d felt in months. You had your arm wrapped around your husband’s warm body, spooning him for warmth in the cold winter morning. Your hand instinctively travelled down his torso and felt the familiar hard length he sported every morning.

His nightshirt had ridden up to his waist in his sleep, and so you had no barrier at all when you wrapped your hand around his length and stroked him lazily. You let out a contented hmm when you felt him twitching beneath you, his body responding to your touch.

He let out a small moan, followed by a sigh of your name, and you froze.

Your eyes snapped open, and reality came crashing down on you.

Your husband was dead. The man you were fondling was his cousin.

Before you had time to think, Elliott placed his hand over yours, encouraging you to resume your movements. You obeyed instinctively, not wanting to anger him by changing your mind when you’d already begun… and truthfully, a part of you wanted to keep touching him. It had been so long since you’d touched a man, and his length did feel so good in your hand…

Elliott made such sweet sounds when you rubbed him just right. He bucked his hips into your hand, encouraging more friction, and you obeyed by speeding up.

You knew you should stop. Elliott wasn’t your husband. Yes, you’d had sex with William before marrying him, but you weren’t much more than a glorified whore. You were nothing of the sort to Elliott, just the widow of a cousin he hadn’t seen for years… and yet he wasn’t rejecting your touch.

Your cunt was aching. You’d missed this. Waking up next to a warm body, making gentle love in the morning, both too tired to fuck as ferociously as you had the night before and would later in the day.

You were lonely. You were horny. And when Elliott rolled onto his back, it was instinct more than anything that caused you to slide your hips over his, your bodies pressed together, your height difference allowing you to get away with burying your head against his chest, avoiding looking him in the eye as you tentatively ground your wet cunt against his length. Elliott groaned and placed his hands on your hips just as you raised them, and you truly couldn’t say which of you made the movement that led to his cock slipping inside you.

You wanted to kiss him, but that felt too intimate somehow. Like kissing him, looking at him, would mean acknowledging what you were doing. If you kept your head down, busied your lips with grazing against his neck instead… you could focus on the feeling of his cock inside you as you rolled your hips, the sound of his gentle moans, the feel of his large hands on your hips, helping guide you as you rode his cock. If you didn’t look at him, you avoided the truth of what was happening.

It might not be right. But Lord, you needed it.

It was a chilly morning, but the room quickly warmed up, your moans and sighs filling the air and saying everything that needed to be said about what was happening.

You were both lonely. You both needed this act of intimacy. And you were both choosing not to speak about the implications of it all.

You came around his cock with a long, drawn-out moan, the tensions you hadn’t known you were carrying falling away, and you welcomed his seed as he came inside you, filling you up as his own tensions were carried away into the ether with your own.

You stayed motionless on top of him for a few moments, catching your breath. Then, when you moved off him, Elliott’s hands fell away from your waist and he made no protestations as you rolled out of bed and pulled your nightdress down, covering the sight of the seed running down your thigh, and left the room as if nothing had happened.

When you next saw Elliott at breakfast, you decided to act as if nothing had happened. You chatted amicably about your plans for the day, then cleared up your plates and made your way upstairs to work on your current dressmaking project.

In the evening, Elliott joined you for dinner, and afterwards you invited him to look at the dress you were making, since he seemed to show an interest when you spoke about it.

“I’m very impressed with your creativity, [Y/n],” Elliott said as he examined the half-sewn dress that sat on a mannequin. “Most women of your station would simply buy their dresses. I find the initiative quite admirable. I dabble with some creativity of my own - nothing fancy, mostly recipes - but I find it so much more rewarding than having something presented to me ready-made. Don’t you think so?”

“Oh, yes, I quite agree!” you said enthusiastically. “The ability to create - whether it be food, clothing, art - it’s what sets us apart from animals. It may sound silly, but… it makes me feel I’ve contributed to the world in some small way. So even if I died tomorrow, there would be some mark on the world that I left behind.”

Elliott looked at you curiously and smiled.

“That’s a beautiful way of putting it. Are these your designs?” he asked, pointing to the pile of drawings on the nearby desk.

“Oh - yes, but I’m afraid I’m not as good with a pencil as I am with a needle. They’re rather rudimentary drawings, but it at least helps me remember my ideas. Would you, um… would you like to see them?”

“Please!”

You felt your cheeks blushing harder and harder as Elliott looked through the drawings. You pointed out some of your favourite designs, those that were too extravagant for you to attempt to create, or just plain impossible.

“Remarkable. You truly have a gift, [Y/n].” He glanced up at you and chuckled. “Blush any harder and you might just come to resemble a tomato. You’re not feeling embarrassed, I hope.”

“Sorry, it’s just that I - I’ve never shown these to anyone before,” you admitted. “William… he was never interested. He let me sew because it kept me occupied when he was at court, but he had no interest in it.”

I prefer your clothes on the floor, he had said to you once, but you decided to keep that part to yourself.

“Well, it’s a shame. Are you going to work on it any more tonight?”

“Yes, I was going to put together some more of the bodice before I retire.”

“Might I watch you? Or would you prefer to work alone?”

“No, it’d… it’d be nice to have some companionship, actually. If it won’t bore you, that is.”

“Nonsense. You do what you need to do, I’ll make us both some tea.”

You worked late into the night, later than Elliott could stay up, and he made you promise not to work for very much longer when he retired to bed before you.

The clock in the corner of the room struck twelve, and you realised you should probably retire.

You readied yourself for bed, and shivered when you put your nightgown back on.

You hesitated, thinking. It wouldn’t hurt to share warmth again, would it?

When you poked your head into the master bedroom, Elliott was fast asleep, so you tip-toed quietly to your side of the bed and slid under the covers. Warm and comfortable at last, you fell asleep almost instantly.

You woke up to a soothing presence pressed up against your back, and this time you remembered that it was Elliott who was sharing your bed.

It was Elliott who was fondling your breast.

His arm was under your nightgown, holding you tight against his torso, and his fingers were lazily playing with your nipple. You could also feel his erection pressing up against your bum.

It was clear what he wanted, and you were surprised he hadn’t taken his pleasure from you already. You would often be woken up by your husband entering you in your sleep - he had to dispel his morning erection, after all, and he had to do it before he left for court. He couldn’t wait for you to wake up.

Elliott had no strict timings on his mornings, so perhaps that was why he was taking his time, groping you in your sleep until you were awake for him.

You rolled onto your back, hand reaching out to take Elliott’s length and guide it into you.

He ducked his head to take your breast in his mouth as he let you guide him to your entrance, and his ministrations must have aroused you even in your sleep, because there was no dryness to resist him as his length slid up your walls and settled comfortably inside you.

With each slow but firm thrust, your breasts followed the movement, and Elliott released your nipple from his mouth to let your flesh rub against his cheek. He grazed his teeth against your skin, leaving behind a trail of saliva as he positioned his head in your neck, seemingly as determined as you to avoid eye contact, to avoid the acknowledgement of the strange situation.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding his body against yours, and over his shoulder you saw the movements of his rear as his hips thrust into you.

Elliott let out a small moan with each sensual thrust, his breath tickling your skin, and you responded in turn with moans of your own when he sped up, his movements becoming more firm, more desperate, as you both felt your pleasure climbing.

You were too lost in the pleasure, the intimacy, the desperation of the moment to worry about anything else. For a short while, there was nothing else in the world, just you, he and the pleasure that was coiling ever tighter inside you, and when your orgasm overcame you and your whole body shook, Elliott kept thrusting into you, stopping only when his own orgasm hit and you felt his warm seed filling you up and he moaned sinfully against your neck.

After a few moments, Elliott rolled off you and onto his back, but this time, you made no quick exit. Instead, you let him hold you lazily, both of you sated, both basking in the comfort which existed between you so easily, although you couldn’t explain why.

You still didn’t say a word until breakfast.

You fell into a strange routine. You spent your days as you would - you working on your tailoring, he on the administration of your husband’s estate - and at night you’d slip into bed with him, each time telling yourself it was only because the other room was so cold. In the morning, you’d not say a word to one another as you fucked, usually starting slow and sleepy, and ending with a desperate passion.

On the third morning, you woke to his tongue between your legs.

On the fourth, you were about to lean over to take him in your mouth when he grabbed your hips and positioned you to sit on his face, and you might have worried about suffocating him with your cunt if you weren’t occupied with taking his length into your mouth.

The fifth morning was a Sunday, and you wondered if anything might happen - your pious husband had never fucked you on a Sunday, after all - but your question was answered before you even awoke, as when your eyes opened and your mind returned to the waking world, you felt Elliott was already inside you, though he didn’t begin to thrust until he knew you were awake.

The sixth morning saw you taking him in your mouth before he woke, and words passed between you for the first time when a “fucking hell” escaped Elliott’s lips as his fingers slid into your hair.

