#nunnery life

[arcelian]

the most entertaining endgame option for botw zelda, imo, is that she goes “hyrule’s citizens barely even remember what it was like to have a monarchy, so I’m only going to become ruler if they decide they want me to”

and then she inadvertently turns hyrule into a democracy

[sealrock]

me and a friend were talking about thetinne (tauvane) and the possibility of her being half-elezen and how that'll affect her storyline

I'm still on the fence about this but look at that sweet face. thetinne in her younger years maybe

[knowthelessyouneed]

Tomorrow, I'm finally getting a hysterectomy for my endometriosis!

Please, send all your good vibes and intentions my way for new beginnings and life without this particular strife.

[britneyshakespeare]

I am a very frequent offender of laughing harder than anybody else at my own jokes, but I am also a fan of the phenomenon when you tell a joke without thinking much about it and then it becomes funnier because of how much somebody else laughs at it.

Over a year ago now I was hanging out with my friends and we were talking about babytalk. Like, the way they babble incoherently before they can form basic words and it's just kind of inexplicable to a bystander by their parents know exactly what they're saying. Like a baby will be like ababasaaghaghaghaaba and you'll be like what could that possibly mean but their parent will be like "oh she just wants sweet potatoes" or something super else specific.

I said that someday my baby will be like ghaghaabababgagabgaa and I'll be like "oh he's just quoting Hamlet."

And that got like, you know, a medium sized laugh from the friends as it was supposed to, but then one of them specifically looked me in the eye and said "Wow. That was really an A+ joke" and I was like "What?" "Your baby quoting Hamlet."

"Oh. You're right I guess that is hilarious."

And I otherwise probably would've forgotten that joke but because that specific friend got such a kick out of it, I associate it with him, and every now and then I'll just think to myself: heh, that is funny. My little son quoting Hamlet.

[patron-saint-of-lesbeans]

There’s such a pressure to focus on sexuality and gender from cishet Catholics when it comes to non-cishet Catholics. My brethren I am busy preparing my soul for heaven, what secret have you discovered that lets you live with no worries for your own?

[bonbongiveshell]

I hate hate hate it when someone goes "aren't you asexual" as if I don't know my owns self just bc I'm not acting like they believe an ace person should for whatever reason. I think that having labels can be really helpful when they're coming from inside but that shit sucks when it's other people trying to police how you live your life as if it concerns them at all

[rosicheeks]

Ok why is it so hot that you’d be so embarrassed if anyone found this blog omg

^me if anyone found my blog

[bloodandyearning]

no amount of mitski and catholic guilt tag can save me from how touch starved i am

[lavender-devotion]

The Radio Demon has a WIFE??? And She was a WHAT??? (Alastor x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Mimzy stops by and brings up a little detail that Alastor forgot to mention: he has a wife...oh yeah, and she used to be a nun. How the fuck did that happen??? -Or- I was watching 'Call the Midwife' and got Alastor brainrot ideas while watching the romance between Sister Bernadette/Sheila and Dr. Turner.

Tags: Fem!Reader (for obvious reasons), She/Her pronouns, No Use of (Y/N), everything I know about being a nun is from a TV show (don't kill me pls), Husk is...so fucking tired, also I couldn’t find a midwife house in New Orleans so I made one up (don’t kill me pls x2) TW: None, other than my possible terrible idiocy regarding nun shit and Catholicism, I feel like me being the author should also be a TW in and of itself ngl Word Count: 2.4k Read it on Ao3 <3

"WHAT?"

Husk winced as Angel's voice echoed throughout the lobby, loud and full of indignation.

"There is no fuckin' way tall, dark, an' creepy is married," he insisted, staring down Mimzy as she took another swig from her glass, "you've gotta be fuckin' with us, right Husk?"

Husk pointedly ignored the question, turning his back to the two idiots and their quickly gathering crowd of spectators—the other residents of the hotel. Alastor didn't like people talking about him unless it was with hate, fear, or admiration- (the arrogant fuck) -and he liked people spreading his personal business around even less.

He wasn't stupid enough to get involved in this conversation, even if Mimzy and Angel apparently were.

Mimzy laughed, "oh please, that's not even the best part! Alastor's sweetheart actually used to be a sister!"

"A sister?"

"Yeah-"

'Don't fuckin' say it-'

"-like a nun!"

'Motherfucker.'

That statement had Angel choking on his drink, everyone else letting out various exclamations of disbelief—all of which only made Mimzy's smile widen. She was enjoying the attention.

"Yeah," she continued, "the pretty thing was actually part of one of the few nunneries that were up and running back in our day—although hers also served as a sorta home base for the midwives in New Orleans before it all became a hospital affair."

"So not only did Smiles somehow manage to get 'imself a sweetheart, but he managed to bag a fuckin' NUN?!" Angel asked incredulously, "how the FUCK did that happen?"

Mimzy grinned mischievously, "well-"

"Mimzy," Husk said, caution and warning in his tone. It was one thing to drop a couple facts and then shut up—Alastor was fond of her- (as "fond" as the bastard was capable of) -so she might be able to get off with a warning—but to start telling stories about his life? Spilling all his carefully guarded secrets?

Yeah, that'd get her killed. Or worse.

Even so, Mimzy either didn't know how secretive Alastor was- (doubtful) -or she was just under the delusional belief that he wouldn't hurt her for her slight- (bingo) -because she just waved off Husk's warning.

"Hm...where should I start?"

---------------

What everyone in Hell tended to forget was that the cruel, bloodthirsty, "Radio Demon" they all feared...used to be a man, used to be human just like all the rest.

Quite the human he was, though.

Obviously he did his fair share of terrible things, he didn't end up in Hell for being a saint, but before any of his...transgressions came into the public eye, people truly thought he was. He'd come from a poor home, his father ran off when he was young, and yes he was an odd child—but all of that seemed inconsequential the older he got.

He worked hard in school and worked his way up in the world until he finally became a famous radio host, the crown jewel of the French Quarter. Even so, all of the attention never seemed to go to his head. His mother's son, always his mother's son, he was the picture of a true gentleman—always polite, always chivalrous, always helping others. It certainly didn't hurt that he was handsome too, and his charm was unmatched by any other man in the city.

As such, it was no shock that he attracted all manner of attention from people vying for his affection, but no one seemed to catch his particular eye. That was, until he met her...

---------------

“Now, keep in mind, I don’t know very much about his missus before they got together,” Mimzy admitted, “but, from what I can tell, she'd always been a mystery, so I don’t think it really matters-“

“Obviously it matters!” Angel interrupted, his drink and everything else long forgotten, “for someone to get together with Smiles willingly, they’ve gotta have some of their own skeletons in the closet! C’mon toots, you gotta know something.”

Mimzy circled a finger around her glass, playing coy, “well…maybe I might know a thing or two…”

Husk wanted to bash his head against a wall.

Fine, fine, fine. It was one thing—one really fucking stupid thing—to talk about Alastor, but to talk about his wife? Especially to fucking gossip about her?

Yeah, no, these morons were definitely dead as soon as Alastor found out.

“Well?” Angel pressed, looking downright desperate for more information.

“Well…”

---------------

Alastor's sweetheart had always been an enigma since the day she arrived in New Orleans, every bit of her covered in that modest black and white clothing—all except her face and hands, of course.

By all accounts, she was a sweet girl—kind, attentive, always willing to help—but she was also very…secretive, one might say. It wasn't that the other nuns weren't reserved, because they were, but she was especially so, and her brand of reservation came across as more underhanded than anything else.