On the seventh day, Elliott woke to find the bed empty, and he found you instead in your tailoring room, sitting at your desk and still wearing your nightgown.

“Up early or still up?” he asked as he approached you from behind and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Up early,” you replied. “I had an idea in my sleep… I had to get it down before I forgot.”

“You gonna come back to bed after?”

“It’s alright, I’m done now.”

You stood up, but before you could turn around, Elliott caught you in his arms, and that morning he took you from behind over your desk - and for the first time, you moaned his name when you came.

You knew one of you would break soon and mention your morning activities during the day, but you were determined to put it off. Talking about it would mean thinking about it, and you didn’t want to confront your feelings any time soon, so you continued your strange routine for another week until one day when a letter arrived at your house addressed to Elliott.

“Oh, it’s from my uncle,” Elliott said in answer to your curious look as he read the letter at the dinner table. “On my mother’s side, no relation to William. I wrote to him when I arrived to tell him I was in England. He’s invited us to visit him in Sussex.”

“Us?”

“Well, he says ‘you,’ but I choose to take that in the plural. Would you like to come? He’s got quite the estate as I recall.”

“Sussex? Isn’t that very far?”

“Not really. About half a day by carriage.”

“That sounds very far to me…”

Elliott smiled at you. “Yes, I suppose it would. Compared to my lands in Australia, it’s no distance at all. Have you ever been to the country?”

“No, I… I’ve never left London,” you admitted. “Though I would love to visit the country, I hear it’s a lot greener than London.”

“Oh, much greener. To be frank with you, London is horrid. All the smoke in the air, beggars on the street, buildings clumped together and the earth hidden beneath cobblestones… I’ve only been here two weeks and I’m craving the fresh air. In fact, if you’ve never left London, then I insist you come with me. It’ll do you good to breathe the open air. Who knows - maybe we’ll even see some sheep.”

Your eyes lit up then, and Elliott smiled to see his words had had the desired effect on you. He’d told you all about his lands in Australia and the different animals he kept, and in turn you had told him how you wished to see sheep, which you always thought seemed so cute from your books.

So that night you packed a bag, Elliott went out to find a horse and carriage to rent for the next morning, and come bedtime you were so excited at the prospect of going to the country that you didn’t even think twice about going straight to the master bedroom with him. Usually you at least fooled yourself into thinking you were going to sleep in the second bedroom, but before you even realised what you were doing, you were both in the master bedroom, getting dressed for bed.

Elliott said nothing about it; he acted as if it were normal, and after he blew out the candle beside the bed, he wrapped an arm around your waist and held you as comfortably as if you’d always slept like this.

“Goodnight, [Y/n],” he mumbled against the back of your neck.

You smiled and linked your fingers in with his.

“Goodnight, Elliott.”

---

The next morning, you had to be up early as you’d be travelling for most of the day, so you were rudely awakened by a knocker-upper in the middle of a lovely dream about winning a cheese-eating contest.

“C’mon, [Y/n], time to get up,” you heard Elliott say a few minutes later, but you just groaned into your pillow.

“Too early,” you complained.

“You can go back to sleep in the carriage, but we gotta get going.”

“I’m trying,” you insisted. “Body won’t move.”

Elliott chuckled, then you squealed when you were suddenly lifted into the air and thrown over Elliott’s shoulder like a sack of flour.

“You want to see the sheep, don’t you?”

“I wanna see the sleep.”

Elliott put you down, though he kept his hands on your shoulders to make sure you didn’t fall asleep standing up. You looked up at him blearily and smiled.

“You’re so handsome,” you mumbled.

“Now I know you’re talking nonsense. Come on, let’s get you dressed. You need a hand?”

You shook your head, yawned, then reluctantly set about getting dressed. By the time you’d laced up your bodice, Elliott had already loaded the carriage waiting outside with your luggage, and was waiting for you on the front doorstep with a cigarette when you finally emerged from the house.

“Still awake?”

“Just about,” you mumbled. “If I sleep in the carriage, will you wake me up when we get out of London? I don’t wanna miss seeing anything.”

Elliott offered his arm to you and led you to the carriage.

“Of course. It’s not very exciting, though. Once you’ve seen one field you’ve seen them all.”

“But I wanna see them all!”

Elliott laughed, then helped you up into the carriage. You shuffled along the seat to let him climb in after you, then once the door was closed, you immediately curled up against the side of the carriage and nodded off.

When you woke up, the first thing you realised was that you were lying down, though you’d gone to sleep upright. The next thing you noticed was that your pillow was strange, slightly rough and harder than usual. Then you realised there was a weight on your head, and when you felt fingers casually caressing your hair, you realised the weight was a hand.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you saw the back of the carriage driver’s seat, but sideways.

You were lying across the seat in the carriage, head in Elliott’s lap. He’d wrapped up his coat and placed it between your head and his thigh for a pillow, and he was gently stroking your hair as you slept.

You closed your eyes again, savouring the moment. Elliott’s coat smelled like him, and his hand on your head made you feel safe and secure. Even though you were lying in an awkward position, legs bent slightly to fit on the seat, you felt a great sense of comfort.

“I know you’re awake,” Elliott said softly.

“No, I’m not,” you replied, your eyes still closed.

“I can see you smiling.”

“Shh… sleeping.”

Elliott chuckled, and he continued his gentle stroking of your hair, both of you choosing to enjoy the moment rather than address it.

“We’re out of London, by the way. Have been for a while.”

Now you did open your eyes, rubbing them as you sat up and looked around.

“You said you’d wake me when we left!”

“I’ve learnt today that waking you up before you want to is impossible.”

“Have I missed anything?”

“Only dozens of identical fields. Take a look.”

He pulled back the curtain that covered the carriage window, and you leaned over him to look outside eagerly.

“Wow,” you gasped. “There’s so much space!”

The fields stretched as far as you could see, intersected only by trees and hedges. There wasn’t a building in sight. You’d seen drawings of the countryside, but it was an even more magical sight to behold in reality.

“You should see my land in Australia,” Elliott said proudly. “Hundreds of miles, it stretches for. I own even more land in Australia than there is in London.”

“You jest!” you exclaimed, leaning back to look at him. “I believe that as much as I believe that there are such things as kangaroos.”

“It’s true, and so are the kangaroos. The world’s much bigger than you know, [Y/n].”

“Yes, I’m coming to realise that.” You sat back down in the seat, though you made no effort to distance yourself from Elliott. He had an arm thrown across the back of the seat, and when you leant back, he placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Is it much farther to your uncle’s house?”

“Another six hours or so. We’re only halfway there.”

“Six hours?! Goodness. What do you to pass the time on long journeys such as this?”

“Talk. Smoke. Relax.”

Elliott’s hand was wandering across your skin, fingers dancing as he traced meaningless shapes across your shoulder, and you smiled when he threaded his fingers through your hair and scratched your scalp.

“You like that?” he murmured softly.

You blushed and nodded. He threaded his fingers deeper into your hair, gently scratching at different spots on your scalp until he found a spot you seemed to particularly like, because you shuddered when he touched it, dipping your head slightly to give him better access.

Elliott withdrew his fingers, gathered your hair in his hands, and moved it aside to hang in front of your shoulder, giving himself access to pepper soft kisses across the back of your neck. You giggled slightly when his moustache tickled against your skin.

“What about that? Do you like that?”

You nodded, hardly daring to speak. Elliott’s trail of kisses moved up the side of your neck, and you let out an involuntary whine when his lips connected with the skin behind your ear.

“Elliott…”

He hummed acknowledgment against your skin, but whatever you were about to say was cut short when he placed his hand on your thigh and your breath caught in your throat.

His kisses were on your cheek now, and you could hear his breathing, feel his hot breath on your cheek. He cupped your face with his palm, encouraging you to turn to him, but despite everything you’d done with him already, somehow a kiss felt just too intimate.

So, when he turned your head, instead of kissing him you continued the momentum of your movement and pushed him back into the seat. You kissed his neck, then his collar, and as you kissed down his clothed torso, you were tempted to unbutton his waistcoat and shirt to give you access to his skin, but there was something arousingly scandalous about doing what you were doing with both your clothes still on.

When you reached his belt, Elliott helped you unbuckle it and grunted with relief when he released his hardened cock from the confines of his trousers. You licked your lips, then took his tip in your mouth, easing his girth into you. Elliott let out a low moan as you skilfully took him deeper and deeper until he was buried in your throat, your nose buried in his hair.

He placed one hand on your back and the other cupped your cheek, gently encouraging you to move. You slid your tongue along his shaft as you lifted your head, and though you intended to retract all the way to his tip, Elliott wrapped your hair around his fingers to hold you still and thrusted up into you. You choked slightly with surprise, but you simply widened your throat as your late husband had taught you to, giving Elliott the room he needed to bury himself inside you again - and again - and again.