She never talked about her hobbies, her family, her life before taking her vows—hell, she never talked about her life before she moved to New Orleans. So it was no surprise that a fair amount of rumors followed her around, no matter how sweet she appeared to be.

Some said that she was a runaway, trying to escape an abusive father; others said that she moved there to get out of a loveless marriage; and a few even claimed that she was on the run from the law. There was never any evidence to support any of those rumors, of course, but people loved to talk.

One might think that Alastor was drawn to her because of all of those whispers, just chasing down another story for his radio show, but it was actually a mix of pure luck and her work as a midwife that brought those two together.

You see, midwives didn't only deliver babies, but they also offered all sorts of medical assistance to anyone who needed it. These services eventually brought her to his mother’s home one day, and it just so happened that Alastor was also visiting his ma at the time.

The two started talking and, between his magnetic charms and her sweet demeanor, it was no surprise that the two got along like a house fire.

From then on, every time she visited his ma to take care of her, he was there too. Then he started showing up at all of the events hosted by Saint Charlene’s, always finding his way to her side. And there even came a time where he started visiting her frequently, always welcomed by her fellow sisters and the other midwives with open arms.

---------------

“Wait a minute,” Angel interrupted, “I thought nuns weren’t allowed ta be in relationships. It goes against the whole point of bein’ a nun, don’t it?”

Mimzy huffed, “I was getting to that part!”

---------------

Obviously nuns weren’t allowed to have relationships, romantic or sexual, and most people of that time didn’t believe that men and women could simply be friends—so the friendliness they both shared fell under quite a bit of scrutiny. Everyone that knew a thing about that sweet girl knew she would never betray her vows, and everyone that knew a thing about Alastor knew that he’d rather die than be anything less than a perfect gentleman. 

But, like I said, people in New Orleans liked to talk.

Neither of them paid any mind to it, though. Alastor was already dealing with the bullshit that came with showbiz and his sweetheart already had a bunch of rumors circulating about her, so what did they care if a few more whispers were added to the pile? But eventually, a painfully long time after the two first met and became friends, there came a day when something that wasn’t quite platonic bloomed between the two of them. 

Obviously the two of them were horrified by this; Alastor, because he would never ask her to forsake her vows for him, and her, because she was worried that she was betrayin’ her God by feeling that way. 

Eventually she talked to the other nuns, though, and got some help figuring out her emotions and what she wanted to do, and Alastor talked things through with his ma—who was, frankly, overjoyed that he’d finally found someone who he fancied.

Let me tell ya, even with all of the others helpin’, it took fuckin’ forever for those two to finally get together. Between their shared emotional constipation, everyone’s expectations of them, the worry that the other didn’t feel the same way, and the fear of crossing each other’s boundaries…yeah, it took over a year after the two of them figured out they liked each other for them to actually say something. 

By the time they finally got their shit together, Alastor’s mom and the other midwives were already planning their wedding. Hell, the nuns were just about ready to rescind her vows themselves, they were so sick of the pining!

Everything worked out in the end, though. The two confessed, his sweetheart did the whole dispensation thing, and the two eventually got married.

----------

“Blah, blah, blah…they got a happily ever after and a white picket fence,” Mimzy finished with a lazy wave of her hand, “so, that's the story."

Angel just stared at her, mouth hanging open slightly, “huh, I didn’t know tall, dark, and creepy had it in ‘im.”

Mimzy hummed, “yeah, he might seem all big an’ scary, but underneath all that he’s a total doll!”

Husk shuddered as the prickle of static suddenly made his hair stand on end, signaling Alastor’s entrance into the room—along with Charlie, Vaggie, and Lucifer himself. His eyes immediately found the small group that had gathered by the bar, and it probably wasn’t hard for him to figure out what exactly drew everyone there.

“Now, now, Mimzy, what have you been telling everyone about me?” Alastor chastised, making his way closer to their group. His tone was teasing, but it had a subtle warning at the end—one that said he wasn’t asking for shits n' giggles. It made Husk want to disappear into the wall, to get out of the way of what would follow if Alastor found out the subject of their conversation. Hopefully Angel and Mimzy would have enough sense to keep their mouths shut, but he doubted it.

“Oh, nothing you need ta worry about!” she said, waving him off playfully, “just a couple old stories from back in the day.” 

“Is that so?”

Mimzy hummed her affirmative, finishing off her drink, and for one blissful moment Husk thought that the subject would drop and everything would be fine. He was wrong.

“Yeah, and I gotta say I’m surprised atcha Smiles,” Angel snarked, “who knew ya had a missus back home keeping ya on a leash.”

The room went dead silent.

The lights suddenly flickered, a dark red glow casting across the room as they did—mangled shadows dancing on the walls. Husk shrank back, trying his best to blend in with the bottles of alcohol that lined the shelf behind him.

Alastor’s voice was pure radio static, barely restrained rage filtering through, “w̶͚̫̰̰̟̌̆̓̚̚h̵̩̤̹͓̗̾̔͗̇̉å̴̱̩̝͚̎́̐̔̏͜†̸̡͔̲̠͔̔̎̆̀̕ ̸̲̠͔̟̗͗͑̾͐͘Ð̷̡̠̥̞͚̔̾̋̋͘ï̶̩̼̻̱̣̓̀̅͆̑Ð̸̣͍̞̬͖͋͑̽͗̚ ̶͈͙̤̺̲̒̒̒̎̀¥̷̭̻̥̘͈̇̓͑́́ð̵̢̲͕͈͇͐͊̓̀̓µ̴͕̬͕̟̟͊͊͂͗͘ ̵̪̲̫̳͍͑̑͒̔͐j̶̨̦̹̪̟̄̽̽̄͘µ̸̧̭͖͇̞̈́̔̀̒͒§̵̺̠͚͓͓̓͂̚͘͝†̷̛̖̤̰̗͓͋̄̇̑ ̸̢̩͙̙̫̊͗̃͘͝§̷̻̣̼̼͙̎͋̂͆͝ą̸̡̛̱̣̻̊̈́̈́̑́¥̶̢̟̼̘̲̃̿̐͑͠?̴͉̞̠̞̦̒͌̋͗̓”

‘Fuck.’

----------

You hummed quietly as you sat on the couch in your and Alastor’s shared home, sketching whatever came to mind in one of the small notebooks he’d bought you—working away the time and trying to ignore his glaring absence. It wasn’t often you were left yearning for your husband’s presence, finding plenty to do during the times he was gone, but today you wanted nothing more than for him to walk through the door. Luckily, you got your wish, although things certainly weren’t how you expected. 

As soon as Alastor walked in, you could tell he was pissed. It was in his posture, his strained smile, the violent crackle of interference in the air. Even his shadow seemed agitated, flitting from one spot to another as if it simply couldn’t sit still. 

 “Al?” You asked carefully, “is everything alright?” 

He turned to you, obviously trying to pass off the illusion of placidity, “everything is fine, my dear, why do you ask?”

“Well you just seem–” the lights around the house flickered, and you could hear a few of them bust in the other rooms, “...tense.” 

He kept up the mask for a moment longer, still trying to fool you, but it dropped soon enough and he let out an irritated sigh.

“...certain people need to learn to keep their insignificant little mouths shut.”