At some point, although you couldn’t say exactly when, Elliott released his grip on your hair and let you take over. You wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft so you could pleasure him without choking yourself, and which also allowed you to bob your head faster.

“Ah, fucking hell… [Y/n]…”

Even though you’d been sharing intimate moments for two weeks now, you still hardly spoke during and certainly never mentioned it after, and you’d have expected that hearing Elliott moan your name now would frighten you, making the moment too personal, but there was something about it that shot straight to your core, almost as if you wanted that level of intimacy with Elliott.

You pushed that thought to the back of your mind. That was something to deal with later; for now, you were just enjoying pleasuring him, listening to his beautiful moans as he responded to your ministrations.

What you didn’t know was that while you were trying to ignore the feelings that were growing inside you - which you didn’t want to admit had been growing since the day Elliott showed up at your door - he was revelling in his, savouring every moment of intimacy between you as if he were a parched man and your affection was his hydration. He tried to hold back his orgasm when he felt it climbing, because he didn’t want this to end, to finish your unspoken intimacy and go back to pretending that anything was happening between you.

He tried to hold it back - but you had a way of telling when he was close, and you weren’t one for edging, because it only spurred you on, sucking him off faster until he could resist no more. Elliott grabbed your head and pushed you down his shaft, burying himself in your throat as he shot his load inside you, and though you choked and spluttered, you relished in the feeling of his warm cum bypassing your mouth and filling you up straight down your throat.

You had nothing with you to clean him up, so you used your tongue and licked him clean. Elliott sighed with relief and leant his head back against the seat.

“Jesus, [Y/n]… You are something else, you know that?”

You averted your eyes and blushed, as if you weren’t the one who’d initiated it. Elliott saw your bashfulness and smiled.

“Hey, c’mere.”

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you in for an embrace. You cozied up to him and rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he gently rubbed your back. Elliott’s gentle touch, combined with the rhythm of his heartbeat and the movement of the carriage, soon sent you back to sleep. Eventually, Elliott found himself dozing off too, both of you comfortable in one another’s arms as the countryside rolled by.

---

You woke up a few hours later when the carriage came to a halt. You sat up, blushing when you realised you’d once again been sleeping with your head in Elliott’s lap. He, meanwhile, was still asleep; you giggled and pushed his mouth closed for him when you saw he was drooling.

Curious as to why you’d stopped, you pulled the curtain back from the window and saw that you were on a long road, flagged either side by lines of trees. The carriage driver hopped down from his seat, and you opened the door to poke your head out.

“Is everything alright?” you asked.

“Go back inside, m’lady, nothing to worry about. There’s a man injured on the road.”

“Oh, dear! That’s not nothing at all. Here, let me help.”

Ignoring the driver’s protestations, you hopped out of the carriage, lifted your skirt to avoid muddying it, and followed behind him to attend to the injured man. Before the driver could examine the man, however, another man came suddenly from between the trees, punched the driver hard enough to render him unconscious, and the supposedly injured man jumped up to begin rifling through the driver’s pockets.

You, naturally, had exclaimed in surprise when the second man appeared, and as soon as his punch landed, he turned his attention to you.

“Hey, we got a twofer!” the man exclaimed, grinning hungrily. He grabbed you before you could dodge him, and you screamed.

“Unhand me, you scoundrel!” you shouted, fruitlessly pulling against the grip the man now had on both your wrists. He simply laughed and threw you to the ground.

“I been hoping for a girl to rape all day,” he said with a nasty grin as he unbuckled his belt. “Today’s my lucky day!”

 BANG!

You cried out in surprise again when a gunshot rang out, and the man’s luck ran out as blood began to pour from his forehead, and if his stunned expression were anything to go by, he was dead before he hit the ground.

His companion, who had up until now been searching the driver’s pockets, went to grab his own gun, but his hand had hardly moved towards his belt when another BANG resulted in blood pouring from his chest, and after a few attempts at breathing through the blood filling his lungs, he too collapsed dead to the ground.

You tried to clambour to your feet, but the ground was slick with mud, and you embarrassingly fell back onto your bum. You jumped when a hand gripped your upper arm and pulled you to your feet, but you felt a wave of relief wash over you when you turned and saw that it was Elliott.

“Are you alright?” he asked urgently.

You nodded, though you were still frightened, but you were otherwise unharmed. Acting on instinct more than anything, you wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your head against his chest.

“Oh, Elliott, thank goodness,” you sighed. “He was - he was going to —”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Elliott said soothingly. His gun was still in his right hand, but with his left he embraced you and gently stroked your hair, seemingly undeterred by the mud that was no doubt all over you. “Nothing’s gonna harm you, not while I’m around.”

You sniffled, and Elliott holstered his gun to allow himself to hold you properly, rocking you and murmuring words of comfort until your breathing had steadied.

“The - the driver…” you muttered, looking over your shoulder.

“Alive, but unconscious - I can see him breathing,” Elliott determined. “We’ll have to wait for him to wake up before we go on. Come on - let’s sit you down.”

Elliott kept an arm firmly around your shoulders as he guided you to the carriage and sat you down on the step to examine you.

“Does anything hurt?” he asked as he gently took your chin between his fingers and turned your head to check for injuries.

“Only my bum from falling back down,” you admitted. “Erm - and my elbows too. I think they took most of the fall.”

“Let me see them. Can you roll your sleeves up?”

“Not in this dress.”

“You’ll need to take it off, then,” Elliott said matter-of-factly, and his hands were on your bodice, pulling apart the lace across your chest, before you could react.

“Is this a ruse to get my clothes off?”

Elliott smirked and his eyes flashed dangerously. “I don’t need a ruse for that, sweetheart. We both know you’d be out of that dress in an instant if I asked.”

You had no reply to that. You blushed hard to hear him flirting with you so brazenly when you’d spent so long not speaking of the spark between you, but truthfully he was right. Even though you were out in the open, two dead men lying in the mud nearby and your carriage driver unconscious next to them, you felt a shiver of desire run through your body as Elliott ran his hands over your chest to unlace your dress.

You glanced down at his waist, where his gun was back in its holster, glistening slightly in the afternoon sun. It had happened so fast, you had hardly had a chance to fully appreciate what had just happened - Elliott had killed two men with hardly a flinch, all to protect you.

Almost instinctively, you spread your legs slightly, and Elliott must have been acting on instinct too when he moved closer to you. Although his hands were firm and calloused, still his touch was gentle as he pushed the shoulders of your dress down, peeling the fabric from your skin until you were able to pull your arms from the sleeves - and, as it just so happened, your breasts were revealed too.

Ignoring his desire to ravish attention on your breasts, Elliott instead focused on examining your elbows, both of which were grazed slightly but otherwise unharmed.

“Anywhere else that hurts?”

“My thighs,” you lied. “Maybe you should check underneath my skirt too.”

Elliott raised an eyebrow at you. “Your thighs? Really?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

You opened your legs a little wider, causing your skirt to ride up your legs, your calves poking out from below the hemline. Elliott put a hand on either ankle and made a show of slowly checking every inch of you for injuries, before sliding his hands over your knees and up to your waistband to pull your bloomers down, giving himself access to your bare skin to ‘check for injuries.’

“Where does it hurt? Here?” Elliott asked, his hands resting on your lower thighs.

“Mmm… higher.”

“…Here?”

His hand moved up to your upper thigh, and he could feel the warm of your core tickling his fingers.

“A bit higher…”

Elliott smirked at you hungrily, his eyes alight with desire.

“How about… here?”

He cupped your heat with his hand, and you stifled a moan.

“It hurts here, does it?”

You nodded. “Hurts ‘cus it’s empty,” you whined.

Elliott closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled.

“[Y/n], you are… fuck, I don’t know what. I’m no good with words. But actions - actions I can do.”

He withdrew his hand slightly to bring his thumb up to your sweet spot, and you gasped his name when he began caressing it while his other hand busied itself with unbuckling his belt.

“You sure you want this, sweetheart? Here and now?”

You nodded desperately. “Please, Elliott. I… I need you.”

Elliott had been aching to hear you express your desires for two weeks now, and though he’d not imagined you’d first speak them aloud in a carriage doorway on the side of the road with two dead bodies nearby, hearing you express not just a want but a need for him… it would have been enough to make him fall in love with you.

It would have, had he not already fallen deeper than he ever thought possible.

He entered you with a groan of relief. Your mouth was exceptionally talented, and he’d treasure the memory of that morning’s blowjob always, but there was nothing quite like the feeling of your walls around his length. He felt as if he belonged there, belonged in your cunt, belonged with you .