You set aside your notebook and gestured for him to sit next to you, a request he obliged. Almost immediately your hands went to his shoulders and you began massaging them, trying to alleviate some of the tension practically radiating off of him—drawing an almost relieved sigh from his mouth. 

You pressed a barely-there kiss to the back of his neck, “what happened, love?”

…

“Mimzy stopped by the hotel today and during her stay she decided to fucK̶̝̥̘̪͍̉͋́̈̅Ḭ̴̛̭̪͇̀͋̐̍͂͜ñ̷̡̤̩̖̰̈́͂̑̐͝G̴̞̯̭͈̘͋̒̑̅̚ ̵͇͕͓͕̗͆̃͛͊̂Ġ̶̝̱̪͈̘̽̌͗͝Ö̶̼̲̬̪̟̏̌̄̚͝§̴̺̱̲̫̝̍̈͆̃́§̶̧̞̣̼̮̂͊͋͌͠Ì̷̲̰̹̰͚͌̀̌̇̂þ̴̢̥̰̖̬͒́͌̏̿ ̸̝̺̪̟̈́͊̅̏̆ͅÄ̷͎̘͓̬͇̋̍͑̏͠ß̵̢̫͇̣̻́̊͆͆͝Ö̸̡̤̤̤͙̀̎̿͛͝Ú̸̟̯̺͈̪̇̓̊͐̊†̸̘̺͎͖̣̂̍̽̋̚ ̷̪̺̖̜͇̀͂͒̚͝Ö̴̮̯̗͙̑̆̽̄̚ͅỨ̸̫̯̰̺̼̈́̄̐͝R̸̨̢̧̭͓̒͊̋̇͘ ̵̧̥̗̰͖̅̌̒̿̃þ̶̦̞̫̙͕̈̒̀̿̚Ȩ̵̞̖̲͖̀͗̂̎͝͝R̸̢̪̟̜̮̉̌͒̉̃§̴̢̣͇̠̫̓̀̈͗̽Ö̴̟͕͓̤̀̈́̒͘͜͠ñ̶̛̙͍̼͖͔̎̓̐̋Ä̶̢̬͇͙̟̌͌̃̈͌L̴̨̪͎̟̦̄̇̈̓̿ ̶̨̧̰̼̮̈͒̀̒͝L̸͖̬̙̮̗̂̓̀͘̚Ì̴͙̠͈̺̣͌̓͊̓̓V̷̯̭̞̙͖͆̐̾͗̔Ę̴̪̻̤̀̾͑͆͜͝͝§̷̛͚̤͇̫̘̑͆̾͘.̵̡̥̪̫͇̽̋̑͝͝ §̶͎̣̝̳͓͋̊̀̌͆ð̵̢̼̖̝̭̏̇̕̕͝ ̵̘̜͚̠̫́͊̈́͐̽Ì̷̢̧͖͚͙̆̔̌̓̏ ̸̻̩̪͓̞̀͑͒̇͋†̴̧͉̯̻̳̒̽͋̾̋ð̵̟͙͍̳͈͒̈́̑̍̑ð̸̲̤̞̞̙̄̅͛̓͠k̷̖̪̩̭͇͋̒̀͘͘ ̶̢̛̗̞͍̱̒̅͐͘ï̸̢̢͕̩̰̍̍̽̈́̈́†̵̠̥̖̗̌̌̾̿͠ͅ ̵͙̹̦͎̬͆́̈͗͛µ̸̧̼̲̮̙͊͂̑̓͌þ̶̹̬̫̥̹̓̑̆͘͝ð̷̡̺͖̣̇̅̔͐͑ͅñ̸̼͙̦͕̼̏̐͗͘̕ ̵̢̱̺͖͋̄͌͊̊ͅṁ̸͉̜͙͖͍̓̍͗͝¥̶̨̠̜̮̜̑͑͗̎̌§̵̧̜͉̣̓́͛̇̓ͅḛ̸̠̲̝̤̂̓̎̓͌̈́ĺ̵̛̻̭͚̝̹̽͐̍£̵̠̫̲̹̬̍̊̾̍̕ ̴̧̭̘̞̀̀͋́̄͜†̵̨̰̠̫̖̎̋̃̂͘ð̴̨͍̭̤̙̄̑̎͝͠ ̴̯̟̟̖̜͒͂͌͒̉§̶̪̜̙͎͎́̒̍̾͝h̷̝̻̞̖̄̅̔̆̕͜µ̵̨̨̛̣̬͓̍̑͋́†̶̨̢̰̤͙̌̀̈̈́͆ ̴͔̟̻̫̐͊̓͑̉͜ĥ̴̢̯͔̯̈́̇̑͋͜ê̵̡̳̠͖̺͋͒͐̍̇r̸̝̘͍̙̂͑́̃͊ͅ w̷̸̼̠͓̟͍̣͓̪͚͊̈͗̉̄̊̍̍̇̀͜h̵̥͓͕̲͉̋̓͊́̈́ð̴̨̡͚̲̦̄̃̄̓͋r̸̖̲̮̮͐͌͑́̃ͅę̴͖͇͙̥̂̐͛͌͒̽ ṃ̷̨̱͈̭̀̃͂́͘ð̵̧̛͎̗̟̒̇̈̊ͅµ̴̨̛̖͈̱͈̑̋́̕†̵͚̝̜̟͍̔̈̀̈́̆h̵͚̞͔̗̖̀͒̀͛͘.̴̳̙̞̗̬͒́͆̂͂”

The sudden surge of static and shadow didn’t phase you, even as Alastor struggled to not shift into his demonic form—sharp cracks of green light appearing on the walls.

When you’d first found out about his…extracurricular activities, you had been afraid and confused, but now it was nothing more than background noise. He was still the man you fell in love with, still your husband, even if he occasionally killed and ate the degenerates of the world and anyone that pissed him off.

All things considered, you were just glad that you’d ended up in Hell with him, even if the things you'd had to do to ensure that were...distasteful. 

You wrapped your arms around him, nestling your head into the crook of his neck. A luxury that no one else enjoyed but you. 

“That does sound stressful. Is everything handled now, at least?” 

“Yes,” he drawled, leaning back further into you, “unfortunately I was unable to get rid of the other l̷̡͈̼̘̩̾͌̉͝͠ï̸̗̭̝̥̺̈́̓̐̿̚†̴̢̡͕͖̹͌͌̋̈́͗†̸̢̣͖͚͔̓̌̉̾̐l̶̡̪͙͕͗͐̍́̕͜ę̴̡̦͕̜̂͋̏̅͘͝ ̵̰̥̩̺̪̀̋̉͑̍§̸̖̥̦̗͓̏̋̉̈́̃h̶͓͙̯͔͇̎̏̾̕̚ï̴̧̡̱̗̻̈́͗͆̃̀†̴̣̖̯̭͉̂͐͒̍̀§̵̧̡̹̼̹͒̿̍̋͠, as Charlie has taken a liking to them, but I trust that I got my point across.” 

“Good.”

You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Now…when do I get to meet these ‘little shits’ that get on your nerves so often?” you teased, drawing an amused chuckle from him. 

“Don’t even start, darling.”

[arcelian]

every single time I see a new Lego Friends set i am reminded that lego is the only company doing Unnecessarily Gendered Toylines correctly

[rhanylssitagpa]

Throwback: Chi Lin Nunnery

Circa 2016 One of the buildings in Hong Kong’s Chi Lin Nunnery. I’ve said before that whenever I travel, I always make it a point to visit the local churches if there’s any. The same goes with temples. I love the architecture of those buildings and I’m always in awe of the history they contain. Chi Lin is a wonder to behold. I love the stillness of the place. Definitely one of the places I…

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

sure "nuns with guns" is a fun trope but can we have more "nuns with no romantic interest in men who turn to life in a nunnery to escape patriarchal expectations in favor of a woman-centric society, and in the process meet brilliant-but-headstrong Sister Virtue, who took vows to confound her father's plans to marry her off to local gentry, and having successfully escaped marriage now plots to escape the convent, but after living a youth defined by defiance is overwhelmed by the fact she doesn't know what life she wants only what life she rejects, and she can't imagine the shape of the future, so she just continues on with her work in the cheese shed experimenting with fungi until one day she meets the new novice (you) tasked with tending to the dairy cows, and she finds your milkmaid naivety off-putting (reminding her of a younger, more hopeful version of herself) but actually you aren't naive, you've survived countless hardship by choosing to believe in hope, choosing to believe in the goodness and kindness that all people are capable of (even as you accept the presence of violence and selfishness), and your optimism is both the sword and shield with which you ride every morning into the day's battle, and as Sister Virtue discovers this about you, she feels a spark in her belly that she has hardly felt since girlhood (when she would dream distressing dreams of the lips and bosom of the local barmaid, a childhood companion from whom she drifted slowly apart in the cusp of maidenhood), and she spurns your company as a result, but only briefly because all asudden you come down with a fierce sweating sickness, and Sister Virtue sits up all night by your sickbed, stroking your brow with a cloth and whispering hoarse prayers she isn't certain she believes in, and when you are recovered she surprises you with a picnic (only a simple meal of cheese and bread while you both bring the cows out to graze, but she has sneaked in a jug of mead and you feel like a schoolchild again, playing truant, and for a moment you ache for the life you might have had if you had been brave enough to keep fighting the world instead of hiding away in the monotonous safety of the abbey),,, and then suddenly the sky opens, and you and Sister Virtue are caught in a rainstorm, and there are raindrops dripping down your bodice, and your wimple is slipping from your forehead, and she leans in to pull the veil from your eyes, and you lean forward and

[talesfromtheenchantedforest]

Arthurian characters based on how likely I think it is that they can read

Can definitely read

The Lady of the Lake: taught Lancelot to read, also exchanged letters with Guenevere

Guenevere: see above, also exchanged letters with Isolde

Lancelot: taught to read by the lady of the lake, learned his own name by reading it off his gravestone, read the inscription on Galehaut's coffin which sent him into a dissociative murder rampage. Possibly the best-documented reader in the Arthurian canon

Isolde: exchanged letters with Guenevere

Tristram: exchanged letters with Lancelot

Definitely cannot read

Gawain, Yvain, Galegantin, Galecsconde, Tors, Carados, Yvain (the bastard), Gosenain, the Gay Gallant, Aglin: had to find a monk to read the creepy gravestones at the Dolorous Guard to them

I would be astonished if they couldn't read

Morgan Le Fey: surely that nunnery taught reading and writing in addition to necromancy right

Your average monk/hermit: gotta be able to read the Bible to do services for random passing knights

Galahad: an autistic Bible nerd raised by nuns. No fucking way that boy can't read

Most damsels: there seems to be a robust letter-writing tradition among ladies, especially queens, and damsels are often message-carriers. Perhaps not all of them can read, but I would guess the average one can

Strongly doubt that they can read

Arthur: I do not believe that Arthur can read. He did not clock the "He Who Pulleth Out This Sword" note, which I suppose there is an argument that he is dumb and just missed it, but can't read is simpler. And he does not strike me as the type to develop late-in-life literary ambitions, when you could just kidnap a bunch of scholars instead

Perceval: the idea of Perceval reading is wild to me, like a parrot who has somehow managed a note-perfect rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. Not completely outside the constraints of physical possibility, but the effort involved would be so astronomical and what anyone would be getting out of it would be negligible. Just let him fly free in the woods.

Most knights. If those ten knights above are any indication, reading is not a prized or necessary knight skill. I would not be shocked to learn that a certain individual can read, but my baseline assumption would be no

[dnsbarbie]

DEAR READER | C.L16 (THREE)

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x Ferrari Intern!OC

Warnings: Google translated french, Complex relationship, resisting the urge to jump each other’s bones (jk 1/2)

Parts: one | two | three | four

Note: let me know if you want to be included in the tag list!

NATALIA VALLE WAS NOT a nobody. Or at least, that was what her father used to tell her. All her life, she endured loneliness from her inability to make and keep relationships. Perhaps it was a trait passed down through her family. She wasn’t quite sure. It took her a while to accept her predicament and as she was just beginning to embrace the path to nunnery, Susie Wolff appeared out of thin air.

The rest? Well, here it was. At North Holland, Netherlands. Circuit Zandvoort, to be more specific.

Natalia strode through the area, eyes subtly darting through the space. She tried her best to even out her breathing. Deep down she knew this wouldn’t be any different from the previous days.

Opening up her senses, she was greeted by the slowly increasing noises of screaming fans, colliding with the guide’s booming voice echoing out from the numerous speakers encircling the stands.

Her head began to feel a dull pounding sensation. If it was the jet lag, now would be the worst time for it to come barreling to her face.

Oh no—

“Natalia! Natalia!”

“Great. . .” She muttered. Her fingers gripped tightly at the colorful lanyards crumpled in her hands before mustering up her best smile at the reporter practically running to her.

Just like that, her peace was destroyed same as yesterday and the day before.

She met him half way, twitching at how careless he shoved that big ass mic he had to her face.

Lowering down the object, she kept her polite gaze.

“Wonderful to see you here, Natalia!” He exclaimed, baring a toothy grin at her.

“Yes, it’s great to finally attend other races, for sure.” She nodded.

Before he even speaks, Natalia grumbles internally. She knew the look he gave him. It’s one of those looks that reports tend to give her before they ask something that they think she’ll be okay with, only to come at her with a full blown pompous comment in an attempt to humiliate her.

“Daddy Toto’s paying extra, eh?” On contrary to his guffawing figure, Natalia stood unfazed, simply chuckling despite the burning desire to rip this man’s remaining hair out his old balding head.

“Ferrari, actually.” She quipped, watching the confusion etch onto his face as his laugh dies down.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m doing my internship in Ferrari,” She simpered at the him. “I’ll be graduating from university in a few months, you see.”

“I—I see!” Not surprising either that he’s got more up his agitating sleeve. “And what of Mercedes? Why did you not choose to work there?”

“I don’t choose,” She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “This opportunity was given to me and I am extremely grateful. It’s an honor to be working for Ferrari.”

She visibly held her breath as a herd of voices invaded behind the interviewer. Blood rushed to her ears as she realized they were getting closer.

She confirmed her suspicion as she peaked through, spotting the the sea of journalists trying to get past the security line.

“Natalia!”

“NATALIA! WHERE’S TOTO?”

“Is it true that you moved in with the Wolffs’?”

“Natalia! A moment please!”

“What’s going with you and Charles Leclerc?”

“Nice meeting you!” She hurried, as she turned her attention back to the previous torn on her side, nodding politely. “I’m afraid I must be going now. Hope you enjoy the race!” She waved to the other raging journalists, squinting as their chants of her name got louder.