As much as he’d wanted to, Elliott had never fucked outside before. In a place such as Australia, it was hard to find somewhere that wasn’t outside, but his first wife had never been one for show, and even after her death, he felt that taking a whore was something to be done privately.

But there was something inherently natural and right about fucking outside. God made the Heavens and the Earth, and he made man, but he never made anything like a building or a vehicle. Those were inventions of man. Humans were meant to fuck, and they were meant to do it outside.

Now that you’d broken the seal that had held both of you back from speaking during your morning trysts, Elliott took the liberty of being as vocal as he liked, muttering your name over and over again, as if making up for all the times he’d fucked you in silence.

“Ohh, [Y/n]… fuck, you feel so good… so good for me, [Y/n]… Lord, if only I could live inside this sweet cunt of yours.”

Elliott’s words danced around your mind like a flame, setting your desire alight, every sense overwhelmed by him. The feel of his cock thrusting inside you, the sound of his muttered praise intersected with grunts of pleasure, the sight of his handsome face overwhelmed with pleasure. Even his smell, his musky smell that lingered on all his clothes, the unmistakable smell of sex that filled the carriage. The only thing missing was taste, but then again, you’d tasted him well enough earlier.

Lord, he was beautiful in the throes of ecstasy. And as your pleasure overwhelmed you, causing you to cry out and fill the carriage with the sounds of your moans as your orgasm washed over you, Elliott thought you were not just beautiful, but something otherworldly altogether. He fucked you through your orgasm, and when he filled you up with his seed moments later, Elliott knew in that moment that whatever you were, you wouldn’t travel north up this road back to London as anything other than his wife.

---

By the time you arrived at Ivy Manor in Sussex, you were feeling a desperate need for a bath. You had cum on your legs, mud on your dress and in your hair, and you were sweating from the summer heat.

All your discomfort fell away, however, when Elliott helped you out of the carriage and you saw the manor house in all its splendour. It was bigger even than Westminster Abbey! And the land surrounding it sprawled for miles; you had certainly ridden at least a mile further past the manor gates before approaching the building itself.

You looked around, eyes wide as saucers, amazed that a building this large could even exist. And this was only one family’s home!

“Ah, there’s my nephew!”

An older man, perhaps a little older than your late husband, came to greet you, wearing a black wool suit with a garish checkered vest, and you wondered if country lords were immune to summer heat, because you imagined Elliott’s uncle should be boiling inside that suit.

The uncle greeted Elliott with a warm smile and a friendly handshake, then turned to you and bowed his head.

“And this must be the cousin’s wife. A pleasure to meet you. Duke Rupert Beaumont, at your service. Forgive me, miss, but Elliott neglected to give me your full name in his letter.”

“[Y/n] Turpin, sir,” you said with a curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for having us in your home.”

“Lady [Y/n] Turpin,” Elliott corrected you.

You smiled coyly. “Yes, well, I don’t see a need for formalities amongst family.”

”Turpin, you say?!” Duke Beaumont said in surprise. “As in Lord William Turpin?”

“Yes, sir, he’s my late husband.”

“Why, I had no idea! Elliott mentioned his cousin was a judge, of course, but not that it was Lord Turpin! And you’re his lady wife, you say?”

“Yes, sir. Did you know my husband, then?”

“Know him? My dear - apologies, my Lady - I studied alongside him at Oxford! A very long time ago this was, mind you, but we’ve written to one another on occasion. I had no idea my brother-in-law was his uncle. I hadn’t known of his passing, though. I’m very sorry for your loss, my Lady, he was an excellent lawyer and a noble man in every sense. Might I ask how he passed?”

“Oh, erm —”

“It was foul play,” Elliott said, quickly sensing your discomfort and placing a comforting hand on the small of your back. “A former convict with a vendetta. A tragedy, of course, but let’s just be grateful [Y/n] wasn’t harmed. In an unfortunately similar turn of events, we were stopped on our way here by highwaymen, and [Y/n] suffered an unfortunate fall. Could we trouble you for the use of a bath, and perhaps a servant to wash her dress?”

“Yes, yes, of course! Highwaymen, you say? Should I send out for the police?”

“No matter, I dealt with them,” Elliott said smugly, pushing his jacket back slightly to reveal the gun on his hip. “Unless you want to clear the road of their bodies.”

“Hmm… yes, I suppose we should clear the road. I’ll send someone out. Well, come along, old chap, let’s get your luggage taken in and we’ll draw a bath for the lady.”

A few hours later, you were feeling much cleaner after a bath, and the room you’d been told you were to stay in was already made up for you and your clothes laid out. You were surprised to find a servant girl expecting you to need her help getting dressed, but not wanting to embarrass Elliott with any faux pas, you allowed the girl to dress you for dinner.

You left your room just in time to see Elliott leave his, which was directly across from yours.

“Well, fancy seeing you here, m’lady,” he said with a smirk. “Are you my dinner date for tonight?”

“I think I must be. Although you’ll have to keep your eye on me to make sure I don’t do anything embarrassing, I know the basics of etiquette but I’ve never done much more than dine with William and Johanna.”

Elliott scoffed. “And you think I have? This is just as foreign to me as it is to you.”

You breathed a small sigh of relief to know you weren’t alone in feeling like a fish out of water in such a grand place. You took Elliott’s arm and he escorted you down the corridor, both of you secretly hoping you remembered the way back to the dining room Duke Beaumont had pointed out to you earlier.

“So, Elliott… your cousin a Lord, your uncle a Duke. Why don’t you have any titles?”

“Oh, we don’t bother with peerages and titles in Australia. A man’s worth is judged on his character and achievements, not his name. Though if we did, then with the amount of land I own, I’m sure I’d be a Lord.”

“Lord Elliott Marston of Australia,” you said in a faux-pompous voice, and Elliott laughed. “No, you’re right, it’s not very you, is it?”

“Definitely not. Mr Marston is fine with me. But Lady suits you very well.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” you said with a blush. “I come from nothing. I’m a Lady only because of William. It feels strange to call myself a Lady when I don’t have a Lord, that’s why I never introduce myself as Lady Turpin. If I remarry a man of no rank and become a Mrs, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Do you… intend to remarry?”

You turned a corner and succeeded in finding the staircase back down to the entrance hall.

“Well, I must, mustn’t I?”

“Must you?”

“Yes, I mean, if you truly intend to transfer my husband’s estate to me, I can’t very well go on without children, can I? I’ll need an heir to inherit William’s estate.”

“And do you… have any suitors in mind?”

The stairs were steep, so your focus was on not tripping over the hem of your dress, and you had an excuse to hide your blushing face - and avoid seeing the cautious hope in Elliott’s eyes.

“Perhaps,” you said noncommittally.

“Perhaps?”

“Well… there is one man I’d consider accepting a proposal from, but…”

“…But?”

“I’m not sure he’d want me,” you admitted.

You reached the bottom of the stairs and Elliott paused.

“Whyever wouldn’t he want you?”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting.

“Well… he has no need to marry me for the estate,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “So the only reason he’d marry me is for me. And, well… I’m not much on my own, am I?”

Elliott frowned. He took your chin between his fingers, keeping your eyes locked on his.

“[Y/n]… you’re wonderful. Don’t ever think you’re anything less. Any man would be lucky to have you as his wife, estate or no. William married you knowing full well you came from nothing, didn’t he? No dowry, no estate. Just your kind heart and your gentle soul. He knew that you were worth far more than any lord’s daughter - and he was right.”

“Do you - do you really think so?” you asked quietly, your voice almost breathless as your insides twisted into knots.

“Have I ever struck you as a dishonest man?”

“No, I —”

You were interrupted by the ringing of a bell to call you for dinner, and you glanced away from Elliott’s striking gaze, your face no doubt bright red.

“Perhaps together we can fumble our way through dinner with a duke,” you said, glad for the distraction. You readjusted your hand on Elliott’s arm and let him escort you into the dining room, not realising that his eyes were firmly on you the entire time.

---

Dinner went on much longer than you were used to. There were seven courses, each with a break in between, and after dessert  Duke Beaumont’s granddaughter Leanne who had a musical talent played a few songs on the piano. She reminded you a little of Johanna, who sometimes would play the piano in the parlour room, and you wondered where she was and if she was enjoying her new life with Anthony, wherever they were.

It felt strangely reserved, the way everybody sat and listened as Leanne played. Music was best enjoyed with dance, you had always found, and to sit simply listening made you feel as if something were missing.

But you didn’t want to embarrass Elliott, so you sat politely, and with everyone’s attention on Leanne, Elliott took the opportunity to place his hand on your thigh under the table.

You blushed hard, and from the corner of your eye, you could see him smirking.

Lord, how could a simple touch from him make you feel all aflutter?