Sprinting away to the Ferrari paddock, she sighed. She pushed the glass doors open, breathing in the comforting scent of lavender. This quiet atmosphere instantly brightened her mood.

Elation spread to her lips at the sight the delectable food on the buffet table. Delight flamed through her eyes at the sight of the various selection of Dutch delicacies.

She scanned the table, quite fascinated with each of the names written on a signage corresponding to the food. Grabbing a small plate, she picked out a few, such as sphere-shaped snacks called Bitterballen and Krudnoten. A happy sway parked in her as she noticed a Stroopwafel truck outside, making a mental note to stop by later.

“Halo, linda!”

She whirled around, a plaesant smile blossoming on her lips as the man with the most gorgeous hair in the grid, as they say, approaches her.

“Carlos! Long time no see!” Natalia said, bringing him into a short hug.

“It is, indeed. I hear you work for Charles now,” He wiggles his eyebrows at her, chuckling as her smile quickly faded

“Not for him,” She denies, putting her palm up. “I’m working with h— yeah okay, I am.” Drooping in defeat, she glares at Carlos’ amused smirk.

“So?” He asks, as if expecting her to understand.

“So, what?” She raises her brows.

“Do you like it?” He asks. “Working for him, that is.”

She tilts her head, biting into one of the treats on her plate. “His social media presence is getting better because of me . . .” Pride swells in her smile. “And I get to boss him around too. I’d say it’s not as bad as I thought. More fans for him equals more money for me.”

Carlos chortles at the brunette’s blatant response to which she joins in, giving him a high five. Their laughter was interrupted by the clamor from the outside.

A simultaneous air of exasperation crossed their minds, briefly casting a glance at one another at the sight of the countless cameras pointing towards their direction, zeroing in on them like they were Sea World’s latest attraction.

They waved at the clicking cameras, building up practiced smiles.

“The only thing missing is a hoop for us to jump through,” Natalia joked, nearly flying away from the force of Carlos’ whack on her arm.

She concealed her laughter, gripping onto his bicep for mental support as Carlos failed to control the hideous snort coming out of his mouth.

To the people outside, Sea World bearing the most valuable and interesting creatures has took a turn to become a mental institute where, apparently, the patients were graciously yanking and hitting each other in the midst of terribly cloaked hysterics.

Heavy hands weighed in on the shoulders of said mental patients, each baring their own expression of terror as the turned their backs to the audience outside and onto Ferrari’s Team Principal.

“Enjoying ourselves, aren’t we?” Fred quizzed, narrowing his gaze as he watched the merriment slowly melt away from their faces. “Natalia, Charles is asking for you. He’s in his drivers lounge?”

Without thinking, Natalia grimaced at the order. “In his driver’s lounge? Why does he need me—” She clamped her mouth shut, giving into the cutting glare staring into her soul. “Driver’s lounge. Got it!” Spinning around, zooming into the hall of the drivers lounge.

“What do you think?” Charles query was accompanied by a smirk of plume as he finished his pitch.

His company stood frigid, mouth twitching with her eyes on him. “I— I don’t—” A string of laughter erupted from her, doubling over as she struggled to regulate air.

Charles eyed her wildly amused figure crumple onto the floor, a smile slipping onto his face at the cheery atmosphere of his room.

“Is that even— allowed?” She managed to get out, look up at him and wiping away the tear pebbling at ducks.

Charles raises his hands, smirking at her. “It was your idea first!” He accused, pointing a finger at her.

She scoffed, getting to her feet before sitting down on the small bed of the driver’s room. “It was a joke!”

“Well, it sounds good to me,” He shrugged, grabbing his gloves in a compartment at the foot of his bed.

“No it doesn’t!” Natalia laughed again, head throwing back at the seriousness of Charles’ tone. “I am not making a montage of you with Usher’s Daddy’s home playing in the background!”

Charles gasp, laying a hand on his chest, feigning offense as he looked at her. “Oh come on!”

“No, you come on!” She retorted, as laughter continued to spill out of her mouth.

Reached towards the giggling body on the bed, placing his gloved hands on her shoulders. “Why not?” He mocked a whine, watching as her smile reached her eyes.

Even with protective gear on his hands, the warmth of her skin somehow found a way to seep onto his palms. As if the heat had crawled up in his brain, he pushed against her shoulders, relishing at the surprised squeak tumbling out her mouth as her back hit the mattress.

Her eyes blown into a pair of saucers, swallowing noticeably at the weight of his stare.

“What are you doing?” The tremor in her voice sent delightful shivers down Charles’ ego.

He dug into the confinements of his restraint as her delicate palm laid on his chest. The feverish heat worsened as she made no effort to push him away, merely blinding him with those rich mahogany irises—pulling him into an endless stream of desire.

She looks at him as if she wanted her to know that he can’t have her. Boarded into place, backed into the corner with no where to go.

“Stop looking at me like that—” He whispers, baring a grit of his teeth.

Despite the constricting grip on her dazed state, Natalia responded, soft and lightheaded. “What?”

Exasperated, Charles dropped his head on her shoulder, not missing the slight flinch of her body as he inhaled the flowery scent of her clothing.

“You—” He started, breath fanning onto her ear as he lifted his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you want me . . . Natalia,”

“We— we can’t. . .” She stuttered as conflicting thoughts troubled her mind. At Charles’ groan of protest, she shuts her eyes, hoping to gain enough composure.

And when she does, she cleared her throat, warding off the trembling sound of uncertainty.

“You know we can’t,” At the height of her sense, Charles woke up from the root of his fantasies, nodding his.

“Yes. . .” He mumbled, laying her chest, arms going around her waist. “I know— I know— I just— how about this—”

“Charles—” She sighed, ready to decline him.

He silenced her, rushing to overpower her voice. “If I win today, I take you out to dinner—” Seeing as she was about to intrude, he raised his palm up. “Just dinner. Nothing more. Just you and me.”

Her stiffening posture exuded hesitation, prompting Charles to rub comforting circles with his thumb on her waist.

Anxiety skyrocketed in her veins, her arm draped on Charles’ back, palm splayed. Like a broken record, the imaginative image of the past kept flashing in between the cracks of her current reality.

Charles grew concerned as her breath labored, hand suddenly clasping at the fabric of his fireproofs as if he’ll disappear if she releases him.

“Hey,” Charles cooed, immediately brushing her hair back after nervousness completely taking over her features. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

His hand slid down to her cheek, stroking her paled skin, successfully catching her attention.

In a second, the withering blocks of emotion’s disappeared. In it’s place was a tired sigh, and a pat on Charles’ back.

He furrowed at the sudden change, and how quickly she threw away the deep seated thoughts troubling her mind.

“A lot.” She stated, licking her lips. “But if you insist, then — okay.”

The Monegasque stared at her, unblinkingly. Unsure what to make of the fast-paced situation.

He did want it. However, the droll in her voice withered the excitement he initially felt. Heaviness countered the supposed delight of his agenda.

It made him more curious and worried as to what had caused her to be that way. Natalia Valle was the embodiment of spilled sun rays when he first saw her interacting with the Toto Wolff in the Marcedes garage.

But looking at her now, all the bright twinkle in her eyes had been lost in a maze of darkness.

“Alright.” He assessed her disheveled state, slowly standing up. “I’ll see you after the race,”

Natalia managed a small smile, reaching her hand up for assistance. Charles took it, pulling her up into a sitting position. His hand tilted up her head, having her look him straight in the eyes.

“Do your best,” the glint of anticipation in her eyes were hard to ignore, as she took Charles’ wrist in a gentle hold.

They nearly jumped out of their skin as a loud knock echoed through the room.

“Charles! It’s time!” It was Nicolas.

The pair shared a look, Natalia baring a reassuring smile to Charles who gives her a thankful nod.

The realization of Natalia’s whereabout came crashing down in a high speed collision as the roaring of the engines resounded across the hall.

She was about to witness a Formula One race.

And even with the vicious claws of anxiety latching at her wits and thunderstorms forming clouds on her head, maybe—just maybe fulfilling her childhood dreams is enough to block everything out for just a moment.

The words; Lights out and away we go, seemed too long ago. The Ferrari garage bathed in chaos. Fred Vasseuer red faced, eyes wide with frustration coursing through his veins. Said veins could also be seen surfacing on the sides of his neck as he screams through his mic connected to the drivers’ ears.

On his feet, his hand slapped against the wooden table, creating a resounding bang that can be heard underneath the headphone-encapsulated ears of Natalia.

As one could tell, even from the stands, Ferrari was not having a great race.

“NO! NO!” Fred’s strident wail pierced Natalia’s ears, causing her to squint and move the left bud off her hearing premises.

She watched helplessly as the red Formula One car adorning the number 16 rounded the corner, before coming in contact with a bright orange McLaren.

Natalia’s heart felt like it would combust into a million pieces as it quickened at the sight of the collision. Through the fog of her aching head, she stepped forward to get a better view.

“Damage,” Dread filled her bones as the words came trembling. “I— think I have floor damage. . .”

Chills kissing at her fingertips, Natalia held them together close to her chest, seemingly like a silent prayer.

“Copy.” His engineer, Xavier Marcos Pardros responded. “Keep driving. We pit later.”

Silent pleas of betterment flooded Natalia’s brain as she watched Charles perform with a half-broken vehicle.

She wasn’t an expert on anything related to Formula One. No, however, she was aware that damages to the car commonly entails a bad omen which eventually leads to a retirement.

The tormenting suspense of what’s to come bit at Natalia’s sane conciliation, hands clutching at her sides. Her dilated eyes darted through the screen, focused on Charles’ car. His wheels were visibly wavering as the race dragged on. The extent of the damage slowly catching up to him.

“There’s no down force!” Natalia flinched at the strain in his voice.

A gloomy atmosphere manifested inside the garage as everyone received the words. The limit had been reached as the car was slowly losing its vivacious speed. He was deliberately losing control of the car and finally, as he turned, he drove directly onto a wall, a tire getting caught in the metallic borders of the track.

“You okay?” Xavi radioed.

“Yeah yeah—It’s a—sorry, guys—fuck. . .”

It was deafening, the silence. Only, excluding for the painful cries of self-loathing in resonating through Natalia’s headphones. She had to cover her eyes at the impact of the crash, as the pounding of her heart refused to settle down.

“Ah—fucking—FUCK!”

Natalia slid her headphones down to rest at her neck, hands shaking at the disappointment that echoed through Charles’ voice. She didn’t have the capacity to listen through the mournful anguish that flooded at her sympathy.

Without her headphones, she looked at the screen. A safety car has been deployed and the camera zoomed in on Charles climbing out the car. Frustration showing on his movements despite having a full body protective gear. He slammed his hands on the halo of his car as he stood up, before sliding his gloves off his hands, practically ripping them in the process.

“We focus on Sainz, now,” Fred droned, defeated as he molded back into his seat.

Charles couldn’t hear a thing aside from the organ protected by his ribcage pump at a merciless pace. His skin flushed underneath all the gear, as if it was weighing down his sanity further. His steps heavy as he strode to the Ferrari garage. A single thought crossing his mind.

There she sat, worry simmering at the pout of her lips, reflecting greatly with the dim clouding her eyes. As he neared her hunched form, she whipped around, gaping at him with an apologetic look on her face.

She was robbed of the chance to say something as he hauled her off her seat, strong grip on her arm. He dragged her with him, failing to take regard of Natalia’s worried glance at not only him, but most especially the pile of reporters crowding in front of the garage.

She tried to yank herself away from him but her strength was no match for his.

Xavi was quick to intervene just as they were out of the public eye.

“Charles!” He hissed, pulling at the angered Monegasque.

Natalia’s shock was as prominent as the tsunami of distaste cloaking Charles face. His brows pinned into a pointed stem, eyes shamelessly staring daggers and defeating Xavi’s own anger at the driver’s rash anger.

“Vous ne vous souciez pas de votre réputation?” Do you not care about your reputation? Xavi stressed, pushing at Charles’ chest as if to shake him back into rationality.

His loud scoff stabbed into Natalia’s hearing, causing her to wince. It differed entirely to whenever they were engaged in horseplay. The sweetened teasing was long gone, adamantly supplemented with bone-rattling fury.

“Ma réputation était foutue depuis longtemps!” My reputation was fucked long ago! He roared, retaliating with a hard shove of his own that sent Xavi propelling on the opposite wall.

“Charles!” Natalia shrieked, recovering from her frozen shock. “Calm the fuck down—” She went to check on the possibly injured man but the restraining grip on her arm contained her.

The protest died in her throat as the race engineer raised his hand, looking at her with reassuring ease. She was about to offer her more help but he simply upped and left like it was nothing.

Displeasure swam in her consciousness as Charles pulled her along with him to his room. He opened the door, urging her to sit down on her previous spot.

Like a controlled robotic figure, she complied. The energy to yell at him for his inappropriate behavior diminished as she came face to face with him.

Beneath the proper lighting, the marks left by his helmet scrawled lines onto his face. His tired eyes drooped in despair along with the noticeable sag of his shoulders as he arranged his racing gear.

Natalia observed he placed his helmet on the counter, fingers dragging on the shell, inducing a scrapping sound that matched his emotions.

He turned to face her, treading towards her in a slow manner. His knees hit the floor as he kneeled down to Natalia’s level.

Short puffs of breath lammed from her lungs at how little the expanse contained. She looked away, aware of the oddity in her stare.

“I didn’t win.”

The same disappointment lathered his tone but it was the arm he looped around her waist that caught her attention back to him.

She instantly wished she resisted the urge to look back as she was plowed down by his pleading crystalline orbs. Unable to tear her eyes from this hypnotic beauty, she wetted her chapped lips.

“That’s okay. . .” Natalia cringed at her weak assurance, but nonetheless weaved her fingers through his damp hair as if to compensate.

Charles flickered his eyes close as Natalia began to massage his scalp, the stress from the race draining away from his bones with every glide of her careful and dainty digits.

Natalia cocked her head to the side as Charles’ face relaxed, the lines on his forehead were no longer visible and his lips now rested into a soft smile.

“I’m sorry,” He grunted, tightening his grasp on her mid-section. “You’re gonna be all over the news.”

She bit her lips at the topic. Despite her awareness of the situation, she had completely ignored it, putting Charles’ ragging actions at a priority.

“They say things all the time,” She quipped, giving his brown locks a slight tug that got him to open his eyes and look into hers. The sincerity of his regret reflected in them. “At the very least, Toto being my alleged sugar daddy will finally stop. . .”

Charles knew that it was a prod to make him feel better, yet he took it without hesitation. His negative emotions were immediately dethroned at the sight of Natalia’s teasing smirk.