“Play something we can dance to, Annie!” said an older woman - possibly Leanne’s mother, though you found it so hard to keep track - and so Leanne switched to a faster song, and people began to stand and pair up to dance, mainly in couples, although adorably Duke Beaumont asked his five-year-old granddaughter to dance with him.

“Do you dance, [Y/n]?” Elliott asked.

“Not since my wedding day. We never - we never had a chance to host any social events.”

Elliott stood and held his hand out to you, the same one that until moments ago had been on your thigh.

“Come on, then. I’ll die a happy man so long as I’ve had one dance with the most beautiful woman in England.”

Was his intention to experiment with how much he could make you blush?

You took his proffered hand, stepped away from the dining table, and Elliott gave you a small, formal bow before placing his hand on your waist. You were both a little out of practice, but you fumbled your way into a rhythm together.

“You’re very cute when you blush, you know,” Elliott commented as you danced, “but you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I told you, I’m an honest man, [Y/n]. I only speak the truth.”

“You’re very kind,” you said with a small smile, looking up at him. “I suppose I’m a shy person, that’s all, and I’m not used to such kind words.”

Elliott chuckled and shook his head. “I’m a lot of things, [Y/n]. Kind is not a word many would use.”

“Then let me be the one to use it.”

 “Alright. You can call me kind. So long as I can call you beautiful.”

You blushed and ducked your head with a smile. You knew Elliott had just told you not to be embarrassed, but how could you not be?

The song ended and you broke apart from Elliott to join the others in polite applause for Leanne’s playing. Duke Beaumont announced it was time for the men to have a smoke and a drink, so you decided it was time to go to bed. Elliott kissed the back of your hand as he wished you goodnight, and though you felt yourself blushing, you managed to stop yourself from glancing away this time.

A few hours later, you were still awake, as you were struggling to fall asleep in the unknown bed. You heard the bedroom door open and close; thinking it was a servant, you sat up groggily to tell them to come back in the morning, only to realise by the moonlight slipping through a crack in the curtains that it was Elliott.

He was already in his nightshirt. He slipped under the covers of the bed, wrapped an arm around your waist, and pulled you back down to lie under the covers with him.

“Is your room cold?” you asked.

“No,” Elliott replied, his eyes already closed as he held you, and you turned towards him almost instinctively to wrap an arm around him. “It was lonely.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah… mine too.”

“Doesn’t feel so lonely to me.”

“Not anymore.”

Elliott smiled.

“Goodnight, [Y/n].”

“Goodnight, Elliott.”

The next morning, it didn’t even hit you that it was the first morning you’d woken up in bed with Elliott and not had sex. You felt so comfortable waking up next to him, as if the simple intimacy of being in his arms and inhaling his scent was enough for you. You kept expecting him to initiate something, but instead he just held you, his fingers drawing meaningless shapes across your skin.

When eventually you got out of bed, Elliott went across the hall to his own room to get dressed for breakfast. You greeted him in the dining room as if you didn’t know how he’d slept, and as you ate he asked if you’d like to accompany him for a walk around the grounds.

“This place was a lot bigger in my memory,” Elliott mused as you set out side-by-side down a footpath around the manor. “Then again, I was very small last time I was here.”

“I think it’s enormous,” you replied, looking around at the gardens you were meandering through.

“I suppose it would be to you. My land in Australia’s much bigger, though.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned.”

“On the topic of Australia… have you given any more thought to my proposition on the day I arrived?”

“Forgive me - what proposition was that?”

“Coming back with me.”

“Oh - well, yes, that’d be lovely I’m sure. But if you’re to transfer me the estate, there’s no point in leaving it to gather dust, is there?”

“Well… you wouldn’t have to, necessarily. Here, let’s turn left - as I recall there’s a lovely pond down this path.”

You followed Elliott down the left-hand turn, then he said, “I must admit, [Y/n], I had a slightly ulterior motive in coming here. I wanted to speak to my uncle about his purchasing the estate from me, though of course all the proceeds would go to you. He seems amenable to it - he’d like to purchase it as a wedding gift for Leanne. But I know how important William’s legacy is to you, so I wanted you to come here with me, to meet him and Leanne. I’ll only sell it to him if you permit it, and only if you don’t intend to keep it for yourself. If you want to stay there, or if you don’t trust him to look after it properly, I’ll not sell it to him. It’s your home, after all, and you know I’ll not evict you from it nor leave it with someone untrustworthy.”

You reached the pond and there was a long silence as you considered everything Elliott had said. Although the idea of someone else living in what was supposed to be your family home with William filled you with dread, you didn’t much fancy the other options.

You had known for a while what you wanted.

A part of you felt it was a betrayal of William’s memory. You owed him so much, after all. But he had left you without an heir, and if you didn’t move on, then on your own death the estate would flounder.

“I have to think about it,” you decided. “There’s so much at stake here - for you, for me, for William’s legacy. I must consider what he would want me to do.”

You glanced down at the clear water of the pond, and your eyes widened when you saw the large body of a fish swim by.

“Look, you can see the fish!”

Elliott laughed. You looked at him, frowning.

“And just what is so funny?”

“Nothing, darling. I’m laughing because your childlike wonder never ceases to be adorable. Don’t you live by the riverside?”

“You can’t see fish in the Thames, it’s too dirty,” you said defensively, turning away from him to peer into the water again. “Besides, the water’s too toxic to consume, so I hardly expect any fish can survive in there. Can you see the fish in Australia?”

“Of course you can. But then again, Australia is an untempered land, still in her infancy. There’s nothing to pollute the waters with.”

“Oh, Australia’s a she?”

“Most definitely,” Elliott said. You felt his hands on your waist as he stood behind you, his body definitely too close to yours for propriety.

“That makes perfect sense, actually,” you teased. “The way you talk about it, someone might think you’re in love with it. Why don’t you marry Australia?”

“Hmm, I’d much rather marry you.”

You froze. Time stood still. Your heart missed several beats. When you turned around to look at Elliott, your mouth agape as if you were one of the fish in the pond, suddenly nothing in the world existed but for him and you.

“Do you - do you mean that?”

Elliott blinked in surprise, then laughed and shook his head.

“Perhaps I should have been clearer. What I’m saying, [Y/n], is that I’d like you to come back to Australia with me - as my wife.”

---

You were a little embarrassed at the way you’d excused yourself and almost ran off from Elliott, citing some mumbled excuse about having to think about his proposal.

A proposal! Elliott had proposed to you. You, with nothing to your name that he didn’t have, nothing more than the collateral damage from some ex-convict’s murderous rampage. You, a glorified street urchin, who had only risen to the status of a Lady because Judge Turpin had fallen for you as more than a whore who kept his bed warm.

What could he possibly expect to gain from a marriage to you? William had married you for love only because he knew he had little time left, because if your time hadn’t been cut short you were willing and able to serve him loyally and give him the heir he needed.

Perhaps that was it. Elliott had no heirs either, his wife having died some years earlier from sickness. He needed a wife, and he knew already how well you took his seed. You’d unintentionally spent the last few weeks essentially auditioning your body to him as marriage material.

You were in the empty parlour room, pacing back and forth as thoughts swirled around in your mind, until your reverie was broken by Duke Beaumont entering the room.

“Duke Beaumont, sir,” you said by way of greeting, accompanied by a curtsey. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m in here. I needed a little time alone with my thoughts.”

The Duke smiled knowingly. “Elliott proposed to you, then, did he?”

He knew? Of course he knew - Elliott must have told him that the sale was contingent on your accepting the proposal.

“Well… yes, he did,” you admitted. “I’m considering the options he’s laid before me, sir.”

“Well, let me give you a bit of help with that.”

The Duke reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a letter with its wax seal broken.

“Allow me to give you this - evidence of my nephew’s intentions, I suppose one would call it.”

“Sir?”

You took the letter cautiously, and Duke Beaumont smiled through his beard with a knowing glint in your eye.

“Curious, isn’t it, what a person says about another when they’re not around to hear it?”

With that bit of vague wisdom, the Duke left you alone with your thoughts and the mysterious letter.

You unfolded the letter and read:

Dear Uncle Rupert,

You may be surprised to be reading a letter from me addressed from London; I am just as surprised to be writing it.

A cousin on my father’s side residing in London passed late last year, and as his only surviving relative I’ve travelled to London to administer his estate.

He leaves behind a stately townhouse, containing many extravagant furnishings, books, art and the like. He also leaves behind a widow, a wife he married not long before his untimely death, and therefore he had not updated his will and she had not yet borne children.

My first instinct on hearing of my inheritance was to write back asking the solicitor to simply sell the estate on, but when I heard of my cousin’s lone wife, I felt it my duty to attend London myself to ensure she wouldn’t be left homeless.

On meeting her yesterday, however, my intentions have changed.

I’m not ashamed to say she has bewitched me. She’s certainly beautiful, but that’s only the start of her qualities, Uncle. She has an interest in the world most women don’t possess, and she’s clearly resourceful - having been barred from her husband’s money since his death, she instead has been making money for herself designing and making clothes.

I worry, though, that my cousin was less than kind to her. She seems afraid of men, and it took some time of conversation with her to convince her I wasn’t a danger. I fear, if left alone, she may be susceptible to marry a man who mistreats her, particularly if I grant her ownership of her husband’s sizeable estate.

While in London, as well as administering the estate, I intend to take the time to get to know her, and more importantly, to give her the chance to get to know me and understand that I pose no threat to her.

Then, if she’ll have me, I’ll ask her for her hand and bring her back to Australia with me.

Which brings me to the reason for my letter, other than a friendly greeting. [Y/n] is clearly still very attached to the house and its contents - understandably so, since she still carries my cousin in her heart. I don’t believe she’d wish to depart without certainty her husband’s legacy was being cared for by a trusted person.

I wonder, therefore, whether you, or perhaps someone you know, have any interest in purchasing the estate? The house is located centrally in London (for my cousin was a judge of the High Court) and its contents, if you wish to sell them on, would fetch a pretty penny at auction. I propose to sell it to you at a fraction of its value for the sake of a quick sale to a trusted person.

Please write back to the above mentioned address with your answer. I should also, if you are agreeable, like to visit your home during my stay in England, as it’s been many decades since we last met, and I’d like to meet my cousins you’ve so often written about.

Yours truly,

Elliott Marston

---

While you were considering the choice you had to make, Elliott couldn’t stand to sit around waiting, so he joined his cousins in riding out to shoot some pheasants.

To his frustration, he kept missing them, because his mind was still on you. His cousins teased him, not for missing his marks, but because he was so bewitched by you.

“Well, if she says no, she has to marry someone,” said one of the younger men, Duke Beaumont’s grandson, who was about your age, as the men were tying their kills to their horses. “I’ll gladly have her. Pretty little thing like that with a free London estate and no father to pay a dowry to? Bargain.”

Elliott’s hand twitched over the barrel of his gun, and he had to remind himself that murder was a bit harder to get away with in England than it was in Australia.

“If she rejects me, I hardly expect she’ll have you, Jonathan,” Elliott snarled.

“Oh yeah? I’m not twice her age, for one thing. Better put a bun in that oven before you run out of ammo, old man.”

“I’m forty-four.”

“Yeah, and she’s what, twenty?”

Jonathan’s brother, Samuel, nudged him with a laugh. “Hey, though, grandfather said her dead husband was sixty-something. Maybe she likes them old.”

Elliott stepped towards the two boys - because that’s what they were, boys , hardly men - with a snarl on his face and his hand firmly on the barrel of his gun.

“Speak one more unkind word about [Y/n] and I’ll tell your grandfather I mistook you both for pheasants.”

“Ah, only a jest, cousin,” Jonathan said with a dismissive wave. “I’d not have her really. Don’t want used goods, you know?”

Elliott forwent his gun for possibly the first time ever as his instinct took over and he punched Jonathan squarely in the jaw.

Samuel burst out laughing.

“Ha, that’s what you get, John!”

“Bloody bastard!” Jonathan cursed. “What was that for?!”

“For besmirching [Y/n]’s honour,” Elliott hissed. “Perhaps she does prefer older men, and who could blame her when men her age are nothing but boys?”

Jonathan glanced at his brother, who was still amused at seeing his brother taken down a peg, and so he made the wise decision not to engage Elliott any further.

“Hey, isn’t that her over there?” Samuel said, peering into the distance.

Elliott looked around, and sure enough, you were approaching atop a horse, riding sidesaddle behind Duke Beaumont.

“Grandfather, what are you doing out here?” Jonathan asked. “I thought you weren’t joining the hunt today? We’re just about to leave, actually.”

“Oh, don’t mind me, I’m simply the delivery man. Lady Turpin required a ride out here and I was only too obliged to provide it. Off you pop, then, m’lady, and I’ll escort these two ratbags back to the house. Come along, pip pip!”

You slid off the back of the horse, landing on your feet, and the Duke turned his horse around to escort his obedient grandsons back to the house, leaving Elliott suddenly alone with you.

“There might be some pheasants left in the north burrow,” Elliott said. “Though I suspect you didn’t come here to hunt.”

You smiled coyly.

“Not for pheasants, no. I, um… I couldn’t wait for you to get back. Literally - Duke Beaumont practically threw me on the back of his horse. He seems to be quite enthusiastic about you and I.”

“You and I?” Elliott said questioningly, as if he didn’t know what you were talking about.

You pulled the letter out of a pocket (you always sewed pockets into your dresses) and handed it to him.

“The Duke showed me this.”

Elliott took the letter curiously, and when he opened it, if you didn’t know any better you might have thought he blushed.

“And… you liked it, did you?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“And, er… what was your favourite part, if I might ask?”

You laughed.

“You wanted to marry me from the day we met.”

“Of course I did, I’d be a fool not to.”

“But you… you waited. As if - as if my opinion in the matter was important.”

“Of course it is. I don’t want you to marry me out of obligation, [Y/n]. I don’t want you to come to Australia because you’ve got nowhere else to go. And I certainly don’t want your estate. I want you, and I want you to want me.”

“I want you.”

Elliott’s eyes widened hopefully.

“Then you’ll have me?”

You grinned.

“Yes.”

Elliott wrapped his arm around your waist and easily picked you up, spinning you around on the spot, and you squealed.

“Elliott!”

He just laughed. When he put you down, you were both breathless, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Just you wait, [Y/n], you’ll love it in Australia.”

“I’m sure I will. I’ll love it anywhere we go, so long as I’m with you.”

---

You were married the very next day. You didn’t bother with an event wedding - neither of you knew anyone in England who wasn’t already at Ivy Manor. Besides, you’d both been married once before, and neither of you felt the need to wait for another opulent wedding. You just wanted to be wed, and so you married in your nicest dress and he in his best suit either of you had with you, and your guests were Elliott’s family.

Duke Beaumont gave you away, his daughter acted as maid of honour, and your groom was the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on.

You weren’t ashamed of the tears that ran down your cheeks as you exchanged vows. Why should you be? They were tears of joy, joy you’d never known you were capable or deserving of feeling.

You made love that night free of the unspoken tension that had pierced your sinful but oh so right premarital trysts. You were his wife, he your husband, and you were free to make love as often as you’d like.

Some confidence came over you and you impaled yourself on your husband’s cock, riding him with a ferocity and passion you never knew you were capable of.

Marriage must have given him a new virility, because Elliott came in and on you five times that night, but not without ensuring you came just as many. He worked wonders with his tongue, his fingers, his cock, and by the time you collapsed, exhausted, into each other’s arms, you were sweaty and sticky and full of his seed in just about every place imaginable.

“If I’d known when we met that this was what you were like in bed as a husband, I’d have married you on the spot,” you giggled. Elliott, although sated for now, was laying gentle kisses on the top of your head as he held you against his chest, as if your scent was a drug he was desperately addicted to.

“I can’t get enough of you, [Y/n],” Elliott mumbled against your hair. “I meant what I said in the letter — that you bewitched me from the moment we met.”

You looked up at him. He was exhausted, sweaty, and just about the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, because his amber eyes were almost glowing with love as he looked at you.

“I think I knew you in another life,” you said quietly, almost in a daze, as if you were overcome by some kind of hypnotic trance just by looking into his eyes.

Elliott smiled.

“I’m glad I found you in this one.”

[estcaligo]

Ok it’s been in my drafts for too long and I honestly don’t know how to put all of it together, so it is what it is

Delusional theory/headcanon: Sebek and Trey are relatives because nothing is a coincidence in TWST

Lots of JP server spoilers !

- Well, Trey reminds Sebek of his father, both his appearance and behaviour. Definitely not a coincidence.

- Bloom birthday interviews (or birthday interviews in general) seem to touch on family topic a lot, and, well, having Trey as Sebek’s interviewer was…a surprise, but not really if you think about it.

- Teeth. Everyone knows about Trey’s hobby, right. And oh my Sebek’s father in a dentist. In Endless Halloween Trey showed interest in Sebek’s family business and even said he would love to meet his father. My personal choice - Trey and Sebek in Briar Valley event.

- Locations. We don’t know yet why and more importantly how Sebek’s father came to Briar Valley. A magicless human? Went to a place that relies on magic in quite literally everything? Realistically speaking - by sea. Because look here:

Briar Valley is located really close to Queendom of Roses so why not.

*However Sebek does point out that there’s no means of transportation in Briar Valley that don’t require using magic, but that doesn’t mean one can’t get in from outside on a non-magical ship etc.