He bellowed out a hearty laugh, throwing his head back. “You’d rather have them think the engagement rumors are true?”

She screwed her face up, whacking him on the shoulder. “No, I’m just saying, it’d be nice if people stirred away from that repulsing narrative.”

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you looked like a hooker,”

Her jaw slacked, staring him down in the most disbelieving light she could ever imagine.

“Fuck off!” She giggled, stopping the vibration of his shoulders by landing a sportive punch near his chest.

A moment passes before Charles gains the courage to part Natalia’s denim-clad thighs, watching her reaction as he went further.

Seeing as there was no discomfort in her eyes, he slotted himself between the warmth of her legs, arms bracing his left arm beside her thigh while the other retained on her waist.

“I’m still on for that dinner, if you’re good to go. . .” Natalia wondered, tilting her head at him.

“Are you?” He hummed, drawing innocent patterns on the skin of her waist.

Goosebumps rose in the wake of Charles’ touch. He had risen the knitted top Natalia had worn, leaving the exposed skin at his mercy.

“It’s just dinner.” Her firm determination amused Charles, giving her a reassuring smile.

“It is.” He confirmed. “But I’d rather order in— I’m not up to be roasted in public after today.”

Natalia sympathized with his decision, squeezing his shoulder in the hopes to comfort him. “Of course, I understand.” She taps his cheek, pinching it softly between her finger.

Staying here would be the most logical option.

Her attempt to stand was quickly halted, as Charles’ arm on her waist pulled her back down.

A glint of confusion painted on both their features for different reasons.

“Where you going?”

“You said you wanted to order in.” She blinked owlishly at him, trying to figure out the miscommunication.

“I do.” He said, striking her with one of his compelling looks. “So, tell me what you want to eat,”

The wheeled dinged in Natalia’s bemused thoughts, nodding her head as she began to understand his implications.

“Oh—Oh! With me!” She amassed, as if assuring herself. At Charles’ validation, she started to think about her choice. “I’m not very good at picking specific food. I only look at the description and hope for the best, really.”

Charles smiled at her sheepish expression, bobbing his head in understanding. “Alright. I’ll order for you then.”

He got to his feet, shocking Natalia as he began unzipping his race suit.

She immediately looked away, face warming at the abrupt action. Shifting her gazing anywhere aside from the man appearing to be planning to undress in front of her.

Natalia swore she could hear the annoying smile growing on his lips as he said, “Relax I’m not taking my clothes off here. I still have to get an ice bath. We’ll go after.”

“Yeah— wait. . . Hold on, go where?” She questioned, raising her eyebrows.

Charles stalked to the door, laying his hand on the knob. His gaze lingered at Natalia’s, adoring the boiling thoughts evidently stowing in her eyes.

“Where else? At my apartment, of course.”

Oh— order in!

“You didn’t think we’d stay here all night, did you?”

Yes, she did. Embarrassingly so.

“Shut up, English isn’t my first language.” She grunted, hoping to save face.

Unsurprisingly, Charles crushed it as easily. Laughing at her futile attempt. “Mine too.”

She sighed, shooing him away. “Go jump in your ice water or whatever.”

Laughter rang through the halls as he opened the door, smile broadening at her crimson dusted cheeks.

He sent her a wink before leaving her to her own cluttered thoughts. She caught herself mapping out the possible scenarios that could take place in Charles’ apartment, weaving away from the inappropriate scenes flaunting in the premise of her own deliberations.

As she sunk herself deeper in the captivity of her brain, she fell short in noticing the coffin she had built herself into. Her abysmal empathy for Charles made her overlook the blaring details of her hesitance to join him for a meal— let alone be in his personal space.

Entering Charles’ apartment flared the consigned fear etched onto her senses. It wasn’t Charles that she feared. On the contrary she was afraid of compromising her self control more than anything else.

Lucky for her, the man in her thoughts share the same predicament as he sat rigidly in a tub of freezing water, plagued with similar impure thoughts running laps in his head. There was no doubt at all that Toto Wolff would castrate him alive and impale his head on a pike if he were to ever hear them.

Taglist: @charizznorizz @itsjustkhaos @janeholt3

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Previous Part | Next Part

First Chapter

20. 𝓢𝓱𝓮𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 (𝓞𝓻 𝓪𝓼 𝓛𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓼 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓝𝓮𝓮𝓭)

As the days unfolded, (Y/n) found herself slowly embracing a sense of ease. It marked the third day away from the vampires, and Dorian had yet to find her. The sisters at the nunnery, though aware of little about her past, treated her with kindness. They likely assumed she was a noble child whose family had fallen victim to a vampire attack. While not entirely true, the fact remained: she was now an orphan. The idea of being sent to an orphanage lingered in the background, but for now, the sisters seemed to enjoy her presence, and she, in turn, appreciated theirs.

In the cozy living room, (Y/n) engaged in companionship with some of the nuns. Glancing outside on the sunny day, she made a face — too bright and too sunny. After months of living nocturnally, adapting to the daytime proved more challenging than (Y/n) expected.

Turning her attention elsewhere, she marveled at the beautiful handcrafts one nun was creating — a delicate handkerchief adorned with flowers and butterflies. "Does this take a lot of time?" she inquired, observing Sister Margaret's skilled embroidery.

Smiling, Sister Margaret shook her head. "Once you've mastered the basics, it becomes an easy, even pleasant task," she explained calmly.

A knock at the door disrupted their peaceful moment. Three men entered, one clad in religious garb and the other two resembling battle-hardened hunters. Knives and stakes adorned their brown leather belts. Father Thomas, a familiar face, led the group. The priest routinely visited the nunnery. The hunters, though, were completely unfamiliar to her.

"Hello, (Y/n)," Father Thomas greeted with a grandfatherly smile. "How are you today?"

"Good," she replied briefly.

The priest gestured to the hunters. "Allow me to introduce Archibald and Jonah Rowan. They are vampire hunters. They will help us track down the vampire that attacked you."

Vampire hunters? A shiver ran down her spine at the sight of their weaponry. "What will you do to him?" she asked hesitantly, trying to maintain composure.

Archibald stepped forward gruffly, "We'll track that beast down and send it back right where it's s'posed to be; in Hell."

She bit her lip, uncertain.

"We just need ya' to tell us everythin' you know 'bout this thing," added the other.

Reluctance crept inside her ; she was unsure if she wanted to do that. She couldn't bring herself to tell them anything she knew. Killian was with Dorian, which meant that if she sent the hunters to him, his partner would be attacked too. Even then, she didn't want to aid in killing Dorian. She knew she should, but she didn't want to. He hadn't hurt her that bad; he had treated her— no matter how he had treated her, he just didn't deserve such a fate.

Looking away, she clutched her doll, Clementine, close. Killian had put it in her bags and she had been relieved when she found it. It was like a souvenir of him. "I don't— I don't remember anything,” she gulped.

"Are you sure, (Y/n) ?" The priest questioned skeptically with a probing stare.

"I don't remember anything," she reiterated more fervently, hugging the doll defensively. "Why would I lie?"

They exchanged hesitant glances, some unconvinced, unsure why she'd conceal the vampire's identity. Opting not to disclose further information, (Y/n) focused on rearranging Clementine's dress, witnessing the frustration on the hunters' faces as they posed more questions unanswered. She simply chose silence.

⊱ ────── {⋆𖤐⋆} ────── ⊰

Someone knocked at the door to the room she had been staying in for the past five days. She stood up from her modest bed, a sense of routine settling into her life. 