- Why would Sebek’s father do it? Well, let’s say his dream was to become a dentist and he was a little rebel, and in Queendom of Roses everyone has perfect teeth lol. Sebek’s father wanted a challenge so he went to Briar Valley because fae teeth and everything etc.

- To be more specific - Trey’s father and Sebek’s father are brothers. But Mr. Zigvolt chose path of a dentist and Mr. Clover - bakery.

*Why “Zigvolt” then? Well maybe he took his wife’s last name idk. To blend in and not to make Sebek’s grandfather even more angry or something.

- So yeah that makes Trey and Sebek cousins.

- If Trey’s hobby involves teeth, it would be funny if Sebek discovered joy of baking haha. Well, he does seem to be interested in various kinds of sweets and even mentions “eating sweets” as a way to spend his free time (kinda). Does that count as a hobby?…

- Obviously, their appearance is similar.

- Sebek is the ultimate mirroring character. Sebek has an older brother and sister, Trey has younger brother(s) and sister.

- Rook’s nickname for Trey is “Chevalier of Roses”. Knighthood runs in the family lol.

—————

That’s it for now. Hopefully there will be more lore on this topic in the future!

Upd: corrected some typos haha sorry!

[suffarustuffaru]

i need to share my very horrible idea to combine the reinhard/julius/otto/subaru boy drama into one julius-centric fic

ok so a little while ago ive made all kinds of ottojuli and reinjuli posts and while i havent finished all my major julisuba posts Yet i am quite fond of julisuba also and i think itd be incredibly funny if you just dumped all of these ships into one story. just go ALL IN on that boy drama!!!! go big or go home amirite!!!! the worlds WORST love trapezoid youve ever seen!!!!

this post is just me rambling fic ideas bc i sadly dont have time for Every Fic Idea and also i just. i just think itd be funny putting multiple ships with the same person in them into one fic. on a serious level its like mimicking real life relationships where sometimes people come and go and you have different dynamics with each person!! on another level i just think this is also very funny so!! here we go. under the cut:

anyway so my idea for this is that you know, julius of course meets reinhard when hes ten and reinhard is eight and then it alters julius's brain chemistry. at first he's in complete awe of reinhard. and then over time the shame starts setting in. that julius isnt as strong as reinhard. and the jealousy sets in a bit too, so julius's got this chip in his shoulder trying to carry his family's legacy and trying to carry the weight of knighthood to be as perfect as possible. to be as close to reinhard as he can. they meet again in their teens and julius shows reinhard the ropes of like basic knight stuff bc reinhard just joined the knights. and of course reinjuli become friends but julius has spent his whole life quietly watching reinhard from afar and now julius still has that distance with reinhard even as theyre supposedly friends now. reinhard is a God, you know? his powers and his leash from the kingdom and his family keep him distant and the two of them are ignoring that. classic homoerotic "do i want him or want to be him" friendship where both of you are too scared to get any closer for various reasons with a Twist (reinhard's very real monster complex that keeps getting validated bc Everyone Around Him thinks hes a monster).

anyway but then julius remembers that you know, shit between reinhard and him wont work out for many reasons, like reinhards family deciding to torment julius at various points in his life (heinkel, whos julius's boss, and reid, who went from julius's childhood idol to. you know.), and also reinhard needs to have kids because hes the sword saint, and also homophobia exists in rezero. and also even if those werent all obstacles julius still has his Complexes connected to reinhard and they got that distance between them so. no go. (repression gets in the way of relationships :((( )

also quick side note is that ex 4 happens and julius reinhard ferris go to vollachia and julius interrupts a meeting with vincent vollachia himself to go "I UNDERSTOOD THAT LITERARY REFERENCE YOU JUST MADE. THATS A REALLY GOOD REFERENCE I LIKED IT A LOT" bc hes a massive nerd and ig this is slightly-more-of-a-disaster-gay julius au so julius is like ............................. vincent was kinda cool for that.

AND THEN SUBARU CRASHES INTO JULIUS'S LIFE and julius is like seeing this guy who's also got a chip in his shoulder and then he insults the knights and says the knights are all depending on their dads (nepotism) and julius is like .......the chip in my shoulder was bad enough and also youre kinda like me fr. and you are clearly a fucking misguided kid so now i have to save your ass. i cant NOT save your ass. and reinhards like "julius and subaru nooo you dont have to do this :((((" and julius cant admit atm that hes also doing this to save subarus life so julius is just like "he disrespected the knights >:(((("

but yes we all know what happened there. julius saves subarus life. julius has to slice subarus throat in that one failed loop. they become friends across several timelines. they also homoerotically share souls, you know, typical bromance things, rivals to lovers except subarus the one going YOURE MY RIVAL and julius is like he is SUCH an upstart. hes really grown on me like a fungus but thats the appeal. and julius i think sees subaru as like a kindred spirit (or at least thats how i interpret julisuba) except subaru is like way more freer than julius is. same desire to prove yourself but subarus not restraining himself constantly like julius. its sometimes to the point of recklessness and general stupidity and what have you, but his boldness and bravery and determination and heart really is admirable.........................

yeah so anyway julius falls for ANOTHER guy again, you know how it is sometimes. the heart wants what it wants and julius is cursed to always have the worst meetings with his closest friends. and of course julius gets heartbroken bc wtf i have to kill my new friend :((( noo!!!! but in the finished loop its like. oh subaru...... hes really improved himself. hes grown so much already. hes kind of. inspirational really. idk how he does it. except subarus you know got that Mystery to him the same way reinhard does (theyre traumatized and Cant Take About It Normally so they just randomly lore drop what they can) and also subarus SUPER into emilia. and julius is like .................... well. subarus taken. haha. and reinhards. taken. fuck me. fuck. and like somethings going on with subaru and rem and emilia right. fuck. and subarus got his whole toxic masculinity / gender crisis..... and he doesnt know hes Bisexual yet...... man. what a loss for julius amirite haha.

and also subarus busy after arc 3........... and julius has no idea whats happening there but that seems Real serious :(( and julius's got other things to attend to so he hopes subaru reaches out to him eventually..... or that they cross paths again since subarus in the emilia camp and julius is in ana camp (and of course reinhard is in felt camp and like that was a whole debacle bc wtf. reinhard, u do know thatd be a big deal to our mutual friend felix?). so. julius pines from afar ONCE AGAIN HAHA.

(also of course subarus still attracted to reinhard here. its um. well julisuba can bond now over pining over reinhard but thats for later also!!)

anyway of course during arc 3 julius briefly runs into some gray haired merchant twink thats being dragged around by subaru bc ana camp rescued this guy from a cave somewhere??? and this new guy and subaru made a deal or whatever so he was just helping out in the background of the fight against sloth??

and whaddya know................ julius goes to drink at a bar bc you know he probably tastes wine for fun in his free time (hes definitely Fond of wine anyway iirc) and now hes Sad over the Ones That Got Away so. bar it is. and gray haired merchant twink is there!! no way. they start talking a bit casually while drinking you know and julius's taste is Unfortunately either the graceful ones (anastasia, because julius has great taste in women) or the cringe fail ones (all the twinks - except for felix - that julius keeps having the wildest first meetings with, because julius has slightly shit taste in men) so julius is like huh this otto guys kinda funny lol. endearing in a weird way!! and -

oops they both end up being a little. they make a little bit of a move on each other. bc they were drinking and got a Bit tipsy. ottos Also not over the one that got away (subaru) (again) and hey. the finest knight truly is. Fine. objectively fine. totally. so you know. things get a little out of hand, maybe they do a bit of cringe fail flirting hidden underneath five million layers of repression and the Horrors of Being Known but ultimately they both embarrass themselves somehow (read: how far they went with each other while under the influence is up to you) and agree to Never Speak of This Again bc oopsies they were both technically each other's first time being Straightforwardly Not Straight with another man. oops. anyway julius has to go back to his camp and otto fucking bolts but he bolts right into subaru and gets his ass dragged into sanctuary drama.

julius is totally not a little bit envious about that.................... about otto getting to accompany subaru to sanctuary... but dont worry julius!! youll get to make up for it later!! bc eventually arc 5 stuff happens. and julius is Glad to see reinhard and subaru again. even with all the Baggage. and subaru is of course Weird about julius but eventually subaru reassures julius after they both confide in each other about the astrea drama (theyre honorary astreas via being dragged into the astrea family mess). and subarus reassuring to julius in a whole new way okay. subaru, whos unrestrained and incapable of being on the down low about anything, and julius, whos always holding himself back with a gazillion layers of repression, starts learning to let go a bit...