"Good morning, dear. Why don't you come down to eat?" Sister Margaret invited, her voice gentle and reassuring. The girl nodded appreciatively, grateful for the sense of normalcy and compassion that surrounded her in this place. She followed the older woman, their footsteps echoing through the quiet corridors, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence of the estate she had left behind.

Together, they descended the stairs, arriving in the communal area where the other inhabitants of the house were already seated for breakfast. The atmosphere was a far cry from the gloomy estate she had escaped. Here, the air was filled with a calm and pleasant energy, a stark departure from the tension that had become the norm in her previous surroundings.

Breakfast unfolded as a tranquil, communal affair. The residents engaged in light conversation, sharing anecdotes and laughter that resonated with genuine warmth. The contrast to the heavy, stifling meals at the estate was stark. Here, the air was filled with a sense of camaraderie and acceptance.

(Y/n) appreciated the small talk, the mundane discussions that seemed almost magical in their simplicity. The nuns were welcoming, never pressuring her to conform to any expectations. It felt like a breath of fresh air, the light-hearted and carefree atmosphere she had been deprived of for far too long.

Seated at the table, (Y/n) chose to remain quiet, observing the interactions around her. She found solace in the light-hearted banter, relishing the newfound freedom to simply listen and be present. It was a stark departure from the oppressive silence that often accompanied her meals in the estate, and she savored the moments of normalcy.

The people around her in this new place seemed genuinely kind, their gestures and words motivated by a compassion that was almost foreign to her. Their warmth enveloped her without being overbearing, and she found solace in the genuine care that surrounded her. It was a stark contrast to the kind of love she had experienced in the gloomy estate.

As she sat at the breakfast table, her stomach twisted a bit. The contrast between the meals here and those at the vampire’s estate brought forth a mix of emotions. Dorian's way of caring, though vastly different and at times unsettling, lingered in her thoughts. In a strange, messed-up way, she found herself longing for it even in the midst of this newfound haven.

Her mind wandered to memories of hands brushing through her hair, the warmth of a kiss on her forehead, or the sensation of a hand holding her wrist with a vice-like, firm grip. These were nothing but fragments of the past, haunting her in the present. These were nothing but phantom touches, feelings that would most likely disappear eventually. For now, however, they felt comforting ; like she wasn't alone and he wouldn't leave. It was a thought that both terrified her and brought her a form of solace.

Was it normal to long for someone who had caused her so much pain? The question lingered, only troubling her more,

Five days.

Only five days and she already missed that place; her lavish prison. He must have done something to her, must have messed her up somehow, causing this inner turmoil to brew within her.

She flinched visibly, the sudden touch triggering an instinctive reaction that she couldn't control. The hand that had innocently rested on hers quickly retreated at her adverse response. Sister Gloria, with a heart full of concern, had a visibly worried expression on her face, having keenly observed the gloom that had settled over (Y/n). The girl gave her a strained smile, not knowing what else to do. The woman's expression softened slightly, but the creases of worry on her forehead remained.

After the meal, once she finished helping them clean up the place, Sister Glaria requested her help in feeding Pepper, the horse that had aided in her escape. While the nunnery didn't have a stable, they had set up a small temporary cabin to ensure the horse was well taken care of.

The girl readily agreed and followed Sister Gloria to the makeshift stable. As they entered, the familiar presence of Pepper greeted them, the horse's gentle eyes reflecting a sense of trust that had been forged during their shared journey through the forest.

(Y/n) petted the horse affectionately, expressing her gratitude for Pepper's assistance. The revelation that horses could be trained to navigate an entire trip on their own had been surprising to her. The journey through the dense forest had been long, and she hadn't arrived until the sun had set. It hadn’t been a linear path either, Pepper had trudged through the plants and trees masterfully, turning left or right at different points until they finally reached their destination.

"What is her name?" asked Sister Gloria with a soft smile, her curiosity evident. It was then that (Y/n) realized she had never shared the name of the mare with those at the nunnery.

Caught off guard, she blushed in embarrassment, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. "Pepper."

The nun's eyebrows rose in recognition, a light of realization in her eyes. "Oh, that must be why she looks so familiar."

(Y/n) furrowed her brows in confusion. "She does?"

"A brunette with long hair. He took strolls around here for the last month, practically every day, with the same precise path, and occasionally came to talk to us. That’s how we learned this mare’s name."

As the nun spoke, (Y/n)'s mind raced, trying to piece together the information. A gentleman with a familiar routine, someone who had taken the time to introduce Pepper to the nunnery. She smiled faintly; Killian.

The woman paused for an instant and placed a hand on her mouth. "Oh dear, he hasn't come here recently... Is he— was he... your father ?" 

The nun jumped to the unlikely and wrong conclusion that Killian could be her dead father, but (Y/n) shut that down quickly. She shook her head, "No, an... acquaintance. Someone that helped." Misunderstandings were quick to happen when she wasn’t telling them the whole truth, but she thought it was better that way. 

Sister Goria sighed in relief. There was a moment of silence as she fed a carrot to Pepper.

"Sister Gloria, what is going to happen to me now?" (Y/n) finally asked a question she dreaded the answer to.

The woman remained silent for sometime, before saying, "Word of mouth has already begun to circle around. Local villages have been informed. We will find a place for you. Maybe in an orphanage or a benevolent family."

Dread took hold of (Y/n). She didn't like the sound of those options, neither an orphanage nor being placed with a family she didn't know. However, the nun offered an alternative, a glimmer of hope in the form of staying here.

"But, you could also stay here if you wish to," she added with a warm smile. "We would love to have a young girl around here to liven up the mood. I am sure nobody would mind."

The idea of being part of a community that had shown her kindness and understanding felt less daunting. She mused at the possibility, imagining herself contributing to the lighthearted atmosphere she had grown to appreciate.

"You don't have to decide now," assured the nun.

That struck her in an odd way. 'You don't have to decide now'. She had a choice, didn't she? The realization sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach, a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

"I like that," she managed to say, her voice cracking slightly, "I like that very much."

[kidrat]

I also enjoy modern au goth Harrowhark. But canonically she isn’t alternative. She’s like thee extreme of her cultures traditions and stereotypes I’m sorry. She’s not ur emo gf. She’d be ur classmate who wears brown ankle length skirts and might be happier in a nunnery. She has severe mental illness and it is kissing her faith on the mouth and having neurotic religiously obsessive babies. People would say she reminds them of Carrie white except cold and mean. While u were at hot topic she was reciting the bible from memory in a dark room and abstaining. I want to see modern au Harrow where she veils! I want to see Harrow at uni weirding out her classmates with her unmasked autism and shivering little dog demeanour. Yes yes lesbians want her but gay people understand the allure of an offline girlfriend who collects dead animal pieces and ‘displays’ them in rows on her chest of drawers. She doesn’t wanna look hot!! She doesn’t wanna go to the mall!!! She has never seen the craft sorry lesbians she doesn’t own a tv. She also doesn’t own a laptop (she uses the one at the library or school) and that’s the only reason she’s not been the centre of a tumblr discourse. Possibly about unsanitary bloodplay. Maybe just for being an uppity cunt. I wanna see modern Harrow having the time of her life discussing some deeply uncool academic topic in the corner of the room at a close intimate gathering of friends. She’s having the time of her life. She’s wearing a shapeless beige knit jumper. Coronabeth is there in fashion nova