but also juliotto meet again. its terribly awkward and they both agreed to never speak of their awkward encounters again. subaru is going ??? and reinhard is clueless. otto then also goes to save reinhard and felt from heinkel trying to take felt hostage, which was also terribly awkward but reinhard and felt are grateful about it (but lbr if reinhard and otto knew each other deeper reinhard would maybe be a little. Apprehensive. around otto while otto would be sympathetic with reinhard bc hes like male emilia). but then while otto manages not to get erased by gluttony....... julius gets erased. of course. which you know results in being forgotten by reinhard in julius's THIRD first meeting ever with reinhard. and subarus the only one who remembers him of course.

then arc 6 happens :,))))) and julius of course has to confront his ideas of knighthood, his identity, his self esteem, and who he is outside of His Name. and also julius gets his ass beat by reid. his childhood idol. who reinhard KNEW was a shitty person but never ever told julius (whether this is because reinhard wanted to spare julius's hero worship or because reinhard never got the chance to tell julius is hard to say lajdsf). but julius does get to triumphantly win in the end!! grow as a person!!! learn to undo a bit of that repression and not hold himself to impossible standards all the time!! hes growing still!!! hes finally solidified his friendships with people like subaru and emilia!! hes remaking his relationship with anastasia!! hes asserted himself, hes planning on going to meet reinhard again one day and duel him!! things are looking up even if its still bittersweet that he doesnt have his name back yet!! does this mean?? perhaps?? a HAPPY ENDING?? julius can have the two men (reinhard and subaru) he admires the most in his life?????? as friends???? or as boyfriends?????? slowburn mutual pining????????????????????????????????????????

and then comes. arc 8 otto. that piece of shit.

julius is very much someone who has to grapple with the weight of the expectations that people throw at him. and also reinhard is someone who May envy julius a bit, but there's also you know, joshua and subaru with the Explicit Envy and (past) resentment because theyre placing heavy expectations on julius!! theyre pointing blame at julius!! julius is trying to find himself outside of stuff like that, especially after arc 6, but he's still got stuff to work on you know? he still has duties to fulfill!! loyalty that he has to act on bc hes gotta help subaru and co in arc 8!! and then in comes otto.

otto is also someone with expectation placed on him, but its Different. ottos mostly a nobody and when hes Not a nobody, his reputation tends to be Derogatory. hes a menace. hes a bad luck charm. hes grappling with the fact that he has to keep being left behind - post-arc 5 bc he was injured, but also repeatedly during arcs 7 and 8 because hes too physically weak to be on the same playing field as emilia or garfiel or subaru on the battlefield. he feels Useless after placing his identity on the expectation that hes Dependable and Useful.

julius is a bit more on even ground with otto now that julius is. also mostly a nobody bc his name is still gone. and also julius had to deal with having that part of his identity crushed. julius tried to be useful over and over in arc 6 only to get his ass repeatedly curb stomped by reid in the beginning. he was a nobody. he wasnt dependable anymore. and also otto is that one guy he had a Passing Fling with over having The Ones Who Got Away and julius was still vaguely hopeful about maybe being pals at least but ottos brushed him off a bit since arc 5. theyre like each others secrets you know? and now otto doesnt know that shit - julius is the only one who Knows - and otto also hates julius's fucking guts now. over SUBARU. and julius has been through this whole rodeo clown circus with arc 3 subaru so this is an absolutely terrible ride through memory lane.

and this is julius's THIRD twink that hates him for terribly unfair reasons. julius is very tired and a bit heartbroken in this au trying to pretend it doesnt bother him. on one level it doesnt. bc ottos pathetic and clearly Overcompensating for Something. on another level it kinda does bc julius had a Thing going with otto. and otto is the complete opposite of julius. like hes different from the other guys julius has liked.

julisuba is about complimentary opposites - they appear Extremely Different at first glance but theyre very similar. theyre people who try to look and act bigger than they are, people who keep reaching to be The Best, to be Perfect, because theyre overcompensating. theyre worried their entire identity is only built off of trying to be bigger than the shadow that other people in their lives (like their families) cast. but they cant reach perfection. and julius is like subaru but if subaru tried to really make himself "refined" - if he tried to stop putting his heart on his sleeve all the time. reinsuba are very similar too. theyre very refined knights who try to keep themselves in check at all times while the weight of the world is on their shoulders. they cant have a hair out of place. except julius is like the "smaller" version of reinhard. julius is less powerful. its like comparing a human and a "god" - reinhard, whos untouchable. but its a double edged sword, because julius gets to be a normal person, because half the expectation placed on him is also purely from himself, while reinhard isnt. reinhard isnt Free. hes on a leash by the kingdom and his family. julius even gets his kind of "celebrity" status stolen from him via the loss of his name. hes truly kind of Normal now - julius is like if reinhard didnt have his crazy abilities and had a little more of a chance to be free.

otto? yeah otto is. very very far from all of that. hes so obviously imperfect that most of his reputation, when its brought up, is just him being known as a mess who's caused various forms of chaos everywhere he goes. either that or hes just. There. Invisible. very very average. and otto is someone who wants a nice comfortable life, someone who wants to fit in - julius and subaru arent Exactly like that, and while reinhard also wants to be normal, ottos the one who has more of an opportunity. but he doesnt. because otto Dooms Himself by being recklessly cutthroat. otto is like if subaru was just. More of an asshole, so ottojuli would just be a rather Extreme Challenge for julius to have to deal with HAH. and normally otto is someone who repays how people treat him - a very "you treat me like this, i'll treat you the same way in turn" kind of deal, except ottos developed a vendetta against julius and its basically like if subaru never let go of his arc 3 julius vendetta.

yes so anyway. etc etc stuff probably happens but i ran out of ideas lajdlfjasdf i just think combining ALL the boy drama and recontextualizing + adding to canon would be. batshit crazy. and terribly entertaining. im so sorry julius but i want to see you crack a bit under the pressure. reinjuli as a ship is like tragic gay yearning that never goes anywhere past being friends with quiet homoerotic tension, then julisuba is. you know. extreme rivals to lovers, starts out Rough but then ends up being super super sweet and theyre Trying their best underneath the self esteem issues. and then ottojuli is. toxic yaoi at its finest (pun intended). you get Every flavor of mlm possible!!

ok so you may be asking "ok what would you even name this fic then" and to that i say that this would be called To All the Boys I've Loved Before.

anyway i really wanna write this idea someday ill inform you guys (if youre reading this and are Interested) if it ever happens :< so. in conclusion this is just julius the entire time throughout all of these events:

[friendly-chaos]

Obi wan episode 5 spoilers:

“You’re a great warrior Anakin, but your need to prove yourself is your undoing. Until you overcome it, a padawan you will still be.”

This may be a reach, but 1)it makes me ridiculously happy and 2)I have seen plenty crazier fan theories, so I NEED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT THIS LINE.

OKAY. (Deep inhale) so.

“Until you overcome it, a padawan you will still be.”

Why did Obi-Wan phrase it like that? He could have easily said “you will still be a padawan.” It would have made more grammatical sense, and it would have been consistent with the way he usually speaks. Maybe they were just being fancy and thought it sounded/flowed better. Maybe it didn’t mean anything because no one cares, FC, you’re the only one who obsesses over stuff like this

OR.

Obi-Wan was mimicking Yoda. To those familiar with the Jedi Apprentice/Jedi Quest series, this would be a significant detail. If you haven’t, let me catch you up.

Jedi (often padawans) would mimic Yoda to each other occasionally, to express affection for the Jedi Master *and* for each other. We see this when Bant, Obi-Wan’s best friend, is tearfully bidding him goodbye as he leaves the temple for Bandomeer. Another notable time is when Obi-Wan speaks this way to Siri Tachi when they’re both on a doomed ship, presumably about to die - and *right* before they profess their love for each other.

So, when Obi-Wan speaks this way to Anakin while admonishing him, could it be that he’s doing this to reassure Anakin of his care? Especially the way the line is delivered, Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder and pat on the back, it feels an awful lot like he’s saying, “Anakin, you’re a brat, but you’re *my* brat.” And you can see in Anakin’s face that he doesn’t believe it. In AOTC and ROTS, he’s practically non-responsive to his master’s concern and love for him. And Obi-Wan cared so much. It’s heartbreaking.

Obviously, this detail doesn’t change anything- but it *does* (at least to me) adds more depth and color to Obi-Wan’s deep love for Anakin. They practically grew up together. Obi-Wan was 25 *and* a brand-new Jedi Knight when he took Anakin on. Anakin joined the order way late in life (at 9 years old) but was actually really young to be a padawan, since younglings are usually chosen by their masters between 12-16 years old. They were both so young, and practically thrown together at Qui-Gon’s behest.

They went through a *lot* in the ten years between their pairing and Anakin’a knighthood. They truly were brothers - two sides of one coin., which makes Anakin’s eventual betrayal all the more devastating.

I mean. Look at his face. How can you not love him?